Open [Bescane] Keep it Under Control

[Verse Tillo]

Verse stood among the Empire's troops in the transport ship. She and another Champion were placed in charge of a small backup army. They were on their way to Bescane (a disgusting planet in Verse's opinion) to address some rebellions that had the possibility of growing. She had done this before and she knew what she was doing. She didn't know the Champion she would be working with but they had to be good if he had been assigned to work with her.

She stayed silent, some of the other men on the ship with her eyeing her with a slight air of nervousness. Verse kept her expression blank which only seemed to increase the fear. Right now, she was focused on drawing on the Force, preparing to put these rebels back in their place.

@Die Shize

Spoiler: OOC Note:

Open to Empire soldiers without Force sensitivity; keep it doable

 

[Drane T'keen]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Drane…
…Drane.
…Drane.
Drane…

Drane was his name.
Through sunray’s gate.
A Sith Champion came.
Bloody and broken bane.
But he hasn’t come to flay.
Drane…I have come to slay.

A man must remember who he is.
Where he is from, names mattered.
Not in the sense of staking any claim.
Foes must know the name of their Sith.
And he had four hands to assist in his win.
Two hands—two hilts—though there’s no grin.

A Sith simply stands still in the middle of a ship.
He is not alone—another Sith—to make it rain.
They will know fear. They will know death. Pain.
Who were they? Unimportant. Death was fate.
Their fate. In my fist. Knuckles, digits and wrist.
A Sith curls fingers gently—looks and listens in.
There are others with two Sith—Lost…damaged.

They weren’t Sith. They were weak—abandoned.
Nervous, as bloodless as slit wrists—phantoms.
One looks this Sith’s way—that trembling gaze.
Warily peers, verily he fears, naturally…a face.
Black gold eyes—dark and bright—but no light.
Dark skin, charcoal, like fire of night, lips split.

“Look away.”

A trooper looks away.
He is a good trooper.
Listens to a superior.
Worms… So inferior.

A Sith stands in leather—black.
Golden trim on that one jacket.
Leather boots—leather pants.
They are not warriors… Ants.
They might have been Empire.
But they are not sun. Not fire.
Here, there was only the one.
Thyrsian—son of the red sun.
Stronger—a Sith Champion!

“We near the gate.”

Champion Tillo has his gaze.
White eyes, no looking away.
White hair—she is Arkanian.
To a Thyrsian...rather fitting.

“I am not much for speaking.”
Champion Tillo can if wished.
A trooper gulps—a weakling.
There in the presence of Sith.
“I’ll let my blade do the talking.”
Soon would land to be walking.
Hands on hips, shrugs with lips.
“And I shall simply…swing away.”

@Reylo4evr

 

[Verse Tillo]

The two champions together were a sight to see. Both were unusually quiet and had a look that almost dared you to cross them. Verse's pale skin and hair contrasted his own darker skin and hair, and Verse was aware of the soldier nearby that gulped with fear. Weak.

The transport ship neared the surface, and the leader of the squadron started shouting a count down. Verse didn't need a countdown to feel the fear of the rebels on the surface of the planet. They could see the Imperial ship touching down and knew soldiers would be coming, but what they didn't know was that there was not one, but two powerful Sith Champions on the transport as well, waiting to unleash their wrath and put them in their place.

Verse's hand rested on the hilt of her saber.

@Die Shize

 

[Drane T'keen]

Spoiler: Music OOC [Recurring]

Drane.
Drane…
…Drane
…Drane…
…Drane!
Drane..!
Drane!

To Bescane.
They came
To stave.
Uprising.
Slaves.
To drain.
...Life...
If need be.
Rage.
Hate.
Pain.
Slay.

A Sith came.
Has a name!
It is…Drane…

The Imperial vessel touches down.
Landing struts descend, kiss ground.
Gathered before the ship, rebels around.
In a circle, encircled, as troopers surround.

And what gathers before them!?
That black and white storm—the end!
Advance before troopers—commanders!
Agents of the Empire, Champions of the Order!

Before a factory gathers disassociated laborers.
Surely more inside as with other factories. I’ll lead.
But, for Drane T’keen, that took on a different meaning.
He has a tongue but he would not be speaking—not really.

The Sith embody power, passion—troves of raw emotion.
They could be composed, yet, calm and collected, like him.
Drane T’keen, that’s his name. Not negotiate. He came to slay.
He stands beside his companion: Champion Verse Tillo—named.

The two of them stand staring at faces of a universe in fear.
They are…so afraid…these little creeping things of their factory.
Drane is an elite but he is not elitist, values labor, swords, shears.
But he has come to punish with blades—rebellion is unsatisfactory.

“Greetings...”
Drane greets.
As eyes drift.
Eat—feasting.
Not frowning.
Not smiling.
Naturally—
Curved lips
Like scissors.

…Silence…
But not a ship.
But like mutiny
This factory is.

The sheep huddle together.
Their courage like a feather.
A Sith…he is…feeling fear!
Not his! Theirs! Eye to ear!

“I see that you are speechless.”
He stands with hands on hips.
Gloved wrists, knuckles, hilts.
Twin lightsabers—built to kill.
“So I’ll spare you all a speech.”

Blasters can also speak.
Troopers—barrels sweep.
Insurgents—scopes aiming.
Fingers—triggers are aching.

“Who, I wonder, is the owner of this factory?”

@Reylo4evr

 

[Verse Tillo]

Verse unhooked the hilt of both her sabers as the transport hit the ground with a gentle thud. The door whooshed open with a rattle and revealed the waiting rebels, who raised their blasters. From the back of the crowd, Verse and Drane followed the troopers out. A buzzing hum and a flare of red light suddenly announced the presence of the Champions as Verse ignited her sabers, one in each hand She surveyed the land quietly, and Drane asked a question in a soft tone.

The words were barely out of his mouth when one brave rebel shouted "For the Resistance!" and opened fire. With this sudden burst in courage, his comrades fired at the troopers and Champions as well. It took little effort for Verse to bring her sabers up, spinning them in adjacent circles in front of her. Her blades became two blurs of red as her wrists spun almost effortlessly, creating a shield of sorts that reflected the blaster bolts that came near her.

"Hold ranks!" she shouted the order to the nearby commander of the platoons and he nodded, shouting it at an even louder volume. Verse made it to the front of the Imperial troops and could better see the fear on the rebels face as she pushed forward with her blades. Switching from defense to offense, she abruptly stopped spinning both her blades- bringing the right one in an overhand grip and slicing outwards toward her right, separating torso and legs of one rebel. He died silently. With her left saber also held in an overhand grip and pointing in front of her, she stretched out her right hand in front of her, calling a nearby rebel towards her with the Force, her left saber impaling his chest. She yanked out her saber and he fell to the ground in front of her in a heap.

She paused for a brief second to take a breath, and she took in the Imperial troopers around her shooting more rebels than the rebels were shooting troopers. She turned her head slightly to see what Drane was doing.

@Die Shize

 

[Drane T'keen]

Spoiler: Music OOC

…Wrong answer…

A Sith swept a gaze.
His eyes penetrate.
Into another man’s.
As if sealing his fate.

Drane T’keen!
A name indeed.
Don’t die with
A clean sword!
O but of course!

A Sith has a sword!
One plus one more!
Rebels open a door!
To soon hit the floor!

“For the Resistance!”
FOR THE EMPIRE.
His scream is higher.
Into Verse—a fighter.
Blasters—open fire!

“Hold ranks!”
A Sith is dressed in white.
A Sith is dressed in black.
They have come to fight!
One of night!
One so bright!
Foes will die!
Blade of mine!

But a Sith has two!
Yes—other Sith too!
Enemies—like food!
Blades are tongues!
Day is already won!
Swords sing a tune!

Two Champions.
Four lightsabers.
Red blurs are spinning.
Twirl of him, twirl of her.

And the Sith—are dancing!
Blaster bolts fly back again!
Into legs, heads and chests!
In battle, a Sith is at his best!

In unison beside a Champion.
Drane descends like the day.
Verse roughs up the ruffians.
Drane falls—upon his prey!

A hilt is in either man’s hand.
Black silver like streak of hair.
White Verse—Drane so black.
Blades hum and hearts thrum!

A man is a warrior!
A man is a dancer!
Left swing—lower!
Right swing higher!

Burn the funeral pyres!
Bleeding rebels—liars!
Blades burn—as fires!
On death—as the rider!

Drane, he lops off a head.
Blacken burn upon a neck.
Horizontal swing—no cling.
Moves on indeed—so clean.

A diagonal slash.
There's no clang.
Blocks an attack.
Aimed at his back.

A blaster flies from grip.
Fingers curl—fingertips.
The Force is with this Sith!
No clean sword—finish him!

And an enemy soars!
Into Sith, yes, toward!
And—just like before!
Impales—right sword!

Champion Tillo turns head.
After both Sith stab chests.
Corpses for the flies.
Eyes…into…eyes.

Troopers are quickly reducing
Enemies into basically nothing.
Champions, they are plunging
Weapons—swords—lunging.

Not over minutes but instead seconds.
A field, it would become a mass grave.
A man, a Sith, a warrior; blood reddens.
His name is Drane! He’s come to slay!

Next sentence is…kinda droll!
Off with his head, no dice roll!
Drane is himself a kind of blur.
Cutting—carving—toward her.

“Champion!”
Voice to Verse.
“Cast lightning!”
Like a universe!

From a Sith’s fingertips.
Force lightning can kiss.
From both Sith—tenfold.
Cackling at wailing souls!

Son of Red Sun and more!
Won’t die with clean sword!
Won’t fall here to in turn rot.
Smiles as skulls zap 'n' pop.

@Reylo4evr

 

[Verse Tillo]

It was an interesting sight- two Sith so different in appearance swinging red sabers and moving in a sort of twisted dance only they knew the moves to. In the brief moment Verse paused, she saw Drane continue cutting down rebels. Without looking, Verse stabbed her saber backwards, impaling another rebel who thought he would be clever and sneak up on her from behind. Drane shouted to her and a brief flicker of doubt entered her. If they both used lightning, they would be drained. It took a lot of strength to create Force Storm, and while the two Champions were stronger together, Verse knew they would be vulnerable if the lightning did not take out everyone that could be a threat.

Verse did not respond but rather chose to save her energy, and focus on what she did best- manipulation. She stuck out her sabers in front of her and swung them quickly to the sides so her arms were extended like wings, using the Force to create a massive push that shoved the rebels in front of them backwards. In their shocked, vulnerable state, it was easy to take control of their minds. Slowly lowering her sabers so the tips were inches from the ground, she gave orders as an unnatural silence fell over the bloody battlefield. "Set down your weapons." The rebels did so. "Kneel in a line facing me." The rebels got to their feet only to drop down to their knees in a line like instructed. One rebel seemed to be struggling- he was shaking as if pulling against Verse's control over her mind. Verse walked over to him, and bent her knees, squatting until she was eye-level with the man. It was the same man who had shouted first, and so she turned off the saber in her right hand, replaced it on her hilt, drew a blaster, and shot him in the forehead. He fell over instantly.

Verse turned to face Drane. "They're all yours," she said coldly.

@Die Shize

 

[Drane T'keen]

Spoiler: Music OOC

It was an interesting sight.
Bright red burning firelight.
Two Sith, they lived for this.
They fought so as to fight.
But not a pointless rhyme.
Means their job is their life.
A SITH IS OF THE NIGHT.

It needn’t be Force Storm.
Need not be that chorus.
That’s exaggerated form.
Need not take all corpses.

A Sith simply wished to
Kiss with his fingertips.
Twin lightning for a bit.
Not as in for minutes.
Few seconds at best.
Enough to pop heads.
Thin herd, then the rest.
And for no other reason than
Because he was a violent man.

A Sith lives for this!
For that carnage!
Combat is his!
Slayer’s gift!
Slaughter!
BURN!

Drane cast lightning alone.
Was fine with that though.
They had their troopers.
Also their lightsabers.

A few seconds to cast
Lightning was nothing.
Sith isn’t defenseless.
His blade’s still up yet.

And they fry.
By the light.
They die…
Goodbye.

And they fly.
So ends the fight.
Verse had no more time.
Was having fun but all right.
Their foes—have feeble minds.

The Force push herded them.
Into a row and a column of heads.
Their grave beneath them—its guests.
A Sith is of the Red Sun—his blood so red.

“Set down your weapons.”
Slayer moves up, steps in.
“Kneel in a line facing me.”
Two swords—they bleed.
Pulsing red—a heartbeat.

Champion Verse.
Blaster’s curse.
Body on a floor.
“They’re all yours.”

Drane T’keen stands before the line.
To the right of Tillo, stands at her side.
Yet it’s men, women who have his gaze.
Name is Drane and he has come to slay.

No violet in his eyes…
There will be violence.

Music has the drum.
Terror heart’s thrum.
Blood—in a fountain.
Sith—The Mountain!

“Who speaks for you?”
Eyes blink—are blue.
“I do.” Almost violet.
I choose violence.

A Sith—hands on hips.
Hilts—hang by them.
Hearts. And heads.
Finger tap by wrist.

“Stand up then.”
He still kneels.
No mere fear.

Drane doesn’t feed on pain.
Drane doesn’t feed on rage.
Drane doesn’t feed on hate.

This Sith…he feeds on fear…
To him it’s like drinking tears.

He curls fingers as if he beckons.
A puppy to stand up, he reckons.
The other man has no choice.
Stands up—can cast no voice.

“Good boy.”
A…toy…

“Step back.”
Like a dance.
Cannot react.
Force—in fact.

“Stay.”
Slay.

The factory’s manager.
Was yet not its owner.
To Drane, maybe two.
There was the Empress.
And Dark Lord of the Sith.

A manager stands as
Those others still sit.

On their knees.
They will bleed.

“All of you are...traitors to the Empire.”
A voice is calm; no lower, no higher.
No smile or frown; has curved lips.
Not a flick; he gently lifts his wrist.
“Rebellion…cannot be forgiven…”
Their minds—in bind—bondage.

“You are all lost but I’ve found you.”
Their manager was not their boss.
Thought of rebelling, thought wrong.
“Sith—Punishment—found you too.”

A lightsaber hilt floats from his right.
Levitates as hearts quake—by thigh.
Floats forward, slowly, same direction.
A red blade—Red Sun—Sith reflection.

Yes, it ignites from hip in a snap-hiss!
Favored wording on this RP website.
Oh, I like it too, so no one ever mind.
Break a fourth wall cuz I like to write.

Hilt is horizontal from the ground.
It is silent but blade thrums sound.
Pulsates—hums—comes to a rest.
On their far left—nests—by a neck.

A Sith can feel a man’s terrified breath!
He spreads his lips slowly, breeze blowing.
Tickles his hair, heartbeat conversely slowing.
Drane T’keen! Black Swordsman! Their death!

And a scarlet blade slowly bites into a neck.
And a man screams, burning, above a chest.
The beam of red sunlight separates that head.
From the neck, slides to right, a gift for the rest.

Moments before was a line of kneeling rebels.
Now so sprawled, slumped; scattered pebbles.
That hilt, it’s back above thigh, arms are crossed.
Black gold eyes—quite satisfied—sheen—glossed.

“To end an insurrection before it begins.”
Stares at that manager—this here Sith.
“You must cut off the head of the snake.”
Other man listens at his heart’s quake.

“Their deaths are upon you.
Also…their heads are too.”

Oh...same as in my other post, friendo...
This veers verbose but shorter next post.

@Reylo4evr

 

[Verse Tillo]

Verse did not move as Drane moved beside her- one might have thought her an ice statue. She did not bat an eyelash as he executed the rebels in one clean sweep from a blistering red saber. The leader stood behind the bodies separated from their heads, fear wafting off of him even as his expression remained mostly vacant. Verse released him from her control over his mind and his face immediately went slack, his eyes widening with fear to match the emotions radiating off of him. If Drane hadn't been forcing him to stand he likely would have collapsed and passed out. But here he was, his eyes flitting back and forth between the two Champions.

"We must make sure you learn your lesson," Verse said after Drane had finished speaking. She did not glance over her shoulder to give the watching Imperial troops an order. "Scout the area, make sure all threats are eliminated. No quarter," she said. As the words left her mouth, she made sure to keep eye contact with the leader. "What is your name, rebel?" she said softly.

"Tyron Marc," he replied, his voice strange. Verse had not had to use much mental manipulation- he was already so scared out of his mind he would do anything to end this horrid situation he was living. His eyes flickered down to the bodies of his comrades and and then squeezed them shut and vomited; since he could not bend over, it splattered down his front. Verse did not even blink, even as his sick stunk.

"Open your eyes, Tyron," she said softly. "You are coming with us. Death would be a gift for you now so we must let these events stew in your conscience,"

@Die Shize

 

[Drane T'keen]

Spoiler: Music OOC

A Sith—speaks of lessons.
A Sith’s name, it is Verse.
She’s got ample curves.
Reading Drane’s words.

Drane had searched far and long.
Of the battle, a warrior has sought.
Thyrsian. On home: the Red Warrior.
Champion. 'Joiner' of the Sith Order!

He did not stand alone.
Beside him—Champion.
Tillo—throne—companion?
Not really this Sith’s ambition.

A man stands with his arms crossed.
Listens as troopers go on, move along.
Commanded by their woman—superior.
To weed out inferiors, no mercy—quarter.

Tyron Marc.
Name of a man so marked.
Hm, I must’ve missed the mark.
He looked more like 'Chickenkark'.

Queue a Tyrion—Tyron—spewing.
Vomit—blue food—rather disgusting.
A man is far too elegant for such a sight.
Decapitation is one thing—not quite puking.

But a man is not listening!
Not Kayden or Drane again!
Tyron Marc! Crippled in heart!
Closes eyes—now he is crying!

Ew. ‘Stew’ in your conscience?
No better word beside ‘puke’.

“Believe the lady said open your eyes.”
Fingertips—delicate—no wrist-flick.
Tyron Marc’s eyes open so wide!
Streaming tears—lids fluttering!

Drane T’keen tilts his head.
Signals to two of his men.
“No, no, wait a second.”
Points between them.

“We’re not taking him with us.”
Sith beside Sith—he shrugs.
“I mean—not in his condition.”
Smelled of sick, really stunk.

“Hose him down first.”
The Sith has his thirst.
No longer so hungry.
“Yes. Also the knees.”

Turns to Sith Tillo Verse.
"Could go for a drink..."

His heart…BURNS BRIGHT.
But don’t read into the write.
Not too much—just a rhyme.
Characters: WRITER’S EYES.

…A song…
Strings.
Organs.
Chants.
Synthesizers.
Burns brighter!
…No gong…

NOT A MAZE.
HE’S DRANE.

BORN TO FIGHT
“LORD OF LIGHT”

And unless there is more to this thread.
Drane T’keen prepares to take his leave.

/EXIT ATTEMPT?

Game for whatever.

@Reylo4evr

 

[Verse Tillo]

Verse said nothing as two troopers pulled out a hose attached to the ship, spraying the leader who was dead inside- Verse could see it in his eyes. She turned around and moved to reboard the transport, briefly glancing at Drane when he offered drinks. "Why not," she replied.

This mission would look good on the report, and hopefully not only benefit the two champions, but the troopers too.

/END THREAD

@Die Shize