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Thorn: Begin Transmission

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  • Thorn: Begin Transmission

    Outside the Sith Empire HQ ...

    A figure stands set against the sunset. In silhouette, his form is lithe and accentuated only by the small wings beneath his cover cloak; which flutter or twitch on the rare occasion that the wind picks up. He stands just beneath the height of 6 foot 7 and is of this height only, one would assume, because of the curious manner in which he stands. Only the ball of his foot and toes touch the ground, whilst the base and heel are elevated into the air in a way akin to a feral creature. Ever static, he stares out into the burning sun in the distance as it sinks and slowly begins to die. As the calm of the evening comes over him, cool breeze licking at his features, he still stares. Hours pass as eventide fades to night, and thus on into the early hours of the morning.

    “So quiet … so still.”

    On the breeze, his voice is but a whisper, coarse and lacking in substance. Upon speaking, he begins to walk, and in turning from the sun set sighs. For the Sith, there is no other time when he is more comfortable than at night. The rising of the moon wraps the darkside student within a blanket of softly illuminated shadow. There is little that can be seen of such a darkly robed being; pale skin touched by the moon light only seems to become darker. The sluggish animation of a skeletal frame striding the darkness – his only friend, his only love.

    … beep. beep. beep …

    And so the quiet was ruptured. The lean character paused mid-step, his hand moving downwards ever so slightly. From within the shadow, a small red light burned brightly. The individual lifted, somehow, the light to his brow and spent a short moment or two debating without whatever omitted it. Alongside the temperate changing’s of the wind, a slight humming could then be heard, and with strange coincidence ended just as the light feel into darkness once more.

    “Machinery,” the dark one murmured as he carried on his walking once more, his brow – even in the shadow time – quite visibly furrowed.

  • #2

    At the same time, the Sith Empire HQ ...

    For any sane human being, living in such dwellings would be detestable. To begin with, upon entering, one would notice the smell. The scent, though not unpleasant, was so potent that it would lull the untrained mind into a state of lethargic naivety. It smelt like a mixture of some narcotics with wildflowers, with subtle hints of a little something else in there. The décor, on first glance, was plain – black everything. At least, so it appeared in the darkness. On close inspection, an otherwise overlooked detail would be fond. The walls, though previously a pale grey, were stained with crimson and had runes of some kind scrawled up and down their surfaces. The writings were all of a similar script, and most depicted the same chain of letters.

    Exactly what they mean is quite unfathomable, and only the one who writes the enigmatic chains knows what information the hold. It is evident where the medium for the writings came though, once you take a look around. Beside a small charred wooden chair there is a small bucket - it sits half full of a thick red substance, which has left sprays up the side of the bucket presumably from where the owner had swirled and sloshed the gunk around. The furniture, or what is left of it, all seems to have been burnt. The bed has been vandalized to extremes, and is replaced by a small hut-like construction made from black ... something. Anything that was decorating the walls or floors has become dark ash, which has been in turn collected into a simple container as the crimson ooze. The door into the abode is plain on the outside, and has only a small plaque with the words "Salem Ave" written on it, along with a terribly messy inscriptions of the aforementioned runes.

    To the right of the doorway a small droid stands, or rather lays. It's legs have been lopped off hap handedly and are set against the wall on the other side of the room with some tools and electrical equipment laying around them. It whirrs to itself, simply staring into it's macabre cage. Infrequently, the small orbs - makeshift eyes - will begin to glow more brightly and for a short second hope seems to fill the room, but then is lost. On this eve in particular, hope had come to the droid on more than one occasion. The first taste came with a loud bleep as a message arrived on the comm. link into this particular room, and was automatically transmitted into the droids memory bank. It was not in basic, but the translator system within the mech converted it to the wildly spoken tongue automatically.

    "I was reminded of you when I visited the Chapel last night. The bar was full to the brim, and many old school friends of ours were there. The gathering was, as per usual, dominated by Suth, who ranted on all night about his life after the academy. I disregarded most of his tales, though one struck me as interesting, one which I thought you - being a Sith - might be curious to know of."

    And thus the message went on. The story of the evening was told with remarkable enthusiasm by the female voice, and lasted for at least five minutes before it was cut short by the droid - it's memory did not allow it to hold such long messages. It was evident though from the message what the voice wanted of Salem. It had, in accordance with programming, relayed the message to Salem Ave's hand-held communications device as soon as it was translated, and expect it's Master to enter through the door beyond in a devilish temper, regardless of the topic of the message. And within five minutes of his receiving the message, Salem did barge in through the door into his room.

    "What is this tripe!"

    The Disciple swung one hand outwards and one of the droids dismembered legs flew into the air, crashing into the innocent droid. It screamed it's mechanical scream, yet calmed itself instantly as the solid black eyes of its Master came to settle on it's fallen frame.


    • #3


      After an hour of rigorous rage, Salem had retreated into the little hovel in the corner of his room. The droid lay in tatters in the same place it had been before; with what appeared to be scratch marks all over the surface of the metal. The soft shaky breathing of the Sith Disciple could be heard in jitters in the room as Salem stared into the pitch black, mumbling to himself about something. It was obvious he was not in the best of moods with the droid or with the world at large.


      If it were not for the board he had placed over the window, the rising sunlight would have streamed in. Dawn was breaking and outside in the hallways people had begun to move about, ready to start their training regimes. Salem remained in his little retreat still – it was dark and comforting in there, and he enjoyed simply sitting. Plus, if he left, he’d have to face the world


      • #4

        The blue-haired woman passed by a familiar room. Though all the rooms were exactly alike, this room had a particuliar feeling to it. Who ... Phantom ..? No ... She searched her mind for an answer to her question. Another name came to her mind. She knew immediately. It even gave her a chill down her spine. She shivered slightly as she put the palm of her hand on the door and stood there.

        It was him.

        Who ? She asked herself again, though she knew the answer. Him. Him ...

        "... Salem ?"


        • #5

          He stood up with a start in panic and thumped his head on the top of the dwelling in which he sat.


          He stumbled out into the black of the room and rubbed his head with a gloved hand in annoyance. Fumbling about for the door handle, he stood hunched as he pulled it open ever so slightly, allowing the tiniest sliver of light inside.


          He didn't look to see who it was - he was too busy checking his room was intact.


          • #6

            "It's Eden ..."

            She murmed slightly. Her crimson eyes peeked into the darkness of his room. It was so dark ... But it was no surprise. It was Salem Ave, a pretty much dark man himself. She remembered the light painful scream she had heard before he opened the door, and moved in closer to the slight entrance, still murmuring.

            "Are you alright ?"


            • #7

              The door opened a little wider as Salem yanked on the handle, allowing for his head to poke out into the hallway. His skin looked ever pale, and his eyes like endless pools of darkness. In the darkness, Eden could see that he wore no shirt, and donned only a pair of ragged black jeans.

              "Eden," he ran his tongue over his dry lips.

              "Yesss, I am quite fine... Why are you here? Did you want to come in and talk?"

              The Disciple rose a thin eyebrow.


              • #8

                "No reasons ... I was just wondering how you were going."

                Eden finally noticed that Salem wasn't wearing any shirts. Wearing her red wine outfit, exactly like last time, her right hand squeezed her left shoulder lightly.

                "Well, anyways ... Take care of yourself."

                She didn't even feel like leaving, but then, there was nothing else to do. She turned around, as her distant cold glare drew back on her face as expressing. She lowered her eyes down to the ground, as she stepped forward.


                • #9

                  The door slammed shut. There could then be heard some rustling, clanging of various objects together and such, then the door opened again. Salem had pulled a large cloak around his body and had taken a step out into the hallway, where he stood squinting at Eden.


                  She looked back at him, and he forced a faint smile.

                  "Are you sure you don't want to talk?"


                  • #10

                    "Well, Salem, if you are busy, I'll come back later ..."

                    She muttered, as she looked back foward. She bit her lower lip as she ran her hand to the back of her neck, rubbing it slightly. The tension was building in.


                    • #11

                      He slipt out into the hallway from his room, leaving the doorway wide open behind him. Pacing forward a fiew steps, his body partially hunched, he gestured one hand out towards Eden.

                      "You hestitate. Your thoughts betray you."

                      He let himself, then, genuinely smile and laugh to himself. Eden wasn't very good at covering up how she was feeling; Salem could sense her emotions easily.


                      • #12

                        "They ..."

               Eden shook her head then noticed Salem's hand towards her. She watched him smile and did the same, but more faintly. She put her hand in his.

                        "Is it that obvious ?"


                        • #13

                          Inside, Salem winced. He wasn't prepared for the warmth that suddenly touched his skin. His flesh was in a perpetual freeze, and thus always felt as if it was ice cold. In the center of his dark eyes, a speck glinted and contracted as his fear of contact struck.



                          • #14

                            Eden immediately removed her hand of his, as she felt a slight feeling of nervousness in his body. She took back her hand, as she began to feel nervous as well. Another one ... That must be the problem. It's the whole Bartholomew thing again ... She told herself.

                            "You're not very ... umm ... comfortable with physical contact, are you ?"

                            She tried to not make it sound too personal.


                            • #15

                              Salem held out his hand still where it had been.

                              "No, no, no. I am very cold. It ssscares people, I think. Sss-ometimes."

                              Sheepishly, he withdrew his hand back into the sleeve of his cloak and hunched up once more.

                              "Who isss Bartholomew?"

                              He was in her mind again.