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Moraband
Sacred.
Sacred is what they called this place. Those that set the stones..closed the crypts...
Hallowed. A monument to power. Power which they craved.
Whispers. Of things that should long have since passed tormented the boy. For he, more than many of the others that walked these lands, always sought answers outside himself rather than within. He was not susceptible to greed, but rather control. While he did not know it, that was the very reason he was here, why he would always have made the decision to come to this place. He wanted to follow. Death wanted him to bear witness to it's great achievement, this accursed planet. Suffering and grief resided here, together they had built the long lost structures now buried under his boots. Try as he might, he could not shut out those that called to him. They were always there. From the moment he entered the atmosphere, and took his first step across the sand-blown surface, they had been there. They sensed his weakness, his will to obey. Piercing his mind with their vile intentions. Voices, no louder than the faintest of whispers, called out to him in the ancient dialect of this Sith.
The youth did not understand them. The whispers grew louder, demanding to be heard. Deprived of their servants from ages past, they sought to rise again, share their knowledge and corruption with the word of the living. Did they not understand?! He wasn't like them! He wasn't like them at all!
Xanthier felt so alone in this wretched place. He wished for it to swallow itself. To be consumed by the hate of all those that had made it as it was. How could she send him here? As his mind strove to drive out that which plagued him, he began to realize this was not about gaining an ally. She had sent him to see if he could bear it. If he could harden his mind. He was weak in her eyes. He had accepted her as his superior, but they both knew of each others motives, they both knew that one day the fragile line between ally and foe would break, and the wolf would once again seek to rip out his master's throat.
The voices within his head receded as Xanthier stepped into the dark corridor. Out of the harsh winds. Sand fell from his armor, falling softly to the floor of the hallway. Illuminated by the dim light of brazers that cast an otherworldly glow upon the shadows as they danced. He had arrived. The youth could sense it. Not with the force, but something primal within himself, his instincts, his gut, they told him the one he sought was here.
Xanthier's grey irises scanned all as he walked into the darkness of the crypt, only the light of the brazers to guide him. His tattered boots made the softest of clicks as he made his way down the long hall.
His ears picked up sound, and he paused. Voices. Cries. At first, as they entered his ears, Xanthier thought them to be the very same ones he had heard in the desert. Though the more he listened, he could tell that these were far different. They were of agony.
The youth could hear his own breath as he took cautious steps, traveling further and further into the dark. It was cold here. A chill that only the dead were capable of possessing. Xanthier could feel in his bones, his muscles shivered involuntarily, if only for a moment. The black haired boy was not susceptible to temperature. He had faced the blackness of space and the chill of ice planets. He had felt their deadly kiss as the cold licked at his skin, threatening to freeze his flesh. This was different, it was not within the body, but the mind, and once again, he struggled to combat the feelings.
The hallway came to a dead end. A fork. A blank stone wall lay in Xanthier's path, and he was forced to choose left or right. The boy sniffed the air. Searching for anything that might lead him to the one he sought. His answer came in the form of distant smoke. Filtering down through the halls. To the left.
It got darker as Xanthier made his way further from the light of the entrance. The brazers burnt lower than they had, barely casting any shadow on his pale face.
The cries grew louder. Wails. Inhuman sounds. But one did not have to be human to understand those that made them were in pain.
Xanthier stopped in front of a door. It was anchient, and faded, like the rest of the temple, runes were etched into it's surface, and at head level, there were several iron bars that had begun to rust.
Xanthier leaned in towards the bars slowly. Peering into the darkness which he only added to by obscuring the small space that was the only source of light. The cries had stopped, and the boy paused, gazing in to make out the faintest of shapes on the floor.
Closer and closer, the youth strained to see what was inside, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could discern that the shape was that of a human body, one that was absolutely still. Xanthier was about to turn away, for he could not bare the sight. One which was all too familiar to himself. He felt sickened that so many Sith used others as their playthings.
His thoughts distracted, Xanthier did not see the rotting hand that reached through the rusted bars. In utter silence it latched on to his long hair from behind, and pulled back. Slamming his head against the metal.
Xanthier immediately retaliated, his own pale hand reached back, grabbing that which held him, it's skin felt wet, like raw meat, Xanthier pressed it downwards, into the door as hard as he could, hearing the crunches as it began to break, louder as the sounds originated so close to his own ear. Injured, the being released him, but Xanthier was far from finished with his attacker. Lunging through the bars with his arm, Xanthier managed to snag whatever it was by the neck. Pulling it closer so that he could look into the creature's eyes.
The thing which now snarled within his grasp was far from human, in fact, the body still lay there, Xanthier could see it in the blackness, through the bars. It was merely this thing's food. The dark haired boy stared into the grotesque face of the being he had caught. Despite the similarities between it and himself, their pasts of being caged against their will, he felt no pity towards it, and in one quick motion, crushed it's neck within his hand, leaving the body to rot in the cell. It would suffer no more.
Retracting his arm out from between the bars, Xanthier felt a surge of hatred. He had not known his master would send him to fetch one who did such vile things to other creatures. She had told him that the being he would find was not unlike himself, created under darkness, shaped by the will of the one who created him. Xanthier had hoped that he could sway the being, help him see the horror that was the Sith Empire and aid in it's destruction, but the youth saw now, all too clearly, that the being he sought was worse than his creators, a twisted soul with no regard for life. So it was that he gave up on his foolish thoughts of making him his own ally. Xanthier would carry out his master's intentions, persuade the Apostle's Beast to join the sorceress...or destroy him.
The hall ended abruptly, opening up to a room that seemed to be encased in grey. No light entered except that which was cast upon the walls from the center of the room itself. It was there, in the open entryway that the boy paused once more. There were no exits, no other doors. He had never felt so far from the light. Deep underground was the chamber, which had once served as a tomb for the head priest of the temple. Now, the body was nowhere to be seen, and on it's stone pedestal, lay many dark objects. Xanthier, who was not as attuned to auras as many that shared the gift of the force, could feel their horrid energy. Corrupted kyber crystals sat amidst the relics. They themselves were the only source of light, a red that saturated everything it touched, even casting a glow on the youth's white face.
In front of all this, was what Xanthier sought. What he had came for. The creation of the Apostle. Who's back was still turned, obsessing over that which resided on the cold stone, despite undoubtedly sensing the boy.
After a brief pause, Xanthier finally spoke the words. They lacked emotion, resembling simple statements. His eyes locked on the form of the being in front of him, taking in all that they could. Searching, for weakness, searching for answers.
"She told me I would find you here...beneath the earth. If I called you by what you were known by, would you remember..? That name is lost to her mind. Should I simply call you a Beast?"
The boy paused, awaiting his answer.
It was risky for him to come here. Many Sith wished his death, yet many would not recognize him. He had slaughtered their kind in the distant reaches of the galaxy, but such petty acts were nothing. A few members of the Empire mattered little in comparison to the whole. Perhaps those that died were weak. Now, here on this planet, the very heart of the Sith, he stood and addressed one of their kind.
The boy did not look like much, malnourished, but beginning to regain his strength, his scratched and pitted armor did little to hide the fact that he lacked muscle. Skin sickly and pale. Of all things that made him who he was, his chest stood out the most, for there, in the center of the faded armor plate, was the burn mark of a saber. Melted through the metal and into the flesh beneath, leaving the charred mess exposed to the air. It appeared as though he should not have lived, but the wound was less severe than looked in the eye of the beholder, just incredibly slow to heal. A gash of a similar origin adorned the side of his ribs, this had mended itself long ago, and now only scar tissue was visible through the small gap in the armor.
Only the Sith were foolish enough to guard the dead. Worshiping those that came before them. What kind of monitoring technology they had was unknown to Xanthier, and said security worried the boy. Though he told himself that this would be a quick visit... The hijacked Ziost Hunter had been of great use in camouflaging movements in the past, but he feared that being this close might draw attention. It was a couple years old now, having belonged to Kalen, a member of the Imperial Legion, before it was hijacked in Cornet City by a trandosian with a superb taste in music. Said trandosian had agreed to allow the boy to use it provided that he return with grilled cheese sandwiches. A worthy trade.
@Simonev
Len'Raz / Xanthier
Sacred.
Sacred is what they called this place. Those that set the stones..closed the crypts...
Hallowed. A monument to power. Power which they craved.
Whispers. Of things that should long have since passed tormented the boy. For he, more than many of the others that walked these lands, always sought answers outside himself rather than within. He was not susceptible to greed, but rather control. While he did not know it, that was the very reason he was here, why he would always have made the decision to come to this place. He wanted to follow. Death wanted him to bear witness to it's great achievement, this accursed planet. Suffering and grief resided here, together they had built the long lost structures now buried under his boots. Try as he might, he could not shut out those that called to him. They were always there. From the moment he entered the atmosphere, and took his first step across the sand-blown surface, they had been there. They sensed his weakness, his will to obey. Piercing his mind with their vile intentions. Voices, no louder than the faintest of whispers, called out to him in the ancient dialect of this Sith.
The youth did not understand them. The whispers grew louder, demanding to be heard. Deprived of their servants from ages past, they sought to rise again, share their knowledge and corruption with the word of the living. Did they not understand?! He wasn't like them! He wasn't like them at all!
Xanthier felt so alone in this wretched place. He wished for it to swallow itself. To be consumed by the hate of all those that had made it as it was. How could she send him here? As his mind strove to drive out that which plagued him, he began to realize this was not about gaining an ally. She had sent him to see if he could bear it. If he could harden his mind. He was weak in her eyes. He had accepted her as his superior, but they both knew of each others motives, they both knew that one day the fragile line between ally and foe would break, and the wolf would once again seek to rip out his master's throat.
The voices within his head receded as Xanthier stepped into the dark corridor. Out of the harsh winds. Sand fell from his armor, falling softly to the floor of the hallway. Illuminated by the dim light of brazers that cast an otherworldly glow upon the shadows as they danced. He had arrived. The youth could sense it. Not with the force, but something primal within himself, his instincts, his gut, they told him the one he sought was here.
Xanthier's grey irises scanned all as he walked into the darkness of the crypt, only the light of the brazers to guide him. His tattered boots made the softest of clicks as he made his way down the long hall.
His ears picked up sound, and he paused. Voices. Cries. At first, as they entered his ears, Xanthier thought them to be the very same ones he had heard in the desert. Though the more he listened, he could tell that these were far different. They were of agony.
The youth could hear his own breath as he took cautious steps, traveling further and further into the dark. It was cold here. A chill that only the dead were capable of possessing. Xanthier could feel in his bones, his muscles shivered involuntarily, if only for a moment. The black haired boy was not susceptible to temperature. He had faced the blackness of space and the chill of ice planets. He had felt their deadly kiss as the cold licked at his skin, threatening to freeze his flesh. This was different, it was not within the body, but the mind, and once again, he struggled to combat the feelings.
The hallway came to a dead end. A fork. A blank stone wall lay in Xanthier's path, and he was forced to choose left or right. The boy sniffed the air. Searching for anything that might lead him to the one he sought. His answer came in the form of distant smoke. Filtering down through the halls. To the left.
It got darker as Xanthier made his way further from the light of the entrance. The brazers burnt lower than they had, barely casting any shadow on his pale face.
The cries grew louder. Wails. Inhuman sounds. But one did not have to be human to understand those that made them were in pain.
Xanthier stopped in front of a door. It was anchient, and faded, like the rest of the temple, runes were etched into it's surface, and at head level, there were several iron bars that had begun to rust.
Xanthier leaned in towards the bars slowly. Peering into the darkness which he only added to by obscuring the small space that was the only source of light. The cries had stopped, and the boy paused, gazing in to make out the faintest of shapes on the floor.
Closer and closer, the youth strained to see what was inside, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could discern that the shape was that of a human body, one that was absolutely still. Xanthier was about to turn away, for he could not bare the sight. One which was all too familiar to himself. He felt sickened that so many Sith used others as their playthings.
His thoughts distracted, Xanthier did not see the rotting hand that reached through the rusted bars. In utter silence it latched on to his long hair from behind, and pulled back. Slamming his head against the metal.
Xanthier immediately retaliated, his own pale hand reached back, grabbing that which held him, it's skin felt wet, like raw meat, Xanthier pressed it downwards, into the door as hard as he could, hearing the crunches as it began to break, louder as the sounds originated so close to his own ear. Injured, the being released him, but Xanthier was far from finished with his attacker. Lunging through the bars with his arm, Xanthier managed to snag whatever it was by the neck. Pulling it closer so that he could look into the creature's eyes.
The thing which now snarled within his grasp was far from human, in fact, the body still lay there, Xanthier could see it in the blackness, through the bars. It was merely this thing's food. The dark haired boy stared into the grotesque face of the being he had caught. Despite the similarities between it and himself, their pasts of being caged against their will, he felt no pity towards it, and in one quick motion, crushed it's neck within his hand, leaving the body to rot in the cell. It would suffer no more.
Retracting his arm out from between the bars, Xanthier felt a surge of hatred. He had not known his master would send him to fetch one who did such vile things to other creatures. She had told him that the being he would find was not unlike himself, created under darkness, shaped by the will of the one who created him. Xanthier had hoped that he could sway the being, help him see the horror that was the Sith Empire and aid in it's destruction, but the youth saw now, all too clearly, that the being he sought was worse than his creators, a twisted soul with no regard for life. So it was that he gave up on his foolish thoughts of making him his own ally. Xanthier would carry out his master's intentions, persuade the Apostle's Beast to join the sorceress...or destroy him.
The hall ended abruptly, opening up to a room that seemed to be encased in grey. No light entered except that which was cast upon the walls from the center of the room itself. It was there, in the open entryway that the boy paused once more. There were no exits, no other doors. He had never felt so far from the light. Deep underground was the chamber, which had once served as a tomb for the head priest of the temple. Now, the body was nowhere to be seen, and on it's stone pedestal, lay many dark objects. Xanthier, who was not as attuned to auras as many that shared the gift of the force, could feel their horrid energy. Corrupted kyber crystals sat amidst the relics. They themselves were the only source of light, a red that saturated everything it touched, even casting a glow on the youth's white face.
In front of all this, was what Xanthier sought. What he had came for. The creation of the Apostle. Who's back was still turned, obsessing over that which resided on the cold stone, despite undoubtedly sensing the boy.
After a brief pause, Xanthier finally spoke the words. They lacked emotion, resembling simple statements. His eyes locked on the form of the being in front of him, taking in all that they could. Searching, for weakness, searching for answers.
"She told me I would find you here...beneath the earth. If I called you by what you were known by, would you remember..? That name is lost to her mind. Should I simply call you a Beast?"
The boy paused, awaiting his answer.
It was risky for him to come here. Many Sith wished his death, yet many would not recognize him. He had slaughtered their kind in the distant reaches of the galaxy, but such petty acts were nothing. A few members of the Empire mattered little in comparison to the whole. Perhaps those that died were weak. Now, here on this planet, the very heart of the Sith, he stood and addressed one of their kind.
The boy did not look like much, malnourished, but beginning to regain his strength, his scratched and pitted armor did little to hide the fact that he lacked muscle. Skin sickly and pale. Of all things that made him who he was, his chest stood out the most, for there, in the center of the faded armor plate, was the burn mark of a saber. Melted through the metal and into the flesh beneath, leaving the charred mess exposed to the air. It appeared as though he should not have lived, but the wound was less severe than looked in the eye of the beholder, just incredibly slow to heal. A gash of a similar origin adorned the side of his ribs, this had mended itself long ago, and now only scar tissue was visible through the small gap in the armor.
Only the Sith were foolish enough to guard the dead. Worshiping those that came before them. What kind of monitoring technology they had was unknown to Xanthier, and said security worried the boy. Though he told himself that this would be a quick visit... The hijacked Ziost Hunter had been of great use in camouflaging movements in the past, but he feared that being this close might draw attention. It was a couple years old now, having belonged to Kalen, a member of the Imperial Legion, before it was hijacked in Cornet City by a trandosian with a superb taste in music. Said trandosian had agreed to allow the boy to use it provided that he return with grilled cheese sandwiches. A worthy trade.
This will be a thread between Simonev and I, but anyone is welcome to join. My only request is that you let us interact in a few posts before jumping in.
@Simonev
Len'Raz / Xanthier
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