Marf
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Oct 18, 2012
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Pale grey sand stretched for miles across deserted coastline spanning an island on Kesh. The Blue depth muted to a dull navy underneath colorless clouds welcoming a descending shuttle. Coarse engines disrupted the ethereal caress of the ocean's sound and the Mandalorian hunters inside were restless for action. Lead by a Jedi Knight, the group of warriors had been hired by the Malastare police force following a massacre of unfathomable violence.
"Listen up men, your target is unidentified, extremely dangerous and carries no weapon. The specifics of his intentions are unknown."
The massive Mandalorian Alor named Ironfist spoke up before his comrade. Devoid of regard for human well-being, holding no semblance of moral but hypocritical obsession with his so-called honor. The young Jedi Knight named Rokuro stood by idly before monsters who held themselves at a higher moral regard than the name of a faction.
"Never thought I'd see the day where I'd get to kill a real life Sith. Things are finally looking up in the galaxy."
Every day, soldiers trained, factions attacked factions. Labels and borders all conveniently categorized into good and bad. They all shared one thing in common, they killed people. The crimes of their target occurred sparsely, almost random. Dotted across the Outer Rim and neutral territory where no major eyes could see. Absolutely cowardice, meticulously intelligent.
"Your target killed twenty-three people in five minutes, he's vicious."
- - -
Images blurred like glass smashed by the force of waves over the accumulation time, a past lost to the abyss linked only to a child he did not know. Frustration and denial plagued his focus, only the pictures mattered to Vereshin. It was Leira he wanted, the soul upon everything. Bells roamed from a tiny church poised far atop a hill and lead his feet along the gloomy hued sand. Pointed boots with silver buckles dented the damp sand, barely missing the teasing waves. His simple and elegant black robes stood against the muted land like the ravens feasting cruelly on a deceased seal pup.
"Jedi."
Luminescent blue coursed through the dull mist and shattered any subtle hue in the imagery. The saber slight his peaceful isolation with it's garish, artificial glow. A hand trembled idly beneath long, flowing sleeves in time with his rapid heartbeat. Innards knotted in spasm as the very image of the bright young Jedi triggered the mistake that was Telos. It had been twenty years since Vereshin directly risked his life for the faction who ostracized him. Only in obscurity did he find purpose.
Not a nuance traveled from his motionless form. Posture stood immaculate and weightless underneath billowing, light silk. Red energy pooled across the mist where his presence resonated. Not rage or anger, but a consuming darkness of sick, visceral anxiety and genuine fear. Vereshin spoke gently. Eternal life was all he had, what lay beyond that for monsters of his breed was infinitely more horrifying.
"Leave me alone and I shall not raise a hand against you."
@Cameron Foster
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