Vilka Pharro
Member
DATHOMIR
Vilka was no stranger to this world. Cover of dark forests, twisting branches; the forked veins of a blackened and bleeding heart. It was strange, that a place full of life bore so much sickness, held so much death; but in its way, she loved the thought. How emblematic it was of the Dark; consumed by one's own vitality, one's passions, their unshakable grip upon mortality. Doomed to live, and unwilling to die. A limbo of your own choosing. She traced a line through the soil with one finger. Every touch, every point of contact, she felt it again. The thump, the pulse, the groan. An entire planet, shivering in a single grand protest against the natural order. A gaping wound in the Force. She shuddered even to comprehend it.
Such power, to touch it, it is a strange thing. It is place your palm upon the head of a fearsome beast, and yet know no fear. Trepidation was impossible; the Force was a boundless lake, she saw, and to approach it without certainty, focus, was but to stir the waters. Its truths could never thus be seen. Hate, fear, passion- that was a different matter. No longer did a Sith need but to spy through the waters, to ensure their stillness, as was the place of the Jedi. They just reached in. An infection in the wound, so to speak. Prying open scars, like this one. Sometimes the best approach was indeed direct.
That was why Vilka had come to the source, an epicenter of corruption- to feel it firsthand with her own ashen flesh, without disruption, or distraction. It was a myth that Sith did not need to meditate. A patent untruth. Where a Jedi could use it to expel their imbalances, Vilka knew how to intensify them. A pressure vessel for her own sins, and her vengeful heart the furnace. Yes; and this world- these were the richest coals of all. She closed her eyes, and fell beyond the trees, the birdsong, into the Force; something wavered. Pure and shimmering, unalike the rest of this world.
A visitor, perhaps?
[member="Cedric Grayson"]
Vilka was no stranger to this world. Cover of dark forests, twisting branches; the forked veins of a blackened and bleeding heart. It was strange, that a place full of life bore so much sickness, held so much death; but in its way, she loved the thought. How emblematic it was of the Dark; consumed by one's own vitality, one's passions, their unshakable grip upon mortality. Doomed to live, and unwilling to die. A limbo of your own choosing. She traced a line through the soil with one finger. Every touch, every point of contact, she felt it again. The thump, the pulse, the groan. An entire planet, shivering in a single grand protest against the natural order. A gaping wound in the Force. She shuddered even to comprehend it.
Such power, to touch it, it is a strange thing. It is place your palm upon the head of a fearsome beast, and yet know no fear. Trepidation was impossible; the Force was a boundless lake, she saw, and to approach it without certainty, focus, was but to stir the waters. Its truths could never thus be seen. Hate, fear, passion- that was a different matter. No longer did a Sith need but to spy through the waters, to ensure their stillness, as was the place of the Jedi. They just reached in. An infection in the wound, so to speak. Prying open scars, like this one. Sometimes the best approach was indeed direct.
That was why Vilka had come to the source, an epicenter of corruption- to feel it firsthand with her own ashen flesh, without disruption, or distraction. It was a myth that Sith did not need to meditate. A patent untruth. Where a Jedi could use it to expel their imbalances, Vilka knew how to intensify them. A pressure vessel for her own sins, and her vengeful heart the furnace. Yes; and this world- these were the richest coals of all. She closed her eyes, and fell beyond the trees, the birdsong, into the Force; something wavered. Pure and shimmering, unalike the rest of this world.
A visitor, perhaps?
[member="Cedric Grayson"]
