Shifting of the Flame

[Vendetta]

Strange for a man of such prestige and legend to be known by only a single word. His name was not spoken, it was whispered. He was not found, he found you. An enigma of a man, involved in the deadliest arts in the galaxy. He was no bounty hunter; he never much cared for live capture.

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V is for Vendetta.

Outside the Naboo night air was just as still, dry and hot as it had been earlier that day. Inside, the small cantina was deserted save for himself and a few regular drunks. Ven had received the contact just around a day ago as he was preparing to leave on another job.

He pulled out his holocom and replayed the message.

"On a wild planet called Cathar, you will find a humanoid woman who leads a simple life of solitude. Seek her out. Spill her blood. Put her beneath the ground. Do my bidding and show no mercy. Rewards unimaginable shall be yours only after this is so."

Ven liked how the cloaked figure casually suggested that the human lived a simple life of solitude. He turned the com off as he took a sip from the concoction the bartender had mixed up for him. Apparently not simple enough ‘cause someone wanted them dead.

Vendetta sat with his back to the wall, as he always did, looking over the rundown cantina. He was completely draped in black robes, and he turned a throwing dart from knuckle to knuckle. Suddenly he noticed the door to the place sway open. He raised his head vaguely to see a lone Imperial Stormtrooper enter. Ven lowered his head and let out a smile. After all, he was probably looking for him; he hadn’t been too careful when he landed on Naboo about keeping his presence on the planet a secret. Funny though, the same Empire who had hired him to kill countless Senators and traitors to their cause, now had a galaxy-wide bounty on his head.

The Stormtrooper approached the bar and Ven watched as they had an engaging little talk. He bartender motioned his way. Joy..and I thought tonight was going to be boring. The trooper approached him, stopping a few feet away and leveling his blaster rifle.

"You, there. Take off the hood."

Ven’s smile was now surely visible. He did as instructed.

Though it’s impossible to see the Trooper’s face, one would like to think his eyes bulged from their sockets as he saw what was under the hood. The blatant gray bullseye shown relatively well in the bad cantina light.

"Don’t move! Now, stand up and put your hands behind your head!"

“Sure, sure, just don’t shoot.” Ven kept on smiling.

He turned and rose to his feet, his hands raised above his head. As he turned around he lowered his right hand in a sharp downward motion. The Strormtrooper hit the ground hard and lifeless. The clientele in the bar now took notice with all eyes on him. The small dart was now lodged into the neck of the guard between the Imperial Stormtrooper helmet and chest piece.

Vendetta threw his hood back up over his head, and walked toward the door. Flipping some change onto a cup that sat on the bartop, he made his way outside. If Cathar was where he was going, he better get an early start.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

http://s93860457.onlinehome.us/TotL/the-map.jpg

The sound of saddles creaking in the desert heat was seemingly all that could be heard along what had become known as the Greater Shu'Yon Trading Route. The caravan making its' way from Joffa to the Shu'Yon Outpost on the shores of Oronni Bay was small by normal standards, but its' size was due to the nature of the group in transit. Unlike most, the caravan was not one full of traders and merchants. No. This was a caravan of soldiers.

For three days they had been traveling. Riding out of Delta City, they had traveled north up the River Tir to Joffa, then cut into the trading route on a direct course for the bayside outpost. They were going home. After months of helping to defend Delta City from the relentless attacks of Captain Skersie, the small band of Shu'Yon warriors were heading home. Their numbers were diminished from when they first set out for the massive waterfront city, and many of their bravest fighters had fallen - slain by Skersie's own men. Reinforcements from both Joffa and Khai'Arbydos had helped turn the tide of battle though, and victory was finally achieved. Skersie and his pirate horde had been driven back to the deeper waters, and Delta City began the arduous task of rebuilding its' once grand walls, grottos, and temples.

As the sun rose high in the midday sky, one of the riders reigned in her pakka, slowing the animal to a stop. She shifted in her saddle, looking behind her as the rear of the caravan slowly caught up with her. She was an offworlder, her sun-bronzed human features and body a stark contrast to the felinoid race of Cathar making up the rest of the caravan.

She was a quiet individual, but held an air of confident suredness about her that was undeniable. One eye blazed a brilliant orange, silver flecks smattered throughout, and the other a solid white. A scar ran through the useless eye, from forehead to cheek, and lent her a look of viciousness. Hair short, windblown, and haphazardly falling about her features, she stood only five foot two inches tall. Most guesses placed her in her early thirties, yet she was already nearing her forty-third birthday.

As the woman scanned the horizon behind her, her gaze fell on one of the riders approaching. He spotted her eyes on him, and sent his comrades ahead as she urged her own pakka to fall into step with his.

"I take it this is where we part."

It wasn't so much a question as it was a simple statement.

"Aye."

"You are welcome to stay with us at the Outpost, you know. Stock up on food and water, feed you mount..."

"Generous of you, but I must refuse your kindness. I must be heading home. You've let me ride with you from Delta City to here. That is all I can ask."

The Cathar inhaled a long breath, staring at her. "Are you sure?"

A nod. "I am. I had not intended to stay in Delta City as long as I did, and the battles put a stop to any caravans going out."

"An inconvenience, I know."

The woman only offered another curt nod, then rose a single finger in farewell before veering her pakka away from the caravan and nudging it into a gentle lope.

The Cathar watched her grow smaller as the distance between them widened, and presently turned back, urging his mount into a clipped jog in order to catch up with the caravan.

[Vendetta]

Vendetta dipped his fingers in the warm blood,
brought them to his mouth,
tasted the salt,
tasted the death.

The felinoid was a soldier of some sort,
Ven had seen the others in the makeshift convoy
luckily this one had somehow gotten slightly separated from the pack,
he asked him some questions,
he got some decent answers,
but of course he killed him anyway.

The rays of sun beat down onto the back of Vendetta as he stretched over the corpse. He quaffed such an aroma of death, drawing every aspect of the agony through his senses. The smell, the feeling the taste, of death had become a drug for him.

The Cathar never understood how Vendetta had pulled his gun; how he had seemingly came out of nowhere from a vast stretching desert. He also never knew the favor Vendetta did him. It was only one quick shot through the ear. The beast probably never even felt it. Ven now turned his attention toward the horizon of the desert. Smiling, he walked over to the pakka and slung himself on its back. He opened a tracking COM and punched a few commands into it. Female humaniods on this planet were rare, and the Cathar that now lay dead in the sand had only pointed him in the right direction, so there was still much work to be done.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Beating hoof-claws pounded the sand as the pakka and its' mount crossed the sunbaked desert. However, instead of heading due north and into the Great Dune Sea, she instead traveled northwest; towards Uruk'Lien.

And from there it was a straight trek past the obelisks and onwards to the Vercor Mountains. The cursed mountains. The mountains that held the Lost Palace of Beasts.

Her Home.

But for now she rode along the edge of the Dune Sea. She would have to make camp soon, as the sun which had previously risen high, was now beginning to descend at a steady pace.

[Vendetta]

What a hell hole. Ven contemplated to himself as he pulled up a planetary map of Cathar and examined the landmarks. He had ridden in the direction the Cathar pointed and now had come across fresh tracks in the sand heading northwest. He dismounted the pakka and leaned down close to the sand, scooping some up in his hands and letting it bleed through.

The sun was setting quickly. The sight of dusk sent a chill through Ven’s bones. He loved the night. He was indeed a creature born of it, engulfed by it. He punched some coordinates into his handheld COM and closed it shut, all while mumbling some foul words under his breathe about the sand and heat. This had better be worth my while. He decided to ride the pakka a little further before going ahead on foot.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The outcropping had begun as nothing but a speck, shimmering in the dying heat of the day. By the time she reached it, Cathar's sun was kissing the tops of the dunes and the night chill had started setting in. It was one she had stopped at many times, using it for shelter during her travels across Cathar.

The rock formation itself towered thirty feet high, spreading out at the base and extending in a parameter to make a desert atoll. Evidence of old campfires could be seen, long dead embers still gathered against the side of the rock wall that rose above the rest. A single, gnarled tree stood at the entrance of the narrow opening, it's roots searching in a vain effort for water beneath the scorched surface.

The rest of the surrounding rock walls were no more than four feet in height, jagged enough to offer cover in some places, and easy climbing in others. Pockets of small pebbles could be found in crevasses all throughout the rock atoll and even a few clumps of twigs where failed nesting attempts by some of the rooks had been.

The woman dismounted easily as she neared the outcropping, and led her pakka quietly in to the interior of the desert atoll. Untying her bedroll from its' place at the back of her saddle took only a few short minutes, and soon she had it laid out in the shadows and nestled beneath a covering in the rock. She unsaddled her pakka, lying the tack off to the side of the oft-used campfire.

By now the sun had mostly set, leaving a line of light across the very top of the horizon. The night chill had become colder, and the woman set about gathering whatever leftover twigs from the rook nests for a fire. She had put on a weatherbeaten cloak; dusty from years of travel and use yet still sturdy and able to keep in warmth. She left the hood down to fall across her back as she went about collecting kindling for a fire.

This night would be cold.

[Vendetta]

The figure leaned down for a brief second, examining the pile of brush before picking it up and moving on. A set of crosshairs danced across her features as Vendetta lay upon a sand dune 40 kilometers away.

Why was she still alive?

The answer was simple.

It would have been too easy.
The smells of death,
the tastes of death,
would have spoiled.

Ven clicked off the scope’s infrared targeting mount and lowered it from his eye. He eased into a devilish grin and reached down for something under his belt; something razor-sharp and polished.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

A meager flame danced in the desert night, illuminating the woman's features as she sat before the fire. Eyes half closed, she sat as if in a trance.

The pakka had laid down a short distance away, and lifted its' nose up, testing the night air.

The still of the night was undisturbed, and the woman drank in the silence as she fell in to her own inner thoughts.

[Vendetta]

Quicker than a shifting of a flame he appeared.

He completed a full somersault over the first large rock before s’Ilancy saw him in full view. It was all completed in deadly silence as Vendetta raised his hands and let loose nine jagged throwing stars from his fingertips.

Time to die lady!

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Living on Cathar for long periods of time oft lended one a certain degree of rapid reflex. Cosntantlty having to be on the lookout for raiding parties belonging to General Mogadu gave a person that underlying sense of paranoia that manifested itself in near instantaneous reaction.

For a Force user, who's reflexes were one of the primary focuses of training, the end result was something that seemed inhuman.

The woman was already moving as the throwing stars were loosed from the man's hands. Her spine arched back and she simply laid down, watching the small metal projectiles shoot over the top of her. The pakka spooked, lumbering to its' feet before pacing the far edge of the atoll in search of the only exit.

She rolled to the side then, using her momentum to twist up to her feet. Her cloak still shrouded her figure as she half knelt in a crouch, and she stared calmly at the intruder.

[Vendetta]

Ven rolled through the impact of the somersault and came up on his feet, his devilish grin still ornamenting his face. However what he saw, made the grin quickly wane, replaced by a look of shock.

Impossible.

No one could have reflexes like that,
Vendetta doesn’t miss,
Vendetta never misses.

The first sounds of the encounter occurred when the throwing stars struck loudly, ricocheting off the rocks behind the woman and falling into the sand.

“I’m not sure how you did that. But you’ll wish you’d chosen otherwise.” Vendetta pulled a long mandalorian bowie knife from behind his back.

“Now I’ve got to get ugly...”

The masked man began to move in a circular pattern toward where s’Il was crouched.

“…and I promise this won’t be as quick and painless as those throwing stars darlin’.”

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Rising from the crouch, the woman stood in a seemingly casual stance, watching as this newcomer approached.

She inhaled through her nose, taking in his scent before canting her head slightly to the side. She still said nothing however, his threats only causing her to blink.

Her stance shifted as she made sure to keep him at her front, and the wellworn, dust-covered cloak she wore followed her movements fluidly.

Finally, she spoke; a single word in a neutral tone.

"Unwise."

[Vendetta]

“My thoughts exactly!”

Ven leaped into the air, releasing the dagger in mid-flight.

He outstretched his arms and focused the intention of attack on s’Ilancy’s shoulders, impacting as they rolled into the sand. The dagger flew by her as the assassin tackled the woman, only to bounce off an undersized rock and rebound straight toward the back of her neck.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The woman absorbed the impact of her attacker's body, bending backwards like a reed in the wind. Her whole body swayed back, feet planted firmly beneath her in a solid stance. She used the intruder's exertions against him, bending as far back as her spine would allow before the muscles of her abdomen and along her spine fired, and her arms came up. In a single smooth motion, the cloak fell to the sand as her hands took root upon his chest. Her body began to right itself as her leg muscles bunched, and she heaved upwards and to the side, throwing him off.

A brilliant orange glow cast its' light off the rock walls then, as twin blades of light appeared from the previously hidden gauntlet on her right arm. The blades arced around in a single swift motion, cleaving the dagger in two.

As the two dagger pieces hit the sand, she turned to her attacker, the twin-bladed gauntlet still ignited.

She squared back her shoulders, narrowing her eyes.

"Reckless."

[Vendetta]

What the frell...

Ven pulled himself to his feet and dusted the sand from his biceps. He recognized the glowing blades of light, though faintly. He remembered seeing one years ago in an old rundown pawn shop on Courscant.

”They were the weapons of the Jedi Knights.” He remembered the elderly man speak of the sword as having some kind of magical power. Ven had never met a Jedi, and as far as he knew they were all dead, murdered by the Empire for their treacherous actions against the Republic. Though now, he stood face to face with someone wielding a pair of them, and in tune with what the woman did to the dagger, she obviously knew how to use them.

Ven smiled hysterically. A humanoid woman who leads a simple life of solitude huh? This was going to be interesting, Ven enjoyed a challenge.

“Who are you?” He spoke at last, making no effort to continue the attack.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"I am nothing."

The blades remained ignited, as she made no move to relax. For all she knew, this man could simply be using talk to try and lure her into a less cautious state of awareness.

She took a step back, however, so that she stood beside the burning embers of the small fire.

"You, however. Someone sent you.

"Who."

[Vendetta]

“Nothing? Right.” Ven smirked.

Reaching down under his cloak he pulled something from the shadows, he could see s’Ilancy’s eyes narrow as she prepared for some type of makeshift weapon. Instead, Ven pulled a lone cigarette and brought it to his lips. He eased into a seat by the fire, as casual as ever.

Grabbing a stick protruding from the small embers he brought it to the tip and inhaled deeply.

“You know, not many people are in my presence long enough to enjoy my conversational skills.”

He took another drag, letting the cherry burn slow.

“I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to cut off that gauntlet of yours.”

He smiled at her.

“Then I might just cut off that pretty little head too, I haven’t decided.” Ven paused. “Or maybe for the right price, I’ll tell you who wants ya dead.”

He looked around, completely ignoring if the woman was listening or not.

“But I doubt you’ll be able to afford me.”

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Now without the cloak to conceal her figure, it was easy to see that this woman had lived many years on the harsh, unforgiving terrain that made up Cathar. She was diminutive, yet her body held a powerful grace that was evident even in the way she stood. While a more conventional Cathar style blade rested at her left hip, on her right dangled an intricately crafted sabre.

She looked down at her attacker before taking yet another slight step backwards.

"I would like to think that your life would be sufficient enough payment."

How un-Jedi-like of you.

Self-preservation on my part; nothing more. Now be quiet.