Define Yourself

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Night had fallen over the moon. Mephirium had watched from afar as the mercenary band trolled through the abandoned camp, and then delved into the temple's depths. He might have warned them about what awaited them, but then the threat they posed was all too real. It was highly unlikely a group of random mercenaries could gun him down. Darth Mephirium, however, was not arrogant enough to think it impossible.

All his efforts would be for naught if he was killed in that dusty tomb.

And so he had awaited and watched from afar. When the mercenaries finally made their way out of the temple, he had followed. When the young woman returned to the abandoned shuttle alone, he had come. It had not been particularly difficult to pinpoint her as the nexus within the force. It was a quiet gale without focus or refinement. With a careful hand to guide it, that meager gale could grow into a hurricane.

He just needed to sway the woman.

There were a number of beasts out on the plains. They generally gave him a wide berth - many could feel the force, and had no desire to deal with a being who commanded it. This woman, however, did not know that.

So it was that he approached the shuttle in the dead of night. His cowl was pulled back, revealing a youthful face and a furrowed brow. His lightsaber hung freely from his waist.

He reached out with invisible tendrils toward the ship's innards. He gave her a simple mental tug to announce his presence. He doubted she would understand it.

"Excuse me? Is this the ship from the comms earlier?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa was exhausted. The expedition on the Moon had tested her body and her mind repeatedly in ways she had never dealt with before. The mental drain she felt, outweighed the tenderness in her limbs; and so she had chosen to remain behind on the Moon before returning Pali’s ship. She wasn’t the greatest of pilots at the best of times, and in her current condition, flying the vessel singlehandedly was a recipe for disaster. She would rather be off of the rock, but the ship resided a safe distance from the tombs, allowing her to rest before the next part of her journey. She was glad to separate herself from the horrors of the tomb, but the Moon itself however...well, if she were being completely honest, it felt familiar to her now, like it was conversing with her, setting up roots inside a part of her that she didn’t understand.

It was truly a strain to think about it, to even make a fraction of sense from what she had been experiencing since landing here. Her gut said to ‘stay’, and so she did.

Unlike the sweltering humidity outside, the shuttle maintained a comfortable temperature once the relevent systems were up and running. Cazoa was deeply grateful for the cool air that swirled around her as she wandered down the small corridor to the bathroom. She had never been somewhere so hot in all her life. It was clear to see why no sane person had taken up permanent residency here – she barely recognised herself in the mirror. A thick layer of orange dust clung to her sticky, sweaty skin. Wild strands of hair fell from her now loose bun; a grey sheen of dust had settled on her naturally dark tresses. Her one-suit wasn’t green anymore, and rips in the fabric served as windows to the cuts and grazes she had accumulated in the temples.

What a mess, Cazoa thought to herself, attempting to wipe away the dirt from her face. It barely nudged against her efforts – she would need a proper shower before she left and began her flight. But for now she wandered to the cockpit to check all the systems were a-go in case she needed to make a quick take-off. It was as she sat down that she experienced that odd feeling again.

She barely had a second to process it when a voice rang out, startling her in her seat.

‘"Excuse me? Is this the ship from the comms earlier?"

The ship from the comms earlier? Why was the voice so familiar? In her exhaustion, it took Cazoa a couple of seconds longer than usual to piece it together. This was the mysterious man from the radio signal she had heard upon landing. It all felt like an eternity ago.

She stepped as silently as she could to her gun belt which was hanging on the back of a chair. Her DL-44 gripped in her hand, she slowly edged closer to the hull door.

‘You’re the voice from the transmission,’ Cazoa stated. ‘Who are you?’

She hadn’t sensed a life-force since leaving the mercenaries she had travelled here with. Nor did she feel a life-force right now on the other side of the shuttle. The only feeling she had was one she felt following her since she arrived, calling her home. And it filled her with fear. Fear that she felt no desire to flee from it.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The woman did not show her face, but Mephirium knew who it was. He recognized her presence within the force - she was a subtle shift in the usual tone of the galaxy. Such things were common among those with a powerful connection to the force, but for one so uncultivated, it was generally a different story. Of course, Mephirium knew quite a few exceptions to that general rule, but he was still wary nonetheless.

His hand fell to his lightsaber as he walked toward the ship. He had no fear as he stopped at the bottom of the cargo ramp. Closing his eyes, he reached out with the force, probing his surroundings. The woman, for what he could tell, was alone. That put him in control of the situation. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he let his arms slacked at his sides and strode partway up the ramp, his hands up in surrender.

"I am. I was visiting the camp when your signal came through - I've been out here on a pilgrimage." Mephirium explained, "I had seen the camp from the temple. Figured I'd check it out. I looked around a bit, saw a few recordings. Seemed they went into the temple and didn't come out."

With careful feet, he ascended the bulkhead. He wore an easy smile on his face - the kind that had brought Cyrene into his arms so many years ago. He had been something of a charmer in his earlier days, though his desire for such company had faded with his fiance's death.

He reached the apex of the steps a moment later, blue eyes narrowed curiously. "It's dark and the beasts are prowling. Forgive me, but I've gotta ask - can I come aboard?" He lofted a brow and looked down at his lightsaber. With a little nudging of the force, the weapon flew from his belt into the folds of his jacket.

He had shrugged off his robe before walking up to the ship. He looked like any young, lost spacer now. "I mean, if you want me to be eaten, that's fine too. I do taste pretty good."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

As the man spoke, Cazoa silently fetched her second pistol holstered in the gun belt. She hid it in the cockpit in a compartment underneath the console. A lone rifle had been left in the armoury locker by the dead crew, and she placed this in the bathroom under some used towels in a hamper. Her actions were a habit – always better to be safe rather than sorry, even more so after what had happened to her in the tombs.

As she moved around the ship, trying to tread as softly as possible, she weighed her options. This man could indeed be on a pilgrimage, making him less of a threat than if he were a pirate here to steal what little valuable goods she had. This ship was her only means off of the Moon, and if he were here to take that from her, then she would have no other option than to kill him. The shuttle wasn’t exactly the most high-end of models, but it would still fetch a small price.

And as it stood, Cazoa’s, normally ever prevalent, extra senses weren’t working. She was unable to distinguish him friend from foe, nor able to get a clear read of his intentions. Her logical mind put it down to her exhaustion. The only thing left that she could do to determine whether or not to save him from a gruesome fate at the teeth of a prowling terentatek, was to check the ships outer cameras. If he were accompanied by anyone else, she would just take her chances flying the ship off the planet, back to Pali. However if he were alone then Cazoa would allow him to come aboard until first light. Any funny business and he’d get a blaster blown through his skull and left to rot in the dirt of this forsaken place.

Somehow she already knew that the man would be alone. Her fingers tapped the screen of a data pad, and turned on the landing camera located on the underside of the ship. The night of the Moon made it impossible to get a picture, even with the faint exterior lights of the ship. However, an infrared setting showed that his heat signature was the only one that stood outside the shuttle. As she zoomed in beyond him, she saw the vicious creatures he spoke of. They were prowling along what seemed like an invisible wall, back and forth, back and forth, waiting for their chance.

Let him in, her own senses spoke to her.

She wanted to pull the latch of the door. Why was she overcome by the odd feeling so intensely? Sure, it had been with her since arriving and throughout her time in the belly of the tomb, but there it bad been one in a myriad of different energies. The only time she had definitively felt similar was upon hearing this man speak over the comms, in this exact ship. In that moment she had desperately wanted to get to the coordinates of the transmission, only to be disappointed that the owner of the voice had vanished…but now he was here, outside her shuttle, asking to come inside.

Fluff it.

Her curiosity was too much.

‘Back up from the ship,’ Cazoa called out, watching the camera on the datapad. ‘Any weapons you have, set them on the floor.’

She watched his heat signature back up off of the ramp.

She set the datapad at her feet in view while she pulled the latch of the hull door. A hiss of hot air seeped into the cool ship as it opened. She filled herself with focus, and began to step partway down the ramp. Her pistol was gripped tightly in her hand, ready to fire. The exterior lights were dim, but there was enough to make out the man’s shadowy figure. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t attack her.

‘After you,’ she said into the night, nodding to the door behind her.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He wasn't going to go and disarm himself because a stranger felt threatened. Of course, she didn't need to know that. The lightsaber was safely tucked away in his jacket, and while he doubted the woman on the other side was going to give him a pat down, if she did manage to find it he could just say it was an old broken relic he had found. He had no intentions of letting her touch the weapon either way.

For a long moment there was silence, and Mephirium began to feel a bit uneasy about things. Master of the force or not, a well placed shot from a blaster would still be the end of him. he had taken a gamble hiding his armor away and opting for this more casual wear. It was all a part of the facade; an attempt to see just who this woman was, and why the force was drawn around her so chaotically.

Then he heard the door's hydraulics hissing. Limned in the light of the ship behind her, the young woman looked like something out of a holofilm. A pretty little thing come to save the foolish young man who'd gotten himself lost in the land of the dead. It was poetic, in a way. Mephirium might have been amused if she had not been pointing a blaster in his face.

"Don't need to point that at me. I'm harmless," he spoke quietly. After a moment's hesitation he crossed the threshold into the ship.

The rush of cool air was heavenly. He had not noticed just how dirty he'd become wandering through the wastes. Dust caked his jacket and pants in a fine orange layer. His face and neck were covered in a thin film of dirt and grime, and his clothes flet sticky against his skin. The ship's cooling systems brought him some semblance of relief.

Another point for the girl then.

He took a moment to wipe off his face with the hem of his jacket and turned toward the woman. She wasn't as short a bit taller than most of the women who worked in the Ession Citadel, though he still stood a full head higher than her. She was young - probably in her early to mid-twenties, and the vibrant grey of her eyes reminded him of the Hapan Nobles he had come to admire and at the same time loathe during his leadership of the Reformation.

"It's very kind of you letting me come aboard like this," he flashed an easy smile, "I don't think being ripped apart by wild beasts would make for the nicest evening. Pleasant enough now though." His tone took on a flirtatious lilt, though it quickly faded as he took a look around.

"My name is Cyril." Mephirium reached out with the force. He was no mentalist, but he could touch the mind of another if they had nothing in the way of defense. It was what he did now to this young woman; his presence slid through the chaos around her. It was, like before, an announcement. A simple way of saying I'm like you and you're like me.

"Were you with the mercenaries?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Harmless.

Cazoa felt like she should feel some sort of trepidation, after all the situation called for it. But the feeling never came. Instead, frustration at herself filled her as she followed the man back onto the ship. Her logical mind told her she had been careless, but her gut told her not to care. It was hard to decide between the two consciences. She had never had a reason to doubt her intuition, and her sharp mind had gotten her out of countless discrepancies. So which should she go with right now? And why on earth was it such a hard decision to make?!

Grateful to be back on board, she quickly shut the hull door to stop any more of the cool air escaping into the furnace. In the ship’s bright lights, Cazoa finally got a good look at the mysterious man. He had the same orange grime caked on his skin as she did. The dust covered his casual-looking clothing – he definitely fit the bill of a mercenary. His blue-grey eyes took her appearance in at the same time as she did his; Cazoa was sure that she looked a mess, whereas he, well, he actually looked alright covered in dirt. His features were attractive; an epitome of manliness - strong, tall, and devilishly handsome.

She looked away, not looking at anything in particular and the pistol she still gripped fell to her side.

[SIZE=9pt]"It's very kind of you letting me come aboard like this," he flashed her a smile, "I don't think being ripped apart by wild beasts would make for the nicest evening. Pleasant enough now though."[/SIZE]

Cazoa didn’t even notice his fleeting flirtatious tone, for she was using what little energy she had left to focus on the war raging deep inside her. Who would win? Intuition, or logic?

[SIZE=9pt]"My name is Cyril." [/SIZE]he said. The odd feeling had returned in that moment, as if he had answered her internal question himself. It was then that she knew intuition had won, and she would allow it to guide her through this encounter. He was not here to harm her.

[SIZE=9pt]"Were you with the mercenaries?"[/SIZE]

There was silence for a moment as Cazoa slunk into a chair to her right. As she relaxed a little into the cushioned fabric, she noticed just how much her limbs burned. Her arm throbbed as she lifted the pistol and set it on the counter next to her. She looked at Cyril now.

‘Yes,’ Cazoa replied. ‘The crew of this ship had been reported missing, and so myself and a few others came here to search for them. All were found dead in one of the temples.’

Her eyes looked away, and then closed briefly as she remembered the horror of torn limbs, headless torsos, and the beasts that had been gnawing on the pieces.

‘You said you were here on a pilgrimage?’ she returned her now inquisitive eyes back to the man.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The flirtatious tone left his voice. He slipped into a more-familiar persona. The woman had allowed him aboard; there was no further reason for him to try and play games. When she slunk down into one of the chairs, he set all his weight back against the ship's bulkhead and folded his arms over his chest. Blue eyes narrowed as he observed the woman - tried to gauge what she was capable of.

"Sounds about right," he grumbled, "The temple is a dangerous place. Most who go in don't find their way out. Those that do often come away changed." He cracked a cool smile. "Seems that doesn't apply to you, Miss...?" He lofted a brow. The Sith Lord let that hang for a moment before pushing off the wall and taking a short look around.

The ship wasn't anything special, but it seemed to be in working order. That would do just fine.

"I was. The old Sith Lords have quite a bit of knowledge to share, and if you're polite enough, sometimes the dead will talk." The smile shifted into something more genuine. He wasn't the biggest fan of sorcery. Such things were not in his particular skill set, and the manipulation of the natural realm had never sat well with him. Still, he spoke to specters more than most. It was always an enlightening experience.

"I delved into one of the temples for a time. It does well to learn one's heritage, after all," the hint was subtly laced into casual conversation. "I went to commune with the spirits, and to clear out some of the beasts. I have a difficult decision to make - the temple helped me find some clarity."

He leaned forward.

"Not as effective as the one on Korriban though."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

‘Cazoa,’ she confirmed during Cyril’s pause.

Her mind held focus on his comment about coming away from the temples changed. Looking past her exhaustion, she recognised that she did feel altered on a particular level. All her life she had been able to do things that others could not – a manipulative form of empathy, strong intuition, heightened senses and reflexes, and there had been that incident when she had been younger – using her mind to fling a blaster from an assailant’s hand. Since landing on the Moon she had felt all these things she could do were magnified, rejuvenated somehow. It felt as if they were growing, like a plant to a sun, absorbing its life-giving energy.

Yet years of losing people had left her with a number of insecurities; she didn’t think of herself worthy of the special attributes. Everyone around her ended up dying or leaving; which she put down to the fact that the Galaxy just simply didn’t want her to have love, or a family…everyone in the Galaxy couldn’t have it all, could they? There needed to be some sort of balance, and Cazoa just happened to be born on the other side; left at an orphanage, by people that didn’t want her or love her. And so she had squashed the desire to chase any of the tales she had heard about others who were like her.

Did Cyril just say heritage? Surely the angelic looking man Cazoa saw before her couldn’t be associated with the horrors she had seen in the tombs? No, she must have heard wrong in her fatigue. She was about to question him when the computers announced there had been a message relayed to the ship.

‘Excuse me,’ Cazoa said, standing from the chair. She didn’t let herself meet his eyes as she walked past on her way to the cockpit.

A familiar voice filled the small room, it was the contact to whom the shuttle and the now mutilated crew belonged to. Cazoa had already debriefed him on the mission – this message was to confirm her payment had been transferred to her account. He also said that she deserved some down time, and was free to take the shuttle for a few weeks to wherever she pleased.

Possibilities whirred around her mind. Definitely somewhere cold, she decided.

As she walked back to Cyril, she glanced at him, and was instantly reminded how much of a state she must look compared to him. She was not one for being overly self-conscious around strangers that she didn’t really care for, even handsome ones. But there was something unknown that he stirred inside of her. However, it was more plausible to Cazoa that the inspiration to clean up came from the fact that there was a shower in the bathroom, and she desperately wanted to get in it.

‘Um,’ she began, ‘I don’t mean to be rude, I mean, I’d love to talk about how you converse with dead Sith,’ a hint of sarcasm entered her voice as she considered that he might be a crackpot, ‘but I am filthy. I’m gonna take a shower.’

There was a lock on the bathroom door, and an E-11 rifle under the towels; she felt he could be trusted for fifteen minutes while she got rid of the grime. Then she would be all ears for his tales of ghost hunting...there was a bottle of liquor under the console unit in the cockpit to aid her if it got too bizarre; but after her time in the tomb, anything seemed possible.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

"Charmed," Mephirium snickered as she stood up. He was content to wait, for the moment. This woman had a connection to the force uncommon among most Sith. Furthermore, she was an untapped resource, entirely untrained. Whatever ideals he wished to instill within her would be met with no resistance from those of lesser Sith Lord.

She would make the perfect apprentice.

The question was how did he bring her under his sway. There was always brute force, something that had gone over quite well with those like Lord Mythos and Darth Ferus. Then there were the more subtle manipulations. The woman was out here by her lonesome. It would be far too easy to draw her in by way of word; he had seen the way she glanced at him. It wouldn't be the first time he had drawn someone in by means of the flesh.

A few moments later, the entire ship shook. Mephirium perked up from his seat, having been lost in thought for the moment. He had no sensed the great beasts approaching the ship. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses. Two of the monsters were clawing at the ship's hull, tearing apart slabs of durasteel and tossing them away as if they were a child's playthings.

Had he the time to explore the ship, Mephirium might have went for a defensive cannon. Unfortunately, time was not something he had in spades. Drawing his lightsaber, the Sith Lord lowered the landing ramp and descended downward.

The two brutish beasts stared at him with predatory yellow eyes. Their skin was leathery and just barely drawn over taut muscle. Sharp white teeth glowered at him. The two terentateks wasted no time in charging.

Biting back a curse, Darth Mephirium leaped high into he air and landed on the other side of the beasts, kicking up dust as he did so. A claw swiped toward him, and he rolled under the deadly appendage with ease. Teeth crunched the air in the space he had just occupied. Clawed feet stomped at him as he scrambled across the ground.

Calling upon the power of the dark side, Mephirium immersed himself within the ethereal realm. He sprung up to his feet, the cyan blade of his lightsaber hissing as it came to life. The blade carved burning lines into the larger terentatek's flesh. The monster bellowed in pain, and its fellow stepped in. Mephirium was too slow to avoid the clawed backhand that crashed into his chest.

The claws cut shallow lines into his skin and ruined his jacket. The force of the blow sent him stumbling, and the lesser terentatek used that to its advantage. Its teeth gnashed at him. It would have easily taken his head off, had Mephirium not let forth a sea of crimson lightning. The terentatek was sent reeling, its face and claws steaming as the flesh was melted away.

His chest rising and falling violently, Mephirium drew up to his feet. The two terentateks, wounded but most certainly in this fight, stared him down. The larger of the two, the scarred one, marched toward him. The lesser began to trot toward the open landing ramp.

Shab.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

The hot water was welcomed by Cazoa’s tender muscles. Aided by the painkillers she had taken before immersing under the water, she slowly began to feel rejuvenated. She washed her long dark hair with sweet smelling shampoo, and after some vigorous scrubbing, her pale skin was finally free from grime and dried sweat. She salvaged the moment of tranquility and let her mind wander to dawn when she would finally leave this forsaken rock.

But, as it always seemed for Cazoa, her moment of peace was interrupted. A violent shake rocked the ship which caused her to stumble from her daydream and into the shower enclosure. She managed to brace herself before shattering through the glass.

What was that? she wondered as she wrapped a towel around her body. She grabbed the rifle she had hidden earlier.

As she etched towards the bathroom door, she heard hastened footsteps, and then the hiss of the hull door opening and the landing ramp descending. She began to search inside of herself for any hint of what might have been happening. Like it had been upon first hearing the man’s voice over the transmission, she felt a pull towards his being. But as she searched away from it, she noticed another life-force….two of them…creatures…aggressive.

You’re being attacked, her intuition told her.

Wasting no more time, Cazoa unclicked the lock on the bathroom door and emerged cautiously into the hull. The bright lights flickered and failed, casting the room into a red glow which indicated the ships systems were on emergency power. She searched down the iron sights of the rifle in case any of the creatures had made it on board. Satisfied she was alone, Cazoa moved quietly to the hull door, her bare feet leaving puddles of water behind her. As she reached the top of the landing ramp, she could hear a whir of commotion outside in the wastes. Opting for an element of surprise on the creatures, she pressed her back to the bulkhead and peered around the edge, searching for Cyril.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Cazoa saw his dark figure, and in front of him were two huge beasts, slowly stalking to his position. She instantly recognised them to be terentateks. They were easily identified by their sheer size, sharp tusks, and glowing yellow eyes.

Well tonight just got a whole lot worse, she thought.

Cazoa was about to reveal her location to assist Cyril, when he kicked off from the ground and flanked the beasts with a graceful somersault. It was what came next that kept Cazoa rooted to her position. He had exposed his weapon – a cyan lightsaber which buzzed alive in the darkness. She knew it was such; she had heard many tales of treasure hunters relentlessly searching the Galaxy in order to find one of the powerful blades. In a blur, the lightsaber seared burning lines into the flesh of one of the beasts, causing it to recoil. While the terentatek roared in agony, the second monster stepped in, sending one of its clawed hands into Cyril’s chest. He stumbled from the impact. Sharp teeth gnashed with desire for the man’s flesh.

Cazoa stepped from her vantage point in that moment. She focused her vision down the scope of the E-11 and began to edge her way down the ramp. She couldn’t watch this man be ripped apart by the monsters; she wouldn’t be responsible for his death. And she knew her own chances were extremely slim if she were to take on two of these beasts by herself. She needed Cyril.

Her finger rested on the blaster’s trigger and she guided the barrel to a spot on the back of the terentatek’s hunched neck. Cazoa was ready to fire when a magnificent shot of crimson lit up the scope. In her shock she tripped backwards onto the landing ramp, sending her shot flying off target into nothingness. She watched with wide eyes as a sea of crimson lightning erupted from Cyril’s hands with unrelenting force. It scorched the flesh of the gnashing beast’s face.

Cazoa didn’t attempt to stand from her fall. She remained immobile - paralyzed by a welling terror. Her heart hammered in her chest. A bloom of cold washed over her making the hairs on her wet body stand on end. She gulped against the lump in her throat. Her breath came in panicked gasps. The terentateks hadn’t evoked this deep fear within her, no; the fear of this man with unnatural powers is what kept her rooted to the ramp.

A menacing growl bought her back to half her senses. One of the beasts had been alerted to Cazoa’s position when she had misfired the E-11. It now stalked towards her, teeth bared, hunger in its eyes. She stood to her feet as the terror inside was replaced by adrenaline.

Cazoa flung the blaster to the roof of the shuttle, and then she hit the button that would raise the ramp back up to the ship. She moved to the end of the ramp as it rose higher and higher and poised her body to jump. When the ramp had reached the optimal height before it would crush her, Cazoa lifted off with her feet and flung her body onto the roof of the shuttle. Her legs dangled wildly below her, desperately trying to find a footing. The softness of the towel on the durasteel caused her to slide backwards. She felt something sharp slash across her calf. A cry of agony escaped her lips. The monstrous creature had reached the shuttle and was trying swipe her down with its piercing talons.

Filling herself with determination, Cazoa focused. She imagined her legs to be feather-light. She found grip with her palms, and anchored her elbows into the durasteel, then with one powerful swing, her legs joined the rest of her body on the roof. Her fingers found the the blaster rifle as she rolled over, her calf burning in pain. Below, the terentatek scraped its claws against the side of the ship, trying to find a way to reach her.

Cazoa clenched her teeth through the agony as she stood. She could see, and feel, the beast below – it was looking up at her, pacing, snarling, snapping its teeth. It had already been injured by Cyril’s lightsaber, making it somewhat slower. Cazoa raised the E-11, and positioned it over the left eye of the monster. She drew in a breath and held it as she followed the yellow orb in the scope.

Now.

She let the blaster rip. The shot was perfect; the terentatek howled as its eye was destroyed. Cazoa watched as it flailed around in agony for a moment. As it lowered its head, she raised the rifle once more and sent serveral shots flying into the soft spot at the base of its skull. The beast was no more; with one last snarl, Cazoa felt it die.

There was still one more terentatek out there. Fighting Cyril. Her eyes searched for them in the scope.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Mephirium hadn't been paying much attention to Cazoa. He had been a bit caught up in the ensuing battle to pay the woman much mind, and it was only when he heard the cry of pain that he looked up at her. The Terentatek had scored a ghastly wound along her leg, but she had not been killed. He could feel her distress in the force, felt the desire to help his prospective student, but the beast in front of him required his full attention.

It let forth a bellow of pain that Mephirium would only ever expect from another sentient being as its partner was killed. It seemed the two of them might have been a mated pairing. He didn't feel any semblance of pity for the creatures - they were monsters, truly, but he did understand that the surviving Terentatek was going to be much more difficult to deal with.

It didn't waste any time in charging him. Mephirium managed to duck under the claws, but the tusk managed to carve a shallow canyon through his shoulder. A little farther to the right and it would have pierced all the way through flesh and bone. The pain was explosive, but the Sith Lord would not allow it to rule him. Halfway through his dodge, he reignited his lightsaber.

It roared to life in the Terentatek's eye.

The monster screamed as if the galaxy itself was crashing around it. It flailed its arms blindly at the night sky, stomping the ground in fury and kicking up little storms of sand in the process. Mephirium wasted no time in throwing a wall of telekinetic energy at the beast. It went toppling over, its blood coating the sand.

With a wild hiss, it pushed up into a crouch, its single yellow eye alight with hatred. Mephirium readied for another charge, a charge that did not come. Huffing loudly, the beast rose to its feet, and lumbered off into the wastes. It had been beaten.

The Sith Lord took a moment to assess his injuries. His shoulder had been gouged, and blood dripped from a gash in his mid-riff. The pain was sharp, and the wounds were irritated by the moon's red sands, but he paid them no mind. This woman, Cazoa, was why he had come. If she died, there would be no point to this little struggle.

He turned back to the ship and strode forward, his lightsaber dousing once he reached the ramp. Rather than wait for the woman to further injure herself crawling down the side of the ship, Mephirium called out with the force. Invisible hands reached out to lift Cazoa into the air and deliver her to the foot of the ramp alongside Darth Mephirium.

"The beasts are hunting tonight," he spoke through heavy breaths, "Were you hit anywhere other than the leg?" He lofted a brow.

"We need to get inside. Stitch that up."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

A roar of pain released from the remaining terentatek guided Cazoa to its position. She watched through the rifle scope as it charged at Cyril, flinging its tusks madly in the air, hell-bent on sinking them into the man’s flesh. Cazoa frantically tried to get a clear shot at its weak spot, but the beast moved too wildly. In a blur of cyan light in the darkness, the man’s lightsaber roared to life once again, plummeting straight into the terentatek’s eye. It recoiled and toppled over on the dirt.

Cyril stared the beast down, and just when she was was sure that it would charge at him once more, it took off into the night in a huff of surrender. If only it’s mate had been as wise.

Cazoa slunk down onto her bottom, still clutching the rifle in her hand. Her teeth gritted while she focused on her throbbing calf. She hoped that it wasn’t as bad as it felt. Suddenly, she noticed that she was being lifted into the air by a strange, invisible energy. It raised her frozen body off of the shuttle roof, and then slowly bought her down to the ramp, setting her softly onto the ground. Next to Cyril.

Cazoa was sure that he was responsible for this little trick, and the welling terror filled her again as she remembered the crimson lightning erupting from his hands.

"The beasts are hunting tonight," he spoke through heavy breaths, "Were you hit anywhere other than the leg?" He lofted a brow.

"We need to get inside. Stitch that up."

‘Stay back!’ she shouted as she pointed the E-11 at his chest.

The once strong and resilient woman had been reduced to one filled with fear at the feet of this man. She knew that in a second, he could send forth the lightning and fry her on the spot; she knew one swing of his lightsaber could sear right through her flesh, burning away her limbs. Logic wanted Cazoa to fire the blaster, to get off of this forsaken rock and never set foot in such a place again. But she didn’t shoot, she didn’t want to. Instead she sat in the dirt looking up at Cyril with big eyes, the gun shaking in her hand still pointed at his chest.

‘You should leave,' she said quietly.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

"You should leave."

Though pained, Mephirium could not help but bark a quiet laugh. He saw nothing but terror in Cazoa's features - felt nothing but confusion from her within the force. Yes, this he could use. Cracking a thin smile, Mephirium reached down and settled a hand on the barrel of the rifle. He called upon the force and centered it within his hands, readying himself should his assumptions prove to be wrong and she did indeed try to shoot him. With a gentle tug, he moved the weapon aside.

"If I leave, you will die. The other beasts will come eventually," the smile faded somewhat, " - and you have a powerful connection to the force. They are drawn to you, Cazoa. They crave the flesh of force sensitives."

his hands fell to his sides and he cast a wary look over his shoulders. Though darkness enshrouded the moon, he could just barely make our the silhouettes of the roaming Tuk'ata just beyond the ligh of the ship. They had heard the commotion, heard the Terentatek's cries, and come. Soon enough they would pounce on the duo, and while Mephirium knew he would not allow this, Cazoa did not.

"Your engines have been destroyed as well. This ship isn't moving," he continued, offering a hand to the girl, "We'll need to take my own, but it's across the valley. A week's trip, at the very least. We'll stay here for the night." It was not a suggestion. He made a point to motion to the Tuk'ata as well. Their snarling could be heard even from this distance.

"The creatures are hungry. We've left them dinner," he motioned toward the Terentatek corpse. "Why don't we allow them to feast on that, rather than us?" He lofted a brow, a hint of good humor lacing his words.

His gaze fell to her wound. "My wounds are shallow. I can call upon the force to stitch them up. Yours is...well, rather deep. If we don't stitch you up, you're going to bleed out, and I would hate to make this journey on my own."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa watched the man as he knelt down and placed a firm hand on the blaster. She searched his eyes as they connected with hers. Though she had just witnessed something that terrorised her deeply, his closeness to her now drew out the ill-feelings and buried them in the dirt. Between them lay a connection, binding them together in all the ways that she had tried to push from her soul since discovering them as a child. When he spoke his next words, she allowed that part of herself to open for him, for herself. Cazoa showed no struggle as the blaster was tugged gently from her shaking hand.

‘[SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]If I leave, you will die. The other beasts will come eventually,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" his smile faded somewhat, " [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]- and you have a powerful connection to the force. They are drawn to you, Cazoa. They crave the flesh of force sensitives.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" [/SIZE]

A frown creased her brow as she allowed herself to become linked with the force in that moment. After years of denial, all the walls she had carefully built between her and it, came crashing down. To hear somebody, speak of it to her, someone powerful like Cyril, made Cazoa truly feel it for the first time. It welled inside her; it swirled all around them - she could touch it with her mind, and she could feel it pulsing through her. As she looked up at Cyril, she could sense it within him too. It was distinctively different to hers – a unique pattern, though one in the same. She felt the Tuk-ata, pacing in the darkness, now that she had opened herself to them, their life-force became clearer to her than it had ever been before. There were six of them, and she could hear them converse with her, sending their desire to eat the corpse of the terentatek she had killed.

In her acceptance, it felt like everything was brand-new to Cazoa; the world around her vibrant and the possibilities endless but at the same time, insanely chaotic, a wild beast that she could not control. Cyril spoke again, and she was drawn to the surface of her experience.

[SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Your engines have been destroyed as well. This ship isn't moving,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" he continued, offering a hand to the her, "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]We'll need to take my own, but it's across the valley. A week's trip, at the very least. We'll stay here for the night.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE]

Cazoa looked at his hand, but did not take it. Instead she plummeted into thought again the ship – she had forgotten that the lights had faded to a red glow when she had emerged from the bathroom earlier. This meant that the emergency power had kicked in when the main systems had failed. Indeed, she needed Cyril and his ship if she were ever to get off of this rock - something she had been desperately looking forward to doing.

The man confirmed the feeling of desire Cazoa had felt from the Tuk-ata – they snarled in the distance, waiting for their chance to feast.

[SIZE=9pt]Cyril’s gaze fell to her wound. "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]My wounds are shallow. I can call upon the force to stitch them up. Yours is...well, rather deep. If we don't stitch you up, you're going to bleed out, and I would hate to make this journey on my own.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE]

In all the commotion of the evening, Cazoa hadn’t noticed that the man had been injured. His shoulder was seeping blood onto the torn fabric of his clothes; another gash shone with blood on his mid-riff. Her own pain came back to her now. She hadn’t even had a chance to check the cut on her calf – yet the sharp throbbing that came from it told her it wouldn’t be pretty. Luckily the ship had a high-grade medical kit still on board.

‘Okay,’ Cazoa muttered, finally finding her voice. ‘Let’s get on the ship.’

She clenched her teeth and managed to stand without taking Cyril’s help; perhaps out of stubbornness, or perhaps an unconscious fear of what she would feel when their skin met. The pain was sharp as she limped and stumbled back onto the ship.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

And that was that.

Mephirium followed her aboard the ship and made a point to pull the ramp up behind him. The Tuk'ata were going to be coming any moment now. Though he doubted they would pay the two humans much mind, he did not want to give them the possibility of ascending into the ship. He doubted either of them would survive the encounter given what they had just gone through.

His gaze fell down to his wounds as he ascended the stairs. They weren't particularly terrible, but calling upon the force to heal them was going to be a draining task in itself. He would need to let them heal naturally for the time being. Expending such energy was a waste, and Cazoa was still unstable. The possibility that she might decide he was too dangerous and take a blaster to him was all too real.

He would not give her the opportunity.

"Sit down somewhere comfortable," he ordered as he delved into the ship. Medkits were usually found in the refreshers on ships like this, and that was the first place he checked. A moment's searching and he found what he was looking for. It was rather high end for a shuttle like this - it would have been quite useful for the previous occupants, had they survived.

He made his way over to Cazoa and popped open the kit, searching for the disinfectant. Bacta would heal her wounds quickly, but the gash on her calf would need to be sewn up all the same, otherwise she would continue to bleed everywhere. Then she would be of no use to anyone, least of all the Sith Lord.

"I'm going to sew that wound up," he motioned toward her leg, "I need you to sit very still while I do this. Do you understand?"


[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

[SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Sit down somewhere comfortable[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt],’’ Cyril said as they entered the hull.[/SIZE]

Instead of following his orders, Cazoa hobbled to the cockpit; there was a bottle of strong liquor waiting for her under the console. She unfastened the cap and took a large swig. It made her grimace as the liquid burned her mouth and throat. After the initial bitterness, it felt good as it warmed her insides - good enough to take two more chugs. Bracing herself on the bulkheads she made her way back to Cyril, bottle in hand.

While he rummaged through the med-kit he had found, Cazoa hit a button on the underside of a lounger. The backrest fell flat, creating a makeshift operating table.

[SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]I'm going to sew that wound up,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]" Cyril motioned toward her leg, "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]I need you to sit very still while I do this. Do you understand?[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE]

Cazoa nodded.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she said.

A half-hearted grin formed over her pink lips. She climbed awkwardly onto the lounger and took another swig from the bottle before she lay flat on her belly.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He waited for her to sprawl herself out over the table before moving to her injured leg. The wound was oozing blood and went a bit deeper than he might have liked, but it did not seem like anything was broken. He looked over to meet her eyes, and flashed a smile that was meant to set her at ease.

"Of course. I used to be a healer." He turned his attentions back to the wound.

Before anything else, he unstopped the single syringe of bacta that had been housed in the medkit. Before she could protest, he inserted it into one of the arteries in her lower thigh and tossed it aside. It would serve as a fast acting agent that would help her body heal twice as fast as it normally would. It helped with the pain too - inducing an almost euphoric state for a brief period of time.

"This will hurt." He stated honestly. He lifted the bottle of disinfectant and sprayed the wound, clearing it of whatever bacteria might have been on the beast's claws.

Then came the gruesome part.

He called upon the force to press the open wound together. It was little more than a slight tug, but irritating all the same. With his hands freed, he began to carefully sew the wound together with a needle and medi-thread. After a few rather long moments, he paused to look at his work. The wound had been closed. He settled a hand on her calf and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Field dressings had were never fun.

"How's it feel?"


[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa grimaced as she felt a prick in her thigh, injecting a cool liquid into her vein. The slow creep of euphoria told her that it was bacta.

[SIZE=9pt]"This will hurt." Cyril announced.[/SIZE]

She grimaced as he sprayed the wound with disinfectant. It stung uncomfortably. Slowly the bacta kicked in and the sting turned into a dull throb. She felt an odd sensation on her calf that she couldn’t place, and then the familiar tug of stitching began.

As she lay still for Cyril, her thoughts began to wander. She didn’t let herself think about the myriad of emotions she had felt from the force earlier. Instead, she wondered about simpler things – if they could even be called that.

This man had, in effect, come out of his way to the ship, and announced that Cazoa was force-sensitive. Now he was aiding her by tending to her wounds. Logically, if he were here to do her harm, then he would have let the terentateks eat her, or let her bleed to death; nor would he essentially offer to take her to his ship and get her off of the moon. After many years in an unforgiving Galaxy, Cazoa had come to learn that such niceties were often accompanied by requiring something in return. She pondered in silence for a moment, and then Cyril spoke.

[SIZE=9pt]"How's it feel?" [/SIZE]

‘It feels…good,’ Cazoa responded. In truth, it did feel much better than it had a mere half an hour ago. She might be limping around for a week or so, but she was glad that the terentatek hadn’t chewed her leg off.

Still a little woozy from the painkillers (and alcohol), she carefully swung around making sure not to catch the newly stitched wound on the lounger. She noted Cyril’s perfect stitch as she caught a glimpse of her calf.

‘Thank you,’ Cazoa smiled in the fading euphoria. She looked up at him. ‘A healer huh.’

She fumbled internally as she tried to find the words that she needed. Cazoa had never spoken openly about her connection to the force with anybody. She didn’t understand it, and therefore didn’t have the slightest idea where to start even though she had a million questions whirling around her head. This man had probably got it all wrong anyways; she wasn’t special. Cazoa sighed, her eyes falling to his shoulder which had crusted with dried blood.

‘May I?’ she asked gingerly as she grabbed a packet of gauze from the medkit.

She handed him the bottle of liquor with another soft smile.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

"Used to be," he corrected as he looked over the stitching. It certainly wasn't perfect, but she wasn't going to be bleeding all over everything at the very least. With a sigh, he met her eyes, lofting a brow as she asked her question.

He had entirely forgotten about the wounds marring his body. The pain had become a dull throbbing that seemed to continue without end. It had gotten to the point that he simply tuned it out, having been distracted by the task at hand. In truth, his wounds were not terribly bad, though they would require some form of dressing to keep from becoming infected.

"You've got it. Just don't go exploring," he snickered as he settled onto the table. After a moment of pondering he slid off his ruined jacket and undershirt, tossing them both to the side. His torso was a patchwork of scar tissue, ranging from ritualistic cuts over his midriff to long patches of warped flesh from terrible burns long since healed. Most noticeable were the words branded into his collar bone written in Graug speak.

He shivered as the momentary cold and grumbled a curse under his breath. The dried sweat on his skin was making everything sticky; combined with the cold air and the dried blood, he was feeling like quite the mess.

"Your connection to the force - you've known about it for some time, haven't you?" Cyril asked as he bent forward slightly to allow her access to his wounds. The gash on his shoulder was not particularly deep, but the slash along his chest was a rather wicked thing. He would need to take the time to heal them later.

"What do you know about it, Cazoa?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

‘You’ve got it. Just don’t go exploring,’ the man snickered as he took off his jacket and shirt.

Cazoa’s hands certainly wouldn’t wander from his wounds - but her eyes did. Etched all over Cyril’s midriff were pale scars and burns. Her lips parted slightly in shock; never had she seen someone’s skin look so tortured. What had he been through? Her eyes skimmed across the branded words on his collar bone before settling on his shoulder wound. It wasn’t bleeding any more, but it would need cleaning all the same; terentateks were not hygienic creatures in the slightest.

Cazoa poured some disinfectant onto the gauze and placed her free hand on his bicep as she began to wipe away the blood. She daren’t meet his eyes, his tortured body made her feel uncomfortable. Or perhaps she felt that way because they were close; his skin felt unnaturally hot against her hand. Whatever it was, she pushed it away from her and focused on cleaning his shoulder.

[SIZE=9pt]"Your connection to the force - you've known about it for some time, haven't you?" Cyril asked, leaning closer.[/SIZE]

Cazoa hesitated for a moment before she spoke. ‘You could say so, yes.’

[SIZE=9pt]"What do you know about it, Cazoa?"[/SIZE]

She paused cleaning the wound and looked up at him, her hand still resting on his bicep.

‘Well, after witnessing lightning erupting from your palms tonight, I’m guessing not a whole lot.’ She resumed tending to his shoulder. The wound was fairly superficial, and Cazoa guessed that it wouldn’t cause him too much discomfort.

She sighed at Cyirl’s silence; he obviously wanted her to continue.

‘Truthfully,’ she began to elaborate. ‘I never believed I had a connection to the…force; until tonight I hadn’t allowed myself to truly feel it. Yet still, I am not convinced. Since a child I have attempted to push it away - deny myself any association. But it seems no matter how tightly I lock it up, pieces still manage to escape. My knowledge of it is limited.’

Cazoa placed a few drops of healing agent on a fresh piece of gauze and taped it into place over the now clean wound. She glanced at the slice across Cyri's chest.

‘Lay down,’ she gently commanded.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]