The silent sentinel that was Zorya lingered in the dilapidated husk of a temple, her vigilant gaze trained on the icy expanse beyond. In the merciless cold of Atoa, her breath was visible, each exhalation billowing like spectral plumes around her figure, shrouded in black, stark against the omnipresent white. Amidst the biting chill, she was the flame, her singular focus a resolute beacon that beat back the encroaching frost.
"Yer lookin' lost in thought, Zorya!" O'bog piped, his voice a rough, playful echo that bounced off the empty walls of the temple, breaking the frosty silence. "What be boilin' in that noggin of yers, eh?"
Within her, thoughts thrashed like a turbulent sea, fuelled by the gravity of her mission. The Sith’s dominion over the Ghost Nebula, a sea of stars rich in potential and peril, hinged on her ability to manipulate the convoluted theocracy of Atoa. Rumours of Jedi subterfuge added to the layers of obfuscation. The mere notion of this intrigue, like ice water, sent rivulets of cold apprehension threading through her determination.
Faith. A spectral entity, capable of raising men to heights of ecstasy or driving them into abyssal depths of despair. It was a potent flame that could illuminate the path to salvation, yet also an icy hand that could seize the heart and manipulate it to perverse ends. She reflected on how similar it was to the Force, a tool of unyielding power and insidious corruption. A weapon.
Atoa’s pantheon was a crowded house, a mad jumble of deities each with their own peculiar tenets and personalities. O'bog flitted around her, chirping his opinions of each deity with salacious delight. "Acheron, God o' Death? Ye think him a ripe peach, don’t ye? Ain’t no one lookin' for eternal night!” He cackled, swooping low before spiralling upwards again. “Or what about Vesta, Lady o’ the Hearth? ‘Oh, look at me, I’m all about warmth and home.' BAH! What kind of warm-hearted ninny needs a frostbitten rock like this?"
Jedi influence amidst the pantheon’s jigsaw – it was like finding a snowflake in a blizzard. Yet if Jedi were indeed lurking within the frost-kissed shadows of Atoa, the ramifications were profound, hence why she was to be joined by a Sith inquisitor for this mission, the abandoned temple a perfect meeting place for such an unholy alliance.
As the seconds slipped away, Zorya’s dark eyes simmered with an unseen fire. The God of Chaos, Tumult perhaps? A deity of discord, of change and upheaval, might be most susceptible to the Sith’s seductive whispers. They would bend the clergy to their will, their influence subtle as a shroud, deadly as a vibroblade’s edge.
"Today," Zorya’s silent decree echoed in the cobwebbed corners of her mind, voiced by O'bog in a voice more sombre than his usual raucous drawl, "we be killin' a god."
@Wit
