Gravity

[Dutch]

His laughter was drowned by the chaos all around. Wreckage fell flaming from the sky, and the following hiss of heated hull hitting shores smothered the screams of those trapped within. The frothy murk of now polluted tide was uncomfortably warm as it soaked the Sith’s seared robes. He sloshed through the hip high waters, drenched head to toe from sullied and turbulent waves. A single pale hand reached up to comb heavy, damp black hair back, and his now bare shoulder cracked audibly from the motion. The lone sleeve left on the right side of his robes was heavy and cumbersome, especially compared to the other which had been on fire mere moments ago. He looked back at the jagged chunk of crashed Imperial cruiser, where he had swam from, and Jessoin shrugged off the remaining shreds of his black tunic before another bout of laughter took him.

Long fingers swung to the Zelosian’s waist, where a thick leather belt still held the shredded rest of his robe. Shakily they fluttered over the clasps which held his lightsabers, where they remained clipped in a neat row of four. The wave of relief was cut quick as something poked his wrist, and the Sith’s red eyes turned to see a shiny chunk of metal plunged deep into his side. Green blood oozed to fall, the color lost within the damp black linens below. Even this couldn’t stop the laughter, despite the pained glare locked under knitted brows.

A tug within the Force whispered through Jessoin’s mind, the familiar tickle followed by a pull to fill himself with energy. The Sith lunged to the side as soiled water erupted from the force of the jump, and he found himself submerged once more. The absolutely massive hunk of starship hull which crashed into the seas where Jess had just been standing caused a wave which tossed his weakened form. He felt the wound stretch, and the stab of agony prevented his graceful landing. The Zelosian’s laugh resumed higher as he broke the frothy surface to stand, and looked up at the scratched and seared Republic insignia blazoned over the wreckage before him. Several sonic booms sounded above, and Jess’ crimson eyes turned up to see the first escape boats begin to fall from orbit. The cackle ebbed, only to be replaced by a sinister and toothy grin.

One splashed loudly and repeatedly as it tumbled sporadically on landing, the Republic colors a welcome sign for the wounded Sith. He held the offensive shard of metal to stifle its shift within his flesh, and began to slosh towards the still sealed pod. Jessoin could feel the disorientation and cold panic of those within, and savored the taste of their fear as he neared. The escape boat’s door would suddenly hiss and swing open from an awkward angle, given the upended status of the crashed pod. The first Republic ensign tumbled out mid-vomit, then another and a third. Too disoriented from their descent to notice the encroaching Sith, they struggled to gain bearing in murky waters.

When they seemed to, it was already too late. Jessoin reached out with his mind and a hand to whip a tendril of the Force around a neck. It cracked audibly with a twist of the Zelosian’s wrist and the body dropped into the sea. One of the others screamed, high and feminine only to be snuffed by a burst of the Force which sent them high into the air. The Sith snarled victoriously as he approached the third ensign and his hand snapped to grip their neck. Yellow fear and hot red pain tainted the air as the Force warped sinister about the Lord. Orange ropes of energy snapped and crackled as Jessoin fed off his victim’s essence. Their screams would be trapped by his grip, and Jessoin groaned as he used the Force to pull the shrapnel from himself. Greedily he drank deeper of the Republican’s life until the human went limp, and their corpse fell unceremoniously from his grasp.

Steeped deeply within the darkness, the Zelosian’s veins at his neck, arms and temples would pulse visibly, their dark green contents stark against ashen skin. His eyes glowed bright red, even in the Thyferran sun which shone mockingly bright above the ghastly and gory shoreline. The Force howled through the Sith, his senses sharp once more, and just in time as familiar presences would shift into Jessoin’s own. He grinned and turned his crimson gaze towards the Jedi, just as the flung ensign crashed to the sands with an audible crunch. The Sith smiled wider, and tilted his head.

“Hello, friend. Fancy meeting you here.”

---

(OoC: So DreadPirateMike and I decided to do a little something here, if you’re reading this and have a previously accepted Jedi/Sith/Republic/Empire character, feel free to jump in after he makes his first post )

[DreadPirateMike]

This was what victory looked like.

Victory, as it happened, could look a great deal like defeat. Jaidan had been present for both, and as such has as much claim to expertise in such matters as most, but from his present vantage point, he couldn’t be certain yet which one he was looking at. Either way, he saw a mess of tortured metal, breaching reactors, and lives cut short. In a sense, a cold but very real sense, it almost didn’t matter.

This was one battle, in all likelihood just the opening phase of it, fought over a single planet in a galaxy full of more populated star systems than he could count if he devoted the rest of his life to the endeavor. If they should fail to repulse the invading Sith, then this close to the Core, the next wave wouldn’t be far behind them. Succeed, and they may have to defend this system again the following week. What DID matter was that the Sith had come in force to take this place, and they would die in force trying. Expensive ships lost, graduates of the Academy on Korriban slain, and all of them harder all the time to replace. That the Republic must sacrifice as well to inflict this damage had become a grim but rational transaction as the war dragged ever closer to the densely populated heart of the Republic. If the Sith traded them life for life and treasure for treasure, they would lose.

Such was his thinking once. No more. He still recognized the truth of it, but he also recognized the dark paths it had led him down, and now he left such truths to others whenever he could. He was GOOD at taking life; such a man must never hold life cheap. If he was to speak of a price being worth it, then he wished to witness it with his own eyes, and if need be help pay it.

Perhaps today was that opportunity for him. Having a ship shot out from under you was always a strong first step.

The battle had begun well, as perhaps it would end. Their fleet, one of many stationed at key hyperspace junctions in wait for a major attack like this, had obviously reacted far faster than the Sith had anticipated. The enemy fleet hadn’t had time to properly fortify its position, and found itself ill-prepared as dozens of battleships unleashed a swarm of proton torpedoes that briefly outshone the Thyferran sun. He hadn’t begrudged the Navy servicemen around him their vengeful cheer as they watched the reinforced armor plating of the Sith dreadnoughts crumple beneath their barrage like a Life Day present’s wrapping paper under a child’s over-eager hand. Many of them had endured those early days of near constant defeat in the Outer Rim. But it would be a lie to claim he hadn’t shared in their satisfaction a LITTLE.

He respectfully had to admit, however, that the Sith had adapted quickly and well, scattering their formation and returning fire with the planet at their back. It was a hostage situation on a literally cosmic scale, which had forced the good guys to close for a point blank, chaotic slugging match of which Jaidan's ship was one victim of many. So here he was, plummeting to the surface in a damaged escape pod which had thankfully at least managed re-entry before its hull breach had become glaringly obvious. But as to the chances of the pod's descent thrusters even firing, much less slowing this hulk to a safe velocity before it impacted upon the surface? The warning alarms screaming at him did not inspire confidence.

Well, he supposed he'd just have to find his own way down, then. Hastily securing an emergency oxygen mask over his mouth, he thrust his right palm abruptly outward, and unleashed a powerful telekinetic blast that ripped the exit hatch free from the pod's chassis, and sent it hurtling away into the abyss. The pod's lone occupant was not far behind, soon gazing down across...actually, he decidedly did not care to speculate how many kilometers this journey would cover. Instead, the freefalling Echani doggedly reminded himself the distance was irrelevant once his body had reached terminal velocity, a dubious achievement fast approaching. All he had to worry about was getting the timing right without any instrumentation, and then cajoling the Force into slowing him enough to allow the prospect of rising again. Also ideal would be landing somewhere that he might still be able to apply some influence on how the battle unfolded.

He closed his eyes, for they could offer him only distraction. He cast aside the uncertaintaines about the outcome of this battle, about his own survival. He cast aside those never entirely dismissed concerns over whether he was approaching this war and its myriad responsibilities in the right way...though he did consider for a moment that perhaps he should seek out Locke for a conversation when next he was able. Long had he valued the younger man’s willingness to provide advice without any accompanying moralizing. He seemed the best hope of advice without sermonizing. He even cast aside how bitterly damn cold it was with the wind cutting through him like a vibroblade up at this altitude. And after he'd done all that, it was relatively simple to reach out with his mind and identify what he was looking for. Anger, fear, oppposing tides of bloody intent: the landing zone, where those Republic personnel down here on purpose were gathering to smash this invasion, contending with the Sith none too keen on the idea. A disagreement that Jaidan Shatani, Jedi general, wished to weigh in on. A pocket of newly formed telekinetic force was speedily gathered, and then violently released off to his left, and just like that, he had a course correction.

Luckily, the Force had always been at its most receptive to answer his entreaties when it concerned an immediate matter of life and death. And when it had answered, it had never led him astray. In this case, rather, it led him down atop a Sith interceptor craft which had shed the majority of its potential altitude and velocity to begin strafing a Republic position. The hotshot pilot at the stick had little time to speculate as to the source of the sudden impact that jolted his fighter out of its attack vector before Jaidan's vibrospear punched clean through the cockpit's canopy, and then the pilot's chest cavity from behind. Now in possession of a handhold and therefore relatively secure atop the warplane’s fuselage, the Echani knight quickly centered his attention on the craft's control stick, willing it back toward him and thus leveling out its sudden nosedive into a long and shallow dive. Still a crash, but one he could walk away from; as the now ruined interceptor ground to a halt, its nose submerged in the bloodied surf, Jaidan hopped down at water's edge and drove the spear's tip securely down into the wet sand, foil in hand. And as he beheld this new but familiar presence, all doubt fell away...for now.

"You look like something a sick Nexu left behind, Zarander." The greeting was offered only after several moments of stony silence in honor of the sadistic plant man's latest victims, used to assess the state of their murderer in his usual quick but critical fashion. Without a moment's further deliberation, the emerald blade of his foil hissed to life, its fury in sharp contrast to the calm resolution on its creator's face.

"I shall grant your condition the same consideration that you offered atop Fort Bennick."

[Dutch]

“Zarander…” The Sith started in response as his gaze dropped to regard his darkly veined hand. “That is a name I’ve not heard in a long, long while.” A long sigh of nostalgia lead him to regard Shatani’s lightsaber foil. In his time among the Jedi, the zelosian like many others who had studied makashi heard of the echani’s prowess in the form. The sullied tide splashed about his legs as the Sith began to stride towards the beach, and the Force rippled outwards from his form. Energy lingered around him like waves of heat, and an eerie circle of perfect stillness spread forth around the Darth a few meters.

“You’ll have to refresh me, it’s been many years and many Jedi ultimatums since Taris.” He said, emphasizing the world’s name and the many emotions it could stir. A hand dropped to fan fingertips over the hilts of the four sabers which hung from his dark leather belt. They casually unclipped an elegant, but sturdy curved hilt cast of wrought iron. The familiar metal was a solid, warm comfort at hand, and Jessoin folded the presence of its crystal into his own. While the other three sabers remained clipped, they too began to meld and unite into his aura. Their strengthened ties bolstered the Darth’s resolve, and he raised his chin to smile winningly at the Jedi.

“I would try to convince you to let us part ways honorably, out of mutual respect of course, but something tells me your mind is already settled.” He said with a wink. A roll of his wrist ignited the held lightsaber, and its gilded blade roared to life with a high crisp SNAP-hiss!. Held in a low makashi guard, the tip of the saber hissed angrily as it was dragged through aberrant stilled sea. Steam billowed in wisps where pure golden energy pierced water until the slow pace brought Jessoin to the shore and welcome solid sand. With a pair of small kicks both damp boots would be kicked off, and the hot sand’s warmth was welcome to cold wet feet.

“You can still walk away, Shatani. Aiding survivors would be more Jedi-like, no?”

[DreadPirateMike]

"Ah, yes. Your promotion to the Inner Sanctum. I don't suppose I ever did congratulate you for that."

That he concluded the statement without actually correcting the "oversight" was no accident. While there were any number of Sith customs that Jaidan might have regarded as barbaric or abhorrent, the bestowing of title to replace given name had merely struck him as childish. The ritual significance was obvious enough; to say that the man you were was dead meant that they no longer bore any responsibility for what came after, and any lingering conscience was no longer your weight to bear. Uniformly, he saw this as pure cowardice, the very weakness that the Sith claimed to so despise. But for Jessoin Zarander, it was more...pointless.

Jaidan had never met anyone so giddy about his own malevolence. The Zelosian seemed to regard his every horrid misdeed with the same unrestrained pride and joy that a toddler might display as they held up the unrecognizable work of their crayons. What did he need to make a break from? Had the rulers of Dromund Kass rally given this man a fancy title just to satisfy his vanity?

The absurd arsenal at Zarander's belt, however, suggested something else. Whatever else Jessoin was, he was a duelist of no small talent. Duelists like that respected their tools even if they respected little else, and rarely did such people make a habit of carrying them around merely for show. Something to keep in mind, but he couldn't let it command more of its attention than it warranted in the moment. As with any other bit of Sith trickery, his skill and experience would allow him to deal with it, or it would not. There was nothing to be done about it now. He regarded the unnatural stillness surrounding the creature in much the same way; raw power exceeding his own was a problem, but hardly a new one. The mention of honor did, however, get a soft chuckle out of him. He had, in truth, known Sith to act with honor. But this one was not among them.

"Helping the survivors?" With that, he cast a quick glance around at the lives Zarander had taken in just the last five minutes. He was hard pressed to think of how he could do more to help the survivors than by stopping Zarander on this beach. “I thank you for the gesture, but I believe fate has placed me precisely where I need to be, as a Jedi or anything else."

And with that, he took a step forward, and abruptly brought his right boot down upon the beach in a stomp, unleashing a burst of telekinesis from an unconventional direction. With little warning even to one sensitive in that way, a plume of sand erupted all around the Zelosian, a choking and opaque curtain.  On its own, it might amount to no more than a temporary inconvenience, the severity depending on how much got into Zarander's eyes or whether he inhaled at the wrong moment.  But the Zelosian would find the need for focus and composure very imminently pressing.  The Echani Jedi poured on his formidable speed then, and before gravity had even begun pulling the silicate particles back toward the ground, a green lance of plasma was thrusting straight through the sand and toward Jessoin's right eye.

[Dutch]

The Sith would exhale sharply, and the sand would be met with a telekinetic burst of energy. It billowed high in a perfect cylinder around Solis, and a smooth roll of a shoulder lead him to dodge the Jedi’s opening attack. Another burst of the Force, and the zelosian leaped high to flip away from the echani. His crimson eyes peered down to gauge the offender’s positioning, and then pushed himself again to leap towards a massive cimmerian stone. Bare, pale feet landed upon the scorching rock, veins visible with a dark green pulse as toes gripped for better purchase. The Darth would idly brush the sand which clung to hoary skin from shoulder to hip, and his gaze would regard the Jedi with mock disappointment.

“Shatani... You learned that trick from Aurelius, didn’t you?” A slow shake of his head would bring a wide and bemused smile. “Not very honorable, my friend.”

A single long, pale finger rose from his free hand to wag down at the echani below him. Any Sith of notoriety knew of the General’s martial prowess, and of the count which his foil had claimed over the near decade. With a deep breath he let the floodgates of his presence open, and the Force poured into his supernal self steadily. The sun shone bright behind the zelosian, and his crimson eyes burned bright within the solar shadows. It would take more to handle Master Shatani than the Thyferran beach could give, and he knew exactly how to gather the needed essence. His veins pulsed darkly against the waxen skin of his free hand, now spread to pull eldritch energy to it.

“Just remember; you chose this. Jedi.”

The hand would spread wider as sparks of electricity crackled to life and traced up his arm and danced across bare torso. At first aimed at the echani, the Sith’s smile would grow wide and toothy before his arm suddenly turned towards the sea. Even from a distance survivors of both factions could be seen fighting and swimming for their lives across the frothy waves. A low and sinister rumble within the Force belched across the shore, and lightning would erupt from the Darth’s hand into the waters.

In unison pained screams shrieked throughout the hot afternoon air as all survivors nearby were simultaneously electrocuted, and with it the Force quaked and buzzed as endless angry wasps. The rush of conductivity channeled through the Sith and back into the torrent of cast power. Shrieks rose higher and shriller, near as loud audibly as it was discarnate, and Darth Solis drank their agony in with deep greed.

[DreadPirateMike]

Aurelius...now there was a name Jaidan hadn’t thought on in awhile, even though he once actually had deigned to use that man’s title in conversation. But then that Sith, while ultimately his enemy no less than the smug Zelosian before him now, had earned something from him. Demonstrated a kind of integrity underlying the savagery which deserved a measure of respect. Even now, years later, he wasn’t sure he’d ever decide conclusively whether he should have killed the Firrereo when he had the opportunity.

Might Jessoin Zarander one day prove capable of earning the same? Would he even desire such a thing? It seemed doubtful.

And yet, hearing the name of his old rival now brought on a soft, amused snort. Learned it from him? Unless his memory was deserting him far faster and more subtly than he’d anticipated, it was Jaidan and not Nieraan urgently pulling every trick he could find out of his bag that day in hopes of finding some way to outmaneuver and overcome a more powerful adversary. With a bit of luck, he’d finally found one that worked, and as to the notion that he’d somehow sullied his Jedi honor attempting the same here...another snort. This was battle. One battle among countless others like it that the Republic had not started, but must finish all the same, and as quickly as possible before yet more lives were lost. If he could do that by fighting Jessoin Zarander in a classical Makashi duel, every last rule of form and etiquette observed, he’d happily do so. If it took gaining an advantage through some cheap trick and striking the final blow before his enemy had a chance to truly defend himself...well, it wouldn’t be the first time. None of these past victories by guile had cost him a moment’s sleep, and he couldn’t imagine this one would be any different.

This latest trick of Zarander’s, however, was cause for more than a little disquiet. Jaidan’s boots were churning sand before Jessoin’s outstretched hand had even begun its sudden shift toward his true target. An attack, whether the weapon used was a closed fist, a sword or even the Force, was always heralded by an intent which was announced as clearly by the unthinking actions of a man’s muscles as by the words of his mouth, and so he recognized a feint when he saw it. But even armed with this knowledge, working with the extra time that gave him to respond, he knew he could never reach the Sith before he commenced his attack. The agony of friend and foe alike was necessary, in order to buy Jaidan that extra moment he would need.

Yet for all that, Zarander’s decision to direct his attention away from him, even momentarily, was an act of hubris that he might well have cause to regret. Any feat of acrobatics that Solis could manage, Jaidan could match, as would be momentarily proven by an Echani lunging for his target by the time eyes could be turned back to him. But not lunging with the point of a lightfoil this time. Not yet. Instead, from the moment Jaidan’s feet left the sand, he began gathering all his strength in the Force for a single strike. The very air around his clenched left fist began to shimmer and distort like a desert mirage, the visible sign of gathered telekinetic force desperate to release itself in the manner of a bow string at full draw. And when he thrust that fist outward, palm flying open mere feet from Zarander’s face, it was not with the intention of simply flinging the Sith through the air. That was a relatively controlled, almost gentle matter of applying measured force to a particular object or body, influencing the body as a whole instead of just a singular point, and moving it all along a chosen trajectory. What Jaidan had done instead was to cast aside his usual elegance and fine control, to release all that power at once in a swiftly expanding cone of destructive force. It was not at all unlike the point blank detonation of a shaped charge.

He was willing to wager there was no placidly ignoring this assault. Even if Zarander reacted in time, managed to shield himself from the effect in full, the very stone on which he stood now splintered before the unleashed fury and dispersed into the Thyferran breeze. And whatever the outcome, the emerald lightfoil was still coming behind all that.

“I suppose we both must try and live with the choices we’ve made.”

[Dutch]

Fueled by the eldritch filled air, a reflexive telekinetic blast burst from the Darth with a sharp exhale. Remnants of the boulder spun and shot off in all sorts of directions, and Solis suddenly found himself airborne. Too easy… he thought with hubris as the Jedi’s lightsaber suddenly angled towards him. His own golden blade deftly deflected Jaidan’s in a cheeky upside-down parry, and sparks spat angrily at the contact. With a greedy inhale the zelosian fed off the echani’s destructive intent, and the pupils of the Sith’s searing red eyes began to dilate unnaturally. His presence hung heavy and malevolent around him, palpable enough for Solis to spring off it higher in an Ataru styled flip. He suddenly threw his lightsaber, the golden disk hissed through the air like an angry wasp as it arced at the Jedi.

A joyful cackle rang out from Darth Solis in the sunny sky, preternatural with a deep, nefarious undertone. Almost as if two voices came from the zelosian, it could be felt in the Force as much as heard; like some ancient deity was with the Sith. Another burst, and he flipped even higher- using his Ataru to its full advantage

“You should try embracing your choices, Shatani!” Solis cried out, the deep undertone baleful and reverberative as his presence twisted to fill an outstretched hand. Lightning crackled angrily between fingertips, the purple glow visible even in the powerful sunlight, and it would suddenly cast a swift bolt of vicious energy at the Jedi behind the spinning gold lightsaber.