First Reply Whispers

[Zronware Ydrevinyc]

|| WHISPERS ||

White Wolf - Chapter 1

TAG: Open
​

ZEFFO

The storm on Zeffo was relentless, turning the ancient steps of the Watchtower into a dangerous climb. Zronware stood at the edge of a collapsed balcony, several hundred feet above the sea level.

He wasn't here for a bounty. There were no tracking fobs blinking in his pocket today.

His silver hair was plastered to his forehead, dripping into his eyes as he stared into the gray abyss of the storm. In his hand, the hilt of his lightsaber felt unusually heavy. Since his Master had passed into the Force, the silence in Zronware's mind had become deafening. He had come to this graveyard of a temple seeking something; a ghost, a memory, or even a reprimand. Anything but the void.

The White Wolf closed his eyes, feet planted wide in the foundational stance of Djem So, becoming one with the unyielding strength of the mountain. The only thing he can clings on.

Suddenly, the Force shifted. The static of the ruins, the echoes of ancient deaths and forgotten prayers, sharpened into a single point of focus; a presence all too real. Cold, or perhaps just curious, but definitely alive.​

 

[Syreeta Ming]

So this is the planet my master spoke of, Syreeta thought, head tipped back as she stared up at the ruins. Icy winds whipped at her clothes, biting through the thin fabric. She drew upon the Force for warmth and set out, heading into the ancient tower.

This building, which seemed to have once been a watchtower, was long abandoned. Her boots crunched the snow with every step, taking care to mind where she walked. Snow hid things from view, possible dangers.

But the most dangerous thing of all was not a loose stone or hole, but the living presence she sensed nearby. Creeping slowly, she approached the figure with caution.

"Who's there?" she called out. "I mean you no harm. What are you doing here?"

Zronware Ydrevinyc​

 

[Zronware Ydrevinyc]

|| WHISPERS ||

White Wolf - Chapter 1

TAG: Syreeta Ming
​

ZEFFO

And it approaches. Slowly, but definitely getting closer. Zrenware doesn’t flinch, but the voice wasn’t a welcome in his system either. His blade had cut dozens of creatures who claimed to mean no harm only to try stabbing him from the back.

His Master once taught him, give others Grace you were never afforded to. But he is dead, and the galaxy is a cruel, cruel backdrop of a theater.

“What are you?” He elected to ask it back instead of answering the question, his voice cold and sharp, a stern warning to whoever had disrupted his solace.

The late man’s whispers slowly fade, just like what he once left imprinted within the White Wolf.​