The Helvault -- Nespis VIII

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Helvault was a gruesome place for the average being, a safe haven for the insane, and the self proclaimed home for the most notorious of criminals. For one such as Ōk, it was a combination of the three, a void that threatened to be of a helpless nature, a lingering darkness that plagued the mind upon the precipice of madness.

 

For a being whose only sight was through the Force, it was a nightmare that never ended, excitingly terrifying as the senses played their tricks. Hearing became extremely sensitive in the void of sight, even the slightest sound becoming a booming beacon. And in the playground of his mind, it grew horrific. And in his isolation, the mind became a maddening retreat. 

 

Where most prisoners struggled, Ōk grew comfortable, biding his time and reflecting upon the darkness he found himself lost within, strolling across the memories that filled his mind. Memories of his weak father, too busy to understand the gift he had shared with Ōk. Memories of his Master, the pathetic being who was preoccupied with his father's legacy that he never saw the blade as it slit his throat. And memories of his pilgrimage to sites such as Yavin IV and Dxun, where he found the truths of the Sith in absolutes.

 

But this day, of all days, the air felt different. He had been without the Force for so long that even a gentle shift in the mood alerted him. And today, the air felt more alive, more frivolous within its recycled atmosphere. A grin crossed his face in the light as a shadow crossed his laid form. Perhaps another execution had been laid out, or another had fallen to the madness of their isolated minds and forced hands that wouldn't normally be forced. But there was Darkness in the air.

 

And he welcomed it.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Life began to stir outside his cell as dawn began to break for most, but for Ōk, he remained oblivious in the dark. The burden of blindness was as maddening as it was clarifying. Rising from his slumber as the sounds of life stirred him from slumber, he listened to his surroundings and rose, taking solemn steps toward the stasis field of his cell. And with a decreasing hum, it statically dissipated.

 

In the time he had been here, cut off from the brilliancy of the Force, his senses of sound and memory had became his only lifelines. He no longer had to count his steps or remember directions, nor did he have to focus his ears to the close shuffling of chains and forms. It had become customary, a reaction to living a blind life behind bars. When he walked, he walked with the knowledge of his surroundings, no longer hindered by the voidness that plagued his form without his sight.

 

As he sat down in the commons, amongst the populace of Helvault, he etched his hands across its surface until he felt the fork and spoon of his breakfast, taking bite of the vile nutrient rich goop they served relatively on a daily bases, it's bland texture and taste barely coating the surface of his tongue. It was pointless to imagine anything else, nor remember the meals from before. No. This had became his life, and he was stuck in its rotation. 

 

After breakfast, he and the others were shuffled once more, this time to the yard for daily exercises, where some played games while others lifted weights in a meaningless cycle of life outside their persecution. But for Ōk, this was simply pointless. And without the Force, there was no need to train. So he instead sat to the side in isolation, growing gluttonous in the passing of time. In truth, he had grown tired of being shuffled around and would rather spend his time in his cell. But thanks to the Imperial Remnant and their Rebel Allies, such things had become mundane mandatories.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Unbeknownst to Ōk, the recreation yard he found himself within sat upon the outer skirts of the station under a transparent plasteel ceiling that gave a beautiful view of the sky above. Blinded as he was, all he could do was relive what he had previously seen through memories and what he had felt. On occasion,  certain sounds, feelings, and smells could aid his imagination into what his surroundings would appear as. But only his sight within the Force could confirm or deny what he could think up.

 

Klaxons erupted in the distance, quickly followed by repulsion and the scurrying of bound feet as the guards began to escort prisoners in caused Ōk to notice and rise from his laying position. Attentively, he listened, hearing the comm chatter of malfunctions and possible malware erupted from their guards positions and a smile crossed his sunken face. It seemed Helvault wasn't all what it was made to be, and he rather enjoyed knowing that his captures were experiencing such a pain.

 

As the inmates were brought in, the guards began to gather everyone into the yard's center, Ōk included, as he felt a cold steely hand grasp his arm and mechanical orders were barked in guidance to join the others. Irritating, but Ōk followed suite and soon found himself admist those whom were brought in and had arrived earlier. There was simply too many for Ōk to properly access the situation any further as the comm chatter was soon drowned out by both basic and alien languages and a few disgruntled inmates aching to cause trouble, the fog of their rebellious nature's thick enough to cut.

 

One fight broke out in the crowded area, causing a simple but effective collective of inflared tempers to lash out in random intervals, and before Ōk could even react, he felt his form pushed with the momentum and from a nearby tussle as he was thrown into a nearby lifeform at his rear (@Krath Apothos). Reeling from the inmate, he turned to the being an spoke a singular sentence, his tone formal and yet unapologetic, almost coyful. "My bad."

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Just as Dictum managed to release the words from his lips to the being before him, an explosion of chaos wrecked the room like the birth of a new star system. It started subtle, the shifting of the metallic ground beneath his feet and the sinking feeling in his gut as the klaxons blared violently in his ears. And in the silence of the moment, it's escalated, as he felt the stinging sensation of the baton as it struck against the back of his head and sent his reeling into the floor beneath him as the artificial gravity turned this former playground into a living nightmare. But nightmares were the thriving nutrition for a being like Dictum and in the moment, found ample amounts of bliss.

 

Screams echoed above the resounding klaxons and hum of the batons before the static sounds of electricity intertwined, a symphony of anguish and torture between lashes as Dictum contemplated his bitter end. Blood dripped from his head and muscles ached from bruised flesh, his emotions pooling into a cup of bittersweet remorse that this could be his end and his conscious threatened to subside. But in that moment, clarity would come to his aid. Like the spark that ignites the flame, the echo of sight flooded his mind as the Force returned like a breath rushing to fill one's lungs. And in the moment, time stood still.

 

Suspended above the floor, Dictum gazed upon the paths that the Force flowed vibrantly through, it currents painting a picture against the canvas as he gazed upon his blood and spit that had knocked from his blinded form. He could feel the pain, the anguish, the hatred and the despair that echoed not only around him, but through him. And in that moment, the moment he could finally see and feel as the void washed away, Dictum smirked. He had finally awaken and a reckoning was about to take place. Noticing the baton that threatened to strike again, Dictum twisted his form grotesquely, and placed his left foot into the metallic frame of the machine that was programmed to subdue him, and sent the Droid toppling.

 

Power was Dictum's ultimate goal, his purpose, and his reasons. With power came seclusion, came peace, and came his reality. Until the day that no other could surpass him, power was his struggle. And he fueled his power with the misfortune and suffering of others. And while he came to enjoy the solidarity of this confinement, he did not enjoy the vulnerability it had placed upon him. He would much rather not to endure such suffering. And suffering was all he had known here, despite the relaxed life he had led here.

 

Grasping at the lingering baton left behind by the disconnected droid, the chaos that ensued and rippled throughout the the playground only intensified as a sudden chill entered the fray, the spirits of the dead flickering in and out of existence as they claimed more souls to join their ever-growing legion as Dictum looked on in his suspension. He grinned devilishly,  not knowing who held such power, but recognizing the darkness they grasped. In silence, he chuckled, for he knew the Sith had arrived and the feeling of a new day he had felt had became reality. It was time. His father's Order had returned. And he would join them in their plight as a Sith Lord. For he was Darth Dictum, Lord Ōk Rägnär. 

 

Floating in suspension, Dictum sat lotus style, as the baton crackled with full output before him, his mind flowing upon the currents of the Force. With the arrival of the Sith, and the realization that a pupil had been amongst the prisoner masses, it was time to reveal himself and welcome them. "Hello Darkness, my old friend..."

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

In the darkened silence of his mind, Dictum recessed, letting the living reality and the retreated moment of revelation exist symbiotically as he ravenously gasped at the flooding gates. For far too long he had been starved, blinded, and empty that the negative emotions around him were gluttonous, and like a starving animal, he gorged himself profusely. His mind's eye rolled with ecstasy as his body warmed against the boiling blood within him, strength finding waves of glory as his muscles constricted and relaxed against the darkening tide that flooded around him. And when he had had his fill, his blind eyes opened themselves to the course.

 

Like a beast, he reacted. Though his form ached with unfounded use, the Force that torrentially swirled about him sustained him as he turned his own and those he fed upon upon the oblivious masses. Fear, regret, murder, existence... they were all his to command as he tore into the veil and made it his will. Tendrils of the Force lashed outward, adding fuel to the fire as souls found wanting were thrown to the wolves and his assault became villainous. And in his hand remained the conduit, where his saber would once have sat.

 

For the souls that hungered for life, he gave them the dead and unwanted. For the mechanical that defended, he gave aid to the purgatory that the strong found themselves lingering. And for those who attempted to turn their gaze upon him, he ushered in an eternal darkness from wince they would never see again, only the remnants of a blinding flash. For he had become a harbinger, a ferryman for those who found themselves lacking any potential other than the purpose they served unto him. This was Dictum and it was his undeniable truth.

 

And as Flesh and Metal became a part of the canvas, an unfamiliar and yet powerful voice ( @Karys Narat iv-Adas) echoed through the Force louder than the rest, a presence that exploded into existence. Covered in the the flesh and liquids of his former inmates, hovering like a silver haired angel of death, Dictum turned to meet it.

 

"I am Darth Dictum, son of Darth Ragnus, and what you see is my undeniable truth." He spoke through the veil of the Force, his voice monotone in a child like grievance as he stood center mass amongst layers of dead amidst the spirits unleashed and their feast he bequeathed. "This is my decree."

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

As the Sith before him spoke, Dictum casually listened. He had never been a part of their Order before, unlike his Father and his former Master, so comradery had never truly interested him. Nor did the politics and subservient measures. No. He was a creation of chaos and unbridled gluttony. That was his only interest. So as the Sith spoke of champions, dark gods, and devotion,  it fell upon deaf ears and his form slouched callously, almost resentful and lazily. 

 

"You mistake me friend." Dictum spoke, his monotone voice almost disdainfully irritant. "I hold no value to politics, religion, nor duty..."

 

His mind's eye fell upon the few that had gathered here and took in the moment, reveling in the carnage and dismay they had brought upon this failing system of metal and flesh, a symphony of chaos and destruction. A smirk appeared across the hindered view of his face beneath the white of his lengthened hair. In that moment, his slouched form returned to his former stiffened state.

 

"I do, however, hold value in the masterpieces I create." He finished, guiding his hand across the canvas that surrounded them, the macabre of death that had became this void. "Lead the way to your Champion. I have heard her call for some time now."

 

As the others came to agreement, the smirk remained. While the others may have placed value in ambition and duty, he only sought to sow seeds of chaos and paint pictures of despair. They may have came solely for their failing comrade, but he had found interest in their methods. He would follow them, for now, and see what masterpieces they could create. After all, an artist studies the work of others, if only to improve their own form. And after his time at Helvault, his form seemed to be a bit rusty.

[Lord Ōk Rägnär]

Upon a vision of the Galaxy's swirling vortex, they weren't even a speck of the cosmic dust that could be combed through. One would have to have prior knowledge of region, sector, planet positioning from the system's home star, and planetary grid coordinates just to pick up the enflamining space station as the atmosphere of Nespin threatened to swallow of it up. But to look through the Force, one could see the center of the darkened storm growing from its location no matter how the magnification. 

 

And within its calm and serene center, sat this group of Sith from all walks of life and afterlife, Dictum there to bare witness and testify.

 

Whether philosophy, or designation, or whatever topic was mentioned in this moment was of little consequence upon the Force's itinerary. For in this moment, they made it their will with concentrated power, the outcome no different than what they allowed. They were Masters of their own destiny, and the Force was only a mere pawn. For this was the truth of the Darkside, the truth of the Sith, and not even the Jedi could do anything to stop it.

 

As the others came to agreement of exiting the station, Dictum's gaze shifting between each as they spoke, he simply nodded when it came his turn to interject. The vacuum of space was on the verge of threatening their livelihood and the dead stood upon the precipice, guiding them to safety. As the others began their trek, so did Dictum, using the Force filled hysteria to propel himself, a simple and yet complex unification of push versus pull, and allowing those with weapons to handle the onslaught of opposition.

 

It wasn't until they had nearly reached their destination when a familiar sing-song presence reached out to the young Sith, causing his momentum to stop if only briefly as curiosity took a momentary hold upon his psyche. There, within the confines of barracks, hidden within a tucked away locker were his things, a memory of his own arrest flashing back through his mind.

 

Upon Alpheridies, a former member of the Luka Sene with silver hair folded away atop his crown assaulted the Orligaric Council with twin Sith Swords that ached for their deaths.

 

Shaking the moment from his mind and focusing his rage, Dictum called out to their blades and what remained. When the group arrived at the ship, Dictum would be in tow, his possessions reclaimed.