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Entombed beneath the building material in a shelled townhouse, you see the right half of his torso and the back of his head through a window. The glass that should have kept the elements out lay shattered and scattered across the floor, shimmering like gems in your torchlight. His breath is laboured and uneven – there are no cries for help or desperate attempts to free himself. Approaching closer, you watch the unmoving form with growing curiosity. Dark curly locks crown his head, veiling his downturned face. A few drops of blood dot the floor, but it is far from the vast quantities belonging to a man who is bleeding out.
You are reminded of King Adas’ words about consuming a soul or binding it as a pathway to great power. This is a perfect time to study such a thing. If you let him die. There is still life in him, enough that his strained heart struggles on despite the crushing debris. He doesn’t need to die; you are able to lift the rubble from the man and carry him to the field hospital. You can save this proud warrior of the Sith Empire. If you want to. It is your choice to save a man who fights for the same nation or to allow him to pass on without assistance, just so you can study him.
Delicately, you switch off your torch and climb through the window, making sure you let loose no sound that can disturb the wounded soldier. A ruined pane of glass that mostly survived the shattering of the windows crackles under your armoured boot, but with this city listening to the dirge of bombardment, the noise is not heard. Taking small light steps, you slowly put your foot to the floor and transfer weight between the two. Standing within the partial sheltered of the ruined building, your eyes have not left the dying man, and he has not stirred an inch.
His head hangs forward as if bowing to you, the arbiter of his life and death. Crouching down, you try to spy a look at his sleeping face, but he is too low. The spasmodic breaths have not changed; he is still in the world of dreams and can not plead with you for his life. A bent barrel of a broken gun points at an angle, telling you it would not be worth salvaging. Looking at it more closely, you study the shape of the weapon, how the lines move and flow with the length of the rifle. Fighting your new fascination with the gun, you return your gaze to the man shrouded by rubble.
