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Oculus

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Posts posted by Oculus

  1. As Telperiën lifted his head and gazed into his eyes, there was a crave for affection and a want for command. His blackened gaze only reveled in the amethyst of her own as she drew her slender fingers across the crevasses of his eyes, leaving a trail of blood upon his skin, it's warmth turning cold as flesh departed. And as the pain enveloped his form at her incantation, he felt pleasure in the burn of her marking as it etched beneath his skin and outward, like acid burning the skin. And then the moment departed, leaving only a open mouth with no one's to escape as she spoke.

     

    So he was to be sent away once again, banished from the sight of her power and command only to beckon his own. He drew his eyes to the ground and grimaced inward, his anger rolling like waves within his soul. Was he truly unworthy? No. He needed to find his own, not leech off of others. He may be a weapon of war to wield, but even a blade must find its own edge, something that cannot be forged by creator nor wielder. That's what it was that he needed to find. That would settle the hunger he gluttoned.

     

    "Yes, my Master." Was all he spoke as he rose from his bent knee and placed both the lance and his fist across his bitter heart as he moved to depart. "I will not fail you."

     

    Nor would he. As his gaze shifted toward the following Rancor before back to the ship, he felt he knew what he needed to do. As a warrior, he was required to wage a war worthy of honoring his Master. But not simply a war of might and power if he was to truly temper his edge. No. He needed to truly know the path that was put before him. And in order to do so, he would need to reflect upon what led him to this singular moment in time and what had been placed before him. Climbing aboard the transport ship, Shiro and Artor would depart Naboo. There was much to do.

     

    Hours would pass as Valhalla orbited the planet of Naboo as Shiro laid within the medical wing within the confines of the bacta tanks. In this time, he held plenty of it to meditate upon his past and the events that led to this moment. Being born an outcast, the murder he committed, his capture, his escape, his time as a slave and then as a Solider. Cathar with Lady Awenyyd and Lady Telperiën, his training. It was a path few walked and recovered from, and now he stood as a Sith Apprentice, rising the ranks not by luck, but by skill. The Spider saw his potential, as did Lady Awenyyd and Lady Telperiën. Now it was time to rise to their expectations.

     

    As he and Artor sparred within the confines of Valhalla, man versus beast, Shiro would push his broken form even further than he had the last time. He used the Force to not only enhance his physical abilities, but his mental abilities as well, aiming to tame the beast once and for all. And in truth, just as Shiro enjoyed testing himself against such a creature as the adolescent Rancor, Artor enjoyed their duels as much, evident in his pulling the punches more so than during their original fight. It was almost as if he sought to teach the wild human how to be a Rancor.

     

    Exhausted, Shiro raised his hand to end the fight, Artor smirking as he sat upon the unnatural durasteel flooring with a large thump. There was a bond forming between the two, and neither seemed to truly have an urge to kill the other, a bond that most wouldn't understand. It was becoming clear to Shiro of the semi-sentience these creatures truly held and the traditions they held for Lady Telperiën and her fellow Nightsisters. 

     

    A full rotation of Naboo had transpired since they left the planet behind when it first called to Shiro, the lance he kept clipped across his back as he pushed himself through the pain. Like whispers of the dead, it echoed within his mind as it caught Artor's attention as well, the three meter Rancor standing upright as Shiro sat upright. One word left Shiro's mouth as the two returned to the bridge and the navigational charts were calculated.

     

    "Generis"

  2. As his Master approached, he knelt before her with awaiting her blow, his body tensing up and expecting her power as his gaze fell upon her boots. And yet nothing crossed his form save for her words. He grinned as his grip tightened around the lance her held in his grasp. So the Nightsisters' regaling of his lose to the Rancor did not seem to phase her in the slightest, nor his broken form beneath the bound armor they had placed upon him. This intrigued him.

     

    "We have won. Lehon is in our grasp." He spoke with obedience, the power coursing through his veins holding his broken form together with the bound armor. "Though the victory was not my doing. The beast.." His gaze shifted upward toward the Rancor as Artor returned the smirk toward Shiro. "...Artor and I met on the battlefield and he proved my better. I still have much to learn."

     

    Artor stood in looming silence as Shiro presented the Forcesaber the beast had deposited on his body when he felt that Shiro was dead, sniffing the smoldering air with interest and salivating maw. The smell of cooked flesh seemed to prey at his attention. 

     

    "This was presented to me by Artor." Shiro spoke as his gaze remained to the ground. "It looks like a lance, but holds a housing similar to a Lightsaber. I think he thought I was worthy of it and his presence seems to mimic that notion. But I leave that up to you."

  3. As Valhalla exited out of hyperspace above Naboo, the fossilized crust of Dxun shifting small particles of debris to it's sudden slow, Shiro stood aboard it's command deck with both Artor and the Nightsisters in tow and overlooked the carnage and destruction that mutated it's surface grotesquely. Shiro and Artor both adorned a similar grin across their faces as they gazed upon the Nabooan destruction, and Shiro could already feel the fog of war clouding his sight and mind. It was a glorious return from Lehon. A comm was sent ahead to his Master, Lady @Telperiën Ar-Pharazon as a shuttle was prepared for his departure to the planet below.

     

    Though the Nightsisters walked with the Apprentice of their Lady, the disdain and disgust that they felt for him was evident in their callous distance, even as their revered Rancor walked beside him in symbiosis. But for Shiro, Lehon had been a changing point for the young Warrior, a revelation of his past and present, that had set a new course for him to walk.

     

    The Nightsister's Magic had repaired most of what had been broken, his form delved in the blackened armor of the Infinite Empire's remnants as they had bound his flesh with the steel of the ancient Force Hounds, the stave that kept him balanced their broken weapon. But in their dismay, he had bonded through combat with the Bull Rancor known as Artor both in blood and in heart, as the remains of Lehon's power courses through both their veins.

     

    As the Nightsisters regaled Lady Telperiën with the happenings of Lehon once they arrived planetside and located the Witch, mostly of his failure in combat to the hands of the Rancor and the bond that transpired from it, two vocal in their disdain and seeing it as blasphemy to their heritage, Shiro stood aside the ship with Artor and awaited his Master's approach in subservience. His interest in their heritage and customs had not hindered, but he was beginning to understand their reverence with such beasts as Artor and in their magic that had bound these artifacts to his flesh.

     

    He felt lighter, more refined. And thanks to the wraiths of Dunstan and Saldana in his absence, he now controlled Valhalla and the remnants of the Onderonian 11th Battalion 7th Imperial Marines, his former Regiment. 

  4. From the darkness, comes the truth. And within the darkness, all lost is found. For the darkness hides everything unwanted or unspoken, and from it, is birthed brutal honesty. And before Shiro, in the abyss that has became his mind, came the coldest truth he had ever had to face. What was the reason for his existence? For him to walk the path that he does? What was Shiro? What was his testament?

     

    Shiro had fought, had murdered. He enlisted in the Imperial Marines to flee persecution. And now he walked the path as Sith to feed his hunger. But these were menial excuses. Not truths. Nor were they even half truths. In the abyss, in the darkness, hidden in the recesses of his mind, he knew what had always been hidden. He empowered himself with Pride, with Wrath, with Hatred. But as Lady Awenyyd had spoken before, these were not his Sins. They were but stepping stones, enhancements. But where did his true power come from. What sin kept him going? Which held his mind and body together through the devastation he wrought upon himself?

     

    A murderous smirk crossed his face as the truth revealed its self before him, the opened maw of his reflection revealing the endless pit within his soul. And so, Gluttony had always been there within him, an endless hunger. Power, Destruction, Death, Punishment, War. It echoed within him like vibrant resonance, a complete picture painted with the ease of a brush stroke. And as the smirk widened into a grin upon the reflection of his soul, the endless maw slammed shut, and a blackened gaze stared back as the reflection became distorted. Before Shiro stood the reflection of the Rancor.

     

    Eyes shot open and peered around the cluttered cave and toward the ravenous maw of the Rancor from before as it peered down over his laid form. His body felt broken, unable to move as his gaze met the eyes of the looming beast. And around him, the darkness swirled majestically, pure and unbridled. Magicks courses his veins as the Sisters stood about and briefly recognized his consciousness. And the ground shook with power as the beast moved around. Shiro was surprised that he still lived. And beside him, Shiro could feel a weapon, a lance embued with the very darkness that seeped the soil of Lehon. Before his mind could make sense, the Sister from before spoke.

     

    "Pull yourself together, Apprentice. Your Master awaits." She spoke, her voice full of disdain. "The beast thought you dead, and has not left your side. It seems he has chosen you despite our commune over our thoughts on this matter."

     

    Slowly Shiro began to rise, grasping at the lance to hold onto as he began to gather his footing. The beast turned it's gaze and lifted it's gigantic hand to his side in aid. As Shiro's gaze met that of the beast, it's voice vocaled syllables of significance, causing Shiro's gaze to look in shock. "Arrrr-tooorr"

  5. The path of a Warrior was strenuous path to walk at best, to test not only one's self, but that of another in an intertwined lethal dance of blade and fist. To truly be tested, and to test, one would have to pour everything of themselves into each strike and blow, into each parry and deflection. It wasn't a path for the feign of heart. It required resolve and mettle, to push all fear aside and resound in the moment of defiance in death. It was always a shift between life and death, never any middle ground. You either lived, or you died. That was the truth of the Warrior's Path.

     

    And these two knew it all too well, this truth evident in the flow of their strikes, the gaze they shared upon one another of mutual respect despite the intent to kill and maim. It was fun. It was joy. It was freedom. And it was ecstasy. These two danced to the rythmn of death so ceremoniously, strike for strike, as blood poured and muscles bruised. And they didn't linger in the rapture of ego nor of concern. If one hindered for even a moment, the other pressed for submission. They would not reciede until death was eminent. This was their way, and they rejoiced in it.

     

    For a brute of extraordinary size, Shiro found himself tested immensely by the stature and capabilities of the adolescent Bull Rancor. He could feel his broken form pressing to invite his inevitable death while the Bull Rancor stood sturdy against the Force Shiro used to enforce his dominance, the heavy breath of both panting against the tropical air. The Sithling had managed to tear two of his tusks from his form and still stood if only barely. This surprised the Rancor immensely. In the recesses of his mind, he had never been challenged in such a way outside of his own ilk, prompting a kinship growing toward this outsider.

     

    And for Shiro, despite his broken form requiring his beastial mindset to overcome, he could now understand why these creatures were so revered by the Nightsisters. He, too, was beginning to grow fond of it and his kind. There was sentience within, minimal as it may have been. But there was also the pride and heart of warriors within as well, a bond that divided and brought many together. Feeling the pain within coursing through his form with every movement, even the prosthetic lung weighing upon him, Shiro smiled profusely. For if he was to die today, he was glad such a creature had been found to be his ravager. Pulling on the Force, Shiro charged forward.

     

    And blackness enveloped his psyche, his last vision of green grass flowing vertically against his sight and the softness of the soil. He could briefly feel the presence of the Nightsisters growing closer, but unconsciousness quickly took him as a hand grasped his entire form. His last thoughts were of his impending death. But was it so?

  6. As Shiro began his approach, he pulled the Force that flowed around him into his being, letting the corruption of his will ensnare it within his grasp and forced it to bend to his reality as his skin became hide, his speed became a blur, and his strength tenfold. The very pressure of his presence within became tyranny as he approached the edge of the jungle and neared the clearing. Reaching to his hip, he pulled forth his BattleAxe, letting his will flow into its bleached ivory form. The Spirit of War was beginning to stir from it's slumber.

     

    But to understand the Spirit of War, you must understand Shiro's belief. You must understand the truth of the Void. What he saw and witnessed on Cathar, a world that once knew peace and tranquility. A truth that Revan himself understood. War wasn't just aimless brutality. It was a culling of the weak and corrupted. Lehon held this truth too. For the Rakata and their Infinite Empire no longer existed. There was no Light nor Dark Sides to the Force, only Chaos. And through Chaos, Order. The Chaos of War where the strong survived and the rest eradicated. Utter Destruction created Prosperity. In this, the Mandalorians got it right. This was the truth of nature. And in this beast, he would test his worthiness.

     

    As Shiro cleared the Jungle, the beast was quick to notice his arrival as it turned to welcome him. The ground shook with the beast's engagement and a large hand clubbed the ground toward Shiro as his speed increased, the young Sithling side stepping it's first attack with little more than general effort as he drew his ivory axe against leathered hide that barely drew a scratch. But what Shiro hadn't expected was the semi-sentience that the beast produced when it changed the direction of it's swing into a second attack, nearly catching Shiro off guard as he crossed his enhanced arms and took a bruising blow.

     

    Despite this setback, Shiro grinned, finding the challenge more than he expected and even more fulfilling. This would not only mean a better testament to his worthiness, but also that the beast was worthy of its own. Gripping at the oversized fist of the Bull Rancor, Shiro used it's own momentum against its self and carried over into his own as he slung the creature over his prosthetic shoulder and onto it's back with a subtle grin of glee, empowering his augmented blade with more of his will in an attempt to split the head of the beast.

     

    But it wouldn't be so as the beast took the blow with his thick forearm and returned the favor to Shiro, the Apprentice feeling the hardened embrace of a nearby rock to his backside and the brief daze of starry nights. And yet, as his gaze returned, he caught sight of a similar grin upon that of the beast's unbridled maw, as if two Warriors had met upon the field of battle to test their mettle against one another, and in that moment, a semblance of respect echoed in Shiro's own. Rising from his position, he readied himself for his next attack. If he could not kill the creature, he would have it as his own.

  7. This planet, it was like the world he began this path upon, the Darkness calling out like a warring spirit calling for release through the blackened veil, stretching the thin line even thinner. As Shiro trekked on, he could feel it. Even as the storm began to blow down upon them torrential and visual became a hindrance, it ached for bloodlust and conquer. Behind his helm, he smiled. Cathar, Lehon, the Path and Pilgrimage of Revan. It was as if it called at his existence. Almost as if Lady Awenyyd had forsaw.

     

    His gaze shifted in the directions of the others through the thickened rain and felt the power of the Darkside amplify. It felt maternal, similar to Lady Telperiën but different. This was the power of the Nightsisters? Intriguing. He would have to further prove himself to his Master and their cause, if only to be seen as truly worthy. Not just a insubordinate welp. Or a means of prestige. No. He needed to prove his power and skill through their eyes before they would ever see him mutually beneficial. And not just for power's sake. But for respect. One could easily wave around power as a Warrior for the sake of the cause, to rule with an iron fist. But for someone like Shiro, someone who knew War and it's Art, such a foundation was minimal at best. For the Peace he sought, the Foundation he sought to build, the path he wished to walk, Respect was the Dominant Power.

     

    Shiro snapped out of his thoughts when a hand pressed against his chest, his eyes tracing the face of the Nightsisters along her arm and toward the clearing up ahead where her finger extended. Through the lines of trees stood a beast of nearly nine feet in height with protruding horns and a stubbed maw, it's form muscular and scarred. He could hear the excitement in her breathing as she gazed upon it. "You don't see that every day."

     

    "What's that?" He poised as he knelt down to get a better look through the under foliage, noticing the other two Nightsisters had stopped as well and gaze on in awe.

     

    "An adolescent Bull Rancor" She responded, lost in her own mind and unaware of her casualness. "You can tell by it's limited height and lack of tusk length."

     

    Shiro sat in silence, observing the Nightsisters' and their reverence for the creature. The Temple was only a few clicks past this spot, and there wasn't any real way around it. But in noticing the looks in their eyes and how they observed the creature, he quickly caught their admiration for it, which presented him an idea. If he could defeat and kill the creature, then perhaps he could take a step in the right direction of proving himself. But this would also mean going against the wishes of his Master. Or perhaps not, given the way the Nightsisters revere the beast. After a few seconds of debate, Shiro stood and began walking toward it. 

     

    "I'm going to kill it."

  8. Lehon, or as it was known in days of the Old Republic, Rakata Prime, was a planet delved deeply in the Darkside of the Force from the millenia that it served as the Capital World of the Infinite Empire and Homeworld of the Rakata. Shiro, the Sith Warrior born from the pilgrimage of Revan under Lady Awenyyd on Cathar could taste its roots no matter how deep the Jedi tried to reinforce their Light into it. Since the moment he had stepped into its surface, smelt it's stench filled air, he could hear the echo of it's call. It pulsated through his veins and heart, and his sight saw it's tendrils trying to climb from the Chaos that ensued. It mattered little why the Sith chose to liberate this planet from the perverse filth that the Jedi had injected into its skin, the Darkness still clung to it's core. Shiro found his own reasons for being here.

     

    As he and the Nightsisters' continued on after Telperiën departed, the four ran in a gorilla formation, separate but close, through the jungles that littered it's acapellagos surface. Sweat beaded down his masked brows, cheeks, and chin in the tropical climate and despite the weight he carried, the Force kept the Warrior's stamina filled. Their target was a simple task. Make for the Jedi Temple and cut off escape, essentially wrapping a noose around the Jedi stronghold and strangling it with its own natural defenses and seclusion. An idea that Shiro, as a former Lieutenant of the Imperial Marines, rather enjoyed and could get behind. Keeping up with the others locations, he kept his stride constant and consistent over the coarse terrain.

     

    But a pain stabbed at his mind during his trek, the feeling of Telperiën passing from the world and into the next, causing his stride to come to a abrupt assault. Three paths immediately came to mind as he stood amidst the trees and foliage, the Sith Armor he wore delved in the Darkness of the canopy above. Part of him wanted to backtrack and avenge the Master he had chosen to continue his training. Another part wanted to chuckle at her weakness at underestimating the enemy. But the last part, the one that kept his gaze forward toward the Temple was that of the Soldier within, the one that wanted to complete his mission. And it would be that part of him that would inevitably win out.

     

    "Shiro Seven of the Sith." A voice echoed across the foliage, his gaze shifting to his right. "Why have you stopped? The temple is still a few a ways ahead.

     

    That's when Shiro noticed one of the Nightsisters standing behind a large bush, only her gaze visible through the rays of sunlight beaming down through the canopy. He shook his head and shifted his rifle. There was no reason to backtrack. He had been given his mission and he would stay on course. Telperiën and her mistake were her own, not his. 

     

    "It's nothing. Let's continue." Shiro replied, resuming his stride.

  9. Shiro stood in silence for most of the conversation, his mind burying his thoughts and his body oblivious to reaction. He was but an Apprentice, and in the presence of Lords and Masters, he knew his place. He was but a tool to be used when the time came, and until then, he was a mere observer, taking in what he saw and witnessed to memory. Only the hiss of his prosthetic lung spoke of his presence amongst the group. That was, until they called upon him.

     

    "Lady Awenyyd is forging her own path amongst the stars" Shiro replied to Sir Blackmorne, his blackened irides briefly meeting the man's to reveal the red pupils hidden within. "When we departed, she was in good health and in good spirits. I only hope her path bears her good fruit."

     

    There was little more to say than that. Lady Awenyyd had forged a Warrior from Shiro and chose that their paths differed. This was why he now stood next to Lady Telperiën. Not to merely test the Warrior, but to strengthen his resolve. Awenyyd had made sure he understood that it takes many Masters to truly forge the worth of a Blade, and for Shiro, it would take the same. She left him with the design, and left the choice of those who would weild him up to him. This was his path.

     

    When they entered Lady Qaela's reception, the young Sith stepped off to the side. This was this business of Masters, not his. He was but a witness to the moment. He could feel his heart beating the drums of war, but his expression stayed cold and slated. Only the words of his Master forced his stature to change, Shiro bowing to one knee just as he did during his approach to Telperiën during his last encounter with her Mother, his fist placed over his heart. For the first time since his arrival, Shiro spoke, his words echoing of his intent to both his Master and her creator.

     

    "I am but a Blade." Shiro's voice came across blunt, but respectful, the hiss of the ironed lung inhaling between his words. "I will bath myself in your enemies."

     

    With that said, he withdrew himself and returned to his previous position, idle and in silence as they continued.

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  10. Shiro sat in silence within the rear of the shuttle, the rememberable echoes of the meek crying and screaming in his mind as his gaze peered at the metal above in ecstasy. So fragile, so unprotected, the gaze of hate and sorrow filling the children's eyes. The moment was one that he enjoyed and wanted to process, taking in the memory of the smell, the taste, the sights, everything. And in this, he smiled.

     

    As his Master's voice entangled his mind, the memory was foreclosed and he sat upright, his blackened gaze wavering in the rush as he placed his helm in arm and rose to a stand. Her words were true, and Felucia had proved it. He was tired of relying on mere weapons and strategy. He wanted more strength in the Force. He wanted to explore more of himself. He wanted to be a weapon of mass destruction. Only then would he know his true path as a Warrior, and when he did, blossom like the blood flower.

     

    The rumor mill had already been lit aflame with the disappearence of the Dark Lord, soldiers abound with conversations about who would take his place. And in truth, Shiro had been disappointed by this. But his place was not to engage in such trivial matters, but rather, hone his skills and elevate his own stature. And so, with the Spider falling and his web erased, Shiro paid little heed in the grand scheme of things. A King fallen only meant another would rise. Or perhaps a Queen. As long as they were willing to use his blade in the sights of peace through war. That's all that matters.

     

    In Darkness, there is Chaos. In Chaos, there is destruction. And from destruction, Order is born. And from Order, there is peace. Only through Darkness, can Peace be attained, enforced and sustained by the Strong. This is why the Republic always falls. This is why Dictatorships fall. Warlords are those only capable. This is the truth Shiro found in the Darkened Abyss, and where he was truly born.

     

    As he and his Master stepped foot aboard Herløv, his Master distracted by another Lord, Shiro simply stood to the side in uniform, awaiting his Master's call.

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  11. Blood splattered against the green fauna as Shiro cut down the last of the two guards, the Nightsisters' volley aiming in the heart of the village as chaos ensued. Shiro's tongue snaked behind his helm, licking at the taste of his own sweat as it mingled amongst the smell of the fear that swept across the village like wildfire. Screams and cries were but music to his ears, a symphony of poetic tragedy that warmed his blackened heart.

     

    Few came to greet his arrival, no more than two came at the Lieutenant in the barrage of arrows that claimed three within the heart of the village and quickly dwindled the number down to these two and the children. Shiro's heart raced at the enticement of the moment, his ego swelling with pride as this village fell in a matter of seconds without the backing of the Jedi, and as the two closed the gap with makeshift weapons, Shiro felt a sense of pity for these fools.

     

    Pulling upon the Force, Shiro took in the panic, the fear, the anguish, and slinging his rifle loose to his side, reached outward and grasped the two men. He could feel their sorrow, their anger, their helplessness. And in the moment, sealed their fate with a simultaneous crunch that unified their end. All that remained of the village was the children who stood upon the top of the hill, the village in flames from the chaotic trample of the Nightsisters' aim and lifeless bodies falling into what would have been their last meals and engulfing their meager huts. He took off his helm and smiled devilishly. 

     

    "Yes. Take that anger, take that hate, take that fear..." He shouted at the top of his lungs as the three Nightsisters came to his side. "Let that wrath become your flames of vengeance."

     

    Then came the voice of his Master at his back side and the distant roar of an approaching ship. He turned to face her with his eyes to the ground which soon met his knee. "Yes, my Master." 

     

    Shiro boarded the ship with his own disdain that they had failed, but looked back with a sense of pride as the children remained atop the hill, flames engulfing all that they had likely ever knew, and the hate that boiled within them. Placing his helm back on, he turned and walked up the ramp until it closed behind him. Fulicia may have been an overall failure. But he had held a bit of success. 

  12. A eeriely smile crept upon his face as Telperiën gave her orders, the Sith Apprentice rising from his knees with purpose. So he was to feast upon chaos and breath in the fear that brewed and percolated around them. It would be his pleasure. With a nod, he echoed the words "Understood" before he turned to depart, briefly bringing his fist up his chest as he passed the Dark Lord @Exodus in passing. Not only was he loosed to thrive upon this world in darkness, but he held the honor of doing so in front of the Dark Lord himself. It was a glorious day indeed. It was time to prove his worth.

     

    With three of the Nightsisters at his heels, Shiro took off into the foliage of the planet's Jungles in a sprint, no longer compelled to hide his presence in the Force. Openly, he released it, letting the permeating fear fill his form with power. But he wanted more, his insatiable hunger a void that needed to be filled. Taking his Heavy Assault Blaster Rifle in hand, he strove through and across the terrain with drive, his sight set upon the villages ahead. Darkness would rule this day and he would be the Dark Lord's Champion. These weak Jedi would hold no bar to his own. If he could survive the Kabal and the world of Cathar, Jedi would be easy targets. He grinned.

     

    "I am Shiro Seven." He spoke casually to the three Nightsisters in his rear. "What might your names be?"

     

    None spoke in return, leaving an empty awkward silence in their wake. It was pointless anyways, him of the unknown and them unknown to him. He was simply their ward at the command of Telperiën, nothing more. They didn't have to respect him or acknowledge him outside of her orders. Shiro grimaced, catching sight of the first village ahead. Halting, he threw his hand up to stop, his visage behind his HUD counting the heat signatures in the distance. Seemed about eight, possibly nine signatures registering, with three of juvenile size. Opening himself up to the Force, he began letting their emotions take hold of him, arousing himself to the smell and taste of fear and anguish. They had yet to notice him, a couple on guard near the village's edge, as he and the three Nightsisters sat within the Jungle's precipice.

     

    "It's time to set an example." He spoke in a whisper, aiming his rifle up the hill and slowing his breathing. "You three remain here and cover me."

     

    With a shot ringing through the air in the wake of the crimson blaster bolt that tore through the cranium of the first target, Shiro feed on the ensuing panic as he turned his gun to the second and charged out of the Jungle and into the open field, the Nightsisters' loosing their own volley. His eye still centered on the turning rifle in his direction, he fired one again.

  13. The Warrior that had become Shiro did not particularly like the idea of hiding away within the cargohold of a medical transport, but such was the way of War. His blackened gaze felt at home in the darkness he was forced into along with his Master and her fellow Nightsisters as he stared calmly into its abyss. Much had changed since Shiro and Telperiën first met after the Battle of Coruscant, and Shiro had grown in the ways of the Sith that she had not dared to envision him in. But to Hayley, he had been raw power, a power to be used, and he wished to show Telperiën the same.

     

    As the ship landed, Shiro stood from his kneeling, shaking off the sleepiness of his legs as they stepped out of the dark and into the light of day. As Telperiën and her followers disembarked, Shiro stood at the rear, his mission here oblivious at the moment. It seemed Telperiën would be sitting this battle out as the squad moved out into formation. Stepping to her side, Shiro knelt to her right, his head draping to the ground and his gaze discovering the dirt beneath him.

     

    "What is your will, my Master?" He spoke obediently, his gaze never rising to meet her own as he questioned his part. "Your bidding is mine to do."

  14. As Shiro took his place next to his newest Master, the entralled wraiths snarling in disapproval as their forms got into line behind their own, he followed swiftly with his gaze adverted down. It wasn't out of fear, for he could never know such emotion ever again thanks to Hayley. But instead, this was to appease. Not just the women whom held his Master in such esteem, but his Master herself, to show his commitment to the Dark.

     

    But as Shiro stood before the large doors that lead to a estranged chamber, the presence inside nearly suffocating even against his ironed lung, a hint of it strolled casually into his mind. Rage had always been an invaluable alley, as had both Pride and the more tangible form of Lust, Gluttony. But here, in this moment, as he found himself stricken in Fear, unable to move at first, he found none.

     

    Cathar had been his birth, and Coruscant had been his creation. Both had formed him into a blade to be used by the strong in the art of war. But this presence in the Force, this being who wielded the Dark with such command, felt like a thousand suns imploding. A smirk reveled upon his face, his blackened eyes shimmering in the light. He had found the Master who would one day wield him properly.

     

    Following Telperiën in suite, Shiro bent the knee and his head laid straight, exposing his neck should he be found unworthy. This was a Warrior's bow, one that exposed the greatest weakness, in servitude of another. As his Master spoke her words, he stayed silent, allowing her and this Lord of the Dark to acknowledge him when they were ready. Until then, he would remain exposed, at their mercy.

  15. "I am what the Darkness wills me to be." He replies with stone eyes. "Procreation is a necessity when it is necessary, nothing more. Until it seems me worthy of an heir, I am nothing more than a blade to be used, just as I will be after."

     

    Stepping off to the side as she and her mother conversed, Shiro stood at the ready, his gloves hands coursing the mark she had embued onto him. His future would be a fruitious and interesting one.

  16. His own erupted form of laughter intertwined with hers as he laid briefly upon his back, the pleasure of her pain tantalizing his receptors of both flesh and machine. He shifted his gaze back to her, the blackened eyes and red irides falling upon for familiar form in a new light as the two wraiths stood by with groaning snarls, almost enjoying watching her place him beneath her. As she helped him to his feet, he wiped away the blood from his brow with a gloved hand and flicked it aside.

     

    "You could say that." His voice had changed since they last saw each other, a more depth to it and hints of his rebellious had mellowed. "Lady Awenyyd said she had taught me all that she could, and that I had to find others to teach me further. It's only sheer consequence that you were the first I have crossed."

     

    "Whether I be man or woman, I am your's to teach." His grin fell from his face and he bowed his head to his better.

  17. Blindness bonds one to the abyss, and from it's darkness, learns truth. It seemed an eternity, everlasting and maddening as Shiro gazed upon the souls of the weakened. Saldana, Dunstin, oh how they plagued his dreams, his nightmares, the memories of their death at his hands ever tantalizing to the taste. And yet their resentment, their lack of faith and understanding held a stench that could churn his stomach at mere hint. Oh how he hated them. They could not understand, even fathom, the reason behind his intentions, standing in the shadows like ghouls of a haunting. Despicable. Pathetic. This is why they could never grasp meaning.

     

    But force them, he felt he had to. Rather than lay in the shadows, ever present in the fade between realms, they could understand their purpose better if they could live it. They could understand what their sacrifice, their death, played in the overall scheme that was his life. And so he grasped their souls from his visit into the abyss, and from the netherworld, dragged them back to the living, binding them like wraiths to unwanted corpses. Then they could understand. War was for the strong, and through the strong, could peace find itself a truth rather the lie it finds itself. Hayley would be pleased.

     

    Shiro's eyes flutter open, his vision blurred by the brightness of the light he saw above him. It stung, sending pain throughout his entire form as his mind came to reality. It hurt to breath, his chest heavy in weight. His exhale was raspy, almost mechanical and he sat up quickly, his body cracking with it's swift movement. It was a nuisance, this subtle and dull pain. But pain brought him power and he reveled in its welcome. And on either side of him stood forms and faces he did not recognized, their voices snarls rather words, and the memories of Cathar came flooding back to him. Saldana, Dunstin, how cruel he was to them. Creatures of instinct, more slave than sentient. He chuckled pleasurably. Now their souls would understand the truth. Let the Darkness reign.

     

    His memories shuffled to Hayley, her presence undetectable. Cathar was distant, no more a teacher for his soul than she was. She had moved on, leaving him behind in abandonment, a better teacher for one like he. This suited him better, for Darkness was the truest of disciplines. So the pupil stood, the added weight slightly disorienting him briefly as he adjusted, Saldana and Dunstin staying put as they snarled beneath the blackened veils they adorned. Good. They had began to learn. Splashing water upon his face, he gazed upon his own blackened eyes, red pupils adorning each. So this was the mark of the Abyss, for one to look so deep. And as he pulled aside his collar and saw the armored ribs, realized the price he had paid to pull their souls from within. So be it. It was well worth their agony.

     

    But what was this on the horizon? A presence he knew, but had never felt before. It was dark, untethered, wild. This intrigued him. And so he would investigate, grabbing his gear that sat to the side and exiting the infirmary, a new scent upon the currents of the air. And it wasn't the scent of Onderon. He knew it well. No. This scent was familiar, this presence known. And as he wondered the halls of this place, it grew exponentially. Around one corner, down a flight, and through another hall, until finally, it presented its self with another that held a similar presence. He smirked with the irony as he and the two wraiths made their approach. "Ah. The intrusive one." Shiro spoke as he bent the knee, his gaze shifting from @Telperiën Ar-Pharazonto her counterpart. "Mi'lady."

  18. Identity

     

    Real Name: Shiro Seven

    A.K.A: The Blooded Drexl

    Homeworld: Odik II

    Species: Humanoid

     

    Physical Description

     

    Age: 22

    Height: 5'7

    Weight: 175lbs

    Hair: Silver

    Eyes: Black with red irides

    Sex: Male

    Distinctive Features/Scars: Most notable distinctive features are his prosthetic right arm and shoulder, an iron lung, and blackened eyes with red irides.

    Personality/Traits: Shiro is a calm and serene Soldier of the Imperial War Machine, following Orders and Commands without question. He finds himself upon the battlefield, a connection to war that calms the chaos within and feeds his one true desire: Destruction. Only through the chaos of Destruction, can true Order reign.

     

    Equipment

     

    Clothing or Armor: Modified Force Hound Armor with vacuum sealed Armorweave and Draped with Sith Robes, Magnetic Boots, Rebreather Helm, Prosthetic Lung, Prosthetic Right Shoulder and Arm,

    Weapon: Imperial Issued Vibro-Dagger, Augmented Bone Axe, Rakata ForceSaber (incomplete)

    Common Inventory: Artor (Bull Rancor)

     

    Faction Information

     

    Force User

    Alignment: Chaotic Lawful

    Current Faction Affiliation: Sith Empire

    Current Faction Rank: Lieutenant/Apprentice

    Class Alignment: Warrior

     

    History

     

    Force Side: Dark

    Trained by: Darth Awenyyd, Lady Telperiën

    Trained who: 

    Known Skills: 

     

    Force Powers

    Telekinesis (Intermediate)

    Force Sight (Intermediate)

    Force Rage (Intermediate)

    Enhance Attribute (Intermediate)

    Force Weapon (Beginner)

    Force Wound (Beginner)

    Spirit Transference (Beginner)

     

    Warrior Skills

    Predator Instincts (Beginner)

    Mantle of Warriors (Beginner)

    Dominance (Beginner)

    Rapacious Persuit (Work in Progress)

    Blood Pack (Beginner)

    Break the Balance (Work in Progress)

    Fetch (Beginner)

    Shatter (Beginner)

    Awaken Weapon (Work in Progress)

    Skin of Steel (Beginner)

    Apex Predator (Work in Progress)

    Sawblade Strike (Beginner)

    Chwit'Jen'Itsu (Beginner)

    Tremor Impact (Beginner)

    Advance of the Conquerors (Work in Progress)

    The Hunt (Work in Progress)

     

    Lightsaber Forms

     

    Miscellaneous

     

    Pre-Faction Background: Shiro was born on the penal world of Odik II, a descendant of one of the original dissidents. After murdering another citizen of Odik II and being arrested by Alliance Forces, Shiro was forced into hiding where his bounty became his prison. Enlisting in the Imperial Marines was his only choice of escape. After the battle of Coruscant, Shiro attained the rank of Corporeal within the Knights of the Blood Drexel and command over the Fang Squadron.

     

    Faction Background: During his mission to Cathar under the Sith Lords, Lady Awenyyd and Lady Telperiën, Shiro was met with hostilities by the planet's wounds. Corrupted by the darkness, Lady Awenyyd used Shiro's power to complete her rituals and claimed him as her Apprentice, as the lone survivor of Fang Squadron.

     

  19. Weakness is the abrupt end of man's limitations, where the soul and body knows no other progression nor thereafter. For Shiro, his mind would fight against it, his will would ache to know more, and in the end, he would see it to fruition. He would push beyond the thereafter, past his limitations, and create strength in his weakness. This was his just cause, his reason for learning. And as his will attempted to falter, his wrath broke the barrier. Darkness was his ally, and in its corruption, there would be no boundaries.

     

    Whether Hayley chose the title of Master or Teacher, it mattered little as he flinched against the broadness of her power, feeling the echo of her will thrust upon his own form. His crimson eyes stared painfully aware toward her, wild and wide as he accepted his fate and her idealogy upon not just his form, but his soul just the same. As the Darkness flowed through him and her in a tangled dance, so did it flow in his blood as the vessels of his eyes mixed crimson with the white and gold of the Darkside. And in the moment of their entangled web, so did the darkness reveal.

     

    Darkened figures appeared and lashed out against the Armor he adorned, his vision blurred by the unseen. Anger and Wrath lapped at his soul in jealousy and greed, torn asunder by his right to live where they had perished. Shiro knew these two souls well, the stench of their own weakness fumigating within his nostrils as he remembered their pathetic deaths upon the beach's head. Saldana, Dunstin, long having lapped at his strength since that fateful event above Coruscant. And yet, as he laid gaze upon their blurred figures, he knew they had not been a waste, their deaths fueling his rise, enflaming his hatred. And just perhaps, their purpose had yet to be fulfilled.

     

    Outreaching his hand into the oblivion that had claimed them, his sight into the Dark Abyss, he reached out for them.

  20. Darkness has always and will always be a bittersweet existence, the edge of fear with the embrace of the unknown. It held many realms and had many faces, from the lonely shadow casted by one's form to the enveloping depth as one shut off the lights and even more terrifying in the hearts of the wicked. And yet, it was also a idol of worship, long held in prestige by followers of the darkside and even those whom knew it in primordial cases. It was to be feared, to be known and understood, to be embraced even in death. Such was it's nature. Darkness, oh how little Shiro knew of it.

     

    Shiro stood upon it's precipice as it battles to consume him, battled to claim him, and in the end, battled to defy him. What he felt was strength was soon turned to fear, anger, and pain to which he had never known before as Hayley thrusted the blade into his flesh, the sheer acknowledgement of his form to it's pain threatening to claim his sight to the darkness beyond. And it only grew stronger as the Force thrusted it's will upon the mechanized arm and shoulder as it binded man and machine, nerves burning scorching hot with a chilling cold, the flesh of his brow sweating upon the passing breeze as the air cycled against his consciousness, and bone fracturing as metal replaced his disfigurement.

     

    And then there was silence....

     

    The gaping maw of Chaos opened wide for the conscious of the Apprentice, craving to swallow him as a treat, the echoing of screams and shadowed figures twisting within his darkened mind. He had fainted amidst the pain of his convergence and the darkness within saw its opportunity to strike. It's eye pierced the veil of his mind, gazing upon his soul with utter intrigue, insatiable hunger wanting to claim him and the chaos he rought. And in that moment, Shiro knew the truth of fear and horror, a sensation he had never comprehended truthfully, and in his weakness, begged for the life he left unfulfilled.

     

    And it was granted...

     

    Pain surged through him again, waking him from his faint as if guided by unknowing hands, his flesh and bone alit with fire and ice as his body convulsed with fever and release, the anger within knowing no restraint, the wrath within knowing no release. For this is what he asked for himself, the moment he had wrongfully wished for, a strength granted without the knowledge of consequence. This was Shiro's desire. This was his pride. To become what he was meant to be, even if he did not know what he would bring upon himself. And as the darkness once again battled to claim him, he could not resist.

     

    Over and over again, he would feel the consequences of his wish, echoed by the Force that flowed through him and from him, the twist of the fate, until he laid in utter relief as his body fell to the numbness of the ordeal. He would be left laying unobserved, in his own fluids and blood, broken and repaired, until his consciousness grew enough strength to move. His body steamed against the cold he felt all around him and within, his flesh aflame with sensory. And in that waking moment, he understood what the darkness meant, the imagery he for seen and felt with his own senses: Power came through suffering.

     

    His voiced echoed throughout the hold as he spoke with strained breaths. "My Master..."

  21. 2nd Infantry Squad 12th Platoon 4th Company

    "Fang Squad"

     

    Corporal Shiro Seven



     

    Enlisted Name: Shiro Seven

    Aliases: Shiro Armegedon

    Homeworld: Odik II

    Species: Humanoid

    Age: 19

    Height: 5'7

    Weight: 150lbs

    Hair: White

    Skin: Bronze

    Eyes: Glowing Red

    Sex: Male

    Alignment: Unknown

    Faction Rank: Imperial Marine

    Specialization: Heavy Infantry

     

    History: Enlisting at the behest of Shaq'teel of House Zebeti to follow his heritage as an Armegedon, Shiro enlisted under the false name Shiro Seven rather than take up his hereditary name. After the Battle for Coruscant, Shiro took up the Rank of Corporal and leadership of the survivors from that gruesome battle.

     

    Corporal Emerald Dunstan



     

    Enlisted Name: Emerald Dunstan

    Aliases: Nine Lives

    Homeworld: Onderon

    Species: Human

    Age: 21

    Height: 6'3

    Weight: 180lbs

    Hair: Black

    Skin: Black

    Eyes: Brown

    Sex: Male

    Alignment: Lawful

    Faction Rank: Imperial Shocktrooper

    Specialization: Infantry

     

    History: Born into the Royal Houses of Onderon, Emerald Dunstan enlisted into the Imperial Infantry shortly after Onderon's liberation.

     

    Private Carrie Saldana



     

    Enlisted Name: Carrie Saldana

    Aliases: Trigger

    Homeworld: Coruscant

    Species: Human

    Age: 18

    Height: 5'1

    Weight: 124lbs

    Hair: Brunette

    Skin: White

    Eyes: Blue

    Sex: Female

    Alignment: Lawful Cautious

    Faction Rank: Imperial Stormtrooper

    Specialization: Infantry

     

    History: A new recruit after the fall of Coruscant and the ensuing displacement of Refugees, Carrie enlisted upon her arrival at Onderon.

     

    Privates Dan & Hanz Ford



     

    Enlisted Name: Dan/Hanz Ford

    Aliases: Geminis, The Ford Twins, The Twins

    Homeworld: Coruscant

    Species: Human

    Age: 19

    Height: 6'1

    Weight: 225lbs

    Hair: Brunettes

    Skin: White

    Eyes: Brown

    Sex: Males

    Alignment: Lawful Chaotic

    Faction Rank: Imperial Marines

    Specialization: Tactics

     

    History: Originally hailing from Coruscant, the Ford Twins were raised on Onderon, where the originally enlisted due to their pyromaniac and destructive tendencies.

     

    Private Phillippe Doloz



     

    Enlisted Name: Phillippe Doloz

    Aliases: Bacta

    Homeworld: Onderon

    Species: Human

    Age: 22

    Height: 5'3

    Weight: 145lbs

    Hair: Black

    Skin: Bronze

    Eyes: Brown

    Sex: Male

    Alignment: Lawful Tranquil

    Faction Rank: Imperial Marine

    Specialization: Medic

     

    History: Growing up in the slums of Onderon, Phillippe enlisted to provide a better life for his mother and sisters when Onderon was liberated. Childhood friend of Emerald Dunstan.

     

    Private Laurel Renee



     

    Enlisted Name: Laurel Renee

    Aliases: Bandages

    Homeworld: Onderon

    Species: Echani

    Age: 19

    Height: 4'10

    Weight: 105lbs

    Hair: Silver

    Skin: White

    Eyes: Silver

    Sex: Female

    Alignment: Lawful

    Faction Rank: Imperial Stormtrooper

    Specialization: Medic

     

    History: Her family can be traced back to Dxun, and later in the Beastriders of Onderon. Enlisted shortly after the Onderonian Liberation.

     

    Private Shaw Hax



     

    Enlisted Name: Shaw Hax

    Aliases: Tanker

    Homeworld: Dxun

    Species: Human(Mandalorian)

    Age: 17

    Height: 6'5

    Weight: 250lbs

    Hair: Blonde

    Skin: White

    Eyes: Brown

    Sex: Male

    Alignment: Chaotic

    Faction Rank: Imperial Marine

    Specialization: Heavy Infantry

     

    History: A member of the Hax Clan of Dxun, Shaw enlisted after the invasion and desecration of Dxun during the last battle of Onderon. Nicknamed Tanker by his comrades, he lives up to the name via his specialization with anti-tank weaponry and heavy artillery.

  22. Chaos took hold his heart and his smirk echoed of his enjoyment as Shiro heard his Master's words and gazed upon the fallen. He had started his Dark Journey as one of the Endured, those who took the will placed upon them and made it their own to Force change within the Galaxy. With joy, he took to collected what he felt was rightfully earned, carefully looking over each fallen form for what would form him, from Blasters to Chest plates, and everything in between, all while casually grasping at his deformed shoulder intermediately.

     

    From one, he unbuckled a breastplate of high quality durasteel, thickened and reinforced. Another he took an impressive Rerebrace and Couter along with a Vambrace and Gauntlet. Next came the Gorget, Pauldron, Plackart, Fauld, Cuisse, Poleyn, and Greaves until the armor had been collected and the armorweave remained. With a grin, he headed toward the ship his Master had disappeared within, dragging his collection until his sight fell upon a singular blade. It was a vibroblade, tempered and enforced, it's hilt encrusted with gems. It felt as dark as his soul, as if it cried for blood with a sentience's thought. And it was his to claim. 

     

    Boarding the ship, Shiro tossed the gear to the side, taking a moment to explore the smuggler's ship. Aboard were random crates of stolen goods and supplies, a few discarded droids. Picking up an arm, Shiro wandered back to thoughts of his Master, her intent to make him stronger. Surely prosthetics would only increase his power as much as replace what was lost. He grinned, reaching out to his Master in the Force, his intent flowing across her mind.

     

    "Bind this arm to me as I would this armor, so that your warrior can bind this Galaxy to our will."

  23. Shiro yanked his blade free, the dangling head of his prey bobbling as it's limp form fell upon the bloodied earth beneath it, blood and spinal fluid coating his clothing in the back spray. Shiro grinned. He could feel the fear, taste it even, as it lingered in the air. And he reveled in it, consuming it as if he was it's center of gravity, bloodlust aching in his darkened heart. Even as he stepped forward toward the next, he saw their reaction, the jumping of deer caught in the gaze of his frozen stare.

     

     

    “Stop playing with your prey, boy. You give them hope… A most dangerous weapon.”

     

    His Master's voice eerily echoed across the savannah, carried by both the dead and the planer's atmosphere. Shiro's peripheral gaze briefly caught her own as a smirk crept across his face before turning back to them. Let them have their hope. It was pointless now. For he was their harbinger, their shadow of death, and their hope could not stop the inevitable, senseless to accept anything but. With a grin, he drug his blade across this chest, reaping their frozen fear.

     

    Feeling the pain flow through his form, Shiro found its pleasurable bliss surging through his form, his fingers twitching in ecstasy. Gripping his blade tight, he pushed off with his right foot, his form a hazed blur as he drove toward the final front he faced, dragging his blade circularly around arms and necks until he reached the other side, shaking hands and arms firing blaster bolts widely and untamed. As he turned, the bodies fell in a display of feverish fountains of blood, the smell of iron painting the air as his gaze caught his Master's.

     

    "And what of you Master?"

  24. Like two Wolves amidst a flock of Sheep, the two Sith beacon the call of Chaos, the herd torn asunder by the consummation of fear and anger. Some moved to attack in a last ditch effort of survival while many took the time to chance escape at the sake of those who turned toward the chaos. For Shiro, the pleasure remained in abundance. Weak prey, predatorial creatures who could not stand alone even to overcome the mundane of prey. He could taste their fear in the air and feel the warmth of their anger as Wrath and Pride bore birth a new son. And it empowered his very core.

     

    Pain flowed through his veins as every movement of his form against the tide ached, the cauterized wound of his disfigured shoulder lit aflame with deadened nerves. But his pain was his power. It marked his fall before his rise, a stain of ego upon his darkened heart. Driving forward the limp form of his first victim, he carved his path through the fray, the deadman's finger a puppet's string to be pulled against those he knew in life. It was poetic for Shiro, to use friends against friends, the look of horror upon their faces invigorating.

     

    Throwing the form forward, and a well balance sweep, Shiro drove boned weapon through the chest of his next victim. His gaze shifted, the crimson and golden mix fixating upon the onlookers with a sinister grin. A blaster bolt strayed across his wounded shoulder, sending more pain wretching through his form as his gaze flamed with anger enjoyed, and in that moment, Shiro charged deeper into the fray, using the lingering fear within the air and the Wrath in his heart to propel him, speed only one of his new found strengths.

     

    Six had already fallen, two his blades, and four to the shield he had claimed. War was beating in his heart like drums and blood covered him like paint. He could feel the power of his Master and used her brighten flames to his advantage as he became the shadow of his enemies and attacked their rear, a blur amongst the battlefield for those who chose not to flee. And even though these Wolves were injured, the flock would feed them well. In a fluid motion, Shiro attacked his next victim, slicing ligaments before landing the killing blow at the base of the neck.

  25. The Darkness of Wrath and Pride were each hypnotic and captivating within their own rights. Wrath was blinding and powerful where as Pride was tactical and subversive. But to feel both coursing through his veins were like wildfires blazing in the right spots to provide destruction of the undergrowth so that the forest could grow lusher. Shiro could feel it growing inside himself, feel his heart and mind connect so freely and clearly with his body that pain from his wounds became pleasing to his senses. He felt more free than he had in the entirety of his lifespan.

     

    His gaze was sharper, his nose more in tune. His reflexes were quicker and his thoughts processed augmentively. And the Force flowed through his entirety with every beckon or call. And it felt greater than any drug that could ever be synthesized, creating a hunger filled need deep inside him. He could feel it creeping up his throat, the salivating lust for more, the urge in his heart beating faster for substance. And he could feel his form leeching for it with every movement. Even as his Master before him fell into combat.

     

    As if in a fog, Shiro followed headlong into the fray, the Force within him flowing maniacally like a storm. The Wrath within drove for the list of blood, aching to quench it's thirst with the blood of many. And the Pride within became a double edged blade, swelling his ego with impossible temptations. But Shiro had remembered the lesson taught to him by his Master, that blindness would lead to destruction and only taming the beast would create the path, a lesson he had only recently discovered within himself with truth. No. He would not be led astray this time by inexperience. This time, he would embrace the truth of the warrior within.

     

    Letting his Master's initial distraction catch the men off guard, Shiro would let their blindsidedness be his way in. As his feet touched the ground, he would grab the closest and slit their throat, and in catching their lifeless form, use them as a shield as their fire turned his way. This would present an opportunity to use their own against them, and a chance to discard the blade and grasp at his victim's weapon to return fire. His senses sharpened by the allure of the darkness within, it wouldn't be impossible to dispatch a handful in his own initial attack. But now that he had stepped into the fray, his luck would only be a fleeting moment and his reliance on his Master would intensify.

     

    Time to truly find his place as her worthy Apprentice and as a Sith.

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