Rage[Ember of Vahl]

[The Handmaiden]

Anger was said to be the fuel of the darkside. It was said to empower those that called upon it, it was said to strengthen those that heralded it, it was said to consume and eviscerate those who called upon it. Anger was, and always would be the emotion that Sith called upon above else. It allowed them the easiest route to passion, it allowed them to unlock all the strength held inside of them.

The Handmaiden did not know this, and she did not care to.

To her, the force was unimportant. It was a tool, another thing that she could use to further the goals of her people. She did not care for anger or rage, she did not care for lust or fear, she simply cared about the Ember of the Vahl. There was no other considerations to be made, and as she made her way through the halls of the sacred temple she hardly seemed to care about the feeling of seething hatred hanging in the air. Her black robes swished as she moved towards the central chamber, her pale skin barely peeking out and her dead eyes slowly wandering around the halls.

Others of her kind would wander passed her, eyeing and assessing.

They all knew that something was wrong, they all felt what was in the air.

Anger, hatred, pure and utter loathing that could only come from one source. The Handmaiden did not seem bothered by it, did not seem to care in the least. She simply walked towards it, joined by others who were of a similar mind, or who would see the troubles for themselves.

The Central chamber of the Temple lay just beyond a pair of thick double doors, massive encapsulating stone that was carved with the visage of the Ember of Vahl gone passed. The Handmaiden lingered before the doors for half a heartbeat, enthralled by the images of slaughter and sacrifice. The doors then budged open, a wave of loathing falling on those that stood before it. A gasp carried from the Handmaidens lips before they quickly sealed, dead eyes folding closed for half a moment before opening again.

Another second passed, and then the Handmaiden stepped into the orchestra of rage.

[member="Darth Isolda"] @Other Vahla

 

[Asantas]

She was a quiet one...she rarely spoke unless she had to, her black tattoos shined in the light as she opened the door to the central temple...there was incredible power here and she could feel it coursing through her veins....it was quite invigorating to feel it....to feel the darkness within her. Her eyes closed for a moment or two from the experience but they opened again as she walked into the main temple...she was dressed in pure white robes with a hood over her covering only her dark orange eyes. She saw [member="The Handmaiden"] in the chambers....she was indeed a creature of power and rage....something that she will not provoke under any circumstances. She simply stood still at the center to bask in the darkness that reigned in this temple.

 

[Lassiter]

And just like that, someone was gone again. Sena wanted to pretend she was used to it by now. That the experience of death was something she had grown accustomed to. It was her job to cause death, yet when it struck the young half-blood herself she never seemed to be able to get over it. This time it was her master. Death in servitude, death through glory. It had knotted Sena’s stomach like a bad feeling. Tied it up in a confused sense of loss that she had no idea as to the why of.

Sena’s only ‘friend’ was dead. Ameli had fallen under that tab once, but hardly anymore. She had surpassed that. This was Sena’s connection to the Ember and the person who had seen the true darkness that existed beneath her weak attempt to appear normal and sane to society. Not that being a two-bit criminal had anything to do with the ‘acceptance’ of society, but it had everything to do with ‘sane.’

The young Sword of Vahl stared at nothing. Her eyebrows furrowed in righteous anger.

[member="Darth Nephthys"] was no more and from the ashes Darth Drethi would rise. The only question that remained to be answered was when.

[member="Ameli Trahir"] // [member="Betiliena Sudrenus"] // [member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="The Hound"] // [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] // [member="Kala Maedrin"]
[member="Pitar Brounake"] // [member="Sienna Vekarr"] // [member="Victor Mors"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

@Lassiter @Betiliena Sudrenus [member="The Handmaiden"] [member="Ameli Trahir"] [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] [member="Kala Maedrin"] [member="Pitar Brounake"] [member="Victor Mors"] [member="The Hound"]

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A savage Force scream would rip throughout the ceremonial chamber, blasting back the lavish sacrificial platform made of heavy nihilsmoke stone. The thundering crack as it rendered in two would echo along with the Chosen of Vahl's guttural cry of rage. She saw it just seconds prior to Darth Nephthys' sacrifice.

The wretched fool!

Isolda finally began to shuck her disguise, like a snake slithers from dead skin. The vaulted windows exploded and wind rushed in, howling over them all. Her robe fluttered, and furniture skidded across the obsidian floor. Ornaments of glowstone on the walls went flying like discs.

Her true form was hideous; the whites of her eyes grew black, the pupils a filmy yellow. Her skin was waxen and grey. She stood at least almost two meters tall, with claws as long as her fingers.

Rage would flare and emanate from the Vahla in palatable waves, rage that her vessel, her bloodline had perished. Her half of the whole was no longer a viable means for her continuation. Blood of her blood dared to perish when it was not her time. When she knew exactly what her purpose was for.

Spittle flew like bile from her lips, a pale arm swiping away at the contents in front of her, scattering off the table and onto the floor.

She would have to start over.

She would need another to take her place.

Another to mold for her continued existence much like Set to Hákon

 

[The Handmaiden]

[member="Darth Isolda"]

The Handmaiden artfully stepped aside as a chair went sundering against the walls. It splintered and broke into a thousand pieces, the ornate wood shattering completely and rendering a small dent in the durasteel lining of the room.

Beneath her hood the servant's eyes wandered, they looked about the room and slowly shifted to the figures within it, or rather, those slowly gathering.

The mistress was angry, perhaps the angriest she would ever be. The Handmaiden had seen lady Isolda in a rage before, yet this...this was quite something. The Servant's expression remained blank, her eyes slowly folding closed as she tried to take in some of the agonizing hatred that hung within the air. She waited for some fool to speak, waited for some enterprising Vahla to approach the dread mistress. Surprisingly, no one came. Perhaps they felt atmosphere of the room, correctly read into the fact that any spoken word would be met with a vile lance to the heart.

The Handmaiden only stayed at the edge of the room, sidestepping another chair as it was tossed her way.

The anger would subside eventually, though the wrath would stay. It was simply a question of who would receive that rage. Would it be the lost? Would it be those that were with her? Or would it be those that she sought to smite in her end. The Servant looked forward to that, finding out who would be punished.

 

[The Hound]

Regret, fear, confusion. He felt the emotions flow through the other lesser hounds as he and a small pack knelt before their mistress, heads hung low in a strange mix of defeat, shame and fear. The Force Scream billowed over the Hound and his pack causing their black cloaks and shrouds to billow heavily in the wake of Her power. The long red hair of the Hound whipped about him with frightening speed. The scream blew one of the weaker hounds away. A gurgling cry came from the writhing hound as it struggled to remove itself from a dark spire that hung from the wall. The other hounds twisted their heads sharply, their masks disguising their facial expressions. Their actions betrayed their emotions though. For them, failure was not an option. And neither was it for the Hound himself.

And they had failed.

The Vessel had been his charge. His responsibility, and she now lay dead on some distant world.Truth be told, even he feared for his life now. He had never felt Her this angry before. To be quite frank, the rage was intoxicating for him. Bonded to Isolda through the Force her rage was partially his own and vice versa. It was a wonder she kept all of His rage in check in close proximity, was this the result? Or was this rage truly her own? If so...

Her rage was terrifying.

[member="Darth Isolda"] [member="The Handmaiden"] @Lassiter @Betiliena Sudrenus

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

She had never known Darth Nepthys, and yet Joycelyn found herself entrapped in the rage and sorrow of her fellow Vahla. Their emotion became hers as she claimed her place among them, and as such, Joycelyn was on fire.

Unlike their leader, their prophet, the chosen Voice of Vahl, she did not throw furniture about or morph into a monstrous final form, but she held her ground and watched with her head bowed. A chair crashed into her shoulder and shattered as she braced. That would swell in the morning, but now she did not care.

Joycelyn's brown eyes peeked up at [member="Darth Isolda"]'s form of rage, and she found it to be beautiful. It was not the beauty of porcelain skin and rosy cheeks, nor of bright eyes and quick wits. It was the beauty of raw, unrestrained power; it was beauty from the deepest, darkest recesses of the abyss, where those who sought dominion over their fellows dwelled in eternal strife. It was a hellish beauty that inspired the most cruel factories of a Vahlacanthrix' mind.

Her master, the Sword Of Vahl; [member="Lassiter"], had ways to beat obedience and hatred into Joycelyn, but this filled her with inspiration for retribution, for vengeance.

 

[Asantas]

She never met or knew Darth Nepthys yet she felt anger and sorrow for her loss. When she heard [member="Darth Isolda"] in her scream of fury it caused a chill to run up her spine...She never saw Isolda so furious but the fact that Nepthys's death caused such rage her chill was replaced with burning fury towards those who executed her. If she finds them she will rip them into pieces and give there heart as a gift to the Vessel herself....either that or deliver them broken and alive for the vessel to annihilate.

 

[Darth Isolda]

[member="Betiliena Sudrenus"] [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] [member="The Hound"] [member="The Handmaiden"] @Lassiter



Rage would ripple in palpable waves from the woman, her chest heaving in the wake of her outrage. This ruined everything. Everything!

"The wretched fool!" she would snap out to no one in particular. Was this a test?! Eyes went wild, pitch black and solid as obsidian as the Chosen of Vahl would start to pace. A manic glaze came to her then, visage twisted into a horrid beautific mask of crazed zealotry.

"This is a test." She told herself, her voice barely that above the hush of a whisper. Elongated black tipped talons would dribble across her lips, and her pace would hasten.

"A test of faith. Yess..." of course. This was but a test of her fortitude. Of their commitment. Fingers would gesture wildly, lashing out as that jittering pitch black stare would swivel towards the Handmaiden and the others.

"The Goddess seeks blood from her faithful." she said simply. "Nephthys was but a testimony to her fielty..." her lips pursed into a straight line, the tattoos rippling over her skin like shadowy demons, slashing over the dermis to draw blood as if cut by thorns.

"A new vessel will take her place."