Finally.
His training was complete. Years upon years of arduous tests. Torture that should not have been wished upon any man--or child, and yet, he had survived. He still bore the scars, dastardly marks across his torso and upper arms. They would always be there, signs of his intense training. His left leg creaked slightly with every heavy, fulfilled step. It had been cut clean in half once, yet, he had overcome.
Graxin had survived in no small part due to Darth Vulacanus, the murderer of his parents, the one who had destroyed his family-- Father. The Dark Lord had taken him in, and taught him all he could of life, of power and strength. Through it all, Graxin had not lost who he was. His morals were still in check, and while he knew his actions to be wrong, what some would even consider evil, they were necessary.
The young man strode into Krag's throne room with a purpose. His long leather coat swayed behind him as he slipped through the doors, the Graug guards nodding in silent acknowledgement. He wore his rank on his shoulders proudly, a Captain of the Imperial military. Few knew of him, and even fewer knew of his purpose and origin. His hood rocked silent behind him as he crossed the tiled floor, lips pressed into a thin line, hazel eyes locked on the foreboding figure. The leader of the New Order, the former Sith Emperor, his father.
"Father, I have arrived as you instructed." The warrior--barely a man now-- bowed deep and gracious. The thin vibrosword at his hip scraped the floor as he did so, a loud, unwelcome sound in the somewhat quiet room. Graxin shot a look back toward the doors, and noted they were still open. It seemed his father was taking visitors today. "I am ready, and willing to serve."
He dropped to one knee, his short haired head dipping forward in silent respect. The weight of the compact rifle clinging weakly to the straps of his coat seemed much heavier now. His breath stilled, and his gaze lingered at the black tile beneath him.
I wonder where if Edrik is somewhere nearby...
"I have to say, I'm a bit impressed with how quickly your servants work. Already the Moross Crusade begins to crumble at your feet, and the Confederacy should be preparing...what is it you need of me father?"
[member="Darth Vulcanus"]
His training was complete. Years upon years of arduous tests. Torture that should not have been wished upon any man--or child, and yet, he had survived. He still bore the scars, dastardly marks across his torso and upper arms. They would always be there, signs of his intense training. His left leg creaked slightly with every heavy, fulfilled step. It had been cut clean in half once, yet, he had overcome.
Graxin had survived in no small part due to Darth Vulacanus, the murderer of his parents, the one who had destroyed his family-- Father. The Dark Lord had taken him in, and taught him all he could of life, of power and strength. Through it all, Graxin had not lost who he was. His morals were still in check, and while he knew his actions to be wrong, what some would even consider evil, they were necessary.
The young man strode into Krag's throne room with a purpose. His long leather coat swayed behind him as he slipped through the doors, the Graug guards nodding in silent acknowledgement. He wore his rank on his shoulders proudly, a Captain of the Imperial military. Few knew of him, and even fewer knew of his purpose and origin. His hood rocked silent behind him as he crossed the tiled floor, lips pressed into a thin line, hazel eyes locked on the foreboding figure. The leader of the New Order, the former Sith Emperor, his father.
"Father, I have arrived as you instructed." The warrior--barely a man now-- bowed deep and gracious. The thin vibrosword at his hip scraped the floor as he did so, a loud, unwelcome sound in the somewhat quiet room. Graxin shot a look back toward the doors, and noted they were still open. It seemed his father was taking visitors today. "I am ready, and willing to serve."
He dropped to one knee, his short haired head dipping forward in silent respect. The weight of the compact rifle clinging weakly to the straps of his coat seemed much heavier now. His breath stilled, and his gaze lingered at the black tile beneath him.
I wonder where if Edrik is somewhere nearby...
"I have to say, I'm a bit impressed with how quickly your servants work. Already the Moross Crusade begins to crumble at your feet, and the Confederacy should be preparing...what is it you need of me father?"
[member="Darth Vulcanus"]