Embracing Wrath: Sith Bloodfyre (IG 2011)

Sith Bloodfyre

29-04-2011 16:24:53

Here is what I wrote for Sid's event. Feel free to read it and pick it apart.

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"Embracing Wrath"
DJM Sith Bloodfyre-Tarentae
Quaestor, House Tarentum
Sith Order
PIN 756

2011 - Independence Games (A Dark Brotherhood Event)
"Embracing Wrath" Event by: OE Shaz'air Taldrya; Quaestor, House Taldryan

Wheels had been set into motion for this singular event since the Shaevalian had first set foot into the Brotherhood's Academy halls so long ago upon Aurora Prime. Then, the Brotherhood had been allied with the Emperor's Hammer, and had been gifted with Eos as their home world, and the Academy had been upon Ronin's own planet, Aurora Prime. Then, Kumba had been Headmaster, he who was the last of the Dark Prophets of old. Those dark, dreadfully potent beings had dwarfed all but the eldest of the Grand Masters. There were certainly Dark Prophets during these times, but somehow, the powers separating the two eras of Prophets seemed to be a chasm of darkness. Perhaps it was merely a facade, but it seemed as the eldest of the past could not be matched in these recent years.

Thoughts of the past seemed incredibly appropriate as Sith Bloodfyre stood facing a separate, powerful, hooded being. Thoughts of finding his way to Eos, entering the Shadow Academy, his first years in the Brotherhood as a member of Gladius, and the founding of the Mystics of the Black Arts. The first days and years seared through his mind as his eyes first touched upon this other being. And, while neither spoke, and neither could see each other's face, Sith knew that he stood facing himself. He had not sought out this confrontation; indeed, if asked, Bloodfyre could not precisely determine how he had found himself in this situation. Suddenly, he simply existed here, as though he had been here for an eternity. Was it the deepest, darkest regions of his own mind? Was he facing himself, his inner demons, in nothing more than a dream?

It seemed as though it were a dream. The dimly-lit, circular room the two warriors occupied was barely decorated. The room seemed carved of the finest obsidian, the walls gleaming with their own apparent inner light. The room itself seemed to glow of its own accord; there were, in fact, no torches, no sources of light that could be seen. There was a simple, single source of light from somewhere up above the heads of the two, in the very center of the ceiling, if there truly was a ceiling to this place. No pillars held up the upper reaches of the place, no braziers held flame, or incense. The entire obsidian room was entirely void of all adornments, all decoration, with the exception of the two equally-potent Sith Masters.

One was most certainly Sith Bloodfyre. The other was something of himself, but something entirely not. The Shaevalian could not tell if he was truly himself, or if he was the mirror image of the dreadful being equidistantly across from him. Which is truly the man I claim to be? Sith thought to himself. A slight, barely audible chuckle from across the way seemed to indicate that, perhaps, the other was having the same thought. Or perhaps he can actually read my mind.

This simple phrase seemed to calm the mind of the Shaevalian a bit. He had always had difficulty in reading the thoughts of others, and in using all but the most basic of mental-based Force techniques. The great will he possessed, the mental fortitude that had been trained into him over the course of decades provided him with a great defense to such powers, but prevented him from using most of them, as well. If the other were reading his thoughts, then perhaps that was proof that he truly was the man, while the other was the mirror, the myth, the facade.

No wind blew in this enclosed space. Though it seemed to stretch out forever, there was a very palpable barrier to this room, very noticeable stone walls. But there seemed to be a question as to whether these walls were put in place by his own mind, the mind of his own mirage, or perhaps some other force. Had he been placed here by a rival, or by one of the powerful Grand Masters? Was this some sort of test? Perhaps this was why Bloodfyre could not envision how he had come to be here, or indeed why he was here at all.

"You are here because you are weak, Sith Bloodfyre," the other facing him said, in his own voice. "While you may be a Master of the Sith Order, and the last of the vaunted High Warriors, you are nothing."

"I am a member of the Sith Order," Bloodfyre responded with a calm, collected voice. "I am an Elder of the Dark Brotherhood, one of the Masters, and Quaestor of House Tarentum."

"Empty statements, from the impotent leader of a decimated House," the facade replied. "Everyone knows that Tarentum has been neutered. You were handed the reigns of a dead House."

"I have recalled several allies, and we are working on rebuilding," Sith's voice was entirely void of emotion. "If you know everything about me, and have access to my every thought, then you realize that Tarentum is not dead, that members have returned, and that I spend every effort to try and coax the strength and power back into these people, and back into the bonds we share."

Nothing but another short, simple, mocking chuckle escaped the lips of the image of everything the Shaevalian was now coming to despise. Neither man moved, each remained almost cemented in place in the exact spot they have materialized in when they had awakened in this realm of uncertainty. The thought now occurred to the Sith Master that perhaps he might actually be unable to move, and to test the theory, the Shaevalian took several paces to his left, and found that he was not held in place by some force or potentate. The mirror image of himself stood exactly where he had been, unwilling to move, though seemingly sure of every capability that he had. The thought dawned upon the mind of Bloodfyre that, while he was uncertain of some things, and had to ponder the nature of this place, the nature of his imprisonment, and even whether or not he had the ability to move, this other image of himself was entirely certain of everything. Where Sith questioned, the facade answered. Whether Sith pondered, the other knew. If Sith began to doubt... would the other recognize the lack of power and strength, and destroy him?

"And now you fall."

The moment of doubt and weakness provided a slight hesitation that the facade decided to capitalize on. An exact duplicate of Bloodfyre's well-known Deathsaber tore the stillness of the obsidian chamber with the ever familiar snap-hiss as its dual blades ignited in unison, the facade of the Master leaping across the meter or two of distance that separated the two. Bloodfyre brought his own weapon to bear, igniting the blades a mere breath before the weapon of his opposite would have likely cleave his body in twain. The mirror of himself was utterly strong, and even the first strike pressed the Sith Master back a meter and a half, with the Shaevalian slightly off balance, trying to regain his composure from the impressive strike. The facade didn't falter in his assault, and continued to bring his duplicate weapon to bear in strikes from every angle. Sith could not help but feel a bit of awe over the speed with which the man was attacking.

While Bloodfyre was certainly not a slow, lumbering hulk, he did not possess the speed, or even the overpowering strength his mirror seemed to bear. Sith had always relied upon his impressive fortitude, and his body's own natural resiliency for combat. Whatever would slowly weaken and tire out any other opponent, Sith would wade through and beyond, and have the stamina necessary to wait out very assault, and take his opponents at a moment of his own choosing. But this facade of himself, his mirror was impressively fast, and unbelievably strong. Would his reserves of constitution and endurance be able to sustain him through such an assault that he had never faced before?

The two continued to circle the room, with the mirror image of the Shaevalian pressing the attack, while the Sith Master himself continued to try and determine the nature of his mirror, and determine the exact limits of this other's strength, speed, and power within the Dark Side. The duplicate seemed to utilize his own natural powers, and did not seem to call upon the Dark Side. Was this a part of his plan? Would be wait until the Shaevalian called upon the Dark Side, and then call down powers far greater than his own to destroy him?

"Continue to doubt yourself, Sith Bloodfyre," his own voice from the depths of the other's hood, "and race to your imminent defeat. You are entirely weak, and your enemies have always known it. You have known it. And your despair and inability will ensure the ultimate destruction of Tarentum."

"Stick your head up a Hutt's tailpipe and blow," Sith's eyes finally gleamed with a brilliance that seemed to burst out from the shadows of his hooded face. The Shaevalian would never let the end come for Tarentum, and couldn't even conceive such a fate for the House he held the utmost concern and respect for. While this mirror was a match for him in every way, and was perhaps everything he was not, it had finally dawned upon him that this mirror was not everything he was, as well. He was intimately concerned for every aspect of Tarentum, and worked to be personally involved in every success that Tarentum could muster. This mirror believed in the nearing end of Tarentum, while Bloodfyre believed his House would live on long after his own ultimate destruction would finally come.

Each successive blow from the mirror hailed down upon the Shaevalian, only to be blocked by the man's own weapon. And yet, as Bloodfyre's determination began to return, and the ultimate end of Tarentum shocked the Sith Master out of whatever funk he had been in, he began to notice the mirror's weakening strength. The facade was finally beginning to weaken, and Bloodfyre felt his own reserves kick in. This had been a test. It had been a test conceived of his own thoughts, his own powers, and through the Dark Side. He had been tested, and neared his own doom through doubting his own abilities, and the abilities of Tarentum to survive every obstacle.

"Your end is near, Bloodfyre," the other's voice continued to be ominous, but it was not as sure of its own sentiments as it perhaps had been initially. "There is no hope for you, and no hope for Tarentum. You will be brought down by Taldryan, by Revan and Plagueis; Naga Sadow and even Scholae Palatinae will pick apart your corpse; the Light Siders of Odan-Urr, led by one of your bitter rivals, will cut you down. And when all seems to crash down upon you and your kin in Tarentum, Arcona will finally come and claim your weak, pathetic head as a trophy."

"Well, then I suppose it's a fate you and I will share, weakling," Bloodfyre's voice now held the strength within it that his mirror had originally possessed. Nothing the other could say would deter the man from his goal of renewing Tarentum's vigor and life through every expenditure of his own. "Tarentum will never die, because there are those who bleed for it every day, and spend their own sweat, and energy, and ounce of life they have to give."

"Effort spent in vain," the other answered, still seeking to rain blows upon the form of the Shaevalian, now easily-defended by Sith's own weapon. "You will all fall, and the Council knows it. Tarentum's head is on the chopping block, and your doom will be the final nail in its coffin."

Sith's double-bladed weapon came from differing angles, with less speed than the other had initially been able to bring, but now, the weakened doppelganger was barely able to defend, and his strength was beginning to ebb beyond holding his weapon on course to defend against the Sith Master's graceful form. Each strike knocked the facade's weapon farther away from being able to protect his body, and the other had to spend more energy, and called heavily upon the Dark Side to empower him to hold off the Sith Master's assault.

"The final nail in Tarentum's coffin would have been the absolute doubt as to whether or not I have the ability to save it from the death you believe in," Bloodfyre swung his weapon with a vicious strike, and severed the mirror's own Deathsaber in twain, and sent the other reeling across the room with a powerful kick to his sternum, the strength of his right leg exalted by the gifts of the Dark Side to empower the blow. The other skidded across the floor as he struck it, hard, on his back. The man's weapons winked out of existence as they slid across the obsidian floor, and were lost into the mirrors of what had appeared to be the walls of the circular room.

"I am my own worst enemy," Bloodfyre said to his other, stalking him slowly across the several meters distance separating him. The other watched the Shaevalian, and scurried away, trying to gain some distance, and get back to his feet. "On your belly, wretch, for that is where you belong."

"I belong over you in triumph!" The other tried to get back to his feet, and Bloodfyre sent him flying across the room with unseen hands of telekinetic power. The other was plucked up from the floor by the Dark Side's power, and tossed aside with as little apparent effort as a slight gust might brush aside a bit of a leaf, or cause a blade of grass to sway effortlessly.

"You belong under my command," Bloodfyre shook his head slightly. "You are my confidence, and my power. When I doubt myself, you are my enemy. But when I am in firm belief of myself, and my kin in Tarentum, then there is no enemy in the galaxy that can stand against me. And if nothing else, I owe you a debt for reminding me of that."

Sith tossed his double-bladed weapon directly at the facade, aiming it directly at himself with the gifts of the Force. It seemed as though the other may have actually smirked and bowed his head slightly in homage before the Deathsaber's arc moved closer, claiming the doppelganger's head. The decapitated corpse fell swiftly to the floor, and winked out of existence before the empty robes fell flat upon the obsidian beneath Bloodfyre's feet. Sith stood over the empty robes for a moment, contemplating how many times he'd had to best his own lack of confidence in the past, and restore himself to his proper place, and proper belief in himself and Tarentum.

The road ahead of him and his House was certainly a long and arduous one. But there would be no defeat, no ultimate doom, so long as he and his kin had full faith in themselves, and in each other.