Vrag
The Second Seal, broken.
We could have a long discussion about the meaning of life here. I mean, why not? There surely comes a time where every living creature considers their place in the world, the Galaxy and the universe at large, where they stop to ponder, if only for a few moments, what the messy place would look like without them. Would it be better? Would it be worse? Of only things were so simple, if only the criteria weren't so muddled and unclear… then the people of this sad, war-ridden dimension could be much easily judged.
If only.
Vrag, on the other hand, liked the gray, liked the mess and the grit and the unease that steeped the very atoms of the universe she inhabited. She liked that her presence made an impact, that she could affect whole planets with her actions and her words and her ideas; a far cry from her meager beginnings in some Force-forsaken station in the middle of galactic nowhere.
She pulled him closer into her crushing embrace, the legs of Skerr Kyrric reaching hungrily for unprotected flesh of his torso and abdomen. Such sweet, sweet white skin, skin that would soon blossom with red roses. Drip drip drip the blood would fall upon the pale gray dust beneath their feet, mingling with the black pools of Vong. She woul—
the head of the Commander — though Vrag didn't know what it was, obviously — hit her in the back of the skull, and her head was knocked forward. The helmet was heavy, however, heavier than most, and the sharp edges of the goat skull would come dangerously close to the face of the traitorous Knight as they were both sent tumbling towards the bottom of the canyon. The Hand of the Dark Lord was a massive warrior in her own right, but with the Vonduun on the woman was likely to make Sage Bane paté. Whoops.
"I'll be with you," she growled out between ragged breaths, holding up a free hand as she struggled to keep the feral man down, "in a moment!" This was intended for the Subcommander who had come to stand at the edge of the makeshift ring, a Vong she'd fought alongside before.
"Will you fething stop, you little chit!?" she snapped at the Knight beneath her, the red eyes of her skull staring daggers at the straining Knight. For the love of all that was unholy.
If only.
Vrag, on the other hand, liked the gray, liked the mess and the grit and the unease that steeped the very atoms of the universe she inhabited. She liked that her presence made an impact, that she could affect whole planets with her actions and her words and her ideas; a far cry from her meager beginnings in some Force-forsaken station in the middle of galactic nowhere.
HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?
Her thoughts were vicious and red and seeping of blood, the one liquid she preferred to spill rather than drink. She'd seen it flow in torrents, but she would see it flow a thousand times over if it granted her the power that she so craved. Just like the man trying to claim his swath of land, the feral Knight fighting her tooth and nail. Too bad that piece of land was already occupied. By her.She pulled him closer into her crushing embrace, the legs of Skerr Kyrric reaching hungrily for unprotected flesh of his torso and abdomen. Such sweet, sweet white skin, skin that would soon blossom with red roses. Drip drip drip the blood would fall upon the pale gray dust beneath their feet, mingling with the black pools of Vong. She woul—
the head of the Commander — though Vrag didn't know what it was, obviously — hit her in the back of the skull, and her head was knocked forward. The helmet was heavy, however, heavier than most, and the sharp edges of the goat skull would come dangerously close to the face of the traitorous Knight as they were both sent tumbling towards the bottom of the canyon. The Hand of the Dark Lord was a massive warrior in her own right, but with the Vonduun on the woman was likely to make Sage Bane paté. Whoops.
"I'll be with you," she growled out between ragged breaths, holding up a free hand as she struggled to keep the feral man down, "in a moment!" This was intended for the Subcommander who had come to stand at the edge of the makeshift ring, a Vong she'd fought alongside before.
"Will you fething stop, you little chit!?" she snapped at the Knight beneath her, the red eyes of her skull staring daggers at the straining Knight. For the love of all that was unholy.
[member="Marek Starchaser"] | [member="Sasha Santhe"] | [member="Darth Carach"] | [member="Raziel"] | [member="Silara Kuhn"] | [member="Phade"] | [member="Seto Du Couteau"] | [member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Khallesh"]
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