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Lord Ōk Rägnär

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  1. Dictum's laughter echoed from the precipice of Chaos back to the mortal realm of reality and his form slumped to the ground, reborn from the chaotic cocoon like the undead Dathomir Nightsisters, as he slouched in resonance. Even as the others spoke, he reveled and revered in the moment from wince Madness, Wrath, and Truth became his reborn vision, letting its mindscape flow into his being as a rancor does the fauna within their territory. And when he stood, he rose a differed being behind the Mask of the Undead. His tone deeper and darker barely muffled by it, he replied in kind. "Rest if you wish," He began, his words carrying an almost maniacal undertone as he spoke from behind his chosen veil. "But I am rejuvenated by Chaos, bathed in it's...." Before Dictum could utter another word as Akheron departed, Lord Aeon dropped unconsciously upon the floor as the resonance of Chaos flowed viciously around the trio. He saw what Aeon saw, he felt what Aeon felt. But for Dictum, there was little to no effect transpiring from the veiled realm of the Shard's chaotic mind. He simply existed in the moment upon a separate but leveled resonance. "Once we are done with Zoist, we shall venture to Yavin. If Chaos has spoken this, we shall heed its becon." Dictum spoke with a quick vindication, the realm of Chaos residing in his soul permeating as a percolator as their conjoined souls began to resonate as one. "As it is decreed, so shall it be." Letting his words linger but for a brief moment before he let his gaze fall upon Aeon in an acknowledgment of his words before Chaos' call. For where Akheron would feel Madness and Chaos, and likewise, Aeon would feel Wrath and Chaos, Dictum had become Wrath and Madness. Beneath his veiled face, the echo of the unholy trinity would display the changes taking place within the Miralukian's eye of his mind. Logic had become corrupted, almost religiously so. And conviction had become a death sentence for those whom found themselves as opposition. But more importantly so, truth was what Dictum willed it, half harbored and half distorted. It would be the will of Chaos, no matter the outcome. As the Crown of Shadows fell upon his form and engulfed him, he retreated, leaving behind the duo to contemplate this reborn reality and revelations. Meditation was needed to center his soul.
  2. To walk amongst Chaos was to accept fate and coincidence as two halves of the same token, where nothing could be connected and in it's madness, create the direction. This was what it was like for these three of the Unholy Trinity. The Jedi were beings of fate, destiny, and it's ilk. But for the Sith, those who chose to be Harbingers of Chaos, fate was what you forged of life and coincidence, the chance presented a means to an inevitable ending. This was usually true for all whom knew and embraced it. But the reality of Chaos stood more complex than what the average mind could hope to comprehend and Chaos differed for each. This was the reality of Chaos. It was the natural opposition of everything. It was death for life, it was dark for light, it was hysteria for order, it was coincidence for fate. Even as the trio treaded within it's realm, this truth that had held a grasp upon Dictum resonated within them all. Even as Wrath and Madness resonated within Dictum, a symbiotic coinhabitation of their joint souls as the ritual progressed. So when the apex apparition of Dictum chose its time to step forward and meet him within the realm of inconsistency, the two held a similar smirk as their thoughts met. Much like with the lightsided version, there wasn't really much to separate the two outside of choices and the paths that laid to their foundation. Only this one held the same foundation and inevitable outcome that Dictum walked with outstretched arms. He was Dictum, and Dictum was he, both born of the Chaos they accepted, separated only by time it's self. In a realm like Chaos, this held very little meaning except to the realm of reality. Lightsabers ignited as the blackened blades drew in the surrounding prismatic lights that gave vision and the aura of the surrounding air grew cold and dense, heavy with the natural presence of the Stillblade Crystalis. One stood a Master and the other a Lord, both content to truly divide reality from chaos and present the seeds that had been sown. There was no need for this, but neither cared nor worried. This was simply their nature, only one more refined than the other. As the blackened blade clashed and smirks turned into smiles beneath their shared masks, the apparition was the first to speak, his voice elder and corrupted by the arc of time that separated his own reality from Dictum's truth. "It has been a long time Lord Dictum. To be so young and spry again would bring me such joy." Releasing his blade from the drawn connection, and providing a brief distance before Dictum's form shifted in all directions at once, he responded as blades once again drew toward the other. And so would such power to I. But we both know that each has a place and point in its own time." As the spar continued, each toying with the other,each testing the other's true limits both in action and in thought, neither truly wished to overcome the other. For this was the first time Dictum had met his older and stronger self and the other merely wished to see which aspect of himself that he stood before. For in this game of cat and mouse, the moment and revelations were the true goal of each. "We both know which is the strongest, the more in tune with Chaos and it's true purpose." The older Dictum spoke as his form dissipated into the netherrealm of shadows, only his tone echoing across the vast void that was Chaos. "And yet, we both know that means little in this moment of time. Neither of us would wish to know our lives before our given time." "Then why tease me with the opportunity to question your reality?" Dictum responded in kind, his blade arcing over his backside as the older Dictum appeared and attempted to strike him from the rear just as one of his hidden blades came from the opposing direction in Dictum's turn and blocked in kind. A laugh erupted as the older Dictum withdrew. "For we are Chaos. And in Chaos, we are meant to sow discord and disruption. Only through the veil of truth, can men discern the lies they tell themselves, even for us." Dictum stops his progression and genuinely ponders the moment in which the elder had spoken. "And what would be our lie?" He poised suspiciously. The elder Dictum chuckles, but does not laugh, as he deactivates his blackened blade and Dictum does in kind. Removing his mask, the elder reveals his aged face and scars too numerous to discern his true identity beyond his sole presence. "That Chaos is the finality, and our just decree. We are no more than mere Harbingers of the Dark, wanton death and destruction our sin. We may have found purpose in Inmortos, but we were never free. Search your Wrath and Madness, and you will know this to be the solemn truth." A smirk erupts as he sees Dictum begin to question everything, and in his moment of weakness, the Elder Dictum made his final charge to usurp Dictum and claim his reality for his own. As the two souls intertwined and struggled for solemn control, truths and lies both became apparent. Madness was abound in the Elder, corrupted entirely by the void of Chaos that sowed his heart, and Wrath was enraged within Dictum as he learnt of Scorpio's survival when his father perished upon Tatooine. Memories from both would bind and twist in the chaos of the moment as Chaos tore open a larger void within the reality that was Dictum. And as the Elder was rejected by both Dictum and Chaos, Dictum was left a smoldering husk of himself as Chaos became his reality. With an echoing laughter, the Elder apparition faded back into his reality, his purpose fulfilled. Enraged by his cousin's survival, collectively bound to the Elder's maddening reality, Dictum stood alone in Chaos as the revelation of the blended fact sunk into his very core. He could feel its reach folding into @Solus and @Karys Narat iv-Adas as his reality settled. And in that moment, Dictum laughed. Chaos was more than it seemed.
  3. To call Dictum's Chaos a Sin was merely an afterthought, a means to describe what it essentially was. And while most Sith took the persona of a sin, Dictum was the embodiment of it. The embodiment of its original form. Wrath was a sin embodied by Akheron, and it was its purest form, anger and vengeance culminating into a blossoming bloom of pure rage. Dictum could feel it encompassing his emotions even as the realm of Chaos began to intertwine with that of reality. And Madness was a simplistic form of Pride, the unreasonable denial of truth and acceptance. It's effects could be seen through his mind's eye as the visage of Chaos became their reality in a blurred resonance. But Dictum's Chaos, his Sin, held true to its envirtuous truth. To stand upon the precipice and gaze into the realm of Chaos was to see the truth of reality in an uncomphrensible way. You could see its reflection mirroring the real world but in a twisted and malevolent way dependent upon how you perceive reality. For some, it is as simple as light and dark, or even heaven and hell. But for Dictum, it was both and neither. It is said that through Chaos, Order, or rather the need for it, is born. But it is simple and complex all in the same token. Where as Life is tamed and bridled by the choices and lessons made within, Chaos is unbridled and wild, choices nor lessons made and all perceptions envisioned within. It is infinite with the knowledge and perception of finite, and nothing is unknown in the knowing. Chaos simply is. For Dictum to stand opposite the illusion of himself in the Light, and Ōk to stand opposite of Dictum in the Dark changed little about each other save for the obvious choice either had made. Both would have lived the same life and went through the same hell that the real Dictum had until the moment that the Force changed everything. It was in its knowledge that both would change either for the better or the worse. It mattered not which side they served, for the Sin of Knowledge was still branded upon their shared souls and both understood the concept of what Chaos was in both the Light and Dark sides of the Force. Their singular difference was but a choice. For Ōk, it would have been Order and the subservient need for it. And for Dictum, it was Chaos, unbridled and free. Outside of that, there were no differences between reality and illusion. Because of this, there were no words needed to be spoken, no duel needed to be had. Both understood the reality of their interaction and both with a smirk upon their slightly differed veiled faces, both nodded to the other. In the sense of Dark and Light, both were but apparitions of the same soul. Both were selfless, both were loyal, and both were appallingly brash. And both would have sought out their perspective paths to understand their Father and when the crossroads came to pass, left him behind to pursue their own. And as the souls began to attempt their feast upon Dictum's form, Ōk simple walked past Dictum and dissipated into the artherium of the veil between life and death as the Force surrounded Dictum's unconscious form to shield it from the hungered souls. Ōk Rägnär simple was who he was, whether Light or Dark, and even an illusion of himself would know this singular truth. In all realities of every universe across the cosmic multiverse, Ōk would inevitably take up the mantle of Darth Dictum and his decree would be one of Chaos' singular truth. That in the natural order of life and death, there was a time and place for everything and anything. Where the Force was Life, Chaos was Death. And every beginning must have it's end. Dictum's Decree would be that End.
  4. As Lord Akheron began his ritual, Dictum stared almost attentively at Aeon as the Shard revealed his resting place within his metallic form, the brandishing of his true form as a combination of sentience and Droid, born of crystalline and ore, a creation of Chaos and Hell it's self. It was a rare sight, even for one who sees of the Force and the Mind's Eye. Slowly, he could feel the voice of Chaos growing closer. For Dictum, the call would be a memberance for those who regained their vision after it's loss, blurred and distorted at first. But as the looming call of Chaos grew stronger and louder amidst his Mind's Eye, clarity would come and focus would set in metaphorically as it grew and the veil became lifted. And when the veil became non-existent, he would see Chaos in its glory and once again know its hellish landscape. And in that moment, he would know the Shard's Madness as his own, just as he would know the Lord's Wrath. "Glaoim ar na cinn lena bhfuil m'anam ailínithe anois, agus ceangail na rópaí a cheanglaíonn.Trí Bhás, Chaos, Am agus Spás a ghlaoim ort! Mar is toil liomsa beidh sé!" Dictum's words rolled off his tongue roughly as he joined in the chat, stepping up to the alter and pulling the Sith Sword from beneath his Robes as he ran the blade across his forearm and let the blood pour slowly to a trickle into the chalice below. "Glaoim ar na cinn lena bhfuil m'anam ailínithe anois, agus ceangail na rópaí a cheanglaíonn.Trí Bhás, Chaos, Am agus Spás a ghlaoim ort! Mar is toil liomsa beidh sé!" Akheron may have been the vessel upon which Chaos' call came into being, but as the chanting called upon it, it would be Dictum's cracked soul upon which Chaos would answer and the veil lifted. That which resided within him, the sliver of Chaos that had intertwined within his soul, would become the key to it's unlocking. And as the word's echoed into its beyond, the key would be turned. As Wrath joined with Madness, another would join the fray. That which made up Dictum's solemn endeavor: Sin. It was through the Knowledge of Sin that wrought the darkness and birthed Chaos, a singular defiance of all that was considered holy and sacred and defined the differences between good and evil, and within its own, divided the natural order. And it laid within the core of Dictum's harbored soul. This was his Darkness, his unholy decree. Without it, none would exist. Each would come differently, whether in wrath, sloth, pride, or lust, just to name a few. But without Sin, without Defiance, it would slowly slumber. And in Dictum's Sin, came it's knowledge and why Chaos chose him as a vassal, a seed sown to harvest. Combined with Wrath and Madness, it would only bring intensity. "Glaoim ar na cinn lena bhfuil m'anam ailínithe anois, agus ceangail na rópaí a cheanglaíonn.Trí Bhás, Chaos, Am agus Spás a ghlaoim ort! Mar is toil liomsa beidh sé!"
  5. The realm of Chaos, or as known by the Corellians, hell; was a realm of darkness of despair, a realm of eternal damnation for those whom walked against the bonds of nature and sought to control reality its self. It was the realm of Bogan, of the Darkside its self and was eternal even before the Je'daii ever held a name for it. And it resonated within the very fabric and manifestation of Dictum's own soul. He and Chaos were one. As Akheron went about his own devices, and Aeon did the same, Dictum stood alone, draped in the bloodstained hides he had fashioned his robes from, leathered skins stained with the purple hue of the Undead that beaconed at Inmortos will whom he faced atop the spire of this very ship. And in his pocket, his prize, granted by the Undead God King himself. Reaching into it, he pulled the unnatural crystal forth and let it hover within his palm. It was the Stillblade Crystalis, a crystal usually reserved for the few Cyromancers whom held the knowledge to properly use, a forethought gifted by the crystal when he first picked it up. He knew he could never full possess its abilities, but as the crystal floated above his palm, he could feel its unnaturally cold resonance speaking to him as all light that surrounded it became a darkness to its hunger. Dictum may have been a man of logic, but even he knew these crystals held a symbiotic sentience within themselves as all crystals did, a communion between them and the Force they intertwined with whether it be light or dark. And so he let its sentience guide him through the halls of Inmortos' ship, hungering for the shell that would confine its power and harness it. And so the trek to build its hilt began. Most of the parts were eerily easy to find, almost as if the Undead God King held prior knowledge of this occurrence, bringing a smirk to the hidden face of Dictum as he progressed. But for the casing, it held a different view that made the Sith Lord a little uneasy as he made his approach upon a collection of Soulfrost, a type of ore in which the souls claimed by the Necromancer resided. As Dictum brought his palm close to the ice like ore, feeling the souls within attempting to prey upon his soul, the symbiosis connection between Dictum and the Crystalis tamed the Soulfrost and ensnared the souls within as the Soulfrost became liquid as it wrapped itself around the components and the Stillblade Crystalis contained within. Feeling the cold creep around his fingers and encase the crystal and components, it became solid again and Dictum gripped its cold form tightly as he reached into his connection to the crystal and activated it. With the screams of the Undead, the Stillblade sprung to life, it's blackened blade engulfing all light around that surrounded it and feeding the hungered souls that were contained within its hilt rather than upon the soul of Dictum himself. And yet, the blade did not hum like most lightsabers, an eerie quiet amongst the backdrop of the room where they stood. A silent blade for the Assassin that was Dictum with only the screams of the Undead signaling its activation. A fitting prize indeed. Deactivating it, Dictum clipped it to his hip where the other once sat, feeling the hungered spirits nawing at his soul. And yet, his connection to the realm of Chaos would be its answer, as it fed the spirits rather than his own soul. Feeling this, Dictum smirk grew into a devilish grin. The Undead God King knew exactly what he was forging in Dictum. Hearing the call of Akheron, Dictum returned to the others. He said not a word upon his arrival, and stood opposite the others. Chaos continued its call to the Assassin, and it was time to answer it once again.
  6. Dictum nodded at Aeon's bowing, a sentiment that the young Lord was beginning to see through his madness and into the reality it warped callously. While madness was a fickle ally of the Darkness, an empowering aspect of one's nature, it could easily subdue just as it would embolden. Similar to Dictum's own sight. "When one lives in the Dark, one knows the Dark." Dictum replied. "It is a common misconception that the Miraluka lineage I descend from have a imbued sight in our blindness, but it's not entirely truth. Nor is it similar to any whom have lost the gift of sight only to find it again in the Force. For our sight is through evolution, designed specifically for our survival upon our lost homeworld." But neither was Dictum completely Miralukian, only a hybrid who managed to survive birth and found his bones brittle and meek because of this. "Think of seeing eternal darkness, with only the most subtle of shifts between the veil of Darkness and the shadows contained within. Then add in emotions, intent, sounds, smell, and perhaps you gain an understanding. But the truth of our ability to see isn't visual, but in that understanding alone. Our minds comprehend reality." Just as he finished speaking to Aeon, both Inmortos and Akheron interjected, causing Dictum to feel a mixture of praise and threat as his grotesque face took on a stern form beneath the Mask of Death, and for a brief moment his hands fell to his sides where his blades nestled quietly. If their choice came to attempting to rid themselves of him, he knew the outcome would be dire, especially for him. But he would not go quietly, a quality that Ragnus knew all too well of his son. And yet, offers were made and Dictum relaxed his stance casually but cautiously. "Make no mistake here..." Dictum began as Akheron finished speaking, his tone stern and yet equal as he spoke his humbled truth. "I made no resistance to bonding with you, God-King Inmortos, as it proves to be beneficial to us both. But to slay me would prove problematic and wasted efforts. For my soul is yours, both in life, and in death, but my conscious is still my own and is the most valuable tool you have at your disposal." His gaze shifts to Akheron. "I have never been a religious being, nor do I plan on being one. Chaos bore me into this world for the sole purpose of sowing it's seeds, and Chaos resides in me. There can be no other. For Chaos is the progression of Life and the path to Death, it's lessons taught daily to all who breath and it's knowledge retained by those who do not. When I entered it's realm to bring you back, it chose to join with me, and from it, I now understand my purpose, a labor I have sought since I began this path of the Sith...." "For your first offer, I must decline." Letting his words sink in, Dictum witnessed the truth of Inmortos' world as it came to life. While he had considered it's possibility, the truth was highly unlikely. And yet, as the area where they stood rose toward the heavens, Dictum nodded in agreement. He may not have been a religious zealot, but he was logical and hungered endlessly for power forged within himself alone. He may not covet what the others possessed, but he did covet what he held within his own soul and the path to attain it. And as Inmortos' proposed his own to the others, Dictum finished. "As to your second offer..." This time Dictum's blinded gaze fell upon both Akheron and Inmortos, the hidden stern form subsiding. "As I said in the beginning, our paths crossed at Helvault for a reason, and here we stand. Through the two of you, I have grown, surpassed both my Father and my former Master, and found my purpose in Chaos. And yet, our time together has yet to reach a conclusion. Until then, you both have my blades and my skill..." His gaze focuses on Inmortos alone. "And my soul." With a nod, Dictum agrees. "We are all but one. Let us bind ourselves as one and finish what began here beneath our feet with the Baptism of Blood." His gaze shifts to Inmortos. "Let us bind ourselves not as Sith, but as brothers."
  7. It was an culmination and climax of what wrought Dictum for Aaris III as the fierce battle began, the Lord of Chaos enveloped on all sides by the vengeance of Death and the decree of the Undead. In unison, the first wave of those who hunkered for his life struck at his form as he reeled into the netherworld veil between life and death, his form briefly splitting in all directions as he attempted to step soundly out of harm's reach. As blades clashed against shadows, Dictum felt the first of their hatred, razor-sharp edge against skin as it slide across leathered hide. Almost instantly, the dripping blood clotted against the frozen aura that fileted flesh. It was but a momentary wince as the dulled pain slithered beneath his skin, the corrupted breath of Chaos coming to his call as he outstretched his hand with blade still griped, sending a beckon toward the one that had cut his form and bringing forth the undead to return it towards it's eternal rest. With the blade and fist buried in the chest of the singular opponent, it returned to the ashened dust from wince it had came and the others came to call in its defense and Dictum's sole focus fell upon their plight. His shadowed crown draped his form as the Shadows of Chaos enveloped him as his form shifted to meet them. One was doomed and five remained. With a subtle spin, the twin blades became like a gaping maw enticed to feast upon undead blood as they sliced across rotted flesh, one decapitated and the other one finding his legs useless in the brief moment. And yet, legs useless did not waver their spite, and Dictum gazed upon it as it crawled toward him with an eerie glee. With a twist of the wrist, however, his blade ended its advance before the decapitated one had even fell to his eternal rest. Even as he spun and defended, Dictum had begun to notice a slag in his step, a falling weakness envelope his form, a brief thought of wonderment crossing his mind. He felt the rejuvenation of Chaos at his call, but even as he remained fairly unwounded, he felt the subtle encompassing of his energy and life-force being drawn. It wasn't until he crossed his blades in defense of the blade belonging to the flesh hungered maw that snapped viciously at his face that he truly defined what sapped at his strength. For with each draw toward his opponents, they lapped at his soul with grimace as they drew upon Inmortos' wound upon Dictum's soul. With a lunge backwards upon the steps that led to the Throne, Dictum distanced himself. So this was their game? This was their hunger personified? Inmortos' skill with the undead held no punches. The Sith Lord found himself at a disadvantage against these machinations of his. As he reeled from their attacks, keeping himself at a distance, he pondered his options and weighed the outcomes. Three remained, but even at these odds, Dictum could very well fall rather quickly to their gluttony, a gluttony he himself matched only in his lust for power. Chaos swirled in the recesses of his mind's eye, not only the undead against him, but the entirety of Aaris III beckoning to claim his soul as a part of it's own, a testament to the will of a Sith Master compared to his own. With the possibility of his own death looming, Dictum found a certain pleasure in the moment before him, a grin creasing across his face beneath the veiled Mask. Inmortos... He who was Master of this world and of the next, the fragmented God King of the veil between life and Chaos. He had forged for Dictum a path that none had walked before, a path of enlightenment and sown Chaos. And Dictum had began this path willingly and susceptible to its influencing decree without little thought to its consequence or price. There was no regret found in this. For Dictum had found power unparalleled within, both in Chaos and in himself. A fact he was willing to testify to, and speak of for decades to come. But in this moment, with his eternal soul upon the precipice of damnation, he found the greatest of his testimonials. The stairs grew darker as his shadow solidified and lashed outwards, finding solace upon the damned souls before him and breaking their will against his own, a sudden influence of the frozen world found upon his soul as he accepted his fate. Chaos became his will, and the shackles that once bounded him to his own crumbled to dust as his soul found freedom in solitude. Where others sought personal gain, Dictum now let it wash away, melted by acceptance of a decree not his own. And before the undead could react, Dictum stood amongst them, blades finding their sheaths as each soul entered the beyond. The call of the storm subsided, and Aaris III filled the void where the portion of his soul found emptiness. And as the doors of the Throne Room parted, the darkness within flickered against the breaking daylight that illuminated its innards as Dictum stepped within. His gaze briefly shifted toward the throne that was Inmortos' rightful place, but lingerie not more than a glance as he reached down and plucked his prize before he departed like a brisk breeze and the Throne Room returned to its former inglory. And below, amidst the trio of gathered Sith, Dictum reappeared. "Aeon...." Dictum's voice decreed upon his arrival. "It is not temperament that is your's to learn. Your Madness is your greatest of strengths, and it is to be coveted. No. Your's to learn is that your deity goes by many names, and it's will uncomprehendable to your view alone. Chaos, Darkness, the Darkside of the Force, Death... it is all the same seeds meant to be sown and our ranks are merely the depth of our understanding of it's will." His blinded gaze shifts between the presences of Akheron and Inmortos before falling solely upon Solus. "In the end, we are all but it's blessed Harbingers, it's will our own. For we are Sith." (2 of 2)
  8. Dictum sat backwards upon his legs, reeling from his seating upon the precipice of the veiled worlds as his gaze caught that of Inmortos, his scarring face bubbling a concoction of pus, saliva, and ichor with each breath he took in his agony. There was revelation and fear still in his heart as he gazed upon what Inmortos truly was, not as a person, but what power he foretold, a mixture of respect and reverence in their differences. And yet, in the same token of their conjoined souls, a grandeur of understanding that needed no words to be spoken. Feeling not only the power he commanded behind his words, but the very meaning of the words themselves, Dictum heeded them with a subtle but gestured nod. His focus may have been upon the forefront of his mind's eye, but he had long felt and known of the Master and Apprentice's strife above. With Inmortos' departure, Dictum sat alone in the darkened tomb until his form found it's will to move. Darkness was his home, but in the realm of Chaos, Darkness was his existence. Not only was it through which he saw the worlds around him, nor only what he felt in the currents that swirled around his form, but Darkness was his understanding and knowledge. It came naturally as the dawn of daybreak or the dusk of nightfall to any blind being, but more so for Dictum, a decree of existence that few could comprehend. And in the veiled confines of Darkness, Dictum often found his solace, his center. And that was what Aaris III slowly grew to become for this Assassin of the Sith Order, a veiled world of Darkness that centered and confined his soul's understanding. Even the rigid air felt corporeal to his form as he began his ascension and his lungs found new strength in his climb. It no longer took the extensive will it once did to recover from exhaustion, nor did the weight of his form feel of burden and weight. Even as his trek led to the surface, he felt rejuvenated by its cold exterior, felt sustained by it's arid existence. Beneath the Mask of the Dead he adorned and the Robes of Flesh that encompassed him, he felt unfaltered. But this world had yet to completely accept him. Even as he climbed the stretch of stairs the led to its overlook, it whipped and battered at his form with ferocity unfathomable. And yet, he remained solid against its onslaught, the blinded Dictum sturdy as he climbed toward the spire's top. But what Dictum had failed to notice upon his climb was the wound upon which Inmortos had inflicted upon his soul, the voided crevasse he had clawed into its incorporeal form had left him a temporary weakness the world sought to exploit. And it would either end him or become a part of him in the end of his traverse. Like a beacon, he loomed an attraction toward the darkness that sought him out as the veil between the Living World and the Realm of Chaos thinned. And below and above him, the undead came to call, a final test of his resolve. Spirit turned to flesh and maws ached with hunger as the undead became corporeal with vengeance, destined to either feast upon his life or be bound to his will upon these steps that led to his rise or fall. Empowered by Aaris III, Dictum would find no allies this time around. Blades in hand, he stood at the ready, and at his back, the Darkness of Chaos swirled vigorously. (1 of 2)
  9. As an Assassin, Dictum's knowledge of the Dark Arts performed by the castes of Sith Sorcerers was vaguely limited and estimated. His own realm was that of the Shadows, Death, and Chaos, a realm that few walked with sanity and decree. For him to assume anything of the veils beyond was mere stipulation and guess-work. And so, it did not surprise him of the reality in which he had mistook. As Inmortos appeared behind him, he turned to greet the Sorcerer with a degree of respect and acclaim. But that held no extended pleasure as the Master's words etched themselves in his mind and in his soul. For Inmortos' own reality soon forged its self upon Dictum's own. And in that very moment, as two realities collided, his just reward was just that. And in its consummation, became more. As finger plunged flesh, the seeping of soulfrost encapsulating the puncture, Dictum found himself delving a deeper understanding of pain, fear, and gluttony as Inmortos scratched upon his soul. There were no words that could allow comprehension of what transpired, only a simple layman's term could give subtle hints as emotions swept at Dictum's mind and soul. For pain stood at the forefront, inconceivable pain that treated both consciousness and spirit, and in the moment, fear compared to deathly fright filled his mind with anguish and agony. But Dictum's soul was not without strength, and it stood welcoming as the revelation of power consumed his heart gluttonously. Even as his form trembled and his soul ached in pain and fear, an almost freezing paralysis station of being, deep within the soul that Inmortos touched, a deep well of hunger resided, threatening to consume both. Yet, as Inmortos' finger found its scarred crevasse, and with a single motion tore out a portion of Dictum's soul, the world trembled at its awakened power. And in its final moments, Dictum fell to all four. Gasping for air, Dictum's strength wavered immensely as his weak bones threatened to crumble beneath his weight. He coughed, then gagged, before ichor vomited from his mouth and his gaze struggled to watch the moments as they transpired. But his hunger remained, the gluttonous depravity lingering in his soul as he held onto his power. And as the dust settled figuratively and the rumbling stone settled physically, Dictum found strength to rise once again to his feet as the crystals sealed his wound. Hearing the movements beside him, Dictum's gaze turned toward the mummified remains as they lifted from their sleep with true revelation. Dictum had offered his soul, and in it's acceptance, the devil arose. Now the time to unleash hell grew even closer. And upon the precipice of Chaos, Dictum stood between two worlds. No longer was he a mere Assassin of the Sith. No, he had became more, a living blade that stood at Death's Door. And in his gaze, he saw his mission. He was to answer those who came to knock. He was to be the voice of Chaos. He was, is, Death's Divinity. He would sow it's seeds and reap it's harvest as Harbinger.
  10. The Force flowed so effortlessly upon the minds of all as the shadows withheld certain knowledge and presence, a blind man hidden within the veil he had placed upon each's eyes. And yet, just as effortlessly as he hid himself, Dictum did in return reveal himself at Inmortos' brief return. Draped in the skins of the undead as coagulated blood hung upon its form, Dictum stepped forth a new being of death and despair, a Lord of the Dark, bound by the Chaos he now represented wholeheartedly. Beneath the mask, his grin turned to a grimace, the being that was Solus so close to understanding the precipice he stood upon and yet had allowed the madness to forsake him just as so many before him had. Just as Ōk's own father had. Dictum silently wondered if Solus was but a mere reflection of himself, and yet, his mind spoke against this possible revelation, Chaos and Madness two separate realms within the same existence. Madness was the sole revelation of truth. Chaos was it's understanding and acceptance. Solus had yet to find its truth completely. In his Madness, he worshipped the seeds of Chaos rather than planting them. As the two began their ritual and departed, Dictum stretched out his hand and called forth to him the Blade of Inmortos, his hand nearly frozen completely upon its touch and burnt by its touch. But he flinched not a inch as he clipped it to his hip where the one he had gifted Akheron once resided and turned to make his own departure as the veil once again draped the eyes of all and his form seemed to disappate into the Shadows that engulfed him. For his mission was another moment of potential risk and reward, an aspect of eternity broken. His mission was to raise the God King of Death, and it would require a portion of blood and spirit. Heading from wince he had came, he returned to the Library where Inmortos' knowledge laid, the Guardian within revealing the crypt that housed Inmortos' true flesh and bone. For the revelation of the Library still hung upon his mind, the many realms that resided the focal of his power and thought. For the truth was that the library was the mind of Inmortos, an illusion created to hide the carcass of the Sith Master. With a humble bow, he spoke. "It is time for Lord Inmortos to rise as himself and not as a wraith of his power." Inmortos spoke, laying the Blade in the hand of the body found within as the Illusion was swept away by Dictum's own mind. Turning his blind gaze to the Guardian that had protected this tomb during their last visit, he finished. "Or should I say that you should rise?" Dictum grinned behind the mask that concealed his face, the holes that were made to reveal eyes flickering a somber gold as the revelation was spoken. It wasn't a hard one to figure out, for Aaris III was an extension of Inmortos' power, and everything there was forged from it. It only made sense that the crypt within the Illusion of the Library was Inmortos true form, and who better to hide this than the God King of Death, Inmortos himself. But why not return himself? Equivalent exchange. Inmortos was bound to this world. It required a soul for a soul. And if Inmortos was to truly be free of the portion of his soul he had bound to this world, then a portion of another would need to be offered willingly. This was the price Dictum had come to offer. A portion of his soul to the God King. A gift worth gifting.
  11. As Dictum stood beside @Bernon Mrrgwharr, he outstretched a single arm as @Solus began to taunt and belittle his Master, both disgusted and intrigued by the Shard's words. It was true that Apprentices must always rise above their Masters, most done so in the heat of battle or in the silence of the Shadows just as Dictum had done. But to hide behind persecution based on false religions felt trivial to Dictum at best. If Solus felt he had earned his Freedom, he should own it as his own and not the will of another. Still, it was not his place to judge nor interfere, for this was a matter between teacher and student, and this was why he had placed his arm before Bernon. His gaze shifted to the Warrior Apprentice with a grotesque nod of his disfigured face from @Karys Narat iv-Adas's rebirth before turning to the Sith Master with another. No words needed to be spoken. This was the way. This was what it meant to be Sith. Only a duel between the two would decide which stood correct. And yet, the arid air of Aaris III shifted in its current, an almost unnatural shift that rose above the usual that Inmortos had long given it. It was like adding black dye to a fount of blackened blood simply to darken it a degree more. Or seeing shadows shift about in the darkness of pitch black. You swear you could sense it, but cannot truly discern whether you had. This caused Dictum's sense to heighten onto a precipice of alertness out of instinct. And with it, an awareness. A blur of darkness managed to catch his mind's eye but a brief second before the ground of Aaris III erupted from beneath his feet, sending the Assassin reeling from his previous location. With but a brief second, twin diagonal cuts found themselves upon the beasts form as his form twisted and contoured away, a blackened ooze dripping from the two blades. The Sith Poison had been released. Landing upon the culminating snow, Dictum yelled but a frightening word to the others as the revelation of what they faced took hold of his delving. This beast was not to be trifled with and Dictum had already made the first strike. "Run!"
  12. As the heat of battle began to cool in the closing of the veil, the air became reminiscent of the soulfrost the hung upon the walls of Inmortos creations. Fog filled tomb and his breath visually hastened as his form threatened to tear itself asunder in every direction. In the eyes of the dead, his true form was undetectable, and for a brief second, fear could be found in its gaze until release found its way into the demon's heart and torment once again filled its soul. Blade removed from its skull, it fell lifeless upon the ground, the masque that it once wore in life falling upon the ground beside it and revealing the being that once hid behind it. Dictum bent down and grasped the mask, his mind's eye gazing upon the poor sod. So powerless. So refined to its own damnation created by its own machinations. Never had it truly grasped the concept that was Chaos, and never had it accepted Chaos as its own. That was its true damnation. Chaos swirled in Dictum's mind and guided his blades as he fileted small slivers of the dead's skin, first with the one he gazed upon, then upon the others until he held enough hide to fold away in his Satchel. And then he turned as the voice spoke and the elder of Inmortos was revealed. There was much respect given to the bound soul that was the caretaker of Inmortos' tomb and library, a remembrance of what sacrifice and liberties it forgave in order to hold such sway and power as it did. And so Dictum listened and understood as it gave their final orders and lifted them from its halls and into the reality of the Galaxy at large. Gazing upon the others, Dictum only gave a solemn nod before heading up the stairs that led to the world above. At least until another voice pierced the reality the resided within and threatened to grow them all mad. And with it, a presence he had to come to know all too familiarly. Tuning the screeches down, Dictum turned to Akheron and spoke. "Your Apprentice beacons." Folding the layers of the undead skin and placing them into his Satchel, Dictum turned back to the surface. There was semblance of music to the shard's screams, or at least to the Miralukian's ears of Chaos, that was how it came to be perceived. But as the trio crossed the threshold above, Dictum saw the abomination he had conjured as his gaze peered across the landscape. With open arms, he yelled across the surface toward Solus. "Welcome!
  13. Before Akheron could finish his sentence, Dictum's lightsaber ignited and found its self thrown in the direction of the Master's hand as the Blackened Shadows sprung his crown and cloaked his form. The weak one's sought the Sith Master and Dictum was guilty by association as his hands sought and firmly reverse gripped the Shanto Sith Swords. If the souls of Chaos sought to reclaim Akheron, then they would have to shatter the Lord's decree and to do so would invoke his judgement. His grotesquely disfigured face smirked at such a thought, the weaker souls of Chaos seeking to place him as judge, jury, and executioner of their eternal damnation and he immediately reacted. Influential was the Cloak of Lies that engulfed his form, even for the minds of spirits and his presence became their own as he traced across the distance between Chaos and the mortal realm and as the ghoulish prisoners of Chaos sought out Akheron, Dictum's blades sought them. Before the illusion of the Cloak of Lies could be discerned by their stagnant minds, souls felt the piercing cold of darkness and steel as the blades sought to return them to the afterlife. To the average onlooker, it would appear that ghoul fought ghoul as the Cloak of Lies settled its spell upon the unprotected mind amidst the onslaught of Chaos. But for those versed in mental protection or in the Force, Dictum's true form would be visible from beneath the shadows. Blade shattered rotted bone and tore through stagnant flesh as Ghoul fell after Ghoul to his Sithly Blades, the gluttony for souls and the lust for blood echoing from their starved steel as they met the undead in a ravenous dance, empowered by the Sith Lord known as Dictum in his decree that Akheron would stay. An unholy mixture of the bound Chaos within Dictum swirled with the Darkness that plagued and corrupted the Force he bound to his will as he kept up the facade and honed his attacks with each passing blinded ghoul failed to seek him out. And upon his face, beneath the blackened Cloak, steam seemed to erupt through his bloodied cheek, a mixture of the blackened blood of the ghouls and his own as he lapped at it with it determination. There was true happiness upon his gaze. All that remained was for Inmortos to close the torn veil to Chaos and for the others to finish off the souls that sought Akheron. But in the meantime, Dictum was having the time of his life, completely unaware of Aaris III had gifted him.
  14. As Akheron reached out for his hand, Dictum grasped the Tsis' forearm like a brother, clinched and strong as he felt Inmortos' pull from the netherrealm of Chaos, his spirit and mind being torn back to the realm of the living as he clenched the wraith's soul tightly in their binding. There was honor in the Tsis' words that came naturally across the mind, words that rang true within the depths of Chaos. If Akheron had truly chosen a rival in @Sandy Sarna, it was his duty to strengthen them just as it was their duty to strengthen him. There was no higher honor for such an enemy. As Dictum's mind crossed the threshold back to the realm of the living, the Chaos that had bound a part of its self to his soul remained within him just as a portion of his soul remained in Chaos, not simply an essence of words nor of flattery, but out of necessity for one to have walked within its realms as a mortal. For the truth of Chaos was a lifelong understanding that things live and things die just as eternity truly holds an end with its beginning. In the madness, there is clarity. Destruction is the natural order of things. Settling within his form, visions of the mortal realm returned and Chaos grew silent upon the wind of Aaris III just as everything did, a precipice world upon the veil that lingers between the Galaxy and the after. Inmortos' chanting grew into an otherworldly screech as hands departed their grasps and some flesh of the Death King remained within his grasp as the Master feel upon the tombs floor within his convulsions, the aura of Sith Magic rippling like waves upon nearby shores as it pounded upon the cliffs. With the understanding of Chaos still fresh upon his mind, Dictum began to understand his place amongst these Keepers of the Dark. Shifting his gaze toward the flailing Sith Master, Dictum felt an unknowing pain encompass the front portion of his form, causing his gaze to quickly shift forward as the Boiling Blood exploded from the sarcophagus with a fine mist, Akheron's form revealed from beneath its wake briefly before anger, rage, gluttony, and illusion wrapped around his mind like primordial ooze as it set his mind and soul aflame. It's sting was unlike any he had ever felt before, including that of a lightsaber, and it seemed to barrow deep within his form like acid across his flesh. And as Blood mixed with Blood, the trio became an unholy baptismal within the confines of Inmortos' realms. Before Dictum's mind succumbed to the madness of the unholy baptismal, he could feel his blood explode from the blisters that erupted from the scalded blood before burrowing down deep into the marrow of his weakened bones. And then Darkness took him. Darkness is as Darkness does, this unholy trinity born from the blood bathed baptismal, without ryhmn nor reason. Like the Force, it holds a will of its own, and it's will was meant to bind these three Lords together. Distorted thoughts flashed before his mind's eyes, thoughts from the minds of @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Krath Inmortos flooding his mind in utter madness that neither could be told from the other until it formed a swirling vortex of multiple identities, a barrage of Chaos and Madness that left one feeling beyond comphrehensionable and utterly mad. And from that vortex of madness, for Dictum, came twin presences bound not only in flesh, but in spirit as he could feel Ahkeron and Inmortos within his own skin. And as conscious returned, Dictum stood up scarred and disfigured. Part of Dictum's face dripped upon the floor where he stood, revealing the muscle and bone beneath. Skin stuck to cloth where holes were now present and the flesh beneath melted like butter. Blood oozed from his wounds and cloth drizzled down like heated icing upon his once angelic cake of a form. But this didn't bother Dictum, nor did he feel pain as he typically would. No. He felt almost joyous, rejuvenated even, as he stood before the others grotesque and deformed. For he was bounded to these two, eternally. In his chaotic mind, this meant he was among them. He was truly Sith. Offering both his hands to them, one to Akheron and the other to Inmortos, he smirked. What was Chaos' plan in this? Or did it even have one?
  15. A smile crept across Dictum's face at the mention of eternal damnation, a pleasure found within the prospects as an Avatar of the Darkness creeping up his spine akin to the common description of fear. And yet, he did not understand why nor did he know where the pleasure span from. Only that it drove a sense of euphoria across his form and within his mind's eye at such a subtle mention, almost as if he had succumbed to such a fate subconsciously. Still, such praise from a Master like Inmortos was a pleasure in its own right. Taking Inmortos' fileted hand within his own, and Bernon's in his other, the triage began to meld their minds upon the plane of death, using Inmortos' knowledge and skill as a precipice to a realm where only Death could normally transport them. He could sense each's own experience upon this plane of existence, separate from his own and intertwined. It was as if each experienced this place upon different levels despite the realm existing separate from the one they remained as their minds traversed the veil. For Inmortos, it was familiar as the skin that rotted his corpse or the cold that enveloped his form. His knowledge was secretive, and yet, he allowed brief respite for their immatured mind's to follow his. For Bernon, it was excitement and wonder, something akin to Dictum's own, but newborn. There was even a hint of miscontrol. But for Dictum, this realm of hellfire and brimstone was adjusted to his own, something familiar and yet chaos sustained it. Almost like looking at the real world through the looking glass of the darkened abyss. It felt intrusive, like the realm sought to claim him. Dictum almost welcomed it. It was not known whether Inmortos or Bernon could feel what was transpiring within Dictum as his presence flowed through the veil between the two realms, but as his mind's eye stepped through the boundary that separated the two, a part of the realm bound within him and he within it. There was chaos that shifted in his existence and he into the chaos. And for a brief moment, the hunger for power turned from lust into gluttony. Dictum's smile only widened at this moment and the chaos shimmered an eerie yellow where his eyes would have been. "So this is the decree of Chaos, the truth of the Darkness." Dictum spoke in near silence as his mind settled on the plane, his form standing amidst the storm of heat and damnation. "This is the knowledge Inmortos understands. That for every beginning there is an end, and nothing holds exemption to this law. Interesting." As Bernon's taunts began, Dictum's mind wandered the realm and its existence. A communal between the Sith Lord and his destination. His true homeworld, just as it was for all those who understood the Darkness. Only those with weakness in their hearts could be bound to its damnation. But not he. Not Inmortos. Not Akheron. Perhaps even, Bernon once he understood the lesson of this hell. For in Chaos, they were Kings. It was its will they were bound to. And in their bindings to it, that freedom from the mortal realm was ensnared. That was their purpose, to sow the seeds of Chaos and allow its reach into the beyond. As pleasant as his time here was, he still came here with a mission and his mind turned back to the task at hand. He was here for Akheron, to break free the Sith Master from his prematurely placement within their homeworld. As Bernon passed Dictum with Akheron upon his heels, the Sith Lord intervened. "Lord Akheron, calm yourself." Dictum's voice came across bold and near degrading as he stepped between the two's chase. "His taunts were to gather your attention, nothing more. And now that we have it, his job is done and mine now begins." Dictum smirks as the yellowish orange glow shimmers beneath his veil, enlightening the grin that encompasses his face as he stands firmly in intent, a single hand outstretched to stop the Sith Master in his tracks, forcefully if need be. Forget what transpired upon Falleen. Whatever defeat transpired is no longer of consequence. We understood that it may have happened even before you departed. Let the Sovereign have it." Dictum let his words billow across the realm as his focus fell upon Akheron and his demeanor. "A defeat is a defeat. Falleen was a trivial world and your defending it unsanctioned by our Dark Lady. This was your punishment for allowing your rage and wrath to beacon its own will. A punishment that you have paid. And now it's your time to return to the mortal realm and depart Chaos." Dictum's outstretched hand now turned its palm up, a hand offered to the Sith Master's own. "Come brother. There is much to do. Chaos beacons us to return and prepare. Your weakness over Falleen has now given you a lesson to be learnt. And you must learn it in order to truly grasp its transgression. Take my hand, return to the mortal realm, and grow from this. This is Chaos' will."
  16. The Shadows that engulfed the hovering book amplified as Dictum touched the final page, an entry made as finger touched parchment, essence scrying letter that formed a singular name within the binds of its existence. That name was Ōk Rägnär, Lord Ōk Rägnär of House Räk. It was in that moment the realization of what this tome entombed finally made its name known, and it had called to entomb Dictum's soul. For here, within this blackened realm, came the Darkened Truth of Poisonous Lies. Knowledge in this realm was beyond maddening, a realm of whole truths presented as half lies, capable of seeping into the mind and retracting memories and experiences into truly nightmarish doubts. To truly grasp the lie from truth, one had to accept the truth as a lie. And for Dictum, this was a wound cut deep as it came to claim his existence. Removing his fingers from the forging of his name upon the fabricated parchment, memories and experiences he knew differently began to distort and become reimaged within his mind. Subtle at first, it went unnoticed. A shoe that didn't exist, or was separate from the truth, appeared within a different time. Words that weren't spoken became spoken, and people who existed became forgotten. But then it grew more noticeable as Dictum stood amongst the shadowed darkness, it's form threatening to entomb his frozen body as it snaked around it as a cocoon. Memories of his Father became palatable. There was almost enjoyment in his time with the man who later be known as Rägnūs. But Dictum's body began to physically reject these alterations, his skin pale and clammy as his heart raced and his temperature rose. He felt the need to regurgitate despite the pleasantry he found in his recollections, recollections he held no need to recall. Something didn't feel right to him about any of it. And yet, he remained fixated. For @Bernon Mrrgwharr in the outside world, none of this would be visable. Only the tome as it hovered above the alter shaking in its place as eruptions of shadows billowed outward from its pages like a caldron's simmering brew. And every now and then, an electric charge shifted across its surfaces. Within, however, it was a different visage. Dictum stood in place amidst the blackened shadows of it's netherrealm, his form nearly draped within the shadows that consumed him as his face stood emotionless and in silence. Atop his head encircled the source of its charge, playing at his memories, as he grew lost to its empowering suggestions. But Dictum was not gone. Not yet at least. And inhis unconscious encounter, he had began to notice its bindings upon his external form. Despite the echoes of the corruption that sought out his existence, his very existence depended on the truths of these memories it proceeded to taint. It sought to break Dictum by suggestion an alternative Ōk Rägnär, but Dictum had existed within Ōk Rägnär far longer. His anger, his hate, his pain. This was Ōk Rägnär's High Dictum, his High Decree. It was the essence of Ōk Rägnär, for he was Dictum and Dictum he. And as the tomes context pushed its self, Dictum pushed back, two memories becoming one. His core temperature was raising dangerously high, his pale skin turning a brightening red across his cheeks as his form sweated amidst the encompassing veil of shadows as only half his face remained visible. And as the memory of how Ōk became Dictum, consciousness returned completely. For it was a memory retained by the unconscious psyche of the soul, and one that could not be altered. It wasn't a day. It wasn't a place or time. Nor was it a true experience. It was a moment of emotion, a moment of the most primordial hate and disgust. It was the moment Ōk let himself become the darkness that resided within, the moment he struck the match that burnt down his childhood home and the servants within. It was his exile from Alpheridies, self imposed. In that singular night, he destroyed his father's legacy and left behind that name, tarnished and revealed. It was he that ousted his father as Sith and in doing so, himself. As the emotion of the moment boiled to a head, Dictum's conscious woke to the truth of his existence and the moment of revelation. His power expanded across the abysmal void he found himself trapped within, fighting against the veil of lies that threatened to engulf him. So this was the tome's lesson. A grin crept across the visible part of his face as he began to bind the shadow to himself like a cloak. In his acceptance of the lie, he found the truth. For in his hunt for power, he had found it within himself. Neither a tome nor path could forge what he was. He was Sith for one reason and one reason alone. The being that was Ōk Rägnär died along with those of House Räk and Dictum was born from the smoldering darkness that remained from its extinished flame. With that revelation, the Tome exploded in an intensely charged explosion of electricity that spanned the air around the tome's former location, shattering the Alter to rubble and Dictum emerged within it's stead, draped in a flowing Cloak of Shadows that bore an eerie presence of absolute suggestiveness, a grin upon his face as the memories of the tome settled upon his psyche. As the shadows subsided into his crown, he stepped toward the Apprentice. His prize had been won. The Cloak of Lies had become his own and suggestion had became his domain. As an Assassin, this would be a valuable tool. Amongst the masses, he would be but a specter.
  17. It's unfathomable for the Eternal to understand Mortality and in the instance their combined powers drove this concept into the doors before them, like sands upon the dunes of Tatooine, they blew from existence and into nothingness. Dictum rose from his burdened kneel, gathering himself for what laid ahead in the darkened library. For his mind's eye, it was shapeless, like an eternal abyss and very similar to the doors they had just trampled upon. Even as he stepped forward, grains of the shattered doors fell to the cobblestone like dust and he attempted to peer into the abysmal Library just as @Bernon Mrrgwharrdid. At first it appeared as a tomb, cold and crepid, with a singular tomb at its center. Out of the corner of his mind's eye, he thought he felt the presence of death upon them and quickly made him react. But as his foot fell into the room, the room lit with blue flames that emitted no heat, and the hall of the library was revealed where the tomb once sat, a table now taking its humbled place. Cautiously, Dictum stepped completely into the abyss that was Inmortos library as a voice of warning cautioned in the air. "Take what you have earned and nothing more, for death keeps it's promise." It echoed not in the recesses of the room, but in their minds as the hollowed library filled with mounds of ancient scrolls, books, holocrons, and tomes presented it's self to them, materializing before them as they drew into its domain. Behind them as they entered, the skeletal presence that Dictum felt returned to its rightful place and the doors rematerialized behind them. For they had stepped into the heart of the darkness, and in the darkness, they were unbound. Dictum turned to Bernon, his face partially horrified and partially mesmerized as he spoke cautiously. "Heed the Dark One's words. I feel if we do not, then we will not proceed any farther." Amidst the cobblestone, cobwebs, mounds of strewn books, parchment, scrolls and a few eerily glow holocrons that littered shelves and tables sat at the back three alters with ancient writing that even Dictum could not translate. Atop them were ancient tomes dedicated to each of the paths that formed the unholy trinity. Dictum stepped atop the stairs that led to them, his mind's eyes gazing upon each as he transcribed their intentions and purpose. The first was one bound in undying and sown together flesh, an mortal eye upon its center and bound with skeletal fingers that clasped its spine together. In an eerie voice, shallow and undead, it spoke. "I am the Way of the Dark. Do you wish to know my knowledge Sorcerer?" Dictum shook his head as he looked upon the second, a tome bound in steel and soaked in blood, a lock upon it's covering that ached for blood, it's center not fit for a key, but for a price of the finger. In a daring voice, it questioned. "Do you dare bleed for my secrets, Warrior, and know the Chronicles of the Bladeborn?" Dictum again shook his head and shifted his gaze briefly to Bernon. Was this the treasure that the Apprentice sought? It certainly seemed to fit his rage and prowess. But this was not the treasure that Dictum sought, so he shifted his gaze to the third. Stepping up to the third Alter, a simple book bound only by blackened shadow that seemed to boil and percolate upon its surface, it seemed to almost instantly resonate with Dictum in a way he had never felt before, almost as if it called not to his mind, but to his soul. And as he reached out his hand to open the silent book, it opened for him and Dictum found himself swallowed by its darkness. Sucked into a realm where neither sound, smell, sight, or thought transpired, he was trapped within the knowledge the book held so secretly. Names appeared, shifting through countless pages, and upon the last of the pages that was perceived by his mind, a single unattained entry remained blank. As Bernon was left alone in the Library and his own devices, Dictum reached out to touch that blank entry.
  18. Dictum's hand reached out as he inflicted his mind upon the Force, his will upon it twisted and demented as he bound its currents to his gaze. To see it's flow was to see a tapestry of it's natural will, strings connected to reveal the path of fate and destiny. But Dictum was not Jedi. He did not care for neither fate nor destiny, for they were both his to control and weave how he saw fit. And in the center of its mass, woven amidst an eternity of other threads, he found the ones that connected Bernon and himself, threads woven together intricately amidst the canvas that was the Galaxy. Placing his will upon it, he attempted to use his power and influence upon it, to divine mortality to the immortal of eternity, and latch its will to his own. For Bernon, it would be a painful experience, bearable and yet inflicted. He would feel Dictum's mind within his own, thoughts of alien origin fluttering within his own and power he had yet to earn coursing his form. It would feel unnaturally right, and yet, feel as if his form could not contain it. And then would come memories he remembered and some he didn't as they flooded his mind in random intervals, like a movie skipping across the holoscreen out of order. But they were his memories, broken as they may be, and they sought to enrage and empower him. And they would surge, amplifying with each new memory, threatening to break his mind and body against the fits of rage he would feel as Dictum plucked each memory carefully. For in order to contain a power of a Lord, Bernon would need to grow. Across the way, the Eternal Doors began to rattle, their bindings threatening to bend and break. The doors swayed in their swelling, like a chest expanding to filling lungs. Unholy mist began to creep from the cracks in its seal, the temperature dropping around them as their breaths became visual. But it remained closed, shutting against their attempt as the fabric of eternity could find no mortality against their combined power. And in a brief fit of anger, Dictum's power swelled even more within Bernon and threatened to rip his mind asunder, a brief memory of his own encasing the Apprentice's mind. For Bernon, he would feel a brief exponential increase of power swelling within him as the memories he was viewing faded to black and a memory he did not know came into view. His body felt internally hot, almost boiling as the power rolled across his form, and he see a younger Dictum in the reflection of a mirror. Dictum, a boy no older than thirteen, sat staring at the bruising of his face and blood upon his nose and mouth. In the background, over his shoulder and out of sight could be heard a voice belittling the child for having lost a fight. The words were hard to make out, only the sinister laughter erupting afterwards. But the rage and hate within was powerfully real. And so was the pain as Dictum reached up and reset his nose. But in this memory, it's sight was not like his own, his vision distorted by what could only be described as white snow upon a static filled screen. And as the screen became a deep red, he could the pain as Dictum turned to face his father and feel the Force flow through him into his Father as his form was thrown unexpectedly. This was the moment Dictum first touched the Force in truth and decree, filled with anger and hate and the feeling of murderous intent. The Force flowed so easily through Dictum at this age, his use of it to guide his sight having long become a bridge between his helplessness and his empowerment. And if Bernon paid close enough attention, he could feel how easily it did. But the aftermath felt draining, like added weight across his entire form, and the frailty of his form nearly buckled to the taxation of it. As Dictum's mind reeled away from this shared memory, it's existence would remain a part of Bernon, its teaching a simple and yet useful exchange. Bernon may have accessed the Force before, but now he could understand how easily it can be wielded. He simply had to hold a strong enough intent in it's use. "Let's try this again." Dictum spoke allowed, his voice of disappointment in the shared memory evident despite the relaxed tone it carried. "I think I know where I went wrong." This time would be different for Bernon, not so much focused upon his memories, but upon an illusion created by Dictum within Bernon's mind. As Dictum's presence returned, the pain from before was limited in intensity. It wasn't as strong as before, but it still lingered. Instead, Bernon saw before him the doors they stood before. And in the door he saw his Limnal Blade stick forth, it's blade wedged between the clasp of its meeting where both doors came together. He couldn't help but feel drawn to retrieve it, unsure how it got there, but that it was meant to open these eternal doors. But each time Bernon would take a step toward them, they would recede from his form, becoming an endless loop of chasing a door he couldn't get close to in order to retrieve the blade given by Inmortos. As Dictum stood at the rear behind Bernon, his power flowing through the threads that conjoined the two within the Force, this illusion held two aspects to play out. One would give the Apprentice the sense of eternity that Dictum had come to understand, but also play upon his darker desires to please Inmortos and rise as his Apprentice. If Bernon could employ his rage within the Force, allowing his will to intertwine with it in order to retrieve the Blade from these receding doors, then perhaps these two could bind mortality to the eternal and break it's seal. But he had to be quick, for Dictum's power was beginning to falter. The illusion was eating away at his power, and without it, Dictum would revert to the frail being he truly was. For without the Force, his bones would shatter from his own weight. ((2)) ((Essentially, Bernon, Dictum has granted you a memory of how to access the Force through your character's own intent. It won't be strong, but Dictum will implore his own once you access it to grasp the blade within the illusion he's manifested in Bernon's head. Release his rage to chase the doors grasping your blade, and in your character's scream, we will release the concept of mortality into the door through fear. That's the concept I'm working with at least.))
  19. To truly understand what it was like to see as Dictum did, a being capable to sight would fall first into madness within an eternal darkness, stumbling and fidgeting around blindly before their exterior senses would bond and become an interior sense of sight. Sound, smell, taste, and feel would become amplified by the eternal darkness in which would have originally hindered their ability to perceive. The outside world where even the slightest light shown one's surroundings would become images within the darkness, the brain processing it by memory of a memory that was never held. And yet even then, it was but a mere grasp at the edges. For in the darkened abyss of the mind, one could be lost forever. That was the first to be overcome. Then you must personify the Force as one's eyes. For in the darkness of the mind, senses only paint an immediate picture. There is no depth nor shading. It simply is what you believe it to be. But in the Force, false beliefs are torn asunder and truth is bound by decree, and in that very aspect, depth and reality must be understood. For all Miralukians, this is a divine truth, and what is revealed by the mind's eye is simply what is. There is no description. There is no explanation. It is simply existence within the voided and darkened abyss of the mind. It is truth. And while truth can be manipulated just as sight, it is more complex. You have to bend reality in its existence rather than the mind. A lesson learnt from this unholy encounter. Lifting his gaze upon the door that appeared, Dictum sighed a breath of relief as he released the Force from his bindings and stepped forward into the next room. As he did, the fire that once lit the room where he stood smoldered away and the room returned to as it was, untouched and unfettered. His gaze shifted first from @Bernon Mrrgwharr to the steeled door and then back to the Apprentice as he gave a respecting nod at the man's own survival before canvassing the room which he had stepped into. Unlike the room prior, this room held an aura of eternity, a existence that even Dictum held a hard time conceiving. Visually, within his mind's eye, it was as any other room. But in presence, it felt stretched for miles in every direction with no end to attain. And to gaze upon the doors themselves was blanketed by a veil. To Dictum, it was nearly unfathomable and disorienting, causing Dictum to feel almost as if he could not quite grasp at its reality, at its truth. And for a being who saw through the Force, it was a blinding experience unlike any other. A blinding of the Darkness where reality and fiction blurred into a canvas of deafening blackness. Stepping forward once more, he placed a weary hand upon the steeled door, trying to discern what it was he was witnessing. "You will need to be my eyes upon this one, Apprentice." Dictum spoke, accepting the fact that he was weakened by his own misunderstanding. "I cannot grasp this reality nor it's truth. It's magic is beyond my comprehension." Eternity wasn't a concept that could be seen by any Miralukian even if they understood the concept behind it. For eternity was visually unattainable, it's concept a thing of words and not sight. To truly see eternity would mean the end. For eternity was everything and nothing, time and space, beginning and end, alpha and omega, yin and yang, light and dark. So many concepts to explain a singular abstract that could not be perceived. It could never be seen, not even by the likes of Dictum's kin. Any yet, Dictum could glimmer a small canvas of it as he attempted to comprehend, a sudden understanding of its reality. For eternity has always been and will always be. It was primordial in nature, basked in nothing, an endless loop of infinite. It was deeper than the abyss it was confined within. It was darkness. And as his gaze studied it's truth deeper, it fractured. Not the concept, but the visual truth of eternity. It was chaos, madness, and blindness. It was neither good nor evil. It simply was and wasn't. And in the moment of comprehension, it was nothing. For in that moment, Dictum comprehended absolute nothingness. Like wind blowing upon an existence of sand, it fluttered away into nothingness. Complete and utterly blindness with no sense of reality and a complete understanding of existence. For existence was a moment of time, and yet, for eternity, time was irrelevant and held no meaning. It simple did not exist for eternity and therefore nothing within it existed. It was death, or the concept of death, for everything. A smirked adorned Dictum's face as the revelation came to his truth. Dictum reeled backwards in absolute pain, his mind threatening to be torn apart as blood dripped from his veiled eyelets and he grasped at the sides of his head. It was almost too much to bare. Almost too much for his mind to comprehend. And for a brief second, his body mimicked the reality of what he witnessed within the frozen doors of eternity. As he stepped back in his reeling, his very existence seemed to tear asunder, his form splitting in every direction as he flickered in and out of his reality, almost as if his convergence of existence threatened to flicker into separate existences. And yet, bound by his one true existence, he managed to remain whole and sane as he shut his mind's eye closed. "Open your mind to me, Bernon of Inmortos. I think I know how we will open these doors." He spoke as he regained himself, disheartening breaths threatening to consume and smother his existence as he gasped for air. "But I mind you. It will be painful for us both, you moreso than I. " There was only one path to break the reality of eternity, and that was the reality of time. It would take everything they both possessed and be pushed past for it to work, but Bernon would have to be it's focal point. It would require Dictum's growth of its understanding and his power over the mind with Bernon's existence to bind these doors to the reality of time and make them finite. Then and only then, could these doors know its own existence and know its purpose. It was the only way. Standing up, Dictum gazed at Bernon. Could this Apprentice withstand the reality of what would transpire? Or would he perish to the finite of infinity? "Do you dare defy the chains that bind you? ((1))
  20. Failure filled his mind as he stepped across the precipice of reality into the veiled room of illusionary, Dictum's own curiosity taking a brief hold as he explored the room. As cold and stagnant as the lab seemed to be, it held the remnants of life as concoctions boiled and chemicals bubbled within vats and cauldrons, fresh lit fires still burning atop the engulfed coals. And yet, at the moment, it seemed a dead end, anger boiling within the Assassin as he found no other exit and turned to leave. But the entrance was gone, and panic set in atop the anger, fear returning as the mind lost its composure. Echoing in the back of his mind, the laughter of those whom spoke of his weakness teased at his reality, lost and locked away. His mind reacted as it would, fighting for logic amongst the realms of possibilities when Sith were concerned, but lost in the predetermined mindset of death and despair as his hands coursed the walls where the entrance once existed. And yet, it looked and felt just as the reality of the door he walked through did just moments before. His mind devolving into a primitive state, it was only natural that he sought to fight his way out, the scrapping and sparking of the Sith Swords against the stone and clay, even the illuminating of his lightsaber striking at what should have been logical resistance. Yet, it looked and felt impervious even to its plasma blade. And despite the severity of the moment he now found himself within, he continued his assault unrelenting, as if a mere strike would set him free. Time was both fleeting and stagnant within this realm he found himself trapped away in, and as the moments both rolled by and remained stationary, he could feel the hastening of his heart and the boiling of his blood as the reality of it all began to slowly set in. His mind spoke of his predicament and believed in it wholeheartedly even as the improbability of such an existence slowly began to fade away. And as time progressed even further, the feeling of suffocation became prominent, his chest tight and his throat swollen as he realized the chemicals in here had nowhere else to go. This was the moment when Dictum devolved completely in the moment, death apparent within his mind as the truth of the moment encapsulated his thought process. In his depravity and condemnation, he acted like and became nothing more than a wild beast begging for salvation. Failure was not the only thing that plagued his thoughts now, for death felt immanent and close. And in the moment of his desperation, a voice echoed within the vault that begged to be his tomb. Actions ceased, and illogical thoughts filled the void as he looked back into the dimly lit room with sweat beaded upon his brow and a gaze of lunacy found upon his veiled face. His mind questioned the truth of this reality, of whom had conversed. And yet, it could not grasp it with loosened hands. There was no one there, a presence of non-existence no where to be found. Only madness. And in the madness, a madness of his own. Joining the orchestra of laughter that pounded in his head, Dictum resolved to laugh at his own expense, even as the dead around him revolved in collection. The presence of his Father, Mother, Master, and Kin, all encircling him as he found brief solace in their existence. Even the souls of those he had killed, whether for survival or for monetary gain, all had came out to play. Hands grasped at his tainted robes and pulled at his hair as the dead beckoned him to join them, and Dictum could feel the madness of his failure aching for him to given in. And in that moment, he felt the urge to give up and let the darkness swallow him whole. And in the end, he did, as his mind became utterly blind to his surroundings and all sound faded away. And for a brief moment, the Darkness and he were as one. He had became the Abyss. Anger, fear, resolve, all fell away like stripped clothing. And as the abyss, he stared devilishly back. A presence within the netherrealm was felt and his mind exploded outward as feeling return to his form. It wasn't anger that he expressed, nor was it fear. It was determination that reverberated from his voice as it shook the room with all its power, vats exploding and chemicals igniting as his voice yelled a deafening scream. This was Dictum's decree, his utter truth. If he was invite death upon his existence, like Inmortos, he would personify it first. He was a blade of the Darkness, a being without remorse. And despite his love for those he once cherished, he would shed such weakness in his final hour and truly hold no regrets. If he was to die here, he would take the presence with him. They both would perish amidst the flames, and he would command the Lich's Armies in the afterlife as one of his own. With the Force at his will, his death would become a funeral pyre that would burn away as resistance. If this being wanted to claim his soul, it would find that he would claim it instead, and offer it up to Inmortos with no benefit, solely to repay what end he had met. With his mind's eye, this presence would know his power, the threads of fate his to command. For he was Darth Dictum, Lord of Decree and Truth, no matter how painful it was to bare. ((3))
  21. The lairs of Sith were dangerous existences even long after their Master's demise, concoctions of the Force, Sorcery, and Power. And this undercroft was no different, the very air threatening to pluck your soul and add to its collection as the wails of misery and torment echoed softly within its chambers. And here, Dictum, Lord of Decree and Desecration, stood upon its precipice. Reluctance was a word rarely used with the Hybrid, but here, the atmosphere beckoned such emotions. He couldn't help but feel his own amplified by it. With a subtle gulp, Dictum stepped into the Maze's front chamber and past the ashened doors. To say that loathing drizzled from the walls of this place was an understatement, a netherrealm below a plane of existence that tore upon one's fear and self doubt as natural as the being within took a breath. This realm sat upon the throne of death and it mirrored its Master. And as bold of a mortal as Dictum was, he was but a fearful child within its presence. And as fearful as he stood, he knew this path was the only one to power, to his place amongst those he had long sought out. And as the pathways presented themselves, along with the ethereal souls that enforged the wisps, Dictum's mind turned back to his own dreadful past. A child of impure blood upon Alpheridies, homeworld to the Miralukian and Luka Sene, Dictum's life was one of frailty and isolation. A bastard son of a Senator within the Republic, he faced a world that shunned him in every possible way, locked away for an existence he neither asked nor cared for. And in the mirrors of his home, the reflection of a Mother he never knew. Abandoned by her death, and his father's disregard, he had only the servants to look after him. And yet, a glimmer of hope would emerge as he grew. Not in strength, but in power, as he began to notice a relative ease within the Force that called to him. It started off small at first, seeing images in other rooms, hearing conversations from across the mansion. But soon he could influence items to his hand with very little thought. This would draw his Father's attention toward him, and in that, set Dictum upon the path to please his father. When the Republic fell, and Dictum's father was revealed as Darth Ragnus publicly after his death, the Luka Sene began hunting Dictum and forced the young Apprentice into fleeing his homeworld alone. Weak, on the run, and barely any money to his name after his family's fortune was frozen, Dictum began his search for the Sith, for this moment he stood upon the precipice of. And though it would lead him to the weak Master that taught him the ways of the Darkness, his mission continues still. His thoughts traversing the distance from the past to the presence, he watched as @Bernon Mrrgwharr took the first pathway, and subconsciously, Dictum hated him for it. Even as Dictum stood there, strucken by fear and lost in his past, the man before him had gathered enough gall to step forward when he could not. Clinching his fist to sturdy his trembling hand as the man turned back to see Dictum, the self proclaimed Sith Lord, had yet to take a step, and he felt teased. He felt his own patheticness. A sense of pride welled up within him, and he darted his gaze upon the set of stairs off to the right lingering behind the softened glow the spirits gave off in their illumination. He would not be outdone. He would finish this maze first and prove his worthiness in praise. He was not like those who trained him. He was not weak despite his appearance. Rage would still the fear that enthralled him as he rose the spiral case leading upward, the crimson of his now ignited blade illuminating the path onward. This voidful abyss he had chosen seemed wrong by all means, leading from the stairs to partial collapsed tunnels where his small form barely found room to fit as he traversed deeper in. But yet, in his rage and pride, he could not accept that he had chosen poorly. Even as the lingering ice and frost threatened to steal his life, Dictum held on by bending this stagnant and putrid Force to his will, pushing himself ever forward into whatever damnation awaited him. He would not fail. If he did, he would prove right every person who deemed him unworthy. His mother, whom gave up on him the day he came into this Galaxy.... His father, whom only found a brief respite of potential in him before abandoning him when that promise wore out... His Master, Darth Sanguine, whom called him weak with his last breaths before chuckling away into hell as Dictum slew his Master for the Rank of Lord.... The Galaxy, whom condemned him a life of persecution and frailty, isolating him because he had been born a hybrid of Miralukian and Echani bloodlines and cursing him to sickness... Only in the Darkness did Dictum find the strength to survive. Only in the Darkness was Dictum able to thrive. It was in this power that he recieved the blessing to push not only his body through his challenges, but overcome and rise above them. And here and now, he would surpass even the doubt within his mind, lest he deserved the fate granted by failure. And yet, as he entered the room of sorcery and alchemy, all he could hear echoing in the backdrop of his mind were the echoing laughter he heard all his life. Turning about, panic set in. Had he truly failed? ((2))
  22. To descend upon the arid world of Aaris III was akin to descending both into madness and decay, a turmoil world both of the few living and the dead as Inmortos had pointed out. And simply to step out upon the precipice of such a descent was thought ludicrous. Yet, here these two souls stood and marched, intent to delve deeply into its interior and face the machinations of its corrupted creation. That act alone, was maddening of itself and the world that beckoned them to be recieved bellowed within. The Citadel portion, Dictum had encountered on his climb to greet Inmortos. But the Ziggurat below was an unknown and frozen terrain that he had yet to venture, and as the world began its turn to the darkness of night and the temperature began its own descent, the very air around them began to crystallize and fall, like lost souls condemned to the Corellian Hells spoken often by the Elders across the Galaxy. The very presence of the air felt sinister and decrepit. Nightfall upon Aaris III was a different beast indeed, and it plagued even a Lord such as Dictum. Undeterred, he cautiously continued. He studied Bernon as the man made his pace, watching his thoughts and actions as he painted a sculpture of his intent upon the canvas of the Force, some more pronounced than the others, and some harder to ledger. But with the right keys to every puzzle, any can be figured out without an entirety to behold. He could sense his own endeavor, his right to belong. Similar to Dictum in alot of ways, even if Dictum had long walked the path he had just begun. As his breath frosted amidst the snow and wails, he could help but feel a kinship with the man amidst the peril they sought. After all, some of his questions poised upon his mind's eye was similar to one's Dictum himself wondered. And yet, Dictum held a truth he thought he knew. As an Assassin of the Sith, he understood variables were always at play. It was one of the many things Sith sought to control and bind. To bend the very fabric of fate to their will so that it would be done. But what good is controlling variables if self control isn't? He thought this would set the Sith Order under Calypso apart, her first decree one of patience and rebuilding. Yet, for centuries, even amongst the mortal years of great eras long forgotten, the Jedi and Sith counterbalanced one another in infinite combat, like the turning of the suns and moons that enveloped so many worlds. Was there a variable that couldn't be counted and weighed? A variable that couldn't be controlled? He had often wondered upon this very point. This was the truth he sought. This was which he wished to decree under his own. As the two forged themselves down deeper into the Ziggurat, a realm of underworldly unknowing, Dictum turned his attention away from thought to the vision of the present, his vision eternally darkened yet by his own desires. Here, in the netherrealm of Aaris, where the creped air lingered in vaults of disuse, where the dead slumbered, Dictum could feel the heart of the planet's power. He could neatly wrap his mind's eye around what laid ahead behind frozen doors. And he longed for its secrets. Yet, he knew they were not for his gaze, his focus upon the task determined. For when Inmortos chose to share, if he chose to share, it would be for a different time. Not until then, lest he break the trust that was placed. No. Dictum could not be persuaded otherwise. Nor could he be faltered in misguided ruses. For as an Lord Assassin, timing and intent was forged to perfection. This is what kept strong the hold of the line between all assassins and thieves, and Sith were held to a higher degree. No. If Dictum held one weakness that could be exploited, it was not in temptation. It would be buried much deeper than that. Deeper than what they had already traversed. Much like the heart of Aaris that resonated within Inmortos, it was buried in the very core of Dictum. Hearing Bernon's voice up ahead, Dictum quickened his pace. Gazing upon the enlarged doors of blackened wood, frozen in ice to the point that even lightsabers were useless, he placed a hand upon its aged carcass. Even at the slightest of touches, the maddened energy within threatened to overtake him and he reeled backwards like a wounded animal from its touch. His gaze shifted to Bernon with a resounding affirmation. "Indeed. It's unmistakable. The maze lies within.... we will need to tread carefully." Though Dictum seemed undeterred, he was anything but, the power he felt crawling beneath his skin like an infestation of worms that threatened his very sanity. Even now, he was hesitant to go any farther. ((1))
  23. Silence was the ever present signature of the learning student, and one that Dictum held close to the vest, ever dormant and yet the singular voice of his presence. It was in this silence that he witnessed the moments unfold, and in his silence, learnt of these beings and their natures. Inmortos, King of the Veiled Realms, as he crossed between one into another, the realm of the living and condemned. Akheron, the Lord of Wrath, as his presence became beckoned upon another world of importance. Even the Apprentices, Solus of the Madening Logic and Bernon the Loyal. But silence in of its self could not defer what truth Dictum held within his voided words. There would be a time to be silent, but there would also be a time to speak. And as Inmortos decree finally came to pass, it was time for Dictum to speak. His veiled eyes first fell upon Akheron, whom requested his aid and service, one that Dictum had followed until now. But in Dictum's decree of truth, he longed to follow this Sith Master to the front lines. Yet, promises had been made and there was honor in words, even for an Lord Assassin, loose honor as it may be. "I'm afraid this is where we must depart ways, Lord Akheron." Dictum spoke, a smirk upon his veiled face that spoke of his longing to follow, but also revealing the truth of his honoring. "There is much power to grasp here, much that I cannot afford to let slip from my fingers as you promised. Surely a Master of Wrath can afford to settle petty feuds without the aid of a Lord barely out of his own Apprenticeship." There was jest present, but there was also truth. "As Master Inmortos has spoken, if you require us, we will come. Until then, let us remain true to the promises we made to Lady Calypso. There is surely a method to her madness." With those words spoken, and Akheron's departure with the maddened shard, Dictum turned his visage toward the Spector-God as he spoke of promises and tribulations. This both excited and gave dread to the Lord Assassin as the doors gave way to the outside world, both a metaphysical and psychological shivering creeping up Dictum's spine as the arid world of Aaris III drafted upon his form. There was much truth to the Master's words, and in these truths, promises of power and knowledge. And as the Force beckoned to Dictum, unknowing fates. His face twisted into a mixture of his ever present smirk with a hint of contour. There would be much to be learnt within this journey, and as his gaze shifted to @Bernon Mrrgwharr, he wondered what weighted upon the Apprentice's mind. These would be the man's first of many, or few, steps into the voided realm of darkness, a path few held the courage and wit to forsake. But within this journey, truth and fate would become a contrast all of its own. Like the realm of which Inmortos resided, one could not see where one would begin and the other ended, a blur of both existing within the same source of sight. This was the realm of the Sith, to tread where others dared not venture. And as dark as it truly was, there was an enlightenment to it as well. A freedom that could not be fathomed. And a truth that could not be denied. It was the precipice of fate, where one could grasp it and bend it to one's will or become a puppet of it. Which would this man decide? Which would Dictum decide. Turning to the descent, Dictum took the first step. He had always taken this path, not only out of lust for power, but for the sake of truth. The truth in one's self and the limitations they perceived, and to push beyond them. It was a welcomed excursion.
  24. There was a homely feeling Dictum felt as the light of the outside world was shut out and the realm fell into a blackened abyss where life and death were as one and then none. For this was the realm of Inmortos, Lord and King over the purgatory that was his domain, and here, only Inmortos' soul dared to tread. His mind's eye wrapped around what the darkness within revealed, and felt the fonts of power that ached to be claimed, the hidden tomes of ancient and lost lore beginning to be unbound. Truly, this Krath was a scholar with no equal, and Dictum sought what it offered. So when Inmortos' voice beckoned from the void, a smirk remaining upon Dictum's face, he replied with the deserved respect that laid just shy of boot-licking. "Thank you for the welcoming, Master of Death..." Dictum's deep voice resounded across the emptied room and echoed across the silent pillars as it reached the Throne set center and beyond. "I heard tale that you possess a library unlike no other, and within it, the means to break the binds that limit me." His gaze shifts briefly to Akheron, acknowledging the one who spoke such a tale and laid the invitation that brought him here before turning it back to Inmortos. "I understand that a price will be paid for such knowledge, a debt that I will openly embrace..." He continued, paying homage to Inmortos' will to aid those he deemed worthy. "... to fully earn my place amongst your Order and break free from this weakness that plagues me. Unlike you, Lord Inmortos, and Lord Akheron, I have not mastered myself nor the Darkness within me. I may carry the title of Sith Lord, but in the larger picture, I am but an Apprentice like Bernon and Solus here." Dictum ended his words and allowed them to linger upon the echoes that swirled the empty halls. His time for speaking had ended and his point was straight. Inmortos, a Master of the Krath and Lord over Death. Akheron, a Master of the Warriors and Lord over War. Dictum inspired to join them. Dictum inspired to Master his skills as an Assassin and become a Lord over Life. He wished to forge an Unholy Trinity with these two and release the Darkness upon the Galaxy in the only path he could truly see. To rise up and truly be Sith, not just in philosophy. To Master the Darkness. In silence, he awaited Inmortos' decree.
  25. As soon as his words were spoken, everything became drowned out by the raging storm as its intensity magnified and threatened to rip both hair from upon his crown and robes from his visage as he continued his deafening trek behind Akheron and in front of the others. Only the shrieks and wails of the dead managed to pierce the iced veil, Dictum turning to gaze upon the Necromancer's mortal divinity through the Force. Truly, he was a Master of the Void, and one Dictum welcomed to learn from. But that would come from time and in patience. First, Dictum would need to show his worth, and in worth, his power. Roughly about half way up the enlarged steps, above the clouds that lingered upon the planet's lower atmosphere where oxygen was strongest, both the natural and unnatural began to threaten their relative safety. Here, amongst the heavens where the air was thinner and the storm's core was closer, the dead swarmed in droves, chained and bound to this side of the veil where peace could never be attained and only remorse and memories remained. As the others seemed relatively unphased, the dead seemed to focus upon Dictum, as the Sith Lord felt and felt their call. Visions of the damned wraiths, wrapped within their durasteel bindings, forced their way into his mind's eye, feelings of their deaths and regrets dancing upon his thoughts. He could feel their emotions wrapping his own, like beings who wished to forcefully tell their own, and Dictum did his best to keep them at bay. One moment, he would catch their visages at a distance, then for a brief moment, he could feel their cold grasps reaching for his robes as their hunger and intent blossomed upon his conscience. The cold of Aaris III wasn't a threat. But these beings were. And only Dictum's will kept them from conquering his mind. With each step in their climb, the closer they drew to the castle in the sky, the thinner the air got and the thinner the veil drew. It grew to the point that logic and thought could no longer tell where life ended and death began. And as Dictum grinned, he understood the depth of Inmortos' plight. For Akheron, it seemed to be the fight, as any Warrior would openly express. For Solus, it seemed to be insanity amongst a logical existence. For the Apprentice, Bernon, it had yet to be defined. But for Inmortos, it was existence, whether in life or the after. Which begged the question: what was it for Dictum? Just as the question came to Dictum's mind, the two familiar presences made themselves known, visages bound both in chains and in desires, two beings who would stand out amongst the wraiths that threatened his individualism. And both beckoned to take his place. Their selfishness, their greed, and their lust were well known to him. For his father and former Master stood upon the precipice just as he stood before the Castle's Great Door upon the balconies that encircled the Grand Throneroom. And for the first time in his life, he felt their envy. In his father, he felt the longing he never had, to be there with his child. He felt the man's regret for the life he had lived. And he could feel his anger that Dictum stood where he could not. Dictum mentally scoffed. The man never bothered to be a Father, only sought his destruction. And in his Master, he felt the vengeance he will toward his former pupil for having struck him down, his lust for powers he never held the chance to learn, and his determination to pay Dictum back for his treachery. And yet, both had yet to grasp the truth. For it was they who led Dictum to this path, and they who forged him into the Sith Lord he had became. It was their teachings that had wrought this present, him amongst the living and them amongst the dead. And as they sought to possess his being, he condemned and damned their souls to eternity. Not for what they had done to the child that eventually became a man. Not for the Darkness in their hearts or even their attempts to trade places. No. He actually understood their plight in this endeavor. No. He condemned and damned them for a singular reason. They were weak. His father for allowing his cousins to survive. And his Master for falling so easily to his blade. For in Dictum, they deserved their fate, for the failings had became his own. Their weakness his, a weakness he sought to purge. His endeavor would be one of simplicity: the endeavor of power. The rest was miniscule details. And his will was absolute. Reaching upward, Dictum opened the door and took his step inside. Enveloped in utter darkness, he shut the door behind him. His path was clear, even to a blind man. And he had much to learn.
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