He sat as still as the metal framing of his starship in the lotus position, hands upon his knees, meditating on the lesson from the holocron still hours before, the voice of the dark master of the force guiding his thoughts to the true path of power.

Peace is a lie. There is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory my chains are
Broken.

These simple words had been the rote of his soul for longer than he cared to remember. Even his name was long since forgotten, the Dark Side had no need of names. Only one name served him now, only one name that was his to wield through reputation and terror.

Darth Firias.

A name earned through blood and sweat and pain. Given to him by the master of the Dark Force whose bones lie to rot on the planet Gravion IV. Felled by Firias's own lightsaber with not so much as a grim smile for his ascension. Breaking the chains was the only motive, his master was simply an obstacle to be overcome and subsequently destroyed having served his purpose. Not even his name was worth carrying forth.

The voice from the holocron, however, was worth far more and then some. It was everything. Ancient in the purest sense, from a master of the Force that the galaxy had long since forgotten, yet whose mark is indelibly there for those who know how to see it. Yet even this prehistoric Force of darkness had no name that Firias was able to discern through the vast teachings contained within the pyramidal crystalline holocron before him.

 At last with a controlled exhalation, Firias opend his eyes, blood red ringing an iris of golden yellow, eyes of rage and pain and passion. With careful deliberation he picked up the holocron and put it into one of the secret pockets concealed beneath his armor. He wore a simple suit of high-density ceramic plates that covered his vitals and limbs meshed with a nanowire cloth that fit his form like a second skin, and could stop a vibro-knife with as little as a bruise to show for it. Over this he wore a dark cloak, frayed from years of combat and wear. It hung about him like a shadow, concealing his form and armor beneath. He was otherwise completely unadorned with any sort of frivolous trinkets or piercings as was typical sith custom. No tattoos marred the pale complexion of his skin. The dark side did not curry power based on appearance. Firias learned early on that fear is largely based in imagination, not in detail. Besides, tattoos do not block laser bolts or weak jedi lightsabers.

 He slowly rose from his seated position like a shadow sliding from the movement of a star. Nearly formless save for its imposing six foot height. He moved with the casual grace of a born warrior from his meditation room to the control room of his small starship. Its holographic displays indicating a myriad of mechanical details about his voyage to his destination. He said a single word in the ancient sith language and the voice of the AI informed him of the time of arrival. He would be on the surface of the planet in under an hour.

While his mission was of yet unclear, his resolve was as hard as Mandalorian Iron. He was charged with finding a certain Dargo Karr by one of the Emperor's many Dark Lords. Never one to question the will of the embodiment of the Dark Side, Darth Firias obeyed with a grim resolution. Dargo Karr would face his masters, no matter where he chose to hide.