. . . domina relicta . . .
PETALS OF THE DARK
LOCATION — Zygerria, Ruins
TAGS —
Darth Prazutis
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost and Vesper et Aurora.
How many steps might one tread amidst the night before their vision begins to adjust, before darkness itself becomes no different than day? How many deeds can one commit before the lines between good and evil begin to blur beyond recognition. . ? Were such thoughts the fault of corruption , or merely the doubt that had begun to bloom within her soul? No, the Sith were evil--monsters devoid of any shape or form of remorse--and yet. . . one had stayed his hand when she dared threaten something innocent yet dearly beloved to him, a flower, whilst another pleaded for her to remain within his life, for she had become the only constant left to him. . . the only fragile glimmer of peace amidst a galaxy consumed by war.
Her psyche was ablaze with conflict as the rocks rumbled under the pressure of the Force. There was a calling beneath the surface, a whisper of old. . . daunting, familiar yet achingly foreign still--her senses could not determine it to be hostile or merely dormant, though none on this planet seemed graced with innocent. Her history holobooks had granted her enough knowledge about the Zygerrian Empire and their horrid slave empire, though it was not only they that blighted the past of this planet, there were... whispers of sorts, declaring it to be a remnant of the Rakatan Empire, of those horrid beings.
None of it reassured her that this journey would be safe, but knowledge was knowledge, and it was a power greater than any she had ever had her hands on before.
When the crevice widened into a narrow gateway, Isobel released her grasp of the Force, allowing silence to once more consume the vast and empty mesa (safe for her old spaceship). She inched closer to the gaping abyss that lay buried beneath the surface, her eyes seeking to adjust to the dark and stuffy atmosphere. . . But it could make out the flickers of reflections that seemed to shape--stairs? Her hand crept to the shoto-lightsaber at her side, before drawing it and allowing the red blade to pour from the emitter with a crackling roar. The red of its light revealed the path leading down into the ruins; steep, yet nigh on inviting her in. The whisper of the Force was near hypnotic, drawing her deeper with each second, until her senses were consumed and only the abnormal hymn remained.
The Jedi hesitated for what felt like a moment, before her boot slowly found the first step down, and then the other ,,
With each breath, she delved deeper into the ruins, until a light finally appeared further down; faint, yet undeniable.
The end of the pathway. . . or something else. .?