Scourge of the Nether

[Kainan Wolfe]

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Soundtrack: SWTOR - Tenebrae​

Attn: [member="Skorov"]​

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• The Field of Blades
  Netherworld

...Every legend has a kernel of truth. Every myth and every prophecy, no matter how embellished and distorted by the ages, has something of value for those who can unravel it and tread its path of breadcrumbs to the source...​

The Tygerii were a fascinating people. Proud, headstrong and remarkably resilient. Their proud warrior tradition contrasted heavily with the opulent lifestyles of their nobles, lifestyles which the people of the Eternal Empire would label as decadent and wasteful, traits which were heavily frowned upon within the frugal and pragmatic imperial society. Despite that, they had potential, vast potential for growth, if brought under the watchful tutelage of the Eternal Empire. Proper soldiers is what the Empire would make of them, a great and formidable army to stand against the trials to come. And so, their culture and society were studied. Their political intricacies were dissected and carefully analyzed as the Empire sought the most efficient way to align them with their cause.

Sure, the Empire could have deployed its armies. Even as battered as they were and exhausted after the ordeals they had recently endured, the Ultranauts of the Eternal Empire were still one of the most disciplined and effective military forces in the galaxy. They probably stood a decent chance at winning the battle, but antagonize the entire Tygerii people and thus, lose the war. No, they had to win hearts and minds. They needed something to rally a sizable enough proportion of the population behind the imperial banner, thus nurturing Tygeria's takeover in a far more subtle way, culminating in the unification of the planet under a leader favorable towards the imperial cause.

Fortunately, it was their myths that provided the solution. For, throughout the world, a name was uttered in every household, along with tales of exploits which sounded fantastical enough to be dismissed as nothing more than folk tales by most who heard them. The Eternal Emperor, however, did not. For within these stories, were contained descriptions of things and places that he recognized, descriptions that were far too accurate to be just an uncanny coincidence. Whoever, or whatever this folk hero was, his was a name that the Emperor immediately took note of.

Skorov, Scourge of the Nether and Slayer of Gods would make a powerful asset to have on the Empire's side. It was time to meet with the man behind the legend, in person. "<<Summon the sorcerers,>>" he commanded as he strode into the vaults beneath his fortress. Attendants sprung into action, carrying out his orders with brisk, practiced efficiency. It was time to pay the Netherworld a visit.

The Emperor's sorcerers were a frightening group, responsible for the creation of many horrors and the masterminds of unspeakable atrocities that were too many to count. Many a criminal in the Eternal Empire had faced a grizzly end at their hands, all in the name of the Empire's obsession with necessary evils. One such convict was summoned forth from the holding cells, some nameless death stick peddler who thought he could make a profit off of imperial suffering. Sentenced to death for his crimes, he expected to be crucified, or slowly tortured in some other, public manner that the Empire was fond of. The fate he was about to suffer, was far, far worse.

Upon seeing the grey metal armor of the sorcerers, the convict's eyes widened, cold sweat forming beads on his brows as he struggled feebly against the guards who were dragging him, driven speechless by his terror. If he only knew that his fear would only serve to make things work.

Unearthly screams pierced the silence of the vault as the Sith magics tore into him, stripping his soul from his body and ripping it asunder, twisting it into the horrid fuel of the ritual that was being performed. A mixture of alchemy and necromancy, the spells followed in quick succession, each one tearing off a piece of the convict's soul, each one adding to the invisible gossamer archway that would form the frame for the gate. The misery and horror that the convict suffered as a price, was indescribable through words.

Through it all, the Emperor stood silent and unphased by the gruesome fate of the sacrifice, his attention focused instead on the necromantic spell that would complete the abhorrent ritual. He had long ago become acclimated to such suffering and worse.

With a last, ragged scream, the convict's last breath finally left his body and with one harsh, whispered word, the ritual was complete. A horrid tearing sound cracked across the room, its echo slamming against the walls and reverberating across the vault as the aberration finally took place. A gap in reality, a jagged wound into the very fabric of the universe, itself. A portal to the Netherworld.

Calm and collected, the Emperor stepped through with the confidence of one already acquainted with the destination. He emerged onto an endless wasteland of cogs and swords.

 

[Skorov]

Deflect, push to stagger, sweep leg, impale. Deflect, push to stagger, sweep leg, impale. This same thought slowly ran through Skorov's mind over and over again as the challenger approached. A broad shouldered barbarian of a creature who's origin he couldn't quite place. It was strange how many creatures he had slaughtered in this fields, how many whom he would never know the origin of. Did their species go extinct? Maybe they were not born yet. The Nether was a strange unpredictable place, yet he had made a home here.

Deflect. The monster rushed at him, bringing its massive stone club up to crush Skorov under its weight. Instead of being crushed, Skorov would step to the side, bringing the flat of his sword up with both hands to let the club slide along it and away. The creature, clearly confused by the strength of Skorov and the fact that this apparently simple blade did not shatter would try to compensate, yet it was already too late. Skorov, had in all honestly, done this a thousand times. Those who owned the blade before him even more. It was near routine, a series of muscle memories that he didn't even need to think of and that his body would run through like a droid following its programming.

Push. As the monster tried to regain its footing, Skorov would step to his side. Bringing the sword around, he'd grab the flat of the blade and swing the sword around in one smooth motion to drive the pommel into the creature's back, causing it to stagger forward and lose its footing. Such a vulnerable state, a pity it had already reached it. Skorov had already lost all respect for what ever this thing was, its origins no longer an interest.

Sweep. Once again placing his hands on the blade's handle, he'd swing the greatsword around in a crescent, severing the creatures legs at the ankle and he watched it crumple onto the blistering ground before him. It was roaring, some uninterpretable language that Skorov couldn't place. No doubtfully it was cursing his name, if it even knew it. Skorov would sigh, striding over to the creature and planting his boot on the beings neck, pinning it in place as it struggled to get up.

Impale. Just as Skorov brought his blade up to drive it deep within the skull of this horned beast, he'd feel it. His attention would dart to the side just to catch a portal forming. Through it would step a man. Skorov would stop, his orange dimly illuminescent eyes squinting at the stranger. Who was he? What did he want? Skorov would let go of the blade and gravity would propel it into the beast, ending its writhing and calls for help. Skorov would turn away, seemingly uninterested in the puddle of black oozing blood pooling at his feet. "Greetings." He would call out in galactic basic, a language which he had only recently mastered. The man's pale hair, perhaps he was Tygerii? The question filled his mind but he would shake his head, it was doubtful. Surely there were other races who's complexion was similar to that of his own. "I hope you did not come here for the blade." he would muse, his hand going to and resting on the pommel of the blade, still impaled in its most recent victim. "This one is not the first to meet the bitter taste of my steel."

[member="Darth Tacitus"]

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

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Attn: [member="Skorov"]​

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• The Field of Blades
  Netherworld

"I hope you did not come here for the blade," the weathered Tygerii warrior had said. In response, the Sith Lord closed a taloned hand around the hilt of the longsword at his hip, drawing it about a quarter from its scabbard. "Brought my own," he spoke, his voice like gravel, letting the grey metal blade slide back into its sheath. Before he could say more, some misshapen creature dragging an impossibly large, rusty blade behind it, came out of nowhere. It charged at them, screaming something in an unintelligible, guttural language as it swung the abnormally large sword above its head.

The Sith Lord didn't pause to wonder where the creature had come from or what it was. This was the Field of Blades. The realm of eternal battle. Such was the natural order of things, here. One fought and killed, then fought and killed again until he died. There was only the clashing of blades and rending of flesh. Nothing else mattered.

He took one good look at it as it approached, cold and calculated mind taking note of its appearance, looking for weaknesses and things to avoid. It was a grey-skinned thing, deformed and twisted, as if someone had shrunk one half of its body. Its left leg was shorter than its right one, a stubby thing that barely held the creature's weight and the left arm was atrophied and spindly, flailing about for balance. The right side of its body had strong, muscular limbs as broad as a broad as a Bantha's head and the creature's rusted and decrepit sword, if the crude lump of metal could be called that, was three times as long as its wielder was tall. An impossible weapon that could not exist back in the galaxy, where the laws of physics would cause it to snap the moment it was lifted, if someone strong enough to actually attempt so could be found. But this was not the galaxy, it was the Netherworld. Different laws applied, here, the laws of blood and grizzly murder.

The creature swung its sword in an arc, kicking up dust and small pebbles as its tip lifted off the ground, following the blade as it traversed the air towards in a wide, sweeping slash. The Sith Lord lunged and rolled under the scything cut, drawing his own weapon as he went, emerging from his roll somewhere behind and to the right of the misshapen creature. He pirouetted, the dull grey blade in his hand flashing up and down to deflect another sweeping cut, using its own force and momentum to redirect it away and towards the ground, taking with it a chunk of the huge, rusted weapon. As the creature fought to drag the massive sword back for another strike, the Sith Lord did not waste any time, stepping forward and slashing right-to-left, opening a gash across the creature's midsection. The creature recoiled back, screaming in wordless pain and Tacitus took his chance to finish it off with a quick, precise thrust into its chest.

His attention returned to the Tygerii warrior, intent to say what he had come here to say, for they had mere minutes before the next challenger presented itself. "No, I came here to seek Skorov, Scourge of the Nether and champion of the Tygerii people. I would have words with him," the Sith Lord said.

 

[Skorov]

Skorov would watch the proficiency that this man slaughtered his opponent. Impressive. Truely a swordsman on par with Skorov himself, and luckily a swordsman who appeared to have no interest in taking his life. The sword was certainly impressive, he wondered if it was made by the same dark forces as his own, apparently mundane metal twisted to some spiteful purpose. Skorov could not help but reflect how few challenging battles he had had recently. He could only really name off at least two battles in recent memory that he had even put a second of effort into. It mattered not, he would not pick this fight, there was no need.

His hand would release the massive blade, which would eerily lift itself from the corpse and hover behind him. He held no scabbard, no sheath for it to rest in, using nothing but the force to carry it around the wasteland of the Nether. Thankfully this realm was filled with the energies needed to accomplish this, it barely took anything out of him to carry the blade in this manner for days at a time. What was shocking was that the man knew his name and what titles he had carved for himself in this wasteland of hate and eldritch hatred. It would clearly catch him off guard, his gaze shifting from that of curiosity to instinctual suspicion. "I am he who you speak of, although I am unsure of how you know of me. You do not reek of the wretched nobility of my homeland and no commoner would have the means to dress as you, let alone travel so freely to this hellscape." The greatsword would drift ever so closely towards Skorov, tilting to make its hilt easily accessible encase this was some sort of trap. It never hurt to be too careful in a place like this. And it certainly would not be the first assassin sent by his noble kin in an effort to claim his titles and the prestige of being the orchestrater of his death. "Name yourself. Not many like us are strong enough to wield iron and steel, too many rely on their miracles of technology."

[member="Darth Tacitus"]

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

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Attn: [member="Skorov"]​

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• The Field of Blades
  Netherworld

The silver-haired warlord listened intently as the Tygerii warrior spoke, showing no reaction to his remarks, revealing no emotion. "No, you are right. I am not one of the degenerate, self-serving nobles of your homeworld, nor do I answer to them" he said. "Though they are part of the reason why I am here. You see, there is a new power rising in the Unknown Regions," the Sith Lord explained, his voice flat, firm and confident, carrying the kind of authority of a man who commanded vast armies and ruled over millions of lives. "And it sees great potential within your people. Potential which is being eroded and wasted away by weak, corrupt rulers with no greater ambitions than increasing the wealth that they can flaunt."

"Of course, we could take Tygeria by force. Deploy our armies and our fleets, smash its gilded palaces and throw the corrupt nobles off of their fancy chairs and under the treads of our tanks," he said. "But that would leave behind a resentful and uncooperative population, which would make it very difficult for us to realize our plans to align them with our cause. We seek a more efficient way. And that is why I am here."

"You see, we have been trying to find a solution to this predicament, one which would eventually allow us to align Tygeria with our cause and way of thinking. And when our agents brought me news of your deeds and your status amongst your people, I realized we had found the perfect solution to our problem," explained the warlord.

Could this Skorov be relied upon to do what was necessary? Or would he fall prey to the same wasteful temptations that claimed many of the scheming nobles of his homeworld. Truthfully, there was only one way to find out,

"I have been called by many names and titles, by many different people throughout the years. Emperor of Kalidan, or Lysenia, as your people refer to it, Breaker of Nibelungen, Bane of Copero, Reaper of Kuat, Lorrd and Dredd, heir to Valkorion's Eternal Throne by right of conquest and supreme commander of the most disciplined military force this galaxy has ever seen. And I am here to see whether you are the best man to rule Tygeria in the Eternal Empire's name," said Darth Tacitus, veteran of a thousand battlefields and one of the most powerful Necromancers in the galaxy.

"So, tell me, master Skorov. How would you rule Tygeria if I gave you the armies and the ships to take it?"

 

[Skorov]

Skorov listened. It was a skill he had picked up in his younger years and had seen him through the toughest of situations. Sadly few actually possessed this skill it seemed. The man certainly shared Skorov's hatred for the elite regime that lorded over his people, practically making them slaves. He was right that his people would not bow so willingly, especially the Mountainers, they would never surrender from one conqueror to the next.

"My people are conquerors." he would state, standing tall and proud as the massive blade would circle around and embed itself into the ground in front of Skorov, who's hands would go to rest on its pommel. "Conquerors who have spent far too long licking the boots of Oros' kin and their dragons. It was not with dragons alone that the First Tyrant unified our planet, but with the thousands of soldiers who's names are recorded on his tomb." He would pause, mulling the question farther. "First I would do away with the petty nobility, unify the houses, take their riches, their dragons, all that they have not earned by the sweat of their brow. Each noble house will be brought into the great courts and sentenced according to their crimes, then punished accordingly. When justice has been served, I will unify my people under a single banner, the banner of Tygeria, not my banner, nor the banner of my house, but the banner of all Tygerii. Under this banner I will build a mighty army that no power has ever seen made up of the true sons and daughters of Tygeria, who's hearts run warm with the blood of dragons or of the great lava lakes deep within the mountains. This army will take this banner, the banner of ten billion souls, and plant it on many worlds. As I have stated, the Tygerii are conquerors, it is in our very blood." He would pause again, as it to calm his fervor. He knew there was much about ruling besides warfare.

"My people will know what it is like to have equality, none will be above the other except through merit and skill. Under my eye great schools will be built, the canals will be rebuilt and modernized, great highways will creep across Tygeria connecting every city. The people will know the prosperity of an Empire, wealth being funneled into industry, agriculture, and the people themselves." Skorov's eyes would lock with Tacitus, the intensity of a man who's soul yearns for the betterment of his people showing clearly. "Help me take back my homeland, promise to give my people the Empire they desire, and Tygeria will align with you. Our dragons, our soldiers, our very souls will be willing and able to help spread your.. no.. our Empire to the furthest stars."

[member="Darth Tacitus"]

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

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Attn: [member="Skorov"]​

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• The Field of Blades
  Netherworld

The Emperor listened, intently, and with more than just his ears. He watched for the telltale signs that would reveal a lie, the small twitches in the corner of the eyes, the slight change in tone, the subtly shifting posture. To his relief, he could see none of these signs, which meant the man was probably telling the truth. The warrior spoke with passion and conviction about his people and what ailed them. And what they could become for the Empire. Tacitus responded with a simple nod.

Then, seizing upon the invisible threads of the Force, he tugged. They resisted at first, but in front of his indomitable will, they quickly bent and gave way, submitting to the Sith Lord's silent command. He cast his mind into the dark currents of the Nether and followed them to what he sought, the portal he had conjured earlier, inert and invisible for now, but still there, capable of allowing them passage back to Kalidan, just as the spell had designed it to. All it took was a subtle push and the portal opened, springing back to life in the unnatural air. With a gesture of his hand, Tacitus invited Skorov to step through.

Beyond the portal, lay a terrace within a mighty fortress. Its walls were tall and strong and its colossal spires dominated the sky like the fingers of an angry god. This was Kalidan, or Lysenia, as Skorov's people knew of it. But it was unlike the bleak, barbaric world that it used to be. Gone was the silent, empty landscape, the valley now very much alive with the signs of industry, a river of traffic flowing in and out of the fortress. Ships rose and descended, fat cargo haulers and sleek military dropships. Beyond the walls, trucks and other vehicles snaked their way across a winding road that cut a path of civilization through once wild mountains. And in the distance, the spires of a thriving city could be seen.

Down below, in a wide, sprawling courtyard, ten thousand soldiers saluted in the fashion of their Empire, fist over heart. The sound, was that of thunder. Behind them, stood arrayed tanks and armored personnel carriers, infantry fighting vehicles and and small, agile armored cars. And beyond them, stood row upon row of heavy artillery.

"Two regiments," Tacitus said. "The eighty-second and the thirteenth, both veteran units, hardened, well-trained and well-equipped. I can give you more, but your arrival must not be seen as an foreign invading force. Best to gradually garner support from amongst your own kind and then we increase the number of regiments as your revolution grows."

"For ships, you shall have the Star Destroyer ENS Defiance and its escorts, the heavy cruiser ENS Empire's Triumph, along with the ENS Bullwark, the frigates ENS Decisive and ENS Shadow, along with two minelayers and four Retribution-class corvettes. The troops, will of course, have their own heavy assault dropships for transport, in addition to the ships I just gave you."

"Once you establish a base of operations on Tygeria, more supplies will follow. Weapons and armor, vehicles, rations, all the things required to raise and outfit an army from amongst those you shall recruit to the Imperial cause," the Emperor said, surveying the troops arrayed on the parade grounds. "Build the necessary support to bring Tygeria into the fold. And once Tygeria is unified under the Empire's banner, the stars shall be made to bow before the might and superiority of the Imperial cause."

 

[Skorov]

Skorov would hesitate at the portal's edge. It had been years, possibly even decades since he had returned to the physical world. It was a strange place, at least compared to the Nether. It was incredibly predictable, not in the sense that you knew what was going to happen but you knew what wouldn't happen. The nether was impossible to predict, entire biomes seeming to rearrange themselves with no logical whim or reason, sometimes just vanishing completely. He would step through after his moment of hesitation, his boots hitting the floor with a crack. Ah, gravity. He could feel it, the Nether had it of course but not in the same way, he found it difficult to explain.

The structure was impressive, certainly what you would expect of an Emperor's housing. It took him a few moments to figure out where he was. Was this.. Lysenia? He had been here a few dozen times in his youth, and much of the geography was the same, but civilization? Especially at this level? His eyes would dart to look at the man, one with such power that he could cause population centers to raise from an atomic war, something that Skorov could not dream of doing.

He'd find himself confronted with the soldiers, their salute making their training and determination clear. Skorov would fold his hands behind his back, the massive blade hovering just behind him as he would survey the soldiers. Two regiments. He would listen as the man would explain further, laying out his plans and the restrictions he would put on Skorov's little rebellion.

"A base of operations will come easily enough. I'll return to Tygeria and lay claim to my ancestral home, should the house that orphaned me still control it. Either they will hand it over, or I will lay siege." he would pause, it was ironic, the customs and traditions that he planned to abolish being exploited for his own gains... It was a necessary evil. If he simply invaded then the people may be turned against him, but if he played along for long enough he could garner their support. "I'll play their game, sow rebellion in their ranks, pull the people to my cause as I reveal how corrupt and fat with wealth the nobles have become. Revolution will soon follow. Hopefully with little bloodshed. I do not wish to hurt my people, especially those only fighting for their slavers."

He would look over at his new patron "Do I have a time frame? When will your machine of war begin its trek across the galaxy?"

[member="Darth Tacitus"]

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

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Attn: [member="Skorov"]​

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• The Field of Blades
  Netherworld

The Emperor stood and listened, considering. He knew Tygerii politics enough to know that if Skorov's house refused to hand over the dynastic stronghold, then the Imperials would have to pry it out of their hands by force. "Perhaps you may need to make a show of strength," he said, reaching out to take a datapad from one of the protocol droids and pressing a few buttons.

Immediately, the ground shook, deafening metallic clangs echoing across the parade grounds as two mechanical behemoths walked into view. "TX-1 War Droids. Imposing, efficient and devastating engines of destruction, each one carrying the firepower of a cruiser, each one capable of laying waste to entire armies," the Emperor explained. "Nothing quite like reducing a whole mountain to rubble, to get the point across."

"You will also have engineers, to construct additional fortifications or emplacements, should you need to. The Eternal Empire's Logistics Corps are amongst the best in the galaxy, well trained and seasoned veterans, who worked and fought in some of the most inhospitable environments in the galaxy. And with the tunnel boring machines which will be ready in six months, there will be no fortification that you will not be able to breach with ease."

"I am also giving you eight companies of grenadiers and ten squads of pyrotechnics specialists, which are highly useful in close quarters combat, where your dragons can't go."

"You will have one year, Lord Skorov. That is our timetable," the Emperor said. Time was of the essence and the Empire's rise would have to be meteoric. "There is a storm brewing on the horizon, one which will shake the galaxy to its foundations. And we are working on a tight schedule."