Wind howled throughout the mountains, shrieking through crevices and rushing down valleys. As loud as the ocean roaring in a storm. Though this was no snowstorm, not yet, a blizzard could occur any moment.
So the woman moved with purpose, slow and steady but never unnecessarily. Moving would burn energy but would help keep her warm. If that didn’t work alongside her garments then oh well, she always had the Force.
Daylight broke the sky, golden rays penetrating the dome white as snow, keeping the sun from being seen. Below rose mountain’s carpet of ice and stone, whose dark surface was slick and treacherous, both jagged and sleek with a white sheen. A sheet of snow was sleet only moments ago. A blizzard would be the last thing she would need. It was hard enough to see already.
Crossing the crag, climbing over the ridge, across the winding path and atop the rising cliffs, she paused. She watched. Listened. Distant specks on the horizon, like starlit pinpricks, only black. Ravens, perhaps…
She sighed. A misty sea of mystery beneath either side of the peak, a fog that stretched far beyond. Ahead, her quarry was naught but a rock, though she herself was like a dot to an observer as well.
On the mountain range that scraped the clouds, the explorer sported an appropriate figure. The wind lashed at her, though she was as still and silent as the stone while her cloak billowed, her hood rippled, and her helmet’s red visor amid the black outfit gazed into the elements with defiance.
Not far now. She could see the pass at least, the two towers; twin edifices flanking one another, standing as ancient sentries. Timeless. Like this wind. If not for her fabrics and armor it might whip her, bite her.
Gusts and gales grimaced at her, did everything they could to deter her, make her waver, and if not turn around then bring her down. Her foot might slip on a rock, she might fall, but she would get up. Her hand might miss the grip on the wall but she would grab the next. She would not stop.
She walked the mountain like the spine of a frozen dragon, slumbering, waiting to wake any moment and break this new nuisance on it with a vengeance. Though this was one woman not to be so easily undone.
She was no dragon, there was no fire in her blood, not like the purest of her kind with their three fingers instead of five, but she was Sith, and their future was timeless, whether hybrid. This environment and its weather might not like her but her fate had already been decided.
Xyrin will not die yet.
Not until the sunset.
So came a whisper.
Of Sith in slumber.
So the woman moved with purpose, slow and steady but never unnecessarily. Moving would burn energy but would help keep her warm. If that didn’t work alongside her garments then oh well, she always had the Force.
Daylight broke the sky, golden rays penetrating the dome white as snow, keeping the sun from being seen. Below rose mountain’s carpet of ice and stone, whose dark surface was slick and treacherous, both jagged and sleek with a white sheen. A sheet of snow was sleet only moments ago. A blizzard would be the last thing she would need. It was hard enough to see already.
Crossing the crag, climbing over the ridge, across the winding path and atop the rising cliffs, she paused. She watched. Listened. Distant specks on the horizon, like starlit pinpricks, only black. Ravens, perhaps…
She sighed. A misty sea of mystery beneath either side of the peak, a fog that stretched far beyond. Ahead, her quarry was naught but a rock, though she herself was like a dot to an observer as well.
On the mountain range that scraped the clouds, the explorer sported an appropriate figure. The wind lashed at her, though she was as still and silent as the stone while her cloak billowed, her hood rippled, and her helmet’s red visor amid the black outfit gazed into the elements with defiance.
Not far now. She could see the pass at least, the two towers; twin edifices flanking one another, standing as ancient sentries. Timeless. Like this wind. If not for her fabrics and armor it might whip her, bite her.
Gusts and gales grimaced at her, did everything they could to deter her, make her waver, and if not turn around then bring her down. Her foot might slip on a rock, she might fall, but she would get up. Her hand might miss the grip on the wall but she would grab the next. She would not stop.
She walked the mountain like the spine of a frozen dragon, slumbering, waiting to wake any moment and break this new nuisance on it with a vengeance. Though this was one woman not to be so easily undone.
She was no dragon, there was no fire in her blood, not like the purest of her kind with their three fingers instead of five, but she was Sith, and their future was timeless, whether hybrid. This environment and its weather might not like her but her fate had already been decided.
Xyrin will not die yet.
Not until the sunset.
So came a whisper.
Of Sith in slumber.