. . . domina relicta . . .
IN THROUGH THE GUTS
LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.
Truth after truth, akin to lightning darting down to strike the same tree over and over again until it was naught more than a lifeless husk, echoing the life that had once been. For what felt like an eternity, Isobel found no will to move, to answer, to even listen to the vile poison spewing from Arris' lips. They were lies, she told herself, vile provocations that seek to tear at the weakening shield of the Light.
Her back remained half-turned toward the criminal as she pondered whether she must withdraw or persist in her futile assault. A sharp breath escaped her lips, carrying almost the ache of fire upon her tongue. . . Before an anomalous stillness befell her, a reminder of words uttered by her kin--and the tragic reality of life.
"I do what the fates demand of me. Your death. . . or any death, is not woven into my destiny. Another may strike you down in time, be it soon, or in ages beyond count. . . but such things are left to the will of the Force, not me." Voss had taught her many things, but most of all that one must not seek to meddle within the destinies of other souls. Nor attempt to change the canvases already painted for one figure or the next. Whether such inaction doomed her to be no better than the Sith was for Arris to think, but it would not alter this truth.
Isobel refused to stain her hands and soul over a fate that was not destined for her to carry out.
The composure faltered for a glimpse, as a bemused scoff danced in the air between them: "Useless, pathetic or whatever other words you may think of. I know. Had the Force shaped a different path, mayhaps I would have drawn my blade--and spared us all the bloody consequences of your deeds." It was no easy matter to accept, and her heart did long to try. . . but her mind held the upper hand.
"Alas, the Force plays a wicked game." She murmured, a soothing remedy to her acheing conscience, veiling the inaction as an act of faithfulness to the higher powers. . .
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