IC: High Lord Cold
Location: Cold’s Fortress, Anzat Prime
Setting: A Week Prior to Emperor Xarxes Coronation
Imperatrix Leto Hesphora had abdicated her throne. The Dark Council had quickly convened under the guidance of Lady Vasirion who for the time had stepped into the role as Regent. Soon after, the results were revealed to the Empire of who shall take The Throne, The Arbiter Dark Lord Dumé Xarxes.
While Cold served at the Council’s desire, both as a member of the Circle of High Lords, and as a personal Assassin, he felt a more personal touch should be done for the man or woman that was at the top of it all. Though it was for more selfish reasons, mainly for them to look the other way on occasion when a hunt would turn into a massacre as long as no one important was a victim. Being what he was, it was always best to cover possible discrepancies that pertained to his nature.
Swearing fealty would not be enough. No. A gift alongside it would be much more appropriate. But it couldn’t be just anything. Weapons were cheap, easy to break, and at their beck and call whenever they wanted. As Emperor they would once again have access to any ritual, or information that they desired. No, this had to be something that had a more personal touch. A reminder that he was at the Emperor’s service whenever, and wherever required. But what could it be?
He perused the collection of scrolls, artifacts, and holocrons the predecessors of this Fortress had gained over time. There were rituals to extend life, those were a dime a dozen, and most are scams that will actually shorten your life. There were rituals to create life through the Force, once again he doubted the authenticity of them. Explanations on how to create monsters. That was an idea, but it should be something more controllable. It was then, he came across a scroll from an age long past that described something inhumane, and violent. This was perfect. He of course would need to collect a few things before he could begin, but none of it was out of his reach.
He sent the witches to gather almost all of what he required, while he went to gather the most important piece. He stepped through a portal that shone of icy blue, into a warzone that now lay vacant after several days. He scanned the battlefield, the dead having been discarded and littered the grounds, not buried, or burned. No prayers into the afterlife by comrades that mourned them. They, like everyone else, died alone. But he was not here for the dead. The dead were of no use. No. He was here for the forgotten. The wounded that were not given a second chance. By now, they should have died, left to survive with nothing. Almost all were, but there was one that he could sense who stood out. They refused to die.
“Do you know who I am?” He asked while crouching.
“Aye.” He affirmed with a growl of anger.
“Do you want to live?”
“Yes!”
“Do you trust me?”
“What kind of question is that?” He spat.
“Answer the question!” Cold hissed.
“I trust- no one- but the Throne.”
“Excellent. One last question before I,” he emphasized himself, “Decide if you live or die. Will you trust me to save your life? You will owe a life debt.”
“I- will- LIVE!” He roared.
Cold smiled sinisterly, as his ice blue eyes glowed. “You will owe your life, but yes, you will live.”
He dragged the man through the portal before it closed into a lab that was once hidden within the Fortress. There was a smell of rotten fish that did not seem to ever dissipate, but Cold welcomed it as a way to keep himself focused on the task at hand or else succumb to baser instincts.
As he examined the Sith’s wounds, a medical droid entered the lab with the rest of the equipment he had requested from the witches. Of course they avoided the lab, the smell would make lessers nauseous in seconds. They could not appreciate the focusing effects that it provides.
“You will feel excruciating pain before we are finished, pain you have never felt before. Embrace it. Use it to know you are alive. Trust in the Dark Side of the Force. In the end, you will survive, but always remember your debt.”
He then addressed the droid. “Keep him alive, no matter what your sensors tell you of the pain he is in, do not interfere. He will scream, all I care is that he lives through this.”
“As you command Master, it is my primary programming to do as you command, and save patients.” The droid replied in a factory set monotone voice.
He then began to work, tearing damaged skin from bone and painfully grafting a special armor to them. A leather bodysuit was placed where the armor wasn’t. The hands of the Sith were replaced mostly by prostheses featuring a set of metal claws at the fingertips. His stomach was removed, as eating was no longer going to be apart of what he needed.
“His vitals are rising drastically, if you continue like this he will die.” The droid advised over the patient’s incessant screams.
The room grew colder, slowing the rise of the patient’s vitals and making the High Lord both annoyed that he had to exert more effort than he wanted, but pleased that his talents could afford him more time to study the process of the experiment. He then continued, sealing the area from where he removed the stomach. Adding on ribbed flexible armor plates to the chest area, he continued by adding a high metal collar that connected to a form-fitting pauldron that protected the right shoulder. Covering the newly sealed stomach area were another series of ribbed plates forming a sort of girdle.
The last piece, the piece de resistance if you will, was a form-fitting helmet that covered the full head, the face plate including a breathing apparatus that was not automated. As it came down upon the patient, they were screaming, “No! No! No! NO! NOOOOO!!!” But it was too late as the armor was grafted and locked into place permanently.
“You have no need for your past anymore.” Cold said with a sinister smile as he began ripping memories from their mind. Every happy memory was no longer needed. Even their name was taken from them. They would receive a new one eventually. All they would have left is their abilities, their anger, their hatred, their rage, and their desire to fulfill their life debt. Though their memory of who the life debt was to was altered. No longer would they remember owing it to Lord Cold, now it was owed to the Emperor themself. Lord Cold left a false memory as well that he was to bring them to their Master in a week's time. It would give him time to work out any last flaws.
What he had done here today was create from history a true Sith Stalker. There were many in the Empire that modeled their ability set after them, but they would never be as efficient and deadly as those of old. Cold considered himself a Master in the ways of Chaos, and felt this would be a great gift for the new Emperor. A way for the Conqueror to create chaos behind enemy lines so that they themself could bring proper Order.
@Xarxes
Location: Cold’s Fortress, Anzat Prime
Setting: A Week Prior to Emperor Xarxes Coronation
Imperatrix Leto Hesphora had abdicated her throne. The Dark Council had quickly convened under the guidance of Lady Vasirion who for the time had stepped into the role as Regent. Soon after, the results were revealed to the Empire of who shall take The Throne, The Arbiter Dark Lord Dumé Xarxes.
While Cold served at the Council’s desire, both as a member of the Circle of High Lords, and as a personal Assassin, he felt a more personal touch should be done for the man or woman that was at the top of it all. Though it was for more selfish reasons, mainly for them to look the other way on occasion when a hunt would turn into a massacre as long as no one important was a victim. Being what he was, it was always best to cover possible discrepancies that pertained to his nature.
Swearing fealty would not be enough. No. A gift alongside it would be much more appropriate. But it couldn’t be just anything. Weapons were cheap, easy to break, and at their beck and call whenever they wanted. As Emperor they would once again have access to any ritual, or information that they desired. No, this had to be something that had a more personal touch. A reminder that he was at the Emperor’s service whenever, and wherever required. But what could it be?
He perused the collection of scrolls, artifacts, and holocrons the predecessors of this Fortress had gained over time. There were rituals to extend life, those were a dime a dozen, and most are scams that will actually shorten your life. There were rituals to create life through the Force, once again he doubted the authenticity of them. Explanations on how to create monsters. That was an idea, but it should be something more controllable. It was then, he came across a scroll from an age long past that described something inhumane, and violent. This was perfect. He of course would need to collect a few things before he could begin, but none of it was out of his reach.
He sent the witches to gather almost all of what he required, while he went to gather the most important piece. He stepped through a portal that shone of icy blue, into a warzone that now lay vacant after several days. He scanned the battlefield, the dead having been discarded and littered the grounds, not buried, or burned. No prayers into the afterlife by comrades that mourned them. They, like everyone else, died alone. But he was not here for the dead. The dead were of no use. No. He was here for the forgotten. The wounded that were not given a second chance. By now, they should have died, left to survive with nothing. Almost all were, but there was one that he could sense who stood out. They refused to die.
“Do you know who I am?” He asked while crouching.
“Aye.” He affirmed with a growl of anger.
“Do you want to live?”
“Yes!”
“Do you trust me?”
“What kind of question is that?” He spat.
“Answer the question!” Cold hissed.
“I trust- no one- but the Throne.”
“Excellent. One last question before I,” he emphasized himself, “Decide if you live or die. Will you trust me to save your life? You will owe a life debt.”
“I- will- LIVE!” He roared.
Cold smiled sinisterly, as his ice blue eyes glowed. “You will owe your life, but yes, you will live.”
He dragged the man through the portal before it closed into a lab that was once hidden within the Fortress. There was a smell of rotten fish that did not seem to ever dissipate, but Cold welcomed it as a way to keep himself focused on the task at hand or else succumb to baser instincts.
As he examined the Sith’s wounds, a medical droid entered the lab with the rest of the equipment he had requested from the witches. Of course they avoided the lab, the smell would make lessers nauseous in seconds. They could not appreciate the focusing effects that it provides.
“You will feel excruciating pain before we are finished, pain you have never felt before. Embrace it. Use it to know you are alive. Trust in the Dark Side of the Force. In the end, you will survive, but always remember your debt.”
He then addressed the droid. “Keep him alive, no matter what your sensors tell you of the pain he is in, do not interfere. He will scream, all I care is that he lives through this.”
“As you command Master, it is my primary programming to do as you command, and save patients.” The droid replied in a factory set monotone voice.
He then began to work, tearing damaged skin from bone and painfully grafting a special armor to them. A leather bodysuit was placed where the armor wasn’t. The hands of the Sith were replaced mostly by prostheses featuring a set of metal claws at the fingertips. His stomach was removed, as eating was no longer going to be apart of what he needed.
“His vitals are rising drastically, if you continue like this he will die.” The droid advised over the patient’s incessant screams.
The room grew colder, slowing the rise of the patient’s vitals and making the High Lord both annoyed that he had to exert more effort than he wanted, but pleased that his talents could afford him more time to study the process of the experiment. He then continued, sealing the area from where he removed the stomach. Adding on ribbed flexible armor plates to the chest area, he continued by adding a high metal collar that connected to a form-fitting pauldron that protected the right shoulder. Covering the newly sealed stomach area were another series of ribbed plates forming a sort of girdle.
The last piece, the piece de resistance if you will, was a form-fitting helmet that covered the full head, the face plate including a breathing apparatus that was not automated. As it came down upon the patient, they were screaming, “No! No! No! NO! NOOOOO!!!” But it was too late as the armor was grafted and locked into place permanently.
“You have no need for your past anymore.” Cold said with a sinister smile as he began ripping memories from their mind. Every happy memory was no longer needed. Even their name was taken from them. They would receive a new one eventually. All they would have left is their abilities, their anger, their hatred, their rage, and their desire to fulfill their life debt. Though their memory of who the life debt was to was altered. No longer would they remember owing it to Lord Cold, now it was owed to the Emperor themself. Lord Cold left a false memory as well that he was to bring them to their Master in a week's time. It would give him time to work out any last flaws.
What he had done here today was create from history a true Sith Stalker. There were many in the Empire that modeled their ability set after them, but they would never be as efficient and deadly as those of old. Cold considered himself a Master in the ways of Chaos, and felt this would be a great gift for the new Emperor. A way for the Conqueror to create chaos behind enemy lines so that they themself could bring proper Order.
@Xarxes