[RESERVED] Vhal'kora

The Lore of Vhal'kora

"My Master was a devout warrior of the dark side – and to me, the only father I had ever known. From as early as I can remember, he promised me great power. I trained beneath his shadow. I revered him. I obeyed him. I bled in his name, certain I would one day fulfill my destiny.

But as my strength in the Force deepened, his pride curdled into paranoia. He knew, with the certainty of a man who had walked the same bloody path, that I would soon surpass him. And so, he devised a trap. He sent me to Korriban, to unearth a relic buried beneath its red sands. Yet I knew that tomb – sealed and crawling with starving terentateks. It was a death sentence. And at that moment, I understood. I had never been destined for power. His promise was a leash, and I was a tool about to be discarded.

I did not go to Korriban. I confronted him. Before I could reach for my blade, I felt an ancient rage. But it was not mine. It pulsed from the saber hilt at his belt, whispering into my mind. I called his saber to my hand, ignited the blade, and struck him down. His eyes widened, and then, in his final breath, he grinned.

When his body fell, the rage vanished, leaving a cold clarity. The whispers from the saber hilt were the echoes of his master, and his master's master, and every hand before his. This weapon demands betrayal. It revealed the true lesson. No one gives you power. You take it.

Looking at the weapon, I truly saw it – an Artalus wrought of ancient ore, scarred by centuries of blood and ambition. The crest of his faith etched under the crystal chamber, the dark creed carved in Ur-Kittât across the bands. I could feel every wielder who had held it before me. And deep within, the kyber crystal pulsed – patient, knowing I was not the last.

My training is complete, but the cycle is not. There must always be two. The Vhal'kora does not wait for the willing. It waits for the worthy.”