Leviticus
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 22, 2017
- Messages
- 460
- Reaction score
- 267
"They're on my left!"
A hundred different voices roar above the clamor of battle. Lightsabers, red to blue, flicker across the sprawling battlefield. Fire gnaws the shattered homes and bloodied fields, threatening to consume them all. But nobody cares, nobody stops to look at the carnage that stretched as far as the eye could see— nobody but a stilted boy. His blade, a mix of clear-cut sapphire and crystalline ice, hovered at his side. Both of his eyes were burrowed into each socket. His lips were chapped and throat dry from the constant fighting. His robes were tattered and armor littered with burn marks and wide clefts. A trail of blood trickled down in the middle, but it was not his own.
His face twisted around, searching for an end or an escape. Except, there was nothing. Nothing but the battle that seemed to rage on without time nor care. At his feet, a familiar Jedi Knight laid lifeless on the ground. Her hair draped over the dirt, blood dripping from her lips. Next to her, an Exile likewise sat lifelessly. His mask torn in two, and face marred with a single, cauterized slash. Each led their own life, upheld their own beliefs, concocted their own dreams. But in the end, the war destroyed them. They would become just another statistic, just another casualty, in this century-long conflict.
The boy, barely a man, unfastened his attention from the two bodies. He turned to face his closest friend, a younger woman, who now reeled back from an attack by a vagrant Exile. Fear swelled within her, and she glanced back to the boy, one last time. He stumbled ahead, desperate to save her. Running now, his armored boots struggled through the mud, but he is too slow, and the Exile is too fast. As he reached out with his own blade, the Exile drove their seething blade forward. Red light pierced the girl's chest, and the boy screamed:
"—No!" Leviticus lurched out from under the sheets. Sweat crawled down the side of his head, and rank heat stifled his throat. He clung to his chest before rising out from the bed. Above him, the faint hum of the fan mirrored his short-winded breath. Outside, through the slender crack of a window, flashes of light seeped through, either from passing city speeders or neighboring advertisements. Nar Shaddaa was a world of activity, always in perpetual motion. The world was just like Coruscant, just with shittier air and crime. But that didn't faze the former Knight.
He had slept on worlds far deadlier, and far filthier, than the likes of Nar Shaddaa. If anything, Leviticus was only glad to have an actual bed to sleep in, even if it was lush with termites. Although he hadn't just settled on the planet simply to rest— as always, there was business to attend to. Numerous gangs and organizations were stippled across the surface. Organizations with enough credits and weapons to overthrow a planetary government. If the Exiles, or at least Leviticus himself, wanted to properly combat the Jedi Order, they would first need the support of the Cartel.
For now, though, all he wanted was a drink. Something to wash away the nightmares that still chewed at his mind. Even if it was just for one night, it was relief regardless. So, slipping on some regular civilian clothes and tucking away the darkness within, Leviticus drifted out from his shoddy apartment complex and toward the nearest cantina. The Nag's Head, as it was called, was like any ordinary bar on Nar Shaddaa: rancid and remarkably shabby. But, it was close, and their drinks didn't taste like complete piss, so it would make due.
Slipping into the shoddy establishment, he took a seat and flagged down the bartender. Voice cracked, he beckoned, "Whiskey. Straight up." The bartender grunted with a nod and poured him a shot, which he unsurprisingly downed within the following moment. Although Leviticus was not depressed, nor despondent. In fact, he was upset. No— angry. Not at himself, but at the Jedi. What they did to him, what they allowed to happen... was something he could never forgive. And he wasn't going to rest until every last one of them was wiped clean from the galaxy.
"Enemy reinforcements on the horizon!"
"Look out! Behind you!"
A hundred different voices roar above the clamor of battle. Lightsabers, red to blue, flicker across the sprawling battlefield. Fire gnaws the shattered homes and bloodied fields, threatening to consume them all. But nobody cares, nobody stops to look at the carnage that stretched as far as the eye could see— nobody but a stilted boy. His blade, a mix of clear-cut sapphire and crystalline ice, hovered at his side. Both of his eyes were burrowed into each socket. His lips were chapped and throat dry from the constant fighting. His robes were tattered and armor littered with burn marks and wide clefts. A trail of blood trickled down in the middle, but it was not his own.
His face twisted around, searching for an end or an escape. Except, there was nothing. Nothing but the battle that seemed to rage on without time nor care. At his feet, a familiar Jedi Knight laid lifeless on the ground. Her hair draped over the dirt, blood dripping from her lips. Next to her, an Exile likewise sat lifelessly. His mask torn in two, and face marred with a single, cauterized slash. Each led their own life, upheld their own beliefs, concocted their own dreams. But in the end, the war destroyed them. They would become just another statistic, just another casualty, in this century-long conflict.
The boy, barely a man, unfastened his attention from the two bodies. He turned to face his closest friend, a younger woman, who now reeled back from an attack by a vagrant Exile. Fear swelled within her, and she glanced back to the boy, one last time. He stumbled ahead, desperate to save her. Running now, his armored boots struggled through the mud, but he is too slow, and the Exile is too fast. As he reached out with his own blade, the Exile drove their seething blade forward. Red light pierced the girl's chest, and the boy screamed:
"—No!" Leviticus lurched out from under the sheets. Sweat crawled down the side of his head, and rank heat stifled his throat. He clung to his chest before rising out from the bed. Above him, the faint hum of the fan mirrored his short-winded breath. Outside, through the slender crack of a window, flashes of light seeped through, either from passing city speeders or neighboring advertisements. Nar Shaddaa was a world of activity, always in perpetual motion. The world was just like Coruscant, just with shittier air and crime. But that didn't faze the former Knight.
He had slept on worlds far deadlier, and far filthier, than the likes of Nar Shaddaa. If anything, Leviticus was only glad to have an actual bed to sleep in, even if it was lush with termites. Although he hadn't just settled on the planet simply to rest— as always, there was business to attend to. Numerous gangs and organizations were stippled across the surface. Organizations with enough credits and weapons to overthrow a planetary government. If the Exiles, or at least Leviticus himself, wanted to properly combat the Jedi Order, they would first need the support of the Cartel.
For now, though, all he wanted was a drink. Something to wash away the nightmares that still chewed at his mind. Even if it was just for one night, it was relief regardless. So, slipping on some regular civilian clothes and tucking away the darkness within, Leviticus drifted out from his shoddy apartment complex and toward the nearest cantina. The Nag's Head, as it was called, was like any ordinary bar on Nar Shaddaa: rancid and remarkably shabby. But, it was close, and their drinks didn't taste like complete piss, so it would make due.
Slipping into the shoddy establishment, he took a seat and flagged down the bartender. Voice cracked, he beckoned, "Whiskey. Straight up." The bartender grunted with a nod and poured him a shot, which he unsurprisingly downed within the following moment. Although Leviticus was not depressed, nor despondent. In fact, he was upset. No— angry. Not at himself, but at the Jedi. What they did to him, what they allowed to happen... was something he could never forgive. And he wasn't going to rest until every last one of them was wiped clean from the galaxy.