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Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: The Crimson Covenant
« Last post by Syren on Yesterday at 07:18:41 PM »“I have been searching for peace
Looking for something out of my reach
But it’s coming for me.
I know it’s coming for me.”
-Damian Lazarus
Dathomir
The shuttle streaks through a scattered, storm-laced sky.
His fury is righteous, and he has used the time to both contemplate and heal while instructing her where to go. She does as she is told, for once. The shift in him is not exactly subtle, and while Dahlia is dying to know what brought about this unexpected sojourn, she knows confronting the Voss-Ra is fraught with risk. She had failed in doing so herself and pondered the reception to their visit. His relationship with them spans the whole of his life thus far, and so she would let him take the lead. She hopes he knows what he is doing.
She veers through valleys that grow narrower as mountains rise on either side and sets them down in the location he provided. She stares ahead with a grim expression.
“I’m guessing this isn’t black tie?”
He grumbles something and slams a fist against the ramp controls, which lets in a stingingly crisp and surprisingly damp gust of wind. He wears his armor, still damaged and scuffed, but holds the helmet loosely at his side. She joins him, opting for a black bodysuit with a chunky belt to which her saber is fastened, hair swinging from a high pony she’d been perfecting in the last hour or so before their arrival. The bacta pad affixed to her shoulder covers a clean wound, one that would improve with time. Otherwise, she is as she has always been: that bitch. Seif, on the other hand, is still looking pretty rough. His movements may still be unsteady, but the sheer anger radiating from him causes the Etheralis fragment within the broken chest plate to glow brightly. Its energy washes over her, soothing some of the anxiety that surrounds the low-level dread emanating from this place. He acts as though all of this is familiar and takes no notice of the worrisome glances she has thrown at him. He could have at least prepared her.
At the bottom of the ramp, directly in front of them, a towering temple of what appears to be bones lies at the base of a great peak, surrounded by gnarled ridges that weave their way down to thin lines that disappear into the flat, circular, sandy space surrounding the entrance. It looks almost as if they hold the structure, guarding whatever is inside with an ominously tender embrace. The sand appears to shift as they approach.
She reaches down and rubs it between her gloved fingers. It is not sand, but delicate ash. Light and gray. Wind-swept yet held in place and manipulated into symbols. Some recognizable. Others foreign. Ancient and alchemical. It continues to shift seamlessly before their eyes, ripples parting to create a smooth and narrow path to the gates.
“They know we are here.”
It is stated so flatly that Dahlia cannot discern if that is a good thing. They move forward, ash hardening below their boots, and they cross unharmed to gates that swing open. Inside, a pulsing glow illuminates a simple foyer with four distinct archways. A single symbol is etched above each arch so that they must move closer to see clearly. It is not a language she recognizes, so she looks to him for guidance.
“Letters, initials. As they are named, from left to right. W, M, P, G.”
Winton, Masterton, Patten, Gellar.
“How…very.”
They choose the left-most arch since she is the “W” in this situation. Torches along the increasingly rocky walls spring to life as they near and dim as they move away. Tendrils of incense, pungent with musk, hang in the air and seem to beckon them. The ground beneath them slopes steadily downward, and they finally step out into a small cavern seemingly carved directly into the mountain. It is empty except for a stone pillar topped with fire and someone facing the far wall. Not exactly the welcome they expected.
“Hello.”
The figure stiffens and slowly turns around. The dim light of the fire catches the copper hues of his hair and deepens the wicked smile spreading across his lips. Alexander Winton steps forward, arms outstretched.
“My darling, Dahlia. How good of you to come.”
She remains where she is, Seif frozen just behind her.
Alexander moves toward them, “How proud of you I am. All the damage you have done, all that is left to be destroyed and rebuilt. We are so close. You truly have lived up to the Winton name.”
Her fingers graze the hilt of her saber, a movement he catches. It stops his advance.
“Enough. You are not my father.”
“We are whoever we need to be,” it says, façade fading in a distorted cloud of smoke as the Voss-Ra transforms. Ceremonial headdress, pale skin streaked with ash, sunken eyes glowing amber, and a garish squiggle of a mouth with two rows of jagged teeth, still smiling. “Forgive me. I am Elder A’kram, and you, my dear Daughter of Darkness, are not where you are supposed to be.”
“My detour,” Seif says sharply, stepping in front of her. “We have come for answers. You want us to fulfill the prophecy, then we need the clarity you have denied all others.”
“A detour? Unwise and unsanctioned. Orders not followed. We have received word that you assaulted and threatened our emissary, Darth Erinbol. Is this true?”
“It is. He is fortunate that I did not take it further.”
Elder A’kram considers this, “Your faith is shaken, Involis. You radiate with mistrust.”
“My name is Seif. Seif Guldon-Greyson. Son of Viceroy Medivh Guldon and Elle Greyson.”
“That is who you were. You became Inquisitor Involis and transcended into The Beast, an honor bestowed upon so few, a catalyst for so much progress. We have taken considerable care to ensure you were ready for this moment, and up until you appeared through that tunnel, you have not disappointed us. Now you come demanding answers when we have given you such power and possibility.”
“You gave, yes, but you took as well. Took more than I even knew.”
“A specific answer you seek, then. Out with it.”
“What happened to my mother?”
“You know what happened to her. You were taken from her, and we raised and cared for you until you came into your own.”
His resolve is strong, and he presses on with an indignation in his voice that causes the Etheralis fragment to spark in its casing.
“That is not the whole story, though, is it? How could it be? Nothing is ever as it seems with the Voss-Ra. Adubell may be ruthless, but she is thorough, and she discovered what’s left of the Jedi has been up to all this time. She told the Inquisitors, turned them against us, and they tried to stop us. Stop everything we have worked so diligently to accomplish. Thankfully, we prevailed. Princess Dahlia defeated them.”
She shrugs, flipping her pony over one shoulder.
Elder A’kram flashes a grotesque grin, evidently pleased with the outcome.
“Impressive. Not an easy victory, I gather. Unfortunate. That they were corrupted in such a way. And the Jedi, if you can even call them that anymore, desecrated our shrine on Empress Teta.”
“And on Naboo? What did you desecrate there? For all I have done, for all that I have sacrificed, you owe me this. No more half-truths or I swear I will burn this temple and everything you stand for to the fucking ground.”
A’kram appraises him, no doubt feeling the fury grow as the Etheralis pours power into him. A long, tense moment of silence passes. Dahlia realizes this also means her, but refrains from objecting in the moment. Seif is super scary right now, and she wants to see how far he will take this. A decision is made and, with a subtle nod, A'kram turns back toward the wall behind him. Waving a hand, another cave appears that he steps through. So many glamours and tricks, she thinks, is everything in this place an illusion?
Seif starts after him quickly, but Dahlia grabs his arm.
“Not that I am not totally enjoying this comeuppance and everything, but you warned me not to question them. Not to push lest we face the consequences. Are you certain this is what you want?”
“You are literally the nosiest person I have ever encountered. Always so inquisitive, so desperate for answers. Now is our chance, and here you are second-guessing it?”
“I only mean…”
“I know what you mean, and what I said. Contruum…changed things, and if what Inquisitor Feraas told me is true, then the time for subtlety and submission has long since passed. I need to know.”
He holds her gaze, and she eventually inclines her head as his arm slips out of her grasp. These secrets, so intentionally obscured, have shaped the course of so many lives and the galaxy right along with it. His abrupt pivot indicates he is ready to challenge their role in it, and yet she hopes he is prepared for answers he may not be ready to hear. She hopes they both are.
Princess Dahlia squares her shoulders, tips her head back, and follows him and the Voss-Ra Elder into the darkness beyond.
-TBC
Looking for something out of my reach
But it’s coming for me.
I know it’s coming for me.”
-Damian Lazarus
Dathomir
The shuttle streaks through a scattered, storm-laced sky.
His fury is righteous, and he has used the time to both contemplate and heal while instructing her where to go. She does as she is told, for once. The shift in him is not exactly subtle, and while Dahlia is dying to know what brought about this unexpected sojourn, she knows confronting the Voss-Ra is fraught with risk. She had failed in doing so herself and pondered the reception to their visit. His relationship with them spans the whole of his life thus far, and so she would let him take the lead. She hopes he knows what he is doing.
She veers through valleys that grow narrower as mountains rise on either side and sets them down in the location he provided. She stares ahead with a grim expression.
“I’m guessing this isn’t black tie?”
He grumbles something and slams a fist against the ramp controls, which lets in a stingingly crisp and surprisingly damp gust of wind. He wears his armor, still damaged and scuffed, but holds the helmet loosely at his side. She joins him, opting for a black bodysuit with a chunky belt to which her saber is fastened, hair swinging from a high pony she’d been perfecting in the last hour or so before their arrival. The bacta pad affixed to her shoulder covers a clean wound, one that would improve with time. Otherwise, she is as she has always been: that bitch. Seif, on the other hand, is still looking pretty rough. His movements may still be unsteady, but the sheer anger radiating from him causes the Etheralis fragment within the broken chest plate to glow brightly. Its energy washes over her, soothing some of the anxiety that surrounds the low-level dread emanating from this place. He acts as though all of this is familiar and takes no notice of the worrisome glances she has thrown at him. He could have at least prepared her.
At the bottom of the ramp, directly in front of them, a towering temple of what appears to be bones lies at the base of a great peak, surrounded by gnarled ridges that weave their way down to thin lines that disappear into the flat, circular, sandy space surrounding the entrance. It looks almost as if they hold the structure, guarding whatever is inside with an ominously tender embrace. The sand appears to shift as they approach.
She reaches down and rubs it between her gloved fingers. It is not sand, but delicate ash. Light and gray. Wind-swept yet held in place and manipulated into symbols. Some recognizable. Others foreign. Ancient and alchemical. It continues to shift seamlessly before their eyes, ripples parting to create a smooth and narrow path to the gates.
“They know we are here.”
It is stated so flatly that Dahlia cannot discern if that is a good thing. They move forward, ash hardening below their boots, and they cross unharmed to gates that swing open. Inside, a pulsing glow illuminates a simple foyer with four distinct archways. A single symbol is etched above each arch so that they must move closer to see clearly. It is not a language she recognizes, so she looks to him for guidance.
“Letters, initials. As they are named, from left to right. W, M, P, G.”
Winton, Masterton, Patten, Gellar.
“How…very.”
They choose the left-most arch since she is the “W” in this situation. Torches along the increasingly rocky walls spring to life as they near and dim as they move away. Tendrils of incense, pungent with musk, hang in the air and seem to beckon them. The ground beneath them slopes steadily downward, and they finally step out into a small cavern seemingly carved directly into the mountain. It is empty except for a stone pillar topped with fire and someone facing the far wall. Not exactly the welcome they expected.
“Hello.”
The figure stiffens and slowly turns around. The dim light of the fire catches the copper hues of his hair and deepens the wicked smile spreading across his lips. Alexander Winton steps forward, arms outstretched.
“My darling, Dahlia. How good of you to come.”
She remains where she is, Seif frozen just behind her.
Alexander moves toward them, “How proud of you I am. All the damage you have done, all that is left to be destroyed and rebuilt. We are so close. You truly have lived up to the Winton name.”
Her fingers graze the hilt of her saber, a movement he catches. It stops his advance.
“Enough. You are not my father.”
“We are whoever we need to be,” it says, façade fading in a distorted cloud of smoke as the Voss-Ra transforms. Ceremonial headdress, pale skin streaked with ash, sunken eyes glowing amber, and a garish squiggle of a mouth with two rows of jagged teeth, still smiling. “Forgive me. I am Elder A’kram, and you, my dear Daughter of Darkness, are not where you are supposed to be.”
“My detour,” Seif says sharply, stepping in front of her. “We have come for answers. You want us to fulfill the prophecy, then we need the clarity you have denied all others.”
“A detour? Unwise and unsanctioned. Orders not followed. We have received word that you assaulted and threatened our emissary, Darth Erinbol. Is this true?”
“It is. He is fortunate that I did not take it further.”
Elder A’kram considers this, “Your faith is shaken, Involis. You radiate with mistrust.”
“My name is Seif. Seif Guldon-Greyson. Son of Viceroy Medivh Guldon and Elle Greyson.”
“That is who you were. You became Inquisitor Involis and transcended into The Beast, an honor bestowed upon so few, a catalyst for so much progress. We have taken considerable care to ensure you were ready for this moment, and up until you appeared through that tunnel, you have not disappointed us. Now you come demanding answers when we have given you such power and possibility.”
“You gave, yes, but you took as well. Took more than I even knew.”
“A specific answer you seek, then. Out with it.”
“What happened to my mother?”
“You know what happened to her. You were taken from her, and we raised and cared for you until you came into your own.”
His resolve is strong, and he presses on with an indignation in his voice that causes the Etheralis fragment to spark in its casing.
“That is not the whole story, though, is it? How could it be? Nothing is ever as it seems with the Voss-Ra. Adubell may be ruthless, but she is thorough, and she discovered what’s left of the Jedi has been up to all this time. She told the Inquisitors, turned them against us, and they tried to stop us. Stop everything we have worked so diligently to accomplish. Thankfully, we prevailed. Princess Dahlia defeated them.”
She shrugs, flipping her pony over one shoulder.
Elder A’kram flashes a grotesque grin, evidently pleased with the outcome.
“Impressive. Not an easy victory, I gather. Unfortunate. That they were corrupted in such a way. And the Jedi, if you can even call them that anymore, desecrated our shrine on Empress Teta.”
“And on Naboo? What did you desecrate there? For all I have done, for all that I have sacrificed, you owe me this. No more half-truths or I swear I will burn this temple and everything you stand for to the fucking ground.”
A’kram appraises him, no doubt feeling the fury grow as the Etheralis pours power into him. A long, tense moment of silence passes. Dahlia realizes this also means her, but refrains from objecting in the moment. Seif is super scary right now, and she wants to see how far he will take this. A decision is made and, with a subtle nod, A'kram turns back toward the wall behind him. Waving a hand, another cave appears that he steps through. So many glamours and tricks, she thinks, is everything in this place an illusion?
Seif starts after him quickly, but Dahlia grabs his arm.
“Not that I am not totally enjoying this comeuppance and everything, but you warned me not to question them. Not to push lest we face the consequences. Are you certain this is what you want?”
“You are literally the nosiest person I have ever encountered. Always so inquisitive, so desperate for answers. Now is our chance, and here you are second-guessing it?”
“I only mean…”
“I know what you mean, and what I said. Contruum…changed things, and if what Inquisitor Feraas told me is true, then the time for subtlety and submission has long since passed. I need to know.”
He holds her gaze, and she eventually inclines her head as his arm slips out of her grasp. These secrets, so intentionally obscured, have shaped the course of so many lives and the galaxy right along with it. His abrupt pivot indicates he is ready to challenge their role in it, and yet she hopes he is prepared for answers he may not be ready to hear. She hopes they both are.
Princess Dahlia squares her shoulders, tips her head back, and follows him and the Voss-Ra Elder into the darkness beyond.
-TBC
? And then she shows emotion?! Every body has a breaking point.