Private The Shape Of Loss

[Nima Torr]

AZBRIAN || CORE WORLDS

Ghostly light of a waning moon loomed over the ancient plates of an even older tractor, its once vibrant hue faded to a dull, washed-out green. Orange flecks stretched outwards across the sheet metal, wrapping their rust-covered fingers around the remnants of a warped air stack that jutted out from the central body—like the final embrace of a spiteful lover, clinging to the corpse even now. It stood alone, abandoned on a dusty road that wound through a once picturesque grassland, fields of green and gold, now little more than a bleak monument to better days.

All things die in time, but not all deaths were kind.

The air was thick with the scent of decay, a lingering wound splayed open, with whatever remained of this place left to heal around the fissure, never complete, never truly finished with the task ahead. Nima Torr moved through the land, her steps quiet in a world that disdained sound, another spectre to the field of sorrow that had forgotten its purpose, whisked away with the ashes that had darkened the sky in a moment that felt like years ago.

Not far from the forgotten relic, the old farm awaited—its sagging barn doors creaked with the hollow gasp of the wind, shadows stretched, and for a moment, the world seemed darker for what hid beneath the low glare of the moonlight. Then, as all things do, the creaking door slowed to a stop; left to hang in the wind as the soft glow stretched across the metal, over the scorch marks that carved through the plates, leaving beams of light to travel through to the other side.

Slender fingers reached up to clasp at the edge of her hood, shielding her from the wind as ice-cold claws searched for gaps in the folds of her robes, travelling down the haggard fabric and over the patchwork mess that covered her hands—her gloves at least, where warm, though the armourweave wasn't worth a single strike—not that she could claim much risk to them in recent months. Her steps were slow, weary, trudging onwards upon a path that existed mostly in her memories. She barely noticed the way the dust gripped to her hemline, dirtying the low-hanging trail that flowed across the ground in a puddle of grey.

At last, with a final, heavy step, she halted not at the edges of the farm; she had long since crossed that threshold. Instead, her golden eyes followed along the path, towards the burned-out ruin that lay beyond—a pillar of melted stonework and crushed columns, marked only by the firebird, exposed by neat strikes that bisected the marble.

Tag: Balru Iolar​

 

[Balru Iolar]

Balru wasn’t really sure why she was here. She’d not exactly found much in her attempts to be a padawan. To train like her mom had. If anything she’d felt a little like dust in the wind. He sandy body slowly walked through. It was an old temple apparently. The Lervon looked around, cyan eyes shifting as her sands never stopped moving.

It was then that she noticed someone. A red Twi’lekk. She peeked around, a young, monotone voice speaking up, but curiosity would seep through the Force. “Hello?”

Nima Torr

 

[Nima Torr]

Beneath the confines of her hood, the slender stalks of Nima's lekku stirred with subtle twitches, reaching out towards the faint vibrations in the chilling air that continued to whine and rattle around her form. Underneath the screech of the needy wind, a softer sound emerged, rustling against the hard-packed earth like salt spilling across snow.

It was not a sound that travelled unaccompanied.

Unfurling at the edges of her senses, a soft light appeared, illuminating the gossamer strands that wrapped tight around her frame, tucked close to the fragile centre of her mortal coil, where the webs of connections had shifted into a shield of gentle light against the stretching presence of death and decay that marked this land.

Motion drew her eye to the source of the light that she perceived more through the stretching strands of the cosmos than sight. Emerging from the shadows of the barn was a vague silhouette resembling a humanoid form, their form shimmering like a mirage in the distance. Two glowing blue eyes shone as bright as the top of a lighthouse, serving as a beacon to wary travellers.

Then, a moment later, the body shimmered once more, and from the shifting grains of sand, a voice echoed through the air, seeping curiosity and the naivety of youth through the strands that floated between them.

"Hello?"

"Hello," Nima responded, her voice soaked with the warmth of a hearth, "Apologies, I did not come here to disturb anyone. I simply wished to give my regards to those who have departed."

Tag: Balru Iolar​

 

[Balru Iolar]

Balru looked curiously, he mass still shifting, seeming to mimic some of Nima’s features for a moment before they returned to normal, and the Lervon spoke up.

“Oh. You’re not disturbing me. I was just… drawn to this place.” Balru said, still in a quiet monotone. She looked at the Twi’lekk, not sure what to say honestly. Despite growing up around Jedi, she just didn’t really know what to do in this situation.

Nima Torr

 

[Nima Torr]

Fine particles of sand stirred across the surface of the Levron's body, coalescing together into a hazy silhouette of half-formed lekku that eerily mirrored the curves and contours of the Twi'lek's own form. At the tips of those delicate stalks, pointed down towards the dust-covered earth, errant grains of sand trickled, merging with the indistinct humanoid figure standing before her, blue eyes glowing in the darkness.

It was then that the voice spoke once again, the same familiar monotone produced from the near-imperceptible grating of sand against sand. As they revealed, their appearance was not entirely by choice, but rather the shifting currents of something that drew them forward, whether it was the force or something more mundane.

"Peculiar," Nima murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she hadn't quite yet determined if she was sharing a secret or sealing it away. She glanced around, taking in the swirling dust gathered by cries of the wind and the grey sky before continuing, "Well, I can't quite pinpoint what in particular might have lured you to this place, but for now, it would be wise for us to seek shelter from this wind. Perhaps there we might be able to safely acquire some answers."

With that, she swept out her arm, the folds of her ruined cloak draping over the limb as a slender set of fingers pointed towards the ruined state of a farmhouse, the door little more than splinters, settled over a decayed and rotten doormat.

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TAG: Balru Iolar
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