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Aaris III


Tarrian Skywalker

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                                  Bernon Mrrgwharr felt his Master's presence before he saw it. The pilot had fallen near him, and Solus had ended his song of mockery and admiration. The Dark Master's Apprentice, Bernon, followed the group into the dark throne room, and the cold darkness radiated around him as dark spirits stalked him. He strode into the room, as the cold enveloped him. The freezing temperatures didn't do much to him, given his armor, the padding underneath, and his facial hair covering much of his face. He was not afraid, but he was cautious, this place was a land of the dead, the damned, and the tortured, and what he had seen on Ziost was nothing compared to this. He stood before his Master's presence, and, genuflecting before him, stood nearly still, moving only his arms to present to his Master his saber's hilt.

 

                                 This, he suspected, would be where he would train for a while, as it was his Master's home, and he would have to get used to the constant vengeful spirits clamoring about, but it was something he could do, and the power would certainly be worth the price. He stopped to think for a bit about something Solus had told him, that he might be chosen as the one for Krath Inmortos to possess, he hoped this would not be the case, and either way, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it if it were to happen. Bernon Mrrgwharr began to drop to not one, but two knees, ending his genuflection and kneeling before his great and powerful Sith Master. He gathered himself and began to speak, hoping to not upset his new Master. He began to open his mouth and the words spilled out of him.

 

                                 "Great and mighty Krath Inmortos, my Master, and Master of the Sith, I present to you your Lightsaber." He kept what he had to say simple and short, but also a tad bit formal, so that he would not upset or bore his Master. While he waited for a response from Inmortos, he began to recite in his head the code he had been told earlier, 'Peace is a lie, there is only Passion. Through passion I gain Strength. Through strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory, and through Victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.' He knew these words to be completely true. Their truth could be seen by anyone throughout the Galaxy, it was not just the truth of the Sith, but the truth of the Galaxy's nature, and the truth of the Force.

 

                                 Peace was most certainly a lie, Mandalorians warring with everyone and everything, small-time raiders and marauding pirates killing and slaughtering their victims, Galactic wars between the Sith and Jedi, Empire and Republic, and soon, Sith and Jedi, and Sith and Galactic Alliance. He knew that Passion fueled Strength, if Passion made Sith as strong as Darth Akheron, Krath Inmortos, Darth Calypso, and all the other Sith both past and present, nobody can state otherwise. Strength makes/made people powerful, it is/was what made beings such as Revan, Malak, Vitiate, Scourge, Malgus, Bane, Zannah, Cognus, Plagueis, Sidious, Vader, and so many others past and present powerful beyond imagination. Through, and only through power, could people attain victory, it was how soldiers won battles, how Sith brought Jedi low, how Warriors destroyed settlers, and how fleets annihilated cities. Through the Force he knew that he could finally be free, free from the shackles of the pitiful Galactic Alliance and the dogma of the Jedi, and finally free from everyone and everything that had power over him.

 

@Krath Inmortos

Edited by Bernon Mrrgwharr
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The stillness of the room seemed to mute the deference of his apprentice. Inmortos would have to admit, he was surprised the untrained had come this far and seemingly unscathed overall. It was a testament to the vast pools untapped of power that lay nestled in the man’s mind. That, or Akheron and company had done well to protect him until he was ready. And yet, he had brought the saber, even know held it towards the frozen form atop the throne as an offering. A cold invisible finger would seem to pass across his apprentice’s chin; chilling and dead, yet a fleeting gesture of approval, a rarity indeed and the promise of training soon to come upon this cursed world.

 

To Ōk, Inmortos felt his presence. It was young in the scheme of the eternal darkness, but it carried with it an age of experience, of a dynasty of darkness. It was almost, almost recognizable, as if the souls of those that preceded this recently rescued Sith Lord were familiar to Inmortos, faces without names, identities lost upon the fringes of one’s mind just out of reach. Regardless, Inmortos recognized the deference the worldy blind Sith paid in his silence, and it was to he that the disembodied voice directed his first query. “Welcome Forsaken Lord of the Sith. My spirit recognizes these others, but you . . . pray tell, why have you come to the halls of the forgotten and the damned?”

 

Inmortos undead gaze fell across Akheron, the muscle to Inmortos’ magics, his equal in the physical application of the force while Inmortos touch played with what lay beyond. They were joined together in accursed oaths and profane ritual. Baptisms of blood and fire, and the former had called his fellow pirate lord to this forsaken hold, the throne of Inmortos, and a enclave from which to return retribution to the galaxy, a home to begin to see that the Sith, the name of Inmortos was never forgotten. The Sith had spoken true, Inmortos’ oath fulfilled, the Necromancer loosed upon the galaxy until called upon to serve the order of the moment.

 

And finally, the undead gaze of Inmortos passed over the twisting envies of Solus as they were sucked into the void leaving naught but stillness and cold in their wake. At least he was not speaking, perhaps his master’s brutal ways were finally showing results. Yet his unchecked emotions betrayed him. He would never have this power and the cold press of nothingness promised just that. 
 

And if Akheron could not tame the gravel, Inmortos was still more than willing to temper him in the ice cold flames of death’s forge, a frozen crystalline conduit for Inmortos’ eternal power bound into a blade.

 

And as the stillness pressed in from all sides the frigid fog that separated this world from the next seemed to thin, the icy blue crowding along the edges of the room as the dejarik board of eternity seemed to shimmer in the darkness as if from a long ways off.

 

Somewhere far below, the body of the fallen linworm smoldered, fractured and broken against the frozen snow. Spirits of the dead swirled around it, accepting the offering of another soul unto the void.  Smoking and hissing the body lay there, dead; and yet, after several minutes, a hand began to twitch.

 

((Want to give @Lord Ōk Rägnär a chance to answer before bringing Inmortos back in my next post. Then we’ll get rolling!))

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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.

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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@Lord Ōk Rägnär‘s humility spoke to the spirit of Inmortos. The man acknowledged his place and yet asked for that beyond his station. It was the way of the Sith and such a bold request would be honored. Such a request would have a price. If it could be paid, the stores of knowledge that predated even the Sith and Jedi orders waited decyphering.

 

But before a response could be generated or carried across the unnaturally cold still air they were interrupted. A great crashing wind blasted through the darkness carrying a biting deathly chill. The doors that led to the balconies all burst inward as snow and ice billowed into the still unpierced gloom. Ringed in frozen white snow and ice, the fractured scorched body of the linworm shambled into the throne room.

 

With a thunderclap, the invisible spirit of the necromancer crashed into the billowing power of the storm and spirits that had carried the sacrifice to Inmortos’ throne. With a flash if icy lightning the entire room erupted in cold white light and then in an instant, the darkness was back, taking over as the visage of Inmortos atop his throne shattered into a million pieces.

 

In the darkness, the robe-draped skeletal frame of Inmortos rose, carried by an icy aura as the wraith given substance cracked and popped as the Lord of the Dead tested his new form, the tendons popping and cracking with each spiraled joint. Slowly he drifted across the room until the form settled atop his throne and the winds died down leaving nothing but the stillness, the darkness, the cold. A faint blue light began to glow on Inmortos’ naked skull; icy spears jutted through the smooth bone. His crown that bound him to the power of this world, to his throne, erupted confirming the blessing of Inmortos’ eternal spirit upon this latest host.

 

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The wind roared and then died. The icy tendrils of death seemed to slowly crawl across every surface with ethereal frost, and the lidless eyes of the lich king surveyed those who stood before him. A frightful smile played across the skeletal lord’s face, “Welcome my brothers and servants.”

 

”My apprentice,” he beckoned to @Bernon Mrrgwharr  as he reached for the fractured saber hilt. “You have proven worthy in this. Let it be that you are worthy of greater things than this. A test then, remove your trappings of your prior life. You will not need them. Where you will go, the darkness will provide. Cast them into the vortex outside this sanctuary.”

 

Turning his gaze to @Karys Narat iv-Adas “My blood-bound brother,” he hissed, “May this sanctuary serve as a base of operations until your men are strong enough to claim another world for your own. Your men may reside within the frozen barracks below, but they may not trespass within this sanctuary or the inner chambers of my eternal crypt. Those that do so will be consumed.”

 

 

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Solus was deeply impressed with Innmortos’ ability to come back from the dead. The new vessel he had chosen was terrifying in its own right, not to mention the waves of cold freezing the impossible geometries around it. The shapes didn’t just become sluggish; some even stopped altogether. 

 

For a moment, the lines of envy in Solus faltered as they changed to awe, causing his body to freeze for a moment.  But they quickly shifted back, Solus feeling envious of the powers Inmortos had gained. Shouldn’t those powers be his? In time he would. He just needed to be patient for now.

 

“Man of frost, you’ve done much to avoid the title 'Man of Wax'! Truly deserving songs of both ice and fire” Solus commented, conjuring his own emotions to overcome his awe. “Though your thoughts may be frozen as well necromancer, for we already have a base and a growing cult on Falleen, and would not my master’s home world be more suited to the purpose of training the Fanged one’s chosen? Korriban is a place of rage and darkness after all. Unless of course, you know something I don't…”

 

Solus stopped and adjusted his sensors like a pair of glasses on a scholar’s nose as a thought struck him.

 

“Then again, the mad beast we created like some hag’s coven will still be of interest to all of us. No doubt, those of Spider’s Temple would be interested in it. The thing’s soul was birthed from my mind, which in turn was called by the Great Spider. Yes, yes... I would love to be close to my child that I helped sire. All children should remember their fathers after all.”

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                             Bernon Mrrgwharr relished in becoming fully accepted by his Dark Master, Krath Inmortos. He had felt the cold of the undead Lich King touching himself, and understood it as a sign of acceptance. Bernon accepted the wishes of his Master, and headed down closer to the vortex around the palace of the dead and the damned itself. Whenever he reached there, he dropped his blaster down below, as it became swallowed up by the frozen blizzard outside. He began to take off the individual pieces of the Combat Armor, throwing it into the vortex. He thought for a while while he did so as well, on the prospect of a Sith Sword, and began to think, what if he was wrong? Maybe the Sith had failed in their war against the Jedi because of the use of the Jedi's weapon, the lightsaber, rather than the ancient weapon of the Sith Sword. If he wished to become a heavy weapon wielding master of destruction on the battlefield, he would need to specialize in Sith specific weapons. His initial thoughts on the double-bladed lightsaber were also wrong he realized, as lightsabers were mostly weightless, other than the hilt, so if he wanted a heavy weapon, and one that was Sith specific, he would need to use a Sith Sword. He now accepted this, and was both willing, and wanting, to use one rather than a double-bladed lightsaber.

 

                             Throwing the last piece of his Heavy Combat Armor to the ground, and throwing the comlink down below as well, he left only the clothes on his back to cover himself. Once he was complete, he felt nearly weightless, which for him was a rare feeling indeed, given he almost constantly and always wore his armor. The feeling to most would feel enjoyable, but to him, it made him feel almost naked, uncomfortable, and unprotected. Once he was complete, he turned to his unofficial Master, Darth Akheron, and stated "I have thought on your offer, and I have decided that I would prefer a Sith Sword, thank you for making me aware of such an option." He walked over to Krath Inmortos, lord of Death. He kneeled before him and spoke. "Lord Inmortos, I have cast aside my worldly possessions, and all I have are the clothes on my back... I am ready to learn." Since he was without his armor and simply in the body-glove underneath, his hardened muscles showed underneath, and the helmet was gone, his Mohawk was there for all to see. His beard was there as well, it was short, but not so short that you could easily see the skin underneath. He was unaware of the different paths to follow as a Sith Warrior, but simply by choosing the Sith Sword he had already chosen the path of Wisdom of the Blade.

 

@Krath Inmortos @Karys Narat iv-Adas

Edited by Bernon Mrrgwharr
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Akheron stood in awe initially at the spectacle he witnessed, but then he was beginning to get used to seeing it so it didn't have quite the effect it once had. He nodded, accepting the offer of sanctuary, at least for now. As his apprentice spoke, he found it amusing that he thought Falleen was his. It was Akheron's. He spoke.

 

 "That may be true, but multiple locations with varying terrain and environment is beneficial to our needs. Diversity of this would make for more effective converts to the Clan, ones who could and shall be capable of changing battlefields and other factors. Or do you not see the potential? It pays my apprentice to consider more than what you just see." 

 

As his apprentice stopped talking, Akheron felt the buzzing of his holographic com system. One reserved for emergency situations. He wondered what it was as he answered allowing all to see Sirius, the commander of the flagship standing to attention. The hologram was suffering bouts of static on account of the spirits nearby, Inmortos power and the tower but the group of gathered Sith were able to make most of it out.

 

 "I am sorry for disturbing you my lord. But we have just received emergency protocol Code F4403 Invasion. It came direct from Falleen, I have initiated the failsafe measure and requested additional Sith support per your instructions in the event of this likelihood occurring. As you suspected, the Sovereignty dogs, Jedi puppets and Imperial Knights have found us as eventually you knew they might at last and seek to undo your plans."

 

Akheron considered his options. It appeared for once his apprentice may have been right, he had waited too long to return and now a price would be paid. But he wasn't about to let his apprentice gloat on it. No, he had other ideas in mind. Turning to the group, he spoke.

 

"It looks like my stay was short indeed, I must depart to defend my own base of power. For as you just saw...Fallen is under some kind of attack. My apprentice you were right for once...I should have acted sooner. We must return and secure the secrets we hid there. We must send a message, that the Sith and I personally will not go quietly if they wish to steal what belongs to me. They have awoken my Wrath and invoked the Rage of the Sith. My apprentice your goals on our arrival are to primarily secure all primary and secondary data pertaining to the Clan ship designs...these include those to the flagship...they MUST NOT fall to the enemy, you know the ones, and secure scrolls and holocrons. The secrets of the Clan rituals. Destroy everything on the way out, and rally those loyal to activate the sleeper cells. Those who don't know how to keep quiet...silence them. Use whatever means are at your disposal and any method within your training to achieve your objectives. Use the Darkness and show our enemy it was folly to strike at what is mine. I shall attempt to distract the Jedi or any others I come across. They came for me, I shall oblige them. 

 

Have our Linnorms hide in the labyrinth of caverns and tunnels to conduct guerrilla war upon the population in our stead until we return. We will wear them down over time. Do this and succeed your objectives...and the Darkness and myself may yet find you worthy of the next step in your evolution as a Sith. A prize you have long sort. Lord Dictum, Krath Inmortos. I request volunteers and so you are welcome to join the hunt if it is your wish."

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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Inmortos watched with a disconnected nonchalance as bees of Falleen’s assault became known to the group. In truth, he had known of such treachery before the communique had arrived. His spiritual brethren inbound by the mortal chains of time and space had seen the launch of Imperial warships and felt the haughtiness of the Jedi as they made themselves known, spied hidden amongst the populace that Lord Akheron had professed such control over. As the transmission ended and eyes returned to the skeletal Lich King, Inmortos stalked to his throne. Spinning he sat in his still empty splendor, the emperor eternal of a world deprived of all the side of light proclaimed to protect; a mere facade for their own power and shame. Raising a single hand, Inmortos waived @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Solus off.

 

”Go. Attend to the mortal needs of your world. If it grows to dire for you to handle alert me and I shall rend your holdings as splendid as my own.”

 

And with that, they were gone from his mind and his sight. He had no army at this time to offer and remembering the words of their new Sith Lord, @Darth Calypso, knew that to involve any more Sith in such a reckoning would be a disobedience and threat to the nature of the Sith itself.

 

Inmortos turned his lidless eyes toward @Lord Ōk Rägnär, an ancient Sith of mystery who had come to him for power, and his apprentice, @Bernon Mrrgwharr, a warrior of clay waiting to be shaped. Inmortos guestered about the throne room. 
 

“My world is yours.”

 

”But be warned. A dead world is even more treacherous for the living. It may serve your life better to plunge into the churning maw of Falleen alongside Akheron and his servant. There, you will at least die with honor.”

 

Inmortos slowly stood and approached Dictum and Bernon, “I sense more in each of you though, potential to touch the infinite.” 
 

Turning to Bernon, he smiled at his shivering form. “If you wish to become a true warrior of the Sith, you will need to surpass the strength of mind and body any military of THIS galaxy can offer you. To contend with the horrors and atrocities you must endure, you will need to bind yourself to the darkness and be warned, she does not give freely. Take this,” Inmortos held out a sinew draped hand and a rapier-like blade twirled and arced through the air, leaving a wake of crystalized icy air in it’s wake. a limnal blade. Exercise caution my apprentice or you will find your place in my army sooner than you may have hoped.”

 

Walking onward, Inmortos hands did not touch the doors that exited into the dias, although they extend and a burst of wind crashed them open, allowing the storm’s bite to flow inward on a flurry of razored snow. “Little lives upon this world anymore, even the spirits are few. You shall not come to this tower uninvited again, lest you seek to challenge my lordship of this world. Deep beneath the foundations of stone and soul and ice lies a forbidden library. Within it lie countless tomes, relics of lost civilizations, accursed magics, and knowledge no mortal mind may grasp. The knowledge you seek is held within. To reach it you must trespass within the Maze of Insanity. There you will find your will tested by your deepest fears made living. You will be sapped of all your mortal strength and will. Give yourself over to your darkest desires, deny your mortal shackles, let the most primal instincts of your soul serve you; only then will you find the entrance. If you fail, your soul will become mine for eternity. Your test is not finished yet though. You must find the ancient texts laid out for you by the darkness. Touch naught but they; for any trespass into the forbidden may rend your mind beyond repair.”

 

The two Sith would need to descend the tower in the storm, wander the empty dark dripping halls of ice, find their ways to the depths of Inmortos’ fortress and then force their way into the hidden Maze of Insanity where only the most depraved spirits roamed and cursed and snares awaited any who dared trod within. If they remained together, the darkness would whisper to them until they turned upon one another, but separated they would be easier prey to the maddening of their own minds. 
 

((Lets make this a multi-post quest. 1st post: Finding the maze beneath the citadel and ziggurat. 2 or 3: Entering the maze and encountering the traps within. Feel free to delve into your characters’ own weaknesses as you are brought to the edge and pushed over, being forced to rely on the darkness (even untrained) to survive or be destroyed. 1 post finding the entrance to the library and then we’ll go from there. I will offer ambiance and response/GM as needed. Once inside the library, I have a few other surprises to test you both. There you’ll get some training in your given path.)) 

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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. 

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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                              Bernon Mrrgwharr had heard the call to battle for Darth Akheron, and had also heard the Lich King Krath Inmortos and the Sith Lord Darth Dictum decline the offer to join in the fray. When he was given the Limnal Blade, he took it cautiously, aware of its malevolent power over the Darkness, and carried it as a soldier into war would carry his sword. He had used and trained with vibro-blades and vibro-swords throughout his Mercenary training before, so he knew the basics on wielding this blade, but he also knew that it was no mere sword, that it had some kind of power, a power he may not know of yet, but one he would soon find out. He spoke his words of gratitude to his Dark Master "I thank you for this blade of great power, my Master, I shall put it to good use." After thanking his Sith Master, he rose from his kneeling.

 

                             Bernon Mrrgwharr turned on his heel, and followed Darth Dictum towards where he was headed, and joined the search for the Maze underneath the Citadel and the Ziggurat. Where he headed to now, he would learn valuable knowledge for his chosen path, the Wisdom of the Blade Warrior. The ground he traveled on to get to his destination would be his trials for gaining such knowledge, as his will, his power, and his strength would be tested, he knew this with almost complete certainty. The blade in his hands had a heavy weight to it, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. What bothered him however, even with his great constitution and endurance, was the absolute freezing cold weather, but it was something he would have to get used to. He continued searching as he thought to himself.

 

                             The Sith had lost the war with the Rebellion, then the Galactic Alliance and Imperial Remnant, and the Jedi. That, of course, was obvious, but what caused the loss wasn't very apparent. He had a few ideas behind the failure. The first reason was because the Sith had used the traditional weapons of the Jedi, the lightsaber, rather than the traditional weapon of the Sith, the Sith Sword. The second reason was probably infighting, as the Sith Empires had all fallen before in part because of something similar to that. The third reason was most likely because their Empire focused on strength in numbers, rather than the quality of their Sith or their troops. The Sith had many who were weak among their numbers, sentient beings unfit to be Sith. Their troops were probably poorly trained and equipped as well, though he didn't know for sure.

 

                             As he continued his search, he finally found the entrance to the maze, and called out loudly above the howling wind. "I have found it, the entrance to the Maze my Master spoke of." He braced himself for whatever would come, he strengthened his mind, readied the blade in his hands, and prepared his will to fight against whatever would come at him. He waited for Darth Dictum to arrive. He sincerely hoped he would make it through this, and he knew he absolutely had to. If he failed, he would die, and his Master would turn him into a walking corpse, a fate he would deserve for his weakness. If he succeeded, he would gain power, and knowledge of the Sith Order that would be invaluable. There would be no room for failure, and he would not, must not, fail. This would be his first trial, and if he could not succeed, he would be unfit to be a Sith.

 

@Lord Ōk Rägnär@Krath Inmortos

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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))

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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The massive doors yawned open with a frigid creak revealing four separate hallways beyond that stretched forward into the darkness. The distant dripping of soulfrost, wept from the eternally tormented souls bound within the walls of the crypt. To trod in such waters would invite eternal suffering. The frozen blackness seemed impassable as the air itself seems to claw at the warmth of their exposed flesh, creeping tendrils of death seeking to pluck the warm life forces from their hearts. And yet, as the doors thudded open, their echo carrying into the eternal night below Inmortos’ tower, a pair of wisps seemed to materialize from the air. Cold, blue, and eternal spirits of savage servants from beyond the realms of the Sith come to guide the travelers to safety or, perhaps, certain doom. Their hunger and hatred was palpable. Regardless, their cool electric glow was all the light that dimly pierced the blackness; all that awaited was the choice made by the mortals who stood at the maw of what would very well eventually become the necropolis of the god-king himself.

 

The force itself seemed almost frozen here, attempts to pierce the veil and divine what was to come seemed impossible. To try would invite assault from unseen assailants, tearing mortal flesh to shreds.

 

The hallway to the left yawned off into the darkness before descending sharply downward along a slick path with few handholds. At the bottom of the unclimbable slope was a shallow pool

of collected soulfrost drippings, unnaturally cold and able to freeze flesh solid in an instant, it was the same material infused into the limnal blade Inmortos had gifted to @Bernon Mrrgwharr. To touch it was to have the energy sucked from your body instantly, lethally if one did not rely on the stagnant force itself to sustain them, to draw what little life could be leeched from the rock of this dead world.

 

The lefthand center passageway continued straight, unmolested

for what felt like eternity; for, in fact, it was. To turn around would result in an eternal path back, never to find the entrance. Wandering along the unblemished glass-like diamond ice, one would contend with their pale reflections, twisted and contorted by the dark side, prophesies of futures yet to come, of the eternal damnation that awaited the lost wanderer. Only when one succumbed to their madness would a bend in the path appear.

 

To the right, beyond where the light of the wisp touched, regal spiraling stairs led upwards into a collapsed passageway of jagged ice and soul-sucking frost. If one could traverse this ruse they would find themselves in a strange and frozen laboratory. Bubbling concoctions and potions lined the walls as the doors the wanderer entered through vanished, entrapping the trespasser in a windowless doorless room as the fumes from the potions begin to fill the room. Each one a mind altering concoction and poison that would effect the senses, sap life, and draw the ensnared deeper into their own subconscious, bringing the specters contained within to life, making them as real and deadly as any living thing, if not more so.

 

The final passageway, the middle right looked identical to the others, and yet it was littered with unforeseen traps, spikes that would erupt from all sides seeking to impale the wanderer, vats of soulfrost that would dump unseen from the ceilings, false T-intersections where the floor would drop out into eternal abysses that seemed to never end until the wanderer passed from the realm of the living into that of the dead where they would be separated from their bodies and their very souls set upon by demons clawing their way up from the abyss. Even as the air temperature continued to plummet, sucking the life from all who passed, freezing their muscles and  slowing their reactions the path would wind forth until eventually the trespasser succumbed to the traps, only then would they be forced to contend with the darkness, calling upon it for survival or be destroyed.

 

—————-

 

Far above, Inmortos sat upon his throne, motionless as his spirit escaped his body to wander his world. He had work to attend to and an apprentice to train. A necromancer’s work was never done.

 

(( @Bernon Mrrgwharr, pick a passageway and explore how it affects your character. Dive into the depths of what makes him tick. Allow yourself to be pushed to the brink and beyond. Let this post find you at the brink of failure or beyond; then next post allow yourself to grasp the force either by sheer will, accident, or whatever, and pull yourself clawing from the brink of destruction.

@Lord Ōk Rägnär you do your thing brother! Pick a passage and allow the darkness to guide you as you come to the edge of sanity and reason. Allow your fledgling assassin skills to begin to manifest

Pick DIFFERENT passages))

 

 

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Solus gave a salute to his master and happily proclaimed “Yes my Lord!” at the task given to him. Finally, a chance to show his actual skills and to be shown the respect he, the great Solus, the Dragon, deserved. Not to mention it would be an opportunity for his own Madness to grow. The Madness that dwelled thrived in chaos and abandonment, and what was more wild then destruction and battle? Where a wound was possible, the Madness could grow in both Solus and in others. 

 

Though, Solus had another reason for being so happy. To be told that he was right by his own master, who had so tortured him over and over for speaking out of turn or doing something odd, was ecstasy. While Solus’ sin was envy, his father’s was pride, and he inherited a portion of it from Roshan. And it was very tempting to let his pride take over. 

However, solus resisted for the moment. He turned to Innmortos and bowed. 

 

“I bid thee farewell, man of frost! May your reign on this dead world be as stable as when it was alive!” 

 

And to Dictim, “Good luck blind one. Perhaps next we meet we can exchange notes on our paths into the darkness…”

 

And finally to Bernon, Solus stayed silent for a few moments before saying “Good luck corpsewalker. If you still possess your own body when we meet, then you will impress me.”

 

With that Solus turned and led the way back down the mountain It certainly was easier going down then up. Once at the bottom, Solus met with the other Linnorms on the planet and gestured towards the ship.

 

“Lets move you maniacs! We have a world to full of imperial scum that need to die!”

 

At this, the Linnorms gave out a cheer. Solus chuckled to himself as the ship, filled with Linnorms and Akheron, took off and made preparations for hyperspace. As they did, Solus pulled his instrument and began to play a Bragsanu song. A more sacred one, but one that would get the spirits far more alive for the group. Even as the ship broke hyperspace, the Linnorms were already singing along with the Shard, excited for the possibility of blood and death. 

 

“Stand up faster! Forever! Faster than the flame! 


Make disaster! Together! Disaster within pain! 


For tonight we’re going wild, as we let loose Golden Child


Rolling faster, faster, faster than the flame!”

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                              Bernon Mrrgwharr walked cautiously throughout the territory of the damned and the dead. Throughout his travelling here, it had set him a bit on edge, but it was nothing compared to what he would deal with soon enough. When he finally reached the hallway with multiple passages, he looked around, almost certain each was its own trap. He knew that whichever he went down, would harm him, both physically and mentally, or so he thought. For the first time in a long time, he was actually somewhat afraid, afraid of what his Sith Master had in store for him. He knew that this wasn't going to be easy from the start, but now, he knew that it would likely feel like damnation and hell itself, and if he wished for that not to be his eternal fate, he would have to survive. He would survive, he must survive, or he would be unfit to be a Sith.

 

                             Summoning up all of his courage, he chose his path. He didn't know yet what path the Assassin Darth Dictum would choose, but he was certain he had a different sort of trial. He went cautiously forward into the Darkness, choosing the path that had called out to him the most, the one he felt like he was destined to choose. He began travelling down the left-hand center passageway, and as he turned back to take a look at what path the Assassin had chosen, he realized that the path just went forever backwards, and that he could not return. He knew it must be some sort of Sith Sorcery, it couldn't have been anything else. He continued down his path, knowing there was no way out but through. He knew from the start that this would feel like hell for him, but he had no idea what the term even meant, not until now.

 

                             As he began to pick up his pace, he saw something, a vision, of a man, with veins as black as space itself, and skin as pale and sickly as a dying man's. the man's hair was non-existent, and he had scars all over, the man he saw, he realized, had a sword impaling him through the back of his torso, piercing his spine, heart, and chest, as he lay on his side, dead, on the ground. Without a doubt, he knew this man was him, a vision of the future, or he believed that, anyways. He dropped to one knee to inspect it, only to see visions all around him, of fire and death, of destruction and damnation. It was worse than anything he had ever seen. He saw other Sith fall in battle, friends and family alike being gutted by unknown horrors, and he saw the battlefield, on fire, as the spirits of the dead screamed all around him. It was too real for him, and he began to forget it was only a vision.

 

                             He couldn't take it much longer. For all of his physical strength, his muscles and weapons couldn't save his horrified mind. The nightmares all around him only got worse, more horrifying, more terrible, and much more insane. He tried to stand, to fight it, but he only became weaker as he dropped his blade and fell to his knees. He clutched his head, covering his ears, closing his eyes, trying to stop the visions. He couldn't stop the nightmare, as it went deeper and deeper into his mind. He couldn't even speak now, not that he would, he could barely keep himself from screaming in anguish at the moment. The nightmare he felt wouldn't end, and he feared that this would be the end of him, to die, weak, inside a hallway in a chamber of the Darkness. He wasn't weak, but he felt like it, most wouldn't have lasted this long, but he still wasn't entirely sure he would last much longer.

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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))

Edited by Lord Ōk Rägnär
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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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                               Bernon Mrrgwharr was nearly insane at this point. He was able to hold out, but for how long? The answer came soon, as a turn, or more accurately, a bend, in the path appeared. Apprentice Bern's visions slowly faded away, and he took time to realize what had happened. The visions, as he thought them to be, were not readings of the future, but rather things to weaken and torment him, and he would not allow them to become true. He would not become the man with the sword in his back, he would live forever, and none of his enemies would know such immortality as he annihilated them all, or so he believed, anyways. He took his hands away from his head, and began to stand, and picked up his Limnal Blade. He waited a bit to recover, and regain his senses, then, when he was able, he moved towards the bend in the hallway.

 

                             The Sith Apprentice Bernon had come to a new understanding of the Dark Side of the Force. He understood its true, horrifying, power, but it was a power he would master, one he would control, and then, he believed with that power, he would become unstoppable. He was a mere Apprentice, but he had taken some of his first lessons just then, and they were lessons he would heed. He had become stronger from this new understanding, and the near destruction of his mind had made him stronger, as he survived, and strengthened his mind, helping reinforce it against mental attacks like that, in case it were to ever happen again. So far he has proven his strength to this damned Maze, but only time would tell if he would prove his might completely and make it out alive. Failure was not an option.

 

                             Gripping his weapon tightly in his hands, preparing himself for an attack, he reached the bend in the passageway, and continued to strengthen his mind and body once more, strengthening his resolve and allowing himself to gain a few moments of rest. He thought to himself while he did so, as he often did. He knew that his mind had barely survived the nightmare visions plaguing him not too long ago, and wondered if he would be strong enough to pass the other tests. He was well-aware that he was stronger than most, and most people wouldn't have lasted as long as he had. However, he was a Sith, and Sith were meant to be more than just above-average beings. He came to the conclusion however that throughout his training he would gain the strength to truly thrive as a Sith. He was only an Apprentice, after all.

 

                             He wondered for a bit about Darth Dictum. He realized that he had gone ahead of the man of a higher rank than him, and that it might have angered him. Of course he didn't mean to anger the Sith Lord, but there was really no fixing what he had already done. If the Sith Lord was mad at him, well, it would fuel his Passion and bring him Strength, at least a little. He had more to worry about than a slightly angry Sith Lord however, he realized, as he still had a mission to complete for his Master. He had a mission to complete, and knowledge of Power to obtain, and he was not about to give that up, especially since his Master would most certainly not approve of it. He had completed his recovery, and both his mind and body were ready for the next task that his Master's Maze would throw at him.

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The eternal tunnel yawed to the left as @Bernon Mrrgwharr’s mind scraped against the edges of sanity, as his mentality nearly forced his body almost to the point of death. He was mere moments from dying, from lashing out on his own emotion to touch the dark side when he clawed himself back into the physical world, the strength of a warrior. Had Inmortos been watching, he would have smiled. In the end, he would know; but for now, the overwhelming sense of loneliness told the necromancer’s apprentice he was alone.  
 

So as Bernon rounded the bend, the walls, the ceiling, even the floor faded from existence, faded into absolute and total nothingness and Bernon was left tumbling. Here there was no light, no heat, no cold, not even darkness. There was nothing to grasp, nothing to feel; in fact the mortal senses would scream out in pain as they were inundated with absolute nothingness, the void between life and death, the veil that fluttered. Here time would cease to exist, a thousand years would pass in a second and a minute would carry on for a millennia. To exist here was unnatural, even more so than passing into the realm beyond. To exist here was to condemn one’s own soul to eternal loss, lost to the void. 
 

Here, Bernon would be forced to confront his own inner demons, to have his own mind claw at the edges of his reality until he was driven to madness. Then and only then, when he was driven beyond the brink would he have no choice but to lash out with his deepest and darkest raw emotions; to grasp the force and drag himself free from the void, to the damned world of the living on Aaris III or beyond the veil into the eternal embrace of death itself.

 

((Great posts. Explore the inner workings

of your character. Allow him to be forced beyond any physical limit that he might be saved from. Force Bernon to lash out, to grasp the force and use it in a raw and wild grasp at survival. To become a true Sith one has to realize the power of the force, how much greater it is than he and the power that it presents to one who can control it. This gives you a chance to delve deep into Bernon, his inner workings or his backstory and then get wild and weird with the force. Don’t forget, the dark side always has a price to pay.

When you succeed, find yourself back in the maze. The dark side will guide you to the library.))

 

 

The spirit of Inmortos swirled through the stormy air, carried upon the winds of the never ending maelstrom as he descended toward the dead world below. Without a physical body, Inmortos passed through the frozen soil. He descended deep into the dead world traveling along untapped veins of soul frost that leeched outward from his ever expanding necropolis of silent solitude. If this was to become the academy for wayward youths that already had applicants, frozen dormitories and classrooms would need crafted. These piercing veins were the first signs of that creation. As long as Inmortos sat upon his throne the creation would continue led by his own hand and strength of will. He did not worry about the Sith lord and apprentice below in the maze; for if they survived, they would be forced to contend with his sacred library and it’s keeper.

 

____________________________________
 

As @Lord Ōk Rägnär stepped into the laboratory, he was inundated not with the hissing whispers of spirits or the overwhelming power of the dead world and the narrow veil between life and death. Instead he was greeted by a silent stillness only interrupted by the soft bubbling of of the boiling beakers, cauldrons, and vats of different colored chemicals, concoctions and potions. The laboratory of Inmortos was covered in a heavy layer of dust and yet it seemed as if it’s keeper had just stepped out. Acrid spirals of steam and smoke curled into the vaulted ceiling of the lab; it’s ice covered stone block build and lack of venting this deep underground allowed shifting hues of blues and browns and green to collect and pool above. 
 

As soon as Dictum entered, the door behind him vanished, sealed in stone and soul frost, cut off from the world around by Sith magic and miles of the soil and stone of Aaris III. Stone benches and tables were covered in ancient pre-Sith formulas and manuscripts in a variety of languages. Against the far wall lay the mummified form of a dried out long dead being, hulking in nature and covered in degraded fur. It could have been a wookiee, a whiphid, a yuzzem or some other beast of a being, it’s body split open and dried from the arid cold air. With the arrival of the Sith Lord, the lab seemed to purr back to life, roiling and bubbling as the thick steam filled the air. It was only a matter of time until the toxic gases began to play at Dictum’s body and mind. Then and only then would he finally be confronted by the single disembodied voice of the lab’s sole resident. It would speak but once when Dictum sought an escape.

 

”Your escape is Death’s door, become that  which you fear and touch the heart of they that can speak to them you once loved.”

 

((Dictum, we spoke in DM. Here is a chance to explore your hallucinations with a bit of chemical guidance and spiritual stimulation. Happy to chat further about opening the door or finding an assassin-y way around the entrapment. Once you are free, feel free to find yourself standing in the frozen cobweb strewn shadowy entrance of Inmortos’ library))

 

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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))

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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                                Feeling the walls, floor, and ceiling dissipate into the void of endless nothingness, Bernon Mrrgwharr was caught off guard. He had not suspected such a thing, and had no idea how to counter it. The feeling was horrid, unnatural, no feelings were here, he couldn't even feel the blade that was in his hands. He tumbled around, and knew that this void had no escape. He could not take the feeling, he would not become a damned soul thrashing in the void in pain for all eternity! He had nothing left to do now, as his inner monsters, the demons of his past crept in. The brutal training he faced that shaped him into the uncaring, Lawful Evil, monster that he was. He was trained to be merciless, brutal, and disciplined. If only his parents had known what daily physical pain he faced there he might not have been sent. While he was grateful for being turned into the man he is today, he hated those who trained him, they were abusive and cruel, and they had turned him into the same exact thing.

 

                               He was kicked around by even the other students, treated as if he was worthless junk, and nothing but a nuisance. Only his instructors were worse, it seemed as if he was beaten almost daily. He had to become like them, and only through his strength did he force those students around him to treat him like he was something more than a slave, like he was the master. He could never make his masters, the instructors, however, feel like they were his underlings, and he was always abused by them, as long as he lived around them, he was in danger. He had been shackled, as a slave, metaphorically. Those were his chains, just like the chains the Alliance had given him, and he would never have a chance to break those chains as a true Master of the Sith, because he was condemned to die in the void! His mind could not take this fact, and it began to tear at him. Negative thoughts crept into every corner of his mind. Most prominently the idea that he had been tricked, this Maze was no test, it was a trap.

 

                               His irrational and insane thoughts went all throughout his mind, breaking it as it had nearly been broken not too long ago. His mental pain was horrid, and so was his physical discomfort. Here, while there was no pain, he could feel nothing, nothing at all. It was like all life, all existence, had been sucked out of this place, even the concept of time seemed to have no meaning here. As a last ditch attempt to save himself from this abomination of an existence, he lashed out with the Dark Side. He drew upon all the mental anguish he had ever felt, the horrid treatment at the Academy, the hate he had for the shackles in his life, and all other passions in his reserve. As he drew upon these, he brought upon the void the most power he could give. He brought out all his pain, his hatred, his anger, and his fear, and as he screamed and released it into the void, it fell apart. The void was gone, and he found himself, with a broken mind, crumpled on the ground. He rose, shakily, to his feet, he was back in the Maze, and he could feel again.

 

                               He now truly grasped the Dark Side of the Force, in all its power, its glory, and its horrifying nature. He rose, rested for a few minutes, regathered his strength, both mentally, emotionally, and physically, and began to move once more. He prepared himself for another encounter as he walked. He also realized that his thoughts on this place being a trap instead of a test were incredibly irrational, if it were simply a trap, he wouldn't have made it this far. He continued traveling down the pathway in the maze, and held the Limnal Blade out before him, marveling at the weapon he was gifted with, and at the same time, staying cautious for another attack. As he had given himself more to the Dark Side, he began his slow transition to the possible future of his looks that he saw, as the vision had some merit, in that he would one day look like the man that was before him in the vision. His veins had begun to become darker, and his skin was a bit more pale, though he had not lost any hair just yet.

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The storm far overheard thundered and cracked with electricity as the aura of the world cracked with the sudden surge of dark side energy emanating from deep below the surface. A grisly purple hue spread over the citadel as the thin veil of death blew open and unleashed specters of a thousand wars of a thousand years upon the empty streets. The invisible guardians given pale form and limited substance as the Maze below channeled the newfound power of the Inmortos’ apprentice and the Lost Sith into the dizzying power conduit of soulfrost.

 

Structures of fearsome authority began to erupt from the world as the darkside power drew from the souls unleashed and the formation of Inmortos’ Sith academy began to take form. One by one the hellspawn reborn souls were ground by the storm into dust, their eternal form contained within the deep blue hues of eternal soul ice that formed dormitories, classrooms, towers and crenellations.

 

And deep below the world, Inmortos laughed as he felt the darkness seek to tug his own soul into the void of his creation. The dark side demanded sacrifice. It was the way of power and when it could no longer draw upon the physical it sought to leech the eternal.

 

Within the Maze, nothing changed. The world remained cold and dark, illuminated only by the faint blue light of the whisps. Yet again, both apprentice and lord had found themselves confronted by the inevitability of the dark side, of eternal damnation, death, and the realms beyond. Their power had been exponentially grown and exploited by the winding conduits of frozen souls that made up the Maze and it’s excess gave way to Inmortos’ master plan.

 

As death’s cold grasp encircled the souls of both ensnared Sith and sought to claim them, they had responded. His apprentice had lashed out, claiming his birthright as a son of the darkness. Clasping a cursed blade in his hand, he was baptized in the cold fury that transcended the raging fires of hate and as the Maze rematerialized about him a great steel door seemed to loom before him as tall and wide as the gates of the great forgotten cities of this world. Fitting his position, even as he came from years of stagnation, Dictum fought and yet gave himself over to the power that Inmortos knew, a power so forsaken by so many Sith. It was death itself, incarnate and omnipotent. And as Dictum gage himself over to his despair and claimed control over the eternal

void of destruction, a single invisible door within the forsaken lab came into existence. Beyond it was a unremarkable room within which the transfigured Bernon stood accursed blade in hand, beyond him stood the great weighted doors that led from the Maze and into the frozen hallowed halls of Inmortos’ library of the ages. All that remained to enter was this final test, the great guardian doors, bound not by lock or key, but frozen shut by the grasp of eternity itself. To enter in the lord and apprentice would be forced to pool their newfound power, a strength of will equal to that of the undead keeper of the crypt that lay beyond.

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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))

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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                               Bernon Mrrgwharr listened as the Sith Lord spoke, and understood well enough what he said. He knew that this would be painful, yes, but this whole ordeal had been, and he had survived, so he would continue to survive, or he would be too weak to be a Sith. He understood what must be done, and told Darth Dictum. "I shall be your eyes for this ordeal, if that is what you wish." Bernon had often wondered what it was like to be a Miraluka, as they had no eyes, only seeing through the Force, this had interested him ever since he had met Dictum. He also had gathered that he had the blood of a Echani in him, and he wondered what that must have felt like. He had watched as the Miraluka had reeled backwards and his eyes bled, and understood that he must be unable to take the fact of eternity, so he must be the one who sees for him. 

 

                               Many people may have seen this man as a disgusting mix of Echani and Miraluka, but for him, he couldn't care less, as long as he served the Sith well, and helped bring the fight to the Jedi. The Sith had, in the past, relied on many different types of power. For example, during the days of Revan, Malak, the era of Vitiate and Malgus, and the days of the Brotherhood of Darkness, they had focused largely on strength in numbers. Numbers alone could never beat the Jedi, of course. The Sith of Darth Bane and his successors were also flawed, as they had no strength in numbers, and no matter how strong they were, they were too few to win against the Jedi completely. For the Sith to win, he knew they would need both individual strength and strength in numbers. Hopefully Darth Calypso would realize this, or the Sith would be doomed to repeat the mistakes of their past.

 

                               He would become a strong Sith, and when he became a Sith Lord, he would join their ranks, and wreak havoc upon the enemy Jedi, and the newly formed Sovereign Alliance. The knowledge that would give him the power to help him on his path lay just beyond this door, and he would do anything to gain that knowledge. He listened as the Miraluka-Echani hybrid spoke his last statement, and he knew that his time had come to make a move. He thought for a bit about his statement, about breaking his chains, and it reminded him of the Sith Code he had learned. He understood that by doing this, and breaking his chains, he would be living up to the Code of the Sith, and it was something he would be will to do, no matter how painful it would end up being.

 

                               Apprentice Bern had only one response in store to Dictum's last comment. "It is the way of the Sith, and I have not come this far to die here, and neither have you, we will gain our power." He opened up his mind to the Sith Lord Darth Dictum, giving his reality to his power over the mind. He would soon see just what pain he had in store for him, but it was a pain he would suffer through and survive, great power demands great sacrifice, and this was no exception. He had suffered the pain of getting here, and he would not back down now, not when his goal was so near, not when almost infinite knowledge and power lay beyond in Krath Inmortos' Library. This was not the last of the tests, he felt, as he could only guess some sort of guardian existed beyond these doors, so he must be ready for that as well, and he stayed cautious, in case when these doors opened, a guardian attacked.

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The eternal vortex of the void swirled as it was touched by the minds of mete mortals. Dark tendrils of ghostly smoke seemed to waft from beneath the door as it creaked and rattled gently in it’s frame. Mortality and eternity clashed together as the veil swayed in an unseen icy breeze that seemed to sweep across the room.

 

Nothing. The door remained sealed and the temperature of the room began to drop, thin layers of icy mist beginning to materialize in the air and coat everyone and everything contained within.

 

To fail again would be to freeze, their souls encased in ice until they could be harvested.

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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.))

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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  • 2 weeks later...

                             Bernon Mrrgwharr, the Sith Apprentice of the Sith Master Krath Inmortos, the secondary Apprentice of Darth Akheron, and the Sith Warrior, felt nearly helpless, yet somehow still powerful, as his mind was continuously almost shattered. This new illusion would teach Apprentice Bern how easily the Force could be controlled and accessed. The power of a Sith Lord coursed through him, and he felt like he could not contain it, it was a power he had not yet earned. It was a Dark Power that he thought he was not ready for, and yet, a power that he would obtain one day. He soon noticed his Limnal Blade in the door, confused at how it got there. However, he still had the weapon in his hands, though this illusion prevented him from realizing it. He began to walk towards the doors, seeking to obtain his blade from the door's clutches.

 

                             As he followed the doors, he noticed that they continued to recede, as if they were running from him. He began to walk faster towards it, the fast walking quickly turning into a jog, then a run, then into a sprint. He chased down these doors in the illusion, feeling as if he would never reach his destination as if he would never open the doors as if he would never regain his blade. He continued to follow it as hopelessness seeped into his mind. He soon could take it no longer as he reached out into the darkest depths of his mind, and released Dark Side energy, in the form of a scream. The concept of mortality soon found its way into the doors, and he felt the illusion washing away and realized the blade was still in his hands. He fell to his knees, his mind becoming both strengthened from the trials, and temporarily weakened, from the constant suffering of his mind here.

 

                             He began to recover himself, strengthening his mind once more in case of another attack upon it. Once he was completed, he stood once more, and he held out the Limnal Blade in his hands, waiting to see what would happen. He now understood the full capability of what he could do with the Force, and how when he obtained its power, how easily it could be accessed. This whole ordeal had been a trial for him, and he knew it was a test, and a lesson, that was certainly not over. He prepared himself, hoping that the doors would soon be opened, and hoping that he would finally reach the power that lay just beyond. Soon, he would have the Library's secrets, and he would gain the ultimate power from it, the power of the Dark Side.

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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.

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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                    As he entered the Library, he had finally come upon what he believed to be the last test. He watched as the Sith Lord was swallowed up by the Dark Book. Bernon Mrrgwharr was a Sith, and he had gotten this far, he would lose an arm for this power, a finger was nothing for this knowledge. Of course, he would sacrifice the most useless one. Entering his left hand's pinky finger, he felt the inner machinations of the lock move. The pain was excruciating, it was not going to be quickly cut. For now, he could hold in his scream, refusing to bend or break, and refusing to remove his hand from the lock. Not that he could, however, as his finger was locked in place now. However slowly it started at first, it began speeding up. More pain built up in him, the Dark Side amplifying such pain, but the pain would serve to make him stronger.

 

                   The lock strangely cut his finger, the blade started on the outside, as usual, but it was an inward spiral effect, cutting his finger from all sides, rather than the way a guillotine would cut off a head, for example. It sped up until eventually, it reached the bone. The Dark Power seemed to sow his finger in a way, cauterizing the wound so that it would not bleed any further once it was off. A blood price was to be paid, but he would not be left to lose too much. The point of this test was to endure more pain and suffering and to test if he was willing to sacrifice for this power, which he was most certainly willing to do. It was not just blood price, it had a more metaphorical meaning than something as simple as just that. Soon, the finger was fully cut off, and the Sith Warrior could hold in his pain no longer.

 

                   He screamed in anguish, for several minutes, until he finally came back to his senses. He wiped the tears of pain from his eyes. He had finally passed this test and no matter how many fingers he lost, no matter how much his mind anguished, he had become stronger, and this book would further that training. He had ambition, maybe too much, but for a Sith, too much ambition was non-existent. The Book soon opened as the lock accepted his sacrifice. And the knowledge, through Dark Sith Sorcery and Power, leaped, in a way, from the tomes, and gave the knowledge to him. It was much to bear, the full prospect of this knowledge entering his mind was almost too much. He had dealt with too many strikes to his mind and body, and he finally began to give in. He soon passed out from the pain.

 

                   His mind was plagued with nightmares as his mind fully came to accept and understand the new teachings, and for nearly three-quarters of an hour, he anguished. But soon after, he awoke, his mind had taken in the knowledge. He now knew much more about the Sith, the Path of the Warrior, and the Wisdom of the Blade. It definitely was not Sith Lord-level training, but it was beginning, he was trained decently now as an Apprentice with this knowledge, and through future tests and training, he would gain the knowledge to become one of the Sith Lords. This was the beginning of him and his power. His physical transformation in the Dark Side was complete, his skin was incredibly pale, as well as his veins were nearly pitch black. His eyes were yellow, and his hair was gone. His left pinky finger was missing, he was Sith.

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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.

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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The whole of the library shook, tomes and sacred texts tumbling freely as the temperature seemed to plummet. Suddenly the long shadows and eerie blue flames of the library were extinguished in frigid shadow; nothingness that seemed to erode the physical world about them all until they tumbled into what felt like frozen eternal infinite.

 

And then as fast as they fell, they would

impact the cold smooth stone of a nearly unadorned room; the smooth windowless and doorless icy walls of Inmortos’ crypt. All that interrupted the empty box of a room was a simple stone sarcophagus jetting up from the center of the room, all carved from one single stone. The room still shook, the after effects of their transit. With a crash that fractured the silence, the stone lid of the coffin tumbled to the floor in a flash of night. Suddenly, standing at the head of the box was Inmortos clad in his dark flowing robes. He reached out with his skeletal hands to become both @Bernon Mrrgwharr and @Lord Ōk Rägnär from the floor forward to the coffin’s stone edge. 
 

“Well done,” He wheezed as his freezing gaze beheld his apprentice’s newfound form. “You have taken the first steps beyond the mortal chains which bind you. Survive and one day you shall break them entirely. Break the bounds of the mortal hold about your spirit. Then you will become the scourge of the dark side, capable of taking any and all that you desire, of carving reality to your will. To begin these steps, become one of the Bladeborn and with your frozen blade slay ten lightsaber wielding foes.”

 

Looking to Dictum, a twisted smile crossed the rotted falling flesh that remained on Inmortos’ face. “For your name has been scribed upon the final page of the tome. Even now, I can taste your soul in the cosmos, condemned to the finality that binds you. You have joined a pact with eternal damnation. You are it’s avatar upon this plane until

it calls you home.”

 

As he spoke, blood began to fill the coffin, materializing as if from the very air, the levels growing until it was filled to the brim with steaming crimson liquid.  Leaning against the edge of the sarcophagus, Inmortos beheld the liquid that filled his final resting place. A single ripple disturbed the surface, a droplet of blood escaping as it passed over Inmortos’ finger. “Our brother, Akheron, has had his soul cast into the void; fallen in battle as a warrior ought to go.” @Karys Narat iv-Adas Looking up, Inmortos’ eyes flashed. “He is bound in the Baptism of Blood and I have not yet concluded the business for which his soul has been cleansed in death.”

 

“Give me your hands,” Inmortos commanded, extending a skeletal hand draped in rotted flesh to both his apprentice and Dictum. “Plunge yourselves into eternity,” he opened his mind to the others. “Reach out to Akheron’s soul, his body ensnared worlds away. Remind him of his failure Bernon, for you now stand where he has fallen; a warrior worthy of the gift of Inmortos. Stoke his spirit until it seeks to destroy you and then, flee. Return to me, lest the Sith’s spirit destroy you and possess your physical form.”

 

Inclining his head toward Dictum, Inmortos hissed, “Should he succeed, draw the body of Akheron’s fallen form into this place. For in the shadows, that which are not can be and those which do not exist are given form.”


 

Throwing back his head, Inmortos began to scream, to chant cold ancient indecipherable magics from beyond history. The room plunged into shadow as the steaming blood began to boil and churn, steam filling the air and turning into ice as specters and wraiths pierced thr veil and began to scream, their jnvisible claws tearing at the flesh of the sorcerer, assassin, and warrior.

 

((Good job you both! Now for the next step, resurrecting our fallen comrade, @Karys Narat iv-Adas who fell on Falleen. Once your portions of the ritual are complete, we will return Akheron to life in out location. Welcome to Necromancy!))

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                                Bernon Mrrgwharr allowed his pride to swell up as he heard of his victory. His feelings on the loss at Falleen were minor, as it was only important to Darth Akheron. The Sith would rise again, they didn't need Falleen to do it, at least not yet. He accepted his Master's wishes. He did not speak, and he grabbed his hands. The feelings around him changed as his surroundings turned into the Astral Force Plane. He looked around himself and thought of what he should say. He knew that what he must say would anger Darth Akheron, who was his Master. However, it would serve to make him rise again, and hopefully, he would not try to murder him for what he said once he returned. This was the Plane of Death, where people went when weakness claimed their form. He would use that idea to provoke his Master to anger.

 

                               He reached out to Akheron's soul and hoped for him to listen. "I call out to you, my Master, my pitiful Master, unworthy of the title of Darth, so I shall call you simply Akheron." He waited a few moments before speaking again. "You failed us, the Sith, at Falleen, and if you cannot even fight and succeed in defending your ambitions, then why do you think you have the right to be called Sith?" He let out a mocking set of laughter. "You are foolish, you have failed yourself, your Apprentice, and your Order, the Sith!" He paced around for a bit longer, thinking of what to say next. "You are a weak Warrior, and those have no place among us. Do you know what this realm is? It is the place your soul finds refuge when weakness claims your form, and that is why we will never remember you, or your disgracefulness."

 

                               He let a cruel smile play across his lips, then spoke once more. "I, an Apprentice, a mere Apprentice, stand in success where you stand in failure! I am the Warrior that will replace you! You have failed!" He could only hope what he had said would make Darth Akheron chase after him. He would continue to wait until he came about. For now, however, he thought for a bit, as he often did. If the battle on Falleen had failed, then that would mean more than just a few repercussions for the Sith. They could have defeated both Darth Akheron and Darth Mavanger. Darth Akheron was a great Warrior, and hopefully, he would return soon enough, but if Darth Mavanger was killed, did he have the same ability to return? He did not know the answer to these questions. All he could do was focus on his studies and become a great Sith.

 

                               He continued to wait for Darth Akheron to show his face, and he prepared himself. He was fast, but he didn't know he his strength would allow him to be faster than Darth Akheron. His Master knew what he was doing, and if he didn't think he could survive this, he probably wouldn't have given him the task. The wait seemed like it was endless, yet it was in truth more like a few minutes. Soon, the wait would give way to a chase, and he would participate further in the Dark resurrection of Darth Akheron. He was certainly both willing and wanting Darth Akheron to stay alive, as he was his secondary Master, and he would provide him with the knowledge that would make him far stronger than he already is. Darth Akheron would return to life, and through him and Krath Inmortos, he would gain much power.

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