[OPEN] Desolate Abstraction

[DeathToll]

Creaking hollows, bending and warped beams reaching up to the rafters into shadow, with stillness yet purpose of the Imperial Knights; here lay the technological caves of honed skill and practiced diligence towards physical peak and dedication. Resembling a hanger that once was, though now emptied out almost completely, the open ship welcomed the echos of shuffling footsteps and grunting struggles in attempts at sparring and otherwise passersby.

From within a curved melting of sloped gray, an Imperial Knight stood - leaning back only slightly against a metal beam bolted to the wall in shadowed seclusion, contemplating the days. It was here that Knight Zsaekriel Dtoahfre'Vuun drifted in thought, feeling a breeze against his face (fabricated through the ship's partially active systems or perhaps in resemblance to the fading between body and spirit through the Force) as he harassed himself over inactivity while the Sith scheme away in free existence living totally unaccountable for their crimes.

Three of the four flaps, stretching down to the floor, from his strapped tight black coat barely flapped in simulation to the mysterious spray of wind; the tails wavering as if the very shadow of wall moved itself. Noticing the flaps of clothing, they reach back up to the many straps and belts crossed over themselves along the Keshiri's body. A twinkle of light reflects for but a moment to reveal a large sword hanging from the side of his hip, though less conspicuous was the silver lightsaber hilt diagonally sunk into one of his belts just behind the mighty sword's handle. Silver and pale designs embellish contrast to the deep midnight articles covering Zsaekriel's body, but for a dollop of red material spouting from the center of his chest. Yet the most intense feature glare from those fierce yellow eyes, glowing ablaze; brilliantly vivid, those eyes stare at nothingness like the promises of his heart so out of reach yet close to the soul he could scream and it would shatter like fragile glass before his duty...

 

[Syn]

A little girl gently plays on a swing set as she laughs and in the distance several man in uniforms come to visit as her parents come and speak to her. "We need you to go with these men now, they will take you to your new home." Slowly the little girl cried as she was escorted away with the men in red and brought to a shuttle still crying as she was seated and when she stopped falling asleep briefly remembers a woman covering her with a blanket as she flew through hyperspace. As they arrived at their destination the little girl was escorted and slowly she took the hand of a woman with raven black hair as she walked to her new room and began her training.

A few years later the little girl was in her room in her training clothing as she prepared to go to sleep. Her books were read and her equipment ready for the next day as she secretly hid a picture used her pillow of her standing with several stick figures in red armor and the girl dreamed of one day being a hero like her trainers. Slowly the girl awoke to the sound of screams years later as the world of Bastion was attacked and her friends all around her were being killed. Quickly the little girl ran grabbing only her picture and her wooden training blade as she was rushed to a shuttle and secured in getting launched with other child into the maws of a large ship that eclipsed the sun as she looked out the window and it was pulled into the hanger bay as lines of soldiers looked on at the ship and the girl was taken out of the ship under heavy guard.

Slowly the child was held prisoner as she cried and was beaten never giving up hope that she would be rescued as the men in white imprisoned them in a ship with the sick and dying from Bastion and she did her best to help them as she waited and hoped for help to come and when it did she saw er masters charge in to save them with sabers clashing against vibroblades and force powers being used to smite the betrayers of the Empire as she was rushed by her to a ship as she and a few others were rescued and slowly the little girl cheered as in the end her and the others were secreted away to location after location until they found a new home and her life began. She would have to be strong.

Slowly the girl walked as a teenager up the stairs of her family estate as she looked around, it had been years since she was here and as she came to the door her parents opened the door and welcomed her in as she looked at her little sister and smiled. She was told to be ready and stay safe and hidden, and her family could do all of those things as she stayed with them to get a drink and slowly the teenager moved as outside ships appeared and soldiers crashed through the windows and her father slapped her telling her to run as she was called an intruder and told to protect herself. Quickly the girl took off running as she broke through a window and rolled drawing her lightsaber as she prepared to make a stand and then she saw it as a speeder came and got her taking her back to her ship and her real home as she pressed her legs close and abandoned her name to the wind and pulled an aged piece of paper out looking at it as she nodded and closed her eyes.

Suddenly the girl woke up sweating as she sat up and frantically searched under her tousled bed and sheets as she felt the folded an refolded edges of her paper and smiled feeling secure before she got out of bed and dressed in her black undersuit as she put on her knight armor and walked out hearing the sounds of people working and training bringing a small smile to her face as she came through a door and saw a man standing against a wall and moved closer with a curious look on her face. Slowly Knight walked up near Zsaekriel as she spoke leaning against the wall securing her gauntlets and lightsaber with a slight grin as her words came out slightly exaggerated. "Sooo may I ask what is your name? Sir knight."

 

[DeathToll]

The midnight colored ends of material, draping near the floor, softly fell to the conforms of this Knight's legs. Only but dropping his chin an inch, he still seemed lost in thought. Seconds later his eyes moved more with the normalcy of those still living, as there pupils had shifted into the corners of those short lashes to a new presence.

"...My name..."

His head finally shifted with a horizontal turn, his neck flaring the tense muscle along the side from underneath his jaw line into the deep of his neck. He was a stoic first impression, not imposing with anger nor gentle with welcome. His eyes seemed harsh, but only due to color and shape. His mouth held stiff, unyielding and impenetrable to emotion ...for the time being. He stared straight into this other Knight's eyes (but some inches lower than his) from partial shadow against the wall and spoke slowly, though without sarcasm or tinted meaning.

"...My name is my title. My title is my definition. And my definition is my purpose."

He simply stated his beliefs as fact, always curious to define others by their first reaction to an unknown. He himself was not to be defined by his first words towards the female, yet that in itself does define him ...in a certain way. He meant no offense nor offered any empty greetings, but rather gave respect to learn of who this woman truly was rather than hear of her name; words of sentiment and individuality, yet little definition or gift to a conversation. Zsaekriel did not normally greet others this way, but he was failry consistent to his oddities and few eccentricities.

He would read her, awaiting her reply...

 

[Syn]

Knight looked at the man as she nodded and gave a slight bow coming off the wall her words coming out as she looked around. "A curious answer better worded then what mine would be. I am Knight one of the last survivors of Bastion and youngest one on the ship." Slowly Knight grinned a little as she looked at the man who like her seemed to have or never tell their name.

 

[DeathToll]

"Knight..."

Zsaekriel spoke with a puzzlement. He did not understand at first, thinking she was taking his proclamation literally and as a command of proper etiquette. His brow scrunched but a little, forming some two creases of 'v' shapes at the inner edges of white hair above his eyes. Then his lips twitched. He nodded so very slightly back and politely reengaged.

"You are a Knight, are you not?"

That last, more a rhetorical question in response to her suggestion of rank and name both. The emphasis of his speech upon the beginning of the question, rather than the ending. Zsaekriel would pry with curiosity, giving way to friendly intelligent conversation.

"I am as well a survivor of the 'Purge'. But were you not so interested in a name, such meaning of birth and declared existence?"

Now he wondered, only guessing at the facts; Zsaekriel felt for inflections in her words, and put restriction on the Force, to discover the interesting layers of this Knight.

 

[Syn]

Knight looked at the man and spoke as she grinned and shook her head a little. "I am too young too be a true Knight merely a prospect looking to grow but when I was very little I tried to go back after the purge and put many people in danger because of my name." With a look she left off for a moment to allow it to sink in as she spoke again after a minutes. "So I gave it up to protect people and will not reclaim it until we have conquered the sith who control our citizens. They are the true victims of the purge being forced to live in fear and under tyranny. It is our duty to them."

 

[DeathToll]

"...So it -is- that you place significance in a name."

Having waited for her full thought to finish, Zsaekriel had taken that time to ponder her dedication by definition; until finally responding with that last, almost question formed clarification.

"...And you blame your family for bringing you into that name."

Again he phrased a question moreso as a statement, awaiting and asking for confirmation or correction. He had no intention of naming her a Knight in level within aptitude measurements, but rather called her by her loyalties to the Imperial Knights and its leader. And so, he now began to poke her with a bit darker tone, meaning no aggression behind words but rather giving opportunity to allow the illusion of her control over the situation to become his. A more subtle, and at this moment unnecessary, exercised skill in parallel to swordplay. This whole conversation would become as such, as one does not truly know another without struggle; yet focused under discipline, it can be harnessed for purpose. And in his understanding, there was no other purpose than that of the Imperial Knights.

 

[Syn]

Knight looked at the man and shook her head as she spoke. "I cannot hate them, I never truly knew them, this is what I have always known. Bastion was what I knew. The knight commander was all I knew if I was stronger I could become a knight if I was braver also and more sure but I do not hate my name sir knight." With a look Knight looked around at the others training.

 

[DeathToll]

"Hmm.."

Zsaekriel softly puffed a hum from his nostrils in thought to 'Knight's' interpretation. Joining 'Knight' with a similar head shift towards others nearby, his gaze, by no means, reflected on his thought process; still completely engaged in this conversation.

"So you associate responsibility with emotion."

A pattern would now be evident, as he awaited her move in speech to deviate him from this approach of stating questions as facts. He referred to her reconstruction of words, taking Zsaekriel's word 'blame' and shifting it to what she perceived blame to mean. Instead, possibly her subconscious, deciding on the use of the word 'hate' in place of 'blame' led Zsaekriel down this next line of thought. And still he prodded, harmlessly; unless she took offense, as he meant not to go down that route. She had shown no signs of such offense as of yet, and so Zsaekriel had already come to the conclusion that she was composed in the back and forth; and so it pleased him, though not evident upon his face. Still looking out to the ones training, away from their current position flush against the wall, Zsaekriel continued his mind's footwork.

"You -feel- guilt at the peoples' deaths, and so you flee penalty to cut off what you believe to be your source of anguish."

Zsaekriel was enjoying this introduction more than she could know. It was an interesting beginning to their acquaintance, and an obvious first step down the inevitable path. He hoped for her inner strength to come out, that being her true self. Everything else was a tool to be used for her goal. Only a goal within the Imperial Knight's purpose was a goal worth dedicating to.

 

[Syn]

Knight looked at the man again as she spoke raising an eyebrow delicately. If I had been stronger back then, if I had fought harder I could have helped my friends. My responsibility is too see the sith brought to justice for their sakes, so I will do what I must." With a look Knight spoke more as she went back to looking around and clenched her fist not in agitation but resolve. "I do not know your intentions is asking such curious questions but I find it invigorating to have a conversation beyond the latest lesson."

 

[DeathToll]

Zsaekriel nearly smiled to her last few words, though holding it back; a mere wrinkle might have slipped below the corner of his mouth, but she would not have noticed as she rejoined his gaze out into the main of the hangar. His physical was immovable, yet his mind was at play.

He was pleased to see the potential in her, though too did he see her weaknesses. It was indeed a good duel, playing out in his head. Though opinion would set apart 'weakness' from 'burden' or even 'personality trait', but Zsaekriel saw her compassion as a distraction to the real issue; that is unless she managed to prioritize her desires and duty alike.

"...Indeed -structure-, though at times laborious, has its effectiveness."

Zsaekriel would argue priority in favor of effectiveness over pleasure any day, but such was not his aim of this friendly spar of words; a dance, as any real duel resembles. In a way, he was agreeing with her. He too was in this moment partaking of pleasure, though it was in clasped hands of company with the Imperial Knight's purpose as always was the case for Zsaekriel. Following this train of thought, he came to his next point.

...Succumbing to emotion, if you must, would bring effective justice to the Sith. An obstacle to overcome the consequences of others' actions and inefficiencies for the sake of a better result.

Zsaekriel did not pair personal bias, or otherwise known fact in his eyes, with his connecting of dots; dots not necessarily down 'Knight's' desired path, but instead forks in philosophy. At various junctures, many have found their original beliefs to have once stemmed from the same honest intent as 'Knight'; but to stray down a curved path that leads back to the opposing extreme. It was in this last sentence of Zsaekriel's choice to symbolically feint an attack, if their lighthearted conversation could be dissected into defining moves of physical semblance. He did not mean what he had said, nor did he think that she meant it either; but rather, he was more focused on her reaction and explanation - as he had from the very beginning.

 

[Syn]

Knight spoke a little confused as she looked at the man and wanted to scratch her head but didn't as she slightly and quietly tapped her fingers on her undersuit. "Emotion has kept me going, it will make me a strong Knight so I can help the Knight Commander return us to our rightful place at the side of the True Emperor. Then we can go back to protecting the people of the galaxy and not fearing them when we have to stay in a safe house."

 

[DeathToll]

"Do you believe we fear the people our actions protect?"

Zsaekriel had turned his head at her, having found that point that broke the mold. He looked at her, poker-faced and genuinely curious to her views. However, he would not poke the split fissure that had changed his approach to her in conversation. Instead, he would press upon the stress bubbles surrounding the crevice opening. In this new direction, he would encompass her statement; thus focusing the circumference of the issue, rather than connecting dots as previously done. He would let slip the side-notes and needless information through his fingers, tightening down the clenching fist to truly grasp the issue.

Zsaekriel was, in essence, circling the same issue since the beginning; however, now he would soon begin to become more clear in his intent.

 

[Syn]

Knight shook her head as she spoke. She didn't fear the people of the empire. They were doing what they had to do to survive just like any slave and she knew some wanted to be out from under the sith's thumb but they didn't know how and that was what they had to be. "No I do not fear them, I mourn for them living under a tyrant but I cannot fear them. They are doing what they must to survive."

 

[DeathToll]

"...so you regard their survival as second to their true means of freedom."

Responding differently than before, Zsaekriel actually spoke with a fluctuation in tone and showed signs of the living here for the first time. His voice seemed more at ease, not harsh and on the attack; giving emphasis to the final word 'freedom'. It was in his eyes 'fact' that before any feeling or righteous gift of servitude with the wish to aide others, came the truth that hit like a planet shattering asteroid: evil must be dealt with. This, to Zsaekriel, meant foregoing any moral or virtuous acts; focusing on the Sith and it's evil as a separate entity and potential all-encompassing idea both. In such a view, feeling any emotion towards the path of the darkside was intolerable, just as allowing distraction of the innocent to impede one's duty to uproot the Sith was ultimately an immoral and impeachable offense. In The Imperial Knights, there was no denouncing of duty; at least that was how Zsaekriel was trained, before the scattering heinous act that was the 'Purge'.

"As only through your success do they gain what you desire for them."

 

[Miranda]

Outside, the sea of dunes was hard. Sriluur. Such a desolate and crumbling and forgotten place. A perfect exile.

Nuné Talar woke to the desert-wind's slapping assault. She quit her cabin, a crude and meagre space carved out in a cargo hold, picking her way past numerous working Imperial Knights - lugging cargoes and crates, others training, some still sleeping.
She emerged into wind, and a great cracking sounded as sails and tarpaulin tugged like animals at their tethers. Hangars burst with motion. Enormous engines vented steam and smoke as mechanics attempted to fix them, and the great ship hummed with the dormant power of its hull, buried deep in the sand.

Nuné sat on a container.
So...this is it. She thought to herself.

The Sith's Folly had seemed busy these last few days; someone was always scrubbing something, or sweeping sand away, or raising a piece of machinery, or running from one end of the ship to the other. Suddenly, today, that sense of activity had appeared to increase by a huge factor. There was a humming in the air almost as if everyone had accepted their fate and had discovered some great calling, some absolute motivation.

They had been expelled. Expelled from their homes, and cast down, and hunted, and destroyed. So many had been murdered. Nuné could not get the slaughter out of her head, nor her nightmares. The Purge they had called it. Sadistic, twisted animals.
She had vowed to herself, after she had been forced to flee back to Naboo, that one day she would have her revenge for what they had done. For the countless brothers and sisters they had annihilated. But that day seemed so distant now.

Exiled to this bastard ****hole, she thought to herself.

She needed to be doing something, she needed to help. Maybe that was why the increase in activity had lifted, had surged and seemed to have more purpose. They wanted to escape the horrific memories, they needed purpose to drive them on, through the darkest of days.

Nuné rose and gathered herself. She struck the past from her mind and grabbed a couple of crates of spare engine parts and weapons (what little she could manage to carry), and followed the line of men and women into one of the hangars. The place was a veritable hive of labor. Members of their banished Order were practicing with lightsabers, wrestling, exercising, mending broken droids and instruments, setting themselves down for hot tea and deep conversations.
Her spirit was lifted somewhat at the sight. They were the survivors. They were her brethren, her family. There was still hope, still a shed of light in the darkness.

They had all been in exile for so long now. But they were resurging. Regrouping. Reforming. Rebuilding. Surviving.

Nuné shifted out of the line and dropped the crates on the floor near where two Knights were seemingly engaged in discussion. She bunched her cloak together and threw it on a bench and then dragged the crates over to the hangar wall. As she turned she moved into the proximity of the other two and gave a wan smile, "these crates alright here? Not entirely sure where they're supposed to go...but better than in the sand right?", she waved her hand in dismissal to the subject.

"I'm Nuné Talar, recently arrived from Naboo. Have you two been here long? I don't suppose anyone could ever get used to this", she sighed and offered a hand of greeting to them both and then sat down on the bench and wrapped her cloak about her. It was about time she fraternised with the others, they were all in this together, after all.

 

[DeathToll]

Looking up and over 'Knight's' shoulder at another female, Zsaekriel was still interested in his questions; not yet having zeroed in on his intellectual dance.

"...One cannot expect -all- footsteps to lead where intended..."

It was an odd greeting, to be sure; though one that made much sense in the line of Zsaekriel's thought from previous unspoken conversation regarding 'Knight', as he had two conversations going on with her: one verbally, and one mentally. It was a subtle conversation, relying more on body language and wordplay; but now a new catalyst had entered the mix, and Zsaekriel would change with the wind. Extending a hand in return, he gave a short and firm handshake to Nune'.

"I am Zsaekriel Dtoahfre'Vuun.."

Having directly looked at Nune' with a restrained smile of a soldier, he then shifted his eyes right - to look at 'Knight's' reaction of his so easily giving out his name, whom he reached passed now. Having shifted weight from his right foot closest to the wall to now his left crossing past 'Knight', Zsaekriel's body was open to 'Knight'. Not that he feared attack, but Zsaekriel rarely left himself open like that even in conversation among allies; always on guard, but this time giving that same body language of a conversation to suggest his simple apology for withholding his name this entire time.

"...and I would not presume to try. Any habit is a bad one."

Zsaekriel responded to Nune'-'s remark of the sand, serious as always about his readiness for the fight. He was no slave to stagnation.

 

[Syn]

Knight looked at the man and then she turned around some as she looked at the other knight and spoke with a bow placing her hand on her chest. "Hello I am Knight. It is very nice to meet you." Slowly when Knight heard the man mention his name she didn't make a face as she wondered why he told his name so easily but she was content to have someone else there to talk with as she looked up at Nune`.

 

[DeathToll]

"So it -is- that you call yourself 'Knight'."

Zsaekriel cordially interrupted any new conversation for a moment, feeling some need for conclusion to the first two's discussion, and commented on 'Knight's' calling. It was in fact where he was going with their introduction, as introduction was all it was. Yet just as they were standing in the midst of training, though off to the side, so did Zsaekriel have other plans for furthering their intellectual debate. But he did not mean to be rude, to either party.

Stepping back to settle into a shoulder-width planted stance, he gripped the cloth of his belts and tugged a firm hold before his pelvis - as if to relax with one's hands on their hips. He looked from Nune' to 'Knight', smiled that soldier's smile again, and returned his gaze to Nune'.

"...I -have- been here long. Too long."

Hefting a silent puff of a laugh, his chest popped like a hiccup that let undulate his head softly up and down.

 

[Miranda]

Nuné nodded in acknowledgement of the two new acquaintances she had just made, and wondered quietly at what they were discussing. Seemed rather deep and ponderous and philosophical. Zsaek's name seemed to roll off his tongue like liquid and she hazarded a guess as to where he was from, but could not come to any conclusions. The other one, who obviously hadn't wanted to share their name (which she thought was rather strange amongst her brethren) had styled themself as simply 'Knight'.
A rather uninspired and dull name for a pseudonym Nuné thought to herself.

"A pleasure to meet you both. I'm only just starting to get settled in...waiting for my first assignment and just helping out where I can. Seems like everything is running like clockwork around here now, I can't imagine what things were like years ago."

The young Imperial Knight opened her light-brown satchel, that was now caked in sand, and removed a canister from it. She unscrewed the lid and billows of steam escaped from the top. She tilted it and poured herself some lukewarm tea. It warmed her a little and then she relaxed against the hangar wall.

"So, what's the hot topic of discussion about? Sounds riveting." She was in need of some conversation, having mostly kept to herself since her arrival on Sriluur. She needed to familiarise herself with others, for who knew? Maybe they would find themselves on assignment with each other, and it helped to know more about those fighting at one's side in the heat of battle and darkness.