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Post by Shaman Odin Alfodr on Apr 9, 2013 7:23:26 GMT -8
*Mirial was a cold, dry world primarily covered in desert.*
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2013 13:38:54 GMT -8
=Ghosa Estate=
A relatively small but well equipped agricultural farmstead established by Vulcan and Isabella Ghosa.
Amazingly through hard work, in depth study, selected breading and a little nurturing from Ashla the Ghosa farmstead has managed to establish a largely crop based farm making a living from selling their crops to the bio fuel industry as well as making a small profit from the select few livestock they rear.
Wyvern sat upon the edge of his bed, head bowed hands clasped his lips silently mouthing hallowed words to Ashla, the morning sun broke through the bedroom window causing a wry smile to form upon the dark haired green eyed youth.
Barely had he woken and already Wyvern believed he had seen Ashla at work just as he always had, she had played her hand through the weaving of his life, bringing a sense of purpose to everything that touched upon the young boy’s life.
Ashla; in her; no, to be more correct, through her. all things made sense, not only did everything transpire for a reason but Wyvern believed that the things that transpired were the direct influence of Ashla upon his life and he was humbled to be given the insight to commune with her.
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Jul 24, 2013 14:33:03 GMT -8
-Drakonis Ghosa-
He wished he could say it was good to be home.
In truth, he lusted after the delusions and lies of youth, the grandiose outlook on life he had adopted with great pride, weaving a golden tapesty of illustious deeds that, one day, he might leave in his wake to be admired as the things of legend. Drakonis held his head low now, in great shame, his hood obfuscating his wretched face from sight, hoping that he might be dismissed utterly. He hoped, in earnest, that he could forget and in turn, be forgotten.
But it was ever thus, that he walked now with purpose heavy on his mind, weighing him down almost as much as convictions about his foolish former faith stabbed deep into his heart. He stepped forward, for the first time since he last left Mirial, onto the estate of his parents, and Drakonis visibly cringed. Ashla was dead- not the force itself, no; that entity was very much working, very much omniscient- but in no way benevolent. In fact, there was nothing left to Drakonis Ghosa that told him there was a predestined fate.
He saw first his younger brother, Wyvern, and he gave the boy a sad smile. How he wished he could save him from the lies his oarents wove, unknowingly, and yet... for all the love his heart could never abandon, for the the boy and for their parents, he could not bring himself to rail against the injustices that they held so close to their hearts. A lie to him was their entire universe. His clarity was an entire world they had not- may not ever see.
"My brother," he said quietly, a weariness besetting his grim, frosty voice, "it is... good to see you."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2013 4:20:10 GMT -8
Ragged, that was precisely how Drakonis appeared, worn, tired, weary, and there was something else too; the once bright and almost radiant presence, that warm amber glow was quite simply gone. It was not only the older Brother's appearance; the dust upon his tunic, the tattered edges of his cloak, the dark circles beneath his eyes; but too his presence in Ashla was very much frayed around the edges; perhaps even beyond frayed; even tattered. Yet through Wyvern's perception he saw that Drakonis had begun to stitch his tattered self back together, yet the fabric he had covered and tried to mend the holes with was of a different sort altogether, woven from a different cloth. It did not have the bright and simple radiance; no if it were cloth at all it would be a deep dark purple with a complex almost tumultuous pattern that possessed a wildness.
This was wrong, it was all wrong, he should be feeling love, joy and an abundance of warmth, but there was just a horrible vacancy; he retained the smile and walked forward clasping his Brother in an embrace around the shoulders, it was brief and curt and his Brother remained virtually motionless like a statue.
He stood back from Drakonis studying the hooded face, he was certain that Drakonis' chin dropped even further as though to hide beneath that shadowy veil of his hood."It is good to see you too; Brother. Ma and Pa will be delighted to see you, I'm glad you could make it."
Wyvern managed to stop short of saying; "this time." Yet he knew the words were implied, he felt pricks of tears coming to the corners of his eyes and coughed to shake them away. His sadness he knew meant that he felt loss, felt he had lost his Brother, but Drakonis was not dead; no just the Drakonis he had known, so the burning question was what? What had occurred to alter this buoyant youth so dramatically and how did Wyvern discover this? Abandoning hope that Drakonis was the same was not the same as abandoning Drakonis.
No, Wyvern would reclaim what was lost out of a selfish need to have his Brother back because he could not cope with the Drakonis that walked beside him, this man that now seemed physically as well as spiritually smaller.
"Welcome home." |
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Aug 6, 2013 21:20:51 GMT -8
At Wyvern's touch, Drakonis struggled internally with the initial urge to recoil, to break away from the confinement that was physical contact. His brother's wariness was not lost on him; they shared the same familial blood, the innate talents toward acute perception that had made Drakonis such a prize for the Jedi Order. In due time, they would most likely stretch their hands out for Wyvern as well, and if Drakonis knew his brother at all, he knew the young man would be all too willing.
In part, he had come here to prevent that, but not in any direct fashion. No, what his brother saw was less of a warning and more a testament to the failings of their myopia, their spiritualism. That he had come back to this place still did not sit well with him, and disjointed imagery from his delusional past stirred uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. At the mention of their parents, Drakonis had almost retched, his very flesh paling. He had no desire to come face to face with his father ever again, and to see his mother might very well break his heart all over again.
They walked the rest of the way in relative silence, Drakonis searching within himself for some solution to the unspoken problem between them. In the force, he could feel the familiarity of his parents, and as they came to the door and it opened, his lips set in a very thin line. Home. Like the prison it had always been, only pronounced now. His body ached, his mind reeled, and his spirit moaned in agony within him as he struggled to maintain a meager grip on reality.
He had to focus. He had come back for a reason.
Nodding his assent to Wyvern, Drakonis stepped through the door into the threshold, and he felt a chill run down his spine. Skeletal fingers reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a thinning, almost malnourished and bone riddled face with strawlike brown hair and pale eyes that seemed to have lost the majority of their light. He looked ill, but it was no trick of the darkness. Time had addled his body, but his spirit- by sheer will of the force, his parents might stupidly attribute it- his spirit had spurred him to perservere.
He held no appetite, though his body now converged on itself and broke down stored fat and other resources in order to keep itself going, and the reality of it was simple. Inevitably, and soon, Drakonis Ghosa would be dead. Whether from his starvation or some unnatural means, he would never be sure. Not until the truth became apparent.
His eyes found his parents in hostile silence, his mother's gasp causing a pain in his chest that he tried his hardest not to acknowledge. Drakonis forced a kind smile- he had not become evil, after all. Nor had he become heartless. No- there was, as had once been said, nothing more frightening than a Jedi who had gone sane.
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Lord Nexus
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 174 
Affiliation: Chaos
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lord Nexus on May 8, 2015 17:44:13 GMT -8
Mirial was always an enigma in the galaxy; the arid planet, filled with sand a chill that attached itself to the very bones of those who walked its surface, was the birth place of several noteworthy jedi, and yet, this was not the reason for the events that were about to take place. Mirial, unbeknownst to many, was of the dark side. An unspoken history of multiple alliances with the Sith and its kin were not mere coincidence.
It was on this hallowed eve, that a precious few would learn of the truth behind the enigmatic nature of this frigid desert world. It was on this hallowed eve, that the Dark Side would once again return to the planet, and the planet would once again answer to its beck and call. But this answer did not come in the form of military or diplomatic support; instead, this answer came in a sudden gust of wind, which disrupted the serene surface of an otherwise unassuming sand dune.
The gust of wind would go unnoticed by the world, by the galaxy, even- yet what came to follow would be remembered for millenia to come. Strong and sudden, the gust came, and the dune split, as though cleaved by a trained, colossal hand. What was left in the wake of the gust was a collossal entrance to a seemingly ancient and forgotten temple, which had fallen victim to weather and silence. Suddenly, jutting out of the previously prestine white dune stood the smooth black portal, wrought of some mysterious metal that didn't lose any of its shine through the unknown amount of years that it was buried.
Then, as quickly as the gust had changed everything, it was gone, and silence permieated through the desert once more. For a few moments, it seemed that this event, which was the harbinger of the chaos that would soon follow, was naught but mere coincidence. That was when the sound came that shattered any pretention of the situation resulting in anything less that catastrophony and chaos.
It started silently- a low thrum that caused all of the sand at the base of the mysterious wall of shining black to shift aside, making way for some unknown force. Then it grew louder, and the crackle of electricity became audible, soon to be followed by the sight of small arcs of red energy dancing across the surface of the sand. The black wall suddenly began to pulsate, throbbing with malicious intent as the trumming and crackling grew louder. Soon the sounds and light reached an overwhelming climax that fell upon the ears of the desert- throbbing replaced with a loud roar, arcs of energy replaced by a pool of blood red light. And then there was silence once more. The desert had returned back to normal- sounds and lights gone from existence, leaving no indication of their orchestral performance. The silence hung indefinitely, with no ears to hear it. Then the wall of glossy black split, allowing a sea of white light to spill onto the desert sand, only to be broken by shadows and foot steps.
At long last, he had returned.
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