L O S T
Vityr stalked the halls of the Academy, avoiding the gaze of as many individuals as he could as he awaited an order, an instruction, anything which would give him something to do. He had spent the morning training but beyond this there was little for the changeling to accomplish, no hand to guide him like he so dearly needed. A weapon, a tool, he was little more than a creature for the Empire's bidding, an animal for all intents and purposes, and on downtimes he did not know what to do with himself. The Apprentice Tournament had ended the day before, in which he had excelled and yet none had stepped forward to claim the acolyte as their own. Not that it mattered, he was younger than the average acolyte, nevermind Apprentice, he just found himself shot for patience when he lacked a task.
His eyes settled across the room he had ventured into, one of the low set antechambers within the Academy on Korriban, several levels below the sandy ground. The ceiling was high vaulted, dust crumbling down in small flurries with each step he took, the noises from the surface drowned out within the thick sandstone. In the centre a throne could be found, half broken and lost with age. Vityr neared it and sniffed, a natural animalistic instinct he had, never fully able to separate his human and dark wolf forms. His shoulders rolled back with a small crack as he resisted the urge to transform there and then, instead reaching for the vibrosword at his back; this was as good a place as any to relinquish himself of his urges, and training was one way to vent it lest the beast break free at an untimely moment.
Shifting the blade into his hands he turned and faced the room, blinking as he adjusted to the shadows, eyes piercing the darkness. His stance was relaxed yet in many ways structured, able to turn deadly in a moment's notice. He swiped the blade through the air, shifting on the balls of his feet as he adjusted to the momentum, feigning attacks on the air with short bursts of breath and low guttural growls to accompany. Why do I keep him locked away? There is no one here to see, no one here to destroy, I should not contain it like I do. But those were his orders whilst within the Academy, and Vityr knew better than to break the orders of his captors.
@[member='Darth Shadow']
His eyes settled across the room he had ventured into, one of the low set antechambers within the Academy on Korriban, several levels below the sandy ground. The ceiling was high vaulted, dust crumbling down in small flurries with each step he took, the noises from the surface drowned out within the thick sandstone. In the centre a throne could be found, half broken and lost with age. Vityr neared it and sniffed, a natural animalistic instinct he had, never fully able to separate his human and dark wolf forms. His shoulders rolled back with a small crack as he resisted the urge to transform there and then, instead reaching for the vibrosword at his back; this was as good a place as any to relinquish himself of his urges, and training was one way to vent it lest the beast break free at an untimely moment.
Shifting the blade into his hands he turned and faced the room, blinking as he adjusted to the shadows, eyes piercing the darkness. His stance was relaxed yet in many ways structured, able to turn deadly in a moment's notice. He swiped the blade through the air, shifting on the balls of his feet as he adjusted to the momentum, feigning attacks on the air with short bursts of breath and low guttural growls to accompany. Why do I keep him locked away? There is no one here to see, no one here to destroy, I should not contain it like I do. But those were his orders whilst within the Academy, and Vityr knew better than to break the orders of his captors.
@[member='Darth Shadow']