Rekindling the Dread [Sven]

[Subject 37]

“It will be done my lady.” Sven said the words with a smile, gently placing Sable on the ground and letting her rest within the power of the Nexus. He knew that she would need time, so much had changed in the past five years, not to mention the illness that was very likely still plaguing her in bits and pieces. There would need to be time.

He frowned slightly, looking back at her before going, nodding slightly and then leaving the chamber of the Nexus.

Quickly he carried out the tasks set before him by Sable, he took the holocron and the sword and placed it in the chest, pocketing the key without a second thought and only tapping the cloth once to check that the small piece of metal remained in place. Then he went about finding the Garhoon. He would be in the dungeons of course, but not yet in solitary.

Since Sven had taken control of Byss solitary cells in the Citadel were hardly ever used, in fact most of the cells were hardly ever used, there was no need.

Sable had commanded it however, and so it would be done.

Within minutes Sven found himself standing before Dissero's cell, a large open thing obviously meant for a dozen or so people to be held in, and not at all suited to hold a creature such as he. Wearily the King watched him for a moment, his amber eyes shifting.

 

[Dissero]

Standing at the center of the cell, the Archivist's hunched form was quite still. The entire ordeal of bringing that woman back had drained him significantly, but it wasn't his waning energy that effected him the most. It was the shock of her power - so much more significant that he remembered it being. Perhaps only due to her control of it before losing herself to the Locket's will, but never would he have imagined such a monstrous amount of power to be contained by one person.

And the souls. So many of them trapped within her, they'd nearly drowned his subconcious in a sea of agony, hatred, fury, terror. What had happened...how had they ended up there? The amount of power needed to capture them... to kill them? His mind reeled, cogs spinning so fast that everything nearly ground to a halt.

It all boiled down to the Phobis Device.

This. This was the kind of power required to craft such a thing. He knew it instinctively and for the first time since the destruction of the star at Rhomamool he regretted the waste of life. Not for the millions of innocents who had died but for the potential their deaths could have meant to further his plans.

One doesn't simply destroy stars when they feel like it. Except when one happens to be @Velok. But even then, Dissero digressed with a scowl, the Master had required help, and lots of it.

...

Blue eyes saturated by an angry yellow corruption turned upwards to the King as the man stood before him. Between them was a set of durasteel bars. Dissero frowned, suddenly remembering his current predicament. The Archivist's gaze darkened slightly. He stepped forward, hands still in the shackles placed there by the guards. He'd made no attempt to break them though it undoubtedly would have been very easy. He could have torn this place apart.

Could have.

The man's lips drew thin as he gave a strong exhale through his nostrils. He felt impatient, agitated, and quite frankly somewhat confused.

Why, exactly, had they seen fit to lock him up?

"You don't have to keep me in here," the man uttered finally after a long bought of silence passed between them, "I mean no harm."

[member="Sven Talith"]

 

[Subject 37]

Sven watched the man for a moment more, watching as the man tensed and untensed. He wondered what the man was feeling right now. The King of Byss was hardly an empath of course, but part of him craved the knowledge of what the force could bring, the reading of feelings and emotions would have been a great aid to him many times throughout his life.

He frowned slightly when the man spoke to him.

“Would you disobey your wife? The rightful heir and Queen of this world?” That was enough justification to throw the man into a cell, Sable wanted it, and here on Byss if it was within Sven's power whatever Sable wanted she would get. That was simple enough for him. He smiled slightly as he slid the key into the lock of the door and swung the cage open.

Bringing the man to solitary would undoubtedly be met with some resistance, though he wasn't really worried about it.

Before stepping into the cell he gave the man a warning, pulling force cuffs from his belt. “Please do not resist, I don't want to hurt you.”

He spoke the truth. He had no wish to harm Dissero, but if the man resisted he would. Sven knew that the man was likely very powerful in the force, but then again so had all the others.

 

[Dissero]

"I do not have a wife," Dissero remarked coldly, a lilting sting to his voice.

Not even a girlfriend...

The man forced his thoughts not to linger back to his time spent on Rudrig. Back to that house where many a night were kept with the company of a young woman he feared he would never see again. And now? Now he'd left another woman alone in his new home, likely wondering about what sort of errand it was that he'd left in such a hurry for. That had been a week ago.

The man's frown deepened, "but I can respect your reverence for a Queen. That I can wholly relate to."

He stood, eyes shut over a deep inhale, and lifted his shackled hands before him, pulling his hands into tight fists. There came a sudden movement, far too fast for the naked eye to see, and the sound of the shackles clattering to the ground echoed glaringly through the otherwise empty row of cells. Dissero slowly released his breath and opened his eyes, flexing his hands. His gaze, now keenly sharpened, honed in on the force cuffs.

"I do not need the Force to cause trouble, King," he gravelly tone uttered with only a hint of threat, Dissero moved forward towards Sven, stopping before the man, his presence filling the chamber, "but I will be less inclined to do so if you leave me my crutch. Where are you taking me?"

[member="Sven Talith"]

 

[Subject 37]

Sven looked at the man wholly unimpressed. He had seen a lot in his days, hell his best friend was a giant ten foot cat that stepped on regular humans. So a man like Dissero breaking a pair of handcuffs wasn't really going to sway the King of Byss one way or another, it would just mean they needed better handcuffs.

“Those are expensive.” Sven quipped slightly as his listless amber eyes drifted to the shackles on the ground. Clearly with Sable returned there would be times for jokes again.

He sighed slightly, then simply waved Dissero out of the cell. Even if the man was stronger than expected it didn't matter. Sable wanted something done so it would be done, though honestly he had no clue as to why she wanted the man imprisoned. He had saved her after all, and even though he was throwing the man into the deepest pits of the Citadel...he was rather fond of him...well as fond as one could be of someone they had just met.

“I am taking you to where my father kept his favorite things on this world.” That was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but solitary was where some of Moridins favorite creatures lurked. He wondered if Dissero would be surprised. He certainly had been.

Slowly Sven began to urge the man deeper into the dungeons. Windows disappearing from along the walls and torches beginning to light the path as they slowly went underground.

Eventually they reached a singular dark hallway, at the end of it a massive metal door. Sven eyed the hall for a moment, amber eyes darting back and forth between two limestone walls, there was no hint of light except for what came from behind them. Urging Dissero on Sven walked behind the man, stepping carefully in the darkness until they reached the door.

Then with a single swipe of a hidden lever on the wall complete darkness revealed itself.

Nothing but utter blackness showed beyond the now open door, though if one could see in the dark what they would find was rather disturbing. Instead of a black no windowed cell they would see a cage. The cage's dimensions were about fifteen feet by fifteen feet made up of an unknown metal, with the bars being big enough to fit a small mans arm through. The cage itself was a universal energy cage, meaning the force could not be used within.

Surrounding the cage however was something far more interesting, a massive open room, four other similar cages lining the outside. In the space between the cages roamed black blotches with eyes, skulking creatures that were too difficult to discern even with night vision.

Darkhounds.

 

[Quietus]

It was a week before the Dreadlady Sable emerged from the chamber of the Nexus, and when she did she walked with a renewed poise. Bare feet padded slowly, deftly across the cold tiled floors, savoring the sensation of feeling yet again. Her skin crawled as she passed from the ethereal realm of Force energies into the open air of the Byss citadel. There, before the entrance of the Nexus, her naked figure stood wrapped in a translucent robe of darkside corruption. It fell over her like a dark fog, roiling from her shoulders, down along her arms and across her breasts until it shifted along the curve of her hips to spill across the floor, leaving plumes of smoke at her feet.

She was rejuvenated. Her power, once more absolute, now hungered for purpose.

Slowly she began to walk, following the presence of Moridin's holocron and the Truesword. They called to her, these pieces of her soul, and warded off the curiosity of all others. When she found them she reached out, summoning each into her grasp from the safety of their keep. The Truesword gleamed as it made contact with her hand, and like a loyal pet greeting its Master she felt it released a surge of anger and heat. Sable looked upon it fondly.

Moridin's holocron felt much colder to the touch, reactive insomuch that the flow of its energy and darkness met her own in equal. With it near she felt complete despite her distaste for the object. Sable stood staring at them for quite some time, reveling in the unity and ease of flow - something she had not experienced in quite a long time.

"Your Majesty," a handmaiden dressed in black robes approached tenatively. Sable did not outwardly seem to register her being there, though she knew and could feel her life force like she might feel the wind.

"Queen Talith?" the woman winced as that putrid gaze fell upon her, "may I be of service? Is there something I can help you with?" Clothing, perhaps?

"Yes," Sable replied, her voice reverberating in an otherwordly demonic sound, "find the King." She stepped off, the cloud of corruption whirling around her, shedding like feathers in her wake.

"Of course, your Majesty, where shall I tell him to find you?"

The Queen of Byss did not reply, but continued her slow and methodical walk down the hall until she disappeared around a corner, making way for her room and her old robes.

 

[Subject 37]

After throwing Dissero into the solitary cells of the Citadel the King had seen to a number of matters on Byss. Most things took time, but for once he was happy to do them. Nearly a week later as he was lounging upon his throne Sven was met by a servant. The man had practically run into him with urgency, shaking slightly in what could only have been fear. The King of Byss smiled slightly, he had never been one for fear and intimidation, and neither had Sable really...but she caused it naturally, and to him it was a sign that she was home.

“Your Majesty, your Queen calls for you.”

Sven clapped the man on the shoulder and smiled, dismissing him as he pulled himself past him and headed towards Sables rooms.

He assumed that would be where he could find her, snuggling up into clothes that she had not been wearing for the past five years in a little stasis tube. He smiled at that thought, and then hurried towards the tip of the Citadel. That was of course where their rooms were located, the very top of Moridins old fortress. His steps were completely silent as he approached her door.

Gripping the handle tightly he pushed in, making his way into her room.

“Honey, i'm home.” He quipped stepping inside.

 

[Quietus]

Sable stood within the massive chamber that was the room she and Sven had shared many years ago. Displayed along one end were her many robes and outfits worn as an apprentice beneath the late Darth Moridin. Not all of them were truly her own, she noted, recalling that the Sable of this verse had spent quite a bit more time under that man's heel.

"We've had them all repaired, Dreadlady," spoke a young Acolyte who stood off to the side, "and we can refit them if need be."

No one had been sure just how her figure would hold through stasis, and indeed she had lost a tremendous amount of weight. More than was healthy for any normal being - but the atrofied muscle she had rebuilt, and her corrupted flesh had healed as much as it ever would. The body she stood within now was as close to new as one could get, given the circumstances dealt. She looked upon her many outfitted robes and for the first time in her life could not bring herself to don any of them. The originals reminded her far too much of her Demon and her loss. What newer outfits grew in her a grave distaste for the man she'd slain.

The Queen turned from her selection, expression impassive. None of them would do anymore.

The Acolyte glanced around, nervous, "Dreadlady? Is there something wrong? I could bring the tailor, they'll fit just as you remember, I swear it."

"No," she replied, demonic undertones snarling, the darkness swirling about her naked figure, licking at the portions of blackened skin. Sable stepped before the lone standing mirror that stood from floor to ceiling. Within it her reflection stared back - a child of the Demon from her past - red eyes spewing malice, beastly face rent in a silent snarl. She stared at it, gaze flickering across the familiar silhouette.

"Honey, I'm home."

"I will require a new set of robes," the Queen said finally as in the mirror her reflection tilted and skewed, ghoulish eyes casting a baleful gaze towards that of Sven. Even her darkness recognized the essence of her Demon within him. Sable beckoned the Acolyte towards her.

The Acolyte paused, glancing to Sven and back to the Queen, "We will craft for you anything you desire, Dreadlady."

"You will make me this," the Sith lifted her corrupted hand, placing the nail of her pointer finger upon the forehead of the Acolyte. From it tendrils of the Darkside flowed across the Acolyte's skin and seemed to seep in. Black veins grew from around his eyes which seemed to cloud over. He nodded, and when she lowered her hand he stepped away and exited the room behind Sven.

Sable turned back to the mirror, watching Sven within it as she moved closer to the glassy surface, inspecting her appearance through the fog of her demonic presence.

"This is not the face that I remember," she said after a moment of silence.

 

[Subject 37]

Sven crossed the room in a confident few strides. He didn't much care what Sable looked like, he never had in fact. Corruption, magic face changing talisman, even mutilation had never much bothered him. The love she felt for her negated all of that, she could look like anything at all, and he would still love her all the same.

He appeared behind her swiftly, slipping his arms around her naked body and pulling her to him with a surprising amount of strength and firmness.

The King of Byss kissed his wife on the neck.

“Perhaps not. But it is a face that I still love.” His words were punctuated with another kiss of the nape of her neck. He had no idea what she saw in the mirror of course, the demonic echo of his father. All he saw was the woman he loved...and the slight clouds of darkness around her, though thankfully he could ignore them quite easily.

He pressed into her still however, placing his chin on her shoulder and staring at the beauty he perceived.

 

[Quietus]

Her black hand lifted to deftly draw across the bare skin of her scalp where once there had been full, dark auburn locks of hair. Sable wasn't sentimental for the hair, merely for the memory of her own appearance - the one connected to her lost demon. Her hand stretched back until it found the flesh of her husband's face and pushed into his hair.

He was still here, still whole, still everything she remembered.

Sable watched his reflection in the mirror, eyes growing clouded with strange emotions. His presence having calmed her own demonic self, it was now barely a ghost in the looking glass. She leaned against him and turned in his arms, both hands now rising to envelop his skull. Relishing the familiarity of him, the smell of him, the essence of him, how it all lulled her into an undeniable sense of serenity, Sable pulled the man into a strong kiss.

"Do you remember the siege of Iego," she spoke into his lips, the beastly undertones of her voice having faded, "I asked you what you saw when you looked at the diathim," a husky sigh escaped her, laden with the desire to be as close to him as possible, "I saw you."

 

[Subject 37]

Sven grinned.

“You're a terrible liar.” He said as he planted another forceful kiss on Sables lips. Pulling her tightly against him he relished the feeling of his wive in his arms, pressing against her and nearly picking her up from the floor.

It would have been wrong to say he hadn't been waiting for this, hadn't been craving her touch since she had awoken. He felt utter glee run through him at the touch of her lips, at the feel of her skin. Sven practically melted beneath her fingers, his mind going numb and his more animal side taking over. His arms unlocked from behind her and slipped downward.

He grasped Sables bottom with two firm hands, lifting her off the ground and pressing her against him.

Letting out a loud laugh the King of Byss took a single step towards the wall, pressing Sable against it with another kiss.

Oh yes, he had been waiting.

(IMPLIED SEXUAL INTERCOURSE AGAINST THE WALL HERE)

 

[Dissero]

Two weeks had passed on Byss, allowing the King and Queen to rekindle their passion for one another. The time spent in each others company was likely bittersweet - if one could describe it as such.

The time spent rotting in the dungeons, bereft of moonlight, of fresh air, of sustenance in any form?

Most others would have died, but not this particular prisoner, no. The Queen had placed him there with the full knowledge that he would, in fact, remain very much alive. But rot he would, and after only a few days his ability to sustain himself by the Force alone began to wane. Soon, his body began to devour muscle tissue, and a deep and savage need for blood such that he had never felt before began to grow. Nevermind the paranoia of having spent so long in the dark with those beasts. Things he did not often fear but could never control - Dissero often made a point of steering clear of such creatures, or killing them outright where they might stand in his way. No choice in the matter here, their torment was incessant.

His sanity grew a hairline fracture - thankfully though, someone was coming for him, so it would not need to progress to full breakdown.

 

[Subject 37]

Sven practically skipped down the halls of the citadel on Byss, his foot steps quick, and somehow full of mirth. He moved quickly, rushing through the dark halls without a care in the world. His time with Sable had been...enjoyable. Over the last few days the two of them had done their best impression of a pair of bunny rabbits.

Like any man, this made Sven rather happy.

With a skip in his step the King of Byss made his way down into the dungeons, retrieving the man that rotted among the hounds. He moved to the heavy phrik door, scanning over it to ensure it had not been damaged or broken from the inside out. With a satisfied nod. He smiled slightly, and pressed a small key on the panel besides the door.

“Goodnews.” Sven intoned in a joking manner. “You've been paroled.”

A smile spread on his face, jokes made everything better.

 

[Dissero]

Dissero was in no state for jokes. The only thing he managed was a savage snarl and a failed attempt on Sven's life when the doors had lifted. Deteriorated beyond anything he'd ever been, the young Master of the Force was easily subdued.

The walk to the throne room was painfully long. Their arrival marked by struggle, Sven dragged him before the throne where despite his physical protest he fell to his knees in a bow to the Queen of Byss.

"I saved you..." he wheezed, eyes red and wild, sinew beneath torn clothing pulled taught, shivering, "I SAVED YOU WITCH. I BROUGHT YOU BACK. YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME."

 

[Quietus]

Sharp eyes watched the prisoner unwavering, what little of the Queen's face visible was bereft of expression. No concern, no mirth, as if made of stone. It wasn't far from the truth. On the throne the Dreadlady clasped long fingers around the armrests, black armored robes draped around her feet so dark she might as well have clothed herself in shadow.

"It was necessary," the words sounded, voice echoed by the demonic undertones of the millions of souls trapped within. Souls bestowed upon her by the late Dreadlord Moridin. Souls that would continue to haunt her every thought, her every moment, until the day she died.

"Your knowledge of me, of Dreadlord Moridin, does not allow me to view you as anything less than a threat, whether or not you believe it to be true," slowly she stood, cloak curling around her figure, at her side the Truesword sung a tune along the Force that could only be described as horrific. Sable descended the throne steps, leaving tattered vestiges of darkness in her wake, and approached the Shamalain son. She drew the Truesword from its alchemized sheath and drew the blade across the palm of her hand. Blood oozed, viscous and black with corruption, incantations escaped her lips as she moved to place the hand on his bare chest.

The blood burned into his skin, stinking of death and the arcane. Arcs of darkside tendrils grew from the shadowed haze surrounding her and slithered down along her arm, across his shoulder, and began looping around his neck. The Dreadlady's eyes lit with dark powers. She knew his weakness.

"I have need of your skills and powers, Dissero. Not now, but soon, after the Darkness returns. You will come when I summon you..."

 

[Dissero]

With a blade at his neck and a deathgrip on his arms by the noble King of Byss, Dissero had little choice to but listen. The Queen's approach was cause for some worry, and when she drew that blade the Archivist struggled to get away from it. Dissero knew, without a doubt, the power of the woman and the weapon in her hand. He had absolutely no intention of dying upon that edge and spending the rest of eternity locked within its spell. Strange how terrifying the thought was when one was at the other end of the Truesword.

Especially when it was wielded by its beloved Master.

It had never been so tame in his hands, it had fought his claim every time.

Her hand on his chest burned like the fire of exploding suns. For a brief moment his eyes rolled back and images of Rhommamool's destruction flashed before his eyes. Dissero gasped.

Bloodtrail. Fething Witch.

"What-" the words choked out from him as those black tendrils enclosed around his throat, the man's eyes widened, "could I possibly do for you that I haven't already done. You owe me your life, Sable, don't you forget that."

 

[Quietus]

"You will do for me what I cannot do for myself. You will help me end the legacy of Moridin," she withdrew her hand, watching as wisps of darkness folded in over the gaping wound of her palm, stitching it back together. A corrupt scar of black remained.

Truesword ringing hungrily in her grasp, Sable sheathed it in a single swift motion before nodding to her husband. The ritual was done and Dissero was free to go. The Dreadlady turned and slowly began to make her way back to the throne, pausing only at the mention of a life debt.

"The only being in this galaxy that holds that claim is the Dreadlord himself. You did not save me, Dissero, you have only prolonged my wait for the inevitable."

 

[Dissero]

Dissero stood, barely. His body was on the brink of quitting and it was by willpower alone that he managed to do it. Bloodshot eyes followed the Queen as she returned to her throne, but he did not leave. Not yet.

"You have something that belongs to me. A deal is a deal. I have returned the Truesword, give me back the Traveler's Locket. It is not yours to keep."

There was an amount of satisfaction in those words. Much like her sword answered only to her, that locket answered only to he - its rightful Master. Those were the terms of ownership passed down in the lore of the locket, true or not it was something he liked to believe. Anything to regain a big of pride for his efforts.

Speaking of efforts.

"The holocron," he said, glancing shortly back at Sven before taking two unsteady steps towards the throne, "that I will ask you for, humbly. It is yours by right, but he was my Master once, too, and my training with him remains incomplete. I require the knowledge he's stored in that artifact."

 

[Quietus]

Beasts prowled in the shadows of the throne room, hungry eyes watching Dissero very, very intently.

Seated once more, Sable set an indiscernable gaze upon the Archivist and after a moment of consideration for his first request did nod in agreement, "The Locket is yours." She had no need for it and certainly no want for it. Becoming the face of Silva Talith was now a natural thing, as naturally as shedding the skin of shadows she wore.

The Holocron, however, was a different matter.

Eyes narrowing, the Dreadlady leaned forward on her throne, "His is not for proliferation. That knowledge is precisely what I seek to eradicate from this galaxy." Destroying it was something she'd planned on doing. It mattered not for the loss of knowledge, everything the Dreadlord knew, she knew, Moridin had seen to that the same way he had seen to his legacy living within her. The inevitable was not a pretty thing.

But ... in order for Dissero to carry forth her plans he would require that knowledge. She could give it to him, of course, but it would not be the same as learning it from the Holocron. The artifact would not give to just anyone, and if he failed in those endeavors it would tell her easily enough that he was not capable of what she required.

"I will place it in your stewardship, Archivist, for your use alone. Moridin's Holocron does not leave your protection, ever, except to be returned directly to me."

 

[Dissero]

Dissero's frayed nerves were bringing feverish shakes to his entire body. The feeling he had now, one of indescribable relief, nearly caused him to collapse again.

"Thank you," he muttered, hands pressed together before his face, the man hung his head with a deep sigh, "on my honor as a man assigned to keep and watch over some of the galaxy's greatest treasures and sources of power and knowledge by the late Empress Desmius, you have my word, Dreadlady Sable, Queen of Byss, that holocron and its contents will remain secret and safe with me."

Just like the great Sith Spellbook.
Just like the Phobis Holocron.
Just like so many other objects under his care.
There was no safer place for such valuable items to be kept.