Darth Vanitas - The Pale Death
Darth Vanitas, or just simply Veradun, sat in a seat outside a small eatery within the bustling heart of the Sith Empire, Jutrand. He wasn’t here on business, not exactly anyway. He wasn’t here on orders of his master, Darth Nefaron. He wasn’t here for any other reason, other than for sustenance…and perhaps indulgence.
Pale eyes watched people come and go, walking past him to their various destinations, most oblivious to the fact that Death watched them go on their way. He was sitting in waiting, like a panther waiting for the antelope to come just a little too close.
One particular individual caught his eye, a young man who seemed to be nervous being surrounded by people. His eyes were shifty, his posture alert and jumpy. Veradun’s head tilted to one side as he observed the individual in silence.
A gentle probe with the Force alerted the figure some feet away, and Veradun felt the faintest of smiles curl at the corners of his mouth. A Force sensitive. But there was something else there too, a faint glimmer of Light. Was this…a Jedi, perhaps? Their presence was smothered, hidden, but not very well.
The figure started to walk away, his steps hurried, and Veradun calmly rose from his seat and slipped into the crowd. Above his head, above the skyline and the tall skyscrapers, was an iron gray sky - clouds boiling with the promise of an oncoming storm. It added to the dreary, oppressive sensation that weighed over the city - a place gripped by the iron fist of Sith supremacy and rule.
Veradun stalked his prey casually, falling into the motions of the Hunt like it was second nature. The Lowblood enjoyed this more than the rush of combat, sometimes. The lead up to what would amount to a delectable feast, and the (temporary) soothing of the burn in his veins.
The slow chase carried on through several city blocks, the prey not truly realizing they were being Hunted, but sensing enough that someone was following him. He stayed with the crowd, smart, but Darth Vanitas was not deterred by this. He was waiting, patiently, for him to make a mistake.
And he did, when he decided to slip down a side street, crowded by boxes and other items left out by the businesses in the area. Perhaps he had done this in a bid to see just who was following him, to put a face to the presence that had been lingering at the edges of his awareness.
Veradun was no fresh acolyte, however. By the time he turned down the same alleyway - his presence and form were gone. He was still there, but he had minimized his very presence and bent the Force around him in such a way that he was invisible to those around him. The young man who held a glimmer of the Lights side ahead of him had no idea he was there.
…Until it was much too late.
Cruel things happened in Jutrand all the time; the lower streets were rife with crime. Death was not uncommon in these parts. No one dared to intercept or interfere, choosing to go about their way and the wise kept their heads down, lest they find themselves in a similar situation. So no one seemed to notice, or care about, the scuffle in the alleyway as the young man initially fought with his shadowy attacker and was subdued in a vicelike embrace. Veradun was still relatively fresh as a Sangnir, though educated in the ways of the Hunt and the kill. His Sire had made sure of that. But Veradun loved to experiment and try different ways of hunting and feeding.
This particular hunt was more…primal. He allowed his bloodlust to control him, to some degree. His victim’s throat was savaged, muscle and tendon torn to the bone. The dying man slumped in his grasp with each thirsty pull, until life was extinguished completely. Veradun drained him of every last drop he could take, before dropping the body to the ground at his feet. He took a deep breath into his lungs, feeling his ribcage expand as life and energy flowed through him once more.
Pale eyes watched people come and go, walking past him to their various destinations, most oblivious to the fact that Death watched them go on their way. He was sitting in waiting, like a panther waiting for the antelope to come just a little too close.
One particular individual caught his eye, a young man who seemed to be nervous being surrounded by people. His eyes were shifty, his posture alert and jumpy. Veradun’s head tilted to one side as he observed the individual in silence.
A gentle probe with the Force alerted the figure some feet away, and Veradun felt the faintest of smiles curl at the corners of his mouth. A Force sensitive. But there was something else there too, a faint glimmer of Light. Was this…a Jedi, perhaps? Their presence was smothered, hidden, but not very well.
The figure started to walk away, his steps hurried, and Veradun calmly rose from his seat and slipped into the crowd. Above his head, above the skyline and the tall skyscrapers, was an iron gray sky - clouds boiling with the promise of an oncoming storm. It added to the dreary, oppressive sensation that weighed over the city - a place gripped by the iron fist of Sith supremacy and rule.
Veradun stalked his prey casually, falling into the motions of the Hunt like it was second nature. The Lowblood enjoyed this more than the rush of combat, sometimes. The lead up to what would amount to a delectable feast, and the (temporary) soothing of the burn in his veins.
The slow chase carried on through several city blocks, the prey not truly realizing they were being Hunted, but sensing enough that someone was following him. He stayed with the crowd, smart, but Darth Vanitas was not deterred by this. He was waiting, patiently, for him to make a mistake.
And he did, when he decided to slip down a side street, crowded by boxes and other items left out by the businesses in the area. Perhaps he had done this in a bid to see just who was following him, to put a face to the presence that had been lingering at the edges of his awareness.
Veradun was no fresh acolyte, however. By the time he turned down the same alleyway - his presence and form were gone. He was still there, but he had minimized his very presence and bent the Force around him in such a way that he was invisible to those around him. The young man who held a glimmer of the Lights side ahead of him had no idea he was there.
…Until it was much too late.
Cruel things happened in Jutrand all the time; the lower streets were rife with crime. Death was not uncommon in these parts. No one dared to intercept or interfere, choosing to go about their way and the wise kept their heads down, lest they find themselves in a similar situation. So no one seemed to notice, or care about, the scuffle in the alleyway as the young man initially fought with his shadowy attacker and was subdued in a vicelike embrace. Veradun was still relatively fresh as a Sangnir, though educated in the ways of the Hunt and the kill. His Sire had made sure of that. But Veradun loved to experiment and try different ways of hunting and feeding.
This particular hunt was more…primal. He allowed his bloodlust to control him, to some degree. His victim’s throat was savaged, muscle and tendon torn to the bone. The dying man slumped in his grasp with each thirsty pull, until life was extinguished completely. Veradun drained him of every last drop he could take, before dropping the body to the ground at his feet. He took a deep breath into his lungs, feeling his ribcage expand as life and energy flowed through him once more.
