nightshrike
Command Bridge,
The Predator
He wanted to keep up the facade, remain expressionless against the former Despot of Byss' thoroughly detailed read of Dagon's 'rap sheet'. But the past two weeks had eroded the fence, sapped his strength and a grim frown veiled his face, marred with grave silence. Then, he was dragged beside Sularen for a better view of the battle on the viewport.
Fiery explosions flashed, illuminating across his face. Fighters tore at each other, crashed out of control into the hulls of floating behemoths. They, in turn, unleashed salvos of devastating turbolaser fire upon each fire, ripping apart whole decks. An echo of a thousand deaths screamed from the past, from the cursed Stygian Caldera where the young New Jedi had been baptized in fire. Somewhere there, he recognized the markings of Saber Squadron. He wondered if Zaka was still amongst the living or yet another casualty of this bloody war, another scream.
How could Sularen - a man once a leader among the Alliance's political echelon - see any beauty in the carnage that unfolded before his very eyes. Surely, it meant that the notorious Taskmaster Tu'teggacha had gotten his hands on the man's head. Twisting and turning until he was nothing more than a deranged thrall under Darth Solipsis 's will. Or was this all by his own volition? The Sacking had opened Dagon's eyes fully to the possibilities of evil at the highest level within the Alliance.
"Beyond sick..." he muttered, fists clenching inside the shock bindings, "... how long do you think this will last, Sularen?"
Frowning eyes turned up from the viewport to the tyrant, "... how long before Solipsis expends your use and gets rid of you?"
The Predator
He wanted to keep up the facade, remain expressionless against the former Despot of Byss' thoroughly detailed read of Dagon's 'rap sheet'. But the past two weeks had eroded the fence, sapped his strength and a grim frown veiled his face, marred with grave silence. Then, he was dragged beside Sularen for a better view of the battle on the viewport.
Fiery explosions flashed, illuminating across his face. Fighters tore at each other, crashed out of control into the hulls of floating behemoths. They, in turn, unleashed salvos of devastating turbolaser fire upon each fire, ripping apart whole decks. An echo of a thousand deaths screamed from the past, from the cursed Stygian Caldera where the young New Jedi had been baptized in fire. Somewhere there, he recognized the markings of Saber Squadron. He wondered if Zaka was still amongst the living or yet another casualty of this bloody war, another scream.
How could Sularen - a man once a leader among the Alliance's political echelon - see any beauty in the carnage that unfolded before his very eyes. Surely, it meant that the notorious Taskmaster Tu'teggacha had gotten his hands on the man's head. Twisting and turning until he was nothing more than a deranged thrall under Darth Solipsis 's will. Or was this all by his own volition? The Sacking had opened Dagon's eyes fully to the possibilities of evil at the highest level within the Alliance.
"Beyond sick..." he muttered, fists clenching inside the shock bindings, "... how long do you think this will last, Sularen?"
Frowning eyes turned up from the viewport to the tyrant, "... how long before Solipsis expends your use and gets rid of you?"