The Devil | Kavar Lok Kas'Oni
Imperial Palace of Bastion - Fortress Carnifex
The fixtures in the hallways of Fortress Carnifex were unusually migraine-inducing this day. Bright fluorescent bulbs of wiring and glass that dug into Abaddon's optic nerves like sharp pins no matter where he looked. It was infuriating and exhausting, to say the least, and sped up his already speedy retreat to his personal Science Wing where he intended to rest, research, and review his plans in relative silence. The initial development of the Consortium was in full swing. Deals were being made, armors and weapons were being developed and purchased, ships were being constructed in various yards across the Empire's territories, and planets were being marked for colonization or conquering.
It was all well and good, save for one unsightly factor, that factor being the inexplicable mental strain the vaunted leader of this organization was suffering on a daily basis. For three times a day for the past few weeks, one of two things would commonly occur:
He thought, embarrassed and humiliated, on how this affliction had just occurred in front of several of his peers, not a half-hour prior as he attempted to mend his lack of proper Sith-Imperial social skills by speaking on current affairs either benefiting or plaguing the Empire. This humble attempt failed horribly five minutes into the conversation and Abaddon, the feared Firelord who had only once tasted true defeat, fell to his knees in agony, hollering about the flame of a war machine bearing down upon his flesh and of an army of mechanical beasts marching towards his home and his people.
And then he had risen to his feet just as quickly as he had fallen and retreated like a womp rat in the desert, scampering away in fear and shame.
He thought on this humiliation as he walked towards the massive doors of the Science Wing, his golden eyes fixed on the Sith iconography etched into the stone by hammer and chisel on the orders of Carnifex. A way to mark this as, ultimately, a Sith's domain. It humored Abaddon in a way, to think that the Sith controlled even the science of the Galaxy, a superfluous "feth you" to those who did not possess the eldritch mindset of those empowered by the Force. But what it ultimately meant, and most importantly meant to Abaddon, was that none could enter these grounds save for his fellow Sith, who he was now certain would openly choose to avoid him, and those he had under his employ in the Corps of Engineers and Bureau of Science. It was a comforting benefit, he decided, as he pushed open the heavy doors, ignoring the subtle pressure in his ears as the stone slabs groaned against the floor.
The front lobby of the Science Wing was rather bland in comparison to the rest of the facilities, being comprised of an admittance table, several doorways leading to further rooms, and a set of curved staircases up to the second-floor data-storage. It was there that he would hide initially, hoping to find some unfinished project to work on as he waited out the whispers and the chortling and the rumors and the jokes. Unfortunately, and ironically given the location, for him, Abaddon would find that the solitude he so desired was not so easily obtained.
Hailyn
The fixtures in the hallways of Fortress Carnifex were unusually migraine-inducing this day. Bright fluorescent bulbs of wiring and glass that dug into Abaddon's optic nerves like sharp pins no matter where he looked. It was infuriating and exhausting, to say the least, and sped up his already speedy retreat to his personal Science Wing where he intended to rest, research, and review his plans in relative silence. The initial development of the Consortium was in full swing. Deals were being made, armors and weapons were being developed and purchased, ships were being constructed in various yards across the Empire's territories, and planets were being marked for colonization or conquering.
It was all well and good, save for one unsightly factor, that factor being the inexplicable mental strain the vaunted leader of this organization was suffering on a daily basis. For three times a day for the past few weeks, one of two things would commonly occur:
- The Devil Lion of the Empire would fall to his knees like a blubbering child who had just had his toy stolen, spewing nonsense about the creature in his head and slamming his face onto whatever hard surface he could find several times in a row.
- Or, the Devil Lion of the Empire would go limp for twelve seconds before standing straight and speak as if he were not himself. This itself would last roughly one minute before the Sith Lord returned to normal.
He thought, embarrassed and humiliated, on how this affliction had just occurred in front of several of his peers, not a half-hour prior as he attempted to mend his lack of proper Sith-Imperial social skills by speaking on current affairs either benefiting or plaguing the Empire. This humble attempt failed horribly five minutes into the conversation and Abaddon, the feared Firelord who had only once tasted true defeat, fell to his knees in agony, hollering about the flame of a war machine bearing down upon his flesh and of an army of mechanical beasts marching towards his home and his people.
And then he had risen to his feet just as quickly as he had fallen and retreated like a womp rat in the desert, scampering away in fear and shame.
He thought on this humiliation as he walked towards the massive doors of the Science Wing, his golden eyes fixed on the Sith iconography etched into the stone by hammer and chisel on the orders of Carnifex. A way to mark this as, ultimately, a Sith's domain. It humored Abaddon in a way, to think that the Sith controlled even the science of the Galaxy, a superfluous "feth you" to those who did not possess the eldritch mindset of those empowered by the Force. But what it ultimately meant, and most importantly meant to Abaddon, was that none could enter these grounds save for his fellow Sith, who he was now certain would openly choose to avoid him, and those he had under his employ in the Corps of Engineers and Bureau of Science. It was a comforting benefit, he decided, as he pushed open the heavy doors, ignoring the subtle pressure in his ears as the stone slabs groaned against the floor.
The front lobby of the Science Wing was rather bland in comparison to the rest of the facilities, being comprised of an admittance table, several doorways leading to further rooms, and a set of curved staircases up to the second-floor data-storage. It was there that he would hide initially, hoping to find some unfinished project to work on as he waited out the whispers and the chortling and the rumors and the jokes. Unfortunately, and ironically given the location, for him, Abaddon would find that the solitude he so desired was not so easily obtained.
Hailyn