Hunger of the Elder

[Darth Voracitos]

The Den of Decadence​

- Chamber of the Lord of Gluttony - ​

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Thirty beings indebted to His Corpulence, quietly, shamefully exited the double doors of Darth Voracitos' personal chambers, while the Sith Lord sat relaxing in his own disgusting mass of skin. Though it had been some time since his form was last rendered incorporeal in recent memory, there was always the desire to refresh the sick bastard's carnal delights ever since his return from his expedition into the Netherworld. The galaxy raged on without him for what was only a few years, but in the horrors of those hellish escapades, the Sith Lord experienced more decades than he had lived shackling the undying tormented souls of the Netherworld - searching for something that was missing from his own tormented soul.

Ever since his original death, the Shadow Emperor felt always that something was missing from himself. At first, he bound his entire life up into the death of Ashin Varanin, the one woman powerful enough to destroy everything he had built before her. When finally he felt her die... at once the Sith Lord realize, this was not what was missing. Returning from his death by the hands of the reincarnation of his Grandfather in the time of the Primeval, the Sith Lord thought perhaps it was his possessions in life which ailed him. Again and again the Sith Lord would plot and scheme the re-acquisition of the Empire. His designs came to a head on Dromund Kaas, where his ambition imprisoned him in the face of Kaine Zambrano - former ally, long-time rival, current Emperor - and he spent time trapped in his worst moments.

When he was freed, he assisted in the reconstitution of the Sith Empire, and at last the possessions of his old life were reacquired. The consequences of his freedom however, locked him to bonds across the galaxy. The Sith Lord, went mad in all of the pain and death surging through him, and he could do nothing but rage against the galaxy itself. With his power, Voracitos created agents of his will, to hunt down and collect this bondsmen, included the one who freed him form his own personal hell. The precursor to the Coven of Gluttony was born, and Voracitos turned his greatest weakness, into a strength. Then, when the Sith Lord had everything he desired, still something ate him, a cavity, an empty void left unfilled by the strength of his power. That was the source of what forced the Dark Lord's mind up, a call to his great feasting desires deep in the well of the Netherworld, an untouchable object of his deep seated arousal for consumption - The Lost Piece of Voracitos.

He never found it.

Years later now, Darth Voracitos sat comfortably in the confines of the hierarchy he had created on this massive space station, housing the pyramid of his Coven of Gluttony, of which he was the top. An object of worship, tribute, and of absolute authority in absence of a Sith Emperor. If the empire crumbled, in its wake Voracitos and his Hungered Vassals and Starved Subjects would remain to serve him. All of them striving to be bearer to the nested souls deeply settled into the heart of the Lord of Gluttony, collected from his ventures into the Netherworld. A powerful source of strength, yet one of many Darth Voracitos drew from.

The Sith Lord had been meditating for days through physical exertion of various profane activities, a kind of moving meditation... or as moving, as one of his particular girth is capable of. His senses spanned far across the galaxy, amplified by the dozen hundred servants attached to his very mind. The reach of his sight knew few bounds any more. His mind's eye was capable of honing in on single individuals across the galaxy he had never seen or knew prior, if his will desired it. He could change that strangers behavior, make them do something they would never do on their own. If he willed it, he could make a mother die in childbirth. Or a murderer survive a lethal wound just a little longer to make sure he finished his next few kills. He did none of this, not because it would be difficult, but because Voracitos reveled in the natural Chaos that transpired across the universe that he could observe. The more her observed, the more he could feed from it.

Unlike Sith Lord's of the past who were only limited to the draining of one's life force, or the force itself... Voracitos, a master of consumption and the arcane transmutation of reality, thrived from the natural energies presented by natural chaos. Voracitos, could be sustained from the entropy of the force around the galaxy itself. He was a well of the dark side unlike anything the galaxy had seen before, or since. If Darth Nihilus was a wound in the force, Voracitos was becoming something more like a tumor.

A tumor that did not appreciate competition.

A Hungered Vassal was summoned into the court of her master, who had paused his weeks long meditation to summon one of her kind. She knelt before him in his disgusting naked glory, who peered down to the throng of subjects enjoying themselves in the various practices of hedonism permitted in the Den of Decadence.

"My Lord," She spoke beneath a mask that hid her hideous disfigurements. Without moving, her Master replied to her in what sounded as a distracted drawl.

"There is a disturbance in the force... do you hear it..." The Hungered Vassal hesitated to respond, searching within herself for whatever it was her Lord felt. "It sounds... delightful... "

"What is it, my Lord?" She looked up ponderously.

"It is something, I... shall see destroyed." The Dark Lord rumbled in a calm wave of rage and fear passing through the Hungered Vassal's chest, momentarily numbing the daunting music the thralls across the station were enjoying themselves with. The glass Voracitos' was viewing them from cracked almost imperceptibly.

"Prepare for my departure, Vassal, I am going hunting..."

 

[Darth Prazutis]

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Forgotten Tomb of the Elder One, Unknown World

Deep within the northernmost reaches of the Outer Rim tucked away in some dark corner of the galaxy sat this small forgotten world. It was a world out of time and wiped from all star maps, it location hidden even from the history books and texts of the ancient Sith. They wanted it forgotten, needed it to fade away into the annals of history and fall through its cracks. They had even unloaded hordes of their deadliest Sithspawned beasts and set them loose into the wilds to mercilessly slaughter interlopers to ensure this worlds secrets stayed buried. For six thousand years it remained a silent, forgotten, empty world with nothing but nature and beasts its inhabitants.

Except for one.

There was one lone structure built into the center of a desert filled with monsters and it was massive. A structure built from the masterful hands of the legendary Zuguruk during the golden age of the Sith people. But much like the grandiose tombs of Dark Lords and Kings this one held no markings on the outside, no engravings of figure carvings telling of the grand deeds and reputation of the one who held within, nothing to remember them but a pair of blank doors with runelike wards on the front that radiated power. It was all that could be mustered to contain what was within.

It was sheer power.

Anger, hate, rage, raw fury burned within like the heat of a thousand suns pulsing like a beating heart in the center of the desert. It slip​ped through the cracks of the warding and beckoned the dark creatures of the desert and they came. But even in dessication and imprisonment the being within still found a way to infest them with its malignant influence. The stairs of the tomb were turned into a battle ground for over six millennia staining the exterior of this structure with dry crusted blood, while old bones lingered all over the steps. The rage within set monster against monster, pack against pack, herd against herd, all fell in on one another after just a lingering feeling from this beings rage.

It was the rage of an eternal being that felt the passage of time, that felt its essence tortured with unspeakable agony every waking moment for the past six millennia and it was angry. The being was something so black, so foul that even the Sith people locked him away and left him to rot where he could do no harm, where no shrine could be built to his glory. All that was known from a single carving on the outside of this tomb was a single name: "Here lies the Elder One. May he suffer until the ends of time and until the last star dies."

That might've been true until the gates to the netherworld began to strain and crack from the pressure of the ancient Queen [member="Nefrahasias"] and the horde that strove for release. It cracked the seals enough to let a moderate group of malevolent souls escape from the Field of Blades and make their way to the world of Tash Taral to recover their preserved remains. First of these souls was Zamiel the Skulltaker, Highlord of the Sovereign Guard of the Elder One, and he was followed by his massassi guardsmen, kissai priests and sorcerers. Some of the blackest souls from a forgotten generation had escaped that wretched field and set out the work they had waited all this time for.

A reckoning.

No matter how forgotten nothing could break the bond between Zamiel and the Elder One his god. He felt his god's presence like a beacon across the galaxy and his agents went to work procuring what was needed. The last was hundreds of chattel from all over the galaxy, Zamiel and the Kissai wove their spells of control and entire slave rings disapp​eared bringing their chattel with them following the crimson beings to the forgotten world.

​Until they found him.

It boiled Zamiel's blood to see the squalor his master was left in, the prison build to hold a god. Any tomb worthy of the Elder One should be so grand, so massive it ought to be seen from orbit. It should go for miles in every single direction and proclaim his greatness to everything that saw it. As the shuttles landed on either side of the great tomb a massive column formed outside of the doors as slavers turned into loyal thralls by the blackened spellwork guarded a great line of raggedy, malnourished slaves. While Zamiel stood in front of the doors with a group of kissai priests. They chanted low lending their power to him as he uttered an arcane incantation his own words thrumming with power. He thrust his hands forward and with one swift stroke the purebloods spell blasted the doors open with a violent roar in the force, shattering the bindings.

​Debris and clouds of dust blew into the air as the inside of the tomb was open to them. A long gold tiled hallway led down into a single great circular antechamber at the very end where a single large sarcophagus stood bindings sealing it shut, and a pair of great chains further sealing the being within away. Whatever loomed within seemed at least somewhat aware of what was going on, as its fury was now directed into fuel that poured through every cell in Zamiel's pureblood body. The rage was so overwhelming if it were anyone else chosen they would've had their minds utterly shattered, their souls buckled under its pressure and turned into gibbering bloodthirsty killers of anything and everything around them.

But Zamiel was prepared for this blessing, this gift by his great master. As the group advanced within he swung a hand forward bringing forth a massive telekinetic grip down that effortlessly ripped the chains off the sarcophagus, while the Kissai shattered its binding its runes fading. He swung his hand forward again as he neared the coffin and blasted the great stone lid off, crashing it into the wall and turning it into pieces.

There he was.

​The Elder One sat within the massive, deep sarcophagus his arms folded peacefully over his chest and his body dessicated. Where once deep red skin was now it was black clinging loosely to old bones that threatened to turn to dust with every passing day. "Bring the ingredients." ​Zamiel ordered. The group of kissai escorts surrounded the coffin each placing in the gathered ingredients from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. The preserved, canopic jars of their masters organs, grave dirt, a pure hearted soul, and blood from one of the Elder One's living descendants. The language he spoke was foul and radiated with power and the dark side.

"ខ្ញុំសូមអំពាវនាវដល់ភាពងងឹតបំបែកការចងភ្ជាប់នៃអក្ខរាវិរុទ្ធខ្សោយនេះទទួលយកដង្វាយដែលខ្ញុំបានផ្តល់ឱ្យ។ សូមឱ្យអែលឌើរម្នាក់ដើរនៅលើផែនដីម្តងទៀត។"

​The entire tomb shook as a cloud of crimson energy coiled around the sarcophagus like a sentient serpent, coiling until the last word whereupon it reached up and smashed right down into the coffin delivering a beam of crimson energy up through the tomb and outside, a palpable roar echoed all around the tomb from the eldritch being that lurked within, a massive disturbance of the force and a beacon to those that something wretched had just occurred.

But what emerged was no being.

Zamiel and the Kissai dropp​ed to their hands and knees bowing in worship as a great black cloud emerged from the coffin it surged with sentience, burning with fury and hunger. It emerged into the scorching sun to see every red skinned guardsman, attendant, and priest bowing in worship before the Elder One. As for the humanoids? It engulfed them mind, body, and soul one by one with ravenous hunger. If it wasn't one of his faithful it soon became engulfed entirely within the ever growing black cloud while their blood soon began to fill the great sarcophagus covering the remains and the organs within in its crimson liquid.

This went on until every single being outside had died, but there were more tucked away on one of the shuttles. The essence finally receded back into the tomb when the last scream faded it was sucked back into the coffin that now overflowed with blood. A being slowly emerged from the flows of steaming, practically boiling blood and stood up. Its black and gold beautiful outfit dripp​ing with the steaming blood, while its crimson skin looked dark and pallid. The being only said two words as its aura spilled forth heavying the air, it felt like an unbearable, crushing weight just to stand before him.

"I hunger."

[member="Darth Voracitos"]

 

[Darth Voracitos]

An unbearable crushing weight pierced through the flesh of the galaxy in hyperspace, barreling into an indentation in the force; a great ripple suspended in one location where the trough of the force sank into a deep cavity into a single world where no star chart recorded one. The ship was guided through the force alone. Voracitos had never used instinctive astrogation before, he was not known for it. He could however, will the small crew he brought aboard his personal monstrosity (The Girth of Gluttony) to plot a course to a very specific point in space, and that is exactly what happened as soon as Rosalunn Javil (his Hungered Vassal) did as he directly and prepared for this departure from the Den of Decadence. It did take some time however, to call upon this illusive and highly automated craft Voracitos liked to keep hidden away from prying eyes. It was once his magnum opus, but now served as a reminder to keep his own hubris in check... something which he may be reminding himself of now.

"My Lord," The Lady Envy came and knelt before the Lord of Gluttony as he continued to meditate in his personal quarters. Voracitos opened his eyes lazily, and gazed upon the masked figure who had clawed her way up to become his Vassal. She was an admirable servant of the Coven, though he knew of her covetous behavior. It was the nature of the sith, more so in the Coven, and especially with this particular individual in question. He had heard a few rumors of her tragic background, and even had her divulge her own story to him upon hearing of it. He relished upon her tragedy, though his nature never outwardly demonstrated his appreciation for her misery. Often, he made sure his Vassals and Subjects never knew he took an interest into their very lives. The Shadow Emperor was an inquisitive and curious creature that paradoxically kept very much to himself. Voracitos nodded to his Vassal, prompting her to speak.

"What is it that has garnered your personal interest, that you have brought us upon your own private warship?" The Lady Envy's voice was quite and muffled behind her mask, almost meek if the Sith Lord did not know better of her.

"As I have said, there is a disturbance in the force... one caused by a massive and sudden loss of life. A wound in the force, one quite-like my own presence but less refined... less focused." Voracitos' eyes squinted in the darkness, illuminated only by the inert holocron the glowed above his Throne, a holocron that once housed a manifestation of Voracitos, that encompassed all of his weakest traits (prime among them, jealousy). Since returning the realm of the living, the Sith Lord had consumed this part of himself long ago, dissolving it and destroying it within the cauldron of his own gargantuan soul. "I sense more life is being drawn there, and the wound shall grow. This..." Voracitos' fists clenched his Throne, "I will not allow."

"Then, our mission is to destroy it, my lord?" The Lady Envy inquired, looking up to her master with dead hidden eyes.

"Our mission, is to consume the wound... control it if we cannot, and destroy it only if we must. I will not accept competition in a galaxy fraught with threats to my power, especially ones I do not know, nor had foreseen." Voracitos rumbled with his own particular waves of anger and fear coursing through her... he was channeling a great deal of force energy, unnaturally unparalleled, radiating with the essence of death and eternity at once. Composing herself in the face of this, The Lady Envy questioned her lord once more.

"My Lord..." She started, fairly meekly, "... how then might I be of service to you? I am but only a single Vassal to your Gluttony?" Some what shaken, The Lady Envy lowered her head to conceal her perplexity. Voracitos furrowed his brows in frustrated disappointment.

"I would have thought surely one of your own vanity would not humble yourself so deeply before me, embarrassing the power I have bestowed upon you in my rarest generosity. Perhaps I was wrong to give you such strength?" Quickly The Lady Envy looked to her Lord in some measure of fear, realizing the er of her words.

"I sought no such humility, my Lord! I voiced erroneously a misjudgment of your wisdom, where I had no place to judge! The strength is yours, but I have still much to learn to use it. I seek only your guidance, my Lord." Voracitos was silent for a time, but in his minds eye he slowly found himself satisfied with her recovery.

"You will learn, in time, Hungered Vassal." Darth Voracitos voiced finally, putting on the air of disinterest. "Leave me to my meditation, and prepare for the surface. There is much to prepare for..." Voracitos closed his eyes, as the Lady Envy bowed and exited his immediate presence to conduct preparations.

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A shuttle lowered itself further into the atmosphere what was a dead world, following only the disturbance that continued to pulsate outwards, as the Girth of Gluttony eclipsed the stars above them. The wind blew with ferocity in the dead of the night, as the Imperial Shuttle settled down upon the sands in regal fashion. The shuttle opened, and descending down the platform was the masked woman, The Lady Envy and her procession of Starved Subjects who fanned out in a semi-circle outward of their approaching Lord of Gluttony. The levitating Throne stopped short of the Lady Envy, who stood beside the Sith Lord, staring at the sparse ruins practically vibrating with energy in the force.

"This is the source," The Lady Envy spoke in the arid air.

"Indeed," Voracitos agreed mildly, "Let us take a look at its face, shall we?"

The Dark Lord and his procession moved across the sands closer to the domain of [member="Velsharoon"], the one who hungered so deeply.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​Some time later...

​After all he was finally free.

The prophetic warning he gave his captors all those years ago weren't just the ramblings of madness as they might've thought. Whether it was a thousand days or a thousand years he would return, it was as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning. But to finally reach that day? After thousands of years languishing in this prison feeling the agonizing passage of every moment, the horrific tortures prepared for his essence within this trapped vault while the rest of the world moved on. It tore at his very sanity and threatened to pull his very being apart every waking moment.

But now he was free.

​As the last of the stronger captives died screaming in agony as their souls were ground into fuel for this dark being he stepped down from the sarcophagus the blood oddly enough was completely gone from his form. It was a meal barely satisfactory for the over six thousand years he spent languishing away here. More would be needed to fully recharge after so much time. "How many years has it really been, Zamiel?" ​Velsharoon asked the hulking pureblood, he didn't truly know exactly how long it had been feeling it pass without knowing how much time was passing. It was only after being motioned to rise that he stood and spoke "Well over six thousand years holy one. Much has happened since you were sealed away."

Just how much time didn't quite bother him it was what had happened while he was sealed away that was concerning. He would need to catch up quite a lot in the coming days.

​There was much to be done.

It was late by the time the last of the slaves were brought in for the sacrifice, time had passed quickly.

 

[Darth Voracitos]

Voracitos felt each step displace the sand of this world. Every dirty toe strung together by skin and sinew, shackled by chains of iron, prodded by blades of unnature... blades of Sith of the most literal sense. Everywhere the darkness of night reached, Voracitos felt unimpeded. Every sobering soul, every pit of rage... even the hole in the force they were all destined to fall into. There was nothing the sight of Voracitos could not reach, could not feel, could not touch.

The Dark Lord approached, and witnessed the slaves pushed to their inevitable doom by servants of whatever malevolent spirit had been locked away here. Voracitos briefly sympathized with the wound in the force, recognizing his own state after being dead for so long, and after being trapped in his own self-made prison. Yet, after his journey's into the Netherworld of the Force, Voracitos had become enlightened to the pitiful nature of life... how its fragility was unsatisfactory to a being of hunger and death. These slaves would have once been the sustenance the Lord of Gluttony craved.

Yet as the Dark Lord evolves, so does his hunger.

This was not the strength it desired... but Voracitos knew exactly what it needed to find true satisfaction. The souls of the vengeful, of the hated and despised, the most despicable beings to ever live... the tortured minds of a thousands villainous creatures throughout the universe of the living force. These, Voracitos kept. For these, Voracitos suffered most to taste. Voracitos never did find the emptiness within him, the piece he assumed missing from himself in the Netherworld, convinced his soul had been shattered by the imperfect bonds he had created tied to his original death. After consuming the pseudo-facsimile that had plagued his reputation as the Girth of Gluttony, his avatar of jealousy, Voracitos thought it was over. When his mind had been fractured by a thousand bonds across the galaxy... it became clear Voracitos had grown more than he realized, and he was no longer in control of it all.

That was the price one paid, when one relied on the living, and allowed oneself to be confined to the parameters of death.

"I feel... sickness." The Lady Envy remarked, an unease settling even in her, but by the strength of her Master's presence, her will was maintained. The effects of their proximity to the hungry wound proved to be less forgiving to her Starved Subjects, though even they, likely by the cool presence of Voracitos residing within them

"You sense weakness, a hunger that grazes the cheek with teeth too dull to cut the real meat of substance. It may learn, in time, to sharpen its teeth... but while it is weak, it shall resort to these..." Voracitos gestured loathsomely to the slaves... "Soft, foods." The Lady Envy pondered this, but was possible by her master's own habits. Thus she risked curiosity for the knowledge of her Master.

"Yet master, you feed upon these weaker one's as well... why is this different?" The Lady Envy was glad to see her question did not seem to bother the Dark Lord, who appeared to already know what she would ask, a lesson he know doubt was preparing to impart upon her since they had arrived.

"For I am already filled with the substance I hungered for, but my desires reach beyond my full stomach, and thus I taste upon the weak... and they die by virtue of their languished spirits alone." Voracitos grinned internally, thinking what the mass of people might taste like... but the taste was always the same... it was the inflection of their death that truly satisfied Voracitos. "Be silent now, for I shall summon the wound we seek."

Voracitos approaches the tomb finally, alone, with the members of his Coven far behind. Guards stand before the Sith Lord, the last of the slaves wandering into the chambers. With relative ease, the Dark Lord holds the guards in their place, their minds like putty in the hands of an angry sculptor. Thus, he learns the name of his enemy, and he bellows so that all the world would hear:

"The Elder One I call upon thee, [member="Velsharoon"]! Appear before me, the Lord of Gluttony..."​