Roots of the Past

[Darth Prazutis]

Pacanth Reach, Panatha, Iron Mountains
Prethia...
[member="Vigdis Zambrano"]

Nothing could diminish the beauty of Panatha.

In the thousands upon thousands of years worth of history nothing could diminish the tropical worlds majesty. Not strife, disease, famine, and certainly not war could blemish its majesty for very long. For the Epicanthix war came as easily as breathing it was apart of their daily lives, their culture. Everyone knew how to fight every man, woman, old and young were all learned fighters. Even after the most recent war had come when the Ssi-Ruuvi Imperium came to raid Panatha, sending the First Order down in flames, the world recovered. In the worlds darkest hour Arch-King Servelus Zambrano called and his family, the Saziliebm's or twin Sovereigns answered.

It was a slaughter.

The Ssi-Ruuk were butchered with such violence word spread straight back to their very capital. They would never forget the day the Gods Kaine and Braxus returned and brought with them fire and death. Legions of Blackblade Guard accompanied by abominations of the void, demons from the great beyond went city by city, town by town with the Royal Army and together with First Order elements they repelled the enemy. In that time the Shadow Hand, Warlord, King, Saziliebm, the God-Prince Braxus Zambrano accompanied by his daughter showed her the beauty of her peoples homeworld, her families homeworld. Together they walked down the streets of Canthar, stayed in the Hasi' Sulemi, Seat of the Arch-Kingdom's government. He spent time showing her the beautiful but perilous jungles and seas. But on this day when she stepped on the familiarity of his personal shuttle Midnight, they didn't head back to his ship.

They went home.

"I'm taking you to where I was raised, my home." He told her.

When the shuttle finally stopped with a resounding thud the ramp dropped and a full complement of crimson armored Crownguard descended, over a dozen of the royal protectors descended the ramp moving off into the distance while four of the rare Nerean Crownguard waited, at the ramps end. As the pair descended the location was evident to both of them. Colossal mountain peaks completely surrounded them on all sides, the familiar fog and treacherous winds of the hazardous Iron Mountains. But the location itself drew more attention a massive castle rising almost as high as the mountain peaks. It was well hidden in one of the most strategically chosen, defensible positions in the Iron Mountains. It was a construct of a bygone age, a handcrafted masterpiece of black stone and blended metal. It was the former ancestral seat of House Zambrano, a place forgotten by history with an infamous, haunting history to the rare few who knew of it.

The Dreadfort.

It was roughly century before the birth of Kaine Zambrano that House Zambrano had been forced out of the Dreadfort for good, the royal houses legendary power in the famous Sith Monoliths diminished, its dilapidated and twisted armies a mockery, an insult compared to the vast legions of the families infamous Black Empire, a farcry to the hordes Solomon the Black created to rule as a god. The twisted and malformed Zambrano descendants saw their families butchered, their remaining forces decimated and those who survived were tossed out of the Reach in permanent exile. But in that time the Dreadfort survived, it held a distinct lack of maintenance, marred by the scars of the past war. It was in a sorry state with many of its peaks and spires shattered, parts of it collapsed along with many arches, holes marring its secure rooftops. But there was no mistaking it as a stronghold for House Zambrano. The dark side was powerful in these mountains, a planetwide nexus it was strongest in the mountains that held the families greatest strongholds and tombs of the many deified Kings. The shuttle landed at the base of a long windy path, while members of its escort the Death Squadron flew as a perimeter guard scanning the area creating a no fly zone.

"This is the Dreadfort. Its a fraction of what it was when I was born many centuries ago. When I was young the beauty of the fort was so captivating crowds of artists came from across the planet to capture it in just the perfect lighting to paint. When we regained control of Panatha it was a seat of kings." Braxus said as he walked forward to the pathways edge, gently kicking a rock off down to the fall below. "The most influential and powerful lined up for miles to gain an audience with our family. Here we displayed the Eye of Solomon proudly for everyone to see. After we regained control of the kingdom we were proud my daughter." Braxus said pointing to two massive depressions in the earth in strategic positions visible around the fort, they were covered by debris, rock, and mother nature's embrace but they were still visible. "When I was a child we were protected here by walking Monoliths, Sith born creatures like walking mountains, some of the last surviving creations of our ancestor, the god Nemeroth the Defiler. We had many in the beginning but the greatest three were charged with guarding the Dreadfort, they stood in those depressions right there. As long as they stood we knew we were always safe, no army alive could withstand their fury."

 

[Vigdis Zambrano]

Panatha burned, before Vigdis and her father Braxus Zambrano returned with the Sith Forces. As Canthar shuddered in its’ battle throes, little Vigdis held King Servelus’ hand. Soothed him as her father’s abominations broke the cascading sky and decimated the reptilian scourge.

Her first lesson in true power, the anger of God-Kings rained upon Panatha, while Mandalorians fought beside Epicanthix and two warrior cultures were temporarily one. It was given to Vigdis to but scan the horizons. Watch and remember.

Born off her ancestral world, to an Epicanthix mother, Vigdis never experienced the beauty of the jungle planet, nor of its’ blood-spilling people. Salt air struck her face as they ventured to the sea, and everywhere the ten year old Princess gasped. Recorded in her journal for later reference.

“Home, father? I’d like that very much.” Vigdis folded her spritely hand into her father’s massive palm, sitting prim and calm beside him on the Midnight. Unlike their journeys through Canthar, and the jungles of their home, today Vigdis’ eyes never left her father’s face.

He was going home, and somehow there was a deeper reverence to the way he said it. A meaning in her child-life she all but missed. Tiny fingers played with her father’s index finger, as the world washed around them.

Guards swathed in red swept around, and Vigdis walked to the edge of the boarding ram. She stuttered a gasp.

The Dreadfort was more than her infantile imagination could attest to. Unlike any structure she’d seen thus far. Crumbling palace of power, it stretched before her with the soothing lullaby of the Dark. An artist still came upon this place, although her skill would develop in time. The pride of House Zambrano clasped upon her shoulders as a cloak. She painted her mind with images of dignitaries romping up the path, barrels of gifts laden on skiffs. Of painters and photographers in the barren mountains seeking a glimpse. Her eyes settled on the sitting places of the Monoliths.

How sad. How achingly sad they too were gone.

“Papa…” Vigdis skittered to the edge of the path, watching the rock her father kicked tumble down. “Why is it broken? Are we going to fix it, father? May we go inside? See more of it?”

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Why.

The words of [member="Vigdis Zambrano"] were of a very, very complicated question with an equally complicated answer. Why was the ancient stronghold of the house that Magnus built in shambles, why was it a dilapidated ruin turned silent tomb? The long winded answer was that the Dreadfort had fallen so far from grace since the days of Magnus the Great. For centuries it was unhallowed ground the site where the son slew the father. Magnus the Great; Unified King of Panatha, The Greatest King to Ever Live, Avatar of Nereus, Living Embodiment of War died here on his throne by the son he exiled and tossed away like garbage when he had been crippled in the raging conflict. It was in these very halls that Solomon Zambrano howled promises of retribution, of death coming for everyone who turned their backs on him. A man left and years later a god returned; Nemeroth walked through the gates and challenged his father for everything he possessed, he cut loose with spells so profane their veiled utterance blights the halls still. The black power of the dark side unleashed by its absolute master who held the greatest warrior alive down and burned him alive with abyssal fire, obliterating his soul and denying him peace.

It was the centuries long after the cataclysmic sundering that the family continued to use the legendary hall, it evolved from the house of kings Magnus built into the seat of gods that Nemeroth raised. But the impact of Nemeroth's black experiments, his very darkness blighted the family and plunged them into eight hundred years of the darkest depravity imaginable, debauchery on a scale rarely seen, madness and delusion afflicting virtually every subsequent generation. For the modern House Zambrano the Dreadfort was a monument to their past but it was also a monument to everything that went wrong with the family, to everything that cast them down from grace as gods and into the gutter as just poor, crazed, inbred exiles. The Dreadfort remained as a silent reminder.

"Times change my girl. The Dreadfort began as the house that Magnus built a house of Kings. But what it became in the subsequent turbulent period is a monument to everything that cast our family down into ruin. Time has passed the Dreadfort by it will never be allowed to stand again not in a thousand years will it stand. The halls are stained with a blight infests it like a pussing sore. Those who do not know the past are destined to repeat it dear Vigdis." Braxus said looking back to read the emotions play out on his daughters face. How could she possibly imagine the darkness that occurred in this place? The sheer horror of the blackest orgies of despicable horror played out by a family described as crazed demons from the pit during the period? A family who bankrupted and starved an entire race while its rulers were consumed by every sin imaginable? She couldn't. The Dreadfort was not a safe place, it was a place where even the Epicanthix rarely tread to this day, for the people of Prethia who know its history know better than to cross onto its desecrated ground.

"We can go inside. Remain in eyesight of me at all times while we are inside my dear, theres a living darkness that does not rest in these halls, a treacherous midnight" Braxus said as he began to walk up the long winding path towards the smashed gate. Even now his Elder One's eyes pierced the veil he could see the ghosts that were trapped here, millions upon millions of spirits who died in the brutal fight to take the hall, even more who died under the thumb of the Black Kings and Queens of House Zambrano. The most fortunate of the victims were the ones whose only crime was dying while they waited in line for an audience, entire families starved to death trying to edge closer with hope of getting through the iconic gates, they were the lucky ones.

"I do not have many fond memories of the Dreadfort. My birth was looked upon with hate and disgust by my siblings. I was the eldest born and I was a pureblood, but I was the product of gene-splicing by my parents. The perfect blend of the greatest predatorial and long lived species of the galaxy with the greatest traits of the Epicanthix race. It was seen as a violation of the Black Codes of Nemeroth, a violation of his sacrament and they hated me for it."

 

[Vigdis Zambrano]

Once again the child’s eyes were on her father, watching the severe face as he spoke of the past. Enigmatic and secretive, he was a man few knew and fewer still could fathom.

“Never…” The ground fed into the girl like water into the roots of a thirsty cedar. Each step closer to the Darkness of the Dreadfort punctuated and twisted her toes. She sensed humming, a chorus of hummingbirds, or so she thought. No context for the ghostly apparitions so close to Braxus’ frail youngest child. Were those voices she heard? A comm one of the guards turned on and forgot to lower for etiquette’s sake?

She thought she heard the footsteps of a youth, a child like her. When she looked there was nothing but the sickly wind. No presence but the guards and her father. Clinging to his hand, Vigdis held her breath and tip-toed onto the path. The fortress loomed in its' ruin, monument to hubris and lack of restraint. Even House Zambrano could fall, and it did. The proof splayed round them, and in the overgrown roots entangling the monoliths' nesting places. When one was raised in the glory of Bastion, it was easy to see House Zambrano as eternally stalwart. Impossible to conquer. Back in their origin point, the truth crumbled into her eyes, a lesson on the nature of power.

“Yes, father. I’d rather not get eaten by a living darkness. I haven’t passed the fifth year yet.” While a yawning void sunk into her mind, it was fathomed as a child fathoms things larger than themselves. An ocean of black, swaying prettily as it bathed the shore. What a place for a picnic, or… but there was something very wrong with the ocean. A threat or mean set of logic, which locked Vigdis to [member="Darth Prazutis"]’ side once more, both hands clinging to his index finger.

Comfort in the Dark. The swirling energies of the Dreadfort teased at her, promising delicious meals of decrepit energy from which she would never run dry. Starvation of the lowly meant feeding the strong.

“You? They… hated you? But… you can’t be hated, you’re my Dad. If you haven't fond memories of this place, we’ll make one! And bundle it up in your mind with a bit of wrapping paper and a bow, and then you’ll have a fond memory to replace the bad.” A wealth of potential in the Sithly arts, and the child’s black and red eyes softened. She held his hand, as if she alone could give comfort to the pain inside her father’s chest. If even the ineffable Braxus was shunned for his differences… “But… if they hated you, then… Papa, am I in danger? If they hated you for being different, surely House Zambrano isn’t safe. After all, I am such a little one… oof!”

Vigdis’ hands fled from Braxus’ for only a moment. A little gait meant her legs couldn’t dream of keeping up with the eight foot behemoth who raised her. It was only a rock. A little bit of rubble, but under her boot it caused the child to stumble. Trip and splay her hands on the ground, eyes looking momentarily to her shoes.

Vigdis gasped! Papa said to keep her sight perpetually on him, but now!?

“Oh no! Clumsy me!” Her eyes yanked back up to where Prazutis last stood.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

"No your not in danger child. This was long ago and things have changed." He said a warm and encouraging smile on his face as he waited for his daughter who tripped and fell. She simply couldn't keep up with the tall giant, and the walk to the gates was quite long on a steady, often times steap incline. "Come here my child." Braxus said picking her up. It would be a lot faster if he just carried her. "I grew up many, many centuries ago. Panatha has changed and House Zambrano has grown far more powerful than it ever was before, we are the strongest intergalactic dynasty in the entire galaxy my child. In my youth I passed every trial, topped every academy and passed every test, I became the youngest Grand Champion at the age of fourteen as did all heirs before me. But they were forced to still pass me over, to my brother and sister. They wed on the day that my birthright was given away." Braxus said as the path winded before turning back towards the towering ruin. If she only had any idea just how tragic the history of the Dreadfort was, how could a young child possibly comprehend the scope of the place that stood before her? The history that she walked on, breathed in. Even now he could still see the Dreadfort over history and the many times he returned and the various states it was in. The madness that set in only got worse as did Crudas before he settled the score with his brother years later. There was so much trauma and pain here for the young man that Braxus Zambrano was, and for their entire family.

"My brothers name...was Crudas, and my sister...Talia after one of our progenitors. They both grew to resent me for my differences. Despite everything I wasn't a true pureblood in his eyes, I was an abomination. I was stronger, faster, smarter, everything they weren't but he couldn't see it. A madness plagued our family for generations. It is something you will come to understand with time as you learn of the name Zambrano. There was nothing I could do.." Braxus said as they rounded in front of the gates. It was a harrowing thing to see such a bastion, such a historical citadel that held meaning to hundreds and hundreds of millions of Epicanthix in ruin. It was a monument to the legendary House Zambrano during a time when their power reigned supreme. It was a monument to Magnus the Great and the family that built off the successes garnered by Jarex the Redeemer, who pulled the house back out of the dirt. But it became a dark bastion of depravity. It was Solomon the Black's corruption that blackened the Dreadfort forever. It was his historic burning of Magnus in the very throne room inside with the black power of the dark side, the shattering of his fathers own spirit that began the families downfall. The legendary exterior gate first of the three titanic gates guarding the treacherous path up. All were smashed into pieces with rotted parts hanging loosely off rusting joints. Piles of crumbled stone blended with wood and metal. A blackened, twisted vegitation had begun to break through the ground infused with the dark side. The families proud emblem could be seen in a beautiful dark golden metallic sigil giant in size, that once hung on the great gate now sat half buried in rubble, its gold shined as the sun hit it. Braxus walked in silence as they passed by great tattered banners the colors drained by the constant beating of winds, great banners half torn held the faded Eye of Solomon. It was a monument that showed that even the great House Zambrano could fall. As they passed through the last gate they came upon it...

The bridge.

It was the very first sign of bodies a field of bones so thick they had to walk over them. A vast bridge layered with skeletons that refused to fall into dust. Some were crushed under piles of depris while others hung off small, broken portions of the bridge. It was a bridge so vast it felt as if a formation of battle tanks could cross it side by side. The gate in front of them was a crumbled ruin blocking their path. More faded banners hung and what once one could speculate to be a beautiful entryway was now a smashed pile of nothing. "What we passed through are the three gates. It took Jarex the Redeemer thirty years to build the Dreadfort. He chose the location perfectly. The only path for a standing army to invade the castle was by taking this massive winding path, it forced them into a massive kill pocket fraught with traps, dangers, choke points. Magnus during his time improved two additional gates stocked full with soldiers to harry the enemy. When we were forced off Panatha more than half of the vast army, three quarters of it died fighting the last of our great monoliths, died on these same slopes to a defending force a quarter of its size. The worst battle was fought right here. The Bloody Bridge. They say the slaughter that took place here was something that hadn't been seen since the fall of Solomon. Despite the passing centuries this was still the fortress that Jarex, that Magnus built. This was the final chokepoint, the last gate. The dark color of the stone you see? Blood. So much blood was spilled here that they say it turned the stone a shade of crimson that was irreversible. By the time the gates were breached soldiers had to climb over their dead just to engage the defenders inside." He said taking his first steps on it.

They could see in the corners of their eyes, hear on the howling winds the sounds of battle in the distant past. Screams of agony, bloodcurdling screams of terror, the sounds of orders being barked along with great booms and the firing of projectiles and more. Every so often the veil would thin just enough for some mortals to see the countless trapped ghosts locked in this nexus of dark energy, continuing their fight in perpetuity.

[member="Vigdis Zambrano"] ​

 

[Vigdis Zambrano]

“Yes, Papa.” Vigdis brushed detritus off her knees as she staggered back to her father. Pale cheeks rosied with her trot, the child reached up as [member="Darth Prazutis"] offered his arms. The arms of the marauder were a sling of safety for his child. Vigdis set her cheek against his chest, hearing the thundering of his heart as he walked them along to the citadel which once stood as monument to overwhelming insidious power. Her youthful mind struggled with Braxus’ words. He passed the trials, topped each Academy, was a champion beyond others… “But Papa, why wasn’t it enough? What you did. Why weren’t you enough? You’re always enough for me, Papa.”

Slender hands clung to his robes, as Vigdis watched the expanse of ruins open to the gargantuan landscape. Talk of Crudas and Talia wedding was beyond the little one, a subtext she had no ability to absorb. It became another channel of meaning in her heteroglossic world, an expanding attempt at clarity.

“You are not! My father is not an abomination!” Vigdis clenched her fists, growling with a pout that betrayed her growing presence in the Dark, which became Braxus’ only consistent bastion against the madness and disappointment of his life. Shuddering to breathe, Vigdis began to seep in the ruin round her. Wisps and shadows of centuries-past flickered to her black and red eyes. While the decrepit colours and rubble were a sobering and familiar sight to Braxus, to his daughter was given another image. Flashes of ghostly images in their interplay.
“They’re still here…” So many in their infamies, and hazarded attacks of soldiers wanton in their deaths, lost ones whose echoes remained to Vigdis’ youthful sight. “… how dare they attack us. Bones and bones, they deserved what they got. We ought to yank their ghosts from the bridge and make them serve us… if only I knew a way.”

Vigdis grew ever quiet, as she clung to her father’s neck, a childish thing for the teenager but welcome as she watched the hosts of the past in their guttural brawls. This was the Dreadfort, the seat of their family for more generations than she knew to count. It fell to ruin, but the Zambrano Family continued.

Never forgetting. Never yielding forgiveness until an enemy was decimated and dashed. The child of Braxus refused to lose focus on the lesson, holding it tight in hatred of those, who sullied her Family’s name.

Fin.