Private Laying the Foundation

[Primarion Hiperius]

P R I M A R I O N _ H I P E R I U S
I M P E R A T O R ​

Objective: Establish relations & build a fortress
Tags: Darth Caedes
Forces: None Present

"Strength does not come from passion or emotions, it comes from purpose. Without purpose we are just puppets in someone else's play."
​

His step was an approaching thunderstorm, every clank of hitting the floor echoed far and wide of his heavy auraplast sabatons. The red cape hung from below his shoulder plates, occasionally touching the floor with its perfect and clean red edge, framed with fine golden stitchings. His plate was polished and perfect, gilded metal as durable as it would come and made to withstand the armageddon which were the frontlines of war, bright and strong. His helmet hung loosely at his belt, revealing the stern and scarred face with eyes which, despite his young age, stared down onto millennia, the clarity and enlightenment with which he viewed the Galaxy burdening his young soul but making it shine as bright as the heart of a star. In his left hand he carried his weapon, horizontally, not in a ready position for it was not needed. He was not here to fight. He was not expecting a fight. He would not need to fight.

Primarion walked through the halls of the newly proclaimed King of Korriban. A new domain, apparently rich with artifacts and antiquity as well as dated beliefs and dated powers. The Sith had been masters of this world for millennia unless they weren't. It was their home so to speak. A relic of a bygone time, frozen bowl of razed monuments, deep mystical tombs and forgotten cruelty. He did not care. He knew and that was all there was about it. To establish a presence on Korriban was as vital to the Grand Legion as it was to do so on Dromund Kaas. Not because they needed it, but because the Sith desired it.

He did not know this man, or being, Darth Caedes , except that it was another carrier of a title which meant little in times when anyone could claim it. Probably one of the few things Primarion and the Sith truly shared. They respected strength. Well. he acknowledged it. Not so much of a similarity there afterall then. But he did not come here to cross blades with them or to challenge them. He wouldn't have arrived alone in a gunship then. The Invictus was above the planet but it was not here to devastate the surface, but to start the same effort as they had started on Dromund Kaas. Building a fortress. They were good at it.

And so he approached the room of the audience with the soon-to-be King of Korriban.

​

 

[Darth Caedes]

​

<< In the shadows of ambition, the Sith find strength and frailty intertwined. Avarice and the pursuit of personal power blind us to the untold potential of unity and alliance. Our true might lies not solely in the darkness of our hearts, but in the unity of our purpose, for in alliance, the Sith Order shall ascend, its power limitless and its dominion unassailable. To forsake the self for the sake of the Sith is the path to ultimate supremacy. Only then shall we embrace the true power of the dark side and cast aside the shackles of our own desires. >>​

— Darth Caedes, ruminations...​

• Korriban
• New Vardin
• The Ebon Sovereigns Perch
• Tags— Primarion Hiperius

Darth Caedes stared down at his curling fingers and wondered if he'd made the right decision in allowing Hiperius' Legion to arrive upon Korriban. Around him, the cavernous chamber of the Ebon Sovereigns Perch opened like the maw of some primordial beast. Thirteen thrones formed a semi-circle upon the Court's floor, each 'perch' uniquely designed to their previous Lord's specifications. Some of them lay broken or burnt, their charred remains yet littering an otherwise pristine, obsidian stone floor. Only two were occupied.

Behind the thrones, in the place where a rear wall might have been, a knife-like balcony jutted out over open air, like a bridge with no destination, hanging hundreds of meters over Korriban's perilous desert. Far off in the distance, backlit presently by Horuset's crimson setting rays, lay the opening to the Valley of the Dark Lords.

At the display's center, elevated upon its own platform, a throne more massive and more impressive than the other twelve held a curious figure. Lounging on the chair's right arm rather than the seat itself, one arm slung up and wrapped 'round the throne's top edge, he stretched his legs to hang wherever they felt most comfortable. Absently, Darth Caedes, could hear the thundering steps of Primarion as he approached, though instead of righting himself and preparing for an audience, the hyper-focused Sith felt himself become transfixed by the smooth and beautiful texture of his own hands.

Across from Caedes, seated motionless in the throne farthest from him, a rigid Jen'koshû constituted Vardin's first Council Shadow. Soon, the great Lords of Korriban would rise again to fill these ancient halls. He closed his hand tight into a fist.

​

Pupils rapidly condensing, the Sith Heir shifted to behold the incoming warrior. He looked to Caedes like some kind of brutish Sithspawn beast of war. A monster of brutality, dead in the Force, though no less imposing for that weakness. Caedes grinned, exposing sharp teeth, then cocked his head to one side, orange glowing eyes scrutinizing Primarion with a cold reptilian gaze. Although in possession of seemingly smooth, tan, and normal human flesh, a bright light shone through from just beneath Caedes' skin, illuminating a youthful face in a pattern like snake scales.

Two Dread Lords, throne room guards to Vardin's Ebon Perch, stood at the room's entrance, flanking Primarion to either side, their Saraai Kaar longswords planted neatly into the stone underfoot. Below the tower, surrounding it and stretching into view from the Perch's open wall, tens of thousands of the Jen'ari Horde moved like so many insects across the desert floor.

Maintaining his informal posture, Darth Caedes gestured magnanimously to the hulking man, eyeing his weaponry and armor with an air of growing amusement.

"Primarion Hiperius," he announced brightly, flashing white fangs.​

"Welcome, at last, to Korriban."​

​

 

[Primarion Hiperius]

P R I M A R I O N _ H I P E R I U S
I M P E R A T O R ​

Objective: Establish relations & build a fortress
Tags: Darth Caedes
Forces: None Present

"Strength does not come from passion or emotions, it comes from purpose. Without purpose we are just puppets in someone else's play."
​

His eyes did not go anywhere near the guards or seats, he was not interested in it and not caring for them. They would probably be appalled by his mere presence, his void in the Force, and not bother him too much. Their master might expect them to guard and escort the man, but he could not care less. His eyes were set on the ... being at the end of the room. The self-proclaimed King of this frozen wasteland, this barren tombworld.

They called it their homeworld, their spiritual and mystical center, where they came from, the Sith. Its glory was lost to time and more crusades and extermination events than he could count or would want to care about. And he even doubted that it ever had glory. As far as his opinion was considered, which wasn't an opinion, but a fact, were that Sith are savage barbarians with little sense and reason. They were beasts in war and tyrants as rulers without the horizon to do anything beyond which was not for their very personal gain. Yet they were the steps to climbed, the stairs made of corpses he would use to throw down the Jedi and their corrupt lackeys.

He arrived in front of the royal corpse, his weapon shaft ringing the floor as he put it down on his extended arm.

"Your welcome is noted, Darth Caedes. I am here to discuss terms and opportunities for my Legion to build a stronghold on this world. In the sense of offering our presence as supporters as well as protecting the planet and system from outside invaders."

Primarion's voice was direct and simple, he did not harbor any second thoughts or hesitation. One would see his approach as somewhat arrogant, overconfident, but he did not seem to bear any pride in him, he simply was that way. His eyes would not move from the Force user he presented himself to, observing the mans motions and expressions. It was also visible from nearby how well refined and detailed the armour he was wearing actually was, a heavy golden piece of plate, fine engravings and ornaments spread all over it with small diamonds and gems even depicting scenes.

From nearby it was pretty. From nearby it was also clear, if his indifferent march didn't make it yet, that he was not afraid. Not bothered at all by what he was seeing or experiencing. He had a duty. He had a purpose.

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