This adventure starts on awful footing. Can’t be helped really, when the Second Sister wakes to find herself encased in vines; there’s a tremor of sudden fear as the memories burst violently through her mind, unwanted and unbidden. The sickening realization that she can’t escape.
Trapped in that place, bolted to the chair, the smell of ozone and panic as the torture chair sparks to life.
Submit, traitor.
Her throat tightens. Fear gives way to anger and there is no holding back. Reaching for the lightsaber at her belt, a surge of violent red energy bursts through the vines, peeling them back so that she can break free of this prison. Stepping out into the clearing, she doesn’t immediately put her weapon away.
For a moment, this place almost reminds Trilla of Kashyyyk. Chasing rebellious Jedi, she didn’t have the luxury of staying there long but — no, this place is all wrong. Too different. Feeling through the Force, she can sense something entirely alien to her. Something foreign and sickly.
Looking around, she notes the other pods and likely others trapped within them. For a moment, a single, dangerous moment, she has the urge to open them and free the prisoners inside. It’s an awful, traitorous thought for an Inquisitor; an urge she can barely acknowledge let alone attempt to act upon.
The younglings...what about the younglings?
She makes a noise of disgust that echoes in her helmet. Putting her lightsaber away, the Second Sister moves to find an exit out of these woods.
▸SPITSHINE YOUR BLACK CLOUDS
Of course she doesn’t celebrate along with the villagers. How coarse and unrefined. The sickly feeling of dread hasn’t left her, besides. It’s not the most threatened she’s felt; after the torture, the indoctrination, after Lord Vader, there’s hardly anything that can move her to panic.
But she remains careful and guarded even so, leaning against the front of a tavern and watching the revelers from a distance. Arms crossed, she allows the shadows of the eaves to hide her disdain. Now that she’s spent enough time here, enough to realize this place is far beyond the reaches of the Empire, she’s allowing herself the luxury of removing her helmet. Jacket undone, boots muddied, she could almost be taken for just another traveler.
If not for the Dark Side lingering around her shoulders in place of that familiar black cape. Anger, disgust; such feelings are obvious to those who are sensitive toward them.
“Do you suppose something will come out of there?”
She asks, not expecting someone to answer her. The villagers continue to toss things into that black pit, and she doesn’t quite feel at ease enough to simply turn away from it. Not yet.
▸PITY’S GOT AN UGLY PRICE TAG
Anger is a reliable emotion. It makes her stronger, and that amount of strength is needed to fend off against whatever dangers this place feels compelled to throw at her. Or less than that, simple annoyances like the beggars blocking her way.
She feels them all through the Force. It’s a sickening assault on her senses, something that spills over and threatens to pull her in. Like those vines. This place is nothing but a trap; another test, another torture, and an Inquisitor has only one response to something like this.
“Hands off if you want to keep them,” she threatens from inside her black helmet. Someone reaches for her and she reels back her arm. The assailant is met with an aggressive kick to his chest, her boot unforgiving against his sternum as she uses her bodily strength to send him backward. To teach him a lesson, teach them all not to touch her.
She reaches for the Force, possibly in an attempt to push away this mob. That is, if someone doesn't step in to try and stop her.
Trilla Suduri | Jedi: Fallen Order
This adventure starts on awful footing. Can’t be helped really, when the Second Sister wakes to find herself encased in vines; there’s a tremor of sudden fear as the memories burst violently through her mind, unwanted and unbidden. The sickening realization that she can’t escape.
Trapped in that place, bolted to the chair, the smell of ozone and panic as the torture chair sparks to life.
Submit, traitor.
Her throat tightens. Fear gives way to anger and there is no holding back. Reaching for the lightsaber at her belt, a surge of violent red energy bursts through the vines, peeling them back so that she can break free of this prison. Stepping out into the clearing, she doesn’t immediately put her weapon away.
For a moment, this place almost reminds Trilla of Kashyyyk. Chasing rebellious Jedi, she didn’t have the luxury of staying there long but — no, this place is all wrong. Too different. Feeling through the Force, she can sense something entirely alien to her. Something foreign and sickly.
Looking around, she notes the other pods and likely others trapped within them. For a moment, a single, dangerous moment, she has the urge to open them and free the prisoners inside. It’s an awful, traitorous thought for an Inquisitor; an urge she can barely acknowledge let alone attempt to act upon.
The younglings...what about the younglings?
She makes a noise of disgust that echoes in her helmet. Putting her lightsaber away, the Second Sister moves to find an exit out of these woods.
▸SPITSHINE YOUR BLACK CLOUDS
Of course she doesn’t celebrate along with the villagers. How coarse and unrefined. The sickly feeling of dread hasn’t left her, besides. It’s not the most threatened she’s felt; after the torture, the indoctrination, after Lord Vader, there’s hardly anything that can move her to panic.
But she remains careful and guarded even so, leaning against the front of a tavern and watching the revelers from a distance. Arms crossed, she allows the shadows of the eaves to hide her disdain. Now that she’s spent enough time here, enough to realize this place is far beyond the reaches of the Empire, she’s allowing herself the luxury of removing her helmet. Jacket undone, boots muddied, she could almost be taken for just another traveler.
If not for the Dark Side lingering around her shoulders in place of that familiar black cape. Anger, disgust; such feelings are obvious to those who are sensitive toward them.
“Do you suppose something will come out of there?”
She asks, not expecting someone to answer her. The villagers continue to toss things into that black pit, and she doesn’t quite feel at ease enough to simply turn away from it. Not yet.
▸PITY’S GOT AN UGLY PRICE TAG
Anger is a reliable emotion. It makes her stronger, and that amount of strength is needed to fend off against whatever dangers this place feels compelled to throw at her. Or less than that, simple annoyances like the beggars blocking her way.
She feels them all through the Force. It’s a sickening assault on her senses, something that spills over and threatens to pull her in. Like those vines. This place is nothing but a trap; another test, another torture, and an Inquisitor has only one response to something like this.
“Hands off if you want to keep them,” she threatens from inside her black helmet. Someone reaches for her and she reels back her arm. The assailant is met with an aggressive kick to his chest, her boot unforgiving against his sternum as she uses her bodily strength to send him backward. To teach him a lesson, teach them all not to touch her.
She reaches for the Force, possibly in an attempt to push away this mob. That is, if someone doesn't step in to try and stop her.
▸DIGITAL VEIL
Bruises only serve to make us stronger.