RPlog:Simon Meets Cort

Simon

Before you is a young human male of average height and narrow build. His hair is a deep brown, parted and cut short. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-grey give the man a stern look at a glance. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware.

At a glance, the man before you looks to be in good health. Scrutiny directed toward his right hand, however, tells a different story. While his thumb, index, and middle fingers appear to be intact and functional, the ring and little fingers of his right hand appear to be missing. Two fleshy stubs protrude from where fingers should be. The skin there is pink and tender looking, as if newly grown. Simon is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures.

Currently, Simon's attire is soiled. Blaster burns darken areas along his legs, with blackened holes exposing pink, scorched flesh beneath. Another sizeable burn-hole covers his left shoulder, with the material missing in a large, circular area. The wound beneath looks clean, yet angry and red. Patches all over his clothes are dirty or darkened from dampness. Whether the moisture is blood or water, it's difficult to say.

Mira

What can be seen of this woman under the large, grubby cloak that she wears isn't a whole lot. One might be able to tell that she is small and wiry, almost painfully thin. The bottom of the cloak drags on the ground, and looks frayed, as if it has been trod upon often. The hood of the dirty, dusty cloak that she wears manages to throw a shadow over most of her face, leaving it mostly obscured. A clump or two of frazzled, dark hair finds its way out of the cloak's hood to stick out at odd and unnatural angles away from her face.

Cort

A human male, in the between stages of adulthood and the teenage years. A good guess would put him around the ages of eighteen or nineteen standard years. His facial features are finely chiseled, high cheek bones dominating his face. His nose is thin and comes to a point, giving the young man a smug look. Sharp hazel eyes scour his surrounding and have a slightly unusual look to them. Strangely, they seem to be the eyes of someone much older than the boy. The kind of person who has seen and known much of this galaxy. Light blonde hair, almost white, cascades back to his shoulder blades. It is pulled into a tight pony tail at the back of his neck, allowing it to flow free behind his shoulders. He stands at an even six feet and his frame can be best described as average, not thin, but not overly muscular.

The boy does not appear to be the healthiest of specimens. His skin is extremely pale, almost deathly. Pink bags painfully rest beneath his eyes, making him look as if he hasn't slept in days or if he is the victim of some epidemic. The thin lips that surround his mouth have grown cracked and chapped, but with the look of him, it's probably not from the weather.

Currently, he is clad in flowing black robes which cover the majority of his body. A black belt is wrapped around his waist to prevent the robe from becoming too free. Black boots, shined with stunning perfection poke out from beneath the robes on occasion. His hands are also gloved, wrapped in shiny black leather which are woven so tightly it's like a second layer of skin.

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With the sound of blaster fire still echoing in Simon's ears, the young man continues to twist and wind through the darkened alleys and abandoned streets, almost at random. The oddness of leading Mira is only punctuated by her occasional grunts of protest as their progress moves toward odd areas and places Mira wouldn't have chosen herself. A smirk smears Simon's lips as he thinks about how Mira will likely blame him if they should run into further, real trouble this night. So they'd just have to avoid that.

With his throat burning from gulping down the cool night air, Simon turns one more corner and plants himself up against the cool surface of a brick building. Shadows cover his face and features, but his eyes gather up the light like an animal's as he turns them back in the direction they'd come. Several heartbeats pass, with him drawing in ragged breaths and concentrating on slowing his rapid heartbeat. Finally, he turns back to Mira and says, "I think we might have lost them."

Combing through the darkness, Cort practically disappears in the blackness of these city streets. The two weren't all that difficult to track for the apprentice. After touching upon Simon's mind, Cort was able to keep a good idea on the direction he and the woman had headed off in. What disturbed him the most was the fact that they seemed to be heading towards the embassies on Caspar, which could propose a slight problem for the man. But meeting this Jedi or whatever Simon wants to call himself should prove interesting for the Dark Jedi.

Though, as the streets begin to clear, Cort walks some thirty feet behind the two briskly. He doesn't bother to disguise his footsteps anymore, as they begin to echo hollowly through the street. His shadowed eyes look forth towards them, the darkness and his hood obscuring his sickly facial features. He turns his right wrist slightly, loosening the leather wrist cuff which cunningly holds one of his dual blades. It slides silently into his hand, allowing him more than enough time to prepare for what might come.

Mira pauses, tilting her head to one side and listening to the darkness surrounding them. But it was not only darkness in that alleyway. The noise of Cort's echoing footsteps also fill the air. "Maybe we lost them. But someone is still out there," she hisses. She turns around to peer behind her, only to see the dimly lit alleyway, empty, save for the garbage and boxes that commonly fill such alleyways. The first person Mira suspects is that old man who she had met her first night on the planet. The old man whose house she had stolen. He had seen her walk by in the alley and was out for revenge. But then again...maybe not.

Someone still out there... Simon could think of only one possibility, and that being the one that had violated his mind by a connection through the True Source. The one that had picked up that woman and created the distraction for them. The one that had claimed to be helping them. In his heart, he knew it wasn't the Jedi Luke Skywalker, and he knew it wasn't Ethan. He also knew it wasn't the Hunter, for picking up the girl simply didn't seem to be her style. Perhaps another student? Perhaps something else?

Whatever it was, Simon felt tired of running and hiding from it. Unclasping his own weapon from his belt, he looks down at his right hand and shakes his head. The fingers he'd lost to the Nek were beginning to grow back already, but he was still not whole. This was not a good night to dance the blades.

"Mira," he says begins solemnly, "You may need to run on to the New Republic Embassy without me shortly. I have a feeling that something bad is about to happen."

The man in the darkness stops momentarily, looking silently at the two before reaching his gloved left hand up to his hood, pulling it back around his shoulders. In the pale light of the moon, Cort looks even more pale than normal, almost ghost like. His sunken eyes and cheeks give even more validity to his corpse-like appearance. Only a few months ago, he had looked rather normal for his age, save for his exotic features. But, his studies and practice of Sith lore had begun to take it's toll upon the youth, even more so than the others. Perhaps it was due to more intense training or more pent up emotions. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was born over sixty years ago. One could never be certain.

"I've been looking for you," the man in black says out loud in a raspy, strangely accented voice, as he once again begins to walk forward. In the moonlight, one could see the weapon clutched in his slender fingers. "But, I believe we've already met, in a way." His eyes look towards Mira, then back towards the other, but it is clear that he is addressing Simon.

"But Sim-oon," Mira whines. "I'm ti-red of run-ning." It seemed that all she had done since getting to this planet was run. First they ran from the Imperial Embassy. Then they ran from the military. Then there was a brief hiatus from running which was spent in a very fishy smelling place. And since leaving the warehouse, they had been running again. And her legs were tired. "I'll just st--," Her protests are interrupted, however, by Cort's raspy voice breaking the silence. Suddenly, running doesn't strike her as _that_ bad of an option. This definitely wasn't the man from the alley. It was someone else. Her eyes seek out his shape in the darkness, finally settling on a shadowy outline that she figures must be the man speaking to them.

"Maybe he wants to help us?" Mira hisses quietly to Simon, scurrying behind a cardboard box not far away from Simon and peeking her head out to peer at they mysteriuos man who had followed them.

The voice was different than what he'd heard in his mind, but it was the same as well. Before, the voice had been clear and precise. By comparison, the voice with which he now addresses Simon and Mira in the flesh is hindered by the physical manifistations of the corruption of Cort's spirit. From what Simon had seen, he believed that the Jedi were corrupt at their core. The man before him, however, made Simon feel that he was looking at corruption made into flesh. A shiver of revulsion goes through Simon as his eyes fix upon the sunken orbs of Cort.

"If he wants to help us with anything, it is to meet the True Source," Simon says quietly, turning his head slightly in Mira's direction as he addresses her. The accoustics provided by the surrounding buildings is tricky, however, and Simon frowns as his voice carries further than he'd wanted. Clearing his throat, he continues, addressing the dark figure this time. "Who are you? What do you want with us?" As Simon's slurred, alien accented words go out, he shifts on his feet, placing his unignited lightstaff in front of him. Not an aggressive manuever, per se. A simple preparation.

A slight smile traces upon Cort's thin lips. Just who was he anyway? Etrigan? Cort? Sometimes he isn't to sure of it himself. His eyes look down towards the saber that Simon had produced in front of him. "A most interesting piece of work," he replies, ignoring the original question for now. "It makes me wonder whom had taught you how to not only wield, but build, a weapon such as that." A wave of cold energy twists throughout the area as Cort's mind sweeps through. To those attuned with the Force, it seems as if this energy is meant to look for something or someone. But whatever the Dark Jedi is looking for, is left unsaid. "Names hold little meaning to me, but I think it's obvious what we both are. What I think a better question would be, is where do your allegiances lay?" For a moment, he allows his words to settle, before sighing and continuing the thought. "...And please don't tell me it's Skywalker. That would upset me in ways you would not believe."

Mira continues to peer from around the corner of the box towards the shadowy figure she thinks is the man following them. And then he speaks. Oh, she wasn't looking at the proper place. She was looking at somoene's laundry hanging out to dry. Again her eyes flick around until they find him. Oh. There he was. She couldn't decide if she felt slightly better knowing that the man hadn't spoken to her directly yet, or if she was highly outraged that he was ignoring her presence. She ducks down to scruffle around (quietly) by the box, looking for something suitable to get his attention with, should she decide she were, indeed, outraged. But as she ducks down, she finds that the box is occupied by some sleeping street person, causing her to let out a quiet chirp of surprise and scamper across the alley behind Simon to the other side, where she finds a few (unoccupied) garbage cans to duck behind.

The searching wave of energy from this man directing the flows of the True Source is not lost on Simon. Another shudder passes through him, and as Mira moves to a closer vantage point behind him, he tears his eyes from Cort long enough to glance at Mira. If he could give her a reassuring look, he would. However, he's having difficulty reassuring himself.

Then Cort's words reach home, and for the first time, Simon begins to question whether or not he'd misjudged the Jedi Luke Skywalker. He saw the Jedi's embrace of technology as a weakness and a corruption of his body and spirit. This man's corruption made Luke Skywalker seem as pure as new fallen rain in the jungle. Could he have been wrong?

No. The Jedi were misguided, and this fellow was simply more so. He clears his throat then, so that his words are clear when he speaks. "My honor goes with Mira and Markus Lisardis. No other, stranger."

One of Cort's slender brows raise questionably. Markus Lisardis... his mind echoes with Simon's words. The man who had been brought in with that New Republic person that he had met briefly. He really didn't know their story. Didn't really care to, either. However, this makes the two in front of him guilty by association.

As the waves of emotion ripple through the Force around him, Cort senses the man's self-doubt. It's not surprising. Even he himself had felt the teachings of Skywalker were a bit archaic at times. Cort is a believer in the true power of the Force. The raw power of it, not the controlled, little, carnival ride version of it.

"I sense that you have many questions of the power which rests inside of you... waiting to be brought to their full potential," the dark apprentice says. "I can help you learn how to tap upon the true nature of the Force. All I ask is that you come with me. I'm sure my Master would be thrilled to meet someone like you."

Upon hearing her name, Mira peeks out from behind the garbage cans, narrowing her eyes towards the shadowy stranger down the alley. He didn't seem to be much of a threat. Or not yet anyway. At least he didn't have a blaster leveled at her head. She was growing rather tired of having blasters pointed at her. So this, while not pleasant, was at least refreshing. But as the conversation again drifts away from her, she pulls her head back behind the trash cans, content to just listen.

Hey now, what was this? His master? Was she invited? He didn't say she was invited. But something in her told her that she didn't really care to meet his master. So maybe it was better that way. But she didn't really care to be marooned on this planet either. She would have to track down that fellow with the hovercar who had helped her before. Perhaps he would be able to help. But she was getting ahead of herself. Simon hadn't left yet.

Questions? About the True Source? At the forefront of Simon's mind, the only question he can think of is how dangerous it would be to actually have to deal with a straight-up confrontation with this man. There were hunters on Telgosse that would seek honor in slaying the big game by themselves. As Simon gives Cort another assessing look, he's reminded of tales of men going out to face the great beasts with their spears. And the tales of so many dying.

But Mira... "If I refuse to go with you, stranger? Is it a dance of the blades that you seek?" Simon tightens and loosens his grip on the shaft of his lightstaff slowly, consideringly. He was going to have to fight this man, to keep Mira safe. Of that, he was growing more and more certain. And, as weathered as the man before him appeared to be, he was sure he was going to lose.

Cort is silent for a few moments, appearing to be deep in thought. However, after a brief moment, he appears to have come to some sort of conclusion. "I, of course, must maintain the integrity of my Order, should you decide you are above it." He seems to emphasize on the word 'my,' as if his Master did not exist or had any baring on this conversation at all. His eyes look towards the woman hiding away, a crooked smile forming upon his dry lips. "You're girlfriend or whoever that is can come with us too, if you want. It's your choice, friend." The sunken orbs then return to Simon, his grip upon his own saber tightening, as his thumb finds itself resting upon the activation switch.

"I'm not his girlfriend!" Mira protests indignantly from behind the trashcan befor clapping her hand over her mouth, realizing that she probably shouldn't be interfering in this. She should probably be quiet. When one was hiding behind a pile of trash cans in a dark alley in the middle of the night, one shoudl not worry who was calling her someone's girlfriend. Or whatever was said about her. But somewhere in the back of her head, she was glad that she was being allowed to come along, should Simon decide to go.

Simon doesn't give any thought toward Mira and their relationship. He applied the term of endearment 'Little Sister' toward her for practical reasons. He doesn't even glance over his shoulder as Mira herself makes her protests. Too much is at stake to be distracted by the banter.

"If I go with you, Mira walks away from here unharmed," Simon says. His voice is colder, more harsh than he'd intended, and there is little in the way of questioning in the application of his words. His own finger lingers near the center activation switch on his weapon, thoughtlessly mirroring Cort's movement. It's not anticipation that motivates him, however. It's dread, and a firm holding toward what he perceives as his duty. Idly, he thinks to himself that Markus Lisardis would do no less.

The smile upon Cort's face abruptly disappears when Simon starts issuing demands. He isn't a fan of people telling him what to do or undermining his authority. For one, who is this learner to be telling him how things work? And secondly, why is he so interested in the woman's well being? He didn't strike him as the honorable type when he took that woman hostage just a few short hours ago. Pressing the switch on his lightsaber, the ruby blade snaps into existence, nearly biting the stone street at the dark Jedi's feet. The man's tone only serves to infuriate him, reminding him of another Jedi he once knew. One he believes to be dead.

"You are in no position to make deals with me," he practically growls. "I admire your determination though. You remind me of the last Jedi I killed..." He begins to walk towards Simon and a slow pace. "Perhaps you've met him? He was a pretty popular fellow. Ethan something or other was his name. Owned that little cruise liner or whatever you want to call it." The hum of his blade burns through the nights air, as he brings it up to a fighting position. "Perhaps you'll reconsider when you know the true power of the Force?" he says confidently, a slight chuckle accompanying his voice.

Well, this was just too much excitement for Mira and she finds herself lacking the self control to continue to sit quietly behind the trashcans, which by the way, were rather smelly. They seemed to belong to a food establishment of some sort. "Ethan?" she shrills, sticking her head out from behind the bins. "You killed Ethan?!" Without even thinking about what, exactly, was making that smell, her hands drop into one of the trash cans and grabs something soft and slimy, hurling it across the alley at him. The food lands far short of Cort's position, as her throwing skills were not as good as her running skills, but it did make a rather satisfying splattering noise upon hitting the ground. She dips into the trash bin a few more times, each time returning with a new bit of trash, which is thrown promptly at Cort.

There was no doubt that the man was speaking of Ethan Katana, the student of the Jedi Luke Skywalker, the man that was moving steadily towards spiritual corruption even as he corrupted creatures of nature like the Nek Battledog. Simon's right hand flexes with the memory of trying to free a Nek from its technological captivity. The pink stubs his newly grown fingers were not yet a good replacement for the fingers he'd lost in that endeavor. When Simon had first run into Ethan, the man had been blind and incomplete. As Cort begins to move closer, he is suddenly certain that he knows why.

More moves through Simon's mind, though. He didn't like the idea that he should remind anyone of Ethan Katana. The man had shown him kindness, but he was still blind in ways beyond the physical, and still treading a path toward a destruction beyond death.

As Mira reacts in her own way, Simon depresses the switch on his weapon. Twin green blades of light extend out from the cylinder, burning the night away and creating crossing, emerald shadows on Simon's countenance. Spreading his feet to shoulder width apart, he rests his weight on the balls of his feet, and prepares himself for the most dangerous of dances.

"Mira! Run! Now!" His voice cries out, echoing from wall to wall. The echo fades, and the buzzing hum of the light weapons becomes the prominent sound, punctuated by the moist splatterings of Mira's volleys.

Yes Mira. Run. Run as fast as you can, Cort finds his own mind echoing. The down pour of garbage that is being hurled towards him lands around his feet and around him, none quite touching the apprentice completely. His left hand slips down, pointing towards the ground, as his wrist twists in a peculiar manner. A second saber pops into his other hand, it's red blade coming into existence only a split second later. "Well now..." he says onto Simon. "Let's see what you got."

Immediately afterwards, Cort springs forth, his twin blades filling the air, as they scream forth towards Simon. Around him, the Force ripples and twists into his own hateful flow of emotions, as the apprentices lapses into his combative trance of anger. This is the only place Cort truly feels at home.

With it's general spooky facade, a black hovercar careens around the corner into the alley, three of her doors flying open instantly. Three men follow suit, one screaming down the dark confines of the area, "Mira! In the car! Now! MooooOOOOooove!" Blasters are drawn upon the pair of glowstick-wielding nuts, the other two of the men moving forward cautiously, away from the car. The blasters are sheathed by the pair, before each pulls out a more unique weapon. One, pulls out a vibro-axe. The other, a double vibro-blade. Neither make any attempt at attacking either of the combatants, waiting solemnly, the soft whirr of their own weapons signifying their activation. "Mira, come on. We have to get you out of here. Simon will be safe." The first offers, his own blaster continuing to be kept on the two combatants.

Run. There was that word again. Simon had so sufficiently wound his way through the back alleys that Mira really had very little idea where they were. She only hoped that he had managed to correctly lead them towards the Embassy square. If not, she was going to have to have a word with him later. If there was a later. Foresaking her garbage throwing, the girl hesitates for just a moment. And, in that moment, pulls up the appropriately anonymous hovercar, spilling men ready to fight and calling her name. Why, she knew that hovercar! It was the same one (or one much like it) that had rescued her from the alleyway a week ago. Her hesitiation over, she darts for the open door and disappears inside.

Simon had been prepared to deal with one lightsaber, as much as one can prepare for such combat. In the manner that he'd been taught, he reaches into himself to the center of his being, drawing upon calmness and confidence, focusing it toward his connection to the True Source. The power floods into him, and his hands begin to move by a guidance that is both his and not his. Training as a Selas Brother meets training as a Telgosse warrior, and the lightstaff takes on a life of its own.

The addition of the second red blade creates a ripple of surprise along Simon's consciousness, but both green ends meet red as Simon steps back, giving ground. The twin stroke is met by a double fisted block of the staff, creating sparks of energy as staff meets twin sabers. A cross stroke is met similar as Simon's hands twirl the staff in front of him. No chance is given to Simon to counter attack, and more ground is lost.

The arrival of the New Republic hovercar is not lost on Simon, but he gives it little thought as he tries to hold his own against the onslaught of crimson blades brought on by Cort. The feeling of Mira moving away and toward safety gives him some confidence and satsifaction. She would, at least, make it away alive, as he'd hoped. As he takes another step back, barely getting out of the way of another of Cort's viscious attacks, he wonders morbildy, how would he fair?