Jinn Lorso
Character
The storm had no beginning, no end just the endless churn of shadow and ash that coated the horizon of Malachor. Lightning arced across the cracked expanse of the planet's scarred surface, lighting the sky in jagged bursts of green and violet. The air itself vibrated with the echo of old wars, the residue of every betrayal that had ever been committed in the name of power.
From the edge of a shattered canyon, a cloaked figure stood unmoving, the hem of his robes stirring in the toxic wind. Sith Master Jinn Lorso closed his eyes and let the storm's rage wash through him. Beneath the chaos, the Force whispered—a low, seductive hum that thrummed against his bones and clawed at the edges of his mind.
It was not merely calling. It was summoning.
Every night for weeks, he had woken to the same vision: a voice soft, defiant, full of something dangerous whispering his name in the dark. Jinn Lorso… The sound of it bled into his waking hours now, haunting him as much as the name she carried with her.
Seren Gwyn.
He spoke it aloud, and the storm seemed to falter, just for a heartbeat. The air thickened with the promise of revelation or ruin.
She was here. He could feel her, like a sliver of starlight buried deep beneath the crust of this desolate world. The dark side converged around the thought of her, coiling and hissing with something ancient, something that even he could not yet name.
Malachor waited, alive and listening. And in the space between one breath and the next, the Dark Side whispered again—this time not as a call, but as a command.
Find her.
From the edge of a shattered canyon, a cloaked figure stood unmoving, the hem of his robes stirring in the toxic wind. Sith Master Jinn Lorso closed his eyes and let the storm's rage wash through him. Beneath the chaos, the Force whispered—a low, seductive hum that thrummed against his bones and clawed at the edges of his mind.
It was not merely calling. It was summoning.
Every night for weeks, he had woken to the same vision: a voice soft, defiant, full of something dangerous whispering his name in the dark. Jinn Lorso… The sound of it bled into his waking hours now, haunting him as much as the name she carried with her.
Seren Gwyn.
He spoke it aloud, and the storm seemed to falter, just for a heartbeat. The air thickened with the promise of revelation or ruin.
She was here. He could feel her, like a sliver of starlight buried deep beneath the crust of this desolate world. The dark side converged around the thought of her, coiling and hissing with something ancient, something that even he could not yet name.
Malachor waited, alive and listening. And in the space between one breath and the next, the Dark Side whispered again—this time not as a call, but as a command.
Find her.