Darth Tennacus
Reanimator
Location: Seculus-B
Mentions:
Khamul Kryze
"A Sith Lord's life is often a predictable one. You either die a master, or you succeed in weaving your own reckoning. Reach for the latter; for at it least it will be a fate woven by thy own hand . . ."
Such were the words of wisdom tongued by Tennacus' own Master, and his Master before him. Or, so the story goes. The old Rule of Two was a delicate one, relevant to a time when it was much needed. The ideologies of the Sith had kept them alive for so long; meagre shadows lingering in the dark, yes, but a shadow may last so long as there is light to look upon it. Perhaps that was what the Jedi failed to see, blinded by their own clarity. Yet, Tennacus always carried the words close to heart, even when it was time to usurp his own Master so long ago.
A fate woven by thy own hand.
Tennacus dreamed of that day, when he took the mantle of his Master. Secluded within his frozen shell, the Sith laid dreaming of times long since passed. That was all one could do when in cryosleep. Meanwhile, Seculus-B played host to its designer, shelling him deep within the heart of its structure whilst the moon became a silent ghost of grey wrought from neglect. Or was it betrayal?
On some level, Tennacus knew what had happened. Even his dreams ushered to him of treachery that waylaid his ambitions, condemning him to a slumber as the moon drifted around its mother star deep in the black seas of infinity while the Galaxy moved ever on. Thankfully the facility had numerous back-up power grids for an event such as this; primary power isolated to the incubators, generators and cryostasis room, while the rest of the structure slowly descended into darkness. Nonetheless, there was no one there that could come for him; no droid lingering that would wake him from his long slumber. All he was left to do was dream, and so he dreamed until he became lost in his own memories.
Seculis-B often gave out the odd hum and cranking of gears, signifying that there were some levels of function still in occupation. The Wandering Pilgrim laid dormant outside the facility upon the landing bay, left to its own demise much like Tennacus. The ship often propelled a distress signal into space in accordance with Tennacus' design for situations such as this; if he didn't frequently check in, the Pilgrim would go into distress mode and relay its whereabouts to whomever might uncover its signal. But thus far there had been no response, given that the facility had not been ransacked. If by some happenstance a scavenger picked up the call, they would have had a field day plucking through all the technology and relics located within the facility's vault. Maybe when they reached the incubator, would they uncover a suffering.
But fate - or perhaps the Force - had not allowed such a thing to befall Seculus-B. It laid in isolation, forgotten by everything and everyone. Perhaps this was the intention of who prolonged Tennacus' sleep: let the past remain in the past. But the past wouldn't lay forgotten forever.
Someone, somewhere always overheard it.
