Private Stone and Silence

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Kyber Mines, Jedha City, Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

The wind outside the mines howled like a wounded beast. Inside, the sound died, swallowed by stone and silence. Khasar stepped from the pale twilight of Jedha into the mine's depths, his cloak trailing behind him.

His gloved hand brushed against the wall, tracing the faint shimmer of embedded kyber. The crystals pulsed weakly, their light flickering like dying stars. He could feel them, each one a whisper of the Force, fractured and buried beneath centuries of dust. The Jedi would have called this place sacred. To Khasar, it was simply silent, untouched, and therefore honest. He crouched near a broken vein of crystal, shards glittering like glass in the faint blue glow of his wristlight. With a quiet exhale, he began to gather them, each piece sliding into the small bag at his hip.

Then, the air shifted. It was subtle, a tremor at the edge of awareness, a ripple in the current that threaded through all living things. The Force quivered. Something else moved within it. Khasar froze, his next breath soundless. His body stilled completely, his pulse slowing until it barely registered. When he moved, it was like a shadow turning its head, sliding deeper into the mine, his steps noiseless, his presence folded in on itself until even the Force seemed to forget his name. The tunnels twisted, descended, and branched. Dust rose in his wake, slow and spectral.

Then... there. A figure ahead, faint in the gloom. A woman, Felacatian. The faint shimmer of her form caught what little light dared survive here, her movements uncertain, unguarded. She was no mere pilgrim; too wary for that. Nor a Jedi; too clumsy in the currents she disturbed. Khasar watched from the dark, a faint smirk touching his lips, though his eyes remained cold. A predator, lost in another's hunting ground.

He leaned against the stone, watching her stumble, her ears twitching at every whisper of her own making. He let her feel the tension in the air but not its source; the faint breath of something ancient and watching. In the end, he didn't move closer. Not yet. He waited, patient as the mountain itself, as if the Force itself were holding its breath to see who would break the silence first: the Felacatian, or the shadow that hunted her.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

​

Location: Kyber Mines, Jedha City, Jedha
Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

Jedha was a graveyard where the bones of faith lay buried beneath centuries of dust and war, but Soah had not come for ghosts or scripture. She had come for what still lived below and to craft her own weapon, one that would not be forged from the pity of her masters or the scraps of others but from what she claimed herself.

The small shadow slipped inside.

The roar of the desert vanished, leaving only the distant drip of condensation and the hollow echo of her footsteps. The mine smelled of metal and old earth. Every step deeper pressed the weight of the mountain down upon her, but she did not flinch. The Felacatian's movements were careful, fluid, and predatory as the thick, dust covered braids swayed to and fro against her dusky face with every step.

Then her ears twitched.

She froze, amber eyes narrowing as those dark pupils slit thin. The fine points of her ears shifted, tracking the faintest disturbance, an intake of breath, the scrape of fabric, the subtle hum of life where there should have been none. Her tail gave a slow, deliberate curl, the kind that betrayed both irritation and readiness.

Her sentient ink stirred in response. It slithered beneath her skin in dark, fluid motions, reacting to her suspicion like a living tide. The markings pulsed faintly against her collarbone and wrists, feeding on the tension, whispering half formed thoughts to the edges of her mind.

The Force brushed against her senses, then with a sharp, metallic resonance where a pulse hummed deeper within the mine. Kyber. Its song thrummed faintly, almost drowned by the heartbeat she was trying to ignore. There were crystals here, and something else.

No...Someone else.

Soah sank lower, her cloak folding around her like a second skin. The soft pads of her feet found the dust with barely a sound as she began to move. One step. Then another. Her eyes caught what little light survived in the tunnel, reflecting it back in molten amber.

The Felacatian did not speak or call out. Instead, she only stalked forward quietly and deliberately, keeping her body nimble in the event she needed to be ready to strike.

Whatever was waiting in the dark would reveal itself soon enough.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Kyber Mines, Jedha City, Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar watched her move. She was silent, deliberate, her eyes cutting through the dark like molten blades. The tension in her form wasn't fear; it was readiness, and that immediately caught his attention. Most who wandered into these mines were pilgrims or scavengers, their hearts loud and soft in the Force, but she was neither. Her awareness brushed the edges of his presence, faint yet insistent, and he felt a flicker of curiosity stir in his chest. So she listens.

He shifted slightly, a subtle movement that cost him nothing, and extended a hand toward the cold seam of kyber in the wall. The energy in the mine trembled, subtle as breath, and his will slipped into it like ink into water. The air shimmered, then fractured.

In her mind, the shadows deepened. From their depths, an old man emerged, bent with age, his cloak tattered and heavy with dust. The illusion carried the phantom smell of stone and oil, the sound of uneven steps, the weight of a heartbeat that wasn't truly there. His face was thin, features blurred by time, and his eyes reflected the pale blue of the kyber veins.

He ensured she would feel him before she saw him: a faint disturbance in the air, the scrape of a boot against gravel, the fragile echo of human presence where none had been moments before. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and weathered, yet calm. "Strange place to find a traveler," he said, his words measured, gentle, edged only with curiosity. "Few still walk these tunnels. What do you seek, child?"

From his vantage in the dark, the real Khasar observed the illusion's progress with focused intensity. Every flicker of her muscles, every change in her breathing, was a language he understood. If she believed the mirage, he would know her limits. If she saw through it, then perhaps this mine held something far more valuable than crystal.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

The sound reached her first.

A faint scrape of boot against gravel, soft enough to blend with the echo of her own measured steps. Soah's head turned, feline and fluid, the subtle flick of her ears honing in on the disturbance. Her hand drifted toward her saberstaff, not igniting it yet, but ready.

Then she saw him.

An old man, shrouded in dust and dim light, his cloak clinging to his frail frame as if the mine itself were trying to swallow him whole. The lines of his face were indistinct, blurred by shadow and age. But it was his scent that made her nostrils flare.

Stone. Oil. Dust.

Not sweat. Not flesh. No trace of fear or blood or heartbeat. The air was empty, too clean. Her tail gave a slow, unsettled lash behind her, stirring the thin layer of sand that clung to the ground. Something in her instincts whispered wrong.

Still, she didn't move away.

"Traveler," she echoed quietly in that terse, deadpan tone of hers as it filtered through the rasp of her rebreather. The word came out almost like a hiss, both question and warning. The Felacatian's amber eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, their light reflecting like molten gold as she watched him.

Her sentient ink stirred beneath her skin, a faint ripple across her collarbones and down her arms, drawn by her tension. The tattoos seemed to listen too, the edges shifting, dark shapes pulsing faintly as though scenting the lie she couldn't quite name.

"Who are you?" she asked, not answering his questions yet as her head tilted slightly like a Nexu gauging warily a potential predator or prey. There was something odd there. The Felacatian's pupils narrowed, and she took a slow step forward, testing the space between them.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Kyber Mines, Jedha City, Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar watched her reactions with surgical precision. The subtle twitch of her ears, the low tension in her stance, the way her eyes tracked movement before conscious thought caught up; all of it spoke of instinct sharpened by survival. Then there was the ink, the living dark that rippled beneath her skin. It fascinated him, a responsive entity bound to her will, or perhaps the other way around, moving with her like a shadow trying to keep pace.

She was seeing too much, feeling too much. This was a rare quality, indeed.

The old man illusion didn't waver. He stood in the faint blue haze of the crystals, still and heavy, his cloak stirring as if with a breath that wasn't there. Slowly, his head tilted beneath the hood, the movement deliberate, almost indulgent. When he smiled, it was thin and knowing, a look that carried both kindness and cruelty in equal measure.

"A traveler, A Vagabond, A Derelict," he rasped, his tone curling through the air like smoke. "Just like you, it seems."

The illusion remained still as she approached, not flinching from the subtle challenge of her step. It was unflinching, and beneath that apparent frailty, something predatory lingered. Khasar allowed the silence to stretch, wanting her to wonder if it was hesitation or composure. The old man spoke again, his voice sharpening. "What do you seek?"

The air thickened as Khasar deepened his focus, threads of power weaving through the mine's stale atmosphere. The kyber crystals around them hummed in answer, light trembling within their cores.

From behind the old man, faint laughter broke the silence, another illusion projected. High and soft, it echoed from deep within the tunnels. Two small shapes darted through the shadows: Felacatian children, their laughter bouncing off the walls. Their steps left no sound, only memory.

The old man's withered hand lifted, pointing past her toward the fleeting vision. His tone grew colder, pressing, cutting through the phantom joy like a blade. "Why are you here?"

In the real darkness, Khasar's eyes narrowed. Her reaction now would tell him everything.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

The air shifted.

The illusion thickened around her like fog, the old man's words crawling through the space between heartbeats. Then came the laughter, high, weightless ,and wrong. It echoed through the tunnels like ghosts pretending to be alive.

Soah's ears twitched back at once. A low growl built in her throat, not loud but deep enough to vibrate through her chest as her glvoed fingers flexed slightly against the grip of her weapon.

The old man's scent still wasn't there. Neither were the children's. The wind carried only dust, oil, and the faint metallic tang of kyber resonance. That was when it finally clicked.

There was no heartbeat within the old man or the younglings. No breath no life.

The shadows along her shoulders began to ripple, crawling beneath her skin like stirred ink in water. The sentient tattoos responded to her realization, coiling down her arms in a dark restless pulse. They rustled faintly in rhythm with her own heartbeat as it helped her sharpen her senses tasting the distortion in the Force.

Those dark pupils narrowed to slits.

"Not real," she muttered under her breath in a growl thorugh the rebreather. "You're a trick."

Her dark head canted, the movement shifting the line of her dark braids as her gaze swept the tunnels. SHe inhaled again pulling every scent she could from the stagnant air. The illusion had a taste, faintly metallic, like burned ozone and static...but beyond that. Another. Sweat. Musk. Human.

The Felacatian crouched, one hand brushing the ground. Her fingers traced the dust, feeling for vibrations, listening to what the air refused to tell her. She reached out with the Force, stretching her awareness like a predator scenting prey in tall grass.

Somewhere out there, behind the veil of falsehood, someone was watching.

Her tail gave a slow, controlled sweep behind her.

"What I seek," she finally answered, lifting her gaze to the phantom old man, "is truth."

The shadows pooled thicker at her feet, ready to strike. "And now I know where it hides."

Then she moved.

With a silent feline fluid motion, she stepped away from the illusions, following the faint thread of real energy that hummed deeper in the mine. The ink along her neck flared once guiding her toward the one who thought they could watch her unseen.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Kyber Mines, Jedha City, Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar grinned, a sharp, fleeting expression that no one saw. So, she had teeth.

He willed the illusions to vanish. The laughter faded first, bleeding into the stone like water into sand. The old man's form flickered, fractured, then peeled away in ribbons of false light. Soon, only the mine remained: empty, cold, and real. She moved towards him, following the faint hum of his presence. Clever. Too clever not to test.

He waited until she was near enough for the Force to thrum between them like a live wire before he struck. His focus deepened, reaching past the surface of her mind into the darker depths beneath, where thought bled into instinct and instinct into fear. He entered cleanly, precisely, like slipping a knife between ribs. Reality twisted. The mine collapsed into white silence.

Snow whirled around her in ceaseless spirals, sharp as glass against her skin. The ground beneath her boots turned to black stone, carved with runes that pulsed faintly like heartbeats beneath ice. Around her, a ring of hooded figures knelt in the storm, their heads bowed, their breaths clouding the frozen air. An ancient ritual circle, dark and vast.

At its center stood the old man again. This time, his cloak snapped in the wind like a banner, yet he seemed untouched by the cold. His eyes gleamed, two hollow stars in a weathered face. His voice was low, carried by the storm's embrace rather than silenced by it.

"You seek truth," he murmured. "Then you must ask which kind. The kind that frees you… or the kind that devours?"

The snow thickened, spiraling faster. The hooded figures began to whisper, their voices melding into the wind: a language older than the Jedha, older even than the Jedi. The circle brightened, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. The old man's head tilted again, his voice cutting through the storm like steel. "Tell me, child of shadow," he paused, deliberate and heavy, "what is your name?"

Back in the dark of the real mine, Khasar's faint, wolfish smile widened. He waited to see if she could still distinguish illusion from truth.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

The laughter was gone. The air was still.

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of Soah's own breathing through the rebreather, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as her senses stretched through the dark. Then the world shifted.

The mine dissolved into white.

Cold struck her like a slap, biting against her skin, sinking through the fabric of her cloak. Snow spiraled around her, glittering flakes catching in her dark hair. The sentient ink beneath her skin convulsed, writhing in protest against the new sensation. It didn't understand the cold, and neither did she.

Her ears flicked flat as the unfamiliar chill pricked every nerve. She had seen sandstorms, acid rain, molten stone, but never this soft, silent death that fell from the sky. It was not beautiful. It was wrong.

Then came the sound... the whispering.

The hooded shapes bowed and breathed in unison, their murmurs threading through the snow. At the center, the old man stood once more, his cloak snapping in the phantom wind. Soah's lips peeled back slightly, a faint growl escaping her throat, steam curling from the edges of her rebreather.

When the old man spoke again, it almost sounded kind. But she had learned to listen beneath words. To the silence between syllables. To the hidden rhythm of manipulation. She recalled Kasir's lessons, which taught her not to chase what the mind sees but to feel what the Force showed. That illusions feed on fear, on reaction, on the chaos of thought. But calm? Stillness? That was poison to deceit.

So she closed her eyes and her breathing slowed, and soon her heart followed.

"I told you," she said quietly, the edges of her voice rasping through the filter. "I hunt truth."

The dark sentient ink stirred again, pulsing as she reached into the Force. It rippled outward from her like a soundless roar, cutting through the illusion, searching for the pulse of realness beneath the snow and shadow.

And when the old man asked for her name, she did not give it. Instead, her head canted slightly, a slow, deliberate motion.

"You wear a lie like skin. You've no right to mine."

The white swirl of the illusion clung to her lashes, seemingly melting against the heat of her skin. The Felacatian's ears flattened as the ink beneath her skin pulsed like a heartbeat, reacting to her suspicion. She took a slow stalking step forward along the snow, where the cold black stone lay within the illusion. Instead of trusting her eyes, she was trusting what the Keetal had taught her to hunt with the Force -- the thrum of where the power and manipulation seemed to be originating.

"All I see is a shadow pretending to breathe," she continued, her tail giving a flick only to sharply jut up, the tip giving a quick rhythmic twitch, mind reaching, hunting the source of the deception with every sense that belonged to beast, to acolyte, and to the Force alike.

The sentient shadows coiled higher up her throat, faintly stirring against her skin. Step by step, she kept her eyes closed, trusting the Force, what it was telling her, than what manipulations Khasar was inflicting upon her, "...Your voice, your scent, your breath. I sense the hollow beneath it."

Until finally, she was but two meters away, the teenage girl came to an abrupt stop. A dip of her head, and then the subtlest of twitches. This close, one would see how the beads of sweat in concentration lightly ran down her temples, but her stance reflected the coiling state of readiness she held.

Listening. Adapting. Hunting.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar watched her move through the illusion, eyes closed. She was brave, disciplined, with a stillness that only pain refined into control could grant. Yet, she relied on the Force like a compass, and he knew compasses could always be spun.

He sharpened his focus, making it a needlepoint. The illusory storm stilled as if holding its breath. The runes beneath her feet pulsed once, twice, then inverted. Light bled upward into her shadow, warping its shape until it no longer mirrored her. It rose, spine bending backward, limbs stretching into unnatural angles. Her own outline grinned at her through the snow.

In the space between heartbeats, the illusion thickened. The voices of the hooded figures became one, deep and resonant, echoing in her bones. Each syllable sank into her mind like frostbite. They whispered of hunger and all the truths she'd tried to bury. Khasar felt the first threads of tension, her mind beginning to strain.

He wove deeper into her mind. The old man's form blurred, flickering. When it returned, the figure had her face, her voice. It spoke with the same rasp, the same slow cadence: "You hunt truth. But you cannot bear to find it."

Behind her, in the real mine, Khasar moved without a sound. Each step aligned perfectly with the rhythm of her breath. His presence folded inward, becoming indistinguishable from the shadows. The durasteel of his blade caught a faint gleam from the lanternlight, a subtle flash that promised an end without betraying his position.

He felt the resistance in her mind, the way she clawed at the seams of illusion, forcing calm against the tide. Admirable, but pointless. He pressed harder, driving the image of her doppelgänger closer, its eyes hollowing until only darkness stared back. The whispers crescendoed into a low chant, the words tearing through the air like claws: "All shadows return to their source."

And in that moment, when her breath faltered and illusion and truth twisted into one, Khasar's knife hovered at the nape of her neck, waiting for her to wake into reality.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

The shadow moved.

Not as it should have, not as she moved.

Soah's eyes snapped open as the world stuttered in and out of shape, the runes beneath her boots pulsing with light that crawled like veins of molten ice. Her sentient ink convulsed under her skin, a black tide writhing and climbing her throat, her arms, reacting to the violation. The darkness inside her did not understand boundaries; it bit back.

She hissed, a sound low and feline, sharp through the rasp of her rebreather.

The Acolyte's shadow stood upright now, bending in impossible angles, its grin stretched wide and all wrong like a reflection that had learned to breathe without permission. Her claws flexed and the tattoos along her shoulders flared in response, the living ink moving as though to tear itself free from her flesh.

The whispers sank deeper still, cold and familiar. Hunger. Regret. Rage. Every buried truth clawed up from the dark corners of her mind like ghosts.
But she had been taught to listen.

Kasir's voice came back to her, not in words but in discipline: Do not run from what hunts you. Turn. Face it.

So she did.

Soah's breathing slowed until even the storm seemed to match it. Her heart stilled, her mind folding inward until her thoughts became one hyperfocused pulse. The Force was loud in her ears now, not a compass but a current. And she stopped trying to guide it. She let it guide her.

The false snow burned cold against her skin as she stepped toward the doppelganger. The figure had her face, her voice, the same deadpan rasp in every syllable: You hunt truth, but you cannot bear to find it.

Amber eyes met the hollow dark of her own reflection. Her tail flicked once.

"Then you've never met me," she said softly.

The sentient ink surged, rising up her neck like black fire, spilling down her arms in living tendrils. The illusion flickered where it touched. Her focus snapped outward, cutting through the fog, tracing the tremor beneath the Force, the one that didn't belong. The presence hiding in the dark.

The chant echoed again, a thousand voices murmuring, All shadows return to their source.

The Felacatian's lips peeled back in a feral grin her sharp teeth flashing.

Soah's shadow shattered like glass. The snowstorm convulsed, bleeding into dust, and the Force cracked outward from her like a sudden quake. The Darkseeker turned, every nerve alive, senses wide open, because the illusion wasn't the only thing that breathed behind her now.

And the blade at her neck met air.

A low snarl rolled from her throat as she spun, her arm shifting as she reveled in the pain, the faint metallic scent that betrayed him. The glow of her eyes burned through the dark, molten and bright, teeth bared as she lunged.

"You hide well," she growled, stepping forward, the Force surging around her like a storm barely restrained. "But you're not the only one who learned to hunt in the dark."

In the next instant, her durasteel-shredding claws shot upward, slamming against Khasar's blade in a brutal, sweeping strike meant to carve straight through the metal itself.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar moved before thought caught up with motion.

Her claws struck where his throat had been a breath ago, the air splitting with the sheer force of it. Sparks bloomed as her strike sheared a line across his blade instead of flesh. The impact reverberated through the narrow corridor, metal shrieking like something alive. He pivoted with the momentum, stepping back just enough to let the motion become a draw, the blade turning with fluid precision to catch her follow-through.

Soah had torn through his illusion faster than he expected. Impressive. The ink crawling along her skin pulsed like a living wound. Her power was raw and feral, born from instinct rather than discipline. It was the kind that burned bright and hot before it learned restraint.

Khasar's lips curved faintly as he let the shadows settle back around him, welcoming them like an old lover. He felt the hum of the mine: the faint electric current through the durasteel supports, the deep pulse of molten veins below, and drew them into himself. The air darkened, the light bleeding away until only her molten eyes and his blade's edge remained visible.

Then he moved.

He stepped inside her guard, his blade flashing low then high. Each strike was a whisper, executing without wasted motion or flourish. He aimed a thrust to test her balance, then followed with a quick feint, hoping to draw her counter.

The Force coiled behind the sequence, invisible but heavy. When he shifted his weight, it struck as pressure, an unseen hand closing around her senses, trying to smother her awareness. His goal was not yet to wound. He wanted her off rhythm, to make her hunt blind again.

"You break well," Khasar murmured, his voice low, threaded with something between amusement and admiration. His blade circled once, cutting a thin line of red across the air. "Let's see if you know how to hold."

The shadows surged with his lunge. The assassin's presence vanished into them, leaving only the cold promise of steel cutting toward her heart.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

Sparks flared as Soah's claws slammed into Khasar's blade, the shriek of metal tearing through the narrow mine. Dust rained from the ceiling as her boots slid across the grit on the ground. The dark whirls of sentient ink writhed beneath her skin, pulsing with every heartbeat, feeding on her fury.

He moved fast -- too fast.

The Acolyte felt the hot stinging pain as a blade cut across her shoulder and she hissed, moving to duck low and then twist on instinct as another strike sliced and barely passed her ear. The mine echoed with every clash, light flashing off their forms like lightning in a storm.

She caught his next swing with her claws. The impact jarred her bones, making her grimace, but she rolled with it, sweeping her leg low. The tremor cracked a support beam, dust and glowing debris cascading down around them.

"You talk too much," she rasped through the rebreather.

He lunged again and Soah met him headon. Her claws arced upward, carving through the edge of his armor, drawing a sharp gasp and the scent of blood.

She used that moment to stagger back, blood bleeding out of her wounds but still grinning, eyes molten and alive in the dark. In that next instant, the Force surged with wild fury as she finally used it to strengthen her attacks and make her move faster.

"Your turn to break," she hissed out in a hoarse whisper through the modulator, and then the Felacatian lunged again in a dark shadow to attack again.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar turned into her momentum instead of retreating. The movement was fluid, deliberate, and predatory. Her claws raked where his throat had been, again finding only the wake of his motion. The metallic scent of his own blood clung to the air, but he ignored it. Pain was data, and pain established the rhythm.

She came at him fast, the Force twisting around her like a storm. Her strikes grew sharper and heavier. He met each with measured precision, deflecting the blows by fractions as his boots slid through grit and shadow. Sparks burst from their collisions, lighting their faces in flashes of molten orange. She pressed forward; he yielded just enough.

He ducked beneath a swipe that could have gutted him, his blade dragging against the stone to throw up a curtain of dust. Through the cloud, he pivoted low, his free hand flicking the edge of his cloak forward. The fabric served as distraction, movement, and illusion. Her next strike met cloth and air while his blade curved upward in a lazy arc, nicking the rebreather's side just to hear the rasp of strained breath.

"You talk too little," he said, his tone a smooth ripple amid the chaos, his words almost drowned by the hiss of colliding weapons. "Not much of a good time."

He parried again, but now there was a deliberate slowing in his rhythm. He let her press and let her believe she was driving him back. The shadows thickened around them, feeding on the tension, their forms whispering at the edge of perception. His mind reached outward, touching the dark veins of the mine, the slow heartbeat of the kyber still buried beneath the dust. Then he struck.

He struck not yet to kill, but to measure. His blade came in three precise movements: one to force her guard high, one to turn her center, and a final, sudden thrust toward her midsection. This last movement was meant to test her instinct beneath the armor. He wanted to see how she thought under pressure, how the feral fighter turned tactical. Khasar's eyes gleamed, half-shadow, half-fire.

"Show me," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear, "whether you fight for truth… or just to prove you still exist."

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Khasar Rist

​

The dust burned Soah's lungs as she moved through it, those amber eyes narrowing into thin slits onto the gleam of his blade and the rhythm of his breathing. Her rebreather hissed, half-cut from his strike as it fell away, revealing the dusky Felacatian's half jaw and the bloody line where the blade had sliced at her lower cheek and jaw. Blood began to trickle, but the rasp of her breath only made her sound more like the creature she was.

The man's taunt brushed past her, barely heard; they were words meant to pull and test -- to distract.

She needed to focus.

A growl ripped from her lips as Soah's claws met his first swing, sparks flying. The second strike grazed her ribs, drawing more blood, but she pivoted with it, using the pain to sharpen her focus. The Force coiled through her like instinct given form, humming through every motion, every emotion feeding onto the sentient ink as it bled a burst of power within her.

When his blade thrust for her center, she dropped low, twisting into the move, and she felt another sting of pain as the edge of his weapon nicked her shoulder -- but her other hand found its mark.

Taking the opportunity, Soah's claws slashed upward, catching across his side with a savage rake of talons that shredded flesh and muscle.

They broke apart for half a breath, the echo of their clash ringing through the mine, soah's chest heaving in deep draws and pulls, those vibrant citrine eyes glittering through the fringe of her braids. Dust and shattered stone rained between them. Her ink crawled along her arms like living smoke and shadow as it fed on the fight, moving towards the wounds she had only to hiss as if the very ink seared the open flesh.

Amber eyes locked on him through the haze.

"I don't talk. I do." Then she lunged again, every bit as ferocious as she moved to try and jump and pin the main onto the wall with her claws.

 

[Khasar Rist]

Location: Jedha
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn

Khasar folded around her momentum, his body turning sideways in a ripple of shadow as her claws slammed into the wall where his ribs had been. Stone cracked under the force of her lunge, a dust plume curling past his cheek. The pain of her earlier strike burned along his side, deep and vicious, but he welcomed it. Pain clarified. Pain taught.

She was fast. She was faster now, the Force pouring through her like wildfire through dry brush. Her leap carried serious weight and intent. She meant to tear him from the world. Good.

He caught her second swipe with the flat of his blade, the impact sending a shudder up his arm. Her claws bit into the metal again, screeching. The sentient ink swirling along her skin flared at the contact, and Khasar's eyes narrowed. Interesting.

He pivoted, letting her strength carry her forward. His hand snapped out, catching her wrist. He didn't try to restrain her, he knew that would cost him a hand, but used the grip to redirect her path. He turned with her body, stepping into her guard. His movements were close and precise, suffocating her space. Her breath hit his neck, ragged and hot without the rebreather's modulation.

Then he twisted. His boot hooked behind her ankle, sweeping her off-balance. In the same movement, he slammed her back against a support column. His blade was pressed sideways across her collarbone. It was firm enough to trap her, but loose enough to let her feel just how quickly it could slip and open her throat.

Dust rained around them in a soft cascade. The mine held its breath. Her claws hovered inches from his ribs, trembling with withheld violence.

Khasar leaned in, close enough that her molten eyes filled his world. The shadows curled around them like curtains, muting all but the sound of their breathing.

"You do," he murmured, his voice low, "but even action has a root."

With his blade pinning her, denying her motion, his other hand lifted. It was not a threat, but a gesture of study. Fingers ghosted near the torn remains of her rebreather, tracing the blood on her jaw without touching it. The Force wound around his will, sliding toward her mind like cold fingers brushing against a locked door.

He initiated a probe: soft first, then searching deeper. He wanted the shape of her memories, the reason for the device, and the ache inside her that the ink tried to smother.

"Show me what you're hiding," he whispered, dark curiosity curling through every syllable.

The pressure at the edge of her consciousness sharpened. "And I'll show you how to survive it."