A Reckoning of Flesh and Blood
The lost still seek what they can never find...
The deep valley of Ziost howled with wind and snow. Ever since the entire life force of the world was consumed by Emperor Vitiate many thousands of years ago it had remained inhospitable and openly hostile to life. Very few ventured to the old Sith planet, fewer still left it. Those that came were seekers, and the knowledge they sought seemed to draw them in like insects to a fire that they could never touch. Promises whispered by an unknown voice, faint images impressed on the mind, and an indellible longing for something lost.
On the frozen ediface of an ancient temple, inscriptions to a long dead and forgotten Sith Lord seemed to persist beyond the erosive forces of the hostile winds. An otherworldly sensation crawled over those that drew nearer to the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Light did not penetrate far past the entrance, as if to say that this place was cursed and no living thing should enter this den of evil. In contrast to that the drive to take that first step was stronger than ever. A siren song more shrill than any tongue spoken pressed into the minds of those who hesitated, only to be silenced once the first foot made contact with the frozen stone.
Those who tread the stairs noted briefly in their time that the lack of sound was the most unsettling feature of the entry. Whereas mere inches behind them the wind howled wildly, beyond the threshold it was as if it had been fully muted. Torches along the walls held by once living beings, now frozen in horror and agony, ignited with heatless purple flames to guide those who would seek further through the temple. The unbearable weight of loneliness and silence had a maddening effect on the weak-willed, and as those who had come searched further, bodies were found along the stairs with similar expressions. Each being was cast along the stone, but there was no sign of injury or attack. It was as if they were killed by fear alone.
As the stairs came to an end, a room lit up, round and massive. The same violet flames emerged from each sconce and provided a glimpse of what appeared to be an altar. As the room became brighter it was clear that there was a congregation of the dead positioned in reverence around the central dias. The stone channels between each figure seemed to flow with a black ichor that smelled of blood and bile. Slowly the living congregants entered he room, robed in white and moving with an unnatural gait. They gathered around the central altar and assumed the same position as the dead while beginning a chant that sent waves of Dark Side energy through the room.
From the central pool of Ichor rose a figure most unnatural. Of note was the height of the creature, standing over eight feet and with limbs much longer than they should be. It appeared in the light that her entire body was a mass of scarred flesh and opene wounds. The glimmer of metal showed, and where the metal met flesh was bloody and seemed to seep with infection. As she became the centerpiece of the entire room her arms spread and drew from the channels the vile liquid and absorbed it into her body. The frozen dead cracked from their positions and rose as well, joining the chant and granting their power to the woman on the altar. It was an illusory copy of the true form, which remained thus far in the darkened corners of the chamber away from the dias.
All at once, a large bloody eye peered from above the altar, and every figure spoke in chorus, "A new supplicant seeks the High Priestess. Speak the object of your desire." the voices called out, not audibly, but directly to the mind. It was a deafening crush of sound that demanded, more than requested.
Kyrel Ren
On the frozen ediface of an ancient temple, inscriptions to a long dead and forgotten Sith Lord seemed to persist beyond the erosive forces of the hostile winds. An otherworldly sensation crawled over those that drew nearer to the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Light did not penetrate far past the entrance, as if to say that this place was cursed and no living thing should enter this den of evil. In contrast to that the drive to take that first step was stronger than ever. A siren song more shrill than any tongue spoken pressed into the minds of those who hesitated, only to be silenced once the first foot made contact with the frozen stone.
Those who tread the stairs noted briefly in their time that the lack of sound was the most unsettling feature of the entry. Whereas mere inches behind them the wind howled wildly, beyond the threshold it was as if it had been fully muted. Torches along the walls held by once living beings, now frozen in horror and agony, ignited with heatless purple flames to guide those who would seek further through the temple. The unbearable weight of loneliness and silence had a maddening effect on the weak-willed, and as those who had come searched further, bodies were found along the stairs with similar expressions. Each being was cast along the stone, but there was no sign of injury or attack. It was as if they were killed by fear alone.
As the stairs came to an end, a room lit up, round and massive. The same violet flames emerged from each sconce and provided a glimpse of what appeared to be an altar. As the room became brighter it was clear that there was a congregation of the dead positioned in reverence around the central dias. The stone channels between each figure seemed to flow with a black ichor that smelled of blood and bile. Slowly the living congregants entered he room, robed in white and moving with an unnatural gait. They gathered around the central altar and assumed the same position as the dead while beginning a chant that sent waves of Dark Side energy through the room.
From the central pool of Ichor rose a figure most unnatural. Of note was the height of the creature, standing over eight feet and with limbs much longer than they should be. It appeared in the light that her entire body was a mass of scarred flesh and opene wounds. The glimmer of metal showed, and where the metal met flesh was bloody and seemed to seep with infection. As she became the centerpiece of the entire room her arms spread and drew from the channels the vile liquid and absorbed it into her body. The frozen dead cracked from their positions and rose as well, joining the chant and granting their power to the woman on the altar. It was an illusory copy of the true form, which remained thus far in the darkened corners of the chamber away from the dias.
All at once, a large bloody eye peered from above the altar, and every figure spoke in chorus, "A new supplicant seeks the High Priestess. Speak the object of your desire." the voices called out, not audibly, but directly to the mind. It was a deafening crush of sound that demanded, more than requested.
Kyrel Ren