writegowrite: teapirate: sicarius. Keep
Oct. 13th, 2017 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rakashavia http://ift.tt/2gem4Js:
writegowrite:
teapirate:
sicarius.
Keep reading
Here’s the quick ficlet I’ve been meaning to write for my favorite Sith Assassin, inspired by the “raised by killer ghosts” line… hope you like it!
Childhood
He runs over cracked, tilting monuments, a slip of a boy more shadow than substance in the dusk light, following a ship as it arcs downward from the sky in a terrible, screeching ball of smoke.
You see, a voice grates through his mind as he jumps from the top of one broken wall to another, following the streak of billowing black across the sullen red of twilight. They were too weak to survive our call. Too weak to live here. Not like you.
The voice made him cry when he was smaller, but he is bigger now. Stronger. In his mind.
Go see if any live. The harsh, rasping syllables only make him clench his jaw, and he narrows his golden eyes as he scrambles up the worn, gigantic face of a long-forgotten ruler half buried in sand and debris.
He is wiry and clever and knows better than to trust the occasional survivors that crawl or limp their way out of the wrecks. They are always afraid of him.
And they should be.
The boy calls out with his fierce, wild heart to the world around him and something bends, reality itself shifting in subtle wisps. They will not see him if he does not wish them to.
They will not know he is there as they frantically search for other survivors or break down and sob. And when the Elders come, after the second moon has risen, they will not know anything.
He used to warn them.
He doesn’t do that anymore. The Elders don’t like that.
When the slaughter is done, he will pick his way through the wreckage and see what he can find.
Tonight, as he settles in atop the skewed hulk of the ship’s cockpit, the simple pleasure of a child awaiting a rare treat shines bright in his eyes.
Because this survivor, stumbling out into the fading light, wears two lightsabers.
Soon they will be his.
writegowrite:
teapirate:
sicarius.
Keep reading
Here’s the quick ficlet I’ve been meaning to write for my favorite Sith Assassin, inspired by the “raised by killer ghosts” line… hope you like it!
Childhood
He runs over cracked, tilting monuments, a slip of a boy more shadow than substance in the dusk light, following a ship as it arcs downward from the sky in a terrible, screeching ball of smoke.
You see, a voice grates through his mind as he jumps from the top of one broken wall to another, following the streak of billowing black across the sullen red of twilight. They were too weak to survive our call. Too weak to live here. Not like you.
The voice made him cry when he was smaller, but he is bigger now. Stronger. In his mind.
Go see if any live. The harsh, rasping syllables only make him clench his jaw, and he narrows his golden eyes as he scrambles up the worn, gigantic face of a long-forgotten ruler half buried in sand and debris.
He is wiry and clever and knows better than to trust the occasional survivors that crawl or limp their way out of the wrecks. They are always afraid of him.
And they should be.
The boy calls out with his fierce, wild heart to the world around him and something bends, reality itself shifting in subtle wisps. They will not see him if he does not wish them to.
They will not know he is there as they frantically search for other survivors or break down and sob. And when the Elders come, after the second moon has risen, they will not know anything.
He used to warn them.
He doesn’t do that anymore. The Elders don’t like that.
When the slaughter is done, he will pick his way through the wreckage and see what he can find.
Tonight, as he settles in atop the skewed hulk of the ship’s cockpit, the simple pleasure of a child awaiting a rare treat shines bright in his eyes.
Because this survivor, stumbling out into the fading light, wears two lightsabers.
Soon they will be his.
