Kanon Krowe
Feb 20th, 2001, 03:41:35 AM
<h3>Coruscant
Coordinates: 0,0,0
Sesswenna Sector</h3>
A solitary man inhabits a disolate rooftop. The building is clearly owned by a corperate conglomerate, but this man is no buisness exec. He looks over the sprawling city below him, a beehive of activity. The sky grows in pollution from the dense population below it.
His clothes, a White tanktop and a pair of Blue Jeans are soiled and stained in blood. Near the end of his pants lay dense mud deposits, but where did the mud come from? Clearly not in vicinity of this towering monument of a structure. He wears boots, witch could be considered Cowboy boots, if there are any in this day and age. These boots he wears are, strangly, void of any dirt or grim at all, nor is there any blood. They are spotless. Strange that a man would care more about his footwear then his clothes. His bare arms are somewhat muscular, but not overly. He cares about his body, but not enough to care for it constantly, he has more important matters to attend to. His hairs rustles in the cool midnight air as he sits in a flemsy chair made of cheap plastic and lord knows what else. A simple chair for a complex man. His body, not looking marvelous by any means, is not a fitting homage to his charactor and presence. If you are unlucky enough to cross his pass, you will quickly know this. He has been called many things. Evil, Demon, Horrific, Soul-less, all true in their own way. He has even been called a Sith. No, he is not that, he has no need to be that. He has often considered joining their flanks, but has never done it. He sees them as lesser beings and not fit to be in his presence. He has contemplated ruling them, but he has come to the conclusion that ruling a tribe of morons is trivial. He smokes something akin to a cigar, but it is more native to the galaxy, perhaps a Gliterstim. A smile washes over his face.
A security officer walks through the staircase door behind him. A middle aged man working the mid-night watch. He walks to the edge of the roof where the man sits. He swivels his head sideways to face him.
"Hey buddy, what're you doing up here?"
The sinister man ignores him but scoffs at his odasity. How dare he speak to me? The man suddenly dissipears, or at least to the eyes of the Officer. Soon the Officer has no memory of him at all, as it is wiped from his brain. He is still there however. Still sitting in his simple chair. He laughs at the simplicity of the human's mind, so easy to manipulate. The Officer reveals a carton of cigarettes, the reason for his "fresh air" stroll. After a few minutes he drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath his shoe. He turns to go back to his patrol of the building. Without a word spoken between them the Officer feels himself being turned around, clearly the work of the demonic presence on the rooftop, but unknowing to the Officer. With a few simple thoughts he is able to convince the man to do what he wishes, without a word spoken. The Officer steps onto the ledge. His legs unsteady and balancing himself. He looks down at the streets below, so many pedestrians, so many people. In the back of his mind he knows he's being controled. He knows he doesn't want to do this, but he has no choice. His will is not his own. The man, who only wanted a cigarette falls forward. The weight of his body and the gravity of the planet pull him down, plummeting to his ultimate death. His screams echo through the air as the evil demon of a man allows his thoughts back. The man can control his body now, but he doesn't have anywhere to go. He will die not knowing why or how. The sinister man laughs as the screams are silenced and the man surely hits the ground below. He goes back to his cigar, back to his thoughts....
Some would call him a madman. But one that is insane is not capable of such calculating thoughts. He has been offhandedly called by the men he let live, the God of War. He is no God. He is just a man. But he does posess the ability to turn men against one another, and on themselves. A Force user would say he posseses the Force. That he is a Dark Jedi, or perhaps a lowly Sith. But he does not care. He finds pleasure in watching the feeble being controled for his enjoyment. This is all that he knows, this is all that he cares for.
Coordinates: 0,0,0
Sesswenna Sector</h3>
A solitary man inhabits a disolate rooftop. The building is clearly owned by a corperate conglomerate, but this man is no buisness exec. He looks over the sprawling city below him, a beehive of activity. The sky grows in pollution from the dense population below it.
His clothes, a White tanktop and a pair of Blue Jeans are soiled and stained in blood. Near the end of his pants lay dense mud deposits, but where did the mud come from? Clearly not in vicinity of this towering monument of a structure. He wears boots, witch could be considered Cowboy boots, if there are any in this day and age. These boots he wears are, strangly, void of any dirt or grim at all, nor is there any blood. They are spotless. Strange that a man would care more about his footwear then his clothes. His bare arms are somewhat muscular, but not overly. He cares about his body, but not enough to care for it constantly, he has more important matters to attend to. His hairs rustles in the cool midnight air as he sits in a flemsy chair made of cheap plastic and lord knows what else. A simple chair for a complex man. His body, not looking marvelous by any means, is not a fitting homage to his charactor and presence. If you are unlucky enough to cross his pass, you will quickly know this. He has been called many things. Evil, Demon, Horrific, Soul-less, all true in their own way. He has even been called a Sith. No, he is not that, he has no need to be that. He has often considered joining their flanks, but has never done it. He sees them as lesser beings and not fit to be in his presence. He has contemplated ruling them, but he has come to the conclusion that ruling a tribe of morons is trivial. He smokes something akin to a cigar, but it is more native to the galaxy, perhaps a Gliterstim. A smile washes over his face.
A security officer walks through the staircase door behind him. A middle aged man working the mid-night watch. He walks to the edge of the roof where the man sits. He swivels his head sideways to face him.
"Hey buddy, what're you doing up here?"
The sinister man ignores him but scoffs at his odasity. How dare he speak to me? The man suddenly dissipears, or at least to the eyes of the Officer. Soon the Officer has no memory of him at all, as it is wiped from his brain. He is still there however. Still sitting in his simple chair. He laughs at the simplicity of the human's mind, so easy to manipulate. The Officer reveals a carton of cigarettes, the reason for his "fresh air" stroll. After a few minutes he drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath his shoe. He turns to go back to his patrol of the building. Without a word spoken between them the Officer feels himself being turned around, clearly the work of the demonic presence on the rooftop, but unknowing to the Officer. With a few simple thoughts he is able to convince the man to do what he wishes, without a word spoken. The Officer steps onto the ledge. His legs unsteady and balancing himself. He looks down at the streets below, so many pedestrians, so many people. In the back of his mind he knows he's being controled. He knows he doesn't want to do this, but he has no choice. His will is not his own. The man, who only wanted a cigarette falls forward. The weight of his body and the gravity of the planet pull him down, plummeting to his ultimate death. His screams echo through the air as the evil demon of a man allows his thoughts back. The man can control his body now, but he doesn't have anywhere to go. He will die not knowing why or how. The sinister man laughs as the screams are silenced and the man surely hits the ground below. He goes back to his cigar, back to his thoughts....
Some would call him a madman. But one that is insane is not capable of such calculating thoughts. He has been offhandedly called by the men he let live, the God of War. He is no God. He is just a man. But he does posess the ability to turn men against one another, and on themselves. A Force user would say he posseses the Force. That he is a Dark Jedi, or perhaps a lowly Sith. But he does not care. He finds pleasure in watching the feeble being controled for his enjoyment. This is all that he knows, this is all that he cares for.