Star Wars CLOSED Aftermath and Beginnings

Insipid nodded and turned to Claiomh. “The dark side is unified by its divisions, by our differences. It is not divided by its unity. When the Rule of the Strong returns, there are no Sith, just a steadily weakening order of Dark Jedi.”

His fingers fluttered, as if catching invisible particles. “Lord Bernael knows this; knows how fourteen Dark Lords led twenty thousand ‘Sith’ at the Battle of Ruusan and most of them could do anything but wield a saber. They faced ten thousand Jedi Lords, and were trapped for two years, unable to succeed, until a single Dark Lord showed them how to think as Sith, not dirt generals. The Rule of the Strong became the Rule of the Weak, and the Rule of Two ended it.”

He eyed the two of them.

“Sometimes Two is stronger than many.”


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Insipid arched an eyebrow. He was more a Master than not, right now, right here. He took a breath. “I appreciate that, I do. I am sure that we all will.”

As those words were spoken, Insipid managed to keep an air of disaffection, and might even have managed to keep his heart-rate minimal. All of a sudden the speeder at the window went through the window, revealing four purple faced assailants, and bringing an end to the ocean illusion.

Keshiri Sith Sabers, the equivalent of Jedi Knight’s on this world. Insipid simply gazed at his tea, leaving them to the two apprentices. He had no need to prove himself, though if one of the Sabers grew ambitious and had a go at Insipid, he would do his bit.

He wanted to check the appropriateness of their power; what they knew; what they did not know.


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As the glass broke Bernael reached down, bringing his mask up to his face. Just before it covered his eyes he looked across at his mentor and old Master. As his eyes shifted to jet black, a twinkle of apparent humor appeared in one, before being covered by the mask.

The Speeder crashed into table and he winced internally, knowing just how much Claiomh loved that machine. If he had to pay for a complete rebuild he would, gladly. Other than the internal wince he appeared not to move as the Keshiri Sith Sabers burst through the, now, empty window frame.

As their sabers lit he sat there still, unmoving, his mask facing Lord Insipid. As a pair of them charged, he didn't move. As their sabers swept down at him, no movement. And then their sabers cleaved chair and nothing else. Had they known the depth of bond between he and Claiomh they would have suspected why, as she did nothing to defend her seated mate.

There were advantages to being an Anzat and two were speed and an ability to disappear. As the assailants burst through the window he had swiftly set up a Mind Trick, leaving his form in the chair. Disappearing from sight he'd swiftly moved to an angle where he could keep all four in sight, should Claiomh need assistance.

As the sabers of the two closest to him swept through the chair he dropped the Mind Trick and attacked. Whipping one of the many daggers he had at the one furthest to his right he closed on the second. As he came up on the right hand side of his opponent he dropped his concealment for but a moment, igniting his saber as he sliced toward his opponent's torso turning his wrist so the stroke continued back toward the spine.

He disappeared again extinguishing his saber as he did and circled his foes, now to the opposite angle from his original position, pausing momentarily to judge the results of his dual attack.


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The two Saber’s danger sense was sufficient to turn aside, and glass daggers - shikkiar’s - flew from their belts as they spun, one bouncing off the wall to slash at Bernael’s neck, and the other realising that the dagger had caught his face. The Saber snarled at how he had been marred, and unleashed a bolt of lightning at the daggers, which exploded, raining molten glass at Bernael’s general location.

Insipid allowed himself a smile. That cut would be costly. He focused on the younger of the two.



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The two Keshiri facing her stepped back, buffeted by her rage, but they were still warriors, and one dove under the table while the other gestured, turning over the table and flicking her hand forward and sending a glass dagger zipping over the attacking Saber’s shoulder, who slashed low at her feet.

The Saber’s knew how to fight as a team; they had been trained to do so. Insipid remembered to let their teacher know how well they had done.

Insipid watched the table, for it was still in the air, and turning. The Saber was about to use it for a second attack, no doubt. He had yet to draw his lightsaber, his hands focused on his telekinesis; as Insipid watched he tugged free a glass dagger from the females belt as she lunged.

Very good.


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A small smile touched Bernael's lips behind the mask as he silently dropped flat, feeling the glass shards passing over where he had been, calling a low domed shield of Force Defense over him in the process. A few caught in his robes before the dome fully formed and he knew his opponents could see the ricochet over apparently empty air as the shards hit the dome. The one dagger headed for his neck spun back toward his opponents, given an extra push with the Force as it flew over him.


'That Force Lightning will be his last attack for a long time, unless he gets seen by a proficient medic' quickly flew through Bernael's mind as he dropped the shield, then ricocheted a pair of daggers, one off the floor and one off the ceiling toward the foe his initial saber stroke had missed. He pushed off the floor, turning it into a leap over the recumbent Speeder. Flinging a fourth dagger behind him at the Saber he felt already concentrating on multiple tasks while facing Claiomh, he sped toward the two he faced.


Focusing yet again on the one who was now on his right, where he'd been the leftmost initially, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the eyes of the one who had caught his dagger in the face widen, his shaking fingers reach up toward the cut, as he realised the dagger was poisoned.


Calling his second saber to hand he leapt, keeping his right side toward the ground, past his opponent, swiping in two arcs parallel to his body, an upward one with his left hand saber and a downward one with his lower, right hand saber. After he flew past the Saber he extinguished the blades, tucked, rolled, and came to his feet again, facing his foe.

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The Saber that began to shudder bit his lip - he realised the truth - and so he leapt into the path of the attacks, tweaking the flights of weapons towards himself, earning himself more gashes and impalement. He died silently, with honour, his body rattling with his last breath.

That left one.

He warily stood with his back to the wall, tugging the lightsaber of his dead comrade to his hand. He held them in a cross, yellow eyes narrowed. The Force was drawn tight; the Saber was stalling, for some reason - perhaps hoping his comrades would overcome their foe and come to his aid. Perhaps storing an attack of some kind.

Insipid sipped what was left in his cup. He eyed the body and looked back to Bernael.


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Feeling his old Master's gaze upon him, Bernael shrugged one shoulder as if to say "These things happen and I'm not hungry yet."

Looking upon the foe backed against the wall, in a tone enhanced by the Force to fill it with all the eldritch malevolence he could, carrying undertones of the desire to yield, "Yield or die like your partner." As he spoke he sheathed his saber, reached behind him, and as his hand emerged cradling a kukri the feeling of pure hunger also emerged.

His opponent could attack or not, Bernael cared little. If he expected the other team to come to his aid, they too would find their deaths. Bernael could sense that the Sabers had not expected what they found. He continued, "Four of you would never have been enough, and there are only three in here."

As he spoke, he edged forward. Looking directly at his foe his black orbs caught the other's yellow eyes in his gaze. The pressure to yield quadrupled as his gaze held his foe's. He felt his opponent's mind fight his, trying to keep their will their own. Another step and his second saber dropped to its sheath, his empty hand lifting, talons extending, prepared to defend or attack depending on how long his foe's will held out.

He moved, a slow, deliberate stalk, one predator hunting another predator. With each step the pressure of his will over his foe's increased.


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The Saber before Bernael stared back into the eyes of the Anzati. Insipid knew that was a mistake, but did not intervene save to block any effort by Bernael efforts to assist Claiomh with a soft smile. The Keshiri stood his ground, drawing upon years of training in the Temple to tighten his resolve. But beneath the surface there was a pearl of fear, and the Saber tried his best to bury it - but the reality was that he had not moved, had not acted tactically, just focused on the mental battle that Bernael was equipped to do.

Whilst Insipid respected the Saber's dedication, he would be better placed distracting Bernael so he could not focus his on one of his natural advantages. Even if the Saber won the mental battle... and that was an immense if, he was losing the battle in the physical realm. Insipid turned away to focus on Claiomh.

The dagger missed, shattering on the wall, and she rushed her blade up the Saber's, who winced, and even blinked his eyes to try and see through the biting sparks. The slap caught the Saber across the face, and she took the opportunity to roll away into a cartwheel, intending to catch Claiomh across her face as she flipped. The Saber was already moving so she would have a guard up when her feet met the floor.

The table was seized and slammed down, but the Saber responded admirably and split the table with a powerful upwards shove. Nonetheless the pieces caught the Saber's shoulders, and he was distracted for a moment as his arms were bruised and bloodied, but intact. The Saber stumbled back, before lifting both hands with lightning ready, pointed at both Bernael and Claiomh. Insipid eyed the Saber, intending to protect Bernael from interference in his fight, too.

Insipid gave Bernael a nudge to finish it. Then they could watch Claiomh together, of course.

But the Saber at the edge of the battle simply pointed his hands at Insipid and released a stream of power directly at the Dark Lord, the arc of power cutting across the gap between the two skirmishes. For a brief moment, the rear of the cafe exploded into smoke and rubble, and Insipid and his cup vanished into the storm. For a time, it was just the three Sabers and Bernael and Claimoh.

 

Stalking toward his prey Bernael noticed the stream of energy flash by him and seemingly impact his old friend. Knowing there was nothing he could do for Lord Insipid, as well as that there was nothing he need do as he was sure his mentor was not gone, he redoubled his mental attack on the Saber before him.

"Good, good you should fear, you know not what you face." Bernael filled his voice with undercurrents that would enhance the fear and desire to yield, letting the Force empower his words. He could see the welter of emotions crossing his opponents face, fear, uncertainty, worry at what the being was that moved toward him.

As the distance shrunk Bernael could see his foe's blades begin to shake as tremors began in his hands. The Saber fought his will, trying desperately to win this battle. A small portion of Bernael's mind kept track of Claiomh's battle, but the foe before him needed dealt with before he could determine if she needed assistance.

Stopping several paces from his foe, outside his reach, Bernael's head tilted to one side. 'While he is fighting for his mind, this is too easy.' Something felt off in his opponent. He continued his mental assault, but at the same time he reached out in the Force lifting a nearby table and flinging it at his opponent. As soon as he let the table go flying his free hand blasted purple-blue lightning just behind the flying table, obscuring it from the Saber.

Stepping forward a half pace, now just inside his opponents range, Bernael flipped his kukri into a reverse grip; his free hand low, close to a pair of daggers as well as one of his sabers. His mind battered at the remaining resolve of the Saber before him. The question was, would the Saber reveal what what he was hiding before his will evaporated?


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The Saber revealed an injector in his hand, but could not raise his arm. Poison of some kind - but he was trying to inject himself, and kill Bernael when he was consumed. But the Keshiri was stuck - locked in a mental battle with a monster designed for such battles. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, but he could not dislodge the mental hold of Bernael.

It was all but over.

The Saber that had obliterated the corner where Insipid had sat howled, increasing the power funnelling from his fingertips, conscious that his hands were starting to burn, and the arms of his clothes had been scoured away. The Keshiri was going all out.

 

A smile, showing just the barest part of Bernael's teeth, came over his face behind the mask. The screams of his foe peaked as his will snapped. Bernael saw, finally, what had been hidden, just before the table crunched into his opponent, crushing the hand and injector against his body, rendering both useless.

As the table dropped, the lightning that followed produced even higher shrieks, finishing the job of destroying the poison, as well as the hand that held it. Closing the distance in less than the blink of an eye, Bernael stood almost nose to nose with his foe. "You chose poorly."

Previously unnoticed slits in the cheeks of Bernael's mask suddenly sprouted proboscises, snaking out and crunching their way into the Saber's head. The Keshiri's eyes widened in fear and anguish as they bored deep into his head, questing for his brain. Knowing the Saber that had vanished Lord Insipid was still flowing forth his beam of power, Bernael sank his kukri into his oppositions leg, grabbed him with his free hand, and moved, keeping away from the beam.

The proboscises reached the Keshiri's brain and began their feeding, sucking in the grey matter, his force power and energy, and his essence. At the same time, the kukri embedded in his leg began draining the body of blood, a double feeding. Bernael let out a roar as he felt his foe's soul flow into him, caging it in his mind to drain it further when he had the opportunity or need.

The proboscises finished their work, retracting and snaking back into their pouches in Bernael's cheeks. The kukri finished draining the body of its blood and Bernael pulled it free, letting the dry husk drop to the floor. He turned to observe Claiomh's battle, reached out and called back all four of the daggers he'd thrown, cleaning them on the blouse of the Saber he'd just drained before sheathing them again.

Sparing a glance at the smoking hole where their table and Lord Insipid has been, 'He'll be back I'm sure, but for now, battle calls.' he thought. "My Fleur, would you appreciate some assistance?" he asked, while surveying the scene before him.

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Bernael would be distracted from her answer by the Saber turning his smoking hands to face the Anzati, and a paired blast of lightning erupted from his fingers again. But the Anzati would feel sloth, would feel drain, as if someone was drawing upon him. The energy was being robbed from him, and the shadows weren't telling. But the Saber grew more powerful, where he should have been tiring. The lightning was a storm, in comparison to what had happened before.

 

Bernael gritted his teeth behind his mask, a lopsided smile formed. 'Always testing me, pushing to see where my limit is, my old friend.'

As the lightning writhed over his armor he shed his cape revealing the armor beneath. The midnight blue sigils crossing its surface were no longer dormant, they were flaring brighter and brighter as the storm washed over him.

Haltingly he called out to the burnt Saber as he placed one foot slowly in front of the other, fighting the lethargy that had likewise washed over him. "I thank you for the power, for the energy." What bled through still made him wince and he could feel burns forming on uncovered areas, but he would heal.

His eyes flashed back to jet black, his mind shut itself as far as it could from the source of the lethargy. He reached deep, drawing on stored essences, many souls had fallen to him over the years and he always made sure there was a reservoir for just such occasions. His hair streamed back, lightning playing between the strands.

Step by step he moved, the kukri still held underhand. He pushed forward through the storm attempting to fry him in his skin. As he drew on the energy of stored souls he could feel a portion of the lethargy recede. Reaching down he unsheathed a saber, cradling it unlit as he advanced. The energy surrounding him kept increasing even as he moved into it.


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Another twist to the Force - Bernael's access to what he had consumed, to what he had stored away, was suddenly impeded, and the strength they lent him flagged. Bernael assumed Insipid had another test for the Anzati, and perhaps he did. But one of the truisms of being a Sith was to tear away all the power, all the strength, all the knowledge, all the why's and when's and what's and where's and how's of a person, and see what they were when stripped to just their name.

What was Bernael?

What is Bernael?

What will Bernael become?

The questions of a master and a student - even if Bernael was his old apprentice.

 

Feeling so much being drained away, being denied access to, Bernael understood the true test, the desire to see the core of him. Reaching deeply inside him, he touched a wall he had erected many centuries ago, when he had been taught the history of his kind, when he had feared at what depth of darkness his kind could be.

As he touched the wall he could sense a thought that seemed to come from both nowhere and from himself 'Finally!' As the thought washed over him he felt what had been hidden wash over him as well, spreading fully through him and beyond.

His body sheathed the kukri and saber, reached up, removing the mask and hair clasp, gently placing both on the nearest table. As his hands returned to his sides his mind opened fully, darkness and hunger washed over the cafe, a seeming locus of dark energy stood where he had been standing.

"My old friend, my old Master, you wish to see the core of me. See now what I have locked away for eons. I am a child of Cold Danda Sine." The last came out in a tone as of the clanging of doors on old, long forgotten tombs as his hair flared wildly, his eyes dark as midnight, talons fully extended, proboscises flying from their concealment searching for a meal.

"Many study the dark, the light, but few are born of it. My kind were made in and of the dark, why then do you think I have travelled the galaxy securing objects of power from those who are as children playing with the tools of the gods." As he spoke his eyes stayed focused on the being attacking him, continued moving forward toward that being, seeing the shock at the change that had come over him on the face of his foe.

"I am hunger, physically for sentiments, mentally for the knowledge of the universe. I feed to grow, to learn, but this galaxy has tipped into the slide of entropy. I would find a new place, a place to grow further, to build, to thrive. There is always more to learn, especially if one desires to fully embrace the darkness of being what one truly is. And this galaxy is no longer a place where that knowledge can be gained."


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There was no answer. Just an intensity to the pulling.

Sine died a hundred millennia ago. He birthed the Anzati, true, with the wretch, Tilotny... are all Anzati like this, in their heart of hearts? Creations, who snuffed the life out on the world they took, and named Anzat? A pause. Back when you were allies to the Sith?

The Saber was starting to deform. His face was twisting; his shoulders hunching; his mouth, hanging open in effort, began to loll.

Power, and its immediate impact on someone who had taken it, or been given it, rather than achieved it.

 

Bernael paused in his advance. There was no answer to his statement, not that he had expected any, merely the drain and…curiosity, a sense that what he had given was not yet enough.

As he watched the Saber attacking him begin to deform, he thought and decided the only course of action was to divulge more about his kind.

"As children, we are taught our origins. There are those of us who yet live that remember those days. We were created in darkness, of the darkness, given purpose to feed on the universe, twisted so that we fed on the creations of those who came before. Yet he who created us did not take everything from us when he turned us to his purpose."

"He desired that we completely upset the balance of the universe, but in his creation of us he gave us more individuality. We saw what was our purpose and changed it. We tend to be solitary even so far as to not even prefer the company of our own kind. It takes something unique to cause us to veer from that path."

"Ah yes, the ancient Sith. They too felt the touch of the gods. And were aided, if only to be slaves, by another ancient race. We saw this, saw their potential, and gave our own aid, minimal though it may have been, and they overcame their opponents."

"Many that have any knowledge of us have labelled us arrogant. But when we are the myths and demons of many worlds, in part due to the ancient wars against those who sided with the Celestials, a certain solitude is called for. And that is what it is, solitude, not arrogance that makes us set ourselves apart."

"Solitude, and having seen, over the generations, societies making the same mistakes over and over, I should say. Of a time, we have aided societies, such as the ancient Sith, but even those fell into decay."

"There are those who have attempted to go against the very nature of our kind but, unsurprisingly, many failed, some very spectacularly. The most one can do, if one seeks to remain close to the balance is as I have done for eons, lock the darker aspects of our nature deeply inside."

"You wished to know the depth of the Anzat "heart". We are a complex species, designed to be the assassins and devourer of worlds. We must follow the part of our nature that requires us to feed, but those that survive past the youth that requires us to do so constantly are able to use such and not just be devourer of sentience. But, such long lives mean much of what there is to do in life can be done and new experiences, new knowledge, new reasons to not act out of boredom, are difficult to come by."

As he spoke Bernael felt the storm coursing over him. He knew that the drain was taking vital energy that could protect him further. His armor took most of the constant impact but he could feel even more burns forming on his skin, his proboscises flailing, trying to keep from being fried as well. 'I will weather this storm.' he thought.

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As the storm of lightning continued to roll over him, Bernael could feel through their bond Claiomh's attacks against the remaining Saber. He heard her question, pondered it, and sent her a thought, 'I would ask that you end the existence of the one throwing the lightning but I'd imagine that would include you in the process and better only one of us take this attack for now.'

The draining had taken much, but he had locked away most, if not all of the souls he stored, keeping their energy safe for the future. What other energy he had left he was doing his all to husband, to keep from draining away, while he was questioned.

The storm was emptying him of the extraneous, had already made him expose his core, his inner darkness, the truth of a being of the dark. He was sure that was what his old Master had desired, to see of what he was made. That the storm, coupled with the draining, was merely a tool to make him do so.

He stood firm, watching the Saber collapse in on himself as the power flowed through him, knowing the pain of the lightning rolling over him was but a temporary pain, one that he could heal from. He would see this trial through.

Aloud, "My Fleur, if you finish that other Saber it should bring all but this part of the test to an end."


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Insipid swept from the shadows, and the Saber using the storm, collapsed, and fell.

“I recognise you heart as a child of Gorog, Bernael.” The other Sabers still remained in combat with Claiomh and he allowed her to finish them off. With a gesture, he plucked the weapons from her foes and allowed her the kill.

The test was done.

This one.

A flick of his hand and half the cafe came down, forming a barrier between the two of them. Insipid gestured at his still-smoking former apprentice to follow him into Tahv.

Love was all fine and good. Lust, too. But he would not let it interfere with Bernael’s path. Nor hers. They needed to rejoin the Greater Order in their own merits, for their own reasons, for their own rhymes.

Together, they may very be invincible.

But what of apart?


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As his former master reappeared Bernael felt the draining as well as the storm raging about him subside. As he straightened and felt his energy rebound he heard Lord Insipid speak, “I recognise your heart as a child of Gorog, Bernael.”

Bernael could feel the darkness inside which he had allowed release subside slightly with the immediate threats removed. He knew there would be more tests to come and as the cafe crumbled at Lord Insipid's gesture he knew he was not wrong. Reaching out he called his mask, robe, and clasp to him.

The robe settled over him as he followed his old friend, hands reaching up to clasp his hair back, then replacing his mask over his visage. He could feel the energy seething through his armor, the heat coming off of it in waves, the slow healing of the burns to his skin as they smoked.

He could feel that the next series of tests would be individual ones, he and Claiomh were certainly a force to be reckoned with together, but the powers that be would need to see how they also operated on their own.

As he walked, a dark chuckle sounded, "I knew they could not remove you that easily old friend." he said to Lord Insipid, as a welcome.


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