Private The Forgotten Blade

[Darth Dacian]

The Forgotten Blade

Planet: Korriban
Location: Sith Academy
Time of Day: Late Afternoon​

The smuggler ship groaned and sputtered as it descended onto the windswept surface of Korriban, its hull riddled with battle scars and the unmistakable signs of a hard-fought journey. The engines coughed one final time before cutting off, floundering onto the landing pad in silence. A squadron of troopers stood in formation at the entrance to the Academy, visors glinting against the waning sunlight, their weapons ready in cautious anticipation, aimed at the ship ready to destroy it as soon as commanded.

The ship's communicator crackled to life as the commanding officer opened a channel.
"Unidentified vessel, you have entered a restricted area. Identify yourself or face destruction."

For a moment, there was no reply, only the faint hum of static. Then, a calm, measured voice responded:
"Dacian."

A pause followed—brief but palpable. The commander's tone faltered as they scrambled for clarification.
"Dacian... Lord Dacian? We... we were not informed of your arrival. Proceed. No need for further verification. We will escort you."
The transmission cut as quickly as it had begun. The landing party stood straighter, their air of authority crumbling as whispers ran through the formation.

As the ship's ramp hissed open, revealing its battered interior, Darth Dacian stepped forward, his imposing yet slender frame casting a long shadow over the troopers. The loose bandages wrapped around his arms and torso swayed lightly against the arid breeze. His robes, torn and frayed, and his scarred visage might have seemed unimpressive to the untrained eye, but his posture, oozing with confidence, and the way the troopers conducted themselves around him left little doubt.

The squad stiffened at his approach, their weapons lowering instinctively. Dacian barely glanced at them, striding past with an unhurried pace. As he moved, his voice broke the silence, deliberate and quiet yet commanding enough to cut through the stillness:
"Once you've finished repairs, notify me. If you are unable, get me a working ship. With a hyperdrive preferably."

The commanding officer hesitated, glancing at the beaten ship. "Lord Dacian, it—"

Dacian's crimson gaze settled on the officer, stopping him mid-sentence. Recognition and unease flickered in the trooper's posture as he snapped into a respectful bow. Without another word, Dacian continued toward the academy, his boots crunching against the red sands with each stride, thoughts drifting to the battle that had led him here.

He had descended upon the stronghold of a Sith Lord and his retinue of dark acolytes, marked in a unimportant world within the expanse of their order, a challenge issued simply for his own refinement. In essence, a warm-up. The vivid memory played with clarity: crimson blades clashing in furious arcs, bodies falling in a rhythm only a master duelist could compose. A smirk had tugged at his lips then, the thrill of combat igniting his soul. He had left the Sith Lord broken, his followers scattered, and now... he was here, ready to begin anew. However, he did not anticipate the damage his lightsabers would sustain, his usual arms within a leather pouch tied at his waist, broken but not beyond repair. Fortunately enough, he kept one of his old lightsabers as a spare. It was a shoddy reminder of his days as an apprentice, a patchwork hilt with motley wiring exposed and wrapped against a rusty and dented metal casing. He would need to find someone to repair them eventually, but given his surroundings, he could get by just fine with what he had.

The academy loomed ahead, its foreboding halls as unwelcoming as they had been in his youth. Dacian entered without ceremony, his boots echoing faintly against the stone floors. The air here reeked of ambition and corruption, the sharp tang of students desperate to prove themselves and faculty eager to crush or elevate their charges. No permanent quarters awaited him, not that he expected any. He was met by the hostile attitude of passing acolytes who glared, sneered, or muttered insults under their breath.

"Ragged trash. Came from a flaming dumpster from what I heard over the comms."
"Must have gotten those robes tomb-raiding."
"Is that rusted piece of junk really a lightsaber?"

Those passing remarks found no purchase, failing to even administer a reaction from the Sith Lord. They were children—children wielding toys they didn't understand. His focus remained ahead, unshaken by their ignorance and unintrigued by their potential.

In the shadows of the upper levels, the more seasoned Sith watched silently, their murmurs quieter but no less pointed. They knew better. His return was not a casual gesture, nor one to be underestimated. Those whispers grew and spread, word of his arrival surely being noticed now, not that he cared. But this was good, there were people who still remembered him, at least his renown within the ranks hadn't deteriorated much while he was away, not that it was anything to brag about in the first place.

Finding an unoccupied corner of the academy's sprawling halls, Dacian chose a bench near a grand training chamber. He seated himself calmly, leaning back against the cold stone wall. His single open eye closed as he folded his arms across his chest, breaths falling into a steady pace, allowing the comforting embrace of slumber to slowly seep into his mind. Even a warrior of his caliber needed sleep, even more so with his plans ahead. There was a stirring in the Force, it called to him and he could not deny it's request, for in his mind, this was the path set before him, something worthy enough for Dacian to abandon his relentless pursuit of the blade.

But those thoughts would have to be temporarily set aside, his priority now getting some hard earned rest. Even here, in this chaotic den of scheming and bloodlust, Dacian slept like a warrior at peace—unbothered by the scorn of the young, unshaken by the whispers of the wise. He had no need for their approval or understanding. His journey was his own, and he had just begun the next step.

Nyxira Valis

 

[Nyxira Valis]

​

Nyxira's arrival at the Sith Academy was anything but subtle. The storm that had heralded her presence across countless worlds now roiled above Korriban, its crimson lightning illuminating the jagged cliffs and ancient tombs. The sands of the Valley of the Dark Lords whipped into a frenzy as her sleek black shuttle descended onto the Academy's landing platform, a stark contrast to the weathered terrain around it.

She had felt him before her arrival — a subtle disturbance in the Force, distinct and purposeful. Darth Dacian's presence had called to her, a simmering ember among the countless pretenders that polluted the Sith Academy's halls. He was no aimless acolyte vying for scraps of power. No, his was the presence of someone forged in fire, hardened by trials, and more importantly, someone who might fit into the greater tapestry she sought to weave.

As Nyxira disembarked, her violet gaze swept over the Academy's surroundings, her dark cloak billowing behind her. Her imposing figure exuded authority, and the gathered troopers and passing Sith acolytes alike instinctively stepped aside. The whispers began almost immediately. The storm-bringer. The sorceress returned. She ignored them all.

Entering the Academy's halls, she moved with deliberate precision, her senses extending outward like a spider's web, searching, hunting. The chaotic energy of the place was as she remembered — the sharp tang of desperation and ambition mingling with the Dark Side. But she focused on the one she sought, following the faint but unmistakable echo of power that resonated through the corridors.

It didn't take long to find him.

She came upon Darth Dacian seated on a bench near one of the grand training chambers. His robes were frayed, his bandages loose, but the power he radiated was undeniable. Even in slumber, his presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break.

Nyxira allowed herself a faint smirk as she stepped closer, her boots clicking against the stone floor. She stopped a short distance away, the storm of her own aura brushing against his like the meeting of two dark tides. She tilted her head slightly, studying him for a moment, then spoke, her voice low but sharp enough to cut through the heavy air.

"Darth Dacian," she began, the single word carrying the weight of her intent. "You've been running your own trials, carving your path. But paths that lead to Korriban rarely do so by chance."

Darth Dacian ​

 

[Darth Dacian]

DARTH DACIAN

Interacting With: Nyxira Valis

As Darth Nythera's footsteps filled the halls of Korriban's Academy, her very presence reverberated through the Force. Dacian stirred faintly on the bench where he lay, the sensation brushing against his awareness like a fledgling ripple in a stilled lake. It was foreign—unfamiliar to him, yet undeniable and ever present. For a moment, his breathing paused, his mind acknowledging the arrival. Then, he resumed his rest, his breath steady, his body unmoving, as though the disturbance had been no more than a passing breeze.

The steady echo of boots against the stone floor grew closer, cutting through the idle murmurs of the academy. The quiet tension shifted as the presence drew near as he felt it slowly bearing down upon him.

"Darth Dacian," she began, the single word carrying the weight of her intent. "You've been running your own trials, carving your path. But paths that lead to Korriban rarely do so by chance."

Dacian did not stir. Powerful yet lithe arms remained folded across the scarred musculature of exposed chest, his bandaged frame silent as stone and eyes still kept shut. He looked, for all the world, as though he hadn't heard her, breathing slow and measured, as it continued uninterrupted. Only after a beat of silence did he respond, his voice low and casual yet as polite as it could be.

"I don't believe we've met. If I wasn't in the middle of recovering from my unbearably long trip I'd oblige in meeting you eye to eye."

Finally, he tilted his head just slightly towards her, a motion so small it seemed almost an afterthought. "But you've managed to keep me from my rest already. It seems unfair to give you the satisfaction of a full audience at this moment."

Another silent moment before he spoke again. "You know of me, yet I'm embarrassed to say this familiarity is unreciprocated. Curious. I find strength usually comes with some semblance of notoriety. And I've yet to met a peer who possess such presence without letting the rest of our Order know about."

Dacian's tone carried no malice, only the faintest edge of curiosity and interest. He remained still, his breathing unbroken, as if her presence demanded little effort from him. However, beneath his words, the underlying message was clear: he acknowledged her strong presence within the force, but he had yet to decide if having her attention was to his benefit or detriment.

 

[Nyxira Valis]

Nyxira's smirk deepened at Darth Dacian's words, her violet eyes narrowing as she regarded him with a mix of amusement and scrutiny. He was bold, that much was clear — even in his posture, feigned as it was to project disinterest, there was a quiet calculation in the way he engaged her. He tested her, probing for weakness or intent, and for that, she allowed herself a sliver of approval.

She took a deliberate step closer, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. Her presence, the storm she carried, pressed down on the space between them, its weight palpable.

Nyxira paused a short distance away, tilting her head slightly, her gaze piercing. "True strength will inevitably reveal itself, that is true, but only a fool exposes it prematurely." She let the silence stretch for a moment, her words hanging in the air like the static before lightning struck. "But I did not come here to lecture you on the dangers of obscurity or arrogance. I came because I see an opportunity."

Her violet eyes glinted faintly in the dim light of the hall as she continued, her tone sharper now. "The Force brought me to Korriban, to this Academy, and to you. Not by accident, but by design. You've carved your path, Dacian, but that path does not end here. This place is a graveyard for Sith who lack vision, who cling to the bones of the past without daring to build the future."

She took another step closer, the storm outside rumbling in agreement. "I am building something greater. Something that challenges ourselves and the Sith around us."

Now, she wished to know what he desired.

Darth Dacian ​

 

[Darth Dacian]

Mentions: Nyxira Valis

Her words straightened the lax posture Dacian held. To be greater, to challenge. Somehow, Nythera had managed to pinpoint exactly where his thoughts had wandered. She had his attention, and now his interest. The offering of her plan managed to sit the resting Sith Lord from his half-laid position. A deep red eye, once shut, now opened wide, scanning her from toe to head before locking onto her gaze with an intensity that spoke of a sharpened purpose.

"I only have interest in challenging those whom I deem peers in my specialty," he said, offering a casual shrug, though his voice carried a weight that made it clear this was no idle statement. "But circumstances dictate that I follow the path you've so astutely observed. It is something I've come to understand with time: the greatest challenges are rarely self-contained—they carry the weight of something far greater than themselves."

His gaze remained locked on hers, unwavering, as though inviting her to look into the deepest recesses of his being. Dacian had no veil to hide behind, no mask to obscure his nature. All he was, all he sought, was laid bare for anyone who cared to see. The only failure in his aspirations would be defeat at the hands of another.

"As for what I want..." His gaze momentarily broke from hers, his expression softening, almost imperceptibly. He drew a steady breath, the weight of his next words palpable.

"Tyranus, Sideous, Kun, Hord. Masters of the blade," he began, his tone thoughtful, almost reverent. "They were giants, each in their own time. Their mastery of the lightsaber shaped their legacies, defined eras, elevated them beyond the reach of common bladework"

He leaned forward slightly, his words taking on a quieter, more introspective edge. "I have no interest in being remembered, in becoming a legend, or leaving a mark on history. The galaxy need not whisper my name in the centuries to come. That matters little to me." His crimson eye fixed on hers again, fierce yet calm. "What matters is the knowledge—the certainty—that I surpassed them. That I stood where they once stood, looked beyond, and dared to tread beyond the threshold they laid for all to witness. That is all I need."

His lips curved faintly into a smirk—not one of pride, but of unshakable conviction. "This is the path I have carved for myself, my lady. And now, you offer me an opportunity. But tell me this..." His tone grew sharper, the faintest challenge flickering within it. "What can you possibly offer me to help me take that final step? What do you bring that can aid me in achieving what I seek—not glory, not renown—but the truth of my own strength?"

The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of his ambition and the utter absence of any pretense. There was no higher goal, no greater reward, than to know he had surpassed all who came before him.

 

[Nyxira Valis]

Nyxira's smirk widened as she listened to Dacian's words, her violet eyes gleaming with something between satisfaction and intrigue. His ambition was pure, untainted by delusions of grandeur or the hunger for hollow accolades. No, what drove him was something far more primal and powerful: the need to prove himself, to test his strength against the greatest the galaxy had ever known. It was a hunger she understood intimately.

She took another step closer, her presence pressing down on him like the weight of the storm she carried. "You seek the ultimate challenge," she said, her voice low and resonant, each word carrying the weight of her conviction.

Her gaze sharpened, her smirk curving into something more dangerous. "And I can give you that challenge. A war, not against the weak and the cowardly, but against the most powerful Sith this galaxy has seen in recent memory. The Kainites — rulers of Dromund Kaas, architects of the current Sith Empire, and allies of the former Sith Emperor himself, Darth Carnifex."

The storm outside roared as if punctuating her words, the crimson lightning casting jagged shadows across the walls. "These are no mere pretenders," she continued, her tone hardening. "These are Sith who have ruled for decades, who have crushed empires beneath their heels, and who have survived challenges that would have destroyed lesser beings. Darth Prazutis, a master of pain and torment, a force of nature in his own right. Darth Carnifex, whose strength has kept the Kainites at the apex of Sith power for decades."

Nyxira paused, letting the weight of their names settle between them. "They are your superiors in power. But imagine standing against them, crossing blades with those who claim dominion over the Sith. Imagine defeating them, proving beyond doubt that you are not merely their equal, but their superior."

She stepped even closer, her gaze locking onto his with unyielding intensity. "This is the war I will wage. Not for conquest, not for territory, but to shatter their reign and rebuild something stronger in its place. Join me, and you will face challenges unlike any you have known. You will stand against titans, and you will emerge greater — or you will die knowing you fought the greatest battle of your life."

Darth Dacian ​

 

[Darth Dacian]

Mentions: Nyxira Valis

Dacian leaned forward from his bench, elbows resting atop knees as Nyxira spoke. He listened to her words intently, each one that passed from her lips causing that crimson gaze of his to brighten. At the end of it all, there was a slight twist of a smile on his lips. Not a moment after, he started a small laugh, shaking his head all the while. He knew of who she spoke of. Dark Lords who had word of their deed spread throughout the galaxy, something he never managed to accomplish in his own right, and paying for the consequences of such neglect. He could not reach the higher courts of the Sith Hierarchy because of this, and the prospect of a good fight slipped as a result.

"Leave it to a Sith Lady to know the exact right words to string me along for a ride. Always had the worst like with you and yours." He calmed down enough to speak without any interruption in his words. "I should've expected as such when I accepted to hearing you out."

"This is a tempting offer. More than tempting actually, I feel like a single word in your favor might have me swayed to your allegiance completely." A nod of his head, standing up now from his seat, with the prospect she sold him curing him of his lethargy.

"However, I must know. What would my place be in this vision of yours? Political power does little to excite me. And as you know, I have little of it anyway you count it." A genuine question, Dacian's skill was within the reaches of the greatest that much is certain, but he figured there was more to it than being a hired sword and muscle in service of a another Sith.

 

[Nyxira Valis]

Nyxira's smirk deepened as Dacian rose, his words carrying both the curiosity and skepticism she had expected. He was no fool, and his sharp mind would not allow him to be reduced to a mere pawn. That much, she respected. Her violet eyes locked onto his, the intensity of her gaze unrelenting.

"You are right to ask," she said, her voice smooth and edged with quiet authority. "You are not a man to be relegated to the shadows, wielding a blade in service of another's ambition. And I am not foolish enough to ask you to be."

She took a step closer, her presence looming, yet there was no condescension in her tone, only conviction. "Your place in my vision is not that of a follower, nor a subordinate. It is that of a master. A commander. A blade at the heart of the storm, cutting down the strongest our enemies have to offer."

Someone to always challenge the strong.

Her gaze sharpened, her voice carrying an almost reverent weight. "The war I am waging is not one of politics. It is a crucible. A battlefield where only the strong survive, where power is the only currency that matters. You, Dacian, are a weapon forged for such a purpose. Your skill with the blade, your hunger for the ultimate challenge — these are not qualities I intend to waste on simple tasks."

The storm outside roared in agreement, the crimson lightning casting jagged shadows across the chamber. Nyxira gestured faintly, the faint crackle of energy dancing along her fingertips. "Your place in this war is wherever your strength can be unleashed. Leading battles. Crushing the unworthy. Crossing blades with the Kainites themselves. And when their reign is shattered, when the Sith Order is reforged, you will stand among those who shaped its future."

Darth Dacian ​

 

[Darth Dacian]

Mentions: Nyxira Valis

"I see..." His voice trailed off, taking her words into serious consideration. Indeed the offer was too good to pass up, as he calculated the downsides of the deal, Dacian found that there was very little if any. Making enemies with other Sith was but a mere pastime for him, why would he care if a few more joined his list of enemies? He rubbed his chin, playing her voice in his head as if it were a movie meant to be watched by the mind's eye. His gaze grew far, before snapping back to where they stood, giving her a nod as he focused once more.

"In Panatha, before I became an acolyte of the Sith. My clan spoke often of finding a 'beautiful death'. That there was no greater honor in dying in battle. We thought it beautiful because death was our purpose. To both deal it in abundance and to die. I am thankful for the Sith, for my master specifically in allowing such ideals to remain steady with me on my path. I suppose my upbringing as a sword-brother of my clan was but a prelude of what I was made to do." He continued, now moving closer to her, now an arm's length away.

"I suppose I haven't much to lose taking you up on your offer. Either way, I will get what I want." Dacian stretched out his hand, offering it as an agreement to cement their alliance. He would offer her a firm handshake, the strength behind his grip more than apparent. "To die a beautiful death. To have my blade taste the blood of the strong. Swearing my blade to your cause will earn you a formidable force, but I will be the one who chooses how to wield it, for both of our best interests."

 

[Nyxira Valis]

Nyxira met Dacian's outstretched hand with her own, her grip firm, unyielding, and charged with the same storm-like energy that surrounded her. His words resonated with her, not because of their reverence for death, but because of their celebration of purpose — of wielding one's strength to its fullest potential. Her violet eyes locked onto his, the faintest flicker of approval glinting within them.

"A beautiful death," she repeated, her tone low and almost contemplative. "If that is the reward you seek, then I will see that you earn it in the fires of battle, against opponents worthy of your blade."

She released his hand and took a deliberate step back, her presence still looming but her tone lighter, almost teasing. "Your blade is your own, Dacian, and I have no desire to control it. Use it as you will. But understand this: the stronger we are as allies, the closer we come to achieving our mutual goals."

Nyxira turned slightly, her cloak swirling with the motion, and gestured toward the shadowed path that led out of the chamber. "The Kainites, their Empire, their grip on the Sith Order — it is all built on a foundation of fear and stagnation. That foundation will crumble, and you will be one of the forces to bring it down."

She cast a glance back at him over her shoulder, her smirk returning, sharp and laden with unspoken promise. "Come, Dacian. We have work to do, and enemies to sharpen your blade against. Let's see if your beautiful death waits among the ruins of their reign — or if you'll rise above it all and carve something greater for yourself."

The storm outside rumbled once more, as if echoing her intent, and Nyxira began to walk forward, her pace steady and her confidence unshaken. A war was coming, and Dacian's blade would be one of its sharpest edges.

Darth Dacian ​

 

[Darth Dacian]

Mentions: Nyxira Valis

Dacian felt the firmness of her handshake, her grip firm, exuding a sense of purpose that immediately struck him. The jolt he felt on contact surprising him but only contributing to the growth of his smile. He could tell, in that moment, that this Sith Lady would be a worthy ally—a kindred spirit driven by ambition and strength. Her assurance of a good fight and a beautiful death resonated with him, both of which something he viewed as the apex of anything he strove to achieve.

"You seem the sort who makes deals in abundance" his voice was steady yet laced with curiosity. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, analyzing her confident posture as she led the way. "No doubt you've got others in mind, people you'll need to drag along for what grand vision you're cooking up."

He chuckled, lips curling into a smirk. "But should you need me—for something within my 'expertise'—you know how to reach me. I'm not hard to find. In the meantime..." He spread his arms slightly, as if to embrace the horizon ahead, and then rested one hand on the hilt of his vibrosword.

"My knife-work will need constant tending to. Finding fights to sharpen my skill, furthering the evolution of my technique. That sort of thing." Dacian was more than looking forward to the potential of this arrangement of theirs. And he would ensure that he kept to his word just as much as Nyxira would keep to hers.