Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private The Weight of the Revelation


- V I X O S E P H 1 -




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The freighter pierced through the clouded atmosphere of Vixoseph I, its slow descent toward the planet's surface casting a shadow over the grasslands below. The terrain stretched outward in soft waves of greenery punctuated by clusters of scrub forest and wildflowers. Overhead, an ominous overcast hung low, casting the world in muted shades of gray. A faint drizzle slicked the ground, giving the air a metallic tang.

Mother Askani, stood at the freighter's viewport, her gloved hands gripping the edge of the console as she surveyed the world below. Her long cloak shrouded her, its muted fabric rippling faintly with her movements. Beneath the shadow of her hood, her green eyes flickered with intensity, scanning the scarred horizon.

Vixoseph I had once been a thriving Inner Rim colony during the High Republic era. But its glory had been undone not by time, but by catastrophe. The Drengir, monstrous and carnivorous, had laid waste to the colony, leaving nothing but desolation in their wake. Decades later, the Blight—a phenomenon as mysterious as it was devastating—had seeped into the ruins. The Blight had left no survivors and nothing to feed upon, affecting both living and nonliving matter, reducing them to calcified husks before fading from history.

Now, the Blight itself was gone. The air carried no trace of its malevolence, but the land bore scars too deep to heal.

The freighter's landing struts sank into soft soil as the ship touched down in a clearing near the colony ruins. The wildflowers here were vibrant, their colors defiant against the pall of the sky. The grass swayed with the wind, brushing against the edges of the stone pathways that led deeper into the settlement. She descended the ramp, her boots making a faint crunch on the damp ground.

She paused, letting her senses expand. The world felt hollow. The echoes of life were thin, stretched almost like a whisper. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, her hand brushing against her calcified scar. The Nameless creature that had dealt her the wound had left more than just physical damage—it had left her connection to the Force fractured and weak.

She had read up on the stories—she was indeed one of the lucky ones.

Still, one aspect of her power remained sharp: her telepathy. Her psionic abilities, unbroken by the Nameless, were a constant companion, an anchor in the chaos of her diminished strength.

The ruins of the colony emerged as she walked further along the stone pathway. The skeletal remains of buildings loomed in silence, overrun with vines and moss. The structures told stories of a life cut short—a toppled comms tower, homes cracked open like discarded shells, and what looked to have once been a bustling central square now reduced to rubble.

Her path took her to an ancient fountain at the settlement's heart, its edges chipped and worn. Wildflowers bloomed stubbornly around its base, their roots tangled in the cracks. She crouched near the fountain, her gloved fingers brushing against the stone as she closed her eyes and let her mind extend outward.

Her telepathic reach spiraled into the remnants of the past. Like ripples in a still pond, faint impressions of memory rose to meet her.

Laughter. Families gathering in the square. Miners returning from the depths with eager faces, their voices thick with hope.

The images twisted.

Drengir. Roots splitting stone, carnivorous vines snaking through streets. Screams echoing in the Force, cutting through the minds of those who tried to resist. A desperate evacuation.

Askani pulled back sharply, her breath hitching. Even decades removed, the psychic residue was sharp, raw with anguish. She stood and exhaled, her gaze drifting to the tree line beyond the square. A scrub forest loomed there, its twisted branches forming a jagged silhouette against the gray sky.

Something waited there, just beyond her reach.

She moved forward, her steps careful as she entered the shadowed forest. The air grew cooler beneath the canopy, and the grass gave way to a layer of damp soil. The faint hum of insects mixed with the distant rumble of thunder.

At the forest's heart, she found a clearing. The ground here was unnervingly bare, a ring of lifeless soil surrounded by vibrant vegetation. At the center stood a weathered obelisk, jagged and organic in design. Its surface was etched with grooves that were deathly grey—a relic of the mining operation that had unearthed the Blight centuries ago.

Askani approached cautiously. Though the Blight was long gone, its fingerprints lingered in the Force. She knelt at the edge of the clearing, her senses stretching toward the obelisk. The voices came slowly at first, faint echoes that gained strength as she focused.

"The veins go deeper than we thought—"
"This material, it's alive. It moves!"
"It's not natural. Shut down the drill—"


Her mind flared as the impressions gave way to an image: miners in dark caverns, their lights glinting off pulsating grey veins embedded in the rock. The veins twisted like living things, their glow intensifying as the drills approached. A sense of wrongness bled into the vision, a cold and empty hunger that made her scar burn.

She gasped as the vision shifted, dragging her forward in time.

Jedi stood among the ruins of the colony, their lightsabers ignited. She could feel their strength in the Force, their resolve as they battled the Drengir. But even the Jedi hesitated as they approached the obelisk. She could sense their unease, their fear of the unknown.

One Jedi—a woman clad in the robes of the High Republic—reached out, her hand hovering over the obelisk as if to touch it. The grey glow flared, and the vision snapped like a broken cord, flinging Mother Askani back into the present.

She stumbled, her breath ragged as she steadied herself against a tree. Her gloved hand rose to her scar, the calcified tissue pulsing faintly beneath her touch. The whispers of the past faded, but her thoughts lingered in her mind.

She turned back toward the clearing, her gaze fixed on the obelisk. Somewhere in this desolate place lay the answers she sought—not just about the Blight, but about the nature of the Force itself. She straightened, her resolve firm as she began tracing the echoes once more.

Whatever truths this planet held, she would uncover them.


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- V I X O S E P H 1 -




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The sun remained veiled behind the perpetual gray of Vixoseph I's skies, casting the world in a somber, diffused light. She trudged carefully through the Rimebound Fen, her every step sinking into the spongy ground, where moss-covered roots wove tangled networks between pools of stagnant water. The air here was heavy with moisture and thick with an earthy, almost metallic scent. The Fen buzzed with life—chirps, croaks, and the soft hum of unseen insects—but the vitality felt uneasy, as if the land itself held its breath.

She'd left the ruined colony behind the previous day, following faint echoes in the Force that seemed to draw her deeper into Vixoseph I's wild heart. The obelisk and its haunting visions still lingered in her mind, yet the fens felt different—older, more alive, and somehow more ominous. Her psionic abilities, ever sharp, were tingling with sensations just beyond the edge of comprehension.

A tree with gnarled branches twisted skyward marked her path forward, its bark slick with moisture. Clumps of wildflowers and ferns clung to its roots like desperate tenants. As she navigated the uneven terrain, her boots left shallow impressions in the soil that quickly filled with water, erasing her presence as if the fen refused to remember her.

It was here, as she paused to survey the area, that she first noticed the strange markings.

Etched into the bark of another ancient tree were symbols—a lattice of intersecting circles surrounded by jagged lines that seemed to pulse faintly with an unnatural hue. Askani crouched to inspect the carvings, her fingers hovering inches away. Though her scar throbbed faintly, the Force stirred within her mind, whispering faint impressions.

A ritual. Devotion. The soil, fertile with meaning.

She pulled back, her gloved hand clenching into a fist. These symbols weren't remnants of the Blight. They were something else entirely—fresh and deliberate, untouched by the decay of time.

A low rustle broke the quiet, and her head snapped upward. Beyond the trees, the dense mist shifted unnaturally, curling and reforming like smoke caught in a swirling wind. Her psionics expanded outward in response, searching the unseen threads of the Force for clarity.

Nothing.

Yet, the sensation of being watched prickled at the edges of her awareness. She stood and loosened the clasp of her cloak, her body poised for movement as she stepped forward.

The path led her deeper into the fen, where the trees grew taller and their canopy thickened. The light dimmed further, turning the air an oppressive gray-green. As she reached a small clearing, she froze.

At the center of the clearing stood a crude altar. Formed of stones and bound with ropey vines, it jutted from the earth like a jagged wound. Upon it lay what appeared to be offerings: bundles of wildflowers, jars of dark liquid, and what looked like scraps of metal etched with more symbols. Surrounding the altar were more carvings in the trunks of nearby trees, their patterns almost hypnotic in their repetition.

Askani's psionics surged involuntarily, bringing with them a flood of impressions.

Hands reaching toward the soil. Chants vibrating through the air. A name whispered with reverence: "The Lady."

Her breathing quickened as the vision deepened. She saw figures cloaked in dark robes, their elongated faces obscured by masks that resembled the skeletal visage of some predatory insect. They moved with deliberate purpose, their voices a cacophony of guttural syllables, resonating with the land itself.

The soil must drink. The Lady's tears sustain.

The vision snapped away as quickly as it had come, leaving the woman reeling. She turned sharply, her senses now on high alert.

The faintest sound—a soft squelch of wet ground—came from behind her. She spun to face the source, her hand instinctively reaching for her lightsaber hilt.

The mist shifted, and a figure stepped into view.

It was one of the robed mystics, its insectoid mask gleaming faintly in the muted light. The figure was tall and unnervingly still, its presence both threatening and alien. In one hand, it held a staff adorned with twisted vines and what looked like shards of calcified stone, their shapes eerily reminiscent of her own scar.

She reached out telepathically, her mind brushing against the stranger's thoughts, only to be met with an overwhelming wall of static—a barrier that churned with raw, chaotic energy. The mystic's head tilted slightly, as if sensing her intrusion.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the growing tension.

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it tapped its staff against the ground, and a deep, resonant sound echoed through the clearing. Shadows stirred at the edges of her vision as more figures emerged from the mist, surrounding her.

Askani's mind raced. She could feel their thoughts—a collective murmur of zeal and aggression—but the details remained maddeningly out of reach. She steadied herself, her psionics flaring as she sent a focused pulse outward, seeking clarity.

The whispers came again, fragmented but clear enough to piece together.

The soil of the Fen is sacred.
Her tears nourish. Her memory guides.
Outsiders defile.


Her pulse pushed harder, and she caught glimpses of their intent—rituals to restore Vixoseph I, twisted by obsession and reverence for the Blight they had reinterpreted as divine.

The mystic who had first appeared raised a hand, and the others stepped closer, their movements slow and deliberate. Her grip on the empyrean sharpened, and she pulled on the Force to amplify her presence.

"I'm not here to harm your sacred ground," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "But if you don't stand down, you'll regret it."

The figures paused, their collective hesitation palpable. Askani didn't wait for them to make the first move. She reached deeper into the Force, channeling her telepathic strength, and unleashed a wave of energy. It was not an attack, but a raw pulse of warning, enough to push them back and give her an opening.

The mystics staggered, their cohesion momentarily broken. She took the chance to retreat into the trees, her steps quick and measured as she put distance between herself and the clearing.

As she moved, her mind lingered on what she had seen and felt. The Tog of the Rime—though she didn't yet know their name—had shown her something unsettling: a faith built on misunderstanding, but with enough fervor to turn dangerous.

And somehow, the Lady—their blighted deity—was at the center of it all.


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- V I X O S E P H 1 -




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The air grew colder as night settled over the Rimebound Fen, the mist thickening into ghostly curtains that curled around the trees. Askani pressed forward cautiously, her senses sharp. She had doubled back from her retreat, tracing the faintest glimmers of Force echoes that still lingered on the cult's altar. These whispers in the Force pulled her deeper into the fen, an invisible thread winding toward something significant—or deadly.

The cult was close. She could feel them, their presence like a dark smudge in the Force, radiating zeal and intent. Her perception hummed, brushing against their collective thoughts. It was chaotic—a tangle of voices speaking in unison, driven by belief and fury.

The terrain grew more treacherous, with thick roots rising from the swampy earth like skeletal hands and water pooling in slick, murky patches. Her boots slipped on the uneven ground as she wove through the trees, her her mental grip sharpening her perception. Somewhere ahead, she sensed movement: deliberate, organized, and closing in.

She stopped and crouched, pressing her hand to the damp soil. Extending her telepathic reach, she caught faint impressions of the cult's intentions: a trap, a perimeter, a heretic's cleansing.

She cursed under her breath. They were hunting her.

Her fingers brushed the hilt of her lightsaber, its weight comforting but cold in her grip. She didn't ignite it yet.

The first attack came swiftly. A shadow moved to her left, and she ducked just as a staff, sharply tipped, swung through the air where her head had been. She rolled to her feet, pivoting to face her attacker—a robed figure, its breathing apparatus gleaming in the dim light.

Before she could react, another figure emerged from the trees, lunging at her with surprising speed. She sidestepped, her mind reacted instinctively, extending her hand she lashed out with a focused psionic bolt aimed directly at its head. The figure froze mid-charge, its body contorted in a silent scream as the mental assault overwhelmed it. It crumpled to the ground, motionless.

The Force trembled around her, warning of more incoming threats. Romi spun, catching sight of three more figures closing in. She reached out with her mind, delving into their thoughts. They moved as one, their focus singular: protect the Lady's soil, destroy the invader.

"I'm not your enemy!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the eerie quiet.

Her words were met with silence, save for the rustling of robes and the ominous thud of staffs against the earth.

One of them stepped closer, their mask more ornate than the others, marking them as a leader among them. The mist seemed to curl around them, as though drawn to their presence.

"You walk uninvited in sacred soil," the leader said, their voice distorted and resonant. "The Lady does not forgive trespassers."

Askani met the masked gaze, her grip on her lightsaber tightening. "I'm not here to defile anything. I'm here for answers about the blight."

"The Lady's tears nourished this soil," the leader replied. "Her pain is our salvation. You cannot comprehend the gift she left behind."

The cultists raised their staffs in unison.

Her heart pounded, but she remained outwardly calm. "You're clinging to something that destroyed this planet. That's not salvation. That's obsession."

The leader tilted their head, a low hum emanating from them. "You reek of the Force, yet you are broken. A shadow of what you once were."

Her jaw tightened. "Then why are you afraid?"

The leader's staff struck the ground with a resonant thud, and the cultists moved as one, closing the circle around her.

Askani acted quickly. She couldn't fling them away or stop their advance, but she could disrupt them. Their thoughts were a tangle of fanaticism, zeal, and fear. She pushed into the leader's mind, seeking clarity, and caught fragmented glimpses: the Lady's heart, a cavern deep beneath the fen, and a ritual of some kind.

The leader staggered slightly, their staff faltering as Romi's intrusion struck a nerve. It was enough to break the cultists' synchronization. One lunged at her, their staff swinging wide, and she ducked under the blow, igniting her lightsaber in a flash of blue light.

The hum of the blade echoed through the fen as she deflected another attack, shards sparking against her blade. She sidestepped, using the cultists' momentum against them, her movements fluid but grounded. Her injury and diminished Force abilities made every action deliberate, her survival reliant on skill and precision rather than overwhelming power.

The leader recovered, their mask tilting toward her. "You defy the Lady's will."

Another cultist charged, and Askani parried their strike, the blue light of her saber cutting through the mist.

The leader roared, their aura growing with unnatural intensity. They swung it toward her, and Romi braced herself, sidestepping the blow and countering with a precise strike that shattered the staff.

The leader stumbled back, their composure faltering. The remaining cultists hesitated, their synchronization unraveling further.

Askani seized the moment and jumped back, scattering into the mist.

She deactivated her saber, her breathing steady but her muscles tense. She had what she needed: the location of the cavern and the so-called heart.

The cult would regroup, she was certain of that. But for now, she had a lead—and a deeper understanding of the fanaticism driving the Tog of the Rime.

As the mist swallowed her retreat, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Lady's heart was more than just an artifact of some kind, perhaps? Whatever awaited her in the cavern would test her resolve, her knowledge, and the scars she carried from her encounter with the Nameless.


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