K i n g
Objective: Give a gift
Tags: [member="Asher Mossa"]
The darkness on Ryloth was thick and nearly impenetrable. A cool breeze passed over the surrounding canyons letting out the softest of whistles, but otherwise the night was quiet. What could [member="Asher Mossa"] be dreaming of? Perhaps his future in the Mandragora? Or maybe his thoughts lingered on a hard days of training. There was no telling. As the man slept under a blanket of furs and skins, the small fire outside of his tent was giving off a faint light. The heated embers threatened to be swallowed into a base of ashes. Those embers gave a brief flicker of life as the last of the wood was consumed by their hunger. Soon even that tiny flame would die down into no more but a scattered pile of sparks.
They danced into the smoke and spun around wildly, threatened to be taken away with the midnight air. Yet the darkness did not take these last embers. Instead they would continue to spin and dance, flying in a hypnotic circle around the fire pit until finally a soft clap echoed out from them. Almost as quiet as a droplet of water falling into a lake, but it could be heard. A purple hue would shine on Asher's tent as the embers swarmed to the ashes, giving birth to a powerful amethyst fire. Twice the size of a normal fire it would remain and let off a loud crackling. The Dark Side of the Force was thick in this flame, almost threatening to pull in anything that dared go near.
Another loud clap occurred before the flames would fly to the heavens, reaching almost three meters in height before they would halt their ascent.
This column of purple flames would endure, lashing out violently yet never leaving the confines of it's base. The base of the fire was as black as the night and thrived in The Force.
"Asher Mossa." A voice called out from the flames, deep and with the backing of a mighty roar. It was monstrous, yet there was no malice or aggression behind his words. Nothing more would be said as the flames stilled, as if frozen in time. The shadowy center that filled them hazing into a bright, pristine white. It seemed almost blinding, yet as that light grew brighter, the flames would grow cool, their heat becoming a thing of the past.
The light took the form of a man, melded within the fires. The man's body could not be seen yet Amethyst eyes bore down on the man before him.
"Mandragoran." That bestial voice called out again. The flames would dance ever so softly as a polished dress shoe would step out from them. The white form quickly revealed itself to be a pristine, white suit, untouched by the hellish flames that had twisted and wrapped around it. The man had raven hair and his amethyst eyes remained locked on Asher, yet his voice that had been one of a monster was now as smooth as silk and quite human. "Good evening." He offered, grasping the fedora that was placed on his head. It was a matching scheme to the suit and as he inclined his head, revealing his face, the Exarch of the Confederacy would finally reveal himself. The snow white suit was a stark contrast to his usual ebony attire, yet under the moonlight he seemed to glow as if an extension of the moon that hovered above Ryloth.
"You are Asher, correct?" He asked, with a certain tone about him. Though it was a question there was no doubt in the Exarch's mind of who stood before him. His presence in the Force was exactly as his master had described, unique.