Location: Swan Float
Job: Protect the Queen
Standing Near: [member="Seren"] | [member="Nemesis Nemonus"]
Sent Telepathic Msg To: | [member="Kyle Ajahn"] | [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Arabella Darkhold"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Asher Mossa"] | [member="Eirene"] | [member="Kip Ridel"] | [member="Rex Taff"] | [member="Ithiel Verd"] | [member="Vulkanus"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Ahani Najwa"] | [member="BX-25233"] | [member="Damien Van-Derveld"] | [member="Connor Harrison"]
Post: 2
Srina rarely discussed the training that she had endured as a youngling, because it wasn’t merely training, it was her life. Her childhood. Her family. It was all intertwined as a way of life. A way of life that she had lost, against her will, because of the whims of an Echani more powerful than she. Because her happiness, versus the safety of her family, would always lose. Silver eyes flickered toward the Vicelord of the Confederacy as he closed the distance between them on the dancefloor. His response drew only a singular, elegantly raised eyebrow.
“It isn’t?”
He claimed that the bodyguard could do what she could not and she weighed the validity of the statement. Perhaps, he was correct in that respect. She simply didn’t tolerate deliberate distractions to her mission parameters very well. Focus was her strength and it actively decreased the percentage of success.
“That statement is intrinsically true. Many can do what others cannot, however, you and I are both aware that my assessment has nothing to do with ability.”
The woman rose after his formal bow, sweeping, lavender material, falling into place before her body began to move. She was sinuous and graceful in a way that no warrior had a right to be. The small woman matched his movements out of necessity but she made sure that her Master knew that she was allowing him to lead. It was a battle, a test of will, stamina—and her pride would not let her continue on without making her stand somehow.
The gunshot ruined a dance which had
just started to become fun. There was a scent in the air. It was tangy seductive and hard to discern. Srina only knew that the air was wrong. Not quite right. Despite the fact that she sought to reassure the crowd she knew that her Master would reach out to the rest of the Obsidian Knights on the circuit. They would find the rather poorly trained shooter, sooner than later, and throw him in jail hard enough to knock some sense back into him.
Not seconds later an explosion rocked the area ahead of the float. The sudden chaos both stilled and sped her heart. Duty bound, her eyes went to the Queen of Relovian, before the civilians that may have been injured. Young or old—for the moment, it mattered very little. It did not matter what she wanted to do. It didn’t matter that she felt desperate to do something, to aid the people within the blast radius because she had only one purpose.
Obey.
Darth Metus gave the command and the Echani was gone. There was no preamble, no argument, and zero debate. There was nothing left of the spirited apprentice but surgical precision. In a split second of stillness the disguise that she wore melted away with a mere thought. Instead, crimson and onyx armor appeared from nothingness, wrapping around her form in the span of a breath. The
Scarlet Vow was something she never went anywhere without. It turned the gentle, beautiful handmaiden, into the white-haired demon that had terrorized Thyrsians on Eshan.
Srina pulled the mask up over her face as her vision began to distort. There was something in the air, especially here, in the alleyways. There were people stumbling around, uninjured, but spewing their guts out. It affected an entire area and she had heavy reservations that the high and mighty Relovian allowed consumption of alcohol at such a young age. Mentally, she contacted all of her compatriots in the area as well as the Queen and her bodyguard.
‘Confederacy – There is something in the air. Of unknown origin and type. It is strongest further from the float but it seems to be causing a variety of symptoms in affected civilians. Medical will be required. I see vertigo, illness, possible…Hallucinations. Cover your mouths. Rebreathers are effective.’
From there the young woman began to scale the building from which she had heard the initial shot. She heard a transmission come through the comms that painted Durasteel Fist as the mastermind behind the attack. She didn’t know if it was true, yet, but she recognized one of the voices. They would suffer, dearly, if the words were true. Yet, they were not her goal. She wanted the man that pulled the trigger. That dared to attack civilians.
Younglings. The Force augmented her strength, her ability to jump, and she moved from balcony to balcony with renewed vigor before she realized that the building was actually on fire. When she reached the top floor she was forced to blow out the windows to release the pressure in the room and clear some of the smoke. There was evidence of a shooter. And a murder. She dropped low to see better and was able to make out a partially charred body that had been left behind.
The fire had not killed this man.
Blunt force trauma had. And, the culprit, had left a sloppy bloody trail.
Srina moved to follow it, shaping her telekinetic abilities to create a protective bubble, so that she could continue tracking the culprit. She followed the bloody boot prints down the stairwell hearing someone cry that there was a fire, just minutes behind the murderer turned arsonist, and eventually she spilled out into the alleyway.
The Apprentice could feel something unmentionable welling from beneath her breastbone.
Anger. It came and went with the wind. As easily as it arrived, it disappeared, but it burned fever bright when the sense of death settled in. She scanned the crowd, watching people flee, waiting. Trying to see differences that others would not. She followed the slowly ending bloody trail, Echani eyes picking up flecks that others might miss, and eventually she found herself staring at the backs of two men shouldering the burden of an injured child.
'[member="Darth Metus"]..I think I've found one of them.'
A number of people were likely harmed in the explosion. One of the men had facial lacerations. She felt nothing from him. If anything, he seemed more empty than most, without a flicker of sensitivity. The other looked very little like a Relovian. His pant leg was stained, bloodied, but there was no limp. No hesitation. No wound. She felt
more than enough from him. Srina reached her hand out across the crowded street and used the Force to halt the stockier man. Her telekinesis was strong, amplified when emotions began to spill through her pristine shell, and suddenly golden eyes burned into the back of the head of the man she had attempted to trap. [@Seren]
“Stop where you are. Refuse me, fight me, or reach for the child and I will liberate your spine from your body. Choose.”
The area was too packed for a lightsaber. Though she was exceedingly precise she could not believe that her enemy would suddenly start caring about the public. Her concern lay with the child between the two adults, and the man that she had yet to address, out of uncertainty. There was something…Something…But there wasn’t time. This man, with the blood, and meatier chunks on his pants either was the shooter, or, he’d been in the room. That—she was sure of.
The Force was her only option. The ring on her finger called. Strength.
Power. If she needed it she would tap into the weapon her Master had provided.
If she needed it.
