Bir was undoubtedly a stranger to how his new brethren operated away from the battlefield, how they carried themselves in environments that were intended to be peaceful. Yet as Stolas and Malicia returned from the balcony, the former issuing a challenge to the latter, it became evident that with the Sith there never was such a thing as peace. Releasing the man’s elbow and dropping the treat he had been so enthralled by, the Kel Dor had a new distraction that made him forget about his rumbling belly. Now he had a different thirst that was about to be quenched as the air of the theater grew heavy with suspense.
To challenge your opponent in an effort of taking their property and standing was a matter of honor to Bir Vuul. This declaration of intent, however, was fueled by a loyalty to their Dark Lord. Perhaps? Could there have been a hidden and secret motive to Stolas’ actions? It was plausible but information was not forthcoming under the pretense he had acquired in his short time in attendance. All he knew was what he saw. A young man challenging a pregnant woman to a duel to the death. Distasteful, to say the least.
Then Malicia said nothing to defend her honor nor to acknowledge the challenge. While Stolas’ actions had been undeserved from Bir’s extremely narrow point of view, to simply lay down and allow the challenger to declare victory without so much as raising a finger in your defence? This was unforgivable. Perhaps Stolas was right in removing her from her position. No true Sith would simply bend their knee to a challenge without putting up a fight.
Then, unsurprisingly, chaos began to break out. The tension in the air had been cut as Stolas released Malicia’s neck and her loyal cultists began to advance not only upon him, but attendants of the party as a whole. There would be blood in this power struggle, as there so often was. One man, loyal to Darth Malicia, began to run towards Bir with a short sword drawn and poised to pierce his leathery hide. A foolish move. With his left hand, the Kel Dor pulled a large and sharp cutting knife from the carcass of a dead animal on the table at his side and pointed it towards the advancing threat. The Force wrapped around the cutlery and as Bir released his grip, it continued to hover in position with the tip of steel aimed directly at the Cultist’s throat. The muscles of Bir’s face twisted into a scowl as he pushed the blade forward and directly into the man’s wind pipe, blood spilling from around the metal blade and coating the floor below. As the man began to desperately draw air to his lungs with utter failure, the scowl of Bir Vuul quickly transitioned into a beaming grin. How sweet the violence was.
A second cultist advanced from behind the Kel Dor, intended not only avenging her Mistress’ tarnished honor but that of the life of her companion. Armed with a knife of her own, she attempted to sink it’s blade into the back of Bir’s skull but the Force warned him of the threat. Moving his head to the side, the blade barely nicked the side of his ear before he leaned backwards and into the Cultist’s out-stretched arm. With his prosthetic right arm, Bir quickly wrapped his hand around the wrist wielding the knife and tightened his grip. His iron-like metallic hold was enough to shatter the bones at the base of the woman’s hand, warranting a yelp of pain as he pulled her forward and leaned down. Her body was pulled across his back and shoulder before slamming into the ground at the Kel Dor’s feet. Wasting no time, the Acolyte placed his right foot on the shoulder of the arm he still held in his grasp and began to pull upward on her limb. Partnering the sheer power of his technological prosthetic with a pooling strength of the Force to aide his actions, popping and tearing could be heard as the Cultist’s arm was forcefully removed from her torso. The woman’s screams began to grow deafening until finally, the arm was ripped away, blood flowing from the veins of both limb and body.
”If they desire blood, then let them drown in their own!” Bir laughed loudly, holding his prize up for all to see.
To challenge your opponent in an effort of taking their property and standing was a matter of honor to Bir Vuul. This declaration of intent, however, was fueled by a loyalty to their Dark Lord. Perhaps? Could there have been a hidden and secret motive to Stolas’ actions? It was plausible but information was not forthcoming under the pretense he had acquired in his short time in attendance. All he knew was what he saw. A young man challenging a pregnant woman to a duel to the death. Distasteful, to say the least.
Then Malicia said nothing to defend her honor nor to acknowledge the challenge. While Stolas’ actions had been undeserved from Bir’s extremely narrow point of view, to simply lay down and allow the challenger to declare victory without so much as raising a finger in your defence? This was unforgivable. Perhaps Stolas was right in removing her from her position. No true Sith would simply bend their knee to a challenge without putting up a fight.
Then, unsurprisingly, chaos began to break out. The tension in the air had been cut as Stolas released Malicia’s neck and her loyal cultists began to advance not only upon him, but attendants of the party as a whole. There would be blood in this power struggle, as there so often was. One man, loyal to Darth Malicia, began to run towards Bir with a short sword drawn and poised to pierce his leathery hide. A foolish move. With his left hand, the Kel Dor pulled a large and sharp cutting knife from the carcass of a dead animal on the table at his side and pointed it towards the advancing threat. The Force wrapped around the cutlery and as Bir released his grip, it continued to hover in position with the tip of steel aimed directly at the Cultist’s throat. The muscles of Bir’s face twisted into a scowl as he pushed the blade forward and directly into the man’s wind pipe, blood spilling from around the metal blade and coating the floor below. As the man began to desperately draw air to his lungs with utter failure, the scowl of Bir Vuul quickly transitioned into a beaming grin. How sweet the violence was.
A second cultist advanced from behind the Kel Dor, intended not only avenging her Mistress’ tarnished honor but that of the life of her companion. Armed with a knife of her own, she attempted to sink it’s blade into the back of Bir’s skull but the Force warned him of the threat. Moving his head to the side, the blade barely nicked the side of his ear before he leaned backwards and into the Cultist’s out-stretched arm. With his prosthetic right arm, Bir quickly wrapped his hand around the wrist wielding the knife and tightened his grip. His iron-like metallic hold was enough to shatter the bones at the base of the woman’s hand, warranting a yelp of pain as he pulled her forward and leaned down. Her body was pulled across his back and shoulder before slamming into the ground at the Kel Dor’s feet. Wasting no time, the Acolyte placed his right foot on the shoulder of the arm he still held in his grasp and began to pull upward on her limb. Partnering the sheer power of his technological prosthetic with a pooling strength of the Force to aide his actions, popping and tearing could be heard as the Cultist’s arm was forcefully removed from her torso. The woman’s screams began to grow deafening until finally, the arm was ripped away, blood flowing from the veins of both limb and body.
”If they desire blood, then let them drown in their own!” Bir laughed loudly, holding his prize up for all to see.
