In Brightest Day

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-001 //
Body:

How many years have I wasted?

How much blood have I spilled?

And for what?

Those who walked this same path have inevitably come to the same conclusion - that sacrificing one's self for Mandalore is folly. That living in line with what the modern "Mandalorian" believed was a fruitless endeavor. If one walked this path and gave everything - sacrificing who they were really meant to be...they would either die in the process, or live long enough to see reality. And reality meant hatred. I did not understand, then, why my mentor burned Mandalore. I did not understand why a woman I looked up to aided him. And I did not understand why my brother, Ember, continued to stand with Mandalore...even after all of his children were ripped away.

And having tasted loss myself...the loss of myself...I find myself understanding.

The Path of today is broken. The people of today are lost. It does not matter what progress one manages to force down the gullet of Mandalore. It does not even matter who rules over the society; for it is infested. A cancer has spread and is choking the potential out of the culture. With every step forward, those cancerous souls drag the Mandalorians back. And I have grown weary of fighting against the same faces, the same names, and the same ideals. I have grown weary of being hated for that which I was born with. I have grown weary for being hated for trying to keep Mandalore together - for trying to abide by the ancient ways. I have grown weary of living for the sake of a cancerous mass.

And so, now, I will live for myself. And I will finish that glorious purpose that I surrendered in order to "appease" the Resol'nare.

Fennesa was the opening act.

When I was but an infant in the Force, I stood alongside the banner of the Sith Empire. I supported the rise of Emperor Ardik and took the offer of his Hand, Gregor. The Hand would come to be my master: the first instructor in the ways of Darkness. By proximity to him did I learn of the inner workings of Ardik's Empire. I learned of the efficiencies he brought to a nation wroughth with ambition run amuck. And, that same ambition shattered the Throne, I learned of a failsafe. A single, massive, vessel was loaded with every fabled object that wasn't nailed down. It left for a destination unknown; and for decades I had forgotten its existence. However. An operation within First Order space refreshed my memory.

Fennesa was unremarkable in every regard. The planet was uncivilized. Wild. A frontier for the most part. Yet here, a reminder of ages past waited at the top of a spire. It cast a shadow over the settlement below, inspiring terror in the souls of those residing there. They fled for fear of this unseen omen...but where they ran, I approached. Wreckage was all that I saw: as if a smaller vessel had plummeted from the skies. How and why this vessel arrived, I will never know - for the Black Box was lost to me. But what survived amidst the charred stone was a fragment. A single piece of something much greater. And with every step towards it, I could feel my mind assaulted. Even in this sordid state, the fragment was as mighty as a full-fledged Knight.

And it was trying to make me afraid.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-002 //
Body:

Recovery.

Removing the fragment from its sordid situation was a matter of ease. However, attempts at study quickly proved to be...tedious. In truth, I had underestimated the affects that long-term proximity would have on an individual. It pains to admit that even I was worn down by this piece alone and had to withdraw my personal efforts. For the record, long-term exposure resulted in...visions and an unshakable sense of paranoia. It was as if the fragment could reach into my mind and make the most horrid memories dance before my eyes. The one it chose, most frequently, was that day on Mandalore; when everything went to chit. It reminded me of just how delightful it felt to have magma eating one's flesh.

That said, I had to take a much more hands off approach in studying the fragment.

Fortunately, the Stargo Defense roots of my own corporation provided a passable means of accomplishing the task. I set up shop in a now-defunct foundry and brought new life to establishment. A handful of basic automatons were commissioned and set to work probing the fragment. I wanted to know...everything there was to know about this piece. I wanted to know, first and foremost, what it was. Then, how it worked - what made it tick...and most importantly, how to control it. Thus far, progress has been slow: but I can report that the automatons do not share in the same vulnerability as I. I can only imagine that three classifications of being would be effectively immune, then. The first being Droids, the second being the Force Dead, and the third being Epicanthix.

Marginal Note: Study Epicanthix biology.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-003 //
Body:

Hypothesis.

Subject has been dubbed "Seed of Fear" due to affects upon sentient and non-sentient beings alike. Unceasing study by the automatons has yielded some small modicum of success...but this step forward has only spawned a mountain of questions.

From the efforts of the automatons have I learned that this fragment...this Seed...is old. Ancient. In fact, it predates the Plague by several millennia. That, in turn, has formed the basis for this guess of mine. I reviewed the volumes of my collection and reflected upon Galactic History; and I have yet to discover a period where weapons - yes weapons - such as this were deployed. Dating foggy at best, but the automatons are absolutely certain that this fragment originated from before the Old Republic era. Origins...are unclear, but I can only assume that this weapon was devised in the Sith heartland. Most likely as a tool to subjugate native, proximate species. Perhaps a spear for a fledgling Empire's expansion?

In any case, the dating has made moving forward a touch more direct. My assumption is that this was created by a Sorcerer. An Alchemist, just like myself. As such, I will test the Seed - first to cement my assumption as fact, and to further identify its finite limits. If all goes well, I may be able to discover the means by which the Seed was created. I may be able to replicate the process by my own hand.

Personal Note: I have not been this excited in a long time. It brings back memories of studying under Rave, attempting to push Alchemy to its very limits. She taught me well - and I am grateful that she took me under her wing.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-004 //
Body:

Testing.

I never thought the day would come that I was grateful to have one of those blasted lizards on hand. For years, I have entertained the notion of crafting some means of nullifying the nullifiers; but to no avail. Even employing my mentor's proprietary techniques upon the flesh of a Ysalamir produced nothing. Angst-driven digression aside, the Seed of Fear was tested by putting in proximity to a Ysalamir. As I had anticipated, and had felt thus far, the affects of the Seed are indeed Force-driven. For, once the Ysalamir was introduced to the Seed, its affect was muted completely.

Ah, once again the majesty of Alchemy is thwarted by a lizard that can't even live away from a stick. Joy.

As the origins are indeed alchemical, as confirmed by the Ysalamir, it would appear as though hands on testing will need to commence again. I have a single, novel idea on how to proceed that does not involve my direct interaction with the Seed. Of course, if it becomes necessary to do so, I will gladly enter the laboratory once more. However, I am aware of a species with a natural affinity for Psychometry. It will take some doing, especially since the Galaxy-wide regard of slavery these days, but I do believe I may be able to acquire a few specimens of this race. If so, I can attempt to see if their interacting with the Seed will result in any glimpses into its origins.

Maybe we will discover its maker, its original purpose, or its truest form.

To Hutt Space we go.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-005 //
Body:

Personal Note: Right off the bat, Nar Shaddaa has this uncanny means of making you feel...dirty.

Sometimes, it doesn't pay to be hands-off.

Initially, I had tasked a number of those under my payroll to handle the deed. A handful with a desire for an extra paycheck volunteered for the project: to journey to darkest pits of Nar Shaddaa. Some were more successful than others; using that organ between their ears to avoid a bad deal. Others...returned with blue-skinned xenos with tattoos painted on their faces. No matter. At the end of the day, I had to personally dive into the wretched hive myself. It took a few days to accomplish, and getting my hands dirtier than I had liked, but the specimens were secured. Kiffar. Their age, sex, and identities didn't matter - for they were getting the deal of a lifetime. Face the Seed, report what glimpses they saw, and taste freedom.

Although...madness seldom affords true freedom.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-006 //
Body:

I started with the elders first.

I figured that those who had tasted the most life would have...valuable experience. Talent. I figured that they might endure the longest in the face of the Seed. And, if I was incorrect in this hypothesis...they had already lived quite some time. At least the closing chapters of their lives would be spent free; although...plagued. The results were much more fruitful than I had anticipated. I bridged the gap between our minds, allowing those precious nuggets of information to play before my eyes. And then, they were made to grip the Seed of Fear. I felt their terror...I saw their fear. They were afraid of one thing now: Death. And only death. They had starved. They had been beaten. They had watched happiness be torn from them.

And yet they feared the final release.

I...Pitied them. But nonetheless, I pushed them forward. I grabbed their minds and shoved them past the terror of the Unknown. And then...I saw it. It was as if I were skimming mere sentences within an endless tome: but the knowledge was there. It baited me. It danced before me, just out of reach. I saw...Ambition. Intent. Targets. But I did not see the How.

The elders were useful. Their skill was a direct product of their age...but, their stamina left much to be desired. The more I pushed, the more they fell. One by one, like little flies torched by the flames. Either taken by madness or weakness of heart, the elders were no more. It was a pity, truly, but at least they died outside a cage covered in dung. At least they died seeing something other than the rolls of a Hutt. I gave them a merciful end. I gave them a greater purpose. And now, the time for their sons had come.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-007 //
Body:

Yes.

Yes.

YES.

The Sons were a fruitful gamble. Their youth afforded them the strength to go on; and their anger...their anger allowed me to see all the more. Yes, the past opened up before our eyes...I saw it. The ravings of a man torn by anger. Grief. Sorrow. Vengeance was his motivation and Alchemy was the Tool. He wanted them to feel as he did. He wanted them to know the terror...of not knowing if the maws of death would consume him. He wanted them to know the paranoia of looking at the heavens and not knowing if oblivion stared back. Yes...This man was one torn, molded, and shattered by war. This man was a Sith born of pain and motivated by Hatred. This man...created Fear itself.

The Seed was indeed apart of something greater. The beating heart of three. The Core component of a weapon poised to spread terror about the stars. He named them thus: Phobis. Yet, before he could witness the fruits of his labors...a crimson saber found its way through his chest. His creations were splattered with their master's blood before an Emperor took these tools into his court. The rest was...foggy. Hazy. Whispers of mean called Masters of Dread...Echoes of their agony as they attempted to brush their minds against the Devices. But that mattered not, for I had seen all that I needed to see. The sons of the elders had proven themselves quite useful indeed. I would keep some, for their services. Those who did not fall into terror-stricken madness.

But the others? The children? Their time did not come. Those were permitted to go free, for I am a man of my word. To where? I did not know, that task was left to those who still wanted extra credits.

And now, the work began.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-008 //
Body:

The toil was the furthest thing from easy.

The challenge of discovering the Maker's footsteps was elementary compared to what followed.

The Core had to be repaired. Reborn. Reforged. And that meant staring in the mirror every step of the way. That meant tasting my own horror until one of two paths was taken. Either I would break and the work would be left unfinished. Or. I would trascend Fear. No. I would embody it. In order to successfully create this monstrosity, I had to allow the word Dread and Metus to become one and the same. That...entailed many things. The work of my hands was...routine. Decades of toil had allowed the forging and imbuing process to be second nature. But. As the pieces began to fall into place, my mind found itself under assault. The personal bastion I had erected over my lifetime found itself cracking.

And with every step forward, I was made to face myself. I was made to face what I was terrified of.

I burned so many times. I felt the slow, yet persistent, agony of my body being consumed by fire. It was the most fresh Hell in my mind; one that even death did not free me from. Yet it did not break me. That manifestation was but a test: an appetizer at the table of Terror. The Core showed me many things. It showed me what I had lost...and what I had come to love. My children, turning their backs against me. The Mandalorians continuing to hate my efforts; so much so that my House and kin were burned from the Galaxy. That the enemies of my youth returned to finish what they had started. All of these things and more played before my mind's eyes. Yet none of them...none of these things shook me more than the final test.

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-009 //
Body:

I wanted it to stop. ​

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I wanted the vision to just leave me alone. ​

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I...I had buried this so deep...​

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The skies were as crimson and the rain was as blood. ​

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And they were before me. The souls. The lost and languished souls. ​

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The Wastes surrounded us. The Blood soaked me to the bone. And before me, they stood.​

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My children. All of them. Yet...gone was the light of their eyes. Gone was their heritage: the stares I had grown to love.​

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No, in their place was Darkness. In their place was Sulphur. ​

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Crimson burned in their hands: sabers drawn to smite the Father. Progeny turned rabid at the smell of power. ​

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And here, among the Wastes, I had no power. ​

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My age...worked against me. My bones were weak. My body frail. Yet they were in their prime. ​

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I could not fight. I could not claw myself from Death's jaws again. ​

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I could not bear not smite them...I was too weak. I was powerless. ​

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And then, they turned their backs. The wounds were deep, the pain immense. ​

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And here, among the Blood soaked lands of Nether did I lay dying. ​

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I...​

 

[Malok]

Personal Log
Entry: // 849-0630-010 //
Body:

I...I was afraid of failing them. ​

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I was afraid that my sins would cause them to Fall.​

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And as I laid among the Blood...A calm fell over my heart. A cold to contrast the wounds upon my flesh.​

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I...I accepted it. I could not stop this from happening. I would not stop this from happening. ​

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Because this was it. This was what I was afraid of. This is what held me back. ​

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I...I was no Darth Carnifex. I was no Darth Moridin. I was no legend of the Dark Side. ​

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But I could be. I could be if I stopped holding myself back. I could be if I stopped allowing the ties of kin to shackle me to weakness.​

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Because they were my weakness. My ambition always fell short because what was right for them came first. ​

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I was a shoddy Father...and an even Shoddier Sith. ​

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But. As I closed my eyes and breathed my last...I accepted the failure of my being. I accepted the Fear.​

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And I understood it. ​

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For the first time, it was not Defiance that burned with me. It was not a youthful tantrum against the Reality of things. No. ​

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It was all that I could be. That Legend that had remained to be written. I had a chance...an opportunity.​

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I rose from the Blood. ​

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I opened my eyes. ​

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And the Fear? That paralyzing terror? It was gone. ​

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Metus.​

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Dread. ​

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There was no difference. ​