welcome to lorem (ipsum)!
Ipsum. A mega-city that is located beachside, with mountains and a river surrounding its expansive homes and towering buildings. The city is beyond beautiful... yet none of the residents have any idea how they arrived, and have yet to leave, because Ipsum is a city you can never leave -- not by choice. People appear here without any knowledge where they are, no one knows what country or world they are even in. Yet, the city still provides for her people. Jobs, homes, goods are all readily available, and there is a place for everyone, be it the good or bad — Ipsum shall provide.
Please make yourself at home… you will not be returning to yours any time soon.
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Infantile dreams of a mind so young, eyes bright and wide with hope even in a society so skewed disaster, so soaked in the blood of countless races. The dark crimson ore coating his palms before he was even old enough to understand, the ire of the universe on his back--aside from that of his own empire's men & women. Lotor, the fruit of his father's loin--nestled in the arms of an Altean woman that he so carelessly fell for before the fall of everything...it was a shame it was so short-lived. The years were not kind and the love he would yearn for in his child-like days would sink through the cracks, invisible to the naked eyes and lying cold on the prince's own beating breast.
The fall of Daibazaal, the betrayal that his father felt when everything was in shambles of what it once was and the male's hazed, lunatic mind molded from the overdose of Quintessence--it was all too much for his obsessive mind to handle. The substance of which his father cherished, held so high above all else took precedence higher than his own well being. Zarkon could not find himself consumed with any form of parental bond, finding his existence not only an annoyance but a smudge within the ranks of his people. There was naught a singular touch of care for the young he conceived with the Altean woman alongside the power of what was once love.
His mother, his sweet mother, he knew of her from only what information he scarcely could find. Doing his own research rather than trusting the word of what his fellow Galran kin would spew. They used to tell him that the vile witch Haggard was what was left of the shell that was his mother, Honerva, At the time said to be ill within the grasp of the addiction to the rawest form of energy. The Altean alchemist who held so much pride in her work, contorted by the flow; serving her husband as a druid, the strongest of which the universe has ever seen. In her wake, a small boy, tottering for the warmth of her hugs and how close she would once have held him when the fears of his nightmares woke him in the midst of the night. It was all filth, false accusations from the maws of his people--information fed to them by no other than the monster himself.
Alas, there was no one to protect him from those nightmares, and as they were bore unto his mind, they did take shape in reality. He knew the story all too well, what was once peace transgressed into bloodshed of mass proportion. The Galran Empire took everything, decimated all that was Altea and the planets who pitifully found themselves in the general vicinity of the wrath of Zarkon. The dawn of a new, vile age; where all would bow before the Galran race and those who did not bend knee lost their homes, their planet, their lives. A vicious cycle, the screams of many an alien race perishing and their planets crumbling in their wake, a universe on edge under the foot that threatened to squash it's neck. Lotor was brought up in an age where the galaxies quivered in terror at the utterance of the Galran Empire, pissed themselves at looming fate over their heads...fearful that their end would befall them just as the Alteans before them. It was all so senseless to his young mind, feeling that this would only serve to turn those around them against them...fear sparked rebellion, you don't corner a wild animal without the notion that it will eventually lash back.
Of course, one could not tell that to Emperor Zarkon, not that he even wanted to in the daze that was his childhood. No, as a mere kit he felt it only necessary to follow his every footstep, wanting to prove himself to the male that held worlds in his hands, his grip threatening to crush all. Lotor was a whelp in the eyes of his father and it was no hidden secret. The young spawn nothing but a thorn in his side, a constant reminder of the Altean people and how he had lain down with one of their very own. His dark caramel skin, irises of crystal blue, white locks that hung over pointed ears...even the boy's lankiness was all the signature of the blasted race that had been all but wiped off of the face of the universe. Lotor was a mix of Galran and Altean but visually, only his pointed canines and yellow sclera were what set him off from being that of the ideal Altean male. It was something Zarkon despised and in that, it confused the growing child. How was it his fault that the genetic makeup of his person favored a more Altean appearance? Was it not his father that chose to lay with an Altean woman in the first place? Why was he to blame? It was not as if he asked to be born--
"It is high time you learn how to fix that hideous skin of yours, boy." He could still hear the vile woman's rasping voice, her glaring yellow eyes lain upon his tinier form with blatant revulsion. Haggar, the vile druid witch stood over him, demanding what would be impossible for most, willing him to shift his looks and parade around as something he wasn't. Shaking his head in distaste, Lotor's clawed fingers lift and push his stray ivory locks behind a pointed ear with a look that bled annoyance. Just what did she mean? How could he fix what he was born with? Had she some idea of using her skills as a druid upon Zarkon's one and only son? Ha, the notion was enough to nearly pull an improperly placed chuckle from his lips, tickling his fancy only due to how vastly absurd it was. Although, knowing the disgusting woman, she would not bat an eye and would continue to spew her drivel so as to do whatever needed to be done to please her Emperor.
"I am not sure what you are getting at, Haggar. Even if I could do something about it, I do not have any wish to do so. Father's ire or not...I'm fine with who I am and can prove myself regardless of what I look like." The words were chosen carefully, slipping from his tongue with the obliviousness that only a youth can hold. It was more of a surprise that she did not strike him for even daring to free his voice and by the grimace that wears on what can be seen on her hooded features; it was a consideration. Alas, she only gripped his chin, knife-like claws scraped over the surface of his jaw and the baby fat of his cheeks squished up under the hold. For a split second, there was regret for speaking out in such a way, maybe even a trace of fear as she forces his head up and his gaze upon hers. With every fiber of his being, he hated this woman, he despised everything she stood for. Her poisonous stare made his stomach twist and turn, knotting up within and making the core of himself ill.
"Foolish child! Have you no respect for the Emperor's wishes? If you really want to prove yourself fit to serve under your father, to have his pride and his trust, you will do whatever you can to appease his demands!" This was spat in his face day in and day out by not only the female before him but by those of his father's generals, his pawns, his followers...the same words regurgitated again and again. It was true, he longed to have Zarkon see him for the powerful prince he could and would be, but no matter what he seemed to do, it was never enough to even make the male crack a sliver of an approving look, not even a nod. A nagging voice within his own mind chose to rear its ugly head at this point, pestering his conscious and planting doubts upon his own thoughts. Perhaps the old hag was correct? Maybe it was proper to will himself to change, to adjust to what was expected of him just so his foot was placed within the proverbial door. It would make things easier, it would take the glaring expectations off his back if only for a moments reprieve.
It made sense.
But, like most things within life, the learning curve of his Altean skill set was vast. Turning deep caramel to lavender just by sheer will was proven to be difficult. Splotches of purple appearing on his skin just to dissipate the moment his attention drifted, prompting his efforts to start from step one. It was frustrating in itself but more so, his mother's violent persistence to get him to learn faster, to try harder had the young hybrid tapped by the early evening most days. Between his combative training and working to fix the issues he was so unluckily born with, Lotor couldn't make it past dinner before falling to the swift influx of drowsiness. Morning came quickly and the routine would start once more, again and again.
Many years passed throughout the rule of the Galran Empire, too many to count. Concerns of only his skin tone and his father's attention slipped away with the realization that Zarkon may never care to realize his potential. Even mastering Altean ways of adaptation had not been enough--and how foolish of himself to think that a mere shifting of one's skin color would help to prove anything. There was an obsession that intensified with the harvesting of Quintessence, further research proceeding to figure out the best ways to pull it in quickly...as the natural way they had been going about it was taking far too long for the Emperor's sake. Though, Lotor found that it wasn't only this that held his father's attention--no, there was a long-standing lust for knowledge or details about those of the legendary lions of Voltron.
That being as it was, Lotor had no time to worry about what schemes his father was hatching to take hold of what was once only a legend. The young prince was fitted with the responsibility of an entire planet, one he was to rule over in the emperor's stead whilst taking the plant's ore, stealing the essence of life from deep within. Of course, rather than playing upon the normal tactics, the young prince found it more productive to work alongside the local beings. Hand and hand with its own appointed leadership, thus harvesting Quintessence at a rate that did not deplete it to absolutely nothing. Keeping the planet alive and prosperous, but still sending the Galran empire the power they so lustfully desired.
It was a time that he always thought upon fondly, of course, until the guilt of their untimely demise spilled through his thoughts and sullied the good times had. Never a man of peace, Zarkon ordered the planet to meet its doom upon realizing just how Lotor had been handling things. Disgusted by the audacity he possessed to actually show these creatures kindness as if it were a sin to have a heart and not destroy everything his claws touched. Much like the extinct planet of Altea, this civilization crumbled until nothing was left--the emperor seeing it a fitting punishment to his only son for showing mercy.
In the centuries following the destruction, his mind thirsted for knowledge on his own heritage. Not of his Galran bloodlines, he knew the stories all too well, spend the entirety of his life thus far bathed in secondhand blood from the lives his people took...helpless to make a difference. No, he sought information on the Alteans, the second portion of his genetic make-up. Lotor longed to understand his ancestors so there was a better understanding of himself, what he could do and all the possibilities. There had to be more he was missing out on...and information came scarcely--that is until he wandered into a treasure trove of massive proportions.
Honevra's lab, an area tucked away and kept hidden from prying eyes--likely due to Zarkon's demand. While he was distracted, seeking out his beloved black lion, Lotor hid himself away within the cavern of Altean knowledge, soaking up the knowledge his mother had left behind--the one thing he had left of the woman who bore him, the mother he never had a chance to know, the one being he wishes he could have just had one conversation with.
His chance had presented itself, Voltron and their allies have succeeded in doing one thing properly--and that was weakening Zarkon. Utterly out of order, no details on when he may recover, .it left the Galran empire stagnant until a proper replacement could step in and who better than the very fruit his loins? Lotor rose to the occasion, lifting himself from his exiled state and demanding the loyalty of his own people with the firmness sought in a leader--the only fool to protest to his claim being a fool by the name of Throk.
"We've fought by Zarkon's side forever, now we are passed over by this exiled brat? He fights beside his enlisted men like a lowly private, even worse, his top generals aren't even full galra! They are half-breeds at best! He has no honor..."
"Some say he even allows the planets he conquers to lead themselves...can you imagine? Clearly, he is a dangerous lunatic...he has no business being anywhere near the throne. That's why I have spoken with the other officers within my sector--they have agreed to back me if I choose to fight for the throne"
The way they spoke of him, it was sickening...but Lotor would not lash out like a savage with no thought process. No, instead, he would accept this challenge head-on. With sword pointed towards the masses, Lotor's smug grin would play faintly at his lips; crystalline hues glowing as he speaks towards the commander who wished to challenge his rightful place as emperor pro tem. "Throk! You wish to challenge me?! Then come down...claim your crown!" Lotor could almost see the greed for power seeping from his form and while a powerful being he may be, the full Galran had no chance to overthrow the prince. Though, for the sake of proving a point, the prince would allow him the chance to try. "True Galra do not take the thrown by stirring up insurrection in darkened chambers, they rise through honorable right of combat. If you can defeat me here, the throne you seek is all yours."
The rumors were true, Lotor had a way of ruling the planets he conquered in a way where the leadership's ideas were first and foremost. He took into consideration the wants and needs of the people and forged a means of siphoning off what he needed without the fear and bloodshed of countless beings. It was much of the reason why Zarkon still kept him at a distance. His stubbornness still thorn in his side, a bitter taste on his tongue. Regardless of all that, the half Galran prince still did not see the weakness in his actions. Leaving planets to live and create more Quintessence in doing so was smarter and kept an even flow of the powerful ore flooding in without the worry of it diminishing down to nothing. If his peers couldn't see that now...they soon would. Perhaps soon the empire would stop treating him as a raging lunatic and hopefully see him as a leader that knows when and when not to destroy.
The 'half-breeds' he appointed his top generals were just that, half-bred galran women who had risen their way through the ranks as any full-blood Galra would but given their birth--most wouldn't bat an eye their way. Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid, & Narti were all wonderful additions and their loyalty was unmatched. To look down upon his generals was a hefty mistake...one many would learn quickly--especially as they revealed themselves around the very commander that yearned for the crown.
Cheers came alive within the stadium as Throk accepted the challenge, Right off the cuff, his blows were fierce, powerful and thorough with the full intention of slicing through the prince if the edge of his blade could only make contact. Each swipe deflected, again and again, the sound of metal on metal echoing throughout--leaving the royal bored with the pure repetitiveness. "You have flawless technique, that much I will give you. Even so, you must realize at some point your repetitive attacks are getting you nowhere."
Anger bubbled up within iriseless yellow eyes, as if poking and successfully enraging a cornered animal, Throk lunged forward--a compilation of attacks swung from the depths of his foe's power, leaving his right side wide open. Blocking off each bombarding swipe of the blade, Lotor darted his hand out and thrust full force against his opening, causing his body to go rigid. Flipping his own blade inward, it would clash against the weaker metal, snapping Throk's blade in half and sending the freed part out into the Coliseum dirt. The blow was hard enough to send the full blood flinging backward, hitting the ground with a large thud--and had he been someone different, his head would have been next. Pointing the end of his blade towards the dip of his neck, blue tinctures narrowed downward to the dog at his feet. "Your tactics are stale and in the very end your aggression is your undoing."
"My father built this empire on the bones of our enemies. The time has come to change the old ways and inspire not fear from those we rule but loyalty! We must not waste our energy fighting to keep our subjects down but rather multiply it by allowing those worthy to rise and join our ranks." Offering his hand out to his fallen commander, a smile would play at the corners of his lips. All this...every single bit of it was to sway the tide, to rally those within the stadium--and it was working. "Each ally gained only makes us stronger while those who continue to stand against us will be crushed."
"Lotor...we pledge our loyalty to you." Lifting his fist, Throk presses it over his beating breast, a smile slowly forming upon violet features as the larger male speaks his next few words. "Vrepit Sa!"
Winning the crowd over, each and every single man and woman within stood; repeating the same mantra. The jeering cheers bled from the area even as Lotor took his leave. Upon meeting up with his generals, a sly smirk seeped as they regarded him, Ezor even going so far as to speak of how well everything had played out. She wasn't wrong...no, the Galran empire was eating out of their very hands. "The masses are easily manipulated, now, have Throk transported out into the Ulippa system immediately. Let him rot with ice worms...."
Plans had gone wrong, so terribly wrong.
Perhaps it was his punishment for becoming too cocky, allowing his judgment to falter and his trust to be misplaced. Now, it was no surprise after killing Narti that the rest of his generals would feel unease...but they had sworn their loyalty to him...so much for that. Grandiose plans of using the last of his Quintessence to open a rift and collect the infinite amount of ore within the field in between realities had shifted the moment he realized that something had shifted and the Quintessence he thought he would find did not exist. Maybe they had grown tired of failing, after all--this wasn't the first bust he had put them through.
They wanted to use him as a pardon, offer his head to Zarkon for the exchange of their safe passing back into the ranks. Axca, Ezor, Zethrid--they had not an honest bone in their bodies, not now, not towards him. Each one of them regarded him as a criminal...just as his father had professed unto the ranks of the entire Galran empire. This disloyalty ate through his gut as he shifted his body, cracking joints and dislocating himself to free his body from the binds they fitted around his wrists. He had expected of those under his father's thumb but from his very own? It was painful in ways he just couldn't put into words.
"I am sorry, sir--this is nothing against you. This is our only hope..."
"I see, you plan to give me up. I understand...you do what you must and I will do as I must." He cannot find it inside of himself to raise his voice, joints and bones cracking in the midst of it all; lifting his arms above his head and slamming his hand against the eject button. It would send the woman flying out of the comet bore fighter left behind to be saved by the remaining two generals as he revved up the engines and sped off. It wouldn't be long until Zarkon honed in on his whereabouts and when he did it was nothing short of a close call. The vengeful emperor sought to kill him and nearly succeeded, in yet, a risky close call with the unstable star, Naveer 5--Lotor manages to get away from the galran fighters by flying through the corona, all the while their technology overheats by the sheer heat.
Making his way towards the battle happening within Naxzela, the prince finds that he barely makes it in time to stop the entirety of the coalition from imploding...including the little blade who's best idea was to fly his fighter into the shields in an attempt to take it down physically. Sometimes he truly wondered if the human brain longed for the sweet release of death--but now was not the time to allow his thoughts to linger.
"Attention, Paladins of Voltron and rebel fighters, I know we have had our differences--but I think it is high time we have a little chat."
Winning the hearts of the Paladins of Voltron had been no easy feat and while there was still room for improvement when it came to their relationship, they mostly trusted their newest ally. The offered olive branch had been hesitantly accepted, especially after the fall of Zarkon and the retrieval of the green lion's father. Of course, they had offered his neck to the fallen emperor but in the end, it had been that action that gave him the chance to finally cut out the toxicity of the universe.
It was a shame that guilt still filled his soul after centuries of torment, a solemn notion washing over his being as if he had done something wrong by striking his father down. At the end of the day, the man was still his father--still, the being that was half responsible for each breath he took, even if the very same man had been the one that wanted to end it. Fate was strange and cruel in that sense, Lotor deemed it so very early on.
There was no time to mourn the loss of the only father he had known, the Universe needed a new Galran emperor and if left to their own devices, his kin would find themselves another puppet much like the one Zarkon had turned into. Haggar, the disgusting woman, he knew that given enough time she would find herself a fitting pawn to reclaim the throne and he simply refused to allow that to happen. One genocidal ruler was enough, the time had come for peace. This war, the bloodshed, it needed to end and it needed to end now.
"Without an emperor, more and more officials are going to start lashing out and consolidating their power at the Kral Zera." He pauses only to hear the question that was bound to be spoken. "What exactly is the Kral Zera?"
"The Kral Zera is the coronation ceremony for the emperor or empress. It is held on one of the first planets we conquered, planet Fave. Only the fiercest leaders will be fighting for the throne...so telling you to be wary would be an understatement." Lotor turned to pull up the various commanders that he knew for a fact would rear their heads, explaining the dangers of each one--warning his friends that time was not on their side and the would need to act quickly.
His plans to take Voltron to the Kral Zera is completely tossed out...or at least, so he assumes until Takashi Shirogane comes to him offering his aide. Under a well-disguised rouse, the two would take the black lion to the planet of which the ceremony would be held. From the maw of the lion, Lotor emerges; eyes set firmly on all those who had managed to show up...well, those who had yet to be picked off by their peers.
"You? Lead the Galra empire? What makes you think that YOU could lead us?"
"My father's blood is not only inside my veins--it's also on my sword." Blue orbs narrowed in on Sendak, "The emperor fell to me and so will anyone that stands in my way. It is I who will light the flame, not only for defeating my father and not even for being the strongest Galran but because I did something no one else could do. I returned the black lion to the Galra. So stand aside, Sendak or be prepared to be cut down."
It is then that the vile witch, the woman he so despises vastly chooses to speak, making claims that his Altean lineage is what quells his power...that he has no right seating himself upon the throne due to the ore that swells within his own body. As if everyone around hadn't been aware of his heritage, of who his mother was...no, it was as clear as day--and it would not keep him from what was rightfully his. Blades would clash, his sights set on making sure that Sendak would meet that of his late father's own fate.
Midway through, the steps leading up to where he would take the flame would crumble under the rage of an unknown explosion. Lotor being tackled backward away from the explosion site, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle and holding him as they tumbled down. The body was soon revealed to be that of Keith Kogane, the little blade he had saved prior returning the favor.
'We will eventually need to stop meeting like this...'
Roaring to life behind them, the black lion would bolt off into the skies in an attempt to draw the fire away; a maneuver that wouldn't have played out had the Blades not gotten themselves involved. "This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, I knew they would all turn on one another."
In the chaos, the teeth of every Galran leader snapped at one another's throats, successfully leaving the steps up to the pyre open. With Sendak efficiently distracted and the others preoccupied with one another, Lotor is allowed to light his torch; trekking his way up each step with not only the burning fire in his hands but in his heart. Voltron slammed down nearby, watching his every move; seeing first hand just who would be the emperor before everyone else. Bending at his middle, the flame poured into the trough, bleeding upward to ignite a new dawn of a new age. Standing in the midst, Lotor allows himself to turn and face those around him; each bending a knee and pulling themselves to bow.
While he is clearly Galran, the hue of his skin a blatant factor in proving that point, his Altean lineage gives him certain traits that pure-blooded Galra kin would not have. His tall, but lean build is that of those from the dead planet Altea, as are his elongated ears. His lack of fur and white hair are also prominent to show that his genetics are mixed. Lotor himself has the ability to blend in with any society he finds himself in, a chameleon-like effect where he can change his skin color & body build on demand. It's an Altean ability that he was gifted with from his mother's side of the gene pool--but it is unclear how often he uses said skill. To go along with physical skills, the royal is also known to be double-jointed, easily able to dislocate certain parts of his body at his will if he finds himself in a situation where he needs to break free of binds or anything that may have hold over him.
All this said, it is clear to anyone who witnesses the prince in action that his ability to pilot a ship is nearly unmatched. He has no qualms facing the paladins of Voltron alone and is able to hold his own while turning the lions against themselves, all while within just a personal fighter.
- See above
- His galran upbringing makes him quick to anger, his lack of sympathy in some respects, falls back on impulse reactions when angered.
A Dank River Valley Near You
Confession: I have been reading this as you wrote it, chewing on my thumb and just... REVELING in how well you know Lotor. How well you write for him, how in depth and how detailed you have made him, from little things like being born with Altaen skin, to the big picture-- his view on the empire and of his abusive father and missing mother (Though she is not...) and everything that makes Lotor so... Lotor.
Your command of this character is exquisite and pale none, and I am thrilled, honoured and so BLOODY EXCITED to welcome him into the fold. Ipsum will be in very good hand, with Lotor at the helm.
Welcome to Ipsum Lotor! You have been sorted into SYZYGY! Please be sure to fill out your Claims and your Mini Profile, and let us know that you have finished that here, so we can properly sort you!