Alkor Centaris
Son of Liberty
"By your leave," Alkor replied simply as [member="Darth Carnifex"] gave explicit orders not to deviate from protocol as he conducted his investigation. That would be simple enough. There were only a number of Sith other than the Emperor himself capable of such magicks. Being within proximity of them all would yield answers without necessitating direct action.
He would follow through at a later time, with more evidence and after the reports were all filed. That was what he was supposed to do. It was what Lechner hadn't. It was why now two Knights were out of commission, and Alkor had nothing to show for it. Cold fury coursed through his blood at the thought- sharp, recurring, unrelenting.
Each failure more unforgivable than the last.
Mandalore had ever been the root of the conflict. He had defected from the position of Warmaster over dishonesty and inglorious actions, for the dishonor done to his brothers and sisters by the Mand'alor in name only. He had come to the Confederacy and cast off the very culture that had embraced him out of disgust and rage, and that rage had only built since. One family for another, but the same sensations.
Vague understanding. Hard truths. Horrendous losses. In truth, the man he was struggled to comprehend the events that had shaped him. He was grasping at threads in a desperate attempt to hold himself together, but nothing he held now had any substance. Nothing familiar to cling to. There was only that anger, infinitely hot, yet infinitely empty.
When Zambrano gave him a duty, it felt natural.
Freedom was a filthy, wretched, fickle thing. It tempted the mind and left it feeling. Purpose surely could never be born out of freedom. Meaning could not come from the brokenness he felt now.
He would do the duty that he had been given, because finally...
Someone was making sense.
He moved toward the smaller dropship that would see him to Sundari, where everything had gone wrong. Where this tragic tale had begun, and where he would put an end to it with his own hands.
Certainly, that duty was Just.
Alkor pulled his hood overhead and placed the mask over his face. No glory. No accolades. Simply beautiful, awful carnage. He could feel the darkness around him. He could hear it in both ears. He felt the cold, black wind blowing.
And so, they went.
He would follow through at a later time, with more evidence and after the reports were all filed. That was what he was supposed to do. It was what Lechner hadn't. It was why now two Knights were out of commission, and Alkor had nothing to show for it. Cold fury coursed through his blood at the thought- sharp, recurring, unrelenting.
Each failure more unforgivable than the last.
Mandalore had ever been the root of the conflict. He had defected from the position of Warmaster over dishonesty and inglorious actions, for the dishonor done to his brothers and sisters by the Mand'alor in name only. He had come to the Confederacy and cast off the very culture that had embraced him out of disgust and rage, and that rage had only built since. One family for another, but the same sensations.
Vague understanding. Hard truths. Horrendous losses. In truth, the man he was struggled to comprehend the events that had shaped him. He was grasping at threads in a desperate attempt to hold himself together, but nothing he held now had any substance. Nothing familiar to cling to. There was only that anger, infinitely hot, yet infinitely empty.
When Zambrano gave him a duty, it felt natural.
Freedom was a filthy, wretched, fickle thing. It tempted the mind and left it feeling. Purpose surely could never be born out of freedom. Meaning could not come from the brokenness he felt now.
He would do the duty that he had been given, because finally...
Someone was making sense.
He moved toward the smaller dropship that would see him to Sundari, where everything had gone wrong. Where this tragic tale had begun, and where he would put an end to it with his own hands.
Certainly, that duty was Just.
Alkor pulled his hood overhead and placed the mask over his face. No glory. No accolades. Simply beautiful, awful carnage. He could feel the darkness around him. He could hear it in both ears. He felt the cold, black wind blowing.
And so, they went.
[member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Kezeroth the Hateful"] | [member="Samka Derith"]
