Mission One-Post Vision: What Do You See? (contest)

[Jend-Ro Quill]

OOC/ The goal of this little writing exercise is simple: describe this scene as well as you can and go outside your comfort zone.

Are you going to make it clear, vibrant, unexpected, surreal, kinetic, tactile, poetic, grounded, emotional, messy? There's no right answer. I'd suggest 50-200 words as a general goal, but if you can bring it home in less or feel like writing more, by all means. I'd also suggest not looking at what others write until you've written yours. I'll have some sort of nice prize for the description that works for me best.

The painting is by Don Dixon for the cover of Fire Sanctuary by Katharine Kimbriel.

IC/

A vision unfolds. Past, present, or future, it impresses itself upon you with stunning force.

The vision fades and leaves you shaken. Someone asks you what you saw.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

---

S̶͒a̶̛b̶͂l̶̋ė̷ stood in front of the mirror, her reflection fragmented by the cracks that marred its surface. It was a reflection she could no longer recognize, a face twisted between light and shadow. Each shard of the mirror seemed to pierce through her, each crack deepening the rift between her fractured identities. The cold, eerie silence of the room pressed in around her, as if the very walls were holding their breath.

And then, she saw her—Ą̶̇l̶̰͝a̶̩͘n̴̫̐a̸̼̔.

The other self, the one she had buried so long ago, stood there in the shattered reflection. A̶l̶a̶n̴̤a̴'̴̽s̶ violet eyes glared back at her, unwavering, the same defiant fire that had once burned inside her now gleaming through the cracks of the glass. A̶l̶a̶n̴̤a̴ stood tall, her stance proud and strong—her face unmarked by the bloodshed and the pain that had shaped her, her soul whole.

For a brief moment, S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ felt a pull. She knew that Āl̶a̶n̸̛a̷ fought for what was good, what was right. She had always believed in it. There was no malice in A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷'̴̽s eyes—no hatred. There was only the unwavering belief that, even in the darkest moments, the light could still prevail.

But as S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ gazed deeper into the reflection, something shifted. The cracks in the mirror spread wider, longer, like veins of darkness bleeding into the light. The edges of the glass began to splinter, the reflections becoming more warped with every moment, each fracture peeling away the illusion of peace.

With each breaking of the mirror, the reflection became more grotesque.

S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s hand twitched at her side, her fingers flexing as if reaching for something. Her own face in the reflection began to distort, darkening, bleeding—her lips curling into a twisted sneer. Her eyes flickered, now burning with the unmistakable mark of corruption.

The blood. The violence. T̶h̷e̷ ̷r̴a̴g̴e̷?

With every new fracture of the mirror, S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷' watched as her features distorted. Her skin cracked, revealing layers of something deeper, darker—flesh that was no longer hers. Her eyes burned red with a malevolent fire that seemed to rip away her humanity, her very essence. She was becoming something else—something monstrous, something evil.

And through it all, A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷'̴̽s reflection remained unchanged—her expression unwavering, her eyes still full of conviction, still standing for all that was good. But as the cracks deepened, a subtle shift began. A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷'̴̽s figure started to bleed, her skin and form shifting, as if trying to stand against the overwhelming weight of what S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ was becoming. The light in her eyes flickered, but she stood strong, determined to remain unbroken.

S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s reflection twisted again, her mouth curling into a cruel grin as the two began to fight, not with swords or weapons, but with their very being. Each piece of the mirror that shattered became another blow—another clash of wills, of identities.

S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ fought for herself.

Her reflection reached forward, grasping A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷'̴̽s figure with hands that dripped blood, with fingers that threatened to tear her apart. Each time the mirror shattered further, S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s grip tightened, as if trying to pull A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷ back into the abyss, to swallow her whole.

But A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷ did not break.

She fought back. Not with violence, not with hatred—but with the strength of everything she had ever believed in. Her form glowed brighter as S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s twisted visage tried to consume her, tried to pull her into the darkness.

The mirror shattered again.

This time, the reflection of S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ was not just broken. It was disfigured, blood and bone exposed, a mockery of the woman who once fought for light. Her features were twisted into something unrecognizable, the brutality of her soul spilling into the world. Every time A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷'̴̽s light tried to push back, S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s corruption grew stronger, her reflection becoming more grotesque, more twisted.

A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷ began to shatter.

S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ was being torn apart.

The more the mirror shattered, the more S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s reflection fractured into grotesque, horrifying versions of herself—each one more corrupted, more twisted, and more violent than the last. The battle between the two raged, not just in the reflection, but in S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷'̷s heart, in her mind, in her soul.

Every fragment of the mirror was a slice through her being. A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷ was light. S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ was darkness. The two could not coexist. And yet, here they were, fighting for control over her, for control over everything she was.

And as the mirror shattered for the final time, the last reflection to remain was a haunting amalgamation—a twisted version of S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ with A̶l̶a̶n̸̛a̷'̴̽s form barely visible, struggling against the onslaught of her other self.

A battle for control. A battle for her soul.

And deep down, S̶͂a̶͑b̶͛l̶̄e̷ knew—one of them would fall. One of them would be lost forever.

She woke in her lone cell, with a new found fear within her heart.

She would not let her weaker half win.

Not if she could help it.

---

 

[Vodet]

Vodet was the type to pay attention. Having lost his world in the cataclysms that were the Scar Worlds, he paid attention to what was going on in the galaxy of today. Vodet cared deeply for those who were out here, in the black, trying their best to survive. Some worlds were warm, and others, not so much. As he settled under the mangroves, on one of the worlds the Foundation had sent him, he fell into the Force.

Neither light nor dark. Life didn’t work that way, but what he could see for this world? Peace. Verdant fields. Crystal clear water, creeks running through the taller woody trees. Ungulates coming to drink, and eat the water grasses. A child running, at one time human, at another time Bothan, splashing in the water of the lake… Were they another Yinchorri?

A name shouted across the glen, a small house, thatched roof, smoke running from it. But cooking stove smoke. Or it was ablaze, the roof, and structure. Children screaming, blue-and-green blades deflecting blaster bolts. The sound of starships, the feeling showed the flags of an alliance, of rebels. With a shake of his head, Vodet dismissed that, the house would stand, there would be those who come and go, who would challenge these people, but leave them in peace.

Or they could burn this forest down.

 

[Brooke Waters]

The depths. The warmth of the tropics. But something was different. The Force was flowing, but it was gifted, her Witches could feel it, but she didn’t think it extended that far beyond. The blue mists, darker than normal, controlled… Deeper.

Filtered.

As they went down.

Down…
Down….

It became darker, darker. Crushing darkness.
Until the eyes. Glowing bright, illuminating everything around except their source.
And the Force was being pulled, and crushed…

 

[Kaia Starchaser]

A starship.

Ancient in design.

The navigator looks to the Corel and Gus Talon. They hold their hand out to the stars. Measuring.

They pull the controls.

Hyperspace.

And purpose.

 

[Diogo Talon]

Languid, severe, and alien. Awash in the molten spun gold of a stubborn sun, light once bled upon the rivulets. Now barren, carved channels of dust and bone sit like calcified ichor. The rocks don't move. Once idyllic, twice exhausted, thrice decayed.

Diogo didn't want to remember. Couldn't.

His mind was a dead thing.

 

[Rhyse Calder]

Endless seas stretched before him, crowned by a rising sun that bathed the waters in gold. The light felt almost familiar, yet it was a far cry from the red deserts of Cotellier. His fingertips traced the smooth, time-worn stones of the rocky outcrop, and for a fleeting moment, the mines called to him - Nova Crystals glimmering in the dark, the weight of those tools in his hands. A sharp breath, a panicked glance, and the memory shattered like fragile glass.

The salt on the wind was sweeter than sweat, the waves a quiet, graceful song that lulled his mind into ease - an ease he had not known since the day he dared to lay hands upon Fellsong. It teased a morose smile to the corner of his lips, a moment of peace stolen from a life where peace had long since ceased to exist.

Then, with a breath, it was gone. Snatched away in an instant. His eyes fluttered open to stale air and cold steel, the rough murmur of voices laced with growls and grumbles. The barracks of young Sith. A vision, perhaps. A dream, Rhyse would call it. And how desperately he longed for it to return.

 

[Valery Noble]

The vision swept over Valery like a tide, pulling her into a place both unknown and achingly familiar. The air was thick with the scent of salt and stone, the last remnants of sunlight casting a molten glow across a sea that did not move. It stretched endlessly before her, gleaming like liquid gold, but it was not the ocean she knew — it was something deeper, something older, something waiting.

The sky bled into twilight, painted in hues of violet and fire, as if the day itself resisted the coming night. Above, moons hung like silent watchers, their pale faces unblinking. And beneath it all, the land held its breath, carved by time, shaped by something greater than mere wind and water.

She had seen this place before — not in memory, but in feeling. The weight of years pressed against her skin, not from age, but from absence. A lifetime stolen, a galaxy changed while she remained the same. She had floated through time like a ghost, untouched, unseen, waiting for a world that no longer existed.

The horizon pulsed. The past whispered.

She exhaled, slow and measured, like ice melting under the first touch of spring.

Buried by time, forgotten by the stars, waiting for hands that would one day uncover what remained

​

 

[Colette]

Life’s early sunset,
Like the wilting of a flower in spring.
How could she have given up?
Didn’t she know the joy she’d bring?
A mother’s tears, a master’s tears.
A friend’s tears, a princess’ tears.
For a kingdom that’d never be,
And a land that nobody would see,
Had she decided to die that day,
On the roofs of Woostri.

 

[Allyson Locke]

Sleep brought no comfort. Dreams were nothing but echoes of her worst nightmares, constantly reminding her of what she had become. Each breath felt heavier, weighted with the consequences of her choices. Was this the price of breaking free? Of carving her own path?

Darkness clung to the Corellian, creeping into the edges of her soul, whispering sweet promises of freedom and belonging. Allyson reached for anything that might reveal the moment she had fallen, the instant she had tried to sever herself from the great weave of the Force's fate.

The whispers coiled around her, seductive and insistent. A woman's heated breath caressed the edge of her ear, beckoning her closer and deeper into the darkness. Allyson had wandered on the thin line between light and dark for so long, but in the end, she had chosen.

A tug at her leash. A promise of purpose. A home found in submission.

She had obeyed.

The dark side did not take—it embraced. It held Allyson in its arms as warm as they were cruel, as consuming as the lover who had drawn her into this waltz.

With a sharp inhale, Allyson sat up, her skin was slick with sweat and her breath unsteady. She turned.

The darkness lay beside her. And it had never felt so familiar.

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Inexplicably - perhaps even cruelly - your private visions begin to bleed into each other. To cross over, in some weird way! What madness is this?

• Sable Varro now experiences part of Vodet's vision!
• Vodet now experiences part of Brooke Waters' vision!
• Brooke Waters now experiences part of Kaia Starchaser's vision!
• Kaia Starchaser now experiences part of Diogo Talon's vision!
• Diogo Talon now experiences part of Rhyse Calder's vision!
• Rhyse Calder now experiences part of Valery Noble's vision!
• Valery Noble now experiences part of Colette's vision!
• Colette now experiences part of Allyson Locke's vision!
• Allyson Locke now experiences part of Sable Varro's vision!

What do you see?!?

 

[Quinn Varanin]

The people roared their voices, a symphony of triumph. At last, the Sith stood united, bound by her will, her vision. The victory was hers. The galaxy lay at her feet, waiting to be shaped in her image.

A second coming of Varanin.

Everything Quinn had done, every sacrifice, every battle, every drop of blood spilled—had led to this moment. She stood before them, the one they cheered for, fought for, and killed for.

She was their uniter, the one who forged their fractured order into something indomitable.

She was their beloved Empress, sworn to defend their creed with unyielding devotion.

She was their conqueror, bringing power and riches to the Empire.

And He would be her undoing.

The blade came swift, its silver edge drowning in crimson as it struck its mark. The crowd fell silent. Their victor, their Empress, staggered. Blood dripped from her lips as she turned, golden eyes locking onto rubies filled with quiet betrayal.

A raven cawed from the throne—ominous, knowing.

Quinn's breath hitched as she opened her eyes. The Darkness peeled away, leaving the Princess in the familiar embrace of the dim sun cutting through the silk curtains. A handmaiden rushed to her side, worry etched into her face.

"I'm fine," Quinn murmured, though the terror clung to her. It had only been a dream.

For now.

 

[Mak Manto]

Standing at the edge of the world, Mak leaned on his cane silently, watching the water lap at the rocks. As the sun began to set, the dying light of the day had the sky emblazoned in rich hues or blue and orange. Flames danced against the twilight sky, their fiery glow casting an eerie yet mesmerizing ambiance.

A memory came back to him as he watched the scene, a long-ago conversation with one of his padawans who had asked him a question that even now he wasn't sure he still could give a good answer to. They had been on a world of blue and green, beautiful and serene, laying on a grassy hillside watching the clouds pass by. A successful mission had allowed them to simply relax while they had waited for their return trip to Coruscant when his student had turned over to her side and spoke to him.

"Master," she asked, her tone contemplative, "Do you ever think about what happens after we die? I mean, do you think there's an afterlife, that there's more to this?"

Mak closed his eyes for a second as he considered the question, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle over him. Opening them back up, he continued to stare at the clouds, speaking slowly.

"Honestly, I've never really tried to think about it too deeply," he confessed, his voice carrying a mix of uncertainty and introspection. "But once, when I was far younger, I imagined myself standing on a vast shore after I die, staring out at the endless sea. In that moment, I just know that I have to cross the ocean, embarking on a new journey that lies beyond the horizon."

As he came back to the present, Mak felt a powerful weight on his shoulders as he continued to watch the water lap up, wondering to himself if perhaps his vision was true, if it would be just as how it was in this very moment.

 

[Colette]

Loves lost, loves found.
Loves forgotten, loves bound.
A life of duty, a life of regret.
The blonde little woman; hard to forget.
Where is the warmth and the love?
The gods-given gifts from above?
Is this another mistake? Another cut deeper?
One more push towards the Grim Reaper?
The pale white echani, or the stone-cold Imperial?
One more dug grave, just one more funeral?
To hold someone in my arms, to be granted one more kiss.
There has to be more to life than all this.
Please, please, please let this be the one.
I can’t take it anymore, I’m done.

——————————————————————————

Colette awoke in her hospital bed. Dazed and confused. Just one more dream that didn’t make sense, or so she hoped. Just like the last one it was confusing to say the least. A hope for more? Dread for something new? The images began to fade into her own memory as she fell back into her pillow once more and dozed off.

( With apologies to Allyson Locke for the fan fiction. )

 

[Iona Starchaser]

Location : Vision Land | Weapons : Force Pike | Interacting With : OPEN
​

Fitfully asleep in a small bunk, tucked away in the cold reaches of hyperspace, the vision came to her.

Part desert? Part ocean? Rocks towered to each side, creating a type of path before her. Something glowed along her right side? Lightning? Bioluminescence? The living Force? She did not know but it was not something to be feared, almost as if it was lighting her path. Energizing her, urging her forward between two treacherous paths.

Three moons or planets in the sky. Calling her. Urging her to go. Yet go where? It was clear the journey would be trying, dangerous, a test of her will.

How was she supposed to journey without a clear destination?

 

[Caelan Valoren]

"I saw it as one sees a dream that is neither fleeting nor forgotten upon waking, but instead lingers, weighty with meaning, refusing to be dismissed as mere fancy. There stretched before me a world unknown, an ocean burnished like a mirror of molten copper, upon which the last light of some distant sun lay in dying splendor. The heavens themselves, vast and indifferent, bore no single moon but three, pale sentinels, gazing down upon the lonely shore with silent, patient watchfulness.

Yet it was not the sea, nor the moons, nor even the curious bridge of stone, shaped as though by the hand of one who had once loved symmetry but long since forgotten its finer details, that seized my breath. It was the figure, a lone traveler, treading that narrow, winding path beneath the archway of rock, their steps slow but unyielding, drawn toward something beyond the sight of mortal eyes. A structure stood there, precariously perched atop the cliffside; was it a ruin, or had it never been whole to begin with? A single light flickered within, not welcoming, but waiting.

I cannot say what world it was that I beheld, nor whether it was a place yet to come or one long forgotten. But I knew, as one knows such things in the depths of vision, that the path before the traveler was one from which there could be no turning back. It was the road of the chosen, the seeker, the exile. And though I knew not their name, nor what lay at the journey's end, I knew this much: they did not walk alone. For even in the silence, even in the vast emptiness of sky and sea and stone, something watched and waited; whether in patience or in hunger, I dared not say."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Three moons. Where was the fourth?

With her head tilted back, Cora scrutinized the sky. This was not Ukatis. Even the sea breeze felt odd here – less salt, more vinegar. The ocean lapped again the rocky shoreline, its cold white froth leaving a wet trail. Too rhythmic, too controlled.

Darth Ukatis, a man so dedicated to his home that he took its name as his own, stood beneath a rocky arch carved high above the seaside path. He had the broad build of a farmer, and a gentle face. Cora had only ever heard his voice, trapped within the saber his spirit was.

His kindly appearance unnerved her.

"Where is the fourth moon?" she asked. "I only count three."

She lingered in his path, her feet too heavy lift. Cora pressed her fingertips to the jagged stone wall beside her. Mineral dust came away, and her brow furrowed as she rubbed the powder between her fingertips. It shimmered on her skin. How strange, when the rock from which it came was completely matte.

Darth Ukatis held one finger up. Cora followed it toward the sky. A bright light filled her vision and swallowed the landscape.

 

[Diogo Talon]

Endless seas stretched before him, crowned by a rising sun that bathed the waters in gold. The light felt almost familiar, yet it was a far cry from the red deserts of Cotellier. His fingertips traced the smooth, time-worn stones of the rocky outcrop, and for a fleeting moment, the mines called to him - Nova Crystals glimmering in the dark, the weight of those tools in his hands. A sharp breath, a panicked glance, and the memory shattered like fragile glass.

The salt on the wind was sweeter than sweat, the waves a quiet, graceful song that lulled his mind into ease - an ease he had not known since the day he dared to lay hands upon Fellsong. It teased a morose smile to the corner of his lips, a moment of peace stolen from a life where peace had long since ceased to exist.

Everything bled. Time shifted, back to when the ichor oozed; before the idyllic landscape had been reduced to ash, bone, myths, and visions.

Endless seas stretched, their surfaces greedily grasping the primordial sun's golden glow. Diogo was someone else, tracing his fingertips against the weathered stones of a rocky outcrop, smooth and yet intimately cruel. He realized with a start that his feelings were not his own.

Unlike his first vision, the rocks moved. Not by choice, but by force. Clinks and scrapes rang like a last lament as a fleeting memory seductively caressed his mind.

He was stuck on a nameless world blanketed with deep red deserts. Tools in hand, Diogo grunted in the heat of a tunnel, exhausted by drudgery. He pried a Nova crystal from a pulsing vein in the bedrock, and a bluish-white glow glimmered in the darkness. The crystalline light sparkled, suddenly catching the edges of an altar, upon which a blackened blade rested with unnatural beauty. His breath hitched. The memory cracked and shattered.

Windswept salt hung thick in the air, clinging to his mouth and skin, while water lapped at his feet, warm and rapturous. It was peaceful, a far cry from the chthonic mines. The sonorous crashing of waves reminded him of a soft lullaby, or a lover's murmur, or the siren song of a hungry blade.

Quiet silenced him, until the world violently slipped away.

 

[Kalen]

The colonization of the red planet, en media res. It is dawn on the fifth day, the sky shifting from hues of purple dusk to the yellow light of dawn, the sun's rays shining on the surface of a vast sea.

A settler overlooks the formation of a new stream, watching the water snake through the sand toward the ocean like a bolt of blue lightning. Above her a stone archway looms, formed by the unique conditions of this world in the shape of a heart. Nature's tunnel of love.

One of this world's three moons is framed by the heart. It is the closest in orbit, the favorite child. The conditions there are similar and considered conducive to life. They're going to colonize it too, if all goes well here.

She sees another rock in the shape of an axe. Or a flag, if you squint. And one to her left that, if you subscribe to the belief in ancient aliens, looks an awful lot like the broken pillar of a dead civilization. We won't be like them, she thinks. If they even existed.

 

[Rhyse Calder]

Rhyse drifted. Or perhaps, he sank. Slumber pulled at him, an old companion he missed dearly. He fell further into the cot, the dim light filtering through cracks in the walls. He surrendered to sleep.

The first sensation was the air - a cool breeze that swept across his face, a gentle caress from an invisible hand. Then came the sound - the rhythmic pulse of waves breaking against the rocks, a constant and soothing whisper. The salt on the wind was clean, refreshing, and the warmth of sunlight poured over him, bathing his skin in its golden glow. There was no hurry here, no rush, just a slow, deliberate comfort that lulled his muscles to ease.

He smiled, a smile that felt not just grateful, but at home, as if this place had existed before, somehow. He didn't question it. It simply felt right, like a forgotten memory, resurfacing after years of absence. His heart stilled in this quiet space, and for a fleeting moment, he felt whole again.

The serenity remained, but time… time shifted. The sun, unhurried in its arc across the sky, seemed to pass through moments rather than hours. The waves rolled lazily, and yet, it was as though he had stood here for a lifetime, and the world around him had always remained this way. The stones beneath his feet felt weathered, familiar, and yet distant. There was an overwhelming sense of having been here before, and the sensation gripped him tightly, but the memory, the moment when he had been here, remained just out of reach.

Rhyse frowned, feeling the pull of the unease twist in his chest. Why did this place seem so familiar? He looked up at the horizon, searching for something - anything - that might give him an answer. But there was nothing. The sea stretched endlessly, the air unmoving, the world solidified in a calm that he could not fully place. It was as if time moved here but did not leave any trace. A moment could pass in seconds, and yet the day remained the same, forever.

He stepped forward, his feet dragging slightly against the smooth stones. The warmth of the sun, once so comforting, began to feel heavy, like it had been there too long. The familiar pull grew more intense, and a strange tightness closed around his throat. Why was this place so right, yet so… wrong? Rhyse felt a sharp pang that gnawed at his awareness The place, the sun, the sea, all of it had been here long before him. And would remain long after he was gone. His heartbeat quickened, a strange sense of insignificance creeping into the edges of his thoughts.

The dream persisted, serene and unchanging. A strange sorrow sat heavily on his chest. He wanted to call out, to ask someone, anyone, what this place was. But no answer came.

All he could do was stand there, bathed in light and weight, staring at the unbroken horizon as time moved without him. A sense of peace, yes, but with it, an unshakable feeling that he was not supposed to be here. Not yet. Not in this way.