((This entire story thread was nudged and inspired by the Emotional Turmoil Open SL affecting the dueling ring wards.))
((Mood Tone for the Post: Most Epic Music Ever: Traitor?s Motif))
Honor. Valor. Deeds. Actions. Duty. Courage. Determination. Definitions of a soldier bound to oath and country in daily duties or during the call to arms.
The litany drifted through the mind of a lone figure clad in leather dueling armor standing in a quiet Annex, long closed for the night after the fair of duels had faded away. A single charred circle of leather was etched on her leather breast plate from a past experiment. The furred female with red hair had long ago remembered something about duties, valor and being a solider under oath fighting for a country that cared little for Valor or Honor but instead focused on complete domination of all nations. She had long thought those days were over, the memories burned to ash and buried under various new lives she?d made for her own self. Furred fingers rose and sent flakes of charred leather to scatter from the breast plate to settle on the floor of the Annex.
Ammy stared past the heavy ropes marking off a dueling ring in the Annex. The ring was nothing special; it was identical to its cousins in the dueling venue. A place to draw, gather and lock two bodies and two minds into one purpose; contestation of who was the better in armed combat, spell slinging or just brutal pummeling with one?s own naturally given body. Yet, the simplicity of the ring was in fact, a subtle lie when one was dueling with weapons or magic. Such fights occurred in rings with active spell wards, simple in design and intent; keep the bloody idiots from fatally killing each other so they can come back and hurt each other all over again. Simple right?
Ammy had thought the warding was simple; she?d dueled several times in the last few weeks and had little issues with the wards. She was thankful for that as she?d often had issues with magical or Psyonic things mucking with her mind and soul. However, the rings lately were no longer inviting, no longer simple and healing. She leaned upon those ropes and stared at the center of the ring. Her mind was a canvas tattered, nibbled upon and awash with many layers of paint; stains from four centuries of life in several different bodies and perhaps more that she?d forgotten lying under the canvas of reincarnations. That canvas had long been covered in a fine, linen sheet of motherhood, wrinkled by the care and time of raising children, watching grandchildren and smoothed out some more establishing peace in running her own shop, teaching at an academy or two and enjoying her large family. Yet, something simple, visceral and primal had ripped the sheet away for her mind to feast upon the reality of what she was. Raw, unbidden emotions had brought to her mind the stark reality that she was and always will be a weapon of war; a ticking time bomb that was a danger to all in her current state of mind and ill prepared readiness.
Ammy slid her arm into the ring just past the ropes. There it was the cold, gnawing jar of erratic energy that anchored into her fur and flesh. Talons of icy regret swirled up her arm and down her spine as if she had been dropped into a cold, dark well of emotions. Fear, apathy and raw, burning denial flared in her chest and head as something chanted, called out and sang through the corridors of her mind, scratching pallet knives through the paint of her minds canvas exposing the memories of the past once more.
Violent. Unsound. Murderer. Liar. Blood Soaked. Psychotic. Crazy. Killer. Coward. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
The words rang loud and hard in her mind, the silence of the Annex sharpened and she found herself clutching to the ropes of the ring and hanging from them for dear life. Her mind?s eye had lost sight of the Annex and found herself staring at coast line she saw every night, and she didn?t want to see what came next. She knew what she?d see. The first man she?d ever loved as a young woman, foolish, na?ve, yet filled with hope to love in the defiance of orders during a covert mission. His look of horror and betrayal, the blood covered knife in her hands, blood on her and the floor of the patio. His blood, everywhere, running off the tiles to dribble into the streets as her mind followed that red trail. A sea of faces, all smiling, all happy, flowed past her, people going about life in the various cities of Yaasmiir as her mind now pulled up for a bird?s eye view of the six million lives living on the continent. At the center of the land mass stood a woman with hair of red, the uniform of the Humaran Arcane Military Division, blood still smearing her human cheeks and hands. Green eyes stared at all of the people walking past her, unaware of the peril among them. They all screamed now. They screamed when she raised her voice and uttered the lethal words for the Yaasmiir Blast, a spell she vowed to take to her many graves. The screaming sounded like it would have drowned out the spell words but it was too late; a simple flash of ardent, gold light, like the flare of a light bulb blowing out, and then utter silence as her magic erased them from the continent of Yaasmiir in a single stroke of military efficiency.
Violent. Unsound. Murderer. Liar. Blood Soaked. Psychotic. Crazy. Killer. Coward. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
Ammy crumpled to the ground in a clatter of leather and clasps. She gave out muffled sobs trying to quiet the voices and the words. She was better than this. She was beyond this stain on her life. She?d repented over and over for the deaths and yet she couldn?t bat aside the emotions anymore, the cloying, choking self hatred she had, the driving self destruction that often dogged her no matter what life she had. No longer could she bury the vial thrill she once had for violence or turn her mind?s eye from the thirst she?d felt for sending many to their deaths in new and excruciating ways on the battlefield. The souls of the dead would no longer stay silent or in her nightmares. They tried to choke her down into submission as she lay on the floor of the Annex. In fear and desperation she swiped at the phantoms with her hands in vain hope of sending them back to her mind but it was no use. The sea of souls were free of their cages, freed by raw emotions and now rolled over her, driving at her mind and soul and moved her body to flee by fear driven reflex. She gained her feet but in her disoriented panic, she fled not out for the doors of the Annex but into the duel ring itself. The souls howled in glee as a sea of humanity finally had their prize where they could torment the vaunted Ammy Phoenix, Mage Weapon of the Humaran Army. The Annex rang with her screams and howls of pure terror, fear, and anger at what her life had become in her youth. Her nightmares took on a solid edge from the emotions now ripped from her mind and body.
The doors to the Annex opened and soon a gray robbed man entered with short, military cropped red hair now turning iron gray. Green eyes looked upon the Annex and it was easy to find the source of disturbance he felt in the Force. His padawan was sending out vibrant waves of emotional turmoil in the nexus and it was something he no longer could overlook. He stole further into the darkened interior of the Annex, not bothering to find the switches for lights. Ammy was an easy beacon for him to find and soon he found her in a dueling ring, where she knelt, screaming at the ceiling in some form of torment.
?Ammy. Ammy. Ammy! Padawan!? Ember Pallin shouted at the Lupinossai in the center of the dueling ring in the Annex.
The Gray Jedi seeing his student bereft of her senses to respond removed his gray robe and leaped into the ring with just his gray flight suit on. His light sabers swayed and jangled as he landed, the dim exit lights glinted on the polished metal of their hilts and the casing of the blaster he had on his right hip. Once he was in the ring Ember could feel what was at work on his padawan. A potent tribulation indeed for any not schooled in controlling emotion or thought. Two vital weaknesses he knew Ammy had and were a sore point to repair. The wards sought to sink into the Gray Jedi as well, and he simply smiled. He allowed the wards to sink into him and they found his emotions were mellow, mute, and neutral and balanced as every action he did was weighed and accounted for in life. Feeling no impedance, Ember approached Ammy with measured, slow steps. The swirl of emotions around her was volatile and easy to upset, caution was to be had or she may find an instinctive need to attack him. He reached out and gently placed a synthetic black hand on her forehead and willed the Force to connect them together.
?Balance is the key and the key is balance. Light and Darkness, both are needed for life, so does a life need memory and emotions.? He recited a simple synchronization mantra and he opened her mind to his own to see what had gone so horribly wrong.
((Mood Tone for the Post: Most Epic Music Ever: Traitor?s Motif))
Honor. Valor. Deeds. Actions. Duty. Courage. Determination. Definitions of a soldier bound to oath and country in daily duties or during the call to arms.
The litany drifted through the mind of a lone figure clad in leather dueling armor standing in a quiet Annex, long closed for the night after the fair of duels had faded away. A single charred circle of leather was etched on her leather breast plate from a past experiment. The furred female with red hair had long ago remembered something about duties, valor and being a solider under oath fighting for a country that cared little for Valor or Honor but instead focused on complete domination of all nations. She had long thought those days were over, the memories burned to ash and buried under various new lives she?d made for her own self. Furred fingers rose and sent flakes of charred leather to scatter from the breast plate to settle on the floor of the Annex.
Ammy stared past the heavy ropes marking off a dueling ring in the Annex. The ring was nothing special; it was identical to its cousins in the dueling venue. A place to draw, gather and lock two bodies and two minds into one purpose; contestation of who was the better in armed combat, spell slinging or just brutal pummeling with one?s own naturally given body. Yet, the simplicity of the ring was in fact, a subtle lie when one was dueling with weapons or magic. Such fights occurred in rings with active spell wards, simple in design and intent; keep the bloody idiots from fatally killing each other so they can come back and hurt each other all over again. Simple right?
Ammy had thought the warding was simple; she?d dueled several times in the last few weeks and had little issues with the wards. She was thankful for that as she?d often had issues with magical or Psyonic things mucking with her mind and soul. However, the rings lately were no longer inviting, no longer simple and healing. She leaned upon those ropes and stared at the center of the ring. Her mind was a canvas tattered, nibbled upon and awash with many layers of paint; stains from four centuries of life in several different bodies and perhaps more that she?d forgotten lying under the canvas of reincarnations. That canvas had long been covered in a fine, linen sheet of motherhood, wrinkled by the care and time of raising children, watching grandchildren and smoothed out some more establishing peace in running her own shop, teaching at an academy or two and enjoying her large family. Yet, something simple, visceral and primal had ripped the sheet away for her mind to feast upon the reality of what she was. Raw, unbidden emotions had brought to her mind the stark reality that she was and always will be a weapon of war; a ticking time bomb that was a danger to all in her current state of mind and ill prepared readiness.
Ammy slid her arm into the ring just past the ropes. There it was the cold, gnawing jar of erratic energy that anchored into her fur and flesh. Talons of icy regret swirled up her arm and down her spine as if she had been dropped into a cold, dark well of emotions. Fear, apathy and raw, burning denial flared in her chest and head as something chanted, called out and sang through the corridors of her mind, scratching pallet knives through the paint of her minds canvas exposing the memories of the past once more.
Violent. Unsound. Murderer. Liar. Blood Soaked. Psychotic. Crazy. Killer. Coward. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
The words rang loud and hard in her mind, the silence of the Annex sharpened and she found herself clutching to the ropes of the ring and hanging from them for dear life. Her mind?s eye had lost sight of the Annex and found herself staring at coast line she saw every night, and she didn?t want to see what came next. She knew what she?d see. The first man she?d ever loved as a young woman, foolish, na?ve, yet filled with hope to love in the defiance of orders during a covert mission. His look of horror and betrayal, the blood covered knife in her hands, blood on her and the floor of the patio. His blood, everywhere, running off the tiles to dribble into the streets as her mind followed that red trail. A sea of faces, all smiling, all happy, flowed past her, people going about life in the various cities of Yaasmiir as her mind now pulled up for a bird?s eye view of the six million lives living on the continent. At the center of the land mass stood a woman with hair of red, the uniform of the Humaran Arcane Military Division, blood still smearing her human cheeks and hands. Green eyes stared at all of the people walking past her, unaware of the peril among them. They all screamed now. They screamed when she raised her voice and uttered the lethal words for the Yaasmiir Blast, a spell she vowed to take to her many graves. The screaming sounded like it would have drowned out the spell words but it was too late; a simple flash of ardent, gold light, like the flare of a light bulb blowing out, and then utter silence as her magic erased them from the continent of Yaasmiir in a single stroke of military efficiency.
Violent. Unsound. Murderer. Liar. Blood Soaked. Psychotic. Crazy. Killer. Coward. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
Ammy crumpled to the ground in a clatter of leather and clasps. She gave out muffled sobs trying to quiet the voices and the words. She was better than this. She was beyond this stain on her life. She?d repented over and over for the deaths and yet she couldn?t bat aside the emotions anymore, the cloying, choking self hatred she had, the driving self destruction that often dogged her no matter what life she had. No longer could she bury the vial thrill she once had for violence or turn her mind?s eye from the thirst she?d felt for sending many to their deaths in new and excruciating ways on the battlefield. The souls of the dead would no longer stay silent or in her nightmares. They tried to choke her down into submission as she lay on the floor of the Annex. In fear and desperation she swiped at the phantoms with her hands in vain hope of sending them back to her mind but it was no use. The sea of souls were free of their cages, freed by raw emotions and now rolled over her, driving at her mind and soul and moved her body to flee by fear driven reflex. She gained her feet but in her disoriented panic, she fled not out for the doors of the Annex but into the duel ring itself. The souls howled in glee as a sea of humanity finally had their prize where they could torment the vaunted Ammy Phoenix, Mage Weapon of the Humaran Army. The Annex rang with her screams and howls of pure terror, fear, and anger at what her life had become in her youth. Her nightmares took on a solid edge from the emotions now ripped from her mind and body.
The doors to the Annex opened and soon a gray robbed man entered with short, military cropped red hair now turning iron gray. Green eyes looked upon the Annex and it was easy to find the source of disturbance he felt in the Force. His padawan was sending out vibrant waves of emotional turmoil in the nexus and it was something he no longer could overlook. He stole further into the darkened interior of the Annex, not bothering to find the switches for lights. Ammy was an easy beacon for him to find and soon he found her in a dueling ring, where she knelt, screaming at the ceiling in some form of torment.
?Ammy. Ammy. Ammy! Padawan!? Ember Pallin shouted at the Lupinossai in the center of the dueling ring in the Annex.
The Gray Jedi seeing his student bereft of her senses to respond removed his gray robe and leaped into the ring with just his gray flight suit on. His light sabers swayed and jangled as he landed, the dim exit lights glinted on the polished metal of their hilts and the casing of the blaster he had on his right hip. Once he was in the ring Ember could feel what was at work on his padawan. A potent tribulation indeed for any not schooled in controlling emotion or thought. Two vital weaknesses he knew Ammy had and were a sore point to repair. The wards sought to sink into the Gray Jedi as well, and he simply smiled. He allowed the wards to sink into him and they found his emotions were mellow, mute, and neutral and balanced as every action he did was weighed and accounted for in life. Feeling no impedance, Ember approached Ammy with measured, slow steps. The swirl of emotions around her was volatile and easy to upset, caution was to be had or she may find an instinctive need to attack him. He reached out and gently placed a synthetic black hand on her forehead and willed the Force to connect them together.
?Balance is the key and the key is balance. Light and Darkness, both are needed for life, so does a life need memory and emotions.? He recited a simple synchronization mantra and he opened her mind to his own to see what had gone so horribly wrong.