Humility and Supplication

[Sinister]

Skal opened his eyes. Even such a small gesture was painful in the sort of heat and pressure he subjected himself to in his meditation chamber. He had been in a trance for the last eight hours, preparing. The low hum of the comm unit drew him out of it and summoned him back to full attention and consciousness. As he reached out with the Force to activate the panel, he blinked as blistering sweat ran down into his eyes. He savored every moment of discomfort. He would need the focus it brought to him in the coming hour. The whirring, groaning, mechanical voice of V-N25 filled the room.

"Master. We will be exiting hyperspace in moments for rendezvous with the Harbinger. Requested preparations have been met."

Skal rose, his muscles aching and twisted. He lurched towards the controls and disengaged meditation protocols. Cool air hissed into the room. His ears at last didn't feel as if they were about to burst from his skull. He breathed deeply and allowed the sweat to pour from his nude form, collecting at his feet.

"You will oversee the droids as they present the trophies before Darth Viren. Any who fail to maintain the decorum appropriate to a Lord of the Sith are to be repurposed."

V-N25 would like that. Any droid he tore apart and sorted through the useful materials of was an opportunity to upgrade his own hardware. Scheming little cretin. Were he not programmed to obey, Skal would have ripped him in half years ago. Someone had to fly the ship, though.

"Yes Master. As you command."

He released the comm signal and stalked toward his cabin, where clean water had been prepared for him. Presenting oneself as...dignified had never been among Skal's strengths. But there were things expected of a Sith Lord. Never mind practicality. Never mind convenience. They had niceties to uphold. Politics to respect. Stations to honor. It made his guts churn and his fury rise to consider it. The Empire was strong in the Dark Side, but it had not truly immersed itself in the shadows. Not like him. He had glimpsed the truth. He had heard it sing to him...

***

Along with his bath, Skal had the droids craft for him a new robe. Stark black and unadorned, as were his others, but unmarked by combat. A part of him felt naked without some sign of the blood that he had shed. As he awaited arrival at the rendezvous coordinates, he ritualistically picked at one if the jagged edges of his lightsaber, drawing just a slight trickle of red. It helped him breath easier. He had also brought the lights up in the hallways of the Purifier prepare himself. He saw best in the dim light. He had become accustomed to it in his teenage years from the mines, and he felt it offered him a strategic advantage in many of the places he had hunted his prey. But this was not his vessel. It was unlikely to be bathed in the dull light of a crystal mine.

It had been four long years since he had entered a ship where he hadn't planned on slaughtering everyone on board. While that might have been tempting (he had not tasted his battle rage in too long) such a result would be a failure. It galled him to need the Empire. But there was no where else...no other place to fight his war on the grandest possible scale. If he was to slaughter the Jedi to a man and raze Coruscant into a heap of melted raw metal, he needed to go back. First, he would meet his Praetor. He had more respect for Darth Viren than for many of the so-called "Sith" in the Convocation, but he was still too "civilized" for Skal's taste. Better him than anyone else, though.

Behind Skal, three droids of misshapen and asymmetrical proportions carried boxes. Within the boxes were a prize for Viren. Grovelling. Clawing and bowing at the ground like a dog. Even now, he grit his teeth at the thought while he paced back and forth waiting for the other vessel to arrive so that he and his procession could walk through the airlock. If kneeling was a prelude to war...so be it.

[Ysmir]

---

From the bridge of the Harbinger, everything seemed small.

Even now, as they barreled across the cosmos at light speed, the swirling vortex of blue and white before his eyes seemed menial by comparison to the grand scheme of the Empire's machinations. The Empress would soon set into motion her plans, something only he and Aurelius had been made privy to. If it worked -- as Viren had little doubt it would -- then the Galactic Republic would quiver in fear before Her might.

As it should be. They were weak; ailing; desperate. Unwilling to or incapable of ruling their warring politicians with an iron fist like the Empress had for many years. With all their backing, their straight talk, and their promises, they had failed time and time again to amount to anything more than a dream, an idealization of what peaceful coexistence could be. The Galaxy was too sporadic for that, too unruly. Chaos was in the very nature of every sentient being that lived. It was an aspect of Viren's own personality that he worked many moons to conquer, and that manner of control was something he admired most about the Empress. If she could impose that very same discipline upon her lessers, with his help, then perhaps the Galaxy could know true peace.

But every army needs soldiers. Although the Cult of Strife stood strong and true as the Empress' might made manifest, Viren would never turn down the prospect of experienced help. Almost never.

The Dark Lord had received an interesting bit of correspondence shortly after his meeting with the Inner Sanctum. A rather notorious individual had made his presence known in the Galaxy once more, and sought an audience with the Praetor Magnus. The man Viren knew as Lord Skal, though he was more accurately a phantom than a man. Once a devout follower of the Sith Empire, he denounced his role shortly after the Peace of Prazhi and departed into the Unknown Regions. Relevant and trustworthy intelligence was spotty from that time forward, but Viren had access to the greatest information specialists that the Empire had to offer. Through cross-referencing freighter manifests, navicomputer data from dusted Republic vessels, and eyewitness accounts on the HoloNet, Viren had deduced his movements in the last five years or so.

Like himself, Lord Skal was a being of fewer words and loft ambition. It earned some amount of respect from the Dark Lord, but not enough to draw any concrete conclusions yet. If Skal intended to reclaim his long-lost position, he would need to make a case. A very good case.

The way Viren saw it, it was that, or death. No one abandons the Empire and lives without atonement.

They emerged from hyperspace, and the gargantuan flagship came cruising to a halt in the Purifier's viewport. Viren sensed the unbridled and barely contained rage even across the vast vacuum of space between their vessels. Hands crossed behind his back, Viren studied it for a moment, turning to the Rear Admiral at the helm.

"Beam the docking codes, Admiral. And ensure he is watched closely. This one is like an animal," Viren commanded of his underling, who nodded and stood straight at the back in a salute.

"At once, your Lordship. Beaming codes now," the Rear Admiral echoed.

The Dark Lord turned from the viewport and walked further into his vessel to a grand attendance chamber, where he would await Lord Skal's arrival.

---

When the docking procedure had completed, the Purifier was settled contently into one of the two spacious hangar bays located within the Harbinger. Imperial technicians attended to scans and general maintenance of his ship as a customary convenience. When Skal stepped down from the loading ramp of his ship, he was greeted with an escort.

Standing at the front was Rear Admiral Golgoth. He was a stout and broad-shouldered man with a square jaw, dimpled chin, and calculating blue eyes that glistened from the starlight entering through the hangar shield. A row of ten honor guard, five on each side, stood across from each other. Flanking either side of the Rear Admiral were two Praetor Lords, dressed head to toe in the traditional armor of the Cult of Strife, masked helmets obscuring their view; their lightsabers were worn openly on their hips.

"Lord Skal," Golgoth said in greeting, nodding his head but not much else, "the Harbinger and its crew welcome you. If you'd follow me, Darth Viren will be seeing you in the attendance hall."

Turning on his heel, the Rear Admiral and Praetor Lords began walking through the assembled honor guard, leading Skal and his envoy of droid companions into the bowels of the Harbinger. Boots clicked against glossy and polished black flooring, and the halls were utilitarian and practical in design. There was not an ounce of wasted space aboard this vessel of war, modified to Viren's exacting specifications when he took the office of Praetor Magnus. Occasionally on their tour through the halls, the Rear Admiral would point out operative system studies, war rooms, and other important installations within the ship, each full of assigned soldiers and officers alike carrying out their duties in the name of Viren and their Empress.

Eventually, they came to a long hallway that struck through the dead center of the ship's longitude. It led directly down to a large durasteel door with ornate and ancient carvings upon it, runes inscribed in the ancient Sith language. When they approached, the Praetor Lords stood on either side of the door, and the Rear Admiral parted way for Skal and his droids to pass.

"My Lord Darth Viren awaits," Golgoth spoke, and as if on cue, the doors began to slide open.

The hall was grand in scope, but otherwise decidedly plain in appearance, in the center was an ovular table, and at its head stood Darth Viren, clad in his fortress-like onyx armor, who turned and regarded Skal silently when he entered.

[Sinister]

Skal exited his ship with measured steps. Any false movement here would grant him death. It was a different sort of battlefield, and one where he was not well-suited. It was obvious as he disembarked that Viren had wasted no resources in making sure he would be contained if he were to lose control. Thirteen total in the procession, two with the Force as their ally. But it was the...uniformed one who stepped forward to greet him. He did not receive the respect or deference officers were supposed to afford to a Lord of the Sith. Clearly, they did not consider him as such yet. So be it. What caused his rage to flare up for a moment was the seeming lack of fear in the man's eyes as he approached. He was a fool, or very disciplined. Skal imagined the ways a man such as this might react if he were to simply ignite his saber and run him through. Still dignified? Still stalwart? An amusing game to play with oneself, but he was not here for entertainment.

The droids with clanking steps followed behind him, each with their own ceremonially emblazoned container, and Skal tilted his head at the soldier. "Yes...I feel very welcome. You have a very...impressive ship." His tone wasn't blatantly mocking. It was exceptionally grandiose. The raw magnitude of power it had at its disposal was truly magnificent. He could only imagine the awe a lesser being might feel when witnessing it for the first time. It was perhaps a bit vulgar to him in how clean and neat it was, but it was not like some of the vessels of other Lords he had visited. One might have thought some Sith were princelings or merchants instead of warriors. But here, there was at least an appropriate scent of tension. Of violence ready to be unleashed. Better than he expected. "Lead, and I will follow."

The little tour that followed was of some interest despite the technical banalities of it, which Skal had little patience for. He imagined all these little ants scurrying about, doing what they were meant for: slaughter. The concentrated murder of the forces of the Republic. It would be difficult for him to run a ship like this, but there was no doubt of the capabilities Darth Viren had at his disposal. But was this true power? Power that was maintained by word? Or by thought? When had the Praetor last crossed blades? He hungered to test himself against Viren, seeing all of this. More thoughts to simultaneously fuel and focus his passions, and to be turned towards more productive matters. He constantly had to remind himself that this was a means to an end. A glorious end. Short term gratification was not worth the early termination of his destiny.

When at last the time came, and he entered the "attendance hall", he saw Darth Viren himself, seated and awaiting Skal, impassive. Viren was taller than Skal, which was not common among near-human species. He was wearing a tremendous amount of armor, which was a luxury Skal did not permit himself, lest it invite complacency and weakness. This man was not weak, however. He sensed it. There was power in this room. The Dark Side was strong here, even if it were more contained and controlled than it was upon the Purifier. It would truly be a glorious battle if they did fight...

He strode forward several paces, approaching the Praetor before he came to a halt. It took only another brief moment for him to clench his jaw and go down to a single knee, head lowered. He felt hatred and anger setting his very veins on fire with the gesture. Not directed at Viren, but within. Every bow was its own sort of death.

Focus. Breath. The Force guides us. The pain is how we learn. It is the path to power. Peace is a lie.

Eyes down, he opened his mouth as he heard the monstrous droids behind him set down their burdens and embrace far lower stances of supplication. "Darth Viren. You have allowed my audience. I am grateful. I have come before you to offer my services to the Empire, and to the Cult of Strife once again. If tests of loyalty or skill are required, I will meet them. I seek only the chance to destroy your enemies. As a tribute to you and your order, I bring you the spoils of battle."

At the appointed words, the droids as one reached up and opened their boxes. Within the first were rank insignia. Ten Lieutenants, seven Captains, five Majors. The second held vessel ID units of several Republic military craft from gunboats to corvettes like his own, and even one frigate. Disgracefully, that one had already been wounded from an encounter with an asteroid field when he'd caught them, but it was still a fine haul. He relished the pangs of terror from those on board as their confidence faded. The last held the jewels of his collection, though. Lightsabers. There were thirteen in total.

"It is...difficult to ascertain the rank of the fallen Jedi." He practically spit the word. "But to the best of my understanding, those belonged to four padawan, six knights, and three masters. All of this, I have done for the Dark Side. I am its blade. I request the opportunity to serve you on a grander scale than these scavengings I have managed. But all of these are men and women who will not bear arms against the Empire when fighting resumes. If allowed, I will give you far greater carnage than this..."

[Ysmir]

Skal was strong. This was plain to see for one with even a modicum of talent in the Force.

To one such as Viren, Skal's presence was less a ripple and more of a tidal wave. Raw power brimmed beneath the surface of his scarred and mottled skin, pressing generously against the carapace of his body, as if threatening to burst free at any moment. The man himself felt remarkably calm; at least, calmer than what Viren had predicted when first learning of his exploits and deeds. But despite that thin layer of control, Viren felt the rage underneath. It was not directed at any one particular thing, but a sort of omnipresent emotion that swirled viciously within his core. The anger of a true Sith could be regarded as a beautiful thing, depending on who was observing it. For Viren, Skal's rage was impressive, but lacked a certain subtlety.

The Rear Admiral ensured Skal and his envoy had entered before turning from the chamber, allowing the doors to slide shut and lock into place. Skal and the Dark Lord were alone now. Viren wondered if he might be so bold as to indulge his lust for battle, but it seemed as though the former Sith Lord had other plans in mind.

The former Sith Lord bowed, and Viren lifted his brow. Unexpected. Whether this was a genuine act or forced suffering for the sake of appearance, the Darth couldn't be sure. Regardless, Skal had succeeded in earning his attention. As he spoke, Viren stood from the table and walked around the outside of it, greaves clanking with loud echoes against the black flooring, until he stood in front of the kneeling man.

"As a tribute to you and your order, I bring you the spoils of battle."

Viren's head turned to the droids on either side of Skal as they presented their trophies. He had certainly been busy.

Viren walked to the box on the far left, which held the lightsaber hilts of many fallen Jedi. Were he an agent of the Empire still, this act of blatant warfare would have earned him nothing more than a swift death. But he was not an agent of the Empire. Not yet. Viren called one of the hilts to his hand with the Force, turning the cylinder of durasteel over in his palm and examining its architecture. He could feel the echoes of the one who once wielded the weapon in the object as though they stood before him. A wisened Kel Dor, ornery but good.

Good?

By what measure? Decades of musings on the subject of good and evil had always seen him arrive at the same conclusion; fallacies. The Jedi Code was flawed. And to a certain extent, so, too, was the Sith Code. He knew each by heart, but neither gave him any measure of comfort. He sensed Skal felt the same, in a way. A "kindred soul", so to speak.

He dropped the hilt back into the box.

"Rise," Viren said plainly. The Darth turned to Skal, folding his arms over one another in front his waist. They stood face to face, almost as equals might.

"Your trophies are impressive. Jedi are not weak, like some of our Order may mistakenly believe," he said as he regarded the box of hilts once more. "You feel the pull of war. Many in the Cult have sensed it. So I ask you, Skal.."

Viren turned away from the man and toward a grand transparisteel window that revealed the vast expanse of space. The Darth stopped a few feet from it, speaking though not turning away.

"What does war mean to you?"

[Sinister]

As Viren beckoned Skal to rise, he did so. Still more loathing seething within him to obey orders came in pulses and waves over him. Focus. It means to the most glorious end he could possibly imagine. He turned to face the Darth, and held his ground. It seemed the Praetor wanted to pry his mind. Only for one so strong as Viren would such indignity be allowed. Only when he had such a prize to win. His voice rasped and growled out his answers passed tissue scarred from the poor ventilation in the mines he had grown up in.

"You speak truth, Lord Viren. The Jedi are not weak. Only the worst sort of liar. The one who offers comfort."

He looked out upon the vastness of space that the Praetor looked beyond as well, glimpsing the staggering breadth of the galaxy. When he had first escaped Mygeeto, it was overwhelming to him. Now he realized few of the civilizations that orbited those countless stars had anything of substance to offer. Few challenges. Nothing of consequence to clash against. He turned Viren's words over in his head. Was it some sort of a riddle? If so there was no point trying to puzzle it out. He was either to rejoin the Sith Order, or clash and die aboard this great vessel of destruction in any case.

"War is purity. War is the distillation of the Dark Side of the force. I am called to it because it speaks to me. It is a landscape where the unimportant is excised like rotten fresh from healthy tissue. A flame that burns away the refuse and leaves only that which cannot be consumed. It is a torrent of passions. Fear, anger, pain, hatred, desperation. They wash over and fuel me in a way nothing else can. I do not know that I am truly a being when I cannot fight. I am merely an idea of a man if I have no battle to wage. I seek the end of the light, Darth Viren. Nothing less. That is my war."

He stood and waited. The air that filled his lungs tasted like tension. His own? The ship's? Viren's? It meant nothing. Whatever the source...it smelled like home.

[Ysmir]

His resolve, his drive, were not to be questioned. It had become abundantly apparent that Skal truly did wish to submit himself as a servant of the Empire, and Viren was beginning to suspect that whether or not his reasons were selfish or selfless, it didn't matter. He'd be a weapon, a fearsome tool to be wielded by the Sith Order. Some individuals were not so keen on such a fate, and looked upon it with disdain. But Skal was different; he was a caged beast willing, begging to be cut loose upon any he could call "enemy". That was a powerful mentality, potentially dangerous; but it could be exploited.

Imperial starfighters flashed by the viewing window as the military went about its daily routines. Nobody was quite sure when the call would be sounded, but Viren nonetheless took steps to see that the standing army was ready to descend upon Her Majesty's enemies at a moment's notice. Controlled as they were, and disciplined through years of training, each and every soldier on board this ship knew that they could be minutes away from war. It kept them on edge, exactly by design. It was Viren's way of knowing who was too weak of mind to serve him and their Empress. He turned his head to Skal.

"So war is fire, then? A cleansing flame? Poetic," Viren echoed, turning his body to face Skal, "and I suspect only an inkling of how you truly feel. I know your kind; I need not look into your mind to see that you were bred from conflict. Molded by it against your will. And in some way, you feel slighted, and you bury that guilt beneath the bodies of the ones you slay. One day, you will confront it. But that day is not today."

Viren paced across the polished black floor and stood before Skal once more. "We are cut from the same cloth. And for that, you have my eye, Skal. But you remain an enigma, an anomaly, and a terrible gamble if ever you were to lose control. So to earn your place in the ranks of Strife, you will be tested. There is no other way."

Viren extended his right hand across the space between them. His open palm lay flat before Skal's eyes, waiting. "Your lightsaber; surrender it."