((I had 3 hp...I can still get up :P not expecting anyone else but myself to post :3 but all welcome))
Set wakes up as he starts to cough and wheeze and then slaps a hand to his mask. It must have gotten knocked loose after jumping off the speeder with...the girl! Is she ok? He slowly sits himself up. Everything hurts. Especially his face. The small twilek seems to be fine. She has a few bumps and bruises and isn't awake, but through the Force, Set knows he protected her from serious harm. He pushes through the pain and moves them both to a safe spot where Set can lean up against up the wall.
Gosh...why does it hurt so ba...he gently touches a few shaky finger tips to his face and winces. He's bleeding. Now he feels it after a breeze blows by. How cold and wet the left side of his face is. Set brings his legs up to the point where he can hug them and rest his forehead on his knees. Don't cry...big baby...
Set tries to quiet his mind and maybe push himself into calm meditation but he can't. The pain is just too much to try and ignore and instead he seems to focus on each injury, making it feel even worse.
ReplyDeleteThe pain in his lower back seems to slowly creep upward and then shoots up into his neck and shoulders. He winces and slowly and carefully lifts his head up and rubs the back of his neck with one hand then grabs his elbow with his other hand and then moves that hand from his elbow to his ribs. Moving is bad... He looks over at the small twilek. No changes.
Before Set had gotten himself "comfortable", he took the Jedi robe off and made a soft place for the girl to rest. He shivers, wishing he could just wrap himself up and sleep this pain away.
He then sort of jumps and quickly puts his hands on the sides of his belt. One...where is the other!? Set looks around frantically, passing his hands over the ground around him. He shifts his feet in the process. One foot bumps into the light saber which was on the ground right next to him.
Set leans over and yelps as he grabs the saber and clips it onto his belt. Master Plo would kill me if I lost these... He sighs and tries to laugh. He hopes his master is still in a position to do anything...
Restless. We've been on this ship to long. Casamir begins to pace from stem to stern in his vacuum-sealed prison.
ReplyDeleteWe've spent to many solars aboard this vessel. We've allowed ample time for our enemies to correct and adjust any plans they may have had for us due to our unchanging location. Casamir reflects on the few remaining enemies he's made over the years and lets out a slight popping noise from his nose in disgust; any of them would have LOVED to have him in such a position.
The Fates have spoken and we must act now. To delay now would only incur more detriment later.
Despite the turmoil that is just beneath his ashen-grey fur covered body, outwardly he appears to be just pacing... and smoking a cigarillo. He walks past the open doorway of where Set has positioned himself for recovery and pauses.
He places his back against the bulkhead and slink backward into a shadow, slowly puffing on his cigarillo. The smoke wafts from his nose and forms into the almost unmistakable shape of a Centran sabacc figure; the Five of Sabres.
A slight bemused smile plays across his face, as if considering some kind of private interest, before he speaks to Set.
"Perhaps you and I should associate more often, fencer."
The smoke coils away from Casamir as if drifting on an unseen wind; a soft melody can be heard coming from him, a muffled legato tune as to be almost imperceptible. As he speaks again, the song stops.
" You have some sway over the rest of the group and I... I am not trusted." He reaches his tail around and grasps the cigarillo out of his mouth and holds it a hand-span away from his face.
"Let us talk plainly now. It is not normal for my kind to do so and usually results in slavery or death. I am giving you a rare opportunity here to state your opinions and questions based not on your actions or perceived words due to a ruse, but purely at face value."
The smell of the cigarillo is augmented as the melody returns, the imperceptible wind giving it more life; the smoke begins to waft into Set's room and makes Casamir harder to see through it.
"What do you wish to know?"
Set gingerly rubs his now bandaged face. He can only vaguely remember being brought back to the ship and getting patched up.
ReplyDelete"That thing you do...the music...it's neat," he says softly and pushes himself to a sitting position. Set sits quietly for a moment, almost hypnotized by the music and the smoke.
He places a hand on his ribs and groans. "Obviously it isn't the pain meds that have me zoning out...what are you? I don't think I've ever come across your species before."
"Oh really now?" intones Casamir. A wicked grin crosses his face as he slowly pulls himself away from the wall, emerging from the shadows like a stalking cat.
ReplyDeleteHis tail deftly maneuvers his cigarillo back to his mouth and he inhales deeply, burning what's left of the narcotic into nothing more than an ember. He lunges deftly forward without warning and exhales a billowing plum of the smoke from his fluted nose into the room, obscuring his figure and making his outline hazy.
As the sickly sweet smell of the cigarillo fills the tiny room, the haze of the smoke has covered his apparent escape and quickly obscures Sets vision.
Set looks around the room in puzzlement as the Force reveals to him that he is indeed not alone, despite what his sight tells him.
"We are scoundrels, thieves, and vagabonds..." emits from behind Set.
"We are entertainers, mystics, and troubadours..." emits to his left.
"We are shunned, enslaved, and mistrusted..." emits to his right.
As the smoke starts to clear, Set quickly realizes that Casamir has been standing in front of him this entire time.
"We are the Ryn... and we are everywhere and nowhere." Casamir gives a slight bow as the rest of the smoke clears.
A haunting melody is again heard though this time coming not from Casamir, but behind Set. The melody quickens and slows to a rhythmic beat that Set cannot put a finger on.
"We are welcomed by none and accepted as companions by even less." As Casamir pauses, the melody returns again. It has now become apparent to Set that Casamir is creating the melody in time with his own body, specifically his own heartbeat.
Casamir leans against the doorway to Set's room, and when he speaks again, it comes not from himself, but from right next to Set's bandaged face.
"I hope that your injury is not permanent on that side; many an enemy would make an advantage out of it."
Set applaudes Casamir. He's like some performing gypsy or something.
ReplyDelete"Well aren't you the most interesting man in the galaxy?" Despite having the mask on, Casamir can tell Set is smiling. "You've entertained me and educated me."
He stops clapping when the smiling and talking becomes too much for his injury. He touches the bandages. "I'm sure it will heal up fine and won't be a problem as far as handicaps go though it's not going to do anything for my apperance," Set laughs. OW...laughing is bad...
"What is it that you do Casamir?" Set asks. "Or do you just perform? Oh and feel free to ask me anything as well."
Casamir sighs heavily. The melody becomes a quick staccato and then turns legato yet again after a few more heartbeats of time passes.
ReplyDeleteHis tail slinks under the bucket of his high leather boots and flicks into his hand a long, sharp blade. In his other hand he produces another cigarillo; it must have been hidden inside the voluminous sleeves that droop down the sides of his harlequin outfit.
He depresses a button on the blade and a slight audible hum is heard; the blade begins to heat up and glow a dull orange. He presses the blade to the end of the cigarillo and takes a quick puff, exhaling the sweet smell through his nose and shaping it into the shape of the Tragedy mask of old drama.
Casamir turns the vibro-weapon off and stares into the distance, seemingly looking at nothing. The melody stops and there is an air of silence about the area.
"I am a Ryn; what I do is survive."
Another plume of smoke leaves his nose and begins to form into the shape of a Centran sabacc card, but quickly dissipates before forming. A slight frown crosses his face.
"I used to have a calling working as an assassin for hire. I would only work for the highest paying noble families. I earned quite the reputation in that circle as a man of class, dignity, and efficiency that was unparalleled and... shall we say, uncanny."
He inhales sharply, and conjures forth an image from the smoke; this time it is Centran sabacc card known as The Wheel.
"My luck would change. I was eventually employed by a man... a man with almost limitless potential and power. He used me to eliminate his rivals on his rise to leadership. However, as The Wheel would suggest, my luck was about to change yet again." He pauses, and for the first time looks at Set right in the eyes.
"This man would eventually become the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. He would later be accused of belonging to an ancient and evil cult known as the Sith. He was executed by your Jedi Order for his crimes... and I..." Casamir turns to his side, not fully facing Set anymore.
"... I was left to fend for myself for the first time in decades. I traveled much in my duties to the Chancellor; he knew that a Ryn was only truly happy travelling the 'verse."
The cigarillo is almost spent. Had Casamir truly inhaled the narcotic that quickly? Or did time stretch longer than perceived in the grave telling of his tale? Set cannot tell which.
As the last of the cigarillo is burnt away, Casamir exhales one last time... a shape begins to form in the air. A shape that Casamir has seen already... the Queen of Air and Darkness forms from the mist. A knowing look assumes itself on his face.
He turns his countenance back to Set. "I now travel the galaxy... as is the way of our people. I await the Fates to determine where and what I should do. Along the way, I test those I meet to determine what roles they shall play."
As if the mood in the room suddenly changed, the melody returns. "Tell me, fencer... what is your role to play?"
Set blinks quickly a few times to snap himself out of the spell the ryn seems to be putting on him every time he speaks. The music, the smoke, the whole combination. He imagies it would be even worse if he could smell anything.
ReplyDeleteHe points at the smoke and makes a swirl design in the air with his finger.
"How...how do you...never mind," Set rubs his head. He ponders what Casamir said about working for the Chancellor and how his death has affected him. He won't comment on that.
"You can call me Set, since what I do is far from fencing," he puts his hands on his belt to check for the sabers again. Still there.
"My role? I am a Jedi. I fight for what is good. I defend those who cannot defend themselves..." he says and then he trails off, really thinking now. Is that it? Fate...destiny...
"Actually...I have no idea," Set finally says looking at at Casamir. "I just know it has to do with the child."
Theron finally begins to stir from his healing slumber. He sits up, grunting from the unexpected stiffness and pain from his bandaged left side. He recounts events in his mind, trying to discern where he was. Memories slowly begins to come back: the chase, a Mandalorian warrior, fire everywhere...
ReplyDelete"The Jedi!" he exclaims aloud.
He moves with a sudden purpose to get out of bed but his wound slows his movements. With a yelp, he discovers another pain in his leg which forces him to walk with a limp.
Using the wall to steady him, Theron moves for the hatchway and begins to find his way towards Set's room.
As Theron heads toward Sets room, he would see a Red Nautolan that matches the relative size of the Mandaolorian the group had been traveling with. He wears nothing above the waist, save for bandaging across his ribs. He Has the strangest looking tattoos across his Head-tentacles in a blue color so bright it almost glows, which is oddly enough the same color as his eyes. His left arm is also completely tattooed in a similar geometric tribal fashion, and areas appear to be fresh.
ReplyDeleteHe nods at the Kaleesh, and continues toward the room.
Casamir speaks again, though this time with a certainty of a scholar. "The Fates tell me that your destiny is open, fencer."
ReplyDeleteShifting his body weight completely downward, he balances himself just outside of Set's room on his tail, using it as a spring-coiled chair.
"I call you fencer, despite your name, because that is how Fate knows you." Reaching around his waist, he pulls out a single Centran sabacc card; the 5 of Sabres.
"This is who you are. Your destiny has not yet been determined. Only you can choose what your purpose is in this moment. In the Centran sabacc, the 5 of Sabres is considered wild... allowing he who possess it to create any other hand needed." Casamir lets that sink in for the moment.
"So you see, fencer... you truly can be a weapon for good or ill in this moment. We Ryn have learned to mold such omens to our advantage, for Fate is a fickle mistress and will likely make up her mind for you if you do not."
Casamir reclines back further on his tail while procuring from a vest pocket yet another cigarillo. This cigarillo looks different from the last two, appearing more slender and bright orange in color. The aroma of the cigarillo, when agitated, is a particular blend of musk with a fruity after scent.
Casamir inhales slowly and calmly, exhaling the fruity musk outwards in a swirling pattern towards Set. A soft musical tone can be heard in the space between them. The pattern expands and looks reminiscent of a spiral galaxy.
"It is necessary to clear the air between us, for gazing too longingly at Fate will cause a deep depression. A longing for oblivion that cannot be filled in this 'verse." A moment or two passes and the swirling smoke reaches and passes by Set.
"It is done." His demeanor shifts again and the music begins anew, with long legato notes forming into a sonata.
As if performed by some sort of prestidigitation, Casamir deftly retrieves a violin from the harlequin outfit. It is a deep burgundy in color, almost perfectly matching its owners outfit and general nature.
There is a slight variation to this instrument, as the scroll appears to have a slight gap in the top that is normally absent from most designs; Casamir places his cigarillo into the gap.
The sonata becomes a fugue as the violin joins the melody already present. Casamir appears to be lost in his playing; swaying back and forth with his cigarillo creating a plume of scented smoke that captures the song's essence.
"Interesting," Set takes in every word that Casamir says. With all these visions and the Force everywhere, always in motion and in everything, he'll take any kind of advice from divinations of whatever kind into consideration.
ReplyDeleteHe won't ask for any more clarity on what Casamir has said. He knows nothing is ever certain and all the questions in the world will never be as clear as when you are living in the moment. When the time comes to make a choice, he will know and Set will remember all of this and make his choice.
Set looks up at Casamir. "What is done? Where...how...?" he says confused and intrigued by the appearance of the instrument.
This guy is just full of surprises. Set shrugs, deciding it isn't worth the strain to try and figure this all out and just watches the ryn play.
"Nice to see...you survived...the crash," Theron says to the Nautolan through teeth clenched from exertion.
ReplyDeleteAs he nears Set's room, he suddenly stops and looks around wildly. What is this music? Is the shadow-seer performing more tricks? he thinks to himself.
Cautiously, he passes through the hatchway into the Jedi's room, blinking through the smoke.
Set looks over at the seemingly confused Theron when he appears through the smoke. "Crazy huh? He's one heck of an entertainer," Set says gesturing toward the doorway. "You probably walked right past him didn't you? Didn't even notice."
ReplyDelete"His smoke tricks are....Most impressive. " The Mandolorian says, also entering the room.
ReplyDeleteHe holds his mid section with one arm, his other dangling by his side. He acknowledges each person in the room as he leans on the wall for support.
"So, Im not a fan of who ever these guys work for. They owe me some serious credits" He says, angrly