Log:Arachnophobia on Dathomir
Asiir visits Dathomir
Location: Dathomir
Participants: Asiir Cuul, Rheisa Dirleel - As GM
LOCATION
Abandoned outpost, Dathomir.
A deep sense of foreboding might come over any pilot who guides their ship into this conspicuous forest clearing. Crumbling ferrocrete, faded paint, and a rusting control shack are all thats left of what may have once been a bustling trade post. A weak, blue light pulses faithfully on from the shack, beckoning travellers in from the dark.
Where the tarmac ends, a wall of dense, towering trees begins. They are ancient things, survivors of countless wars between clans and the outside world. Even when bowed and bent with age, some of them rival small skyscrapers in height. Many are choked heavily by twisting vines - species grappling for a chance at the sun - but their roots go deep, tapping into that ageless energy of lore. Those same parasitic vines have encroached on the eroding landing strip. Tendrils burrow through weathered cracks and sink their claws into any remaining infrastructure - of which there isn't much.
SCENE SET
A deep sense of foreboding might come over any pilot who guides their ship into this conspicuous forest clearing. Crumbling ferrocrete, faded paint, and a rusting control shack are all thats left of what may have once been a bustling trade post. A weak, blue light pulses faithfully on from the shack, beckoning travellers in from the dark.
But the dark is everywhere.
Where the tarmac ends, a wall of dense, towering trees begins. They are ancient things, survivors of countless wars between clans and the outside world. Even when bowed and bent with age, some of them rival small skyscrapers in height. And yet, here in this land of giants, there are small things quietly stirring within their own hidden realm masked by shadow. The silent tiptoes of an ant as it braves the march along the ground, voiceless joy erupting from the soil in the form of green buds...an understated symphony. Sighing between all of it, breathed by the shyest of breezes, are whispers.
A single step outside the ship is all one needs to feel immersed in the primeval force that radiates from every leaf, seeps from every pore, swims within every innocuous drop of dew clinging to the vines that creep from the surrounding forest. For some, the sensation is merely imagined, summoned from remembered rumors of the things - and people - which haunt this place. For others, it is very real and touches far beneath wary hackles. Caressed by elements unseen. This tarmac seems to be the final scrap of civilization, far as the eye can see, and even it is slowly succumbing to hungry tendrils of the naturally supernatural world.
It had been several months since Asiir Cuul had landed upon Dathomir.... crash landed, the first could be more accurately described as. Many things have changed in that length of time, including the parting of ways between Asiir and his sisters, along with the Ebon Hawk. As Asiir's ship slips lower through the atmosphere and finally down to cruise just over the tops of those foreboding trees, he is piloting a ship perhaps steeped in as much of the dark side as the planet itself. The Infiltrator, once having belonged to Emperor Palpatine and Darth Maul, casts a scarlet glow on the Cathar as he brings the ship in to a slow halt above the tarmac of the abandoned outpost and then gradually descends to a landing. Asiir's eyes search the forest alertly, inhaling deeply as he reaches forward with his senses to attempt and feel through the force what might be out waiting in the wood beyond.
"There are many things, waiting in the forest beyond," old Nazri bows her head from its steeple-fingered stoop to leer more grotesquely into the soft, pale face of her great granddaughter. "Many more beyond that. But..." aged bones creak as the crone descends from her stool to join the young child upon the bolma rug. Gnarled fingers extract the youngling's hand from her mouth. "With time and diligence, even /you/ will master them all."
There is much life indeed to be sensed by the docking Cathar. It is everywhere. As the sun begins its descent o'er the horizon, an inumerable horde of insects are coming to life to sing the cadence of Dathomirian lullaby. Throaty croaks bellow from the depths of the trees, sources unseen, and somewhere out there, there is another creature shrieking its nocturnal hymn to the dying sun. Darkness comes early to the forest floor, and Asiir will soon find his visual range of what lies in wait beyond the treeline blotted out by the canopy. No monsters come swooping in to claim his ship as prize, however. Not yet.
Asiir reaches out to press a few controls that begin powering the ship down, as well as engaging the security features of the ship. Reaching down beside the pilot chair, the Cathar lifts a canvas backpack and slips it over his shoudlers before rising and moving through the ship and then down the just lowered boarding ramp. A few keystrokes on his wrist computer sends the boarding ramp sliding back inside of the ship and the hatch closing before Asiir tightens the straps of his pack and turns to look at the outpost itself. After a moment's consideration, he begins heading in that direction.
"Grandmother," chides a low contralto from the stirring flap of tent. Bright, violet eyes glare impatiently through feathered braids as the young warrior leans in. "You are late to Clan Mother's call." With pike in hand, it almost looks as though Gezel has been sent to drag the old shaman out by force.
"Mm," Nazri grunts, smacking gums together in disproval at the young warrior's impatience. "I'm listening," she murmurs and reaches a shaky hand upward to feel the breeze sputtering her hearth. White, clouded eyes turn to regard Gezel blankly while her other hand relinquishes hold on the little girl, whom Gezel swiftly collects. "Do you not hear what they say?" She rasps. One long finger straightens out to point due north.
Blip - Blip - Blip - The little blue light is still flashing, though the strength of its light grows more dim by the day, week, month, year...if Asiir chooses to investigate the little shack, he'll find no body at the controls. Instead, he'll find a warty vine infiltrating the control panel. It's entered through a split in the circuit box and has infected the entire thing with sticky, greedy tendrils, which has also long-since become a highway for ants, it'd seem. This vine has grown ravenously, sprouting the farthest of all the epiphytes to creep along tarmac ground. Presumably, it is the oldest, and leads southward into the dense underbrush.
One of the breaks between light blips brings with it a swift pass of shadow more great than the other moments. On the tarmac, not a creature is stirring and even the ambient nightsounds seem to have quieted a degree. Then, somewhere overhead, there's a very soft FWOOP of leathery wings.
The control officer's chair has seen better days. The moldering fabric has been violently torn with a few, long gashes. No surprise that some of the stuffing's been pulled out and strewn around by nest-seeking creatures at one time or another. What's more note worthy though are the stains spattered over said chair, the floor, the control panel. Not the mildew, the rust, but something darker. Grim. Grisly. Blood?
Asiir does step inside of the guard shack, amber eyes flickering over the control panel and its blipping light curiously before he follows the concentration of vine disappearing out into the forest. Returning his gaze to the chair and the splattering of blood on the floor and control panel, the Cathar shakes his head slowly in confusion. Perhaps it is the blipping light, or his concentration centered upon the vine, or even the possibility that the owner of those leathery wings has some natural Force attunement that causes it to fade from his otherwise always active life detection abilities, but as the light blips off and that gentle fwoop of wings reaches feline ears, Asiir is quick to bring a hand to his blaster and jerk the weapon from the holster at his hip. He crouches, lowering himself toward the ground and quickly backtracking to the exit to attempt and peer around the door facing to what is outside.
A long shadow swoops before arcing up and out of sight again. A wave shudders through the air as heavy wings beat a final time before that shadow banks to place the shack between itself and the sunset. "Rrrrrauk!" The warbling call is quite loud at this range and the only warning given before the creature - a Saurian Flier - dives...dives...dives. Taloned feet the size of cargo loader 'hands' come bearing down at the furry face peeping out from the shack.
Asiir's eyes widen a touch as he sees the beast flying outside of the shack. As the thing turns and swoops down toward him, Asiir plunges his blaster out to pop off three quick shots at the diving beast before jerking back behind the cover of the doorframe. He growls under his breath as eyes flit left to right, looking for anything that might be used as cover or further weaponry against the monster.
An ear-piercing shriek cries out to the emerging stars his pain as Eldrohg the Swift - as the locals have come to call him - feels the sting of Asiir's challenge. The blaster bolt singes deeply between bone and membrane, cutting a sizeable hold through his left wing. Powdered 'crete is cast off by the scrape of a wing talon when he banks low, spiraling down to take this fight to ground. The weakened pad shivers beneath his forceful landing and the beast whips about to belt a series of bleating roars into his fleshy challenger's direction. The stalk forward is deliberate, swift, and old Eldrohg show his oats with a snap of jaws through the door.
Surrounded now by two more sisters, Shaman Nazri cradles a ring in her papery palm. Her eyes are creased with silent laughter, head craned back to watch the smoke filter out through the hole in roof and she nods with a mutter and smile before turning to say to no one "It is as I have told. Eldrohg, our dear, is soon to lose his throne."
There is a strangled roar from the wide open mouth of Asiir Cuul as the jaws of Eldrohg the Swift crash through the door and teeth dig deep furrows down Asiir's side from hip to knee. The force of the lung hurls the Cathar away from the door and atop the control panel where he sprawls, blood already soaking through the leg of his Wayward armor and weighing his cape down. Acting on instinct more than any real training, Asiir holds his hand up and reaches forward with his mind, glaring at the monster before him and trying his best to assert through the pain that he is no foe, but a friend.... and that Eldrohg should lie very still.
It's delicious, this foreign flesh. A forked, blue tongue threads between teeth to suck every remnant of blood and shreds of fibers as Eldrohg thumps his shoulder against the teetering shack and....stops. An odiferous mist blasts from the flier's nostrils and he sucks in one recovering breath after another. Fierce, red eyes regard Asiir for a long moment as if deciding whether or not to finish his meal. Something has this beastie confused, and such feelings aren't customary for this master of the skies, ruler of abandoned tarmac. The shack creeeaks as his neck stretches further so that the broad, snuffling muzzle may inspect the Cathar again. Gently. A low chuff of a sound shudders the space around them before he settles at last. And just stares.
Asiir lays where he is for a moment as Eldrohg extends his head and neck further into the shack, nostrils pressing against his body and sniffing at his quickly blood soaking armor. He forces his breathing to remain steady, forces his eyes to remain wide open as the dangerous animal presses against the tender wound at his hip. When Eldrohg lowers his head to the ground and stares, Asiir gingerly turns himself from where he lay on the terminal, gingerly placing his feet on the floor. Slowly his hand places the blaster pistol flat on the panel, while his left reaches into a hidden compartment made into his Wayward gear to pull forth the gleaming hilt of a lightsaber. His thumb depresses the power button, allowing the blinding emerald energy beam to blaze into life. Taking one last steadying breath, Asiir lunges all at once, raising the blade high above his head and then zipping the lightsaber vertically down to strike once, twice, thrice across Eldrohg's neck, just behind his skull.
A hiss of a different variety issues forth from greying lips as old Nazri closes her eyes and slips the ring over a finger. Her chant is soft, quiet, but with great power in this moment of mixed emotions. The other sisters have departed, returning to their Clan Mother, Nazri's sister to report what the old hag is spouting on about. When they next look in, Nazri is gone.
Eldrohg's reign is at an end. His thick skull falls, snapping to the floor while the mutilated neck lashes this way and that before the whole body collapses to join its head in the stillness of death. Already the ants are on the move, disturbed from their nest inside the control panel and swarming outward to snip and sting at anything that ought not be there. There's a chance some could sneak into gaps in the Cathar's armor, but most bites are /not/ a match for the armor. It won't be long now before things larger than ants scent the blood and come investigating the possibility of an easy meal. Welcome to Dathomir, Asiir. She's a bitch.
Asiir does not wait overly long in any case, using his lightsaber to arc down and slice a few of the razor sharp fangs from within Eldrohg's gaping maw before powering the saber off and grabbing up his blaster. Stooping to grab the few fangs, he tucks fast steps it out of the guard shack and into the open air. His direction is back toward his ship, rather than toward the open wood, clearly intending to clean and dress his wounds aboard the Infiltrator, as well as clean off his own blood before going any deeper into the forest.
The faint rustling of faraway ferns and groans of swaying branches picks up with a surging wind. The few wisps of clouds overhead begin to gather, guided by a gust that smells of rain, and pass a thick veil over the rising moonlight. The tarmac is cast into a momentary eclipse. Over the sound of nature's breath, there comes a whispery soft pitterpat. Just a quick scurry, then nothing more. Once again, the dawning moon shines through and air grows still. The heaviness, however, persists.
Asiir glances around, feeling the presence of life near him as he hurries as fast as his wounded hip and leg will allow. He is limping heavily on his right leg as he presses his lightsaber back into the hidden compartment in the chest plate of his Wayward Armor. Tightening his grip on his blaster, he points the weapon in the direction of the forest where he feels that pitterpat had come from, never stopping his approach toward the ship, but never dropping his guard, knowing the scent of blood is likely to draw Rancors or other terrible predators.
~~I am she...~~
It isn't the breeze whispering through the skeletons of outpost. Or is it? ~~I am she...if you are 'he'~~ The haunting words carry to his ears with a sense of intimacy, like a barely breathed secret.
A shadow moves beneath the Infiltrator - something spindly and bristly can be glimpsed ever so briefly as it tucks up and disappears. Whatever it is that's just crawled up the backside of his ship and is presumably creeping around the outer hull makes not a sound. Stealthy, pointed feet - eight of them, to be precise - circumnavigate the rounded T-shaped aft to crouch atop the spine of the courier. One by one, 10 glittering eyes of gold wink to life.
Asiir's eyes narrow as he sees that spindly legged creature climbing atop his ship. He holds his blaster up and directs the business end toward the.... whatever it is as his brow furrows in confusion at the words working their way into his mind. He is beginning to feel a little woozy from the lack of blood, but despite that the barrel of his blaster does not waver. "That is a very valuable and old ship..." he calls out through gritted teeth. "I will have to put you down like this thing back here if you start damaging my ship," he warns, gesturing with his thumb toward the dead body behind him.
Echoing laughter lilts between his ears. High atop her perch, the giant spider rubs her mandibles together.
~~We know...~~ One leg extends to stroke the hull affectionately before tucking up neatly with the others. It seems content up there, that big ass bug, and doesn't move so much as a spinnerette when he makes his threat.
~~You /are/ he~~
Asiir's eyes narrow further and he glances quickly behind him as if expecting some horrible beast to be descending upon him while his attention is on the big ass bug. "I am who?" he demands of the beast, still forcing himself to stay upright and not give in to the sleepy desire to lay on the ground and rest, at least not until he is able to get on that ship and put some bacta spray on his open wound. "Who do you think I am? This is my second time on this planet, so I would say you don't have much of a chance of knowing me."
~~Eldrohg's time was long overdue. My sisters have been angry for many years that he keeps fresh malelings at bay...devours them for himself...but I just did not have it within me to kill the old soul. I was there when he hatched, you see~~
Perhaps this spider is a little senile. It tiptoes closer, forward on the ship to peer over the tip at him. Inky black against a blackening sky. ~~I know what I feel~~ it asserts cryptically. ~~Do you?~~ One fuzzy foot after another reaches over the side then, stepping boldly down to his level. The eyes blink in a rippling wave and it scuttles aside a few paces, then waits, looking over its thorax at him like it's expecting him to follow.
In a haunted seeming wood on a planet steeped in the dark side, what is Asiir to do when a giant scary ass spider beckons him to follow it away from the safety of his ship and into far more dangerous territory? The Cathar wobbles on his feet, the blood now trickling into his boot and causing his sock clad foot to squelch when he rocks from foot to foot. He does step in the direction of the spider's trek, though he does not lower the blaster. Perhaps it is the draw of the Force that makes him feel as though maybe he has finally pulled the right thread to unravel the mysteries regarding the Sith holocron he had found months previously, the hunger for power that had started when the red glowing cube had first reacted to his touch and given him a taste of dark powers. In any case, Asiir's eyes lift to regard the spider-thing for a moment before he says, "Lead on, then... I'll keep my blaster out."
~~Oh, you won't be needing that old thing,~~ the spider takes a few steps to the south then pauses. The hindmost legs twiddle together at the pointed tip of her gargantuan bum and weave a scarf-like plait of silk. ~~It shan't do you any good~~
Four more legs pass the silk patch under her belly to front, where she takes it gently between gnashing mouthy bits and backsteps to flank him. Her back is almost even with his shoulder in height at this proximity until the front half stoops low, mandibles clacking at his leg. ~~Take~~ she commands, rather than do the bandaging herself. ~~And follow~~
