Gesco City

Fri Jul 29, 2011 9:11 pm by Kachin Tulor

*A message was sent to Ishmael's commlink to be listined to when he was able.*

:: Master Zecher has found a big enough space and is preparing it for use. And i know its not my place to say this but there is something not right with Lord Tanes, when i was walking into the shuttle i herd his trying to recruit the pilot saying that the galaxy would be hers or something. ::

Fri Jul 29, 2011 11:07 pm by Alkor Centaris

*Alkor looked up quietly, wondering what it was that Ishmael wanted to play at; giving him a moment's respite, talking to him like he needed that sort of handicap. Not unlike stone, Alkor didn't make to sit or give the man the satisfaction of seeming tired at all; in fact, if Alkor was in any need of rest, it was not at all apparent. He merely looked upon the man with the fleeting amount of respect that he had earned in their last encounter, no more and no less.*

Are you sure you aren't projecting, old man? I've no need of rest, though I'm sure your bones are crying for some. Go ahead, I've no mind to wrest a good night's sleep from a man old enough to be my grandfather.

*It was a dismissive tone, not a mocking one, and yet Alkor knew how his words would fall upon a Sith like Ishmael. He chose them not for their diplomacy, but for the truth in them. He'd seen, then and now, how Ishy was slowly falling apart at the seams, destroyed by a power he lusted so tirelessly after. And yet, that myopia would be the end of a man who could have been so very much more...

Where was the freedom Ishmael spoke of, if not in his words? The sickening promise he was sewing to his... the Iridonian must have been his apprentice, another Sith? Ah, well... you can't escape dogma, Alkor supposed. Some people just have to have something to believe in, and others just follow because following is easier than standing against something. The path of least resistance must taste so good to these men, Alkor mused.

To Alkor, he'd come to this place for what he always seemed to go to places for. The only promise that ever mattered, and the only friend that never left him; when he saw the tavern sign, he knew he would feel at home, for at least as long as it took to polish off a jug of ale. And yet, Ishmael was treating him like some damned road block. Couldn't the Sith see that he was the one in the way? Never, ever get between a stark raving mad man and his ale!

And yet, the intensity rose like the tide. Ishmael cast off all his useless garb and took up his weapon, albeit unlit. Alkor liked that. How very good of him, to show his arsenal and yet hold it back. Reaching up and brushing his messy hair from his eyes, Alkor gave a soft smile and seemed to look past the man, now determined to stand against him.*

You there. Sithling. Your would-be master is about to throw a tantrum. You should step back.

*His words were meant for Vallius, though Alkor was closed off to any sort of response. It wasn't necessary to engage the youth any further; if he had any want for death, he'd rush in blindly, regardless of Ishmael's warding. Alkor didn't care to kill anyone who hadn't rightly earned it. At least, he didn't care too yet.

Pulling the sleeve of his tattered raiment back, Alkor revealed the bandages on his left arm and looked them over. The bloodscent washed over him, and he gave a long sigh- he knew he'd only add more blood to it, his own or anyone else's- and he turned his gaze back up to Ishmael. Would that the man realized fighting him a second time didn't seem to matter in Alkor's mind. His love of battle had died with the rest of him.

In short, Ishmael was just another corpse, waiting to be thrown into it's casket. They all were now, fleeing the grave in an eternal, pointless attempt to escape. Even Alkor, he admitted, was wasting his time with this living business. Ah, well, Alkor shook his head. I'll show him the error of sewing knowledge to a predecessor.

We don't sew, the voice was flat in Alkor's mind, and completely decided. The black garb fluttered almost as if it were anticipating in the wind, and Alkor looked up at the starlit sky. And Alkor seemed to remain passive, though he could feel himself opening up, quietly and serenely, to the raging inferno...*

Come on, then.

*No need for insults or taunts. Alkor knew full well that the man was capable. He made a quick gesture for Ishy to bring it on, then let his hands drop, as if gravity were tugging at them...*

Sat Jul 30, 2011 5:44 pm by Ishmael

*Alkor is different now, but it doesn't matter. Not to me. The dull glaze over his eyes- he must have lost his zeal for battle. Maybe for life, as well. But like I said, it doesn't matter. Whatever pity he feels for himself, however much he bemoans his existence, the outcome of our encounter will be the same. And so these preliminaries are only wasting time...*

*I also think it's funny, though. Alkor things me old...I'm not even thirty just yet. But the dark side can do serious damage to one unafraid to throw themselves into its embrace. No use pondering that further right now, though.*

*Because I'm about to throw a tantrum.*

*It starts with a deep, even inhalation, one that expands my lungs and sends a shiver down my spine. Then, I bite down- hard- on my tongue, sending a shock of pain through me and a gout of blood into my mouth. It's always best if these things are fueled by emotions. Just another weapon in my arsenal (though admittedly one not properly used by most). What I'm calling on isn't the force, though. It's something different, apart, and much more ancient.*

*The magic sparkles and fizzes on my tongue as I mumble the words required, pulling that power to me with a greedy, forceful touch. It rushes to me with an intensity, a familiarity that is gratifying, and with a hissed breath through clenched teeth, I slide my left foot forward and thrust forward both hands, fingers clenched into wavering fists, knuckles pale and bulging.*

*With a roar, my power exploded. It boiled up from within my robes, and from the fluttering sleeves of my robes, writhing around my wrists, came six tendrils of shadowy power, angry and barely under my control. My eyes are closed, now- my part in this attack is all but done, after all- and my mouth is open, slack jawed. My tongue lolls out.*

*They spread out- two looping around to the left, three shooting off to my right and then both groups arcing back around to converge on Alkor's frail frame, intent upon ripping the man apart, which they were fully capable of doing.*

*I'm forgetting one though, aren't I? Well, I've already admitted that these tendrils are barely under my control, and the sixth tentacle of power somehow found a way to squirm its way out from under my scrutiny, and found a more available, decidedly less dangerous target in Vallius. It looped back, slashing through the space between my ankles, and shot straight towards the big Zabrak's chest, intending to pierce his heart.*

Sun Jul 31, 2011 6:33 pm by Alkor Centaris

*Alkor's hair stood on end as the cold feeling gripped him again, as it had so long ago. It hadn't been the first time, he recalled, when Viscarious drew blood from his flesh, digging the dagger deep into his arms, painting a drawing in lacerations down the length of his arms, his back, his legs...

The former Jen'jidai almost moaned from the very thought of the pain that echoed through time as it pressed through his being, welling up beneath those sullied bandages and painting them in a new coat of his blood. He could feel the shiver throughout his body as his eyes glinted their striking violet and his knees seemed to shiver for a moment, and a spike of some feeling shot through him, though one he admitted he could not recall.

"Reaper's Garb," Viscarious had called the bandages. Along with the one time Jedi's robe, they held back the monster that the Jen'jidai had pulled out, kicking and screaming, from within Alkor. The black bags beneath his eyes seemed to get darker as he slouched forward and seemed to gag. The wretched, frigid wind kicked up the tattered threads as whatever power it was Ishmael called upon moved over them, and the stench of blood filled the air. Alkor remembered the feeling, consummate darkness overtaking his entire being, throwing him into a state of abject sorrow, the anguish of remembering all his sins, and the horror of bringing them to life. By his own hand.

Unraveling quite like his mind- or at least, how his mind felt to be- Alkor's bandages seemed to slough off like melted flesh from Alkor's trembling form, and his eyes widened as he heaved, and blood black as night began to flow freely from his open mouth, and tears formed at the edges of his eyes as he fought the thing that Ishmael had accidentally unleashed. A hand shot up to his forehead, and Alkor's left eye twitched violently one time before he swallowed back the torrent of blood and brought his sleeve across his face to smear the blood, more than to clean it away.*

........

Its not that he has power over me, its something I did long, long ago now, to ensure that the evils of my past wouldn't rule me for the rest of my life. This ancient power that Viscarious branded into my flesh and tainted my blood with turned me into little more than a slave to the Jen'jidai. I readily accepted that for so long that now I look back and curse what a fool I was.

The power Ishmael has called forth has awakened the sleeping, titanic presence that I worked with my one time master to lock away, nearly twelve years ago now. I wished for a very long time never to remember, til the day I realized that it was a curse I could never forget. I was born a demon, I have lived a demon, and even now I am reminded, I will die a demon.

And all for want of my freedom.

My cold eyes have sprung to life with nothing but agony and hatred for this man, who I would have allowed to live. Moments ago, he could have walked away with his life, but he's gone and hefted the axe above his own head. I never fancied killing, and I never found any joy in it. I just got to knowing who I was as the blood of my victims washed away my delusions. Now all I see is Ishmael, a man who at one time garnered my respect. What a fool he truly has revealed himself to be.

I tried to run from my past, but the past will never allow me the luxury of escapism, fleeting or eternal. I can't escape the past, I can't kill the past, and the demon is stirring now. I want to yell for them to run, but the blood in my throat has all but erased my ability to speak. It will return after a few moments, perhaps, but by then, the desire to scatter them will be all gone.

The black blood seeps through the bandages now, and falls like the tattered fabric from my arms and back, and I imagine I look rather manic, despite those tendrils of darkness Ishmael has given rise to. He'd call forth the darkness from before the dawn of time to attack me without even knowing how it might backfire. Without even stopping to consider why I've worn these bandages all this time.

It's my jail cell. They're the bars, just as much as my flesh is. A tomb, I recall Viscarious calling me, the demon within me dead before its time simply because it was trapped within. But it's never been a demon, not a second consciousness, not a creature of the dark- its always been me. I can feel your trivial emotions now more than ever, Ishmael, and its not amusing me. Those things you're conjuring up aren't any more real than this darkness- fleeting and useless.

And it's collapsing on me like a twi'lek far too eager to smother me with her worthless frame.

I raise a hand deftly as the darkness surrounds me completely, and to everyone else, I've disappeared within it. It must seem hopeless, and to Ishmael, I might surely seem dead. Let him swallow me whole, so that I might show him just what I think of darkness.

My bandages litter the ground now, as if I'd been a wretched gift unwrapped and delivered to his woeful attack. My eyes have closed and I wear the soft smile of release. It's only a moment more, now...

Come on, Ishmael, I hear myself speak the words, just loud enough for him to hear, Don't you mean to kill me?

Sun Aug 07, 2011 12:39 pm by Ishmael

*I do. I really, really do.*

*Here we go.*

*Extensions of my will, black serpents forged from the dark side, they strike. The first, it slithers along the ground and suddenly lifts itself in an effort to seize hold of Alkor's right ankle. Simultaneously, a tentacle lashes out, arcing up through the air and then back down towards the top of the warrior's head. A brief respite, and then the third tendril screams and dives at the man's chest. It's joined by the fourth tentacle, which means to wrap itself around Alkor's neck, hold him in place. The fifth moves in from the right, looping behind the man and around, its shadowy length meaning to squeeze the man's arms to his sides, prevent him from moving away, from avoiding his doom.*

*And Vallius...he's bulky, a strong warrior of a Zabrak, but surprising fast. The tendril seeking his heart meets nothing but air as my newest apprentice rolls to the side. He comes up in a crouch, that double-bladed lightsaber that he carries in his hands and lit, and when the tendril comes at him again, shrieking angrily, he lashes out with a quick arc. He misses. The tendril smashes into the hilt of the saberstaff, slamming it back into the Zabrak's chest and knocking the warrior to the ground in a heap. Triumphant, ascendant, the tentacle rises, and dives towards Vallius. It meets the crimson blade of his saber and falls to the ground, writhing as it retreats back into the folds of my robes.*

*And me? I'm not even here anymore; not really. My arms tremble and shake as I pour my entire being into the spell. Lips numb with the corruption of the dark side mumble an endless stream of words, keeping the enchantment alive, keeping the magic flowing. It's sparkling in my blood, agony and ecstasy combined in a titanic flood of power that I fear will rend me apart.*

*The part that scares me the most is that I half wish it would. That this darkness would simply consume me, swallow me into its polluted depths, into the tainted folds of its bosom, and hold me there forever. My pupils have expanded- my eyes are a small gold ring circling a drop into eternity- and my emaciated frame is shaking vigorously. My breath rasps from my lungs, fitful gasps pulled sparingly, for I dare not break my chant.*

*Not until Alkor lays dead.*

Tue Aug 09, 2011 8:48 am by Alkor Centaris

I can remember all of it now, all of the things that I've for far too long been suppressing. And now, I know why my former master went to all of this trouble. The blackened blood is seeping down my arms now, and I am forced to watch in slow motion as these dark envoys come to rip my body to shreds. But the scary thing is, they're the last thing on my mind.

My mother, Belladonna. I remember her now, how she used to beat me for not stealing on most nights, and all of the lonely, cold, hungry nights I spent locked away in my white walled bedroom seem to be almost a comfort. The sounds of ecstasy and lust that flowed through the walls from her and the many random men she'd brought home, the sickening smell of the drugs she did... are my eyes bleeding? Am I crying?

I think I just heard myself gargling, throwing up, something. I'm heaving. Its a painful thing to see everything in your life unfolding before your eyes. Especially when you're remembering them for the first time. Strangely enough, though, it isn't bothersome. Not so much as I had thought.

Now my body is acting on it's own, and the dark energy that's flowing into me seems to be ripping me apart from the inside out. The spell is undone and I'm doing everything I can to just live. But the truth? The truth is...

...I'd much rather die.

The cold sting of the darkness that's now touching my body... because let's face it, escape would have been impossible, even for me at this point. The sting almost burns. Its searing into my flesh and I feel like my blood's turning to ice. But its all over, and I can't feel the pain. Not anymore.

My eyes have rolled back in their sockets and my head has tilted back, and there's a placid smile on my face. A good portion of my being has a want to feel the end. I almost crave submission to the warm embrace of eternity. But its short lived. My defiance surprises even me.

The entirety of my being is consumed by consummate darkness, at the behest of Ishmael, and I seem to feel the weight lifted from my shoulders. Whether that is my will leaving me or my drive to survive overtaking me, I can't be completely sure anymore. My mind has gone numb, and I'm in a world all my own.

Alicia is here with me. And Alverion. We're all friends again, and this love business is sorted out. No one is killing anyone over emotions, no one is losing everything they care about because of some stupid misunderstanding. And my best friend puts his hand on my shoulder, and I smile and laugh with him, my seriousness abolished for the very first time in my entire life. I laugh, but now... now Alverion is serious. And in an instant, I find my eyes open and I'm looking at Ishmael.

But these green eyes aren't mine. Neither is my body. I'm a man possessed.

My right hand had grabbed on of the vibroblades hanging at my back, and hacked quickly through the tentacles grasping at my neck and my arms, and up through the one coming down at me, severing the one at my chest before it can go full-through. But that isn't all...

I throw myself suddenly forward, and the one at my ankle seems to hold on for it's life. And as I roll through, I am dimly aware of my activating the vibroblade and sawing through the black tendril with ungodly vengeance. I'm acting completely on instinct... but I'm not myself. In fact...

I can hear Alverion's thoughts as he commands my body. I can feel his warrior's spirit washed through me, jumping to aid his best friend in the hour of direst need. I summoned this spirit almost reflexively, and it gave no pause. Alverion wants to help me?

Standing fully up, my arm falls to my side and my wounds are dire, but my... our determination is locked on the Sith Sorceror before us. With a soft smile, I nod to Ishmael, and I take a breath.

Everything was about to happen at once.

Mon Aug 22, 2011 5:30 pm by Vallius Savage

*Vallius sprang to his feet, saber in hand. The silver blades sparkled in the evening light. It seemed that, while powerful the robed man was, he wasn't completely in control of everything at times, even though he still made it seem that way. Vallius thumbed the activation studs and extinguished the dual silver blades. He was told not to get involved, therefore he wouldn't. Not unless this man wanted to include him. But so far, he seemed intent on reaching his soon to be master. Vallius continued to hold his saber in hand, waiting to see if he would become the victim of the next overpowered and uncontrolled attack emitted from either the stranger, or his soon to be master. Vallius continued to observe, taking in the situation.*

Mon Oct 17, 2011 1:40 pm by Ishmael

*Shrieking in ways that rent my soul apart, the tendrils of power retracted, slinking along the ground, whimpering and backing away from those flashing blades. Like whipped dogs they slid back under the hem of my robes, back up my sleeves, they slipped back through my collar. The tide of magic within me began to ebb away, and the look of rapture faded from my face to be replaced by one of polite anticipation. If I'm being honest, then I admit that I've been waiting for this moment for a long time.*

*The opportunity to cross blades with one of the few I can consider my equal? Carnifex, Ryu, Bedrovelse, Rancis...and now Centaris. Quite an exclusive group he's managed to become a part of; a priceless opportunity for me. I may do a passable imitation of my master's aloofness, his desire for power and only that, but I want more. I want conflict and the sense of satisfaction gleaned from victory. I want to cut Alkor down and I want him to realize that he's lost before death takes him...*

*I usually get what I want.*

*My saber is in my hand, cold metal humming with energy, the quixoni crystal within giving a sharp edge of focus to my power...has it always been there, or did I just retrieve it? There's no way of knowing, and it doesn't matter- I'm already moving forward, scuffed, broken boots crunching on the patchy, dirty ground of this abandoned park. My amber eyes slide to the right for a brief moment, staring at Vallius, and then they return to the object of my fascination, and my stride hurries.*

*Twenty feet between us, between the inevitable clash of our blades and the death of either my foe or myself...and when I look back, I think it's at this moment that I really realize what's about to happen. The gravity of the situation, and the cold beauty of it. I am, above all else, a dancer, and the number that myself and my partner are about to begin is going to be the most graceful and deadly performance I've ever been a part of. Lightning quick, my tongue lashes out to wet my lips, and my thumb slides across the ignition switch.*

-Snap/Hiss!-

*With subtle ferocity and arrogant brilliance, the crimson blade of my saber extends to its full length, hovering at hip level out to my side, tip pointing to the right. Eyes never leaving those of my foe, I roll my wrist to the left dragging a glowing line through the dirt in front of me as I move forward, and bring the blade through its arc to completion, and up into a vertical position, hilt a few inches in front of my forehead. The Makashi salute finished, I dropped the hilt back down to a position near my right hip and a few inches lower, with the blade angled to the right, away from my leg, with the tip hovering a few inches over the ground.*

*At my side, the fingers of my mechanical left hand curled and uncurled pensively, servomotors whirring softly, falling into the hypnotic rhythm of my footsteps, of the thrum of my saber blade. And my eyes never left my foe, whose sudden transformation I sensed almost not at all. A subtle shift in posture- being a swordsman, I was especially wary of such things- a slight change in his presence, his force signature. It concerned me- I've been trained to be suspicious of the inconspicuous and irreverent of the obvious. But the revelation that something perhaps fundamental to the dynamic of the coming dance did not halt my advance.*

*There could be no stopping us, not now. At five feet from the man my grip on my saber tightened, and as my right foot came forward, eating up the last of the space to put a scarce four feet between us, my hips shifted to the left in perfect synchrony with the turning of my shoulders. My left hand balled into a fist, and the attack was on. It was a simple feint: my right hand extended out and to the right as my wrist snapped to the left, bringing the tip of the blade in for a light slash to the left thigh of my foe, just above the knee. At the last moment, however, I rolled that wrist in a counter-clockwise motion, lifting the line of attack from his thigh to his waist, or his arm, if the limb is in the way at the time.*

*My right foot is forward by about six inches, and I am not leaning forward on it to conduct the attack. In reality, more weight is placed on my back foot; I am not aggressive by nature, and to begin the dance with the intent to immediately end it is foolishness. Seek the killing blow, and it will press all else from your vision- including the strike that will end your life.*

Wed Oct 19, 2011 2:04 pm by Alkor Centaris

In a rush to die, old man?

Those were my first thoughts as he came at me, the smile beset upon my face not my own. I've never been the type to get thrilled visibly, but my expression is a reflection of the warmth in my chest. Its lighthearted, almost playful enjoyment, not bloodlust. As he runs forward, my hand flicks out and the vibroblade slammed into the ground between us, even as the distance is closed.

Dirt flies up in all directions, the ground and sky colliding to an upbeat and intense tempo. The vibroblade digs at the flesh of the earth and sends the rent flesh, clods of worthless dirt into the only true dance it will ever be allowed to partake in. The biting gale picked up and stung my face a blushed red.

The cracking hiss of Absolution comes from my right to left side and I step forward, the orange blade crackling as the snow melted and vaporized instantaneously. Three steps.

In the first moment, my right foot comes forward. Absolution moves like as ghost in my shadow, and his blade flicks into my danger zone. Absolution meets it head on, and his feint goes up- our blades slam together at their midsections, orange and red sparks and ozone spewing between us from their nexus. The first step in the gulf between us, Ishmael.

Next, a shift of my hips as our blades meet- that precise moment, not before or after. His arm is out to my open side, and that monstrosity is too dangerous for me to neglect. Shifting my grip by twisting my wrist, Absolution spins in a close arc upward at Ishmael's groin. I'm hopping to keep my forward momentum outside his reach.

And in the third step, my left foot crosses my right, and I'm pulling the blade of my lightsaber across in a forehand, ripping it across his body and away, putting that much distance between us. I won't play his damn game again- I know he's a duelist who likes to play at attrition. I'm about to force him into exertion- its what I do. He's not allowed to back down.

Sat Nov 05, 2011 1:11 pm by Ishmael

*Careful, Alkor. I'll bite back.*

*My position was not a static one as our blades met; as Alkor shifted and struck, I was already moving, pivoting on my right foot and turning to the left as that orange blade arced through the air, sizzling and hissing. As Alkor rushes forward, I simply let him pass. My maneuver was not without a counter, though: as Absolution shifted up, I slashed to the left, bringing my saber and arm back close to my body while attempting to cut through Alkor's left leg at knee-height simultaneously. Also, my left arm swung in to rest against my abdomen.*

*And the moment my back foot touched down, pivot complete- which was the same time both mine and Alkor's initial attacks were completed- I took a long step back. And then another. The young man is right about one thing: I do play at attrition. Why exhaust my reserves of energy when I can simply wait for an opening? But if Alkor's intention is to break through my defenses simply by pressing the attack...well...*

*It would serve you well to look to your own defense.*

*My saber swung down again, to rest beside my right leg, and my posture relaxed. I don't expect much of a reprieve, not this time around, but I don't need much of one just yet. At this pace, yes, eventually I will begin to falter, but while my strength holds I'm reasonably certain I can make the game Alkor intends to play a very, very dangerous one.*

*I'm drawing on the dark side, too- and my power is swelling. Magic and the force are not related in any way, and so my earlier spell had not taken a toll on my reserves. Still, I was wary; while I couldn't understand Alkor's sudden lackluster view of life, or the subtle change I'd seen in him just before we'd clashed blades again, I did respect him, if solely for his skill at handing his saber. So I would be cautious, and patient, and when the time was right, I would strike. But until that time, there was no need for anything but a swift counter to every move he made, yeah?*

*So I would wait. Isn't that what I do best?*

Sun Nov 06, 2011 8:06 pm by Alkor Centaris

Perfect.

As he lets me by, he's proven that he's taken the bait. My forward momentum serves to pull me past as he strikes in my wake, and I'm already twisting my body through. My left leg is kicking over my right, and I feel the residual heat of the blood colored blade of Ishmael biting at me in it's wake.

This is where I go hand-over-hand. And its where I throw you off, Ishy, old pal.

Absolution is passed to my right hand as I spin all the way through, and in the wake of Ishmael's strike, I pull the orange blade through at the old man's off side, in a strike known as the flowing water cut. He's never seen the fruits of more than half of my training- old man Viscarious made sure that I was drilled day and night in the Form V fashion, just to be sure I was able to deflect blaster bolts and to optimize my ability to understand and pick apart larger opponents.

But there was much more than that. Shien and Djem so compliment my Juyo in the best possible way. Turning me into a war machine, a killer and zealot for their code, had been the penultimate direction of my training. Form V was a weapon to be loosed as an equalizer. It dealt in circular movements, spinning of the saber, attacking and counterattacking in a flowing fashion that dizzied an opponent. It required a level of balance and a presence of mind like no other form. Contrary to losing yourself in the thrill, as my Juyo does.

That's why you're going to be surprised, Ish. I'm not just a berserker with a blade. I'm the worst possible opponent for someone who relies on fancy footwork and precise jabs and slices. Lets see how far your duelist training takes you this time.

My left hand is following in the shadow of Absolution and my right, waiting for the proper moment to take hold of the hilt of the weapon. I can't make the sacrifice of quickness for strength just yet. Yes, two handed strikes and blocks hold a sufficient amount of strength, but they lack the finesse of a single handed grip. You can't simply halt your momentum by pulling back with two hands- you have to pull through. And if you're in a lock, that's fine, but right now...

Well, you can see where we are right now.

My blade is following behind Ishmael's, ripping through the air toward his sword arm. I don't expect him to be slow on the uptake, and I'm sure he will pull out a defense. But my leg is safe, and I'm on the attack. I'm not losing that advantage easily.

Fri Nov 25, 2011 2:28 pm by Count Ze Demici

*Zed walked down the alley of the city block he grew up on, reminiscing about all the fun he had here not a few years earlier. Then his mother married a man by the name of Thorin and although she was happy she was suffering from beaten woman's syndrome. His step father would constantly abuse the woman who loved him and at the end of his beatings she would crawl back to him.

One night he came back home drunker than usual and when he saw his loving wife something inside him snapped. When she came in to give him a kiss goodnight he took the lamp and caved her skull in. I had been up on the stairs when this happened and I grew furious. For to long I had watched him do this to his wife; my mother. I rushed down the stairs and punched his straight in the face, this mixed with how drunk he was made him fall straight to the ground. Running to the kitchen I grabbed the first thing I saw, a leg of Bantha. Taking the meat off the rest of the bone I took said bone and beat his face to a pulp.

Since that day I have been squatting, living wherever I could eating whatever I wanted. I took one thing as a memory to my past, my real fathers walking cane with a rapier built into it. Walking the streets I felt the need to sit down so I plopped down to take a nap.*

Fri Nov 25, 2011 3:23 pm by The Illusive Man

*Security forces move through the city squalor, rounding up the squatters... A group of 4 Security guards approach a sleeping man (Zed). The Captain kicks him lightly.* "Wake up! Oh Damnit Zed, I thought we told you to stay out of this sector... You know what we have to do now..."

Fri Nov 25, 2011 6:32 pm by Count Ze Demici

*Zed woke up to a kick to his leg, it was nothing harmful just enough to rouse him. Looking up at the man who roused him he let out a heavy sigh.*

Yeah yeah do what you have to do with me captian, just this time can I keep my mask? I don't really like people who know what I look like.

*Zeds face was partially covered by a light metallic mask that hid most of his facial features. He long ago learned that if people didn't know who you were you could get away with a lot more.*

Fri Nov 25, 2011 6:41 pm by The Illusive Man

"You can keep your mask, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. A little stay in the orbital prison will do you good. Free food and some time off the streets will be... beneficial. Come on, don't worry it's a clean and safe facility, we'll keep you in the Zerkara ward, that's where all the petty thieves, blue collar criminals are kept." *Said the Captain as he summoned a transport.*

Fri Nov 25, 2011 7:24 pm by Count Ze Demici

Sir you had me at free.

*He made this same joke at least a dozen tines before, these two men were almost old friends seeing as they had been doing this for years. Standing up Zed waited patiently for the free food and his incarceration.*

Fri Nov 25, 2011 7:31 pm by The Illusive Man

"Hahaha, if you ever learned to handle a blaster with some descency then you might as well join the police force. When you get out I can put in a good word for you at the academy... I'm sure no one knows the streets like you do." *Said the Captain. He didn't even bother with the cuffs anymore.

A Small police cruiser landed several meters away and it's prison-cargo door opened. The officer in the cockpit waved.*

"Looks like your rides here."

Fri Nov 25, 2011 8:25 pm by Count Ze Demici

You know what I may take you up on the offer, and this time I defiantly mean it.
*Zed then stepped into the cruiser the thoughts of a free meal and a warm bed filling his mind.*
Oh and Captian say hi to the wife for me!

Fri Nov 25, 2011 9:01 pm by The Illusive Man

*The police transport took off and headed towards the orbital prison.

The Captain shook his head and continued on patrol...*

Gesco City

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