Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Following of Dark Jedi [Ask]

| [member="Ciara Jevnaker"] | [member="Tyro'din"] | [member="Vereor"] | [member="Rush Basai"] | [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] |


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The Imperial Citadel had stood for thousands of years. It had housed eras upon eras, from Gilad Pellaeon and the Imperial Remnant that had founded Bastion, to the Fel's and the Empire that had been usurped by Darth Krayt and his One Sith and the bastard sons and daughters of long lost civilizations that lived through the Four-Hundred Year Darkness. It had housed the Mandalorians in the years following until Netherworld had opened it's gates.

Now it paid homage to the Primeval, it's lost army and a wandering exile.

I once watched my world burn. A rebellion unseen in centuries against the tyranny of evil men. It had a noble cause and a legacy to match, for a Dark Jedi had stood against the galaxy and challenged the Jedi and the democracy that they stood for; and I had stood against the Sith and the autocracy that had plagued Almania for so many years. I watch friends and family die to the hands of a virus that had not been seen in years also. How ironic, that we would fall to history as we sought to replicate and achieve greatness greater than that of Kueller and the exiles that had preceded him...

The throne room was in the center of the citadel, as it had been the center of the Imperial Remnant, Fel Empire and the bastards that had lived through a Four-Hundred Year Darkness. It's throne was iron, unlike the obsidian that he had once seen break beneath the will of the Thronebreaker, positioned on a plinth above all the others to signify the power that it represented.

Doors opened under the Dark Master's mind, spreading a gust through it's empty halls. For his eyes had watched Bastion for decades upon decades, as Krayt had; and much like the Dark Lord of the Sith, another had watched and watched another dynasty live upon a jewel in the center of an Empire in the face of his power.

Oh, how he had loathed them.

...and we would achieve a greatness that the first of us had achieved. For the legacy that they had created had been tarnished throughout the eons, it's purpose lost in weakness and stagnant of which they had sought to eradicate in their exile. I became an exile of my own device, for I was not pushed away from my home. My eyes were open to the truth. No, unlike them I returned home, to begin a rebellion. One that would push the Sith to the brink. An Empire that would become my own. A legacy that would be in my hands. Enslave them, in a direction that only an exile could know of and a greatness that could he could achieve...

Boots echoed in the long hall. The rug beneath his foot was new and decorated, replacing that which had been broken and disgraced when the ghosts of the unknown came forth to call Bastion it's home. This was the Primeval's now. It belonged them. For they were conquerors of Bastion. Vilox Pazela came to a stop at the foot, yellow eyes lifting to the summit. Men that would sit in the confines of that seat, or one that would look like it, would sit here again one day and do what he could not. They would stand against the Sith, their Empire and topple it, bringing about peace.

And with their victory, they undone the lies of the Sith Order.

...but we failed and Almania burned. My uprising squashed beneath the foot of dominant Sith Lords before the eyes of the Overlord. I was the Overlord. It is a metaphorical thing, to be cleansed by fire. I have no burns on my skin or scars on the surface to show what I lost. But I watched my home burn, as I watched the Sith Empire crumble beneath the feet of the Belladars. The lies of Vilox Pazela burned away as did the lies of the Sith. I am the Dark Master and I have witnessed the end of worlds, of legacies, families, lies and entire Empires...

The ascent did not take long. As he climbed up the steps to the top of the pedestal, the pull on the dark side created a convergence in the Force. For Vilox Pazela would create a following conceived in a time that was not his own, with an idea thought of in the past, to undo an injustice, tragedy and violence that yet to transpire.

The Dark Master lowered himself into the throne, hands rested on either side of it's arm rests and eyes on the open doors ahead, waiting; and as he watched, his eyes glowed as they had on the same day he had watched Almania die.

He was still on fire.

...everything is a petroleum, igniting the flames that have engulfed me. I have sunk and reached the end times. But my eyes see all. I will destroy the legacy of those certain exiles, to create another; and the exiles of this time shall join me or burn as all those have before them. The Primeval shall find their Gods and their crusade shall undo all of which I have witnessed. Almania need never burn. My people need never die. Here, in a building in a city on world that a family would tell the galaxy one more time that the promises of the Sith were lies, a manufactured peace made to spite us, I will end these Star Wars.

Thus, Vilox Pazela waited for the Host Lord and others to arrive, wiser to the way the galaxy worked. They could not see the fire, but he had been stood in that same place for a long time. Although his physical vessel had left the place in which he had seen his home die, the Dark Master had existed there ever since. Even then, sat on the throne in the center of the Imperial Citadel, waiting for those selected to join his side, his eyes watched and watched and watched and watched and watched...
 
Over the hundreds of thousands of years the allure of the dark side had swayed many from a path that others may consider to be righteous and moral and instead tugged them onto a winding and barely-visible journey of self-discovery and re-enlightenment.
Those who had survived the guiding of Bogan were gifted with techniques and abilities that on many occasions rocked the galaxy and the societies within it to their very cores. Truly the dark side has proven that it is the ultimate way of any curious being to take.

Vereor had been guided by the Force to Bastion, for reasons as of yet unknown to him, through the organisation known as the Primeval. It was a nation with the potential to rival the instability in the entire galaxy, albeit relatively young in comparison to others and while it would take time for this youthful group to emerge with the wisdom and strength of governments like the ancient Republic and Empire, it would be entertaining to watch the downfall of every other system.
His black, hooded cloak only covered his head until he entered the citadel. There was no wind, nor rain to hide his face from when he passed a less-than majestic entrance. This world had seen at least a hundred different occupiers in the last century alone and this one had more than enough time to make this jewel shine.

The dark side lured him around a corner and through an open set of heavy doors. Down the vast hall he could see a throne of dull metal and sat on it a hooded figure he knew, but couldn't see. His boots announced his entrance before any herald could. His lightsaber jingled against the metal couplings of his belt until he stopped ten metres away from [member=Vilox Pazela].
An introduction had no place here for this being Vereor could not place. Those robes, he mused. Now they do ring a bell.


[member=Ciara Jevnaker], [member=Tyro'din], [member=Rush Basai], [member=Anja Aj'Rou]
 
Whispers echoed through a mind, waking it to the truth. Darkness...there will always be darkness. Light...there will always be light. War. Darkness and light...waged across the stars. Death...so many deaths. Pain...yes...pain will free you. Truth...open your eyes....see it....believe it....take it. Sweet child...hear my voice. Vahla.....Vahla...darkness....it is you. Sleep...no more.....WAKE!

She shot up quickly, nearly smacking her head against the bunk above hers. It took a few passing moments for that disorienting feeling to subside, her nerves slowly falling back into the state of calmness. The small vibrations of the shuttle reminded her that she was heading somewhere, but the destination teetered on the edge of her mind; mocking her. She slid out of the bed, her bare feet touching the cold metal floor sending surprising shivers coursing through her body. The shock of the cold evaporated the last remnants of the dream, though she was unsure if it was a dream. She saw things. Felt things. Heard things. Now it was gone.

When she finished putting on her attire, she left the confines of her quarters and everything went dark.

Come child...you are close...so close.

Her eyes blinked as they struggled to adjust to the lights of the shuttle. What happened? Who spoke those words? Then like the dream, it vanished into extinction. She peered out the side viewport and saw the planet of Bastion looming below. Bastion? Why was she coming to Bastion? She walked to the cockpit to find out why they were heading to that planet and was surprised, again, that the shuttle was on autopilot. Slightly confused by this discover, she slowly sat in the pilot's seat and brought up the nav computer. She put here right hand to her mouth when she realized it was her that programmed the shuttle to go to Bastion.

She stood at the bottom of the ramp taking in the sight of the ancient building. Strangely she felt a small tugging on her body, pulling her forward toward the building. She took a long deep breath and took a step. Darkness.

Here...you have arrived...welcome! Come child..come...we have much to....discuss....hurry...quickly....come!

Her eyes fell on a figure sitting on a throne. She smiled not knowing why she did, but for some reason she felt complete.

[member="Vilox Pazela"] / [member="Tyro'din"] / [member="Rush Basai"] / [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] / [member="Vereor"]
 
| [member="Ciara Jevnaker"] | [member="Tyro'din"] | [member="Vereor"] | [member="Rush Basai"] | [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] |

The first man arrived. He knew that his name was Vereor. That he was powerful in the dark side; and much like himself, Vereor had found his way to the Primeval. Thus, Vilox had reached out to the man. To convince him to follow him on the crusade in which the Dark Master would lead. Sometimes, insects were drawn to the fire. But was Vereor small?

Thinking of small things, Vilox averted his gaze from the hooded Sith Lord to Ciara Jevnaker. So much potential that had yet to be tapped. The Dark Master's eyes lifted from the woman's feet to her face and found her wanting. Those who had ventured into the dark found themselves drawn to the light. In a metaphorical sense, Ciara had found her light.

"Welcome," Vilox spoke softly. "You have one opportunity to ask one question each. I shall answer this question and give you an absolution. Then I will give you a choice."

"Think carefully. What has brought you here? For each of us on this path, we find ourselves having a reason for sinking into the dark. For some it's knowledge. Others it is power. But some were awarded a purpose to entering the path, to lead them to points such as this; and for the three of us and others to come, we find ourselves on a crossroads where our paths aligned."

"Before you ask, tell me what has brought you to this point. What it was that made you feel those dark inhibitions and choose to follow them. Then ask your question."
 
Striding down the lengthy halls of the Imperial Palace, Anja Aj'Rou felt a familiar presence in the force. Her use of magics have become stronger as time pressed on but who or what could have found its way into her palace? The fortress world of Bastion was nigh impenetrable. Only someone extremely clever or one her own could find their way inside; by their own will. Yet this familiarity was not something that she felt distant, no, it was someone she knew and if she knew them they were likely welcomed on her world in some way or another.

The halls were long and wide, clearly built to accommodate more than just the royalty, this was a bastion within a bastion; the ultimate fortress for the Imperials to rule over their territory and now it was the personal living area and capitol for The Primeval in their home away from home. The distant homeworld that Anja was born on is now a memory of the past, Bastion was the present and the realms under her forces continued to grow day by day. her steps brought her to an inner entrance way that lead into the grand hall, where the throne stood. When Anja was not around there were little guards to speak of, whoever intruded on her Palace better have a good explanation, the witch was not known for her understanding.

Entering the hall she saw two others standing in front of the Throne, a cloaked figure sat on the chair that the Host Lord lazily rested in when dealing with the routine of her Warlords, officers, and priests. She hadn't become complacent but one does get used to luxuries they previously had little of. The Umbaran's eyes fixed themselves on the figure, gazing beyond the normal perceptions of simple biology, she was measuring him in ways only a magic user such as herself knew and saw someone she's met before... "Explain yourself!", her voice echoed throughout the hall, reflected only by the concentrated power of the force. Her shout was not necessarily in anger but it was clear she was unhappy towards the jest of someone sitting on her throne. Not that she found herself to be an Imperial ruler and in fact she respected many of the ideals [member="Vilox Pazela"] explained to her on their journey during the Netherworld. They were ideals found true in the sense they stood for something that went beyond the common rabble of corruption and falsely protested democracy.

She awaited an answer, standing silently and heeded not the presence of others.

[member="Vereor"] [member="Ciara Jevnaker"]
 
Not only insects were drawn to fire, its ever-cleansing properties and source of significant heat provided many species with a necessity for it. A need to be near a warm fire after a torrential downpour, or howling ice-wind.
Vereor was not an insect, at least not in his own eyes. Perhaps his power and influence had dwindled so much that in the eyes of those around him that's all they saw: a minuscule being capable of causing no harm nor destruction to anything; at the whim and command of a greater, wider, more powerful world.
If that's how [member=Vilox Pazela] saw him - like a boy looking through glass, concentrating the light of the sun on an ant or spider - then his vision needed to be seen to.
Of course thoughts are simply thoughts, until they transcend the barrier of the mouth and pass into the open air.

His head turned towards the footsteps at the entrance to the hall and a youthful being approached the throne. [member=Ciara Jevnaker], whose youth seemed to incite a feeling of great potential. But she seemed to disregard the unhooded man completely, favouring he who sat in the throne. Vereor's eyes returned to the Dark Master when he began his speech.

What were the Sith's reasons for being here, other than following the Force? Yes, the dark side offered power, yes it offered knowledge, but why had he chosen to follow the guide on that path? As a Jedi Knight he so often tried to remain noble and honourable, to bring about the peace so long prophesied by that Order. But then the allure of the dark had enticed him, it gripped him - first during the Pravus Wars - and grew deep within him. A burden that seemed to change his very perception of the life that he had so much content with. It urged him further than the binds that were placed upon him; shackling him to a single doctrine and ideal of peace that had not once been realised.
Then it became apparent. It was freedom he so long desired. Liberty from a rigid set of morals that often hindered peace more than it developed it.

Lips broke away from each other, just before uttering a word.
"Explain yourself!" A frustrated female rushed through the hallway towards the three. She had been named the Host Lord. [member=Anja Aj'Rou]


[member=Tyro'din], [member=Rush Basai]
 

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