Shadow of the Fallen

[Whispers of the Delirium]

Rain covered the still outlines of a slumbering city, embracing tall silhouettes that stood like silent guardians. At this sultry hour, the tenants of the metropolis were quiet, muted by the terror that lay at the heart of the darkness. One place stood out like a beacon, shining and luminescent in the shadows. A soft, piping music emitted from its walls, calling forth patrons from the night.

"Come forth, come hither and play," it called in a merry tune. Outside the doors, men lay sprawled with bottles clinging to their outspread fingertips. Their lips were parted in a cry that no one would hear. Through the windows, others were still partaking in the festivities, though in dark corners lay motionless forms that mirrored those outside.

One woman sat hunched over the bar, a small glass cluched in her left hand. In her right was a small knife that twisted between her fingers, carving into the wood beneath her palms. As she looped the blade in a sudden curve that left it standing rigid in the bar, she stood. The room went quiet as everyone turned. Voices murmured softly, calling "Raven" beneath their breath.

She walked with a feline grace, finding her way towards the opposite room in which a band stood in wait. They watched her with fearful eyes as they cowered behind their instruments. The dancers were shivering as they paused, their bodies tense. To the side was a tall, broad man whose lap held one such dancer who had fallen prey to money and hard times. Her heavily lidded eyes were clouded from spirits, and she murmured into his ear.

The woman paused, looking on. Her voice was a clarion call that broke the silence.

"It's time to die, Zaric."

Back at the bar, the blade quivered, left at the end of a name that read Averan.

Zaric Tharn gently pushed the young woman from his lap. Like a confused child, she swayed on her feet and didn't move. He had to take her by her shoulders and guide her to the side, where she remained, lost in her own thoughts.

The room seemed to grow darker, as he filled up much of its space. His head nearly brushed the ceiling, and his shoulders were wide enough to sit most of the occupants comfortably along their length. However, when he moved there was a familiar allure about him, though it was more often seen in that of a predator. Calm, dangerous. His hand strayed towards his weapon, but his posture remained relaxed.

"Averan," he murmured, the name easing off of his lips. He lowered his hand away from his blaster and leaned back.

She lifted a hand to stop him, and snarled. Her teeth were white against the azure tone of her face. Her eyes, pale and wary, watched him.

"We have placed our feet upon the path, a path that we must all choose for ourselves," Averan paused, her voice low. "You have strayed, my friend."

"I have strayed? What about you? You, who were exiled from your own people? A traitor," he laughed.

"Zaric." Her hand slipped to her waist, where several knives suddenly appeared at her fingertips. "You betrayed me."

"The House of Thal has fallen, my little Raven. You can fall with it," he drawled. His hand fell to his blaster, which was suddenly poised towards Averan.

Shadows consumed the corridors, blanketing still forms and frightened eyes. The night-time antagonists of sobriety and cheer were humbled beneath the throws of a greater menace: power. Those who favored their lives simply left, leaving the cantina in silence. Only those patrons of stupor remained, laying in bundles cast about in dark corners.

There was death in the air, a stagnant breath that left a person staggered. The two stood there facing each other. One, a mad priest with a zealous heart and the other, a cruel mercenary with a penchant for destruction.

It took only a second for Averan to reach him, her blade extended in the right hand as her other reached for more. She swept it towards his eyes, screaming.

Zaric brought the blaster up, pushing it between them and shoving hard to the side as he twisted. Her momentum was sent another direction and she fell to the floor, sliding several feet before stopping.

"My little Raven, you should reconsider. You are not as strong as your brothers were, and now they're dead," he paused. "But you can join them."

"You will pay for their lives in blood," she growled as she pushed herself up from the floor. Her knives came to her hands, slipping between each digit.

The weapon lowered as he rolled his shoulders in indifference. "Come on, my pet."

Averan cried out as she flicked her wrist, sending the tiny daggers towards his face as she ducked, pushing forward towards his knees. She swept her leg out to knock him down. His breath exploded in a burst of laughter as he stepped backwards and brought up the pistol, knocking the small knives aside. Her kick grazed his ankles, and he grunted.

"My turn," he murmured as he brought up his blaster.

Zaric brought the end of the blaster down towards her face and she turned aside, bringing her hand up to hit the back of his leg as she went down. He stumbled and grunted, lifting the weapon and firing.

Without hesitation, she turned and flitted across the room to avoid the rampant fire. There was an appeal to her dance as she played between each blast, teasing him as each one missed and bit into a nearby wall. She dove towards him in an attempt to take him down.

One bolt hit her shoulder and she was wrenched to the side. Though she remained on her feet, she was slowed down by the agony spreading through her arm. He wasn't laughing anymore as he opened fire again.

Averan crouched, her face lifted and grim. Her hand drifted towards her boot, where other weapons lay. However, before it reached the shoe, she was struck by a savage kick that sent her to the floor. Blood ran along the length of her jaw, dripping onto the wood below her. She watched as it soaked into the grooves of the floor and she breathed in the metallic scent of her life.

With a shaking hand, she tried to reach her hip, where a medpac was secured against her belt. Zaric chuckled and leaned over, shoving her wrist against her side with one foot. He shoved his blaster against her sternum, digging the metal into her flesh.

Averan lifted her chin sharply, spitting out a stream of red. It hit his chest, leaving a trail down his shirt. With a grimace, he reached out and slapped her across the face.

"You had to marry that Jedi, didn't you? We could have done so much, been so much together, but you had to fall in love," he growled. His voice was raw with grief. It may have been the first emotion he had shown, but his face was still cold and remote. He shoved the gun harder into her flesh and red sprouted around the metal, coloring her tunic.

"I offered you power, Averan. I taught you to be who you are today, and I expected you to know who did this for you. You owe me your life. I own you." His foot crushed her wrist as he stood.

"I know how to thank you, Zaric. When you breathe your last." She struggled to get up, but was pushed back by his weight.

He stared at her, his eyes distant. His finger tugged on the trigger, almost as an offhand gesture. The bolt struck her chest once, then twice. She heaved with the sudden gasp and her eyes widened in surprise. She layed back on the ground, twisting from the pain.

"Thank me later, pet." He walked over to his chair and shouldered his cloak. The night took him as he left the cantina without looking back.

The only sound in the room was that of her pitiful mewling as her life ebbed with the wounds suffered from his blaster. She clawed at the floor and cried out, struggling against the inevitable.

In the far corner, the shadows shifted as someone moved. As they stepped forward, the light revealed a tall, lean man with a thick jaw and deep set eyes, which roamed the room restlessly. His alabaster skin was marked with tattoos shaped in a fierce tribal pattern about his face. They ran down his neck and disappeared beneath his clothing. Robes of dusk cloaked his form, soundlessly shifting with each footfall. As he stood above Averan, he offered her a grim smile.

There was a soft click in the other room as a door closed and another person entered the cantina. This man was larger yet, his frame broad and heavy. His shoulders supported a rifle which lay slung across his back, the barrel easily thicker than his neck. The plates of his armor slapped against each other as he moved into the room. He smiled when he saw Graven and raised his hand in greeting.

"Aha! There you are, Graven. I see that you've been lurking in the shadows again. Did you get me a drink? Where are the dancers? I heard there was one that could do..." His warm baritone faltered as he saw what Graven was leaning over.

"Another moth finding the flame." The voice was low, almost a caress as he studied her. Pale, long-fingered hands reached out and briefly touched her cheek. He paused, then lowered his hand to her waist, where her robes had opened to reveal the hilt of a lightsaber. "Curious."

"You could save her, you know. You have that power," Demijj sighed. He seemed uncomfortable as he roamed towards the bar, seeking a drink. One glass rested next to a dagger which bit into the wood, where the name Averan was spelled out in elusive curves. With a sniff, he grabbed the drink and tossed back its contents.

"Not bad. Breath of Heaven, I believe." He shifted his weight and turned to watch the young woman, who was starting to convulse.

His hands were cold. They touched her skin and where they went, it burned. Graven studied her face, which was contorted in pain. Blood had dried on her lips, which were cracked from the passage of breath. They were trying to move, trying to say help me.

"That may be. What do I gain from picking up the remnants of this fool, though?" He briefly looked up at Demijj before returning to the woman.

Demijj shrugged, his palms turned up in defense. "Someone to control and use. She may be more of an asset later, yes?"

"Someone to use," he mused. His fingertips played a beat against her throat, where the pulse was fading.

"Little Raven, is it? I know what you are. Would you like to live? If you do, you would owe us your life." It was a soft whisper that was meant only for her as he leaned down, his lips to her ear.

Her eyes closed and a single tear escaped, leaving a trail down the curve of her cheek. She nodded once, sharply.

"If it shuts you up, Dem," he said in a louder voice.

He growled and focused, pushing energy through his fingers into her body. She shook with the intensity of it. The wound on her chest began to knit together as a dark purple force pulsed at the edges, where blood once freely wept. It only took moments, but all that remained was a hole in her tunic.

Averan laid there, shivering. She hesitantly pushed herself away from Graven, managing to get a small distance between them before she sat up. Her hands clutched at the wounds, which were no longer there.

"It would appear that I am in your debt," she murmured. "Who am I to thank?"

There was a light, muffled noise of someone moving. When she looked up, the one called Graven had disappeared. Her eyes looked to the shadows, unable to find him.

"I am Demijj PerVida, and my sullen friend here is Graven." His smile was one of welcome as he reached down to her with a large calloused hand.

"I am Averan," she replied with a fierce smile as she took his hand.