Dark Lord of Passion
Jutrand, The Vast Cityscape
Regardless of the time of day, or how bright it seemed, there always was a sort-of pallor over the capital world of the Sith Order. The Seat of Power for the Dead God himself,
Darth Empyrean
. It was a place of darkness where hope had been extinguished down to the last particle. The Sepulcre of Darkness. Here, the coldest form of the Dark Side made itself known, here, where there was no vibrance, no energy, no life, save for those pitiful souls that existed on the eternal world in servitude to a being beyond their comprehension, not even thoughts were safe. It was in this place, where joy seemed to be a myth, above an abandoned skyscraper at the edge of the imperial district, that the surface of a mirrored window rippled as if it were a pool of water that had been disturbed by a stone.
Lightning flashed, clouds had gathered, snaps and rumbling tremors of energy washed across the sky. It was something ordinary for the people of this world, a place suffused with the dark side. Yet what was strange was the nature of the lightning. Not the color they were used to. Instead, black bolts outlined by golden light crawled across the sky, dancing amongst the clouds with a strange sense of delight about them. The mirrored window rippled again. Something was coming. A presence poured out into the world, pure, both controlled and utterly unrestrained. A dichotomous mixture of chaos and order. It was as if both existed in the same place at the same time, eye-ripping madness and blood chilling sanity poured into the air and colored the glass and metalwork around it, veins of gold spreading out like an infection.
That was when the mist came, a billowing cloud that bubbled out of the rippling surface of the glass, coiling, swirling, writhing as it escaped and hurtled upwards towards the roof of the building, collecting as a singluar mass. It coiled, burned, bubbled and contorted as it slowly took on the shape of something vaguely humanoid. Tighter. Tighter. The mists coiled together until finally it took a step, fingers formed, a head of hair, robes of black red and gold, and molten golden eyes that burned like the depths of a star. Faintly tanned skin marked with blazing golden veins beneath the skin appeared as flesh on the body of the being that playacted as a person. A spirit honed and forged by the crucible of battle against a fellow monster. Where once had been a storm of unchecked emotion in his presence was now a condensed diamond of passion, pure, refined, crystal clear.
He had become mighty.
That monster, that thing, that person, Darth Nwul, Steward of the Dark Side, Lord of Passion, Prophet of the Golden Covenant, looked down at his fingers as they twitched, he cracked a wicked smile and glanced towards the imperial palace. "You called?" He spoke into the empty air, his playful smile widening with mischief as he let his presence ripple out from him. In contrast to the overwhelming bleakness of the world, the vacancy of life, the desolation of Darth Empyrean. Nwul was a blazing fire of life and vibrancy, energy and dynamism. Empyrean's polar opposite. Nwul tilted his head to the right, knowing full well that announcing himself in such a way was sure to at least annoy the walking corpse. That was fine. Whether someone was sent to retrieve him or if the man came out to see him, he wouldn't come crawling.
They were well past that.
Empyrean knew about his covenant between the Sith and the Imperials. Imperial Nobles were supporting the Empire directly, the Imperial-Sith Banking Clan had been brought to heel, soldiers were being trained and confidence was burning in the eyes of aristocrats that had begun to turn their nose up to Empyrean's hegemony. Right now, Nwul was useful, Empyrean might want him dead, but he doubted he could get away with it without setting himself back to an unacceptable degree. That would have to be good enough, after all, Nwul was powerful, but he was not ready to do battle with Empyrean, not by a long shot. Still. He had his own tricks up his sleeve. His smile widened like a cheshire cat's and his eyes glowed in the coming rainstorm. Life and Death were finally about to meet.
Regardless of the time of day, or how bright it seemed, there always was a sort-of pallor over the capital world of the Sith Order. The Seat of Power for the Dead God himself,
Darth Empyrean
. It was a place of darkness where hope had been extinguished down to the last particle. The Sepulcre of Darkness. Here, the coldest form of the Dark Side made itself known, here, where there was no vibrance, no energy, no life, save for those pitiful souls that existed on the eternal world in servitude to a being beyond their comprehension, not even thoughts were safe. It was in this place, where joy seemed to be a myth, above an abandoned skyscraper at the edge of the imperial district, that the surface of a mirrored window rippled as if it were a pool of water that had been disturbed by a stone.Lightning flashed, clouds had gathered, snaps and rumbling tremors of energy washed across the sky. It was something ordinary for the people of this world, a place suffused with the dark side. Yet what was strange was the nature of the lightning. Not the color they were used to. Instead, black bolts outlined by golden light crawled across the sky, dancing amongst the clouds with a strange sense of delight about them. The mirrored window rippled again. Something was coming. A presence poured out into the world, pure, both controlled and utterly unrestrained. A dichotomous mixture of chaos and order. It was as if both existed in the same place at the same time, eye-ripping madness and blood chilling sanity poured into the air and colored the glass and metalwork around it, veins of gold spreading out like an infection.
That was when the mist came, a billowing cloud that bubbled out of the rippling surface of the glass, coiling, swirling, writhing as it escaped and hurtled upwards towards the roof of the building, collecting as a singluar mass. It coiled, burned, bubbled and contorted as it slowly took on the shape of something vaguely humanoid. Tighter. Tighter. The mists coiled together until finally it took a step, fingers formed, a head of hair, robes of black red and gold, and molten golden eyes that burned like the depths of a star. Faintly tanned skin marked with blazing golden veins beneath the skin appeared as flesh on the body of the being that playacted as a person. A spirit honed and forged by the crucible of battle against a fellow monster. Where once had been a storm of unchecked emotion in his presence was now a condensed diamond of passion, pure, refined, crystal clear.
He had become mighty.
That monster, that thing, that person, Darth Nwul, Steward of the Dark Side, Lord of Passion, Prophet of the Golden Covenant, looked down at his fingers as they twitched, he cracked a wicked smile and glanced towards the imperial palace. "You called?" He spoke into the empty air, his playful smile widening with mischief as he let his presence ripple out from him. In contrast to the overwhelming bleakness of the world, the vacancy of life, the desolation of Darth Empyrean. Nwul was a blazing fire of life and vibrancy, energy and dynamism. Empyrean's polar opposite. Nwul tilted his head to the right, knowing full well that announcing himself in such a way was sure to at least annoy the walking corpse. That was fine. Whether someone was sent to retrieve him or if the man came out to see him, he wouldn't come crawling.
They were well past that.
Empyrean knew about his covenant between the Sith and the Imperials. Imperial Nobles were supporting the Empire directly, the Imperial-Sith Banking Clan had been brought to heel, soldiers were being trained and confidence was burning in the eyes of aristocrats that had begun to turn their nose up to Empyrean's hegemony. Right now, Nwul was useful, Empyrean might want him dead, but he doubted he could get away with it without setting himself back to an unacceptable degree. That would have to be good enough, after all, Nwul was powerful, but he was not ready to do battle with Empyrean, not by a long shot. Still. He had his own tricks up his sleeve. His smile widened like a cheshire cat's and his eyes glowed in the coming rainstorm. Life and Death were finally about to meet.
