500 words is the limit, as always. Please turn in your responses by the end of the day (GMT) on July 14th, 2021. Rules and general introduction here.July 2021 Prompt wrote:Your transport has crashed on a hostile world and is ruined beyond repair. You are severely wounded and trapped at a campsite with a bitter rival who is seemingly unscathed. Worse yet, they're armed. They tell you rescue is on the way, but...
July 2021 Writing Prompt
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Master Buggie
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July 2021 Writing Prompt
Our guest judge this month, Zechs Merquise, was kind enough to supply us with a challenging writing prompt. Please see below:
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Jacobi Wylcott
- Full Member
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- Joined: Thu Sep 28, 2017 8:41 pm
Re: July 2021 Writing Prompt
---MANDALORIAN CIVIL WAR
Turmoil flared in every corner of the Mandalorian Sector. With the discovery of the Mask of Dreams and Clan Ordo calling out Clan Bralor in public - the forges had been struck and the anvil rang by the hammer’s of war. Jacobi Wylcott held the Mask and it painted quite the target on his back, even for the more ambitious of his own Clan.
The Mask itself was just outside of his reach. Fingers clawed for it but he could not make purchase on the fabled relic. He himself was yet pinned down, slagged steel protruded from his lower left thigh. The Crusader could not move far enough to grasp the Mask of Dreams and he could not dislodge the spar of steel without something on hand to stop the bleeding that would surely occur once the slag was freed.
Wylcott’s ship had suffered devastating damage and had come down in a ball of flame, crashing into the side of a mountain and coming eventually to rest within the belly of the valley below. He’d caught vague shouting from the cockpit - possibly a warhead. Considering their current condition he was quite fortunate to even be alive right now despite his predicament.
There he sat in the remains of the burning passenger hold - helpless.
While he thought he would have nothing but the crackling of the fire to keep him company. Heavy laden footsteps alerted him. Which was a serious problem. The only people aboard the ship had been the pilot, copilot, himself, and a prisoner of Clan Bralor that by happened chance was aboard. Jacobi instantly went for his holster but his two blue eyes widened to the feeling of grasping nothing at all. His Ripper had fallen from the holster somehow. Instinctively he moved to grab his knife - it also was absent. He must have been jarred around during the crash much harder than he’d thought.
Looking back up his eyes narrowed in defiance as he spotted a Mandalorian in Bralor armor, armed and leveling his blaster towards Jacobi. “The legend of Wylcott wasn’t enough to keep you free of this fate.” The tone was venomous with intent, Jacobi did not respond. He would not entreat his foe with words before his execution. The Bralor approached - and lowered his weapon - “Not today Ordo. I would not claim your life this way.”
The Ordo Mandalorian relaxed a bit and thanked Manda to his fortune. It seemed honor still held course even in the midst of savage and bloody war. “Ordo Clansmen are on their way. They were nearby and I’ve hailed them.” The Bralor knelt down and fetched Jacobi’s helmet and callously dropped it into the wounded man’s lap. Jacobi winced at the action. But blinding him from all the pain he wrestled with - the next time he looked up he was looking at the Bralor handing him the Mask itself. “Mand’alor is the fighting spirit of our people. Do not take this for granted.” Jacobi took the Mask and held it close.
It seemed that there was little else to report.
But - a foul odor wafted in between the flames and caught under Jacobi’s nose. The Mandalorian pair hardly had time to process what it was before they were set upon by a pack of feral strill. The six legged predators would not shy at taking down larger prey and at the smell of blood their notions of self preservation escaped them. Jacobi and his knife, the Bralor and his rifle came under severe assault by the foul smelling creatures. They were vicious and nasty and many strill failed to make the mark - though some did.
By the time the rescue shuttle arrived and the still were fleeing, the Ordo Mandalorians would come upon a mound of dead - one Bralor Mandalorian amongst the strill. As his Clansmen put hands on Wylcott, he demanded the Bralor be taken as well - full honors for his valorous efforts to defend an enemy even to the point of losing his own life in the process.
Honor was a strange thing indeed.
Turmoil flared in every corner of the Mandalorian Sector. With the discovery of the Mask of Dreams and Clan Ordo calling out Clan Bralor in public - the forges had been struck and the anvil rang by the hammer’s of war. Jacobi Wylcott held the Mask and it painted quite the target on his back, even for the more ambitious of his own Clan.
The Mask itself was just outside of his reach. Fingers clawed for it but he could not make purchase on the fabled relic. He himself was yet pinned down, slagged steel protruded from his lower left thigh. The Crusader could not move far enough to grasp the Mask of Dreams and he could not dislodge the spar of steel without something on hand to stop the bleeding that would surely occur once the slag was freed.
Wylcott’s ship had suffered devastating damage and had come down in a ball of flame, crashing into the side of a mountain and coming eventually to rest within the belly of the valley below. He’d caught vague shouting from the cockpit - possibly a warhead. Considering their current condition he was quite fortunate to even be alive right now despite his predicament.
There he sat in the remains of the burning passenger hold - helpless.
While he thought he would have nothing but the crackling of the fire to keep him company. Heavy laden footsteps alerted him. Which was a serious problem. The only people aboard the ship had been the pilot, copilot, himself, and a prisoner of Clan Bralor that by happened chance was aboard. Jacobi instantly went for his holster but his two blue eyes widened to the feeling of grasping nothing at all. His Ripper had fallen from the holster somehow. Instinctively he moved to grab his knife - it also was absent. He must have been jarred around during the crash much harder than he’d thought.
Looking back up his eyes narrowed in defiance as he spotted a Mandalorian in Bralor armor, armed and leveling his blaster towards Jacobi. “The legend of Wylcott wasn’t enough to keep you free of this fate.” The tone was venomous with intent, Jacobi did not respond. He would not entreat his foe with words before his execution. The Bralor approached - and lowered his weapon - “Not today Ordo. I would not claim your life this way.”
The Ordo Mandalorian relaxed a bit and thanked Manda to his fortune. It seemed honor still held course even in the midst of savage and bloody war. “Ordo Clansmen are on their way. They were nearby and I’ve hailed them.” The Bralor knelt down and fetched Jacobi’s helmet and callously dropped it into the wounded man’s lap. Jacobi winced at the action. But blinding him from all the pain he wrestled with - the next time he looked up he was looking at the Bralor handing him the Mask itself. “Mand’alor is the fighting spirit of our people. Do not take this for granted.” Jacobi took the Mask and held it close.
It seemed that there was little else to report.
But - a foul odor wafted in between the flames and caught under Jacobi’s nose. The Mandalorian pair hardly had time to process what it was before they were set upon by a pack of feral strill. The six legged predators would not shy at taking down larger prey and at the smell of blood their notions of self preservation escaped them. Jacobi and his knife, the Bralor and his rifle came under severe assault by the foul smelling creatures. They were vicious and nasty and many strill failed to make the mark - though some did.
By the time the rescue shuttle arrived and the still were fleeing, the Ordo Mandalorians would come upon a mound of dead - one Bralor Mandalorian amongst the strill. As his Clansmen put hands on Wylcott, he demanded the Bralor be taken as well - full honors for his valorous efforts to defend an enemy even to the point of losing his own life in the process.
Honor was a strange thing indeed.
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Ranah Jansen
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Re: July 2021 Writing Prompt
“ My My what do we have here ” came the all too familiar voice
Ranah looked at the source and her stomach dropped. It was the woman from Nar Shadda the one who she had fought with and survived. What’s more, she was standing and from appearances was untouched and to make matters worse Ranah noticed the blaster pistol holstered on her hip. Ranah was unarmed.
Ranah cleared the debris that was pinning her leg, she hoped it wasn’t broken, She had cuts and scrapes and a wound in her side, she was in bad shape, unarmed and at a clear disadvantage. Ranah tried to touch the Force to get a sense of her surroundings, The Force was silent.
“Welcome to Myrkr” Silvanius said mockingly squatting down
Her tone went more serious “ I won’t kill you ” she said with a pause “ Yet, not until my rescue arrives ” She rose back to her feet and without a word left the room.
Was she the only other survivor? Ranah didn’t know, she needed to get away and find her own way off this world. She would rely on her martial skills to get through this. First she tested her leg as she rose, and fell, she couldn’t walk. She tried again and managed a limp. She took it slowly as she exited the room, when she did she could not believe what she was seeing.
All that remained of the transport was a short hallway, the room she emerged from and that was it, at both ends of the hallway the forests of Myrkr appeared in all their majestic glory. Ranah limped along the hallway taking her south. She was an expert in survival in hostile environments and was confident she could survive here. It was a short distance before she found the body of one of the freighter’s crew. What’s more he had a pistol holstered, which she relieved the corpse of, as well as a communication device and a food pack. It was a few more yards before blaster bolts zipped past her.
Silvanius had realized she left. She wouldn’t be taken prisoner. Ranah took cover behind a thick tree and returned fire. The exchange of blaster fire went on for a few minutes when Silvanius’ blaster pack was depleted. Ranah had a few remaining, Ranah would need them. Silvanius spat a few curses in Ranah’s direction and began to reload. Ranah took the opportunity to make a break for it into the thickening forest. Ranah had taken cover in the bushes concealing herself.
“Run Jedi scum, You are as good as dead” She had decided to not pursue. Ranah would not cover much ground in her condition.
A short time later, Ranah could hear an argument between Silvanius and another but in the end she departed Myrkr with her allies without further incident. Ranah would make it off-world herself with her enemy gone it had become a whole lot easier to find friendly civilization.
Ranah looked at the source and her stomach dropped. It was the woman from Nar Shadda the one who she had fought with and survived. What’s more, she was standing and from appearances was untouched and to make matters worse Ranah noticed the blaster pistol holstered on her hip. Ranah was unarmed.
Ranah cleared the debris that was pinning her leg, she hoped it wasn’t broken, She had cuts and scrapes and a wound in her side, she was in bad shape, unarmed and at a clear disadvantage. Ranah tried to touch the Force to get a sense of her surroundings, The Force was silent.
“Welcome to Myrkr” Silvanius said mockingly squatting down
Her tone went more serious “ I won’t kill you ” she said with a pause “ Yet, not until my rescue arrives ” She rose back to her feet and without a word left the room.
Was she the only other survivor? Ranah didn’t know, she needed to get away and find her own way off this world. She would rely on her martial skills to get through this. First she tested her leg as she rose, and fell, she couldn’t walk. She tried again and managed a limp. She took it slowly as she exited the room, when she did she could not believe what she was seeing.
All that remained of the transport was a short hallway, the room she emerged from and that was it, at both ends of the hallway the forests of Myrkr appeared in all their majestic glory. Ranah limped along the hallway taking her south. She was an expert in survival in hostile environments and was confident she could survive here. It was a short distance before she found the body of one of the freighter’s crew. What’s more he had a pistol holstered, which she relieved the corpse of, as well as a communication device and a food pack. It was a few more yards before blaster bolts zipped past her.
Silvanius had realized she left. She wouldn’t be taken prisoner. Ranah took cover behind a thick tree and returned fire. The exchange of blaster fire went on for a few minutes when Silvanius’ blaster pack was depleted. Ranah had a few remaining, Ranah would need them. Silvanius spat a few curses in Ranah’s direction and began to reload. Ranah took the opportunity to make a break for it into the thickening forest. Ranah had taken cover in the bushes concealing herself.
“Run Jedi scum, You are as good as dead” She had decided to not pursue. Ranah would not cover much ground in her condition.
A short time later, Ranah could hear an argument between Silvanius and another but in the end she departed Myrkr with her allies without further incident. Ranah would make it off-world herself with her enemy gone it had become a whole lot easier to find friendly civilization.
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Adar Bolner
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Re: July 2021 Writing Prompt
-SOMEWHERE ON A RIMWORLD
Debris were still falling down onto the planet's surface. Adar found himself unconscious on a rather large island, that was for the most part uninhabited. The beauty of the ocean and the rich forest was in contrast to the wreck of the Alliance prison transport that he and a handful of prisoners were on board. Most of those prisoners, as well as the Alliance personel, were now dead. But Adar luckily survived. And he wasn't the only one...
As Adar slowly woke up, he was thoroughly confused. He wasn't dead, and he wasn't to safety. His instinct was to get up, but he found it extremely painful to do so. His right leg was badly hurt, and so was his left arm. He looked around his vision still a bit hazy, but his head froze upon realizing what he saw. An old "friend" of his. Friend is the world she uses, but for Adar, she was nothing but his one, true rival. Kressara Thryn.
"Hey, you are finally on your senses! Let me get you closer to the fire. I have some snacks if you get hungry, and have already gotten some water from a nearby lake"
At least Adar knew why he was still alive. Kressara would never kill him. She was indeed the kindest Sith, but she was still a Sith. As they settled down, the young padawan was really annoyed. That happy, sassy way Kress talked was as prevalent as always, and he was in no position to control his emotions. With his right hand he tried to reach for his weapons, but he could not find them. This was the worst possible thing to happen to him. He spoke in a harsh tone towards her.
"Oh please, cut that friendly attitude of yours. You have tried, and have succeed, to hurt me a lot. You and I are not friends. No matter what you say." Her expression was umoved
He examined her for a moment, noticing she was completely unscathed from the fall. "How did you manage to come out completely unscathed from orbit?"
She let out a giggle. "A crow always lands on her feet". The young man was not impressed. "Cats do that. And soon the Alliance will come and put you back behind bars."
The crow woman burst into laughter. "Oh, that fall really hit you hard. We are sadly on a Sith world. I am afraid it is you who is going to be behind bars. And they will be here soon, perhaps a few days at most." She paused, gathering a few things in a blanket. "Feel free to run away, if you can that is."
Adar could not believe what he was hearing. This was truly a nightmare. Adar was severely wounded, and his only company would be the Crow. He was feeling hopeless, powerless, weak and afraid. Is this how it felt to be utterly defeated?
Debris were still falling down onto the planet's surface. Adar found himself unconscious on a rather large island, that was for the most part uninhabited. The beauty of the ocean and the rich forest was in contrast to the wreck of the Alliance prison transport that he and a handful of prisoners were on board. Most of those prisoners, as well as the Alliance personel, were now dead. But Adar luckily survived. And he wasn't the only one...
As Adar slowly woke up, he was thoroughly confused. He wasn't dead, and he wasn't to safety. His instinct was to get up, but he found it extremely painful to do so. His right leg was badly hurt, and so was his left arm. He looked around his vision still a bit hazy, but his head froze upon realizing what he saw. An old "friend" of his. Friend is the world she uses, but for Adar, she was nothing but his one, true rival. Kressara Thryn.
"Hey, you are finally on your senses! Let me get you closer to the fire. I have some snacks if you get hungry, and have already gotten some water from a nearby lake"
At least Adar knew why he was still alive. Kressara would never kill him. She was indeed the kindest Sith, but she was still a Sith. As they settled down, the young padawan was really annoyed. That happy, sassy way Kress talked was as prevalent as always, and he was in no position to control his emotions. With his right hand he tried to reach for his weapons, but he could not find them. This was the worst possible thing to happen to him. He spoke in a harsh tone towards her.
"Oh please, cut that friendly attitude of yours. You have tried, and have succeed, to hurt me a lot. You and I are not friends. No matter what you say." Her expression was umoved
He examined her for a moment, noticing she was completely unscathed from the fall. "How did you manage to come out completely unscathed from orbit?"
She let out a giggle. "A crow always lands on her feet". The young man was not impressed. "Cats do that. And soon the Alliance will come and put you back behind bars."
The crow woman burst into laughter. "Oh, that fall really hit you hard. We are sadly on a Sith world. I am afraid it is you who is going to be behind bars. And they will be here soon, perhaps a few days at most." She paused, gathering a few things in a blanket. "Feel free to run away, if you can that is."
Adar could not believe what he was hearing. This was truly a nightmare. Adar was severely wounded, and his only company would be the Crow. He was feeling hopeless, powerless, weak and afraid. Is this how it felt to be utterly defeated?
"The universe is infinitely complex, but my purpose is clear."
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Annan Rainwalker
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- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:11 pm
- Location: Mertaal's Locker
Re: July 2021 Writing Prompt
Blood.
The breeze reeked of liquid iron, the redolence an assault upon the peerless olfaction possessed by the Son of Firrerre. His mouth morphed into a fanged snarl as he attempted staring down his adversary, heart thundering against his chest and temples throbbing with the furore of his own pulse. Despite every instinct reassuring him that he was a predator by birthright, the Darkness still made him doubt. It screamed in a hushed yet audible whisper against his innermost luminosity, a wraith against the light, unable to come nigh yet persistently slithering around the very edges of his heightened awareness, awaiting its chance to pounce and claim its prize. You are no predator, it screeched, but prey.
Blood...
Shamrock eyes took their chance, sparing a glance in the direction of his own flank, before cinching shut. The Light helped. It lessened the pain. Yet the sickening stickiness of his own black tunic, drenched in silver; the incessant, sonorous plopping of droplets against his nerf hide boots assailing his eardrums; and the intermittent fogginess of his eyesight, the campfire in the distance alternating between bright and blurry; all served as sobering reminders of the pungent reality.
Blood.
He reached out. He had exsanguinated far too much; he was wobbling, unable to coordinate his own limbs properly. The Light sustained him, kept him afloat in this cesspool, even as he felt his regenerative healing factor working in overdrive to seal up the bleeder. The Sith Lord's crimson saber he had dodged with all the agility bequeathed to him through his heritage and his training in the Way of the Hawk-Bat; it was the man's vibro-knife that had caught him by surprise. Plunged with all the ferocity of the Arkanian Dragons he had at his command straight into his right flank, likely through his right kidney; a most vital pressure point.
And he had lost too much blood.
The Jedi fell on his knee, the wobbling appendage no longer able to sustain his weight. His breaths hitched in his chest as he began to pant, shamrock eyes opening and quickly taking on a faraway look. Something happened, something that had never happened before. For the very first time since he had first opened his eyes to the Light and reached out to it back when he had been a bare Initiate, the Light reached back.
A fragrance truly mystical caressed his senses, so sublime and pleasant that it instantly washed away the acrid odour of blood.
<Annan! I'm almost at the extraction point! Hang on, hang the frakkin' kriff on, dang it!!! I'm almost there!!!> Ashara's screams filled his comm-link, and he couldn't help but grin. Too far gone, he knew he was hearing her voice for the last time, and he couldn't help but bless her, praying she remained as lively as she was til the end of her own days. She had been a good friend.
He even smiled at his opponent, knowing that the Sith Lord would never get to experience what the Jedi was going through now, the euphoric, otherworldly bliss that awaited those who walked in the Light.
<Master! Master, > it was as if he heard his Padawan's voice not through the comm, strangely, but through the Universe itself. The turning of an entire galaxy suddenly felt so inconsequential, meagre compared to being that Annan Rainwalker, Jedi Knight, had now become!
His voice, when he finally found it, was hoarse - dry because of the amount of fluid he had haemorrhaged.
"Go ba--go back!... Y-you both... Darth... B-Blood..."
The moment passed. All that remained of Annan Rainwalker, Jedi Knight in this mortal plane, were a pile of black robes, and a saber and a shoto, that splashed into the pool left behind by his own silver blood.
The breeze reeked of liquid iron, the redolence an assault upon the peerless olfaction possessed by the Son of Firrerre. His mouth morphed into a fanged snarl as he attempted staring down his adversary, heart thundering against his chest and temples throbbing with the furore of his own pulse. Despite every instinct reassuring him that he was a predator by birthright, the Darkness still made him doubt. It screamed in a hushed yet audible whisper against his innermost luminosity, a wraith against the light, unable to come nigh yet persistently slithering around the very edges of his heightened awareness, awaiting its chance to pounce and claim its prize. You are no predator, it screeched, but prey.
Blood...
Shamrock eyes took their chance, sparing a glance in the direction of his own flank, before cinching shut. The Light helped. It lessened the pain. Yet the sickening stickiness of his own black tunic, drenched in silver; the incessant, sonorous plopping of droplets against his nerf hide boots assailing his eardrums; and the intermittent fogginess of his eyesight, the campfire in the distance alternating between bright and blurry; all served as sobering reminders of the pungent reality.
Blood.
He reached out. He had exsanguinated far too much; he was wobbling, unable to coordinate his own limbs properly. The Light sustained him, kept him afloat in this cesspool, even as he felt his regenerative healing factor working in overdrive to seal up the bleeder. The Sith Lord's crimson saber he had dodged with all the agility bequeathed to him through his heritage and his training in the Way of the Hawk-Bat; it was the man's vibro-knife that had caught him by surprise. Plunged with all the ferocity of the Arkanian Dragons he had at his command straight into his right flank, likely through his right kidney; a most vital pressure point.
And he had lost too much blood.
The Jedi fell on his knee, the wobbling appendage no longer able to sustain his weight. His breaths hitched in his chest as he began to pant, shamrock eyes opening and quickly taking on a faraway look. Something happened, something that had never happened before. For the very first time since he had first opened his eyes to the Light and reached out to it back when he had been a bare Initiate, the Light reached back.
A fragrance truly mystical caressed his senses, so sublime and pleasant that it instantly washed away the acrid odour of blood.
<Annan! I'm almost at the extraction point! Hang on, hang the frakkin' kriff on, dang it!!! I'm almost there!!!> Ashara's screams filled his comm-link, and he couldn't help but grin. Too far gone, he knew he was hearing her voice for the last time, and he couldn't help but bless her, praying she remained as lively as she was til the end of her own days. She had been a good friend.
He even smiled at his opponent, knowing that the Sith Lord would never get to experience what the Jedi was going through now, the euphoric, otherworldly bliss that awaited those who walked in the Light.
<Master! Master, > it was as if he heard his Padawan's voice not through the comm, strangely, but through the Universe itself. The turning of an entire galaxy suddenly felt so inconsequential, meagre compared to being that Annan Rainwalker, Jedi Knight, had now become!
His voice, when he finally found it, was hoarse - dry because of the amount of fluid he had haemorrhaged.
"Go ba--go back!... Y-you both... Darth... B-Blood..."
The moment passed. All that remained of Annan Rainwalker, Jedi Knight in this mortal plane, were a pile of black robes, and a saber and a shoto, that splashed into the pool left behind by his own silver blood.
"If there is no path before you, create your own."
—Journal of the Whills 7:549
Jedi Consular | Starpilot | Blue Star Pirates
Quartermaster of Queen Amidala's Revenge
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Kita_Ikari
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- Location: Not telling. ^_^ Call me Kita. IRL Personality: ENFJ-T
Re: July 2021 Writing Prompt
Silvanius tried to not look at the large piece of shrapnel jutting out straight from her ribcage. It had pierced through her lung, collapsing it, causing her to have severe sharp pains and labored breathing. Her head and vision becoming dizzy as her body began lacking the oxygen it needed to survive. At least she still had her other lung intact. Removing the object without medical assistance or equipment was a bad idea...and she was stuck without any help. She had already contacted someone to come get her, and expected someone to arrive shortly.
However, she sensed a familiar presence standing no more than a few feet away. She recognized this fiery hatred. Her blue gaze looked up to meet the padawan Ranah’s hazel eyes, a pistol pointed straight at her. Silvanius smirked, a mocking tone in her voice. "Jedi don't kill. Surely you won't shoot me." The sith apprentice clenched her teeth to keep herself from screaming as she slowly pulled herself off the ground into a standing position.
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" Ranah lifted her pistol, gripping the handle of her weapon tightly, eyes like daggers at her enemy. "I'm no Jedi...secondly, why shouldn't I just shoot you right now!? You tried to kill me the last time we met!"
Silvanius shook her head, a sigh escaping her as she leaned up against a tree for support. "I was strictly following orders. No more than that." She replied breathlessly.
"From who? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR!?"
The sith apprentice couldn't help but give a knowing smile to the padawan. Silence was her response, toying with her enemy despite her injuries. Silvanius was playing a dangerous game. But it was all in good fun, and a distraction as she awaited her rescue. "If you want to know, you would have to take me in...not kill me." She replied casually. It was part of her plan. She sensed her ride coming in the distance and had wanted to provoke Ranah enough to take her captive for the GA.
Keeping her pistol aimed, she approached the sith apprentice slowly. "Oh really? Let's test that shall we?" Ranah kept her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot.
Expecting her to pull the trigger, she waited for the shot, too injured to know trying to fight back at that moment was useless with shrapnel in her side. Seconds later, they heard a giant explosion in the distance. Someone, somehow, had managed to blow up her rescue ticket off this planet. Both her and Ranah’s mouth dropped from the sight, before the padawan turned to face Silvanius with a smirk of her own. It seemed Silvanius wasn't going to be getting out of this one so easily...
However, she sensed a familiar presence standing no more than a few feet away. She recognized this fiery hatred. Her blue gaze looked up to meet the padawan Ranah’s hazel eyes, a pistol pointed straight at her. Silvanius smirked, a mocking tone in her voice. "Jedi don't kill. Surely you won't shoot me." The sith apprentice clenched her teeth to keep herself from screaming as she slowly pulled herself off the ground into a standing position.
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" Ranah lifted her pistol, gripping the handle of her weapon tightly, eyes like daggers at her enemy. "I'm no Jedi...secondly, why shouldn't I just shoot you right now!? You tried to kill me the last time we met!"
Silvanius shook her head, a sigh escaping her as she leaned up against a tree for support. "I was strictly following orders. No more than that." She replied breathlessly.
"From who? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR!?"
The sith apprentice couldn't help but give a knowing smile to the padawan. Silence was her response, toying with her enemy despite her injuries. Silvanius was playing a dangerous game. But it was all in good fun, and a distraction as she awaited her rescue. "If you want to know, you would have to take me in...not kill me." She replied casually. It was part of her plan. She sensed her ride coming in the distance and had wanted to provoke Ranah enough to take her captive for the GA.
Keeping her pistol aimed, she approached the sith apprentice slowly. "Oh really? Let's test that shall we?" Ranah kept her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot.
Expecting her to pull the trigger, she waited for the shot, too injured to know trying to fight back at that moment was useless with shrapnel in her side. Seconds later, they heard a giant explosion in the distance. Someone, somehow, had managed to blow up her rescue ticket off this planet. Both her and Ranah’s mouth dropped from the sight, before the padawan turned to face Silvanius with a smirk of her own. It seemed Silvanius wasn't going to be getting out of this one so easily...
Kita's Current Theme Songs
https://youtu.be/9_gkO_ZWHCE?si=Qg1030j_6lQHp8nH (Point of No Return)
https://youtu.be/OXuVCDH0TUU?si=uv_XcEFn6hrL20yk (Warrior Cats Intro)
https://youtu.be/c0Va228UhRs?si=EQSiLlOMKpJIIQt6 (Moon Pride)
https://youtu.be/9_gkO_ZWHCE?si=Qg1030j_6lQHp8nH (Point of No Return)
https://youtu.be/OXuVCDH0TUU?si=uv_XcEFn6hrL20yk (Warrior Cats Intro)
https://youtu.be/c0Va228UhRs?si=EQSiLlOMKpJIIQt6 (Moon Pride)
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Annan Rainwalker
- Full Member
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- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:11 pm
- Location: Mertaal's Locker
Death of Rainwalker
Blood.
The breeze reeked of liquid iron, the redolence an assault upon the peerless olfaction possessed by the Son of Firrerre. His mouth morphed into a fanged snarl as he attempted staring down his adversary, heart thundering against his chest and temples throbbing with the furore of his own pulse. Despite every instinct reassuring him that he was a predator by birthright, the Darkness still made him doubt. It screamed in a hushed yet audible whisper against his innermost luminosity, a wraith against the light, unable to come nigh yet persistently slithering around the very edges of his heightened awareness, awaiting its chance to pounce and claim its prize. You are no predator, it screeched, but prey.
Blood...
His eyes turned towards his flank before cinching shut. The Light helped. It lessened the pain. Yet the sickening stickiness of his own black tunic, drenched in silver; the incessant, sonorous plopping of droplets against his nerf hide boots assailing his eardrums; and the intermittent fogginess of his eyesight, the campfire in the distance alternating between bright and blurry; all served as sobering reminders of the pungent reality:
Blood.
He reached out. He had exsanguinated far too much; he was wobbling, unable to walk. The Light kept him afloat and he felt his regenerative healing factor working in overdrive to seal up the bleeder. The crimson saber he had dodged with all the agility bequeathed to him through his heritage and training - it was the Sith Lord's vibro-knife that had caught him by surprise. Plunged with all the ferocity of the Arkanian Dragons he kept straight into the Jedi's flank, likely through his kidney, a most vital pressure point.
He was losing too much blood.
The Jedi fell on his knee, panting, the appendage no longer able to bear his weight. His green eyes took on a faraway look. Something happened, something that had never happened before whenever he reached out to the Light.
For the first time, the Light reached back.
A fragrance truly mystical caressed his senses, so pleasantly sublime that it washed away the acrid odour of blood.
<Annan! Hang on, hang the frakkin' kriff on, dang it!!! I'm almost there!!!> Ashara's screams filled the comms. He knew he was hearing her voice for the last time. He silently blessed her, praying she remained as lively as she was, always.
She had been a good friend.
He grinned at his enemy, knowing that the Sith would never get to experience what the Jedi was going through now: the bliss that awaited those who walked into the Light. The turning of an entire galaxy suddenly felt so inconsequential, meagre compared to the being that Annan Rainwalker, Jedi Knight, had now become.
His voice, when he finally found it, was hoarse - dry because of the amount of fluid he had hemorrhaged.
"R-Run, Ashara... Darth... B-Blood..."
The moment passed. All that remained of Annan Rainwalker, Jedi Knight in this mortal plane, were a pile of black robes, and a saber and a shoto, that splashed into the pool left behind by his own silver blood.
"If there is no path before you, create your own."
—Journal of the Whills 7:549
Jedi Consular | Starpilot | Blue Star Pirates
Quartermaster of Queen Amidala's Revenge
-
Laertes Kalen
- New Member
- Posts: 5
- Joined: Mon Jun 21, 2021 9:11 pm
Re: July 2021 Writing Prompt
Unkown Planet
Sith Space
4 Galactic Standard Years Ago
A cold desert wind whipped through the canyon, swirling sand in chaotic patterns with its passage. The chill was deep and true, seeping through clothing, finding every crack in literal and metaphorical armor, permeating like the touch of death, ever present and unforgiving. The freezing temperature of the desert made the heat from the roaring flames of the wrecked ship that much more dramatic. They crackled high over the canyon walls, the transport itself perched dangerously close to the edge, teetering and groaning its final anguish.
Laertes sat, huddled as near to the transport and its warmth as he dared. Just across the canyon, sitting with the wreckage of the other half of the ship, Laertes could make out the shape of his target. To normal eyes, it would have been impossible to see past the flickering flames of the damaged ship, but with his Force sight, Laertes was able to see the man’s aura, clear as day. Or as clear as Laertes, would have seen him, anyway.
Anger radiated from the other, red and yellow suffusing his aura with a sickly light. The Force swirled in violent currents around him and Laertes knew the man would strike like the cornered moraband serpent that he was if given the opportunity. Laertes felt his own share of anger toward his rival, sitting across the canyon sullenly, silently.
Neither moved for over an hour, staring one another down. Well, as much as a blindfolded Miralukan and an Aqualish with an eyepatch over two of his four eyes could stare. The wreckage smoldered, a beacon in the night to any would-be predators. Laertes and the man would have little to fear from such hunters until the flames eventually extinguished. Laertes only hoped that their supposed ex-fil would arrive sooner.
“This is your fault, you know,” Laertes spoke, finally unable to take the rising tension a single iota longer.
“My fault? You’re the one who hunted me down for no good reason!”
“No good reason? You’re SITH. You use the Force to prey on those weaker than you!”
“I do what is necessary to survive! You can’t accept that, you might as well die out here, weakling.”
And so it went. On and on through the night, neither willing to give the other an inch, nor willing to even let the matter lie. Once disturbed, sleeping rancors are wont to cause a ruckus.
---
Laertes awoke to the whine of a repulsor engine as it sped low over the sand. He felt more than saw his target wake at the same time he was. They stood up, facing away from one another with the canyon between them. The ship had long since burned itself to a husk of its former self, much like the anger of the previous night.
“It seems that we’re both getting our ride from this Force forsaken dust ball,” Laertes commented sourly.
“So it does.”
“A truce then?”
“For now."
Sith Space
4 Galactic Standard Years Ago
A cold desert wind whipped through the canyon, swirling sand in chaotic patterns with its passage. The chill was deep and true, seeping through clothing, finding every crack in literal and metaphorical armor, permeating like the touch of death, ever present and unforgiving. The freezing temperature of the desert made the heat from the roaring flames of the wrecked ship that much more dramatic. They crackled high over the canyon walls, the transport itself perched dangerously close to the edge, teetering and groaning its final anguish.
Laertes sat, huddled as near to the transport and its warmth as he dared. Just across the canyon, sitting with the wreckage of the other half of the ship, Laertes could make out the shape of his target. To normal eyes, it would have been impossible to see past the flickering flames of the damaged ship, but with his Force sight, Laertes was able to see the man’s aura, clear as day. Or as clear as Laertes, would have seen him, anyway.
Anger radiated from the other, red and yellow suffusing his aura with a sickly light. The Force swirled in violent currents around him and Laertes knew the man would strike like the cornered moraband serpent that he was if given the opportunity. Laertes felt his own share of anger toward his rival, sitting across the canyon sullenly, silently.
Neither moved for over an hour, staring one another down. Well, as much as a blindfolded Miralukan and an Aqualish with an eyepatch over two of his four eyes could stare. The wreckage smoldered, a beacon in the night to any would-be predators. Laertes and the man would have little to fear from such hunters until the flames eventually extinguished. Laertes only hoped that their supposed ex-fil would arrive sooner.
“This is your fault, you know,” Laertes spoke, finally unable to take the rising tension a single iota longer.
“My fault? You’re the one who hunted me down for no good reason!”
“No good reason? You’re SITH. You use the Force to prey on those weaker than you!”
“I do what is necessary to survive! You can’t accept that, you might as well die out here, weakling.”
And so it went. On and on through the night, neither willing to give the other an inch, nor willing to even let the matter lie. Once disturbed, sleeping rancors are wont to cause a ruckus.
---
Laertes awoke to the whine of a repulsor engine as it sped low over the sand. He felt more than saw his target wake at the same time he was. They stood up, facing away from one another with the canyon between them. The ship had long since burned itself to a husk of its former self, much like the anger of the previous night.
“It seems that we’re both getting our ride from this Force forsaken dust ball,” Laertes commented sourly.
“So it does.”
“A truce then?”
“For now."