Krath Inmortos

The Sith Lord gently leaned his cane against the table, the hilt of the walking stick and knife handle clunking heavily against the ornate table. With a raised hand, Inmortos readily tore a chink of flesh from the meatiest part of the massive beast, calling the still steaming massive hunk of meat to his own plate. As soon as it touched down, the man’s frail hands lashed out to pick up the flesh, seemingly ignoring the heat as he sunk his teeth into the fatty whale flesh. The melted fat ran down his hands and arms and coated the man’s mouth and face. He ravenously tore at the meat like a half-starved orphan who had not eaten in weeks and did not know when he would see food again. Finishing his meat, Inmortos reached for a foreign piece of shiny green fruit, the fatty juices dripping fro his hand as he loudly suckled the juices from his other hand. He only paused when the fruit was in hand and coming towards his mouth. With a sharp crack, he bit into the delicate fruit, chewing it aggressively and swallowing before taking another bite. Before the fruit was gone, the Sith Lord was wrenching another piece of meat from the carcass. That too he devoured ravenously. And so Inmortos’ continued to devour the food before them for the better part of an hour. His portions much more than a normal man ought be able to eat in one sitting. He only paused when his plate was again clear and he had licked every last bit of flavor from it. The man’s robes were stained with dried bits of fat, runs of drying liquids tattooing both his robes and skin about his face, hands, and arms. With a full belly that pushed against the flowy robe, Inmortos reclined in his seat with a sigh. “Excellent meal Nok Morliss. Now shall we to business?” The Firrereo fished a small stoppered flask, covered in what seemed to be fine ash that had set upon the glass so long as to obscure the jostling liquid within, from his robes. With an air of authority, he placed it on the table before him. “I bring you what I have offered. You just need the strength to survive the power that you seek. Did you bring the blade?” he queried, his hunger for the weapon palpable in the air. As if an afterthought he added, “Have you a lightsaber Nok Morliss?”

Inmortos lay in a state between deep sleep and death for countless hours, his body temperature dropping to a level where it would barely register on thermal scans. Outside the storm ravaged and eventually blew itself into dissipation against the setting sun of the following day. The air over the city was cleaner, colder, and crisper than any could remember, the pollutants and particulates having been wrenched from the skies and thrown down beneath feet of powdery icy particulates. As his eyes opened, Inmortos’ eyelids cracked against his frozen skin, black bloody ichor beginning to ooze from his skin as it cracked anywhere it had been left exposed to the life-sapping cold. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Sith Lord stood and regarded the clear skies and setting sun. There amongst the lengthening shadows in his room, the darkness swirled beneath Inmortos feet, pulsing up through his body as he beheld the city below. Even now, the local government struggled to offload the drifts of snow into the endless expanse of sea. Turning, the sorcerer called his staff to his hand, the heavy handle of the half-concealed dagger smoothly finding rest in his hand. Leaning on the Ithor wood cane, Inmortos slumped forward as he shuffled from the room. It took him some time, but Inmortos made the grand dining hall of Nok Morliss just as the meal was being served. His gliding steps across the snowbanks carried the lord mysteriously over that which would have inevitably delayed him. As the ornate doors swung open on an unseen wave of death, they slammed into the walls; a herald to the arrival of the solitary being. The resounding echo announced Inmortos arrival. With careful steps, each taken with the finality of one walking to the executioner’s block, he made his way to the table, his robes swirling about him darkly. With a scraping screech, Inmortos drew back his chair and lowered himself into it, not a being of age approaching death, but a solitary beacon of dark power. Turning to face Nok across the table, Inmortos lowered his hood to reveal his cracked and bleeding face, his sagging skin and stringy hair marking the toll of darkness; offset by the intensity of his eyes. “The fish smells extravagant Nok Morliss. Let us sup and then get to business.”

“. . . heh . . . “ Inmortos chuckled beneath his breath as he felt the force curl out from Nok. There was potential yet; and yet this man, this worm, made demands for that which Inmortos considered beneath him, even beneath a Sithling who was still feeling for his own power. Turning, Inmortos gingerly raised his legs to recline and rest on the frozen divan; the cushions cracking under the pressure of his stickly figure. He allowed the exhaustion from his display of power to sweep over him in a wave, his eyes fluttering shut. The room was filled with a stillness interrupted only by the swirling jetties that interrupted the glistening particles of snow and ice that hung in the frosty air. “My hands shall be staid from your holdings; but do you only desire equality Nok Morliss? Or do you desire more? A great many Sith lords are equals in the eyes of the empire and yet they are cut down, cast aside, and forgotten, contented to feed upon the scraps dropped to them from the table of the Spider. And for what price? An unattainable eternal demand of servitude and loyalty, to stay your hand at the order of one who knows not of the ravages we are capable to bear?” Inmortos eyelids slowly opened as he regarded the Nemodian in his room, an icy breath of wind from the storm outside sweeping in to flutter the bed curtains and pull at their robes before a shattering crack of thunder in the distance seemed to call it back. “I sense a greater darkness in you though Nok Morliss. It is a darkness that needs unleashed to blossom into true power. Equality is a desire of the weak. You are not weak. So I ask you again Nok Morliss, what do you truly desire? For this blade that you have fettered away, to augment my own goals, I offer to pay a price in riches or in power, dependent upon your desires.” Inmortos eyes fell shut again as he turned his head to point upwards, his body shrouded in his robes, the dark tendrils of the force swirling about him like icy serpents of death. With a deep sigh, the Firrereo’s breath bloomed into the air in a fog that crystalized above him. “Perhaps you can think upon it and we might dine and exchange our prizes and you can answer then. Such an exchange would be befitting a more noble locale. For now, my body desires rest.”

The shattering of ice into shards of jagged razor needles that whipped into the storm accompanied the frozen doors of Inmortos’ room being forced open. The cold slick floors and walls sapped the life and energy out of the very air as it sent the dwindled surges of energy up into their master. Inmortos was aware of the breach. He had expected it to come as the storm reached it’s zenith and remained there; held in full white tempest by the intricate gestures of the deathly white knuckled hands and cackles of ancient words before they were swept up in the gale. As the snow continued to whip, drifting even in the open window, Inmortos slowed. The city was blanketed in an uncharacteristically heavy covering of snow. Doorways, even entire narrowed streets drifted shut buffeted by the winds that whipped off of the icy sea as it began to solidify and crystallize against the walls and docks of the citadel. Turning his whitened face towards the Neimodian as he took a chair, Inmortos frozen face cracked into a twisted smile. Black bubbling ichor ran from between the Firrereo’s teeth and across his rough colorless lips. He lowered his hands, his robes falling to obscure them once again. Outside, the storm suddenly began to slowly fall back into line with the laws of nature. It would continue for hours; but the winds bit slightly less and the storehouses of snow began to empty their overabundant warehouses in the clouds. The darkness that swirled around and through Inmortos tempered and fell off leaving in it’s wake the image of a frail being swathed in black nanosilk. Snow and ice clung to the robe, weighing it down, pulling at the man’s sleeves. Waves of exhaustion radiated from the Sith Lord as the sapping of his energies caught up with him. Even his Firrereo abilities could not keep up with the tac that the dark side demanded. Inmortos thin skin, bruised from within as his very vessels gave way to the taxman. Some of these bruises formed beneath the man’s frozen cracked skin, spilling forth dribbles of lightless black delicate ichor until it dripped with pops of hissing heat onto the frozen floor. Falling more than leaning, Inmortos caught himself on the couch within the cold room and less than gracelessly reclined into the crunching frozen cushions. Looking up at Nok, the Sith Lord blinked heavily. “Power comes with a price. Too many are unwilling to pay it fully. Peace may be a lie, but fear is not. Fear holds too many of our brethren back. You seek this power don’t you Nok Morliss?” Inmortos wheezed through clenched teeth, taking in a gasping deep breath before he continued. “I can help you find this power. You have sought it in many places, the most wise being the totems of past masters of the darkness. From that, I hope you have something that I desire; a sword, a dark evil sword possessed by a malevolent spirit that seeks to overthrow the user’s mind. If you have such a damned razor, I will teach you to overcome that which you fear. I will guide you towards freedom. Inmortos fell back in his chair, the darkness washing over him in waves as his soul fought to survive in it’s tattered vessel. Outside, the winds still buffetted the tower upon which Inmortos room topped. The broken window caught the raging blizzard and wafted glistening flakes of snow through the room. Against this nigh-heavenly sight the storm sucked any warmth the building fought to provide. Below, the storm clouded the entire city, leaving the exposed tower alone amongst the storm; a ship lost on the waves of the storm, anchored only by the unseen. As he lay there, tendrils of darkness crept along the ice grasping for Inmortos, seeking to draw him into the blackness of the eternal abyss of gloom and murk.

Inmortos sat as he felt the ripples of Nok’s anger. It coursed after the Nemoidian like the train of an exotic cloak trailing behind it’s wealthy benefactor. The Sith Lord sat there unmoving, his emotions unstirred by the attempted show of power. ‘So many Sith are too content to show their power to claim the here and now, rejecting the powers of the ages, the powers that extended beyond time.’ A slow twisted smile crossed Inmortos face, his lips cracking to reveal his yellowed and jagged teeth. A soft chuckle escaped from his dark maw as he slowly stood, one hand on his knee to brace as he pushed his other hand against his cane and hefted his form from the chair. Inmortos shuffled after the droids. Their guidance was stifled and stiff, hurrying the ailing Firrereo forward at a pace that initially pained the wizened Lord. With each hurried step, a dark evil aura began to emanate from the black robed being; the aura darker than the midnight robes that swished about the thin form within. The darkness dampened the pain of his footsteps. It fed on something deeper, opened up by the decaying form of the Firrereo as his natural healing abilities fought against the inevitable darkness. It was as if the darkness fed on the very decay of the Sith Lord’s form, a form that every move of the dejarik board progressed one step towards the inevitable. It would be on his terms though. He would welcome death on his terms. This sureness and pride of purpose were dark and twisted and it was this that gave the swirling darkness it’s power. The dark tendrils crept from beneath the lord’s cloak clouding the area about he and his escort in a slight haze that darkened. In that cloud the spark of life was choked and death reigned supreme. Anyone they happened to pass hurried to get away from the shuffling Sith and his escort, spurned by the touch of cold death at their souls, an inexplicable fear that had them withdraw their breath in a hiss as they hurried for warmth somewhere else. Eventually, the droids deposited their ward in his room. Inmortos was left alone. He had come to this world alone. In fact, he was used to being alone within the passages of time. Yet, here, in his ornate fish-themed room, Inmortos knew he was not alone; not here, not in a room provided by another who desired the power of the Sith. Inmortos surveilled his room with little regard. The gently curving lines of the bedframe cradled the thick mattress. The smooth furniture blended in with the room as if it belonged. The window seamed effortless with the wall, providing a view out over the city at large; at least what was above the seas that stretched out into the inky blackness of the night. He surveilled the room and cast it aside at a glance. With a hiss of inhalation, the corners of Inmortos mouth drew in the air about him with a breath, the temperature dropping suddenly as the lights flickered and extinguished bathing the room in darkness. The pale glow of the city below the only light. It softly outlined the shrouded man within the room in a cold aura of blue. With a flourish of his hands into the air, a surge of cold laced forth. The sleeves of Inmortos robes falling back and exposing his thin bony arms. Icy tendrils laced forth through the air, crystalizing the floors, furniture and walls, as they zig zagged forward. The whole of the room was soon filled with his ritual chanting in a long forgotten tongue. Icy fingers spread out until the floors were solidified in a sheet of ice; and still he chanted, driving the ice onwards. Inmortos did not stop until the ice embraced the door in a thick sheet of life and energy craving ice. Only then did he lower his arms. The Firrereo’s breath escaped his lips in a clouded puff of moisture as the vapors crystallized against the frigid air. Here within the icy tomb of Inmortos own creation darkness crept. It did not swirl. It was too cold. Even the Sith lord’s robes stiffened against the cold. In this cold though, only one life remained, any other choked out in an eternal tomb of cold stillness. Machinery ceased working and energy was drained into the ice, lost against it’s cold embrace. And yet, the cold aura only briefly extended from the room, stopping when the chanting ceased; leaving Inmortos truly alone in a crypt of Nok’s choosing. Turning, Inmortos shuffled to stare out the window. He smiled widely. There was no joy in his twisted evil grin. His smile was one of power. The icy crypt a shield against the outside world for when, inevitably, Nok Morliss would come calling. “So you want to taste of the power and freedom that I offer.” Inmortos whispered darkly as he hefted his cane, grasping it by the smooth Ithorian wood length. The Neuranium handle had to but tap against the ice-embraced window to send arcing popping cracks along it’s length and breadth. A second tap shattered it into icy spears of death that rained down into the night below “See what I offer for the cold and dark places Nok Morliss.” Inmortos’ hands began to wave back and forth, his gnarled bent fingers twisting dark intricacies into the cold air. The force began to curl about his hands, drawing tendrils up from the ice in blue whisps of pure cold power. They twirled and wound about Inmortos form mingling with the vengeful darkness the Sith lord poured into his hissing incantations; “Ddyfnduffern, copa oeraf y mynydd, galwaf allan stiller amser yn dragwyddol. Chi yw fy ngorchymyn. ymchwydd ar bopeth a welir ac nas gwelwyd a'i flancedi yng nghofleidiad tragwyddol y gaeaf. O'r awyr rwy'n galw taranau'r nos allan. Ymchwydd gyda'ch pŵer. Ymunwch â dwylo gyda'r tywyllwch. Ymunwch â dwylo gyda'r oerfel. Blanced y byd o fy mlaen mewn cwsg tragwyddol. Rhwystro geiriau ein gelynion. Malu eu machinations i stop gan eich cyffyrddiad. Diffoddwch y fflamau sy'n disgleirio bywyd. Dewch â'r tywyllwch oer y mae bywyd yn ofni ei gydnabod” Inmortos chanted as his arms swirled faster and faster, even here in the cold lifeless dungeon he had constructed energies surged forth; regurgitated from their icy tombs. The dark skies above swirled as an icy wind blew from the sea increasing in intensity as the temperatures across the city began to plummet. A thunder clap shook the skies as the clouds poured forth the darkness they contained within their vorpal vortexes. If it was possible, the skies grew even darker blotting out the faintest edges of sunrise as it fought to break free from the horizon. Darkness was king here. Continuing his chanting, Inmortos gave himself over to the storm. His presence in the force surged out beyond his vision, calling the dark powers of nature to him. Icy winds twisted the blackened clouds as thunder and lightning raced across them. The temperatures continued to plummet until even machinery would begin to gum up and freeze. Through it all, Inmortos harsh force powered voice chanted into the gathering storm. Cold dark power poured into the storm giving it a life of it’s own; one even Inmortos could not control. Still, he poured power into it as the ice at at his exposed fingers turning them from pale gold to a blue-hued metallic. Darkness swirled and Inmortos pressed on until the first flakes of cool snow whipped through the air, icy razorblades carried by the force of nature. And they continued to fall, multiplying with each passing chant and incantation until even they blotted out the dark clouds above. Amongst the blinding swirl, lightning struck randomly, seeking out it’s own targets with no master to direct it. Thunder crashed in the distance and at the center of the storm stood Inmortos, his robes thrashed by the winds and his frail form rocked and buffeted in the jagged circular embrace of the broken window.

Inmortos regarded the agent of darkness that now offered to take him from the platform. It was expected. From beneath his cowl, Inmortos saw that the Nemoidian still carried his physical being, a sign that he had not given himself over the the ravages of the dark side. Still, he regarded the Nemodian, there was a reason that this world had been placed under his watchful gaze. Silently and slowly, with a deliberateness that carried with it the same aura of finality as the pronunciation of death, Inmortos nodded his consent, his gnarled hands withdrawing into the folds of his oversized sleeves as he shuffled alongside Nok Morliss flanked by the clanking droids; their mechanized steps blending with the heavy dull thud of his Ithorian wood cane weighted by the concealed blade atop it. Inmortos did not move as quickly, but each step was made with finality and control as he set the pace without a word. Dark invisible tendrils of evil radiated from the openings of his robe, as if the nanosilk somehow contained the reaper within. Upon entering Nok’s ornate office, Inmortos leaned heavily on his cane as his head turned to the left and then the right, scanning the room. Silently he searched for the collection of ancient, cursed, and forbidden tomes and relics he knew that the Sith before him sought to collect. A veritable collection of immeasurable power in the hands of one that did not know what he had. It was enough of a thought to audibly make the Firrereo’s teeth grate and grind. As the mechanized chair was offered, Inmortos perched his spindly frame atop it, barely sinking into the plush cushioning. He was a perched like a rock-vulture prepared to swoop in at the first sign of weakness. Extending from his nightmare-hued sleeves, the pale gold hands of the wraithe within templed together; his long boney fingers barely intertwining at their tips. Their log cracked nails scraped against one another as the dark being regarded the lavish wealth and life of the one before him. As Nok spoke, Inmortos’ sickly cold yellow eyes bore down on him, staring beyond the green mottled skin and lavish trappings. He regarded the man’s soul, the darkness that swirled about them and urged to fill the room with it’s power; if only it had the proper receptacle. Nok Morliss had so much potential. It needed to be but released. The Dark Lord had different priorities for having appointed such a short-minded Sith to oversee such a potent world. It was a world that Inmortos sought to claim for his own use. A lesser informed being would have felt that the force had willed such a situation. Inmortos knew better. Nok Morliss appointment to this world was the herald to prepare the world for true greatness. “You have amassed a wealth that even you do not know the value of Nok Morliss. Your world, your baubles, I desire them. Not for the wealth and power Nok Morliss desires in his mind. For more. For eternity.” With a haunting gesture that seemed to stir the very air of the room with a faint cold breeze that seemed to emanate from everywhere but nowhere, Inmortos gestured to the bag of jade coins. “There is immeasurable more where that came from. From the depths, the last treasures of life can be seized and used to empower Nok’s machinations. If only you knew how to unleash that which desires release from Nok’s soul. If only, your fears did not stop you, Nok Morliss, you could rule this world as a true master, beholden to none.” Slowly, Inmortos leaned forward, the odor of death shedding from the shifting of his robes. In a voice barely above a breath he whispered, “Beyond the webs of the spider.” The warlock sat back, his body creaking like a rusted hing, his voice returning to his usual rasp, ”With me, Nok could be free of his fear and you could rule. All I require is the forgotten of this world. The industries and living wealth of the world are yours to exploit. The cold dark recesses mine. What say you?”

The lurching being blinked once, forcibly, as the attendant ran away in fear. It was almost palpable, that fear, it was so strong. Still, it did not matter. Such things mattered little to the dead. For that was what this being was, the dead; his corporeal shell reanimated by the spirit of the ragged Sith within the ship. Not even making a motion to shamble forward, the dead stood their awkwardly, simply watching the world unfold. It was always interesting, taking in the galaxy from the eyes of another. Colors shaded just slightly different and senses dulled. As if a pilot expertly settled into the cockpit of an advanced craft, so it was for the spirit of Darth Inmortos within a host body. With the arrival of the droid escort and their leader, the force swirled as two fonts of power brushed one another. He felt it, not physically within the husk, but on a more spiritual level. The power welled up within the approaching being. No matter of exterior decor could hide what Inmortos saw within; dark swirling power waiting to be unleashed. With a bony crunch and pop, the shambler craned his head atop it’s broken neck, looking over the battle line that drew up before him, a sole emmisary. With a ethereal gurgling cry, the shambling corpse lunged forward. One oversized large inertial plod towards the Nemoidian before it crashed to the decking. With a ghostly sigh, a whisp, no more than a shadow of the wind, escaped through the body’s mouth, swirling upwards into the atmosphere. On it, tendrils of chill arced gently outwards into the air. Meanwhile, the body, now left to succumb to nature’s call, hurried began to befall the punishments of rigor and livor mortis. The twisted broken neck cracked and popped, echoing across the deck as the muscles tensed one final time, snapping the head upwards at an even more unnatural angle. The skin sagged in an instant, the putrid odors cadaverine, putrescine, hydrogen, and dimethyl disulfide started to permeate from the body, rising up in the still air. There before all that beheld it, the usual hours long process of death unfolded in seconds as the rigor of the bent and flexed body relaxed into a state of final flaccidity. As the changes overtook the body, the wraith that had been released upon final forced exhale circled and swirled in the air. A shimmer of light upon which all the dsrkness that was bore by the deceased was carried back unto the resting ship to return to the unnaturally unmoving body within. Finding purchase within it’s unnaturally twisted natural point of rest, the spirit settled and the eyes of the pale gold firrereo fluttered open; each eyelid heavy with the weight of death. Ever so slowly and carefully, the nightmare-clothed figure sat and then stood, a veiny knuckled hand reaching out for the cane that had been tumbled aside. Grasping it and with what seemed to be extreme physical effort, the bony being stood; his seemingly feeble frail body shrouded by the abyss-hued nanosilk robes that flowed in layers across him. Visible beneath his cowl in the shadows born within were a lair of glassy yellow eyes, shrouded by pale gold skin. Clutching the cane, the dark visage began to walk, slowly, as a wizened elder of some primitive society. Each footfall was gentle yet wrought iron firm with decision. Each heavy thud of his cane resounded with an authority of movement born by those only who were sure about their direction. And slowly, ever so slowly, Darth Inmortos descended the ramp into the air of Mon Cal’s night. With his slow steady pace, the spectral sentinel approached Nok and his mechanized guards. With each thud and step, he took them in with his chill-piercing eyes. Coming to a stop just short of their mass, Inmortos inhaled deeply, allowing the warm humid night air to flow through his nose, across his tongue, and into his prematurely aged lungs. Upon the air, where one might taste the saltiness of the sea or the pulse of the city, Inmortos tasted something else. He tasted death, untold millions lost to the call of the expanse of the sea-covered world. With a brush of his tongue, snake-lime as it crept from his cracked and dry lips, he brushed the darkness of the one who stood before him, tasting the fount of power that was there and seeing within to feel and size up the sorcerer’s very soul. “Magistrate,” his voice scraped, a gravelly undertone offset by the rattle of phlegm deep within his own throat. He beheld the eye covering of the green-skinned royal before him. “The incantations foretold of your comings, he paused before sinisterly adding as if a thought that he had to consider before voicing, ”and goings.” Turning to regard the sea that stretched beyond the inky blackness of the clouded sky, a smile cracked the pale gold of his face. “You have amassed for yourself a world richer in wealth and resource than you may even know. Once released, darkness may swirl here beyond eternity.” The unsettling wizard-of-a-being turned back to face Nok, stepping closer, within reach of he if he but stepped out and lunged. Inmortos kicked the body of his fallen undead transport, releasing the odors of death exponentially anew about them. His voice dropped to a whisper, grating and raspy across the stillness of the night. As he spoke his hand slid beneath his arm within the hanging folds of his robe, passed the cursed saber he carried hidden within, to grasp a small bag and withdraw it. “I do not ask something for nothing. As a man of business and darkness, this will be greatly arousing to you. Let us cement a bond in life and death; in more than blood. Eternity.” The small blood-red silken bag was weighty to be held as Inmortos offered it forward on spindly arm outstretched from the warm recess of it’s sleeve. Within, 30 coins of jade, each a soul taken by the necromancer. Wealth and power twisted as one.

The S-161 “Stinger” XL, Eternus, pierced the cloud-covered sky of Mon Cal. It’s massive wing and exterior-mounted engine were starkly offset compared to the more bulbous craft built by the natives and the more traditional craft that plied the spacelanes. It did not matter; however, for this was the craft of Darth Inmortos, a little known Sith Lord, who preferred to while away in obscurity allowing his contemporaries to provide him with the clay he needed to complete his grand designs. It had been simple enough to acquire landing permissions to the burgeoning criminal world that was seeping through the cracks of what had once been a stronghold of goodness and light. Scans of the ship would reveal no discernible lifeforms aboard; an empty vessel that had a very biologic-sounding individual at the comms. Lying in repose, like a vampire of yore, the gold-skinned Firrereo looked sickly and pale. If one did not know any better, one might think the Sith Lord,amongst his trappings of sparse gear and mountains of jade was coming to his place of final rest. The pilot on the other hand had a look about him, his head held at an odd angle; having been snapped by a single blow to the back of the head from Inmortos’ neuranium handled walking cane. A cane that now lay in the seemingly dead Inmortos’ hands. The light was gone from the pilot’s eyes. In fact one eye seemed to bulge excessively from the socket, a result of the blow. Still, the lifeless pilot brought the ship in carefully and expertly towards the wide open landing pad designed to accept diplomats and representatives. Truthfully, it was the only spot capable of handling the ship and it’s obnoxiously lengthy counterbalanced wing. With a gentle rotation, the wing and engine righted themselves and the craft came to land on the pad to little pomp or circumstance. Such was the way of Inmortos, he had not declared his identity or true cause. It was not needed. Having Imperial transponder codes had been enough to gain clearance for landing with little question. Those on duty ought know better than to press too hard of a vessel bearing an emissary of the Sith. As the ship settled, jets of steam erupted into the cool night. Exhaust ports gave up their pressures of travel at long last. Hisses and creaks settling until all that could be heard was the warm lap of the waves against the edges of the pad. Void of starlight, the landing pad was bathed in the faint glow of the adjacent city and the few guide lights that had not been destroyed or stolen in the uptick of criminal activity. It was all set against the inky blackness of the rolling sea that claimed much of the world as her own; only pierced by the occasional blip of light from a nightly fishing vessel or far off floating deepwater platform. It was against this scene that the hatch of the Eternus swung open. It was silent on her well oiled hinged until the door slammed against the side of the ship with a resounding gong that pierced the night only to be swallowed by the bountiful call of the sea; lapping against any intrusion until it wore the invader to dust. Consumed into eternity. Forgotten against the backdrop of the rolling tides. Striding forth, with a decided unnerving gait, a stride that cries of pain to any that beheld it, but with none of the audible or palpable agony, came the broke-necked pilot. His blood-drained skin reflecting the poor lighting in a way that one could only describe as etherial. Craning his bloated and lopsided head from side to side, his shoulders heaving to make up for the work the neck could not complete, the death-stained corpse cackled, “Where is your magistrate? Bring him before me.” The living dead spoke and stood there, his eyes glazed and staring vacantly into nothingness. For several minutes he stood before finally collapsing in a pile. The odor of death beginning to rise from his body almost immediately, as if decay had been held at bay and now rushed to catch up.

Identity Real Name: Eligreen A.K.A: KRATH INMORTOS Homeworld: Coruscant Species: Originally Firrerreo CURRENTLY: possessing the body of a human female Mandalorian Physical Description Age: 24 Height: 5’11” Weight: 134 lbs Hair: Blone Eyes: Blue Sex: Female Equipment Clothing or Armor: Black heavy roughspun Sith robes Weapon(s): Ultrachrome lightsaber hilt (Haunted Blade), Crown of Desolation: circulate with blue jeweled orbs of congealed time and suffering, permanently affixed by Sith ritual about his head, Common Inventory: -purse of jade soul coins -a belt lined with 24 soulfrost talismans -standard Republic credit chit linked to accounts across the known universe -comm link -rebreather -signet ring -bottled elixirs of the following: 4x Curse of Weeping Regret, 4x Curse of Howling Agony, 2x Curse of Hollowing Despair *Throne of Oppression contained within his ziggurat on Aaris III and connected to Inmortos via his Crown of Desolation Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force Sensitive Alignment: Neutral Evil Current Faction Affiliation: Sith Current Faction Rank: Master (Sorcerer-Necromancer (Veiled & Necropolis King/Cryomancer) History: Force Side: Sith Trained by: Darth Gor Trained who: Nok Morliss Known Skills: -Architectural Design -Numerous burial and death traditions from a plethora of cultures -Alchemy -Sith lore -Sith & Galactic histories -scribe work -primitive hunting -lightsaber/sword combat basics Force Skills: -Standard Sith training/abilities -Necromancy (Necropolis Kings & Veiled) -Cryomancy -apprentice level warrior/combat abilities when wielding his Sith sword in accordance with the Necromancy Slice. Background: Eligreen was born a nobody, a lone son of factory laborers in the depths of the galactic capital. Eligreen grew up with a mediocre existence. He was not important, nor was anyone he knew. People came into his life and left at regular intervals. Soon enough they were forgotten. When his parents died, worked to death toiling to create countless machined parts for everything from tables to freighters, their community gathered for a time of remembrance; only for their memories to fade into obscurity over the following weeks and months. Eventually, even Eligreen stopped speaking of them, though their memories remained in the recesses of his mind. It became apparent, nothing was permanent, the galaxy was constantly churning forward, a cosmic machine that chewed up and discarded every being, molecule, and even cosmic entity. Discovered by the Sith Empire, Eligreen was taken for training, their brutal techniques cementing to the young Firrereo that if anything was ever to change, he would need to be the architect of his own future. The Sith had risen from a tribe of barbaric beasts to become an eternal power that refused to allow the galaxy to forget them. Eligreen threw himself into his studies with abandon, delving into the dark arts that surrounded the ultimate stamp of loss and being forgotten, death. He would learn the power over even this and make it his own. He would ensure that he was never forgotten. He would be known across the cosmos for eons to come. When the galaxy faded to dust, all that remained would be the memory of who he had to become. For a time, Eligreen poured himself into his feigned loyalties, serving his master’s designs; knowing all along they amounted to nothing. Meanwhile, Eligreen poured over forgotten tomes searching for any answer the force had to offer. As such, Eligreen discovered Necromancy and soon fell in with the teachings of the Necropolis Kings of yore. Their sprawling accursed temples and fortresses standing as testaments to time of their power. In them, Eligreen saw an opportunity to preserve himself for eternity. More so, he would surpass even the Valley of The Dark Lords, his fanciful estate of magically preserved ice-shroud megaliths dwarfing entire worlds. The obscene and arcane were Eligreen’s tools. The ravages of time, his enemy. Nothing would stand in his way. Power would stagnate and the memory of his powers would be whispered about in fear for all eternity. Through it all, the dark side took it’s toll on Eligreen, every sacrifice, every profane ritual charged it’s price. By the time he was granted the rank of Lord, Eligreen, now christened Darth Inmortos, was a shadow of his former self. His innate healing abilities stayed the worst of the ravages of darkness, but still, the gold-skinned Firrereo’s eye grew weak, features gaunt, and skin loose, glassy, pale, and sallow. He walks with his heavy walking cane, each step a thought out footfall towards eternity. Inmortos assisted and lorded Krath Apothos on Mon Cal, casting sorcery across the planet to animate the dead to come to the world’s defense. Inmortos decimated and conquered the world of Aaris III, enslaving the people and setting himself up as their god-king. He was called away to assist in the defense of Mon Cal where he defeated Mythos in single combat but fell to combined overwhelming republic forces shortly afterwards. The world was lost and his former apprentice, Apothos, taken captive by the Jedi. Inmortos spirit returned to the world of Aaris III where he inhabited a fresh clone body of his former self and set about crafting his Crown. From his throne there, he rules the populace with an iron fist, their sacrifices in life, death, and beyond powering his soulfrost necropolis. Inmortos helped in the final subjugation of Naboo and in furthering the goals of the Sith Empire in gathering plasma from the planet core. After which he attended Empress Nyrys’ decreed gathering followed by a training regimen with Apprentice Solus where he allowed the apprentice to kill him, freeing his spirit to return to a preformed body, crafted by his high priests on Aaris III. From there, Inmortos interacted with his people declaring a planetwide weeks long holiday of suffering and feasting i. Which sacrifices, ritual, and blood ran freely. This ceremonious celebration culminated with a great force ritual enveloping the planet and ravaging Inmortos’ body as he connected to the galaxy-spanning embrace of death and the dark side , showing him one with the power he craved. From there, Inmortos set out to find Sheog and learn from the Master of the Krath. Inmortos along with Akheron and his apprentice, Solus, conducted the purge of life on Aaris III. The only living thing left was a giant arachnid Sithspawn left to devour any life that might be found. The surface of the planet was left desolate and ashen with wandering energy storms across it’s surface, the oceans crashing seas of lifeless blackened water. All that remained was Inmortos’ tower, underground libraries, and his throne room atop it at the center of the stretched seams of the force made by the absolute destruction of life. Inmortos then accompanied Akheron and Solus to Falleen where he was inducted into Clan Brasganu and made a Lord-Captain in charge of the Glacadh An Dorchadas (Embrace of Darkness), a Sion Heavy Escort Carrier/Cruiser. At the final battle, Inmortos accompanied the Clan fleet in spite of his doubts as to the wisdom of such a battle. During the battle his newly minted Clan vessel was destroyed by the forces of the Imperial Remnant with all hands lost. Meanwhile, Inmortos had descended to the planet to pluck Akheron and his apprentice, Solus, from the grasp of death and whisk them away to Coruscant in pursuit of numerous prophecies Inmortos had uncovered and to pluck them from the doomed assault of Nar Shaddaa. On Coruscant, Inmortos, Akheron, and Solus found their way to an ancient crypt. After many trials of the dark side, they gained access to the tomb of Darth Calypso who they hd managed to awaken, in no small prt thanks to the necromancer’s release of 10,000 captured souls from Aaris III. Calypso in her return to life, forced Inmortos to confront the souls that he had released, ensnaring the bow bodiless Sith in the Vurk body of the Jedi who had imprisoned her alongside the Jedi’s soul and the souls of the damned released by Inmortos. Through it, Inmortos emerged victorious, being acknowledged as a true Sith Master by Darth Calypso who the sorcerer acknowledged as the next true Dark Lord of the Sith. Ship Registration Name: Eternus Class: Yacht Model: S-161 “Stinger” XL Manufacturer: Latero Spaceworks Length: 50 Meters Armaments: Two laser cannons Armor: Standard Anti-Personnel Defenses: None as of yet, it’s a civilian vessel. Appearance: Stock model Modifications: