Alone in the Light

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Set to open. If you wanna crash the party, send me a PM first or seek me out in chat. I'd rather do a bunch of short regular posts in this case to avoid the need of others to rp Ebony.

Ebony thinks in italics.

Ebony woke up with a jolt. Am I d-d... dead? She shivered, hugging her small body tightly as she sat on the colourless ground. What happened? Why is everything white? 

Tentatively, she reached her hands up to her face and trailed them down her hair. Dry. Why is it dry?  Her memories were hazy, but she was sure it should have been wet. 

She was confused. She was scared. She was alone.

Reflexively, Ebony reached for her scythe. It was always by her side and she found its presence calming. Today, however, it was nowhere to be found.

Breathe.

Breathing was important. Breathe in. Two three four. Breathe out. Two three four. Ebony's breaths were shaky. Be brave. Remember what Captain said. He'll be there for us. We... we just have to wait for him. R-right. 

Ebony had only been separated from "Captain" once since she met him two years ago. It was horrible. She'd been left in the ship at port with a few others while the crew went out for drinks. In the darkness, a small group of opportunistic pirates had boarded the ship, hoping to commandeer it and that the precious cargo. She'd frozen up. Too scared to talk. Too scared to cast magic. What if she'd hurt someone? So she hid. She just went into her room, closed the door, and covered her ears. Captain will be back. She'd thought. And while true, he and the crew came back later than what would have been ideal. Late enough for Ebony to gain a few bruises, and late enough such that she never again saw the small part of the crew that originally stayed with her on the ship. He'd stayed with her after that. Never leaving her on the ship without him. It had also sparked the teaching of small martial training that Ebony possessed, and was reluctant to use.

Her breaths sped up as she remembered the memory. It's over now. We're... She wanted to think safe. But she couldn't. Not when she was so alone in the unknown. Don't think about it. She had to be brave, she decided. No. She was going to be brave. Courageous. Confident. She was going to at least try - that was who Ebonywood Hellscythe was meant to be. Not just a scared girl. She didn't write the books for that.

Carefully and steadily, Ebony raised pushed herself up onto her two feet. Her belts clanked and jangled together and the hard soles of boots let out a pair of loud echoing claps. Shivering in fear she pulled her cloak around her and brought her hood down. It was soft. It was warm. And it was, most importantly, safe.

Opening her mouth, she tried to speak. Air. That was all that came out. A short quiet breath. She tried again. And then again. And again and again and again. Each attempt getting closer together and letting out a much shorter spray of air. So she stopped. Breathe. For what felt like the millionth time today, she again took a long deep breath. And held it. And held it. And let it out, this time not attempting to speak. She repeated this motion, keeping her hands holding her cloak, still pulling it tightly around her.

And then, finally, she reached out her arms and spoke. "F-forces of the d-darkness," Ebony whispered under her breath as she spread her hands outwards to the sides. A brilliant beam of deep purple light and harmless, yet warm, fire formed between them, creating a long dark black ebony staff. She spun it in the air. "I-" she faltered, stuttering as her magic came to a halt.

It disintegrated. Endless purple flakes fell off the pole until nothing remained - it disappeared and burnt away in the air. A small tear fell to the ground. It was followed by another. And then another. They trickled down her face gently, forming two small streams as she quietly cried to herself. Magic needed confidence and concentration. Both were impossible when she was scared. Ebony felt hopeless and vulnerable and there was nothing she could do about it.

Her memories were fuzzy and she had no recollection of how she got here. She thought back to the best of her ability. There was a tower in a castle, and then a boat. She knew that part. That was years ago. Rubbing her eyes with the softer backs of her gloves she continued, tears still dripping from her watery eyes. A week ago, she was at sea, still in the boat. She thought it was a week, at least.

I need to focus. Ebony rubbed her eyes again as she played through the days in her head, smiling slightly upon recalling some happier moments. The expression crumpled with the harsh reminder from her white surroundings that those may not happen again. Brushing the back of her palm against her eyes for the third time she continued to play through the past events.

The was a storm. She faintly remembered high waves, rain, and lightning attacking the ship. I tried to stop it. Standing in the middle of the deck, she'd cast every relevant spell she knew to try and keep the trading ship upright. It wasn't enough. It was capsized and flung across the waves. Then why am I here? She had fallen into the water, spluttering and flailing. Trying to stay about the freezing waves. Her breaths were frantic. Did I sink? D-did I d-drown? Am... am I d-de... dead? She had no recollection after that point. Nothing. My friends. Captain...

Her knees bent inwards, and she tried to steady herself, all to no avail. Forwards she fell. Bare knees collided with the hard white floor and forearms lightly placed in the way did so also. Ebony curled up into a ball, using her soft cloak as a blanket. She hugged her skinny legs, gripping on tightly enough to leave a slight mark. The floor was cold, hard, and unforgiving. White was meant to be a good colour. A happy colour. While black was meant to be evil. It sure felt the opposite to her. This white wasn't nice. It was mean. She shivered, tugging on her cloak slightly to bring it over her hooded head. 

As she cried into the inside of her elbow, she desperately tried to remember more: surely that couldn't have been it; surely they all made it out together; surely. But she couldn't. All she could remember after that was white. And then something, or someone, else. What was it? A colourless man. His name was... Omni. She recalled him talking. "My name is Omni." Yes. Maybe he told me what happened? 

He hadn't. He was mean. He brought me here! Omni had taken Ebony away from her home just because she was "interesting". She didn't even know what that was supposed to mean. Did he cause the storm? It made sense. He could have drowned her and her friends just to bring her here. She didn't understand why. What did he want? Entertainment? He was simply just evil. That was the conclusion she made, as she lay motionless on the ground, quivering. I'll get home somehow... somehow.

Somehow. Someday. Maybe Ebony would find a way to travel home. But that wouldn't be today. And it almost definitely wouldn't be tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Even her own thoughts, she knew as futile lies. Lies made to make herself feel better. How was she supposed to cope with this? What was Ebonywood Hellscythe supposed to do in a situation like this? How could anyone plan for a situation on this scale? She wasn't being robbed or attacked by pirates, that in itself was horrifyingly scary. No, she'd been abducted by a ridiculously powerful being. One who had no care for her, or probably anyone else. Just an evil monster she could do nothing to stop.

No allies. No friends. No one. There was nothing she could do. Any shred of optimism had been entirely wiped from Ebony's thoughts by this painful revelation. She shook under the makeshift blanket in an attempt to block out the world, but the ever-present cold, hard, white ground stabbed into her fortifications as a harsh reminder that such a thing was not possible.

Again pressing her legs and knees further into her chest, she let out a faint, desperate cry between the endless cascade of cold tears.

"Someone... save me... please."

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

"I never thought I'd find myself looking forward to guard duty."

"I hear you, Cody. Being on scout duty in the Nexus is not worth the pay rise. I'm glad that we'll be transferring back to the normal guard routine after today. Man, let's go out for drinks or something after this."

Cody and James walked onwards towards the fountain, clad in their white Stormtrooper gear. Scout duty was dreaded by many. While potentially rewarding due to the possibility of making powerful prime friends and bringing them back to The Empire, it was dangerous. New primes were sometimes volatile, and older ones often travelled through the Nexus. Disputes with The Kingdom were also common here, but luckily they very rarely turned to violence. There were many risks, but it taught the pair to be smart. They'd had a good run over the past month and had developed a rough routine: patrol around the fountain - the side closest to the Coruscant gate; talk to all new primes carefully; be informative and act with discipline; offer to take them back to The Empire; run as fast as their legs could carry them should any signs of violence start.

That was the plan anyway. But it wasn't uncommon for other, older, primes to adopt the newer ones. If anyone else made it to them first, Cody and James were reluctant to make contact. There was a new prime at least every few days (often more), but over their time in the Nexus, the pair had only convinced two to return to Coruscant with them. Which was fair. They weren't the only pair on scout duty, after all.

"What's that?" Cody pointed his blaster towards a large black lump of fabric on the floor. It looked like a big cloak or coat was just left bundled up on the ground. 

"I dunno. Maybe someone summoned it and didn't like the design. It's awfully plain." James shrugged.

"No. They can't summon in the Nexus, James."

"What? I swear they can. I thought it was just bases and big stuff that they couldn't make here."

"Huh. Oh, you might be right. But that still doesn't explain what it is. Should we take it?"

---

It took a while, but eventually the tears stopped and dried, leaving faint trailing stains down Ebony's face. The shaking stopped afterwards. But that meant little. She was still alone in the light - the dull, painful, destructive white light.

Voices. There were voices getting closer. Footsteps. They were walking towards here. There was two of them. They talked together. "Prime". What's a prime? "Nexus". What's a nexus? Ebony was confused. But maybe they had answers. Maybe they could help her. Maybe there were taken here was well, just like her.

Maybe.

But maybe they were evil. Maybe they were Omni's evil minions. All evil villains had minions. That was a fact. Ebony knew so from her books. She even had good deductive reasoning to support her case:

• Omni is a villain.
  
• All villains have minions.
  
• Therefore, Omni has minions.
  

Yet that did little to ease her mind as the steps moved closer.

Maybe she should take a peak. A small peak. Then she'd know for sure.

Slowly, Ebony reached out until her fingers just touched the edge of her soft cloak. She flinched as her hand brushed against the floor. The footsteps stopped. The voices talked. Maybe they were going to leave her alone. That would be good...

I don't want to be alone. They could be good. They could be friends. 

Shuddering as she did so, Ebony flicked open a small gap. A very small gap. So small that only a tiny amount of white light made it inside, barely illuminating the dull floor. But it was enough. The gap was closed as soon as it opened as Ebony shivered, her hand recoiling. She wanted to try, she really did. But similarly to many people who want to fly, no matter how much she wanted to, it just wasn't possible. How could she? She'd found a modicum of artificial safety under her protective cloak. Was it really worth risking that?

She had to. She decided she had to try, regardless of how much she wanted to, what was more important was that she had to. The footsteps began again and moved closer still. They were really close now. Really, really, close. She reached out her hand yet again. They were right in front of her now. She didn't think they were going to leave her alone. She had to get a look. Her arm was shaking frantically, but her body was still. Her breaths shallow, but orderly and quiet. Again, a gap was made in her black shield, this one slightly larger than before as she peaked though. She flinched but didn't recoil.

Greeting her eyes were two pairs of white boots. White. Back her arm went, returning to hug her legs. Her body shook again at the frantic motion and she shivered lightly, trying to suppress it to little avail.

"Hey, James, did you see that?"

"See what?"

"It just moved. The thing just moved."

"Cody... It's a piece of fabric. Fabric doesn't move. Maybe it was just the wind?"

"There isn't any wind here. Whatever, let's just leave it."

One of the boots stepped back loudly, making Ebony flinch violently. Her cloak shuffled from the motion.

"See. It just moved again!"

"You think there's someone under there?"

"Maybe... I'll go look."

She froze. This wasn't the help she wanted. They were scary. They were bad, like the white place, like Omni. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't think. Her muscles tensed. She tried to open her jaw to scream, but only air hissed out. Air pumped in and out of her lungs, too quick to be of use. She would have shivered had her grip on her body not been so tight. The footsteps returned once again shortly, followed by the sound of something else hitting the floor. Had Ebony considered the noise outside of her fear, she'd have concluded that they were probably knees. But alas, she had not.

Ripples formed along the outside of her cloak as something groped at the rough exterior. It was moving it. Pulling it away from her. She may have been partially sitting on it, but she was light and the floor was smooth. It would have mattered little if she provided not direct resistance. However, that was not the case. In a futile effort, her weak looking arms grabbed onto the velvet inside and clamped down; she hugged it, refusing to let it get taken away.

"It's not moving."

"Urgh. Just let me help."

The things pulled harder, and more step noises were made along with a few grunts. More things started pulling, causing Ebony to breathe in sharply and hold on tighter as her and the cloak skidded across the harsh ground. The cloak was incredibly strong. It wouldn't rip, but the motion did cause Ebony a lot of discomfort. This was her cloak, and they were treating this like a game. It was cruel. They were monsters, just like Omni. Can't they just leave me alone? Please. Her fingers slipped. The inside was smooth and nice to touch, but the velvet was much harder to grip than the coarse exterior.

The cloak flipped up, revealing her body and exposing her to the bleak world. Two male faces met her watery deep green eyes. One looked shocked, the other looked calmer and grinned. She didn't like it. They scared her. They and their white armour. Rolling herself upright, she backpedalled, desperately trying to get away from them. Again, she tried to scream, yell, talk, say anything. Anything. Yell for help. Scream at them to leave her alone. Chant a spell. 

She couldn't. She tried and she couldn't. Anything they said to her was lost as she continued moving backwards.

Crash.

Her back smacked into something hard, a fountain. It didn't hurt, but the contact shocked her. Again, she tried to bury herself under the cloak. This time using the short wall to assist in her cover.

"Come on. We won't hurt you."

Liar. You're lying. 

"Stop hiding under there. You won't do yourself any favours."

"James, shush. She's obviously scared. Let me handle it."

"Pfft. Alright, Mr. Cassonova."

"Shuddup."

Just leave me alone. 

The slapping sound of hard armour on the solid floor began again.

Please.

"Listen. My name is Cody. I'm here to help you."

I don't want your "help". Just go. 

"What's your name? I can help you." It was followed by a quiet hiss. "Put your blaster down James." And then a thud.

Whether Ebony wanted to answer or not was irrelevant here. She couldn't. She just pushed herself into the wall and shifted her cloak to block out all the light.

"Please. Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you."

Leave me alone. 

Ebony was tempted. She was really tempted. What if she was wrong in her assumptions? But she had to be strong. She wasn't going to give into what she perceived as trickery and lies.

"We don't have any weapons. You'll be safe with us."

Liar. What was that "blaster" before about? I bet that was something bad. Just leave me alone.

"You can trust me. I'll help you. I can protect you."

Please. Just leave me alone. Ebony hugged herself, gripping onto her cloak.

"Cody, it's obviously not working. Just pull the cloak off."

Cody hissed under his breath. "James. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes."

Go away.

"I'm going to help you now. We can be friends."

Please.

Something touched her cloak and pressed against her shoulder. A hand. She flinched and tried to move away from it, but the wall stopped her.

"Leave me alone." It was a quiet and airy sentence. One that might sound like it was spoken under her breath. She'd put all of her efforts into it.

"Please. Just trust me. I can help."

Trying again, Ebony braced herself, pushing the hand a short distance. "Leave. Me. Alone." It wasn't particularly loud due to the muffling effect of her cloak, but it did carry some distance in the open Nexus. Enough that, if anyone was near, they would likely have heard.

As before. PM me or seek me out in chat to join in or something if you want to meet me here.

[Vulre Oakenlimb]

Vulre’s helmed head perked up, a plaintive cry echoed across this seemingly empty plane, reminding the hunter that, despite appearances, he was not alone in this new realm. While his Elvish heritage had not seen fit to bless him with the traditional magical prowess, beauty, and affinity for nature, his vision was far more acute than the average man. With his elvish eyes, he saw two men clad in ivory, blonde and brown hair cut close to their skulls, inspecting a softly shaking bundle of black cloth. Where those ears sticking out of it?

Sighing, the hunter began to make his way to the apparent trio.

It didn’t take long. There was little in the way of obstacles, given the apparent void in which they now dwelled. Within a minute, he had turned from a vague blur over the horizon to a much closer man-shaped blur, seemingly denying onlookers the ability to focus on his presence. This effect ended as he spoke, a mixture of sullied steel, dark-brown leather, and dark cloth finally deigning to reveal its presence.

“Well, what do we have here?” Asked the Witch-slayer, the expected lilting Elvish voice weighed down with several pounds of gravel. His well-worn axe hung at his hip, the oil and dirt applied to its surface preventing it from shining in the sourceless sunlight that filled this realm. The pair of armoured men jumped back, taking a few more steps away from the bounty hunter, rather than reaching for the crossbow-like devices at their thighs. The black bundle of cloth turned slightly, verdant eyes gazing out towards him from beneath the darkness of their cloak. The ears seemed to be an artificial affecation from this distance, rather than part of their anatomy.

One of the men, the blonde that had previously been so closely crouched to the shrouded figure, took it upon themselves to speak, overcoming their evident surprise and building anxiety. “Look, I-I know you’re new here, we’re here on official business from-”

Vulre held a gloved hand up, stopping the soldier’s spiel. “Now, way I see it, you might just be raiders.” The men gulped audibly at this, although it was a testament to their discipline that they did not begin to shiver or quake in their standard-issue boots, although a perceptive man might notice the slight shift as they prepared to run, if need be. “Mind you, you seem to have uniforms, making you a particularly organized band of raiders. The only difference between you and a government is a sense of self-righteousness,” laughed the hunter, eliciting a nervous chuckle from the two men. It was a good laugh, practiced in front of a mirror over the course of months, calculated to seem perfectly impromptu.

“Sir, we’re just trying to get this new prime oriented. We don’t mean any harm,” spoke the brown-haired one, hazel eyes trying to keep their gaze away from the axe at the hunter’s hip.

“‘Course not,” said Vulre, cocking his head slightly. They said that a bounty hunter could smell a gold coin from two miles off. While in reality, the distance was barely ten meters, it did a ways to hint at the opportunistic avarice of the long reach of the law. Whoever these two were, they were beholden to a much larger organization. They were his in, provided he could turn this situation to everyone’s mutual benefit. “But you’re going to end up doing it anyways, aren’t you?”

“Just what do you mean by that?” Spoke the soldier with straw-coloured stubble across his skull, reproach creeping into his voice as he stepped forward.

“Take a moment to think about it, lad. Now, I know I’m still wet behind the ears, but the fact of the matter is that Omni said he only takes interesting people into this realm. Now, a bundle of black cloth and angst isn’t interesting by itself. But if, say, someone kept poking at it without even the aid of a ten-foot pole, I imagine it would get plenty interesting, very fast.”

He turned his gaze to the still-frozen bundle of shrouding sable silk. “Whoever they are, I daresay they may need more than a few minutes to process the sudden separation of everything they once knew.” The hunter silently moved forward a few feet, crouching a couple of meters away from the silk-swaddled stranger, ever-cautious. Dull green eyes, devoid of a divine spark, looked towards the bundle. “What’s done is done, little ‘un. All you can do is pick up the pieces and move along, lest you get left behind in the past. Whoever you might of left behind, you’ve still got their memory. An’ nobody’s dead while they’re still remembered. So tell me, what’s your name, ‘less you want to end up forgotten here?”

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Someone else, a third person, arrived. Ebony didn't know who he was, Ebony didn't know who anyone here was. Just that some of them were mean. Was this new person mean? The other two weren't poking her anymore. Was he going to help her?

Ebony's mind frantically raced trying to decide a cause of action as she hugged herself, pushing her back against the wall and trying to sit upright. The large hood still covered her head, with the cloak pulled up to assist. The tips of her boots poked out, and her belts jangled as she adjusted herself. Her arms shook frantically, and she rubbed the sore shoulder she'd previously been leaning on.

It hurt, and she hurt as well - just not in the same way. It felt like she was drowning in icy water - something she'd only learned of recently. Her lungs burned, her breathing was frantic and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her body felt numb and her heart felt like it was about to explode. And then, when she tried to move or speak, on the occasion her body actually obeyed her demands, it did so shakily and rarely completed them. She'd tried breathing and speaking and moving outside of her huddle, but every attempt was met with a resistance driving her further into the depths of panic. It was a neverending cycle.

She knew, somewhere in that mind of hers, that nothing was actually stopping her from doing anything. But, similarly to someone who messes up a maths question by making the mistake three times seven equals twenty-seven, just knowing something was no help in the pressure of the moment, and seemingly simple or obvious knowledge can easily be overlooked. And Ebony, as one might expect, was not very good at dealing with pressure.

All this should explain why simply being able to sit upright, even if she was still curled up tightly, leaning on the fountain, and hiding her face, was a monumental achievement for her in this moment of time. She still, however, didn't know what to do. Her usually keen ears hadn't heard much of what the new person said, but she thought he might have asked for her name.

She shivered, bracing herself to take a look. Ebony didn't like the light. It exposed you and left you vulnerable. The dark was better. It was safe. It could hide you and protect you. Black was a nice colour, unlike the dull, harsh, white of the Nexus. Slowly but surely, she relaxed the arm holding the cloak up. Her eyes first met the mean people from before; she flinched but kept looking, pivoting her head slowly towards the new speaker. All the shuffling had messed up her usually well-groomed hair, leaving loose strands of it dangling down in front of her eyes.

Two sets of eyes met briefly. Both green. One deep, glinting, and full of life - yet ruined by tears. The other pair was dull and lifeless: not scary, not happy, not friendly nor mean. They might as well have been grey. Ebony looked down quickly after the short glimpse she got through the tall man's helmet, her eyes flickering up once or twice before she pulled the hood down further, yet again hiding her face.

Everyone was looking at her expectantly. Like they expected her to say something after moving so carefully. She didn't know what to do. Should she tell him her name? What if he's with the other two bad guys? What if they overheard?

Ebony opened her mouth to answer, but instead, her shortness of breath caused a cough. And then another. And another. They weren't loud, but her small frame shook violently from them, resulting on her placing a hand on her chest. Learning from her mistake, she tried her best to take a longer breath amidst the short ones, then opened her mouth to speak. "Y-you f-f-f..." 

And then she tried again. "Y-y... f... st." Sounds barely came out of her small mouth, her lips quivering as her head sunk down.

[Vulre Oakenlimb]

The soulless smiled beneath the sable silk adhered to the dull metal of his helm, briefly entertaining the notion that name of the fearful waif before him was some variation on ‘Youfst’. While their pale complexion did remind him of several Northwomen he met with similar titles, the unscarred countenance, uncalloused palms, and frivolous outfit most certainly did not.

Nonetheless, there was no harm in answering her question, excluding the unlikely event that she was some kind of true-naming witch. He extended a gloved hand, the dark leather scored and scarred by countless claws and blades. “The name’s Vulre. I’m a hunter by trade.”

The proffered hand hung in the air, dull eyes with a colour like freshly-shredded leaves staring back at the youth from behind the emotionless steel of his helmet.

[Morene Fellon]

Morene had a feeling she wouldn't get used to traveling through the Gates, this time through the Nexus from the bustling city of Coruscant.

The huntress had to take note of the seeming trend in which all forms of teleportation has to have some sort of debilitating effect among the user in one way or another. This time? The woman couldn't see for a solid ten seconds. Considering the things she's been through, Morene was unsure if this was the Omniverse weakening her senses, her eyes being too accustomed to the dark, or perhaps that was just the time it took her to travel from point A to point B, feeling nothing in her body during the process.

Feeling her feet graze across the blank floors of the Nexus, the woman sighed as her eyes adjusted properly to the very brightly lit environment. Seeing everything around her wasn't exactly a pleasant experience either; everything is miles apart, she thought, sighing as she did so.

She shook her head gently to herself, figuring it wouldn't be too bad. After all, she did have those nifty grappling hooks, and a nice suit of armor that helped her basically achieve flight, or rather a rough gliding process.

Morene put her arm forward, shooting far ahead onto the canvas that was the Nexus' ground with the thick wires that launched from her gauntlets simultaneously. Said process of gliding began as she deployed her wingsuit, the woman's arms outstretched as she touched the sky, if you could even call the air she flew on a "sky" in a realm such as this.

The knightly huntress moved in almost perfect timing to keep herself above ground. The elegance in how she launched herself forward every grapple shot would have made even the eldest of dragons slightly envious.

Doing this, Morene Fellon of Creedmoor felt peace, even in these lands she did not know. No need to conserve the fuel for the rockets stored in her armor, no need to rush to get any contracts done, and finally, light. So used to the dark, it was a strangely calming experience for her to be within a plane of existence that was presumably forever illuminated with energy.


Of course, that peace didn't last long. Steadily approaching the Fountain of Infinity in which she spawned into this Omniverse, she began to see the movement of four figures, and only two of them looking distinct. Two dark, two white as the Nexus itself.

Inductive reasoning had Morene guessing two Primes had just spawned, and these couple Stormtroopers were either brave or foolish enough to see what was going on, as if it wasn't obvious enough.

As the woman got closer, the scene became a bit more clear.

One of the Primes, a man, seemed to be fitted with an aventail, scale mail armor, and a nice hatchet on his side. A smirk widened across Morene's face seeing the appreciation this man had for practicality.

...As for the other Prime, the feminine figure huddled up on the floor was about as youthfully brooding as it got. The woman would chuckle, if only said Prime wasn't extremely distressed at the moment.

Thankfully, Morene noticed there was no real conflict brewing as she landed on her feet, a loud thud following. The axe-wielding man seemed to notice Morene coming a long time ago, and Morene knew just by looking at him he was observant. Of course, both him and the Stormtroopers were still keenly focused on the woman in front of them, and Morene could tell why.

She looked like she was going to shake through the floor, and the Prime yet to introduce himself seemed to desire stopping that from happening.

The man looked up at Morene as she took a few loud steps forward with her sabatons that could barely be considered as such. The woman stopped, folding her arms at a reasonable distance away.

One of the Stormtroopers was going to talk, but the more reasonable of the two signalled for him to hush up, which he reluctantly did as no words left his still open lips.

The bounty hunter of a man waited for a response.


Morene only nodded, letting him cool the girl down instead. The huntress knew she'd have to help out in time, but for now, the woman knew not to let her caretaking side take over and alienate the teenage Prime further.

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

A hand reached out towards Ebony. 'Vulre' was the name of its owner should she believe them. Which, of course, she did. While naive in many aspects, Ebony wasn't stupid. She knew people sometimes had false names or aliases and had personal experience as to why. Therefore, she was understanding to people who simply wished to go by another identity. In truth, it didn't matter as long as they had a name to call themselves and something for others to call them with.

She looked up slightly, just enough to see the lingering hand, but not enough to see the trio of faces belonging to the men; her hood was pulled down tightly. It was gloved and rough looking. Not like the rough palms of her own gloves. Those were leathery and still nice to touch. Vulre's glove looked ragged, worn, and a bit disgusting. 

Footsteps.

Ebony turned her head quickly in the direction new noise while twisting slightly to shuffle away from it. Everyone else present had turned to look at the armoured new person as well. Ebony only got a look at their lower body due to her hood still obstructing her view; she made no attempt to remedy this. From what she saw, they looked to be armoured more heavily than Vulre. 

She wasn't a fan of armour, having tried it on once and found it to be too heavy. It was loud. It was clunky. It got smelly. And it was very uncomfortable. She preferred her cloak. Even the crew on her boat never really wore protective clothing like that. Maybe a bit of hardened leather occasionally. But it was rare and unnecessary. Shivering from the memory, she questioned why the people converging around her had a need for such equipment. Vulre said he was a hunter, so Ebony reasoned it might be to protect him from wild animals. The other two guys that harassed her first might have been wearing white to camouflage themselves in this strange white place.

But the new person, their use of metal armour confused and scared Ebony. Why would anyone who didn't want to fight wear such things? She pulled her legs in and pushed off the side of the fountain with her hands in an attempt to stand and move away, only for her hold to quickly slip. All four heads turned towards Ebony at the sound of the slight thump of her fall and the clanking of her belt buckles. Vulre, still with his arm held out, readjusted it towards her, unknowing of her reluctance to touch it.

He hadn't left her yet, but his motives were unknown. Is he alone her like me? She thought she might have heard something earlier to suggest that, but had to confess she hadn't really been listening originally. He was waiting patiently, although even if Ebony did raise her hood and look up she wouldn't have been able to see the expression behind the mask. My name. He'd asked for her name. 

Her arms locked, folded under the cloak and pulling it together. She froze up completely, body locking down and shivers stopping. What do I say? She could give her birth name. The name she'd chosen for herself. But was it better to give a shortened version? The full version? Just the first half? Her name was something she'd learned could be uncomfortable to tell to normal people. Not that she was embarrassed; it was a really cool name. Just that others often, insultingly, thought she was joking or laughed at it and asked if she was serious. They were probably just jealous, and Ebony didn't like it when people got jealous - it was probably better not to flaunt her full name for that reason. And then there was the issue of talking.

Breathe.

She'd tried and it scared her. When she'd opened her mouth, at best a slight hiss, a mere whisper, had come out. Sheer fear and uncertainty prevented her from doing anything. And the vulnerability this exposed only made her feel more lonely and fearful. It was a vicious cycle she'd tried to break free from, but to no success, which naturally only brought her further inside. Her head sunk, almost submitting to her cruel fate. Silent tears dripped down her hidden face as she sat curled up and motionless. Not even trying to give a response this time. She'd fail. Just like last time, and the time before that. Just like every attempt she'd made in this place.

I just want to go home.

---

"Why don't we just pick her up?" James whispered before getting the response of an elbow in his side.

"Shut up James, be considerate." The reply was quiet, just like the original comment. Enough for the armoured pair to hear, but not the cloaked girl.

Speaking up louder, Cody voiced his ideas. "Perhaps it might be a good idea to bring her out of the Nexus? I know I wasn't very fond of my first visit here."

Regardless of whether or not she heard, the cloaked girl still remained still. Unresponsive.

[Vulre Oakenlimb]

Clank.

The sound echoed throughout the emptiness surrounding them, like, well, like an amazonian woman covered in more steel than a Dwarvish mine would produce on a good day. Vulre was not particularly good with metaphors, but he prided himself on his awareness. The day he couldn’t hear someone creeping up behind him would be the day they could put him to bed with a shovel.

But today was not that day. Eyes just a shade too dark to be expected from a living being ran over the gleaming steel that encased the newcomer, a drastic difference from the dark leather and cloth that clothed himself and the infuriatingly quiet child. Pale blue eyes, bright with intellect watched him as he rose, leather and quilted cloth soundlessly moving against plates sewn into his shoulders. He was rather proud of the plates: Able to deflect the average blow from an Ogre, merely dislocating his shoulder instead of sending shards into his organs, as well as offsetting the traditionally lithe elven figure.

He could scarcely help but feel a touch of envy upon looking towards the new arrival: Steel coated her almost entirely, their comparatively diminutive face curiously unmarred, save for the freckles across the pale surface of her visage. She had a somewhat matronly appearance, despite the fact that she was plainly able to wrestle the average Orcish marauder to the floor, possibly even without the advantage of her warplate. A massive poleaxe, longer than its owner was tall, hung from her back, light blue runes glowing across its surface, a similar glow highlighting the curvature of her armour, leaving no doubt as to its power. The sight of magic caused the hunter to subconsciously reach for the six knives sheathed across his chest, arrayed in two rows of three. The comforting weight of the other blades up his sleeves and down his boots served to remind him of the reassuring presence of steel.

“Ho there,” he said, a moment after he dragged his fingers across the blades, confirming that the still-shrouded steels were prepared to slice and stab at the flesh of this unexpected interruption, need be. The ivory-clad men were twitchy, careful. They knew the power being gathered before them, and were in no hurry to see it be released upon their painfully mortal bodies.They whispered between each other, quietly debating whether it was better to flee and risk chase, or staying still and praying to the Emperor that they would be forgotten.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d be so kind as to keep your distance, ‘fore we get to know each other, hm?” They spoke, holding a gloved hand out to arrest the advance of this newcomer. “I’d usually be more than happy to share my name on such an occasion, but sadly, lil’ miss fearful over here doesn’t seem to want to uphold her end of our lil’ naming deal. It’s not like I don’t have enough names and titles to keep a clerk occupied for a good week, but it’s the principle of the thing, you understand?” He cocked an eyebrow beneath his helmet, noting the distinct lack of heraldry upon her armour. Some sort of heavy footman? He wasn’t aware of a tendency among lords to hire women for their bloody work, but things were bound to be different, if Omni had told the truth about the varied origins of these people. She certainly looked like she’d be able to crush a man’s skull with those gauntlets, though he was in no rush to witness such a thing first-hand.

He sighed, rubbing one hand against his wrist, feeling the blade concealed down his sleeve. “No reason for us to not be civilized, hm?”

[Morene Fellon]

Deafening silence followed the scaled hunter's proposition. Morene kept her arms folded. Sweat dropped from Ebony's face, and the Stomtroopers continued to shuffle ever so awkwardly in their position.

...

"Do I really look that menacing?" Morene chuckled, letting her arms fall to her side.

Immediately, the slight knot building up in Vulre's gut loosened. Not all the way, but it seemed to reassure the man to know this was indeed a friendly face, and not some brute looking for brewing trouble to sip up from the cauldron of problems he already had to deal with.

Vulre intended to reply, but Morene spoke up before him, taking slight control in the situation she honestly had to admit she shouldn't have even interrupted in the first place.

"I'll give you the time you need here hun," the huntress finished, taking a step back as she did so, "this seems like a mess and a half already."

Even saying that, Morene still had a bit of a smile on her face. She felt a little bit intrusive, and it was obvious absolutely nobody here wanted the huntress to be standing there, further increasing the pure awkwardness of the moment, let alone the intensity.

The Stormtroopers were obviously careful around all three of the Primes before them, Vulre was ever so slightly discomforted by this tiny ball of cloaked anger and the hulking iron woman now behind him, not to mention Ebony's stress building with even more people coming to see the little situation she seemed to have created.

This entire scene seemed a bit silly, only further emphasized by one of the Stormtroopers' words, James' in particular, that came soon after Morene's tiny reassurance.

"This is... uh..." he stuttered, looking off to his partner to perhaps make himself feel a bit better that he wasn't the only one slightly unnerved at the moment. Of course, Cody himself was still intensely focused on the scene in front of him, seemingly genuine.

Vulre still had his doubts after seeing the blondie's eyes, even if they belonged to a person of serious disposition, if not a harmlessly nervous one.

Whether or not he trusted in all the strangers around him didn't matter at the moment, however. The bounty hunter looked back at this strange teen in front of her, still visibly shaken. Though, upon careful inspection, she seemed to be coming to some of her senses.

He breathed. Vulre began to reach his hand outwards to the freshly spawned Prime once again.

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Ebony's real name is Catherine. She changed said name to Ebonywood Hellscythe. That name comes from the character Ebonywood Hellscythe that she wrote books about. 

Ebony didn't shiver or move under her cloak as events played out around her. Going home was her only aim outside of making friends. The later made impossible by her fear and the former ever out of reach. Her mind whirred, mulling over possibilities. She longed for her scythe. For warmth. To at least escape hellish dull white plane.

Like in the past where she attempted to stand or speak, she repeated the process. Trying. Focusing. Diverting her efforts. In this case, she tried to force herself. Ebony tried to command her legs to move, overriding the lingering fear and uncertainty. Yet she lost again, this time to sadness. A loss of will. Why would, or should, she do anything when it wouldn't make a difference?

Ebony couldn't go home. Or, at least, she couldn't make any progress towards doing so just sitting there as she was. She knew that; everyone knew that; knowing it wasn't a help. But a continuously growing part of her wasn't even sure such a thing was possible. She'd never seen or heard of a place like this outside of a few interpretations of a potential afterlife - and should she actually be dead then there was no hope in returning home. In short, Ebony had given up. No more panic. No more shaking. No more anything.

Just her, the cloak, tears, and her memories. If she closed her eyes enough it was like she actually was home, back in her cabin huddling under her cloak for warmth. Voices broke through, however, and the moment was short lived. They weren't talking to her anymore, but she thought parts of what they said were about her.

Her mind was almost blank. Nothing. No hope. No plans. All spirit lost.

Almost. One small question remained.

What would Ebonywood Hellscythe do?

What would her idol, creation, and inspiration do? The frail girl hiding under the cloak wasn't her, not truly. But she wanted to be. Catherine was an old name and persona she strived to avoid returning to, even with a change in scenery like this. Ebony, the real Ebony, was a girl of action. She'd have been on her feet by now, scythe in hand and possibly with new friends by her side. Maybe not with a direct plan, but she'd be doing something even if it was futile. Hopeless. She never gave up. Even in "The Further Adventures of Ebonywood Hellscythe Vol. VII: The Quest of the Golden God" when her magic was taken and her scythe blade dulled. Even then she persevered, saved the world (and the school), fixed her scythe, beat the bad guy, and got her magic back.

But that Ebony was fictional. Not real. Fake. Yet the concept was all Ebony, the real one, needed. Without it, she'd never have cast magic. Without it, she'd still be stuck in a tower. Without it, she wouldn't have a really cool cloak. It had always provided some emotional support and her scythe, cloak, outfit, and books were her connection to it. The scythe could be remade; and while it would take a very long time, the books could be rewritten - or more potentially created. Those were losses she could feasibly deal with, unlike the loss of her friends, her home, and the ship. She couldn't simply remake them.

I have to try. 

Ebonywood Hellscythe would try. Or do something. Even if it seemed doomed to fail, she would make an attempt. As Captain had said, "It's better to try and not succeed than do nothing, Ebony. If you're not doing anything, then you've already lost. Stay optimistic, a sad face doesn't suit you." Sad expressions didn't suit anyone. Ebony may have been an actor in a sense, but not a good one. She could push herself forwards with false confidence attempting to mirror her alter ego, but masking emotions was never her strong point. Especially sadness, loneliness, and excitement.

Laughter breached her black fabric prison followed by the sound of a short movement. She didn't react physically, but it woke her from her thoughts. Stifling her mind she looked up slowly in one smooth mechanical motion. Ebony's hood dangled protectively in front of her eyes preventing her from seeing anyone else's faces. Yet in front of her was the same gloved hand from before. She knew little about Vulre but he was certainly patient.

He reminded her a bit of the bodyguard she had back at the castle. Always gruff and dull, he'd remained stalwart in response to her antics and turning a blind eye to the many, many, grass stains that manifested on her clothes. He was boring, but when he left she did miss the guy. The replacement was strict and mean so she stayed away from him by just hiding in her room where possible. And then she ran away, not because of him though, although he didn't exactly provide any incentive to stay.

More tangents ran through her mind. She was stalling. Nervous. Avoiding what was in front of her. It was proper etiquette to at least shake the hand in front of her. And she still hadn't even given her name. Ebony didn't want to be rude. She just found it incredibly hard to start. After making the first step, everything else would follow until the next major obstacle - which hopefully wouldn't be for a while.

Taking a good deep breath, Ebony reached out with one hand while raising her hood slightly with the other. The movement was delicate like it could be blocked by a piece of paper or a light breeze, but her arms didn't shake. Eventually, her gloved hand met the leather. Warmth. She gripped snugly with her small hand, unwilling to relinquish the minor heat source and physical contact. Forcing her cheeks to rise, she smiled at Vulre. It was fake and unnatural, evident by the long trailing stains of tears and the visible amount of effort she was putting into it. Her lower lip quivered as she spoke faintly with false felicity

"N-nice to meet you Vaul-ri." The voice was shaky, but it almost made an attempt at a song - a faint underlying tune layered under the words. She brought her free hand in front of her face so it mostly covered her eyes, making no attempt to close the gaps in her fingers. "M-my..." Breathing in, she shrugged slightly and tried again. "My name is Ebonywood Hellscythe."

In a seemingly prepared motion, like she'd spent days in front of a mirror repeating the exact phrase and motion (which she totally did NOT do), she moved the hand covering her face sideways, waving the fingers slightly. While her voice was still quiet, the counterfeit confidence was well forged. It had an air of meaning behind it.

"Y-you can c-call me Ebony."

You can pull her to her feet on your post if you want. If you left go of her hand she's going to hold on with that 4 ATK.

[Vulre Oakenlimb]

Vulre smiled beneath the black cloth shrouding the lower half of his face, his long-delayed payment arriving at last. Ebonywood Hellscythe. “My condolences,” he said, grasping her frail hand and pulling the small child to her feet. The youth was putting on a brave face, but a bounty hunter such as himself made much of his living on reputation: fear, intimidation, and surprise could determine the fate of a fight more decisively than any weapon. While their attempt was admirable, there was certainly no shred of strength within their slight frame.

He attempted to withdraw his hand from her grasp and-

He could feel his bones shift beneath his well-weathered gloves, a hiss escaping through clenched teeth as he stifled a scream, drowning out an all-too quiet crack. Eyes desperately trying to disguise the fear within her lost and forgotten existence stared into his own dead orbs, searching for some source of stability and compassion that was simply not there. His own eyes were like marbles forged of green glass, entirely devoid of all the warmth and kindness one might find in a corpse. Nonetheless, tears started to well up in the corner of these empty eyes, a reflexive reaction to the crushing bones within his hand.

“Strong grip you have,” he said in a coarse whisper, his hand feeling like it was being transformed into an agonizing jelly, constrained only by the scarred and scratched leather. Was she some kind of witch, channeling her powers into her own physical form?

No, that was unlikely. Unless winging and whimpering qualified as components for a spell, there was precious little magic here at work, barring the workings of this Omni. Omni. Was this part of their work? Making a damn child stronger than him? For what maddening purpose?

He could feel his legs start to weaken, the vice-like grip of the child draining his vitality, sapping his strength as his hand went numb. “I’m gonna have to ask you to let go, now,” Vulre said, experimentally twitching the numb fingers held in her grasp, noting with dismay that his digits were unwilling to respond.

He turned his helmeted head to the titanic woman looming nearby, his situation in no ways improved by her proximity, give his immobility. He didn’t like this, surrounded by strangers, in pain, and with precious few means to escape short of engaging in what may be constituted as unwarranted violence by the ivory-clad enforcers nearby.

Hun. That was what the armoured amazonian had said earlier, a term of endearment. She was, presumably, kind and caring enough to assist a child. It was a task Vulre himself would freely admit he was unqualified for: Children were gentle, fragile things of feelings and impatient energy, things which were anathema to him. “Mind lending a hand here?” He asked the warrior-woman, silently cursing as his breath began to come just a little bit heavier, fingers without feeling suffering under the small sorceress’s grasp.

[Morene Fellon]

Quickly, Morene hurriedly walked over to Vulre now getting the life squeezed out of his hand by this little container of angst named Ebony. The elven man actually asking for help had put a tiny knot in the woman's stomach. Omni must have been really fiddling with these two's emotions at the moment. Ebony's moreso, of course.

Ebony, the huntress idly thought whilst hastily moving to arm's reach of the two Primes. Morene thought it was a pretty name on it's own, unbeknownst to the hilarity that was her last name anyways. On that note, Morene did remind herself that she was impolitely leaving these two Primes and Stormtroopers hanging by not giving her own namesake, which seemed like a terribly mannered thing to do.

"Oh," Morene piped up, finishing upon getting everybody's attention, "of course!"

The woman proceeded to place a gentle hand on the elven hunter's shoulder. The knightly individual found herself a bit concerned that Vulre was already squirming beneath her presence. Not as if Morene could blame him exactly, seeing as his hand was about to break at any second.

"Ebony, sweetie?" Morene whispered, tilting her head to the child as she referred to the Prime by name.

Sweetie. Vulre's mind was already racing, and the huntress' choice of words didn't much help to comfort him as was intended. It was so strange, why would a woman who looked like that have the capacity to say such things?

"H-huh?" Ebony loosened her grip on the man, surprised as well. Vulre, at this current moment, felt as if his soul finally returned to his body. A shrill squeak left the man's lips. Morene would find it comical, had he still not been in slight livid pain.

"Might you please let go of this man's hand for me? My name is Morene Fellon."

Ebony's heart seemed to sink, finally noticing the look on the bounty hunter's face. It was a face that wasn't having fun in the slightest. In fact, Ebony might have compared Vulre's expression to that of her own when she stubs her toe sometimes.

Except, about ten times worse.

Hesitantly, Hellscythe let go of Vulre's hand, to which the elven man immediately retracted his arm, trying his best not to huddle it close to his chest for comfort.

"O-oh," Ebony murmured, keeping her eyes glued to the floor afterwards, "sorry."

Morene gulped. This is an absolute mess.

The woman took a hand off of Vulre's shoulder, letting him have a moment to recuperate from having his very life forces smashed out of his hand. Slowly, the knightly huntress walked over to Ebony, making her presence entirely known by not even attempting to muffle the sounds of her footsteps. Morene looked back, winking at both of the Stormtroopers still awkwardly watching this weird phenomenon unfolding in front of them.

Stopping in front of the teenage Prime, Morene crouched down in front of her, making herself seem smaller. Well, smaller than "towering pillar of steel," as was most people's first impressions of Morene. 

"Dear?"

Ebony looked to the side, slowly meeting the woman's eyes with her own. She was still confused, and Morene could see it in her face. She was scared.

Though hesitantly, Ebony looked at Morene, awaiting a response. So, a response the huntress gave, one of hopeful reassurance in this time of darkness in the poetically ironic brightly lit room known as the Nexus.


"You'll be alright, okay? Just breathe."

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Heavy. Upon being pulled to her feet Ebony felt heavy. Warmth. Vulre's gloved hand was warm. Like her scythe. Like a friend.

Her hand clenched around it, reluctant to let the heat source away from her and oblivious to the man's plight. Time passed quickly as she stood, absorbing the warmth like it was a food source. Like she was a starved panther lapping up all the meat from fallen antelope. Except, in this case, she was deprived of contact and her body would not relinquish it easily, even if her mind knew otherwise.

Speech. Ebony looked towards the womanly voice. Armour. Metal. Ebony blinked, she expected the armour to belong to a man. The shoulders were very broad. She shivered, relaxing her grip slightly.

Her name. The woman used her name, the name Ebony gave to Vulre. Who is she? Ebony shuffled away slightly, still holding onto the hand while speaking. "H-huh?"

Morene. The woman answered her unspoken question but more importantly alerted Ebony to the hunter's pain. Pain wasn't nice. Ebony was causing pain. Does that mean I'm not nice? I hope he doesn't hate me. Quickly, in a jerking motion, her arm recoiled. 

"O-oh... sorry," Ebony exclaimed quietly afterwards.

She looked away, scared and ashamed. 

Curiosity. Slowly she looked back, meeting Morene's eyes. It was easier now she didn't have to look up.

"You'll be alright, okay? Just breathe."

It was sound advice. Advice that had been given to Ebony before. The advice she had repeated to herself again and again and again since waking up in this dead place. Nonetheless, hearing someone else speak it settled her.

Her lungs sucked in air, pumping it in and out. Her heart thudded audibly, Ebony heard the booming in her ears.

Heavy.

Ebony was light. Very light. A small amount of mass. She was also strong. Fit. Well used, yet small, muscles with magic to assist. Yet she still felt so heavy. Gravity seemed to force her down much more than it should as her legs strained against the load. They wobbled and shifted slightly, knees bending towards each other. Hands retracted under the cloak, yet still ready to reach out should she fall.

But she didn't. She'd come far and she'd only go further. This was one of many tipping points - just a slight shift in the right direction and she'd slide down the slope easily. Well, more easily than it was to initially speak, or stand... or breathe.

A support. Something to lean on. Her scythe. That would be useful to Ebony's situation.

Tentatively, Ebony looked back towards Vulre while still considering her thoughts; he was still cradling his hand. What if he hated her? What if he thought she was mean? Should she hug him? People had hugged her when she got hurt. But what if she hurt him again by accident? It was all too complicated.

Metal clanked as the still crouched Morene extended her steel-clad hand. "It's nice to meet you, Ebony." She smiled lightly, trying to coax Ebony's arms out of her black prison.

Steel. Iron. Metal. It was cold. While initially reluctant to touch Vulre's leather glove due to the decor, similarly Ebony didn't want to place her fingers on the frigid metal. Reassuringly, her mind reminded her it was unlikely that she'd break the metal and likewise harm Morene's hand. 

Her hand left her cloak slowly, travelling the short distance and lightly touching the metal as if it were a fragile piece glass. Morene's hand was relaxed, letting Ebony dominate the hold. It didn't last long, and Ebony barely gave the gauntlet a token shake before releasing her light hold. She blushed, face turning red from her tentative contact.

She wanted to speak. Make conversation. But being around new people was hard. It was confusing and made worse by the alien surroundings. What was she supposed to say? She'd given her name already and now wasn't the time to start telling anecdotes.  Luckily, Morene made that choice for her while she played with the smooth interior of her cloak. Vulre remained silent as he watched.

"That's a very pretty cloak you've got. Did you make it yourself?"

It was a distraction. Something to take her mind the situation. To get Ebony to open up. Ebony was caught by it instantly. "It's not pretty." Her voice was soft and less shaky than before. Due to it not being muffled by her cloak and the close proximity between them, it almost sounded loud in contrast with her previous dialogue.

"Of course it is dear. I think it looks great." Understandably, Morene misinterpreted Ebony's statement as a lack of confidence. Which, while often true for the girl, wasn't the case in this instance.

"N-no. It's not p-pretty. I made it to be really c-cool." Ebony's voice shook at the slight conflict she started. She couldn't let Morene's incorrect ideas stand. Her attire was cool, awesome. Not pretty or cute or anything dumb like that. Quickly, Ebony made an attempt to change the subject to better explain her ideas. Now that the conversation ball was rolling, it made it much easier for her to speak. "Like my scythe. That's really cool."

"Your... scythe?" It was Morene's turn to look confused, if only for a short second. Ebony knew there were probably good reasons why everyone used swords or spears, but something about the crescent curved blade and rounded wooden staff resonated within her; it screamed, 'awesome'.

"Y-yeah. I can show you." 

Morene nodded, perhaps considering the new prime might be about to use Omnilium. In actuality, Ebony was perfectly capable of creating her scythe with magic. She just needed confidence and concentration. Both were hard to collect, but it was doable in her current state. Vulre was watching with interest as Ebony steadied herself, shuffling backwards and keeping some distance from the pair. The white wearing soldiers were still idly standing by, both unsure of how to proceed.

A pair of frail looking arms extended from Ebony's cloak, harmless purple flames dripped from them as she repeated the familiar motions. Vocally, however, she had the option of choice which led to a slight hesitation before a previously spoken line was arbitrarily picked to be reused.

"Forces of the darkness, hear my plea. Grant me a weapon to stand side by side with thee."

From glowing, translucent, purple magic the weapon formed, leaving seemingly harmless flames in residue while she spun it in the air. Unlike her first attempt since coming to the Nexus, this one was successful. A weight she'd since become accustomed to felt like it was lifted from her shoulders as the familiar warmth of the enchanted ebony wood spread throughout her fingertips. She brought it close, leaning on the staff and almost hugging it as the mirrored silver blade drifted dangerously close to her head. Her now red eyes scanned the small crowd from under the dark hood, gauging reactions. 

Author's physicy note. Metal isn't colder than wood or leather inherently. Cutlery at your house is going to be the same temperature as the table and the air usually. It just feels colder because it conducts heat from your warmer hands faster than the wood.

Although Ebony's scythe is actually warm (the pole is anyway). It's basically a portable radiator that also turns her eyes red.

[Vulre Oakenlimb]

Vulre could almost laugh.

Almost.

A small child, summoning dark powers to bring forth a scythe, dressed in an outfit designed entirely to make them look ‘cool’? The only benefit of a scythe was how unpredictable it could be, to both its wielder and the target, to speak nothing of how cumbersome it was to carry and wield. Granted, magic did annul some of that last point, but it was nonetheless an egregious offense to practicality.

Were it not for the fact that he was silently cursing under his breath, his still functioning hand slowly sliding his bones back into place as he winced and quietly whimpered. His painful mending was interrupted when one of the ivory-clad soldiers quietly whispered to his blonde comrade. “Scythes, armoured badasses, and now they’re starting to break each other’s bones. Call me a pessimist, Cody, but I’d rather walk through Westside with a sack of credits slung over my back.” His compatriot hissed and waved gauntleted hands, trying to silence the sullen stormtrooper before the primes present could take notice.

Eyes like faded and wrinkled dollar bills, stained by all the dark and dirty deeds done in the name of profit, turned towards the pair, both of the soldiers shirking beneath the soulless gaze. “What is this Wes- Gah!” The hunter’s query was interrupted by one final push, a crack of bone settling back into place barely audible. He stretched his digits, pain flooding back into the appendages as he slowly twitched them, his fingers barely functional. Through gritted teeth, he spoke: “Westside. Elaborate.”

The flaxen-follicled enforcer spoke up, gulping down their fear. “It’s… It’s a district of Coruscant. There’s a little bit of a, well, crime problem, at the moment. It’s temporary.” Their patriotism was admirable, although it most decidedly clashed with the sad reality of the gang-infested streets of the lower tiers.

Vulre could practically hear the jangling racket of golden coins falling into his palm. Chaos, Corruption, and Crime, while devastating to property values and the health of the average citizen, were good for business. He bowed and spread his arms wide, allowing the sheathed blades upon his chest to give a gentle rattle, speaking in the well-practiced tones of a salesman, doing his best to ignore the pain consuming his hand.

“Then this is a rather fortuitous meeting, my friends.” The words were slick, honeyed things. Vulre most certainly had no friends: Childhood relationships rarely got better than individuals not throwing stones or insults his way, whereas his adult life provided little more than a network of employers, professional acquaintances, and suppliers.

“My name is Vulre Oakenlimb, hunter of men, beasts, and worse. I’ve done business on whatever plane I came from for more than a hundred years, and I can assure you my rates are eminently reasonable.”

The two men stood slack-jawed, each of them attempting to formulate an appropriate response to the sudden business proposition. The man with ‘CODY’ printed across his breastplate spoke up first. “I think Gorman’s in charge of, uh, Contracting.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation, the Storm Troopers trying to remember whatever errant paragraph in the Uplifting Imperial Primer mentioned the proper procedure in hiring Primes. A gauntlet was run through the trooper’s blonde locks as he considered his options.

“I, uh, guess I can put you in contact with him?”

The hunter smiled beneath his steel helmet, the dull metal stubbornly refusing to glean under the sourceless light that pervaded this empty plane.

“Please do,” he said, visions of blood and coin dancing through his mind, both of which held an undeniable appeal, a familiar point of reference in this strange new realm.

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Shivers vibrated across Ebony's body as she grew accustomed to the warm magical ebony. Knees still bent slightly, she leant forwards pulling the scythe towards her and using it as a support - the silver blade curved over her left shoulder. Still nervous, shy, exposed, yet feeling less vulnerable, Ebony stumbled forwards while Morene watched. The woman displayed a mix of bemusement and excitement on her face but was clearly making an effort to suppress it.

Vulre was still cradling his hand. It still hurt him. The realisation that she might have even broken it permanently, while unlikely, flooded Ebony's mind. Loneliness. She'd inadvertently pushed someone away, someone who had offered her his hand. Fear. He might be angry. He might hate her. Sadness. She didn't want people to be hurt or angry. Motivation. With the intent to properly apologise she pressed on, moving forwards towards him. 

The hunter had turned around, speaking to the white armoured men about something called 'Westside'. Hearing what she thought was a gap in the conversation, Ebony tried to open her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the clashing of metal hidden on the other side of Vulre's body. He spoke, continuing. Maybe I should just wait for them to finish. I don't want to be a bother. Ebony slumped slightly, idly running her fingers along the smooth wood of her scythe.

She perked up, jolting and then shaking slightly. Hunter of men. Vulre had definitely just said he was a 'hunter of men'. Does that mean he hurts people? Ebony didn't think that would have made her justified in hurting his hand, however. Regardless of it being an accident, she did still want to apologise. Hurting people was wrong. 

Her face distorted into a fearful frown as she stepped backwards, giving him some distance. He had weapons, armour. She'd dismissed it before as a precaution for hunting wild animals or monsters - not a tool for fighting actual people.

"You h-hunt p-people?" Her voice shook, stuttering yet definitely audible. She quivered under her cloak, defensively bringing her scythe even closer. Her mind raced.

Sure Ebonywood Hellscythe, the character, had to beat up her fair share of bad guys, but she never harmed them too much - it was in defence of others or herself. And it was never violent enough to leave more than a few bruises. She hoped Vulre was the same. Was he just tracking down criminals to detain? They were talking about crime, at least. So from the context, she gathered that was the case. That said, he would be intentionally placing himself in a dangerous area with the probable likelihood of violence - either caused by himself or others. 

It was wrong. But she reassured herself with the thought that Vulre didn't seem bad. Maybe I misunderstood something.

[Morene Fellon]

There was a slight tinge of worry on Ebony's face as she came to realize why Vulre donned his arms. Morene could feel it, and it concerned the huntress ever so slightly. It was obvious Vulre was some sort of bounty hunter to the woman, but Ebony seemed to have a hard time wrapping her head around such a thing.

The knightly woman could only imagine what the scythe-user in front of her thought of her armor and why she wore it. Perhaps a bit more "righteous" than Vulre's intentions, or so it seemed eavesdropping on his conversation with the Stormtroopers, but that was how Morene thought of it, presumably not Ebony.

Funnily enough, most folks who she knew back on her homeworld that were gutsy enough to use scythes as a weapon were well accustomed to the surroundings of death by their own hand.

Ebony, however?

Not so much. At all.

"Bounties," Vulre answered, "I hunt. People tend to fit into that description a lot however, though calling 'em people is a bit too lenient most of the time."

So, he left it at that. Honest, brutal, and in all due respect, Morene found it to be a bit much for Ebony to hear so bluntly. Though, either way, the man would have had to break it to her sometime that he doesn't exactly work 9 to 5 jobs. That being said, the huntress couldn't judge, not at all. After all, she fit the same bill herself; only difference being she wouldn't take a single coin from anybody if she didn't need to. Though, reality being reality, monster hunting was a well-paying job, and food needed to be put on her table.

In the midst of Morene's pondering as to how Ebony would react to her occupation, the teenage Prime was already frozen in shock over Vulre's.

Immediately, the knightly woman saw this as quite a bad thing.

"Y-you... K-kill--?"

Shock turned into fear. Bad. Very bad.

Quickly, Morene rose to her feet, "accidentally" blocking off Ebony as soon as the huntress felt the shift in her movement move towards the general direction of the Stormtroopers. Her intentions were very clear to the huntress, perhaps not to Vulre. The Stormtroopers were assigned to uphold the law, and they'd consider arresting the bounty hunter, according to Ebony.

Of course, that wouldn't have gone to plan either way, as Vulre would have more than likely felt a bit betrayed at that moment, and the soldierboys Cody and James were the ones giving the hunter means to get contracts legally. In that case, Morene spoke as she stopped Ebony in her tracks.

"Hun, hun," Morene interjected, "please, stand still and get used to your surroundings. I am aware it is a lot to take in at the moment, but if it makes you feel much better, I'm sure the man is good in his intentions."

She nodded at Vulre with a squint in her eye, not even certain of his name.

"Riiight?"

Once more, silence. Vulre blinked, before realizing what the woman was attempting to do. He'd groan, but the bounty hunter decided to stretch the truth a tiny bit. Emphasis on tiny, for Vulre really did believe the men he killed were less than pleasurable people.

"...Yeah, 'course."

Looking back, Morene saw Ebony looking at the floor again, this time shifting her weight much more than she was previously. Signs of nervousness, prominent ones at that. 

Another silence, even more awkward this time. The huntress looked down at her Liberator Aid still attached onto her wrist, noticing how tacky it looked, and that she needed to take leave soon. Perhaps she was tooting her own horn by thinking this, but Morene pondered the possibility of conflict arising further between these two Primes and the Stormtroopers if she wasn't present.

Dismissing the thought quickly, Morene began conversation once more, this time talking to all four of the people standing nearby, Ebony of course still bordering on shivering in her boots.

"I apologize," the woman hummed, "but, I have businesses to attend to elsewhere. Duty calls to me."

Vulre's interest piqued slightly, and if his helmet wasn't encasing his skull, one would easily tell.

"What kind of business we talking about here?"

"Not that kind of business, silly," Morene chuckled, finishing, "a mission, rather. Cleansing foul creatures of the night, for I had just returned from Coruscant doing the same."

James, the Stormtrooper intent on leaving, suddenly had a reason to stay. She'd already been to Coruscant? Wait...

"Whoa, whoa, were you one of the Primes over there dealin' with the uh... What're they called, Cody? Those weird zombie things?"

Cody got out of his little daze, still a bit mesmerized at the Primes in front of him, if not a bit nervous.

"Oh, the Darklings, yeah?"

"Yep, those weird things, right?" James' asked for Morene to confirm this eagerly. Either he was interested in helping, or he was scared out of his mind at the thought of dark energy zombies with weapons in-hand trying to kill him.

"D-Dark...lings?" Ebony suddenly piped up, albeit quietly.

Morene looked back at her, a very subtle smile on her face as to reassure her Vulre and herself didn't exactly have the same interests when it came to a career choice. How convenient.


"Indeed, they are terrible humanoid creatures who kill with abandon. Hundreds of them seemed to lurk the city of Coruscant, and it only gets worse from here."

"Huh?" Cody asked further. "From here?"

The huntress sighed, looking at the gate she was headed towards still a few miles away. She had to admit, the idea of this plane of existence she was soon to name wasn't exactly a comfortable sounding one.

"The Ashen Steppes, yes. I believe there's... trouble brewing there, to put it lightly. Especially in the hands of the forces of Nebula."

Vulre wanted to lean on something as to listen to this more clearly. It sounded pretty thrilling, to say the least. Ebony, on the other hand, was wide-eyed again. This time however, Morene couldn't tell what for. It seemed like... bewilderment, awe, and fear all at once.

Ebony knew what she was thinking however. This sort of thing was right up her alley, if not... less scary-sounding. Morene was nice, too. Or so, Ebony thought so at the moment. Vulre didn't seem nice. The teenage Prime felt her gut twist once again as she corrected herself on that; maybe her squeezing his hand violently wasn't nice...

Any which way her mind raced, Ebony Hellscythe just wanted to leave. Hopefully the huntress would let her follow. At least then, the scythe-wielder would know where she was going. The question still remained however, and Ebony stood perfectly still as she went back and forward in her head.

Would she stay, or would she venture into the dangers of the unknown?

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Ebony shivered, eyes wide open in confusion, shock, and fear. She didn't like this at all. First, there were the stormtroopers, who she only just accepted were not here to hurt her. Then there was a more reasonable looking man who at first she thought was honourable but later found he got paid to hunt people down and kill them. She almost felt a tinge of betrayal - while for a short time, she trusted him. What was even worse was that the stormtroopers, James and Cody, were going to actually help Vulre do it; they were going to provide him with ways to get an income from it. 

And then there was Morene: the big scary armoured lady who had recently blocked Ebony's path just when she'd gathered the nerve to act. It confuddled Ebony that Morene actually believed Vulre's claim about having good intentions. If he had righteous aims, then he wouldn't be hurting anyone outside of self-defence. And he certainly wouldn't want money for his "services". It was immoral that he even thought to put a price on human lives. Living, thinking, beings. Ebony was shocked that someone would actually do such a thing. He was no better than the people he hunted if he genuinely thought in such a way. But why? Why did he have to think like that? Couldn't he just work as a blacksmith or fight to protect people? How could he live with himself? Surely there had to be good inside him somewhere. A faint idea formed in the back of Ebony's mind as she considered the situation.

Lastly, there was also the monsters Morene talked about. But Ebony just wanted to go home, not get cast into a dangerous fight - she'd heard vague stories of the demons in the recent history of her world, she had no will to join in on such a thing. At least Morene was better in that regard. She had an air about her, one signifying her conviction towards the fight and aim to protect people from it. But Ebony couldn't do that. She'd just get in the way. She couldn't even use her magic to stop a ship from sinking in a story. She'd failed then, and could only guess the consequences.

Ducking her head quickly, she covered her eyes with her free hand waiting for tears that never came. She shivered at the resurfaced memory nonetheless before bracing herself. Her breathing steadied yet again as she looked up - determination partially shown on her face but the many dried tears and uncertain eyes betrayed the image. Stepping quickly, making use of her small body rather than actually being mobile or fast, she moved around Morene and closed in on Vulre.

"I'm coming with you." Unlike most of her speech so far, the line came out surprisingly clean and smooth, even if it was still quiet.

Silence. If there were any crickets in the Nexus, they would have easily been audible. It was hard for Ebony to gauge Vulre's reaction through his mask, but before he could reply, Morene opened her mouth. "Hun. I don't thin-" Only to be shortly cut off.

"I've g-got to go with you t-t-to stop you hurting anyone else!" Ebony pushed herself forwards, leaning towards Vulre and standing on the tips of her toes while seemingly being unaware of the silver scythe blade dangerously close to both her and the hunter. Vulre stepped back reactively.

Ebony's face was already broken, yet she was still making a conscious effort to at least try and look determined through her fear and uncertainty. Aaaaaaaaaahh! Why did I do that?! Some second thoughts were had, yet she still found herself pushed forwards to continue the uncharacteristic pursuit. She forced herself to be assertive. It was, after all, what Ebonywood Hellscythe might have done.

Vulre looked down at the girl, the sounds of her belts and boots shaking reached his ears. He reached to his side and spoke, trying to move further away to give himself more room. The purpose of the movement, however, was foiled by Ebony yet again filling the gap and invading his personal space. Giving up with the endeavour, he spoke nonetheless. Although he was visibly uncomfortable by the proximity. "This is my axe. Axes are sharp and axes can hurt people. Some people go around using axes and other weapons to kill others for their own personal gain, in doing so they lose their right to be called a person. I take on the necessary job to make sure monsters like that don't exist." He held his axe idly between them, although not a threat. Like it was just a thing to him, no different than a stick or a hammer or a toolkit. His voice was dull and emotionless.

Morene finally closed in, carefully placing her metal clad hand on Ebony's shoulder. She flinched, even though she couldn't feel the cold of the steel through her cloak, the light impact still shook her. "Ebony-"

Ebony shrugged the arm off her and leant forwards further. Her chest almost pressing against the axe and the only thing keeping her upright was the scythe. "N-no." She shook her head, hairs shifting under her cloak and some dropping to partially cover her eyes. She ignored them. Her back arched upwards as she raised her face to look at Vulre. His breathing cut out briefly while Ebony continued. "Y-you're wrong. K-k..." She braced herself, forcing the words out. The first of which felt unfamiliar on her tongue. "Killing people makes you just as bad as the m-m-monsters. S-stop it." She paused, tears almost dripping down her face. While the individual words may have sounded assertive, it came across has her begging him to stop. "A-and you're even asking for money t-to d-d-do it." Jutting her face closer - inches away from Vulre - who was (unbeknownst to Ebony) locked into the position due to the scythe blade behind him, she whispered. It was quiet enough for him to barely hear, yet loud enough for him to know he heard it. "Are you happy? Is that life really what you want?"

Seeing the locked position, Morene tried to touch and gently move Ebony and her scythe backwards, away from Vulre. However, the second her hand brushed against the scythe she flinched. It was just by a small amount, Morene hadn't expected the scythe to be warm, but the movement in the corner of Ebony's vision, in turn, caused her to flinch - knocking her out of her thoughts for a brief second. Her scythe wobbled, tilting diagonally behind Vulre. The unstable pose faltered, her toes slipping, as Ebony fell sideways and forwards, gently brushing against Vulre in her decent as her arms flew out trying to catch something to steady herself with.

Her gloved palm met the handle of the axe Vulre was still idly holding, while her other hand was still holding on to her collapsing scythe. She twisted from the uneven forces on her body, consequently landing on her back. She fell much more gently than one would expect, still letting out a small breath of air with an "oof" sound. Her scythe cluttered and her belt buckles jangled and her shoes let out a loud clap. One arm brought the heated scythe almost into a hug - signature fake purple flames following its movements towards her, while the other awkwardly still grasped onto Vulres axe. Yet, from the impact, she did so gently enough to allow him to pry it from her faltering grasp. He couldn't help but glance towards the silver scythe blade as he did so - the mirrored metal showing a reflection of his dull steel helmet.

Slightly further from the trio, James let out some of a suppressed laugh while Cody made an attempt to silence him. They might have only been here the last thirty minutes at most, but it felt like a much longer time.

[Vulre Oakenlimb]

Gloved fingers moved to the metal of the Hunter’s helmet, attempting to rub his forehead through the comforting solidity of the steel. After the briefest of moments, he looked back at the increasingly infuriating child. “You want to know if I’m happy?”

“Since I’ve had to attempt to defend my life choices to a youth less than a tenth of my age, wearing precious little aside from belts and a cloak, not so much. I’ve spent my life living the dream,” he said, folding his arms in front of him. “I’ve seen the arboreal citadels of the Elves, gilded spires rising from trees the size of mountains.” He remembered his homeland, the decades spent suffering in a society that he could never truly belong to, the war he fought defending it against the savage hordes of the Orcs. The pittance he was paid in exchange for all the dead men left at his feet, the scorn heaped upon him by a family elevated to the ranks of the war-mages. “I’ve waded through the sacred waters of the lady beneath a shining moon,” he said, neglecting to mention the werewolf he drowned within those pristine pools. The contract, if he recalled correctly, was for a direwolf; its hide flayed from its body after it breathed its last within the holy water. After the sun rose, the church was all too ready to pay the Man-Flayer’s price. “I’ve been toasted inside the great clan-halls of the Orcs, a hundred warchiefs raising flagons to my name.” He was fortunate that the clans were not overly offended at his efforts against them in the war against the Elvish sanctuaries. Strength was valued in their culture, and he had proven he had no shortage of it as he hunted down a coven of cultists whose connections had prevented the clans from handling it themselves.

“I’ve seen dragons and hippogriffs dance through the clouds, serpents the size of galleons breach the sea, and the cathedrals that the men have built to their Lady. But you know the most important thing I’ve done with all of my long life?” He took a step closer, his lanky yet muscular frame serving to reaffirm his maturity over the youth. The unfortunately-named young witchling took a step back, seeking succor within the sable sanctuary of her cloak.

“I’ve taught a lesson. That people can’t run from justice, that no matter how far they flee, there will always be someone that will seek them out and make them pay for their crimes. I’ve devoted my life to this, and I deserve to be compensated for it. Would you prefer I starve?” He asked, his natural inclination towards neutrality keeping venom from his voice. “Guards, wardens, and headsmen are all paid for their work, so why shouldn’t I? Just because I take a more proactive approach to hunting down criminals?”

He took a step back, shaking his steel-clad head. “You think I should do it for free? As a hobby? Hunting bandits and beasts out of some kind of sense of moral obligation to kill and capture people did wrong?”

“That’s just a serial killer with a particularly specific target demographic,” he said, the collection of knives he treasured being the envy of any butcher.

"B-but you're k-k-... hurting people," stammered the child, belts, buckles, and the anxiety of youth coiled tight within the cloak, like a spring just waiting to burst forth with righteous indignation. Or perhaps, shatter under the weight she was attempting to shoulder.

“So do they. I just stop them from hurting more people,” he said, the length of this assault on his morals, or rather, lack of starting to grate on him.

He sighed, looking at the two soldiers still nervously observing the heated conversation. “Gorman, you said? I’ll track him down,” he spoke, adjusting the collection of knives strapped to his chest. “You see, I’m my own boss. I pick my own work, get the job done, and go for drinks at the end of the day. And you know what, I’m not being paid to sit around and have to explain my choice of profession to a child.” He turned, leaving the woman and the waif behind, some absence about him serving to disassociate him from what one would assume would be a person: Nothing more than a vague blur that seemed more like a mannequin than a man, oblivious to the mutterings behind his back.

The shining city of Coruscant awaited.

[Ebonywood Hellscythe]

Ebony lay flat on the ground; the surface was softened slightly by her cloak, but not by much. Vulre's conviction frightened and confused her. Why? Why doesn't he show any remorse? How can live with himself? How can he stay happy through all of this? In her mind, he was undoubtedly a monster. To show pride in his "work", to call that abomination "justice". So what if his targets also hurt people? Him mirroring their actions was just as bad in her eyes, and demanding money for it just put the icing on the cake. Ebonywood Hellscythe came up against bad guys in her adventures, but her methods were much more moral. More good. While fictional, Ebony still used the persona as a basis for her reasoning.

"T-that doesn't mean you have to... have to k... k-k-kill them." Her objections fell on dead air as she stumbled over and pushed out the hostile word. Vulre was already gone from her limited line of sight, hidden by the sides of her pulled up hood. "You could have... you could..." Her voice trailed off as her head fell back to the ground while she hugged her scythe closer.

Clang.

Metal smacked against the white floor making Ebony flinch. Her muscles ached from all the unanticipated movement, she felt sick - her empty stomach gurgled, upset by the jerking motions. She lurched forwards, placing one hand on her chest and keeping the other on the warm scythe. The taste of a vile acid filled her mouth as she fell back yet again. Struggling, Ebony lifted her head slightly to peer over the velvet cloak folds of her hood, her eyes flickered to the corner of her vision. 

Metal armour. Morene.

[Morene Fellon]

The huntress sat herself down next to the child, weeping still, albeit less. She sighed.

That was certainly disappointing, she took mental note, I barely talked to the man.

Some glances were exchanged between the Stormtroopers and the Primes remaining at the scene. It's not as if Morene could blame them for being a bit silent at the moment, the air was a bit tense. Still, Morene almost chuckled as she thought, things could be worse, I suppose.

Looking over, Ebony was trying her best not to pay attention to Morene. The huntress knew she'd have to at one point or another, though. The terrible silence beyond Ebony's whimpers almost broke Morene's heart. As much as she wanted to speak, the woman knew she'd have to give her some time to recuperate.

Morene sat down beside Ebony, slowly plopping herself over onto the blank floor of the Nexus. It was surprisingly silent, even with all the armor on her body. The silence seemed to have gave the teenage Prime a sense that she had some time to herself to think. Minutes passed, and Morene stared at the Gates beyond the horizon. Usually, she'd enjoy the scenery, but seeing as there was no scenery to enjoy, the minutes seemed to pass like hours.

Ebony's shivering and mumbling seemed to slow down after that short while.

Morene looked over to the poor child, inhaling as she did so.

"Ebony," the woman reached over, offering her a hand once more.

Sniffling through her dried tears, the scythe-adoring child looked up slightly, still not convinced she wanted to go anywhere.

"Let's get going. I won't promise you that this journey will be a pleasant one, but I vow to protect you until you've wrapped your head around things," Morene continued, making an offer that shocked Ebony into a perfect standstill.

Even then, her mind raced. I have nowhere else to go, she must have thought as Morene looked into her eyes.

Soon enough however, Ebony began moving herself again. She shook, and her knees were weak and soggy, but she moved.

This time, she stood. The child held onto her scythe as she did so, still keeping it close to her chest. The answer was clear then, even if no words were exchanged at that moment.

Morene's Liberator Aid whirred gently, reminding the woman of that one particular quest she needed to partake in. Sighing once more, the blonde Stormtrooper by the name Cody waved in front of Morene to catch her attention.

"Hey, uh," he stammered, scratching at his head, "thanks for dealing with all of that, I guess."

The woman couldn't help but show the faintest of smiles in response to whatever Cody meant by "that." If it was over the Darklings, Morene would have had to oblige and accept that thanks, but this? Morene almost felt displeased with herself over the fact that Vulre and Ebony's relations didn't get much farther than contempt. It was just a sad sight to see in her eyes.

Insisting to not comment on the latter possibility, Morene replied.

"My heart soars to hear such words, believe me! Alas, I must get going however," she finished, finally getting up herself at a strangely sluggish pace. James, still standing next to Cody, shook his head in amusement at his assumption she was trying to not give the edgelord of a child next to the woman a heart attack.

Nobody commented on the situation further however. 'Twas time for business, or however you might view it in both Ebony and Morene's cases.

"Shall we?" Morene looked back to the child still huddling her weapon, nodding to her as she began walking towards the Gate where the lava flows as steadily as water.


So came the Ashen Steppes.