Take the Bull by the Horns (Ebon)

[Darth Ophidia]

[Coruscant, surface.]

In her time as a Sith, Darth Ophidia had taken dozens of students to the arid landscape of Iridonia. Yet, this time, she was not going to the sandy planet of ravaging lunatics and deep red canyons. No, this time she felt the winds of Coruscant tugging on the long, dark robes that draped her form. The Rattataki Sith Lord sat cross-legged on a stone, placed upon the very top of one of Coruscant's taller, flat topped, constructions. Her burning eyes stared out towards the skyline as the blues darkened to purple and orange bled into the setting sun. She saw the innumerable personal speeders, flying in lines like rows of insects over the dim chasm sprinkled with lights like a mimic of the starry skies.

She waited for someone, a Zabrak, an Iridonian, a Knight of the Sith. Reports had been read, but she needed to know first hand if he was worthy any sort of training. Too many fools had clung to the hem of her skirts, only to fall into a chasm. Some had been strong, fast, and clever, yet met their end all the same. It had made her a harsh teacher and solidified her standards to a level few could hope to accomplish. She trained them as she had been trained: Success or death.

A gold coin flicked over her knuckles as she thought, considered, weighed the options and possibilities of her future. The Aspect of Death waited.

[member="Ebon"]

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon’s mind wandered across the midnight sky of Coruscant, making his path across one of the many buildings that lay unbidden across the planet. It never seemed to get dark enough, the light pollution drowning out the freedom that was the starts, and despite his hard exterior and obviously corrupted mindset, he missed the soft dreams of freedom as a child, star gazing in his village on Iridonia.

The longing sent a shiver down Ebon’s spine, and he uttered a quiet yet guttural growl. Strength of the mind, the body, and the force were all he should concern himself with, not of the past nor the future, but of the moment. His mind came back to his task at hand, investigating a mysterious holonet email he received while on duty of one of the many One Sith Imperial stations around Coruscant.

It was mostly garbled jargon he could hardly make out, but he had deciphered enough to know where he was supposed to end up. Still, he had a hard time trusting possible spam letters he received, and brought his weapons with him to confront whatever the situation could be, more so as a precaution to security breaches on the planet than his own blind curiosity.

Probably. At least that’s what he told himself.

Still, his amber eye’s found themselves wandering the sky once more, following the path of speeders in their lanes and the soft lights of distance buildings flicker on and off, considering the life each person may be living in their own right. He was off guard, and he missed the dark presence not a few meters from him.

[member="Darth Ophidia"] was in his presence, and he was none the wiser.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Red-skinned, tattooed, dirty elongated lightsabre hilt and gaunt scarred cheeks, this had to be the Iridonian she was looking for. Her eyes trailed down from the setting sun to the tall Sith Knight and followed his steps. Quiet like the softest breeze, she slipped down from her seat and pulled a hood over her ashen head. Her hands clasped behind her back and her feet carried her swiftly after the acquired mark. Would he notice? Would he feel the chill run down his spine as her eyes followed his every step? She could only imagine.

Her feet were quick enough to allow her to keep pace with him, even if he was considerably taller and thus had a longer stride. She observed his movement, his mannerisms, and picked apart every last bit of it in a relentless analysis. Intelligence and observation were tools her peers often neglected. Yet, she found they could turn the tide against greater force-users and duelists alike. Abilities were finite, but their application was not.

Her form seemingly melted into the shadows as she passed from one to the other in a swift but casual stride. All Sith claimed the darkness, but the shadows were her domain. She was a ghost, a whisper, a shiver down the spine, the image at the corner of one's eye one swore was imagined, yet doubt grips the heart. It was not her imposing appearance that struck fear into her peers, but her ability to disappear. She was everywhere, saw everything, and they called her the Queen of Shadows.

Now, even if the title had not been connected to her name, she knew by the attributed exploits that the title was hers to hold. And it humoured her.

[member="Ebon"]

 

[Sirak Kolar]

A broken mind with little remorse, a psychopath more than anything that’d been seen. Ebon wasn’t a creature of the night, nor a force user without peer, but a massive beast. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in pure, unadulterated dedication, and an almost painful zealotry.

Although it’d be easily said none have ever been necessarily close to Ebon since his fall to darkness, it’d still be easy to say nobody could understand his motives. Perhaps he didn’t appear as intelligent as the others around him, but it was tactical analysis that he preferred, whether in battle with a singular opponent, or commanding an army or fleet. He understood combat in ways few could, but these things would be useless without passion.

And his passion came from religion.

The Primeval, the now fallen empire of the wild rims of the galaxy, were his family. His very being for existing, and his love for the matriarch matched only by his servitude to balagoth, the god of death. Perhaps in the core worlds his name was not recognized, but in Primeval space he had already cut his name into the populations of planets no longer recognizable as travel points on maps.

To them, he was Balagoth’s Herald, and to him, he would become his avatar on the galactic scale.

Ebon’s eyes closed for a moment as his arms crossed, his mind still wondering in a half meditation state. Perhaps for a moment amongst the breeze, the soft hum of vehicles passing overhead, he lost himself in relaxation, and the sinful warrior was serene; but a chill ran up his spine.

It wasn’t enough to make him ready for an ambush, but he knew he felt something. The vaguest sense of someone near, but just uncertain enough to not demand immediate action. His breath froze regardless, but his body remained still, seemingly staring out across the skyline of Coruscant.

In this frozen state, to hopefully bring no attention to himself, he focused with first his physical sense, then with Sargon’s gift of the force. Despite his body crying for movement, the steadfast Zabrak remained still and waited for something to happen.

He knew better than to not listen to his gut.


[member="Darth Ophidia"]