[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]
The abyss.
It was where power came from. That deep black heart that sat within humanity and beyond, that funnel of emotion, that well of hatred and agony, the thing that all true strength was tied to. From it seeped a lake, a lake of unimaginable onslaught. It was spread by those who would do evil, by those who would slaughter and murder, by those who would destroy and raze entire worlds.
It was spread by people like Cedric Dorn.
He walked without effort, despite his red and peeling skin, despite his decrepit body and the unabashed agony that it put him in. Every time his boot landed it was like the sound of thunder, every time his cloak snapped in the wind it was like a leviathans roar. He moved quickly, his steps taking him up the grand stairway to the palace on Bastion.
Bright yellow eyes watched as guards approached him, a lip less scowl passing over his face as they raised their weapons. A single palm came up, a wave of his hand and the men found themselves thrown into the air, clutching their throats.
The Sith Lord stalked forward, ignoring the men as they choked upon their own blood.
Another wave of his hand and the gates parted before him, spreading themselves wide to reveal another gaggle of guards, this one headed by a man in odd armor. Cedric watched them, each with their rifle raised to his chest. His face contorted for a second, a mixture of rage and annoyance. His body language told of a debate, whether to kill, or speak.
Eventually sense took hold of him, stripping away the dark thoughts that had consumed him for but a moment. “I would speak with your Host Lord.”
His voice was gravel scraping against the road, worn and tired vocal cords barely functioning.
“Now.” The guards did as they were told.
The abyss.
It was where power came from. That deep black heart that sat within humanity and beyond, that funnel of emotion, that well of hatred and agony, the thing that all true strength was tied to. From it seeped a lake, a lake of unimaginable onslaught. It was spread by those who would do evil, by those who would slaughter and murder, by those who would destroy and raze entire worlds.
It was spread by people like Cedric Dorn.
He walked without effort, despite his red and peeling skin, despite his decrepit body and the unabashed agony that it put him in. Every time his boot landed it was like the sound of thunder, every time his cloak snapped in the wind it was like a leviathans roar. He moved quickly, his steps taking him up the grand stairway to the palace on Bastion.
Bright yellow eyes watched as guards approached him, a lip less scowl passing over his face as they raised their weapons. A single palm came up, a wave of his hand and the men found themselves thrown into the air, clutching their throats.
The Sith Lord stalked forward, ignoring the men as they choked upon their own blood.
Another wave of his hand and the gates parted before him, spreading themselves wide to reveal another gaggle of guards, this one headed by a man in odd armor. Cedric watched them, each with their rifle raised to his chest. His face contorted for a second, a mixture of rage and annoyance. His body language told of a debate, whether to kill, or speak.
Eventually sense took hold of him, stripping away the dark thoughts that had consumed him for but a moment. “I would speak with your Host Lord.”
His voice was gravel scraping against the road, worn and tired vocal cords barely functioning.
“Now.” The guards did as they were told.