Pykes.
There was a time when that word carried more meaning that it did today.
Whatever they were now, they were once more, once more feared, more powerful, more Pyke.
Chief among them was not this Pyke’s family, they were never at the pinnacle, not at the peak, but power they had, and they used it well.
House Laaster… What happened to your roar..?
The Pyke remembers them, remembers the faces of his family, his kin.
He sees his father in the eyes of his mother, her eyes in the eyes of his, his brothers, his sisters, his children.
He sees the violet in their eyes, the gold in their helms, like gems in crowns.
The Pyke listens, hears a promise, uncertain if it’s genuine, but he hears.
“I hear…”
The Pyke turns in the dark, but there is a light yet, and it comes from more than the violet in his eyes.
A lamp lights up a face; it is not the face of a Pyke.
It is…smaller.
“...Lies.”
The Pyke has a voice, a lion’s voice that echoes a helm, and precedes a blastbolt.
“AAAAAHHHH!! MY KNEEEEEEEE!!”
The tiger roars, but his claws are small too.
Unfortunately for the prisoner in the metal chair in a dark basement, the Pyke was out of patience, but that was fine.
The Pyke will sit down and unwind.
So the Pyke did, found a chair of his own, placed himself in it, crossed his arms and thought of a throne.
At this point, Tysjor would jump in, do his thing, and the Pyke had a way of getting things done.
However, Tysjor was presently preoccupied with a maze of activity elsewhere on a world that wasn't this one.
That was fine.
Cul had another assistant to carry out the bidding of the Pykes—whether she knew it or not.
Someone who could more quickly make their prisoner tell them where in this city of Gravenell on Sevenmoon they could find their quarry, and she could, because she was Sith.
For the Pykes, Cul thought, squeezing a fist. A Sith for the Pykes!
@Sicadorito
There was a time when that word carried more meaning that it did today.
Whatever they were now, they were once more, once more feared, more powerful, more Pyke.
Chief among them was not this Pyke’s family, they were never at the pinnacle, not at the peak, but power they had, and they used it well.
House Laaster… What happened to your roar..?
The Pyke remembers them, remembers the faces of his family, his kin.
He sees his father in the eyes of his mother, her eyes in the eyes of his, his brothers, his sisters, his children.
He sees the violet in their eyes, the gold in their helms, like gems in crowns.
The Pyke listens, hears a promise, uncertain if it’s genuine, but he hears.
“I hear…”
The Pyke turns in the dark, but there is a light yet, and it comes from more than the violet in his eyes.
A lamp lights up a face; it is not the face of a Pyke.
It is…smaller.
“...Lies.”
The Pyke has a voice, a lion’s voice that echoes a helm, and precedes a blastbolt.
“AAAAAHHHH!! MY KNEEEEEEEE!!”
The tiger roars, but his claws are small too.
Unfortunately for the prisoner in the metal chair in a dark basement, the Pyke was out of patience, but that was fine.
The Pyke will sit down and unwind.
So the Pyke did, found a chair of his own, placed himself in it, crossed his arms and thought of a throne.
At this point, Tysjor would jump in, do his thing, and the Pyke had a way of getting things done.
However, Tysjor was presently preoccupied with a maze of activity elsewhere on a world that wasn't this one.
That was fine.
Cul had another assistant to carry out the bidding of the Pykes—whether she knew it or not.
Someone who could more quickly make their prisoner tell them where in this city of Gravenell on Sevenmoon they could find their quarry, and she could, because she was Sith.
For the Pykes, Cul thought, squeezing a fist. A Sith for the Pykes!
@Sicadorito