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Thread: Beasts

  1. #41
    He rolled toward her, and she accepted him with the sort of hunger born from battle. The sort of eagerness that beckoned strife and retribution. His motions were enough to give her hesitation in her own actions however. For as ready as she was to accept an adversary bent on meeting her face to face, to match her blow for blow... it was strangely different when that body was belonging to a Guardian. A being dedicated to proper dealings and etiquette.

    And yet, the field was met, and she accepted the approach of her adversary.

    He collided into her, and she absorbed the crash of their bodies as best as she could. His weight upon her, as they both struggled in the dirt and mud, was oppressive. He gave no quarter, and neither did she as her own hands traveled up across the finely-clad trappings of his clothing, one fist gripping his collar and the other grasping angrily at his ear.
    He was relentless, and she felt his hand close around her neck even as she pushed herself against his own body.

    "You dirty yourself, Leh'beni," she gasped out, "... are you ready -hrk- to kill your beast in such filth... ?"

  2. #42
    Watching from what constituted the 'sidelines', Krale had just about had enough. This whole thing was closing in on the most bizarre set of situations that he'd ever encountered and witnessed. The Besalisk hurffed, cast a glance over his shoulder to the promontory that he and the Jedi had come from, and let out another rumble of dissatisfaction. This was tiresome, watching these two clucking nuna hens peck at each other. And now they rolled about in the mud, grappling like angry Dugs after a podrace.

    Grumbling to himself, Krale took a step forward, his voice rising in gravelly volume to sound out his displeasure and intentions to end what he saw as a most asinine affair.

    "Enough now, the both of you... "

    Before he could move ahead further, three bodies were swift to intercept him, and another three joined in to hold his massive bulk at bay. The muzzle of no less than four blaster rifles were shoved into his face.

    His frustration and patience reaching the end, the burly Phrexus Krale tensed his bulk, eyes infuriated.

    "What in the seven hells is all this?! Are you people mad??!!"

  3. #43
    She was younger and stronger, but he had the advantage of leverage. It made their efforts infuriatingly even. With one hand on her throat, one hand on the wrist that held his collar, he continued to press in hopes of tipping the scale back in his favor. Even then, he could not help but move his face closer to hers, until their noses nearly touched.

    "Your death. Will absolve me. Of your taint. You will be. Forgotten. My faith. Is eternal."

  4. #44
    "Your faith... " she felt his grip on her throat further constrict, and yet despite it all she fed upon the contact they shared.

    Their closeness.

    He exuded an aroma that was intoxicating in its' own way. So clean, so crisp. So... proper. It was the sort of scent that she had been missing for so long. Since the onset of Order 66, she had only known stale grime, old oil, and rank body odor. Smells that were synonymous with desperation and barely-hanging-on. He was a last link to cleanliness and civilization despite the dirt and mud that they now both wallowed in.

    "... I take comfort in it."

    She could feel the slight pause, the surprised hesitation in his grip, and she used that moment to release his collar. Her now-free hand slid down to the sheath at her hip, and with a flick of her thumb, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the survival knife held nestled within.

    The blade came free with an unsung song, and she exhaled as she brought the tip to his brow, over his right eye.

    And without any sort of fanfare or ceremony, she applied pressure a split-second before jerking the blade down, through his right eye.

  5. #45
    She released his collar and he could feel the triumph surging through his heart. She was blacking out from the lack of oxygen. Victory was assured. Once she was unconscious it was a simple matter to retrieve his blade and remove her head. There was no other way to be sure a Beast was dead. Dispatched in record time but still a story worth retelling. It would be brandy and tea for everyone all the way back to Leh'ben.

    "As it shou-AAAUUGH!"

    Victory turned to sand in his mouth as his words of triumph were snatched away by the suddenly blinding pain across his face. Both hands released her neck, one clutching his face while the other found her wrist and held her hand at bay from a second attack. This was not a position he could maintain. The witch was deceitful and crass and he wasted no time standing and retreating back. He looked for his sword, but the pain made it difficult to focus. Already he could feel the blood soaking in through his glove. A million hateful words bubbled from deep within but he only let an annoying hiss out.

    "I should never have expected more from an honorless animal. Crude. Despicable."

    His rage was the only thing keeping the pain from overwhelming him entirely. A lesser man would have fainted. Slate could feel his rage manifesting in his hand; a distortion in the air, a crinkling of the air that formed the silhouette of a long shard of glass that was equal parts composed as if of mirrors while simultaneously invisible. If Solfar's bright light gave them their incredible powers, than this was the shadows he cast.

    The pain came surging back in, breaking his concentration, and the darkshear disappeared back into the nothing it was spawned from. Slate clutched his eye harder. The blood was slopping down his face and staining his neck and collar.

  6. #46
    It was the grim break that he had been waiting for, and Krale drew himself up to stand above those around him. The rifles were pushed aside as he lifted one hand to his lips, thumb and forefinger pushing into his mouth just a small bit before an ear-splitting shriek of a whistle cut through the air all around them. It was a harsh and angry sound, and the burly Besalisk snarled to the guards surrounding him as his hand lowered.

    Behind him, from the direction that he and the Jedi had come, the sounds of scrabbling bootsteps could now be heard. His small band of soldiers knew that whistle, and knew that it meant to form up.

    Turning his narrowed gaze to the bald-headed leader, Krale growled out his displeasure as he lumbered forward. One arm came out to shove the stricken man to the side, and another went out to grasp the General's Jedi woman roughly by the arm, hauling her up and out of the muck. He handled her as though she was a rag doll, pulling her close to his side. A third hand relieved her of her blade, and he pointed it at Slate.

    "My men are coming down, Hairless One. You and yours would be best served by leaving here. Now."

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