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.

There was naught else in this galaxy more destined to shape as a reminder of the dead, than a flower with meaning imbued in its colourful petals; one that would endure in spite of nature's hardships and grow to thrive when their first season of growth had ended. . .

Memories of the Serraris Estate flooded her senses, instilling them with imagery of her youth--the never-ending act of tending the graves and ensuring the flowers planted over her ancestors would continue to bloom for many years to come. Some had flowers in warmly coloured shades, evoking fondness, pride, whereas others were doomed with flowers of death and distaste. But the tradition would not be altered merely because of the deeds in their lives, they had been her ancestors, they deserved to be known and to be taken care of.

His words echoed within the chambers, baring her mind of any interference--be it from the folly of earlier vexation, or the sheer dread she had briefly experienced. . . There was only.. sorrow? And the glimmers of fascination for the peculiar biology of this particular flora. To thrive in the dark, in the dry and dead soil of Korriban, there ought to be more than meets the eye.

Isobel lowered herself beside him, her gentle gaze falling over his sharp features, focusing on the strangely glowing eye on the left side of his face. The stranger's confession burned, though lacking the grandeur of an inferno, it burned furiously within her thoughtscape, spreading to the soul she deemed corrupted. Her. It could allude to anyone. . . a friend? Nay, the term was burdened with more ache, an agony suppressed by the ruthlessness of the galaxy. Family mayhaps? A mother or a sister mayhaps. . ?

Prying words sought to slip from her lips if she did not put a halt to them--there was no mercy in prodding in open wounds, no promise of the truth. "Flora on arid planets retreats further into the soil, and often grows hostile--thorns, if not poisonous. Fragility such as this flower is. . . unlike anything I have read about." softened claims echoed in the tense atmosphere between the pair.

A hum within the Force drew her focus back toward the blood-flower, a unnatural. . . tingle clinging faintly to its presence. A darkness akin to a candle in strength compared to the pyre of a Sith. Quiet curiosity stirred within her as the ends of her fingers gradually brushed across the velvety texture of its petals and sepals. Then the Force hesitantly and weakly sang in unison with it, emanating a composition she was taught on Ukatis soil; Consitor Sato.

With gentle nudges from the Living Force, the guard petals shielding the outer row of the flora gave way, gently falling upon the soil. The gradual growth permitted the flower to properly blossom thereafter, its golden stem shimmering brighter within the dark of the caverns, and its crimson petals growing more vivid in colour. Until. . . A sharp stinging ache forced her to recoil at once, an agitated grumble leaving her lips as she gazed upon Korriban's flower. "A natural resistance to the Light, I see. . . You certainly picked the right flower for this person."

It almost sounded accusatory. . .

Almost.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

Varin was silent as she spoke. But he watched. Watched as life seemed to breathe into the flower, allowing further growth. Allowing a sharpening of color. Allowing…life and prosperity to the small plant.

Varin's gaze shifted to her after she recoiled, her words not falling on deaf ears of the flower refusing the light side of the force, and that the flower seemed fitting.

Something about those words seemed to sting deep inside, he did not respond right away, instead letting the words stir within him.

“She deserved better, much better than anything I could give her. Yet I gave it all.”

His words echoed of the walls around them, mimicking his words and hammering them deeper within their conversation.

“She had more life within her than anyone I ever knew.”

His finger gently lifted a petal that seemed to droop further than the others. A symbol of the hardships that had permanently changed the plant.

“She deserved life, and I could not preserve it for her, nor give it to her.”

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.

Life and death, a cycle that many found to be cruel--to love and cherish someone and watch it succumb to the never-ending passage of time or in worse cases. . . the absence of time. The gardens of House Serraris did not harbour only the grandeur of life, the variety of colours painted on a wide canvas. . . But also the sorrow one may experience in life, the loss and the trial of healing thereafter. Loss and grief are mayhaps worse trials to endure than torture or the finality of death, for it was constant, without escape. . . One could distract themselves from it, grow angered, grow sorrowful, refuse to accept that a fate had occurred. . . But it did.

Many afternoons in her quiet youth were spent wandering the gardens, not only to tend to the graves of kin, but also to remedy and soothe the agony the visitors may endure. Often she had wept, bawled like a babe at the tales people had told of their loved ones--even of their foes. There was a strange beauty in it, a peculiar art to be found in the acts of remembrance--in treasured wares burned, and in flora planted for many years to come. It was something so fragile, so personal, it could be viewed a weakness by those too narrow-minded to comprehend.

His ache rumbled through the Force akin to the aftermath of an earthquake, the suppressed tremor in his voice forcing all ill-wishes to dissipate from her mind. . . Leaving only the fragments of the Nabooan who had guided so many on an uncertain path, a girl who had not known grief herself. . . not truly.

"And the life blossoms still, within this flower, within the memories of her..." Her words were soft and cautious, daring not overstep in an already tense scenario. "There is naught one can do to alter this reality, however heartbreaking it may be, stranger. But we can remember them, and seek to honour the dead with the lives we choose to lead." Isobel tried to draw away the light blame echoing throughout his words.

Her gaze lingered upon the crimson and gold of the flower, her hands enclosed gently over one another as she nursed the faint burn left behind by the Force. "My family taught me that lives are. . . hm, no different than flowers. We bloom, wither, and withdraw into the soil once more, only to repeat the cycle for many seasons that follow. . . And for as long as we are remembered, a part of us continues to bloom alongside them."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

Varin listened as she spoke, taking in every word as he looked at the small plant. A small breath left him, almost like a scoff. But it was not born of disbelief, but one of recognition.

He understood what she was saying, about the cyclical nature of life and death. However blunt or painful reality may be.

His gaze remained on the flower for a while longer in silence before he looked at her, his fingers no longer lingering on the plant.

There was something about the way she spoke of plants and of life itself in its meaning that seemed rather familiar to him.

He had seen it before, destruction being the key to life. Farmers burn their crops to reactivate nutrients in their soil after harvesting, volcanoes decimate whole colonies and anyone foolish enough to stand in its path, but even after such a natural disaster…

Life persists…regrows, even strengthens.

He spoke quietly, his voice reaching only her. Not the walls or even the plant before them. A simple question that had begun to burn within his head.

“What is your name?”

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 philosophies of House Serraris held a truth, however painful they may pose to be, agony was part of the process of healing, of following the cycle of the flora as many had done in the past. Understanding was not forged in a single moment, it was an accumulation of countless repetitions, of examples, of the self-inflicted application of the theory. This stranger may yet see it, even if they feigned blindness now, it was only a matter of time.

His query was a light as fervent as the Living Force that now nestled within the petals of the Blood-flower, a step toward a form of peace--if not white peace--between the pair. Their brief encounter of violence, of the mutual provocations, had dissipated into the shadows, leaving only a rather formal conversation to be had.

The Nabooan's hand brushed gently over the burn upon her palm, diverting the scant bit of light that could be sensed on this planet into the wound, sealing it with relative ease. "Isobel," she softly answered his query, not daring to deceive him with a fake identity, for it was not her way. . . And even if she had sought to mislead him, the twinkle in her eye would have revealed the lie before it had even been spoken.

"Isobel Arabelle Iria Serraris-Panteer, if you wish to be entirely correct. . . Ask me not why my parents sought to give me a name as lengthy as the botanical naming for many flowers." An earnest chuckle departed her lips once more, before it was ended with a sigh. Her kin had been accursed with the numerous middle names as well, something to honour their ancestors, be they paternal or maternal.

Her brown eyes drew toward his, almost like orbs of the void in the relative darkness of the ruins. "Dare I ask yours? Or will I be granted another slash by those blades of yours?" Her tone was as bright and lively as the colours of spring flowers in full bloom.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

A small chuckle left him at her dry humorous remark of her name. A small breath was taken after that.

“Suppose your parents wanted you to know that whenever you got into trouble, the only person they would be talking to is you.”

He thought back to the time his mother would call him by his full name. It had only happened three times before he straightened up, what he would give to hear her say his name again…

When she asked for his name he hesitated. Thinking of giving a false identity, but Varin was no liar. There was no honor in lies. He looked her in the eyes, something soft in his gaze as if he were truly surprised she asked, truly surprised she would sit with him, truly surprised that she listened to his words about the plant. Not but a moment ago they wanted to tear each other apart but now, they were exchanging names.

He gave a small sigh before he relented.

“Varin, Varin Mortifer, and no, the blades and the weapons will remain sheathed for now.”

A small smirk as he looked back at the small plant.

“The conversation has drawn a greater fascination. And you are certainly odd for a Jedi.”

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 faint chuckle parted her lips in surprise, her head tilting lightly to sway the endless sea of dark curls to one side. The numerous names had been an homerage to ancestors and others alike, her brothers both shared a name with their sire as well as the first of their house--she had fortunately been spared the name. . . Though it dared not baffle her if Sebastian her oldest brother might forfeit the tradition.

"Nobles try to leave their mark on everything," she eventually said, still touched by the delight of her laugh long after it had wilted. "Though with a multitude of names, forging a disguise can only be easy, non?" A light-hearted jape, meant to keep the easy air between them in place.

In the delicate silence that lay between the pair, Isobel's hand grazed the tempestuous Force to guide the discarded lightsabers back to her, storing them beneath the red sash of her chainmail garb. The blades held no place within the atmosphere they were forging here, for their was to be no more violence--at least. . . none she would comply with.

His name was harsh in comparison to hers, speaking of another culture, another life. A stark contrast to the gentle hand with which she had been raised. And yet fate had pushed their paths together on Korriban; while he a Sith, she an Exile, they still found a common tongue in both ur-Kittât, as well as when flowers entered the conversation.

"Varin. Mortifer," Isobel cautiously repeated his name, registering it quietly in her mind. "It has been quite the encounter, yes. . . But I am glad we met, and, that you did not add me to that pile of skulls over there." Humour could be spotted in her voice, oddly at ease for being around the Jedi's natural nemeses.

His assumption was correct, for a Jedi the girl was awfully peculiar. . . Not donning the theatre curtains like her sort, and wielding a red shoto-bladed weapon as if it were normal. "I left the Order, it-- it is a long story that I shall not burden you with," Her eyes drew back to the flower, recentering her mind and body. "A Jedi Exile would be a more better term. . . Er- I am mostly exploring tombs and temples these days, seeking knowledge--as you know." Perhaps it was why her foggy memory had drawn her to Korriban's surface.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

He gave her a simple shrug at her question, not really processing if it were a jest or not before he answered her.

“I wouldn't know, my name is much shorter and I am just terrible at hiding.”

He listened to her short story, an exile from the Jedi, seeking knowledge. And she came to Korriban. Quite an interesting choice. He wished to ask why, but suppose he felt he did not wish to burden her with such questions.

Not yet at least.

“I had no intention of killing you. I merely acted in defense. Worst came to worse, your hand would have been left here instead of your skull.”

He slowly stood back up.

“Thankfully it did not come to that.”

He paused looking at her.

“And you could have easily struck me down while I was distracted. But you didn't. Why?”

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 canvas of her mind was painted with a humourous depiction of Varin seeking to hide or conceal his identity, it was. . . no doubt a perilous affair, from his height to the unmistakeable eye. Even a girl like her would have a better chance of fading into the masses.

Bel sought not to comment on it and felt her shoulders sag a little at a certain 'relief'. Fate moved in chaotic ways. from provocation and anger, to fighting, to. . . friendliness? Must she remain wary even now? If the Sith sought to strike her down, then he would have done it from the start, non? Hm, the thought roamed the halls of her mind.

"A hand or arm I could have lived without," Her tone was light and playful even, whilst her thoughts moved to a stranger whom she had not seen in ages, Acier Moonbound . Part of her wondered where the Rebel's life had dragged him, though it bittered instantly with the reminder of Edic Bar, and left her mindscape shortly thereafter.

She nodded once in agreement with the Sith, death or maiming was an outcome preferably avoided. Always. Her eyes wandered back to him shadowing his query: "Me? Murder someone? I'd rather go mad," A nervous chuckle left her lips as her hands moved awkwardly over one another. "Even if Jedi and Sith are mortal enemies, I wish not to have that blood on my hands... sully myself," The notion disgusted her.

"I suppose. . . the anger made it a blur..." A beat. "I have restraint, Varin Mortifer. Unlike the Sith..."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

To hear that she would rather not kill and call it restraint made him arch his brow.

To Varin, such a thought was impossible to refrain from killing a dangerous foe and call it restraint. To him, it was chains. Chains of some form of morality that had a binding hold of her.

He could challenge it, but for now he chose not to. Enough had been done already.

Varin stood back up before her and offered his hand to help her up.

“I would suggest you avoid delving into Sith temples if that is your logic to violence. Some things and some people will challenge that, and they will not stop unless they are put down.”

A pause as he looked at the flower once more.

“That is the nature of Sith worlds. And you are a long way from Jedi help, but I think if you wish to start to look more into Sith and how they act you should visit Coruscant.”

He could not believe he was inviting a Jedi to the Capitol of the Core. But truly, he felt that if she wished to understand Sith better, Coruscant was the better planet. At least she would not be torn to shreds first thing after arriving.

“I can escort you there, but after that, it is all up to you. If you wish.”

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 desire to refute whatever self-proclaimed truths he spouted, burned fiercely within her threatened mind. A shield forged to ward the incoming flurry of daggers, only to remain pristine--not a scratch to be found.

His words were tamer, and his deeds echoed not with the erracity expected from the Sith. . . Nigh on appearing friendly to a sworn foe.

For but a glimpse her mind lacked a path, a guiding light amid from this oppressive dark, and her eyes did not stray from his offered hand. Strange, it was, to behold what once presented itself as but another one of the Korriban predators as a 'friend'--as a potential ally in spite of their clashing morals.

Isobel's hand drew up to take his, as she was pulled onto her feet again. "The Force guides me where it wishes for me to go, 'tis not an offer one can deny nor accept, it simply is." Left her as a statement, not another sharpened blade to reopen the earlier wound. "It is not as if the Jedi would welcome me with open arms either. . ."

In time, her fingers departed from his palm, and settled upon her red sash once again. The mention of Coruscant drew forth recent memories, of a hectic encounter with yet another Sith-- Arris Windrun --and a rather botched attempt at sabotage. Oh how she longed to never look upon that wretched city-planet again, to its absence of life. . . these blocks of metal that people called home.

"Very well, there are offers I shall always refuse. . . One, to return to that horrid place--..." A mirthless chuckle left her lips, vanishing as swiftly as it had been summoned. "But not to worry, our paths shall no doubt converge once more, it is only a matter of time."

Instead of trailing after the gigantic Sith, she wandered back the way she had come from. . . Praying to Ashla above that the dust storm had eased, if only faintly. . .