Character Voice: X
Location: Onderon (nearby villiage)
Objective: Darkness
Gear: Nightmare of Exegol (Lightsaber), The Fiend's Grin (Lightwhip), Pistol, Sniper Rifle
Tags: Boo
Objective: Darkness
Gear: Nightmare of Exegol (Lightsaber), The Fiend's Grin (Lightwhip), Pistol, Sniper Rifle
Tags: Boo
Skipping, dancing, and twirling around whilst dropping the last digits from my recent graverobbing down my gullet, I paused. I spy a village. What's in a village, everything a ghoul could ever desire. More importantly, a reason to quell these murderous feelings from that disease that affects me; Kuri is a painstaking process. And one I adopted as my sister. Caution....caution was required. I came here seeking a cult, not to add to my body count. However, and let's be honest with one another; who truly misses a village of nobodies? If I laid waste to them, then maybe they would be remembered; people spewing lies about how great this village was and how the inhabitants where the most upstanding and model citizens, oh, how they would be missed. Or I could leave them alone. No, I wanted to murder someone or something before finding this cult. For those that embrace judgments, I was created on Exegol by the Sith Eternal; created, refurbished, and reconstructed into what I am; what was left of me originally at birth feeds into my hatred of life. Shift your blames and judgments elsewhere, thank you.
Like the horror I was created to be, I stalked through the village with a mixture of organic and surgically implanted eyes of enhancements seeking out a victim. Remember, I didn't ask for this. I simply embrace my new lot in life as a lonely angst teenager seeking love, affection, and acknowledgment. Ok, not love or affection or acknowledgements: it's easier to be a murderer when you swim like a champion under the liquid skins of society. But I stalked, and found one, not two, not even three, but four potential targets. At first speculation of the situation, I thought these four-not-quite-dead individuals were entranced in some kind of celebration: till I saw the bleeding and half-dressed girl laying at their feet. She was hurt, bleeding, and rather in a bad spot. I'm not hero or anyone's savoir. In fact, I should have walked away from this injured girl; but she and I locked eyes. Damn!
Believing these boys enjoyed preying on girls, I faked a broken leg and bellowed for help to attract their attention. Quickly, they ran toward me whooping and hollering for another turn at fun. I didn't do this to save the girl, oh no. If she stumbled upon my path on a different night, I would have easily made her number 98. As they drew closer, I laughed hysterically as the trap was sprung. Once again, I stood up drawing my pistol from my side, placing two head shots into two tiny boys. The third and fourth died when they were forced to meet The Fiend's Grin. Turning my eyes to the wounded girl, she became 102 instead. And to my chagrin, my body count rose. Where is this cult!