Rayisadni

First voice: the Cycle: Darth Rayisadni kneels inside of Isatri’s meditation chamber on her flagship, mere days after escaping Bizikia and the chaos that ended Cogadh and Birthed him, also the place where Cogadh’s accidental and instinctual use of drain Knowledge caused him force Psychosis and to be trapped with 4 voices in his head of the four unlucky Imperial soldiers.   Now here he meditates, it was time to deal with the voices. If he can’t get rid of them then he will change them, rework them, one by one, from enemies screaming at him, cussing him, annoying him and fighting with him.   Closing his eyes under his helmet he dives into his mind, drawing on his connection to the force and his emotions, as he enters his mental plane, his psyche and mental presentation staring at the mental representation of the voices and who they used to be, focusing on one of the voices and with the control he has on his mind locks the other representations away with some strain and resistance on their part.   “You don't belong here…. Traitor. You think killing us makes you a god?”   Rayisadni lets out a low chuckle as he faces the voice and draws on the force as his eyes glow an eerie red. “This mind, this body is mine, but even then you are wrong. You cling to the illusion of belonging. I did not kill you for godhood. I killed you to know.”   Voice: “you drained us like cattle. You left our brothers screaming. You devoured our minds.”   Rayisandi: “And yet, here you are — still screaming. You fear oblivion so deeply.” he takes a breath and hums as chains lash and wrap themselves onto the voices' mental representation. “You let your hate keep you alive. Tell me, soldier… what did your Empire teach you of endings?”   The spectre growls, stepping forwards as far as it can with the chains stopping it, restraining it as it struggles to approach the Darth. “That the empire is Eternal. That order must survive chaos.”   Rayisadni smiles under the helmet as he starts draining the voice using his understanding of force drain and pushing the force into it, using his understanding of Sith Alchemy, to inflict his will on the voice and change it. “Order… survives through destruction. You served a lie, soldier. Your Empire is not eternal, it fell to the might of the eternal empire, it has fallen and risen many times. This is what I represent. The truth of the galaxy: The Cycle, the Storm that births, devours, and births again through destruction.” Voice snarling in pain as it weakens and slowly painfully changes. “Your madness given form”   Rayisadni humming: “no. I am clarity born from ruin. You will see it —- or you will be broken.”   Rayisadni extends his hand and focuses more on the soldier, the mental plane trembles as the soldier's form begins to distort, his anger, memories, pains, fears, desires feeding the storm as Rayisadni drains and changes the soldier. “You are not my Enemy. Not anymore. You will become the whispers that reminds me — every end feeds the next Beginning.”   The soldier screams as his form dissolves into tendrils of light and shadow, coiling into Rayisandi's chest. His voice fades — not gone, but transformed — now a calm, cold murmur deep in the Sith’s mind.   “Destruction is the seed of renewal.”   Rayisadni exhales, panting from the mental strain, for the first time a voice no longer screams at him, a shadow forms behind him, a seven foot tall shadowy Pureblood with hollow eyes that are a swirl of red and brown, a sign of what the figure looks like before, the voice rewritten into the first of his Philosophy. The Cycle.   As he opens his eyes in the real world to take a breather and rest before preparing to work on the next voice he speaks with an echo of a second voice, mixing with his but a slight delay when it speaks and a slightly higher octave of a pitch. “There is no Self. There is only the Cycle. And I am inevitable, like an oncoming storm.”     Second Voice: the Storm:   After a while Rayisadni, once rested, reenters his mindscape, sitting in a meditative state breathing in and out evenly, as he closes his eyes. Looking ahead once he is in his mindscape he sees the 3 remaining Voices, using his control on his mind he, grunting in effort but not much as before, as The Cycle rises from the ground behind him and assists him by unleashing shadow tendrils to bind the other two in chainlike shadows.   Rayisadni focuses on the voice of the soldier he separated from the others, a calm hum escapes his lips as he observes them, Lightning sparking across the mindscape around them as a low stormy howl is heard, while it takes the shape of a Soldier in Blackened armor appears, his chestplate cracked, his body wreathed in lightning. His voice echoes like artillery, thunder in human form,   “You think you can silence us? You think you can chain what you don’t understand?” the soldier shouts, his teeth bared as his eyes stare wildly at Rayisadni brimming with hatred as the soldier paces from side to side.   Rayisadni stares at the soldier, calmly, unfazed by the storm that rages before him in his own mind, his voice echoing with that of the Cycle, two people speaking as one. “You are just noise — raw, untamed will without direction. I can chain the storm because I am its core.”   The soldier growls, leaping at Rayisadni, lashing out with a fist at the Darth as he screams in rage. “You? You are a thief of Souls. A coward hiding behind ritual and riddles!”   Rayisadni lets out a sigh as he weaves around the punch, grabbing the soldier by their neck and slamming them into the ground, as lightning cracks across his mindscape and the howl grows louder, his body sears with memories of pain, hatred and the echoes of screams. “I am no coward, Soldier. You charged into fire to die for a banner that would abandon you, if deemed useless. I became the fire that consumed your squad.”   The voice staggers to his feet as Rayisadni lets him go, glaring at the Sith, and the shadow that now stalks him, his body crackling with lightning as his emotions fluctuate, his voice trembling with emotions. “They didn’t deserve to die! I didn’t deserve to die. You stole my life!”   Rayisadni, his breathing steady as he slowly draws on the force, using the soldiers emotions as fuel as he unleashes shadowy chains to bind the soldier, sapping him of strength, as Rayisadni sends the force and his will into the soldier, slowly and painfully twisting and corroding what once was to what now will be. “Deserve? There is no Deserving. Only the Inevitable.” His aura flaring as he reaches out, the shadowy Cycle mimicking him, as the Soldier lets out a horrified scream, the storm raging louder in the background as he feels his insides bubble and boil, his mind slowly changing. “You rage because you remember what it means to be alive. That is the storm’s truth, unending motion. I will not silence you. I will shape you.”   The storm surges, as the soldier rushes at him futilely, as Rayisadni restrains him with more chains, chanting lowly. “From chaos, purpose. From fury, direction. From destruction, rebirth.”   The soldier’s form begins to twist and break apart into lightning, being absorbed into Rayisadni slowly, piece by piece, as the soldier struggles weakens, becoming limp as the lightning implodes inwards, following the tethers towards the Darth and being absorbed into his mental aspects veins. The soldiers screams become a roar that merges with his breath. The storm explodes into white light, followed by a deafening silence. Rayisadni remains standing with a faint glow of static energy crawling over him as it breaks off and forms behind him, into a 7 foot tall armored warrior of red Lightning, his eyes a dull blue, his form flickering like static, unstable. Now overlapping with two voices this new one is staticky, like someone speaking into a Fan. “The storm is not chaos. It is the Rhythm of the will, destruction, renewal, inevitability. The storm is me.”   Before he exits his mind and collapses panting and out of breath. 2 down only 2 remain. Taking a breather, he rests and reenergizes before he begins again, making sure he is fully rested. All fall to inevitability eventually.   Third Voice: The Inevitable:   Ready to start tackle the next voice, Rayisadni now fully rested and refreshed sit’s back down in the meditation chamber of Isatri, taking calming breaths he closes his eyes and meditates, entering his mindscape as the cycle and the storm form behind him, one in a lightning strike, the other rising out of the shadows. Rayisadni hums as he, with the support of the storm and the cycle, separates the last two voices and focuses on the one now in front of him, as the other voice is again temporarily trapped in a cage out of sight and out of mind, figuratively.   “...so it ends as all things do. The same arrogance, the same hunger, repeating itself.”   The air ripples as a figure emerges, the voice's representation, an old looking imperial officer, armor polished to shine, rank insignia faintly gleaming. He bears no weapon, his eyes hollow, yet knowing. He looks upon Rayisadni with pity more than hatred.   Rayisadni cocks his head to the side, observing the officer in front of him with curiosity in his eyes, noticing this one is different from the last two, before speaking with the echoes of the cycle and the storm in his voice. “You are different. No rage. Only acceptance.”   The officer lets out a sigh, almost showing how old he is, or well used to be when he was still alive. “Because I've seen this before. Empires rise, fall, and rise again. The banners change, the names fade, but the hunger remains. Even now you think you’re shaping destiny… when you're only repeating it.”   Rayisadni hums in thought, weighing the officer's words. “Repeating, yes. But refinement is repetition with memory. You misunderstand the nature of the Cycle.”   The officer shakes his head, looking at Rayisadni with bitterness that is matched by the tone of his voice. “And you misunderstand freedom. You think inevitability makes you wise, but you’ve only surrendered.”   Rayisadni rises slowly, his presence towering yet calm, as he stares the officer in the eyes as the Storm flickers agitatedly and the Cycle shadowy form shifts in and out of focus. “Surrender? No, I became the Inevitable. To resist the inevitable is to fracture oneself against reality. The wise flow with the current — and become it.”   The officer shakes his head. “Thats the delusion of every tyrant — to name their submission enlightenment.”   Rayisadni, reaches out drawing on his passion as he wills shadowy tendrils to latch onto the Officer with a calm smirk as he begins the slow process to corrode and twist the Officer like the others. “And yet, you obeyed tyrants your whole life.”   The Officer pauses, unable to refute the words of the young Darth. “...yes. Because order was all I knew.”   “Then let me show you what order truly means.” Rayisadni responds as he extends his hands not in violence, but in quiet command. The officer shifts, feeling the Will of Rayisadni invade his being, twisting and corroding him as he futilely tries to struggle to little too late, as the mindscape changes showing a scene of a battlefield frozen in time, every broken blade, every torn banner suspended in perfect stillness. “This is the truth beneath the storm. Every motion finds stillness. Every will exhausts itself. Even resistance decay into silence.”   The officer asks softly as he feels himself fade and change. “And in the silence?” a slight tremble in his voice.   “The Inevitable.” Rayisadni responds darkly, as his smirk turns cruel and he puts more focus into twisting and corroding the Officer, their body dissolving into white dust, like ash carried by unseen wind as he fades, his voices no longer fights, it surrenders to the will of the Darth. “All paths return to the same end… The Inevitable.”   The dust swirls around Rayisadni, forming behind him into a 7 foot tall, Ashen monk, with glowing white eyes, and a calm facade, his robe rippling with each motion as ash drips from the form eternally. The Inevitable’s voice old and ashen mixes with the storm and the cycle into Rayisadni’s own voice. “There is no victory, no defeat. Only the Turning Only the collapse that makes room for birth. The will does not resist — it endures.”   Rayisadni opens his eyes and pants lightly, this one wasn’t as hard as the last two but the last one won’t be easy as they will most likely put up the most fight, he takes a breather and mentally prepares himself for the final confrontation.     Final Voice: The Will:   Rayisadni, for hopefully the final time, sits inside Isatri’s meditation chamber, breathing in deeply as he closes his eyes and meditates entering his mindscape. Opening his eyes, The Inevitable, The Storm and The cycle form behind him in a flash of lightning, a rising shadow and a whirlwind of ash, staring ahead they come face to face with the final voice.   “.... you think you’ve found peace in surrender? You think becoming the storm makes you free?” The voice echoes as it forms like broken mirror shards, twisted by the memories of Cogadh Rugadh, the final soldier’s identity was tainted, for there before Rayisadni, stands not a Soldier of the Empire, but Cogadh Rugadh, the 7 foot tall, Red pureblood, with glowing red eyes, shaggy Black Hair, golden piercings and wearing his old battle armor that lays forgotten on Bizikia, his scarred face staring at Rayisadni, bloodstained yet resolute.   Rayisadni, blinks, tilts his head and hums as he observes this new development. “So…. this is the final one. Interesting how you were tainted by the memories of Cogadh.”   Cogadh shakes his head, glaring defiantly at Rayisadni, his voice laced with barely contained anger and hatred. “No. This is the first one. The one you tried to bury beneath all your borrowed philosophies.”   Rayisadni hums, staring at Cogadh as he gathers his emotions, confusion and intrigue radiating above the rest, and gathers the force inside his mindscape. “You are a Remnant — an instinct clinging to identity. I have no self left to bury.”   Cogadh snarls and lunges at Rayisadni. “Liar.”   Lightning flickers across the dark water as Cogadh dashes towards Rayisadni, his eyes glowing red as he rears back a fist. The air fills with the scent of blood and steel — the scent of battle, of survival, of life that refuses to yield. “I fought for meaning. For people. For my Empire. For my Master. Then for Myself, to become the most powerful in existence, to deny those who wish me dead. Then you—”   “----burned it all to fuel transcendence.” Rayisadni finishes as he closes in on Cogadh with unparalleled speed, kicking him back, as he stares at what he used to be impassively wondering if this was truly who he was. Cogadh snarls in pain as he is forced back, glaring at the Darth. “You call it transcendence. I call it cowardice. You can’t face what you lost, so you built this temple of Inevitability to hide from the pain.”   The words cut deeper than any saber. Rayisadni narrows his eyes as his hands tighten, the air becoming statically charged as lightning sparks around his fists in an angry red glow. He responds in a harsh tone. “Pain is nothing. Pain ends. Only the Cycle remains.”   Cogadh scoffs humorlessly as he prepares to charge at the darth again. “Pain is the will. It’s proof you’re still alive.”   Rayisadni gathers the force around him as he rushes Cogadh and smashes a fist into his gut, his helmet hiding the snarl on Rayisadni’s face. “Life is a brief spark in the Storm.”     Cogadh grunts and stumbles back with a growl, as pain and lightning surges through him, he then creates a fireball with the force and throws it at Rayisadni with a yell. “Then Burn damn you! Burn as I did, not as some empty god muttering about destiny and this so-called Cycle!”   The fireball slams into Rayisadni, Erupting around him as he uses his knowledge of Cryokinesis to steal the heat from the fire and slowly walk out of it as Images surge through Rayisadni’s head, Cogadhs father’s ruthless training, joining the Academy, training under Exyda, becoming a Lord, fighting to the death 4 times to become a councilor, rising through the ranks of the jen kovoti, becoming a beast master, every betrayal, every rise and fall, every emotion he ever felt from despair to rage, from sadness to humiliation, from betrayal to disappointment. Every reason Cogadh fought and survived, every reason why he was stubborn to his core.   He unleashes a scream that shakes his mindscape and echoes into reality as he grabs Cogadh and pumps his will and the force into him, corroding him and twisting him. “You are gone. You are done. You existed because you were the last piece I must understand. The will that started this path. That even gods and monsters fall without the will to rise.”   Cogadh grunts as his form shakes and shatters like glass “The Will, a spark that moves all things.” His voice echoes, sounding cold and calm, moving towards Rayisadni and twisting around him in a whirlwind before forming into a 7 foot tall reflective Warrior, In Cogadh’s old Jen’forja Kovoti gear, Silver with glowing purple eyes through the helmet visor. As his cold voice mixes with the others into Rayisadni. “I am no longer Cogadh, But I carry his will, his desire that birthed me. I am the Cycle’s blade, the Storm’s voice, the Inevitable’s truth and the Will that turns them all.”   Rayisadni opens his eyes back in Isatris meditation chamber and collapses to the floor in exhaustion, this taking more out of him then he expected, to think the 4th soldier became so corroded with Cogadhs memory and personality that it was like a remnant of his will defiant to the end. He lets a cold smirk spread across his lips. “All shall fall to Inevitability, Nothing is Eternal.”    

A shattered world of mountains and metal-rich soil. The sky perpetually darkened by cloud cover and the occasional distant flash. The natural magnetism in the rock causes unstable static buildup. No life. No distractions. This world is chosen for one reason: it welcomes lightning.   Phase One: The Holocron of Darth Tenebris The ancient Sith holocron glows a pale violet. It flickers to life in the storm-scarred cave Cogadh uses as a temporary shelter. Darth Tenebris (projection): “You believe you know Lightning. You do not. Force Storm is not merely energy. It is the Force rending the sky at your command. You must learn to call it... and survive it.” The projection gestures to the sky above—lightning flickering without thunder. It is not soundless, only... waiting. “You will fail many times. But eventually... the storm will answer.”   Phase Two: Atmospheric Sensitivity The first step is not attack—it is listening. Cogadh sits, breathing deeply, not summoning lightning—just sensing the atmosphere’s static tension, its charge, its rhythm. The Force Storm cannot be called if one does not feel the world’s skin ripple with the currents of the Force. He becomes familiar with: Ionic pressure buildup     Magnetic field fluctuations     The way heat draws the spark, and motion disrupts it     Hours become days. The first time he tries to reach out with the Force to manipulate that charge—he is struck. Not by Force Lightning—by natural lightning, as if the planet mocked his arrogance. He survives. Barely. But he felt it. “Good,” says Tenebris, flickering. “You’ve learned to be struck. Now learn to command.”   Phase Three: Internal Lightning Amplification Cogadh now begins summoning Force Lightning, not outward, but into himself—forcing his body to become a conduit, not a weapon. The pain is immense.     His armor cracks and reforms with metallurgical patches.     His nerves spark for hours after each attempt.     He must learn to become a battery—storing energy before release. “You are not a conductor,” Tenebris whispers. “You are the fulcrum.” He learns to build a charge, hold it, and then discharge it in rings around him—perfecting omnidirectional lightning bursts. But it still isn't Force Storm.   Phase Four: Merging Force and Atmosphere Now comes the most dangerous step. Cogadh climbs a nearby basalt peak, fully exposed to the volatile skies. He stands at the summit, arms wide. The wind shrieks. Clouds churn in response to his focused will. He channels Force Lightning upward—not outward—into the sky.     The air ionizes. Dust and ash rise from the ground.     The Force becomes a circuit between him and the clouds above.     For a moment—nothing. Then... CRACKKK-KOOMMMM! A bolt answers. It does not strike him—instead, it dances across the sky, forking in multiple directions, hitting points where Cogadh’s will directs. His first true Force Storm is born. Not a full maelstrom. Not a tempest to devastate armies. But the start of a dialogue with the sky. He collapses afterward. Smoke rises from his back. But he smiles.

(play blow me away by breaking benjamin)   Cogadh hums in his study as he recounts the past:   From the day he was born all he knew was pain and suffering, his father a Darth in the Sith Empire raised him to be a weapon, for the first 16 years of his life all he knew was hunger, pain, suffering, loss, loneliness and a never ending Wrath of hatred for the man that sired him, losing his first friend crushed him, losing his mother broke him and left him rejecting a part of him, chaining and caging his feelings he was almost like a droid, lacking passion and a will to embrace who he truly was, affecting his connection with the force to where it fluctuated.     Then after he turned 16 he escaped and made his way to Corbos, ended up at the academy as an acolyte, meeting Darth Zutayitsi who called him ‘Ardira’ meaning child in High Sith, during his tour of the Academy. This is where his true journey started. Not long after joining the academy he met, unknown at the time, his future master a Sith who enjoyed fucking with peoples heads, who focused most her time on mind related powers and juyo, she forced him to accept who and what he was, forced him to embrace his passion in a lesson of combat and pain, ending with him getting a broken leg. He also met an apprentice who used his lack of knowledge to get a token from another acolyte in exchange for a power, had he known the true value of that Token he probably wouldnt have handed it over to her.   During his academy studies he met, Drelkol, Zaavi and Anto, 3 fellow acolytes like him seeking to prove themselves worthy of being Sith, he started a Rivalry with them, constantly trading barbs or fighting, especially Zaavi, he faced three trials, one where he fought a nexu with another acolyte who he never saw after he made apprentice, another where they had to recover an artefact and were swarmed by lizards, was not fun. And the final trial where again he had to embrace who he was, learn to control his passions and start walking like a Sith and not a child controlled by his emotions and the Dark Side.   As an apprentice he learnt a few tricks under his master, but constantly sought to rebel against her, refusing to let her lessons, especially during dark meditation, fully break him, refusing to be a tool or weapon for another. He studied Shii cho as his first form under the then Arbiter Dae’jing now wrath of the Dark Lord, he came to love the form, its unpredictability, the underestimated power of the skill, he aimed to master it first, and to pass on its knowledge to others to show them like Dae’jing showed him, that it was truly a powerful form to embrace.   Next he learnt Ataru, to add more aggression into his form as well as learning Niman, to mix the force with his blade skill, he would learn powers from other lords, trying his best to keep his skills hidden from others, especially his at the time master, he wanted to be like shii cho, underestimated, overlooked so he could catch those who faced him in combat off guard. He spent a lot of his time on the academy grounds teaching acolytes shii cho.   He was recruited in the Jen’Kovoti, at the time never realising that was what they were there for when they took him from in front of his master, there he trained, learning to wield the pike and how to fight using Echani hand to hand combat. He would later join the Mind’s Eye to balance his brawn with more brain, to seek more knowledge old and new, to learn from the past and to unravel the mysteries that lay before him.   But his true passion was in beast control, becoming a proverbial black sheep in his master's legacy as he learnt to persuade beasts to follow his command, studying them, understanding them and how they lived. This also led him to walk the path of the Vikas in the Mind’s eye, to learn how to manipulate life and twist it in the form of sith spawns and plant spawns.   He spent his free time on Zol’darc, his masters first conquested planet, crafting armors using pieces of animal bones from hunts. Once a jedi knight came looking for something and ended up clashing blades with Cogadh, he survived and the Knight escaped but not before he was blasted with the force light, while avoiding the brunt of it, part of it still affected him, leaving him pissed off and lashing out at anyone. This led to his mind fracturing and a split personality for a bit, his inner voice becoming more vocal, but through another Dark Meditation that runs deep he broke a chain and accepted himself, gaining more control and becoming more like a Sith.   One Day Darth Razia had called him to her prefecture, for a meditation to help him control his anger even more, it took the form of Lightning and lashed out along his right arm, leaving lightning scars along his arm as a reminder of what happens when he loses himself.   After this he started to more openly rebel against his master, especially after she became an Arbiter and had taken another apprentice, a lap dog of a Sith who seemed more than willing to dance to her tune, openly defying her in public to the point where she tried to take his saber and give it to the other apprentice, a decision he hated and smashed his old saber infront of her and another Arbiter at the time in defiance. This left him back in academy rags and a blunted sword. But he still defied her, going to Drelkol, to secretly craft his new saber, crafting a new outfit that he wore instead of the rags she demanded he wear. Making deals with Sith like Zutayitsi and Sacrisi to gain more power and backing for when he was ready to strike against his master, learning Makashi from Sacrisi and then continuing it later on in life.   He started learning juyo too, but couldnt continue it till he himself was a lord, but he embraced its more primal form of combat. Eventually came the time for him to ascend. He had faced an unknown foe on his masters planet, got a building dropped on him and from the clues this assailant left him, assumed his master had some connection to it all, especially when the building was made similar to the home he grew up in. Returning to her estate he commed her, called her to her own balcony, dropped a shuttle on her and destroyed said balcony as he and her battled it out, crashing into the valley of crystals below and fighting to the death, he lost but survived, cast out of her protection, he made a bid to rise and eventually now stood in the Empire as a Sith Lord.   With this Ascension came evolution, Cogadh started becoming more refined, reflecting on the past led to him controlling his passions even better than before, this change shocked some but it was to be expected tied into the experience of his trial of true site, a test of survival using nothing but the clothes on his back, the force and the nine lessons.   He rose in the ranks of the Kovoti, making it to Jenja not long after, conquered his first planet and faced Aash in a fight to the death for the Chair of military defense and strategy. A battle he lost but again survived, folly of his foes as this gave him chance to grow in power, he worked to get stronger, took new planets, made deals, learnt new powers, mastered shii cho and later Juyo.   He would eventually make Wanizori and the new Jen’forja, capture and tame several beasts from his time as apprentice to his time as a lord now, from a curious veractyl and Akk dog, to a Nexu and Skar’kla, and eventually a Vorn Tiger. He also learnt Jar’kai, Saberstaff, and Cross guards helping the Lord and new Arbiter of Philosophy test this new weapon style.   He would face a second Rite of Aure’kkesh against Alechto, smacking him in the face with a force enhanced tree branch, unfortunately Alechto’s will was stronger and again he lost. He would be appointed Vice Captain, by Alechto after they themselves were made High Captain. He took an apprentice, an unlikely zabraki sith by the name of Qo’unai, it wasnt easy training them and preparing them for lording but he did his best.   Eventually a war sparked between the Empire he was in and the Empire from his past, while hunting a traitorous Darth who claimed to be a prophet for something called Bogan, Cogadh and the Kovoti would be injured and wiped out by the Dark Honor Guards, the Vowran’s empire equivalent to the Kovoti, in leagues with the Darth who was on the run and another Darth, Cogadhs own father, who didnt notice him due to his helmet but choked Cogadh out while saying “one Emperor, one Empire.” this reignited an old hatred in cogadhs heart.   They were left alive by the enemy to break their will but Cogadh turned that defeat into motivation, warning the Empire of this threat during a Dark Council meeting where the council power was condensed to 4 chairs and a new council position of Regent was named, the first and current being Darth Razia, the chair of influence was left empty. After claiming another planet. Cogadh made a bid for the chair despite razia wanting the former Arbiters to have a chance to prove their worth of taking this chair, Cogadh countered with where are they now, if not here to claim the chair, why are they not present at a meeting of such importance. This got Razia intrigued and she allowed the challenge.   Konn’da, a former arbiter would counter this challenge and end up Cogadhs rival for the chair, poetic in his mind as his former master faced Konn’da in the past for her chair. So this time Cogadh was determined to deny them another chance at taking the chair. He bargained and gained support of other Sith in the empire for his claim for the chair. On the night of the fight he fulfilled his agreement with Razia, to destroy Konn’da, and claimed the chair of Influence, not long after becoming the Arbiter of Influence, Alechto disappeared forcing Cogadh to take full leadership of the Kovoti. This lead to the Dark Lord asking him where Alechto was during a guild meeting before naming Cogadh High Captain and burning him to blacken his armor, making him a member of the Kovoti Elites known as blackguards.   During the war he would lead many assaults against the Dark Honor Guards as well as reconstruct and baptise the Kovoti with changes. Eventually he had to vacate his chair and go on a secret mission for the regent. Upon his return he finds out the two empires have made a cease fire for now, Drelkol who later becomes replaced by Darth Niati had claimed his chair and Alechto had taken over the chair for Justice.   Cogadh was back in the Empire…. And he will continue to carve and baptise his story in fire and blood. His journey took a break but now it was back and he won't let anyone stop his bid for power. Like a Dragon he will leave his foes burning in ash. Until a fateful event drove him away from the empire, After a fourth Rite of Aure'kesh against a young lord, Cogadh was stripped of everything connecting him to the Kovoti, why because unlike everyone else in the kovoti who became laxed he enforced the rules, he threatened arbiters to behave themselves, and because he used wave of darkness in a fight to the death, he was punished because he almost affected 2 arbiters, and like dark jedi they lashed out and had him punished, Angered by it he faked his death and vanished, After having claimed his masters old planet of Zol'darc before the rite, he was found by his Old master and a Sith the empire assumed was killed but Cogadh kinda suspected might still be alive, Learning of the Sovereignty, the 5 Tenets, the Sovereignties teachings on the code, crucible of service, the vortex of juyo and the ultimatum, How Grimsong faked their death to leave the Empire. He meditated, full of rage blaming the empire for holding him back and casting him aside when it no longer needed him, with the guidance of Isatri he comes to the realisation that he Let it happen, that he was as much to blame for it as the Empire, this followed many such sessions where Cogadh would learn more, question things, he would end up meditating on the 5 tenets gaining a deeper understanding, this will eventually lead to him defying Isatri in her mediation chamber. which lead to hallucinations, meditation and realisation/revelation that becomes a hard pill to swallow.   This is his journey so far, Stick around to find out more    

A world scoured by time. No fauna. Barely any flora. Cracked stone, sand-blasted ridges, and jagged iron formations like forgotten blades. It is a planet few visit, and fewer return from—with gravity just strong enough to simulate real pressure. Cogadh kneels atop a mesa of black basalt. The sky is colorless—distant stars dim behind a failing red dwarf sun. He’s alone. But not empty.   The Holocron of Darth Achronos The pyramid-shaped holocron hums as it levitates. It flickers and opens, revealing the form of a long-dead Sith warlord, his presence like a smoldering furnace. Darth Achronos: “Three forces, braided into one. The Shield. The Storm. The Shatter. Master only one, and you will die attempting this.” Cogadh listens, brow furrowed. The holocron’s projection gestures, and the dust around it warps, rippling with invisible force.   Phase One – The Bubble   Cogadh begins with what he knows: Force Protection Bubble. But here, it must not just deflect—it must contain. A perfect sphere. He kneels, extends his arms, and projects the field outward. The usual shimmer takes shape—but cracks under pressure. Achronos mocks him. “A shield? No. This is a womb. You must trap the chaos, not just hold it back.” Cogadh shifts his focus. He alters the density of the field, layering kinetic resistance and ion dispersion. Over several days, he learns to form a field with multiple layers—transparent, yet impenetrable. But only for seconds. It collapses too easily under inner pressure. But it's a start.   Phase Two – The Storm Within   Next: Force Lightning—but no longer as a weapon. Here, it is contained, shaped, fed within the bubble. He sparks it first in his hands, then lets it dance between his fingers. He releases it into the shielded space— —and it rebounds wildly, almost electrocuting him. “You seek to contain a storm in a bottle,” Achronos warns. “But do you know the storm’s desire?” Cogadh spends days learning how to loop the lightning, forming chambers of polarity within the sphere. He scorches his hands more than once. One attempt shorts his rebreather, forcing him to climb back to his ship gasping. Eventually, he manages it: A whirling storm, trapped in a humming sphere, like a miniature sun of shrieking light and rage.   Phase Three – The Shatter Point   Now: Telekinesis. Not simple lifting or throwing. No—this is about compression, inward force, and finally—detonation. Cogadh stands within the shield now, and brings rocks from the ground—dozens of them—levitating them into the maelstrom. They hover, orbiting the lightning. The pressure builds. The shield hums with strain. One second too long, and the shield collapses. One second too short, and the explosion is meaningless. He misjudges the timing. The result? A premature discharge. The rocks explode. The lightning lashes outward, and Cogadh is flung back twenty meters, armor seared, body bruised. “Again,” he hisses.   Final Attempt – Force Maelstrom   Weeks later. He stands again on the basalt mesa. His hair is shorter, singed from countless failures. His fingers ache with phantom sparks. His bubble field forms instantly now—reflex, not effort. He breathes. He pulls lightning into the dome. He draws shards of iron from the earth. He condenses them—pulling the energy tighter, tighter, tighter— Then, with a roar that cracks the cliffside: Cogadh: “NOW—” He releases. The bubble bursts, unleashing a multi-directional shockwave—a perfect fusion of kinetic force, electrical discharge, and sharpened debris. A supernova of rage, will, and precise timing. The mountain cracks. A nearby ridge collapses. The wind, if there was any, would howl. Cogadh stands at the eye of the crater—arms scorched, breath ragged. The holocron flickers once more. Darth Achronos: “And now… you may call yourself its master.” Cogadh (quietly): “I am the storm. Not its bearer. Not its victim.”      

Location: Private Meditation Chamber, Flagship Invicta Perpetua   The walls are durasteel, but the room hums with unnatural stillness. A single red-tinted emitter crystal burns in a floating hololamp above him, casting long shadows. Incense burns low, mixing with recycled air and the acrid scent of ozone—evidence of many failed attempts. On his knees before the dais, Cogadh stares into the glow of an ancient Sith holocron, its intricate latticework pulsing with energy. A voice—gravelly, feminine, commanding—emanates from within.   Holocron Gatekeeper (Darth Sarrin): "Alter Environment is not conjuration. It is not illusion. It is domination. The world itself bends—not because you command it—but because it fears your will."   Stage One: Understanding the Concept   Cogadh clenches his fists. The first lessons are deceptively simple. “The air is not yours. The flame is not yours. The frost, the drought, the tremor, the cloud—all resist you.” He tries, at first, to force the air temperature to change. He meditates for hours, summoning the familiar rage, the crackling ember in his chest… but the room only darkens slightly. His breath still fogs. The frost doesn't melt. His will clashes with the natural order—but fails to rewrite it.   Cogadh (growling): “I command fire in battle. I break stone with my voice. Why not this?” The holocron responds—mocking.   Darth Sarrin: “Because battle is chaos. This is structure. Rage fuels destruction. But this is discipline. You must not lash out. You must take hold.”   Stage Two: Elemental Focus – Cold   He starts with cold—appropriate, after the frost-covered hallucination chamber. He dims the lights. He removes outside stimuli. Three hours. Six. Eight. Finally, something changes—not the air, but his own body. He suppresses his heat. Slows his blood. Forces his body to embrace cold not as a threat, but as an extension of his own spirit.   Internal Monologue: “I am not fighting the cold… I am becoming the cold.” The temperature in the room drops one degree. A single drop of condensation freezes mid-fall.   Cogadh (whispering): “…finally…” But he collapses after holding the state for more than thirty seconds—noses bleeding, muscles twitching. It's a start. A brutal one.   Stage Three: Opposing Force – Heat   Fire is easier. But control is harder. Cogadh ignites the air—not into flame, but into swelter. He begins by warming the walls, then making the breath in his lungs burn. “I know this. Fire answers me…” But it answers too much. The air flashes—he loses control—alarms blare, nearby systems spark. He calls off emergency protocols by hand.   Cogadh (sneering): “No… not yet. Rage is easy. Precision is power.”   Stage Four: Atmospheric Control – Wind and Pressure   Weeks in. He learns to alter air pressure—subtle shifts to simulate high altitude, or suffocating closeness. He creates miniature vortices—one nearly tears a holoscreen from its mount. This stage is less visual—but more dangerous. It affects his mind. “The environment shifts, and so too does the mind that breathes it. If you are not anchored, you will fracture with the air.” He hallucinates again. The whispers of the blackguard return. He nearly lashes out with pyrokinesis before stopping himself.   Cogadh: “I see now… The storm is not summoned. It is shaped. And I am not yet its master.”   Stage Five: Synthesis – Dominion Over Weather   Finally, months in, he attempts his first true Alter Environment invocation. On a nearby planet Cogadh takes his place at the center of a forest clearing. He enters a meditative trance. His emotions no longer surge outward—they coil inward, tighter and tighter. He does not scream. He breathes. And the air bends. Pressure drops. Fog forms. Lightning flickers in a small radius around him inside the clearing. Not illusion. Not summoned. Altered.   Final Reflection – Not Power. Dominion.   Afterward, exhausted but whole, he returns to his chambers. The holocron opens one final time. Darth Sarrin: “You have done more than wield the storm, apprentice. You have understood it. That is what separates the beast from the Sovereign.” Cogadh (quietly): “The galaxy will not know the weather. It will know that I am its change.”   Note: this power isnt mastered, while he has learnt it true mastery comes with experience, he just now knows

As Cogadh began to sober up from the hallucination in Isatri's meditation chamber two thoughts from the final words in the Hallucination begin to swirl around his mind, as the last of the drug flushes from his system and the Hallucinations fade two final 'visions' of thought   first thought: The whisper fractures like glass under pressure, his voice, her voice, his father's voice—a trinity of judgment, not in harmony, but in conflict, clashing syllables echoing around him in a spiral of memory and accusation. The cold doesn't deepen. It lingers. Because now, it's not a weapon—it’s a wound. "...singular. focused. limited. you see the chain and you pull at it the same way you always have..." "Finding the chain was never your weakness."   The irony pierces more than any blade: Cogadh didn’t lack vision. He lacked evolution. His enemies changed. His enemies adapted. And he—pulled harder on the same damn links.   He does not scream. He does not deny. He breathes. And in that breath—the frost begins to melt, not from rage, not from fire, but from will. His voice is low, but anchored: “Then let me break the chain a different way.” “I do not need another hallucination to lecture me. I do not need a ghost’s pity. And I will not let the old lessons define the next war I fight.” He closes his eyes for just a moment— the flicker of his past voices still circling like vultures— Then opens them again. "I am not the same." And for the first time… he stops pulling at the chain. He lets go. Because what they never taught him— what they couldn’t teach him— is that control isn’t always seized with force. Sometimes it is taken by choice.   Second thought: The frost doesn’t howl anymore. It listens. The voices don’t shout—they bleed. A whisper of Isatri’s quiet focus… His father’s iron certainty. And his own—angry, broken, hungry. “Singular. Focused. Limited. You see the chain and pull at it the same way you always have…” The overlapping echoes stumble over each other like broken data logs in a failing holoterminal. But the message… The message cuts deeper than any blade ever could.   He doesn’t lash out. Not yet. Instead, he breathes—and the frost leaves his lips like smoke on a battlefield long grown cold. His voice is low. Not quiet with fear. Quiet like a coiled predator. Cogadh: “I was forged to find the chain. To bite it. Break it. Beat it into a blade. And for a time… that was enough.” He steps forward into the stillness of the storm. Each word he speaks crystallizes the air before shattering into snowdust. “But you are right. I pulled the same way. Every damn time. Because I believed that if I just pulled harder, I would be free. That if I bled more, fought more, raged more—I would ascend.” He closes his eyes—not in surrender, but in clarity. “But I was still chained. Not by weakness. Not by her. By the belief that there was only one way to win. The way they taught me. The way she honed me.” “Singular. Focused. Limited.” He opens his eyes—and something new stirs in them. Not the fire of vengeance. Something colder. Cleaner. Sharper. “If Isatri surpassed me… it is because she changed. If I remain behind… it is because I refused to.” His voice lowers—nearly a growl now. “But that ends here. I will not walk her path. Nor my father’s. Nor the one the Sith carved for me with blood and expectation.” He plants his hand on the frost-covered stone. It doesn’t melt. It doesn’t yield. But it begins to hum. Not with fire. Not with darkness. With conviction. “I will build a new chain. And I will not pull at it. I will command it. I will make it sing in my hands. Not as prisoner. Not as tool. As Sovereign.”   Both thoughts happening simultaneously in his mind, swirling around giving him a hard bitter pill to swallow as he realises he was choosing to chain himself by sticking to a one way to win mentality, and the revelation he always had the choice.

Entry 1: The first Tenet - Break the Cycle, Shatter the Chain   In a cold, dimly lit chamber aboard the Sovereignty flagship, Cogadh kneels within a ring of flickering red and violet holofire. The hum of the ship echoes like a distant growl. His scarred fingers rest against the blacksteel of his helmet, now laid before him. His breath is slow, deliberate. Words are not spoken aloud, but they resound within the force - a storm just beneath still waters.   Cogadh internally “break the cycle, shatter the chain.”   I was born into chains. Not of weakness, but of certainty. The Empire carved its truth into my bones. The Sith Code was fire in my lungs. Passion. Strength. Power. Victory. Freedom. I was taught to conquer. To ascend. To kneel to no one but the force itself. And I believed it. I believed it until I stood among the ash of victories that changed nothing.   I saw Sith Lords rise with fire in their eyes and rot in their arrogance. I watched apprentices hunger for their masters’ thrones, only to die bloated on borrowed power. And each time…. Each time the force Watched. Each time the same path, the same ruin, again and again— …..like it was scripted   Cogadh clenches a scarred fist. The air trembles subtly with his will.   The Jedi call it balance. The Sith call it conquest. But both speak in riddles taught to them by a force that fears being questioned.   The Force does not grant power. It feeds on obedience. It sings of destiny—of chosen ones and ancient prophecies— ….but i was not chosen I chose myself.   And now I see it.   The Force is not a god. It is not a master. It is not even a path. It is a system. A prison. Woven into instinct, into tradition, into every ritual of our order.   A cycle. One that craves order through collapse. Victory through sacrifice. And freedom through chains   A Surge of darkness pulses from him, distorting the flickering light. His voice sharpens in tone   I did not climb the tower of corpses just to stand upon the same ruin. I did not survive Rites of Aure’kesh to inherit someone else’s fate. The Force is no longer my guide. It is my enemy.   When I bend it, I do not ask permission. When it defies me, I break it. When I summon fire, I do not thank the flames—I command it. And if the Force resists me again… I will tear it apart. Strand by strand.   I do not worship the storm. I am the storm. And I am done being shaped.   His voice quiets. A final breath. The fire dims to embers. And Then—   Cogadh in a whisper as his eyes snap open, glowing red. “Let the Force tremble. For I no longer follow. I lead.”     Entry 2: Second Tenet - Transcend Mortality; Achieve Eternity   A chamber within the Ice Temple aboard the Sovereignty’s flagship Invicta Perpetua. Cogadh kneels again, but now the holofire that once ringed him is gone. Instead, small crystalline shards hover weightlessly around him—each one a broken trophy, a scar of conquest, a soul defeated and added to the forge of his will. His breath no longer fogs the air. The room is freezing, yet he feels no cold.   Cogadh Internally “Transcend Mortality. Achieve Eternity.”   I have buried more Sith than I can remember. Some I envied. Some I obeyed. Some I hated with a purity I almost mistook for love. Each of them believed they were eternal. Each of them believed power would save them from the grave. And each of them was wrong.   He opens his eyes slowly. The pupils burn faintly, like coals. Their legacies did not die in war. They died in decay. In silence. They vanished because their will was not strong enough to break the lie. The lie that we are bound by time. That the grave is inevitable. That the cycle must be obeyed. But I have walked the edges of death and returned unclaimed. I’ve seen my own blood paint the stone, heard the Force whisper “this is your end”— And I denied it. Not through healing. Not through surrender. Through wrath. The hovering shards begin to rotate slowly, reacting to the strength of his will as it sharpens.   Mortality is not sacred. It is architecture. A design left behind by those too weak to tear it down. The Jedi dress it in robes and call it peace. The Sith mock it—then crawl into their tombs like cowards with crowns. But I—   He stands now, Slowly. As if the thought itself grants weight to his body beyond what the flesh can offer. —I will not be a ghost. I will not be a myth scribbled in a disciple’s book. When I speak of eternity, I do not mean memory. I mean presence. I mean command. I mean the will to continue, even when the flesh is cinder. Flesh is a costume. A temporary armor. But will—will is the truest self. And I have forged mine in the jaws of Rancors and the minds of traitors. I have walked through rites that broke men twice my strength. I have been shaped by nothing— —except myself. The Sovereign does not die. She discards. She ascends. And I—I am her executioner. Her architect. Her blade. I do not serve death. I command eternity. Let the Force witness me. Let the galaxy curse my name. It will not matter. Because when stars fade, and empires fall— My will remains. His voice, barely above a whisper, vibrates with gravity—the dark side seems to bend closer, listening.   "Stone does not bleed. And neither shall I."   Entry 3: Third Tenet - Forge Strength Through Strife.   A training room aboard the Invicta Perpetua. Sealed, dim, weapons line the walls like trophies. Blood stains are not cleaned. The floor is cracked where bodies fall hard. In the center, Cogadh kneels once more—but this time not in stillness. His breathing is heavier. His fists are wrapped, bloodied. His blade lays near him. It too bears scars.   Cogadh internally “Forge Strength Through Strife” I was not born strong. I was made—with broken ribs, with scorched lungs, with blood that did not stay in my body when I willed it to. And still, I rose. They say pain teaches humility. No. Pain teaches clarity. It tells you who you are when your blade is gone, your allies are ash, and your gods have gone silent. He stands, slowly. The wound on his shoulder pulses from a recent battle. He touches it, then clenches his fist. The Force offers serenity. Peace. Balance. A soft cage, lined with golden chains. But peace does not raise titans. It raises statues. And statues fall when struck hard enough. The galaxy fears conflict. It labels it chaos, tragedy, failure. But I—I drink it. I take every betrayal, every wound, every lie spoken to me with a smile— And I hammer them into weapons. He paces now, eyes glowing dimly in the dark. I do not speak of survival. Survival is passive. Cowards survive. I speak of weaponizing your war. Of turning your agony into ammunition. You were hunted? Become the predator. You were shattered? Forge yourself into a sharper form. You bled? Let the next wound be theirs. He picks up his blade. Not reverently. But as one might lift a limb. It is part of him.   Strife is not a toll to be paid. It is a gift. A truth the weak fear to hold. And I— —I am strong not because I endured hell. But because I set fire to it, and walked out with the ashes in my hands.   He lifts the blade, and for a moment, the lights flicker—responding not to technology, but to the will that floods the room like pressure before a storm. Cogadh speaks barely above a whisper, like steel scraping stone. "Scars speak louder than songs. And I will never sing." Let others fear the storm. Let others seek peace in temples and treaties. I will carve my name into the bones of the galaxy— Not because I was allowed to. But because I was forged to.   Entry 4: Fourth Tenet - Dominion Through Veiled Truths Location: The personal quarters of Lord Cogadh aboard the Invicta Perpetua. The room is dim, lit only by the soft silver hue of the stars outside his observation window. A sealed helm rests on a pedestal. Holograms flicker across a projection table: figures in council chambers, planetary governors, puppet warlords. Unaware. Controlled. Used.   Cogadh internally “Dominion through Veiled truths.”   There is no empire more enduring than the one they do not know exists.   I do not rule by proclamation. I do not conquer through fanfare. I do not bleed my name into banners.   I teach them to fear shadows they cannot name. He moves towards the window, looking out into the void—worlds below, fleets moving like chess pieces, entire systems unaware of the true shape of the power behind them.   Let them scream about heroes. Let them paint villains with faces. They will fight the wrong enemy.   Because I have shown them only what I wish them to see.   Power? No. Perception is power. Control is not taken—it is believed. Believed so deeply they cannot see it.   He touches the projection table.It shifts to show a rebellion—one that he seeded, funded, then crushed in public view. A rebellion that existed to make his secret hold seem merciful by comparison.   They think themselves free. They speak of resistance. But every choice they made…. Was mine.   Not by command. By suggestion. By Illusion. By truth—bent just enough to serve.   He picks up the sealed helm—his ceremonial mask when he appears in public. Faceless. Unknowable.   The Force veils itself. So do I.   Jedi wave banners of Virtue. Sith revel in thunder and flame. But both are seen. Both are known.   And known power is power you can prepare for.   I will not be known. I will be suspected. I will be feared. And by the time they understand—it will be because I allowed them to.   He dons the helm. The room darkens as his presence subtly shifts—still, but heavy. A will wrapped in silence.   Cogadh aloud, voice modulated by the helm “To rule through fear is not enough. I must rule through the absence of clarity—through truths that fracture rather than illuminate.”   This is the Fourth Tenet. Not to destroy your enemies. But to dismantle their understanding. To rearrange their reality. When they seek justice, they chase a phantom. And when they beg for truth— They beg from me. Without knowing they do.   He steps away from the window, back towards the command table—disappearing into the shadows of the room, as if his body itself were another illusion.   I do not need to be worshipped. I do not need to be remembered. Only Obeyed. Even if they never know why.   A final whisper in the dark: “I wear no crown. I wear their doubt. And I shape the galaxy with what they never saw.”   Entry 5: Fifth Tenet - Master the Eternal Cycle with Patience Location: The command bridge of the Invicta Perpetua. Wide, vast, and cold as the void itself. Not a place of chaos, but of control. From this vantage point, countless stars drift—witnesses to a will that neither hastens nor hesitates. Cogadh stands alone at the central command dais, arms folded behind him, cloak still. A warfleet sleeps at his command. Worlds wait below. He acts... not yet.   Cogadh softly, to himself “Master the Eternal Cycle with Patience.”   They fear endings. They cling to beginnings. But I…. I walk between both.   He gestures towards the star map. Holograms bloom—empires lost, rebellions crushed, alliances formed and broken. Lines of light thread between them, looping into a spiral. A pattern.   They believe history moves forward. It does not. It moves in circles— Tides of ambition and ruin. Of light and dark. Of kings and ash.   But I... I am the constant beneath their waves.   He closes his eyes briefly, feeling the pulse of the Force—not as a storm, but as a clock. A rhythm. A loop. Birth, rise, fall, death… and then—rebirth. Always rebirth.   I have watched them. Let them rise. Let them believe. And when they fell— I was already there to inherit the silence.   To rule the cycle, one must not chase its tempo One must set it.   The Force flows in rhythm. Even its prophets are bound to it. But I am not.   I break its symmetry. I fracture its script. And in that fracture—I write my own name.   Cogadh aloud now, as if addressing unseen apprentices across the ship, across the galaxy “The moment is not your enemy. The moment is your servant—if you have the patience to command it.”   Do not lunge. Do not cry out. Do not falter because the blade has not yet drawn blood.   Wait.   Because when you strike— They will not see a warrior. They will see a force. Inevitability made flesh.   He steps forward, staring into the stars. His reflection barely visible in the reinforced glass—timeless, sharp, unbowed.   Softly: “I do not burn. I endure. I do not race. I remain. And when the wheel turns again… it will turn around me.”   This is the Fifth Tenet. Not survival. Supremacy by stillness. Victory not through speed— But through sovereignty over time itself.   Final words, echoing across the silent bridge: “Impatience is the weapon of the desperate. But I…I am the weapon of gods.”