Arctic Blood

[Zmej Ren]

​

[SIZE=10pt]Ilum would never fully reveal all of its mysteries. While a well-known place for the Jedi who partook in their traditional rite of passage on Ilum, most of the planet continued to slumber, entombed in ice and buried deep underground, a howling wasteland covered in frozen tundra and inhospitable, hostile climate. Nobody would ever completely unearth every single treasure sleeping on the legendary planet, and though many have tried and would undoubtedly continue trying, it was a quest doomed to fail. No amount of riches and lives spent on Ilum stood a chance at melting the world’s ice cold heart. Fortunately for the First Order, its loyal defender lacked the aspirations or insanity to follow in the long-lost footsteps of madmen, her sight set on a much smaller prize. Indeed; Zmej Ren’s ambition truly was nothing more than seizing a few of the famed kyber crystals for her lightsaber, determined to construct a weapon to inspire fear and hope alike in the hearts of men – it truly depended on whether they embraced the First Order or not.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Tall and unyielding walls of ice greeted her vessel shortly after nightfall. Landing the ship proved challenging enough – aside from the powerful gusts of wind toying with their new plaything, the light freighter lacked many military-grade modifications, picked by the Ren solely for its complete lack of connection to the First Order. When its heavy, sharp shaped form finally touched the ground, a cloud of white rose, swirling around the ship’s metal sheets and melting when it connected with its shields. Soon after, a humanoid figure clad in dark and wearing a mask marched down the ramp and let it close behind her before drawing in the frigid air deeply. Ilum’s touch was deadly, but had a way of carving men and women out of children. Zmej did not underestimate the elements though, arriving in cold weather gear, equipped with numerous tools necessary for surviving the trials ahead. She came alone, too. No backup, no message to inform her allies and superiors. This was something she had to do on her own, without any support or outside interference. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Her only weapon was the silver cylinder of a lightsaber, a trophy taken from her Jedi opponent. For a moment, she came to ponder if its crystal came from this very place, the holy sanctuary she intended to desecrate by her dark presence. Would the site defend itself?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]No worries or fears poisoned her thoughts, denied that chance upon crashing against the young woman’s devotion to success.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]If the meek Jedi and their youth could pass the cave trials unscathed, so could she, a trained practitioner of arts far beyond the dogmatic views of the Jedi. Without a single pious thought swirling through her mind, the Ren set off, boots crunching snow underneath and pushing through the snowdrift standing between her and the cave entrance. Its black maw did not want her to enter, subtly warning her from slipping in without invitation, a tiny voice reaching out to her through the Force. It did not stop her relentless march driven by lust for power that hid within these small, yet valuable crystals clustered somewhere inside. When she launched herself into the large cavern system, a black spider crawling across pristine white walls, Zmej disappeared in the labyrinth of endless tunnels and branching paths. A strange, confusing journey awaited her, as if the Force itself desired to spin the dark side practitioner in circles and lead her astray. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=10pt][member="Eshtaol"][/SIZE]

 

[Eshtaol]

A lot had changed in the month or two since Eshtaol's initiation into the Sith. It would've been impossible for things not to - with how her new life worked, she either adapted or she fell behind, and if you fell behind you died. She'd learned not to reproach the Sith Order for their ruthlessly pragmatic approach; it made sense, after all, cold as it may be. As long as she remained not among those who failed, everything worked out more or less in her favour. And so that was exactly what she'd been doing. Though a long way away from being even any use to anybody, she wasn't as hopelessly far away from her goal of significance as she had been when first plucked off the streets of Coruscant; she had potential, at least, if nothing else. It was more than what she'd had before.

But for all her learnings and - she hoped - improvements, she was still missing a glaringly important piece of the puzzle; she had no saber of her own. Though she'd developed a certain fondness for the purple saber she'd been using as a temporary weapon, the Coruscanti couldn't hope to call herself Sith without first crafting a blade herself. Besides, it would do her well to become accustomed to the impermanence of attachment, even to something so ultimately replaceable as a saber-hilt.

And so she'd come to Ilum. On her own today - she wanted to make her new blade all by herself. It didn't have to be particularly special; just efficient, well-suited to her and - if she could help it - nice-looking, yes. No need for flashy add-ons; Eshtaol was nothing special, and neither should her saber be. The statement wasn't meant to be self-deprecating - some people liked the spotlight, and some liked to work in the shadows, unnoticed, unrecognized. Eshtaol was one such person, and so her lightsaber, to her, was just that. A pretty design was a bonus.

With the quiet confidence that the Darkness gave her, Eshtaol was off and into the serpentine network of tunnels. And...that continued for quite some time. The elaborate cave system threw her off quickly, but she wasn't one to let a little thing like getting lost distract her - all she had to do was find a kyber crystal or two, harvest them, and later make a saber with them. Wouldn't take long.

That was exactly what was running through her head when she walked right into a figure, unfamiliar and carefully imposing. Oops.

"Oh, sorry," she apologised quickly. That note of indifference was accidental, but had a tendency to stand out.

[member="Zmej Ren"]

 

[Zmej Ren]

For as many times as she must have marched through these tight corridors already, that one path to advance her journey forward was nowhere to be found. After minutes – or hours? – of striding through the tunnels, everything started to blend together, denying any poor sentient trapped within a chance to adapt and conquer confusion. Walking in circles became a common theme, thus many scorched marks found themselves carved into the ice-encrusted walls to help avoid confusion. Zmej’s endeavours birthed the exact opposite effect, now providing solid evidence these caves had a mind of their own and shifted at will, mocking the dark side practitioner by having her walk through the very same passage over and over again. Frustration bore irritation, knocking on the door of her psyche. Strangely enough, the stabbing cold cut even deeper inside the caves, trying to encase her mind in a frozen cage.

Discomfort-bearing hallucinations were a given and Zmej fully expected strange images materializing among the walls like chilling apparitions. When focused, she could fight off the sly attempts at wriggling into her head. When angry and distracted though – not so much. What started merely as a mean of hampering the disciple’s progress turned into a full pledged mental attack the victim did not even realize. Like an open book, the mind inadvertently revealed everything to its tormentor, giving the caverns more than enough to weave and knot trials designed specifically for the Ren. Once done with her head, Zmej was spat back into reality, suddenly aware of pathways that did not exist before. Progress came naturally now, prompting the young woman into turning off her emerald blade of pure plasma and plunging the place into silence, broken only by howling winds and cracking of ice.

There was zero expectation to meet someone else in this place. As such, when her body almost collided with another, Zmej’s first instinct launched a firm, tight grip on her weapon, knuckles white. Logic told the disciple this had to be nothing more than a product of her imagination, the Force begged to differ though – better yet, it informed Zmej she faced a fellow dark side devotee. One lacking any familiarity, thus supporting the notion of her being a living, breathing being, not an artificial construction of the caves. Dumbfounded, the Ren silently observed the stranger, thumb nervously sliding up and down over the lightsaber’s ignition button. Two practitioners of dark arts, meeting in a sacred Jedi place – what were the chances of that? Wielding the same source of power did not spell friendship however, obscuring the young woman’s intentions in mystery.

“And who might you be? You don’t reek of the Jedi dogma.” The distorted voice of Zmej Ren came from under the mask, filtered enough to hide her gender.



[member="Eshtaol"]

 

[Eshtaol]

The word Jedi was the first that got a reaction from her. Only a more defined smirk, barely a step up from the small, contemptuous smile she naturally wore, but it was just about the only way an onlooker would be able to tell she'd acknowledged the other figure at all. What could she say? Eshtaol wasn't one for a lot of expression.

"I'm to be Sith - an Acolyte," she answered the synthetic voice, looking on curiously. "Name's Eshtaol."

Eshtaol was careful never to call herself Sith outright - she wasn't, not yet. Though the Sith had a reputation for arrogance, they were careful not to let their apprentices think of themselves as anything more than they were; they had no right to arrogance until they had earnt it, and Eshtaol hadn't. She was no less prone to cockiness, of course. Her belief of herself as typically being above others came too naturally for that. But she knew how to reign it in, if nothing else. She was arrogant, not stupid.

"You certainly don't seem like much of a Jedi either." A statement, not a question. Her knowledge of the Jedi was slim - her knowledge of just about everything regarding the force was slim, really - but she knew what the Dark Side looked like, how to sense it in others. People-reading lent itself in that aspect. On the other hand, the figure in front of her didn't quite seem like a Sith. All Eshtaol knew in terms of Darksided non-Sith was that they existed, most commonly as either Ren or Dark Jedi. Not that she had the best grasp on how either operated - just that they existed.

"Who're you, then?"

[member="Zmej Ren"]

 

[Zmej Ren]

Eshtaol. The name itself meant nothing right now; maybe it would in the future, one day. Her standing among the fabled Sith though, that was an unexpected piece of information. Aside from telling Zmej more than she might have wanted, the young acolyte set the blonde’s caution on high alert. Tales of backstabbing and betrayal lined her order’s history, underlining the need to watch one’s back and expect treachery whenever Sith stalked around. They were untrustworthy creatures, even among themselves. Secretive, deceitful – and so using their own weapons against them came naturally, possibly the best option since the disciple lacked knowledge about the acolyte and her master. Without giving away her true allegiance, Zmej could think of only one other option – claiming the pitch black frock worn by Darths and their students, if only temporarily. Whether the disciple managed to outfox the foxes or not remained to be seen, though she had a slight advantage over the woman – the secretive order of Ren continued to remain shrouded in mystery and shadows, a luxury the Sith lost millennia ago.

“I’m Kayn. An acolyte like yourself.” Zmej’s monotone, distorted voice revealed – and while a lie, she spoke with enough conviction to sell it without a hint of deceit dripping from the words. Such talent of twisting truth and lie alike to the point the two became one and the same stemmed from intense training as the Supreme Leader's elite agent. Although firing blank shots, possessing little to no idea of how the ancient organisation worked right now, Zmej’s knowledge concerning the legendary dark side cult extended to history books and various studies detailing the evolution of Sith up to the recently crushed One Sith empire. All in all, exactly what she needed to paint a believable picture of herself as one of their own. And just as easily as spitting out a name, the masked acolyte’s purpose saw the light of the day as well.

“My master wants me to prove my worth by constructing a lightsaber of my own. By desecrating the Jedi caves, I shall pass the final trial and become a Sith.” The expressionless mask added, continuing its unnerving stare at the Sith acolyte. It sounded like a good enough excuse to wander around Ilum – in fact, the dark disciple would bet Eshtaol shared the very same goal. In a way, plundering the caves posed a solid challenge to the visitor’s minds, easily a trial to overcome to please some enigmatic Sith lord. As the silver metallic cylinder lingering in Zmej’s hand suggested, she had already fulfilled her duties on the battlefield, enough to spill a Jedi’s blood and seize their lightsaber – more than she needed to be marked as a dangerous, deadly foe.

There it was, laid out bare – and without any further ado, Zmej Ren casually paced past the acolyte, shards of ice cracking beneath her boots as she descended deeper, crawling through the frosted tunnels. Despite the seemingly disinterested demeanour, the Ren found questions concerning the Sith through her mind. The disciple realized all too well that by claiming to be Sith, she had inserted herself into the Sith game for dominance. Superiority meant everything, thus sowing seeds of rivalry and possibly betrayal in the foreseeable future. No witnesses aside from the eerily cold and silent caverns would see an act of murder taking place within, all tracks and clues soon to be covered by snow and ice, alongside the body. For all these reasons, Zmej maintained her hold over the signature Jedi weapon sleeping in her palm, ready to bring its emerald flame to life should hints of hostility be detected.

Long lost echoes occasionally brushed against the cold hearted Ren's own thoughts, flashes of memories and visions that were not her own materialized in front of Zmej's eyes as the caves strengthened their hold over the dark side practitioner, unwilling to let her progress and complete the heretical goal.



[member="Eshtaol"]