Supreme Prophet Praxeum
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Stap Praxeum - Darth PraxeumBirth name: Stap Magnus Praxeum
Years of Existence: 14 ABY - 176 ABY
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Homeworld: Corellia
Blood Status: Half-blood
Eye color: Bright blue
Height: 1.90 meters
Hair: Ear-length black and blonde hair
Affiliation(s) :
-Bakuran Jedi Order
-Fourth Sith Empire
-House of Praxeum
-House of Dallow
-House of Zend
-Church of the Dark Side
-Skull Crushers
Current/Former Occupation(s) Of Intrest:
-Jedi Youngling: 17 ABY - 25 ABY
-Jedi Padawan: 25 ABY - 32 ABY
-Jedi Knight: 32 ABY - 34 ABY
-Sith Apprentice: 35 ABY - 38 ABY
-Sith Master: 38 ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
-Prophet of the Dark Side: Currently Unknown ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
-Dark Lord Of The Sith: Currently Unknown ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
-Supreme Prophet of the Dark Side: Currently Unknown ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
-Grand Vizer: Currently Unknown ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
-Moff of Corellia: Currently Unknown ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
-Council for Sith Population Control and Ranks Chairman: Currently Unknown ABY - Currently Unknown ABY
Average Weaponry/Equipment:
-One single hilt dark blue lightsaber, originally belonged to Dradin Kitsch, given to him by Darth Shadow.
-One single hilt dark blue lightsaber, created during Jedi training and destroyed after leaving the Jedi Order
-One single hilt red lightsaber, created during Sith training.
-Hush-98 Comlink
-Imagecaster Holoprojecter
-Personal Universal Translator
Language(s):
-Galactic Basic
-Durese
-High Galactic
-Huttese
-Mando'a
-Sithese
-Bocce
-Olys Corellisi
-Ubese
-High Tongue
-Yuuzhan Vong
-Jawa Trade language
Average clothing choice:
-Dirty, white, skin tight, synthetic tunic
-Dirty, white, skin tight, armor protected pants
-Dirty, white, loosely fitted, outer cloak
-Small ring on ring finger on right hand, given to him by Darth Shadow.
-Drexl hide boots
Personal Droid(s):
-Grey hued T3-series utility droid - Known as T3-J7 - Created in 20 ABY
-Red hued R7-series astromech droid - Known as R7-V9 - Created in 35 ABY
Personal Vehicle(s):
-Green hued Luxin Ferra-class medium interceptor The Guardian
Personal starship, used during time in the Jedi Order. The Guardian had very little modifications in it, mechanics and starships not being a interest of Praxeum, and had little difference then the stock version of the Luxin, made by a small production company in orbit above Paulking XIV.
Gained in 33 ABY
Destroyed in 37 ABY
-Black hued Luxin Ferra-class light interceptor The Premonition
After destroying The Guardian to show his faith to the Sith, Praxeum was able to obtain a new Luxin, which he choose because of how familiar he was with the layout, which he used for many, many years - though once he was able to climb high in the ranks of the Sith, he mostly used shuttles and business ships.
Gained in 38 ABY
Destroyed in Currently Unknown ABY
-Dark grey hued Scrin-class luxury shuttle
One of the chief modes of transportation of Darth Praxeum on the planet of Kroprulu, this shuttle was given to Praxeum by a diplomat from the small planet of Onderon when he and Darth Tarna successfully saved a task force on the planet of Ruusan.
Gained in Currently Unknown ABY
Destroyed in Currently Unknown ABY
Residential Information
Stap's dorm room, Jedi Temple of Bakura, Bakura
Supreme Prophet's Chief Office, The Church of the Dark Side: Capital Chapter, Kuat
Kitsch Manor, Anomid, Naboo
Supreme Prophet's Office, The Church of the Dark Side: Corellia Chapter, Corellia
Supreme Prophet's Office, The Church of the Dark Side: Coruscant Chapter, Coruscant
Supreme Prophet's Office, The Church of the Dark Side: Kroprulu Chapter, Kroprulu
Supreme Prophet's Throne Room, Space Station Scardia
Abilities:
-Decent Pilot
-Extremely skilled diplomat
-Skilled in lightsaber combat
-Very skilled liar
-Extremely skilled with Force Abilities
-Skilled at clouding his thoughts to make himself difficult for Force-sensitives to read
Known Lightsaber forms:
-Shii-Cho (Mastered) Learned in 25 ABY
-Makashi (Mastered) Learned in 40 ABY
-Shien (Mastered) Learned in 38 ABY
-Djem So (Mastered) Learned in 38 ABY
-Niman (Mastered) Learned in 25 ABY
-Ataru (Mastered) Learned in 28 ABY
-Impitus (Creator) Officially created in 44 ABY
Apprentice(s):
-Ratius "Vaildus" Pron (Training completed)
-Urwen Avic Udeesie (Training completed) (Non-canon)
-Barrow Oicunn (Defected during training)
-Dradin Kitcsh (Killed by Praxeum as he attempted to defect)
Miscellaneous Features/Information:
-Left arm is covered in Sith tattoos
-Favorite drink is Antakarian Fire Dancer
-During Jedi apprenticeship, Stap became bitter rivals with fellow padawan Bessek Union
-Finds Lord Kaan extremely interesting, is often studying his actions
-Considers his cousin Darth Tarna, the Zabrak Darth Matas, and his former apprentice Darth Vaildus his closest friends
-Considers Darth Shadow his mentor, yet cannot trust him
-Holds the Imperial Medals of the Order of Revan, the Order of Bane, the Order of Sadow, the Order of Nihilius, the Order of Vectivus, the Order of Zannah, and the Order of Millennial.
Biography:
Early Life 14 ABY – 30 ABY
"His convictions are sound and his resolve absolute. His goals are lofty and his execution extraordinary. There may never be a finer Sith." —Emperor Shadow
Stap Magnus Praxeum was born in Coronet, Corellia. His mother Tetra, ignorant of her Sith heritage, had fallen in love and married a Mandalorian Supercommando named Ignus Praxeum when she was seventeen. Stap’s father Ignus was over twenty years her senior and he had made a career accepting contracts to kill or capture Jedi for the New Sith Empire that was steadily growing in the Outer Rim. When Stap was three, he began exhibiting signs of Force sensitivity. Ignus, a mercenary through and through, was contacting his Sith handlers to turn the boy over when Tetra shot him in the back of the head. She took the young boy to Bakura where he was to be trained as a Jedi. Stap would be safe, though she would be pursued by Ignus’s vengeful clan brothers. She was killed on Concord Dawn four years later.
His years spent as a child in the Jedi Temple were spent in meditation, training, and study. It was a life lived together with hundreds of other disciples, all hoping to become Jedi Knights. He revered the Jedi Council. Masters would occasionally sit in on lessons taught by the Blades Master or would offer wisdom when a student performed an impossible feat with the Force. Stap would form alliances with young trainees and Padawans that would prove useful to his fall to the Dark Side. Lo Gvesh was a Togruta male who was the only student who could best Stap in his year. The two’s companionship and competition would inspire legend in the Temple for years to come. When Lo was taken as a Padawan Learner by a Jedi named Iellla Cessan, Stap would wait another two months before being approached by a Jedi Knight.
In this interim, Stap, now eleven, searched the Archives for information on the Jedi’s natural enemy: the Sith. He did not know why that day when he looked down at the readout he was reading information on historical Sith troop movements, but the Jedi Historian of the day, a Sith-like woman in her own right, approached him. “At your young age, Stap, the Sith are of little concern to you.” But still, the natural curiosity remained. It was as if something were pulling the boy to wonderment. Something unknown that not even his instructors could detect, but something invisible in the back of his brain fueled his interest.
When a Hapan Knight took Stap to be his Padawan, he was again focused on the Jedi. Though his master had made a name for himself at the Battle of Rhen Var a year before when his strategies defeated a Sith attack group, Stap sensed reluctance to train him. “Failure,” his mater would say, “is indeed an option. But it is far less than acceptable.” His master, Isodor Jen, was still young, in his early forties. A Jedi Watchman by training, Stap would accompany his master on several dangerous missions of tracking and apprehending Dark Jedi. He had trained one Padawan before, a great Knight herself and master of his friend Lo, Iella Cessan. For the next five years, the pair would spend their time mediating trade disputes and settling colonial disagreements.
In one such negotiation when he was thirteen on the Core World Kuat, Stap first encountered the Czerka mogul Lexicon Sespis. The thirty-something man seemed to wield considerable influence over his master Isodor. So much so that after one session of contract disputes, he agreed to let Stap join the man for dinner. Arriving at Sespis’s manor, Stap was accompanied into a grand foyer by black-plated protocol droid. Along the top of the central dome was a painted fresco of a battle Stap recognized well: The Battle of Ruusan. “Darth Kaan was a brilliant man. We all could learn something from his teachings,” Lexicon’s voice said from the top of the stairs. The Jedi Padawan could not disagree, so he settled on quiet observation of the chambers many artifacts.
The man made his way down the stairs before Stap could firmly sense his presence. “You have exquisite taste,” Lexicon said when his jaw dropped before a fantastic onyx ring crested with red ruby. “The ring belonged to Kaan. I acquired it at great expense,” he said lifting the glass enclosure behind which it was sealed. “Go ahead, take it,” the man urged him. Stap lifted his hand but snapped it down in a blink of an eye. His Jedi training was overriding his sense of desire, it would be the last time in his life. When he said he could not accept such a thing, Lexicon mocked him. “Jedi principles. Jedi ethics. ‘Attachment leads to the Dark Side’ nonsense, hm? Stap, young, young Stap, I can afford a thousand such rings. But only this one belonged to the Dark Lord of the Sith. You should take it.”
He accepted the ring but did not put it on his finger; instead he chose to pocket it. Lexicon Sespis ordered the protocol droid to ready dinner in the north garden. Sitting among beautiful plants overlooking the Lake of Kuat, Stap watched the sunset as tiny lights in the path illuminated the evening. The pair spent two hours discussing matters of politics, the merits and oddities of the Supreme Chancellor, the Jedi Code, and history, specifically that of the Sith. The night concluded with Lexicon Sespis offering his home or support if ever Stap came to call. In a datapad containing various contact methods, Lexicon included a frequency he called a “safety net” to be entered into a comlink only if Stap could not immediately reach the mogul at his home. “Agents of my organization will be at your location within an hour,” Lexicon promised. Placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, he offered a piece of advice: “Do not let your obligations stand in the way of your success.”
Concord Dawn – 30 ABY
At sixteen, Stap accompanied his master on their most high-profile mission to date. Senator Arjen Witon of Concord Dawn had been assassinated at a campaign rally by terrorists. The Jedi Council dispatched two teams: Stap and Jen along with the living legend Asil Nevsk and her apprentice Elicia Railec. Asil, a much-celebrated Jedi Consular, was a beautiful woman from Melida/Daan. Her apprentice Elicia elicited a deeper response from Stap. The girl was seventeen, near the end of her own time as a Padawan, and she was indisputably gifted both physically and mentally. The team’s objective was to locate, detain, and question the terrorist or terrorists responsible for the assassination of the important politician Arjen Witon, about whom much speculation in tap cafs and the HoloNet buzzed about her bid for the Supreme Chancellery next year.
Asil immediately took charge of the situation on the ground. Upon their arrival a day later than the male Jedi pair, Asil and Elicia were already fully briefed on the situation. She spoke for a little over half an hour on the proper strategies and the need for stealth. Stap, his mind elsewhere, focused on Elicia. Though it was against the Jedi Code, Stap could foresee a future with the light-hearted girl. In the end of it all, Asil decided for everyone that she would be working with Isodor in locating the terrorist base of operations while Stap and Elicia examine the crime scene. The awkwardness of the landspeeder ride to the assassination site was matched only by the apparent lack of nerve Elicia displayed.
Her Padawan braid did not have to be wrapped her ear like his for the mission. Her dirty blonde hair fell slightly past her shoulders in an almost unnatural natural way. Her chosen green tunic was more form-fitting than most Jedi’s. Her lightsaber blade matched her forest green eyes. She was slated for Guardianship, he could sense as much in the Force. One of his dreams, Master Tan’siko called them prophetic glimpses, saw her sitting in the Council Chambers as a very young adult. Elicia liked to joke with Stap about his devotion to duty, his almost business-like relationship with his Hapan master. He would merely smile and nod at the girl’s perception.
Ultimately, the Jedi team made several arrests of rival politicians and their backers. Stap would test the limits of his relationship with Elicia the night they discovered Czerka agents involved with the assassination. He moved quickly to expunge any connection with Lexicon Sespis from the official record. The mission took two months and in that window, Stap developed what Jedi Sages would call the Ultimate Attachment. He had fallen in love.
The Duel 31 ABY
Stap’s return to the Jedi Temple on Bakura was met with great news: his friend Lo had also just returned from a mission to Iridonia. Stap’s quarters in the Temple had already been visited by the Togruta Padawan. A piece of flimsi invited him to one of the east Temple’s dueling arenas. Stap smiled, he had not dueled his friend in years. After picking up several techniques from his Jedi Watchman master, he felt confident he could finally best Lo. He arrived shortly after receiving the note and bowed to the meditating alien. “My master has taught me that the Echani view battle as a pure expression of communication,” with that, all pleasantries were abandoned and his lightsaber was activated. Lo charged stap and the two sparred for several minutes before the next spoken words.
“Master Isodor has taught patience. Waiting for the right moment…” He did not finish his sentence before he was Force-Pushed into the wall. His anger flared, he charged the Togruta with his lightsaber raised. Receiving a roundhouse kick blow to the chest, Stap again fell. His temper seethed over years of Jedi training and suddenly, the arena grew very still. Stap’s ears rang and he could hear his heart beating loudly in his head. When normalcy returned to the arena, Lo was slumped in a corner. Stap walked to him unaware of the involuntary exchange of memories.
But the Togruta could not be kept silent. “You are a Jedi! You have taken an oath…” Lo’s voice was becoming panicked, growing louder. They locked blades once more, Stap prevented Lo from speaking of his love for Elicia again. Stap pleaded with his friend for understanding, but he was determined to go to the Council. He did the one thing he promised his master he would not and used a paralysis dart on a fellow Jedi. Unable to fight off the drug, Lo was completely at Stap’s mercy. He sat with his head to his knees for an unknown length of time while he contemplated what to do. The answer came in the form of a prophetic glimpse: protect Elicia. Stap laid his hands on the Togruta’s head and performed a Mind Rub. With any luck, Lo would remember a very different set of events. In the back of Stap’s mind, all he could hear was the word “betrayer” being repeated over and over by some distant voice.
The Final Mission 31 ABY
Isodor Jen had gone to the Council Chambers to recommend his Padawan for the Trials but instead received a mission to Ryloth. The Masters wanted the Watchman and Stap to intercept a Dark Jedi that had been lost to them for some time. The mission was considered especially dangerous, even for a pair of Jedi. Stap spent the night in meditation, but he had recurring visions of Elicia speaking as a Jedi Master. Soon, they were standing in a market on Ryloth seeking the home of a merchant trader and last reported location of their prey. Stap was running through their provisions checklist in his head when Isodor told him that he would be pursuing the Dark Jedi alone and that Stap should observe the compound from a distance and slow him down should he manage to escape Isodor’s assault.
Relegated to a stakeout, Stap spent an evening watching crooked individuals come and go from the compound. His master had infiltrated the perimeter nearly an hour earlier and would be engaging the Dark Jedi within moments if he stuck to the schedule. Like clockwork, the clash of lightsabers instantly lit windows on the second story of the building. One red and one blue, they disappeared into the interior. Stap waited. For three hours, he would stare at the chrono and watch the entrances, suspecting his master was playing an elaborate game of cat and mouse that he could not sense. Isodor had shut down in the Force to prevent the Dark Jedi from sensing his movements. Stap did not know if he would be able to sense his death in this state or not, but something compelled him forward to investigate.
The entryway exploded as soon as the doors hissed open, and Stap was thrown back ten meters. Inside, he heard laughter and knew it was not his master. Lightsaber active, Stap charged. He deflected the blaster fire of two attack droids and neutralized them with relative ease. The cold laughter continued and Stap searched the compound for what felt like an eternity before he found his master lying on the floor, the Dark Jedi standing over him. Electricity shot from his fingertips and Stap flew toward the imposing figure. His master had fallen to the Dark Jedi, nothing was stopping him from besting a Padawan. Isodor was back on his feet and used his body to slam the Dark Jedi against a wall. “Stap, run, I will follow,” Isodor commanded. He ran as ordered, out of the compound, and waited. But his master did not come. Ten minutes later, fifteen, twenty. He did not dare re-enter the building, for in the back of his mind, he could sense the quiet end of a Jedi legend. Somehow, it did not sadden him at all to lose his master; he simply felt a void where a familiar face would go.
Mission to Corellia 32 ABY – 33 ABY
After the death of Isodor Jen, the Jedi Council promoted Stap to Knight. His report of the situation included the trauma of losing his dear friend and mentor, but the fact of the matter remained that Stap was neither in denial nor agony. He seemed deadened to the emotion of loss in this case, yet he yearned to be with Elicia. He entered a period of solitude to channel his grief. When the Jedi Council summoned him ten weeks later, it was in response to a new threat facing the Repubilc. The Sith were launching attacks from Kroprulu and making inroads to his home world of Corellia. Stap was to rendezvous with a six-person Jedi team given the rank of General for the duration of the mission. They were to coordinate ground and air responses to Sith attacks.
Jedi Asil Witon and her former Padawan Elicia Railec were on the team with Stap. The other three were relatively unknown to the new Jedi Knight. Their ground commander briefed them when they were planetside after their departure from Selonia. The situation roughly broke down into a two-pronged naval assault with a three-pronged planet attack. It was decided that the six Jedi Generals would divide and maximize their talents in pairs. Two would go back into space to coordinate Republic and Corellian defensive forces while two went north while two stayed in the south in Coronet. If the capital fell, it would be a short battle indeed.
Stap and Elicia were charged with the defense of Coronet. From the towering spacescrappers to the congested skylanes, it was an environment far removed from the havocs of war invasion. But Stap could sense the unease, seemed to follow the rifts in the Force as they opened and closed, could sense the danger. He and Elicia boarded a transport to the underground bunkers used in earlier Corellian conflicts. His feeling echoed in the souls of those around him, “I have a very bad feeling about this.”
The Sith commanders had dug their heels in to the north. Elicia’s former master Asil was soon overrun by Assassins and a disturbance in the Force quickly followed. Elicia seemed deep in meditation when Stap approached from behind and placed his hand on her shoulder. She returned the affection with a squeeze of his hand and a touch of his chest as she passed. “Listen up,” Elicia boomed, “the Sith will be here shortly. I suggest when we die, we take as many of them with us as we can.”
An hour later, the first wave of Sith troops was marching into Coronet. The Corellians, naturally angry, fought armored Sith hand-to-hand in the streets. Shortly thereafter, Stap lost communication with the naval force in orbit. He joined the street fighting in realization of the fact that the Sith planned to take the city intact. Debating a scorched earth policy, Stap instantly dismissed it when he calculated the death toll. The hours passed, lives vanished in the Force, but the Sith seemed limitless. He and Elicia were now fighting back to back in the Prime Minister’s residence. “Elicia,” Stap said, “do you think the Jedi Code is still applicable?”
The low lighting caused a beautiful illumination of blaster fire and lightsaber glow. Her eyes shone with vitality, “the hell with the Code.” She decapitated a Sith grenadier who got too close for comfort in the next second.
“Elicia, I care about you… I love you,” Stap admitted.
Elicia was punching the metallic armor and sending troopers flying across the mansion’s foyer. “Stap, I’m not sure this is the time for last-minute rule breaking.” She was bleeding from her left side now, her green tunic becoming dirty. “Shall we,” Elicia indicated the door.
They fled the city under cover of night, though the Sith checkpoints operated regardless. Mild Mind Tricks managed to get them a transport to another part of the planet. Stap and Elicia stole a shuttle from a Sith camp along with a solider or two to get them past the blockade. The mission to Corellia had failed, though they managed to identify the exact strength of the Sith Empire. The Empire had taken a Core World and could maintain presence from there to Kroprulu. It was a dark day for the Republic. It was a small wonder to Stap that Elicia could not recall his admission of breaking his Jedi Oath.
The Fall 34 ABY
"This was more than just another Padawan who left! Do you know the power that has been given to the Praxeum line!" —Jedi Knight Xemwes on Stap's defection to the Sith
Stap knew it was a matter of time before Elicia recalled the sincerity of his admission in the Force while she meditated or wrote a report. His love for her increased when they returned to the Jedi Temple and he watched her grieve for the loss of her former master the way Stap could never mourn for his. The days waxed and waned in predictable patterns while he remained at the Temple. The Council had not yet assigned him a new task, so he took to the scouting of potential Padawans. His search as mixed with liberal visits from Elicia and intermittent Archive readings on the Sith, their techniques, and the Dark Side in general. It was a late night when he read a firsthand account of Kaan’s Thought Bomb from the only survivor, Darth Bane. Stap recalls the silence of the Archives, and wished this new Sith Empire had remained loyal to Bane’s Rule of Two.
A familiar presence in the Force washed over him in the coming moments. The door to the Archives opened and it was not the same Historian that had harassed him as a Youngling, but it was his friend Lo Gvesh, sporting a new double-bladed lightsaber. Stap brushed the still surface of his friend’s mind to feel for any detection of his Mind Rub. The Togruta was still ignorant of the Rub. “Late night reading,” Lo stated. He circled the long table Stap was settled at. “Found this in your quarters,” the Togruta said dropping a cloth bag one could find at a jeweler. “You and Elicia planning on getting married?” It was a joke of course, but Stap was now suspicious the Mind Rub was falling before his very eyes.
Before the alien could use his nimble fingers to remove Kaan’s ring from the velvety pouch, Stap seized it. “It is not for you or Elicia,” Stap fumed, a flash of anger creeping through his words.
“So, it’s for the Watchmen,” Lo asked. Stap’s mind was working in overdrive attempting to find the current that would lead him out of this situation. “Stap, the Jedi Council knows. They know about your rising fascination with the Sith. They know you have feelings for…”
Stap flew from his chair, knocking it to the ground like a raging boma. Before Lo could react, Stap’s hands were around his throat, a marble bust of a forgotten Jedi Master was broken to pieces on the floor, and Lo’s body was slammed against an aisle of holodisks. “Mark me, if you ever enter my quarters again without my permission, I’ll break you.”
The alien’s eyes were bulging, reflected in a pale yellow light. Stap lifted his hand and saw the light coming from his own face. He let Lo fall to the ground, he gasped as he hit the floor of the Archives. Stap touched his face and closed his eyes for a long moment, the beam of yellow light had vanished. Lo’s recovery was swift, he was on his feet, but his hands remained by his side. “Elicia told me of your confession on Corellia. She said she could feel the darkness inside you, worried that you’ll fall to the Dark Side. Elicia asked me to find the source. Is it this ring, Stap, or is it you?”
Slowly, the yellow light bathed his Jedi friend. The Togruta recoiled and took a step back, hitting the shelve of holodisks. “It is me. It wasn’t before… but I feel empowered.” As his Jedi defenses to the Dark Side slowly fell, so did the potency of his Mind Rub as his awareness increased. Lo braced himself, Stap watched him struggle. “I did what I did to protect Elicia,” Stap justified. Tears were now staining his cheeks as he watched his friend recall their duel. “I didn’t want to, Lo…”
“You have to leave. Other Jedi will be sensing the darkness here,” Lo hastened him out of the Archives and to the landing platforms of the Temple. “I’ll tell Elicia you have chosen the exile’s path,” he stopped for a moment and pulled Stap down from the cockpit ladder he was climbing. “Stap, you can never come back to this place. Do you understand? I can sense others realizing you are falling, but I sense the Light Side still. I feel the good inside of you but you are in too much conflict to remain and we’ll be on your heels. Go somewhere where the Jedi cannot find you, do you understand? Do you understand,” Lo asked him again. “I’ll find you, somehow, I’ll bring you back to the Light Side. But you have to go!” And that was the end of Stap’s life in the Jedi Order.
Flight to Kuat 34 ABY
Stap spent the next two days swapping star fighters and arranging transports, minimizing his Force use so the Jedi could not detect him. He did not feel like a Dark Jedi, but the physical signs were starting to show. Stap had no one to guide him in the ways of the mysteries he had unlocked inside himself. He turned to the one person in the universe who may still be able to help him: Lexicon Sespis. The datapad with the Czerka executive’s contact information remained in his breast pocket since he was thirteen, but had never been used. It was a longshot that after so long, Lexicon would even still live on Kuat, given the nature of the survival odds for top-level Czerka officials.
The manor comm. went unanswered, as did Lexicon’s private comlink and that in his official transport. Stap was desperate and living in a slum on Ord Mantell when he hesitantly hit the call button after inputting Lexicon’s safety net, the supposed one sure way to contact Lexicon. A voice answered after a single ring, it was crisp and official. “State your business,” it ordered.
“My name is Stap Praxeum. I am calling for Lexicon Sespis, I realize this frequency is only meant…”
The voice was as crisp as before, “Remain at your present location.” The comm. went dead and Stap began to feel the pangs of regret at contacting the mysterious operator. Hopefully Lexicon Sespis would prove reliable instead of crooked. Twenty-seven minutes later, a knock at the door to his small lodge room. Stap did not even move a muscle to open the door when it was opened by two black clad individuals.
“Stap Praxeum,” the taller of the two asked. He was an Iridonian with strange facial markings. The other, a Chiss female, rare beyond the Unknown Regions, stood in the hallway. “We have orders to escort you to Kuat. Mister Sespis offers his sincere apologies that he could not personally receive your communiqués and has offered you lodging in his home until he returns from a business venture in the Outer Rim.”
The journey was uneventful, Stap was unable to sense the slightest betrayal of emotion from either of his escorts but dismissed it as a sign that Lexicon Sespis picked the highest caliber assassins in the galaxy. Any other time, he might have joked with his escorts about their babysitting duty and asked how it felt to not be beating on local politicians to enforce Czerka’s interests, but today was not that time. His handlers deposited him in a concealed hangar bay in the same manor house he had been at the age of thirteen. He made a motion to leave the ship when the Iridonian put his hand on Stap’s chest. “You’ll be needing this code,” he said handing him a piece of flimsi, “no sense in dying.”
Stap thanked them for their transport. When they remained seated, he asked if they would be joining him. “The Supreme…” the Chiss girl’s voice trailed off when the Iridonian shot her a contemptuous look.
“Mister Sespis would not appreciate our stay. Good day,” the lead of his escorts dismissed him from the transport. He stood in a tidy hangar bay and was unsure when the code would come in handy, but proceeded to the interior of the mansion. An automated voice asked for a code and Stap provided it. The clank of metal approached from his left, a protocol droid. Stap allowed himself to be escorted to the guest chamber where he would spend three days before curiosity of his surroundings overtook him. Without Lexicon to channel Stap’s focus, he could almost taste the dark energy prevalent here. He explored the grand foyer with the war mural and touched artifacts he would not dare touch in his Jedi days. With that same shadowy sweep, Lexicon Sespis appeared silent in the reflection of an ancient holocron not on display when he was last here.
Stap turned and bowed his head to the mogul. The years had not worn on the man’s face the way they had Stap’s. In fact, he seemed fully immune to change of any kind: he was still lost to Stap’s Force senses. “I knew one day you would return to Kuat,” Lexicon informed him. “Though I must admit I was surprised when my agents had to intercept a Jedi by the name of Lo Gvesh who was following in your stead as you sought shelter on Ord Mantell. Stap, what have you done?” The younger man confessed his love for Elicia, the Mind Rub of his friend, his thirst for Dark Side knowledge, everything. Lexicon Sespis stood patiently unspeaking for twenty minutes as Stap detailed the most minor of details.
“And so, it feels right that I was guided here,” Stap concluded. He stared into the eyes of the older man and had no inkling as to his thought process.
Lexicon stepped past him and indicated that he should follow. “My arrival was delayed a day because I had to take custody of a special guest,” Lexicon explained as he led Stap to an underground chamber. “I need your help, Stap. Our guest would choose to kill us both rather than face the possibility of what you will become.” Stap did not understand the cryptic talk of Lexicon, but he nodded at this. His hand on an ancient door, Lexicon swung it open, “I want you to kill him first.” Stap entered the dungeon cell, it was rather large and filled with torture devices that would have offended Stap’s sensibilities a year before. Lexicon stood in the doorway, the darkness surrounding him.
He removed the lightsaber from his hilt and began searching from the prisoner. In a corner, he could see the characteristic brown robes of the Jedi Order. On a table near it, bloody instruments were soaking. “What have you done with him,” Stap demanded, his lightsaber now brandished in the direction of the cell door, but Lexicon was gone. Stap could not sense a meter ahead of him due to the great tumult of Dark Side energy growing in this place. “What’s wrong, Stap,” the abrupt voice of Lo Gvesh asked him, “isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Lo? Lo, if you’re here…”
A laugh preceded the Togruta stepping into the light cast by his lightsaber, robes and all. Stap could not sense the negative space where the alien should be standing. He seemed a projection in the Force, but he was unsure as to who could do such a thing in this place. “You were not meant to come to this place until you were ready,” Lo drew his new lightsaber, the double blades of a viridian crystal shone brightly. “You should have let me kill you when they ordered me to.”
Stap argued for a moment but trailed mid-sentence when the Togruta launched himself. Stap was unconvinced what he was now dueling was the true Lo Gvesh but the lightsaber emanated energy, hummed with life. They dueled in the small space, lightsabers brushing stone wall that would not scar or break. Literally locked in battle, Stap was savagely advanced upon by the likeness of his one-time ally. In the back of his mind, he could hear the voice of Lexicon Sespis, “Ah, so you doubt.”
Stap froze, his defense faltered. The Togruta did not hesitate and plunged one end of his blade into Stap’s torso. He doubled over and tasted the blood in his mouth. His vision swam in and out of focus but something in his mind was burning with hate. He felt alive, all powerful for the first time in life. Stap fed on the raw energy of pain, it invigorated him. He laughed for the first time since before leaving the Jedi Order, his back arced after falling to his knees. He extended his hands upward, as if he was grasping the air. Stap looked to his torso, saw no burn or hole where a lightsaber had plunged moments before. Now he could sense the horrid death of a Togruta in this very room, that of Lo Gvesh. “Shadow! Darth Shadow,” he laughed madly, screaming, “Liar!”
The door to the cell opened and the man he called Lexicon Sespis stood again in the doorway. “I am Darth Shadow. I have foreseen this moment a thousand times. You are free. You are no longer a captive Jedi. Go, rest now. You have taken a very important first step down the dark path. Tomorrow, we make for Kroprulu. The Sith Empire shall be your home now.”
Sith Training 35 ABY – 38 ABY
Shadow provided the elemental history of the Sith Empire, explained their ongoing conquest of the galaxy, and coached Stap in the contemporary names to know before their arrival on the Sith capital. Due to his station in the Empire, Shadow said, he had convened a small gathering of Sith to welcome Stap to Kroprulu. The reception took place in a beautiful Grand Chamber of the Church of the Dark Side. The Sith Temple, an impressive feat unto itself, was dwarfed in Stap’s mind by the exquisite beauty of the Church. He was welcomed by several Prophets, the High Inquisitor, an impressive number of Hands and Alchemists, the Supreme Commander himself and other Armed Forces officials. The Supreme Commander, Minious, took particular interest in Stap and made a legitimate offer to train him in the ways of the Dark Side.
Having gone through training once, Stap was not eager to receive further instruction but understood the requirement of learning the ways of the Dark Side. He accepted Minous’s training and was in for three years of hell. His new master was unusually cruel, even for a Sith Lord. Stap was made to construct a new lightsaber early in their training and could not retain ownership of Kaan’s ring. Minious returned it to Shadow, saying that it was not his place to give “help” to his apprentice. Stap had not unlocked any Dark Side energy the ring contained, but he now seemed patently aware that the ring must contain some ancient knowledge his master did not want him to have in training.
As a Sith Apprentice, Stap was far older than the average student. His Jedi training proved pivotal when dealing with Minious, who seemed to be breeding him for a career in the Navy. Due to the nature of his relationship with Shadow, the debt he felt toward him for saving him, and his natural captivation with prophecy and the beauty of the Church, Stap was drawn elsewhere. His master beat him and threatened to cut off his arm should he not follow in his own footsteps and join the Imperial Navy. Seeking the counsel of Darth Shadow, Stap first learned of the troubled relationship between the Supreme Commander and High Prophet when Shadow launched Minious across his office using the Force. Shadow, exiting to the hallway where Stap was waiting, brushed the front of his midnight blue robes. “Your master requires medical attention. More importantly, I believe we have reached an understanding.”
For another year after this episode, Minious would spend more subtle ways directing his apprentice to the Navy. From offers of high office to subtle intimidation, Stap was pressured into compliance, but would not break in his new goal of becoming a Prophet. He had witnessed their ceremonies and felt kinship with their visions of the future and insight into the workings of the Empire. His master’s anger grew as time went on. On a mission to Munto Codru, Minious commanded the Naval task force sent to pacify a local uprising from space while Stap was shipped planetside in the hopes that he might die. His regiment emerged from the battle the most decorated unit in a single battle in Sith history.
New Beginning 38-41 ABY
Stap’s trial was conducted by the Sith Historian, Scourge. His investment as Darth Praxeum was in part due to his wish to remember the past but advance beyond it. As an Acolyte, Praxeum met with Supreme Prophet Shadow to discuss an appointment with the Church. Two apprentices and other undisclosed criteria were expected to be met before a candidate would be welcomed to the Church.
Early in his solo career as a Sith Master, Praxeum was dispatched to Muunilist to retrieve the boy who would a year later become his own apprentice, Ratius Pron. He would develop a bond with the boy that would survive time when in the year 40, Praxeum returned to the capital after an extended assignment on Chandrilia. Praxeum extended his offer to train him which was accepted after some deliberation. Their journeys took them across backwater worlds and back to Kroprulu, through great triumph and moderate loss. Their first mission to Concord Dawn spelled the beginning of true grief for the life he lost with Elicia. The Sith Emprie encouraged their followers to marry and produce loyal children, if only Praxeum could have inspired Elicia to follow him here. Even now, his vision of her sitting among the Masters felt truer than the words he spoke to his apprentice.
The months passed with great swiftness as training advanced. Praxeum learned more of the Sith as his apprentice’s instruction increased. The High Council was more content with managing entire planets rather than the lives of individual Sith. Praxeum took his apprentice where he pleased and came and went from Kroprulu at leisure. Things continued in such away until the year 41.
Departure 41 ABY - 42 ABY
When Supreme Prophet Shadow issued an Imperial Edict ordering the transfer of Darth Praxeum from Kroprulu to Kuat, he sensed a higher purpose to the assignment but was angered by the apparent setback in his own apprentice’s training. Seeking counsel from Darth Shadow on the assignment, it was unveiled that the primary task of the master/apprentice team would be to pacify the crime family Zend, a Sith Pure Blood faction with footholds in major Imperial interests. “Diplomacy,” Shadow said, “is the weapon of choice for this assignment. I hope, for your sake, that you succeed. The Empress is not as forgiving as I am.”
Bound for the Core, Praxeum was overtaken by a prophetic vision. A black-gloved hand extended from a blinding light before him to present a gilded chain of metal. Hardly a breath could be taken before the rushing sensation of freefall engulfed him. Praxeum was standing in a vacuum. His lungs were compressing, but he could see the world of Kuat. It was isolated from all light, the color fading from the sphere. A tearing sensation behind his eyes and next he saw himself falling to the planet, wrapped in the heavy chain. As Praxeum fell, darkness took the planet, and for a lifetime, the disembodied eyes watched the void.
Shaken from his state, Praxeum received assistance from Ratius in the Force. Their transport sat idle in the hangar of Kuat City for ten minutes as he fought himself in the Force for composure. His apprentice, ill-equipped to handle the tempest of emotions, became a conduit of negative energy. Praxeum had no choice but to use the boy as a dumping ground of the dark feelings radiating from him in order to prevent the Zend negotiators from having an advantage. The negotiations were short, despite a sense of open-ended hostility towards the representatives of the Eternal Empire. The Zend made concessions to stick to commercial activity and draw back their political interests so long as Darth Praxeum remained to officiate the transition. Darth Shadow approved and placed him on extended leave under the title Regent-Governor.
But little came of the appointment. Darth Praxeum withdrew from his duties and was ordered to check in with Imperial Control. He became addicted to various spices and ales that kept him occupied when not abusing his apprentice. Inquisitors were dispatched to Kuat with the assumption that the young master and his apprentice had been killed or captured. With broad discretionary powers, the Inquisitors caught the attention of Darth Praxeum. In firm control of the Zend Family trafficking on Kuat, Praxeum had the Inquisitors tracked and tortured. He returned them to Kroprulu with a holodisk for the Supreme Prophet only. It did not take long for Shadow to sever their Force Bond with a strong flooding of hostile emotions in the Force. Praxeum was alone.
This isolation continued for a year, and despite being a very wealthy man, Praxeum was running ragged. His paranoia grew. A reign of terror overtook the Zend Family. Priceless artifacts were plundered because he suspected they would be used against him in an overthrow. His madness, likely driven by spice, threatened the stability of the organization. And so prosperous Zend who were benefitting from fresh blood turned to the next likely source of power for their operations: Ratius. The apprentice had been largely ignored by Praxeum since his cosmic separation from Shadow. And Ratius sought blood. In a droid-controlled production facility, Ratius planned to meet his master. Having rigged the compound to explode should a direct assault fail, Ratius’s escape plan seemed foolproof, but Praxeum was no fool. He projected false images into his apprentice’s mind, made him believe he had an edge, only to pierce his shoulder with the tip of his blade. Immobilized, Ratius could not end the battle with the planned demolition.
At the edge of victory, Praxeum was again seized by a vision. This one, however, felt distant. As if the vision were not his own. It had come from another. He was in the mountains of Kuat, they were crumbling around him. But in the distance, he could see the dead world of Korriban. Praxeum saw himself reaching out his hand and taking the palm-sized world in his hand. It burned as it touched his flesh, and it was gone. He claimed the sphere with his other hand, but it was gone. Slowly, the flesh disappeared and he was in Hell. His screams echoed around the falling mountains and he awoke with new eyes. His lust for spice had left his body, and he saw his apprentice for the first time since landing on Kuat over a year ago. They left Kuat to the Zend. His mission could not conclusively prove to be a success until years later, but Praxeum no longer cared. Kroprulu was waiting. He could feel life again in his bond with the Dark Lord. Somehow, there was no anger in his connection with Shadow: only pride.
Ascension 42 ABY - 46 ABY
After his return to Kroprulu, Praxeum was punished by the Grand Inquisitor herself for his torture of her envoys to Kuat a year before. His flesh seared from unseen techniques of the Force, Praxeum sat in meditation before his Dark Patron. The perfumes and incense danced a misty red in the air around him, enveloping his wounds. He was rejuvenated, but not yet whole. A whisper echoed in the Force. Shadow was not on the capital. Praxeum would not see him again for two years. The Dark Lord had gone into seclusion shortly before Praxeum returned from Kuat.
Ratius continued to prove difficult. Their training became more and more rehearsed, as if little progress was being made. Instead, the two seemed to be drifting apart. No bond burned brightly in their relationship as that between others and their apprentices. Praxeum felt isolated from that experience and begrudged Ratius for lack of motivation. When finally his patience had worn thin with the apathetic Ratius, Praxeum declared his apprentice ready for the Trials.
Much to Praxeum’s horror, Supreme Commander Minious would preside over his apprentice’s ceremony. Little was made by way of promotion for his apprentice. It was as if Praxeum’s former master was exacting some kind of revenge for betraying his training to follow the way of the Acolyte. When Ratius lost control after constant provocations by Minious, the High Council, now minus Shadow, cast disapproval on Praxeum. “Kill the apprentice,” the Empress had ordered Minious. Only Praxeum’s intervention spared Ratius’s life. Now, crossing blades with his former master, Praxeum begged for a second chance to prove Ratius’s worth to the Empire. Saber looked to the empty chair and closed her eyes for a moment. It was as if she were imaging her own apprentice’s response. But Shadow had left Kroprulu. “Very well, he lives for now.”
Left in the chamber with his apprentice, Praxeum used physical force to break him. Ratius would spend a month in the healing wards before returning to Praxeum for another two years of training that culminated with the return of Darth Shadow. The Supreme Prophet embraced the younger master on his personal landing platform in Kroprulu City while it stormed around them. “History is rarely kind to legends in their own lifetime,” he said to Praxeum. The rain would not break for another week as Shadow toured the capital, Praxeum and Ratius often following behind. It was in this time that Ratius was deemed worthy to face the Trials again and redeem his master’s honor. In the history of the Empire, only four masters had ever trained beyond a Trial.
Lord Shadow conducted the Trial before the High Council. Praxeum was not permitted to attend, and Ratius never spoke of what transpired in the chamber despite their healed relationship and growing respect. Praxeum had seen the birth of Darth Validus, his comrade for many years after.
Dradin 46 ABY - 48 ABY
Praxeum began his quest to locate a new apprentice after the knighting of Ratius Pron. His journey took him to Sith strongholds on Thule, Coruscant, and Korriban, for he did not wish an apprentice already too heavily influenced by one of the Dark Lords or Ladies. Having resigned himself to waiting for a suitable student, Praxeum was performing a mission with his former apprentice on Rhen Var when he sensed a disturbance in the Force. Following it to his source, he discovered a young boy. His name was Dradin Kitsch, and there was no denying his power. Leaving his partner, Darth Validus, to complete the mission, Praxeum was now duty-bound to bring the boy to Kroprulu for instruction.
Undergoing routine tests, Dradin responded well, but was restless. The Temple Guardians feared the young boy was not fully broken enough to fall to the Dark Side. It was a risk, Praxeum believed, he was ready to take. Though his bond with the boy was strong, his primary mission was acceptance to the Church. The boy’s morals would fall into line later. The pair requested an audience with Lady Actir to sanction Dradin’s instruction under Praxeum, and soon after, they were training.
Over the course of five months, the pair trained at all hours. Praxeum’s pride in the boy grew as Dradin’s power increased. In spite of his teachings, Dradin seemed dead to the influence of the Dark Side. His blue eyes remained clear, not the yellow that most apprentices could not mask. Praxeum’s sense of unease swelled in their sixth month of training when Dradin allowed himself to be run off the training mat by another student. Refusing to leave his quarters one day for training, Dradin had violated his oath to his master. Praxeum was now agitated and began seeking answers to the erratic behavior of the boy.
Praxeum and Dradin were sent on their first mission in the second year of their training. Thyferra was in need of Sith moderation and civil war was threatening to erupt. Praxeum and his apprentice were charged with bringing the smaller rebel group back to the table. Praxeum sensed deception among the tribal leaders and ordered his apprentice to monitor Kjex Vin’oli, the leader of the Thyfferan Defense Force and instigator of violence. The exercise was routine. Masters had been testing the resolve of their apprentices’ desire to remain in the Empire for centuries. Dradin failed.
At the first opportunity since his removal from Rhen Var, Dradin sent communiqués to the Jedi, the Republic Senate, and the Galactic HoloNet. His “kidnap” was coming to an end. Praxeum sighed when his Infiltrator’s communications grid intercepted the message. Dradin was too smart to be caught by such a simple mistake. His heart would never truly be that of a Sith and this was his apprentice’s way of letting him know that. The real Jedi Order, too smart to meddle with Sith affairs in such a way, did not respond to the anxious failure’s plea for removal. Instead, Praxeum posed as a Jedi Knight who would land a stealth ship in the North Market Quarter of Thyferra’s Rifte City in three days’ time. No response to the “Jedi’s” confirmation came from Dradin.
His focus returned in the three days. Dradin was eager to learn all he could in what seemed an impossibly short amount of time. Praxeum, had he not duped the boy, would have become instantly suspicious. On the third day after the communiqué, Dradin requested additional time to follow Kjex Vin’oli. Praxeum granted it. Later that night, Dradin waited on the landing platform until no other beings were around. He stood longer, and longer. Dradin waited for the ship that never came. When his mind began piecing things together, Praxeum’s voice rang out as an echo in his skull. “Find what you’re looking for, my apprentice? There was no response. Dradin’s face was hard now, almost cold: the first true display of raw anger in years.
“Finish it,” Dradin goaded his master. His apprentice, already well-versed in lightsaber combat, was a worthy opponent for the master who had built a career around the mysteries of the Force. The Thyfferan Defense Force would receive complaints of lightsaber activity well into the night, but Vin’oli shrugged it off and would not order an investigation. Praxeum stayed on the defensive and allowed his apprentice to exhaust himself. When near an edge of the landing platform, Praxeum turned the boy’s weakness of skimming too close to the edge of a battle circle against him. Returning his lightsaber to his hilt, Praxeum immobilized the boy and Force Pushed him over the edge. He was dangling a thousand meters over the planet’s surface.
The defiance in Dradin’s eyes showed in the illumination of his lightsaber. They were at last yellow. But still, the boy could not live. Cursing his master, the tears threatened to choke him. “It is in death,” he screamed, “that we become all powerful. Our words remembered, and actions relived. I have failed only you, but you have failed your task.” The anger Praxeum let slip into the Force put such pressure on the boy’s body that he convulsed mid-air despite being under Praxeum’s grip. The master let his apprentice fall the long fall to the planet below.
Admitting defeat, Praxeum went first to the hangar housing his Infiltrator. He contacted Sith Control on Kroprulu to request new mediators for the Thyfferan conflict, and made his way to the cockpit to return home. A single sheet of flimsi was laid on the cockpit controls. Folded over once, it read:
To the Sith Master Praxeum,
Your sacrifice of Dradin Kitsch has dispelled any fear as to your own loyalty by members of the High Council and guaranteed you a voice in the Church of the Dark Side. Report immediately to Space Station Scardia in Null Space.
The High Prophet, Darth Divious
He followed the coordinates fed into the navicomputer and was on his way. The first breath of relief left his lungs in a very long time.
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Supreme Prophet Praxeum
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Space Station Scardia 48 ABY
"He can be an odd fellow at times. He goes from a deep concentration to a grand conversation in a matter of seconds. Still though, one of the greatest friends I've ever had." - Darth Aequitas
Praxeum’s arrival in the Null Zone was met with an escort of ships he had not yet seen in the Empire. Three Sith Meditation Spheres now surrounded him. They gave him docking instructions with Scardia Station and banked away as he made his approach. The docking bay, lit only by pale blue light, was matte black with no trace of color to be found. Praxeum initiated landing procedures and was soon standing in the middle of the hangar. There was no welcome party in sight. Praxeum had sensed no disturbance in the Force. In fact, he felt comfortable here, at peace for the first time. It was in this realization that an unfamiliar voice echoed behind his eyes. “Praxeum, honored son of Ignus, welcome home.”
What happened next, Praxeum recalls with absolute detail. The pale blue illumination from overhead faded, giving way to free-floating points like stars of white light. As they expanded outward, his perceptions were lost, and the hangar, his ship, his body, vanished. But that light too faded, and color was restored to his surroundings. Praxeum stood in a blooming meadow now. He was afraid he had fallen into a vision upon entering such a dark place, but the voice of his mentor rang true. “Space Station Scardia is honored by your presence,” Shadow spoke. A line of a dozen Prophets appeared at the top of a hill not so far away from the master. Their shimmering black robes were dotted with the same points like stars that had engulfed him in the hangar.
“We are children of darkness, masters of the Force. We heal wounds, create rifts when necessary. But at all times, we are family. The Church of the Dark Side needs you, Darth Praxeum. Swear it,” the Supreme Prophet’s voice seemed to fill the artificial garden, which was the size of the Temple’s massive colonnade. He fell to his knees and swore allegiance to the Church. Two Prophets approached him from the side, removing his traditional Sith robe and replacing it with one of the Prophets. The fourteen Prophets held their ignited lightsabers in one hand, a red chalk sphere in the other and circled Praxeum. They crushed the chalk, and the dense mist made Praxeum close his eyes. Several minutes later when the mist cleared, he was left staring directly into the eyes of High Prophet Divious. The other Prophets had gone, including Shadow.
For three weeks, Praxeum made calls to all the Prophets on-station. Precious few ever ventured off of Space Station Scardia unless assigned by the Supreme or High Prophet, though there were around fifty maintaining branches of the Church on strategic worlds that he would meet with later. As a matter of custom, Praxeum saved the Supreme Prophet for last. Given that the Supreme Prophet dined with the High Prophet and the Six Elders in a private chamber, Praxeum had not seen his mentor in the month since his arrival. In the fourth week, he sought him in the Chamber of Dark Visions. Shadow was seated on the grandiose Ithorian throne that was millennia older than he. To his right, a grey stone table topped with a luminescent tray of those chalk spheres. Before the new Prophet could even speak, Shadow had crushed the green ball in his left hand. “Green, for truth. Tell me, Darth Praxeum, are you true?”
For the next hour, Praxeum spent time in private audience with the Supreme Prophet. He emerged from the Chamber of Dark Visions with an ancient metal key for his domain. A domain, he learned, was his new private study and living quarters. Prophetess Nova met him outside his domain to discuss living arrangements and told Praxeum that she had orders to accommodate any furniture or living requirements he may have. For Praxeum, all the hard work had paid off. He had found his paradise. He requested caches of Corellian delicacies and placed orders for items from Korriban, including ancient artifacts from Kaan’s lifetime.
Praxeum awoke one night to a great disturbance in the Force. He could hear screams beyond his domain, and he bolted into the station’s corridors, lightsaber at the ready. The clanking of running armor met him to the south, and he dodged a volley of blaster fire. He sought other Sith in the Force but sensed only death or dying. The station was under attack. It was the only coherent thought before he was immobilized by a dozen troopers’ stuns. Groggy, exhausted from the time spent unconscious, Praxeum awoke. Numb at first, his senses returned with one great lurch. Praxeum could feel tendrils sinking into his flesh, he could see the torturous machinations creeping closer to his body and felt the trickle of blood. This, he knew, was a Yuuzhan Vong Embrace of Pain.
“Where am I,” Praxeum demanded. Beyond the darkness, he could hear someone milling about. The light in the room came from below, and Praxeum’s eyes were ill to adjust. There was no answer. He tried accounting for time, recalling techniques taught to him by the Jedi. But fatigue and the blinding, horrific pain wiped his mind clean of such notions. All the while, that solitary figure loomed beyond the light. Praxeum could not use the Force, he was at the mercy of the Embrace. It turned him around, broke bones only to reset them, stung him only to allow the wounds to heal before breaking. Over and over, the torture continued, he could feel reality slipping away.
In that moment, the soft voice spoke, “Congratulations for surviving this long.” When Praxeum asked how long it had been, the voice laughed pleasantly. “Long enough, little Prophet. You have something I need. Something important, something you cannot manufacture or acquire.” Praxeum spat in the voice’s general direction. “I shall return when you feel like cooperating.” The pain increased when the visitor departed. It was impossible to know how long he was left there, writhing in searing agony. His captor returned, and Praxeum listened once more. “I need you to tell me the truth,” the voice said.
Praxeum, anticipating a conclusion statement, did not speak. The voice became harder, ordering Praxeum to tell him the truth. “I don’t know what you mean,” he admitted.
Circling him now, his captor laughed. “I want you to enlighten me. Tell me the truth, or you shall die here.”
“The truth is that I’ll probably die anyway whether or not I answer your question,” the young master answered defiantly.
“That is but one truth. One possibility, one outcome. Therefore, it is not the truth,” the voice hissed. “You only know lies. You repeat them, qualify them, love them even. But the lies told to you and the lies you tell other spell death, Praxeum. Yet still you live, the product of a lie. So, you must know the truth in some way to survive. Tell it to me.”
The pain increased and he screamed an involuntary wail. Allowing himself a controlled sigh, Praxeum answered back. “Truth is subjective. There is no way to know the answer to your question.” Praying, pleading with the Force that this admission of humility was the answer his captor wanted, Praxeum was met with the voice’s rage.
“You think to humble me? Admit that your dogmatic teachings are false? It was my team who killed the Prophets. My team that wiped out the Church. I know your ways, Prophet. You have answers for everything. Is that not your mission in life?”
“Sometimes the greatest mystery is left unsolved,” Praxeum conceded. And with that, the voice was silenced. Another life age passed in the Embrace before his captor returned.
It was alive with contempt, “Your Empress once recorded in prophecy that the path to truth is filled with monsters. So, Praxeum, are you a monster? We know you lie, that you are the result of ten thousand lies, but are you a monster?”
“If, as you claim, my instruction has been dogmatic, then yes,” Praxeum answered through gritted teeth as the Embrace slowly wore away the bones in his raw and broken legs.
The voice seemed pleased, “And the greatest defense against such monsters is the truth. So, monster, save yourself.”
“I don’t know how,” Praxeum said. The exchange continued for an indefinite amount of time as he sought absolution with his cruel master. “I don’t know,” he shouted painfully into the darkness. He dropped straight down from the vines and tendrils of the Embrace of Pain onto the floor. He could hardly move on his own, but the lighting was returning to the chamber.
The voice, now familiar, was matched by the darkened silhouette of a familiar being. “Now, Prophet, remember this lesson: There is only certainty in death. Absolute truth means absolute death. Prophecy is not an exact art, remember to leave room for change and conflict. Your time here has made you weak, but become now stronger in the ways of prophecy and look not to the truth as you see it, but the truth as it is.” Shadow left him alone in the chamber, recognizing it to be his own domain. He could feel the Force again. He started to heal.
Exile 48 ABY - 50 ABY
From that moment on, Darth Praxeum isolated himself in his chamber. A few Prophets made feeble attempts to visit the newest member of their Order, but ultimately failed. Realizing the importance of the lesson Shadow had taught him, Praxeum entered deep depression alone in his chamber. Barricaded inside the place of his darkest dreams, Praxeum sought peace for the first time in years. Unable to find center in this place, he kept hearing his mentor’s words over and over in his head. Obsessed with ending this fixation, Praxeum closely studied the texts of over a hundred cultures, the writings of past Prophets and even some non-Force using scientists. Genetics did not contain the answer he was looking for, for Praxeum was even unsure of his quest. The Force sustained him in this extended period of deep meditation. Food, water, sleep, all were lost to him. But even then, in his deepest despair, he could feel the ever unreadable presence of Shadow lurking somewhere in his chamber, at other times on the capital, the Force bond was extraordinary.
Praxeum could feel the tendrils of the Embrace of Pain tearing into his flesh, feel the red hot burn across his scalp. He was lost but breathed unhindered. He touched the cold wall of his chamber, the dark metal thumped like a beating heart. The pulse of the Prophets of the Dark Side ran through all things here, but he seemed lost to it. Praxeum laughed madly, wildly at all hours. He could feel the candle burning from him in Scardia’s main shrine. At other times, he felt remote, as if floating away. The space station, situated in the Null Zone, could not contain him as he made journeys in the darkest region of space where the stars could not be seen.
The day he emerged from his chamber, High Prophet Divious, Prophetess Nova, one of Shadow’s favorites, and a Miraluka Prophet Praxeum did not recognize were waiting for him. His voice gruff, unused for weeks, he asked what their truth was. Speaking for the group, Nova simply answered “this Church.” Slavish devotion to Empire, Praxeum decided. Praxeum was the last to realize he would be leaving the Church. Divious held the datapad with his launch codes, Nova had the navigational data, and the Miraluka had a change of clothes and a credit chip. “He knew,” Nova smiled secretly. The High Prophet reminded him there was no shame in his decision. “We all have to find our own way sometimes.”
Divious informed him that Shadow himself left the Empire for five years. “And he forged an empire in his own right. We’re not going anywhere,” Divious promised. “The Supreme Prophet is giving you his blessing to travel, make the most of it.” Praxeum bowed his head. Unable to force words, the Miraluka placed his hand on the Corellian’s lips. “Go in peace, Darth,” Divious prompted him. And in their mysterious way while his head was downturned, the trio of Prophets had gone. He made his way to the hangar bay on Scardia’s north tower and began the pre-launch sequence. When he boarded the ship, a lightsaber was laying on the pilots chair with a piece of flimsi that read “Remember.” The lightsaber was Dradin’s. He allowed himself to weep and went on his way.
Determined to find truth in something other than death, Praxeum traveled to the Jedi fortress world of Ossus, where he enrolled in the prestigious Galactic University of Ossus and studied philosophy and mystic arts for his six month duration. It was here Praxeum met Tuna’aa Dark, a resident of Galactic University who was chairing the six-month forum on comparative religions, specifically branches of Force-use. Despite his own hiding, Praxeum recognized the signs of Tuna’aa Dark as being hidden in the Force. His miniscule presence, only large enough to cast a shroud over his true face, could not be missed by the Sith Master. Praxeum recognized him as a Miraluka but never mentioned anything to his classmates, who obviously saw him as a human with bright red hair based on conversations in the dormitory. Praxeum, frustrated that the course load was yielding no deeper mysteries, approached Tuna’aa Dark after five months of quiet study.
“It is not what the teacher teaches, Darth Praxeum, but what the student learns,” the statement floored the Corellian. “But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” He was in a self-imposed exile and had fallen off the grid, using neither his Jedi legacy nor his connections with the Sith to gain his place in the university. Registering with a false name, Praxeum had left no traces as to his true identity. For the last month of the series, Praxeum attended diligently and soaked in what Dark had to say. Drawing some revelations from the experience, Praxeum came to accept a broad spectrum of truths. The final banquet of the lecture series resulted in Praxeum being approached by Dark and an almost unnaturally beautiful human female. The Miraluka introduced her as “my comrade-in-arms, Eriate Sulla.”
She held out her hand, it contained a large bracelet like the crash gauntlet his former master, Minious, used to sport. Praxeum’s mind began to race with questions but she merely smiled. “Congratulations, Gorn, Professor Dark says you achieved much prestige in this class. You even translated an ancient Whill journal that some of the Republic’s finest scholars could not. Most impressive, we’ll be watching.” As the evening progressed, Praxeum grew more and more curious about the woman. At the conclusion of the dinner, she bowed her head to Praxeum as he exited and using the Force, projected into his head: “Lexicon sends his regards.”
The next day, Praxeum left Ossus. A week later, he was on Anoth and joining the pseudo-psychological Skull Crushers smashball team under another assumed name. Praxeum would spend the final two months of the season playing for the Skull Crushers and went on to Coruscant for the Nine Hundred and Forty-Third Annual Smash Bowl. He refused to use healing trances to repair the bodily damage he experienced as a result of his intense training for the Bowl but he could feel his cells working overtime to repair his vital organs. At halftime the night of the game, every screen in the stadium and on every HoloNet transmission across the galaxy, the Czerka Corporation aired a one-minute spot. Around halfway, Praxeum looked up to see the unforgettable face of Darth Divious speaking to the galaxy:
“… and on behalf of President Lexicon Sespis and the whole Czerka Corporation, we would like to extend our luck to the Skull Crushers. Czerka regrets the loss of one of the Skull Crusher’s key players as he travels the galaxy and extends their deepest well-wishes to Andu Batum and wishes him luck in the coming trials of his life. Remember, buy…”
Praxeum went on to score the winning point of the game and secured victory for the Skull Crushers. His experience with the team reinforced his understanding of competition and the raw potential all creatures had. He left Anoth after the victory celebrations and wandered planet to planet for a time before being approached in the spaceports of Yaga Minor by a Barbel female. “Beautiful, isn’t it,” he remembers her asking. “Thiz iz the same spaceport the Outbound Flight Project launched from. Truth iz, they were never lost, you know?”
Now cautious of anyone offering truth, Praxeum asked how she knew this. “Oh,” the Barbel said as she placed a datachip in his hand, “I’ve been there. You look like the curious source. If you survive the Redoubt, meet me at Nirauan in five days.”
“But how will I know where to find you,” Praxeum called to the Barbel. He did not know why, but the Force was telling him to trust her.
The Barbel raised the hood of her cloak and turned to walk across the crowded spaceport landing pad. “Look around,” she answered. He stood for a moment taking in the sights, and the answer revealed itself. He stood at the very edge of the spaceport watching night fall over Yaga Minor, the same sight Outbound Flight must have had decades before. He would journey to Nirauan and find the remnants of the vanished Project. He spent the night at an inn on the docks of Yaga Minor. In the morning, he embarked for his destination at the fringes of Chiss territory. When he paid the dock master for his freight, the Bothan said the account had been settled by Czerka Corporation and he was told to deliver a sealed envelope to Praxeum. It contained the insignia of the Jedi Order and simply said: “Remember.”
Navigating the Redoubt, a treacherous portion of the Unknown Regions known for its deadly asteroid fields, Praxeum arrived at Nirauan three days later. He allowed himself a day to find the remnants of Outbound Flight. Praxeum needed only an hour. The Force directed him over the bleak planet’s surface. The ships of the outbound Flight Project seemed intact. Praxeum put the ship on autopilot to the southern most bay on the third ship. The Force screamed for him to disembark there. Praxeum changed his tunic before exiting his ship. He stood in a fully functioning hangar bay and was approached by a humanoid team of technicians. “Vagaari,” a familiar reptilian hiss said from the second level of the bay. The unnamed Barbel was wearing a grey robe today. “You’re early, Darth Praxeum.”
“Does everybody everywhere know who I am,” Praxeum asked the reptilian alien.
In a flash, the Barbel was standing in front of him. “These don’t,” she pushed one of the Vagaari attendants who fell to the floor without so much as a sound. “My slaves,” she said. The Barbel flourished, beckoning him forward to observe the hangar bay. “Look at all we’ve built,” he could not help but noticed the lightwhip hanging from her belt.
“Who are you,” Praxeum asked the shorter being.
The Barbel snickered, an entirely unpleasant sound. “I am the way, the truth and the light. But be weary,” the lights in the hangar mysteriously cut out. Her eyes burned orange, “for I am also the dark.” She touched his face, “You have been hiding for too long,” the yellow eyes he had been concealing on his travels lit the Barbel’s clawed hand as it touched his face. “Vagaari,” she hissed, “escort him to a bedchamber.”
The next day he awoke on solid asteroid without the sleepcouch he had fallen asleep on before. “Comfortable,” the Barbel asked good-naturedly. She proceeded to kick him. When he reached for his lightsaber, she hissed and said the weapon would not save him, for it was gone. “Fight,” she commanded. When he shot lightning in her direction, the Barbel reflected without use of a light weapon. She hissed again and vanished. The bedchamber he had fallen asleep in gradually returned in his senses.
“Was that…”
The Barbel’s scales ruffled. “It was not a vision. Teleportation iz a skill the Sith and Jedi cannot teach.” She poured him a drink from the side table.
“But that makes you…” he groaned.
“Invincible. Truly, truly invincible,” was her only answer. He was instinctually compelled to inform her that was impossible. Praxeum could not believe that, and she seemed to sense his refusal to believe. “You lack the faith to believe in anything. That iz your problem.” Praxeum drank the glass she handed to him. She perched like a reptile ready to strike at his bedside. “Maybe at the end, you will be ready,” she informed him before leaving.
The Barbel instructed Praxeum for seven months in the remnants of the Outbound Flight Project. She took him to the underbelly of lost history, revealed secrets of the Force he could never have imagined. He learned to teleport, how to fight from a distance, the finer points of interpretation and learned much of alien perspectives. And with every passing day, she seemed to age a decade. Her gaunt stature at the end of those seven months made her frail. Her scales were greying like her favorite robe, her eyes losing vibrancy. “You carry her with you, but you doubt you’ll ever see her again. She thinks of you too. You’ll find Elicia again,” she pronounced in her strange way. “You must leave,” she ordered.
That night, he boarded his ship to leave Nirauan. Praxeum felt the familiar presence of the Barbel looming behind him and he turned to face the darkness. The lights of the hangar vanished and her glowing eyes met his. “I have done my duty,” she said. Unexpectedly, his Barbel mentor pulled him to her in an embrace. “You know where to go,” she hissed, “I have done all I can.”
“You’re a Grey Jedi,” he said as patted her weakening arm.
She paused for a moment, her eyes fluttering, fighting to stay open. “And that is the truth. Tell Shadow I’ve done all I can and that he was right. You are… you have to go.” As he left Outbound Flight forever, he sensed his Barbel friend die moments after his departure, strangely at peace for the first time since he met her. In his memories, he would call her Truth.
Though troubled by the Supreme Prophet’s involvement in his journey, Praxeum came to accept perhaps Dark and his mysterious Barbel instructor were part of Shadow’s initial safety net. For lack of anywhere else to go, Praxeum laid in a course for Barab I. He reasoned that using the few clues he had about Truth’s identity, he could identify her origins and piece together her journey as a Grey Jedi. En route, Praxeum received a vision from the future. The stars in space ahead of him began to swirl like fireflies on Dagobah, His ears pounded and he lost himself, his stomach turned inside out. He saw Scardia shatter into pieces on the ground around him. He floated over his body, oblivious to the passage of time. A voice on the comm. cracked and his vision melted away. “Unidentified snub, wake the kark up!”
Praxeum had been shaken from his reverie by the angry voice. He blinked a few times before responding. “Flight Control, this is ST-1138, repeat please.”
“ST-1138, we have you coming in hot on three patrol cruisers. I’m sure you have a wife and kids you’d like to see again. Alter course,” the voice commanded.
“Affirmative, FC,” Praxeum responded. “I’ve been a bit out of it lately, bad week and all. Tell me, where am I?” None of the signs of Barab I were within scanning distance, the entire make-up of the region seemed unfamiliar…
The speaker roared. “I told you, Xan, didn’t I tell you,” the voice asked someone in the Flight Control Center. “You’re in the Lamaro System. How you made it through the Reef belt to Lamaredd in your state is beyond me. But welcome to nowhere.”
And that was that. “Landing procedures,” Praxeum asked the authority.
“Just words of warning: Don’t smuggle the Ewoks. They don’t like it.”
“Noted,” Praxeum acknowledged. “Coming in for a landing on Lamaredd.” It was the will of the Force he should be here on the fringe of Wild Space. The purpose would soon reveal himself. As the dock authority approached, he could sense abandon in the planet’s atmosphere. “What can you tell me about this place,” Praxeum asked casually.
A Sullustan mechanic was quick to reply, “Lamaredd’s a Force-forsaken spit of rock. No hope, no future, just good mining for nobody interested.” When he asked about the governmental history of the planet, the alien went silent for a microsecond before launching into a diatribe against the Jedi, the Four Law Givers, a couple Bothans he had never heard of, and the Old Republic.
Praxeum let his senses guide him, detecting no Sith presence. The planet, temperate and pleasant in a way Kroprulu or Corellia were before colonization, reminded him of a place of visions. He relished the quiet, but missed the sense of connectivity in planets once touched by the Sith. He found a quiet place of lodging and spent many weeks gathering information, updating old gossip, getting to know the local cantina scene. What he was doing here, he did not fully know. But Praxeum trusted the Force. On no night more special than any of the others in his life, he was seized by a desire to walk. He left his starfighter in the docks and headed south.
Along the way, he passed disorganized clans of Bothans, Sullustans, Humans and even Quarren. He traded with all and received stories of an ancient race of “higher beings” who “liked history” and had shamans and monasteries on Lamaredd “before the Republic messed things up.” Praxeum could only conclude that the natives were too ignorant to know of the Ancient Order of the Whills. The Sith’s interest was piqued, and the Force had given him great tidings by bringing him here. Another clue on the route to pure enlightenment, and it all began on some forgotten planet. He spent the remainder of his two year exile excavating, digging, formulating, and concluding on Lamaredd.
Timeline:
14 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, is born on Corellia to Ignus and Tetra Praxeum.
17 ABY
- Tetra Praxeum shoots her husband in the back of the head to keep her son, Stap, away from the Sith.
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, is taken by his mother to Bakura to be trained as a Jedi.
21 ABY
- Tetra Praxeum is killed on Concord Dawn by her former husbands vengeful clan brothers.
25 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, is taken by Isolder Jen to be his Jedi Apprentice.
27 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, first encounters Lexicon Sepsis, later discovered to be Darth Shadow in disguise.
30 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, undertakes a mission with his master to Concord Dawn - where he meets a Jedi named Elicia Railec, a secretly falls in love with her.
31 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, begins a friendly duel with his dear friend, Lo Gvesh, but Stap slowly becomes enraged and nearly kills Lo. When he comes to his sense, he discovers that the intense rage and caused Lo to read his memories and see his love for Elicia. Lo threatening to turn Stap into the Jedi Council, Stap performs a Mind Rub to make Lo forget.
32 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, attends his final mission with his Jedi master to Ryloth - were Isolder is killed by a Dark Jedi.
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, is knighted as a Jedi Knight.
33 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, takes place, alongside with Elicia Raliec, in the Battle of Corellia. The pair barely escape with their lives, but Stap knew luck was on his side when Elicia could not remember his admission of love during the heat of battle.
34 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, abandons the Jedi Order.
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, takes refugee at the manor of Lexicon Sepsis, soon to be revealed as Darth Shadow.
- Lo Gvesh is killed by Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, as a test by Lexicon Sepsis, now revealed to be Darth Shadow.
- Jeridan Peverell Shesh Dilbrun, Darth Shadow, takes Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, to Kroprulu to be trained as a Sith.
35 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, later Darth Praxeum, is taken by Alol Enex, Darth Minious, as his Sith Apprentice.
38 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, takes part in the Battle of Munto Codru, his unit is named the most decorated unit in a single battle in Sith history.
- Stap Magnus Praxeum's, Darth Praxeum, abusive training under Alol Enex, Darth Minious, comes to an end and he is named Darth Praxeum.
40 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, takes Ratius Pron, later Darth Validus, as his first Sith Apprentice.
41 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, goes on a diplomatic mission for the Empire to a criminal family, House of Zend. But instead, becomes interested in the organization and becomes a crime lord in the family. He spends a year with the criminals in Kuat, when the family approached the only person perhaps-capable of stopping Praxeum - his apprentice.
42 ABY
- Ratius Pron, later Darth Validus, attempts to kill Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, He failed, but Praxeum was struck with a vision and returned to the Sith.
44 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, submits Ratius Pron, later Darth Validus, for his Trials to ascend past Sith Apprentice. But the Trial was conducted by Praxeum's old mentor, Alol Enex, Darth Minious, who intentionally pushed Ratius into a fit of rage. Praxeum spared Ratius' life by convincing the Sith Council to let Praxeum train Ratius for an extend period of time. Something only four other Sith had ever done.
46 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, re-submits his apprentice, Ratius Pron, Darth Validus, to his Trials. Ratius was approved and knight as Ratius Pron.
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, takes Drain Kitsch as his second Sith Apprentice.
48 ABY
- Dradin Kitsch attempts to contact the Jedi Order to defect, but Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, kills him rather than let him defect.
- Because of Stap Magnus Praxeum's, Darth Praxeum, strength to eliminate his own apprentice, he is accept into the Church of the Dark Side despite not fulfilling all the requirements.
176 ABY
- Stap Magnus Praxeum, Darth Praxeum, attends the funeral of Elicia Raliec on Naboo, understands the monster he has become, and shoots himself.
Impitus
Lightsaber form: Impitus
Motto: "The weak shall fall"
Officially created and recorded for the archives in 44 ABY by Stap Magnus Praxeum, Impitus was created to combine the Dark Lord's skills in the elegant form of Makashi, and the raw power of Djem So.
Imptius requires far greater physical stamina then most other lightsaber forms; most users must even use their power in the Force to strengthen themselves while dueling. This form utilises Makashi to outlast your opponent, and allows him to let himself fall victim to fatigue, while not falling completely on the defensive as it is combined with the fierce barrage of srikes used in Djem So. Since so much focus and energy is used when utilizing Impitus, most users are trained to duel one-on-one, and it is unlikely it could be used with much efficiency against any foe not skilled in meleé combat.
This form uses the least amount needed of movements, but powerful attacks - lunges, ripostes, rather than counter-attacks or thrust movements. Generally, users follow a single line for their footwork, front and back, shifting the feet to keep in perfect balance as the practitioner attacks and retreats.
The opening stance brings the blade in a downwards-diagonal angle across the user's face. One foot is placed in front, while the other is placed behind and the knees are bent. This allows the user to fall back into a defensive stance if needed, or use the force of lunging forward to engage in an extremely aggressive and powerful attack.
Following that of a Djem So stylist, users of Impitus often follow a parry with an attack of their own, rather than simply a risposte - remisés are common - bringing the force of the opponent's own blow against them and seeking to dominate the duel, even if they appear to be on the defensive for the majority Also, like Djem so, one of the characteristic moves of Imptius is an overhand power blow downward upon an opponent, the lightsaber held firmly in both hands, easily breaking weaker opponents' guard.Power attacks from a Imptius user could even knock an opponent back just through sheer kinetic force, throwing them off balance and leaving them susceptible to further brute force strikes and power blows that sought not just to penetrate an opponent's defense, but push them back and leave them unable to counter blows.
One lightsaber is more frequently used with this form, because although with two sabers you can easily break through an opponent’s defense, it limits the strength one can put behind an attack. Double-bladed sabers are near impossible to use with this form, as they requires intricate thrusts, lunges, and ripostes. This is not to say however that a double bladed saber can't be used with this form as double bladed sabers can be used as a single saber, so saber staffs would also be applicable.
Similar to lightsabers utilized by Djem So users, lightsabers belonging to Imptius practitioners often have a solid casing (either as a whole or in multiple sections for maximum protection against power surge deterioration) and a heavily shrouded or beveled blade emitter. The beveled emitter was designed to designate separate facets of the blade for either offensive or defensive purposes. Their hilts also commonly included ridged, occasionally thick, handgrips, as Imptius required its users to maintain a solid grip on the lightsaber hilt, though it can be noted that curved lightsabers often fit better into the palm of a duelist, allowing greater power without costing precision. They also altered the angle of attacks ever so slightly, which give a unique dueling style, one opponents are not usually prepared to meet, as utilised effectively by Darth Bane and Darth Tyrannus.
Often, because of its roots in Form II, it is not a rare sight to see users perform the Makashi Salute before a duel. Some users also do this to confuse more inexperienced duelist of what form the user will utilize, though any skilled user will easily see through this.
Because of Djem So’s lack of mobility, users of Imptius hone their footwork to be limited, but accurate and deadly as many Makashi duelist train for. Another weakness and destitution of this form is the intense focus and self-discipline needed to utilize it. Giving openly into one’s rage will increase the strength and ferocity needed for more powerful attacks, but lessens the focus and elegancy needed for looking into an opponent’s weakness. Impitus can be intrepreted as a decieving form - one that tricks one's opponent into believing he has the upper hand, leaving him susceptible to mistakes.
* Note - This character was created by Darth Praxeum for use in role-play, but if any member of TheDarkSithLords wishes to use him, I would only ask you send me a private message so I am aware that you are.
** Note - Stap Magnus Praxeum was awarded "Best Roleplaying Character" in TheDarkSithLord's Second Forum Awards: 
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