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6/25/2025, 2:24:30 AM
Your hand stretches out towards the golden blade. Then pauses. A thousand competing thoughts race through your mind, the shouts drown each other out, leaving you numb to the world you are removed from. The hovering hand retreats to your waist. You aren’t killing these men for no reason but Lord Yvalok’s approval. He can do with them what he wishes. You aren’t a toy to be played with or manipulated, he can find other, more pliant Acolytes. Narrow eyes scan the Sith Lord in front of you, measuring the wraith of the man, seeing nothing there that is worth losing a part of yourself over.
“I do not think I will.” You say with the firmness of steel in your voice that will hear no objections.
The Sith’s face falls, utter disappointment written over his face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You reply simply with the single word, you refuse to moralise or explain, that would only give him room to slip his forked tongue.
“This is an opportunity to forge yourself in the dark side, to fully embrace it. To stain your soul voluntarily. This choice was me giving you an opportunity to open your very being to the dark side of the Force. I know it would have been emotionally painful for you, but that’s the point. It is you choosing the darkness freely. As you know, passion that gives you strength is based on these powerful emotions like killing these prisoners of war.” The old Sith shakes his head, refocusing his eyes upon you, and lets out a long sigh. “But you have made your choice, and if I force you into this, then the meaning is lost. This was a gift. Disappointing, very disappointing. But let me warn you, young Vulfstahn if you do not choose darkness, it will be foisted upon you.”
You stay silent as you continue to look at each other. In the end, you break the silence with a respectful, “If you don’t need my help with anything else, should I leave?”
“Yes, yes.” Lord Yvalok’s uninterested voice echoes as he spins in his chair to look away from you, back into a bright monitor that cuts through the shadows.
Storming out of the prison, you are wrapped in a cocoon of rage, furious that Yvalok tried to manipulate you in such a manner. The aura is almost physical, like an invisible shield, when you approach crowds in the passageways of the ziggurat, they break and avoid your path. Leaving the temple dedicated to the dark side of the Force, you are hit with the sweltering heat from the low sun. Shielding your eyes with a hand, your vision adjusts to the harshness. You pace around the academy without purpose, your mind cycling through the interaction with Lord Yvalok. Stewing on it, your anger hangs over you.
“I do not think I will.” You say with the firmness of steel in your voice that will hear no objections.
The Sith’s face falls, utter disappointment written over his face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You reply simply with the single word, you refuse to moralise or explain, that would only give him room to slip his forked tongue.
“This is an opportunity to forge yourself in the dark side, to fully embrace it. To stain your soul voluntarily. This choice was me giving you an opportunity to open your very being to the dark side of the Force. I know it would have been emotionally painful for you, but that’s the point. It is you choosing the darkness freely. As you know, passion that gives you strength is based on these powerful emotions like killing these prisoners of war.” The old Sith shakes his head, refocusing his eyes upon you, and lets out a long sigh. “But you have made your choice, and if I force you into this, then the meaning is lost. This was a gift. Disappointing, very disappointing. But let me warn you, young Vulfstahn if you do not choose darkness, it will be foisted upon you.”
You stay silent as you continue to look at each other. In the end, you break the silence with a respectful, “If you don’t need my help with anything else, should I leave?”
“Yes, yes.” Lord Yvalok’s uninterested voice echoes as he spins in his chair to look away from you, back into a bright monitor that cuts through the shadows.
Storming out of the prison, you are wrapped in a cocoon of rage, furious that Yvalok tried to manipulate you in such a manner. The aura is almost physical, like an invisible shield, when you approach crowds in the passageways of the ziggurat, they break and avoid your path. Leaving the temple dedicated to the dark side of the Force, you are hit with the sweltering heat from the low sun. Shielding your eyes with a hand, your vision adjusts to the harshness. You pace around the academy without purpose, your mind cycling through the interaction with Lord Yvalok. Stewing on it, your anger hangs over you.
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