The Darkest of Knights

[WolfMortum]

Before him lay the grotesque and dismembered corpse of his former self, cybernetic modifications and replacement limbs and organs all removed from the now dead carcass that Brennan Cabrol once inhabited. To think that he would undergo something as comprehensible as an Essence Transfer, how [member="Ara Zambrano"] had come to achieve this he still had not been told. What had been made clear to him however was that with the natural body returned to him in full form, the Force that flowed through him was no longer crippled by the blend of technologies, his potential no longer hindered from progressing in his training and his maneuverability in combat was once again at it's apex. All that remained now was to prioritize the creation of new equipment better suited for his future service to the First Order.

Something had changed within him, Death bringing a certain lax of self expression where his former need to deny his past no longer remained. Between the Sith and the Jedi, they had both taken him apart, gnawed upon pieces of his psyche and in the end become his undoing until he had come into contact with the First Order. The Knights of Ren and most specifically Sieger Ren had given him direction and set his path forward with renewed enthusiasm, yet forever had his sense of individuality been forsaken. Now he had been given a fresh start and while he had been apprehensive and angered by the forced situation, he had come to understand why Ara had brought all of this upon him.

He was once more upon the ground of Virgillia, once again living within his quarters in the Bastion of Ren. Since his Knighthood, his entitlement had improved when it came to his quarters; no longer having to share them with his former peers, the Disciples of Ren weren't around to intrude on his personal pursuits. Yesterday he had pried the last of the Phrik from the cybernetics of his past. Since then they had been reshaped, reworked into smaller pieces fit for the weapon that he sought to create. There was a great deal of Irony in the use of his former self being grafted into his soon to be new Lightsaber. All of that hatred and darkness that he had carried in his former life would too flow throughout his blade, accompanied by the focusing crystal for which he now remained upon his knees, the crystal on the floor in front of him and he lost to a trance, meditation, for which the Dark Side of the Force had grown immensely dense and had soon been shifted to focus down into the gem.

It would be an hour or two before he was finished with this crucial step, the Crystal soon to carry his menacing presence within the Force, only to compliment the destructive power of the blade itself soon to come.

 

[WolfMortum]

Through the Order of Ren, Brennan Cabrol had been introduced to a number of weapons that the Jedi Order would usually refrain from training in. Such physical weapons such as the use of Iron Swords, Vibro-blades and larger melee tools such as a maul. He had been extensively trained on top of the experience he had already gained during the first half of his life upon Svivren but now, for the first time he had taken it upon himself to construct a new weapon in the make well known among the Knights of Ren, the Cross-Guard Lightsaber.

The Cross Guard itself was appealing to Caehl in more than the typical function of the added modification, it also resembled the Order of Ren as the Galaxy had come to witness. This weapon though originally created long ago, had been brought back into the new age under the First Order in their pursuit of security over the Galaxy. The Order that the Knights of Ren were to aid the Government in retaining would be by the use of such a weapon, combined with the power of the Force for which he would need to double his efforts within training.

 

[WolfMortum]

The Art of the Small, it was a most interesting technique that his former Master, Talon Ren had taught to Brennan before his disappearance. The ability to manipulate the Force in the company of his own microscopic biological structure made it that much easier to fuel the working of his new Lightsabers hilt, reshaping the Crystal to compress it within the cylinder shaft, surrounded by the other components and then melding them into one through the intensity and hatred of his manipulation over the Dark-Side of the Force.

It was a recipe for truly menacing results, the weapon by design meant to encompass a presence of strong intimidation to those weaker than himself, striking fear into the hearts of those he would come across all the while empowering his own strength within the Force to better crush their spirits.

With the internal design completed, what remained was the outer casing for which would include a Trapped grip; this requiring technology taken from the First Order Security Bureau to detect the identity of the one holding the weapon and if not recognized, emitting an electrical charge that ought to burn and immobilize.

 

[WolfMortum]

The final completion of the weapon was undertaken through the art of meditation. Though Caehl Ren had originally learned this in his younger years within the Jedi Order long since eradicated and swept to the forgotten winds of Svivren, he now did so through the invocation of the Dark Side of the Force, using his emotions to fuel his presence and engulf himself in his negativity that it might only empower his anger and redefine his training. This was his first step towards becoming something far greater than the former body of his now lifeless husk allowed; the presence of cybernetics for once he had revered in their brute strength and destructive force were ultimately nothing but the justification of his denial, weak and repulsive compared to the power of the Force and one who had ascended throughout his training to become a Master over his own and that which he could command, summon and unleash upon others for their impudence and opposition towards him.

As the frame and body of the lightsaber lifted from the ground, Brennan sat upon his knees knelt before it, his eyes closed and brows pinched at the center, a look of deep determination and anger strewn across him as he focused on the outter pieces of phrik, bringing them close to fit in their rightful places encompassing the weapon. Slowly, surely, each edge and crack within the surface would be grafted together, the Force working to blend the material together, each small piece of the mineral being grafted to the rest, sealed shut over the moments that passed him on by, the outside world estranged to him now where only darkness swelled around him. In a sense of euphoria and a very similar feeling he had experienced in his intial death before the essence transfer he found himself staring against his own back, looking on from the third person in his trance, the force opening his senses up to more than what could be physically seen but exploring the very depths of his inner conflict. Fear of rejection, denial of his attachments for others, hate for his former Master of the Jedi and all that he represented, the emphasis of his failures, it all churned and frenzied around him; he pinpointing the lightsaber within the center of this torrent of instability and denying it to control him, the weapon for which would soon be his representation of Order, security and defiance against the renegades that spoke against the Supreme Leader's vision...

In the silence of his quarters, the hilt would slowly be lowered to the floor. Brennan's breath escaping him in a fair pace, his shoulders rising and falling, sweat upon his brow and slowly, his eyes would open to look upon the Cross-Guard Lightsaber, dominant in the aura of his presence in the Force, pulsating in response to his own exertion of power, completed and ready for testing. The Knight of Ren exhaled somewhat freely, pushing himself to his feet and calling the weapon into his right hand through the use of the force itself, the weight of the hilt slapping against the palm of his hand an even construction though thanks to the Phrik he had used, it was fairly lighter than most melee blades such as the Dirk that he had been trained to wield.

Feeling the make of the weapons interior, knowing the design intimately, something within clicked in audible recognition to his will, the activation stud being pressed forward through the gentle use of telekinesis igniting the blade with a snap-hiss and crimson light being unleashed in a wave of heat and energy, the instability of the blade itself sizzling against the open air, emitting cracks and pops where the energy sought to escape the control of it's Field energizer. It did not dissipate, though it did not burn with the controlled state of a normal blade. It was erratic, rough and yet defined in its own sense. Not unlike himself in a way...

A rather imperfect perfection.

 

[WolfMortum]

Brennan Cabrol's next assignment would be one not of personal make but an offering to that of [member="Ara Zambrano"], the empowerment of the Darkside of the Force woven into the fiber-mesh and phrik plating that would serve to protect her upper body and vital organs should an attempt be taken upon her life while in service to the throne and to the First Order.

Much like the creation of his Lightsaber, the metal he placed before him and again took to a kneeling position. His hands resting upon his legs, closed into fists while his back and posture straightened and he closed his eyes to exhale slowly between pursed lips; the release of oxygen easing the tension around him as he sought to slow his breathing, a pool of residual Dark Energy coming to swell around himself as he thought of Ara and her recent acts of treason against him, her personal betrayel plenty enough to incite the anger and rage within him, tempered none while in the privacy of his own holdings.

The room grew immediately dense with the sudden invocation of power and once more employing the practice of the Art of the Small, that very power fueled by his stronger negative emotions would take on a physical form, the transference of energies much like his soul was thust upon this new body yet this power released against the Armor, a cloud of shadow, black tendrils of smoke escaping from the sleeves of his black robes to envelope the attire and slowly corrupt the metal.

In a similar fasion to how the Jedi and Sith alike melded their lightsabers through deep meditation, Brennan Cabrol focused on the metal, the surface of which would contort and deform, the dark energies channeled from him to the metal working beginning to blend into it's very fabric, turning the metal into a mixed tone of gold and bronze.

 

[WolfMortum]

Hers would be an attire elegantly fit for the throne of Panatha while too reinforcing the power within her grasp, the control over the Force for which would never leave her unlike the visage that she carried to separate her place as Queen from the life in service to the Order of Ren. The phrik corset was designed as an overlay for the more casual of crafted attires, a gown for example or a pair of leggings and a shirt that while did not exactly scream royalty, would still look the part with the bold embroidery of the armor plating over top.

As time seemed to be lost on him, passing him by while he sat in silent focus upon the metal works, the force around him rolled over his body with the essence of self loathing merciless negativity, the share process was maddening, calling upon the source of ones frustration and failures, pain and past memories of torment in order to strengthen himself and by extension in this scenario, then pour all of that power into something to be worn by the very person whom had last driven a lightsaber through his torso.

Only they, the two of them could try to understand the relationship that had somehow evolved from their shared affiliation through that of [member="Kriel Firin"], former Master of the Order of Ren, he of whom had abandoned them, vanished from the history of the FOSB's database without word nor hint of what had become of him. Quietly, Brennan had questioned whether it had been a case handled by the Upper Echelon of their Order, the likes of assassination and removal from power, but were that the case he had come up empty in search for justification. Instead they had been left with one another, an alliance of personal interests and a twisted sense of loyalty to one another that went beyond life itself and had resulted in both of their murders by the others hand still to pull through and somehow...-by what ever darkness that fueled their paths, miraculously kept them bound together by fate or the will of the Force; something larger than themselves refused to release them from their descent.