Torani liked to think of herself as independent, fiery, passionate - a
bonfire. Which was apt, given her attunement with the elements that
made up Tyria and favoring of two of them, air and fire, the
complimentary elements. Sometimes she also though of herself as the
wind whipping through a chasm, great and powerful, wearing away rock and
stone by her sheer presence.
Then, of course, she realized she was none of those things and had to come back from her fantastical daydreams.
Reality was harsh.
So
was the ground she was currently camped on, given that she was two days
out from normal civilization and she didn't want to pay the exorbitant
fees for sleeping in the inn when there was a perfectly good field
nearby. And she had a rucksack with bedroll (like any good traveler!)
and was prepared for her time under the stars. No tent but she was used
to that. No rain, so she wasn't driven in to the inn anyways.
Saving
coppers was key right now because she'd heard about a new staff-maker
who made attuned staffs. And although the name of them was something
weird - she couldn't remember it but once she reached Divinity's Reach
she'd track the artificer down, get the name and possibly the new staff.
Speaking
of which - she reached out, picking up her current staff (a glorified
tree branch with a crystal shoved into a nest of shorn-off roots) and
shoving it into the ground. One rain cape perched on it later and her
makeshift tent was complete. Given the field she wanted something to
keep bugs out, right?
She wasn't close to the swamp at least.
It
was (of course) the saving of coppers that was the reason she hadn't
used one of the waypoints to get around. Why waypoint when you could
make the journey a bit longer on foot? She sniffed the air. There were
many reasons to waypoint actually... most of them involving warm beds
right now.
Maybe the coppers were worth it.
The light was
just starting to fade and her fire looked inviting as Torani started to
rummage. Waypoints might cost you some coppers and silvers but it was
better than wolves... and etin... and trolls and a thousand other
critters - or centaurs!
What was silver compared to not hearing
the challenging shout (and inane babble) of a centaur when you came
right down to it? It was peace of mind, that's what it was. Peace of
mind worth having.
The smell of burnt horse was not something she found appealing.
Not
too long after making the impromptu decision to waypoint the
elementalist was trudging to the nearest warm inn inside the walls of
Divinity's Reach, slipping around the seedier peddlars of the city with
nary a second glance. She ignored the few commenters that were brave
enough to question her right to wear sorcerer's garb (one required a bap
with the spiked staff she carried but that was only one) and sauntered
her way to the inn.
One warm bed secured, she was reflecting that really, the few silvers were worth it.
In
a world like Tyria where travel was instantaneous as long as you paid
upfront why spend a night out cold when you knew a better - and safer! -
place to stay. Tomorrow owuld bring a return to her travels, and
adventures, seeking out a challenge and fight big enough to stretch her
control of the elements.
Perhaps she'd venture to the depths of
the sea. Or maybe the Straights of Devestation and the rumored Pact
base there, to see what challenges they had.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Eccentricities of a Sith Part 3
Robes swept through the small halls as Thia smirked to herself. Servants bowed as the Sith strode past them, reaching a hand out to pluck another stem of grapes from one offered tray as she padded, barefoot, across the carpet of her small house. She had grown used to the piercings and eyes half-closed for a fraction of a second and her lips curled. And her current company seemed to enjoy one of them.
More bows as she headed to her meditation chambers which were decked in the same manner of the rest of the house, silk-wrapped columns and cushions, low flat surfaces invitingly spaced for reclining. Opulence. The style suited her, large artificial windows putting fake beams of sun in when she hit a switch.
She didn't think the little imp would interrupt her at the moment so she stretched out on one large flat cushion, a soft crink of chain links as she shifted. Her mood was vastly improved from the stomping she'd been in a week ago - sure she'd had a Jedi to play with then, and oh that had been enjoyable, but it'd reinforced that she didn't have a toy pet project of her own.
Thia still didn't have a pet project but she did have a new toy. She flexed her hands, idly using one talon-shaped nail to fleck out the dried blood under her fingertips; she also had a holocron thanks to the methodical slaughter of the enclave. The chance meeting with Venrirr on the battlefield had been a nice break from hunting and twisting things to her needs, a chance to just sink into battle. It'd been better because of the challenge - and she'd admit she had won one challenge but lost the second. She was all right with the loss even, though it spurned her to want to conquer and defeat him again; it meant she had someone who she could match and beat, trading wins and losses based on skill and battle.
And that he was Firrerreo was an added bonus. No need to worry about hurting him.
Of course she'd then arranged for the little excursion and exchange with the Jedi. Venrirr had provided the prisoner to exchange, and then had himself fun with their premiere knight-champion. She'd just engaged in the slaughter of the inhabitants.
They both got what they wanted. The holocron had been cleaned from dirt and blood, Thia lifting it as she studied the engravings. If, and it was a large if, her research was correct then this holocron detailed the teachings of one of the Jedi's more eccentric battlemasters and their saber teachings. Nothing monumentally powerful, but the refined technique - if new - would be useful in her repitoire. Even if it wasn't new the addition of knowledge would be, in and of itself, useful.
Depriving the Jedi of it would be more useful.
Hands cupped the small object, Force shifting around her before she began to speak with the gatekeeper. Like most Jedi holocrons its lock was their hampering code, the sith rolling her eyes but speaking the correct phrases. And then she settled in for its commune, legs crossing and folding up with her eyes focused on the object in her hands. When she came out of the discussions with the holocron she had a smile on her face, mind already whirling with applications.
Why maybe she could turn this to her advantage. She set herself on fire... it was a wonderful tactic to strike fear into her enemies and that fear fed her and any sith like a fine wine. How much MORE fun would it be to set their skin on fire? Why it'd be positively fun then.
The trip had been worthwhile~
More bows as she headed to her meditation chambers which were decked in the same manner of the rest of the house, silk-wrapped columns and cushions, low flat surfaces invitingly spaced for reclining. Opulence. The style suited her, large artificial windows putting fake beams of sun in when she hit a switch.
She didn't think the little imp would interrupt her at the moment so she stretched out on one large flat cushion, a soft crink of chain links as she shifted. Her mood was vastly improved from the stomping she'd been in a week ago - sure she'd had a Jedi to play with then, and oh that had been enjoyable, but it'd reinforced that she didn't have a toy pet project of her own.
Thia still didn't have a pet project but she did have a new toy. She flexed her hands, idly using one talon-shaped nail to fleck out the dried blood under her fingertips; she also had a holocron thanks to the methodical slaughter of the enclave. The chance meeting with Venrirr on the battlefield had been a nice break from hunting and twisting things to her needs, a chance to just sink into battle. It'd been better because of the challenge - and she'd admit she had won one challenge but lost the second. She was all right with the loss even, though it spurned her to want to conquer and defeat him again; it meant she had someone who she could match and beat, trading wins and losses based on skill and battle.
And that he was Firrerreo was an added bonus. No need to worry about hurting him.
Of course she'd then arranged for the little excursion and exchange with the Jedi. Venrirr had provided the prisoner to exchange, and then had himself fun with their premiere knight-champion. She'd just engaged in the slaughter of the inhabitants.
They both got what they wanted. The holocron had been cleaned from dirt and blood, Thia lifting it as she studied the engravings. If, and it was a large if, her research was correct then this holocron detailed the teachings of one of the Jedi's more eccentric battlemasters and their saber teachings. Nothing monumentally powerful, but the refined technique - if new - would be useful in her repitoire. Even if it wasn't new the addition of knowledge would be, in and of itself, useful.
Depriving the Jedi of it would be more useful.
Hands cupped the small object, Force shifting around her before she began to speak with the gatekeeper. Like most Jedi holocrons its lock was their hampering code, the sith rolling her eyes but speaking the correct phrases. And then she settled in for its commune, legs crossing and folding up with her eyes focused on the object in her hands. When she came out of the discussions with the holocron she had a smile on her face, mind already whirling with applications.
Why maybe she could turn this to her advantage. She set herself on fire... it was a wonderful tactic to strike fear into her enemies and that fear fed her and any sith like a fine wine. How much MORE fun would it be to set their skin on fire? Why it'd be positively fun then.
The trip had been worthwhile~
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Erith: Feeling Lost 4
Even though she'd tried (pathetically) to argue against medical treatment once she was there Kerith sat obediently through the triage. The blaster bolt was painful but she hid her winces and grimaces easily behind a cool facade, arm lifted up as the droid applied kolto and swabbed the injured tissue. She had done what she was supposed to do - her client, her protectee was safe, the only injuries taken were to herself and the one who had attacked in the first place.
She hadn't removed her helm, hadn't pulled off the mask she hid behind but she felt her own confusion without having to see it expressed in a mirror. She'd never truly been thanked for doing her job, even when (as the work of a bodyguard often did) it had ended in blood. Sith were not immune to threats against their life and their arcane defenses could fail them when a well-trained agent was sent. It was hard but she knew the ways to circumvent a force user's protections and take one down. It was hard but not impossible.
It was why they still had security teams, why they still needed competent ciphers and agents at their beck and call. She went in to every meeting expecting to need to use the multitudes of weapons she secreted on her person; every meeting or engagement where she didn't need to draw a vibro or rifle was one in an ever-growing list of times where duty had been pleasant.
She could claim no prescience that the Mandalorian had alarmed her, no scream of Force in the back of her mind alerting her to the imminent danger. There was been the narrowed focus - a flurry of bolts loosened in Sinclair's direction - and then there had been action. She would consider wearing heavier armor to the next engagement off the Rose but she preferred to move inside of her comfort levels. But that was a debate for another day, a discussion to have with herself weighing the quick movement and reaction times versus the heavier protections and plating.
The Aristocra had not complied with her request to lower himself to the ground behind her figure but unlike some of her protectees he was a man of action, a man of violence in his own right. She didn't expect his pride to allow him to hide behind someone, even someone who was there to protect him, for the sake of his own skin. At least she hadn't wasted the time to be angry about it, instead pushing aside the pain with rigid concentration and further focus and aiming back. Her shots had been true.
So had the rest of the party's. It was a brief exchange of fighting before the Mandalorian had been subdued. Seconds. Behind her mask her nostrils had flared, filtered air drawn in a quick breath. She hesitated on simply ending the threat, finger caressing the trigger that would put a bolt through the skull that had attacked but she stayed her hand, waiting for orders.
What had Okhirr said? He needed them as much as they needed him. Clearly he had a desire to flirt with danger and death still, as if it were his life. The glimpse into family - real family - had left her silent. It wasn't her place to intercede or interrupt between family as they argued, simply letting the droid tend her. There were implications in what had been exchanged that she didn't know. Implications that she needed to start to know, in order to be able to do her job. Ker realized the quick need to cleave to work was as much a coping mechanism as anything could be; she needed something to create the boundaries she could identify herself inside and outside of.
Okhirr had been... she hadn't wanted to pull off the helm she'd worn while standing behind the Aristocra. Anonymity had been a blessing, giving her a chance to observe and protect without worrying about being escorted to a cell by what she was constantly told were her own people. But it had been an order, however softly given, and she had removed the helm, turning and eyes blinking as she looked the once-wounded Chiss over. She had scrambled and struggled to find words, words to express how she felt for what she'd done.
A simple sorry had felt like it cheapened the pain she'd caused. But she'd meant her words however poorly they'd been delivered to Okhirr, meant the halting apology. And when he'd given her acceptance - cautious she hoped, but still real - and then forgiveness it had been a balm she had been certain she'd never get.
His words rang in her ears still, a reminder behind her own actions as she worked to rebuild herself. She had so much to prove - to the eyes watching and to her own. She'd been given a chance, one she didn't want to waste.
She could use duty and determination to keep the nagging voices at bay, ordering herself as strongly as the urges to go elsewhere were, and only occasionally did she find herself stilling and stalling, fighting a shudder that went from shoulders to feet as she forced herself to stay. Her hand went to the pouch on her belt, one which contained no weapon, no poison, no syringes or disks but instead a soft and rolled-up hood. She had made twin promises and only if she stayed would she be able to keep them.
She hadn't removed her helm, hadn't pulled off the mask she hid behind but she felt her own confusion without having to see it expressed in a mirror. She'd never truly been thanked for doing her job, even when (as the work of a bodyguard often did) it had ended in blood. Sith were not immune to threats against their life and their arcane defenses could fail them when a well-trained agent was sent. It was hard but she knew the ways to circumvent a force user's protections and take one down. It was hard but not impossible.
It was why they still had security teams, why they still needed competent ciphers and agents at their beck and call. She went in to every meeting expecting to need to use the multitudes of weapons she secreted on her person; every meeting or engagement where she didn't need to draw a vibro or rifle was one in an ever-growing list of times where duty had been pleasant.
She could claim no prescience that the Mandalorian had alarmed her, no scream of Force in the back of her mind alerting her to the imminent danger. There was been the narrowed focus - a flurry of bolts loosened in Sinclair's direction - and then there had been action. She would consider wearing heavier armor to the next engagement off the Rose but she preferred to move inside of her comfort levels. But that was a debate for another day, a discussion to have with herself weighing the quick movement and reaction times versus the heavier protections and plating.
The Aristocra had not complied with her request to lower himself to the ground behind her figure but unlike some of her protectees he was a man of action, a man of violence in his own right. She didn't expect his pride to allow him to hide behind someone, even someone who was there to protect him, for the sake of his own skin. At least she hadn't wasted the time to be angry about it, instead pushing aside the pain with rigid concentration and further focus and aiming back. Her shots had been true.
So had the rest of the party's. It was a brief exchange of fighting before the Mandalorian had been subdued. Seconds. Behind her mask her nostrils had flared, filtered air drawn in a quick breath. She hesitated on simply ending the threat, finger caressing the trigger that would put a bolt through the skull that had attacked but she stayed her hand, waiting for orders.
What had Okhirr said? He needed them as much as they needed him. Clearly he had a desire to flirt with danger and death still, as if it were his life. The glimpse into family - real family - had left her silent. It wasn't her place to intercede or interrupt between family as they argued, simply letting the droid tend her. There were implications in what had been exchanged that she didn't know. Implications that she needed to start to know, in order to be able to do her job. Ker realized the quick need to cleave to work was as much a coping mechanism as anything could be; she needed something to create the boundaries she could identify herself inside and outside of.
Okhirr had been... she hadn't wanted to pull off the helm she'd worn while standing behind the Aristocra. Anonymity had been a blessing, giving her a chance to observe and protect without worrying about being escorted to a cell by what she was constantly told were her own people. But it had been an order, however softly given, and she had removed the helm, turning and eyes blinking as she looked the once-wounded Chiss over. She had scrambled and struggled to find words, words to express how she felt for what she'd done.
A simple sorry had felt like it cheapened the pain she'd caused. But she'd meant her words however poorly they'd been delivered to Okhirr, meant the halting apology. And when he'd given her acceptance - cautious she hoped, but still real - and then forgiveness it had been a balm she had been certain she'd never get.
His words rang in her ears still, a reminder behind her own actions as she worked to rebuild herself. She had so much to prove - to the eyes watching and to her own. She'd been given a chance, one she didn't want to waste.
She could use duty and determination to keep the nagging voices at bay, ordering herself as strongly as the urges to go elsewhere were, and only occasionally did she find herself stilling and stalling, fighting a shudder that went from shoulders to feet as she forced herself to stay. Her hand went to the pouch on her belt, one which contained no weapon, no poison, no syringes or disks but instead a soft and rolled-up hood. She had made twin promises and only if she stayed would she be able to keep them.
Symphonis: Chess 1
Symphonis enjoyed playing with her toys. She enjoyed moving her chess pieces across the board, supplanting one with another in delicate games. She enjoyed watching them execute orders they were unaware of having ever been given, she enjoyed watching them move to her whims. She enjoyed the feeble struggles they made when conditioning inevitably cracked and broke down and before their recovery protocols - buried deep - took over. she enjoyed collecting them back up every few years to see what conditioning had lasted and what had broken down faster, what minds were more resilient and what ones needed to be hammered flat again.
She tended to enjoy the games their protectors played just as much. Just as she moved her pieces so to did the protective, discovering kinds. They brought her agents into their hearts and homes, past their security in vain and misguided attempts to liberate her creatures from her thrall.
One of those struggles had just begun.
She rarely worked with Chiss - they were hard to get, hard to keep and so often they went back home before any meaningful work could be gleaned from using them. But she'd managed one or two - or perhaps even more scattered across her holdings, she lost count - and one of her prizes had been discovered. She'd stripped everything from her pet Chiss Ker, from her name to her House to her family - everything gone. Chiss were resilient but even their vaunted training preparing them for Imperial service was nothing against a Sith's determination.
To build a willing tool one had to start from an appropriate beginning, breaking down and removing the imperfections which would later cause unwanted traits - insubordination, for one. Rebellion was quaint too but only if it stopped short of actual resistance. So like all of her tools the Chiss' mind was assaulted and her foundational memories altered and clouded until she was left with a mind as blank as one with language skills and those inherent memories could be. Then it was the laborious process of laying in intricate commands, catches and counters and blocks so that while her toy could struggle it would never be free. The Force gave her even further leeway to play, altering the mind to make her chosen operatives loyal, obedient to the point of death and wiring them for the skillsets she liked them to display.
That she built in protections in case one of them or their code phrases got away went without saying. And now it seemed one of them had gotten that free, if Ker's little stunt on Quesh was to be analyzed. Roak'erith'wyn had been a brilliant example of a perfectly molded assassin, the perfect spy, the perfect informant - she'd gone so far as to artificially limit her field effectiveness so that her actual skills were only slightly above that of a perfect Cipher. No need to hand her targets a tool that was suited well for what tasks it'd be assigned on, right?
Symphonis frowned delicately, snapping her fingers in silent command. At the signal one of her attendants eyes focused and they sat down, taking up position against her. They were human, a brilliant - if defiant - scientist. Now they were another of her tools, another of her pawns. And at the moment they were also her chess opponent.
It would substitute for playing against the Chiss she'd spoken to when her bid to recover Ker had failed. Her first bid. There would be others, and they would eventually succeed, or the Chiss agent herself would make them succeed, driven by routines that even now had to be whispering in her mind. She had meant to activate more but her opponent had moved quickly and as her toy had reported, had managed to compromise her programming keyword. He'd even gotten her sub-dermal audio implants removed in time, the whispered taunts as he'd destroyed them making the Sith smile.
Not rage. Raging at a foiled plan was for lesser Sith. No, she smiled and began the game anew.
She tended to enjoy the games their protectors played just as much. Just as she moved her pieces so to did the protective, discovering kinds. They brought her agents into their hearts and homes, past their security in vain and misguided attempts to liberate her creatures from her thrall.
One of those struggles had just begun.
She rarely worked with Chiss - they were hard to get, hard to keep and so often they went back home before any meaningful work could be gleaned from using them. But she'd managed one or two - or perhaps even more scattered across her holdings, she lost count - and one of her prizes had been discovered. She'd stripped everything from her pet Chiss Ker, from her name to her House to her family - everything gone. Chiss were resilient but even their vaunted training preparing them for Imperial service was nothing against a Sith's determination.
To build a willing tool one had to start from an appropriate beginning, breaking down and removing the imperfections which would later cause unwanted traits - insubordination, for one. Rebellion was quaint too but only if it stopped short of actual resistance. So like all of her tools the Chiss' mind was assaulted and her foundational memories altered and clouded until she was left with a mind as blank as one with language skills and those inherent memories could be. Then it was the laborious process of laying in intricate commands, catches and counters and blocks so that while her toy could struggle it would never be free. The Force gave her even further leeway to play, altering the mind to make her chosen operatives loyal, obedient to the point of death and wiring them for the skillsets she liked them to display.
That she built in protections in case one of them or their code phrases got away went without saying. And now it seemed one of them had gotten that free, if Ker's little stunt on Quesh was to be analyzed. Roak'erith'wyn had been a brilliant example of a perfectly molded assassin, the perfect spy, the perfect informant - she'd gone so far as to artificially limit her field effectiveness so that her actual skills were only slightly above that of a perfect Cipher. No need to hand her targets a tool that was suited well for what tasks it'd be assigned on, right?
Symphonis frowned delicately, snapping her fingers in silent command. At the signal one of her attendants eyes focused and they sat down, taking up position against her. They were human, a brilliant - if defiant - scientist. Now they were another of her tools, another of her pawns. And at the moment they were also her chess opponent.
It would substitute for playing against the Chiss she'd spoken to when her bid to recover Ker had failed. Her first bid. There would be others, and they would eventually succeed, or the Chiss agent herself would make them succeed, driven by routines that even now had to be whispering in her mind. She had meant to activate more but her opponent had moved quickly and as her toy had reported, had managed to compromise her programming keyword. He'd even gotten her sub-dermal audio implants removed in time, the whispered taunts as he'd destroyed them making the Sith smile.
Not rage. Raging at a foiled plan was for lesser Sith. No, she smiled and began the game anew.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Molari: Lands of Thedas
Brown hair pushed back from his face and green eyes settling on the
wilderness before him, the Jedi Knight shifted his lightsaber on his
belt and tapped his earpiece. "See, See are you getting this?" Static
met his query, the Knight puzzled as he checked his sensors.
Dead.
His communicator was next on his list, also dead. Molari began to sense a pattern.
Craning his neck up he walked back to the ship; the world he'd landed on had been thick with storms, hiding his descent into the atmosphere and a cut of engines had made the Knight's arrival nothing more than a flash and crack of lightning and thunder. Banging on his ship's ramp he waited for the mechanism to unlatch before stalking into the small shuttle craft. The lights flickered unsteadily on the ship as if something were draining its power, Molari quickly shutting down the engine and everything except a homing beacon to conserve his power. See had powered off with the ship leaving the Knight alone and without even a droid's company.
What world had he felt drawn to? His old master had told him to let the Force guide his actions but so far that'd earned him three scars, a singed-off braid, and now this.
Grabbing a spare saber he added it to his belt - he wasn't the greatest at double-bladed combat but better to be prepared. His supplies were going to run out soon but he stashed a few days of protein squares in a pouch at his waist, grabbing a robe to throw over his armor. He needed to find out what drew him to this world, what tugged at the Force around him until he'd thrown reason away to find this planet. A planet far off his star-charts, with no name.
He needed to find out what the world was and solve its mystery then get back to his work. His mission to Alderaan had been taken over by another Jedi so he had a few days - perhaps even a week - to solve the mystery.
"Easily enough time," he said to himself. At least See wasn't awake to question why he was speaking to thin air.
Boots hit the ground and he manually shoved the shuttle's door closed, latching and locking the ship up. A quick check of his wrist guard showed he could still navigate back to the ship, but without a map he'd be fairly lost. Pulling out a scanner droid he let the small device float a few moments before it moved ahead, a map transmitted to his communicator. But then the droid dropped and Molari sighed, running forward to pick it up. The shorting out droid was quickly folded back to its compact state, the man clipping it to his belt. It'd be his luck- his wrist map shut down.
"Force take technology," he muttered, shutting the device down. No archives access, no maps, no star charts... this world had something unusual going for it. A screech and roar filled the sky, a primal sound that made the Knight draw his saber, blade hissing as it ignited.
Dead.
His communicator was next on his list, also dead. Molari began to sense a pattern.
Craning his neck up he walked back to the ship; the world he'd landed on had been thick with storms, hiding his descent into the atmosphere and a cut of engines had made the Knight's arrival nothing more than a flash and crack of lightning and thunder. Banging on his ship's ramp he waited for the mechanism to unlatch before stalking into the small shuttle craft. The lights flickered unsteadily on the ship as if something were draining its power, Molari quickly shutting down the engine and everything except a homing beacon to conserve his power. See had powered off with the ship leaving the Knight alone and without even a droid's company.
What world had he felt drawn to? His old master had told him to let the Force guide his actions but so far that'd earned him three scars, a singed-off braid, and now this.
Grabbing a spare saber he added it to his belt - he wasn't the greatest at double-bladed combat but better to be prepared. His supplies were going to run out soon but he stashed a few days of protein squares in a pouch at his waist, grabbing a robe to throw over his armor. He needed to find out what drew him to this world, what tugged at the Force around him until he'd thrown reason away to find this planet. A planet far off his star-charts, with no name.
He needed to find out what the world was and solve its mystery then get back to his work. His mission to Alderaan had been taken over by another Jedi so he had a few days - perhaps even a week - to solve the mystery.
"Easily enough time," he said to himself. At least See wasn't awake to question why he was speaking to thin air.
Boots hit the ground and he manually shoved the shuttle's door closed, latching and locking the ship up. A quick check of his wrist guard showed he could still navigate back to the ship, but without a map he'd be fairly lost. Pulling out a scanner droid he let the small device float a few moments before it moved ahead, a map transmitted to his communicator. But then the droid dropped and Molari sighed, running forward to pick it up. The shorting out droid was quickly folded back to its compact state, the man clipping it to his belt. It'd be his luck- his wrist map shut down.
"Force take technology," he muttered, shutting the device down. No archives access, no maps, no star charts... this world had something unusual going for it. A screech and roar filled the sky, a primal sound that made the Knight draw his saber, blade hissing as it ignited.
Erith: Feeling Lost 3
If she had been used to defying orders more without paying the penalty
for that defiance perhaps she'd have told Sinclair more firmly to leave
her on Quesh. But he had turned out to be right. Defiance only could
go so far against innate authority though, the Chiss bowing her head to
the inevitable and ceasing her griping.
The insistence on company had been... needed. Once she'd set foot on the installation there;d been memories and echoes and she'd put a hand to the wall not just to touch it but to steady herself. Something had started to happen, rifle falling from numb fingers, feeling her knees hit the uneven ground without conscious decision to kneel, and sleep had beckoned. But a sharp voice had spoken and she'd found herself in a safe haven of sorts, awake later in the Rose's medical bay.
At the edge of her mind a voice still ate at her thoughts, whispering just past conscious hearing. It teased her with maddening requests, Ker finding her lips moving and half-uttering phrases that made no sense. Protocols and targets and the Chiss pulled her knees up, shivering in the medical shift; her mind seemed to stutter, trying to make up the differences in thought patterns of two disparate people. Her nerves were either quiet or screamed for action, long years of training keeping her still on the bed and feet firmly planted on the Csillan Rose.
Nearby she'd spotted another Chiss in the medical wing, Ker's eyes hollowing as she'd looked at Ohkirr's form. Guilt hedged her movements and instead of saying something she'd tried to leave. Because flight was easier than understanding her own actions, sometimes, though before she'd always had hunting or work to sink in to. But the medical doors had remained closed and she'd remained in place, biting back an apology she wanted to offer and ignoring the cold voice that kept whispering about being successful later.
---
She'd tried. Helm pulled off as she walked down the halls of the 'Rose, Ker tilted her head back, sweat-damp hair falling away from her hairs as she shook her head. She'd tried. She had meant every word she'd said to the Aristocra, that she believed he could succeed without sinking to the other Aristocra's level of sabotage. That he could succeed by being himself, his persona, his genial mask instead of the killer that she knew could have handled the situation with blood on his hands.
She tore off the blue and black armor feeling like a cheat. She'd known her duty - she knew how to sweep a room, how to stand protector. They were all tasks she had done - and more - for the Sith she worked for. But with the Sith she'd kept her thoughts to herself, unflinching no matter the topic or tasks given but with her own people... She'd known Aleris had been uncomfortable, the two had softly spoken while the council met. She could deduce why readily enough, given the topic and that Aleris had mentioned being called out. Mind control. Sith. She'd been helping the Chiss fend off inquisitive Intelligence sniffers using an I.C.E. breaker developed only for official Cipher usage and instead of staying she'd left.
Left her I.C.E. with a civilian unqualified and not cleared to use it. Left her appointed duty behind, leaving others to guard the Aristocra. Left the room's security in the hands of others, left her people behind without giving them a thought. She'd been selfish, letting her own thoughts and feelings overwhelm what she knew was her task.
She'd nearly left the Rose then, nearly gone back to Korriban's cold sands to await her fate. Nearly gone back to her Sith and their House, but no longer a House she could think of as her own, not after... he'd said he wanted her to think, to actually think. And something had snapped then, leaving her with a gaping hole in what she'd put devotion to and nothing new to set her loyalties towards. And then he'd asked where she wanted to be, feet and mind telling her it was Korriban's sands and winds. They were almost close enough to work- but it was hard to lie to someone when everything else was breaking and shattered in her hands and thoughts.
She'd been sitting on the floor of the Rose, tucked into a nook with the armor pressed against the sides, head in her hands. "It's time to go home." "Even for someone like me?" "Especially someone like you." "And if it doesn't work out, what then?" "It will." No platitudes. No soft words, just a firm conviction strong enough Ker was willing to put her trust in it. A tentative trust that extended beyond just the man himself but to the people he worked and fought beside, the people on the odd ship she was now aboard.
She still was thankful that no one had been actually around, security systems notwithstanding, to see her huddled in a corner of the armory with her arms pulled over her head shaking. She could have some dignity left.
---
It'd been no small feat to actually make it back to Korriban for the summons, the Chiss still keeping to her civvies look though her hair was pulled back sharply again, the sleep smudged away so it no longer clouded her eyes. Standing in the cool sands in light garb she'd felt a keen shiver of wanting home, hiding the tremble in her limbs with a shift of her feet. On the dais stood three Purebloods, red eyes taking their forms in. Darth N'Zzod, Darth Vukal, and Darth Sidhorn. The three main Darths in House Vukal. The three Sith who held her assignment, disposition in Imperial space in their hands.
Three Sith she no longer knew how she felt towards. But she knew better than to show the weakness and confusion around them, though she'd already shown her weaknesses to N'Zzod. On one level, she respected the predators the Purebloods were - on another she wanted to bare her teeth, strip them of the Force, and see how well they fared in the real world, one where they weren't gods. She buried that feeling down deep, knowing it'd be death.
She'd never thought it before. She'd never realized she could think that about a Sith, about any Sith, even if it was for a fleeting moment of fancy. She'd never realized she could be anything but loyal, and that realization kept most of her attention diverted until she realized the Sith were passing judgment. Judgment she wondered if they knew was.... secondary?
But then Darth Vukal had given his orders and they'd been not anything she'd expected - to return home. To get healed. To become whole. To be who and what she was supposed to be. A promise she gave to the Sith, even if for her the words carried multiple meanings. A second implicit promise to Darth N'Zzod, Ker flinching as the hood was thrown at her feet, the Chiss picking it up and carefully rolling it before adding it to her belt.
Standing there on the cold sands beneath the three Purebloods of the House she was given a release from her duties and told to return home. And then... return? Of her own volition?
Compassion from a Sith was disquieting. Compassion from three Sith was moreso. Her hands went to the belt, pulling out the rolled up hooded mask that Lady N'Zzod had tossed down to her; the Chiss ran an ungloved hand over the object, reflexively tapping the object and stroking the material. She felt... set free. A weight gone from her shoulders but at the same time perched on the edge of a world she no longer had set boundaries to obey. It was dangerous, this freedom, the concept scenting the very air; she didn't quite know what to do.
It was a freedom she still felt like shackles around her wrists, wondering the games that had been played. Lady N'Zzod wanted her to pass her greetings on to the Aristocra, Lord Vukal wanted her - but had only asked - for her to update him. Then here had been the lady Naomh... It had been a skillful game of defiance to tell the Sith 'no' in the most polite way possible.
Maybe she could start to define herself by... things she discovered she didn't want to do. Small little ways to build the picture of herself up into a whole person, one ruled only by her own mind, her own desires. Maybe then she'd know what it was like to be free.
The insistence on company had been... needed. Once she'd set foot on the installation there;d been memories and echoes and she'd put a hand to the wall not just to touch it but to steady herself. Something had started to happen, rifle falling from numb fingers, feeling her knees hit the uneven ground without conscious decision to kneel, and sleep had beckoned. But a sharp voice had spoken and she'd found herself in a safe haven of sorts, awake later in the Rose's medical bay.
At the edge of her mind a voice still ate at her thoughts, whispering just past conscious hearing. It teased her with maddening requests, Ker finding her lips moving and half-uttering phrases that made no sense. Protocols and targets and the Chiss pulled her knees up, shivering in the medical shift; her mind seemed to stutter, trying to make up the differences in thought patterns of two disparate people. Her nerves were either quiet or screamed for action, long years of training keeping her still on the bed and feet firmly planted on the Csillan Rose.
Nearby she'd spotted another Chiss in the medical wing, Ker's eyes hollowing as she'd looked at Ohkirr's form. Guilt hedged her movements and instead of saying something she'd tried to leave. Because flight was easier than understanding her own actions, sometimes, though before she'd always had hunting or work to sink in to. But the medical doors had remained closed and she'd remained in place, biting back an apology she wanted to offer and ignoring the cold voice that kept whispering about being successful later.
---
She'd tried. Helm pulled off as she walked down the halls of the 'Rose, Ker tilted her head back, sweat-damp hair falling away from her hairs as she shook her head. She'd tried. She had meant every word she'd said to the Aristocra, that she believed he could succeed without sinking to the other Aristocra's level of sabotage. That he could succeed by being himself, his persona, his genial mask instead of the killer that she knew could have handled the situation with blood on his hands.
She tore off the blue and black armor feeling like a cheat. She'd known her duty - she knew how to sweep a room, how to stand protector. They were all tasks she had done - and more - for the Sith she worked for. But with the Sith she'd kept her thoughts to herself, unflinching no matter the topic or tasks given but with her own people... She'd known Aleris had been uncomfortable, the two had softly spoken while the council met. She could deduce why readily enough, given the topic and that Aleris had mentioned being called out. Mind control. Sith. She'd been helping the Chiss fend off inquisitive Intelligence sniffers using an I.C.E. breaker developed only for official Cipher usage and instead of staying she'd left.
Left her I.C.E. with a civilian unqualified and not cleared to use it. Left her appointed duty behind, leaving others to guard the Aristocra. Left the room's security in the hands of others, left her people behind without giving them a thought. She'd been selfish, letting her own thoughts and feelings overwhelm what she knew was her task.
She'd nearly left the Rose then, nearly gone back to Korriban's cold sands to await her fate. Nearly gone back to her Sith and their House, but no longer a House she could think of as her own, not after... he'd said he wanted her to think, to actually think. And something had snapped then, leaving her with a gaping hole in what she'd put devotion to and nothing new to set her loyalties towards. And then he'd asked where she wanted to be, feet and mind telling her it was Korriban's sands and winds. They were almost close enough to work- but it was hard to lie to someone when everything else was breaking and shattered in her hands and thoughts.
She'd been sitting on the floor of the Rose, tucked into a nook with the armor pressed against the sides, head in her hands. "It's time to go home." "Even for someone like me?" "Especially someone like you." "And if it doesn't work out, what then?" "It will." No platitudes. No soft words, just a firm conviction strong enough Ker was willing to put her trust in it. A tentative trust that extended beyond just the man himself but to the people he worked and fought beside, the people on the odd ship she was now aboard.
She still was thankful that no one had been actually around, security systems notwithstanding, to see her huddled in a corner of the armory with her arms pulled over her head shaking. She could have some dignity left.
---
It'd been no small feat to actually make it back to Korriban for the summons, the Chiss still keeping to her civvies look though her hair was pulled back sharply again, the sleep smudged away so it no longer clouded her eyes. Standing in the cool sands in light garb she'd felt a keen shiver of wanting home, hiding the tremble in her limbs with a shift of her feet. On the dais stood three Purebloods, red eyes taking their forms in. Darth N'Zzod, Darth Vukal, and Darth Sidhorn. The three main Darths in House Vukal. The three Sith who held her assignment, disposition in Imperial space in their hands.
Three Sith she no longer knew how she felt towards. But she knew better than to show the weakness and confusion around them, though she'd already shown her weaknesses to N'Zzod. On one level, she respected the predators the Purebloods were - on another she wanted to bare her teeth, strip them of the Force, and see how well they fared in the real world, one where they weren't gods. She buried that feeling down deep, knowing it'd be death.
She'd never thought it before. She'd never realized she could think that about a Sith, about any Sith, even if it was for a fleeting moment of fancy. She'd never realized she could be anything but loyal, and that realization kept most of her attention diverted until she realized the Sith were passing judgment. Judgment she wondered if they knew was.... secondary?
But then Darth Vukal had given his orders and they'd been not anything she'd expected - to return home. To get healed. To become whole. To be who and what she was supposed to be. A promise she gave to the Sith, even if for her the words carried multiple meanings. A second implicit promise to Darth N'Zzod, Ker flinching as the hood was thrown at her feet, the Chiss picking it up and carefully rolling it before adding it to her belt.
Standing there on the cold sands beneath the three Purebloods of the House she was given a release from her duties and told to return home. And then... return? Of her own volition?
Compassion from a Sith was disquieting. Compassion from three Sith was moreso. Her hands went to the belt, pulling out the rolled up hooded mask that Lady N'Zzod had tossed down to her; the Chiss ran an ungloved hand over the object, reflexively tapping the object and stroking the material. She felt... set free. A weight gone from her shoulders but at the same time perched on the edge of a world she no longer had set boundaries to obey. It was dangerous, this freedom, the concept scenting the very air; she didn't quite know what to do.
It was a freedom she still felt like shackles around her wrists, wondering the games that had been played. Lady N'Zzod wanted her to pass her greetings on to the Aristocra, Lord Vukal wanted her - but had only asked - for her to update him. Then here had been the lady Naomh... It had been a skillful game of defiance to tell the Sith 'no' in the most polite way possible.
Maybe she could start to define herself by... things she discovered she didn't want to do. Small little ways to build the picture of herself up into a whole person, one ruled only by her own mind, her own desires. Maybe then she'd know what it was like to be free.
Thialithra: Eccentricities of a Sith 2
Circumstantial insanity or not, the crazy Miralukan was an Alchemist
which was no mean feat. It just likely indicated she was pants about
it. Maybe Zilti was right though and removing her from the places she
acted the most insane would stabilize her. It was worth a shot if it
netted a decent Alchemist from the deal, right? That's what she kept
telling herself at least.
Maybe she'd turn out to be less pants-on-head than she was currently coming off as.
Thia relaxed in her seat, taking off the massive shoulders their little group tended to favor. The outfits were lovely and they'd all managed to not clash in their chosen colors (which was good as the large Massassi would likely pull rank on them and make it a tiny bit orderly if it'd offended his sensibilities) but really, large shoulders. They tended to get heavy after a while.
At least she'd picked out sensible gloves.
It was too bad the logical approach wouldn't work given the Miralukan's equally crazy allies. They apparently tended to come out of the wood-work like roaches and then protect and help. Like allies tended to. But it'd certainly be a coup if Zilti's tricks netted them to goal of driving a wedge between allies and made them fractured in their responses.
With the Miralukan problem at least being handled somewhat it was time for Thia to turn her attentions to her own work. With Arkatorn's implicit permission, she and Zilti could work together to find the mystical mcguffin from House Artanis; she wasn't even sure it existed but stories were most of what she worked from anyways.
Of course once she found it there was the whole issue of telling her client about it or keeping it for their work.
Or maybe... She grinned maliciously. Maybe she could have Zilti worm his way into House J'yk - Artanis' current largest rival - and plant the mcguffin there. It would, of course, spark a House war and pit the two power bases against one another. It might even lead to a Kaggath. She wondered if the two houses would go so far.
If one of them refused...
Why it'd be perfect. Maybe Zilti would help her after all, the trickster did seem to love his games. And this could be a grand one.
Maybe she'd turn out to be less pants-on-head than she was currently coming off as.
Thia relaxed in her seat, taking off the massive shoulders their little group tended to favor. The outfits were lovely and they'd all managed to not clash in their chosen colors (which was good as the large Massassi would likely pull rank on them and make it a tiny bit orderly if it'd offended his sensibilities) but really, large shoulders. They tended to get heavy after a while.
At least she'd picked out sensible gloves.
It was too bad the logical approach wouldn't work given the Miralukan's equally crazy allies. They apparently tended to come out of the wood-work like roaches and then protect and help. Like allies tended to. But it'd certainly be a coup if Zilti's tricks netted them to goal of driving a wedge between allies and made them fractured in their responses.
With the Miralukan problem at least being handled somewhat it was time for Thia to turn her attentions to her own work. With Arkatorn's implicit permission, she and Zilti could work together to find the mystical mcguffin from House Artanis; she wasn't even sure it existed but stories were most of what she worked from anyways.
Of course once she found it there was the whole issue of telling her client about it or keeping it for their work.
Or maybe... She grinned maliciously. Maybe she could have Zilti worm his way into House J'yk - Artanis' current largest rival - and plant the mcguffin there. It would, of course, spark a House war and pit the two power bases against one another. It might even lead to a Kaggath. She wondered if the two houses would go so far.
If one of them refused...
Why it'd be perfect. Maybe Zilti would help her after all, the trickster did seem to love his games. And this could be a grand one.
Thialithra: Eccentricities of a Sith 1
Thia rubbed her fingers together as if snapping them, a spark igniting
around the digits. Fire and flames floated over her skin - an
impressive parlor trick, to be certain, but nothing really noteworthy.
The gesture itself was unnecessary but served the purpose of visually
cluing in to what, exactly the woman was doing.
Rolling back the cuffs of her jacket she sighed, letting the fire dissipate. She really should find herself an apprentice or two so she had someone to order to find her research 'plas and tablets but that was too much of a risk. Better to stick to her own two hands and feet than have some up-and-coming uppity little snot decide to take her out in her prime or while studying simply because she hadn't given them that extra slice of chocolate cake on their naming day. Apprentices were like roaches, to - never loyal, always underfoot, and they came out of the woodwork the moment you sneezed as if your death would somehow reward them with titles, land, power, and authority. If it did, the woman thought with a sniff, you had ordered your people incorrectly.
Don't reward treachery, punish it. Or just avoid it altogether, as she had, by being a self-sufficient and eccentric little Sith. No one seemed to really want to off her because she was quite willing to part with her secrets because she researched them for others. Want a new way to flay your Apprentice's mind open? Ask Thialithra to find it. Want a new combat skill to boil blood? Ask Thia- well it was pretty obvious. You paid her to do your research and wowed the more impressive and illustrious Sith with new 'arcane studies that came to me in my sleep' as one client had put it.
Discretion about where they got their parlor tricks was also part of the bargain.
But the best skills, oh those she studied and meticulously documented for herself. Some she relegated to the sad pile of 'outside her skills' such as the exceptionally intricate Alchemy she had stumbled on while looking for another way to 'heal' for a client. Some she incorporated into her own style of fighting. Some she passed on to allies. And then some - as the flame trick she was repeatedly demonstrating to the manka on the mantle place - she just kept around.
Rolling back the cuffs of her jacket she sighed, letting the fire dissipate. She really should find herself an apprentice or two so she had someone to order to find her research 'plas and tablets but that was too much of a risk. Better to stick to her own two hands and feet than have some up-and-coming uppity little snot decide to take her out in her prime or while studying simply because she hadn't given them that extra slice of chocolate cake on their naming day. Apprentices were like roaches, to - never loyal, always underfoot, and they came out of the woodwork the moment you sneezed as if your death would somehow reward them with titles, land, power, and authority. If it did, the woman thought with a sniff, you had ordered your people incorrectly.
Don't reward treachery, punish it. Or just avoid it altogether, as she had, by being a self-sufficient and eccentric little Sith. No one seemed to really want to off her because she was quite willing to part with her secrets because she researched them for others. Want a new way to flay your Apprentice's mind open? Ask Thialithra to find it. Want a new combat skill to boil blood? Ask Thia- well it was pretty obvious. You paid her to do your research and wowed the more impressive and illustrious Sith with new 'arcane studies that came to me in my sleep' as one client had put it.
Discretion about where they got their parlor tricks was also part of the bargain.
But the best skills, oh those she studied and meticulously documented for herself. Some she relegated to the sad pile of 'outside her skills' such as the exceptionally intricate Alchemy she had stumbled on while looking for another way to 'heal' for a client. Some she incorporated into her own style of fighting. Some she passed on to allies. And then some - as the flame trick she was repeatedly demonstrating to the manka on the mantle place - she just kept around.
Erith - Feeling Lost 2
The urge to go to Quesh mounted inside the Cipher's mind, a drive that
was starting to eat at her thoughts with unreasonable urgency. She
closed one hand into a fist, pulling the tangled sheets off and sitting
up.
Quesh. The scent produced by Darth N'Zzod had awoken the feeling more deeply, the acrid bog wet and hot and tugging at memories that didn't seem to exist. Something had happened on Quesh, something she couldn't remember under commands and protocols and controls and blocks. Something that instilled a drive to investigate the planet and find the white-washed walls she vaguely recalled from her dreams. The echo of footfalls made her roll over and off the bed she'd found her way towards after her adventures in drinking, the motion making the Cipher put a hand to her forehead. A slight headache but better than she'd expected for her first exposure to hard liquor. Humans ended up with blistering headaches (observations had led to that conclusion at least) so perhaps there was something to be said for a higher metabolism.
Maybe if she drank enough the desire to leave the Estate while she awaited orders would fade. Maybe if she drank more she could forget the sight of Ohkirr bleeding. Maybe she could forget the conflicting feelings of why. Two voices snapped commands in her thoughts, the Agent stilling and eyes losing their focus for a brief moment.
Warn; take out his best. Threats must be removed with alacrity. Targets-... She blinked, regaining the focus as whatever had passed through her mind was suppressed. Somehow in addition to Sinclair Ohkirr had become a threat, crystallized with that subconscious command. Ker slowly stood up, walking silently over to the mirror in her quarters and putting a hand on the wall beside it.
A warning to them both? It felt like something in her wanted them to stay away now, now that there was a dangerous crack. She still remembered the defiance and utter defeat that waking up from the command had left her with, how locking her knees had done nothing to prevent one order from making her rise. She couldn't remember what exactly had gone on while she'd been under control of the word but she could clearly remember the order to wake up. Everything else was a half-heard blur. She just knew she was acting under direction now, doing and thinking in ways she never had before - was that a result of meddling or was it because she was aware for the first time?
She started to move away when a voice whispered in her ear from a comms unit she had forgotten to remove or shut off. At the voice - unfamiliar and yet something was familiar about it - the Agent froze.
"Somnulant." There was a short pause. "Report compromise levels." The voice spoke with authority and confidence, and a hint of anger.
"Command phrase discovered. Alternate commands implanted in Cipher Forty-two and being acted upon. Erosion of beliefs in progress. Emotionally compromised. Secondary defense and recovery commands are being acted upon to rectify." The Agent stood rigidly, red eyes glazed, hands pulled behind her back and taking a step away from the wall.
"Program effectiveness?" Calm, cool now.
"Sufficient. If further erosion occurs levels of program will begin to be compromised as well."
"Program, recommendation report." Renewed heat.
"Recommendations as follows: reinforcement of Symphonis commands. Reprogramming. Removal of secondary authorized user, removal of secondary user's commands. Additional commands required: avoidance of Ascendancy and Chiss. Termination of the following threats to stability of Agent: Chiss, Sinclair; Chiss, Ohkirr. Termination of Chiss Ohkirr attempted, recommend second attempt."
"Reinstate defense protocols. Return for treatment. Surrender to Quesh facility for transport to primary location. Shutdown at Quesh for pick-up." Determination, command.
"Affirmed. Quesh priority increased. Once facility has been reached Agent will shut down for recovery."
"Wake up." Finality.
Ker blinked twice, distractedly pulling the comms unit off her ear. Wake up echoed as if she'd just heard it again, eyes narrowing as she looked at the device now in her hand. It felt like she was missing something again, eyes swiveling around the room as she wondered when she'd moved away from the wall.
Why she'd moved.
Staring down at her hand she tried to dial back into the unit, heading over to one of her desks and hooking the unit up; fingers moved over the keyboard until she lost focus, finding herself staring at a blank screen. The cursor moved and she tried to remember why she'd sat down in the first place; a shift command pulled up the last thing she'd typed at the terminal and Ker wondered why she felt she'd needed to blank the comm unit's history. It was standard procedure, of course, but she didn't remember taking a call she needed to follow erasure procedures for.
Wake up. Something had happened just now, Ker leaving her chair to stare at the mirror again taking in the paler skin, the disheveled hair, the nearly civilian look. Putting a hand against the cool glass she stared, wondering what she was looking for. Some sign? Some indication? She wanted answers and wondered where she could realistically get them from.
Picking up the nearest cloth she wiped her hand print from the glass, erasing every trace of the touch. It felt like she was erasing herself and wondered if that was the point and the only recourse.
"I promise, you'll be free." If she were a betting woman she'd lay odds against that ever happening. She was waiting here still instead of taking the open invitation to leave. What kept her feet on the grounds of Korriban but loyalty? Loyalty to the Sith, loyalty to the Empire... but Sinclair had been right, hadn't he?
Ohkirr's words hung in her thoughts again but something shifted at their repetition. Defensive protocols-... She stood in silence until a minute had passed and the feeling of something forgotten once again ate at her mind.
Quesh. The scent produced by Darth N'Zzod had awoken the feeling more deeply, the acrid bog wet and hot and tugging at memories that didn't seem to exist. Something had happened on Quesh, something she couldn't remember under commands and protocols and controls and blocks. Something that instilled a drive to investigate the planet and find the white-washed walls she vaguely recalled from her dreams. The echo of footfalls made her roll over and off the bed she'd found her way towards after her adventures in drinking, the motion making the Cipher put a hand to her forehead. A slight headache but better than she'd expected for her first exposure to hard liquor. Humans ended up with blistering headaches (observations had led to that conclusion at least) so perhaps there was something to be said for a higher metabolism.
Maybe if she drank enough the desire to leave the Estate while she awaited orders would fade. Maybe if she drank more she could forget the sight of Ohkirr bleeding. Maybe she could forget the conflicting feelings of why. Two voices snapped commands in her thoughts, the Agent stilling and eyes losing their focus for a brief moment.
Warn; take out his best. Threats must be removed with alacrity. Targets-... She blinked, regaining the focus as whatever had passed through her mind was suppressed. Somehow in addition to Sinclair Ohkirr had become a threat, crystallized with that subconscious command. Ker slowly stood up, walking silently over to the mirror in her quarters and putting a hand on the wall beside it.
A warning to them both? It felt like something in her wanted them to stay away now, now that there was a dangerous crack. She still remembered the defiance and utter defeat that waking up from the command had left her with, how locking her knees had done nothing to prevent one order from making her rise. She couldn't remember what exactly had gone on while she'd been under control of the word but she could clearly remember the order to wake up. Everything else was a half-heard blur. She just knew she was acting under direction now, doing and thinking in ways she never had before - was that a result of meddling or was it because she was aware for the first time?
She started to move away when a voice whispered in her ear from a comms unit she had forgotten to remove or shut off. At the voice - unfamiliar and yet something was familiar about it - the Agent froze.
"Somnulant." There was a short pause. "Report compromise levels." The voice spoke with authority and confidence, and a hint of anger.
"Command phrase discovered. Alternate commands implanted in Cipher Forty-two and being acted upon. Erosion of beliefs in progress. Emotionally compromised. Secondary defense and recovery commands are being acted upon to rectify." The Agent stood rigidly, red eyes glazed, hands pulled behind her back and taking a step away from the wall.
"Program effectiveness?" Calm, cool now.
"Sufficient. If further erosion occurs levels of program will begin to be compromised as well."
"Program, recommendation report." Renewed heat.
"Recommendations as follows: reinforcement of Symphonis commands. Reprogramming. Removal of secondary authorized user, removal of secondary user's commands. Additional commands required: avoidance of Ascendancy and Chiss. Termination of the following threats to stability of Agent: Chiss, Sinclair; Chiss, Ohkirr. Termination of Chiss Ohkirr attempted, recommend second attempt."
"Reinstate defense protocols. Return for treatment. Surrender to Quesh facility for transport to primary location. Shutdown at Quesh for pick-up." Determination, command.
"Affirmed. Quesh priority increased. Once facility has been reached Agent will shut down for recovery."
"Wake up." Finality.
Ker blinked twice, distractedly pulling the comms unit off her ear. Wake up echoed as if she'd just heard it again, eyes narrowing as she looked at the device now in her hand. It felt like she was missing something again, eyes swiveling around the room as she wondered when she'd moved away from the wall.
Why she'd moved.
Staring down at her hand she tried to dial back into the unit, heading over to one of her desks and hooking the unit up; fingers moved over the keyboard until she lost focus, finding herself staring at a blank screen. The cursor moved and she tried to remember why she'd sat down in the first place; a shift command pulled up the last thing she'd typed at the terminal and Ker wondered why she felt she'd needed to blank the comm unit's history. It was standard procedure, of course, but she didn't remember taking a call she needed to follow erasure procedures for.
Wake up. Something had happened just now, Ker leaving her chair to stare at the mirror again taking in the paler skin, the disheveled hair, the nearly civilian look. Putting a hand against the cool glass she stared, wondering what she was looking for. Some sign? Some indication? She wanted answers and wondered where she could realistically get them from.
Picking up the nearest cloth she wiped her hand print from the glass, erasing every trace of the touch. It felt like she was erasing herself and wondered if that was the point and the only recourse.
"I promise, you'll be free." If she were a betting woman she'd lay odds against that ever happening. She was waiting here still instead of taking the open invitation to leave. What kept her feet on the grounds of Korriban but loyalty? Loyalty to the Sith, loyalty to the Empire... but Sinclair had been right, hadn't he?
Ohkirr's words hung in her thoughts again but something shifted at their repetition. Defensive protocols-... She stood in silence until a minute had passed and the feeling of something forgotten once again ate at her mind.
Erith - Feeling Lost
She'd aimed her rifle back at the arrived party of Chiss twice. Once at
Ohkirr - whom she'd shot, a clean and frightfully accurate wound that
would have killed someone without the protective armor she knew he was
wearing. Once at Sinclair, picking his voice out of the din in the
middle of the attack. She'd picked out others in the party that had
come at their back - Ark, the once head of the Dark Blade Cartel. Jack,
who'd taken a shot at her. Lykaios, sabers dodged. The party the had
been attacking had been largely unknown but their backup arrivals had
been...
Known.
Kerith lifted the glass of dark liquid, considering it with narrowed eyes.
Come home. She'd shot Specialist as he was called, aimed clean and true for a kill in a blinded moment of - what? Cold and calculating fury. Because he'd told her to wake up. That he wanted her to. And it had simmered in her mind with every other little fracture, every other near-order. Every chaotic voice clamoring in her thoughts when she tried to still them.
He was worried for you. It sounded too unrealistic. She had shot him and aimed to kill in that moment, knowing the exact point of weakness to exploit, to take out one of Sinclair's best men. Delicately she lifted the glass, sniffing it.
Drinking was, according to what she had seen, a common way to drown sorrows. She had no hobbies to sink herself in to for distraction, no way to explain to Kobus that she could put into rational words, nothing she could confide that wouldn't risk getting back to one of the Sith she swore to.
Part of her still saw the Aristocra as a threat though the voice was wavering in its convictions. But her loyalty to the House had not diminished and she could, when examined clinically, see why the voice at the back of her thoughts cried out against obeying his orders. And yet she knew Sinclair's authority superseded any other except another Arisocra's especially in Imperial space. Now she knew, at least. The short study-guide of the Ascendancy had given her more insight than her own memories had. She had wanted to keep her neck unbent....
But she also knew she should obey. Ker lifted the glass, taking a sip and coughing as the burn slicked the back of her throat, glass hitting the table with a loud thud while she drew in breath. The smoky flavor was a stark contrast to any other drink she had indulged in before, the times she had drunk being occasions she could count on a single hand.
This certainly warranted adding another notch to her indulgences post.
"The Aristocra wants you to wake up. I want you ... to wake up. And I know that it is terrifying. It is painful. Confusing. But it is worth it." The Specialist's voice had been full of ... something. A shared pain, a level of understanding that Kerith had been unprepared for. Sinclair - Raes? - had confirmed the his comment about Ohkirr's similar past had not been in error.
She set the now-empty glass down, reaching for the bottle and filling it again. A Cipher should never let her senses become dulled by drink or drugs, never let herself be distracted from her work. She had... she had nothing. She had been demoted, relieved of her duties when remanded to Darth N'Zzod's mercies. She still awaited the outcome of their 'discussion', keeping her comms unit off while she stayed put.
Raes. She didn't know whether to continue to address him by title, by diminutive for a shot at keeping distance, or if the explicitly given permission meant he expected her to call him by name. As he called her by her name, and had with impunity. Ker wondered if he'd stop if she asked. But if home was with her people then Sinclair was the driving voice behind her admitted desire to go home, something she'd voice to the lady Darth, and that migh tmake him part of that home.
In her confusion Ker drank. She drank to hide and forget the blackness and the thud of her heart, she drank to forget the way Ohkirr had bled from her rifle's unerringly accurate shot. She drank because she wanted and yet dreaded the concept of home. She drank until the bottle was empty and the Cipher was curled up on herself, a little blue shivering speck on the red and black and durasteel of the Estate.
Known.
Kerith lifted the glass of dark liquid, considering it with narrowed eyes.
Come home. She'd shot Specialist as he was called, aimed clean and true for a kill in a blinded moment of - what? Cold and calculating fury. Because he'd told her to wake up. That he wanted her to. And it had simmered in her mind with every other little fracture, every other near-order. Every chaotic voice clamoring in her thoughts when she tried to still them.
He was worried for you. It sounded too unrealistic. She had shot him and aimed to kill in that moment, knowing the exact point of weakness to exploit, to take out one of Sinclair's best men. Delicately she lifted the glass, sniffing it.
Drinking was, according to what she had seen, a common way to drown sorrows. She had no hobbies to sink herself in to for distraction, no way to explain to Kobus that she could put into rational words, nothing she could confide that wouldn't risk getting back to one of the Sith she swore to.
Part of her still saw the Aristocra as a threat though the voice was wavering in its convictions. But her loyalty to the House had not diminished and she could, when examined clinically, see why the voice at the back of her thoughts cried out against obeying his orders. And yet she knew Sinclair's authority superseded any other except another Arisocra's especially in Imperial space. Now she knew, at least. The short study-guide of the Ascendancy had given her more insight than her own memories had. She had wanted to keep her neck unbent....
But she also knew she should obey. Ker lifted the glass, taking a sip and coughing as the burn slicked the back of her throat, glass hitting the table with a loud thud while she drew in breath. The smoky flavor was a stark contrast to any other drink she had indulged in before, the times she had drunk being occasions she could count on a single hand.
This certainly warranted adding another notch to her indulgences post.
"The Aristocra wants you to wake up. I want you ... to wake up. And I know that it is terrifying. It is painful. Confusing. But it is worth it." The Specialist's voice had been full of ... something. A shared pain, a level of understanding that Kerith had been unprepared for. Sinclair - Raes? - had confirmed the his comment about Ohkirr's similar past had not been in error.
She set the now-empty glass down, reaching for the bottle and filling it again. A Cipher should never let her senses become dulled by drink or drugs, never let herself be distracted from her work. She had... she had nothing. She had been demoted, relieved of her duties when remanded to Darth N'Zzod's mercies. She still awaited the outcome of their 'discussion', keeping her comms unit off while she stayed put.
Raes. She didn't know whether to continue to address him by title, by diminutive for a shot at keeping distance, or if the explicitly given permission meant he expected her to call him by name. As he called her by her name, and had with impunity. Ker wondered if he'd stop if she asked. But if home was with her people then Sinclair was the driving voice behind her admitted desire to go home, something she'd voice to the lady Darth, and that migh tmake him part of that home.
In her confusion Ker drank. She drank to hide and forget the blackness and the thud of her heart, she drank to forget the way Ohkirr had bled from her rifle's unerringly accurate shot. She drank because she wanted and yet dreaded the concept of home. She drank until the bottle was empty and the Cipher was curled up on herself, a little blue shivering speck on the red and black and durasteel of the Estate.
Kartri: Paths to Power 2
House Jayd'sun was looking for their daughter - a direct daughter of
their blood, not an adopted one - to bring them honor. Kartri had a
hard time feeling like she was working towards the power and glory of a
Sith when her ears still burned with shame at the chiding from her
master. She knew her spotty training had left her with gaping holes in a
normal Sith's background but she hadn't gotten the full depth of her
inadequacy until he had taken her to the tomb of Ajunta Pall who she
couldn't even name or discuss.
Something so basic she had failed at. Resolve burned like fire in her gut though, fury at herself transmuting to determination. To do better and show her worth. Her actions at the taking of the estate had been - she felt now - at best something holding her from dismissal. And given that Krassk was alive still, she rather fancied continuing to learn. Or she would never be what she knew, deep down, she was.
Sith. Real and true, with none of the attachments of her House's previous now-dead Sith apprentices to stop her. She could forge her new path here and now if she just buckled down and studied. Her quarters were filled with flimsiplas and datapads now, pulling information from the great libraries until she had as complete a history of the Sith to study as could be managed. Some of it was almost... her brows went up. Confusing and full of intrigue. The lives of the great Sith lords read like the ballads of a dying world or a great holo-soap.
She resolved to never, ever, ever mention that impression to anyone.
Picking up a piece of meat from Joe's bucket of meat she nibbled as she started to read. She could read and study tactics until her eyes bled but history was either interesting and made her sit down for hours at a time, or it was dry as the sands of Korriban and she was bored to tears. But this was not only intriguing but was vital to learn, if the important on history that her master had evinced was anything to go by.
Between bites she tapped the display screen and began to read, a more complete picture of the Exiles forming in her mind the longer she studied. The rumors of the great powers the Exiles had intrigued her - was alchemy a study that she might try an active hand at instead of merely reading pamphlets? - and the brutal way they had risen to the top of the Sith's hierarchy was nothing short of brilliant. She could well imagine where some of the disdain Sith had for humans came from now, feeling mental gaps of knowledge start to knit to a better understanding. She just hoped she didn't need to turn in an essay when she was next quizzed.
Kartri hoped to be less of a disappointment the next time her master tested her knowledge. As her attention started to wander she ruthlessly swung it back, flipping to the next great chronological Sith she could find, her cybernetics helping her take notes in her books. If she was given a quiz she wanted to pass it this time.
Something so basic she had failed at. Resolve burned like fire in her gut though, fury at herself transmuting to determination. To do better and show her worth. Her actions at the taking of the estate had been - she felt now - at best something holding her from dismissal. And given that Krassk was alive still, she rather fancied continuing to learn. Or she would never be what she knew, deep down, she was.
Sith. Real and true, with none of the attachments of her House's previous now-dead Sith apprentices to stop her. She could forge her new path here and now if she just buckled down and studied. Her quarters were filled with flimsiplas and datapads now, pulling information from the great libraries until she had as complete a history of the Sith to study as could be managed. Some of it was almost... her brows went up. Confusing and full of intrigue. The lives of the great Sith lords read like the ballads of a dying world or a great holo-soap.
She resolved to never, ever, ever mention that impression to anyone.
Picking up a piece of meat from Joe's bucket of meat she nibbled as she started to read. She could read and study tactics until her eyes bled but history was either interesting and made her sit down for hours at a time, or it was dry as the sands of Korriban and she was bored to tears. But this was not only intriguing but was vital to learn, if the important on history that her master had evinced was anything to go by.
Between bites she tapped the display screen and began to read, a more complete picture of the Exiles forming in her mind the longer she studied. The rumors of the great powers the Exiles had intrigued her - was alchemy a study that she might try an active hand at instead of merely reading pamphlets? - and the brutal way they had risen to the top of the Sith's hierarchy was nothing short of brilliant. She could well imagine where some of the disdain Sith had for humans came from now, feeling mental gaps of knowledge start to knit to a better understanding. She just hoped she didn't need to turn in an essay when she was next quizzed.
Kartri hoped to be less of a disappointment the next time her master tested her knowledge. As her attention started to wander she ruthlessly swung it back, flipping to the next great chronological Sith she could find, her cybernetics helping her take notes in her books. If she was given a quiz she wanted to pass it this time.
Kartri: Paths to Power 1
Kartri Jayd'sun had learned many things since leaving the Korriban
Academy covered in honors, a saber presented to her by the first of her
Lords. When she'd left the champion of her trials, hand swollen from
punching an Iridonian out for interfering in an interrogation, she was
certain she was on the path to power, prestige, and authority. She was
very quick to learn the galaxy did not quite yet know how to handle her
power and position and presence, but it had been a good way to learn new
lessons.
The current Acolyte (or Apprentice when asked, though she'd managed to remain largely un-asked-after for months) laid many of the most valuable lessons learned at the feet of her now deceased Lords. The rest of the most valuable lessons were ones she got due to a on-going mail issue.
Katrai was close enough to Kartri that she still got the former's Alchemy Weekly. A small collection of pets too (which were... given away. Or used when she decided to dabble in alchemy, following the digest's suggestions for a primer on the self-study), the bloodied bricks, the copious six-packs of beer delivered with notes "please, SOMETHING BETTER next time-" and coupons for Joe SpaceHutt's Bucket of Bits. The mail was dwindling though, which made the Sith think that Katrai had finally been killed by her insane former master. Or the Hutt she'd been stolen from. Or the Jedi the waif had been spending time talking to.
She should feel bad about that- but she was Sith. She had ... a few resources from the mailings, at least, and used what information she could glean to improve her odds and luck. And the coupons kept the fridge stocked.
At some point she was fairly certain someone would figure out that she'd been Apprenticed to five Lords and Darths now, and buried five Lords and Darths. The last time she'd been asked where her Lord was, the Sith had cheekily replied 'oh, less than twenty feet away, my Lord' at the graveyard.
It hadn't clicked with the Sith who had seemed bemused, uttered something about a wise master was one seen by no one who might use it for gain, and then wandered off.
The last time she'd tried to sound out a prospective Lord to kill for an Apprenticeship under they had asked her what she had learned as Sith. He had been less than amused when her first reply was "Do not monologue" and hadn't given her much of a chance past that.
The human folded her arms, cybernetic implant adjusting as she scanned faces nearby and watched for a familiar face to avoid.
Her time would come. And she'd finally live up to the potential and promise she had, that she knew was there. Her hand grasped her saber and she powered it on, a quick shout before she attacked the practice dummy, focusing on the Force, the twist of combat and ending as the droid was dismembered.
The current Acolyte (or Apprentice when asked, though she'd managed to remain largely un-asked-after for months) laid many of the most valuable lessons learned at the feet of her now deceased Lords. The rest of the most valuable lessons were ones she got due to a on-going mail issue.
Katrai was close enough to Kartri that she still got the former's Alchemy Weekly. A small collection of pets too (which were... given away. Or used when she decided to dabble in alchemy, following the digest's suggestions for a primer on the self-study), the bloodied bricks, the copious six-packs of beer delivered with notes "please, SOMETHING BETTER next time-" and coupons for Joe SpaceHutt's Bucket of Bits. The mail was dwindling though, which made the Sith think that Katrai had finally been killed by her insane former master. Or the Hutt she'd been stolen from. Or the Jedi the waif had been spending time talking to.
She should feel bad about that- but she was Sith. She had ... a few resources from the mailings, at least, and used what information she could glean to improve her odds and luck. And the coupons kept the fridge stocked.
At some point she was fairly certain someone would figure out that she'd been Apprenticed to five Lords and Darths now, and buried five Lords and Darths. The last time she'd been asked where her Lord was, the Sith had cheekily replied 'oh, less than twenty feet away, my Lord' at the graveyard.
It hadn't clicked with the Sith who had seemed bemused, uttered something about a wise master was one seen by no one who might use it for gain, and then wandered off.
The last time she'd tried to sound out a prospective Lord to kill for an Apprenticeship under they had asked her what she had learned as Sith. He had been less than amused when her first reply was "Do not monologue" and hadn't given her much of a chance past that.
The human folded her arms, cybernetic implant adjusting as she scanned faces nearby and watched for a familiar face to avoid.
Her time would come. And she'd finally live up to the potential and promise she had, that she knew was there. Her hand grasped her saber and she powered it on, a quick shout before she attacked the practice dummy, focusing on the Force, the twist of combat and ending as the droid was dismembered.
Erith: Games and Faces 1
Kerith stood slowly, pulling her armor and chestplate off from the shirt
underneath; carefully she removed the next part of her armor, setting
aside the knives, darts, garrote - she might have surrendered her
technology and offered to surrender her blaster but they seemed
incapable of comprehending a threat.
Or perhaps they had and she'd missed some communication, they had certainly kept her under some measure of watch. She suspected her bluff had been bought though - the Aristocra knew some of the game she had put herself in position to play but even he did not know the depths of... devotion? As long as the project served the goals she had been trained to protect, she saw no reason to not help.
Red eyes narrowed to slits as she carefully pulled the tie holding her hair back, letting it fall freely.
The conversation and demonstration from the Aristocra had left her...
Unsettled was the best word.
She hadn't known such a basic movement, one he claimed she should have known the counter for. The sting against the side of her neck was more a bruise on her pride than a real bruise on skin, the Chiss rubbing the location the jab had gotten through her defenses, feeling it as keen as Kobus felt her correctional jabs when she had taught him some of knife fighting.
The pity in his eyes, in all of their eyes, had begun to grow uncomfortable, sitting at-odds with the way Kerith knew the world was ordered. The insistence that she would have a place aboard the Csillan Rose later, that she would desire such a thing was enough to make the Chiss pause; pity and an open offer of help were strange bedfellows in her world, ones not commonly seen.
She finally picked the tie for her hair back up, swiftly pulling the strands sharply back into a ponytail again, tightly tugging it all back into place. She'd settle her mind kinetically since letting it run in circles was not doing her any good; she reached out, picking up one of the many daggers from her pile of divested weaponry and heading towards the practice area, flipping it in her palm as if getting used to the weight again.
Her greeting as she walked up to the first target dummy was to throw the blade with a flick of her wrist, sinking it into the dummy's right eye. It wouldn't do for her confusion to affect her work further, after all.
---
The nightmare was quick, brief, painfully sharp in its lesson - senseless and faceless something stood, waiting at an edge just beyond where she could see. It pressed in like a beast though - hunting, hounding, howling behind and around her and she started to run. Breath pounded in her lungs as she skidded down unfamiliar hallways, slipping in her footing and taking a tumble. She turned the momentum into a roll with her hands flailing for balance as she found herself fallen to her feet, stopped. Scrambling Kerith pushed back to her feet, head turning as if looking for what hunted her down the hall behind.
Nothing.
A roar and a crash to her left and the Chiss woman threw herself aside on instinct, instinct which saved her as something raked the ground she had been crouching on, claws breaking the plascrete in rivets, flecks and dust clouding the immediate vicinity.
The break in its stride sent the woman running again, a new direction picked as if the halls were something she knew. It tugged at the woman's mind as she ran before the familiarity dawned on her, a mental map of the building clicking into place. Two lefts and a long corridor would put her at the practice field of the facility she'd first been trained at. It felt like a race to stay alive, lungs burning with effort as she ran and felt the entity giving chase behind her now that her running was not blind, now that she had a goal in mind.
When she reached the practice field the dream shifted for a moment to a face, a feeling of inevitability as instead of a beast simply a man started to round the walk- and Kerith felt herself thrown into wakefulness with a start as the pain began.
Red eyes blinked in confusion, feeling like there was a sliver, a crack in the facades and masks that there shouldn't be. The pain sent a phantom shiver across her frame, convinced for a moment that it had been more than just a dream.
Or perhaps they had and she'd missed some communication, they had certainly kept her under some measure of watch. She suspected her bluff had been bought though - the Aristocra knew some of the game she had put herself in position to play but even he did not know the depths of... devotion? As long as the project served the goals she had been trained to protect, she saw no reason to not help.
Red eyes narrowed to slits as she carefully pulled the tie holding her hair back, letting it fall freely.
The conversation and demonstration from the Aristocra had left her...
Unsettled was the best word.
She hadn't known such a basic movement, one he claimed she should have known the counter for. The sting against the side of her neck was more a bruise on her pride than a real bruise on skin, the Chiss rubbing the location the jab had gotten through her defenses, feeling it as keen as Kobus felt her correctional jabs when she had taught him some of knife fighting.
The pity in his eyes, in all of their eyes, had begun to grow uncomfortable, sitting at-odds with the way Kerith knew the world was ordered. The insistence that she would have a place aboard the Csillan Rose later, that she would desire such a thing was enough to make the Chiss pause; pity and an open offer of help were strange bedfellows in her world, ones not commonly seen.
She finally picked the tie for her hair back up, swiftly pulling the strands sharply back into a ponytail again, tightly tugging it all back into place. She'd settle her mind kinetically since letting it run in circles was not doing her any good; she reached out, picking up one of the many daggers from her pile of divested weaponry and heading towards the practice area, flipping it in her palm as if getting used to the weight again.
Her greeting as she walked up to the first target dummy was to throw the blade with a flick of her wrist, sinking it into the dummy's right eye. It wouldn't do for her confusion to affect her work further, after all.
---
The nightmare was quick, brief, painfully sharp in its lesson - senseless and faceless something stood, waiting at an edge just beyond where she could see. It pressed in like a beast though - hunting, hounding, howling behind and around her and she started to run. Breath pounded in her lungs as she skidded down unfamiliar hallways, slipping in her footing and taking a tumble. She turned the momentum into a roll with her hands flailing for balance as she found herself fallen to her feet, stopped. Scrambling Kerith pushed back to her feet, head turning as if looking for what hunted her down the hall behind.
Nothing.
A roar and a crash to her left and the Chiss woman threw herself aside on instinct, instinct which saved her as something raked the ground she had been crouching on, claws breaking the plascrete in rivets, flecks and dust clouding the immediate vicinity.
The break in its stride sent the woman running again, a new direction picked as if the halls were something she knew. It tugged at the woman's mind as she ran before the familiarity dawned on her, a mental map of the building clicking into place. Two lefts and a long corridor would put her at the practice field of the facility she'd first been trained at. It felt like a race to stay alive, lungs burning with effort as she ran and felt the entity giving chase behind her now that her running was not blind, now that she had a goal in mind.
When she reached the practice field the dream shifted for a moment to a face, a feeling of inevitability as instead of a beast simply a man started to round the walk- and Kerith felt herself thrown into wakefulness with a start as the pain began.
Red eyes blinked in confusion, feeling like there was a sliver, a crack in the facades and masks that there shouldn't be. The pain sent a phantom shiver across her frame, convinced for a moment that it had been more than just a dream.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)