Private By Will Alone

[Darth Prazutis]

A world swallowed by eternal storm.

The skies above churned with hungering blasts of violet lightning, the blackened clouds undulating like a living, seething, breathing mass. Thunder rolled across the very heavens in a ceaseless growl, a warning to all who dared step upon the surface below. Despite its time underneath the Ashlan Crusade, despite periods of obscurity, the darkness never truly left Dromund Kaas. The storm had not relented, it never did, it was as if the very dark side itself wove the heavens above into a constant, relentless fury, a true testament to the will that ruled this darkened place. The shuttle's descent through the planet's atmosphere was no simple voyage; it was like a darkened baptism into something ancient, something that was bound in the deepest histories of the Sith. Even here its presence could be felt, this spiritual heart of the Sith themselves, seat of empires.

From the viewport, New Kaas City sprawled across the landscape like a mechanical behemoth, from one horizon to the other it stretched beyond the eyes ability to grasp, it was a true labyrinth of brutalist megastructures, twisting obelisks, and colossal spires of obsidian and darkened steel. The city was vast, far beyond anything The city was vast and its true scope rivalled even the greatest cities in the known galaxy, all while shrouded in endless night. What little illumination there was came in the form of flickering crimson sigils that burned across colossal banners, their presence was like an executioner's brand across the very landscape. The symbols of the Kainate loomed above every street, upon every tower, they were carved into the very bones of the city itself, marking the very planet to all who gazed upon it there was no doubt whose dominion this was.

The closer one came, the more suffocating the presence of order became. Incredibly vast avenues, all lined with endless rows of towering enforcers clad in black and crimson, patrolled the streets with silent, ruthless efficiency. Automated sentry drones hummed above like vast insectile swarms passing over every street, over every building, they scanned the movement of every single soul that walked the rain-slicked duracrete. From high above, it was impossible to miss the colossal depictions of the Dark Lords of the Sith from times past. Their cold, merciless gazes were carved into the very architecture here. This was no blend of imperialist design, this was brutalist combined with the mighty dominion of the Sith in its purest form, unabashed.

But that wasn't all that was seen. Deep at the cities heart, it loomed.

The Sith Citadel of Dromund Kaas. It was not merely a fortress. It was nightmare given physical form in the material world.

A leviathan of black iron and stone, the very nerve center of the Kainate's rule, it rose high into the very clouds above easily dwarfing all other structures around it. It's foundations were rooted deep into the planet's crust, far below the surface than anyone would ever understand. The structure was not simply built, it was forged from the very darkness itself, sculpted into something beyond the mere comprehension of mortal minds by one whose ironclad dominion was over reality itself. Enormous monolithic walls, thirty meters thick and a hundred meters tall, surrounded its perimeter walling it off like a small nation within a continent spanning megacity. They were alive with power, runes burning like smoldering coals along their obsidian surface, pulsing in an eerie rhythm. Every so often, the runes flickered with an unnatural glow, remnants of ancient Sith sorcery that had been embedded into its very foundation.

The main gate was not merely an entrance no, it was a threshold. It was a place where one left the material world behind, left everything behind to enter a different plane of existence entirely. The sigil of the Sith Dyarchy was emblazoned across the colossal doors for all to see, its twin crowns eclipsing a bleeding star. This time a pair of figures flanked either side, sentinels clad in obsidian warplate, they stood like statues unmoving, as silent as the grave. The Imperial Crownguard. They did not speak. They did not acknowledge as the gates ground open. They simply watched. Beyond the gates they opened to an immense compound within where armies marched, towering monsters that defied explanation prowled ceaselessly, it was the kind of force that devoured nations, consumed empires. Angels of death flew over the skies beside immense dragons, while starfighter wings swept overhead in patrolling patterns. The very interior of the Citadel however, was a true labyrinth of power.

Colossal corridors stretched into the abyss within, lined with blackstone pillars that bore the inscriptions of long-dead Sith on their surface. Their whispers still lingered in the air however, barely audible even with concentration, they were like ghosts murmuring to all who walked the halls within. If there was any light above at all it wasn't clear, it seemed the shadows seemed to overtake everything here. The torches that lined the passage didn't burn with any normal fire. They were like blue-green phantoms, ethereal flames that twisted and danced against the walls, casting everything in an eerie, haunting glow as one moved through them. All above them banners hung proudly in bright crimson. It was within these nightmarish halls that one would see things out of the periphery, like figures, shadows moving just out of focus that vanished when attention was put to them. Every so often figures would pass through, heavily armed guards in crimson, Sith in flowing robes and battle plate. While other times? Huge monoliths, and spined terentateks stomped hungrily down the halls, their stomping echoed through this dizzying maze.

The deeper one ventured, the heavier the air became. It was like delving farther into the oceanic depths. It pressed down, not physically, but with something more profound. The very weight of history. The weight of true power. The deeper into the Citadel, the more the Force itself seemed to twist and coil here, as though the very walls were alive, feeding off the darkness that pulsated like the rapid beat of a labored heart. Right at the very heart of it all...

A massive chamber loomed ahead. The Throne Amphitheater.

It was vast, a true space designed to make all who entered feel truly small beneath its immensity. To crush their spirit beneath the sheer scale of its presence. Enormous statues of Dark Lords past loomed from the shadows; their faces locked in expressions of eternal judgment. The amphitheater, the pit of supplication above loomed overhead. It was where lesser Sith, dignitaries, and officials would kneel in absolute submission, sit in attendance before their Dark Lord. Far at the opposite end of the room, seated upon a massive throne carved from blackened stone, from the very ribcage of a colossus, its spines shooting outwards, loomed the Dark Lord of the Sith himself.

The Shadow Hand of the Kainate, the Elysian Grandeval Mortarch, Sovereign of Dromund Kaas, the Undying King.

Darth Prazutis.

Monolithic was the only way to describe his true form, clad in blackened Sith warplate, its surface etched with glowing runes of forgotten sorcery that pulsed faintly, like dying embers. From the deepest shadows at the far end of the room the darkness seemed to come alive and claim him, his molten gaze burned, they were ike twin suns of smoldering amber that pierced through the abyss itself. Darkness did not merely surround him like most others, it flowed from him, coiling like smoky tendrils across the darkened floor. Power incarnate, power unending. It was like the physical manifestation of the dark side itself. The very throne groaned beneath his weight, a monument to his dominion, to his absolute authority.

The air was suffocating now.

The weight of his presence settled upon the chamber, unrelenting. It was the kind of presence that stripped men of their own certainty, that made them question their own reality, their own will. Then…the giant spoke. "You have come." The voice was not a greeting. It was a deep commanding baritone that reverberated through the walls like a shockwave. It was a decree. The moment had arrived. One had finally stepped into the presence of the Dark Lord, entering his great shadow. Now, beneath the Shadow Hand's unrelenting gaze, his fate would be truly decided.

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

The shuttle ride from orbit was a fleeting one. Unremarkable in that the grim man inside remained seated, quiet and contemplative. As uneventful as the trip through Dromund Kaas orbit has been so far, the journey to reach this dark side nexus was everything but the opposite. With the Dark Empire in ruins and its assets and people on the run, retreating to unknown space and beyond...Odrin Rath found himself without purpose. Without a connection to something larger than himself. He needed a goal to focus on like a beast required flesh to crave.

So it was he found himself within Kainate space. For he had no where else to turn. He thought of staying on Ord Mantell, with some small remnants of the Empire attempting to gather itself in the face of Galactic Alliance aggression. But he was not one for politics. Less so for defeats. And if he stayed, defeat was all that awaited him.

Bastion had been another option. Though Odrin was not sure where the Diarchy stood or what they were trying to accomplish. He just knew they seemed too...benevolent for his taste. Too material and outwardly clean. No, he needed strength and power to match his own. To find somewhere his passions could be unleashed on those not yet rewarded with his presence. And so Dromund Kaas it was.

As he gazed out the shuttle, he placed a large hand on the wall to steady himself as the small craft rocked to and fro. This planet was a veritable natural storm year round from what he had read of it and the holodata seemed to prove true. The skies themselves were alive with thunder, rain and lightning. He could feel the very presence of the planet seeping into him and empowering him with dark side energy. A gift for those attuned to accept it.

Another few minutes of a rough yet energizing ride later as the shuttle finally broke through and the mass that was Kaas City expanded across the horizon. Odrin had never seen such a city. Had never witnessed such order and power in buildings and tapestries. The very architecture seemed to flaunt power with a knowing presence. Eager to see for himself, Odrin stood tall as his hulking form took up the exit ramp as his heavy armored boots echoed on the durasteel. His crimson cloak caught the wild wind and blocked most of the rain as he exited the shuttle and gazed around.

For the first time in weeks now, the burly Sith smiled.

He liked this place already. Enjoyed it even. It was the perfect amount of orderly yet imposing. Just feeling the power of everything here overwhelmed his senses as he attempted to look everywhere at once as rain swept across his scarred and bearded face. A small man approached with a datapad, offering to escort him to someplace called the Citadel. A grunt was all the man received in return. Odrin was too busy soaking in where he stood to focus on anything but learning. Learning of what these Sith have achieved visually.

The ride to the Citadel seemed short. Perhaps it took longer. He cared not. For it was time.

As he approached the large gates, Odrins red glowing eyes swept across the various statues and ornamentation adorning this terrifyingly massive structure. From down here, it seemed to reach into the very dark of space with no end in sight. To say it was impressive would be underselling the sight.

So this was true power, he thought. Another smirk graced his young but experienced face. He could learn much here.

As his juggernaut form entered into the Citadel, his armor clanking against the ground with every step, his eyes widened only barely. Though he would usually not show such reactions, this place had him in awe at the sheer magnitude of everything he was seeing. To list off what all impressed and awed him would take an entire day and then some. He opted for quickly recovering himself as he followed some court servant to his destination. There would, hopefully, be time to explore and sight see at a later time. He had dawdled enough at this grand achievement and masterpiece of a world, city and stronghold.

It was now time to meet its undying ruler.

As he entered the throne room, Odrin was immiediatly met first by the sheer presence of the being within. Had he been a lesser man he might have turned and quickly exited, rethinking his purpose for being here. But Odrin Rath was no lesser man, even when compared to the titan sitting on the throne before him. Not in his mind. He recognized the power, the aura and the sheer might and size of the Dark Lord before him.

But he would never cower to another man. No matter how high they perched themselves. It was simply not his way.

Odrin Rath approached as far as he was allowed before performing a half bow at the hips, lowering his head in respect. Once he glanced up, his burning eyes of wild and apparently powerful but untrained and unfocused Force met what he could only describe as a presence of the Dark Side. The man, or being, known as Darth Prazutis. As the Dark Lord of the Sith spoke, Odrin smiled slightly at the baritone voice as he recognized the natural authority within and felt a certain kinship in that fact. For what Odrin saw was a possible future. His future.

"Yes, my Lord." The young but gruff and deep voice responded. Odrin carried the bearing of a natural soldier and commander. Disciplined. Honed. A fury always waiting to be unleashed with but a word. "I have come to seek succor. And to make a request."

Darth Prazutis ​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The throne room of the Sith Citadel swallowed sound, devouring it, drowning it into the abyssal depths of its very construction. It was dominion given form. The only thing that remained here was the oppressive weight of presence, not merely that of the great fortress, whose legacy stretches far into history, nor the lingering phantoms of Sith long since turned to dust, but the living darkness that sat upon the throne itself.

Darth Prazutis didn't move. He didn't need to. The immense giant remained seated, his monolithic frame encased in blackened warplate that pulsed with ember-like runes, each flicker a whisper of forgotten sorcery manifest. The abyss that pooled beneath his throne, ebullient darkness stirred at his will, great tendrils of void-dark mist slithering outward across the obsidian floor like hungry things from him. A great helm of black iron covered him, it was a faceless thing, unyielding, topped with spires that rose like an iron crown, save for those smoldering eyes, blazing molten orbs of pure fire, like twin dying stars buried within a sea of infinite night. The sheer gravity of his presence alone settled across the chamber like an iron shroud, taking on a life of its own, it pressed down against flesh, against bone, against will itself.

Even the shadows themselves refused to behave naturally here. They endlessly, hungrily moved and shifted across the vastness of the room. The very moment Odrin Rath had stepped into this nightmare, he had entered his dominion. And in the Shadow Hand's dominion, all things bowed to the inevitability of his will. A request. Prazutis let the words hang. He didn't immediately respond. He didn't rush to acknowledge them as they carried through the air, he didn't need to. The silence stretched impossibly, it ran thick with an unseen weight. Odrin was left to stand beneath the Mortarch's unrelenting stare, his very essence being measured, dissected, judged beneath those eyes, as if the Dark Lord's gaze alone could see beyond flesh, beyond bone, beyond the force itself, as if it was gouging the marrow of his soul.

Then, there was a shift. It wasn't a dramatic motion. Not a rise from his throne. Just a single, simple movement, the slow, deliberate curl of his gauntleted fingers, the creak of Sith forged metal as claws dragged slowly along the throne's armrest. The very air quivered then. This single movement caused the torches along the chambers walls to flicker violently, their eldritch blue fire twisted unnaturally, as if from such a small movement, they recoiled in recognition from something to come. Then, finally, he spoke. "You seek succor." The words came like the tolling of a great bell, a dirge of death itself, slow, deep, reverberating. They did not merely enter the air, they commanded it. "And yet you know not what that means." The weight in the room intensified then, it was like the very gravity of existence shifting around the throne, crushing down over it. The darkness seemed to listen, to tighten its grip upon reality itself, to answer to his every beckon call.

"A soldier without a banner." The Shadow Hand's voice didn't rise in accusation, nor did it drip with any derision. It was fact, spoken as if the galaxy itself had already etched it in stone, solidifying. "A warrior without a war. You would claim purpose here?" Another pause. Not a hesitation, but something more deliberate, an invitation to let the words sink into the marrow, to let them echo across in the vast chambers of Odrin's mind, to reverberate around him. "You look upon the throne of the Dark Dyad and see your future. Yet you stand before me…" A slow exhale then. But not one of fatigue, nor exertion, but instead of certainty. This was the kind that easily tore down all resistance and eroded the wills of lesser men without so much as any effort. "Unproven." A sudden shift. The very atmosphere seemed to pull tighter here, as if unseen strings had been pulled taut by the giant. The presence of the Dark Lord didn't wane; if anything, it surged, growing, not in wrath, nor in dramatic display, but in assured inevitability. It did not matter what Odrin believed himself to be. The Dark Lord of the Sith already knew.

"Speak, then, Odrin Rath. Speak your request." A slow tilt of the faceless helm.


"And we shall see if you are worthy of it."

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

The grand hall seemed to weave energy throughout as the two men silently judged one another. The very Force located here danced to the tune of its master. It nipped at the presence of himself within it's walls, tasting his aura within the Force. Testing him. It was curious. Though Odrin did not resist, he merely held the line. He did not reach out with his own powers for to do so would be disrespectful and presumptive of him. He simply allowed himself to be observed, both physically and spiritually.

As the torches in the hall shifted, he could detect the change in the Force before the Dark Lord made the physical gesture himself. It seemed as if everything here reacted in time to everything Prazutis did. His very being slipping into every crevice, nook and cranny of this shadowy place. It was impressive. That alone earned the respect of Odrin. For what he was observing was true power and power itself was the pinnacle of what every Sith wished to achieve. Though said power could present itself in many ways and forms.

Odrin liked the way Prazutis displayed his mastery.

Even as damnable as this place was, so seeped in the Dark Side of the Force as it were...it was not the glaringly prevalent thing here drawing his attention. It was the armor. Whatever the Dark Lord chose to attire himself in, it seemed to be alive. Existing with Prazutis instead of for him. The Knights curiosity was certainly peeked by this absolute void overwhelming his senses like a large blot of ink within the Force, blindingly powerful while also pulling in everything around it.

When he spoke again, Odrin refocused himself and attempted to shut out all the distracting things happening within this grand hall. Though it was of little help, he nevertheless shielded his mind from all the eyes he felt on himself. An attempt at pride and stubborn defense. To hide himself and his thoughts. And as powerful as he was in the Force, that power was not yet molded to a fine, sharp point. He had not yet learned the deeper secrets and techniques of the Dark side and how to properly wield it. Not like he knew how to wield a saber or any other weapon. Not yet.

A soldier without a banner.

The words wounded Odrin more than the prodding of the dark forces within this room. A slight furrow of his brows before his stern demeanor returned to mask it. The Dark Empire had fallen. Its remnants fighting a tactical withdrawal from the deep core even as they stood here now. He did not know who all had survived the fall. He lost contact with any command structure during his own retreat from Prakith. He did not know where else to go. And so, like most Sith usually do, he returned home. To a place any Sith could feel the pull. Korriban was another option but he felt...above that place. That was for Acolytes not yet on his level. No. He had bigger ambitions.

The warriors red eyes met the glowing helm of the Dark Lord before he spoke. "You're correct, my Lord. I am but a wandering hammer with no anvil to bash against." The deep, gruff voice echoed throughout the chamber but failed to match the presence of Darth Prazutis' own. "I have yet to discover my purpose." Odrin cast his eyes downward in thought for a brief moment. Though he did not feel unproven, not with his many experiences throughout his life, he knew that to be of no consequence to someone like Prazutis. He did not see what Odrin did. He did not care. As he shouldn't.

The young Knight returned his fiery gaze once more to the throne, a certain brevity and confidence now replacing the uncertainty.

"I am entitled to the dirt. Nothing more. Only warriors such as we know that better than anyone. I did not come here with assumptions of what I could be nor what I wish to ask of you." Odrin took a step forward. "I am here to offer my services, to offer you a unhardened blade ripe for refinement. Sharpen me into whatever you wish and throw me at whatever your gaze falls upon to find lacking."

"And though you have many blades in your arsenal, my Lord..."

Odrin's voice reached the apex of his passionate monologue, assured confidence and a wild will making itself known as a vicious smirk crested his bearded face.

"I assure you, you have wielded none like me."

Darth Prazutis ​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The immense chamber stretched infinitely into silence once more following Odrin Rath's words, every syllable drawn in, drained, and dissected by the oppressive darkness that permeated the throne amphitheater. The air felt much heavier now, as if it was charged with unseen currents that coiled, waiting in eager anticipation. The Dark Lord remained motionless, seated upon his colossal throne forged of obsidian and alchemical iron, a true monument to the absolute authority that radiated from every aspect of his very being, a true monument to one who has climbed to the highest echelons of the Sith. The molten gaze of the Dark Lord burned steadily from beneath the blackened helm, it was utterly unwavering and piercing, examining every nuance of the warrior standing before him.

Then, slowly and deliberately, the Dark Lord rose from his throne.

It was a very simple gesture, yet its significance was monumental. The very chamber itself seemed to tremble and quake subtly as the immense form of the Shadow Hand stood to his full height, towering like a titan amidst the shadows, a spire in the dark. The eldritch flames flickered suddenly, casting the vast room in shifting, greatly unsettling hues, as if reality itself quivered beneath his very command. The giant cast the visage of a true war god, a living destroyer of worlds, the reaper spoken of by untold trillions in hushed whispers, as if he was the terror lurking within every shadow ready to consume them all. Each armored step down from the throne echoed profoundly, rumbling like thunder, resonating through stone and marrow alike. His approach was very deliberate, inevitable, as unstoppable as fate itself.

"You offer yourself." Prazutis spoke, his voice a deep, resonant dirge that rippled through the air with unquestionable authority, "As an unhardened blade." Prazutis's voice lowered slightly, the weight of his presence pressing harder with each syllable. "Yet you understand not what that means."

He stopped mere paces from Odrin, towering above, the armored giant casting an inescapable shadow over the young Sith Knight. "The path you request is not simply a mere sharpening of steel, nor merely tempering fire." The shadows around them thickened, dancing like writhing serpents at his very feet, whispering dark truths only he seemed to comprehend, they swirled around him like a living vortex. "It is a crucible of agony and revelation. A forge that burns away weakness, leaving only unbreakable resolve."

Prazutis extended one massive, gauntleted hand, dark talons open and inviting, yet promising torment beyond anything the imagination could conceive, a hand that sentenced untold trillions to death. "You seek purpose. Purpose will be given. But purpose demands sacrifice. Loyalty. Absolute devotion." The Dark Lord's eyes flared brighter then, they burned through Odrin as though peeling away every hidden layer of thought and ambition. "You will be broken, reshaped, and remade."

The immense pressure around them intensified greatly, it was a force of sheer willpower, a promise of the dominion he wielded. "You claim that none have wielded a blade such as you. Prove it. Stand within the crucible and do not shatter beneath its weight." His hand lowered, finalizing his judgment.

"Swear yourself to my will, Odrin Rath." Prazutis decreed with finality, "And become the weapon you aspire to be."

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

The room seemed to shift as the titan form of Darth Prazutis stood from his throne, his movements careful and calculated. He seemed to move with the precision of a droid, not one step landing further or shorter than the other. The very shadows and lighting swaying to his influence as he closed the distance between them.

Odrin's head continued to gaze upward the closer the Dark Lord got to him, his immense height and build towering even over himself. Something that doesn't happen often for someone of the Knights stature. It was impressive...yet unsettling. He may have once considered it scary, making him afraid. But Odrin lost that fear long ago on the streets of Ord Mantell. He now approached things with a simple finality; either succeed or die. Even in the face of absolute power such as this, the one thing this Dark Lord would not be able to take away from him was his concentrated certainty. His immovable nature to not allow his thoughts or emotions to outnumber or outweigh his truth.

The truth that he died long ago. Now he was simply getting stronger every time he lost. Every time he thought himself defeated. He only gained experience and knowledge. He could only ever get better and wiser and stronger.

And so it was with this thought, as Odrin gazed up at the towering manifestation of the apex of what a Sith could be that he made his decision. Following the heavy words of Darth Prazutis, the young Knight knew there was only one way forward. Past loyalties aside, he would not miss this opportunity to learn and be molded by someone such as this. To better himself no matter the pain and torment inflicted upon him.

He was ready. He accepted his lot.

As the flames danced to the words of their Dark Lord, as the shadows and very air seemed to wait in bated breath for a response...Odrin gave them one.

The young Sith knight bowed his head, falling onto his knee before Darth Prazutis, humbly accepting his new rank. Accepting his new place in the dirt once again, eager to only rise up out of it stronger than he came.

"I swear myself to your service, Darth Prazutis. I bequeath unto you myself, my skills and my servitude." Odrin kept his head low as he spoke. Conviction and eagerness burning within him and trailing into his voice. "Forge me."

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The air didn't merely shift. It locked.

As if the world, the Sith Citadel itself, had exhaled its final breath and it was now holding still, watching, waiting, to see if the oath was true. The flames behind the throne, twisted blue fire twisted upward, elongated tongues of cerulean flame casting demonic, dancing silhouettes across the obsidian walls. The light didn't warm. It judged. The Dark Lord didn't speak immediately. He merely stood there, looming over him, as if the very idea of gravity had been redefined around his very presence. When he moved, it was not simply a step forward. It was an eclipse. A redefinition of space, of dominance, of presence. "You kneel." the Dark Lord said at last, his voice a low funeral bell, it scraped like iron dragged across blackstone. "But you do not crawl. That is good." He circled Odrin once, slowly, a living colossus encircling something smaller, not to mock it…but to assess its potential. Yet there was no hiding the predatory gaze in those eyes.

"Conviction is a rare alloy." Prazutis said, each word slow, deliberate. "It shines bright when polished by pain. But few have the patience to see the process through. Fewer still survive the forge." Prazutis stopped in front of the young Sith, his gaze burned like twin suns dimmed by ancient ash. "You will learn to be more than warrior. More than a mere weapon. I have simple tools, you will be more. You will be honed into purpose. Into legacy. Your strength will no longer be yours alone, it will be mine, and through me, the strength of the Kainate." His gauntlet extended then, no in any gesture, but in decree. A heavy ring upon his finger glinted with a blood-red stone, carved with an archaic sith glyph on their surface for endurance, it bore the mark of the Eye of Solomon within its crimson depths. The Force swirled around it then. "I name you Apprentice of the Shadow Hand. Odrin Rath, the unyielding flame. The fallen who will rise again, stronger, sharper, crueler."

Then, with a final beat of silence drowning out the room "Rise." He waited a mere moment then, long enough for the words to root into the very bones. Then he turned, his cloak of shadow-weave trailing behind like a storm tethered to living flesh. "Come. There is no time for ritual. Not here. Not now." A sigil ignited with a crimson flare on the far wall, an ancient Sith glyph once reserved for executions. Yet the Dark Lord of the Sith made no motion, no gesture of power. The wall opened. Behind it, a staircase, spiraling downward into a corridor of pure black like the yawning of a great maw. There were no lights. Only the glow of red glyphs pulsing along the walls like a heartbeat trying to escape a tomb. The passage opened from nowhere, like it was birthed on the whim of the Shadow Hand "You gave your oath. Now give me proof." He walked forward into the dark without looking back, his voice lingered like a blade still blazing hot from the forge. "Descend. Face the crucible. Let the storm decide if you're worthy."

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Darth Prazutis

Odrin felt the shift in the chamber after the long pause. He could feel the shift around him and within himself as he was...accepted. By both the Dark Lord and by extension of him, this chamber and everything in it. Decreed a Apprentice of the Shadow Hand, not mere words as the very Force and shape of this dark place left a mark on him as he joined their shadows in service to their now shared Master.

The Dark Lords words continued to grate along his eardrums like durasteel. Reverberating through his very essence as he encircled the young warrior, as if seeing through everything he was made of and plotting how to rebuild him. How to reforge from whatever pieces remained once the true test began.

With every line spoken, Odrin felt a swelling within him. His very aura within the Force growing stronger and empowered like a dormant flame breathing in fresh air. His eyes, burning with purpose and conviction, looked up at the towering titan with a sense of duty. A legacy to live up to, a legacy to represent as not just another run of the mill Sith.

For he was no longer just some Sith now. He was a Kainite.

Even as his burning gaze followed the Dark Lord, not hiding a single once of what he was feeling physically or his swollen aura manifesting alongside. As Darth Prazutis spoke the word, Odrin arose from his kneeling position as the ring decreed a long silence within. Odrin then watched as the glyph glowed bright, revealing a hidden passage and staircase leading to his future.

He did not question it. He did not hesitate. He made no qualms about this crucible or display nor feel fear for its outcome. He simply was. And so Odrin Rath followed behind his new Master with confident footsteps born of years in service as a soldier. That type of duty, discipline and courage in the face of possible defeat could only be forged, not taught nor given. Then he entered the dark, leaving behind only trailing words before the passage sealed behind them both.

"As you command, my Master."

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The stairwell sealed behind them with the finality of a coffin lid slamming shut.

There were no torches here casting wicked shapes across the stone. No lights blazing overhead. There were no crimson glowpanels or thrumming glyphs. Only darkness within these halls. Yet? The Shadow Hand moved as if he required none at all. The giants steps echoed in complete silence, there were no footfalls, no breath, no rustle of armored plate. He was silence itself, the finality of death given form, the living void at the center of gravity. The darkness embraced his massive form like it greeted its undying master and shrouded him in her protective embrace. They descended for what felt like miles. Then? Then the pressure changed. The temperature dropped, and the air began to writhe. Not breeze. Not wind. Force. It coiled like a serpent around Odrin's limbs. It pressed against his chest, testing his breath. The further they moved, the more it resisted his presence, as if daring him to continue. Then the chamber opened. They were greeting by a living, churning storm of endless malevolence. It was massive.

A hollowed chasm deep beneath the Citadel, encased in a shell of living obsidian, where the very air screamed with raw Dark Side energy. A cyclone of lightning spun like a ritual given life. Spears of red and violet arced between alchemical pylons and runed spires. Right at the center of it all? A large platform. It was a wide, open, isolated thing. Its design more set for a stage for survival than anything else. The Shadow Hand stopped. The air curled around him, kissing his cloak of shadow-weave, but not daring to touch flesh. Prazutis turned his head slightly, the storm reflecting in his burning gaze. "This is no illusion." he said. "No trial scripted by masters who seek obedience through pain." It was like the storm came to him, cloaking him much in the way his cloak draping from his shoulders did. "This storm is alive. Born from the nexus beneath this world. Fed by sacrifice, by hatred, by hunger left unmet. I created it, willed it into existence for moments such as this."

He turned to face Odrin now, a dark colossus etched in lightning, a true god of war. "Step into the crucible. You will not be given rules. No weapon. No protection. You may draw on the Force… if it allows you. If you fail to bend it to your will, it will tear you apart and scream your failure into eternity, you will die here, and your soul will be mine." Prazutis let the silence fall like a blade.

"This is your first test, not to fight, but to endure. To show me you deserve the name Kainite. That you are worthy of the flame you now carry." The Dark Lord extended his hand, not to offer support, but to gesture to the storm. "Enter." He paused.

"Prove that pain does not define you."

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Darth Prazutis

As Odrin followed his newly established Master down into the dark depths of the Citadel, he struggled to find his way as the Dark Lord had. There was no light down here, not even his eyes could adjust enough to see where it was he was going. But he followed anyway.

He felt as the wind itself seemed to build up, his ears popping as the barometric pressure dropped. Then he felt it. The wind lashed out at him like a angry, invisible force as it attempted to evict him from this place. Still, he pushed onward as he leaned into the wind enough to make progress.

Then it opened to him and a great Force storm swirled about a large cavern, testing the limitations of where it was contained. It lashed out in every which way as wind, lightning and shadow swept across the chamber and attacked everything it could in a wild fury.

Everything but Darth Prazutis. As the Dark Lord spoke and laid bare the coming test of endurance, Odrin furrowed his brows at the picture before him.

He was not afraid. He was not hesitant. He did not seek to find some excuse to exit his commitment. He pressed on.

Bowing his head to his master in acknowledge of his test, he inhaled deeply before stepping forward. As he accepted the task fully, the storm seemed to react to this and came at him like an angry womp rat. His crimson cloak bellowed behind him as he began to get battered by the winds on the way to the platform between the pylons. Whatever this construction was, it was impressive. To have created all this by will? Seems he had chosen his master well.

With his hand covering his eyes, palm outward, Odrin leaned forward into the blistering wind to make progress. At one point, he almost lost footing and tumbled from the stairs as the storm battered him from all sides, attempting to dislodge this trespasser within its domain. Odrin persisted.

Reaching the apex of the rise, Odrin settled in and planted his armored boots to the platform. He gritted his teeth as he was thrown to the side only to be spun back around the other way by the wildly increasing fury of this creation. But he did not relent. The warrior could feel the storm fighting his attempts at control, attempts to borrow some of its power to strengthen himself and use it to power his defense as he collected what energy he could.

This was going to be torture, he thought. Even as he could feel it boiling within himself before he got hit by a particularly hard gust of lightning embedded wind. He could feel the current within his body even as he was throwing aside, his hand grasping at the platform to keep himself from being taken away. His fingers dug into the platform as he crawled his way from the edge.

Odrin was used to this. Being low. Being beaten by something or someone more powerful than him. He had learned to utilize his rage. To utilize his pain. He had learned to endure using those emotions as fuel. As he rose to one knee, Odrin let out a forceful scream as he empowered his limbs to leap back to the center of the platform, raising his hands to either side of him as he projected the rage and pain he felt into a force bubble around himself.

As the blue bubble appeared around the stationary Sith, he poured his rage at being brought so low again into it. Poured in his frustration and pain from the attack. Poured in his fear of failure, not death or injury. He could not fail this test. He would not be sent back out to be weak again.

So Odrin would endure. Because enduring is all he had accomplished all his life.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The storm listened. Not with ears. But with pure instinct. It listened with hunger, with will. Though it didn't speak, it reacted. From along the storm's edge in the cavern, the towering colossus watched in silence. Darth Prazutis stood as still as a monument carved from blackened fury, the lightning-streaked haze refracting across the surface of Qâzjiin'vraal, it gave him the appearance of a statue wrought from suffering and stormlight. He made no move to aid amidst the agony. The Shadow Hand offered no words of comfort. He was judgment incarnate. As Odrin struggled, he was battered, broken, thrown, clawing to rise once more, the dark side tasted him, devoured him. Not in pity. But in evaluation.

Each spark of pain was weighed. Every flare of rage, every scream, every breath was measured. Not by a machine. But by a force far older than any code of Sith or Jedi. A crucible such as this was not passed with mere strength alone. Not here. Not in the storm raging beneath the Citadel. It was passed in defiance of breaking, weathering the devastation that sought to crack you in half. Still, he rose. The dark side storm hissed, and for a moment, it tightened around the platform like a great beast curling in thought, grasping its prey. The violet arcs grew longer, arcing across the surface of his body. The winds shrieked like wounded gods. It was not rage. It was recognition. The storm knew he had endured. Only then did the giant move.

One titanic step forward. A soundless stride that rippled through the chamber like a great execution bell. Then another. From the storm's edge, Prazutis extended one clawed hand, not toward Odrin in mercy, but toward the very maelstrom itself. The lightning froze mid-air then. The winds snapped in place like halted breath. The storm stilled for a single heartbeat, suspended in reverence or fear, held by sheer will. Then his voice came. It rumbled. Low. Absolute. "You are still alive." Prazutis said. A pause. Heavy enough to shatter lesser souls. "Good. Then your lesson begins." The air roared back to life, unleashed. The storm screamed again, but now it did so behind Odrin, no longer against him. The crucible here had not been defeated. But it had been survived. "Endurance is not strength. It is the promise of it. And a promise…can still be broken." Prazutis voice wasn't cruel. It was reality. Cold, echoing, the final word before judgment is sealed. "Leave the platform, Odrin Rath. You have not failed. Yet." Then, he turned away. The shadows followed as he entered the passage.

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Darth Prazutis

The struggle seemed to last for a lifetime. Every limb in his body ached, feeling both soreness and pain at the same time. Aching for relief of which Odrin could afford none. Not as he felt the storm batter at his attempts to shield himself. Not as the lightning arced against his barrier, testing it for breaks and weaknesses in which to target him once more.

Then it stopped.

Commanded. Restrained. Withheld.

Odrin collapsed to his knees in exasperation, winded, as he breathed heavy. As he gazed down at the platform, blood splashed onto the ancient stone. Trickling down from his nose and through his beard as it marked his trials suffered. Blood spilled was blood earned. Odrin felt broken and battered yet strangely...accomplished.

As the dark voice echoed across the chamber, Odrin gazed upward to seeing the tall figure near where they had entered the chamber from. His words struck him, heavy with intent and a promise for more suffering. More testing. Though he felt as if he had done something significant to himself, Odrin was no fool. He knew this was only the beginning. A test to see if he was worthy of even being granted mentorship.

It seemed as if he had gotten that far. He was dedicated now. No longer toeing the line but having jumped head first into it. No turning back now.

Odrin stood, shakily and spitting blood onto the stone as he gained his bearings, as he began walking off the platform and towards his new Master. There would be no rest anytime soon, it seemed. The young Epicanthix knew there would be more, and harder, test to come. He was determined to see them through even if it took every last ounce of his mental and physical will.

"As you command, my Master."

The young man echoed across the chamber as he followed Darth Prazutis back into the dark passage, no doubt ready to bump his head while tryna path find in the darkness once more. How he wished for something as simple as a torch right about now...

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The passage swallowed them. No torches along the walls. No flickering lights above. Just darkness, pure and vast. It was not absence. It was intention. The corridor beneath the Citadel was carved through stone steeped in agony and legacy. The walls here hummed faintly, not with any form of circuitry, but with the residual screams of the dead, echoes of Sith long buried who had once walked these halls and either risen or been erased, battles long fought over long concluded wars that spilled oceans of blood across their surface. The Dark Lord moved without any semblance of sound, a colossus of living shadow, his footsteps lost to the silence as if the world itself refused to even record them, impressive for a being of such size. Behind him, Odrin's boots struck the stone with the stuttering rhythm of a man who had bled into becoming. Though the storm had ended, it lingered still. The taste of it still clung to the apprentice's skin. The memory of it crackled in the air. Every step they took forward felt like moving deeper into something unspoken. The malevolent power of the dark side loomed over him like a shadow.

Then the Dark Lord spoke. "You are still breathing." A simple declaration, recognizing the impressive feat of survival. But the way it struck the stone, the way it folded into the darkness, made it feel like judgment renewed. "Good. Most do not." He stopped walking then, not turning. Not yet. Just still. The halls felt wider now. More open. As if something vast had begun to open its eyes. "You walked through agony. Not because you are strong. But because the storm allowed you to crawl through its teeth without devouring you." Now, he turned. Molten eyes ignited in the dark, they were like twin furnaces blazing as bright as any torchlight. He regarded Odrin not with warmth, but with cold investment. A piece of ore freshly unearthed. Not precious yet. But worth melting. "That was not a victory. It was not a triumph. It was not meant to be. It was a question."

The Dark Lord stepped closer. "Now I know your answer." The shadows crawled across the floor toward Odrin's boots, not to bind. But to measure. Prazutis lifted one clawed hand, and the storm's residue lifted from Odrin's shoulders like smoke, spinning into his palm in a spiral of violet light and black heat. "Pain is not punishment. Pain is memory. And what you have endured here will remember you." He let the smoke coil into the plate, disappearing like breath as the living plate seemed to inhale it. "You belong to me now, Odrin Rath. Not as a tool. Not as a servant. But as a blade yet to be forged." He turned once more, deeper into the hall. His voice rumbled through the stone, not loud, not shouted. Simply law. "Come my apprentice. You've survived the storm. Now let me show you what it means to become it." Prazutis finished, and with that declaration, the shadows moved with him. The path ahead continued. Deeper. Colder.

And somewhere in that unseen dark...

The true training began.

Odrin Rath ​

 

[Odrin Rath]

BY WILL ALONE

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Darth Prazutis

The hallway seemed to continue with no end as the darkness hung heavy within. It's wall feeling like a cage yet also so far away that they seemed untouchable. The very essence and fabric of this citadel seemed to be alive and moved as it wished, as if it wasn't a solid building anchored to its foundations.

Perhaps it wasn't.

Even still, Odrin's heavier than normal footsteps echoed yet dissipated within the dark hallway. He was tired and weathered, beaten yet never succumbing to that storm. He was now moving on instinct and stubborn pride, refusing to quit no matter what test were ahead of him. He had come too far for that. Even as the Dark Lord turned and his eyes bore into him, he refused to quit. Though he was right. This was no victory nor was it a defeat. Odrin never took it as such. This was simply a step into the depths he would have to endure and survive to climb his way into the heights that he wished for on the other end.

Pain is memory.

As the shadows slid across his armor and around his boots, Odrin watched them with interest. The way they were commanded yet withheld their own curiosity was interesting. It was this lack of deeper knowledge of the Dark Side that he wished to learn. He too wanted to control shadow. In time.

For now, Odrin brought his attention back to his new Dark Lord. Even as he was led to yet another portion of the Citadel for yet more training, Odrin relished it. He wanted adversity. Desired test that pushed him. Odrin wish to know his limit so that he may exceed it and push his ceiling ever higher. For surviving the storm is the only way to learn from it. Odrin would eventually learn to command it and make it his own.

"Yes, my Master." He spoke into the darkness, not needing more words. He, like Prazutis, was a man of action.