LOCATION: Outside of the Great Library
OBJECTIVE: Overcome all those things!
ALLIES: The Force
ENEMIES: [member="Darth Vornskr"] / Imagination
Art of The Small demanded the blonde youth's focus, requiring that she draw into herself and become keenly aware of all inflictions on a subatomic level. She was, however, so submersed in this microscopic arena that even the life-shattering fall of [member="Marcello Matteo"] didn't shake her realm to the magnitude it would have if she hadn't been so focused.
Not that she would have known reality from mentality. She could feel the particles spreading on [member="Darth Vornskr"]'s metallic surface, weaving through his arms and to his torso. Things cracked and clattered, but she was deaf. Her fingertips curled into her palms and the slender frame of the Master staggered backward and she dropped to a knee, doubling over and facing the ground as a series of images too painful to comprehend manifested like a demented film strip in her mind.
This had been used on her before, and she had beat it then. On Katarr. She hadn't been afraid of anything then-- she'd only seen images from her past and they were easily pushed out. She'd come to terms. Recently, however, the woman who defined distrusting had decided to let down some of her walls and let someone peek into her concerns-- namely her stresses with The Jedi Order. This was a fear now, in losing him. The unfortunate thing in this instance was timing. Kaine's attack of projecting her fears coupled in masterful simultaneous execution with Marcello's downfall. She felt this, right through the core of her being in an amplified pulsation that consumed her veins and prevented any other thoughts. Beneath her helmet she struggled, slamming the heels of her hands against the ground in some sort of crazed desperation while her body trembled violently. Shamefully, the Spacer's self-knowing attitude was what spurred her to do her best in her leadership position (although she didn't boast the title)-- she wasn't sure how much more she could handle slipping away; there was little floor left for her. It was this fear that cultivated. “NO!” she bellowed, true to the holovids and entirely typical when facing something unbelievable. Her teeth gnashed and a small whine slipped from her throat and into the confined space of her sealed visor — echoing for only herself to hear.
Unconvinced, and delusional on the fact that the man who inspired her would ever defect from being so good (grumbly, but good) , she used this unfortunately false motivation to overpower the negative inflictions. Thus, breaking her command over the submicroscopic symphony on Vornskr and focusing on protecting her mind. She had almost succeeded when she felt a physical tug pull her from the ethereal realm, a tightening sensation against the collar of her armour. It struggled, but it was strong, and bits of metal groaned against the snake's coiling strength. With a yell, bursting from the mental hold and reaching out with cloudy vision, the blonde's cortosis wrapped fingers gripped her strangler. Her blades rested by her knees, lifeless. Adjusting her grip, she focused on where the head of the creature was, angling the top of her wrist against the place nearest it's snakey throat. Within seconds, a sharp blade protruded from the top of her hand and against the ancient serpent's skin; hopefully puncturing it.
Again, Vornskr's timing was impeccable. As she pressed the blade into her adversary, she wrenched back; this motion enhanced by her body behind blown backward by an unexpected explosion. Her knife cut deep into the creature, and she gave a defiant tug against the ampistaph's body; hopefully hurling it toward the blossoming sun that had thrown her from her crouch.
Her body was carried a few meters away under she landed on her stomach and skidded like that until her toes were hanging over the top step. She grit her teeth, the explosion the only thing she could see. Kiskla could not let this wan destruction manifest on this planet, even if it was relatively small. From her palms, which she stretched out, a bubble erected quickly over the spreading blossoming flame to prevent it from causing anymore damage.
Her body, and throat in particular, ached as she focused ahead on the fires as they struggled within their telekinetic container. Hopefully that Vong demon was roasting in there as a nice BBQ. The fires folded in on themselves, churning and rolling until Kiskla condensed the telekinetic bubble to the point of the flames suffocating entirely.
Then, she dropped her hands. Her head was still aching with the fearful vision, but she'd convinced herself otherwise. Her light eyes darted beneath the helmet, and landed on the hilts of her lightsabers, separated on either side of the fire pit. She called to them, and they dutifully answered-- kissing her palms on command.
Kiskla pressed one elbow to the ground and propped up her torso, realizing her ears were ringing from the explosion. Then a knee joined her other joint and she slowly stood; ash staining the rusty hue of her plating.
Vornskr seemed to have only lost an arm of his protection. She frowned deeply. It would be so convenient to contort his mentality as he had, but she recalled his immunity to that. What to do, what to do. She still couldn't shake the nagging feeling of his shadowy spell casting (unfortunately, that's because her fear was simply a reality)-- but with her usual stubborn spirit, she would press on and overcome.
She stood there for a moment, drawing The Force to breathe it’s refreshing and calming life into her. It was as painful was it was refreshing, for it amplified the areas that ached while it reinvigorated her physical and metaphysical state. Cerulean gaze remained fixated however, while her midichlorians danced with excitement for the refreshment. There were many variables at this moment.
1. She had to make sure the planet didn’t become carnage.
2. Was the ampistaph still wriggling with life? Or was it serpentine BBQ. She hated Vong. It’s poisons had almost killed her once.
3. Kaine.
This was a lot of someone to think about, when she was still confused whether or not the projection she’d just seen was real or not.
She sighed.
With this deep inhalation, came a torrent of unseen particles to most Force Users. Like a curtain drawing over a final act, a tidal wave from an unseen current covered the Jedi’s body — rendering her invisible from sight. Immediately, she tread away from where she had been standing, walking lightly so her steps could not be traced. This element of invisibility had been one of the first things she had trained with on Tython with the White Current. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as much of a struggle as the illusions had been.
The Grandmaster used this time as a ghost effectively, drawing on her distaste for Vornskr until it tipped her to the perilous edge — which she tiptoed along. Her balance was impeccable, and with a moment of hesitation as she assured herself the green light was granted, no longer than a breath, she unleashed a powerful array of brilliant strikes toward the Sith Lord. Both of her blades activated to life, moving up and down in a blinding weave of cerulean that ignited like a wildfire of blue against the ashy area. There were strikes that moved to his exposed arm, his torso, neck, all irregular and uncharted. The Kiffar wasn’t directing the strikes, The Force was, and she was a vessel of vaapad in this moment.
