Ask Without A Paddle

[Darth Arcanos]

If there was ever time for Azar to be reminded that he was not a combatant, it was now. A series of bad luck and terrible weather saw the soldiers he had with him completely eliminated. He was the sole survivor and he was holed up in a rackety little shed in the middle of a swamp. There were two reeks wandering around outside of where he was stuck. Azar had no way out without alerting the beasts. They were normally herbivores, but his group of idiots managed to antagonize the animals. It was yet another reminder that Azar did best when he operated alone.

The pureblood was in a room that he boarded up, frantically trying to put some ingredients together for a makeshift napalm bomb to wreck the animals. Unbeknownst to him, the reeks were no accident. Azar and his group had been hunted by rebels in the forests and swamps. The Sith had arrived on the planet and were scheduled to meet with a local dictator to curb their rebel problem. Intelligence about that meeting got leaked and Azar and his group were ambushed. The pureblood barely managed to get out a distress ping to the Sith before he fled from the others to hole up in this building. Unfortunately for him, two reeks broke away from the rebel group and sniffed around here. Fortunately for him, he wasn’t convinced the rebel leaders knew he was alive.

Azar sighed and sat down to meditate, feeling completely hopeless on finding a way out.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Unfortunately, the Sith Order would not be Azar's salvation today. Operatives spread to thin across the corners of the galaxy, up to nefarious deeds securing power for the Order. Outside of this world, the plea for help went on deaf ears. Deep in the swamps of this world, fate had placed another agent of chaos to come to Azar's aid.

Vossari had heard about the grand rebellion happening on the planet, the riots against the dictatorial power. Riots were always a great opportunity to work on their art, and they considered themself a rebel at heart anyways. On the first ship they could find, Voss stowed aboard, armed with little more than some spray paint cans, a sandwich, a lightsaber, and a surprisingly appropriate, bulky outfit for the swampy world he was bound towards.

A swamp world. An almost-perfect climate for a Wrean. Voss breathed in the swampy air triumphantly, striding through the city covered in flames with a large boombox blaring instrumentals he could freestyle to. Beneath the light of Molotov cocktails and the screams of protestors demanding justice from an unjust dictatorship, Voss rhymed as he covered walls in spray paint. "Leave it all to ME: that's the first step...Used to have to work now I'm well kept...Fire in my throat like I caught STREP!" Bars. As their rhyming continued, their commlink went off - an all-Sith, encoded alert for aid. They ignored it, at first, imagining someone else would rise to the occasion.

It sounded again. Rolling their eyes disappointedly, Voss got to work decrypting the message and headed towards the swamp. Curious that there would be another Sith there, but, undoubtedly, the Sith were everywhere, always, lurking just out of sight in the shadows of leadership and prestige. It was only a matter of time before Voss bumped into one absentmindedly.

But before Voss saw Azar, he saw two angry reeks in the exact direction the distress signal was coming from. He strained his eyes to make sense of it - two massive beasts scratching angrily at a small hut in the swamp...The only thing he knew about reeks was that they were herbivores. What could have irritated them so, to make them aggressive?

He looked up. An ancient tree, bearing huge, overripened fruit, sat precariously fraying in the winds. Herbivores usually attacked when they were threatened or desperate, right? So maybe they were hungry?

With a flourish of their hand, they used the Force to snap the weary fruit-bearing branch, and it landed beside the reeks with an audible thwack. The creatures were initially startled by the noise, but when they saw the snacks in front of them, they lost any interest they might have had in Azar. Slowly, the beasts calmed down and began to nibble at the veritable feast of fruits before them.

@Sreeya
Roll for dealing with Reeks: 19/20

 

[Darth Arcanos]

He must have been hallucinating. Azar did spot some suspicious plants on his way through the swamps. Did he accidentally ingest something? He couldn’t have been hearing music in the middle of the swamp. The Pureblood came out of his meditation, eyes narrowing as he listened. Not only did he hear obnoxious music, but it sounded like the reeks were moving away.

The pureblood didn’t waste time, quickly finding a window to climb out. His landing wasn’t the best despite Force use, and he almost sank halfway down. After a bit of a struggle he managed to pull himself out, covered in mud and goop. Azar grimaced to himself as he scamped away from the house, thinking about where to go next. Out of morbid curiosity, he glanced over at the source of the noise. What a poor idiot. The person was luring all the rebels in the forest and would be dead within moments.

However, a nagging feeling at the back of his neck suggested that this wasn’t exactly a random individual. What if they arrived as a result of that distress call? Never mind, that music was a beacon for massacre and Azar wasn’t going to stick around.

The pureblood started to plod away from the scene, leaving the other figure to their fate. It would only be a matter of minutes before rebels began to close in on the scene.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

The swampy jungle had been the home of the strongest, most fearless, and most dedicated guerrillas in the entire resistance movement. To them, their planet's future was not some game or simple conquest for power - it was a life-or-death struggle against injustice for freedom. Repression from the dictatorship had only strengthened them, hardening these soldiers into an invisible, but powerful, collective of organizers, fighters, and revolutionaries who came to see their liberation struggle as greater than their own lives.

From the shadows the moved, stalking the tracks of the would-be Sith infiltrator. Already, they had caught his co-conspirators. Now they just needed the last one...

And fate delivered. The guerrillas heard the sounds of a teenager poorly rapping along to a cheaply-made freestyle beat, stumbling through the woods and smoking herb. It was so conspicuous, they, at first, didn't believe this was the Sith they needed. But they stayed patient, disciplined, and tracked them through the shadows of the swamp. Their intuition was confirmed this teenaged Sith conspicuously used the force to snap a branch. It was the final straw.

Almost instantly, a platoon of camouflaged soldiers materialized from the swampy underbrush, guns pointed at Vossari. The acolyte sprinted away, but within steps was caught within a simple rope trap. They surrendered, upside down, hanging, as the soldiers surrounded them. "Wait, wait, wait, homies, this is all a biiiiiiiiiig misunderstanding." They quickly moved their hands to their transponder, firing a quick SOS message to the Sith frequency. If Voss had heard the emergency call, surely someone would hear his call, and come rescue him soon.

Surely.

A tall, broad, Twi'lek stepped forward, withdrawing a vibro-knife to cut down the flailing acolyte. "By order of the People's Movement for Freedom, Liberation, Autonomy, Justice, and Independence, you are under arrest, SITH. You and your corrupt cohorts will face the PEOPLE'S JUSTICE!" The PMFLAJI - colloquially known as the 'resistance' - ushered hollers and cheers at their leader's words. The Twi'lek snapped down Vossari, into the mud, while they chained their hands into electrocuffs.

Soon, the muddy Wrean was dragged, along with the platoon, through the swamp, in the direction of the Resistance's hidden base within the swamp. Their transponder blared their moving position to any Sith in range.

Roll for resistance strength: 20/20
@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

He had just managed to convince his captors that he, the pureblood, was not actually a Sith. The local resistance was too stupid to work out his race and he passed himself off as a zeltron chemist out to collect plants. He batted his eyes and they believed it was the pheromones. He knew he would be out of the cell soon.

Until the insufferable fool that caused all this also managed to get captured.

They searched their belongings and, sure enough, caught a distress signal that was sent from where Azar had been. Put two and two together and even the local idiots could figure out that Azar and Vossari were both Sith.

Azar thought he was going to leave any moment now, and he waited in the corner of his cell. All his vials and beakers were taken, and he had nothing on him. Moments later, the doors opened and the boombox person was shoved into the cell with him.

“Almost had us fooled, Sith,” One of the guards spat as he glared at Azar.

What? His cover was blown? Just like that? It wasn’t bad enough that the idiot alerted the entire camp and got Azar captured, but they managed to blow the story the pureblood had crafted?

With a growl, Azar grabbed Vossari by the throat and pinned them against the wall behind them, “I call for support, not bigger mess,” He growled as his yellow eyes narrowed.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

The doors slammed behind them with finality. Voss has been stripped of his few possessions - his sandwich, his lightsaber, and yes, his boombox. What a heartbreaking end to this tragedy. "You...You fucking fascists!" They bellowed out, completely unaware of the irony that the Sith supported the dictatorship. "Don't let us out or we'll beat your asses!"

Vossari turned towards his new cellmate. "Fuck these fascists, ri-" Then, he was pinned to the wall by his notably strong, red-skinned, and wonderfully aggressive new companion; in another context, they might've enjoyed this. For now, though, they couldn't breathe.

Voss raised both their hands to their neck to relieve the pressure of Azar's grasp. Gasping, between breaths, they chuckled. "You're who sent out the distress signal?" He gasped again. Noting the thick Korribani accent, he tried to speak (poorly) in the Sith language. The singsongy voice of his native Wrea carried through. "We...in...good?...position." He gestured around them. "Living...not dead....and at rebel base." He had gathered, from this interaction, that the rebels were not friends of the Sith. Surely, with the two of them together at the resistance's camp, they could deal some damage. "We...smash...rebel."

Not knowing how to explain things with any level of complexity in the Sith language, he swapped back to basic. "Make sense, my friend? This is an opportunity!" At a quiick glance, their dingy cell didn't seem opportune. But here were two Sith, the greatest the galaxy had to offer. Surely they could formulate a plan of attack.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was furious. It was normally difficult to anger him, but combined with his worthless team getting killed off, getting trapped by reeks, escaping and then getting stuck in a cell, he was straight up not having a good time. His grip tightened around the wrean’s delicate neck, and he had half a mind to finish the job. Surely the rebels would open the cell door to get rid of a body? When the creature started speaking in broken ur-Kittat, Azar’s eyes went from anger to mild horror and disgust.

“I speak Basic, you imbecile,” He growled before he bodily hurled the wrean across the cell. Azar exhaled as he tried to regain his composure, remembering that anger blinded him and made him less effective. He started pacing around in the cell, quickly attempting to formulate a plan. He looked over at the wrean, glaring at them, “You came alone?” He asked, hoping that wasn’t the case. Surely the Sith had more people on hand to send to a crisis like this. Surely they wouldn’t just send an…he was definitely an acolyte.

Azar crossed his arms over his chest, studying the wrean. He had met one before - years back. He actually liked that one, but this one was nothing but a nuisance despite being rather pleasing to look at. The pureblood peered through the bars, spotting a guard walking by.

“Hey you!” The guard grumbled but walked over, “Look, you think Sith stupid enough to get caught?” Azar asked and he pointed to Vossari in the corner, “Does that look like scary Sith? He play loud music in forest. Do Sith do that?”

“I uh- well..” The guard thought stupidly, “I guess not..”

He knew he couldn’t be obvious about it, so leaned closer to the bars, giving the slightest gesture of the Force to pull some threads in the guard’s mind, “We don’t look like Sith.”

“Hmmmmm y’all sure don’t look like Sith to me,” The guard said with a pleasant smile on his face as he unlocked the cell door.

Azar looked over his shoulder to glare at the wrean, but said nothing, as he calmly stepped out of the cell.

Roll: 18/20

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Without skipping a beat, Vossari picked themself up and stepped out the cell. "Thanks, friend. Listen, no worries about the mixup." He patted the guard on the shoulder. "Listen, in the mix-up, I think we had some items confiscated. Care to point us towards the locker room, so we can get them back?" He spoke gently, calmly, not wanting to disturb the delicate spell that Azar had placed the guard under.

He looked back, dopily, at the two. "Oh, sure. I'll escort you over there and explain the situation to the Captain."

Voss tsk-tsked, shaking his head. "No, we've already caused you enough trouble. Just, uh, point us in the direction."

And point, the guard did. Already woven into the red-skinned man's web, Voss's words only built on the ruse that Azar had created. Voss put his hands behind his head, beginning to stroll in the direction the the guard pointed in. "Nice work, super-genius." He gently poked his elbow into Azar. "Got us out of that in a jiffy." As they walked, Voss's eyes darted around the camp - getting a sense of their surroundings. Tall, ancient trees bend over one another, shrouding the camp itself in a cloak of shadow. While this guard is the only one in sight, certainly there were more to be found.

A narrow, muddy path leads them to the front of the 'locker room,' a small, nondescript hut that is barely noticeable in the swamp itself. Voss approached slowly, listening for the sound of life within.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar scowled as the acolyte nudged him with his elbow. It was a lighthearted gesture, but the pureblood wanted nothing more than to throw them across the forest. He contained his rage, walking in silence towards the ‘locker room’. The hut looked largely abandoned, and he glanced around the area to see if anyone else was watching. With that, he opened the door and slipped in.

The Pureblood rummaged through the items in the hut, spotting his various vials and poisons still intact. He grabbed his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. His gaze flicked over to the boombox that was sitting on a table. It was the entire reason they were in this mess. Azar slowly turned to look at Vossari as if daring them to try and touch that horrific thing.

Without another word, Azar stepped out and observed the rebel camp from behind a tree, “I want to find their water source,” He said to the acolyte, “Perhaps..if you make distraction, I can put something in,” While the boombox and Vossari’s appearance had been obnoxious, Azar began to wonder if it could come in handy in executing his plan against the rebels.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

It seemed like a sensible plan. Poison their water supply? Vossari's grin grew as their mind worked through the possibilities, gears turning through ideas. He adored the potential for chaos, as well. Perhaps there would be a way to ignite that precious spark of insanity.

Ah. There it was. The genius seed of an idea. He snatched the boombox into his left hand, saluting Azar with his right. "Yeah, 'distraction,' got it. Go find the water. Quickly." He added a shit-eating little smirk at the end of that one, running off so Azar couldn't physically retaliate against him. He slunk away from the locker room with boombox in tow, keeping to the shadows as he analyzed the layout of the camp. Trudging back through the narrow and muddy path, he walked with purpose towards the camp. He found a commlink tower - easy enough as a resistance headquarters would need a sizable one. It likely connected to a base wide speaker system.

He activated his boombox, which emitted a low, electronic shriek into the speaker system. The sound was broadcast across the base - and to the soldiers' commlinks. They squeezed their commlink's speaker and microphone together, and the sound melded with the sonic torture of the boombox. The resulting feedback loop created a powerful echo that reverberated around the camp, out of each guard and resistance member's commlink. It was a deep, menacing sound; like metal teeth grating on tin, scratchy and powerful. Guards stopped to clutch their ears, pained and confounded as to the source of their audio trauma. He reveled in the symphony of their pain, these useless fascist pigs who dared impugn on his freedoms.

With this task accomplished, he slunk into the background as the rebels grabbed their ears in pain. While they scrambled to reset their comm tower, the path to find the water supply would be wide open.

@Sreeya

Roll: 11/20

 

[Darth Arcanos]

The slimy acolyte moved before Azar could react, taking that obnoxious noisecreator with them. Azar had never seen a boombox before and it perplexed him. He watched the terror of a Sith disappear, wondering if they were going to be dead within minutes. In any case, it was a win/win for him - if the acolyte succeeded he could apply the poison, if they failed, Azar had a distraction to make his own escape.

He watched for a moment, wincing as the shrill sounds resounded and the entire camp began to scramble all around. Azar had to silently marvel at the trick as most of them chalked it up to a technical issue. With the distraction a success, Azar was compelled to do his part. He quickly navigated towards the supply tents which was near a massive water tank that was supporting the camp.

Azar looked around himself, spotting no one just yet. There was a lone guard standing around looking confused at all the commotion. He was in the process of trying to make his comlink work when Azar snuck up and jammed a knife into the underside of his jaw. With a guttural and blubbering noise, the man slumped over dead, clearing the path.

The Pureblood moved like a shadow, sneaking over to open a valve. He had done something similar on Anoth, so he was versed with this kind of method. Azar deployed the poison soon enough, closing the valve and quickly escaping.

Azar found himself in a clearing just outside of the camp, glancing over his shoulder. He wondered if the acolyte was dead and partly hoped that was the case. The acolyte had served their purpose and was no longer necessary. Azar turned back around and started to walk.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

At the outside of the camp, on a tall, broad tree, Azar would hear a sound that would become another familiar, irritating part of Voss's personality: The hiss of a spray paint can. Vossari painted ancient Tethysian symbols on the trees of this swamp as he waited for Azar to complete his part of the mission. When the Sith stepped out, Voss was on him like a fly on shit.

"You saw that? Good save, huh?" Their ever-present smirk remained plastered on their face - they gestured in turn to the camp. "Now what; we get off this planet and tell our superiors how well we did?" He remained playful, but his words here were more reserved than he liked to be. Azar was, of course, a true threat. A dyed-in-the-wool Sith. Red skin to boot. Really threatening him felt like a suicide mission, and Voss wasn't going to go down like that. Small, playful barbs while out of arms' reach would remain the order of the day.

"Maybe, we could finish the job." Of course, he didn't know the nature of Azar's job here, but he assumed it was of a Sith-y nature, and thus insidious and sinister. Securing the eternal loyalty of this world to the Sith, some way or the other. And there remained the loose ends - those Azar had arrived with. Perhaps this was an opportunity to re-introduce himself, prove himself in the eyes of a true Sith.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar walked over to find the acolyte from before happily spray painting a tree. There was a flicker of recognition and the Pureblood had to curb his rage. He stared at the Wrean with his arms crossed over his chest, “So you are..miscreant..that ruined my academy walls,” He said icily, rifling through various synonyms he knew for the word ‘criminal’ in basic, "I expect you to clean upon return."

The acolyte was a curious creature - full of obnoxious life and a personality that wouldn’t fit with most of the Sith Order. How did such a being find themselves among the Sith?

“Mission was to take out rebel base and show value to the local leader so they align with Sith,” Azar explained, “The poison will kill slowly. Do you have alternate ideas?” He asked, amusement glinting in his eye. There was a brazen and cavalier demeanor to the acolyte and it suited well with Azar’s desire to delegate tasks he didn’t want to execute himself. If the Wrean wanted to clean house at the rebel camp, the Pureblood certainly didn’t mind.

“You are Wrean, yes?” He asked calmly after a moment of pause. It was clear Vossari wasn’t the first one Azar came across.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Ah. Their work as an artist had left an impression. And a bad impression was better than none at all - better hated, or loved, than forgotten, as so many others had been. "Yeah, those were a little pedestrian anyways. The next round will be a lot more artful, more esoteric. Arcane. Like your people's magicks." The spray can slid back into their hoodie.

"No, listen, the poison is great. But I'm suggesting we just...speed it up a bit." His eyes glowed amber against the quiet bed of the swamp. "I'm saying we burn it all to the fuckin ground. They'll try to put out the fire, drink water from the dehydration, and end up poisoning themselves." And it would give him a chance to pay them back for putting him in fucking jail. These fascists deserved to be burnt to a crisp for that crime alone, as far as he was concerned. A pyre would send a meaningful warning - those who dare question them get the torch. "What'd you think."

He slipped into his native Tethysian at the note of his heritage. <Hell yes I am!> His excited, melodic native tongue flourished, loud and captivating like whale song. "Ah, dude, you've heard of Wrea before? Everyone thinks I'm a Corellian." He groaned. "Or a Morellian."

They flexed and pointed their thumbs towards themself. "Yup, homegrown in the Tethysian Republic. What, have you been to Wrea before? Secret Sith mission there? Tag me in next time!"

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

The plan wasn’t…half bad. Azar considered the words, looking around in the swamp. It would be difficult to get a fire going with the Force, so they would have to rely on more conventional methods. While he specialized in poisons, gases weren’t his area of expertise. This suggestion alone made him consider it - airborne poison for people to inhale and drop dead? It sounded like the ultimate weapon.

He couldn’t hear himself think with how much the acolyte talked, “May I suggest attempting to be…economical with speech?” He asked curtly as he gazed at the acolyte.

Azar paused when he heard the Sith speak the Wrean language. He had heard it only once before, and he still recalled that sing-song, breezy and melodic nature of it. It was unlike any other language he heard. Azar studied the acolyte - he could relate to being mistaken for another race. While Azar still had to hide his own most of the time, at least the other Sith could educate strangers.

“Never visited…just know another pretty wrean,” He stated flatly. It was up to the acolyte on whether he caught the subtle compliment or not. Azar was already moving back towards the camp to see about this fire or some method to extract the moisture from the leaves to create an artificial environment to start a blaze.

Unfortunately, he walked right into the scope of someone in the trees. Without warning, a bolt shot through the woods and hit him. Azar dropped at once, grunting in pain. A moment later a second bolt caught him in the leg. He was down and he was out in the open with someone hiding in the trees aiming to pick them off.

roll: 1/20

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

'Another pretty wrean.' Vossari couldn't help but smile, and when they went to respond -

Whizzzzzzzzz.....CRACK! The sound of a rifle shot whizzed pass Vossari's ear, taking one of their locs with them. An inch to the right and it would have been their skull. But before they could celebrate their luck, they heard the thud of Azar's body to the ground.

Vossari acted immediately. While they were without any normal medicines, or a first aid kit with which to treat the red-skinned champion, they had a few advantages. One, their life on Wrea: the Wreans were known for their aquatic herbal remedies and medicines. The swamp environment was similar to the healing swamps of his own homeland. Second, and most relevantly for the task at hand: Vossari had paid attention during potions class.

Potions were the closest to artistic expression that the Sith got in their course load. Vossari had studied closely to these classes - not only because of their captivating teacher, but also because the craft of alchemy was just plain fun. That 'fun' would prove critical today.

They lifted Azar and ran into a denser part of the swamp - where it would difficult, if not impossible, to line up a clear shot on the pair. Following this, Vossari went straight to work; no jokes, no words. Only the intense, burning passion of his amber eyes, pressed into a concerned look at Azar's wounds. The clothes around the rifle shot were tattered, as the Sith's blood flowed into them. They would all have to come off to treat the wounds. But first, they needed medicine. Vossari grabbed the stems of a few tall cattails poking from the swamp. Cattails were a natural anti-inflammatory and burn repellant, and their thick, puffy cobs could be used to stanch the blood flow from. They mashed the plants into a giant, soft substance resembling a starchy cotton ball.

Next, they rummaged through Azar's precious potion collection to find - yes - an antidote and painkiller. It swirled around the glass as a thick, pink slime. When ingested, this potion was meant to provide pain relief. When applied to the skin, it could accelerate healing. Perfect.

Vossari ripped off the clothes around Azar's wounds to work. They took off their own dirty, black gloves, sanitized their hands, and laid them upon Azar's gushing wounds. Tenderly, they poured the pink goo onto the wounds - which responding instantly. The unbearable pain Azar was feeling would subside into just intense pain. The wound began to bubble and scab up, accelerating a healing process that would have naturally taken weeks.

On the blood itself, Vossari applied the cotton-like cattails. Their fruit absorbed the Sith's blood greedily, and Vossari's soft touch was almost soothing to the aching wounds. Vossari watched, cautiously, as the potion and plants took effect. <You...need...real...doctor.> He said, slowly and carefully, in Ur-Kittat. "How does that feel?"

Roll: 19/20

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Without warning, he was suddenly lifted by powerful arms, physically carried from the site where he fell. Azar’s eyes popped open, the forest blurring as his savior moved hastily through the trails. He could hear bolts erupting in the background, and he clutched fiercely to whoever carried him. A quick glance revealed complex dreadlocks, and he smelled that pleasant scent of flowers mixed with seasalt. He was taken back to a night of passion six years ago and he wondered if he was actually dead.

He flopped over like a bag of turnips, groaning in pain as his vision focused on the acolyte from before. Azar coughed and sputtered, “My..bag..” He groaned, but was shocked to see that the wrean knew just what to do. His upper body clothes being torn away revealed a toned frame with countless tattoos and studded piercings. His torso was a tapestry of his lineage, though none of that mattered right now.

Azar was surprised to feel the pain subside immediately, drinking from his own potions because the acolyte mixed everything perfectly. Had they actually paid attention in their studies? When the wrean spoke in broken ur-Kittat, Azar couldn’t help but smile, coughing, “I speak Basic…imbecile..” He repeated his words from earlier, though his tone was far warmer.

He slowly sat up, looking down to inspect his wounds, “You work better in crisis, huh?” Azar asked as he flashed a grin, “What is your name?” Just because the acolyte was in his classroom, it didn’t mean he knew everyone. Acolytes cycled in and out constantly, with several of them dying before advancing to champion.

Azar pressed a hand against a tree, slowly rising up to his feet, “We have to..keep moving,” He said as he started limping away slowly, “There is..armory..a bit further away from the camp. If we use those for explosions, we can create smoke and fire,” He offered. He was definitely straining himself through his injuries.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari noted the intricate detailing of the Sith's tattoos. While Vossari did not understand the true meaning of these tattoos, they understood that these tattoos held deeper meaning. Their intricate, beautiful patterns were Vossari's entire inspiration for become a Sith. To see such graceful, careful linework on a mortal form was breathtaking. But now was not the time to admire the art that was Azar's form, now was the time to act.

When his concern for Azar's health faded, his bombastic personality returned. He smiled at Azar's barb. "I work better when I'm hands-on." They pulled off their bulky, forest green hoodie, for Azar to wear. It left the wrean with a thin, grey tank top tucked into their drab pants. They examined the situation around them - blood spatter, spilled potions. Low supplies, no rations, and a previously wounded Sith. It would be difficult to finish with the flourish Vossari wanted, but he'd rather die trying than give up. "Vossari Khaldun." He flashed a peace sign, signaling the 'V' of his name.

They noted Azar's strain and chose to grab his hand, placing it on his own wound. "You're still hurt." They said softly, full lips glistening with sweat. "Keep the cattails here. Don't strain yourself. This will be simple." Their hand lingered.

"Armory. Got it. Stay low." The wrean chose to use this moment to their advantage, taking off their tank top to wade into the swamp. Their body, too, was covered in tattoos - more crude, colorful, and derived of the urban and wrean influences that had shaped Vossari's life. Vossari dove into the swamp bed, using a lily pad as a helmet, and slowly swam towards their destination. They took a forward position while swimming, scouting for any potential enemies along the route.

At the very least, they wouldn't get caught flat footed again.

After a strained journey, with frequent enough stops for Azar to catch his breath, the wrean waded back out of the swampy water at the armory. Their brown skin was soaked, covered in plants and mud. They pulled a reed out of their hair, eyeing the armory carefully.

It was guarded, certainly, but with a weaker security presence than the site's importance demanded. It was still clear that a frontal assault would be impossible. But maybe they could just use the exact same plan again. Brilliant.

They patted Azar on the shoulder, lightly. "I'll be the distraction. You start the fire. Then we burn these fucks to the ground."

Roll for defenses: 8/20
@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar didn’t miss the acolyte’s eyes roaming over the tattoos on his body. The pureblood gave a half smile, “Write the chapters here,” He gestured towards the countless, intricate works of art on his torso and limbs, “So even in death, only you can tell your story,” The pureblood mused, his gleaming, yellow eyes piercing into the chestnut hues.

“Vosssarrri,” He repeated the name, rolling the r as the name flowed off his tongue as a foreign word. The Pureblood winced as Vossari pressed his hand against the wound, internally impressed by the quick thinking. He wasn’t looking at the wound, instead quietly studying the curious wrean before him, “You..keep me alive today..” Azar said quietly, “I won’t forget.”

He took the proffered hoodie, the clothing especially baggy on him. While he wasn’t thrilled about the fashion, he didn’t want to walk around broadcasting that he had a wound on his torso. To his surprise, Vossari soon shed the tanktop, allowing Azar to catch a glimpse of their own tattooed story. He didn’t hide that he was staring, his gaze following the outlines of the multiple geometric shapes, the way the tanned skin shimmered from sweat and the sinewy muscles that were a well kept secret under the comically oversized attire the acolyte donned. The pureblood watched them dive into the swamp, moving as naturally as a fish, before he remembered this was a creature of water.

The Pureblood did not take the same path, gingerly navigating his way slowly around the banks. His path was long and arduous, but the plants were helping, along with swigs he took from his own potions. He could see the armory ahead and spotted a few guards. Once Vossari suggested being the distraction, Azar abruptly reached out and grasped their wrist, “Wait,” He said, an almost sheepish look on his face, “I don’t know…how to operate a lot of..machinery,” He admitted, “I will distract, you set blaze,” Azar said.

With that, he made his way towards where the guards were. He decided to coil the Force around one of them and abruptly yanked them into the forest. The other guard, seeing his buddy get dragged across the forest floor and into the woods, snapped into action to give chase. As did the other guard.

Vossari’s path was wide open to burst into the armory and start blowing things up.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari wouldn't argue a plan that let him start a fire. The acolyte returned to the swamp, watching silently as the guard was dragged, screaming and crawling, into the forest. Perfect. These cretins would know that a true predator stalked this forest. They would tell legends of this day - of the monster who ripped them apart, one by one, in the darkened depths of the swamp.

This was an opportunity for action. The armory was full of the supplies of the resistance. As a nonconventional guerrilla movement, they're weapons consistent of nonconlvential approaches. Machetes, old hunting rifles, and even repurposed farming equipment.

This made their stockade all the more combustible - their unconventional arms included thermal detonators, gasoline, pipe bombs, manure...it just needed a light. Vossari wanted to work quickly, but was distracted by their need to show off. Across the floor, he took hay, manure, gasoline, and explosive components and arranged them into symbols. A circle, with spikes jutting out the side. A simple enough sign of the Sith. They didn't take any time to admire their work - no, instead, they channeled their rage at these resistance members into their fingertips.

Sparks danced at the tip - not a commanding show of lighting, but enough to ignite. The sparks caught the explosive concoction, and a fire started, burning the pattern around the room while Vossari sprinted away. In a few moments, the entire pattern would be ablaze, and the central element of the conflagration would catch.

In the middle of the room, Vossari had stacked a pile of explosive material, firearms, and detonators. Hastily, they ran back to Azar's position, hoping to be able to watch the big ka-boom moment.

Out of breath upon their arrival back, Vossari, panting, gestured to the armory. "Wait just a second, boss. This'll be worth it."

A massive ball of flame engulfed the armory and the surrounding swamp, covering nearly everything in sight in flame. Vossari ducked down, instinctively pulling Azar down with them, protectively. While it certainly became warmer, they were distant enough from the conflagration. The tops of trees in the swamp caught fire. It would threaten to burn down the foliage.

Vossari stared with pride at the flame. Azar would feel his beating heart, sense his burning passion towards this ball of fire. He turned, gaze burning bright on Azar.

"Burn them to the fucking ground."

@Sreeya