RavenDaas
Member
This is a post seeking out someone interested in the Star Wars the Old Republic and being a GM for a Sith Warrior-styled story. I have no qualms with retcons and headcanon to make a better story out of the typically bad writing found in MMORPGs. A writing sample is required in your first message for me to reply, and one will be provided in return. I'm a novella writer who appreciates colorful, verbose styles of writing.
A mountain of jagged horns and tusks turned to face the shuttlecraft as it breached the orbit of the dead world below. Acolytes lined the side of the ship, muttering amongst themselves as the Terentatek reared its head, taking in deep breaths of red sand- when its eyes locked on their ship, three acolytes backed away as if burned by a hot plate, drawing a laugh from those that had stayed, the shame of their peers written on their face.
All of them were afraid though. The creature knew. Just as well as it smelled their connection to the force, the darkness growing inside them, the untapped potential; it smelt their fear, and relished in it. It prided itself in knowing it had killed no less than fifty aspirants in its life, and then two more fully actualized Sith that had attempted to fell it. Their blood had been sweet, and their ship was filled with inexperienced, foolish men and women with more flesh and blood than they knew what to do with.
But it was patient. One day, to prove themselves, they would set out to slay it, no doubt exhausting one another resolving rivalries before they even could find it, and then it would remove limb from bones. A week for a glorious feast.
Towers of tombs surrounded them, masking the beast from sight. All around them, tombs, pillars, statues or plaques made to one Darth or Sith Lord or Dark Council member or another. The acolytes took turns competing to see which one they could name the accomplishments of, which aspect of the Dark Side they most represented- Sylvan didn't take part.
In fact, the dark-skinned woman in Mandalorian armor hadn't said a word to any of them. She hadn't even so much as moved since the moment she sat down.
Tall and brooding like any good Sith would, she simply cradled her helmet in her hands, staring down at it with one good eye, calloused and scarred fingers clutching it in a deathly grip that would have shattered any other piece of armor. One girl made a grab for it, honoring Sylvan with a glob of spit at her face before acknowledging her for what she was.
Slave.
She thought the armor she wore too good for something as lowly as her, and when it wasn't surrendered, she did as any good Sith would- she took.
It hadn't been Sylvan's first time strangling someone to death, and, if the looks of her fellow apprentices hadn't been clear, it wouldn't be her last time either. Maybe, if she was fortunate, before she even left Korriban, she would have many more chances.
Now, finally, Sylvan moved. Each corner of her lips twitched up into a smile, mouthing a prayer to forgotten gods as she slid her helmet back into place, stepping past her still smiling, laughing instructor who hadn't managed to close his mouth since the girl's breathing had stopped.
A mountain of jagged horns and tusks turned to face the shuttlecraft as it breached the orbit of the dead world below. Acolytes lined the side of the ship, muttering amongst themselves as the Terentatek reared its head, taking in deep breaths of red sand- when its eyes locked on their ship, three acolytes backed away as if burned by a hot plate, drawing a laugh from those that had stayed, the shame of their peers written on their face.
All of them were afraid though. The creature knew. Just as well as it smelled their connection to the force, the darkness growing inside them, the untapped potential; it smelt their fear, and relished in it. It prided itself in knowing it had killed no less than fifty aspirants in its life, and then two more fully actualized Sith that had attempted to fell it. Their blood had been sweet, and their ship was filled with inexperienced, foolish men and women with more flesh and blood than they knew what to do with.
But it was patient. One day, to prove themselves, they would set out to slay it, no doubt exhausting one another resolving rivalries before they even could find it, and then it would remove limb from bones. A week for a glorious feast.
Towers of tombs surrounded them, masking the beast from sight. All around them, tombs, pillars, statues or plaques made to one Darth or Sith Lord or Dark Council member or another. The acolytes took turns competing to see which one they could name the accomplishments of, which aspect of the Dark Side they most represented- Sylvan didn't take part.
In fact, the dark-skinned woman in Mandalorian armor hadn't said a word to any of them. She hadn't even so much as moved since the moment she sat down.
Tall and brooding like any good Sith would, she simply cradled her helmet in her hands, staring down at it with one good eye, calloused and scarred fingers clutching it in a deathly grip that would have shattered any other piece of armor. One girl made a grab for it, honoring Sylvan with a glob of spit at her face before acknowledging her for what she was.
Slave.
She thought the armor she wore too good for something as lowly as her, and when it wasn't surrendered, she did as any good Sith would- she took.
It hadn't been Sylvan's first time strangling someone to death, and, if the looks of her fellow apprentices hadn't been clear, it wouldn't be her last time either. Maybe, if she was fortunate, before she even left Korriban, she would have many more chances.
Now, finally, Sylvan moved. Each corner of her lips twitched up into a smile, mouthing a prayer to forgotten gods as she slid her helmet back into place, stepping past her still smiling, laughing instructor who hadn't managed to close his mouth since the girl's breathing had stopped.
