Emberlene's Daughter, The Jedi Generalist
Connel Vanagor
She gave him a nod of her head while she was looking around... the force was different here now... becoming more and more like something sour and metallic. "That would work." She said it and looked up at the ceiling of the cave that seemed to be getting more and more obscured with swirls of chaotic enerrgies. "Though I don't think we are on Kashyyyk anymore." She said it and it wasn't something she wanted to admit... she didn't know where they were yet. "It is like the force itself is screaming.. you can almost taste it in the air." She said it while looking and there was more she was sure of it. Walking as she listened to the sounds.. the swarm was still chanting but further off the images shifted... the forests and caves giving way to plains of ash filled skies, desolate grounds and nothing around.
She heard something screaming, something shouting... someone as the image came into focus. "I am Darth Breschau, the Scourge of Dromund Kaas. I severed the Force-connection of those who spoke against me, leaving them as empty husks and I used the screaming spirits of unborn children to power my Sith alchemy, that no lineage would rise to challenge me. I corrupted my mother with a Sith kiss, and I,Breschau who devoured her sister's life in the Force when she denied me. Soon, my name was whispered by mothers on a thousand worlds to terrify their children into obedience. I am Breschau, who bathed in the blood of younglings to sustain my decaying form." She said it as the hawk bats were eating from the open chest cavity but it was the netherworld and once they were done it healed to be done again.
Matsu looked at the form of the woman and she was clearly a woman, hauntingly beautiful in her refinement. "I am Breschau, who forced the Jedi Seers, the prophets of Ashla, to dance upon plates of superheated cortosis, under which spectral fires of the dark side eternally burned, and I laughed as their essences flickered and writhed. I am Breschau, and when my Sith apprentice was unfaithful, I did not merely scar her face; I carved the Mark of the Betrayer upon her very soul and bound the sigil to my amulet. As for the woman and her lover, I had their spirits fused, essence to essence, into a single, eternal wound in the Force, and I left them anchored here, in this Chaos, to be perpetually unraveled by the Howlers, and I laughed as I hear their silent screams echo for all time."
"I am Darth Breschau. And this… this my punishment." The jedi master got a better look at the woman as she could take in more of the situation. Her skin gleams like molten honey poured from the gods' own chalice, silken and fever-warm, flushed with the subtle heat of unspoken yearnings that rise beneath its surface like a tide threatening to crest, every inch begging to be traced by fingertips that might ignite or dissolve in its intoxicating velvet now marked by the cruel bite of beskar where chains kiss her flesh, leaving faint crimson welts that bloom like forbidden roses against the amber glow. The jedi master stopped and starrred though taking in many more elements.
Eyes of liquid obsidian ringed with golden red glowing hues faintly, hooded beneath lashes thick as sin-soaked silk, smolder with a feral promise almond curves that dilate in the half-light, drawing anyone into their vortex where desire coils like smoke, fringed by kohl that smears like the remnants of a lover's desperate grasp, capable of unraveling empires with a single, sultry glance that strips away pretense and leaves only raw, aching need; they lift now toward the bruised heavens, defiant and pleading in an formed euphoric agony, shadowed by the jagged overhang of rock that presses like a jealous suitor against her temple.
Her cheekbones, sharp as the edge of a forbidden blade, hollow slightly with the rhythm of her quickened breath the shouting as she proclaims something that her devoured lungs would strain, framing a nose of regal delicacy and lips swollen like overripe persimmons, glossed in crimson that parts to reveal the pearl-glint of teeth, curved in a pout that murmurs invitations too profane for daylight, each exhale a jasmine-laced sigh that clings to the air like a lover's sweat parted now in a gasp as the beskar collar tightens, its cold links grinding against the frantic flutter of her pulse at the throat, a metallic tang mingling with the salt of her skin.
Raven locks tumble in wild, unbound cascades, heavy with the musk of night orchids and crushed amber, braided with golden filaments that snake through like veins of fire, brushing the fevered hollow of her throat where pulse flutters visibly, a siren's lure to press lips against and taste the salt of her abandon tousled and matted now against the unyielding granite, strands catching in the rough-hewn crevices like dark silk ensnared by the mountain's possessive grip, whispering against stone that rasps like gravel under a boot. She could see her body already starting to heal when she hung there. The pile of gore below where pieces dropped.
She is sheathed in a lehenga choli of blood-red silk that slithers over her form like a serpent's kiss, the choli a scandalous cage of gold-embroidered paisleys that plunge low across the lush, quivering swells of her chest fabric taut and translucent where it strains against hardened mountain peaks, the shadowed cleft between them a velvet abyss adorned by a teardrop ruby that sways with hypnotic menace, as if daring a hand to delve and claim its fire; the silk tears faintly at the shoulders where manacles clamp her wrists, exposing more of the hennaed skin beneath, the chains' weight pulling the bodice lower, a teasing surrender to gravity's merciless pull. Gravity manifesting even in the lowest places of chaos.
The kamarbandh, a sinuous band of chased gold studded with cabochon emeralds, bites into the silken dip of her waist, baring the taut, undulating plane of her belly where a diamond navel jewel throbs like a second heart, pierced flesh quivering under the weight of imagined caresses; from there, the lehenga blooms in pleated waves of crimson decadence, zari-laced lotuses unfurling along its hem to whisper against thighs that part with liquid grace, the fabric parting like fingers splayed in revelry to reveal glimpses of skin hennaed in intricate, exotic filigree swirling vines of midnight mehndi that coil up her calves like possessive lovers' fingers.
Blooming into peacock feathers on the arches of her feet where silver anklets chime with bells that toll her every futile twitch as a summons to surrender, while on her palms and the undersides of slender wrists, the henna weaves mandalas of interlocking hearts and thorns, deep burgundy patterns that stain like the flush of climax, intricate arabesques tracing the sensitive hollows of her inner arms and curling teasingly toward the swell of her hips, each design a map to hidden places that pulse with the same dark rhythm now smeared and cracked where beskar cuffs grind against them, the chains' icy links slithering over the patterns like serpents devouring their own tails, the metal's chill seeping into her bones with a shiver that arches her back against the rock's unyielding spine.
Each design a map to hidden thought that pulse with the same dark rhythm as the haath kaan necklace layered gold chains heavy with baroque pearls and sapphire drops that nestle into the damp valley of her décolletage, rising and falling with her chest that heaves in languid invitation, now tangled with the broader collar that encircles her neck like a lover's bite too deep, its riveted band etched with runes that glow faintly in the sulfurous haze, the chain from it snaking down her sternum to anchor her to the stone, pulling taut with every ragged breath and sending vibrations that hum through her core like a plucked string.
Jhumkas of moonstone and coral dangle from lobes like forbidden fruit, swaying to graze the curve of her neck with every tilt of her head, while bangles of hammered aurodium clink like the shatter of inhibitions along arms that reach out as if to ensnare, their chime mingling with the anklets' seductive tinkling; anklets that encircle henna-veiled ankles, bells tolling softly against the intricate lotus blooms etched into her soles, each step a sensual incantation that sends shivers racing up her spine to pool as liquid fire in the core of her now silenced in the spread-eagle bind, legs splayed wide against the crag's fractured face, the fetters at her ankles bolted into fissures that weep mineral tears.
The chains groaning like ancient beasts under the strain of her writhing, their links forged in some infernal smithy, rough and pitted with rust that flakes onto her skin like cinnamon dust, carrying the acrid bite of forge-smoke and old blood. Rendering her a apparition of carnal divinity hauntingly, perilously beautiful, her every curve and adornment a velvet trap woven to ensnare the senses, leaving admirers breathless, branded, and utterly, irrevocably consumed by the exquisite torment of her touch; she hangs suspended thus upon the mountain's flank, a voluptuous sacrifice to the storm-lashed peaks that loom like titans in judgment.
Their basalt flanks veined with quartz that glints like shattered mirrors under the pallid sky, the air thick with the ozone tang of impending thunder and the distant rumble of avalanches grinding bones to dust far below. The rock itself is a monolith of primordial fury, hewn from the earth's furious heart jagged escarpments clawing skyward, pocked with hollows where wind howls like damned souls, its surface a mosaic of lichen-smeared fissures that ooze a viscous dampness, cold and slick as the sweat of fear, cradling her body in a cradle of thorns where every shift grates skin against unpolished edges, drawing pinpricks of blood that trace rivulets down to pool in the cracks.
the stone's weighty chill leaching heat from her limbs like a voracious paramour, while above, the chains form a web of shadowed filigree, their lengths draped from hardened kyber spikes hammered into the crag's crown, swaying pendulously in the gusts that carry the leathery flap of hawkbat-wings and the sulfurous reek of hellfire pits flickering in the valley's cracked basin below, where embers dance like fireflies drunk on brimstone, illuminating the scene in hellish chiaroscuro that casts her form in strokes of infernal gold. The jedi master was looking at Connel and she had a look for herself with this scene... it was powerful and envoccative to know what happened.
Matsu could hear it... she could see it happening as the hawk bats were swooping down and attacking but the rock the sith lord was chained to was stretching them out at the limbs. Each ankle, wrist and neck. Her voice carrying over while there were others who had marched past them. "Well that isn't disturbing... I think we might have found a rift but instead of the netherworld of mists and shadows it might have taken us deeper. The realms of chaos and the darkside where the worse go to." She said it while motioning for him but spoke as she slipped from a sleeve a silver and golden glowing cylinder as her sabers gleamed. "The terms of combat have changed, what is here is already dead and hates the lightside."
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