Private Journey into Darkness...

[Xeev Deechi]

Garel.

A planet that was little more than an expanse of desolation. Flat, hollow plains of dust and ground. The world had been reduced to little more than strip-mine by the Draelvasier, those grotesque monsters that had filled the ranks of the Bryn'adûl. It had been a pleasant world, once, but not now, not since the corrupted touch of the world-devouring monsters. Their ghastly touch on the planet Garel had been its undoing, wrought to little more than a carcass to feed from, to fuel the rage and destruction and expansion of the monsters.

There had been others, different Draelvasier, those that could call upon a mysterious power. A Force. Those had been trained on the remains of Garel, also, where the monstrosities were tested and pushed to control and use the power. There were dark and sinister echoes across the world, remnants of memories of their corrupted applications, with the most fertile being in the north nearer a colossal mining facility.

There were also endless catacombs and cave systems, remainders of the mining efforts, where clusters of dark creatures existed. Insectoids. Covered in eyes, multiple limbs, and prone to swarming whatever dared to venture too close. Dangerous, especially with the poison they carried in long fangs, but it had been many moons since their kind had been seen openly.

Still, despite the hostility of the land and inhabitants, it had been a home.

But a home now lost.

Home no more.

A lone figure walked the wasteland, pale and gray as the very plains traversed. Movements labored, pale skin covered in spatters of crimson, dirtied white robes slathered with grime and dust. There seemed little purpose to the wandering, merely one foot before the other, as dirt and rock were disturbed with each footfall. Still, the lone figure couldn't deny the draw from the north, the dark and foreboding whispers that beckoned, the tendrils of shadow that reached out and scratched with lovingly subtle and enticing voices...

Those voices.

Come to us...

They were his family.

"I answer you," Muttered the figure, lips dry and split, voice a coarse whisper. "Soon."

One foot in front of the other, across the blistering sand, as a bright and unforgiving sun cast unrelenting heat on bald head and exposed skin. That same skin was burned, torn, bloody and raw. There was also a single item in hand, a long and rusted sword, clasped in the figure's limp right palm. The blade was notched, terribly, with barely any edge left. It was covered in foul-looking ichor, long since dry, but the aftermath of a battle not long past.

The voices continued to call, prompts in the mind, equally chilling and unnatural as familiar and loving...

"Soon."

Ahead, the dilapidated remains of the mystical Draelvasier grounds were visible, through the simmering mirage of sand and heat. Monoliths dark and dangerous, but the lone figure did not care, as he continued to stumble and step toward that which called him. He did not know what or why, only that the voices were soothing and familiar, enough to make him believe his family might be there, somehow, existing beyond the certainty of death that had claimed them.

Almost in response, the burns across the man's body ached.

Seared skin, white-hot flames and debris, more reminders of loss and longing.

Come to us...

Yellow eyes, bleary from the heat and moisture that rested on his eyelids, looked ahead. The pain abated, not gone, but was pushed aside and used to keep worn and blistered feet moving onward...

"Soon. I will reach you, soon."

 

[Xeev Deechi]

The monoliths erected by the Draelvasier had been grander in the lone figure's mind.

Up close, now, amid the patches of black grass and gnarled dead trees in a copse untouched by the world around, the structures were smaller. No less impressive, the power they emanated was undeniable, but certainly perverted by the teachings and lessons of the Bryn'adûl masters that had used it. Whatever power had been gathered to this place of training, it was obvious that it was sinister and menacing and wrong...

You are here...

But that mattered little, as the lone figure slumped to the ground on his knees. The worn sword dropped to his side. The voices were louder now, no longer whispers that had called and summoned him from across the galaxy, for this was the place. Whether it was his family who spoke, or not, the pale man couldn't say for certain; but he didn't need to know, there had been comfort in the calls, comfort in the familiarity, and it had been enough to assuage the loss for a time.

"I am," Sadness passed across the lone figure's face. "Though I wish not to be."

Do not worry, we are ready...

Surrounded by the oasis of black, dead things, the lone figure nodded. With careful movements, thin fingers reached within the matted robes and lovingly removed a bundle that had been held close to his body. The weight was minuscule, the cloth dark and wrapped, around what only he knew. There had been many days to ponder the reasoning for the voices to ask what they did of him, but in the turmoil of his despair and loss, there had been little reason to answer or rationalize.

It simply was.

And if this final act was all that his family sought, then he would obey.

"Is this what you truly want?" The lone figure said, as his lips grew taunt and he held back a shudder. "Here, forever?"

Yes, it is time...

Yellow eyes were sullen, understanding filled his mind, and the realization that this was what his family - their voices - wanted removed the final vestiges of doubt and hesitation from inaction. The bundle was placed onto the ground, before the lone figure that knelt on both knees, and slowly he began to unwrap the cloth. Each movement was precise, delivered with the care of a spouse, a father, as kindly as an embrace or kiss. A moment that took mere seconds, felt and stretched in the mind and heart for eternity, as the final wrappings were removed.

"Can you not stay with me?"

Not how you might wish...

"Is there no other way?"

We want this. You want this...

The lone figure looked down, beneath his shaking hands were his family, their ashes bound in the cloth. All that remained. Flashes passed through his mind, of a partner that didn't hide her smile despite the poorly life they shared, of a daughter that was wise beyond her years but always pitied her father a hug even though she was a mother herself, of a second daughter that had grown excitable with adventure and curiosity despite what small comforts loving parents could provide with what they had, and of grandchildren that had known little beyond love in a galaxy ravaged by war and battle and had not had the chance to become more.

"I do not want to let you go."

As we are, you must. You need this...

"Very well."

With a grimace, the lone figure plunged his fingers into the black dirt. He began to dig. Clumps of mass were removed, slithering and disquieting, as though the corruption beneath the dead things was alive. But they wanted this, his family, and there was no more hesitation. With a growl, his hands reached into the hole deeper and deeper, as it grew and grew like a maw that continued to expand filled with endless darkness despite the sun overhead.

You have done well... but it is time...

No words were spoken, none were needed, as the lone figure lifted the heaped ashes. He stared into the gray dust, the last of his small family, before he closed yellow eyes and tipped his palms forward. The weight lessened, what little there had been, and when the air touched his skin the lone figure knew his family were gone. Buried, now. Inside the dark soil, within the blackness that now consumed what they had been, as their voices began to drift and lessen and the presence that had comforted receded.

"I am... alone now."

The words were hollow in the dark place, final, as pale shaking hands pushed the dark dirt back into place. The hole was filled, mostly, save for the last few handfuls of soil that were held in hand. Fingers held tightly, as grains fell from between digits, and the emptiness began to resound like a drum, one that started deep down in the depths of the lone figure's fractured being, only to beat louder and louder...

No. Not alone.

The voice caused the pale man to start, as it sounded from his own mind. Almost deafening in the wake of the silence and dread of the dark place. Laughter echoed behind the words, the faded noise of his loved ones, before the voice - his own voice? - continued to speak, as the feeling inside the lone figure's head reminded him of fingers on the scalp. Massaging. Curling and twisting, pushing inward, writhing around his mind and deeper into his hearts, as the darkness spoke mutters.

One last thing remains... but you will not like it...

Perplexed, unsure if the voices had even truly been his family, the lone figure frowned. Had it been the dark place all along? Had it drawn him back to where the power within the pale man had first been brought out, all those years ago? Back when he had fought against the Bryn'adûl that had hunted his family, had pursued him in small but deadly numbers?

But did he even care?

There was strength here, he could feel it. It thrummed beneath his knees, from the dark place, from the depths below the dead things itself. It was ethereal, intangible, but undeniable and dominating. It felt like the power within the lone figure, but only... more. So much more. It was forceful, compelling, and it was a promise. One that filled the pale man with purpose, that which he needed to bring suffering and death to those that had taken his family from him, and in the end that was all he supposed was needed...

"What must I do?"

So consumed by the building darkness, the lone figure had never heard or felt the approach. On his knees, before the small burial mound, a blade of incredible sharpness pierced from the front of the man's chest. Yellow eyes opened, blinked in surprise and shock, before he looked down and saw two things; the first, the blade that had run him through, and the blood that flowed from his body down the length of it, and the shadow that loomed above him from behind of a hulking monster so familiar to him.

"I..."

The dark voice chuckled, as the depths reached up and consumed.

Yes. You must die...

 

[Xeev Deechi]

"..."

Absent of conscious thought, a pale hand instinctively reached for the notched and dull sword. Calloused fingers found the handle, which struggled to grasp, but finally found purchase. The lone figure groaned, a shudder of his entire body, as he dragged the weapon before him and struggled to breathe. It was too late, there was no strength in his arms to wield the sword, as he simply looked down at the rust-patched and damaged thing.

From behind, a slow laughter began to sound, from the mouth of a creature the pale man was familiar with.

"D...--raelvasier...."

Pain reverberated through his body, as the larger blade through his chest was pulled free. The pale man slumped forward more, no longer held in place by the object that had impaled him. The wound now flowed freely, blood escaped and covered his front, as it pooled before him at the burial mound. The dark soil pulled at the liquid with wanting, it was drawn in right before his yellow eyes, as eager as a sun consumed matter. But then the deep voice of the Draelvasier sounded, which ceased thought:

"Yes," It said simply, the laughter still on its lips. "Finally, after these years, I have ended you."

The pale man sagged forward, as he dropped the blade from his hands. It landed with a wet thump in the bloody soil.

"When you escaped this planet, when my people were finally pushed back by this pathetic galaxy," The Draelvasier continued, as the large alien began to slowly circle the dying man. It held a mighty sword in hand, sharp beyond words. "I, a dedicated and uncompromising member of my occult brethren, remained... I knew your connection to this place. I felt it, years ago. And I knew it would call you back."

The Draelvasier crouched, as its armored body creaked in protest. It loomed near the pale man's face, red eyes and teeth.

"I waited... for years... little else occupied my mind, after you killed my kind. Hunting you didn't work. But ambushing you?"

With a roar of elation, the Draelvasier threw its head back and stood, as it lifted the bloodied sword in hand high.

"That did. For here you are--"

The Draelvasier then fell deathly silent, as it looked down and said in a low, rumbling voice.

"--and here you shall die."

The pale man coughed up blood, as finality reached for him, as the blood from his body covered the sword before him. There was nothing to be done, too much injury, it was now just a sense of end that remained. Here, now, the pale man's story would conclude, as he was struck down by an enemy he had opposed in protection of his nomadic family for years. They had moved throughout the southeastern galaxy for what seemed a lifetime, unable to escape the Draelvasier - the Bryn'adûl - haunting creatures of destruction and despair... so, it only seemed right, the pale man supposed.

An irony.

Like so many in the galaxy.

Then, with nothing else to do, yellow eyes turned upward. The pale man watched. Before him, the Draelvasier hefted the silver blade, and brought it back for a mighty sweep. Then, a roar, as the monster swung--

Revenge.

Time slowed.

Pain.

Yellow eyes glazed over.

Suffering.

Pale fingertips brushed familiar metal, a familiar handle.

They were taken from you. Those responsible remain unpunished.

Power was in the blade, bathed in blood and darkness and the ashes of loved ones.

Use it, brandish what is offered, bring punishment onto their heads! ...or perish, unfulfilled and pathetic on your knees.

--and the Draelvasier's blade chopped down, where it was met with the pale man's blade. But that blade was no longer brittle, rusted. No, it was a thing of the darkest dark, an obsidian black, one that pulsed with the dark side and contained the power - rage, suffering, fear, loss, passion and vengeance - as it coiled and moved as though crafted from the very shadows of the dark place itself.

"No," Muttered the pale man, as he opened his yellow eyes and stared up at the Draelvasier. "No..."

The large creature roared, as it applied more physical force onto the large weapon in hand. The frail, pathetic thing on its knees had raised the black sword and had blocked the attack. Even bleeding out, the pale man had responded with strength to stop it. Now, both combatants were locked in a weapon bind, the Draelvasier hunched forward and strained, the pale man on his knees with one arm outstretched, coiling obsidian blade in hand.

"Die!" The Draelvasier shouted, as he pulled back to dislodge the blades, and immediately slashed down again with even more impactful force. "Die, you pathetic--"

But the words stopped. The Draelvasier blinked its small red eyes, shock and surprise on its face.

"H-how..."

Before the larger warrior, the pale man now stood. In that instant, the dark blade had been stabbed through the chest of the armored alien, like a knife into water, as the shadowy blade pierced with no resistance. The dark side of the Force flared, as shadows began to writhe and snake from the blade down the pale man's arm, before they coiled into the open wounds on his chest and back. The wounds began to seal, as the darkness pulled the essence from the Draelvasier, hollowed his very life force, and used it to heal the pale warrior.

Now you are reborn... now you know the start of your revenge... now you know the power of the dark side.

The split, pale lips parted into a smile. The pale man's teeth were stained with his blood, as he felt the mystical energy of the Force - the dark side - continued to draw every last drop of life from the other. In response, out of fear, the Draelvasier lashed out with that same power, that same Force, and tried to deliver a mighty push of telekinetic impact; but by that point, too much life force had been siphoned, as the pale man stumbled against the outburst, though the Draelvasier's effort was too late, too weak...

"It would seem," The pale man said in a low voice, as he stepped closer and slid the blade further into the others chest. "Your waiting, your ambush, were for naught. For you, at least."

With a broader smile, the pale man reached back his free hand and mimicked as the Draelvasier had, as a powerful telekinetic wave hit the armored alien and knocked him back across the dark place. The organic armor cracked against the impact of a dead tree, which splintered from the pressure, before the Draelvasier lay on the shadowy ground and heaved for life in vain.

"Wh--who are you?" The once-mighty creature gasped, dying. "What are you?"

The pale man walked across the distance, slowly, as he lowered the shadow blade to his side. The coiled darkness receded down his arm, back to the blade and handle, to rejoin the composition of the weapon itself. The wounds were scars, the blood now ceased from them, and it almost was as if the attack had never been. But, the pale man realized, a question had been asked of a dying foe...

"I am Venor. And I am a vow of revenge, on the ashes and blood of my family."

 

[Xeev Deechi]

The Draelvasier died with a wry chuckle, at the response or situation it was hard to know, followed by a final wheeze.

The pale man regarded the dead thing, yellow eyes uncaring, unaffected, as the death caused the power to radiate more so in the dark place. The feeling that passed through him was familiar, but different, as though the strength called on in the fight had been adjacent to his use of the power in the past.

Back then, in the years prior, the pale man had sought to protect and save, so the use had been more... noble perhaps, selfless for certain. There was an underlying menace present, however, a sickening feeling of corruption that blemished the power. Venor had felt it when the blade had drawn the very life from his enemy, when his dark blade had channeled that energy through it, and into himself. There had been a selfish want to both destroy his opponent and remain alive to seek out others to similarly kill.

The voice had called it the dark side.

Venor had been a simple man, one that had once been a slave, who had managed to flee his captors with his love. He had sought a home, which had been attacked some years later by the Bryn'adûl, and had started a seemingly endless struggle to establish a new place to call home for he and his family in the southeastern galaxy. That was when the first use of the power had happened, against the enemy that threatened him and his, and from where experience with the sword originated. But also during that time, the pale man had plied his skills. Laborer, maintenance worker, field harvester, anything that had provided for his dependents. It would be decades later that Venor was able to put that behind him.

So when it came to the mysterious power he now wielded, the finer intricacies were unknown to him beyond instinctual use, with only the name whispered in his mind.

"The dark side." The pale man repeated the words, focused on them, but couldn't associate beyond semantic satiation. There was no knowledge, formally anyway, that brought the specific into realization. "It matters little. So long as it works."

In fact, now that the danger had passed, the dark place had fallen silent.

Curious.

There was time to consider recent happenings, to which the pale man glanced down at the sword in his hand. Held in long, pale fingers, the weapon was raised and turned over, as yellow eyes scrutinized the thing. The blade was as it had been, notched and worn, but now covered in a shadowy ichor that writhed in subtle ways, like a sheen of oil over metal, but oil made of the darkest black. Then there was the point where Venor held the thing, where the shadow blade touched his hand, where the skin was stained... it was all very curious, perplexing even, and the pale man had no real answers.

"Speak to me," Venor called to the dark place, as he turned his yellow eyes outward and looked around him. "You whispered some of your secrets, why stop now? What more do you have to say in my ear?"

The copse of dead grass and trees made no sound, made no movement, save for the ashy dust kicked into the air with each step of the lone individual. It was almost disheartening, as the anguish of the losses began to flood back into Venor's mind, the faces of his family moved through his memory, and the horrific crash of the impossibly large starship that had flattened and charred and decimated their home. It was enough to make Venor grit his teeth and clench with all his might at the sword handle in his hand, almost enough to--

* Crack *

--from behind, a branch snapped. There was a flare of the dark side power, from within something that Venor felt, followed by a squeal. He turned, sword raised across his body for defense, but saw only a small land creature across the way; though, it had been impaled by a spike from the nearby shadows, and through those shadows the writhing ichor of the dark blade in Venor's hand could be traced.

"What...?" The pale man frowned, as he looked to the blade in hand then to the distant spike. There was a trail down Venor's leg, of the same shadowy substance, which touched the ground and snaked across to the creature. "How?"

With the intruder of the dark place dead, the writhing shadows began to slither back toward the sword. Across the ground, passing through shadows cast by the dead trees, back up the pale man's leg and torso, down his arm and back to the handle. It had felt like Venor had slashed with the weapon at that spot, as if he had struck the blow himself, and he soon realized that the shadowy tendril had been an extension of his will to attack - the sword, certainly not what it had been, now functioned wholly different from any typical blade, so bathed in the dark side and turned into...

"What? What have you become?"

Venor looked at the sword again, but it offered no answers, as the obsidian ichor merely rippled and writhed...

 

[Xeev Deechi]

It was night, when the dark whispers came again.

Yellow eyes opened, as the mind was caressed, and Venor stirred from the circle of dark ground he had used for a bed. Beside him was the small burial mound of his family, with the shadowy sword beside that, within arms reach. There was a moment of pause, the sensation was different this time, less obvious; where before it had been an echo of his loved ones, this was now more another feeling of being drawn and led, of mental tendrils that beckoned.

"Is this you?" The pale man slowly pushed to his feet, as he reached out a hand for the weapon, where it levitated up to his grasp. "Or something else? Another call through the darkness?"

It was difficult to say, especially when it came to the power known to him as the dark side, where guidance - or lures - were more intangible. Venor was uncertain who was using whom, but so long as the mystical abilities he needed were summoned when needed, he would follow whatever stipulation or underlying provision was necessary.

He needed the power.

He needed to fulfill his vow.

He needed the so-called dark side.

"Very well, I will follow," Muttered the pale man, as he took a moment to orient himself. He looked beyond the dark place, beyond the dead grass and trees, to the horizon beyond. "You have yet to lead me astray."

From his years spent on the planet Garel, the environment was simple to navigate, and before long Venor had a direction. He took several moments to say his farewells, even as his body cried for food and water, but that same pain fueled his resolve. He had discovered, over the last days, that the dark side could empower one with unnatural benefits, so long as the appropriate emotion was fed into it - that being anger, hate, pain and suffering for Venor, so far.

Each of those worked, but none so much as hate.

Though, given the pale man's current state, pain of body was a close second. The burns, the starvation, the dehydration, all served to keep his dust-covered feet moving. Foot before foot, an endless repetition that soon became little more than subconscious action; and in that time, while Venor walked without thinking, he began to ponder the future and how he might revenge on his enemies. It wouldn't do to simply kill wantonly, there had to be some sense, some goal and purpose. Individuals, leaders, places that were important, to the Brotherhood of the Maw and its allies.

"A crusade, then," Venor mumbled, as he regarded the sword in his hand. "Appropriate."

Yet, before any of that, first Venor had to prepare. He was hellbent on revenge, yes, but he was no fool. Now that he had some understanding of the power he could wield, it was necessary to seek out more, so that there would be none that could stop him. While the pale man couldn't know for certain, his life had been solitary with family and simple after all, he strongly believed there were others like him. The dark place, where the Draelvasier had trained, proved that much... though Venor could only hope the Maw weren't the only users of the dark side.

"Even if they are," Venor said to himself, as his yellow eyes regarded the flat terrain ahead. "I will not stop."

And true to his word, Venor did not stop. It took him another whole day to finally reach a community that had a landing bay, whereupon the pale man was quickly - and quietly - able to procure a vessel for himself, selected based on a lack of vessel complexity and having a sole owner. That individual was killed, though brought onboard, to avoid suspicion or discovery on Garel. It wasn't long after that, seated behind the controls of the small freighter, that Venor followed the whispers and guiding sensations in the mind.

They called him across the galaxy.

They called him to another planet.

A place called Jutrand, though a place Venor had never been.

So, with a newfound certainty in the dark side, Venor reached out and pulled the hyperspace lever, as stars elongated into lines and then the ship was cast into a swirling mass of ambient blue and white mottling. The trip would take several hours, which gave Venor time to search the rest of the ship for food and water, wherein he might finally even get some comfortable rest.

Events were moving quickly... and Venor wanted to be ready.

Continued...