Jsc
Disney's Princess
She was outmatched and outgunned. For not only had a Sith Lord begun his merry onslaught but behold, a Champion Acolyte also stemmed her dashing blows. [member="Darth Vornskr"] 's sheer experience mixed with the passion of [member="Udrusa"] 's Soresu most assuredly had her number.
Suspended. Like a bird on a wire. Bombarded by the Force and crippled by the weight she was forced to take a knee. Her armor smoking, flickering, and tickling the senses as she burned. Her legs back peddling with all digression. Cooking. Cutting. First from the crackling electricity and second from a number of wounds that were inflicted about her arms and legs. Even slicing off a portion of her hair and raking a crimson blade across her face. Defying. Deformed. She staggered and blocked. Thrust and was pushed. Was scarred, shocked, seared, and boiled alive. Moving as quickly as she could, Masterfully and in The Force, the woman very nearly faltered several times. Even as the crowd gasped in amazement at how much punishment this mere assassin could take. Still... She had no chance. No choice. Her oppressors danced and flicked about unopposed. Meriting out the infamous and unobstructed Death of a Thousand Cuts. A slow, unavoidable demise. Sure to be followed by capture, torture, dismemberment, and the deviant fantasies of the dark.
Enduring the impossible. The Peacock of Many Battles staggered and stumbled to one side. Bent yet unbowed. Her face obscured and torn by the smoke and sizzling sound. Her movements hidden by the flashes of light and the whole dazzling affair. Even as her toes edged over the grate panel, her one solution, it was fancifully hard for any to perceive her motive. Masked by the fated dancers, the crimson ribbons, and the fallen glass that shattered aloud. So loud was their spectacle that it stuttered all else. Yet when the fallen warrior clasped her Sith amulet in her hand, it could only been assumed to mean that her death was nigh. Her will must be broken. The end had come.
But not today, said the scarecrow to the birds. She cracked the amulet's casing and released the demon within.
In that instant a spirit was freed and darkness blanketed the field. The presence of a Sith Spirit could be felt by all so custom attuned. His rage released into the air like a blast of dark clouds. An explosion of shadowy black that grasped outward into the world. Manifested as a shear cloud of impenetrable darkness. Yet, with a hollowing scream the spirit vanished and the cloud rescinded into mere smoke. Leaving only the smell to linger about on the wind. And in that swirling moment to follow, the cloud abated and disappeared. Revealing an open dungeon grate and the pleasant absence of the would-be Professor Robertus. Nothing more than a hole in the ground.
...
"Huzzah! Hurray! They did it!"
The crowd jeered and jested with joy. Wizarding caps flew and wands waved with victory. The blue she-devil had been thwarted again and the castle was safe. The day was saved and their Headmaster avenged. For surly none could survive the hell that was the depths below.
___
...Or could they?
*exit thread*
Suspended. Like a bird on a wire. Bombarded by the Force and crippled by the weight she was forced to take a knee. Her armor smoking, flickering, and tickling the senses as she burned. Her legs back peddling with all digression. Cooking. Cutting. First from the crackling electricity and second from a number of wounds that were inflicted about her arms and legs. Even slicing off a portion of her hair and raking a crimson blade across her face. Defying. Deformed. She staggered and blocked. Thrust and was pushed. Was scarred, shocked, seared, and boiled alive. Moving as quickly as she could, Masterfully and in The Force, the woman very nearly faltered several times. Even as the crowd gasped in amazement at how much punishment this mere assassin could take. Still... She had no chance. No choice. Her oppressors danced and flicked about unopposed. Meriting out the infamous and unobstructed Death of a Thousand Cuts. A slow, unavoidable demise. Sure to be followed by capture, torture, dismemberment, and the deviant fantasies of the dark.
Enduring the impossible. The Peacock of Many Battles staggered and stumbled to one side. Bent yet unbowed. Her face obscured and torn by the smoke and sizzling sound. Her movements hidden by the flashes of light and the whole dazzling affair. Even as her toes edged over the grate panel, her one solution, it was fancifully hard for any to perceive her motive. Masked by the fated dancers, the crimson ribbons, and the fallen glass that shattered aloud. So loud was their spectacle that it stuttered all else. Yet when the fallen warrior clasped her Sith amulet in her hand, it could only been assumed to mean that her death was nigh. Her will must be broken. The end had come.
But not today, said the scarecrow to the birds. She cracked the amulet's casing and released the demon within.
In that instant a spirit was freed and darkness blanketed the field. The presence of a Sith Spirit could be felt by all so custom attuned. His rage released into the air like a blast of dark clouds. An explosion of shadowy black that grasped outward into the world. Manifested as a shear cloud of impenetrable darkness. Yet, with a hollowing scream the spirit vanished and the cloud rescinded into mere smoke. Leaving only the smell to linger about on the wind. And in that swirling moment to follow, the cloud abated and disappeared. Revealing an open dungeon grate and the pleasant absence of the would-be Professor Robertus. Nothing more than a hole in the ground.
...
"Huzzah! Hurray! They did it!"
The crowd jeered and jested with joy. Wizarding caps flew and wands waved with victory. The blue she-devil had been thwarted again and the castle was safe. The day was saved and their Headmaster avenged. For surly none could survive the hell that was the depths below.
___
...Or could they?
*exit thread*
