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Darth Inmortos

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  1. Inmortos regarded the agent of darkness that now offered to take him from the platform. It was expected. From beneath his cowl, Inmortos saw that the Nemoidian still carried his physical being, a sign that he had not given himself over the the ravages of the dark side. Still, he regarded the Nemodian, there was a reason that this world had been placed under his watchful gaze. Silently and slowly, with a deliberateness that carried with it the same aura of finality as the pronunciation of death, Inmortos nodded his consent, his gnarled hands withdrawing into the folds of his oversized sleeves as he shuffled alongside Nok Morliss flanked by the clanking droids; their mechanized steps blending with the heavy dull thud of his Ithorian wood cane weighted by the concealed blade atop it. Inmortos did not move as quickly, but each step was made with finality and control as he set the pace without a word. Dark invisible tendrils of evil radiated from the openings of his robe, as if the nanosilk somehow contained the reaper within. Upon entering Nok’s ornate office, Inmortos leaned heavily on his cane as his head turned to the left and then the right, scanning the room. Silently he searched for the collection of ancient, cursed, and forbidden tomes and relics he knew that the Sith before him sought to collect. A veritable collection of immeasurable power in the hands of one that did not know what he had. It was enough of a thought to audibly make the Firrereo’s teeth grate and grind. As the mechanized chair was offered, Inmortos perched his spindly frame atop it, barely sinking into the plush cushioning. He was a perched like a rock-vulture prepared to swoop in at the first sign of weakness. Extending from his nightmare-hued sleeves, the pale gold hands of the wraithe within templed together; his long boney fingers barely intertwining at their tips. Their log cracked nails scraped against one another as the dark being regarded the lavish wealth and life of the one before him. As Nok spoke, Inmortos’ sickly cold yellow eyes bore down on him, staring beyond the green mottled skin and lavish trappings. He regarded the man’s soul, the darkness that swirled about them and urged to fill the room with it’s power; if only it had the proper receptacle. Nok Morliss had so much potential. It needed to be but released. The Dark Lord had different priorities for having appointed such a short-minded Sith to oversee such a potent world. It was a world that Inmortos sought to claim for his own use. A lesser informed being would have felt that the force had willed such a situation. Inmortos knew better. Nok Morliss appointment to this world was the herald to prepare the world for true greatness. “You have amassed a wealth that even you do not know the value of Nok Morliss. Your world, your baubles, I desire them. Not for the wealth and power Nok Morliss desires in his mind. For more. For eternity.” With a haunting gesture that seemed to stir the very air of the room with a faint cold breeze that seemed to emanate from everywhere but nowhere, Inmortos gestured to the bag of jade coins. “There is immeasurable more where that came from. From the depths, the last treasures of life can be seized and used to empower Nok’s machinations. If only you knew how to unleash that which desires release from Nok’s soul. If only, your fears did not stop you, Nok Morliss, you could rule this world as a true master, beholden to none.” Slowly, Inmortos leaned forward, the odor of death shedding from the shifting of his robes. In a voice barely above a breath he whispered, “Beyond the webs of the spider.” The warlock sat back, his body creaking like a rusted hing, his voice returning to his usual rasp, ”With me, Nok could be free of his fear and you could rule. All I require is the forgotten of this world. The industries and living wealth of the world are yours to exploit. The cold dark recesses mine. What say you?”
  2. The lurching being blinked once, forcibly, as the attendant ran away in fear. It was almost palpable, that fear, it was so strong. Still, it did not matter. Such things mattered little to the dead. For that was what this being was, the dead; his corporeal shell reanimated by the spirit of the ragged Sith within the ship. Not even making a motion to shamble forward, the dead stood their awkwardly, simply watching the world unfold. It was always interesting, taking in the galaxy from the eyes of another. Colors shaded just slightly different and senses dulled. As if a pilot expertly settled into the cockpit of an advanced craft, so it was for the spirit of Darth Inmortos within a host body. With the arrival of the droid escort and their leader, the force swirled as two fonts of power brushed one another. He felt it, not physically within the husk, but on a more spiritual level. The power welled up within the approaching being. No matter of exterior decor could hide what Inmortos saw within; dark swirling power waiting to be unleashed. With a bony crunch and pop, the shambler craned his head atop it’s broken neck, looking over the battle line that drew up before him, a sole emmisary. With a ethereal gurgling cry, the shambling corpse lunged forward. One oversized large inertial plod towards the Nemoidian before it crashed to the decking. With a ghostly sigh, a whisp, no more than a shadow of the wind, escaped through the body’s mouth, swirling upwards into the atmosphere. On it, tendrils of chill arced gently outwards into the air. Meanwhile, the body, now left to succumb to nature’s call, hurried began to befall the punishments of rigor and livor mortis. The twisted broken neck cracked and popped, echoing across the deck as the muscles tensed one final time, snapping the head upwards at an even more unnatural angle. The skin sagged in an instant, the putrid odors cadaverine, putrescine, hydrogen, and dimethyl disulfide started to permeate from the body, rising up in the still air. There before all that beheld it, the usual hours long process of death unfolded in seconds as the rigor of the bent and flexed body relaxed into a state of final flaccidity. As the changes overtook the body, the wraith that had been released upon final forced exhale circled and swirled in the air. A shimmer of light upon which all the dsrkness that was bore by the deceased was carried back unto the resting ship to return to the unnaturally unmoving body within. Finding purchase within it’s unnaturally twisted natural point of rest, the spirit settled and the eyes of the pale gold firrereo fluttered open; each eyelid heavy with the weight of death. Ever so slowly and carefully, the nightmare-clothed figure sat and then stood, a veiny knuckled hand reaching out for the cane that had been tumbled aside. Grasping it and with what seemed to be extreme physical effort, the bony being stood; his seemingly feeble frail body shrouded by the abyss-hued nanosilk robes that flowed in layers across him. Visible beneath his cowl in the shadows born within were a lair of glassy yellow eyes, shrouded by pale gold skin. Clutching the cane, the dark visage began to walk, slowly, as a wizened elder of some primitive society. Each footfall was gentle yet wrought iron firm with decision. Each heavy thud of his cane resounded with an authority of movement born by those only who were sure about their direction. And slowly, ever so slowly, Darth Inmortos descended the ramp into the air of Mon Cal’s night. With his slow steady pace, the spectral sentinel approached Nok and his mechanized guards. With each thud and step, he took them in with his chill-piercing eyes. Coming to a stop just short of their mass, Inmortos inhaled deeply, allowing the warm humid night air to flow through his nose, across his tongue, and into his prematurely aged lungs. Upon the air, where one might taste the saltiness of the sea or the pulse of the city, Inmortos tasted something else. He tasted death, untold millions lost to the call of the expanse of the sea-covered world. With a brush of his tongue, snake-lime as it crept from his cracked and dry lips, he brushed the darkness of the one who stood before him, tasting the fount of power that was there and seeing within to feel and size up the sorcerer’s very soul. “Magistrate,” his voice scraped, a gravelly undertone offset by the rattle of phlegm deep within his own throat. He beheld the eye covering of the green-skinned royal before him. “The incantations foretold of your comings, he paused before sinisterly adding as if a thought that he had to consider before voicing, ”and goings.” Turning to regard the sea that stretched beyond the inky blackness of the clouded sky, a smile cracked the pale gold of his face. “You have amassed for yourself a world richer in wealth and resource than you may even know. Once released, darkness may swirl here beyond eternity.” The unsettling wizard-of-a-being turned back to face Nok, stepping closer, within reach of he if he but stepped out and lunged. Inmortos kicked the body of his fallen undead transport, releasing the odors of death exponentially anew about them. His voice dropped to a whisper, grating and raspy across the stillness of the night. As he spoke his hand slid beneath his arm within the hanging folds of his robe, passed the cursed saber he carried hidden within, to grasp a small bag and withdraw it. “I do not ask something for nothing. As a man of business and darkness, this will be greatly arousing to you. Let us cement a bond in life and death; in more than blood. Eternity.” The small blood-red silken bag was weighty to be held as Inmortos offered it forward on spindly arm outstretched from the warm recess of it’s sleeve. Within, 30 coins of jade, each a soul taken by the necromancer. Wealth and power twisted as one.
  3. The S-161 “Stinger” XL, Eternus, pierced the cloud-covered sky of Mon Cal. It’s massive wing and exterior-mounted engine were starkly offset compared to the more bulbous craft built by the natives and the more traditional craft that plied the spacelanes. It did not matter; however, for this was the craft of Darth Inmortos, a little known Sith Lord, who preferred to while away in obscurity allowing his contemporaries to provide him with the clay he needed to complete his grand designs. It had been simple enough to acquire landing permissions to the burgeoning criminal world that was seeping through the cracks of what had once been a stronghold of goodness and light. Scans of the ship would reveal no discernible lifeforms aboard; an empty vessel that had a very biologic-sounding individual at the comms. Lying in repose, like a vampire of yore, the gold-skinned Firrereo looked sickly and pale. If one did not know any better, one might think the Sith Lord,amongst his trappings of sparse gear and mountains of jade was coming to his place of final rest. The pilot on the other hand had a look about him, his head held at an odd angle; having been snapped by a single blow to the back of the head from Inmortos’ neuranium handled walking cane. A cane that now lay in the seemingly dead Inmortos’ hands. The light was gone from the pilot’s eyes. In fact one eye seemed to bulge excessively from the socket, a result of the blow. Still, the lifeless pilot brought the ship in carefully and expertly towards the wide open landing pad designed to accept diplomats and representatives. Truthfully, it was the only spot capable of handling the ship and it’s obnoxiously lengthy counterbalanced wing. With a gentle rotation, the wing and engine righted themselves and the craft came to land on the pad to little pomp or circumstance. Such was the way of Inmortos, he had not declared his identity or true cause. It was not needed. Having Imperial transponder codes had been enough to gain clearance for landing with little question. Those on duty ought know better than to press too hard of a vessel bearing an emissary of the Sith. As the ship settled, jets of steam erupted into the cool night. Exhaust ports gave up their pressures of travel at long last. Hisses and creaks settling until all that could be heard was the warm lap of the waves against the edges of the pad. Void of starlight, the landing pad was bathed in the faint glow of the adjacent city and the few guide lights that had not been destroyed or stolen in the uptick of criminal activity. It was all set against the inky blackness of the rolling sea that claimed much of the world as her own; only pierced by the occasional blip of light from a nightly fishing vessel or far off floating deepwater platform. It was against this scene that the hatch of the Eternus swung open. It was silent on her well oiled hinged until the door slammed against the side of the ship with a resounding gong that pierced the night only to be swallowed by the bountiful call of the sea; lapping against any intrusion until it wore the invader to dust. Consumed into eternity. Forgotten against the backdrop of the rolling tides. Striding forth, with a decided unnerving gait, a stride that cries of pain to any that beheld it, but with none of the audible or palpable agony, came the broke-necked pilot. His blood-drained skin reflecting the poor lighting in a way that one could only describe as etherial. Craning his bloated and lopsided head from side to side, his shoulders heaving to make up for the work the neck could not complete, the death-stained corpse cackled, “Where is your magistrate? Bring him before me.” The living dead spoke and stood there, his eyes glazed and staring vacantly into nothingness. For several minutes he stood before finally collapsing in a pile. The odor of death beginning to rise from his body almost immediately, as if decay had been held at bay and now rushed to catch up.
  4. Identity Real Name: Eligreen A.K.A: DARTH INMORTOS Homeworld: Coruscant Species: Firrerreo Physical Description Age: 28 Height: 6' 1” Weight: 130 lbs Hair: Blue and black, color is fading to a dull gray Eyes: Yellow-Sith Sex: Male Equipment Clothing or Armor: Black nanosilk Sith robes Weapon(s): Ceremonial Sacrificial Dagger-neuranium contained as the handle of an Ithorian Wood walking cane; ultrachrome lightsaber hilt (stillblade) Common Inventory: sack of jade soul coins, variety of crystals, bloodletting kit, standard Republic credit chit linked to accounts across the known universe, comm link, rebreather, signet ring, Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force Sensitive Alignment: Neutral Evil Current Faction Affiliation: Sith Current Faction Rank: Lord (Sorcerer-Necromancer) History: Force Side: Sith Trained by: Darth Gor Trained who: N/A Known Skills: -Architectural Design -Numerous burial and death traditions from a plethora of cultures -Alchemy -Sith lore -Sith & Galactic histories -scribe work -primitive hunting -lightsaber/sword combat basics Force Skills: -Standard Sith training/abilities -Necromancy (Necropolis Kings) -Cryomancy Background: Eligreen was born a nobody, a lone son of factory laborers in the depths of the galactic capital. Eligreen grew up with a mediocre existence. He was not important, nor was anyone he knew. People came into his life and left at regular intervals. Soon enough they were forgotten. When his parents died, worked to death toiling to create countless machined parts for everything from tables to freighters, their community gathered for a time of remembrance; only for their memories to fade into obscurity over the following weeks and months. Eventually, even Eligreen stopped speaking of them, though their memories remained in the recesses of his mind. It became apparent, nothing was permanent, the galaxy was constantly churning forward, a cosmic machine that chewed up and discarded every being, molecule, and even cosmic entity. Discovered by the Sith Empire, Eligreen was taken for training, their brutal techniques cementing to the young Firrereo that if anything was ever to change, he would need to be the architect of his own future. The Sith had risen from a tribe of barbaric beasts to become an eternal power that refused to allow the galaxy to forget them. Eligreen threw himself into his studies with abandon, delving into the dark arts that surrounded the ultimate stamp of loss and being forgotten, death. He would learn the power over even this and make it his own. He would ensure that he was never forgotten. He would be known across the cosmos for eons to come. When the galaxy faded to dust, all that remained would be the memory of who he had to become. For a time, Eligreen poured himself into his feigned loyalties, serving his master’s designs; knowing all along they amounted to nothing. Meanwhile, Eligreen poured over forgotten tomes searching for any answer the force had to offer. As such, Eligreen discovered Necromancy and soon fell in with the teachings of the Necropolis Kings of yore. Their sprawling accursed temples and fortresses standing as testaments to time of their power. In them, Eligreen saw an opportunity to preserve himself for eternity. More so, he would surpass even the Valley of The Dark Lords, his fanciful estate of magically preserved ice-shroud megaliths dwarfing entire worlds. The obscene and arcane were Eligreen’s tools. The ravages of time, his enemy. Nothing would stand in his way. Power would stagnate and the memory of his powers would be whispered about in fear for all eternity. Through it all, the dark side took it’s toll on Eligreen, every sacrifice, every profane ritual charged it’s price. By the time he was granted the rank of Lord, Eligreen, now christened Darth Inmortos, was a shadow of his former self. His innate healing abilities stayed the worst of the ravages of darkness, but still, the gold-skinned Firrereo’s eye grew weak, features gaunt, and skin loose, glassy, pale, and sallow. He walks with his heavy walking cane, each step a thought out footfall towards eternity. Ship Registration Name: Eternus Class: Yacht Model: S-161 “Stinger” XL Manufacturer: Latero Spaceworks Length: 50 Meters Armaments: Two laser cannons Armor: Standard Anti-Personnel Defenses: None as of yet, it’s a civilian vessel. Appearance: Stock model Modifications:
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