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Toppling The Giant

A horror RP featuring Yuned'rar, Praz, and a cameo from tehjai's Perkele. Mind trickery and blood, and Sith being Sith. It's also rather long, so warning you about that now.

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The small stream in the junglesoutside of Kaas City flowed easily down its path and trickled over stones. It was quiet and uninterrupted by neither the light drizzle nor the thunder booming away in the distance. A rocky hill and trees surrounded this small area, making it feel rather cozy. It was a favourite spot of the young Sith who currently had crept into the area through the shadows and perched amongst the branches of a twisting tree and watched his prisoner who had gone out into the jungle to meditate after being released from his holding cell of a week.

Perfect, Yuned’rar thought to himself and sent a compliment to his sister through their bond. He would have to tread carefully as not to alarm the Zabrak, and so just held a fist out onto the branch on which he perched, and opened his hand. A dozen or so small spiders dropped onto the branch, smokey shadows falling off of them, and then descended down their webs to the prisoner’s level. The Sith meanwhile closed his eyes and concentrated on the small apparitions, tangible though they were.

The Zabrak hadn't sensed his newly arrived company yet, focusing inwards as he was to trying to clear his mind. He sat with his back towards one of the many trees, his guard was not completely down after all. He took a slow breath. The past week had taken a heavier toll then he could have expected, and he was weakened for it. The young Sith would certainly have the advantage.

The spiders, light as feathers, scurried through the grass, and then stopped briefly before beginning their ascent of the Zabrak’s robes. Quickly, one after the other, they hopped onto the hood. With a wave of the Sith’s hand above in the tree, the spiders slowed their pace almost to a crawl and crept inside the hood.

A quick flick of the wrist and one spider crumbled into dust onto the Zabrak’s head, the smoky residue seeping into his skull. On one plane, Yuned’rar could feel the various walls and barriers his prisoner had constructed, and clearer now than they were before. Mountains, cliffs, clouds. His dark little spider reformed in the recesses of the Zabrak’s mind and scurried about inconspicuously, on the look out for anything unusual. Anything that he might be hiding.

Oblivious, Praz stayed in his spot, frowning a little more than usual. A fragment of an unpleasant memory flickered to the forefront of his consciousness. It didn't happen as often as it used to and as such, caught him off guard. He did his best to bury it again. It was a practised technique, but in light of his current situation it was a poor patch. Another detail to be taken advantage of.

Another flick of the wrist and another spider crumbles to dust and seeps into the Zabrak’s skull, joining the other. In the vastness which one might call ‘peace’, the spiders scurried about, joined shortly by their siblings. Small enough to climb into the cracks in the former knight’s walls, they entered the dark patches, the shadows, and searched. Their small, pointed feet tapped along the grounds and they gestured to one another when they saw a tasty morsel. The spiders leapt at the memory of a youngling long gone, and then Yuned’rar opened his eyes.

The Sith released the spiders, having got what they were sent for, and then leaned over the gnarled branch to gaze down at the figure below. He inspected the surroundings properly, calculating what he can manipulate, and what will be created. The anticipation made his lekku tighten around his shoulders and waist slightly, and he moved around the tree, back into the shadows.

His victim only moved restlessly in place, the Sith's spider-footed prodding not even registering amongst the background noise of the jungle. Everything felt much too loud. Praz growled to himself in agitation and moved his hands from his lap, digging his claws into the earth at his sides, literally trying to ground himself.

Yuned’rar took this as his cue and lurked around the tree amongst the branches carefully and peeked out at the Zabrak again. The Twi’lek held out a hand, focusing it on the ground around the former knight and gestured, reciting a few old words to himself. A small, sudden gust of wind came through and the ground shifted and for a brief moment everything was still again.

Vines dropped from the trees and roots pulled themselves out of the ground and wormed their way around the Zabrak quickly, a few latching onto him whilst others rushed into the water. The stream was suddenly much deeper than it was but a moment prior and to the surface bubbled up a small body, vines and roots wrapped around it, dragging it up. Oddly enough, though, the youngling was dry, and dressed still in their Jedi initiate’s robes.

Praz's eyes snapped open. He pulled against the sudden restraints without stopping to think. Using brute strength was second nature, but the vines and roots were persistent and for each that snapped and recoiled back towards the trees or into the ground, another took it's place, wrapping tighter around him. The bubbling water finally caught enough of his attention to flick his gaze towards the stream. He imagined he would find some odd and twisted predator sliding towards him. It was worse than that. The youngling's neck twisted at an odd angle as the body was pulled up from the water. He froze, staring at a face he recognised but had buried. Apparently not deep enough.

“Now, I wonder who this long dead child might be.” The Sith’s voice, rather soft and gentle, seemed to emanate from all around Praz with no discernible location of its source. “And how did it get lost so, so deep in this utterly dreadful darkness.” The vines brought the youngling’s body right up to the Zabrak and unfurled, turning it rightside-up, but their head didn’t move. “Might you know?”

"No." It was less a denial and more a refusal. No, he wasn't going to acknowledge this, it was too long ago.

There’s a vague sound of acknowledgement and then the vines rotate the youngling once more, holding them up so that they’re staring right into Praz’s face. “Maybe I should just ask the child,” the Sith continues, the voice lowers, adding, “Is not the first person account more interesting?”

Praz closed his eyes and restarted the struggle against the roots holding him in place. If he could break free, he could find the voice and stop it. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the closeness of the youngling to his face.

“You made me fall,” the Sith’s voice came clearly from the corpse’s small mouth, which moved almost separate from the rest of the lifeless face. “It was a friendly race to test our endurance."

Praz slowly started to dig at the ground either side of him, hoping to find a way to snap the roots that held his arms.

"If I wasn’t ahead of you, were you gonna push someone else down instead?"

"No." Something in him made him open his eyes, though he still tried to break free. "It wasn't– I didn't–" Each time he started to speak, each time he knew that the rest would be a lie it got caught in his throat. The youngling's corpse seemed to pick up where Praz had stopped.

"You didn’t even care that I fell. I was down there for ages before you looked.”

Praz lifted his head enough to stare at the youngling, the dead look which mirrored his made him feel sick to his stomach. He tried to find an excuse, something to take the blame from himself but realised that's all it would be. An excuse to make himself feel less guilty. He had caused this, and now it was back to haunt him. The silence was enough of a confession. There was no more denying it, not while it was staring him in the face. All he had cared about was winning, no matter what. A small scrap of a thought snuck forward before he could push it back. You didn’t even rush down to help, you just gawked.

“That was so hard?” The Sith asked, his voice once again surrounding Praz. The youngling then crumbled like dry clay out of the vines’ grasp and piled in fleshy chunks on the wet ground before him. “What else you have buried, Praz? Who else you have tried to hide away in the shadows of your mind, covered with an illusion of peace?” The voice, although relatively calm, had picked up a slightly playful air about it.

Yuned’rar focused his hand on the ground beside Praz, and clenched a fist, and pulled something – someone – up out from the ground. The mud and dirt, pebbles and rocks, twisted and warped around a humanoid shape, and slowly built into someone recognisable. Long tendrils, head-tresses, acquired shape, and soon a face with two large eyes, and rather typical Jedi robes, although there was some armour underneath.

“You recognise him yet, Praz?” The Sith asked. “No?” The soil and rocks fell off the figure revealing the green skin of the Nautolan and the silver and gold of his armour. For a moment he appeared normal, almost alive, but as the last bits of dust left him his fatal injury formed anew. A crack in his armour and a clean hole straight through him appeared. “What about now?”

Of course he recognised him, even before the wound that had killed him became apparent. He turned his head away, but the memory replayed itself anyway. If he'd been faster, paid more attention, if he'd dispatched the others instead of trying to disarm them. There was no doubt in his mind that he could have saved him if he'd just tried a little harder.

“Master Jedi Saang,” the Sith said, his grin could almost be heard. “What it is Praz did for you to end up like this, hm?”

The Nautolan Jedi’s corpse picked his feet up out of the ground, and took a step towards the Zabrak, and looked him over. He lifted a hand and looked like he was going to forgive him – almost.

“You!” Saang sneered, pointing at his former Padawan still trapped by the vines and roots. "You caused this. I told you to stay close, but you knew better, didn't you?"

"No." Praz cringed, almost curling up on himself as Saang spoke.

"It was so easy for them to manipulate, to anger you. You were weaker in mind then and you still are now. It should have been you." The dead Master grabbed his former Padawan's neck and lifted his head. "You may as well have killed me yourself."

"I'm sorry." The hand around his neck was cold and dry, but the wound still smoked from the saber burns.

"Sorry? You are a failure and a fraud. A monster hiding in a Knight's robes, and you knew. It's no wonder you fled." Saang said, with a look of complete contempt.

Yuned’rar took this time to leap down from the branches, landing lightly on his feet much like a cat would. He wrapped his lekku around his shoulders in a casual and comfortable manner, more like a type of fashion statement. The Twi’lek adjusted his robes gently and dusted some dirt and leaves from them, and then strolled over to the former knight and his dead Master.

“Master Jedi,” he said very quietly and with mock surprise, and then placed a thin hand on Saang’s cool shoulder. “I had no idea this Jedi was so cruel and selfish. That is quite unbecoming.” Yuned’rar’s gaze then fell on Praz, his expression blank and unchanging. “And you were not punished for these crimes? For killing a fellow initiate, and then… your own, dear Master.” He sucked on his teeth and shook his head, closing his eyes.

"I didn't kill them." Praz said, quietly, almost as if he didn't believe it himself.

"Lying. Still lying. You're so good at lying." Saang turned his head to Yuned'rar. "Dishonest, deceitful, selfish. Full to the brim with guilt and anger."

“I see it now, yes,” Yuned’rar nodded in agreement and let go of the Nautolan’s shoulder.

With a sigh, the dead Jedi Master broke apart into dust and crumpled to the ground like the youngling before him. From these ashes, however, began to rise another form – a woman. Yuned’rar stepped aside, feigning shock and wrapping his lekku around himself protectively. His own eyes grew wide after a moment when he was sure he’d recognised the woman pulled out from Praz’s mind. She was years younger, but he was certain it was her. Darth Arachis.

A young woman, skinny and blonde-haired, looking as though she was just on the other side of starvation, grinned down at Praz. She was dressed in a sharp black dress that pooled at her feet. It trailed behind her as she paced. “Everything here and you could use it and you don’t,” she said, her voice high-pitched and sing-song. “We already know you can, and what’s really under all that detachment.” Her blue eyes flashed and she laughed.

The Zabrak strained against the vines almost instantly, holding them taught as he tried to lunge at the newest ghost with bared teeth. All that mattered in this instance was breaking free, but no matter how he struggled the bindings wouldn't budge. The sentiment was clear, no words were needed.

Yuned’rar took a quick step back and snapped his head at the Zabrak’s sudden change of reaction, and then narrowed his eyes at the familiar Darth. It took him a moment to realise he could speak freely – this woman didn’t know him, and she certainly wasn’t real. You must not be fooled by your own illusions, he reminded himself.

“Anger, Praz?” The Twi’lek said gently, returning to his calm demeanor. “This does not suit a Jedi.”

Slowly, he stopped straining towards the Darth and turned his head to Yuned'rar, narrowing his eyes. The others had felt empty, but the young Sith, this one did not. Once more, he pulled at the vines and roots that held his arms, but this time it was followed by one snap, then another, and another. Praz ripped the last away and stood up to his full height. "You are not one of those spectres." He said, giving a half glance to the woman then back again.

The Twi’lek froze for a moment when Praz spoke – he didn’t need to look to see that now his projections had vanished; his link with his mind had been broken, at least temporarily. Yuned’rar half-made sure his heart was still beating and threw a hand out at the Zabrak, smokey spiders flying at his face, and his other reached quickly for his saberstaff. He wasn’t quite expecting a fight, but he came prepared and made sure the former Jedi was unarmed.

Praz held his arm up as a defense, regardless of how effective it would be. Instinctively reaching to his hip for a saber that wasn't there, he hissed a little to himself and hurled his own arm out at the Sith. Yuned’rar hadn’t expected the blow to be so quick and so hard that he was hurled back and straight into a tree.

Yuned’rar yelped as he smashed into it – his armour, thankfully, taking the brunt of the blow, but he still hoped his ribs weren’t cracked. He grabbed a branch and swung himself up into the tree and vanished as he scrambled away to a safer distance, and then climbed back around the small clearing in the branches as he caught his breath. He needed to act fast or Praz would catch on to his whereabouts.

"Is that all you're good at?" Praz asked, looking up towards the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of him. "Hiding in the shadows?"

The Sith, still cloaked with the Force, jumped down silently from the trees behind Praz and threw a hand out around him. From the shadows he pulled out forms – replicates of himself. They weren’t perfect, but unless someone tried to focus on them, it may be hard to tell – visually at least. The shadows jumped out of the trees in unison with Yuned’rar and then split up around the Zabrak. The real Sith, however, stayed in cloak for now, manipulating the shadows.

"More tricks." Praz mumbled, quickly glancing around for anything that could be used as a weapon. There, a fallen branch. It was better than using his arm. He pulled it to himself and tapped it against his leg before holding it up with both hands, slowly turning on the spot. "Come on, then."

A couple of the shadows hiss and growl at the Zabrak whilst a third lunges at him and ignites its saberstaff, the bright glow of the blue sabre appearing almost white. Having so many apparent enemies around him and nothing to sense from them the saber blow caught him off guard, making contact with his side. Praz hissed and swung his makeshift weapon towards the attack before he noticed the apparition was already disintegrating into a vaguely Twi'lek shaped puff of smoke. Another form moved at the corner of his eye.

This time he struck first, swiping the branch through the shadow's torso. It froze for a second, a clear branch-sized line cutting through it's middle before crumbling like the other did. The Zabrak tilted his head and narrowed his eyes and lifted one hand and throwing it downwards swiftly. A loud crack echoed from above the Sith's head, and a large tree limb came toppling down towards him.

Yuned’rar gasped and leapt out of the way of the falling limb, and out of his Force cloak, appearing almost out of thin air. He pulled out his saberstaff, ready to ignite it, and threw his other hand out at the Zabrak, lightning bolts leaving his clawed fingers.

“You call yourself a Jedi? Really?” The Sith growled and stood up tall once more, circling Praz. “You murdered a youngling, Praz. A mere child! For what? To win some silly game?” He clicked his teeth and shook his head. “And your Master? You ran like a coward, yes? When he needed you, thought he could count on you – and you turn tail and run. You would have done the same to my brother if he fell in danger?”

Praz clenched his teeth, trying to endure the shocks and the lies and insults being thrown, both crackling over him. Each time he tried to move, another bolt would find it's way to him. One hand hit the ground as he fell into a crouch.

“You do not believe me?” The Sith continued circling him, throwing out electric shocks to keep the Zabrak on the ground. “I did not know you prior to this, Praz. Nothing besides your name. Those people you saw?” He stops shocking the Zabrak and holds out a hand, in his palm lies the dead youngling. “These people were pulled right from your head. These are your memories, Praz. I am merely replaying them for you and giving your victims voices.”

He waited quietly, taking everything Yuned'rar was spitting at him, and if he had any warning at all, it was barely a second. Praz shot back to his feet, branch still in hand, and swung violently for the young Sith's head with a definite growl.

Yuned’rar ducked from the swing but not quite fast enough, still getting hit on the side of his head. He hissed and ignited his saberstaff, slicing Praz’s weapon in two as he hopped back, fighting his dizziness. The Twi’lek shot more lightning at the Zabrak, a bit more frantic this time. He needed to be in control again.

Praz stumbled back, dropping the smoking stump of his improvised weapon, the sound of his own pulse rushing in his ears. Every attack, physical and mental, had been taking it's toll, and it was becoming harder and harder to stay focused. Another short shock brought him back to his knees, forcing him to try to catch some breath.

“Giving up already?” Yuned’rar growled, a smirk forming on his thin, tattooed face. He threw out his hand solidly and pushed Praz back a few feet. “Where this Zabrak stamina I heard about, hm?”

Head still down, the Zabrak made a noise that very almost sounded like a laugh, his arms were shaking just from the effort of holding himself up and it all felt so absurd. He could practically feel the cracks widening, just waiting for the break, unless it had already happened. Maybe he was already gone and it was too late. Sluggishly and staggering, he once again pulled himself upright. If the Sith wanted to finish it he would fall while standing.

“You are stubborn,” the young Sith hissed and walked up to Praz calmly, his saberstaff at the ready though. “You know what else you are? You are too good to be a Jedi. You seek strength, power. You want to be better than others, yes? Better than that youngling you let fall to his death. Better than your Master. No–”

Yuned’rar shook his head as he stopped in front of the Zabrak, looking him in the eyes, and tilted his head to the side slightly, and continued. “You did not fall to your death. You had the sense to leave the dire situation–” he paused, and smiled, and bit his lower lip, holding the expression for a moment and let out a quiet giggle. “You guarded my brother because he was your gateway to the Empire. Your pass to join the Sith Order. You knew you belonged here. I am correct, Praz Doth?”

"What do you want from me?" Praz asked quietly, trying not to sway in place, to show how weak he felt.

“From you?” Yuned’rar lifted a hand and drew his claws along the scar that went past the edge of his mouth, and then continued down his jaw before holding his face rather gently in his thin hand. “I want you, Praz Doth, to give in. Submit,” the Sith purred. “Let the remainder of your walls crumble. Keeping them up will make you weak.”

Praz clenched his jaw and physically shoved Yuned'rar away from him, the effort causing himself to stagger back some steps. He rocked from side to side, there wasn't much fight left in him and it showed.

The Twi’lek grunted and took a few steps back, and then deactivated his saberstaff – he wouldn’t need it. “You cannot even stand. Pathetic.” Yuned’rar spat and lunged at the Zabrak, administering a swift kick to his upper body.

At any other time he would have taken the kick easily, even used it to his advantage but instead he stumbled back enough to fall once more. He still hadn't given up, not completely. Escape was the new plan, if he could just crawl away out of his sight, get some breath back, stop the edges of his vision going black.

Yuned’rar stumbled a little as he got his footing back and took the opportunity to leap at the Zabrak. Meaning to land on an even crouch, one foot on either side of Praz’s torso, the blow to the Twi’lek’s head had made him dizzier than he realised and he awkwardly lost his balance. Sitting on the other’s stomach was odd but it would suffice. He leant forward, placing one hand on Praz’s chest for balance whilst he continued his inspection with the other.

“You can show everyone they were wrong. Who put these scars on your handsome face–” Yuned’rar continued, speaking softly, his expression bored “--you can get revenge on them, too. No-one here will question your authority as Sith. Things previously forbidden – well.” The Sith smiled warmly and looked Praz up and down. “That’s if knowledge and power bores you,” he giggled.

A part of him was actually listening, he closed his eyes, considering the proposal, or at least parts of it. What could he do with no restrictions placed on him? With nothing to hold him back. Was this really him, or was the Sith still in his head twisting his thoughts the way he wanted them to go. Did it even matter by now? Everything of him was confused and on the brink of unconsciousness.

The Twi’lek scooted himself back a little, almost straddling the Zabrak’s hips, and leant down close to his face. “You will feel better if you let them go. I promise,” Yuned’rar said, purring, and held a hand out towards his face, clawing gently at the air. Then, for a moment, he furrowed his brows and bared his teeth at Praz. Something had gone... wrong. A flash of something intimate, albeit brief, passed by him. He retracted his hand from the other’s face and dug his claws into his chest.

“What that was?” Yuned’rar hissed, his eyes wide and heartbeat quickened.

Praz gritted his teeth at the sudden, sharp pain, though he had no idea why he'd deserved it. He felt like he was underwater. Half opening his eyes only resulted in a blur of shapes he couldn't recognise.

“No! No, no, no,” Yuned’rar repeated, his panicked rejections turning into hissing and growling.

No, he had to fix this. He needed to stop him. The Twi’lek propped himself up again and unsheathed the dagger he had hidden under his lower robes. He clutched it and looked over the Zabrak. Yuned’rar brought the dagger to Praz’s throat first, and then glided it down to his chest. He paused to let some of his dizziness subside, and then slashed at his robes. A couple horizontal cuts, one diagonal, and some more hatching. It looked like a mess and he could feel the other’s heat. Yuned’rar pulled the torn pieces of fabric off the Zabrak’s bloodied and carved chest.

Yuned’rar wasn’t thinking straight now for panic filled his head. He just needed to stop him. Holding his dagger, he saw some flesh hanging off it. The Twi’lek grabbed Praz’s head and leaned over him again, putting the weapon up to his own mouth, and taking the meat carefully.

More pain, pain and blurred shapes moving. He just wanted to rest, but he kept being brought back. He wanted to tell the Twi'lek to stop, to leave him, but his thoughts were barely loud enough for himself to hear, let alone be projected to anyone else. So he waited. Maybe soon he'd be allowed to sleep.

Unfortunately for Praz, the Twi’lek wasn’t done yet. He continued growling and hissing like some feral cat and his bright eyes were wild. Yuned’rar reached over and pulled the hood off Praz’s head roughly. There was a flash of his short red hair and… horns. Horns. That’s what he needed to take. If he took the horns away from the Zabrak, everything would be fine.

“Your are not Praz,” Yuned’rar hissed and pressed a hand into the blood pooled on the other’s chest. “You are Sacrith. Closed. Enclosed. Locked. Shut,” he recited the definition of the old word, a lesser known dialect, and put the bloodied hand on Praz’s face, and then dragged it down, streaking his face in red.

Holding onto the Zabrak’s shoulder for balance, Yuned’rar brought up his dagger again, and held it up to the horns on the other’s head, and tapped a couple gently at their bases. The Zabrak felt a shooting, white kind of pain as Yuned'rar carried out what he had intended, and finally fell into the black.

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