Deorum Lamina │ Discovery

[Sirak Kolar]

Time: 835 ABY
Planet: Korriban

Ebon threw either edge of his double bladed lightsaber at whoever stood too close, easily cutting the bystanders apart. His violent screeches of pleasure echoed through the crowded cantina, yet no one cried out in fear, and soon Ebon felt no more pleasure in their demise. The crowd simply stared, all focused on him with thin lips and tight jaws, each dissapointed in their own right.

The Zabrak cried out in anger, demanding they run in fear, that they accept Balagoth as their savior, and yet none moved. Ebon was overcome, outdone by simple men, and suddenly he experienced an emotion he rarely felt; Fear. He watched the crowd for a minute, his heart’s dual pace slowly increasing until a thick sweat rolled down his forehead. Unable to move, he simply gritted his teeth, grimacing as frighteningly as he could, unsure what to do next, only to find what was next in the door opening to the front of the cantina.

In it’s depths sat open space, and a distance tan planet with vibrant rings orbiting it’s massive form. Ebon’s breath left him, almost all at once, and his sour grimace turned to a look of utter astonishment, and he felt once more like a child fearing the monster in his closet. An explosion rang out, and as soon as Ebon realized where he was, it was too late. His Jedi Starship was unresponsive to any input, and a damning alarm only counted down to his doom in a haunting rhythm. In the cockpits reflection, he saw himself, tan and young, green eyes with the tattoos he wore since he was a child.

The Jedi tried to scream out, yet the reflection simply smiled back at him, offering Ebon no comfort. Ebon hated the reflection, he wanted to lash out at it, break it, tear it asunder in any way imaginable, yet it simply smiled. In a distant and wispy voice, it spoke two words;

“I know.”

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Day One

Good sleep was hard to come by, and Ebon began to feel it’s effects as of late. Awaking in a cold sweat, the massive, crimson and ebony Zabrak sat up in his cot. The capsule he rested in was of little quality, and purchased with the Mandalorian Blasters he collected on a previous adventure into Mandalore space, but the details of their obtainment laid somewhat a mystery to the berserk nature of Ebon. It was already too late to remember the dream he had had the night before, and in not dwelling on it Ebon began to put on the traveling robes he had worn to explore the Korriban deserts. Their tan coloration and subtle contrast to one another betrayed his usual attire of black on black, but his concern for aesthetics wasn’t important now.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Opening the front shade of the one room camping site he called home, he found the sun was just beginning it’s journey over the horizon. The landscape, full of high plateaus and chillingly flat valleys lay basked in a warm and calming orange hue. To think this land once held the most powerful and villainized force users in the galaxy was almost hilarious, how perfect it seemed. How iconic a hard and rigid desert held the secrets of Sith before and after him. He offered a small smile, and then knelt to pray for his gods.

One by one, he began his chants;

First to Sargon, the nothingness that he was.

Second to Nogras, the Starmaker she was.

Third to Balagoth, the deity of war.

And fourth to Harormalenth, the creator.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon lifted himself to stand, and donned his hood. In the next hour, he prepared his journey to the depths of the valley only a few kilometers from him. His travel would be dangerous, but being raised on Iridonia allowed him some comfort for the homage to the rough terrain he was born in. He knew there would be one camping site between him and the eventual temple he sought, but he could only rest when he finally found himself in the very depths of the valley it lay tucked away in, so there was little time to waste.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Finally finishing packing, Ebon took in a large breathe. It all fit well into the rucksack he held on his back, it’s massive weight offering little encumbrance to Ebon. As the sun laid just off the horizon, he began his journey through the many geographical structures before him. Rocks towered over the valley like the magnificent buildings of coruscant, and yet they held a more astonishing beauty than any light littered metropolis pandering super structure ever could. Ebon, despite his harsh and rudimentary ways, still held a soft spot for the beauty of places when laid before him… He even wished to one day visit the grand lakes of Naboo, but that dream would be stifled by his horrid appearance for some time.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

The golden eyes of the fledgling Sith began to wander the edges of the canyon he descended into, it’s massive winding staircase like path giving no hints as to what lay at the bottom. In a very light sense, Ebon could feel himself being watched, yet by who and where he had little idea over. It unsettled him, but he knew he should trust the feeling Sargon gave him. He made plans to meditate through the night instead of sleep, in the off chance whatever it was that followed him decided to get too near, and as the thought came to an end, he found himself at the bottom of the vast staircase that he had just covered.

Unlike the maps he had seen of the place, it seemed to have dropped hundreds of meters at a stiff and near vertical cliff. Ebon offered little more than a grave sigh, understanding his next move would be to climb down despite his personal objections. Tightening the rucksack on his back, he began his descent, carefully edging himself onto the rock wall under him, and as his full weight came to his hands and feet, he found the rock wall to support himself moderately well.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Every movement he took had to be calculated, and as such it took a toll on his endurance to climb so far down. His finger ached by two hundred meters, and his back fought against him at three hundred. At the final mark, he counted nearly four hundred meter of cliff face he moved, and it’s massive payout allowed a moment of rest for the poor Zabrakian. He sat at the base of the imposing wall, and circulated his breath with a new found hunger for it’s reassuring nature. It chilled in his throat, ran to the hotness that was his lungs, and soothed the pain growing inside of him.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Despite his hurt, Ebon stood once more, growling in anger at the weakness he had just felt. How could he, a proud Zabrakian, let a wall of any degree force him into a quiet huddle of the man he truly was? It wasn’t right, and he intended to make it right by traveling until the sun gave out before him. Luckily, the sun sat near it’s resting point for the day, and the sky of Korriban turned a faint purple, ran through by shades of red and orange. Once more, the creeping feeling of something watching Ebon came back, and a faint anger lay holstered inside him for whatever it was to be. He was tired, unnerved, and his long journey left no joy in his heart for such trivial matters.

Eventually, the sun did begin it’s rest, and Ebon finished setting up camp just as the light died out near him. Lighting a small fire, Ebon sat and began the meditation he promised himself earlier in the day, and as an extra precaution, held the double edged blade he made in the Jedi Academy in his lap, concealed by either arm and the loose fabric of either sleeve. The sith focused what energies he could, yet found a nagging exhaustion betraying what hope he had of staying awake, and eventually the sith fell victim to his own exertion.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Sirak ran down the long and white corridor of the republic star destroyer, afraid of whatever it was that lay behind him. Every turn the Jedi made was short, nearly violent in inertia, and each step he seemed to take slowed him just that much more. No matter how hard he tried, he seemed to be running in water, his feet slipping, helpless to the nature of whatever it was that controlled him.

Tears began to run down his face, a horrifying exhaustion and weight overcoming him, forcing him to his knees. He cried out, hoping desperately that someone would come to his aid, yet nothing came. He fought, moved, and crawled to whatever safety he could muster, but the cold nature and darkness that ran behind him followed with little sympathy to his whims.

The Zabrakian Jedi finally fell to his exhaustion, quivering in a small form against the white ground beneath him. A muffled intercom noise and distant boot shuffles offered little remorse as they faded in the distance. He could feel the creature breathing on his neck, and he wished it would be over. He wished Hasjo would save him, he wished his fellow comrades aboard the ship would come to his rescue, and he wished desperately something would happen that could save his life.

Nothing came, and he could feel the hand of the beast begin to drag him by his collar. He was paralyzed, immobile, held back from response by pure fatigue alone, and when he was finally dropped again, he could hear the same muffled intercom and boot shuffles he had heard before. An alarm began to sound, yet it seemed so far away, or perhaps cotton balls were in his ears.

The being quickly flipped him over, hand still gripping around his neck, and Sirak’s eyes opened with a new found energy, fueled by his own fear. Looking back at him was the gripping stare of Ebon, his golden eyes and black pupils surpassing Sirak’s own eyes and seemed to glare at his very being. He could smell Ebon’s faint breath, horrid in nature, and the scars he held traversed his face like a roadmap destined to nowhere.

Ebon offered only a few words of advice, yet they came in clear against the muffled noises of his background.

“You were never strong enough.”

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Day 2

In the waning hours of the early morning, just short of the sun’s grand entrance, Ebon awoke with a violent anger. Quickly moving to grip his lightsaber blade and stand in battle ready position, only to be betrayed by the lightsaber not being there for him. His breathe halted for a moment, somewhat out of momentary surprise and fear, and in part by the presence he felt just outside his range of vision. The still smoking fire had careless embers glowing in it’s pit, yet they offered no true source of light, only faint teases at what could be.

In the eternal darkness of the valley, Ebon watched not with his eyes, but through the Force what would be another humanoid walking away with his blade. He cried out, only more livid by the cocky and assured nature of this thief’s own swagger. His dead sprint at the form was unlike anything he had done before, going harder, faster, and more violently at who ever they were, a resounding echo of a war cry reverberating against the walls surrounding them. His fist clenched in near painful tension, and the Zabrak sent it through the air to the nameless silhouette of a man.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Despite the speed and ferocity of the strike, it landed not against him, but against the stone wall of whatever it was behind him, cracking and fracturing the granite wall, faint crumbles of dust falling where his wretched punch landed. Ebon sat perplexed, knowing true and well his aim was sure, and the man had been there just a moment before. He could not feel his energy any more, and slowly he pulled his fist from the crater he had made in the granite wall, his hand pulsing with a faint pain of his strike. It bothered him little, as he began to think just what a person would have to do with taking his lightsaber from him.

Ebon cried out and struck the wall another three times, each forming smaller craters in the wall before he fell to his knees and clutched his head. He let out a cry of pain, not external pain, but of the mind. That ornate, double edged blade had been his since his days as a young padawan, and to think some shadow being, he had never had the ability to even fight had stolen it was beyond an insult. As quickly as he realized what had happened, he jerked his head up and leaped in one swift movement back to the camp. Inside his tent, he began to search for his Shoto, the small blade he held with almost near as much esteem as he did his double edged blade.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Regardless of how long, or how hard he searched, no matter how intricate or thorough, Ebon knew the blade was gone. Whoever had stolen his primary lightsaber, had too stolen his backup. This time however, Ebon offered no violent cry outwards, and instead began to pack up his now ramshackled tent. It was time he began travelling once more, and the sun agreed by illuminating the abyss of a canyon he now stood in.

In the next few hours, his pace seemed to slow. From packing up his camping supplies, to travelling to his final location, to even the prayer he stated before his departure, it all seemed to come to a slightly more grinding feeling. Ebon’s thoughts lay in who that being was, and why they had stolen his lightsabers, or how they melded through the wall he had just cracked. How could a being of any degree do such a thing? Had he just imagined the whole ordeal, and somehow his lightsabers lay on his belt, or even back where he camped? As if to reassure himself, Ebon grazed his hip to check if either of the blades remained, but neither did. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and his gaze moved to the temple now in front of him.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Massive walls, carved millennia ago became his only sight. Large, magnificent statues of Sith Lords before him gave small glimpses into the glory of ages passed, and the sand around each base offered a glimpse into the state of negligence the entire temple seemed to rest in. It’s massive doors remained closed despite this, and Ebon gave himself a momentary hope that what he sought inside would remain.

As Ebon came to meet the massive stone doors, he gave a moment of hesitation before using his full strength, combined with the force, to push the doors open just far enough to allow him passage. After shimmying through, Ebon found the site in complete and utter darkness. Already expecting this, he dawned what little equipment he had to see, and as the goggles he held began their small digital noises, his vision became a bright representation of what it already was. It seemed more fluid in color, yet everything held a faint yellowish tint, but what a beautiful place this was.

The entrance hall had a ceiling far too high to reach with any normal sort of elevating apparatus, and the second and third floor held balconies looking down upon the lobby he stood in now. Ebon grinned graciously, walking deeper into the temple’s depths, only to fade as he remembered the disappearances of his blades. It seemed to eat at him, nag him at every moment he sought some solace in whatever it was he was discovering…

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon growled, quickly moving to explore the temple. Each corridor had faint bronze accents running along their trim, and each hallway brought him closer to his inevitable goal. As he trudged through the increasing depths of the Sith Academy, he found just what he was looking for, far past the eyes of any who would be normal treasure hunters.

Deep in the confines of the stone tomb, was the Sith Library of one of the numerous unnamed Sith Temples lost to the sands of time. In this, Ebon hoped to find access to holocrons long past, using their knowledge and power to refine his own rudimentary skills in the force, and even finding what he could on the combat forms used by the Sith with their own lightsabers, especially the form known as Juyo.

Eventually, Ebon came to his first holocron, one bearing the inscription “Saevitia Fictus, de Multis”, and with this he knew what he had found was the real thing. It sat small, a gold decorated pyramid of it’s own design, and yet it held an energy Ebon could barely comprehend. Whoever had made this, was truly a force to be reckoned with, and no doubt had a portion of their energies still inside it. Within this holocron, sat the very basis of knowing the form of Juyo, and with it, the various masteries that came with it, however before it was any real use to Ebon, he would need to master the forms he had already begun to learn. Within the same holocron, sat more knowledge on lightsaber combat than Ebon had ever been faced with before,, and should Ebon understand it in full, it would push him to mastery of Ataru, and give him a strong foundation in the other forms of lightsaber combat he so desperately strived for. Ebon quickly collected the prism, pocketing it in the massive rucksack that he still held on his back, only increasing the load he bore, if only slightly.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Despite this minor victory, Ebon knew it meant little without the thing that made him a lightsaber duelist, his lightsaber. His attention lured away from the prospect of knowledge, and to the holocrons encompassing lightsaber creation and their various types. The creature that stole his lightsabers would feel pain unlike anything they had experienced before, but to do so he would need exactly just that, another lightsaber.

Browsing the Holocrons of Old once more, Ebon eventually came to yet another Sith Holocron, yet this one held the inscription of another… “Dues Telum”. It was what he was looking for, that much he understood, and the dark energies of the force was all that kept it from him. Pressing his hand against the holocrons base, he felt the cold metal it was constructed of, and the hard energies that lay inside. He funneled what energy Sargon had given him, and the holocron illuminated with a unsettling energy.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Above the device began to form a shaky, yet very clear representation of the hooded Sith Lord who had created the device, yet he seemed old and gaunt, far too gone to be a true master of the blade. Ebon took steps back from it, gazing up to the creature in astonishment. This was not the first holocron he had ever activated, but this one seemed to daze him, if only momentarily. When Ebon recovered from the state of astonishment, he looked up to the nameless master, who began to speak.

“I am the now expired Sith Lord, Darth Voraktis, and it is my assumption you have come for knowledge of sith blades. Is this correct?”, it offered, it’s low menacing voice hinted slightly at a wise old man.

“It is, Master.”, Ebon nearly stuttered out. He dropped to a knee in respect for the ancient before him, and bowed his head low to accent this. It took a moment before Ebon looked up once more, gazing at what was presented to him.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

The Sith moved either of his virtual hands, smooth and careful, and before him appeared a lightsaber, so smooth and intricate in nature, it dwarfed the quality of even Ebon’s previous blade, and just as it appeared, it separated and produced the inner workings of what would become the perfect weapon. The began once more;

“Within this precise tool lies the keys to world's destruction, and you will find that although the pen is mightier than the sword, this blade can create the same political shockwaves as any.”, the old man seemed to hoarse out, a faint smile appearing on his hooded figure.

“I will only teach this in sections, and as such I demand complete cooperation. To begin, the crystal…”, and with this his hands moved once more, the rest of the saber fading to reveal the crystal, amplified and enlarged before them both.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

The crystal was a deep red sliver, small flashes of black vaporous energy licking at the tips of the holocrons edges. The power was obvious in the crystal, but it was not a naturally formed, that much Ebon could tell. It seemed to hesitate, then pulse once more in a flashy display of its prowess. The crystal seemed alive, ready to be the weapon it dreamed of being, and above it the Sith Lord began his rant once more.

“In this crystal lies the secrets to the forging of this blade. Hotter, better, faster, and stronger than any crystal that has come before, and the only the most powerful to come even after.”, he choked out.

“With the power to cut through other lightsabers, disabling opponents, stealing their energy and making anyone near it’s furious blade, will leave all who duel you dead, or scarred. This blade is not something to be trifled with, and as such it can consume even it’s owner if handled improperly…”

“One of the downsides of the blade is it’s need for energy. It demands blood, and a peaceful user of the blade shall it will begin to turn on it’s own master, slowly killing them from its very presence…”

 

[Sirak Kolar]

As the Sith spoke on, Ebon listened intently. This blade rivalved anything he had heard about before, from Kaiburr crystals to even the sith based Qixoni crystals. How magnificent it was, this blade… how powerful it could be. The thought teased Ebon, played with his mind like a teenagers fantasy. He bit his lip and listened closer as the Sith began to speak of just how the blade would be made…

“The Crystal itself is a compressed synthetic mixture of numerous crystals… To obtain these, will be a challenge in their own right. First, Opila, found in the Fyrth System. This will allow the blade an intensity to cut through near any material, and is needed to finish the blade by the end of this holocron…”

“Secondly, Lignan Crystals from the planet Kesh. For durability, for endurance of the blade and it’s longevity, this will be needed. Your blade would otherwise burn out, surging itself to brittle failure.”

“Third, the Jedi’s Kaiburr Crystal shards. A difficult, exceedingly rare crystal formation, this will offer the foundation for the entire saber.”

“Fourth, Katak Crystals for their fatiguing, life stealing properties. This blades beam requires the onset of outside life force to enhance it’s qualities… Vampirism in it’s very being. Make no mistake, this blade is alive with the energies of the dark side…”

 

[Sirak Kolar]

The Sith continued through another five crystals, each with their own defining properties, and many used in lightsaber configurations alone. They were all immensely powerful artifacts, but if what this Sith said was true, and this blade could be forged, it would signify the sans pareil of the Lightsaber world.

Eventually, Ebon stood, and the holocron lost it’s wonderful light. The holocron had explain not only where to find these crystals, but the eventual process to forge them, and Ebon would not forget so simply the key to his very success.

As he began to leave the Sith Temple, numerous holocrons in his rucksack, his thoughts wandered back to the man shaped shadow that stole his blades before. Where the creature lived, how he survived, and most importantly, how Ebon would return to this place, find him, and show him how to die. Nobody would insult the soon to be Warlord of the Primeval with such petty, indiscriminate crimes.

No, they would pay.

The sun began to set as he wandered through the valley of darkness, once more afraid of no evil. His journey to realization of his true path was soon to come to fruition, and with it he would find the keys to galactic conquest. He would make proud the great lord Balagoth.

He must. He had too.

It was all he lived for.