Mors Tenebrae: The Beginning

[Sotha Sil]

It has started.

'The first defeat (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=34602&highlight=darmok) had been taken. We went to attack them, to eliminate their Coven but they were too powerfull! They destroyed us in flashes of red and white. Their numbers were against them yet they ripped us apart. RIPPED US APART!'

'A few of us cowards staggered through the underworld of Coruscant and retreated, bleeding heavily, dying. It was like running from a pack of Lupines, hunt us they did, some of their Coven followed us to our demise, took us in the darkness, cut our throats. '

'I however got away, i managed to vanish and return to the hollow. This is how i am managing to tell you my story, my version of the tale. The true version not the propaganda our men whisper at the fires.'

I tell you the truth!'

'Sebastian Ein, that name is legendary now, but back then he was an apprentice. He lead the retreat and managed to corner a small number of their priests and slaughter them happily, alone he was and yet he fought. I was behind him laughing merrily, Sabastian is now one of our leaders and highly respected within our guild for his managing to coodinate the retreat without losing much more than three apprentices.'

'I on the other hand was decorated but not given a scholorship, i was thanked and patted on the back for my efforts, i was SO CLOSE to killing that Darmok and if i had imagine the riches and respect i would have had! But i did not and our revenge will come soon, not yet, but soon!'

'Reports are sketchy but they say the leaders of that Subryn filth are away on personal projects. That unamed Warlock is within a Sith Sect somwhere in the galaxy while that Darmok fellow, my mortal enemy, has vanished from exsistants, our spies can not find him but i assure you while their temple is being rebuilt he will return and i shall wait in the shadow for him.'

Something slammed outside Cavallas' room, another door most likely and the Witch snapped the diary closed quickly and she disgarded the quill quickly back into its ink well. That was enough writing for tonight, she was tired from the battle and her blood stained cloak needed a good clean.

Her room was very dark, only one candle upon her desk which eminated a errie green light. Her desk was cluttered with objects that to the nakid eye would mean nothing but to her it was vital objects of importance. A skull was used for a candle holder, the green lighted cangle was stuck upon the crown of the skulls head and it burned happily.

Sliding the diary back within the old oak desk draw he stood up and made his way across the small room towards the mirror. He looked positivly fightfull. His long black shoulder lengh hair shined beutifully but his face was pale and guant. His lines under his tired eyes looked dead, black almost. The fight had taken it out of his.

He looked away.

Perhaps bed now, and rest atlast, it had been a while since she slept. The slaughter had distubned her black heart for those she would regard as friends had been maimed horribly and his friend, Rivermortis had died in a splatter of warm blood right infront of his eyes before she ran.

Even though his face returned to her each time she attemped to sleep, she wouldhave to try.

[Sebastian Ein]

Sebastian Ein, too, wrote a diary, though not of the past, but events future. His hand lingered inches above the parchment spread across his desk, fingertips twitching ever so slightly. The candle at his side flickered red and orange over his skin, casting a warm shadow onto the table below. As his eyes followed the outline of a shadow, markings began to form. At first, they were faint, easily mistaken for smudges, but soon they became clearer. A series of criss-crossing lines, like arcane ruins, sprung up like firebrands all across the page. This was not a language many spoke, let alone read, but it was one that Ein was well versed in.


Always there shall be two. The One and the Other.

While one remains, the other cannot flourish.

Like a seedling shadowed, stunted from lack of light.

The mighty oak thinks itself invincible, but the seed knows better.

From small things come great things, and watch how they topple the giant.

A smile worked across his lips. Many a rumour was spread about Sebastian Ein, and none of them were pleasant. Some speculated that he had once been a member of the same sect as the man he considered his rival, the Warlock. They said that he had been cast away from the Timestreamers, for meddling with things that he had no right to. Others said this was pure fiction, and that Ein’s long-term bitterness and contention with the now Magister of the Subryn was borne from madness.

People whispered, too, of the reasons for his lack of speech. Ever since anyone could remember, Sebastian Ein had been mute. This was not through any fault of genetics, but through choice – whose choice, however, was up for debate. His lips had been sewn shut, and a hex of sorts put on the wires that sealed them to ensure that he would never again utter another world. Some coven members speculated their were more sinister reasons behind this than that Ein had simply been on the unfortunate end of a Subryn curse, but did not discuss such things outside of their own chambers.

To convey his wishes now, Sebastian was forced to either write them, or rely upon the gift that the Dark had blessed him with. While the Warlock may have had sight beyond sight, Sebastian had the power to share his visions. These invasions of the mind were brief but enlightening, and took no more effort than a blink of the eye for the young sorcerer. It was one of these very apparitions that entered the mind of Sotha Sil.

Wake, sleeping child.

[Sotha Sil]

He woke, screaming. The tearing and splashing of blood filled her mind quickly, men fell and split their entrails upon the stone, cold surface, their cold eyes stareing up at him while he lived and they perished, such jealousy must have been within the hearts of the dying. The nightmares woke Sotha with such violence that he vomited, great yellow chunks of whatever he had ate earlier splashed crusomely upon the bed sheets. The warmth of the liquid flowing through the cloth.

Wipping the bed sheets away, the Warlock headed for the door, yanked at the knob and flung the it open. He was pushed out into the hallway and the cave networks that it was built within. The halls of The Mors Tenebrae were built into the rock of Coruscant, deeper than even the underworks of the City. It was cold and with only torches to light his way he started to journey towards the Shrine of the Dead to ask her ancestors for mercy, surely it was they that would not forgive him for fleeing the war.

Wrapped in a dark red, almost maroon cloak Sotha made his walk towards The Weeping Halls.