Fate's Delusions: Apathy's Last Kiss

[Delirion]

<center><h3>Apathy's Last Kiss</h3>
<hr width=35%><font size=2>
What's the matter
What's the difference
You'll feel better if you lie
With the stars in your eyes

Honey, Honey
Where's my baby
She know better than to cry
With the stars in her eyes

There is
No safe place to go
I should know
The lame
And the droll have needs
To let their feelings show

What's the matter
What's the difference
What's the question
You'll feel better
If you lie
With the stars in your eyes

There is
No safe place to go
I should know
The lame
And the droll have needs
To let their feelings show

Bury your heart in a hole
Bury your heart in a
Bury your heart in a
Bury your heart in a hole

</font><hr width=35%></center>

Coruscating warm light flooded the edges of her perception. A sense of weightlessness, of comfort, invaded her, and she felt oddly at peace with herself; she reveled in it, basked in its promise, until, through it, she felt an older presence.

A darkness, a malevolence that seemed to linger in the very substance she existed in. And slowly, unescabably, it wrapped her up into itself, seemed to mingle with her from the inside, until she could not discern between herself and it. It was the presence of someone - something - familiar she should know, yet her mind seemed to lack the memory of it; it was nought but an itch at the edge of her mind, just a fingertip's breadth beyond her grasp. It was a maddening thing, confusing to her, increasing the urge within her to scream out with the insanity of it all. But somehow, she didn't follow that urge, nor any others; the need to remember what it was she was supposed to know, did not seem too important yet.

Clear thought slowly returned, and with it, the first hesitant memories. Memories of a fight, of inflicting pain - why? - and fear... no, the fear had been hers, not his... who had she been fighting?... and then... darkness... fighting a battle against a foe unseen... Adalric?

She remembered the what had happened (http://pub47.ezboard.com/ftheblackhand23755frm1.showMessage?topicID=45.topi c>fight</a>.); nothing but vague echoes of words she could not now remember uttering. He had been looking for something, asking her for knowledge or an object he believed she possessed; yet she could not remember - darkness seemed to envelop her again, now.

She slipped back into unconsciousness, as the bacta she was floating in was regenerating her body from the near fatal wounds she had suffered.

[Delirion]

<font color=#a0b0e0>--and pain exploded in her hand, like shards of ice thrust suddenly into her flesh. She could feel all the warmth in her arm coursing down toward her hand, through it, drawn out to feed her cold anger's weapon. She gritted her teeth, and raised her hand up, her fingers numb from the searing cold of it--but she held on, despite the pain, despite the panic that was rising up inside her.

The power feeds on fear, she told herself. It would be logical that it uses all that fuels my hate.

She fought the panic down, forced her fingers to stay wrapped around the cold white energy that was gathering in her palm even as the killing power flowed through her flesh - her lungs - her heart. She had submitted to the lightning fire many times before, and this felt much the same - a hundred times more powerful, a thousand times more terrifying, but its nature was clearly similar. She closed her eyes and remembered each of the times, the ordeals, used it to fortify herself as the power filled her, remade her - tested her, against some dark and terrible template - and then withdrew, until the pain became bearable. Somewhat. Until the cold, though still piercing, was no longer a threat to her survival.

She turned to the assembled men and women, in her palm still containing the power. Her hand was still numb from the cold of it, but the power seemed to have a life of its own; she had no doubt that when she had to wield it, she would.

<font face=Times New Roman>And it will drink in the terror of the wounded, it will drink in the life of the fallen, until none of us survives.</font></font>

--The body floating slowly in the tank within Jeseth Cloak's quarters at Bast, turned violently, and then came to rest once more, facing the one slowly burning candle instead of the door leading to the Meeting chamber of the Black Hand --

<font color=#a0b0e0>
Fire. Brilliant, like sunlight: white-hot, molten, filling the air with a blazing heat. Jeseth's face, like wax; melting, sizzling, running down into the grass like Fire, sucked down into the soil. Flesh running free like water, blood and bones dissolving into liquid fire, essence burning, dissolving... transforming. Until the hair is core-golden, soft strands tangling in the thermal gusts. Until the eyes are silver-white, hot as metal freshly poured into a wound. Until the mouth is solid enough to voice a scream - and it screams, and the screams resound along with the roar of the flames, acros the burning heavens, and as far beneath as the gates of hell and beyond.
Jeseth's face.
Jeseth's eyes.
Jeseth's screams...</font>

She came to consciousness again, suddenly. The dream, the nightmare, had brought back the memories that had eluded her before. She knew now - knew all - and yet found herself wishing to forget again. It was Jeseth's presence she had found before, yet now, upon awakening, she felt his absence like a deep stabbing wound in her heart. Shivering, she slowly rose from the bacta tank she had lain in; shivering not from the cold that was all around - and within - her, but from that sharp, that acute longing to touch him, to have him near; from that deep understanding she could not reach with any other than him.

But he was not here, was nowhere to be found once she cast her senses outward, probed the vicinity for the warming comfort of his presence. And instead of his face as it would have been had he greeted her, all she could remember now was the face of her nightmares.

The nightmares were not new, yet never had she seen them in this form, in such terrible clarity... she tried to explain them away as natural, as nothing but her mind's way of dealing with the past - but what if it was not the past she was seeing, but the future? What would it mean then, if all she could see was her one greatest power turn into something much more deadly, much more dangerous - not only to others, but also to herself? What would it mean then, if all she could see of Jeseth was his blazing body, if all she could hear were his dying screams?

And what even dreader fate lay in the symbolism of both dreams combined?

[Delirion]

Once out of the tank, she looked around herself. She was indeed in Jeseth's quarters - his presence still lingered everywhere as she sensed out, but it did not exceed past the door. He was no longer at Bast, then.

Towelling off the last drops of bacta from her still aching body - caused by sores and bruises that were so old they could never be healed again - she looked for her clothes, but found nought but blood-soaked, filthy rags in a heap upoin the ground. Picking up the tunic she had worn that day, she was surprised and confused at first by the large hole in its side, around which the blood seemed to have spread itself outward. With one hand, she touched her left side, and found the skin fresh and delicate there - for a moment, she remembered the pain of Ogre's sword stabbing deep into her body, ripping through tissue, through muscle, through flesh, through organs. She gasped, the memory being so acute that it felt as if she was back in that moment, as her lungs started to constrict, the air in them escaping and leaving her with nothing to survive on... then she was back in Jeseth's room, looking at the bloodied cloth in her hand.

Tired, she felt. Tired, and hungry. Not simply hungry for food to fill her empty stomach, but also for Jeseth. She could satisfy one hunger, but not the deeper one. Where was he?

Another memory - a much older one - surfaced as she stood and stared at the empty table in the center of the room. Months earlier, when they had not even known each other well, she had come her to ask for something dear to her, and had found his hands bloodied, wiping a drop of flesh blood from his chin - the carcass of some small animal still bleeding on a plate before him. Now the table, and the room, stood empty, the dust slowly settling on everything around her. He had not been here since last she saw him, then.

Quenching her most acute hunger with a ration bar she found in a dusty corner of a shelf, she sat down on the couch they had once shared upon that dark day when he had first learned about Adalric. Drawing the blanket she found there around her shoulders, she lay back, shivering, and thought of the last time she had seen him.

It had been after her return to Bast with the Jedi Healer - after Jeseth's health had been restored. Still she did not truly believe that he would keep his health now - did not believe that all problems were solved, yet he assured her of it. But along with the restoration of his health, it seemed something within him had changed. She did not know if it was a part of him that had been created when he came back to life - or if her own absence was to blame for the new Jeseth as she then had met him. He had been glad to see her, had taken her into his arms as he had woken up from the healing, and kissed her - but there was a hard edge to him now, a rough edge, as if a part of him had been turned cold, as if he was no longer able to feel remorse, or pain, or suffering.

To her, these things had been vital. She would not have been the same without them - they were what had shaped her; not her own suffering or pain or remorse, necessarily, but the knowledge of these laid upon others, upon her victims. Without that knowledge, how could she know what was right or wrong? Jeseth seemed oblivious now to what others felt - did not care whether someone lived or died; he had grown cruel and ruthless in his dealings with people, manipulating them for the sake of his own cold delight in being able to do so.

Delirion didn't know anymore. So many changes, so many battles, so much blood shed - so much pain everywhere. Was she really all that, and nothing more? Could she take the same delight out of bringing pain and suffering to innocent people, just as Jeseth seemed to be doing? It seemed as if those days lay in her past, too, along with so much else.

But she was not sure that it was true - the Lordess of Delusions was deluding herself? Did she see something that was not real, simply because she was looking for an excuse? Yes, she wanted to be with Jeseth - she needed him, in more ways than one - but so much time had passed since she had really known him. Was she afraid then that he would be something she would not find agreeable after all, and she was now looking for excuses to turn herself free? No - it could not be that.

There was a choice lying ahead of her, and she would have to take the right one. As her own perceptions of what she was were changing, so changed the choice with it, and its outcome. For now, she was drawing out the inevitable - yet soon that would not be possible any longer. Maybe it was time to view the choices.

She would have to find him - find him, and force herself to look the truth in the face. Perhaps she was afraid of this - to find that she was in love with an ideal of Jeseth that he no longer was. Yet the choice would have to be made, and she needed to know.

Finally, she rose from the couch again, inhaled the smell of his body that still clung to the blanket she had wrapped around her, and with small and slow steps, left his quarters - taking one last look back as she walked out of the door - and retreated to her own quarters, to fresh clothes. And later on, to her ship.

[Delirion]

Bloody footprints ran across the floor, once she got to the gate that marked the entrance to her quarters. Beyond the gates, down the hallways, the bloody marks did not reach - as if a silent hand had come and erased them. Had it been the stones and the souls condemned to eternity in them that fed on the blood and erased all sight of it? or was this Hob's work? She could not know.

Once she got back to her own quarters, she was greeted by an unusual sight: the little girl had moved the rags and blankets she chose to sleep on from the corner in the back of the room, to the corner next to Delirion's bed, and was now curled up in sleep there.

Chani raised a sleepy head as Delirion walked in, still wearing only the blanket she had taken from Jeseth. With a loud and happy cry, the child rushed over to her and wrapped her little arms around Delirion's legs.

"NYA!!!"

Delirion was overcome by a sudden feeling of joy. Maybe it was simply the thought that someone had been waiting for her, that someone depended on her. More subconsciously than out of full realisation of what she was doing, she knelt down and embraced the child, held her close. And Chani's joyful laughter turned into heart-wrenching sobs as she clung to the Dark Jedi's neck with her little arms. Delirion could feel relief flowing through the girl's entire body, and somehow that made her feel good.

But she would have to leave her behind once again. Was that fair? Chani was not a part of the choice she had to make - the girl was simply there, and would always be there until she was taken away again, yet... it shamed her that she did not have more time for the girl.

"Chani - I need to go again,"

The words came out in a whisper against the girl's ear. She really didn't want to do this now - the little body felt warm and comforting against hers; she wanted to hold her and comfort her and tell her that she would never leave her alone again, yet... something inside her fought against that idea, against the thought of giving comfort to a child, against the thought of caring for a child.

She reached behind her and unclasped the girl's hands from her neck, and held them before her.

"And this time, you cannot come with me. I know you rarely listen to me, and you manage to be there even if I think I finally managed to keep you out of danger, but this time it's different. You can not come - where I go, lies grave danger, and I will have to be careful for my own sake and for Jeseth's. If you came along and someone found you, it could endanger us all. Do you understand?"

Between sobs, as the last tears continued rolling down her cheek, Chani nodded her head, and without another word, hugged her again, then detached herself from Delirion's grasp and went back to her pile of clothes. Within minutes, she was asleep again.

Delirion stood over her and stared at the girl who could sleep so peacefully in midst of all this infernal hellhole that Bast was slowly turning into. Then she caught herself at the thought - no, it was no such thing. She was proud of what Bast had become, of what The Black Hand had become, yet... part of what she now had to determine was if she still believed in the same principles that had brought her together with her brethren.

She had much to think about.

A little later, properly clothed and with her bag packed with what little supplies she thought she would need, she exited her rooms again, to find her ship and leave for the headquarters of the Sith Order, on Corellia.

[Delirion]

<font color=#a0b0e0>
Dusk. A swollen, sallow sunset. Dust strewn across a barren landscape, naked hills swelling lifeless in the distance. Sharp cracks that split the air: rhythmic, like a drumbeat. Death.

She staggers onto the field of battle, exhaustion a sharp pain in her side. To her left thunder roars, and the ground explodes in mayhem. Explosives. They're using explosives. In the distance another patch of ground erupts, and a cloud of dust rises to fill the murky air.

Another hundred yards, and she comes upon the bodies. They litter the ground like volcanic debris spewed from a festering cone. Bits of arms and legs and fragments of shattered skull pepper the ground as far as the eye can see - some bodies still twitching, whole enough to feel pain as they bleed out their last life into the dusty ground.

The swollen sun, storm-yellow, watches in silence as she kneels by the side of the fallen, as she gathers himself to bring her healing powers to bear. The woman lying before her moans softly, her face half covered in blood. It's a painful wound, but not a deadly one; if she can master enough of the force to stop the bleeding, the odds are good the woman will survive.

She draws on the force.
Or tries to.
Nothing responds.

Shaken, she looks over the battlefield. To the south of her black earth spouts upward suddenly, accompanied by the thunderclap of explosives. She tries again, tries to feel the Force all around her, maybe the patterns of the Force in the earth, but she can sense nothing, there are only the dead and the dying about her. Nothing that speaks of her of power - or hope.

With effort, she forces herself to her feet again, and staggers over to the next body. A man, with his left hand blown off. Thousands of small wounds pepper his body, sharp metal shards still lodged in some of them. She touches the tender flesh and wills all the power to come and serve her, using all the skill that the years have given her. She focuses on her own hunger and need to use the power - the desperate need - and the faith in what she had been doing, the faith that has sustained her past pain, past death, into the realms where only the masters might enter.

And nothing responds. Absolutely nothing. The planet is dead, unresponsive to her will. She feels the first cold bite of despair, then, a kind of fear she's never experienced before. Danger, she can deal with, death she's confronted on at least a dozen occasions, but there had never been anything like this before - never such absolute helplessness in the face of human suffering, such sudden awareness that her will doesn't matter, she doesn't matter, she has no more power to affect the patterns of fate than the dismembered limbs on this field, of the cooling blood that turns the dry earth to mud under her feet.

For the first time in her life, she knows the rank taste of terror. Not the quantifiable fear of assessed risk, but the unbounded horror of total immersion in the unknown. Man's will has no power here - not to kill and not to heal,not to alter the world and not to adapt to it. The whole of this world id dead to man, dead to his dreams, impassive to his needs and his pleas and even his fears. The concept is awesome, terrifying. She feels herself falling to her knees, muttering the Jedi code as she tries once more to feel out for it, to find some kind of stability in this alien universe. Anything. But there is no response. The world is closing in around her, like a dead hand closing about her flesh. The claustrophobia of total despair chokes her. She cannot breathe. She--</font>

Woke. Gasping for breath, shivering. Cold swear beaded her forehead, and her heart pounded like those distantly remembered explosions. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Another long, painful moment to realize what had brought her here.

Her ship. She had been sitting curled up in the pilot's chair in her ship's cockpit. And she was going to Corellia, to find Jeseth.

She forced herself to her feet and stood with one hand against the bulkhead until the worst of the shaking had subsided and she felt she could walk again. With trembling knees, she crossed the cockpit to the navconsole and checked the computer for the hyperspace exit coordinates. It wasn't long from now.

With a sigh, she collapsed back into her chair, and waited. Not long... if she could only manage to stay awake - and manage not to think about the nightmare.

[Delirion]

It was a kind of homecoming for her. Not to the Sith, or what they stood for, but to Corellia. Once upon a time, in a life that seemed so alien to her now as if a different person belonged to that past, she had lived here. This was where she had been born.

No - Nya Thyan was born here; the daughter of two people deathly afraid to follow their own inheritance - the daughter of Jedi who were running away from all that they had once believed in. That Nya never felt like this, never wanted pain or fear or suffering. But then Dark days had come, and out of the ashes rose the other - Nya Halcyon. They had nothing in common - Nya Halcyon was born nowhere, of none but her own ambition.

But Nya Halcyon had been her name since birth - since real birth, even if her parents had tried to hide her heritage from her. She had reclaimed it for herself, yes... and paid a terrible price.

No - they paid the price. Paid the price of their life - that's what it cost me to become what I am now. My own family died for me, at my own hand, because my ambition was too great to withstand temptation.

With an effort of will, she put those thoughts aside. Some time in the future, she would not be able to do that - would have to face her own guilt and punishment, but this time had not come yet. She needed to concentrate on finding Jeseth - that was all that counted now.

-------------

As she approached the location the Sith Order's palace had to be in, she got queried for her landing clearance. No one apart from Jeseth and Seth knew her here, or of her real name, hence she used it to identify herself. No one tried to stop her, either, but neither did she get any instructions where to go after landing. The Sith, it seemed, did not like visitors much.

Ahead of her, the palace came into view. Its white marble walls glinted in the sun and nearly blinded her, but her ship's viewscreens tinted automatically. The palace itself looked majestic, if a little forbearing, even though parts of it still seemed to be under construction. A landing pad came into view, not far from the front gates - not much later, she set the ship down on it.

Stormtroopers greeted her with an icy silence as she exited the ship. There was no sign of anyone else.

"I wish to speak with one of the Council members here: Jeseth Cloak."

None of the guards moved, or spoke. Instead, she felt the presence of someone approaching her from beyond the gates.

[Jedah Lynch]

Dark Jedi.....its you....

The image of her face had matched with that of the women the Sith had clashed with on Vjun in their bid to retrieve Rama Sha some time ago, along with that of his younger brother Trace Sha who had been under the control of Jeseth. Green eyes glittered and shined with a darkness as he studied the womans face.

Delirion

What was she doing on Corellia, he pondered. The Dark Jedi did not come here, why would they? It was a Sith planet and the Dark Jedi and Sith were never much friends in any great capacity - least of all willing allies. It however did not mean some didn't pretend to be one or the other. Upon the Council of The Sith Order sat a Dark Jedi. The thought burned in his mind at the sickening thought of one of the impure ones sitting and planning with those of a higher purpose.

Yet the Sith Master had not revealed the secret: The secret of the Dark Jedi known as Jeseth who pretended to be Sith in name only. Such information could prove useful, he had deemed, and thus kept the secret - one never knew when such knowledge could prove useful or beneficial to one's own plans. Since then he had kept an eye on Jeseth. Watched him very carefully, if need be to strike him down in cold blood at a moment's notice.

When Delirion first arrived the guards had reported to him due to his own leadership role at The Sith Order. The other members had been fairly busy lately with the reconstruction so there was no need to alert them....not to this little insignificant visit, the Sith mused. Jeseth would not mind if he missed a visit by an old friend when another could take the time to greet them - and the Sith did so want to greet this particular visitor.

The guards were told not to respond to her questions nor let her leave from the landing pad; they would keep her there until he arrived. His fingers touched upon the Sith markings of a wooden staff he had recovered at Byss some time ago now, a fine item from an bygone era. The sound of the staff hitting the floor while he walked sounded like music to him, its small taps as it struck the floor during his strides were the death march to which one would last hear before he was finished with them if he so desired it.

"I wish to speak with one of the Council members here: Jeseth Cloak."

He heard the voice as he reached out with the force and probed her own dark link with the force testing to see how strong she had become since days long ago. Yes he knew this one. He remembered her and all that she had done since leaving the Rogue Sith Order which they had both been part of once upon a time.

Exiting a side door entrance he rammed the wooden staff onto the dark obsidian that lined the floors on which they tread, the guards turned to look at the same time he was sure the dark force energies alerted his fellow force user to his presence.

"Jeseth is otherwise occupied I'm afraid....so you shall have to speak with me."

<img src=http://tselynch.clanpages.com/omegaprime/JedahVLynch.jpg>

[Delirion]

Before she could see him, she sensed him through the Dark Side. His presence was strong, and powerful - much more so than when she had first known the man who came to meet her now. And with each step that brought him closer, it brought her closer, too - to memories of a time she wished forgotten. To the days she had spent at the Rogue Sith Order, to that last fateful training with Dara Shadowtide-

<font color=#a0b0e0>--Time seems to have slowed for her, and every minuscule sensation floods her brain with information. Blood is running into her eyes from the wound on her head, colouring her vision crimson, and she can taste its faint coppery quality as it runs over her lips. In the air, she can smell the acrid smoke of burnt earth and burning material, and its smoke stings in her eyes. Electrically charged the air around her seems to be, her failing eyesight taking notice of the blurry blue coronas of electric currents racing over the ground--</font>

She suppressed that idle memory of the old times. It was not for now, not for this point in time to remember that which she wished forgotten. It could not hold her now, when she needed the clarity of the present.

Then she could feel him trying to probe her mind, her presence… and she allowed him; she opened her mind up to him, suffused her mind and presence with images that spoke of her strength, of her power, of her knowledge. That was what he would see, and no more. How foolish of him to expect her so weak that she would not know how to shield herself against such a probe.

Instead, through that subtle connection, she attempted to read him as he had read her, listening to the tap-tap-tap of a wooden staff he carried as he approached. Along with his force presence, along with the sense of hatred and disgust at what she had become, she could sense through his own self-satisfaction the gleeful pride and triumph he felt at carrying that staff - something he had found, something he possessed that no other did.

Something about that staff had to be different - it had to be of importance. It had to be, if even in his mind, he pictured himself with it, if through his senses she had learned of it. The staff felt of danger.

Her hand reached underneath her cloak, to find the comforting cold metal of the lightsaber she hid there. Her own lightsaber - the one she had built, under Adalric’s critical and irate eye. She had owned his, too; but that too had been irreparably damaged in the fight against Ogre. Instinctively, her fingers brushed over her side - where Ogre had torn the gaping hole into her. The spot was now raw, and still a little sore - she hoped it would not weaken her if she needed to fight.

She saw him then: saw Jedah Lynch, as he strode towards her from the gate; his stature erect and proud even as he leant in that staff. Even without the staff, he was powerful, exuded power - more than she possessed, or could ever hope to possess. Small, she felt, and unimportant, useless; afraid to ask of him what she had asked the guards. A deep and primal instinct made her wish she could sink into the ground, make herself as small as it could be, and run - run from him, run from the Sith, run from everything that could harm her.

But he answered. He had heard what she had asked, had heard from afar - had heard through the Dark Side. And his answer angered her.

Through the anger she felt, the fear was pushed aside, as if it had never existed. And truly, it had never existed - as if it had been his presence that had called forth the fear. Indeed, was it not possible? He was Sith - was it not of the Dark Side to inspire fear in those that opposed them?

She cursed herself for being fooled this easily. Cursed herself, and blamed her recent doubts for making her spirit weak enough to allow such power to work over her. The same doubts, however, made her wonder what else could have brought this fear if it had not been him… but she banished that thought and that doubt from her mind. No - it had to have been him.

Remaining where she had been standing since she had exited the ship, she kept her voice and demeanor steady and strong. No hint of what she had felt just moments ago could escape her, and reach the Sith, and serve to strengthen the power he wished to have over her.

"What would I have to speak about with one such as you? With one who came to my home with intent to destroy it, to destroy me and my brethren?"

She stared at him, her voice bearing anger and her eyes bearing hatred - all the hatred she could feel as she remembered his attack on Jeseth, on Bast, when the other Sith had attacked.

"If he who I came to speak to is not here, I shall take my leave again; I have better things to do than waste my time talking with you."

[Jedah Lynch]

Both knew she would not be allowed to leave so easily, each knew that and he wondered if she believed she had any chance of hope to get away without his say. Here in the heart of a Sith ruled domain she held very little promise of survival unless aided and her aide was no where to be found. Jeseth was not here. There was no one for her here.

Instead armored guards waited in the wings surrounding her, each wielding an high intensity plasma blaster able to kill a person dead with one well place blast. Several snipers too waited, their weapons pointed at her, ready to take her out with a single shot to the skull.

One shot.

One death.

One grave to mark her existence that had been snuffed out.

It was not all needed, she had grown in the force, he knew that and while she had attempted to best protect herself during his probe of her capabilities he sensed the truth of the matter. It would be an interesting fight if it came to that, still the outcome would already be decided. She had no chance to defeat him. He knew that. She knew that. Even if she could get away, attempt to fly away in her ship, the defenses of the planet would obliterate her into ashes. For her there was no escape, not having found the only person who could protect her here gone.

For the Sith Master, it all made the situation very fun indeed.

"Leave? So soon? My dear, what host would I be if I did not offer you a spot of food and drink after your voyage here. It would be absolutely criminal..plus you did come so far to find your friend, it would be awful if I did not aide your plight"

The Siths face looked to lighten, a farce of course. His dark intent did not dissipate easily as that of the outward emotions he could easily manipulate. The Sith broke into a slow stride as he walked towards her, the staffs tapping echoing once more, his eyes cold dug at her like knives. "We were allies once, after all...."

Turning away from her he held the staff close to him as he began to manipulate the force and use the old Sith teachings he had learned in his life time. Several feet from her a dark bluish mist arose and took shape, its form shook until took that of a mans, ripples appeared and vanished leaving added detail to its frame. Its features slowly manifested and appeared, defining the image and who it was until at least it had become an duplicated version of the man she had arrived to met. A ghostly like mirror of Jeseth Cloak.

Looking over his shoulder he let a grin spread on his face, as he stared at his little handy work imagining what other little trickery he could play to anger this little foolish dark jedi who dared to profane the area with her vile presence. A trace of darkness lighted his eyes. How dare she indeed....

[Delirion]

The further he approached, the clearer seemed the outcome of this situation. She had placed herself at the mercy of the Sith, certainly - if it had been a foolish mistake or a deliberate action, she could no longer tell. Had her intention truly been to find Jeseth, in a place as hostile to her as this? Could it not be that something had drawn her towards it; that something of that cryptic meaning of her recent dreams had spilled over into reality, had led her to this place in this time?

She could not allow herself to waste time thinking on this any further. No matter how much she could think of it, the matter was quite clear - she had, deliberately or not, offered herself up to be trapped. And the other side had taken that opportunity, and done so.

To make the best out of this situation, that was what she would have to think about, now. It was clear to her that Jeseth could not come to her help - even if he was indeed on the planet, she doubted he could aid her even a little without risking a lot. Again she found herself confronted with the foolishness of this venture she had embarked on so full of hope and enthusiasm.

Yet it was with that small hope rekindling that she watched the sudden appearance of Jeseth. That the hope was misplaced, she knew - he would not apear in this manner, called by another, simply obeying someone else's wish. No - such was his own arrogance that it would not bend so easily under another. But still, the sight of him, eben the false sight, was welcome... maybe even gave her the reassurance she needed.

For it was foolish of the Sith Master to try this on her. He seemed to wish to waste his time with idle trickery, seemed to want to play with her. Well, so she would. If that was what he expected - she would indulge him.

How fortunate that she had already been given a glimpse into his mind. That subtle connection they had shared for moments as both had tried to read each other's intentions, had tried to get a sense of the opponent -that would help her now.

Remaining as she had been, standing there in front of her ship, with her arms folded across her chest and her long dark cloak billowing in the wind that seemed to have increased since her arrival, she did not show any outward change in her appearance. Inwardly, she tried to fool the arrogant Sith; tried to keep her demeanour smooth, her thoughts and senses clear of their intention.

A gust of wind lifted a single trea-leaf into the air, pulled it left and right, turned it around with increasing force, made it dance and brush past the Dark Jedi's still figure. Her eyes and mind following it, she could sense the Sith's attention momentarily being distracted by that same leaf as it fluttered in the air before her. And as his thoughts were redirected to the matter at hand, hers followed him on that same course, riding along his thoughts with her own senses, far into his mind.

This was a subtle course to take, and a gentle one - it was not easily detected by the Sith with their natural tendency to claim anything with brute force. It had served her well in the past, to combine this dark intent with such a gentle application. She needed but to tread carefully, study the opponents thoughts and senses with the utmost restraint before unleashing her own destructive forces. For one careless turn of thought, and detection was sure -and so was punishment.

The Sith's mind was turned to the triumphant knowledge of the forces standing behind him. Delirion supressed the disdain that threatened to well up inside her mind - she could not allow such to mingle with his thoughts. His senses felt out towards the battlements behind which the snipers were hidden, towards the guards standing at readiness with their blasters turned towards her. His thoughts rested on the glee he felt, on the mocking manner he looked at her, on the arrogance that his image of Jeseth would surely do its best to fool her. And further back in his mind, but yet there somehow, the blind hatred and rage he felt for the true form of that image.

He seemed almost happy about that creation of his - yet , as he looked at his creation, there it was truly: that tiny smudge of hatred, that small morsel of fear. A foolish thing to feel, for a Sith.

Delirion had studied enough. A nudge was all it took, and it was done. She extricated her thoughts from his, retreated carefully, not daring to leave any trace of her mind's work on his behind. Outwardly, she was still calmly watching both the Sith and his creation, with something that now turned from the startled disbelief she had shown first, to a mocking detachment in her eyes. She stood by, waiting, watching... for she had no power over what Jedah Lynch would experience now, misguided by his own darkest innermost emotions.

To the Sith - and the Sith alone - his creation suddenly displayed the bright beam of a lightsaber's glowing blade. One step, two steps, three - the figure advanced, that same mocking grin on its lips that Delirion would remember so well; a fierce snarl - beast-like, devoid of human characteristics - came from deep down inside it. It stepped towards the Sith, who to all looked extraordinarily startled.

Yes, Delirion thought, one shouldn't play with fire when there's someone near who would throw oil onto it instead of water....