#Jikksi Grimm

[republicscum]

When Jumping into Battle Doesn’t Work

AN: 2,666 words

Male Sith Warrior x OC, Male Sith Warrior & Vette

I didn’t do this with anything particular in mind. I just wanted to practice my action/fight scenes and see how well my story paced prose does compared against my more Fancy(TM) pretentious prose. I also wanted to scribble things down for Grimm because he’s one of my favorite villains. I’m not sure how time is working for him yet in how my interpretation of events happens, so I just set this as though his apprenticeship happened at the same time it does in game and yadda yadda. It shouldn’t be too much different from my personal canon events except for some year transplanting.

Points to note: violence, blood, Grimm (Ansilm) treats Vette like property, and there is some mild language.

Past the Imperial barricade, the tombs were not restful. The rustles of other acolytes seeking their plunder carried through the cavernous halls from all points around, but there was a presence louder and yet all the more still to Ansilm Wx. In the murk there was an omnipotence breathing the stagnant air and biding the eons. Unheedful of things older than him, he pressed deeper into the temple.

The ground sloped into a steep fall beneath his feet. Eventually the shriek of wind blasting around sharp desert outcrops faded into a dull moan and the silence of the grave pressed in. The going for a while was painful and slow, since the sizable Pureblood had to fall back onto his haunches to avoid careening carelessly into a K’lorslug or another acolyte in the gloom. He found himself gritting his teeth. The physical part of his body told him that his muscles were expending laughably little exertion, but frustrated desires whelled so deeply in his chest that it tensed the thin band of rationality keeping him in place.

Ansilm bared his lips back so they stuck against his teeth. Strange power rested here and it would be strange power that would be the undoing of many an acolyte already pushed to fervor as they jockeyed to become Sith. But fighting ones inhibitions was discordant with the natural energy of the Force, and Ansilm did not suspend the tugging in his chest lightly.

Then the ground finally evened. He couldn’t hear the wind anymore. The tomb of Tulak Hord glowed a soft yellow from ancient lights that hid more than they exposed. But the retinal glow of the Pureblood’s eyes provided him an advantage over his human rivals. He wandered for a while encountering nothing until nothing weighed very heavily on his mind. The rooms and halls were built so similarly to the untrained eye that nothing but K’lorslug slime differentiated features. The chambers’ various meanings and purposes once common knowledge to Ansilm’s ancestors was now lost to monotony on him. Occasionally the shouts of someone being killed in darkness rang out, which was an unnatural comfort over the repetitive shuffling and mutterings.

Around the corner, a scream bellowed. Unlike the echoes that might’ve occurred a few paces over or an antechamber away, this was sharp and desperate on the ears. Not residual but real. The taste of electricity laid over the back of Ansilm’s tongue in a thin coating just a second before purple threw the caverns into stark relief. He charged forward to the strobing violet flicker of the Force energy.

The woman who’d screamed lay in the thick of a pack. From their practical minded blades and clothes they were nothing more than tomb dogs scavenging after artifacts. From the mouth of another hallway intersecting the antechamber, Ansilm could see another acolyte drawn out by the yells swiftly unsheathing his warblade. She was blissfully unware. It was an unnecessarily vulnerable position she’d put herself in to antagonize a few treasure hunters, but it was a situation he could leave to resolve itself and pick off the winner. Yet yawning tombs were lonely places for victors of petty fights.

Ansilm sprang onto the other acolyte as he brought his hands down to strike the lightening user. There was a yelp of pain as Ansilm’s warblade broke his grip and wrists, sending the combatant and his sword skittering across the floor. He lashed out with the Force in desperation, pushing Ansilm with a crack into the wall. His back hit hard knocking the wind from his lungs, but his feet and head remained steady. Lightening flared dangerously close to his wine-dark skin and danced off of it in violent crackles as he bared his teeth and advanced forward. Ansilm could barely see from the disorientation and the strobe from slowly frying bodies, but he could feel. He thrust his hand down where he could feel the other curled on the ground. He could feel the breath knocked from his cracked rib cage. One handedly, he drove downward and felt a gushing spurt of what could’ve either the living Force or blood whell into the sucking chest wound. Ansilm brought his other hand to the back of the pommel and forced the blade forward until it sparked against stone. The life drained like an ooze from his body and into the sealed tomb with his last rattling breath. Lost forever.

It fell dark again. The stench of cooked meat filled like blood in his nostrils. Ansilm wrenched his blade from the dead acolyte’s sternum with the protesting jolts of electricity propulsing violently away from sinew and bone. Behind him, the woman, a Red Sith, was poised in a textbook perfect combative stance. One hand raised to Ansilm and his heaving sweaty bulk fearlessly. Almost fearlessly. There was a line of tension down her spine that curved away from him in a guard.

“Well met, sister,” he managed between controlled but massive gasps of stale tasting air and sheathed his blade. His tongue felt thick with electrical charge and exhaustion.

The tense line of her body relaxed into a mistrusting question mark.

“I’ve no quarrel with you. Those Imps got what they deserved.” Her voice, in contrast with his even timbre was high, sharp. It danced on points, like her lightening.

Ansilm wiped away locks of black hair from his face and back over the top of his scalp. “And what was that?” he asked. Dry amusement tinged his voice.

“A dishonorable death. May they shit themselves in the place they were trying to befoul.” She stepped out of her stance to reveal a long siding of wall. The glyphs carved into the heavy rock had been removed into a long gaping trench, like a wound in the temple. From it energy flowed raw and damaged. There were many such gaps like it in other rooms.

“And what of it? Sith don’t concern themselves with petty thieves.”

“Sith? Funny word for one to use who isn’t concerned with his own heritage being raped and plundered.”

Ansilm’s eyes narrowed. She was quickly beginning to pluck at his nerves. “Sith is a legacy; it’s more than any one race. Unfortunate as the rape and plunder may be.”

She scoffed. “If that’s what you think, then you know nothing.”

Ansilm felt the band of irritation begging him to cave in to slaking his fill of power. It expanded with the adrenaline fueled rise in temper at this infuriating ungrateful woman-- It was that swell that ultimately brought him back to a steadying breath. His lungs were still shaky after the disturbed ozone and roasted flesh, but the rawness called attention to his surrounds rather than the provoked pool of emotions within. “Then you can tell me about it on our way into the tomb.”

The woman blinked. “I—I suppose a truce is a good idea. Then you feel it too? The need to give into your worst senses?”

“Yes, it’s tempting. And I think it’s the failure of many an acolyte. A smart Sith is a thinking Sith – not a beast. But at the same time, only Jedi are stupid enough to batter their true selves down. I believe an alliance is the best solution. You’re a good fighter and passionate; if nothing else, we might at least be able to have an interesting conversation.”

The woman’s sandy orange eyes sparkled with interest in the dark. She approached him and held out her hand. “You’re very flattering when you’re talking sense. My name is Jikksi. If you betray me, I'll kill you.”

"Noted." His four clawed fingers practically engulfed all of her small but corrosively smoothed hand. “But pleased to meet you Jikksi as long as you give me an honorable death. I’m Ansilm. Ansilm gestured her forward. “Well, we can’t waste the day talking.” She threaded her arm through his instead.

“What? Can’t a lady even get an escort from the big strapping man who saved her?” Jikksi fluttered her eyelashes coyly. Her tendrils swayed under smirking lips. A snide edge to the words told Ansilm she was feigning for her own amusement, but he returned the smile anyway.

“Of course the lady can.”

Since then, his trials seemed long behind him. The jungle before him. 

“Figures you’d get out at the Imperial Spaceport then have to walk uphill five miles wading through man eating beasts to actually get to the city.”

Ansilm spared a sidelong glance at the Twi’lek slave and considered the shock controls in his belt. She stiffened every time his hand strayed too close, so giving her another jolt for speaking her mind seemed like overkill. All Ansilm Wx expected was obedience and competence. It was a paltry price for he would’ve demanded the same from any other companion of status.

For now she seemed content to stretch the durable woven fibers of her new armored gear. He’d had her change into the new jacket and pants during their last few uneventful hours on the Black Talon and had been relieved to see that it fit. After the simple hide tunic and pants he’d refitted her in on Korriban, she seemed reinvigorated by the proper wardrobe. More importantly, it gave her a suitable edge in combat, while reinforcing the idea that her sense of identity wellspringed from him.

“Can you keep up?”

“Uhh-h, yeah, guy. Tomb raider who got you that nifty glow stick strapped to your belt, here?”

“And I thank you for that.”

“I—you’re welcome. I think. Can we go before you start being nice to me?”

Ansilm shouldered his sparse haversack of belongings then started forward into the looming trees.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t be nice to you? You’re walking freely in the middle of dense wilderness, are you not? If I valued your servitude over your well-being I could easily have you on a drag line in front of me.”

Vette, a few paces behind his shoulder in case of threats, winced. “I’m sure you mean that nicely, but it still sounds creepy. I guess, it’s because this is a kind of everywhere to hide but nowhere to run to situation.”

Ansilm saw her glance up to the canopy cover. As they stepped over an invisible line, it swallowed them. Something made a trilling cry from deep within.

“That in no way negates what I said. I think you’re in a different arrangement for the time being and need to stop overthinking things. Your situation is plain and you’d do better taking it a day at a time for your own sanity. Paranoia will make even the strongest person go crazy.”

She fell contemplatively silent behind him and a smile curved Ansilm’s lips. Remarkably simple how punishment and kindness worked in conjunction to reform injustice to complacency. But one thing was missing in his quiet assurances: the promise of freedom. It was important that Vette not have a goal to work towards. Just a long haul day by day of getting used to her new life. When she reached that next milestone Ansilm would reward her with something nice. Something she liked. He just needed time to parse her out.

Aside from some sparse chatter where Vette asked Ansilm where he was from (Kaas City) and some comments on the weather, they continued the hike in silence. Coming from Korriban to a planet where the atmosphere was the same consistency as soup and well above sea level, the few kilometers felt like parsecs. Every step felt like an overexertion and he was beginning to feel the edge of a chill. Vette was doing better with her stamina for exploring, but even experience couldn’t negate the harsh barriers of rapid climate change. He could feel them both beginning to flag, when they encountered their first Gundark.

They had seen movement in the trees occasionally but nothing desperate enough to interfere with the man-made pathway. The exception was foraging just off the path with its head bowed and grunting into the soil.

It had been a while since Ansilm had seen a Gundark, and the reality of how gruesomely large they were was a daunting eleven-foot reality made of mealy smelling taut stretched hide.

Vette groaned. Fatigue snagging even the edges of that. “We sh—” she choked off then glanced hesitantly between Ansilm and his belt.

“We press on,” Ansilm said as if nothing was amiss.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I know you’re built, but that thing is you and then on stims on top of the stims its already on.”

“Come on,” Ansilm said again as though she hadn’t spoken and reached for his blade.

As he turned it on, the creature’s head snapped up. He felt Vette lurch back bloodlessly over his shoulder and knew she’d be useless. She had already succumbed to the terrifying elements and exhaustion. Ansilm would, as usual, have to rely on himself.

He coiled his legs into tethers of energy that he didn’t have and made an impossible leap with his arms poised in an overhead cut to bring down across the creature’s body. Hopefully the thick hide would tear like canvas and spill intestines on the ground. In slow motion, blurred by the speed of his surroundings, Ansilm watched one of the creatures tree trunklike arms come up effortlessly to bat him away. Committed now to his plan, Ansilm followed through with the cut and closed his eyes. It was like hitting a wall on a speeder bike. There was a beastial scream of pain, his bones folding into something solid, and …

Vette looked like she was vibrating; it made him feel dizzy.

...

The next thing he saw was cloth tarping and a Sith woman. She was beautiful. With a fine face, and elegant features piqued by a naturally mischievous demeanor and drips of gold piercings against her angular tendrilled ears and pouty lips.

“Jikksi? What’re you doing here?” The words came out too slow even though he was speaking normally. Almost like his tongue was too fast but his mouth too thick, but he felt good. Fresh. Cooler and softer somehow. “Korriban was a long time ago.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

Ansilm frowned. “Why would I need to? I’m fine,” he insisted a little hotly and leveraged his weight onto his arms to stand.

Quicker than he could comprehend, she grabbed his arms. The practical coarseweave was rough against his bare skin. Her fingernails dug into his slippery skin at the same time her light floral scent dug into his nose. She was strong. Ansilm – who had seen her control convulsive torrents of electricity while keeping perfect saber form - knew this, but it was another thing to feel it gird down through his muscles.

“Where’s my shirt?”

“What year is it Ansilm?”

He took a deep breath knowing there was no way to convince her he wasn’t okay when she was so assured that he needed medical attention.

“10 ATC.”

Her hands relaxed as he became less of a flight risk.

“Where are you?”

“A few miles from Kaas City.”

“Who was the master you were hoping to apprentice under as an acolyte?”

“Darth Baras, and he will be very unhappy if I’m late.”

Jikksi smiled and let go of the pinning hold on his biceps. He felt cold again after she left but not in a pleasant way. “So you were successful then.”

“Of course.” Ansilm blinked. “Vette.” He tried to bolt upright again, but a current of stiff pain that hadn’t been present before stopped him with a gasping grunt.             “You took a harsh knocking. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a few fractured ribs,” Jikksi replied and compelled him back down with both hands on his shoulders.  “I understand you have a lot to worry about, but if you try and get up again, I will restrain you. Anything you need, I can do.”

“You don’t understand. My slave—”

“The Twi’lek woman?”

“Yes, is she—?”

“After you were knocked out, she killed the Gundark and went looking for help. She found me, and we brought you here. She’s being attended to for her own injuries.”

Ansilm blinked back to Vette’s out of focus face and the thunderous sky framed behind her. He recalled retroactively the sharp scent of sap and ancient soil. She must have dragged him on his back.

“Here is where?” 

He tried to turn his head, but found that the stiff rod of pain prevented that too. Glows of a fire danced along the dark tenting material and conversation ebbed and flowed in the distance. It wasn’t enough to make anything out.

A mysterious smile played around Jikki’s lips. “I’m not at liberty to say anything except that you’ll have to be marched out with a blindfold on. But… She’s a very loyal slave. You should consider yourself lucky.”

Ansilm slipped his fingers around Jikksi’s wrist – where her palm still rested flat and even on his shoulder, like an afterthought. “I do.”

[republicscum]

The Grimm Legacy

The Wx’s are an old long lasting line of Purebloods. Most of the so-called “Red Sith” pride themselves on bloodcontent due to rapidly diminishing numbers in an increasingly human “Sith” Empire. While the Wx’s aren’t the most pure of blood, their legacy was born out of the ashes of Republic genocide. As strong Sith militants, the Wx’s are strong allies of Empire as long as its dedicated to squashing the tyranny of the Republic. 

With the Empire’s grand master plan finally put into motion and the success of his father in the Great War, how the youngest heir takes  up his father’s legacy will be their making or breaking point.

Lord Ignol Grimm (nee Ansilm Wx)

Sith Warrior

Ignol Grimm made his career as a warrior great in both cunning and ruthlessness during the Great War. He was renamed Ignol Grimm and made a Sith’ari, which he holds in the highest regard (even going as far as taking Grimm as his new family surname). He values the status he’s built and is dedicated above all else to his family and honor. 

Ignol’s disciplined demeanor hides a penchant for cruelty justified by a high-strung commitment to preserving what it means to be Sith under the Empire. One could say he defines his life by it.

Jikksi Grimm

no class in the official storyline 

Once a Sith with a spark, Jikksi went from flirting with Revanite philosophy and spending days barefoot in the Kaas jungle to being a priestess and a mother. And well... she still spends all of her time in the jungle. From a high-content family, Jikksi is a revisionist of Sith philosophy and culture - believing that preserving the old ways pre-Dark Jedi is best. Her maiden and married family’s respect negate much of what would be considered borderline heretical teachings. Not to mention her brilliance as a healer and research beyond the dark side of the Force.

She’s a necromancer with pep in her step! She values the simple things in life like her spirituality, her children, and botany. And...corpses (so long as they’re fresh).

Qurt’ansilm Wx (Kurt Wax)

Imperial Agent

Kurt grew up with a lot of pressure on his shoulders. As Grimm’s heir, he was celebrated as the son who would earn his father’s Sith-given surname and continue his family’s legacy. For a while this seemed like the path he would take. An accomplished light swordsman and gifted with his parent’s intimate connection with the Force with a natural knack for leadership and prestige, Kurt was a shoein for Grimm’s perfect apprentice. 

Then he did something both selfless and selfish: Refashioning his natural Sith name to “Kurt Wax,” he seeded his seat at the Sith Academy to save his bosom friend’s life and joined the Imperial Navy. After a disastrous mission he was honorably discharged and took a job in Intelligence as a Hail Mary. Cunning, pragmatic, and armed with a logic as dry as his wit - the job paid off

Kurt is caught between an Empire redefining his rapidly diminishing and appropriated culture and a hate for the rest of the galaxy that would seem to be content with having a whole race dead. This puts him between earning his father’s approval and doing right by his people. 

Tavi Wx (Tavi Wax)

Bounty Hunter

Technically Grimm’s niece, Tavi was adopted by her uncle when both her parents abruptly and tragically died when she was little. 

Tavi’s naturally forceful personality was almost a rebellion against Kurt’s good son role. She’s a contrarian who defines herself recklessly against the grain. Tavi makes thrills when they don’t come to her, and she’s annoyingly good at it. Spoiled, avaricious, and a hard drinker - Tavi is out for her own glory and the most independent of her family and the drivel of an Empire focused on blood politics. She’s not your femme fatale - she’s a Forcedamn hard woman and would like you to remember that she’s got blasters bigger than your dick, thanks.

Draqwyne 

Sith Inquisitor

Once a slave taken from the Witches of Dathomir, Draq vaguely gives off the aura of being able to eat a man alive. 

He apprenticed under Jikksi and was,is, and will be a valuable ally to Kurt. 

I’m still figuring things out with him, so I’ll have more once I can actually play the Inquisitor’s storyline past Chapter 3. (or like most all of the storylines past Chapter 3. Oops.)

Friyr Illustratum (nee Elutherius)

(Ignore the Padawan braid. I have that for Reasons; this art was comissioned from Ghoulie!)

Jedi Knight

Have you ever wanted to be annoyed within an inch of your life?? Well, have I got the Knight for you.

Three words come to mind with Friyr: stupid, disloyal, slut. Not necessarily in that order, but calling him a stupid disloyal slut wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination. Nonetheless, he has a knack for getting what he wants before the other person can realize they’ve screwed themselves over. He’s disarming, and clever, and nauseatingly charming in a rough package. 

Friyr doesn’t talk much about his past except to say that “I consider myself a tragic hero” and that he “left his heart on Dromund Kaas a long time ago * insincere sniffle* and I don’t like to talk about it.” If his scars and dodgy nature don’t tell stories, then his ruthless strategy does. Friyr came to the Jedi as a reformed Sith, and his disillusionment with compassion shows that. But reformation is as reformation does, and one can’t say that he doesn’t have a kind heart underneath all the fingerguns and “kill the Empire at all costs” attitude.

Suffice to say that he owes a lot to Kurt for giving a slave that the Pureblood considered a friend his birthright place in the Sith Academy.