Legorii knelt, dipping his hand into the Well. Around him, spirits screamed, their ethereal tendrils snaking out from the darkness to seductively brush the Proconsul’s cheeks. His proboscises, the tentacle-like appendages capable of draining a being’s very soul, waved gently in the cool breeze. The Pontifex had his head thrown back in ecstasy, his heart pounding as it pushed blood from his heart to his extremities and back again.

The Arconan inhaled slowly, drawing the very essence of the Well into his lungs, and exhaled softly. Just as he seemed most at peace, the Pontifex was interrupted by a muffled cry. His crimson eyes snapped open, locking onto the naked, bound figure on the other side of the Well.

“Shh, shh, I’m almost ready for you,” Legorii cooed, his soothing voice belying his blood lust. The captive cried louder, thrashing against the cloth gag that muffled her voice.

“Perhaps you should not have opposed us on Begeren, Miss…?” Legorii trailed off, letting his musings die in the air. He glanced at the girl again, smiling wryly to himself. “Of course, I’d have to untie you first. Very well.”

Slipping a vibroblade from the folds of his robes, the Pontifex placed a hand roughly on the girl’s shoulder, dragging her forward. Her eyes widened and she cowered, trying to escape his grasp. He slashed the cloth from her mouth, letting it fall free. She whimpered, trying to shield her face with her bound hands. Legorii looked at her expectantly, before she finally whispered, “Selikah.”

Legorii nodded and left her alone by the edge of the Well, returning to his preparations. The ritual was almost complete.

Turning back to the woman, he asked, “Have you ever seen anything like this?” Terrified, the girl shook her head. “I expected not,” Legorii replied. “It’s a depository of souls and spirits, a tabernacle of nightmares. It sustains the Entar family, and in turn, we sustain it.”

The Pontifex grabbed the girl once more, shoving her against the lip of the Well as she screamed. His robes pressed against her breasts, he leaned over her, tilting her head back over the gaping mouth of the Well. Her soft, pale throat was exposed. Her screams subsided as she seemed to accept her fate, closing her eyes as Legorii’s proboscises descended toward her.

Legorii drew the knife across her throat in a shower of blood, splattering himself and his ceremonial robes. As the blood began to flow from her wound and her eyes began to dim, the Proconsul began to feed upon the girl’s “soup,” draining her of her memories, experiences, and emotions as the light faded from her life.

Once he’d eaten his fill, the Pontifex cast her corpse into the Well, where her spirit would join the others in a cacophony of terror sure to endure for millennia.

--KPN Legorii, #8893

Shujiru Raunien worships the mighty Adas, no one else former king of Korriban and the Sith. He died in 27,700 BBY and is the one I look to for guidance towards the dark side. He has taught me not to be forgiving with my enemies and to trust in the ever-consuming darkness. I have to go to Korriban in the Esstran sector in the Horuset system once every year to pay my worships. I have to sacrifice 10 lives, each of a different species on Korriban with a sacred sword forged in his forge, made with my bare hands in order to keep his favour. To gain more of his favour, I can kill a Jedi youngling once every 100 days. I came to believing on a trip to Korriban, whilst on a trip when I was 7, on a journey from my mentor. I was walking through the forests to see him slit my mother’s throat. I tried to stop him but I felt I should let her die. My mentor and I then spent the next 10 years on Korriban, training for me to join “The Dark Jedi Brotherhood”. He taught me about Adas and how he ruled the sith and how he was a “the choosing being” due to his unusual charcoal coloured skin. He said that I was like different because I had green skin which is unusual for a Sith. He said I was destined to be like Adas and that I would lead the sith into glorious battle against the Jedi and crush them once and for all.

In the midst of his small room, scattered with books and data-slates and fragrant from the perfumed smoke emanating from several censers, Kor Vaal studied his latest acquisition by candlelight. It small statue carved from a lustreless black stone, almost crude in its simplicity, but the image was unmistakable. This was a treasure from old Korriban. This was a depiction of Marka Ragnos, and from the age of the thing was likely carved by one who actually looked upon the very face of the ancient lord. The man who sold it to him hadn't truly known what it was, but he had been glad to be rid of it, believing it to be cursed and blaming his spate of recent break ins and thefts on it. Kor Vaal believed the man had been right, after a fashion. It was more than likely that the man's lack of security and being in the wrong part of town led to the break-ins, but the statue may have had something to do with it. The thing practically emanated dark power, the image of Ragnos and the intent it had been carved with giving the thing some semblance of a life of its own. Like attracts like, darkness to darkness. Kor Vaal believed that these things were key. He followed the Unifying Force, believing that the Force existed in all living things, connecting every life form and event throughout all time and space. If this was the case, he theorized, then every artefact like the statue, every book of lore, every single religious practice in the galaxy was, at the same time, completely true and completely false. For though they were all inherently wrong in that the Force was the only true thing that could be identified as a deity, the living (and sometimes the dead) affect the Force, every minor action they perform starting a chain of cause and effect that rippled across the galaxy. This was the importance of the statue, of all his statues of various deity's and Sith lords, of all his books of philosophy, religion and magick, they all had their lessons and their power, granted to them by those that made them. Kor Vaal sat cross legged before his small alter, placing the statue on it and concentrated on his breathing, connecting himself on a higher level with the Force, letting it's currents wash over him. He focussed on the image of Marka Ragnos, tracing its life back through the ages, from it's acquisition by the shop keeper, to arriving on the planet with a mercenary, who had stolen it from a house he and his company had assaulted. Kor Vaal could taste the colour of blood from the assault, feel the death happening around the statue. Further back from the house to a hundred other lives of the statue, in the hands of merchants, warriors and kings, beggars and nobles, soldiers, liars, tyrants, philosophers and historians. He felt the pain and anger associated with the statue, following its ripples back to their source, back to Korriban, back to the hands of the Sith who had spent his time carving it. He felt the man's passion for his work, his wonder at the lord Marka Ragnos, felt his awe at being in the Sith lords presence. Kor Vaal felt the power of Marka Ragnos, could feel it flowing through him as if he were there. Whether everything he'd seen had been the true past, or simply his mind theorizing the history of this artefact, the effect was the same. It tuned his mind to the contemplation of an ideal, that of power and mastery over the dark side, that of Marka Ragnos. He now envisioned himself stood before the dark lord himself, felt the power and wisdom of ages emanating from him. Lost in his vision now, he was ready to begin his meditations fully. “Teach me my lord,” he felt himself whisper. And in his mind, he heard Marka Ragnos speak.

DJK Lucyeth
#13700