-//DECRYPTING FILE//-
Commander's Log - Kainite Dungeon-Ship "Shackles of Ambition" circa 889 ABY
UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL PROCEED AT YOUR OWN PERIL
As the years dredge on, I am given great time to contemplate the Galaxy and my place within it.
Our life here is a simple, monotonous one. We raid, we steal, we leave, we wait till we can repeat the process. Admittedly, while I enjoy the slaughter I have found the whole thing rather dull at this point.
And so I am left with a task more dangerous than any battlefield: the pondering of my existence, and the damned path I have taken in my long life. All of it stems from one man…
Darth Carnifex.
The Butcher-King, Lord of Black Iron, the One-True-Emperor, and I'm sure a thousand titles I do not know. All things trace to him, the guiding hand that sent an idiotic beast down a path in which there is no escape. I can not hate him for it, though at times I would like to. He was presented with a weapon, a creature whose hatred for Mandalorian kind burned brighter than the foul void in the Living Force she left. The perfect tool to deal with the petty squabbles of Moridinae.
Dear Moridinae…my masterwork. So much I invested, so many sins I buried in that place I could have nearly dubbed a home. My springboard, my damnation, where I uncovered the truth of Primordial Dark. Sat upon a throne of iron and skulls. I do not long for that place anymore, the Dark does not allow for such things. All things end, and if they deserve to continue they shall.
The Dark deemed Moridinae was not to survive, as did it deem the Empire I once served unworthy of existing.
But not my Master. He survived, while I fled and cowered among the muck and the mire. Throwing my lot in with the Maw for the chance to dig through the relics and tomes of Rhand, pathetic. He plotted and he schemed and he took power under the noses of us all. And what did I do? I killed like a savage dog, standing upon Csilla as it burned. Till the day came, my welcome overstayed, cast aside by the fires of war as a broken, fractured thing.
All while the Kainite grew, while the Empire reformed under new royals. And yet is it not the boundless power of my liege that he did not need to sit upon a new throne? Proof of Kainite might that the hand in the shadow is greater than one in the light…
Bah. I speak like a zealot, perhaps I am. Somewhere inside. What place do I have in the Kainite? I am no Sith, I am barely an Imperial. In his graciousness the One-True-Emperor lifted me up from my dregs and put me to use. And yet, when is the last time I have spoken to him? When is the last time the Kainite Diarchy has deigned to speak to their Slavemaster, is it not I who ravages this place for them? To feed them an endless stream of labor so that I may cut my cloth in this Galaxy?
And yet, the years have been long…perhaps I have been replaced. A relic discarded, an icon of an old Empire. What good is the Grand Moff of a dead Empire but a reminder of failure? And without him, what am I but another bloodthirsty pirate! Underworld trash! A lowly creature scuttling in the mire of this Galaxy eking out credits like I was but part of the rabble!
Perhaps that is his grand design for me, a punishment for abandoning the Empire in its dying days. The illusion of freedom disguises itself as a long leash, but a leash is still a leash! And it is Carnifex that holds it! In generosity I am offered a place in the new era, in generosity my body is remolded and my decay subsided, my armor reforged and upgraded!
And yet it makes me naught but a slave. Of course, what better slaver than a slave?
The skin of my flesh, the bones in my body, the hearts that pump in my chest: Kainite property, Kainite design. I am their monster, a creature outside of the grand machinations of the force. I do not know if I hate him for it, this - illusion of freedom he has thrust upon me! And yet I must ponder if he hates me! He mocks me as I languish away in this damnable ship, knowing that the Kainites' dear monstrosity suffers for its curse! Withers away for the sin of being an unbeliever, a false-Sith, a savage closer to a Mawite than the oh-so-refined-grace of these Dark-Side obsessed children! Hating me for daring to understand Primordial Dark!
No.
He can not hate me. One does not hate a tool…one does not hate the knife as you thrust it into your foe. For what am I but a tool, a cog in the great Kainite machine. A cog allowed to play as if it has a choice…
I can not hate him for it. Is it the way of the strong, so the Dark ordains. The strong dominate, they possess, manipulate, and control. Perhaps that is my lot in this Galaxy, a hound brought to heel, for him to mold and throw at whatever he sees fit. Maybe that is what the Dark needs of me: in his success I know Primordial Dark rises triumphant.
I sit here, staring out into the void once more. In the blankness of space I picture his face, those few times I have gazed upon it: stern, calculating, allowing my mind to conjure the endless storm of evil that lays behind his eyes. I want to reach out, to hold onto it, a tether to bring ourselves back to grand Malsheem so that he may know his hound still lives. To throw myself before him and remind him that Lirka Ka lives!
Lirka Ka the murderer!
Lirka Ka who tore Mandalore apart at your whim!
Lirka Ka who fed her one-and-only-spawn to his Empire so that it might have lived another day!
Lirka Ka, Governor, Moff, Pirate, Slaver!
Lirka Ka the slave!
To prostrate myself before the throne and confess my love, the love that only those truly touched by darkness may understand! The love of power! The love of every pitiful strand-cast I am allowed away like trash! Love for every family I shatter, and life I end! Love for the worlds I plunder! The love for the dark purpose of his ambitions that would see this Galaxy decay into Darkness!
The love that I am allowed to exist as I am! A beast with its leash long and slack, that I know he needs but clench his fist and it shall become short and taut! That every scheme, every weasel-like maneuver, every corrupt action and shady dealing exists only because he allows it so!
I love you Carnifex, my One-True-Emperor!
I hate you!
I despise you!
I spit your name as if it is bile!
Tell me you know your minion lives, that I am here! That I fight this crusade so that a thousand worlds may bear your brand and a billion souls come to you in shackles!
CARNIFEX!
KAINE!
Commander's Log - Kainite Dungeon-Ship "Shackles of Ambition" circa 889 ABY
UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL PROCEED AT YOUR OWN PERIL
As the years dredge on, I am given great time to contemplate the Galaxy and my place within it.
Our life here is a simple, monotonous one. We raid, we steal, we leave, we wait till we can repeat the process. Admittedly, while I enjoy the slaughter I have found the whole thing rather dull at this point.
And so I am left with a task more dangerous than any battlefield: the pondering of my existence, and the damned path I have taken in my long life. All of it stems from one man…
Darth Carnifex.
The Butcher-King, Lord of Black Iron, the One-True-Emperor, and I'm sure a thousand titles I do not know. All things trace to him, the guiding hand that sent an idiotic beast down a path in which there is no escape. I can not hate him for it, though at times I would like to. He was presented with a weapon, a creature whose hatred for Mandalorian kind burned brighter than the foul void in the Living Force she left. The perfect tool to deal with the petty squabbles of Moridinae.
Dear Moridinae…my masterwork. So much I invested, so many sins I buried in that place I could have nearly dubbed a home. My springboard, my damnation, where I uncovered the truth of Primordial Dark. Sat upon a throne of iron and skulls. I do not long for that place anymore, the Dark does not allow for such things. All things end, and if they deserve to continue they shall.
The Dark deemed Moridinae was not to survive, as did it deem the Empire I once served unworthy of existing.
But not my Master. He survived, while I fled and cowered among the muck and the mire. Throwing my lot in with the Maw for the chance to dig through the relics and tomes of Rhand, pathetic. He plotted and he schemed and he took power under the noses of us all. And what did I do? I killed like a savage dog, standing upon Csilla as it burned. Till the day came, my welcome overstayed, cast aside by the fires of war as a broken, fractured thing.
All while the Kainite grew, while the Empire reformed under new royals. And yet is it not the boundless power of my liege that he did not need to sit upon a new throne? Proof of Kainite might that the hand in the shadow is greater than one in the light…
Bah. I speak like a zealot, perhaps I am. Somewhere inside. What place do I have in the Kainite? I am no Sith, I am barely an Imperial. In his graciousness the One-True-Emperor lifted me up from my dregs and put me to use. And yet, when is the last time I have spoken to him? When is the last time the Kainite Diarchy has deigned to speak to their Slavemaster, is it not I who ravages this place for them? To feed them an endless stream of labor so that I may cut my cloth in this Galaxy?
And yet, the years have been long…perhaps I have been replaced. A relic discarded, an icon of an old Empire. What good is the Grand Moff of a dead Empire but a reminder of failure? And without him, what am I but another bloodthirsty pirate! Underworld trash! A lowly creature scuttling in the mire of this Galaxy eking out credits like I was but part of the rabble!
Perhaps that is his grand design for me, a punishment for abandoning the Empire in its dying days. The illusion of freedom disguises itself as a long leash, but a leash is still a leash! And it is Carnifex that holds it! In generosity I am offered a place in the new era, in generosity my body is remolded and my decay subsided, my armor reforged and upgraded!
And yet it makes me naught but a slave. Of course, what better slaver than a slave?
The skin of my flesh, the bones in my body, the hearts that pump in my chest: Kainite property, Kainite design. I am their monster, a creature outside of the grand machinations of the force. I do not know if I hate him for it, this - illusion of freedom he has thrust upon me! And yet I must ponder if he hates me! He mocks me as I languish away in this damnable ship, knowing that the Kainites' dear monstrosity suffers for its curse! Withers away for the sin of being an unbeliever, a false-Sith, a savage closer to a Mawite than the oh-so-refined-grace of these Dark-Side obsessed children! Hating me for daring to understand Primordial Dark!
No.
He can not hate me. One does not hate a tool…one does not hate the knife as you thrust it into your foe. For what am I but a tool, a cog in the great Kainite machine. A cog allowed to play as if it has a choice…
I can not hate him for it. Is it the way of the strong, so the Dark ordains. The strong dominate, they possess, manipulate, and control. Perhaps that is my lot in this Galaxy, a hound brought to heel, for him to mold and throw at whatever he sees fit. Maybe that is what the Dark needs of me: in his success I know Primordial Dark rises triumphant.
I sit here, staring out into the void once more. In the blankness of space I picture his face, those few times I have gazed upon it: stern, calculating, allowing my mind to conjure the endless storm of evil that lays behind his eyes. I want to reach out, to hold onto it, a tether to bring ourselves back to grand Malsheem so that he may know his hound still lives. To throw myself before him and remind him that Lirka Ka lives!
Lirka Ka the murderer!
Lirka Ka who tore Mandalore apart at your whim!
Lirka Ka who fed her one-and-only-spawn to his Empire so that it might have lived another day!
Lirka Ka, Governor, Moff, Pirate, Slaver!
Lirka Ka the slave!
To prostrate myself before the throne and confess my love, the love that only those truly touched by darkness may understand! The love of power! The love of every pitiful strand-cast I am allowed away like trash! Love for every family I shatter, and life I end! Love for the worlds I plunder! The love for the dark purpose of his ambitions that would see this Galaxy decay into Darkness!
The love that I am allowed to exist as I am! A beast with its leash long and slack, that I know he needs but clench his fist and it shall become short and taut! That every scheme, every weasel-like maneuver, every corrupt action and shady dealing exists only because he allows it so!
I love you Carnifex, my One-True-Emperor!
I hate you!
I despise you!
I spit your name as if it is bile!
Tell me you know your minion lives, that I am here! That I fight this crusade so that a thousand worlds may bear your brand and a billion souls come to you in shackles!
CARNIFEX!
KAINE!
