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Darth Nyrys


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Coming out of hyperspace, the blue and green gem flashed a few quick glints as the angle of the ship's approach made the sunlight appear as if it was dancing across the edges of the planet's atmosphere. Inside the hijacked YT-2400, the Traitor's Gambit, Durose slowly made his way to the cockpit as he felt the ship lunge out of hyperspace and begin to drift.


This is it. Let’s get this over with already.


Hitting the comms, Ro contacted Dhon as he entered atmo. The unkept Cathar had Ro’s face but a dirty, roughly trimmed mane and two braided strands of mane hair that extended down from his chin on each side. He was what some might call an outdoorsman or what others might consider “wild.” Dhon sneered as he spoke to Ro over the comms.

“I’m where we agreed upon, Ro. This better be worth my time! I dropped a hunt for you. And it was a good hunt. No. A great hunt!”

Ro rolled his eyes. He sighed before replying.


“It’s always a great hunt, Dhon. Did you bring what I asked?”

“I even dug the plot.”


Those words caught Ro by surprise. He angrily glared at Dhon.


“You have no right--”


“Save it, Watcher! You have no right! This is my domain! Cathar is mine. And here you are handing out blood bonds and oaths and all this willy nilly and expecting all us to respect them? But I have no right?”


“I’m not getting into this with you right now,” Ro roared back. “You know exactly what I mean, you--”


The transmission abruptly cut out before Ro could finish his sentence. The response didn’t surprise him coming from Dhon. It still irritated him all the same. But to be fair, Dhon didn’t probably deserve to be the subject of Ro’s ire. It was just easier to ignore the pain he was feeling right now by finding someone or something to be mad at instead.

Planet-side, Roshan carried the body to the ancestral burial pit of his home city. Located at the base of the massive city-tree, Dhon stood there casually waiting. He began ribbing Ro the moment he was within earshot.


“So this is what all the fuss was about? Kind of ugly if you ask me.”


Ro glared at Dhon as reached the edge of the hole and he held the body over it. Staring down into the darkness, he said a few traditional Cathar blessings and retold stories of this Rose’s deeds, both honorable and dishonorable. Then dropping the body into the pit, he finished with another final blessing.


“May your soul be blessed with rest and become one with the Circle of the Force and the city-tree of our ancestors. May your physical body and your remaining life force provide this tree and the generations of Cathar to come the strength to live their life in the manner that you once did. Our bond has been fulfilled but you will not been forgotten.”


"So says we all."


Cutting his hand, Ro allowed some of his blood to drip down towards the body below. Then nodding to Dhon, the two of them began to fill back in the 2 meter hole with dirt.

“Was she really worth all that?”


“She was my Soo’Gah’Wee,” Ro growled. “So yes, Dhon. Yes! She deserved every bit of this ceremony and probably better than she got, too!”


Dhon laughed, “Your ritual blessings are a little rusty, bud. That ending was especially rough.”




“I’m just saying,” Dhon shrugged as he shoveled another pile of dirt into the burial pit. “It was pretty sappy, too, bud. But if she was your Soo’Gah’Wee then she must have earned it. We may not be totally alike, but I like to think that we both know what something like that means to Dhonarr and to us.”


“Yeah,” Ro replies with a somber note as his eyes drop down towards the pit.


“It was a mistake, bud. Humans are too soft and squishy for us. Especially to waste your time mating with.”


“We weren’t... we didn’t.”


“Ha! Sure you didn’t, bud? I seen the way you look at her even now. I might spend most of my time in the Vast Veldt but I wasn’t cloned yesterday, Ro.”


“I’m done with this conversation.”


Nodding, Dhon and Ro continued shoveling in silence. When they were done, the two proceeded to head back towards the ship. 


“So, Watcher. I’ve waited long enough. Are we going to talk about this offer of yours or what? I didn’t cut short a great hunt just to meet up with you, help you bury some human female, and shoot the breeze.” 


Standing at the ramp of the Traitor’s Gambit, Ro finally replied, “I have a deal to offer you. I know you’ve been left behind to watch over, mum. But I need a favor.”


“What kind of favor,” Dhon responded as he eyed him skeptically.


“I need a co-pilot to Nar Shadda and then delivery of a helmet to its owner on Tatooine.”


“Oh? And what’s in it for me?”


“Do this and this ship and its droid are yours.”


“What’s the catch?” Dhon frowned.


“I’ll have to get a new registry for the ship.”


“From Watcher to thief?” Dhon laughed. “The Link going bankrupt under your watchful leadership?”


“The Link and Coruscant are gone.”


Dhon had a witty response already ready to come out but Ro’s words caused him to pause. He gave Ro a confused look before responding.


“What do you mean gone?”


“Like dead and gone. Destroyed. Massacred,” Ro replied angrily. “Like while you were out here playing wildness tracker billions of people were being murdered by crazed fanatics who believed they were some sort of second coming of the Mandalorian savages of old.”


“Wow. You don’t say,” Dhon comments rather casually. “I would have never guessed that. So your cash cow kinda went belly up then?”


“You are missing the point, Dhon. Do we have a deal or not?”


Dhon laughed. He then patted Ro on the shoulder as he stepped onto the ramp and past Ro.


“Whatever you say, bud. But after I fulfill my end of the deal, whatever I do with this ship is my business.”




Dhon turns back and smiles, “Then we have ourselves a plan, bud. Times a wastin’. We got a den of scum and villainy to visit.”

((Off to Nar Shadda))

dhon1.jpg  image.png.13560c69a0ca7b66c94307819363aab0.png  

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Telperiën brought her hand down on the table with a resounding ‘crack.’ The durasteel slap dented in result and the screech of durasteel supports from the blow filled the cabin for a nanosecond before she stood up. But he was already gone. She glanced at Hailey for a moment and then followed him aft. 


Seeing him and his first mate assembled, she knocked on the bulkhead to get his attention as the klaxons faded from earshot.


“Mr Armegedon, you and your men have been pressed into the service of the Sith Lords. There is but only one exit here for you and yours. Death. If you give myself or Lord Awenydd any more lip or defiance, I promise you I will pluck your tongue from your mouth by its roots.” Her voice was an eerie calm as the ship emerged from hyperspace with a tremble. “Understood?”


The process of landing and clearance was of little consequence to such a vessel as this and as the ships computer emitted a flight plan and landing codes to the small defensive garrison, Telperiën could begin to feel the faint vestiges of the ancient horror of the mandalorian wars. There was a profound uneasiness in the force in the space around the planet, and its horror called to her. She looked to the dark skinned humanoid, then grinned. 


“Tell me Mr Armegedon, can you feel it?”


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…You speak as though your great Sith Empire will never be overthrown. The Infinite Empire was destroyed. Xim the Despot fell to my master’s Hutts. The Old Republic crumbled to dust and tyranny. All great Empires fall, why not yours? How much longer do you think that Spider’s web will last?






The Sith Lord breathed in the recycled air, braiding back her loose auburn locks into a tight plait that ran down her shoulder. She could feel unease in the force, the tenderness of a wound long since scarred over. Entering a flight path into the navicomputer, she analyzed the readouts from the planet.


Ocean. Islands. Settlements.


The Krath frowned in distaste.


Peace. Life. Growth.


She didn’t know what she had expected, the war had been millennia ago, but part of her had expected a wasted ruin like the world from which they had just departed. Another breath and revulsion turned to simmering rage.   


…What did you expect… For this journey to be easy?


Fieldgrey felt it then, a thread of lingering chaos. The disorder that was underlying the unease. She brought Triple Six into a decent towards the coastline of the Ambaryle Sea, a place of only wilderness. She could feel the starship’s subtle agreement to her plan, and she pressed her Wrath into the nature of her ship and felt a shift.


Triple Six seemed to roar as it dropped through the atmosphere, and she could feel the chaos buckle with terror. The spirits remembered the clouds parting with the fire of the Basilisks. She set the ship to land on a sandy bluff a kilometer from the ocean and walked back towards the landing ramp. She whistled to the nightsisters and Sith soldiers.


“This world has had peace for generations, but this world is the vineyard in which the Mandalorian Crusaders planted the seeds of their own annihilation


She licked her lips as the landing ramp unsealed itself, dropping away into sand. The smell of salt and sea-rot was a welcome relief to the stale recycled air.


“Set up a camp, secure a perimeter.”


To the nightsisters, she spoke seperately


"We must find the wound, where the force is scarred and broken."


The Sith Lord stepped onto the white sand, letting her leather combat boots sink into its embrace. She stared up at the stormclouds overhead and smiled.


...I must find that which was sown in terror and holocaust and reaped in full at Malachor V. 


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Shiro's gaze averted in a semi-horrified look as the Sith mentioned his true last name, something even his comrades knew nothing about. For in the Imperial Marines, he was Shiro Seven of Odik II, and that was who he intended to remain. Turning his gaze away, he smirked toward Dunstan and Saldana, as he finished gathering his things. Within moments, he felt their rocketed decent, the other Sith imposing a horror filled plummet that mimicked the entrance of the Mandalorians of old, likely to intimidate and inspire fear. And as they touched down, Shiro exited the ship with very few words as he passed the first  @Telperiën Ar-Pharazon. "I am Shiro Seven of Odik II. That is all that needs to be known..."


His words were not expressed in defiance, but of informance. He withheld his true name but for only a sole purpose. And if this one was that observant, then he wondered how much longer he could keep up the ruse. With his words spoken, he disembarked behind the second with Dustan, Saldana, and the others in tow, the group fanning our at the forefront to gain the advantage should the locals grow intrigued. Two scouts were sent out while the rest remained to set up camp. But his mind echoed of the two Sith, the first's knowledge of who he was and what words she questioned, and the second's elusiveness to his own. What were their true goals here?


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Telperiën nodded brusquely to Corporal Armegedon, he had avoided her question and it had peaked her fury enough to make her wish that she could lash out. Maybe strike for his neck? Gut him from throat to groin? Or perhaps she could possess him. Take his very soul from him, drive it out, and then inhabit him? No, not yet. He still had uses, but her patience was at its thinnest, dealing with his insolence. If the man expected to survive much longer he would need to learn the lesson quickly and without complaining. Otherwise it would be a much more miserable death for him down the road, and the Sith were as a whole much less forgiving than Telperiën Ar-Pharazôn.


But Hailey was beckoning her and the others planetside, and Armegedon’s flogging would need to wait until after whatever they found on Cathar. 


The planet reeked of rot, deluge and disease. The natural smells of a seaside, but something that Telperiën was hardly used to. The salt at least cut through the putrid air with a stiff breeze that made it somewhat breathable. The Nightsisters grimaced in unison as the mounted the landing ramp, and shading their eyes against the bright overcast light of day, the terrain was nearly hilless and flat save a few peaked dunes that bled away their fine trails of sand over the wild grassland. But behind it all, behind all the smell of the world was the smell of desolation


It tingled at her nostrils, cutting through the distractions of her mind, forcing her to concentrate. She took another deep breath, glanced at the maps that were being displayed by Kaiseng’s datapad, then looked back at Hailey. 


“South of here is the ruins of old Adun-Levennia. The shattered world stem.” 


She pointed to the gorge and canyons that stretched away to the south, white brown rock, from which ran a black river.


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…You reek of death; you carry it on your cloak and in your hair, but it is not the odor of viscera or lifeblood spilt, but that of corruption. The loss of life’s goal, you’ve fallen off the path. You’ve died to life and been reborn in true strength. Life be damned. Your darkness holds the power to conquer it all…




The sand radiated warmth into the blackened leather soles of her boots as the Sith Lord walked. There must have been enough sunlight before the clouds had gathered in order to imbue such heat into the shifting dunes to give it such incalescence. It matched almost perfectly with the passionate wrath that boiled at a low simmer within her skull.


The Krath despised the heat, abhorred the sunlight that trickled through the approaching rainclouds. The distant rhythm of the ocean’s waves was the cadence of her loathing for this world. Her sulpheric eyes followed the Nightsister’s hand to where it pointed, the mouth of a gorge from which spewed an estuary of darkness.




The Sith Lord contemplated the fractious soldier with a challenging scrutiny. His failings and haughty disobedience were a blemish she was reluctant to overlook. Fieldgrey condemned it all.




The ground changed from white sand to blacked delta with pools of stagnant water. The Sith Lord observed that no life grew here, there were no avians that she would have normally found stalking the swamps where rivers met oceans. It only smelled of rot. The dark loam was pierced by great tree-roots that snaked through the muck and dove into the depths of the ponds. She followed the roots to their distant source; where the gorge ended was the shattered remains of a great tree. Its size, even burned and broken as it was, astounded her.




Had the tree been more than a fire-torn stump, it would have stretched 3 kilometers in diameter. As the group approached, she could see that the darkened river swelled at its base, making it almost impassable. The Krath knelt into the muck at the rivers edge, letting herself sink into the putrid mud. She placed her scarred hands into the rushing water, letting the coolness of it clear her mind. There was a great power here. 


“Secure the area, we set our camp here.”


Hayley let her eyes drift shut and she focused on the river, inviting it to surge around her. The rain began to fall and the firth rose to great it. It came now to her waist, but the Sith Lord only smiled. The knew she could harness its power.


“Give me time, and I will tame the waters.”


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This world, it held a bitter darkness to it. Shiro could feel it, taste it, smell it. It almost as if it pulled at his soul. And it waned as of it wanted to swallow him whole. Shiro and Dunstan took point as the group traveled forward, Dunstan seemingly unaffected by the planet's call as Shiro noted. But Shiro remained on guard, ever steady as each step of his foot pressed down into the sands, almost as if he was walking in the steps of another.


And follow he did, even as the lifeless void presented its self to them all, his knowledge of this world, this place, unknowing. Shiro had never been one to back down from a challenge, but even this place, the feeling it gave him, told all his senses not to tread. Yet tread he did. If not for himself, for the sake of his men, even as the pain this place carried called to him in echoes of days past, his glowing crimson eyes darting about.




This is what they called this place, the darkness running his blood ice cold even as he drew near and first set his gaze upon it. His gaze darted between the two, these Sith and their grave artifacts, digging into pasts forgotten. He heard the tales, but never truly pictured it. The intrusive one knew of it. The elusive one delved in it. And Shiro feared it. An unholy trinity had converged upon it, and through them, awoke it.


Swaying his mind away from it, Shiro ordered his men to begin setting up camp, he and Dunstan remaining among the two Sith as Saldana remained with the squad, her gaze carefully watching over the two in secret. But something here drew Shiro's mind, called upon it like a siren's song, and it made him uneased and yet unable to look away. Dunstan saw this and placed his hand upon Shiro's shoulder, bringing the Armegedian back to reality. "Come. Let's leave them to it."


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Adun-Levennia, the mottled stump of what had once been the home of some ten thousand light furred cathari. The intermittent rains, the heat from the reflected sand, had left the old tree’s base not much more than a charred and rock-like preserved stump. The life-giving waters of the the river, which had once been called the Ibel-Luinë in the half remaining language of the old Cathar, was now not much more than a stream of brackish mud. 


Either the Mando’ade had been especially good at “salting the earth” of their enemies, or the lack of any vegetation and animals betrayed the reality of this place. The dark side was here, present, in the very waters that the nomadic people had once called their home tree. She stood at the edge of the mud, watching Hailey beginning to search for its power, then she gestured to her Dathomiri and they began to set up camp. She could not bring herself to meditate, not in a place like this, the shadows were unknown, too ancient, and it betrayed her attempts to grasp at it. She would leave such investigations for the much more competent Darth Awenydd. 


Taking only Lilia as her companion, she walked towards the beach, crossing through the dark delta that carried no life. Only thick, disgusting mud. But their eyes were watchful, having been raised in such mud to seek for prey, they watched the eddies and flows for any sign of wistful and innocent life. But found none at all, not even an insect could be found, and they walked in silence to the beach whose white sand was being drenched by the resurgent river. It was there, out of the mud that Telperiën and Lilia knelt. The brackish water lapping at their knees. 


“Let your mind slowly drop away the peripherals Lilia, concentrate only on what you feel, then peel away each sense until you can only feel the force.” 


The girl nodded and Telperiën began to do the same.


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…What do you do when you find weakness in yourself? Do you try to conceal it from the galaxy? Even if it’s shrouded in your very soul, your weakness will be found by that which lurks in the darkness. If you hide weakness, you build your foundation of strength upon a flaw. The hardest battles are fought in the mind…




The estuary loam was uncomfortably lukewarm as it began to envelop The Sith’s kneeling form. Hayley was a woman of extremes, stim needed to be scalding and bathwater frigid, so the mediocrity of the water provoked her wrath. The anger focused her meditation, and the Krath concentrated it on the misery of the beachhead. The corruption that lingered in this place was like the smog that had choked her slum on Nar Shaddaa, everpresent but ethereal.


I can feel the evil... 


The Krath tried to grasp it within her mind, yet it slipped away. She beckoned the waters to rise, but there was no change to the rush of the cloudy water.


...but why can’t I hold it?


The Sith Lord’s pale fingers clutched at the mud beside her, dragging fistfuls of the clay against her chest as she spasmed in an uncontrollable physical manifestation of her frustration.


Am I not strong enough? 


There was a change in her, an open door; and doubt rushed in. Her eyes were closed, and she could feel the tears welling up from the burning in her sinuses. Had she brought the Nightsisters on a wild Mynock chase?


You are a failure. Rotten. Weak. Cursed.


A small, pathetic whimper rose in her throat, strangled back by reluctance of a broken spirit.


Why are you so fragile?


Pale fingers tore into the blackened mud and the inky rush swept her up in a surge of savage power. Suddenly she was choking on silt as the river took her from the shore without even a splash. There was no personification to the barbarous power of it.


Go on, feel sorry for yourself, drown in your weakness.


Brackish water strangled her, seared her nose and eyes. The currents forced her down to the depths of it. She clawed desperately for purchase. 


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"I cannot." Shiro replied to Dunstan, shrugging his comrade's hand from upon his shoulders as he watched the intrusive one depart, his gaze fixated on the elusive one and the stream she delved in, the familiarity almost toxic to breath as he gripped tight his hands upon the Z-6 he carried so heavily in his hands. Familiar, yet unknown, like a distant memory that did not belong. "I can't explain it, but this place, this pilgrimage, it feels all too familiar. And yet, it is not my own, almost like a dream I was once told but cannot remember who."


Dunstan looked at Shiro weirdly, then shifted his gaze at the two Sith before it began to click within his own mind. He said not a word, but nodded with understanding at Shiro when Shiro glanced his way. Dunstan felt there was something special about Shiro, and now it was beginning to slowly make sense. He may not have been Sith, but Shiro possessed their ability whether he was trained or not. It was the only logical conclusion that made sense of his actions, his words, and his luck back at Coruscant. With that, Dunstan turned toward Saldana and the others.


Shiro noticed, but left things unspoken as Dunstan began his departure. But as his gaze shifted back to Hayley, she was nowhere in sight. Adrenaline kicked in, and before he knew it, Shiro had dove head first into the darkened water without thought in search of the elusive one. The water was dark, too dark to see, and at this depth, its aura was overpowering. It clawed at his soul, threatening to tear it to shreds, the pressure of the planet's forgotten past grasping at his form, his glowing crimson eyes providing only an illuminated sight.


He had been a fool to dive in without thought, his mind wracked with confusion and despair, his form crippled by the darkness that flowed forth from it. It wanted his life, wanted his future, and it was overpowering. And yet, amidst it all, there was a sense of purpose flowing with it, a glimmer of sight amidst its currents that flowed back in time to days of old when a warrior of his lineage walked a very similar path, the silver haired being with glowing green eyes gazing across the same scene as others surrounded him.


At the forefront stood a man who's face was obscured, holding a Mandalorian Mask high into the air as the mixed emotions of sorrow and determination swelled with each of the imprinted souls. But for the silver haired man that linked to Shiro, disgust filled his heart as he gazed back in his own memories at his Orders not to follow his commander. There was defiance in his heart at this and a sense of pride swelled within him as he returned to the presence and he watched the man before him adorn the Mandalorian Mask in memory of what had happened here. And in unison, they all dropped to one knee, a pledge of fealty placed in their hearts this day though it was never spoken. Their reason? The Cathar's massacre. And it filled Shiro with its presence.


Almost instinctively, Shiro went to grasp at the man's shoulder, attempting to turn him around and to gaze upon his face in full, to know the bearer of this dream, of this memory. But as he grasped the shoulder, feeling the cloth in his hand, he felt his own grabbed and his formed pulled forth from the river with @Fieldgreyin his own. Coughing the muck that had filled his lungs and throat, Shiro's mind remained as confused as it did beneath the waters. Who did he see? What did he see? Why? Climbing onto the bank and gasping for air, his crimson eyes darted about, unsure of what he had just witnessed and what it was he experienced. Shivering despite the blanket he felt wrapped around his form, this place had began to take ahold of him.


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Kaiseng the olive skinned beauty in her early twenties watched the plight of the Sith Lord with an increasing feeling of dread. Did she not know that the force was so dangerous? Were they all to be swept up into some foolish endeavour that would release gods and demons without thought? And if they were trying to summon something didn’t they need a circle of fire and totems? Were these people mad? 


She had long been told to stray away from the inherited ignorance of her people but this seemed insane. There were very real demons here. She could hear their whispers! But her curiosity, not yet tamed by the years of ritualistic abuse that had plagued the old sisters kept her feet walking her closer to the stream. To sister Awenydd and the man Shiro. 


Then they were seized bodily by the demonic and her pale blue eyes went wider still. They began to falter in the water, the forces there pulling upon them like a thousand arms dragging them to their deaths. Did they not know how to swim? The man attempted a rescue but faltered as well and Kaiseng  stripped off her hide outerclothes and dove in after them. Keeping her connection to the spiritual realm very much closed. 


She seized the man and dragged him and the sister out of the waters onto the relatively unmuddy bank. There she sat, silent, judging, and nearly naked. She pulled three fibrous towels from Sister Ar-Pharazon’s pack and wrapped them around each of them. The man too of course, she couldn’t be that rude to someone she didn’t know. 


Her soft finally spoke. Addressing the two of them like a mother would address a disobedient child. 


"Are you mad? The river is full of them." She wiped at the brackish water with her towel and scowled at no one in particular.




The force roiled in the stench of the planet. There had been massacre here, the mass death called from the edges of her subconscious. Beckoning to be called upon, to be used, abused, brought under the dominion of someone strong. Was it really so bad to take and sup from such a cup? The question was an honest one, for there existed such a divine power that needed only to be used, what was the harm in doing so? Could it be utilized to help her people? 


She held out her hand to her companion. Breaking the girl’s concentration. 


“Enough of this, return and retrieve the salt for a circle.” 


The girl gave a grin and took off running towards the camp as fast as her bare feet could take her in the mud. Tel watched her leave and then knelt back down in the sand and water. Letting her mind settle. Even as the cries in the force came beckoning over the waters to her over the centuries and millennia. It was a cold furor, colder than the water that lapped at her thighs, colder than the cries of Halyee in her struggle against its power. But suddenly there was pain, a whole lot of pain, delicious agony, that furled out like a banner in the wind from the Sith near the stream’s head. 


But almost as soon as the problem surfaced it had been solved, leaving the agony that remained that of the ancient dead. But as her apprentice came at a dead run Telperien considered the wisdom in drawing such agony from the planet. It would be worth it. She knew it. She reached into the silt and sand and grabbed an old stick, fossilized now by the wind and salt, but it had been here. Her touch on the old grey wood brought a shock of pain in the force. 




Wiping the water from her knees she stood and awaited the young girl’s return. She held up the ‘Y’ shaped stick and tossed it underhanded to the girl who gasped and dropped the bag of amber coloured salt. 




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What are you thinking? I can tell… You’re afraid. Your doubt, that weakness is like the shadows of your steps. That darkness, it just builds and builds, growing stronger until it overshadows your soul. You might try ignoring it, but it’ll always be there waiting until you’re at your most vulnerable… It’s suffocating.





The Sith Lord's battle against the darkened water grew feebler as her doubt began to overcome her strength. She could see nothing in the inky darkness. She reached out to the Force but it did not form to her as it once had.


Why would the Force answer you?


Her clawing hands found purchase, the arms of the soldier Shiro. He had come to her in the water, to pull her to the safety of the bank. He felt then like someone else, a stranger with an ancient power. She wanted to vomit the water in her lungs and stomach, but something held her back. She wanted to breath.


A Mandalorian mask. A stench of death. Heroism forged from witnessed horror.


There was a lightness to the presence that offended her very soul. Her fingers grasped the Sith soldier’s armor as the water swirled on the bank. It was repulsive. The weakness of heroism.


Jeedai. Revanchist


He had to find his own strength. To rely on ancestors was weakness. Her lungs burned for air. She wanted to strike out, to rend the flesh from his bones, but still the Force did not answer.


Why would the Force answer to weakness?


The Sith opened her eyes and stared into the mud but she could only see one thing: Her own insignificance. She was nothing against the power of the Force.


Embrace it.


A stream of darkened water dribbled from the Sith’s mouth as the Nightsister wrapped a towel about her shoulders. Hayley did not feel its touch.


Embrace it.


She could not feel the Force here, because it was bound to the suffering of the land. It was broken here. She only felt the force through Wrath, but that was only but one lens through which to see the force.


Embrace it.


It was wrath. That was her weakness. She had only felt the force through the cardinal sins. Her master’s greed and gluttony. Furion’s Sloth. The Lust and envy of Ar-pharazon. Her wrath and pride. Tears burned her eyes, but she could not fight them back.


Embrace ME.


And she did. 


Agony. Pain. Sorrow. 


Raw emotion burned into her soul as a new fire. An endless suffering worse than death. The river erupted behind her into a frothing nightmare of power. Backwards she leapt, dragging her two companions into the heart of the brackish river.


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The Sister of the Intrusive One spoke of it, her words a mere echo in his mind as he fought against the tides of darkness that attempted to snuff away his conciousness, water still rattling in his lungs as he laid on his side and coughed harder, trying to throw up what remained as his mind searched the memory for answers. And yet, none was found.


He felt the lips of Saldana press against his own, felt compressions upon his chest as she and Dunstan had rushed to his side in an attempt to aid his near drowning experience, and yet, as his lungs finally filled fully with air and his conciousness began to return from the fade, he felt a tight grip pull him back in even as Dunstan and Saldana attempted to reach for his frightened grasp.


Only this time, as he laid beneath the waves of this murky grave, he had begun to feel his death calling, a part of him accepting it with undo resentment, a art having to come to terms with the possibility that he would not survive, unaware of the events surrounding him. And the other half, the spirit of life within him begged to question why? Why so easily? Why so peacefully? Why lay down without a fight?


Shiro laid there floating beneath the murk, feeling its presence, its power, edging him to give up and become a silent part of its story. And yet, another story reached through to finish its tale, the memories, the emotions, the truth remained here even after its owner left. And as Shiro's heart began to slow, the water attempting to reclaiming him, a voice entered his head. "Every Warrior has a tale, and in their tale, a universal truth."


The man from before stood before the Jedi Council, an unknown face reaching up to cut the braided silver lock from his hair and placing it within his hand as he ignited what appeared to be a blue bladed cross guard lightsaber in his other as one of council members spoke a welcoming recognition of the man's obtaining the rank of Jedi Knight, calling the man Leonis Armegedon. Shiro convulses, realizing the man's name like a distant memory, but also their shared last name.


And yet, the story does not end there, Shiro unsure of what is going on or how long he has been imprisoned by the brackened river as it flashes forward through countless battles spanning numerous worlds, some Shiro recognized, others he didn't. And with each new addition, Shiro could feel this kindred spirit asking the same questions, feeling the same emotions, that no matter what, there was always another battle to fight, another war to give into, another life to take. 


And Shiro watches this Armegedon grow, feels his emotions sway, a kindred spirit seeping into his pores like destiny. Then they return to this world, emotionless soldiers until they see this barren land. Shiro watches as each of these being look toward one another in masses, anger filling their hearts until the visage before them holds up once again the Mandalorian Helm and cheers rerun rampant as the semblance of her death to protect the few fill their veins with fire.


And in that moment, Shiro feels the fire within himself burning, his skin boiling amidst the murky fluid enveloping his form, his eyes opening to reveal crimson and gold within. And in that moment, Shiro yells, the water and the presence around him rippling with it's own darkness just moments before the darkness of unconsciousness takes him, leaving a whispering tale in a single sentence. "Peace is a lie..."


Moments later, Shiro awakens on the shore, something within changed as he sits up and wraps his arms around him warm legs, the coldness no longer lingering, as his crimson and gold gaze stares toward the brackened water alone.


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Telperien followed the girl as she concentrated, holding her scrying stick in front of her like it was a wand. It was in this configuration that they walked, for what felt like many miles but was very likely no more than a kilometer over wet and gripping sand that clung to their bare feet like grasping hands. Amethyst eyes never wavered from that stick until it dipped, then flew from the girls hands into a large expanse of red coloured sand. The girl went after it at first but Telperien shooed her back and knelt, reaching her hand slowly towards the sand, letting the force flow through her to guide her path. 


There is blood in this sand. 


Maybe it was a visual or spiritual expression, but when she dug the tips of her fingers into the wet sand they came back a crimson black. Curiosity overcame her stupor for a moment and she pushed her hand fully into the sand and felt the watery blood creep up her arm as she pressed even farther into it. And when she withdrew her strong arm, the mixture sucked at it, attempting to bring her back into itself. Perhaps the sand, being so diluted with the wellspring and oxygenated from some kind of decomposition  was playing at a type of quicksand. Not a dangerous mixture, like the swamps of home, but a curiosity to be sure. 


She reached once more into the depths of that blood red sand, until her fingers chanced upon a hard object. She withdrew as fast as she dared before plunging her arms in again to prize the object from its grips. It was a knife. The long wicked blade had no handle, the wood, bone, or bakelite grip having long ago withered against the aggressive motion of time. But the blade itself, forged of mandalorian Iron, was warped and bent, the metal having been bubbled away in a section. 


So it was here. 


She let the knife drop back into the sand. The point fell first, then red muck slowly swallowed it again until it was lost from her sight. She looked back to her exhausted sister, her voice kindly. “Now go grab the Sand that you have dropped and bring it here.” Telperien reached into her belt and fished a flare gun from her survival pouch. She thumbed the colour wheel on the crude mini datapad at the rear end of the device until she selected and emerald green. 


With one hand raised to the falling night sky she depressed the trigger and sent a signal flare up, and up, and up until it starburst into green flame. Like a turbolaser falling through a boiling atmosphere. Whatever the other two had found was of no interest. For she had found the-



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...What do the Sith do with the weak? Those born into infirmity and retardation? What does the Kathari den-mother do to the runt? Does it allow it to howl with the pack at the majesty of the light of the rings? No. It is crushed and trod upon. To allow such life to continue is to defy evolution, and the strength it brings. 




Rage and Sorrow


A species boiled away in the waves by a cruel tempest of fire birthed from the inhumanity of victorious pride. Dispassionate extermination of the weak.


Abstract holocaust. 


The brackish water burned her tongue filling her nostrils with wildfire. There was such power in the emotions of the river. A rebellion against death. The destruction of this place by the mandalorians had been almost sterile, but it had left a wound in the force nonetheless. Why were the emotions of the weak overcoming her?


There was a light in her mind that pushed against the darkness. A ghost that lurked behind her subconscious. 




The Krath brought her own emotions into the river, with a rawness she had only reserved for her nightmares. She screamed without voice into the darkened water. Why did she live and her sister was left to rape and torment and dishonourable death? The mute girl who had sung her to sleep had been left to rot on that rusting world. 


You survived because you are strong enough to overcome chaos


Black water filled her eyes with grainy soot. Her nostrils smelled not the water but the blood of her mother on the carpet. Her ears heard not the rushing of waves as the river met the ocean, but the belaboured cries of her sister’s torment. 


The Sith Lord cried. 


Her ugly tears combined with the water, merging into the pain and sorrow of that place. Pain was replaced with a dark mirth. The delicious taste of survival


Her cries became laughter. 


She rose from the waves rebirthed. The darkness of the river rushed into her, drowning the ghost within. Upon her tongue she formed the ocean, casting into it her weakness as a smith applies flux to impure steel. 


Awenydd dragged herself from the waves, as haggard and maddened as the storm that grew upon her tongue and within the skies above. She dropped beside the nightsister and vomited upon the crimson sand. 




Water and bile the colour of a squid’s ink splashed into the sand, bringing with it a deep malice. A crystal of tainted seafoam formed from it as the Sith applied her wrath. Ochre it was in color, the light consumed and scattered in clouds of red and black. It shone in the sand with the flames of that place. It cried for massacre.


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There was a coldness to his gaze as he stared across the blackened water, as if his mind was lost upon its torrential current, swirling across each liquid vortex in a dance of depth and understanding. And within his eyes, the gold and crimson that formed within spoke across millennia of truth, for he had saw it all in a singular glimpse. His ancestors, his bloodline, it settled upon him like a haunting reality, and he could feel it tearing at his soul. Peace was indeed a lie. So what was the truth?


His stomach wrenched, causing Shiro to lunge forward into a crawl as the waters of the river rushed forth in return. Arching his back with heavy heave, each one grew drier than the last, until he saw his reflection in the darkened water through his glossed gaze. This place had changed him, made him realize that reality was not what it seemed, made him question everything. And he saw this change in his reflection, felt it in his heart, and his memory returned to his training.


"Peace is a lie, there is only War. Through War, I gain Truth. Through Truth, I Rise." Shiro spoke openly, remembering the Mantra of his Battalion, believing it at first to be a play on the Sith Imperial Code. But as he wiped away the drool and snot from his face in the reflection, he knew better. It was the truth of the Galaxy, and now it was bored into his soul. "Through my Rising, I see the Horizon. I am born of the Master of Truth. I am the Blooded Drexl."


Rising from the puddle Shiro left in his wake, he began his trek upstream quickly. He sought the Sith that had brought him here, questions swelling his mind as much as precieved answers. Dunstan and Saldana met him as he cleared the foliage, but stepped back when his determined gaze met their worry as he strode by. He could not understand why, but he felt himself pulled toward where the Intrusive One had disappeared to, the river's mouth where truths were to be spoken.


And when he arrived, Shiro said not a word a first, simply looking upon them through his swirling crimson and golden gaze before he dropped to one knee and planted his fist within the mud, lowering his gaze as he bowed to his betters. He was beginning to see the truth in their ways, and in the ways of the soldier, a combination of humility and strength, they the key to his rising from the ashes of his former. Like the Drexl, he had been wild and untamed. But the Blooded Drexl was a different beast altogether, focused and wise. His path had been laid and the seed of this place planted.


His head still bowed with his gaze looking upon the mud, his fist buried beneath, he felt the drawl of this place pulling at him like a piece of a forgotten puzzle. Dunstan and Saldana stood in the distance, overlooking Shiro's actions but unable to hear as he spoke to both of the Sith before him. "I am the Blooded Drexl, and your command is my will."


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Telperien stepped to the side as the Sithari girl vomited a stream of what looked like blood near where the other nightsisters were drawing runic circles in salt. She leaned down and pulled the girls hair away from the puddle as she vomited again and with a soft hand wiped at her mouth with a scrap of linen. Then she pulled the girl out of the seafoam and watched as the force moved without the girl even trying. 


Telperien sighed and sat her down in the centre of the runes, letting her continue her powerful spell, free of the inhibitions of the planet itself. No foam or bile would touch her, and the runes would amplify her power a hundred fold. 


It was then that the Sith solder appeared, coming like a dog to its vomit. To lap again at the font of power of which he had no right. She would have struck him then if he had not mumbled something. A slew of words that caused her to pause as she tried to sort them out. Basic was not her mother language, and the words he spoke made no sense. 


A blooded drexl? What? 


She slapped him upside the head. Hard. Hard enough for her girls to giggle. 


“You speak nonsense boy. Speak when spoken to, or when you pipe up say something that makes sense.” 


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