“Yeah, thanks for the support, there,” he said, quietly. “Hope you know a way out of here. I may be a screw-up, but at least I tried to help you.”

Thoran, now feeling anger wash over him, struck at the air with his hand. A small shimmer of light sparked in front of him, but no portal opened. He repeated this motion, and another sparkle appeared and fizzled out. Again he tried, again the same result. The laughter of the dark Phalomir flowed to his ears, sending more anger through Thoran. He threw his head up and stared sharply at the dark volcanic figure.

“You’ll not destroy the Sith! Niether of you!” he cried out. He struck the air again, with no result. Again and again he tried, the laughter of the dark being growing louder and louder, and the gibbering around them seemingly growing closer, the sound now like screams around them.

But then Thoran realized that sounds he now heard were screams. They echoed through the gibbering mass, and he turned his head to the left to see flashes of red light cutting through the mass of imps that had begun the stream down the valley. The dark Phalomir continued to laugh, and Thoran flicked his eyes to Tarnus, who apparently had also caught sight of the imps. Suddenly a bright blue light appeared in place of the red flashes, almost at the same instant as a bright shimmering light appeared at the base of the Tower, transforming into the welcomed sight of a portal.

Thoran’s eyes lit up, and he immediately broke and ran for the portal. The dark Phalomir had stopped laughing, and was turning to see what had happened. Thoran was halfway there when a tall Sith stepped through the opening. Covered in violet blood that seeped from uncounted cuts and wounds, clothing in shreds, and an eye hanging from it’s socket, Thoran did not immediately recognize the Sith, but it did not take long.

“The Master!” he exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. The Master regarded Thoran for a second, then turned to the dark Phalomir.

--------------------

The dark Phalomir paused, then broke into laughter once again. He lifted a hand and shot a brilliant yellow spark from his palm, sending the Master flying backwards.

The Master growled deeply and stood to one knee, blasting out with a red flash that hit the dark Phalomir squarely in the chest. The being was caught off guard, and although not hurt was knocked back a bit. The Master fell back to the ground, exhausted and nearing collapse.

“Follow me, fast!” he cried out, breaking into a run. He then dove for the still open portal, knowing that if the Master went out then it would close and their chance to escape would be lost. He had no idea where the portal truly led, but it had to be better than here!

[ 10-03-2007 10:45 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Thoran ]

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Literally.

Before I knew it, ol Tarface was down, if momentarily, and Thoran was making dust, heading toward another one of those weird rips in the spacetime-interdimensional-whatever continuum. He didn't have to say a word to me; gulping whatever passed for air I let my feet fly, and soon passed Thoran. I barreled by something red and hideous with one eye, and dove head-first into the rip...

((OOC: Follow Sorben Tarnus to Round and Round and Round She Goes... in the "CSWU" forums, thank you.))

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(((OOC: Follow Thoran into Round and Round and Round She Goes… in the “CSWU” forum. Thanks!)))

[ 10-03-2007 11:06 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Thoran ]

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The Dark Phalomir, newly born into the ways of the Realms, yet full of the knowledge and power that had been promised, sat glowering upon the heaped bodies of imps. The Tower loomed behind him, a white spire offset by the blackness that consumed this existence. His temper had been squelched for the moment, his rage fed into the slaughter of imp after imp, then fully spent with the mutilation of the one who had brought him life.

And now he, Dark Phalomir, clone of the Dark Lord of Armorers, now consumed with the Darkness that had been promised to bring about a new beginning for both the Light and Dark Realms, regarded the Master back from his throne of bodies.

“She still holds the connection,” the Master croaked. “She will still yet believe.”

The Dark One raised his head slightly, then waved his hand at the Master. A long streak of crackling energy blasted forth from the palm of that hand, striking full into the Master’s chest. The Master screamed and sailed backwards into a large rock. His already broken body smacked into the non-material and cracked in a few more places.

After a moment of silence he stirred and rolled his head to the side to again look at the clone of his son. The red skin of the Sith had been darkened into a volcanic mix of black and crimson, and the eyes that once shown brightly now pierced outward with black centers.

“Try…” the Master growled. “She is the only one who can hear you. Just try…”

The Dark One scowled once more, and began to raise his hand again. But then he paused, regarding the Master as if in deep thought. His hand came down, and his eyes closed. The memories of He Who Was, the darkest one, came to him. He who would be Lord, He who would have been sitting here… But nothing is for certain in this realm, and the powers that be are never certain.

“Dark Heart,” said the Dark One, calling forth into the blackness. The connection was weak, almost non-existent at first. But through his closed eyes he saw flickers of a room. From the memories implanted from his days as Phalomir, the Dark One recognized it. It was her, but she was not alone. The image faded, then flickered again.

Again he called, again the connection flickered.

“She is there,” he said out loud. “I will yet find her.”

He concentrated once more, this time holding the image a moment longer. “Speak to me,” he said. “Bring comfort to me, the comfort that only death can feed.”

(((Refer to the appropriately named thread A Creep of Shadow in this forum for another perspective of this.)))

The reply from the dark child came knifing though the cloudy quagmire, penetrating the distorting curtain of oily rain that tried to separate the Darker Realms from that of light. But she had heard the call, and had now answered it.

The Master cocked a bloody eyebrow at the sounds of her thoughts as they echoed through the black air. He lay motionless, however, and waited for the events to unfold.

Dark Phalomir’s mouth creased very slightly, forming what could be taken as a smile.

"I cannot."

--------------------

The darkness roiled inside of Dark Phalomir. A cavernous, sinister anger swelled deep within. Swelled, rose, then boiled over out of the very soul of the being that sat on the stone.

Anger flew from the Dark Phalomir, manifesting itself as blue streaks of raw power that flew from his fingers. Imps cowered in the non-ness of the rocks, but their cover was nowhere near enough to hide them from the rage of the Darkness.

“You CANNOT?!”

He stomped and bellowed, kicking rocks and blasting imps into nothingness. Finally he paused, panting, sweat and smoke falling from his ashed face.

“Dark tidings and destruction to That Which Keeps Us Apart. It cannot separate us for long, my Dark Heart. I shall taste of your flesh, and you shall feel the love that only darkness and pain can bring. Stay with me, my Dark Heart, and tell to me all that happens. Until I find a way to bring you to me, be my ears as well as my heart.”

Dark Phalomir’s eyes flicked to the broken form of the Master, lying still yet seeming to chuckle.

“Take care of those who possess the connection with the All,” he said. “They may be the key, perhaps we can use them.”

"Yes-ss-sss..." she thought back, reaching beyond the necessity of something so mundane as a Portal through the dimensions and into the rest of herself.

"Here is the window by which the truth can be revealed."

--------------------

But this was a hope of much more sinister intent.

He recalled how the Sith Thoran, the servant given to the Master to aid in his promised delivery, had escaped with the human Sorben Tarnus. Yes, the Dark Phalomir knew who this human had been, even in the brief encounter they had. This was the human who held the strings of the Empire, and although that realm held little interest in the past, recent events lent more significance to this trivial band of self-importance mercenaries.

And now a pair had been captured on a Sith world that matched the loose description of these very two. Yet one claimed to have information regarding the blockage with the All.

"Yes-sss...

"Perhaps there will be gain from hearing what feeble words they spout; there might even be krayt dragon pearls to be found among bantha poodoo.

"I shall attend to them accordingly."

--------------------

And he could not help but seize it.

“The greater good?” he sent forth. “The perfect, natural order of life and death?”

Fond memories twinkled inside of the newly formed mind of the Dark Phalomir. For even though a genetic copy of the true Phalomir, the Darkness was meant for the original. This mind was not truly prepared – not filled with holes, with dark desires and secrets, not set with a hidden streak of pure black evil set in balance with the purest of love – no, this mind was still raw. The Darkness had a difficult time tuning with this mind, but it was beginning to form once more and congeal into the perfect manifestation of what it represented.

And with that came the memories.

Standing high above the desolate oceans of non-ness, watching imps and demons wash across the plains at flotsam on a black sea, and beside him stood ShaRhylla. Long claws caressed her cheek, then dug deeply into her eye socket as he spun head to face his. He flicked his tongue across her lip and lapped the blood which streamed down between her cheek and nose, then kissed her – no, sucked her mouth into his own, shredding her gums with his voracious teeth.

And she held him tighter and tighter.

The smile widened on the vessel which was Dark Phalomir, as more and more memories coalesced. She was him, he was she, and in all things dark, they were one. And what of this natural order, this greater good? Bah, it was a humbug notion set in motion by the weak. Existence was as one could make it, and the strongest were those who made it their own. Only the fools who played the Game could care of such things, and The Darkness cared not for such diversion.

All of this he sent to ShaRhylla.

This, and a promise of pain so rich and gratifying, the sorts of which only true lovers could know.

And a thought then crossed his forming mind. A recollection.

"This one is dallying about, playing games, is not deigning to speak with me. Perhaps you can offer a suggestion as how best I can persuade her into continuing the conversation..."

--------------------

"Perhaps..."

--------------------

I know that the Master is stuck in the Darker Realms, and that he thinks he has Phalomir with him...

What did she mean by this? Phalomir was lured here to the Darker Realms, his body given over to the Darkness so the disembodied powers that be could now walk with the dead and the living. Something still tried to thwart his entry into the realms of light, but they did not count upon his ace in the hole – ShaRylla.

But Shayla, once a host to the Darkness herself, now hinted at something rather disturbing.

...and what he intends to do and in fact he has already done with a mere clone. You could destroy the true Phalomir before the Master realizes his error...

What proof could she have of this? She lied, trying to gain favor and inspire conspiracy. A clone could possess the powers that he required. A clone could not complete the balance needed to unlock the secrets of That Which Is, to win the game.

But he would watch, and learn of her true intentions.

At length he sent a brief message to his other, his true heart, she who was as much a part of him as was the Realm itself, for in reality, was it not all one?

She seeks personal gain as one of the Three Ladies, and references that which she does not understand. Her ambition is admirable, but her information is false.

But something bothered him, which in itself was enough to send him into a fury. But he controlled his temper, choosing instead to raise a finger at distant imp and incinerate it into oblivion. He then focused his thoughts into a calm, thoughtful state.

"This will take time..."

--------------------

She reached inward, that strange duality which characterized her being now splitting, as that which was herself before reached over to that which was herself now:

"Let me be me..."

--------------------

The Dark Phalomir sat glumly, watching the events take place before him but not completely immersed. He was troubled, and this in itself troubled him more. Why had Shayla not been able to divulge more information about these clones? What was their purpose? Who had made them?

And why was there a clone of himself gallivanting across the corporeal realm, unchecked and blasphemous?

This is what troubled him.

But his concentration upon his current problem was stripped when the single plea of his most beloved – no, not his, not yet, no; the most beloved of what was, and what still lived within the heart of the Darker Realms itself – what she seemed to ask directly of him.

And he had not been paying total attention.

This sent chills of rage spiraling around him, freezing the imps who had dare to come within range in place and shattering them into millions of fragments. Behind a stone, the Master groaned as he scraped his battered body across the non-ground. But Dark Phalomir quickly recovered, she must never know his concern over these clones.

She must never suspect there was any weakness at all. The bond between them would grow stronger and stronger, but until the doorways between the realms was restored completely, she could still be affected and influenced by those in the realm of light.

So he would trust her judgment, trust her actions.

“Yes,” he said. To what he did not know. “Our link is dim, and until I can complete it you must act upon your own accord. You know what we are, you know what is imperative.”

But then he noticed Panthar, the Sith who was not a Sith. He could see the many fingers of darkness spreading within this being, even through the hazy fog of the weak link it was apparent. But this was not the pure darkness that had come to deliver the Realm, this was the strange generation of the Master’s rule. Unpure.

“You feel the tendrils of darkness spreading within the being before you,” he added. “But take care, it is prone to rebellion. You shall work mastery over it, I have no doubt. He shall be an agent unto us. I must concentrate on our link, do what you will.”

Then another thought: “Use it, find this clone -- and destroy it.”

"This shall I most certainly do..."

--------------------

...but at this point he was so hungry the taste or its potential quality mattered little. After he finished eating, a tray with something wet was shoved through the slot as well. This he was forced to lean over and lap up like an animal.

Matt really had no idea how long he had been in this dismal place, for he frequently fell in and out of conciousness due to overwhelming fatique and pain due to his precarious positioning. He wondered why he was being kept alive at all, and was beginning to believe that someone was gaining a great deal of delight from the manner in which he was being treated. At first, he had worried about the fates of the Sith who had been with him, and had called out to see if anyone was surrounding him. He attempted this several times, and was rewarded with lashes delivered by one strapping Sith warrior or another, all who semed to take great glee in having the opportunity to beat their prisoner. He cursed himself mentally for not backing out of the situation when he could have for quite a while as well.

But at length he was in such agony that, even as alert as he was, he could not think clearly, at least not for any great amount of time. He had just regained some modicum of alertness long enough to eat and drink what was provided via the slot, ignoring the lurch of disgust in his stomach at the sour taste of both, and was beginning to drift once more when something of his normal alertness kept him awake. He once more considered calling out again, but quickly remembered the end result, wincing as a minimally healed beating wound seemed to throb in reminder. His muscles ached, every last one of them, and he yearned for relief from the strange way in which he'd been chained to the wall. He shifted as if doing so would somehow give him some release, and instead felt an uprush of pain. He involuntarily cried out in agony despite his determination to not draw the attention of guards that had to be lingering nearby...

...and the chains that held him remained secure.

But...

For another unusual moment of mental clarity, an idea began to form in Matt's fatiqued mind.

((OOC: For story continuity I am moving this (and any other Matt posts in this thread) into A Creep of Shadow in the "Jedi/Sith" forums, thank you.))

[ 12-20-2012 09:21 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Graysith ]

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But then the boy arrived. At first the anger swelled, but he maintained control and coaxed his bride to slay this whelp. But then something happened – the most unexpected thing that he could not have even imagined – feelings surfaced. Strong feelings from this young human, feelings which should not even have existed, emanated and overpowered the brutish connection they had shared.

He was forced to retreat and reconnect the link, quickly, into the remnants of the dark that existed within the buffoon they called Panthar. But even that was too much effort, and now his hold over the Sith giant was ended. He now focused all of his will to maintain the weak, weak signal with ShaRhylla.

He could hear her voice, read choppy fragments of her thoughts.
It speaks to me...

She spoke this to the boy. Why? Why was she beyond control?

Dark Phalomir growled as the answer came to him.

“Take care, my love,” he whispered. “Your human emotions have come to life. You are shedding your cocoon, perhaps even experiencing a rebirth. You are mortal.”

But how? Again he growled as the answer struck him in the face.

“Once again, the game has changed.”

He closed his eyes and focused, sending with all of his might.

Tell him nothing, he hissed. He must be sacrificed.

“It is as I thought,” he said, casting an angry look to the pile of rocks where he left the battered form of the Master. “She is losing her way, becoming...” His face twisted in disgust. “Human.”

Listen to me, my love. Your thoughts are clouded, twisted by the chemicals your body is releasing. It is only this. Do not stray from the path, you shall be lost forever and not allowed to return to the Realms which you hold dear. Come back to us, my love.

He stood, kicking stones and imps from his field of view.

“She will return to us,” he said, walking closer to the pile of stones. One more kick to the broken body would make him feel right again.

You are not Entaris, she had said. I am the daughter of Roan! she snarled. NO ONE COMMANDS ME!

And with sudden rush of emotion, the link was snapped.

The Dark One fell to his knees, reeling from the recoil. He grasped his head tightly in his hands, clenching his eyes tightly shut. When at length he reopened them a dark violet pool of blood lay on the ground before him, shrouded in dark tendrils that swam within it. These tendrils swirled and snaked their way from the blood and across the ground, climbing onto his skin and absorbing back into his body.

The dark one rose to one knee, breathing heavily of the damp inky air. He looked upwards then, with great reverence.

Something had happened. Something wonderful.

And the dark one moved quickly to command those below him to take advantage of this miracle. She was out there, he knew it. And the miracle in the dark sky gave wind to the sails of his new plan.

He could see the miracle, far in the distance, and he knew what it was. And he thanked his lord for providing such a gateway, for there was only one possible answer to what lay on the other side. But even he could not simply jump into the air and float through this gate.

Then another answer was placed before him like an enemy’s head on a silver plate. An imp, emboldened by the apparently good mood the dark one suddenly was found to be in, made mention of a ship. The imp’s neck was snapped for its boldness, but the message was not wasted.

The ship was conveniently reparable, holes in the hull that could be patched with the strange metals of the Realms. The imps’ initial attack had left the engines undamaged so all it took now was a pilot. Fortunately, he himself could fit this role.

He smiled as he boarded the ship and regarded the name emblazoned on the hull. It was so aptly named that he no longer doubted his fate, and that everything happened for a reason.

And now he sat in the pilot’s seat, the hold loaded with Imps and bow pointed towards the miracle in the distant sky.