Jake Daniels
Archduke of Dantella IV
The Fire on Honoghr
-Preparations for War-
“Are you sure about this?” The Noghri Warrior asked.
I could see the beginnings of what appeared to be a smirk on the face of Run’ok. A smirk I wanted to smack off his cocky reptilian like face. Noghri were stout creatures. Most did not pass four and a half feet; this one being no exception. His eyes were as black as coal. His skin an almost darkened blue mixed with steel. The color so unique that I couldn’t quite name it. He was large though. Like most of the Noghri, he was pure muscle. His arms and legs were as thick as tree trunks. His frame chiseled. There was little mistake that he was a well-trained killing machine.
“Absolutely.” I replied.
I removed my shirt, revealing a plethora of scars from decades of combat. Some were newer, some older. All combined told the story of a man whom lived a long, hard, and brutal life. Like the Noghri, I had been raised and trained to fight, to kill, and to survive. There was another object I revealed with the removal of my shirt. An aged wedding band that rested on a silver chain around my neck. I stood just over six feet. Though I was fit, months of general neglect was apparent in my rather lean and tired appearance. My hair held held a short buzz but my face clean shaven. I hated body hair. Anything and everything below the top of my head was gone.
The sun was warmer than usual, even for a Honoghrian Summer. I wrapped my shirt around my head as a makeshift sweat band. The Noghri did not sweat. They were not as affected by the sun. I was and it showed as my skin almost immediately began to pink under the rays of a blazing light.
“A Noghri is trained from birth to fight. You were raised by Mal’ary’ush in much the same way. Fight and survive; lay over and die.” Run’ok spoke. “Noghri have family. We have clans. We have tribes. You do not. You are the last of your line on Honoghr. A relic from a time long since passed. That is how we are different. We fight as one. You are just one. There is a similarity between us though. You, I, and the Noghri people have a deep sense of honor. You now wish to fight to right a wrong you believe done to your family, ironically, by your own family. We respect that. That is why we have agreed to help you in your retraining.”
I simply stood as I was. He was right. I held firm in my belief that [member="Amorella Shamalain"] had truly wronged me. Her denial in her office on Byblos to my request of resurrecting my family. That denial and her subsequent silence had left me shattered, more so than I wanted to admit to myself. In the weeks that followed I wavered in my resolve; made mistakes I now regret. Not anymore. I was done being the galaxy’s b!tch. I was done being mistreated, neglected, and forgotten. The Darke’s and whatever Shamalains remained may have forgotten about me with the passage of time. Not anymore. I planned on bringing a pain to them the likes of which they never experienced before. I wanted them to feel the pain Amorella, whether on purpose or inadvertent, had put my already shattered heart.
“We have two objects that represent you, Darth Gravis.” Run’ok motioned to a table that set up behind him. On it were two objects. The first was the framed picture of my family; the only image I still had of the most beautiful people I had ever met. The second was the ceremonial blade of my Master, Lady Silencia. “However to truly be what you need to be to win this war you wish to start, you must first lose everything.”
I watched as Run’ok neared me. The Warrior reached up and grabbed the necklace that held my wedding band. My arm instinctively grabbed his wrist. My eyes narrowed as the icy blues gave way to a fiery combination of red and yellow blended together. The darkside flourished in me and I relished its power. This display did nothing to affect Run’ok. He cared little about my small display of the force.
“You wish for our help. You do as we say.” Run’ok said.
-Preparations for War-
“Are you sure about this?” The Noghri Warrior asked.
I could see the beginnings of what appeared to be a smirk on the face of Run’ok. A smirk I wanted to smack off his cocky reptilian like face. Noghri were stout creatures. Most did not pass four and a half feet; this one being no exception. His eyes were as black as coal. His skin an almost darkened blue mixed with steel. The color so unique that I couldn’t quite name it. He was large though. Like most of the Noghri, he was pure muscle. His arms and legs were as thick as tree trunks. His frame chiseled. There was little mistake that he was a well-trained killing machine.
“Absolutely.” I replied.
I removed my shirt, revealing a plethora of scars from decades of combat. Some were newer, some older. All combined told the story of a man whom lived a long, hard, and brutal life. Like the Noghri, I had been raised and trained to fight, to kill, and to survive. There was another object I revealed with the removal of my shirt. An aged wedding band that rested on a silver chain around my neck. I stood just over six feet. Though I was fit, months of general neglect was apparent in my rather lean and tired appearance. My hair held held a short buzz but my face clean shaven. I hated body hair. Anything and everything below the top of my head was gone.
The sun was warmer than usual, even for a Honoghrian Summer. I wrapped my shirt around my head as a makeshift sweat band. The Noghri did not sweat. They were not as affected by the sun. I was and it showed as my skin almost immediately began to pink under the rays of a blazing light.
“A Noghri is trained from birth to fight. You were raised by Mal’ary’ush in much the same way. Fight and survive; lay over and die.” Run’ok spoke. “Noghri have family. We have clans. We have tribes. You do not. You are the last of your line on Honoghr. A relic from a time long since passed. That is how we are different. We fight as one. You are just one. There is a similarity between us though. You, I, and the Noghri people have a deep sense of honor. You now wish to fight to right a wrong you believe done to your family, ironically, by your own family. We respect that. That is why we have agreed to help you in your retraining.”
I simply stood as I was. He was right. I held firm in my belief that [member="Amorella Shamalain"] had truly wronged me. Her denial in her office on Byblos to my request of resurrecting my family. That denial and her subsequent silence had left me shattered, more so than I wanted to admit to myself. In the weeks that followed I wavered in my resolve; made mistakes I now regret. Not anymore. I was done being the galaxy’s b!tch. I was done being mistreated, neglected, and forgotten. The Darke’s and whatever Shamalains remained may have forgotten about me with the passage of time. Not anymore. I planned on bringing a pain to them the likes of which they never experienced before. I wanted them to feel the pain Amorella, whether on purpose or inadvertent, had put my already shattered heart.
“We have two objects that represent you, Darth Gravis.” Run’ok motioned to a table that set up behind him. On it were two objects. The first was the framed picture of my family; the only image I still had of the most beautiful people I had ever met. The second was the ceremonial blade of my Master, Lady Silencia. “However to truly be what you need to be to win this war you wish to start, you must first lose everything.”
I watched as Run’ok neared me. The Warrior reached up and grabbed the necklace that held my wedding band. My arm instinctively grabbed his wrist. My eyes narrowed as the icy blues gave way to a fiery combination of red and yellow blended together. The darkside flourished in me and I relished its power. This display did nothing to affect Run’ok. He cared little about my small display of the force.
“You wish for our help. You do as we say.” Run’ok said.