Private Righting the Wrongs

[Darth Strosius]

It had been years since He had seen Dromund Kaas, let alone set foot upon its surface. Not since it was cleansed of its interlopers only to be replaced by the old ones that had let it slip from their grasp. Not since the Kainate had been rewarded the ancient Sith worlds for their treachery. Instead of sitting at the head of some grand fleet and army meant to reclaim Dromund Kaas, to liberate it from the vile hands that choked it now, He simply watched the familiar world become all the more unfamiliar as His shuttle drew nearer and nearer to the surface of the world. Thus far the ride had been surprisingly pleasant all things considered.

What Darth Strosius was doing had been rightfully and entirely correctly labeled as exceptionally foolish. By what few allies He had which had demanded to share in the burden to come, by His followers who had begged to throw themselves ahead of Him in order to save Him some trouble or pain, by Himself even as He had emerged into the system and issued His challenge. It had been a simple message really, but one that was meant to carry Him all the way to the belly of the beast and one that was bold enough to warrant immediate reprisal that had yet to manifest.

:"Darth Prazutis and all Kainite forces occupying the sacred world of Dromund Kaas, I Darth Strosius have come to reclaim what you have stolen. Return my apprentice, or suffer my wrath.":

The sole shuttle and its lone occupant pierced through the atmosphere of the dark world, His golden gaze sweeping over the approaching terrain for a moment as nostalgia crept into the back of His mind. He sat back in His seat, closing His eyes and letting the world's familiar presence wash over Him in a chilling yet welcoming embrace. Dromund Kaas had been His first real home and it seemed as though in spite of the years of distance between them it still had some place for Him. A somewhat comforting notion that soothed His mind for the task to come. A lull that was never meant to last.

His eyes snapped open as a grimace stretched across His features, gloved hands just barely clasping hold of the controls right before an explosion rocked the shuttle. One of the engines had been blasted off, falling from the shuttle in burning and melted shrapnel as the vessel itself entered into a wild spin angled towards the ground below. Pulling on the controls and slamming open the emergency flaps did little to stop the chaotic spinning, the efforts only succeeding in adding more jerking movements to the crash course. A curse slipped from His mouth as He reached out with His mind rather than His hands, the shuttle slowly righting itself even as it veered toward the ground still.

The impact was dampened and controlled somewhat but hardly and less intense. His head made contact with the overhead controls as the shuttle hit the ground, earning a hiss and another curse as the shuttle embedded itself into the planet's surface and left a rut of earth and torn metal in its wake. Darth Strosius unstrapped Himself, idly reaching up and rolling His eyes at the small cut now adorning His forehead, before sliding out of His seat. It wouldn't be long before someone came poking around the crash and He had no intentions of being caught unawares when they appeared.

By the time He reached the door the small cut had already healed, leaving His pale visage unblemished once more as He tapped on the control panel to open the door. It failed to comply however, one of the bottom hinges having been bent during the crash and making an awful groan whenever the door attempted to move. The problem was solved easily enough as a kick sent the door off its hinges and soaring through the air away from the shuttle, allowing passage to Dromund Kaas without delay. Turning back was no longer an option, if indeed it had ever been. The only path now was forward.

An unmasked man set foot on the ancient world of the Sith, His features cloaked in the shade of His hood so that only His burning golden eyes could be seen in their ominous glow. His hands easily plucked His lightsaber from His robes and ignited it, the crimson blade hissing to life from the hilt as He surveyed His surroundings with a narrow gaze. That He was not already being set upon by the sycophants of the tyrants was a small blessing but one that He did appreciate. He'd have to save all the strength He had for what was to come. An old lesson echoed in His mind as He marched away from the shuttle, each step thundering in His own mind as one closer to fate itself. Success or Death, and He had already triumphed over death once. He had no issue doing so again.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

DROMUND KAAS
The Beating Heart of the Umbral Maw

There were no stars above Dromund Kaas. Only storm. The skies screamed with crimson lightning as if the heavens themselves had been shackled in torment. Clouds spiraled in unnatural formations high above the jungles, thick with ozone and dark side residue, like an atmosphere forever choking on the breath of a dying god. Rain lashed in slanted sheets across the iron skin of the jungle world restored by Sith dominance. The light shriveled and died here. The light cast by its sun was cruel, cast down from high above. Beneath it all sprawled the endless nightmare of New Kaas City, a monolithic bastion of power forged from blacksteel, tyranny, and sith supremacy. It was not built for the mere simplicity of life. It was built to be more, built for obedience, it was the single greatest city ever created by the hands of Sith. A sprawling empire, a bastion of war. Endless rows of habitation blocks, towering structures, numbered, humming with surveillance grids, stacked like tombs for the living. The cities twilight beauty shed the skin of imperialistic utilitarianism and donned the cloak of Sith dominance. High above towering statues looked down upon the populace, while banners of bright crimson bore the sigil of the Kainate across the length and breath of the city. Sirens wailed in distant cycles. Gunships traced the veins of the packed, but ordered skyline. And deep below, machinery groaned like beasts in their cage, churning food, weapons, soldiers, doctrine, endlessly. The teeming crowds moved to and fro many addicted to the intoxicating nature of life here on one of the holiest Sith Worlds.

This was Midwan, the continent of power. The beating heart and capital of the planet and Kainite supremacy here, and right at its center, rising above all, cutting through storm and cloud like the blade of inevitability, stood the throne of judgment. The Sith Citadel. It was not merely tall. It was impossible. A spire of dark stone and blighted iron, carved with Sith runes older than language. Obsidian ridges jutted out like blades from its flanks. Statues of ancient tyrants, Vitiate, Ragnos, Sadow, Bane, Sidious, Krayt lined its outer bastions, chained in ritual binding as if forced to bear witness to the truth of their successors. Lightning licked the tower, drawn to it like flies to meat. The building moaned in the storm, it's very bones alive with ritual and memory. The fortress itself glowed. The stone bled red. Every corridor whispered. Every step was a sacrament. Those who walked its halls did so knowing that the walls themselves were watching and remembering. Its towering walls separated it from the rest of the city proper, like it wasn't a different sector, but a different dimension entirely.

Right at the heart of the Citadel, within a chamber older than the current age, sat the throne. The Throne Amphitheater. The space defied architecture. Circular, cavernous, and deathly silent, it was vast enough to hold thousands yet never crowded. The floor was polished blackstone, perfectly reflective. One could not walk upon it without seeing themselves as prey. Braziers hovered at fixed intervals, casting flickering red runes across the walls, painting pictures through the haunting blue fires each carried: oaths of loyalty, conquest, and annihilation, burned into the stone in Sith script. Massive statues loomed on either side of the throne, Vitiate to the right, Sidious to the left, both gazing forever downward, where lesser beings knelt, begged, or died. Above them all, upon a throne forged from darkness itself, like the bones of a colossus, seated atop a dais that pulsed with the heartbeat of the Dark Side, sat the Sovereign of Dromund Kaas.

The Elysian Grandeval Mortarch, the Lord of Lies, the Shadow Hand of the Kainate, the Dark Lord of the Sith, Sovereign of Dromund Kaas, Darth Prazutis. The giant was still. Armor blacker than death itself, enshrouded his form, Qâzjiin'vraal, the Warcage of the Abyss, a plate of death forged in sorcery and fire. His monstrous pauldrons bore runes of judgment that pulsed with slow, deliberate hunger. A faint hiss whispered from the back of his helm. His gauntleted fingers rested on the arms of his throne like a beast leashed in thought. The helmet, Xûl-Karzaan, watched the chamber with inhuman patience, its sockets burning faint crimson, devoid of sympathy, devoid of reaction. But beneath the helm, the Shadow Hand of the Kainate was already aware. He had felt it before any sensor grid had screamed. Before any holocom had crackled to life. Before the Koshûtaral had raised their weapons, before even the Blackblades and the Crownguard marched. Before even the Sith Wraiths stirred. The Umbral Maw itself had whispered. The nexus writhed. The Force recoiled in suspicion, in contempt, in anticipation.

"A wound returns to the wounder." And then the transmission had come. "Darth Prazutis and all Kainite forces occupying the sacred world of Dromund Kaas, I Darth Strosius have come to reclaim what you have stolen. Return my apprentice, or suffer my wrath." A single shuttle had pierced the storm, arrogant in its clarity. It was met by the rage of the world. From the Obsidian Walls, the Advanced Defense Array responded with sheer fury. Anti-air batteries and arcane disruptors, guided not by simple targeting computers but shaped by Sith battle chant and predictive ritual, tore through the storm and clipped the shuttle's wing like an executioner carving meat. A piece of the vast, indescribable defensive grid that wrapped Dromund Kaas above and below like a shroud, prepared to take on vast armadas, ready for the harshest bite of war.

The shuttle spun. Burned. Fell. But did not die. As commanded. "Cripple it." Prazutis had spoken, his voice like a faultline that had split under pressure. "Let him fall. Let him see. Let him feel what it is to descend into my dominion."

Now? Now the Dark Lord of the Sith watched. The hololithic projection flickered before him, broadcast from one of the Watchers in the Dark, a hidden relay capturing the wreckage. Darth Strosius emerged, hooded, bleeding, unbroken. His blade ignited. He stood defiant. Deluded. Prazutis did not move. He emanated. Around him, the throne crackled. The amphitheater grew darker. Even the storm beyond the Citadel grew quieter, as if the planet itself were drawing breath. Then, his voice. Not shouted. Not projected. But imposed. "He believes this world remembers him." Prazutis said, the words grinding like chains pulled across stone. "But Dromund Kaas is not what it was. Not a relic of fading Empire. Not a throne to be reclaimed. It is mine, as are all things upon it. Let him find his way here, let him stand before me."

He gestured once, one massive gauntlet rising. A thousand systems activated. An alert arced like lightning through the city, through world itself as if it stirred from its slumber. Across the city, from the Red Bastion to the Syndicate Underbelly, the Global Surveillance Grid watched him. The Immortal Legions readied. The Shadow Spire began predictive simulations. The Sithspawn in the Beast Pits howled in unison. The Obedience Grid pulsed a warning through the city's foundations: An intruder walks beneath the storm.

And yet..."Let him walk." the Dark Lord growled. Let him see the War District, where colossi rose from industry, let him feel the Arcane Quarter, where the walls whispered in tongues. Let him crawl through the machine of Kainite truth. Let him taste what supremacy is. But if he reached the Citadel's doors, if he endured the storm, the darkened crucible of memory and fear. Then he would stand before this throne. Then all would be revealed. One fate or another. And Darth Prazutis would answer not with mercy, but with eternity. The might of the Sith Dyarchy would stand before him. But for now? The Dark Lord vanished from his throne, delving deeper into the folds of this colossal structure to a ritual chamber that hung heavy with flame, smoke, vibrant with dark side runes as something was about to begin, that was waiting for him.

Darth Strosius | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"That's it, follow through with your feelings. Reach out and seize the flow of battle."

The words rang out, harsh and authoritative, punctuated by the whoosh and crackle of lightsaber blades. Both were crimson, the vibrant red of spilled blood, but only one was significantly longer and seemed to pulsate with a malign hunger. Each was drawn to one another, meeting again and again in a violent clash of color and energy. The floor around them was marked by deep canyons of melted metal, lacerations made in the wake of their blade's cutting deep.

Towering and imperious was Darth Carnifex, Dark Lord of the Sith and Eternal Father of the Kainate. His lithe but powerfully built form was swaddled in a simple tunic and requisite hakama that fell down to just above His ankles. His feet were bare, plodding along the floor with the grace of a dancer's gait. In His hands He carried His weapon, a lightsaber born of cruelty and death. The red blade jutted out from between a forked basalt stone, part of a funerary shrine recovered from the depths of Exegol's catacombs.

The other was Revna Marr, once a prisoner and now student of the Dark Lord's teachings. Though an absence had passed between them for several months, she'd returned to the dreaded Citadel of Dromund Kaas to continue her training. She wore vestments similar to the Dark Lord's, her own bare feet maneuvering her across the battlefield of their duel. Her eyes blazed with the determination of experience and skill.

"Control my center line, disrupt my focus. Break an enemy's concentration, and they will be no match for you." He watched with cold, calculating eyes as she adjusted to His instruction. She had always been quick to adapt to new circumstances, both in the training dojo and in the lavish court. She'd already become a Queen. But none of that mattered here, only the words master and apprentice carried any weight.

He reached out with the Force to pull her left leg out from under her, to throw her off-balance and send her sprawling to the floor. Never once did He relent, always pushing and making her work for every achievement; no matter how minor. They continued this back and forth for some time, with the Dark Lord always carrying the advantage, but Revna Marr constantly adapting and improving the weaknesses He exploited. In time, not even the same move would work on her twice.

When it was all over, the Dark Lord took time to analyze the spinal implant embedded into Revna's back. He often did this following a sparring match, always double-checking and reinforcing Prazutis' work; as they both had done for one another for over a century now. He could sense Revna's emotions as He did, their existence a constant source of power from which she drew her strength from. Today was going to be a special day for Revna, but perhaps not in the manner she'd expect.

"Hate him, fear him, it matters not," intoned Darth Carnifex, His voice shattering the silence that had grown between them. His voice was startling by it's mere utterance, glacial as it weighed down upon those who heeded it. "He is necessary, as fundamental as the air you breath. He is death, inevitable and all-consuming. Today, you will be made to stand before him again." He'd finished up, allowing Revna to replace her tunic. When she was done, the Dark Lord was waiting for her. "We go now to the depths of the Citadel, to the convergence of destiny. One final trial."

"It is then that we shall see if you are ready."

Darth Strosius | Darth Prazutis | Revna Marr ​

 

[Revna Marr]

Darth Strosius // Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis​

Fire flowed through Revna’s veins, a torrent of volatile emotions and feelings amplified by the Dark side that she skillfully controlled as she effortlessly and gracefully moved through the ritualized form of combat, clashing and locking her crimson blade with that of the Dark Lord, Darth Carnifex, over and over again. She was silent as she absorbed his sharp instructions, ever attentive and responsive to the lessons she received - even when learned from one of her mortal enemies. But though she uttered not a single word, her emotions and Force presence practically screamed with that which thrummed through her - dark joy and excitement, even. It lent her a ferocity and energy that seemed almost impossible for one of her size and stature - especially when fighting a behemoth like the Eternal Father of the Kainate.

The flow of energy that came with combat drove her ever forward, and her connection to the Dark side amplified her senses and reflexes. The young Sith woman had come a long way since her early days as a hopeful, an acolyte with no training and no understanding of the Force. What her departed Master, Darth Strosius, had started was now being completed by both Darth Carnifex and Darth Prazutis.

Revna met a harsh swipe made against her with her blade and, empowered by the emotions flowing through her, deflected and forced Carnifex’s longer blade away - both lightsabers carving glowing slashes into the floor around them. She used the saber he had given her months prior in their last sparring match together - a saber she had kept and trained with extensively so as to become so familiar with it that it became an extension of herself. That familiarity was now on display as she met the Dark Lord blow for blow, revelling in the thrill of combat as she adjusted where necessary, shifting between Forms to stay unpredictable in her movements and intentions - and even utilized various Force techniques that she had learned over time in an effort to do exactly what Carnifex instructed her to do: break his concentration. A tall order as he was a Master in all things she knew, and even more that she had yet to learn.

But the half-Vahla woman was tenacious and relentless, even when her weaknesses were found and exploited by the Sith Lord. She used to feel anger at her weaknesses being used against her, but she had gained wisdom and learned that unless he found them and brought them to the surface, then she could never improve upon them and eliminate them.

Though he was her enemy, Revna found value in Carnifex as a worthy Master.

She felt the Force shift around the two of them, striking out at her like a viper as the Dark Lord pulled on her left leg and forced her off her feet, intent to put her down on the ground where she would be at a distinct disadvantage. Revna moved with the tactic employed against her instead of resisting it, and she utilized her unique racial skeletal structure to shift and roll back to her feet - and just in time to parry a stab that would have skewered her had she not been so intent and focused on the fight.

Back and forth the two of them went, trading and evading blows that would have certainly maimed or killed most others. Carnifex would try his tactics again from time to time with her, but Revna was a fast learner and she met Force with Force - unveiling her own growing might in the Dark side as she did so. The scion of House Marr was nowhere near the levels of power as a Dark Lord, but she had become a force to be reckoned with in her own ways.

Eventually Carnifex called an end to their spar, seemingly pleased with her performance, and Revna ceased upon his command obediently, offering a bow of respect as she disengaged her lightsaber. She removed her tunic and remained still as he inspected the hated device that was embedded into her spine, and she clenched her jaw as her darker emotions flashed through her. The Sith Lord’s voice split the silence that had fallen between them as he sensed her writhing hatred for the device and for the one who had forced such a contraption upon her and her only response was to cast a spiteful look at him, though she wisely remained silent.

She had learned long ago to tame her tongue in the presence of the Dark Lords, these new Masters of hers. And as much as she hated it, compliance and obedience to them both earned her their favor, earned her lessons that grew her as a Sith, and further empowered her.

Defiance and rebellion only hindered her ambitions.

But there would come a time where she would break away from them, when she no longer needed them to further her goals and aspirations.

When she had re-dressed herself, Revna joined Carnifex as he informed her that they were headed into the heart of the Citadel where one final test awaited her, saying cryptically that they would see if she was ready - though what he meant by that she wasn’t entirely sure, and a prickle of dread and curious anticipation raced across her skin. Ready for what, exactly? -echoed the thought within her mind.

“As you command, my Lord.” Revna responded aloud instead, before she fell in step with the Eternal Father and let him guide her deeper into the great structure that stood as a monument to Sith supremacy, to the power of the Kainate.

As she went, she felt something vaguely familiar echo through the fabric of the Force, enough to cause her steps to falter ever so briefly as a frown creased her brow. With the echo came pain, and flashes of the arena that housed the Kaggath entered her mind briefly. In response, Revna banished the memories and locked them away; she needed to focus on getting through whatever it was the Dark Lords had planned for her and she couldn’t afford to live in the past.

 

[Darth Strosius]

The dense, towering trees of Dromund Kaas choked what little light filtered through the raging storm above as Darth Strosius marched away from the ruined shuttle. He didn't need any illumination to guide His way even without His sight in the darkness, He could sense where He should be moving just fine. Darkness was in no short supply on a world such as this, more cloaked in it than in life or water or even air itself, but it did coalesce in certain places. Gathered either by circumstance or intent into pools where the Dark Side could almost be glimpsed from the corner of one's eye.

And as He pushed His way through a low hanging branch that dared block His path, His gaze set upon the dark beacon that He had been tracing. Glances trailed the towering architecture that seemed to mirror the trees around Him now, the urban sprawl that stretched beyond where His eyes could see and sat as clustered as the grass, the banners that adorned many walls and towers like the foliage that connected the bastions to the buildings below them.

The sight made Him grimace. "My beloved Kaas City, and here I thought their abandonment had been enough of a crime. Their return was even worse." He clicked His tongue and turned His gaze away from bemoaning the long lost splendor of the city that He remembered from years past and instead focused on the fortress that dominated it now. It was an oppressive structure in every sense of the word, looming over not just the city but seemingly the world itself in its height and design.

A fixture as permanent and stalwart as any mountain but one crafted from material and dread rather than stone and time. It was purposefully set apart from the rest of the urbanized landscape around it, meant to be gawked at or bowed to by all who were cursed to live in the city that it had been erected in. It would take half a sector's army just to assail the imposing walls themselves, and He could only guess at what lay within the citadel once the outermost shell had been bypassed.

Darth Strosius brought no army to siege it nor an armada to level it, but His grip tightened on His weapon all the same.

He'd make His way through the city and to the wretched bastion that kept it chained simply by standing, with blade and fang and claw He'd tear through whatever or whoever dared to stand between Him and the horrid architect of this blasphemous fortress. No mere minion or guard could keep Him from whatever pitiful throne the tyrant had built for himself. Darth Strosius had been the last Sith to leave Dromund Kaas a lifetime ago and now it seemed as if He was the only one that stood upon it still.

He had no need for an army nor armada, not for this. The Kainate had built this city so that their foes would crash against it and shatter like waves against a shore. But He was no simple foe, no soldier destined for slaughter nor a general seeking glory, He was a Sith. And Sith had nothing to fear. Certainly not from the same cowardly lot that had left the planet to rot once before. Perhaps they'd flee again when He had Prazutis strung up by His entrails on that awful fortress of his.

There was one way to find out, and thus the march continued.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

He knew.

The very moment the shuttle breached orbit, the very moment it touched down, the nexus howled. Not in alarm, Dromund Kaas did not scream. It remembered, and the Dark Lord listened. Deep within a ritual chamber removed from the throne room, within the black heart of the Sith Citadel, Darth Prazutis opened his eyes. The chamber around him was vast, yet suffocating. Built in impossible scale, arches climbed into shadow, spires jutted like blades through vaulted ceilings that pulsed with ritual circuitry and entropic veins. An altar, a blackstone monolithic slab crowned in razored antlers, drank in the ambient light and pulsed faintly with the rhythm of the Umbral Maw, the dark side nexus that bled into all things.

He stood motionless. Not statuesque. Not frozen. No. The Shadow Hand was anchored. As if moving would unmake the room. As if shifting would crack the foundations of the very world. The giant's armor, the dreadful Qâzjiin'vraal, murmured with interred voices, and the Sith rune-etched warblade Xûl Qarnak strapped to his side, wept slow trails of whispy dark energy into the steps below.

Above the slab hung a suspended shrine, a massive crucible of bone, obsidian, and bleeding runes, a dark side focal point bound to the Shadow Hand's will. The chamber pulsed like a heart. The city below it, all around them burned. Not in flame. In awareness. The intruder's ship had been seen before it left hyperspace. Attacked. Not to destroy no, but to punctuate. The wounded shuttle had not fallen by mistake. It was permitted to land, a taste of the restrained violence that allowed him to set foot upon the throneworld. This world was his. Its clouds wept black rain now. Its spires loomed with bladed shoulders and Sith mouths that screamed in chorus across the lower districts. The Immortal Legions waited in silence. Everything breathed in alignment with the will of the Kainate's undisputed masters. Now? Now an old ghost, Darth Strosius dared return to its soil.

Fitting.

"He marches through the maw." The Dark Lord finally said aloud to no one in particular, his voice rang out like tectonic pressure filtured through graves. It would echo in the minds of every soul bound to the Citadel. Even without speech, Carnifex would hear him. Revna would feel it, a cold spike through her spine, as the rune-core in her implant throbbed once, like it recognized its master.

"The carrion pretender returns, drawn not by purpose, but by pain. Let him come." The Dark Lord's eyes ignited beneath the visor of Xûl-Karzaan. Twin comets of abyssal flame, peering across the dimensions. Already, the Dark Chorus began to sing across the vast chamber, their voices rocking through the halls Sith cultists hidden in the margins, their throats blackened with sacrificial ink, whispering the Litany of the Black Hand's Judgment. Blood hissed down etched gutters at the base of the altar:

"O Shadow Hand, Mortarch Eternal, we call to thee.
He Who Walks Between Light and Death, Lord of Silence and Flame.
Breaker of Suns, Reaper of Empires,
Let thy gaze fall upon the cursed and the weak.

By the Black Flame that devours without light,
By the Voice that drowns hope in silence,
By the Blade that severs soul from flesh.
We beg thee, rise in wrath.

Let the skies burn with thy contempt.
Let the air grow thick with fear and ash.
Let their blood boil and their gods wail.
Let their cities become altars to despair.

Mortarch of the Abyss, Shadow Hand of the Dyarchy
Unleash the Dread March.
Unchain the dark.
Anoint the soil with ruin.
And erase their name from memory."

He didn't order troops to intercept. He didn't dispatch a champion to stall him. He allowed the Sith to walk. Through the darkest sector of Kaas City. Past dominatng statues and wailing towers, drowned by the splender of the Shadowed Dominion, the great capital of a world returned to dominance. This would not be a duel. It would be a reckoning. "Let him see what Sith mastery looks like, without apology. Let him choke on legacy. Let him remember why the dark side never needed his name, and craved ours." The walls creaked once, not from movement, but from the sheer pressure that built within the Citadel. The atmosphere folded around the weight of the moment. Even the Force seemed to bend, slightly, awaiting the inevitable.

Darth Prazutis didn't move. He didn't need to, for he was the eye of annihilation itself. In his wake light had been scoured from the world, darkness had come home, and from his hands the Empire of the Kainate would grow and expand, far beyond the dreams and imaginations of any perceived rival, ally, or foe. The Dark Lord watched in silence as the Eternal Father came with thei apprentice Revna Marr. In time since her arrival the dynamic had changed, she had more than proven herself worthy of teachings. While his nephew worked on her physical combat he taught her the nuances of the force, unveiling the mysteries of the dark side and sharpening her control and power with new abilities, working all the while to break down the walls of morality to enforce the Sith's place in the world, and everyone elses role beneath them. The hunger within her had been unleashed, and he'd taughter her how to handle it, giving her the tools to succeed. "Welcome, Revna. Through your time here you've proven yourself time and again. You now stand upon the precipice of something greater." The Mortarch gestured to the large slab in the center of the room, hazy crimson vapors rose from its base around it. "Lay down atop the altar, and your future will begin."

Darth Carnifex | Darth Strosius | Revna Marr ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The grand splendor of the Citadel slowly bled away, replaced by ancient ruin and the stench of stagnant rot as they descended deeper into the inner sanctum. The old foundations, laced with the power of ages, had never been truly uprooted, only built over. But go down far enough, and one would encounter the same stone and metal that had witnessed the reign of the Dark Lord Vitiate.

But, among worn and weathered inscriptions that danced along every wall were new carvings. A litany of geometric symbols interconnected, carved right over ancient inscriptions that had nearly faded entirely. Though the old magic had faded, it hadn't entirely dissipated. These new inscriptions seized that which remained locked within stone, and melded it with the new power that flowed throughout the Citadel. Through it, the very power of Dromund Kaas was harnessed, channeled, and collected deep below the earth.

Blood and fear was rank within the ancient catacombs, stained by the collective horror imposed upon it for countless generations. The torment of those who had passed here echoed throughout the decrepit chambers and corridors, a keening wail that bit down to the bone as it swept through like a fierce gale. A cold chill permeated the air just as well, for as they neared the darkest pit beneath the Citadel, the Dark Side grew with greater intensity than had been felt above the crypts.

Finally, they reached the ritual hall. Darth Carnifex strode in first, His presence matched only by the Dark Titan awaiting them both. Equal in stature, the twin Dark Lords of the Kainate cut a frightening picture. The Eternal Father and the Mortarch, two sides of the same coin. The visionary and the architect, the Butcher King and the Shadow Hand, inseparable and invincible. The legacy of Solomon the Black, rendered down into two.

He placed a hand upon Revna's shoulder, in a gesture that almost could be conceived as reassuring but for the darkness that radiated out from the Twice-Crowned. "It has all been leading to this. Remember, there is no fear, only power." Thus He let her move forward on her own, standing back and watching.

Watching, and keeping an eye on their guest above as well.

For though the wayward lord Strosius found his path unobstructed, he was not unwatched. The darker things that permeated the Citadel watched silently as he passed them with eyes of stone, eyes of flesh, and eyes wrenched from corporeal form. He could feel them, more and more eyes joining those that already watched. They made little effort to truly conceal themselves, they wanted their master's guest to know they were there.

To know that he was expected.

Darth Prazutis | Darth Strosius | Revna Marr ​

 

[Revna Marr]

Tags: Darth Strosius // Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis​

​

Revna carried herself with an air of quiet resolution as she walked with Darth Carnifex; her pale face was set with grim determination to face whatever the Dark Lords had laid out before her, and though there was a tremor of uncertainty in the back of her mind, she refused the pricklings of fear that tried to worm their way in. Instead, she opened herself to truly feel and sense the environment around her as they descended lower. Dromund Kaas was steeped in history, the old blood shed in constant wars and struggles, victories and defeats. She could also see ghostly images of the past flicker in her mind’s eye as she went forward towards her destiny, could almost hear the whispers that were trapped within the very walls and even the ground itself.

Though Dromund Kaas belonged to her enemies, this place was still holy ground to young Revna. She could feel the magnitude of the Dark side here, the power of it thrumming through the very planet itself, like a wicked beating heart. This place was a nightmare for any Jedi or Light sider…but for someone like Revna, it was like being in the presence of her dark god.

And yet, something else nagged at the back of the young half-Vahla’s mind; something that disturbed her somewhat as Carnifex continued to guide her onward. Fiery, coal-like eyes flickered over to the Sith Lord who walked just ahead over, wondering if he too felt the strange thrumming through the Force. She almost asked him about it, but then decided against it.

The long descent and march ended when they finally entered a great ritual chamber, and here Revna slowed her gait for a moment, ensuring that Darth Carnifex entered before she did. She stepped in behind him, gazing around herself to take in all the sights before her gaze settled upon the one who inflamed her hatred and fury more than any Jedi ever could, the one who had enslaved her to his very will, forced her to feed the Hunger within, forced her to slay her own brothers and sisters, and who ensured she felt pain at every turn:

Darth Prazutis.

Both Dark Lords were well aware of the fierce animosity she held towards the great titan - but she did something her late Master could never seem to do when in their presence, she restrained herself. And that restraint had allowed her to rise to heights in power she never thought possible, because she had been willing to sacrifice her own morals in order to achieve it.

She supposed she had the Dark Lords to thank for that, but she would never verbally say such a thing. She would show her thanks by becoming all that they knew she could become as a Sith.

The titanic voice of the Shadow Hand boomed forth then, drawing her eyes to meet his directly, as bold and fiery as she ever was when around him: "Welcome, Revna. Through your time here you've proven yourself time and again. You now stand upon the precipice of something greater."

Oddly enough, she felt a swell of pride in her soul upon hearing him utter such words. To hear that she had proven herself in the eyes of the Dark Lords meant something to her. How many could say that? Felt that same stirring of dark pride within their very heart? Not many, if she could hazard a guess. Darth Carnifex and Darth Prazutis were not the kind to reward half-measures; no, they killed those who failed without regret or mercy.

A lesson she had learned and even held onto as she embarked upon her own journey of training her apprentices left back on Korriban. I will return to them. I must.

Darth Prazutis gestured to a great slab in the center of the ritual chamber, and bid her to lay upon it. Darth Carnifex then laid a giant hand upon her shoulder, and one might have mistaken it as an act of comfort, but she knew it was anything but. The Butcher’s words fell over her then, reminding her that everything she had been enduring had led her to this moment, and that there was no fear…only power.

The young Sith woman eyed the slab, not with fear or wariness, but with the weight that came with an understanding that this was a gateway for her to pass into something greater. If she was worthy of it, that was.

Revna turned towards the slab and began to walk towards it, slowly and methodically. As she approached, her mind swirled with the unknowns on what might occur here, what ritual would take place…what she would have to give, or take. Was doing this going to cement her place amongst the Kainate? Would they demand that she swear her loyalty to them, bind her in blood and ritual?

There was only one way to find out.

When she came to the edge, she turned and used her hands to hoist herself up on its surface - taking a deep breath to steady her suddenly racing heart - before she shifted and positioned herself within the altar’s center, lying down upon her back. Revna took in another deep breath and felt the Darkness shift within and without, its chill touch familiar and welcome.

With it came the sense that she was standing on yet another precipice, staring out into the Void of the unknown. And all she had to do was take that leap.

“I am ready, my Lords.” she said, her voice cold and steady as it echoed through the chamber, and she prepared herself to face this one last trial they had for her.

She just prayed to Bogan that it would all be worth it in the end.

 

[Darth Strosius]

The crimson blade had been extinguished in favor of subtlety and expediency once He had managed to enter the city. While there was certainly some manner of organization and planning in the city's construction, from where Darth Strosius stood all that He could see were the streets and buildings that separated them in a dark labyrinthine pattern that seemed intent on swallowing any trespassers that dared to navigate it. Were it not for the towering citadel and His own climbing ability then losing His way amidst the alleys and streets would have been all too easily done.

There was life evident in every corner of this city but by chance and skill He was able to slip around the notice of the citizenry for the most part, and for those that did notice His presence He was too swift to leave anything but a glance of robes or the sound of heavy yet quick steps. Somewhat surprisingly He didn't notice much panic or general alarm within the city, no marching soldiers or security forces and no rapid deployment or pursuit of His movements by any aerial elements.

Were it any other city or mission He'd simply think the residents were not at all observant or on guard, but He knew better in a place such as this. Even when He moved as unseen as possible, climbing through buttresses and underneath arches where no eye could spot Him, He could still sense a watchful presence. Multiple even. It wasn't merely the city's own surveillance that was to blame either as He had been intent on avoiding as many cameras and sensors as possible with His rather unorthodox route through the city. There was something more that had leveled its gaze upon Him.

Let them watch, let them withhold their reprisal, let them think His infiltration and efforts are controlled or allowed. Let them sit so smug and secure until He was carving into their throats. All it did was set His nerves off and allow Him a much easier advance towards the citadel. It was their mistake to not attempt to halt His path already, to not have had His shuttle destroyed outright and Him along with it. Prazutis must have been very sure of himself indeed.

It would be so very cathartic to break that confidence bone by bone.

Darth Strosius stalked His way through what He eventually realized were separate districts, the divisions between them subtle along their borders but outstanding when looking from one to the next. From bustling hubs of commerce to roaring factories and then intricate but dreadful spires He traversed what seemed to be an ever shifting sea of architecture and activity. There was no familiarity or fond memories to be found here despite the years He had spent living in the city that came before this twisted current iteration. This one had began with a blank slate and had become something monstrous and foreign compared to the one that He had founded His cult within so long ago. Another grievance added to a seemingly endless list.

Finally the unmasked man halted His advance as He finally reached the outer edges of the citadel, clinging onto a spire of some building that sat across from it as His golden gaze ran up the towering walls. Even from here He could see the weapon emplacements bristling along the wall and He didn't doubt that they had the forces to crew them. The city itself could swallow an entire sector's army but this fortress seemed intent on warding off the whole galaxy if it needed to do so.

His eyes scanned for weaknesses in the wall, gaps in the structure or design that He could slip through unnoticed and unimpeded but from this angle at least there were none to be found that could be of use. Perhaps trying to slip into one of the towers' hangars would be His best course of action but His train of thought slid to a slow halt as His eyes narrowed. He had been being observed since His arrival on this once sacred world, allowed to run His way through this accursed city without pause or provocation. Why did He need to bother with infiltration now when such an effort had been null and void from the outset?

He pressed Himself against the spire and ground His fangs together in a brief moment of hesitation as His gaze trailed back up to the top of the wall. It was quite a long ascent but He could manage it so long as this unspoken allowance was continued. He hated having to rely on the folly of His foes rather than His own skills but in circumstances such as these it was a necessity. He took a breath as His repulsorboots clicked online, leaping away from His perch and letting His boots propel Him upwards.

As He drew nearer to the walls He could feel the Dark Side grow all the more potent and present, its power had been seeped into the city itself and had been more prominent here or there but here it felt much more intentional and direct. A clever implementation no doubt meant to strengthen the citadel's Sith forces. They must not have considered that it would do the same for Sith attackers as well, the fools. The tendrils that exuded from His robes twitched and lengthened in response to the Dark Side as He flew, weaving His way around one of the towers in order to avoid any potential reprisal.

Darth Strosius reached the top of one of the towers as His "wings" reached their full extent, flaring out in their pale glow with a snap that mirrored the lightning of the storms high above the city. The walls were but one obstacle, His eyes sweeping over the citadel with grim determination as He sought some sort of entrance or window that He could exploit. He couldn't risk being tied down in a place such as this, He needed to find Prazutis and end that threat quickly before any of the forces here grew enough sense to question why He hadn't been shot at yet.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The blackstone altar hissed beneath her weight, exhaling curls of crimson vapor that clung to Revna's skin like silk spun from blood. The ancient slab was not cold, it pulsed. As though it breathed. As though it hungered. Beneath her, she could feel it drink from the Force that poured through the sanctum. Darth Prazutis stood before her, unmoved. There was no theatrics, no gestures. The chamber bent around his will as naturally as stone fell to the inevitability of gravity. Through a slow, seismic motion, he lifted one gauntleted hand. Out fromthe ritual brazier beside the altar, a strand of burning ink slithered up like a serpent, black as void, laced with ghostly veins. The air tightened as he spoke, not aloud, but through the Force itself, his voice booming in the marrow of all present. "The flesh is memory. The pain is the pen. The will is the hand that writes legacy."

Out from his open palm, the ink curled down in slow rivulets, threading through the air, etching the first of the sacred marks across Revna's collarbone. It did not burn, it invaded. The vile ink slithered beneath the skin, merging with muscle, nerve, essence. Where it touched, the Force warped, darkness grew. Each stroke was a vow made in purest agony and permanence. Runes of Sith dominion, supremacy, and devastation. Glyphs denoting lineage, strength, loss, rise, and hunger and so much more. They wrapped across her arms, her sternum, her spine, never arbitrary. They followed the lines of power carved into her soul since the day she first knelt in chains before the Mortarch. He did not look away once. When he reached her throat, the ink coiled and hesitated. For the faintest moment, he allowed the silence to reign. Then...

"Speak your name, Revna Marr. The name they will remember. Speak it, that it may be written in blood." The crucible above them flared, casting downward light like molten shadow. The cultists cried out in rapture. The Dark Chorus screamed until their throats split open, and still the Citadel itself watched. The Shadow Hand could feel him now. Right within the walls of the Sith Citadel. The Sith Lord's scent, his intent, his pain all carried on the Force like ash before a storm. The Sith Citadel made no move, not yet. No forces moved to react to this intrusion, they remained paused. The Mortarch had no need for alarms to inform him of the mans presence. For all bent in accordance to his will within his dominion, his presence alone sang to him through the walls. "Let him see." Prazutis growled, eyes like twin void-stars behind the visor of Xûl-Karzaan. "Let the ghost watch her become real." The last of the tattoos started to flare now. The ritual's power surged, not a transformation, but a revelation. It waited for the touch of the Eternal Father to fully complete the transformation, to complete the final test of the youth and solidify her rise.

Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Darth Strosius​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"So it begins, the apotheosis of new beginning."

The Eternal Father glided down to where the ritual had begun, dark whispers of His power dancing in His wake. Sparkling bio-electricity danced between His fingers as He set them upon the young Revna, the tips of each finger pressing into the flesh of her form. The lightning danced from Dark Lord to Acolyte, saturating the marks newly minted by the Shadow Hand, suffusing them with new power; completing the circle, closing the loop.

"All that you are is yours to seize, the power of destiny yearns to be wielded by those with the strength to hold it. We have delivered onto you the tools necessary to command fate, but there are those who seek to forever enslave the Sith to the dogma of predestination." The Dark Lord's eyes were shut, but even so the brightness of His intense gaze shone out through the barest sliver. Darkness moved through Him, like water over a fall. It flowed from Him, from Prazutis, and into the young Revna.

When He removed His hands, the ritual would have been completed. But this was only the prelude to the true test, one that had been allowed to foment by the two Dark Lords around her. If their adversary thought they had been moving in silence and secrecy, they were sorely mistaken. Even before Korriban, they had known. The Oracles spoke of it, feeling the web which bound individuals to one another through the Force. That which bound Revna and their guest was strong, it had not been frayed for either in the absence of the other.

He would be here soon.

"There is one that comes now, young Revna. He wears the skin of your master, and speaks with his voice. An acolyte of the rotting cult. Do you dare allow another to profane his name? His memory? What will you do in light of this monstrous sacrilege, Revna?"

Revna Marr | Darth Prazutis | Darth Strosius ​