Last call

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Vrag"]

-Kashyyyk

He huffed out a breath as he dropped from one platform to another. His black hair falling wildly about his face as he landed in a crouch then began to sprint across the bridge between two huge trees. His twin saber hilts in his hands as he ran. He was not often found and even less often caught by surprise but his days of relaxing among the wookies had been to much it seemed.

His long strides and steady breath gave him a chance to disappear and he decided to use them both for just that. He focused on the force, drew it in like water through the roots of these great trees and warped light around himself like the cloak of shadows the technique derived its name from. Only his foot falls remained to give any indication of his escape attempt.

He had lost so much. Kira, Nem, his friends in the order.

"Keep your head, Talon." he told himself as he passed from one bridge to another. "It isn't over yet."

 

[Vrag]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePtKR2aRw1w​

It is often said that murderers like to return to the scene of their crime. Not Sith Lords, nor Hands of the Dark Lord; the kind of criminal scum that takes pleasure in observing the tainted fruits of their labor. Gorged on the blood of thousands, the forests of Kashyyyk had thrived admirably in the years since the One Sith had left their scorching mark on the mighty forests. They had come, and they had gone, Netherworld breathing down their necks with loss of numbers.

It did not negate her memories of the place, however, and much like a butcher might, Vrag longed to trace her steps through the jungle once more. In the wake of their triumph on Contruum, the Republic were forced to abandon the arboreal planet, along with dozens of others, cut off from their influence by the strike of the warmachine.

And so she was here again.

A soft sigh escaped her as she stopped on one of the surviving branches leading to the stronghold of Yugwaaargh, tracing the spines on the back of the Chom-Huun as she did so. The once mighty base was now no more than a smoldering ruin, a testament to all the glory the Republic and their allies could build… and how the Sith could invariably take it away.

Ghosts of armies marched around her, speeders breezing overhead amongst descending Wookiees while the black tide pressed upon the mighty gates of the stronghold. There was naught but a skeleton left in their wake now, scorched bark and dead wood where there once blossomed a proud Wroshyr tree.

She hummed to herself a song [member="Darth Carach"] had taught her and slowly started to walk up to Yugwaaargh.

It was a good day.

[member="Talon Vosra"]​

 

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Vrag"]

The zelosian skidded to a halt as he found himself confronted with a portion of the tree city he had long avoided. The still burnt and twisted remains of a battle fought for nought but malice. His bright green eyes took it in like sponges dipped in acid soaking greedily and burning with pain.

It wasn't hard to remember that day. The smell of burned flesh and hair was not one quickly forgotten. He could almost taste the ash on the wind and hear the screams of hate and anguish. He had tried to help that day. Tried to bring aid, but it was too little too late and he could never fix that. He had seen battles before, of course, he had done many terrible things in the old sith empire but this was not as simple. He had butchered hundreds on Bastion, slain innocent on Metallorn, even murdered his own troops over Korriban just to draw out Jedi, but this, this was madness.

Pale fingers whispered along the charred remains of a wall as he slowed to a walk. The oppressive stench of Death still heavy in the force. Why had he come here, of all places how had he run straight into...this? He teetered on the brink of anger and hate as he walked the tangled bridge, the old republic outpost just a level above him. Perhaps the force had brought him here for closure but more likely was that he was just unlucky, maybe just cursed.

He crouched low and clipped a saber back on his belt before wiping dirt and ash off a trooper's gave shield. The body it once contained all but gone. The reinforced transparisteel reflected back a face, his face and he began to think of the past.

When he came to the Jedi it had been for justice, a trial and execution but instead they kept him locked away. His trial was no more than a few uninterested masters sitting in a circle and waving him off but he tried. He fought for the Jedi, for the Republic. He had even loved among them, but all that changed after Isolda. She had given him the dark mark so he could find his dear friend and it had turned out to be a lie. It lead no where and took from him his first love. He had purged the mark but only to find that his curse was deeper than the force. At every turn sadness and loss. Now here he was amidst the remains of peace and he couldn't help but think it was all he had to look forward to.

He slowly stood and wiped the soot on his black trousers. His hand found his other lightsaber again and he began looking for a way out. He needed to go back somehow, back to who he was before the Sith witch. Maybe then he could have an end to his curse of pain.

 

[Vrag]

There was a hint of ashes on the wind that billowed her way, scattering dead leaves all over the broad walkway. She could still recall the battle vividly, as if it had happened yesterday and not nearly half a decade ago, with screams of the dying and groans of the dead ringing in her ears. Fires, explosions, and pain, surrounding the once mighty stronghold with a cacophony few could understand, much less bear to listen.

Was she always like this, moved neither by the means nor by the end?

Blue eyes peered at the faint glimpses of the firmament far above, looking down at her through the rich greens and browns of the canopy. If you glanced but a click away, putting the trampled ruin out of your vision, the forest would seem nearly untouched. If only they knew what soil the roots drank so greedily, what sap coursed through their veins; red upon red, an entire woodland fertilized by the fallen.

Waste not.

An idle thought, dripping with self-directed irony. She was efficient, certainly, yet every life she'd ever taken could probably be left alone, to thrive or rot by its own devices. Was she playing god, deciding who should live and who should die on the edge of her blade? Some would say so, though she was not among them. Arrogance was a prerogative of the Sith, and Vrag no longer saw the same reflection in that cracked mirror.

Just like th howling wind around her, she would take to flight once more, following the familiar scent of iron and salt wafting though the air.

Ygdris coiled against her, and Lammie roused from her slumber at the pugnant odor. Fire and ember, blood and bone. Her eyes flashed open — when had they closed? — and scoured her surroundings for a sign of life. There was a source to this knotted pain, and she would find it.

Shifting through her HUD for possible hints, Vrag slowly let Chomsky climb its way to her left forearm while clawed fingers wrapped themselves around the hilt of her lightsaber, prising it from the grip of Vonduun at the small of her back. Like a predator catching a whiff of its favorite prey, the woman let her knees bend into a neutral stance, scanning the foliage with increasing awareness.

Something was here. A ghost of the past come to haunt her from her heinous deeds? She wouldn't put it past the Force, but that was neither here nor there the moment she hit jackpot on the thermal filter.

A silhouette of flickering red, walking towards her on a walkway just below hers. Blue eyes narrowed, and her left hand slowly took hold of a single razor bug, coaxing it from the folds of the Skerr Ygdris.

[member="Talon Vosra"]​

 

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Vrag"]

He looked up, eyes squinting in the less than perfect light. He could sense something now as he focused and it seemed to be starring directly at him.

"So this is why. " he muttered to himself as he turned to face the being and let go of his cloak. The man snapped into existence and he knew there was only one way out of this, he'd have to fight.

A stiff breeze blew his hair from his face as he clipped one of his two sabers back onto his belt. His vibrant green eyes aimed at where he assumed the beings head must be. An idiotic grin spread over his face but didn't reach those eyes, then with a calm heart he lifted his empty hand, and waved.

"Nice day?" he said using the dumb act.

 

[Vrag]

A nice day?

A nice day to die, perhaps.

Her features pulled into a bemused frown behind her helmet and Dhaladii reared its horns in an echo of its owner's sentiment. An odd man, to wave at death. Though it could be that he was merely ready to finally face it, and what better way to go than with a smile on your face? Maybe riding a man to death, but that was beside the point.

Instead of stepping forward, to the very edge of the walkway she stood upon, Vrag took a quick step back, expelling the razor bug from her grip in a sharp backwards motion, its speed aided by the quick twist of her hips. The little beast would propel itself through the mess of leaves and branches, its faint buzz hopefully obscured by the hubbub of a living, breathing forest. The advantages of using organic technology was that it never felt out of place in situations like this, and it was something the Hand had learned to exploit a while ago.

While the bug traveled all the way down and around, to come up below her target's walkway and crash into its unprotected back, Vrag would distract the man by walking over to the edge again – but not too close – replying to his pointless question at last.

"Sure, if you like the smell of death in the morning." Not exactly riveting conversation, but it was never meant to be.

[member="Talon Vosra"]​

 

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Vrag"]

"Well aren't you foreboding." he said calmly as he began to walk forward. His foolhardy expression from a moment before melting to a look of stoic resolve. He had fought many times and only lost once. Isolda was his greatest regret, she had defeated him utterly without her even lifting a blade.

Eyes like bog moss took in the woman's, full form and he couldn't help but think she was likely attractive once without the Sith-like accessories. The razor bug had gone unseen but he recognized the fashion of the Yuuzhan vong want to be sith and drew on the force.

"I don't suppose you're planning on going for drinks and a night on the town?" he said calmly as he tried to decide how best to remove her advantage of the High ground. "Maybe a dance would cheer you up."

He was being annoying, yes, he tended to do that, but what the hell. He wasn't winning a popularity contest anyway.

 

[Vrag]

"Comes with the getup," she quipped back as her empty left hand inched slowly towards the LeMat on her belt, obscured from view by the angle of her armored torso. High ground ought to be exploited, and she had just the thing to do so. Most of those who knew how to wield the Force grew to reliant on the mystical power and the nearly impossible feats it could help them accomplish, but Vrag had dodged that bullet. Partially, her underuse of space-magic stemmed from the fact that she fought encased in Vonduun plates, and partially from the fact that she'd used other death-dealing instruments long before being introduced to her potential.

She wasn't quite the gunslinger, but she was by no means a terrible shot; not after more than a decade of constant use, and with the advanced HUD of her helmet, the woman had her quarry in her sights before she actually pulled the gun on him and squeezed the trigger.

Talking; always with the talking. Why people insisted on trading words was beyond her, but it certainly wasn't beyond her to exploit such a thing. The man below would find his last sentence interrupted mid-way by a loud gunshot as the weapon went off, recoil travelling up the length of her arm. Skerr Ygdris coiled and muscles tensed, and the bullet was well on its way.

Centre mass. What a lovely word.

[member="Talon Vosra"]​

 

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Vrag"]

Despite his outward demeanor and running mouth Talon was no complete fool. What he was, however, was zelosian and as such sight in low light was difficult at best. The hum of the surrounding forest and the smell of old death was the only witness to the meeting as the shot range out its sharp report.

He could feel danger and moved instinctively. His body twisted at the hips, feet shifting to give more aid to his turn but without seeing clearly he had no chance. The heavy slug thrower round tore the air between them and made a deadly line toward his twisting form.

The heated spinning round struck his side near the ribs and tore an angled hole straight through his fibrous flesh. Dark green sap like blood stained his black tunic leaving a sticky wet spot that slowly began to grow as he dropped to his right knee and covered the wound with his left hand.

No sounds escaped his lips, no cry of pain, twice he had undergone sith torture and he had the scars to prove it. He stood and ignited his light saber. The bright yellow blade casting a golden glow over the area in which he stood as he gathered the force into himself.

His left hand, stained green, rose to the wreckage of a woolen catamaran and it rose then strikes up at the shooter with a thrust of his arm. As it soared, he took two quick bounding steps and leapt to follow it planning to smash through and into the woman with a love of crabs.

 

[Vrag]

Scor— oh, kark.

The wooden construct rose from the ashes of the long-destroyed stronghold like a ghost of the past, and if she had more time, Vrag would surely smirk at the irony. Or possibly give it the finger. Both worked.

She lacked the commodity of spare seconds, however, and so she merely flung herself to the side into an awkward combat roll. The crash of splinters and creak of planks giving out followed a breath after, and needles of wood were sent flying every which way. Most of them found their death against the plates of Vonduun, but a few bigger bastards struck her left hand just as she stood up again, knocking the LeMat out of her grasp.

The woman let out a hiss, baring her teeth behind the skull mask along with her blade, bathing the walkway with the red light once more. Kashyyyk could likely do without for a few more decades at least, but then again, Vrag had never made a habit of asking permission.

And don't even get her started on forgiveness.

Her fingers curled, and then the woman dropped into a slightly lower stance, angling her lightsaber into the seventh guard, eyes trained on the Jedi that landed in the wake of the ancient wreckage. Green blood? Curious, but not curious enough to deter her from the conflict at hand. The only thought the sight elicited was a cruel one; the homing razor bug would now have a perfect hole in the flesh to burrow into, and even Vrag didn't want to imagine the mess it would make once inside.

[member="Talon Vosra"]​

 

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Vrag"]

His lightsaber rotated in front of him as he rolled his wrist before leaning into his Niman stance. His left hand extended palm out toward the crouched being that he was certain was female. His right hand back and up at eye level with the yellow vibrant blade parallel to the ground. His plain black flight suit, still slowly soaking up the life that was oozing from his wound, was his only protection. Armor always was for cowards.

He began to advance as the sound of insectoid buzzing grew in his ears. The danger he had attributed solely to the being in front of him cried out in his mind. Eyes wide with realization he began to spin but late, far too late to stop the the razor bug from finding his open wound. The small creature hit with a wet sucking sound as it plunged into the green viscera and began tearing. Chlorophyll sprayed across the bridge as the vicious beast did as it was designed.

His voice rang out briefly and his presence exploded in the force before he dropped to a knee and looked back toward the devious sith wench. A thousand things grazed his mind as he felt his life slipping, Kira, the Jedi, Ki'an, His students all grown and moved on, Nemesis his lover and the only freind he had left. His eyes still bright squinted again as his lips spread into a gentle smile.

With incredible force he began letting power surge through his dying body as he did something few would think possible. He began to grow. He stood holding his still lit lightsaber in both hands. The vertical blade straight like his upright form. His skin began to harden and his insides turned solid crushing the bug into a juicy pulp. His legs slowly froze as root exploded from his clothes and shot into the tree bridge and down toward the ground So far below. Branches formed from his hair and shot upward as he slowly lost the last of his movement. His last conscious act was to send a few roots to ensnare the Sith's leg and turn solid. The Woody tree that he had become slowly turned harder and petrified leaving the dead Jedi frozen in time still holding the lit lightsaber in his petrified hands.

Years of running and fighting were over and he joined the dead soldiers as a monument to the death wrought in that place. The Jedi one of the last from the early days was gone.

 

[Vrag]

She was half-prepared to react again, to move to the side and deal with whatever he would throw at her next… and then suddenly, she didn't have to anymore.

His scream pierced the unnatural stillness of the place, sending flocks of birds up from the canopy in frightened flight as they fled instinctually from danger. Petering out like cries of pain were wont to do, the Jedi kneeled and doubled over, his side wet with green. The flow of sap would not be stymied as the razor bug continued to cut him up, and Vrag watched with a morbid curiosity as he began to snap and crackle.

To her surprise, the man didn't simply fall flat on his face and breathe out his last exhale, like the dead usually did, but instead surged up in an unexpected display of power, cloth torn and shed as his skin turned to bark. He reached up and forth, striving for the distant patch of azure cut out between the thick foliage above them. His last, valiant attempt to kiss the sun.

Enraptured as she was with the rare display, Vrag noticed too late that one of the roots had made to wind around her leg, but was brought crashing back to reality as she met the unforgiving walkway with a hard thud.

"Little kark," she growled beneath her breath as she scrambled to sever the wooden appendage with the searing blade of her lightsaber. Once free, the woman rose to her feet again, slowly walking over to the still husk of the Jedi-turned-tree. Turning off her weapon once more, Vrag let the claws of Vonduun peel back for a moment so she could run her hand along the funnels in the harsh surface without breaking it. A small smile formed on her lips as she stopped at as swirly knot where the injury used to be, and then her arm fell limp to her side again.

"Rest well."

And with that, she left the graveyard blooming once more.


[member="Talon Vosra"]