Pirate Prince
Starlin grimaced as he was jerked backwards by Josh’s telekinesis. He shrugged out of the Grandmaster of the Saber’s grasp, drawn blades at the ready as Laertia declared herself a Light Side Sith. The fight had begun.
Josh’s quick use of the disco ball made it clear which of the Laertias were doppelgangers and which one was the real Laertia, just in time for her to take a swing at Nimdok’s wrist. The SynthBreaker struck Nimdok’s raised forearm, only to find it was wrapped in some kind of lightsaber-resistant vambrace.
He was able to shove her back, relying on momentum as well as physical strength. Starlin darted in to fill the space which opened up between them when they separated. “You’re chit with a lightsaber, professor,” the boy said, planting himself between Nimdok and the advancing Laertia, ready to defend the Grandmaster.
“Starlin, really—you don’t need to worry about me.”
The Padawan briefly glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed. A grim, strained smile stretched across Nimdok’s features. “You haven’t even taken out your weapon yet!” the boy exclaimed, back to watching Laertia’s every move. Even as he spoke, his antennapalps picked up on a vibration in the desert air. The sound of several speeder bikes approaching them fast.
“I’ll be fine, Star,” Nimdok insisted. “Don’t try to take her on yourself. Right now, she wants me dead, not you. If you get in her way, she’ll eviscerate you just enough that you’ll survive...”
The sound of the speeder bikes’ engines had risen to a roar, as roughly half a dozen of them blasted into the nearly deserted camp. Crashes resounded as their drivers deliberately slammed them into Neutralizers, the vehicles crumpling and in some cases bursting into flames on impact. Figures clad in black leaped from their seats. They were various Jedi Knights of the Silvers, some of them Shadows—yet no iridescent glow of lightsabers in the dark signalled what they were. Instead, they all wielded high quality but relatively ordinary vibroblades. They still fought like Jedi. Among them Jaina Grayson, Nimdok’s strange inhuman “assistant”, stood in Combat Form. She began swinging her vibroblade at the droids with what might be termed “wild precision”, aiming for the chassis, intent on taking down as many as possible while their targeting systems were still compromised. The other warriors did the same, occupying the droid army while the Masters dealt with Laertia and her henchmen.
Needless to say, complete chaos had broken out. Starlin looked around, glancing at Nimdok, then thundered into battle against First Sister, who was perhaps the most evenly matched against him of all the combatants. In skill level, anyway—she was a 2’8” alien who barely came up past his knees, after all. He had to swing low just to reach her, though he aimed for a quick decapitation as his first move.
Still having not drawn his lightsaber, Nimdok focused all his attention on the newly appointed “Darth Xiphos”. After a tentative feel for her various armor and equipment, he detected nothing that might protect her from a telepathic attack. Without warning he pierced into her mind, cracking her open like a book.
<Oh Laertia,> he spoke into her mind even as he pushed further in, worming his way into her damaged brain. <You never were a true Jedi to begin with. Do you think you’ve shocked us all with this declaration? You think you can surprise me with such news? I know everything there is to know about you. You already told me EVERYTHING.>
Plumbing the depths of her subconscious, he conjured up visions of Laertia’s deepest fears and past traumas. The butchering of her parents. Her master’s betrayal. The loss of friends and allies. Alyosha’s death at the hands of the Bryn on Sarka. The possibility that Syd might turn against her, that she would die before she could accomplish her goals, that everything she had done would be all for naught. All this and more he brought crashing down upon her, wave after wave in a mental assault that would bring lesser men and women to their knees.
Still not letting up, Nimdok’s hand reached into his robes to grab his beamer, which he aimed at what was hopefully a very distracted Laertia and fired.
Josh’s quick use of the disco ball made it clear which of the Laertias were doppelgangers and which one was the real Laertia, just in time for her to take a swing at Nimdok’s wrist. The SynthBreaker struck Nimdok’s raised forearm, only to find it was wrapped in some kind of lightsaber-resistant vambrace.
He was able to shove her back, relying on momentum as well as physical strength. Starlin darted in to fill the space which opened up between them when they separated. “You’re chit with a lightsaber, professor,” the boy said, planting himself between Nimdok and the advancing Laertia, ready to defend the Grandmaster.
“Starlin, really—you don’t need to worry about me.”
The Padawan briefly glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed. A grim, strained smile stretched across Nimdok’s features. “You haven’t even taken out your weapon yet!” the boy exclaimed, back to watching Laertia’s every move. Even as he spoke, his antennapalps picked up on a vibration in the desert air. The sound of several speeder bikes approaching them fast.
“I’ll be fine, Star,” Nimdok insisted. “Don’t try to take her on yourself. Right now, she wants me dead, not you. If you get in her way, she’ll eviscerate you just enough that you’ll survive...”
The sound of the speeder bikes’ engines had risen to a roar, as roughly half a dozen of them blasted into the nearly deserted camp. Crashes resounded as their drivers deliberately slammed them into Neutralizers, the vehicles crumpling and in some cases bursting into flames on impact. Figures clad in black leaped from their seats. They were various Jedi Knights of the Silvers, some of them Shadows—yet no iridescent glow of lightsabers in the dark signalled what they were. Instead, they all wielded high quality but relatively ordinary vibroblades. They still fought like Jedi. Among them Jaina Grayson, Nimdok’s strange inhuman “assistant”, stood in Combat Form. She began swinging her vibroblade at the droids with what might be termed “wild precision”, aiming for the chassis, intent on taking down as many as possible while their targeting systems were still compromised. The other warriors did the same, occupying the droid army while the Masters dealt with Laertia and her henchmen.
Needless to say, complete chaos had broken out. Starlin looked around, glancing at Nimdok, then thundered into battle against First Sister, who was perhaps the most evenly matched against him of all the combatants. In skill level, anyway—she was a 2’8” alien who barely came up past his knees, after all. He had to swing low just to reach her, though he aimed for a quick decapitation as his first move.
Still having not drawn his lightsaber, Nimdok focused all his attention on the newly appointed “Darth Xiphos”. After a tentative feel for her various armor and equipment, he detected nothing that might protect her from a telepathic attack. Without warning he pierced into her mind, cracking her open like a book.
<Oh Laertia,> he spoke into her mind even as he pushed further in, worming his way into her damaged brain. <You never were a true Jedi to begin with. Do you think you’ve shocked us all with this declaration? You think you can surprise me with such news? I know everything there is to know about you. You already told me EVERYTHING.>
Plumbing the depths of her subconscious, he conjured up visions of Laertia’s deepest fears and past traumas. The butchering of her parents. Her master’s betrayal. The loss of friends and allies. Alyosha’s death at the hands of the Bryn on Sarka. The possibility that Syd might turn against her, that she would die before she could accomplish her goals, that everything she had done would be all for naught. All this and more he brought crashing down upon her, wave after wave in a mental assault that would bring lesser men and women to their knees.
Still not letting up, Nimdok’s hand reached into his robes to grab his beamer, which he aimed at what was hopefully a very distracted Laertia and fired.
