Gone is the Dawn [Isolda]

[Darth Carnifex]

Temple of the Sith​

Coruscant​

​

A reprieve from the war effort found Darth Vornskr in the grandiose Sith ziggurat that served as a place of worship and training for the fledgling acolytes of the One Sith, which had become commonly referred to as the Temple of the Sith by many. When Coruscant fell to the One Sith at the beginning of the war, the Jedi Temple that once occupied this space had been brought down from the massive fighting, and after the Jedi had fled the planet the smoldering ruins had been cleared away by Imperial construction crews, and for two long years a new temple was slowly constructed in it's place. Dark and brooding, the temple was the epitome of the teachings of the One Sith, and many acolytes had come through it's hallowed halls seeking the knowledge of the Dark Lord, and while many had fallen along the way, many more had risen through the mediocrity of the masses and had been anointed Sith and sent off to fight in the war.

It had been a long time since Vornskr walked the halls of the temple, and as his massive frame trudged through the dark halls, he couldn't help but notice the looks of awe, fear, and hunger in the eyes of the acolytes and temple attendants as he walked by them. It was good, and Vornskr soaked up their emotions like a demonic sponge as he made his way to the temple spire. The spire housed the Master's Alcove, which was a private wing of the temple reserved only for those of master rank and above, and with the war reaching new heights in the core and beyond it remained eerily empty. Using a lift to reach the upper reaches of the spire, Vornskr walked out into the gloom of the observations deck, and stared absently out through the crimson-stained transparisteel window that overlooked the sprawling ecumenopolis that was Sith-occupied Coruscant.

However; Vornskr would not be alone for very long. He had called for another of his brethren in the One Sith to meet with him here at the temple, and he had quite a bundle on his mind to reveal to her. Until she arrived, Vornskr would take a seat in one of the swivel chairs situated near the window, and let himself be engulfed in the mindless droning of the planet's population.

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

[member="Darth Vornskr"] would not wait long.

The Eye of the Dark Lord would drift from the shadows, adorn in nothing but a simple black cowl that would glide and drift across her lithe figure with every silent step she took.

She didn't walk as much as she would drift, the slits of the glistaweb robe she wore baring the alabaster of her smooth long legs. Her face was cast in shadows, with only the lower half visible; a pale strip of skin and pulsing inky tattoos that would seem to writhe with every breath she took. They were almost lifelike, and to focus upon them was to find oneself lost at the subtle serpent like extensions moving under her skin.

Her voice would pour over him before he'd catch sight of her. A throaty tone that would resonate with her power, flowing from her in an almost tantalizing cloud of the Darkside.

Darth Vornskr would be familiar with it; after all, he did notate in as much detail about the quality and effect in his holofanfiction...

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He stood as soon as her voice resonated within his very being, his eyes beholding the splendor of Isolda's form as she sauntered into view from the darkness. It would be a lie to say that Vornskr didn't have abstract feelings of lust for her, she was indeed an impressive specimen of a woman, but Vornskr had other duties, other obligations that kept him from acting on his urges. Still, he found other ways to vent such desires, mostly through writing and the glorious theater of combat that was raging just beyond the core. The Sith Lord would bow respectfully to the Eye of the Dark Lord, one of the few One Sith he revered almost as much as the Dark Lord himself, and then he spoke: "My lady Isolda, I am honored that you could meet with me on such short notice." He felt woefully bare without having something to offer her in return for her arrival, as he did with the guests of his own realm in the Fringe, but then again this was no trivial social calling.

Something had been troubling Vornskr's mind for weeks now, and with the sudden rapture those feelings had only been exasperated to new heights. "I should have come to see you sooner, but the war had been all consuming as of late, and I only now just found reprieve. I've been plagued with visions, Isolda, a thing which I have not been privy to all of my life for I do not possess the clairvoyance you do. I have seen visions of death, but it is not the death of others, it is the death of myself. I see it in my dreams, and every night I wake suddenly in a cold sweet, the dark images lingering upon the corners of my mind, but when I dare try to recollect the exact details of my premonitions they dissipate into nothingness." He was obviously disturbed by his dreams, glimpses of worry and doubt flitting across his scarred features, an unusual sight for someone as brutal as himself.

"That is why I come before you, Lady Isolda. I have no expertise in dreams or visions, but I know you do. Can you help me?"

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

Isolda would peer upon the powerfully cut figure of [member="Darth Vornskr"], her gaze searching and seeking. He spoke of dreams. Visions of the Reaper at this door, that would confuse him as they would plague him, mulling over their true meaning would bring.

Bright silver eyes would rise to meet his, latching onto the heterochromic orbs of the Black Iron Tyrant; one lilac and one a blazing emerald edged in sulfur.

That he would come to her seeking an interpretation to his visions was a wise move. The Chosen of Vahl were heralded for their ability to use their powers gifted by the Goddess of Vahl to interpret dreams and visions of the future.

However, while the Goddess had indeed blessed the Oracle with the ability to use farseeing to interpret such omens, the God-King of Panatha would not be so easily swayed by her powers. No, that mental lockbox of his Epicanthix heritage would shield him from the probing into his mind.

However, one need not delve into the reeces of that lockbox to find a measure of interpretation for what would plague him.

Ever so slowly, the Eye of the Dark Lord would lift her hand. Fingers dipped in the inky shadows of living tattoos would dance and shift like snakes under her skin, pausing just a mere inch before intangible tendrils of the Force would curl to almost lovingly caress the Butcher-King's bearded cheek.

​

Isolda would whisper the seed of approval that would seal her acceptance, [SIZE=11pt], [/SIZE]"Now that gives me pleasure the thought of you... pining for the guidance of the Goddess, my God-King."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Now Kaine was not a believer in gods, goddesses, and other sorts of deities. He firmly believed in the Force, as it bound all living things together in an intangible web of life and death, and the Dark Side of that web was what Kaine had dedicated most of his life to. While the Dark Lord was the undisputed master of the Dark Side so far as Kaine was concerned, and had control over many esoteric aspects of it, he was by no means a god in any sense of the word. Sure, the Dark Lord could bring himself back from death, but he was far from indestructible or invincible. Still, Kaine would follow the Dark Lord all the same, so long as he continued to embody the dark vision set forth by their forefathers, specifically that of Darth Krayt, founder of the One Sith centuries ago.

"If anyone could help me, it would be you Isolda. You have a deep connection to both our Dark Lord, and your goddess." He fell to one knee before Isolda, bringing himself down to her level as he towered over her previously, and he did not see Isolda below him at all, but as an equal. He spread both of his arms out in a beseeching manner, and let his head fall forward, as he surrendered himself to Isolda's expertise. "Please, my Lady, gift to me your wisdom, and that of the Force, for I am desperate for an answer to my torment."

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

[member="Darth Vornskr"]

Isolda would peer down at the Voice of the Dark Lord kneeling before her. Her expression would seemingly gentle, her hand caressing his cheek, sliding down over his bearded chin.

[SIZE=10.5pt]"I will help you, my Lord." [/SIZE]she would relay. [SIZE=10.5pt]"But a price must be paid." [/SIZE]There was always a price. For the Chosen of Vahl, they would pay it in blood, by proving their faith and devotion by scarring themselves. Much in the same manner, her tattoos were a representation of that sacrifice. Like living serpents, the ink would pulse through under her skin, continually slicing and breaking skin when summoning the power of the Goddess for interpretation of visions and farsight.

This would be no different.

[SIZE=10.5pt]"Take my hand, my Lord... " [/SIZE]her hand would dip, offering it to him. [SIZE=10.5pt]"And we shall interpret that which plagues your dreams at night."[/SIZE]

It was a matter of trust. Of completely utter faith. Whether it be to Isolda's abilities, the Dark Lord, the Goddess, or perhaps merely the vision in it of itself.

Whatever it may be, the Eye of the Dark Lord would grant clarity insomuch as the power of the Bogan Goddess would give her.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"For this knowledge, I would willingly pay the toll."

Much like the tendrils of wispy smoke that writhed beneath Isolda's porcelain skin, the Dark Mark permanently inked on the back of Kaine's neck seethed with darkness in such close proximity to one of the Dark Lord's most favored followers. His muscles tensed in anticipation, his blood pounding in his ears as he breathed in the darkness that had begun to dampen the chamber with it's shadowy embrace, rolling waves of fog billowing forth to cover the floor. Gingerly, he extended his hand to embrace Isolda's, his massive hand engulfing the petite Sith's with a surprisingly gentle grip for someone as bestial as Vornskr, and in that moment he placed all of his faith in Isolda.

"I trust you, Isolda."

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

[member="Darth Vornskr"]

Therein Isolda's small hand upon his own. He dwarfed her in size, and she had this delicate quality about her that would only be enhanced by the sheer breath and brawn of the God King.

"T̕he̸n I҉ ̶shal͘l̡ ̶a͟i̶d͜ y̸ou͏, ́my Lord͢ ͝a̛ll th̷e m͢or̶e͝ ͞wi̵l̢l͢i͞ńg̴ly͝." ͡ Isolda would say. As the hands would touch, so too would the tattoos upon her body react to Vornskr's power.

He was a man of amazing Force potential. An omnipresent presence that would immediately engulf the Oracle and wrap around her like a glistaweb sheet.

In the touch she had summoned the energies of the Force to call upon her gift of Farsight, but for that as his Epicanthix nature prevented her probing of his mind, she had to do it in another format.

A blood price.

Telekinetic tendrils would lick across Isolda's hand upon Vornskr's own, as if the inky script was alive in it of itself. Whispers of shadows would rise from the tips of her stained fingers, swirling just over his skin before plunging into the dermis. Much like the Dark Mark of the Dark Lord, this was a branding. But the branding was made in order to seek, to bring forth a medium for Isolda to make sense of what visions plagued the Voice of the Dark Lord.

Blood would call to blood. And so too would that dark ink that would slither under his skin cut the membrane. It was her intention to make him bleed, to bring forth that precious fluid and carve upon his skin much in the same manner the Chosen did unto themselves for the Goddess blessing.

He would not be alone in this, for much like he, her own flesh would slice where the tattoos would writhe.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Voice of the Dark Lord had tasted pain unimaginable on several occasions, and had come out stronger from each encounter. This ritualistic branding upon his skin by the smokey tendrils that writhed from Isolda's grasp did not concern Kaine in the slightest, and while their kiss upon his flesh did burn with a seething pain, his face remained impassive as he stared deep into the Oracle's eyes. She would find much to delve into, for he had extended his right hand, the hand stained by the explosion of Darth Moridin's gauntlet that left his skin charred and black, permanently marred by the Dark Side energies that were released when the artifact was destroyed by Jedi Master Diana on Dac. Her tendrils of dark energy would worm their way through Kaine's flesh, digging deep into his very being, clawing through the flesh to latch onto the dark shadow of his soul, dredging up the dark premonitions that plagued his mind.

That was when another will threw itself into the mix, one so dark and sinister that it caused Kaine's body to tremble uncontrollably. It was the Dark Lord, whose name was unknown to all save himself, and whose will now raked itself against his soul in conjunction with Isolda's esoteric scrying. It was rare for the Dark Lord to personally intervene in something such as this, and instinctively the Epicanthix Sith Lord fell to his knees in adulation in the presence of the Dark Lord, his hand still gripping Isolda's, albeit more tightly than before. Kaine said nothing, and even if he wanted to he would've found it impossible as his mouth instantly dried, and his tongue was caught in his throat from the sudden intrusion into his soul.

Ì́͡ ͘͘͢͞h̸́͜͜͜a͏̷҉v̴̧̛͡é̶̀̕ ̢͡͏s̨̕͏é̶҉̸n̡͘̕͢ś̷̨͞͞e̛͏̛d̢̛͠ ̀͠t̛̕h҉̵͞é̡͢͞ ̴̛͘̕͡d̴̢̢̛a͡r҉k͝͏n̨̛͡e̴̸͢s̷̕͟s̸̴͜͠ ͢͟w̛͝i̵̧͘͝͞t̡̨͡ḩ͢i̵̛͘͜ǹ͡҉ ͘͘͢͞͏y҉͢͜͝ơ͝҉̛u̸̕҉͢r̕͜͞҉҉ ͘͏̸̡s̶̛̛o̷͘u̢̢̕͝l̵̵̨̧͜,̡͜ ̶́́͟҉ḿ͟͢y͟͞ ̵̷̛ć̸͡͝h̴̨į̷҉l͘͢͡d̛̕͏͞.̶̶̵͘͜ ̴̧͜
̀͜͜
̸̴T̵̡͝h̸̵͜e̶̵͢ ̴D͠͏̷̴̛a̴͟͢͟͞r̢̧҉҉̶k̢̨͠͠҉ ̸͜S̵̡̛͝ì͜d̷͜͡e̛͢͢ ̴̸͞͠͠h̶̛͘͜͝a̸̡͟͢s̀͟͟͞ ͏̴g̶̷i̵҉v̕͝͝e̶̡͢͝n͠ ̵͏̸͡y̷͞͡ơ̸̵͟ư͘ ͟҉a͢͢ ͜͞͏v̕i̵͝͝s̷̵̡͜͡i̵҉o̢͏̡n͜ ̛͘͢͢͝ò̵f̸̷͟͠ ̴̴̛͠y̷̛͢o̢҉͘ứ͢͡r̷ ̡̕͢f͘͢u̸̷̷͠t̵̷̷͢u̧r̵̢͘͟҉e̷̛̕,̕͝͡ ̸̸̨͟͢a̶̢̛ ̨̕͠͞p̀́͝ŕ̴̨͝e̷̵̡̨͟m̕͜o͘͜n̶̢͟͏i̷͜͏t̶͜i͏͠ơ͢n̴̴͝͠ ͝͝͡҉͠o̢͜f̴̶ ͟҉̢̀͠ỳ̡̨o҉̶͏̴u̵͘ŗ́͟͠ ̨̀́͜d̵̀e̴̛͢͏ą͜͜t̶́h̢͝͞,̛́ ́̀̀́͜b̨̕҉̕u̢̨͟t̸͢ ̸̀ą̕s̡̕ ̵̀̀Į͏͟ ̵̡̀h̶͟a̴̴̢̛̛v̵́̕͟͝ę͏ ̴̢͞l̀͘ę͢a̴̧͘͏̧r̴̡̛͟͠n̷̡͜e̡͞ḑ̸,̶̛̕ ̵͏a̵͜ń̶̨͜͠d̶̡ ҉̴́͘͜ẃ̶̶̵̷h̀̀à̕҉t̸̴̨͘͝ ̴̵́̕͜ý̷̨̕͝o̶̷̶̢u͏̶̸ ̧͘͢͡ẃ͘͜i̢̧ĺ̛̛͡͠l̶̷̡̛ ̨̡s̵̨o͘͢ò̢̡n̵̷̕͟ ̸̴͡҉̛l̷͝è̷̷̡͝a̶̛͢͜r̀͡n̵͟͜͜,̶͏ ̷͞i̵̷s̴̸̡ ̀͘͝t́͠͠h̸̷̨á̵t̨͜͠͠ ̴̡d̷̶̕͡e̷̴͞͠a̶̛͜͠t͏̴h͜͏̸͠ ̵̶̨͢i҉͏s͏̶͏̵ ͡n̛̕͞҉o̴̴͡͏̢t̶̢͘͡͠ ̷̷̷̧a͘ń͏̧̡ ҉̡e̸̴͢͡͞ǹ̶̷̀̕d̷̀͢͡.͘͠͠͡ ̵͝͞
҉̵̴̛̀
̕͘͢Í͠t̷̛ ͢͏̴į͜͡͝s̷̢͜͝͝ ̸̶̕͝o̵͡ń̴̢͠l͜͟y̷͟͢͢ ̸̧a̢̛͝ ̛͢͟b͏̡́͞e̡̕͘g͘͟͏i̧ǹ̸̛̕͢n̡͘͘͜͝i҉̶̀͠n̵̷̢̧̧g͢͝҉,̷͟ ̴̧̛͘͘à̴ ̡͢g̴̸̸̀͟a͘҉t̡̨̡͏͠e̶̶͞͝w̷̡ą̷̴͟͠y̡̢ ̵̵͢͜t͏̢̀̀͢o̶̷̕͟͞ ̨͢͜͢͞a̷͟ ̀͞҉ĺ̵̶́a̢͞r̢̀͡ģ̡̛è̴͏́ŕ̨̡͢ ͏̶́r̶̛e̶͏a̡̡͠l͟҉̀͘ḿ͘͟͢ ̢͟͟o͠͏̡͝͏f̴͜͢ ҉̷́͜t҉̷̡́͡h̀҉̸͜e̷̷̢̕͡ ͠҉̡F̨̛̛̀͞ơ͟͏r̨̀c̵̨͟͞è̕͘͞,̢̧͠ ́͘͞ą̨͏n̷͘͘͟͢d̨͏́ ̴̷̷͠l̴̕i͠͏̷̕ḱ̡̨e̵̷̶ ̶̸͡K̴̢͜҉r̷̸͟҉a̧͢͝͠y̷̡t̷̴͡͞ ̴̴̧̧̨b̶̧̧ȩ̷͘f̀́͡҉͡ó̸̵̧r̨̧e̴͜ ̢͠u̡̡͞͡s̶̵̛̕ ̢͜y̴̛̕͡o̶̡͜͜u̧͞͞ ̧̨ẃ̛͘͘i̴̴͟l̶͏ĺ̨͏ ̶̧̛́͝b҉̡è̵͜͝͝ ̴̡̧̨̛b͏̡̕͝ą͞t̛͜͢͡͞h̛ȩ̨̢d́́͏ ́̕͘͡͞i̡͏̴̢n̕ ̵̀̕͟҉t̡͢͜h̸̸͜e̶̵͢ ̷̸҉͏b̷̨̧͘͡l̸̵̴͝҉o҉̀ó̡̀͝d̨͢͟͡ ̶̡o̸̵͡f́͡ ̸̡̛͜y̨̧͟ǫ̸̛͟͠u̧҉͞͠r̷̴̕͠ ̨̀͠͡o̸̢w̛ņ̸̢͞ ̴͏̵d̶͢͜ȩ͜͡m̶̡̕͜i̶̢͘҉͞s̵̀҉̨e͝҉̶̡,̷̨́͝ ̨̢a̕͞n̴ḑ̛̀͡ ̧҉̴̴͢ŗi̴̢̢͘s̀͟͢͞͝é̛͏ ̶́̀̀̕a̸̕g̀͏̡ą̶͠ìn̶̕ ͘s҉҉t̛͘͡r̶̸͢ó̡́̕n̸̢͝҉ģ̴̀͢ȩ̶̸̷r̸͡ ̸̴͠t̵̸̨͡͠h͠҉͏a̵͢҉̸͏n͟҉ ́͟҉҉ȩ̵v̧̀́͘è̶̶̸͞r͡.̴̧͜͝
̢̕͝
̡̀Ý̀͘͘͞o̡͘ų̸̴͢҉ ͏҉́s̵̷̨͜͟h͏̸̀à̕͝l̕͞͞l̀͞͝ ̴̡b̴̀͢͡͝e̷̸͏ ͟͏͞a̷͘͢ ̢͢ç̶̛͟ḩ̨a̷̛͟͟m̢̧p̛͢į̵o̧͠n҉̧̨̕͘ ͠o͢͟͜f̧̛ ̷͜t҉̸̀͠h͏̶̨̀҉e̵̢ ̛̀͘͢͡D̢̨̛͘a̷͜r̨҉̶̛͡ķ̨͢͝ ̶͞҉͏͟S̡҉į͝d̷̴̛͢͝è͡,̸͢ ̴͘͜a̶͞͏ ̷̢ć̷̸̡͘ḩ̸a̶͘͡m͏͡͏p̛͞҉҉i͟o͏͢ń̶̕ ̶͜͡͞o̴̧f̵̷̵͝͏ ҉̴͝m̷̷͜ý̧͠ ̴̛̕w̵̴͡͠i̷͡͞l̡͝l̵̵̨̧͞.̴́͜

The voice that echoed through the Force was only heard by the Sith Lord Vornskr, while Isolda could only hear small snippets of His voice despite her deep connection with him as the Dark Lord's Eye. Still, the Dark Lord's will was given onto his servant, and as quickly as it came his presence faded away from the Epicanthix's soul, but the physical evidence of his intervention were apparent, and manifested as blood leaking from Kaine's eyes. Obviously shaken by what he had heard, Vornskr would not rise from his kneeling position, and his grip would now be desperately firm, trapping Isolda's own hand within his own.

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

Blood would carve crimson trails upon [member="Darth Vornskr"] 's face, matching the blood that would drip and trail down Isolda's alabaster arm.

Much like one in the throes of ecstasy, it was not quite done yet. Words came to mind. A vague medley of images and constructs without context. Words that could be for anyone, but perhaps, would strike a cord.

“͏Pa̡sţ.͜ P̶r̛e̶se̛n̶t.͘ F͝u͏ture҉.͘”̕ she would tell him, her voice a poly-phonetic thrum of whispers. “̧De̴stín̷y̧.͞ F̧a̸te̶.́”

Lashes would lower a bit under the think slash of her eyebrows, studying the man in the throes of power cast down by the Dark Lord. His vision, his purpose.

Isolda’s pitch black gaze went swiveling upon the Tyrant King, her eyes narrowing slightly as the mental all seeing eye that churned with the prophetic Dark Side of the Force narrowing upon the aura.

"A Champi͜o͟n o͢f͝ ̡His͞ Wi͡l̨l. ̴A ch̨am̡pion of ̴t͏h̡e ́D҉ark͏s͡ide̢.” she would continue. Coils of dark energy would be writhing and coiling about Darth Isolda like sharp thorns, her aura a glowing crimson reminiscent of Corseca gems, shifting shadows dancing an an almost tangible cloud upon the Bogan Seer.

“Y̴o̕ur͝ f͟u͡t͠ure͏.̨ Èndl̢e̢s͘s p͜o̢s͟síbil̢i͜t͠ie͡s̨.̢”͡ her eyes would widen. “̕Lífe. ̧De͢ath̢. ͡A͘nd ̨be̢yo̸nd͟.̨”̸

“I̵n͏ d̨e͢st̨ruct̶io̢n,̕ òne͏ ͢s̨ee’s͠ ̢r̕ęb͢irt̛h̶. ̡Purp̴o͠s̡e͢. ̵“ ̢the edge of her crimson mouth would perk. Yes. In death would come new life. The aura for one such as herself, gifted with Force Sight, would be almost blinding, enough for the Eye of the Dark Lord to give a mental wince. None the less, within that pain of the sting came strength in the Force, for prophecy had held true to her vision.

"In deat͠h ỳoù ͡w̢il̨l͏ r͘eac̨h̀ n͘ew͠ ̸g͞lo͝r͜y,͞ ̶my G̢o͡d-͏Kin̵g."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Yes... I can see it now. I can see the future of this galaxy, a galaxy ruled by the Sith... His Sith! I have seen mountains of skulls and river of blood, and wave of flame smothering all to ash, and only those with the conviction able to stand before it's hellish gale and survive unscathed." The Sith Lord's eyes rolled back, revealing only stark white as he became enthralled by the blissful agony that coursed through his being, the truths of the Dark Lord causing his body to writhe and shudder as Isolda's touch kissed bloody rends in his already scarred flesh. The darkness surrounded him, more potent than ever, and he was rendered absolutely speechless as the darkness caressed his soul, basking in the Dark Lord's shadows until it became unbearable. Then, as quickly as it came, the Dark Lord disappeared and the Epicanthix Sith Lord collapsed to the now blood-stained floor of the alcove, breathing heavily and on all fours.

He took a moment to compose himself, before gazing up towards the Eye of the Dark Lord; "I have truly been blessed, Isolda..."

[member="Darth Isolda"]