|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 1:09:22 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 16, 2012 1:09:22 GMT -5
I always find a way to get come back here. No matter how much I wanted to leave when I lived here.
The sun was high in the sky, but on the winding, crowded streets of Metellos, it was sometimes hard to tell. The endless forest of buildings, reaching like fingers to the sky, threw a shadow over the old, run down plaza Nieraan was walking through.
He had his reasons for coming back, especially so soon after his escape with Jack from what was apparently a very high-ranking Jedi.
"Swear on my old aunt's grave--bless her heart--I'm tellin' ya the truth. She's alive, kid. I didn't see much of her, but that ain't a woman I'll ever be forgettin'."
Sometimes the contacts he kept among some of the old gangs he'd run with in his youth were a blessing. Other times, he thought them to be a curse.
Right now, Nieraan wasn't sure what he thought. He was still trying to figure out if he even believed the message he'd been sent. It couldn't be true, could it? He'd defeated her. He'd watched his blade pierce her stomach. He'd felt her life fading away...
But then those cops showed up.
Yes, he'd fled with haste from them. No good killing Kamirille to gain his freedom if his 'freedom' only consisted of living locked up in a prison. Perhaps he could have fought his way past them, but the fight had taken a toll on him. The odds at the time of getting away cleanly were poor, at best.
"Maybe that was what I did wrong," he muttered under his breath. "Maybe I should have just killed her then."
Was it possible? Had he been so foolishly hasty to get away with his own freedom that he'd allowed the biggest thing that stood in its way to survive?
No, he told himself, scanning the people that milled through the plaza. Most of them were poor. Living refuse. Par for the course on Metellos. He'd been one of them, a few short years ago.
Nieraan was on the very edge of the plaza, leaning against the front of an old shop that'd been abandoned years ago. It was close to home, or what had been his home. He still had the key to that apartment. He wasn't sure if he had the nerve to go back to it, though. What if she was still alive, and what if she was there?
It was concerning to imagine, even for the normally-unflappable Firrerreo.
No, no, he chided again, scowling at his own silliness. She's dead. There hasn't been anything to prove otherwise.
With a self-annoyed grunt, he pushed himself off of his leaning place and left the plaza. He turned into an alley that was kept in near-perpetual shadow thanks to the city around it.
For three days, he'd searched the area around their old home. He'd spread his search out streets and alleys and twists and turns of the underworld, but he'd yet to find a trace of her. Nothing more than vague rumors of whispers on the wind, that were, as far as he was concerned, useless.
He would search a little more. One more day, perhaps. But he couldn't stay forever; he'd have to meet back up with Jack and the others soon. If he couldn't find anything, he'd just have to assume his contact had been mistaken and leave.
For now, though, his search would continue. He'd spent most of his time searching an area out around where they'd lived. Now he'd go closer. The alley led back to the apartments they'd lived in. Nieraan still wasn't certain that he'd check their apartment itself, not now, at least, but the area around it...
Maybe there'll be some hints here.
He honestly hoped there weren't. Hints of Kamirille meant that she was alive. Her being alive meant that he'd been deluding himself for the past four years.
Kamirille being alive meant she could get him again. Even though he'd sworn to himself he'd never be stuck under anyone's thumb again.
Well, if she's survived, I'll just finish the job, he assured himself as he passed into the alley's deeper shadows. There were a few of the homeless about and some children in ratty clothes playing a game with a ball, but other than that, the alley was strangely quiet. I am a Sith Knight. I'm stronger now than I was then.
He didn't notice the way his hand brushed against one of the three lightsabers at his waist as he stopped at a a crossing, looking down both ways of the intersecting path before he continued onward. It was his main one, the one with a blade the color of burnished gold.
Noting that both paths were clear, he continued on, chasing his rumors on the wind...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 2:32:04 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 16, 2012 2:32:04 GMT -5
Kamirille Orin had been waiting for this moment a long time, carefully crafting the perfect storm to blow her wayward son back into her not-so-loving arms. It had all been so effortless for her as well, as easy as drawing breath. Or as killing. All she'd had to do was plant the right rumor with the right people, and she'd had the assurance it would fall onto Nieraan's ears.
No one had made her that promise of course. She'd simply know. Chalk it up to... Mother's intuition?
A cruel smile appeared on her silvery face as she pulled a lock of raven hair off her eyes. Hers was streaked with a vivid blue, something her son had inherited from her. She was a lithe woman, neither especially tall or short. She had the look of a runner about her, long and lean. Her attire was rather inscrutable, looking as though she could blend in completely on any world in the civilized galaxy without a single moment of effort.
She toyed with that lock of hair, wrapping it around her finger as she watched her son moving through his childhood home once again. How touchingly nostalgic...
She'd been sheltered behind a pillar as he approached, and guarded from his eyes. Really he was almost pathetic, wandering about aimlessly without even making a real search. It was as if he'd expected neon signs pointing the way to her, which was an amusing thought in and of itself. Maybe she should have invested in one for her little games. It was rather disappointing he hadn't expected her to use Force Concealment.
Games. That's all it was really. All anything was. There were winners and there were losers, and the best of all were the cheaters. It was thinking outside the box, moving the pieces to your advantage. Cheating in and of itself was a game, and when you realized that everything became so paradoxically easier. That was how she'd stayed one step ahead of Nieraan every step of the way.
Right up until he'd stabbed her and left her for dead. Nobody's perfect.
Oh yes, she hadn't forgotten about that delicious little betrayal. Truly worthy of a Sith. And she had to admit she really should have seen that coming and dealt with it better. Of course she'd still managed a severance with her ex-husband, one involving severing his leg first. However little baby Nieraan had intervened on behalf of daddy, and she'd been tired and careless. Yes, she'd wound up stabbed and lying on the ground, left to die.
Only she hadn't. She'd recovered, and she'd endured. But she'd let her mistaken son think she had, biding her time for this moment and the look on his face.
She stepped out from behind the pillar and moved up behind him silently, her boots making precious little sound on the ground below her. Finally she came to a stop a few feet behind her son and revealed herself to him.
"Oh how touchingly sweet," She began in a silky voice, dripping with sarcasm. "The prodigal son returns home at long last. Now come give mother dear a hug Nieraan."
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 13:18:41 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 16, 2012 13:18:41 GMT -5
"Oh how touchingly sweet."
Nieraan froze in his tracks, eyes going wide. He knew that voice.
No.
"The prodigal son returns home at long last. Now come give mother dear a hug Nieraan."
Fear, true and cold and griping, spiked through Nieraan's chest. Memories flashed in his mind's eye again. For a moment, he wasn't the Sith Knight, strong and independent. He was a youth again. His body ached from a beating, but no matter how much he begged and pleaded, she wouldn't give him mercy. He couldn't have rest; not until he could fight no longer.
The burn of a lightsaber across his chest. A knee slamming into his stomach and elbow smashing into the side of his face. The world tilted and blurred and began to go dark...
"No," he said softly. "There's no way..." His voice trembled slightly. His mind urged him to turn around. She'd told him to. Had to do what mother said, or there would be another beating. No. A beating that was worse. There were always beatings. She called them training.
But he wasn't her slave anymore. He was free--his own man. Right?
Nieraan closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a breath. He steeled his nerves, pushed the fear back down. There wasn't any point in trying to hide it after it swelled so strongly, but he needed a clear head if he was going to make it through this.
When he was finally certain that he had some control over himself, he turned around. And there she stood. Just as he remembered her. It took an incredible amount of mental control to keep from grabbing his lightsabers.
"How are you here?" He said, feeling like a child again, even if he tried to make his voice strong. "I killed you. You've been dead for four years!" He took a slow step back. There would be a fight. There had to be a fight. What would he do? What could he do? He was stronger now than he'd been, but what about her?
How much had things changed since the last time that fateful fight in the old alleyway?
"What do you want with me now? You think you can take me back, don't you?" Now Nieraan snarled, showing his long, sharp canines. They were particularly well developed, even for a Firrerreo; almost more like fangs than normal canines. "You won't. I'm not going to that again. You hear me? I won't be stuck under your thumb again. I'll finish what I should have done last time I saw you."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 13:59:06 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 16, 2012 13:59:06 GMT -5
"No, There's no way..."
"How are you here? I killed you. You've been dead for four years!"
Kamirille laughed, a high and cruel laugh that matched everything her son had likely grown to loathe. And everything he was destined by her to be. His reaction was just so childish, denying what was so self-evident. And he had the pluck to call himself a Sith.
Clearly the Order was slipping. Luckily the traditional ranks of independent Dark Jedi, such as herself, were not. She was as potent as ever. More in fact, training constantly for four long years to regain her edge, preparing for this very moment when she confronted her would-be killer again.
She was here to remind him that mother knew best.
"What do you want with me now? You think you can take me back, don't you? You won't. I'm not going to that again. You hear me? I won't be stuck under your thumb again. I'll finish what I should have done last time I saw you."
The silver-skinned Firrerreo woman smiled sardonically at her child before launching her own rebuttal.
"Really Nieraan? Not so much as a 'hello mother, good to see you again?' There's really no sense to taking you back, since I never lost you. You've always been wrapped around my little finger. I'm just reminding you of it now. I own you, and I always have."
She scrutinized her fingers as if to accent that part before looking back up at him with icy eyes and that same cruel smile. She looked positively predatory, and in a twist that must have bothered him to no end, she was confident, in control, and at ease while he was distraught and panicked.
"I can't believe you really thought your clumsy efforts could harm me. Everything went precisely as I planned it. Yes, you could insist on fighting me here and now, but you'd only succeed in humiliating yourself and losing miserably. So why don't we simply skip that portion of today's agenda and return to other matters. Aren't you at all curious why I brought you here?"
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 14:42:40 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 16, 2012 14:42:40 GMT -5
She laughed at him. Her voice was just as he remembered, so cruel and mocking--devoid of the love a mother should have shown her son. But when was the last time she'd ever shown him love?
"Really Nieraan? Not so much as a 'hello mother, good to see you again?' There's really no sense to taking you back, since I never lost you. You've always been wrapped around my little finger. I'm just reminding you of it now. I own you, and I always have."
He scowled further. His shoulders knotted up with tension and his hands clenched into tight fists. "I am my own man," he snarled. "I don't belong to you, or anybody. I control my own life." For the first time ever, really. It wasn't until he'd escaped her that he'd really known what being in control of his own life was. It wasn't something he was about to relinquish.
She didn't seem to care though. She stood there, toying idly with her fingers, without showing so much as a care in the world as she looked at him. Calmly. Maddeningly so.
If things hadn't changed in the balance of power between them, Nieraan would be in trouble. Very, very deep trouble. He contemplated trying to run away.
He almost never contemplated trying to run away.
"I can't believe you really thought your clumsy efforts could harm me. Everything went precisely as I planned it. Yes, you could insist on fighting me here and now, but you'd only succeed in humiliating yourself and losing miserably. So why don't we simply skip that portion of today's agenda and return to other matters. Aren't you at all curious why I brought you here?"
"You lie," he snarled again, nearly reaching for his lightsabers. "I could have killed you back then. I would have, if the cops hadn't shown up when they did. Luck saved you."
The latter part of what she had to say gave him pause, though. What had led her to seeking him out again? No. There was no need to wonder. He knew her, better than he could ever truly wish to.
"I know why you want me here. It's the same as it always was." Memories flashed again, and he had to pause as he forced them away and took control of himself. "You always wanted me to know how much better you were than me. You always wanted to show me how weak I was. That's all this is, isn't it?"
Finally, he took two of his lightsabers in hand. Gold in his right, blue in left. The one he'd taken from the corpse of a Jedi he'd killed stayed at his waist. He held the hilts tight in his grip, but he didn't light the blades. Not yet. Just holding them was a comfort that helped him stand taller, speak stronger and in a way that was more sure of himself.
"I'm not that same kid you used to beat every day, Kamirille."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 15:04:22 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 16, 2012 15:04:22 GMT -5
"You lie, I could have killed you back then. I would have, if the cops hadn't shown up when they did. Luck saved you."
"We make our own luck, and I knew you were too weak to kill me. Too afraid to kill mother dearest."
The woman slowly started to circle her son at a distance
"I know why you want me here. It's the same as it always was. You always wanted me to know how much better you were than me. You always wanted to show me how weak I was. That's all this is, isn't it?"
Kamirille chuckled softly. Such a closed mind... And yet partially right. Yes, he needed to be reminded of how weak he was, reminded of who controlled his life. He'd gone far too long away from her control, and that was an error she needed to correct. It was time to yank the leash and have him heel by her side. That was why she'd come. Well, that and curiosity to see how he'd shaped up with the Sith.
She raised a jet black eyebrow as he took his sabers into his hand, and decided to mirror the move herself, taking her own pair of hilts into her capable hands. Both were black metal, hard, cold, and unyielding. Like her. One blade was red, and the other silver. Both were extremely capable, capable of locking together to form a double-bladed saber. But for now she'd fight with Jar'kai. Since a fight was likely apparent.
"I'm not that same kid you used to beat every day, Kamirille."
"Oh yes," she chortled. "You're the great Nieraan, Sith Knight. Strong now. But you seem to forget you got to where you are today because of me. My training strengthened you, my training commanded you. Without me, you're nothing. I had you come here so you can take your place at my side, where you belong. Of course the question is if you really deserve my attention now."
She ignited her sabers and crossed them over her chest, holding them ready. Their glow lit up her face better, allowing the glint in her eyes to shine forth more readily.
"Now this would be the point where we fight and I win. Don't worry though, I'll spare your life. It would be a shame to waste all my years of effort on you. I'll be grading your performance very closely Nieraan. Don't disappoint me."
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 16:01:08 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 16, 2012 16:01:08 GMT -5
"Oh yes," his mother said, mocking as ever. "You're the great Nieraan, Sith Knight. Strong now. But you seem to forget you got to where you are today because of me. My training strengthened you, my training commanded you. Without me, you're nothing. I had you come here so you can take your place at my side, where you belong. Of course the question is if you really deserve my attention now."
His scowl grew but he couldn't find any words to say. Nieraan hated Kamirille. More than any other being he'd ever met. She'd made his life hell and worse for nearly fifteen years. So strong was his hate for her that in spite of his fear, his skin, which usually was only faintly gold or silver, was becoming more and more silver as she talked down to him.
But there was nothing he could do to deny the truth she spoke to him. He hated her, but she'd made him strong. She'd taken him the edge of the Dark Side as a youth and pushed him over. She'd honed him in the very capable combatant he was today. They both knew she was right. And he hated her more for it.
Nieraan's mouth worked, searching for a rebuttal, but for once, he found nothing he could say.
Kamirille, meanwhile, lit her lightsabers. Nieraan froze at the sight of them. They were the same ones she'd had all those years ago. The same ones that had hurt him so many times. The same ones that had given the eleven scars that crossed his back.
He answered with his own. Gold and blue blades erupted together, throwing both colors over him as he stared her down. In the shadowed darkness of the alley, their weapons looked particularly bright.
"Now this would be the point where we fight and I win. Don't worry though, I'll spare your life. It would be a shame to waste all my years of effort on you. I'll be grading your performance very closely Nieraan. Don't disappoint me."
Nieraan snorted, but didn't say anything. We'll see about that...
He shifted the way he was standing, bring his sabers to an offensive set. He could lock them together, use them as a saber staff. But that was a style he was still learning; against Kamirille, it would be suicide. Jar'Kai was his bread and butter. It was his true love. The biggest problem he knew he'd have was that she was the one that taught it to him.
But time was an ally here. He'd had years away from her. Years he'd used to refine his skills and makes the style his own. Still, Nieraan knew this would not be easy. But he'd fight until she was dead or until he was incapable of doing so any longer.
The Force rushed into him, and he exploded into movement. His lightsabers moved in his hands, preparing to strike. His gold blade arced around as he came within reach of her, searing through the air toward her shoulder. But the attack broke off at the last moment and he struck low instead, flicking a quick, precise strike with his blue blade at the side of her knee.
Then the gold attacked truly, coming down hard from above.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 16, 2012 16:24:45 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 16, 2012 16:24:45 GMT -5
Kamrille had been expecting Jar'kai from her son, the form he best knew and had the most aptitude for. She'd also been expecting some new tricks up his sleeve, and some cunning. Despite her hatred for him, despite the way she felt, she knew he had a keen mind in combat. He'd inherited that from her, and she saw a good deal of herself in the boy. Possibly why she drove him so hard and so mercilessly. The way she would again.
She could sense the fear in him, and she relished it. That would strengthen her because it gave her power over him. She could control him again. Would control him again. Mind, body, and soul. But first she had to break him.
His gold saber was used in a feint as his blue one was held in reserve, waiting to strike at her while she was off balance. That might have worked if she only had one saber, but she had two. She also knew a feint when she saw one, and she could sense it a split second in advance. Her red saber darted up quickly and caught the gold, spinning it out and away from her. She brought her own blade sliding down the length of it in an effort to sever the hilt of his saber.
The other saber, the blue one, came swinging towards her, and she caught that too, slashing the blade away from her and swinging for his thigh in her own rapid counterattack.
Her goal was to disorient him, to let the task of two blades against two overwhelm him, to confuse him enough that he would make a mistake. She'd done it before with Jar'kai, and she knew that it could work. Her own concentration and abilities were formidable, and she could easily handle it. But her son was newer to the form than she was, and there a slim chance he'd react poorly to it.
It all happened in the span of a few short seconds. And she made it look so very effortless, as if she was just out taking a walk in the park. It was so very easy and casual for her, as if fighting was just something everyone did on a daily basis.
And she never doubted that she would win.
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 21, 2012 20:41:08 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 21, 2012 20:41:08 GMT -5
Nothing. She was too good to fall so easily. Kamirille saw through his feint before he could even finish it; as his gold blade streaked toward her, she batted it away and caught it against the crimson of her own. Nieraan grit his teeth as he pressed back against his mother's effort. It was yet to be determined if he truly had the skill to hold her at bay and ultimately defeat her, but his training--her training, had made his body strong. He was confident that he could use his physical strength to an advantage in presses. He just had to keep control--he had to keep Kamirille from getting solid leverage and breaking his advantage.
As he made his true attack with the blue blade sweeping in at her knee, he became aware of her red saber sliding down the length of his blade. Toward his hilt.
Toward his hand.
Both were unacceptable.
Kamirille batted his blue blade away and turned her defense into a counter attack at his leg. Nieraan growled and adjusted himself, knowing his defensive ability was compromised. One quick step back moved his leg to safety beyond the reach of her blade. As he brought back his trailing leg, he twisted his wrist, forcing his blade around Kamirille's. He pulled the weapon away to free it from her press, giving her red blade a stiff bat to give himself some room.
Nieraan couldn't move back for long though, and he knew it. He had to attack, or she would take control. He'd seen that script too many times in his youth; no matter how hard he tried or how valiantly he fought, she always wore him down and overwhelmed him if he let her keep attacking him.
Even now, after all the time that had gone by, he could still remember the fear of trying to keep away the unrelenting rush of her two blades. Sometimes they still haunted his nightmares.
If he was going to have any hope, he had to press her. Keep her off balance.
As soon as his feet set, he was moving again. He set his blades while he adjust his motion. In came the blue again, streaking in horizontally at her chest as Nieraan moved at Kamirille, moving toward her and toward her left side. It would probably be blocked. That was the hope. Something, anything to draw her attention, however briefly, while his other hand came up and he loosed a stiff push of the Force at her.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 21, 2012 21:52:51 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 21, 2012 21:52:51 GMT -5
Kamirille smiled with pleasure as her son took a step back, the sure indicator he was switching to the defensive, which suited her perfectly. He'd always been easy prey on the defensive, rushed and overwhelmed by her bladework. His aggression was a great asset, but it was nothing compared to hers. her reservoir of evil and hatred was far deeper than his, and as much as he hated her, she suspected a part of him wanted to be her, to live up to her skills and abilities. To prove himself worthy of the family name as it were. Oh yes, it would be splendid revenge to prove he was better than his mother, but that would never happen. She was his better. He couldn't compare to her, and she would prove that definitively.
He took a swing at her, which could be easily blocked, and was. The fact his other saber wasn't in play only convinced her something was afoot, some special force attack. When she felt the telekinetic push against her chest, she realized what it was, and she reacted accordingly.
Long ago she'd learned as a Jedi just how to react when being pushed with the Force, how to control movement and retain balance and poise. Nothing could be deadlier than a follow-through on a telekinetic attack, and she knew that from personal experience with the fields of telekinesis and with combat. The trick was just to go with the movement rather than resist it, and to slowly take control of the movement, to make it your own. She rolled over onto her back, spinning herself into a roll and touching down to the ground in a crouch, and then as she raised herself up, she countered with her own telekinetic attack.
She held her first saber out before her, and she pulled Nieraan to her with a strong telekinetic ability. If he did happen to be impaled on her saber, she'd arrange to avoid his vital organs. And it was survivable of course, she was living proof of that. Of course with her left saber she'd aim for sun djem, a disarming strike. And just to make things worse, she decided to play a psychological game with him.
As she drew him closer she mocked him.
"Come to mother Nieraan."
A sardonic smile appeared on her silvery face, a twisted and mocking one that he was just bound to hate. And the more he hated her, the more control she had. Getting into his mind was essential for what she had planned. Controlling him.
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 23, 2012 20:00:58 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 23, 2012 20:00:58 GMT -5
Block. As expected. Nieraan didn't worry about it. He followed through with his plan, throwing the blast of the Force at Kamirille. It was strong; strong enough to pick up what little bits of dust and trash littered the alley floor and easily throw them into the air.
But for her, it wasn't enough. Nieraan could quickly tell, as she took the fall and started to roll back up onto her feet. He'd seen it before. He'd seen many thing from her before.
The problem was trying to find a way to outfight her.
Keeping up with his onslaught, he prepared to move forward. Maybe he could stop her, be on top of her with his blades as she came to her feet again. The Force stirred around her, however, and his advance stopped before it could begin.
Too late. She came up with one of her blades held out toward him and he felt something grab him and urge him forward. He pulled the Force into himself, tried to resist, but his mother's hold was strong. His feet drug against the dirty ground as she pulled him forward. There wasn't time to find away to fight it. Only to do what she'd taught him when he was a youth. Use the energy to his momentum.
"Come to mother, Nieraan."
"Shut up," he growled at her.
As the proverbial dam began to break, he funneled what power from the Force he could muster into his legs and jumped. Forward.
It wasn't the prettiest leap, but it got him into the air, and it got him going up as her grip pulled him forward. He rolled through in the air, dipping his blue saber down to meet the strike of her blade. But the strike was not what he expected. It was a sun djem strike, one she'd disguised well. His hilt twisted in his grip as he swore under his breath. He held on.
Barely. And at a cost.
His focus lapsed as his attention was drawn to keeping a hold of his saber, and he came down on the other side of her. The hand with which he was fumbling around with his saber slammed hard into the pavement. A lance of fiery pain shot up into his wrist. He winced, sucking air in through his teeth, but he closed his fingers around the hilt and willed himself to his feet to stumble hastily back from her. He brought his weapons up to bear defensively before him.
Calm. He had to be calm. He could do this. All he needed to do was think and keep hit wits about him. But things were off to a poor start...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 23, 2012 20:37:01 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 23, 2012 20:37:01 GMT -5
Kamirille half-smiled as her child turned a pull into a leap of his own, albeit one not nearly as controlled as hers. Possibly because he'd fought it from the beginning rather than simply turning the motion to his advantage. Sometimes late wasn't good enough. Between that and her attempted to sun djem... and that might have explained why he came clattering down behind her. Hard.
And on his wrist.
"You're soft Nieraan," She mocked him as he rose to his feet again, working again to get inside his mind and reduce him to the frightened child she knew was still in there. She just had to strip away his confidence, his composure. She had to twist him into precisely what she wanted.
If he'd been a Jedi then it might have been harder to rattle him this way. They were harder to control through their passions, but Sith? Sith were easy prey, easy to anger and easy to provoke. Their own passions could be turned against them, rattling them and guiding them into the precise position she wanted. Nieraan the Sith would find himself becoming Nieraan the child, and eventually he'd look back and see how she'd controlled him all this time.
And she'd control him again.
The rather unloving mother rushed forward towards her son while he was on the defensive, gearing her strikes to exploit his vulnerabilities. Chief of which was the wrist that was undoubtedly injured. She feinted with her red saber, stabbing in towards his side with a stroke she fully intended to be deflected as her real target came into the sights of her silver blade: his weakened wrist.
She slammed her blade against it, hard, twisting the blade from inside to the outside, working to rotate his wrist fast and hard, pushing it to the point where the pain would be unbearable. All in the hopes he'd drop his saber. Then she could disarm him easily, forcing him to yield to her.
Then he'd be her prisoner.
Everything would go according to her plan.
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 26, 2012 17:37:09 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 26, 2012 17:37:09 GMT -5
Frustration bit at Nieraan as he stumbled away from his mother and tried to regain his composure. Why am I fighting so badly? He knew Kamirille was strong, but he wasn't doing himself any favors. Bad choice after bad choice, and worst of all, he was starting to get flustered. Frustrated. Annoyed with himself and his mistakes.
Afraid of her.
It was so odd a thing for him to experience; normally, he was resolute and steady, even in his aggression. He preferred offense, but even on defense, he was a solid fighter. He often laughed in the face of taunts and threats and insults, or even ignored them completely.
This, though... This fight was different. He was struggling to find any sort of rhythm, and his emotions were starting to get to him. She was getting in his head. She'd already been in his head, even before she found him; he'd been worried from the moment the rumor first reached his ears. The heat of battle was only making things worse.
"You're soft Nieraan."
Nieraan snarled at her. There was that word again. Soft. Always soft. When she stole him from his father, he was soft. When he'd tried to run away from her and she'd responded by beating him to the edge of consciousness, he was soft. In every failure, every time he came up short, she called him soft.
"Shut up," he snapped back at her, even as she bore down on him. "You don't know me."
There wasn't time to say more, though. In a heartbeat, she was on him.
He moved to meet her attack, determined to show her he wasn't the little boy he'd been years ago. Gold and red clashed violently as he quickly batted her first strike away, but then the second attack came.
Her silver blade met his blue, and he felt her start to twist. A spark of alarm ran through him. That wouldn't do. Couldn't do. Nieraan wasn't stupid--though his wrist wasn't as injured as it could have been from that fall, he knew it was a liability now. And he quickly realized she intended to exploit it as much as she could.
That would be a difficult thing to deal with.
Now, as she began to force his blade around, he moved. He pulled his arm back and lowered his blade to force her contact to break. Anything to keep her from doing too much harm. As this happned, he moved his body, forcing himself to the side as he brought his gold saber back around.
He began a strong strike at her chest.
A lance of pain shot up his wrist as he freed his blade from hers.
He sucked in air through his teeth and his strike faltered for a heartbeat...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 26, 2012 23:11:18 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 26, 2012 23:11:18 GMT -5
Nieraan proved he'd improved somewhat by disengaging from the movement she'd made to exploit his wrist, and that impressed Kamirille a little. Of course the student was far from exceeding the master. But that was something she'd already known from the onset, from the very beginning. The little whelp she'd given birth to had always been such a disappointment to her.
His weakness had always been mockery to her, an insult that from two such powerful force-users such an underachiever could be born. He had so much more in his veins, blood with the potential to rise to a true Dark Jedi Master, or to one of these vaunted Sith Lords who'd returned to the galaxy. He had the potential to be one, the heir to her power.
But the little brat obstinately refused to learn. Every beating she'd given him had failed to build him up. By all means his rage at her coupled with the power he was heir to should have been enough to choke the life from her, to defeat her. Instead here she was, still defeating him. And somehow she doubted another beating would help.
He spun his injured side away from her as he swung with his strong arm towards her in a strike that begged to be blocked. Her anger with him was steadily increasing, anger at his lack of skill, anger he couldn't hold his own as an equal. That had been the purpose of all her efforts, to build up a servant to rival her skill, one bent to her will.
His resistance to her wishes only deepened her anger. She needed his obedience, through fear if need be. Fear would guarantee her a modicum of loyalty after all. And pain was always a great motivator.
As his blade swung forward, both of hers crashed in to meet it, crossing each other and catching his in the resulting corner, locking his blade in place to prevent it from dipping down to cut off her leg, which rocketed in directly towards his knee. Or more accurately the pressure point directly below his knee. She had the full intention of bringing him to the ground and showering him with Force Lightning until he passed out or yielded.
Then he'd be her prisoner.
And then the real work could begin.
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Jan 29, 2012 12:58:38 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 29, 2012 12:58:38 GMT -5
Nieraan's blade seared a golden path through the air. He forced himself past the pain in his wrist, forced himself to strike fast and strong. He'd see this woman defeated. He'd run her through and split her in two from neck to groin.
Her blades crossed. His slammed into them with a loud hiss and crack.
Being as avid a practitioner of Jar'Kai as he was, Nieraan knew what she was doing. With her sabers locked, she could put the full strength of two arms behind her block, and the corner created trapped his own blade. Nieraan's fangs showed as he bared his teeth in effort as he tried to force his way through her guard. With his left hand he recovered, and started to sweep in at her unprotected side...
Too late.
Kamirille's foot slammed into his leg, just below the knee. Pain swept out through him from the strike, and his leg began to buckle. Shock masked his face, quickly replaced by distress and horror as he grunted in pain and began to fall.
His fingers opened on his blue saber and he felt the weapon slip away from his grasp as he fell. Not good. Even as he tumbled, though, his grip tightened on the lightsaber still in his right hand. HIs gold one. It was too important to lose.
He rolled back as he fell, trying to control how he landed. No position would be a good one; not on the ground, and with a single weapon against her two. He could draw his third saber, but he needed time. Something had to be done to keep her off of him.
Why was he failing? Why couldn't she just roll over and die, like she should have in that alley those few years ago?
Nieraan struck the ground hard, landing on his back. Pain rolled across his back, but he refused to let it slow him down as he looked up at the woman who was now suddenly looming over him, like some demon sent by fate or the gods to drag him back into the unceasing torment he deserved. No, Nieraan did not let the stop him, but he did not ignore it either.
Instead, he used it.
The physical pain, the emotional pain, the pain of the memories that he so dearly wanted to forget. He found as much as he could. And as the Force roared into him and the silver of his skin grew darker and more vivid, he channeled it.
A scream tore from his throat. It was a fearsome, wretched scream, but it was more than the yell of an frustrated boy. The Force filled it, amplified it, powered it with his hatred for this woman. It would be tangible. Damaging. Disorienting.
The windows in some of the old, run down apartments around them shattered.
Anything to slow her assault and give him time to recover. Anything to show her that no matter how much she willed it, he was not her toy.
And he never would be. Never again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jan 29, 2012 17:13:05 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Jan 29, 2012 17:13:05 GMT -5
Kamirille Orin smiled smugly as Nieraan fell to the ground, losing one of his sabers. Yes, he was on the defensive now. He was vulnerable, he was weak, and he was precisely where she wanted him.
Little baby Nieraan was being defeated by mother dearest once again, proving definitively that she was the better duelist, the better wielder of the Force. This was precisely what she'd wanted and needed ever since he'd stabbed her and left her for dead. She'd been itching to prove that had been nothing but luck against a tired and drained opponent, itching to prove that on equal footing she could always defeat him.
There was pride on the line.
And she was a proud woman. Proud of her skills, and proud of her accomplishments. She needed to prove herself now. She had to.
Just as she moved in to knock away his remaining saber, Nieraan let out a scream. But not an ordinary scream.
This was a raw and blood-curdling Force scream, tearing through the streets around them, destroying windows, and deafening her. It was so loud the only sound she could hear was the ringing in her ears, and that really pissed her off.
She tucked away the blade in her right hand, and she reached forward with her fingers, channeling her malice and her anger, all the pent up frustration of those long years since he'd left her, and she summoned it all into blue lightning that crackled from her fingertips, streaking towards her son as she let out her own scream, a normal scream brimming with the rage she felt.
But despite all that, there was discipline in her attack. Her effort was geared to disable him, to cause enough pain to black him out, but not enough to kill him. If he was dead, he meant nothing. She wanted him alive. She needed him alive.
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Feb 2, 2012 1:08:16 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Feb 2, 2012 1:08:16 GMT -5
There. There was a moment of blessed peace. A breath of a reprieve from her assault. His Scream took her by surprise, disoriented her. There was a moment to act, as she put one of her blades away, but he'd have to be quick.
Nieraan urged himself forward. His body hurt from the hits he'd taken from her, but his muscles were still strong. He'd been built to take punishment, for battles of attrition. He'd learned as a child to take pain in the furnace that this very woman had forced him through. Bruises weren't anything to worry about; his blood dictated they'd be gone before the hour was past. But he had to force his way past the pain and up to an attack.
He already knew what he'd do. Sit up quickly, roll the momentum onward into a thrust with his golden blade up into her gut. A risky maneuver, but one that could pay off if he got it right. Nieraan might have been built to last through battles of attrition, but he knew this wasn't a fight that could be won that way.
If he could not end Kamirille quickly, he would lose.
Loss held consequences he didn't want to think about. Consequences that, in his mind, were worse than death.
His muscles tightened and he began to right himself.
Too late.
He felt the Force swell in his mother the moment before she struck. But it wasn't enough to change the outcome.
Lightning poured from her fingers. His saber wasn't in any position to catch it. His empty hand was still the ground, used a brace as he pushed himself up. There was no time to raise it and counter with his own lightning. Even if there was, he might not have been strong enough to stop hers, but that wouldn't have stopped him from trying.
The lightning crashed into his chest. He was slammed back onto the ground as a storm of pain wracked his body. Another scream tore from his throat, but it wasn't what the last had been. This scream laced any of the power, fueled by the anger and hatred of an furious Knight fighting for the freedom that he'd earned. It was the sound of pain, and it rang in unison with his mother's yell of fury.
Kamirille's onslaught hurt. Badly. The smell of smoke teased Nieraan's nostrils as his clothing got singed, but he was too occupied with writhing on the ground in pain to truly realize what was happening.
She did not stop. Nieraan's could feel himself starting to weaken and his mind beginning to grow hazy as the unrelenting lightning began to take its toll on him. He had to stop her. He had to stop her, or he would pass out. And he couldn't lose to her. Not like that. Not by being forced to submit while he screamed like a child again.
In his mind, he battled to keep control and to hone his focus into two things. He would not drop his lightsaber. Not the gold one. It was too valuable to him, and in spite of the Force ravaging his body, he forced his fingers to stay closed around the hilt.
With the rest of what focus he could muster, he clawed madly at the Force. Finally he found it and opened himself to it, forgoing any attempt at control. It came to him, and with it the taint of the Dark Side. It made him feel cold and hot at once, was sickening and sweet together and threatened to sweep him away in its furious currents.
Nieraan didn't care. Freedom was all that mattered.
With the Force, he did the only thing he could manage. His hand raised, and he released a blast of power at her. He didn't care if she did another one of her pretty little flips or broke her neck flying through a window; he needed a reprieve, and as the lightning broke, he got it.
Instinct began to kick into action. With his hand still out, Nieraan found the presence of the crystal in his blue lightsaber and called it back to him as he stumbled to his feet. He clipped it to his belt, keeping the gold burning in his right hand.
A electric meter was torn from the side of a building. A garbage bin got lifted into the air. Both were thrown at her in desperation, and Nieraan turned around and ran.
Pride could bite itself in the aft end. He wouldn't defeat her, not here.
And freedom was all that mattered.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Feb 2, 2012 22:09:18 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Feb 2, 2012 22:09:18 GMT -5
Kamirille could sense the fury building up in her child, and she channeled her own into the lightning, hoping to force him into submission before he could fully develop his resistance plan. Yes, she could tell he was devising some plan to turn the tables, which was precisely what she'd taught him to do, and she could rely on him following that. In many circumstances she could trust that what she would do, he would do. He'd learned from her after all, even if he couldn't equal her.
The dark side energy manifested itself in the form of a monumental push, one far exceeding his previous effort. And as before, the Firrerreo woman didn't fight it, she didn't resist it.
She catapulted through the air, turning end over end, carefully gauging the distance between her and the ground as it came rapidly closer. She bent her knees as she impacted it, carefully keeping her balance as she skidded, but remaining vertical the whole time, even drawing her second saber in the event he rushed her.
Instead he hurriedly threw a meter and a garbage container at her, the latter of which she ducked under, and the former she caught on her red saber, severing it harmlessly. And much to her surprise, she looked to see Nieraan running. Away.
"Coward!" She screamed out after him as she sprang into action herself, feet tearing into the ground as she raced forward, determined to catch him here and now.
It wasn't as if an escape from her at this moment would be victory for him. She'd be able to track him and intercept him before he left the world, following his unique Force 'signature,' but it would have taken something that was an indisputable victory for her, and taint it. And she was a proud woman. Her pride had already taken a blow when she'd been on the ground at the brink of death, run through by a lightsaber.
Not again.
She sprinted down the street after him.
|
|
|
|
|
Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
|
|
last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
|
|
|
Feb 9, 2012 14:24:46 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Feb 9, 2012 14:24:46 GMT -5
"Coward!"
Nieraan nearly stopped in his tracks. A considerable part of his being wanted to stop there, wanted to turn around and face Kamirille. He'd show her who the coward was. He'd make her eat that insult. Nieraan Onin was many things, many of them bad, but if there was one thing he was not, it was a coward.
Better judgment prevailed over emotional urges, though, and he continued to run. Pride was an important thing for Nieraan, but even he could recognize, as much as it hurt him to do it, that following his pride here would get him killed or worse. His pride would have to wait to another day, but now, freedom was more important than anything. He would not fall into her grasp again.
I should've known, he chided himself as he sprinted down the alley away, agilely leaping over a dumpster and pushing off the wall above to keep moving forward. Kamirille was on his heels; he could feel her presence chasing him. This was a trap. I should have seen it coming.
He found an intersection of pathways and took a corner, turning abruptly down a new alley and dashing with all the speed he could muster. At least I know now. One day I'll deal with her. He threw his hand up and reached out ahead of him with the Force. Glass shattered at the touch of his will and he ducked as he hurled it back at the Kamirille.
On my own terms.
Another intersection. Nieraan took another wild turn, deciding that he wanted to at the last moment. He leapt at the wall, and spun in the air so he could immediately press off again with a powerful leap. The force of his Force-aided momentum was so great that little cracks in the duracrete spiderwebbed out from his point of impact. His lightsaber left a deep, angry gash in the side of the building, but he was off and gone again so quickly that he didn't notice.
As he ran, weaving around and leaping over whatever obstacles stood in his way, he realized he didn't have a clue where he was going.
Then again, as long as he got away from his mother, it didn't really matter.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Apr 19, 2013 18:45:53 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Feb 9, 2012 16:43:30 GMT -5
Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on Feb 9, 2012 16:43:30 GMT -5
Kamirille hotly pursued her son down the street, using the Force to enhance her speed, working to slowly gain on him. It was working too, and she was catching up, right up until he sent a flurry of glass shards her way, forcing her to duck behind a metal dumpster until they passed her by, which solidified his lead again. She cursed as she darted from cover and redoubled her efforts against him.
His turns seemed to be random as he made what she guessed to be a rapid effort to throw her off his track. But she had finely honed senses, and he wouldn't escape her that easily. She wouldn't let him. In this battle for supremacy there could only be one winner. Either he escaped and proved he was able to pose a challenge to her, or she defeated him and made him a prisoner.
He would be her prisoner.
With a fierve determination, the Firrerreo woman rocketed down the street, leaping over obstacles like some kind of wild animals built for speed and agility, racing after her son, gaining and gaining, steadily, channeling her anger into her body, heart racing and blood pumping as she drove herself faster and faster at a breakneck speed.
Nieraan came into clear sight again and she threw a concentrated telekinetic attack right at him, missing by inches. It hit a dumpster instead and rattled it loudly, slamming it into the duracrete wall with a bang like a gunshot. Promptly she sent another one at him, aiming to force him from the path he was taking and shove him into the wall.
How she longed to see him slam into that building's side and crumple, to taste victory after the chase. In a way she felt like a predator, a huntress who'd driven her quarry down, forced him into an untenable position and secured the kill for herself. Only this time there wouldn't be a kill. She needed him alive.
She'd have him alive.
|
|
|
|