*Random Existance: Chaos* (open)

[Miryan no Trunks]

*How many times now had this world failed to exist? How many times had his reality been switched with that of another? Plucked from his own life only to be reintroduced somewhere else? It was rarely a pleasent experience to be in the world you grew up in one moment, and in another world, a hellish nightmare seemingly conjured up by the demons that roam there, the next. But it was an experience that he had had to accept time and time again.. He'd lost count of how many times the transition between existances had occured, leaving him with no idea when he'd be able to return.. *

*It had been over half a year since he had been pulled back to the demon world, only hours after he had managed to escape in the first place, and much had happened, he was sure of it.. However, as the grass faded into view underneath his hands and knees, the Sith Lord Miryan no Trunks could once again remember nothing.. He knew that Mistress Dalethria had been trying to find something that would unfog his mind of the Last journey he'd been forced to make through the dark world, but that was all..*

*The world came back into existance all around him with a silent breeze that passed over his form, through the two strange cuts in the back of his trenchcoat, and along the blade of his broadsword, held out in his right hand, and coated in a pungeant black liquid he did not recognize..*

*As the wonderful combination of fresh air, light, and the sounds of nature filled and overwhelmed him, MnT accepted the wave of unconciousness that was threatening to put him out, and fell forward onto his face, passed out.*

[Lord Van-Derveld]

Some time later…

Is he dead?

“I don’t know.”

Well find out.

“Why?”

Why not?

“He probably has some disease.”

Don’t be such a wuss.

“Shut up.”

Above the body that had just had a wonderful reunion with the soil, two figures stood bickering … or at least one stood, bickering with the space to his left. In his eyes, however, he was arguing directly with a pallid man in black who stood at his flank. Limbs akimbo and a frown etched into his face Atticus Almasy – or Vega Van-Derveld as he liked to call himself – stared down in silence, with his ‘companion’, at the body.

Looooooting time!

Another figure had appeared – a man in crimson spandex, who poked at Miryan’s body with a child’s plastic pitchfork. He capered about the still form, making faces and stretching his lips into grotesque grins.

“Pepito,” Vega snapped, “Look.”

At the man’s side there laid a sword. Slowly lowering himself, Vega took up the blades hilt – which was partially coated in some odd substance which made his face twist. He held the heavy sword aloft a moment, before twisting the hilt and swinging it through the air.

STEAL IT! shrieked the faux-devil.

“Shh. You’ll wake him.”

I thought he was dead?

“Do keep up.”

[Miryan no Trunks]

"Do keep up."

*As though on command to the words, the head of MnT snapped up, looking straight forward through eyes that had gone blank.. No iris, no pupil, nothing but white. In the eyes of the man holding the blade, those accompanying him jumped back, as though seeing a corpse move, though Vega himself stood unfazed, but unable to see MnT's face from the angle he stood at.*

*Unseen forces pushed the Sith Lord's body up off the ground, twisting it violently until his feet hit the dirt, his body swaying clumsily underneath a head that seemed unable to stay up. It rolled lazily from side to side as the empty eyes stopped on Vega, a strange, almost mechanical grin stretching across MnT's visage..*

*Suddenly, still too far away to reach, MnT reached out for Damnation's Touch, though his grasp did not stop at his hand. A black almost shadow extended through and past his flesh, wrapping around Vega's hand and the handle of the sword with a heart-stoppingly cold touch.*

<center>http://www.geocities.com/mordenkaina/MnTpos1.txt</center>

[Lord Van-Derveld]

Both compatriots gone, Vega was left alone with the sudden realization that it was best to look with ones eyes and not ones hands. His grip on the hilt yielded as he looked into the empty eyes of the man before him who had moments earlier looked close to death – and still now looked as though he was tottering on the edge, barely managing to stop himself from falling in.

As an apprentice, Van-Derveld possessed no abilities, no strength within the Force. His strength lay only in his delusions and at they had deserted him, as they always did. A boot knife, he surmised, would do little against this almost legendary looking sword.

Teeth-gritting, the Sith attempted to wretch himself away from his captor.

[Miryan no Trunks]

*The bobbing head coming somewhat to a rest in an almost quizzacle pose, watching the struggling Sith like a fly without wings, the shadowed arm began twitching around from side to side, up and down, with force enough to almost rip Vega's shoulder from the socket. *

*As the Sith apprentice fought to keep his balance from the odd thrashing, it came to an abrupt halt. The sword was yanked from his hand with strength enough that he could offer little to no resistance, and it slowly traversed along the arc of darkness that was connecting the man, and MnT's right hand. *

*As the handle of the sword made contact with the palm of his hand, MnT curled his fingers around it, though the extension of his arm was still quite there.. Slowly, Vega found himself being raised off the ground, his arm going numb from the cold of... Whatever this was's touch, and it just continued to stare up at him, the same curious look static on MnT's face..

[Lord Van-Derveld]

As if the tendrils lashing his arm about and nigh on tearing it from its moorings hadn’t been enough, he was now being dangled like some puppet in mid air. His weight hinged from the arm that had taken up the sword, and he hung as some giant rag doll. Still on Vega’s face was a look of total shock juxtaposed with total repulsion. He was Vega Van-Derveld. He was the power. How dare this shell of a being, this waif, man-handle him like some toy?!

Struggling some, he barked out a command of: “Unhand me, this instance!”

[Miryan no Trunks]

*Some sort of strange semblance of laughter breathed it's way almost silently out of MnT, though not actually from him.. His head bobbed slowly to the other side, before the arm holding Vega began to twitch and twist, all of Vega's weight being forced upon his one elbow as his arm was brought out horizontally..*

*The strange arm began to extend, lifting Vega's straining form higher and higher to a symphony of creaks and cracks, as his elbow tried not to break backwards.. 15 feet into the air he rose, before, with a final twist, he was launched back towards the ground in excruciating pain, his hand now completely numb to the cold touch of the shadow..*

[Lord Van-Derveld]

There was no time to brace to hit the ground, and when he did come to meet with it, there was a definite crunch. His back arched upwards as he groaned and strained, his whole body aching and pulsing with a hot pain that he could not locate the source of. His body reverted instinctively to something of a fetal position, with his arms wrapped about his chest, as though of the delusion that this would some how protect him.

“What- do you want?!

[Miryan no Trunks]

*MnT just smiled, that same, strange, guttaral breath of a laugh whispering unaided past only slightly parted lips.. A moment passed without answer, before the Sith Lord moved. Walking with a clumsy gait, he stumbled towards the fallen Van Derveld, the shadowed tendrils retracting back into his arm as Damnation's Touch was lifted up into the air..*

*He stopped just as he reached Vega, the blade glistening with the thick liquid as MnT's arm extended fully upwards.. Then shot back down, the sword arcing towards the Sith's torso with blinding speed. Vega closed his eyes, unready for this most premature end, but it never came.*

*A moment passed before he opened his eyes, but when he did, he saw MnT standing there, his now normal eyes open wide, a look of shock on his face, and the blade of his sword dug deep into the earth not inches from his leg.*

.. Wha.. Wh.. Who are you? What's going on?

[Lord Van-Derveld]

Vega’s eyes snapped open. The genuine shock on Miryan’s face roused infinite anger in Vega – had he just been mocked by this man? Still achy, he pushed himself to his feet and looked between the sword and its owner.

“You attacked me without warrant – that’s what’s going on!”

[Miryan no Trunks]

... I attacked you?

*He looked honestly shocked by this, unbelieving that he had done such a thing.. He'd been unconcious.. However, in reading the man's aura, it didn't seem he was lying about the attack.. But without a reason..? His face took on a more serious expression, and looked the man right in the eyes, his own gaze unfaltering in the slightest..*

... And Why did I attack you?

[Lord Van-Derveld]

“You were laid unconscious. I selflessly came to see if I could help you in some way, and you repaid me by trying to kill me.”

Vega looked deadly seriously, as though this was entirely the way he had perceived the situation.

[Miryan no Trunks]

*MnT just continued to stare straight forward into the man's eyes.. Physically he was acting as if he absolutely believed what he said was true, but his aura spoke openly of the deciept hidden beneath the aristocratic tones, and the Sith Lord's expression explained that knowledge quite efficiently..*

... I suggest, Sir, that you take more lessons in lying, before the next time you decide to take the practice into the outside world.. And now, if I may, the truth?

[Lord Van-Derveld]

His jaw tightened, eyes flared, and Vega found himself directing his gaze downwards to avoid direct eye contact.

“He- I thought you were dead… I picked up your sword, to take a look at it, and you.”

[Miryan no Trunks]

*MnT grimaced.. Without the well-rehearsed front, it was obviously much harder for this man to hide the thoughts behind his words..*

... You mean my sword looked like it would have made a nice addition to your possessions, or at least fetched a pretty credit from some collector richer than yourself?

*The stuttering informed MnT that the man was too lost in his attempt to save face to simply fess up, so instead of trying to have him verbalize the intentions that had already been so obviously explained, the Sith Lord just shook his head..*

... Never mind.. I'm Miryan no Trunks, and you are..?

[Lord Van-Derveld]

"At-"

He bit back and reminded himself: Atticus Almasy was dead.

"Vega… Van-Derveld."

[Miryan no Trunks]

*As the second name began, and actually completed it's pass through the man's lips, a smirk broke out across MnT's face.. Another Vega Van Derveld? Noticing the quizzical, almost appalled look on "Vega's" face, MnT shook it off and explained..*

... My apologies, I meant not to be rude.. I have a very good friend by that exact name. I would ponder if the two of you might be related, were it not for the first name you began to give before choosing to instead tell me that one.. At-something, I believe you were saying?

*He could easily just enter the man's mind and pick his name out, but he had no reason to.. Just like anyone, it seemed "Vega" could be inspired to tell the truth, by just forcing him to realize his deciept was not working.. *