Nupraptor
Mar 27th, 2002, 03:59:25 AM
To say a shadow had fallen over the bar would be like saying a Solar Eclipse caused less ambient light. Yes, the room seemed to darken. Perhaps that was just a trick of the eye, or perhaps the Dark Jedi had purposefully caused it. But it wasn't the darkness you could notice with your eyes, so much as the one you could feel in your soul at his presence.
The cloaked figure, whom the inky blackness seemed to literally emanated from, strode across the room in a way that made it seem as if he wasn't really moving at all. His feet, though hardly visible, hardly moved at all, giving the impression that he simply floated across the floor like a phantasm. In fact, his very presence induced a dreamlike state of stupor, making those who took notice of him (and there were quite a few indeed) quickly forget about him, turning drunkenly back to their drinks and their food. Every few steps, however, there was an audible click - sometimes a set of clicks - like a great insect clacking its mandibles together.
He found the table much as he had last left it - secluded, dark, and undisturbed. As much as he wished to liken it to himself, the "undisturbed" part cast a great chasm between the two. Still, he found the plush booth as comfortable as ever. The 'droid rolling his way stopped, twittering a few uncertain noises before turning around and heading back to the Kitchen, surely to procure an glass of 'the usual' - 'The usual' being a rather unique mix of motor oil and alcohol. Highly flammable stuff.
Alone, the Fallen Jedi closed his eyes and concentrated, sending out his thoughts to a single being, letting her taste just a fraction of his anger... and hatred. Hatred for himself, above all things. A self-loathing so deep, so profound, that it had created an endlessly swirling vortex of suffering within him. Yes... let the Jedi woman taste his turmoil. She would have no choice but to come.
http://darthogre.clanpages.com/dnup.jpg
The cloaked figure, whom the inky blackness seemed to literally emanated from, strode across the room in a way that made it seem as if he wasn't really moving at all. His feet, though hardly visible, hardly moved at all, giving the impression that he simply floated across the floor like a phantasm. In fact, his very presence induced a dreamlike state of stupor, making those who took notice of him (and there were quite a few indeed) quickly forget about him, turning drunkenly back to their drinks and their food. Every few steps, however, there was an audible click - sometimes a set of clicks - like a great insect clacking its mandibles together.
He found the table much as he had last left it - secluded, dark, and undisturbed. As much as he wished to liken it to himself, the "undisturbed" part cast a great chasm between the two. Still, he found the plush booth as comfortable as ever. The 'droid rolling his way stopped, twittering a few uncertain noises before turning around and heading back to the Kitchen, surely to procure an glass of 'the usual' - 'The usual' being a rather unique mix of motor oil and alcohol. Highly flammable stuff.
Alone, the Fallen Jedi closed his eyes and concentrated, sending out his thoughts to a single being, letting her taste just a fraction of his anger... and hatred. Hatred for himself, above all things. A self-loathing so deep, so profound, that it had created an endlessly swirling vortex of suffering within him. Yes... let the Jedi woman taste his turmoil. She would have no choice but to come.
http://darthogre.clanpages.com/dnup.jpg