Fandom Star Wars Rebirth: Jedi Enclave Characters

[genevys]

DARTH VADER

art credit


Vader is a shell. A walking casket. An echo of the past, completely bereft of any emotion aside from sorrow and rage. His only driving force is the forward momentum he's collected over the years. He will destroy anything that stands in his path. He does not stop, because if he does, he remembers. And so he walks. There's no room left for anything but the present and the future.

His gait is like an endless funeral procession, a silent cacophony of pain, a trail of tears in the sand, an endless stream of darkness shrouding him like a cloud. A line of men and women march behind him, an endless chain of victims to their own misfortune, of soldiers and senators, of prisoners and slaves. Like the rest of them, he, too, is bound by his wrists and ankles. He, too, is chained to a post of bone and iron. And so he walks.

It is only when he kneels before the wrinkled form of his Master that he ceases to be an echo, and becomes a whole being once again. They stare each other in the eye with hatred as old as time, the last two beings in existence who understand the true meaning of fear. And then he's filled with purpose.

Ash crinkles to dust in his palms. The crackling of fire, a woman's laugh, both play on repeat in his head; an aid to his forward momentum. A reminder that he can never turn back. He is Vader now, and he will never again be anyone else. He has no choice. His body is a ruin, obscured with broken, scarred flesh and metal extremities, yet his heart is a furnace. The physical pain is nothing compared to the memories loose in the darkest recesses of his mind. The wounds across his body are insignificant compared to the ones he carries inside.

He allows himself a moment of solace within the confines of a metal chamber — the only place he can breathe without feeling fire in his lungs. A mask rests in front of him; a mask that is not a mask at all, but his face. The mask of Vader. A hand made of metal and rubber glides forwards and gently presses it into place over his own visage. He stares at the reflection of his own eyes for one last moment. His eyes look back at him with the same emotionless gaze, yet there is no animosity within them. He knows what he is: a monster.

Somewhere deep down, he is also Anakin Skywalker. A scared, lonely little boy who never deserved what happened to him. And he has come to terms with this. He has embraced this role. He is Vader now, and there is nothing he can do to change that.

And so he walks.

 

[genevys]

art credit




Vader is a shell. A walking casket. An echo of the past, completely bereft of any emotion aside from sorrow and rage. His only driving force is the forward momentum he's collected over the years. He will destroy anything that stands in his path. He does not stop, because if he does, he remembers. And so he walks. There's no room left for anything but the present and the future.

His gait is like an endless funeral procession, a silent cacophony of pain, a trail of tears in the sand, an endless stream of darkness shrouding him like a cloud. A line of men and women march behind him, an endless chain of victims to their own misfortune, of soldiers and senators, of prisoners and slaves. Like the rest of them, he, too, is bound by his wrists and ankles. He, too, is chained to a post of bone and iron. And so he walks.

It is only when he kneels before the wrinkled form of his Master that he ceases to be an echo, and becomes a whole being once again. They stare each other in the eye with hatred as old as time, the last two beings in existence who understand the true meaning of fear. And then he's filled with purpose.

Ash crinkles to dust in his palms. The crackling of fire, a woman's laugh, both play on repeat in his head; an aid to his forward momentum. A reminder that he can never turn back. He is Vader now, and he will never again be anyone else. He has no choice. His body is a ruin, obscured with broken, scarred flesh and metal extremities, yet his heart is a furnace. The physical pain is nothing compared to the memories loose in the darkest recesses of his mind. The wounds across his body are insignificant compared to the ones he carries inside.

He allows himself a moment of solace within the confines of a metal chamber — the only place he can breathe without feeling fire in his lungs. A mask rests in front of him; a mask that is not a mask at all, but his face. The mask of Vader. A hand made of metal and rubber glides forwards and gently presses it into place over his own visage. He stares at the reflection of his own eyes for one last moment. His eyes look back at him with the same emotionless gaze, yet there is no animosity within them. He knows what he is: a monster.

Somewhere deep down, he is also Anakin Skywalker. A scared, lonely little boy who never deserved what happened to him. And he has come to terms with this. He has embraced this role. He is Vader now, and there is nothing he can do to change that.

And so he walks.