At Hero's End (Pt.2)

[Kressara Thryn]

There wasn't a single Quiet Place left on the entire ship! All that room, all that space, and that blasted chanting could be heard through every corridor, hall, and supply closet. Kressara would know, as she had attempted to avoid their obnoxious chatter by stuffing herself into one. No such luck. The inescapable sound made her teeth grit and her skin itch. If someone saw her, they might think the tucked away apprentice was having a panic attack. Perhaps it was anxiety that drove her into the broom cupboard along the lengthy journey to the bridge, but not panic. Kressara was getting aggravated by the whole scenario. So much trouble. Too many sith. Not enough masks to hide behind among her own kind. She couldn't just become some random face at the bar, or a flighty station courier. Here, the black bird of the sith was forced to be the closest thing to "herself" that she could manage...and Blast it all to oblivion! Why did a massive invasion need to be so stressful?!

Footsteps outside the supply closet drew her attention. A little late for people to be wandering the corridors now, considering most had already taken their places. After they continued on down the hall for some ways, Kressara opened the door and peeked outside in time to catch sight of someone important looking. Wait...she recognized that one. He was one of the fellow sith lords collaborating on this attack with Tormentous. Some man referred to as a Sovereign of sorts. He walked with a purpose, which of course drew the nosey spy's attention. Well, so long as getting comfortable before the big battle wasn't an option…

Thigh high boots clad in layered, padded, flexible plates with soft soles allowed the woman to stalk after the lordly passerby in the absence of sound. Her gait was quick, fluid, and every rotation of her belted hips kept silent pace with the man like a second shadow, albeit, a much smaller shadow. Two vibroblades, in the event that one was broken or lost, a pistol, ammo belt, cartridges of glimmering liquid in a quick loading syringe, and a few various tools, knives, and serrated assassin's wires lined her sides in a way that nothing clanked or clattered together as she moved. All of this was hidden partially beneath a black half cloak that's cut gave the woman more of a corvid appearance than she'd aimed to achieve.

She followed him like this for the greater part of a ten minute walk until they arrived at a walkway leading towards the bridge of the ship, which meant information. Kress liked information. Her knees bent and effortlessly launched her body atop a railing that lined the elevated pathway, on which she maintained a balanced stride for the sheer impulsive fun of it. The bridge doors opened and in walked her guide who still seemed to pay her no mind. Inside she spied the back of Tormentous's head, and then the sliding doors closed again. At this point, Kressara really didn't know what to do with herself. She was no one's to command, though she followed the general orders of their collective leader. She identified as an apprentice, but denied her master on account of his...not being like himself. No operatives ever asked her to do anything, and she usually just wandered about until something that needed doing happened her way. With such freedom afforded, Kressara found missions like these unbearable, so in that very moment she decided to give herself a job!

But first…

She brought up a text channel on her data watch and tapped a message. Not to her associate, but to a man who probably didn't realize she got a hold of his contact information...again.

"Hey! Wanna get dinner after this? Looking cute in your armor. See ya later!" The message read, which Kressara followed up with a digital "winking face" before hitting send. In a matter of seconds, a message would arrive for Slade from the mother of his dead child, whom he'd been actively avoiding.

The holographic menu closed out and Kressara hopped down from the railing before casually strolling to the bridge, letting herself in, and quietly leaning herself against the wall beside the door. There, she would wait as an extra pair of hands, eyes, and ears while a few operatives wondered who she even was, and why she was even there to begin with.

[Slade Xandir]

His meditation was interrupted by a buzz across his wrist. His nostril raised, a small indication of the annoyance of not only someone contacting him, ignorant of his training yes, but annoying nonetheless, but once that sun-gem watched a screen pop up, his text reader mimicking the voice of a woman who actively knew he was outright giving her her space. She spoke so bubbly in his ear, his holowatch having caught her voice and recorded the many tones and augmentations of her voice to use it in programming. It sounded just like her, and even if he wanted to rip the ear piece out of his ear and fling the expensive watch into space, it would not stop her from being able to find him on any other piece of technology. She was a little minx, a cunning little bird, and surely- "Valkyr, complete a full scan of the ship for foreign tracking objects, and recording devices."

Valkyr dropped her clawed hands from their place on the directional controls, instead going through logs and accessing the main scanner of the ship, a bi-part system that scanned both inside and out for anything that was not keyed into the ship's permissive board. About a minute and a half later, the AI secured the collected info and sent the number to Valkyr's screen. "47 unaccounted-for tracking signals have been randomly placed about the ship, inside and out, and 129 voice catch boxes have been scattered throughout the ship, both inside and out." Slade took both hands and rubbed them slowly down and across his face. Not only had she found and stocked his ship fully of spyware, but she had been able to get ONTO his ship and INTO his ship, an untagged ship that was meant to be private and hidden. "Your Apprentice was seen-" Slade snapped back immediately. "She is not my Apprentice, I have no Apprentice, she is not MY APPRENTICE, Valkyr!" His irritation grew a hot seeth from deep within, but with a deep breath he lessened the burning hellfires. He would have to reprogram the entire ship, launch an E.M.P. across several sectors of his ship, and try to create preventative measures to stop her from being able to track him. Even on his random missions, she knew he would be heading out, his satchel somehow having her mark in them. There would either be a little sandwich tucked inside of a baggie, with an apple and a garrote wire or glass shards or something hostile in the meal. Or it would be random things, such as a candle, or a feather, or a high heel. It bothered him how she was so able to know his patterns, but seeing as he spent such... intimate time with her, she would know him much more than a random crazy broad. He didn't know whether to be flattered or freaked out. The lady was crazy, either in love or in fury with him.

"Leave them for now," he instructed the awaiting wardroid. The voice of his psychotic baby momma repeated her message in his ear, a voice devoid of the crazy that she truly was. A happy and bubble chick, just wanting to hang out. A little flirty, a buncha fun. His mind knew better. His other mind knew better as well. A voice to text was sent back, his vocals translating the baritones into readable words. They raced across the screen, even as he carefully tossed them into the mic. 'Yea, thanks. I'll be hungry after this. Wherever is fine. See you then. '

Standing after sending her the message back, he went to the back of the ship, wanting to just take a nap after all of that chaotic energy. Meanwhile all of Valkyr's attention was now on regaining control of the ship, and remaining vigilant for anything else that might pop up in Alpha X's requirements.

[Kita_Ikari]

Silvanius had awaited her Master's arrival upon the bridge. Turning, she dropped to one knee as well as the rest of the crew whom saw the Sith Lord Tormentous make his appearance before them. As he told them to rise, she looked over to see Kress strut her way onto the bridge, her eyes clearly on her master before casually turning her attention away elsewhere. Whether Kress noticed Silvanius or not, the sith apprentice remembered when she last saw Kress on Vorpa’ya during the mandolorian war, before her disappearance as she had been taken prisoner.

Averting her gaze, she smiled at her master, a hand on her hip as she looked up at Tormentous. "Your orders have been carried out master." She had felt Silas presence not long before Kress had arrived. She nodded to the Echani in greeting before awaiting further orders. She overheard Silas comment of him referring to someone as a thorn but didn't question it. "How long exactly until we reach our destination?" Subconciously she had been gripping at her sabers hilt in anticipation. No doubt Lord Tormentous or the Priest could feel Silvanius eagerness to test her newly built weapon.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

#3

---INFILTRATOR WING

More than seventy Sith Infiltrators were spanned out across various points and they fanned out while running active and passive scans of the sectors to make strong attempts at learning a fresh route through the local Imperial sectors nearing the Prelemian Trade Route. More than half the ships of the entire flight sent back reports suggesting high threat levels while two thirds of the remaining sent back reports of Imperial patrols in the area. Then there were those that delivered report that were all in the green.

These reports pinged locations back to the Harbinger and quickly after sending off the tight beam transmissions they resumed their cloaked status and moved on - entering hyperspace at the next available moment.

---MORABAND - OUTER GRAVITY WELL
---HARBINGER

Darth Tormentous remained silent for a long moment as the High Priest addressed him - he had a lot going through his mind and in doing so he did not ignore the platinum haired Sith, he simply contemplated on his answer. Not that time was against them. The very sands of time drained from the hourglass to their every whim. As the mightiest Force Adept pair in the entirety of the galaxy, none could stand before them lest they willed it be so. Without turning to look towards the High Priest, the Dark One acknowledged his Left Hand. “Nonsense, your goal holds merit. With the third map in hand we may divine its further boons. The so-called Star Forge is not the only secret such relics may hold.” Another pause came between them, “Without knowing we risk much in this operation. Though the potential value that there is something secreted away - such things are without a price.”

They both watched out the viewport, the hundreds of ships buzzing about the archaic hull of the old warship were decorative gnats fuming over the glory of a larger specimen. He watched them fly as fish swam in an aquarium. “The thorn has disruptive my plans long enough and so has he bit your heel wherever you would tread.” The comment was left to stew in the moment. “It is time we maneuver our objectives to entrap him, isolate him, and eliminate him once and for all.”

His keen senses plucked a familiar presence out from the bridge’s entryway. Tormentous needed not turn around to know it was the Crow. He approved of her clandestine ways. If she was not so eccentric and all over the place in mind, heart and soul he would have dubbed her as shady as a snake. But even as he did so the corner of his eye spotted Sovereign - the true snake in the grass.

For so as much as he knew she was the Sith’s blackened bird of carrion beneath the facade of a blonde and beautiful temptress with fluttering eyelashes and a cute smile - he knew she would see the job done. While she was loyal to herself most of all, she was loyal to Tormentous - for now - because he was providing to her knowledge and in turn power. With knowledge and power her growth was unhindered and her soon her inner strength would reflect her inner madness. She wanted it, he wanted it. The mutual benefits of her sustained loyalty were clear until the time came when she no longer required a guiding hand. Though there was something curious as she walked into the bridge and leaned against the wall.

On her hip was a glowing device. His eye narrowed at her and he was forced to swipe ignore on his own device as she butt dialed him. He released a few grumbled but set his aggravation aside for now. Even as he turned around again he felt his device vibrating again. He almost snapped at her to turn her device off but as he swiped again his teeth ground as he saw it was Slade this time. “Children.” He hissed to himself.

Finally to hopefully break his growing annoyance another entered the bridge and knelt respectfully. He turned and witnessed cascading blondes falling to the floor as rain as she devoted herself. He wasted no time in bidding her rise. Her outward display of her oath was warming. At least one of them has their head on straight. He mused to himself. He nodded, “They will do as instructed.” He turned to Lord High Admiral Lidmor who was already responding to incoming datapackets and logging their intervals. An intercomm opened up and reported that the Harbinger and her two Corsair Battleship escorts were preparing to enter hyperspace.

Her next question was fitting and he nodded accordingly. “Let us find out then.” Extending his hand to the small of her back he escorted the Acolyte to the far end of the bridge and stopped at a massive monitor. Once there he prodded the screen and tried to activate the machine. Instead of showing them a display of a galactic map and the potential routes given by the infiltrators, there was a plethora of churning and bubbling. Instantly Tormentous became annoyed and his free hand balled up into a fist. “What in the void is wrong with this thing!?” He barked and Admiral Lidmor rushed over so that his bridge would not fall victim to his Lord’s ire.

“My Lord, if I may. That,” he pressed an icon and a little door opened to produce a cup of coffee, “is our “caf machine.” He offered the cup to the Darth while sidestepping and smacking the terminal next to the coffee machine. “This is our monitor displaying the progress of our operation. Or simply the galactic map if it pleases you.”

“Yes,” Tormentous snapped and took the caf. “Well everyone knows I like to drink caf while I watch the map.”

“Of course we do sire.”

Lidmor bowed and retreated as Tormentous leered and sipped the heated caf. The map display showed to Kita they would be in transit for roughly five days. “It seems we have plenty of time to continue your training during our flight.”

---HARBINGER - BRIG

Aboard the lower decks of the ship within a vast brig. Brought forth the wretched wailing of Tormentous' prisoners. Some were of ill import but a few were noteworthy individuals indeed. One in specific being the Padawan Apprentice of one certain Jedi Master and her name was Aliclair Austjor. She hung in the depths of this dank prison like some scrap of meat. Only the smallest shreds of coverings of conceal her dignity which was an upgrade from her previous internment but aboard a starship a certain decorum was suggested for there were disciplinary issues aboard vessels that were on prolonged space flight for months at the time without returning to Port. Lord High Admiral Lidmor had insisted on some sort of covering so that his sailors wouldn't be tempted by such a prize.

She hung there, bound my old iron chains affixed to old iron bindings that dug into her wrists without mercy. The chains were set up on the ceiling into an eye-ring and that was used as a crude pulley system which kept her in near suspension where only her toes could touch the ground and offer the pressure on her shoulders, elbows and wrists some pretended medium of relief.

Her body was beaten and bruised by the interrogations she had been forced to endure. A fresh brand mark still left charred meat on both her hip and the inside of her wrist - marking her as a prisoner of the Dark Lord of the Sith himself.

How she had suffered at their hands, and this was only the beginning. Soon she would be used by the Sith to ensure the arrival of a specific special guest. His arrival would be blinded by the need to save his beloved Padawan. And then he would run headlong right to his doom.

[Silas Karn]

‘The new blood yet lacks the cunning to shield their presence within the Force nor their footsteps from my senses,’ Sovereign noted in amusement as the young woman shadowed him. Unlike Kressara the High Priest was dressed for combat. Skin tight platinum armor-weave gleamed through the etched obsidian plating he had forged himself. Draped from the Sovereign’s waist covering the backside of his legs was a black cape possessing a silver inner lining hemmed together with an opulent expenditure of cortosis threading. Though resting on a specially designed notch to the back of his neck the High Priest carried with him an obsidian fluted helm which bore the embossment of a crown crested upon it that once activated allowed a single luminous silver light through across its eye-line.

For all the intricacies of this armor, which also boasted two integrated Bothan inspired stun gauntlets a P-15 shield generator alongside a com-link and concealed and armor covered datapad, Silas had eschewed any gear covering his newly minted left arm in favor of medical wraps. Such unsightly aide would be properly fitted prior to arrival but the new flesh did not yet feel ‘right’ leaving little reason to do so ahead of time. Of course such thoughts were of little solace before the presence of the Dark Lord. Such matters seemed to be tabled as Silas gave question to the impetus behind the fleet’s departure. Without even turning to face him Tormentous addressed the arrival of the High Priest. Silas was pleased by the discussion up until the thorn was once more brought forth.

Furthermore was the unsettling line seemingly indicating Tormentous’s knowledge of the Sovereign’s latest extracurricular venture. Such line of thoughts were left fallow and Silas departed the bridge. There was no further need for discussion. Looking to Kressara as he made his exit the serpent allowed a moment of ‘levity’ as he saw it. Reaching out through the Force and permeating the young woman’s psyche (Mind Control). To promote discretion Silas continued to walk as he coiled around her consciousness. ‘It is impolite to spy my dear…’ The priest’s voice echoed throughout her mind. Then, as sudden as it had begun the priest dispersed his hold over the acolyte. It did not take long for Silas to delve further than he wished. Her surface emotions alone were intense. Let alone the quagmire that would await deep insight. Instead, the Sovereign returned to the docks. Two looming figures, clad in black, forged in the strongest metals. “I’ve never had the occasion to utilize such, or perhaps just not fitting of my taste. I will have to ensure that both are properly sealed and that mine is set to at least match the specs of his.”

[Aliclair Austjor]

This certainly was her Master Kenobi's Talon. Or her Quarters...

Slowly blinking her heavy lids, the sudden jolt of pain coming from her hip and wrist woke her from her current state. Unlaundered walls and... everything surrounded the royal, and she was not happy about it at all. A headache burdened her, and she had not choice but to endure. It had been two weeks of this. Of the nonstop torture. The thought of the heinous conducts made her tear up but it didn't last long. Throughout these two weeks, she hadn't gotten meals to get her by through the day, and they weren't even good. But, she forced herself to swallow it. For survival. Ali gave controlled breathing. The shackles holstering her from the ground, constantly dug into her wrists, causing her wrists to be cut into, and leaving scars of old and new, and the shackles even getting tainted with the blood of the Jedi. She gave another blink to focus her eyes, the noises of laments of her Reaper's prisoners. She gave a shaky huff, then a small grumble as she shifted her stance, but carefully, as to not slip. Being on her mets/toes wasn't a hard task, but to be on her toes constantly, for two weeks took its toll. The chains holding the shackles gave a metaled jangle as she set her wrists to rest. The constant shrills and cries of the fellow prisoners were a tick in her side, but she had to endure. Her body ached, and pulsated with all sorts of pain. She couldn't for whatever life she had in her figure out why she had to endure interrogation torture. Some of the questions made no sense, and no matter the answer she gave, she recieved another slash. Another burn, or another shock. She growled at the thought but shook it off. In taking this time, she decided meditate. Through the laments, through the unholy hollering and cries of battered beings just like her. She exhaled shakily, and her pond settled. She reflected her time with Ben, the GA. With Varn Badaash. They were her centerpiece, her anchor, in the hellgates of the Sith.

Hope...

The footsteps of another brought her eyes to be opened back, and she watched as her cell door be opened. It was a sailor from the Harbinger's crew. She gave him a scowling death look, but he had rations on a plate, which he set down on the ground. Her stomach rumbled low, and she groaned lightly to herself. This was only the beginning of what was to come, and she only experiences a few of many things. The male's eyes glistened with glutton, lust. And the hung padawan was his meal. She gave a weakened growl at him as he extended his hands and it caused him to hesitate. He let out a slightly surprised chuckle before proceeding. His hands felt her fit body slowly turn to bones. Without the coursed meals, she would start to deteriorate. Aliclair was only given enough to survive... and this was how the Sith bred soldiers. By giving them no choice. She stayed still as the sailor had his feel feast, figuring he would just get his feel off then go on his own. But, why would he just feel and not actually use? He was here to tend to her hunger, right? He moved behind her, where his hands trailed upwards. She snarled as her eyes sparked a savage copper red-orange. Forcing herself through the pain of the shackles, she gripped the chains and pulled herself so her legs were free. They then wrapped around the sailor's waist, pulling him. This caused him his feet to come from under him and he slammed onto his back; Ali followed this assault with shoving the met of her left foot straight into the man's throat, and with his Adam's apple digging deeper, it caused the male to squirm, shoving her foot off. He'd try to scramble away but she wanted him dead, to feel his life escape his body! Giving another pull, she managed to coil her legs around the sailor's neck and held it, slowly squeezing. Ali glared but then her eyes widened slightly. She immediately released him, and he scrambled off. Her legs swung, then she planted her toes back to where they were and released the chain housing her shackles. She winced as said shackles dug back into her wrists and she let out a painted grunt. She had no energy, and wherever that energy came to strangle this sailor to death, she didn't want it.

[Professor Mors]

Grumbling and shifting around in his seat, Sa’ato found he had no choice but to forcefully grow extra head frills over his aural lobes to find some fleeting quiet with which to continue his studies. Not without a sense of personal irony, the professor had elected to peruse charred documents detailing the New Sith Wars from the rotting stacks back on Yavin IV. The ghoulish figure of Freedon Nadd hovered about in his mind, as did his all-too-familiar sect of cultists that nearly toppled a civilization in the name of their dead sovereign. The historian in the Neti could not help but feel a cruel sense of intrigue.

For all he knew, what was to be accomplished in a mere few hours could be spoken of for decades- centuries to come. Of course, the elder academic had lived through the Clone Wars, and was only recently retired when the Galactic Empire saw its dominion threatened on all fronts. But this time was different. This battle, this war, Sa’ato would observe, and affect directly. The professor had to stifle a hoarse chuckle. To think, years from now, dogged grad students would be tugging their hair out trying to find primary sources for the raid that was about to occur. What would it be like, to go from the student to that which was studied? The Neti closed his eyes, and continued to ruminate on such flights of fancy while waiting for the all-clear.

[Kressara Thryn]

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

The comlink was going haywire and a cutting glare made Kressara realize that it was the pressure of her leaning backend against her device that caused the disruption. Her cheeks flushed...no, not those cheeks...and she pushed out her hips to weigh herself against the wall with a tad more curvature to her spine.

"Apologies, my lord." The words were a bout of laughter just barely withheld behind a purposefully stern face. The meeting continued without her interference for a while and the second of the lords turned to depart from the bridge.

Fingers of force energy caressed the edges of her aura, delving deeper until they hit a lock against her mind. Like a pin and hook, the lordly looking sith began picking at that lock through the force until the doors to her subconscious sprung open before him. Certainly, his words entered into her mind with the devious warning he intended, but her uncontrolled emotions and thoughts would spill out like a wall of water that was waiting on the other side of that door he pried open, splashing against his legs, coating his clothes, and seeping into his skin. Everything that was the girl washed over him, like the emotional equivalent to getting water up your nose. In doing so, he could likely tell that she was far weaker in the force than he. No doubt harmless for now. Even just the slithering voice intruding upon her mind sparked a series of crackling snaps about her presence like droplets of water sprinkling into hot grease, like the assault excited her rather than threatened the girl...or was a threat something she felt elation over?

While he was subtle, she was not. Stim tainted hazels leered with crystal sheen, pupils pinpoint small as she took in his smug appearance while he bridged the metaphysical gap between them. Her arms were crossed against her torso, body unmoving under the surprise of a broadcast through her mind. She'd been spoken to telepathically before. The familiar sensation of being mentally violated by another's thoughts lifted the edges of her lips into a coyote grin. The last person to achieve that kind of look from the crow described it as "Having a rifle's laser sight trained against your forehead."

His hold dropped and so did the intensity of their brief connection. Kressara turned her head with his fleeing direction and eyed the lord up and down with a refrained predatory inclination. Her first instinct was to lunge at the sovereign and demand that he try that little stunt again so she could infect his headspace with every crazed thought that tormented her, chasing him down until not a single square foot of space in the massive ship remained untraveled...but that was just her first instinct. Kressara hardly ever obeyed those.

So she went with plan B.

Beam an impossibly charismatic smile his way with fluttering lashes, promising she's nothing but a harmless fool.

The beep of a coffee machine and the scent of dark roast distracted the blackbird from her momentary fixation.

Her grin remained, though less tenacious, as Blood's former apprentice strode from the back of the room to the front where Tormentous sipped his caf. Daring to lean into his personal space with every operative on bridge duty going rigid, Kressara produced a tightly packaged baggy from one of her many pockets. In the little crevice of his grip on the mug she planted the package and whispered, "Just in case you like a little spice in your coffee…"

The heat of her frame retreated and the realization that they would be in flight for the next five or so days had the apprentice sighing heavily.

She hated long voyages with the sith.

"Five days...I should pitch myself from the garbage vacs."



Some Number Of Hours Later
Wandering the Harbinger
Stumbling Into The Holding Cells



Kressara strolled through the depths of the monolithic ship to pass the time and stretch her aching legs. Something about space travel just made her tendons itch. Always has...when a spike of energy brushed against her being. Something fearful, despairing...and then dangerous. It was a touch of something dark, like a mold growing on a white canvas in an otherwise dark room. Someone unlike her companions was beneath the upper floors of the ship, kept in the holding cells. Now who could that be? What could her masters be hiding? That was information Kressara didn't yet have, and Silas did say it was rude to spy… so rather than skulk about, the apprentice let herself in behind the unfortunate idiot who wouldn't be coming back from his duty to feed the prisoner.

From Aliclair's point of view, the doors would slide open and a woman in thievish attire would strut unafraid of the murderous scene before her. Hazels seemed to glow under the dim light as they fell from the chained padawan to the dead sailor on the floor, then to the food tray now out of her reach. She put one and two together and a smirk creased her fair cheeks before the woman put her hands together for the captured Jedi. Her clapping bounced off the walls.

"Well done, prisoner! I imagine he deserved that…"

Kressara stepped a bit closer, not quite within reach, but close enough to be heard and seen more easily. She was clearly a sith, but her white gold tresses and magazine smile were oddly disarming.

"Men. Only brave enough to touch a strong woman when they're in chains. He looked like a scumbag. I applaud you." Kressara praised her show of self defense, noticing a confliction in her eyes over right and wrong. The prisoner's reaction to her own killer instinct under pressure painted her as an obvious Jedi acolyte. This guilt didn't escape the crow of the sith, who was rather familiar with the emotion.

"Don't feel too bad for him. He wouldn't have felt bad for you and he didn't likely feel regret for the other's he no doubt hurt...I saw plenty like him when I was a prisoner. Killed plenty like him too."

Her eyes fell from the shackles that held her mercilessly high off the floor, to her toes struggling to relieve the pressure against her bones. Barbaric. Kress hated the sight of it and rolled her eyes at the thought of her superiors treating a guest with such animosity. That's no way to make friends…

She reached behind her. Was the woman about to pull out a weapon? No. Kressara slipped a curious object from the pack beneath her hip length cloak. It was a book, about an inch and a half thick. A sketch book?

"Be cool, kid...no sudden moves, or I'm leaving you here without help." She warned, then cautiously approached the padawan with her book in hand. Kressara knelt before her and slipped the sketch book between the prisoner's feet and the floor, providing her something higher to stand on that would no doubt relieve a great deal of pressure from her wrists and ankles. She stepped away, out of reach once again.

"Be good, answer my questions, and I'll find you a footstool or something. Deal?"

[Kita_Ikari]

Silvanius followed Tormentous, noticing the small touch he brought onto her back as he guided her over to a large monitor. She didn't say anything, but couldn't help cracking a small smile. Meanwhile, it seemed her master had been having trouble activating the map. She looked at him confused as he seemed to have issues, only then to overhear a odd bubbling sound. It seemed the Sith apprentice didn't know as much about ships as Lord Tormentous did as the admiral walked over to help.

“My Lord, if I may. That, is our “caf machine.”

Holding a hand up to her mouth, Silvanius tried suppressing a laugh to herself before pressing the button on the monitor shortly after the admiral handed Tormentous his coffee. "Nice. Coffee sounds good right now actually." She said casually as to avoid upsetting her master with his mistake, or the fact she needed a distraction trying not to laugh at the Sith Lord. "Bad idea laughing at your master right now...or ever. Unless you want to end up smashed into another pillar or evacuated out of the airlock."

Looking at the map, Silvanius knew it was going to be a long ride to their destination. She lifted her blue gaze up at Lord Tormentous as he mentioned training. Placing a hand on her hip, the Sith apprentice nodded. "Training sounds good…" There was a brief pause as she thought about what kind of training they would be doing. "What kind of training are you suggesting? Battle? Or force training?" It wasn't unusual for Silvanius to train every second she had. It had become a regular routine. One she had started to rather enjoy overtime with Tormentous. Of course Silvanius was now noticing when Jacobi had began entering her training sessions. Not by his voice, but by the look he cast her way as they battled.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

#4

---MID RIM - ROCHE SECTOR - Q-8
---FAR EDGE OF THE SECTOR

The blue tunnel of hyperspace burst open in a shower of white light to drag the trio of Sith ships out from their fleeted travel. The Nightfall Destroyer Harbinger was flanked by very select flotilla of Sith Warships. This formation was designed to offer the flagship a modicum of protection and support while minimizing the Armada’s overall signature. It was far easier to infiltrate a select scale of ships than it was an entire fleet of them. The short wave beacons left by the Infiltrator Wing were dying just as the Harbinger arrived. When dropped the beacons had a short life before powering down and dying to drift forever as space slag. But these short time spans bought the navicomputers of the Sith Flotilla just enough time to target their pings and set courses.

High Admiral Lidmor did not want to choose a route so close to the Roche System but from the reports and pings he was getting this was currently the most prominent route with gaps in both the Alliance and Imperial patrols. Granted those patrols changed hourly but to cover the entirety of the space inbetween was an impossibility and so the Harbinger was so far able to slip by unnoticed.

Once beyond the Roche Sector though the Sith would find themselves within Alliance Space and free of Imperial eyes. The Sith-Imperial Ceasefire would buy them leniency of course but it was only a ceasefire. To assume the rare skirmish still did not break out between the two Factions was folly. They were simply that though, short - brief skirmishes and either swept under the rug or easily smoothed out. All in all, it was best to go unnoticed for the eyes of even a friend were a potential source of leaked information.

“Are we recalling the next jump points?” Lidmor called out while himself moving to the screens to oversee the work.

“Yes Admiral. Our next points are coming in now, the Infiltrator Wing is moving across the Prelemian and into Alliance Territory. We have potential jump coordinates logged in as P-8 near the Lantillies Sector, P-9 along the Lesser Lantillian Route or south towards Q-9.”

Lidmor took a moment to ponder but ultimately he made his decision. “South would be far safer a route to be sure though across the Lesser Lantillian would shave almost 24 hours from our transit time. Order one of the Infiltrator Squadrons to comb through these coordinates.” He stated while drawing towards the area near Nazzri and Vena. “Skirting Imperial Space again but it will provide us with an interesting window.”

“At once sir.”

The Harbinger began to make her turn while the navicomputers went to work calculating the next jump that would take them in and have them threading a needle.

Meanwhile Tormentous had stared at the monitor for long enough and he palmed the little baggie offer by the Crow as she retreated. He admired her ability to be almost hidden in plain sight. Quietly waggling the bag at her in thanks he pocketed the substance and took another sip of coffee before refilling the container he held and nodding toward Silvanius.

“We’ll begin with combat.”

He concluded with his turn and departure from the bridge in a brisk manner. Tormentous could easily guide the ships where they needed to go but it was best to leave the task to the technology that was designed to handle the tasks and the professionals trained in their use. In the meantime he would use the time allotted to bring himself closer to martial perfection and instill those practices within his Apprentice. Perhaps it would prepare her for tonight when Kraujas Ntima needed to be fed. Limber her up enough so that she could avoid being eaten by the massive battle hydra.

The trip to the practice cages took the better part of twenty minutes. Once arriving the Dark Lord immediately activated several battle droids. “This is something you’ve not truly been trained on before. How to use your Danger Sense along with your skills in lightsaber combat. We have been working on your Form IV, Ataru, the agile and offensive form. Set ready!” He commanded her and he wasn’t playing around so she had better be ready.

One of the trio of droids stepped forward and brought out its blaster rifle and set the mode to its full powered setting. Lethal. If Silvanius missed even a little bit - she would be wounded or slain outright. “Command your senses to see before you. Do not waste time in letting them guide you because you don’t have that luxury. Force them to seek out danger as it would come to you.” The first shot cracked out towards Silvanius and she would be forced to dodge. “Now that you are ready, equip your blade. This is where paying attention will set you apart - are you worthy to stand here in defiance of this challenge or am I going to jettison your corpse out the airlock or toss you to the dragons? You decide, Acolyte.”

Another shot rang out. “This is the key to this mode of defense. For the next five days you will be in this practice cage working on your blaster deflection. You will not eat, you will not sleep until bidden otherwise. I will not have you shot out on the field of battle. You will master this art and you will do so with a sense of urgency. No exceptions.” He walked over to the other side of the cage and activated his own set of droids, drawing his mighty sword and it chilled the area to his touch. “I will watch your back as you will watch mine. If any shots get passed you, they hit me.” He leered at the droids as his senses keened in on the task ahead. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Blaster fire erupted from his side of the cage and he swept, parried, pivoted and slapped aside the rounds as his adrenaline grew with each passing moment. Silvanius’ side would go very easy and slow at first but gradually it would intensify. “To deflect a bolt of plasma you need to act before the shot fires. The bolt travels too fast for anyone even under the influence of the Force - aside from a true master of speed - you will not be able to block the shot if you move after it fires. You must sense where the danger is coming, anticipate where the shot will hit and line up your saber. The Force will speak to you in these things. Do not let it fail you. Concentrate and in time this will become second nature - for your sake - and mine.”