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The galaxy had been saved. The Dark Lord of the Sith, Solipsis, was dead.
But the cost had been severe.
Not even the Mandalorian’s own razing of Panatha had brought with it the death of so many of their kind. In War, sacrifice was inevitable, and there was no more honorable death than dying fighting alongside your own vode. But every death left the survivors a hole, an absence that was felt long after the battle was concluded.
And so though there was cause to celebrate, for the Sith’s scheme to unmake the galaxy and been thwarted, one could not drink and revel without a hollow feeling gnawing away at their soul. For they had been so close to utter annihilation. . . and if the margin were that close, then what did that mean for the next battle?
Mandalorians have gathered on the streets of Tor Valum to celebrate the Enclave’s role in the foiling of the Maw’s plan to unmake the galaxy. Taverns throughout Midtown are full to the brim, and drinks are on the house. Drunkenly sing sagas of boarding the massive Sith superweapon or memorialize the fallen in the Nuan’a Memorial.
Many Mandalorians lost their lives on and over Tython, and many more did not survive unscathed. A great deal is being tended to in sick wards and bacta tanks. Write your own character on their deathbed or visit a dear companion to bring them some comfort in an otherwise dark time.
Darkness never rests, and the Enclave must always be prepared for the next threat. Perhaps spurred on by frustration over the failure to capture their mission objective, Romul Saxon leads Mandalorians in training exercises in the Vong Dead Zone of Kestri.
BYOO Objective IV
Use this as an opportunity to write any sort of story you desire.
Everything was a blur to Hilal she was fading in and out of consciousness inside of Akemi Io
starship. Her body was covered in deep cuts, 1st to 3rd degree burns along with a broken arm and a broken leg along with the pain. Akemi continued to treat Hilal, but she whispered that without advanced medical treatment, she will die. Tears stung Hilal's face damn it hurt to cry too, this couldn't happen, could it? Hilal had fought so hard to become a great Forgemaster, a great Bounty Hunter. Yet she was only moments away from death, she wanted to cry out. To Hex
, to Vletti'azan'uosus
, to her parents, even Valery Noble
but the words could escape her mouth. Only blood. She shuttered violently "Sa'pr! Sayr! Susulur ni! Gaa'tayl ni!" (Mom! Dad! Hear me! Help me!) the panicked thought took over her mind.
It was only when Akemi injected something in her was when she started to fade. " Ni narir va copaanir at ramaanar! " (I don't want to die!) Hilal managed to speak at last fear flooded her entire body. She hadn't felt this afraid since she was kicked out from the orphanage and was forced to wonder the streets trying to survive. It was the one painful memory Hilal focused on before she drifted off.
The next moments were only images: Submerged in a blue tank a breath mask on her face and then a bright light accompanied by beeping. Hilal thought she heard: "Take her to the deathbed, there's nothing we can do except hope that she survives." It was unclear but part of Hilal wondered if she made it back to the afterlife.
"Mom.... Dad....." Hilal thought before losing consciousness. "I'm all alone again."
The dropships flew low through the thick cloud cover that hung over the glacial valley that formed the Vong Dead Zone. The entire region had been in and out of a snowstorm for three cycles now, making a mess of comms and logistics from the Citadel of the Kom'rk to Tor Valum.
The storm perfectly reflected the mood of Romul Saxon, Akaan'alor.
Solipsis had been killed. The Maw's Dark Lord of the Sith was dead, yes. And the galaxy had been saved. But though their role in delaying the ability of the Maw's Avatar of War to use its superweapon to wreck unthinkable damage to Tython, and even though Romul had been able to capture some of the blood traitors that had fought under the Maw's banner, in his eyes, their operation had been a failure. The Avatar had not been destroyed, only to escape back into the void. The Mandalorians had barely been able to complete any of their objectives.
The blame lay on him. When the Mandalorians of the Enclave fought poorly, when they did not perform as desired, the blame lay on their leader and master. Romul's sole duty was to shape the warriors under his command into an unrivaled army, worthy of the crusades of old. And Tython had demonstrated that the work was not finished. And so Romul would finish it.
"Bring us down," he commanded to the pilot of the dropship, and wordlessly the pilot nodded in acknowledgment before nudging the nose of the dropship down into an ascent into the valley. The Vong Dead Zone was a large glacial valley host to the remnant of the mutated Yuuzhan Vong population that had once overrun Kestri before the Enclave had come to reclaim the ancient Mandalorian world. It was wholly quarantined from the rest of the planet; the Vong were used as training stock to train the warriors of the Enclave. And their swarming tactics and favor of unconventional weaponry were almost analogous to the Brotherhood of the Maw.
The dropships came to hovering rest inches above the snow-covered valley floor in a clearing ringed by trees, and immediately the Akaan'alor and warriors disembarked. Though there were no enemies in sight, howls from the woods let the Mandalorians know they would not be alone for long.
The bounty hunter lay upright in suspended animation, floating in a tank of blue, sterile-smelling bacta. His clothes had been removed but for a pair of medical undergarments and life monitors strapped to different critical sensor points in the body. Around his mouth was a rebreather, periodically expelling bubbles of air upwards as Siv breathed.
The Mandalorian had floated for weeks since the aftermath of Tython. He’d gotten a med-evac off of the planet, but who had picked him up he couldn’t remember by that time, the combination of neurological decay from stim overdosage and his body shutting down non-essential organs as it attempted to stay alive despite the numerous fatal injuries had rendered his memory-forming processes unreliable at best.
The palm of his left hand showed heavy, visible scarring, though the bacta was working its best to mend the flesh. It was a marked contrast to how it had been on Tython, a bloody fleshy hole which through a vibrospear had been thrust, pulverizing blood vessels, muscle, and bone. Reconstructing the hand had required days of continuous, laborious surgery during brief periods out of the bacta tank, but the good news was that Siv would eventually gain full functionality of the hand even if it would be scarred forever.
Dreamlessly the bounty hunter lay. Perhaps that was mercy; a small respite from the wearies of the galaxy, for he had suffered enough. And would continue to suffer once he awoke until he was laid to rest for the final time.
The dark, unthinking void was comforting compared to the bright and terrible galaxy that lay beyond the tank.
Men and women returned from Tython in various states. It was clear that the battle had been brutal. They had lost warriors. Warriors have returned battered and bruised, the bacta pods overflowing.
Something had to be done.
Lish had held down the fort in the brunt of the Enclave's absence. One of those elements now stood next to her in the dropship. Kalen Genet
had proven himself an asset on Ryloth and her interrogations and time keeping an eye on him had payed off in the absence of the brunt of the forces - he had earned his place amongst the Mando'ade of the Enclave.
Not that she would ever tell him that.
The newest addition to the Enclave would finally be introduced to the Vong he had so long thought to be just a machination of imagination of the Enclave.
The Warmaster's voice reverberated through the ship and the comms.
"You got your blasters and blades back now - do you know how to properly use them for a change, Genet?" she asked him, the smirk in her voice evident even behind the helmet. He'd be in for the ride of his life once they hit the quarantined ground.
It would be a blast to see the initial shock on his face when those Vong came for him.
Vren and Koda Fett
were testament to that. But it also had its defeats. And it had its impasses as well. At the end of it, Vren's spiritual brother had barely gotten off the planet alive.
The hardened Karjr had rallied some medics to get him off the planet in one piece. One consolation as Vren had passed over said battlefield was that the Sith Lord Siv had been facing didn't look much better as the GalacMed chaps had cleared the way to get to his barely upright brother.
Vren had survived by the skin of teeth himself as he had engaged the Destroyer himself - Darth Carnifex
. Nag had gotten out of that engagement with quite a few and deep dents as she was nearly crushed before she and Koda had dropped devastating groundrazers on the Dark Lord and his subjects.
Stepping into the medibay with a fellow brother, Volo Dragr
, Vren's eyes caught Siv floating in the bacta - the scars evident on his body. "Must've been a damn big fight." the gunslinger remarked, realising how lucky he had been with those spirits coming to his aid in the nick of time. He would have been crushed otherwise.
Wordlessly, Faison rode amongst his brethren within the Enclave aboard the transport ship bound for the Vong deadzone on Kestri. Like Lesha, he was not present on Tython during the battle which commenced there. Duty had called him elsewhere, but to be honest - that excuse had begun to wear thin upon him. Despite the personal quest he was engaged in, and the importance to both himself and his chosen creed to fulfill it - the fact remained that he had once again not been there for his vode. While it was a paltry substitute, Faison could at least begin by taking part in the training exercises organized by Romul. At the very least, he could sharpen his ability to work in tandem with some of the newer faces of the Enclave. Perhaps they would prove themselves worthy companions. And perhaps he would succeed in reintroducing himself to the brothers and sisters at his side.
As the craft lowered to the frigid surface of the dead zone, Faison arose from his seat and brandished his viper-series battle field in his hands. He leapt from the platform, his boots closing the inches between the platform and the frozen surface alongside the Warmaster. His HUD immediately activated to scan the surrounding area; searching for signs of thermal heat signatures amidst the dead cold of the surrounding area. The wind bit at them, catching the folds of his cloak draped across his armored hulk. Soon enough, Faison glanced over at the Warmaster's imposing form.<"Do you want me to scout ahead?">
Throughout the journey toward their destination a young warrior in emerald armor inspected her new repeating rifle while fine tuning it. Minerva Fhirdiad hadn't said much to the others during the ride. The reason being a mixture of awkwardness and guilt. While she had been on a different assignment when most of the Enclave went to fight on Tython.
My vod were fighting and dying while I was chasing down leads on the other side of the blasted galaxy!
Underneath she gritted her teeth in frustrated shame simultaneously wiping the gun's barrel with a small rag. The very thought of not being there for her fellow Mandalorians in their greatest need was infuriating beyond words. Not to mention missing out one of the largest battles in galactic history as well. As such her sense of honor demanded that she not join the Tor Valum's great revelry.
I don't deserve to celebrate with any of them who were there.
Softly a sigh escaped her but still Minerva said nothing for the moment. Any casual words she may say right now would feel like a cruel insult to the fallen. Quickly that frustration transformed into determination. As the craft began its descent Minerva put up the bluish rag. Without hesitation she followed the others, jumping from the platform onto the snow below.
Scanning around at the nearby trees holding her weapon in both hands Minerva can already hear the Vong. It won't be long before their enemies attack.
Good, I hate waiting when it comes to this. Fighting these monsters is more preferable than wallowing in self-pity.
In all honesty Minerva was well aware she won't be able to wipe away the present shame by taking part in this venture. Nevertheless it will be a start at the very least. Briefly she glanced over to Akaan'alor before focusing back on her own flank. Minerva will await Saxon's next orders without comment realizing the current mood he is in.
The Howler' Mk.1 Basilisk War Droid kept pushing, on and on. Over the hills of Kestri, over tree tops and past mountain ranges, over lakes and rivers. Howling all the way.
It wasn't the first time that the pilot had taken it on long flights in Kestri's atmosphere, but he had certainly thought about it being the last... As he pushed the yoke down, dipping the nose to cut low over one of the hundreds of ice valleys that dotted the frozen planet, he felt the pull again. Like a call, from somewhere beyond- the Call of the Void. It wasn't something you could hear, nor see, nor touch... it was an endless, nigh irresistible temptation. It took all of Volo's might to resist it, to keep the Basilisk steady and straight.
To not throw it to the side and test how well it'd fair against the stone cliffs.
He hadn't been there at Tython. He hadn't even known there was a planet named Tython. He was content to keep to Kestri, to work the forge and tend the lands, build the home that the Dragr Clan needed.
Panatha had been enough.
The Netherworld had been enough.
Despite all his wishes, though, despite all the silent prayers and appeals he made to the Forces which worked in the Galaxy... War found a way back to him. His brother had answered the call. He had gone to Tython. He had fought. Volo hadn't even known he'd come home. Nobody had told him. All he had was his own reassurance that he was alive, since nobody said otherwise.
He could've asked, but who? Who would he have asked? The helplessness hurt. But finding out what happened hurt worse.
Volo had wasted little time in getting to Tor Valum, if he'd gone any faster he'd have been in hyperspace. He wasted even less when he was in the city. He wasn't even sure if he'd tossed the right pouch of credits to the dockmaster. He wasn't even sure how he was sprinting through the city like he'd built it himself.
He didn't know how he was moving as fast as he was with all his armour. How the little that was left of his legs wasn't crippling him. Of course, a sensible man might've said that it was the map in the corner of his visor, that he'd only brought one pouch of credits, that his cybernetics were doing far more for him than a human body ever could have.
But Volo wasn't a sensible man. Not then. Maybe not after. Of course, he hadn't considered that he'd have to wait, being so early, for his old vod- Vren Rook
, to show up. He'd been the one to tell him, after all. He waited nearly two hours. For the whole of them. He'd kept still. Perfectly still. Stiller than a statue. He kept his helmet on, even though he'd long since realised there was more to being a Mandalorian than keeping the helmet on.
When Vren finally got there, he would've found a man cold- in both conversation and manner. Even so, he made haste to the medibay, following as fast as he could without leading the way- even though he didn't know it himself. Vren was first in, but Volo barely registered whatever it was he said.
He was stuck in the doorway. Visor directed at the bacta tank. The tank that held his brother. The first to stand by his side. To fight with him, to the end.
Lesha's words barely registered over the focus Kalen had towards checking his gear. Both blasters fully loaded, the optics unmolested, making sure his shield gauntlet was still in one piece, and all four of the blades he'd gotten on Saijo hadn't been taken and used for fun by any of the other Mandos on Kestri. "Take off the helmet, I'll give you a haircut," he grumbled back, holding up one of the Tehk'la blades. "Show you just how good I am." Having the blades alone should be proof enough, but as he'd rapidly learned after meeting her sarcasm with more of his own, nothing ever seemed good enough to go without some sort of backhanded comment.
At least it had made the wait for everybody else to come back less boring.
Jumping out of the craft, even without any enhanced audio receptors available he could hear the howling and braying of the mis-Shaped Yuuzhan Vong. Mutants through and through, some just from bad luck, others from the results of poorly trained Shapers, and yet more from inheriting traits of the former groups. All of them, it sounded like, filled with nothing more than hatred for those who called the rest of the planet home. Kalen turned back to Lesha, his expression completely flat.
"You couldn't at least find me any armour first?"
Looking back to the trees, he flicked the safeties off on his pistols, muttering darkly. "First pit I find, I should toss you in..."
Hexes inner voices '...Neutral...' '...Doubt...' '...Anger...'
Coloured '.....' are also words that Hex can hear , but I decided not to write them to reduce clutter
Hex had thought long and hard about whether to come here today, on one hand Hilal was her friend, someone who actually seemed to care for Hex quite a lot, and someone that maybe could do with a friendly face. On the other hand, this place, it was nothing more than a prison for those not fit enough to walk out by themselves. Even the towering frontage of the building, with emblems indicating the blood spilled inside was an imposing facade.
"we need to do this ok, Hilal is probably wondering where we are" '...the nurses.....the doctors....the beds.....the chains...' "stop it"
She slid to a halt on her repulsor board in the shadow of the signs, a pair of ambulances whizzed by her and she had to wait a moment as the gurneys were carried though. Hex caught a glimpse of the tight leather strapping around the arm of one of the injured, restraining him, preventing his escape. She reached up and felt her own arm, remembering vividly the straps she was forced to wear herself. Her heart began to quicken and she very nearly turned around, before the sensors detected her presense and there was the sound of grating metal as the door slid open to reveal the threshold in front of her.
"In?...or?..." '...enjoy your last gulps of freedom...'
Hex squeezed her fist tightly and gripped her teeth as she stepped scross the barrier, her butterfly knife spun rapidly in her hand as she desperately tried to calm herself. It was likely a blessing this was a mandalorian hospital, she needed her knife and only here could she so openly carry.
A man in a long starched white coat walked in front of a Hex, it was clean but still faintly showing the light patina of his work across the collar, one, two, three drops of someone's blood. He looked the teen in the eyes and bared his teeth as she approached, there was a glint in his eye that she had seen so many times from doctors in the past and the blade stopped spinning before resting in her palm. Her heart nearly stopped as he reached out almost looking like he would grab her and she tensed her arm ready to defend herself before the relief as he grabbed and shook the arm of one of his own kind who had followed her in the door.
'...This is madness....we need to leave...'
She stopped briefly, about to turn and leave but gritted her teeth and pressed on deeper into the crowded foyee. Across from her was a desk, covered with all sorts of information and behind it was a woman who sat almost as tall as Hex stood behind her holoscreen.
"I'm here to visit a patient called Viszla, please?" she said to the woman, trying to cover her nerves, they couldn't know who she is and they couldn't know what she was. "This is a mandalorian hospital dear, I'm going to need a little more information." The woman replied, showing her teeth at Hex as she spoke. "Oh, it's Hilal Vizsla, she's 16, she's my friend."
The woman grinned again and handed Hex a small slate with directions and access number
"she isnt a well girl, go and see her petal" The woman immediately then started speaking to the next waiting attendees and let Hex pass through a large heavy set of doors into the hospital proper.
In here it was quieter, less bustle of the foyee, the eerie beeping of machinery took Hex straight back to her childhood and she gripped the hand rail next to her tightly as if she might suddenly be thrown to the floor. There was nobody about her, this was an intensive care wing, everyone was secured in their cells and the doctors would interrogate their patients one to one without any other people around.
Eventually, Hex found the right door and gently touched the name of her friend who lay dying beyond it, it was a gentle reminder of why she was her. Hex pushed the door, they had forgotten to lock it? As she let herself in, she slid the blade of her knife in to the slide mechanism of the lock, hearing a ping as the lock was disabled, she felt relief that she couldn't become trapped, but she couldn't be too careful, so she carefully slid a discarded piece of equipment between the door and its frame, allowing it to look closed, without actually closing.
Now it was just the two of them, the terrified Hex, and her dear friend, lying there in pain.
While he never received a formal invitation, the Director decided that attending the celebrations and ceremonies were well worth the effort of getting through the hoops of Enclave security. The cargo onboard his star destroyer certainly helped to smooth things over when the Mandalorian armada halted them at the border of their space.
The ship finally arrived and came to a halt over Kestri, its guns retracted into its hull while its comms flew a virtual white flag. All for several shuttles to depart with the bodies and armour of fallen Mandalorians that were not recovered on Tython. Even a handful of wounded warriors were brought back after full medical attention. Free, of course. Everyone shed blood over Tython, it was simply too low, even for the Director, to charge them money after such a brutal battle.
But the trip was more than just a social call. Between the Quartermaster and the Regent of the Empire, Braxton had some very important business to discuss with them.
"Now where the hell...?" He muttered to himself as he looked around the streets of 'Midtown'. Thankfully the Enclave's security was able to point him to the direction of a cantina where Barran most likely was. Inside, the place was filled to the brim, with no Barran in sight... but drinks were free and that was enough incentive to help himself to the fabled Tihaar of the Mandalorians.
Kamino was an accident. A broken mind had no place wandering the water world. Even less around the hypergate. And yet, The Hunter wandered through it all the same. An accidental trip into the Netherworld. Where he was, what he was doing, he had no idea. His vision glitched at a near constant, predictable rate. He'd get flashes of where he was. A bone yard with spires as tall as skyscrapers. A river of souls. A field of grass as far as the eye could see.
He wasn't sure where he was going. Nothing made sense. Who he was wasn't anything he could remember. Eliz. Jac'Eli'Zirrem. The names meant nothing to him, even though they should have. They were him.
Were they him?
Ah, he was getting a headache. Wandering through the Nether, he shouldn't even of been there. Dead to the Force, he was just an error. Was that all he was? His vision kept clipping in and out. His body didn't listen to him.
Was he just an error?
Unable to do more than just go with the flow, he continued to wander. Except, no. Here in the grassy plains his vision didn't glitch. He paused his walk, blinking. Staring around him. The fog of his mind was.. Gone?
"Wha-"
"You don't belong here, kid."
A man of blue. A woman in a sundress. He couldn't see either of their faces. But he knew them. Deep down he knew them. His red eyes widened as he stepped forward. Raised a hand.
"Who am I? Where am I? Who are you!? Why do I know you!?"
He could feel them smile. But they didn't answer. A third figure stepped from behind them. Towards him. Another face he couldn't see. She spoke, but the words never reached his ears.
Now
Kestri. He knew this world. The snow fell on his skin as he stared up towards the sky. Cold. Right. He could feel cold. .. He had a home here. His red gaze fell, the only glow from them the natural glow from his Chiss heritage. He walked down vaguely familiar streets towards the familiar building. Tapped in the code, opened the door. The apartment was familiar enough.
He'd cooked meals here. Lots of meals.
Standing in the kitchen he just looked over the familiar surface. Slowly piecing things together where he could. .. He had armor. His armor was.. Where was his armor? He stepped away, staring to go through the various rooms in search of it. There was something important about it.
Objective: 2 First things first: survive! Location: Tor Valum, Kestri Tags: Open
Was he dead? No, he would not see anything or his mind wouldn't be thinking. So if he was not dead, then where was he? The last thing he saw was Kaz lifting him off the floor where he collapsed, he must have tried to say something to the Zabrak. He cannot recall what it was, he may never remember it. Dreams are never remembered either, he wanted to know what he dreamed of pre-Tython.
Vulcan was determined to get back to the real world and not ruminating inside his head, he was suspended somewhere. So he willed himself to bring himself back to outward sensation again. The throbbing pain hit him in increments, he was alive, he was relieved he survived such an ugly injury, he vaguely remembers The Avatar and the fight.
For the last several weeks he was in a Bacta tube, which allowed the injuries to heal somewhat, they had to stitch his insides back in after the large metal shard was removed, he had a lucky escape. So once he is stable and the worst of it was over he would be moved to a bed. Without stress, the once thinning hair began to become fluffy again. His metal leg and clothing were neatly tucked away in a special storage hold. Even if he was awake he would fall in and out of wakefulness regardless so he can only have flash-bulb memories of the last few weeks.
Days pass and when it was deemed safe, they removed Vulcan from the tube and found him a bed at the hospital. The nurses remembered the Ubese from the last time he was here. Missing a leg did not mean he couldn't or wouldn't cause mayhem once he gets mobile again and doesn't feel like his insides were going to explode with pain.
As of right now, Vulcan was glad he was alive, he was lucky they got to him when they did, after all, he promised Shai he'll keep coming back and not let anything stand in his way. Vulcan felt sadness that Shai was not around, sad that the Maw filled her with lies. They did try looking for her. He wished he could have faced her and asked her, why?
He needed to know if Kaz had made it to Kestri Alive. He tried not to think of the worst-case scenario because that does his mind no favours.
The streets were flooded with revelers and party goers. Through it all, a lone figure hobbled on a cane. The rags she wore did very little to protect her against the harsh winter of Kestri. At least, she was home. It felt like ages since she had been here. Positively, no one would be able to recognize her at first glance. A hood shrouded her head, hiding her long, messy hair. Her eyes were blindfolded, as there was nothing in the sockets. The blindfold was to both avoid infection and avoid people screaming in terror at the eyeless woman. The half Arkanian made surprising speed, despite only having one leg. She had landed her trash ship across the city from where her own ships were. Yet, she knew her apartment was a closer distance than her ships. She would go to her apartment first and see if she left anything useful there before looking for her gear, wherever it was. She hoped Vulcan Krayt
and Kaz Krayt had been able to hang onto her gear at Tython. She had zero clue how that battle had ended...
She was desperate to see Vulcan again, as well as her beloved father, Kranak Vizsla
, again. It had been so long. He had already lost Eliz and Shai, there was no way she could let him lose herself as well. That was one of the main reasons, after all, that she had come back...
It was not as difficult being blind as one would expect. Gwyneira always had been remarkably gifted in Force Sense, and she had learned Force Vision in the Netherworld, naturally. She found herself navigating a black and white world with imdistinguishable forms and shapes. She could see a box on the ground, but was unable to see if a person was a Zeltron, Human, or Mirialan. She saw the figure of the streets, but not what it was made of. She could tell each and every unique Force signature apart, but not the body the soul belonged to. In a ways, she still felt like she was in the Netherworld. Yet, she was able to tell she was home. Eventually made it to her house. She had gone over to the holopad to enter the four digit key, but was alarmed when she "saw" that the door was wide open. She gripped her cane, hobbling right into the doorway. Inside the small, disasterously messy apartment, she sensed a Force Signature rummaging through her closet. He threw an old Kark The Sith! T-shirt out. It landed atop a broken chair. - Well, that chair had always been broken, as Gwyn hardly stepped foot in here.
Still, this was her apartment! Gwyneira still held onto this place, holding onto its memories of her late lover, whom she still missed desperately. Gwyneira gripped her cane, leaning against it as she pointed at the unfamiliar soul, "How the kark do you dare to enter a kriffing Mandalorian's property! You karabasting nerf herder!"
She shoved off her cane, jumping into the house and using the cane for balance. She jumped up, letting go of the cane and grabbing ahold of a ceiling pipe with both hands. In the air, she thrust her foot forward, aiming a solid kick for Eliz Krayt
's nose.
Eliz rubbed at his chin, staring through the closet. Various bits of clothing. Some of which that were his size, so it had to be his place, right? He knew the code to get in. Unless some how he ended up at a random home with the same co- No, he knew the kitchen. It was messier than he remembered, but he did know the kitchen. Yet there was no sign of his armor. His..
"Beskar'gam."
He blinked. Right. That's what it was called. .. It was his fathers. And.. His mothers. He really needed to fi-
Huh? Again he blinked, turning his head to see.. Did he know her? .. Wait yeah he did! A smile formed as he raised a hand in greeting. "Gwy-!"
A solid kick to the face and blinding pain was all he remembered next. Thrown back into the closet he laid out, dazed and staring up at the ceiling as he tried to remember where exactly he was. Mind numbing pain. Ah, yeah. He remembered what that was like. Reaching up to plug his nose and stop the blood currently pouring from it he coughed, wincing as he lifted his head.
The sound of the figure flying back, and the blurry signature following suit, made Gwyn grin. If only she had a blaster on her, she-
"Why...?"
Gwyn's emotional instincts kicked in, "'Why'?! You broke into my apartment! I know I never come here, but this is where Eliz and I lived!"
Wait... Wait a second... that voice. She recognized that voice! It was robot Eliz! What... What was that imposter doing here? Then, it further struck her that the impact felt like flesh, not metal. And his voice was genuine. What... what was going on? What was this seeker, Eliz Krayt
, doing here?
In confusion, she let go of the pipe. She dropped to the floor, forgetting that she had no cybernetic leg. Falling painfully onto the floor, she grunted. Pushing herself into the sitting position, she tried to get a closer "look" at him. She wished she could see him! The Force offered little help in looking upon the physical. She frowned, tilting her head. The hood slipped off. Messy white hair, not brushed once in her new life, flowed like a mane.
His voice was different. Though that was only because he was currently holding his nose to try and stop the blood that had soaked his shirt. Ah, well. At least he had replacements? This had to be his closet. The girl here certainly confirmed this was his home at least. Gwyn. Right. He sat up, cross legged in the closet. Blinked as she fell. For a moment he moved like he could catch her.
And barely moved an inch before she hit the ground. He wasn't fast. Right. Normal. Everything about him was normal now.
".. Kind of? I don't remember a lot, but.. I remember more now. And y'know, I'm not a machine anymore. Though, now I'm kinda weak? It's difficult to explain. .. This is my home, right? My ar- my Beskar'gam, it's here, right?"
By now, Gwyneira had convinced herself there was no hope of truly reuniting with the man she loved again. Yet, from the sounds of it, here he was.
How...
Her mouth gaped open. A gasp. If she could cry, she would be bawling. Was Eliz truly here again?
She pulled herself along the floor, messy hair falling over her voice as she trembled, "This isn't some cruel joke? Is this real?"
By the wavering of her throat, it was obvious she was unsure. She pulled herself up to Eliz, her blindfolded face looking into his Force Signature. He... he now has a Force Signature. Nothing made sense! She wanted to scream, wail, curse, and leap for joy all at once. She was not quick to let herself hope. She reached out and extended her hand, placing her palm gently on his cheek. Her fingers softly moving, she felt his cheek, his forehead, his nose. This... this certainly felt like her Eliz. She wished she could see him. As hope and joy finally started to creep into her thorn girdled heart, she felt a hot, sticky liquid on his lips.
"You're bleeding!"
Instinct took over, subconsciously believing that yes, Eliz was here. She immediately pulled away and slammed her hands on the closet wall, pushing herself up, "Hang on! I'll clean you up!"
She stood, shaking as she struggled to balance. It took a moment to locate her cane with the Force, but she pulled it towards her and limped towards the sink. Oops, she had not paid the water bill! Nothing came out. She used the Force to open a cupboard, pulling some medical rags out and hopping back to him. She lowered herself in an awkward manner, though she had practice using the cane. She tossed the cane aside and started dabbing at his nose. Gentle and with the hands of a practiced engineer, she cleaned him as her head still whirled. Her face, despite the lack of eyes, revealed her worry, love, and fear.
What if this all was some wicked mind trick sent by the Netherworld?
Still, she was dedicated to making sure Jac'Eli'zirum would be okay.
"I don't have your beskar'gam, cyare. Maybe Kranak has held onto it. I know he's been looking after Aubin."
He laughed. Nervously. There was a small flinch as she touched his cheek. Familiar, but not? He wasn't sure what to make of it all, but she did just kick him in the face so a little hesitation was warranted. Then she got up, or well. Struggled to get up. Part of him wanted to reach out and stop her, but another part knew all too well that trying to stop her was just going to piss her off.
Sighing in defeat he just waited for this stranger but not to start cleaning up his nose like she wanted to.
Though, the more he looked at her, the more he realized there was more off about it all. She was familiar, but..
"What happened to your eyes, Gwyn?"
He could leave questions as to who Kranak and Aubin were for later.
