Ask Umbara Revulsion

[Zorya]



On Umbara, a grotesque spectacle awaited—far from Coruscant's pointless civilities—the beast-fighting colosseum. Here, life was as capricious as a gambler's toss, devoured by a ravenous cacophony of bloodsport enthusiasts. The ambiance throbbed with anticipation, a toxic infusion of base instinct blotting out the serene celestial vista. It was an unholy stage where shadows capered with malevolent glee, and the shrieks of beasts echoed into oblivion, an affront to civilization on the galaxy's brink.



Zorya stood sentinel in the abhorrent circus of cruelty, her onyx skin a stark contrast to the iridescent gloaming. An inchoate symphony of roars, hisses, and grating crunches accented the morbid dance of death, her lips a tight line beneath her shawl. Amidst this brutal ballet, a banshee clashed with a vixus, the former's bioluminescent patches gleaming like phosphorescent sin, the latter, a grotesque shadow in the throbbing gloom.

Each grievous crash echoed within her, a gnawing cacophony of tortured souls that infused her with a revulsion so profound it seemed tangible. She abhorred the perverse puppeteering, the coercive torment that transformed majestic beasts into marionettes of monstrosity. Such vile desecration stirred a sardonic wish within her, a twisted desire to see the brutes gnash and tear at their tormentors in a just inversion.

Her disdain seeped through the ether, seeping into the incorrigible Ximpi perched on her shoulder. O'bog, embodying Zorya's vexation, flitted amidst the bloodthirsty crowd, a goblin pixie imbued with irreverent mischief.

"Ye heartless gobs!" O'bog sneered, fluttering above a rotund spectator whose bulbous face shone with savage glee. "Ever imagined yerself in there, havin' a beastie tear at yer flabby bits?"

Darting towards a sneering man swathed in flamboyant finery, O'bog cackled, "Bet ye wouldn't last a tick against that vixus, would ye, peacock?" His defiant japes punctuated the oppressive scene, a dissonant melody that spoke Zorya's silent wrath, her silent vow to end this obscene exhibition.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

It was only a matter of time before a crook like him got caught. He was in chains, his wrists bound together. He had been injected with something that made his head fuzzy. The Force didn’t come to him easily and he was subdued. The moment he was led out into the arena, the crowds went wild.

“IS THAT REALLY ONE OF THOSE THINGS!?”

“IT IS!”

“LOOK AT HIS EYES!”

Azar squinted, his eyes watering. He was made to look more barbaric than he actually was. With a lean torso and smaller stature, he was mistakenly being presented as his Massassi cousins that were akin to hulking beasts. He was adorned in just a set of ragged trousers and someone had marked him with body paint.

A giant cage was brought out before him. He could hear whatever was inside thumping and rattling it. Azar grimaced, glancing down at his weapons - he was given a set of daggers to defend himself. His Sith blade had been confiscated.

After a second, the cage opened to reveal an imported wampa. Azar stared at it in confusion, never having seen such a beast before. It looked entirely out of place here - but that didn’t change the rules. It was still kill or be killed.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

In the throbbing heart of the colosseum, Zorya rose, preparing to escape the sanguinary ballet that had played out between the banshee and the vixus, a macabre symphony of desperation and death that hung in the air like a specter of decay. Her silent determination to abscond from this abhorrent spectacle was interrupted by the resonating timbre of the announcer, a garish entity who reveled in the carnival of bloodshed.

"Ladies and gents, hold onto yer breeches! 'Tis a fight ye wouldn't want to miss! A raw Massassi against an imported Wampa. A clash of the Titans!"

The taste of repugnance slithered down Zorya's throat. Such exploitation was a desecration, the crude desolation of lives twisted into a mockery of entertainment. She studied the Massassi, commenting on the waste of a precious resource: the taint of corruption in his blood, a remnant of pureblood Sith lineage, could not obscure its worth as an alchemical ingredient—a commodity worth its weight in gold.

An unfamiliar tremor of apprehension knotted within Zorya, a whisper of empathy for the Massassi, channeled into O'bog, who, perched on her shoulder, swelled with indignation. "Oi, ye puffed up windbag!" he squawked at the commentator, "Ye wouldn't last a tick in there, would ye? All talk, no action!"

Despite her repulsion, Zorya felt an inexorable pull, a grotesque curiosity compelling her to the colosseum's front row. A rogue thought crossed her mind—rescue. Yet, she yearned to gauge the Massassi's mettle first. O'bog, sensing her burgeoning resolve, let out an exasperated sigh, "Oi, don't be doin' something daft now, ye hear!"

As the Wampa lumbered closer to the chained Massassi, their eyes seemingly locked. A fleeting moment of primal understanding sparked within Zorya. The game was afoot, and the stakes had never been higher.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was reminded of when they were taught about the Massassi fighting pits. All the clans warred, but the Massassi were the most brutal and ruthless. He had never witnessed it himself, but all their texts had them depicted as combatants that thrived on the field. And all of that couldn’t be further from how Azar operated.

The strange, giant furry creature charged at him and he quickly had to formulate a plan. The thing was several feet taller than him and he looked like a toddler by comparison. Azar sprang out of the way as the monster lunged at him, and he stabbed one of his silly little daggers into the thing’s back as it passed where he was standing. There was a thunderous roar as the blade found purchase, burying through the matted fur and breaking skin.

Using his light stature to his advantage, Azar jumped up, using his buried knife as leverage to hop on the wampa’s back, digging the other blade into the shoulder. The wampa was running around the arena, angry and furious as it charged around in pain. The beast slammed into the sidelines, caving in the flimsy barrier that separated the arena from the crowds. The front row people were toppled back from the impact, all screaming and trying to scramble to their feet.

Dice: 11/20

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

A frisson of admiration twined around Zorya's silent stoicism as she watched Azar's nimble acrobatics, a feral ballet in the theatre of death. His fighting form was a study in defiance and grit, stirring a sense of respect in her stern heart.

"Shiver me timbers!" squawked O'bog, his verdant eyes widening at the sight of the wampa's suffering under the Massassi's relentless onslaught. "Now that's a sting that'd make ye see yer ancestors!"

Suddenly, a feral surge of adrenaline punctured the stagnant air. Zorya's instincts flared, an ominous premonition wrapping her mind in a steel vice. The wampa was hurtling towards them, a towering juggernaut of fury and pain. Time coiled into a cruel slow-motion, and Zorya turned to O'bog, pushing the startled pixie out of the path of the impending disaster as the arena's outer perimeter collided on impact. Her selfless act shaved off precious seconds, and the force of the panicked crowd, driven by sheer terror, tossed her into the arena.

O'bog's desperate cries pierced the chaos, a frantic beacon seeking his companion. "Zorya! Ye blasted clods, let me through!" he howled, fighting against the tidal wave of fleeing spectators.

Inside the pit, Zorya's fall echoed the crash of her world. The dust-choked air tasted of betrayal, a grim appetizer for the bloody feast about to commence. The wampa, momentarily disoriented, steadied itself, its predatory eyes drawn to the fallen figure of Zorya—a prime target for the beast's untamed wrath.

@Sreeya

//Rolled a 7/20 for Zorya trying to get out of the way of the wampa.

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar felt pretty good about his initial attack, and it was even a bit of a rush riding around on the back of a massive monster. And he felt vindicated when it charged at the obnoxious crowds that wanted so badly to watch him die. The Pureblood raised his blades to plunge a killing blow into the thing’s head. However, he slipped against the slick fur. The wampa got a hold of him, lifted his smaller frame up and slammed him around on the ground.

The crowds roared, the announcer cringed and Azar was pretty sure he was dead from the pure agony burning through his body. The wampa added insult to injury by hurtling him across the arena where he managed to land in a heap right on top of the - wait, what? Why was there a woman just taking a nap on the arena floor?! Azar groaned as he clawed at the ground, seeing doubles as he gazed down at her in complete confusion.

Unfortunately, before he could register what happened, they were both lifted up by the wampa, both of them dangling by a foot gripped in the beast’s hands. Azar was pretty sure he had a few broken bones, and he weakly attempted to find a way to attack while hanging upside down. If they couldn’t figure something out, the thing would shred them to bits.

Roll: nat 1

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

As Zorya lay grounded, her senses were assaulted by the reverberating quake of the Massassi's punishing impact with the cold, hard earth. The sour taste of fear merged with the gritty dust in her mouth to create a bitterly unpleasant cocktail that served only to amplify her feeling of helpless indignation. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, wildly out of sync with the rhythmic thuds of the monstrous wampa. The specter of death appeared to loom larger with every passing second, taunting her with the prospect of a gruesome end that she had never envisioned for herself.

However, a surge of defiant indignation overpowered her creeping dread as she found herself being hoisted up by the foot, dangling helplessly from the beastly grip of the wampa. The feeling of utter humiliation fuelled her anger, causing it to burn brightly, forging it into a white-hot resolve that eclipsed all other thoughts and feelings. She resolved then and there to lay bare her hidden affiliations if it meant a shot at survival. The gamble of revelation was one she was willing to take.

Blood rushed to her head, filling her mind with the roar of her own heartbeat, which served as the only soundtrack to the deadly drama that was playing out. Reaching out with her right arm, she called upon her weapon - her lightsaber - the embodiment of her defiance. Its glow painted a surreal, ghastly image of doom as she, with one swift, precise arc, cleaved the wampa's arm clean off. Her subsequent fall was eagerly claimed by gravity, but this time she was ready. With practiced agility, she twisted her body mid-air, executing a graceful acrobatic maneuver to land on her feet, poised and ready.

​

The spectacle left the spectators in a state of shocked disbelief, their collective gasps and awed whispers providing a discordant background score to the unfolding spectacle. The commentator, caught completely off guard, stuttered incoherently, struggling to make sense of the sight of a Sith laying claim to the fighting pit. "W-we have a S-Sith in the arena..." he managed to stammer, his voice a reflection of the stunned awe shared by the onlookers.

Meanwhile, O'bog, the lively, mischievous Ximpi, fought his way out of the panicked crowd, his wings beating with determined vigor. He navigated through the chaos with deft agility, eventually finding his familiar perch on Zorya's shoulder. Their reunion was a quiet moment of respite amidst the storm, a testament to their unyielding bond.

As for the wampa, it was left shrieking in agony, its towering frame swaying precariously under the impact of the unexpected assault. Seizing the moment, Zorya launched herself into action. With a thunderous charge, she raced towards the wampa, her very stance a daring declaration of war. Her objective was clear - to create an opening for the beleaguered Massassi, affording him an opportunity to rise, to transform this blood-soaked spectacle into a unified stand against their opponent.

@Sreeya

//Rolled an 11/20.

 

[Darth Arcanos]

From his upside down position, he could make out the sudden appearance of a vibrant, red blade. Lightsaber. He knew all about them, of course, even though he only used Sith blades thus far. He hadn’t had a chance to acquire a kyber crystal to fashion a saber. Nor did he formally know how to craft one. The fact that the woman possessed one, a red blade at that, piqued his interest in her at once.

Unfortunately, the Wampa made it very difficult to focus on sabers and Sith. The arm being lobbed off put it into a rage, but it did mean it dropped Azar. The Pureblood landed like a sorry heap on the ground, but he quickly rolled to get out of the beast’s path.

Azar coiled the Force around the beast’s neck, fueled by his own pain. The time in the arena meant the drugs began to wear off, and his abilities returned to him. The Pureblood had been using the Force since he could remember being conscious, so it came to him easily for the basics. It didn’t take long before the Wampa was struggling and gasping for air. Before it died, however, Azar decided he had something else in mind.

Payback.

The Pureblood bodily launched the Wampa clear into the box where the rich Umbarans that hosted this blood-crazed event were seated. Azar watched as the armless Wampa went into a complete rage, shredding apart anything in its path. It was far more poetic than a victory in the arena ever would have been.

Azar did a dramatic bow to the sound of shrieking Umbarans. He could appreciate the opening created for his escape, so he cast a glance over his shoulder at the curious woman before he made his next move. Without a word, he bolted in the opposite direction as people began to spill towards the arena in an attempt to capture him.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

Zorya watched with undisguised admiration as the Massassi, defying his apparently feeble state, marshaled his strength and hurled the wampa into the unsuspecting crowd. The pulse of the Force resonated in the very air around them, like a chorus of whispers in an ancient language known only to its devout disciples. It was clear that the Massassi was a practitioner, perhaps unknowingly, utilizing the Force to enhance his formidable natural might.

"Sure and if we'd known he was about to do that, we might've let the beast keep both his arms for balance, eh?" O'bog cackled, his mirth echoing through the tension-riddled arena, providing a dissonant harmony to the unfolding chaos.

As the Massassi theatrically bowed to his audience, a chortle bubbled up within Zorya, muffled beneath her mask. She had to admire the theatricality of it all. The audacious flair the Massassi displayed hinted at a character far deeper and more complex than his brutish exterior suggested. As he bolted off, Zorya felt a surge of curiosity. His knowledge of this macabre establishment would prove invaluable to her own survival. Determined not to lose him, she dashed after his retreating figure, O'bog hot on her heels, his voice ringing out like a war cry, "Oi! Wait for us, ye overgrown brute!"

Their frantic escape led them into a room where caged beasts snarled and whimpered, forgotten victims of the arena's bloodlust. The sight of the vixus and the banshee from the earlier match gave her a momentary pause. Their haunted eyes spoke volumes of untold torment and servitude, a somber reflection of the cruel entertainment they were made to partake in. Her heart ached for their suffering, for she too knew what it meant to be trapped, to be used.

O'bog, hovering close by, broke the silence, his voice filled with his usual irreverent spirit yet tinged with a deeper layer of concern. "Right then, lass. What's the best way to spring these poor beasties from their cages, eh?" As they stood in the dim, stench-filled room, the echoes of the ongoing chaos a distant backdrop, they contemplated their next course of action. The pursuit of freedom, after all, was a sentiment that resonated with all beings, no matter how great or small.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

It took Azar a moment to realize he was being followed. He didn’t stop, even as he heard the shrill voice of the little goblin that seemed to follow her. He didn’t understand why only the thing spoke, but she never did. Without his EZPod translator, he could only make out maybe one or two words in an entire sentence.

He ignored the beasts at first, finding a chest nearby and opening it to reveal his personal things. He quickly drew out his prized Sith blades, along with his EZPods and other minor items. Azar looked over at the woman, surveying her quietly. Without warning, he suddenly had her pinned against the wall behind her. Even in the dim lighting, his yellow eyes were vivid and gleaming with the bloodlust of the arena. Even now he could hear the roar of the crowds echoing in his mind and he could smell the rancid breath of the wampa that came for him. Most of all, he recalled the heat of the lightsaber when she ignited it near him.

Originally his Sith blade was right at her neck, but he slowly moved it over to point it at the ximpi on her shoulder, though his gaze never left hers, “You. Dark..Force?” He asked with a heavy Basic accent, not releasing her just yet. He wasn’t afraid to fight her if it came down to it. His blade could withstand strikes from her toy. However, he needed to understand what she was before she started unlocking the animals and putting them all in grave danger.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

Under the heavy scrutiny of the red-skinned alien, Zorya maintained her composed demeanor, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. She had initially surmised him to be a Massassi, but her encounter thus far had compelled her to reassess that classification. He was probably more of a Pureblood, his sizeable stature an anomaly among his kind, at least from what she had read having never encountered one of his kind before. Despite his rudimentary grasp of Basic, there was an intelligence in his eyes that belied his savage exterior.

Her ever-jovial Ximpi, O'bog, took the moment to inject some levity, joking that the Pureblood could certainly benefit from a Ximpi companion of his own. "Might do him some good, havin' a wee companion to translate for 'im!" Yet beneath his jesting facade, Zorya could sense the taut tension resonating from the Sith, now armed with his ominous-looking blades.

Catching on to the undercurrents of danger in the air, Zorya gently suppressed O'bog's lively chatter, a subtle touch of her will as effective as a physical gag. With her proxy momentarily silenced, the tension in the room grew palpable.

Releasing his mirthful facade, O'bog faced the imposing Pureblood, speaking in slow, measured tones, accentuating each word with grandiose gestures for emphasis. "Aye, laddie, she be one of yer Sith kind, S-I-T-H, she be. A Dark sider, D-A-R-K S-I-D-E-R, so to say." The last phrase was accompanied by a dramatic sweeping gesture, his small hands carving invisible arcs in the air.

While O'bog continued his pantomimic explanation, Zorya’s mind began to weave a multitude of contingency plans. Her gaze flitted to the locked cages housing the tormented beasts. If the situation spiraled towards violence, she could unlock one of the cages, unleashing the beast as a diversion. Though her heart grieved for the animals' plight, survival often called for grim decisions. As the echoes of the distant crowd roared, resonating within the cold stone walls, Zorya steeled herself, ready for whatever outcome her encounter with the enigmatic Pureblood might lead to.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

The spelling meant nothing to him, but he knew the word well enough. Azar was impressed by her composed resolve, and her quick thinking on getting the goblin to quiet down. So she did practice use of the Force the same way he did. Azar’s gaze lingered on hers for a few more seconds before his blade came over to lower the face wrapping to reveal the rest of her face. She knew his appearance, so he was going to put them on equal footing. Unless she attacked him when he did that, he would actually put the face covering back up once he had a look. He could appreciate the need for discretion.

He finally stepped back, his gaze flicking towards where he knew she had stashed her saber, “Show me. SSs-saber,” He pronounced with a little bit of difficulty. However, it was clear he didn’t mean right then as he looked around for a way out. They only had one shot at this - they would release the animals and then rush out in the chaos.

Azar easily hopped up on one of the cages, earning a roar from below him. He ignored it, motioning for the girl to do the same for another cage with his hands. If she did so, they would time it just right. The crowds began to rush in this direction, the noises getting louder. The animals rattled against their cage - at least the ones directly below Azar and the silent girl.

When he could see the shadow of the crowds, he slammed his sith blade down to chop off the lock. At the same time, he touched the mind of the beasts with the Force. Just enough to brush against what was already festering. The results were immediate - the animals charged out and went right for the crowds.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

As the Pureblood's hand lowered her face covering, Zorya held her stance, her eyes a calm pool in the storm brewing around them. She didn't misconstrue his ignorance as rudeness. O'bog, however, did not share her forgiving attitude, vociferously defending her honor, "Watch yer paws, ya great brute!" His little body all bristling indignation.

Her garments were a testament to her Yacombe heritage. The face covering and her muted presence allowed her to fade into the background while O'bog took the limelight. She had donned the guise not merely to shroud her identity but to convey humility. There had been occasions when she had stripped herself of these cloaks of concealment, typically during infiltrations when anonymity was more suspicious than revealing herself. Her mind echoed with the memory of such missions, the adrenaline rush and the veiled danger ever present.

At the Pureblood's hesitant request regarding her saber, a silent promise crystallized in her mind. She would allow him a closer look later. She harbored no worries about him stealing it. The kyber crystal, tinged with her essence, was shackled to her will, having been made to bleed and bend to her command. O'bog, in his characteristic style, jested, "Aye, laddie, be like askin' to take a gander at yer own soul, wouldn't it?"

Guided by the Pureblood's unspoken command, she leaped onto one of the beast cages, disregarding the indignant roars from within. When she sensed his touch on the Force, attempting to manipulate the beast, she wove her own strand of influence, a softer undertone to his booming decree. She guided their primitive instincts towards a sanctuary - the ruins of the old Umbara Sith academy, a haven for any survivors of the ensuing chaos.

Unleashed, the beasts erupted with the pent-up fury of long suffering captives, their roars echoing amidst the panic-stricken screams of the crowd. Their raw, unchecked power, a symphony of terror, became the backdrop for their own escape.

Without a moment's hesitation, Zorya leaped from the cage, sprinting towards the likely location of the backdoor exit. She didn't look back to see if the Pureblood was following. O'bog, taking flight, cawed to the Sith, "Best get yer large hide movin', unless ye fancy a bit o' beastie chompin'!" His words, though spoken in jest, carried a note of urgency as they navigated the ensuing pandemonium.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

She was beautiful. For a human. His perception of what he found attractive was more in demeanor than in physical appearance, and there was something undeniably appealing about her calm resolve in navigating through the worst tempests. It was a trait he tried to emulate since his brash actions got him disowned by his family – not that he ever wished to fix things with them. His attachments died with his sister.

The ximpi’s speech was only partially translated. The translation was limited to begin with since Azar only spoke ur-Kittat. It didn’t translate slang, so laddie, askin’, and other things just plain didn’t register. He ignored most of the speech, wondering why the woman didn’t speak. Either she was mute or chose to stay silent like he did most of the time. He didn’t care enough to give voice to his curiosity, however.

Their roles were flipped after the animals were unleashed and the Pureblood jumped down to follow the woman. He looked over his shoulder, using the Force to move some of the cages to block their path and make it less obvious the two had been this way at all.

Zorya would find that the back door finally led to freedom – spitting them out into an empty alley. It was a very poor district, the alley leading to rows of poverty-stricken housing that were half empty, all of it in squalid conditions. The planet was their oyster now and they could go where they pleased.

Azar stepped out behind her, putting a scarf around the lower hemisphere of his face. He was once again invisible to the crowds, only an unspecified race with yellow eyes and red skin. No one would immediately guess what he was.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

Emerging from the shadows of the backdoor into the grungy alleyway, Zorya felt the bitter taste of freedom mingled with relief. Her silhouette, unimposing against the pale moonlight, seemed to absorb the gloom that hung heavily over the squalid surroundings. The rickety tenements and the derelict structures bore silent witness to lives steeped in adversity. Yet, their plight, stark as it was, held no sway over her focus.

O'bog, riding her shoulder, stared at the district with twinkling eyes. "Bleedin' beautiful, ain't it? Just like a pickled herring in a tavern brawl."

Behind them, their new companion emerged, donning a scarf to conceal the conspicuous crimson of his skin. His eyes, radiating an intense golden hue, a stark contrast against the ordinary populace that shuffled through the streets of the decrepit district.

Zorya looked over her shoulder at the Pureblood, her own eyes unreadable. Her gaze was neither judgmental nor inviting, rather a silent acknowledgment of the path they had braved together.

Without uttering a word, she began striding through the destitute landscape, the hem of her cloak brushing against the roughened cobblestones. Her silent steps echoed the profound solitude she embraced. O'bog, however, was a loud contrast, his boisterous comments about the town's lack of aesthetics ringing into the night.

Her mind was awash with plans, course of actions, and escape routes, the dynamic landscape of her thoughts as agile as her physical movements. Even in her silence, Zorya was continuously communicating with O'bog, a silent discourse of intention and strategy. Her curiosity about the Sith Pureblood was a simmering ember, a subplot to their survival narrative.

As she navigated the slum's alleys, her senses absorbed the place's collective desolation, the blend of despair and perseverance ingrained into the worn bricks and broken windows. She could discern the scent of hunger intermingled with the stench of poverty, hear the low hum of despair interspersed with distant laughter, and feel the sting of the coarse air against her skin.

Suddenly, she halted, her gaze fixated on an unassuming building nestled at the end of the alleyway. It seemed like any other in this forgotten district, yet there was an uncanny silence that surrounded it. Zorya turned to O'bog, her intention clear in her eyes. "Let's check it out, shall we?" O'bog asked, echoing Zorya's silent directive, his gaze flicking toward the Pureblood for his reaction.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was still not used to cities and tall buildings, his family having lived in isolation to avoid being hunted. Even when teetering on the brink of extinction, the tribes still managed to find reasons to war with one another. The Pureblood took in the smells and sounds, his head on a swivel as he looked at everything around himself. The one thing he liked about being in the wider galaxy was that he could be a nobody. His name meant nothing here, and he didn’t have any family to disgrace or disappoint.

The pureblood almost ran into Zorya when she stopped walking, following her line of sight to the unmarked building. He gave her a vague shrug when she looked his way for his opinion. The door to the building opened easily enough, but the silence was replaced by a low thud. And then another thud. It was almost like a rhythm. What was this odd noise? Azar remained perfectly still, listening for it. It was loud enough to reverberate against the floor, vibrating beneath their feet.

He looked at Zorya for an explanation before he started walking towards it, coming across a set of stairs that led further down. He began to hear what sounded like music at the bottom of the stairs, and he could hear crowds screaming and shouting. Not accustomed to things like underground raves, he looked genuinely alarmed. So many people screaming and shouting with music playing? Was this a torture chamber of sorts?

Driven by morbid curiosity, he kept venturing further down, beginning to spot the low lighting and the vast amount of people all packed into the same space. The pureblood had never felt so out of place, staring in complete silence at the debauchery before him.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

Zorya watched as the Sith Pureblood took in the pulsating den of vivacity and decadence. She noted the astonishment rippling across his countenance, perhaps baffled by the scene's unanticipated fervor. Her mind echoed with the silent yet resounding chuckle from O'bog, "I reckon, lad, ye've never been to a shindig like this afore, eh?"

Her dark eyes flickered with tacit amusement at his naïveté as she strode past him, seamlessly melding into the cacophonous tumult. The seductive rhythm pulsating from the heart of the clandestine party tingled across her senses. Her feet felt the beat reverberating through the cobblestone floor, her fingers traced the excited air, and her nostrils flared at the distinct aroma of sweat, alcohol, and youthful recklessness.

Her pulse danced in harmony with the insistent cadence of the music as she moved further into the den, O'bog keeping a watchful eye over the unsuspecting crowd. The little Ximpi was in his element, feeding off the cheer and chaos around him, his grating laughter blending with the merry din.

To any oblivious observer, Zorya might have seemed just another participant in this riotous saturnalia. Yet, underneath her calculated façade, she was a predator on the prowl, her senses hyperaware and her cunning mind parsing each detail.

The party served as a perfect screen for their hidden agenda. The throb of the music was their cloak, the sweat and alcohol their disguise, the crowd their unwitting accomplices. She could feel the Force humming around her, omnipresent yet unnoticed, a secret whispered only to those attuned to its call.

Then, amidst the whirl of dancing bodies and garish lights, she sensed it—a distinctive aura, a pulsing Force signature masked by an amateur's shroud. A concealed threat or an unexpected ally, time would reveal. She beckoned O'bog closer, his animated eyes reflecting understanding. "Got ourselves a playmate, do we?" he quipped, winging off to subtly investigate.

Zorya turned, seeking out the red-hued Sith. She caught his eye, her own mirroring a calculated calm. She then gestured subtly towards the crowd, wordlessly communicating their next move, not that he'd fully understand the unspoken edicts of her eyes

 

[Darth Arcanos]

He remained silent as the ximpi quipped at him, standing in stunned silence as the woman casually slinked past him and joined the crowd. She moved with grace, matching the rhythm and blending perfectly into the crowd. For a moment he simply watched her, remaining back at the foot of the stairs. She was just a single note among a cacophony of sounds, and yet she stood out in her own remarkable way. He moved around the perimeter, observing her in silence but keeping his distance from the crowds.

The Pureblood felt someone bump into him, felt a woman attempting to pull him into a dance, and he promptly physically shoved them both back. He felt that subtle pulse, of course. But unlike her, he didn’t have an agenda. His entire life back on his homeworld had been about an agenda or some big plan that he had to align to. None of that existed out here in the wider galaxy. Here people could simply drink themselves into a stupor and dance the night away to the booming, loud, and strange music that reverberated through his bones.

He saw her gesture to him, doubtless to chase after whatever new presence manifested. Azar was not so hasty, staying put where he was. He almost preferred her resuming her little facade of being another dancer. He wanted to put the arena and its savage ways behind him. The energy in their surroundings was almost intoxicating. It was vulgar, raw, treacherous and yet almost exhilarating.

Azar’s gaze flicked over to the ximpi that was floating away, and for the first time he used the Force to plunge into its mind, communicating through feelings, curiosities and personifications of emotions constructed into the closest he could get them to how he guessed humans perceived. He had no idea if it worked, but it was all to project a single extension of thought. One that mattered more now than some faceless entity they had to stumble onto.

Who are you?

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

O'bog felt the sudden plunge into his mind, an intrusion as abrupt as it was unexpected. It had the flavor of their companion, but it was strange, like a painter suddenly bursting into song. The projection of thought was vivid, brimming with an intensity that belied the red-skinned alien's usual reticence. A simple query—Who are you?— yet it carried a depth that O'bog had not anticipated.

The Ximpi paused, hovering momentarily amidst the frenetic pulse of the rave. For the question wasn't directed at him, but rather through him, a tethered line reaching out for the enigmatic woman who held his allegiance.

O'bog let the kaleidoscope of his shared past with Zorya unfurl, a cascade of emotions and memories rushing forward. The jumbled snippets of their intertwined lives flashed by—the cold loneliness of the first encounter in a forsaken forest, the shared laughter and camaraderie of countless sparring sessions, the hushed quietude of stargazing on countless alien worlds. He recalled the shared secrets whispered into the depths of the night, the comforting silence of her presence in moments of despair, the molten strength of her resolve that had often been his beacon.

He showed the Pureblood the steadfast visage of Zorya in battle, a tempestuous maelstrom of power and grace. The soft-spoken words of wisdom that often contradicted her fierce presence, the gentleness with which she held the world, despite the overwhelming force she wielded. To O'bog, Zorya was more than a companion. She was a guardian, a confidante, a life-force that encompassed both the tempest and the tranquillity.

Meanwhile, Zorya, ever attuned to the bond with her Ximpi, felt the momentary faltering in O'bog's energy. The pull of the Pureblood's Force was like a barrier preventing her access. A mild curiosity flitted across her mind, but at O'bog's reassuring smile, she receded, returning to her nonchalant sway amidst the pulsating masses.

As the mental voyage came to an end, O'bog wheeled back to face the Pureblood, his small features animated with a cheeky grin, "If ye asked me with words, laddie, woulda taken less time. But there ye have it, a picture worth a thousand words and then some. Zorya ain't no ordinary lass, she's a gale to be reckoned with, a balm to the hurt, and a might that'll shake the stars. Now, dance or stand, yer choice!" With a dismissive wave, the Ximpi flitted back into the rhythm of the night, leaving the Pureblood with a tale told in emotions and shared memories.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

The little creature may have floated away, but Azar still didn’t move. His gaze flicked over to study the woman. Did she know what her little familiar divulged on her behalf? Had she intended it? He almost thought about it. He thought to venture into her mind, only hers, leaving the creature out of the conversation. He almost thought about showing her the sands of Korriban, the faces of his tribe, the wisdom in the alchemy he performed, the treachery of his kin that drove him to commit a sin of his own. Showing it would be cathartic, and it would be him existing outside of just a story on Korriban. It would shape his persona and show that these were chapters being added to an existing tale That he wasn’t just a blank page.

But then again - she did not ask. He only partially understood what the creature conveyed, but he didn’t miss the way the ximpi simply floated back into the music instead of veering ahead to get back on their investigation. Yellow eyes narrowed slightly before they flicked back to the woman, still swaying to the curious and strange beat.

This time he did move, taking slow steps towards her. As usual, he shoved and moved anyone that got too close. People eventually got the hint, the crowds parting slightly as he strode through the middle. It was almost easy to forget that he was shorter in stature with the way he carried himself and cut through the crowds- a man sure of who he was, a man that had his story written for him up until now. He had only picked up the quill to write in the lines very recently. Every word was now fashioned by him. Every character he introduced was one he wrote in. And now he made his way towards one that he understood slightly better, and yet still did not know the name of. Perhaps that was how it was meant to be - she could be as elusive and fleeting as the wind, as precise as her warrior ways.

He stood awkwardly before her for a beat before he studied her movements. Soon enough, he started mirroring them. He was nowhere near as graceful, but he wasn’t so rigid that he couldn’t partake in a curious new ritual that offworlders had adopted. Azar watched the others around them briefly before he took a few cues, stepping closer. He kept his hands to himself, using them only to unceremoniously shove back anyone that got too close - at one point he planted a hand on a woman’s face to push her back.

“Azar,” He said when he stood closer, pointing to himself. After all that had been shared about her, he found it prudent to at least offer his name.

@Aberforth