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| - Trophy Hall Illuminated only by torchlight, this hallway is lined on either side by Alderaanian oak pedestals supporting glass cases, each one lit from behind by a single glowrod. Each glass box contains an artifact or prized possession and a placard describing each piece. Three cases centered on each wall each hold a single lightsaber, and appear to be the focus of the room. The other cases contain relics marked with Sith emblems and ancient writing, various artifacts collected across the galaxy with one common tie- the Dark Side of the Force. The players: Simon: Before you is a young human male of average height and narrow build. His hair is a deep brown, parted and cut short. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-gray give the man a stern look at a glance. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware. Simon is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Cort: A human male, in the between stages of adulthood and the teenage years. A good guess would put him around the ages of eighteen or nineteen standard years. His facial features are finely chiseled, high cheek bones dominating his face. His nose is thin and comes to a point, giving the young man a smug look. Sharp hazel eyes scour his surrounding and have a slightly unusual look to them. Strangely, they seem to be the eyes of someone much older than the boy. The kind of person who has seen and known much of this galaxy. Light blonde hair, almost white, cascades back to his shoulder blades. It is pulled into a tight pony tail at the back of his neck, allowing it to flow free behind his shoulders. He stands at an even six feet and his frame can be best described as average, not thin, but not overly muscular. The boy does not appear to be the healthiest of specimens. His skin is extremely pale, almost deathly. Pink bags painfully rest beneath his eyes, making him look as if he hasn't slept in days or if he is the victim of some epidemic. The thin lips that surround his mouth have grown cracked and chapped, but with the look of him, it's probably not from the weather. Currently, he is clad in flowing black robes which cover the majority of his body. A black belt is wrapped around his waist to prevent the robe from becoming too free. Black boots, shined with stunning perfection poke out from beneath the robes on occasion. His hands are also gloved, wrapped in shiny black leather which are woven so tightly it's like a second layer of skin. Jessalyn: A woman is being kept here in stasis. She is young and lovely, encased within a transparisteel dome and buoyed by the liquid that keeps her floating in an upright position over a giant, heavy silver pedestal. Her leaf green eyes are perpetually closed, and the softness of her expression and the gentle curve of her mouth reveal the serenity behind her eyes. Her skin is fair, though not as fragile as most redheads', and her flaming dark red hair falls to the middle of her back in unfettered waves, sweeping and floating like a watery corona around her figure. She is dressed in a gown that flows smoothly over her body to her waistline, where the skirt flares out, lifted by the gentle current to play around her legs and her bare feet like a living thing. The neckline scoops low so that a silver necklace and blue-green pendant are more clearly visible against her white throat. Mira: What can be seen of this woman under the large, grubby cloak that she wears isn't a whole lot. One might be able to tell that she is small and wiry, almost painfully thin. The bottom of the cloak drags on the ground, and looks frayed, as if it has been trod upon often. The hood of the dirty, dusty cloak that she wears manages to throw a shadow over most of her face, leaving it mostly obscured. A clump or two of frazzled, dark hair finds its way out of the cloak's hood to stick out at odd and unnatural angles away from her face. Lara: Nothing about this young woman is striking or stands out at first glance, she seems rather common. Her age falls into the 'early twenties' category, her height an average 5'9" for a human female, and her build, while slender, is not of such obscure proportions as to draw unnecessary attention. Straight raven hair reaches well below the middle of her back and contrasts with her fair skin. Eyes of cerulean blue gaze about her surroundings like a gentle breeze. Her features are refined, but understated in a way that wouldn't be prone to drawing attention, yet by the same token, would be no burden to look upon. She wears a fashionable, tailored black jumpsuit of some kind of cotton polymer that seems to be a very rich fabric, and resilient. It follows her curves closely, from the collar that's open two buttons all the way down to the pants that are tucked into tall black leather boots which gleam. She wears a utility belt, hanging from her hips at an angle. Her jumpsuit has several pockets of different shapes and sizes. After a long and relatively silent trek through the jungles of Ord Trasi, the three companions, led by the rogue Dark Jedi Cort, had eventually made it to and inside the Emperor's temple. The Dark Jedi was secretive about exactly why they had chosen to come here, leaving a lot to the imagination as to just how deep this mission of sorts really goes. However, as the three sneak inside of Valak's trophy room, it may become abundantly clear. Cort takes a few steps inside, his leather boots barely making a sound, as he glides toward the center of the room. He withdraws the hood of his robes, taking a moment to look over the area as the torch light dances across his hazel face. They hadn't seen a single soul since arriving, which made Cort a little nervous. Normally, servants and slaves would be seen from time to time, but never this deep inside the temple. Even in the upper levels, there was no one. Taking a short breath, Cort's eyes focus upon one of the strangest objects in the room: an object which looks similar to a bacta tank. Inside a beautiful young woman can be seen, appearing as if she is sleeping. Silently, he approaches the tank, resting a gloved hand on the outside of it and tracing down it's transparent surface, while he stares at the woman's face. "Jessalyn Valious," he mutters, barely audible to the others. "Your time in imprisonment shall end soon enough." The motif of the Trophy Hall is not lost on Simon. The chilling feel of the corruption and evil that has been concentrated here sends shivers down the young man's spine, and all at once, he begins to doubt the wisdom in coming here. The residue of darkness that the Emperor had left here was palpable... and it was dangerous for he and Mira. All at once, his doubt is erased when his eyes light upon Jessalyn's floating, silent form. She looked as if she were trapped perpetually in the moment of death. His eyes narrow with curiosity as he Cort walks to her glass prison and speaks her name. "Who is she, Etrigan?" Simon asks. He stops in his tracks and looks over to Mira for a moment. His doubt returns threefold. He should not have brought Mira to such a dangerous place. Mira had, for once, been silent since leaving Cort's ship. The combination of the unfamiliar surroundings and the fact that she knew Cort did not want her along had been enough to render her normally yakking mouth quiet. She follows closely along behind Simon, trying to stay mostly out of the way. Her hand rests ligntly on the cylindrical object clipped to the rope tied around her waist. "She," Cort replies with a tone of humor in his voice, "is one of Skywalker's former students." He steps around the side of the tank, inspecting how the device is set up and having a strong sense of deja vu while doing so. It's only been about a year since he had been in a machine similar to this. He probably would have died, if Lara Grayson did not stumble across information leading to where he was kept in stasis. Forever young and dead to the world. "I don't know her personally, but the Emperor told me all I need to know about her," he says, continuing his thoughts while stepping around to the other side of the tank. "Even though we have to battle with Skywalker now, I know in time he will turn towards us once Valak's flame is extinguished from this life." The Dark Jedi pulls out a small, datapad-like device and places it on the glass housing of the woman. A series of red and green lights begin to streak back and forth across it. "She will be our insurance plan. Skywalker will be so indebted to us, that he and all his morale supremacy, would never dare interfere with our actions." Simon's eyes move slowly off of Mira's face and back to Cort's as he works and makes his explanations. The glass case holding Jessalyn didn't look like any sort of prison or cage that he'd ever seen before. To his uneducated eyes, it looked very simple. Yet, as Cort places the device against the tank, bile begins to rise in the back of Simon's throat. It was some sort of twisted, technological prison. Licking his lips, Simon tries to press the nature of Jessalyns confines out of his mind. He says, "If she is one of Jedi Luke Skywalker's students, then won't she herself fight you? The Jedi will not feel indebted to you if you must destroy this woman, Etrigan." As she watches Cort work, Mira gets the same feeling that she would get back home when ripping the pages out of books or when attempting to sneak out her window. That whatever they were doing, they were not supposed to be doing. "Simon," she hisses towards her teacher, her voice never straying above a tiny whisper. "I don't think this is a very good idea." As Simon approaches the tank, she falls back, retreating towards the entrance to the eerie room. "I've got a very bad feeling about all this," she mutters to herself, trying to use the techniques that Simon had taught her to watch out for danger, heightening her senses to listen for any sounds or hints of life. Eerily enough, she can detect nothing. Nothing at all. "Very bad. Bad." "A valid point, my friend," Cort replies. The blinking lights on his device stop suddenly and then each individually line becomes a bright green. Whether it's good or not, is uncertain, but Cort's twisted smile widens, making one thing it's probably a good thing. "However, you forget one thing," Cort says, giving Mira an annoyed look. "The Jedi are relatively passive. I don't believe she will try to fight me unless I give her a reason to. It's in their nature." He steps back away from the device and the cables which connect it to the wall begin to release, spraying either liquids or gases into the air. "Even if she does try to fight us and we do happen to kill her, the Jedi will never know. They have no idea she's alive anyway." Simon takes several long, slow breaths. Calming breaths. Mira's words made it clear that she was looking to him for the image of strength, and it was his responsibility to give that much to her. He says, turning back to her, "It is the room, Little Sister. This is a place of evil. Take out your weapon, if it will make you feel better." He turns back to Cort as the Dark Jedi speaks. Simon's blue-gray eyes flicker between Jessalyn's tank and Cort's face, the Selas seeing madness in both. He says, his slurring accent made stronger by his discomfort, "The Jedi might think your corruption enough reason to attack, Etrigan. You should not forget who you are. Or what you have become." Following Simon's advice, Mira unhooks the weapon from her belt and holds the cool metal in her hands, taking a moment to find the ignition button. Thumbing the switch, the green blade crackles to life, sending an eerie green glow into the dim room. Her eyes fixate for a moment on the glow of the saber before looking past it to Simon and Cort hovering over the mysterious object that was now hissing and leaking as it disconnected from the wall. Her mouth opens, ready to accuse Cort of breaking whatever it was, but quiets herself when Simon speaks, deciding that she would do best to continue remaining quiet. The only noise coming from Mira's direction is the low hum from her lightsaber. "Yes, little Etrigan. You wouldn't want to forget that," a caustic female voice echoes through the room, overshadowing the faint sound of footsteps that bring the woman out into the pale light. "The rest of us certainly haven't." Lara Grayson's face becomes clear, her eyes narrowed and focused on the ringleader of the little pack of force urchins. It's hard to miss the events taking place with Jessalyn's floating sanctuary, which only seem to draw more displeasure from the woman's frosty expression. "I spent a great deal of time preparing that gift for our Emperor," she informs him with cruel dispassion in her tone. "I will not see it destroyed by an impudent child who has forgotten his place." Another step forward is taken, allowing the light which had revealed her face, to also reveal the silver cylinder that lies extinguished but at the ready in her palm. Even during Lara's words, Cort remain staring at the device which holds Jessalyn prisoner. No expression is made during her little speech, save for a cackling laughter which begins to crawl from the depths of his soul. Lara has heard this sick laughter once before. "I've never forgotten what I am, Grayson," he says turning around to face her. "But, unlike you, I'm the next stage of evolution," Cort says while twisting his right wrist slightly, a cylinder of his own falling into the palm of his hand. "You can be Valak's little slave, squabbling with Morganna in hopes to learn something new or just to please him. The both of you are all so blind, it's almost funny. "Jessalyn is coming with me," Cort says in a demanding tone. "You can either accept this or you can die. Your choice matters little to me, but I warn you not to underestimate what power I now possess." His grin widens, exposing the rotten teeth embedded in his gums. "I know things your precious Emperor could only dream of." Before wandering into the dimly lit trophy chamber, Simon had glimpsed what looked like delicate items on cases, perfect for his wooden staff to topple. Prudence had suggested that he leave his bulky weapon at the door, so as not to create a crash that would alert the whole compound. Prudence now suggested that he arm himself, and fast. As Cort and this strange woman make their exchange, Simon flings his arms in the direction of the door, reaching through the True Source quickly and clumsily. Invisible hands topple a vase covered in dark artwork. As if in slow motion, it falls to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces and sending a reverberating crash through the hall. As Simon's staff whips and whirls through the air to his hand, Simon turns his head to Mira and yells, "Mira, get behind me!" Whoever this Grayson was, Simon could feel death eminating off her in waves. Kacela, the Huntress, was but a pale shadow of this dark woman. While her would-be rescuers are distracted by the appearance of the woman who was solely responsible for Jessalyn's imprisonment to begin with, the tank which has held her for almost two years begins to drain, a flood pooling around the base of the container and spreading rapidly across the floor. As the fluid which held her buoyant drains out, the figure inside the tank begins to slump forward, the weight of her body causing the hinged door to creak open. Rather unceremoniously, she topples forward, collapsing like a ragdoll with her feet still caught inside the door and her skull cracking on the stone floor in front of her transparisteel prison. She remains there, clearly unconscious, her wet hair and clothing clinging to her deathly pale skin. As the woman steps out of the shadows, Mira scrambles towards Simon such that by the time he tells her to get behind him, she is already halfway there. She is very careful to watch where she points her lightsaber when she moves, treating it rather like a pair of scissors and angling the blade downwards while she walks, lest she inadvertantly knock something over. Mira watches the new arrival carefully, trying to figure out how she had missed her presence in the room, depsite her careful listening. Perhaps Mira had been using her new skills incorrectly and the woman had slipped by her. She would have to practice harder. The body crumbling to the floor is just one more unsettling things to add to the ever growing list of unsettling things happening in the room. Why had she agreed to come along? This was a very bad idea. From deep in the darkness of the hallway is added another sound, barely noticeable at first, but soon identifiable as a low growl, accompanied by the sound of hissing breath. A shuffling, scraping sound, like claws against stone, grows ominously louder. "That vase was over ten thousand years old," Lara dictates in Simon's direction with a monotone reprimand that does not belie any true seething anger with his clumsy act. "Rescued from the tomb of Lord Si'iryus N'vak, Emperor of the O'shanni people of the Tektana cluster, by unknowing architects who had no idea that their excavation of his burial chamber some centuries later would plunge their civilization into darkness and chaos for a millennia, as his spirit was freed to ravage the land and reclaim what it had unjustly lost in death." One more methodical step is taken inside as she adds, "A shame that it now lost to this world, for that a scared and fumbling child may brandish a stick." Pausing only long enough to glare at Mira with a predatorial gleam to her cerulean eyes, Lara adds, "It is of no consequence. More room freed for the display of the ignorant who could not see the glory in His path." "You were abandoned," Lara then turns to Cort and replies with bite to her words. "A slave to time and technology which nearly betrayed you, at the cost of your own life. -I- freed you. -I- delivered to you a chance for redemption. A chance for life. A chance for power beyond any which you had been given before. You turn your back in ignorance, and beg for death." The interruption of Jessalyn spilling out onto the floor goes all but unnoticed, regardless of the splash of fluid which laps at Lara's boots. "Perhaps there was a reason you were left to die, and I should have killed your unworthy carcass in the name of Palpatine to seal his intent in your own blood." With narrowing focus on the child who seems even now to ignore her, with his taunting words, his threats and orders alike. "Perhaps today, I will correct that error in judgement." Cort listens to Lara's words, a look of boredom on his face. "Simon, take Jessalyn and Mira back to our ship," he says calmly when he feels that Lara has finally decided to shut up. He looks down to an imaginary time piece on his wrist, then back towards Lara. "Are you done yet, or did you have some more preaching?" "Destiny brought you to me, Grayson, for a great purpose. However, I won't bore you with the details," Cort says, as the ruby blade of his saber ignites. "The only mistake in judgment that has occurred is your own. Today /I/ will free you. I will free you from slavery and from the matter which holds your being." With that said, his left hand reaches out towards Lara, a transparent red orb forming in his hand, as his face twists into a mask of rage. Lightning begins to crackle in the insides of the orb, pulsing like some twisted heart. "Die," Cort growls, as the orb shrieks towards the woman who had once saved his life. The dissertation delivered on behalf of the dearly departed vase is mostly lost on Simon. It had not been his intention to destroy it, but it was not something that he was going to lose any sleep over. It bore no soul, and was not connected to the True Source beyond the fashion of any other normal object in the universe. Her summary of Simon... a fumbling scared child with a stick... does produce a slight frown. He brandishes his staff with casual ease and calm, his feet already moving him backwards and toward Jessalyn before Cort gives his order. As Lara and Cort banter, Simon's feet slosh through the puddle of fluids that had held Jessalyn suspended until the heal of his right foot brushes against the red haired woman's arm. He immediately stops and looks down into her face, her peacefully closed eyes. He could feel what Cort was doing. He'd felt it before, and had seen the horrific bodily destruction it caused. It was much easier to look down upon Jessalyn's visage than to watch Cort and Lara face each other down, like proud bucks butting heads over a doe. The direction from which the intruders entered the hallway is dark, but it soon becomes apparent that it is not empty. An angry snort is followed by the unmistakable, bone-shattering sound of a Krayt dragon call, as a large reptilian monster shuffles from the shadows and into the light, lifting up its massive snout and showing off rows of white, razor sharp teeth. The roar echoes loudly throughout the cavernous chamber, shaking the glass cases on their pedestals, and the Krayt tilts its head and looks around, trying to find a point of focus for its angry interruption. "The girl stays here," Lara forcefully replies, glaring curtly at Simon and Mira, lest they get any ideas to the contrary. "And so will all of you. It was very unwise to come here, a mistake you will live an eternity to forget, just like Miss Valios." The woman's dark hair rustles about her as a cool air fills the room, her words punctuated at the end by the ferocious howl of Bacharan Valak's most prized treasure- the Krayt. The raven-haired child of darkness does not appear frightened by the presence of the animal; it actually brings a twisted smile to her lips. "Immortality may not be what fate holds for you after all," Lara drawls out in a frigid tone that cannot help but be warmed with the amusement of the situation that has befallen the trio of thieves and traitors. "Perhaps your great destiny is that of lunch." Cerulean eyes narrow as the energy sphere forms in Cort's hand, the darkness churning about this haven of all that is evil like the winds and rain of a maelstrom. As it comes flying towards her, it impacts her squarely in the chest, sending her careening backwards off her feet and into a display case that crashes beneath the weight of her moving body. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood echoes with deafening results through the cavernous temple corridors, leaving the woman out of view in the shadows. Was she dead? Incapacitated? Maybe. Or maybe not. From someplace off on one side of the room some fair distance from where Lara had landed and fallen from sight, the woman emerges unscathed, charging Cort's position with a lightsaber that ignites to green. The others are forgotten now.. the Krayt is forgotten. She and Cort are all that exist. "If you put half your ability into your words..." Cort says as Lara crashes into the case. He waits a moment for the tumbling glass to silence, before finishing his thought, "You would not be dead now." In truth, Cort is completely surprised by the ease it had taken to bring down the Emperor's hand. ...And he is even more surprised by the fact that there are now two of them. If he had not had his blade ignited already, he would be now... The green and red lightsabers collide with a loud cackle, while the rogue Dark Jedi pushes the doppleganger Lara away. Slightly hunched over, his eyes glare through the ruby blade of his saber, giving the fake a look that could kill. Then, it begins... Every hour. Every day. Every second of Cort's pathetic little life had been balled up into one ritual: training himself for just this situation. He had been bred since birth to be a killer. To be his Master's enforcer. To do whatever it was that had to be done in order to maintain the legacy of the Sith. However, the rules have been forgotten when he decided he was above that. The only thing that is left is a man bred to kill by any means necessary. Cort springs into action, the hum of his saber filling the room, as he charges the doppleganger. Swing after swing, kick after kick, his attacks seem to come from every angle. Between his martial skills and the hold of the Dark Side, it's obvious that little Etrigan is no longer the runt of what is left of the Sith Empire. The doppleganger holds its own when the element of surprise is still on its side, but as Cort begins to turn to the offense, the replicate of Lara begins to lose ground. An electric snap crackles and hisses through the air with every impact of the red and green blades, the oscilating sound of the energy weapons moving through the air reaching variable peaks and troughs with each new swing, every angle of attack approached, every forceful blow inflicted. From the shadows, perhaps overshadowed by such noise, the faint twinkle of broken glass can be heard rustling. The doppleganger continues to fall back beneath the furious attack of little Etrigan as the true Emperor's Hand- the true Lara Grayson- observes every strike and blow from the cover of darkness. His moves are analyzed from beneath a scrutinous cerulean gaze, his strategies contemplated, his threat level assessed. It does not escape the woman's notice that her shadow of being is not long for this world, falling fast to the formidiable opposition little Etrigan is providing. Gathering herself, she launches out of the darkness, bringing about a blade of lavender that swirls with hints of blue as it ignites and bears down upon where the two are already fighting. Unlike Etrigan's current opponent, though.. this one is very real, and very deadly. Cort's attacks never cease, as he swings double-fisted with not only the strength in his wirey frame, but the strength of the Dark Side. A bead of sweat trickles into his eye, stinging it slightly, but he hardly notices the pain. He is focused. Focused upon his enemy. Focus upon the blade she wields. The blade... His blade twists the doppleganger's own out of the way, as his right fist drives itself square into it's face. Just as he expects the blood to flow and just as he notices the blade she owns is not her own and just as he realizes that this one is not bleeding is just when he realizes the impossible. This is not Lara. As the dead weight of the doppleganger falls backwards, Cort's right wrist twists, dropping a second saber into his hand. As the second saber ignites, his first saber finds itself embedded in the stomach of the false Lara. All of this without thinking. All of this on pure instinct. The Dark Side guides his hands. The Dark Jedi spins around, his saber colliding with the real Lara's just in time to stop his aging body from being cleaved in two. He grinds his teeth, a low growl growing audible, as he pushes himself away to give him some breathing room. --< Force Skill: FORCE SCREAM >--------------------------------------------- Lara declares her ability of FORCE SCREAM to the room. (CONTROL) This power allows a Jedi to send a shock through the Force which will be interpreted by other Force Sensitives within 100 meters as a mental scream. It is painful to those who it is used on, causing at the least disorientation and at the most, unconciousness in its victims, depending on proximity to the Jedi. This power uses the CONTROL skill. Non-Jedi may use a default counter check of their Willpower skill if no other skill seems appropriate. < Star Wars Force Powers >-- The doppleganger twitches with a spasm as the lightsaber runs it through, before fading out of existance like a puff of smoke into the night sky. The lightsaber which was in its hand falls to the ground and rolls off into the shadows, extinguishing its brilliant emerald light as it contacts the ground. For it, the battle may be over now.. but for the two remaining combatants, the fight has but only begun. Challenge flashes within Lara's eyes as the two blades meet, the woman leaning in on the blades with a sneer before being pushed back. The boy does indeed get his space, his breathing room, as the woman stays where the momentum takes her, simply rooting her feet and standing her ground some fair distance away. The deadly blade in her hand is held off to one side, at the ready should the need arise to parry an incoming blow, but relaxed for the time being, and out of her way. With that acute cerulean gaze lingering on Cort, the woman makes no advance. No taunts, no threats, no threats of physical violence. The only sound eminating from her, aside from the steady thrum of the ancient weapon in her palm, is the occasional exhilation of breaths pushed out by exertion. The seas of the Force are nowhere near as silent. The dark water churns, a tempest of power brewing around the woman as if she were the eye of its mighty storm. Little by little, the roar of the break crashing on the shores of their reality rolls across the temple's room of treasures and prize, starting with the melodic tinkle of broken glass quivering on the stone floor. Soon the dance of clear fragments is joined by the creak of wooden cases shaking as if the temple itself were rolling beneath them. The water which gushed forth from the holding tank of Valios gurgles as if being brought to a boil.. And with a deafening scream- one unspoken, one not uttered from Grayson's lips- a piercing sensation rolls out through the force like a mighty avalanche down the hillside, bearing down upon one figure. One being. Etrigan. The glass on one or two cases shatter, but to one not attuned to the Force, it would seem as if nothing had been heard at all. With the distance granted, Cort takes a moment to steady his breath. In and out, letting his version of the corrupting Force to take over. His eyes remain locked with hers, his saber rocking slightly side to side. He can feel the Force around him contrasting and centering with the woman, building itself into whatever the woman has decided to mold. As the room begins to shake, it's obvious that Cort grows a little nervous. His eyes dart quickly, but with obvious discomfort, at the tank that once held Velious, then back to Lara. His right hand slips away from his saber, rising up to his temple as if something had just struck him. Stumbling backwards, Cort slumps, then falls to one knee, his head feeling as if it was going to explode. "Gahhhhhhhhhhhhh," is the only thing his flabbering lips can say as he nearly drops his saber and looks towards Lara. With every ounce left us he strength under this attack, he reaches his hand out. The dark waves of his Force swirl about, allowing to see him, even though his eye lids have become vices. A broken piece of glass rises from the ground behind Lara, spinning, then flying directly towards her, as Cort feels his consciousness begin to slip away... Lara's raptorial gaze lingers cruelly upon the boy as he falls to his knees, twisting her lips into an arrogant smirk strained only by the effort with which she continues the aggressive assault upon his mind. The sheer amount of discomfort this seems to be causing him delights the woman; he would pay for his insolence and treachery with agonizing pain from which he cannot escape. He would pay for it with his life. With a sudden jolt and a gurgle, the attack ceases abruptly as the piece of glass embeds itself into her shoulder with a painful searing of her flesh and tissue, followed by the warm numbness of blood. Tumbling to her knees with a splash on the moist pavement, Lara closes her eyes in a grimace of undue pain, reaching back to dislodge the dagger-like shard of glass from her body. There is a visible tremor of her body as she pulls free the jagged shard; dripping with blood, she brings it around to view, noting the crimson stain not only cascading off the transparent weapon, but coating her fingers as well. Dropping the item, and releasing a gutteral growl of rage, Lara's unbloodied hand dips into the pouch of her utility belt and withdraws in a flinging motion out across her body and away from it. At least a dozen tiny objects are released from within her palm, razor sharp sticklers embedding into the outer stone wall and the wood of the display cases along it. One.. two.. three. The woman closes her hand and her eyes in unison. An explosion rocks the room, each tiny projectile setting off like a tiny bomb. Flames lick at the air and smoke clouds the room; the sound of more glass breaking and wood splintering off can be heard amongst the din, along with another sound.. one slightly harder to pinpoint. The sound of cracking stone. Light begins to pour into the room from outside as pieces of the outermost wall behind Cort crumble and fall away, some chunks of stone falling into the room and smashing display cases, littering the floor.. some tumbling out into the gaping abyss that lies beyond. Cort's eyes open slightly, the room spinning and he wonders when the room became filled with water. At least, that's what his eyes are telling him. He rocks back and forth on his knee, feeling Lara's pain as the glass tears through her skin. The Dark Jedi begins to slump forward, ready to smack his face into the ground. Ready to let the blood flow from his forehead and decorate the temple's floor. Ready to be released from the shackles of his body by Lara's cold hand. Then, the explosion rips through the room. His eyes open, as he snaps back into reality, though his mind is still flighty. On shakey knees, Cort stands defiantly once again, bringing his lightsaber to bare. His lips open slightly, teeth marks in his lower lip and blood flowing freely from the pain relieving wound. Each explosion rocks around him, flames licking his clothing, but not strong enough to burn his skin. At this point, he probably wouldn't feel it anyway. Taking deep and quick breaths, Cort steps forward towards Lara. His eyes are crazed, lost in rage as each step brings him closer to his new enemy. Any logic or rational has been lost in those eyes. The only thing that remains in them is the strength of the darkness that drives him. Without a word, his attacks come once again, harder and faster than before. His teeth grind together, his mouth filled with blood as more than one of little white grinders crack and break away, sliding down his throat. Raising an arm, Lara blocks the brunt of the spattering debris from getting into her eyes, but the explosion still leaves a film of stone-dust settling over her hair and shoulders. Her clothing is covered in water and stasis solution from the knee to the tops of her boots, and her back is dampening with the moistness of fresh blood which is slowly trickling out of the open wound in her shoulder to saturate the black garment, giving it a glossy sheen. The setting sun can be seen over the edge of the mountain ring that encircles the temple, the sky still illuminated even as the sphere drops away out of the temple's sight, slowly beginning to cast long shadows across the land, swallowing it with darkness. Spitting out the grit of powdered mortar, Lara climbs back to her feet, her violet blade which had extinguished upon her fall to the ground springing to life again to parry the offense that Etrigan drives forward. Cracks, snaps and hisses mark the meeting of blades as the two diciples of the dark side trade blows. The pain radiating from Lara's shoulder is staved off as best as possible, though as the force of her opponent's attacks increase, and her own as well, the wound begins to tear at the muscle, causing the injury to worsen. Taking steps away from the boy, Lara delivers a kick to a display table, hoping to slow the onslaught as she regroups and attempts to re-assess the situation. The boy had become powerful indeed, and it would take every ounce of strength she had left to dispatch him. Capture was no longer an option- he was far too dangerous. He needed to be terminated. With half of the stone wall littering the ground, places to move were limited the further one moved about the room, and Lara soon finds herself having to cut far nearer the gaping maw that is the hole she created than she truly wanted to be. Her jaw clenches with determination as she continues to parry the mighty offense. Jump back to Tatooine. A series of platforms made of wood, twisting high into the dry desert sky. The uncomfortably warm breeze of mixing air and sand. A young woman fighting for her life against the quick learning student, Cort, seeming like a lifetime ago. She had become the Dark Jedi's unknowing servant, turned against her values and accidently murdering her own friend. Flash to her decent down into the rocky sand. Laying their, body broken, as Cort watched. Cort is no longer on Ord Trasi. He's back on Tatooine, once again fighting Aubrey. Once again murdering someone in a mad rage. Lost in oblivion. Cold and complete. The only difference is that he is no longer teetering on the edge of darkness, he has become one with it. "Giving up so soon?" Cort asks, his voice barely audible, barely making sense. Cort says, "Give into your hatred. Throw away the values of the light and take your revenge upon me." "Cry for me, murderer," he says. Cort swings his saber again and again, thrusting and parrying, pushing Lara closer and closer to oblivion. Lost in a rage, muttering incomprehensibly, Cort's attacks do not let up. The Dark Jedi's blades lock together, sapphire and ruby, cackeling in delight. Using all the strength left in him, Cort pushes the woman's blade away, lifting his leg to kick his former companion in her sternum with every ounce of hatred inside of him. The blow itself is enough to knock the wind out of Lara, her eyes wincing shut in pain as she is sent flying back away from her aggressor, just as the last rays of sun are eclipsed by the cliffside. The elongated shadow crawls across the open jaws of the exposed cavity within the temple, causing the breeze which whips through to feel twice as cold against the damp cloth clinging to the combatants. As Lara falls back, the world darkening around her, the sharp blow accompanying her expected impact with the wall behind her never comes... because the wall is no longer there. The woman plummets backwards from the temple spire towards the landscape far below, fading from sight as the darkness of twilight fills the mountainous crater like a puddle gathering volume in the wake of a large storm. Her lightsaber extinguishes and falls silent as it slips from her grip. No sound is heard from either again. The sky shifts from lapiz to lavender, then slowly sinks into a deeper hue of violet and blue. Despite clear skies, not a single star can be spotted anywhere on the horizon. It is as if the galaxy has forgotten this tiny world, buried it in a darkness from which no light can be seen. The strange woman radiating cool darkness that Cort addressed as Grayson presses her attack, and Simon's hands tighten on his staff. Etrigan was as evil as Grayson, but he was Simon's ally, and deserved his aid. Steeling himself, he takes a long step in the direction of their battle, his mind already picking out and discarding courses of attack. And then the sound of the creature hits him again. His mouth falls open and his eyes widen as he turns and looks for the source of the howl. It was like the great beasts in the dark woods that Hunters of Telgosse would speak of. Those that returned. And this creature was approaching. "Mira, run!" Simon shouts, his feet sliding in the opposite direction of the Krayt. Several more steps does he take before he sees Jessalyn's form out of the corner of his eye, lying there in a pool of fluid. Motionless, as if dead. His feet change direction to take him toward the comatose Jedi as he says, "We'll follow you, Mira." Moving quickly, with his eyes darting back and forth between Jessalyn and the source of the horrific howl, Simon shifts Jessalyn's body so that it is slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Using his staff as a support, he pushes himself to his feet and makes ready to dart after his young student. When Mira had left Corellia with Markus and Simon, she had wanted to see more of the galaxy and to experience new things. Perhaps even wreak a little havoc in the bird community. This was not what she had in mind: people fighting viciously with laser swords, hurling things through the air without touching them, trying to kill each other, to kill her. And now, NOW,there was this giant bird bearing down on them. Or it looked like a bird in the dim lighting of the room. Never, in all her years, had she seen such a frightful looking bird. Huge and green, covered in scaley green feathers, the creature was unmatched by any of the fowl at the Corellian Aviary she had visited long ago. Atop its head was brilliant purple plumage, that looked like horns, and, in the pointed beak, Mira was able to pick out a row of shiny, deadly teeth. She had never seen a bird with teeth before. Nearly dropping her lightsaber in shock and horror, Mira's eyes grow wide as she stares at the beast, frozen in place. Simon's voice, compelling her to run, breaks her out of her stupor, and she begins to slide as quickly as she could while still seeming casual towards the door. As soon as she has moved enough to be out of the Krayt's direct line of sight, the girl breaks into a run, racing for all that she's worth towards the dark doorway. Though those who have intruded upon the lair of the Krayt Dragon could not have known this, but the beast has been guarding her prize for quite some time, and the history surrounding her capture and new role as the special guardian of Valak's home is a tragedy unto itself. She's an angry creature, stolen from the desert plains of Tatooine to be enslaved as a monster, and her hostility is heightened by the presence of the strange human beings, much like those who brought her here to begin with. Thrashing her tail, the Krayt lifts her head and bellows once more, then bearing down with menacing golden eyes upon the frozen figure of Mira, who stands riveted twenty meters away. When the girl finally moves, followed closely by the human male carrying Valak's prize, the creature pursues them, her massive clawed feet hitting the stone floor with a resounding boom. Encumbered by Jessalyn's form, light as it may be, Simon's feet do not move as quickly as he would want them to. His left arm is curled up to prevent dropping Jessalyn while his right holds his staff in an iron grip. He pounds the floor with it, pulling himself along like an oarsman pushing a boat across water. And the beast was drawing closer. Facing the danger was better than being taken from behind. Turning in mid-stride, Simon begins to run backwards so he can see the hideous creature. It did look something like what existed on Telgosse. Perhaps it could be dissuaded from pursuit in a similar fashion. With his pace slowed from his now more awkward, backward stride, he gestures with his staff toward a heavily enamaled and decorative black shield hanging on a wall above two cunning looking metal swords. As he gestures, he reaches through the True Source, and it leaps from the wall, aimed at the creatures head. Even as he directs this new weapon, Simon ponders what sort of oratory Grayson would give on the history of the shield. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the temple, Cort's eyes flicker open, giving him a good view of the temple floor. There is a throbbing pain in his brow, as he pushes himself up to his knees and a fresh stream of blood drains onto the temple floor leaving a fresh and decorative dotted line. The Dark Jedi puts one of his hands over the wound, pushing the piece of glass that he fell on deeper into the skin. "Shit..." he groans, blinking the blood groggily from his eye. Yanking the glass from his brow only makes the steady stream worse though, as he throws the triangle shaped wedge over his shoulder. He's unsure how long he has been out for, but it couldn't have been that long. Looking out towards the hole in the wall that Lara created, which only led to her death, he cannot help but smile. The last remnants of the sun are in the horizon, so his best guess is that he was only out for a few moments. Cort's eyes scan the room, his sabers rolling across the ground and to his hands, as he notices the others are no longer here. Even Jessalyn seems to have made some sort of escape. Reaching out with the Force, his darkness begins to flow throughout the area, searching for his companions. Mira races blindly through the hallways of the temple until the roars and grunts of the Krayt Bird Dragon have faded to a dull growl echoing through the corridors of the empty temple. It is only then that she stops for a moment to catch her breath, and to take note of her surroundings. So hastily had she been running that she hadn't paid attention to the exact twists and turns of the hallways. As Mira stands catching her breath in the dark, unfamiliar temple corridor, she could only take comfort in the fact that the bird monster sounded far away. Or did it? With a few angry sounding roars and the scraping of large bird talons against the stone floor, the Krayt Dragon seems to be growing closer, probably chasing after her. Or after Simon. Unless Simon had become lunch. "Simon?" she calls out uncertainly, her voice barely above a quiver. But before she can even wait for an answer, she feels a familiar tingling on the edge of her senses, enough to let her know that Simon was still out there. As Mira disappears deeper into the maze of the Temple, the Dragon is free to focus on the encumbered Simon. She is not distracted when the Force is used to dislodge another ancient artifact from the wall, and the shield succeeds in meeting its mark, bouncing off the scaly armor of the Krayt's head. However, she is not dissuaded from pursuit. The only reaction to the missile's impact is a startled blinking of the huge reptilian eyes, and an angry snort of hot air from its nostrils. Enraged, she bears down on Simon, swatting towards him with an evilly talonned forefoot. Another horrific call rattles the encasements and echoes ominously throughout the temple as the Krayt lets everyone know exactly how angry she is. Cort finds himself walking through the temple, heading deeper and deeper inside. This is not a good idea, he knows, considering what Valak may have lying in wait down here. But, it's not until the Karty's scream does he start to sprint down the halls, sensing Simon and the Krayt in the distance. With the Force, his speed grows beyond that of normal humans. His ruby saber snaps into light, bathing the dusty halls in it's strange light. He only hopes that he will be able to make it to them in time. Not only before the Krayt kills someone, but also before he passes out from the loss of blood. desc valak The large, clawed appendage of the beast swoops toward Simon, and Simon parries with his staff. The veritable boy with a stick as Grayson had said, Simon's wooded weapon splits like a toothpick under the strength of the beast, and Simon is sent twisting through the air, his arm opened and bleeding heavily on the carpeted floor. In mid-air, Simon's left arm moves to push Jessalyn's body away from his, and both roll away from the dragon limply, like a pair of dolls tossed aside by an angry child. Despite the wound and the blow, Simon manages to retain a grip on what's left of his staff. Three feet of splintered wood was better than nothing, even against a creature like this. He rolls over on his back, reaching out to what the Jedi called the Force, binding and holding back the pain in his arm. His ice blue eyes latch coolly onto the Krayt Dragon, and he waits, hoping that he'll be able to react. Hoping that he'll be able to keep back the beast long enough. Mira could still survive this. She had to. And then, as quickly as Mira had felt the tingling on the edge of her senses, it was gone again. Whether this was because of the Krayt's attack or because of her still tenuous hold on the elusive True Source, she couldn't figure out, but either way it was most unsettling. Mira takes a deep breath. Simon had said that it was bad to be afraid, and that it would lead her down the wrong path. And she did not want to get lost in the jungles of Telgosse, or in the temple here, for that matter. So, tightening her grip on the lighsaber her teacher had given her, Mira forces herself to backtrack, making her way in the direction where she had last felt Simon's presence. Reaching the first doorway, she pokes her head through the door, Nothing, darkness. As she slips through the door into the next room, the phrase "Mira, run," trots through her mind, just as Simon had told her to do back in the trophy room. Maybe she should run. Maybe she should go back to the ship. At least it would be safe there. But her feet continue to walk towards the next doorway. And then the next, the roaring of the fearful Krayt growing louder and more deafening with each step. Finally, her head peeks timidly through the door where the battle is occuring, just in time to see Simon batted about like a toy by the dragon. Assuming that the prey has been injured, the Krayt swivels around, at first torn in its decision as it looks between the two victims, both of which seems to be lifeless. Snuffling the air, the beast lowers its muzzle to the floor, taking a step toward the woman's body and opening wide its impressive mouth lined with dagger-like teeth, ready to clamp down on its prey and carry it off to be eaten. But something makes the Krayt pause, a subtle movement, as she realizes that Simon is not unconscious after all, and her massive head snaps around to howl and lunge for the troublesome human. Cort comes blazing down the corridor just in time to see Simon smacked into the wall, but his pace does not slow in the slightest. If either Jessalyn or Simon die here, this entire mission becomes a failure. He cannot afford to loose either to the Krayt. Coming up from behind, the Dark Jedi can barely stop himself from sliding directly into the hind legs of the Dragon, but that's not the only danger he faces. The Dragon's tail swings towards him unknowingly and Cort barely manages to leap over the scaly thing. "Simon!" he yells in midair, hoping to get some type of response from the man. Bashing the creature's head had not dissuaded it from pursuit, as it did the ferocious Nolwins of Telgosse. Perhaps Simon had simply not hit it hard enough... but it was more likely that the creature was simply too different from what the Nolwins of his memory. A different tactic would need to be invented and used. As Simon watches the Krayt dragon, his mind whirs. Then the beast turns and charges him, and the time for planning ends. As Cort calls for Simon's name, the Krayt's bellows out its horrific howl, which is met by a battlecry from Simon. The creatures huge mouth moves to take Simon in its cunning teeth, and Simon moves to meet it. Moving as quickly as he can, with all his strength, Simon shoves his wounded right arm into the Krayt's mouth, driving the remains of his staff up and into the roof of of the Krayt's mouth with one end, down into the creature's jaw with the other as if trying to prop it open. He draws his hand back as the creature's jaw tries to clamp down. With his heart pounding in his chest, Simon rolls away back from the Krayt and gets up on his hands and knees. It's then that Cort's call register's in his mind, and he turns a quick glance toward the Dark Jedi. In that moment, the beast's thrashing brings the back of its clawed foot up and into Simon's face, knocking the man into the air and sending him across the room again. With the dragon bird appropriately distracted by both Cort and Simon, Mira takes the chance to slip through the doorway and and slink towards the limp body of Jessalyn. She clips the lightsaber to the shaggy rope tied around her waist. Trusting that Simon will be able to fend for himself, even as the Krayt's massive jaws chomp towards him, Mira grabs Jessalyn's arm and begins to tug on it. "Get up," she hisses, irritated that the woman refused to just get up and walk like everyone else. But of course, her demands are met with little compliance and, having no time to quibble over such things, Mira begins to drag the body across the stone floor by one arm, leaving a track of wetness from Jessalyn's dress at it slides along it, still damp from the fluid in the hibernation chamber. As quickly as the small woman can manage, she tugs and pulls on Jessalyn's arm, dragging her ever closer to the door of the chamber. Maddened that her jaws are propped open by the remnants of Simon's staff, the Krayt rears back on its hindlegs, front feet thrashing wildly and without inhibition. Her tail causes as much damage as her lashing claws as the Krayt spins on her feet, bucking her head up and down as her massive jaws try to close on the well-lodged stick. In her efforts, the Krayt twists too far backwards, and ends up careening into a heavy, ceiling-high glass case that shatters upon impact. Feet flailing, the beast impacts with the floor, then goes quiet. But a moment later there is an audible and unmistakable -snap- as the Krayt finally breaks the staff holding her jaws in two, and a low growl starts as she summons up the strength to resume her attack. Blood blinding his vision, Cort can barely see anything that is going on. At this point, he is reallying more on the Force than his regular senses. As the Krayt rears up, Cort finds himself stumbling backwards to avoid being crushed by the tail once again. Swinging almost blindly, his saber bites into the creatures tail, spraying him with a bit of blood, as he nearly stumbles over his own feet. // "This fight is pointless. We must get the woman out of here." // Cort sends through in a wave of the Force, knowing that the others probably won't hear him as the glass breaks. // "What we need is a plan." // Black flecks dance in front of Simon's vision as he slowly moves to get back to his feet. A throbbing pain in time with his heartbeat reminds him of the wound on his right arm, and an itchy, burning sensation on his cheeks lets him know that the creature's scales had scratched him, like smaller versions of its larger claws. His legs wobble as he pulls himself upright. His stance becomes more sturdy as he reaches once more to the True Source, and concentrates on controlling his pain and his body. He nearly falls when Cort's words ring in his mind. He could not accept the atrocity of touching another's soul through the True Source, and his teeth grind sharply with anger as he looks toward the man sending the message. The message itself was true, though, and the Selas focused his thoughts back on the once more stirring beast. It would not be turned through fear or matched aggression. It would not be easily killed. "We need to trap it," Simon calls out. A roar and crash from the Krayt dragon drowns out his voice, and he calls out again, "We need to trap it and flee!" Mira had been making slow and steady progress dragging Jessalyns limp body towards the door, when suddenly the creature rears up and starts thrashing around violently. "agh!" Mira says softly to herself, controlling her voice so that she does not draw too much attention to herself. The Krayt's tail swings wildly in her direction. She drops Jessalyn's arm to the floor, which is shortly thereafter followed by Mira's body, as she throws herself to the ground to avoid getting hit and thrown across the room. The impact barely misses her, her cloak is ruffled by the breeze of the tail as it swings overhead. Her hands reach up to pull the hood over her head for added protection, which is a conventient cover when the Krayt crashes into the glass case, sending shards flying all over the room. And then a crash. And then, momentary quiet. Mira looks up. The Krayt was on the floor. The girl scrambles to her feet and starts to tug on Jessalyn's arm again, dragging her towards the door. "We'll head for the ship!" she says, not even concious of hearing Cort's message. "There were some heavy looking doors that way," she adds, pointing down towards the direction she had come from. "Maybe we could trap him." Blood drips from where glass has bitten into the Krayt's scaly skin, and a nasty-looking lightsaber wound is burned deep into the creature's thick tail. She's disoriented, yes, but she's also provoked. Glass crunches brutally underneath the Krayt's talons as she lurches slowly to her feet, a menacing growl reverberating in the room as she turns to glare at her attackers. Rather than lashing out, she lowers herself close to the stone floor, a snarl revealing her gleaming, knifelike teeth as she swings her head around to focus on the one moving figure in the room: Mira. Sensing the change of attention from Simon to Mira, Cort knows that if something is going to be done, it has to be done right now. Twirling his lightsaber, he leaps over the creatures tail once again, and runs around it's flank. Close to the creatures front legs, he reaches out one of his gloved hands, fingers outstretched, closing his eyes briefly. He's never actually tried this self-taught power on an animal before, but now is a good time as any. The waves of Force can be sensed collecting around the Dark Jedi, then being passed towards the dragon, centering on it's large, reptilian eyes. Blood drips from where glass has bitten into the Krayt's scaly skin, and a nasty-looking lightsaber wound is burned deep into the creature's thick tail. She's disoriented, yes, but she's also provoked. Glass crunches brutally underneath the Krayt's talons as she lurches slowly to her feet, a menacing growl reverberating in the room as she turns to glare at her attackers. Rather than lashing out, she lowers herself close to the stone floor, a snarl revealing her gleaming, knifelike teeth as she swings her head around to focus on the one moving figure in the room: Mira. (repose) --< Force Skill: BLIND >---------------------------------------------------- Cort declares his ability of BLIND to the room. (ALTER) This power allows a Jedi to temporarily blind a victim. The duration of the blindness is in direct relation to the amount of training and skill the wielder has in the appropriate skill. The victim sees a blinding white flash of light and a moment of searing pain, then complete blindness for however long is appropriate. This power uses the ALTER skill. Non-Jedi may use a default counter check of their Willpower skill if no other skill seems appropriate. < Star Wars Force Powers >-- Cort rolls a 38 for his ALTER skill. A Heroic roll! Simon, too, notices the change in the dragon's target, and his heart nearly stops. He tries to run in the direction of the creature, only his legs disobey him and he falls on his stomach. Cort moves, a blur of motion out of the corner of Simon's eyes, but the significance of it is lost on the man. Mira is all, and the creature was going after her. Flinging his left hand in Mira's direction, he reaches across the distance in the only action he can think to do. He tries to fling Mira out of the way. The sudden pain that blasts through the Krayt's eyes is enough to make her stop and howl her disapproval, the pursuit of Mira now quickly forgotten. She begins backtracking then, stunned by her sudden lack of vision, and shaking her head violently as if to clear it. Hot breath huffs out from her nostrils, her long, muscled body contracting into a defensive posture as she steers herself blindly backward into the stone wall she crashed into earlier. From there she crouches, ready to lash out if one dares to approach her, but otherwise on the defensive. Tug tug tug. Pull Pull Pull. This is what Mira is doing to Jessalyn's arm when she notices that this very massive and very unhappy bird, with very sharp teeth is racing towards her, looking as if it has every intention of eating her. "AGH!" Mira yells again, this time not bothering to control her volume. Dropping Jessalyn's arm on the floor, she attempts to lunge out of the way of the open jaws. As she jumps, she finds that she has received an extra push from somewhere, and finds herself flying easily out of the reach of the dragon, and sliding across the floor. As the Krayt dragon moves back and away like a scolded dog, Simon heaves a sigh of relief, his concerned gaze tracking where Mira had gone. For several moments, he stays put, propped up on his left arm, with his right tucked up against his belly, his blood staining his last shirt darkly. Finally, slowly, he once more resumes the now seemingly difficult task of getting to his feet and regathering his strength. The creature seemed to be cowed. He'd seen Cort do something, felt the shiver run down his spine as if he'd suddenly been immersed in a freezing liquid, yet he had no idea what Cort could have done to have turned the tide as he had. He didn't want to know. Walking slowly in Mira and Cort's direction, Simon says, "We should leave this place before something else happens." A pause as he looks over his shoulder, back the way Cort had come from, and then, "The one you called Grayson is dead?" Cort puts his hand to his head, the right side of his face bathed in his own red blood, appearing to flow from his brow. His lower lips is also bleeding, appearing to be self inflicted. It's obvious that the Dark Jedi is not in the best shape right now, as his knees shake slightly and he almost loses balance. "Yes, the woman is dead," he says, chuckling slightly. "The Emperor is not going to be pleased." Even though one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy is already sending his armies after him, the Dark Jedi can't help but laugh and laugh. "Together..." he breathes, "We should both be able to carry the woman. We need to get back to the ship, as soon as possible. I think I'm bleeding to death." He puts his lightsaber away and briskly walks towards Jessalyn's crumpled body, barely able to lift in. "Help me," he says, but sounding more needy than he wanted to. Mira lies on the ground, panting for air, the impact of the landing having knocked the wind out of her. Slowly, she rises to her feet, knowing that she will be covered in small cuts and large bruises in the morning. But, as wounds go, Mira could be a lot worse off. Running instead of attacking the Krayt had apparently been a good strategy. She stands for a moment, taking a ridiculous amount of time to meticulously dust herself off, making sure there were no feathers stuck to her robe. For all the thrashing about, there hadn't been any feathers shed by the creature, now hunched and bleeding in the corner. It muts have a very resiliant plumage. Satisfied that she was featherless, Mira walks towards Jessalyn's limp body, now being picked up by Cort and Simon. "Can I help?" she asks, noting that neither Cort or Simon looked particuarly well. And indeed, Cort's comment about bleeding to death seemed to confirm things. Simon was bleeding, but not like Cort was, and at the mention of it, Simon frowns deeply. He opens shuffles his feet to help bear the weight of Jessalyn when Mira comes forth and offers her assistance. "Yes, Mira. Take Etrigan's side." To Cort, he says, "You will do us no good if you are dead. Mira and I can not fly your ship, and if this woman could kill you if you try to carry her." Knowing full well what sort of reaction his comment on their flying ability would have on Mira, Simon quickly turns back to her and says, "A Selas gains his strength from the True Source, Little Sister. Draw upon it to help you carry your side." "True," Cort says, realizing that carrying Jessalyn around would not be in his best interest. "The autopilot can bring the ship here. We just have to make it outside." He looks towards Mira, and waves her off. "Help Simon with the woman. I will be fine." He withdraws a small pad from his belt, typing something in to it. "The ship should be here in 5 minutes. We should be able to make it outside in less." Happy to be of use, Mira eagerly takes up part of the weight of Jessalyn, struggling at first, but finds it easier to concentrate as they leave the room containing the Krayt behind. With it's labored breathing and intermittent grunts now out of earshot, she finds it easier to draw upon the True Source, and in doing so, the load seems lighter. She still had problems in finding the source when she was distracted or doing anything that involved a lot of thinking. But in quieter moments, she could feel it very strongly. "I'm a good pilot," Mira protests weakly, her thoughts really more on the injuries of the two men and the bird monster. "What was that thing?"
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