Private Shadows of the Future

[Adron Malvern]

DARKNESS​

Tags: Nimue ​

Illyria ~ The Temple of the Silma
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A single shuttle came down to land in a clearing before the Temple of the Silma. The dark metal practically blended into the dark landscape that swallowed the land. As the loading ramp came to lower down onto the planet, armored men began to disembark the shuttle. They wore the advanced suits and amethyst sashes of the Royal Guard, with Vibrospears that seemed as if they could pierce the very darkness itself. Following closely behind them was their ward, their master, Adron Malvern. The King of Illyria wore a black cloak of silk and his amethyst eyes shined vibrantly as he descended the ramp. His Royal Guard bowed their heads respectfully as he passed them, yet they did not follow. They were ordered to remain with the ship on this venture, a prospect that did not sit well with any one of the men. It mattered not, he ventured into a place of witches and demons. Though his guard had some grasp of the Force, they knew nothing of this kind of magick.

He was met by three sisters of the Silma. When first he ventured to this world, their kind were clad in savage-like attire, except perhaps the eldest among them. Now they wore cloaks of black and amethyst. A sign of their loyalty to the Crown. Their faces were covered by masks that appeared much like a wolf or jackals. As the three women bowed deeply at the waist, clasping their hands across their chests the one who stood at the head of the trio spoke. "Dark Lord. You have returned to us." Her voice was deep and meaningful in the way she spoke to the King.

His eyes turned to the pyramid of Obsidian that laid before him with a rather appreciative smile coming across his face. "Where is the High Priestess?" He asked with a subtle curiosity. All three of the sisters gestured to the temple with their heads still bowed lowly. "Within, my Lord. She gathers the darkness of Illyria." These words caused Adron's lips to smile as he turned back towards the temple. "Perfect." The three witches followed closely behind the Sith Lord, as they usually did when he arrived. It was a simple irony. He and his wife had unleashed an unequaled hell upon the Silma when first they traveled to this world. Why? Because they attempted to kill the stranded couple. Many of their members had turned savage, forgetting their oath to the Dark Side in place of pure madness. However, with a good deal of the order destroyed it allowed Lady Nimue to recraft it in a place of perfection.

Nimue.

A flawless beauty and powerful Witch. She had become one of Adron's closest advisors in the past few years. Mainly because her unique view of the Dark Side was a boon to the Dark Lord's cause. With her at his side, the full scope of the Dark Side was that much easier to realize. What did the High Priestess get in return? Peace of mind. For years the Great Houses of Illyria sought the destruction of the Silma, very few accepted the Darkness for what it was and relied only on fear to drive their decisions. Still, there were some houses that had taken up a kind of Alliance with the Silma, such as House Astier. The King rose up the steps, his pace even as he pulled the black cowl from his head. There was a small pouch on his waist, however other than that there was nothing of notice.

The Dark Side of the Force bled from him in thick, healthy waves as he entered the temple. He felt his veins grow cold and his mind clouded at the full pull of the Dark Side. It filled him with a lust for power that caused him to draw his back into a tight stretch. His lips curled into a smirk before he stepped deeper into the temple. The Sisters showed him the way to the High Priestess and when finally his eyes fell upon the pale skinned woman, he offered her a slight smile. "I see you are as beautiful as ever, High Priestess." He greeted her, before his smile quickly faded and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You know why I am here." He said simply.
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[Nimue]

L O C A T I O N | The Temple of the Silmä
W E A R I N G | [X]
T A G S | Adron Malvern​

Silence reigned supreme in the temple of the Silmä. They coveted it like the rest of the galaxy coveted power. In the silence, work could be completed. Ideas could be formed. Practices carried out. In the silence, many things were accomplished.

The particular silence that spread over the temple now was one that the high priestess had demanded herself. These beings of dark magik utilised it in many ways, one of which was the ability to see through time. To see things which had yet to pass and things that had already occurred. These visions had foretold them of a visitor of great power, in search of greater power still. Through their own distaste for the infantile behaviour and naïve nature of the rest of the galaxy, the Silmä were visited by few. Yet, this particular visit surprised the Silmä little. The high priestess and those before had recited it for centuries. The vision was always the same.

It was the visitor that changed.

None yet had been able to see it to completion. None had been able to grasp the great power that had led them to the temple in the first place. A power that dominated, and would dominate, the entire galaxy. All were weak. All had desires upon something their feeble minds could not comprehend. All had failed. Nimue herself had seen three visitors come and go. Once as a novice, twice in her time as high priestess. Every single one of them had faced the same outcome. A grisly death caused by an overestimation of their capabilities and an infuriating determination to follow their own paths. However, this visitor was different.

He gave Nimue hope that the Silmä had not seen for centuries, though she kept the notions to herself. The rest of her sisters distrusted him. There was little doubt that they saw him as a dark lord, just as their prophecies had foretold of. Nimue disagreed. She was fond of him, and she believed he would surprise them in time, but dark lord? The arrival of their deity in human form, sent to build Illyria and the Silmä into greatness? No. That mantle lay yet unclaimed.

The whole idea of it belonging to Adron still settled uneasily in her mind. That was not to say she did not believe he could grow into it, but it did not belong to him in his current position. Yet, the revelation of his first coming, when he had defeated the high priestess alongside his wife, had given the Silmä cause to unite again. Under the same banner, heading toward the same goals. They were not as they once were, but Adron Malvern had provided them a reason to return to their true calling. Nimue had simply used it to her advantage. She had united her sisters once more under his name and rebuilt the temple to its former glory. Their numbers were low still, but more kept pouring through the Ingress with each passing day. In time they would swell to their original size. In time, all power would be theirs, and theirs alone. But for now…

“High Priestess Nimue.” The brazen voice of the sister on guard tonight echoed from the obsidian walls. “He is here.”

It had been wholly unnecessary to inform her, but Nimue appreciated the gesture regardless. “Bring him to me.” She watched the shadow of her sister nod, then grow smaller as she disappeared down the towering hallways. Nimue had known of his arrival for years, and she could feel him shifting in the darkness now as she had each time the oracle had blessed her with a vision. The further he walked into the temple, the more his power melded with theirs. The more it grew lost in the shadow that dominated the entire temple. The darkness that swelled in the hallways and filled every corner. Even he, with his assumed title of dark lord, could not stand out against it. Even Nimue, labelled as a master of the very thing that swallowed them, could not stand out against it. No matter how powerful, all were lost to the devilry that reigned in the temple. All were the same under the ebony eye of the oracle.

Finally, the shadow of a man blocked what little light had managed to seep into her office from the torches in the hallway. Though a lack of light had always been preferable and had certainly never impeded her, Nimue glanced up from her work.

A thin, ghostly laugh radiated from her chest. “And you...” The priestess replied to the outline of the King. “...are as charming as ever.” A grin worked its way onto her face, pulling her pale cheeks up to flash the whites of her teeth. “Of course I know why you are here.” She continued as she stood from her desk, careful of the ever-swelling bump that was now obvious even behind the layers of charcoal silk. “I have known for years. What on earth took you so long?” Nimue teased as she closed the distance between them, and stretched out an elegant hand which directed the king down the hallways. “I believe we should start in the Pivara. I trust you have what we require?”​

 

[Adron Malvern]

DARK SHADOWS​

Tags: @Nimue ​

The Eye of Illyria was as vigilant as ever. Still, when Nimue rose from her seat the King did not hide his surprise. The subtle, yet noticeable, bump was not something that Adron would have easily missed, even in the darkness of the room. The King leveled his eyes against the swell. "It seems congratulations are in order. I had no idea that the High Priestess was expecting." He said, not trying to hide the surprise that came from him. Witchhoods were not foreign to him, yet he had little idea as to who the Priestess may have been courted by? Had she taken a fancy to one of the Nobles? Or perhaps a member of her order had spurned her emotions to the point of reproduction?

"A gift is in order. I will see to it when I return to Azurine." His mind was elsewhere, yet there was something about the woman's bump that he could not place. A child that would be powerful with the Force, that much is certain. In the next moment he turned to follow the woman into the hall. As they moved through the hall, Adron produced two unique items. The first was a crystal of pure amethyst with lightning streaks of black flowing through the gemstone. It radiated with the power of the Dark Side while also holding a subtle, yet powerful connection to it's holder.

"Your magic will be needed if I am to form this lightsaber into one of the greatest ever crafted. It will not be simple." He told her, gesturing to the other item in his hand. A lightsaber. Although it was without it's primary crystal, it was elegantly crafted of songsteel and gold. The device was meant to be a symbol of a King and the power he held. It was powerful and total, yet it held with it a burden that cannot be overlooked. He continued, following Nimue into the Pivara. As they entered, the man took special notice of the room. There were several of them in the Temple and each one was just as fitting as the others. He held the lightsaber and crystal out to Nimue. "A few times I have considered retiring the weapon. Lightsabers are just as much a beacon as they are a weapon. Every man who wields one falls into the Galaxy's eye and the stigma that comes with them. However, the Force has guided me to construct a new one so I shall do just that."

The Sith Lord turned from the woman, running a hand across the iron cauldrons that hung with heavy black chains. He could feel it. The Dark Side was powerful in this place. This would be one of the foundations to the future. "I need the Silma." He admitted to the High Priestess, before turning his amethyst eyes to meet her. "They are imperative if Illyria is to prosper and grow into more than they are now." He told her.
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[Nimue]

L O C A T I O N | The Pivara, The Temple of the Silmä
T A G S | Adron Malvern​

The high priestess waved off his congratulations. “Thank you. Do what you will.” She spoke with a flippant kindness to her tone, in regard to the gift. “It is certainly a blessing.”

It was rare that the Silmä made such obvious displays of emotion toward someone else’s good fortune. They were a selfish type and revelled in their own accomplishments and those belonging to their sisters, not the accomplishments of others. Humans, on the other hand, were much more primitive. They found a reason to celebrate the smallest of things. Despite her years of life, it was one of the few things she still struggled to understand about them. How they could live for so few years yet still share what little emotion they could summon with others? It was amusing to think on, and Nimue often whiled away the endless hours doing just that.

What she did enjoy, however, was the obvious surprise on Adron’s face. Nimue recalled feeling such surprise when she discovered the fact for herself, but Adron’s surprise was ironic. The origins of the child slowly growing in her belly would likely be more of a surprise to him than anything else. There was a burning desire in the pit of her stomach to reveal the secret that would likely shake him to the core. The oracle had not blessed her with a vision of what would happen if she did. Ordinarily, that would have dissuaded Nimue further, but it only spurred the fire on. After all, it was not every day you were afforded the opportunity to confuse the dark lord, and confused he would be, because…

Adron was staring at his own grandchild.

The child was a product of a strange occurrence. A future version of Adron’s own son thrown through a rip between two separate timelines. Nimue had promised to protect him and guide him through a galaxy he did not rightfully belong too, but they had become so much more than that. Adron was entirely clueless about it, of course. Nimue had originally insisted that Aries be the one to tell his alternate parents who he was, and where he had come from. Yet the more time that past the more she found she disagreed with her past self. Anything that could knock Adron off his current path would likely lead to disaster. Not just for Illyria, but for the Silmä themselves.

Nothing was of more importance to Nimue than her coven’s survival. Then her sisters being able to flourish and fulfil the tasks the oracle blessed them with. Not her own humour, not Adron, nor Aries, nor the child growing in her belly. So, as the king and the high priestess made their way toward the Pivara, Nimue refrained from speaking of the child again.

Adron shifted as they walked, which dragged the ancient charcoal gaze Nimue held toward him. “Good.” She responded to his comment. “The Silmä are not widely known for being simple.” That was a forte that belonged to humankind. The high priestess briefly inspected the lightsaber Adron had presented. It was beautiful enough, but beauty would not allow it to withstand the magik they were about to inject it with. It was powerful, much like its master, but it would need more than that. That, however, was where the amethyst crystal would play its part. Adron had done well, up to now. Both of the things he had collected lined up with the prophecies. After that, there was only one thing left. Whether the man himself could hold true.

They finally reached the doors to the closest Pivara, which at their approach swung open on ancient, rusted hinges. There were four of the forges all together in the temple, each designed with specialities in mind. Fortunately for Nimue, the one closest to her chambers was the best of the four. Walking had become particularly arduous thanks to the slowly growing weight on her stomach.

Behind the doors, they were met with a cavernous room, twice the size of any in the temple and carved from the mountain rock itself. The moment Nimue placed a foot over the threshold, several iron scones lining the walls burst into bright orange flames. With light now illuminating the Pivara, Nimue strolled confidently toward the largest of three cauldrons. The rock behind it was lined with dark wooden shelves, filled to the brim with various opaque glass jars. Some contained ingredients, some contained liquids, some merely glowed vibrant rainbow shades, but all were useful. Nimue finally graced Adron with a look, which found itself peering directly into the king’s eyes.

“And you have them by your side, as always.” A smile formed on her lips. “The Silmä would not dare abandon the dark lord in his hour of need, nor would we turn our backs on Illyria. Prosperity and growth will benefit us all. The oracle has told us this much at least.” Both of Nimue’s hands rose then, to hip height where she could easily grasp the lightsaber and the crystal itself. Though instead of leaning forward, another task that was slowly becoming a chore, one of the fingers on her right hand moved slowly. Making a “come hither” motion. The hilt, and the crystal, reacted accordingly. Slipping themselves from the king’s open palms and dancing freely through the air to Nimue’s outstretched hands.

The saber was immediately abandoned on one of the empty shelves behind Nimue. The crystal was her true focus. She rose her arms until the fractals of amethyst light that reflected from the scones danced in her ebony eyes. She smiled again, one of the most genuine smiles she had produced since Adron’s arrival. “You have done very well.” She spoke simply, as though complimenting a child on their first drawing. Adron would know by now, Nimue meant no offence by it. Centuries of life, along with the Silma's natural distaste for outsiders, had lead to the rather unfortunately habbit of condescension. “I believe this will do very nicely.” The crystal joined the lightsaber on the edge of the table, where Nimue abandoned them both in favour of the shelves along the walls. “First, we must protect them both. Construct a foundation to build upon. Once this is complete, I believe the Omnivident will allow us to accomplish what you desire.”

Nimue scooped up several jars, along with various packages wrapped in tight leather. “Tell me…” She asked as set herself to work, her sharp jet-black nails pulled corks from their bottles. “How is your sweet family?”​

 

[Adron Malvern]

DARK SIDE​

Tags: Nimue ​

As always the workings of The Silma were something outside of Adron's interests. Magick such as this was not merely learned. As Nimue was a testament to, it was something that took years to cultivate, a lifetime even and Nimue had lived several human lifetimes to Adron's knowledge. Knowing this was an important factor in handling the woman. The depth at which the Sith Lord had studied the Dark Side caused him to view most others as supremely lesser beings. There were Jedi and Sith Masters who appeared as nothing more than children in the imprentation of the Force. For Nimue who had seen it all, past, present, and various futures it must have been somewhat the same. It did not cause him to necessarily enjoy the demeanor but he did understand and accept it.

The High Priestess spoke of the necessary components for completing the ritual and the Sith Lord nodded in understanding. He knew the task would not be simple, yet that was a partial limit to his knowledge on the process. This was something more than merely bleeding a lightsaber crystal or empowering it through basic alchemy. The weapon they crafted would be a device the King would use to impose his power over entire Battlefields. As he grew, so would the power of his lightsaber and with every life it claimed it would become more and more a harbinger of the Dark Side.

Nimue began the process, producing a number of supplies while speaking some niceties. Adron did not second-guess her words. They were unnatural for her. She did not truly care of such things and if she did, she would merely call upon the Force to grant her vision such clarity to ascertain the answer herself. That aside, he offered her a slight smirk as he gave his response.

"The Queen is away. With the ever-shifting demands of The Confederacy it is becoming more and more of a task for us to continue ruling Illyria and maintaining our stations in The Confederacy. The High Court have become an invaluable tool to mitigate some of these duties, however they may never gain power over the Crown and that requires an active presence." He explained to her before clearing his throat and gesturing to the lightsaber. "Even ventures such as this must be taken with those matters in consideration."

He chuckled softly. "The young Prince is power. He grows like a weed and already shows aptitude for The Force. He will become a powerful King in his time. This much I can sense." He told her, watching her with the mixture she formed.
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[Nimue]

T A G S | Adron Malvern​

It was true that the question was moot before Nimue had even asked it. One of her many duties as high priestess was to know the movements of everyone of importance on Illyria. That included both the King, Queen and their young Prince. With the Prince being of particular interest to her now that the second Aries was a prominent part of her life. Yet still, Nimue had grown used to making small talk with outsiders. The Silmä were not well known for their social skills, but her position did not leave room for incompetence. Despite what the Silmä so desperately believed, their distaste and distrust for outsiders was indeed incompetence.

Nimue grimaced, briefly. The Confederacy and its ties to Illyria had always been a sore point for the Silmä. They were of the belief that Illyria could stand on its own, that it would do better without the influence of options born of others. Apart from their natural distaste to any outside influence, the Silmä were wary of the fact that their King and Queen divided their time between both Illyria and the Confederacy. It did not sit well in the minds of the Silmä, who were heavily devoted to their own. Adron was well aware of this. He sought her advice often, on matters concerning Illyria, and she had spoken often of the Confederacy being a hindrance to their development. That conversation was not one that need be repeated.

Her focus was briefly devoted solely to the cauldron that stood between them. A flick of her wrist saw the eternally burning flame beneath glow brighter. Until it raged with scarlet flames that licked and lashed at the tempered metal. Her fingers danced erratically over the array of bottles and jars she had procured from the shelves.

At the mention of Aries, Nimue’s face broke into the briefest of smiles. She plucked a jar from the mass and threw the contents into the cauldron. A shockingly dark poof of ebony smoke erupted from the centre, followed by hissing and sizzling sounds as the ingredients settled onto the bottom of the molten hot bowl. “And this much I have seen.” She finally regarded Adron, with a certainty in her tone that could not be argued. She had seen visions of the younger Aries growing to be a great and powerful man. Nimue did not know what the child’s future held now that the other Aries had made appeared, but the visions of the child remained true. At least until the Oracle told her otherwise.

She talked no more, now directing her full attention to her work. Nimue had an elegance to the way she brewed. As though it were an ancient dance, the steps of which she had performed for so long they were ingrained in her muscles. Bottle after bottle and jar after jar were emptied into the pot until a sickly yellow liquid bubbled and spat violently from its depths.

“It’s ready.” The high priestess spoke as she turned her back to Adron to face the shelves behind her. “Now, it is your turn.” She reached for something tucked away, something that she had to lean to reach for. When she finally had it, she spun to face Adron again. Resting across both palms was a waved blade of pure obsidian rock, with Silmärian runes carved into its length. Imbedded into the handle was an opalescent milk-white jewel that reflected the scones light in a thousand rainbow shades. Nimue let the blade rest on a single palm so that the other hand could grasp the amethyst crystal that lay waiting on the side.

In case what she was suggesting was not obvious to the dark lord, Nimue began to speak. “It requires the blood of the wielder. A small cut will be fine, but the crystal must touch it, and then you must plunge your hand into the cauldron.” Nimue stretched both her arms out until her palms were central to the bubbling yellow liquid and as close to Adron as she could get them. “I will not lie to you and tell you it will not hurt. You are smarter than that. As you likely expect, it will not be quick. It will burn, and you will likely remember the pain for the rest of your life.” Despite her words, Nimue’s face was filled with a sheltered excitement. The kind that she was desperately attempting not to show on her face, but the kind that was breaking through anyway.

There was something in her milk-white eyes that sparkled. Something about the corners of her mouth that screamed of her eagerness. “The omnivident will not treat you with any kinder. You will find the same torment for you waiting in its depths.” She continued. “But it is the price we must pay for great power.”​

 

[Adron Malvern]

Tags: Nimue ​

The King took interest in the ingredients that the High Priestess of the Silma placed within the cauldron. Witchcraft was an ancient rite of the Dark Side and it held within it a different kind of power, one that was heavily influenced by the balance of life and death. While the Sith Lord's master, Darth Metus had once practiced the arts himself Adron had decided to distance himself from them. They were too uncontrollable and too wild for a man such as him to ever hope to master. He delivered order to chaos where the ancient arts of the Witches introduced chaos to order. Power with little control was nothing more than a path to self-destruction. Even as a Sith it was important to know one's own limits.

Soon Nimue proclaimed that her broth had been completed. The Dark Lord peered at the cauldron with an expression of caution, yet it was thrown to the wind when the pale woman produced a blade of midnight rock. The Sith Lord turned his eyes from the weapon to the crystal in Nimue's hands. He couldn't help but chuckle softly at the woman before him. "So excited to see me introduce myself to incomparable pain?" He said, peering through the fractured wall that hid the woman's excitement. Adron turned from the woman, pulling his arms from his cloak so that he could free himself of the dark material. He tossed the cloak over a nearby shelf before unfastening the buttons at his wrists. He rolled up his sleeves before turning back to the woman to retrieve the black blade and his lightsaber crystal.

Amethyst eyes peered down at the crystal before he brought his lips into a knowing smile. His hand shook with a slight anticipation. Adron respected the old ways and the smile upon his face was a clear reflection of his heart. This pain would be a damning challenge.

The man turned to face the cauldron, holding the blade over the steamy black smoke. His eyes trailed down to the brew and found it to be of a distasteful shade of yellow. It was almost like a star corrupted at it's core into something so grotesque it held no place in the known galaxy. He inhaled softly and found his stomach turned by the bile-like scent that filled his nose. He turned his head away for a moment before glancing over to Nimue. "It smells like a rotting bantha corpse." He said simply before sighing. The man tensed his hand over the hilt of the blade, laying the cool dagger against the flat of his palm. "Let us get this over with, shall we?" In a single fluid motion he brought the edge of the blade across his palm, slicing through the skin and painting a red line across his hand. He did not so much as wince at the cut, instead he curled his hand around the crystal until a thick coating of his crimson life forced hugged the gem.

He said nothing. He did not look to the woman beside him. He plunged his arm into the cauldron without hesitation.

The scream the King let out was a single, soul shaking scream. His eyes came alive as the Dark Side of the Force wrapped around him. The pain that flowed through his arm did not subside and more importantly it did not stop. As if electricity and magma had mated to create a single feeling of hellish pain, it flowed through his entire body in incontrollable waves.

Adron tried to embrace the pain, focus on it and bring him power. However, this was something more than the power that could be molded. This was destruction.

In time the King had taken all he could take. His arm pulled from the broth, however he soon found it was not so simple. The Force tethered him close to the cauldron, to the point where his free hand was forced to press against the boiling side of the cauldron. His skin hissed in protest as he yelled out, the pain from the waters far outmatching the slight burn to his hand. He soon realized that the pain was only just to begin.
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