Rain battered earth, churning mist into the biting, stormy air. The swamp whispered through gnarled trees, tales of shadow lurking within the murk. Boots are heavy in the mud, steady and precise even as roots and pools snagged ruthlessly at the black cloth of tattered robes. There was no moonlight to shine through the grim expanse raging above, only the uncaring rumble of thunder, and the dazzling illumination of a lightning bolt. Still, the being presses on, sickly in the night, as flesh once colored with life now appeared closer to bleached wet bone, faded of warmth and humanity. It seems that even at the storm's worst, it's rage could not deter the entity that now lurked through rippling pools, and oozing mud.
A grove twists with coiling tree trunks, it's canopy drenched with rain that still managed to leak into dark grass below. A makeshift alter awaits at it's center, crumbled, old, and fashioned of stone. It was there that the being settles, his eyes alight with cold fire. A gesture of his claws, and a small, covered candle erupts with dim flame, struggling to cling to the wick where the stormy breeze lashed harshly at it. Still, in what little illumination it provides, the features of the man become clearer beneath his hood, a fanged mask and engraved goggles, with claws that arch into lethal points. This was a Kel'dor, and within his veins, a sickness brewed, spreading beneath his skin and igniting his eyes.
From the wrappings of his robe, the Sith draws a small datapad, the glow of it gentle as the storm's fury raged on in the background. The scrawlings it displayed were akin to a student's notes, taken hurriedly during a long class. It was not so far from the truth. His other hand reached into the black robes as well, though it seems to struggle to find it's target. Something moves. It scrabbles away from reaching talons, deeper within the Kel'dor's robes. With a brief sensation of impatience, the force was drawn upon lethal claws, and the rat jolts into the man's grasp as he pulls it from his robe. For a time, he merely watches it, observing the creature with cold eyes.
"You." Sol coos, the vocals of a snake, raspy and venomous, and so entirely cruel. "Get to be the first." The first of many, likely. Since his delve into the underworld of Nar Shaddaa, the Kel'dor had developed something akin to a foul fascination with the rats. Stiffly, the Sith drops the beast upon the alter, pins it there by the tail as he watches for a few, silent moments more. All the better that he was alone out here, in the swamp. What Sol was attempting could have foul consequences, not only for himself, but for any who might be lurking nearby. Isolation for the Kel'dor's dark experiments was a must, until he better understood the powers he was so foolishly toying with.
Despite the thunder and the blinding flashes of lightning, the cold rain that drenches his robes, and the rat squirmed within his grasp, Sol's concentration was absolute. His focus was unyielding. Quietly, at first, he begins to recite the words he had taught himself from his many visits to Korriban's ancient library. This would be his first attempt at ever putting such words of power to use, but still, he knows, something is happening. The darkness chills his blood, freezes his bones, crawls like frost across his skin. He could swear that the storm had become a blizzard, even as the thunder crashed louder than ever before above his head. A talon presses into the flesh of his own wrist, and the blood that mixes with rain to wash across the makeshift alter stains the stone.
He's expecting something worthwhile. Something worthy of note. The rat was meant to shed it's mortal flesh and become something more. A vector for Sol's intended pestilence. But the Kel'dor received no weapon. No glorious breakthrough regarding the alchemy. Only the distressed squeal of the animal, before it shutters with a final breath, dead upon the stone. Irritation rises within the Kel'dor's spirit, as he is left alone in the rain and shadow, still chilled by the sensation of the dark side that he had so willingly flirted with.
A grove twists with coiling tree trunks, it's canopy drenched with rain that still managed to leak into dark grass below. A makeshift alter awaits at it's center, crumbled, old, and fashioned of stone. It was there that the being settles, his eyes alight with cold fire. A gesture of his claws, and a small, covered candle erupts with dim flame, struggling to cling to the wick where the stormy breeze lashed harshly at it. Still, in what little illumination it provides, the features of the man become clearer beneath his hood, a fanged mask and engraved goggles, with claws that arch into lethal points. This was a Kel'dor, and within his veins, a sickness brewed, spreading beneath his skin and igniting his eyes.
From the wrappings of his robe, the Sith draws a small datapad, the glow of it gentle as the storm's fury raged on in the background. The scrawlings it displayed were akin to a student's notes, taken hurriedly during a long class. It was not so far from the truth. His other hand reached into the black robes as well, though it seems to struggle to find it's target. Something moves. It scrabbles away from reaching talons, deeper within the Kel'dor's robes. With a brief sensation of impatience, the force was drawn upon lethal claws, and the rat jolts into the man's grasp as he pulls it from his robe. For a time, he merely watches it, observing the creature with cold eyes.
"You." Sol coos, the vocals of a snake, raspy and venomous, and so entirely cruel. "Get to be the first." The first of many, likely. Since his delve into the underworld of Nar Shaddaa, the Kel'dor had developed something akin to a foul fascination with the rats. Stiffly, the Sith drops the beast upon the alter, pins it there by the tail as he watches for a few, silent moments more. All the better that he was alone out here, in the swamp. What Sol was attempting could have foul consequences, not only for himself, but for any who might be lurking nearby. Isolation for the Kel'dor's dark experiments was a must, until he better understood the powers he was so foolishly toying with.
Despite the thunder and the blinding flashes of lightning, the cold rain that drenches his robes, and the rat squirmed within his grasp, Sol's concentration was absolute. His focus was unyielding. Quietly, at first, he begins to recite the words he had taught himself from his many visits to Korriban's ancient library. This would be his first attempt at ever putting such words of power to use, but still, he knows, something is happening. The darkness chills his blood, freezes his bones, crawls like frost across his skin. He could swear that the storm had become a blizzard, even as the thunder crashed louder than ever before above his head. A talon presses into the flesh of his own wrist, and the blood that mixes with rain to wash across the makeshift alter stains the stone.
He's expecting something worthwhile. Something worthy of note. The rat was meant to shed it's mortal flesh and become something more. A vector for Sol's intended pestilence. But the Kel'dor received no weapon. No glorious breakthrough regarding the alchemy. Only the distressed squeal of the animal, before it shutters with a final breath, dead upon the stone. Irritation rises within the Kel'dor's spirit, as he is left alone in the rain and shadow, still chilled by the sensation of the dark side that he had so willingly flirted with.