Laira Darkhold
Well-Known Member
Byss
When the Yuuzhan Vong had rebuilt Byss, Orthus had wondered if there had been any reason for it. He had pondered if upon rebuilding it they would realize without what had made it special that it was nothing more than a rock. But the Force, it seemed, had other plans. The wellspring of life and energy had taken its time, but nonetheless transformed the paradise planet into a conduit of power once again.
Orthus stared blankly out of a penthouse window, the former Fortress World was without any government to fortify it, and so it was merely a paradise once more. Outside the faint blue-green light from the star bathed the planet in its aura, a subtle line of midnight blue steadily growing as the star sunk towards the horizon. The Sith Lord couldn't appreciate the island resort or the penthouse's view like his associates could, but he still had memories of it before he had sacrificed his senses for unnatural longevity. Part of him, deep within his mind, wished that he had not sacrificed those aspects, those things that he had since come to realize made life such a wonder. But it was not to be, he had been cursed to bear the yoke of responsibility. He had a duty to the galaxy that no matter what it cost him, it was his burden to bear. Always. The Sith sighed subtly, leaning back in the chair he had claimed.
Around him were only a small team of four Death Troopers, more here for show and to pilot his shuttle than as guards. As such he had deliberately ordered them to stand in non-threatening positions within the room behind him. Their purpose within the room was simply to show that Orthus maintained his own small paramilitary force, and wasn't some loner who required troops, technology, and everything else from his counterpart. That he did have something of his own. His counterpart was something of a mystery to him, though he'd heard some simple rumors. Enyo Typhos, some form of Dark Jedi who had gained significant power even before the collapse of the One Sith Empire several years ago. The Dark Master pondered whether she would appreciate his former allegiance or not. Doubtful, she would likely appreciate him as a survivor more so than she would as a holdover from a fallen regime.
"Centurion," The Sith Lord turned his hand outward, clutching a small, now empty tumbler. A Death Trooper retrieved the glass in silence and swiftly refreshed it with, pouring what appeared to be water, a dark liquor, and a tonic with a citris peel and ice cube. The trooper returned the now full glass to the outstretched hand in silence. "Thank you." The metallic voice responded, sipping the liquid and letting it wash over his tongue. It had a taste, Orthus could readily identify them, but he had little appreciation for it. A shame, only truly great years resonated with his heightened palate.
When the Yuuzhan Vong had rebuilt Byss, Orthus had wondered if there had been any reason for it. He had pondered if upon rebuilding it they would realize without what had made it special that it was nothing more than a rock. But the Force, it seemed, had other plans. The wellspring of life and energy had taken its time, but nonetheless transformed the paradise planet into a conduit of power once again.
Orthus stared blankly out of a penthouse window, the former Fortress World was without any government to fortify it, and so it was merely a paradise once more. Outside the faint blue-green light from the star bathed the planet in its aura, a subtle line of midnight blue steadily growing as the star sunk towards the horizon. The Sith Lord couldn't appreciate the island resort or the penthouse's view like his associates could, but he still had memories of it before he had sacrificed his senses for unnatural longevity. Part of him, deep within his mind, wished that he had not sacrificed those aspects, those things that he had since come to realize made life such a wonder. But it was not to be, he had been cursed to bear the yoke of responsibility. He had a duty to the galaxy that no matter what it cost him, it was his burden to bear. Always. The Sith sighed subtly, leaning back in the chair he had claimed.
Around him were only a small team of four Death Troopers, more here for show and to pilot his shuttle than as guards. As such he had deliberately ordered them to stand in non-threatening positions within the room behind him. Their purpose within the room was simply to show that Orthus maintained his own small paramilitary force, and wasn't some loner who required troops, technology, and everything else from his counterpart. That he did have something of his own. His counterpart was something of a mystery to him, though he'd heard some simple rumors. Enyo Typhos, some form of Dark Jedi who had gained significant power even before the collapse of the One Sith Empire several years ago. The Dark Master pondered whether she would appreciate his former allegiance or not. Doubtful, she would likely appreciate him as a survivor more so than she would as a holdover from a fallen regime.
"Centurion," The Sith Lord turned his hand outward, clutching a small, now empty tumbler. A Death Trooper retrieved the glass in silence and swiftly refreshed it with, pouring what appeared to be water, a dark liquor, and a tonic with a citris peel and ice cube. The trooper returned the now full glass to the outstretched hand in silence. "Thank you." The metallic voice responded, sipping the liquid and letting it wash over his tongue. It had a taste, Orthus could readily identify them, but he had little appreciation for it. A shame, only truly great years resonated with his heightened palate.