Potent lifeforce shines with a golden iridescence, encased in a prison of flesh; it calls to you like a stellar siren amongst a dense asteroid field littered with dead ship carcasses and frozen corpses. A gravitic pull subtly draws you closer to the being on death’s door; gone are thoughts from your mind, all that remains is wonder and marvel at seeing the living force slowly decouple from its meat host. Without noticing your own actions, your face is almost touching the sickly pale man garbed in imperial marine uniform as if proximity would allow you to zoom in on the process, allowing you to understand all the intricacies of decoupling the spiritual from the physical. It is beautiful. The spirit that inhabits the body, and the serving of the bonds. To witness this is a gift; and that you have gained a slight, minuscule insight between the connection of the force to this material world is a prize that dwarfs any mass of gold. This gift was not free. No gift in this world is. It must be selfishly taken, grasped into your needy clawing hands that are blindly fumbling in the dark. For this sliver of knowledge, the price is a life. A loyal soldier of the Empire left to die before you. You could have saved him, and yet you didn’t. Instead, you allowed is spirit to shed its mortal form, out of curiosity, out of a desire to learn. His name was Horo Thif.The decision was one that left a sickness in the depths of your bowels like a corrosive pool of slick oil. Never have you liked the callous disregard the Sith have for the citizens and soldiers of the empire that dutifully serve them, that heroically fight and die alongside them against the wretched Republic and fetid Hutts. They deserve respect and recognition, but this opportunity is too good to pass up. The hypnotic draw of tells you that this is not something you can afford to avert. You must seize this chance, regardless of the cost. It could lead to you saving so many more Imperial lives.As you study the dying man, you feel his fear and horror and give him a small mercy. Touching his mind, you study Horo Thif and give him a pleasant vision as he expires in front of you. For his unwilling sacrifice, you are rewarding him with an image of him returning home, not in a coffin, but with flowers in hand to meet his wife, Myri. On his breast is a medal displaying his bravery, and along with it is a sizeable reward in his bank account for his heroic actions, credits he looks forward to spending on Myri. Finally, the connections are fully severed. Horo is dead. You have learned much from this, but the unpleasant feeling still lingers inside. Studying his face, you reach out and collect his dog tags, deciding to be the one to return them to his beloved as a form of respect for the young man. Maybe it will bring you some kind of penance. If not, it is the correct thing to do, the least you can do for a man you callously let die for your personal gain.
Thoughts swirl in your head like viscous ichor within a boiling pot of an arcane witch of some childhood story belonging to peoples before the advent of space flight. The memory passes from your time on Umbara to the world around you, long since you have completed your mission, now you are aboard the bridge of Seyra’s stealth shuttle heading to the temple. Your scarlet fingers fiddle with a circular metal disk, indentations spell out a name. There are no stretched stars of hyperspace, instead, the stationary dots of light remain constant as you glide at sublight speeds through a solar system above the planet Horo Thif called home. Pensively, you gaze out of a flawless window of transparasteel, as if those solar systems light-years away hold some secrets to a lost question haunting your mind.“So,” Seyra pauses as she chooses her next words with deliberate care, burying her irritation, your eyes flit from the nothingness of space to this angel of beauty that you somehow call your girlfriend. A weak smile warms your face as you watch her and just think how lucky you are to have her. “We can mail the tags to his wife, or even just forget it. I understand that you… are more compassionate than I. But even you agree that we are greater than the nameless rank and file, we the avatars of change in this galaxy. His loss would not be like yours, and you gained something of immense value from it.”Letting out a sigh, you nod your head. She is correct, but still, it doesn’t sit well with you. Honestly, you are surprised how compassionate Seyra is on this topic, but that is more to do with it being important to you than her care about the ethical dilemma; she’d happily and possibly gleefully watch hundreds burn for a lesser knowledge. To her, they are as ants, numerous and so unimportant they are not truly even sentient. How can beings be sentient if they cannot even begin to fathom the essence of life that is the force? You are not so harsh.“Still, it would feel right.” You say slowly, as if tasting every word before speaking them. She pouts; her genetically sculpted face is a treasure to behold, and the HoloWeb very much agrees with your assessment. Her likeness has been plastered over the net since her success in the Conquest Games. Countless works have been crafted in her likeness; some art is flattering, others are lurid, offensive and degrading. “I think it is a waste of your time. How you treat the citizens is very, um, noble. Is it not beneath us? Either way, if you want to deliver it to his widow, we can. If you decide to continue on back to the temple and ignore this, we can. I just dislike seeing you so conflicted about your objectively correct actions.”
This is your decision to make, she will not attempt to sway you any further. She has said her piece. Seyra then leans forward and plants a gentle kiss on your lips. Staying near you, Seyra hovers within inches, wanting to trap you in a genetically enhanced embrace. Bright red lipstick pops against her alabaster skin, and watching crystalline blue eyes study you, waiting for you to decide which action you will take. Seconds pass by as you battle with the choice. Growing tired of waiting for a decision, she leaves her seat to find a new one. Your lap. Lazily, she wriggles to find the most comfortable spot, and her hands snake up your robe, finding the warmth of your torso. With a soft and lazy voice, Seyra yawns into your neck. “It is your decision. I am happy with whatever you decide.”>Honour the Dead – Those that serve you, that help you, will be rewarded. You will not discard them like broken dolls. You will return the tags to Horo’s wife.>Harden your Heart – Be more like Seyra, cast off these shackles. The citizens are simply pawns to move, you owe them nothing.
Sorry it's been a while, you know how life it.Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Sith%20AscendantAs a reminder what Vulfstahn has been up to:>His class decided to go to the Conquest Games (Olympics for Sith)>Vulfstahn decided to fight for the Sith and fought on Umbara which is hosting a titanic battle>He and the soldiers he is traveling with get shot out of the sky behind enemy lines>Killed a Jedi and got his own lightsaber>After successfully taking down an anti-air emplacement and evaced his men>Started dating Seyra
>>6480795>Honour the Dead – Those that serve you, that help you, will be rewarded. You will not discard them like broken dolls. You will return the tags to Horo’s wife.We are so back!
>>6480795>Honour the dead.we can't and shouldn't save them all. But they ARE our people. Our possessions or our countrymen, whichever is, is ours.
>>6480795>>Honour the Dead
>>6480795>Honour the Dead – Those that serve you, that help you, will be rewarded. You will not discard them like broken dolls. You will return the tags to Horo’s wife.
>>6480795>Harden your Heart – Be more like Seyra, cast off these shackles. The citizens are simply pawns to move, you owe them nothingNot a fan of honorbooing. Welcome back boss.
>>6480795>>Honour the Dead – Those that serve you, that help you, will be rewarded. You will not discard them like broken dolls. You will return the tags to Horo’s wife.Welcome back QM ive been waiting.
