Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Private Breathing Life Into A Legend (Ordo)


226fz69.png

Spiraling bands of blue light struck the aft hull, rupturing with strands of icy electricity that fanned out with a blooming flower in all directions. The angular shadow of a Sith Star Destroyer crossed the spasming metal as rods of metal wider than a person embedded into the already weakened metal, finding deep purchase as the metal chains attached to their base snapped tautly and began to reel the ship in. Above was the gargantuan silhouette of a Star Destroyer beyond feasibility, the wide gulf of its hull stretching out for miles amidst the blackness of space. Gun turrets and missile silos studded its mountainous hull, all of them pivoting along the snagged vessel’s trajectory as it was pulled into the impossibly large ventral hangar.
Weapon systems rendered impotent, the trapped ship could do little to wrestle itself free as it drifted into the interior bay of the Star Destroyer. Already, hundreds of black-clad soldiers were assembled in neat formation across the smooth flight deck, while racks of starfighters, dropships, and even larger vessels stretched out for leagues behind them. The wounded vessel was dragged over to a largely empty stretch of the deck and lowered down gently, teams of Sith soldiers rushing forward to breach and overtake the ship. White-hot cutters wove large gaps into the carbon-scored hull, puffs of explosions following the detonations of explosive charges which scattered the twisted metal aside.

Laser fire lanced out immediately, the religious fanatics stowed within fiercely protective of their most worshipped of relics.
The prize of the Sith Emperor.
The Imperial soldiers fought back, sustaining some losses while managing to make headway inside. There were far too many Imperials, far too few fanatics. Over the course of an hour, the fight raged on, fought corridor to corridor, room to room, the dead and dying remaining where they fell as the air was punctuated by the screams and roar of battle. Behind the Imperial troops stalked their dark master, the shadowy aura which cloaked his body writhing hungrily on the death and desecration. He said nothing, gave no commands, for those which fought in his name needed no encouragement or direction.
It was built into their blood.
When the final fanatic was cut down by a barrage of laser-fire, that was when the Emperor swept into the main convocation chamber. Various relics of middling interest were strewn about, most destroyed by the firefight which had just occurred, but the greatest was left untouched. It stood at the far end, propped up on a seat of metal and stone and illuminated by tallow candles arranged in ritualistic patterns around it. The skeleton, caked in a noticeable layer of Beskar alloy, had been preserved in a kingly manner with a baton of authority in one hand and an ornamental globe in the other. With great care, the Emperor extended his hand and wrenched the skeleton from where it had been deposited.
Replete with his prize, the captured ship was jettisoned back into the emptiness of space and raked with turbolaser fire until nothing remained.
BxEtnqJ.png

The shuttle descended through the frigid midnight air, contrails of wispy white exhaust trailing behind it as it settled onto the outstretched landing pad at the side of the mountain. Above was a towering edifice of black steel and pale yellow light, a gargantuan fortress that subsumed the surrounding mountain peak.
Faint silhouettes, the profiles of fighter craft, could be seen passing over the light of the nearby moon before fading away into the darkness which consumed everything else.
Out from beneath the shuttle's hold emerged the Emperor of the Sith, his form draped in the finery of the Dark Side, along with his crimson-cloaked guards and their prize; the Beskar-smeared bones of the man simply known as Ordo. They were arranged on a medical repulsorpod, operated by two cloaked individuals of indeterminate species and gender.
Together, they passed beyond the threshold of the castle's entrance.
Far below the surface of the planet was a network of labyrinthine corridors and chambers which stretched for untold miles in the freezing dark, many of them cavernous warehouses filled with unknowable material. The smallest of these chambers were relegated to serve the Emperor's morbid fascination with the afterlife and were lined with cloning vats, state-of-the-art medical equipment, and other grisly apparatus which served to feed his capricious curiosity. It was here where the Emperor had brought Ra Vizsla Ra Vizsla back from the dead to serve as the catalyst for the Sith's revenge against the Mandalorian people.
And it was where Ordo's bones were deposited now.
Rearranged in their proper configuration, the Emperor's scientists and homunculi worked tirelessly to prepare the bones for their intended purpose. Unable or unwilling to remove the Beskar coating, the scientists continued on as they prepared a great number of machines to reconstitute the fallen warrior's flesh. Over the course of many hours, Ordo was meticulously reconstructed with bio-organic muscle, organs, and skin, each layer being constructed one at a time over the Beskar bones. When all was said and done, the naked body of Ordo laid solemn and still on the slab.
And then the Emperor outstretched his will, and breathed into the body life anew...
Ordo Ordo
 
Pain, that was everything. The cold hard slab against his skin was no more soothing than white phosphorus being pumped through his veins. Every fiber, every tissue of his body felt as if it was being simultaneously stabbed with searing electric pain to the rhythm of his pounding heart. Existence was pain. Pain was truth...

He didn't scream as he tried to open his eyes. His lungs felt like they would burst if he tried to do more than lay still. The dim light of the antiseptic clouded room was too much for his eyes anyway. His muscles twitched randomly as his mind and body tried to synchronize signals, and with each twitch the pain radiated through him more. Distant memories tried to come to the forefront of his thoughts each one dashed away by the agony that was being. Anger began then. Anger at the pain of existence. Anger at whatever caused it. Then hate bubbled to the surface like trapped gases beneath the boggy muck of his soul. With the hate came relief. A strange numbing as the rage cooled and the cold calculating hate solidified around his nerves. It was a skill a power he had once had, somewhere in the depths of his mind he knew this to be truth. But when he tried to grasp the memory it slipped through his fingers as if he was grasping at smoke.

"What is this place?" He asked finally, "What battlefield am I on?."

He knew it must be war. It was his life before. How long had he been asleep? He was needed somewhere other than here crying over pain. He always was.


Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex
 

The Dark Lord of the Sith watched the Mandalorian's violent rebirth with cold expressionless eyes, the titanic gulf of his utter detachment from empathy smoldering in each molten iris. Silent he stood, half-obscured by shadows, as awareness flooded back into the Mandalorian's mind and his surroundings began to take shape and substance.
It was only when he spoke did the Dark Lord show some meager scrap of emotion, the faintest twinge of amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"It is no place that you have seen, Son of War." The Dark Lord's voice was cold and smooth, like the empty vacuum of space slowly dripping down your spine, the sheer weight and presence enough to dazzle the senses. "What battles you fought are but a distant memory, for you have been ensorcelled in the throes of death for well over a decade." There was no hint of falsity in the Dark Lord's words, for all he spoke was the truth. The truth often was the most insidious weapon, capable of scattering whole armies when expertly wielded.
The truth was a weapon often wielded by the Dark Lord to great effect, it had seen many Jedi fall from grace or be destroyed by its sheer power.
"I have brought you back from oblivion, Mand'alor," an old title, one that no longer applied, but the Dark Lord used it regardless, "To once again serve."
Ordo Ordo
 
To serve. The words themselves so simple, so concise, and yet held implications so deep that worlds had been destroyed over disagreements over them. But as they left the speaker, the man felt a sudden control over his limbs return. He felt heavy, sluggish, but he could move and the pain was a distant ache.

"War never ends, decades or centuries between battles mean nothing." He mumbled to himself as if remembering a discussion from whatever he had been before. So few of the details fit or mattered really. There is only war, only push and pull of battle, the ebb and flow of combat. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

"I serve only war." He said simply, "The days of causes and systems are long dead."

Slowly he pushed up and let his leaden feet slip from the table's egde before trying to test his body. With glacial speed and determination he stood and listened as skin and muscles stretched audibly as they flexed and moved. His hands clenched and unclenched as he looked at them. They remembered holding weapons. They felt empty.

"Where do we begin?" He asked as he met the burning eyes of the Dark Lord.

Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex
 

The Dark Lord stood aside as the Mandalorian swung his legs over the side of the table and proceeded to stand on his own two feet, the difference in stature between them hardly rectified even when Ordo stood at his fullest height.
"The time for ideological warriors has come and gone, I have no great use for them any longer."
He reached out, the Dark Side flowing through him so openly and so freely that he had become the axis of the darkness in the universe; a singularity of shadow. Flames burst into life around the Mandalorian's body, though they did not harm him as they swarmed across his naked flesh with wild abandon. In their wake came armor, darkly colored with a warrior's pragmatic simplicity. It formed from the hardened mass that emerged from the dying embers of the scourging flame, fitting over the Mandalorian's body perfectly.
As if it was made to be worn by him and only him.
The fire continued until it gathered in the warrior's hands, each exploding out in brilliant jets to give substance to weapons perfectly balanced, perfectly sized, for the hands that now clasped around them. Only then, when the Dark Lord's will had been made resolute, did the fire subside into nothingness.
"For what greater cause is there than that of butchery?"
The question needed no answer, and the Dark Lord expected none.
"I will send you to a world, a world of significance... They will be no match for you, and with this blood that you have spilled, you will seed the foundations of an army... An army of the damned."

Ordo Ordo
 
Ordo slowly rose. Old grey eyes cold as the beskar skeleton they had made for him. Everything and everyone he had once cared for was gone. Mandalorians were little more than sexually repressed children dawdling outside markets shouting cat calls for attention. He wanted exactly what the dark lord described.

"Blood, I'll sow with iron and water with blood." He said he voice lined with barely contained rage.

He slowly flexed and stretched testing his body for weaknesses and found little. He was ready. He would remind the stars why he was once feared, and paint the worlds in his path red.

"Point, Dark Lord." He said simply as he stared toward the ceiling as if he could already see the stars, "It's time."

Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex
 

With supernatural foresight, the Emperor angled the index finger of his right hand up towards the heavens.
"Onderon shall be the subject of our ire. It shall burn."
Leading Ordo out from the operation room, the Dark Lord moved about the halls of his mountain fortress without pause. Ahead was a balcony overlooking a wide and expansive courtyard, large enough to house an entire legion of soldiers shoulder-to-shoulder. As the Dark Lord and Ordo appeared upon the balcony, a great cacophonous roar rose to greet them. For spread out below their purview was a great assortment of Mandalorian warriors, hailing from a myriad of clans that had broken off from their disloyal brethren to fight for the Sith Empire. For what purpose they had been assembled they had not known, but the sight of Ordo standing tall and proud in the ornamentation of a warrior-king gave them jubilation.
"Your army, great Ordo. They are eager to serve, but they require direction. Give them a purpose, take them to Onderon. Let their appetite be slaked."
The Mandalorians would be the perfect prelude to what the Dark Lord of the Sith had in store for the Silver Jedi, a perfect distraction to avert the Jedi's attention from his true aims.

Ordo Ordo
 
The Dark Lord of The Sith crossed to the balcony and the Warlord followed. Steps heavy at first gained confidence as they passed out into the air of the mountain stronghold. The parapet adorned with symbols of his once enemy's family and sect. Though now he knew the fallacy of enemy and ally. An enemy was simply someone to test yourself against, an ally was someone who stood by you in the moment. How many years had his desperate spirit walked the field of blades? How long had he trod upon the bones of those who would rise again in days, weeks or years? He could remember faces by the hundreds and battles by the thousands. What was death to a man who had walked it's shores and plumbed it's depths? Just another field. But this? This was an army of warriors. An army fit to burn the stars.

The big man raised his helmet as they screamed and pulled it over his head once more. He blinked the HUD active and brought the full systems online with a thought. This was the face the galaxy would learn to fear again. Whatever the Sith had planned was of no importance. They would always do as they wished, but he would bring Iron and Blood. He had lost everything to return and see a new chance for his people. A new chance for war. A new crusade into the black.

He raised his hand and listened to silence descend like a blanket across the legion of Mandalorians.

"Prepare yourselves." He said his voice like an avalanche in silence, "And I will give you War!"

The silence died to the warcry of myriad of voices as they cried out as one. As Mandalorians cried out to be released from the bonds of stagnation and outsider's morality.

"TO WAR!"
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom