[member="Darth Arcanix"]
He stopped, his hands frozen and his breath held in his throat as his eyes slowly opened up to stare at the ground. "Your story..." He started, his eyes unmoving as the red started to return, started to burn crimson as hate and anger started to fill him. "Your story is one of personal loss... and the advantages the sith took on you... Mine is not the same at all. My parents had been jedi that left the order, love was still something that was not right between people there. Atleast not theirs, im a third generation after all, i could have been a great Jedi my parents were told but they left. Why they left the order wasn't clear, i was told for love but.. it had to be more." His hands tightened on the neck of the violin.
"I lived with them their whole lives devoted to me, our home still on Dantooine. It was a quiet life, one where we hurt no one, and helped those that we could. But... all peace is a lie, you cannot find happiness in this universe without someone ripping it from your arms, destroying everything you hold dear. A Sith, one of your predecessors that is dead and will remain so if i ever have the misfortune of meeting him in hell. He convinced the local populace my parents were sith, that they wanted the death of all those there. Drew them to the home..."
His grip tightened harder as he started spitting out the words with enough venom to kill a krayt dragon, the heat around his hands starting to cause the air to shimmer. "My father was out in the fields, far from the house, and the Sith Led those men straight to our door. They forced it open, my mother standing infront of me as they gunned her down like an animal... They deserved to die, all of them... that sith especially... I killed my first man that day. After my mother was gunned down my father had returned, stopped them from killing me and the Sith died to his blade before trying to reason with the men and being shot himself. I killed all but one, leaving that last one alive so that he could warn the people at the space port that if they ever touched my family's home, or the graves of my parents, I would gut all of them and burn them alive..." He didn't even notice as the hair of the bow lit on fire until it touched his hand and he tossed the bow to the side, his palm burnt from the exposure. His eyes were hollow though, the life gone from them and replaced with a distant hate, a memory.