Lord Strava
A Returned Evil
Damien stared with eyes like molten amber. The very air vibrated. Thrumming with the pull of the darkside, the whispers of vile things emanating all around. As he moved among the sands of Tattooine, the Lord of the Sith barely once more alive a day or two, Damien charged himself with the fleeing shrieks and shouts. Held out and at an angle from himself, was the blade he had alchemised the afternoon of his return to the living.
Dubbing it SouthStrike, Damien had been using it when the times were necessary. Such as now. The small City scream and ran for it's life. At his behest. Yet, was it not their fault for housing the scum? The actual head behind his murder, the face that pointed the finger. Asher is here.
Striking out at another body that came within just a little close of space, Damien once more soaked his weapon. The viscous fluid splattered his bare chest, the spray even managing to reach his cheek. Swinging a swift jerk, he sent flying much of it from the blade, drenching more ground nearby.
Pausing at the entrance to a tavern, Damien staggered. Turning his nose to the air he drew in a deep breath. That scent.. that taste.. what was he smelling? Cocking his eyes to the door nearest him, he held the pause. His eyes darted to his current goal than inside the cantina.
Growling low in his throat, Damien stepped through the doorway. The air was thick inside. While seeming empty, a few unconcerned patrons remained. Over these his eyes traveled, searching for the origin of his new goal. It was like.. strawberries... And crepes... Just a hint of nutmeg...
This smell was intoxicating. Like the Force was combining as many alluring things as possible to make this one new attention grabber.
Roses.. blood.. scorched Earth...
Cinnamon buns... Scorched steak...
The ancient mind was being brought to his knees.
He smelled... The Force was messing with him now... No way he could smell.. that.
Cassia
Dubbing it SouthStrike, Damien had been using it when the times were necessary. Such as now. The small City scream and ran for it's life. At his behest. Yet, was it not their fault for housing the scum? The actual head behind his murder, the face that pointed the finger. Asher is here.
Striking out at another body that came within just a little close of space, Damien once more soaked his weapon. The viscous fluid splattered his bare chest, the spray even managing to reach his cheek. Swinging a swift jerk, he sent flying much of it from the blade, drenching more ground nearby.
Pausing at the entrance to a tavern, Damien staggered. Turning his nose to the air he drew in a deep breath. That scent.. that taste.. what was he smelling? Cocking his eyes to the door nearest him, he held the pause. His eyes darted to his current goal than inside the cantina.
Growling low in his throat, Damien stepped through the doorway. The air was thick inside. While seeming empty, a few unconcerned patrons remained. Over these his eyes traveled, searching for the origin of his new goal. It was like.. strawberries... And crepes... Just a hint of nutmeg...
This smell was intoxicating. Like the Force was combining as many alluring things as possible to make this one new attention grabber.
Roses.. blood.. scorched Earth...
Cinnamon buns... Scorched steak...
The ancient mind was being brought to his knees.
He smelled... The Force was messing with him now... No way he could smell.. that.
