Rebels – Venturing into the tunnels.
Maybe he was invisible. After stepped out into the light of the day – which was not really that light to begin with, but provided more than enough to adequately see – the strange man with little-to-no emotions disappeared into the hole without so much as a fleeting glance. Voroll stood there after he jumped into the all-consuming darkness of the cavern. He looked to his feet and then turned around to try and find a reflective surface; if he really was invisible would he see his reflection in a mirror?
When his search found no results, his mind wandered elsewhere: to the land of the dead. Perhaps he had died sometime earlier; maybe shot by a berserking Mandalorian soldier in the firefight that saw the destruction of the floor of the shack. He thought that it would make sense, when watching where he had stood and hid earlier. If he had been shot, and killed, @[member="Galaar CC-252"] or @[member="Commander Calico CC-247"], nor the youngest clone, @[member="CC-117 Canal"], would have noticed since the floor later gave way. Their efforts of communication would herald little response, and the only way for them to travel would be down the tunnel which, luckily, lead under the Super Fun House.
Then the crazed woman, @[member="CC-935 Bluejay"], shot through the dust and floating, microscopic, rubble and followed them down: bypassing the Imperial Knight completely. She may have seen his body and walked right past, knowing him to be dead.
The lack of acknowledgement from even the emotionally-dead stranger finalised this theory of Voroll’s. It took a few moments – and him sitting down on the edge of the hole in the ground, with feet hanging into oblivion – before he had come to realise that maybe the lack of perceived emotions through the Force could be a result of being a corpse, cold against the wall. As white as his armour.
Contrary to popular belief, especially amongst Force-users, being a ghost had not been quite as amusing or interesting as it seemed. He had no one to haunt; knew not how to throw objects without being seen or did not even know if he could be seen. It all had to be worked out, he assumed. I now have all the time the galaxy has to offer to learn the basics of spectreship.
He knew that he would have to find someone to annoy, and so far the only people left in existence seemed to have travelled down that hole. This logic was strong. Sometimes Voroll was a logical being, even if most of the time he existed only to completely ignore it.
He pushed himself off from the broken pieces of floorboard; which splintered and fell as dust alongside him into the black. Within less than a moment (like the time it took between an expert marksman finding the right time to pull the trigger and actually pulling) he was enveloped by the darkness in the tunnel. He knew not where the ground was, until instinct took over. He saw a reflective piece of metal, partially submerged in debris, and his movement morphed as the wind travelled past him. Instead of being stood upright, as he would if there were surface beneath him, his legs and arms shot out, as if guided by strings, until the floor came to meet them. An unusual feeling rushed through his body, it pulsed and flowed like a rippling splash in water. He stood up slowly and moved down the dark passage.
It became clearer when his eyes adjusted to the low levels of natural light, even if there were artificial lights dotted on either side of the wide pass. And the sound of battle, became louder with each step of his feet. First it was just energy discharge, from weapons of all kinds in a densely-packed area. It was thick, heavy on the ear drums.
Then came the battle cries and screams and shouts and orders, but not a word was clear enough to understand. It could have been in Zabraki for all Voroll knew.
Lights. Lights were next: the flashing and colours projected onto the walls.
A stroll became a jog. A jog a run. Run into sprint. The sword about his waist had been pulled from its sheath and the pistol drawn, ready to be fired. Everything started to grow in size as he reached his destination: black blobs became people and colours became bolts from blasters and the beams of light of lightsabers.
Eventually the people were around him and the emotions were throbbing against his very core. His vibrosword, held in only one hand swept across the body of a deformed, disgusting, decrepit creature that howled when its anger was circumvented by pain. A bolt leapt out from the pistol into the head of the beast and the emotion he stopped feeling made him feel energised and free.
Another slash of the blade into the belly of a jumping monstrosity and a bolt into the throat allowed yet more emotion to subside from Voroll’s being. He spun around, low to the floor and his blade swung out into, piercing the stomach of an unarmoured being. It did not look like the rest, but its anger and vile feelings towards those surrounding it made the empath identify it as such. He stood there for a few, twisting the blade so that guts and blood gushed from a now-open wound. Two pushes of the trigger and the face of the being smouldered and steamed, falling limp to the ground. When he turned he spotted the lost members of his party and he rejoiced. In all his life, this moment, had never made him feel so alive.
@[member="Nyos Val"] @[member="Marek Starchaser"] @[member="Zius Aurus"]
