The lore of Velmoras

In the vastness of space, finding a drifting derelict vessel was nearly impossible. Yet there it was… a small, shadowy silhouette adrift in the blackness of the void.

The pirate captain, peering through his ship’s viewport, could scarcely believe his luck. If fortune stayed with him, there’d be something worth plundering — and at long last, a proper payday for him and his ragtag crew.

Surprisingly, the lifeless vessel still held breathable air. As the crew boarded, their flashlights cut thin beams through darkened corridors littered with debris and fallen ducting. The hunt for treasure began.

But the captain felt… something.

A stirring deep in his mind — first a chill, then a whisper — coaxing him, ever so gently, toward the bridge.

And there it was.

Resting on the command chair, leaning against its armrest in an all-too-inviting manner… a lightsaber.

Its distinct bronzium hue bore intricate silver inlays etched along the hilt. It was ancient — but time had not ruined it. A lone red activation switch, marked with an unfamiliar symbol, sat beside a narrow red screen — both still functioning… both waiting.

The pirate captain reached out — and as his hand closed around the lightsaber, something pressed hard against the fragile walls of his mind.

Memories of a being — one he could never have identified with his limited knowledge — flashed through his head.

A barren, fiery planet, its skies whipped by violent gales, and a lone, towering monolith marked the place where this weapon was forged.

A remnant of a dark time, when a civilization gradually consumed itself… undone by its own corruption.

And now, that corruption seeped into the captain’s mind — taking hold.

He heard its voice before his will crumbled, before the lightsaber bent him to its purpose: a vessel to escape this forsaken derelict.

Its words were simple… Velmoras, the Dark Whisperer.

And that… was the last anyone ever heard of the captain or his crew.