Recent Posts1
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Corellian Birthright
« Last post by Syren on September 13, 2024, 09:53:40 PM »“Maybe it’s perfect
Maybe I lack control
Coz you’re still the coin in the air
And I don’t know where it leaves me
Heads or tails
Wings or sails.”
Eli & Fur
Corellia
Far from the exercise, the faux-Agent Cale Theon keeps a steady system patrol aboard the Asunder.
The High Commander felt it best to keep Jedi out of the fray, something Donovan agreed was best. They had enough problems and handing them two living violations of their insipid laws would not be one of them. Not today, at least.
Gemma’s call took him by surprise. The loss of life was tragic and he is grateful his sister is not among the victims. The presence of a traitor raises more uncomfortable questions and reveals the depths of their situation with Gemma's controversial take on it. Prophecy as a stage play, a rotating cast across generations with characters that seldom escape their run. There are rare exceptions but there is no denying that those orchestrating horror behind the scenes take great care to close the loop when they can. Rutherford Gellar and Celeste Masterton are evidence enough of that.
For those caught in the prophecy’s glittering web, it is always a matter of time.
He turns his attention to more pressing matters. While Demaris may be in the Corporate Sector with a few potential suspects, Donovan finds himself on a ship with one. Gemma made it clear the Force-sensitive refugees may not be who they claim to be. It is a convenient position, possibly meant to exploit their assistance by ingratiating themselves and lulling them into lowering their guard.
Sirona has kept to herself since the desecration of Centerpoint Station. He left her meditating not long ago and would like to imagine that is what she continues to do. She has not made a move against them with plenty of opportunity to do so. She even had a chance to strike a more damaging blow to their efforts when the High Commander joined them. Sirona is the one who brought him from the surface. Donovan was nothing compared to a strategic target like Artemis Soldys. She could have taken that shuttle down before they ever reached his cruiser, or crashed the shuttle into the Asunder killing them all.
A tactical victory that would have robbed Corellia of further hope to combat the imminent Republic threat.
That is not a phrase he ever thought he’d think. The Republic, a galactic enemy. He never cared much for politics in his old life, much too busy with the salacious duties of a Corporate Sector heir. It never touched him, all those happenings outside their opulent little world. Such privilege, the luxury of being an Atrii. To not care simply because it did not personally inconvenience him in any way. Let others suffer so long as he did not have to deal with it. That seems like such a very long time ago. The Jedi set him on the straight and narrow. Something else he is grateful for. They are not perfect, nor is he, but their ways allow him a chance at real purpose. A path to absolution. Yet, his mind drifts to other things.
Circe.
It turns out path and purpose come at a price. Feelings that are felt and acknowledged but must not be acted on. It helps that they are both playing other people since the galaxy believes them long dead. Lives lost in the early days of the Republic’s swift and spectacular downward spiral. For many it made it real. If they could kill someone like Circe Prescott, in principle, as a symbol of dissent in a democratic society, then they could do the same to anyone else - and they did. There are the true believers out there bent on ensuring this all goes south and, so far, they are making great work of it. Threats near and far.
Near being his primary concern.
Donovan rises from the chair and retrieves his saber, stashed away to complete the CorSec ruse but always nearby. He clips it to his belt and steps into the corridor. It is quiet, as the cruiser tends to be in their patrol of solitude and reflection most days, but now that silence is laced with suspicion.
Do other enemies masked as allies walk among them?
He is relieved to find her exactly where he left her, meditating in the galley with her back turned to him. He approaches slowly, rapping on the archway with a knuckle to signal his presence although he knows she already senses him. Her body stiffens.
“I have news. Not good, I’m afraid.”
She lowers her head, “Tell me.”
“We’ve lost Oz and Lysette,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It seems Lysette was not on our side after all.”
“And now you have come to see if I am?”
“I would like to know where you stand, Sirona. You have been through a lot and it would be understandable if your feelings are…complex. Nothing we’ve experienced has been what anyone would consider normal but know that I am here to check in and support you.”
“I will be fine."
“I am pleased to hear it but not certain I believe you.”
“You do not know what I felt when what was left of that station imploded. The things I heard. Madness. It was pure madness.”
He eases further into the space, curious.
“Madness?”
“The spirits of those trapped within, no way out, so much fear, confusion – they did not know it would end that way. In an instant, so many lives cut short. Everyone’s last thoughts bombarding me, invading my mind, and then…then there was her. They told me she was waiting there.”
“Who? The one who attacked the Republic?”
“A voice clearer than the others, cutting through the noise. She spoke directly to me.”
Donovan is so close to her now. Was this who she referenced before? The one who had come to let the darkness out? Perhaps she had…in ways they had not considered. He moves closer still.
“What did this person tell you?”
In a single fluid movement, Sirona rises and ignites her saber, twisting around with a controlled strike. Donovan jerks backward reflexively, hand finding his weapon just as her blade clashes with his in a sickening hiss. Her eyes have a green glint to them that he has not seen before, expression determined but faltering.
“She told me to turn on you,” Sirona says evenly, advancing on him. “To prevent you from trying to take what is rightfully hers.”
“Sirona, stop this! This is not you!”
“None of them deserved it. Not one worthy enough to claim victory. We are but mere mortals, and she a goddess. Soon…she will reign.”
Donovan pulls back and flicks his wrist to create some distance between them. She rights herself quickly and attacks. He engages her defensively as their sabers clash.
“Fight this, Sirona!”
“She is still in my head…whispering…willing me…”
“No, she does not control you-”
“That is where you are wrong. She controls all of us.”
He parries and steps back, assessing the tremors of expression flickering across her face. She may be fighting but she is losing. He had only heard rumors of such possession, the Sith inflicting their will upon others, but he had never seen it manifested. She may not have been sent as a sleeper in the same way Lysette evidently had been but she arrived here vulnerable, her defenses down, and within the psychic attack left open the opportunity to strike. Donovan must disarm her before she hurts anyone.
“Sirona, listen to me. Hear me. You are safe here with us. We will protect you!”
She attacks again, this time more aggressively, but he is careful to deflect and keep her at a distance as he tries to reach her. What he does not know, what he does not yet understand, is the piece of an artifact this dark visitor had come to collect from Centerpoint and the power it holds. Adubell’s words, imbued with the essence of the Etheralis, coil deep within her mind – she no longer has control.
“The Jedi can’t protect anyone,” she laughs coldly, voice octaves lower than it had been only moments ago. “Not even themselves.”
The glint in her eyes flares a brilliant hue. He gasps, hesitating for the briefest moments but it is enough of an opening. Donovan feels the sear of saber upon flesh, into his forearm, down across his thigh, and he stumbles back. The Twi’lek comes at him hard now, swinging more wildly, sparks from contact with the walls showering across the narrower corridor he’s been forced back into. He brings his blade down against hers, both sparking against the floor as she whips a headtail against his face. Flinching, he throws himself forward, slamming her against the wall, their sabers tangled dangerously beneath them. She shoves him back and he staggers then spins to the right into a crouch, feeling the heat of her blade as it passes over him, and thrusts his hand outward to send a concussive Force blast that sends her tumbling back into the open space of the galley.
Donovan sags against the wall. His leg is screaming, realizing now it may be deeper than he thought, but manages to drag himself to where she lies still. He holds his saber out, not yet raised. He believes there is still a chance they could save her. He is not going to give up on her now-
She springs upright at an almost unnatural angle, gripping his throat and hauling him forcefully back across the room. Sirona almost seems to float as his legs scrape helplessly across the floor. They crash into the far wall with enough force to smash his head against it. Colorful spots explode in front of his eyes and her saber tip pierces his shoulder. Crying out, vision clearing, he watches the fury drain from her face.
His glowing saber is lodged through her chest, casting shadows on her features from behind. The glow dims but remains present in her eyes. Donovan deactivates his weapon. Hers drops to the floor and snaps off. Grabbing ahold of her as her knees buckle, he cries out again.
“No, no, no….Sirona, no…you were safe here…”
“No one is safe,” she sputters, weakly. “Not from this. From her.”
She sinks to the floor in his arms and a small, nearly guttural laugh escapes her lips. She raises her eyes to his as she begins to fade from this life.
“Really, Jedi. Do you think your sister is safe…with one of them?”
-TBC
Maybe I lack control
Coz you’re still the coin in the air
And I don’t know where it leaves me
Heads or tails
Wings or sails.”
Eli & Fur
Corellia
Far from the exercise, the faux-Agent Cale Theon keeps a steady system patrol aboard the Asunder.
The High Commander felt it best to keep Jedi out of the fray, something Donovan agreed was best. They had enough problems and handing them two living violations of their insipid laws would not be one of them. Not today, at least.
Gemma’s call took him by surprise. The loss of life was tragic and he is grateful his sister is not among the victims. The presence of a traitor raises more uncomfortable questions and reveals the depths of their situation with Gemma's controversial take on it. Prophecy as a stage play, a rotating cast across generations with characters that seldom escape their run. There are rare exceptions but there is no denying that those orchestrating horror behind the scenes take great care to close the loop when they can. Rutherford Gellar and Celeste Masterton are evidence enough of that.
For those caught in the prophecy’s glittering web, it is always a matter of time.
He turns his attention to more pressing matters. While Demaris may be in the Corporate Sector with a few potential suspects, Donovan finds himself on a ship with one. Gemma made it clear the Force-sensitive refugees may not be who they claim to be. It is a convenient position, possibly meant to exploit their assistance by ingratiating themselves and lulling them into lowering their guard.
Sirona has kept to herself since the desecration of Centerpoint Station. He left her meditating not long ago and would like to imagine that is what she continues to do. She has not made a move against them with plenty of opportunity to do so. She even had a chance to strike a more damaging blow to their efforts when the High Commander joined them. Sirona is the one who brought him from the surface. Donovan was nothing compared to a strategic target like Artemis Soldys. She could have taken that shuttle down before they ever reached his cruiser, or crashed the shuttle into the Asunder killing them all.
A tactical victory that would have robbed Corellia of further hope to combat the imminent Republic threat.
That is not a phrase he ever thought he’d think. The Republic, a galactic enemy. He never cared much for politics in his old life, much too busy with the salacious duties of a Corporate Sector heir. It never touched him, all those happenings outside their opulent little world. Such privilege, the luxury of being an Atrii. To not care simply because it did not personally inconvenience him in any way. Let others suffer so long as he did not have to deal with it. That seems like such a very long time ago. The Jedi set him on the straight and narrow. Something else he is grateful for. They are not perfect, nor is he, but their ways allow him a chance at real purpose. A path to absolution. Yet, his mind drifts to other things.
Circe.
It turns out path and purpose come at a price. Feelings that are felt and acknowledged but must not be acted on. It helps that they are both playing other people since the galaxy believes them long dead. Lives lost in the early days of the Republic’s swift and spectacular downward spiral. For many it made it real. If they could kill someone like Circe Prescott, in principle, as a symbol of dissent in a democratic society, then they could do the same to anyone else - and they did. There are the true believers out there bent on ensuring this all goes south and, so far, they are making great work of it. Threats near and far.
Near being his primary concern.
Donovan rises from the chair and retrieves his saber, stashed away to complete the CorSec ruse but always nearby. He clips it to his belt and steps into the corridor. It is quiet, as the cruiser tends to be in their patrol of solitude and reflection most days, but now that silence is laced with suspicion.
Do other enemies masked as allies walk among them?
He is relieved to find her exactly where he left her, meditating in the galley with her back turned to him. He approaches slowly, rapping on the archway with a knuckle to signal his presence although he knows she already senses him. Her body stiffens.
“I have news. Not good, I’m afraid.”
She lowers her head, “Tell me.”
“We’ve lost Oz and Lysette,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It seems Lysette was not on our side after all.”
“And now you have come to see if I am?”
“I would like to know where you stand, Sirona. You have been through a lot and it would be understandable if your feelings are…complex. Nothing we’ve experienced has been what anyone would consider normal but know that I am here to check in and support you.”
“I will be fine."
“I am pleased to hear it but not certain I believe you.”
“You do not know what I felt when what was left of that station imploded. The things I heard. Madness. It was pure madness.”
He eases further into the space, curious.
“Madness?”
“The spirits of those trapped within, no way out, so much fear, confusion – they did not know it would end that way. In an instant, so many lives cut short. Everyone’s last thoughts bombarding me, invading my mind, and then…then there was her. They told me she was waiting there.”
“Who? The one who attacked the Republic?”
“A voice clearer than the others, cutting through the noise. She spoke directly to me.”
Donovan is so close to her now. Was this who she referenced before? The one who had come to let the darkness out? Perhaps she had…in ways they had not considered. He moves closer still.
“What did this person tell you?”
In a single fluid movement, Sirona rises and ignites her saber, twisting around with a controlled strike. Donovan jerks backward reflexively, hand finding his weapon just as her blade clashes with his in a sickening hiss. Her eyes have a green glint to them that he has not seen before, expression determined but faltering.
“She told me to turn on you,” Sirona says evenly, advancing on him. “To prevent you from trying to take what is rightfully hers.”
“Sirona, stop this! This is not you!”
“None of them deserved it. Not one worthy enough to claim victory. We are but mere mortals, and she a goddess. Soon…she will reign.”
Donovan pulls back and flicks his wrist to create some distance between them. She rights herself quickly and attacks. He engages her defensively as their sabers clash.
“Fight this, Sirona!”
“She is still in my head…whispering…willing me…”
“No, she does not control you-”
“That is where you are wrong. She controls all of us.”
He parries and steps back, assessing the tremors of expression flickering across her face. She may be fighting but she is losing. He had only heard rumors of such possession, the Sith inflicting their will upon others, but he had never seen it manifested. She may not have been sent as a sleeper in the same way Lysette evidently had been but she arrived here vulnerable, her defenses down, and within the psychic attack left open the opportunity to strike. Donovan must disarm her before she hurts anyone.
“Sirona, listen to me. Hear me. You are safe here with us. We will protect you!”
She attacks again, this time more aggressively, but he is careful to deflect and keep her at a distance as he tries to reach her. What he does not know, what he does not yet understand, is the piece of an artifact this dark visitor had come to collect from Centerpoint and the power it holds. Adubell’s words, imbued with the essence of the Etheralis, coil deep within her mind – she no longer has control.
“The Jedi can’t protect anyone,” she laughs coldly, voice octaves lower than it had been only moments ago. “Not even themselves.”
The glint in her eyes flares a brilliant hue. He gasps, hesitating for the briefest moments but it is enough of an opening. Donovan feels the sear of saber upon flesh, into his forearm, down across his thigh, and he stumbles back. The Twi’lek comes at him hard now, swinging more wildly, sparks from contact with the walls showering across the narrower corridor he’s been forced back into. He brings his blade down against hers, both sparking against the floor as she whips a headtail against his face. Flinching, he throws himself forward, slamming her against the wall, their sabers tangled dangerously beneath them. She shoves him back and he staggers then spins to the right into a crouch, feeling the heat of her blade as it passes over him, and thrusts his hand outward to send a concussive Force blast that sends her tumbling back into the open space of the galley.
Donovan sags against the wall. His leg is screaming, realizing now it may be deeper than he thought, but manages to drag himself to where she lies still. He holds his saber out, not yet raised. He believes there is still a chance they could save her. He is not going to give up on her now-
She springs upright at an almost unnatural angle, gripping his throat and hauling him forcefully back across the room. Sirona almost seems to float as his legs scrape helplessly across the floor. They crash into the far wall with enough force to smash his head against it. Colorful spots explode in front of his eyes and her saber tip pierces his shoulder. Crying out, vision clearing, he watches the fury drain from her face.
His glowing saber is lodged through her chest, casting shadows on her features from behind. The glow dims but remains present in her eyes. Donovan deactivates his weapon. Hers drops to the floor and snaps off. Grabbing ahold of her as her knees buckle, he cries out again.
“No, no, no….Sirona, no…you were safe here…”
“No one is safe,” she sputters, weakly. “Not from this. From her.”
She sinks to the floor in his arms and a small, nearly guttural laugh escapes her lips. She raises her eyes to his as she begins to fade from this life.
“Really, Jedi. Do you think your sister is safe…with one of them?”
-TBC