Accept the Pain
Equipment: Prison Clothing
Objective: Awaken
Target:
Halketh
Location: Unknown
This is the beginning of a man who, in his stupidity, became a big problem.
Objective: Awaken
Target:
Halketh
Location: Unknown
This is the beginning of a man who, in his stupidity, became a big problem.
It had started with the returning of his awareness, the cracking of the ice and cold enrapturing him in a tight embrace, the rising of air in his blackened lungs, the racing of his black and silver blood, and the recognition of God's voice. These in tandem would have been enough for any man or woman to rise from an intended eternal slumber. But for this man, who would from here on be referred to as Laoth, Tave Nsticutr, or Darth Tera - a man from an old age of the Galaxy regardless - it was not enough. He needed more to complete his awakening. Thankfully for him, more came. Following the initial onset of happenings, Laoth was met with a rush of hot air on his skin, or at least air that was hotter than what had surrounded him for longer than he could ever know. It had also come with the sound of more voices, concerned and tetchy. Wondering and questioning were additionally common in the tongues they spoke as the air continued to flow onto him, but they were all silenced by the mere tone of the primary speaker.
He felt grateful for this as the numerous clatterings of teeth and tongues in concert protest or argument with each other began to build an additional layer on the anxiety that had itself begun to form in the man's heart.
The process of returning to some form of life, or as he currently understood it - death - was not as cheerful as one would think. In fact, beyond the awe the man felt from the sudden warmth and the sound of God's voice, he did not think much at all. The memories of his entombment at the edge of the galaxy had already passed out of his head into the infinite that he swam through at this moment of time. No longer was that much of a concern to the man. Instead, it was blinking away the bright white light that plagued his vision and standing on his own two feet. This, also, was not a cheerful experience. Instead, it was quite horrible in every facet. The caged doors of his tomb finally completed their opening motions and the man fell forward, expecting to land on the hard pads of his feet but only found his face smashing into the cold stone below. With his wrists and arms chained behind his back, Laoth could not break his fall and took the brunt of every impact on his body.
This sent him spiraling back into a momentary lapse of consciousness. Within this moment, the memories of his entombment came back to his mind like a second bowl of stew. In this bowl, he saw many faces that he had - in his stoic silence - sworn eternal vengeance on. Mandalorians. Jedi. Nomadic exiles. Wayfarers. Even Sith who had come to view him as more of an annoying problem to be dealt with than a true enemy to strike at by themselves. All grouped within a coalition designed to hunt, trap, and imprison him in the furthest reaches of the Galaxy. They had succeeded with little issue, more so due to the fact that the man had come to grow weary of the troubles surrounding him and the increasingly complex plots throw his way to eradicate him from existence. Thus was he placed with a void-like tomb where no stars shone in the endless stretch of the dark. What happened during the time of then and now was lost to him, but he was sure - as sure as he could be - that he had died in some manner and that God would explain it all.
Consciousness revived him once again and Laoth swiveled his head to the side, vision hazy but without the blinding light. He saw stone and metal in the distance, along with masked and robed figures whose aura was unmistakably drenched in the Dark Side. He then shifted himself - scooted really - in such a way so as to now be resting on his knees, yet still in a prostrating position. Muscles throughout his body ached and his bones felt close to snapping under his immense weight that he felt bear down on him in full capacity. Only through the intense desire to see those who freed him and general Devaronian stubbornness did he manage to rise up from the floor.
His eyes - clear of haze and light - were now stone set upon that whose aura was the most rancid and vile out of all who stood before him, battle marked and reeking of war. Encompassing their body was an aegis of such craftsmanship, it surely could only be fit for one of deific status. The girth and viciousness of the armor sparked an image of one Tulak Horde in a strange way, while the carved masque perhaps harkened a likeness of Darth Bane or even Andeddu. Any historical importance of these figures, though grand in the antiquity of the Sith and Galaxy as a whole, was not ironically important to Laoth who merely remembered their faces and that they were, at one point, very powerful people. To a man like Laoth, that was all that mattered.
And so, in his simple mind, if one could invoke such images of such strong people, then surely they must indeed be God or one similarly powerful. Thusly did the man, coated in sweat and grime of epochs passing him by, smile and lightly bow his head. "Thank you," he said kindly. "For freeing me."
Then, he looked up and around once more and inspected his surroundings. The stonework and the iconography barely lit in the darkness of this dank place were old. Very, very old. Of such oldness that he could not even begin to contemplate how old - indeed, really incredibly old - they might be. But there was something else with them too. Exuded from the pores of the stone, above and around, was the faint sensation of the Light. Laoth knew immediately that any sensations of the Light surely meant the Jedi, and the Jedi surely still hated him for what he had done to them.
Turning back to the armored figure, Laoth simply asked: "Where are we?"
