Korriban

[The Sith Empire]

• Warchief Dzadûr was a beast of a creature that fascinated over the hunt. The thrill of the chase aroused his blackened heart to a plane of madness he could never recover from. His unwieldy mass rivaled that of even Sheog The Mad, and his brutish aggression had no place in the cockpit of some metal chariot. Yet and still, his heavy and bestial breath pumped through the hollow commline from a station below, allowing the haunting of his presence to motivate the swiftness of the patrol formations intercepting the trespassing vessel. The precious cargo freight vanished impatiently as units of starfighters equipped with lethal force surrounded the two rather imprudent pilots and chaperoned them out of sight. What would become of the inestimable stock was an unpublished truth between the higher ranking posts within the auspicious Sith Empire. Make no mistake, anything caught in the web that Exodus spun would be torn asunder and picked threadbare for all the little seeds that would allow his people to flourish once more.

[The Sith Empire]

The bedfloor of sand that covered the expanse just outside of the Praxeum reminded him of an amphitheater that he and others would spill blood in for sport. It was a time when war ran deep between all factions, and indiscriminate murder was how one survived. The smell of sweat and blood still stained his nostrils, and he could never soak the stench from his skin. His scales reflected a profuse red, perhaps forever drenched in the life force of those he had slaughtered. The mildew of Korriban was different now, and the caliber of warriors that existed paled in comparison to what it once was. General Omm reviewed the responses from the children before him, noticing the another that had arrived at the burly gates. Sickly eyes, filled with the curiosity of a carnivorous reptile, searching all three men thoroughly. Their emotions, their body languages, and the tone of their voices all provided detail into who and what they were.

 

 

"Acolytesss Camik, Acheron, and Nieve. You three will be the firssst of many, to usssher in a new era. You have come ill-prepared for battle, but I asssssure you, that will change ssswiftly under my command. Wherever you carry yourssselvess, you must be prepared. Your life will be challenged. If you are not ready for thisss, your journey will end before you know it." General Omm reviewed the three of them, and extended his powerful arm to the West. "There exissstss an inssstitution to the Wessst, your admissssion into the Sssith beginsss there. Enter the deposssitory and retrieve the bassicss of whatever weaponsss you desssire. Tell them the General hass ssent you. When you've gathered yoursselvess. Take the carrier to the Wesst and you will come upon the Academy. I will sssee you all there."

 

 

• (Access the small facility, take a starter melee/ranged weapon that will represent the combative direction you want your character to take on, and then take a small transport West to the Academy. It will be a new topic, which isn't created yet, but will be. So look out for that.)

[The Sith Empire]

VEXOK SAVAKA

 

 

Far from luxury, far from the ordinary.

 

The rolling sands of red began to boil something fierce beneath them. Over the last few months, tremendous sand storms impregnated the lands, storming across the old terrestrial and wreaking a havoc that frightened off-worlders to their core. We had been too inviting, and the spirits knew this. Cultists spent halved decades prophesying a powerful shift in the high dune-shores of Korriban, telling of a time where hedonism and worldly possessions would return to a sweeping dust. The spirits were angered, tourists and wayfarers gathered in record amounts, keen on studying the immortals works of those that drank and died in the dark side of the force. The teachings of more than just the Sith, of practitioners that vested their life blood in the studies of primal sorcery and the most forbidden of arts, were on showcase for the spoil and pillage of the undeserving. The rule of the traitorous white wolf had endorsed such sacrilege, and his love for the enemy had blinded him to the deflowering of his culture. Korriban was a Gate to inexplicable power, and the doors were slowly closing under the watch of the Spider.

 

A small wind crept up on the derelict port, a little stronger than the usual, worsening levels of visibility. The humans that worked these parts looked drained of the color in their skin, and machine-like in the way they systemically secured the newest docked vessel.  A Cathar, a strange Droid, and a Tuk'ata disembarked and continued on their path, perhaps searching for a thing that no longer existed here. Comfort, was long gone in these parts, and as the Sith Empire drew itself across the galactic front, these red sands darkened under their seven moons.

 

All the same, the winds continued to strengthen, and the trek to the nearest temple was a mile up-shore. As the three pressed onward, they came upon a creature overlaid in a dull-green cloak, holding a protected flame fixed to a long black-metal staff.  He held the make-shift lantern high, unconcerned with how much of the burnt flesh on his face peaked through his sagging hood. He worked his jaw, easing the stiffness that shot up to his peeling cheekbones.

 

 

"J'us buti vi griezta fopa ant bnila, j'us dary nenx ana dyibio j'us naile mirtis. Buti sis atuzirsaga, ax tarabaga?"

You are as heavy hooves on glass, you do not walk as if you fear death. Is this arrogance, or madness?

 

 

The voice yawned out across the distance as they approached, addressing the three of them indiscriminately. His concern was not for their lives, but for the terror that their lack of precaution would stir. The lands were not what they once were, and their footsteps hammered the sands, signaling the things buried low and far. The creature stood before them now, awaiting their response.

 

[The Sith Empire]

Low laughter came suddenly in response, almost a growling as it first started, but then the humor grew as loud as the roaring winds. The creature had to double over with hand on knee, contradictory to the usual rigid appearance of him and his kind. But then he readjusted, straightening himself while leaning more of his weight onto the make-shift staff. He eyed the flame that he had captured earlier, and then returned his gaze towards the rather strange collection of sentient or semi-sentient bodies. They were serious, and it was only now that the creature had realized what they had just asked for. The storm was opening up somewhere near, but the skies were too choked with dust and clouds to pinpoint how far out the chaos really was.

 

Anas buti zo grezmenes faejon va, Hisxis..

That is a dangerous request, Cathar..

 

He let the thought sink in, the very notion of how dangerous the masters of the dark side could be. Their reputations were of an ill-kind. Capable of stacking the odds against them and coming out on top, each and every time. The power that the masters of the dark side held within them, more often than not, drove them sick with unquenchable blood-lust. There were few left if truth be told, most burning out like a flame to waxen wicks. Those that hungered for the knowledge and the power grew in significant numbers, while those that had achieved both of these things, were a dying breed. The creature used his free hand to pull his hood up, and cover his face a little better than before, the sand hitting his charred face was far from pleasant. 

 

J'us zenoti tave lirza, kad sis buti nie dits bauztipe latraha. J'us buti takjona, su yunoks katesi askal tu'iea vadinti..

You know the tongue, but this is no charter school. You are strangers, with little merit behind your names.. 

 

The heavy accent of his Sith diction came out rough, nearly as if anger was attributed to his entire speech, but this was just the sound of the pyromancer at large. His watched them all, with a curiosity to match his natural paranoia. This world was one of savages, creatures willing to sacrifice their lives in the name of ascension. What stood before him, was untested, and perhaps a small threat to these sacred sands.

 

.. Armijio. Ar sis buti tu'iea geida, na j'us nayir rajidona tu'saen stai ir dabar. Nuo j'us ir tu'iea idevoka, sekleti buti stuyi.

..Yet. If this is your wish, then you must surrender yourselves here and now. For you and your intentions, shall be tested.

 

 

Kam zodis j'us?

What say you?

 

[The Sith Empire]

He listened intently while a trace of disdain played against his peeling features, but his composure was without flaw. The creature was well-winded, speaking in tongue with a confused arrogance that no master of the dark side would bother to endure. But for now, he ate slow-burning torture. He leaned the staff harder into the sands, and the fire captured within it looked as if it began to swell in size as he did so. "Enough!" Perhaps this Cathar did not understand the tones of the Sith language, or perhaps it just enjoyed the sound of it's own voice. He then pulled the hood from his head to reveal a scathed man, burned flesh through and through, ailing thickets of muscle and exposed bulbous vessels that dry-heaved over the features of his face. 

 

"I wonder if in this language you will understand my meaning. Your words are empty. You speak many of them, far too many for an old man to care for, and all of which mean nothing to me. You are loyal to a name that has expired and holds no weight. You recklessly trod across lands foreign to you, imploring direction without addressing just who you are, much less the dismal company you you choose to keep. You stand before a keeper of the sands, and you have proven unwise, stranger.

 

This comfort you speak of, the word is unfamiliar to my kind. Pain is the only luxury you will find standing before me, for I am a Master in the arts you seek, one exemplified in studies of the Wicked Flame. With but a whisper, you and those entrusted to follow you, would become no more than ash stirred by the ass-end of this old staff. But with temper, I fear the flame would swallow us all."

 

The pyromancers of the Krath were uncanny catalysts to a primordial savage unlike any other, the boils that surfaced their skins were testament to how they earned their names, and earned their abilities. "I am Darth Helios, and you will yield to me and surrender your identities, or you will feel the heat of Horuset settle into your bones."

[The Sith Empire]

 

THE SPACE BETWEEN SAND.

 

He watched them, such a curious bunch. Reminded him of the little ones that had come to marvel of red fire and blackened ash on the first day. The jovial acolytes of his class, juvenile to the steep power that the force would offer them, unprepared for the hate that would boil in their veins forever. These few however; their speech seemed mired with tones of hope, pleasantries and perhaps a strange bravery. Such character was contrary to the bastards that were belched from prison reform to serve the Sith, even the camaraderie they showed here was an alien feeling. These were ideals that the Master had not seen for a time in these wretched sands. These were ideals that would most likely lead to brutish death by the hands of hungrier students. There was time yet, to see if these few would one day turn on each other, and find daggers to settle into the spines of the ones they had arrived with. A powerful trinity like the one of old, was unlikely.

 

He allowed the wind fury of the coming storm to fill in the silence, choosing not to answer the introduction of either creature. "..Come with me."

 

His leaning on the staff finally took, and a loud crunch was heard. The fire inside of the staff illuminated beyond a furious pallet of bright-orange, mixing now with a sickly green and black. The sand beneath him, and for a few feet outside of his circumference, began to slowly gyrate in a counterclockwise flush. The area became seismic, trembling with just enough force to unhinge one's standing balance. The shifting sands started to dissipate before their eyes, now showing that the staff was wrenched into a strange sealing mechanism. A solid plate of metal was unearthed while the strong rattling soon reached a climax, then came to a boring halt. Exposed slabs of metal continued to innocuously drain the bleeding sands, unveiling an opening maw that proved to be a hidden entrance after all.

 

Helios held his eyes tightly closed, with a single hand concentrated over the loosening access point. Once the widening diameter was large enough to fit the full berth of a hover-cruiser, Helios moved without further delay, descending the stairwell that extended into the belly of reddened rock. He moved slow, almost deceivingly so, but with enough time for the strange folk to follow his lead. He would not ask them, he would show them. If reluctance was their answer, the darkmetal plates would not wait more than sixty seconds to independently reseal.

 

The downward spiraling steps spanned at least a mile, starting as roughshod metal, which slowly buried itself into the cavernous rock that surrounded them and became a natural outcropping of steps. Metal was outmatched here beneath the rolling sands, only illustrating the strangeness of nature's design down here. Vicious stalagmites, craggy drip-stones and carved images of tremendous taunting gargoyles haunted these parts. In every direction hung brilliant carvings, billows of black smog, and waltzing flames to light the way. The air was easy for now, but the open flames that ran the length of the structured outcropped stairway strangely captured the eye, choking the air in places with a hoarse smoke that seemed to revitalize the body. Walls continued to close in around them, making it impossible to see what was yet below, and where it was they had come from. The walls held history though, etched tapestries of powerful creatures that once shaped these omniscient tunnels. Helio spoke nothing, knowing at least some of them followed nearby with the sound of feet hitting the awkward pavings. 

 

The Master of the White Flame worked himself a small distance ahead of the group, only by aid of comfort from how many times he had traveled these access points. With that separation though, he always came to a stop when the marvel of Vardin Valley came into view. The walls opened up closer to the tail-end of their long descent and a sprawling panorama became all that could steal your breath. If one was not careful, the stretching phenomenon below was distracting of how high the distance really was. Plenty had met an easy death from these heights. This was an incredible underworld, carved from stone and old magic. Fantastically large columns sprung up from the pits of Korriban and heaved into the roofing of the hollow under-city. There were people everywhere, spirited crowds reminiscent of communal trade-villages, everyone eager to make pace and address their tasks at hand. Most of them were dressed in moth-eaten robes, hued in a red dustier than the sands above. Others were of larger species,  or of blackened robes, some even of the green that Master Helios drew upon himself. The remaining steps would lead them into the wayfaring industrious market, but other lanes of foot-traffic would find you in the residential quarters, temples of worship, the forges, or a bevy of other quadrants. All things lead through the Bastion of Pelko, and Vardin Valley was a sea of opportunity hidden from the prying eyes of those who did not belong.

 

"Roshan, Solus, Aliss. What do you see?" Assuming them to fall in just a few steps to his own, his voice echoed inside of their heads, wholly inquisitive to how they perceived what now laid before them, their answers waiting to be judged. 

[The Sith Empire]

For what was months at a time, Helios sat atop the secret entrance, nestled upon rolling red sands. At every break of dawn, he set himself into a trance, swimming in meditation over the thousands that bustled below. He knew he needed to find himself students to impart his teachings, creatures willing to sacrifice their mind and body to the learnings of the dark side. Death was inevitable, and what a waste it would be to wither away without proper seeding. He knew better now to temper himself, elsewise he would burn himself through more acolytes than he could count from the Bastion, but none could ever manage to endure the rise of his teachings. Strangely, the fumbling crew had happened across him after all this time, turning the table on who would find who, yet none of them were like anything he had ever expected. Helios knew they would become more fodder to the flame, but at least one of them could rise above. But who?

“Enemies. Competition. Strange ants that we don’t know and I don’t trust.”

 

 

Aliss was a blunt blade, her emotions etched into her face for all to see, and along her forearms drew fury and resentment. She was the closest to the wicked flames, and Helios could feel the wisps of fire at his fingertips almost call out to the woman. She was predatorial in her presentation, and whenever she spoke, her voice dripped with an interesting malice. There were layers to her, in the way she walked, in the way her eyes remained ever-piercing. Her story, he imagined, was one filled with betrayal and pain rolled tightly inside of her cold heart. Was it her?

 

“You’ll have to excuse the girl, Master Helios. She spent her entire life on Ishvara...”
“I see legacy. Something forged likely through hard labor, if not slave labor, that will probably outlive us all. I see players, cogs if you will, most likely doing their part and performing their roles. And more importantly, I see knowledge and opportunity. Old things often hide knowledge long forgotten. Old ‘magics’ more powerful in the hands of the worthy than most will ever know or actualize.”

 

Order. This one smelled of the old magics, one of rigid constitution, one of a quiet power. His hunger was sheathed perfectly beneath his feline features. He was the adhesive to this small company, the unyielding chieftain of their journey, and perhaps the most experienced of the bunch. He spoke of his past life on the surface briefly, his training with another halted into stagnation. Would his vanity keep him from learning the hard way? Would he truly submit, or would his nature find him burnt into a crisp? These were the questions that whispered in the charred scalp of the Great Helios. If Roshan could succeed, maybe they all would find a way with this creature by their side.

 

 

“I...I see…well I see a place of life...of...potential. A place to possibly learn or...”

 

 

There it was. When the sentient fusion of machine and stone spoke, hesitation crawled from the voice module in abundance. In that moment, a gauge was finalized between the three, illustrating just who and what they were in summation. Aliss was the highest extreme, cradling the most radical end of the criterion, a flame that could end them all. Roshan scaled the center, his poise and demure tying the team together at the core. Solus was the beginning, the most earnest and uncultivated of embers, with a promise that could far surpass any one of these individuals, or drag behind the others with a propensity for conserving it’s true nature. Abruptly, a distraction set in place, and Helios was now convinced. He watched menacingly as the transaction of words between Solus, and another denizen of the passage transpired. None were to be trusted in these grand halls, for the most cutthroat of beings could find themselves here, attempting to cheat their way up the hierarchy of power. Force sensitives were hated, and it was jealousy of those without, that plotted to end those that were gifted. This Tear drew too much attention, and for that alone, Helios considered slaughtering the thing.

 

 

“Yes, opportunity! That is what I see! Haha!”

 

 

Helios watched the little potion-maker scamper off. He knew that this was now much more than a curious deal to be had. The inhabitants of the passage could detect when things were awry in their little pit of seclusion. Although there were many that moved about the black markets with purpose, this new union staggered without, and became a glowrod of this opportunity that his would-be students had spoke of. Danger would come, and they would be tested. The Master of the Wicked Flame pulled up the folds of his robe, ensuring his tell was not revealed to others, covering as much of his skin as he could.

 

 

“Undoubtedly, you’ve been here countless times, Master Helios. But tell us. What do you see?”

 

 

There was no answer more right than the other, this was a matter of perspective. The markets would open, and then they would close. The people here would come, and they would go. The tunnel systems would field this union to temples, to the Bastion, to the dormitories, naturally formed wonders off of the beaten path. There would be joy, order, hate, jealousy, lawlessness, and injustice in every which way you could imagine it. Stillness was hard to find, and peace was tested whenever you were not watching. The Passage was watching now, and there was a collective nestled deep inside of it, that would seek what they imagined was owed. 

 

"I believe what we look for, gives birth to what we see, and I see a wildfire brewing."

Enemies, Competition, Mistrust, Legacy, Cogs, Knowledge, Opportunity, Wildfire.

 

"There is no need to excuse the fair lady, she is right not trust these people. They do not trust you, and now they know just how to spot you. They have seen you descend from the scaffolding of the rock-ways, they have tongues that will tell tall tales of promise, and as long as you parade that dog of yours, they can pick you from a crowd. They will not pay for that creature, Solus. You will find a knife buried deep between your crust before you see a flash of coin. They will drag you from the markets and dismember you for parts, and then skin your mates for their organs. Remember, the red sands and the things beneath them are no casual matter. We must move. Follow me.

 

 

Lord Helios shuffled his staff and took point at the bottom of the rock-way. He kept a few paces ahead of the others, leaving room for them to spread and watch each other's rear as they drew through the crowds. Any and everything you could think of, had an exhibition stand to advertise what it was they were looking to part with. From combat-effective gear to spices and outlandish cuisines. Smoke both pleasant and unpleasant fumed the spacious hollow-town. Mobs of individual, mostly cloaked, moved rudely against the herds. There were no traffic measures down here, it was a free-for-all of chaos and coin. Thieves, children, humanoids, and the strangest of creatures form a melting pot on the hardened clay alley-ways. Most of the action formed at the mid-town square, which was mostly just a gigantic ring-shaped marketplace that led to other districts at the outskirts of its center. Tall, short, fat and skinny, various body types pushed into each other to have their way. There were pockets of musicians riddled throughout the marketplace, spread out enough to not interfere with one another's sound, but loud enough in their own respect to drone out the noise of hard travel. The music was refreshing, depending on the hour of the day, which foreigners could only guess at, was indicative to the mood of the sound. Now, the symphonies were charged with ecstasy, feeding the consumers and brigands with a raw energy.

 

The Master of the Wicked Flame, held just that inside of his splintered staff. When it raged inside of it's cage, the sound of the heat caught the eyes of those that stood before it and inched away from the group. The four of them would make their way to the edges of the market and file down a more narrow alley-way. This corridor was infinitely littered with dwellings and lodgings of all sorts. Hostelries, saloons, small restaurants, alehouses and tinier bazaars that facilitated the many different species that roamed these parts. They rose high and low, all seemingly of the same large and expansive block, but accessed from just this side of the alley. Other alleyways held different options, and led to alternative districts for the underworld society, neighboring this was one dedicated to places of worship, and another botanical study and garden conservatories.  

If they followed true, they would soon push themselves into a rather tucked-away house of worship. Nothing special inside, mostly carved from the same stone they stood on, with benches and a strange altar that dedicated itself to no one in particular. When there, Helios would reveal a key inside of his grip that would loosen a secret entrance and lead them down another set of stairs (smaller now, and made of black stone), and then they would begin.

[The Sith Empire]

"When the first students to attempt pyromancy at Yrsrathik Academy were found burned to death by their own conjurations, the masters assembled the other students to demonstrate that those apprentices were just too weak to control the flames. The ensuing conflagration led to the banning of pyromantic studies. Even so, pursuit of mastery over the flame would lead to a procession of tragedies through history."

- S Guide.

 

"It is where I give thanks to the first flame. Such knowledge, none of you have earned. Now be silent."

 

 

Helios could feel his temper twitch beneath his skin, the pain in his bones vexed his reasoning as he walked, and his patience wore thin. The stone steps allowed them to descend into the dark basement, visibility quickly becoming nil. They could feel their way down the stair-way as they did before, but these steps were only twenty deep in comparison to the long descent from the red sands they had just endured. The basement was cold, smoothed out rock went from wall to wall, and from the ceiling to the bottom. If there was a measure of airflow down here, it was hidden from the naked eye. There was a slight chill if their natural bodies could feel it, a frigidness that seemed to stick to the barren space. The square footage down here, was significantly larger than it was on the floor above, but natural eyes would not allow them to see the distance. Helios' flame danced joyfully, shedding light to the bleakness of their surroundings.

 

They walked together for only a few steps, and just before their stop, a small object laid at the feet of the Master of Flame. The shape of the item was pyramidal, framed with a strange metallic alloy, shining as if the substance breathed because of the nearness of the small ember. Helios swept his dark robes out of the way, presenting the dead item to the broad silhouettes of his small troupe. "I will not pretend to understand the reasons that the three of you have chose to come to this world. You allude to a learning that has escaped you, an edification that will make use of the gift that is trickling inside of your bodies. Yet, you do not know who I am, I do not know any of you, and it would seem, that the three of you have barely scratched the surface of who you have traveled the stars with. We are all strangers in the mud. That will change, and quickly. This place is where the three of you will rest, study, and prepare. It is as empty as the connections we share between one another, as meaningless as your anticipation to become more. Put your vanity aside and understand that your buoyancy in this place, will guarantee a swift end, and I will not be the one to stay the blade that does it. 

 

The learnings you seek can bring you an indomitable power, evolving you into.. much more than what you are. But, tread carefully, for such things are not given freely. There is a price to be paid, whether you realize this or not. The gifts of the dark side are to be earned the hard way, hard ways that are necessary to govern wild spirits. Your flesh, your friendships, your wit, and your lives will be tested. Leave it all behind and empty your minds. Ishvara must have taught you the importance of this, but your jovial minds have much more to discover here upon these sands. You will see the dead walk before your very eyes, and your nightmares will come knocking, and they will find you. I implore you all to be ready for this. 

 

Solus, you are as nimble as a Mandallian Giant in six-inch heels. You must familiarize your circuitry to that of your natural body. Your cognition of these things are surely infantile, which marks you as the easiest target. Aliss and Roshan, Solus is as strong as the two of you will ever be. Kill it, dispose of it's body, or harness your weakest link until your weakest is impervious to death. The choice I leave between you three. Rest, break bread with one another, and I will return in the dawning of the Red. 

 

...Do not lay a finger on this, I warn you only this once." Lord Helios pointed downwards, and to the Holocron at his foot. He made sure the three of them could see it as he shed his staff-light to the small relic positioned in the middle of the barren floor. He cut-eye with the troupe, and made his way to the level they had come from, taking the only source of light with him. The rest was for them to figure out, for he would return when he saw fit.

 

 

[The Sith Empire]

The dark walls began to kindle slowly. Strings of bright-red inscriptions illuminated upon stone, one after the other, circling the vast room. A sound of burning flint drew louder and louder as the arcane symbols lit up, layer after layer the strange symbols seethed. Amidst the commotion, a slamming racket rang out from the entryway to the sub-basement, undoubtedly the sound of heavy metal collapsing at the top of the stairs. The way was sealed. If there was another, none here knew of it. All around them was black, and stone, and nakedness of nothing. The air itself held a stale density to it, becoming cloudier as the foreign language continued to carve itself complete. The forgotten dialect began to pulsate as if it followed the rhythm of a beating heart, flickering from black to life. 

 

The small near-polyhedronic device was still and cold until now. Once the sizzling of stone crawled to a haunting close and the flames of written oration had drawn conclusion, the archaic holocron rattled where it laid. Red line-work throbbed throughout the metal frame, just as the walls around the foundation did. The rattling of the device remained indiscriminate of who or what had touched the surface of it's magic, choosing now to release a coal hue of chalk-like smoke from the source. Incomprehensible power emanated from the object, souring any hope of this being the right time to engage what was not yet understood.

 

With every heartbeat of illumination from the ancient scripture detailed across the walls, it became quickly apparent that the inky smoke that poured fourth from the holocron began to churn into unusual shapes. The outlines became outlandishly tall, freakishly beast-like in every sense of the word. There was four shapes in particular, identical to the Nydaks of Dathomir. In fact, they were becoming just that..