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Lord Firebird

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  • Lord Firebird

    :: Anbiraa stood patiently, his face placid and emotionless ::

    I would seek out your company, to discuss something.

  • #2

    *Lord Firebird enters. He remains quiet, courious to what Anbiraa has to say.*


    • #3

      I know that you are a self-proclaimed man of action, so perhaps my point would best be delivered in a manner you would appreciate.

      :: Anbiraa whirled around with a snarl of anger, backhanding the Sith Lord across the face, causing him to spin on his heel and stumble to the ground, spitting crimson. The clone sneered, pointing an accusatory finger at him ::

      Your thoughts travel as loudly to the Force-innate as your words, and carry the same poisonous effects. If you ever <a href=>interfere</a> in my designs again. I will speak in your language of action by flaying your brains from your shattered skull.

      Consider this to be my polite objection, Man of Action.


      • #4

        *Lord Firebird gets up, wiping the blood from his mouth. He smiles coldly.*

        Well, well, well if it isn't the clone of LL. I find this ammusing. You seem not to get it yet, you are not Anabira, just another fish in a fish bowl...

        *Lord Firebird raises his hand and a small blue globe appears, suddenly if flys from his hand and strikes Anabiraa in the chest. Anabiraa grabs his throat as if his lungs were filling with saltwater. He begins to act like he is drowning, clawing toward Lord Firebird. Knowing that if he can strike out in some fashion he will break the illusion. But before he can get close enough for an attack, Lord Firebird turns and begins to leave.*

        Clone I have no wish to kill you today, for you amuse me. Others may like you because of what you represent, but in reality you'r distorted, a mirror image. But you are the mirror image of one of the people I will destroy. Like those who gave me this eye and arm, he too will fall. So let me give you this bit of advice... Never Touch me Again or your Life will be forfit.

        *Lord Firebird leaves the room, as he does so, Anabiraa's chest glows blue for a moment, then Anabiraa is kicked back against the far wall as the illusion fades. After that Lord Firebird has left the hall.*


        • #5

          OOC: Keep in mind, while a clone, Anbiraa is still a master. He was engineered at the zenith of the original's potential by Lynch. Just a reminder for the future.

          :: Anbiraa's breathing returned to normal, and he laughed to himself. True, he was not Anbira. That man was death. Anbiraa was perfection in all ways Anbira was not. If Firebird thought himself victorious for striking and fleeing, it would be just another delusion for the pathetic hipocrite. But it was improvement over the worm's bickering. For somebody who commanded action over words, the sound of feet running and clacking against marble floor spoke quite loudly over his drivel.

          His caveats too, were as pompous and meaningless as any other lie from his mouth. Anbiraa heeded no death threat...least of all from fleeing men. It was of no consequence. The Lord's true nature was, prophetically enough, demonstrated in actions, not words.

          Anbiraa coughed, and then laughed, the echo building throughout the council room as he retired to his chambers to ponder this. ::


          • #6

            OOC: And remember, Lord Firebird saw that attack as a slap in the face. Sith Master you may be by rank and Genetics, but you did not earn it. So if you thought Seeing Lord Firebird sitting in a thread not doing anything was bad, you haven't seen anything yet...


            • #7

              The rumors of the clone's actions and words quickly spread mspread throughout the headquarters. Upon reaching the ears of the Sith Knight, he quickly made his way to the quarters of the Clone Sith Master. The rage and the anger within him grew with every step that had been taken, until ironically it reached a boiling point at the same time that he arrived at the door to the quarters of the clone. He sounded the buzzer at once, waiting for it's occupant to respond.


              • #8

                :: A gravelly voice responded to the chime ::



                • #9

                  As the clone Sith Master answered the door, Laran's left arm shot up with lightning reflexes, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling Anbiraa towards the Sith Knight. Although his skill compared to the Master's was lacking and he probably would pay for it later, he had a point to make and to make that point he just might have to suffer.

                  "Actions such as yours always have an adverse reaction. I am that reaction, and I will no longer stand aside and let things happen or people do as they want with our members. Caste, rank nor skill will not affect my judgement in who I stand up to. And if I take a beating at your hand, so be it. However be forewarned I will not stay down, and I will be back nipping at your toes until one day the mighty tower shall topple at my hand."

                  The force flowed though Laran, and he used to to his advantage. Pulling the Master forward again, tugging him off balance, his right elbow lashed out smashing into the side of the Master's face, while at the same time releasing his Anbiraa's shirt and letting him stagger backwards a couple of steps. It was not Laran's goal for a fight to follow. He solely wanted to prove a point - and with that blow, that had been done.

                  " Pleasant dreams Master Anbiraa. Heed my message"

                  The Sith Knight stepped back slowly, keeping his eye on the Master, his sense reaching out to prepare for any oncoming backlashes. Not that it would matter, for the master could crush him in a second. However it was always good to keep one's guard up around a sith, showing them the respect they deserve. He continued to step back, until finally turning and walking off down the hall

                  (edit - cursed spelling )


                  • #10

                    :: The mad clone watched the Knight leave, licking crimson away from his teeth with a smile. The residual pain from the scrapper's attack fed his adrenaline and endorphins, coddling his embrace to undying hatred and the dark side.

                    He was not a mentalist, but could exert enough control over his faculties to deliver simple messages to the minds of those that were trained to hear. Smirking, and thumbing away a trace stream of blood from the corner of his mouth, Anbiraa closed his eyes, making himself known to Laran Katern ::

                    To wound me, is to strengthen me. To bleed me, is to awaken me.

                    :: He could pursue the Knight, of course, but to what end? To kill him? The thought was invigorating, but Anbiraa knew better than to dally with sycophants. Katern was a lapdog, someone's loyal and precious terrier. A tool, just as he was...chained to the Dark Side. Fate would unravel a hideous death for Laran Katern. Whether at Anbiraa's hands or at another's, it did not matter. The mad clone laughed...he had eternities to discover such fates. The journey to perfection was after all, scenic.

                    Anbiraa turned slowly, feeling the simmering rage of his mistress's presence behind him. Her essence was intoxicating, and her hatred ran even deeper than his own, he often speculated. She kept much shielded to herself, and likely her dark thoughts drifted in the foolish Knight's direction. It mattered little which direction her ire pointed, as long as he could feed off of it and make it his own power. It often made the clone pause and wonder. Fools spoke of love. Anbiraa's envy and awe intermingled in his lover's embrace. He sought every ounce of her essence, to fill him and make him perfect. She was the perfect drug, filling him on the inside and renewing him strong. ::