First Reply The Tables Have Turned

[Kadann]

Kadann drew his fingers away from his side. They were slick with warm blood. His body was trying to heal, but exhaustion and age were working against him.

He stumbled out of the alley and into the street. This was one of the deep levels of Coruscant. Barely a ray of light from the overworld made it this far. If it did, it was spent, a lazy diffuse haze. Instead it was the flickering neon that could change the colour of blood.

There was a bar on the far side of the street. He doubted there would be anyone willing to help.

Since Csilla had been destroyed, Kadann had been on a path of vengeance and death. One that was possibly about to end. Having learned how to track the dark marks etched into former One Sith members he had been hunting down his former enemies. Csilla had proven to him that the light needed to shine on even the darkest shadows, lest they return and swallow the galaxy.

He had found sith who had retired from their path and killed them anyway. That wasn't the case today. His target had started an entire enclave of sith acolytes right here on Coruscant. Too many for him to handle.

He had lost them, but knew they would be hunting him down in the night.

 

[Nara Allam]

Didn't matter how many years had passed, one thing always remained constant in the Galaxy: you could always get a bad drink for a good price. The lower levels of Coruscant were the best place to get reacquainted with everything. Nobody was looking too closely and it was easy to slip away. It helped that they reminded her of where she'd grown up. The grimy lower levels of Coruscant had more than a shade of Nar Shaddaa, even if it smelt a little nicer.

With a few 'liberated' credits, Nara'd bought a couple of drinks to help her relax. Enough to make her realise she should be doing something more than sitting and drinking. Climbing off the stool, she checked her bag. Never could be too safe. Thankfully, her stuff was still there. Repair kit, basic med kit, and lightsaber. She felt a familiar twitch at the sight of it. Pulling the satchel back over her shoulder, she moved out into the street.

She took a deep breath, then regretted it. Nothing like the stink of a lower level. Neon flashed and flickered, revealing an older man. One clutching his side. Nara might've walked straight on past him, except she saw the all-too-familiar flash of dark red. Blood. Nara stopped and stared, wondering if she should say anything. If she should do anything. She could just keep on walking, forget about it, head to the spaceport and...

"Excuse me?" she asked, stepping a little closer to the older man, "Are you hurt?" Her voice was soft, tinged with a slight Hutteese accent. "I have some medical training if you're in a bad way."

Kadann

 

[Kadann]

"Hmmph," went Kadann by way of reply.

He managed three more steps forward, stooped at the waist. Then he lost his balance and dropped to one knee. Kadann let his eyelids fall for a few moments.

His focus turned inwards. There were people tracking him; his time was short. He still needed to turn his try and bolster his resolve and filter out some of the pain if he was going to make it to safety.

Kadann turned his head towards the girl. His white hair was matted to one side of his face.

"You have bacta?" he asked hopefully.

 

[Nara Allam]

The man slumped a little, after saying basically nothing. Nara stepped forwards, clicking her fingers in his viewline. "Hey. C'mon, stay with me," she demanded. A little rude, but necessary. Not just because maintaining concentration and focus would stop him slipping out of consciousness, but because Nara couldn't stand people who ignored her.

"Yeah, I have bacta," she told him, reaching into her satchel bag. A bit of rustling first, before she pulled out a square of pristine, white bandage. She ripped the side to reveal the layer of oozing, glimmering bacta stuck beneath. Biting her lip, she knelt down and leaned in towards his side, squinting to see the extent of his wound.

"Are you gonna show me then? Or are you gonna make me wait until you've bled out?"

Kadann

 

[Kadann]

His breathing sounded unnaturally loud to his own ears, even as he tried to get it back under control. Jedi meditation techniques could only go so far when you were both in extreme pain and exhausted.

"I'm awake," he said, protesting the clicking fingers. Upon hearing his own words he was glad to find out that it was true. He was still awake.

Kadann flopped onto his side without a hint of grace. He pulled back his robe to reveal the worst wound. A sith knife had cut him deep, from navel to hip bone. Neither pressure, nor his natural healing would steal the flow of blood.

 

[Nara Allam]

Nara watched him lift the robe, ignoring his bitching, until she saw the wound. She whistled low, seeing one of the nastiest wounds she'd seen in a while. The blood flowed freely; the wound ragged and deep. Whatever'd made this wasn't your average knife.

"You've got to stay with me here," she told him, kneeling by him. Bacta wasn't going to do crap to this. Not yet, anyway. With a grimace, Nara put the bandage down and laid her fingers gently onto the wound. Blood slipped and oozed onto her pale skin as she closed her eyes. She breathed deep. She focused. The beat of a heart. The thum of the world. The essence around them.

Her fingers pushed firmly against his skin as she directed the Force to his wound, guiding those energies to him, adding her own ability to his own. Urging the energies that flowed around them and between them to the worst parts, where they would hopefully start to staunch the blood. Where they would push his natural healing into overdrive.

Nara breathed slowly, focusing on nothing but the Force.

Kadann

 

[Kadann]

Kadann grit his teeth together as he felt the Force flow through his wound. His natural inclination was to resist. Very rarely did anyone use the Force on him for any good reasons.

He probably didn't have the fight left in him even if he wanted to resist.

There was no trace of the dark side in her manipulation of the Force. That would have been a dreadful turn of fate, walking into another student of the cult he had just run from.

"I am still being followed," he warned her. She put herself in danger lingering and would have gone against what moral code he still had left. Given his spree of outright murder, what scraps remained were important to him.