The Twang of Sedition, Attn: Fiona

[Cara Delarosa]

Artemis was no stranger to Coruscant’s Lower Levels. She passed through the interrupted lighting that dappled the landscape in front of her. Countless avenues of man-made trees towered around her, their original grid system had long since faded beyond memory. This was her hunting ground. The Coruscant Lower Levels were home to as many beasts and dangers as a true forest, and without the experience to know where those dangers lie, one would find their trip to its darkened hallways short lived.

The Twilighters, as the Day-Dwellers of Coruscant so affectionately called them, were a melting pot of countless species and numbers who found refuge or some semblance of community where only the strongest can survive. Artemis recalled something she had read, “Coruscant’s underworld toughened the strong and consumed the weak.”

She had spent the majority of her first ventures into the Underworld pondering what category she belonged to. After four or five successful trips into the Underworld for one purpose or another -usually consuming the weak who mistakenly thought themselves strong- she no longer wondered.

She found the dangerous streets she walked almost endearing these days. After her experiences on Onderon had robbed her of the memory of her true home, the lower streets of Coruscant became the closest thing to home she had. She was certainly here frequently enough to justify the ludicrous affection she had toward the place. And yet, there were still places she didn’t go; places she knew she was not skilled enough to come out of unscathed.

She absently flicked the tip of the knife strapped to her thigh, enjoying the friction of the dangerous weapon on her skin. It wasn’t enough to prick the skin, merely enough to remind her that it was there, ever at the ready should she need it. Likewise, her Shadowsuit was folded up in a meticulously neat fashion in her pack. It was redundant, for the most part, in the lower levels of Coruscant. The light was so minimal that if she didn’t want to be seen, her own skill in stealth would have more than achieved the feat.

She concluded taking inventory of her equipment with the dismantled pieces of her compound bow. Three separated, composite pieces were placed on her right thigh, back and right arm. The bowstring, a composite material tailored to her cybernetic right arm’s strength, was coiled neatly at her left wrist. It may seem complex, but Artemis could assemble the bow in a few seconds.

She did so now.

Back, thigh, arm, wrist. In a flash it was in her hand, an arrow nocked from the quiver she had strapped on her lower back. Side loading, she had discovered, was much faster and more reliable than the traditional shoulder loading. She dismantled the bow with similar efficiency, placing the pieces in their respective housings, her pace never slowing.

She arrived at her destination, a cantina she frequented. The proprietor, Jackson, was a man who had acquired her trust over many visits, and had relayed a startling message. He had been approached by a man named Zeus who had information for her. Artemis had reigned in her emotion, and agreed to meet Zeus. She wasn’t naive. She hadn’t heard anything from Zeus since Onderon, and it seemed unlikely that a man professing to love her would be absent for so long. She had long ago decided that Zeus was dead, and had grieved... in her own way.

It was somewhat disconcerting that she had allowed her habits to become predictable. She admonished herself briefly before resolving to move deeper into the Lower Levels at a later date. Coruscant was huge; if she wanted to lose herself, she could. But, she had to tie up this loose end first. Anyone pursuing her had traversed on the grounds she had decided were hallowed, at least to her. In this moment, she was their judge, jury, and final arbiter. She hoped there wasn’t more than two.

She took notice of them as soon as they passed through the doors. She began counting the seconds as she studied them. The three -she cursed inwardly- humans were dressed like the locals, but their posture and more importantly, the determination in their eyes set them apart. That they were so clearly grouped set them apart as well; people who claimed allies in the Lower Levels opened themselves up to betrayal.

With that in mind, she looked toward Jackson. There was recognition in his eyes. She pretended, for her own sardonic amusement, to be surprised, but she had added him to the list of would-be dead as soon as he delivered the message.

By the time she looked back to the group of three, they had noticed her. Seven seconds. What to others would merely be an arbitrary, unimportant duration had meaning to Artemis. It meant -to her- that they were good at their job and had memorized the dossier on her they had no doubt been provided with. Within seven seconds, they had identified their target and had committed to apprehending or killing her.

She locked eyes with one and rose from her seat nonchalantly, heading to the back entrance of the cantina that emptied into an alley. It was a well-lit alley, but that couldn’t be helped. She had no doubt the three would follow.

[Fiona Athiachos]

It was the first time Fiona had been back to Coruscant ever since she, laughing, had pushed over twenty people to their deaths one by one from a suite high in the upper levels of the finer sections. Then ten who had chosen to follow her from the mock Sith Cult she had broken up were now integrated finely as hopefuls, and her glory had only increased within the Cult. The Champion had visited the crime scene with a song in her heart, noting the new tenants-a senator and his family.

She did enjoy performing dark acts for the Cult. By herself, murdering would not be something she could do. Hurting, maybe, for her own gain, but she did not know if she could look into someone's eyes and murder them for anything but her own survival. But with the Cult, she had purpose. She had reason. When she was on missions, and she was called on to murder for the good of the Cult, it was something that she performed flawlessly, pleased to do it for something greater than herself.

She had just finished a mission now, to go meet with a financier. The man had been easy to seduce into financing them on...certain matters. They had another source of credits from this man who secretly hated the current system of running tings, and recognized the power in the universe as belonging to the underdogs.

Fiona still tingled when she thought of their time together. She was drunk on power now, and wandered the lower levels of Coruscant with only her lightsaber hidden not only under her cloak, but in a small concealed pouch concealed on her thigh in her tight black clothing. She was not so foolish as to have it within plain view of everyone at the hub of the government's power, but she was feeling daring and bold at the moment, and sought to find a good, seedy place to drink.

She asked a local, and was pointed down a street, given a tip that cutting through the alley would be faster. She thanked him with a hand wave. "Do not follow me." She said, her personality pushing through his weak mind and laying her will on him in a simple mind trick.

He nodded. "I will not follow you." Fiona felt like she had avoided an ambush at the moment, as he turned around and walked away. That she had the power to influence minds against their will was still beyond her. She was giddy thinking about her own power, and as she walked in the alley, almost unleashed it as a woman stepped out of a side door. Fiona was still a ways off and kept walking, gripping the Force.

Three men followed the woman, and Fiona slithered to a position behind a dumpster, just tall enough to poke her slanted eyes above the lids. She would watch this-and react however she felt like. It was likely that she would witness a rape. Or maybe the men were making sure the woman walked out and stayed out. Whatever the case, Fiona was ready for it, lightning crackling between her fingertips in anticipation.

[Cara Delarosa]

The alley was pretty much what she expected. A few signs blinked overhead, their light providing a staccato or cadence to what was about to be unleashed. It was deserted. When she first stepped out from the alley, she thought she saw movement off to her left. She looked in that direction for a few moments, closing her left eye and peering with her right. She dismissed it as her imagination, or a rodent scampering into some hole at her intrusion into their domain. Besides, she didn’t have time to waste being concerned about a rodent or a voyeur, she would deal with it afterward if it proved a threat.

She walked a few paces further into the alley. It wasn’t very wide, all three of them couldn’t come at her at once. The walls, up to about eight feet, were bare and the environment was not going to provide much cover if things got to a point where it was needed. This had to be quick and clean. If they surrounded her, they could all charge at once and that would be the end of it.

In the few seconds she had remaining, she assembled her bow and held it close to her torso, hiding it, an arrow gripped on the underside of her forearm. She exhaled her remaining breath and took notice of the many sounds of the alley that was nestled in one of the roughest City’s in the universe. She wasn’t one for prayer or zen-like meditation or any of the nonsense she chalked up as useless endeavors. She thought about who might come to her funeral. No one, she surmised. She breathed in the foul air of the alley and waited.

The sounds came, her eyes perked up and seemed to her to lean in the direction of the noise. The noises were what she expected: the grating sound of the metal door being opened and then slammed shut, the “clop clop” of their heavy boots on the concrete beneath them, the unmistakeable sound of a blaster clearing its holster. One came closer; the one with the blaster out of his holster.

The leader spoke, clear and authoritative, to the back of her head, “2nd Lt. Cara Delarosa, you are hereby...”

His words were interrupted by a cry of pain. They could scream as loud as they wanted in this area of the City, it would be indistinguishable to the thousands of others that cried out to the darkness. The sound of blaster fire might draw more attention, though. The blaster clattered to the ground, his hand had been messily impaled by the arrow that streaked through the night. The twang of the bowstring lingered in the air, as if not wanting its own sound forgotten in the symphony of death.

The two behind him reacted almost immediately, charging the lone archer standing in the artificial moonlight. Artemis had expected them to draw their own blasters, but that they didn’t told her they were trying to take her alive. She used the time they wasted closing the distance by loading another arrow and firing into the soft tissue above one of the runner’s kneecaps. She had held the bowstring to her cheek for too long, waiting for the perfect moment to find her desired target. The other man had reached her.

Artemis swung her unloaded bow at the attacker as the one she shot crashed heavily into the ground. She gauged she had a couple seconds before the wind returned to him and he would rejoin the fight. The bow caught the man in the head, but his momentum propelled him into Artemis, bringing her to the ground. Her head hit the unyielding ground painfully and the man brought his arms around her, trying to subdue her. He lifted his torso away from her for a moment to find a better position, and Artemis brought her right hand, accompanied by cybernetic strength, into the man’s unprotected sternum. With a grunt he was propelled backward, off of her.

Artemis regained her feet in a instant, her equilibrium still slightly affected by her fall. The leader was charging at her, knife in his uninjured hand, blood leaking freely onto the ground from his other. So much for taking her alive, it seemed.

Scooping her bow up from the ground she ran diagonally toward the leader. She took an arrow from the quiver at her waist and held it tightly at she ran toward the wall. She jumped onto the wall, her feet finding traction before using her momentum against the wall to propel herself off it, toward the man. Loading the arrow in-flight, she loosed it as she passed the leader. His eyes held hatred, and he swung the knife in her direction. The arrow found his neck, cutting cleanly through the bone and the other side before stopping. Artemis’ trajectory already determined, there was little she could do to avoid the knife. Even as the man died, his knife sliced along her left arm, its damage lessened somewhat by her armor.

The runner had found his way to his feet and was visibly weighing his options given his mangled knee. Artemis’ left arm gripped her bow with dwindling strength, pain radiated along it from the gash. His eyes flicked to the blaster pistol on the ground. Maybe he thought if he leapt for it he could reach it. The last man was finding his feet, his rib cage having become sickeningly concave by the force of her strike. It amazed her he was still alive. The runner leapt for the pistol, and Artemis loaded and loosed an arrow. The arrow struck him in the chest. He hit the ground, his dead hands gripping the blaster he had sought with his life.

But, Artemis was already running passed the corpse toward the final man. The strength in her left arm had vanished. She dropped her bow and pulled her knife from its sheath. He swung his fist, she tucked the knife and blocked his strike with her right forearm. She ducked and turned, slicing through the soft fabric of the man’s uniform above his waist.

She pulled the strike. The man cried out, but wouldn’t die for another minute at the most. She straddled him, sitting on the cut she had just created, causing him immense pain, but prolonging his death. She put the point of her knife to his throat, her weakened left hand gripping his collar.

She was exhausted, her left arm was in agony, but she needed answers. She couldn’t rest yet.

[Fiona Athiachos]

Fiona watched as the woman withdrew an odd object from somewhere-it was dark and she couldn't see much-and quickly, smoothly make a long bow out of it. An eyebrow shot up at this. It was not normal for someone to use such an archaic weapon. Usually they had energy binders for strings, but this one was also a plain old bowstring. Fiona grew a little bored as the woman turned to face the men.

Things got much more interesting as she released her first arrow. The arrow, slowed down by way of Fiona's senses heightened by the Force, streaked perfectly through the air and into the center of the armed man's palm. He screamed and dropped his blaster. Fiona's eyes gleamed as she saw the blood spurt from the wound, soaking his hand in seconds as his fellows charged. Well-trained bunch. Another arrow took one of them above the knee, going cleanly through bone. Fiona winced.

She noticed the first one, steel-faced, was slowly pulling the arrow out of his palm. He had opted to pull it out backwards, which meant the head of the sharp arrow would pass through his palm again. That was stupid. He should have broken it and dealt with the pain as he yanked it out quickly. Fiona remembered her own training with bows. That this arutiise was using one with such proficiency was extremely interesting to her.

She saw a man fly up slightly and land on his face. If her interest wasn't piqued before, it definitely was now. The woman was already up and was currently leaping towards a wall while the man with an arrow through his hand-well, he'd removed it now-charged at her with a knife.

The woman fired off an arrow in midair, and Fiona's eyes narrowed. It was straight out of a holofilm. The heroine leaps off a wall, backflips and kicks someone in the face, landing on another's shoulders to ride him to the ground. Or something. Fiona supposed that was what the kids liked nowadays.

The heroine wasn't so lucky, as she suffered a nasty cut on her arm. The man attacking her still went down, though. Fiona noticed the man with a crushed ribcage push himself up gently, raggedly, his breathing shallow and slow. His saliva dripped freely from his mouth, both bloody and frothy.

He noticed, however, a blaster pistol nearby to him, and quickly suffered a lethal shot from the bow as he ran for it. the last man, with the ruined knee, was assaulted by the woman viciously before she grabbed him by the collar. Fiona decided then to interfere for the hell of it. She stepped out fromthe dumpster she was behind and walked at a normal pace to the two figures. As she stepped over the body of one of the men, she pulled out an arrow with a quick tug and application of telekinetic power. It came free with a sick suction sound.

As she drew near to them, she purred, "It's been a long time since I've seen anyone take down agents that fast. And with a bow, at that." She spun the bloody arrow deftly between her fingers, which barely protruded from beneath the dark confines of her robe.

[Cara Delarosa]

Artemis was about to open her mouth and begin the interrogation when she heard the footsteps approaching, and they weren’t being quiet about it. Had there been a fourth? No, she was certain it was only three. Was it Jackson? No, the footfalls were much softer. The sound that followed sent off warning bells.

She immediately placed its origin: an arrow coming out of meat. She had heard it many, many times. It seemed different to her, though, off in some way that took a moment to place. Usually, there were a few more squishing sounds as the hand tried to wiggle it out of the meat. It didn’t often come out easily. This one, however, did. She didn’t have time to ponder it any further, and spun to face this new threat.

The knife spun with her, turning to lie against the breadth of the man’s neck so she could maintain control of him and see her new target. The man would no doubt be some sort of leverage, enabling her to use his life in her favor.

It was an awkward position, and Artemis was immediately ill-at-ease because of it. She had to dart her eyes from her captive to the new threat in order to see the conversation that was occurring unsaid between them. She had to look for things that others wouldn’t notice: recognition; a plot.

What met her eyes surprised her. A woman, probably close to her own age, perhaps younger, stood confidently with Artemis’ used arrow in hand. Her dress immediately set her apart. She was not garbed in the uniform that the three she had just killed meticulously wore.

There was truthfully very little to identify her, or place her in any relation to the Confederation, unless she was something that she hadn't encountered yet. It could be possible that the three were merely an effort to tire her out, and this new threat was the true agent.

If that was the case, Artemis knew her chances against this foe were slim. At full strength, maybe, but the three would have been sacrificed to achieve what they had: wearing her down; wounding her. To Artemis' knowledge, she was not aware of the Confederation willingly sacrificing their own merely to spring a trap. If they had in this instance, Artemis had underestimated her value, and probably wouldn't get much time to ponder it further. The threat spoke.

"It's been a long time since I've seen anyone take down agents that fast. And with a bow, at that," the robed woman said.

Her robe covered much in the way of physique and demeanor, but the way she spun the arrow in her fingertips translated a dexterity common in fighters.

Artemis watched her eyes. There was an intelligence in them, certainly, and something more just beyond her comprehension. Maybe pain? Or even madness? She didn’t have time to analyze her further; she had acquired the information she wanted. There didn’t seem to be any recognition in the robed woman’s eyes besides knowing that they were agents. Artemis made her decision.

Unceremoniously, Artemis drew the dagger across the prone agent’s neck, cutting quickly and deeply. The information was valuable, but so was one less opponent. Besides, there would be other agents. Free of her captive, she scampered away from the corpse as quickly as she could manage, hoping the dying gurgles as the man bled to death would give her the precious moments she needed to regain control. Picking up her fallen bow and nocking an arrow, she turned toward the woman.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she spoke in the deadliest tone she could manage, “Dead is dead, regardless the weapon’s sophistication that provided it. State your business or join them. Are you friend or foe?”

The robed woman only had an arrow in her hand, but her cool demeanor around the three dead was disconcerting. The arrow was as good as a knife, in Artemis’ eyes; she had used an arrow in that manner before. The pain in her arm was excruciating as she drew the bow and leveled it at the robed woman. She wouldn’t let the pain she felt prevent her from defending herself against the unknown, armed woman.

[Fiona Athiachos]

When Fiona looked back on this moment in her past, she always smirked. The woman's actions were not what she would have done, but she had to applaud her for it. Having just completely slaughtered two of his friends, the woman now had him on the ground. Either she was planning on raping him, killing him, or pumping him for information.

Fiona heavily suspected it was the latter. A woman bursts out of a side door, prepares for a fight, and immediately attacks the three men sent after her. She has incredible fighting abilities. Right now, however, her arm was pretty much useless, and she was losing blood fast. She wouldn't last very long.

It was obvious, to a quick an analytical thinker. The men were wearing unmarked uniforms-slight armor, black, hair in the same fashion--closely shaved--and they were all pursing someone. They were Feds. Fish. Federal agents sent to capture or kill this woman, based on the way they had opened their big mouths instead of just ducking behind cover at the first sight of a weapon pointed at them.

Maybe if they had utilized their training, instead of throwing it all to the wind, two would not be dead and the other would not be bleeding out quickly, thanks to this small woman on top of him. With that in mind, Fiona decided the archer would most likely want information out of him.

Instead, however, the knife plunged downward, pushing into his throat and splitting open skin, muscle, and organ like a hot knife through a fresh peach. Fiona's eyes gleamed hungrily as she watched the woman scamper away, leaning heavily on her right arm. The other was soaked in blood. The man's dying rasps and kicks rang out as the woman snatched her bow up and nocked an arrow, trained on the Champion.

Fiona's claimed arrow snapped to a stop in her palm, fingers clutching it in a small fist. Gurgling accompanied the man's heart pumping the blood out of his neck in quick order.

A deadly tone accompanied demanding words. Fiona smiled slightly with amusement. There was nothing this woman could do from such a distance to harm Fiona. A bow would not fire a projectile fast enough for Fiona not to be able to slap aside with the Force. She could deflect blaster bolts wherever she wanted, after all, with a lightsaber. While she had never tried it, she was sure she could catch the arrow between her palms as it sped towards her chest.

It was child's play, really.

She recognized in the woman, who, much like herself, was a warrior, Force sensitivity. And above all, the Cult needed good warriors. Smart ones like this woman, who Fiona was going to take a chance on.

"I am one who will help you never to suffer a wound like that, my friend." She said, haughtily. The Force laced her words, pushing against Artemis' mind, telling her what she wanted to hear. Fiona was a friend, after all. No reason to attack her. Come closer. She wants to help. "I am one who can show you true power to defeat the next men who come looking."

As if on cue, her fist opened slowly, facing upwards, and the bloodstained arrow drifted out of it and into the dying man's temple, pushing into him with agonizing slowness. His slow death rattles turned into frantic shifting, and then death took him and his head dropped to the side, propped up against the arrow that was embedded three inches into his head.

"I am one who will give you what you seek." Fiona said, spreading her hands slightly apart. The hood revealed only a close-lipped smile in the darkness. The Force spoke to Artemis, whispering to her in sweet tones. It was good to trust Fiona. Fiona would show her the way.

Since Artemis was strong-willed and Force sensitive, she would feel the influence, but not recognize it. It was a toss-up for Fiona between the woman giving in, or pushing her away, both of which had very different endings.

[Cara Delarosa]

The arrow had stopped spinning in the woman’s hand. Well, at least Artemis had gotten her attention. Her arm hurt terribly as she held the drawn bow, waiting for the woman to respond. She felt the blood soaking through her sleeve, covering the sweat that lined her skin from the flurry of violence that had left the alley with an eerie silence. Blood loss was going to become a problem if the situation escalated. Artemis hadn’t begun to fade, but she could tell that the gash needed attention, or she was going to. Fading before her business with the woman was concluded was a death sentence, regardless the woman’s intentions. The Underworld would claim her.

When Artemis’ words reached the woman’s ears, she smiled. Artemis’ jaw clenched instinctively in tightly-controlled anger. Smiled? The woman was either incredibly naive or Artemis was. Neither situation brought much comfort. The galaxy was filled with unusual beings with surprising power. Given her attitude, the woman was probably one of them. She allowed the anger to fade, it would serve no purpose to lose her cool. Still, doubt was creeping in that she might be outmatched in even the best of circumstances. Her anger was due only to a bruised ego.

“I am one who will help you never to suffer a wound like that, my friend.” She said.

Her tone was confidence bordering on arrogance, or maybe completely consumed by it. Her words were like poison, or perhaps a fog. They felt good, and that concerned Artemis. How could she do what she promised, did she intend to train her? Artemis had already been trained, well enough to defeat the three strewn lifelessly around her.

“I am one who can show you true power to defeat the next men who come looking.”

Despite her best effort to control her arm, it relaxed on its own accord as she was mystified by what happened next. The arrow she had pulled from the leader’s neck was floating, floating, through the air. Artemis opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Her mouth hung dumbly open for a few moments before she closed it. The arrowhead had reached the dying man’s temple, the skin dipping inward slightly before yielding to the invisible force behind the arrowhead.

The skin split, offering blood as the arrow ruthlessly continued its path through his skull. Artemis watched the man, as if trying to confirm that what she was seeing was actually happening. His nervous system failed him, causing his body to convulse frantically against the new torture. It went on for an uncomfortable duration. Finally, the body mercifully stilled; the arrow had finished its three-inch journey into the man’s skull.

Something prodded at Artemis’ mind, urgently trying to convince her she had seen such power before. Artemis combed through her available memories, trying to breach the impenetrable wall in her mind that held back older ones. If she had experienced this before, it was behind that wall, and thus inaccessible. Sadly, it was undefinable magic at this point. Artemis looked back to the woman, who spoke again.

“I am one who will give you what you seek.”

What she sought? What did Artemis want? Revenge? Maybe, but there were other things. Could the woman know; did she know what she really wanted? She studied the woman’s eyes for a moment. Her mind raced through hundreds of possibilities, begrudgingly returning to the thing she knew she wanted most: a home.

She had no family, and the Coruscant Underworld? Surely, that wasn’t supposed to be her home for the rest of her life. She wanted to belong. She wanted to be validated, as all people do. But, was this the source? Artemis looked at the woman again.

She was so calm. She just waited for Artemis to make a decision. The words stopped, but her mind felt slow as she returned again and again to what the woman had said. The original wariness about the feeling the words brought was cast away at Artemis' behest. It truthfully didn’t matter what magic the woman was using on her, the words resonated within Artemis. It didn’t matter if she was being played, the woman knew she had her.

Artemis stood. Her previous crouched position looked silly without the bow drawn. She transfered the bow to her right hand, but would not reveal just how bad the gash on her left arm was. She was momentarily on board; that didn’t mean she would let down her guard.

“If you are truly a friend, I must seek medical attention,” she said calmly. She indicated her left arm’s gash as if it wasn’t obvious. The blood had ran down her arm to her hand, drops periodically dripping from her fingertips at a slow pace.

She continued, “Given what I’ve seen,” she gestured to the agent with the arrow in his head, “I would be foolish to assume you are with the Rebels. If they had that sort of power, I doubt that would be as fearful as they are. And, as one of us is not dead, I assume you're not with the Confederation.”

She took a chance, more as a show of good faith than anything, and disassembled her bow and put its parts and arrow back in their housings. Nothing could be gained with it anymore. If worst came to worst, she still had her knife. Besides, she doubted strongly that the woman would accept failure, even if she was only mildly interested in recruiting Artemis to whatever cause she represented.

She took a step forward, as if heeding the magician’s silent command would reiterate her compliance and said with a forced, tight-lipped smile, “My name is Artemis, and you have my attention. What agency do you represent?”

[Fiona Athiachos]

The shock on the woman's face was amusing as Fiona's act drew her gaze. Fiona could tell she had the woman eating out of her hands at that point. The mind trick was working, and it was apparent. She could feel the woman's mind breaking. It was like spotting a crack in the dam of an important river. Once it broke, the entire landscape would change.

Fiona looked forward to corrupting another human being. There was a joy in killing, in torturing, or causing emotional pain, but to change one's life completely? To, by simple words, start them down a dark path, forever subject to reach out and take what they wanted, to never be a slave to fate ever again. This is what Fiona wanted. She did not want power over herself. Power over others was true power. Nia'ana had once demonstrated this by instructing someone to shoot themselves in the head.

She had left the bloody mess there as a reminder of who held the power in the place.

The woman's bow had long since been forgotten, and it shifted hands. If it were anyone less capable of handling herself, Fiona knew, there would be nervous shifting, licking of the lips, and a hard, dry swallow. There were no such signs, which showed training and discipline--or just shock. Fiona was willing to bet her lightsaber for the former.

“If you are truly a friend, I must seek medical attention,” the woman said, with a flippant hand wave to her left arm. Fiona's eyebrow rose in reply. She was that casual about a wound that would kill her? She was lucky it didn't hit anywhere near the brachial artery, and only just muscle, or else she would have been dead within a few minutes from extreme blood that flowed faster than her heart could keep up with. As it was, her wound would still kill her within the hour, as it was a fairly sized wound.

Fiona was saved from speaking, however. "Given what I've seen..." The Champion's calm smile was accompanied by a slight, almost mocking nod at the woman's assumption. It was good she did not peg Fiona immediately as an enemy. It would make things much more...stressful for both of them. The woman, because Fiona wasn't going to attack her. Fiona, because she didn't have to murder her.

The bow was quickly disassembled in a flurry of movements, grips, and twists, ended by being slid smoothly into the harness meant for it. Fiona absolutely had to examine the thing later. She remembered making her own bow and arrows in the jungles of Dxun. It was nothing as fancy as what the woman before her had, but it still brought down beasts with a well-placed shot or two.

The memory made her angry. She clamped down on the emotion like a bear trap and discarded it.

With a step forward and a small smile, the woman said, “My name is Artemis, and you have my attention. What agency do you represent?”

Fiona almost laughed softly. "Agency? No, I am part of something much greater than such a...crude term. We are a family. We are the underdogs. We are the ones who were chased off of the planet Korriban." Fiona intoned.

A fist pushed from its original position and slowly a single index finger extended, coming to a stop pointed directly at the other woman's chest, bearing all of the authority of fate itself. "You, Artemis, will be the next generation. You will be the one who heralds a new dawn for the galaxy-ensuring that the Cult of Sadow takes its rightful place as masters of the galaxy."

She paused for a second to let the words in to bounce around Artemis' skull for a bit. "Do you want it? Power? Revenge? Whatever it is you seek, you will have it under my tutelage. In order for you to have it, however, you must reach out and take it." The hand with the pointing finger twisted slowly, turning into an opening, beckoning hand. "Be my apprentice, Artemis, or do prefer to find your own help for your arm?" The mind trick had been stopped by now. It would not do to have a recruit that did not want to be there. Such people bore resentment and hatred towards the wrong group, and Fiona would not have that come back to her.

No, Artemis had to accept, or she would quite possibly die. Once she arrived to the Cult's headquarters, she would understand who they were and become loyal, but she would use the resentment of being bullied into a decision to her advantage, given proper training.

Time would tell.

[Cara Delarosa]

Artemis was glad her nonchalant nature toward her grievous injury had not gone unnoticed. She sincerely doubted the woman would view her as naive, and wanted to make it clear that life and death situations would not scare her. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her well-being or living, it was merely that she would not allow fear to be her master.

If there was one thing she was taught to translate to an unknown party, it was the belief that she valued her life less than they valued their own. Often, that simple message could avoid a fight, because you’ve translated you’re willing to die, if need be, to win.

The woman’s laugh in response to her comment brought her from the droning of her mind.

”Agency? No, I am part of something much greater than such a... crude term. We are a family. We are the underdogs. We are the ones who were chased off of the planet Korriban.”

Chased off of Korriban? Artemis had heard rumors of what had transpired on Korriban, but she never paid them much credence. But, the underdogs? Artemis humorlessly thought she might be being cornered by the wrong side. Did she want to join the losing side?

The woman seemed to be enjoying whatever game she was playing. It was slightly disconcerting that Artemis wasn’t on the same page yet. Artemis chose to remain silent until the woman was done speaking, she didn't want to be caught in her game or reveal that she didn't know what they were playing. Nevertheless, when the woman's finger was pointed in her direction, Artemis felt as if she had reached the apex of numerous events in her life. In a rush of thoughts, she considered all the things that had brought her here. This is what she had been waiting for: purpose.

”You, Artemis, will be the next generation. You will be the one who heralds a new dawn for the galaxy- ensuring that the Cult of Sadow takes its rightful place as masters of the galaxy.”

Cult of Sadow. The words had power in her mind. There, in her mind, she saw one of the partitions between her and her memories being seared away. She didn’t need a key to bypass this particular wall, the power of that singular named burned it right off its supports. She didn’t remember everything, but she felt it. She felt closer, and she felt like she had been handed at least one of the many keys to unlocking her memories. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

She didn’t remember much about the Cult of Sadow, only the rumors that criminals and fear-mongers like to spread at night in the cantinas. She glanced briefly at the dead leader again, the arrow still impaling him through the temple, the blood having finally stopped pooling beneath him. The rumors didn’t seem so fanciful, now. She didn’t remember much about the Force, but she knew it was powerful. She let that hope consume her, knowing that she shouldn’t give into the feeling so easily, but not really caring if it was unwise.

”Do you want it? Power? Revenge? Whatever it is you seek, you will have it under my tutelage. In order for you to have it, however, you must reach out and take it."

Her hand opened and turned upward, offering it to Artemis in much the same way a gentlemen would offer his hand to a woman leaving her vehicle, or in an invitation to dance. Artemis used to believe she didn’t want her memories back. But now, after believing herself a step closer, she lusted for it. She absently wondered if such a thing were possible.

"Be my apprentice, Artemis, or do prefer to find your own help for your arm?"

"Apprentice." It was such a nicer term than "soldier." She had done plenty of soldiering in her life. Artemis had been subject to the whims and orders of men who believed themselves better because of a more elaborate insignia on their shoulder.

Apprentice felt nice. She assumed "Master" would be the title she would use for the woman, but it didn’t hold the same ominous relationship "slave" would to "master." To Artemis, it merely meant "more experienced," or "teacher." Wisdom told her that it was probably both interpretations.

Wisdom also told her that saying "no" would probably result in her death. She didn’t feel backed into a corner, though. She wanted to say "yes" with every ounce of resolve she had. Yes to power, yes to family, yes to training, yes to revenge, yes to memories, yes to purpose.

She looked down at the woman's hand. It was the her right hand. It was customary to offer the opposite, so the pair might walk side-by-side. Artemis glanced at her left hand. It was blood-soaked. She thought with sardonic amusement that it seemed fitting. Artemis offered her hand cordially to the woman, placing it daintily on her open palm.

“I accept... Master.” Artemis offered a slight nod of her head, as if to reiterate the cordial direction the whole exchange had comically taken in her mind.

Except, there was no place for laughter; this was an arrangement sealed in blood.