Private We Can Rebuild Him

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

Corbos - The Shaper's Palace


What did it take to forge a monster?

What did it take to make a man into a being capable of delivering hell and death unto his enemies?

To grasp souls from their bodies, crushing them to nothing, like the wrath of a vengeful god?

The answer, it seems, is contained within the question. The first step?

To be a man.



Any common beast or Sithspawn could kill, devour, destroy on instinct with nary any wit alone. They could crush bodies, hopes, dreams, terrify the weak with their mere sight. But a monster? A monster does not possess the mindlessness of a beast, for they are cunning and logical, they pluck the life from others willingly. Knowing full well just how precious the flame they snuff out is and do so regardless. The Shaper was one such individual and he had created many, MANY beasts. But now? Now he would give rise to another monster like himself, a crippled and broken man who had endured the near embrace of death and been unflinching in his loyalty to the Empire. Admirable, to the very end, it seemed. Honorable, devoted and most of all..... a trained killer. One who's job it was to crush threats to their way of life, to forge themselves into the most brutal and effective weapon of war they could be, and survive the process. The Shaper could respect this, in a detached sense, as he had sculpted many weapons of war and this man, Kuben Woods , would be a weapon who's purpose would never change.

This was perfect for what The Shaper envisioned.


In the depths of his palace upon Corbos did death finally claim Damian Frost, his broken, battered body succumbing to that sickening weakness all Sith dreaded, perhaps more than any other. It was the ultimate equalizer for most, and the penultimate adversary for every Dark Lord who sought to escape it's grasp. Thankfully for Damian the Sith had a wide multitude of ways in which to stave off such a foe and The Shaper would be remiss in allowing such a devoted man of the Empire die without some... objection on his part. Never minding the fact that the now missing Empress Joycelyn had been interested in reforming this man. Now the task fell to The Shaper and he would execute it to perfection, as always. Damian Frost would, fittingly, be a cold, glorious weapon of the Empire, unflinching and inexorable as the icy grip of death he himself escaped.

As The Shaper slowly circled the raised dais Damian's body was placed upon he rested a hand on the man's sternum and his eyes flared with burning, amber light. Low, fell syllables that did not match the movement of his lips leaving the Shaper as his mouth spoke words the syllables did not. "I shall reshape you, I have the technology, the knowledge and the means. But you must forgive me, for your return will not be pleasant." Slowly, and painfully were Damian alive to feel it, did Sith markings dig themselves into his skin. Turning his flesh into a once-living spider web of markings while The Shaper's other hand extended out, giving birth and light to glimmering crimson runes on the worked stone surface beneath his feet. Runes that seeped crimson through them like the running of blood, up the dais, under Damian's body, before The Shaper tilted his head back and the true work began.

Raising his hands toward the sky The Shaper sight would penetrate into the Netherworld of the Force, Damian's spirit trapped from truly leaving by the runes that surrounded his mortal coil, and The Shaper kept his spirit there. A metaphorical hair's breadth away from returning to his body, as several Sithspawn entered the room. Four in total. Dragging meticulously crafted machines, tubing and a slurry of alchemically designed Laminanium and Phrik B. Damian's body and the dais were surrounded with the equipment, both a masterpiece and unspeakably crude, as the gnarled hands of the Sithspawn began to insert the foul machinery into Damian. Piercing his skin, down to his bones, while the equipment was connected into something akin to a tub for his body to float within.

Soon the dais and Damian were submerged in this alchemical alloy, floating within the eerily glowing grey-ish color, while the muted crimson glow of the runes began to cause the alloy to froth and bubble. Sputter and roil like they were experiencing their own earthquake. For The Shaper's part of this task was coming to completion. All the while during this The Shaper's attention had been on propelling his consciousness through the Netherworld of the Force, ripping and tearing through the formless ephemera that sought to rend his spirit from it's host body. Horrid, unspeakable entities that dwelt there hissing and snarling toward his form from the darkness, though none dared approach. They could feel the power The Shaper wielded and thus while they did not enjoy his trespass they could not stop it.

That is, until, a spirit of particular power saw fit to challenge the interloper, slamming into The Shaper's spiritual form and making his eyes lose focus for a brief moment, before a cruel smile twisted his lips. His spiritual form ruthlessly grasping and throttling the offending spirit, before ripping it from it's place among the ethereal and bringing it down into the liquid alloy surrounding Damian. The runes flaring in intensity before their hue changed to a pallid green, the fell spirit being bound to the compound even as The Shaper activated the machinery, binding the alloy to Damian's very bones, before guiding the man's spirit back into the body he now shared with some dark, eldritch being.

Taking a slow, death-cold breathe, The Shaper would draw his robe about himself before calmly beginning to walk toward the door. Not particularly wishing to be there for when his newest creation awoke. As he bolted, latched and secured the door, reinforcing it with the Force and drawing phrik bands across it's surface he would offer Damian his first thoughts beyond his own. As the rage of the spirit he was now joined with became one with them, that seething, impossible anger no mortal body should ever possess swelled within him, The Shaper softly murmured in his mind, drawing Damian's attention to the misshapen, humanoid Sithspawn standing there. 'Let your rebirth be heralded in blood.'

 

[Kuben Woods]

Damian had wheeled himself into this place with a quiet determination that could be seen on his face. His wheel chair was something that was quite low tech, simply wheels and a chair, no motors, no fancy gadgets, nothing save for the bare essentials. He propelled himself using his hands, getting himself next to the place where he was to lay down, and then got himself out of the chair and onto the table. If offered assistance he would politely, but quite firmly refuse, simply getting himself into position and settling in as The Shaper began his work. He was new to all of this, new to the advanced and experimental ways this Sith created and possibly healed those, let alone to the force entirely. For the first time in a while, Damian felt fear of the unknown but he dashed said fear into the back of his mind where it wouldn't interfere. There was a time to be afraid, and now wasn't that time.

As The Shaper began his work, Damian could feel his eyes getting heavy, his heart beat slowing as he did something. He didn't know what to expect so he stayed quiet, which was why he would pass wordlessly when his heart stopped. But rather than pass on, his spirit would sit as though it was held in place via some unseen power. He watched as the Sithspawn came in and began their work. He watched as Shaper carved runes into his flesh. He watched as needles for some unseen fluid was stuck into his body. He recoiled as he could almost "feel" all of it despite being technically dead. He could see as Shaper entered a state comparable to his own, only he was clearly in control of himself whereas Damian felt at the mercy of the Sith's whims. He grit his teeth as he slowly told himself to endure. He had not failed his Empire before. He had not come up short in all the battles, the trials, the suffering, the wars. He had never been found wanting in resolve or ability. He would not fail now.

Sound would cause him to look at what was happening, the tubes starting to flex as a liquid was injected through them, going into his very body itself. He was starting to wonder as to what was happening when his attention was caught by the ethereal version of Shaper returned with a spirit in hand. Almost like he was dragging a relative child and without any warning slammed it into Damian's body through the runes. He could feel a second presence touch his own, a violent one which immediately fought with Damian. Unlike most battles where Damian's skill in unarmed, bladed, and ranged weapons would see the day this was a test of will, of sheer determination. One that would continue as the ritual was started and he could feel a searing heat now. He could start to feel his actual body again and all of the pain from everything was coming back. His heart started beating. Unseen as the bubbles and ripples in the fluid had started already Damian's body would stir. Rage would fill his heart from the new source of pain, fueling his resolve to see this beast put in its place. He would not fail his Empress. He would not fail the Empire.

He would not fail.

His eyes would finally open in the murky fluid as he regained consciousness partially, still fighting for control as his body started convulsing violently. He had been strapped in to the table to prevent him from sliding around in the fluid, but now straps were straining to contain the monster that had been created. They had been of simple leather, and that would simply not do. He would now actually grit his teeth as he struggled against them but also against the voice in his head, the spirit attempting to exert control, to assert dominance. It would find that this was no ordinary human. He was a Shock Trooper, he was a battle hardened soldier, he was one of the most terrifying things his enemies could ever dream of. He was a Sith.

No.

He. Is. SITH.​

Damian would feel small blades suddenly extend themselves from various points in his skin cutting through the failing leather. And with a roar he would rise from the pool these blades still extended in his blood rage. Bottles, vials, and various jars surrounding him would shake, some would shatter as the roar would turn into almost a Force Scream. The Sithspawn would back away a few steps but before most could even move Damian leaped from the pool with new claws extending from his fists, planting them into the thing's chest and driving them into the ground. In a savage display he would rip and tear them out to the sides before taking the thing's head and then rushing the other two. Blood would spray through the air. He wouldn't stop shouting as he massacred the attendants that had previously seen to his recreation. And after he finished with them he would stop and turn about, wildly looking for more as he was sucking in air in massive heaves of his chest. Not because he was tired, but out of instinct to give his body as much oxygen as possible, full of adrenaline and ready to fight. It was here that Damian finally regained control, as the veritable demon that inhabited his consciousness had its own bloodlust sated while also seeing the heights of absolute rage Damian was capable of. He would look down at his hands, seeing the massive claws and the blades that were extended like short little protrusions at various points across his skin. He would wiggle his toes inquisitively and found they responded, for the first time in years. He looked down at his gore, strange fluid, and blood covered feet and saw outside of the small bladed edge in front of his shin that his toes were moving again. He looked skyward and started to laugh as all of the pain from his back was gone, he could feel his legs and toes, he could walk again. He looked at all of the bladed protrusions that were extended from his body, most of them being simple one to two inch blades along what he had learned to use as a striking surface to begin with. This was new to him, alien, and he subtly tried to figure out how to turn it back. This was strange, and he didn't know what to do to retract it and his hands were lightly shaking from the adrenaline surge.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

Once Damian had reaped his blood toll upon the mindless Sithspawn contained within the operating room The Shaper unlatched the door to the room with a wave of his hand, opening it gently, before gliding into the room. Pleased that Damian was enjoying the return to full form, and frankly beyond, The Shaper watched the man study his additional 'features'. Purpose-built and masterfully applied to his person to make him an instrument fit to serve the Empire to the best of his ability. He could feel the unrestrained bloodlust still emanating from Damian, the simmering presence of the entity within the laminanium grafted to his being.

A slow, meaningful smile graced The Shaper's features. "I do hope the additions aren't uncomfortable." He remarked dryly, noting the distinct joy and exultation Damian exuded just from being able to walk again. "You have served your Empire well, and thusly, been rewarded." The Shaper emitted a sonar-like pulse in the Force, something Damian would be able to feel quite easily, before two more faceless Sithspawn delivered him fresh clothes. "However, the Empire still had great need of able, willing and devoted men such as yourself. If you would walk with me, I shall inform you of the changes yet to come." Waiting, and politely turning, while Damian dressed himself The Shaper would lead him through a hall in his personal palace. Out of the operating room and out into the palace proper, before opening the door to a balcony overlooking Corbos and the people there. The wind howling briskly among the architecture as The Shaper glanced side-long at Damian. "I am afraid since your hospitalization much has changed. The Empire no longer has an Empress and it has come to be that I am to be Emperor."

The Shaper let the man mull over these words a moment, before continuing. "I would still see, however, a brave man such as yourself be given purpose and a chance to achieve the dreams and power you are capable of." Inclining his head slightly out to the bustling spaceport outside his palace The Shaper would give a small, satisfied smile. "For you see, the Empire brings civility, order and progress to where it goes. In my day Corbos was but a barren, untamed wasteland and now? Now I wish to see it be a jewel of the Empire." Turning to face Damian more The Shaper nodded to him. "As for yourself, you remind me of a saying a Sith Lord I considered a peer stated once. “The Nation that makes a great distinction between its scholars and its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools. Thus, I would see you elevated to both warrior and scholar. A soldier, born, bred and raised, practiced and efficient, as well as a Sith. Taught, trained and tutored to the height of your potential."

The Shaper drew in a breathe, before exhaling slowly, lacing his arms behind his back. "As such. If the past Empress saw potential in you I would offer you a chance to bring together a group of Sith, train them in both the ways of war and the Force, pass what I teach to you and them, aid me in creating a fighting force fit to bring ruin to the enemies of the empire no matter the place, no matter the time, no matter the circumstance." Passion flooded The Shaper's voice like a tidal wave, eyes simmering with twin blazing stars of emotions before they settled into something closer to a low blaze A fierce, confident smile on his face as he extended a hand to Damian. "What say you, Mr. Frost?"


Kuben Woods

 

[Kuben Woods]

As Damian was looking over his new gifts, he would hear the door begin to open. He raised his fists with the claws as he mentally prepared himself for what might be next. More Sith Spawn? Perhaps some war droids? When the Shaper stepped through softened his stance and waited a second before taking a step back instinctively to give him room. And then he would take another step back as he dropped to a knee and knelt, knowing that Lord Shaper was one of the higher ranking Sith in the Empire, and he knew to give proper respects both for someone who was his social superior, while also being ever grateful that this being had rebuilt him. And almost instinctively, all of the blades retracted into his body as his muscles relaxed and he took note that something had caused it from what he'd just done.

It's because you relaxed and willed yourself to submit you idiot.

What? Who are you? Damian immediately thought to himself.

Who do you think, the pizza schutta that lives ten blocks away?

"I... I don't understand," he said out loud to the voice in his head, not realizing that it was speaking directly to him and that unless Shaper was actively listening in he probably wouldn't realize that he was talking to "himself".

He immediately heard Shaper's comment however, speaking quickly to answer the Sith Lord.

"No pain is too great. And compared to the weakness of a broken body this is nothing my lord. Thank you," He said, speaking in a proper tone and keeping his eyes down. He could see the Sith's feet however, so when he turned and heard footsteps he looked up to see two more Sith Spawn bearing, clothes and a towel?

Those are yours idjit, by the nine hells try to keep up.

Damian was a split second from saying something out loud but caught himself this time, knowing that snapping in front of someone of Shaper's station was extremely frowned upon. And if anything Damian knew discipline and would not allow himself another slip. He would rise once he was certain and then first clean himself off with the towel and dress himself properly. They were simple, but still definitely robes of a more royal station, that was odd. Most of the time this pattern was reserved for those of royal houses or bloodlines, and while Shaper was definitely a high ranking Lord, Damian couldn't remember if he was actually that close to Empress Jocelyn. And then as he followed the Sith into the palace he would quietly listen, and things would fall into place. His Empress was no more. Now Shaper was the Emperor of The Sith. His face would remain passive, almost stoic as he followed, his mind slowly catching on. Shaper now wanted him to become something more, just like Empress Jocelyn had, and was willing to see him trained as a proper Sith. To continue the Empire's work of bringing peace and stability to the galaxy.

And then came the offer from his Emperor. The chance to fight as a warrior, a soldier, no, a true Sith against the enemies of the Empire. To make others like him, to be skilled in the ways of war, but also the ways of the Sith. To become true weapons of the Empire against her enemies. Damian would allow himself to smile wickedly at the thought, once again being able to serve. And to serve in much greater, and more effective capacity than ever before. He would raise a fist to his chest, and kneel before the new Emperor of the Sith.

"My Emperor, I have served. I will be of service. What shall you have your servant do?"​