Ask Onderon Obedience

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

In the balmy embrace of an Onderon mid-day, Zorya wandered the labyrinthine alleys of Malgan Market, the ever-bustling nexus of commerce and gossip. An amalgam of scents – both beguiling and nauseating – filled her nostrils: the pungent musk of exotic animal pelts, the tantalizing sweetness of freshly fried mandaloun pastries, and the indescribable metallic odor unique to droids being repaired.

Her footsteps, almost inaudible amidst the cacophony of market dealings, led her past stalls arrayed with a cornucopia of wares: starship parts glistening in the sun, antique blasters from bygone eras, and shimmering bolts of fabric, each radiating with the exuberance of a thousand colors. Through the din, Zorya's astute mind constantly weighed the ebb and flow of the Force, discerning genuine emotions from the pretense of street merchants.

The need to communicate, and the void left by O'bog's conspicuous absence, gnawed at her. The silver strands of her dreads caught the light as she made her way to a droid vendor. The days of O'bog echoing her thoughts with roguish jest were missed, but she sought obedience now, not jests.

A stooped Rodian merchant, sensing an opportunity, presented an array of protocol droids. "Finest in the galaxy!" he croaked, gesturing at the gleaming machines.

Three models caught Zorya's discerning eye.

The first, a statuesque silver-plated 3PO unit, bore a veneer of polish and haughty professionalism. Its eyes, an unerring shade of yellow, hinted at countless intergalactic languages stored within, yet the droid's insufferable etiquette might prove a burden.

Beside it stood an older model, its rustic bronze surface speaking of antiquity. Likely an antique from the Clone Wars era, its auditory sensors seemed tuned more to the resonances of a grand hall than the chatter of a market.

Lastly, a sleek, ebony model caught her attention. Its design was unfamiliar, suggesting it hailed from the fringes of the galaxy. The dark droid's optics, a deep shade of cobalt, held a mysterious allure. It promised efficiency and discretion – exactly what a Sith in exile would require.

@Lord Kyle
.

 

[Azee Vara]

There was nothing Azee liked more than a sunny day on Onderon; certainly not because of the light or the warmth, but because of the people. On warm days such as this vendors and consumers alike swarmed to the Malgan Market like insects to a light. More people, of course, meant more purses, pockets, and wallets to nab credits from, larger crowds to bend and disappear into, and more tourists to swindle with a quick street hustle.

Azee wore deliberately inconspicuous clothing: black boots, loose grey pants with several pockets, a small belt with a few pouches, and a greyish-brown top. Not that she really had anything else. The Zeltron adjusted the blaster pistol tucked into the back of her belt as she walked through the long alleys, blending in with the people around her while she surveyed the bustling market for a target.

A pair caught her eye from a short distance, some off-worlders by the look of them. The two Nikto wore particularly shiny suits, glossy dark lavender with black and gold accents. They looked to be negotiating with a vendor over some elaborate carpet, and it was clear the woman had their attention. Azee calmly walked by, her hand moving instinctively as she lifted a handful of credits right out from one of the Nikto's pockets. The saw the slight gleam in the sun, reached out as if imagining grabbing them, and they flew right into her passing hand before a quick flick of her wrist finished the motion and continued on her way, nobody any the wiser.

Azee continued her search, until she felt a slight tug at the back of her mind; light the whisper of an idea, the slightest unexplainable urge to turn her head. There was a droid stand to her left, where a dark-skinned woman with striking silver hair seemed to be examining a Rodian's protocol droids. The Zeltron might not have normally noticed the woman—she almost seemed to blend into the background of the Market—but that feeling hadn't steered Azee wrong before. She decided to wait, quietly watching from a distance to figure out what this woman might have of value.

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

Zorya's senses, ever attuned to the subtleties of the Force, reverberated with a delicate vibration. In the chaotic thrum of the market, amidst the din of bartering and the interplay of scents, the ripples in the Force were whispers – indistinct, yet not entirely ignorable. Her crystalline attention, momentarily diverted from the droids, slid towards the periphery. She saw her – the Zeltron.

Casually attired and seemingly unremarkable, yet exuding an aura of someone attuned to her surroundings. The muted pull Zorya felt resonated from her direction.

Instinct, cultivated over decades of Sith training, warred with the curious, logical inclinations of her mind. The scars on her psyche, wrought by betrayal, had taught her the inestimable value of caution. The physical mar upon her left hand served as a visceral reminder.

Subtle hints of the Zeltron's pheromones, naturally seductive, hinted at her presence – a confluence of sweetness and musk. The distant resonance in the Force belied an intent, not immediately malicious, but Zorya was wise enough to know that intent was fluid and often driven by opportunity.

For the merest of moments, the two locked eyes – Zorya's steely and appraising, and the Zeltron's coyly curious. The thrum of the market faded to an indistinct murmur, and the only sounds that prevailed were the soft sighs of the winds and the distant calls of Onderon's native beasts.

Zorya's fingers, though tender, flexed with purpose. The absence of O'bog's lively commentary felt stark in moments like these. Where he would offer a quip or jest, Zorya was left with her own ruminations and the silent weight of her thoughts.

Decision crystallized. Rather than shying away or confronting, Zorya chose the path of the observer. Let the Zeltron watch, approach, or retreat. Zorya would remain, ever vigilant and responsive to the tapestry of circumstances that sought to ensnare her.

Mentally, she noted the weight and placement of her lightsaber hidden amidst her garments, but also remembered her vow: retribution, yes, but also discernment. Not every enigma required confrontation, and not every observer was an adversary.

As the Onderon sun cast elongating shadows, Zorya resumed her perusal of the droids, but with a heightened awareness of the potential dance that awaited.

@Lord Kyle
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[Azee Vara]

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments as Azee continued studying the older woman, and it felt for that moment as if the Zeltron was being watched by more than just the woman's eyes. It was a quickly dismissed thought, however, as Azee continued staking out her potential big score. She had to pay her rent after all, and she was already in significant debt to the Zabrak Dakou brothers who she'd borrowed from to pay her rent several weeks ago. She'd been told the brothers were looking for her, but as long as Azee had they money when they found her she'd live another day. Today had been a late start, though, and with only a single score of 20 or so credits the Zeltron knew she'd have to do better.

The silver-haired woman's attention seemed to have rested on the third of the droid merchant's protocol droid options, a darkly colored model that contrasted with the vibrancy of Malgan Market and the shininess of the droids next to it. The droid certainly matched the stranger's aura, an intoxicating mysteriousness that Azee couldn't help but be drawn to.

The practiced thief knew her opportunity was coming. Surely the cloaked woman would reach for her credits in the next few moments, alerting Azee exactly where to strike as she strode past. The older ones tended to be more cautious but easier to escape from should the need arise, though a quick swap with a few lightly-weighted stones should help prevent anyone from noticing a thing.

The Zeltron took a couple steps forward before an increasingly familiar tug pulled at her mind, prompting her to look away from her target to the opposite end of the market. She noticed them right away: a pair of tall, muscular, amber-colored Zabraks with their distinctive well-sharpened cranial horns. The Dakou brothers were marching down the main drag, spinning around customers and peering into side alleys with vibroknives in one hand and pistols in the other. Azee looked back to her target. It was now or never if she wanted the score, and she'd likely have to dash in and take the credits by force as the woman handed them over. This was pretty close to a worst-case scenario, but she told herself to calm down; this was still salvageable.

Azee took a deep breath and began moving foward as calmly as possible to as to not attract the Zabraks' attention; they were still a good 100 feet away, but heading in her direction. The Zeltron approached the mysterious silver-haired woman from the side, playing the part of a passerby as she did so. As soon as any credits appeared, she was ready to grab them and make a run for it. If she passed the woman and no credits had appeared, she'd just have to bump into her hard and snatch whatever looked valuable when the woman steadied herself.
​

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

An intricate dance of shadows and intent played out before Zorya in the bustling avenue of Malgan Market. Her attention was momentarily torn from the ebon protocol droid as the shifting currents of the Force eddied around the approaching Zeltron. But it was not just the palpable desperation radiating from Azee that attracted her notice. The ominous vibrations of two Zabraks, emanating menace and determination, prickled at the edges of her perception.

The scents of the market – spicy, sweet, and earthy – merged with the faint metallic tang of the approaching Zabraks' weapons, a juxtaposition of life and impending violence.

Zorya's long history as a Sith meant she wasn’t unaccustomed to precarious situations, and this budding confrontation in the market was no different. Although Azee’s intentions were clear as crystal, Zorya felt no malice from the young Zeltron – only desperation and fear. Zorya could sense the precipice upon which Azee balanced: make the theft and escape the looming threat of the Dakou brothers, or lose a potential lifeline.

Every sinew in Zorya's body tensed, ready for the inevitable collision. The sun bore down, casting stark contrasts of light and shadow, mirroring the dichotomy of choices Azee faced.

As the Zeltron neared, Zorya's hand – the one not marred by scars – subtly moved to her side, fingertips grazing the cold metal of her hidden lightsaber. The anticipation of Azee's move was a palpable thing, an electric tension in the air. But, instead of preparing for confrontation, Zorya recalibrated her stance, subtly shifting her weight to prepare for an intervention that might just serve both their purposes.

She could feel Azee's breath, quickened by adrenaline, as the younger woman drew closer. Then, with a movement born of countless hours of practice, Zorya's fingers deftly slipped a pouch of credits into an outer pocket of her cloak, making it easily accessible for the nimble fingers of the would-be thief.

This was not just an act of benevolence; it was strategy. A diversion, a potential ally, and a possible future insight into the dark dealings of Onderon’s underbelly.

If Azee took the bait, the credits would be hers. If she did not, Zorya was poised to intervene, redirecting the brothers’ attention away from their quarry. For in the intricate dance of the Force, sometimes the boldest moves were born from subtlety and compassion.

@Lord Kyle
.

 

[Azee Vara]

Azee continued her approach, eyes darting between the Dakou brothers and her target. She fought to keep the barrage of swirling thoughts at bay; situations like this weren't exactly new, but that didn't stop each one from being incredibly dangerous. She was almost there, a just a few paces from the woman when something caught the Zeltron's notice. The movement was swift, dexterous, probably imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Azee was used to paying attention to every little detail. One mistake in her world was the difference between credits and jail time, freedom and slavery, life and death.

So why in the hells did the woman move a small pouch to the easily accessible outer pockets of her cloak? There's no way Azee had been made, right? Even if she had, any other person would surely move anything valuable out of her reach; was it some kind of set up?

But no, the silver-haired woman was inconspicuous outside of the strange feeling the Zeltron felt about her, a feeling she'd learned over the years that other people didn't have. Doubt and confusion had crept into the would-be thief's mind. She lost focus, hesitated, feeling as though all of time had slowed down as she stood paralyzed by uncertainty. A few moments passed like an eternity before Azee's resolve returned, her anxieties brushed aside by the necessity of success. Trained hands moved quickly and silently as she lifted the pouch of credits from the woman's cloak, quickly depositing the pouch in her own pocket.

Azee quickly spun around 180 degress to look behind her as she passed with her prize, walking backwards about three feet to scan the crowd before a strong hand on her left shoulder reminded the young woman of the cost of distraction. Amidst her hesitation, she'd forgotten to keep track of the Dakou brothers.

"Hello, Red."

The older Dakou brother, Oko, growled as he slowly turned the Zeltron to face him as she looked up at their faces. The pair towered above her at roughly 6'4" each, heads blocking out the light of the setting sun while the other brother, Rako, caressed a vibroknife with a disconcerting grin. Fear overcame Azee's mind as her right hand slowly crept around her back, feeling for the pistol tucked into her waistband.
​

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

A whisper of movement, softer than a zephyr, notified Zorya that the pouch had been lifted. She permitted herself an infinitesimal nod, barely a twitch, as Azee completed her thievery. Though she'd been divested of credits, it was a deliberate sacrifice, a stratagem unfurling in the loom of destiny. With those credits, she had purchased information—Azee was resourceful, nimble, perhaps even salvageable from a life consigned to petty theft.

As the Force surged subtly around her, warning of tension and impending conflict, Zorya turned to witness the Zeltron's unfortunate rendezvous with the Dakou brothers. Towering Zabraks, their faces a grim kaleidoscope of menace and anticipation, gripped Azee as though she were prey finally ensnared. The stench of stale sweat, punctuated by the acrid tang of weaponized steel, wafted toward her as they closed in.

Zorya's inner sanctum of thoughts and emotions was a labyrinthine matrix of pragmatism and unforgiving lessons. If Azee were to become more than a pawn in the relentless pursuit of her vendetta, she'd have to demonstrate resourcefulness in the face of peril. A vicarious tension tingled down her spine; she'd once been a youngling, too, filled with audacity and desperation, pushed to the precipice where morals blur into survival.

No words escaped her lips, as they never could, but her posture subtly transformed—muscles uncoiling like the serpents of Dagobah, readiness replacing aloofness. She was a sentinel now, not a spectator. If Azee proved inept, Zorya was prepared to intervene with a flourish of unseen, deadly artistry. She could distract or debilitate, subterfuge or strike—a myriad of choices, waiting for the opportune moment.

Her fingers, even the scarred and discolored ones, twitched with anticipation and readiness, hovering near the pulsating hilt of her concealed lightsaber. Her nostrils flared momentarily, breathing in the chaos, the confrontation, and the electric smog of the marketplace.

Zorya watched, but more importantly, she gauged: Azee’s physiology, the subtle tremor of her hands, the dilating of her pupils. Would she crumble under the looming threat, or would she rise, baptized by this ordeal? The Force whispered, but it was a language of potentialities, not certainties.

@Lord Kyle
.

 

[Azee Vara]

This was it. Another day surviving in the underbelly of Onderon, faced with life or death. Well slavery was an option too, but not one Azee imagined was any kind of upgrade over death. Unfortunately for death, she'd also sworn on her mother's memory to survive so... life it was.

That being said, life was looking a little precarious at the moment. The Dakou brothers towered over the young woman, each looking quite eager to shake her down for all she had and leave her body dumped in an alley. The Zeltron's face showed only fear, her lip trembling and her blue eyes wide open. She was certainly giving them what they wanted to see, though at the same time it wasn't that hard to fake such a paralyzing level of fear. Hidden behind her facade, however, was resolve and intent. She'd gotten herself into this situation, and she'd get herself out of it.

"Oh, Oko! I-uh... s-so glad to run into you h-h-hear, I've actually got your m-money, I-I've been meaning to give it to you..."

Azee stammered, feeling with all her senses to gauge the brothers' impression, projecting fear with her speech, body language, and with what degree her Zeltron physiology would allow her to subtly influence their moods. Simultaneously, the girl's hand moved as if in slow motion, fingers slowly wrapping themselves around her DE-10 blaster pistol. The Zabraks seemed completely unaware, lost in the idea that they'd caught their prey unawares and backed into a corner.

"Funny thing you say that, Red. You see, Rako and I 'ere aren't no fans of thieves who run off with our generous loans. No no, we..."

His sentence was cut off with a yelp as Azee drew her pistol and shot the Zabrak through the knee in one swift motion, the grip on her shoulder disappearing as Oko took a step back and fell over, clutching his knee. Customers at the market shops nearby backed up with a collective gasp at the sound of the blaster, while Azee dodged a sweeping strike from Rako's vibroknife and aimed her blaster his direction. A pair of quick shots hit his shoulder but did little to stop the enraged Dakou brother. He rushed forward with surprising speed and swung his weapon in a diagonal slicing motion that gave the Zeltron little chance to avoid. She put up her left hand instinctively to block it, crying out as the knife dug deep into her palm. With tears of pain swelling in her eyes, she gripped the blade to stop it's trajectory and put a hole between the shocked Rako's eyes.

Azee took a step away, clutching her hand as she turned to focus on the elder brother. She'd underestimated the Zabrak's adrenaline rush, as he'd pushed himself up and advanced towards her. A tight pressure formed around the young woman's neck as Oko grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground to be level with his eyes, orange spheres blazing with fury. Azee tried to lift her blaster but felt strength leaving her body as black spots began to creep into the edge of her vision.

"You're gonna pay for that, Red."
​

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

A cataclysm of action unfurled before Zorya's keen eyes, every movement echoing with resonances of destinies being altered. The marketplace's ambient noises melded into an incongruent symphony of clamor and pandemonium. The reek of scorched fabric from the blaster shots merged with the metallic tang of fresh blood, assailing Zorya's olfactory senses. The very air crackled with tension, whispering tales of desperation and resolve.

Zorya bore witness to the Zeltron's cunning ruse, the artful orchestration of fear belying a steely determination. Azee's alacrity in dispatching Rako garnered a sliver of admiration from the stoic exiled Sith. But the younger Dakou brother's wrath and the ensuing struggle elicited a genuine flicker of concern in her otherwise inscrutable azure gaze.

The peril was palpable as the Dakou’s meaty fingers clamped around Azee’s lithe neck. Each second elongated, a liminal space where hope teetered on the precipice of oblivion. The raw determination in Azee’s eyes, the kind that only came from one who had tasted despair and rose above it, struck a chord in Zorya's heart. A vestige of memories, hazy and fractured, surged within her—a younger self, battling the odds, the weight of destiny and expectation weighing heavily.

Though mute, Zorya had other ways to communicate. The Force was her conduit, her tongue, her voice. Subtlety had been her approach thus far, but the direness of the situation warranted a more overt show of might.

Gathering the cosmic energies around her, Zorya directed a focused, invisible maelstrom at Oko's choking hand. It was a gentle touch, yet packed the ferocity of a rancor. The grip weakened, fingers uncurling as if seared by unseen flames, and Azee would be set free, dropping to the ground gasping for breath.

Zorya moved forward, her stride measured, her presence exuding a chilling aura. The hilt of her lightsaber, normally cloaked in obscurity, now gleamed openly at her side—a beacon and a warning. She didn't ignite it, for its very presence conveyed a threat more profound than words.

@Lord Kyle
.

 

[Azee Vara]

Azee's vision blurred as Oko's massive hand constricted around her windpipe. Surely this is it, she thought, feeling the strength leaving her body; the end to an unremarkable life. Yet in a split second, everything changed. Call it fate, a higher power, luck: the Zabrak's grip weakened, then disappeared entirely as the Zeltron fell to the ground, fresh air rushing into her lungs. Azee coughed and gasped for more, taking in every last molecule of precious air her diaphragm would allow for.

Oko Dakou, meanwhile, clutched at his hand while he stumbled back, steadying himself and his injured knee on a large crate behind him. The gangster's eyes flicked quickly between his prey and the startling newcomer, the lightsaber hanging from her belt shifting the tides of emotion as the Zabrak's eyes were the ones now wide with fear. After a brief moment of hesitation he turned, limping towards a back alley as fast as his bad leg would allow, the crowd of customers moving out of his path.

Azee's vision was watery and blurred as she looked up to see what had happened, rubbing her quickly-bruising neck with her uninjured hand. To her surprise, it was the silver-haired woman standing between her and the fleeing Zabrak, a powerful stance prominently displaying the silvery cylinder hanging from Zorya's belt. A lightsaber. Was this woman one of those Jedi protectors the young thief had heard about from time to time? But no, there was a strange coldness the Zeltron could feel radiating off of her; at the heart of it lay anger, determination, but most importantly power. It was a focused energy unlike anything Azee had ever felt before. Just who was this woman?

As the Dakou brother disappeared into an alleyway, the young woman croaked out a quiet "Th-thank you."
​

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

The marketplace, awash in commotion mere moments ago, reverberated with an ephemeral silence—an eerie postlude to the chaos. The sibilant murmur of the crowd filtered back into Zorya's consciousness, punctuated by sporadic exclamations of disbelief. The earthy scent of spices and produce, momentarily obliterated by the odor of burnt ozone and searing flesh, insinuated itself once more into the atmosphere.

With Oko's retreat, an intangible tension in the air dissolved, but Zorya's vigilance did not waver. Her eyes, portals to an enigmatic soul, fell upon Azee. The young Zeltron’s palpable relief mingled with a nebulous aura of gratitude and curiosity. And as the latter uttered her hushed thanks, Zorya could not help but be intrigued by the cocktail of emotions she sensed—fear, resourcefulness, and a dash of undeterred audacity.

Azee was a puzzle, her very essence fraught with complexities that piqued Zorya's interest. There was a conspicuous amalgam of raw untamed potential and accrued skill within her. A shiver of opportunity slinked its way through Zorya's mind. For weeks, she had existed in a state of veiled exile, severed from the Sith who had disowned and betrayed her. In this darkened labyrinth of shifting alliances and treacherous intentions, an ally—even an untested one—could prove invaluable.

While mute in the corporeal sense, Zorya's mind was a symphony of unvoiced thoughts, proficient in the silent language of the Force. Exploiting this ethereal link, she projected tendrils of thought into the Zeltron's consciousness, forming an ephemeral connection that transcended spoken words.

"Do not thank me yet, young one. You find yourself at a crossroads, as do I. We may have mutual objectives, objectives that could be realized more efficaciously in alliance."

The message was laden with nuance, a cryptic entreaty probing Azee's receptiveness to Zorya’s ulterior motives. Would the Zeltron grasp the import of this tacit communication? Would she intuit the gravity of the decision that hung before her like an untapped reservoir of potential?

And as Zorya surveyed Azee, gauging her reaction to this unprecedented mental entreaty, her own heart pulsed with a cocktail of anticipation and wary skepticism. For even within the machinations of malevolence and betrayal that had marred her own past, the ember of hope, however slight, still smoldered.

@Lord Kyle
.

 

[Azee Vara]

Azee clutched her bleeding hand — it was beginning to throb with stinging pain as her adrenaline wore off — as she returned the curious, probing gaze of the mysterious woman before her. Before she could think of anything else to say, the Sith's message echoed in the Zeltron's mind; it was as clear as if she'd thought it herself, yet it resonated with more power and a myriad of intents. As a Zeltron, Azee had limited experience with telepathy, albeit more than the average person. Yet those experiences had been limited to reading emotions or intentions, nothing like the jarring feeling of another voice in your head.

What did the woman mean about an alliance, though? What could she stand to gain from a lowly street rat, and what did she want? But she radiated such raw power, an energy that felt at once both intoxicating and oppressive. Azee sensed there was a reason she'd been saved, a purpose to this otherwise coincidental meeting. This was a chance to escape Onderon, but even more so it felt like the beckon to something greater.

For all intents and purposes, Azee was more than happy to communicate telepathically for the time being; she could feel the swollen vocal cords in the back of her throat. Unsure how exactly the connection worked, she reached out to the place in her mind where she felt the other woman's presence as she attempted to transfer her thoughts as clearly as possible. As she did, the Zeltron felt a hidden feeling she hadn't picked up on before, a betrayal and loneliness deep at the heart of the mental connection. She understood; this was as much about her as it was the other woman.

"You're like me. You can move things, sense things. That's how you made that kriffing Zabrak Oko retreat..."

Azee finally responded, grimacing slightly as she placed pressure on her bleeding palm.

"You said we have mutual objectives. Teach me to be like you so I'll never have to be at anyone's mercy like that again. In return, I can be a weapon for you."​

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

Zorya's senses were on overdrive as Azee's voice resonated within her psyche. The marketplace, pulsating with activity, receded into an abstract blur, as every sound—from the distant chatter to the languid hum of hovering drones—merged into a backdrop of ambient noise. The palette of scents grew sharper: the interplay of sweet fruits juxtaposed with the metallic taint of spilled blood. Every detail was magnified.

A flicker of recognition glimmered in Zorya's eyes. She sensed an undercurrent of desperation and determination in Azee's mind, familiar sentiments she herself had felt when she'd been shackled by the expectations and strictures of the Sith Order. The sheer audacity of the Zeltron's proposal was met with a hint of admiration; the girl's raw yearning to tap into her latent potential was palpable.

Zorya’s mind, an intricate labyrinth of thoughts, contemplated Azee’s proposition. To forge her into an instrument of power was no insignificant endeavor. Such a commitment was perilous; it beckoned with the shadow of former betrayals, evoking memories best left buried. But to harness and channel Azee's unbridled fervor could be, in the right hands, a formidable asset.

"The fire within you burns bright, Zeltron," Zorya projected, her thoughts forming crystalline patterns in the mental expanse they shared. "But like all flames, it can consume or illuminate. Power is not merely the capacity to dominate; it is the acumen to know when to wield it. Should you truly seek tutelage, be prepared. For in the crucible of the Force, steel either breaks or is forged stronger."

A soft gust of wind rustled Zorya’s silver tresses as she unsheathed a small cloth from her attire, offering it to Azee to staunch her bleeding hand. The tactile sensation of the cloth—cool and soothing—added a note of tenderness to the tableau, a juxtaposition against the weightiness of their exchange.

"However, be forewarned. The path ahead is one of tumult and tribulation. If you are to become my apprentice, my weapon, we will embark on a journey that will test not just your mettle, but the very essence of your being."

@Lord Kyle
.

 

[Azee Vara]

Azee took the cloth she was offered with a small nod of thanks, wrapping it tightly around the deep wound in her left hand. The soothing relief it provided as the blood flow stopped and the throbbing pain diminished stood in sharp contrast to the shiver the Zeltron felt at the intensity in the silver-haired woman's words. She looked around the market again; things had largely resumed normalcy in the minutes following the Dakou brothers' assault. Shopkeepers exclaimed catchy (and some not so catchy) slogans at passing market-goers, the smells of fresh-cooked meats and imported fruits filled the air, and tourists stood wide-eyed with exposed wallets as usual.

Was she truly ready to let go of all of this? It was her life, her own shitty home — but no. Her life wasn't one of happiness despite her circumstances. Regardless of what tribulations lay ahead, they were surely no worse than the daily threat of death by angry mobsters or sleezy landlords just waiting to sell a broke tenant into slavery. Azee's gaze returned to meet that of her soon-to-be mentor, emotion-filled blue eyes meeting piercing yellow ones.

"This world is cruel and painful."

She eventually spoke in her mind, finding the telepathic communication easier the second time.

"I have no life here, nothing and nobody to leave behind besides the daily fight to live or die. Whatever trials I must pass through will be worth it if it means I can finally be the master of my own life."​

@Aberforth

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

Zorya’s piercing yellow eyes, aglow with eons of knowledge and lifetimes of tribulations, narrowed thoughtfully. She found the resonance of Azee's sentiments familiar, mirroring her own once-naïve ardor when she'd been ensnared by the allure of the Force. The despair, the thirst for empowerment, the yearning to carve one's destiny; it echoed within her like a somber melody.

The environment's ambient hums, the sizzle of roasted delicacies, and the bustle of traders faded into obscurity as the gravity of their discourse deepened. Zorya's senses latched onto the tumultuous waves emanating from Azee—each undulation pregnant with hope, desperation, and determination.

A wry smile creased her pallid features as memories of her own origins, submerged in obscurity, resurfaced. Shadows of the past where she too was ensnared in the spiderweb of destiny, yearning for liberation from the suffocating strictures of her environment.

"The world, in all its paradoxical beauty and barbarity, serves as a crucible," Zorya projected, her thoughts wafting like tendrils of mist through their shared mental realm. "Each soul is moulded, shaped, and sometimes shattered by its relentless hammer. But remember, amidst the crucible’s scalding embrace, one is also reforged."

As her sentiments cascaded through the medium of telepathy, the Sith Master could feel a kinship with Azee, an embryonic bond sprouting amidst the bleakness of their circumstances. She felt the Zeltron's rawness, the unrefined potential eager to be sculpted.

"Your journey commences hence, young Zeltron. Discard the shackles of yesteryears, for you are on the precipice of rebirth. As my apprentice, you shall peer into the abyss of the Force, harnessing both its benevolence and its wrath. But be ever vigilant, for in seeking mastery, the abyss too gazes into thee."

With a flourish of her robes, Zorya motioned for Azee to follow, stepping confidently towards the shadowy maw of a nearby alleyway, leading them both away from the market's cacophonous din and towards a destiny intertwined.

@Lord Kyle
/we can either end this thread and start a new one or keep this one going, up to you!
.

 

[Azee Vara]

The words weighed heavily in Azee's mind. She didn't quite understand what it all meant; the Force, rebirth, any of it. Maybe she would understand in time, but for now the opportunity was worth more than the uncertainty that lay ahead. Determination burned in the Zeltron's eyes. She'd been trapped all her life, yet for the first time she felt a confidence in her future. No more running, no more hiding. Azee stood, grabbing her pistol off the ground as she surveyed the scene one last time. For the rest of those in the market, it was just another day; and yet a simple heist had now turned into so much more. She followed behind her new master, knowing she was walking towards the first day of an entirely new life.

"By the way," she added through their mental connection, "my name's Azee."
​

@Aberforth
/this feels like a good spot to end this, perhaps starting a training thread taking place a few weeks after would make sense?

 

[Zorya]

.
O B E D I E N C E
Queen of Darkness

Z O R Y A

Zorya paused momentarily, the faintest glimmer of amusement alighting her eyes as they adjusted to the gloom of the alleyway. To Zorya, names were both inconsequential and integral; they defined yet confined, a beacon of identity yet a shackle to the past. But to acknowledge one's name was to recognize one's essence, especially for a being on the precipice of metamorphosis.

"Azee," Zorya echoed in her mind, tasting the simplicity and purity of the name. It held a melodic allure, distinctly apart from the harshness of Sith designations she'd grown accustomed to. The stark dichotomy was refreshing.

"Every name carries a legacy, an echo of one's past. Yours shall no longer be the dirge of despair but an anthem of ascendance. Keep it close, young one, for it will remind you of whence you came and whither you are headed." The shared connection offered not just words, but the weight of Zorya's sentiment, a blend of somber wisdom and anticipation.

Stepping further into the murkiness, the street noises grew distant, replaced by the hushed whispers of the Force, and the two continued their journey. The Sith Master felt a burgeoning kinship with the fledgling Zeltron; two souls bound by fate, embarking on a voyage that would either end in apotheosis or annihilation. But that was the allure of the Sith way, a dance on the razor's edge between dominion and destruction.

As they delved deeper into the labyrinthine alleyways, Zorya pondered the paths that lay before them. Training Azee would not only be an exercise in molding raw potential but also a catharsis, a chance to reforge herself.

@Lord Kyle
/end
.