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Krath Inmortos

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  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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))
  4. 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))
  5. Inmortos watched with a disconnected nonchalance as bees of Falleen’s assault became known to the group. In truth, he had known of such treachery before the communique had arrived. His spiritual brethren inbound by the mortal chains of time and space had seen the launch of Imperial warships and felt the haughtiness of the Jedi as they made themselves known, spied hidden amongst the populace that Lord Akheron had professed such control over. As the transmission ended and eyes returned to the skeletal Lich King, Inmortos stalked to his throne. Spinning he sat in his still empty splendor, the emperor eternal of a world deprived of all the side of light proclaimed to protect; a mere facade for their own power and shame. Raising a single hand, Inmortos waived @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Solus off. ”Go. Attend to the mortal needs of your world. If it grows to dire for you to handle alert me and I shall rend your holdings as splendid as my own.” And with that, they were gone from his mind and his sight. He had no army at this time to offer and remembering the words of their new Sith Lord, @Darth Calypso, knew that to involve any more Sith in such a reckoning would be a disobedience and threat to the nature of the Sith itself. Inmortos turned his lidless eyes toward @Lord Ōk Rägnär, an ancient Sith of mystery who had come to him for power, and his apprentice, @Bernon Mrrgwharr, a warrior of clay waiting to be shaped. Inmortos guestered about the throne room. “My world is yours.” ”But be warned. A dead world is even more treacherous for the living. It may serve your life better to plunge into the churning maw of Falleen alongside Akheron and his servant. There, you will at least die with honor.” Inmortos slowly stood and approached Dictum and Bernon, “I sense more in each of you though, potential to touch the infinite.” Turning to Bernon, he smiled at his shivering form. “If you wish to become a true warrior of the Sith, you will need to surpass the strength of mind and body any military of THIS galaxy can offer you. To contend with the horrors and atrocities you must endure, you will need to bind yourself to the darkness and be warned, she does not give freely. Take this,” Inmortos held out a sinew draped hand and a rapier-like blade twirled and arced through the air, leaving a wake of crystalized icy air in it’s wake. “a limnal blade. Exercise caution my apprentice or you will find your place in my army sooner than you may have hoped.” Walking onward, Inmortos hands did not touch the doors that exited into the dias, although they extend and a burst of wind crashed them open, allowing the storm’s bite to flow inward on a flurry of razored snow. “Little lives upon this world anymore, even the spirits are few. You shall not come to this tower uninvited again, lest you seek to challenge my lordship of this world. Deep beneath the foundations of stone and soul and ice lies a forbidden library. Within it lie countless tomes, relics of lost civilizations, accursed magics, and knowledge no mortal mind may grasp. The knowledge you seek is held within. To reach it you must trespass within the Maze of Insanity. There you will find your will tested by your deepest fears made living. You will be sapped of all your mortal strength and will. Give yourself over to your darkest desires, deny your mortal shackles, let the most primal instincts of your soul serve you; only then will you find the entrance. If you fail, your soul will become mine for eternity. Your test is not finished yet though. You must find the ancient texts laid out for you by the darkness. Touch naught but they; for any trespass into the forbidden may rend your mind beyond repair.” The two Sith would need to descend the tower in the storm, wander the empty dark dripping halls of ice, find their ways to the depths of Inmortos’ fortress and then force their way into the hidden Maze of Insanity where only the most depraved spirits roamed and cursed and snares awaited any who dared trod within. If they remained together, the darkness would whisper to them until they turned upon one another, but separated they would be easier prey to the maddening of their own minds. ((Lets make this a multi-post quest. 1st post: Finding the maze beneath the citadel and ziggurat. 2 or 3: Entering the maze and encountering the traps within. Feel free to delve into your characters’ own weaknesses as you are brought to the edge and pushed over, being forced to rely on the darkness (even untrained) to survive or be destroyed. 1 post finding the entrance to the library and then we’ll go from there. I will offer ambiance and response/GM as needed. Once inside the library, I have a few other surprises to test you both. There you’ll get some training in your given path.))
  6. @Lord Ōk Rägnär‘s humility spoke to the spirit of Inmortos. The man acknowledged his place and yet asked for that beyond his station. It was the way of the Sith and such a bold request would be honored. Such a request would have a price. If it could be paid, the stores of knowledge that predated even the Sith and Jedi orders waited decyphering. But before a response could be generated or carried across the unnaturally cold still air they were interrupted. A great crashing wind blasted through the darkness carrying a biting deathly chill. The doors that led to the balconies all burst inward as snow and ice billowed into the still unpierced gloom. Ringed in frozen white snow and ice, the fractured scorched body of the linworm shambled into the throne room. With a thunderclap, the invisible spirit of the necromancer crashed into the billowing power of the storm and spirits that had carried the sacrifice to Inmortos’ throne. With a flash if icy lightning the entire room erupted in cold white light and then in an instant, the darkness was back, taking over as the visage of Inmortos atop his throne shattered into a million pieces. In the darkness, the robe-draped skeletal frame of Inmortos rose, carried by an icy aura as the wraith given substance cracked and popped as the Lord of the Dead tested his new form, the tendons popping and cracking with each spiraled joint. Slowly he drifted across the room until the form settled atop his throne and the winds died down leaving nothing but the stillness, the darkness, the cold. A faint blue light began to glow on Inmortos’ naked skull; icy spears jutted through the smooth bone. His crown that bound him to the power of this world, to his throne, erupted confirming the blessing of Inmortos’ eternal spirit upon this latest host. The wind roared and then died. The icy tendrils of death seemed to slowly crawl across every surface with ethereal frost, and the lidless eyes of the lich king surveyed those who stood before him. A frightful smile played across the skeletal lord’s face, “Welcome my brothers and servants.” ”My apprentice,” he beckoned to @Bernon Mrrgwharr as he reached for the fractured saber hilt. “You have proven worthy in this. Let it be that you are worthy of greater things than this. A test then, remove your trappings of your prior life. You will not need them. Where you will go, the darkness will provide. Cast them into the vortex outside this sanctuary.” Turning his gaze to @Karys Narat iv-Adas “My blood-bound brother,” he hissed, “May this sanctuary serve as a base of operations until your men are strong enough to claim another world for your own. Your men may reside within the frozen barracks below, but they may not trespass within this sanctuary or the inner chambers of my eternal crypt. Those that do so will be consumed.”
  7. The stillness of the room seemed to mute the deference of his apprentice. Inmortos would have to admit, he was surprised the untrained had come this far and seemingly unscathed overall. It was a testament to the vast pools untapped of power that lay nestled in the man’s mind. That, or Akheron and company had done well to protect him until he was ready. And yet, he had brought the saber, even know held it towards the frozen form atop the throne as an offering. A cold invisible finger would seem to pass across his apprentice’s chin; chilling and dead, yet a fleeting gesture of approval, a rarity indeed and the promise of training soon to come upon this cursed world. To Ōk, Inmortos felt his presence. It was young in the scheme of the eternal darkness, but it carried with it an age of experience, of a dynasty of darkness. It was almost, almost recognizable, as if the souls of those that preceded this recently rescued Sith Lord were familiar to Inmortos, faces without names, identities lost upon the fringes of one’s mind just out of reach. Regardless, Inmortos recognized the deference the worldy blind Sith paid in his silence, and it was to he that the disembodied voice directed his first query. “Welcome Forsaken Lord of the Sith. My spirit recognizes these others, but you . . . pray tell, why have you come to the halls of the forgotten and the damned?” Inmortos undead gaze fell across Akheron, the muscle to Inmortos’ magics, his equal in the physical application of the force while Inmortos touch played with what lay beyond. They were joined together in accursed oaths and profane ritual. Baptisms of blood and fire, and the former had called his fellow pirate lord to this forsaken hold, the throne of Inmortos, and a enclave from which to return retribution to the galaxy, a home to begin to see that the Sith, the name of Inmortos was never forgotten. The Sith had spoken true, Inmortos’ oath fulfilled, the Necromancer loosed upon the galaxy until called upon to serve the order of the moment. And finally, the undead gaze of Inmortos passed over the twisting envies of Solus as they were sucked into the void leaving naught but stillness and cold in their wake. At least he was not speaking, perhaps his master’s brutal ways were finally showing results. Yet his unchecked emotions betrayed him. He would never have this power and the cold press of nothingness promised just that. And if Akheron could not tame the gravel, Inmortos was still more than willing to temper him in the ice cold flames of death’s forge, a frozen crystalline conduit for Inmortos’ eternal power bound into a blade. And as the stillness pressed in from all sides the frigid fog that separated this world from the next seemed to thin, the icy blue crowding along the edges of the room as the dejarik board of eternity seemed to shimmer in the darkness as if from a long ways off. Somewhere far below, the body of the fallen linworm smoldered, fractured and broken against the frozen snow. Spirits of the dead swirled around it, accepting the offering of another soul unto the void. Smoking and hissing the body lay there, dead; and yet, after several minutes, a hand began to twitch. ((Want to give @Lord Ōk Rägnär a chance to answer before bringing Inmortos back in my next post. Then we’ll get rolling!))
  8. Seated atop his frigid throne, the icy cold grew to encompass the wraith that was Inmortos. Within he was but a pale blue shadow of his former, a ghost of a man, beautiful and ethereal. His outward appearance; however, was frozen in place fixed to his throne that sat deathly still as a font of raw eternal stillness. The power of absolute nothingness frozen for all eternity. The stillness was interrupted by only one thing. The ravages of the howling storm outside were silenced within the inky black darkness of his throne room. Even the light could not reach his throne. The last gasps of a dying world had faded completely, damned to a fate worse than death. The roar of the cosmos was lost beyond the foggy veil. Even the tendrilled reaching grasp of the force, of the dark side failed to carry the whispers of any of the worlds outside. And the damned, the dead, they knew better than to whisper here in this hallowed hall. No, the only interruption that carried on the billowing winds were the petty arguments of the nature of the dark side, of Sith philosophy. Inmortos had libraries of such drabble stowed within his frozen libraries below and from more learned sages than these, they that sought power beyond their grasp. And so the spirit of Inmortos trembled and the storm outside followed suit. Clashes lf thunder and bolts of sizzling lighting erupted from the storm as blinding snow and cutting ice began to whip on the wind. Those that survived the ascent would be found worthy to step foot within his throne room. Spirits of the dead, foreign and chained to this world after the decimation of her native peoples flew through the storm, cackling and shrieking as they sought to torment the fateful Sith who climbed the external circling stairs that spiraled higher and higher about the ziggurat that held the throne of the god-king. Before they could enter the diased balconies that circled the throne room, a bolt of lightning split the sky and struck the body of the fated linworm, the pilot, one of the chosen acolytes of the sky pirates whom @Karys Narat iv-Adas and he had commanded before their destruction over Nar Shaddaa, fell, toppling from the railless stair steps and plummeting into the storm below with a scream as his body ignited in flames. He would be dead before he hit the ground, if he did in fact hit the ground, obscured by the storm, far below. And then the rest of the group made it, their condition and wear their own. Who knew how long the ascent had taken them, how many times they too had fallen into the storm only to land atop the drifting snow at it’s base. When they entered; however, the sounds of the storm died away completely as it ravaged outside. Within the throne room the inky blackness and deathly cold muted sounds and colors as their very breaths crystalized before them and the cold played at exposed bits of flesh and metal. And in the darkness sat the visage of Inmortos, frozen atop his throne, the world about him, in this room, radiating with all the power, all the overwhelming unnatural unbreakable stillness of his domain. It was here that time itself might freeze in place and here that the veil between life and death was gone, leaving only an icy bridge upon which to cross, a coat of frozen fog the only separation between the two, a veil to freeze the souls of any damned that sought to cross over uninvited and to suck the life of any living who dared cross without proper penance. and in the stillness a single voice seemed to radiate in the cold. ”Our lord Inmortos welcomes the living damned to that where even the dead fear to trod.”
  9. Aaris III; a once lush jungle-covered world inhabited by primitive diminutive kobold-like lizard-men as they swelled within ancient cities build into the jungle. Now, it was all gone. The jungles burned to nothingness. The seas boiled until their cracked beds were bone dry. The cities reduced beyond rubble to ash and dust. Even the people, erased from the cycles of life and death entirely. This place did not smell like death, for in it’s destruction, it had transcended it. Aside from the one survivor dropped upon an Alliance world and the undead army bound to @Darth Calypso as a gift from Inmortos, there was nothing left. It was if they had never existed. Even their souls shattered so that they too along with their bodies could never be raised again. The world was vast and empty. Desolate as storms ravaged across the world unchecked by natural or artificial barrier. The climate cataclysmically altered in passing bands of searing heat and unbearable cold. Aaris III was a world destroyed, a testament to the power of the Sith, the Dark Side, of Lords @Karys Narat iv-Adas and Inmortos, and even to the touch of the Shard Sithling @Solus who someday would adorn the crowned brow of Inmortos and act as a conduit of his will. Life was gone from this place and in it’s stead even death was naught to be found. Vast swathes of emptiness from horizon to horizon were all that remained. The only thing that broke the landscape as it was lashed by eternal lightning-laden blizzards was a towering ziggurat of soul-bound ice, soulfrost morphed and twisted to hold the throne room of Inmortos high above his kingdom and within it’s dripping dark frigid interiors, atop a dias of skulls and ice sat a magnificent icy throne that seemed to warp and morph the room So that it was at the center, the focus, and dwarfed all within it’s presence. Below, icy walkways and frozen barren gardens twisted outward from the base of the tower leading to a fortress, walls and towers, halls and dungeons, all that sat atop a deeply buried library of ice, guarded by spells and incantations, wraiths and lethal traps: the secret library of Inmortos, gathered, stolen, and summoned from the dredges of history. Profane and lost texts that detailed ancients rights and civilizations long lost to eternity, forbidden magics even by Sith standards. Outside, butied within the dust atop a webbed nest existed a solitary being, a caretaker of sorts, neither living nor dead, a Sith abomination whose invisibility and poisons haunted and hunted the world and consumed any that dare trespass upon these sacred profane grounds. It was to this place that the veil between life and death split the sky with a monstrous clap of thunder. Souls, imprisoned for ages within death spewed forth to herald the return of their newly crowned god-king. And from this cleft descended an ethereal form, a ghost, a specter, a wraith; a being of form but not substance, a true embodiment of that young Firrerreo man cursed by the dredges of Coruscant so long ago. Inmortos, and yet, Eligreen, drifted down unsullied by the winds and darkness, cloaked in a veil of the damned, the very winds lashing put from his translucent form as he touched down upon the open balconies of his throne room. From there, he drifted to his throne, up the skulled stairs and turned to sit. As his ghostly form and his throne connected a flash of dark power erupted, consuming the tower itself in roiling clouds of deathly ice and lightning. The god-king was upon his throne once again. He only hoped that his servant @Bernon Mrrgwharr brought him a more suitable host this time, upon which he could exercise his will once more.
  10. Even as Inmortos’ possessed body dissipated into the air, a spray of blood and ichor, the spirit of the dark lord was loosed; an ethereal being amongst the rising waves of darkness that seemed to roil from the very soil at their feet. A harsh wind seemed to draw back the legions of spirits loosed upon the field until inly the few most powerful or local remained to haunt the fringes of the mind. @Darth Calypso’s words carried across the field and as she finished, the very breath of Ziost, a breeze, carried the essence of the necromancer upon it, his quiet whispering words to play upon her ears alone, “Blood has been spilt. The ancient codes appeased. Hail the new Lord of the Sith” and then the voice was gone sweeping out across the landscape before being swept towards the veil, drawn back to that final resting place once again, not yet condemned to remain there. Before he could be dispersed completely however, he reached out, a skeletal ghostly finger of cold tl rake across the minds of @Karys Narat iv-Adas, @Bernon Mrrgwharr, and finally @Solus. To his fellow blood-bound Master, he wordlessly bid, a thought, a memory, of Aaris III, of the destruction they wrought there, of his grotesque tower of ice and a desire that his apprentice be brought to him there, alive or dead. To his apprentice, he cast forth a cold and lustful desire, a task infinitely more and yet so simple he had filfilled it already, only to fail in the final stretch: ”Fetch my saber to me upon my throne.” And finally, he passed over Solus, a cold disembodied soft laughter that faded into the sky. A reminder of experiences past and present and eternal. And then, as if he never was, the presence of Inmortos passed from this realm into the next, a tortured soul, a king amongst the sodomites. He had accomplished that which he was bidden to do and now would attend to his affairs elsewhere in preparation for the great purge. Who said there was more use in life than death? Inmortos found it quite the opposite. The dead made much more obedient slaves.
  11. Inmortos shifted slightly, his blade angling to brace for a blow that never came his free hand weaving an intricate spell by his side. If he had elicited this type of response, even in the cold, it meant only one thing. He, they, were winning. He felt it, her wrath, her rage, boiling over as she landed. She was almost within reach, within saber-striking distance of even a withered scion of death. She was close enough that even through the fog and snow he could see her outline, her saber only illuminating @Darth Calypso further. Raising a withering undead hand, Inmortos began to form ancient words of power; but before he could do so, Calypso unleashed a storm of her own. The burning maelstrom of the cosmos turned towards the lord of the damned. It took Inmortos by surprise as the heat blasted the lifeless body that he now possessed and sent it careening backwards. The body glove offered what protection it could before it succumbed to the force of the blast, sizzling as it turned ashen and was blown away and consumed by the blast. Ethereal screams assaulted the woman’s eardrums, the undead woman’s ears. They mingled with the whispering cries of joy and hatred brought forth by the wraiths and spirits crossed back to the lands of the living. The body flew backwards through the air, Inmortos blocking out the screaming assault, shutting it up behind a wall of a spectral choir that screamed beyond natural hearing and simply releasing his power on the Mandalorian’s hearing Landing at the edge of the battlefield with a squishing splurch amongst the rotted bodies of his fallen army, the necromancer lay there amongst the dead, amongst his people; a stark reminder of who he was, that which he had not yet overcome; at least, not entirely. Inmortos lay there, his host’s dead body burnt, scorched, and oozing blood and frigid ichor. The pain would be unbearable, had it been his own pain. One of the benefits of already being dead was that the corpse, suddenly spiritless and lifeless, felt none of it. Inmortos felt none of it The blast burned her, her skin, her hair, it melted and twisted her face and body from the outside leaving bubbling oozing flambéed flesh in it’s wake. And yet, through the pain, the screams, all of it, Inmortos remained. He was more than a simple spirit within a body. He was Inmortos. He was eternal. He lay there, the muscles of his host tensing either from the natural reaction of the dead or Inmortos’ innate control. With his spirit bound lightsaber still casting it’s crimson hues, the Mandalorian’s fist clenched white about the hilt and slammed downwards into the ground. The built up sorceries flowed freely. The snow packed surface cracked as the silvery hilt clanged into it, fracturing the powerful hilt’s exterior as a gutteral hysterical laugh erupted from the twisted lipless melted maw of Inmortos’ host. It is finished. Power. It flowed from everywhere. it came from everywhere. The bodies of the 10,000 fallen all about him. The air. The assembled Sith. The reborn Ziost held together by twisted black magics as dark as the necromancer’s soul. Even the veil. All of it. Their power. It was sapped in an instant, drawn into the powerful vacuum of the void. The temperatures about the battlefield plummeted, winds drawing inward to tear any vestiges of hope or heat away as the power of the battlefield was drawn into the spell, into the nothingness cast beyond eternity. The veil, thinned by the saber and it’s dark passengers and blackened sorcery, the same saber that now served as a conduit of the god-king’s power, tore all but in two, unleashing torrents of the damned upon the battlefield to swirl and cleave at any that stood in their path. Great spears of ice erupted from the ground in spiraling circles about the necromancer, shards of frozen eternity piercing through the power-sapped air. They cut into the air between Calypso and Inmortos, withering before the attack, but continuing to spiral outward as the dead hand of Inmortos clenched the activated saber hilt tighter still, her burnt skin cracked as even the bones beneath it began to strain beneath the undead power commanding the spell. And still, Inmortos laughed; an insane cackle. If she but knew, he was already dead. She would not, could not, kill him. His chains were not her chains. Her chains would be her undoing. CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((3))
  12. Power, by it’s nature, it is not created, nor is it destroyed. It simply changes form. Such a scientific fact, while true, was brushed away in the great inhalation of the god-king of death. As Inmortos sought to drain the power of she that would make false claim to the mantle of lord of darkness, the power that flowed from her, drawn by the world around them was nigh but endless. The little heat that remained in the air from Inmortos’ cryomantic display of power was whisked away, dissipated into nothingness. The frail legion of undead, an artificial gift from Inmortos to @Darth Calypso upon her resurrection at his hand, fell away like chaff, their soul-bound corpses collapsing where they stood. Their weapons clattered to the ground. The necromancic energies that bound these undead soldiers unnaturally to the realm of the living were sucked away and dissipated in the cold, drawn unnaturally from them into Calypso and from her into the host of Inmortos to be rendered no more. And yet, the vessel of Inmortos inhaled, the attack only ceasing as the physical limitations of the Mandalorian body he possessed reached it’s limits. It was then that Calypso spoke, her attack rebounding in turn. Fiery red bolts of jagged energy, energy drawn from the world about them arced through the air even as Inmortos’ host exhaled in brief. The bolts struck the woman’s flesh with an explosion of power, of dark raw energy coalescing with the infinite icy stillness of eternal damnation. It sent Inmortos and his host careening backwards with the sheer kinetic energy the attack possessed. They landed amongst the recently fallen foot soldiers of Aaris III. The rotted bodies of his servants cushioning their blow as they sank amongst the fallen. Still the energy pressed on, playing across the fallen bodies, exploding some in bloated gouts of rotted flesh and ichor as it reached for the necromancer within the bodies, searching for the living amongst the dead. Lancing forth it would have found it’s mark, the still sizzling flesh of the possessed warrioress; but for the scourge of Inmortos, his will, and her strength of a lifetime of battle fighting off the residual energies of the initial blast. A crimson beam erupted upward from the mass of bodies, not followed by the telltale hiss of a lightsaber, but accompanied by the press of spiritual whispers and chants, of eternity unbound. The world about them muted to a deep red as all other color seemed to be leeched from the world. Whispering voices cackled with glee, sinful souls bound within the blade itself inviting their eternally tortured comrades from the world beyond; the veil of separation between this present mortality and eternal damnation beyond growing thin. Inmortos eyes flashed a wicked yellow as he, as she, as they stood; the blade held before them like a wizard’s wand, extended outward in one white-knuckled hand catching the crimson bolts of retribution on it’s burning hissing shaft of energy. The darl lady’s power coursed upon the blade as it was transformed into an ethereal energy and in turn wrought unto the veil, parting to allow the spirits of eternal damnation to flood all bit unhindered into this realm. They cried out. They screamed. They chanted. Their emotions plagued the battlefield swarming and overwhelming the forces of mortality of their feeble emotions. The vengeful spirits sensed their keeper’s will and coursed onto the field of battle. Without direction, they felt the force, they could sense Inmortos’ raw emotion beneath his frigid facade and they followed it. They could feel Inmortos’ dark desires for @Bernon Mrrgwharr, his future in the god-king’s hands. They hated it. Did he not know that Inmortos was theirs alone? They could feel the blood oaths that bound @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Solus to the god-king, the despise he felt for the one who would become his next blade. They could feel the oath sworn by their keeper to she that he now fought. They could feel his disdain and his devotion to his oath. The dead, wraiths and specters, phantasmal ghosts and amorphous spirits hated the living and they that they found they sought to destroy. With chanting wails and unearthly screams they swarmed their targets, physical protections of little use against a extraplanar foe. Seeking to destroy them, reason abandoned, they screamed through the billowing fog and wind to seek and to tear at their flesh with unseen maws and claws; physical wounds from an ethereal foe. And through it all, the energy of Calypso’s assault crackled and sparked against the cursed blade of the god-king. A wicked smile played across the Mandalorian’s twisted face, her face half-burned, her blonde hair singed as bits of charred flesh fell sizzling and black to the snow. Her pain was palpable and yet she did not cry out, her body overtaken by the will of Inmortos and her spirit and mind ensnared within his power. They hissed, her Mandalorian voice carrying like that of the eternal whisper of the spectral dead across the field, “You know naught of the chains I suffer.” With a yellow flash of power, Inmortos’ jade-bound eyes fell upon the very soul of the dark lady. It was old. It was grotesque. It was coveted by Inmortos for the power he could drain from it. With a glance and a surge of ectoplasmic power his will wordlessly called forth a trio of smokey demons from beyond. It did not matter from whence they came. It did not matter what they sought, they were called into this world by a flash of necromancic power and bound to Inmortos so long as they were held within this mortal plane. Their will their own, their power that of the dark keeper of myth and legend, these inky black splotches of smoke in the fog made to set upon Calypso, the first to fall within their gaze, and with that they attempted to smother her with distractions and despair, to cloud her connection to the world about her, the force, and to life itself with their hateful false claims of her histories torn from the depths of Tartarus. They screamed and whispered, working to weave their taunting and mesmerizing sinful distractions as they made to close in upon her in the fog. And as he stood, knee-deep in the bodies of those who had sworn their adoration to him, his gaze beholding Calypso through the eyes of the eternal judgement of the force, he struck. The spirit within his host twisted in agony, a useful tool, but so too an annoyance; for even as he drew upon her lifeblood, so too did his foe. If she sought such power, a shadow of the power that Inmortos possessed; well then, she would have it and know herself judged unworthy. With her free hand, the necromancer wove a brief spell in the air across the Mandalorian’s chest pressing her own fingers inwards into her flesh. A cry of anguish, warbled with evil glee escaped their mouth, the glowing eyes of Inmortos never leaving Calypso. The spirit of the Mandalorian was cleft from the body whole, cast out of it’s living form leaving in it’s wake a pure muscled body, albeit singed, under the domain of the god-king of death. The spirit was unstable, unable to maintain a pure form having been plucked prematurely from existence. It howled in pain. It did not matter. Inmortos cast the spirit off, careening towards Calypso a pale translucent figure vaguely reminiscent of the host. Rapidly she broke down as she charged. In moments her spiritual existence would implode, a fragmentation grenade in reverse, drawing all about it inward at lethal velocities. The creeping doom of the ice left it’s mark as the snow and wind and fog billowed about them, and while Inmortos commanded the powers of stagnation, of eternal stillness, he was still a necromancer; a master of the dead and the bridge that stretched between mortality and the infinite. It was in that that his full mastery was on display, the legions of the damned called forth at the edge of Inmortos’ control, to make war on their god-king’s behalf. Standing there amongst his fallen worshippers, saber clenched like a magical wand of power, Inmortos trod the veiled edge of mortality and madness. He would stand here, his ancient oath to the Sith of eternity past culminating in this moment; to ensure that the Sith traditions and magics were answered, lest the order be cursed anew, again. Calypso v Inmortos (2)
  13. The Mandalorian Inmortos amalgamation stood listening to the newly proclaimed Dark Lord on high. It was the same rallying speech given a thousand times by a thousand different would be lords; and yet, a smile played across the woman’s face, for she knew. She knew. Inmortos knew. This war was not over. It had never been over. They were just the next cog in the machine of eternal damnation. They would do their part and then they would fall away, forgotten chaff all but they who struck their sigil upon eternity. All, but eternity, those bound by immortality. All but Inmortos, the god-king of death itself. And yet that was what was missing as @Darth Calypso pontificated from on high. She claimed a throne of blood. Inmortos had been there since her rebirth. She had no claim to this throne, this world, these people. She spoke of the weakness of words, but her claim was only just that: words. When she had been reborn, she had shed no blood. @Karys Narat iv-Adas had shed blood. @Solus had spilled blood. Inmortos had spilled blood. The trio summoned to her crypt to bring forth she that stood now before them. But she, the self-proclaimed Lord of the Sith, had not cemented her claim in blood. The harbingers of her return, lords @Mavanger and @Darth Nyrys and @Exodus had carved the path for her, a path of destruction, of blood, marred on the force their feeble marks upon the eternal scroll. And so he listened, his eyes scanning the feeble few who remained loyal to their ancient right, the legions of undead that now stood ready to ‘serve’ Calypso; the undead of Inmortos’ eternal plan. None stepped forward to fulfill the ancient bond. None dared throw themselves at the mercy of the dark side to do what need done. The shard had merit, Inmortos could feel it. He would still adorn the god-king’s saber some day; so was his destiny. And as Calypso and her suckling apprentice leapt to the ground, she called forth a challenge. The crowd rustled and none dared move, none but . . . Bernon ( @Thought Bomb ) the necromancer’s newfound apprentice. Inmortos could sense the turmoil in him, raw and untamed. He would be shaped into a great cleaver of darkness. In time. For now, he must be brought to heel. As the heavily armored warrior knelt and spoke, he produced the saber of Inmortos for all to see. Surely Akheron and the saber crystal Solus would know of Inmortos new form; his ambiguity, a powerful wraith on the wind betrayed into one body, the body of a slave. The Mandalorian’s eyes rolled back painfully in her skull as the ire of Inmortos was aroused; and yet, a smile played across her face. To disobey, an eternal sin; and yet, the courage to do so so openly. It would be acknowledged as well. Such an act would need punished. To disobey publicly, one must right the wrong equally. To kill this vessel of sin; however, would be premature and would reveal a weakness of the god-king. Stepping forward, the gauntleted hand of the Inmortos-bound woman, brushed Bernon’s shoulder gently. With her free hand, she reached up to remove her T-visored helm. She tossed it aside, her face ravaged by the claws of her own fingernails, blood caked and cracked as it oozed between the cracked scabs mingled with the ichor of pure darkness, her eyes white and bloodshot, their pupils bound in pain backwards in her skull until the rage of Inmortos was sated, the tiara of impermeable soulfrost bound to her skull and a symbol of Inmortos claim to the body and to his throne world Aaris III, as ashen and desolate as it now was. “My apprentice,” she hissed as she raised her hand and one by one tugged at the fingers of her armored gloves, dropping them to the ground. “You have done as I instructed.” Her icy white hand gingerly played across the intricate ultrachrome of the hilt in his hands as the whispers of her spirits within manifest curling up the Mandalorian’s arm like snakes return to their master. She grasped the hilt, her knuckles whitening even more if such a thing was possible. With hilt-clenched fist she backhanded her apprentice with a feeble blow that radiated upon the force in a surge of rage to knock him back. Stepping forward, her bloodshot eyes rolled back to behold the human, “defy me again and your punishment shall be eternal!” Steppibg forward, she began to strip the cumbersome Mandalorian armor that had been the facade of the god that now possessed her body. Each piece fell to the ground as she walked along the assembled Sith and their armies. “You claim a throne of naught but words,” she dropped another piece of armor with a thud in the snow that was beginning to accumulate beneath their feet. “The ancient blood rights remain unfulfilled.” The woman turned, her eyes flashing a wicked deathly yellow as they locked for a moment with the mechanized eyes of Solus relaying a simple message, one even he could attain. ‘Should the apprentice of Inmortos interfere, destroy him’ ”You claim to be a god, to rule the chaos of the Sith and yet,” they gestured to the assembled Mandalorians under @saberforce, “was it not they who unfurled your royal carpet in blood? Was it not we three,” she gestured to Akheron and Solus, “who released you from your mortal bonds? Did not the Sith who scourged worlds, scarred the force, and languished in life pave the way for you to awaken from your blissful slumber?” Reaching the end of those assembled, Inmortos and his host turned to walk back towards the middle of the open area betwixt pyramid and assembled. “You claim a throne already claimed.” They came to a stop directly in front of Calypso and perhaps twenty-five yards back. The dark echoing voice of the god king boomed on the winds as they turned cruel and cold, it’s cold bite clawing at metal and flesh. “You claim the throne of an imposter, of an exiled spider who may yet rule from afar; and yet, you have shed no blood for it. As emissary of the dark empire, master of death, god-king of the damned, and one who has seen eternity and not slept idly by, I invite you; prove yourself worthy.” Cold air billowed from the Krath in rolling clouds of icy fog mingling with the wind and untouched by it’s growing howl, mixing with the snow to shroud the black-body suit clad frozen acolyte (possessed body). The winds continued to plummet the temperature and without a word, Inmortos hung his hilt on his belt, the wind itself turning as to his will to drive at the self-appointed queen, to drive her back with a headwind, the edge of the storm. Biting her lip in concentration, blood and ichor spilled forth as the host of Inmortos’ will exhaled deeply through her nose like a reek preparing to charge. Even possessed as she was, as the cold tendrils of death played about her soul, she was still fresh, a child of Mandalore born and bred for battle. And then they struck, as she pushed the last remnants of air from her lungs, Inmortos struck at the fear that encircle her soul and she inhaled. A deep startled gasp that crystallized the air, the force, as she went to draw air into her lungs and by it suck all of the heat and warmth, the powers and energies of the battlefield away to dissipate them into frozen unending stillness. Cold and frigid darkness fell over the battlefield as the winds blew and an unnatural permawinter drew upon the dark forces that bound this world together. All who were there would bear witness to the death storm of eternal stillness unleashed by the god-king and no one would walk away untouched by his bitter touch. In the midst of it all stood Inmortos, his challenge apparent as the forces of eternal damnation came at his beck and call. CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((1))
  14. The slight lurch in the Mandalorian woman’s gait was the only outward betrayal of Inmortos possession; inly betrayal that was visible behind the helm and armored plates that is. As they walked they seemed to grow heavier and heavier, but for the moment they remained, an outward facade to shadow the true turmoil of being inhabited by the spirit of Inmortos while still living. Even now the warrior woman’s spirit tasted the turmoil of her inhabitation and regret bubbled to life deep within only to be frozen in the fearful inward gaze of death itself. Death. It would be a welcome retreat she thought somewhere in the recesses of her mind. While the warrioress seemed to maintain control of her body, it seemed that in spite of her desires to howl at the sky, to tear off her armor and ravage each and every one of these dark men and women of magic that stood before her, she could not. Fear and the urge to inflict the pain that now ravaged her on others was almost blinding in excruciation and yet she was paralyzed to it all, her will disconnected from her body but by the overshadowing will of her god. And in that fear and rage a reminder embered, she was serving her god, painful as it may be. Stopping on the fringes of the assembled Mandalorians, where the Sith were assembled they stood, her body angled oddly, held straight but almost hunched in her armor. A cold aura seemed to radiate in the air around her as the presence of the god-king of death inhaled through the foreign feminine nostrils. He could sense it, almost smell it before he was drawn to it’s hidden location through the T’d visor. There in the boot of his newest project he felt them, their bound torments contained within the silvery handle. They called to him in sweet whispers of lust and hopeless desire. A smile played across the hidden face of the woman, it was Inmortos’ twisted smile splayed across her face. The lord of death’s icy gaze lingered for a chilling moment on @Thought Bomb before silently turning to behold the rest. There were so many gone. So many who claimed to be the most powerful had been destroyed, fled to beyond the bounds of civilized space, abandoned their oath and feigned dedication. Their ranks were thin, thin enough that Inmortos was surprised to see a Mandalorian clan, ancient servants of the Sith, even there. The power of the Sith was not what it had been; but with so few, their power was manifest even more; a deeper well of power from what to draw with fewer greedy hands. Their eyes settled on @Darth Calypso, an ancient Sith reborn from the ashes of a war that had never truly ended, a war Inmortos still fought and would never forget. In the end, they would all know of these Sith, the true heirs of power, of Inmortos as the galaxy was frozen with his name the final cry on their lips. All they need do now was wait. These Sith, old and new, had heeded the call. Now let this ancient dark woman prove her worth.
  15. From where she stood beside the tree wartching @Atrid Torsen trying simultaneously slay abd domesticate the monstrous abomination @Darth Calypso had summoned, the approach of another, untamed and raw, caught her attention on an almost subconcious level. Inmortos, the spirit that now cohabitated and, frankly, rules over the enslaved Mandalorian woman had felt it first; his powers saturating the woman’s form as they formed a parasitic symbiotic relationship. He bid her turn and they did to find a stranger adorned in armor kneeling, professing a desire to become not a Mandalorian as portrayed by their mortal outer vestments, but a Sith; a Sith like Fiochmar, the apprentice, who even now battled with the beast in the distance. There was not another Sith in sight. The woman blinked slowly, her eyes flashing a momentary golden yellow glow, as the power of Inmortos took hold. The necromancer saw through her eyes, but not in the way a warrior sees. No, he stared down upon @Thought Bomb, through his armored trappings and mortal form. He stared upon the soul of the man, laid bare before him and he saw it. Not the weak pining of one unfit for anything but to die on the field of battle for a lord who cares nothing for his demise. No, he saw potential, raw power and emotion bellied upon the back of a warrior who sought refinement. Refinement, that perhaps he did not know would come not from the smelter’s fiery heat, but from the cold eternity of the cosmos as it twisted him into a weapon of death itself. Yes, someone like this Inmortos had use of. And if he failed? Another body by which to convey his eternal presence to the galaxy. The air grew frigid about the Sith and seeker, condensing fog from the thick air as it froze on anything within their aura. A subtle side effect of the profane practitioners daliance into the powers of stillness, death frozen in time eternal. Reaching out an armored hand, the woman’s voice spoke firmly, as one warrior to another, “You were right to have come to me. Any lesser Sith would not have seen your potential and cast you upon a bunk with the other rabble.” Except her voice had a frigid icy tone, as if death itself hung on every word, unnatural and imprisoned within the confines of her fleshy tongue. “Rise and if you are fit, become the apprentice of the god king of death eternal.” And as they reached to take the hand of the seeker, the Mandalorian suddenly withdrew, leaving the warrior to stand himself as her arms buckled in pain and she clawed at her face. Across her brow, lumps began to well and pierce the skin, blue soul-bound ice erupting from within, from the mixing of untainted mortal and eternal damnation. The Crown of Desolation that bound Inmortos’ soul across the cosmos to his devestated and desolate homeworld, his font of power itself, the icy Throne of Inmortod. The mortal woman’s eyes rolled back in her head as she screamed, blood running down her cheeks from the furrows carved by her nails and oozing, mingling woth the ichor produced by the crown itself. ”I am Inmortose,” the voice came from the woman’s maw, deep and otherworldly, reverberating with contained power and damnation. “We will join the others as we pay homage to the new mistress of darkness; but to gaze upon they who are worthy you must first prove your own worthiness. A test.” The Mandalorian’s hand pointed into the distance. “My former apprentice, Nok Morliss, has taken my lightsaber and held it faithfully until my return. Retrieve the blade from Lord Apothos and bring it to me as we gather with the others. If you can do this, you will be found worthy to become my acolyte abd learn to break free of your chains.” Slowly the hand lowered and the voice, faded back to the mortal tone of the Mandalorian her eyes having righted themselves, although they were now bloody and pinpointed. “But be warned, when asked what has become of Inmortos, do not tell them of who I am. Carry my saber as a sign of my blessing and damnation. I will reveal myself when the time is right.” Taking the T-visored Mandalorian helm beneath her other arm, they fit it over the crowned head, gingerly covering the crystalline tiarra of somidified soulfrost and gems of eternity. Shooting a glance back at Mavanger’s apprentice as he battled the beast, the Mandalorian shrugged. There was no longer interest in the boy, for Inmortos had found himself an apprentice he hoped to deem worthy of his profane knowledge and power, a new tool to carry his eternal vision to fruition. Inmortos propelled the form of his newest vessel forward, away from Bernon. He had not yet bothered to learn his name. He had to prove himself first. But still, they paused and looked back at the newest Sith hopeful to call out a warning. “Should @Krath Apothos resist, remind him, but for I, he would still be languishing in that Republic prison for his failure to subdue the Jedi Grandmaster’s soul for me on Mon Cal.”
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