Private Dreams Never Lie

[Voldran Molf]

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmares

Information

Objective: ???
Location: ???
Equipment: N/A
Tags: Vorm

<"ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Darkness; that was all he remembered. To tell the truth, he had no idea how long this state had lasted. He had only vague memories of the past; he had fought something, and then came the darkness. Every now and then he would wake for a moment, but typically it was only darkness that he saw, and then he would fall back into unconsciousness. Once in a while the man was able to reach a living creature or two in his sleep, but there wasn't much he could do. When he was awake for those few seconds, the man would remember a few things about himself. He knew his name was Voldran and he knew how others had referred to him. Shadow Lord, or Prince of Nightmare.

But he could no longer say where he was or what had happened. He could not remember who he had fought before he was imprisoned, nor did he know where his prison was. The man remembered a few things, that it was the world of the "dead" where he spent more time, that he was a creature of the Netherworld. He remembered the Force, as well as the man's constant struggle against the lure of the Dark Side. Demon; even that word was there in the man's mind. But having only surfaced for a few moments from the deep sea of unconsciousness, Voldran could think no further. He could think no further, only to sink back into the sea of darkness.

He also often forgot what he had been thinking about on previous occasions. So sometimes he would think the same thing over and over again, for weeks or months at a time. Then again everything would be surrounded by darkness and ignorance. Sometimes he felt something disturbing from far, far away. It was as if reality, or something beyond it, was rippling like the sea. More like a stormy sea. And it was these disturbances that woke him up for a moment. In reality, they were disturbances in the Force that reached the man's prison, which was in the Netherworld.

And the reason for the increasingly frequent momentary awakenings was that these disturbances, when they reached the prison that Voldran was in, violated the prison. In the beginning, it was like a very hard crystal just being tilted by the wind, then a tiny scratch would appear on it, and then these scratches would get wider and wider. Until finally a more powerful "wave" was able to partially crack the breached dungeon. It wasn't enough to free the man inside the prison, but it was enough to awaken Voldran inside, thanks to the Force now being able to flow into his dark, unknown prison.

He reached out instinctively into the Force and suddenly found himself somewhere else. In a dream... seconds passed, but the man did not fall out of the dream, he was still conscious. Something had changed. Was it the person whose dream he had found his way into? He didn't know, but he hoped he could stay conscious long enough, awake long enough, to get answers…

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Atmo

Voldran Molf

​

Out there in the frigid, empty darkness of interstellar space a smaller, island-sized asteroid lumbers around its attractor; a distant, unremarkable solar system. The object paces glacially along its eons-long circuit, sailing unperturbed in the expanding void of space. It is the perfect location for a hidden base – nobody would care to look here. Its cavernous insides are, in fact, home to one of the several clandestine bases of the Blasphemer Lord Darth Ptolemis himself.

Striding through one of its many metallic corridors, the masked Sith Lord passes the skeleton crew of hooded acolytes and nameless servants in silence. Only the tortured echoes of past rituals fill the halls with atmosphere, other than the oxygen-rich gas mixture pumped into the tunnels by high-tech generators. Each step foreshadows the arrival of the Blasphemer, until the thudding sounds abruptly disappear behind the thick walls of a blastdoor.

Inside, a jarring switch in interior design; sprawling carpets stained by liters of blood, profane paintings of occult myths from around the galaxy, skulls, bones, body parts and weapons affixed to the wall in equal measure. Akin to his meditation chamber on his personal reconnaissance ship, this room serves the same purpose; at the center of a ring of torches, Ptolemis sits down to immerse himself in the secrets of the Dark Side and roam, and provoke, its unexplored outer wilderness.

Ptolemis is a man of stoic routine; to satiate his thirst for forbidden knowledge, he meditates often, setting his soul free to roam far, often past the boundaries of physical space. It isn't far-fetched to call him an ancient being; only by repeatedly transferring to a new flesh, a new body, could he extend his life so and learn such complicated techniques of the Force. As he drifts across the unfathomable depths of the Dark Side, a splinter in his psyche rattles him. His spirit, floating in the Netherworld, abruptly stops, and out of a swirling cloud of smoke, a dark forest appears before his mind's eye. As he observes this premonition of the Force, he remains vigilant.

This illusory landscape slowly casts away this hazy film that was pulled over it, and the dark, leafless trees of the forest solidify, stretching into infinity: suddenly, from within, the Force calls out to Ptolemis. He senses a mysterious presence inside. In an instant, a dreadful emotion stirs within the Blasphemer; a lust for devourment. Could it be some Force entity, once lost, now stumbling into the sights of the Sith Lord? The possibilities are endless. He needs to find this presence, now. Not thinking twice about it, the true form of his spirit is abruptly revealed; two enormous, hideous, fleshy wings sprout from the back of the Blasphemer amid the noise of his infernal laughter. Armed with his own demonic hunger for power, he rises above this forest, circling above its endless maze, stalking, hunting for this curious newcomer.
​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmares

Information

Objective: ???
Location: ???
Equipment: N/A
Tags: Darth Ptolemis

<"ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

The white-haired man looked down at his hand, black as onyx. New memories began to come back to him. It was not in reality, it was not free, it was in a dream. The colour of his hair was the same in reality and in the dream; white or silver. It also depended partly on how someone saw it. His eyes, those were red in reality and in dreams. Not like a Sith, or a Darksider, his iris lacked the golden hue. His eyes looked more natural, as natural as red eyes can be. The only difference, which was how he knew where he was now, was the colour of his skin. In reality, Voldran's skin was pale, white and sallow, but in dreams it was onyx, unnaturally black.

He remembered that this strange duality had always been there. The eternal struggle with himself not to walk in the darkness, but only in the gloom. Man has always struggled with the other half of himself, not to be what he was meant to be. The man was born that way, a monster. He was still a foetus when his father performed a ritual on him. Voldran should have been born human, or at least near-human, but he was merged with a Smoke demon. So he came into the world as something quite strange. Half demon, half near-human. The man's father was a Sith Lord, who hoped to use his son's body as his own in the future, and prepare him for it before Voldran would fall to the dark side..

This never materialised, the young man struggled more than this, even with himself, with the darkness within him, with his demonic side. Being half demon, he knew that he would never be a lightsider, because that would probably mean his death, but he didn't want to be immersed in the darkness. That's why one of his "nicknames" was Shadow Lord. He was trying to stay in the gloom, in the greyness and not get lost in the darkness.…

… the man's thoughts were interrupted by an infernal laugh. Voldran then realised that he was still "conscious", so to speak, and had not fallen back into the darkness, although quite a lot of time had passed by now. He started in the direction of the sound and soon arrived at the dream world. Or rather, the dream world changed around him. First, he saw a forest, then suddenly a huge labyrinth rose up around him out of nowhere. Sometimes, with weak minds, the man had minimal ability to influence and modify dreams, but now he felt infinitely weak, not least he felt that the Force was very strong in this place too.

The next moment he saw a shadow passing over him. The Prince of Nightmares looked up into the sky and saw, just for a moment, a figure with demonic wings. For a moment he winced and hoped he hadn't just entered the dream of a demon. He always had to fight them if he couldn't get out of the dream in time. Still, he hoped he could win the other figure over and free him. In this situation, he had little choice.

"I'm not going to run away, I'm here, I know you feel me. Show yourself!" the man called to the owner of the dream.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Atmo

Voldran Molf

​

On bat-like wings the Blasphemer soared through the skies of nonexistence, rising, diving into the shifting landscape. This presence was quite unlike anything he'd ever felt before – carrying the markings of life and death at the same time. Yet, at such a distance, even the Blasphemer couldn't discern more about the mysterious stranger. Then, surprising the winged specter above, the presence found him first. It called out to him.

"I'm not going to run away, I'm here, I know you feel me. Show yourself!" the man called to the owner of the dream.

Spinning and immediately flying in the direction of the shout he tears through the space between them. The maze-like woods below bend and ripple as the shadowy Sith descends toward the sound still echoing in the nether. Despite the grey-black ambience of his surroundings, an even darker, humanoid form stands in the distance – eyes red, piercing through the distance. Two more flaps of his leathery wings break his speedy momentum, and Darth Ptolemis lands about ten meters from the entity with the grace of a vulture. A heavy silence sits upon the scene as his wings embrace his black-robed form. With a wave of Ptolemis' left arm the woods before them turn to ash and drift away into nothingness; only a barren, dust-colored meadow lies now between them. The guttural, mechanical voice of the Blasphemer spreads like miasma. – You surprise me, shadow. – Ptolemis stays vigilant, but relaxes his body. There's no telling what comes next in the Netherworld. Very slowly, he takes his first step to begin circling around the body-bound entity. – Do you have any idea who you are, where you are? What dark pit you've fallen into?
​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmares

Information

Objective: ???
Location: ???
Equipment: N/A
Tags: Darth Ptolemis

<"ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Voldran did not have to wait much longer, because the other man soon arrived. As the Shadow Lord looked over the other figure, the demon-like figure was the most conspicuous. The man knew full well that demons were common even in Realspace, as the Sith had the ability to summon such beings from the Netherworld. Some of the creatures left there, or similar. The Prince of Nightmare also lived primarily in that world, but his demonic nature allowed him to walk and wander between the world of the living and the dead at any time. He couldn't tell which he preferred, both places had their charms. As did the dream worlds, at least for him.

For the moment, the onyx-skinned man did not move, just watched and studied the demon-like man in silence. Voldran showed no fear; the man was not afraid to die, for one thing, and the worst that could happen was that he would be pushed out of sleep or possibly have his consciousness violated. He was not afraid of death; that might have been his salvation. Voldran never committed suicide, because he would have lived on as a soul, and it was genetically encoded into him by his father that he should not be able to destroy his own soul. Others were able to do so, but the man could not commit suicide in such a way as to achieve the ultimate death. So, he would have accepted death as redemption.

At the other man's words, Voldran laughed bitterly, his pleasantly deep baritone voice almost filling the dreamscape.

"Why? Do you rarely meet someone who is not afraid to be in your presence?" the man asked, almost cheerfully.

As Ptolemis stepped closer to the man, the Force showed the shadow ripples around the man, as if he were smoking, although these ripples, these swirls, were part of the man and did not leave his body. As if he himself were part of the shadows. The Shadow Lord responded to the move with a move, and as he did so, the environment "thickened". A mist crept between them both, shadows that almost came to life and snaked around the glowing red-eyed man. Despite all this, he made no aggressive or offensive gestures, and even in the Force there was no sense that he was about to attack. The shadows really did look as if they were alive, or even part of him.

"The pit doesn't look too dark to me, rather grey and shadowy." he told him. "And no, you haven't shown any manners or introduced yourself. But I will not be an unseemly guest, I am Voldran Molf, the Shadow Lord, or Prince of Nightmares."

He even bowed theatrically as he spoke, but the gesture was more elegant and respectful than mocking. The gesture was made when Ptolemis was facing him. Otherwise, the man didn't move as the Sith Lord began to walk around him, but the shadows that had been drawn around the man followed the Sith's path and as if the shadows and eyes and faces were watching their host.

"Now that you know who I am... perhaps you could enlighten me as to who you are and how I got into your dream?" the man asked inquiringly.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Atmo

Voldran Molf

​

The man laughed as Ptolemis began his circle. Both of them, it seems, feel well at home in the deep darkness – the Blasphemer makes a mental note of this.
​

"Why? Do you rarely meet someone who is not afraid to be in your presence?" the man asked, almost cheerfully.

The shadow asked, contrasting the scene with a strange smile. – Exactly… – The masked stranger answers cryptically. Then instantly following a disturbance in the Force, this red-eyed ghost conjured mists to engulf the space between them – shadows rose and fell, coming to life at his command. In that moment, the still-walking Ptolemis understood. This… thing that exudes a calm state of self, is deeply intertwined with the Force. Ptolemis' lust for devourment and lust for knowledge battle for dominance within his corrupted mind. Ptolemis, intermittently disappearing and reappearing amid the shadows, still continues slowly on his circular path.
​

"The pit doesn't look too dark to me, rather grey and shadowy." he told him. "And no, you haven't shown any manners or introduced yourself. But I will not be an unseemly guest, I am Voldran Molf, the Shadow Lord, or Prince of Nightmares."

"Now that you know who I am... perhaps you could enlighten me as to who you are and how I got into your dream?" the man asked inquiringly.

Following the bow, Ptolemis ceased his approach. The Sith Lord at least entertained the idea of an exchange of information without the need for… immediate violence. – My dream? Interesting… Not many have entered my mind without my approval. This is the space I occupy when I meditate, Shadow Lord. – The masked stranger raises his index finger and taps the middle of his metallic forehead twice. – I am Darth Ptolemis. –A flash, and a nonexistent thunder rumbles in the distance as he speaks his own name. – And something tells me we are both in each other's cages, so to speak. – Ptolemis now turns directly toward the Prince of Nightmares. – Are you a spirit? Or an entity born of the Force itself? – A hint of foreboding curiosity paints his tone.​

​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmares

Information

Objective: ???
Location: ???
Equipment: N/A
Tags: Darth Ptolemis

<"ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

The man knew the Sith well in this regard; Voldran's father wanted his son and heir to one day become a powerful Sith Lord. Well, the 'young man' had other ideas about that. It occurred to him that he didn't even know how old he was, he didn't know how long he had been in prison. It could have been days, weeks, or even millennia. Actually, the Shadow Lord thought it might have been decades, or centuries, since the name Darth Ptolemis was not a familiar one to him. True, Voldran knew that even the most insignificant Sith would have responded in kind. And in the Force, he sensed that this man was not a Sith by report for that reason.

Unless the world had changed that much out there, though he doubted it. One thing, however, the man had learned as a child. Even when he felt fear, he had to suppress it and not show it. He even had to do everything he could to make sure that no one would feel it if they were afraid. Perhaps that was the most useful lesson from his father, beyond the fact that he could never trust a Sith, or anyone else, and could only rely on himself. And the Sith are often pushed out of the way if one is not afraid of them, or does not submit. At least that was the case in his time. True, not just the Sith, but all other Darksiders.

"It must be a rather dull and shallow life..." the man continued to quip.

Voldran just nodded at the man's comment that not many people get into his dream, or even the pocket dimension where his mind goes while he meditates. Honestly, Ptolemis's question was a very good one, to which Voldran didn't immediately know the answer. At least half of it, because he was fully aware of part of it. I mean, one thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't dead yet, i.e. he wasn't a ghost. And he knew that he was not a Force entity, never had been. He was a flesh and blood being, albeit with altered DNA. In the man's time they were mostly called Sithspawn. He didn't know if that was true now, but he didn't really want to give out the information that he was half demon.

"Neither, I'm a Sithspawn, at least that was the name of what I am in my time." he told him.

The man watched the Sith Lord's reaction, whether Sithspawn was familiar to him or not. But, if they were here now, it would have been a great opportunity for Voldran to gather information about, among other things...

"What's the date in the Realspace?" he asked him, at the moment that was the most important thing to him. "And I don't think I'm in your cage..."

His voice was impassive, and he had no intention of saying that Ptolemis could push him out of this dimension at any time if he wanted to. It was too sensitive information, and Voldran couldn't have guessed the next time he would have had the chance to escape as he did now...

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Atmo

Voldran Molf

​

Through the mists Lord Ptolemis walks, the overlong fabrics he's wearing wriggling behind him like a living organism. Having completed a half-circle, he is getting closer to the statuesque man he shares his mind – or dreams – with. Due to this Shadow Lord's presence, he wasn't entirely sure to what degree this place was a dream, or a different dimension. Perhaps a mix of both. He listened to the red-eyed Shadow's answers, eager to learn more about him.

"It must be a rather dull and shallow life..." the man continued to quip.

"What's the date in the Realspace?" he asked him, at the moment that was the most important thing to him. "And I don't think I'm in your cage..."

Ptolemis' fingertips twitched. He was getting bored of the unknown man's quips, almost initiating a fight right then and there to cut this courting game short, but with each verbal jab the Shadow allowed just enough information to slip to maintain the Blasphemer's interests. He was a good orator, clearly. – We are ninehundred years after the Battle of Yavin... - He continues. - Curious. You don't look like a Sithspawn. There must be something more to you. – Ptolemis' voice clawing at his skin. – I can sense your internal turmoil. Let's see what lies beneath. – Then Ptolemis stops only a couple paces away from the Shadow Lord, snaps his extended fingers at him, and without hesitation unleashes a cacophonous stream of white-hot lightning.
​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmares

Information

Objective: ???
Location: ???
Equipment: N/A
Tags: Darth Ptolemis

<"ur-Kittât"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

He tilted his head slightly to the side when he saw that the other man seemed to be losing patience. Or could he just be nervous because he didn't get an immediate answer to everything? Voldran did not know what the answer might be. When he heard the answer, he heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a long time since he had been in prison, so his father was probably no longer alive. Or so he thought, because it had certainly been nine hundred years, but the man had never heard of the Battle of Yavin...

"So it's been a long time... what happened at this Battle of Yavin that made this the beginning of a new era?" he inquired, but this time there was no sign of him messing with the Sith Lord, this was a serious question on his part.

The man had no way of knowing how much time had passed, he would have needed a more precise time interval, but he wasn't sure he was going to get one. He did not know when he would have the opportunity to know how long he had been asleep. Of course, there was still the possibility that he would not be released now and his captivity would continue. Voldran's body stiffened when he saw the twitch of the other man's finger.

"Why, what do Sithspawns look like in this age?" he asked the other man.

When Ptolemy attacked, he didn't come out at the beginning, holding up his hands to absorb the energy from the Force lightning. However, early on he sensed that the Sith Lord was quite powerful, so the man eventually had to dodge the attack and the lightning struck his shoulder. Even though he had armour in this worldly form, it was only an illusion. The man did not strike back with lightning, but reached out with his hand and concentrated. At the man's attack the shadows began to move and various tendrils and spikes appeared from the shadows and the ground, these began to reach towards Ptolemy at a rapid pace and tried to wrap themselves around his legs and arms.

"I'm not a lab rat to be 'dissected'." he snarled for a moment.