Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private The Stalk Through Ash



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Jutrand outskirts
Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis


The ruins on the edge of Jutrand smelled of ash and rust. The Felacatian Acolyte padded low among the broken stone, her boots quietly stalking over the dirt as her ears swiveled toward the faintest sounds. She let the Force sink into her bones, guiding her like a second set of instincts layered atop her own. Shadows of motion, trails of presence that was faint, but there.

A scrap of leather caught her eye, half buried under rubble. She crouched, lifting it with two fingers. She lifted it, studying it as a Darkseeker would, her lips pulling back from her teeth as she breathed in deep.

She wasn't sure who this belonged to. But the scent was fresh, not old. As if it had been dropped not an hour ago.

The ink stirred against her skin, alive with interest, and a low chuff rumbled in her throat. If his scent lingered here, then he wasn't far. She could track him. Stalk him. See what he was hiding among the ruins.

Her pupils narrowed to slits as she slipped forward, body low, the hunt begun.
 
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The ruins pressed close around him, every broken pillar and jagged wall a place for shadows to linger. Veyran moved carefully, boots brushing over the grit without sound, yet the hairs along his neck stood on end. The Force hummed faintly, a taut string vibrating under pressure, warning him.

Someone was there.

He paused by a fallen arch, hand grazing the cold stone as his gaze swept the darkness between fractured statues. Nothing. No breath, no scrape of boot, only the hollow silence of Jutrand's carcass. Still, the sensation gnawed at him, like eyes dragging across his back, just beyond his reach.

His pulse quickened, though he forced his breathing steady. He tried to sink deeper into the current of the Force, to listen past the restless whisper of old battles that clung to this place. Yet the presence remained elusive, flickering like heat haze, neither near nor far.

Veyran's hand strayed to his weapon, fingers tightening on the hilt. He didn't draw it—not yet. The unseen hunter wanted him unsettled, and he refused to give them that victory.

"I know you're there," he muttered under his breath, voice low, meant for him more than anything. Yet he continued onward, despite this all being a precarious situation.

But the ruins offered no reply, only the weight of silence pressing harder with each step he took deeper inside.

 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
Soah clung to the silence, each step carefully taken as she edged forward. Deliberate. Her shadow merged with the broken stone, the ink shifting across her arms in restless, whispering shapes that drank at the pulse of his unease.

The Felacatian Acolyte could feel the thrum of his awareness in the Force, the way it scraped against hers like two predators circling. He was sharper than most prey, not stumbling blind, but still, he was prey.

A low growl built in her chest, swallowed before it broke free. She let it fade into the ruins instead, just a vibration in the air, uncertain if he would catch it or mistake it for the wind.

Ever so carefully, Soah prowled to his flank, keeping the distance tight, but just close enough to watch his fingers ghost the weapon at his side. Her tail flicked once in the dust.

Patience. Wait.

The hunt was not yet ripe.


 
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Veyran halted again.

The air around him had changed, not in temperature, but in tension. The Force coiled tighter now, whispering against the edges of his senses like breath against skin. Something alive pressed just beyond his reach, not fully hidden, not yet revealed. His eyes flicked across the ruin's shadows, and for a heartbeat, he thought he saw movement. Only the settling dust. Or so he told himself.

He took another step. The sound of gravel shifting beneath his boot felt too loud, too revealing. His jaw tightened. Whoever followed him wasn't a fool; they moved with precision, using his unease like a lure. That alone told him they weren't just another scavenger.

The voice in his head, the one that always came when fear did, urged him to strike first. To draw the weapon, call upon the power buried in his veins, and tear the silence apart. But instinct told him no. The Force still trembled, uncertain, as though testing both of them to see who would break first.

He turned slightly, scanning the left flank. His hand hovered near his weapon now, not from panic but readiness. The ruins swallowed light and sound alike, but beneath it all he could feel her: patient, deliberate, hungry.


"All right," he murmured under his breath, voice rough. "If you want me, come closer."


The challenge wasn't shouted, only breathed, an offering to the darkness that surrounded him.
 


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The sound of Veyran Solis Veyran Solis 's rough little bark offered went rippling through the ruins, amusing Soah as her lips pulled back from her teeth. So he wanted her to come closer. Alright, he will regret that.

She ghosted along the cliffside, climbing higher where jagged stone gave her cover. The ink curled eagerly across her arms and throat, whispering with each shift of shadow as if it, too, was hungry. Every muscle in her body flowed tight and smooth, her weight distributed carefully over the rocks so not a pebble betrayed her climb.

From above, she crouched low, eyes narrowing, tail twitching once in anticipation. This was more than sport. It was a test. Could she close the distance unseen, strike as Kasir had drilled her, and measure how quick this prey's reflexes truly were?

Her hand slipped to her hip, fingers curling around the hilt gifted to her by her absent master. The memory of him stirred like a bruise pressed too deep. Abandonment and a sense of betrayal gnarled at her from the only one she'd considered to be kin with. Did he even think of her. Or was he too tied up with that other one to ever bother. Doubts stirred for the teenager but instead of letting it fester, she bled it into the weapon as she drew the hilt and gripped it tightly.

With a deep breath, she sprang. Powerful legs coiled then released, launching her into the air. The saber snapped alive midflight, its twin crimson blades hissing bright against the gloom as the Felacatian came crashing down from the high ground, both hands gripping the hilt as she swung in a vicious vertical arc, the strike aimed square at Veyran's head.

The hunt was no longer silent for the little Shadow -- instead, she was fury given form.

 
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The roar of her saber split the stillness before she did. Veyran moved on instinct. The Force whipped at him for reaction, heat, pressure, a warning too loud to ignore. He dropped low as crimson light tore through the air above him, the shockwave of her landing cracking dust from the nearby walls. The arc missed his skull by the width of a breath.

He rolled, boots grinding stone, cloak catching on jagged debris as he came up into a crouch. For the briefest second, his eyes caught hers: feline, burning, alive with predatory hunger. He could feel her anger clawing against his own, raw, fierce, almost intoxicating.

The hum of her twin blades filled the ruins, cutting through the lingering quiet like war drums. She was faster than he expected, and stronger. Not a scavenger. Not a phantom. A hunter. Veyran's own weapon hissed to life in response, its single crimson edge painting his face in reflected fury. "You should've stayed hidden," he growled and a low chuckle followed, the words low and dangerous, though his pulse raced in his throat.

He circled, letting the Force coil within him, feeding on fear, sharpening it into focus. Her first strike had been savage, but it told him enough. Her form leaned on momentum and aggression. Break her rhythm, and she'd falter.

Still, part of him felt the pull of something else, recognition, maybe. She wasn't just attacking for blood. The way her anger surged and folded, the tremor in it, it wasn't hollow. He raised his blade, readying for the next exchange. "You're not the only one with something to prove."

The ruins trembled faintly underfoot as the two presences collided, the air between them thick with heat, dust, and the echo of every lesson carved into their scars. He moved forward, a series of strikes to test her resolve.


 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
Sparks bit at her face as his blade met hers, crimson fire screaming against crimson fire. The collision rattled her bones, but Soah only pressed harder, teeth bared in a sharp grin. His words rolled off her like grit in the wind. He wanted her to stay hidden. No.... she wanted him to see.

The ink writhed beneath her skin, feeding on the rush of combat, coiling up her throat in dark tendrils that flickered with every clash. Her ears flattened, a low growl rumbling from her chest as she twisted into him with the raw power of her Felacatian frame.

She did not retreat when he struck, but met each test with vicious counters, her saber a blur as she spun the saberstaff with her hands. She struck low, then high, using the length of the double blade to snap at his guard, pushing his defenses, intending to force him to give ground.

The dust around them swirled, stirred by the pulse of their clash. Her tail lashed as she pivoted off a fallen column, momentum twisting her into a sweeping horizontal strike meant to cleave the space where he crouched as the long length of her braided hair whipped about her shoulders.

Yet all the while, the little Darkseeker was judging, weighing, surveying the boy. He was strong. Clever. Not easy prey. That pulled at something within the Acolyte, the thrill of the hunt.

How much would he take? Could he handle her at full strength? Would his little puny body fall broken under her claws?

Either way, she didn't speak. She didn't lash back with words. No, her body and her expression spoke for her with more volume than mere words could.

 
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The first strike jarred through his arms, a flash of red light and heat tearing across his vision. Sparks showered between them as their blades locked, the sound shrieking through the hollow ruins. Veyran's muscles burned from the pressure of her assault every movement of hers precise, savage, alive.

He pivoted hard, catching her follow-up swing, the force of it sending vibrations through his bones. Dust and ash swirled around them, drawn up in the wake of their fury. His heart thundered in his chest, syncing to the rhythm of the blows. No thought. No hesitation. Only movement.

She came at him again fast, low, a predator's rhythm. He met her with equal violence, the Force crackling through his veins like static. When her saberstaff cut down in a sweeping arc, he dropped beneath it, boots skidding across stone, cloak tearing on the jagged floor. The heat of the blade seared inches from his face as he surged up into her guard.

Their sabers crashed once more crimson against crimson the sound like thunder trapped in a tomb. Her strength pressed against him, wild and unrelenting, but his focus narrowed, razor-thin. He could feel her energy: sharp, hot, driven by something deeper than hatred.

A snarl tore from his throat as he pushed back, the weight of his will slamming into hers through the Force. Power cracked between them, scattering sparks, dust, and the echo of their breath. His vision tunneled, her movements reduced to flashes of red and shadow.

She wasn't prey. She was challenge.

 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
The Felacatian's snarl ripped through the charged air, the clash of their sabers flaring like molten lightning. Sparks scattered across the stone, painting Soah's silhouette in flashes of crimson and shadow. The pressure between them swelled, the Force tightening until it hummed through her bones. He met her strength and held it.

Good.

Her grin sharpened, sharp teeth flashing white through the haze.
With a twist of her wrist, she broke the lock. The double-blade hissed, cutting the air before she deactivated it, the hum dying in a pulse of silence. The ink beneath her skin stirred restlessly, its dark tendrils alive, feeding on the tension that crackled around them.

Then she struck the ground.

A sharp stomp, a shock through the Force as the ruins answered. Dust burst upward in a violent billow, swirling into a whirlwind that wrapped them both in choking grit. Light fractured through the haze, scattering the glow of her saber like red lightning across broken walls.

Then little Darkseeker disappeared into it.

Her movements blurred into the rhythm of the haze. She slowed her breath and let the Force fold over her like a cloak. The hiss of grit against stone drowned the faint scrape of her boots, masking the sound of her circling. Only the whisper of motion betrayed her -- too soft to catch, too fast to follow.

From within the whirlwind of a dust storm, she pounced. The red blade snapped alive mid-leap, cutting through the dust in a single, clean line. Her descent was silent until impact, a flash of crimson heat slicing through the smoke toward him.

The world narrowed to light, grit, and heartbeat. Every breath, every flicker of movement, every pulse of danger filled her senses.

It wasn't chaos. It was control, a show of the discipline Kasir had taught her that she sculpted from fury.

And if he couldn't find her in the duststorm, the acolyte would make certain he never forgot what hunted him there.


 
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The dust burned in his lungs, the world reduced to ash and pulse. Every breath dragged grit over his teeth as Veyran closed his eyes and let the Force flood in. Sight was useless here the storm was alive with false echoes, ghosts stirred by her movement and the storm's own fury.

He felt her instead. Not the shape of her, too fast, too clever, but the wake she left behind. A ripple of heat, a flicker of intention slicing the air.

The strike came.

Crimson light cut through the storm like a scream, and Veyran twisted with it, the Force driving through his muscles as his blade snapped up to meet hers. The impact flared white behind his eyelids, sparks hissing against his face. Pain bit deep along his forearm where the blade grazed close, the scent of scorched fabric and skin curling into the air.

He didn't fall back. He stepped in.

He moved forward, attempting to slam his shoulder into hers, a surge of motion that was part instinct, part defiance, part anger. Stone would crack beneath their feet as he tried forced her off balance, their sabers tangling in a blur of red arcs that tore through the haze.

The duststorm howled around them, wrapping the world in smoke and fire. The Force sang through him, raw and reckless, every nerve sharpened to the edge of violence. He could feel her fury feeding the storm, and he would look to match it, not with rage, but with the relentless will of someone who refused to break.

He didn't chase her shadow anymore. He met her head-on, saber to saber, fire to fire, until all that remained between them was breath, heat, and the shared pulse of two predators testing which would bleed first.

 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
The small shadow lunged through the dust storm, crimson light flashing in rhythmic pulses with each strike. The air smelled of scorched metal and ozone, every movement sharp enough to draw blood from the silence itself.

Their sabers clashed with the impact sending a jolt down her arm. Sharp, white teeth flashed as a hiss ripped through her throat when his shoulder slammed into hers. The hit was solid, knocking the breath from her chest and sending her staggering half a step back.

Just as she was about to counter, his blade slashed across her side, not deep but enough to sear through fabric and skin. The pain shot through enough to draw a sharp guttural sound from the Felacatian's throat. She dropped low, one hand pressing briefly to the wound, the scent of her own scorched flesh mingling with the dust and smoke.

But pain steadied her. It always did.

The dark sentient ink on her body stirred violently, black lines writhing as if they could drink the pain itself. Her vision tunneled, every heartbeat a drum in her ears. She reached for the Force, pulling it into her lungs until it filled her with molten focus.

She rose again, eyes gleaming like molten glass through the haze. Her saber ignited once more, its twin blades cutting the storm apart in twin arcs of red.

The Felacatian circled, slow this time, learning him through pain and rhythm. Then she lunged, spinning the staff in a swift, precise maneuver meant to drive him back, one end slashing low at his legs while the other carved a bright crescent toward his chest.

She could feel her blood singing through her veins.

And though the burn still ached at her side, the little Darkseeker smiled through it, sharp teeth flashing in the crimson light.

The hunt had never been sweeter.

 
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She was fast, too fast to underestimate. Her strikes came with the precision of instinct sharpened by agony. When her crimson blade met his, the jolt up his arm was alive, feeding him. That was what most of them never understood pain was not the enemy. Pain was proof. Pain was the gift the Dark Side gave to those who could hold it without flinching.

He invited it.

Her staff came at him again, twin blades spinning like a storm within the storm. He met the first strike low, pivoting to absorb the impact along the length of his saber. Sparks snapped against the side of his cowl, the heat brushing his cheek. The second strike carved toward his chest he twisted, narrowly escaping, the heat of it grazing through his armor and leaving a deep blackened streak across the plating. He chuckled and reached up to remove the armor plating, watching as it hit the ground. He could still feel the heat against his chest...

He adjusted his stance, and then drew in a long breath, the air thick with ozone and the sweet, metallic tang of blood. Her blood. His grin widened...

He lunged a blur of motion and shadow, his strikes heavy and exacting, meant not to kill her quickly but to test her. To carve out the rhythm of her fury, to see what she became when she broke.

And when their blades locked again, close enough, he whispered against the hiss of their sabers low, taunting, intimate.

"Show me, little hunter. Show me what the Dark has made of you."


 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
Their blades crashed together again, the storm painting them in flashes of crimson and shadow. Sparks spat across their faces, casting brief, feral light across the dark. Soah's muscles coiled with the impact, the scent of ozone and scorched metal sharp in her lungs.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the hiss and vibration between their locked sabers.

Then the Felacatian grinned. It was a rare, wicked thing, those sharp teeth flashing as the wild challenge burned in her amber eyes.

"Careful what you ask for," she growled in a rough, low voice tinged with amusement, only to then shove forward as the Force burst from her in a raw, concussive wave meant to send Veyran skidding through the rubble. But the little Darkseeker didn't wait for him to recover.

She was already moving.

That crimson blade flared again, the double blade cut in half with a hiss as she deactivated one end, and she adjusted her grip. The change allowed her to shift her rhythm to use faster, tighter, more brutal movements. Her strikes came swift and deliberate, each heavy arc driving against the boy's guard with predatory precision.

Dust swirled with every clash of crimson light as she pressed him back, step by step, fully intending to get him toward the cliffside outcropping behind him to try and box him in.


 
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And yet...he laughed.

It started as a low growl, rising into a sound full of heat and pleasure, the kind of laughter born not from mockery but from exhilaration. The crimson light danced across his face as he straightened, sabers humming to life once more. No fear in his eyes, only fire.

Her next strike came fast, savage, spinning in a blur of red. Veyran caught it with the flat of his blade, his arm trembling with the impact. Sparks leapt between them again, lighting the storm around their locked blades. She was pressing him hard now every swing a storm unto itself, each blow driving him further toward the cliff.

Still, he grinned, teeth flashing behind the hiss of his respirator. He could taste her fury in the air hot, metallic, alive.

Her attacks drove him back another step. Then another. Until his heel met loose stones beneath and he stumbled backward, mere inches away from the cliff.

"Come then, little kitten." he taunted, laughter bubbling through the dust and thunder. "Come finish it."

Then, with a sudden surge of motion, if she were to press forward his free hand shot forward. The Force erupted outward, a shockwave meant not to stop her, but throw her off balance so he could regain his footing. Was it the thrill, or sensation of almost meeting death that drove him. Whatever it was, he welcomed it in all ways.




 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
The word hit harder than any blade.

Little kitten.

For a heartbeat, the storm itself seemed to still. Then something inside the Felacatian snapped.

Soah's ears pinned flat, a guttural sound tearing from her throat, part snarl, part growl. She lunged through the dust, saber blazing, but the shockwave met her mid-stride.

Then the Force struck her like a sledgehammer.

It ripped her from her feet, twisting her in the air as the world spun, a blur of red light, grit, and pain. The saber tore from her hand, deactivating with a sharp hiss before clattering against the stone. The impact cracked through her spine as she hit the ground, rolled, and landed low, catching herself on her hands and feet.

The dark curtain of her braids fell forward, veiling her face. The sound of her breathing was a harsh animalistic bellow.

Then her head snapped up.

Amber eyes burned through the haze, pupils narrow and wild. Her lips curled back, revealing a flash of sharp teeth in a feral hiss that cut through the storm. The ink across her skin writhed with her fury, the patterns darkening like spilled shadow.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

The little Darkseeker moved, fast. A blur of motion across the dustchoked ground, the Force tightening around her like a coil ready to strike. Her saber leapt back into her grasp, reigniting in her charge.

The crimson blade snapped alive once more as she closed the distance, driving forward with a burst of speed that turned her into a streak of red and black.

Every swing came sharp and heavy, her strikes fueled by the sting of the insult, by pride, by something older and darker that clawed to be seen. She aimed high first, then swept low, her movements honed and furious, pressing him to move or be consumed.

And though pain licked at her ribs and her lungs burned, the Felacatian smiled again through it all, teeth flashing like a predator that had found the taste of the hunt once more.


 
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Veyran caught her fury like a wave breaking over him.

The air screamed as her blade came down once, twice, three times, each strike faster than the last, every blow carrying the full, furious weight of her pride. Sparks burst against his guard, showering the ground in molten light.

He staggered backward, boots grinding through grit and shattered stone, the heat of her saber so close he could feel it singe the fabric of his sleeve. Every movement she made was beautiful in its violence, pure instinct and rage turned into motion.

And still, he laughed.

The sound was ragged, half-swallowed by the wind and dust, but it carried a dark joy. The kind of sound that didn't mock her, but welcomed her wrath. He pivoted on his heel, parried another strike, and brought his saber up to catch the next, their crimson lights tangling like veins of molten glass.

"That's it." he rasped, his teeth bared in a grin beneath the red glow. "Show me the beast beneath the blade."

Her next attack nearly slipped past his defense; he twisted just in time, the blade grazing his shoulder, searing through armor and skin. The smell of his own scorched flesh hit the air and his laughter only deepened.

"Ah—there she is." he breathed, voice low and delighted. "My little kitten finally found her claws."

He pushed back hard, sabers locking again, their faces inches apart. The crimson light painted his eyes like fire, bright and unyielding. There was no fear there only exhilaration, that rare intoxication that came when death and desire met in the same breath.


 


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Interacting with: Veyran Solis Veyran Solis
The Dun Moch worked.

The taunts brought a flash of fire in Soah's eyes, and while she pressed harder to strike back, it felt as if her form was slipping with each exchange. Sparks leapt every time their blades met, but something was wrong.

That could be it. Maybe it was because this wasn't her saber -- No, it was Kasir's.

The Felacatian's footing faltered for half a second, and it was in that instant that he struck. The hiss of plasma grazed her, heat searing close enough to slice through several of her braids. The scent of burnt hair filled her lungs, sharp and bitter. She snarled, rage and humiliation mixing in her throat, sharp teeth flashing in the red haze.

Wrapping the Force around herself, the Felacatian attempted to close the distance, locking blades with him once more, faces inches apart, amber eyes blazing.

"Keep laughing," she hissed out with a snarl, "See what it costs you."

The blades sparked and screamed between them as she pushed forward, driving him back toward the cliff's edge.

 
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Veyran caught the edge of her hissed words, and the promise in them pulled a grin across his face sharp and delighted. The taste of ozone and blood filled his lungs, hot and alive.

He could feel her fury now, tangible in the Force, a tide that burned hotter than the desert wind. Each swing of her saber came heavier, faster, but sloppier driven by instinct instead of precision. It had taken hold and he could almost feel it as if unraveling her discipline one breath at a time.

Their sabers locked again, red light painting the storm between them. Sparks kissed his cheek, hot enough to sting, but he didn't flinch. He leaned into the bind, his laughter low and breathless.

"Strike harder then, little kitten." he murmured, the words dripping amusement, his voice edged with static through the vocoder. "Make me regret my laughter."

As she advanced forward, their blades grinding, heat radiating between them. Her strength surprised him; the Force behind her push had weight, wild and untamed. He let it carry him back, step by step, toward the cliff's edge. Each retreat was deliberate, measured, and then it came. A strike that he had misjudged, and slashed across his chest. Piercing what armor was there and piercing his flesh. It was pain, joy, and laughter all that came forth. The pain was measurable until it was overclouded by his joy. He could almost see it, the red petals falling around him, as he stood beneath what could've been the tree of dreams.

It was perfect...

He laid back for a moment before sitting up on his elbows with a laugh and smile on his face. He spit the blood from his mouth and he looked up to her with a smile. "Little kitten, you have done well. Now, finish this. Don't get merciful on me now." Veyran wished for death, many times over. He welcomed it....


 

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