New Nystao

*Walking along the pedwalk as I had been, stick in hand, minding my own business and being upon my way, today seemed like a good day, a day when I wouldn't get side tracked, but dark uninviting alleys always had their say; how many times did trouble lurk or problems arise, since thugs often as not believed that they were either out of sight and thus out of mind, or that most denizens would keep away from dark alleys and should they seem to find themselves stumbling into one that was occupied they would likely make themselves scarce.

However Udaya was not unlike most sentients for he had the force, a basic perhaps even crude understanding and wielding of it, but a possession and insight to a power that few others had, that coupled with a burning need to pursue fairness and justice was met out had on some planets turned him into a demi vigilante of sorts.

It was the metallic sounding voice of a vocoder that actually drew his attention for most beings didn't bother with droids, but upon turning and peering down the alley even a dim wit could tell the so called droid was far from being a so called droid; ripples in the force, ripples that Udaya could not always decipher, but he knew and could read the power of a fellow force sensitive when he seldom came across it.

Alarmingly the power was emanating from the robotic form and not from any of these others, so as to what it[/] was, was a mystery, well here in one alley were two of Udaya's favorite things, a puzzle to be solved and by the sounds of it injustice just about to be dealt.

Having moved behind the towering thugs he coughed politely.*

"I believe this being has asked you to desist and I too urge you to come to your senses, there are easier targets in this town."

*You may think Udaya enjoyed being the hero, but often as not he only re-directed their crime, he knew it was a long battle he could not win and did not even want to begin trying else he task himself a lifetime of commitment in cleaning up these sorry streets.

Udaya empowered his words with the force, as chance happened and as it frequently occurred with thugs they were not the brightest, and they were also a lot like sheep; safety in numbers, they also looked to their leader who as per usual was the ugliest meatiest brute, and so it was this Humanoids mind that became the object of Udaya's persuasive measures.*

"Talk of the town is that he has a death sentence in over twelve different systems, look at his size, his build, the make-up of his robotics and reinforced limbs and ask, do you really stand a chance?"

Some time had passed since the Dark Lord had first set foot upon the jungle world of Wayland, and already significant gains had been made in currying the locals favour. Many of the outlying tribal clans had sworn unyielding allegiance to their newest master, having been swayed by the promises whispered from the lips of their saviour, or having been subjugated into submission by the utter humiliation brought about by defeating their tribal champions in honourable combat. Those that had provided most troublesome were eradicated without a second thought, and the funeral pyres of their villages burned throughout the night. Days had passed since the last of the tribal enclaves were turned to pillars of sentient ash, and the tendrils of Belial’s influence had spread into the dregs of New Nystao. There, in the darkened corners of the city itself – his corruption had taken root. Those poor and unfortunate souls and taken it upon themselves to bring Belial forth as a divine figure, that would cleanse their world of its vile taint only to leave nothing behind but a revitalized forest filled with life. Parades of various species marched through the central squares of the city, each proclaiming that the Titan whom fell from the Clouds was their one true lord and master. Local law enforcement had been dispatched, not to quell these seemingly peaceful marches, but to ensure that clashes between the differing races that once had peacefully co-existed; did not escalate into full blown religious riots. That all changed when the three throngs converged upon the Grand Dukha, the Noghri’s central hub of governance upon this wayward world. Crowds of Psadans, Humans, and Myneyrsh began converging into a gathering that chanted the name of their saviour like some dogmatic mantra.

Unknown to the encroaching populace, the one bearing the name they so fervently shouted, was within the bounds of their city and beyond the doors of their ruling council’s hall. Standing before the heads of the Noghri clans like a triumphant conqueror, Belial’s influence began to spread. Like the Wookiees of Kashyyyk, those bearing the steely gray flesh of the reptilian Noghri were tightly bound by honour – eschewing all else in favour for such an antiquated mindset of personal integrity. It was the one facet of their species’ culture that the Sith Lord could use to his advantage, for if he had come to them with nothing but benevolence and had done what he had promised to the outlying tribes, they would forever be within his debt. It would be unbecoming of a man so saturated in the broiling energies of chaos, but it would serve as the foundations of his rule upon this benighted world. Ensuring that none of the indigenous intelligent life would ever betray his plans to outsiders, was crucial to the length of time his plans would remain shrouded from the galaxy at large. At such a volatile stage in the game, just when the pieces upon the board were being set, being revealed to the galaxy at large before the delicate lattice of trust had been woven would see to the death of Belial’s mortal shell. Thus, it was the Titan’s imperative to garner the loyalty and dedication of the Noghri people, for their inherit skills in the arts of assassination and stealth would prove useful in the days to come.

With a brazen smile plastered across his face, the Sith Lord addressed the Clan Council whilst turning his titanic form towards the cardinal points of the dukha – so that each of the members of the ruling Clan could see their supposed saviours honesty laid bare upon his flesh.

“Representatives of Clan Hakh'khar and other families gathered here today, I have come before you to seek an alliance with the Noghri people. One that I believe with time could restore this broken world to its former glory.”

The being whom sat within the sole furnishing of the dukha, vocalized his discontent with a snort. With gnarled flesh and embellished markings atop the tribal tunic, Belial had surmised that this being was none other than the Clan Elder of the ruling Noghri family upon this colony world. He was the epitome of governance within the bounds of New Nystao, and his words were considered law by all of those that lived within the city’s walls. His distrust of outsiders had been fostered by the actions of many over the years, thus when yet another being had come before the ruling clans; proclaiming that he could do what the others could not, the Noghri Elder believed that this being of titanic proportions was nothing an annoyance to be swatted aside when he had grown bored with the man’s rhetoric. He would entertain the thought of this man possibly changing the surface of Wayland, removing the taint of its previous masters and revitalizing the planet in such a way that life would once again prosper, as it seemed the words this man brought from the temperate jungles had swayed much of his populace already.

“Speak of your plans, Outsider, for while your honeyed words swayed those within my walls, I doubt they will change my thoughts.”

Retaining the smile flecked with confidence and regal bearing, Belial turned his attention solely upon the ruling head of Clan Hakh'khar. His emerald eyes flickered with barely restrained amusement as the path before him had become clear.

“Your world is dying by degrees with every passing day. None that have come before me have been able to revert the damage wrought by the Yuuzhan Vong and their Jedi counterparts. I, and those that follow me, have the power to undo the cruel hand fate has dealt.”

Cocking his head to the side and raising his hairless brow, a curious amalgamation of muscle movement that would be considered a human approximation of a sarcastic expression, the Clan Elder continued playing his part of the interested party.

“So… The Outsider wishes to restore Wayland, bringing life to an ailing world… And what will the Outsider gain when the planet has healed – no doubt at a great cost to his person and those that follow his every word. What will you seek in recompense then, Wealth, Power, Women?”

While it was true that Belial was after the first of the two, he could not reveal such things as of yet. To do so would instill the wrong impression he desired to make, as it would be going against the image he had wrought within the minds of those bereft of the Clan Councils comforts. Belial’s serpentine smile had faded as the guttural words were barked from the mouth of the Clan Elder, donning a more serious visage as he considered the gnarled Chieftains words. The wealth portion of the reward he sought would not be taken from the people, as he had heard of their plights when he had first entered the sectioned domiciles of New Nystao. Power would be brought about by the Mountain and its contents, supplementing the force coursing through his veins, thus whatever power they had sought to bestow upon him – would not be required in the grandest of schemes. Belial was intrigued by the offering of women; though he felt neither attraction nor admiration to the Noghri people, it could prove to be another avenue worthy of exploration should the Clan Elder seek to turn against his subtle subjugation. However, not willing to be sidetracked by the simple act of dreaming of what could be, the Titan focused upon what was. He needed nothing more than the loyalty of these honour bound people, thus the Sith Lord needed to show that he could be honourable in return.

“I seek neither power nor wealth. Your women will remain yours, unless they seek to court me in the proper manner – I do not intend to take anyone that does not wish to be taken. What I do seek in return for restoring vitality to your world, is the oath of silence sworn by every one of your honour bound citizens.”

“Of all the things we could offer you in return, you would simply ask us for our silence? Of what do you wish us to keep shrouded, would it be your presence here or perhaps the great work you are set to accomplish?”

Belial’s gaze waivered in response, dropping to the claws adorning the Elder’s feet.

“I wish to live in solitude upon your world, thus my enduring presence here will need to be kept from the galaxy at large. No harm seeks to follow me, so there is nothing to fear in harbouring those that follow me and myself, but there will be a time in the not so distant future where the Noghri people here will be questioned – and I seek to have each of them speak nothing but the truth so that they may not infringe upon their honour. Those gathered here on the other hand, shall be a different story…”

Returning his gaze to meet that of the Council Elder’s, Belial let that all too familiar smile curl upon his lips once more. He watched in mild amusement as the Noghri’s nostrils flared with alarm, instantaneously garnering the scent of the drastic change in the titan’s coursing flow of crimson vitae. Their hands surged towards their waistbands, seeking weapons in order to defend themselves from whatever treachery this titan sought to enact. The force, powered by the miniscule fragments of the chaotic realm passing through the Dark Lord’s body, flowed freely throughout Belial’s fingertips. Coruscating arcs of azure lightning began to trail along the lengths of his fingers, as they deftly wove intricate patterns in the enforced stillness of the air. The Sith Lord’s lips parted of their own will, unconsciously mouthing the words that would bring his mind into the higher echelons of the sorcerer’s enumerations. The Enumerations were what was required by the practitioners of Sith Magic to obtain the clarity of thought and methodology of deed required to cast the most basic of Korriban based magical abilities. With the length of time he had spent within the tomb of his own creation upon the broken surface of Arkania, Belial had spent months unpacking the memories of his old life too garner the proper rights needed for the usage of these fantastical powers, so that when the time had come to reveal his prowess to the galaxy – he would not look the fool as he mumbled the secret names of those that dwelled behind the veil of reality.

Closing his emerald coloured eyes once the incantation was complete, Belial felt the air within the dukha get unnaturally stifling as the tension surrounding him became palpable. Everyone that had been inside the massive tarpaulin canopy when the Sith Lord had revealed the darkened powers of the force flowing through his veins, drew their weapons and aimed their barrels at the betrayer within their midst.

“Treachery!!”

The Elder bellowed, though his voice seemly falling upon deaf ears as Belial opened his eyes. Unlike the passionate emerald that had dominated his gaze, what stared out at the Council Elder and those within the dukha’s embrace, was molten crimson and seething with barely constrained rage. Anger flecked the giant’s tone as he spoke, letting his tongue dispatch the unyielding hierophant of his command into the depths of their subconscious minds. Like the untamed Nexu within a crowded corridor, Belial’s words echoed throughout the minds of those that stood before him; subjugating them into compliance against their better judgements. They, along with the entire disparate population of this shattered world, were now the Dark Lord’s to command. With these words given force by both the physical realm and then that of the ethereal, none would be able to undo his influential magic – save the primordial powers that dwelled within the opposing realms of Chaos and Harmony. Holstering their weapons within their primitive hide sheathes, the Noghri warriors began to gather around the titanic figure of Belial, seeking to be blessed with glorious purpose. He had smiled at their instantaneous grasp of his imprinted command, knowing that his trust in their steadfast ties to honour had proven true. His earlier approach had been useful in opening the avenue of trust between the Dark Lord and those that now gathered about him. Thus, in exploiting such a pathway, Belial had effectively and with such artistry became the sole dominant force within these primitive people’s lives. Every soul that now inhabited the broken surface of Wayland, subconsciously knew of nothing else but the authority their new Master carried.

And so, with the first stages of his plan complete, the Dark lord of the Sith turned his eyes in the direction of the mountain…

On the outskirts of the city was a basic earthen pit worn smooth by years of wear and tear. The pit was large enough to remind many who saw it of a small stadium, in size and basic shape at least. It lacked any sort of signage or lighting to indicate it was anything more than a natural formation. However in the center of this pit stood a figure clad from head to toe in black, his face covered by a mask of dark metal that hid everything except the barest hint of eyes through minuscule slits. He stands there as still as stone despite the heat with a staff in his right hand resting against the ground. An outside observer would gain almost nothing from him as he looks forward, ignoring the small crowd of native Noghri sitting on the slopes of the dirt and stone bowl. This was the traditional fighting pit for testing Noghri and this seemingly human figures was violating their sacred space, but they didn't seem to mind, in fact they seemed to be ready for a great deal of enjoyment. As the figures seated around the pit leaned forward in anticipation four figures moved forward, evenly spaced around the figure clad in black teeth bared as if they thought it would make the man run as it had many foes before. Unfortunately for them this man was long past caring. In fact he reached out with the force invisibly working the four Noghri warriors, and beyond to another pair just off to the side that suddenly jump up to join their fellows surrounding the man.

~A sneer of contempt comes to my face behind the mask that gives me the appearance of indifference. THIS is how the once noble warriors chose to end their lives? Fighting for a god who did nothing for them except subvert their will and force them into a slavery of the mind. I suppose they don't really chose their fate, but they should have been stronger than that. They should have been able to resist the mad Titan... of course... I should have been too.~


Although a part of his mind was free enough to think, the rest of him ignored it, and despite his own insistence that this would be the time he would allow them to kill him as soon as the warrior's first blades were flung toward him survival took over and the blades struck air as Aurek was suddenly in the air, and just as suddenly was returned to the ground, preceded by the force infused power of the wooden staff in his hands as a force propelled decent comes crashing down on the first warrior, shattering his skull and then straight down through his spine, splitting each vibrate an instant after the previous one, leaving a shattered and extremely disfigured corpse underneath him as a smile crosses behind his mask and a new voice drowns out the old.

~These... things. They dare to think they can best me. ME, the first. They believe they can win the favor of their god by slaying his dog, well it's time to show them that this pet has fangs.~

With an inhuman scream that could be heard for miles outside of the pit Aurek embraced the rage of the feral beast he had become. Reaching out with his power he bends the force to his will, pining the five remaining Noghri in place. It seemed like a simple and bloodless end to a fight by a man who's sudden rage made all the onlookers sure death was immanent, until the bodies began to distort as bubbles began forming under their skin and eyes began popping with a small pop. And suddenly a loud crack and a rain of blood mist spread out from where five living creatures had once stood splattering the entire crowd with the blood of their comrades. And with that Aurek grabbed the sack off to the side and climbed out of the pit as stunned onlookers tried to decide what to do.

Strolling through the streets of New Nystao Aurek completely ignored the looks of the Noghri at his black and blood coated body made it's way to the Grand Dukha, as they tried to hide their curiosity from their face. None dared stop him for they knew who he served, even if the enraged half of himself was hoping for an excuse to kill someone for interfering and would have done it for no reason at all if good old Mr. Reasonable himself didn't stop him.

~You have cause us great pain once again, and I wish you had never been created.~

~Without me you never would have survived that damn room~

~I know, that's the point~

By the time Aurek reached the Dukha he had banished emotion once again and silenced the voices that plagued him. They seemed so real, despite the fact that he knew they were nothing but the lingering hints of a sanity he had once known, and had now lost forever. Making his way through a side door to avoid whatever newcomers were sure to have arrived by now, Aurek entered the building and into the makeshift throne room of the Mad Titan. Unfortunately the first thing he saw was the Sorcerer Zombie, the damn fiend who he wished he could kill above all others, aside form himself of course. Keeping his masked face forward to his his owner he glowered at he decaying man, the rage of death shouting in his ear to kill him held back only by the survival instinct that overrode all other factors of his mind. One day perhaps he could kill without the threat of death... but that was unlikely, So for now he just seethed as he grabbed the bottom of the bag and flung it forward allowing it's contents to fall roughly at the feet of the throne. He refused. Was all Aurek said, in a completely flat tone as the severed head of a wrinkled old man with long white hair stared silently up to the throne, blood still dripping from it, adding the the pool slowly collecting from Aurek's clothes.

The Grand Dukha of the Clan Hakh’har was nothing like the ostentatious landmark that dotted the Noghri homeworld of Honoghr. While the generalized appearance of the structure had remained true to its cultural design, the materials it had been erected with differed greatly. As the surface of Wayland was ravaged by the devastation caused by the failure of the Ossus Project, the surviving Noghri were forced to rebuild their centre of governance from sturdy Vong-formed trees, with tarpaulin fabric stretched and bolted in-between. The conical roof was forged from the intricate weave of animal hides and boiled leather, establishing the Noghri’s distinct tribal aesthetic. Within the folds of the oversized pavilion, there was no furniture to be found, save a barbaric throne situated atop an aged marble plinth. The doors of the Dukha, while supposed to be forged of wood or some other sturdy substance, was instead made of two lengthy strips of animal hide that hung loosely from the roof of the cylindrical structure.

Isolation had not been kind to Wayland, and all that still called this world home would endure the hardship of sacrifice.

It was that fact alone, the sheer determination of these wayward peoples that had drawn the gaze of the Dark Lord. They had been out of touch with the Galaxy for some time, and had known little of the events that passed them by. This would make their population ripe for domination through subversion, and a much easier task than persuading the minds of trillions if he had chosen to go with Coruscant instead. He didn’t feel like facing the martial might of the Republic and their Jedi lackey’s, nor did he relish the thought of taking on the She-Emperor and her mongrels just yet. The Sith Lord would instead adopt the secretive legacy enacted by many of his predecessors, letting the galaxy consume itself in its own flame before landing the final and decisive blow.

To see such an end come to fruition, he needed similar minds with the ability to share his vision of galactic dominance. From thus sprung scheme of gathering the strongest Warriors of the Darkside to his banner, beckoning them forth from the shadows and unite them in the pursuit of his goals. He knew that each of these powerful masters of darkness would believe themselves better than him, as each had already established their namesake with a list of their titanic deeds. From destroyers of worlds to masterful duellists that had defeated dozens of Jedi; all had been given the choice to accept his invitation or pay the price of their refusal. Many Sith Lords, arrogant with dreams of grandeur, had refuted his respectable summons and to the best of his knowledge were slain by his Death Commandos. It was an act that had effectively culled the weakest remnants of the Sith Order, leaving behind those powerful enough to stand against the rising powers of the Jedi and their slightly darker counterparts thereafter.

Seated within the comforting embrace of his tribal throne, the Dark Lord held the severed head of one subservient Sith that had the gall to approach his throne and attempt to subvert his rightful rule over these primitive peoples. Like the Lord Belial, this man had noted the magicks that held sway over the populace, and sought the source of its power. Upon entering the Grand Dukha, the would-be assassin found more than he bargained for as his life began to slowly drift away through the ethereal currents of the force. Piece by agonizing piece, the Sith Lord watched on in horror as his soul was torn to shreds through the sheer ferocity and willpower of the shadowy figure sitting atop the hide bound throne. As the life was drained from his very flesh, the sound that would haunt him into whatever afterlife there was in death, materialized in the form an inhuman cackle.

The withered husk crashed to the ground as the last of his energy was torn from his body, hitting the marbled terrace with a thunderous crack. The emaciated flesh flaked into ash as soon as the impact had taken place, billowing up into the air as if the corpse had been dried for millennia. Belial’s laughter continued to resonate within the silent Dukha, filling the hearts of those bound to his will with a mixture of terror and pride. Some of those that had followed under his banner did so out of fear for their lives. Knowing this and their uses in the days to come, Belial suffered the existence of such weakness, only because they would one day be the fodder before the guns of the enemy. Should they test his patience, however, he would not regret stealing the life from their lungs as he devoured their souls. The chorus of laughter that had emanated from those whom bore the strength to stand in defiance of Belial’s authoritative aura, echoed alongside that of their God, filling the empty spaces of the bloated tent with malicious merriment.

That ended once the shrivelled corpse began to twitch with life it did not possess. Its diminished features began to pulsate with ethereal energies, vitalizing the ashen flesh with the raw power of the force. Several moments had passed before the atrophied Sith stood to his feet, invoking gasps of awe and terror from the gathered audience. Shambling forth like a zombie of legend, the corpse thing had paced along the marbled surface of the Dukha’s floor, clawing mindlessly through the air in desperation. There was no doubt in Belial’s mind that whatever magics drove this dead creature forward, had sought to infect him with whatever disease this zombie now carried. Smiling at the vain attempt to claim his life with a trivial potion and a parlour trick, the Dark Lord forcefully waved his hand in the air before him. The arcing motion of his hand spread forth through the ethereal realm of the force and carved the corpse asunder. Two hunks of putrid meat clattered to the floor, and the sound of the Mad Titan’s laughter resumed.

“It will take more than a mind slave to kill me, Lord Barbadon, perhaps the next time you seek to take my place, you will confront me yourself with a more convincing doll.”

The words were spat from his lips after some beats of his massive heart, each coated with the curious duality of his twin souls speaking through one mouth.

“Remove this desiccated husk from my sight, Mephistion, and learn what you can of the secrets woven into its very being. Perhaps I might play a similar game in the future, though my puppet shall be far superior to the corpse arrayed before me.”

As his dutiful sorcerer carried out his Master’s will, Belial’s fiery gaze was drawn once again to the entrance of his newly claimed Throne room. It was through that doorway, he sensed the arrival of one of his recently invited Guests. The ancient aura that permeated the being was distinct, and marked him out as one of the oldest living beings to populate the galaxy. It was admirable for a man to live for such lengths of time amid the turmoil of the various Wars that plagued the Galaxy, but like Ahriman and Mephistion before him, Belial cared little for the storied legacy that followed after them. It was their power he craved to have at his side, so that visionaries like him could spread forth into the known Universe and shatter the fragile balance all at once, rather than piecemeal. When the tarpaulin flaps parted to reveal the red skinned warrior, Belial was taken aback at how youthful he seemed. It was commonplace for beings over millennia old to show some signs of aging, marks of the flesh that could not escape the relentless advance of nature and death.

Without revealing his moment of revelation, having hidden it behind his masque of stoicism, Belial beckoned the man to approach his throne.

“Greetings, and welcome to my humble world Lord Horica. Please forgive the sorry state of the celestial body; the Yuuzhan Vong and the Ossus Project have left many scars that I fear will not heal without my tender care.”

Hidden beneath the stoic masque currently warping his sculpted features, the Dark Lord of the Sith felt a flicker of compassion spread throughout his titanic frame. Such a sensation was odd and almost unbecoming of a man in his station, as many within this shard of time, would consider such an emotion as too Jedi like. While he would never blame them for decrying him as a pretender to the throne, the truth of the situation was quite the opposite. The Jedi believed themselves as masters of their own body, fighting every feeling other than tranquillity in the hopes of staying within the favoured aura of the light. Such arrogance in their own self-righteous beliefs had often led to the birth of another Sith to booster the ranks. The Sith were true masters of their emotions, not slaves as the Jedi dogma would dictate. They bent the will of the force, blending it with whatever sentiment flowed through their veins, only to tap into a power unimaginable by those that could not understand the truth.

As most true Sith were fashioned from the bureaucratic ranks of the Jedi, it was no surprise that a bond of eternal hatred was forged.

“Nevertheless, you have come to my world at my request, thus meaning you are curious. An admirable trait if it does not result in your death. You know us Sith, we hold many secrets and treasures dear, simple things that we cannot do without in our rise to power. My Noghri have told you of what I plan to do, this I can sense within your malleable mind. They will pay for their ignorance of my orders, but that is none of your concern.”

He paused for a moment of quiet contemplation.

“No, you have come here in the hopes of serving a greater purpose, greater than that offered by the sycophants of the Empire. I can give you that purpose, and by the fire burning within your eyes I can tell that you will not refute my benevolence. That is a fitting reaction when faced with a decision that will affect the course your life will take. Will you join me in my conquest of the stars, or shall I leave your defiled corpse to my trusted Seneschal? I give you leave to stand aside whilst you determine what path your life shall take, as there are others that may yet join you in such commitment.“

Turning his gaze towards the entrance once more, Belial watched as yet another warrior entered his court. His swagger was that of a man that had endured many hardships, clawing his way to the surface time and time again despite the pressure that had been placed upon his shoulders. He saw the hunger for knowledge in his aura, a bright passionate light taking on the ethereal hue of orange. Though the colour had clashed with that of his flesh, the ugly sight was somehow appealing in some hypocritical way. Unlike the Sith lord that had approached his throne mere moments ago, this one had yet to walk down the darkest paths of the Order. He had little in which to hold up to his legacy, yet the man walked into his chambers as if he felt this was where he belonged. Once the tarpaulin flap had fallen into place, and the soft glowing light had illuminated his pale violet features, a part of Belial’s twin souls had felt a kinship form from the knowledge of what had taken place in this man’s history.

Like most Sith of previous generations, the man that had once called himself Lucius, was a Knight of the Old Republic and a Consular of the Jedi Order. That had changed once the Sith returned once again after the tumultuous times of the Great Galactic War, during a period that would eventually become known as the New Sith Wars. Lucius was a wise and renowned warrior scholar that had spent much of his life travelling the galaxy in pursuit of the ancient Celestials and the secrets they so jealously guarded. Until the coming of the Sith and the devastation wrought upon the fields of Mizra, Lucius had never known of the true horrors War would bring. Yet in those ancient, long smouldered fires, the Jedi gave birth to a darkness he had never known. It would reside within his heart for the days to come, and blossom as he once again took to the stars in pursuit of the fabled Gods. Years had passed, and many had believed that this Jedi – whom set out into the stars in the hopes of finding a weapon that could defeat the Sith forever – to be lost in his own vain pursuits. That was until he had returned to the galaxy, cloaked in the supposed shadows he swore an oath to fight against.

It was unknown what had thrown the ancient Jedi over the edge of madness, but whatever it was, had held sway upon the man until the day had passed in which he did not require its darkened influences to direct his malicious intentions.

“Your journey has been long and arduous, Lord Ifrit, but as you have come before me, know full well that you are one step closer to obtaining what you desire.”

He said, erstwhile beckoning the man forwards with a subtle flick of his wrist.

“The words that my Noghri have spoken are not false, and unlike the heretic that resides within the Skull shaped holocron you carry, I can open the doorway to powers unimaginable. Through my teachings, you will become strong in the ways of the Sith, and perhaps garner the strength to govern the indomitable will of Death herself. Through me and only me, lies the gateway to the reunion with your beloved Master, as I have taken great pains to assure that her corpse was recovered from Bara’Duun’s tomb. Everything that was recovered has been placed in stasis to ensure that time itself did not rob you of the one you love, and those capsules are hidden in a place only I know. Join me, Ifrit, learn the true ways of the Sith and bring back the one you love, or refute my offer and forever be denied her embrace.”



With the entire planet subservient to the titanic will coursing through the Dark Lord of the Sith, it was an almost unnecessary act to influence the minds of those that dwelled within the city walls. Lord Vyzlor was invited to this world like the others before him, as that was the only way a being such as he would ever set foot upon this primitive backwater planet. Having been forewarned that sinister beings, whom had taken upon themselves to adopt the darkest principles of the Order, would be strolling through their streets, the populace did not fight against their telepathic influences. It was only natural for the predator to learn more about another of his kind, before taking it upon themselves to approach. Such encounters as these could only end two ways, as it was highly unlikely for there to be a middle ground between two ethereal beasts cloaked in the lie of mortal flesh.

As the Lord Vyzlor approached the aged marble steps of the Grand Dukha, the two Noghri Death Commandos that had discerned the location of this shadow touched being through scent alone, were stationed outside of the tarpaulin hatch and snapped to attention. Their sensitive sense of smell had alerted them to his presence in their city, marking him out as just another one of the outsiders that came to their world at their Lord’s behest. Although at first he was considered nothing more than a simple warrior of the Sith, a gentle whisper echoed within the back of their minds, revealing that such a being was more than what he appeared to be. They stood even straighter, adopting the picturesque visage of ancient stone carved monuments and waited in silence until the venerable Sith had hobbled past.



Seeing the arrival of yet another Lord of the Sith, had sparked a small fire of satisfaction within the immense beating furnace that was Belial’s heart. The Mad Titan proffered an almost welcoming smile as the flaps parted to give the aging Sith entry into his newly claimed throne room, a friendly face broken only by the slight flicker of irritation in the guarded depths of his mind’s eye.

“I welcome you to my humble hearth, Lord Harth, and I am glad that you have accepted my invitation, but I am intrigued by the manner in which you have come into my home. It was wise of you to approach my Throne with caution, as to many of the Galaxy, I am nothing more than a new face bearing claim to powers they believe themselves masters of.” He paused to let his ethereally sonorous voice resound within the minds of those present, before continuing as if such an act of dominance was nothing more than the silence between breaths. “However, as much as I would relish the thought of moving through the shadows, unknown and undetected by those that seek to bath in the abhorrent warmth of the light; I cannot achieve my goals without the assistance of yourself and those that have come before you. Despite all the power that courses through my veins, my physical form cannot be in many places at once. This is why I have sought men and women like you, to be my hands amid the turmoil that plagues the galaxy.”

Belial’s fiery gaze darted swiftly to both the Lords Vastrol and Ifrit, before once again falling upon the aged Sith standing before him. “You will not be pawns in my games; instead you will be Kings in your own right. I seek not to rein you in like the blasted Jedi order, nor do I seek to corral you upon a single world like the ‘Sith’ that have flocked to the banner of the Emperor. The galaxy is ours for the taking, and with you all by my side as One Sith united by a single purpose, all will tremble in our wake.”