Private A New Type of Sith

[BobertEZ]

Bastion. The planet was thing of beauty and magnificence for the Empire, standing as the most developed, or one of the most developed, planets in the Empire's reach. Gilded with a shining sun that blazed across the endless skyscrapers of Ravelin, the Great Imperial Ruling City, Bastion was the place to be for all of the Empire, elite or otherwise.

Thus, it was no surprise that Lorale Farmar, Lord of Conquest and Champion of the Heart of Noxis (although the latter was less known to just about everyone in the Galaxy), would be found strolling the vistas and landmarks of the city. Appearing to the public in their handsome, and rather shorter visage, granted by metamorphosis, Lorale turned many heads. Perhaps it was the appearance, or perhaps it was the fact that walking with the Phoenix was a contingent of six individuals in pitch black armor with glowing red visors walking in robotic unison.

Alongside those soldiers were four individuals of clear importance: a massive skeleton with beaming eyes, an Arkanian man who was clearly once a Jedi, what appeared to be a heavily mutated Gamorrean, and a woman of astounding yet mature beauty and presence. These were four of the twelve Lorale Farmar called the Vortex Spawn, their sons and daughters who acted as their defenders, fighters, and commanders of the millions they called the Band of Champions.

Just what they were doing that day was anybody's guess. Why they took it upon themselves to stand outside Ravenlin's local Kalco Chow 'N' Stuff in utter silence was even more confusing. Until the woman entered alongside two of the soldiers. Inside the establishment that many in the city called their favorite restaurant were a large number of Imperial Legionnaires, off-duty and clearly enjoying their time away from the battles that plagued the Galaxy. Men and women, young and old, recruits and experienced, human and alien, all of them laughing and enjoying their food and drink, either unaware of the woman's entrance or choosing to ignore it.

Even so, the woman would remain silent as she walked through the establishment, the soldiers somehow even more silent in their marching, their expressions hidden by the red lights that spoke of malice and intimidation and their footsteps a mere whisper on the hard surface. Any of the dozens in the establishment would know instantly, had they dared to look, that they were looking for someone, their movements slow and methodical. Who that someone was, they could not gather. Not quickly anyhow.

Then she spoke to answer the questions that were not being asked, and from her lips came a voice so soothing that the Emperor himself would take note, a voice that was betrayed by her stern expression and request: "I am in search of Kudon. A man whom you may know as Mlow Eman'outther. I request that he bring himself before me or be brought before me by you. He was last seen here and has been demanded by your Lord of Conquest, Darth Raptious, to present himself for inspection."

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Mlow, alike with the rest of the military arm of the Sith Empire, enjoyed his shore time as much as he could. He loved these moments, those moments between the blaster marks and the screams of war. He cherished the voices around him coming unfiltered, both in message and delivery. They were far from the electronic calls coming through his helm during the middle of a firefight, and his own voice, coming from his lips, past the fangs that adorned the maw of his species, rumbling deep from his throat, unmolested by an transvocoder. It was Mlow, as Mlow as he could possibly be, he was in his casuals, or at least, what he could get away with calling his casuals. It was a more stripped down version of the standard shore outfit, missing the more egregious pauldrons and attachments, a common sight between Legionaries being Legionaries. This was as normal as they were ever allowed to be, and each of the men and women were chattering about whatever they wished to, some about the conflicts that burned the stars, some about family drama they had caught up with during their leave, some simply jotting about work, the front, the only life that they knew anymore. Soldiering was a profession as much as it was a lifestyle, and as depressive as it may be, many of these souls had left their old selves alone some time ago. Instead they spoke of the fire-rates of Autokrators, the issues with their armor, Mlow, however, was quite different.

Mlow, instead, was leaning onto the counter of the diner, keeping his face propped up with a sprawled hand, his eyes settling on a blond haired human just a seat next to him, it was hard to tell if Mlow was paying much attention to an outside observer, but, in Mlow's defense, he could have cared less. The human was just so soft on the eyes to the Kudon, raving about that damned joint that his dad ran on Tatooine, the words drifted off into the air, into the Kudon, and practically died inside of him. Mlow was a sweetheart at heart, and while he wouldn't ever admit to have been engaging in some gentle flirting, his general attitude out of service came off that special kind of nice to others. He was nearly about to speak, return to whatever comment the man had made before he heard the call, the sudden silence breaking the normality, and then the hallowed voice, rattling his name off as if it was nearly the most pointless thing in the Galaxy.

Damn.

His mind wandered, if ever so briefly, what if he ignored it? Bad idea. Odds are, he thought, this was about that blaster rifle he lost against that Mando. Ordinance and their needless specific-
Then he heard the title of Darth, and his entire train of thought reentered itself. The name, he couldn't place the name. He knew he should be able, something deep inside of him rolled and rumbled. A dark calling, a void on the other-side of reality.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the woman who had called him, taking one last swig of the shake that he was trying to savor, wiping the cream from his face on his sleeve, before giving the human a hearty slap on the back.

"Next time, I'm paying, Dartie!"

He knew he would never see the human again, and he reminded himself of that as he swiveled in his chair and hopped off of the seat. Marching his way up to the woman, each step seeming to take longer than the last, as if his body was fighting him for every inch, before he finally settled himself in front of her, offering and off kiltered salute.

"Private Eman'outther, reporting." It was simple, well said, and to the point. How he preferred to deal with anyone in command.

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

The woman, whom the soldiers present referred to as Madame Graves in passing upon the Kudon's appearance, nodded only lightly to the Legionnaire's introduction before motioning for the soldiers to bring him outside. They did so forcefully, gripping the Kudon's arms tightly with their cold, metal hands, practically dragging him out of the establishment to be presented in front of the awaiting Sith Lord and company.

As the soldiers led the man to the entrance of the large restaurant that had ceased is boisterous activity, the woman, who followed closely behind with her arms behind her back, began to explain. The Kudon had shown something weeks prior to Darth Raptious, who she identified in her short monologue as the Phoenix, that drew their interest. Enough so, clearly, to have ordered the seizure and presentation of the Legionnaire before them personally for inspection.

The Kudon would have no time to ask his own questions to the explanation as the doors of the establishment flew open to reveal the awaiting company and something even more concerning. All others that had been traversing the streets had dispersed and vanished to avoid whatever it was that the Phoenix had planned, the Sith Lord's reputation preceding them exponentially. The sudden change in the Lord of Conquest's appearance, accompanied by a momentary darkening of the area, did not help matters for those that had attempted to remain in their spots. By the time the doors had opened, all had fled and hid.

The Phoenix was the clear highlight of the group that stood before the Kudon. Gone was the handsome visage, the lighthearted aura, the smile. In their place was collected wrath, a cold fury, and a silent intelligence. Lorale stood at their full gargantuan and armored size, the Wolfblade of Noxis now clear upon their back, and a frown frozen upon their helm that had always seemed to shift according to the owner's emotions at the time. It would be a frightful thing for anyone to see the bestial frown glaring down upon them, but it would become clear to the Legionnaire in the coming minutes that such fear was, in fact, unwarranted.

Lorale would allow the tensions to settle after the three that had retrieved him had fallen back into line. The voice that came from the mouth of the helmet, already a marked difference to the etherealness of being spoken through the Force itself, was deep and guttural with an accent akin to archaic warriors, "I remember you, Mlow Eman'outther. Stygeon Prime. The Hunt. Yes. I remember you. You slew the Rancors. Many of them. Assisted us in slaying the Alpha as well. But you did not do this with simple skill. You should have died in the beasts' attempts on your life. But you didn't. And I know why."

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Run, flee, fight.

The voice boomed in Mlow's head as he was hefted out of the eatery, he had now idea of it's source, why it had come to him during such a moment, but it felt familiar. It felt like himself, his own soul calling out to him. He was scared, admittedly, deep inside, but he offered no form of resistance despite how much his entire being begged for him to. He wanted to run, he wanted to listen and flee for the hills. He loved his country, he knew his rights as a Legionary and a citizen, but he also knew the realities of the Empire. He would be shot if he ran, odds are, whatever was earning him such gruff treatment would see him executed. His mind flooded to endless warscenes, battlefields, and moments spent off, he had been a star citizen his entire life. He had no terrestrial explanation, he knew that no court would await him on the otherside of those doors. He took the plunge, he already accepted his own demise, if it was the will of the State, it was the will of the People, the will of the Legion. He was a servant to the nation...

Did that mean bending the knee?

The moment they broke through the doors, and the rays of golden sunlight echoed through the eyes of Mlow, refracting over a thousand times as they tried their damndest to process the void that stood in front of them, Mlow felt his heart sink. The Obelisk was standing, just feet away. The last he had seen him, they had been slaying Rancors in a snowblessed world, and now, armorless, blasterless, powerless, Mlow was being pushed before the figure. The armor stood akin to a colossus, blinking the sun out from the Kudon as his short measure finally was gifted the ability to find his own footing by those that had drug him out.

He is the dark. He is the endless tides. He will drown you, he will take you.

It pounded again, over and over at the cage that he sat in, his entire consciousness yelled, raged, pleaded and begged. Death would be preferable. His soul had left the building, exit stage right. His sight barely manged to settle in a single spot, jolting and jumping from every inch of the blackened plate, trying to find some semblance of humanity among the coal, desperate, fretful, none was given, none would be found.

Mlow was left to speak to the Nothing, answer for the crime he had no idea he could have committed.

With a shaky hand, trembling a thousand vibrations per second, Mlow brushed his scarlet locks from his eyes, clearing his throat before he spoke with an unknown bravado.

"No idea what you're saying, I am a solider, a follower of the Empire. I've laid myself down time in and time out for Emperor and Country. I fought, I won, that's all I know, sir."

The use of Sir, the refusal of the Darth title, or any form of honorific, was purposeful. Throughout his entire career, regardless of rank, he gave them a blunt 'sir' or 'madam', jokingly he would tell his squadmates that it was to remind them that one day he could take their place if they weren't careful, in the lightest hearted sense of the jest.

Now he stood, his first conversation with a Son of the Dark, offering the same comment, the same near slight, the edge against the issue that he felt the Sith was fabricating. Mlow had no idea the power that lay inside his blood.

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

The Phoenix examined the Legionnaire with eyes invisible, the only indication of a set gaze being the blazing streaks of lightning that adorned the helmet where sockets would be. All present were mostly silent save for whispers, perhaps shocked at the Kudon's display of flagrance and lack of visible respect for the Sith Lord that he had served so dutifully; the Skeleton, Lorale's most trusted protector out of the Spawn, had even unsheathed its wrist blades, ready to strike down the offender if commanded. Several of the patrons inside had additional pressed their faces to the windows to watch the events unfold, either enthralled or terrified. Lorale cared not to focus on them, for they knew that all watching thought the same thing: the Kudon was to face death.

Instead, the Phoenix further shocked all watching in deafening, utter silence by gifting the Legionnaire a laugh so bellowing and heartfelt that it would appear, at least for that moment, that the Phoenix still retained knowledge of emotions beyond order, philosophy, and warfare. In the blink of an eye and a bright flash, the Sith Lord had returned to their handsome visage, blonde hair flowing down to their shoulder blades, grey eyes bright, and lips parted in a toothy smile.

"Impressive. Impressive for a Legionnaire," the Phoenix proclaimed before turning to the woman. "What say you, daughter? Is this not impressive?"

The woman gave a slow nod, clearly confused, "Y-yes...master. Very...impressive. My Lord, what-"

The Phoenix held up one finger and the woman fell silent once again, "Legionnaire! You have most impressed me. Mlow Eman'outther. A name I remembered. A name I will remember."

The Spawn eyed their master with dubious eyes, eyes of unknowing, and it was clear to the Phoenix that they could not sense the Legionnaire's Sensitivity. They were not looking deep enough. You will have to remedy that.

Before any could say a word of further inquiry or protest, the Phoenix spoke again, "Jargaza-Yshu, be so kind as to render him unconscious now?"

The mutated Gamorrean, after a moment of registering the request, did so with a quick strike to the back of the man's head, giving a small chuckle as the Kudon crumpled to the floor in half-a-second.

Whenever the Kudon awoke, he would find himself on the polished and reflective hardwood floor of a building not listed on any Imperial registry of Bastion. The building, or rather the room at the very least, the Kudon was in was approximately twenty-five by twenty-five feet and adorned with all manner of archaic, wooden furniture and furnishings inscribed with runes and lettering of a language most would not know. Tables, chairs, desks, rugs, drapes, candles, cabinets. All with the same style of lettering over and over again, but clearly depicting different phrases on each piece. Helgardi. The warrior language. Show him your kin, Lorale. Take him there one day.

When the Kudon awoke, he would find Lorale, in the handsome visage, leaning over a pot that rested over a roaring fire, stirring a poultry and potato soup that smelled so heavenly most would believe they had ended up in the afterlife. And when the Kudon awoke, Lorale would turn to them and nod only briefly before motioning with their free right hand to the nearby dining table. Silent. Stoic. Planning.

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Mlow, within his own world, the little universe he allowed himself to live in inside of the seconds when he wasn't registering responses or new stimulus, processed the fact that he said what he did hoping to anger the Sith Lord, he knew fully well what would await him if he had wronged the state enough to warrant death. A simple execution wouldn't had been nearly simple enough, no, for if the Legionary had done something to scorn even the gracious office of the Emperor, well, then the Kudon would have been served a torment that would make even his native Soothsayers shudder in fright, perhaps it would be something a bit fitting given his station. Perhaps they would have buried him in a bit filled with vipers, akin to the lost Hero of South Kudo, or some other poetic sounding torture that would mark the Kudon as the hate of his kin. He hoped he smarted the Sith Lord into striking him down in that moment, to save him the torment.

He was far from that lucky, in fact, he seemed taken aback, literally a half-step sending him slightly away from the bellowing Sith. It was something he hardly had expected, something he questioned if the Living Armor was even capable of, but there the form was. The War God, the Obelisk that he had watched fall monsters greater than men, laughing, a full hearted, chest deep rumble that the Kudon felt to his very core. Then, as if a trick by the light, the faintest of shimmering, the faintest of moments, as if the plate of ebony had never been standing there, the form infront of the Kudon shifted. He had to reregister the event several times, the new, quite catching form standing in front of him, oddly, unvernved him even more than the hulking suit did. It was humanizing, it felt too close to the faces he had come to know in his service, as if he could have been another soul lost in the trenches, as if he could have been there on the firing range. The humility of the form, despite the perfection, drowned Mlow. It went to his heart in a way that he never expected it could, a dagger in the depths. Why, why would he be flesh and bone? Why would he smile and laugh? What form of Devil was he?

The Kudon never registered the strike, never registered the command, collapsing nearly instantly...

Remember who you are, what you will become, it will give you strength in the coming challenges.

He ran through the halls of his childhood home, giggling, dodging the odd servant here or there, briefly skirting past a butler carrying a large collection of books, actual handbound novels, who offered a laugh in response as he attempted to stop himself from doubling over. A smile crossing his face as he watched the youthful Kudon keep his route, rushing through the isles and across the carpeted hallways of the grand building.

"Stay safe, young master!"

The call would be lost between the mischief, Mlow's mind running a thousand different places as his feet slapped against the gilded marble of the stairway leading up to the second floor of the home, ducking around the corner of the railing as he went for a straightaway to the door simply marked "Study"

Bursting inside, a well groomed man would sit in the back corner of the cramped, but spacious room, filled nearly to the brim with books. Far past the normal regulations, spilling onto the floor and odd sections of the room, stored in the former silverwear cabinet, lining the top of the fireplace, stacked on ancient, unused chairs. Staring over his glasses, the elder Kudon would offer a full laugh, a heartful one, one that the Kudon would hear ages after. The child clambered onto the floor, sitting with his legs crossed as he looked up at his father, a newborn desire sitting in the orbs.

"You want a story, Little Pup? I thought as much, come here, I'll tell you the one of the Dragon and the Austward Warrior..."

Awaken.

The Kudon would shoot up from his laying position on the floor, instantly wincing as he straightened his back and a groan of pain parting from his lips. For a moment, the fleeting moment, he thought that nothing was wrong, in the haze of his sleep he had forgotten the day, his life, and the worries. Then, the fear settled in, waking up in the location that you don't remember falling asleep in does nothing save fill you with a nightmare. However, that soon faded as he took inventory of the rustic surroundings, bringing himself slowly to stand with the creaking of different joints and bones, causing him to list to the side and lean against the wall before straightening out again. His eyes settled in the blackness, before slowly linking their way across the room to the Sith Lord, sitting by a pot, a roaring flame. He was offering him something, wasn't he?

He slowly, cautiously, began to past the Sith, letting his hand fall on the chair he was offered, his fingers tracing over the runes, feeling the language for a brief moment before settling himself down into the seat.

"Bit much to bring me out for dinner. Thanks, though."

He would see what the idea behind this was, besides, play into his plans, maybe he gets to live. Sure as Hell beat the rations he was used to anyways.

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

The Phoenix grunted lightly at the man's words upon awakening, turning their head only a touch to watch as he took his seat at the hand-carved table. By that time, the soup had cooked to perfection with the poultry and potatoes rising to the top of the yellowed cream. A thick steam full of scents and taste wafted throughout the room, more so when the Sith Lord scooped it out of the pot into a wooden bowl that would help the soup retain its taste and texture without the dilution of metal.

The Northern wall of the room suddenly slid open as the Phoenix began the walk to the table, allowing streams of cold mountain air to blow in unhindered. A howl as high pitched as a nails on a board screeched in with the air before the wall slid closed just as quickly without any visible entrant. That would quickly change when the air above the table bent inward before giving way to a crouched, grinning man dressed in heavy furs and leather. The Kudon would most certainly take note of his thick, red-bearded face, the large nose with a septum piercing, and long blazing hair, staring as intently as possible at the Kudon. He truthfully appeared more savage than anything else; his voice did not help in any perception issues he would encounter with this Legionnaire.

"How do you d-o-o-o, chappy?" he cackled and clapped with a flourish, his voice as rough as stones on a beaten path. "Alrekur Varmarson, the Third Son of Lorale at YOUR SERVICE-AH."

Lorale sighed with heavy annoyance as they set the bowl of soup in front of the Kudon, almost akin to that of a true parent, and snapped their fingers at the crouching man, "Alrekur, get down. Behave yourself."

"Oh, calm yerself down, Ba," the wild man snapped with a click of his tongue. "I'm just introducing myself to yer new guest. It's been quite a few moons since we've had one up here in our abo-o-o-o-de."

A quick swipe of the Phoenix's right hand sent the wild man flying back into the wooden wall he had presumably entered through and down onto the hardwood floor. "You will behave yourself," the Sith Lord demanded with their hands on their hips and a deep scowl on their face. "Or do you want me to get Anastasia."

The wild man hissed with a toothy grin from his prone position and swiftly slithered forward like a serpent, rising to his feet directly in front of the Phoenix, his eyes, which were now shown to be blue as ice, were wide yet spoke of a loving joy, "Is my lovely wife home with you, Ba? Now that's been some moons too."

Lorale's stoicism fell into a smirk and their head shook as they motioned to the Eastern wall, muttering something in a language the Kudon would likely have trouble discerning. An old language, taught to them by Kascalion out of the myriad the Devil Lion could understand. Practically skipping, the man slid open the wall and disappeared into the darkness on the other side before the wall slid closed seemingly on its own. The Phoenix sighed once again and finally sat at the table, briefly reaching an open palm out to summon over two hand-carved spoons to use for the soup.

"So, before another one of my belligerent children comes to visit, most likely him, and before we go visit them, tell me in earnest, Mlow Eman'outther of the Sith Empire: what do you think I am?"

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Mlow, and the Force that whirled inside of him, quiet yet aware, akin to a storm that never fully formed, only threatening the homesteads that lay across the path it would take, but never acting, were hardset in concern. He felt lost, alone, and confused, he felt that reality was taking turns that he never truly expected it to, as if he was slowly losing the Dance to the Night, the two step failing him and sending him stumbling from the floor. It was endlessly easy for one to take the rustic, yet off, just too perfectly old aesthetic to heart. It was far too easy for Mlow to feel that he would never make his way out of here, it was far too easy to lose himself to the seriousness of reality.

Then, the Legionary nearly tipped his chair backwards in shock as the bearded form came from the Aether, akin to one of the Fairfae that inhabited the legends of the Kudon, one of the mysterious sprites that would pester wayward travelers into their doom. His chair rocked back at the man's sudden appearance, his hands reaching out and catching the wood at just the right time to bring himself back forward, the clacking of the wooden legs shifting back-forward-back-forward as it settled back into it's normal position. The Kudon's hair gone ever so slightly wild as he looked at the savage, strands of strawberry locks hanging in front of his own face. He appeared to be listening to nearly every word the man said, focusing on keeping his jaw from falling as his eyes glazed over. This was all a fair bit much more than he had expected it to be.

The name thrown, Anastasia, never had a second to register after the savage had just returned from making impact with the wooden wall, and before the Kudon could even attempt to get a proper greeting out, the pair were speaking in a language the Kudon had no familiarity with. He was far from a polyglot, and barely managed Sith and Basic himself, but suddenly, the door shifting again, and the redhead went out into the darkbluff once more.

Mlow heard the Sith speak, but there were several moments as he attempted to settle himself from the vaudeville show he had just witnessed, shifting in his chair as he cleared his throat. Looking up as the Sith summoned the spoons, attempting to keep eyes with him as he talked, but something deep in his chest, like the first meeting, flared. A warning. As if his heart's soul was screaming. The Force inside of Mlow was scratching at the walls of his being, as if willing itself to escape however it could, trapped in the Flesh that chose to sat across the table from the Dark.

"Sir, I'm hardly normally learned. You're Sith, that's something I have little business understanding. Sorceries and witchcraft is as normal to you as breathing and marching is to me. I've heard the stories, everyone in the Legion has. We rarely serve side-by-side with our Generals. You, Darth Morrow also, we're firsts."

He tapped on the table with nervous fingers, a catch in his voice when he went to speak, trying the sentence again. The Sir having a bit more respect to the ring than earlier.

"I have no clue. I don't have the word for it. We never thought any of it was one-hundred-percent true, your Arts, real as day, but we always thought... maybe tall-tales..."

There was a pause, he looked down, as if resetting before looking back up at the Sith, leaning a bit closer.

"Why am I here?"

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

The Phoenix drew the spoon to their mouth, perfectly shaped by their months of practice with the great power of Metamorphosis, but stopped short of bringing the soup in. Their eyes, grey and lined with feigned thought, looked up at the Kudon along with a swift crack of a smirk. It was a good question, straightforward and simple. Why is he here, Lorale?

"Why are you here?" Lorale repeated, dropping the spoon into the bowl and clasping their hands together. "Why are you here...that is the real question is it not? Truthfully, if you were anyone else, you would not be here. You will still be in that diner, consuming your food with the rest of your brothers and sisters. But instead, you are here."

The Sith Lord rose to their feet and began walking around the room, hands behind their back with twiddling fingers. As if the rooms features were shifting, perhaps by Lorale's will, the walls began to showcase various artifacts of origins unknown. Serpentine mosaics, staves, blades. Each one radiating sensations of the Force, both Dark and Light, although the former was quite more pervasive.

"Do you know what these are?" they asked with their back turned to the Kudon, knowing they could not answer. "Artifacts of my people. The Koignalteth. An ancient people. I am one of their youngest, yet I am chosen to be their savior. Or one of the saviors, at the very least. The fact of the matter, regardless, is that I was chosen. Just like you have been chosen. Eat the soup later, walk with me."

Knowing the Kudon would have no choice but to follow, the Phoenix walked over to the wall that the wild man had left through and slid it open to reveal a long darkness. Walking through, the Phoenix would wait until they knew the Kudon had properly entered before they slid the wall closed again, drowning the two in utter blackness where sound and sight and touch and scent were nonexistent. Lorale would let the Kudon stew in the lack of senses before they called out a word in the same language they had conversed with the wild man in.

The room, or rather the void, would then fill with a bright light that hummed with power to reveal a room of magnificence, hidden deep in the rocks of Lorale's mountain home. Much like their capital on Helgard, this home too was built into the mountains, far from borders of Ravelin. It was isolated. Defended by Kascalion's technology and beasts. It was perfect for the Sith Lord who was known for their frequent reclusiveness.

The room was wide and tall and held the style of a grand meeting hall an Alderaan noble would utilize for visitors. Massive braziers of burning and scented oil, the scent of which was sweet and inviting, were what kept the light shining to allow the Kudon to gaze upon the workings and intricacies. Lining the walls were great tapestries and paintings of worlds unseen, worlds only known in the Koignalteth memory: old worlds and new worlds, dead worlds and living worlds, fictional and real. If the Kudon were to look down, he would see that the floor was carved like a checker board and polished to the point of being reflective like a mirror. Additionally, on the Eastern side of the room was yet another apparent door, made of the same polished material, marked and thus visible only by bands of black iron. What lay beyond was as much a mystery as the one who owned it.

Dotted throughout the room on top of this floor, to match the style, were large pieces of furniture made of reflective metal, again lined with the runes seen in the previous dining area. Great high-tables and glorious long-tables, chairs for nobles, desks and shelves. Resting on the tables were long rows of food and drink that steamed with freshness and heat. Hunks of caramelized poultry and fried bantha, slices of pie and cakes, bowls of broth, towers of breads and vegetables. All available for apparent consumption of a party not visibly present.

However, while these pieces of furniture and the tapestries and the paintings and the food were all well and good in terms of notability, nothing stood out more than the massive, white-furred Wookie grasping a dualsaber staring down from a perch.

"Who is this, Ba?" the Wookie roared down from their vantage point, igniting the saber perhaps out of intrigue.

"A friend, Bolsca," the Phoenix called back, clearly amused. "Rest easy."

The Wookie huffed before extinguishing their lightsaber and vanishing through the sudden opening behind their perch. Lorale chuckled again and would turn to the Kudon, "I have many Sons and Daughters with us today. That was Bolsca, my Second Daughter and one of the strongest of the bunch, on par with even Jargaza-Yshu. But I digress."

The Phoenix would continue on with the Kudon in unavoidable tow as the magnificent meeting hall gave way to a room of knowledge, pure and simple. If Lorale had produced a public copy of the schematics of their mountain home, it would show this room as an inner sanctum of sorts, although the schematics would have shown it to be twelve levels down rather than on the first level next to what should have been the room after the entrance hall. This inner sanctum of the building that seemed to live to Lorale's necessity contained a superb collection of precisely reconstructed stonework, multiple murals and painted works of art as well as hundreds of rolled parchments containing architectural wonders, most of their brother's design. Kascalion's immense drawing desks bore architectural plans for grand pavilions, magnificent amphitheaters, complex industrial infrastructures, vast domes of habitation, impregnable citadels and ornate palaces to rival the fastness of the Emperor himself.

"My brother's room. And where you begin your training."

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Every last second that Mlow spent in the presence of the Sith drew more and more questions roaring from this mind, there were far too many to place, far too many with and without reason. There was a low beat, thrumming inside of the Kudon's head, beating against the insides of his head as he was presented this dizzying new array of senses and worries through every click of the clock while being held as a metaphorical hostage to the Sith. He would be set up, back in that diner, taking long drinks of some Blue Milk shake, listening to some pretty boy ramble on and on about things that the Kudon could have cared less about, but he was here. He was here. Where was here? What was here? He was growing more and more anxious with every passing second, perhaps he could fight his-

Calm, collect yourself. The resolve of the Sons of Kudo will not be shaken. His intents are outwards...

The Kudon rose soon after he watched the Sith rise, and the sudden shifting of reality, for whatever reasons that Mlow could never fully comprehend, nearly sent him tumbling in shock, but he held firm. An odd resolve as the will of the Sith simply changed existence around them. The mosaics, the artifacts, they all called out to Mlow. Ancient tongues that he truly didn't hear, sounds that never reached his ears, calls that never would bring themselves fully home. As the Obolisk spoke, Mlow found himself taking a few idle steps in the direction of one of the ornate objects, daring a hand, daring a reach, inches from the object. It was radiating an energy, a feeling, the Kudon's mind slipped for a brief moment. Light, it was the call of the Light, though he had no practical idea that was what was willing him to the object.

The sudden call of the Sith, footsteps on the floor, soon brought the Kudon rushing after, tearing himself away from the object as quick as he could, despite his shadow lingering there much longer than his own form did. Swearing underneath his breath as he soon fell in line with the steps of the Lord, into the opaque black, into the night sky that shone so beautifully in the long forgotten epics of his people. Despite the lack of senses, once the Kudon had been brought into the utter night, he should have shivered, felt the fear of the situation well inside of him like a plague. Instead, there was an odd serenity between him and the Sith. A gentle calm. If he was to be dead, he would be dead by now.

The tapestries, as they passed between the worlds of light and dark, between the void and the hall, earned the Kudon's unmistakable complete attention. He could swear he recognized some of the designs, some of the traditional mortifies repeated between certain cultures to show certain planets, and then, nothing, world after world fell dead to his eyes. Lost in the sea of unknowable infinities.

Entering the Grand Hall brought to mind vivid images to the Kudon's mind, his old home. The gentle place he had grown back on Kudo, the tea in the morning, the guests from across moons coming for cake and drinks, he would have seen endless numbers entertained in rooms very much like this one, his eyes consumed every inch of it's trappings, breathing them in like a winter wisp. Then, suddenly, the booming report of the Wookie from upabove nearly sent the Kudon scrambling, his head snapping upwards sharply. Wookie, lightsaber, highground. Get out of range, find a weapon, avoi-

And then the Wookie spoke to his host, and the host replied, and it settled in that this was just another endless oddity he would be exposed to today. He kept his step a careful one closer to the Sith Lord, as if he felt some form safer to the nightmare.

Following into the Brother's Room, something had dawned on the Kudon, the building felt unreal, nearly non-euclidean at times. As if it had never made an exact sense, as if the paths they were going down never properly aligned, he could nearly swear that they had doubled back or looped at some rate, but his mind failed to conjure up when or how.

"Training? This isn't Legion standard."

The Kudon spoke in response to the training statement, an honest confusion on his face, wishing that the Sith would fill him on the specifics of his coming here.

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

"Training? This isn't Legion standard."

The Phoenix turned to the Kudon upon his statement, spoken with a tone of questioning yet again. If this were any other man or woman, and if Kehotu-Yshi had any power over them, Lorale would have gutted them and used their organs as ornaments for their Life Day tree. But this was no other man or woman and Kehotu-Yshi was reborn as Jargaza-Yshu. This was the Legionnaire whom impressed the Phoenix with his clear usage of the Force, although it was more than obvious that he had no concept of what true power ran through his veins. This thought brought a smirk, crooked with only the barest showing of sharp teeth, to the face of the Sith Lord who had suddenly, once again in the blink of an eye, shifted into a new appearance: that of a female Kaleesh, or what appeared to be the closest approximation of.

Blood red and tall, roughly the same height as Darth Carnifex, with large yellow eyes and clothed in robes of threaded silk and gold with diamond jewelry adorning every finger, both ears and your lip. A gorgeous choice, my child.

Despite the texture these items held and their seemingly individual movements, it was more than obvious that they were nothing more than manifestations of the Phoenix's growing power in Metamorphosis. The Shifting Lord, one of the greatest amongst the Koignalteth already. What was unknown to the Kudon, and anyone who witnessed it, was that this great power took much out of the Sith Lord who would increasingly struggle to keep their true, armored form hidden. Too much usage of this power would threaten to kill them and return them to the Heart before their allotted time. Such was the risk for the Shifting Lord.

"You ask many questions, Son of Kudo, yet you know none of the answers," the Phoenix spoke in a moderately-pitched voice laden with wisdom and age. "That will change soon enough."

Moving towards the incalculable stacks of books and scrolls with a professional, yet noticeably limping movement, the Phoenix ran their hands through the collections. Maps of ancient lands, spells of the Force not yet unlocked, histories of civilizations dead and gone, fictions of the mind, diagrams of buildings, blueprints of weapons, curses of the hells, blessings of the heavens, and more beyond understanding passed through the cold gaze of the Phoenix who silently complimented their brother for amassing such a collection of works. However, despite the vast number of works that would take millennia to read in their entirety, Lorale quickly located their desired volume. Leather bound and course like sand under a dry sun, this book, entitled "The Chronicles of Force Sensitive Soldiers" would undoubtedly prove to be greatly useful for the Kudon.

The Phoenix once again turned to the Kudon, spinning ever so lightly on their now feminine heels and offered, along with the book, a red-lipped smile that was both genuine and false, "You will read pages 340 to 360 of this volume today. It pertains to your intriguing situation of lacking the...moral downfalls of the Sith. In other words, it will show you that your morality in war is not unfounded nor is it entirely alienating. I will in the meantime locate a very special volume that will teach you the grander arts of the combat you will be seeing very soon. After you have read that, tomorrow, we will set out from this home of mine with my children and you will be thrust into combat alongside them. Is this understood?"

Without warning to those words, a new figure appeared, or rather a figure the Kudon would most certainly have seen on Stygeon Prime not that long ago. The Dark Jedi Arkanian, Yacmoa-Eaha'm. He appeared in the room from the very same door the two had entered through, although the other side of the door was not the Grand Hall, but rather a forge of flames and iron. Adorned in his battle-scarred armor of gleaming silver that was reflective like a mirror, his white mane flowing in the non-existent wind, the Dark Jedi marched to his master with flaming eyes of barely hidden indignation.

"We are to stoop to this level, Ba? To work alongside with untrained pawns such as he?" the tone was rife with disdain and disgust, a trait Lorale unfortunately handed down to the poor boy.

The Phoenix sighed in irritation, another trait that had developed because of this child, "Watch your tone, son. The Kudon has shown promise. You were not unlike him when I first adopted you."

The Dark Jedi scoffed and shot a glare of death to the Legionnaire, a scowl practically dripping magma, "I at least posed a threat to you, Ba. This thing poses nothing but promise as cannon fodder. I demand that you not waste your time on such-"

Another voice roared through the room from the mouth of the Phoenix who lunged forward in their armored form, thundering through the air and threatening to bring down the very structure on top of their heads, "You demand nothing of me, boy. You are my son and you will listen to me or I will rip the very power that made you from your throat and feed it to Kascalion's pets on Aegir! Are we clear?"

The true voice of the Phoenix, one that they had not used in centuries since first marauding across the Noxi System. It was an evil thing, born of being the child of an Apostatious, deep and guttural like the crashing stones of a rock slide. The Dark Jedi could only whimper and sputter in response before snarling in the same fashion as a dog and stormed out of the workshop, cursing all the while in petulance. Even the Kudon would be able to notice that he reeked of fear.

There was no shifting back for the Phoenix on this day for it would have drained too much. Thus, as the Obelisk once more, Lorale swiftly returned to the shelves in search of the last book the Kudon would have to read, without another word and silence permeated like a drab stench from the sewers.

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Mlow watched as the Dark Lord took the steps away from him, and then, as if he was giving a display of how little the confines of reality that Mlow held so dear meant to him, the form standing just inches from Mlow shifted, morphed into something new, something unexpected. One of the greatest mercies if the lack of understanding, and the lack of the mind's ability to process every last thing that we may be seeing. This can range from simple depth perception issues, forgetting memories to fit your narrative, or how your mind tries to revel in the unreal. It came to Mlow as if a dream, as if the shuddering sight in front of him was a trick of the light refracted through a mirror. It was a shimmering, like the air above the dunes of ancient, sand swallowed tombs. It was a blink, as if the endless thousand stars dying throughout the galaxy, suddenly vanishing. It was everything yet nothing, despite what his mind attempted to tell him what was happening, for a moment it was, and then for an equally distant moment it wasn't. Mlow would have to deal with both of these conflicting realities. Despite all of this, it would be hard to say that Mlow seemed shocked at the revelation, if anything, he took the punch as if he had expected it from some years back. He took it in, registered as much of the Force shattering his concept of continuity as he could, and locked it away into a deep recluse of his mind, as if it was a fit of logic and a breakdown that he would deal with later, something that refused to meld with the current flow of his moment.

As the book was handed over to the Kudon, the weight causing his grip to drop for a brief moment, his eyes going down to scan the title, his finger trailing the spine. He hadn't felt a real book, bound and written, in ages. Datapads and digitized pseudo-paper was the law of the galaxy, it was the all encompassing commonality that he had expected since he left his homeland, but here it stood, in defiance to all of that. The Sith, the library, the sheer culture that the Obelisk enveloped was equally eldritch and anachronistic, as if they truly didn't own the rights to the space that they inhabited. He flipped through the ancient pages, letting the flickering of the paper hitting on the hardback fill the room as the Sith's words faded to the background, the smell of the craftwork that went into every letter wafting up into his senses, causing his eyes to shut for the briefest. He was lost, gone completely, back in some more comfortable prison, one not of impossible architecture but of comfort, but a prison of security was one just as insidious. He allowed the book to settle to the start of the range suggested by the Sith, a certain phrase sticking in his mind. Moral downfalls? He knew of the SIth, he heard the legends of how they acted in combat, saw it first hand at the command of Darth Morrow, but he didn't consider that as an all encompassing reality. They were people, just as him, just as the Jedi, they were capable of complex emotions, feelings, love and hate, desire and disdain, passion and neglect, apathy and empathy. Was it really that all consuming? Was it that common? The nameless thousands great nothing but butchers? Just as those unpatriotic thoughts that crept into his mind at night about his beloved Emperor, the man he swore and oath to, the man he would die for. For Emperor and Country, he swore that oath, he stood by it, but the rumors, the legends. He knew deep inside that he was on the wrong side of history, but that was something his subconscious never confirmed with his waking mind, nor should it. No, for now, Mlow would hold that deep inside.

Despite walking in the dark, keep a torch to light your path, dearest Mlow.

The appearance of a new figure, again, Mlow calmed to the constant nonsense that this entire day seemed to be pelting him, never seemed to bother him at the start. His vision simply finding the form, curious to hear what they may say, and of course, the words they spoke were nothing but of contempt for the Kudon. Though he wouldn't speak it, as the Kudon was far from quick to anger, despite being quick to defend himself, he knew that Legionaries could stand to the Jedi just as well as they could the Sith. The being the endless dozens that are nameless, that being those who looked at their saber as a child does a blaster, that being not those like Yacmoa-Eaha'm. The Kudon, for a brief moment, imagined how a proper bout between the two would go. Close the distance, catch him off guard, maybe get a strike in before he cuts you down. It would be a hell of a hit though, Mlow imagined just above the jaw.

The true tone of the Sith lord, coming suddenly, seemingly in defense of the Kudon, brought Mlow back a step. An unconscious and unwanted shiver coursing through the Kudon's entire form, against his will, against his better judgement.

"I'll never be a rude guest, but... I've asked a lot of things, not many answers. You saved me, my men, back in the snow."

He stated the sentence as if to establish that his respect for the Sith was already a confirmation, but it was plenty obvious that Mlow was less than proper with his words, far from a linguist.

"Why's how I stack up to the Sith in morals matter? I'm a solider, frontlines and dirt, sir. Is this some project, there's plenty of more decorated men out there. Hells, odds are better civvies that could know more. I'll do the reading, head out with your kids, but I'm lost, sir, utterly..."

Deep down, he felt he would still lack a response despite his probing, and if so be, so be.

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

The Phoenix poured through the stacks of reading in search of the tome they intended to have the Kudon read, a tome of history, a tome of knowledge of bloodshed. The Kudon's morality was important to Lorale. Too many times had they seen the standard psychopath, the common berserker, charging into the fray without planning, without second-thought. They were impatient and drawling, showcasing a sin worse than cowardice. Wasteful lives and unnecessary death had always found issue with the Phoenix, no matter what stage of life they were inhabiting.

To witness Sith, their warrior kin, throw away their lives because of the darkness in their heart and their lack of control over it...to say it angered the Phoenix, nay...horrified them was an understatement of the highest caliber. Thus, imagine their surprise and glee when they discovered the Kudon was Force Sensitive and possessed the morality and conditioning that many Sith, even the wisest and most experienced, would sometimes lack.

"Why's how I stack up to the Sith in morals matter? I'm a solider, frontlines and dirt, sir. Is this some project, there's plenty of more decorated men out there. Hells, odds are better civvies that could know more. I'll do the reading, head out with your kids, but I'm lost, sir, utterly..."

The Phoenix's gauntlets stopped mid-motion upon hearing the question, their finger pointed at a rather distinct looking emerald-leather volume, the lettering on the side reading: "Honored Words." A name the Phoenix had not heard of in many years and one that instantly brought a shiver of excitement in the center of their formless body. Although it was not the tome Lorale sought, that did not stop them from removing the book from the shelves and tossing it directly onto the table near the Kudon.

Incidentally, the volume's name, or perhaps its legend and purpose, brought a decisive answer to the Phoenix's internal quandary that they had, up until then, refused to acknowledge, one that could suffice for the Legionnaire. The Kudon had done everything quite willingly and never questioned anything until that room. While this instances were simple showings of bravery, likely out of some assumption that he was to die that day, it was enough for the Phoenix who touted bravery for daily life.

Bravery. One of the larger themes of that book you just threw. Bravery. What makes this Kudon. Bravery and loyalty.

"What are your thoughts on the Sith? On the Force?" the Phoenix asked as they resumed their search through the stacks, although they did not give the Kudon time to answer. "I've been asked that many times in my long, long life. The Sith, what we are, used to be an order of...well...order. I remember days like that, when I encountered the fragments alongside my brother. As small as they were, they sought pure order. Order under an iron fist of the Dark Side, yes, but...order and honor, even when the Sith performed actions of heinous morality. And now we come to Carnifex's Empire. It is grand. Quite grand. Technological marvels across the stars. More than we can comprehend. One would think we are one for order, yet I have seen more battles and wars done simply for vengeance and sick laughter. More than I can count. And I used to revel in it, for they were sensations I was unaccustomed to. But then, I returned home. I returned to Noxis...and I learned secrets of the Force that were undreamed of."

Lorale brushed the tip of their metallic digits against the tome they were in hectic search for, a black leather-bound book of great size and obvious age, its title reading: "The Craft of Warfare." The tome was of such age that simply removing it from the shelves caused the large quantities of dust amassed on it to wisp off against the jagged shell of the Phoenix. The Sith Lord turned on their heels, an movement that gouged the floor beneath their feet, and began walking back to the Kudon, the book clasped tightly in their left hand as though it were a precious artifact, and began speaking once again: "It is how I can shift my appearance so willingly, so...freely. I came to relearn my goal, my purpose, my desires. I cast away my sinfulness, my corruption of what the Dark Side offers us...the Dark Side. I've come to understand that as a redundant name, same as the Light. There is neither Dark nor Light. There is just the Force, Mlow Eman'outther. How you choose to use it depends on your character and on your heart. Many in the Empire today use it for butchery and impulses. They corrupt the Force and corrupt what the Empire must strive forward to."

Lorale tossed the book onto the table alongside the emerald green volume, ignored the resounding, volcanic thud to gaze down at the Kudon with nonexistent, yet stern eyes, a thousand thoughts rushing through their head, "But you, Mlow Eman'outther...you give promise and hope. Hope that you can use the powers promised to you without falling into the pit of pointless deaths and insolence. That is why you are here, Kudon. You possess access to a power many squander and most lack. You hold the keys to becoming a new type of Sith, one that does not let their emotions, their corruption, over take them, but you will not be Jedi."

The Phoenix kneeled down to the Kudon's level, meeting his eyes with his own, burning lightning bolts that adorned the helmet and marked where Lorale's ethereal orbitals were, "Do not mistake my words of temperance as betrayal to all I hold dear in the Empire. The Jedi cut themselves off from the power you will hone, crippling them from the abilities that can save their own lives and the lives of those they care for. No, you will instead become the shield to the swords. My swords. You will not be named Vortex Spawn as my children have, but you will be their protector, for they are not like you. This is not a project, Kudon. This is your new life."

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Every last word that the Sith Lord spoke to him echoed and rumbled loose through the entire frame of the Kudon. They marched directly to the castle of placid ignorance, soaring over the moat of if a specter, before lurking in the halls of the long dethroned Viscount, haunting the very stonework that made up the antiquated structure before threatening to find the last remnants of of a life that had long since passed, to find the heartbeat of an energy that was hallowed and hollowed, lost to the throes of the eons of neglect and disuse. The words made their way into the Temple steps, yelling and bellowing their message for the forgotten preacher inside. They were the torch in the protest, the single lit that remembered their purpose. The Obelisk spoke words that meandered on treason to the Sith at large, to the Dark Council, the shadowed figures that lurk in the twilight of every alleyway, waiting for an excuse to scream into the conciousness with a saber drawn and death bleeding through their eyes, he spoke words that echoed messages pondered by the most curious of Sith of ages past, words that caused the spirits of the Mandalorian Slayer, the Lost Father, the same words that would keep a Fallen Count rolling in his sleep, the words were of the same breed that would tempt one to the crossing over to either side of that wide abyss, that endless expanse that the Force was. It demanded Balance, as was spoken before the current Sith were Reborn, it flowed and ebbed in cycles, it shifted and morphed much like the Demigod sitting across from the Kudon. The Force was alive, it was nature and unnatural at once, it was the scream that felt rough against your touch, it was the sight that was melodic, and throughout it's entire life, it drug and pushed sapients where needed. The Sith Lord was playing the role set for him, and now, the Kudon would do the same.

The Empire's standing on this, on something that nearly edged on heresy, was something that the Kudon had neither the ethical, nor moral knowledge to judge. He knew little on the Sith, much less on the Jedi, but he knew reality. He understood that putting a blaster round into a surrendering enemy was unjustifiable, despite how many times he saw the cackling minions of the Imperial Way do just exactly that. He knew that there was an honor to combat, as much as it was a plague that burned at the edges of the universe, but so many times he had seen good men lose themselves, failing where otherwise they would stand tall. He heard of genocides of lands both near and far, cultures and histories destroyed for the sake of it, propaganda posters toting it as a new form of victory. Reality, however, was something that the Legion was accustomed to. They were trained to be desensitized to the war, to the massacres, but in the end, this either lead to emotionally dead soldiers, desertion, or, as Mlow had come to know, patriotic acceptance. They were puppets to mad-men at the end of the day, bringers of Authoritarianism and destruction, they understood this, and marched in their armies without a single doubt. Why? This was something Mlow never processed, something he was never able to justify to himself fully. He was a patriot. He was a Sith-Imperial. But he always felt it, without the words for it, the pull to the Light.

The concept of being one of these Ethereal beings, one of the saber wielding many, one of the endless black cloaked Reapers that brought with them every horseman, it buried itself in the depths of Mlow's heart. He reached out, picking up the book that the Sith had thrown to him, hefting it, testing the weight in a single hand before bringing it to be cradled in both. His eyes scanned every detail of the front cover, his finger trailing the spine before his eyes listed upwards, to the now kneeling Sith. The armor. The formless soul. The distant concept of what he truly was.

He would not be a Jedi, he would never betray his Empire. Not willingly.

He also would never be the Butcher that many thrived to be.

He would be the Angel in the masses, the gallant knight shrouded in black masses, the coven of Light, marching under the black banner.

"Where do I begin?"

[member="Lorale Farmar"]

 

[BobertEZ]

Some Days Later ​

[After the Temple of Fire Incident]​

​

The bridge of the capital ship under Lorale's command was alight with activity so ferocious the tectonic plates of the planet the fleet orbited shook. Dozens of feet thundered over the metal flooring, some slow, some moderate, most rapid, and all heading towards their stated positions to monitor the frantic situation in orbit and upon the planet chosen by the Phoenix for annihilation. Corstus IV, located deep in the Wyl Sector, a planet of dissidents and rebels and cults that had strayed from the set order of the Empire, all serving under the banner of a Sith who had turned from the Empire in search of his own corrupt power.

While Carnifex generally allowed these types of groups to exist if they benefited the Empire in some fashion, this planet did not, raiding passing caravans and slaying innocents of the Empire. When the Vortex Born sniffed the stench of this planet's misery and deceit, the Warfleet was placed into swift action. Thus, the Roving Thousand came upon Corstus IV with a terrible fury, a fury designed for the reclamation of order and re-implementation of Empirical Control. Such was the overt desire of the Dlukav, of the Firebirds, the Darkwolves, the Aegirdi, the Helgardi, the Dotouki, and the Noxians. Such was the overt desire of the Warfleet, the Band of Champions.

Of the Koignalteth.

Already had thousands of the dissidents had fallen from the initial barrages of the fleet in orbit and thousands more had fallen during the landing of the Fronts, particularly those of the Helgardi and Noxians. Admiral Lore of the KWS Nosferatu had witnessed this firsthand on the body cameras of the Front Captains, reporting it directly to his Lord and Savior who had taken to personally armoring and arming each and every soldier stationed upon the capital ship for deployment to the battle below. One particular bit of information made the Phoenix smile so widely that the skin of their human-form split to reveal the metal of their true form: "The leader of the dissidents is challenging you to personal combat."

"Good," Lorale had responded. "I shall take that into consideration. Stay here and direct the Warfleet. If any of the dissidents attempt to leave the planet, destroy them, even if the sensors tell us its our own ships."

The Admiral saluted in the fashion of the Band and bowed his head in respect, "Of course, Lord Farmar. I shall inform the captains."

By the time Lorale had chosen to take the challenge, the Band had gained a significant foothold in the Southern Continent of the planet, having landed most of their forces for quick takeover and prepping of full-scale warfare. While the battle could have easily been decided via the Warfleet itself, each and every member of the Band desired a proper ground invasion, seeking challenge and personal glory so as to venerate themselves and their Liege.

And so Lorale chose to join them, boarding their personal shuttle alongside all twelve of the Vortex Spawn and their designated defender: Mlow Eman'outther. While most of the Spawn had taken a kind, almost sibling liking towards the Kudon, a few remained apprehensive of the man, namely Yacmoa-Eaha'm and the thing only known as Creeper. The former only held animosity towards the Kudon for the sole fact that the man had directly, or indirectly in his mind, saved him from death at the hands of the Bringer of Fire some days prior to this invasion. Creeper, on the other hand, held a strange animosity towards all of the Spawn save for the Wookie and the Wild Man. The thing made this explicitly known on the shuttle ride down, blatantly aiming her pistol at each Spawn save for the aforementioned two.

Lorale merely laughed at the sight and knelt in the center of the shuttle whilst simultaneously shifting into their true form, locking eyes with all of their children for seconds each, "Believe me, my children, when I say that the days before us, while gruesome and grievous, is not the worst you will see. In the coming years, you will see violence, blood, and glory in quantities you will never be able to comprehend as we begin our reclamation of Order. Today is but a tasting as though it were wine. But do not underestimate the enemy. Their leader is a fierce one. A Sith Lord once under the service of my brother who personally trained him. Prepare to face unprecedented skill and ferocity for all taught by the Devil Lion are dangerous on levels we will never be."

"We will not disappoint you, Ba! We will slay all who oppose your might!" Krastourd Kril, the Bothan, exclaimed like a child would to impress their parent.

"We will send their souls screaming to the depths of the Netherworld," the Trandoshan brothers Skoss and Tiz hissed in chorus. "We swear this to you, our Lord."

"We just want a good fight," the Wild Man spoke for himself, Jargaza-Yshu, Bolsca the Wookie, Thonn Krux the Falleen, and Crin Brag the Devaronian. "Give us a few million heads to smash and we will have ourselves a grand ol' time."

"You are insufferable, Alrekur," Anastasia Graves chuckled with a clear loving smile. "Just keep yourself alive for dinner after we take the Southern Continent."

"Whenever that will be," the Skeleton shockingly added, drawing all eyes to it. "Do not stare. I simply choose not to speak."

Creeper only nodded in shared sentiments towards the Skeleton, although she did not turn her eyes to the others, instead choosing to stare out her viewport at the rushing clouds and waves of blaster rounds from the ever encroaching grassy plains.

"No matter what you all try to do, I will outshine all of you," the Dark Jedi promised with a smirk. "It is fated by my superior position."

While it was clear he was simply attempting, poorly, to joke around with the Spawn, none of his kin bothered to give the benefit of a response, drawing a frown and disdainful sniff from the Dark Jedi. Lorale, noticing this, gave a subtle nod of approval and understanding to the increasingly shunned child before rising to their feet and locking eyes with the Kudon at the end of the shuttle.

"And you, Son of Kudo, what do you promise? Are you still prepared to fulfill your purpose?"

The Kudon would not have the time to respond before the shuttle suddenly came to a stop, nearly sending the lighter weights of the Spawn into the ceiling with the impact. Without hesitation, the hatches slid open and the passengers disembarked to be greeted by a storm of blaster fire, mortar rounds, crashing ships, bursting tanks, stomping walkers, and hundreds of thousands of armored soldiers sprinting towards battle. It was made very clear that the appearance of their technical God on the battlefield had improved the spirits of the Band tenfold, every soul that could see the marching Obelisk giving out cheers of reverence before turning said cheers into roars and challenges.

The ground thundered with vibrations so intense it was a wonder that anyone could maintain balance. The sky was so blackened with the shapes of descending and ascending vessels and burning embers of wreckage it was a wonder that anyone could see. And this was only the portion of the Southern Continent Lorale stood upon with their Spawn.

Even so, the Phoenix quickly gave orders via telepathy to the Spawn and the Kudon, commanding them to charge forth to the massive city on the horizon, the apparent capital of whatever section of the Southern Continent they fought upon.

[member="Mlow Eman'outther"]

 

[Mlow Eman'outther]

Mlow rode the shuttle in near silence, his helmet having been off most of the venture, watching the waxing and waning oceans pass him and the rest gathered there by at a breakneck pace. Watching the sunbeams glimmer and shine off of each lap that the endless dip tried at, twinkling like a thousand precious gemstones being searched through by the hands of a curious God. There were dozens of others, just in his view, flying in the air, skirting around the random sections of stone that jutted out from the sea. They were flying far lower to sealevel than the Kudon would have preferred, he could smell the salt and the brine as the bottom of the shuttle threatened to skim across the surface of the water occasionally, a skipping stone across the great abyss, armed to the brim and filled with natural born killers. The mock of red hair that sat ontop of the Kudon's head, long since no longer trimmed to what was regulation, caught and shifted in the breeze, slapping against his face as those rust-gold eyes shut. He focused on his breathing, in and out, in and out. He looked off, next to the Sith, next to the Obelisk. He felt off, as if he didn't belong to stand next to them. He was an infantryman, he was a grounded solider, rifle at his shoulder and a ebony coat, he was never fitted properly for these kind of cruel wars, the war of the True Sith. Sabers and Magic. Never something that he thought would ever fit him, but as he turned, slightly, just craning his head to the left to take in those gathered with him. He couldn't help but to let a smile cross his face, if a vague and unconvincing one. Out of a crowd, he could hardly pick them from the rest, tell any of their heads from the First Born, but he was slowly starting to place characteristics and ideals to the faces, voices to the concepts. It settled a deeper and baser worry with the Kudon, there was always the rumble, deep inside, that threatened his mind.

Is this where you belong?

The Kudon, eclipsing this idea, occulting away his fur, his eyes, that gentle smile that he tried to wear so well. Hiding it underneath a sheer of black and plasteel, his HUD daring to come alive, tracking a million things in his vision as he settled on the furthest shuttle away from them, more akin to a gunship than anything. He shifted in his stance, the armor rubbing together and clacking, something that was nearly impossible to stop. Instead of the gallant knights on horseback, chainmail clattering and chiming with every step, and the air purifying silence that came with the clean draw of the sword, now stood the direct contrast. The dry snapping of the powerpack being roughly slammed into his Autokrator, a slap or two before he was rightly assured that the weapon had been properly loaded. He brought it up, settled it at his shoulder, and tracked what looked like to be this planets response to a sea-bound avian. A couple hundred meters out, the HUD offering up a red circle around the object, and another, just a ways in front of it, where the Kudon would have to aim to account for the movement of the target, the HUD also offering a crosshairs to his blaster. He brought the weapon down before he ever dared to make that shot. He reached up, around his neck, fiddling with the seal of his helmet, before tapping the coms array on the side, waiting for a moment, three, two, there was a gentle buzz in the background as a voice came, static inclined, saying that he had been linked to the system as a whole. Resting the Autokrator against the wall of the shuttle, he pulled the handblaster from his side, loaded it as well, holstered it, and brought his rifle back up. Normally, he would have made these preparations some time ago. Today was different, today was something the Kudon had to do correctly. Something he had to do as himself.

He paused for a moment, his ears registering a new voice in the shuttle. The confusion following. It must have been the Skeleton, it didn't come as much of a shock to the Kudon as it did the others, he always felt there was something just a bit more human to the creature than it ever let on.

"Labau spadumisti..." He muttered to himself, a folk-song long since forgotten as the shuttle began to bank, and then, came the trademark sound.

Blaster fire, explosions, Hell on the battlefield.

He jumped off of the craft, his boots slamming into the mudded sands as he began to move up the beachhead. He was far from his element, he was specialized in Urban combat, clearing houses and dealing with hostage situations. He never liked the open field, he never liked the stomping of walkers or the roar of improvised technicals. He never liked the fear of a random mortar strike taking out things that bacta could never heal. He didn't like the blaster bolts flying from miles on high taking out his fellow Legionaries as they pushes. This was his life, however, and he would adjust, he would push forward.

"For the Empire!" He called, raising his Autokrator as he began to storm forward. Sending out pulses of fire in the general direction of any he received. Suppressive fire at best.

BobertEZ

 

[BobertEZ]

What could be said for the violence wrought upon this Southern Continent as the Wolf of Noxis, adorned in the suit of armor once worn by his God and wielding the very sword that slew tyrants and kings millennia past, charged with his thousands? What could be said of the families rendered fatherless, motherless, childless as the Order Ascendant, so set in their ways and on their goal, trampled them into pancaked mud? Nothing much could be truly said, in actuality for there were little voices capable of commenting on the terror raining down upon their lives as they frantically attempted to keep their foolish rebellion alive.

There they marched, the bringers of order, the followers of Lorale's Grand Dictum, commanded to bring about an age of obedience and unity for the Empire and, more importantly, the Koignalteth upon Noxis. The city drew closer as they marched over the flattened and bloodied remains of the rebels. Over the children barely old enough to partake in drinking and love. Over the fathers and mothers too old to stand. There they marched for their purpose.

And it was utterly glorious to the eyes of the Wolf of Noxis who, with speed bordering on the sonic, carved his way through the belligerent masses who looked upon him with utter disdain and fear. Killed so swiftly were they that the Wolfblade could not freeze their corpses, the strands of Winter that it exuded falling upon the gore below as the souls of the dead were imprisoned within. None could deflect the blade. None could escape the blade and thus none could escape their fate.

The souls of the dead poured through the weapon and into the very essence of the Wolf who, to his part, had kept himself in check so as to avoid projecting his utter satisfaction with the sights before him and with the sensations coursing through his veins. Empowering were these souls, granting him enhanced speed and strength beyond even that granted by the armor. He was an enigma, a shadow within shadows, his after images seemingly killing the rebels on their own before catching up with their creator.

"Kill them all," he ordered during a moment of reprieve, briefly locking eyes with the Kudon whom he had high expectations for. "Leave none alive."

Mlow Eman'outther