Ebon's vision faded to a black abyss of darkness, it's very existence threatened by just how dark it had so quickly become. Sharply inhaling, Ebon drew back in near fear, taking a meager two steps back before calming himself and gazing into the depths that the Host Lord and Sargon himself wished him to see. The darkness began swirl and twist, and vivid images began to form in shifting wake.
War was thrust into his eyes, blood and corpses piled high. The planet around him burned, trees to ash, constructions to nothing but charred husks, and his own army rushing across the open plain bathed in the inferno of their conquest. He himself, stood on a hill, adorned in all black, a unknown and magnificent lightsaber in his hand, ignited, and giving off a faint black wake that consumed the energy near it. Ebon watched himself grin wildly, watching the blood bathe he created, and with it he could feel the new found power in the would be Zabrakian.
Deep in Ebon was a magnificent power, but not directly. He had become a wound in the force, the very being of a consumption formed by pure death he caused. Etched on his forehead was the faint symbol of Balagoth, scarred forever just above his brow, and Ebon himself spoke in two voices intermixed in a dark tone. He claimed himself the avatar of Balagoth himself, Balagoth returned.
He was power.
The vision began to shift once more, and years of hunger and destruction flooded past him. It showed what could be, what could have been, and Ebon's mind could not tell which were truths, and which were simply dreams.
Finally, it came back to a simple display of Sirak Kolar, the once pure form of Ebon, sitting in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant with Hasjo Hallu's blade in hand. He seemed to be meditating, no scars nor tattoos adorning the aged master. He simply sat in peace.
Ebon shook his head violently, stepping back from the fountain with nothing more than a faint growl. He was confused by what Sargon was telling him... what would he become? How would know what his path was to be?
His gaze wandered over to the dark presence that had found its way to the group in the form of [member="Grimoire "]. Her presence disturbed him, but curiously. Quietly, he found his place back amongst the group, and remained silent unless he was spoken too, occasionally glancing between the few there, especially the Host Lord herself.
[member="Anja Aj'Rou"] │ [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] │ [member="Asher"] │ [member="Damien Daemon"] │ [member="Enoch Zambrano"]
