Eternal Father
Starfighters banked down and around a towering stone spire, the empty wastes of Ziost stretching out below like a faded gray tapestry. Much of Ziost had been rendered barren in the preceding wars of the Sith, the once gleaming world of magic and marble reduced to a dust-strewn wasteland. It had fallen to the Ashlans in those intervening years since the fall of the Sith Empire, it's grand mausoleums painted over by the golden hawk. But that had all changed now, the Sith had returned and they had not been idle. Even now, the world was changing.
Great canyons and pits had been dug deep into the earth, excavating thousands and thousands of years of ancient Sith history. Great, monstrous facilities of heartless metal now wound deep through the planet's surface, dug deep like corkscrews. From the air, they appeared no more than gaping wounds, massive trenches torn by the hand of some tyrannical titan. The world had been scarred forever. Out of the largest of the pits emerged a massive star destroyer, horrifying black metal draped across a corrugated skeleton, engines burning with a bright unnatural glow. It pivoted in the air, turned it's nose towards the heavens, and charged through the clouds and into the endless void of space.
The Dark Lord could see all of this from the spire jutting out from the land, black and gnarled like a blasted hearth, as though a sword had been driven through Ziost's heart. When the Sith had returned to the Holy Worlds, they'd had to fight to drive the heretics from Dromund Kaas and Korriban, but not from Ziost. Those that still called the wastes home had done the work for them, rising up and casting down the Ashlan oppressors before the Sith fleet had even arrived. Most of the Ashlans had been killed, displayed in a gruesome fashion to appease the Sith as they landed, but not all of them.
One sat at the Dark Lord's side even now, slashed clothing hanging loose from their emaciated body. The shackles around their wrists and ankles weighed them down, they couldn't move their limbs if they tried; though it was not because the shackles were too heavy, they were just too weak. The Dark Lord fed off their essence, drawing it into His body with a mere gesture. He sampled their suffering, devoured their life force bit by bit, savoring each morsel. Soon this one would expire and be discarded like the others. But there were more, there were always more.
"She's arrived." The adjutant knelt solemnly, pressing their forehead against the floor in total submission. The Dark Lord didn't even look at them, He instead pulled another strand of vitae from the husk at His feet and smiled. "Good, send her up."