Battle on Brentaal IV (Skirmish #2)

[Vencu]

Spoiler: Skirmish Two

A standard day has past since the first Imperial and Mandalorian troops landed on Brentaal IV. Many Alliance military personnel and civilian resistance fighters lost their lives in the first few hours from the orbital strikes and bombing runs that scorched and flattened entire military bases and other key military targets. Imperium combat patrols begin to sweep through the ruins and what remains of the urban sprawls in search of resistance forces.

A Sith warrior has been selected to lead a squad of Stormtroopers on such a patrol. The Sith (PC) and the Stormtroopers (NPCs) will start out within the city and will be permitted to role-play engaging and killing civilian resistance fighters along the way. Upon reaching an intersection, the Imperial patrol will be ambushed by a Jedi (PC) and a squad of GA soldiers (NPCs). A firefight between the Stormtroopers and GA soldiers will ensue and the Jedi and Sith will find themselves thrust into the middle of the confrontation, dueling not only for their own lives, but the lives of their men. Should the Jedi win or the Sith retreats, the ambush is a success and the area falls to the resistance. If the Sith is victorious or the Jedi flees, the resistance in that area is rooted out.

Participants

Sith Crusader Casimir Raschael (Anathema)

Jedi Knight Tross Wilum (Master Maverick)​

 

[Jake]

"It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost as if in sorrowing. There is no sorrowing. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness."

- Jakob Bohme

~*~​

The winds of Brentaal IV, whipped up into a scorching tempest by orbital bombardment, carried black talc through its ruined streets like smokescreen. Thus far the battle had not gone well for the resistance. The apocalypse had come swift and brutally for the world's inhabitants, thousands finding their lives cut tragically short minutes into the bombardment, the first few punches into a fatal beating engineered to soften up the planet's defenses so that the killing blow could come quick and unencumbered. Troop transports descended from the bruised and sullen sky, streaking fire from their noses as they punched into the tortured atmosphere, staking themselves into the cracked ferrocrete of the capital's streets in time to send a few dozen civilians clambering for safety and drive a few rebellious rats out of their holes.

The ping of a few premature slugs bounced off its armor to negligible effect. The sleek gunmetal vessel sat there immobile and unmoving, a great beast hibernating after its long journey, but after a moment had passed and the bullet rain died down in favor of mutually confused glances between the insurrectionists, a door slid open on its side like a slit into the monster's bowels, the hiss and crackle of pure oxygen meeting the planet's polluted air curiously audible in the silence. A few resistance fighters demonstrated their lack of genre savvy in approaching the vessel, peering through the door in search of some presence. They were rewarded with a moment to be shocked at the many sets of red eyes staring back at them before a hail of blasterfire snuffed out their lives.

The stormtroopers advanced down the boarding ramp and onto the street like inky shadows themselves in their black armor, a mix of both Centurions and Scorpions, fanning out to excise the immediate enemies with startling accuracy. A few hung back by the transport, wary of any lingering threats, as a man clad in a simple white bodysuit and hood descended to the plaza's street. His sensing skills had paid off, extinguishing the threat of an ambush in the first seconds of their arrival, but he was disappointed with a few discrepant details he had overlooked. A handful of guerrillas had escaped already, fleeing back down a street leading from the plaza towards their presumable hideout. The buildings down that path were largely ugly dwarves of architecture, stout single-floored entities which clustered like fungus at the foot of one unsightly behemoth which towered above them like the finger of a drowned god scrying the heavens.

A presence a little more to Casimir's tastes radiated from that building, something that felt a little more familiar as opposed to these unsightly gremlins who fought so hard for the privilege of watching their city be reduced to slag. His men were trained. Against these livestock, who in their blindness expected that by sheer weight of numbers cattle could rise up against man, they would handle themselves perfectly well. This was Casimir's chance to play. He checked the lightsaber clipped to his belt, Gabriel's not his own, which his friend had so lovingly loaned to him for this important task. He wondered if Gabriel had realized it was missing yet.

Under cover of intermittent bouts of blasterfire and the bedlam of a city in its death throes, Casimir slipped away to stalk his prey. In the chaos he heard noises without cognate and without description, the sounds of glass tearing through infants accompanied by their mothers' screams in rhythm to the ricochet of blaster bolts murdering their fathers. A rumble that shakes the heart deeper than thunder. Aerial bombardments on the other side of the world trembling the earth and turning the salty seas into leadcolored oceans choked by ash. Terrible things war does. Hover vehicles caked in ash and dust dead on the streets, grimacing corpses dried to rancor leather, everything stirring in the temporal wind, everything uncoupled from its shoring and loose in a world without law and without order.

Law and order.

If Casimir's hunch were right that is precisely what his quarry had been sent to restore -- a harder mission than his own, to be sure, to somehow protect an infant semblance of sanity in this place. Any man who had been sent to do that had to have proven himself countless times on countless fronts, a true Jedi, a man who would give his life if it meant stretching a little thinner the tenuous thread of hope that had become so scarce in the galaxy of late. Did he have a family? Children? Friends? Certainly that last, at least, for who could not respect a man so driven by his faith? These illusions he conjured up in his head of his prey could perhaps be wrong but somewhere they were true, perhaps not on this planet in this battle but in the next or the one before. He felt bound as a Sith to save his yet unseen opponent, to set him free.

Duty is heavy as a mountain, death lighter than a feather. It was time to break this Jedi's chains and lift the burden from his shoulders.

Almost without noticing he had entered the derelict tower which had called to him. Up and up the winding stairs he went, until finally, on the eighth so of so many, when he could survey the city from a window through which streamed the sun's sallow light, he stopped. Holes in the ceiling gave evidence to floors higher and in them more holes, so that in a few spots the waning sunlight managed to breach the roof and shine down on them. Debris covered the floor, plaster and chunks of stone bigger than a man's head. The support beams were sturdy for now but who knew how many more quakes they could take, how many more hours it would be till the orbital assault caused them to buckle and the building began to demolish itself?

He didn't know. He didn't care. He had found his prey's cage, now it was time for the bird to make its appearance. At the edge of his hearing he almost thought he could hear its song.

 

[Master Maverick]

Emotion, yet Peace...

Fear. Hate. Pain.

The vast amount of death that had befell the planet shook the Jedi Knight to his core. He had read of such stories, but actually experiencing had made words meaningless and impossible to describe it. There was a brief flash of a moment that he thought they were foolish to consider even trying, but doing anything but keeping his wits about him as the Force was ripped asunder was out of the question.

The air was as fire, the sky dark and the air thick. It was a nightmare none had ever imagined, yet infinitely more terrifying. The lull that had graced the galaxy had come for a horrifying end in a grand display of evil not witnessed in centuries.

Finding refuge in this small town was all he could think of for the time being. Everything was happening so quickly, people running, screaming and yelling. The Jedi was just another face in the crowd, someone running for his life, yet not knowing where he was going. Though, that wasn't entirely true. He had the inkling of an idea, and that is what he held on to. Grasped and reached for to keep that small light that was hope alive within him so he would have something to go on for. Dying would be so much easier, but that was not the life of a Jedi.

Ignorance, yet Knowledge...

It still hadn't hit him just exactly what was happening, but something had to be done before everything was lost. Once Tross had finally calmed himself, blocking out everything around him only to keep his own sanity, he started looking around. The building he found himself in was rather run down, full of vagabonds and the homeless. They had no where to go and, as such, stayed curled up in their beds to die. He knew help would not come from these men and women, and as such forsook them for now.

Several moments were taken to look at his surroundings and get a feel for this particular building. Nothing special, he presumed it might have been a housing unit, or somesuch thing. Of course it was far too old to be certain and there was no time to worry of such things. Making his way back outside, the streets were still filled with screaming, hopeless men and women. Many had found shelter, but there were still others in search of respite.

Running about, with only marginally more control than the rest, he attempted to find individuals who were still sane enough to converse. For several minutes he was met with mindless fear and his attempts found no success. Yet still he tried, not yet willing to give up. Moments passed as hours as he searched, his feet heavy. Or was it his heart?

Passion, yet Serenity...

Only after several minutes of exhaustive search, more so in the way of trying to talk with these people than anything else, he was met with relative success. There were a few men with rifles and pistols that were mentally sound, as much as they could be at least, that he had gotten the attention of. Terse words were exchanged and a plan was formed. They'd form up a resistance, get more men to join and defend the insignificant suburb. The plan was to get organized and fend off any attacks and eventually meet up with other groups in order to defend the world from the attackers.

Who, exactly, was attacking he still didn't know. Of course it had something to do with the Sith, these things always did. He wasn't sure who was leading this attack though.

His arms brushed together and he was reminded of the wrist guard he wore. He cursed himself mentally for being so absent-minded, but at least he wasn't worrying about theories anymore. Activating the brace, he contacted his ship. A few attempts were made before Typhour, his astromech droid, answered the call. He commanded to be patched through to security and military forces, which the small droid did hastily. It was then that Tristan came on line and started inquiring on Tross' condition. He assured the droid he was fine, getting short with it and asking to know the progress Typhour was making.

Chaos, yet Harmony...

When the astromech droid returned, his fears were founded in fact. The Mandalorians and Empire had attacked jointly. At least the Chiss weren't with them, however 'good' that was. He was patched through with a commanding officer nearer the front lines. The conversation was short before the soldiers on the other end had to move to keep from being over run. Basic statistics were given, but Tross was given the go-ahead to do as he saw fit. Also, a small contingent of soldiers were to be sent to help with the defense effort of the sector. The Vultan sighed a heavy breath of relief that he'd at least get some help. He was, however, discouraged when he learned that a shuttle had been seen flying in their direction and that the Alliance soldiers probably wouldn't make it before they did. It was a Sith vessel, that much was for certain, but the size of the contingent within couldn't be known. He thanked the Captain before the transmission ended suddenly. Typhour let him know that it had been severed, and Tross could only hope for the best.

Finally with some direction, he set up tasks for each of the men to take on. They were to protect the women and children and set up barricades however they could to slow the advance of the enemy.

Death, yet the Force...

When orders had been handed out, Tross again contacted Typhour and got him to be patched through to the Sergeant that was dispatched to his location. Getting their numbers and composition, he made sure they were ready and organized. He told them to land out of sight and approach with caution. To ambush the Imperials so they'd be caught off guard. The Knight knew there would be casualties, but that was inescapable. If the shuttle was shot down, then they would die anyway. Something had to be sacrificed for the greater good and Tross was going to make that decision.

After everything had been squared away, he made his way to the relatively large building he had found himself in earlier. He worked tirelessly to empty the building of all bodies. It would take several minutes, and the progress of the Alliance soldiers, as well as any sightings of the enemy craft in question, were relayed to Tross through Typhour. They were to stay in the ship, which happened to be over 20 kilometers away in an underground hanger beyond the outskirts of the city. Trigon was tasked with going to the city and engaging hostiles to help in the resistance. There was no need for it to go all the way to his location when the threat would be ended by then. That, or Tross would be dead or far away from that place.

Several stories up in the building, the Knight waited for the coming storm. A dark presence was felt upon the shuttle even before it came into view, and he knew exactly what it was. He wasn't surprised by this, but wasn't too happy about it either. Waiting in the crumbling building, the bombs going off miles away shaking it to its very foundation, he watched as the shuttle came near. He readied himself, pulling at his tunic and removing his cloak. The shoulder guards her wore would probably be helpful, but he couldn't be sure. The weave of his tunic would be most helpful, he was quite sure of that. He was not so defenseless as those innocents being ravaged almost willingly.

Moving away from the opening in the wall, he heard the ship land and the screams of innocents call out as expected. His head hung in regret as those he was sworn to protect were cut down as pests in the way of victory. Tross knew it not the way of Jedi, to hide and wait, but he knew not to take on a Sith head on. At least not when it could be help.

He made no attempt to hide his presence. He'd allow himself to be known and waited for the Sith's approach. A few moments after the Sith had stopped moving, the floor on which Tross was hiding several meters away behind a portion of ceiling that had broken away, he masked his presence completely, as he had only so many times before. If he had no other talent, then hiding himself from others was the skill he was known for.

Not only did he disappear in the Force, but as he stepped out from his hiding place, he would be all but invisible. Muted steps were taken by the Vultan as he made his way towards the man.

While he hated giving him the benefit of the doubt, that he had any humanity left, he knew it was the way of the Jedi. Even this monster's life was to be respected, even for all the death that followed so closely behind him.

Creeping closer, in the foggy blackness of the shadows despite the shrouded light that filtered through the holes of the building, he turned into the hunter. The hubris of Sith was well known. This Knight was not foolish enough to be the prey when his opponent was so rash and conceited.

A piece of debris was purposefully hit by his foot, after which he moved silently back from it, and towards the man. It would be a movement in which, should the Sith go towards the sound, Tross would begin making his way behind the man. He needed to get into position first. Otherwise it would be a waste.

 

[Jake]

Something in the scene recalled memories to Casimir's mind of Necropolis, staring through the stained glass windows of the Aedificium Lux into a bleak gray world, tracking the sun in its murky arc behind the perennial clouds. That would soon be Brentaal Four's fate. It would be cold tonight when the ash began to blot out the sun and the first lightless days came upon the earth, cold to crack the stone and all the brittle bones left behind to moulder in the invasion's wake. A cold vigil for a cold Jedi's corpse.

Entering the floor that would become their battlefield, he had sensed the Jedi's presence, known he was in the room and hiding. Tross' hesitance in masking himself only made it easier for Casimir to latch onto the taste he gave off in the Force, to hook his claws into it, one lone wavering light in the darkness, a lone star spinning in the vacuum. When Tross decided to hide himself that presence shrunk down immeasurably and rather than sink his fingers into it Casimir held onto that light like a firefly trapped inside the cage of his fingers. Beautiful and precious. His consciousness had expanded to encompass the entire room, to know every crack in the walls and every weakness in its structure, but despite that it was barren and lifeless save for this one He knew it was there in some distant, hollow fashion, knew that the bird whose wings he so sought to clip had not yet flown away, but it was a careless trick which sealed the Vultan's fate.

When Tross deliberately made a sound by kicking the piece of debris, Casimir did not react as he had intended. Rather than go towards the sound the Crusader brought the sound to him; without moving, he telekinetically grabbed the chunk of stone and drew it towards him through the air with a sudden jerk as soon as the noise was made. As Tross had decided to approach from there, a certain possibility existed that he would be struck and his camouflage perhaps foiled. Casimir did not mind; the action had been reflexive. If it did not hit his opponent the debris would continue to circle around Casimir in a lazy, slowly decaying orbit as if it had become a planet and he its mother star. Then he did turn away from the window and the ruined city, in time for a flash of light to cast him in silhouette for an instant. Outside a few blocks away a building crumbled in the explosion's wake.

"Please, Master Jedi," he said, voice empty of any malice. It was not an act; he held no distaste for the Jedi by mere virtue of their existence. He respected the fact that he had chosen another road, the one he deemed most likely to lead him to the power he so lusted after. "There is no need for petty tricks or invisibility. I would much rather we talk for a moment rather than shed blood prematurely. I do not often have the chance to engage a true Jedi in conversation." He lifted his own hand up, inspected it slightly. His glacial eyes, colder than Hoth and twice as distant, glittered with amusement. "We are each others' foils, if our histories are to be believed. I am the night to your day, you the light to my darkness, all of that drivel we're fed. I've met Jedi before with hearts blacker than mine. Lecchamemnon. Caleb. Gabriel..."

"All I see here is a man, and another as well, though he has chosen to hide himself. Neither of us are monsters, friend, not ugly enough to blind the other except perhaps with the hate that blinds us all at times. I would know why you are here before we fight without need."

 

[Master Maverick]

"I wouldn't think your Masters would send such an obtuse individual to carry out such a task. I'm sure you know exactly why I'm here." His voice echoed from the darkness, his presence clear now as he unshrouded himself. The Sith's words wouldn't affect him so easily. His first statement only indicated the lies that were to follow, and follow they did.

The chunk of ferracrete was held in his hands as he stepped into a beam of light that shone through the ceiling. The shadows cast by his features made him look rather ominous, but no more so than his would-be opponent who stood in the murky light himself. He had caught the missile with his bare hands, to be sure, yet cushioned with the Force. There was no need to get hurt, as the good Sith had stated.

"You are not nearly as clever as you might think, my Lord. If there is no need for petty tricks, then why throw this at me?" His voice was, for the most part level, but he was clearly not impressed by the man's words. The names he had spewed forth, in some attempt to get at him he was sure, affected him not. He didn't know two of them, and Lecchamemnon only because he was Lore Master at one point. The Council had been in a shambles since the beginning, obviously not ready for such a conflict. He was glad, almost, that the incapable were leaving, whether on their own or due to some other circumstances. His view of the his Order was not what this Sith would be expecting, and he was going to play that as long as he could.

It was then that the device on his left wrist blinked. Moving the piece of wall under his right arm, he pressed a button without looking. Only a few moments after additional blaster fire would sound out on the ground below. The Alliance soldiers had taken their positions and begun suppressing the movements of the Imperials. Tross didn't react to it, but a small smirk did form on his face.

"I have not gotten a chance to speak with a Sith in proper conversation," he started, almost mocking the man before him. "I think a more pertinent question is why you are here. Beyond the superficial conquering of the galaxy of course, and beyond the equally superficial 'power' I'm sure you seek. What is your purpose?" He'd play his game if that's what he wanted. He knew he was wasting time, but it was an opportunity he wanted to take while he could.

 

[Jake]

Casimir's head cocked slightly to the left and his lips turned upwards slightly in a soft, sad smile. "I refer to why you have been stationed on Brentaal Four, my friend. There is no need to chastise me. It is obvious why you are here. You've come to save the world from the darkness come to swallow it, to protect this virgin paradise from the blood we would soak its fields in." He said the last words sarcastically, for behind him, through that window caked in dust and ash, there was no paradise to destroy. As Tross detached himself from the shadows with the hunk of jagged ferracrete in his hands, Casimir observed the tangle of cartilaginous tendrils cresting his skull. He recognized the Vultan from his textbooks but had never had the pleasure to speak to one in the flesh.

"I startle easily, Master Jedi. There are things on Korriban which go bump in the night, and I'm afraid I've developed an unpleasant reflex as a result. Besides, I so wanted to gaze upon your face, to admire a Jedi in all their glory." He exercised his control over telekinesis once more, this time to caress Tross' cheek with a touch as light as a feather. He glanced down at the lightsaber on his hip. Despite the sarcasm dripping from his words, he seemed oddly sincere.

"The man who I mentioned, Gabriel, loaned me this lightsaber when I told him I was coming here. You do not know him, just as I presume you do not know the other, Caleb. Vanity and pride personified, the two of them, and Lecchamemnon never held your creed close to his heart. But they have their redeeming qualities, I suppose. However, it's unfair of me to judge the character of your Order based off these three aborted failures of its philosophy."

The comm magnetically clasped to his belt began to whistle, crackling to life in a burst of sibilance.

Lieutenant Kevros here, my lord. We've dealt with most of the civilian resistance but the Galactic Alliance's forces have arrived. We're engaging them now. Over. The comm static dwindled to nothing. Casimir's expression hadn't changed, nor even betrayed that he had noticed the lieutenant's briefing. Blasterfire echoed far below them. A few wild particle beams far astray from their intended targets passed the window and blistered the building's outer walls.

"I'm here because I was sent here, my friend, the same as you. Perhaps you have a conviction in being here... saving these people, dispelling the darkness with the light you have been trained to wield. I am here because it was asked of me. But now I feel I was right in coming, if only to witness firsthand the myopic moral absolutism for which the Jedi are ridiculed in my circles. You think we wage war to conquer the galaxy? Perhaps that is the autistic dream of a select few sycophantic souls. Perhaps I do want power, but not for powers sake, yet I shan't burden you with an explanation, not when you cannot even recognize your own hypocrisy. The Jedi condemn pride yet suffer from such hubris as to style themselves the galaxy's only custodians? We exist in a state of constant change, a thing the Jedi embraced for the first time a thousand years ago, when your mistaken view of passion as a weakness undid you and nearly cast your entire Order into the abyss. But for the longest time it is we, your bastard offspring, who were forced to hide ourselves in the shadows. You cannot tell me that when I say the word Sith your heart does not clench up, that if we were to turn back the clock a few dozen years and reveal ourselves to you earlier, you would not have destroyed us by sheer virtue of our name."

His tone was level but his words conveyed a surprising passion for the usually ambivalent Crusader. The code of the Sith spoke nothing of fear or hatred, only passion: it was the pretenders and weaklings who said otherwise. What the Sith valued was strength. It was merely a sad reality that the Jedi's intolerance, be it contemporary or a thousand years old, made it so that they were forced to wield the strength of the vulture rather than of the flexible willow.

He took another step forward, waiting for a response before he gave further hint of his reaction, though the air around him seemed to grow denser as he began to call upon the Force.

 

[Master Maverick]

a soft scoff, muffled by the activity which was in a crescendo for several moments before dying down as the soldiers situated themselves, trying to out-maneuver one another. Their struggles were on the mind of the Knight for a few moments, but they would handle themselves well enough. The real threat was before him.

The Jedi had to admit that this man, whatever his background, whatever his past, whatever his convictions and associations, had a way with words. It was hardly unexpected, yet somewhat refreshing. The caress of the face was most unwelcome, but the Vultan displayed discipline and control enough to ignore the ploy. This man's words, hollow and meaningless, only reinforced the stereotype of the Sith. How unfortunate. He was hoping to get something different, but he would, yet again, be disappointed.

"You are mistaken, my Lord." He started a retort, starting to focus upon the Force, no matter its nature, that surrounded him. He did not fear the corrupted aspects of the Force that others might. Having already touched it, he was not overly worried about falling. At least at the moment. Even if he did, he would not try to defect. His mental capacities were not nearly that diminished. "The Jedi do not condemn all pride." Shifting in his spot, equalizing the weight upon both legs, he paused for a moment simply because he could. "Of course there are those that do within the Order, but just as you are not the whole representation of your Order, neither are those few of mine.

"I understand the need for pride. The Jedi condemn pride among its members. Of course this doesn't always work, but there is only so much that can be done." There was a 'shrug' in his voice, the unfortunate truth he had spoken. "Neither do we fancy ourselves the only 'custodians', as you so eloquently put, of the galaxy." There was a growing shortness in his voice, tiring of the generalizations of this man of all Jedi. He knew that was the point of his words and calmed himself with this knowledge. Even still, there was something that called him to correct these errors in whatever little observation he had done for himself. "We help when called upon and to keep the peace.

"War is what we work to prevent. Your Order has proven, yet again, to be the essence of war. That is why we waited so long, yet knew in the back of our minds that war would, once again, be thrust upon the galaxy." There was yet another pause, as he remembered something else the man had spewed from his mouth. "And you are mistaken, my Lord. The Order would not have attacked immediately if the Sith had shown themselves any earlier, as you say. A rather baseless assumption if I've ever heard one, wouldn't you think?" Yet another soft sigh, barely audible and again muted by the blaster fire that picked up outside in the streets below.

"As for the answer to your question, my Lord. I was here to check on the defenses of the planet. I'm a decently skilled mechanic, you see. I thought I could help and wanted to get out of the Temple for a while." The answer probably wasn't as exciting or interesting as the man might have expected, and now it seemed full of irony, but Tross would allow him to make that observation and voice it. He seemed to enjoy talking well enough.

There was still an inkling of a hope of peace and understanding, but knew that was simply a fantasy he entertained occasionally. "I would like to know, though, why it is this war had to be waged in the first place. Of course the Alliance formally declared war before this new Imperium, but we both know proof wasn't needed for the attacks that preceded it. Even so, the Imperium chose to attack first. An interesting move, yet easily explained away with the 'preemptive attack' defense." The ferracrete block was shifted from his right arm to his left, choosing to stay where he was for the moment. He made certain not to fall into the trend the Sith before him was employing. In a way, he removed the man from any group, rather asking for his views as a citizen of the galaxy. That was all any of them were, after all.

 

[Jake]

Casimir listened intently to the Jedi's rebuttal, new responses already twisting into skeins of thought across his mind. He did not voice them. In fact, he had begun to grow rather uninterested in their discussion. His face betrayed none of this, of course: he kept it carefully devoid of expression. The debate had gone stale, however. Their was an obvious and unbridgeable gap of communication that kept either of their ideas from connecting save as shallow attempts to scorn the other's philosophy. They were individuals trying to generalize an entire population based off their own skewed perceptions of the other. It could only end in frustration, so Casimir would save himself the pain of wasting breath on a lost cause.

"I thought I could help--"

Casimir cut the Vultan off without giving him time to finish his sentence. "That shall suffice."

Of course, the Jedi probably could not hear him by then. Even as he began to speak the energy he had begun to draw from the Force was given purpose, run through the cracks in the stone that Casimir had located earlier. He tapped the shatterpoints, what few he could see at least, and the floor beneath Tross unraveled, buckling as if admitting defeat in its long battle with time. A hole around three meters wide appeared beneath him as chunks of ferracrete fell clattering to the floor below them, an easy six or seven meters down, with no convenient ledges to catch hold of in the unlikely event that Tross' instinct won out over his surprise at being interrupted by a Sith who had proven to be so talkative moments before, and in such a crude manner! It would only take an instant for him to land, at least, but even doing so on his feet would break his ankles and blow out his knees from that height.

Casimir had fought Force-sensitives in the past, of course, though as often as not they had been his fellow Sith. He didn't expected something like that to kill his opponent or even do lasting damage if the Jedi was as quick of wit as he was stubborn-headed.

The Aridusian did not move from where he stood, though he slid the lightsaber hilt from its place on his belt and wrapped his fingers around its smooth curvature. Cold to the touch, but how many bodies had gone cold at its kiss?

"A baseless assumption founded on ten thousand years of recorded history, my friend. Perhaps our swords were the first to be drawn, but it is you who created us. We were born in blood. You hunted us by following our umbilical cords to the bodies. Drove the first Jedi away by limiting us with your half-view of the Force, by dividing darkness and light and forcing them to choose between one or the other."

He didn't speak further. A monologue would only risk the same interruption he had worked on his opponent. Instead he began to pace the floor, moving out of the light and slinking around in shadow, circling aimlessly, waiting for his prey to come back for more. Even as he spoke his consciousness had already begun to expand as if poured through the hole he had made in the ferracrete like water from a bottle, beginning to absorb the details of the room below should it be necessary to send the rabbit fleeing from the trap into the snare. He kept his mind sharp and concentrated on Tross' presence should he try to shrink away and camouflage himself again.

It was depressing, really. The Jedi doubtless thought Casimir had confirmed the Sith's stereotypes, when Casimir had already moved past that and onto mourning for their inability to reconcile. And onto mourning for Tross' lost life.

 

[Master Maverick]

Only a few more words were spoken before the interruption registered in the Vultan's mind and another moment more to realize what, exactly, he had uttered. The Sith once more proved yet another stereotype of the Sith - the fickle nature they subconsciously had become. Having grown bored so quickly, he was done with this game and wanted to play another. Such was the way of the Sith, he thought. Or, would have if he had time to.

The crumbling floor beneath him was felt even as his last spoken word was cut short by his mind changing its focus. Throwing up the chunk of ferrocrete towards the ceiling and jumping towards it, the Force aiding his movements of course. The missile would widen the hole already there, the one he was standing under and now flying upwards towards.

Standing on the floor above, he made sure his footing before moving, pacing almost. He looked through the maw he was just come from, trying to catch a glimpse of his counter, but the angle wouldn't allow it due to the distance they had kept each other at. He moved towards another hole, making sure not to stay in any spot too long lest he try the trick again. Looking through another such gap, he called out towards the Sith. "And you chose one, forsaking the other just as we have. Your view is no more complete than you think ours to be!" He focused upon the Force, just as it concentrated around his opposite.

The single-bladed hilt was grasped by the Knight, unhitching the clasp and readying to use it, but not yet igniting the emerald saber.

At yet another hole, he thought he could feel the man that had now disappeared. As a test, he picked up a smaller piece of debris. Aiming at his near invisible mark, he whipped it, assuring it hit its mark with the tendril he kept attached to it. After it left his hand, he continued to move, not keeping to a stationary target for the Sith. If they were to play this game, Tross was going to at least make it fun. He owed the man that much.

 

[Jake]

((Apologies for the wait and the brevity of my post, but I've been without Internet and this round is largely just a counterattack, so I won't wax poetic.))

And yet Tross' tactic never worked. The ferrocrete missile never widened a hole for him to squeeze through in his efforts to escape the collapsing floor. In fact, the stone slab stopped just short of the room's hole-punched ceiling even as the Vultan, movements quickened by the Force, launched himself upwards. It had been simple for Casimir to reach out and simply catch the ferrocrete with his own telekinesis: now it was simpler to bring it down as fast as the brief interval would allow, to slam full force into his opponent's face and send him down nearly ten meters, not to the floor Casimir stood on but to the one below. The young Sith strode out to the edge where the ferracrete floor ended in a jagged ruin to observe what had become of his prey. He doubted that Tross had been crippled by that unfortunate misstep on his behalf; at least, Casimir hoped he hadn't, because their game had only just begun in his mind.

His expression was wistful as he glanced down to the heap of crumbled stone and the thin cloud of dust it had kicked up: dust not unlike that which covered the Jedi's mouldering philosophy. "Perhaps you think I am a hypocrite. After all, I am a Sith. Perhaps I have chosen the darkness myself, pledged my allegiance to one half of our dichotomy. It would be wrong of me to exempt myself of guilt based solely off my Order's unfortunate beginnings. But please, collect yourself. I hope I haven't caused you much unnecessary pain... but when the bird throws itself against its cage, a few feathers are bound to be ruffled."

 

[Master Maverick]

Only due to heightened senses and his connection to the Force did he hope to not take the full strike on his face. The tendrils that covered his head, making it stronger than virtually any helmet, the slab crashed against his head, but did manage to slide down on his forehead, a bloody mark being left in its place. Despite his attempts and his training, a mini blackout occurred. Only for a fraction of a second his world went black as he fell down, sent into the darkness. Into the abyss.

He awakened only in time to let out a meek push from his hands. It was hardly enough, though. He twisted his body as much as he could before he landed and rolled to the side, managing not to land directly under the chunk of ferrocrete. He didn't escaped unscathed, though. The damned piece did manage to strike the outside of his right ankle. The pain filled his mind as he scrambled into the darkness, ignoring the fact it was quite useless to try and hide.

The words of the Sith hit a wall as he couldn't possible understand speech at for the first few seconds after the "landing". He did catch the last of them, though. Even so, he refused to come up with a retort. His mind raced as he tried to suppress the pain and come up with a plan to get out of this. His movements would be hindered, and of course it had to be his leg so running was clearly out of the question. Regardless, his right hand now held the hilt that had hung from his left hilt. The blade remained hidden within the device as he continued to move, hobbling along while he suppressed the pain as best he could and waited for the next play to be made.

 

[Jake]

The cornered prey will soon bear its fangs, Casimir promised himself as he watched Tross fall. He joined the man, leaping off his ledge to drop down to the floor below, the Force soaking the impact for him.

He looked at his opponent, eyes coating him as the eyes of a krayt dragon swallow its prey even before the killing strike. Gabriel's lightsaber remained disengaged in his hand, waiting for its opportunity to lash out and with a single serpentine movement begin the division of Tross into many smaller pieces, easier to digest for a hungry predator. Other words lingered at his lips but he dare not speak him, for even the brash and arrogant heir of the Raschael knew better than to prod a clawed beast while pushing it into a corner.

As Tross began to hobble around, Casimir decided it was time to begin the final exchange. With a wounded ankle from the way he limped and a bloodied nose clear on his face, a plan had already begun to wriggle its way to the surface of the young Sith's mind. This last round would be brief, brutal and decisive. And hopefully he would not violate his orders either, though that would depend largely upon circumstance.

Reaching into the Force, Casimir conjured a telekinetic coil around the pair as they circled each other, slowly contracting to press them together. The pull was never violent, but instead as gentle as the lapping of the tide upon the shore. Casimir did not dare strengthen the pull for fear it would drain him: this way, Tross would feel the impulse to come forward, and if he tried to break away Casimir could easily force his hand.

Now it was only a matter of waiting, and this the Sith did with his lightsaber angled in a neutral stance, ready to ignite and end a life.

 

[Master Maverick]

A falling shadow caught the eye of the estranged Knight. It almost immediately became yet again as the darkness, the elongated shadows on this floor much as the one above. Despite the wounds he had sustained, the presence and general location of this Sith was apparent as Tross moved back towards the center of the floor.


Remnants of rooms could be made out if there was more light. As it was, Tross managed to run into a few such walls, yet also was able to keep his feet beneath him if only due to sheer force of will. Perhaps through this as well the pain started to recede as the moments passed and tension grew. The lack of sight caused Tross' heart rate to steadily increase even while he found some sort of center and prepared for the final phase of this conflict.


The subtle tug on his body had only been realized after a few steps forward. He stopped then, grabbing hold of the remnants of what must have been one such wall that will firmly grasped the ceiling. The direction of the pull told him, with a bit more confidence, the location of his foe. Even so he still kept his senses heightened. This man was full of tricks, that much was clear.


Keeping his back against the wall section he found himself at, he waited. Perhaps not in his best interest, nor playing to his strengths, but at this point there was little else he could do.

 

[Jake]

Shadows filled the room, a shade darker than their abandoned arena. Casimir navigated through the Force, expanding his consciousness to fit the contours of the room like a sort of convenient echolocation. It was not difficult to track the progress his opponent made as he ran into walls and clambered around the room, to say nothing of the fact that he had just been watching Tross as he lowered himself down onto the floor. Outside the world was silent save the occasional tremor from a distant explosion.

Tross was mistaken if he thought the pull would tell him more than the most general details about Casimir's location: the band of telekinetic force, gentle as the lapping of waves on the shore, extended around the room and slowly tightened its coil like a serpent throttling the life from its prey. At best Tross could guess that Casimir would be at its epicenter and in this he would be wrong: the Raschael, tracking the Vultan's progress as he stumbled through their battlefield, keenly aware that he was hunting injured prey, simply slipped onto the other side of the walls that Tross was hobbling down, advancing with cautious silence and dodging every obstacle that his clumsy foe ran into.

It was not difficult to tell where his enemy was: in this closed space expanding his awareness throughout the room was simple.

As Tross reclined against the wall, Casimir simply waited to see if his prey would continue its flight. Satisfied that it wouldn't, and now thoroughly bored with his first encounter with a Jedi, he merely pressed the emitter of his borrowed lightsaber against the wall. He estimated that it would spear the Vultan through the gut. Noiseless, quiet, painless. A soft whimper of a death for a whimper of a man. Suppressing a sigh, the Sith flicked the switch, activating the burning blade and in the process most likely incinerating the lonely thread of Tross' life as it hung in the void. The wall would offer no protection and his wound no help in dodging the sudden and intentionally fatal attack.

He had been told to take the Vultan alive, but after their exchange Casimir had deemed the man an unnecessary risk and, more importantly, irritatingly staunch in his beliefs. Hopefully they would offer a comfort and warmth that the cold floor could not as the life bled out of him.

 

[Master Maverick]

The cool burning of plasma emanated from the Knight's stomach when his back touched the wall he was going to rest on. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. The beam of light that shot from his stomach was considered an inconvenience. A gasping breath escaped his mouth as his mind came to grips with that had taken place. The hilt of his lightsaber still tightly grasped in his hand as he tensed as the pain rushed through his body. Not a sound, save the gasp, did he utter. He would give no satisfaction to any such creature.

In a vain attempt at revenge, Tross' right arm snapped up and the green blade shot out through the wall to the right of the Vultan's neck, pointed a touch downwards and towards his own left while his left pulled at his mother's blade, making it parallel to the floor, and igniting the blade that would be pointing behind him while it was still clipped on his belt.

After this, his hands dropped as all strength left his body, the life draining from his limbs. Raising his hands after a moment, a few buttons were pressed on his wrist guard, alerting his droids to his current situation. His battle droid would return to the ship, though it would take about an hour, and the ship would go into hiding in the mean time, considering getting off-planet was most certainly not going to happen. If they were to be captured, self-detonation would be ordered and they would not give up whatever small amount of information they would have contained regarding the Military of the Alliance nor the Order of the Jedi. Finally, with whatever strength he had left, he disabled the band, crashing the device and otherwise making it completely useless.

He had not fulfilled his duty to his ancestor, but he had done his duty as a Jedi of the Order. Even so, he was not proud of himself, the legacy he left for the Order. Hopefully he would not bring too much shame to his name...

 

[Jake]

As soon as he heard the fateful sigh, Casimir stepped back and away, moving to walk around the side of the thin wall to confirm his kill personally. The Vultan's absurd attempt at revenge amounted to nothing. He watched as Tross made his last moments worthwhile and was for a moment tempted to interrupt them with a quick and brutal ending blow, just out of spite, but dissuaded himself.

He left the room unceremoniously, leaving Tross' body to waste there, so unappetized by their anticlimactic battle that he did not even bother to consume the man's spirit on its journey into Chaos. Not worth the indigestion.

[end]