Returning to Sacul

[Black Noise]

A shadow dropped from above the head of Geoffrey, tackling him to the hard Earth. An iron hand, grip stronger than a vice, clamped around the wrist of his weapon hand while a rough, strong, wrinkled flesh hand clamped over his mouth. His horse, although strong and obedient, was frightened into a whinny and dashed away back towards home. As the horse galloped away, a high pitched female voice could be heard whispering in Geoffrey's ear.
"Sssshhh."

Instantly, a distinctive, deep voice could be heard roaring throughout the forest. The Red Devil, Eber, had gotten tired of waiting around an hour before and ventured out into the plains alone. He avoided the natural predators as he had long ago mastered the art deceiving the big cats after torturing a prisoner into revealing his skills. He heard the gallop of a horse and had dashed through the grass, speeding towards it. But a sudden whinny followed by the galloping of hooves headed in the opposite direction caused Eber to suspect the rider had dismounted.

Intelligence was not Eber's strong point, but he was not a complete fool. It was no secret among the plain folk that Eber could leap so far as to overtake a horse. So Eber reasoned that the man had dismounted, where he could easily lose the Devronian in the tall grass.
This enraged him.
"SHOW YOURSELF! WEAK LITTLE MAN!!"

The woman, Lain, released Geoffrey and held a finger to her lips shortly before pointing off in the direction he was headed before, motioning for him to continue on. She stood up and began heading for Eber. The horned Demon noticed her strong figure immediately. He had sensed her presence in the Force, but disregarded it as many beings he had encountered on this world were Force Sensitive. Approaching and igniting his blade, Eber opened his mouth to taunt, but widened his eyes in shock as the woman ignited two blades. One a dark yellow, the other redder than his own in the moonlight.

Eber halted walking and allowed a sky grin to creep across his face.
"So, have my reinforcements arrived?"
The reply was not what he expected, as it came in the form of a yellow blade screaming for his neck. Momentarily caught off guard, Eber flew up his red blade to defend and smacked the girl's yellow one aside. No time to rest, he immediately brought his blade around again to guard against the second red blade that came at his side. For the next few seconds, the girl had a slight advantage. However, Eber was quick to recover.

The two sparred on in the night, Eber quickly showing he had the clear advantage in their saber bout. Were it not for Lain's lightning reflexes, honed after years of Echani sparring, and her second blade, Eber would've easily overtaken her. The Red Devil had a complete mastery of the elegant Makashi saber style, a style of combat specifically designed to combat other saber users. After only a minute, Eber had enough of an advantage to even begin toying with Lain. He began taunting her, gloating in his power, becoming more and more arrogant as he slowly landed light blows. A scratch here, a tip there, Eber began to break down Lain's defense and make small scratches in her sides and shoulders. Although the wounds were small, the pain was great. If Eber continued on like this for more than a few minutes, Lain would drop and die from the sheer severity of a hundred different Lightsaber burns on her body.

Eber, not very honed in the Force, failed to detect Lain's subtle draw on the Dark Side for something other than focusing it into their fight. Another minute passed, and Eber finally noticed Lain's gathered power. It was, however, too late for him. Lain locked Eber's saber in between her own in an X pattern and locked eyes with him. At that moment, a loud SNAP! could be heard as Eber's right shoulder Labrum completely ripped away from the ball-like head of his humorous. Simultaneously, his Coracoid Process*exploded, sending bone shrapnel into the surrounding muscle and scratching against the lower areas of his clavicle; all of this occurred without breaking the skin.

Eber's Lightsaber fell from his hand as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Lain stepped away and heaved, clearly exhausted. Deactivating her sabers she stepped away. Lain knew Eber would likely force a Rage over himself if she engaged or attempted to finish him. In her state she was no match for that. Turning her back, she started walking away as Eber belt out the howl of a wounded animal. Lain spoke to herself.
"Della, Rhonun. I leave him to you now, I have faith in you two."

-----------

*Eber spent the next two hours dragging himself back to his base camp, he moved quickly, but quietly. Lain had unknowingly saved him from death at the hands of the big cats, as his injure was entirely internal. He guessed it had to be sometime around 2-3:00ish AM when he arrived. When he arrived, he made sure the entire procession woke up to his enraged screaming.
<"LAZY SACKS OF WET DOGS! GET UP! We're moving!!">

The 'camp' flared into fearful action as it was rudely awoken from an otherwise peaceful slumber. Eber, letting go of his shoulder, which had now swelled to nearly twice its normal size and had turned a nasty shade of purple, snatched a nearby boy and yelled in his face.
<"Get me shot of the Great Hound's Vice! NOW!">
The boy fearfully nodded and dashed over to the only medical truck. Opium, referred to as the Great Hound's Vice on the street, was often used as a painkiller in the most extreme circumstances. The boy, upon finding the nasty black substance, paused. The man Eber had killed before the start of the trip was the boy's father. A chance of fate? Or was this an opportunity. Taking the needle of the black, oily liquid, he pushed it out into the ground. Hopping out of the truck, he mixed a nearby puddle of water with as much dirt as possible without completely turning it into mud. He drew up the muddy water into the needle and grinned wickedly. Rushing back over to Eber, he adopted a fake air of fear and stuttered.
<"I-it might t-take a minute t-to work.">
Eber shoved him away and grabbed the needle, crying.
<"Away from me! Stuttering fool!">
Eber, stupidly not even looking at the needle's contents, injected it directly into his bloodstream.*

As the trucks began rolling, Eber say in the first truck in agonizing pain, while the boy sat in the last, feeling very clever.

-------

How long Eber sat there in agony, he knew not, it felt like an eternity. However, Eber had the constitution of an enraged Badger, and he would not give in to unconsciousness. He stupidly supposed that the Opium simply didn't work on his species. However, the streak of fire that flew into his truck was enough to break the pain momentarily. He leapt out of the truck as the molotov cocktail burst through the truck's front grate and into the engine. The enforce burst into flames and exploded, instantly killing the driver and veering the truck off road. The other trucks smashed on the brakes at this, except the second one in the line. The driver of this one only sped up, and ended up driving over the TNT that had been strategically placed by Della Frey right as it exploded. The explosion instantly hit the engine as well, killing all twenty-two men in the truck as it blew upwards into the sky and landed upside down in the middle of the road.

The men piled out, grabbing shotguns and M1 Springfield rifles as they did. Eber, his agony increased tenfold by the fact that he landed on his injured and swelled shoulder, flew into Force Rage. In his rage, he saw one thing, the outline of Rhonun Tor through the Force. Igniting his saber in his left hand, he charged the Cathar. In his Force Rage, his pain only fueled him and made him stronger. His left arm could strike with more strength and ferocity than if he gripped the saber with both hands normally. However, the Rage also created a few problems. His reflexes, normally slow, we're slower, and his shoulder -completely useless- would likely never heal. Lastly, assuming he survived the battle, he had a 90% chance of dying from shock immediately when the pain hit him a thousandfold stronger than when he received his injury once the Rage dissipated.

 

[Crackerjack Bohemian]

"Please, sit down." His hand made a gesture to the bed since that was the only piece of furniture closes to Fyston's crippled leg. Sebastian finished sliding on the other pieces of clothing and wrapping a satchel around his body with Ashugal and Jrekk inside. The Phoenix remained tucked in the waist at the small of his back, covered by the three shirts which made him look, more or less, like a Saculean of Della's heritage. The cloth used for the clothing smelled odd, but was comforting nonetheless. He shrugged his shoulders and bent his joints to get used to the tighter clothing. They breathed well.

When everything was tucked in and fit as it should, his eyes went to the jealous and angry Fyston. He said not a word and only approached him with tender eyes, much more tender than he would have been able to pull of years ago. He knelt before the Knight in a most subservient fashion and placed his hands gently on the damaged knee. The Force immediate peered into the anatomy of the joint and the surrounding structures making up the leg. There was intense soreness throughout, Sebastian could tell. Oddly enough, there was nothing physically wrong with the joint. He focused deeper into the tissue, though his fine observational skills lacked significantly in others. Still, once he fell into a trance, he could see the sparks of nerves dying and abruptly ending. Fyston was stopping or disrupting them to ease the pain.

"What exactly happened here?" he began, trying to distract Fyston while beginning to soothe the pain, though nothing else. The Force acted like an anesthetic to prep for the actual healing process. Even through the Force, treating this injury, or condition perhaps, would be painful. The jeering toward Rhonun and the heightened complaints or any kind of resistance to his effort of healing a fellow Jedi would have been stopped as peacefully as possible. He tried to directly diver the nerves' flows to where they wouldn't cause pain. This would result in the knee becoming almost completely useless, though there would be no pain. With both their efforts directed toward the disease, further investigation on how to treat such a condition could begin, but only by a third party. Elle, perhaps.

"We need you in a better condition if you're going to be of further help." His explanation for his actions wasn't entirely truthful. He really just wanted Fyston away from Della's parents and friends. Still, helping Fyston was something he'd do regardless of the situation they were in. He decided to turn the conversation around, wishing not to speak about Della or Rhonun at the moment, since it was clear it affected his decision making. "We're here to get rid of the Sith, nothing more. Please, try not to make enemies of our allies. It is Della and Rhonun you are upset with, not Della's family and friends." He couldn't help but go back a bit and try to calm the man down about his jealousy, or whatever it was he was feeling.

 

[Fyston]

Fyston couldn't help but frown as Sebastian mentioned nothing of apologizing. He didn't like being wrong and, indeed, sought to be right as much as possible. Even if he wasn't right, he ensured that others were wrong though very subtle maneuvering and social sabotage. Most called him an ass, but the war had taken many Jedi healers elsewhere and he'd become extremely valued in terms of medicine. It didn't stop him from being an ass, but it kept them from throwing him out due to his attitude and problems.

Regardless, he kept still and quiet as Sebastian observed his leg. He merely leaned on his cane, the weight causing the floorboards to bend a degree or two and issue a noise in protest. He had no qualms with Sebastian's curiosity, as he had a similar curiosity, one of almost insatiable levels. He'd observed his leg many times, particularly when he first felt the tingling, though at that time he'd had to concentrate and it had been much more difficult.

As Sebastian asked what had happened, Fyston nearly flashed him a smile. "What happened is that the Force likes to screw certain people. I am one of those people. It's a genetic disorder that can be carried on either the X or the Y chromosome, but that both markers must be there for the disease to be active. Even if I didn't have it on my X chromosome, for example, I'm still a carrier. Regardless, it typically starts in the limbs and moves into the abdomen. For me, it started in my right leg. If you had it, it may start in your arm. It lay dormant until I sustained an injury that seemed to activate it. Rhonun was the cause of that injury, and it was because he thought I was to blame for Della running away. I'd been nothing but accepting and understanding and even when she announced her decision, I remained accepting and understanding." As he spoke, he could feel Sebastian's use of the Force on his leg and nodded his thanks, though he knew that such an attempt was only temporary. It was, in fact, quite similar to what he tried when he first had the debilitating pain. His nerves always, be it 12 hours or 6, reset themselves and reactivated. Disrupting the flow using the Force was the only thing that helped with the pain and kept him mobile. If he so desired, he could 'cut off' his leg from his nervous system by permanently blocking the nerves, though his disease would still progress as if nothing had been done.

And so, it was with that knowledge that he decided to take the pain and keep mobile than have the pain return and have lobbed off a body part for no reason. He waited until Sebastian was done speaking before continuing. "There's no cure, not even with the Force. I've tried everything. I'll end up dying as it reaches my diaphragm, which is when I can no longer breathe. I can still run, I can still fight, and I still dedicate parts of my day to physical activity. It's not so much a large, single block of time but rather many smaller ones. I've adapted this," he said, moving his cane as an indicator. "To my fighting style. I can do more with this one item than one could with many. It's my walking tool, it's a weapon, and it can be used in a wide range of activities." Fyston hoisted his lightsaber and pointed it into the air, keeping it free of any nearby items. Tapping into the Force just momentarily, he activated the hidden lightsaber. The blue plasma shot down the end of the cane and stopped as the cane stopped, the same length that a normal lightsaber would be. "It's still got the dual phase setting, as I'm quite good with it, but it's completely hidden. I rarely use it, as the cane is special." To prove his point, he deactivated his lightsaber, revealing the cane as it was before he'd activated his lightsaber. "If I can block a lightsaber with the cane itself, I'd rather use the cane, plus there's less of a chance of killing someone and I look like a harmless old man."

"As for screwing with everyone, I'm not going to stop," he said pragmatically, waving his arms around to further his message. In the years since everything in his life had effectively fallen apart, he'd become quite misanthropic, cynical, and bitter. "If you haven't noticed, I don't really care." He meant it about everything from what they said, what they thought, and about social expectations in general, including rules and regulations. "Now, I'm going to go wait for all the casualties that will wash up because the idiots thought that they knew best. If you go out and fight, try not to die, I'd hate to tell the Jedi that a Master died." And as he finished, he turned to leave, stopping and turning back right before he walked out of sight. "Oh, and I mean because they'd get angry and blame me, not because you're dead. People die."

With that, he walked out of sight and reclined himself back on the sofa that he had recently vacated, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing to simulate breathing, though he was as alert as if he had his eyes open.

 

[Crackerjack Bohemian]

The man's words were hurtful. Not to him, personally, though they may as well have been. Still, he listened. Fyston's words were full of subjectivity of his own woes. He clearly pitied himself and took it out on those around him. His doubts of his peers stemmed from something Sebastian couldn't understand. The emotions of hatred hardly masked those of sorrow within Fyston. He clung to much and lied just as often. However, the man wasn't hiding it. In fact, it was clear that he didn't want to. Perhaps he wasn't lying for others to believe him but, rather, so he could believe himself. The harsh words would become valid and true if he pushed them onto others as much as he could. Words were powerful like that, though Sebastian had little experience with this. Still, he felt a pain, a regret for the man who'd pushed him away so effortlessly.

Only through Fyston's mouth did the title 'Master' sting with a mistruth. He'd lied to others, as Fyston was lying about everything else. However, Sebastian never felt far from the truth even as he stated his 'new title.' It mattered little what the misunderstanding and near-sighted Council deemed him to be. He shook his head, trying to keep control of his resentment and contempt for those who were against him through ignorance.

He rose to his feet, remaining on his knees until this moment. He didn't watch Fyston exit the room and, instead, continued to analyze the condition, the disease, or whatever it was. He didn't want a cure, and stating that the Force couldn't help was utterly foolish to believe. Still, perhaps he was right. With his current state, he must have studied and meditated on the nerves much more intimately than Sebastian had just done. His boots thudded against wooden floors as he approached Fyston in his lazy posture now. "You can excuse your disabilities all you want, but they are still disabilities. I understand that compensation may negate these, but even I have disabilities that cannot be ignored." This statement was odd as it had come from the Force. His voice was distant but he twitched his head as if coming out of a possession of sorts.

"Have you heard of the technique called 'Morichro'? I have only read of it recently as I researched more about Tutaminis a time before leaving for this planet. It is capable of slowing death or keeping animated the dead. Conversely, it can easily kill. It would not be wise to invest any time in this skill. The Force can work with your body better than you have assumed. As easily as the Force can sever limbs and nerves, it is capable of mending them. This 'backward' process is usually much more difficult, but it certainly isn't impossible. Also, with a biological condition, it would not be permanent. But you seem more than capable enough in Heal to learn how to invest your time in healing nerves instead of just tissue. I'm willing to help you in this research if you are willing."

He stood by the doorway, the others having left, if not out of the house than in other compartments of the underground dwelling. His words sounded dull but pierced through the air but didn't allow for a response, either. He neared him slowly, as if to not alarm him, if he could even be alarmed. "What have you given up on? I know you're lying, but about what and why, I cannot see. I don't even think you can see," he started but his voice faded away. It came back much stronger than before when he switched the topic. "I did not know about your aversion to Rhonun. If I had known, I would not have called you here, but Della is running this mission. Still, if you can't respect those around you, it is unwise to disrespect them. With your current attitude, it is not difficult to see that you have fallen, Fyston. I don't mean 'to the Dark side,' though. I simply mean, 'from the Light.' But don't believe it far from these people to try to kill you as a conspirator or a traitor if you act against them. These are sensitive peoples that are quick to react as well as act. They are much keener than you or I might be even now," he confessed.

"I am not saying this to scare you from behaving how you wish to behave. I'm saying this to warn you that your actions have consequences. Keeping angry at Rhonun as a consequence for taking Della's heart before you is clearly proving ineffective. It's clear he knows what you are feeling. He knows where you stand with him. Della knows as well and it tears at her. If you wish to keep jealous, it's probably best that you stay with me so I can keep an eye on you."

For someone as mild and unmoving as Sebastian, this was certainly uncharacteristic of him. He didn't wish to protect Della, for she could do that himself. Rhonun needed little protection but it was clear his emotions were still faltering inside him. Fyston, however, had allowed his emotions to consume him. Sebastian wished to protect Fyston from himself, if no one else.

 

[StormWolf]

Stalking though the tall grass with Della and her father, Rhonun worked the hardest to keep a low profile. Hunching his broad shoulders and squatting low to the ground as they moved slowly through the cover of night, every step was planned and properly placed in order to keep the bottles of oil from clanking together. The moon offered enough light for Rhonun's predatory eyes to see clearly without the aid of the Force, and his keen ears picked up ever single shuffle in the grass. The roar of the Snamreg Cats did not intimidate Rhonun in the slightest. He had hunted bigger game in his life, and with the cats, Rhonun simply needed to roar back. He spoke their language, to a degree.

When the small group of three stopped and Johnathan gave his instructions to Della, Rhonun looked her in the eyes and gave her a reassuring nod. She was strong and brave, even is she did not know it or acknowledge it. This entire ambush was greatly hinged on her actions, though by the look on her face, she needed no reminding. Reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder, Rhonun gave her another nod and a squeeze on the shoulder before moving further up the road with Johnathan. He hoped she would be alright. Reaching their position further up the road, Rhonun held the two improvised firebombs in one hand and the lighter in the other. It was hauntingly silent now, save for the guttural chugging of the Skagrit diesel engines.

Johnathan let loose his bottle first, engulfing the first truck in a gout of flames. Rhonun could feel the heat and smell the sickly-sweet scent of burning hair and flesh. Grimacing, Rhonun lit up his two bottles and threw them soon after Johnathan's firebomb landed. Rhonun, however, guided the bottles with the Force, smashing one in to the engine block of one of the trucks, and another flew in to an open window, consuming everyone inside. The TNT went off soon after with a deafening bang, raining scorched upon the trucks and the distraught masses of Skagrit invaders.

Rage flowed across the currents of the Force like an oil spill in crystal waters. The Sith was here, and he was beyond furious. Turning to the source of the darkness, Rhonun saw Eber charging at him, eyes wide and furious, near rabid. Pulling his saberstaff from his back, Rhonun ignited the twin ice-blue blades with a deep snap-hum. Grabbing Johnathan by the collar, Rhonun moved the older man out of the way, sending him rolling through the tall grass as Jedi and Sith clashed sabers with a crackling clamor. The Sith was little more than an animal in his current state. He was already wounded, his shoulder visibly swollen and the breed of rage seeping from him was a unique kind that Rhonun knew well. The same kind of rage Rhonun felt when he lost his hand. Moving in to his Soresu stance, Rhonun took to deflecting and redirecting the Sith's wild swings, slashes, and bashes. It allowed Rhonun to study the Sith, to pick apart his already wounded state. It was not without challenge, however. Rhonun's chest, arms, and back felt the strain already from clashing with Eber, his strength already quite impressive, but was now amplified by his anger and rage. Rhonun could just embrace his own anger, let the fire rise in his veins and eviscerate the Sith, but Rhonun wanted to take Eber in alive, to answer for his crimes, before being allowed to die. Deflecting another one of Eber's attacks with a twirl of his staff and a graceful pirouette, Rhonun lashed out with his right hand, the durasteel claws of his cybernetic hand tore through the tips of his gloves and left four deep gouges in the Sith's swollen shoulder. After making that strike, Rhonun took a few long strides back, putting distance between himself and the Sith, drawing him away from Della and her father.

 

[TweedPawn]

Arn waited patiently for Reichtum to finish his speech. There was a rift within his own motivation. If the letter was a threat from the Prince of the north, there would be an assassination attempt on Reichtum. The Mountain folk were known to keep promises at a rate that was frightening.

Government aides rushed to ask Arn what he needed, but Arn pushed past them. If Arn failed to report the plot, he would be executed. He was already a traitor to his people. There would be little sympathy from the Sith as well. It felt as if the Hound was closing his teeth around him.

No…There was no need to resort to superstitious thinking.

Arn found his way to reach Reichtum. He lowered his voice.

"I believe the Mountain people have finally declared that they are against us. They will possibly a counter-attack via assassination. They had spies within our own office." replied Arn as he handed the cryptic letter to the Sith.

"It seems too perfectly planned. You send Eber out and they begin to move their own people into action. We need to be careful. If Eber falls, we have little to act as a threat." said Arn.
--------------

Geoffrey felt himself torn from his horse. He found himself unable to reach for his knife and a hand prevented him from screaming. He angrily fought against the restraints, until he heard the whisper. A female belonged to those rough hands. Geoffrey felt creeped out by the woman's unusual skin, but complied.

The rage from Eber could be heard louder than any roar. Geoffrey instinctively flattened himself against the ground. When the strange girl took of to confront The Red Devil, Geoffrey felt a sense of anger and confusion. It was another one of those wizard-folk. Damned inbred heathens were starting to over run Sacul.

It wouldn't matter soon. Geoffrey would deal with all of them. They all looked dodgy, in spite of what Claude said.

Geoffrey found a group of sentries. He quickly told them to get reinforcements to the Homestead Funeral Parlor.

"<There are trucks heading that way. And a nest full of those sorcerers. Claude says they're trustworthy, but I don't like the way they timed their arrival. Their stories are strange as well. Be cautious. If they even LOOK at you funny, shoot them. If they are on our side, they'll have to prove it.>"

The reinforcements would arrive swiftly. They would be able to travel the roads thanks to being better fortified than a simple horse and rider.

There was still the matter of that Woman roaming the fields. She had saved his life, and she certainly looked nothing like the other invaders. It would be worth talking to her.

He began his search.

----------

The ambush had turned into a field of flame and burning flesh. Della's dynamite had worked. But now there was the full fury of an army at her, Johnathan and Rhonun. Johnathan had already ducked back into the grasses, and Rhonun faced the fury of a Sith head on.

Della froze for a moment, the terror of her past unveiled in her mind again as if it was fresh. Suddenly, sprays of gunfire surrounded her. She had to dash. She had been spotted.

She ran quickly, darting to and fro like a rabbit. It was enough to avoid a good shot from targeting her, but the bullets still hit the ground a little too close. The men from the trucks were hunting her now. They did not move quickly, but their persistence pushed Della far from where Rhonun could see her.

The battle cry of rage broke her attention to where she was stepping. Della saw the river ahead of her, but the gunfire still kept coming. She tried to leap.

A sicking blast of fire and pain suddenly blinded her. She fell into the muddy bank of the other side and scrambled into the grasses. A terrible pain was in her leg, causing her to weep. She breathed rapidly. Her panic set in and she tried to stand, only to have her left leg buckle and fall under her.

The men stopped chasing her. The river would ruin their ammunitions. Della panted in the tall grasses, unsure of where she even was. Divines have mercy. She was lost.

Della looked down at her bleeding leg. It was going to attract predators if she didn't act quickly. But what could she do? She could barely stand now.

She needed to contact someone. Anyone. Rho was in a fury though. That left only the Jedi in the Homestead. Telepathy was never her strength and the pain caused her to keep losing her focus. She had to try.

Sebastian…

the voice was trembling. Faint. Della felt herself becoming pale from the loss of blood. She never had a terrible injury like this before.

river…field

 

[Crackerjack Bohemian]

Whenever Fyston would retort or defend himself against Sebastian, an echo resounded in his head. It was loud but very unclear. It wasn't muffled, but it was distant, like a whisper ten feet away. It was like someone had recorded a voice heard in the dark and amplified it until it was a scream. It was probably clear that he wasn't listening anymore. He didn't blink or quiver from sounds reverberating in his head. He, instead, focused on what she was trying to say. The Force replayed it a few times and Sebastian's legs carried him far away from the home. This was after he told Fyston to keep watch over the house and Elle, Della's mother. He knew Fyston would for he broken man still had some sense of honor deep in there. He wouldn't let someone die if he could help it. At least, that's what Sebastian had to tell himself as he fled through the dark and to where she was pulling him.

The trees smacked at his hardened body, though the cloth surrounding it never tore. Something in the thread resisted tearing, it seemed. These people were smart; they thought acutely. Worthy adversaries when placed against them. All this was assumed over the resistance of cloth. Sebastian was becoming more intuitive in his old age. It was hard to believe that it was ten years ago that he met Della. They'd grown so close, and now he was like a father racing to find his daughter who he just knew was in some kind of danger. His heart pounded, but only to keep up with his enhanced speed. The trees broke and he was met with little physical resistance. But the scene and the sounds of an intense battle almost stopped him.

He pushed himself harder through the air, commanding his legs to carry him over a longer distance in shorter time. The ground beneath him spun with incredible speed. The heat of the fires were cooled by the wind pushing against him in a feeble attempt to keep him still. There was no fear when he saw Rhonun fighting a large reddened creature and Della's father, Johnathan, taking cover from fire of the opposition, though they were Saculeans just as he was. Sebastian couldn't hear the shouting and the screams, only Della's meek plea for help. His eyes darted for the two landmarks she named off, hoping to find them quickly. He didn't bother with circling the wreckage of the battle and, instead, leapt clear over the road and the flames. Shots fired at his feet but all the energy behind any of the bullets which reached his body just fell lifeless and pelted his body with little consequence against him.

Perhaps this would allow some kind of distraction for Johnathan to try something against the row of motored vehicles. Sebastian wouldn't hear the loud explosion ring out as his eyes met a quaint river in the distance away from the battle. His toes flicked the ground and he hovered in the air for a moment to cross the water traveling toward the sea from some mountain, perhaps. He landed right at Della's feet as if the Force leapt him directly toward her. He felt, his breathing slightly heavier than usual, to his knee and looked over Della. His face was of stone though dripped with intensity. He saw the leg and immediately placed his hand upon the wound, making her wail in pain. His fingers dug into her skin on each side of her thigh until the bullet popped clean out of the wound. The muscle and bone grew back just as quickly quickly and proved he'd practiced extensively on his Healing techniques on other sentients. Any infections were also stopped in those few moments of reprieve.

The blood stopped and the skin scarred though the pain and blood remained. "Come on, we have to get back there," he told her with his straight voice that muffled itself in the cool night. He wouldn't hear of any resistance from her, but it wouldn't come from her. His body turned as he stood. His arm swung wide from his body and smashed into a large black creature, possibly feline. It roared in a pain and whined. His mind flashed back to the Vornskyr back on Tython when he first took her into the woods to train her. Unfortunately, this thing was larger and much more intent on killing them. No, to eat them.

The tail whipped, and that's all he could see. It was a bad point to track on a beast but it was all he could catch and it was better than loosing it completely.

He was hurled clear over Della, large jaws being held open by hands pulling the cat's teeth farther apart. Claws tore at his body, this time slicing through the cloth like it wasn't there. Sebastian didn't scream when his flesh was ripped and exposed to the night air. Instead, the lower jaw cracked off the beast's skull and flailed away. Sebastian threw the dripping piece of anatomy and pounded his knuckles expertly on its skull, cracking through the hardened bone and into the brain, instantly killing the creature. A sliver of doubt filtered through his mind. Was this the right thing to do? He ran toward Della, his exposed chest bloodied but without any signs of harm. It was clear where his talents lied.

"Come on," as if nothing happened. The scraps of cloth wisped across him as he sped back toward the battle. Della wouldn't be too far behind, he trusted. He stopped until he could feel the heat of the fires on his open chest. "What needs to be done?" he started, not knowing how Rhonun had progressed in his fight with the Sith. As if to interrupt him, a howl sounded through the night, almost directly behind him. He didn't speak, only darted toward the fire. Della may have seen a pack of the cats now chasing them, having witnessed the killing of their pride-mate. He knew who they were chasing, and he wanted to lead the beasts right into the enemy forces. He leapt across a burning vehicle that he hadn't noticed was on fire the first time. Landing in the middle of the City-folk, he spun to see the the creatures falling toward him. His legs tapped at the ground while the Force carried him far away from where the cats would have landed and away from the fires.

Chaos would spread quickly, but possibly end soon.

 

[Fyston]

Even as Sebastian finished his first sentence and snapped back to the present, Fyston merely opened one eye and pointed at himself. "Generally, you let a sleeping akk dog lie." He didn't even respond to Sebastian's statement at first, rather he looked at the ground and smiled sadly. "I'm not useless...," he said in a voice that was little above a whisper. It seemed as if he were trying to convince himself as well as Sebastian, though Fyston would have denied and evaded any further questions about it.

As Sebastian's eyes turned away from the conversation, Fyston merely looked at the man. "I, at least, have the ability to tell people when I'm not listening," he said confidently, fingers clapsed over the round portion of his cane. He waited for Sebastian to leave before he closed his eyes again. If he couldn't respond to Sebastian, he could at least organize his thoughts. If Sebastian thinks that I don't know about Morichro, either the years or his new rank has turned into an idiot. Fyston deliberately avoided Sebastian's question as to giving up, his mind carrying it far from his thoughts. In truth, he'd given up social stigmas and the general belief that people should be nice and social, along with all of the other social laws that came with society. He was completely honest with his actions, with no fake empathy or caring. If people thought he was harsh or an ass, he didn't care. Fyston held no restraint, unlike his former personality, both in combat and with his words and actions.

Secretly, he'd also given up everything but misery and the feelings that came with it. It was what he was best accustomed to. Everything in his life fell apart around him at the same time and if the Force wanted him to be miserable, he would comply. After all, didn't Jedi follow the will of the Force?

Fyston hadn't completely Fallen, as he wouldn't go around harming innocents or letting people get killed. No, that was cowardly. He may mess with people and he may manipulate them into giving him what he wanted, but nobody died. He'd no sooner turn on these people than he would chop off his arm. Fyston may be a horrid person, but he was no idiot.

The one thing that annoyed Fyston the most was the notion that he was a child to be watched at all times. He raised himself and nobody would step in and try to tell him that he needed to be monitored. At the least, their lives would become a living hell.

Regardless, he stood and briefly massaged his leg, hoping to rub away the pain that he couldn't eliminate. It didn't work, but he could hope. He began walking around the house, the sound of his cane thudding against the floor bouncing around and amplifying for a very short time before the cycle started again.

He came to a door and grabbed the handle, though was surprised when he found that it was cold. He turned the handle and pushed open the door, revealing a staircase that led down to a very clean looking room. Without pausing to check if anyone was around, he descended the staircase. What he saw was a wall of metal doors embedded into the wall. What is this, he thought as he walked over to one of the doors and twisted the handle, opening it.

What awaited him was a pale man, eyes closed, with a Y incision on his chest. "A morgue," muttered Fyston as he pushed the tray back in and closed the door behind it. He put the hook portion of his cane on the handle, allowing it to sit without falling. The Knight hobbled over to nearby cabinets and began pulling them open. Each of the cabinets were labelled, from painkillers to diuretics. Fyston couldn't read Snamreg, though, meaning he knew nothing of what he found.

He was looking for something to aid him in his neverending fight with pain. It had been quite some time since he had been able to fully release the hold that he had on his pain and it also kept him from sleeping fully, as his pain would return in full force within six hours. It was why he was always late and why he didn't like being awoken. Short of permanently disabling his leg, he was doing the best he could.

And so he began his search, cabinets and drawers opening and closing in rapid succession. He withdrew a few bottles of various shapes and sizes, though they all had one thing in common. Their labels were worn with age and use and they each held precious little liquid in their glass forms. He couldn't read anything, though, and it was frustrating him. He was supposed to know things. How could he study so hard over the years and fail to learn how to read? Granted, it was in Snamreg, it still irritating.

As if to add insult to injury, or rather injury to insult, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his leg as he took a step. With a shout of pain, the Knight's hands rushed to his leg even as he fell, his unkempt form landing upon the floor with a thud. He rolled onto his back and sat up, using the Force to bring his cane to him. Rather than using it to get up, however, he lashed out at a nearby cart.

While the cart moved away from him on its side, Fyston merely scooted backwards to lean his back and head on the bottom cabinets. The feeling of frustration and uselessness wouldn't leave him, however, and he threw his cane away from him, watching it skip across the floor and under one of the examination tables.

 

[Black Noise]

Reichtum crumpled up the note after reading it. Anger was evident in the Sith as he looked back to Arn. The boy was probably his best ally at the moment, his only ally, and that scared the sorcerer. Reichtum had invested too much money and too much of his life to watch his empire crumble away now, these people needed to die.

"Far too perfectly, far too dang perfectly. They must have infiltrated every place in the government by now. I believe another mass assassination and clean out is in order Arn. Bluntly, you and I need to clear out the remainder of the government and replace everyone. Also-"

Reichtum pulled out his Lightsaber and tossed it to Arn.
"Eber has not fallen, I would've felt his death over the link established through time that we have. But his death is a possibility, and until he returns, you'll take his position as my enforcer. You're about to climb very high, very fast in the ranks boy, do not disappoint me."

--------------

Although Geoffrey searched for Lain, she was long gone. In the hours following the battle, the wounded girl found her way to the Snamreg village. She snuck in, an extremely difficult feat, and headed for what appeared to be hospital building, though it was really a morgue, or something along those lines. She had concealed herself through the Force, though it was likely someone had spotted her as she entered the building. After a few minutes, she stepped into the morgue room. Then, her focus finally failed her totally. Her concealed body revealed fully and Force presence flooded out. Entering the room, she looked around, her senses failing to speak of the old friend crumpled on the floor and leaning against a cabinet.

Smiling softly, Lain crooked her head and looked at the man on the floor.
"Hey Fy, long time no see?"
If Fyston Sutsgy looked over at Lain, he would possibly see the most ragged, pitiful being alive. Her clothes torn in a hundred places, her body cut by a Lightsaber in at least seventeen light wounds, and her mind addled by dehydration, exhaustion, and pain. If Lain did not bandage herself and rest, it was a large possibility that she would lose her life.

-------------

As soon as Rhonun's claws dug into Eber's shoulder, the Devronian's rage broke and he collapsed to the ground unconscious. Barely alive and breathing, the Red Devil had finally been defeated. Soon after shooting Della in the leg, all the soldiers noticed the Red Devil's falling and ceased their resistance. One by one, they threw away their weapons and threw up their hands. Though they knew not the extent of their opponents or their numbers, they dared not resist against the monster that defeated the Red Devil. Frozen in fear, all they could do was surrender.

 

[StormWolf]

The Red Devil had fallen with surprisingly little effort for how much fire burned in the creature's heart and soul, a fire that would soon spread. Holding his sabestaff in a poised, defensive stance, Rhonun glared at the Skagrit who had accompanied the Sith to the field of battle, most of which were retreating with their leader being defeated. Rhonun was about to relax and put his weapon away when he heart it. The thunder of a gun tore through Rhonun's mental sanctuary, but the scream of Della brought it down in pieces. Rhonun's restraints shattered as the fire that possessed Eber leapt to Rhonun, filling him with wrath and fury. He could not sense Della, and he could not hear her. Assuming the worst, hot tears stung Rhonun's eyes as he glared with golden eyes, shining in the fire-light, down at the prone Devaronian.

"You..." the Cathar growled deeply, "I am not done with you..." Rolling the Devaronian on his back, Rhonun placed his hand on the devil-like creature's head, embracing the Force to Heal the Sith, just enough to wake him up, to make him feel everything. Eber gasped as he awoke, the pain of his shoulder resurgent. Such pain, however, would soon be trifling. As soon as Eber awoke, Rhonun extended the metal claws of his hand and dug them in to the Devil's skin, feeling the metal grate against bone as blood flowed from the wounds. Raking his claws across Eber's face, Rhonun growled, mangling the right side of the Sith's face for the rest of his life, should the unfortunate soul survive.

"Get up... you murdering piece of trash!" Rhonun roared and grabbed Eber by the collar, tossing the Sith like a child would a toy that had stopped working properly, smashing the weakened frame of the Devaronian against a wrecked truck. Eber was indeed in great pain as he felt his ribs crack against the warped frame of the truck, but be could only wheeze a laugh, coughing up a red mist as blood dribbled down his chin.

"What are you going do, Jedi? You will not harm me. You cannot harm m-" Eber's words were cut short and garbled by kick to the side of the head, casting several of his incisors in to the mud in a glob of blood and saliva. Grunting, the Sith felt that same metallic hand, becoming all too familiar, close around his throat,

"You have grown too accustomed to people obeying the rules you know. Your own victory has defeated you... I am just making sure you face justice!" Lifting the Sith up with no visible effort, Rhonun squeezed down on Eber's throat and slammed him on the searing hood of the jeep, pressing him in as it burned away the back of the Sith's robes and slowly filled the air with the stench of melting flesh. "For all you have done, for all the lives you have ruined, you punishment will be more severe... it must match your crimes." Rhonun pulled Eber from the hood of the jeep, the Sith screaming as he felt his flesh pull away from his back, grafted to the hood of the truck.

"You..ca-...ghrk." Eber attempted to speak, but his tongue felt too swollen, his mind too clouded by the pain. "Death is a release to someone like you, Sith, not a punishment. You must be broken, made to repent before you are allowed any semblance of mercy. Is that not what you have done here? It seems only fair!" Rhonun slammed Eber down in the mud once more, kneeling on the Devaronian's chest, feeling shuddering of the Sith's ribs cracking under the weight. Again and again, Rhonun brought his fist down to the side of Eber's head. Smashing again and again as Eber flailed, tugging at whatever he could, tearing the cape and scarf from Rhonun's neck and shoulders.

"I will not kill you, but you will wish for death. You will face judgment, and you will see the fruit of the actions you ilk bring upon yourselves. What say you?!" Rhonun stopped the beating, gripping Eber by one of his horns, "What say you!!?"

Eber said nothing, simply because he couldn't. He just gazed up at the maddened Cathar as it the Knight was a creature that had crawled from a nightmare. Growling, Rhonun picked the Sith up, and jabbed two fingers in to Eber's flayed back, striking a concentrated nerve cluster that turned the Sith as limp as a boned fish. Taking Eber by one of the horns, Rhonun started to drag the creature behind him like some creature he had hunted and slain as he looked for Johnathan and Della. His mind, still clouded by rage, was slowly clearing, sensing a small shimmer of light that he knew very well.

"Della?!" Rhonun called out, his voice not the abyssal growl it had been moments ago, but the pleading cry of a man who feared the worst.

 

[TweedPawn]

Arn felt the words like a cold kick to his gut. The lightsaber that was in his hands felt heavier than a boulder and added even more weight on his shoulders. It felt wrong. To kill his own brethren was contrary to his entire nature, even if he did not believe in divine animals. He never asked for this. He never desired power or this horrible gift that had been given to him.

He wished it had never come to him. He had felt that way for a very long time.

He thought about his cousin, Claude, who had escaped capture so long ago. Arn never should had mocked him that night. If he could, he would say sorry. He would apologize for everything he had ever said.

He just wanted to go home, but home was no longer on Sacul. It was nowhere.

Arn began to approach the desks of the secretaries downstairs.

"I'm afraid we're downsizing again. You are all terminated. Thank you for your services."

The ladies did not object once they saw the metal cylinder in Arn's hand. However, there was an anger growing from within them.
----------------------

Della screamed and was suddenly snapped out of the spinning world she was in. She saw the face of her beloved Master over her as he tossed the bullet aside and healed her wounds. Della could not find the energy to celebrate or show her appreciation. She heard the roar of a cat and she instantly ducked into the grasses to hide as Sebastian began to beat the feline that decided to turn him into prey.

This was really bad. Della was still weakened and the best she could hope for would be able to move steadily and stay quiet as Sebastian led the cats away from her. Sebastian really was amazing. He would have fit in perfectly on Sacul. Della suddenly stopped as she felt a horrible fury she had never witnessed before.

it was Rhonun

Divines have mercy.

She suddenly felt a fear return to her she had not experienced since she was first captured by the Sith. This was darkness. Darkness in the one she loved.

She screamed again, overwhelmed by it all. Johnathan, her own father, froze in horror at the sight of the beat-man before him. He heard his daughter scream and the madness known as Esob began to take him. There were different types of momentary madness that the Snamreg had words for. They all implied the same brief moment of terror and panic, but each had a different outcome.

With Tharn, it was irrational chattering. With Aussetzen, it was that brief moment where the person froze much longer than a brief second. With Esob, it was a terrible decision being hastily made.

Johnathan took his rifle out and aimed it straight for Rhonon Thor.
-------------------------------------------

Claude froze and began to suddenly appear more anxious than his usual self. He then paced, as if he was looking for something.

"<What is it?>" Elle gasped, suddenly alert.

DS-PO also seemed to have started mimicking the peculiar ways of the Snamreg. She froze as Claude did and began to look around in a worry.

"<The Morgue. Someone's down there. A snake! There's a snake in the burrow!>" Claude began to have a faraway look in his eyes as he had many times before.

"<If there is someone in there, then hush. The last thing we need is for you to go Tharn.>" Elle hissed. She grabbed a rifle as Claude suddenly sat down on the floor to steady himself. She quickly, but quietly walked to the morgue. She heard a commotion and suddenly darted into to aim her rifle at two figures in the main room. She then stopped herself when she saw Fyston and a girl in terrible shape.

"<Divines have mercy. >" She quicklt dropped the rifle onto a corpse nearby and set to assisting Lain right away, as she looked the worse out of the two. She suddenly rushed through medicine cabinets and pulled away a hidden panel behind a cadaver to reveal a stash of medication and supplies. These were the medications that were the most in demand, and most likely to be stolen in times of war.

"<Your clothing? Are you from the North? Divines be praised if Prince BlackElk sent us one of his fighters.>" said Elle, unknowing that Lain was not a Snamreg. She looked over at Fyston as she administered medicine to Lain. She would have to help him as well.

"<What is the matter with you?>" she asked.

 

[Fyston]

When Fyston heard the sound of footsteps, he wiped all emotion from his face and closed his eyes to pretend that he was asleep. He didn't need his eyes to see, though, and he saw Lain through the Force. It was no different than if his eyes were open, and he saw every small detail of Lain. She looked absolutely dreadful, though he didn't actually open his eyes until she spoke. The Knight feigned a yawn and stretched before using the Force to pull his cane to him. "Welcome to Sacul, my friend, where the bad become worse and the worse are crippled men."

Standing he smiled lightly at her. Numerous thoughts went through his head, and most of them involved a way to mess with the others. After all, he needed some form of entertainment. "I take it Rhonun has yet to learn of your arrival? Well, unlike Mr. Stubborn Kitty, I no longer care. Since you're here, though, you could always blow off his hand. Or another appendage that has some use. Hint hint," he said as he finished with a nod of his head. With the help of his cane, Fyston pushed himself to his feet. Next, He turned and grabbed an empty glass bottle from beside the sink, filling it with water before walking over to Lain and pressing it into her hand. "You've yet to become crippled, so I imagine you've only recently made the switch from bad to worse."

Before he did anything else, however, Fyston took off his suit coat. Underneath he had a crumpled dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top to show a plain t-shirt. He slipped the coat on over Lain's shoulders and began to speak. "Your clothes don't leave much to the imagination. While I quite enjoy not having to work hard, Della's people hate anyone with less than eight layers of clothing." Through the Force, however, he was already setting to work. He focused on the damaged tissue and sought to repair some of the damage, though his focus was broken by the sound of more footsteps. He cursed under his breath and walked back over to the counter. It was Elle.

Fyston noticed as she set the rifle down and was curious as to what the technology was like on Sacul. He walked towards the rifle and, before she could react, jerked his hand back as if tugging on an invisible string. In reality, however, he had used the Force to bring the rifle into his hand. He looked it over, inspecting the various mechanisms and parts though they were, for the most part, straightforward. He even walked over to the corpse and brought the gun to his shoulder in order to look down the sights. Slipping his finger inside the trigger guard, he applied the five pounds of force and watched as the corpse's head was mutilated by the round.

As soon as his hearing had returned, for there was a very violent rebound of noise due to the metal walls, he spoke. "My finger slipped. I would say sorry, but it's not like I killed anyone. Actually, I wouldn't even say sorry then. Oh well."

 

[Crackerjack Bohemian]

Emotions and death crashed around him, but all he could feel was the crunching of the autumnal grass beneath his boots. Everything roasted in the blaze in the Battle on the Plains. The large cat-creatures spread through the wreckage with their sinful flexibility and agility, snatching those who dared to flee from their fate. Single bites sealed their death regardless of if they managed to tear away from the gripping fangs of the creatures. Sebastian stood there, acknowledging the death of these troops, but ever more aware of Rhonun's wild emotions and dark intentions against the Sith who led this brigade or whatever it was.

Crushing bones and ripping flesh became the flares and accents of the chorus of flames all around them. Rhonun and the Sith created the melody which sang Sebastian into a sadness. It mattered little at this time, however, since the Sith was utterly defeated which was their ultimate goal. However, some information may have been able to be usurped from his mind.

Sebastian darted through the flames, quite literally. His clothes which weren't exactly his nor his skin burned from the heat. His natural affiliation with Pyrokinesis protected him from such a happening. Still, his hands gripped the nape of a panicking soldier. The young man, more a boy than an adult, squirmed in the Jedi's grip but Sebastian just clung the boy to his chest, wrapping his arms around the boy and pinning him securely across his chest. The squirming stopped only because the boy passed out from the injuries he'd sustained, but Sebastian's focus was getting out of the blaze and dodging the now reddening felines. He had to knee one under the jaw to keep it from biting him, or was it going after the boy? It mattered little since the goal was for both of them to escape with their lives. More-so Sebastian than the traitorous boy.

No, the lad was a victim for the poor being was under the command of a Sith, or multiple Sith. They still hadn't figured out the situation entire, not Sebastian himself. They'd only just arrived when Fyston arrived to cause distress in someone's home. What happened to him to cause him to act so negatively? Why had a single injury sustained by a disorder of sorts making Fyston such a dark creature. He wasn't much of a Jedi any longer. Not any more than Rhonun was in his relentless attacks against the Sith. Unnecessary suffering, something Jedi protect against with their lives, yet this one was causing this suffering. Confusion had to wait, though. Sebastian leapt over the blaze and wreckage with a single bound and landed on the tall grass. The situation battle was ending and this boy would provide for them quite useful information, regardless of his rank. He was in the city, where they were to invade themselves.

The boy bled profusely onto Sebastian. Subtle hints of concentration went toward the boy's injuries and were soon closed up and healed. There was no internal bleeding, from what Sebastian could tell, but he had little talent in the healing of others, considering his skill in the ability to Heal. He'd passed out in Sebastian's arms by the time he reached the submerged house of the Freys. Quite the proper sound for such a building considering who was in it and what they intended to do. Wordplay was unimportant and he had to get this lad into a bed to rest so they could interrogate him properly when he awoke.

The doors were open. Odd, considering the way of these people. Still, his heavy feet pounded against the floor as he made his way to the room he was assigned. He layed the child down gently, the blood having dried in his clothes by now. Sebastian continued to strip the boy of these dirty clothes, which proved to be everything. The child seemed to have messed himself in such a hectic situation. Naked, he wouldn't go far so Sebastian only placed the heavy blankets over the child's pale skin, darkened by dirt and blood. Stirrings occurred beneath him, but his concentration was on comforting the child now in his care. He stood there, making sure the child didn't wake too quickly. He needed his rest. A child isn't fit for fighting a war between men and Sith. Pity touched the Jedi's heart. Perhaps for the first time, too.

Mumbling traveled through the floorboards making Sebastian slightly curious, but not so much so that he'd investigate. What would make him investigate was the pulsations of Darkness, which were all too strong considering who should have been in the building. Fyston wasn't nearly as strong in the Darkness, nor was Della's mother, both of which were the ones to stay behind. His eyes widened as he rushed to the morgue to see who'd invaded the home after Fyston had.

Elle was treating the source of this Black energy. <"Elle, please. Keep away from that.">

 

[Black Noise]

Sitting on an empty morgue table, Lain smiled at Fyston. Laughing as well when he suggested she blow off one of Rhonun's appendages. Accepting his coat and water, she replied.
"Thank you. Though I don't believe I could be any worse than I already am. You've grown Fyston, finally stopped looking like a boy."

As Fyston readied to heal her, Lain had reached a hand out to feed some of her own energies into him and assist, but her intentions had been cut short by the arrival of the older woman. Once the woman finished speaking, Lain grinned good-naturedly and exclaimed.
"I'm sorry miss, I have no idea what you are saying. But I am grateful to you."
Looking over to Fyston, Lain did not bat an eye as he drew the gun to his hands and blew the head of a body into unrecognizable pieces. Lain had done far worse to living humans before than something as that. A slug to the head was merciful compared to what Lain did to living sentients on an average basis. As for her hearing, the pain was nothing compared to what already ravaged her body. Refocusing her energies, she held out a hand and snapped her fingers. Instantaneously, the inner mechanisms of the gun popped and exploded into shrapnel that destroyed the weapon. The explosion was not powerful enough to hurt Fyston, but it might have caused him to drop the weapon from the sudden, violent shudder. Lain, faced with further exhaustion from her minor feat, sighed and began breathing heavily.

"There, problem, heh, solved."

At this point, Sebastian entered the room. He spoke in a stern tone, and although Lain knew not what he said, she made an educated guess. She grimaced as pain shot through her again and her breathing began taking an erratic, pained turn from difficulties that resulted from great bloodless.
"You going to, heh, kill me, Jedi? Or, heh, just let me die. I, heh, suppose you could, heh, justify it, that way. "
Lain's eyes glanced to the lightsabers that sat in the coat of her jacket, one her own, one her father's.

------------------

Reichtum paced back and forth, back and forth. He could not let his kingdom fall from his grasp now. He had to do something. Suddenly, he heard a quiet, dark whisper in his ear. Spinning around, he thought he saw a trail of black disappear around a corner. He dashed after it, following. Unbeknownst to him, this was possibly the greatest mistake he ever made.

--------------------

Back at the battlefield, the soldiers surrendered to the reinforcements that soon arrived.

((Will edit and add more to Reichtum tonight)