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

"How--" she whispered, fighting against the ingrained fear. For she had really known no other life than the one of servitude that she now lived; even concentrated attempts to recall her earlier childhood broght forth only bits and pieces, flashes of playing in a yard or sitting on someone's lap.

It pained her for a moment that when she looked up to see whose lap she was perched upon, all she saw was a vague shadow.

She swallowed, tightened her lips.

"I- I will find you," she repeated, although whether the confirmation was to Naad or to herself she really couldn't say. Then she straightened up, returned to her normal demeanor.

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

What she did have budding ideas about, however, was the current state of affair in which she found herself. Her eerie eyes darkened almost to the blackness of those deathly realms as she let newly released memories scroll through her head, going faster and faster, reminding her that once she had been a goddess.

Now she was-- what? She didn't know, and this insecurity roiled within her being. That which was human recoiled in fright, that which was Sith snarled at the quandary, but that which was neither...

Ahh, that which was neither simply smiled, panted, waiting...

For ShaRhylla was not like her mother or the Adept in this regard. They had merely been infused with the Darkness, tainted and overcome by it. ShaRhylla on the other hand had been a willing part of it, partner to it, and had given her life again and again in sado-masochistic honor of it.

Then through the auspices of that other thing within her, that which her Mother controlled so well, that which the Lord Aelvedaar controlled with even greater finesse, she had been brought out from under, had come forth, back into the light and life of reality.

She missed being a goddess. Things were so mundane here. But then that to which she had wed herself niggled gently deep down inside of her, and told her she would be a goddess again.

This time over two realities.

Sighing, she rolled onto her back and studied the ceiling.

I suppose I should go see what they're clamoring about, she over-reacted, recalling the genteel knock on her door who knew how many hours earlier when she had been politely summoned to the Great Receiving Hall.

Mother isn't about, so I suppose it is up to me, bother it all...

Her inner Dark lover tut-tutted her, waggled an incorporeal finger.

She sat up.

"Oh, very well then!" she announced to the empty room, then rose to her feet and glided to a bell-pull, which she gave a quick yank. A deep rumbling gong seemed to reverberate below her hearing; moments later there came a polite reply at her door.

"Inform whoever it is I shall meet him in the Receiving Hall in half an hour," she commanded, then went to make herself more regal and presentable. In less time than she had allowed, she was en route through private back passageways to the chamber in question, where she mounted the great dias in the center and took an impertinent seat in the Throne of the Dark Lord.

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

She listened as the Elder announced that Lady ShaRhylla would now see the visitor. Without looking up, she grabbed her tray and slid from the booth, snarling quietly toward the floor as she made a hasty escape.
Now I have no reason to hunt down this kind sorcerer, she thought painfully to herself as she made haste to disappear before the Elder would follow, or send others after her. If she was lucky, she'd be able to get back on track, and perhaps the Elder didn't really know exactly who she was anyway.

“Lady ShaRhylla will see you now,” the Elder informed him in the dull monotone. Naad smiled appreciatively and thanked the Elder, being careful to address him as “My lord.” RhoHalla seemingly having cleared the table, chose that moment to slip away. Naad took a step towards her as she departed, in the process turning his back to the Elder, and took hold of her wrist. Clearly surprised, she turned sharply and almost dropped the contents of her tray, which she balanced in her other hand.

“You forgot this serving girl,” he said nastily, and thrust the napkin into one of the goblets, “I should pay more attention to what I was doing if I were you and not allow things to just lay around on the floor.” His tone was harsh and cold for the benefit of the Elder behind him, but he offered RhoHalla a warm smile as he spoke, and allowed his hand to remain on her wrist just a few moments longer than was necessary. He hoped she would have the presence of mind to examine the napkin. Should she do so she would find, etched into the fabric, this message: Don’t Panic. I will return to the Dining Hall before I depart. See that you find me there. Naad suspected that even these vague instructions would be enough to inspire RhoHalla to linger in the Dining Hall and await his return. He turned back to the Elder and shrugged as if to indicate that he could sympathize with the problem of sloppy servants. The Elder turned without a word and lead Naad to the Receiving Hall.

As soon as Freedon entered the Receiving Hall he felt his confidence evaporate like a few drops of rain in a vast desert. His gutted twisted with cold fear as he surveyed the figure that occupied the seat of the Dark Lord. She was, for all intents and purposes, an abomination. A grotesque half-breed, neither Sith nor Human, she had fiery hair, a fair complexion and generally appeared as one might expect a human female to, the exceptions to this rule appeared only upon a closer examination. She had pearlescent fingernails which appeared to almost be claws and two tiny horns poked out from beneath her hair. Her eyes, seemed to reflect what light there was to be had in the chamber. It was not her appearance which frightened Naad. Indeed, he would ordinarily scorn such a creature as her. What unsettled him most was the way she carried herself. She was stretched languidly across the Throne of the Dark Lord, a seat she was physically far to small to fill, as if it were just another chair. Her manner seemed to suggest that she was not simply a bratty child, but one so accustomed to wielding power that even a station as significant as Dark Lord of Warriors was beneath her notice. Puissant though she clearly was, she also radiated a sense of mournfulness and apathy that was almost as palpable. Naad found himself likening her to the marble sculptures of goddesses he had seen on countless worlds, beautiful to behold, but possessing little feeling or regard for the affairs of mortals. He told himself this was ridiculous, that she was a ruler like any other, but he could not shake the feeling that for her these games of politics were a chore, and nothing more. He knew in his core she would not be easy to manipulate, and he began to wonder if this journey had not been ill advised. He bowed low, going so far as to drop to his knees and prostrate himself on the floor. The gesture was genuine response to the awe he felt in her presence, not contrived. For a moment as he kneeled, face and hands inches from the floor, he was wholeheartedly and completely honest. Naad was thankful she could not see his eyes for he was certain at that moment they would have betrayed him. Regaining control of himself, Naad’s face once again became impassive and unreadable.

“My Lady,” he gasped, his voice, at least, had not recovered from the shock of meeting her, “I am your humble servant. My name is Freedon Naad. If you will hear me I bear grave tidings. I have seen many bad omens and portents. Danger, in the form of invaders from affair, looms on the horizon for you subjects.”

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

Finally she deigned to speak.

"Who are you, coming here with such mouthings?" she stated, the tone of her voice an admixture of boredom and anger and curiosity, her eyes now affixed to the still form of Freedon Naad.

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

It was not just words, he meant what he said to me, she thought to herself as she turned her eyes downward again, backing off to one side as he swept out from the booth and followed the Elder away across the expanse of Dining Hall. Only when they had completely exited did she turn her attention to the wadded up napkin he had shoved with such apparent superciliousness into one of the goblets on her tray.

She was not a stupid girl. Being young and relatively new to the cadre of servants within the Great Temple of Warriors, she was therefore low man on the totem pole, so to speak, and had few if any friends. Beings left to themselves in this manner normally follow one of two courses: they grow dull and apathetic, going about the drudgery of their lives in a self-induced fog so as to lessen the pain of their menial existence; or they use the relative freedoms allotted to them to their best advantage, seeking and poking, observing and learning.

RhoHalla was one of the latter. Thus she did not go off obediently to toss away the offending bit of paper. Instead she had the alacrity to wonder exactly where it had come from to begin with.

"For," she reasoned to herself. "I certainly did not give him such; now why would he be concerned about some other person's bit of leftover garbage?"

Her eyes widened with the sudden knowledge that he had intentionally given that to her, made issue of it to bring it to her attention. It must be of some importance, then; casting a somewhat furtive glance about herself she moved away from the booth to a quiet place behind a great supportive pillar, and with trembling fingers carefully removed the crumpled napkin from its resting place. Squinting, she studied it, frowned to find it blank.

But, no--

She squinted harder, thought she saw something impressed into the fibers. A message--?

Her heart beat suddenly faster.

Casting another look about, she discovered that, true to her position, she yet remained ignored by everyone in the room. So hiding the napkin within her bodice she took her tray and headed toward a long, richly shining wooden bar. A regally horned Sith stood behind it, wiping goblets with a silken towel.

"H-her Ladyship desires brandy within the half-hour," she announced, fully aware of the young halfling's fondness for the liqueur. Saying no more she held out the pitcher, but not before first pouring a gobletful of water from it.

"A patron desires drink; I shall return for the Lady ShaRhylla's refreshment," she said and quickly fled, goblet in hand, which she soon handily discarded in the leafy confines of a flowering plant. Knowing now that she had some brief time to herself, she moved smoothly but swiftly from the Dining Hall altogether, and hastened away down the lengthy corridor without. After a bit she came to a portion which was empty of others; there she quickly beelined to one of the flickering wall sconces and held the precious napkin up over the flame, being careful not to let it catch fire.

The smoke from the flame began darkening the napkin, settling in the grooves and microscopic crannies there, and soon outlined Freedon's message well enough that it could be more easily deciphered.

She thought her heart would thump cleanly from her chest altogether.

Allowing herself another quick smile, she then lowered the napkin, holding it by one corner as the flames from the sconce quickly reduced it to blackened ash. Then she returned to the Dining Hall and approached the bar, where she retrieved the tray and pitcher. She didn't bother to thank the tender, for servants do not acknowledge such things; she only said, "The Lady has postponed her refreshment; I am to wait until called for."

Nodding to herself at the bartender's apathy, she returned to the little nook in the back of the establishment, where she took a seat in a quiet spot to wait for Freedon's return.

But then what happened?

The room he was in was quite dark, the only light seeming to spill softly from the bars in a window across from him. He looked around and realized he was in a damp, musty room, perhaps a cell. Perhaps he was still in the Temple of Warriors; it was certainly dank and depressing enough.

But what had happened?

“Phalomir!” he exclaimed loudly, slapping his head. “Phal told them to take me to a cell, then the bastard blasted me. Oh great, they think I’m nuts and wanted to kill Gray. I bet I’m down in the deep cellars, and I’ll never see the light of day again.”

A stir of echoes wafted through the bars. Thoran looked up at the dim window and frowned. Shrugging, he stood shakily and hobbled to the door. He pressed his face to the bars, peering out into the hallway that was lit only by a single torch, hung on the wall several meters away. The dark shadows that played on the ceiling and wall of the hallway made Thoran wish the torch was not lit at all.

Then a shuffle and a creak caught his attention. It seemed to come from across the hallway, and Thoran could make out the bars of another door across from him. He stared for a time, not sure whether he actually had heard something or if it was his imagination.

“Hey!” he finally shouted. “Is someone over there?”

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

I hoped he was alive and well, wherever he was, for I could only assume that he too had fallen into dire straits. For to a Verpine, a promise is a binding oath, and the fact that he hadn't returned could only lead me to believe, well...

I jerked my thoughts from that line of travel and prowled the confines of my gloomy little cell for the umpteenth time. Most men would probably have been paralyzed by despair by this time, but I still had reason to hope. Food and water, bland enough but life-sustaining, had arrived at regular intervals, and once in an even greater while a large stoneware basin and tattered rag would be shoved in alongside my bi-daily swill, clearly indicating I maintain my health as best as I could considering the circumstances. As a rule, one's enemies don't generally provide sustenance and the means to continue one's ablutions if they intend to kill, or even worse, ignore someone. So those small concessions led me to believe that sometime, somewhere down the line, I was going to be taken somewhere from this cell to meet...

Somebody.

Who or why I had yet to determine, but logic proposed the notion that perhaps since I was, after all, third in command of the Empire, which at the moment was maintaining order and control over more and more systems, it just might behoove that someone to not leap directly into serious confrontation by killing me.

Why I was here and not being kept as some kind of pet under closed quarters and even closer scrutiny didn't even cross my mind; well I remembered the few times Galen and I had stumbled across one Dark Lord or another.

They did seem to have a penchant for tossing one into dungeons, and as for Galen's dear, sweet sister--

I gritted my teeth, forcing down the anger which, rising, tried to blind me to logic. After a moment or so had passed I found myself under steely self-control once more, and once again paced the perimeter of my cell, seeking yet again any hidden weaknesses which might lend themselves to an escape.

A few stones looked a tad wee loose; I was reaching out to wiggle one beside the door, hoping to then loosen the great metal hinge which held it adhered to the outside of the wall, when I heard a noise. More than a noise, actually; it was words.

Real words. And from the sounds of them, being voiced by another prisoner.

I listened to the call, hesitating for a moment on the off chance that it was some kind of trap. But common sense won out once again; shaking my head at the silliness of that thought, I sidled to the tiny barred window and peered out as best I could.

There didn't seem to ba anyone around, other than my fellow inmate, who from the sounds of it was in the cell across the corridor and to the left of mine.

"Yeah," I returned gruffly. "I'm over here, pal."

With that I fell silent, unwilling to pass along any more information regarding myself than I absolutely needed to. At least until I had determined just who the unknown caller turned out to be.

[ 07-18-2007 06:09 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Sorben Tarnus ]

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

“That’s great!” he said. “Well, I mean, not great that you’re in this mess too, but great that I’m not alone. My name is Thoran, by the way. Better tell you before I forget my name and all, I guess people do that sort of thing while they rot in a cell.”

Thoran laughed at himself, dismally.

“Sorry,” he continued. “I just keep finding myself in worse and worse predicaments. One minute you’re helping save the galaxy and the next you’re accused of plotting to kill the Dark Lady. Go figure. I mean, yeah, I was, but not out loud, you know.”

Thoran laughed again.

“But I probably shouldn’t be telling you that part,” he said. “Ah hell. So what’s your story, pal? You don’t sound Sith, if you don’t mind me saying. I mean, nothing against ya, but you don’t have that booming hollow voice like most of us do. You sound more, well, human. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I know a lot of humans. And little white fuzzy people. And a blue one or two. Lots of weird folks, in fact. Even a bug.”

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

"I am a humble sorcerer by the name of Freedon Naad, I have come to warn you of an impending danger I forsee." he paused a moment, thinking it would be best, for now not to mention that he knew of current galactic affairs, "Ludicrous though it may sound, I have seen portents of an invasion, by forces from another world."

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

She was sitting upright in the throne, which oddly enough seemed to somehow fit her. Her pearly claws dug deeply into the richly carved arms, and she leaned forward a bit, her bi-color eyes flashing fire.

"Do not toy with me by playing the dullard!" she hissed, her eyes going from their normal violet-ringed turquoise to inky black. Then they returned to normal, and she calmed herself, settling back against the velvet cushions with apparent laissez faire.

"I ask again, oh humble sorcerer--

"Who are you?"

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

“Does it matter who I am? It doesn’t alter the veracity of what I’m saying. Even now word must be reaching Corouscant of the destruction of the blockade. Do you think they will take this lying down? I’m here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, that Imperial retribution is not long in coming.” Even as he spoke he realized he had not yet heard back from Kaz. Indeed, he had no idea whether or not the emissaries he had dispatched to Corouscant had even reached the planet, far less whether or not an Imperial Fleet was indeed on its way. His survival, and he was certain it was nothing less than that which was at stake now, depended on his ability to convince her that he knew the aforementioned information, at least until his people contacted him once more to confirm the success of their mission. Having committed himself to this course of action he continued speaking with a newfound tone of strength and confidence in his voice, “If you hope to prevent them from laying waste to our people as their ancestors did then you will need my guidance. Only I know what to expect from these cretins. And make no mistake, I have lived longer than you can possibly fathom. I KNOW what to expect.”

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

"Prove your veracity, sorcerer," she said; then yawning, she settled back more comfortably upon the throne, now letting one leg dangle over the arm of the throne where moments before her nails had been embedded deeply in it's glistening sheen.

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

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

Halfling or no, she was the Goddess of the Darker Realms, and the Heiress Apparent to the clan of Warriors, now dissociated from the other clans by the choice of the people, when egged on by Lord Roan so long ago! No one, NO ONE treated her with this kind of disrespect!

Once more she drove her nails into the arms of the throne as she whipped into an upright position, preparing to launch herself at this unknown upstart that she might rend him into tiny pieces with her own two hands. But deep inside her, the Darkness in her heart once again raised a cautionary finger, forcing its way past her blind anger and shoving whatever humanity she had within her into momentary oblivion.

Think. Observe. Learn.

It was difficult, but she settled herself once again, growling deep down in her chest as she slouched against the richly carved, jewel-encrusted throne-back.

"I do not know you, nor do I recognize you," she finally stated, the look she now sent to Freedon sending flaming daggers into his back.

"Any fool can wear the robes of a sorcerer, especially those such as you have dressed yourself in."

She paused, nearly spitting at his humble attire, then continued in a somewhat calmer tone of voice.

"Do you truly expect me to just leap up at your command, to come panting to you in response for mere words you have flung upon me? We -- I do not need the assistance of your clan; we are very much aware of current states of affairs, and quite prepared to defend ourselves from any and all attackers, from whatever quadrant they might spring."

Again she paused, forcing herself to become calmer yet, forcing herself to now resume her former position of aloof lazing, studying her pearly nails once again.

"The mere magicks of such as you do not impress me, especially when it would appear you cannot present me with proper--"

Her eyes slid from her claws to the form of Freedon Naad once again.

"Credentials."

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

Naad took comfort in the familiarity of pain. The self doubt and anxiety that plagued him since the beginning of this interview were momentarily silenced and he found himself oddly at peace. Which is convenient, a voice in his head quipped sardonically, because it is very likely you will soon be killed. Naad focused his will, murmuring eldritch words of power under his breath, and raised his bloodied fist. For an instant his eyes rolled back into his head and he looked momentarily unstable, but the weakness vanished as swiftly as it had come and his eyes returned to ShaRhylla’s with renewed intensity. The magicks of which he was a master headed his arcane commands. The room around him seemed to blur, as if everything, except himself and the Dark Lady on her throne, had suddenly gone out of focus. The little details, the cracks in the masonry and the folds in fabrics, faded first, then larger shapes began to warp and shift. The great double door became a swirl of oaken hues and then the walls and floor began to bleed into one another. He opened his fists face up, exposing his bloodied palms to the half-breed. The room around them began to fall away, colors blending into one another to the point where the illusion had so twisted things that the walls, floor and ceiling were indistinguishable from one another, and form and direction ceased to have any meaning. He, ShaRhylla, and the throne on which she sat, where, for all intents and purposes, the only objects which appeared to retain any of their structural and special integrity, everything else had degenerated into a swirling mass of chaos. By this time he had crossed half the distance between himself and the throne.

“Credentials? Attire? Only a mutt child like yourself would consider such things of any worth. Just as you say any idiot can dress in robes. By the same token, any idiot can wield power. Such frippery is utterly unimportant, the distractions of the week minded and pompous. I know not what cruel twist of fate would spawn a creature such as yourself, but I can feel the All running through your wretched soul. It stands out like a pillar of gold in a river of bile. I can only imagine it is by the machinations of Aelvedaar that toady he has the audacity to call his “Chosen Daughter,” that you are seated upon that throne. You lot fancy yourselves demigods, because you have gotten your hands on a bit of power, but only idiots buy into that fantasy. Power is worthless without knowledge and control, and for all your puissance and despite your affectations I can see that you havn’t got a clue.” he spat back, his voice booming with not just anger and contempt, but also possessing a primal, authoritative timbre that it had lacked before.

In truth he had been able to discern very little about her by means of magick, she was surprisingly resistant to it. It was true that his occult senses could detect the current of the All running through her, as well as a thousand other forces some of which defied his comprehension entirely, all of which frightened him, vying for dominance within the half-breed, but the statement about her lineage had been merely a hypothesis that had arisen from information he gained during the brief period of time when he had served the interests of Aelvedaar and his Chosen Daughter. At the time he had known that Graysith had a child with a Sith Dark Lord, but that was only a few years ago and the child had been an infant at the time. Even so, Naad could see the family resemblance, and decided it was a reasonable assumption even if it did have several glaring problems. He realized that by even uttering that sentence he had gambled with his credibility, but these were desperate times and such risks needed to be taken. ShaRhylla’s face remained impassive, not indicating to the sorcerer whether there was any truth to his assertion. Naad, knowing that if he awaited a response he would betray his uncertainty, continued his tirade.

“I imagine you think the All makes you exempt from such mundane and worldly concerns as invasions. You are deluding yourself,” at this point Naad waved his hand and the amorphous chaos that surrounded them snapped sharply into focus. They were no longer within the Temple, but instead found themselves on a verdant, grassy plain surrounded by an impossibly thick mist. ShaRhylla, still on the throne, was on a small dirt mound only a few paces in front of Naad. Then the mist lifted, like a curtain rising to reveal a stage, and they were surrounded by a different kind of chaos. All around them a battle was raging. Sith warriors, their weapons covered in blood and the grime of a battle field were valiantly, but obviously futilely, engaging in combat a small group of black clad humans who wielded swords of light. The light weapons cleaved through the Warrior’s defenses and mercilessly hewed their powerful bodies in twain. The Sith did their best, fighting with their claws when no armaments could be found, but they were no match for their attackers who twirled across the battlefield, flourishing their fearsome weapons, in what resembled a macbre but nonetheless beautiful and captivating waltz. Those Sith that were not cut down by the light swords were twisted, choked and hurled about by invisible forces the dark clad invaders commanded. In the sky’s above a vast fleet of alien vessels laid waste to the Sith craft that were endeavoring to aid the warriors on the ground. Perhaps, most horrifying of all were the scores of charred and blackened Sith corpses that had been slain by a garish facsimile of Sorcerer’s Lightning. The battle was over in a few minutes and majority of the invaders departed, leaving behind a few to dispatch any of the wounded Warriors. These unfortunate few did not even resist; their bodies had been so damaged by the combat and so mangled by the mysterious powers that the black clad fighters wielded that they begged for death. Most were granted it. Others were tortured and made to scream and cry for the perverse enjoyment of their conquerors. As the battle raged all around them, Naad spoke, “I have no doubt that you can recognize, as an illusion. Though you can hear the screams of the dying, smell the stink of battle and feel the land under your feet, you know this isn’t really happening. But let me be very clear when I tell you that it once did. And furthermore let me tell you that massacres of this scale were commonplace. The Sith were humiliated utterly by these invaders, they were brought to their knees and forced to serve and pay homage to these humans.”

When the last scream was silenced, and all that remained was the stench of charred flesh and death, mingled and the calls of carrion birds as they descended on the dead, Naad gestured casually, and the world once again shifted. The two were now standing in the air above the Temple of Warriors, all around them the once proud Sith were cowering and bowing slavishly to the invaders. It was clear from the sheer multitude of humans in the city, and the profusion of half-breed outcastes who, having been ostracized from both societies, now begged in the streets that this scene was several decades later. After allowing ShaRhylla a moment to take survey what was happening beneath her Naad continued, “The humiliation and defeat we suffered in the war was nothing compared to what followed; an age of misery and servitude as our civilization was progressively eroded by the excesses and vices of our new Masters. Eventually there was nothing left.”

As soon as these words were spoken every sentient life form that had once crowded the streets of the vibrant metropolis beneath them, the denizens of one of the grandest cities of the Sith, simply turned to dust. Abandoned to the ravages of time, the city grew dilapidated and fell into disrepair. Before their eyes the Phrinnchatka became a forgotten ruin. It was clear the Sith culture were but a distant memory. They lingered on only as a faint echo in the vastness of the universe. When Naad was sure that he had driven the point home he allowed the illusion to dissipate. Once again the world blurred, but this time it was not a scene from history which swam into focus but the Receiving Chamber in the Temple of Warriors. At this point there was only an arms length of distance separating Naad from the throne (it was a distance which he carefully maintained lest the Dark Lady lash out at him).

“All the things I showed you happened thousands of years ago to the very people who have been dragged into this time. Even then the gap between us and the invaders was to great to be bridged by any amount of sorcery or martial skill. Imagine, for a moment, how much wider that gap is now. You can’t possibly believe that a handful of vainglorious idiots wielding the All, a power which, as far as I can tell, can barely be controlled could do anything to effect the outcome of the war that is assuredly coming. So, yes, my Dark Lady, you are very much in need of any help you can get,” Naad punctuated this sentence with a bow that was more than a little ironic, before concluding, “You may naively be inclined to dismiss such earthly concerns are beneath your notice and not worth your time, but let me assure you of one thing: Whatever perceived mystical ‘crisis’ has captured your momentary fancy, it pales in comparison to the danger facing the people you fancy yourself the leader of.”

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

This fool does not realize-- the words purred through her very being, but on a level she did not consciously recognize --the wonderful strength of that which runs through the veins of those select few born to it. How little he understands; how much better that he continue to remain ignorant to this, that all remain ignorant...

Instead, when the pomp and circumstance had reduced itself to normalcy once more, she merely sat upright, her fangs peeping from her mouth as she smiled broadly and clapped her hands.

"Bravo!" she cried out, laughing darkly. "You have indeed proven that at least your claim to sorcery is true; I thank you for an afternoon's entertainment!"

Her smile broadened further and her eyes darkened with joy to see the anger that began flushing Freedon's face.

"However, I do believe you need to add more blood and dismemberment; there wasn't nearly enough blood and dismemberment."

Something primal within her let out a rejoicing yowl at that; forcing the heady rush down, she fisted her hand and placing her elbow upon her knee now rested her chin upon her curled fingers. She pinned the sorcerer with a cutting stare.

"How disrespectfully you do speak, small one, especially in regard to the fact that, at least by your words, you state you are here to lend assistance. I scarcely think barking out such hurtful words such as you have will go far in gaining my sympathy."

She smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes prettily. Then she darkened, leaned forward.

"What you have shown me is pap!" she spat, now beginning to tremble with the rage she had managed to keep banked thus far.

"Beware of how you refer to me and my line; we may not hold the most violet of Sith blood within us, but none of you would be here now if it had not been for Mother!"

Now she rose to her feet, and before Naad could react moved with remarkable alacrity smack into the most personal of his space. Standing there, she had to raise herself up on her tiptoes, for he was tall and she was shorter than full-blooded Sith.

"Do not underestimate us, nor what we can do! And do not show me any more pretty pictures such as you have, for the power that you so handily would sneer upon has overcome history itself, proving those images you have showed me to be utterly irrelevant!"

With that she fell silent, yearning to say more but refraining, for once acting in a manner bearing some semblance of caution and wisdom when in fact she wished with all her heart to give herself back to That to which she had wed, and rip this Sith's throat out with her fangs.

She fancied his blood would be as hot as the words he had just flung upon her, and relished the thought of partaking of it.

[ 07-20-2007 07:57 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by ShaRhylla ]

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

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

She paused a moment, glaring up into his eyes, her hands now fisted with the effort to keep herself from springing upon him. For several seconds she remained thus, before finally whirling upon the spot and regaining her seat upon the throne. There she settled herself regally, continuing to glare down her nose at the sorcerer, whom by now she had judged to be so full of himself as to not listen to a word she might have to say in response.

She decided she'd say it anyway.

"You fancy your pitiable sorceries more powerful than that which we hold, than that which indeed the Dark Lord of your very clan holds, and wields with such proficiency, just because you have managed to live out an extraordinarily long life? You think this, the prolonging of but a single life, so memorable as to give you leave to sneer upon that which has rescued an entire civilization from extinction, bringing it out through the millennia to this time, every man, woman and child?

"It has been accomplished once; you do not believe it could be accomplished again? Or indeed, feats even greater? These things are inconsequential to you?"

She rose to her feet now, trembling with barely restrained fury, now raising an arm and pointing a finger directly between the eyes of the sorcerer who stood smirking at the foot of the dias.

"If this is what you believe, then fool you are indeed. I repeat, with such as we possess, we do not fear those light-flashing dark jedi of old, neither do we fear any other enemy who might threaten us. We have announced thus to any ears without this system that might care to listen, and in listening give heed to us.

"There are powers more intimidating than you might imagine, sorcerer; go back to your powders and devices and simple mind tricks. For we know that is what so-called magick really is; what we wield is the absolute control over and utilization of all that exists! And that is something that even the most powerful Dark Sorcerer Lord could ever command.

"Reality against illusion, sorcerer; this is what we offer our people; what you think of the matter that I am not full-blooded Sith, or that my mother has no Sith blood at all is quite beside the point. The point is that she was chosen by your own clan, by the Dark Lord himself, and without her the Sith would now be dust long blown away, and you a lonesome, solitary wanderer in the universe!"

She stood in fury-filled silence then, still pointing her finger at the sorcerer, glaring. After a full minute had passed thus, she forced herself to soften a bit, and once more mounted the great throne to take a seat. From there she regarded Freedon, her eyes slitted like a hunting cat's.

"Perhaps if I, in all my youth, cannot persuade you enough, you might wish to remain amongst us long enough to speak with my Mother? I'm certain she would be most happy to--

"Entertain you."

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

And in his case, he more than likely scuttled his own! I thought to myself as he blathered on. It was his final words, though, that really captured my full attention.

I sidled up more closely to the door, stood off just to one side of it, snug against the solid stone.

"A bug?" I called back. "Would you be speaking of a Verpine, perhaps?"

I paused then, debating to myself as how much I wished to reveal at the moment. Sighed a little: one cannot expect further information from a relatively unknown person without divulging something of one's self in turn.

"I was traveling with a Verpine, but we became separated."

True, if in a round-about way. He didn't need to know just how and when our separation had occurred, after all... I continued.

"There are none other that I am aware of on this planet; I'm sure you are speaking of my friend. How was he faring when you met him; was he well?"

I fell silent, crossing my fingers that K'kihl had somehow managed to elude my fate, and that he might be out there somewhere yet, trying to secure my release.

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

Thoran coughed, sending a pain through the wound in his leg. Though the poison was stopped, it would take a very long time for the wound to heal and would remain painful for months.

“Damn leg!” he exclaimed. “Anyway, the last I saw any of them, they were meeting Phalomir, the Dark Lord of the Armorers. He’s a swell guy, even if he’s nuts about the psycho bitch from Hell right now. He knows, though, so they should be in good hands. So what’s your name again?”

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

Phalomir. The one who had promised to assist me in finding Darra. And apparently K'kihl was now with him?

"Nevermind who I am, pal," I replied in a soft but carrying whisper. "At least not for the moment. But yeah, K'kihl is my Verpine buddy; you say he's with Phalomir?

"About how long ago did you see them together, do you remember?"

Silently I awaited his answer, which would determine which one of the two possible ways I would then respond in turn. For judging by the bits of information he had just revealed, logic determined there was indeed but two possible recourses open to me. One quite obvious; the other, nearly impossible.

But then, back in the day I hadn't risen to become the top bounty hunter in known space because I was intimidated by the impossible...

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