The Funeral of Darth Parox

[Hexad Kagortos]

Korriban, 2355 local time​

Theme​

Hooded figures filed into the room in small groups, slowly filling the dimly-lit chamber and taking up spots in the specially designed areas. In the center, a lone coffin, crafted out of onyx, was placed atop a small podium, held up so that it faced the funeral-goers. Its lid was off and placed underneath it for when it would be put on. Within it, Darth Parox lay, his eyes closed. He was clad in his battle armor, his lightsaber placed within his arms, which were crossed in an X shape across his chest. His hair was neat, his wounds tended to. His arms covered it, but the wound that had killed him was still there, underneath all those layers. His heart no longer beat. His skin was pale, and if anyone touched his skin they would feel how deathly cold it was now. Darth Parox was, without the shadow of a doubt dead.

Some had thought he was still alive. That he'd faked his death, ran off to the Unknown Regions. They thought he'd start his own Empire—though where they got the idea, no one knew. He was loyal to the only true Empire, and he'd died because of his loyalty. He'd been stabbed in the back after refusing to kill an Imperial—a competent member, a Sith Lord who would be better alive than dead, helping the war effort. For his loyalty to his Empire, he now lay dead, and his killer walked free. If Sith could join with the Force, Parox would be one angry ghost.

Torches around his coffin made shadows dance across his face, and Hexad Kagortos simply watched, his gaze far-away. He was embroiled deep in thought, pondering the circumstances of Parox's death; he wondered if he deserved it or not. Parox had been forced to make the ultimate choice: the Empire, or the dark side? Had he chosen wrong? Hex supposed he better save it for the speech.

Looking around the room, he searched for familiar faces. Now was the time when people could walk up to the corpse, to pay their respects and say their final goodbyes. Once everyone was done, he would send Parox away with a speech. No one had organized the funeral, so he supposed he might as well. Therefore, he got the right to give a speech. It was only fair.

He knew that Sith gatherings tended to be controversial, and as such guards were stationed at all exits, ready to throw out any troublemakers.

Sith only. Use your first post to pay respects. Feel free to walk up to the coffin, kiss him goodbye, monologue, or whatever else you want. In 72 hours the final speech begins. Death/PvP/Shenanigans disabled. This is a funeral guys.​

 

[Mid Samekh]

Mid stood in between the rest of the crowd, clad in his heavy armour and geared up as always. But he only had his crossguard lightsabre with him. His polearm still needed to be replaced. He hated himself for running like a coward, leaving his weapon like that, but he figured it was a lot better than staying and dying. But this was not the time for him to beat himself up for his failures. This was a funeral. A funeral that shouldn't have happened in the first place.

Mid was a Pureblood, and a traditional one at that. He believed in the Rule of the Strong...but not like this. To prove one's strength meant a proper fight, testing your skills against your opponent's. This...this was murder. Cowardly, weak, low. No honour in this kill, no strength. Mid had been out of the loop for a while. He had heard only rumours about who done it, but the term 'murder' was a constant through all those rumours.

His helmet was under his left arm, his golden eyes were fixated on the coffin and the body within. Parox was a powerful Sith. Someone Mid could actually look up to and learn from. And despite having his own beef with him over what he did to the Confessor, he still considered the young Drast a friend...or as much as one can call a friend in the Order.

He slowly walked up to the coffin and looked down in it. His right arm gave the Sith Lord a light tap on the shoulder and simply rested on it. "Galez akuyi buti su j'us, nuyak dolega." he muttered softly, followed up by a quiet final prayer to bless him and then the Pureblood returned to his spot. His eyes scanned the hall, meeting with those of a fellow acolyte he fought alongside with merely a day or so ago. He gave him a nod and looked at the coffin once again.

 

[The Confessor]

The Dark side was a cruel thing sometimes. It gave, and it took away. And from one certain person, it seemed to take away a lot. To say she was the cause of all the suffering, well from one perspective, yes. It was true. Her name was Lady Eriana Fox. But recently, she'd felt far from being called a Lady. Eriana had been the happiest she'd been in a long time. She had everything she'd ever wanted. A job doing what she loved, power and influence to do as she pleased, a church to share her ideals in. But most importantly, someone to share it with. Now, Eriana never in a thousand years thought she'd actually end up with a man (being as she'd liked the company of girls far better), but this one was something special.

She knew his as Milo Drast. This was before he was a Darth. Before....she happened. Temptation. A fickle thing. And to a servant of the Dark side, temptation was so easily to fall for. A powerful woman of great stature entered into Eriana's church and requested...no, demanded her assistance. The woman was a Darth; what choice did Eriana have but to obey? Down in the chambers of Ilum the two fought for a powerful artifact and took down a wraith tainted by the Dark. After taking down the usurper, fueled and drunk with the excitement of the battle, Eriana fell for the girl's advances and shared herself with that Darth that night. It was a horrible betrayal on her part. But it was not something she had planned to do.

Everything after that became ruin. Milo left the blind Sith, as he had every right to do. What he did then with the rest of his life was his own business, but for Eriana, it was hell. She was lost, alone. Confused. Guilty. All of the negative emotions that drove a Sith to lose themselves. Even after trying to make things up with her lover she was scorned and made a mockery of. Her reputation was ruined. Her life, over.

Someone else was standing in that room now. She was wearing her usual Sith marauder armor only with the addition of her faceless helmet. Not that it mattered for over it all she wore a black cloak and hood so she blended in with the rest of the crowd. She refused to get any closer though. Eriana could see just fine where she was because her vision was not based on sight. She saw the body, a shell of what it used to be. She wanted to cry, but inside she felt dead inside herself. She'd done this to Milo. Had she somehow overcome her temptation then Milo would have never fallen down this path. He was dead, because of her.

Silently, she would whisper a prayer to the Force for her once proud lover, "Milo, my dearest Milo. Your soul was a kind one, though I doubt anyone else knew it. You were strong. A true child of the Sith. You deserved so much better than this. Better than me. I can only hope you find peace where you are going and claim whatever riches lie in store for you in the beyond. I'm so sorry for the things that happened, because of me. Your fate should have been mine. And this burden I will never stop carrying. For I will never stop loving you..."

 

[Gideon Hask Starr]

Gideon had not been seen at a public function for months, and in a way it was oddly fitting that the function he was to be seen at, was the funeral of Milo Drast. It was in service to the Drast that Gideon had last been seen, before the call of the Imperial Intelligence Services dragged him away from the front lines, and back into the murky shadows of the Galaxy once more. He was smartly dressed, a black suit, shirt and coat - a silver Drast sigil pinned to his right lapel, a mark of respect for the Imperial Family, who had lost a noted scion in Milo.

He spoke to nobody as he moved through the gathered crowd, and up to the coffin itself. "Never assumed you'd outlive me Milo." he muttered to the opened cask, loud enough only for him to hear. "Only good one lef...." he reprimanded himself, speaking out turn - even here - was not worth it. Milo had been one of the greats, taking the Empires message out and into the stars, rather than hiding away in palaces and star ships, whilst the 'little people' did the dirty work. The Empire had lost an important tool today, and no mistake.

His right hand, covered in a glove to hide the scarring incurred in his last mission - that fateful combat with the Jedi, whose name he had quite forgotten - alongside Milo some months ago, grazed the side of the coffin. He went to speak again, breath not coming to the assistance of his words, and with his left hand, he fumbled for his inhaler, the crushing damage to his windpipe and lungs caused in that fight, having left him reliant on it, and numerous types of painkiller, for the rest of his life. A sharp hiss sounded as he used the device.

"Long live the Empire." he leaned forwards, as if whispering into the Drast's unhearing ear. His farewells said, he walked away.

 

[Aadya Drast]

____________

The news of Milo's passing had reached Aadya fairly recently and she still hadn't quite had the time to fully process its finality. She was doing better now than she was just a scant few hours ago, though the pit of her stomach still felt like it was filled with two tons of molten lead. No tears were falling now, Aadya having done the lion's share of her crying in the privacy of her own apartment. Here, in front of the others who had come, she wanted to appear strong despite the fact that she wished she was dead.

It hadn't occurred to Aadya until she was getting herself ready that funeral clothes were something woefully missing from her wardrobe. A simple black dress seemed far to ordinary for her, so she'd gone out and got something on the way here. Some may find her attire inappropriate for the setting, but Aadya knew better than anyone else Milo would not have thought that. They had loved each other deeply despite never exchanging those words specifically, but she knew. Trepidation had prevented them from expressing their feelings totally openly, and that was Aadya's only and most massive regret.

It seemed most in attendance didn't want to approach Milo's body to pay final respects, which Aadya understood. It was not in the nature of most Sith to be emotional in a positive way. Many of them would likely take their grief and channel it into destructive tendencies, strengthening their bond with the darkside but eroding their ability to be human. Not quite a positive trade off as far as Aadya was concerned.

Aadya approached the coffin and despite her best efforts, tears began to well in the corners of her eyes. She stroked the side of his face with her hand, lovingly, just like she'd done when they were lying together in her bed. His skin was cold and pale but Aadya still found him incredibly handsome. Aadya wondered if she would ever feel for another the way she felt for Milo. A piece of her heart had hardened with his death and she would likely never be quite the same.

Leaning over, Aadya kissed Milo lightly on the forehead. "I love you," she said quietly, wishing with all of her hear that she'd said it earlier. There was nothing Aadya wouldn't give right now to hear Milo's voice say those words back to her, but it could never be. "I am yours and you are mine."

Stepping away, Aadya rejoined the crowd that had gathered, wiping the tears from her eyes as she walked away from Milo. In time her sadness would ebb away into anger, and perhaps she would do something to avenge the death of her beloved. For now, though, there was little anyone could say or do to flush away the agony of loss Aadya was experiencing.

She realized now that the loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they were witnessing their whole world fall apart, and all they could do was stand by watch.

 

[Hexad Kagortos]

Hex watched as more people slowly approached the coffin, noting the arrival of Eriana Fox, who most knew as Parox's ex-girlfriend. Though he had no strong opinion of the former couple's relationship, he supposed it was admirable that she had at least come to Parox's funeral, despite being shunned by the Sith Lord on more than one occasion. Next came his girlfriend at the time of his death, and Hex couldn't help but sigh as she approached the fallen Sith Lord. It was a saddening and preventable thing, Parox's death.

Pushing his thoughts aside, he approached as the last of them paid their respects, stepping forward to give the speech. If no one had arrived by now, it was likely no one would show up, so he supposed now was a time good as any to wrap things up.

"Darth Parox, controversial as his death may be, has been, undeniably, an Imperial hero." He let the words sink in for a moment, gauging the reactions around the room. "From his days as an Acolyte up until his death, he has fought and bled for our Empire and for our Emperor. When we grew complacent, he was there to inspire us. When we sat idly by and let the Mandalorians power through our former territory, he was out there, claiming worlds, fighting our enemies. When we forgot about the Alliance and they rested, he did not let them rest. He planned the first attack on rebel assets in months, and it is thanks to him that Hoth his now ours. He rose through the ranks, and rightfully so, because Darth Parox served as a pillar that held up our Empire." He paused again.

"And here he lies before us, devoid of life. Through power, he gained victory. And through victory, at long last, his chains have been broken. Darth Parox is free. Though through unfortunate circumstances, the Force has set him free, for better or for worse. Our Empire will mourn his death and the things he could have done for us for years to come." Now was the time to get controversial.

"There is nothing weaker than killing your own kin. Nothing weaker than stabbing a brother in the back to further your own selfish means. We are Sith, but we are not savages. Anyone with half a brain can tell you that killing those around you erases competition. But it seems not everyone can make the difference between a threat and a valuable asset to the Empire. Darth Tagus unfortunately falls into that category, but I suppose we must find it in our hearts to forgive him for his trigger-happy saber hand. He has, after all, never been in a battle." With a dismissive—and perhaps cheeky—shrug, he moved on.

"All we have now is the memory of one of the great Sith Lords of our time. With no children and no heir to his legacy, Parox will live on through his deeds and the impact he has made on the galaxy around him. Long may his memory live."

With that, Hexad stepped back and drew the hood back up on his cloak, having said his piece. He doubted anyone would object to the insults he'd hurled at Tagus—who, of course, had not shown—so he turned around and blended back into the crowd, letting the funeral-goers continue to mingle.

 

[Darth Victress]

.

"Long may his memory live"...

A surreal statement, but one that Darth Victress would agree with. The dark councilor slowly descended the exterior staircase into the temple lobby, her armored figure moving through the crowd as it navigated towards the final shrine of Darth Parox. She had mixed feelings about him; she knew that he didn't like her much and that as an acolyte he had voiced a clear opposition to her in support of Darth Tagus. It was ironic really, his hatred had seemingly clouded his judgment. If Parox had remained at Victress' side, perhaps he'd still be alive now.

Darth Victress listened at the words spoken by the acolyte, passage of time unimportant as she moved closer to the Coffin and gazed down at her fallen ally. Parox may have been many things, but the dark lord did agree that he had served his Empire well in the best of his abilities. For such an effort, a respectable farewell was necessary; She bowed lightly, head tilting down in gratitude as her right fist hovered around the middle of her chest in what appeared as a simple but notable gesture. She would allow the acolyte to continue his speech, turning away and moving closer into the crowd.

There were a few figures aside her gathered here, Eriana Fox and Milo's current love interest: Aadya Drast present. Darth Parox had aided her in completing a pivotal task, and perhaps it was time for her to extend the gratitude. She moved towards the acolyte, haven't ever really spoken to Aadya in the past. Darth Victress' corrupted aura was difficult to miss, a stench of death and necromantic prowess emanated from her very flesh, echoing with the power of the dark side that seeped from her porous skin. Her voice was corrupted and almost robotic as it spoke to the young drast. "Greetings acolyte Drast. I extend my condolences for your loss...there was something that I believe Darth Parox would like you to have.." She said.

Three purebloods, covered in darkened shrouds but with orbs of piercing yellow made their way through the congregation. Carried by two of them was a medium sized chest; for those that could feel its presence, the radiance of freshly forged durasteel and sith magics reeked from its very existence. Placing it on the ground, she allowed the pureblood servants to open it; inside, lay a suit of armor, tailored for Darth Parox but blessed with her own force forged prowess. It was a suit of Dark Armor, that Darth Parox had made alongside her own, and it was time that it was gifted to his lover.

"Darth Parox's blessed armor. It cannot be wielded by you yet however when you are ready, come seek assistance if you wish to utilize its powers in battle..." Darth Victress spoke, monotone but with a certain conviction. Secretly, she hoped that Aadya would wear it some day, prolonging Darth Parox's legacy. Afterall, the sorceress was well known for her value of sentiments. As their conversation ended, she turned away from the young Drast and proceeded to move towards the exist.

@Logan