Darth Oats
Ethereal
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Fandom STAR WARS: Stories of the Old Republic
- Thread starter Darth Oats
- Start date
Darth Oats
Ethereal
JANROOK SKAA
A large smirk shot across his painted face as he stood. His flowing, black cloak swept the floor of his starship as he rose and spun from his chair. Grabbing his two lightsabers from their compartment and heading down the ramp of the ship he began on his way to the target village. After managing to fight off a pack of wild beasts that night, he decided to rest and took shelter in what appeared to be a naturally formed cave. The next morning, he immediately rose to continue his journey. Janrook was making good time; He might actually make it there before next nightfall.
The desert sand swooping into swirls as it was kicked up, he shielded his eyes with his hood. Scanning the barren desert land for any sign of a village, he believed he had finally found it. The suns had just started to set as the familiar smile crept across his face once more. Once making it to one of the entrances, he was met with two of the village guards. They were quickly dispatched, each one taking a swipe to the chest from each of Janrook's sabers. The Sith Warrior crossed the sand covered grounds and found a high platform, the one that the Chieftain would usually stand on for any speeches or announcements. He spoke with a bellowing, but clear voice. "If you would like for your pitiful lives to last any longer, I would suggest you do as I say! Any who oppose me....will be met with death."
A war cry was heard coming from behind one of the buildings to Janrooks left. Janrook spun on his heel, turning to face the call. Only to hear another come from the opposite side from him. The warriors and hunters were gathering, building up their forces through calls, and planning to attack from all sides. Janrook lept from the stand to the open grounds in the middle of the village, giving himself more breathing room. So he wouldn't be trapped in a choke point. He trembled slightly, uneasy from what to expect. The calls had stopped. His glances became frantic and shot around quickly. Trying to pick out any movement. Then, as of out of nowhere, he felt a presence behind him. He turned to face his attacker a Zabrak warrior soaring through the air in a mighty leap, sword held high over his head. Janrook's pupils dilated as he raised both hands, sending a force of electricity through his attacker's body. Following that by pulling one of his sabers to his hand with the force, he finished off the convulsing body with a quick stab. A short laugh escaped his lips. "That's all you have?!" But before he was able to gloat any longer, three more men arrived to the scene, each appearing from different directions. Janrook reacted quickly, sliding his left foot across the smooth sand before pushing off into a horizontal corkscrew. Once he landed, he equipped his second saber and looked to them, getting into a partially crouched stance and preparing to fight. He now wasn't surrounded and could take them all head on. All three warriors rushed him almost immediately.
Janrook's left blade deflected the first attack, his right blade being rewarded with a quick kill as the attacker began his initial attack wide open. The left blade was now rotated back to face the third attacker, blocking him as well. Janrook's right blade was now brought back into the fight as he swung it at the third opponents waist in an upward motion. The Zabrak jumped back and was able to create enough space between them so he wasn't cut. The first attacker had now recovered and came back into the fight swinging with quick, short slashes. These were easily deflected and defeated with the use of both of Janrook's sabers. He spun around the tribal warrior after setting up a parry and dispatched him with a long cut across his back. The third warrior was now humbled and frightened by this dark warriors power and dropped his weapon, bowing before him as if he were a god. A smug grin of success filled the apprentice's face as he recognized his victory. Kicking the man onto his back, his made a cut across his shoulder, as if to show his kindness for not killing him. Attempting to appear that he was a merciful leader if you gave yourself up to him. By the next day, he was worshiped as a god and the supreme leader of their people.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hakraa -Formally known as Kuto-
Kuto sat up from the gruff camp he and his fellow hunters had set up for the night. On the large rock to his left, all of his gear and clothing had been laid out to dry. His hunting party had to cross the river again before they could rest last night. A pack of predators that his people called Kaia'Cura, were spotted tracking them. The scent of the Eldabeast was overpowering, even to the Zabrak. So Kuto couldn't blame the beasts for wanting it for themselves. However, lucky for the tribesman, a river had been near by and crossing it gave them enough space between them and their pursuers considering there wasn't a more shallow crossing for miles.
Slipping into his now dried pants and boots, he grabbed his vest while analyzing the group. They were tired. He and his fellow hunters had been out for days trying to find something. Anything. This season had be so scarce for some reason unbeknownst to them. Kuto, however, was probably the most durable of the rest of his fellow tribesman.
Everyone was gathered up and ready to go now. Kuto's battle spear in it's sheathe across his back now. The Eldabeast he had killed was wrapped and placed on the cart that the crafters made for the hunters so they could bring back more meat per hunt. It took two of them to pull it this time because the load was a bit heavier than usual.
As they got closer to the village, the more they began to notice something was wrong. There were no children running in the farmlands playing and racing like normal. Only droll faces covered the once happier faces of the men here. Kuto's eyes narrowed in suspicion. After speaking to one of his clansmen who simply responded with a shake of his head. Kuto now pulled out his spear, the metal reflecting in the glare of the sun. The others following him had decided to follow his lead and also equip their weapons. Blade staves, bows, and other simpler blades. Upon entering the southern gates, the whole mood of the village had changed from the upbeat and enthusiastic ways people lived, to this now depressed fog. Only after being gone for a few days, what could have possibly happened?
After moving through the grounds of the village, the cart was left by the cooking building and they continued their cautious search for an answer. Then....he saw it. Or HIM rather. The cause of all the pain on everyone's faces. He sat in smug satisfaction upon the throne he had ordered the crafters to make for him. His black cloak covered the entirety of his seat, death lingering around him. A few Zabrak men were bowing at his feet. An instant feeling of hatred filled Kuto as he spotted this being. 'Who did he think he was?' Kuto's thoughts were then outspoken by another hunter behind him in the group. Azereth, the Zabrak that stood next to this being of darkness spoke for him. Responding with, "He is a God sent to command us. We were not in the God's favor. That would explain the lack of game this season..." He paused and glanced at Janrook before continuing, "I would suggest you follow us in worship, or he will strike you down as he did our guards after you had left." A small attempt at a smile could be spotted on the Zabrak's face shortly.
Kuto turned to face his men, they all had the same look of determination on their faces as himself and he could see they felt the same as he did. He nodded to them and returned his gaze to the supposed God. Kuto spoke loud enough, in a clear voice to his people, "Let us test this god's mortality..." Just as he finished his last words, three arrows released from behind Kuto's head and made a beeline towards the man in the throne.
Janrook's face changed in an instant, the smug look transformed into an angered one. One flash of red and all three arrows were cut down before they reached him. Janrook stood now, dropping the cloak from his shoulders and leaping to the sandy earth Kuto and his men were waiting for him on. The god struck down one of the Zabrak worshiping him. He hadn't even seemed to think about it. This pointless killing of his people angered Kuto even more. He was the first to charge in against this man, taking large loping swings with his spear. Janrook's first attempt to guard against Kuto's attacks was a failure, before quickly recovering and pulling out his second saber to help hold back this beasts relentless attacks. This kind of power wasn't shown from any of the others, so it was nowhere near expected. Janrook was relieved he was able to get to his second saber, or else the Zabrak warrior could have caused him to cut himself in half from the recoil. Janrook was finally able to regain ground as TeSalvo had tired himself out. Interlocking both sabers, he crossed them and cut Kuto's spearhead clean off. Following that, Jankrook pushed Kuto back and spun, bringing his foot up to catch him in the chest. It connected successfully and threw the large Zabrak back into his kinsmen. Janrook shook his head slightly, he needed to keep an eye on that one.
There were five others now, still in the main group of hunters. After catching and setting Kuto down, they moved in between the two. The three that had bows, had now sat them down in exchange for their melee weapon of choice. Janrook analyzed the men. Each had either a single bladed sword or a double bladed staff. With a three to two ratio.
The first attack. Three Zabrak rushed him. Two with single blades and one with a double bladed staff. Janrook stood his ground as he watched each man, preparing to anticipate each attack. The first attack was a low sweep from the one with the staff. It was easily avoided as he leaped over the attack, raising his right knee to connect with the Zabrak's chin. After landing, the other two swung simultaneously from either side of him. Janrook rose both sabers to initially block the attacks and were quickly made into a parry. Sliding the red sabers to the hilt of each mans' weapon, the burning red energy connected with the hilt and cut it clean off. His lightsaber blades successfully continuing on their paths, slicing off fingers from each man's hand. As they fell back to grip at their injuries in pain, Janrook replaced himself and cut at each torso in a flurry of red. Both men fell in agony.
The last three men, other than Kuto, decided now to make the final push. Janrook could feel their fear and he fed from it. As a hysterical laugh rose from his throat, the Zabrak warriors noticeably faltered. This strengthened Janrook's confidence even more.
The clansmen never even had time to make a move any further, as the Sith attacker threw both sabers into the gut of the two flanking warriors. The third was filled with a large surge of lightning from the Sith's fingertips. The Zabrak's eyes slowly rolled back into his head as he couldn't fight the pain any longer. As he was released, the man's body collapsed and blood flooded from his ears, eyes, and nose. The Sith, feeling accomplished, made his way to Kuto's body. The Zabrak's eyes were widened in fear, but also in severe hatred for this man. Kuto's body trembled with emotion as he had just witnessed all of his fellow warriors being cut down without a problem. Janrook only released a short chuckle before sending another large surge of electricity through Kuto's body. The Zabrak shook and convulsed, the sand spreading out from underneath him. The pain was overwhelming, but he wasn't going to give in. He knew he would fight until his heart no longer had a beat.
Then, as his mind was finally fading into darkness, something within him suddenly happened. A switch had been flipped. The pain had stopped. The lightning had not, but Kuto's will had been able to push through the pain so he could defeat this monster and avenge his people. Feeling almost numb all across his body, Kuto slowly rose to his feet. The Sith apprentice only paused shortly as he saw his lightning wasn't seeming to have an effect. He continued the with surges, but they got continuously shorter and shorter as his confidence began to fail. The lightning stopped as Kuto had now walked close enough to reach him. Janrook knew at this moment that he would never defeat this man.
The Zabrak warrior rose his powerful right arm, his hand shooting up and grasping the self proclaimed God by his throat. Janrook made one last effort to survive and reached his arm out, using the force to pull one of his lightsabers to him. Kuto reacted faster and caught Jankrook by the wrist just has the hilt reached his grip. Kuto instantly crushed it. The bones audibly snapping. As Kuto slowly crushed the life from the Sith apprentice, a mighty roar exploded from Kuto's throat. Pushing his will onto the Sith caused the Zabrak to now be on top of him, pressing all his might into the ground. Struggled gasps could still be heard escaping the strained face of the dark warrior, foaming spit and blood spilled from his mouth. Soon enough, those sounds were no more. The white and black painted face lay motionless in the blood stained sands.
Kuto, triumphant in his victory, now stood from his defeated adversary and looked to the sky, releasing a blood-thirsty war cry into the heavens.
Soon after the events of that day, Kuto earned a blood red full body tattoo. His village proclaiming him to be Grand Chieftain and gave him the title of Hakraa.
The Godslayer.
It's been a year now, the Dark Warrior's red weapons were hung on a plaque behind Hakraa's throne. He has never touched them since they were placed there, no attempt has been made by anyone to use those weapons for fear that they might become like the monster that attacked them before.
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boo.
keep precious things
Maybe this had been a bad idea…No, no this had definitely been a bad idea. She couldn’t do this. Pacing the academy floor as she waited for her new master to be introduced to her, long honey coloured hair fanning out behind her and her padawan braid whipping her cheek with each aggressive turn she took, Feyre debated with herself as to whether or not she really wanted to go through with this. Whether it was nerves or simply a loyalty to her fallen master, she couldn’t tell. There was no way she was going to have another master, not truly. Nobody could live up to Jevaal’s influence on her life, or that fact that he had saved it on numerous occasions. Nobody could replace him and she was a fool for accepting the Council’s request for this. She’d just have to go to the Masters and tell them that she had changed her mind, that she didn’t want a new teacher, she didn’t want to be somebody else’s padawan.
The guilt over getting Jevaal killed and then abandoning her studies is what had finally pushed her into it. It wasn’t the chats from her friends or the elder Jedi who came and spoke softly, reminding her of her duty to learn and potentially become a knight herself in a few years. It was her own conscience, that little voice that whispered to her at night that she had abandoned everything Jevaal himself had stood for when she’d abandoned the path he had started her down. It was that tiny annoying little voice that finally pushed her out of bed on one of her bad days a month ago and set her running to the council, ready to accept their request that she resume her training. Despite the fact that it had been nearly a month she still felt as if she had acted too soon.
Making up her mind Feyre took one last spin before beginning to march down the hallway…only to be met face to face with the very Jedi Knight she had been waiting for. She stopped short and regarded the Twi’lek dubiously, arms crossed in front of her almost defensively. She’d been spotted, there was no running away from this now and she stayed in place, bowing briefly to the master Jedi who escorted her new teacher.
“Padawan Ashriver, your new teacher, Jihbira Srik'rurol. I will leave you to get to know each other.” he said, nodding before continuing down the hall, past the girl. She couldn’t quite tell if the edge in his voice as he introduced him was her own imagination or not and turned her head to watch him leave before her full attention shifted to the Twi’lek male in front of her.
~~~
Jib stared into the mirror, his chest rising and falling heavily as he took in deep breaths. Here he was, probably in the same position as every other Jedi with their first Padawan assignment. Was he ready for this? His own master had told him he was, and yet he felt a twinge of hesitation creeping down his spine. There was no telling what kind of challenges the two would encounter, and what assignments they would be given.
“Jihbira! I thought you said you were ready.” A male voice came through Jib’s closed door, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Right - Right, I'm coming.” Jib opened the door and closed it behind him with a soft click. Bowing to the Jedi, he followed him down several halls until he could see a young female human waiting for him. At first, it looked as though she was almost hesitant, as if she didn't want to be there. She crossed her arms as the two approached and he was introduced. Then, Jib was left with her.
“First, my condolences.” Jib bowed to Feyre. He had read her file and learned of her master's tragic passing. “I met Master Jevaal when I was a Padawan. He was a good Jedi, and I'm sure an even better master. You are my first Padawan, and I will do all I can to educate you in the ways of the Force.”
As he studied his Padawan, Jib could see that she wasn't what he had expected. From what he could tell, she was prickly and almost closed off. The death of her master had greatly affected her, and it was likely that she would compare his teaching with Jevaal’s. There was no help for that, as Jib had never more than met the Jedi. Whether she liked it or not, she was his Padawan.
“I wish to see what Jevaal has taught you. Would you object to giving a demonstration outside?”
Follow the Laughter
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Soulmuse
Everywhere and Nowhere
Syla Daz: Fallen Jedi
Three Months Prior:
Three Months Prior:
"How fortunate of me..." She knew that tone. Haughty arrogance, coupled chilling cold and a smug superiority she could all but taste in the air. "To stumble upon a Jedi in such a state."
Syla turned, far slower than she might have liked, in a vain effort to avoid agitating her ribs. A hood obscured the Sith's face, his robe was still, hiding even a basic assessment of his frame from her. "How fortunate." Her blade provided the only illumination, green light throwing eerie shadows between them, lending the moment a sinister air that was only accentuated by the corpses of two thugs still cooling on the dirt behind her. Fear danced at the edge of Syla’s consciousness; she had dueled and defeated Sith before, but never once with broken ribs, and she still preferred to flee them.
Obviously sizing her up, and finding her wanting, the Sith drew his own blade, crimson light lending the moment the macabre edge any battle had. Syla exhaled, mind racing with possibilities. Her best chance at victory would be swift overwhelming attack, with less time for her injuries to catch up with her. Unfortunately, Sith tended to focus on overwhelming power in her experience, and the limitations placed upon her by her injury meant that many avenues of attack were closed.
Howling a battle cry, her opponent changed, feinting towards her legs, then spinning his weapon effortlessly back towards her ribs.
Stepping back, Syla deflected the blow downwards, letting the Sith overextend, before launching her own attack, a near mimicry of her opponents strike, feinting towards his now exposed legs, only to redirect her weapon at the final possible second to his throat. Snarling in rage, the Sith jerked backwards, seeming to entirely ignore the pain of the slash across his collar bone. Lips drawn in defiance, he resumed the offensive with a thrust towards her chest that was turned aside. Before Syla could capitalize however, he continued the attack, striking first at her knees, then chest. Deflecting another blow, she drew her second lightsaber, deep blue only adding to the garish lightshow their battle was creating.
"Enough games, Jedi." Her footing already off balance, Syla reeled as the Sith abandoned all pretense of form, lightsaber flashing wildly. Turning one blow to the left, she only barely had enough time to redirect the follow up attack with her right hand blade, earning a small burning cut on her shoulder for her attempt. With every furious twist and turn, and the increasingly frenetic attack, the stabbing pain in her ribs increased, twice causing her to slip, and letting the Sith to score another nick to her shoulder, and two more small cuts on her arms.
Fear gave way to anger. She was not going to die, not by the hand of some random street thugs. High and cold the Sith laughed, blade raised for what he no doubt assumed was a deathblow. Syla's blades crossed, snapping up to absorb the full force of the stroke. Maintaining the lock, the Sith pressed forwards, and Syla gave ground, first one step, then two, before finally sinking to one knee. Arms shaking, she held him back, although every second she was flagging.
Abruptly the pressure lifted, as the Sith stepped back, his free hand rising for some kind of Force power. For one of the first times in her life, pure instinct took over, the Force welling up inside her, lashing out in time with her arm snapping upwards. Distantly, Syla was aware something was different than what she might have intended. There was a coldness, an extra dimension, or perhaps simply a different one, to the exertion that saw the Sith jerk eyes bulging, suddenly losing grip on his weapon. Even through confusion, pain, and exhaustion, Syla knew a chance when she saw one, both her blades flashing upwards to cleave the Sith in twain.
Syla struggled to stand fully, before finally collapsing as exhaustion took over.
--
Present Day
From a distance, the planet was exactly as had been described. Desert and relatively undeveloped, not that such a thing was strange, if one was hunting Holocrons, or chasing rumors of lost artifacts, or any of the other things Syla had been doing lately. Most of which had turned up nothing of use, but a few of her searches had yielded small bits of value.
Akir hadn’t been able to give her precise coordinates of his supposed temple, although Syla didn’t find herself minding. Shifting in the seat, her right hand prodded gently at the spot where her ribs had shattered. Healing from the injury had taken time, a humbling amount of time. A time of introspection, and self-recrimination, that came back to the same painful reality. Solitude was useful for the pursuit of knowledge, but was no conducive to surviving in a war torn galaxy. And, in many ways, a relatively primitive barbarian would serve well to multiply the chances of not dying, while also providing someone who wasn’t going to challenge just what she was hunting down, or sell her out to the Jedi.
Setting her ship down, she rose, grabbing her blaster from its case, and stepping out onto the new world.
Boots crunching on the earth, Syla took a moment to simply breathe in the air. Dry, it scratched the back of her throat in a way that the recycled air of a starship simply couldn’t mimic. As she let the breath go, and drew another one in, another feeling followed shortly behind, one she had never expected.
Somewhere in the distance, a Force Presence, more powerful than Syla could have ever anticipated pressed against her senses. A small tug at the back of her mind was ignored as she considered. It was hardly unheard of for some backwater world to have a Force sensitive, she knew. That she might stumble upon one before the Jedi presented a possibly opportunity, one that could not be understated. If she was able to convince whoever it was she felt to come with her, and train them, her little Sith problem would be, perhaps not solved, but made significantly easier to deal with. After all, two Force users were significantly harder to coral than just one.
Mind made up, she made one final check of her weapons and armor, before setting off. For a time, her weapon lingered near the blaster at her hip, eyes tracking the various wildlife for any sign of threat, but the majority of the beasts seemed content to let the stranger pass, watching for a moment, before letting her pass, albeit warily. Syla felt a smile tug at her lips. Perhaps another time, the wildlife of this world would prove and interesting study. Today however, her priorities had to be different.
Half a day’s brisk walk following the pull of this mysterious Force user at last brought Syla to the edges of what she could only assume was a village. Crude gates and other fortifications could be seen, and a small but steady flow of natives surrounded the area. None of them had caught sight of her, although that wasn’t likely to last, given their numbers. Frown tugging at her lips, Syla swiped some dust away. The Force presence was here; of that she was certain.
A few of the natives eyes her warily as she approached, although none initially challenged her approach. Keeping half an eye on the natives, and a hand nearby her lightsaber, Syla started towards the gates, pushing down rising anticipation and excitement.
Darth Oats
Ethereal
| HAKRAA - SYLA |
The sun had just begun it’s descent from the highest point in sky. The day was hot, but nothing more unusual than any other day. The one thing that had been unusual, however, was the feeling in the back of Hakraa’s mind. It was a tingling feeling. A sensation that caused him to feel he had an itch on the back of his head that couldn’t sate with a scratch. He had just begun to acclimate to it, however, now more than ever the feeling had become even more intense. The sensation caused him to feel restless and unable to focus entirely on much else besides it.
The tingling feeling became something more, a buzzing, a ringing in his ears. Hakraa was soon enough approached by one of his warriors. A bold statement was made, one laced with fear yet still seemingly confident to fight under his chieftain.
“Another off-worlder has come.”
The zabrack chief stood from the chair he had been residing in, determined to face this intruder before any of his men were killed as they were last time. Dressed in nothing but his leather pants and boots --both adorned in assorted tribal decoration collected from the beasts he has hunted-- , Hakraa took his spear in hand. He rushed from the simple building, leaving the two red bladed hilts inside.
Once stepping outside, he gestured to the messenger. A mutual understanding for him to gather more men.
Hakraa stood tall, making his presence shadow any before him. An imposing aura that seemingly created pressure in the air around him. Slowly, the zabrack approached the gray-skinned female who stood in his village. Once reaching something near ten paces from her, he called out. His native tongue sounded rough and throaty, though knowing anything about the language of Iridonia it would sound nothing short of fluent.
“Why have you come to my village, outsider? There is nothing I won’t do to protect my people, so if you wish to do us harm...just know that I am prepared to fight you myself.” Upon finishing this line, Hakraa raised his spear, the deadly sharpened point aimed directly at Syla.
Syla paused, watching the alien approach, excitement bubbling as the realization that she had found her Force presence. Taking in the massive figure, adorned in trophies, her decision to investigate was vindicated. She eyed the spear without to much concern, the distance between them would give her plenty of time to react to any attack, although the milling about behind him, suggested more of them were coming. Her attention however, drifted back to the one who had spoken, his presence, both physical and in the Force holding her attention.
Despite having done some research into the language, and pried all Akir knew from him, Syla found picking through the words frustrating. The first part was easy to understand, and the general gist of the second seemed to be something of a threat. Tribal culture, being what it was, such a threat could have been for any number of reasons, and she could only hope that it wasn’t because they were simply hostile to anyone or everyone who wasn’t like them.
“I am looking for someone.” Syla could only hope she was speaking the language in a recognizable manner, and that this tribe didn’t speak some other variant. Without anyone to coach her, she had to settle for her best guesses at the pronunciation. “And for something.”
Pausing for a moment, she took in the gathering of what could only be warriors. Considering the context, it truly did seem that she was being threatened, or at least, this tribe was wary of outsiders. “I have no wish to fight.” Despite basic survival sense telling her not too, she made a conscious effort to move her hands away from the lightsabers, and blaster pistol at her hips. Whatever could be done to appear less threatening seemed to be a good idea, and she would have to trust instinct and the Force to warn her of any incoming threat.
The woman’s words reached Hakraa’s ears. Though, he couldn’t exactly comprehend what she was trying to say. Unconsciously, a frown grew on his face accompanied by a scrunch of his brow. She spoke again, this time making more sense. Hakraa was able to understand, or so he assumed, that she was looking for a beast.
Hakraa’s frown turned into a small grin. A hunter, he noted. As he continued to scan her person during a pause between words, he noticed a familiar shape hanging from her hip. His eyes widened as he began closing the gap between them. Syla raised her hands away from her body, a notion Hakraa noticed but mainly disregarded. Her words also fell on deaf ears as he was too focused on her weapons to listen to what she had to say.
He called out to the warriors behind him to follow and those that were scattered, hiding in the buildings near by to surround her. Feeling even more confident now that the two of them were encircled, Hakraa approached her. He stopped once the tip of his spear pressed lightly against her chest. The chieftain looked down to her, the sun still slowly setting.
In an instant, Hakraa lunged at the girl’s waist, snatching one of the hilts from her hip. He held it in his hand, turning it over and inspecting it. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, proud that he was able to identify it. His eyes then shot from the handle to lock with hers. A fire seemed to burn behind his irises.
“You wish to hunt? With these?” He shook the hilt in anger, “Would you like to see what happened to the other who came with this in his hands?!” Hakraa’s voice boomed throughout the vastly barren sands of the village.
Syla suppressed the urge to frown. Something else was going on, that much was obvious. No matter how she tried to consider, surviving a fight seemed highly unlikely, and the situation seemed to be heading in the direction of a fight. Something in the words of the man towering above her caught her attention, once she picked her way through.
“Other?” Doing her best to mimic his pronunciation, she frowned. “Someone else came with... “ There was no word she knew of for lightsaber, so she settled for the next best thing. “Weapon like those?” That could have meant Jedi or Sith. Or someone else like her, but it was obvious that whoever this person was, they hadn’t left a good impression, if she was understanding correctly. For a moment, Syla considered simply summoning her weapon, before discounting the idea as something of a deathwish.
Hakraa’s eyes squinted as the outsider repeated one of his words back to him. He realized then that she must not understand the language. His guard lowered a bit now, as he began to process the situation as well. Although she had come with weapons of the same kind, she did not appear to be a threat. Yet. For now she only seemed interested in speaking with him, which he found curious. But, considerably less offensive than striking down anyone who approached her.
She spoke of the weapon he was holding, he could tell she was curious about what he said. Maybe she didn’t know the first god who appeared after all. Hakraa respondly simply. With a grunt and a nod of his head. He then lowered his spear, tossing the hilt back to her. The men of the village followed his lead and lowered their weapons as well. The chieftain turned from Syla now and headed towards his home. As he walked, he simply motioned for her to follow and called out. “Come.”
Catching her weapon, Syla slipped it back onto her waist, eyes darting to the now more relaxed figures surrounding them both. She couldn’t say for certain why the sudden hostility had faded, but for the moment, she would take the reprieve. Giving the other tribesmen a long hard stare, she started after the one who had been speaking, and who clearly seemed to be in charge. It seemed there were things she needed to sort out well before the issue how said leaders Force sensitivity was brought up.
Stepping through the entrance, he and Syla entered alone. The other warriors stood outside, still watching in case they needed to come in. Otherwise, their rule was never to enter without explicit purpose.
Leading her to his decorative chair, a sad excuse for a throne in comparison to a wealthy king’s. However, Hakraa was unaware of any king besides himself. And he was the the most powerful being he knew. So in his mind, the chair was fitting for someone of his stature. However, the throne itself wasn’t why they were here. It was what was found behind the throne.
Walking around it, the zabrack led Syla to a skeleton wrapped in black robes and bandages hung from the wall like it was crucifixed. Beneath the skeleton was a small altar, two objects were wrapped in leather and surrounded by skulls of smaller animals. Hakraa raised his hand and gestured to it all. A smug grin split his lips apart as he watched for the outsider’s reaction.
“Other.” He said, his voice dripping in satisfaction.
For a long moment Syla regarded the macabre sight, thoughts racing to keep up with the revelations. A Sith had come before her to this place. Not only that, but the natives, natives armed with nothing but primitive weaponry, had killed that Sith. Such a feat was something she might have previously considered impossible, or at least, highly improbable, but all the evidence was before her.
Lips pulling back into a cold smile she nodded, running her eyes over the skeleton. “Good.” A dead Sith was always a good thing. “You killed them?” That was the only explanation.
The chieftain beat his chest with a fist. “Hakraa.” Eyeing the altar, and the items on it for a few seconds longer, the realization sunk in. They thought her lightsabers were like the Sith’s. She licked her lips. Something suggested she had just escaped a painful death.
“Hakraa?” That was not a word she knew. Turning to face the chieftain, Syla cocked her head to the side, doing her best to push the question into her voice. “That is your name? Or a title?” No doubt, she had mangled the question in some manner, but hopefully her tone would convey the intent.
Well at least Hakraa knew the girl was paying attention. She was at least repeating things back to him that she didn’t understand.She asked if it was his name or something else he couldn’t make out. The zabrack nodded. “Yes. I am Hakraa.” Casually stepping closer to the deteriorated corpse, Hakraa raised his hands to its throat and imitated choking it. He then pointed to himself.
Then as it came to him as an afterthought he reached back, but this time down to the two leather wrapped hilts. Picking them up with the most extreme caution, the then held them out to Syla. “Take them.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “You will have better use for them. Here they are simply relics of fear for my people.”
Well, they were making steps to communicate. There was another layer to how Hakraa named himself, but that, Syla decided was best to wait until her grasp of the language was better. Trying to communicate complex ideas right now seemed like a recipe for disaster.
For a long second, Syla stared at the proffered hilts. A few of the words were unclear, but she understood enough to gather his general intent; the weapons were associated with fear. That explained the tribe’s reaction to her own blades, as well. Still, even the idea of taking a Sith’s weapon felt...unsettling. While having replacements in case her weapons were broken or destroyed would be welcome, she wanted as little to with anything related to the Sith. That left the question, how to convey the idea of Sith to someone who never heard of Jedi or Sith.
“Perhaps.” Reaching out, she accepted the blades, turning them over in her hands. Something about them felt wrong, unsettling in a way that Syla couldn’t quite quantify. “Weapons used by them,” She waved a hand at the skeleton, “are symbols of fear everywhere.”
Hakraa scowled at the idea. “There are more like him?” Contemplating further, Hakraa weighed the thought in his mind. To him it seemed this woman hunted those like he had killed. He wondered if that was why she came. Only to find that her prey had been hunted before she could find him.
“You say you are looking for some beast? You are hunting? Is this not what you were looking for?” Hakraa struggled to make his words at least a bit more understandable, slowing his speech as best he could. It wasn’t really a language that could be slowed down effectively.
“There are many more like him.” Syla sneered. “It is…” she trailed off, lacking the words to convey the emotions she wanted. “Killing them is good.” She settled for.
The rest of Hakraa’s words were easier to understand, his speech somewhat slower, or at least more deliberate. “Beast?” She shook her head. “No. I…” For a moment she flailed for words. “I hunt ruins. When I arrived here, I sensed someone, a person with…” One of her hands flailed a bit. “Abilities. Abilities I share.” That was a gross simplification of the Force, and what she felt. Still, it would do.
Ruins? Abilities? Hakraa didn’t understand what she meant. His trust with her had drastically grown since she had arrived, however. Gesturing for her to follow him, he turned and made his way outside. He waved his men down and informed them that she was to be watched, but for now she wasn’t to be treated as a threat.
Once out in the open, the sun had notably fell from the sky. The light spread throughout was closer to a dark orange mixed with a beautiful shade of purple. No clouds hung in the sky, they only came around during the flood season.That had passed many months prior.
After breathing in the open air for a moment, he turned back to the off-worlder to address her. His presence was made to be considerably less imposing. The conversation she had brought has opened up a whole new window of curiosity for him now. He spoke calmly, “Show me what it is you seek.”
Syla nodded. Giving the situation a brief bit of consideration, as to how to best display what she meant with what she had on hand, as she did, she spoke. “Ruins are...buildings, places that have been...broken? Destroyed?” After a second of fishing, she found the right words, or so she hoped, as well as a way to demonstrate at least rudimentary force powers.
Broken buildings. Hakraa faintly had remembered passing some abandoned villages as he went on hunts. Never had he heard anyone have interest in them before though. “I can take you to these…”
“Perhaps.” Given the limits of her description, it was likely he didn’t quite understand what she was after. It was something that could wait. Reaching down to her hip, Syla unclipped one of her lightsabers, tossing it into the dirt between them. Giving the weapon time to sit, she extended her right hand, she took a deep breath, and pushed. The weapon jumped, skidding a rolling across the earth. Another gesture, and it twirled, snapping back into the air and slapped into her palm. “Powers such as that.” She shrugged. “And more.”
The zabrack’s eyes widened. The one who came before her had not displayed this kind of power. His mind struggled to wrap his mind around how this seemed to happen. First with the unnatural acrobatics and the lightning from the man he killed. To now, being able to move objects without even touching them. His curious eyes focused on her now, a stark change from the confident and intimidating gaze he normally carried.
“The other…” Hakraa hesitated for a moment. “Could use…” He mimicked the word she used earlier. “Abilities. But none like this. Lightning came from his hands.” He then glanced around them, remembering the battle that took place right where they stood. His hands clenched into fists as he recalled the pain he felt as the electricity burned its way through his body. “No one here can use...abilities like you say.” The word still foreign on his tongue.
Syla’s lips thinned at the description. “Yes, those like that one can do that.” It was one of the abilities that both intrigued and frightened her, but that was a question for another time. How to breach the topic of the fact that Hakraa himself was the one she sought. “No one can yet.” she stressed the word. “The chance is there.” For a moment, she eyed the chieftain. “I can feel them.”
As the stood, the sir around them seemed to become still itself. Hakraa began to focus on her eyes more and more, the tingling feeling that had subsided slowly began to creep back up into his head. The buzzing and ringing was faint, but he still felt it. He couldn’t nail down what it was coming from. He could only assume it was from this woman. He felt it before she came and now as they stand across from each other.
Hakraa walked towards her slowly. “Who are they?” His mind wandered to each warrior in his tribe. None nearly as physically powerful as himself, none able to defeat the god like he did. Was she here for him? He paused, stopping short in the sand. Placing an open hand on his chest he asked her, his voice almost seeming innocent. “Me? Is it Hakraa you feel?”
Lips curling into a smirk, Syla dipped her head. “Yes.” Watching his expression for a moment she went out. “You have the ability do those things. And more.” No doubt, his reaction would be interesting.
Hakraa struggled with comprehending this information. He had no idea how he could possibly learn to do something like this. Though he knew he was powerful, he never could have imagined he would be able to go much further beyond. “How?” He asked, simply. His tone akin to that almost like a small child, excited for a present.
“I can teach you.” Her own reply was simple, although her mind raced. There were so many steps in this process, none the least making communication easier. “How to do what you have seen me do, and more.” Each word was chosen carefully vague enough to not set expectations too high as Syla could see and hear the excitement in him.
Hakraa forced the end of his spear in the ground next to him, not wanting to hold it any longer. His arms crossed casually as he began to contemplate what she was telling him. He looked out at his village as those that were up and about were preparing to turn in for the night. His warriors stood vigilant at the gates, hides were set out to dry as the sun came up the next day.
Something in him knew life as he knew it and as they knew it would be different. The more he thought about though, the more he knew he was destined for greatness. He was many miles above his peers in several comparisons. His face grew determined and he shot his gaze back to Syla, nodding as he spoke. “Teach me.”
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