Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Failure [ Deneve ]

N E T H E R W O R L D

This...was simply too much for Isley to bear.

In the whirlwind that was his life of late, it seemed as though there was no shortage of heartache. To be condemned by virtue of his blood - scorned by his very heritage for bearing the Force - was agony in of itself. Yet this? This made crucifixion by the Death Watch seem like a Summer's Dream. This made his own suffering...his own choking on ash as he departed this world...seem like chaff on the wind. To hear this his child had been taken. Nay. Stolen from this world cut through to his very soul. There were no wails that could convey his sorrow. There were no tears that could display his pain.

There was only action.

He could not sit idly by and lose her again. He could not learn of this and fail her again. He failed to see her walk her first steps. He failed to be there when she cut her first tooth, or babbled her first words. He crusaded while she scraped her knees and learned what it meant to be alive. He was an abysmal father - absent in every highlight that cultivate Deneve into the woman she was. But, he tried - by the gods did he try. After missing every graduation and birthday, he tried in vain to make up for lost time. He tried to buy her love. He tried to train her. He tried to do everything he could to prove he was worthy of her love and time.

But when she needed him the most...when Death stared her in the face, he wasn't there.

He failed, yet again.

But this time, he could make up for it.

This time, all those years of swimming in the abyss would pay off. By the Force and by his Will did he tear open the veil. The spirits languished against his intrusion - wailing viciously as he stepped into their domain. Above, the skies were crimson and wept literal blood as rain. Below, the ground was as flesh and squelched as he moved ever forward. Here, the Force was not his ally. Here, he was but a man. But he knew what to do. He just had to find her first. And so he wandered the Blood Wastes of the Netherworld.

And so a father searched for his child.

[member="Deneve Verd"]
 
She wrestled with the red sea around her for six days.

On the first day, white tears dripped out of her bloodshot eyes, as if scarlet lightning struck the emerald iris. She blinked once, twice, three times... Until her vision wasn't hazy. She could have blinked a thousand times but her heart would still be flooded with grief and regrets And no matter how many times she wept for , the angry rain drenching her never dried out.

She wrestled with the red sea around her for six days.

On the second day, venomous scorpions ripped her insides apart. She cringed at every pinch in her being , every twist of their claws. She wished they had eaten her alive, but all they gave me were more regrets and more pain. She didn't think anything can devour this pain. She imagined that even a beast who ate destruction for breakfast wouldn't take a bite at this wreck of a person.

She wrestled with the red sea around her for six days.

On the third day, a deadly sin by the name of Sloth visited her. She paralyzed the bones in her legs and melted the muscles. She couldn't find the strength to stand on her two feet. The poison from the scorpions still burned through her veins.

She wrestled with the red sea around her for six days.

The fourth day finally came. The crimson curse was nearly ending and the thoughts of her life and family were finally sinking away again. Deep down in her soul, there they are, an anchor; anchoring her to the months of which this curse wasn't a thing, the months she was alive and well.

She wrestled with the red sea around her for six days.


Day number five finally came, Denver dreamed of bliss and it wreaked of them . In her imagination, she was running, running, running. Her feet would have to fall off before she stopped. She was on the search for them and in the puzzle of the crimson rain, she found them looking down at her. Bliss.

She wrestled with the red sea around her for six days.

Today was the day. She should feel blessed that pain and regret were gone , but the curse is still there, cackling and mocking her . She wrestled, she wrestled, she wrestled but in the end, She could not fight the strength of this nostalgia's tide.

And so she finally gave up and accepted defeat, she was here, cursed to trudge through the crimson wasteland of nothing. Cursing everything and everyone, crying out in anger at her stupidity and carelessness that brought her here. Onward she would more; a shade , a shell of her former vibrant self, a ghastly sight indeed. Back tracking was her goal today, she would reminisce over her various life choices.


[member="Darth Metus"]
 
He hated this place.

From above, an abyssal sky wept upon the flesh-like earth below. The rain was as blood, splashing fresh and hot against his armor. As he moved, the very ground clung to his boots in a sickening display. But above all else, Darth Metus felt powerless here. In the realm between death and life, there was no gift of the Force. He could not feel the power which typically burned within. Here, he was Mortal. But that would not deter his progress.

That would not deter his finding Deneve.

By vaguest memory alone did he navigate the Blood Wastes, doing his absolute best to retrace his decades' old steps. During his first visit, he had been cast within the realm involuntarily. Akala, the Demon of Brokellia, had sent half the Galaxy to the Netherworld during her final appearance. And, while Darth Metus was fortunate enough to find his way to freedom...billions did not. To this day, their wails were defeaning. To this day, they wandered lost among the blood and the flesh. Yet, they were not as Metus remembered in appearance.

Death had claimed each and every one.

Their faces had become rotten. Their flesh riddled with tears and infested with maggots. Yet still they wandered. Yet still they wailed. For a moment, the blank expression on their faces made the Sith wonder if they even remembered. Could they recall life? Could they remember why they wailed? Or were they well and truly lost? The thought turned his stomach - what if Deneve was like this? Urgency crept deeper into his bones, motivating his steps all the more. In time, his voice began to cry out among the wails: a new sound in a cacophany of sorrow.

"Deneve! Where are you? Deneve!"

[member="Deneve Verd"]
 

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