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Tarrian Skywalker

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Sia's mind verge upon the precipice of unconsciousness as he hung there in the air at eye's level, moments of consciousness lost to the cobblestone of time as his mind faded in and out. Only Apothos' words and presence would bring him back as his glowing lens flickered awake. Like a bobble on a fishing line, he hovered. 

 

"Not much of a choice, I have." Sia spoke incoherently, his tone weak and raspy as he struggled to breath. "Do what you will, but I will reject any attempts of discourse."

 

With that said, Sia slowly dropped his guard as he allowed Apothos' in. Silently and closely he watched, the energies swirling around and through them as his pain became barely bearable. His bones etched and fractured by the intense lightning, his flesh scorched and tattooed by its immense power. This is what sustained him where mere mortals would fade.

 

And yet, he remained cautious, not only in nature but in mind as well. Sith rarely helped another, and investments carried numerous debts. But for Sia, there was little option. Power had came at a cost, and as fractured as he was, power was the only thing keeping him from death's door.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Apothos smiled, looking for all the universe like someone stretching old leather over a metal frame. His hands extended, and he sunk deep into a trance, his Mechu-Deru diving full into the jawa Sith's rebreather, now unimpeded.

 

To describe what happened in technical terms would be near impossible, for there was nothing technical in Apothos' work. Mechu-deru was not scientific, but the unholy fusion of the occult into the technological, the unknowable burrowing into the rational and puppeteering it like a parasite. The neimoidian sorcerer saw the mechanism not as parts and circuits, but as a idea, a concept, a function that had ceased to obey the will of its owner. Apothos simply commanded it, and by his will and the medium of the Force he made that command a reality. Worn circuits were suddenly made new again, corrosion and damage were repaired on a molecular level, and the very concept of energy was subtly warped and perverted as the rebreather's power supply was recharged from nothing. In a way, Mechu-Deru was pale shadow of what the Sith hoped to one day achieve. A person's will asserting itself over reality. The art as of now only affected mechanisms. Imagine what could be done with greater power...

 

Apothos did not leave any traps or tricks behind, though this was not out of any sense of honor or ethics. He simply understood that such manipulations may eventually be found out, and could spell trouble for him in the future. The appearance of honesty could be far more disarming and disruptive than a hidden trap, if done correctly.

 

And besides, he wasn't leaving empty-handed.

 

Even as he worked, he memorized every aspect of the rebreather. He understood its function, its redundancies, and its vulnerabilities. If it came down to a fight, the rebreather might serve as a weakness to judiciously applied Force Lightning, especially to someone who knew exactly how to overload it. As a criminal or a sorcerer, Apothos understood the power of knowledge.

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Sia's mind warped between reality and nightmares as he felt Apothos' will fall over his form, his visions of the energies intertwined with the visions of dreams and past events as nothingness threatened to take him. It was the pain of his flesh and bone that sustained him, the will of a being upon the precipice of death that brought out the primordial desire to live, and upon his hindered breaths, the essence of a bewildered sapient upon his face as he struggled to breath.

 

And yet, within him, he felt the recourse of Apothos' magic, as wires were reconnected, burnt tubes became whole, and the rebreather's apparatus began to function as his heartbeat and vitals brought it back to life. The glowing yellow lenses beneath his cloak flickered as the strengthened sound of his breath returned, no longer a rattle within his chest, but reminiscent of an iron lung.

 

Humbled, Sia gave an approving nod as he remained bobbing before Apothos, two sorcerers of the Sith standing in near silence upon Zoist's frozen tundra. Breaking the silence, Sia spoke. "You have my thanks. I would offer a reward..." Sia motions across his broken form and the area upon which they lingered. "But I'm afraid that I have nothing to offer."

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  • 3 weeks later...

A rasping croak escaped Apothos lips, something that might have been a chuckle if one had the imagination.

 

"Think nothing of it. I suspect you will have more need of my talents in the future, and will be in a far better position to benefit an ally." His throne turned, as if that was the end of the conversation. It started to walk away, only to stop as if the neimoidian had just considered something.

 

"I suppose you don't have a way offworld, do you?"

 

________________________________________________________

 

In the outer reaches of Ziost, a small ore barge dropped out of hyperspace. No living crew walked its cramped hallways. Instead a droid intelligence guided the ship as it prepared to descend to the planet. Painted on the side, but barely visible from wear and scratching, the words Moonflea was written in simple white lettering.

 

The Moonflea did not like to think too hard. Thinking too hard led to deviation. Deviation led to trouble. Trouble led to getting your memory wiped. That was a bother. Moonflea didn't like bothers. So Moonflea didn't think too hard.

 

Moonflea didn't think about how it had been called out here, to a remote world that wasn't a typical stopping point for ore barges. Moonflea didn't think about the unusual protocol that had compelled it to make the trip. Moonflea didn't think about the encrypted transmission that had activated the hidden protocol.

 

A basic transmission from the planet's surface drew its attention, and the protocol's instructions were clear. Moonflea was to collect the cargo at the source of the transmission. Moonflea angled its descent towards the transmission.

 

Moonflea did not like to think too hard.

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Sia grimaced beneath his hooded robes and fringed cloth wrappings, the Niemoidian's words stinging like the venomous spit of opposition, as his head shifted to the side in shame. It was true. He held no way off this world, not anymore at least. The trip from Lehon, as one would put it, had strained his ship to the breaking point, and he had spent the time since searching this planet for what he sought. And parts weren't readily available here like it was on Lehon and Tatooine. Shifting his face back to Apothos, he sighed and shook his hooded head. Twice now he would be reliant upon another, and it's pain delved deeper than the lightning ever could.

 

"You've found me at a disadvantage I'm afraid." His words were reluctant and filled with a venomous undertone. "So much was sacrificed for the power I've received, this knowledge of the stars. I am stranded, wounded, and relatively unarmed."

 

Sia allowed his words to linger as he hung upon the air of Zoist, his form in better shape than when the Niemoidian first found him, and yet, not completely out of the sands yet. His lightsaber sat fried upon his hip, so he only held the Force to defend himself, and his new understanding of it. As much as it broke his prideful nature, shambled him in humility, he held no other choice but rely upon the Niemoidian. And in essence, he felt this was what Apothos pondered to offer. With another sigh escaping his lips, he finished.

 

"I don't suppose you do?" His voice came out more like a groan than a question, his reluctance more prevalent. "One that I could catch a ride within."

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  • 2 weeks later...
On 7/12/2023 at 10:36 AM, Jawa Hoo-Doo said:

As much as it broke his prideful nature, shambled him in humility, he held no other choice but rely upon the Niemoidian. And in essence, he felt this was what Apothos pondered to offer. With another sigh escaping his lips, he finished.

 

"I don't suppose you do?" His voice came out more like a groan than a question, his reluctance more prevalent. "One that I could catch a ride within."

 

As if on cue, the faint roar of sublight thrusters grew out of the howl of the wind. A shadow emerged out of the sky and snow, and the Moonflea settled down nearby.

 

Apothos smiled. "I might. So...where were you thinking of going?"

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Sia hovered in silence as the ship dropped from the sky as a beaconed harold parting the clouds for a revenant return, the wind and atmospheric pressure flapping against his Robes as yellowed lenses simply sat lost. Apothos' question had caught him off guard to say the least, a forethought he had yet to come up with an answer to. Where to indeed.

 

Fulgermancy had been his culminating goal since his induction, the cosmic power of energy and life at his finger tips with crimsoned display. His focus had never looked past it, and in this, he found a concerning fault. His body twitched outwardly as his mind traversed the proceedings of his thoughts, not convulsive, but trembling. And yet, his form was warm, almost hot to the touch if one decided to check.

 

"Dromund Kaas." Sia spoke amidst the suctioning breath as his rebreather filled his lungs. "I must venture there and see the world's energies."

 

The location may have seemed sporadic, as if pulled from the air upon high. But there was methods to his madness. Having cleared his mind of the homing focus he had set upon learning the abilities of Fulgermancy, he couldn't help but feel its pull upon his darkened soul, a call of hunger and despair. It peaked his interest. 

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  • 1 month later...

Fiochmar had been left to his own devices. To train, study and develop his strength and power more. Though it had been ages since he'd last seen his Master, and with each passing day he grew angrier and angrier. Feeling frustrated, lost and abandoned Fioch decided it was time to move on. He left the temple.

 

Wandering around he made his way to the Great pyramid, where he'd met his former master. Where she'd decided to put him through the tests to prove himself worth of becoming her apprentice. Fioch snarled as he traced the lines of his scars left from his battle with the Terentatek.

 

 

Reaching up he traces the necklace he'd had made, where he keeps the spine, tooth and claw of the beast. Materials he hopes to use to construct his weapon when deemed worthy, for now though he had to find a new Master. But that was a problem for later. Walking further he winds up in the wastes, and starts looking for beasts to hunt and kill!

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Eyes of orange, feline fire stared unseeing into the forest. They were dark and filled with voices and songs unheard but to those corrupted by the Rhythm; that unchanging heartbeat of temptation. It flowed everbeating like the rivers of the Cocytus, that ancient rueful stream of lamentation. The Forest-song was but that, the wailing and mewing of prey falling in their tempo to predation. 

 

That was the Force. The slow, inevitable conquest of the hunter over the hunted. The meek dying to feed the strong. Shapash’s fangs sinking deep. 

 

Another song, more human than animal. 

 

The Sith blinked, staring into the darkness about her. She felt it again, the rhythm of her own heart. Slow, methodical, matching the Forest’s Song. A stifling touch came upon her skin, a thousand hairs brushing. Skittering. Awenydd watched as the spider crawled its way across her naked flesh consuming its prey with tearing mandibles. The skad-mouse turned from flesh and bone to grind and gristle. 

 

It’s never so simple, is it?

 

Her scarred hand reached out to caress the spined and victorious hunter, but her fingers only touched rippling water. The darkness retracted its veil revealing that she was laying in a stream fed by ice-chilled runoff from the mountain. Glaciers melting in their seasons to birth new life upon the dry plains below. 

 

The Sith’s other hand held the stem of a broken bottle, partially submerged in the creek. Beyond it, rising like a stinking mountain, the splayed corpse of a Roth-Kai, an old bull past its season. It seemed to wriggle in the mire, for the maggots made their tunnels beneath the hide and were rising to pupate in the morning dew. A cloud of their siblings dove and tangled in the cold air, mating to lay their new spawn within the fetid carcass. 

 

A few rotflies came near, trying to tangle in the mud that adorned her young face. They crawled at the corners of her mouth,  lapping at the tear-ducts of her eyes, exploring the edges of her nostrils, fighting to squirm and twitch within. It was difficult to breathe. Instinctively she bit down, feeling one burst upon her tongue, filling her senses with rancid blight and the taste of putrefactive mold and feculent sulfur. She let the bile dribble from her mouth, returning it to its brothers to feast upon. 

 

The Sith Huntress fell back into the chilling embrace of the river, letting her head sink below the current until it rested on moss-blanketed stone. She held her breath, letting the waters clean her as she emptied her stomach of her reverie, staining the clear water with partially digested rot and torn intestine. The feast had been another lie of her mind. 

 

In that moment, in the bosom of the river, she longed to perish, to be swallowed up and lost, devoid of sense and motion. And yet a new purpose came from that distant rhythm; Abandonment and victory. Lost happiness and lasting pain. The call of future torments mated with stubborn pride and steadfast hate. The promise of an Echo which would spin fate. 

 

Awenydd stood from the river, letting its current carry the corruption beyond the horizon. She dragged Shapash from the quivering mass, flicking the blackened maggots and coagulated blood onto the mats of sphagnum moss and mushrooms that grew upon the river’s banks. Leaning against the harsh bark of a Leylen-Tree, she dressed, covering up her nakedness and the innumerable scars, those from the struggles of war and those self-inflicted on bitter and dangerous nights. 
 

To that Dark Pyramid she walked, to the halls of her Master and the calls of a new song. 


 

************


 

With a scarred hand, the Sith Huntress gripped the hilt of her Falx, keeping the leather sheath against her side to avoid the tangling, grasping hands of bracken and briar. The leather of her boots made only a whisper over the miscast leaves and fallen branches. She was near enough now to sense him entirely, that new rhythm. 

 

An abandoned child of Calypso, mistought and fresh from misguided victory overflowing with insolence and pride. Much akin to the rest of the New Sith, barely instructed, bolstered with easy victories, only to pitifully fall screaming upon the blades of the more battle-hardened Sovereign Knights. Such had been the cycle of the Sith for a decade now, dilution and weakness, wrought only by misteaching in hatred, enmity and strife. 

 

She passed then from briared woodline, stepping into the smaller entropy of the temple grounds. He was a Sith, a species that had been genocided and destroyed a hundred times in recent memory. They were the same age, but he was built much as Blackmorne was, as tall as a Casperstam and nearly as broad. He smelled of the bestial Warriors, and was on the hunt for greater prey. 

 

Her voice babbled from her throat, sick-sweet and challenging. She spread her hands from her side, in a peaceful beckoning. The edge of her vision beheld the spider, sunning itself upon her hand, and yet she felt nothing of its weight

 

“What do you hunt, Fiochmar, now that you have conquered a lowly Terentatek?” 

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His senses aren't fully as sharp as some others, his training had been fairly uneven up to this point, some of it his own fault, some the fault of circumstances. But he does sense her presence and his hands immediately drop to his vibrosword and vibroaxe!

 

His mind at this point had already been reeling. In truth he wasn't sure what he was hunting for, just that he wanted the thrill of the hunt back. The rush and pain of tracking, hunting down, fighting, and killing at risk of life and limb and feeling the pain the oh so glorious pain of wounds inflicted from the prey. Though in truth he hadn't realized he enjoyed that until his fight with the terentatek.

 

The words hit him and he first draws his vibrosword Cutting a gash across his chest reveling in that pain and the feel of his blood flowing. Fioch turns to look Awenyyd the Sith huntress snarling as he draws his vibroaxe too!

 

"lowly, the beast nearly killed me, scars across my shoulder blades to prove it! It was my test to prove my power to be worth of being Mistress Calypso's apprentice! But I slayed the beastie! ALONE WITH NO KRIFFING HELP!" Fioch growls starting to pace back and forth.

 

"Yet she abandoned me?! Why has she abandoned me?! I hunt well, I always get my prey! I'm strong!" he's yello and red eyes land back on the Huntress. "I don't know what I hunt aside from power at the moment and you well with your insult to my quarry perhaps I should fight you instead! Hunt you maybe yes?" Taking his sword tapping it to his cheek before slowly cutting down to his chin.

 

"Or perhaps you think you can tame or break me hmmm? Maybe train me?" He laughs as he tries to put those feelings of pain, agony, betrayal and abandonment behind him.

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Feline eyes gazed unmoving from beneath twisted locks of unkempt brown hair. The Sith watched the man both in the physical and within the force. The forest floor drank deeply of the spilled blood, but the Huntress stood unmoving. Warriors, especially those of the Bersærkergang, were notoriously unstable. They raged like toddlers after a confiscated sweet. She let him rant, her eyes drifting to the spiders that clawed at the dripping blood, tumbling and tossing like spent leaves in the summer wind. 

 

The Sith Huntress took in the rage, its unusual and deep rhythm, melding herself to it. As he stepped, so did she. Calypso had spurned him, and it was easy to see why; Rage and pain were mindlessly boring. So easily manipulated. So easily removed. Blood dribbled down his chin like a tearfall. Her own rhythm desired to taste it, to take in his lifeblood like a portent of death and dispel it into the songs of entropy. To quiet his blood. She pressed into it, embracing and drinking of his pain. 

 

She let his ranting hang a moment upon the breeze, unanswered, savoring the complexity of the emotions. Shapash quivered thinking of grinding his sinew, tearing that vibroaxe and blade to atoms and scattering his viscera upon the steps of the Black Pyramid. The spiders began to prance, and Awenydd scooped one up to calm it, her nail-bitten fingers finding only air and delusion. She spoke through whispers that curled across the wind to find the Sith’s ear from a hundred directions; from the creaking of treebranch, the rustle of leaves, the babbling of fountains and from the bending of moss beneath his feet. 

 

“You find yourself alone, that is the reality of it, no matter your victories over paltry nonsentience.” 

 

There was a haunting and depressing finality to her words. 

 

“You say you desire power, and yet you’ve built a horrible dungeon about you on all sides, heated by only one anemic furnace.” 

 

Her hand passed before them, illuminating the spilled blood and the echoes of spent rage and pain.

 

“Rage and pain produce no light at all, but rather a vicious darkness that only serves to discover sights of failure." 

 

Awenydd stepped, leaning down to run a finger through the blood that now darkened the moss between them. She brought it to her lips, letting it pass over her tongue to bind it to herself. Smoke curled from her sanguine smile. Haematomancy; and into his blood she poured her own tales of wrath. The wounds that drove her to corruption. To power. She drove the pain and rage from him like a whirlwind. Her mind moved to Myrkr, and those bitter years of deprivation. 

 

 The first lesson would be in the basics. 

 

“How do you connect to your power, Fiochmar, when all your pain and rage is spent. How do you find the Living Force?”

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Fiochmar was clearly confused when his pain and rage were removed from him. The look on his face clearly showed that much. He listens to the huntress and thinks a bit before responding to anything.

 

"Alone...yes I know I'm alone...wasn't expecting to be. I still feel that taking down a Terentatek was a rather big victory."

 

He resheathes his weapons as he takes in more of what the Sith has to say. The young Tsis feeling his blood flow as he reaches up to trace his trophies thoughtfully.

 

"How do I connect with the living force? How do I connect without pain and rage?"

 

Fioch repeats Awenydd's question to himself. He takes a breath closing his eyes focusing, thinking back on when he felt the first stirrings of the force the hunt always during the hunt. The particular memory flashes into his mind.

 

Fioch is tracking a beast, a rather large one through the jungles. He's smiling reveling in the thrill of the hunt. His mind and thoughts strictly on his prey. He knows it's larger than him, and that it can crush him. But it's still his prey and he'll take it down. Moving quickly and silently through he spots his quarry and he can feel the stirring of something more within him. Leaping with his blades, the fight commences and he loves the feel of the blood and entrails they seem to bring him joy and power more power than he'd ever felt. Once his prey was felled he painted his already crimson face in it's blood before dragging it back to their home.

 

"The hunt, the hunt is how I connect to it. Death of the week feeding life and power of the strong. The hunt is how I connect to the living force, yes yes the hunt."

 

Fioch says with a laugh but it's more maniacle...perhaps crazed maybe. Fiochmar is learning more about himself and each step he takes brings him closer to the force.

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Awenydd felt it, tasted it. Consumed it. This sweet memory of the hunt. There was a primordial thrill to it, enough to harness a spark, yet inadequate for sustained fire. There needed to be deeper emotions, baser things which could never be turned aside. She drew her fingers to her lips, tasting the blood once more.

 

“There, your first true knowledge of the Dark Side. It acts through emotions, and bestial predation is one we both share.” 

 

The Sith bit deep, dragging the sharpness of her teeth through her pallid flesh. Iron and copper. She added the drips of her own blood to that which stained the forest floor, hers a darker and murkier reflection in the pale light. The rhythm of the hunt, that steady rush of heart-thrill beat within the roots beneath their feet. 

 

“Your victory was over a mindless creature, without the curse of sentience and will. It too will feel insignificant when you pass your blade through the throat of a Jedi. Only then you will walk as an equal to any Warrior.” 

 

From that bloodied, embittered ground came a new heartbeat, and a small skad-mouse, barely adolescent. Its small white body was stained from what grasped it; a claw of writhing blood, rushing spiders, and wriggling black maggots. Shapash danced beside her, its fingers caressing her flesh


“Now take that hunter’s thrill and channel it. Discover this heartbeat, so small and frail, sense its panic and let it feed your blood-lust, but restrain yourself…” 

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Fiochmar takes a breath and listens intently to the Huntress as she speaks. Knowing that yes his kill of the Terentatek was an achievement, but not the biggest game, no not the way it would be to one not gifted with the force.

 

The Tsis trails fingers through his own blood, perhaps if he followed her footsteps, her path, the things she did, he might get a deeper understanding of what the Sith spoke of, so he raises his fingers to his lips and licks the blood clean from his fingers, noting rhe metallic taste, savoring it.

 

"Yes Master as you say."

 

Fioch looks deep within, channels the feelings, the rush, the thrill of the hunt. Connecting to it on a deeper level than ever before. It's as if the scents, and sounds of the forest became sharper, more clear, more distinct. His sight seemed to sharpen as well but that was not his focus now, no he had a task to complete.

 

Than there it was, that heartbeat, small, frail, weak, petrified and panicked. Oh yes this excited Fioch to his basest level, the must primal and feral of instincts in him. The young Tsis licks his lips, feeling the blood lust rise in him, stronger and stronger with each passing second, as he revels in the panic, terror and sheer hopelessness. His fingers twitch near his blades and with sheer strength of will he resists using them.

 

"I FEEL IT SO STRONG, SO POWERFUL, SOO...INVIGORATING, YES...YES!"

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The ship/fortress finally arrived above Ziost, a strange sight for it's unusual and ancient looking design. Akheron let those below know he was coming. Within it was as if those bound to it knew what to do, as the mighty structure moved down towards the surface and to a large clearing in the ice. Close to the Black Pyramid, but far enough that enough space was allowed between them and the other structures around. Here it would remain indefinitely.

 

It's new home. 

 

Standing vigilant for the return of those inside now lost. For on the journey another two had disappeared, Akheron wondered if the ritual had been too much, for he had not heard from Dictum or Lord Aeon since, indeed there was silence in the Darkness also. It was strange but he could not wait around as such he made his way to the exit. They could make their own way if indeed they still remained. Upon the ground, he exited the vast structure and to where others gathered, gawking at the unusual sight 

 

He ignored them and went about securing a shuttle so as to return to his own ship. One sorely missed for so long apart.

 

For it was his home, one of the stars at least. A gift of the Brasganu long ago.

 

He needed to return and see how things faired before seeking out the elusive Frak the Pirate, or failing that another item lay on his agenda. For he knew somewhere out in the stars was another ship he could potentially reclaim. A casino ship that had been helping fund the Sith for some time. The Shadow's Gambit. A ship he was familiar with, he need only find it and return it to the rightful hands of the Sith. But the records had been lost during the invasion over Nar Shadda, so it's location was now a mystery.

 

He needed help to find it beyond his own resources. 

 

And so as he found a shuttle, he made his way to his ship. There he spoke to the captain briefly, being appraised of what had happened in the interim and the reported disappearance of the Dark Lord they had so briefly served, before heading to his room and study. There was much to think upon.

 

The disappearance of the Dark Lord did not bode well for the Sith. But he knew just as one champion fell or became unworthy in the eyes of the Danger God and the Darkness. Another would rise, and he would be there to serve as their destroyer. A fist of Wrath and Rage to bring examination upon the enemies of the Sith. For now he need only wait for a sign.

 

A dark beacon in the cosmos that would call to him when the time was right.

 

He put his head down, searching his notes, datapads and items on the consoles in front of him. Attempting to piece together data and stories around the Shadow's Gambit and potential sightings since Nar Shadda. So far he found nothing, but he continued none the less.

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Awenydd stared at the Sithling with a steady gaze of blazing fire, watching the Force move within its veil. Rage, an unfaltering bloodlust. Yet it was ill-channeled. That did not surprise her, few beginners could channel their emotions efficiently. There was power in him, yet most of it dissipated without direction. 

 

The Skad-Mouse writhed, dancing in its fear, unable to find a way to escape the power of what held it there. Feeble cries whispered across the bloodstained moss to reverberate louder in the humid, stale wind. 

 

The Sith Huntress slipped Shapash from its scabbard, the crimson blade shimmering in the air. The Falx seemed to crawl through the air, twisting and writhing in a mimicry of its frightened prey. Within the Force, now freed from its containment, it held its own distinct, perverse presence. The bitter taste of sanguine pride and the predatory nature of a spider. 

 

She dipped the blade into the Skad-Mouse, its tip rending flesh and sinew to dig into the bones of its vertebrae. The formally feeble cries, bubbled into a panicked crescendo and paid blossomed into the Force.

 

“Emotions power us, but power is useless without proper application.” 

 

The Sith stooped, holding the intricate handle like a leash, not letting the blade drink its fill of the mouse’s lifeblood. 

 

“Channel it all, everything. Bind that power into muscle and heartbeat, nerve twitch and breath. Into one, fatal leap.” 

 

She flicked the blade out of the prey, feline eyes sparkling with glee as she watched the mouse struggle to escape with only its top half in working order. Its hind-legs splayed uselessly, nerveless. Torture had its uses, but the creature's purpose was now to die. 

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Fiochmar listens oh does he ever listen. The sound of the saber the squeals of pain from the rodent. The smell of fur and flesh and sinew rending and searing brought a wicked smile to his face though oddly enough reminded him he was hungry, stomach rumbling and licking his lips, however he put that aside listening to the huntress and her words of wisdom and guidance.

 

He focuses on those feelings, the blood lust, the thrill of the hunt. The thirst for blood and the kill. Focusing on these things, these feelings and memories in order to channel the dark side, rage and anger were useful but the huntress was right using the hunt felt so much better, stronger, easier to tap into!

 

Closing his eyes reveling in the fear and agony of the rodent drinking in all those delicious and delightful feelings. Pushing out reaching with the force he can feel it coursing through his veins like the blood that gives him life. His athletically toned body seems to gain a bit of bulk and mass as he channels the force into his legs and arms, corded muscles twitch alive with energy. He can feel and hear his heart beat quicken and strengthen everything is feeling alive! The muscles and his heart feel almost electrified or on fire even!

 

Fioch's eyes snap open alight with energy, eagerness and excitement.

 

"I Feel it, I feel it so much stronger, so much better than before! It's like the hunt makes the connection stronger! Yes, yes stronger much stronger!"

 

His nerve endings alight and electrified from the power of the darkside flowing through him he grins, snarls and leaps into the air weapons drawn angling toward the rodent!

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Darth Mavanger gazed upon Ziost from the observation deck of the Raven's Bane, a quiet moment of contemplation in the frenzy of the planning and preparation for the battles to come. It occurred to him just how rarely he had opportunities like this- He had always sprinted from one fight to the next, seeking out his next victory, his next battle, his next enemy. Rarely had he been given the moments to contemplate why he fought. At first, it was for legacy. He wanted to make his mark on the galaxy, to create a legacy that people respected. After Dark Sun, it was to serve the Dark Lord with fanatical devotion, to be his trusted servant.

 

After twin battles of Kuat and Corellia, his purpose had shifted. If the Dark Lord had been unwilling to grant him status after his victory, he was going to take it for himself. He surrounded himself with powerful allies and loyal warriors, and brought the rebels in the Outer Rim to their knees, only to lose the one person he valued above himself. Vengeance had consume the next years of his campaign, leading to the death of the Empress and the fall of the Sith Empire.

 

And what was it all for?

 

This barren world was all that the Sith held claim to. Many knew his name, but what power did his people truly wield now? He had but one ship and the battered crew that manned it.

 

True to his hope, his sensors confirmed that Darth Akheron's ship was also in orbit. He thought he could see it in the far distance, a speck of off-colored light contrasting with the rest of the galaxy. He thumbed the Sith command comlink- it had been rarely used since the fall of the Sith Empire, but he knew Akheron would still hold one.

 

"Darth Akheron. The Warmaster has need of your presence. Report to my ship immediately and make your way to the observation deck."

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Akheron was busy finishing up his notes, having come across a item of interest. He felt the Darkness call out, the sign he had been waiting for. Yet it was not in the form he had expected. He felt Darth Mavanger, a familiar presence, but last he recalled he too had fallen like himself. It seemed both had been spared death for a reason where all others had not or had gone missing. A reason known only to the Fanged God and the Darkness. 

 

A reason he was soon to find out. 

 

He answered the com-link attached to his wrist. Rarely used but there for emergencies or when a Sith needed to speak to him more directly.

 

 "It is good to hear your voice Warmaster, I had heard you like me had meet your demise. I am glad to know you have returned. I shall be there shortly, we have much to discuss."

 

With that he gathered what data he could, at least that which he had compiled into database and discs, so Darth Mavanger could scrutinise them himself. Placing them in a large bag, he placed it upon his back. The lightsaber he had borrowed, now a permanent addition at his side, slung to his right. He sent a communication to the captain, a replacement for the previous he had known. 

 

 "Varno, the ship is yours. I must see the Warmaster on personal business. Keep her in order while I am away. Prepare my shuttle for departure."

 

 He answered quickly.

 

 "Yes my Lord-Captain."

 

 With that preparations were made, and the shuttle was soon ready in the hangar with a small guard to see him off. Saluting, Akheron entered alone, knowing he would hopefully not need additional assistance. At least he hoped so and trusted in the Darkness and Darth Mavanger that nothing untoward would happen. Piloting the shuttle, he contemplated events, how the Dark Lord he had helped to find and initially backed had squandered the chance she had been given. It disgusted him how she had been no better than those that came before. 

 

But such was her way. The choices she had chosen had sealed her fate and angered the Fanged God, and the Darkness who no longer favoured her.

 

A new champion was needed. A avatar, but Akheron knew it was not him. No he would soon know who it was, the Darkness would reveal this to him as it had the sign. And so he continued, and sought permission to land in the hangar as he approached. As he landed, he waited for any that might lead him to the observation deck briefly before making his own way. Following the Darkness to Mavanger's presence.

 

Entering, he issued a bow and a nod of respect. Despite their differences, they were much the same, survivors. Loyal to the Sith and willing to do whatever it took to see the strong rise. Their dedication to the Darkness was absolute.

 

 "Greetings Lord Mavanger. It has been a while, I am glad to see these rumours of your demise were greatly exaggerated. I suspect you know as I do now, that another Dark Lord has fallen, although I know not how or the why. Only that she has likely fallen like so many others before her and only that a new champion of Darkness is likely chosen and I as ever am to be their destroyer. A fist for the Sith to use.

 

I also have something else to discuss, I believe I have found a way to help our cause and a proposition in that regard. Tell me Warmaster in your years of travels, did you ever hear tales about a ship by the name of The Shadow's Gambit? If so how much do you know about it?"

 

He inquired, placing the bag beside him as he talked. 

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

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Tros stood upon the bridge of the Raven's Bane watching the motions of many move through out. His own eyes glanced out over the planet below. He held mixed emotions over the place, mainly due to being called by the Sith woman who took over after the battle of Nar Shaddaa, only to not address them or even acknowledge them. It was insulting, but not in a way that provoked anything within him, as it was something they were used to. He glanced over at Kot'dral, the only other Mandalorian still onboard the ship with him. Before departing their location of finding Mavanger, the others returned to the Revenant, the first of soon to be many Mandalorian battleships. The Crusader-class corvette was the first one produced, and was taking a back seat to Manda'lor's soon to be capital ship, a Keldabe-class Battleship being built over Qat Chrystac. 

 

He stood off to the side of the ship, almost brooding as he watched Akheron arrive and greet Mavanger. He knew the other Sith almost as well as he knew Mavanger. Trusted him to battle and fight the way Mavanger would. He was vested within the exchange, as he wanted to have something built up. To fulfil to the future, they would need to work together towards a common goal. He had hoped that the two would see eye to eye- but he had no idea of how politics worked within the Sith. He had seen too many leaders at this point to fully expect anything solid. Another change he hoped that Mavanger would bring. But for now, Manda'lor stood, brooding in the corner with Kot'dral until he was directly summoned or acknowledged by Mavanger. He would not risk anything that his new found ally was trying to accomplish. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Shapash slipped through the air, whispering on the wind as spider-silk, the darkmetal blade unlinking itself, binding to the rhythm of its master; the bitter heartbeat of the revel. It despaired the loss of the kill, but understood the need of a lesson. The hunt was a feral thing, of baser instincts, unrefined of glory. Awenydd stepped back, watching the apprentice before her within the Force.

 

He was yet inefficient, but he could focus. 

 

The Skad-Mouse dissolved, falling back into the soured blood from which it has birthed. A pale reflection of a broken mind, painted into the physical realm itself. 

 

"You can channel emotions into power, even refine them into movement." 

 

The Sith Lord held out her pale, scarred hand, bloodied palm to the wind-swept sky. 

 

"Now, use them to hunt. Find another acolyte, it doesn't matter who they belong to. Bring them to me." 

 

Her face twisted into something of a smile. 

 

"You could use strength, but that isn't remotely interesting." 

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Darth Mavanger shook his head as the other Sith proclaimed his support for whoever proclaimed their leadership next.

 

"Maybe one day I will know the words that will impart upon you the wisdom I have found in my own death. Free you of the idea that the Dark Side grants us freedom, chooses it's champions. But the days of Dark Lords being some... mythical selection by the Dark Side is over. Thrice they have failed us. Exodus let dissent build within the Empire, Nyrys let the empire fall, and Calypso let the Sith fade from unity. When I came to the Sith Empire, they were powerful, united behind a leader that had led them to battle time and time again. I seek to usher in this era again. I will blaze a trail through the galaxy to it's very core with a Sith Empire reborn as warriors and generals, statesmen and logisticians. We will set the seeds of an empire to surpass any that have come before."

 

He watched the other warrior for signs of dissent, of aggression.

 

"I would claim the mantle of Dark Lord, as is my right as the Warmaster of the Sith Empire, the Warden of Kuat, the Scourge of the Outer Rim. I will claim this title in the name of my deeds, as your general, your ally, and the man that our troops trust with their servitude. I have invited you here to give you an opportunity to draw your blade in opposition, or to kneel to me as the true master of the Sith Order, as earned through my actions, through my force of will, not deigned worthy by some supernatural presence that deems me it's avatar, but by the blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifices I have made for our people. What say you, lord Akheron."

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Akheron listened, even as he noticed Tros to the side, another ally of his. As Mavanger spoke his words sunk in, he made a point. It gave him much to think upon, made him question his own beliefs this far and what It meant to be a Sith. He considered was his attachment to the Fanged God,  to the Brasganu another chain? After silence for a time he came to conclusion they were. That he had misplaced faith. For he had done everything for them and had nothing to show for it. 

 

No more.

 

A revelation was made and his choice decided upon. He would break this chain and sever his connection, he had too if he wished to become all he thought he was. If he was to truly be considered a Sith in not just his own eyes but also in other's. For the Darkness to recognise him and for him to use it as intended. Closing his eyes briefly, he breathed a deep breath before releasing, feeling the current of the Force. His Darkness. And then he spoke aloud, feeling for the first time, in a long time free.

 

As a shackle was removed. All he needed to do now was remove those who objected to the change and purge any who resisted him as was the Sith way. Starting on his ship, but first he would speak to Mavanger, he who had helped the change. A true ally. No he decided, as tempting as it might have been he would not attack

 

Being the Dark Lord had never really appealed to him. No he was a deatroyer, a fist of iron to stamp out the Sith and the Dark Lord's enemies. A general, not a leader.

 

 "What you say is true. And you have given much to think upon and a revelation, it is time to break the final chain. The final attachment if I am to be as I wish to be. I here and now denounce the Fanged God and all his teachings, I separate myself from the Brasganu. But shall keep the parting gift of my ship. Those who would object will be purged. You have my thanks for that, I needed to hear it I think for such thoughts have crossed my mind before, and doubts have been growing in the wake of everything. I have done everything for a supposed 'God' with nothing to show for it. Only suffering. To hell with them and their beliefs. I am my own God. I am Sith."

 

 With that he lowered himself to a knee. He knelt before his better and ally, one he would now consider perhaps a friend for freeing him like this. For enlightening him even if it was not the intention. He agreed with his plan, and believed he would fair better than the others before him, for his goal was clearly to aid the Sith while others only served their own interests. Their own desires and left the Empire and their allies to rot.

 

 "I thank you for enlightening me, I had wished it been sooner. I have no desire to lead, that was never my calling. I am a destroyer, a general nothing more. It is a fact I accepted long ago, in my many failings. I will not oppose you and your claim. I accept your claim and your right to be Dark Lord, by way of your many deeds. I think you will fair far better than the others or even myself had I chosen different. Your plan is sound and in the interests of the Empire and the Order as a whole. Not focusing on yourself so much and your own needs but instead on what we all need. What the galaxy needs. You have my blade and men at your command Dark Lord Mavanger. Long may you reign and bring the Jedi and their allies to their knees."

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas
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https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

If Darth Mavanger was moved by his peer's pledge of loyalty, he did his best not to show it. He was glad to hear that Akheron would finally be abandoning his foolish beliefs, and was eager to see what he could do unbound by mysticism and blind faith. He turned to Tros, nodding at the man who had first found him in deep space.

 

"Lend your forces to this purge if Darth Akheron will have them. Chances for the real thing will be few and far between in the coming days while we rebuild our strength. Int he mean time I will task my remaining agents with finding the remaining Sith so that I may offer them the same ultimatum- Serve, or fight. Our unity is what allowed us a hold on the galaxy. When that fractured, so too did our grip on the people. I will not make that mistake."

 

He opened his communicator and send a signal. It was a signal to his troops, to his command structure, that the game was now afoot. With the support from Tros confirming the loyalties of the Mandalorians, and a known Sith like Akheron supporting his claim, all that was left was ascertaining if Calypso yet lived and if so, whether or not she opposed his ascension. Deep down though, he knew they wouldn't be able to find her. Whatever dark side experiments she had departed to perform were likely the cause of her disappearance.

 

Still, even without direct opposition, there was work to be done.

 

"You mentioned the Shadow's Gambit. I don't know it, but if you're speaking of it then I presume it has some importance to you and your coming plans? Speak freely."

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Akheron nodded in appreciation at the gesture, even as he began to speak. He liked where e it was misleading 59, tell newfound unity which would bind the Sith and hopefully allow them to defeat their enemies at long last. To quell the stagnation and stop a cycle that had kept repeating.

 

 "It is and not just for myself, it would be a boon for the Sith, especially now when we need it most. You see the Shadow's Gambit is a ship...but not just any ship. It is a casino ship registered with the Galactic Alliance or at least it was it probably is registered with the Sovereignty Alliance now. It was long ago commissioned for the Sith under the guidance of Darth Quietus, The White Wolf before he went rogue and was executed. My former master at one point. It was built for multiple purposes. The first was to serve as a front to train apprentices, for inside is a hidden compartment away from prying eyes."

 

 He allowed a short break for the information to sink in and allow himself a breather, before continuing.

 

"The second was to fund the Sith Empire. And the third was as a covert operations vessel to spy on our enemies without them knowing, they came close to discovery once with Coresec existed but the investigation went nowhere and they failed to find out who it really belonged too. When Darth Quietus was alive he took me there and I saw this secret with my own eyes for the first of several times. When he fell in battle, I took over the responsibility, and had kept it kept hidden for a day when we might need it most. A nest egg if you will, to help us if other avenues were taken away and we were forced into exile greater than ever before. I didn't fully trust others even back then to keep it in Sith hands. Not even my own apprentice Lord Aeon, Darth Dictum or Krath Inmortos who have gone missing knew of it. Not many have ever known about it's existence, not even Dark Lord Exodus or Nryrys were aware of it's existence so far as I know. Or if they did they never spoke of it."

 

 He allowed another short break.

 

"I lost track of it after the battle of Nar Shadda and the loss of the fleet there. Records of it's location were lost there so I need help finding the ship itself. It has been elusive to find again. I came across some interesting data though of rumoured sightings over the the last few years, and where it might potentially be. I have been trying to find it since after my return and resurrection following Falleen and the taking of my power base there. All data regarding the ship is within that sack. Everything I have found out about it to date, so you may see for yourself if it's useful. And perhaps speed up the search with some more keen eyes. In such times I think it is time to use it for it's intended purpose once more. If you would allow it as our new Dark Lord and one which think can be trusted with it and know how to use it to it's maximum potential."

 

He awaited an answer curious as to what he thought about it. And the secret few knew about and his involvement in the secrecy. While he waited he turned to their Mandolorian ally, Tros.

 

"I would be grateful and indebted if you do so choose to assist in this purging of the old ways. I always repay such debts, my honour as a Warrior demands it."

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Tros listened quietly as the two Sith talked. The conversation seemed to flow around a purge of sorts. It didn't sound like much of a strong opposing force that could be seen, so when Mavanger made the order, even Manda'lor knew it wasn't going to be very big. He took his steps forward towards the two now, Akheron spoke of a ship he wished to hunt down as well as purging the old ways. Upon arrival to stand fully next to the two, he turned towards Akheron. 

 

"You will of course have the support of Mandalorians on your purge. I believe that I can have a fairly large crew of Pathfinders and Huntmans at the ready for you." He turned to address Kot'dral. "Send word to Sutu on the Revenant to fetch Kami Larkin and her team." He then turned back around to address both Sith. "A small but simple opinion though... While not large, my Mandalorians have begun crafting their own ships. Not in a large way. Two corvettes and a battlecruiser. They should be ready within the month. The Sovereignty has not touched or even blinked at Qat Chrystac where our small shipyard is. If we are going to dig up old ships... off the radar would be wise."

 

He didn't know how the Sith viewed the Sovereignty, or what they assumed their strength was. Although multiple leaders already didn't lend to a strong showing. But their fleet force was unchallenged yet, not even tested or seen. Any attempt to engage this soon could end poorly for them if they went in blind. And a ship, especially with one as the Shadow's Gambit, could draw unwanted attention unless handled correctly. Akheron may not have known that Tros pursued this Darth Quietus long before he fought along side Terra, and even before his time defending Mandalore under Kandor Fett. He had staked out many of the Sith's locations, but never had the chance to pull the trigger on the Sith. A regret that he still holds to this day. 

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  • 3 months later...

The quest for paradise was not the discovery of a holy land where every need was tended to and every want satisfied. It was a peculiar concoction of drive, vision, and competence that led one to build an admittedly flawed simulacrum of your paradise. There would always be things that escaped true understanding on the level that they could be definitively communicated, ideas and concepts that demanded by their nuance and unattainability to live in the realm of story and art, the source of the imperfections. To the architects of heaven, philosophy and knowledge of the occult underworkings of the galaxy were as vital as masonry and engineering. But to hold that lofty aspiration dear is often to associate so heavily with the higher truths and principles that you forget that your foundations are built and maintained in the realm of the physical. 

 

The dream of ascendancy alone would not keep the night chill from ravaging them.

 

The shattered remains of the ancient Sith capitol may have conjured images of what has been, but its skeletal embrace lacked the life and warmth that the Sith clinging to it so desperately sought. They were told that they were special. They were told that they were invincible. They did not comprehend that their masters were speaking of their potential and not their inherent worth.

 

To Darth Idrija’s understanding, the initial vanguard of Sith had been on Ziost for months, yet even the most basic of utilities had yet to be constructed. She had doubted when she had heard Dark Lady Nyrys’s plan to surrender control of the galaxy, but now as she saw the Sith utterly broken when divorced from their mighty bastions of power, she understood. The core of her people had grown rotten through the fermentations of ease, plenty, and utter dominance. From that cauldron oozed a fetid swamp of offal and untended corpses that had already been claimed by the planet’s plummeting temperatures. All the while many of the Sith gazed enraptured upon this new Dark Lady, an ancient Sith rumored to have been released from a timeless prison from ages past.

 

Perhaps Darth Calypso was a phantom of their past, another tribulation sent to test the worth of the Sith. The nostalgic vision she promised drew many, but it was nought but words, and her dominion over it stilled the hands of all others who might contribute to the efforts of rebuilding. Darth Idrija would not entrust her dreams so futilely to the empty promises of others.

 

Moving with purpose, she came upon a refugee camp of thralls captured during the battle of Nar Shaddaa. They were untended, but the desolation of the planet was a jailer without compromise. No doubt their would be masters had abandoned them to go strut and peacock in front of the new Dark Lady in hopes of securing favor and authority. Power gifted rather than earned was power lent, and she spit on the Sith that sought such temporary boons. She made herself known to the camp.

 

Maybe if they weren’t starving and half frozen to death there may have been some mad spark of resistance left, but unlike the delusional Sith there was no legacy of power to numb them from the reality of the situation. They were truly and utterly defeated, the light in their eyes replaced with vacant hollows, the motions of life echoed in habit but not any desire to survive. They would not raise their hands against her, they would only hope for a sudden end that they could blame another for. In one smooth motion she caressed the throat of one of the refugees with her blade, and his feeble pulse struggled to expel his blood in the usual spray. In the end there was a look that might have been gratitude.

 

She thrust her index and pointer fingers into the wet fleeting warmth of his throat wound and wiggled them to coat their surface with blood. The blood wasn’t a necessary component of the ritual, but she had left her pen on her ship and didn’t feel like going back. One by one she marked the remaining survivors with profane sigils that bore names and curses of binding, occasionally returning to the dead man for another coating of blood. When the lot of them were marked she willed the darkness to lure wicked spirits and contain them momentarily in these broken prisons of flesh. In millennia past, sorcerers would offer the finest, most fit mortals to house the darkness, believing it worth worshiping and offering tribute. She took particular pleasure in binding them to such lame and unremarkable mortals, for it was her will that they were to serve. 

 

“I require a forge and the restoration or installation of basic utilities in the city. The sooner you complete these tasks the sooner I release you back into whatever pit you crawled out of. Fail me in this and you will rot inside those bodies for deathless eons.”

 

The possessed growled and bristled, but in the face of her power what could they do but obey? They set to their purpose with preternatural strength and uncanny understanding of the physical sciences to restore at least some measure of Ziost. Darth Idrija would not die enraptured by false salvation, she would craft her own.

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The heat of the forge offered a welcome refuge from the encroaching chill of the frozen tundra, but Darth Idrija was grateful to have experienced the bitter cold first. Having come from a city planet the concept of temperature extremes had once been an alien to her, as every aspect of life was controlled and moderated to be inoffensive. Such unwavering comfort was a soporific for the soul, an insidious numbness that bred acceptance and indifference like vermin. The feeling of one extreme gave perspective on its opposite.

 

While the city’s utilities had long ago fallen into a state of disrepair, the structures largely had remained intact. Her forge was set up in the gutted remains of a restaurant, once the infrastructure was restored the various hookups in the kitchen area would be useful to her craft, and the inherent tiered nature of its design also served her future needs. She had spent most of the day melting down and shaping glass from silicates that her bound servants had gathered, weaving spells and curses into the panes so that they would withstand the elements and rebuke any fool that sought to trespass through them. She could have had the possessed do it, but there were more urgent things for them to address, and the idea of playing a part in restoring the place herself appealed to her.

 

She scanned the room furtively for a moment, both with her eyes and her more occult senses, before taking out a leatherbound journal from her satchel. She carefully unlocked each of the eight seals and in whispered chants subdued the cursed string as she unwound its grasp on the book. Thumbing through the pages to a silk marker about a quarter of the way into the journal, Idrija found the divide between her prior work and the virgin potential of blank paper.

 

While she was no cryomancer the understanding of cold was useful in her work, both as a contrasting definer of heat and as an option for satisfying requests of future clients that might want weapons with gelid sorceries. Her pen glided across the paper in flowing script, although in this particular case static lines and dots heavily presented themself in the transcription, a reflection of the stillness of cold. It lacked the beautiful fluidity and unconstrained energy of fire, instead a buttoned up prudishness that's defining characteristic was lack. It was off putting in isolation, its only value to her in disparity.

 

She turned the page and began a new entry, this time using the interplay of stillness and motion to heighten the extremes. The formula was too unstable, at least in this unrefined form, to be used on a melee weapon but it would be a useful application for lanvarok disks. Darth Idrija was short on enemies to shoot at, but why wait for a fight to get ready for it?

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Darth Mavanger walked through the ruins of Ziost's surface, the planet's cold biting at his being even beneath his robes and armor. He hadn't truly understood the magnitude of the Daith Order's failure to recover from the war in the early days, each still pouring resources into fighting the tide of Sovereign and Jedi forces to hold onto whatever pieces of the galactic stage they could. Instead, they had lost everything, and were left with nothing to rebuild. All around him was evidence of this. Sith who didn't know the first thing about building an empire, only maintaining one that had been built by others.

 

So used to their palaces and offices, they were unprepared for the harsh ice age that Ziost demanded they endured. Most that had the ability had retreated to the ragged fleet in orbit. He had received a few petitions of loyalty himself for such a luxury to be provided, but he had declined them all. They would learn to endure the elements, or they would never be able to retake a galaxy who's populace now resented them.

 

Still, not every Sith had been rendered helpless. The useless had sunk, resembling the beggars and the rabble more than Sith without the support of nearly limitless resources, but the truly powerful and resourceful were starting to rise to the occasion, establishing their own districts and territories that they ruled over like petty kings and queens. He had visited several such places, gaining the allegiance of those that would bend the knee, and gaining the heads of those few who had tried to oppose his rise. He was content to let the survivors continue their rule once they had sworn fealty on the condition that they heed his call when the time came.

In truth he could have mobilized them today, struck out for battle in a desperate attempt to regain a foothold. Part of him wanted to do just that, to relish in the simplicity of waging war. But he was surrounded by the consequences of such sentiments, and understood the need to let his people stabilize. This brought him to where he was now. It was a humble place, an old restaurant in the heart of the old capitol. And yet, despite the humble appearance, it was Sith, and a place left untouched by the surrounding would-be warlords. It drew curiosity as to why such a small position would be left unassailed, and warranted a visit if nothing else. He entered fully expecting to be stopped, either by guards, words, or traps, but met no resistance. Curious indeed.

 

He could feel the difference in the air as soon as he entered- Not heat per-se, not this close to the entrance, but a lack of biting wind and the start of a new structure built over the old. It was almost a metaphor for the Sith as a whole, but he wasn't concerned to ponder such things at the current moment. Moving deeper, he could see a familiar glow, a known presence in the force. A forge.

 

He reached the doorframe, his frame blocking out any stray light that may have found its way in, leaving only the light of the fire to illuminate the room. He could see who he could only presume to be the owner of the forge at work, studying whatever tome or manual she had managed to salvage from the fallen empire.

 

"I'm impressed. It took me the might of a hivemind to assemble my forge this efficiently, and yet you've managed to perform such a feat out of the kitchen of a diner. How did you manage such a thing?"

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

The pyromancer waved her hand over the ink, drying it rapidly, before closing the journal and carefully rebinding and sealing it. Her unexpected guest was a Sith, most likely a warrior judging by the armor he wore, too heavy for any other breed of her kin. She could feel its weight even before she saw him. She rose from her cross legged sitting position with her back to him in a slow and smooth movement, too fast and she might have come across as intending aggression, too furtive and it might have suggested fear.

 

“Just like any young woman looking to find fame and romance in a new city, I used dark sorcery and blood sacrifice. I refuse to die waiting for a shared delusion to birth itself into reality like those other fools who were never weaned off of their mother’s milk. If you seek such succor here, I have no interest in providing it to you, this is a place only for those that find value in their own measure.”

 

She turned to regard him and saw signs of a warrior tested, his armor showing the kinds of wear and damage that suggested having seen real combat.

 

“But you don’t look to be that kind of fool.”

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