Incubi Priest
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Jan 7, 2007
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(ooc: you guys know the posting time I have, so only join this if you're patient lol. I will still post, just not as much as usual.)
Eamic walked down the streets of Coruscant. He scoffed at the disgust that surrounded him. This planet, this setting, was complete hell to him. However, it was not hell in the matter that one might consider it. For in this hell, Eamic was the devil and the inhabitants his minions. Complete power was the breeding grounds for hate, yet the trade off was acceptable so he still stalked the night.
He was strong in the Force, that was true, yet it was not where he drew his power from. People loved him, and those who hated him respected him. Manipulation of the weak willed was easier accomplished than victory against the dumb in a duel, and it was in this field that he became a deity of joy and sin.
The red devil sauntered down the dark alleys, pawning spice and women that weren't even his. For him it mattered not: he was entitled to the riches of what he considered his kingdom. Few would stand against him: most Jedi would not risk war, law enforcement knew they would lose, and bounty hunters...well they were the few that did pursue. Money and incompetence fueled their actions and shortened their days considerably.
But for Eamic, it did not matter. The Zeltron Shade was ever ready for combat, yet he avoided it whenever possible. Now as he walked the streets, absorbing the sordid lifestyle that was the lower levels of Coruscant's inhabitants, the strong Force adept leaned against the wall of an abandoned arms manufacturing company with a death stick in his mouth and observed the happenings around him.
Eamic walked down the streets of Coruscant. He scoffed at the disgust that surrounded him. This planet, this setting, was complete hell to him. However, it was not hell in the matter that one might consider it. For in this hell, Eamic was the devil and the inhabitants his minions. Complete power was the breeding grounds for hate, yet the trade off was acceptable so he still stalked the night.
He was strong in the Force, that was true, yet it was not where he drew his power from. People loved him, and those who hated him respected him. Manipulation of the weak willed was easier accomplished than victory against the dumb in a duel, and it was in this field that he became a deity of joy and sin.
The red devil sauntered down the dark alleys, pawning spice and women that weren't even his. For him it mattered not: he was entitled to the riches of what he considered his kingdom. Few would stand against him: most Jedi would not risk war, law enforcement knew they would lose, and bounty hunters...well they were the few that did pursue. Money and incompetence fueled their actions and shortened their days considerably.
But for Eamic, it did not matter. The Zeltron Shade was ever ready for combat, yet he avoided it whenever possible. Now as he walked the streets, absorbing the sordid lifestyle that was the lower levels of Coruscant's inhabitants, the strong Force adept leaned against the wall of an abandoned arms manufacturing company with a death stick in his mouth and observed the happenings around him.