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The Scrying of Visions

Darth Isolda

Chosen Of Vahl
Andeddu's Keep

The wind howled a vicious curse across the landscape of the volatile, volcanic world, whipping strands of ebony hair from the intricate gold headdress atop the crown of Darth Isolda's head.

The half breed Vahla Miraluka bore her silver eyes upon the stronghold straight ahead. Her black cloak fluttering behind her, while her slate gray dress clung to her lithe form. Dark inky tattoos lined the alabaster skin, almost pulsing with Force energy as they slightly shifted. The Chosen of Vahl had dreamt a dream, caught a vision that demanded her entirety.

Come. Said the voices, whispering sweet succulent nothings in her ear, licking it's shell before fading like the sound of sifting leaves upon the wind.

Come. Demanded the figure, ordered, twisting and burrowing within her mind like tangled vines, their thorns digging deep into her psyche to draw blood. But who? At first she thought it was her Lord, the One who'd tormented her thoughts and visions for an entirety of lifetimes. Alas, it was not that omnipotent carnal strength that plagued her thoughts, her dreams, her visions. No, it was someone else. Another form, lost in the mists, beyond the reach of her water scryer, beyond her sight.

It held a strength, not the remnants of a youthful strength, but one that comes only with age. A strength born of knowledge accumulated, wisdom pondered over many a long winter's night. Here was a being who held the knowledge of a lifetime-- no, several lifetimes.

In her vision, thorns bit into her hands, her arms; they were all that she could grasp. The thorns bled her, searing her skin almost akin to that of a brand, splattering her gown in blood, the floor covered in minute crimson drops. The blood was hot. A crimson fountain of heat and life. The mists swirled. Her gown was black now, not black with blood, but simply black. A robed figure stood beside her, a hand outstretched.

Seek the Divine. The One. Taste power.

It was a cup Moira was all willing to imbibe. For power was the most intoxicating drink of all.

@[member="Darth Nazari"]


Deep within the ancient fortress sat a figure upon a throne, a looming mass of darkside energy that seemed to spill power from every place imaginable. The figure did not move It did not budge, it simply sat upon its throne and waited. The figure seemed to know what was coming, in fact it had called the woman here. The Eyes of the Dark Lord saw everything of course, even when they were closed. The figured waited, and watched his fortress through the force.
A single word pierced the mind of the woman, one that had gone through it before. Now however it seemed stronger. The word seemed to touch every inch of her mind exciting both pleasure and pain. It was difficult to describe the ecstasy one felt when the Dark Lord spoke in their mind directly, but most had called it pure...

The word echoed again, beckoning, calling to the woman, pulling her to the Dark Lord

Darth Isolda

Chosen Of Vahl
That single command drew a sharp gasp from the Vahla, her chin rising as her teeth bared into a slight hiss in .. pleasure. The voice sank into her skin, making her skin crawl with the rush of energy, her head tipping back the tiny hairs at the back of her neck rising in growing awareness. Therein came that pull, almost as if her those thorny vines within that dream turned tangible, and the mass of intricate black tattoos around her body pulsed, stinging with pain as heat spread across her body, a stumbling step forward taking her towards the keep.

What was this... sweet ecstasy?

The Darth had her fair share of pleasure pain under the hands of Darth Apparatus, her body his vessel to do what he desired, be it a call for her blood or her visions. Nostrils flaring, and a flick of a pale pink tongue at the corner of her mouth, there came a distinct glitter in her eyes in growing anticipation.

Intoxicated by the pull, Moira's bare feet led her within the belly of the keep, the high arched ways and crumbling ruins looming over her like steadfast guardians of the One within.

@[member="Darth Nazari"]


The Dark Lord looked at the woman with an expression of complete neutrality. It was difficult to tell fi he was pleased, upset, or any emotion at all. He simply sat upon the throne on the dais, his glowing orange eyes shifting only slightly as the woman stepped up to the bottom step. For a brief few second the powerful figure allowed silence to drift in the room, massive gaping walls of the darkside of the force exuded from him.

Pulsing waves of dread, pain, and pleasure all rolled into one.

Finally his voice erupted once again. Pure agony and ecstasy rolled into one booming voice contained within the oracles skull, it was enough to make most mortal beings crumble into dust.
@[member="Darth Isolda"]​

Darth Isolda

Chosen Of Vahl
Another savage gasp tore from Darth Isolda's throat as she fell prostrate upon the polished stone of the steps before the Dark Lord's throne. For the Miraluka blood in her, her Force sight saw the ecstasy of what beheld her. Above her.

In her.

The power of the Darkside writhed around the Dark Lord's aura like liquid darkness, twisted by complicated patterns that rushed over his body, a kaleidoscopic storm cloud across a gilded sky. Lighting flashed within those glittering orange orbs.

Deep within Moira, she felt an answering thunder.

The very air in her lungs whooshed out from parted lips in sweet agonizing delight. It was too much. It was as if his mouth were on her body, with the tongue of soothing coolness, fangs of licking ice, and a beast far more primitive than the Goddess of Bogan. It was far beyond her control, the Dark Lord's voice yawning and stretching her arms above her head, awakening them with a delicious sense of anticipation, her clawed fingernails digging into the very ground only to scrape bloody trails in their wake.

How she relished in it.

It had been soo... very... long since she'd felt like this. Since she'd felt her body twist under such a fount of intoxicating power.

Not since the time she served under her master. Her love. Her obsession. Her desire. Her hate.

This is what she'd been born for. What she'd been seemingly been waiting for all this time.
It began with a keening wail, a manic strangled cry from the pit of her soul. Then came another, as rolls of Force energy ran through her body in convulsing wave after white hot wave. Her bones felt as if they'd turned into hot iron rods, and her blood churned with a heat that she could not deny, as polyphonic whispers clawed at her ears.

Her eyes melted into twin molten orbs of mirrors, an eerie light reflecting from them as her lips parted to speak. But it was not one voice that answered the Dark Lord, but medley of garbled voices that resonated from the Darth.
̀L̷o̡, t͏he ̀Nig̵h͞tma͠r̸e ̸l͢ands̸. ͟ ̴K̨i҉n͢s͠l͞ay̶e͝r ar̵įs͟e̶.
͡ F̵o̵r͡ śtri̢fe̛ ͞a̷n̡d ͞c̕haos̡ ͘c͠o̧m̕e̡ ̕u̶pon̕ t͏he̷ ̕gáļa̶x͘y̨.͝
The Oracle of Vahl felt herself narrow into a tiny blossom, exploding outward, and fragmenting again and again into bits of shattered woman as another wave of power surged through her.

Fal̛se͘ ͏o͠nȩs ha͢v̡e͠ g͜r̶ow҉n ̴w̢e̵ak͞,
l̕i̧ke the li̧mbs̀ o͟f̢ ̷those̷ ͠ẁho ̸c͡raf̕ted͘ ́it͏. ̡

She was a vessel, a tool. And the Dark Lord's command filled her with his power, as the throes of ecstasy paid their debt with her blood, her tattoos pulsating with every thundering beat of her heart.

The ͏the̴ ͢D͢ar͝k̶ ̀L͏or͏d ̛hera͝lds҉ re̕bi͟rth.͠

O͡f́ ̵p̢ow̕ęr͞.

͝..͏.̵ o͞r̸de͞r̶.͡.̀.

..͡ ̕do͢m̸ina͜tion̵.̸

Beneath the waves of Eros she was drowning in, violated and dominated with, the Oracle gasped out the prophecy from the Goddess. His destiny.

Hȩ ́sha̛ll̷ s͠tr҉e̵tc̷h̢ f̸or͠th̨ H͝is ҉h̀an̨d̀ ͝t͜o͢ clai͠m w͏hat͏ i̡s Hi̸s.͜
The re̕bel͘l҉iou̶s҉ n͠atio̸n͟s ̶sh̡a͜ll̨ be̶ lai̸d͡ ͝b҉a͡rręn,͞
t́h́e͝i͏r͞ ch̡il͟d̛re̡n͞ ̧cau҉sed͝ t̴o͞ we͏ep.̸ ̶

T͜hey͢ s͏ha̴ll͠ b̀e ͡de͢g̷ra̛ded. Humb̛le̛d ̨a͏n͞d͜ h̢u͝m͠il̸iat͟ed͠.
S̛tri҉p̛p͡e͟d of a͝l͘ĺ ͜b҉u͡t ͠f҉ea҉r͘.

Another violent shudder swept through her.​

͜T̵here ͝s̷ha̵ll͝ b͞e͢ ͝n҉one b̀u̧t͘ ҉Hiḿ,̧
҉a͠ńd ͝t҉ḩo͢s̀e ̀w̷ho̶ ̡ha̕ve ́t͝u͞rned ̷t҉h͡eir͠ ̕eyes̴ t͜o H͢is̷ m̧aj̸és҉t͜ỳ.
@[member="Darth Nazari"]


The Dark Lords voice was less harsh this time, less painful, less pleasurable, it could almost be considered...soft if it wasn't for the intense emotions it would still cause.​
His voice broke into a boom, Isolda's mind would shake just as the hall around them would begin to shake.​
He did not have to say how it would come to know it. The slaughter of trillions was implied.​
This time the Dark Lord's voice became more than a voice, it became something else. Colors swirled, images shifted, and a vision was thrust upon Isolda. A vision of a galaxy in peace, a vision of the Sith reigning over all. A galaxy without pain, without fear, without any worries. Galactic Order on a scale as it had never been seen before. A galaxy under the One Sith, truly united. This was the Dark Lords vision, this was the vision of the One Sith.​

Darth Isolda

Chosen Of Vahl
A fine trembling came to the Darth at the boom of the Dark Lord's voice. Her bleeding fingertips twitched, and her chest ached from from simply attempting to breathe.

Prostrate before Him, Moira struggled for air, her lips parting for air. The vision was blinding, and her back went arched with a cry. Her eyes were no longer a swirling mass of mercury. No in the throes of the Dark Lord's vision, enhanced by his intoxicating power, she saw truth. Prophesy.

Her eyes were a solid shining black. There was no pupil, no white, nothing. She appeared to be blind, yet she could see everything, every crack upon the stone ceiling, the smallest dint upon his throne. It was extraordinary vision. True seeing.

Power rose through her like a rising wind, her arms falling back. She saw Truth. And in this, he had her full submission.

"̢̯̝̯̦ͅY͠o̗̝̠u̱͖͡r̦͙ ̮͓̼ẁ̫il̬̙̜l̘̥̤.̥̝ ̼͈̩M̵͓y̩̬̤͕ ̢͈͚̯̠̯̞̫h̴̬̠̠͚̭̙̲á͕͕̱̫̝ṋ̶̺d͈͝.̳̖͓̕"͚̮̙̝̠ ͚͎̺̼͔̣

She said with a hoarse gasp, sealing her fate. She would become his vessel, His tool to mold as He so pleased. As in the beginning, the words echoed in her mind.

Power was the most intoxicating drink of all.

@[member="Darth Nazari"]


The Dark Lord seemed to smile, a smile that would incite pure terror in most people. His teeth seemed to give off a dark sheen, though they showed for only a split second. Slowly the Voss rose from his throne, his movements heavy and slow, as though a great weight sat upon his shoulder. The voice resounded once more within the room, or within Isolda's skull, it was still difficult to tell just how the Dark Lord spoke.
It was a single word, but it carried so much weight. Slowly the Dark Lord descended from the dais. Steps were heavy, and indeed each one seemed to ring out with a heavy crack, as if the earth beneath the Dark lords feet was shattering into pieces.

He wandered closer to her, standing just before her. The Voss towered over the woman, his glowing orange eyes looking down at her.

With the same slow labored movement The Dark Lord Raised his arm, a single finger pointing out. He reached towards the woman, power and strength gathering in his arm. The Darkside flowed across it in black lines jumping up and biting the air. With only his index finger he touched Isolda on the forehead. Black corrupting flowed from his finger into her skin, the darkside made into an image crawled beneath her epidermis, marking her with darkness and branding her as his new eye.

Darth Isolda

Chosen Of Vahl
@[member="Darth Nazari"]

At the touch of the Dark Lord, Isolda gave an arch of her back, as the immense power went rushing through her body at the point of origin. Her existing tattoos pulsed with energy, almost writhing, exquisite and painful ecstasy as the Mark of the Dark Lord permanently etched itself upon her alabaster skin.

There was a flash of visions, a kaleidoscopic array of shadows and mists, making her body tremble. She was now His, in her entirety.

The Eye of the Dark Lord.