SithLore

Eshan - a shining gemstone of white blue sapphire amidst the drudgery of the sector in which it resided. It was a wondrous world of free-thinking people in a matriarchal society. Currently ruled by Queen and King respectively, the Lady of Eshan, Idaan Null. Raven haired beauty originally from Thrysus and betrothed to the ill-fated Silas Karn, King of his name and Lord to his house. Eshan - it was a world that once knew peace but was now occupied by an Imperial tyrant with the most strict regulations in the region. What was even more, the Queen, Lady Idaan, was an Imperial “guest” and her whereabouts were unknown save for the Imperial Security Bureau and a handful of others.

Eshan - a glorious tapestry of tragedy and enmity.

Even Darth Tormentous had once graced the earth of Eshan where he had enslaved many hundreds and fertilized the soil with the blood of so very many at the cost of an expendable droid army on his behalf. Not even the Legendary Imperial tactician Argus Kraiov was able to stop him from stealing away all those children at the Raskta Battlemaster Academy.

It was to be these innocent children who would suffer for the Empire’s failure to stop Tormentous that day. Forever would Eshan itself weep amongst the stars for the loss of an entire upcoming generation of their people. Such loss. Such torment. So many scars that would never heal.

Years had passed since that black day, but the scars had never fully healed.

Today, the children of Eshan, the students of Raskta - were thralls to the Lord of Darkness. Soldiers in his unholy crusade of evil. It seemed that he truly would have the last laugh. Using the innocent as tools of destruction. The delicious irony of it was almost too much. But the truth in the matter would forever be etched in stone - those who had suffered and become slaves by his hand - it was only the beginning of their torment.

Their eternal torment.

---GORDIAN REACH
---ONE WEEK AFTER THE UNIFICATION WAR

Screams.

So many screams echoed through the darkened halls of Spire Prison on Dromund Kaas. Though these screams weren’t the normal cries of the typical Sith prisoner - these were the pleas of children. None younger than eighteen were subject to this sort of torture - those that were younger were not brought to Dromund Kaas at all but rather sent to reeducation camps all through the Reach to be brainwashed in a more lengthy process - a more willing process. But it was these older prisoners that were not to be treated with a gentle hand. Even though they were older, they were still but babes by Echani standards who tended to live longer than three hundred years.

It did not matter. The Sith believed in equality here. All would suffer equally. Male or female, they were stripped naked and fed next to nothing but the most basic of gruel nutrient pastes to keep them alive. One by one they were brought into interrogation rooms where the Sith Interrogators would slowly and extremely agonizingly extract their mind’s secrets where they then twisted them into lies and deceitful trickery.

Overtime the children were made to believe that they had no hope. That their families did not care that they had been stolen away. That there was no future for them. Each case was different and each and every child was mentally broken and shattered within four weeks.

It wasn’t just the mental fracture of each of these Echani but some responded more to the physical. Be it through physical beatings, being strapped into a chair and burned or electrified mechanically, or ravaged by the Dark Side itself. There was nothing these children were not exposed to and it left them all as shattered husks of the joyful laughing kids they used to be. Two long weeks of nonstop cruelty had melted their minds. Of the handful that were strong enough to resist they were not culled but given over to even more severe mutilations and mental traumas. It was not a question of if they’d break - it was when. And the Sith Interrogators had nothing but time.

One by one they fell.

One by one they failed themselves.

One by one they became slaves of Tormentous.

It was inevitable.

Once the mind collapsed it was only the more receptive to new ideas. That was when the children were brought in to sit before the Dark One where his aura washed over them. The very air surrounding him became a lure to those that were desperate to cling to something - anything. He never spoke to them via the spoken word but through the mind he would commune and show them droplets of power, tastes of his glorious might. As the only being they now knew to not exude weakness, they began to claw at his feet like urchins vying to hold on to an anchor. As younglings they were too easily corrupted by his domineering gaze.

A swarm of fish surrounding a more massive predator, anxiously awaiting whatever scraps he was willing to give them. It did not take very long at all for the children to begin to desire his visitations. Eventually he was all they thought about. He was their only reprieve from the constant berating and torture of the task masters. And all he had to do was exist.

The Dark Side of the Force - through his will - delivered cancer to their minds and souls. They browned, blacked and rotted of their innocence. Without knowing they began to worship the man they hated. A sickness was seeded into their hearts that only magnified every session they had with him. Over the months and months they suffered under his oppressive presence. In time - they had become his willing jackals. Devotees to his name. Fragmented of their moral compasses they now lived only for his word. However sinful and vile he would command them, they did his every bidding without question. He had become their obsession. They were not following him down the path of Darkness - they were in freefall.

They - belonged to him.

---ONE FULL YEAR LATER

While it had only taken months to obtain their devotion - Tormentous had subjected them to further trauma to make his lordship over them absolute. There was nothing in their lives more important than pleasing him and he had demanded atrocious behavior of them over the last month before the year anniversary of their imprisonment had arrived. Self mutilation, murder of their own kin of whom he suspected were unworthy, self starvation, suicides - there was no limit he did not force them to break wide open. When that year arrived, there was no doubt that these children no longer existed in mind, body or soul.

They had been destroyed and rebuilt as a mindless cult.

Though it did not end here.

From the first day of their second year they were moved from Dromund Kaas and brought to the third moon of Moraband where they were received by new task masters in a facility specifically constructed for their training and growth. One thousand Echani youth, prepared for a life whose purpose was only befitting their lord and master.

Each was issued a body glove, black and unadorned. This was to be their one and only possession. So their training began since their mental breakdown had been complete. Now at the bottom they would be built up into the warriors that they had always meant to be. From this moment onwards their physical conditioning had begun and their goal was absolute bodily perfection - this task in itself would take years to accomplish - but they would do so for they did not have any other purpose in their lives but to see his will complete.

The conditioning of the body would naturally bring mental confidence in oneself and so once they had achieved a state of perfection in body - so too would they find themselves in a state of mental solidarity with only one man on their minds - Tormentous. There could never be any other. He was their master, he was their liege lord, he was their god.

As the days bled on so they bled to perfect their bodies. Muscles torn and mended into stronger specimens. Those that were injured in the process were not slain but culled into a support element that would specialize their skills elsewhere be it piloting craft, technical skills or even the alchemist field. None were to be wasted at this point and none would be thrown away for their value had become something more than just prisoners of a tyrant.

They had become the Chosen of Tormentous. His Chosen few. His Chosen weapons to slay the foes he wanted to be hurt the most.