Mark of Kaine [Darth Carnifex]

[Blake Morrigan]

​

Vain Hollow​

​

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] |​

There was something flowing through the womans blood.

She couldn't pinpoint it. It was something that fueled strength and determination. Her heart was pounding, her auds so warm from the blood flow. Her gaze flicked back and forth like slicing daggers in the night. Her steps were firm and deliberate, leaving in their place the most obvious footprints possible. Her brandished golden eyes were flaming with ferocity, the hints and hues flickering. Her cloak bounced in harmony with her steps, only moving out of cue by the occasional breeze. But any air that swept through this humid land was tainted with the odor of the rotting vegetation that overflowed the borders. Step by step the female walked with purpose. It had been so long since the last time that she had thought that she had a purpose. The girl never believed that she was ever worth much. The only ones who seemed to boost her self esteem were the voices in her head. Ivory was long gone, and her new *master* did not seem to give much incentive to reach for the top. She didn't know him all that well, but she felt that perhaps she could trust him to deliver upon her the knowledge to be great. But she still didn't. Elusive and manipulative behavior was common in the Sith; Blake knew of that all too well.

A low growling rumbled deep in her throat. It felt so odd, her throat vibrating in such a manner that she was not used to. She was a acolyte, hell, even less than that and so she would occasionally be a bit submissive. But she was also probably the nicest Sith to breathe air. Rarely would she publicly display any anger or rage or loathing. She didn't hate anyone. She just feared for them, feared that their bitterness might lead to their downfall. She feared for for all of the other hopeless souls that were incapable of achieving anything greater than their worthless mundane lives. But based on what she read in the ancient Text, Sith were always haters; They was incapable of true care or love. There was no way for them to understand what it truly meant to have others be loyal. Loyalty meant respect, and yet the Sith only respected others out of fear. But Fear...was always effective. She knew this to be an absolute truth.

In then end Blake needed to ask herself why she choose the Sith over say that of a Jedi?

And every time she asked herself that question the same word always came to mind...

Power.

But not Power for the sake of Power...such a thing was worthless to Blake.


Some people say that money is power. Others say that knowledge is power. Still others say that power can only be given, never taken.

Sentimental nonsense.

Money is not power, money is wealth. Knowledge is not power, knowledge is wisdom. Using wealth for your own ends is simple bribery, and using knowledge alone for your own benefit is trickery or extortion. Money and knowledge are only means to an end. Power is knowing what you have, knowing how to wield it, and doing so without question or hesitation. True power lies only in the hands of those who can truly appreciate it and properly use it.



And to attain this power she would shake hands with the Devil himself.

And as the woman approached the great hollowed castle her gaze flicked over the Gothic exterior in admiration for the amount of effort made in designing such a marvel of a castle...

Still though, she was here for a reason. And as she approached the massive gates the woman scrunched her nose, unsure if she should knock or...call out?

Stay rigid, legs of mine.

We aren't done yet.

​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

​

The Black Gates of Vain Hollow
Panatha

Before her rose the monolithic spire of Vain Hollow, hewn from the gutted corpses of a mountain so tall and mighty it dared to scrap the roof of the world with its peak. Power and darkness seemed to undulate around the structure, the ground pulsating with latent energy as the land seemed to wither around the citadel's foundations. The ground entrance to the castle was barred by a massive door of blackened iron, its surface sculpted to form heinous images of robed Lords and misshapen beasts writhing in a mixture of ecstasy and agony. Before the gate were several pillars of marble and metal that lined the small thoroughfare between the vast wastes beyond the castle's border leading directly up to the castle walls in which the mighty door was shut to all outsiders.

Atop each pillar was the statue of a winged creature hunched over as if preparing to leap from its perch and swoop down to catch its prey in wicked talons, and the eyes of each statue seemed to follow the young woman as she passed them by. But there were also true eyes that monitored her approach, for at the ramparts on the walls stood many soldiers with long vibro-spears that periodically moved across its wide expanse in their endless vigil. Some turned to stare down at the girl as she neared, but none did or said anything to halt her progress.

It was when she was near enough to the steps leading up to the gate itself that a presence desired her to pause, to neither advance nor retreat. After a moment of silence the two doors barring her path began to swing open of their own accord, a great groan echoing off the weather-blasted stones around her. Beyond the gate's threshold was a small cadre of black-armored soldiers led by a man swaddled in crimson robes with a reflective helmet concealing his features. The figure first neared then beckoned the woman to pass beyond the outer walls of the castle to join him, and upon completion of that task the doors would begin to close behind her.

Upon closer inspection it appeared that the man in red wasn't a man at all, his movements were all too synthetic and his speech was metallic in nature. "His excellency is pleased at your arrival, mistress. He waits for you in the great hall, I will take you to him." The base of the citadel seemed reserved for the militant aspects of the King's power base, there were numerous garrisons and vehicle garages scattered about the interior with a great many troops practicing maneuvers and formations in the many courtyards beyond. It could be expected that the more one rose up in the spire the more everything became more geared towards the royal family with feast halls and bedchambers and a great many other things.

Even at this ground level the interior of the castle's structure was exquisite, the architecture a blend of older gothic styles and more modern Imperialist decor. The walls were lined with art, mosaics, and various tapestries all of dark origin with guards posted at every major point within the structure. The occasional servant could be seen scurrying about for this task or that task, but they mainly avoided the woman and her escort. It wasn't until they reached the entrance to what could've been a massive ballroom did the red-man leave the woman to meet with the God-King of this dark realm.

Alone.

And the man she had been so desperate to see was now standing at the very center of the chamber, his very presence exuding authority and demanding obedience in return. His body was swathed in dark maroon and brilliant gold vestments, with a crown of black steel and square-cut rubies sitting upon his brow. "I've been waiting for you, [member="Blake Morrigan"]. Although I do wonder why it's taken you so long to finally come here."

 

[Blake Morrigan]

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”​

​

~​

​

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] |​

​

You know why habit rhymes with rabbit, 'cuz your whole life disappears down a rabbit hole. When you grow long sensitive ears to better hear the sounds of sirens coming for you, it becomes an instinct to escape down that hole before your predators find you. Well, it seemed Blake is the rabbit and her inner desire for power is her predator. She wanted no secrets, no lies, no betrayals so she could at least live with herself without waking up in broken dreams and despair. But what happens when the darkness in your life comes crawling back, lurking in the deepest, darkest shadows just waiting for the right moment to strike again -- well that big fat cloud of darkness in her life are all the mistakes she made in her past. It's almost always impossible to get rid of it, one reason why is because that dark energy clings to the vulnerable and the innocent and unfortunately Blake is in her most vulnerable state of mind...

She had been exposed to much in the coming weeks...the lessons she had learned and the wisdom she had reaped exposed her young fragile mind to understandings that she found herself agreeing with more and more...although even her own logic prevented her from fully giving herself into the ancient teachings. And as her gaze wandered over the colossal iron gate decorated with depictions of agony and darkness so thick it choked the very air she breathed the girl could only stare with a trace of concern upon her features. Golden eyes wandering upward to the pillars on either side of her and a breath escaping her in the form of a gasp when the ground shook with the weight of which the doors swung open...the echoing groan so great it shook the girls very bones down to their foundation.

Blake lifted an arm, shielding her eyes from the gust of air and dirt which wafted heavily in the breeze as the man on the other side of the door draped in crimson robes greeted her, his words making Blake narrow her gaze for a moment...ignoring the dry robotic tone and mainly focusing on what he had directly said...

Mistress...? His excellency? What was she getting herself into...the highest being she had come into contact with was Darth Abyss and he simply broke her leg and made her crawl behind him like a dog...now she was going to meet with royalty?

She was not sure if she should of been feeling excited or nervous...so she simply decided to feel them both at once.

And as the robed man turned to escort the young woman within the sovereign walls of the castle. Taking a breath and limping after the man as she scooted her walking cane forward and keeping pace with the mysterious being as she curiously examined her surroundings, taking in the soldiers training with one another as she passed through and entered the upper levels of the Gothic palace. Passing large dining rooms, bed chambers and massive corridors before finally reaching a massive ball room...the red cloaked man leaving the girl to herself with the presence of darkness itself sitting just ahead of her...the mark on her arm throbbed with pain, wincing in agony and clenching her fist for a moment as she approached the center of the room before stopping several yards away from the Kings Throne...she'd kneel, but the brace on her leg restricted a good amount of her movement and so she merely bowed her head...averting her gaze to the floor and taking a deep breathe...

This man...his presence was rather demanding. More so than Abyss...his dominance was quiet, elegant...yet the wrath within his soul was enough to make Blake tremble...A precursor of famine, the ravager of beauty and the usurper of wealth. He is a man composed of debilitating darkness, the cavalier of decay wrapped gallantly in sanguine robes. A curved beak gilded, glimmering in its satiating garnishments of mannerly offence, acerbic syllables sure to scorch (the salt in a weeping wound) and appall, though bandage with liquid honey. There is a predatory charisma which exudes from every encrusted aperture; a miasmic allure, a tyrannous magnetism which alike moth to flame, only fascinates to burn.

To scald the skin, and fester the flesh. Classic, dapper debonair, he extrudes the more roughened persuasion of masculine refinement, the hard boned stature absent of soft and fleshy distinction to define a more a lacking caliber, but there is nothing upon him that manifests the slightest provoking thought of subtlety within the hardened expanse of powerful, rippling sinew, and delving, calloused features of someone who had to mature far beyond their due.

And when he spoke...Blake flinched at the very words. Her response however was more immediate, if not slightly delayed.

"With all due respect...My Lord...you were not easy to find." She replied, the pain rising from the mark on her arm only growing more and more intense as she shook in place. "Y-you have been...waiting for me?" She asked, stuttering through the pain which began to wrack her body and consume her soul...

The mark had never reacted to anything this quickly before...this really was the man who had cursed her with the mark...but also the one who had blessed her with its pain.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Finding me should have been a trivial task for one such as you, [member="Blake Morrigan"], marked as you were."

He neared, the air shimmering and parting with each step as if the molecules were desperate to not make contact with the man. Each step was like a thundercrack of power, the Dark Side of the Force surging through his flesh like an open conduit. He stared down at the smaller woman, his gaze thoroughly piercing as his pupils shone with the raging sulfuric miasma of hate; though none of it was directed at Blake specifically.

"I made no effort to conceal myself from those who wore my mark." He jabbed a gloved finger down towards the scarification on Blake's arm, the markings burning with renewed agony as they came into closer proximity with their creator. "It was your initial unwillingness to accept my gift that delayed your arrival, the near outright refusal of the boon I delivered onto you when you naught but a wretch cast aside into the lonely abyss."

His eyes narrowed, "How can I be sure of your worthiness now?"

 

[Blake Morrigan]

​

"Never forget that which is never remembered." ​

It was a shiver that passed through her, a tremble that echoed in her bones. A feeling she could not describe nestled in her breast, and she felt as a child once more. A fragile, tempestuous child- one charmed by the world as much as she denied it, denied it's ownership of her. Yet still capable of being entranced with the thought of something more, something greater, so long as it came from herself and not the pompous words of her elders.

How far she had climbed and then fallen? What vision was it that brought her greatness, love and devotion? In the presence of a God, of something truly beyond, she had forgotten.

Blake steeled herself. The voices reverberated in her ears, their shadows lingering, unforgotten. If not for her ambition she might have fled, but no, this was what she had come for. And it was not false- not so much as she could see. The statuesque figure of the god-king was like that of a ghost, ephemeral yet eternal. Yes, she was entranced, and how she wished to laugh at her thought of flinging herself into the sea, the deep and dark that would have claimed her if not for this.

Overdramatic, reckless, and inferior. She was aware. But it was not anger which broiled within her, at herself or others. For once all her efforts had not come to naught. What a heady sensation it was, powerful enough to draw her forward no matter how much she resisted. She was afraid, but not helplessly so. Blake stepped forwards, upwards, ascending to the waiting being.

"I don't care much for gifts...from you or anyone else. Gifts are the same as being given something without earning it...simple handouts." Were these truly the words that passed from her lips? But if her thoughts were known. she had no reason to pretend. No reason to falsify her serenity, her righteous calm, like the eye of a storm. She had questions, and he was the only one who could answer them.

It was in the right of this man to deny her, to destroy her on a whim, this she knew. It would not stop her, not seal her lips, not extinguish the fire that burned in her.

"But to answer your question...'am i worthy' of your boon?" She spoke, her voice strained with emotion, even as she lifted the arm which the mark he bestowed upon her resided. Screaming in agonizing pain as she narrowed her own eyes and stared up at the god with a scowl of disdain equal to his own, yet not directed towards him in particular. "To be worthy of this...i can't say that i am. If i was worthy of it i likely would of done something with it by now. But instead i continue to deny it and suffer its pain on my self made path to power. I came here to ask you...why you put it on me. And what exactly its supposed to do? Because so far, it's only been driving me mad." She asked directly, standing her ground as her heart thrashed within her chest.

Now or never child...you may never have this chance again.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"You wear the mark because you are my chosen."

He was unbearable close now, the pain of the mark singing with renewed strength as every cut seemed to seethe with anticipation and hunger. He reached out to gently caress her face, his hand gargantuan in comparison to the smaller woman. His thumb traced a line from her cheek to her lips, gently rubbing across them in an insidiously intimate manner before his hand slowly began to trace down to her neck where the fingers began to tighten around it.

"Your destiny cannot be handed to you, [member="Blake Morrigan"]. I gave you this mark so that it would help guide you on that path, the pain it inflicts upon you is the greatest of wisdom. It would be wise to give it your full attention."

His fingers continued to tighten, slowly cutting off the air from her lungs and undoubtedly causing bruises to form where his fingers dug into her porcelain flesh. But he did not fully invest himself, only half-throttling her before he finally relented and let go of her throat. Still, it was obvious that casual violence was not below the despotic King even if he had deigned to anoint her as one of his 'chosen'. Far worse had been inflicted on others for far less offenses.

"But it is clear to me now that you require extra guidance, a pity, but not everyone can be as attuned to the dark as those who came before."