Campaign Shadow Over the Rim: Eos

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Objective 2: Scorched Earth
Interacting with: Kasir Dorran Darth Nefaron
Nearby: Darth Strosius Varin Mortifer Lúthien Tinúviel Veradun Sharr

Soah didn't shift her stance, didn't flinch when Kasir's inky-tipped fingers came up, palm coolly extended outward with a subtle gesture.

Her amber eyes narrowed, but the shadows on her skin betrayed what she didn't show. She felt him brush her mind, a touch too deliberate to mistake. Her tail flicked, curious. Not a threat, no, not yet. But the Felacatian knew this power. He had taught it to her. Shown how it rips the mind, how it hurts, the information that could be gleaned. But he didn't dig. Instead, he lingered at the edges of her thoughts, skirting past the places she kept buried deep to graze over her intent and reasoning why she asked.

Curiosity. Respect. Kinship.

Yet even then, Soah could still smell it. That lie. It clung heavier than blood, threading through the chill calm he wore like armor. Her gaze held on him, that flat stare conveying more than what others might believe it relayed.

Indifference?

"No." The word left flat, even, as her gaze stayed locked on him. "I do not confuse it."

Her claws flexed once, carving shallow lines into her palms before relaxing again. Crimson beads formed in the welts, her blood joining those of many others in the air, and a single line of that crimson dribble slowly began to trace its way down her finger.

"Each word you choose carries weight...but the silence carries more." He did it on purpose. Always on purpose. Nothing from Kasir was careless. Not the silence. Not the distance. Not even the lie.

The shadows curled closer around her shoulders, smoke feeding on the tension, but she didn't look away, not even when the dilated pupils of his void black eyes mirrored her silhouette back at her. Not when his voice tried to push distance where she could smell the truth pressing closer.

She was considering her following words when the roar of engines and the hiss of hydraulics filled the hangar.

Legionaries spilled out in formation from the transport, and a new figure shrouded in the Darkside of the Force came striding in, Darth Nefaron igniting his crimson blade only to drip insults and threats with a wolfish grin.

Soah gave a tilt of her head, the long length of her braids brushing against her shoulders, turning just enough for her amber eyes to flick toward the Dark Lord, catching the gleam of his weapon and the natural stench of mutation clinging to his soldiers. The teenager gave them one slow, heavy blink. Then she looked away, as if the entire display hadn't been worth her time, returning to look up at Kasir Dorran .

"You lied. That's all."

She answered with stillness and a quiet patience that marked the steady shaping of the Acolyte that Kasir had been forging. The shadows along Soah's tattoos continued to stir like restless smoke, eager at the scent of new prey, but her gaze never strayed again.

It was Kasir's reply that mattered, not the theatrics of another Sith.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Objective 2: Scorched Earth
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn Darth Strosius Darth Nefaron Varin Mortifer Lúthien Tinúviel Veradun Sharr

​

Kasir’s gaze narrowed; the inky shadows around him flattened, and so he focused entirely on her amber eyes. His head tilted a fraction; there was no warmth, only the acknowledgement that he heard her. A whisper of cold air drifted as he exhaled through his nose, though his chest didn’t move. It was then that he measured her conviction. Each syllable was like a piece upon a holo-chessboard. Everything was registered, from tension in the Felacatian’s throat, the exact pitch of her tone.

Nothing ever escaped his scrutiny.

Having tasted betrayal in so many confessions, it was easier to keep them hidden, so that he could bleed alone.

Silence wasn’t always absent from him; around Soah, his tongue had learned to uncoil more, a private lexicon of trust, forever conveyed in low tones. And now, his murmur rode the edge of the Force. “Better to drown in ignorance, than to suffocate from the weight of what I bear.”

When she spoke again, the corners of his mouth twitched; not in amusement, but to sample the taste of her accusation. A weight in his hollow chest tightened; his pale visage was still a mask. So he allowed the silence to stretch between them; his darkest weapon, after all, was letting her feel that pressure.

It was then another called to him, making his presence known, but he would not pivot on his feet, instead turning his head slowly. It was a voice that echoed of betrayal, a wound still fresh. After aiding in one’s selfish pursuit, Wonosa had been cast aside to the gutter.

With the same figure also serving as the master to his little brother, it cut twice as deep.

Nefaron’s treatment of Veradun became known, colder than the cruelest winter.

To betray Darth Strosius would be to sign his own death; his entire being was carved under the elder Sith's guidance; the very hand that shaped him.

Maybe that was why, from Jutrand’s gates to the Drosuti’s forge, Kasir truly believed himself invincible.

Soah labeling him a liar shifted his focus. Pupils dilated into voids, but it wasn’t because of her words. He leaned forward an inch, studying the trail of blood on her palm as if it were a map. Lips drained of warmth parted. "Truths are burdens," the Sangnir crooned, voice laced with honeyed venom, "and I shall bear them alone, my Soah, for they are far too heavy for you to grasp."

An old litany was whispered under his breath, as though to binding what remained of a ruined soul to steel.

He trusted the Felacatina's claws more than most he took arms with. But should finality be the price, let it be him that fed the altar. Another thread wove through the air, tracing back to his apprentice. <Stand at my flank, but do not let that rob you of hunger.>

Finally, he addressed the Dark Lord. “My blade thirsts only for what He wills."

A pause.

"It is not yours to command."

An ember burned cold in his ribcage. “I even gave you reverence, after New Cov. A rare thing, rarer from hands like mine.”

The world of Eos faded away as Kasir drew every stray thought inward, folding them into the Force. His breath stilled, and with a flex of his wrist, he released the stream of invisible tendrils. Each one was a thread of will, now sliding toward Nefaron's mind, poised to probe the faintest fractures in his defenses.

​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

OBJECTIVE: SCORCHED EARTH

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: CRUSH THE ORDER OF WONOSA

DIRECT TAGS: Veradun Sharr , Kasir Dorran , Soah Ty’Jyn , Varin Mortifer

INDIRECT TAGS: Darth Strosius Delsin Shaw, Lúthien Tinúviel , Madrona A’Mia,

"What a pathetic Sith he forged you into. Are you truly content to serve? You could rule, and yet instead you choose oblivion."

The Corpse Legionaires at Nefarons' side began to circle, vultures waiting to feed on their Master's scraps. From their vile helms came cruel laughter and nashing teeth. Yet they also carried with them fear, fear that they should live and fail Darth Nefaron and face an eternity of torment at his withered hands.

"Reverence? No, you feasted upon my scraps. You have allowed yourself to believe that you are on the cusp of immortality."
​

The Dark Lord felt the probing and prodding at the borders of his mind, a shadow hand seeking to reach into his very thoughts and dreams to weaken him, to bring him low, and make him all the easier prey. Kasir was powerful indeed, a being who had mastered his abilities and slain countless foes. He employed tactics that Nefaron might have used himself, but unfortunately for the so-called Phantom of Death, he would only glimpse a memory, a speck of pain and torment as the man who became the Corpse Lord lay dying, his flesh torn and his body broken. But Nefaron was not bothered by the sight; in fact, joyous laughter echoed from the mind of one Dark Lord to another as Nefaron pressed into Kasir's mind in kind.

Cruel words floated across the bridge they had forged, words carried by the Dark Side itself.

"How long before you are betrayed once more? If not your Apprentice, your High Prophet will cast you aside. Darth Strosius will see all who follow him die for the sake of his own vanity."
​

Nefaron's gaze turned then to the Apprentice, to the Felacatian who stood at Kasir's side and readied herself for battle. She was a weakness, one that would be exploited to test her Master's commitment. How delicious it would be to see her abandoned, to fall prey to the machinations of the Corpse Lord while her Master fled back to the High Prophet in shame. More than anything, Nefaron wished to see all who would remain loyal to Strosius suffer for their commitment. When the one true Dark Lord stood triumphant over the Order of the Wonosa, he would at last allow the fool to die knowing he had lost everything that he held dear.

Like Kasir was about to lose an Apprentice.​

The normally hunched and decrepit Corpse Lord began to straighten, bones craking and popping as decades of physical weariness were at last put aside. Nefaron had been careful to maintain his decrepit demeanor as a form of deception, but there was no need for that now. Instead, the dead eyes of the Terror Lord began to glow with the sickly yellow of a devotee of the Dark Side as he offered a final promise, but this time it was not to the Phatom of Death.

"I will eat your dreams. I shall drown you in fear."

Then there was movement, as Nefaron seemingly leaped forward with speed entirely unnatural for one such as him. His blade was raised high, ready to come down atop the Felacatian's head in a swift killing blow. Simultaneously, the Corpse Legionnaires pressed from all sides, terrible blades ready to inflict pain.

Nefaron could only hope that her Master would take the bait.​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Objective 2: Scorched Earth​

As Varin made his way through the halls of the building he caught a glimpse of strange flying creatures. A mass swarm. Nothing that the Wonosan’s used and certainly not these workers and mercenaries. As they flew past the windows of the building he was in, one of them seemed to get a glimpse of him. Shrieking it caught the attention of a few more as they collided into the glass. Varin watched as the glass began to crack under the pressure. Making a quick decision he ran for the end of the hall, if he stuck around to fight them off he surely would be outnumbered and picked clean, suboptimal for the mission at hand.

Darting forth with a burst of speed he heard the window shatter behind him. Quickly looking back he lobbed a couple of flaming spheres towards the living winged cloud. A few were caught in the blast but the numbers easily began to recuperate. He had to think fast, this data was extremely valuable and his crew needed his help asap.

Rounding the corner he stopped just by the heavy doors he entered from. Bracing his stance he outstretched both hands willing the force to close the doors. Slowly the doors creaked as if shrieking, straining to resist, but The Force was greater than these mundane structures. Slowly the doors began to shut as the creatures made their way to Varin. Some stopped just before the door slammed shut, others getting crushed by the heavy closing crevice.

For a moment he stopped to catch his breath as the shrieks and banging could be heard from inside. Varin snarled in their direction and continued making his way towards the battlefield. As he approached he noticed the flank firing upon the Wonosan’s and kept his head low, sneaking around to meet them from behind.

Moving to Obj 1: Too Hot to Handle

Sub Obj: Kill, Slaughter and Break the Traitorous Flank​

It took more time than he wanted, the approach was slow and quiet before he finally met them at their flanks.

Drawing his mace since it was quieter than his saber, one by one he began crushing these cowards. They too would know confusion and fear, Varin would drink it deep and feed upon it, fueling his fury. One began to scream to gather the attention of someone before his scream was cut short. Dark crimson splattering across the field further than his voice could travel. One by one these individuals were felled by Varin's blood lust. Any blasters that did hit him were mainly absorbed by his armor. Their bodies, armor and weapons crumpled like tin foil under the oppression of his mace.

Veradun Sharr​

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Objective 2: Scorched Earth
Interacting with: Kasir Dorran Darth Nefaron
Nearby: Darth Strosius Varin Mortifer Lúthien Tinúviel

My Soah.

Kasir's voice dripped with saccharine venom as he named truths as burdens. Her expression remained stoic, but her ears flicked back, and her tail gave a decisive flick and twitch at the end of it as she slightly narrowed her eyes.

Shadows tightened over her shoulders as his words pressed in, riding the edge of the Force, reverberating in the shells of her ears. So it was better to drown in ignorance than suffocate beneath the weight he bore?

The words grated. He had told her to seek knowledge of the ink across her skin, to learn what it was. Now he claimed the truth was a burden. That ignorance was better. It clawed at her patience.

He had seen her fight her own shifting. Why shouldn't she question his?

The irritation rippled through her tattoos, shadows stretching and curling, brushing the air like restless smoke. Words rose, but the moment slipped past as he sent his instructions to her.

Soah moved instead at his flank, stepping into place as commanded, for she didn't have to wait long.

The air shifted before the strike even fell. Soah's ears twitched, her nostrils flaring as the stench of rot and corrupted flesh flooded her senses, but she did not recoil.

So as the Corpse Lord's blade came down with the surity of a guillotine, the Felacatian's head tipped just enough for her amber eyes to catch the glow of his false vitality. Her answer came in motion, not words.

A surge of the Force ripped through her limbs as her hand shot to her hip. With a snap-hiss, crimson fire bloomed into a staff of light, both blades igniting in unison. Soah brought it up crosswise, the humming bar of plasma intercepting the killing blow, sparks hissing as metal met energy, casting a sanguine glow off the Felecatian's face as she snarled.

Her tail whipped at her back, shadows crawling over her shoulders in restless hunger as she bared sharp teeth in a low growl. The Legionnaires pressed close, but Soah shoved outward with the Force, a telekinetic blast that hurled the nearest pair backward into the debris strewn hangar floor.

Her voice cut through flat and deadpan even as her muscles thrummed with coiled violence, cutting through the clash.

"Try again."

With a pivot of her powerful legs, she attempted to shove the Corpse Lord's blade aside and spin the doublesaber in a brutal arc, its whirling light intending to carve a red halo between her and the encroaching horde.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Objective 2: Scorched Earth

Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn Darth Strosius Darth Nefaron Varin Mortifer Lúthien Tinúviel Veradun Sharr

​

His mind had been a fortress, and now it was under siege, the psychic bridge throbbing like a poisoned artery pulsing with the Terror Lord's cruel intent. Kasir felt his grip tighten, as if wielding an invisible scalpel to dissect the invading thoughts. So he sampled the bitter tang of that triumph like a delicacy, a spark of arrogance lighting the dark battlefield between their minds. Memories, sharp and raw, bled through that tether; there were fractured bones, flesh torn in death’s merciless grip.

Pain was the altar. Nefaron, the priest. But Kasir was the pale god beneath it all.

The Darkseeker inhaled the pain like sacred incense, drawing strength from the umbral depths. Around him, laughter clatters like fractured glass, yet he carved obsidian walls that would repel such mirth. Not all, but most. In this crucible of penumbral thought, every breath is a vow.
And as he reveled in the twisted beauty of his mind, there was no light for him, only an endless dance of shadow and pain.

Like a monolith of stone, he was planted deep into the floor of the hangar.

One hand was clutching the smoldering ember of restrained fury, the other weaving an unseen barrier of shadows that coiled like dark serpents poised to strike. Threads of midnight sheen crawl like spilled ink across his robes, hungry to spill into the yawning gap between minds, binding his will with the darkness.
The shadows did not scream. They waited. And in their waiting, they learned his name.

The Sagnir held his breath as part of an ancient ritual. No ripple passed his orbs, only the judgement of an executioner; they measured and calculated, taking note of every movement. A creeping chill floods his veins, thick and alive like black oil, bolstering statuesque.

Cold contempt bubbles beneath Kasir’s calm gaze, savoring the desperation that dripped like foul bait from Nefaron’s provocations. His attention quickly flits toward the Legionnaire, the smallest crack in the enemy’s armor, and he does not flinch or intervene; his unblinking hateful stare alone would tighten that noose. Shadows surge forth, not to kill immediately, but to suffocate and ensnare.

They were an invisible coil of death.

He felt the tremor when Nefaron’s blade grazed Soah’s, and in that fractured moment he channeled his will into the darkness within him. He sculpted it into a single obsidian filament and sent it hurtling across the gap toward the Corpse Lord’s mental barrier; this one was no wider than a nerve fiber, but as sharp as any blade.

<<Feast upon my death if you must. Dream of power if you will; but the nightmare I bring will rewrite your fate.>>

Strange it was, how their maneuvers echoed one another, but remained so far apart. He couldn’t deny the thrill of finally facing a foe worthy of the challenge.

​