Faction Great Hunt: Sith Academy

[Emissary of Strife]

​

The Force is strong on Desevro.

If you stop and listen, you can hear it... the echoes of the past. Of battles and conflicts. Fear from the helpless - anger and despair from the survivors - hatred weighed on those by the mantle of defeat.

The remnants of urban sprawl visible through frosty shuttle windows were the first sight for many of the acolytes who arrived, by choice or otherwise, upon the storied subarctic world. Some were captured padawans from one raid or another, others awoken to the Force and the call of the Dark Side, and a few carried themselves proudly... a hint of training or familiarity that might just set them above the rest.

A group of Sith warriors and teachers stood by the Temple's entrance. "Listen, as I will not repeat," a masculine voice called out to the crowd.

"This temple is to be your place of learning. Your home if you mean to succeed. Your place of death if you fail to survive. That is... if you can claim it."

The armored figure began to pace as he spoke. "Somewhere inside the Temple is a Sith holocron - it rends the sanity from all that it touches, luring beasts easily tainted by its presence, and drawing out the ghosts of dead Sith who once ruled here."

He stopped and stared at one of the acolytes directly, with predatory eyes. The other warriors began to push, shove, and corner the acolytes inside if they refused to funnel inside. All the while, the man continued to speak.

"Once inside, none may leave until the artifact is claimed by one of you and returned to the entrance. That acolyte will be allowed to keep the holocron and divine its secrets.

The rest of you will only earn the right to survive and a chance to prove yourselves as students of the academy."

The door slowly began to close behind the acolytes.

"There are no other rules. I care not how the artifact is retrieved or what happens inside."

Finally, the outside light was extinguished by the great stone doorway, leaving the acolytes to their own devices inside. The Temple was quite labyrinthine, with multiple levels going up and down, and numerous rooms within them. The Dark Side haunted this place with untold strength, and the longer one remained, the greater the danger. Sithspawn, dark side spirits, and a great aura of unease that only grew stronger over time.

Neriah Calven Anet Raine The Lost Vestra Tane Lucinda Anguish Ashbone Lysander von Ascania Carisma Rostu Aicre Shar

Spoiler: OOC

This is not intended to be a DMed experience. Please take liberties with the types of curses, monsters, traps, and other challenges you'll find inside. I may intercede and provide challenges or environmental events if I feel one or more of you are progressing too quickly.

Otherwise, the rules are simple:

• Find the holocron
• Bring it back to the entrance
• Work with, against each other, or alone
• Whoever has the holocron and brings it to the entrance gets to keep it

 

[Aicre Shar]

Tag: OPEN

One eye blinked.

The Arkanian girl was not unused to the cold, but something about this place chilled her open scar differently, deeper.

But if felt familiar.

"Errh..." she growled in annoyance as the guards shoved her.

Still she approached with muted curiosity, head low, eye up, anxiously tugging at the coat's high collar as large hands continued to push her forward. Seeing her teachers for the first time, they were certainly intimidating. The armored speaker who's voice boomed across the frozen grounds, robed sorcerers who's faces seemed more like shadow than anything at all, all dressed in varying shades of black.

Well at least they were fashionable.

"There are no other rules. I care not how the artifact is retrieved or what happens inside."

"W-wait -"

She turned to address the armored figure—surely this was a mistake, she'd come to study the It, not kill!—but the door ground shut in her face, and her raised finger slowly curled into a delicate fist.

Arkanian vision allowed her to see passingly well when the light was swallowed, and the girl was quick to back herself around a corner soon as she thought nobody was looking. She wrung her hands anxiously.

Death.​

Survive.​

No rules,

The words kept coming back to her as she wandered the dark halls. Oh yes, she was sure of it now, they intended them to fight. She'd never been a fight before...! Oh great stars above—was she even armed?? The girl groaned worriedly, then suddenly, in a stroke of Arkanian genius, fumbled for the Medpac she always brought on trips. Pale fingers brought out a Vibroscalpal, carefully tearing open the sterile packaging with her teeth. Her eye lit up in relief as she held it to what little light shone through a sliver in the wall.

However, if these were truly prospective sith than she may well face experienced killers, she'd need every advantage.

Two blades are better than one!

Next she retrieved her Laser Scissors, and knelt down to pick up a loose brick from where the light shone.

Holding it at a careful angle, she smashed the trauma shears at just the right angle to separate the two blades, pocketing both in the left side of her coat.

A knife, and a parrying tool!

She'd show those barbarians what for.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag: Aicre Shar | Open

A voice outside promised death.

The temple's embrace coiled around him, its cold fingers slithering deep into his flesh as he crossed the threshold. It was a chilling welcome from a place that seemed to breathe only darkness. He could taste the air's bite upon his tongue. Before long the doors groaned like a tolling bell, one that would seal their fates.

Shadows inside gathered.

His senses unfurled. Different shapes surfaced, like ghosts born of gloom, but it was the Force that spoke louder. He detected clusters of unease, of ambition.. heavily distorted by some oppressive aura that saturated this place. It pressed against his mind, making it challenging to concentrate. Even nausea threatened to rise in his throat..

Lysander wore only a loose-fitting tunic, plain leggings, the linen hanging lightly from his lithe frame, offering little in the way of protection. Perhaps he’d chosen clarity of movement over the extra weight. A curved hilt was clipped to the utility belt. And when the final trace of light vanished, when the temple swallowed them whole, he refrained from rushing forward as he noticed a few others had done.

Fingers trailed like a phantom along the wall, each step taken slowly, to avoid giving away his position. Pausing at different intervals, he strained his ears for any sounds, attempting to map the space, though he believed it to be futile.

There was clearly more than one path to be taken, but for now it was uncertain which would truly entice him, nor which of the other acolytes nearby would prove ally or adversary. What Lysander did know was that haste would make the eager fall the quickest, or so he told himself. He moved forward, observing, waiting for clarity to pierce the veil.

Close at hand, the Force carried to him the brittle whisper of unease, fragile as glass.

​

 

[The Lost]

There were never any rules with the Sith it felt like. Or when there were, it was more rules for them and not for those above. A fragile balance to figure out just to survive as a street rat that certainly didn't belong. She'd seen it first hand. Apprentices who could leap over buildings, create a rockslide with a flick of a wrist, hack the very machinery that should've been used against them with a thought.

The Lost couldn't hide that fear and uneasiness. She wasn't even aware of the aura flooding her already warry thoughts with more things to be frightened of. She bit her finger, trying to hide just how terrified she was as the doors opened. As the voice above commanded them to enter and either die or hope they were enough to survive.

She didn't feel she was part of the later. The most she had was a vibrodagger she'd stolen in the last event like this she found herself in. What clothing she had was tattered and bundled. Mismatched and either too large or too small, stolen like everything else she owned. On the streets, it was easy for her to hide from those around her, but that last event showed just how little skill she had. She was found, easily, by those who knew how to look. Those she hadn't learned how to hide from.

Her only hope now was to hide here and follow another. Stalk them as they fought and survived, used them as a shield. It'd only really work if she wasn't caught, but it was the only skillset she could rely on. Red glowing eyes looked around as the Chiss searched for someone, anyone, she could hopefully both follow and avoid.

This whole thing just sucked.

Lysander von Ascania | Aicre Shar | OPEN

 

[Neriah Calven]

Tag: The Lost Lysander von Ascania Aicre Shar

Alone. Afraid. Isolated. All of those feelings were rushing Neriah as she stood off to the side, away from the rest of the Acolytes. She didn't belong here. This wasn't right. She should have been in a Temple. Studying. With her Master.

He's gone.

She's right. He was gone. Because of her. Because of her cowardice. Yet she was already moving, if not somewhat slowly being stood off away from the group. She couldn't stay with the Acolytes. They weren't something she could trust. She could only trust herself....

Can you?

There was something about this place that was off. Stale. She could taste it in the air. Feel it in her blood. Fear was heavy in her heart, as she reached her hand down towards her lightsaber, running her thumb along the material carefully. Comforting herself as she grounded herself in the moment, taking in a deep breath. She had to bury the fear.

Or use it.

Was that possible for her? She glanced off in the direction that she had[ come from, towards the Acolytes. It was possible that they saw her as a threat, in the same way she saw them as one. Stay calm. She was a Jedi. Not a Sith. She was not a threat to them.

But you are. Everything is.

Urgh. She hated that voice. Even though it was her own. It was so much worse since she arrived on Desevro. It was like the worst of her was coming out more. The voice that she tried to silence. Focus. She just had to survive. Finding the artefact wasn't important. It would be for "True" Acolytes. But she wasn't one. Neriah just wanted to survive. And that's what she would do.

Though...searching for the knowledge could give her a step up...Make it more likely that she'd survive...but at the same time...what about the others? They had their own reasons for being here more than likely...Should she work with them? It was getting harder and harder for her to decide.

​

 

[Aicre Shar]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania The Lost Neriah Calven

She twirled the scissor-knife around her finger.

Actually it felt cool—not temperature cool—but maybe glareshades and a cigarette sort of cool.

"Chit." distracted, can't get distracted. Distracted people die! wait, where are the people?

The Arkanian glanced over her shoulder, quickly stuffing pale hands into her pockets and moving on. Infrared guided her steps, but still she walked cautiously, because in the dark it was still hard to make out the depth of these cold surfaces, especially with only one eye. Her shoulder brushed against the wall once or twice, and she paused when her boot shifted under a loose brick.

Her eye narrowed. this brick looked hotter than the others, just a little bit.

So did her boot now?

She leaned over to pick it up, and the heat spread to her fingers. Wet, warm, slightly thick, the young doctor knew that texture anywhere.

Blood.

There was more, she hesitantly followed it, creeping around another corner until she laid eye upon it's source. A Jedi, she recognized by the padawan braid, back arched, skin pale as her own, suspended from the jaws of a great, hairy, beast.

The giant tilted it's horned head at her, and she the Arkanian froze.

Trembling, she pulled the makeshift knife from her pocket, crackling to life as she pointed it the animal.

The lifeless padawan dropped from it's jaws, and a terrifying R o a r filled the labyrinth.

She flinched, stuffed the weapon back in her pocket(it's dangerous to run with scissors), and then bolted back down the hall.

​

 

[Ghruna]

Ghruna’s boots cracked frost-snapped soil as she walked beside the towering stone entrance. Her horns cast long shadows in last glow from the shuttle door.

She did not pause. Noise echoed from inside—beasts, distant crashes, the hum of angry Force.

Her hand tested the cool metal of an axe at her hip. Cold air bit at her lungs. Others shuffled forward, eyes darting.

“Anyone can follow me if they want,” she muttered under her breath, eyes fixed on the dark gap the door made in the world. “I want the holocron.”

She did not trust friendship. Not here. The temple would test strength. She would be tested. And fail if she bowed to fear. She had failed as a sith acolyte so far. Her world had been isolated for nearly a thousand years and she did not understand outsiders.

Ghruna was just a teenager, but she was Maldrani. She might have been gangly, but she stood over seven feet tall. Her home was a horror show of darkness and monsters.

This almost felt like home.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag: Aicre Shar The Lost Neriah Calven Ghruna

The deeper he moved into the temple, the heavier its aura pressed upon his mind. The gnawing was consistent, whispering of failure and death. It scraped at his thoughts before he pushed them aside. Fear was meant to be a tool; he would not let it control him.

Somewhere in the distance, a roar ripped apart silence. It reverberated through the stone, through his bones, through the Force itself. And with it came a spike of terror.. not his own, but clearly someone else’s.. stumbling into a beast’s path.

Shadows shifted once more. Lysander knew better than to trust them; the temple wanted him to see things.

Instinctively his hand reached for the lightsaber, but he wouldn’t ignite the blade. Not yet. Doing so would announce himself.

For now, silence meant survival.

So, he drew closer, but he wasn’t rushing.

Suddenly, Lysander spotted a flicker of movement, a figure just at the edge of his vision. The teen’s eyes narrowed.

While it was difficult to see and hear, the scent of fear could not be hidden. If he detected it,then it was possible others would too.

Senses stretched out further, every nerve alive. The roar came again, closer now. He saw a flash of pale skin darting across in the hall. Not the beast.. someone smaller.

All he knew was she was being hunted.

He could’ve called out, but didn’t. If this person lived, they might distract it long enough for him to strike clearly. If they died.. their body would buy him time. Either way, the outcome served him.

Moving further along the wall, he was content to let her serve as the bait. And at the next crossing, he stepped out in its path, at an angle, waiting. When the horned monster was close enough, his blade hissed to life, a crimson light cutting across the dark. Lysander struck at its exposed flank.

This wasn't about saving the other person. Perhaps he chose to act because hesitation was the same as giving up control.

Lysander wanted its attention. Now he had it.

​

 

[The Lost]

She'd found one to follow. A white haired woman who seemed to know what she was doing. Good, that was enough for the Lost to at least stalk from the distance. Keeping to the shadows, keeping out of sight, keeping small. There had to be some merit in being able to mooch off of others, right? The Sith seemed crazy enough to think that was a good thing.

Coping was all she could really do right now as the presence of death loomed overhead.

The Lost, however, found herself facing a new kind of death she hadn't. As she rounded the corner the woman with an eyepatch ran right by, leaving the Chiss to blink in surprise. Then blink again as she heard the roar. She froze. Collapsed even as she caught sight of the beast that had started to chase. Wampa. She'd heard of them in the streets. Maneaters who's strength were greater than even a Wookies'. All she had was a dagger.

Weakly she held it up, as if it was going to protect her. A flash of a lightsaber changed the path though. All at once the beast that had been bearing down on her was now fighting someone else. She didn't think twice. There was a scramble as she turned tail and ran, sprinting as far as she possibly could.

Hell no she wasn't fighting a Wampa.

Lysander von Ascania | Aicre Shar | Neriah Calven | Ghruna

 

[Neriah Calven]

Tag: The Lost Lysander von Ascania Aicre Shar Ghruna

Death was in the air. Neriah couldn't have helped herself from following the group slowly but surely, as she was trying to go over things in her head. What was the best way to escape? The best way to get back to the Temple...

Who says they want you back?

Her fist clenched as the voice continued to play on her weaknesses. Her fears. Yet none of that mattered, as a sudden roar echoed through the corridors, causing Neriah's head to snap up to look ahead, squinting through her glasses. That was when she saw some tuft of white hair rushing away, alongside the beast. Her grip on her lightsaber tightened as she prepared herself.

I am a Jedi. I am meant to be a protector. A guardian. To protect against the Darkness.. I am meant to save people.

But you couldn't even save your own master. You stood. Watched. You froze.

Froze. Like she was right now. Even as the sudden crimson light of another lightsaber illuminated the halls, Neriah was hesitating. She needed to run. Like the others were. Away from the beast. Away from where the Wampa had came from. To run through this Labyrinth having to deal with the artefacts affect on them...Wait.

"Somewhere inside the Temple is a Sith holocron - it rends the sanity from all that it touches, luring beasts easily tainted by its presence, and drawing out the ghosts of dead Sith who once ruled here."

It was meant to lure beasts in...Which meant it was entirely possible that the direction the Wampa and the stench of death had came from was the right path to take. Or perhaps a shortcut to the right path. All they needed to do was take down the Wampa and they could make their way down there. To work as a team. Her eyes darted over towards the one with the crimson saber, the one taking the Wampa's attention. All she had to do was ignite her saber and aid him...She was a Jedi!

At least, that was what she wanted to believe. But her actions spoke far to the opposite as she rushed forward. She was fast. Agile. Not a fighter. And so whilst the one with the Lightsaber grabbed the Wampa's attention, Neriah ran past, sliding herself along the ground to get past the beast, staining herself and her robes in blood before scrambling up to her feet to continue in the direction the Wampa had came from.

You abandoned them. You're no Jedi. You're no guardian. You put yourself before people in danger. You are an Acolyte.

Neriah's cheeks stung at the pain of tears as they ran down her face. The voice was wrong. She was a Jedi! The Acolytes weren't her friends! They were Sith! She wasn't meant to help them. Yet even that thought caused a pang in her chest. What if they got hurt? If they got hurt because she hadn't helped them...There would be more blood staining her hands. Either way, she continued her sprint into the darkness, following the smell of death, blood and fear. She would not hide.

​

 

[Vestra Tane]

Tag: Anet Raine Lysander von Ascania Aicre Shar Neriah Calven

Waiting wasn't Vestra's strongsuit. Whenever she wasn't moving or thinking or doing, it felt like knives under her skin. Pin-prickle numbness heightened until it was nearly unbearable.

But patience was a virtue, even for a Sith, and stewing in her misery would only make the inevitable explosion more potent. That, in itself, was useful. So she waited. She watched her classmates, and followed them. Passive. Observant. Neutral.

It was enough to make a girl puke.

Lucky her, then, that the Arkanian did something stupid. That roar sounded like it came from something big. The Acolyte sighed, and smiled, and flexed some internal, spiritual muscle, seized the Force by its throat. And then...

Her senses sharpened and her limbs quickened. She felt the rush of the Dark Side, that keen, predatory edge it always imparted. She hopped in place for a second, shook her head, and sprinted down the catacombs and towards whatever terrible and likely dangerous thing her colleagues had awoken.

​

 

[Anet Raine]

This was Anet's second time on Desevro - second time inside the Temple since the Conclave. Even then, the interior emanated an otherworldly dread, and the hallways seemed to guide you regardless of logic. Unlike then, however, it was much darker, the atmosphere far more oppressive. Perhaps it was the nature of her visit and the other acolytes.

She knew none of them save for Vestra Tane , who could be... approachable in some circumstances, but here? The half-pantoran had a feeling that she would find no friend in the woman.

As soon as the door closed, the scholarly acolyte burst into a sprint. She meant to get as far away from the others as quickly as she could. Her saving grace was a trait she inherited from her father's side - his Arkanian eyes. The infrared spectrum allowed her to avoid the others' body heat.

Her feet only stopped when a nearby roar echoed down the hallway.

It's close...

There were other sounds... including... Running?

Anet turned the corner only for a sprinting Aicre Shar to knock her down. Anet grunted and groaned as her body hit the cold floor. She looked around, dazed and disoriented. As soon as she tried to stand, a second pair of legs crashed into her, belonging to The Lost .

"Gah!"

Soreness was all she had to worry about on that one, thankfully, but frustration distracted her from fear long enough.

"Would you watch it?!"

She snapped vaguely at the two who ran, unaware of why they were running. Soft thumping steps alerted her to the presence of a third.

Anet sighed harshly as she rose to her feet and turned to the sound.

"Oh, and what do you wa--"

Her words trailed off as her eyes panned up along the body heat of something large. That something let out a beastly roar, met only by a pathetic yelp as it smacked the woman aside with its overpowering strength. Her back crashed against the wall.

Neriah Calven | Lysander von Ascania | Ghruna

 

[Lucinda Anguish]

Theme: Carry On
Location: Desevro , Temple
Tags: Aicre Shar | Lysander von Ascania | The Lost | Neriah Calven | Vestra Tane | Anet Raine

---

​

With the words of survival spoken, The Temple doors were shut, and all the light was snuffed out. At first Lucinda just closed her eyes letting the darkness take her away, but it was only a moment as the sounds of clamoring feet took off breaking that second of silence and peace she had. It was followed by a voice in her head, it wasn't some disembodied ethereal voice of ghost. No, it was in her ear but only one she could hear at the moment.

"Hey, open your eyes I can't see anything? I need to see what is going on to help you."

Help Lucinda thought no more like annoy with endless questions. Questions she more than likely didn't have any answers to.

"Give me a minute Blue. Also, what kind of help could you give me in here? You're outside, not like you can barge in here and be my muscle."

The silence was deafening for a second as Lucinda seemed like she was talking to herself. Good thing no one in this darkness could see her.

"I have explosives ready to blast through those temple doors. I am not letting you die in there plus they said there were no rules. I am sure I could snap a few force users necks before they figured out what I am."

Lucinda's eyes shot open at those last words and her cybernetic eyes kicked into night vision bathing the temple in green with her vision.

"What….no….no snapping necks shut down your assassin protocols and go back to nice Gage."

She practically screamed into the darkness with others now further ahead of her.

"But we are assassin's…."

It was a fair answer but not one Lucinda could stay standing there explaining to her HR Droid.

"Sometimes yes, but today we are scavenger hunters, and we are looking for a holocron okay?"

"chit." She had spent to long conversing with Gage she her some yelling off in the distance though still to far out for her vision to totally make out. The looked like several shadows scurry off in the distance. The cold chill of fear and death started to slither up her up her body like a snake in that moment she barely heard Gage's next few words.

"So, you came out of your self-imposed exile enrolled in a sith academy for a holocron? That makes perfect sense, giving your anti-social personality and general dislike of non-robotic life forms."

Gage had clearly turned off her aggression mode and flipped the switch for sarcasm and psycho analysis. If Lucinda had been listening, she would have been so pissed instead her eyes were fixated forward into the looming green shade of the darkness. The shadows on the wall giving off all manor of horrors. Her feet slowly and quietly started to move forward to try and catch up to the others to see what the hell was going on.

 

[Aicre Shar]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania The Lost Anet Raine Neriah Calven Vestra Tane Lucinda Anguish Ghruna

"Shut up and run!" the Arkanian shrieked, nearly tripping over Anet Raine .

She'd barely recovered in time to watch her fellow Acolyte thrown aside, and would surely have been next if not for Lysander von Ascania 's intervention. The familiar * snap, hiss * of a lightsaber made her heart skip a beat, watching the beast turn to swipe at this new aggressor with a pained screech.

With the beast silhouetted in crimson glow, the girl squinted her sensitive eye, spotting her fellow Acolytes and even Neriah Calven 's opportunistic dash past the violence.

A grim clarity washed over her; the padawan knew something.

Her best option then was to follow, but could she survive on her own? Aicre couldn't be so sure. She glanced at the beast, then at Anet and back. Bloody hell she was desperate.

She bolted into action, trying to hoist the half-pantoran to her feet.

"You okay?" she asked, though her eye was more focused on that hairy abomination.

"Listen, I've got a plan but first we need to get past that thing, yeah?"

​

 

[Carisma Rostu]

​

Location: Temple
Gear: Basic Lightsaber
Tags: Open

The words spoken by the armored figure was nothing more than a glancing whisper penetrating Carisma's ears, as her focus was transfixed on the other acolytes. She didn't care about this holocron, a materialistic device subjected and craved by the others, a morsel dangling out before their salivating mouths; so easily tempted, so easily lead like bumbling fools. No, she was here to learn and observe.

Inside that temple lie dark secrets, more impressive to her than this holocron. There inside, she would learn far more from putting her mind to the task of soaking up the simplest of knowledges. Sith temples, like most ancient edifices, always held secrets and mysteries just waiting to be plucked and plundered, if one knew where to look; to read those proverbial signs. Even in the Valley of the Sith Lords where those ancient tombs long been molested by greedy paws, there was always something of value left behind; one man's junk was another man's treasure. So, that was the learning aspect of her presence.

One by one she watched the others walk deep into the darkness of the temple, unaware she was observing them, studying them feverishly as she would do throughout this entire outing. One of the greatest strengths one could possess, in her opinion, was to turn an enemy to your cause, to rob them of their personal beliefs, morals, and virtues; and transform them to align with your own. And by observing each one today, she hoped to learn of their individual strengths and weakness, preying on those that she could manipulate, those foolish enough to trust the faux bond of friendship she would deceptively create.

As those that preceded her broke off into pairs or simply traversed the temple alone, she stuck to the shadows aware of the stirrings among the temple bowels. There was something here, something more than the Dark Side. Ghosts of long dead Sith always found attraction to such places, haunting and attempting to ravage the sanity of any who walked the halls. And she embraced such a meeting, her fascination with ghosts bordering on a delusional addiction.

Carisma attached herself to one of the rooms, searching like an addict for that perfect fix of knowledge. Walls decorated with ancient symbols and texts, most in a state of undecipherability, etched all around her. Briefly she studied them the best she could before moving on, keeping her eyes on the real prize: the lonesome acolyte up ahead.

​

 

[Ghruna]

Ghruna came from a world of monsters and beasts. Perhaps it was luck that something other than a wampa crossed her path.

Or perhaps it was because she would relish meeting a beast in battle and a different approach was required to test her resolve.

The temple’s corridors narrowed, walls closing like a throat. Ghruna pressed forward alone, torchlight flickering across carvings too old to read. Each step echoed with weight and defiance.

Then came the voice.

“Child of horns… daughter of dust… you are nothing.”

A shadow coiled in the air ahead, formless and pale.

Ghruna’s grip at the hilt of her axe.

“I am Ghruna.” The words were flat, hammered like iron.

The shade laughed. “Names means nothing. Yours will be forgotten before it is remembered."

Her jaw clenched, teeth bared. Fear prickled at the edge of her mind, but she shoved it down with the same force she would use to break bone.

She stepped closer, defiant. “Try me.”

The air grew colder.

To anyone close by, Ghruna would appear to be taking to herself.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag: Aicre Shar The Lost Neriah Calven Ghruna Carisma Rostu Lucinda Anguish

With every step, every breath, Lysander felt it cling to his lungs. The history, the death, the madness threatened to settle over him.

His focus locked on the Wampa like a trial he hadn't prepared for. But now he had to pass. The teen wore no armor, carried no theatrics, only the curve of his saber and discipline shaped by thousands of repetitions. Beneath that, a flicker of belief burned, an ember not yet snuffed out. A hope that maybe helping was not weakness.

Even under a blood soaked doctrine, he couldn’t kill the part of himself that hoped. So he moved like someone yet to unlearn compassion.

The Wampa let out a guttural screech, vibrating through his marrow. Lysander felt it before he heard it. But he didn't flinch.

Massive and horned, fur matted with blood, it had already killed and was ready to hunt again. Claws swept through the air. He pivoted, not panicking. The movement was fluid as water, but it still caught the edge of his tunic, tearing fabric and grazing skin. A line of heat bloomed across his chest.

Another sidestep, elegant, like a dancer moving through a storm.

Then came the thrust. The crimson glow lit the hallway as the blade pierced cleanly, past the ribs, into the heart. The beast shuddered, roared one last time, and collapsed.

Charred flesh rose like incense.

The Force still whispered. Presences retreating.. watching. But none had joined him. None stood beside him.

Cowards..

That word was bitter on the tongue. But if they were cowards, what did that make him? Still an idiot, maybe. But standing. Lysander stood over the corpse. He didn't deactivate the blade, its crimson glow catching the edge of his youthful visage.