Ziost

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Dictum pivoted upon his toes and followed Akheron, listening to his words and learning of this Order his father and Master had strayed from. It was all new to him, the organization, the bonds, kinship in general. So, in hindsight, a look of perplextion wasn't entirely unwarranted. Growing stronger was all he had ever known, and to gain such, meant to overcome and slay those who hindered him. So Akheron's praise of this Mavanger left a disdained taste upon his tongue as he replied.

 

"Though I have always been a Sith, I am new to your Order." Dictum responded with a soft tone as the two entered the bridge, the blind Miralukian gaze unshifting as he spoke. "But it seems to me that your test was more a lesson, instruction to help you see what was already there, hindered by your own ignorance. The power and strength was already there, yet, you had yet to grasp it."

 

Turning his blind eyes upon Zoist, he embraced the tainted presence of the world before them, feeling its unnatural flow and basking in its terrible creation. For Dictum could not see its physical presence as the others could, but his understanding was the same. For Zoist was the Darkness incarnate, and it's presence in the Force pierced the blinded veil. He smirked. "I must confess, Lord Akheron. I never felt your lady's call."

 

"It's was your arrival and the regaining of my senses that brought me to your aid in the rescue of your comrade." Dictum confessed, his body moving his attention toward the newly risen Sith Master. "I spent nearly a year in that makeshift prison of the Republic, and I had grew tired of its oppression. Seeing the power your group displayed in unison caught my attention and my curiosity peaked about my own strength. I've been a blade for hire for far too long, and my own skills has been hindered greatly due to my nomadic life style. If I am to grow as a Sith, it was time I rejoined the Order my father abandoned."

 

Offering Akheron the lead as the two exited the bridge, Dictum fell back into silence as they traversed the halls and turbolifts until they once again came to hangars. Most of the way, Dictum spent time in his thoughts about his own growth, the complacency he had grown into over the last few years since he slew his Master for the rank of Sith Lord. But within this Order, such savagery and unnecessary barbarism was unwarranted and uncivilized. Why destroy when strength could be accumulated? Why indeed? 

 

Stepping aboard the shuttle, Dictum took his place among the masses. It was time to see this world of the Sith, and perhaps, learn his place amongst the kinship.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

There was wisdom in Lord Akheron's words, as dark as they were, and it settled Dictum's thoughts as the shuttle made its departure. The Darkness was what it essentially was, a veil of shadows that hid the imperfections of the reality that surrounded them. But what laid within those very imperfections was that of an undeniable truth, a truth that was the root of the name that his Master laid upon him with his last words. Though the Darkness was unknown and scary, a primitive fear that lingered in the subconscious of every sentient, it harbored things unrevealed to the naked eye. And that, in essence, was Dictum. For Dictum could see what others could not.

 

And in that Darkness, Dictum found not only his resolve, but his peace. While he was blinded upon Helvault, he found a sense of solace in his blindness and a newfound strength that preserved his sanity. And what most hid in the Darkness away from the light, Dictum accepted in kinship. This was the essence of his time as a Sith. Rising from his seat as the shuttle, Dictum made his first steps upon the blanketed world, the voided steps upon the snow leaving little trace of his presence. And as we welcomed the Darkness that swirled about him, it welcomed him in return.

 

At first, Dictum thought it was the howling of the wind that swept across the plateau. But as it grew closer, it's moan was deafening as it clung to his presence like the howling screams of the dead. In response, Dictum attempted to resist, but quickly found it futile. For his welcoming was at hand, and it's message wouldn't go unheard. Blood dripped from beneath his veiled sockets, and his strength suddenly sapped from his form as he felt the weight of the planet shove him to his knees, unable to even lift his arms. This realm of Madness had a gift to the returning Sith Lord and a message only for his mind to understand. And in the background, a hefty laugh.

 

Like upon Helvault, his sight abandoned him. And the more he struggled, the heavier his form grew until the point that his consciousness nearly left his mind. And in its place, a vision was given, a future that only his mind could comprehend. It was an endless cycle of death of destruction that seemed to span eternally, a solemn truth of power and purpose. And it was his doing that brought this upon the Galaxy, a crack in the veil of madness and reality that slivered into his psyche. He would be Zoist's harbinger, to return that which had been given tenfold. And in this act, realize the truth of life. For in life, death was the only outcome.

 

Moments passed and Dictum felt his strength return and his form lift. Sound returned, and he was able to stand. Dusting the white snow from his robes, Dictum followed the others in silence, as he made sense of what he had seen. He had heard of the Darkness granting such things before, but he had long thought it the madness machinations of the individuals rather than the Force. Now, he knew differently and the revelation was profounding. 

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

As Dictum stood there in silence, his mind running across what he had seen, he observed the ongoings and presentations that each arrival and onlooker gave. It was a sight he had rarely been a part of outside his life amongst the Luka Sene. For his training in the Darkness had been a solitary and confined life. And yet, here, he felt more involved than he had ever been. He felt more comradered.

 

"I did." Dictum replied to Solus, a smirk etched across his face as a chuckle escaped. As the vision replayed in his mind, he replied coyfully. "And so much more."

 

For the vision had been a metaphor, endless sights of worlds and stars dying, naturally and unnaturally, from beginning of time to time's end. The emotions that echoed in their wakes, despair, revenge, pain, heartbreak, and hopelessness. It was the epitome of whom he was destined to be. It was his gluttony. And he found himself hunger at the mere thought. Shifting his blind gaze around, he quickly surmised that this was the will of the Darkness. His arrival, here, the vision, here. It all pointed to this singular path. His vision shifted to Calypso. It led to her. And now was his time to present himself.

 

"I am Darth Dictum, Mi'Lady." He spoke in a coyful tone, his voice as dark as it was deep. With a stoop of his head, he bowed courteously. "I am the son of Darth Ragnar, grandson of Darth Fenrir." His tone shifted slightly, turning from coyful to cold. "Allow me to be your Harbinger."

 

It wasn't his words that held any weight. Nor was it his actions that spoke of his potential. But in his presence, behind the blood stained bandages that covered his lid less sockets that dripped blood down his cheeks and across his sly smirk, that his truth filled declaration rippled across the Force. If given the time and opportunity, newly within this Order he had came to lay within its bosom, he would become its harbinger, it's blackened blade amidst the Darkness' shadow, it's dagger of eternal night. He would become Death's Assassin.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

The air shifted, as did Dictum's aura upon Lady Calypso's response as the blind Sith's flowing silver locks came to an eerie calm and his smirk only widened. Not only did his presence consider the opportunity and challenge she presented, but so did his appearance as the Sith Lord's figure seemed to flicker and split like an old hologram. But no, this was no hologram. This was the Sith Lord known as Dictum, and for a brief moment, his mind contemplated to test her consideration.

 

"Your words carry wisdom, Mi'Lady." He spoke from beneath his smirk as his form settled devishly amidst the snow. This place, this world, it was the culmination of the Darkness and its incarnate. But he was yet still an outsider to them, an unknown. His father and grandfather may have belonged to them once before, but he had never. And the circumstances seemed to paint a very different picture than what he had been led to believe. His gaze shifted about the other's, their demeanor flowing upon the currents of their will. Turning back to Lady Calypso, he nodded. "I understand. I merely requested the opportunity to do so. You have my thanks."

 

As he let his words seep upon their minds, Dictum's own began a brief stroll down memory lane, starting with his first interactions with these Sith at Helvault. What he had thought to be power enforced by numbers had been a misinterpretation. No. These beings, these Sith, were each powerful in their own rights. But together, with the culmination of their combined might, made tasks menial. Unbound by doctrines and philosophy unlike his bastard cousin who cowardly walked away and chose to embrace servitude. No. These Sith were just like he, each molded by life and given the chance to take from it what they will. And in that singular decree, broke free of moral constrictions. 

 

This is what stayed his hand, for now. Not curiosity. Nor was it fear. No. She had commended a semblance of respect in her words. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Her power was immense. As was the others. And she welcomed death as if an old friend, just as his former Master did when he sunk the crimson blade into his heart. It was time to truly learn from the Masters of the Darkness. Humbled by his own, a kinship if you will, he chose to stay his hand for his own gain. Death would come in its own time. Was there any current need to hasten it?

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

As Lady Calypso began to speak, her power roared not only across the landscape and the Force, but vibrated within his very soul as Dictum stood amongst the gather masses with a smirk still adorning his face. This world, this Order, it was all so new to him and it was as exotic as it was enthralling. He couldn't help but be carried away in its ecstasy and find himself captivated. The last time he felt this way... well, he claimed his Lordship from his fallen Master.

 

The clash of two crimson blades sparkled against the moonlit sky as the two played each against the other upon the catwalk they positioned themselves. Sweat beaded across their foreheads as their skills were tested to their maximum. And then,  the blades slipped, slicing one side of the catwalk loose and the two dangling above the abandoned city below. Both smirked and his Master's words echoed within Dictum's mind. It was kill or be killed... no other path to be taken. This was the way of the Sith... the way of the Darkside.

 

Back to reality, Calypso's convictions and emotions rolled across her words, blossoming his own within himself as his blood boiled with strife and despair. For the first time since he had joined the others, he felt her call as the Tsis had mentioned. And in that moment, he ached a beautiful pain. 

 

It was a dance of death across the battlefield his Master had chosen for his final trial, and Dictum had consummated his soul to rising the victor. Even despite their power differences, Dictum held true to his word that he would surpass Darth Sanguine in every way. He would not go quietly. For his destiny was his own, solely to be written by his hand and never another's. And while crimson blades lay upon earthen soil hundreds of feet below, the Force was still his to beacon."

 

Shifting his gaze across the gathered masses, Dictum watched attentively to those that stood there in awe, questions plaguing his mind as Lady Calypso's words came to a dead silence and her message closed. She was a Master of the Darkness, a devout of her self in every aspect. She had climbed not just out of death's reach, but beyond her own mortal station. Her destiny was her own and she had grasped it with both hands. They were her's to devour, and yet, the silence was near deafening.

 

The crimson blade slid deep into Sanguine's heart as his yellowed eyes stared upward toward the veil that covered Dictum's face, his hand grasping for his Apprentice's throat as his flesh and skin cooked from the inside out. Deactivating the blade, Dictum thrust his hand into the broiling wound and grasped at the pierced heart, removing it from its confines. As his Master took his last breath and his strength left him, Dictum grinned devilishly before taking a bite of the scalding heart.

 

Stepping forward first, Dictum smiled that same devilishly grin as his lightsaber activated, it's crimson hue enlightening his form. If the others wouldn't, then it would be left up to Dictum to respond to her request. "I may be new, a mere Lord beneath a Master of the Darkness, but let me be the first to welcome you."

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Crimson illuminated the frozen tundra of Zoist's pale veil and the pale of his mortal flesh as stood at the ready, the ever present smirk still adorning his actionable face until a Master of the Sith stepped from behind the masses and took forth the forefront of her own accord, a justifiable and declared right held not just by title, but by consequence. The smirk left his face and Dictum reclused, his saber finding its deactivated place upon the Lord's waist as precedence took place. Even a Sith born outside the Order knew this right given to all, and as such, was to be respected and unquestioned.

 

As Akheron spoke his peace, Dictum nodded. But his explanation needed no voicing nor concern, as his Apprentice was his and his alone, the teaching of the lesson a necessity. With the addition of the confrontation before them, it was of very little attention, and focus should be placed upon the former, not only as a witnessing as testament, but as a display of the two Master's declarations and skill. Something they each held in common with the band of warriors gathered near outskirts, his vision falling upon the Mandalorians at the rear. At times, dominance needed to be remembered amongst the powerful, and the outcome honored without prejudice. Something they held deeply upon their foundation. 

 

But what Dictum didn't expect was the shift in the air that came upon the flowing currents that encompassed them, a malicious intent to incur the wrath of all that it encompassed, the snarling jaws of death echoing through the Force and the embodiment of a singular's expression. His expression changed at the notice, a disgruntled grimace at the need to include them all, and his hands fell upon the Sith Daggers that sat beneath his robes. 

 

So, this would be how it was to play out? The Sorcerer held more gall than what Dictum had originally gave him, or rather it, from the very beginning. As the Force swirled around the Assassin, he shook his head dauntingly, grudgingly belittling his own self at the fact that he had underestimated any of them, as the Sith ways were the Sith ways. So preoccupied by the Order and their presence, he had forgotten that they were Sith, and as powerful and unified as the front they proposed, power still clung to the roots of this tree and each of these branches fought for its nutrients. Even Dictum.

 

These creatures Inmortos had risen, however, were not as pervious. They were of the dead and as such, held nothing to lose, creatures who had lost everything already. Agonizing wails like banshees threatened to rip sound from ears and claws like Terentaks threatened to rip life from form. However, as the twin blades nestled in Dictum's hands found themselves in reversed grips, one thing was evident. Dictum did not intent to join their surplus. A cursed blade may have bore them, but cursed blades could also end them. And creations of the Sith always held the darkened curse that bore poisoned fruit. Blades manufactured by mortals may not be able to hinder the dead, but those created by the darkside could exert their own will of reality.

 

And in this case, as the kyber gems within their guards flowed with the encompassing persecution of the Darkside's nature, each strike would feel as deadly as any would have felt in life. Feeling his power extend from the corrupted gems within, he pulled upon the nearest of the wraith to his location and sliced at the veil that bound them to this reality. Poison may not provide any agony to these projections, but perhaps the agony of the ancient arts that forged them would.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Where the Warrior wore the wrath of rage, and the Sorcerer wore the visage of fear, the Assassin enveloped themselves in the despair of pain. And it was a gluttonous feast indeed. For pain led to many sins, and it was a core value in the presence that was called the Darkness. It led each to its call. Whether pain inflicted one's wrath, or wrought one's greatest of fear, pain led to all. And through pain, the Darkness could be divided. And upon the surface of this reborn world, pain had already claimed its stake.

 

From the wounds of the combatants, the despair of the lost souls called from the ether, it came without end. And for an Assassin such as Dictum, it was a buffet. A grin creased his face as the Sith Daggers tore at the veil that enraptured the lost souls, the despair that wailed from their fruitless plight enveloping his darkened soul. He could feel the Force that purged from their forms as he pulled another into his mawed presence, a reminder of mortality.

 

They may have been the essence of shades, mere mimicry of their former selves, but they weren't untouchable by no means. But neither was Dictum, and he reveled in their dance, a dance with death. He could feel its glancing pull, taste the ichor of its presence, and he gested it with glee. For in the presence of death, life was a fleeting victory. And the bitter cold only a reminder of the veil that separates the two.

 

Yet, as it's Master exploded in defeat, and the veil threatened to thicken, Dictum stepped back from its claim. Scratches and scrapes from the other beyond frozen upon his form, and he dropped to one knee as the dead began their retreat. And in its place boomed a voice that scorched the very earthen ground it reclaimed. It was done. The victor had been chosen, but not without cost. Shifting his gaze across the battlefield, Dictum heard the Dark Lady's words. Words that would be, as is her decree.

 

Standing up, congealed blood beginning to drip from defrosting wounds, Dictum lowered his head with fist over heart. A new era had begun.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

With a subtle yet quick flick of his wrists, the Sith Daggers twirled elegantly into the sheaths almost uniformly. The moment of pledges and honor had passed and each went upon their own paths. Dictum had seen this before whenever he encountered other Sith and Darksiders amongst his travels as an Apprentice. And yet, this time it was subtly different, not really a simple passing of the times. There was focus, and purpose, and each were like a cog within a grandeur machine. As Akheron's words reached his ears, his head acknowledged. 

 

"This planet, this world... or perhaps the moment of being here..." Dictum spoke in return, his voice overshadowed by the exhaustion of the previous battle with the dead as he caught his wind. "It's woken something within me. But I yet do not know what it is.... My travels with you and your group is stirring up the Darkness, and it beckons vibrantly. I see no reason to depart from your company... yet."

 

He paused briefly before ending with the yet part, a smirk crossing his face as he shifted his weight and form to follow the group toward the shuttle. It was time to see where his path with them would lead him next. Without looking back, he offered Akheron the lead. "Let us depart."