Rekindling the Dread [Sven]

[Dissero]

Byss - Capital - Talith Citadel

It was late evening and a chill rain had taken the skies above Byss. The Capital had been victim to storms for nearly a week straight. It was dark and dreary, and given his memories of the old Dreadlord, Dissero looked on with a faint amount of appreciation for the locale. It was the days of the Sith Empire all over again, but it had been years since he'd considered himself part of all that.

Nearly two years had passed since his flight from the Empire. Time spent in hiding, keeping his head low, putting his mind to his work. Brilliant though he'd been described to be by some of the galaxy's most brilliant, one couldn't claim greatness without a bit of help. Even the late Lord Moridin needed help in his day. Brilliance didn't come from power alone, but from the willfullness to push oneself past their limits, to seek out the unknown, to become everything they were meant to. While Dissero believed fully and deeply in this idea, it was the nature of how it need come to fruition that gave him pause.

He'd spent so many years holding back those misguided things. For a time, even, he believed he'd overcome the need to use them. One could achieve greatness without the darkside, couldn't they?

As he descended upon Talith Citadel he was reminded of the power that lay within the darkness. All those dreadful things wrought by the black handed demons.

His ship touched down on a landing platform of the Citadel and as he made to exit into the rain he spoke one last order to his trusted advisor; Mahet the Noghri, "Go home my friend. This I must do alone. Watch after Carré for me."


Taking the walk into the building, he stopped before a retinue of guards, blinking blue eyes through the rain as it sluiced through his hair and over his face. He could feel the weight of it settling into his clothes.

"I am Lord Dissero," he introduced himself through the gale, "and I've come for an audience with your King. Take me to him."

@[member="Sven Talith"]

 

[Subject 37]

Sven as always had spent the last few hours walking around the citadel, touring the ancient halls of his father and looking upon the myriad of statues, busts, and effigies of the Dreadlord Moridin that lines the corridors. There was a constant frown on his face, hidden by a mask and a hood. Beneath this mask his soft face had grown hard, amber eyes had become nearly dead, and a smooth face had become filled with a short beard.

The leather jacket that he usually kept so crisp and clean was ruffled and scratched in places, his pants matching quite nicely. On his hip her carried his Westar-43, and on his thigh was a long belt knife, though neither had been used in what seemed like years.

Boot steps rung out, the boot steps of a servant approaching his king.

“My King!”

A voice called out and Sven spun on his heel, facing the servant with an illusive smile touching his eyes. He responded kindly to the servant, Sven always did. “Yes Tim?”

“There is a man here to see you, he calls himself Lord Dissero.”

Sven eyed the servant for a second, unsure of how to respond. He knew no man named Dissero, and as far as he knew no man of that name knew him. Of course had his memory been better he would have recalled Dissero from his time in the Empire, when Sven had been a Moff Dissero had still been the governor of Rudrig, though to Sven that was so very long ago, and so unimportant.

“Show him to the throne room Tim, I will meet him there.” He patted the servant on the shoulder, and then headed for his fathers throne...his throne now.

 

[Dissero]

To say he recalled Sven from his days within the Empire would be a lie. Dissero had little reason to parlé with the Moffs and more often than not he'd been waist-deep in his own projects to pay anyone else any mind. Anyone aside from the Empress Desmius and any she deemed worth his time. Those had been few and far between, and none of them had been Moffs. Yet the fact remained that Dissero was a thorough man, and if nothing else his current predicament made him more paranoid than thorough. After a short talk with his nephew, Soliael Devil Talith, he'd made an effort to research his destination during his journey.

Byss was a planet that rang familiarly in his memories. His old Master, Moridin, had made the place his home. And despite Dissero's tutelage under the man being somewhat short, mention of the place had certainly been made. Byss was an important place to the history of the Talith line, so it came as no surprise that he'd been directed there.

The Archivist stood in the empty throne room, curious gaze lingering over the old King's high chair at the center. Truth be told, he'd expected something a bit...more, but perhaps there was a side of tact to Moridin that he'd not been privvy to. He was glad for the sound of footfalls and when the man turned to greet what he hoped to be the King, he could not help the dark grin that grew on his expression.

Mask.

"King Talith, I presume. I am Lord Dissero. Thank you for seeing me." Dissero offered his hand to shake, blue eyes never leaving that mask. Surely this was the descendant of the great masked Dreadlord.

 

[Subject 37]

Sven ignored the hand that the man offered, not out of rudeness but simply because he was no fool. Instead the King wandered past the man and onto the Dais where the throne was contained, never even coming close to the man and never completely turning his back to the mysterious Lord, and never allowing the tension in his muscles to loosen. He wandered up the steps, and then stood in front of the throne for just a second.

His fathers throne, not his.

Sven turned to face the man, standing in front of the throne and looking down through the cloth mask that covered half his head and his face. His eyes could somewhat be seen through it, though not at the distance that the two men stood apart. He watched the man for a time, trying to remember him to no avail.

“Forgive me for not shaking hands, but even now my fathers name draws killers and assassins alike.” His words were true, last week a man had attempted to kill Sven in his sleep. Some fool that had been wronged by Moridin when he had been Emperor, some fool seeking revenge. “Why are you here Lord Dissero? I do not oft get visitors.”

That was also true, no one came to see him anymore. Byss had settled down into its roll in the Republic, a fortress world, and nobody cared about a fortress during times of peace.

 

[Dissero]

Dissero withdrew his hand, unoffended, and turned calmly at his heel to follow the man as he stepped unto the throne. Curious, however, that he did not take the chair. Dissero's smirk did not waver.

"Normally," the man began, allowing his arms to rest at his sides where they would bring no cause for suspicion, "I would never feel so inclined to speak truthfully. But, as you stand before me King of Byss, we find ourselves connected by not only fate and fortune, but in a small way, by blood as well."

He stepped closer towards the throne, still strangely aware that it did not seem to reek of Moridin. As a matter of fact, though the palace was literally decorated with him, the man's presence seemed oddly absent. There was power here, no doubt, but it did not taste of Moridin.

"I studied under your father for a short year of my life during his reign as Emperor of the Sith. Under his tutelage I learned many things though, truely, he was rather a terrible teacher. I learned by watching him, studying him, working for him and by his side. I did many things I regret - but like most of his students I was far too enthralled by his Mastery to care at the time. He was smart beyond compare in many ways, and secretive. Very secretive. For a man so powerful, in the end, I believe it wasn't his power at all but his secrets that ranked him above the rest. It is those secrets I am after. One secret, in particular. You see, I am an Archivist, a Collector of antiquities of history and power, a Purveyor and Seeker of knowledge,"

Slowly, and with an effort to show he made not for a weapon, Dissero procurred from his robes a small, black object, "I was hoping, in my ceaseless journey of this knowledge, that you might help me find the missing piece to your father's holocron."

 

[Subject 37]

As soon as Sven heard the words connected by blood his blaster was drawn from his holster. It was out and pointed at Dissero's face with an almost inhuman speed, the kind that took thousands of hours of practice, the kind that was enough to match most force users, the kind that it took to kill those force users.

“It is not here, and I suggest that you look elsewhere.” If the man was looking for Moridins holocron, he was Sith, or he wanted Sith knowledge. That was enough for Sven to want him dead, or at least gone. There was only one Sith in this universe that he trusted, and she was deep within the citadel, at rest.

All the others were enemies.

They either wanted power, glory, or knowledge. None of which Sven was willing to give or part with. The Empire was gone now, which had lessened the flow of Sith to him, but every once in a while they appeared, either in search of his fathers power, or the head of his son. This one before him was no different.

 

[Dissero]

"Ah," the Archivist remained ever sanguine, unflinching before the weapon now aimed and eager for his departure. Blue eyes glinted knowingly and he folded his fingers over the holocron piece, "I thought you might be opposed."

He opened his hand again and the artifact was nowhere to be seen. Instead he reached down to his side where one of two weapons rested safely beneath his outer robe, and his fingers then closed around the hilt of a sword that Sven would be intimately familiar with. Dissero withdrew the blade from its alchemized sheath and immediately its seedy, contemptuous, hungry presence saturated the chamber. He drew it forward, holding it up in what little light now remained. The etchings of a long forgotten Sith language gleamed sharply. Sven would not be able to feel it, but the Truesword was the closest to its true Master it had been in over a year and it was lusting for her.

That grin of his grew a shade darker, "Where is the woman this sword belongs to? I've been meaning to return it to her. I think she would be most happy to receive it."

 

[Subject 37]

As soon as he saw the sword Sven's eyes popped open with an intensity that could only be described as ferocious. He gazed at the blade for only a second, recognizing it instantly and allowing his blaster to waiver slightly before settling it on Dissero's face one again. This time his voice was not the least bit pleasant, instead it was hard, almost cruel. “Where did you get that?”

His finger wavered onto the trigger of his blaster, clearly this was a question that begged for the correct answer.

That blade belonged to Sable, to the woman that Sven had loved from the day he had met the rest of the galaxy. It was as far as he knew the only possession that she had truly ever cared for, the only solid thing that she had always carried with her. Why this man carried it...he had no idea.

Though he intended to find out.

 

[Dissero]

In return he received a low chuckle.

So he did know her.

Pleased with this result, Dissero lowered the sword and, with some effort of his will, returned it to it's sheath. The suffocating presence of malice sifted away like the stench of death carried off by a breeze. The man's face visibly twitched and he flexed his sword hand, filtering the anger the weapon had permeated his being with. It was a fight to wield it, sometimes even to wear it. He couldn't fathom the power this woman had, but he was sure to admire her mastering such a heinous object.

The sensation of it made his skin crawl.

"The Lady Silva Talith, heir to the Hapan throne, was nothing more than a wolf in disguise. Something your father devised - one of his many ingenious plans to further his power and his reach. To reclaim his old home. He likened to do it himself, but even he knew that was a hairbrained idea. So he needed a sleeper and devised one out of the owner of that sword. He called upon me for a favor, knowing that like himself I also boasted a collective of powerful artifacts. Asked me for the use of one of my favorites. One of which I held close and guarded carefully," he looked to Sven, ever aware of the weapon still trained on his head, "she doesn't look the way she once did, does she? Tell me, was she ever able to return to her original self?"

 

[Subject 37]

Again he wavered slightly, the blaster falling to the side, shifting away from the mans face and back towards a statue beside him. The man knew, or at least he knew some details. That had been the last time Sable had helped Moridin, the last time before...His muscles flexed and the blaster trained on Dissero again, he was still not yet prepared to trust the man. Sven scowled behind his mask, he didn't like this, more of his fathers games, more of his machinations.

“She is fine.” He lied through his teeth.

By now Sven had figured out that he was a force user, either Sith or something along those lines. His reactions to the True Sword told him that much at the very least, the way he carried himself made him thing he was some sort of royalty, and the air about him told Sven he was well trained. It took him but a look to figure this out, Moridin had trained him this way.

“Drop that sword. Leave, and never speak of her again.” His voice was hard and stern, like walking on the edge of a knife. A small clicking noise could be heard as the safety of the blaster was disengaged by Sven's thumb. "To anyone."

 

[Dissero]

Another low chuckle. Dissero shook his head, keen eyes honing in on that blaster.

"You're lying. I know the face she wears and the one she has forgotten. Those dark, watery eyes, that long golden hair simply doesn't hold a candle to the beauty she once had. She's lovely now, but she's never been the same has she? That fire of purpose has burned out of her eyes. I warned her at the start that it could happen. Saw in her the desire to fullfill his wishes - knew it would happen. But Moridin had a strange effect on his pupils ... made them deaf to reason. Happened to me, for a time, but I saw in the end he was nothing but a bastard. I feel pity for what happened to her."

Of course Dissero wasn't aware of her fate, but he surmised she was involved in the Dark Lord's undoing. All that time up to the end she'd maintained contact. He knew of her troubles, and now he wondered if he knew more than Sven did.

"I can help her. I am willing to, but I will not leave this sword unless it is in her hands and I have my own trinket returned to me. If you wish to be rid of me, King, that is the fastest route. You can pull that trigger and find out what happens, but the end result won't get either of us what we want."

 

[Subject 37]

His scowl only deepened as the man kept speaking. His eyes shifted to his blaster several times. He really did consider pulling the trigger more than once. Snapping the mans neck would have been more satisfying. He did not like it when others spoke of Sable, especially people he did not know. Somehow however Sven managed to reign in his anger, and after the man said he could help...well be become much more amenable to conversation.

After a few more moments of considering, he slowly lowered his blaster, though he did not return it to its holster.

Sven of course still didn't trust the man, but it seemed he knew a great deal already about Moridin, and the effect that he had had on Sable, and what she had become shortly before her...illness. The King of Byss flashes his eyes upward towards the ceiling for a brief second, letting out a silent curse, or perhaps a prayer. “She is ill.”

He began to speak before his gaze fell back to Dissero.

“She was the one that ended him.” He didn't have to elaborate. “She plunged his own blade into his heart and scattered his soul to the corners of the galaxy. Since then...it has spread. The Darkside...or something, is slowly taking her. I cannot stop it.”

His eyes fell to the man before him again, tears welling within them. He had not yet accepted Sable dying.

 

[Dissero]

Dissero was no empath - he left that job to the women of his family, but it didn't take one to see the tension in what little of Sven's eyes were visible, or detect the waver in his voice. The Archivist frowned, his own thoughts briefly lingering back on a vision of a heartbroken Verie after learning of the fates of her family. The day she'd left his side to return home was the most painful day he'd ever encountered. A piece of him left with her, or so he felt. Somehow she'd taken a shred of his humanity and the thought made him scowl. He'd turned into yet another cliché agent of the darkside. Disgusting.

The man gave a faint glance around, releasing his gaze from Sven just long enough to gather his wits again. Dissero took a step closer, more put off by this sudden display of emotion from the King than being threatened with a gun. Bullets he could dodge, but despondent utterances? Inescapable. Seems Sable was worse off than he knew, but could it be the Locket causing her such grief? If she was incapable of returning to her true self was she also unable to access her own power? Had she forgotten everything?

"I can help," Dissero insisted, his voice lower, easier now. It did falter this time. Could he really? "...I can try. If it is the Darkside that plagues her...then she needs the help of another Darksider."

 

[Subject 37]

For the longest time Sven considered raising his blaster and placing three rounds into the mans skull. Such was the cynicism that had been bred into him by Moridin and those that had kept him company. Killing the man would have been simpler than facing the truth, simpler than facing reality. He frowned slightly, and then finally he placed the blaster back into its holster. Another click resounded within the halls, and the blaster fell back into its place inert.

“I'll...” He stumbled over his words for a second, letting out a deep breath. “I will show her to you.”

That didn't mean he trusted the man, but at this point to rescue Sable...he would bend knee to his own father. Without another word the King of Byss descended from the dais, wandering down the marble steps and towards a seemingly innocuous wall. He ran a gloved hand over it, touching three stones in quick succession and then tapping in the center of them.

Rapidly the stones fell in on themselves, rolling in waves away to the side and forming a hallways just big enough for a man to walk through. Sven did not even stop, he simply walked in, expecting the other man to follow.

He moved in silence, knowing that Dissero was right behind him.

The mysterious winding corridor went on for what seemed like miles, and by the time they reached a massive solid blast door the pair had been walking for nearly fifteen minutes. As they approached a quick bio-scan fell over Sven, a chirping noise immediately following it and the sound of hydraulics whirring coming after that. The massive blast door slid open revealing what surely had once been a treasure room.

Now instead of gold and riches it contained the only truly valuable thing in Svens life, Sable.

 

[Dissero]

All during the walk Dissero could feel the growing sensation of heat in his blood. It was unlike anger, but like a burning, vicious desire. The longer they traveled, the harder it became to ignore. By the time they reached the chamber entrance he felt his skin might boil and melt from his bones. As he waited for Sven to deactivate the security, the Archivist glanced down to the source of this overwhelming fury.

At his side the Truesword was seething, ethereal superheated malice seeping through it's alchemical sheath. Dissero frowned and closed his hand around the hilt, taking the resulting burn in stride. He'd spent a year mastering his will over the weapon, and it had always been a challenge, but no more of one than what he'd faced studying with Velok.

He stepped into the chamber after the King and allowed his gaze to settle on the lone stasis pod. It was overtaken by black veins of corruption - so much so he could hardly make out the withered husk of the woman inside. Were it not for the pale backlighting, he might've mistaken her for a corpse. She was far worse off than he could have imagined and for several long moments he doubted there was anything to be done for her.

Dissero approached the pod and brushed his free hand over the duraglass casing to clean away a layer of dust. Inside he could just make out the glimmer of golden hair and there, nestled between her breasts, was the Traveler's Locket.

"Have you tried removing her from the pod since placing her in it..." a glance was given to Sven.

 

[Subject 37]

Sven walked up to the pod, a deep longing within his eyes as he stared at his beloved. She was trapped within their, held within ice and glass. Tears welled up once again, though with a blink he trapped them once again. He placed a single hand on the glass of the pod, as if trying to call out to Sable, call out to her with an ability he did not, and could never have.

The tattoo's on his palm shifted slightly, the marks that her touch had left on him.

“No.” He said in answer to Dissero as his hand slowly slipped from the glass and back to his side. For a time he looked at his wife, then returned his gaze back to Dissero, amber eyes now fully visible through the mask. “The corruption moved fast. Putting her in stasis was the only way to halt it.”

He had no knowledge of how the Force truly worked, all he knew was that Sable had been dying, and this had been the only way he thought of to save her.

 

[Dissero]

He considered this and the implications of removing her from this icy tomb. In all likelihood, the effort to save her would only expedite her death. Dissero found himself wishing he'd brought the Darkside Tome with him. For now he'd have to rely on his enhanced memory of its pages and pull from it the arcane and mystical arts long lost to time.

"There will be no time to waste. Once she's free of the pod I will remove the locket and begin working to undo the spell. I believe it may be part of the reason why she cannot fight off this corruption. She abused the power of the Locket, she wasn't careful, and she's forgotten herself. She may have even forgotten her power. I'll need you to monitor her. Is there a medical lab somewhere nearby?"

 

[Subject 37]

Sven looked at the man for a few seconds, his eyes becoming weary.

The young King was not keen on the idea of removing Sable from her pseudo prison. She did not want her to die, and this was a risk. He had no idea if whatever the man could do would actually help her, after all he could just be trying to retrieve his own little trinket, and after he had it he could simply choose to scamper away with it. The Kind of Byss narrowed his eyes, thoughts whirling in his skull. No...no the man wouldn't run. He had to know Sven would kill him if he tired.

Finally after a minute of deliberation Sven answered. “My father kept a laboratory in the citadel. It is where he created Anwen.”

Bringing up his now dead sister did not seem to phase Sven in the least, the pain of that loss had long since been walled off in the back of his mind, and even now he refused to acknowledge it.

“I can have the pod moved there.” His voice still sounded unsure, then it shifted, becoming almost desperate. “Do you think you can heal her?”

 

[Dissero]

"I think, in this galaxy, there are many more qualified for the job. But they don't know what I know about the powers at work here. Jedi Healers don't have first-hand experience with Moridin's corruption. Sith Sorcerers don't know the intimate details of the Locket's spell. And none of them have dealt with her darkness like I have."

His fingers closed tighter around the hilt of the Truesword. Dissero funneled his will into it through the contact and his jaw grew tight at the effort. It was fighting him - all the worlds, it would win if he stayed here much longer. So close to its Master yet so very, very far from her touch.

"I cannot in good faith guarantee to save her completely, but I will do everything I can to make it so. I am confident in my ability and you know as well as I that making the attempt is better than losing her into such frozen obscurity. Every day you grow older, King. Will you one day regret not taking the chance on her before your own death?"

 

[Subject 37]

Sven's jaw tightened, and for what seemed like an age he did not answer Dissero. He looked away from the archivist and shifted his gaze to Sables face. He watched her for a time, her eerie stillness seeming to penetrate into him. His eyes narrowed, and then closed. Again he tried to reach out towards her, make some sort of connection, forge a path, and again he failed. His eyes shifted open, and he looked to Dissero.

Slowly he reached up and tore the cloth mask from his face. He let it drop to the floor as he pulled back his hood. Shaggy long hair and and equally decrepit beard graced his face. Amber eyes looked haggard and tired, staring at Dissero.

“Do it.” Was all he said before turning away.

Within the next few hours there was a bustle of activity. Sable was moved with her pod to the laboratory three floors down, taking the place of where Anwen had once been. Medical equipment was dusted off and returned back to full life, and within no time everything was ready for Dissero's work. In the corner of the room stood the lonely King, his eyes shifting about and worry creasing his face.

He still did not like this.