Mustafar, Fortress Vader
2341 local time
Lava bubbled and exploded, the endless molten waves crashing against blackened shores. The fires of Mustafar burned endlessly, the wasteland rageful and untamed, seas of orange and black as far as the eye could see. The only building in sight, standing tall like an obelisk, Fortress Vader shattered the skyline like an arrow of evil, authoritative and unyielding. The chamber was silent and so was he, eyes gazing over the infinite kingdom of fire in front of him. His kingdom, one could argue, because there was no one who would even consider taking it from him. Whereas others wallowed in stagnation, shirking their duties and the very creed of the Sith, Veles was not idle. Machinations were to be put in action, conflict to be sought out and conquered--a Galaxy out there for the taking.
The dark side had granted him clarity the likes of which he would have never even considered. His mind was his fortress, his will tempered like steel. He had foreseen what would transpire today, but it was not so much reading the future as it was simply always keeping an ear on the ground, always extending the tendrils of his influence as far as they could stretch. His men were loyal and diligent, his spies clinging like shadows to the civilization of Mustafarians populating the world he had reclaimed. The legacy of Lord Vader hung heavy over the fortress, his memory everywhere one turned. It was to be expected that the demons of his past would rise up, too, in eternal conflict with the one who took the mantle and wielded their power over the world.
He was simply recollecting himself, gathering his strength and honing his focus in anticipation of the battle to come. A war, one could call it, but to Veles, it was nothing of the sort. A self-inflicted massacre for the Mustafarians, perhaps, a genocide that they willfully brought upon themselves. There was no debating with a people that had lived in subjugation for so long only to be freed for decades and then enslaved again. This time, the Empire had not sought them out, had not blown their mines to bits or slaughtered them en masse, and yet here they were, foolish and bold in the face of a force that could put the Galaxy on its knees.
He could feel the Champion approach, nearing the chamber he was waiting in. Veles turned to the entry in anticipation of Jaiku's arrival, his hands at his sides underneath the huge black cloak covering his body. Underneath, he was kitted out for war, a tight-fitting dark rancor leather tunic clinging to his chest, one lightsaber hilt on each side of his waist. His snow-white hair was parted at the forehead and fell on both sides of his face, the back pulled into a tight bun. He had never properly met the man, but his reputation preceded him, and Veles would appreciate the presence of another Sith today. It made things easier, dispelled the uncertain. He was not the type to take aimless risks for the sake of arrogance, not the type to risk himself out of hubris.
"Champion." His voice echoed through the chamber as the durasteel doors hissed open silently and closed behind the man. "Welcome."
@Altaris