Ryloth

[Zendrin]

     The wind howled over the gaping canyon, its cliffs stretching endlessly into the sky above him. The cloaked Quarren was safe, or at least safer in the canyons where the sand didn’t burn his eyes and tear his skin. He knew of a place here, one hidden from the watchful eye of the Sovereign, a place where he could nurture his vision.

    The march had been long, his faith nearly faltered in the days of travel in this desert, but his patience would be rewarded. Through dusted goggles he saw it, the mouth of a cave, carved by a civilization long forgotten to time. A sinking feeling filled his chest, one of fear, excitement, and above all else, anticipation. He drudged forward, his exhausted body fighting his every step, but his commitment to this cause was strong, his faith shielding him from the aching.

    The sun was setting, the cold shadows filled the canyon as he reached his destination, before him lay the gaping entrance to his new home. With determination he stepped forward into the blackness. Inside this place he found nothingness, his footsteps didn’t echo, the wind no longer howled, this darkness had been untouched by light, by adventurer, by local, by anything in at least a hundred years. With a deep breath he lit his torch, the orange glow burned into this place where darkness had held absolute authority for so long. The fires radiance inspired him to push further and further, deeper and deeper, until before him carved into the stone, an ancient city lay dormant.

 

     With religious purpose he began lighting the sconces along the walls, revealing ancient architecture, places that were once homes, schools, hospitals, and markets. Dried foliage lined the streets, channels that once ran life bringing water stretched alongside the paths. At the city's center a spire reached up towards the ceiling, surrounded by what was once a fountain long since dried up. Behind it stood the imposing church he would appropriate for his following. He ventured in, the stale and heavy air filled his lungs. Stone benches flanked him on both sides of this great room, at its end, raised on a stage stood a wide podium. This is the place he would begin his rituals of fire.

[Zendrin]

     The Quarren marched slowly, his gilded black robe gliding across the cobbled path as it dragged gently behind him. He was illuminated brightly by cauldrons of deep orange fire, and candles symbolically on each of his shoulders. Robed figures lined the hall, whispering their chants over a flickering flame held atop a candlestick. He spoke from the back of his throat the Prayers of his burning god over the torch flame he carried reverently.

 

     “The great flame, the birthplace of civilization…”

    With each step, the roaring crackle of the fires around him grew.

    “The birthplace of the spirit…”

 

     The chanting became more uniform, many voices becoming one.

 

     “The birthplace of the mind…”

 

     Their voice echoed in the chasm, their long silhouette cast their solidified darkness in contrast of the flickering yellows and oranges that illuminated the cavern

 

     “Around the great flame we gathered, we lived, we loved, we lost…”

 

     Slowly the echo balanced, becoming one with their resonating voice.

 

     “Around the great flame we found our souls, longing to be awakened…”

 

     The sound amplified as it harmonized.

 

     “Around the great flame we created, learned, studied, and evolved.”

 

     Before the spire, in the dried fountain, a tower of kindling held aloft the body of the Sith. The one that plagued his nightmares, his ceaseless visions of the woman that would restore order, that would humble the galaxy with their message.

 

     “With this great flame we call for rebirth. Let us be the instrument of your enlightenment! Bring us the champion of your devouring inferno!”

 

     He pressed the torches light to the construction of kindling. The fire took and quickly rose up the grave, engulfing the lifeless corpse.

 

     “Let us burn our path to salvation!”

 

     The chants rose with the fire toward a great crescendo. The blaze roared, burning its visage into the eyes of all who gazed into it. With a burst akin to a solar flare, sparks and ash rose to the ceiling, depositing a thick black soot above the spire. In that moment there was silence, the powerful gust blew cold each and every fire meticulously placed in keeping with the ritual.

     From the center of the ash coated spire cracked a blinding light, widening to reveal the shadow of a woman. The black form stepped hesitantly forward into the settling ash. Her summoners knelt silently before her radiance. The Quarren turned, behind him an acolyte offered the crown that bound her to this reality on a crimson silken cloth. He took this artifact, turned back to face the woman and kneeled to her.

    “My Queen,”

[Zendrin]

     In these caves, time had little meaning. In her own time Kahla had started to piece together what had happened since- There’s a flash, a ship, an explosion- she shakes her head, trying to push past the memory. As she’d done before, she took a moment to digest her surroundings. Kahla was given a palace, the great hall was carved into the stone with greater care than the housing around it, intricate drawings and symbols coated the pillars that held the building together. The white paint had long since faded, cracked away from the crumbling stone the masons of this cult have worked diligently to restore. A great deal of effort had gone into making this place perfect, fit for a queen.

 

     From the very first words uttered to her she understood her position here. “My Queen,” the voice echoed in her mind tauntingly. The exact details of her failure were blurred in her mind by a fog of guilt. With a deep breath she returned to her studies. She knew of the Sovereign Alliance, that they had the upper hand, but as she read of ‘the fall of the Sith Empire’ a rage unlike any she’d felt before bubbled up inside her. Kahla focused, stoking the fire the had caught in her soul.

 

     How could an empire of their strength be overtaken, forced into recession? They had this alliance on the backfoot, she had taken part in storming their capitol vessel. She remembered the heat of the explosion, the flames never reaching her, her flesh melting, her blood boiling. She endured that pain for a hundred lifetimes. Her muscles tensed as she fueled the flame in her heart, and one thing was certain: she would inflict this wildfire upon their alliance a thousand times over, until their planets were turned to glass, their people reduced to ashes, their very ideals scorched!

 

     She meditated in this inferno, focusing on a single person, the only one she knew to have the strength to endure, and the unyielding hatred to exact revenge. Through the force she called out for the only ally she’d known to stand by her in failure, despite his disdain for such weakness. Through the force, she sought Darth Mavanger.