Eternal Father
Sometime During The Late Battle Of Bastion
Darkness guided him.
Showed him the way.
His blade feasted on the vitality of any who were foolish enough to stand between him and what he desired, the corpse-light reeking off of their desiccated bodies as they crumbled to dust on the fetid pocked earth. His stride was meaningful, burdened with purpose as the trees swayed in the nearby greensward bordered by the once glimmering towers of Ravelin, now riven by the still-raging conflict and strife. He could not hear the tumultuous sounds of the battle which continued to grind down the city's infrastructure, nor could he see the thick plumes of acrid smoke which broiled into the smog-clouded sky.
Both had been robbed of him by Vilaz Munin, that unsung Mand'alor. But as he had told them, he required neither to hunt his prey, to navigate the twisting and winding permacrete urban sprawl of the once-Great Imperial Capital.
He stalked along the way, the tattered hem of his cloak trailing behind him as he lunged from place to place. Often he had to suffer a brief respite as the enemy attempted to leverage their superior numbers against his singular lonesome, but all they showed for their efforts were the soot-stained armor left behind in his wake.
His journey was near its end, he could sense it just ahead. Blaster fire from the broken doorway pattered across the ground, easily evaded by one such as skilled as the Dark Lord of the Sith. He sent the offending soldier careening further into the house with a single kick, snapping his spine from the sheer impact of his body against the ornate paneling. He entered the room, stooped down so that his head did not scrape the ceiling, and he fell upon those still lurking within without hesitation or mercy. Blood splashed across the flame-licked floor as his blade flashed out like a viper.
When all was said and done, eight corpses joined those who were already still when he arrived.
Sheathing his blade, the Dark Lord of the Sith looked about the domicile with a grim stoicism complementary to his dour demeanor. His empty eyes fell upon the body which served as the keystone to this grisly arrangement of death, that of a once regal woman whose face was clutched in the final moments of her life.
An unfathomable sadness compounded by grief and regret blemished her features, and it was enough to make the Dark Lord's brow curl down in a solemn grimace. He knew this woman, she was a woman of intense potential and ambition. Now she lay dead upon the floor of her broken home, surrounded by the corpses of her enemies. From the fallen lightsaber near her body, it was clear that she fought to the very end. Falling to one knee, the Emperor reached out and slide both of her eyelids down over her eyes. Reaching out with the Force, he summoned a nearby dark sheet to swaddle her body in. She would be honored with a proper burial, not left to rot or be made a spectacle of by anyone who would fall upon her home by happenstance.
But just as he moved to leave, something drew his attention to a spot just above the mantlepiece. Movingly slowly, the Dark Lord of the Sith reached out and found that the inner mechanism of the wall reacted to his touch, and a hidden compartment slid open at his beckoning. Inside was a sight that made him pause, briefly hesitant as his mind processed the trove he had just uncovered.
Then, reaching out with a gentle hand and a calm voice, he said; "Come to me my child, this is no place for you any longer."
Jaivant
