Darth Sycophantia, Lady of Twisted Evolution
and who do we have here?
weapon: draconic scourge
outfit:X™
tag(s):
Zavik Maltheris
The name reached me as a whisper carried through the endless machinery of Mahporeem,
Zavik Maltheris
. A promising young student of the Force, they said.
Strong potential.
Unusual instincts.
Perhaps even the makings of something greater.
I listened without expression, allowing the name to settle somewhere within the dark recesses of my mind. Zavik Maltheris was unfamiliar to me, but then, most people were.
I had never possessed the patience for friendships, nor the sentimental weakness required to cultivate them.
My time was far too precious to squander upon attachments. To me, people were instruments; living things to be sharpened, bent, corrupted, and ultimately broken when their usefulness had been exhausted.
Even the Force itself had taught me a simple truth; everything that lives can be made into a weapon, provided one is willing to carve deeply enough.
I stood upon a rusted observation platform overlooking one of Mahporeem's sprawling junkyards, where mountains of discarded machinery rose beneath the bruised twilight like the bones of some dead industrial guru. Below, scavenger droids crawled between heaps of durasteel and shattered starships, picking through the carcasses of things that had once been deemed valuable.
I found the sight strangely appropriate.
Every object here had once possessed a purpose. Every object had eventually become disposable. My gaze lingered upon the distant capital before I wondered where this
Zavik Maltheris
might fit within my designs.
Perhaps the Ezaraa possessed enough darkness to become an Apprentice; a blade worth keeping close to my hand, tempered beneath my instruction until it could carve open the galaxy itself.
Or perhaps this Zavik would prove to be nothing more than another useful instrument, one to be twisted until it accomplished whatever purpose I required, and then cast aside among the refuse.
I smiled faintly beneath the shadows of my hood. Either outcome suited me. A Sith Lord does not mourn the loss of tools. She simply finds better ones.
Zavik Maltheris
. A promising young student of the Force, they said. Strong potential.
Unusual instincts.
Perhaps even the makings of something greater.
I listened without expression, allowing the name to settle somewhere within the dark recesses of my mind. Zavik Maltheris was unfamiliar to me, but then, most people were.
I had never possessed the patience for friendships, nor the sentimental weakness required to cultivate them.
My time was far too precious to squander upon attachments. To me, people were instruments; living things to be sharpened, bent, corrupted, and ultimately broken when their usefulness had been exhausted.
Even the Force itself had taught me a simple truth; everything that lives can be made into a weapon, provided one is willing to carve deeply enough.
I stood upon a rusted observation platform overlooking one of Mahporeem's sprawling junkyards, where mountains of discarded machinery rose beneath the bruised twilight like the bones of some dead industrial guru. Below, scavenger droids crawled between heaps of durasteel and shattered starships, picking through the carcasses of things that had once been deemed valuable.
I found the sight strangely appropriate.
Every object here had once possessed a purpose. Every object had eventually become disposable. My gaze lingered upon the distant capital before I wondered where this
Zavik Maltheris
might fit within my designs. Perhaps the Ezaraa possessed enough darkness to become an Apprentice; a blade worth keeping close to my hand, tempered beneath my instruction until it could carve open the galaxy itself.
Or perhaps this Zavik would prove to be nothing more than another useful instrument, one to be twisted until it accomplished whatever purpose I required, and then cast aside among the refuse.
I smiled faintly beneath the shadows of my hood. Either outcome suited me. A Sith Lord does not mourn the loss of tools. She simply finds better ones.