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03-08-2025, 11:45 AM
>> BEGIN ARCHIVAL RETRIEVAL: HORUSET.PRIV.LOG_02204-A (DATE MARKED - POST THRONE ROOM INCIDENT)
>> STATUS: INTEGRITY 100%
>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // KRASSUS HORUSET
>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY IV: The Rot
The image flares to life. Krassus, bandaged from clavicle to waist, steps through the grand doors of his personal chamber within the Horuset estate. The telltale hiss of medical ports disconnecting from his body is audible as he throws off the external equipment tethered to his back.
He slams the door shut behind him. An unsteady breath. The weight of his fury anchors every step as he stalks toward the desk. He falls into the chair like an asteroid crashing into a world. the mask is gone. No discipline. No rigid posture. No echo of the 'proud' militarism drilled into him by his late father. There was only rage. Frustration. Anger. Beneath it raw grief. Howling abandonment spiraling like solar flares around a core of a shattered boyhood, and the broken remains of the persona he used to present.
His mind awash with blind fury. Jealousy. Uncertainty. He was lost.
"Do you think I don't know what you have done?!"
His voice was raw. Strained. The fire behind his eyes volcanic as he stares into the recorder, unblinking. The bandages pulling tat as he leans towards it.
"You knew. You knew my father would never stand for it. A second alien wretch on the Pentarchy? The ruling body of *your* powerbase? You knew what that would do to him. To his allegiance. To the fragile, ever brittle, hold you held over his loyalty."
"And so you sent him to confront kelsa. That Echani filth. Knowing no one else would be challenging the alien wretch and his cadre of Progressive allies. As Dark Lord you could have denied the alien's rise. Struck him down yourself, alongside all those who would betray the ideology of the Blazing Sun. To re-establish your hold over your domain. But no!"
Krassus wheezed a breath as he slammed his mechanical fist into the table.
"No. Ever content with washing your hands of the responsibilities to our House, now that you have garnered the slightest attention from the Dark Council. You sent him in your stead. You sent Lord Teius. You sent *my father* into that throne room.
"Offering him up to the alter of your own ambition. You let him confront Kelsa and that Twi'lek Scum Leive like a simple tool to be discarded!""
His voice lowers, the tone sharper. Controlled fury.
"Because if he had done it. If he had won; you would be rid of the two aliens. All without as much having to lift a finger. Ordered restored without public outcry at the citadel that you had to 'clean house' in your own Powerbase. Without rumors that your hold was slipping. All the 'glory', all the 'blame' falling onto my Father."
"And if he Lost? Then you would be rid of *him*. The Last Horuset with the will and the Power to challenge you. The last remnant of dissent against your claim as Matriarch and Dark Lord following your Father's death. Further aggrandizing the security of your own position at the expense of our House!"
"All without ever having to lift a finger! You coward! You Wretch! MY FATHER DESERVED BETTER THAN TO BE SLAYED BY AN *ALIEN* WITH CHEAP *JEDI* SABERCRAFT!"
Krassus slams both fists into the table now. The metallic crash of his cybernetic hand echoes like a scream through his quarters.
"Trakata."
Krassus said, spitting the word out like it was an ancient curse.
"Deceit in blade form. The tools of Assassins, of Jedi too weak to overcome their opponent. A warrior's death the silver haired wretch called it. Bah! Treachery dressed up as elegance!"
"My Father deserved better. He has served this Powerbase, This Empire, the ways of our people since before the Echani wretch even ascended from Acolytehood. He deserved a true warrior's Death! He was not Kelsa's to Kill!"
"He was mine!"
With a crash Krassus pushes himself up to his feet. The Desk, and the holo-recorder, trembling under the weight of his sudden shift in momentum. Pacing the room. Breath Quickening with each wheeze for oxygen.
"And the others? The ones who stood by? Who let this debacle play out before their very eyes? Sith of Pure Blood, Sith Who's ancestors would have torn their tongues out before letting them kneel to Alien Lords. They stood there and *watched*!"
"The Horuset Powerbase. Our Powerbase. *MY* Powerbase. Rotting! Rotting from within!"
"The vipions... They who once claimed to value blood above all else. Sided with the alien as soon as he made his claim! Betraying their own matriarch's Legacy. Opportunists cloaked in Ritual! Lord Vi'kas, a prophet I once revered, now stands so blinded by his dogma and zealotry, unable or unwilling to see he now stands hand-in-hand- with the Progressivists who mock him behind his back!"
"And Sith Andnoa... Rhave 'Vipion'. Halfbreed vermin! No true Sith. He was the very *first* to raise his blade against me. First to strike on Kelsa's Behalf. Before even Leive and her cohort of alien Apprentices!"
Krassus Seethes. Hands trembling. Not from weakness or the ever present aching of his wounds, but out of barely contained fury.
"And what of Darth Kalkoran? The silent? The passive? The Sith of action, the man who built his House back up from the brink of Ruin? He who now so heavily intertwined his legacy with that of my house? What does he do when the aliens and their supporters rise? Lay the groundwork for their Progressive Coup? what does he do when THE ROT spreads?""
"Nothing! No worse than nothing."
"He ignores it. Giving me a task. *An Errand* to gather information. To deal with some worthless governor on Alsolun. Days after my father's blood soaked the throne room floor. Days after the last true Horuset fell at the foot of our House's Throne."
"He sends me and Rhysand off like common administrative clerks to gather information!"
Krassus slumps back into the chair. Eyes shadowed. Chest heaving. A long silence.
"As I slept in the medbay I had that dream again... The vision. Not since I was a child have I dreamt it..."
"And never before has it been as clear to me as this... The faces filled in, the shadows given form."
"I am living it. The stagnation has begun. The fracturing. The Rot I foresaw... it has already set in. And the Dark Lords do not act. They will not cleanse it. It will stall, decay and halt the Advance of House Horuset..."
"And so it must be burned away."
Krassus sits back up, cleansing his hands into fists.
"I will be the fire. The cleansing Flame. The Fire of the Silver Sun."
"I will cast down the rot that has set in. To slay the aliens who claw for power at the corpse of my ancestor's house."
"I will strip the crown from my master if need be. That wraith of a once great Horuset, hollow, hiding behind legacy and age in her ivory tower of the Citadel."
"Only through me can the rot be purged."
Krassus leans forward once more. Lost no longer.
"Only through me can Horuset rise again."
[VISUAL END – static flood]
[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]
>> END FRAGMENT.
>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED
>> STATUS: INTEGRITY 100%
>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // KRASSUS HORUSET
>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY IV: The Rot
The image flares to life. Krassus, bandaged from clavicle to waist, steps through the grand doors of his personal chamber within the Horuset estate. The telltale hiss of medical ports disconnecting from his body is audible as he throws off the external equipment tethered to his back.
He slams the door shut behind him. An unsteady breath. The weight of his fury anchors every step as he stalks toward the desk. He falls into the chair like an asteroid crashing into a world. the mask is gone. No discipline. No rigid posture. No echo of the 'proud' militarism drilled into him by his late father. There was only rage. Frustration. Anger. Beneath it raw grief. Howling abandonment spiraling like solar flares around a core of a shattered boyhood, and the broken remains of the persona he used to present.
His mind awash with blind fury. Jealousy. Uncertainty. He was lost.
"Do you think I don't know what you have done?!"
His voice was raw. Strained. The fire behind his eyes volcanic as he stares into the recorder, unblinking. The bandages pulling tat as he leans towards it.
"You knew. You knew my father would never stand for it. A second alien wretch on the Pentarchy? The ruling body of *your* powerbase? You knew what that would do to him. To his allegiance. To the fragile, ever brittle, hold you held over his loyalty."
"And so you sent him to confront kelsa. That Echani filth. Knowing no one else would be challenging the alien wretch and his cadre of Progressive allies. As Dark Lord you could have denied the alien's rise. Struck him down yourself, alongside all those who would betray the ideology of the Blazing Sun. To re-establish your hold over your domain. But no!"
Krassus wheezed a breath as he slammed his mechanical fist into the table.
"No. Ever content with washing your hands of the responsibilities to our House, now that you have garnered the slightest attention from the Dark Council. You sent him in your stead. You sent Lord Teius. You sent *my father* into that throne room.
"Offering him up to the alter of your own ambition. You let him confront Kelsa and that Twi'lek Scum Leive like a simple tool to be discarded!""
His voice lowers, the tone sharper. Controlled fury.
"Because if he had done it. If he had won; you would be rid of the two aliens. All without as much having to lift a finger. Ordered restored without public outcry at the citadel that you had to 'clean house' in your own Powerbase. Without rumors that your hold was slipping. All the 'glory', all the 'blame' falling onto my Father."
"And if he Lost? Then you would be rid of *him*. The Last Horuset with the will and the Power to challenge you. The last remnant of dissent against your claim as Matriarch and Dark Lord following your Father's death. Further aggrandizing the security of your own position at the expense of our House!"
"All without ever having to lift a finger! You coward! You Wretch! MY FATHER DESERVED BETTER THAN TO BE SLAYED BY AN *ALIEN* WITH CHEAP *JEDI* SABERCRAFT!"
Krassus slams both fists into the table now. The metallic crash of his cybernetic hand echoes like a scream through his quarters.
"Trakata."
Krassus said, spitting the word out like it was an ancient curse.
"Deceit in blade form. The tools of Assassins, of Jedi too weak to overcome their opponent. A warrior's death the silver haired wretch called it. Bah! Treachery dressed up as elegance!"
"My Father deserved better. He has served this Powerbase, This Empire, the ways of our people since before the Echani wretch even ascended from Acolytehood. He deserved a true warrior's Death! He was not Kelsa's to Kill!"
"He was mine!"
With a crash Krassus pushes himself up to his feet. The Desk, and the holo-recorder, trembling under the weight of his sudden shift in momentum. Pacing the room. Breath Quickening with each wheeze for oxygen.
"And the others? The ones who stood by? Who let this debacle play out before their very eyes? Sith of Pure Blood, Sith Who's ancestors would have torn their tongues out before letting them kneel to Alien Lords. They stood there and *watched*!"
"The Horuset Powerbase. Our Powerbase. *MY* Powerbase. Rotting! Rotting from within!"
"The vipions... They who once claimed to value blood above all else. Sided with the alien as soon as he made his claim! Betraying their own matriarch's Legacy. Opportunists cloaked in Ritual! Lord Vi'kas, a prophet I once revered, now stands so blinded by his dogma and zealotry, unable or unwilling to see he now stands hand-in-hand- with the Progressivists who mock him behind his back!"
"And Sith Andnoa... Rhave 'Vipion'. Halfbreed vermin! No true Sith. He was the very *first* to raise his blade against me. First to strike on Kelsa's Behalf. Before even Leive and her cohort of alien Apprentices!"
Krassus Seethes. Hands trembling. Not from weakness or the ever present aching of his wounds, but out of barely contained fury.
"And what of Darth Kalkoran? The silent? The passive? The Sith of action, the man who built his House back up from the brink of Ruin? He who now so heavily intertwined his legacy with that of my house? What does he do when the aliens and their supporters rise? Lay the groundwork for their Progressive Coup? what does he do when THE ROT spreads?""
"Nothing! No worse than nothing."
"He ignores it. Giving me a task. *An Errand* to gather information. To deal with some worthless governor on Alsolun. Days after my father's blood soaked the throne room floor. Days after the last true Horuset fell at the foot of our House's Throne."
"He sends me and Rhysand off like common administrative clerks to gather information!"
Krassus slumps back into the chair. Eyes shadowed. Chest heaving. A long silence.
"As I slept in the medbay I had that dream again... The vision. Not since I was a child have I dreamt it..."
"And never before has it been as clear to me as this... The faces filled in, the shadows given form."
"I am living it. The stagnation has begun. The fracturing. The Rot I foresaw... it has already set in. And the Dark Lords do not act. They will not cleanse it. It will stall, decay and halt the Advance of House Horuset..."
"And so it must be burned away."
Krassus sits back up, cleansing his hands into fists.
"I will be the fire. The cleansing Flame. The Fire of the Silver Sun."
"I will cast down the rot that has set in. To slay the aliens who claw for power at the corpse of my ancestor's house."
"I will strip the crown from my master if need be. That wraith of a once great Horuset, hollow, hiding behind legacy and age in her ivory tower of the Citadel."
"Only through me can the rot be purged."
Krassus leans forward once more. Lost no longer.
"Only through me can Horuset rise again."
[VISUAL END – static flood]
[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]
>> END FRAGMENT.
>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED
