Amos
The Feral
"Look at me. My flesh rots. My bones grind with every step. I am a corpse that walks. And still I hate. Still I fight. What is your excuse for weakness?”
-Darth Sion
-Darth Sion
Brosi - Jungles Outside New Shoengan
Madrona A’Mia
A rasped breath drew in the air of the jungle.
There was something cleansing within the warmth of it. A reminder of the home he had left. The forests of Kiffu had been different, but the memory stirred nonetheless as he stepped towards the outer walls of New Shoengan. He had crashed his shuttle several miles back, or rather, the man he'd kidnapped to pilot the shuttle for him had made his best attempt at rebellion. The short scuffle had damaged the console, and as useless as he was at flying Amos had not been able to salvage the situation.
So he was forced to make his pilgrimage.
Battered, bruised, the parasite beneath his flesh still squirming as he walked through the beauty of this world.
In truth, he did not know if all this would be folly, for naught, but there were few options left to him. Since his time within the Embrace of Pain things had only gotten worse. The Shapers works had wreaked havoc upon his body. Day by day it ate away at him, consuming, taking, replacing. He could feel the creatures strength, and what it gave him, but he could also feel it eat away at it's own. Eventually the Parasite would win.
He needed help. As much as any Sith hated to admit it. The Force had failed him, the darkside and his hatred managing only to strengthen himself, but never slow the creatures growth. The Yuuzhan Vong had done their wok to perfection, a millenia of experimentation drawing to the pinnacle of what now crawled beneath his flesh. Cutting it out hadn't worked. The touch of a Jedi had done nothing.
Amos needed another solution, and he had been told he would find it here.