Location: Far, far away.
Tag: [member="Kaden Farr"], [member="Darth Metus"], [member="Voph"]
Elyria laughed. Sweet as sin. This was an example of what the Darkside now had to offer among the living? How could the mighty have fallen so far, so fast, in her absence? Had she not sewn enough hate into the heart of her vessels? Had she not encouraged their propensity for violence? The struggle for ultimate power, no matter the cost, no matter what they had to lose to obtain it? Had they not decimated their own populace, with their own hubris, that resulted in a glorious 400 Years of Darkness?
How had this warmongering brute forgotten all that at the sight of a piece of pale womanly flesh?
She had so many questions that this small mind could not hope to answer. Centuries, millennia, of unanswerable queries. Instead, she settled for corruption. Elyria watched as his mind betrayed him. In the blink of an eye, on the wing of a bird, he gave in to the selfish truth of Man.
[member="Darth Metus"] coveted that which he could never have.
Invisible fingers, touched with the thrill of death, drew their way down the side of his chiseled face. He would feel her as if she had been made real. Yes. He had carried a little piece of her with him. He would feed her, through violence, through his need to spill blood. He would unwillingly repay her for sending him back from whence he came.
‘You cannot fight me. You cannot even manage to protect what you think is yours from the Dark. Feel, through your bond, for the girl. Feel that she is already mine…’
There was something within him that gave her reason to pause. To withdraw her wrath from his very being. It did not spurn her, but, it did bring her curiosity. She followed the flow of something that he referred to as the
‘Manda’ and she traced it inquisitively through his veins. It was bright, like a distant star, and almost hurt her eyes. It was a shame for her victim that she thrived on pain.
‘Perhaps I will begone from you…Perhaps I will turn to that which you love.’
Her voice was softer, fainter, but still present in the back of his mind. Elyria could see, as many enemies had before, where his weakness hid. It was flesh and blood. Not his own, rarely, even his children. It was one soft-spoken force-sensitive that was slowly spiraling in to madness.
Another partner swept through, another man, mortal. He held the scent of the fallen, of dust, and decay. A new dance partner so soon? She laughed, both men would hear, even as she was issued another warning to depart. Did they not realize that she would leave only when she meant to? No one issued her orders, no one controlled her, not now, nor ever.
‘Your weapon, your despair, only fuels my existence. The death you bring is a much-wanted bouquet...’
‘Bring me more. Spoil me, sweetlings.’
Her focus returned to [member="Darth Metus"]. What was it that he wished to do?
Oh, yes.
This device.
She pushed from the ether in a rolling wave. He wished this object to carry his fear so that it would bring terror to his enemies? Elyria would help him with that. With, or without his permission. Or the guiding hand of the miscreant in the dark, the old one, filled with so much hubris. The sable-skinned Sith Lord would feel a dark surge boil up from his Core. It was primordial, powerful, and nigh overwhelming.
How small they must feel to realize that the truth. There is always a larger predator, beasts, that needed to feed.
‘Give me fear. Give me, what I require. Nisosûti ki Nairi.’
