Eternal Father
He could feel Jorus weakening under his weight of his repetitive blows, each one striker harder, faster, and with ever increasing intensity. The man opposite him was not a duelist, that much was clear, but he had to give him credit where credit was due thanks to the fact that he had outlasted more than anyone else of his caliber. Was that just Vornskr playing with him, or was Jorus more cunning and lithe then he or even Vornskr thought? However, the smaller man could not keep up this dance forever and eventually he would make one slip, one tiny mistake, and Vornskr would carve him into chunks faster than Jorus could ever realize the misstep he took. They had now ventured into the deserted and desolate courtyard at the center of the mining hamlet, the fountain fractured straight through the middle as water sprinkled from a burst pipe to pepper the blood-soaked ground muddy.
Vornskr took a wide swing, which Jorus swiftly side-stepped, and sundered what remained of the fountain's lip, his lightsaber sizzling as the water splashed around it and flooded out onto the ground to wash away the refuse of battle. With his other blade he blocked a retaliatory blow from Merrill, easily pushing it aside as he lunged with his other blade to try and skewer Jorus' skull, but the man once again ducked out of the way. Their confrontation continued in a similar matter for several minutes until the only sound that permeated the air was their grunts of exertion and the humming crackle of their lightsabers for the rest of the village had been evacuated until only they remained. Of course there were some of his own forces, namely a well-equipped battalion of Blackblades, lingering in the foothills beyond the town's perimeter, either mopping up what resistance they found or securing whatever phrik they were able to pilfer before they were forced to take up position in the hills.
But soon enough another sound graced the air, a low hum that only grew with intensity as time weathered on. The origination of that sound made itself known as the D'Lessio crested a nearby ridge, weapons hot and ready to fire on Jorus' position. And thus with a great cacophony their battle came to an end as the D'Lessio unleashed its payload into the town's center, great plumes of fire blossoming up from the earth as entire buildings were incinerated and the ground caved in with a cataclysmic rumble. Jorus and Vornskr were at the epicenter of that destruction, and while Vornskr's heightened senses and reflexes allowed him to twist his body away from the explosion at the last moment he could not escape its fury.
And as the cloud of smoke and dust began to settle neither Sith nor Jedi had managed to escape unharmed. He didn't know the extent of Jorus' injuries, but as Vornskr's senses returned to him he found that the entirety of his left side had been completely atomized from the blast wave. Bereft of a left arm and leg he still managed to crawl out of the ravine he had been thrown into with his remaining hand, feeding on his agonizing pain to drag his mutilated body up and over the edge before collapsing in a smoldering pile as the blackened forms of his soldiers began to materialize through the gloom. Vornskr meekly smiled and chortled through blood-stained teeth before the sweet embrace of unconsciousness consumed him, and his world went numb.
He would awaken some hours later, perhaps days, later to find himself secured to a gurney at an unknown Imperial medical instillation somewhere within One Sith space. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, and his clothes had been discarded but not replaced so that the full extent of the damage received could be observed. Aside from hideous burn marks, scars, and sewed up lacerations he had lost a good percentage of his left side. His bandaged stumps twitched uncontrollably at infrequent intervals, and his torso sunk in where it had been destroyed and then repaired by the doctors. But he was still alive. He still has his wits about him, and despite these damages he still had his strength. It would take time for the magicks used to repair this construct he called a body could be fully implemented, but death had taught him patience.
War wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.
Vornskr took a wide swing, which Jorus swiftly side-stepped, and sundered what remained of the fountain's lip, his lightsaber sizzling as the water splashed around it and flooded out onto the ground to wash away the refuse of battle. With his other blade he blocked a retaliatory blow from Merrill, easily pushing it aside as he lunged with his other blade to try and skewer Jorus' skull, but the man once again ducked out of the way. Their confrontation continued in a similar matter for several minutes until the only sound that permeated the air was their grunts of exertion and the humming crackle of their lightsabers for the rest of the village had been evacuated until only they remained. Of course there were some of his own forces, namely a well-equipped battalion of Blackblades, lingering in the foothills beyond the town's perimeter, either mopping up what resistance they found or securing whatever phrik they were able to pilfer before they were forced to take up position in the hills.
But soon enough another sound graced the air, a low hum that only grew with intensity as time weathered on. The origination of that sound made itself known as the D'Lessio crested a nearby ridge, weapons hot and ready to fire on Jorus' position. And thus with a great cacophony their battle came to an end as the D'Lessio unleashed its payload into the town's center, great plumes of fire blossoming up from the earth as entire buildings were incinerated and the ground caved in with a cataclysmic rumble. Jorus and Vornskr were at the epicenter of that destruction, and while Vornskr's heightened senses and reflexes allowed him to twist his body away from the explosion at the last moment he could not escape its fury.
And as the cloud of smoke and dust began to settle neither Sith nor Jedi had managed to escape unharmed. He didn't know the extent of Jorus' injuries, but as Vornskr's senses returned to him he found that the entirety of his left side had been completely atomized from the blast wave. Bereft of a left arm and leg he still managed to crawl out of the ravine he had been thrown into with his remaining hand, feeding on his agonizing pain to drag his mutilated body up and over the edge before collapsing in a smoldering pile as the blackened forms of his soldiers began to materialize through the gloom. Vornskr meekly smiled and chortled through blood-stained teeth before the sweet embrace of unconsciousness consumed him, and his world went numb.
He would awaken some hours later, perhaps days, later to find himself secured to a gurney at an unknown Imperial medical instillation somewhere within One Sith space. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, and his clothes had been discarded but not replaced so that the full extent of the damage received could be observed. Aside from hideous burn marks, scars, and sewed up lacerations he had lost a good percentage of his left side. His bandaged stumps twitched uncontrollably at infrequent intervals, and his torso sunk in where it had been destroyed and then repaired by the doctors. But he was still alive. He still has his wits about him, and despite these damages he still had his strength. It would take time for the magicks used to repair this construct he called a body could be fully implemented, but death had taught him patience.
War wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.
[member="Jorus Merrill"]
