Krath Inmortos

The mummy-shrouded being that held the fractured soul of Inmortos and a thousand other souls stood silently. He canted his head as he heard the Shard’s mechanized words. He was not wrong, entirely. Aaris III had been sacrificed in a show of loyalty to a fallen Sith Lord, and it would remain a lifeless husk for all eternity. Before he could respond, the Shard’s former master responded. A ship full of lives had come indeed been sacrificed in the foolhardy venture of the Sith above the Alliance stronghold world. It had been glorious if not disastrous for the Sith Empire; just as the prophecies had foretold. Akheron was wrong in one point; however, Inmortos did have a ship, crewed by the very linnorms that had been cut down over Nar Shadaa; well, what was left of them at least. Their souls. “Such a ritual, Lord Akheron, I fear may destroy the minds of my brothers, for to share my wounds would be to share in the deaths of the legions that now flow through my veins like blood. The ritual to return you required much more than drawing you from beyond.” Turning his gaze to the shattered form of the Shard, Inmortos would have been smiling if it could have been seen. As it was, his voice contained a judgmental stereophonic laughter. ”But you are wrong Lord Akheron, for to be a Lord-Captain one must have a ship. Behold.” Inmortos raised his arms toward the distant citadel, her academies and zigguraut, underground chambers and more. The ancient pyramid of a long forgotten people ringed in soulfrost that rivaled durasteel, crewed by the souls of the damned, and powered by the very veil between life and death. From where they stood, Inmortos could feel the earth rumble beneath his feet. Great cracks permeated the frostbound planet as great ancient thrusters birthed the necromancer’s undead vessel from the death-bound world. ”Perhaps together we can reclaim my soul and rebuild our fleet.”

As the dust of the battle settled and the storm of darkness faded into the icy bleakness that was the reality of the world, the mummified remains of Inmortos stood. Picking himself from the ground where he had been thrown, he was a silent sentinel as the spirits within thrashed within their mortal bounds. He stood; unnatural and unholy as he oversaw the lording of the petty stone. Beneath his wrappings, the solidified face cracked in an unseen smile. Time would tell if this young vain thing had a place amongst the Sith, much less the true masters of darkness; and time, was a fickle mistress. He stood, watching, for as much as his natural time had elapsed, he had the reserves of eternity at his command. The more pressing matter, it would seem, was one of immediacy. The cravings of young Sith were bent on conquest. That carnage would feed the eternal void from which Inmortos was born and bound. And so, as the butcher directed the stone to him for a verdict, the consciousnesses within the god-king whirled in possibility. Slowly, as if creaking in pain and suffering, Inmortos lurched forward, a single finger waggling the air as he regarded the three Sith before him, each bound to him, their fates intertwined with his own. This cult had its uses yet and the dragon of myth would still serve to consume the galaxy. The voices of Inmortos spoke, carrying in the air, projected from a thousand angled and directions as they warped and warbled in a destructively seductive cacophony. ”No one will follow a captain without a ship.” ”No knee will bend to a lord without a holding.” ”This clan,” he gestured toward Akheron and then pounded a fist to his own chest as plumes of dust billowed from the impact, “survived when the rest of the Sith fell. We continue the fight even now.” ”And yet,” the necromancer turned his icy burning gaze to Dictum, “we have another here.” “One who was bound in the times of glory and the fall. It is not right that we discuss family business in such company. And so, I shall pass my judgement upon the Shard when it is but it and I, alone; when each bound to our cause and,” he paused eying both Dictum and Solus, “any outsiders are removed.” In the distance the towering ziggurat of Inmortos’ throne loomed in the shadows of the dissipating storm. The remainder of his academy for gifted individuals surrounding it, laid out in chaotic order, like grown chicks bound unnaturally to a mother hen. It sat a compact gathering of mazed streets and frozen catacombs, an enigma against the desolation of a world sacrificed to the darkness, a holding flayed and laid bare as a burnt offering before the avatar of darkness, an avatar Inmortos believed was his right to possess. “And so, Lord Akheron, it falls to us.” The chaotic hilt of Inmortos slid into the mummy’s hand. Whispers of the spirits trapped within both his body and blade hissing in gleeful agony at the temptation of death. “One of your crew has blasphemed the name of the Fanged-God and for this a sacrifice is demanded, penance paid in blood. Another stands here as an equal, and yet remains unbound to the welfare of the brotherhood.” ”Still, without his sacrifice, I would not stand here now. Whet say you, a master of cloth and a master of iron until they prove themselves worthy? Or shall we cut them down where they stand?”

The mummified remains slowly sat, an ancient body swathed in tightly rolled bandages. Slowly through a slit in the grave clothes two charcoal eyes flickered and burned in the blackness within. Slowly the being turned to regard @Lord Ōk Rägnär. The stillness of the air was interrupted not by anything of this world; instead, on the still air carried the currents of damnation, thousands of souls, some from the hellish beyond, other bound by profane oath and ancient spell, scraps of powerful Sith and shards of necromancers called forth from beyond the grave all shackled to one fractured portion of a power, of a being who commanded the veil itself: Inmortos. Yet the being was not Inmortos, not fully, the thousands of shattered souls filling the void of what lacked in substance for the fractured god-king. And when he spoke, no mouth moved or words formed to part through parched lips, instead the stereophonic voices of untold suffering blended together as one and carried on the frigid still air. ”Your sacrifice has been found acceptable and your reward shall not be wanting. And yet,” the mummy inclined it’s head as if listening to something in the world above, ”I sense I am needed elsewhere.” The battle between @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Solus carried on the backs of the spirits that roved the storm-bound forsaken world. It called to the beast of a being that was as much a part of Aaris III as it was Inmortos himself. The mummy’s eyes swept back to Dictum. ”Ascend my ziggurat. Within my throne room, setting at the foot of the dias, you shall find your reward.” Far above in the ripping icy winds and cascading storms, the spirits that served the god-king manifested a single translucent gemstone, jagged and frigid in beauty. All Dictum need do was survive the storms and spirits, resist the temptations to touch the beckoning cold lusts of Inmortos’ throne and the jewel would be his. And in a flourish of dust, the mummified remains, the souls entrapped within vanished, traversing the lines of the veil to escape the doorless room. Moments later, the mummies man materialized in the blowing dust and ash of the plains that contained the battlefield of the Sith Warrior and his Apprentice. His lidless eyes took in the carnage from afar, the waves of the force washing over him, through him as the thousands of spirits took it in, felt it, tasted it, digested it. And just as Akheron removed Solus’ scomped arm from his body, a great wave of the dark side itself swept the field sending shrapnel and debris, dust, ash, and anything not bolted down (which was everything) flying. Even the mummified beast of Inmortos was thrown a great distance; landing in a heap of dust and shrouds. ___________________________________ OOC: Dueling/Promotional Ruling as per the request of @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Solus I am not a mod, but I consulted with the Dark Lord @Pheristroch, who is a mod. Here is what I discerned as issues: -Akheron basically took zero damage and trounced all over Solus’ attacks. The one illusion he fell for had no negative impact on him in the overall scheme of the duel -Solus’ final position is terrible for any win scenario -Akheron did not seem to respect his opponent’s attacks, regardless of rank differential -Akheron sort of kind of god-modded in that he called the comparisons of speeds between he and Solus and defined his opponent’s ability and made himself better -Solus took barely any damage, especially against a warrior of master rank A couple other notes: -Solus is not an assassin, yet. He is training toward that goal, but does he have the right to the full assassin skill tree as an apprentice? I do not think so -Saying one uses an ability and then not going into full detail of it is lazy roleplaying, reference it sure, but dive into it, describe it so the mods do not have to go scouring just to understand what the attack is -There is a major power disparity between master and apprentice -Akheron is wielding armor and weapons he is unfamiliar with, as a warrior this is a minor issue at best, but still, something that probably should have had some effect on the fight itself Positives: -Solus’ abilities as a Sith prove him worthy of advancing to the rank of lord; however, he seems more chained to his notions of cult worship than he was before -Akheron’s warrior powers were on full display and he really was in his element As to the ruling: -This is a Kaggath. Both parties adhered to it’s precepts -This duel’s purpose is to determine if Solus is prepared to be advanced to the rank of Sith Lord -Victory is overall irrelevant to the ruling on promotion Therefore, given all of this, I rule that this duel is a DRAW. As it stands, Solus is outranked and has no hope of victory; however, he acted valiantly in the duel. Akheron’s two levels of rank carried him far; the errors in rules; however, prevent me from being able to award the victory. I will note, I do not think any of this was intentional on either side and I applaude the story-telling and cooperation you both put into this duel. You both worked toward the greater story goal as you posted. The power of the dark side was on full display. Well done! The decision of promotion now rests with @Karys Narat iv-Adas as Solus’ master. If you choose to promote him, Akheron has the next post. If you opt that he has not succeeded in his trials, the next post will go to Solus. Well done both of you. As to how you resolve the Kaggath at this point, that is an IC choice that is up to you and as per our agreements, I have brought Inmortos to the barren plains in regard to this. ————————————————— The dark side swirled, present and growing in the storm as a force maelstrom began to form, unchecked and unharnessed. It would soon destroy anything that remained in this lifeless plain.

Far above, the storm continued to engulf the bulk of the world, both the citadel/academy and the barren wastes of duned snow and crumbled mountains. Thunder and lightning arced and rang across the world interrupting the droves of windswept snow and ice. None kf that mattered however; not here, this far below. Here the chill came from something else. The stillness seemed to creep to the bone. The library, stores of dark tomes, forbidden sorceries, cursed objects and more seemed to stretch out endlessly deep beneath the surface of the planet. Ancient catacombs and frost-formed passageways that morphed and shifted beneath Sith sorceries and ancient mysteries teetered on the edge of reality as they twisted beyond the veil of death and back. Contained within the magics of the vast storehouse of forbidden knowledges and cursebound ancients, the vault of Inmortos remained, untouched and yet, trespassed. It was here that the assassin Dictum had returned to try and broker a deal with the god-king of death himselt. Spells older than the Sith itself, dark curses from beyond the edges of the galaxy, and malevolent wraiths bound in their pots and lanterns shifted in the still air atop the robe draped mummified remains of an unknown body. Dark icy auras, the call of death itself, seemed to emanate from the corpse. As the assassin affixed the bloodstained saber hilt of Inmortos, the spirits shackled within were torn from the great beyond and cast into the tomb. With hissing screams they erupted with the red blade as the saber seemed to spring to life. From the shadowy recesses of the unadorned burial chamber, the lurching servant of Inmortos seemed to materialize, a grizzled being of whose very life had been claimed and shackled; bound not in life, but in death to serve its god. The once high priest of Aaris III bound to a dead form no longer his own, an eternal caretaker. The dead form’s voice was barely a whisper as he laughed at the assassin’s words. ”You are mistaken.” he hissed as an outstretched finger pointed beyond the Sith Lord’s shoulder. There looming larger than life itself, as if to engulf the entire room, was the growing ghostly visage of Inmortos. His grotesque form barely visible beneath the ethereal blue of his cloak offset to a sickly black shadow in the glow of the humming spirit saber. ”Lord Dictum.” he spoke, his voice pained. “my soul is bound to this place and yet stretched across the cosmos. I am bound to the world beyond by oaths beyond mortal understanding and yet bound to this place. My work is not yet complete. Your service shall see its just reward.” he spoke of the Baptism of Blood that had drawn Akheron back from the tortured hellscape he had been cast unto. He alluded to the ancient spells that ensnared him as he had passed unto death and imprisoned him to this reality. Stretching out a rotted ghostly hand, the wraith moved as if to plunge it into the man’s chest, icy crystals materializing where ethereal and mortal met. A gentler soul might have taken its time, expertly carving a portion of what was desired; but not Inmortos. The existential pain that racked his body quivered even as his bony fingers clasped the very soul of @Lord Ōk Rägnär and raked across the surface before finding a spiritual crevice within his chest. The gnarled pointed digits of the necromancer, shackled to this world by magics that superseded death itself, pierced the man’s soul and with a heave that shuddered the entire burial chamber and beyond tore forth a shattered, ichor-bleeding portion of Dictum’s eternal soul. The visage of Inmortos seemed to flicker for a moment as pain unexplainable washed over the room causing spirit, shade, and shambler to cry out in pain. A mighty wave of unnatural necromancic energy toppled the undead servant who had been present in the room as it rocked the bedrock that contained the burial chamber itself. The former priest fell to the ground, his form crumbling to dust as it plumed into the air, a fog of death itself. The spirits of Inmortos’ saber shrieked before vanishing with the spirit that remained of Inmortos. The blade itself sputtered before it fell silent, the bloody coating drained from it’s now shimmering black hilt, the power of the souls and crystals that powered it depleted, drawn forth by the unseen spells that even now continued to wind their wills, bound to a path set forth by eternity past and future. And then, just as suddenly as the room had eruoted, it fell deathly silent. The tormented vortex of darkness replaced by a heavy frigid stillness that threatened to suffocate the minds and hearts of any ensnared within. As Dictum dealt with the physical and spiritual consequences of his soul being rend in two by the necromancer’s undead power and ancient spells, a shrouded hand clasped the edge of the stone sarcophogus, the deep echo of such a simple movement echoing through the very force itself as something was given unholy unnatural rebirth. Ever so slowly, the mummified creature within began to rise.

The storm itself seemed to recoil for the moment, the winds dying as heavy snow continued to fall all about the challengers. Thunder rang in the distance as if to shake the citadel itself and atop the towering barrqcks Akheron had just exited the massive beast of Aaris materialized, clinging effortlesslesly to the crenelations As it watched the proceedings below play out; seemingly held at bay as its hunger filled the air with the snow. The hilt at Akheron’s side rattled and buzzed against the Sith steel armor he wore and in the stillness a flg of spirits descended from the storm, the sky, seemingly from the very planet itself. They hissed and screamed in agony, telltale signs of their eternal torture in the world beyond even as they sought refuge, shadows in this world, but servants to a god-king that transcended both who yet was bound by the shackles of inevitable truth. Yea, even a Sith sorcerer powerful enough to command life and death with a sweep of his hands, one day would owe the tax of the ferryman. From the cloud of swirling wailing spirits emerged a blackened haze, a wraith that brought bore before it and with it an otherworldly chill that touched all before it, sapping power and strength from bone and steel alike. Amalgamous in form the mighty wraith approached the Sith, master and apprentice. Slowly it began to take form. The heavy cloak of the necromancer was gone as was his skeletal form; what remained was a testament to the ravages of the dark side, to walking the precipice between two worlds and refusing to be contained by either. A humanoid form devoid of color and life, his body shriveled and twisted, muscled flayed out and long flowing hair, once colored as the rainbow muted to blacks and grays matted down the figure’s back and face. Pain and suffering from a thousand lifetimes were rolled out like a scroll on the visage of the body that approached. Ancient words etched in blood across every surface of exposed flesh that told of the sins committed by its bearer in life. A tattered robe of sackcloth was all the visage was afforded for decency and even that had been rent and torn asunder, flayed by invisible whips and hellfire. The being approached, walking atop the deepening snow and leaving no trace of it’s pacing. It cold pained eyes glistened with unseen power as the shackles of death, of the oath and ritual that had, for the time, bound Inmortos, materialized as he stretched out in an effort to strike both Solus and his master. Through the agony of his soul, tortured beyond recognition, the spirit of the god king of death himself was defiant. For as pained and crippled might he appear, his every movement was that of eternal command, a shackled king, and yet a master of the eternal and damned. Stopping to stand between the two challengers, the god king looked first at the mechanized man of metal, then to the steel encased warrior. ”I see you have found my gift” he spoke, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried louder than the storm that raged all about them. It’s authority apparent as even the great beast above recoiled in tense hatred and animalistic fright, a shrill hiss of defiance winding into the winds above. The very pain and tortured undying of a soul betrayed on the breeze. ”The tears of the dead flow freely in this place and their eternal sufferings now clothe your body, drawing strength and life. Even now your life, saved by my oath, serves my will and shalt free me from the shackles of eternity.” He spoke explaining the curse and blessing bestowed upon the trailings of predestination before he continued, his gaze burning with an ethereal chill as he stared beyond the carapace of Akheron into his very soul. Slowly he turned his head from master to apprentice, the same burning frostfire weighing the Shard against the malevolence of eternity. ”And this right, this Kaggath, I have heard it proclaimed. By the rite of the Sith, I shall see it enforced in this life and eternity; for to break it is to resist the final shackles that lie unbroken by any Sith who has come before and to offer your body and soul up for eternal punishment beyond my hand.” As he stared, his eyes boring into Solus with a sickening hatred, he continued. ”And of this, your soul shall be damned to a world In which your tricks, your spider, hold no sway. You shall be cast into a lake of eternal fire and yet frozen beyond all understandings of pain. Every second shall be like an eon as you endure new and unheard of tortures at my hand; for you are too weak for this world, a mere stone unable to function without the crutch of a slave, driven by fear of an unseen master’s lash you have yet not felt. And why should you not? For you defy a god who by his very nature has allowed your heresies to build, a god by whom you cannot seek to understand lest beat. You defy your master. You prostrate yourself before a beast of madness. That very madness you will transcend in this defeat, as the legs are plucked from your spider one by one. You defy me, one who would give you eternity; one who has overcome the very god you seek to defy.” A cold shackled hand passed across both acolytes of darkness as Inmortos stepped forward to stand directly between the two. He outstretched gnared and teisted hands to place a palm against the metallic chest of each. Searing cold seemed to arc forth as frosty blackened handprints appeared on both. “By this you are bound.” he hissed as his body faded from sight, first his shackles and then his form, leaving not but his words, mark and bitter fold a testament to his presence. And as he vanished and the winds of the storm rushed in to throw cutting ice and ravage once more, his words whispered to the apprentice, “You are but a slave to the madness, a master known not to you but upon the surface; shackled so that you might never become what you are destined. You are already defeated and can blame no one but yourself. You could have been mine and in the end, it is inevitable. You shall.” And as the spiritual entourage screamed off into the storm, the spirit of Inmortos departed. Drug back to the hellish eternity or to lurk atop his throne remained to be seen, but he had appeared and bound the Kaggath within the law of the Sith and within the confines of eternity. Above, the mighty beast of Aaris stirred, no longer repulsed. It could sense the mark of death upon both and before the day was out would seek to devour each. Slowly, hanging by a thread of neuranium, it’s eight massive legs clacking against the wall, mandibles tasting the storm-swept air , the beast began to descend. To tarry he for but a word would invite another challenge, the challenge of life and death outside the bound of Sith rite and law, a sure defeat before the games could even begin.

As the heart of the storm crashed overhead, so too did the beast-king of Aaris III. It’s razor-tipped legs that moved with grotesque grace were lithe and light but brought forth a needled hammer as they exploded soulfrost, ancient duracrete, and immortal ice with each rapid strike of blinding ferocity and hunger. Egged on by the dark side, a simple mind deranged by the touch of eternal damnation and brimming with vengeful hunger, the beast struck again and again paying no heed to the striking blades of the assassin as they clanked fruitlessly against it’s armored appendages. The blades carved furrows in the blackened carapace of the beast’s armored limbs and the poison hissed as it met mortality and was repulsed; it’s bite being consumed by both storm and the dark primordial poisons that flowed through it’s veins. The first of many appetizers had presented itself and the predator would have given chase had it not been for what happened next. An explosion of the force erupted to draw the fell beast’s attention as a creature of metal and stone turned to flee in pursuit of another tasty morsel. Its mind warped by the darkness, such a monster knew the call, could taste the fruits of victory as it began to salivate, giant globules of steaming acidic venom slathering from its mandibles onto the frozen ground below. With such dexterity and agility its kind were known for, the beast could not hope to catch the source of darkly erupting power, @Solus, but it mattered not; for to hunt, its kind had other methods. Augmented by the veil and the vengefulness of the dark side itself, it moved. The storm crashed. Peels of thunder filled the air. Wind and frozen pellets of ice tore through the air seeking purchase on flesh, earth, and whatever may foolishly stand before it unguarded. Turning, the fury of the storm enveloped the beast its crimson eyes to glow, all that could be seen before the eight blood-red rubies vanished into the thundersnow. Traversing along the razored edge of the veil, the beast ceased to exist within the mortal realm; transiting between death and damnation and the living. Time and space meant nothing, able to live between the worlds that had birthed it. The beast moved, unshackled by the laws of nature existing within the nothingness until it sensed it, the surge of force power as it highlighted the blinding rush of mechanized daemon. Bending its abdomen, the beast spat forth tethers of eternity-corrupted nature, sticky strands wrought as pliable frozen neuranium. They leapt from the frozen air of the storm, materializing with the beast in an expansive entangling web toward the Sith apprentice before he might strike at the the ill-armored prey of the beast. With a guttural hiss that sent sprays of venom flying in the wind, the beast turned to see his red-fleshed quarry dart down a hallway into the citadel of Inmortos. The beast’s daggered appendages scraped and clawed at the entrance to the hallway as @Karys Narat iv-Adas made his way deeper toward the unlatched door of Inmortos’ storehouse of hand-crafted experiments and creations. Realizing the futility of such efforts, the beast seemed to dissolve into the storm itself transcending between the mortal and immortal planes waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

The frozen world of Aaris III was swept by biting winds. Torrential storms of lightning and ice ravaged across the globe, slamming into the sprawling academic citadel of the necromancer, a school for the gifted and forgotten of the galaxy; and yet it stood a skeletal testament of ice to the final embrace of death, empty, save for the few parasites that crawled about it’s skeletal frame. And on the razored edge of the winds, the essence of the world, rent by the force an unnatural tear, carried the invisible minions of Krath Inmortos cast into the tear even as their brethren poured forth from the purple cloud ravaged skies. Their eyes, their eyes were many, invisible and all-seeing as they descended like a fog over the city swirled by the vortex of winds and ice. Their voices whispered, lost by the winds as they carried beyond the veil, across the cosmos to their dark master. In the stillness of an alcove, seemingly untouched by the winds where drifts of icy powdered soulfrost gathered, a shadowy formless essence formed above the snow. It gestured out and drew the apprentice, @Bernon Mrrgwharr, inward. “MY servant,” the voice hissed, more snakelike and otherworldly than ever was the voice of the god-king as his whisper carried forth on both this life and the next. ”Take the Master of blades and rage to the armory. Deep within the city. Carry none but your shrouded blade before you and the spirits will part. Deviate from the path and thy blade will not stay them again.” The ghostly visage began to twist and morph as an icy breeze seemed to billow down from above. The powdered snow of soulfrost pluming up and mingling with the blackened soul’s shadow. Rapidly it began to fade and just before the gloom of the Master Sorcerer vanished entirely, a final whisper flowed out. ”Heed the teachings of Akheron and learn how he can be struck down.” —————————————————— Elsewhere on the world, the winds drove a singular servant, one bound to the devastation of Aaris III and uncontrolled even by Inmortos, held at bay from the citadel by transfiguring spiritual power. It was power that twisted flesh as the souls of man and beast alike were rendered mutant and grotesque. It was not Sith alchemy, but the madness of death itself as it played across a simple mind until it was destroyed. Uncontrollable by lash or will, manipulations of the dark side or healing light. It’s massive form was shadowed by the storm, a storm that was bound to it’s heart by the torn veil itself. It was a storm that made the beast all but invisible to the eye, both inner and mortal. The deathly hiss of it’s breath carried with the wind, betraying a hunger as it’s pointed armored legs carried it easily over walls and stories structures. With the casting of the god-king into the beyond, the shroud of protection offered by Inmortos’ necromantic power faded enough to allow it entry. It hunted now, searching for that which it had been denied for what could inly be described as eternity, it’s soul transcending time as it was condemned to the mortal plane. And then it happened upon them, the Sith gathered above the world, @Solus, @Karys Narat iv-Adas, @Lord Ōk Rägnär. With the rush of plumed breath in a venomous hiss of anger, the towering beast brought it’s eight legs crashing down, spraying razored eruptions of eternity-bound ice into the air. It’s massive fangs clacked in the air as it sought to hunt the dark signatures it could sense through it’s eight blood red multifaceted eyes that seemed to shine against it’s ashen body.

As the final spirit shattered into oblivion a cold stillness seemed to fill the room as icy ethereal fog rose up from the blood soaked coffin. It continued until, in moments, the room was awash in slick freezing mist that prevented any sigh further than inches past one’s nose. The force itself seemed to fog as well, lending an otherworldly cold chilled stillness to the silent room. The only thing that betrayed anything within the blinding darkness was a scrape across the stone floor followed by the soft gurgle of blood as something or someone was immersed within. A cracking voice rasped through mist, it’s tone otherworldy and tired. “The God-King of Death demands that those bound to him in blood maintain this sacred tomb until such a time as he returns to claim his throne.” For an instant, the fog seemed to lift, revealing a single frail shambling being with greasy gray hair hanging lose about it’s face, standing where Inmortos body had laid, but lay no more and then, in an instant, it was gone. The library materialized about the remaining Sith. It’s stillness even more overwhelming than the icy mists; but it too stood for but a moment, daring any fool to reach out for the forbidden knowledges contained inside. Any who did, would suffer the wrath of curses older and more sinister than the Sith Order itself. “Grow in the force and become a force of death and when the eternal Inmortos returns, the wrath of the Clan will be felt the galaxy over.“ the voice cried out. And in a flash, the accursed library and forbidden tomes were whisked away as if a great wind tore it from the pages of reality itself to be replaced by a great winding stone staircase that ascended upward in the flickering torchlight and oily smoke up into the base of Inmortos’ ziggurat. and then the voice of Inmortos carried across the wastelands of the world… “Blood and ichor will flow again. Souls frozen for all time.”

Deep within the swirling chaos of the greet beyond, within the empty void kf tormented souls that had passed from life unto death, the spirit of Inmortos stirred. He had been cast there, his soul exchanged for that of @Karys Narat iv-Adas on the distant world of Aaris III. Once lush and vibrant, the world itself shone like a beacon of dark nothingness amongst the stars, eternally scarred by the machinations of the dark side. And even as the Sith warrior awoke there, so too did the spirit of Inmortos, stirred to action beyond the veil of death as one unknowingly sought communion with him once again. Torn from his restful stillness and jolted across the eternity of the greet beyond, the spirit of Inmortos was wrest back in shadow to the realm of the living, to the very world upon which he, the god-king of death had awoken the new dark lady of the Sith, @Darth Calypso. And as the goblet clattered to the floor of the shadowy shop in Coruscant’s underworld, a bazaar that offered anything for the right price, it landed, unnaturally so; standing as if set there by an ethereal hand reaching. from beyond the grave. A great wind seemed to billow through the shop, blowing open doors and windows, sending ancient manuscripts fluttering in the air. Heavy tapestries and bannered fluttered in the surge before it passed; the shop returning to heavy stillness as suddenly as it had been disrupted. On that wind, the spirit of the necromancer surged between worlds and in a flash, he appeared; a skeletal form with rotted hanging flesh cloaked in shadow and heavy blackened robes, within the mind’s eye of a stranger, @PBdub , as he stared into his eyes from within, an otherworldly chill emanating forth from the master of death. He reached out, as if to touch the young human’s pale flesh; to drag a cracked and hagged nail across his hand. He spoke, his voice barely a whisper, although it carried with it the weight of death and eternal damnation with every syllable. “Our paths are now bound. Our souls entwined.” At Elliot’s feet the goblet began to fill. Steaming hot sickly blood pooling up from within, a font of unknown origins. As it filled the image of Inmortos grew fainter. ”Return the chalice to my throne before the hounds of hell are unleashed to fetch me.” and with that, the cup seemed to fill to the brim and stop, the steam dissipating into the air as the blood within seemed to freeze over; binding itself to the jeweled chalice. And as the vision of Inmortos faded, a ghostly sight was offered before it too vanished; a vision of a sprawling icy palace, a university of the damned and the sole being that stalked it, the clanking metals of @Solus as he searched for the crypt of Inmortos, the stone sarcophagus of bubbling blood, surrounded by Akheron, @Lord Ōk Rägnär, and Inmortos’ warrior apprentice @Bernon Mrrgwharr deep underground as they were plagued by the spirits of the damned.

As the Shard’s demented craft broke real space high above Aaris III, it was met by nothing but an otherworldly stilliness. It was a stillness that seemed to carry an ethereal chill on an unseen wind that touched the soul. Below, the storm-ravaged barren world of dust and ash lay dormant and lifeless. Scans of such a planet told the same tale; there was naught but one lifeform, a single blip that sporadically seemed to appear and vanish across the surface of the world. For those that knew, the densely packed and slowly sprawling citadel of rising icicled towers and barracks stood; a deathly still tribute to a world that no longer was. The Aaris Academy for Gifted Beings; but, it too stood desolate and silent, sapped in subtle auras of darkness and death, of ice and shadow. Deep below the surface, within the frozen mantle of the world, a doorless, windowless funeral crypt stood undetectable from above or below. All that stood out in the room aside from the trio of darkness and death shrouded Sith was a single stone sarcophagus brimmed with boiling steaming blood; blood called forth from beyond the grave; blood bound across eternity by profane oaths and curses that aged beyond the dawn of the Sith to the origins of darkness in the mortal realm. The ravaged chanting of Inmortos was all that broke the stillness as he plunged his apprentice and fellow Sith’s spirits and consciousnesses past the veil into a realm of eternal destruction, despair, and damnation. From above, the necromancer watched through his third eye as his apprentice goaded the spirit of the fallen Akheron from it’s tormented hiding amongst the legions of the tormented dead, taunting it even now with his weakness until he broke free intent on the savage vengeance Inmortos knew the Sith warrior to be capable of. And chase he did driving Bernon before him intent on the slaughter until he was caught up in the darkness imbued honeyed words of hell that flowed from the lips of the assassin. Only then did the profane magics of necromancy stir, clasping the crushed and decimated body of Akheron, destroyed beneath the very world he had sought to rule. With a greet cry, Inmortos’ wrenched his body backwards, a demon-tormented fisherman drawing an invisible line as he wrestled to land a prized catch, condemning it to an unnatural existence within his domain of choking fumes and blinding pain. Tumbling to the floor, Inmortos released the hands of his comrades, thrashing and convulsing as the bridge between eternity and momentary, eternal and mortal was connected. In that moment, a great thunder rolled across the entirety of Aaris III, visible even from orbit. The gap betwixt life and death bridged and the tormented soul and form of Akheron were drawn back into the world of the living; an unnatural crossing against the flood of souls trafficked from life to death upon the River Styx. The blood within the coffin boiled, spilling over to soak the ground around it abd sloshing violently to coat @Bernon Mrrgwharr and @Lord Ōk Rägnär in scalding crimson life and death. The curse-bound blood sought to draw the life from them both and draw their souls into the eternal void. And as this happened the crumpled form of @Karys Narat iv-Adas materializing within the blood, the cursed bodily fluids filling his lungs and orifices with burning unnaturally stolen life; the lives of thousands stolen within the Baptism of Blood. And even as Inmortos grew still and silent, the powers of darkness having taken their toll, the bridge broke. Snapping into infinite shards of darkness that radiated from the world in pulses of unnatural green evil before vanishing, the bond between mortal and eternal was destroyed, swarms of angry spirits filling the room as they sought to exact revenge on those who had so callously violated the natural order; tearing flesh and rendering bodies they sought to simultaneously possess and consume all within the room, any exposure not covered in the blood of the ritual or the aura of the god-king of death himself. An unnatural scream filled the room, but it came not from the necromancer or from the hissing spirits. No; it came from the tormented and crushed form within the sarcophagus, from Akheron himself as he expelled the blood from his lungs and all the pains of death that had been laid upon him on Falleen were brought fresh upon his devastated body. He had life, stolen as it was; but the torments and healing of the wounds inflicted by the Jedi would remain alongside the mental agonies of having tasted of death and being wrestled from it, a testament to his damnation in both this world and the next.

The whole of the library shook, tomes and sacred texts tumbling freely as the temperature seemed to plummet. Suddenly the long shadows and eerie blue flames of the library were extinguished in frigid shadow; nothingness that seemed to erode the physical world about them all until they tumbled into what felt like frozen eternal infinite. And then as fast as they fell, they would impact the cold smooth stone of a nearly unadorned room; the smooth windowless and doorless icy walls of Inmortos’ crypt. All that interrupted the empty box of a room was a simple stone sarcophagus jetting up from the center of the room, all carved from one single stone. The room still shook, the after effects of their transit. With a crash that fractured the silence, the stone lid of the coffin tumbled to the floor in a flash of night. Suddenly, standing at the head of the box was Inmortos clad in his dark flowing robes. He reached out with his skeletal hands to become both @Bernon Mrrgwharr and @Lord Ōk Rägnär from the floor forward to the coffin’s stone edge. “Well done,” He wheezed as his freezing gaze beheld his apprentice’s newfound form. “You have taken the first steps beyond the mortal chains which bind you. Survive and one day you shall break them entirely. Break the bounds of the mortal hold about your spirit. Then you will become the scourge of the dark side, capable of taking any and all that you desire, of carving reality to your will. To begin these steps, become one of the Bladeborn and with your frozen blade slay ten lightsaber wielding foes.” Looking to Dictum, a twisted smile crossed the rotted falling flesh that remained on Inmortos’ face. “For your name has been scribed upon the final page of the tome. Even now, I can taste your soul in the cosmos, condemned to the finality that binds you. You have joined a pact with eternal damnation. You are it’s avatar upon this plane until it calls you home.” As he spoke, blood began to fill the coffin, materializing as if from the very air, the levels growing until it was filled to the brim with steaming crimson liquid. Leaning against the edge of the sarcophagus, Inmortos beheld the liquid that filled his final resting place. A single ripple disturbed the surface, a droplet of blood escaping as it passed over Inmortos’ finger. “Our brother, Akheron, has had his soul cast into the void; fallen in battle as a warrior ought to go.” @Karys Narat iv-Adas Looking up, Inmortos’ eyes flashed. “He is bound in the Baptism of Blood and I have not yet concluded the business for which his soul has been cleansed in death.” “Give me your hands,” Inmortos commanded, extending a skeletal hand draped in rotted flesh to both his apprentice and Dictum. “Plunge yourselves into eternity,” he opened his mind to the others. “Reach out to Akheron’s soul, his body ensnared worlds away. Remind him of his failure Bernon, for you now stand where he has fallen; a warrior worthy of the gift of Inmortos. Stoke his spirit until it seeks to destroy you and then, flee. Return to me, lest the Sith’s spirit destroy you and possess your physical form.” Inclining his head toward Dictum, Inmortos hissed, “Should he succeed, draw the body of Akheron’s fallen form into this place. For in the shadows, that which are not can be and those which do not exist are given form.” Throwing back his head, Inmortos began to scream, to chant cold ancient indecipherable magics from beyond history. The room plunged into shadow as the steaming blood began to boil and churn, steam filling the air and turning into ice as specters and wraiths pierced thr veil and began to scream, their jnvisible claws tearing at the flesh of the sorcerer, assassin, and warrior. ((Good job you both! Now for the next step, resurrecting our fallen comrade, @Karys Narat iv-Adas who fell on Falleen. Once your portions of the ritual are complete, we will return Akheron to life in out location. Welcome to Necromancy!))

The eternal vortex of the void swirled as it was touched by the minds of mete mortals. Dark tendrils of ghostly smoke seemed to waft from beneath the door as it creaked and rattled gently in it’s frame. Mortality and eternity clashed together as the veil swayed in an unseen icy breeze that seemed to sweep across the room. Nothing. The door remained sealed and the temperature of the room began to drop, thin layers of icy mist beginning to materialize in the air and coat everyone and everything contained within. To fail again would be to freeze, their souls encased in ice until they could be harvested.

The storm far overheard thundered and cracked with electricity as the aura of the world cracked with the sudden surge of dark side energy emanating from deep below the surface. A grisly purple hue spread over the citadel as the thin veil of death blew open and unleashed specters of a thousand wars of a thousand years upon the empty streets. The invisible guardians given pale form and limited substance as the Maze below channeled the newfound power of the Inmortos’ apprentice and the Lost Sith into the dizzying power conduit of soulfrost. Structures of fearsome authority began to erupt from the world as the darkside power drew from the souls unleashed and the formation of Inmortos’ Sith academy began to take form. One by one the hellspawn reborn souls were ground by the storm into dust, their eternal form contained within the deep blue hues of eternal soul ice that formed dormitories, classrooms, towers and crenellations. And deep below the world, Inmortos laughed as he felt the darkness seek to tug his own soul into the void of his creation. The dark side demanded sacrifice. It was the way of power and when it could no longer draw upon the physical it sought to leech the eternal. Within the Maze, nothing changed. The world remained cold and dark, illuminated only by the faint blue light of the whisps. Yet again, both apprentice and lord had found themselves confronted by the inevitability of the dark side, of eternal damnation, death, and the realms beyond. Their power had been exponentially grown and exploited by the winding conduits of frozen souls that made up the Maze and it’s excess gave way to Inmortos’ master plan. As death’s cold grasp encircled the souls of both ensnared Sith and sought to claim them, they had responded. His apprentice had lashed out, claiming his birthright as a son of the darkness. Clasping a cursed blade in his hand, he was baptized in the cold fury that transcended the raging fires of hate and as the Maze rematerialized about him a great steel door seemed to loom before him as tall and wide as the gates of the great forgotten cities of this world. Fitting his position, even as he came from years of stagnation, Dictum fought and yet gave himself over to the power that Inmortos knew, a power so forsaken by so many Sith. It was death itself, incarnate and omnipotent. And as Dictum gage himself over to his despair and claimed control over the eternal void of destruction, a single invisible door within the forsaken lab came into existence. Beyond it was a unremarkable room within which the transfigured Bernon stood accursed blade in hand, beyond him stood the great weighted doors that led from the Maze and into the frozen hallowed halls of Inmortos’ library of the ages. All that remained to enter was this final test, the great guardian doors, bound not by lock or key, but frozen shut by the grasp of eternity itself. To enter in the lord and apprentice would be forced to pool their newfound power, a strength of will equal to that of the undead keeper of the crypt that lay beyond.

The eternal tunnel yawed to the left as @Bernon Mrrgwharr’s mind scraped against the edges of sanity, as his mentality nearly forced his body almost to the point of death. He was mere moments from dying, from lashing out on his own emotion to touch the dark side when he clawed himself back into the physical world, the strength of a warrior. Had Inmortos been watching, he would have smiled. In the end, he would know; but for now, the overwhelming sense of loneliness told the necromancer’s apprentice he was alone. So as Bernon rounded the bend, the walls, the ceiling, even the floor faded from existence, faded into absolute and total nothingness and Bernon was left tumbling. Here there was no light, no heat, no cold, not even darkness. There was nothing to grasp, nothing to feel; in fact the mortal senses would scream out in pain as they were inundated with absolute nothingness, the void between life and death, the veil that fluttered. Here time would cease to exist, a thousand years would pass in a second and a minute would carry on for a millennia. To exist here was unnatural, even more so than passing into the realm beyond. To exist here was to condemn one’s own soul to eternal loss, lost to the void. Here, Bernon would be forced to confront his own inner demons, to have his own mind claw at the edges of his reality until he was driven to madness. Then and only then, when he was driven beyond the brink would he have no choice but to lash out with his deepest and darkest raw emotions; to grasp the force and drag himself free from the void, to the damned world of the living on Aaris III or beyond the veil into the eternal embrace of death itself. ((Great posts. Explore the inner workings of your character. Allow him to be forced beyond any physical limit that he might be saved from. Force Bernon to lash out, to grasp the force and use it in a raw and wild grasp at survival. To become a true Sith one has to realize the power of the force, how much greater it is than he and the power that it presents to one who can control it. This gives you a chance to delve deep into Bernon, his inner workings or his backstory and then get wild and weird with the force. Don’t forget, the dark side always has a price to pay. When you succeed, find yourself back in the maze. The dark side will guide you to the library.)) The spirit of Inmortos swirled through the stormy air, carried upon the winds of the never ending maelstrom as he descended toward the dead world below. Without a physical body, Inmortos passed through the frozen soil. He descended deep into the dead world traveling along untapped veins of soul frost that leeched outward from his ever expanding necropolis of silent solitude. If this was to become the academy for wayward youths that already had applicants, frozen dormitories and classrooms would need crafted. These piercing veins were the first signs of that creation. As long as Inmortos sat upon his throne the creation would continue led by his own hand and strength of will. He did not worry about the Sith lord and apprentice below in the maze; for if they survived, they would be forced to contend with his sacred library and it’s keeper. ____________________________________ As @Lord Ōk Rägnär stepped into the laboratory, he was inundated not with the hissing whispers of spirits or the overwhelming power of the dead world and the narrow veil between life and death. Instead he was greeted by a silent stillness only interrupted by the soft bubbling of of the boiling beakers, cauldrons, and vats of different colored chemicals, concoctions and potions. The laboratory of Inmortos was covered in a heavy layer of dust and yet it seemed as if it’s keeper had just stepped out. Acrid spirals of steam and smoke curled into the vaulted ceiling of the lab; it’s ice covered stone block build and lack of venting this deep underground allowed shifting hues of blues and browns and green to collect and pool above. As soon as Dictum entered, the door behind him vanished, sealed in stone and soul frost, cut off from the world around by Sith magic and miles of the soil and stone of Aaris III. Stone benches and tables were covered in ancient pre-Sith formulas and manuscripts in a variety of languages. Against the far wall lay the mummified form of a dried out long dead being, hulking in nature and covered in degraded fur. It could have been a wookiee, a whiphid, a yuzzem or some other beast of a being, it’s body split open and dried from the arid cold air. With the arrival of the Sith Lord, the lab seemed to purr back to life, roiling and bubbling as the thick steam filled the air. It was only a matter of time until the toxic gases began to play at Dictum’s body and mind. Then and only then would he finally be confronted by the single disembodied voice of the lab’s sole resident. It would speak but once when Dictum sought an escape. ”Your escape is Death’s door, become that which you fear and touch the heart of they that can speak to them you once loved.” ((Dictum, we spoke in DM. Here is a chance to explore your hallucinations with a bit of chemical guidance and spiritual stimulation. Happy to chat further about opening the door or finding an assassin-y way around the entrapment. Once you are free, feel free to find yourself standing in the frozen cobweb strewn shadowy entrance of Inmortos’ library))

The massive doors yawned open with a frigid creak revealing four separate hallways beyond that stretched forward into the darkness. The distant dripping of soulfrost, wept from the eternally tormented souls bound within the walls of the crypt. To trod in such waters would invite eternal suffering. The frozen blackness seemed impassable as the air itself seems to claw at the warmth of their exposed flesh, creeping tendrils of death seeking to pluck the warm life forces from their hearts. And yet, as the doors thudded open, their echo carrying into the eternal night below Inmortos’ tower, a pair of wisps seemed to materialize from the air. Cold, blue, and eternal spirits of savage servants from beyond the realms of the Sith come to guide the travelers to safety or, perhaps, certain doom. Their hunger and hatred was palpable. Regardless, their cool electric glow was all the light that dimly pierced the blackness; all that awaited was the choice made by the mortals who stood at the maw of what would very well eventually become the necropolis of the god-king himself. The force itself seemed almost frozen here, attempts to pierce the veil and divine what was to come seemed impossible. To try would invite assault from unseen assailants, tearing mortal flesh to shreds. The hallway to the left yawned off into the darkness before descending sharply downward along a slick path with few handholds. At the bottom of the unclimbable slope was a shallow pool of collected soulfrost drippings, unnaturally cold and able to freeze flesh solid in an instant, it was the same material infused into the limnal blade Inmortos had gifted to @Bernon Mrrgwharr. To touch it was to have the energy sucked from your body instantly, lethally if one did not rely on the stagnant force itself to sustain them, to draw what little life could be leeched from the rock of this dead world. The lefthand center passageway continued straight, unmolested for what felt like eternity; for, in fact, it was. To turn around would result in an eternal path back, never to find the entrance. Wandering along the unblemished glass-like diamond ice, one would contend with their pale reflections, twisted and contorted by the dark side, prophesies of futures yet to come, of the eternal damnation that awaited the lost wanderer. Only when one succumbed to their madness would a bend in the path appear. To the right, beyond where the light of the wisp touched, regal spiraling stairs led upwards into a collapsed passageway of jagged ice and soul-sucking frost. If one could traverse this ruse they would find themselves in a strange and frozen laboratory. Bubbling concoctions and potions lined the walls as the doors the wanderer entered through vanished, entrapping the trespasser in a windowless doorless room as the fumes from the potions begin to fill the room. Each one a mind altering concoction and poison that would effect the senses, sap life, and draw the ensnared deeper into their own subconscious, bringing the specters contained within to life, making them as real and deadly as any living thing, if not more so. The final passageway, the middle right looked identical to the others, and yet it was littered with unforeseen traps, spikes that would erupt from all sides seeking to impale the wanderer, vats of soulfrost that would dump unseen from the ceilings, false T-intersections where the floor would drop out into eternal abysses that seemed to never end until the wanderer passed from the realm of the living into that of the dead where they would be separated from their bodies and their very souls set upon by demons clawing their way up from the abyss. Even as the air temperature continued to plummet, sucking the life from all who passed, freezing their muscles and slowing their reactions the path would wind forth until eventually the trespasser succumbed to the traps, only then would they be forced to contend with the darkness, calling upon it for survival or be destroyed. —————- Far above, Inmortos sat upon his throne, motionless as his spirit escaped his body to wander his world. He had work to attend to and an apprentice to train. A necromancer’s work was never done. (( @Bernon Mrrgwharr, pick a passageway and explore how it affects your character. Dive into the depths of what makes him tick. Allow yourself to be pushed to the brink and beyond. Let this post find you at the brink of failure or beyond; then next post allow yourself to grasp the force either by sheer will, accident, or whatever, and pull yourself clawing from the brink of destruction. @Lord Ōk Rägnär you do your thing brother! Pick a passage and allow the darkness to guide you as you come to the edge of sanity and reason. Allow your fledgling assassin skills to begin to manifest Pick DIFFERENT passages))