Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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C O M P L I C A T E D , I R R I T A T E D
THE LORD OF ICE
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HIS KEEP,
NORTH OF ASOPORT, CARLAC
-4 STANDARD DEGREES
BLIZZARD CONDITIONS

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Sixty days, was the last of the count he remembered- not that he was the one keeping track, of course. It was a bit tricky to do such a thing when one had the visual range of a chair leg, but that stopped him none, in his seemingly unwavering endeavor to outlast the blizzard that settled over his world and locked the planet down. It was expected, naturally, but that didn't mean he had issued the order to brace with any sort of haste... or that he had remembered to do such a thing at all. And there he sat now, forehead pressed to the frosted glass of the towering window on the cusp of his keep, gently banging his head against the pane with the enthusiasm of a man with but a shred of sanity left to his claim. "I'm quite certain I'm going to die," he sighed with the drama of a teenager and the quivering tone of a toddler, "is it done snowing yet?" The sorcerer groaned, swiveling his head around to fix his mock-gaze on the attendant behind him.

The man had simply stood in silence, hands tucked into the opposite sleeves of his robes, and watched as The Vulture lost his mind shred by shred, day by day. Cabin fever was brutal, even in a keep so large. But the zabrak had grown accustomed to watching Halketh's antics- the ceaseless pacing, the seemingly random destruction, and perhaps strangest of all, the manic sculpting. He was unsure how a blind man was able to carve form from stone so easily, but his own eyes had witnessed it plenty. "My Lord-" the man spoke up, wetting his lips, "we-"

A scarred hand snapped up, flexing a straightened digit towards the vaulted ceilings overhead. "Shhhh," The sorcerer hissed a delicate breath between his tired lips. "Shh."

The zabrak blinked his yellow eyes.


"Answer the question."

"No, my Lord, it hasn't."

"Nu buti zuti kia zudyti ja've virmse sudas.." Halketh muttered, drawing his head back from the glass to roughly slap both hands to his face, dragging the pads of his digits down his features to fall from his chin. "What word from the NIO?"

"Dantooine was... a failure."

"I take a vacation-" he started, as if he had been given a choice in the matter, "-and they go lose a battle? You're joking, right?"

"N-no, sir."

"Alright," The Vulture clasped his hands together before him, clapping with finality- the sound echoing around the massive room, "Dig out the ships."

"Sir, the ships are in the han-"

"A-ah, dig out the ships. Go go. Get to it. We've got things to do." What things did he have to do, really? He wasn't sure, to be fair, he was just going to improvise. The fading rhythm of the zabrak's footsteps told him he was left alone in his office once more, and he prowled around to his perch, beckoning his chair out with a flex of his fingers, and collapsing down into the leather with a soft sigh. Electrum glinted with the summon of his spheres, and he set into contemplative rotation with dancing fingers, pondering the implications of Dantooine in the forefront of his consciousness. Was he ready for another invasion?

The hundreds of undead stormies he had plucked up out of the earth and dusted off suggested he was. He had to do something with his unplanned time off, after all. It didn't matter too much, anyway, did it? What was one loss? The spheres suspended in the air, frozen in their state as his fingers did the same. Wait, why hadn't he heard anything personally? Why were his communications coming through Icorith, and not to him directly? A coup? The thought furrowed his mock-brows, putting a sharp crease through the fabric of his blindfold. There better not have been a coup without someone getting beheaded- a lame occasion, indeed, that would be otherwise. Was he wearing the proper outfit to be beheaded today? Did his outfit matter if visibility outside was so apparently horrid? Would they even do it outside? Publicly?

"Focus." He reeled himself in, snapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. He reached with his free hand, blindly smacking the panel implanted into the surface of the desk he used for leg support more than logistics, and waited. Nothing. He slapped at it again, ensuring his fingers had struck their mark by the soft 'click' of a button compressing. Nothing more, however.

"CASSIY!" The Vulture threw his head back, shouting into the void.

"WHAT?!" her voice faintly bounced down the corridor and ricocheted into his office.

"WHY ISN'T MY HOLOCOM WORKING?!" he slapped at the panel again before sitting upright and smearing both hands across the surface, mashing all of the useless buttons and keys in the process.

"THE POWER'S OUT!"

He tilted his head forward, fixing his face down towards the panel. Grey smudge. Grey smudge. Oh! Dancing red- no wait that was just his hand. His ringed fingers tapped against the glassy surface softly, right. Yeah, totally, he knew the power was out. He didn't respond to his apprentice, not right away.

"IT'S BEEN OUT FOR A MONTH, NOW! DID YOU FORGET!?" she was relentless. Absolutely relentless. How terrible. What a bully. He should break her speeder again.

"N-NO! GO HELP THEM DIG OUT THE SHIPS!" He barked back, pushing himself away from his desk and grabbing his cloak, throwing it over his shoulders as he made for the door, "WE'RE MOVING."



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Halketh
do not perceive me

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