:: HERO of KORRIBAN ::
The truth seemed to be something always out of grasp. It slipped like the sands of the great Dathomiri desert through fingers. As the hand would scoop the grains and rise, piece by piece and grain by grain they would fall, until all that remained were a few grains to grasp onto. That was all Solan had to go on when it came to his history.
Sometimes he remembered a planet which was full of mountainous terrain, fertile ground, grapes in abundance, wine. It seemed like a dream, and usually was. The hot sands of the desert he was raised in, or near, reminded him Dathomir had always been his home.
"You must find your way off of this planet," his mother would always say. "You are destined for more than what you have here. Your ancestors ruled an entire world, people did their will. They will do yours, but you must first find a way off this place."
His ancestor. A man which could be fiction for all he cared. Solan knew enough to know that he was born out of wedlock, a bastard child, sent away because he and his mother were a shame and disgrace. Still he was driven to leave, and she pushed him toward it.
He was fourteen when he left. The dark haired teen already looking older than his age. The world had become different as he aged. Things mived at his will, mostly by accident really. There was something else, sometimes he heard voices. These voices were what he followed until he reached the Burning Mists Clan. The magics he witnessed, the way the women were strong, Solan knew he needed what they had in order to leave, so there he stayed.
Seven years passed, quickly. Bryn was taller, more muscular, the tattoos of their men covered his arms and portions of his chest. He had been learning their magics, or trying too, but he lacked the formal training the Sith who had been part of the clan had. He knew what he needed to do. That's why he set on his knees outside one of the two large tents.
The animal hides still kept their fur. It insulated the tent from the cold evening and morning air. Solan had been waiting for two days, the only thing allowed him was a water bag made from the skins of an animal far to small to use for the dwellings the nightsisters occupied. He would wait until allowed to enter, or until death took him. This was his test.
[member="Darth Raven"]
Sometimes he remembered a planet which was full of mountainous terrain, fertile ground, grapes in abundance, wine. It seemed like a dream, and usually was. The hot sands of the desert he was raised in, or near, reminded him Dathomir had always been his home.
"You must find your way off of this planet," his mother would always say. "You are destined for more than what you have here. Your ancestors ruled an entire world, people did their will. They will do yours, but you must first find a way off this place."
His ancestor. A man which could be fiction for all he cared. Solan knew enough to know that he was born out of wedlock, a bastard child, sent away because he and his mother were a shame and disgrace. Still he was driven to leave, and she pushed him toward it.
He was fourteen when he left. The dark haired teen already looking older than his age. The world had become different as he aged. Things mived at his will, mostly by accident really. There was something else, sometimes he heard voices. These voices were what he followed until he reached the Burning Mists Clan. The magics he witnessed, the way the women were strong, Solan knew he needed what they had in order to leave, so there he stayed.
Seven years passed, quickly. Bryn was taller, more muscular, the tattoos of their men covered his arms and portions of his chest. He had been learning their magics, or trying too, but he lacked the formal training the Sith who had been part of the clan had. He knew what he needed to do. That's why he set on his knees outside one of the two large tents.
The animal hides still kept their fur. It insulated the tent from the cold evening and morning air. Solan had been waiting for two days, the only thing allowed him was a water bag made from the skins of an animal far to small to use for the dwellings the nightsisters occupied. He would wait until allowed to enter, or until death took him. This was his test.
[member="Darth Raven"]