Amos
The Feral
"In darkness, clarity. In hate, purity. In death, eternity.”
-Inscribed on the Tomb of Marka Ragnos'
-Inscribed on the Tomb of Marka Ragnos'
Korriban - The Old Wastes
Avarice
Korriban was a world picked clean. There were no more treasures to be found. No more tombs to be looted. No secrets to be dug out.
Yet they came here anyway. They build their cities, crafted their memorials, and walked in pilgrimage through the great deserts.Amos knew why, understood it; tradition. It was held close to the heart, it had always been done and always would be. There was something to this world. A quality all it's own that could be found nowhere else within the galaxy. It was here that their line began, that the darkside first sparked in the heart of a species.
There was something to do.
He could feel it as he stepped through the desert. The force was heavy on this world, like a weight one had to bear. Each grain of sand seemed imbued with it, welled with potential in a way that was almost indescribable. Perhaps that was the truth of why the SIth still came here, why they lingered upon a dead world and held it so close to their hearts. There was power here, power that could not be denied.
Amos tread through the ancient desert, the heat folding lines into the air as he stalked towards the distant mountains.
Days ago he had left behind the Valley of the Dark Lords, the knowledge there reaped long ago. He had wandered instead out into the wastes, a compulsion drawing him not to a tomb, but a Temple within carved into the peaks. He knew it had been looted. He knew it lay empty and long abandoned. A crumbling monument to a people who had died before his tribe back on Kiffu had ever been formed.
Yet he still went.
Drawn to the husk within the desert, knowing he would find what he sought. Not treasure, not the knowledge of ancient Sith, but something else.