nature/nurture
A cult festers in the bowels of Coruscant. With the Jedi’s focus so long distracted by threats beyond their borders, they failed to notice the one spreading beneath their own shadow. Until now. Recent reports have ousted the cult’s activity as they grow more brazen from complacency. Murders, kidnappings, evidence of blasphemous rituals. Crimes that still might have gone unnoticed so deep from the surface, if not for the growing pattern. Now, the cult’s center of operations has been triangulated to an abandoned factory. A sublevel domain, where city gives way to ruin, and humanity degenerates into something more primordial.
Though the cult is relatively small in number, they make up for it through unyielding zealotry. Their name is unknown. Their motives are unknown. But one thing is certain: they must be put down, before the blight can spread.
“Sire! Sire!” A hooded man burst into the derelict hall, urgency in his voice and gait. Before him, a surrogate throne illuminated by what semblances of light broke through the cracks in the ceiling. The proprietor: a young scarlet-skinned boy, clad in cloak and jagged crown. Despite his imposing status, his golden bulbed eyes shimmered with naivete. The Pureblood prince merely flinched at the intrusion, and turned to his regent for guidance.
“Halt, Brother Torr! You will show decorum in our Master’s palace,” The regent barked in a hoarse voice, “Unless you would invoke his wrath?” He splayed his bony fingers towards the boy, who made no show of dominance to his underling. Whatever had scared Torr, scared the boy as well. “Speak.”
“I… My humblest of apologies, Dark One,” The cultist panted, dropping to a knee in reverence, “But-- They have come. The… Jedi.”
“Blasphemer!”
“I speak no lies, Brother Varick! They have broken through our perimeter! They seek to undo us!”
Varick recoiled, reality piercing his arrogance like a needle. He held the silence for a few painfully long moments, stroking the white hairs of his long, drooping mustache, “...Send all that we have. They must not reach Master Resh.”
...
“Now!”
Torr startled to his feet, and unsheathed his vibro-sword with nervous energy, “Y-yes, Brother. For the Dark One,” He ran back out of the chamber, letting his fervor suppress his fear. The throne guards, like statues until now, followed behind with uncanny stoicism.
Once they had all left, Varick knelt down and turned to Resh, “We must make for the bunker, sire. The Jedi fear you. If they find out who you are, they will kill you. Such is their ‘mercy’. Do you understand?”
Resh looked around the now empty throne room. His voice, though meek, still echoed throughout, “...What about the others? Why do they-”
“-Their lives are forfeit!” Varick lashed out, his ashen skin flushing with sudden anger. This was not the first time the young prince had questioned his regent, “They die for your glory. Fret not, Dark One, there will always be more.”
“But you… You are irreplaceable.”
This factory floor once constructed horrible weapons of war. Now, it was filled with the clatter of ancient swords, and hums of plasma. Cultists bled from every recess like a plague of vermin, closing in on the warriors of light come to exterminate them.
They would fight to the death. Until their last limb could twitch no more. There would be no negotiation with fanatics such as these.
Though the cult is relatively small in number, they make up for it through unyielding zealotry. Their name is unknown. Their motives are unknown. But one thing is certain: they must be put down, before the blight can spread.
“Sire! Sire!” A hooded man burst into the derelict hall, urgency in his voice and gait. Before him, a surrogate throne illuminated by what semblances of light broke through the cracks in the ceiling. The proprietor: a young scarlet-skinned boy, clad in cloak and jagged crown. Despite his imposing status, his golden bulbed eyes shimmered with naivete. The Pureblood prince merely flinched at the intrusion, and turned to his regent for guidance.
“Halt, Brother Torr! You will show decorum in our Master’s palace,” The regent barked in a hoarse voice, “Unless you would invoke his wrath?” He splayed his bony fingers towards the boy, who made no show of dominance to his underling. Whatever had scared Torr, scared the boy as well. “Speak.”
“I… My humblest of apologies, Dark One,” The cultist panted, dropping to a knee in reverence, “But-- They have come. The… Jedi.”
“Blasphemer!”
“I speak no lies, Brother Varick! They have broken through our perimeter! They seek to undo us!”
Varick recoiled, reality piercing his arrogance like a needle. He held the silence for a few painfully long moments, stroking the white hairs of his long, drooping mustache, “...Send all that we have. They must not reach Master Resh.”
...
“Now!”
Torr startled to his feet, and unsheathed his vibro-sword with nervous energy, “Y-yes, Brother. For the Dark One,” He ran back out of the chamber, letting his fervor suppress his fear. The throne guards, like statues until now, followed behind with uncanny stoicism.
Once they had all left, Varick knelt down and turned to Resh, “We must make for the bunker, sire. The Jedi fear you. If they find out who you are, they will kill you. Such is their ‘mercy’. Do you understand?”
Resh looked around the now empty throne room. His voice, though meek, still echoed throughout, “...What about the others? Why do they-”
“-Their lives are forfeit!” Varick lashed out, his ashen skin flushing with sudden anger. This was not the first time the young prince had questioned his regent, “They die for your glory. Fret not, Dark One, there will always be more.”
“But you… You are irreplaceable.”
This factory floor once constructed horrible weapons of war. Now, it was filled with the clatter of ancient swords, and hums of plasma. Cultists bled from every recess like a plague of vermin, closing in on the warriors of light come to exterminate them.
They would fight to the death. Until their last limb could twitch no more. There would be no negotiation with fanatics such as these.
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