❝You would be wise to 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.❞
Fortress Vader, Mustafar
Joined October 2021
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❝You. Everyone here. This planet. This ship. This sector. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭...❞
The Chosen One
The Demon
The Dark Lord
❝...𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙊𝙍.❞
DARTH VADER
There are so many things a Sith can do with the powers granted to them.
If these officers had known half of them, merely getting strangled or cut down wouldn't seem so bad after all.
They are terrified of his wrath, yet too blissfully ignorant to be grateful for his mercy.
Turning his gaze away from the deep blue swirling of hyperspace to march out of the bridge of the star destroyer. He almost walks into—
. . .
There is an alarm.
Mustafarian raiders are attacking the fortress, rappelling up from the cliff face to breach the walls.
His healing was forced to an abrupt end. Vader braces to feel the searing pain of air contact again.
The Dark Lord is awake...
And he is most displeased.
ALT 🎨: Brian Matyas
In a chamber within the heights of Fortress Vader, the air hisses as a special compound of purified oxygen and antiseptic mist is sprayed through vents and sprinklers. Ever so slowly, black armor heavy with equipment is removed, followed by masterfully built augmented limbs.
Through it all, Vader keeps his gaze focused on the window, watching as the lavafalls churn and roll across Mustafar's hellish landscape. It is only when he feels the merciful respite of the bacta as he is lowered into the tank that he lets himself shut his eyes.
It is ill manners and provokes a diminished image of oneself. A swear or two is of no consequence, but from a child, or even an adult, it only betrays an immature mental apparatus.
There is a reason he uses more refined speech.
There are a great many things he says and does, but very few of which should be imitated. Especially by someone so young. If he were to slip out of an airlock or crash a speeder, would she be so quick to do the same?
ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴠᴀᴅᴇʀ retweeted
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸.ᐟ” ㅤㅤ
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A wrench hits the smooth rock floor of Fortress Vader.
The Dark Lord, overtaken by a coughing fit, almost completely doubles over. It's only by virtue of cybernetics that he keeps his dignity by standing upright.
Ruined already, every breath is painful enough.
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Darth Vader gives himself a moment to recover, and outstretches an open, black-gloved metal hand towards the tool. And like an obedient pet, it places itself in his palm.
He turns it in his grasp, gazing at his warped reflection. The pain will be with him all day. Yet again.
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