Ragnarok Cometh

[Progflaw99]

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The rattle of chains, the breaking of bones, screams of the dead and dying. All was stripped away, the bond of soul to flesh severed as the flesh-shapers did their work. A howl of rage and wanton hate echoed throughout the stone halls of the Krieghold, an almost ancient dungeon tucked away in the farthest corners of the Reach. Darkness enveloped every corridor, every cell - the only light from fluttering torches lining the walls. The Krieghold was not oft visited by those within the Reach, much less those outside of it but today it found its halls breached by none other than an envoy hailing from Dosuun itself. The upper levels of the facility itself were modern, clean and functional but deep below... there was a history to this place, a place darkened with the taint of the dark side, horrors of a bygone era yet remained. It was here that the First Order had a vested interest.

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Light. It was the first thing that registered in Tyr's mind as he was roused from his slumber. A soft rattle of chains as his legs involuntarily shook, his body sore - he was yet in his cell. Squinting his eyes he could make out the flutter of a torch farther down the corridor, the durasteel bars little more than a shadow, the corners of the room all but visible. A deep breath in racked his shoulders with pain. Held at an unnatural angle as they strained against the chains anchored on the wall, he snarled. Heavy footsteps, the light approaching - voices. As the light flickered off the stones across the floor the man could tell they were coming closer, no doubt his time had come. An errant thought, wonder at why it had taken them this long to finally free him of his flesh? He understood not their machinations of this place but it might as well have been his purgatory, his eternal torment until his body gave in to the abuse and refused to contain him any longer. How long had it been? Months? Years? A decade? He could not recall - time here seemed to meld together, no distinction between day and night, no routine to follow. Once daily he was injected with just enough nutrients to sustain life, though life could hardly describe his current state.

Sunken cheeks and dimly ringed eye sockets spoke to his lack of water, his large frame strangely absent of the muscle that had once adorned his body like a suit of armor. It had been some time, of that he was certain. As the light of the torch passed the final threshold of the cell Tyr's eyes narrowed, a sharp pain shooting like red hot pokers into his sockets. The time alone in the dark had not been kind to him, his sensitive ocular nerves amplifying the light almost tenfold. With another rattle of chains he struggled to stand - he would face his tormentors as a true warrior, he would not be broken as they wished despite their attempt.

Light filtered into the dark cell, the flames of the torch feathering as air circulated through the room. Bathed in the fiery orange of it, the face of the man became visible - the figures beyond content to stand and lay eyes upon the man. Mottled flesh and an unkempt beard punctuated the man's appearance, his long hair and disheveled appearance doing little to prove his once imposing figure but his eyes spoke of power, strength - determination. Tattoos adorned the man's face, strange symbols and markings etched into his flesh with the dark ink, combined with scars which spoke of a rough life - a life of the sword. Too weak to do much more than stand, the figure there did just that, forcing himself up into a straight posture which hinted at a will forged of fire, a life of conflict. As the cell door was opened, a rusty creak of metal following an activation of the surprisingly modern locking mechanism, the light fell full on the man standing there, his height worthy of note.

The man stood nearly 2 meters in height, his broad shoulders looming as he pressed against the chains holding him to the wall, his features drawn tight against the gaunt of his face. Even in chains the beast was a marvel, body adorned in tattoos and scars. His upper body was bare, dirt and grime clinging to it, his lower half clad in little more than a pair of canvas breeches. There was a reason this man had been forsaken, placed among the dregs - until the Supreme Leader had found a use for him...

[member="Zmej Ren"] | [member="FN-4077"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"]
@First Order
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[Garett Van]

Sitting in the back corner of the shuttle, on it's way to Panatha. FN-4077 always made an effort to isolate herself from the rest of people. This was due to her being volunteered by her parents for the Stormtrooper Corps at a very young age. Though she sat alone she still noticed the the young Ren that was in the shuttle with her. FN-4077 didn't know much about the Ren just they were force users, so she would try to no interfere with anything the Ren was tasked with.

However her task as a trooper was to escort someone from the prison here on Panatha, more than likely for some execution back on Dosuun. Though the orders weren't very clear. But to her it didn't matter, it was a mission. All the orders said was this person had to be alive when brought back.

[member="Tyr Helgryndr"] | [member="Zmej Ren"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"]​

 

[Zmej Ren]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILfcCzfiLbE​

A statue-like figure adorned the shuttle’s vibrating floor, paying no heed to the vessel’s advance or other sentients aboard. Perhaps all passengers preferred silence, maybe none felt like talking once the utterly despicable and malevolent signatures swallowed the poor shuttle whole in a greeting; Death itself peeked in from the Netherworld and gently touched every being inside the spaceship with its shiver-inducing scythe. Not exactly a common sensation, alerting even those not connected to the mythical currents of the Force. It wasn’t often the disciple experienced a clash against signatures so much darker and primal than her own, further watering the seeds of fear that started their growth in her heart. And yet, Zmej Ren resisted the urge to do something irrational, finding solace in the dark side’s warmth once her own fear turned into a weapon to strengthen the young woman’s connection with the faithless source of infinite power. For all worrisome thoughts seeping into her mind by waves, the disciple of Ren put her faith into Sieger Ren’s wisdom, knowing he had chained the Sith well enough to grant her safe passage.

With her, a decree penned by the First Order’s mightiest himself. A messenger and deliverer of his will, Zmej Ren was to place it directly into Darth Carnifex’ hands. The document demanded nothing less than one prisoner’s release from the tyrannical ruler’s darkest dungeons where the Supreme Leader’s desired soul rotted like a worthless piece of meat, flesh and mind alike peeling off with each sundown. Possessing no knowledge of his crimes against Pacanth Reach, there wasn’t much else for Zmej to do than hand over Sieger’s words and see the prisoner would leave the planet without shackles. A free man to be chained once again, this time brought in front of Sieger Ren himself. Although a tiny part of her questioned the decision, unable to understand why a forgotten prisoner held such value, Zmej swiftly dismissed all doubt – it wasn’t her place to think about the Supreme Leader’s will. Her sole purpose was to do as he wished, always and anywhere. In a way, the impenetrability of her blind obedience equalled that of the menacing armour covering her features like a metal golem. Not just for protection – it added to intimidation as well, masking the petite teenager sheltered within the cloaked shell of phrik and impervium.

A treacherous knife effortlessly slipping inside another’s back, the upsilon-class shuttle speared the gloomy world’s atmosphere, its descent uninterrupted. Once turbulence playfully shook with the entire vessel, the black eagle retracted its wide wings, approaching the designated landing zone, bringing an alien to this word seeped by the dark side, yet vastly different from the First Order. Stillness settled in, silence remained the same given the complete lack of exchanged words. Without fear or hesitation, not a single gesture to motion for the allies to follow, the kneeling figure rose from its frozen stance. Posture straightened through confidence and trust in the Father, the young Ren confidently marched out of the shuttle’s coffin-like abdomen.

Heavy clanks of armoured boots swiftly lost their metallic accent upon leaving the vessel’s boarding ramp and kissing Sorimow’s ground. Wind crashed against the plated figure, and upon failing to impress, it pushed against her armourweave cloak, meeting with failure once more. Despite the First Order’s official’s arrival, there was no doubt about who reigned over the planet’s days and nights, even if Zmej Ren desperately tried to persuade herself otherwise, for there existed no other option than compliance. Any resistance would probably result in the Sith creating their own cross and forging a few sturdy nails for themselves, sharing their prisoner’s fate until the end of days when skin joins the wood in a symbiotic relationship, mouth preaching love and mercy.


[member="FN-4077"] [member="Tyr Helgryndr"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

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Sorimow
The Pacanth Reach

Plated sabatons thundered across durasteel as the Dark Lord muscled his way through the winding hall of the Krieghold. A pair of Crownguard flanked his every movement, their bardiches held at the ready and their senses tuned for even the smallest glimmer of danger. The halls of the Krieghold were sparsely populated, its walls stripped of decorum and all semblance of warmth, and thus there were none who could impede the Dark Lord's path yet with all haste he moved.

He had just received word than an envoy of the Supreme Leader, Sieger Ren himself, was on their way to Sorimow right at this very moment for the acquisition of one of those poor unfortunate souls who had been callously tossed into the lightless recesses of the castle's deepest dungeons and left to wither away to dust.

Privately he didn't hold the Supreme Leader of the First Order in high esteem. In him he saw the same flaw inherent in the Dark Lord's rule over the One Sith, a man whom the Sith blindly followed to a fault. When the Dark Lord died that illusion was shattered and the Empire crumbled from within as the power vacuum left behind by the Dark Lord could never be filled except with anarchy and chaos. If these Imperials didn't learn that lesson of history, then the First Order was doomed to follow the One Sith into the grave.

Publicly Carnifex spoke neither ill will nor praise for the man, he was vocally neutral on all fronts and instead deigned to work to improve his own holdings and fight on behalf of the Order against the despised Alliance wherever battle was brokered.

They neared the forum bordering the landing platform, and Carnifex slowed his march to a casual walk as they crossed the threshold just as [member="Zmej Ren"]'s shuttle touched down amidst the trickle of rain and haze of mist. The wind tore at his cloak, but he was as stalwart as the mountain with a hateful fire in him that burned with the intensity of a supernova. He would exude nothing except authority as he approached, his voice heavy and commanding: "Disciple."

[member="FN-4077"] | [member="Tyr Helgryndr"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"]​

 

[Zmej Ren]

Legends bordering on phantasmagorical hallucinations surrounded the destructive tyrant, holding him responsible for all evil in the galaxy. Up until meeting the hulking mountain of a man in person, she had always considered such tales laughable rumours blown out of proportion. What used to hold no value immediately gained shape and power as the myth itself approached, flanked by guards. A frightful sight to behold, enough to move one’s bowels should their will snap like a twig when crashing against the Sith Lord’s.

There was no doubt concerning his existence anymore.

Upon witnessing the despot with her very eyes, fully exposed to the Sith lord’s petrifying might screaming through the Force, nausea squeezed the Ren’s stomach and she had to fight and resist the sudden urge of crumbling down. Another good thing about the armour recently awarded to her – its helmet kept inappropriate or undesired expressions locked away, thus hiding all signs of fear or intimidation that might have formed on her face.

Terrible and dreadful images of death and seas of corpses crept into her head, infinite screams echoing through her skull and worming inside the teenager’s brain in a maggot-esque fashion. Undoubtedly something induced by the dark side and Carnifex’ very being copulating together in violent orgies. Truly, for all her faith in the Supreme Leader’s power, Zmej had found herself short of breath when swallowed by the Pacanth Reach, facing its God. A short moment of silence followed, giving the man no other answer than an expressionless glare conveyed through the hooded mask. Drops of rain provided the only distraction for acoustic senses, drumming a melancholic melody into the durasteel.

“Darth.”

Gloved palm landed on the woman’s chest plate as she slowly offered a slight bow. It felt appropriate for some reason.

“I come bearing the Supreme Leader’s will,” Zmej Ren’s synthetic voice declared officially, “One of your prisoners is required. All is written here.”

In a smooth, sharp motion, the disciple handed the decree over, pulling it from beneath her midnight-hued cloak. The words imprinted within were meant for the Sith’s eyes only – proven by the document’s seal. For no apparent reason, the paper refused to yield when bombarded by the rain; every single drop bounced off as if impacting an invisible barrier.

Spoiler

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="FN-4077"] [member="Tyr Helgryndr"] [member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​Sorimow, Pacanth Reach
​The Krieghold...

​​Deep within the halls of the Krieghold a towering fortress rising high into the skies of Sorimow a great darkness manifested.

​Word came swiftly that a personal emissary of the Supreme Leader, Sieger Ren was on their way to Panatha to collect one of the unfortunate souls who had been thrown into the darkest dungeons and left to wither away into nothingness. Business within his home drew the monarch from his vast holdings. In recent times with his coronation as King of Thule, Warlord of Rattatak, and Despot of Maena the Dark Lords attention had been split among his four kingdoms. While some may find running such a vast empire taxing Darth Prazutis managed his new holdings with ease. Carefully the Dark Lord gathered around him the best and brightest to serve within his cabinet and with these malevolent minds he ruled with an iron fist.

But whether he ruled one or twenty kingdoms across the galaxy Panatha has been and would always be his home. When word had been received of the Supreme Leaders' envoy soon arriving the diplomatic meeting drew him alongside [member="Darth Carnifex"], his nephew and the closest thing he had to a brother to Sorimow. While some would speculate that there may be animosity among the two Sith Lords, that perhaps standing as equals each with growing powerbases may create a degree of friction amidst the two Zambranos.

They were wrong.

As much as their rivals and foes would wish to see cracks in the great foundation of House Zambrano, there were none to speak of. House Zambrano and its leaders stood together a unified front against those who would mark themselves among its rivals. As much as the Dark Lords craved power neither targeted the other they were brothers, and their bond went deeper. While Kaine moved to greet the young disciple as she descended from her ship Darth Prazutis concocted a nefarious scheme of his own. A nefarious spell was weaved by the Destroyer through his mastery of the dark side. In ancient times Sith sorcerers of great skill were able to create illusions so great, so real that these apparitions both appeared physical, and were able to physically interact with the world around them.

​Darth Prazutis weaved one such spell creating an physical apparition of himself that quietly manifested out of view behind [member="Zmej Ren"]'s shuttle. While to all except those skilled in Sith Magic who could recognize the spells being woven, it would appear as if he too stood on the platform. In reality the Dark Lord was far below within the halls of the Krieghold a pair of Crownguard stood on either side of the Sith Lord as he moved deep within the dark halls of the fortress, seeing and hearing what his apparition experienced playing out in his mind.

​The only warning one would receive on the docking platform of his arrival would be the explosion of darkness an undulating tsunami, a choking fog of darkness that swept across all present. It would come immediately before the physical apparition swept out from behind the shuttle clad in a set of gray green banded armor a hood pulled firmly over his head. The apparition swept up behind Zmej one hand swept the scroll from her hand while the other rested another massive paw of a hand on the young disciples shoulder. The Dark Lord too exuded a powerfully commanding, authoritative presence as he spoke: "I am sure Sieger Ren has taught you the meaning of respect. It is customary to kneel before those so far above your station, disciple." ​Prazutis said as he stepped away from her and to Kaines side. The King raised the document up analyzing the seal his careful mind ensuring there wasn't any spells, curses, or tricks hidden among the document quickly before handing it over to Kaine.

[member="Tyr Helgryndr"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He took the document, his own eyes examining the seal before breaking it, and unfurled its yellowed pages to bear witness to the words transcribed upon the parchment. The wording was straight-forward, the intention unfettered by misdirection. There was no ulterior motive to be found in the Supreme Leader's words, his directives were clear and precise.

"So, what does Sieger Ren want with [member="Tyr Helgryndr"]?"

He crumbled up the message, its purpose spent.

"Follow me." He turned and retreated back through the entrance he had previous emerged from, the only illumination being torches wrought from carved bone hanging from the stone walls to guide their path downwards. Like many facilities of this nature in the Reach, the Arch-King had memorized every twist, every turn, his bold purposeful steps leading [member="Zmej Ren"] deeper and deeper into the wretched dungeons accompanied by the wails of the dying.

Grim-faced guards occasionally blocked their path, but as his beckoning they stepped aside with a bow to allow him and his entourage access to the lightless depths of the Krieghold. It was in the lowest level of the deepest cell where they found Tyr, his kind forgotten and forced to consume the other inmates to survive in the deplorable conditions afforded to them. Carnifex plucked a torch from the wall and bared its flame to the cell's bars, shining light on its sole occupant.

"I hope he is all that the Supreme Leader desires."

[member="Darth Prazutis"]​

 

[Zmej Ren]

Zmej Ren found herself stuck between two pitch black wormholes, each intent on sapping her very life like a tasty juice made of living energy. All warmth faded away, extinguished and replaced by a terrible cold, the kind that that fills the body right before death. Another Sith lord manifested out of nowhere, more like a wraith than anything else, and the dark disciple suddenly longed to die, cease existing, anything to escape the terrible, oppressive sensations hammering her soul and tearing it apart. And once the apparition of [member="Darth Prazutis"] made physical contact, touching her shoulder, there was no need for words to command her anymore; the youth turned into a helpless husk comparable to particularly old invalids, feeling as if she had aged centuries in that very moment. Unable to support the armour’s weight, knees shook and crumbled, bowing to the Sith lord sub-consciously. Only after the incarnation of evil stood by its master, life seeped back into the disciple’s body and she was allowed to stand. Thoughts immediately erased all trace of the event, deeming the experience too frightful and traumatic to memorize.

With her mind clouded by absolute pitch black darkness, Zmej sheepishly followed after [member="Darth Carnifex"]. Ironically enough, the hulking terror became the sole source of light, leading the way through a descending maze that felt like a path to the planet’s core. Unable to wake up from this nightmare, the pale skinned Ren blindly walked after him, gaze fixed upon the grossly twisted torch made of flame-clad bone. Silence was the first to speak once the entrance vanished high above, announcing the horrors to come. A completely different world lied beneath their feet; one where the rest of the galaxy did not exist and light was a faded concept bordering on a fairy tale. Soon, echoes of suffering dethroned the soothing silence, tuning an eerie ambience to fit the surroundings.

Ancient and forgotten, seemingly reaching deeper into the past than mankind itself, the sombre tombs spoke of untold suffering and countless oceans of blood to have painted these mouldy cells. Every scratch eternally carved into the walls told a different story, yet all tales basked in brutality and terror. The poisonous atmosphere breathed at her – and even though her armour’s filters did their best to purify the putrid stench lingering in the air, nothing in the galaxy had enough power to completely erase the sickly smelling odour of death and faeces. It became apparent the dungeon did not contain people, but animals. No matter their crimes, all have been forced to either kill or be killed for the sake of survival. Only the strongest remained, buried alive in cold graves that were their cells. Zmej finally understood the prisoner’s value, although now she started to doubt the use of such savage animal.

Gauntleted hand pounded at the bars once the ruler’s pace stood still in front of one of the cells. The racket of metal crashing against her plates ricocheted throughout the compound like thunder, loud enough to wake the dead.

“[member="Tyr Helgryndr"]. By the order of the Supreme Leader, you are to be delivered to the First Order.”