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VOICE SAMPLE, KHAN.
NAME: L'hannas Khaldun Xaar.
ALIAS: Darth Vyrdesseus the Malignant, and Lord Vyrdesseus.
FACTION: The Sith Order.
RANK: Sith Lord.
AGE: He's rumored to be reincarnated from an ancient Sith, in reality he's roughly 54.
SPECIALIZATION: Sith sorcery, force affinity.
FORCE SPECIALIZATION(S): Energy Manipulation & Status Effects.
FORCE PRESENCE: Heavily darksided.
GENDER: Male.
SPECIES: Unknown humanoid subspecies.
HOMEWORLD: Korriban.
HEIGHT: Six feet, four inches.
WEIGHT: 146 pounds.
BUILD: Somewhat frail. Years of his dedication to the Dark Side have marred his body, making him considerably less physically capable than his peers.
EYE COLOR: Luminescent orange.
HAIR: A fading black, worn below his shoulders.
FOUR TEMPERAMENTS: Choleric-Melancholic.
12 COMMON ARCHETYPES: The Ruler, The Sage.
MEYERS-BRIGS SPECIFICATION: INTJ, the Mastermind.
ALIGNMENT CHART: Chaotic Evil.
PRIMARY ARCHETYPE: The Dark Side of the Force.
SECONDARY ARCHETYPE: Manipulation and propaganda.
TERTIARY ARCHETYPE : Sith Sword/Saberstaff combat.
COMPOSITION AND APPEARANCE: Very few have seen L'hannas' face without facing the sting of his blade. For that reason, no being has been able to plausibly suggest what species he might belong to. An ancient Sith cloak hangs from his body in tatters, shrouding it in eternal darkness. His robes hang just far enough that they also cover his feet, making him appear to glide like a wraith across the ground whenever he walks. Upon this shroud of darkness, there can be seen only two objects that stick out from the rest. The first is his lightsaber hilt, an elegant weapon that he keeps merely for personal protection. His sword, however, remains permanently swung over his back. Known colloquially as the Zarchas Wo, or the Ancient One in the Sith language, L'hannas' sith sword has been tempered by the ancient processes of sith alchemy and now radiates a sickly, dark energy. The metal bares several runic inscriptions, thought to bring magical or supernatural powers and strength. The blade itself, immune to both lightsabers and blaster fire, serves as the Sith's primary religious instrument. As he describes it, he chose the sword to honor his heritage; the legacy of the Sith and their powerful religion. Death by a lightsaber is painless. The wounds cauterize. Life is sapped instantly. The sword, however, leaves a bloody mess behind. It's painful, cruel, and leave nothing but anguish. For a religious man, taking the life of the blasphemous Jedi is a deeply spiritual exercise. He typically weakens them through the Force, and through dueling with his own Lightsaber before removing the sword to deliver the killing blow. The only parts of his body visable from his cloak are his hands, which have since been maimed and destroyed through his research into sorcery and alchemy.
PERSONALITY AND SOCIAL COMPORTMENT: Little can be said of how L'hannas comports himself among his fellow Sith, as he often prefers to keep to himself. Words, in his mind, are the most powerful weapon of all. For this reason, he often thinks very carefuly over anything he says. Sinister, cunning and manipulative, he will do just about anything to bend a target to his will completely. He often makes a game of 'converting' stray Jedi to the Dark Side, only to kill them just as they thought they'd achieved true redemption. This treatment is not reserved for the Jedi, also. While he's known to manipulate others into doing his dirty work for him, he also has a strange habit of eliminating other Sith whom he feels to be straying from the true path...those who threaten to further break the Order from the inside. In the chaos and disarray caused by the Sith's defeat, he found the perfect opportunity. As the Sith began the rebuilding process, he presented himself to those he felt had the most influence; those who could be easily manipulated. Sixty years after the fall of the old Empire after his introduction to the world, he began spreading his web far and wide, entrenching himself into Sith society. It's a testament to his manipulative acumen that, through only killing two Sith with his own blade, he was capable of working his way into the throne upon which he sits now; Dark Lord of the Sith.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES: Among the most intelligent the resurgent Sith Order has at its disposal, L'hannas' manipulative acumen has proven incredibly useful when it comes to analyzing his opponents. Incapable of overpowering enemies through sheer strength and force alone, he combines his talents for manipulation as well as his potency within the Force to create a hybrid style of fighting that strays from traditional Sith norms. Many detest this approach, for they feel it betrays the very tenets of the Sith to use intelligence over passion. He disagrees, arguing that exploiting weakness is exactly what the Sith do to survive on a daily basis. His greatest talent, however, would be his prodigious capacity to understand and manipulate the Dark Side. To compensate for his lack of physical strength, his potency in the Force is well above average; a natural attunement that allows him to capably understand and perform horrific feats of energy manipulation and physical status affects, anything from conjuring fire and lightning to making himself completely intangible. However, while he prefers to use the Force over all else in combat, he's not completely inept with a Lightsaber. He often merges the two, defending with his blade while taking the offensive through focused, precise Force attacks aimed at his enemy. However, this remains one of his biggest flaws. Through years of studying the Dark Side's lurid secrets, his body has become corrupted and tainted by the Dark Side's influence. In any situation where it would rely on sheer force and knowledge of lightsaber combat alone, he would be left at a distinct disadvantage. He also avoids any personal or professional relationships, except for those he feel can be exploited for his own personal gain.
LIGHTSABER COMPOSITION: Always a student of the finer things, Vyrdesseus' lightsaber hilt is a work of artistry that took him years to properly construct. The metal hilt is constructed of a typical Phrik/Durasteel alloy which allows it to remain resistant to the burning sting of the lightsaber. However, if includes several unorthodox features. Namely the large tooth affixed to the stock of the weapon. Harvested from a Hssiss killed on the surface of Korriban, this tooth (as well as the three prongs that protect the emitter) allow the Dark Lord to use his hilt as an effective stabbing weapon should he be in a tight situation where revealing the blade would be too costly, or if anything within the weapon were to be damaged during combat.
INVENTORY: Ancient Sith cloak, traditional armor worn beneath, his Lightsaber (with red crystal), and his Sith Sword.
KNOWN LANGUAGES: Galactic Basic, Sith, Huttese.
CHAPTER ONE: NO STRANGE GODS.
" Shadows, the best friend of Man. Shadows conceal all. Every inadequacy, every misstep. The strings that bind him; to his masters, to his world, to his body. Man can only be saved, be offered absolution, through his embrace of this darkness and shadow. The Dark Side is cruel and unforgiving. You know this. It kills those too weak to wield it, and twists the minds of those all too willing to delve into its ethereal power. Those with a mind not equipped to commune with the spirits will be driven insane. But those capable of understanding the shadow, of bending the shadow to their will, become true leaders of Men. To master these shadows takes centuries of work and practice, as well as a keen and sharp mind. This is proves to be the downfall of many Sith. They allow themselves to believe that they are better than their counterparts. They allow themselves to believe that the Dark Side is their slave. They are wrong. This fallacy, young Sith, is your most accurate weapon. Your sharpest blade, one that is to be buried deep within the spines of your enemies as their usefulness wanes to nothing. Take hold of the strings and you will become the ruler of Men, a nexus of an ancient power most beings, your fellow Sith included, only dream of harnessing themselves. But even now, you must be cautious. To be a Sith is to open yourself to the same treatment. All Sith are targets in the eyes of others. Any show of power will be met with an equal display of retaliation. Any show of weakness will be met with the swift, dreadful swipe of the blade. That is why the shadows are so valuable. It takes a Man of incredible restraint to humble himself at his inferiors. That is what you must do. Allow the Warriors to believe that they control your fate as you twitch your finger, coercing their minds and forcing their blade on another whom they deem more 'worthy'. Befriend the shadows, and they will accept you. Reject them, and they will do the same. This is your key to survival. Utilize it, or be stricken down. The choice is yours." —Darth Vyrdesseus, instructing a young Sith on Korriban.
At the height of their power, the ancient Sith Lords waged galaxy spanning wars of attrition, ravaging any world in their wake to sate their incomparable bloodlust. Their eternal enemies, the Jedi Order, proved a serviceable challenge, aided by the forces of the Republic. It was into these waning years of the wars between the Jedi and Sith that L'hannas was brought into the world, an illegitimate child caught in the midst of his parents' nomadic lifestyle. What little remained of Clan Xaar during the end of the Darkness, namely his parents and two uncles, did little to raise the boy in life. Much of their time was spent off world, in a desperate struggle against the Jedi scourge. Nobody, not even the enlightened Lords of the Sith, could've foreseen the Empire's downfall. Blinded by arrogance and their crude lust for power, the ancient Sith pushed themselves too far, spread themselves too wide. As the combined forces of the Republic and the Jedi began eliminating larger swaths of the Sith war machine, Clan Xaar drew a line in the sand. They handed the boy off. In the midst of an ongoing war, he would be nothing but a liability. Days passed. Accompanied by the rest of the living Sith, L'hannas was transported to the Order's final resting place; Korriban. The days grew longer. Simultaneously burdened and empowered by the nexus of darkside energy that flowed from beneath the immortal sands, the young one's heart stopped for mere seconds; lives had been erased. As the rest of the Sith returned from their horrendous defeat at the hands of the Republic, the news reached the sister moon of Korriban from the land of the dead that orbit above. Only his uncle's corpse had been recovered. The others, as rumors from fellow combatants suggest, had been lost to the environment. Dead, at the blade of the Jedi. He knew very little of his parents, a byproduct of their nomadic travels across the galaxy as members of the glorious Sith Empire. But with no mentors left to guide him, he had no other option.
Alone on the Great Temple of Korriban, L'hannas sat in quiet meditation as the voice of his long estranged uncle moaned from above. His body had been interred on the great world of the dead, the world that orbited Korriban from the sky above. His spirit, restless and disturbed, served as the boy's mentor as he aged into maturity. His family had always been peculiarly attuned to the dark side, a potency that radiated from his deceased uncle's voice even in death, even from the world hovering above his own. Noticing his own physical weaknesses, a result of his rigorous training with the Force, the young L'hannas compensated through other means. At a young age, he adopted the use of an ancient Sith cloak rather than the form fitting robes and armor that many of the Sith had found themselves wearing. While others had great pride in their appearance, his was was almost completely unknown. His face remained shrouded in ethereal darkness, a shadow that would not lift even in the brightest of light. Very few could claim to have ever seen his face. Those who did likely perished, but not by his own hand. He learned early that taking a life in the Order was equal to putting oneself beneath the blade for execution if he were to be caught. His life was lived hidden by the shadows, goaded by his mentor's ghostly teachings. Thus his talent for manipulation was revealed to the world, as he exploited the fears and weaknesses of his fellows in order to turn them against one another. His secretive demeanor and the aura of mystery and dread that surrounds his presence soon earned him a nickname among his fellow Sith; Tave Tenoti, The Unknown in the ancient Sith language. In the wake of their devastating defeat at the hands of the Jedi, a great number of Sith dedicated their time to their lightsabers. The pain of defeat had only bolstered their passion and bloodlust. L'hannas, however, played the puppetmaster. The sorcerer toyed with his foes, using their darkest fears and their deepest insecurities to twist their minds. Sinister and conniving, his tactics grew ever more subtle. His hatred and passion drew upon his hatred for the Jedi. Not for their slaying of his kin, but rather their opposing worldview. It was the ancient tradition of Clan Xaar to be a dedicated student of the Dark Side, and the Dark Side alone. Those who strayed from that path, those who sought redemption or absolution in the light, were seen as the traitors they truly were. And soon, they were purged.
CHAPTER TWO: IN THE COILS OF LEVIATHAN.
Trained by the apparition that lay dormant in the land of the dead, he was confronted with the grim reality, and a choice. Rumors had been spreading within local circles about the grand Sith reformation. Skeptical eyes watched as a woman, a patron of the Sacred Band of Ziost (a group that, while allied with the Sith, were at times viewed to be inferior due to their lack of force sensitivity) seized control and claimed herself Supreme Leader; the head of the new brethren. The Force had branched his path, leaving only two distinct options in its wake. L'hannas could fall in line with his brethren, or he could continue tugging at the strings. Both would likely end in the same way. But all had noticed well in advance that the warriors way was not meant for he, a fledgling arcanist. Capable in combat as he may be, his fighting style was highly dependent on his connection to the Dark Side and, as strong as that connection may be, it was a blade that required further sharpening. But if he could extend his influence outward, he could mold the new Order in his own vision.
After the fall of the old Empire, many Sith resigned themselves to a life of meaningless existence. The fire that once fueled their elegant war machine had been cooled by the knowledge that this defeat was wrought only through blind avarice and untrammeled greed. These disaffected Sith became prime targets for what few practitioners of the ancient, malignant arts still remained in the now heavily thinned ranks of the Sith; L'hannas, however, simply got to them first. Propaganda works easily in a world of despair. All it takes is reassurance and promise. The glimmer of hope. Taking several Sith under his wing, he began slowly distorting their vision, their perceptions; all necessary changes. All Sith society bows at the might of hierarchy. Moving up meant taking down someone above you. With his sect of psuedo-warriors now somewhat trained, he planted within them one fundamental question; who was responsible for the fall of the Empire? To this, they had many answers. It was the Dark Lord. His minions. The slaves below who failed to put enough effort. But those two words, Dark Lord, Dark Lord, became recurrent. Yes, it was the Dark Lord. His lust for power had to be properly punished. The first link, however, had to be eliminated first. A Sith Lord dubbed Darth Silthhar. Setting his minions upon them, L'hannas watched quietly from the shadows as the two fledgling Sith began mercilessly attacking his foe for him, flashes of crimson Red, and quietly rolling limbs. In the end, they could not kill him. But they didn't have to. Silthaar lay near-mortally wounded, with one arm missing, wheezing upon the floor. His expendable apprentices dead alongside them, there left no viable witness. No implications, and no backlash. With a chanting voice reminiscent of the Sith Cults of old, one hand began sapping what little Force energy remained the fallen Lord's corpse, while the other reached for his own blade; the malignant blade known as The Ancient One. And with one cruel swipe of the blade, his ascent had begun.
From the ashes of this fallen "Master," he proclaimed to his only god Bogan that the man before him was officially deceased. L'hannas Xaar ceased to exist. And from that corpse, Darth Vyrdesseus was born.
At one point or another, every Sith covets the throne of the Dark Lord. A seat of absolute religious power and authority, before the fall of the Empire the Dark Lord of the Sith was perhaps the most feared being in all the galaxy. But now, made complacent and quiet from the loss he lead his people into, the eyes that watched the throne became ever more eager. All, including his. His previous strategy wouldn't work this time. Scheming and other machinations were accepted, neigh, encouraged among the Sith; strife, after all, is what breeds greatness. But to challenge the Dark Lord was to place ones self on the chopping block for execution. It could not be done by proxy. To do so would be seen as a mark of great dishonor. The Sith would never accept the rule of someone who could not seize it for themselves. Quietly, cloaked in shadow, Lord Vyrdesseus lay in wait, monitoring his prey as his lips wove tales of submission and service. Each Dark Lord brought with them a new technique to ward others from their throne. Some trained day and night with the lightsaber. Others cultivated a group of bloodthirsty followers, cultists, to scare off competition. This one used image. His outward appearance was manufactured, heavily cultivated, so that others would believe in his innate power and be afraid of it. As the Dark Lord he was powerful; he'd slain the last man before him in mortal combat and lead multiple successful campaigns across the galaxy before the fall of his Empire. But his skills had become less useful now; and Vyrdessus would prey upon it. At midday one day, upon the temple where many Sith communicate with the long dead, in front of his brethren and the Gods of all Creation, he issued his challenge to the Dark Lord. To refuse would mean humiliation and shame, a death by all instead of one. So he accepted.
Their contest was held on Korriban for all to see, a spectacle attended even by the Supreme Leader herself, and her newly appointed Warlord. As the Dark Lord drew his lightsaber, L'hannas stood quietly pacing the dirt, his sword still very much attached to his back. He lurked there like a demon, an apparition in the sand, waiting for his opponent to strike first. And when the opportunity came, and the crimson blade entered L'hannas' chest, he did not die. He did not falter, nor did he fall. He lifted his hand and pushed his opponent back against the ring, revealing his grand deception; using the Force to make himself intangible. As his opponent regained his strength, L'hannas' hands lifted forward, possessing a kind of unnatural malignancy that could be sensed by all surrounding him as he conjured his offensive. The Dark Lord rose and the bout continued. The Sith Lord's metal blade only made itself known to block the flurry of attacks, until he once again pushed his foe away. He lifted his free hand, channeling the Dark Side throughout his core and into the extremities. First, a small wall of fire to disorient him. And finally, the streams of luminescent blue lightning. The Dark Side manifested itself around his body, preying on the fear and the anger of the Dark Lord himself. He fought valiantly. His lightsaber resisted as much as it could before it fell to the ground, leaving him defenseless. L'hannas roasted the corpse until nothing but the charred visage remained, and claimed the lightsaber for his own.
The Sith who watched from beyond the walls simultaneously rose, and bowed in submission. Once, this throne was the seat of all power in the universe. Now, however, it lay in shambles. He would remedy that soon. "Long live Dark Lord Vyrdesseus," they chanted. "Long live Dark Lord Vyrdesseus."
CHAPTER THREE: IN PURSUIT OF APOTHEOSIS (THE ETERNAL QUEST).
to be written.
VOICE SAMPLE, KHAN.
NAME: L'hannas Khaldun Xaar.
ALIAS: Darth Vyrdesseus the Malignant, and Lord Vyrdesseus.
FACTION: The Sith Order.
RANK: Sith Lord.
AGE: He's rumored to be reincarnated from an ancient Sith, in reality he's roughly 54.
SPECIALIZATION: Sith sorcery, force affinity.
FORCE SPECIALIZATION(S): Energy Manipulation & Status Effects.
FORCE PRESENCE: Heavily darksided.
GENDER: Male.
SPECIES: Unknown humanoid subspecies.
HOMEWORLD: Korriban.
HEIGHT: Six feet, four inches.
WEIGHT: 146 pounds.
BUILD: Somewhat frail. Years of his dedication to the Dark Side have marred his body, making him considerably less physically capable than his peers.
EYE COLOR: Luminescent orange.
HAIR: A fading black, worn below his shoulders.
FOUR TEMPERAMENTS: Choleric-Melancholic.
12 COMMON ARCHETYPES: The Ruler, The Sage.
MEYERS-BRIGS SPECIFICATION: INTJ, the Mastermind.
ALIGNMENT CHART: Chaotic Evil.
PRIMARY ARCHETYPE: The Dark Side of the Force.
SECONDARY ARCHETYPE: Manipulation and propaganda.
TERTIARY ARCHETYPE : Sith Sword/Saberstaff combat.
COMPOSITION AND APPEARANCE: Very few have seen L'hannas' face without facing the sting of his blade. For that reason, no being has been able to plausibly suggest what species he might belong to. An ancient Sith cloak hangs from his body in tatters, shrouding it in eternal darkness. His robes hang just far enough that they also cover his feet, making him appear to glide like a wraith across the ground whenever he walks. Upon this shroud of darkness, there can be seen only two objects that stick out from the rest. The first is his lightsaber hilt, an elegant weapon that he keeps merely for personal protection. His sword, however, remains permanently swung over his back. Known colloquially as the Zarchas Wo, or the Ancient One in the Sith language, L'hannas' sith sword has been tempered by the ancient processes of sith alchemy and now radiates a sickly, dark energy. The metal bares several runic inscriptions, thought to bring magical or supernatural powers and strength. The blade itself, immune to both lightsabers and blaster fire, serves as the Sith's primary religious instrument. As he describes it, he chose the sword to honor his heritage; the legacy of the Sith and their powerful religion. Death by a lightsaber is painless. The wounds cauterize. Life is sapped instantly. The sword, however, leaves a bloody mess behind. It's painful, cruel, and leave nothing but anguish. For a religious man, taking the life of the blasphemous Jedi is a deeply spiritual exercise. He typically weakens them through the Force, and through dueling with his own Lightsaber before removing the sword to deliver the killing blow. The only parts of his body visable from his cloak are his hands, which have since been maimed and destroyed through his research into sorcery and alchemy.
PERSONALITY AND SOCIAL COMPORTMENT: Little can be said of how L'hannas comports himself among his fellow Sith, as he often prefers to keep to himself. Words, in his mind, are the most powerful weapon of all. For this reason, he often thinks very carefuly over anything he says. Sinister, cunning and manipulative, he will do just about anything to bend a target to his will completely. He often makes a game of 'converting' stray Jedi to the Dark Side, only to kill them just as they thought they'd achieved true redemption. This treatment is not reserved for the Jedi, also. While he's known to manipulate others into doing his dirty work for him, he also has a strange habit of eliminating other Sith whom he feels to be straying from the true path...those who threaten to further break the Order from the inside. In the chaos and disarray caused by the Sith's defeat, he found the perfect opportunity. As the Sith began the rebuilding process, he presented himself to those he felt had the most influence; those who could be easily manipulated. Sixty years after the fall of the old Empire after his introduction to the world, he began spreading his web far and wide, entrenching himself into Sith society. It's a testament to his manipulative acumen that, through only killing two Sith with his own blade, he was capable of working his way into the throne upon which he sits now; Dark Lord of the Sith.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES: Among the most intelligent the resurgent Sith Order has at its disposal, L'hannas' manipulative acumen has proven incredibly useful when it comes to analyzing his opponents. Incapable of overpowering enemies through sheer strength and force alone, he combines his talents for manipulation as well as his potency within the Force to create a hybrid style of fighting that strays from traditional Sith norms. Many detest this approach, for they feel it betrays the very tenets of the Sith to use intelligence over passion. He disagrees, arguing that exploiting weakness is exactly what the Sith do to survive on a daily basis. His greatest talent, however, would be his prodigious capacity to understand and manipulate the Dark Side. To compensate for his lack of physical strength, his potency in the Force is well above average; a natural attunement that allows him to capably understand and perform horrific feats of energy manipulation and physical status affects, anything from conjuring fire and lightning to making himself completely intangible. However, while he prefers to use the Force over all else in combat, he's not completely inept with a Lightsaber. He often merges the two, defending with his blade while taking the offensive through focused, precise Force attacks aimed at his enemy. However, this remains one of his biggest flaws. Through years of studying the Dark Side's lurid secrets, his body has become corrupted and tainted by the Dark Side's influence. In any situation where it would rely on sheer force and knowledge of lightsaber combat alone, he would be left at a distinct disadvantage. He also avoids any personal or professional relationships, except for those he feel can be exploited for his own personal gain.
LIGHTSABER COMPOSITION: Always a student of the finer things, Vyrdesseus' lightsaber hilt is a work of artistry that took him years to properly construct. The metal hilt is constructed of a typical Phrik/Durasteel alloy which allows it to remain resistant to the burning sting of the lightsaber. However, if includes several unorthodox features. Namely the large tooth affixed to the stock of the weapon. Harvested from a Hssiss killed on the surface of Korriban, this tooth (as well as the three prongs that protect the emitter) allow the Dark Lord to use his hilt as an effective stabbing weapon should he be in a tight situation where revealing the blade would be too costly, or if anything within the weapon were to be damaged during combat.
INVENTORY: Ancient Sith cloak, traditional armor worn beneath, his Lightsaber (with red crystal), and his Sith Sword.
KNOWN LANGUAGES: Galactic Basic, Sith, Huttese.
CHAPTER ONE: NO STRANGE GODS.
" Shadows, the best friend of Man. Shadows conceal all. Every inadequacy, every misstep. The strings that bind him; to his masters, to his world, to his body. Man can only be saved, be offered absolution, through his embrace of this darkness and shadow. The Dark Side is cruel and unforgiving. You know this. It kills those too weak to wield it, and twists the minds of those all too willing to delve into its ethereal power. Those with a mind not equipped to commune with the spirits will be driven insane. But those capable of understanding the shadow, of bending the shadow to their will, become true leaders of Men. To master these shadows takes centuries of work and practice, as well as a keen and sharp mind. This is proves to be the downfall of many Sith. They allow themselves to believe that they are better than their counterparts. They allow themselves to believe that the Dark Side is their slave. They are wrong. This fallacy, young Sith, is your most accurate weapon. Your sharpest blade, one that is to be buried deep within the spines of your enemies as their usefulness wanes to nothing. Take hold of the strings and you will become the ruler of Men, a nexus of an ancient power most beings, your fellow Sith included, only dream of harnessing themselves. But even now, you must be cautious. To be a Sith is to open yourself to the same treatment. All Sith are targets in the eyes of others. Any show of power will be met with an equal display of retaliation. Any show of weakness will be met with the swift, dreadful swipe of the blade. That is why the shadows are so valuable. It takes a Man of incredible restraint to humble himself at his inferiors. That is what you must do. Allow the Warriors to believe that they control your fate as you twitch your finger, coercing their minds and forcing their blade on another whom they deem more 'worthy'. Befriend the shadows, and they will accept you. Reject them, and they will do the same. This is your key to survival. Utilize it, or be stricken down. The choice is yours." —Darth Vyrdesseus, instructing a young Sith on Korriban.
At the height of their power, the ancient Sith Lords waged galaxy spanning wars of attrition, ravaging any world in their wake to sate their incomparable bloodlust. Their eternal enemies, the Jedi Order, proved a serviceable challenge, aided by the forces of the Republic. It was into these waning years of the wars between the Jedi and Sith that L'hannas was brought into the world, an illegitimate child caught in the midst of his parents' nomadic lifestyle. What little remained of Clan Xaar during the end of the Darkness, namely his parents and two uncles, did little to raise the boy in life. Much of their time was spent off world, in a desperate struggle against the Jedi scourge. Nobody, not even the enlightened Lords of the Sith, could've foreseen the Empire's downfall. Blinded by arrogance and their crude lust for power, the ancient Sith pushed themselves too far, spread themselves too wide. As the combined forces of the Republic and the Jedi began eliminating larger swaths of the Sith war machine, Clan Xaar drew a line in the sand. They handed the boy off. In the midst of an ongoing war, he would be nothing but a liability. Days passed. Accompanied by the rest of the living Sith, L'hannas was transported to the Order's final resting place; Korriban. The days grew longer. Simultaneously burdened and empowered by the nexus of darkside energy that flowed from beneath the immortal sands, the young one's heart stopped for mere seconds; lives had been erased. As the rest of the Sith returned from their horrendous defeat at the hands of the Republic, the news reached the sister moon of Korriban from the land of the dead that orbit above. Only his uncle's corpse had been recovered. The others, as rumors from fellow combatants suggest, had been lost to the environment. Dead, at the blade of the Jedi. He knew very little of his parents, a byproduct of their nomadic travels across the galaxy as members of the glorious Sith Empire. But with no mentors left to guide him, he had no other option.
Alone on the Great Temple of Korriban, L'hannas sat in quiet meditation as the voice of his long estranged uncle moaned from above. His body had been interred on the great world of the dead, the world that orbited Korriban from the sky above. His spirit, restless and disturbed, served as the boy's mentor as he aged into maturity. His family had always been peculiarly attuned to the dark side, a potency that radiated from his deceased uncle's voice even in death, even from the world hovering above his own. Noticing his own physical weaknesses, a result of his rigorous training with the Force, the young L'hannas compensated through other means. At a young age, he adopted the use of an ancient Sith cloak rather than the form fitting robes and armor that many of the Sith had found themselves wearing. While others had great pride in their appearance, his was was almost completely unknown. His face remained shrouded in ethereal darkness, a shadow that would not lift even in the brightest of light. Very few could claim to have ever seen his face. Those who did likely perished, but not by his own hand. He learned early that taking a life in the Order was equal to putting oneself beneath the blade for execution if he were to be caught. His life was lived hidden by the shadows, goaded by his mentor's ghostly teachings. Thus his talent for manipulation was revealed to the world, as he exploited the fears and weaknesses of his fellows in order to turn them against one another. His secretive demeanor and the aura of mystery and dread that surrounds his presence soon earned him a nickname among his fellow Sith; Tave Tenoti, The Unknown in the ancient Sith language. In the wake of their devastating defeat at the hands of the Jedi, a great number of Sith dedicated their time to their lightsabers. The pain of defeat had only bolstered their passion and bloodlust. L'hannas, however, played the puppetmaster. The sorcerer toyed with his foes, using their darkest fears and their deepest insecurities to twist their minds. Sinister and conniving, his tactics grew ever more subtle. His hatred and passion drew upon his hatred for the Jedi. Not for their slaying of his kin, but rather their opposing worldview. It was the ancient tradition of Clan Xaar to be a dedicated student of the Dark Side, and the Dark Side alone. Those who strayed from that path, those who sought redemption or absolution in the light, were seen as the traitors they truly were. And soon, they were purged.
CHAPTER TWO: IN THE COILS OF LEVIATHAN.
Trained by the apparition that lay dormant in the land of the dead, he was confronted with the grim reality, and a choice. Rumors had been spreading within local circles about the grand Sith reformation. Skeptical eyes watched as a woman, a patron of the Sacred Band of Ziost (a group that, while allied with the Sith, were at times viewed to be inferior due to their lack of force sensitivity) seized control and claimed herself Supreme Leader; the head of the new brethren. The Force had branched his path, leaving only two distinct options in its wake. L'hannas could fall in line with his brethren, or he could continue tugging at the strings. Both would likely end in the same way. But all had noticed well in advance that the warriors way was not meant for he, a fledgling arcanist. Capable in combat as he may be, his fighting style was highly dependent on his connection to the Dark Side and, as strong as that connection may be, it was a blade that required further sharpening. But if he could extend his influence outward, he could mold the new Order in his own vision.
After the fall of the old Empire, many Sith resigned themselves to a life of meaningless existence. The fire that once fueled their elegant war machine had been cooled by the knowledge that this defeat was wrought only through blind avarice and untrammeled greed. These disaffected Sith became prime targets for what few practitioners of the ancient, malignant arts still remained in the now heavily thinned ranks of the Sith; L'hannas, however, simply got to them first. Propaganda works easily in a world of despair. All it takes is reassurance and promise. The glimmer of hope. Taking several Sith under his wing, he began slowly distorting their vision, their perceptions; all necessary changes. All Sith society bows at the might of hierarchy. Moving up meant taking down someone above you. With his sect of psuedo-warriors now somewhat trained, he planted within them one fundamental question; who was responsible for the fall of the Empire? To this, they had many answers. It was the Dark Lord. His minions. The slaves below who failed to put enough effort. But those two words, Dark Lord, Dark Lord, became recurrent. Yes, it was the Dark Lord. His lust for power had to be properly punished. The first link, however, had to be eliminated first. A Sith Lord dubbed Darth Silthhar. Setting his minions upon them, L'hannas watched quietly from the shadows as the two fledgling Sith began mercilessly attacking his foe for him, flashes of crimson Red, and quietly rolling limbs. In the end, they could not kill him. But they didn't have to. Silthaar lay near-mortally wounded, with one arm missing, wheezing upon the floor. His expendable apprentices dead alongside them, there left no viable witness. No implications, and no backlash. With a chanting voice reminiscent of the Sith Cults of old, one hand began sapping what little Force energy remained the fallen Lord's corpse, while the other reached for his own blade; the malignant blade known as The Ancient One. And with one cruel swipe of the blade, his ascent had begun.
From the ashes of this fallen "Master," he proclaimed to his only god Bogan that the man before him was officially deceased. L'hannas Xaar ceased to exist. And from that corpse, Darth Vyrdesseus was born.
At one point or another, every Sith covets the throne of the Dark Lord. A seat of absolute religious power and authority, before the fall of the Empire the Dark Lord of the Sith was perhaps the most feared being in all the galaxy. But now, made complacent and quiet from the loss he lead his people into, the eyes that watched the throne became ever more eager. All, including his. His previous strategy wouldn't work this time. Scheming and other machinations were accepted, neigh, encouraged among the Sith; strife, after all, is what breeds greatness. But to challenge the Dark Lord was to place ones self on the chopping block for execution. It could not be done by proxy. To do so would be seen as a mark of great dishonor. The Sith would never accept the rule of someone who could not seize it for themselves. Quietly, cloaked in shadow, Lord Vyrdesseus lay in wait, monitoring his prey as his lips wove tales of submission and service. Each Dark Lord brought with them a new technique to ward others from their throne. Some trained day and night with the lightsaber. Others cultivated a group of bloodthirsty followers, cultists, to scare off competition. This one used image. His outward appearance was manufactured, heavily cultivated, so that others would believe in his innate power and be afraid of it. As the Dark Lord he was powerful; he'd slain the last man before him in mortal combat and lead multiple successful campaigns across the galaxy before the fall of his Empire. But his skills had become less useful now; and Vyrdessus would prey upon it. At midday one day, upon the temple where many Sith communicate with the long dead, in front of his brethren and the Gods of all Creation, he issued his challenge to the Dark Lord. To refuse would mean humiliation and shame, a death by all instead of one. So he accepted.
Their contest was held on Korriban for all to see, a spectacle attended even by the Supreme Leader herself, and her newly appointed Warlord. As the Dark Lord drew his lightsaber, L'hannas stood quietly pacing the dirt, his sword still very much attached to his back. He lurked there like a demon, an apparition in the sand, waiting for his opponent to strike first. And when the opportunity came, and the crimson blade entered L'hannas' chest, he did not die. He did not falter, nor did he fall. He lifted his hand and pushed his opponent back against the ring, revealing his grand deception; using the Force to make himself intangible. As his opponent regained his strength, L'hannas' hands lifted forward, possessing a kind of unnatural malignancy that could be sensed by all surrounding him as he conjured his offensive. The Dark Lord rose and the bout continued. The Sith Lord's metal blade only made itself known to block the flurry of attacks, until he once again pushed his foe away. He lifted his free hand, channeling the Dark Side throughout his core and into the extremities. First, a small wall of fire to disorient him. And finally, the streams of luminescent blue lightning. The Dark Side manifested itself around his body, preying on the fear and the anger of the Dark Lord himself. He fought valiantly. His lightsaber resisted as much as it could before it fell to the ground, leaving him defenseless. L'hannas roasted the corpse until nothing but the charred visage remained, and claimed the lightsaber for his own.
The Sith who watched from beyond the walls simultaneously rose, and bowed in submission. Once, this throne was the seat of all power in the universe. Now, however, it lay in shambles. He would remedy that soon. "Long live Dark Lord Vyrdesseus," they chanted. "Long live Dark Lord Vyrdesseus."
CHAPTER THREE: IN PURSUIT OF APOTHEOSIS (THE ETERNAL QUEST).
to be written.
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