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29-04-2023, 01:56 PM
Th’asidra - Years Ago…
The words sounded stupid to her as soon as they left her mouth. The Neophyte had endured scars and hardship for asking things like this, but she was genuinely curious. She could feel it in the Sith around, the very Force - so many lives being lost, affecting even those attuned to the Dark Side, as the balance of life and death shifted so swiftly.
It was the speed of the answer, though, that gave her pause. How quickly they stated they would do so. Being so young, and not in front of the button when it had happened. How easy it was, despite how they were feeling, to say they would do so when ordered. These had been people that they'd known, even saved at some points.
And yet, there was that burning at her core. That despite all that they had tried, the interaction, that those very people had turned on them in their hour of victory. What should have been a completed campaign ended in fire, all their efforts for... what?
Anx Minor - Now…
Sitting in a hospital bed, a replacement belt fitted with her sabers over medical robes, mismatched red eyes peer at her datapad. One of a mask, and one of her own, getting reports, going over them. Accommodating to the respirator, and typing with one hand, the other in a sling.
Between Dubrillion and Anx Minor, her ideals and aspirations had been broken down and built up repeatedly. The spark of a question still remaining. But even her younger self could come to the conclusions she had, seeing kids holding guns and killing soldiers. That the force they were facing is the lowest of the low. Scum. Garbage.
But being who she was now, they were simply filth. Numbers, even. Whatever right they had to call themselves "righteous" or "true" went out the window when they stooped so low. Or maybe that didn't even matter, and she was kidding herself about her motivations. It was much simpler than that, they were a waste of worry and resources. A hundred and twenty thousand ingrates.
A good start, to catch up on Dubrillion's millions. Ingrates that would litter the dirt either by choice as slaves, or as horrified corpses. Neither much mattered so far as the Dark Side was concerned. So much as she was concerned.
And the only button she would need to press would be on the hilt of a saber, enforcing the will of the Conservancy and the House.
The words sounded stupid to her as soon as they left her mouth. The Neophyte had endured scars and hardship for asking things like this, but she was genuinely curious. She could feel it in the Sith around, the very Force - so many lives being lost, affecting even those attuned to the Dark Side, as the balance of life and death shifted so swiftly.
It was the speed of the answer, though, that gave her pause. How quickly they stated they would do so. Being so young, and not in front of the button when it had happened. How easy it was, despite how they were feeling, to say they would do so when ordered. These had been people that they'd known, even saved at some points.
And yet, there was that burning at her core. That despite all that they had tried, the interaction, that those very people had turned on them in their hour of victory. What should have been a completed campaign ended in fire, all their efforts for... what?
Anx Minor - Now…
Sitting in a hospital bed, a replacement belt fitted with her sabers over medical robes, mismatched red eyes peer at her datapad. One of a mask, and one of her own, getting reports, going over them. Accommodating to the respirator, and typing with one hand, the other in a sling.
Between Dubrillion and Anx Minor, her ideals and aspirations had been broken down and built up repeatedly. The spark of a question still remaining. But even her younger self could come to the conclusions she had, seeing kids holding guns and killing soldiers. That the force they were facing is the lowest of the low. Scum. Garbage.
But being who she was now, they were simply filth. Numbers, even. Whatever right they had to call themselves "righteous" or "true" went out the window when they stooped so low. Or maybe that didn't even matter, and she was kidding herself about her motivations. It was much simpler than that, they were a waste of worry and resources. A hundred and twenty thousand ingrates.
A good start, to catch up on Dubrillion's millions. Ingrates that would litter the dirt either by choice as slaves, or as horrified corpses. Neither much mattered so far as the Dark Side was concerned. So much as she was concerned.
And the only button she would need to press would be on the hilt of a saber, enforcing the will of the Conservancy and the House.
