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[patiusstories]

Betrayal

Another piece of Star Wars: The Old Republic with my personal Sith Inquisitor. This time much earlier in his dark path with the prompt of ‘Silence’ by his dear friend @liberator-drana

Enjoy!

Silence.

For once in this great tomb of the furious and delusional dead, there was a disquieting silence about it. The raiders of the tomb long-dead from his - and others’ - passing, but they will return like hullrats. Jadus could hear his own footsteps sounding louder than nothing on the ancient stone, the mere sensation of this new feeling gnawed at his anxieties. His fingers twitched, wanting to snatch his forefather’s lightsaber for an enemy not even before him yet. The young apprentice found himself etching a nervous smile under his skeletal mask. He had to distil this or risk unnecessary actions from him or his master.

Entering the grand hall of one of countless great tombs to one of many fallen sith lords whose names may never enter the grant annals of those who ruled Korriban and its empire with a shrewd fist or bloody mark, Jadus paid no mind to the phantom fox-fires that burned atop of stone braziers, nor the great shrine that crowned this place. His eyes were only on the single figure standing there. Her back to him, head shrouded by her hood. Where his past foes fight the power oozing from him like a barely contained coiled serpent in a fiberglass cage, hers was concentrated and collecting the power here.

On his first step upon the steps, her voice clearly spoke of the typical praise she so enjoyed to give. Once, the apprentice enjoyed it and drew confidence from it. Now, it scratched his anger unlike any other. To be tricked and lied to by his own mentor was an affront that Jadus did not appreciate. Why waste your time grooming something that you will only destroy?

“Such marvelous power radiates from you now.” She swoons in the light-provoked shadows, “Clear. Strong. You have truly come into your own.”

That, I can agree to. At least.

“You possess great power, certainly, but the teachings of Korriban seem to have had scant influence on you. How many times did you have the option to expand your power and yet stayed your hand? Do you really know what it means to be Sith?”

What are you on about? He mused, but the question did perk some intrigue on his part. Questions that he didn’t think upon, he has done what was required and under his jurisdiction, and so he answered, “A Sith follows his heart.”

“Yes, “there is only passion”. But do not forget - “through passion I gain strength; through strength, power.” Passion is the method; power the end.” The Darth Lady recited. And so, he is here. “I’ve arranged for you to receive the title of Lord of the Sith. I hope you realize what an honor and responsibility it is.”  Now that, caught Jadus’ excitement the tiniest jolt. His hard work was appreciated and applauded, and now - rewarded. Perhaps Kallig was wrong…

And yet, why was the Force so still?

Zash walked away to oversee the entrance as she continued on, “As a Darth, I answer only to Darth Thanaton who answers to the Dark Council. As a lord, you’re only one step below that, and you tower above many.”

“I-I hope I live up to the honor.” Jadus hummed, he could see the slightest disapproval from his pet but right now, Khem Val’s opinion meant nothing to him. There was glory before him and it was coming to him.  “You’re already exceeded my greatest hopes and expectations. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”  Jadus wasn’t completely blinded by this...he could see a disturbance. The tiniest that came in the form of Zash’s own excitement, but he did not pry into it. He remained poised, the energies was still nervous.

“There is still the ritual to undergo, and I’ll warn you - the ritual may prove a trying experience.” Zash said, “But once it’s done, you will be truly great, truly powerful.”

Jadus wondered what this ritual was. It was always spoke of, but never into details. Kallig still rolled in the back of his skull, it felt like whatever climax was building, it was coming hard in some form.

“You still haven’t told me what the ritual does.” Jadus almost growled, impatient made from youth and past experiences. But of course, the answer came as, ‘All in good time, apprentice. First, there is something more pressing. The truth is, I have not been completely honest with you. I wish I could have been, but the timing was not right.”

Finally, the veil was lifting and his heart jumped slightly to something not seen yet. And when his Master turned to him, Jadus could barely hold the shock at what was once a beautiful youthful woman - now replaced by a shriveling croon maned by her graying hair and sunken eyes brimmed of the Dark Side’s venomous corruption. This is Zash’s true face.

And something scratched at his logic, something he didn’t quite understand and in his foresight, knew exactly what this ritual foreshadowed.

“Look at me, apprentice. I am sorry to have concealed it from you for so long - but it was such a pleasant vanity to share in your youth.” She says with a genuine sorrow and embarrassment that Jadus couldn’t quite expect from a Sith of all people, ever known for their ruthless callousness or maybe it was a selfish pleasantry to her only protege. Nevertheless, her apprentice shared in her moment. “Why are you showing me this now?”

He must know to the finality. “Listen, apprentice. Various Force rituals have helped me maintain my appearance and some of my vitality.” The Dark Lady began her small lesson, for some reason, he always enjoyed her motherly tone. Something he never had and enjoy in these passing months, “But inevitably, life fades. I’m dying, apprentice. My will, my intellect, my spirit are as lively as ever, but this body is dying.

And so we come to this.

“Tell me what does this have to do with me…” Jadus insisted, almost adding his ever-humble please but halted himself in a choke.

“Everything.” She said, her face changed slightly with a possible sense to his disturbance, “You will be my second chance, my new life.” Despite his teethed pain riding behind his heart, Jadus’ mask hid his pain as his visors stared at his former master. His body expressed nothing. His presence in the Force remained as it always been; a small protective tempest to his inner eye.

“Be prepared. As the ritual ends, you will likely see me collapse before you feel it taking effect. Do not panic.” She sensed something in him, believing it to be fear as her honeyed voice tried to soothe him, but she is gravely mistaken. “Know that this what I have trained you for, prime you for, from the start.”

From the start…

He said something, but everything was distant. Dull...and suddenly, Zash realized at the last microsecond before an eruptive barrage of lightning struck and hurled her back. The only thing saving her from complete atomization was the quick appliance of a Force Shield. Screaming in surprise and anger, her back slammed into a pillar. “You...you dare!” Her distorted voice screamed, rising as quickly as any young humanoid. The air popped with a throw of telekinetic force and her eyes burned with a baleful fire. Electricity crackled from her fingers as she saw her long-worked masterpiece draw a curved-hilted lightsaber in one elegant flourish. Its hot red blade growling like a passing torch before getting into the opening stance of the Jedi’s Niman stance.

“You dare to betray me, Zash.” Jadus’ pained voice hissed before hurling a rippling pocket of deadly Force through the air. One that she easily deflected before zipping through the air by the thrust of speed, a claw of crimson blade flaring from her lightsaber. The two immediately crashing into a dance of close combat. Another of their technique training turned to a duel of ferocious movements.

The Sith Juyo worked into their attacks, wild yet countering each other of familiarity and their own experience. Jadus could only catch Zash’s surprising output of ability for someone dying by his knowledge into the Soresu defenses. Backpedaling at her quick and precision, the assassin suddenly drove his elbow into her gut when the Sith Lady drove forward to wound his arm. A spat of pain escaped her lung before a uppercutting force of telekinesis knocked her clear of her feet. However, Zash was quick into recovery. The toe of her boot knocked Jadus into a painful stumble with the slam of her lightning-curled fist sending him several feet back.

“Oof!” His grunt came out, finding himself tumbling down the stairs and barely catching himself. Vision wavered and looked up to see the crone stepping down with the air proper of her dark status. However, her frustration burning in her eyes. “You should know better, my Apprentice. The Master is always one step ahead.”

“You are not my master…and I learned some things in my time away.” Jadus seethed, his fury exploded out in a flash of air-rippled fire before collecting itself back into himself. Throwing his sharp-fingered gesture out, Zash smirked and shot out a lance of dark energies down upon him, immediately crashing a near invisible pocket of air rippling madly. The arcs flowing at either side of her Apprentice, barely licking at his shielded form with sizzling scars to his robes and burning funnels into the floor behind him. Their powers dueled, pushing back and forth. However, Zash’s vitality was slowly draining but her meditation in this place had gave her a strength that Jadus was not prepared for. Her rituals were truly something to admire, if that was the last congratulations that he could give her.

Now!

In the distraction, Zash didn’t notice Khem until his shadow crept over her. The powerful monster roared with his odd jaws, electro-broadsword crackling as eager as he was to kill this witch and feast her. By the will of her Force-hastening speed, her lightsaber slashed across his powerful stomach with sparks flashing. Too quick to notice his lack of cries, the Sith Lady hurled their clashing powers straight into Val, hurtling his body into the altar with a loud crash of stone.

This was all Jadus needed. With her mind temporarily off, Zash screamed as electricity bolted into her spine, sending her body into a temporary spasm before gasping as her lungs ripped into a furious howl to the energies resonating in this time suddenly coiled and squeezed upon her body like a vengeful python with the shadowy projection writhing.  Pulling her in telekinetically, Jadus’ reckless extortion of his power exploded out into a storm of raw power that seared against her left side. Like a puppet cut from its strings, Zash threw herself several feet after finally regaining some inhuman control of herself. Rolling with her robes - and flesh smacking - with her breath horribly ragged now. Her lungs now doubt seared.

Jadus was already up despite his slight exhaustion, rushing to cleave the treacherous woman in two.

“You can’t stop this ritual from happening!” Zash claimed, gathering herself with the pull of the Dark Side and caught her former appearance in midair to a skull-shuttering crash into one of the Altar’s monoliths. His ears rang and brain shook into a disorienting that made the Sith apprentice sick to his chest and gut. Vision wavered and hand unconsciously grasping at a lightsaber that wasn’t even there no more.

No. No!

His body was seized and contained into a web of power, he couldn’t move nor do anything. Jadus could feel it, his power was lurch in defiance but his conscious was growing heavier. NO!

In a flash of movement, his eyes could barely register. Something large was moving and suddenly lunged upon Zash, causing a great explosion and her body flying helplessly by the collision of powers.

[patiusstories]

Between Practice

The twin blades hammered in quick succession. One strong arm rebuked their curved edges, using its own outward protection of gilded shield to slide their well-tested bodies at either side and bluntly slam the rash swordsman in his chin and chest. With an angle, heaved and threw him clear off his feet for the courtyard’s stone to meet his back.

Groaning at the mild pain, the swordsman’s golden lidded eyes quickly opened in remembrance and on the verge of moving when his opponent’s speartip was aimed right at his jugular. Following its own divine-forged length till he had a clear visage to the bare-chested warrior standing over him. Strong and stoic with scarlet pelt and intense almonds with sharp platinums dampening their royal gold.  A fine brow quirked in question before teasing grin on thin lips appeared.

“This is why a shield is an effective tool, Cousin.” The elder of five years said with a twitch of squarish ears. “It can be worthy weapon where your twins will be a possible doom.”

The younger jackal huffed. “I know this, you had me train with it before. It doesn’t suit me.” “Oh?” The other questioned, tracing his tip slowly on the thickness of wolf lineage running along the jackal’s chest to the heart.

“What does suit you, Baba?”

With a flick of his wrist, the prince dismissed the speartip with his khopesh and rolled away a good lunge’s pace. When he was back up on his knee, he could see his cousin - more properly paternal uncle, but they didn’t find much comfort between close of age - more clearly. The Sha standing there like a picturesque figure. “It will suit me when I even the score, Kaf.”

That erupted a dry cackle from him now, it was like hearing a short-winded hyena. “Six are many, can you handle such a thing?” Kafele questioned with a tilt of his head. Enticed, Babefemi stamp his feet on the dusty floor and crossed his blades with a point. “The reward will be sweeter by its achievement than the honey of Ra!”

“By Hathor’s mercy.” Kaf coos, tapping his spear on the shield and got into stance; protection forward, dominant foot behind it and submissive coiled for a mighty pounce booned from father with his spear ready for the first thrust. “Let’s see if you can manage, Cousin.”

The young jackal squinted, curling himself slightly to give as little target of his body for the other. Angling one way but foot kept in readiness to move. The Great Scarab had the Sun rolling to the eastern decline now, coolness coming from the nearby sea’s caught brush and fill their nose.

“Go.” The Sha alerted and the seventh round of the day started.

[patiusstories]

Battle of the Azure Terror

Based on a recent group encounter last weekend that needed to be written in narrative.

The morning was breaking for the afternoon as the caravan traveled through the road.  Everything was quiet, even for the lazy countryside. However, thoughts remained deep and flustered to recent events; this god and his ‘game’ was becoming known to the entire company now, yet it was still as enigmatic as first heard. Nor was it truly a quiet subject as their intense warrior Farris continued to grumble and brood with another swig to his seemingly endless alcohol.

Even Bo, distant and murderous as he is, was of different mindset under the falling sun. The monstrous gnoll sat on his haunches, looking at nothing in particular as that familiar face continued to pass his mind’s eye. Numbing the Hunger, thinking to the past’s territory. The master before any; powerful, ruthless and teaching. What cruel illusion foul his eye to remind him of his missing Alpha after freedom?

Suddenly the ground tremored that caused the whine of the Dwarves’ horses and Aled’s curious grunt from his ursine maw.

“Um.” The worg rogue Nerrick hummed immediately, his ears perked and head soon too with worried eyes. “What was that?” As if answering, the ground shook again with the disturbing boom of thunder rolling through the very trees. When the sound stroke their ears, the force behind it shook the wagons into a dangerous tilt before slamming back on all four wheels. The company’s wagon by the slightest, even with their forge and combined weight.

‘What was that!?”

As everyone searched from their spots, Bo was the first - in his bloodthirst - to raise to his feet. His remaining ear twitching and ruined nostrils snorting through his helmet’s fanged maw. The air was too thick with an uneasy surge that made his visible fur stand up on ends, he couldn’t place a picture to this smell. Never have he felt such a sensation, but the howling screech of a roar that ripped through the air and the beat of powerful wings.

Not even the most inept of senses could misplace what was coming…

Aled was already on the move, his great shoulders shaking and trying to pull the reins of his charge when a great beast, bigger than a stone house with hide of sinister indigo and belly as sulfuric yellow as a Dwarven coward’s cry, swooped from the growing cloud of debris to the east. All eyes watched in a stunned sensation of imposed horror watched as it sliced through the air. Popping arcs of raw energy collected from its grand horn and between the powerful cavernous maw.

“Drago-” One brave voice tried to give it a name, but instead, it - and the wagon closest to the front was incinerated into oblivion by the very power of storms collecting in one terrifying blast. Leaving nothing but ruin with the few remaining bodies of guards hurled and landed into popping spasms in their prized platemails. The stench of it curled even the gnoll’s jaded nose.

Xathis’ sockets burned the dim lights of firefoxes at the destruction before snapping his steed into action. Finally regaining motion in his body, the werebear hurtled the cart off his shoulders in the motion of transforming into his upright form. His great axe pulled from its home and clawed hands gripped its shaft. “Quick! Get into cover!” He warned with his billowing voice, Farris was already moving his body along the cart. His crossbow drawn out and bolt preparing to be launched.

“No,” The warrior tried to counter, “The trees might catch in the bolts!” Everyone was scrambling between cover and preparation to fight as well. Nerrick searching and calling for something to shoot a projectile with. All the while, Bo was wide-eyed with a hellish cackle of gnollish worry and desire to kill. Unmoving at all to the possibility of dying today, his ripped cloak fluttering to the beating wings of the Blue Dragon in its turnabout.

“Here it comes again!”

As it roared down upon its found prey, the speed of the armored great skeleton and his long-dead stallion was unaccounted for. Its bony limbs revealed its power still held true to hurl them both into the air with a ghastly whinny, Xathis lept into the climax of height. His noble blade drawn in one righteous motion and struck true at the overlapping scales of the beast’s belly. By the time the second passing slash cut a bloodied X to the forced weakspot, the skeletal warrior was forced to obey gravity and landed roughly on his catching steed, galloping away in their own turnabout.

“Are ye mad!?” The caravan leader cried to the galloping knight, but no heroic or crazed remark was given as he returned to fray.

Catching the point made upon the dragon’s scales, Farris took his crossbow to rest upon armored forearm and aimed down its sights. With the squeeze of his trigger and power of his own defiance, the bolt speared itself through the weakened spot that summoned a furious cry from the dragon. The burning sapphires of its eyes searched for the one responsible, only to down its anger upon the closest wagon to the company. The sheer force nearly knocked everyone back as the raining energy destroyed the trapped horses and its commanders. The whole front of the wagon gone in seconds, leaving nothing but burnt ash and the vehicle looped forward.

Nerris quickly dove off the wagon, well aware which vehicle might be next in the dragon’s assaults but Bo remained, the white gnoll under his black platemail lumbered along the Cart-Home’s length. “Bladefist, Rabbit!” He snarled, his blood-red orb of an eye looked back to his loyal lessers. “To cover, away.” Obeying without question, Milbo was chattered in nervous fright with a salute. “R-Right, Mister B-” Instantly shutting the halfling up, Bladefist wrapped his arm around his waist and jumped off the cart when the Blue Dragon flew overhead. Looking up to the darkened sky, Bo curled his right arm’s claws tight as smoke oozed from the gauntlet’s overlaps and shot burning spiked chains from underneath armor and flesh. Wrapping like constrictors and summoning the bony gruesome heads of fiendish flails to serve their bound wielder. Whirling the triplet heads with a winded scream until he got to the front of the cart with one foot stomping the rider’s seat.

Howling out the abyssal words of Yeenoghu’s burning rage, he swung his weapon and three scorching ray-bolts of hellish fire hurled and arced at the passing dragon. The leading projectile passed the skilled airborne beast’s sudden turn, but the maneuver left it open to the attacks burned into its hide. Finally catching the true adversaries to his meager anguish, it turned and suddenly drop onto the ruins of its beautiful destruction.

Ash fluttering and power radiating off its mighty form, even the blood seemed to cause a picture of terrifying aura.

“You dare,” A deep guttural voice snarled in the common tongue, its reptilian - if one could even call it that - face almost created a form of sneer as it stared beyond its snout, “Insignificant worms, crawling on the dirts of ancient earth. With your weapons of lesser metal and stolen magics of gods, fae and daemon claim to affront me?”

Aled did not give the honour of return verbal banter as he roared a cry and swung his weapon in a pouncing lunge. The dragon jerked his head just enough to avoid his wounded breast from being touched, the bearded head running almost like chainmail across its azure scales but the blunt power was noticed with a savage snarl of pained annoyance. A taloned hand reached to swat at the Werebear, but the ancient warrior returned a startling retort to cut its palm and jammed his axe’s other end at the larger wound.

Screaming out loud enough to make the air ripple and earth tremor, the Blue Dragon snapped down like a viper when the axe refused to budge in the bear’s attempt to retreat. Everyone watched in shock watched as those mighty jaw clamped down on one musclebound arm, provoking the first pained holler from the Aled in a long time. However, what came next was the jittering cry of electricity scorching and cooking the werebear’s bleeding limb before the tyrannical beast hurled him aside with ribbons of meat to give the taste of first blood.

“Aled!” Farris cried out, reaching to the shuddering, curled bear as he fought off the sensations with his unwounded arm already trying to reach for his weapon. Sneering with bared teeth, the human fearlessly whirled his greatsword and lept for the dragon in murderous warcry. However, the beast proved far more agile than his bulk gave and lept back into the air. His wings carrying him even higher with a mocking laughter.

“The game is only starting and there will be no pieces to oppose.”

Only to choke at the Human’s howl, “I thought you was a dragon! Come and fight me with honour or are you as scared as you are yellow-bellied!?” A look of distraught reaction passed the dragon’s face, only to have it followed by the Knight, “He is without it, those wings just add to his fat.” A snarling sizzle gathered in the once-confident creature’s maw, after what they just witnessed. They dare mock him!?

“Hey guys!” Another voice said, brokering the beast’s sight on a wolf-like creature wrapped in leather armor. A crooked smile on his muzzle as he laid against the Human’s plated shoulder by the elbow and clawed hand out, “Don’t tease it. It’s only a oversized gecko!”

“Y-You dare…!”

That was enough of unexpected chaos on the dragon’s part to miss a sudden blast of energy striking at his exposed wound. Screaming out again, his body bucked back and nearly broke his wings’ flight, just in time for two resonating punches of dark air to cave the surrounding scales of his wound in.

“Kill you all!” His returning scream as he dived in like a oversized hawk at the Human and wolf first with talons ready to tear them asunder. One clumsy sweep of his bloody claws barely missed Farris in a duck and another slash that Nerrick flipped away from. When the dragon went to clamp his jaws around the warrior’s head, a snarl of annoyance spat from his crackling maw by the insignificant hit at his haunches.  Twisting around, he saw Aled and Xathis.

The dragon spat something vengefully before barrelling on his limbs. His horned head dipped and threw Aled aside again, going straight for Xathis in one savage bite. Barely missed by the knight’s experienced maneuvers, spinning on his heel and struck his sword down on the monster’s neck in a elegant riposte, only to have his blade rake uselessly on the heavily-armored body. In a cruel cackle, the beast sneered, “Your bones will decorate my lair…” and caught his closer arm in a crunching battle.

However, the dragon was surprised by the sheer lack of a bloodcurdling scream...or the lacking of body under the armor but the sudden stop of possibly bone. Releasing in the distracting thought, he was open to the knight suddenly gripping his hilt in both hands and ram his pommel into the open eye. Screaming a hollering roar of genuine pain once, recoiling and clawing at the rippling organ. Enough that Xathis came after him with no hesitation.

Slashing across the snout, the holler and attempted blast of draconic lightning was hindered by a slice across his thick muscle of tongue. Blood spattered. The skeletal knight was a dancing master of his weapon as his unnatural body surged in strike after strike. Hurling into the air as he forced the once-dominant beast in his retreating snaps like a cornered alligator. One lunge when it seemed that a opening was possible, the disoriented and fatally surprised dragon miscalculated and was dodged in a cape-fluttering evasion.

His sword whirling between his hands, Xathis spun and thrusted his blade into the coming dragon’s eye. The momentum couldn’t be stopped, the body plunging its soft spot deeper into the weapon. The other eye was shuddered and looking about in a sudden alien fear, never had it felt  a thing. The pain so explosive that it was numbing, body unable to pull away. Limbs were failing. Mind running like a mad horse. Everything was so vivid yet hazy. His growing power halted and slowly tripped. Again and again. Then fell into the abyss as if all his little years and survival was all for naught. Nothing but weight into the Darkness of Death’s grip. The last thing that functioning eye saw was the clearing blue sky…

The blue dragon’s body collapsed in bloody defeat.

[patiusstories]

Entry of the Sagittarius Watchlord

While redesigning my Sagittarius, I remembered a old PvP event I was doing that involved their use with an archetype/hero that was apart of my original Zodiac Sci-Fi. I should really write at least a piece in that.

This was my entry, I miss being about to give quality work like this. It has some grammar issues, but it was from years ago – so I will excuse it.

Bafomaa Remnant-controlled planet #455-0B1-12: Saribonn II, Orab System

The exploration frigate hovered silently above the rocky planet’s acidic clouds, long and bulbous at its helm like a hunter-fish of the Aquarius ocean world in disquieting ripples of its powerful anti-gravity emitters between its coiled tentacle-like structure. Under electronic stealth, heightened by the acidic storm below, it was safe from enemy exposure for now. The bubble-like screen of the bridge doors slip open to allow a trio of tall and proportionally fit Saggitarius rangers to stride on through with their bottom legs strutting in militant discipline.

The raptor horsemen were dressed in the sea green armor of their station, mimicking the lust beauty of their seemingly endless grassland and plains, almost similar in appearance if it wasn’t for the first’s larger mass and markings denoting to the elite of their bowmen. “What is the scanner’s report?” He questioned in the Virgo lingua franca of the Zodiac, his larger eyes falling upon the living biped shape of water moving its multitude of fingers over conduits to a aquatic-resistant console as electronics pulsing through the atoms. 

A harmonic sound rippled from the contained body to a audible understanding to the ear-drums, “The Enemy hides well but the sensory of our ship have managed to sense their presence at an ancient temple emitting a strong presence piercing through the acidic storm.” At the conclusion, a tendril shifted and summoned a holographic screen across the one-way visor of the bridge to behold the yellow sky and orange clouds underneath them. The screen created the rocky surface littered with sparse vegetation evolved to handle the rain, leading to a running hill and crop that held a somewhat melted temple of simplistic design, the metals long eroding yet remaining strong from the storms over the ages. 

After a brief vertical scanning, the screen zoomed down to a underground chamber that hold something sitting on the far pedestal between two alien statues of obvious reverence. It was glowing in a contained yet…strangely alluring light that hide any details that not even the ship’s advanced scans could dim it. Moments like this was rare, there were four life-forms dwelling in the room as well. Three members of the Aries species, dressed in armored robes and ground horns, and something rather big behind them worshiping this idol. That was never good, whatever it is. They had to recover it. 

“Interesting…I will personally lead the party down to the surface.” The Bowmaster concluded before backing up between his honor guards and turned around to march back from where he started. “Keep the ship cloaked and if our signatures are unreadable, report to the Council immediately and bring their wrath upon these warmongers.” He instructed. 

The Aquarius responded with a long, poetic sound that he knew to be an affirmative.

—

It took a quarter-hour’s preparation before three troop transports dropped out of the frigate’s underbelly like newly born squadlings, angling themselves and diving into separate directions of the same destinations. Pushing through the raining clouds with adaptive film protecting the blue hull from the mid-acidic residue, hissing harmlessly as the swift transports vanished in a bend of light a second before piercing through to behold the miscolored landscape. 

The strategy was simple; The Bowmaster and his band will take the honor to scout ahead and purposely devote attention on themselves while their fellows led by Leo and Taurus officers Phixus and Akakios will handle the true assault.

Khiron stride between the ‘stables’ of his fellow rangers, all in erect attention and handling their standard Ti’an bows in intimate knowledge. Created in memory of the Saggitarius composite bow, measuring the length of the torso from the initial unfolding and capable of lengthening even more into a longbow that came down to the front leg’s knee. Hardened with a flexible metal with a slightly-similar core but more stiff and proper for its modern form as a staff-rifle when unable to properly use the bow and formed into melee combat. To the Saggitarius of the Fringe Rangers and other sects of military and exploration exploits, it was a ceremonial badge of honor as well as a deadly weapon to be respected enough to be individually built for a proper initiation into said-sects.

The Bowmaster’s crest of feathers twitched to the tighten of his long thick neck, coming to an immediate halt at a young ranger, who stiffened up in attention instantly. His nostril plates running up his beak-bridge flexed in deep intentional sniffs. “Is this your first assignment with the Watchlord Company?” He questioned with an inquisitive look that had all four eyes staring at the grown colt. Looked like he was fresh from the Training of the Nine Hunts, smelled like it too but so did he when serving in the Campaign of Terra. In that regard, Khiron could see the strong determination and experience buried behind bright eyes. 

“Yes, sir. I was transferred from the Eighty-Third Exploration Herd of the Mid-Rim Quadrant to your unit by commendation from Herdmaster Oro.” He answered, brief and direct. “Oro…” Khiron mused on before his head tilted slightly in the species’ variety of visual acknowledgment, “He is a wise officer and I trust in your skill from your presence alone.” “Thank you, Bowmaster.” The youngster said with a humble bow of his head. The senior rested his hand over the other’s left shoulder by the claw-tips before walking with only the sounds of equipment being double checked until he came to the end of the stable line. 

His back to his soldiers, wiry tail-ends fluttering with an audible whip and honed muscles lining his lower quarter’s armored flank flexed in idle exercise. Anxious to jump onto the alien ground and race along the rocky plains, that certain excitement of battle throbbed under his impassioned face. What felt like ages but honestly been at the least twelve standard minutes, Khiron’s head turned to the pilot’s voice via intercom, “We are approaching the designated landing zone in five, Bowmaster. No response teams located yet.” 

With a huff from his stronger noses, Khiron made a swift brush over the collar of his cuirass and activated his helmet’s extension over his head and face in a few dramatic heartbeats. The four thin visors over his eyes flashed in activation of its heads-up display; shield strength, bio-reader, half-kilometer tracker, and weapon ammunition on the corners and top of his sight. 

“Prepare to drop!” He said before thumping his right front-limb in rhythm and pulled his own bow from its place on his lower back. Behind him, all twelve of his rangers trotted out of their stables and made a fluid side-face in two columns at their commander’s flank. 

One minute…

The herd started to stomp the Ranger song of Far Sight in unison. It was a custom that has lasted for several millenniums when the Saggitarius joined into the Circle after their Rite of Ascension, an old hunter’s pray via song to the Gods for long sight towards succession and survival, beating in tune with the nearly muffled pelts of the rain outside their hull. 

Suddenly the entire transport shook, causing everything, including the less sturdy-legged to stumble, but the others kept to their song. “We’ve been hit! Scouts are appearing from camouflage, opening ramp now for a quick exit.” The pilot warned before the wailing lights blinked infront of the herd, foreshadowing the hiss of sealed air and pulled the rear open like a gaping maw just in time to see an energy bolt zip by.

“Leave none alive to worship the Traitor!” Khiron roared out before pouncing out of the ship with a feral warcry under his helmet, amplified by his audio speakers. Turning his body in the originating direction of the earlier attack and nocked a manifesting arrow by the pull of the emitter string. The green energies shaped the deadly projectile at full pull and struck through the air with a whisp. 

In the second consisted of finding, catching and aim, the arrow found its mark into the neck of an armored Aries trooper; Ironically known to all as the First of the Zodiac Circle, fierce and territorial beings of a former empire that would become the precursor of the wise society that they know of now. Where they were once bent to violently control their arm of the galaxy in martial conquest until the wisdom of the Virgo tempered their brutality that many say match with the fierceness of the Tauruses and Scorpii. Now, here are those who take their pride, sense of power and brutality to an uncomely level, one that was only marshal at the urges of an Ancient Enemy long-imprisoned and a few decades ago, defeated by the newly uplifted people of the Ophiuchus. 

Today, Khiron is going to make this cult wasn’t going to join the rest of their scattered kindred. 

When the armored body of the horned marauder fell in the dying bleats of its pierced throat, twitching in death those, two others shared his fate with their heavy cannons clanking onto the rocky surface before the Bowmaster hit the ground in a full-on sprint for a crescent. 

“The Rangers come!” One of the remaining three cried, realizing what was pouring from the bypassing scout ship. It was needless to say they didn’t retreat far with a four-legged herd on their rear. Legs were the first to go before wicked curved blades separated their heads from their shoulders in their quaking pass. 

“Swordsmen on my side, Snipers to the rear!” Khiron ordered in their stampede through the terrain, hooves unfolding to reveal powerful taloned front-legs with the debris picking up a cloud behind them and the rain doing little more than discolor spots on their harnesses’ armored covers. The four designated swordsmen splayed as other side of their commander behind each other to hide their numbers while the remaining eight-four in their splaying columns-readied their bows and transformed rifles. Their designation was a couple miles off but it mattered little for their swift ride. 

Communications were decided to be limited to signals alone, well aware that their enemy might be monitoring with stronger comm capabilities on this planet. 

“Sir!” One of the far-reached rangers called out, “Contacts speeding in aboard reconnaissance fighters!” Khiron took a swift look to catch the incoming arrow-like vehicles coming from safe locations to avoid the acidic rains until now. “Matters little, we press on. Dhalas, Matar: Deal with them!” 

The ordered pair acknowledged with a nostril huff before breaking formation with curved shifts, using their bows’ rifle modes and blasting sharp semi-automatic bursts at the distant vehicles while fearlessly charging for the kill. However, the chasing four weren’t the only problem. Even know, even a near-sighted Saggitarius could see the heavy weapon placements setting up under the trees sheltering the temple. Hardly deterred or afraid of these shock-troop eradicators, Khiron lifted his bow and pulled back another arrow while looking down his far sights. Catching the Bowmaster’s movement, his snipers followed similar. 

Six hundred and fifty-three meters and closing. Enough for the disruptor cannons to fire arcing explosive bolts at the Saggitarii in hope of destroying their foolish charge in such an open area. True, while the ram-like aliens managed to make craters and killed three of the hunters from splashes, even caught one in a direct hit; they remained steadfast like ancient suicidal calvary to a line of pikemen.

“Aim for the barrels.” The Watchlord ordered before letting his arrow fly into the form of a thin line of energy zipping and slipping between the furthest third’s cannon barrels into its operator’s cranium. On that que, eight arrows crossed the plains and pelted at the cannons with deep scars. Not enough to hit the targets but their overconfidence blinded them to significance of the attacks. Upon the pull of their trigger, the barrel sparked and exploded violently from energy coil containment failures. Khiron blinked his inner eyes, activating his electronic sights and looked for any more of the cannons; none that would obstruct their mission, allowing him to give his officers the needed signal- three arrows arching through the opening air. 

Just then a loud, powerful roar ripped through the yellow-and-green plains. The Leo commander’s roar produced from his territory-claiming vocal cords alone was enough to give a fright to the aware Arieses for the temple defenses to start scrambling for sturdy combat, only for heavy artillery to befallen side positions while the Rangers kept their straight line to the stairs captured by overgrowth of the many centuries.

“Forward!” Khiron cried out at the appearance of an Aries trident-line, screeching out savagely before his swordsmen hurled wailing sonic grenades ahead of themselves. The ram-men stumbled at the warning sounds before bleating out in horror and pain to the explosion of various frequencies that stabbed into both ear-drums and along their horns’ extra-sensory ridges, effective disorientating the line. 

Arrows flying and maiming their would-be skewers, the Bowmaster whirled his bow as it snapped into a stiff state with a particular squeeze of the thinner core, brushing his palm down its length to extend prongs of leaf-shaped blades, and made an awe-inspiring pounce with his front limbs extending out like a massive sky-diver. One taloned ‘hoof’ brushed the trident aside while the other snatched its wielder’s bearded face into a tight skull-squeezing grip before all of his heavy weight drove the stunned cultist down with a nasty snap of the spine against the edge of the stairs. Not quite satisfied to that sound, Khorin snapped the head one way then another absent-mindedly while his torso had its attention on two others at his side. 

To his left, the trident-fighter managed to regain enough sense-or lack of-and trying fighting despite the sickly look on his fanged face, eyes and ears bleeding. The opposite side could just barely stand while the Saggitarius warrior slapped one thrust aside with a flick of his wrist. In three distinctive heartbeats in his primary and secondary systems, Khiron brought his foes down with a lightning-quick arc across the throat to his left and brutal thrust through the rib-cage of the right. 

On either side, he knew his rangers downed their chosen opposition with efficiency and dazzling slash of their shield-hilted swords. To a biped, it would seem awkward to imagine the skill that the equine-bottomed Saggitarii display but anyone watched the power handed roughness of Lurimus and his adapt use of his forelegs, the powerful talons locked limbs and stabbed into soft spots of the hard weaponized skulls or the wild slashing that served to distract the bleating warmongers. Or the elegant finesse of Xehna, not a single move wasted for the sheer simplicity of finishing the job with precise slashes across the jugular or the stab through the eyes by blade or talon. 

In reality, the mere destruction of the line took forty seconds, too long to their record but it was ensure no survivors before the Rangers galloped up the stairs like Terran stags. Always in deep-rooted arrowhead formation to keep awareness of all corners, side troops hefted their rifles and fired against the leftover sentries amongst the barricades and trees while either side of the temple was quaking with explosive and real battle. 

When they made it for the end of the long stairs, a message appeared on top of the herd’s HUD: 

ACTIVITY IN THE TEMPLE DETECTED. 

Just in time to have the heavy doors slide open slow but surely, revealing not the expected entourage of the devoted warriors led by the war priests…but the immense bulk of a Taurus clad in copper-colored platemail protecting head to hooves with the familiar black sleekness of environment protection. The rectangular slits of gleaming orange visors burning with malicious intent and fingers clicking impatiently around the shielded handle of a kinetic heavy repeater! 

“Move!” Khiron ordered before making a sharp turn himself with a shuffling movement of his legs, barely evading the stream of body-ripping projectiles that obliterated a line of trees behind them. 

The Taurus laughed in thick-throat amusement, vaulting over the rest of the floor before the elevator could finish its ascension. “Come out, come out, Brave ponies. I have the proper weapon to end your annoyances.” He taunted out before the sound of something charging hit their ears. 

Taking to either side of the open doors, Khiron and his second-in-command Kyllarus reached onto their grenade holster for a cyroban and pulse grenade each before tossing the latter hard into a roll. 

An angered bellow responded to the high-pitched explosion with the sputter of failing technology was quickly replaced with the tremors of heavy hooves charging. The readied rangers aimed their bows and watched for the last second of the Gate-Keeper lunging out of the exit with his thick pauldrons and weapon up to take the energy bolts without fear. 

While the repeater whirled its muzzle uselessly at the moment, the spinning blades of its axeheaded bayonet was in motion. Khiron ducked down in honed agility but the ranger behind him wasn’t so fortunate with half of his torso flying through the air. 

Ignoring the sad arc of dark violet blood splattering onto his back, the Bowmaster pounced in a low stance under the returning attack with his primed grenade smacking on the back of the Taurus’ lower body. A loud wham exploded with the crackling of fast-cementing ice grabbed onto his left side, prompting more of an annoyed grunt at his sudden halt. 

Landing on his forelimbs, Khiron reared his hindquarters up and shrieked out with a fierce buck-kick to the exposed lower back with his backlegs’ more thick talons curled into viced hooves. The sound of struck bone hit both combatants’ ears, forcing the massive keeper to an awkward fall before Kyllarus hurling her cyroban into the juggernaut’s face. 

Roaring in terror of the weaponized ice wrapping and digging itself into the crackling armor like a glass bottle in a freezing compartment. “Now!” The female Ranger cried in her leap back before her kindred fired their bows and rifles at the Taurus’s head as he clawed helplessly. To his credit, he held strong in bucks and sputters as his armored hands tried to shield his horned head before one lucky shot from the youngest of the Rangers shattered it into a explosion of gory ice.

The armored cloven fingers twitched and the body shuddered as if possessed by a demon before collapsing under its armor’s weight, slowly encased in the progressive ice with ear-twitching crackles.

“Brilliant work.” Khiron congratulated to the youngster, coming around the body with a ten foot distance from the body as if it would get back up to fight again. 

“Thank you, Bowmaster…but I mourn for our fallen brother.” He said sunkenly, glancing at the body nearby in a heap, only to be comforted by his commander, “As do we all, young brother. His death will be avenged in the success of this mission.” 

On that, the others agreed with rapid flicks of their tails or the talon-tap codes of three knuckle raps. “Kyllarus, you and most of the team will remain here to stand guard for the rest of the assault to finalize our occupation. Lurimus and Arashk will join me to retrieve the artifact.” Khiron instructed, checking on his bow’s core and folded it away since the chambers would be of small space. His fingers brushed upwards and grabbed on the curved handles of his twin ballistic pistols. 

“You know my protocols.” He said, turning his head to look his second-in-command, who nodded and saluted with a raise of her right foreleg and fist to her right breastplating. “May your nobility strike truth, Watchlord.” Kyllarus responded, mirrored by the rest of the defensive unit. To this ritualistic say, he replied with; “And your dominance remain steadfast to our foes.” With enough said, Khiron and his strike team pranced forward for the large platform of a elevator. Where there was a control panel on its end, there was a translation device to turn it into a more simplified variety that required just a press of a button.

Unholstering his weapons when the elevator started its descent, Khiron’s inner eyes moved and used visual signals to bring up the herd biosigns via the blinking dot in the corner of his shield systems. 

Out of the twelve Rangers to live his transport, four have fallen for the mission, and their names shall join with the memorial of the Watchlord’s personal shrine in their honor for their natural sacrifice as the galaxy’s fearless watchers and explorers. Soon…Khiron knew he will amongst those countless names and he will not have a single regret. He’ve served his society and people the best he could, he had a legacy in both trained soldiers and children that will continue his teachings…and he was amongst to see a new society rise for the greater good. There was no better honor. 

Then Lurimus made deep, loud sniffs that wheezed through his helmet’s filters before his gruff voice complained, “I can smell their disgusting rituals from here.” 

Khiron didn’t need to mimic the smell, he knew what he was speaking of: the stomach-churning stench of morbidly wretched decay and fresh blood of various origins, the mutilation of bodies to create sickening idols and totems in honor and undying zealotry to the Unspoken’s mistaken beliefs and barbarism of begotten occultism as much as a truly disturbing psychological warfare. He’ve seen more than his share on Terra. “Be ready and kill them quickly. This place was already defiled when they stepped onto its sacred stone. They don’t deserve a honorable battle.” 

Easier said than done with Aries War-Priests. Unlike most cultures, priesthood was a sign of innate marital birthright as much as worship to their people’s Blood Star. For Zealots of Him…it was brutality manifested. 

The life-sign tracker didn’t give any indication of the priests even being there…but it certainly gave off the still ebbing life of their grotesque ‘redecoration’ of the chamber, bio-technology keeping their victims alive in their states of impalement and flaying while the hive of spilled remnants and pulsing structures running around the floor and walls like the resin of a viral species. 

This sect was deprived and it made Khiron itch to burn this entire chamber of this evil. 

“Camouflage.” He signaled in hindsight when the first crack of the elevator pushing into the room. In sync, they vanished into thin air, just in time to have a hooded figure turn around to greet its assassins. 

It was indeed an Aries, standing with a slight hunch but the physical power was pressing against the soiled robes. Furs collaring his sleeves were discolored in aged blood and gore, cloven claws of hands and hooved feet covered in leathered gloves and armored talons moving in a regal movement. A long bearded face peaking through the draped hood with two…no, three glowing red eyes peering in a malevolent intelligence. Two normal horizontal-pupils and a third slit-pupil eye staring between his brows, artificially inserted with the scars still weeping. 

His jaw rolled with a pop before black lips curled in a sneer-or a smile-lined with grinding flats and carnivorous fangs. “Welcome, Rrrangersss.” He hissed with a touched voice. “There is no need to hide from me, I can see you as clear as I can taste your hate. It is deliciousss.” 

Slowly stepping from the miraculously untouched pedestal, one hoof after another as the light of the Artifact shined off his crimson cuirass and pauldrons, until the wet squish of biomass hit his hooves. 

However, Khiron nor his Rangers themselves in their very slow, careful spread into the room, ignoring the worshipper. While the Watchlord directly opposed the Priest-Chief, his fellows kept a eye for his comrades, who were standing by two large handmade idols of the Unspoken-the large shape of bloodied bones and reshaped metal to form a mighty Aries with a lifted trident, the bones that gave his shape and horns were roughly carved to depict the tattoos, and eyes of rubies staring down to the floor; personally Khiron could at least give them credit of getting that right. 

“Have you come to pay tribute and kneel like our deceased guardian? Or are you here to challenge a beautiful Martyr’s cause?” The chief questioned with a ugly smile as he grabbed a long-shafted maul from the back of a fallen brother, who looked shocked and pained, with a sharp seemingly-weightless yank. 

Khiron suddenly uncloaked and fired a flurry of shots from his twin pistols, catching the occulists by surprise as he bucked and roared out to the bolts stabbing into his armor and exposed limbs as they were bouncing off or straight zipping through his personal shields, no doubt expecting bow-bolts. 

Charging into the distraction with all twelve bullets of each handgun made a bloody mark into his foe, the Saggitarius unleashed a war-cry at the recovering priest-chief as he lifted his maul and swung hard to break the insolent Ranger’s frontlegs. However, Khiron knowingly lept over the swing with his well-fed underbelly brushed over the murderer’s shaved horns. 

Despite the sounds of other battles around him, Khiron knew better than lose focus on the chief. The milisecond he landed, his pistols were holstered and his scotum-blades drawn with a sihk of their metallic extension as his rear talons kicked a solid body behind them before making quick turn to see the chief moving to collect his weapon.

Snarling bestially, the Bowmaster pounced like a wild cat and slammed all of his weight down on the horned warmonger, armored talons stabbing down into the chief’s armored shoulders as they vibrated into micro-slicing weapons with the tightening pressure crushing down in the skewer. The warpriest made a odd noise that was both of pain and something less than agreeable before his attacker heaved him up into the air with the rear of his back-legs before slamming the wriggling body right back into repeated slams with calculated movements away from the hammer. Khiron was quick to catch the arm reaching down to a possibly hidden weapon, squeezing for a snap of the wrist while his wild talons tore into back and skull like a mad beast. 

Suddenly a loud cry broke the Bowmaster’s frenzied assault, snapping his head up to see one of the priests impaling Arashk through with a serrated glaive. Snorting out, Khiron sprinted through the gore and biomass like a mad stallion in a readied stance. 

Catching the noble charge for possible rescue and vengeance, the priest ripped his blade from his victim’s chest and swung across the exposed throat for fatality. A mere taunt to the failed commander to keep his warriors alive that any would recognize. However, Khiron didn’t fall into a mad frenzy like most would have, he kept his charge while the Aries returned the same with a heavy stride before making a surprising acrobatic flip with his glaive aiming to cleave the Bowmaster in two.

Snapping his blades up into a X-shaped guard, Khiron caught the assaulting blade with his body rearing up again into a ‘biped’ stance. “Down, Bowmaster!” Lurimus warned, instinctively making the other suddenly flop onto his side as if his more-than-stable rear feet slipped onto the gore. 

The warpriest, still stuck in mid-air in an attempt to snap the Saggitarius’ long spine with his powerful legs, bleated out in surprised annoyance as he flailed. Helpless to the hurled bow-rifle impaling its twin blades into the large body’s head, sending the spasming body tumbling awkwardly against the far wall.

Khiron had the somewhat embarrassing situation of trying to move his own bottom legs; while the Sagittarii were a formidable race, their lower bodies’ legs were more forward with little left-to-right mobility, excluding the back limbs. Rolling onto his front as quick as his bulk would allow while keeping his flanks covered, talons gripping at intestine-like growths and pushing upwards for a standard stance. His head looking around to check for any more dangers. 

There were none; the chief was laying face-down in gore and his comrades were either beheaded or impaled through said-head. Unfortunately Arashk was on his flank as if sitting down in rest and upper body slunk back with his armored head rolled back against his armor’s hump with dark blood oozing over. 

Lurimas approached with a deep cut on his bicep and the side of his visor damaged but looked capable…as always. “Are you alright, sir?” He asked with a softness of concern. Khiron was silent for a moment before flicking his tail in irritation. “No, not until this evil is over with.” He said, trotting over towards the glowing artifact. Just barely passing over the priest-chief, the damned occulist sprung up with a curved sacrificial blade in his hand aimed to disembowel the Bowmaster.

However, Khiron predicted on the priest’s unnatural endurance and watched the still-useful wrist in one talon while snatching the throat in the other. Then he slowly lifted the squirming creature up off its hooves as his own body stood up onto its back-legs for the second time today. Savage, bloody-teethed words spewed out of the mad priest’s lips but the Bowmaster wouldn’t suffer another second hearing the dark speech. His wide hands grabbed on muzzle and horn with a iron vice and tensed muscles while his four eyes stared into the War-Priest’s three before snatching his head one way, then nearly twisted it the other with a sickly sound of splintering bones out of place. 

“Free the prisoners of their pain and go up to the others, I will collect the artifact.” Khiron finished with a sigh of personal relief and dropped the body like a sack of rotten apples before trampling over it without a glance. 

Finally, this bloody skirmish was done for the Rangers. Their objective was right before their herdmaster. Glowing with a unnatural…alluring light. Finally Khiron could see it for what it is; a medallion of simple but alien design. Something about it made all four of the veteran ranger’s eyes blink in confusion and growing emotion. Want? Desire to take a material possession as if it was made for the First Uplifter himself! 

As he drew closer, this want grew and his fingers flexed as if already imagining the object between them. Then the thought of it in this place disgusted him terribly. It didn’t belong in this perverted place. The sound of the elevator’s machinery was muffled, only the sound of his own hearts beating.

Reaching, only a single brush of his fingers against the pearl-like heart was enough to cause a terrible reaction that made the very temple, if not the planet, shake in wrath of a mere mortal touching its possession!

The Medallion began to vibrate and shake, levitating into the air in front of the two shocked Ranger’s very eyes. The pearl-like orb sparkled and glowed. The frame encircling the orb began to spin around it erratically like a gyroscope, rotating and even abruptly changing directions. The whole time, the orb in the center shone brighter, and brighter, and brighter.

Then the very ground began to tremble as if signaling the end of this planet much ahead of its intended lifespan. Unknowing to the pair, the skies darkening as communications tried to reach the Ranger to no prevail. Everything-and everyone-in the medallion’s sight was thrown up and down. All the while Khiron could feel an electrifying rush of energy coursing through his very being, his HUD going wild with alien information.

In a dazzling flash, the orb shot out a multitude of intense beams of light in all directions that danced wildly over the surroundings. Everything the beams passed across was cut as if by an assembler’s laser – the ground, the corpses, the roof, all of it. All around, reality was being sliced to pieces. And as these pieces drifted apart like parts of a simplified Capricorn hatchling’s equation, all that remained was the vast cosmos.

The medallion continued to shine like a supernova that threatened to blind Khiron, yet it didn’t. And then, there was one final burst of light that exploded outward, rippling through space with such force you were sent hurling with the blast at mind-blowing speed. As if trapped in a raging river of unimaginable colors, all he could do was tumble madly for what felt like an relating, yet unrelated, moments…

[patiusstories]

The Ascension of Darth Nox: The Final Step

The first story of the blog!

In tribute to our fallen Space Mom, Carrie Fisher, and my long desire, I give you a piece to my long unfinished story of the Sith Inquisitor, Lord Kallig II from Star Wars: The Old Republic with some personal touches.

I love that somehow my fanfic is somehow still one of the top in the google too.

Kallig stepped through the hall into the Dark Council’s very chambers. He could fill the oozing presence of the Dark Side here, whilst Korriban remind as the ancient heart of known Sith power, this place was a place of sickeningly sweet nexus. The Sith Lord, prepared under his spell-dipped wraps and armored robes, strout in projecting pride. The chase was coming to its climax, he could feel the Dark Side rippling at this revelation. His prey was cornered and now begged to his greaters in hopes of survival.

Lord Kallig had no intention of breaking ‘tradition’.

Of course, one last obstacle stood in his way. Two humanoids took the corner, a Kiffar and two shrouded fool.

“Stop right there. Surrender your weapons.”

The very notion was amusing that the Sith Lord almost laughed if he wasn’t intent and the demand almost seemed genuine on the others’ end. “Very well, Xalek give them your weapon.”

The two blinked, but the third moved in a sudden knowledge. More than enough for Kallig to suddenly yank them both on invisible nooses of telekinetic power. The distraction of pain and death licking their jugular brought a pleasure to his psyche, while Xalek whirled his saberstaff and bisect them both in one clean swoop before engaging the third as he drawn his twin blades.

The two traded swift blows, the narrow space seemed to limited the Kaleesh Sith’s mobility but he was trained right. The Rancor’s Tusk didn’t have the perfect training space and Kallig made sure he taught his assassin in such situations. The marauder whipped his blades in deliberate movements familiar of typical Sith Juyo, Xalek countered with using the attacks’ momentum to keep his own staff’s blades whirling until his Force-augmented perception for the open window. The second they looked into stalemate, the Kaleesh turned off his primary blade and let the human fall on the other in a reverse-grip. A gasp of shock gaped from the man’s face, eyes meeting the cold reptilian’s before expiring and Xalek tossed the body aside.

“Very good, my apprentice.” The Inquisitor hummed, letting their parts fall without even a glance of consideration.  “Yes, Master.” His Kaleesh clicked with his reptilian lack of emotion, the two making their round and a wave opened the door to their triumph.

“My Lords, his master was corrupt. He is corrupt. Without Sith tradition, we are nothing.” That insufferable voice pleaded, the opening threshold showing a grand room with an open floor where the pacing elder paced before a circle of tall thrones. Many noticeably vacant but few, eyes traced to the newcomer. Kallig felt his repressed slave indoctrination trying to surface, but as always, the wise words of Spindall strived him through. Appearing without word nor threat to their power, but his quiet rage pointed to Thanaton as he stepped through.

And one of the Councilor, the one that Kallig immediately recognized as the feared Darth Marr, answered with drained annoyance as if this wasn’t the first time that someone begged at their feet. “And what are you suggesting we do about it?” His voice oozed impatience through his legendary mask.

“You know what the situation requires. Order must be preserved.” Thanaton says, folding his arms back and keeping confident that his favor would win out. “Punishment meted out. If we are to conquer our enemies, Zash’s former apprentice must die.”

Enough.

“He abandoned the arena for the Kaggath when he abandoned Corellia.” Kallig said with his dried voice, stepping into their final battlefield. “He is mine to kill.”

“We are well aware of  the rules of Kaggath.” A genuinely-aged Prime Judge of the Sith Empire,  Darth Mortis, said matter-of-factly, only to be undermined by the brass voice of Darth Ravage, the cybernetic-augmented Sith Juggernaut that led the Expansion and Diplomatic Sphere, spoke immediately, “The Kaggath is a playground game. Murder has no rules.”

The two rivals met eye-to-eye, their intention of the other’s downfall fed like an eye of a built tempest until Darth Ravage’s afront brought Thanaton to confront without pause. “The Kaggath is an honored tradition of the Sith. Tulak Hord competed. Marka Sadow! Ludo Kress!”

Finally, Marr asked the question that all were interested to hear, “The question still stands: why has the apprentice, this child, proved impossible for you to kill?” To that Kallig had the honored timing to answer, “Because Thanaton is weak. He has grown complacent in his power and hide behind ancient tradition to serve himself.”

“Y-you dare…!” The elder sorcerer hissed in venom, as he turned with a glowing glare of his sulfuric eyes. Behind, Ravage wiggled in his seat with murderous impatience ill-fitting of one in his ironic sphere of power, “If you do not silence Thanaton, then I will!”

Peace is a lie, There is only Passion.

Thanaton had tasted the last of his patience, approaching Kallig with his halved lightsaber drawn and his rival doing similar. This time without a salute of respect. “I will not be betrayed and I will not die. When I’m done with this slave, you will all answer for it.”

Their lightsabers blazed their bloodthirsty red and met a second time.

This time, the battling Sith knew each other’s tactics to a degree. Their footwork bound them into a fatal dance and two breeds of rage boiled into their attacks. Thanaton unleashed it with a controlled wave of aggression, frustration made into form and his connection to the Dark Side seething at the skin. His work to the Sith combat arts unquestionable, enough to push Kallig back while the former slave worked into the battle.

His mind wrapped into a constant tempest between control of the less subtle spirits and the battle itself while his body almost seemed to move on it's own. Using the Jedi forms recognized as Shien and Soresu to redirect and defend himself in a passive hurricane of crimson that met each of Thanaton’s strikes without thought. Almost as if someone was handling his body for him.

A crest of burning scarlet flashed between the two in a deadlock. The Dark Councilman was baring his teeth in strain to push the younger man back, but there was an unknown strength returning back. Their Force energies quake the air around them. “How...how are you this strong, child?” He growled, eyes glaring into the dark sockets of the ancient mask. Just the barest light of the younger duelist’s violet irises gleamed back.

“I am a slave, remember. We...always find a way.” Kallig growls quietly before a monstrous strength thrown Thanaton back enough to make the man stumble in surprised shock. “You will know my venom.”

Lifting a hand as electricity of bejeweled amethyst crackled between his armored fingers, Kallig the Second blasted a concentrated barrage that Thanaton barely caught in time with his own. The rivaling blasts condensed and forged a rippling ball of dueling energies between the arcs, pushing to outdo the other. However, the power of his senior was telling. Even at its previous disadvantage, Darth Thanaton urged himself forward.  

The Dark Side fueled them both here, it is difficult to know who had more power with the surrounding Darths adding to it.

Through Passion, I gain Strength.

This is a thrill that Kallig could actually feed on and he marked with his outlet. Their centering sphere grew more and more unstable until their hands were just barely pushing against it with containment of telekinesis and raw power. The council looked on amazement and expectation until it finally ruptured into a devastating explosion that threw both combatants back. The waves of dark energies flew but kept back by the collective force of the Council.

Slamming on the ground with a low grunt, the younger Sith Lord slid before catching himself with a continued momentum that had him on his knee and clawed fingers of his free hand. Thanaton was slower, shaking off the experience with a shuddered form. Feeling his rival’s eyes on him already, the Dark Councilor lunged himself in a rush of augmented speed and Kallig met him in full for a second bout of blades.

Each tried to destroy the other with crackles of electricity and use of a force shield when their mark was almost met. Forms were interchangeable, the passion of Juyo danced their bodies until the naked eyes made them appear like a savage blur of black and crimson. The air rippled in the exploited Darkness until a yelp of pain sounded everyone’s ears.

Staggering back, Thanaton whipped his lightsaber while Kallig withdrew and hurled his senior with a use of contained power. Thrown off his feet, the Dark Lord rolled once before stopping himself by his fingertips. “No. I won’t be defeated…” He huffed in a ragged voice, disbelief evident in his eyes as the younger man prowled. He could feel the impatient glee burning under that calm, hiding attire. The sheer impudence of it all. “I-I can’t be!”

Wounded along his ribs, feeling the familiar sting of a lightsaber’s wound cooling from seared flesh. The battle winded him more than their battle on Corellia, how can this be?! However, this child didn’t show a sign of fatigue nor restraint. Even drew his lightsaber in a believed victory!

Rage boiled through the Dark Lord, hurling bolt after bolt at the upstart. Only to watch them being swatted aside like an acolyte’s poor attempt and unconsciously, Thanaton stepped back in dawning panic. Did he get bigger? The shadow this slave possess almost seemed to swallow over him. Those empty sockets in that accursed mask stare from Oblivion.

No. Thanaton found himself staring at himself through this slave. He has been doing this for so long, he almost forgot what it was like. To overpower a greater opponent. To take all of his triumphs and celebration for your own. He couldn’t allow this. Gathering all of his fury, desperation, and dark knowledge, the Dark Lord heaved his hands into the air. Malicious crackles of intense energies boiled between his palms and fingers. Even then, Kallig showed no fear in his enclosing.  Blasting the delinquent with one savage bolt, it put the younger human into a jolted halt. An instinctive reaction to deflect it was denied this time as the coursing energy boiled over his clothes.

The stench of it filling in the room. Smiling at this, the renewed pride urged Thanaton to slam all of his power down upon this upstart’s head as if Korriban itself was going to put this lesser in his place. The Dark Side rained bolt after bolt down upon Kallig, rolling a whirlwind of telekinesis and pulled debris of a not-so-recent battle that still scarred the floors. The roaring magic drowned out his groans and hisses of pain. Nearby, Xalek stiffened up from his constant prowling. Eyes wide in shock at this power, no one could survive the onslaught placed upon his Master and Father.

No one of lesser merit.

When the last of Thanaton’s power launched into Kallig’s fluttering form, he finally withdrew with absolute victory burning in his bewitched eyes. The Council watched in suspense and grand intrigue, especially when the would-be Sith Lord stepped from the wreckage with scorched attire and melted armor, oozing with unnatural power. What they could not see, Thanaton saw; the burning of those eyes, the eldritch smoke of otherworldly gain. The figures of four peering through, dressed in ancient robes and lordly presence. All gleamed in sadistic satisfaction to the horror upon Kallig’s cornered prey’s face.

Quickly, the Dark Lord drew upon his drained reserves but this time, the rivaling Sorcerer thrusted his hand out with a nearly visible whirling fist slamming Thanaton clear off his feet into a rattling crash to the far wall. Limbs were unable to pry from the wall in the sheer force until it all coiled around his throat like a python. The last rasp of his pounded lungs barely gasped out, eyes bulged at his inability to push it off. No one could imagine the sheer joy and grandeur that Kallig felt in defeating and humiliating his once-superior and respected enemy like this, infront of his peers.

Releasing Thanaton, the Sith Lord allowed him to catch his breath and instantly saw that the Councilor pulled a boil of his Dark Rage to lunge with a redrawn saber. Kallig seemed almost caught by it until a ruperous wall of telekinesis halted the maddened Lord of Ancient Knowledge. Their eyes meeting and one completely indulging in the sweet nectar, a wavering hand tightened its curled claws as it forced Thanaton to release his weapon with a merciless twist of the wrist, pulling off balance in a still shuddering contest of strength - both will and physical. With another hand, Kallig made sure to make the final act to this great theater of climaxing combat.

He made Thanaton kneel before him.

Through Power, I gain victory.

Kallig let the bitter taste of utter defeat and humiliation etch into Thanaton’s soul before finishing their battle with one savage bolt of dark energy. Purged back in the force, the defeated Dark Lord crawled in agony and scorched flesh. Eyes blinded in the attack, sight was hazy to the point he almost didn’t sense his former comrades around him.

Former betters. Former equals. Now once, stood over him in continued power.

“I am sorry, Thanaton.” The genuine sympathy of Darth Mortis sighed. Then in an act of mercy, the Grand Judge of the Sith Empire snapped the fallen man’s neck with a jerk of the Force. A passing moment of respect was quickly soured by Ravage growling dismissively, “Good riddance to him…”

“He was a better Sith than you gave him credit for.” Marr says in a somewhat breath of passing memory, as if seeing Thanaton again. Young and vibrant, an assassin turned lord. “We can only hope his successor is as worthy.” Mortis noted, approaching Kallig while he took a moment to enjoy the pure ecstasy of victory.  The much older man took one glancing look over before presenting Thanaton’s former seat, “My lord, your seat.”

What was pleasured lull became a shock of revelation that made the slavish reaction come out before he could halt it. “M-my lords...I’m truly honored. I did not expect this.” He whispered in awe and slight bow to his seniors, with Marr retorting in a ghost of amusement. “You just killed a Dark Council member in fair combat. What did you expect?” Only to have his moment interrupted by the quickly familiarizing foolery that is Ravage. “But he’s only  a Lord!” He interjected, quickly stepping in between the two and making an unseen error to have his caped back to Kallig. The temptation was great to put his saber through it. However, his possible fate was saved by a bark from Darth Marr.

“Quiet, Ravage!” He commanded in the absolution of senior authority, stepping in and calmed his tone to a warning growl that put Darth Ravage to a defeated silence, “He have earned his place.” With that matter, the council gathered in full - excluding the holographic representations to those sitting across the galaxy in their war between the many fronts and affairs - before Marr approaching their newest addition.

“By order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as a master of the dark side, you are now Darth Nox.”

The overwhelming sensations that beaten in Kallig were truly one to feel upon. It boiled at his flesh and threaten to rupture whatever sickly sweet dream that he has unwittingly found himself. From a lowsome slave, he has clawed and fought and died - multiple times - to this greatest of honours in the Sith Empire. To stand among the greatest of their indomitable Empire as a Dark Lord of the Sith.  This was beyond anything of his expectations, but it has been his Destiny.

Taking his seat, the renewed Darth Nox sat upon his throne with a natural elegance that shed away his lesser life. He almost didn’t hear Marr continuing as they assembled in their rightful thrones.

“You are head of the pyramid of ancient knowledge. You are charged with keeping the mystical knowledge of the Sith and guarding the secrets of our order. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith, answerable only to the Emperor himself.”

“I will do my best to live up to my new position.” Nox said, a vow that he intended to keep. No one will elevate over him. His deadliness was verbally, and rightfully, noted by Ravage with his words seeping suspicion. “Never trust the humble ones.”

Good, he knows.

“Our business here is complete.” Darth Mortis interjected, his corrupted eyes falling on Darth Nox, “You would do well to meet with your followers on Dromund Kaas and ensure their loyalty.” The thought almost had Kallig glance at Xalek standing at his left side. Silent and obedient, almost seemed unaffected by the great powers sitting in their very presence. He lived only to kill and elevate. A true servant of a Dark Lord, even if he may surpass one day. If not, the Sith Lord actually be very disappointed.

“We will summon you the next time the Dark Council congregates.” “Very well, Darth Mortis.” Nox says with a respectful bow of his head, looking to Xalek openly. “Come, my apprentice.  We have much work to do…”

“Yes, Father.”

My Chains are broken, The Force shall free me.

[patiusstories]

Salutations

Welcome, welcome!

I am known as Tomas and honored to open this old library to your curious eyes. Tomes have went missing or aged to faded woes, but soon we will have new material to fill the shelves. My quill is already quivering to dip in ink and dance on good paper. 

While the material isn’t the most child-appropriate and when it suits me, it might be...very adult, I will make double-efforts to seal those accordingly. Tasteful writing is my goal and the willpower to find long-term writing.

Once more, thank you for visiting and reading through this. If you have questions, please leave a note and I will answer when I can. Scheduling is quite tiring.

--”TOMAS”