Private In the Shadows of Freedom

[Darth Strosius]

​

The Harbinger of Absolution drifted through the vast abyss of space that lay between systems and hyperlanes, shuttles occasionally emerging or jumping into hyperspace around it in a sparse yet consistent flow of traffic to and from the vessel. This was how it spent most of its days really, as a sort of junction for the disparate cells and agents of the Order of Wonosa to rally to and be sent forth from. It was a comfortable monotony, one that the ship's crew had settled into quite readily. Most of the crew at least.

Darth Strosius wasn't quite as settled Himself, not that He ever was these days. There was always too much to be done for any idleness to take root within the Prophet's schedule. Orders to be given, projects to tinker with, meetings and messages to be attended and so on and so forth. A seemingly endless rhythm of operations which tended to the Order as it stood and ensured its steady continuity in equal measure. Now however came His last meeting of the day, one which He had saved for the end specifically because He knew well enough that it could run on longer than anticipated. Not that that would have been a bad thing of course.

The Prophet's Champion Darkseeker had been called to the Harbinger for something of a status update and of course for some less explicit purposes as well. If all that He wanted was a simple chat then He would have called. As usual however Darth Strosius hadn't been specific on why He wanted a proper meeting with Kasir Dorran and He knew well enough that the younger Sith wouldn't be expecting any explanation until he arrived. Such was His habit.

Kasir Dorran

 

[Kasir Dorran]

The summons had dragged him from Mustafar, though the planet’s heat still clung to his pale flesh. Kasir was not one to be called lightly. What one Sith deemed important was so often vanity to another, but him, that important typically meant death. The shuttle that bore him to the Harbinger of Absolution was outdated to say the least, but he endured it as he endured all things.. with stillness, with patience.

Moments later, the airlock sighed open, sharp as a serpent’s breath. He descended the ramp with grace. No armor adorned his form, no sign of ostentation, only a plain black tunic and leggings veiled beneath a cloak that whispered across the deck as though carrying a voice of its own.

Crew members let their eyes stray to him, before snapping their gazes aside.

Moving at an almost leisurely pace, the Darkseeker carried himself as if the place had been waiting for him. Each step spoke of expectation. Shoulders squared, head inclined, his gaze cut like a blade, as it always did. Beneath the cloak, fingers flexed once, twice.

At last, the chamber. The door hissed open, and automatically the air inside felt heavier.. thick with expectation, and the Prophet's presence.

Kasir stopped just inside the threshold, cloak pooling around his boots, familiar and foreign shadows alike gathering. He did not bow often, as most weren’t worth the effort. But here, in this chamber, that cloak fell forward and his head slowly dipped. It was deep, drawn, enough to mark the elder Sangnir as the only one who had ever truly earned it.

His words were flat. “As shadow follows flame, so I follow you. I am yours to command, my Master.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Strosius patiently awaited for His Darkseeker's arrival in one of the many chambers which comprised the Harbinger's internal layout. The one in particular that He would be found in was rather sparse and relatively spacious, only the sides of the circular room having any adornments of note. Those being the entrance door itself as well as some dim lights and scattered supply crates. It was clearly meant to be a training room of one sort or another, with some subtle dents and old scorch marks visible around the room.

"And so you are. Rise and do come in, we have much to discuss." He turned to regard Kasir, His visor glinting in the dim light as His hands folded together in front of His chest. As per usual the Prophet wore His robes, ornamental and practical alike, but His form was slightly slimmer than usual given the lack of armor beneath them. The pale tendrils which crept from His back, exuding like small pillars of smoke, swayed with the shifting movement but seemed otherwise still. For the moment at least. "And how goes your affairs as of late, my champion? Its has been some time since our last meeting face to face."

That He was wearing a mask didn't seem to cheapen His words at all. Darth Strosius inclined His head as He waited for the answer, although He didn't expect too much in-depth of a response. He never knew Kasir to be of many words and He had been keeping some tabs on the happenings of His chosen Darkseeker, as one might expect. Still though, He was curious as ever.

Kasir Dorran

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Strosius

Kasir did not rise immediately. He remained bowed for a breath longer than necessary, letting the weight of the moment settle. Then, his spine snapped sharply into a rigid line. High cheekbones cast sharp shadows, eyes burning with an ancient glint, and lips pressed into a thin line. The Sith's cloak whispered from the shift, pooling around his boots once more clinging to him like loyal thralls - much like his fanatical devotion to claiming those bound by a false doctrine.

Scanning just ahead from that position, he drank in the familiar scars. Recognition settled like a cold shroud, sharpening his unnatural senses; this was the arena of duty, a place where weapons were forged.

A prelude of sorts to battles so often won.

Every inch of his form radiated someone built for precision.

A voice cut through the still air, low.. and steady. “Affairs, my Matster? They are as they have always been. I am summoned, I arrive. I am tasked, I complete. Simplicity.. is the only constant in a galaxy that delights in chaos.”

Both hands, clenched briefly at his sides, relaxed only as he continued. “I could tell you of blood spilled, of debts collected, of prey that thought themselves.. hunters.”

Kasir’s silhouette shifted imperceptibly. “I have lingered long upon Mustafar of late. Only there does the fire strip me bare, burning away the weakness that clings like ash, until only the truth of myself remains.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

The Darkseeker took his time to properly join Darth Strosius in the room but there was no impatience within the masked man, instead a simple stillness as He waited. Even without having to see His expression His gaze was still apparent, felt and weighty in spite of being contained behind a dark visor. Present yet still much like the man Himself was currently. A hum broke from Him as Kasir responded in the vague way that he so often did, but it wasn't a noise of disapproval or frustration at all. More so acknowledgement and acceptance.

This was simply what He knew to expect of Kasir. Curt, efficient, precise. Darth Strosius liked when He could rely on His followers to act and behave in a relatively constant manner, at least for the most part. His Champion was a constant in that regard. Only once had He witnessed that usual composure and curtness breached. Perhaps He never would again. Perhaps not. Only time would tell.

"Yes. Mustafar is quite the serene place is it not?" He paused, His masked head tilting down slightly. "So long as one steers clear of the literal fire and burning at least." Were it not for His own Sangnir aversion to the flame He might enjoy the world more such as the Darkseeker did, how the latter could find any comfort when surrounded by lakes of lava given their condition was nothing short of a miracle. One that He didn't care enough to unravel Himself, content to let Kasir keep his preferences without probing question. Even if they were unusual preferences.

"Perhaps today you will see another truth of yourself burned into view." Or into existence, depending on who you asked. "You have excelled in the way of the Darkseeker. Shadows are your vessel and instrument, to bend to your need. But shadow alone will not aid you in every instance." His head inclined, the dim light reflecting off of His visor. "And my Champion needs to wield many such instruments, for the tasks that I would ask of you cannot be so simply accomplished in the shade."

Darth Strosius gestured to the room around them, to the myriad of marks and scattered objects. "Are you prepared to be honed into an even finer weapon, young Dorran? The Order of Wonosa asks much of you, I ask much of you, but will you rise to meet our requests with your head held high or your back bent?"

Kasir Dorran

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Strosius ​

When the Prophet’s words of home reached him, his jaw tightened, hilt tilting. “Serene?” A low murmur, carved from stone. “No, Master. Mustafar is scourge, and scourge is truth. Serenity is for gardens, a realm forever barred to me.” Again, his hand flexed, remembering the sting of ash, and the bite of flame.

His chin dipped, eyes narrowing. Another step forward, just half a pace this time.

For what felt like an eternity, he did not answer; his head bowed not to show respect, but to hide the hesitation that churned within, as though words gathered and died in his throat. For a being who had never asked for anything, silence itself became a damning confession, a reflection of the darkness, and the wounds that lurked behind a stoic shell.

Deep within Kasir, there was a poison that refused to dissipate, memories lingering long past their welcome, plaguing the Sith assassin with their merciless grip on his consciousness. Even in the presence of his apprentice, Soah, he felt something stir within him.

A rare softness that bordered on doubt.

And so, that had become a dangerous realization, making him wonder if the sentience believed to be carved away was still latching on. Such a thought was unbearable.

It meant frailty still lingered within his dark, icy soul.

So often he was the epitome of controlled chaos, dark energy emanating from every pore of his being. But the sentience was becoming a weakness that could not be ignored any longer. It questioned, it remembered.

A shift in his stance followed, the fraction of his head tilting down. Those shadows, churned and seethed, drawn to the turmoil roiling beneath the pallid exterior, sensing the fracture in his being.

Ever hungry for new tools, he welcomed any and all instruments into his arsenals, beyond the dark scripture of shadows that so often called with a seductive pull, for they would always bend to his will. In the eternal dance of night, Kasir had learned one simple truth: everything in this galaxy could be bent to his will.

“Every time I have fallen, I have risen. From the Dresuoti onward, I have risen. But what rises is not the same as what fell. Each time, something.. unwanted clings.”

A straightening of the spine, though the Darkseeker had been pulled upright by strings.

The silence that descended was anything but void; no, this was a suffocating presence that pressed throughout the chamber, the Prophet's shrine, and against Kasir himself.

It was not a plea that came from his lips, but a sentence.

"I ask that you burn all that is left, until only the weapon remains. Let that be my salvation."