In the shroud of unending darkness, Zorya, a shadow cast in feminine form, lingered. Awaiting reinforcement, she took root amidst the ghastly wilderness of Umbara. Draped in Umbaran night, the surrounding Zabrak Spines towered above her, their blood-red, bioluminescent spikes a haunting illumination against the blackened canopy.
Ever near, O'bog, a sprite of impish mischief, flitted around Zorya's monolithic figure. The silent Sith champion's angst, reflected empathically by her Ximpi, incited a tantrum of goblin proportions. "Bilge-suckin' lugs!" he squawked, darting haphazardly between the spiny flora, pulling at the iridescent tendrils, wreaking havoc on the undergrowth. His emerald form fluttered and darted, a stark contrast to the crimson glow of the spine forest.
"Oughta be here, they should!" O'bog spat venomously. His vibrant eyes flickered with an inferno of defiance as he vented Zorya's tacit impatience, embodying her silent frustration. "Snail-paced, they be! Like a Womp rat chewin' on a Bantha's rump!"
To O'bog's tirade, Zorya remained a silhouette of tranquillity. Unmoving, the soft hum of her lightsaber was the only evidence of the turmoil beneath her seemingly calm surface. She was a monolith of stoic resolve, a testament to the Yacombe tradition she so ardently practiced. Her silence spoke volumes, and O'bog was her faithful mouthpiece.
Around them, the forest echoed the oddity of their union - an intricate dance of quietude and chaos. Amidst this concord of contradictions, the Sith champion stood within the forest of Zabrak Spines. Zorya, the enigma, her thoughts unseen, her resolve unspoken, and her mission unerring, prepared to make her move. The Umbaran airbase loomed ominously in the distance, a monolithic fortress awaiting its impending usurpation. Through the malevolent hush, anticipation hung heavily in the air. Zorya's time was nigh.
@theaveragejedishadow