Whispers in the Dark

[4ND-R0]

[member="Darth Venefica"]

Zakuul. An ancient capital planet of a long since dead empire. A nondescript starship landed upon the swampy world. The occupant of the ship had stepped out, surging with a primal variation of the Dark Side. Allara Ven. Former Jedi. Witch. And now servant to the darkness after it had been awoken by a Sith Apprentice by the name of Abyss. How she thanked him. She was clad in strange clothing, a combination of armorweave cloth and form-fitting Vonduun crabs that seemed to hug the sensual curves of her body. Around her waist slithered yet another of her Vong companions. Raksha, her oldest friend. Her amphistaff. She called to it in the Vongsense, having it become a staff as she walked out into the swamps of Zakuul. She had made contact with an older Sith who she had heard rumors was looking for a student, sending a message to this Darth Venefica to meet her here. A neutral world free from the grasp of the One Sith, the ailing Republic, or any other beloved supreme government.

And there she waited in the swampland. It was a tad ironic to her. Her journey to this point began on the swamps of Dagobah. She remembered back to the crusty old hermit named Kiara. How she had been wrong about the balance. The infantile descent in the dark side had shown her that she had become a stoic. Repressed her emotions, when she should have been revelling in this new path before her. Hence why she sought a teacher. Someone who could set her on a path to more tempering of her power. She was as like steel before a blacksmith. Ready to be forged into a tool...or a weapon.

 

[Via Dolorosa]

Sith of all ranks understood two things, preservation and comfort. The latter, as the only Sith born on Dagobah (ever!) knew comfort was a misconception that weakened anyone or anything that basked in the darkness of the Force. Comfort was just another name for peace, if you truly looked hard enough to piece the puzzle together; and sadly, the galaxy had allowed many of its inhabitants to feel secure in their comforts; be it a lavish apartment or a bounty of credits through associated contacts from the numerous companies that inflamed the the universe like unpopped pimples.​

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The former, preservation, was reserved for those Sith that discarded the need to live like kings and queens; and that was a small number who embraced that sort of lifestyle, because all Sith, great and small, wanted to live a life of immortality; but not all Sith. A true Sith of the Darkside didn't want to live forever, cause they knew one thing; it was their teachings that would live an immortal life where their Darkside bodies would eventually break down, turning them from a once fierce force into a husk of their former selves. That was, as no Sith would admit again, was a path that had been laid out before them. Only the foolish Sith, the youth and new generation, believed they were above such a fate, and foolish they were; and if they produced offspring, then the cycle of ignorance would continue until a new culling. And even a culling, just or vengeful, was destined to repeat the cycle of Sith life.​

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But for the Sith Lady, who held many names and titles justly, there was only one concept she held above her immortality, and it was immortality through sorcery that would allow her to continue to haunt the galaxy, to see the Jedi gnashed upon their own flawed philosophies. Unlike her Darkside family, she hated the Jedi more than most; not because these good doers believed they were better, but because these good doers robbed her of many happy times. She could cut their atrocities down the flesh of her arm, but she would rather face them singly for one brief moment to explain to them why she had judged them for death. And unlike her fellow Sith, where they killed a Jedi and it was a done deed, she hunted down anyone that shared the same last name to ensure a proper genocide was complete.​

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After some failed attempts to find a proper Apprentice, minus the psychotic masked man, there was void of confusing brewing her soul, until she heard of a Darksider residing in a swamp world, unlike her beloved Dagobah that was now tainted by the Jedi, and it was such a creature she needed to discover. Barefoot and having the tattered clothes, minus her living robe that was infused to her flesh, she walked through an unfamiliar swamp with two thoughts dancing at the forefront of her mind. The first, was this hopeful worthy, whilst the second was she again the apex predator of another swamp. The Jedi may hold her birthplace, but she was, and would always be, the apex predator of Dagobah; and if there was any question to her submission, then just look at person.​

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"My Master once told me....if you are worthy to be my Apprentice....then prove it," she said toward the potential girl whilst igniting her lightsaber. And as the blade flashed into life, her necromantic robe kicked into life, reaching out with it's smokey tendrils to take the lives of any nearby creatures drawing them around the Necro-Witch. Turning her head slightly, while keeping her blade ignited, she said to the four undead forest creatures, "Take her."​

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[member="Allara Ven"]​

 

[4ND-R0]

[member="Darth Venefica"]

The rush. That was the first thing that the fledgling acolyte of the Darkness felt as the elder Sith Lady sent her nercomantic servants upon her. She gripped her amphistaff, pressing the vong creature's body. From a quarterstaff, it became somewhat limp. As like a whip. She slinked the weapon across the swampland's floor, like the tail of a scorpion laying in wait. Once the first undead abomination got close, she cracked her amphistaff whip. The serpent's semicrystalline structure cut and tore at the putrid flesh of the undead.

She used to the Force to push the other three back. She had a process of taking on her foes one by one. To keep the battlefield under control. She kept whipping at her foe, seeming to have something of a dance as she did it. She tried to keep the woman in her sights. A Sith Lady with her lightsaber drawn. Such were her prospects. These minions were only a discraction for whatever move their necromancer mistress had in mind.