SithLore

The order had been given. And it was before both that wretch, and the Ghost. Karliah even watched, a smug grin on her ashen face. Khairo watched, heavy fur-clad arms heaved over a hulkish chest. They all watched, as Tormentous had given Blood, singularly, the order to destroy his lovely homeworld. A moon, a simple and elegant moon, that he worked hard to not only restore to it's prior historical fame, but find the artifacts that lay within the many collapsed tunnels and tombs upon the secret Sith place. He had only found so much, but his prior duties, his previous happenings had stalled his personal searches. He wasn't able to get it all, and due to his negligence, they would be lost, once more. He would have to start all over, and everything upon the moon would have to be slain, burned, and brought to ash. The trees, the decadence, the quiet even, would no longer be on his personal paradise. He had only prepared so much for such a day, yet another lack of sight on the possibility that Tormentous would turn his sights to something that he should have had no knowledge about. But the Dark One knew all, and as always, set forth on it.

From his kneel, the draconian ungrit his teeth, nodded his understanding, and pulled himself away from the meeting, the silence after the command a dismissal in it's own right. He had much to do. And unfortunately, that was all he would have left.

Boarding his Infiltrator, he immediately set off for the moon, his comms unable to pick up signals from the moon, as though all of their lines and towers had been killed. No doubt in his mind they had received Tormentous' personal touch. He could only hear the radio waves from the ones who followed him, the watchers who were sent to ensure he followed Tormentous' command to the T. This only brought more irritation to the Dragon King, as it was more than likely Warvanus' squadron, as opposed to Tormentous. At this point, the Dark Lord knew he wasn't capable of being betrayed by Blood, as Blood had been shown there was no longer an absence in his stance, for now. He was not weak, as the battle had shown, and he was no ghost of the mind, he thought sorely as his left eye confirmed. However the Sithian would be watchful, not out of hatred, malice, or greed, for any of the trio to make a misstep. He would be there, hungrily awaiting their backs to be turned. The Sith would not perish by lack of life, ever again.

The ship eventually came to port upon the beautiful moon, matte black dully reflecting the sun in it's careless ways. The green was green, the reds were red, the oranges and pinks and so forth. The statues, the resorts that were complimented by them, the halls, and expensively carved art upon the sandstone walls that were they. The ruins and letters that meant much to him, but nothing for the rare guests that were allowed up to this rare piece of art. The stables were off to the left, far, and the whinnies of the gualara that announced they felt his presence, anxiety pitching the neighs into a deep shriek.

A voice curled from the depths of Blood's mind, mocking, 'Animals always know when something isn't right. Have fun with that waste.'
It was enough for him to clamp down the ramp, gaze already narrowed from the fury Slade had beckoned forth so easily. "Be ssssilent."
Not just Slade,

But apparently everything.
He would have to make it so.

---GORDIAN REACH
---SOJOURN
---TWELVE HOURS BEFORE BLOOD’S DEPARTURE

Erupting from hyperspace at the edge of the system came forth the Harbinger, Tormentous’ new flagship and she was escorted by an entire fleet of ships that were loaded and ready for instantaneous combat operations. The Master of the Fleet, Lidmor himself made for his Lord’s quarters and he awaited the doors of the chamber to open - they did and allowed the well dressed officer entrance. His spit shinned boots came to a halt afar from the Dragon where beyond was - behold - the Lords of the Red Cauldron.

Lidmor knelt willingly and he remained until Darth Warvanus permitted him to rise. “My Lord, Darth Warvanus.” He announced and focused his words not to the Emperor for to do such by a mere mortal would be to forfeit his life - in actuality Master of the Fleet, Lidmor, would not suffer such a fate for his high position yet he would not be taking chances in this matter. Lidmor was loyal to his masters and as any he worshipped his Lords and perhaps even moreso than the lot of the Empire. It was how things were done and would always be. “We have arrived in the system where the moon of Sojourn is located. The fleet will arrive within orbit in twelve hours.”

Afforded his departure from the Lord of War, Lidmor retired from the room and made back to the bridge where he would begin conducting the fleet’s operations including the activation of gravity well generators so that none among Sojourn would escape and the jamming of communications so that none would be able to warn of the impending doom that approached and promised the demise of their all so precious world.

For the next twelve hours, the room was dismissed. Darth Tormentous would meditate on the coming bloodshed while Blood himself was sent to swelter in the brig - sent there of his own accord for obedience not of shame - this was made specific in reasoning. This ship was not his home and he was not welcome here aboard it. He was a guest yet he was not free.

---PRE-ORBIT OF SOJOURN
---THREE HOURS BEFORE ERASING THE MOON FROM EXISTENCE

The time had come nigh. The King of Dragons was summoned to return to the quarters of his liege. Gathering once more was Tormentous himself, staring out the window at the growing moon of Sojourn itself. The High Priest and Left Hand of the Emperor - the Black Hand - Sovereign. The War-Bringer, Lord of War - Bloody Right Hand of the Emperor - Darth Warvanus.

And then the accused. He who was stripped of status and title. Worthless fool and slave. Known not as Lord anymore.

Blood.

Tormentous did not deign to acknowledge his son as he entered the room. Nor did he speak to him. It was as if Warvanus had been briefed yet he would know his Lord’s will. So the sentence of Blood - the lessons of betrayal would not be published fresh in bloody red print for all to see. So would begin the punishment of Blood.

=Aboard the Harbinger 12 Hours from Sojourn=

Warvanus was deep in thought as he gazed out the window in his quarters, there hung the world of Karza and its’ moon Sojourn. Sojourn was a world rich in history of the Sith, but not on the caliber of Moraband and Ziost. A Chime interrupted him from his reverie when one of the guards informed who was seeking an audience.

“Permit him entry” he simply said

He watched as The Master of the Fleet approached and subjugated himself. His uniform was impeccably clean, and neat, from his boots being shined to the buttons on his uniform aligning with the buttons on his pants. He was the epitome of what an Officer in the Sith Military should aspire to and most importantly he had sworn fealty to the Emperor.

“You may Rise” Warvanus decreed

Lindon reported their arrival, Warvanus nodded “Good, put us in orbit around Sojourn’s Primary the world of Karza and begin any preparations you require to execute the Emperor’s will, I also want you to prepare a team of your best soldiers, I have a mission for them, my apprentice will brief you on it”

Karza was Warvanus’ personal domain. Which meant that the hospitality of Karza was there for the Emperor’s pleasure should he decide to use it. He nodded his head to the Admiral, signaling his dismissal. Of course after that Kinta Vetasa would brief him on the mission of going to Sojourn to acquire any and all Sith Artifacts with instructions to save them before the Emperor’s will be done. Once they had been gone through they would be brought to the Hall of the Arcane for safe keeping.


=Three Hours to Zero Hour=

The mission had begun when Warvanus returned to the Emperor. Warvanus stood to the right of his Emperor, his rightful place, he spoke for the Emperor, he killed for the Emperor. The Emperor he had helped place on the throne. The Emperor who had found him and trained him. He had ordered guards to escort Blood to the presence of the Emperor. He indeed knew his Lord’s will and he would see the Emperor’s will and justice be carried out. He waited for the former Dark Lord to enter and kneel before the Emperor. He was the voice of the Emperor here. Once he was in their presence Darth Warvanus would pronounce the Emperor’s will.

Ebony toe claws clipped into the soft loam of the moon, the restored resort that many had famously threw their credits at before, and even after had signed a stay. Many had come to watch races, taste wines, his memory served him on a scorned and brittle plate. Only a word stopped his tracks, a word so spoken in unison in the depths of his mind, they could have been the same voice. But Blood knew better.
'Worthless.'

The mockery brought a hateful wrath from his chest, indignation sweltered in a heated embrace of wry shame. Disbelief echoed from invisible faces, the crowds of nonexistent souls pointing and laughing at the pathetic Sith Lord who tried to hide his inabilities through lavish moons and expensive clothes, instead of furthering the legacy laid before them in brick, bone, and blood. The piercing disgust broiled free, and leg limbs threw him into the air, living cape of wings unhinging and catching his jump in a tuft of heavy swatching flap gusts. He was embarrassing!

Through a crushed mix of pain and despicability, the bastard parasite, disowned from the sight of his own Sire, only sought retribution. He wasn't even allowed death! An inhale grew the wash of Dark Side mass to swell about him, distorting the temperatures that had previously hung a steady and pleasant level, until now. Things, water vapor, even the accidental blue monarch butterfly which had flittered too close was sizzled, and fell in a crisped flicker to the ground below, littering the verde land with it's first casualty.

"You are nothing, now." This moon was for a man who deserved nothing. He was nothing, that voice echoed both his Sire's and his own Prisoner baritones, holding hands in his mindspace while his carnal beration grew. The Dark Side only fed from his anguish, his pain molting into more hateful intent, which grew, and grew in size. The heat began to sear the leaves, an invisible orb around him which glimmered through the air as a mirage upon a dune landscape. The sands,...tattooine....his birth into this body that he too, did not deserve. His Mother, Krynn, would smite him herself. Or even worse of a fate, leave him this painful life, a slave, a nothing. A beast to be called upon, whipped, and sent back to it's cage.

Something calmly fed Blood's pregnant level of self destruction, pulling and pushing strings with what limited access they had, but the influence worked, nonetheless. And soon-
One final look at the worried attendants who peeked her head through the resorts thin and intricately decorated iced windows, the dam had burst.

Flames spewed from the release, the invisible orb which encircled him rushing forth with such a cataclysmic wave, it burned with ease through leaves, limbs, walls, trees, buildings, and had no restraint of stopping in the slightest. Every insult he had faced to this day, the betrayals, the mockery, the lack of respect, lack of resolve. It baptized the poor moon, engulfing the hard work he and Kressara, the attendants, the paid contractors, Rahab, Raphael, Lilith, those before and those after him, had stamped into this place. His main halls were scored with black, their sanded walls crisped and lit anew with unrelenting flames. The attendants that had watched him before were heard screaming within the buildings, wails and cries that only fueled his ruin more. Crackles of lit trees and dried grasses and foliage screamed back at these people, making their reality one, as a charred whole. The screams soon ceased in the world, as the fires raged against the stables, unbelieving stablehands watching the horses themselves catch some insane invisible fire, tails feeding the red to the bodies that soon burned underneath their own fur. Everything smelled of death, pain, awful waste and he closed his eyes as he felt it all ramp against him, all of the life which had inhabited this place being snuffed out. Even the family of Neimoidian Pylats he had allowed a place of refuge were cinders then ash as he sought them out again for destruction. The mountains heard their fair shares of howls, cries, screams before all lay in crackles and pops. Everything now smelled of heat, fires, cleansing.

His only functioning eye glistened as he reopened it, clawed grasp returning to his sides as he withdrew his emotions, and instead sending a single pulse of energy to feel out anything, anyone, everything that could have made it, any ping whatsoever to reverberate that it was a survivor against this awful revelation. Was there a chance to rebuild? Anyone? Could there be a survivor? Someone, anyone, anything, please, ping back, his mind screamed through the washes of inferno that blazed about from his own doing. The rush of energy boomeranged back, and fed him information within the Force-

Nothing. Nothing had survived, not a single sense of life lay about on this moon which was so abundant of it only a minute before.
There was nothing left, he watched as the metallic frames melted, the wooden floors and rooves of resorts, houses, buildings, stores, collapsing in their fiery graves.
Nothing .
Not a single Gualara, not a single Plyat, not a single Plyat, not a single attendant, not a single scientist, not a single resident, and not even a single blade of grass withstood the scythe of Dark Side energy, of pure destructive and passionate Dark Side Force, that he had sent forth in the name of Tormentous.
It was done.

Sojourn was no longer Sojourn, but smoldering wasteland, littered with nothing but crumbling memories.

Something dropletted against his lip, and a slow and exhausted swipe of his backhand revealed what it was. Blood sparkled in the reflection of the flames below and beyond. "Weak". Those voices chimed against his pulsating head, his fight to quell the panic which rose into his throat. This wasn't right. He was supposed to have negated all of the effects of this in this body. He had made sure of it. Something was wrong. But he couldn't let them know.

Bringing himself to the already hot docking port, he immediately boarded his Infiltrator and had Valkyr pull them from this place and back within the immediacy of Tormentous' Harbringer. He had to fix this before it was too late. His strength wasn't where it was supposed to be, and degrading effects were setting in, again.

Resting against the walls of the escaped vessel, he refused to look upon the scorched moon, trying his hardest to form some understanding of what was happening to him, or even a remedy of some kind. Every thought was blocked by a mumbled correction, one a single voice had spoken, and tinged with a smirk after every utterance.

'Slave.'
Blood, for once, had no response.

-3 Hours Prior to the Destruction of all Living Organisms on Sojourn

Wings kept still behind his back, laid a flat cape against his orbalisk infested back flesh. His breathing was even, calm, and made only slightly visible plumes within the near freezing chambers of the Dark Lord. For once, Blood was given alone time with the Dark Lord. It was silent, the Massassi whom had initially escorted him into the chambers had long gone. The other two had been dismissed as well. Tormentous had nothing to fear from anyone, let alone the creature he'd beaten physically to pulp. Blood had no idea what was emotionally in store for him. But if there was something he knew well enough by this point, everything was a lesson. And he would be forced to endure the lessons until Tormentous, or even this body's capability to withhold him, had had enough. Blood, as a piece of the Force, most especially Dark Side, was eternal. That was the worst part of all. Should he have been afflicted with Thought Bomb that fateful day, he would have possibly had so much more relief than this torture. His vessel, the catalyst, could only take so much.

His body still ached from sleeping on the cold hard floors. He wasn't given a bed. There was no dressers for his clothes. He remained in the same loincloth rag he was stuck with once he was carbonited. Nothing else was given to him, and he had already eyes unused sheets form passed rooms in which to make even a tunic or bottoms from whenever any guard might blink. He even looked pathetic. But here he stood, ever more willing to receive. He didn't even have his lightsabers, the weapons lost from his inventory after his duel with Tormentous.

His right eye stuck to the floor, immobile as his body was. Silence curtailed all, as he was forbade from being dismissed as all others had been. He had been stuck like this for some time, and already both unused and over used muscles ached all over.
All of it had to be his fault though, of course, wasn't it? His own cross to bear.

*Twelve Hours before Blood’s Departure*

No sooner did the great dragon arrive in his cell than the serpentine voice of the High Priest began to echo throughout. “I don’t believe we have finished our conversation as of yet…” Sitting down cross-legged on the floor in front of the caged beast the Sovereign reached out through the Force and once more took hold of the creature. This time however he allowed his influence to spread and amplify his words (Control Mind). “So who truly is the entity worth preserving here?” It was obvious this was an abnormal encounter. The High Priest had been given leave to facilitate, in part, the ‘rehabilitation’ of this asset. Of course as a microcosm of Tormentous’s own mental state the brood was a fascinating creature. However, having met the man prior to his transmutation the Sovereign’s focus was more than simply scientific. “It isn’t necessary to push for a conclusive result just yet. However, to hold any chance of returning to our lord’s service it will be a requirement. Moreover, it is vital that the nature that be uncontested.” The Sovereign paused a moment before adding, “I sense much conflict within you.” As he spoke the High Priest pushed down and diminished that which was ‘Blood’ while raising up and empowering the man he once was acquainted as ‘Slade’.

*Three Hours before Blood’s Departure*

The tireless hours spent delving into the mind of the former Sith Lord had been intoxicating to the Echani, an unforeseen vice directly related to his kin. It had taken all the restraint he could muster for Sovereign not to overwrite the mind of the dragon. No, such an act would be hollow. A true rise back to prominence would require a proper unity. The High Priest knew that the Order necessitated the full reclamation of the totality of its assets. Though the Sovereign had been granted immense leeway in the manner to which Blood was handled the immediate chain of events would place that on hold. As the Three Sith Lords united once more it was to Warvanus that the fulfilment of the beast’s punishment was entrusted. The primary source of the priest’s hesitation was the necessity of this moment. ‘Slade’ could not bear the brunt of what ‘Blood’ had wrought. Yet even as the wheels were set into motion for the beast to lose its personal holdings the Sovereign scoffed. “Trivial, as if to compare a grain of sand to a mountain.” Images flickered within the subconscious mind of the former Echani Lord like dying embers. “A mere taste…”

Darth Warvanus looked at Blood, he had diminished somewhat, but then again who wouldn’t under such circumstances. How things would go here on would truly show his quality and measure. He stepped forward his eyes locked on the Dragon King before he spoke.

“This is the will of our Lord Emperor, Darth Tormentous long may he reign” he began his tone was void of contempt, pity, regret or any emotion. It was true He was the product of both the Emperor and Blood’s instruction. He continued the verdict and will of the Emperor

“Even now we have a team collecting any and all Sith Artifacts from Sojourn, the Emperor will decide their final safekeeping place” he began, this was his own plan, it would be such a waste to let all the Sith Relics and texts that Blood had collected over the years to be loss due to not being able to hold the throne. He had been the keeper but in truth they belonged to the Sith.

He continued

“You will destroy Sojourn, all its life, its buildings, its vegetation it is all to be turned to rubble and ruin, and it will be you Blood who will carry this out, The Emperor has graciously given you three hours to perform this task. You will give the order or you will face execution or Exile, Ships have been readied, and I will be monitoring the operation” he paused he had not revealed another part of the mission that he had imparted to Kinta Vetasa his own apprentice.

“Your spawn will be brought and presented to the Emperor in person” He paused and added “Oh yes he knows all about the bastard you and your apprentice created, I highly recommend you be the one to deliver it, for if my forces have to take the child by force you will be forced to watch your offspring die a gruesome and painful death”

He was the voice of the Emperor, for Blood was not worthy to hear the voice of the Emperor. To earn that privilege was a long long road ahead.

“Complete Subjacation is your only road to salvation and redemption now go and perform the will of YOUR Emperor” putting emphasis on the word your.

=Sojourn’s Orbit=

Warvanus was monitoring the fleet communications and watched Sojourn as it transformed into a ball of smoldering ruin, part of Warvanus was surprised that he had the gumption to carry out the Emperor’s will in this matter. Maybe there was hope for the Dragon King. Only the delivery of the spawn remained.

Sojourn burned…

The viewport within Darth Tormentous’ chambers was alight with the glow of a burning world. Word had reached him now that Blood was on his way back to the Harbinger and so as to not dispatch the fate of his returned tool so poorly - he allowed the ship to close on the fleet before he gave to order to open fire. The Sith Fleet - a contingent of Tormentous’ own Nightfall Destroyer and three others with eight escorting corvette class Corsair Battleships - opened fire.

Sojourn was burning - now it would cease to be.

Turbolaser batteries of the capital ships spat forth their displeasure and red halos of such powerful impacts hammered Sojourn’s scorched surface. This bombardment would be ongoing for the next twenty-four hours. The nonstop and absolute erasure of everything Blood once knew and loved. This was to be representative of his past. Nothing but ash and not even rubble to puzzle back together again. It would take a generation of excavation teams to even puncture the new molten crust of the moon.

With Blood now back on board and once more shuffled to present his pathetic form before the Emperor most high - Tormentous then did finally turn to him but without voice he gave a nod directed to a slave in the shadows. The naked driveling whelp with nothing but a loin cloth slithered close kneeling with its face on the floor before Blood where a cloth was produced and reverently placed nigh-on ritualistically to the floor. It ever so carefully unfolded the cloth making sure not to touch the colt steel of the hilts for it was not worthy of such honor. Accomplished the slave slinked backwards and then scurried away - the life moment of its wretched existence was in even carrying such items at all.

Finally - the Dark One delivered utterance to the disheveled wreck that was Blood. “Your weapons are your own again. Dare you fail me even once or raise your pathetic head in defiance again - and I will damn your soul to eternity.” Of course he reference the Thought Bomb in that moment, an existence where there would never be slumber but eternal and infinite death when not even the consciousness of being was capable of any cohesion. It was suffering ever more. It was - unending torment.

“Begone.” He bellowed in command. Soon he would summon the dragon again. Next time though the dragon would not be admonishing his own likeness but bringing Tormentous’ wrath to those that befell the eye of his unforgiving will.

He was drowning.

Blood was completely consumed in the anguish of his hard work being not only destroyed by his own hand, but by Tormentous', as well. Even moreso, he felt set back, substantially brought back through time, no, dragged through time, by the skin of his own teeth. It was his largest pet peeve made real - a waste of time. He had invested so much in the historic moon, delving into so many secrets and lore and untouched iconic relics that he had yet to even finish his research on.... and for the rest of it to be cast into ash and embers... it wounded the parasite immensely on a more complex level than he was used to. Every flash against the moon was a flash against his own desire to remain breathing-

As he knelt there, his lungs felt as though they would collapse with every breath he took. His emotions turmoiled, rolling in a chaotic roil that he just would not hide. Why? Why would Tormentous take this lesson so drastically far? He hadn't culled useful things, even himself was spared - perhaps it was a lesson on...what? His mind was so distraught, there was merely no sorting through the storm.
Maybe a warning, not a lesson.. a warning that his patience and mercy had been up to this point. That there was no 'overlooking' things, anymore.
If only Blood had such resolve when he was being almost-killed and backstabbed and betrayed and-

the subtle motion of a potential threat crashed against his peripherals until his frazzled mind could make what the thing was. It was a biped of some kind, itchy looking, wrinkly but gaunt, and it had come and left before he could stare at it any harder. What it had left behind had left Blood even more chilled.

Tormentous had found his sabers.
That meant he had his holocron back, as well.
As well as Blood's dragonbone armor.
And possibly even Valkyr.

He truly had started from the ground, again. And it hurt.

“Your weapons are your own again. Dare you fail me even once or raise your pathetic head in defiance again - and I will damn your soul to eternity.” Blood swallowed, picking up the sabers. The Sithian didn't even have the willpower to almost exist, at this point. Looking them over, he even contemplated running himself through the burgundy blades, and saving the Dark Lord the trouble. He was tired...and truly there wasn't much more he could offer his Sire - regardless of his ingrained desire to give him nothing but the best.

He stood at the dismissal, his dismay souring his entire day, internally. What could he possibly do with these sabers, now? They felt too heavy in his hands, now. As though they were made for some of much larger stature, of existence, of worth. Blood wondered, as he began his turn to exit the frigid chambers, if he would even be missed, or even remembered, should he perish. What legacy had he left behind?....
His gaze tilted low, his self-destructive mind tearing the flesh from the bone of his brain. Was the truth that cold? Would he not be remembered, at all?

One ebony clawed foot lowly lifted to head for the door, and the other raised to continue the motion out. What was truly left, at this point?...

Such abhorrent despair coming from the heart and soul of one sentient being it was as if literally everything in this man’s current existence had just been slowly peeled away layer by layer until it was all bare for all to see and once the vulnerable innards were exposed the heart was ripped out by the hand of another and held before his quivering eyes so that he could see -

Every.

Single.

Moment.

As the heart beat, and again, and again, and slower yet again - until finally it ceased and as the death song came to that man’s everything and he came back to his Lord and Master, so did the tyrant give the order and delivered upon that soul his unforgiving ire. It surely may have felt personal but it wasn’t - though whether or not Blood felt it as personal - Darth Tormentous cared not for the feelings of refuse for mere animals were undeserving of care. No this was not personal, Tormentous was making an example. This example would scream out for all his subjects to see that even the highest of servants were not beyond the Dark One’s rebuke and should that rebuke befall them then - this - would happen to an extreme. You would lose everything.

Literally.

E v e r y t h I n g

Darth Tormentous watched the skulking manform slide away and hatred welled in his heart for the man that Blood used to be. Did Tormentous revile his own actions in punishing his son? The truth would remain unknown as he banished the Dragon King from his sight with half a mind to send him into the nearest black hole in ritual suicide.

But he did not. He had taken away and therefore now he would give. His debt of betrayal was settled. Tormentous held no further thought of punishment nor grudge. But Blood’s life was now forfeit. A price needed to be paid for this man to breathe. A price steep in worth. What did this thing have left? Nothing. But Slade - he had something from his very loins - yes, his own flesh and blood. Nothing was of more value than one’s child. Even a Sith Lord cared for the young cast from his own blood. It was a care in that one knew that the spawn would become too powerful to control and thus extinguished before his time or a legitimate sense of fatherhood. Care of a child was true and a real thing.

His yellow glowing eye narrowed to a slit as he now saw the back of the Dragon King slinking away in retreat. The white eye glimmered with the reflection not of Blood’s abused form - but of the young Prince himself.

With a low growl Tormentous spake the words that Blood - no - Slade would cry out not to hear.

“Vsun’ah.”

Absolute utter silence followed as Blood’s very step froze as if something grabbed him tight. “Bring him - and the Crow - to me.”

No doubt they were in hiding. This was not of Tormentous’ concern for whatsoever he desired was his already and thus he gave forth his commandment and therein was the law of existence set forth in his word. “I care not how long it takes to find them nor at what cost. Find - them.”