Private Whispers In The Walls

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

An abyssal umbra upon the galaxy, where only those desperate or hateful enough to drown in it went--Korriban. The tales had been vivid during her stay with the Jedi, the red wastes, the pillars that only echoed the grandeur from thousands of years past, and the malignant entity that corrupted those pledged to the light.

Why. The act to come to the heart of darkness was illogical--and yet the truth of the matter lay beyond her, out of reach, a void that could not be tamed nor filled. It simply was.

Her ronto-hide boots left footprints in the dusty paths, following the path that the Force--or was it her soul?--wanted her to trod. The further environment veiled behind a firm duststorm that ached her eyes with each glance she sought to take. What remained, were but the glimpses of a rocky path, and the increasing shadow that was cast over her. One hand acted a shield, whereas the other was stretched out in front of her. Ashla, and her guidance, remained particularly quiet; that she could not even be considered a background murmur in Isobel's mindscape. Her senses were all but corrupted by the hand of Bogan.

When her fingers grazed past the rough slopes of a wall--or rock--she initially did not think much of it, and carefully followed its turn to the right. Until, there was a sudden absence of a wall, and she stumbled inside a dark hallway. . . With the gentlest of moves, she drew one of her lightsabers 'Aurora' to her hand and ignited it. . . casting a muted golden light upon the walls of a ruin--or temple. The Sigil's hum echoed loudly throughout the cavernous passages of the structure as the Jedi continued her path deeper into the temple.

The walls were inscribed with various Sith texts, identifiable by their longer and slimmer sigils. Their translations were much lost on her, even in all her months exploring ancient temples and tombs, she had not gained grasp of the language beyond the basic (pro)nouns. Still, Bel could not help to notice how most of its scriptures appeared so alike, as if they were repeating the same sentence or the same chant. . .

"Am," She thought aloud, trying to decipher the words, one for one. "Liberated...? Freed." She was unsure about that one, it too looked like 'broken'. "Me." She reread the sentence, and repeated the words in a softer tone. "I am freed."

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Varin had wandered into the Golg Desert by himself today. Something he had neglected to do for quite some time. It was how he found the Ashlan Jedi Temple, it was how he found Sinew and it was where he had first discovered the very tip of his potential.

Every time he had ventured off he was rewarded something from the dark side. Experience, knowledge, even power.

He would let the Force guide him today to where he needed to be.

The very feeling led him to one of the older Sith Temples after some time of wandering. He made sure he had enough water and food on him, as well as his saber and Black Blade. He traveled without his armor however. Too much weight for such a journey.

His footfalls echoed around the walls around him, his presence did not hide, it announced itself.

He felt another presence causing his eyes to glance over the red tinted light that filtered in the room.

Someone else was here.

His gaze sharpened as he stepped in further, his stature towering above the average height. He was a large man now. Much had changed since he last ventured these deserts a few years prior.

He noticed the light nearby. A magenta or pink color that lit the distant walls.

Varin did not draw his weapon. If a Jedi were here, it was likely they were called. But he would keep his guard up.

He heard her words as she read the scripture among the walls.

His voice echoed down the halls, not a yell or even a raise in tone. It just carried with authority.

“Free from shackles that bound me to weakness.”

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

The echo laid bare in the dim hallways, 'freed' persisted in the air for several seconds before the silence dominated once more. What ought be freed? Was it a vow for the future, or a declaration from the histories? From her memory, Bel could recall that Sith often spoke of breaking one's chains, to be liberated through the Force--was that what this scripture sought to proclaim?

Her inner ramblings were drowned out by the noise of footsteps approaching, preceded by a faint hum in the Force--dark, yet probing almost. A murmur of the indistinct darkness that flooded this entire planet clung to this newer presence, but were they friend or foe. . ? That was yet to be determined.

Freed from the shackles that bound me to weakness, the words were clear and a further brand of a Sith Code--a declaration of how one must live, a declaration of how one must die above all. The voice was firm, authorative, and embodied the purpose of its claim.

Isobel's fingers gradually drew toward her sash where her shoto-lightsaber was holstered still. . . Should this man prove to be hostile, she would not be without guard. "Freed from shackles that bound me to weakness," departed her dusty lips in repetition, before her eyes trailed back to the numerous sigils in ur-Kittât. "One might presume all of these texts to hold such a message. Broken chains, weakness, hatred. . ." A lowly muse reserved for herself, attempting to sound unimpressed by this stranger's sudden interruption. It was unwise to provoke them by seeking them out, but ignoring them entirely was to be cut by the same blade of oblivion.

With heed, her steps brought her to another wall, where different sigils presented themselves, declaring to be another message than what had previously been proclaimed. The countless ringlets of her chainmail made a chiming noise with each movement.

"Saarai," the Nabooan read aloud, her pronounciation was foreign at best--lacking the nigh on guttural sound of the ancient tongue. In the next few moments the self-assumed scholar began to voice all of the words aloud, before translating them into one: "The Force is the truth, the essence of existence. . . or 'being'." before turning toward the shadowed hall, seeking for confirmation of this o-so-mysterious being.

"Was I close? If so, that scripture does not fully embody the 'evil' and 'relentless' Sith. . . unless my teachings have failed me," the words left her almost wittily, anticipating a quick retort.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

Varin’s hand gently rested on his saber hilt, though he did not draw, opting to watch her with a trained patience as well. Many times he has seen scholars and nobles come to Korriban in hopes to find some form of meaning, even going mad trying to decipher the ancient tongue.

His eye traced over her chainmail. The design drew a curious look upon his brow as she spoke.

A small hum drew from him after she asked her question.

“The teachings from Jedi and other beings about the Sith though some may be true, hold an essence of lies.”

He stayed his ground, not moving closer, nor drawing away, intent on learning more of this mysterious woman he had ran into.

“Propaganda is always the same when it comes to teachings.”

His gaze drew to the ancient wall that held the carvings of ancient language, his palm gently running along the wall, small sparks flying from his hand as dust burned within his grasp, falling lazily and slowly to the floor like ash in the air where wind dared not tread.

“The Force is not merely a building block of everything that is, but it is also raw and untainted knowledge. Something as old as The Force changes yet, remains over time. In short, most will always see it differently. Some for their own gain, others as a guiding light to meaning.”

His gaze slowly looked over to her, the glowing eye shining dimly in the dark light.

"To be free from the chains of weakness is to be free of limitation."

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

Many beings adored to spin their words as a krykna might weave its web, though the purpose of their work lay divided. One sought to deceive its students, whereas the other sought to glorify oneself in the eyes of third, or in her case, the pursuit of education of what may kill one in this vast galaxy. The Sith and Jedi remain the blade and the shield, one seeking to oppress whereas the other aspiring to defend. An eternal hymn of low and high notes, fluctuating in their potency.

The glimmering, yet fiery hued, particle of light drew her attention. This stranger, this foe, was tall, and though it beckoned a sense of dread within her body, the softened teachings of her mentors echoed once more in a mind--a person's size does not signify a grand advantage, it merely meant their weaknesses lay elsewhere. . .

"Propaganda is bound to occur when the other party abandons reason, for only hostility and mistrust may follow. To insist otherwise is akin to saying we must pity the Rakatans for what they brought onto themselves." A bitter dry huff left her, nothing close to her sweet laugh.

Her fingers continued to linger above Vesper--a shoto-bladed lightsaber--coiled in quiet anticipation, much akin to a Nexu prowling in the grass before the inevitable strike. Once, she may have welcomed strangers with an unguarded heart, though too many had taken a blade to the naïveté, forcing caution to become as much an instinct as breathing itself.

"While that may be so, the views one might have about Ashla or Bogan are fated to be different--one cannot picture a calm sea whilst directing a storm. To picture it as life itself is a view not many Sith harbour," Another thought departed her lips, swirling in the air akin to a breeze. The Force was comparable to a garden to her, a brightly coloured palette of different flowers all flourishing under the bright sun, and the dark. . . was the rot that spread, a blight seeking to leech the life until it was nought more than a faint memory.

A chuckle could be heard as he voiced something about being freed from weakness--well yes, if one has no frailties, their power would be limitless. "But can one be freed from weakness?" Her voice was sweeter, repeated huffs from laughter still surrounding her. "What says your ideology of that? Weaknesses are ever-evolving, you do not know until you have faced it--I once thought to be resistant to the effects of a Millaflower, until I was unconscious for ten hours after working the gardens~"

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

That was the real question.

Can one truly be freed from weakness?

The question brought a sort of smile to his face. A lift in the corner of his mouth.

“That, is how a true Sith starts to think.”

He slowly stepped a bit closer, his arms folded behind his back as he walked towards another section of wall carved with ancient scripture.

“When you ask such a question it leads to the hunger, the drive and the want for your search that resides past the realm of possibilities.”

The glow of his eye faintly reflected on the wall.

“To be unable to picture calmer seas while directing a calmer storm, that is what we call mortal thinking.”

He stopped still giving her space, but certainly closer.

“The Sith do not wish to think as mortals, true Sith do not wish to be mortals. To be mortal is to embody weakness. To be a God, to harness the force, the very essence of knowledge and its building blocks of life, that is what breaks the chains.”

His voice echoed from the walls around them for a quick moment before it fell silent.

“The Jedi would call it enlightenment. The belief that true inner peace with self can change the world. The calm sea.”

A small scoff left him.

“But tell me, does the world not change faster when a storm approaches? does the sand upon the bottom of the ocean stir when the ocean stills? Does the absence of action change anything?”

“...to have weakness is to be mortal and a mortal cannot change the galaxy like a God can.”

He paused once more.

"Why be the one that falls unconscious in the garden when you can be the Sun, the wind and the rain that created it."

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

The amusement would not falter as the theatre's ambience silenced once more; though her lips no longer emitted the laughter from before, the twinkle in the brown doe-like eyes dared bring voice to her opinions on the matter. The accusation was quite a hilarity, to draw the conclusion that she was reasoning -- or in truth not making sense -- like a Sith was. . . odd , and plain wrong.

Her heart beat with many tunes, not all entirely aligned with Ashla's melody, though to slow it to be like Bogan's. . .? Ridiculous once more. "Me? A sith? What an odd conclusion !" she mused more so to herself than to feed his delusions.

The brutal longing for power did not reside in her heart, she wishes to be content. . . at peace, so why would one be using the tools of war to uncover an outcome nothing like what one desired?

The tall silhouette of the man slowly neared her, the thundering in the Force louder than before--rumbling the walls themselves, though they remained stagnant. The dark hand of the Force sought to dim the light within their shared space, to suppress it until it was nought more but a fading memory.

"A desire to be without weakness. A desire to become a higher being. . . All that to perish when another of your sort yearns for your rank~" Isobel said with a smile, recalling the tales her brother had once read to her about the many rebellions and what not in the histories themselves. Every being was akin to a spoke on the wheel, ever cycling between who was on top, there was no victor--never.

Her hand slipped away from her other weapon, and her ignited yellow blade began to float effortlessly in the space around her--freeing the woman's hand to cross them over the chainmail armour covering her torso.

There was no appeal in his words, to control nature's cycle was the Force's might--and one could not simply subsume that property. One could be the conduit, or a part of its orchestra. . . or the conductor themselves--but never take the role of the music itself. "Does it not tire? This endless search to best your brethren? To let this lust for power poison your every move?" She shifted her stance nigh on arrogantly. "To dread the day your master may find your presence useless and seek to discard you."

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

His head tilted slightly after she spoke, a simple shrug offered from him to her.

“If I were to fall by someone who was hungrier and more ambitious, then I was not strong enough to be a God. It is as simple as that.”

He watched as the saber free floated from her hand, he kept his eye on it.

“No, you are not a Sith. Not even close.”

A pause as his gaze glared.

“I would cut you down in an instant, but…”

The word hung in the air as he lifted his hand up, palm up and fingers lazily outstretched towards the scripture on the walls.

“You ventured to a Sith another, drenched in the blood of wars and Sith history, delved into a Sith temple where you are attempting to read Sith scripture carved among these walls.”

His hand dropped, resting on his belt.

“You are past a slippery slope to Sithdom. You are venturing into the swamps of Sith knowledge, dredging through the muck searching for a trail that has been long drowned by stagnant waters of promise and knowledge.”

His hand flicked to the side, as if in obedience several sconces lit up with an intense red flame before calming and stilling to their calm dance, lighting the room further, revealing several slabs with long dead skeletons laying about in sacrificial stances.

“You ventured into the dark thinking a Jedi blade would light your way as the darkness starts to swallow up your light, only for a Sith to show you the truth of this room.”

A pause.

“Something your blade would rather you be blind to.”

He walked around one of the slabs, his fingers wrapping around a skull in his palm before his fingers crushed the bone to dust.

“The swamp clings to your feet, your legs and your waist. Yet you persist not knowing that the waters are rising.”

"So tell me, Jedi , what is it that you search for that the Sith have that the Jedi could never offer you."

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

The acknowledgement of her reason, and of her state of being was a surprise of sorts. While her presence reeked of the light-side, of the calm, and of the naive, she had gone unnoticed within Coruscant before and it shaped a question within her mind; was it no longer an obvious mark? Had Ashla abandoned her blade--her lone moonflower in a field of darkness?

"I have not pledged myself to deceit, so I shall admit I am not one of your kind--not a Sith." The arrogance within her voice withered, finding no proper soil to root. Nor did her guard get raised any higher, for the purpose of his queries were more probing than anything?

Her blade hummed idly as it hovered still beside its wielder, the light of its crystal making the white-marbled hilt glow like a firefly in the darkest of night.

His accusations caused a huff to depart her lips, utterly surprised by the mere notion of her harbouring any stain of Bogan. To wade in the waters of the Sith, to seek out the knowledge that does not limit itself to a faith--it was not. . . a commitment to become one, was it?

"My desire lays not in the acquisition of this 'power' you speak of, I had no will in coming here--'twas beyond my control." Her words grew defensive, seeking to parry and block the valid blows he was throwing at her motive, at her presence. "I am merely here to make sense of whatever I can before the dust storm finally clears."

Bel drew toward another of the walls, as if to prove she did not need him. Her brown eyes darting over the scripture once more, this was a missive she had read before in an ancient tomb near Dantooine. A vow that one cannot outrun what had been dreamt.

Her head tilted lightly, while her back remained facing him. "Is it a crime to learn the language of another. I have learned Huttese, does that make me a Hutt?" A pathetic jest to distract from the seeds of doubt that had been planted within her heart.

His last query lingered in the empty air beneath them, unanswered as she continued to make sense of the countless markings in the stone. What did she seek now that she was here? What purpose lay there in exploring ruins throughout the galaxy? Was it an evasion of duty or the search for more. . .

Her lips parted and closed several times before she found a voice for her words. "Tis not something only the Sith can show me, the Jedi can as well. . . But I am seeking guidance, where my Lady will grant me none--guidance on the Force, guidance on anything that mattered in life." The Nabooan then turned around, gazing upon his silhouette once more.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

“By your will or by the will of another, it matters not to this temple.”

He flicked his hand allowing some of the loose dust to trail off in soft arcs as wind softly blew into the cavern. Her next question drew a small hum from him as she asked so blindly.

“No, it does not make you a Hutt, but how often do you see Huttese carved into the walls of ritualistic sacrificial chambers? Do the Hutts acquire ancient power and knowledge left over by celestial beings beyond comprehension? That is a weak argument of desperation, and it represents your presence here well, if your lady of light has abandoned you.”

When she turned around his gaze stared right into hers, unflinching.

“So, your Lady has left you with nothing and you come to the dark side for answers.”

He paused, a small breath drew into his lungs before releasing.

“Answers to what matters in life. What does that look like to you? Is it power? Is it life itself? Darkness? Light? Right or wrong?”

The questions bounced around the walls echoing into the chamber as if he were attempting to manifest an interrogation to the very walls.

“The truth of the matter is none of those matter. Life has its own agenda whether you are with it or not it does not care, it will continue on. Life cares not for what we search for, it just is.”

He fell silent after he finished speaking, allowing his words to build in weight within the room.

“You are here for answers that the light could not provide, whether you meant to or not, you have been driven towards truth. Truth that Jedi hide away from.”

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

Lay there truth in his cold word? Had her desire--be it subconscious or no--to venture out to Korriban marked her with the same cruel hand that drove the corruption of the Sith? The Force was violent akin to nature itself, with tempest winds and merciless storms, though it too shared its beauty, its serenity and blessings of life upon barren soil. The Sith viewed one part, the Jedi did the other, or so the tales were often spun. . .

"Do not wield my words against me, Sith, you have not a clue who I am and why I am here." A snarl departed her lips with as much ease as one might greet another. The corner of her lip curled whilst her fingers gently twitched, forcing the orbit of her levitating lightsaber to grow distorted.

Ablaze with fury, her heart beat a little quicker than before. "Ashla has not forsaken me. . . It is merely the path that I must find again, and the Force shall aid me on that. . . arduous journey." Her brow furrowed moderately, a rare occurrence for the Nabooan Jedi. "That is the guidance I seek, the one that shall lead me to a purpose that has been destined for me to uncover."

The gall of this stranger to believe her journey was draped in a veil of Bogan, it admittedly and undeniably vexed her, it was not the truth--at least Bel swore herself it was not. The Light held the truth, and ne'er would it drive her into the arms of the foe, it must not be why the Force beckoned her here. No. . . There was. . . no chance of it.

Her hilt gradually slipped back into the palm of her hand, ignited yet not readied for combat. Not yet a vessel to yield to Ataru or Soresu, not yet a blade to be used to defeat the evil that sought to lead her astray. "Right and wrong are already defined, for how corruption ever not be evil? And how can serenity not be deemed good?" Isobel's voice grew frailer with each word uttered.

A Jedi. That was the only thing she was and will ever be. Not a mindless noble to be squabbling over alliances and the incorrect etiquette, nor a Sith to be a mindless supplicant to hatred and agony, to be imprisoned by the Force and seek only escape. . . No, she refused to be put in either cage.

"Tell me then, Stranger? How doomed am I to wander these tombs, to have learned your language and to have 'been abandoned by my Lady'?" Her voice was flat, seeking to maintain whatever fraction of self-control still within her body--in spite of her face showing quite the contrary.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

“Perhaps I do not know. But I know the tugging of curiosity when I see it.”

A small smile appeared on his face at the sound of her frustration.

“It appears I struck a nerve. If Ashla had not forsaken you then why were you sent here? Why send you somewhere overflowing with temptation while you already hear nothing but silence to who you pray to?”

He watched the saber glide back into her hand, his eye remained on her posture, ready for a strike yet relaxed.

“Evil and good? Is a man evil for simply stepping on an ant that feasts itself within his own home? It is evil to pluck from a garden, killing a plant to feed yourself?”

He dared to step closer, a look in his eyes that spoke of a feeling not of aggression, but of recognition.

“You are not doomed, you are merely lost.”

His words echoed off the walls.

“Lost, terrified and confused. I merely offer myself to you as a guide. Frustration and anger already flow into you because you know that my words strike true to you, even if it's but only a modicum.”

His gaze fell to her other hilt that rested on her belt.

“Certainly not doomed. But in need of direction.”

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

Curiosity, was it truly the blessed trait of a figure or merely a condemnation foreshadowing its downfall? For there lay virtue in the act of pondering on the truth of matters, though there lay also a darker side to it--for when does curiosity end and impertinence blossom? Lay there not corruption within the uncoverings of the curious? Especially when they concerned themselves with the teachings of the Dark. . .

The resistance ached within her body, she so yearned to strike and to cut down this opposition toward her deeds--but where was the light in that? Was that not the spirit of this planet sullying her choice? Yet his word were provoking her, seeking to prod open a wound she had sewn shut, seeking to nurture themselves from her doubt and indecision.

Words died on her tongue as she gazed upon the tall figure, upon the shining light in the suffocating dark of the hall. . . There was a morbid truth within his words, nature sometimes demanded we would be rid of one being to sate another, for even plants died when their season was at an end.

"Quiet!" Departed her lips with enough to fury to light a brazier. . . or at least, that is how it felt within her body.

"No- Do not corrupt my mind with these teachings, these words of madness!" She spat into the wide space between them, her lightsaber rising from the dusty floor and finding its place just beside her torso. Her other lightsaber remained passively on her hip, veiled by the red of her sash.

He presumed to know her, presumed to know what shaped her still. Not feelings of lost, terror or whatever deceit spilled from his lips like venom. As if he knew, as if he knew an inch of what she had to endure and what she does in order to keep her faith. . . That. . . impossible faith.

"Bogan is evil, and thus its worshippers, its warriors, are evil by default." Her words felt heavy upon her lungs, as she lunged her sabre at his body, throwing all of her body and strength into its first strike.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Quiet!

The word simply made him tilt his head, his gaze sharpening as she spoke. She spoke to him like he was mad, mad? He was not insane. He had seen insanity, he had stared into the depths of insanity, he had fought against it and won.

He was not insane, his mind was clear.

Bogan's worshippers were evil

The thought baffled him, he had seen what true evil was and that thing was no worshipper of Bogan, just a false prophet with a sense of superiority.

And as was common amongst Jedi, she struck at him first, her saber came arching towards him like a blur, wild and untamed. Fueled by her rage and hatred towards Bogan and his worshippers, fueled by the confusion of her new calling. For she was called to his new home world…

and she dared strike at Him

His hand reached out grasping her saber's blade, sparks spat with a hissing fury as it flared with white flashes around his fingers. His facial expression had changed from one of conversation to that of a glare.

He side stepped the swipe and quickly drew the hilt of his saber, the longer handle surged forward pommel first ramming into her gut to drive the wind out of her.

“Sloppy...”

The word came quietly before his other hand jerked, the momentum strong enough to lift her from her feet and send her back a small distance away from him.

“You strike at me with anger and fury and dare tell me you are better than I?”

His hand deftly twirled the hilt of his saber upright, his other hand placed towards the base. With a motion that had been done several times over, his hands twisted, activating the fiery red blade wreathed in plasma fire. It did not his, it did not hum. It roared to life like a predator howls its battle cry then graduated to a consistent growl. The heat of the blade could be felt within the very room, the Erinar Diamond within that modified the blade to be that of a contained inferno.

“A common theme I have seen from the Jedi, always striking first.”

He did not surge forward, he did not call upon the force, he simply waited his guard up and ready.

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

The agonising blow to her chest forced her back once more, with the gentle guidance of the Force allowing her to land safely a handful of metres away. . . Her fingers tightened around the marble, gradually inching closer to the emitter as though it might grant her greater strength. It was not enough. She was predictable. Weak. . . Weak even afterl all her physical strength was poured into her strikes--her mentors had spoken true, combat had never been her forte. Never.

The nerve. The sheer audacity of this Sith, to equal her to his like; to compare one sworn to life and Light with the deliverers of death and Dark. How dare he. . . The thought found no answer, only the assumption that such provocation must lie within his nature--to lie, to provoke, to be the cause of such fiery vexation. She felt no more of the gentle glimmer of Ashla within her, replaced by the venomous sting of his strike and the corrosive weight of his words within her conflicted thoughtscape.

"Lies," tumbled from her lips without thought as she stared upon the ignition of the red broadsaber. "It. . . it is not fury that drives me." A lie, a bitter lie upon her tongue, and even heavier within her frail heart. "You provoke me, and yet deem it illogical that I draw my blade? Must a flower not turn when storm threatens to tear it asunder?" Her breath trembled as she spoke.

Her devotion to Ashla vanished within the maw of Chaos itself, leaving only a void within her body that would gradually make way for the persistent nudging within her mind. A fire lit brightly within her core, veiling the light within her veins with the ash and smoke of its furor. "Very well," left Isobel's lips with a calm unexplored, whilst her free hand took hold of her shoto-blade, spinning it into ignition--the crimson blade crackling violently and erratically within her grasp.

It did not stay long within her grasp as she hurled it swiftly toward him, the blade spinning through the air while her other lightsaber deactivated in turn. . . Bel sought to veil herself within the shifting cloud of darkness before reappearing at the Sith's left side, tugging her weapons back into her grasp once more. Then she struck. Over and over again, akin to an enraged beast, as though no breath existed between each blow--no thought left to restrain her, no hesitation to slow her hand.

only the fiery red of her anger. . .

of her doubt. . .

of her conflict.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

THEME​

Before he could speak his instincts told him to move, the crimson saber flew forth towards him and his body turned, the eye flared as she became one with shadow, tracking her movements in the dark.

A red saber.

His brow furrowed as her next motions of attack came in. His saber quickly came up, deflecting each strike of fury, the recoil of her might was felt within his arms and shifted into his shoulders.

His Black Blade quickly unsheathed swiping to the side to deflect her strikes off of him then his broad saber came down with hers into a clash of white sparks and dancing lights around them.

“You call me a liar? Look at yourself, attacking with such fury. The feeling of power that surged through you.”

He pushed back his saber and Black Blade working in tandem with their heavy and hard strikes not giving her the time to breathe, not giving her the time to find footing.

“Admit it! You do not feel a sense of duty to kill me!”

Another harsh strike on her saber as he drove his body forward, the saber slipping towards her armor causing it to deactivate, but he did not flinch. He only drew closer.

“You want to kill me.”

His voice was low, deep a sense of darkness overcoming the both of them.

“You want to watch the very life in my eyes fade, you want my blood on your hands. Say it.”

The pommel of his saber flipped in his hand, the blunt end of the hilt doubling as a blunt weapon.

“Say it!”

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

Clash upon clash, until their weaponry became instruments of their own, composing a loud melody of war. . . The roar of her shoto against the black blade, whilst gold and red clashed on other sides. They were equal, if only for a breath.

The line between what is right and what one desires to do so was a sharp and barbed wall, punishing the whims and keeping them separated so they may not inflict corruption or healing upon the other. But who was to say she resided on the side of want? Of this needless longing to bring forth a plague upon the life and take another soul? Vexation, provocation, they were futile reasons to. . . do this.

You want to kill me. Like a dagger to the eye it blinded her vision and forced her to stagger back, acheing and panting as her lightsabers dropped to the ground. Say it, confess it, be true to your own nature. . . The thoughts flooded her senses as violently as the rage had dominated it seconds ago. The bloody crimson starting to fade, leaving only a hollow space within her body and soul.

Wretched tears ran down her dusted cheeks, her mind echoing the agony of her weakness. Of her surrender to these urges. . . "No, I. . . I do not want to kill you," Her voice was frantic and shaky as it left her trembling lips. "Why. . . Why have I been forsaken-- Left to commit these vile acts?"

Her gaze slowly drew upwards to gaze upon her foe, upon the man who was likely better than she was. . . Not so weak and lost. The red and yellow of the--still--ignited lightsabers reflected in the shallow tears that dropped onto the sandy soil.

"Strike me down instead, release me from this. . . state," She pleaded the man for a glimmer of mercy where she expected none, even with the recent smiles and rediscovery of lost love. . . How could she live knowing she was becoming or had become a monster herself? What allowed her to be worthy of merriment when she sought to take it from another--when she sought to kill instead of defuse.

"Please," Echoed in the cavernous hall louder than any hum.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Varin watched her tears, listened to her pleas, listened to her doubt. His fists tightened over the hilts of his saber and his Black Blade.

Always when faced with a true divide in their path do they choose tears, and hesitation.

But she chose to be struck down, to be silenced before she could choose which side of the line she was on.

It infuriated him.

As soon as she took a step back his eyes sharpened, a shape he recognized behind her, something that had called to him and told him what to do. A small shape that seemed insignificant to most, but he remembered when his small sister offered it to him as a gift.

The shape of a rare flower

Silhouetted behind the Jedi as she stepped back, her foot almost stepping onto the small plant that had just grown its petals.

“Enough!”

His Black Blade’s hook shifted on the side of her saber, dragging it to the side and out of her grip, simultaneously he also dropped the horrid blade, his hand reaching out to grab the collar of her armor. With the force of an earthquake he shifted her body to the side, his saber still locked with hers as he lifted her holding her up.

His chest pounded as he remembered the gift of the Blood Flower from his sister, that same flower that was just mere inches from their feet, still growing and still clinging to life within the dark.

Alone in the dark…

His arm jerked forth holding her to the wall as he looked at her tears and remembered her pleas.

It looked as if he would deliver the killing blow she begged for, it felt as if he were ready to do it.

Then…

His saber slowly shifted, moving hers to the side as his arm gently lowered her, his voice lowered into something softer before he looked over to the little plant.

“You had almost stepped on it…”

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

WHISPERS IN THE WALLS​

LOCATION — Korriban, Ancient Temple
TAGS — Varin Mortifer
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and concealed Vesper et Aurora.

A desperate plea unanswered, a weakness echoing throughout the cavernous hall without remorse. . . she had yielded, and he was ensuring that wound would sting so agonisingly--to live with shame rather than to die with some form of dignity. The tears fell like crystallite droplets down her tan skin, washed away by the continuous move of her palms--seeking to erase what proof of frailty marked her still.

When a single step was taken back, the loud bark halted her every move, turning the acheing Jedi into a crumbling statue. The firm hands on her gorget followed and lifted her from the soil, a murmured beg leaving her trembling lips: "I do not want to die-- release me..." Pants that called forth no recognition, not a sliver of mercy, as his focus had been drawn elsewhere. She was but a conduit for his rage. . . but what had fanned the flames so high in a matter of seconds?

The metal began to cut into her body sleeve, applying a constant pressure to her underarms and the throat, all connected to the same shape. The red blade purred its cacophonous promise of destruction into her ear--were her wretched appeals going to be answered at last?

Her blood pounded in her ears in unison with each twitch of his face, his brow, his lips. . . a condemnation written not on a blank vellum, but the lines of his visage. "Stop..." The hitched sound left her lips, barely audible, as she used her draining strength to resist his grasp--before it all halted once more.

When the stranger broke her chains, she fell to her knees for a glimpse. . . Her hands drawing to her throat as she gasped for every dust-filled breath she could capture within the tomb. Soft murmurs of prayer leaving her lips, to Ashla, to whoever she should thank... Bogan? Whatever blessed force released her from that peril, whatever spared her from the fate of death over her own folly.

Once the whitenoise quit roaring in her ear, she dazedly drew her gaze upward toward the figure.

Toward the darkened crimson blooming in a cavern of dark.

"I. . . I did . . ?" It was unfathomable, she had wandered the never-ending gardens of the Serraris estate in her youth. . . kept countless--named--flowers in her rooms during her youth and her stay with the Shirayan Order. Why had the Force not interfered? Was he the interference? The voice of reason amidst the noise of madness? How? How could it be possible? Had her rage blinded her so toward what she had valued all her life? To withdraw the shield amid a war against nature itself?

With a faint stumble in her steps, she rose up to stand once more, wandering to the man--to the oppressor, or to the victim. . .--and gazed upon the flower. It was unlike anything she had ever witnessed before, not the brightest of reds like the roses of passion. . . Not the regal Queen's Heart adorning the streets of Theed or--"It looks to be of the same colouring of the corrupted blood orchid, but with the properties of a night-flower. If... If it could survive in these caverns, that is. . ." Her shaky hand gradually reached out toward its petals, curiously letting the tips of her fingers graze past its shapes. Toxicity barely mattered to her, they were just another sign of nature's beauty.

A low mumble escaped her, as she studied the sepals--a golden like sheen to them. "It would have been righteous to execute me for harming such perfection."

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

The vain struggle she displayed against his strength replayed within his head. His gaze flicked to her as she spoke, her hand reaching for the petals of the rare flower. Almost instinctively he wanted to lop off her hand. The muscles in his arm flexed as if it would, but something just would not will him to do it.

Then she spoke of orchids and the night-flower. Something within him ceased. Those words…

His sister said the same thing about it when she had grown her first blood flower.

He looked at her silently for a long moment. Her words of a righteous execution had struck something deeper into him. Like a hammer to a nail the words kept striking.

He slowly bent to one knee, gazing at the small plant that against all odds and within the suffocating darkness, it was still blooming.

He allowed her to touch the flower.

One the contact came to its petals Varin's eyes closed, his saber disengaging back into the hilt.

“This…is where I had finally laid her to rest. Buried her memories.”

He remembered it all clearly.

The struggle of growing the plant in his dorm. The inadequate environment, and lack of care because of work and classes.

After the first attack on Brosi when he returned from the medical bay, the plant had almost died. So he had moved it here. Made time to take care of it, but it never improved.

He began to forget about it…

His fingers gently ran down the gold lining.

“It survived…”

Isobel Serraris​