Hapes: A chance encounter.

[Praenuntius]

Shaska Katala
The young one has quite the imagination doesn't he Lord Furos? *sits next to, observes the Zabrak*







Dire



-Observed. Becomes statue.-






Lord Spite Furos



Imagination, indeed. I'm sure it's in no small part to your motivation.









Shaska Katala

My motivation Lord Furos? *arch a brow slightly, glimpsing back to the frozen Zabrak, small little twirl of her fingers, calls the male's lightsaber to her, observing it.*






Lord Spite Furos


Whatever it is you Females call it these days, when you take a man under your... well... let's say tutelage. -Diplomatic smile-






Shaska Katala

Oh he's not one of mine Spite. I thought he was one of yours.







Dire
-Calls his saber back after its inspection. Reattaches to belt.-






Lord Spite Furos

Not at all. None of Mine are quite so rigid.
Shaska Katala

*chuckles and glimpse to Spite* You're so bad. *glimpse back to the Zabrak* Who are you male?


Dire



-Appears to of not heard the question directed at him. Patiently waiting for something to happen. Remembers the last time he interacted with the locals.-


Lord Spite Furos


Tut tut tut, so disobedient too.













Shaska Katala

I know. You should teach him a lesson, show me how the big boys do it. *smug grin towards Spite*






Lord Spite Furos



Big boys delegate. Send him to Dromund Kaas.






Shaska Katala

You'd like that, getting one of my Battle Dragons in your system.






Lord Spite Furos

I should hardly expect you to send a Cruiser for a single passenger. -Eyes the Zabrak up and down- One who could easily strong-arm control away from your organic crew.


Shaska Katala




*gives small shove into Spite's shoulder, steps past him towards Dire*

Kneel, Zabrak.

















Lord Spite Furos



-is absolutely useless to other people, realizes as much- -arrogance-







Dire



-Blinks at the woman standing before him. Shakes his horned head. Remains impassive.-


Shaska Katala




*swings her hand, force hurls nearby metal shipping container right into him.* It wasn't a request.







Dire



-Reacts instantly, stopping the container with his own fiendish display of power. Whips it harmlessly to the side, turns his attention back on the woman. Says nothing.-






Lord Spite Furos

She cares not who you are, Warrior, but what you are. Give her the information, if only to avoid creating a spectacle for no reason beyond stubbornness.



Shaska Katala

*raises a brow slightly as the container is sent off, tumbling away. Raises both her hands, closes her eyes and tilts her head as the sand in the area before them begins to whip up a torrent of swirling sand all around him, forming a perfect little sand devil around him, spiraling around him, closing in around him, abrasive, sand clawing, snarling at his flesh and armor.*






Lord Spite Furos


Damnit. Now you've done it. -Pulls sunvisor from coat's inner pocket, standard equipment for any Federation personnel visiting Hapes, and pops collar up to assist in shielding stray debris and sand-







Dire

Dire was hardly impressed by her manipulation of the Force. Luckily against Sahara's wishes he had kept the armor on; it was proving its usefulness as the sand did little. The exposed flesh of his fingers and head where another matter entirely. Reaching for that power, even in the exquisite pain he was in, he gathered it to himself, eyes clenching shut to keep the sand out. When he had formed a cozy bubble of calm around himself, he opened those glowering orbs and centered them on the woman. Where the sand met his bubble, it would fall harmlessly to his feet. Holding the power and the bubble, he waited for the next challenge without so much as grimacing.





Shaska Katala

Shaska guided the Force so expertly, the spiraling wave around him was gathered, guided, up, leaving him all together before gathering into a massive sphere above him, compacting harder and harder, growing larger as the ground Dire stood on literally was sucked up and then she simply dropped her hands down, dropping the massive rock-like container of earth right down upon Dire.







Dire

Marshaling his own Force, gathering it around him, surrendering himself to his emotions which only empowered him further. Instincts triggering the moment the ground began to heave itself upward and began to coalesce above him. Dire had no need to look up, he simply shifted the nature of his bubble, added to its strength, building a tension within the air itself.

When her hands came down, his giant hands came up, fingers struggling under the immense weight of the boulder above him. Face trembling from the exertion, a deep set scowl, he blinked and eased it off to the side with a thunderous crash. Straightening himself up, he directed the scowl and his hatred. This one would need to be taught a lesson.




Shaska Katala

No sooner than Dire had dropped the massive boulder next to him, dwarfing him in size itself as he turned back to scowl and glare at her, she released her grip on it, sending an avalanche of sand right ontop of him, with a little bit of Force aide she turned back as he disappeared from her view beneath it, glimpsing to Spite.*

Please, I merely toy with him, like most of your gender, you have to be taught a lesson.







Dire



Dire was big, most of the time a very slow thinker; dumb. But if he had learned anything from Sahara it was that females where not to be trusted. Sneaky little conniving things, always toying and prodding. Dire had not relinquished his control of the Force or the power he had summoned. When she released, there was no avalanche, through sheer will and determination. Forcing it further to the side, it took time and battling through his headache from the mental strain alone, aloud it to dissipate well out of his way.






Lord Spite Furos

-Tilts his head to the side ever so slightly; removes his glasses and lets the smile fade- I've a feeling that our new friend is hardly working to the best of his abilities either, my dear Queen. Perhaps it is best to allow him his privacy so long as he remains impassive to your people, rather than risk a national incident I'm sure I, despite having no formal ties to your system, will be expected to assist in cleaning up. -Spite asked not as Dark Lord, but as a reasonable sentient. Politics had taught him great foresight, and that foresight was not a pretty sight this time-






Lord Spite Furos

If he agrees not to retaliate. -Turns his thus far passive gaze to the Zabrak with an expectant expression-






Shaska Katala

Even with Dire's deflection of the sand it still surrounded him, wrapping around the bubble he held as his shield around himself she focused again, solidifying it in a massive rock bubble around his bubble, she kept her fist clenched, holding it together as she turned and glimpsed back to Lord Furos.

"When he runs out of air he will comply. That.. or he'll asphyxiate and then I'll gift a egg with Zabrak inside to your people. *Sneer*






Lord Spite Furos

A massive, booming voice echoed throughout the corridors of her palace and the streets of her city. "ENOUGH!" One hand extended. Tendrils of dark power that Shaska had never been privy to feeling caress her mind in the most unpleasant ways, grasped both of their makeshift weapons and crushed even the sand to dust. His grip released on the useless trash and eyes shone fiery with hatred and impatience. "I have grown tired of your games. Arrest him, or challenge him. Do not play games like a schoolgirl."

Eyes turned to Dire, a snarl more reminiscent of a beast than a man set on the Sith Lord's suddenly aged features. Step by step, his boots clunked closer to the stubborn one. "Fight back or die. Defense is as much a lie as complacency."










Dire
Dire wasn't so easily defeated however. Closing his eyes as the rock cocooned him, letting his rage and hatred boil to the surface, he conjured it in the pit of his stomach. The bubble collapsed the moment his concentration shifted. In its place was something more solid and sturdy, keeping the rock at bay for the precious few seconds he needed.

Feeling the negativity and the dark energies manifested from the use of the Force, he quickly began to gather even more strength, leeching off of that which was used and forgotten. So easily cast away by someone so powerful. Devouring it, he built layer upon layer of it, pure energy, the lightning began to fill the cocoon, filling the Zabrak with even more pain as thousands of tiny light blue arcs connected with his body simultaneously.

Reaching the pinnacle of his tolerance, he spread it outwards in a violent explosion that tore through the coalescing rock, sending shrapnel in every direction - needle like rock projectiles, enhanced by the electricity that had infused and ultimately broke it into a million jagged pieces.

Standing on his feet, it took him a moment to regain his vision and still he clung to that awesome power.


Shaska Katala

Shaska's eyes lingered on Lord Furos as she gave a small wave of her hand towards the Zabrak after his Sithly demonstration of power she turned about, returning to her previous location before, arms folded across her chest as she watched the elder Sith Lord approach the defiant male.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out calming her emotions, leaving her face expressionless as her ploy to move both the males into a fight was borne to fruition.



Lord Spite Furos

The rocks fell for what seemed ages, even when they sped toward the ground faster than physics should have allowed. The first few that struck the Dark Master bounced off his thick coat harmlessly, but others struck him - forehead, chest, legs, their momentum and damage only marginally reducing the speed and amount of pain inflicted. Without even twitching a finger, these rocks were dominated and marked as property of another being as easily as before; thrown aside as if by some terrible wind accompanied by the sound of Metal buttons unsnapping.

"Now," Furos spake in an ominous tone, himself unsure how his own actions would play out in the next few seconds. "You will kneel." He expected nothing, and likely would receive nothing but insubordination. That is why a silvery blade, its relative slender and straight shape belying its true power, flew from a sheath not uncommon on High Ranking Officers. That is why it was directed toward the Zabrak as more a means of physical intimidation and a conduit for his energies than to truly begin melee. Allowing the metals he'd chosen specifically over the course of two years to forge his Sith blade to absorb his thoughts, to use it as a way to direct every iota of mental prowess through the very tip of the blade and into the man's mind; raping any meager mental defenses he'd learned to put in place with decades more of experience. His next demand was commandment. He had defeated entire troops this way, without even as many syllables. "You. Will. Kneel."




Dire

Again Shaska would be disappointed. Dire remained ignorant of any demands or wants. Feeling more powerful and alive than he ever had, tiny streaks of crusted blood marred his tattoed visage. Glowering eyes shifted from the watchful, devious eyes of Shaska to that of the Spite. Dark Lord of the Sith ... Dire could feel the impressive weight behind the man, the way he so naturally curved and contorted to the Force to fit his every need and whim. The man truly was greater than any he had seen. Being the progeny of the mighty Savage Opress had given him a great deal of natural tolerance and fortitude. Even Sahara had told him to keep his mind strong - "You defend by keeping your mind strong, driving it back. You are not weak-willed, do not let your mind be either."

Using that indomitable will he pushed back the urge to bend the knee, to crumple and falter to another's will. Not again, the lumbering Nightbrother shook his head in defiance. Never again. "No." The word was a gruff growl. Using the full fury of that which confronted him, he again partook of the unnatural power, drinking it in as though a dehydrated man bending over a fetid pool. Without knowing the consequences he grew in power, became drunk and intoxicated on it. The power that manifest within the looming Zabrak was most evident in his eyes. An outer ring of crimson and orange seemed to mix in with the glow of his deadly eyes.

"You. Are. Not. Master." Sahara is Master his mind seemed to roar into that of Lord Spite's. Even an image to accompany it, as if that might scare the would be bully back to Shaska's skirts.






Lord Spite Furos

The scene that was playing out before him - a Zabrak so willing to risk his own life in order to remain true to his servitude of a mere woman - was almost sentimental enough to make the scowl break into a smile and a tear roll down his cheek. Truly.
In the end though, almost wasn't enough. No more or less rage poured through the man, fueling his every movement and each word. The devious mind that had plotted the conquering of solar systems and the downfall of men whose deaths were mourned across the galaxy... was gone. The human who had requested some amount of silence while not in battle had disappeared, instead seeming to embody the darkness he tried to wield so amateurly. The two would look at a mere politician and see power that only the great Sith Spirits of Lords killed millenia ago could grant.

How could you hope to defeat the sea by throwing a bucket of water into it?

"I am your Master's Master, boy. I am the one whose ring this galaxy scrambles to kiss so that I might overlook their mistakes. All that you've seen, all that you are, is mine to take or give." Energy crackled around his sword, as if having to touch it would somehow belittle such a magnificently demonic being to the level of Dire. It did not arc forth in a bluewhite blur of fury, yet. Just as the defenses lifted after the rocks struck him had not yet turned malevolent in an attempt to crush this whelp with potential into a paste the cleaning droids would have trouble wiping off the duracrete. But both were clearly evident manifestations of power that rivaled only his nightmares, even if he'd seen or felt the methods used by others in the past. Dark Lord of the Sith is not a title you get for your actions alone; he certainly had the skill to wield far more than he was letting on.

Dire


Remaining just as impassive as he did before, the brute either forgot the request to kneel or ignored it outright in his admirable defiance. Recognizing the power, those eyes continued to glow with intended purpose, searing back in the face of death itself. Dire held no fear for the man, nor any love. Failing to wilt under the beguiling glare of Spite, Dire straightened his shoulders, brushed off the sand casually and wondered just why he had been left here to fend for himself. Had Sahara finally betrayed him? She had made no promises and Zabrak had spent long enough with the Nightsister's to know full well their habits. Surprisingly he felt nothing at the revelation.

Spite's gave him no reason to pause and think through his course of action. Seemingly the man moved the galaxy and everything in it - should he choose to take, then take, but Dire would not bend the knee, not until the life was torn from the monstrosity it inhabited. Tricks with weapons and power did little impress - for a Zabrak who had endured so much, what was more pain? What was another nightmare? All it seemed to say was, "take my hand and lets see how deep this fucking hole goes."

Willingly, Dire's expression seemed to say as his lips curled into a malicious grin.






Lord Spite Furos

This could not do, not at all. Although perhaps a somewhat unique Sith in that he was not fond of wasting life he saw potential in, there was no change in the way he demanded respect when commanding it failed. His trick, that energy that could be formed only of pure, concentrated rage soared from the tip of the blade directed only at the lower fourth of Dire's body. Still easy four meters away, he would have time to respond if there was an absorption: either through unmitigated desire to remain standing or through the use of a saber.

There was no 'bolt after bolt' to this pain, no feeling the need to show off and switch from hand to hand. Just a steady stream of electricity, its sole intent to destroy every ounce of energy he could muster to stand on; to make his ankles as weak as those horns he needed ripped from his skull to show him how to act in the presence of civilized cultures. Each successful blow dealt, if any, only made that damnable jaw seem a more and more pleasing target for a telekinetic blow. Seeing his teeth scattered across the floor in a puddle of his own blood would undoubtedly only create more of a bloodlust in the Fledgeling's insatiable appetite for destruction, but would be a somewhat cathartic sight for Spite once this was over. It didn't matter, for the time being.

"You will obey me." There were no more tricks; no additional use of power to make his words more appealing. This time it was merely a fact that Dire deserved to be aware of. "Should you not, you will die and I will find your Mistress. I will force her to obey me." Spite used the thread Dire had willingly opened and linked to the Lord with to send images of Sahara, and returned the favor tenfold. Images of destruction, horrific mutilation, unfathomable tortures - and through it all, the most perverse feeling of pleasure; a lust that went beyond mere blood or sex. The power to make each and every image more appalling than Dathomir could have prepared him for, come to happen once again. "Imagine how she will beg me for mercy. Imagine how her power will reach out into the next realm and torture you even once I've destroyed your physical being." It seemed his willingness to prove himself was doubled, as the Lightning was renewed without having stopped; doubling in its power and lifting to his femurs.

"Then I will let her loose on you in the Eternal Beyond."





Sahara

It was almost karma that as Spite spoke these things to the Inquisitor's apprentice that his senses would flare to the threat of danger as a shadow passed over the entire courtyard, right over Lord Furos himself. The shape of a ship, sleek, black, slender, it's powerful engines rumbled the entire area around them, unto the walls of the very palace they stood before.

It was there a split second before something else familiar sounded, the sound of missile launchers firing into the rear of the palace, exploding into a massive fireball which erupted debris down on the area below.

The rear hatch of the scimitar class vessel parted as a sleek figure appeared in it's dim light, the only motions made were to hook her harness in next to the hatch least she lose her footing and a few motions over her wrist as Dire's gauntlet lit up and he began to rise up from the ground as giant chunks of rock crashed down around him.

Short of Zabrak's learning to fly, he was being drawn up towards the craft by it's tractor beam lock on his armored body, the engines rumbled, slowly dragging the Zabrak through the air and away from the dust filled area.



Dire

Dire remind stalwart in the vehemence of the Dark Lord of the Sith. The cold chill of his peril tried to stroke his spine, to weaken his resolve. Knees refused to buckle, thighs held their burden without the slightest tremor. When the lightning came, it was a euphoric moment, feeling it tear into him. Not a pulse but a single continuous stream of hate. Grinning like a maniac, he surrendered to the Dark Lord then, taking it all in, every ounce of wickedness the Dark Lord of the Sith would suffer him with. Feeling it course through his body, saturate him until it felt like he would burst, Dire remembered the lesson and remembered it well.

Seemingly beaten, Dire seemed to start the slow descent to his knees. What he was doing however was gathering all that hate and malice, concentrating it all in the pit of his stomach before sending it back in a backwash of his own pain and agony. Dathomir had not prepared him for everything, had not prepared him for that nearly unbearable agony - but he flung it back and before he knew it, had been rescued. Safely tucked away in the bay of the Inquisitor's ship, completely delirious form the power he had been holding, wielding to an extent to his own purpose, he rolled onto his back and saw a memory from his earliest childhood. The apparition of his Father went to a knee and leaned over the panting form of Dire, what he said couldn't be made out, but the reaction was clear as day. Not only had the Nightbrother passed out, his last expression told of his loss and the only real goal he had ever held onto.

Lord Spite Furos

The political thing to do would be to remain on-planet; to admit that no affiliation meant there was no need to do more than offer support in rebuilding efforts. Lives were lost, and even a master of death could feel that when taking in and putting out so much raw power. The grandest structure on the planet had been assaulted, and that would be a terrible blow to morale both civilian and military.

But this was personal; someone had intentionally let loose their plaything and attempted to distract him so they could pull the bait away. This bait would not come without a Sando monster on the line.

The sword dropped and instinctively fell into its sheath, the unbuttoned coat dropping halfway off his shoulders and covering his skull like a ribcage-length poncho. Time slowed to a halt; every muscle in the Dark Lord's body was overtaken by a singular, focused goal: the woman now visible in the ship's hatch. Rocks hung in the sky, their movement altered only by the thick coat slamming into them as his boots climbed higher into the sky, using the ancient stone fragments as steps.

Laugh, you bitch.

His goal was clearly not apparent; that was the mark of a truly great strategist. Higher and higher still, until he was nearly halfway to the ship as Dire's body fell inside. He could hear the dull thunk. One last, grandiose leap into the air and he directed both palms at Sahara. Rather than a push, he sent a strike of unseen momentum at her. Worst case scenario, she slid back a few inches- best, she snapped her back in two because she'd improperly harnessed herself. She wasn't the goal. The easily torn sheets of metal on the ship's hull were, shape hopefully expanding in the directions behind her until either side burst open with jagged splinters of steel raining down from the sky.

Keeping them from leaving atmo was his only immediate need. He fell as his grasp on time and speed faded, and could barely remember to both cushion his landing and keep himself free of falling debris at the same time. It had been a while since he'd encountered... physical combat.





Sahara

Sahara was trying her best to coordinate everything, flying a ship with wrist controls, tractoring a Dire, and closing a hatch all at the same time while maneuvering through the rain of debris.

The hum of the hatches sliding together as Dire impacted onto the deck was torn aside to the tone of wrenching metal as Spite's force power tore into her ship, had the door not partially deflected the power, she likely would have taken the full force, she was slammed back, however, slamming into the wall with such a force that crumpled the wall behind her and knocked the breath out of her, leaving her gasping for breath while the hatch was torn clear back open from it's track.

The ripple of power snarled into the starboard engine pod, exploding it and tearing an even larger hole into the back compartment of the courier, it began to spiral downward in a path, impacting into the massive forest outside of the city, plumes of smoke rising up from the new hole in the forest canopy.



Dire

The jolt from the crashing ship was more than enough to waken the passed out Dire. Body crumpling like a rag doll as the inertial dampners cut off and sent him flying from the floor to the ceiling and then all the down the corridor, clinking and clanging every time his armored body crushed into something. When the rumbling from the impact finally ended and the vibrations had ceased, the upended Zabrak slowly righted himself with an arm stabilizing him against the far bulkhead. Legs found purchase beneath him and he slowly stood up. Dizzy, bleeding, horns chipped and torn, he looked even worse than he had before Sahara showed up.

While the ship was still structural sound, much of the interior had large rents running through it, the forest outline visible as Dire assessed the situation. Taking a deep breath, he found he couldn't focus on anything, barely concentrate beyond a thought or two. Survival was paramount, so was making sure his Master was still alive.

Dire wouldn't call, it wasn't his way. No he began to clomp his way back towards the hatch. Sahara had been to somewhere amongst all the wreckage.






Sahara

Sahara's ship had landed with it's nose cone crushed into the dirt, the rear compartment which had it's hatches elevated up in the air, propped up between two trees that had caught the ship between it with it's rear stabilizer fins stopping them some and leaving the nose to pivot down into the ground. Sahara hung there, motionless with her harness strap still affixed to the bolt next to the hatch, she was limp, arms and legs dangled downward towards Dire as she was out cold.

The only thing she could remember in the chaos was spinning, and the sound of trees breaking, the sound of metal groaning and then she was out, when she'd slammed back into the wall for a second time, bounced around the corridor in one spot like a ball on a string until all had settled.

Emergency lights slowly flickered to life, sparsely illuminating the dark littered corridor all the way down to Dire. Emergency systems were beginning to take effect, namely for the computer core which was systematically being erased and then crushed between two hydrolic presses which crushed it into bits. The secrets of the Inquisition would always remain that, secrets.






Lord Spite Furos

The Lord stood for a moment, watching the smoke that lifted in the horizon. Memories of the Vong War flooded his mind, the scent of smoke filled his nostrils though it was nowhere near enough to actually smell. The Queen had made herself clear enough, though he gave no hint of the fact they would be apprehended, then tried, by Federation authorities. Not handed over.

A single press to his wrist, the opposing sleeve of both his coat and shirt apparently singed to the elbow from the lightning sent back to him, and he was in communication with the Corvette he'd arrived in. "Send six men and a seventh on a bike to my location." The affirmitive came over his voice-comm and one of the clouds seemed to dissipate as a ship lowered from orbit. Within seconds, three ships were in view; another handful later, the hanger visibly began to shut after a yet-unseen speeder exited with an appropriately-outfitted pilot descending more rapidly than the ships' thrusters forced them to. He should have brought Swoops.

The ships landed around the perimeter of the attack zone, and only the biker was in sight by the time he stepped off and offered his leader the helm and visor. "Give me your pistol, too." The soldier did as told, and Lord Furos outfitted himself appropriately before straddling the bike and grabbing hold of the bar. "Make sure these men do as they're told in rebuilding what was destroyed. Send for another twenty men from the Capitol!" He had to shout over the roar of the swoops, heat building up in the back before he shifted into gear and jerked into speed. A lesser man would have broken his spine and been sent careening into a freefall. Spite, however, couldn't be bothered to look away from the smoke.



Dire

Dire wasn't made for climbing, yet somehow he did. Making his way towards his suspended Master. There was no relief, no pain, nothing. Feeling hollow and warped by the touch of the Dark Lord, he made quick work of scaling the corridor. Long, muscular arms reaching out and deftly undoing the latches. A keen sense told him they would be coming, they didn't have much time and who knew what they ship would do to defend itself against intrusion. Once Sahara had fallen into his waiting arms, he secured her over his plated shoulder. Grunting and groaning, he eased himself towards the back of the ship where their speeder bikes had been kept. Dire only needed one and luckily there was one still left. Powering it up, mimicking the button presses, he first sat Sahara in the seat and then situated himself behind, holding her against his chest, her legs straddling the bike.

Throttling the engine, he burst out of the destroyed ship, luckily the armored plates had been stripped or destroyed in their descent. Into the dark forest he went, the lights of the city behind them, pushing the bike as fast as it would go. With his lightsaber and Master, there was little of benefit left in the ship.

Slow in formulating a plan he used the compass on the bike to keep on his trajectory, away from the city and more than likely into a closing net of searchers. With luck they would be able to slip by undetected, but Dire knew little of the technology they possessed, little in the way of disguising himself through the Force to hide their heat signatures, their residue within the Force itself.

That left only one option: fighting their way out. At least that much he understood - how to kill. How to overcome any obstacle. Even the Dark Lord of the Sith if he had to.




Sahara

Sahara had been unconscious through it all, perhaps it best she wasn't awake to see that Dire had left so, so many useful tools that reigned in on the Force that could've been of benefit. At least the Zabrak had remembered how she'd shown him to use a speeder bike, a small, foldable variant it was't as fast as the one's that Spite would have at his command, but it did it's job in getting them away.

In most circumstances an Inquisitor would go as far as destroying their vessel once it was in danger of being captive, but ever once in awhile an Inquisitor was incapacitated or killed which was why the core had self destructed itself. A miniature copy of the Imperial Database, and a massive collection of records on Force Sensitives, all shattered to dust under the mighty jaws of durasteeel. The rest of the vessel was spared, it's Mistress unconscious and being carted away by her Apprentice.

When she awoke everything was dark, the rush of air over her face, through her hair drew a groan from her as she winced, squinting her eyes open only to have a wayward branch smack her in the face with a hiss from her lips and a growl, it certainly woke her up then as she realized those muscular arms that clutched her to an armored chest, the last several minutes were a complete darkness as she glimpsed over her shoulder slightly.

"Status.." she groaned, bringing her hand up to rub over her face, her entire frontside bruised and tender from the force that Spite had hit her with.



Lord Spite Furos

He could have extended his mind to his surroundings in an attempt to sense the two more accurately, but already he knew that they had survived. Even if they escaped through some means, there were few things outside of the city with a signature in the Force similar to humans. For the time being, he was as as young soldier again: relying on instinct, chasing the scent of war with the fallen ship's clear signal a sign of weakness.

Tiny bits of rock still rocked free from his hair and fell from the helmet, while leaves and twigs replaced them by clinging to his clothes. Now... now he could smell the smoke, that horrible and harsh scent that made your lungs want to bleed. But he saw no movement, sensed no threats. They were... already gone. He had little interest in the data her computers held and were already, if not done with, deleting any information that would assist other political factions.

His eyes blinked once, and the fiery irises returned to normal, allowing his mind to drop the preoccupation with rage and simply... exist. Particles of smoke harmfully drifted away from his mouth and nose to keep any air he took in pure. His thoughts slowed until only one existed, the bare power of it to touch the minds of living things, encompass nearby existence as a means of examining what was there.

Again, his engines roared to life and flames illuminated the shadowed wildlife. He could nearly hear them now, with his senses in tune and his temper firmly leashed for the moment. His hand shifted around the grip to increase forward velocity and close in on his prey.







Dire

Feeling the woman come to life, he loosed his grip, letting her reel under her own power and direction. Answering her with a grunt, he veered out of the way of a large tree and then right back on his trajectory. If the man he had encountered as half as good as the Nightsister's they where as good as dead - their only option was to put as much speed between the pursuit and themselves and hope luck was on their side. "Ship is gone." Dire hadn't reached out with the Force, knowing full well it would give their position away.

Streaking through the darkness with only his senses to guide them he weaved in and out of the thick underbrush. Over thick gnarled roots and around the thick bases of trees, never once slowing. Under the tremendous weight of the Zabrak, the bike was slower and Dire knew it. Which left them few options.

"We're not going to make it Master." Sahara would be able to tell Dire wasn't yet resigned to that fate - but she alone knew how fast their peril was speeding towards them and what was keeping them from gaining any ground.


Sahara

"Stop the bike." Sahara told him, it too was a dead give away, mechanical, heat intensive, in an area of nature. It might as well be a lighthouse beacon, even their signatures in the Force to the Dark Lord of the Sith were as strobes leading him to them.

Dire had been trained some, some of the things he knew were right things to do in the situation, but even they were uncentered, unfocused.

Once her Apprentice had complied she stepped to the bike, it had a auto path function, to keep it from crashing into objects. She hefted a broken branch up, pressing the auto path function she wedged the branch into the lever on the handle bar, sending the bike racing off, where it would end up would depend on much, but at least it was no longer there to them.

Her eyes looked to Dire, "You are Dathomiri, were you a trained fighter outside of the Force as well?" she questioned him, looking to those near glowing eyes in the dark as she led him away from their path, off in another direction, into the denser jungle plant life.

TIme was precious, and she had little of it to explain to Dire what she had to do, she knelt down among the dense plants, placing her hands on her knees in a near meditative position she closed her eyes, speaking to Dire.

"You must not use your abilities in any way, do not reach out, do not sense with them. You must rely only on your senses. Once I begin this I cannot defend us, you just watch for anything in the forest. " she told him, drawing in a deep breath she focused on the two of them, masking their presences, their very signatures in the Force as she trembled, she could normally do this for herself with no problem, but for two of them, as strong as both she and Dire were, with the Dark Lord of the Sith himself after them? It was going to take every bit of her concentration to accomplish it, and as Spite grew nearer she'd have to focus even harder, in so much that it wasn't long before a small little trickle of blood began to creep down from a nostril.

If they failed, they would die, even Sahara knew who Spite Furos was, and she had done the unthinkable, she'd attacked the DLOS.



Lord Spite Furos

He could feel himself gaining on them rapidly, could ACTUALLY hear the slight differences in their speederbikes from less than a kilometer away. They were idling - had stopped the bike for some reason. Were they going to surrender? Certainly, that would make for a more excruciating punishment. Surrender is cheap. Surrendering troops met death when Spite was the officer in charge. But that was before he had a reputation to uphold...

Nothing. Their bike was moving, but they were gone; deadspots in the Force that were even more difficult to track, even to one as skilled as Furos. All he could do was follow the sound, now; the engines still growing louder, his own bike a more marvelous piece of recent technology. Tricked. The bike was going too fast, he couldn't stop or swerve, but he had to survive. His body cartwheeled off one side of the bike, toppling its angle only slightly. It veered off into the distance, but was caught in the explosion of the captives' transport before it could find a suitable opponent itself. She's more ingenuitive than the Zabrak, of that he was now certain.

"This is Lord Furos," he said, reopening the communication channel reserved for him. "I want the remaining 3 XJs in the air and a three kilometer radius from my current coordinates searched tirelessly. Search for lifesigns larger than one hundred pounds. They'll likely be on the move." An identical affirmitive to minutes earlier came over the small speaker on his chronometer, but he made no immediate move this time. "Track all incoming and outgoing vessels with or without the Queen's permission. Jam communications for the next fifteen minutes." He was not going to put these adepts to death; that would be a merciful act. They would survive, in some fashion. Unless they proved to be good at nothing but dying, that is...




Dire
The bike slowed instantly. Once stopped the Zabrak casually set the Inquisitor on her feet and dismounted right after her. Those glowering eyes seemed to glowing lanterns, head swiveling this way and that, ears pricked for any hint of their pursuit. Luckily he had never fallen from the habit of using all of his senses. Nothing so far. Turning his interest to Sahara and her ploy with the bike, he spoke in a coarse whisper, "I fight." Fighting seemed to say everything about the towering beast. A juggernaut of death just like his Father. An engine that was fueled by blood and hardship, it never quit, never stopped, mercilessly plugging away.

Seeing her kneel down, he wondered if this was it. Their speeder gone, well out of hearing distance by now. Steeling himself for another confrontation, it suddenly dawned on his slow, addled brain. "Understood." He again whispered, standing over her. Dire marveled at the way she seemed to effortlessly cut off their signatures in the Force. Making them appear so insignificant that they would appear no different then the indigenous fauna growing all around them.

Trusting the clever Inquisitor he moved himself out of the silvery shafts of moonlight that penetrated the dense canopy overhead. Nestling himself against a tree trunk barely a foot away from where Sahara still knelt, he remained absolutely silent, even holding his breath for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. Even as the blood flowed from a nostril, Dire simply admired. Given a command, an order, he was not able to lend his formidable strength to her own - he had one job now and that job was to make certain that no one disturbed them. Slowly he began to ease the tension away, relaxing as he closed his eyes and searched inward for that hidden clarity - the clarity that brought everything into focus. Dire did not clutch for the Force, no he eased back into those talents genetics and the hardships of Dathomir had taught him.

Listening. Waiting. He became the tree and with that, everything the tree saw and heard, so too did the Zabrak, eyes moving in constant vigilance.



Sahara

Sahara was focused on one thing, and one thing only, blocking them from the Force, bending them in with what was around them. Nature was a beautiful thing when considered from the Force, and so easily made to serve them once tapped correctly.

There was nothing Sahara could do to sense where Spite was, nothing she could do to gain a battle view of the area around them, all she was, her abilities, the capabilities she had but one job, to keep them masked from Furos.

Eventually he would tire of his search, the Forest was a large place, and with a small brush of her hand over her wrist gauntlet, a small disbursal signal radiated out around them, further lessening their chances of being found by non-force means.

Sahara knew how to hide, how to hunt, her career, her very being was to track down Force users just like Spite was doing to her. She knew tricks, perhaps tricks that even Spite did not know.

The question was, which of them could hold out the longest. Spite with his searching or Sahara with her hiding.




Lord Spite Furos

Dead leaves crunched underfoot for hours. He was prepared to rely on his bare wits for weeks; to live off the bugs burrowing beneath the ground and whatever small creatures he could capture. He was prepared to return to his basic training, nothing to do with the Sith. He and Sahara, it seemed, both had extensive training in their lifetimes. It was Spite however, who had reason to give up first.

"My Lord," his wrist spake out once he stopped ignoring the metronomically beeping alert. "Local security have begun asking why we are jamming communications, and word from Dromund Kaas is that numerous shipments have arrived since our departure with personal diplomats awaiting your ear before they leave."

The Sith Lord said nothing. He tore the metal band from his wrist with a single swift, though unimpressive movement and growled into the sky as loud as his lungs would allow him. This was not his fight, but he wanted more than victory. He wanted prisoners.

"Send the ships up and get me another bike down here. Contact the Palace and tell them they'll deal with this on their own."

Dire

Neanderthal. Barbarian. Savage. Dire. Two sides of the same coin. Literally wild beasts barely in control of themselves. Attuned to the harmonics of the forest, to the natural beauty and splendor of the forest, they had learned much on Dathomir. Surviving in that bog infested hell-world, there was little that could frighten either Zabrak. Not even the Dark Lord of the Sith had tamed Dire. A lowly Apprentice to some rogue Inquisitor working on some hidden agenda of her own. Questions remained and lingered in his thoughts, dutifully pushed aside. There was a certain loyalty and respect between student and teacher. Grudgingly given. What had Spite ever done? Who was Spite and that woman?

Pestering questions. Questions that never ceased. Background noise to the silence of the landscape all around him. Every now and then the wind would rustle the leaves, a scratching noise as they where drug along the dense foliage. Watching. Waiting. Understanding little and realizing just how insignificant he was in the ways of the Force.

When daylight finally began to break through the canopy overhead, Dire stepped forward, no longer able to hide his hulking form in the arms of the tree that had taken him in. Bending at the knees, he reached forward and wrapped his thick, tree-like arms around Sahara. Disturbing her as little as possible, he cradled the tiny form in his arms, with the dim-half light of morning upon them, even as gray and murky as it was, it was important to find someplace that concealed them from inquisitive eyes.

A nearby grotto, bushy and overgrown, was his destination. Carefully picking his way, making sure not to snap any twigs or leave a visible trail; avoiding the mud and grime, a few restless moments later and Sahara would find herself in a bush, or rather apart of an overgrown hedge which formed the inner wall of the grotto. A natural formed thing. The Zabrak was harder to hide, but he found a place with the gnarled, poking thorn bushes, his black armor a natural compliment to their gnarled and twisted appendages.