#singularitybled

THATS TOO MUCH

          ‘ that ship you came in on, is it yours? ‘ she knew a bounty hunter when she saw one, but other than that her knowledge was limited. they hunted criminals, but there was no reason a bounty hunter would come looking for her. so, there wasn’t much reason for her to be talking to him, was there? but she needed someone with a ship, needed a way off this planet. and, if he was leaving this place soon, he could be the perfect ride out of here. 

             they didn’t get VISITORS on bogano. it was the safe place, the planet where they didn’t have to worry about stormtroopers or inquisitors. but there was a ship. a new ship. a ship that certainly wasn’t the mantis. a bd-1 was immediately at the end of the ramp when it opened, bouncing slightly with excitement. it liked meeting new people! learning about new people! the shiny armor of the warrior on the ship gave the droid only momentary pause before it scurried halfway up the ramp, pausing to trill, ‘ who are you? 

     Estinien was never one for formal greetings but it still took the young Lord Commander by surprise to see the man who long strayed from the gates of the city. Ebony brows knitted together as sky blue orbs roamed over the features of his oldest and dearest friend. He was alive. Thank the Fury at least for that and what he supposed was in good health. Nonetheless it didn’t stop him from both wanting to punch the fool for leaving without saying goodbye or hugging him for returning alright. He chose to do neither, simply standing there with shock stil laced in his crystal blue stare.

“Estinien...I-...tis a face I haven’t seen in quite awhile. Long have I missed you my friend.” The young Lord Commander murmured quietly with a sparkle of joy splitting the exhaustion lingering on his handsome face. Finally some positively to this endless bloody war.

nonverbal prompts   // ⪻ @singularitybled​ : g’raha ⪼      ↳     🌡 Push my muse down to give them medical attention

crimson slashes across his torso. a resounding yell pierces the air as another blade arcs towards him, all too eager to induce further agony upon him. all too eager to provoke her.

panic ensues; nevertheless, she is a seasoned warrior - instinct and adrenaline mingle, inciting her to dance across the battlefield. oh, what a savage display she gives. delicate fingers grasp at the handle of her bloodied axe; with a devastating cry, she mercilessly carves her way through their foes.

eyes ever upon him, sapphires spark with each glance directed his way. with each glance, her dread mounts. he’s since fallen, and he has not attempted to rise - least of all move.

she burns to get closer. the desire to save him --to prevent his possible death, as he is always so ready to place himself in harm’s way for the sake of others-- lashes at her, singing away all logical notions with its fierce incineration.

she nears him, finally. dropping to her knees and releasing her axe, shaking hands reach for him. there is no rise and fall of his chest; there is, however, far too much blood.

she was far too late.

day falls beneath the umbral curtain of night. they’ve set up camp by the river, and many have urged her to sit and rest. she cannot, for despite her impatient pacing, he has not yet awakened.

as she finally gives into the insistent demands of her comrades, knees bending to allow her to finally cease being on her feet, a clamor and crash prompt her to stand again. What in the seven hells? a disgruntled, anguished moan follows the clatter. immediately, she rushes into the dim confines of the tent.

brow creases as consternation settles upon her pretty features. palms alight upon the flare of her hips, digits curling into the supple leather encasing her lower half; she struggles to not voice her ever ascending ire at the sight before her: collapsed from his cot, already staining the clean bandages she’d just placed, and he’s trying to stand. relief soothes the majority of her exasperation, but only enough to temper the volume of her voice, ❝  By the gods, what are you attempting to do?  ❞

fissures of light spread along her body; each scar lengthens and threatens to break her - each cracks as the light yearns to escape its confines.

❝  Worry not. Whatever should become of me, I will be happy and free, safe in the knowledge that I played my part.  ❞

digits outstretch; she reaches for him, silently beseeching him to cease this ludicrous plan. How can you mean to sacrifice yourself, just when I’ve realized... her lips part on a choked breath as she cries out his name, ❝  G’raha Tia...!  ❞

it has been days since the revelation of his identity. it has been days since she has spoken to him - alone. any opportunity she attempts, he is far too busy to grant her an audience. the warrioress suspects it’s a truthful ruse: he’s simply hiding behind his schedule to avoid her desire for confrontation. Why the sudden shame? There is no need. though death had been imminent for her, for the tainted light she’d absorbed had proved to be too much to contain, that was no longer a concern. all was well, even if only for herself -- the same could not be said for her beloved comrades.

still, she had unanswered questions. 

far too relentless for her own good, Visna can wait no longer; after all, patience never was a strong suit of hers.

entering through the Dossal Gate, she ventures upwards along the winding stairs to his study; more often than not, he holed himself away within. despite the hour being late, she opts for a “surprise visit” to catch him off guard. what better way to inspire honesty?

gently, she opens the door and steps inside. his back is to her. Good. quiet steps forward, she places herself just behind him. hands settle upon the flare of her hips, fingers curling into leather as she unceremoniously announces herself, ❝ Tell me, G’raha Tia, is it due to years of self-imposed exile as the Crystal Exarch that have made you so distant and callous to those you once called friend? Why else would you ignore me when I seek your guidance?  ❞

     @singularitybled​ cast message:   slimy doom -- reversed -- essek!   

               the sensation of arcane energy doesn’t strike like a bolt but lingers, travelling beneath his skin like water poured over him, and fades just as quickly as it hit him;  what little, little hope he’d had of having managed to resist the effect is quickly punched out of him as every cut and injury he’s taken over the last few days come alive with new pain, both scab and scar tissue melting away beneath his clothes, and the pulsing pain of wounds made fresh again lights up his nerves---he doesn’t need for the first drops of blood from the re-opened scrape on his lip to fall to know he’s bleeding;  if the sensation of his body undoing its healing had not been enough, the warm liquid spreading between his skin and clothes not capable of soaking enough of it would have ensured that realisation long before the sight or taste of it.

                  but the sight and taste do come, regardless, as dark greys stain to black from the inside, purples growing warmer and darker with pools as the crimson pushes through layers of clothing---and still, it is not until the moment he tries to take a step that he realises how much he’s bleeding, as the world grows dark for a split second before he can correct himself, dizziness shattering any remaining chance of holding up a spell.  drip, dr-drip---before he notices the falling crimson droplets hitting his shoes from the little, forgotten scratch on his extended hand:  as the weight of the inviting unconsciousness pulls at him again, there’s a single warning, helpless look towards essek---before clever eyes lose their focus and he topples forwards and down to his knees.