Monster

Open roleplaying at the Nemesis' lounge. Open scenario locations are not restricted to the lounge.
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The Lounge offers a wide variety of foods and drinks from all over the galaxy while looking on the breathtaking view of the stars above the 20-km long arrowhead hull of the Federation's most elite battleship.
Thrakis Gregory
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Re: Monster

Post by Thrakis Gregory » 2013-04-01 08:06

Thrakis could see the gears turning behind Doctor Fleischer's eyes. The doctor was naturally suspicious and mistrustful of anybody outside his little circle of sycophantic followers. Was this Mr. Baker a threat to his operation? Was he a potential asset? Certainly he seemed unfazed by the artwork around him, artwork that the galaxy at large might call “gruesome” or “defiled”. Was he accepting of such things, or did he merely fail to recognize it for what it was?

For all the calculating he did, the doctor's decision was reached remarkably quickly, with no loss of composure. “Herr Baker, was it? It's always a pleasure to meet an admirer. I would be delighted to give you a personal tour, but I'm a busy man right now, and so that task must fall to one of my assistants. Ah, but you came to discuss business, ja? This I can make some small time for.” There was no reason not to be accommodating right now; Mr. Baker was in his power, and if he turned out to be disagreeable, he could be disposed of; but should he turn out to be an asset, that could be far more valuable than the few credits that Lukas had been attempting to extort from him. “Why don't we take the discussion to my office? This way plea-”

In an instant, every occupant of the room was on alert again, just as they had been starting to relax. There was no mistaking that the sound did not belong. “That was from...” Lukas trailed off, then spoke directly to his chief of security. “Find out what that was.”

The security chief nodded, and his posture relaxed as his head cocked ever so slightly to the side. Less than a minute passed before the man returned to awareness. “I've got it, sir. We have another intruder. Female, early-to-mid-twenties. Armed. 1.6 meters height, 65 kg mass.” He opened his palm and a hologram flickered upward, showing a close-up of the intruder's face.

Lukas examined the holo for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. “Clever girl. It seems the reports of her demise have been greatly exaggerated. Das ist wunderschön.” He smiled dreamily. “Find her. Bring her to me. Alive.”

“Are they all cybernetically enhanced?” asked Thrakis as he watched the security team move out.

“You continue to surprise, Mr. Baker,” Lukas commented, throwing Thrakis an appraising glance. “No, not all; only those who demonstrate sufficient worthiness.” He hesitated a moment, then asked a question of his own, “Tell me, now that it is only you and I, with no others to overhear, what is your real name?”

Thrakis smiled. He was truly beginning to like Doctor Fleischer. “You may call me Lord Gregory.”

“So you are nobility, then, Lord Gregory. But where do you hold court?”

At this, Thrakis laughed. “The title has been used by nobility, yes, but they can all rot with their titles. There is only one type of lord which is of any consequence, and this title is neither inherited nor awarded, but only earned: Lord of the Sith.”

At this, Doctor Fleischer betrayed his astonishment plainly. He had ascertained that there was more to his guest than he had observed, but this pronouncement was the last thing he had expected. His eyes narrowed appraisingly, measuring Thrakis once more. “I was under the distinct impression, Lord Gregory, that the Sith are extinct.”

Thrakis smiled. “Never. Wherever there are men who seek to improve themselves, who will pay any price to rid themselves of weakness, there the Sith will be found.”

Lukas nodded, his analytical mind again working to connect the points of data he possessed. “This does explain the nature of your research. I'll admit, I suspected you were trying to make a fast credit.”

Thrakis replied, a little wistfully, “Not at all. I sense that you and I are of similar mind; like you, I would bring strength to those who deserve it.”

“And who decides who is deserving?”

Thrakis chuckled. “I think the best test of worthiness for power is its acquisition. Do you not agree?”

Lukas echoed Thrakis's laughter, but for his own reasons. The galaxy certainly was full of surprises: he had never expected to find another man whose genius rivaled his own, but here was a supposed Sith Lord who had wandered onto his doorstep, and he was beginning to believe that this man shared his depth of vision, his openness to new ideas. How he would love to explore the inside of this other man's skull, to see what sort of brain it was that could match his own. If he ever found the opportunity, he would make such a marvelous monument to genius...but that was probably unlikely. It would not serve to make such a potentially powerful enemy at this juncture, especially when this Sith seemed likely to cooperate in mutually beneficial arrangements. “I do indeed agree, Herr Gregory. This could be the beginning of a beautiful meeting of the minds. In fact, your timing is quite serendipitous; it seems that today I will have an opportunity I have only dreamed of; the masterpiece of masterpieces has come right to my door, and who am I to turn away such profound fortune?”

As he spoke, Lukas led Thrakis toward the prize of his gallery. “I knew she must come someday. She has always been mine, though she professes blindness to this fact. In but a short time, she will be mine, just as her sister before her, but oh, how much more magnificent!” He stopped to gaze upward at Euphemide, her body pefectly presented, but despite this never quite suitable. A masterpiece, yes, but his masterful eye could always see the mockery, the subtle insufficiencies. “Up until now, her sister has been the prized jewel of my collection, my pièce de résistance, but soon...oh, how soon! Lady Laureleiden Winte'Shrine will be mine.” His eyes blazed with manic excitement as he spoke, but he held himself composed.

Thrakis could feel the macabre excitement, the dreadful anticipation, as it radiated from Doctor Fleischer in fitful waves. And, as he gazed up at the young woman, so beautifully deconstructed, his awareness plunged into another realm, and a vision flashed before him, revealing what Lukas's keen artistic eye could never see. Tendrils of corruption, skeins of delirium, knotted around Euphemide's form, ebbing and flowing with the pain of existence, her agony warping the very Force around her, her very presence a conflux of Dark Side power, a haunting maelstrom of misery.

The vision ended with the abruptness with which it had begun, and Thrakis was looking upward at the barely-conscious face—for all appearances, a vacant husk of a living being. Doctor Fleischer might think it a work of genius, but no other knew of the power Thrakis had glimpsed beneath the languorous surface. No ordinary person could alter the flow of the Force in that drastic a manner, regardless of the depths of her tortured existence. This Euphemede was something special: one-in-a-billion, perhaps.

“If this Laureleiden is even greater than her sister, she will be something indeed,” Thrakis mused, already working toward his own conclusions. He bent down to examine the tray that had been spilled. Lying in a pool of fluid was a preserved heart. Thrakis held his hand above it, and it rose, dripping, to meet his level gaze. “Far too much for your security to handle elegantly.” He looked to Lukas.


Lukas heard the unasked question and nodded. “Let us see what are the capabilities of a Sith Lord.”

Thrakis grinned. Lukas was challenging him. This was good; he enjoyed a challenge. He stood, and flicked his wrist, tossing the heart away. It squished against the wall, and the sound was followed immediately by the ring of metal on metal. Thrakis's knife vibrated, pierced through the middle of the heart, pinning the organ to the wall. He tugged on the handle as he walked past, removing the blade from the durasteel wall with casual ease. He wiped it clean and sheathed it, a series of motions worn smooth by frequent use. “Run, rabbit, run,” he whispered to the darkened hallway ahead. “I will find you. I will break you.”
Vita certamen. Certamen firmat.

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Laurel WinteShrine
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Re: Monster

Post by Laurel WinteShrine » 2013-04-21 06:22

The brunette scrambled away from the gallery as fast as her legs could carry her, startling the haphazard sheaves of paper and scattering them into the air like frightened birds in her wake. The corridors began to stretch and twist, far more labyrinthine now as she fled.

She had seen Euphemede.

She had seen Euphemede, and was now going in the complete opposite direction in which to rescue her. Laurel scrubbed hot tears from her eyes- now was certainly not the time to allow herself to become overwhelmed with her feelings. She further bullied herself within her mind to keep her wits about herself.

Shouts and the telltale echo of doors shunting open sounded from behind her, pinching her into a hallway that rounded off into a dead end, instinct screaming at her to hide. But where?

Off to her side was the operating theatre she had passed before, stading cold and blessedly empty as the noises came closer to her position. Testing the door, she flew into the operating facility when it opened, losing her footing and tripping once before moving down a small flight of stairs down the center aisle, diving beneath one of the circular benches assembled in a lecture hall fashion.

She had huddled herself up as tightly as possible, shaking with fear and willing quiet to radiate within her being. It worried her that the window that looked down into the structure was out of view, but knew that it afforded her the same advantage to anyone looking downward. Her heart leapt into her throat as the door to the theatre opened, a single pair of footsteps sounding through the room, the echo of rhythmic steps almost unbearably loud in the silence. Moments passed before the door sounded again, Laurel letting out a breath she had not been aware she had been holding.

Shuffling herself out from beneath the bench, Laurel stiffened as she felt a presence behind her, her braid whipping out from behind her as she snapped her head around, now eye-to-eye with a tall man in well-tailored suit- unarmed, thank the gods -his eyes dark and smoldering into her own as she shook. Almost instinctively she vaulted herself backwards, crying out as her back struck the bench, her hand fumbling for one of the sheathed swords at her back. Clumsily, her hand gripped the hilt as she brought the blade to the fore and held it at threateningly as she could manage, the tip directed toward his torso.

“D-d-don’t come any closer." Her voice shook as spoke, but she willed the trembling in her arms to steady as she pointed the weapon at him. “Do as I say, and I will be on my way.”
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{One should never confuse duty for loyalty. One either purposefully serves, or serves a purpose.}

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p r o f i l e

Thrakis Gregory
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Re: Monster

Post by Thrakis Gregory » 2013-04-28 02:27

Laurel’s breath came quick and ragged, her eyes darting into dark corners where the staccato rhythm of her heartbeat seemed to echo, and always immediately back to the man before her. Thrakis’s shoulders rose and fell, beating slow steady time to the unheard music that pervaded the labs. His eyes moved slowly up and down the length and breadth of Laureleiden Winte’Shrine, measuring her, but against what standard was unknown. He did not seem extraordinarily preoccupied with her body, yet he obviously noticed that as well, her attire being what it was. His eyes rose to meet her own, the living springtime green of her gaze wilting against the heatstroke burning in his. She took a sharp breath and looked away, her face already reddening.

“She has teeth,” she heard the whispered words, quiet though they were, and looked back to see Thrakis’ fingertips brush gently against the razor-sharp edges at the tip of her tapered straight sword. “Finely made...well-cared-for...”

“And I know how to use it, too!” she shot back, pulling the sword back and shearing it slightly to the side, toward Thrakis’s hand, as she shifted backward along the edge of the operating bench.

“I do not doubt that at all,” Thrakis mused, his tone unchanged and unconcerned as he examined the fine red line across his fingers. Blood, startlingly red, began to trickle from the wounds, flowing in thin rivulets over the rough pink scar tissue, still apparently burned in some places, that covered the inside of his right hand. Thrakis watched it flow with detached interest, then clenched his fist and opened it again. A hiss of steam filled the room with a strange and pungent aroma as smoke rose and ash fell from the palm of his hand, but there was no longer any blood in evidence. A slight, self-satisfied smirk played at the edges of his lips, and and he turned his attention back to the petite woman before him as she continued to edge away from him.

She watched him, wide-eyed, and he beamed at her with all of the warmth and brightness of a midsummer’s day. He tilted his head slightly to one side, his expression curious. In coming to this place, in seeking out the man who hunted for her, she had already demonstrated a courage beyond the galaxy’s norm. She did not lie low, hide, and wait meekly for death to find her. No, be it courageous or foolish, here she was to stare it in the face. For that she had his admiration; but what was her reason? He spoke, his rough baritone voice echoing through the stillness of the room, “Hello, rabbit. What fascination is it that drives you to face the wolf today?”

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Spyker Katarn
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Re: Monster

Post by Spyker Katarn » 2013-05-13 05:49

Spyker peered through the scope of his DC-17m's sniper mod at the run-down building ahead of the two-man team consisting of himself and his CO. It was nothing to look at really, just your average duracrete walls and various types of antennae, located near the local spaceport for convenience and purpose. What betrayed it, however, was the fact that it looked almost too perfect for what it was supposed to be: a derelict, abandoned warehouse in the backend of nowhere. He cycled the vision modes of the scope to gather as much intel as possible about their target. Thermal was of no use after the heat of the day, as the building's exterior radiated it evenly. Anything giving off more than the normal nighttime influence would only be seen by more specialized equipment.

The EMF view, though, revealed something altogether different. The place was a fortress; concealed hatches lay on each corner, likely hiding some sort of autoturret; Spyker knew the kind that would have been used, and they were reliable as hell. There were other spots dotting the ground in a regular pattern, which the operator took to be some sort of sensor or mine field. With the newer self-healing fields, it wouldn't matter if a path was cleared right away, for by the time they returned, it would once more be closed. Sweeping his scope over the field in front of him, he saw only one way in, and that was the main road in front of them.

"Only way in's through the front door, sir. Everything else is trapped. Turrets here and here, probably linked by sensors. Certainly overlapping fields of fire." He was cut off by an angry growl from his CO.

"Can you get there or not, Sergeant? Yes, or no." Spyker eyed the main path again, marking the security measures he saw, and gave a grim smile under his helmet.

"I believe I can, sir. Give me a minute." He slipped out a Saw Whet from a pouch, activated it, and let it fly. It arced up and over the compound, giving him a bird's eye view of the surrounding zone; on the overlay he marked the defense measures he saw and what he estimated as their detection radii. Triggering his active camouflage, Spyker slipped out from the shadows and darted from corner to corner, stepping as rapidly as his training, instinct, and gear allowed. Were anyone looking closely enough, they would see a smearing of color as the Mk.II's holoprojectors struggled to keep up, but it would do to fool a visual scan, and the suit's thermal control system would cover that spectrum as well. He was effectively invisible to all but the most high-end sensor suites, and barring any mistakes, he would remain a ghost. Soon enough, he was at the door and pressed up against the wall. He dropped the camo after reaching inside the guns' minimum depression, and was surprised when a panel slid back to reveal a hidden keypad.

'Well now,' he thought, 'What have we here?' He pulled out the combat knife from its sheathe at the small of his back and slid it into a gap in the casing; prying off the cover, he spliced a pair of the cables within to a connection with his wristcomp. A quick application of ISIS slicing protocols and spikes, and he was in, the door unlocking with a soft snikt-click. Taking a moment to sling the rifle across his back and pull his sidearm, he pushed the door open noiselessly and swept the room beyond through the sights of his weapon. Immediately, he saw something off: the place was clean. It wasn't clean as in the original owners had packed up and left, but rather clean as in spotless. The lack of dust was as telling as any tracks could have been: someone had been here, and recently. "One, you receiving this?"

"Copy, Two. Moving up. Hold position until I get there."

"Roger that; holding position. Mind the guns. Two, out." Spyker scanned the room again from a position just inside where he was not silhouetted by the light from the outside. Straining his normal senses, he couldn't tell if anything else was out of place. Once he extending his Force aura, though, his suspicions were confirmed: this was the place. A vortex of Dark energy lay below then, its strength causing him to pull back after only a few moments. The tap on his shoulder let him know his partner had arrived, and together they set off into the bowels of the facility, possibly into the gates of Hell itself.
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“I've lived too long with pain. I won't know who I am without it.”

Blitzkrieg
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Re: Monster

Post by Blitzkrieg » 2013-07-25 04:44

A shadow colder than ice itself had settled over Wolfgang almost as soon as the shuttle had entered Dosuun's atmosphere, well before the two men had drawn near the compound. If the moment of heartache on Neelanon and his ensuing reaction had been any indication of darkness overtaking him, then this..there was something about it that made it worse, he could just feel it in his bones. His beloved had crossed him, tried to hurt him--dammit, she'd had the gall to actually follow through and attempt to attack him--all to stop him from coming here...to this. And now, she had dared to venture into this nightmare, alone. He still didn't know which hurt more: the betrayal, or the fact that she'd been that crazy that she would enter this place, with all the fear and delirium it seemed ready to induce. All he knew was that both hurt deep down, and that there would be a reckoning. As well, he knew that despite her wishes, she was not alone. I swore to you, my love, that I would aid you when the time came. Here I am...I will not break my word. YOU will not break my word.

A feral expression, seemingly forged of not but pure primal rage, formed on the colonel's face. Not even Krieg, god of my people, will break my word. He could feel the anger surging in his veins as the shuttle drew closer, coursing along as hot as fire. There was never a good sort of anger to feel; even when it was there to drive someone onward to greater things, anger was the sort of emotion that crippled, scarred, and ruined even the most hard-fought of victories. Yet there were degrees to anger, degrees worth respecting...and in some cases, worth fearing. Of the two known degrees, the worse of them was the unyielding expanse of a cold, barren hate...anger that froze the veins. It was an anger born of a calculated mind, and became Hell-bent on achieving whatever it sought. Anger that chilled like ice was hard to break, unless it was breaking upon someone, as a tidal wave might do.

This was not Wolfgang's anger, however; at the moment, his seared so hot as to burn away all hope. Deep in his eyes, the light of a harsh, scornful fire blazed powerfully; one could almost hear the fire roar and crackle where he walked. Already, he was glad he hadn't brought anyone he knew to be of the Omega Order; he didn't like them--never mind the thought of feeding them--and the situation would have only exacerbated itself exponentially with one present. As it stood, the fire of his rage already threatened to overwhelm him, and that meant that mistakes were likely to happen at random during the course of this excursion. A word said in haste here, a punch thrown too soon there...crimes of passion were far more likely under a heated furor.

Still, as he drew ever closer to the door and came up just behind the sergeant, he could feel that darker half of his own nature reveling in the sensations. There was a palpable feel about them...one that made the honorable, decent man in him feel ashamed. It was the feel of a beast, closing in for the hunt; one that knew it had finally found the prey, a prey worthy of the hunt...and that it had made escape all but impossible. Soon, they would be face to face, in a fight that would doubtless be to the death. Soon, they would...

...something wasn't right. As Wolfgang and Spyker made their way into the overly-clean, borderline sterilized facility, there was a strange smell in the air, something...off. "She's here," he said under his breath, more to himself than his compatriot. The scent didn't lie; she was in the building, somewhere. The scent, however, wasn't alone. Behind it was a subtle note of something else, as though another, similar scent were floating in on his senses, just behind the first. In his anger, he was easily confused by the two distinct smells, and lost himself in them. Without fail, the mingling scents brought a memory to the forefront of his thoughts, and he could once again see the moment of Laurel's betrayal playing out in his mind, fueling more of the same anger that had brought it on. Truly, it was a vicious cycle.

A tap on his arm alerted him once again to his surroundings, and he could feel himself struggle slightly to keep his temper in check. "We split up," he said at last, a sharp growl in his tone. Gesturing in one direction, he turned and took the other, following one of the two scents he had detected. Whether or not he had chosen the right one to pursue, was a matter for time to answer.

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Spyker Katarn
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Re: Monster

Post by Spyker Katarn » 2013-08-31 05:45

'Split up? He's nuts if that's going to happen,' thought Spyker as he emphatically shook his head at the Colonel's suggestion. "Negative, sir; you're too valuable a target to just let run off. You brought me along for two reasons: asset retrieval and backup. Kind of hard for me to do that when not with you." The senior man seemed about to say something when Spyker cut him off. "Bring me up for insubordination later if you must, but not in the field. You've been out of the game a while."

"Been 'out of the game', sergeant?" Spyker heard the colonel let out a frustrated sigh over the COM, and he could almost envision the scowl that was surely forming on the grizzled veteran's face underneath the nearly-complete facemask, which left barely a slit for the man's superior sense of smell. He'd heard enough about the man's legendary temper through the grapevine that was the military. "Of course I've been out of the fucking game. I took a damned vacation back home. Didn't expect to be arrested on my own planet!" The sergeant winced at this last, but likened it to the attitude of some of his principals back from his EP days.

"I meant no disrespect, sir," he said as they began to press forward again, each one covering the other as they moved. "You want her back safe and sound, right? That means we take this carefully, and you know that." He did not mean to be condescending, but after he said it he realized it could easily be taken that way. At the next juncture, the two stopped again and cleared their sides, before he heard his superior speak again.

"Bringing her back safe and sound is the goal, Sergeant. No other option is acceptable." Spyker could hear the underlying tone in his voice; he knew the meaning behind it just as well as the older man did, having done the very same recently enough for a certain pilot in the Space Force.

"Not saying it isn't, sir. Just trying to dial back the intensity and make sure we don't put her in more danger by getting caught." Just as he finished saying that, a slight noise caught his attention; in response, his hand flew up to shoulder-level in a tight fist. He knew it immediately as the clang of steel on something, having been in a few fights with blades of his own, but the hallways they were in refracted and redirected the sound. He let it come again, and a third time before gesturing to his partner down one of the passages. The time for talk was over; soon, the action would begin.
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“I've lived too long with pain. I won't know who I am without it.”

Blitzkrieg
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Re: Monster

Post by Blitzkrieg » 2014-02-18 05:57

There was something in the air...scrub that.  There were many somethings in the air, but perhaps there was at least one thing highly prominent to the Krieger's senses at this time: sound.  He could hear the knife scraping, striking against something else--was it the wall?--as clear as the sergeant could.  Could perhaps hear it even better, he imagined, as a result of the lupine DNA in his genetic build-up, but that was beside the point; despite the annoyance of how the hallways redirected everything, he could hear it, and could tell from the second sound roughly where it originated.  Turning towards the hallway, he caught the faintest glimpse from his peripheral as Spyker gestured down the same corridor, confirming what he had originally deduced.  An icy chill came down over him as they made their way further into the building; from here, it would begin to get very rough in short order, and the madness they were bound to face in this Hellhole was bound to be more eager to fight than to talk.  Idly, he began to wonder how Laurel would react to seeing them here...sweet, darling Laurel'eiden...  ...No, he chided himself; a sweet, darling angel like he envisioned would not have done what she had done.  He had to remember that; it seemed, somehow, that he had to make sure he remembered that, and reminded himself in light of that fact that this was as much a mission of punishment--of divine reckoning--as it was of mercy, of aid.  She would know, to the extent she was deserving, the measure of his fury, of his wrath...but there was something in here that vexed her, something that haunted and terrorized her; whatever that something was, it would taste of his retribution, to the fullest.  Whether it would receive the blessing of mercy was another matter entirely, and Wolfgang had to admit that he didn't feel particularly saintly.

The second something in the air was a smell; fortunately, room had been left in his helmet for his sense of smell to not be obscured, though he had already considered removing the helmet on no fewer than three occasions since their insertion not terribly long ago.  The scents were mingled, as they had been since he'd first noticed them: fear, suppressed anger...and an unknown quantity, perhaps bordering on something sadistic. He'd known it a few times, but it was something he'd known only second-hand, and couldn't quite identify. Whatever it was, however, it was a state of being that smelled absolutely putrid, even more so than the strange burning smell that wafted lightly through the halls. They weren't quite near where it all started, but there was at least the sense that as they progressed, they were drawing closer and closer. By now, the smells were guiding him more than anything, and he had taken the lead in moving through the halls, letting the intermingling scents function as some sort of rudimentary, animalistic road map. The fear and this other tone, predatory yet sadistic, were the stronger of the aromas wafting through his nostrils, and he could feel himself drawn into a fit of rage as he inhaled them. The fear, he recognized almost instantly, each and every time: Laurel'eiden. Someone was scaring her, he felt, though the rest was unclear. The how, the why, these were mysteries...but the fear was hers, and his already-blazing anger was now running white-hot.

Yet it was who it was directed at that he didn't yet know. It had earlier fixated on her--dared to fixate on her--yet he had forced it to move. After that, it had focused on Sergeant Katarn, and on himself; he'd not yet found a lasting reason for the sergeant, though he could easily find hundreds of reasons to be his own victim. Finally, there was this new scent, this strange hunter and his longing to inflict--was it pain, fear, or both?--that drove Wolfgang beyond the brink. He was livid, and any Dark Jedi nearby would be able to feel the wellspring of hate, of raw and unbridled anger, from miles out...perhaps, at this point, Wolfgang simply didn't care. Normally, he wouldn't give them the time of day, but right now...he just didn't give a damn whether or not they feasted of it. The animal in him was on the prowl, and it wanted blood; the animal that dared to terrorize his beloved was simply the vessel of that blood. Once they found each other, he would unleash Hell. "Sergeant," he said at last, his tone more gravel and eerily-icy rage than anything else, "what do you make of all of this?"

It was, as best he could tell, a decent enough question to ask, but as he did so, he surmised that perhaps the enlistedman didn't exactly have every last detail available to him. "Something here is frightening her. Something...or someone. I can smell them both from where we are...it is not pleasant." A sigh loosed itself from him, and he continued. "Do you think this man is responsible for the sound we heard?" He had said man, largely because of the underlying tones of the sadistic stench; while it wasn't completely familiar, he had definitely noticed something about it that harkened back to something he had noticed once, a long time ago. Perhaps, when they caught up with this mess, he'd be able to piece it together.

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