Hadzuska Ari
Lord Dvasius had recently returned to Nar Shadda and decided to have his family home rebuilt. It wasn't really so much of a family home, it was his mother's home, but she never lived in it. He and his father did, some of the worst years of his life, but he'd learned recently pain can always go deeper. Today wasn't about family tragedies though. The house had been destroyed when his mother returned for the young, would be Sith. It was a gesture of kindness from mother to son to have the entire front of the building shot off by laser fire from the ship that would take them both from that place, to show that the years of torment at his father's hands were finally over. Forever. So were his years. The Sith would smile as he did then at the thought. His father struck down by the flash of a blade... in his own son's hands. His victim had his peace, in a manner of speaking. There would never be peace, not for a Sith, for that is only a lie and to be at peace was to be weak, to have a blade dulled by complacency made weakness. Peace belonged to the dead, not to the strong or to gods.
In that dark time a Sith was born, even if he didn't acknowledge it yet. The young boy, Jacste Selden, chose to stay. He didn't want to be his mother's son either, he chose the streets of Nar Shaddaa and there a man was born, an assassin to the highest bidder. He killed and killed until a Sith took noticed and called him to her service. Then the Sith acknowledged what he was. That he was Sith and that he was a weapon for his own hate. Undying hate, unlike his family it would seem. War with the Jedi had taken his younger brother and older sister's lives... and his own hands when their dying request to save them from suffering of a slow death with a lightsaber. Dvasius watched on the steps of this house as his mother's "servants" came to take them home. To her home, their home. All he had left was her, the mother who left him to be tortured, to make a boy a monster to teach him cruelty and hate at the hands of someone who should have protected him. She had her home, hidden among the stars, out of all beings' reach and he had a home in that pain. Pain in this house, where he realized he was truly alone and that no one could ever be trusted. Not even family, especially family. The family he did trust lay in the dirt. At least his father rot in the open air like an animal. He was one. Maybe they both were.
Pain. A Sith needed pain, to create and fuel their hatred. Lord Dvasius, the Lord and "God" of Shadows, they called him, had plenty. The darkness and the power overflowed, but it was never enough. He would rebuild this monument of pain on this moon of sin that had made him a "true" Sith under a baptism of cruel hands soaked in blood. This planet killed the weakness inside of him and if any was left he killed it himself, like his own kin. It died with them. The blade his brother gave him to free his and their sister's pain cut through their chests and cut all three of their hearts in half. Whatever left of the Hadzuska Ari that wasn't Sith fell down with their souls into the Void of Chaos, gone forever in torment by the memory of those they'd killed. He said his goodbyes at the steps of this house, but when he looked inside, after he'd finished attempting to drown his grief in alcohol left in his father's fridge years ago, he found his family wasn't the only thing missing from this house, well his father's bones were still on the floor where they died, but that doesn't count.
Artifacts, tomes of Sith make and origin were stolen in the years the house had stood without a door... or walls on the entire front section. He didn't care so much about the artifacts so much as he wanted this place to look as it once did, to be a standing statue of his memory... and a place to occasionally stay should he ever be in the sector again. The deep pain of his sibling's recent passing, and his guilt of doing it, turned into immense confusion and greater rage inside. Rage that called him to kill- the JEDI. War with them would come, but not today. The blood of thieves would have to do for now. He wouldn't be alone in collecting that or the artifacts, among the Dvasia ai Hadzuska Sith assassins that always followed him, usually hidden in shadow, as was their namesake and so went their legend, "They hide in every shadow," but there were two others coming along for today.
Some new recruits who wanted to become Sith and assassins themselves. One even thought he could become apprentice to the Lord of Shadows (
Kothar Spitesewn
). First they'd both have to prove worthy... or die trying. Failures, forgotten, but if they succeeded their names would be lost and forgotten anyway. They had to be erased from history. None in Dvasia ai Hadzuska could be known as they were. Sith were made to reject their old names, murder their old selves and take a new name as a more powerful being, but as Shadows no one would know even those anymore. Any that knew them outside the organization itself didn't know them as Shadows and if that changed all parties would be systematically executed, usually by the very team they were assigned to work with. Their "friends". A sign that, "A Sith has no friends, only temporary allies".Lord Dvasius and the ten agents with him stood in the wind on a high rooftop, though not skyscraper high, and waited in their black robes, hoods, and unnamed faces, hidden under masks, for the two would be Sith to show up at the coordinates of the location they'd been given when Dvasius' agents had found them. The streets below. They'd be alone in the streetlight, while burning eyes watched from the dark, out of sight.
Kothar Spitesewn
Drio'Vix Bacho
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