So, I know I had that poll and all...but I'm having a helluva time trying to get things to flow well with Aketho. It's like I'm trying to shove a cube into a too small round hole. It also doesn't help that I made his backstory a bit too complicated. Not in premise but in my ability to write it well. I love the idea of a house of assassins that are there to keep political infighting in check in the Ascendency...but I am WAY to dumb to really execute it well. Not to mention trying to throw in his older brother being the Jedi Knight and a whole lot more....-sigh-
My Sith Pureblood Agent works well with the snippet of the idea I posted...mostly because I like the parallels of both Theron and my SP agent both being children of Force users who can't use the Force.
And then there's my Trooper, Izenom. His back story is very straight forward. His parents spoke out against the Ascendency join forces with the Empire, so much so it put a target on their heads. They sought asylum with the Republic where Azeno was born on the way there--so technically a born Republic citizen.
Ugh...I'd like to stick with Aketho, but I don't think I can force it. >.<
Zaethrin was exhausted. Physically and mentally drained. But then again, dying would do that to a person, wouldn’t it. He was still having trouble wrapping head around that. He died. His soul sent to the Domain of the Lost, broken and afraid. No memory of who he was or how he got there. Having to fight to get it all back before it was too late. Pale Mother, what would have happened if he hadn’t…if the Judge didn’t…Zaethrin shook his head. There was no use in thinking about that now. He was once again alive and had a God to stop.
That last thought had him sighing. There was no end to this, was there? Flopping on the to cot in the room provided to him, the necromancer groaned into the soft pillow beneath his face. Kiel’s crew had given him some small accommodations for the short trip so he could rest up--which he was eternally grateful for. And rest was exactly what he was planning to…
*Knock knock knock*
He groaned into his pillow again, louder this time. Maybe if he ignored them, they’d go away.
*Knock knock knock*
Or not.
Zaethrin sighed and pushed himself up. He took the few steps toward the door and opened it. To say he was surprised at who was standing there would be an understatement.
“Canach.”
“Commander,” his fellow sylvari greeted, the growl in his voice rumbling harder than usual. The warrior’s usual relaxed, almost bored expression was hard and stoney. A frown pulled his lip downward, making the needles of his mustache flare slightly. Soft purple eyes didn’t meet his own, instead staring straight ahead into Zeathrin’s shoulder.
“What can I--” the necromancer was cut off when Canach pushed his way inside his room. A flash of annoyance flared up inside as Zaethrin growled softly, shutting the door. “Why please, by all means, come inside.”
“You died,” was the only response he got from the other man.
Zaethrin frowned and looked at him, more than a little surprised to see Canach pacing back and forth in the small space by the bed.
“What?”
“You died,” Canach repeated, this time stopping to look at him. His face was nigh unreadable, save for the storm that was brewing behind the luminous eyes. He started to pace again, this time a little faster.
“I’m very much aware of that, Canach,” Zaethrin said, more than a little snippy as exhaustion got the better of him. He was in no mood to try and figure out what the other man was getting at. “What are you on about?”
The pacing stopped again, and Zaethrin could see Canach’s jaw working as his fist tightened to the point of shaking.
“You were dead,” came the soft whisper, the unusually smarmy tone unrecognizable. The strong, steady warrior Zaethrin was used to seeing appeared small in that moment. “There was no life left in you…as you laid there, beat and broken…and I…I don’t…” He shook his head, as if trying to shake away a thought. “My apologies, I should be letting you rest.”
By that point, Zaethrin’s annoyance had melted away.
