Furry Overlord

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Mephirium had laughed when his advisers informed him of the Ewok Sith Lord. Laughed, scoffed, and was then struck by horror at the realization that the older man had not been lying.

[member="Warok the Defiler"] was another on the list that his advisers had promised was worth a visit. Mephirium had heard stories of an Ewok warrior carving through soldiers like a farmer reaping his harvest. Tales of a furry little monstrosity that commanded legions of undead warriors. Tales he ha always assumed were the result of soldiers subject to the mind influencing powers of affluent Sith mentalists.

Evidently, those stories had all been very true.

Shab.

Still, if such stories really were fact rather than fiction, then it might be beneficial to have the tiny beast on his side. Mephirium was intelligent enough to know that any creature with command over the force could prove dangerous, even Ewoks. Still, he was going to have a bit of trouble keeping himself from laughing.

He would have to get it all out before he was planetside.

And so Mephirium laughed long and hard for a good twenty minutes or so before exiting hyperspace. With the humor out of the way, he would be able to speak with Warok on an equal basis. (Though the Ewok might need a stepping stool for them to speak eye to eye.)

"I am Darth Mephirium. I come to speak with Warok The Defiler about the future of the One Sith."

The message was sent, and Mephirium found himself struck by another bout of giggles. What Jedi could truly find peace knowing an Ewok had taken them to the other side?

Only the stormtroopers who had fought on Endor truly knew.

 

[Isar]

Ziost was a cold, inhospitable planet. Hoth's winds were more biting, its snows deeper and its surface more devoid of life, but in the deep and dark places of Hoth one only worried about Wampas. Not so for Ziost, one of the birthplaces of the ancient Sith. Here arose a kingdom that struck fear into the hearts of billions. The ruins of their civilization littered the planet.

Few ventured through the forests of Ziost of their own accord. Fewer still sought to brave those houses of the damned. Afraid of whispers in the dark.

Yet what need a Lord of the Sith fear?

* * *

The fortress was old. Old and silent. No chitter of insects, no rustling of wildlife. Nothing but the muttering of the wind against those crumbling stones. Here before its entrance would [member="Darth Mephirium"] be led, drawn by the beacon of a singular reply.

"Come."

One word. Permissive. Commanding. Decipher it, pick it apart. Uncode its depths.

A light snowfall began, flakes floating gently down to earth. The flakes danced on a gentle breeze of wind, a pure and crisp white. Innocent but for their chilling touch. How odd, that for all their garish display those forked tongues of lightning, heralded by clapping thunder, slew not half so many as did the mute.

Past the place where gates once stood, inside the open-aired atrium, a set of stairs led up, up, up and into the bowels of the ruins. A crow sat on a shattered parapet. The only bird for miles.

 

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And so Mephirium was led.

Despite his initial bouts of mirth, the Sith Lord felt a momentary flitting of trepidation as he was called into the fortress. It was not fear that made him halt, he had conquered that long ago, but assessment. Warok kept himself to a cold ruin that might have been abandoned for all the verdance it held. Hilarious as Mephirium might have thought the Ewok Sith Lord to be, he found himself taking the little beast seriously now.

Huffing a quiet sigh, he drew his cowl over his face and followed after the calling. The open-aired atrium was particularly unwelcome. His cloak caught the snow well enough, but his body had grown used to more temperate climates. The cold did not suit him.

Up the stairs he wound, a smudge of flowing black against the aging stone. His eyes half-lidded when he reached the stairwell's apex, peering into the darkness ahead. He did not dare probe out with the force; having no desire to prove that he was quite out of control in this situation. Instead, he kept to himself, keeping tabs on the immediate area but otherwise continuing on his way.

"Lord Warok?" He spoke aloud, his voice commanding and crisp, though he bore no arrogance. Such had been the failing of his master, it would not be Mephirium's own. Besides, it was rather unwise to assume you had any semblance of control the house of a stranger.

A wiser man would have sent an emissary, but Mephirium was too proud for such. What sort of contender for leadership would he be if he did not have the courage to meet with men who might otherwise be his enemy face to face?

[member="Warok the Defiler"]

 

[Isar]

The words echoed amid the cold stones. The scent of mildew and decay hung thick in the air, growing the deeper [member="Darth Mephirium"] went. A sudden creaking sounded from behind. A series of figures, shambling up the steps behind the Sith Lord. He might have thanked the darkness of this castle, for it hid the worst of their features.

Their flesh hung ragged and torn, peeling away in places. One was missing an arm. Another seemed heedless of the fist sized hole in its chest. They all wore the armor of stormtroopers, or Silver Sanctum soldiers. Those who had fallen in the war. Four pairs of sightless eyes stared at him.

The crow from before flew in and landed in front of Mephirium. Hopping along, it led him deep into the castle, the undead following behind, until at last they emerged into a wide room, with a high flung ceiling and a seat of simple stone at the far end. Two sentries stood on either side of that chair, clad in archaic armor of dull bronze. They stood motionless, wickedly curving swords upraised before them. Burning braziers scattered evenly through the room cast the light on their withered bodies. Walking corpses that looked to have died of frost years ago. Yet here they waited.

Scattered around that chair were a jumble of bones, their surfaces too white and picked clean to be old remains. No, these were fresh.

The crow flapped thrice and landed upon the stone seat, dislodging a skull that clattered to the floor with the others. A loud cawing split the quiet air, then the avian's body began to bulge and distend in little pockets and bubbles, as if boiling from the inside. Its beak opened, wider and wider until it suddenly split apart in a spray of feathers. In its place sat an Ewok with eyes that shone black as pits of tar.

"Who enters my domain?"

 

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This hovel was far different from the extravagance of Mythos' palace. It was the negative to the young Sith Lord's opulence that he seemed to relish in. The sickly sweet smell of rot pervaded the air. Mephirium scrunched his nose up in displeasure as he delved deeper into the shadowy abode, only hesitating when something creaked behind him. A simple look over the shoulder had confirmed his initial fears.

Warok certainly lived up to his title.

Drawing in a deep breath, the would-be-usurper continued onward all the same, doing his best to ignore the pervasive stench of decay. The rhythmic creaking of bone and the cracking of flesh was mind numbing. Mephirium had dealt with necromancy before, but it was never a pleasant affair. The sorcerers often delved into arts that made the average man waver. He was not a fan, but it was something he had learned to tolerate.

Blue eyes narrowed as the crow seemed to be torn apart from the seems and reforged into the Sith Lord he had come to see. An Ewok, as he had been told, but far from what he'd expected.

He would not laugh at Warok again.

"I am Darth Mephirium." He spoke calmly, unperturbed by the long-dead corpses that flanked the little lord of the damned. He bowed his head slightly in respect - this was Warok's home. It would be a dishonor not to acknowledge him, possible rival or ally though he may be. "I see the tales of your power are true." He mused. Mephirium was impressed. That did not happen much these days.

"Long have you served the One Sith, Lord Warok, and you have gained much for it. What you have built here is a testament to your power," he paused for a moment, "I would ask it of you."

[member="Warok the Defiler"]

 

[Isar]

Furry cheeks puffed in and out. Large, round ears twitched. The gaze never wavered. Some blackened fire had come alight within them, an unholy flame. Warok played with the fur on his arm, seeming to not notice as it came out in large tufts with every slight tug. The hair scattered to the floor, joining the bones and feathers.

"Power," high-pitched snickering arose from the ursine imp. "For what? For where? And at what price?"

Another clump of hair came free.

"All power has a price," he muttered, "A price."

[member="Darth Mephirium"]