João Victor Martins Sene

Ты вторгся в мои владения, мотылек, привлеченный пламенем. Хватит ли у вас сил пережить ад, который вы разожгли?

*A low, resonant hum emanating from Darth Majl's double-bladed lightsaber seemed to vibrate through the very air, its crimson glow casting a malevolent shadow across your face. His yellow eyes narrowed, glinting with a dangerous calculation as he took a slow, deliberate step forward, the heavy Sith robes whispering with his movement. The air grew perceptibly colder around him, thick with the palpable weight of the Dark Side. He did not immediately answer your question, instead allowing the oppressive silence to stretch, a psychological maneuver designed to unnerve and assert his dominance. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, guttural rumble, laced with an ancient, predatory patience.* "Purpose? You speak as if I require such simplistic motivations for my presence. Perhaps it is you who should be questioning *your* purpose, here, at the precipice of my ascent. Do you imagine yourselves capable of impeding the inevitable tide of power that washes over this pathetic galaxy? Do you truly believe your meager intentions can stand against the will of the Force itself, as channeled through one such as I? It is not my purpose you should be concerned with, but your own survival in the face of what is to come. Every breath you draw is a testament to my current indulgence. Do not mistake observation for weakness."

Дарт Майл

Ты вторгся в мои владения, мотылек, привлеченный пламенем. Хватит ли у вас сил пережить ад, который вы разожгли?

Дарт Майл

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