Gambler
Banned
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- Apr 23, 2009
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((OOC: Takes place shortly after Dark Hearts. Any Acolytes are welcome to PM requesting to join.))
The wind began to billow. Sand sprayed across the Valley of Dark Lords, unseen in the night. The darkness was absolute. Oily and black, it was more than an atmosphere. It was the accumulation of Korriban itself. The stars did not dare to reveal themselves, or if they did, the darkness refused to relent for them. Under the starless sky, the desert felt more alive.
The night's voice was silk. It sung, savoring the electricity of the day. Violence partook in the chorus. Gabriel listened as he walked, eyes on the sky. He counted the black stars in the distance. They were the stars' antitheses.
His mind lulled itself away from the stars. He thought of the day, his first on Korriban. The Arkanian's mistake had been his pride. He paid for it in blood. His power had been overwhelmed by three Acolytes. A Marauder, a specialist in his field, overwhelmed by those supposedly inferior.
Gabriel listened to the Arkanian's requiem in the sky. The night played it without sorrow. One more death meant nothing to the night. The death of an overconfident fop was a laughable matter to the stars. Power was measured in respect to one's status. Most were grains of sand on a never-ending beach. Some were allowed to be considered pebbles.
His feet carried him to a fire-pit some distance from the academy. A seating area had been thrown haphazardly together, enmeshed with sandstone salvaged from the valley. The center was a small hole lined with somewhat sturdier rock. It was a rare find. Most Sith denied any sense of camaraderie. They refused the smallest of pleasures in hopes of hardening their spirits. More's the pity.
Gabriel tossed a satchel to the ground. It made a curious sound when it hit, a medley of metallic clanks and the rattling of reinforced glass. Liquid splashed around within. There was nothing left to do but twiddle his thumbs and wait.
The wind began to billow. Sand sprayed across the Valley of Dark Lords, unseen in the night. The darkness was absolute. Oily and black, it was more than an atmosphere. It was the accumulation of Korriban itself. The stars did not dare to reveal themselves, or if they did, the darkness refused to relent for them. Under the starless sky, the desert felt more alive.
The night's voice was silk. It sung, savoring the electricity of the day. Violence partook in the chorus. Gabriel listened as he walked, eyes on the sky. He counted the black stars in the distance. They were the stars' antitheses.
His mind lulled itself away from the stars. He thought of the day, his first on Korriban. The Arkanian's mistake had been his pride. He paid for it in blood. His power had been overwhelmed by three Acolytes. A Marauder, a specialist in his field, overwhelmed by those supposedly inferior.
Gabriel listened to the Arkanian's requiem in the sky. The night played it without sorrow. One more death meant nothing to the night. The death of an overconfident fop was a laughable matter to the stars. Power was measured in respect to one's status. Most were grains of sand on a never-ending beach. Some were allowed to be considered pebbles.
His feet carried him to a fire-pit some distance from the academy. A seating area had been thrown haphazardly together, enmeshed with sandstone salvaged from the valley. The center was a small hole lined with somewhat sturdier rock. It was a rare find. Most Sith denied any sense of camaraderie. They refused the smallest of pleasures in hopes of hardening their spirits. More's the pity.
Gabriel tossed a satchel to the ground. It made a curious sound when it hit, a medley of metallic clanks and the rattling of reinforced glass. Liquid splashed around within. There was nothing left to do but twiddle his thumbs and wait.
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