I Was a Kiffar Once

[Soliath Devin Talith]

[member="Quinn Vos"]

Where Quinn had found herself in the far more creative location of a brown muddy marsh, Soliael had stepped through into the darkness to find light.

He had taken a single step forward and in that step had seemingly been transported into a vast, unseen nothingness. All around him there was empty space. Pure blank white surrounded him on all sides. Vast expanse nothing seemed to surround and strangle him, drawing in his vision and threatening to go on for ever. It was as if Soliael had been moved to the foundations of the universe, the something before anything had been.

“Huh.” The Sith Lord said inquisitively as he took another step forward.

He didn't quite understand what had happened yet, but as he took another step forward his theorem was confirmed. Instead of moving forward, he instead move down, as if by his will he had bent the very fabric of space and time.

Within this vast nothingness, he was god.

An interesting illusion to be sure, and one that Soliael had built for himself in the real life. With an odd quirk Soliael began to concentrate, thinking on creation.

 

[Quinn Vos]

[member="Soliael Devin Talith"]

"Ti nah-qui ton," native-tongue swears left her chapped, lips as she sunk further into her mental nightmare. Tilting her head, she saw Odium fighting Korr on the far bank. Strings manipulated the nautolan, attached to the glowing form of Isolda.

"No!" She screamed as mud filled her mouth and spilled into her lungs.

She clawed at the bog's surface and saw tattered chords of manipulation move to take over Ryan. More mud spilled into her lungs as she was suddenly lifted and came face-to-face with Isolda, sewing in puppet-strings into her mocha-skin.

 

[Quinn Vos]

The hues of green in her fiery eyes slowly melted away as a molten-yellow took over. She looked down at the strings sewed into her skin and no longer felt afraid or out of control. The floodgate of power was at her fingertips.

Of course, she had no idea what her counterpart was going through or what his mental playground was.

Glowing-eyed gaze turned to the illusion of Isolda. "You will burn." The voice that left her lips was foreign. The illusion sneered then screamed as it began to melt into the earth but not before muttering something very clear to Quinn.













And so will you.









The puppet strings melted from the Kiffar's skin, followed by the swamp. The heat rose and burned her from the inside out. Ember-lined eyes leaked a molten-liquid until she surrendered completely to the pain, to the nothingness. To the end.

The cold, hard floor of reality dug into her back. Mossy-green eyes snapped open. Her panting breaths echoed in the small, circular, windowless-room.

Custom shelves lined the walls up and up, past from where she could see from her prone vantage-point. And on those shelves sat trinkets, holocrons, and other spoils of war. But there was only one she needed.

Standing with a grimace, mocha-arm stretched forward to the third-shelf, plucking up a very tarnished and ordinary looking ring. It was the beginning of the end.