Got Wood? [Krest]

[Lucianus Adair]

Corstris
Quelii Sector
Outer Rim

Since his ‘arrival’, virtually all he had done, had been done for the Lords of the Fringe. They were his allies, his companions, a conglomerate of different beliefs, similar ideals, and common goals… and it was fiercely protective of its own. It was abnormal compared to the way of life he had adhered to before, but everything was in so much sharper of a focus, his thoughts crisp to this purpose.

Today, he lived for himself.

Corstris, to his surprise, had remained virtually untouched. Aside from the abundance of tree stands both deciduous and coniferous, the abundant vegetation, the strange… silence, the planet had no real resources to draw attention to it. It was little more than a glorified camping site, but for him, for many years, it had been home. And yet, he had not set foot on this world since he had been a boy… well over eight-hundred-and-fifty years prior to this day. He doubted the tidy, slightly more than modest estate he had occupied with his father had stood the test of time so easily, but nonetheless he sought it out. There were things he had left behind with the body of his father that he hoped still sat, untouched, under those over eight-hundred-years of time and dust.

Set back from the edge of a lake, the house of his childhood had always looked as if it belonged there, and when he found it after an hour’s trek from where he had landed the small vessel in which he had traveled, what he set his eyes on had truly blended into the landscape. He stood near where a boating dock had been, now long-dilapidated from lack of care, and took in the details of how nature had overtaken the building from this close distance, how it had become one with the structure, yet… it still stood. It was barely recognizable in comparison to the image in his memory, but it was what it was.

And yet… just as the thought crossed his mind to approach, to investigate within, a presence scraped across his will. There was, for whatever reason, someone else sticking their nose in this quiet paradise, and it smacked of a violation of the sanctity attached to his childhood.

Even Sith could be sentimental. Not to mention… possessive. His mouth set in a hard, thin line, and Adair began to stalk towards the house.

@[member="Krest"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest found himself on another world. He had been traveling erratic, having his droid set random planet destinations so he could just end up anywhere. And now he found himself on the densely wooded word of Corstris. He had his droid land the ship in an empty patch of the woods, not bothering to go to a spaceport. He simply wanted to explore, not deal with people. And explore he did.

He found himself upon the small hut some time before @[member="Lucianus Adair"] came, and it surprised him. Such an odd place out of the way of civilization, and it looked abandoned. So he went inside as he would normally do, rummaging around, and finding nothing.

It didn't take long for the Zabrak to get bored however, and he ended up on the roof. There he laid back, simply enjoying the blue sky of the planet. A beautiful view at least. He new nothing of the Sith coming. Nothing of a potential fight. Nothing.

Yet.

 

[Lucianus Adair]

His advancement towards his childhood abode did not take long at all. The mounting anger at this trespass fueled his movements, making them fluid, yet singular in purpose. He would, in a way, defile whosoever had set foot on the territory the depths of his memory claimed as its own. Eviscerate the interloper, if he must. He found himself thirsting for that must as the house grew in his field of vision, as he jaunted forward, step by thickly placed step, moving through vegetation that had become untamed, taking a path from the boat ramp that had once been there, from memory. His power had removed him far from the relationship he once had with this nature, but the nagging tendrils of his memory pulled him in the right steps, nonetheless, carrying him to the abode in which he had grown, never knowing whether he had in fact been born there, or elsewhere.

It was more than a small hut. It was more than a modest cabin. Its size was out-of-place for the territory, but so obscured was it by growth and time. So covered in moss, and... Iridonian. His vibrant blue eyes, the eyes of a hybrid, narrowed, locking on the form that languished lazily on the dilapidated roof of his long-since former home.

"You..." a single syllable, full of bass-tone contempt, "...you disrespect the memory, the sanctity of this place, lounging like a vagrant."

His eyes narrowed, peering pointedly at the red-skinned individual. He had yet to draw any weapon, his arms remaining at his sides.

"Come down, and convince me of why I should not cleave you from stem to sternum."

@[member="Krest"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

The Zabrak blinked slowly at the sound of a voice. And here he thought this home was abandoned. Serves him right for assuming so. He stood up slowly, dusting himself clean. How long had he laid there? He wasn't sure himself. It was a comfortable place to lay, and time quickly left him. Deus flew into his grasp as he leaped down from the roof. The blade itself remained in it's sheath, but the Force pulsed around the whole of the weapon. Even the sheath was force imbued.

He stared directly at [member="Lucianus Adair"], for this was the first time he actually looked at the man. The Zabrak himself was a bit taller, but not by much. An inch or two? Possible. Ad man did he look pissed. Was this home precious to him? From his childhood? A lover and his private abode? He did not speak, instead opting for a strong gaze. He could feel the mans power, and it sent a shiver down the Zabrak's spine. It was not of fear, but of excitement. There was no way to avoid a fight at this point, and Krest knew it. So why not enjoy?

Deus went back onto the Zabrak's hip, tied into place as it so often was. He rested one hand on the hilt of the blade, slowly spreading his feet apart. Words meant nothing but a quick death in a fight, so what was the point of opening his mouth? None at the moment. Instead he pulled the burning blade of his free, letting the purple flame that radiated off of the polished steal blaze off into the night. It was his move now.