Tenebrae Tenebras Vocat [Darth Carnifex]

[Nisha Skaiyr]

Indoumodo​

Unnamed Swamp Temple​

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The Off-Worlders were foolish. They spent so much of their time on metal ships in the sky that they lost touch with the ground. They became numb to the heartbeat under their feet, deaf to the whisperings of nature, blind to the flow of the world around them. And instead of staying in the safety of the cages they built around themselves, one or two occasionally made their way to places like Indoumodo. They believed, stupidly, that their machines which spat fire or their armors made of strange half-metals might protect them.

And every time they died. How varied, but the end result was the same. Their arrogance was their undoing, and they became food for the very beasts they sought to conquer. Occasionally, the beast that felled them was a grey skinned native of the planet, a muscular young woman by the name of Nisha Skaiyr - not that her name mattered to those who fell by her blade.

Her latest kill was a bit of a shame; he was a pretty thing with soft, delicate features and skin the color of milk. If he hadn't picked a fight with her, she might've kept him around - at least, until he broke. All the off-worlders were so frail. But even in death, he'd proved useful. His flesh eased the pressure on her tribe's huntsmen to find food, if only slightly. His skin, soft and smooth, made fine leather. From his bones her kin made decoration and toys for the younglings. And from his blood, Nisha made enough soup for herself and her closest servants.

Yes, servants.

Nisha Skaiyr, this predatory, brutal savage, had servants. She was not the Elder of her tribe, she was not even particularly high ranking, according to tradition - she was a blacksmith. But she was so much more. She could move at blinding speed, endure wounds that would fell most any of her kin. With a flick of her wrist she could toss aside beasts, and at times she could see danger before it even presented itself. When she displayed her power, her eyes became like pools of blood. The Shamans of her tribe called her a demon in the flesh, and admittedly, it wasn't an unreasonable assessment. Tradition tended to fall to the wayside when faced with the whims of an apparent demoness demanding one's obedience.

Nisha radiated darkness, the primal sort that made you look over your back, that made every sound seem to be the breathing of a slowly approaching predator. She was a beacon of radiant shadow, and she'd attracted the attention of a predator far bigger than she.

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[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

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Wild Space
Indoumodo

A dark wedge eclipsed the brilliance of a cloud-wreathed world, encompassing it in inky blackness as the shape spread itself across the globe until nothing of its light shone upon the steamy world of Indoumodo. Four distinct shapes broke away from the greater shadow, careening down towards Indoumodo with swift purpose. Each one held two squads of black-armored soldiers within their gullets, all of them tightly gripping their weapons as the ships descended through the atmosphere like meteors.

Flames licked the dropship's metal plating, and the force of entry rocked the entire ship back and forth before they finally breached the atmosphere and leveled out above the endless treeline. Floodlights illuminated the dense underbrush as the ships thundered overhead, their passing sending the natural denizens of the upper jungle scattering to the darkness. Eventually the cluster of ships found a clearing wide enough to allow all four ships to land and disembark their cargo out into the humidity. The boarding ramps descended and the soldiers that had been clustered within quickly swarmed out to clear the surrounding jungle, secure the perimeter, and establish a basecamp in preparation for his arrival.

Thanks to their state-of-the-art tools and weaponry such chores were easily accomplished within a few scant hours after their initial landing, and temporary structures had been erected to house the soldiers and their adjutants. It was during the twilight hours of that first day that another ship descended from the heavens, a blackened shuttle with wings like that of a bat's, and landed deftly upon a platform of durasteel that had been quickly erected upon solid ground. From within emerged a being that radiated darkness in undulating waves, his gaze piercing and cold. He surveyed the surroundings and found them acceptable, and with an authoritarian voice he commanded:

"Spread out into the jungle. Leave no stone unturned, no native village left standing until you have brought me the heart of darkness that seethes within the jungle."

[member="Nisha Skaiyr"]​

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

Whilst the Blackblades prepared for their Lord's arrival, the Indoumodians of Nisha's tribe did their own preparation. First, of course, the younglings and the elders were cared for. The temple at the center of the village was not vast or expansive, but it was large enough to house the weak for a time - a few archers and spearmen ensured that the civilians wouldn't be left utterly defenseless. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

Meanwhile, Nisha and her warriors began their war-rituals; for it was war they were faced with, without doubt. They decorated their faces with paints made from the blood of fallen beasts and worthy foes, they sang songs of war and triumph in the tongue of the gods who came before them, and with the smoke of herbs and mushrooms they worked themselves into a fury.

When the first mass of invaders - about twelve - stumbled upon the village, their numbers took a sharp dive. Whether though exceptional accuracy or exceptional luck, a trio of steel-tipped arrows found themselves buried in the necks of three soldiers, slipping into the gap between helmet and chest piece. The remaining nine soldiers retaliated, of course, and after a volley of blasterfire, three snipers fell from the trees as charred, half-melted corpses.

A short lived victory for the invaders. Soon after, Nisha Skaiyr, eyes as red as the blood on her face, dropped from the canopy to face the Blackblades. Three of her warriors rose from the murky waters of the marsh, wicked axes in hand. Six more dropped from the thick canopy above to flank the intruding warriors, three on each side. Three rose from the brush and undergrowth, blocking off the path of retreat for the invading forces.

In the distance, more natives made their way atop huts and into trees, wielding bows and crossbows with a distressing calm.

After a few seconds, the invaders were surrounded by fifty one warriors led by Nisha, who was wielding a long-handled sword with an abnormally short blade - only about two feet in length. It, like the woman herself, radiated a sort of predatory darkness.

The Blackblades raised their weapons. The natives raised theirs.

It was a slaughter on both sides.

The Natives moved more quickly, and had the advantage of raw physical strength. Those that made it to melee range quickly overpowered the Blackblades, using the impressive heft of their weapons and the skill with which they wielded them to crack armor and, if that wasn't possible, to simply batter the invaders through the armor, breaking bone and cracking skulls.

The problem, of course, was getting to melee range - many more natives died to blaster fire trying to reach the invaders in the first place than died in combat with them.

And at the center of it all was Nisha, who charged towards her enemies with a speed that quite simply shouldn't have been possible, even taking into account her exemplary athleticism. Her blade sliced through armor with surprising ease, finding purchase in the warm, soft flesh beneath. She was a grey whirlwind in the thick of the fight, hacking through and crushing opponents with the aid of her companions - not without sacrifice, of course. chunks of flesh were missing from her body, blood trickled down her torso, and, by the end of the fight, she struggled even to break a neck - an otherwise simple task for one such as herself.

In the end, Nisha and her warriors were defeated. Her friends and family lay dead around her, and she herself knelt on the ground, struggling to stay even on one knee. Her remaining enemies, all two of them, had their weapons aimed at her head. With a deep sigh, Nisha closed her eyes. If she were to die, she'd die with dignity. At least she'd fought well.

And yet death never came. The two remaining victors spoke in a tongue that Nisha couldn't comprehend, then rather unceremoniously hefted her up by the arms, carrying her through the jungle. To where, she wasn't sure.

But it likely wasn't anywhere good.

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[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Though the battle had ended, there was still much more to be done.

The paltry homes of the Indoumodians were to be dismantled, their temple broken down stone by stone and every edifice to their gods destroyed. Those that had survived the battle, whether they were elder or child, were unceremoniously executed and their bodies piled up in the ruins of their once sacred temple. Soldiers carrying bulky tanks affixed to a pack on their backs then proceeded to bathe the entire area in fire, scorching the earth and letting the voracious fire consume the corpses of the fallen.

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As for the girl who had survived, she was to be brought before the Dark Lord. Her arms and legs were bound with heavy shackles, and she was forced to limp all the way back to the soldier's basecamp as they prodded her with the butt of their rifles, causing her to stumble and trip constantly only to be yanked back up to her feet by their callous hands. By the time they had finally reached the outskirts of the camp night had descended upon the land, and the light from the distant roaring inferno that was [member="Nisha Skaiyr"]'s village could be seen rising just above the treeline. In contrast the camp that she was waltzed through was made from glossy black metal and dull lifeless permacrete, patrolled by faceless soldiers much like the ones she had fought.

They brought her before a raised platform where a throne carved from blackened stone had been placed, and sitting upon it was a man bedecked in gray-green armor and voluminous black robes. He inclined his head to cast his gaze upon her as she was forced to her knees by a well-placed blow to the back of her legs.

"Quite a pretty little creature, this is the one that spear-headed the assault on our men? Amusing."

He extended a hand and dark presence descended over Nisha's mind, probing her thoughts, digging deep for something... And then after a moment the presence faded, leaving behind a lingering feeling of lethargy and mental exhaustion.

"What is your name, little one?" spoke the Dark Lord again, but this time in fluent Indoumodon.

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

They burned her home to the ground.

They slaughtered her people.

They left her alive.

A coward may have been grateful for that last part, they might've grovelled at their captors feet, thanked their new overlords for the (possible) chance at life.

Nisha was not a coward.

And so, when she was brought before the slaughterer of her people, the man who towered like a god and had the presence of one as well, who exuded a darkness that dwarfed even her own, Nisha did not cower. Nor did she cower or falter when he invaded her mind, or show any sign of surprise when he spoke in her native tongue.

Instead, what she did was look up into her captor's eyes, her face the very picture of animal fury. Surprisingly, even her left eye, milky white and blurry as it was, seemed alert and active.

"Nu valia nastirci ane vadinti je'as tu'iea skeletas, Kouhun."*

"I will carve their names into your bones, Kouhun."​

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[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He chuckled, "Nu valia kais kia ziur j'us sari, kad Nu buti gekezese anas ane vadinti valia buti dekomet sesie kia amzi dabar.*" He spoke in the ancient tongue of Sith now, himself showing surprise in the fact that she possessed knowledge of that tongue.

He rose, his robes billowing out as he descended the small steps to stand on equal ground with Nisha despite the fact that he towered over her. "J'us nie letas adata edoui.*" With a gesture he simultaneously waved away the two soldiers and unlocked her shackles, the metal components clattering to the flattened ground with a dull clank. He showed no fear or concern in the individual that had dispatched a good deal of his men, and in fact he seemed more interested in her than previously indicated.

"J'us byloti tave khutrai iv tave Tsis, yunoks panele, tikurzi dary j'us tapti' âh geiâ azinimas?*"

I would like to see you try, but I'm afraid that their names will be forever lost to time now.*
You no longer need those.*
You speak the language of the Sith, little girl, where did you come across such knowledge?*

[member="Nisha Skaiyr"]​

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

He understood her. Not only did he understand Nisha, he spoke to her in the same tongue, the tongue of the Sith, of the Perfect. Like the god he appeared to be, the monstrous man before Nisha released her from her shackles with a wave of the hand. With a pained, bloody cough and an animal snarl, she fell to her hands. Every inch of her being screamed; kill, kill, kill. But to what end? She could strike at him, surely, but she'd be crushed. But his servants...

Slowly, shakily, Nisha rose to her feet. She looked the destroyer of her people in the eyes.

She took a step to the side.

And suddenly there she was, face to face with one of the Blackblades. He was quick and he was strong, this much was true, and Nisha had the wounds of a fresh defeat to cope with. But she had a ball of hate burning in her chest, a fiery passion that her victim would never get the chance to experience for himself. With hands that moved like lightning, the witch grabbed the knife from her victim's belt, then with a quick, brutal jab, slammed it point-first into his windpipe.

A gurgle, a gag. A victim writhing in pain and trying desperately to retaliate. Then a twist of the knife, severing the spine, and he slumped to the ground, dead.

With shaky breath and a body once more on the verge of collapsing, Nisha turned once more to face the beacon of darkness before her.

"You speak in the tongue of our gods. How does a beast like you know words so holy?"

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[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He watched the murder of one of his guards with a coy smile and a throaty chuckle, "Your hate gives you strength where there was none, it makes you powerful." The other guard did initially move to restrain the child, but the Dark Lord merely raised his hand and the solider stopped dead in his tracks, his body tense as he awaited new orders. "Liozi yr." The guard bowed and turned to leave as the blood continued to pool out from the grievous wound in his comrade's neck, leaving the Sith and the savage warrior alone with only the faint light of a nearby glow-lamp to illuminate the gloom of night around them. He seemed to study her, mildly pacing back and forth as he pondered her words with clear contemplation etched across his patrician features.

"Because I am Sith." He finally said at last, "I am one of many in a long line of Dark Lords of the Sith, undisputed master of the Dark Side of the Force, and my faith in the Force has led me to you." He gestured around him, "To this pitiful backwater." He then raised a finger to indicate Nisha, "And I find that my efforts have borne fruit, for I have found on this forlorn ball of dirt an individual who is strong in the Dark Side of the Force, one who had so easily dispatched so many of my dedicated soldiers without a moment's hesitation or even the slightest hint of remorse." He now indicated the guard's bleeding corpse with his finger, his lips parting to reveal a wide toothy grin.

"And now the time has come where I must decide what to do with you."

[member="Nisha Skaiyr"]​

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

The Witch almost scoffed.

Almost.

Could this monster in front of her really be a Sith? He was powerful, this much was obvious. He had blotted out the sun, whether through Sorcery or whatever other, unknown means one might use to cast an entire world in darkness. Beyond that, he knew the language - something she'd never encountered before when dealing with off-worlders. This destroyer before Nisha was powerful, no doubt, and he had a better claim to being Sith than even she - and she'd been the closest to the title on the planet, as far as she was aware. But even still...

When next Nisha spoke, her voice still dripped with hate - but there was something else there, too. Eagerness? No. That was too happy a word. Curiosity. Yes, that was it. Hatred and Curiosity. They'd led her through life so far, and she saw no reason to stop trusting them now.

"If you are truly Sith, Kouhun, and the Darkness truly led you to me," Nisha paused, let out a hiss of pain as she dropped to a knee, and coughed again. She'd cracked a rib, almost certainly. She could feel jagged bone press against her lungs every time she took a breath. "Then take me, and teach me." It was humiliating, without doubt - seconds ago, she'd been swearing to kill him, to carve the names of the lost upon his bones. And now? Now she knelt, if not exactly of her own free will, in front of him, practically begging him to take her in.

She looked up into his eyes, saw the endless, black void of his soul. It made her sick. It made her stomach churn. And yet, all the same, it was oddly alluring. His soul called to hers, promised her power, strength - and revenge. Sweet, sweet vengeance, far in the future.

A few short seconds later, and she uttered one last word, shaky and weak, but earnest and filled with conviction.

"Please."

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[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He chuckled again, "The pathway of the Sith is not for the weak, it is not for children. You have shown promise, yes, but are you of worthy stock to bear the mantle of Sith,?" He pointed his finger at Nashia's chest, "Your heart harbors anger, harbors hate... They are the building blocks of the Dark Side, and while yours are crude and unrefined they can be tempered into a weapon with proper guidance. But again, are you worthy?" Already she knelt, that was good. All acolytes must relinquish their pride before they could truly become Sith, unfounded vanity only led to a swift and unpleasant death. "I can already sense your arrogance, you think yourself strong, you think yourself unbreakable... But know this, you will be broken, you will be forced to disband with everything that tied you to this pitiful mudball, and once you have been broken..."

He spread his arms in a grandiose gesture, "Then you will be reforged in the crucible of your own destruction and you shall know the glory of the Sith." His arms fell and his eyes narrowed, "Or you will fail, and you will die." He uprooted the dirt with the toe of his boot, showering Nashia in chunks of earth and rock. "And your only inheritance will be the dirt."

[member="Nisha Skaiyr"]​

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

Had Nisha the strength to move much, she might've struck out at the monster before her, for kicking the dirt upon her face. Instead, she knocked away the debris with a small push, adding that small insult to the list of things she would one day repay him for.

Still gazing into the eyes of the beast standing before her, Nisha spoke, her voice still earnest and humble - at least, as humble as she could manage. "Whatever you may have me do to prove my worth, I shall do so without hesitation. Your enemies I will strike down, your will I will carry out - so long as you teach me the ways of the Sith." The addendum And for not one moment longer was unspoken, but undeniably present. "Give me power, and I will give you loyalty in turn."

He would break her. Of that much, she had no doubt. But she would never forget that which she lost, nor would she lose sight of why hate burned so bright within her soul. When the time was right, when her strength was sufficient, she would strike down her barbaric mentor. Until then, there was pride to be swallowed. Her next words would haunt her until the day she died, or the day Carnifex did. Whichever occured first.

"I will not fail you, Lord."

By the Darkness, she hoped it was the latter.

---

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He studied her, his gaze never wavering from her prostrated form as he seemed to mull over her words in his heads, contemplating deeply. He bid her to rise, a mere dismissive gesture with his right hand, and he spoke with a dark finality. "We shall see." He turned with a great flourish of his cloak, and at that moment the floodlights from the escort shuttle parked not far behind his makeshift throne burst to life to bathe both the Dark Lord and his newest protege in brilliant, blinding light.

Carnifex seemed unperturbed by the light and continued to casually walk deeper into it, but even as his form disappeared into the light his voice could be heard as clearly as it had been before. "Take the first steps towards your new life and embrace your destiny."

[member="Nisha Skaiyr"]​