Private Dark Pilgrimage

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag: Zanami
Mention: Darth Malum of House Marr

The transport shuttle hummed, its vibrations settling into Lysander’s bones as he finally emerged from a deep state of meditation. Today, it served as a practice of control, a means of grounding himself amid the uncertainty ahead.

And as the process unfurled, contemplation bloomed, navigating through the current contradictions in his being: an acolyte with the soul of a bard, daring to weave melodies into malice. But beneath it all, there was the weight of his lineage, a recent revelation of hidden family history. Several weeks passed since returning from Ukatis, which had played a crucial role in reshaping the entire understanding of himself.

It had been anything but easy.

Now bound for Tython on a mission set by his master, Revna Marr , he embraced a journey that promised more self-discovery, and an opportunity to test his mettle against whatever foe the Force deemed worthy to challenge him.

Rising from the lotus position, he allowed the dark fabric of his Sith robes to whisper against the shuttle's cold floors while drawing closer to the cockpit.

Hyperspace stretched outside the viewport.

Lysander blinked slowly; his chest still rose and fell steadily from the meditative rhythm earlier. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for his mind to begin stirring with the usual impatience. Scanning the array of controls, his fingers danced over different buttons.

Though he wasn’t exactly proud to admit it, the blonde still was far from becoming a great pilot.

Another presence was in the periphery, a young girl who served his cousin's doctrine—the Tsis’Kaar. She had a name, one he barely knew, and he could already feel the lack of trust between them. It seemed that since he had deserted the Mid Rim for good, every alliance he formed felt like an oddity.

A hand tapped the console lightly. “I’m still learning,” he muttered, partially to himself. A sly grin curled at the corner of his mouth. “But at least I haven't crashed us into a moon. Yet.”

After going through the checklist, it appeared everything was good enough for now. After all, the ship had been borrowed, which carried its own risks, even after securing it.

“Tython goes from bad to worse, huh?” he quipped, flicking a brief glance at the girl. “Once under Imperial boots, and then practically handed over to the Galactic Alliance.”

Drawing in a deep breath, the teen would then release the pressure that threatened to slow him down. “You know, it’s curious,” he began, making a random gesture with his hands, “My cousin's red eyes.. they’re not just scary in a horror kinda way; they’re straight up spoopy! I wonder what twisted the genetics in that guy.. something other than human, perhaps?” A thoughtful pause followed as he considered the different possibilities. “Well, either way, he's still easier on the eyes than half of the von Ascanias. I have no doubt that the galaxy is crawling with little Marrs, from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim. Maybe he's trying to build an empire.”

 

[Zanami]

Dark Pilgrimage

"The Key to Joy is Disobedience"
- Aleister Crowley -

Location: Tython
Gear: In Sig

They're Coming to Take Me Away​

The uneasiness feeling was an unknown concept to the young Sithspawn, partially anyway. She feared nothing in the galaxy, be it man-made or naturally born; she had been constructed that way by Mother and Father. But she hated flying, detested being locked away aboard some metal construct, and it made her feel uneasy. She was an assassin, redesigned and repurposed for that sole purpose; and she enjoyed killing. But flying, she couldn't engage it, and thus, she couldn't kill it. It held an unseen power over her. And she hated that sense of powerlessness.

Zanami, a queer and unreadable creature by those others called peers, sat tense in her chair; partially wondering why she opted to tag along with this other Acolyte. He was, like most of the Sith, barely known to her, and yet unlike the others of their Order, he had not judged her a monster; having agreed to be in her disturbing presence. They were headed for Tython, a planet she scantly knew of on some sort of soul-searching mission. Or something like that.

She found his attempt at humor rather disagreeing. Crashing was not a glorious way to die for a Sith, especially if crashing was beyond her control, resting in the hands of another. She gave a slight smirk, listening to the cacophony of laughs from those housed in her mind. Those voices that grew stronger every daily rotation. But Zanami's mental fortitude, no matter how far her psyche was fractured, still held the reigns. Until she relinquished control, and those monsters free from their psychiatric chains ran dangerously unchallenged.

"It is unwise for sentients to play Gods, corrupting and rearranging genetics to one's own dark means," she said, having been a by-product of genetic recoding herself. Mother and Father had warped her, murdering the innocence of a young girl, plucking and removing what they desired only to install their own designs of what they wanted in their child; creating what she was now. An abomination. Was his cousin such a creature?

"This planet, Tython, what are we to expect?"

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Zanami
​

After pressing a few more buttons, another hum would be triggered around the cockpit. They were close. But instead of reading the layouts, he turned his head back toward Zanami. For a long moment, he mulled over the girl's words, his brow furrowing as a flicker of confusion passed across his youthful features. Her opening remark caught him off guard, for it wasn't a perspective he had anticipated.

Before he spoke again, another realization instantly hit him--he didn’t have a solid plan.

Nor any clear direction, just instinct and enough momentum to set the trajectory.

And arrogance, perhaps, but it had served him well before.

“Well, Tython is deeply tied to Jedi history,” he said, voice steady. “Which pretty much means it will be overrun with zealous Ashla followers. That thought alone is suffocating.”

The blonde's expression tightened—a second hint at confidence, the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "But whatever we face, I know we'll come out of it just fine. I'm not too worried about it."

Lysander's tone lowered. "My master given me the task of hunting down a Jedi and take their lightsaber—it will be mine." His jaw tightened. "To prove my strength. My worthiness.. to earn the right to learn under her guidance"

A shadow of the boy he once was attempted to writhe within; there was a desire to thank her, to acknowledge what might have been taken as kindness for accompanying him in this dangerous journey. But that was crushed beneath other memories, reminding himself of the truth that their kind cared little for such sentiments.

Straightening his shoulders, he leaned forward ever so slightly, despite the distance between them. "Can you.. conceal your presence in the Force? That may make things a little smoother." His gaze flicked over her face, a habit born from more than a year among the Sith, an attempt to read her reaction to his words.

A beep sound cut through the air behind him, followed by a sharp jolt as they returned to normal space.

Tython loomed in the viewport.

Taking the controls, he guided them towards the landscape below. Forests sprawled endlessly and rivers snaked through valleys. Far into the distance, mountains stood tall.

Though his Force signature was suppressed, the acolyte's mindset had grown more predatory in recent months. At the edge of his awareness, ripples of light side energy were felt in the air around them.

Then—impact.

A tall tree clipped the wing, rattling the cockpit. He barely reacted, pretending to play it cool, though inside, his mind began racing.

Finally, they would land in a hollow area.

 

[Zanami]

Dark Pilgrimage

"The Key to Joy is Disobedience"
- Aleister Crowley -

Location: Tython
Gear: In Sig

They're Coming to Take Me Away​

"Jedi," Zanami muttered, her hands twisting into tight balls, her claws digging into her fleshy palms; pleasurable pains washing over her. She had fought and killed them, and they still held little respect from her, no more than a farmer slaughters his nerf herds. Her eyes shifted to the man, gauging him based on appearances, calculating his survival rate against those that followed the tainted paths of the Light. She would survive the ordeal; she was unsure about her part-time companion.

"You're Master has tasked you with killing a single Jedi and collect the lightsaber to prove you are worthy of her mentoring," the teenage girl said, almost mockingly. Thinking on what she had to endure to obtain the necessary components for her lightsaber almost paled in comparison. "Sounds simple enough."

A momentary round of silence fell between the duo, and Zanami took the opportunity to stare out the side viewport, collecting her thoughts and preparing herself for the adventure ahead when his words broke her from her reverie. Was he now mocking her with such a question? She was an assassin and a loyal servant of the Tsis'Kaar. "I would be a dead assassin if I could not, would you not agree?" As her head turned away to return to the passing view outside, she added quickly, "And I have other ways of concealing myself too. The Force isn't the only option available to me."

That grotesque stench of the Light Side began waffling around her senses, annoying her and causing the voices in her mind to stir almost immediately when they broke the atmosphere of Tython. So much so that she barely registered that the ship had struck something or something struck the ship with enough force that the trajectory of the ship had changed dramatically. Slowly she looked over at the pilot, her eyes squinting in disgust and her lips turned into a snarl. This was her greatest worry, dying helpless in a ship; and it almost came to pass. But they had landed nearly unscathed.

Without a word, she unbuckled the straps and headed toward the back to exit the ship.


Lysander von Ascania






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[Lysander von Ascania]

Zanami
​

The skepticism threaded in the girl’s words wasn't missed. This was a dance of sorts he was all too familiar with; rarely did he allow the nuances of conversation elude him, even if momentarily choosing silence as the response. Her mockery registered behind the boy’s well-crafted facade.

As the shuttle’s ramp lowered with a hiss, the hydraulics hummed through the air of a day already late into afternoon. Lysander stepped into the cargo bay. Near the exit was his black gym bag, like a loyal companion no matter where he roamed. He glanced at the curved hilt of his old lightsaber tucked away; it was the same one he carried on Coruscant as a Padawan, later serving him on Naboo during the time when he had convinced himself that joining the Republic was ideal.

The teen's mission, this moment, was a rebirth.

Reaching in, he retrieved a vibro-shiv, clipping it onto his belt. His hand hovered for a beat before pulling out the vibro-machete. The serrated edges gleamed malevolently under the artificial lighting.

There would be no mercy shown to their enemies.

His grip tightened; then, the weapon spoke in silence, a reminder of what it was to become. A thing made to cleave through the tangled veins of the forest and the bone of Jedi alike.

Stepping outside, the ship was on the edge of a vast wilderness. The sun dipped low, and before them were shadows amongst dense foliage. Somewhere within this expanse, buried beneath layers of greenery and stone, whispered a temple.

For a time, the silence was filled with the hum of different insects. “I know one Jedi might sound easy,” he murmured, “but they’ll most likely be in the company of others. They seem to multiply like vermin in this part of the galaxy.” Lysander glanced over his shoulder at Zanami, a shrug rippling through his lithe frame. “Unless it’s a quick execution, chances are the disturbance will alert others.. Or at least those highly attuned.” His expression tightened slightly. “Besides, I don’t know any fancy rituals or the like that could possibly mute such disturbance.”

Wielding the blade in one hand, he sliced through the undergrowth before them like paper, carving a path forward.

And so, the hunt began anew.

In the distance, a river slithered like a serpent, its waters offering to lead them closer to the promise of blood. His mind calculated this to be the most sufficient path, based on previous experience.

Lysander's attention occasionally drifted to the girl, noticing the subtle differences that set her apart from others their age.

“The Tsis’kaar.. was it always them, or was there something else before that?" A light mist began to settle around them, caressing his exposed skin. The cool embrace was oddly rejuvenating after the long journey. “I don’t recall seeing you at Kor’ethyr Academy. Did you study there, or perhaps pass through at any point?”