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Lecchamemnon Azhek: Missing, presumed dead. Jerecht flicked through the file briefly, skimming its many pages as if hoping to uncover something about his subject in the first few seconds that countless others had managed to miss. Sith intelligence was second to none, he knew he held as close to a definitive guide to Lecchamemnon as there was in his hands and yet he still felt particularly unprepared for the task he had been set. It was going to be a long investigation.
Jerecht was a researcher, fairly low in rank. Analysis was his trade, his means with which to advance through the ranks of the Sith, or so he hoped. His master was a collector of information pertaining to the Jedi and recently had begun to covet knowledge about a former Grandmaster of their Order, Lecchamemnon. Initially, now that the Order had fallen and their secrets were laid bare finding more information was a simple job: They knew his age, they had access to his earlier holocrons - before his appointment at least. They’d even found out his last name, something the Jedi had never bothered with, and surmised his likely home planet of Necropolis. They had pinpointed exactly when he had fallen from all official records: Jedi, Sith, Imperium and Alliance. They had found nothing since however, hence the presumption of his demise. It had been many years, men like Lecchamemnon were hard to lose unless they were cold in the ground somewhere. Very quickly the well of information the sacked Jedi records represented ran dry: It turned out that even when he had been with them, Lecchamemnon had never truly shared. They had tomes upon tomes of valuable information on other leaders of the great enemy, why had this one evaded such scrutiny?
His file still felt scarce. Jerecht’s master wished for more, as an alcoholic yearns for ever increasing amounts of wine, and so it fell to his apprentice to sate his desires. Lecchamemnon’s story was to be added to the collection, to the annals of the new Sith Empire. How? Jerecht hadn’t the faintest idea.
Failure, however, was death. He moved to a remote outpost to better complete his study, manned just by himself and some droids on the outer rim - a world named Rhen Var. It was bone chilling and desolate, Jerecht had a sneaking suspicion he was the only living thing on the ancient world. Despite this, he was satisfied. Rhen Var was quiet, not even his master could disturb him here too often, and that state of affairs could only ever enhance the Sith’s chances of survival and advancement.
The only man in all the world sat at his desk, and began to work.
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“Lecchamemnon was feared by friend and foe alike when he still walked the Galaxy. From the hellish slums of Necropolis did he find his way to the halls of the Jedi, and then from there to the lofty position of Grand Master of the entire Order. He was, perhaps, the single most powerful being ever to exist in this era, certainly the records of his exploits show that he ranks among the very best and most dangerous combatants a Sith could ever come across (see: The Onderon Incident). His mastery of the force was unfettered by the usual Jedi dogma, it was common knowledge once the war began that he used techniques even Sith Lords could not master - He was a boogeyman, a figure the Sith Leadership didn’t like to hear the name of. How did one defeat an enemy that was simply one’s own murderous reflection?The answer, as is abundantly clear judging by what ended up happening to this titan of the force, is to do nothing. Jedi are creatures of the light, and even those that stray are wracked by guilt and indecision. Lecchamemnon, for all his might and cunning and fearsome reputation proved to be no different, given time. He vanished, leaving the Jedi in disarray and paving the way for a new Sith Empire to rule the stars. In a way one could say that this is his Empire just as much as it is yours, or mine, if one was tolerant of heresy.
Records after Coruscant are patchy to say the least. Positive identifications have cropped up on a number of worlds, but never was he doing anything major - a gutted crime syndicate here, a burned down hospital there. All records indicate that he cracked under the pressure he brought upon himself with his breadth of force studies. He appeared to wander without purpose, at times aiding a Jedi in need, at others killing them without mercy. He was present during the final battles of the war, despite rumours to the contrary. Lecchamemnon never showed afterwards, indeed it is the belief of this scholar that he was already dead even by Coruscant's conclusion. The life of a homeless rogue is not kind, especially to someone like him. My personal theory is that he died beneath the rubble of the Jedi Temple, though official estimates place him as having met his demise on his homeworld of Necropolis. If he returned there in the end it is unclear why.
Regardless, Lecchamemnon has not been sighted, or even rumoured to have been sighted, for years. This file is dead, his trace is cold. If he went to ground following the conquest of the Galactic Alliance we would have found trace of a man fitting his ability among the records of revealed rebel cells by now; the only reasonable conclusion is that he has met his demise.
I find this a terrible shame, imagine what an asset Lecchamemnon could have been had he ever turned fully.”
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Until finally I understood.
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He looked out the window, there was a furious snowstorm outside as per usual. Rising he poured himself some coffee, looking back over his notes. Nothing was new, he’d just rehashed everything the Sith already knew. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut, he knew he was doomed. There was nothing else to know about this crazy old man, he’d led a secretive life and now he was dead there was nobody that knew anything about him. For all his horrific strength and potential Lecchamemnon had done nothing for the cause he chose, a waste of limitless power in Jerecht’s opinion. Bit by bit the galaxy would forget him, until the weight of the ages erased his name from history. Jerecht’s master would not be pleased.He sighed, at a loss for how to continue. The man was Necropolitan, force save his soul - even the Sith knew how bad that shit hole of a planet was. The name he bore was a traditional name of the region, that of one of the twelve saints of Nothing if Jerecht’s memory served: Perhaps that was something to go on? He booted up the holoterminal half-heartedly, knowing he’d get nothing for his trouble.
Lecchamemnon was the name of the 8th saint of the Church of Nothing. That religion predated the Sith by several millennia, who knew what of its history was madman’s drivel and what was fact? He came to worship the religion’s twisted take on the Force after a nihilistic episode, but refused to change his ways and died for them anyway. One of the lesser saints of old by all accounts, as this other Lecchamemnon was not as prominent a figure as any other Jedi Grandmaster. He had the power, more even, than any of them - but he had done nothing with it, and the Jedi had languished at his hands. Lecchamemnon then, was a fitting name.
Jerecht had no idea about the man’s childhood, he was sure nobody did. The records all began with a starving figure collapsing upon the steps of the Tython temple - and all interviews before his acceptance into the Order failed to get anything out of him beyond a burning desire to play his part, to make the Galaxy a better place. He wasn’t sure if Lecchamemnon would answer the same now, after all that had happened. Had he harboured the darkness within his soul, even then?
If he had, there must be layers to his psyche not even Jedi masters could delve into. Jerecht shuddered inwardly, Lecchamemnon was dead and still he put the fear into him - Abject failure he might have been, but a really scary one nonetheless. No-one should have the power he could wield, and he did it so effortlessly. Even the Lords of the Sith seemed blunt and mundane compared to what he was recorded being capable of...
Jerecht stopped and thought for a minute: Necropolis was a link, he realised, because the Church was one of the few organisations that had force sensitives trained and combat ready besides the Sith, now that the Jedi were all but extinct. How had he missed it before? He honestly didn’t know or much care as to why they were allowed to continue training force sensitives on their Nightmare World, he assumed the Empire didn’t regard them as a threat - they could even be an asset, managed correctly. Regardless he returned to his original train of thought: They trained force sensitives, that meant they needed teachers - He smiled, typing frantically into the holonet terminal. He pulled up the files of the current Living Saints.
Of the twelve eight were currently known for a fact to be force sensitive, and two more were suspected. Their actual identities beyond their ritual roles were unknown to all except themselves and their confidants, who usually didn’t exist. Teachers: Jerecht’s smile widened. None of them, however, were even close to the threat level Lecchamemnon had posed. They weren’t as powerful, they had less galactic influence (well, Ahriman might rival him, but not among respectable citizens) and they were all assumed to have less cause to hate the Imperium than he did. Ignoring this discouraging truth, Jerecht delved deeper - they each had followers, pawns who did their bidding. Lecchamemnon was from Necropolis after all, perhaps he had sworn himself to one of the Saints of his childhood?
Hours passed and he found nothing, despite having all the intelligence of the Sith to back him up. He found fugitive Jedi, men with bounties so large they couldn’t go near a civilised system, deranged psychopaths he thought were put to death years ago and even disgraced Sith amongst the ranks of the Flock - all of them hiding, all of them doomed to Nothing. He did not find any whisper of anyone strong enough to be Lecchamemnon gone to ground, which disappointed him greatly. He’d wasted so much time hunting for a live dead man - his master would want a report soon and he had precious little to give, he was in for it now.
WIth a resigned sigh he flicked over the files one last time, closing them one by one. Goodbye Amhrad, goodbye Ishmael, goodbye Ophelia, goodbye Ahriman... He blinked. A computer glitch?
No, it couldn’t be. There was a second Ahriman file beneath the first: This one was newer, much newer. Curiously he clicked it open and began to read.
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Wisdom is an illusion, a lie employed by the powerful to bind the weak.
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“Ahriman, First Living Saint of the Church of Nothing: Placeholder one. This file is a placeholder until more information can be gleaned about the latest incarnation of the de facto ruler of the Church of Nothing. Leadership changed hands last year and was only revealed three days ago. The new Saint made a speech regarding the reformation of the Church as a whole, coherent body - something not in the Imperium’s best interests. Our agents in the crowd reported the subtle use of force suggestions to win the crowd over easily, a considerable feat given the many thousands of people assembled to hear it - this speaks of force sensitivity in the new Ahriman, making him a priority level individual. Tails have been inserted into his entourage to follow his movements and increase our psychological/force profile.Ahriman, First Living Saint of the Church of Nothing: Placeholder two. Increasing to priority/1 at this time. The reinsertion of agents is deemed too risky, all existing assets have been wiped out. Target demonstrates in depth knowledge of espionage tactics, as such information gathering mission deemed a failure. All we have discovered is that he is not just powerful within the force; this new Ahriman is a master, more, even. He personally put down thirteen of our agents, seven of which being highly trained Sith infiltration specialists, [NAMES REDACTED]. Hands off declared, do not approach or confront unless absolutely necessary. See cross reference 3A for a demonstration of Ahriman’s force ability.”
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Jerecht contemplated this find for a long while, lost in thought. He opened cross reference 3A and let it play on a loop, it was a video file from a retina-cam planted on one of the agents sent to infiltrate Ahriman’s staff. It made for gruesome viewing.The clip began with the agent in question switching the camera on and running for his life through a dark corridor. Where he was Jerecht couldn’t tell, but the file’s description placed him somewhere named “The Hulk” - something with no meaning to the researcher. The corridor he was running through was narrow and metallic, there were exposed wires overhead that sparked occasionally. It reminded Jerecht of a derelict Star Destroyer.
The agent looked over his shoulder once or twice - there was only blackness behind, as if something was deliberately blurring the camera. More than once though Jerecht caught the outline of a figure in the dark. The agent appeared to be sprinting for his life, but the figure hardly moved. It was as if he could just walk after his prey - Jerecht assumed this was Ahriman.
After a few more seconds’ running the agent reached a hangar, though it was the most cavernously vast hangar Jerecht had ever seen. The ceiling was barely visible, mired in gloom. He stopped, unable to flee any further as he stared into the open void beyond the shields. He turned, and came face to face with his death.
It was unmistakably Ahriman. He wore the dark trappings of a member of the Altar and the symbol of the Church hung on a simple cord about his neck. His face was obscured by a featureless matt black mask, but you didn’t need to see his face to tell what was on his mind. Tendrils of darkness swirled about him, Jerecht could only guess at what insane dark power they held.
“Please, just let me go... I’ll make a new life, you’ll never hear from me again I swear, my masters will think I’m dead, just please... Have mercy!”
The agent’s voice was cracked and frantic, either he meant what he said or he was a brilliant actor - both could also be the case. Ahriman for his part said nothing, he simply gestured towards the ceiling. As he did so the tendrils enshrouded him in a cocoon, obscuring the Living Saint from view completely. The camera began to fuzz and haze with static, and the agent moaned. He seemed to know what was to become of him.
For one moment Jerecht thought the camera had died and the clip had ended - the black shell of energy imploded deep into Ahriman, leaving him levitating in the air for a heartbeat, the world frozen around him. The holo flickered and hazed again before a torrential blast of dark annihilation erupted from Ahriman in every direction. The agent for his part clawed out the retina-cam at this time and threw it bodily, as the point of view sailed gut wrenchingly through the air it turned back to the grisly scene, affording Jerecht a view of the agent’s final moment. The dark fire caught him, along with the majority of the hangar - tearing everything it touched asunder and shattering whatever was beyond to dust. The Agent first shattered, every bone in his body breaking, before being blasted to atoms by the void. Everything else followed suit, the entire area gutted by the horrifying display of power. The worst part was Ahriman, levitating calmly in the eye of the storm - ceiling crumbling around him, floor giving way, even the void shields holding back space were flickering, threatening to give in. This appeared to almost be a casual release of power, judging by his demeanor.
Then the wave caught the device and the video ended in a static scream that made Jerecht jump. He was shaking, nervous and excited all in one. He had only ever witnessed a power like that once before in his life, and now he scrambled to find the file in which he’d seen it. It didn’t take him long, it was something he’d referenced not too long ago: The Onderon Incident, Iziz Palace. Imperial analysts had taken to calling it the “Black Star”... Lecchamemnon was the only known practitioner, even the Sith only had theories as to what manifested it.
I believed I held the chains, while instead I was a prisoner.
He smiled, and sat back down. His career was saved, he only hoped he would be able to meet Lecchamemnon, or Ahriman, or whatever he chose to be called in person before he was brought in. He sat back down, preparing to type out his findings in a formal report for his master to review - that was surely the best way to get his attention quickly. Jerecht’s star was on the rise.
The wind outside picked up, howling all around the remote outpost. The blizzard was lethal, able to shred a man to gory paste and bone slivers in a few short minutes, but it made Jerecht feel safe to sit there in his heated little alcove with a hot drink and a new discovery to document: Lecchamemnon was very much alive, powerful as ever and posing as Ahriman, First Saint of the Church of Nothing. He still couldn’t quite believe it.
He stopped for a moment, reaching for his coffee. It was cold despite only just having been poured. Puzzled, he stood and went to the dispenser - it too was stone cold. The wind sung its dirge ever louder, and he listened. Spooky.
He went back to his desk, but did not sit. He shivered, watching his breath mist in front of his eyes. What was happening, was there a power outage? That could spell death out in the wastes of Rhen Var, and would also be just his luck. The holoterminal was still on with Lecchamemnon’s grim visage staring ominously back at Jerecht whenever he looked in its direction. It flickered slightly, but was very much online. He shivered again, only partly from the cold.
The lights seemed to grow dim, though he knew that was impossible - they were chemical globes and burned for a few thousand cycles once lit, they didn’t require power. What was going on? He didn’t want to know, he decided. It was time to leave, he’d gotten what he came for, he just had to collate it then he could head back to nice, sunny, dusty Korriban. He sat down, his chair was freezing cold - ice crystals were forming on the metal of his desk. Just needed to collate...
The only man in all the world sat working at his desk. There was a knock at the door.
No longer.
NAME: Lecchamemnon
FACTION: None (Formerly New Jedi Order)
RANK: N/A (Formerly Grand Master)
SPECIES: Sephi
AGE: 104
LIGHTSABER FORMS:
- Form III: Soresu “Resilience form”
- Form VII: Juyo “Ferocity form”
FORCE POWER:
Lecchamemnon is a shockingly strong force user, even if you take into account his impressive credentials as a former Grandmaster and long time Jedi Master. His mastery of alteration in general is, arguably, second to none - from a young age he trained as a Jedi, and has been learning the dread techniques of the Sith for almost as long in secret. Not only does he almost casually use abilities that Sith Lords would happily kill eachother to know, but he has also studied the dark magicks of Necropolis for several decades. Theirs is a people obsessed with destruction, and so it is no surprise that Lecchamenon, himself a Necropolitan, has a particular flair when it comes to destruction, chaos and madness. Once he could have been described as a grey Jedi, nowadays he lies firmly in the realm of the dark. He has strayed too far down the black road, and though it has left him more powerful than most could imagine in their wildest dreams, he has been stained by evil. He might fight for a good cause now and again, but to look at him through the force is to see a black hole: All devouring, mighty beyond reckoning and never to be trusted.
NOTABLE EQUIPMENT:
SHIP: Lecchamemnon still possesses his heavily modified BARLOZ-class freighter; it was the craft he took when he left the Jedi. It’s as heavily modified as ever, sacrificing much of the copious cargo space in favour of two interrogation cells for holding any “persons of interest” he might come across, a rack for a speeder bike and a small armoury. He has also installed a cloaking device, although the system is power hungry and cannot be left on indefinitely lest the generator run flat and the entire ship lose power (barring basic life support).
LIGHTSABER: Lecchamemnon’s blade is a beautiful thing to behold. The durasteel circuit casings are coated in expertly molded ivory, into which are carved countless ancient Necropolitan hieroglyphics that date back several millennia. The areas about the emitter and the belt clip are finished in polished Electrum, which spirals from the two ends of the hilt towards the central Hieroglyph, almost like two fingers pointing to it. It is unique in that it has no visible igniter stud, or any other functional button or switch. When the blade is ignited it does so without drama. It shines with a brilliant green hue, which fades to purest white as you near the core of the blade.
STAFF: The Black Staff of Ahriman is Lecchamemnon's badge of office as First Saint of the Church of Nothing. It is an ancient thing, thousands of years old and carries with it several potent Necropolitan force curses from the days of the Church's youth. It can withstand tremendous stress and heat, enough even to counter a Lightsaber should Lecchamemnon wish to use it in combat. It also serves as a focus for its wielder, amplifying their force energy and enhancing stamina so long as they're using it for purely destructive, chaotic means. He rarely carries it however, as it identifies him as Ahriman all too easily - so he usually keeps it limited to ceremonial use.
Then about a century ago a man was born. He left the slums of his home in the pursuit of something greater, and was taken in by the Jedi. He became powerful, every challenge set before him accomplished in short order. They made him a Knight, then a Master, then a Councillor. They looked to him in their hour of need, war descending upon the Galaxy for the thousandth time, and they made him their leader.
It was a mistake, for though he was one of them they never did truly know him. The man abandoned the Jedi, leaving them to die at the hands of the Sith. Where he went after? There are only stories - Legend and myth based upon the fact of the man's life. Just as with the Sith, the true power of the man is learned not through the present, but through the past.
Of all the great members of the Jedi throughout history, not one has ever trawled the toxic sludge that makes up the tales of the Sith so completely as that man. Their secrets he discovered, laying bare the mysteries of the Dark Side in pursuit of his own ends. He separated truth from lie, embellishment from extrapolation. He studied their customs, their laws and their philosophies. He took their power as his own.
The man was Lecchamemnon of Necropolis, quite possibly the most dangerous Jedi to ever have lived. His was the knowledge of the Sith. His was the knowledge of the damned.
FACTION: None (Formerly New Jedi Order)
RANK: N/A (Formerly Grand Master)
SPECIES: Sephi
AGE: 104
LIGHTSABER FORMS:
- Form III: Soresu “Resilience form”
- Form VII: Juyo “Ferocity form”
FORCE POWER:
Lecchamemnon is a shockingly strong force user, even if you take into account his impressive credentials as a former Grandmaster and long time Jedi Master. His mastery of alteration in general is, arguably, second to none - from a young age he trained as a Jedi, and has been learning the dread techniques of the Sith for almost as long in secret. Not only does he almost casually use abilities that Sith Lords would happily kill eachother to know, but he has also studied the dark magicks of Necropolis for several decades. Theirs is a people obsessed with destruction, and so it is no surprise that Lecchamenon, himself a Necropolitan, has a particular flair when it comes to destruction, chaos and madness. Once he could have been described as a grey Jedi, nowadays he lies firmly in the realm of the dark. He has strayed too far down the black road, and though it has left him more powerful than most could imagine in their wildest dreams, he has been stained by evil. He might fight for a good cause now and again, but to look at him through the force is to see a black hole: All devouring, mighty beyond reckoning and never to be trusted.
NOTABLE EQUIPMENT:
SHIP: Lecchamemnon still possesses his heavily modified BARLOZ-class freighter; it was the craft he took when he left the Jedi. It’s as heavily modified as ever, sacrificing much of the copious cargo space in favour of two interrogation cells for holding any “persons of interest” he might come across, a rack for a speeder bike and a small armoury. He has also installed a cloaking device, although the system is power hungry and cannot be left on indefinitely lest the generator run flat and the entire ship lose power (barring basic life support).
LIGHTSABER: Lecchamemnon’s blade is a beautiful thing to behold. The durasteel circuit casings are coated in expertly molded ivory, into which are carved countless ancient Necropolitan hieroglyphics that date back several millennia. The areas about the emitter and the belt clip are finished in polished Electrum, which spirals from the two ends of the hilt towards the central Hieroglyph, almost like two fingers pointing to it. It is unique in that it has no visible igniter stud, or any other functional button or switch. When the blade is ignited it does so without drama. It shines with a brilliant green hue, which fades to purest white as you near the core of the blade.
STAFF: The Black Staff of Ahriman is Lecchamemnon's badge of office as First Saint of the Church of Nothing. It is an ancient thing, thousands of years old and carries with it several potent Necropolitan force curses from the days of the Church's youth. It can withstand tremendous stress and heat, enough even to counter a Lightsaber should Lecchamemnon wish to use it in combat. It also serves as a focus for its wielder, amplifying their force energy and enhancing stamina so long as they're using it for purely destructive, chaotic means. He rarely carries it however, as it identifies him as Ahriman all too easily - so he usually keeps it limited to ceremonial use.
Then about a century ago a man was born. He left the slums of his home in the pursuit of something greater, and was taken in by the Jedi. He became powerful, every challenge set before him accomplished in short order. They made him a Knight, then a Master, then a Councillor. They looked to him in their hour of need, war descending upon the Galaxy for the thousandth time, and they made him their leader.
It was a mistake, for though he was one of them they never did truly know him. The man abandoned the Jedi, leaving them to die at the hands of the Sith. Where he went after? There are only stories - Legend and myth based upon the fact of the man's life. Just as with the Sith, the true power of the man is learned not through the present, but through the past.
Of all the great members of the Jedi throughout history, not one has ever trawled the toxic sludge that makes up the tales of the Sith so completely as that man. Their secrets he discovered, laying bare the mysteries of the Dark Side in pursuit of his own ends. He separated truth from lie, embellishment from extrapolation. He studied their customs, their laws and their philosophies. He took their power as his own.
The man was Lecchamemnon of Necropolis, quite possibly the most dangerous Jedi to ever have lived. His was the knowledge of the Sith. His was the knowledge of the damned.
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