...48 Hours Earlier...
The room was pitch black, filled with shadows so thick and heavy and neglected by any light source to the point that you would never be able to see your hand if you held it mere millimeters from your eyes, even if you had enhanced visual senses it would be impossible due to the complete absence of light. However, even as nothing could be seen within the room, sound was by no means negated and, as such, the loud, rhythmic breathing that echoes within the silence would have been audible to any who could have possibly been in such a position to listen in. The source of such heavy breathing was a large, both in muscular shape and height, Iridonian Zabrak with pale grey hair that was currently pulled into a set of dreadlocks that whipped, unseen, through the air as the Zabrak by the name of Xavka Duquo, or Darth Lykos, threw his body into a series of flips, bends and spins with a level of agility that was not expected from his large form. His lone eye was open, not that it served him any purpose as his body shifted through the sets of katas with seamless ease, his gaze lost in the impenetrable darkness that pressed in on him from all sides. However, even as he gazed out into the blackness that surrounded him, his mind did not comprehend his lack of sight, lost as it was within the turbulent waves of the Force.
Without the guidance of Jedi, Sith nor any other structured Force based organisation, the early Normadic Iridonians, the Clans that wandered the Wilds of Iridonia, had not understood what the Force was, instead, what they witness was that select individuals were capable of preforming feats that defied their understanding of reality and, with no knowledge of the Force, they cane to the conclusion that the Force Sensitives among them were blessed by the touch of the Ancients and Ancestors. With a different belief as to what the Force was, the Iridonians had ended up developing techniques and methods of manipulating the Force that were unique to themselves and while many of the modern Iridonians, whether those that had settled in cities or continued to live as the forefathers had done, out in the wild, had forgotten those methods upon contact with the wider galaxy, many Nomad Clans continued to preserve the ancient knowledge. Clan Uigin, the Clan that Xavka had been born under, had been one such Clan and, currently, it was one of those techniques that Xavka was preforming.
Carefully unraveling the connections that tied his mind to his body and soul, Xavka had thrown his mind out into the Force, letting the rises and falls of the mystical energy guide his mind towards visions of the past or of the future that were relevant to him or, even, what he sought to know. This technique, known as Abyss Walking - Onis Fahde Meni - was not without risk however. If one failed to protect a tether to the body, then it was possible for the mind of the practitioner to lose themselves within the Force for eternity, leaving behind nothing more than a hollow husk of a body. That was why Xavka was subconsciously preforming his complicated katas, the movement of his body was his preserved tether. The second risk was simply holding the technique for too long, doing so resulting in the practitioner collapsing where they stood, a fate that Xavka had suffered more often than not.
Without any sought of warning, Xavka's body stopped its unseen, complicated dance, entering a state of almost unnatural stillness as his mind snapped back into place, pulled back by the grasping currents of the Force. Hidden within the shadows and all encompassing darkness, a feral, fanged grin spread across Xavka's scarred features as the visions he had just witnessed served to answer the questions that had plagued him since he had awoken hours before, words whispering soundlessly within his mind. Three words echoing within the chaos of the Force. "Bring me back." And, now, Xavka knew where he would have to be to involve himself in the coming events. Korriban, the freezing, desert home to the tombs of then Ancient Sith, birthplace of the teachings that Xavka studied under.
...Present...
Crouched as he was atop of the curved and weather worn head of one of the numerous statues with their heads bowed in subjugated servitude towards Sith Lords whom were long since dead and were now buried beneath the giant monoliths' feet that lined the valley on Korriban, Xavka had the perfect vantage point to stare down at the shadowed entrance to the tomb his time spent preforming Onis Fahde Meni had revealed to him to be the epicenter of the voice that he had heard intruding upon his dreamless, as was always the case, slumber, his dark amber gaze squinted against the harsh winds of the frozen desert planet.
Already he had witnessed many a figure disappear down into the depth below the cold sands, some of whom were tainted by the stagnating and weakening touch of the Light while some, just like he, were steeped in Darkness, the same Darkness that was beginning to stir within the tomb as Lords long since deceased awoke from their slumber to encourage and witness the newest event within the Force that spoke of an increase in strength for the Dark. However, even as Xavka was able to sense and observe those that passed beneath him, he remained isolated and bellow their notice. His Presence within the Force was buried deep and was, beyond that, masked to the point that neither emotion nor his alignment could be gleamed from a glimpse at his Presence, the extreme stillness he exhibited in his vigil allowing him to focus on Quey'tek Meditation to only strengthen and complement the effects of Force Stealth. Even his physical form had not been overlooked as a security risk and, as such, Xavka could walk naked in front of a Matriarch and receive no punishment for currently he was focusing on photo-kinetically manipulating the photon particles to not rebound back towards any that passed in his vicinity, leaving him able to be see but not be seen. For a moment, Xavka spared a brief prayer of thanks to his Master for teaching him Force Cloak, even if said teaching had been forcing him to run through a gauntlet of turrets set to fire at anything that passed through their sensors; he had also gotten to improve his skill in Force created Barriers during that time.
Finally growing tired of staying out of the fun and of the cold wind that was beginning to settle into his bones and bring his body to a temperature his high-heat lifestyle did not agree with. Sliding down the aged, orange stone that made up the towering statue, the claws on his feet and still biological right hands kicking up a brief shower of sparks as they assisted in slowly his descent to the point that when he landed on the sands bellow in a crouch, the only sound that was made was a barely audible thud from the sudden compacting of loose grain particles.
Erecting himself to his full, six foot plus height Xavka moved with a grace born out of years of practice, practice that had simply become so ingrained in his mind that moving without showing grace was more challenging, as he too descended down into the tomb, feeling the heavy weight of the Darkness, a burden crafted by the resurging spirits that pushed against Nath's boundry and the mortal coil, push down even further upon his straight shoulders as the same female voice that had led to his decisions to come to Korriban in the first place resumed whispering, or, rather, shouting now that Xavka was at the epicenter of it all, however, this time, more words, different words.
As he strode after the foolish, Light-tainted idiots that had proceeded before him, the blade concealed within his left cybernetic arm slid forwards from its sheath to lock into position, the tip of the alchemised blade extending out past the knuckles of his fist as he readied himself. Prehaps on this day he would get the chance to offer up a Lightsider's soul to Nath, and, mayhaps, the spilling of blood would assist the corrupted spirit he could sense stirring below his bared feet. Stepping forwards into the shadow filled maw of the tomb, a feral grin grew across his face, twisting his sand torn and tanned features into a horror show as the scars that lined his face conformed unnaturally and exposing the pointed, blood stained teeth within as Xavka revelled in the thoughts of the chaos that would spiral outwards from this point in time, leaving an imprint of Darkness within the Force in the time where the Light thought themselves on the edge of victory.
(*Sigh* And this was meant to be a short post to involve Xavka/Lykos into the thread. Sorry about the wall of text.)
