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Korriban


Exodus

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Nothingness... a vast empty void. They were not aware of it at first. It only seemed like another insignificant moment of silence in an empty formless nothing. All that existed was fire, all that was, burned. Then came the drumming... the ceaseless drumming. The sound energized and galvanized an already fiery furnace into animation.

 

Then at once came form, a cluster of darkness joined by some fragile trickle of inevitability. Causality took hold, and a cascade of events unfolded as the form drew larger, it's a bonds sealed through a crackle of energy that reverberated forth in the void. Now there was form, but no function, the parts struggled to become one, the one to become many, the many to reform once more. This same form had been so often battered and broken, shredded and forlorn.

 

The form breathed, shivered, exhaled and breathed again. Eyes popped open, exposing searching irises, darting back and forth with alacrity. The body convulsed, sinew to bone, nerve to muscle. Each passing breath the task became easier, more normal, then routine. Finally as the form found purpose, found function, thoughts made themselves known. A shell became more, but barely more. Was it consciousness? Was it life? What was this state... where was this form? 

 

My, me, myself. I! I exist!

 

His body would not listen. His body? This body. This was not-

 

Fragments, deep seeded emotions, the all encompassing anger, these things remained. Then Kesh came rushing back, the conquest, the horrors, the triumphs. All of it like a precious animating genesis. He was Kern... he was of Kesh... born at the death of someone called 'Fynn'... born of fire and rage. Baron of all... the Kesh were his children, no, his slaves, he was their ruler, no their benefactor, their rightful king?... Their GOD! But it all felt false. He was no leader, nor emissary. He couldn't fathom what that meant, he was only a small bit of blood and flesh and bone and brain.

 

The body would move now, it's form was well made. Crafted of new cells, and new tissues, and new things. His arm was his own again, no ragged stump with a protruding cybernetic replacement. No crude metal claws grasping at the galaxy with murderous intent. It felt... good. Yes, that was the emotion, pleasure, in all it's various forms. All of it to be taken at a whim... with... with.... 

 

He reached out his mind to the tunic beneath him, seeking to move it to his hand. But the force did not reply. The force did not consent. It resisted him, fought him, it was not willing for his manipulation. He cursed aloud, and tried once more, but again it denied him. So many times he had bid it do his will, now it betrayed him, just as everything eventually did. He stewed but dressed himself, humbled momentarily by the failure. Cast aside and out... yet again he rose, and again he rose, and again he... rose. The passage of time meant nothing, the savagery of the enemy meant nothing, the extent of his defeat, nothing.

 

---\---/---\---/---

 

Yet he was still lacking. As he stumbled on wobbly legs, attempting to right himself, he found the void in his mind was still there. An emptiness of memory and thought that couldn't be overcome despite his will. He could not figure out the tunic, or the footwear that seemed so proper. So He shambled on, leaving the small barren room dressed only in the barest of clothing, to find his way to a window, looking out upon the vast barrenness of the planet below. His mind was fuzzy, and for all his internal and eternal identity he could not put form to it, and words were still locked away. He passed others, figures of little recognition. There was nothing but bare faces, other forms with no more reality then his own.

 

A small imperious man rounded a bend and caught him standing looking about confused.

 

"You there, standing around, You get lost from your work detail?" the smallish pale humanoid with white hair and dark clothing said as put his hand on his hips.

 

Kern said nothing, for his mind was not settled and the ability to argue or commune, was still absent. The small man examined him, finding no tatoo or tag, he shook his head.

 

"Not claimed? They must have forgotten to... damned medtechs, worse then you mindless ones. Fine then, come on, we don't have time for you to be lazy, one of the lords or ladies finds you about and it'll be my head. Mindless slaves... almost more trouble then you're worth." The man approached, and prodded him down to the cargo bay, and onto one of the various transports ferrying fresh clone slaves to the barren planet.

 

---\---/---\---/------\---/---\---/---

 

Kern had to bend over to enter the barren rock face, but beyond, a large pit that seemed to go down forever had hundreds of pale humanoids, not entirely unlike himself, toiled. Some carried heavy baskets of ore and rock, others toiled at pits of a boiling tar like substance. Kern did not know the purpose of some of what he saw, but the small man moved him on.

 

"Korriban is still rich with minerals for harvest, that is were you mindless ones come in handy. I am called Agripa, your foreman." The small humanoid informed him as he worked.

 

He was shoved into a rock crushing group with other tall humans and humanoids like himself, they all pounded away in unison on a single large ore fragment. One larger alien let drop a huge pick axe that splintered a tiny piece of the shiny rock. splinters of it scattered, some falling on the ground, others into the bodies of the other slaves present. The pain was ignored however, as the next stepped up and did the same. On and on they went, ignoring his arrival.

 

"This... this is you. You look strong enough. This rock goes into making armor for the masters. You free it by breaking it down. Sure we could do it with droids, but some masters prefer the old way, the way of pain and anguish. You break it until you break, your blood, your pain, your suffering... all of it... goes into the rock... the rock makes the masters strong. Service to the masters brings glory to the Sith." The small man said with a wicked grin that exposed teeth that were jagged an horrid. 

 

"The...Sith." Kern said repeating him almost meekly. The words spoke to him, but he wasn't certain why.

 

"Good, now get to work. Only break for protein nutrients and water. Waste go down there-" he pointed at a gross alcove with a hole. Then he handed him a tool, a heavy durasteel pickaxe with an odd looking tip, and pointed him at a new rockface. "You break now, until you break later. For the glory of the Sith" the man said with a nod and disappeared. Kern grasped the heavy pickaxe, and then slammed it towards the outcrop. The first blow came quickly, but the pickaxe bounced off at an awkward angle, nearly striking him. He picked it up again, this time he struck harder, causing the smallest nick in the wall. Soon he found a rhythm... striking and striking and striking. He focused his mind on the single point, he synapses gathering input, and reaching beyond himself to react only, not to see the next move. He would not proceed the rocks reaction. The loud sound of his implement hitting bare mineral rippled away from him, one of a cacophony of others working and toiling under the yoke of the massive juggernaut. "For the... glory... Sith." Kern said aloud copying his words in an undertone, as he continued to slam the tool into the unyielding wall of rock. 

 

Kern, Lord of Kesh, Emissary of the Sith to the Unknown Regions, Baron of Relmis... labored without let up.

Edited by Fynn Relmis

"Some things... are worse then death, being forgotten for example..."

Member Since '05 - The Old Ones | Character Sheet

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  • 1 month later...

“AWAKE! You slogs!” the bellowing voice of the foreman called the various slaves to another day of excruciating labor deep in the bowels of Korriban. Various barely clothed figures rose from their places and began the trudge back to the unforgiving grind of mindless work.

Kern stood with them, and made his way to the same spot he had been assigned. He grabbed the black and gray face-mask meant to lessen the dust collecting in his lungs. These were in short supply, and only the most vicious and capable slaves kept them. He had killed twice already simply to breath, and so each day bled into the next, a horrific struggle for survival that never ended. Finally returning to the tunnel and his workplace, he found his mark and began to hammer.

Ping…crack 

Each strike made a small part of the rock face shatter, and the sound of his heavy blows rang down the tunnel he and his fellow slaves continued to create. Now and then weaker beings, smaller humanoids, and various other prisoners would approach to pick up the remnants of ore and rocks and cart them away. Kern angled the hammer, his tall perfectly built form covered in the black dust of the minerals of the mine. The only light in the dark place was the hastily assembled red lighting on the floor powered by the limited powercells that had to be manually recharged every morning.

Ping…crack

The torturous work was accompanied by the bellows of pain and anguish of the suffering of the workers, some who had been here since birth, others who had lost all memory of why they were confined to this existence. Others still whispered of escape, but these were weeded out, their fates cruel, and their demise quick and quiet, or loud and bloody. The force had gradually returned to Kern, but using it seemed pointless, his will lacking purpose.

Ping…crack

With every blow to the surface, Kern’s mind focused ever sharper on his reason, his reason to continue, his reason to remain, his reason to not be one of those whose life was sacrificed to the madness around him. He watched as young slave girl ground away at the manual charging station, sweat dripping from her brow, dropping slowly to the ground below. Why did she persist, what animated her? Why-

Ping…crack

Faces came to him, floating above him in the red clouds of dust each larger than the last, taunting his mind. Their faces were not empathetic, they were judges, condemners, revilers. He hated them, they fired his soul with animus, and each breath he took, each blow he made, he found the anger and rage grew. The memories he had, hazy and clouded, were filled with suffering, with grand designs, and disastrous falls. Always he would fail, again, and again, he would lose all… only to rebuild.

Ping…crack

He had been someone… something… something powerful. He knew it, each night he slept the dreams told him as much. Yet it was beyond him, as if part of a history forever lost to him. In the long night watches, the slaves often spoke to themselves, their nightmares intruding into the waking world. They spoke of lost loves, lost planets, lost peoples, lost lives… despair filled them, desperate ravaging fears that caused some to cry out. This was not Kern however.

Ping…crack

Kern envied them, for where they had dreams …he had the void. The endless all-knowing void at the end of all things. He felt as if had known it firsthand. The void was alive, it was there at the end of all things. It spoke to him, called to him, beckoned him. IT needed to be fed, the void was endless, it had moods, it had desires… and when he slept… it communed with him. His will too, returned to him. A will that every day grew stronger, fed by the immense energies of Korriban, fed by the great darkness.

Ping…crack

It could not be satiated. It always needed more, and no matter what he did, the darkness would call it insufficient. Was this what had maneuvered him to return? Was it not the animating force behind the darkness? Everything he had done had sent ever more things into its’ gaping maw. It was becoming clearer… the darkness was not his enemy. No, IT was his true friend, his truest master. The rage, the anger, the hate… all of it was impotent in the clarity of its’ aims. It animated himself beyond the mere purpose. Something of himself was returning, growing stronger with each passing moment. A vision of pure power drove him ever onward.

Ping…crack

A small stone that was different then the rock face fell before him. It had been embedded here by something. A force that attempted to bury deep and keep it hidden. The stone still had writing... written in the sith language, a tongue that Kern did not yet remember. He attempted to read it, stirring a whisper in the back of his mind:

Hâsk

Qo

Shâsot

Qo

Tyûk

Midwan

He pocketed the tablet, there was more to be deciphered... The darkness was not to be ignored, rather it was to be embraced, worshiped, and given tribute, proper tribute that he could not offer here. The darkness could not be given its desire here, and Kern realized all at once that his time in toil was not meant for the banal existence of mining.

“Hey, give me that stone little man.” Kern turned to see a larger slave approaching him, a brute of a man one whose tone was a clear threat. 

Kern dropped the heavy metal tool, and sighed. This was not his place.

“You there… get back to work!” the four armed foreman said as he approached dressed in a long grey cape, and large heavy boots. The body of the large worker lay prone on the ground, and it did not respond to the electro-whip applied by the foreman. Kern approached, his eyes glowing brightly red in the dark red glow of the cave.  

“No.” He said simply, and walked by dropping the second body on the ground. Had taken the large slaves food portion as well as other items he’d stolen from the weaker beings present.

“Stop or I’ll-“ the man seemed to want control Kern, brandishing the whip with malicious intent.

“Raise your hand in anger to me, and I will use that whip to strangle you where you stand, then throw you into the deepest hole I can find.” Kern said bluntly, pausing only to see if the man would dare. The foreman visibly gulped, realizing that Kern was not a meek and defeated slave whose mind was shattered or half removed. He stepped back, clutching the fresh oxygen mask, as he did so.

“Now, which way to the surface?”

The foreman pointed, fear rising, as Kern’s mere presence inspired the feeling of dread and despair to rise. Kern approached, ripping the cloak from him, then looking at his boots.

The man quickly removed them, then cowered in fear.

“Good. Carry on.” Kern said as he passed by, retrieving the shoes as he did so.

The surface of Korriban was windswept, and hot. The orange and red glow from the sun and dust was omnipresent, yet Kern found it’s view to be less then interesting. He reached out as he trudged along, his connection with the force growing stronger. He could sense the various beings in the valleys and tombs in his surroundings. The valley was dotted with broken monuments and craters, the spot of a great battle, from a time of ancient war. Covered now in the ragged cape, Kern hiked on, alone, his only companions his driving indomitable will, and the howl of the angry wind.

He moved toward a particularly strong source, seeking the vision his mind had called him too. The time had come to regain his path, to reclaim that which he had lost, to fulfill the call of the darkside, or die in the attempt. He would become Sith, or fall to nothing. But who or what would teach him? The question lingered. However Kern did not fear the uncertainty, he embraced it. The great darkness still awaited him, and he would accomplish his destiny, no matter the cost.

 

Edited by Fynn Relmis

"Some things... are worse then death, being forgotten for example..."

Member Since '05 - The Old Ones | Character Sheet

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The heat was oppressive... yet Kern did not sense it was the worst enemy. Hours had passed since he had began to follow the path, if the direction he traveled could be called such. Korriban was not alive to the naked eye. Even beyond that which could be seen, Kern could sense an enormous and contentious web of energy. The place was infused with such history, such legacy... that the stones seemed to scream it as he passed. Here a master met his end, and there a neophyte was ruined, and over there, the still screaming form of a being that seemed destined to suffer a thousand deaths, repeating it's bellowing screech for all time...

 

Or perhaps it was just the howl of the wind, and nothing more then a trick of the mind from lack of water. He'd found an broken metal staff, perhaps the end of a force pike long ago, but now, the shaft was just long enough to hold him upright, when his legs began to tire. The careful planning it took to create the planets features impressed him, the whole place had been a grand design, stopped by the calamity of war. He covered his face from the dust with a patch of cloth... and moved on.

 

He only pausing occasionally to re-calibrate his bearings. The shadows played with him, the sense he had for other force users waxed and wained, taunting him with their presence. The Sith order was here, but so able to hide themselves, he was certain it was only the occasional imperfection of the students that he could feel, or mayhaps he was being misled. The thought irked him. A cruel irony, that he would be reborn just to die a fool's death at the cusp of entry. Was the darkness truly so chaotic, that's it's design would crush him before he started? A cruel jest indeed.

 

He moved stubbornly onward. Footfall after footfall, the burden of his own body becoming greater, with each step. Another hour, two... three... and he finally paused. He slumped down behind a rocky bolder, overlooking an immense crushed stone head. The wind had blown it's features into oblivion, but the face looked at him rocky eyes, and a stony demeanor. 

 

"What do you look upon, ancient lord?" Kern said, having grown tired of the silence.

 

The face said nothing.

 

"Indeed, I am almost nothing. Only fragments of what I was remain. That it is why I come. I must find myself... my path. To follow the steps you and your companions did so long ago. That is all that remains for me." Kern said to the face, studying it's blank features closely, as the wind howled. 

 

The face said nothing.

 

"Who were you... what was your name?" Kern said beholding the broken face. What was his own name? His origin? He had only broken fragments as it was. A jedi, light or dark, a broken hermit, a failed leader, a conqueror, a cruel jester on the dejarik board? The name Kesh came to his mind, but was it his? Or was that just another broken fragment. Kakuto... Furion... Exodus...Armenia...Skye...Darla... the names reeled around but found little purchase. Kern racked his mind, but no name came except Kern, and a vague sense of entitlement and superiority. He dismissed the feelings as the statue again said nothing.

 

"Fine... remain stoic. I know my destiny lies here, along with my past, my future. Long enough has been my obscure toil. I know that much. Oblivion or power..." Kern stood up, bracing himself and re-wrapping the tattered robe around his form, and gathered up his meager belongings.

 

"Worry not my lord... if I fail, my bleached bones will keep you company." Kern added as he moved back to the path. 

 

...

 

The sound came to him at once... voices that echoed of the rock and along the ground to his ears.

 

"...What brings you here?"

 

Dragging his form to the shelter of a nearby boulder, he saw five figures, plus one, at a massive entrance to whatever lay beyond. He sat there a moment, deciding to listen and wait. 

 

 "...I want to be a Sith, so I can quake the galaxy in fear and everyone will know my name. The name of Mike V’Trechen."

Edited by Fynn Relmis

"Some things... are worse then death, being forgotten for example..."

Member Since '05 - The Old Ones | Character Sheet

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"Come forth you who lurk"

 

Kern watched silently for a moment, then he heard the voice asserting his presence, and directing him to come forward. He remained still until the murder occurred. The viciousness, the casual cruelty of the deed, resonated with him. He had done this all to often, ending life. IT was like an old familiar friend, but seen wish fresh eyes. Yet he saw the futility as well. A life destroyed with no reason, by a weapon of callous indifference, wherein the fear could have been harvested to serve in dread and doubt. Perhaps he was weak for this thought... or perhaps his fragmented experiences had taught him that knowing when use power was as important as knowing when to use restraint. 

 

He stood, balancing his weight on the broken force pike, and made his way towards the entrance. He was still strong enough to do that at least. As he approached, he pulled the fabric from his face. The darkness was more powerful here, more focused. Yet still he could not sense how many lay beyond the threshold.

 

He regarded V'Trechen silently, trying to place him in his thoughts. He was young, able bodied, surging with fear and anger, yet there was more to him then the surface. Yet Kern could probe no deeper... his power what of it remained was still without root. 

 

He stopped short, as the young woman murdered let our her last gurgle. Kern studied the scene, locked it into his mind...With his tall form still mostly hidden behind the ragged cloak, and balanced on the staff, he finally spoke.

 

"The void accepts you. Go to the darkness... tell it your secrets." Kern said under his breath. Then looked to the entrance which the Lord had left open, and moved on heeding a the call that beckoned him forwards. 

 

 

"Some things... are worse then death, being forgotten for example..."

Member Since '05 - The Old Ones | Character Sheet

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