Lark
Saint of the Damned
Lark studied alone deep within the depths of the newly constructed Sith Temple on Dantooine, within the library, full of ancient knowledge long ignored by those of lesser minds. The temple was far less dreary than it was when Lark had assisted in retaking it. Where mist and cold stone once covered the floor now instead lay furbished tiles and plush rugs. The library, while not as grand as the one on Bastion, was still full of books and holocrons once thought to be lost to the ever flowing sands of time. Since joining the Sith it seemed as though he had spent more time reading and acquiring knowledge than he had training and utilizing his burgeoning powers. This was not a mistake in his mind, but it was something that needed rectifying. His style of street fighting, however adaptable and clever he refined it, would only get him so far. He could not trick himself into the position of Lord. Knowledge is power, but so is strength. Lark would need both in order to find what is was he sought.
Answers, for everything.
It seemed a fleeting dream, and years ago Lark wouldn't have bothered trying, believing it to be thoroughly pointless. But he had changed since then. Perhaps there wasn't a point, but how satisfying it would feel to insult reality itself in such a way. He had considered himself to be an abnormality, indeed he should have perished years ago. But he and fate had different plans, and damned be to those who got in his way.
He stood from his table, gathering his pile of books and holocrons. He had been studying for several hours, perfectly memorizing line after line of text. He continued to cultivate his speaking of the Sith language, read of the flora and fauna residing on Dantooine, and continued to learn of the grand history of the Sith Order. Thousands of years of history, all held within his hands. And he only had so long to learn. He strolled through the corridors of the library, returning his selected items to where he found them. And as he moved to place the last book onto it's shelf, he felt a familiar presence. However terrible and unnatural the feeling he felt was, it was not unwelcome. Quite the opposite, Lark had been hoping to uncover more about it sense he first noticed the sickening sensation.
He could have spied on her, but she possessed an understanding of the Force that far exceeded that of any other acolyte. She would have sensed him as easily as he sensed her, and despite his foulness his aura was not so repugnant as her's. People were fleshy enigmas, but Ariealla Vareldi more than most. Indeed, he had discovered firsthand her odd fascination of flesh. He had noted that she was different before they fought, and his hypothesis was soon proven correct. Her dreadful semblance she emanated, coupled with her abnormally skilled method of fighting had only fueled Lark's interest in the tiny woman.
Perhaps it was a tad rude to approach someone at the library, but Lark didn't find himself caring. Whatever dark secrets the woman was hiding Lark wanted to know, no matter how horrible they might be. "Hello again, little Ariealla. Do you mind if I sit?" He asked in a polite, melodious voice. "There were a few questions I'd hoped you might be able to answer."
[member="Ariealla Vareldi"]
Answers, for everything.
It seemed a fleeting dream, and years ago Lark wouldn't have bothered trying, believing it to be thoroughly pointless. But he had changed since then. Perhaps there wasn't a point, but how satisfying it would feel to insult reality itself in such a way. He had considered himself to be an abnormality, indeed he should have perished years ago. But he and fate had different plans, and damned be to those who got in his way.
He stood from his table, gathering his pile of books and holocrons. He had been studying for several hours, perfectly memorizing line after line of text. He continued to cultivate his speaking of the Sith language, read of the flora and fauna residing on Dantooine, and continued to learn of the grand history of the Sith Order. Thousands of years of history, all held within his hands. And he only had so long to learn. He strolled through the corridors of the library, returning his selected items to where he found them. And as he moved to place the last book onto it's shelf, he felt a familiar presence. However terrible and unnatural the feeling he felt was, it was not unwelcome. Quite the opposite, Lark had been hoping to uncover more about it sense he first noticed the sickening sensation.
He could have spied on her, but she possessed an understanding of the Force that far exceeded that of any other acolyte. She would have sensed him as easily as he sensed her, and despite his foulness his aura was not so repugnant as her's. People were fleshy enigmas, but Ariealla Vareldi more than most. Indeed, he had discovered firsthand her odd fascination of flesh. He had noted that she was different before they fought, and his hypothesis was soon proven correct. Her dreadful semblance she emanated, coupled with her abnormally skilled method of fighting had only fueled Lark's interest in the tiny woman.
Perhaps it was a tad rude to approach someone at the library, but Lark didn't find himself caring. Whatever dark secrets the woman was hiding Lark wanted to know, no matter how horrible they might be. "Hello again, little Ariealla. Do you mind if I sit?" He asked in a polite, melodious voice. "There were a few questions I'd hoped you might be able to answer."
[member="Ariealla Vareldi"]