The Saint of Awe lived up to its name, in a perverse way. The corvette was an absolute mess, clearly just a few days removed from the impound lot, if not the scrap heap. Maintenance panels lay open, spilling rats’ nests of cabling out onto the deck. Some systems were dead. Others’ red or amber status lights burned in silent, unheeded warning. The vessel seemed barely spaceworthy, yet at the other extreme, it had obviously undergone extensive renovations already. The mess was well-stocked with gleaming new appliances, exotic liquors, and a high-end caf dispenser. There were small but well appointed private cabins for each passenger, and the lounge was an orgy of plush velvet furnishings. The Envoys were left to speculate what this state of affairs implied about their hostess and client, who had vanished into her own quarters after firmly insisting that Graal, Myra’s Narglatch, be confined to the cargo hold lest “it shit on everything.”
The Envoys had been left to their own devices for the duration of the journey, with a briefing scheduled at the top of the hour in the lounge.
“Hunt successful!” Dusa grinned the moment she saw Marick.
“I finally get to meet you!” Her arms opened as she gave Marick a big ol’ hug. Then she looked up to him, her chin resting on his chest.
“Hmmm. Well, I hate to say this, but Wyndell has axcellently axcelled in the gene pool, he’s more handsome than you.” Then she freed Marick, her hand went up to slightly pinch his cheek.
“Don’t worry, you’re still a cutie pie.”
Marick blinked, and seemed more confused by the sudden hug and affection than the comment itself. He nodded. “Thanks. He’s a better brother, so that tracks,” he said, studying Dusa with eyes that were more focused on details than anything else. He noticed her axe, it’s placement, and the tone in her arms showing she knew how to use it.
He was also starting to see the trend of data towards his brothers “type”.
“Did you ax-tually just say that?” Dusa placed her hands on her hips as if Marick got into trouble.
“Jussst because I think Wyn wyns by being better looking, doesn’t mean he’s the better brother. Not what I’ve heard from him.” She raised her hand and placed it at the corner of her lips, as if she was going to say a secret.
Yet, she did not lower her voice despite her leaning in.
“You both have different skills and personalities. And compliment each other.” She winked at Marick. She stood up straight and grinned.
“So that makes you both the better guys with a different skill set chart!”
Marick blinked once. His expression remained placid, but he nodded. “Fair enough.”
His attention shifted back to the Saint of Awe, noting every maintenance panel that was open, every exposed wire, conduit, the array of different lights.
He had thoughts and opinions, but kept them to himself.
The Exarch had decided to go on this outing himself out of fear for the other Envoys. He was not supposed to go on missions, but there was also very little from atop stopping the Force Lord from going where he pleased. He’s earned that much from the Council, at least.
Myra ambled through the Saint of Awe with her arms crossed. With its expensive-looking upholstery and luxury staterooms, the ship gave off the kind of garishness typical of rich folk with nothing better to do than spend their credits on needlessly expensive things that they couldn’t take with them when they died. But this one was also rundown, with its wires hanging precariously from open service panels, as if maintenance crews had given up halfway through the repairs. What did this say about the ship’s owner? And what kind of sad person didn’t like animals? After much debate, Myra had reluctantly agreed to keeping Graal in the cargo hold for the time being, but only for the duration of the journey.
Stepping into the mess hall, Myra greeted the two people present with a simple nod before promptly moving over to make herself a cup of caf. She only recognized one of them, and seeing that the Exarch himself had decided to accompany them made Myra wonder how serious this mission was.
No sooner than the Rattataki, the Sakiyan, and the Exarch had assembled in the lounge for the scheduled briefing did Iphis make her grand reentrance, striding into the room with congential nonchalance.
“A Baas, an axe, and an ass—at least Charon has a sense of humor,” she said by way of greeting. She continued without waiting for a response, flicking on a holoprojector with an idle wave of her hand. It showed their destination: a small, arboreal planet as it appeared from orbit, helpfully labeled TARGET.
“This,” she said, “is Phaistos, least-loved colony of the old Sith Empire. When we lost Antei to the Vong, my late, lamented mistress led a group of us to go play Ajunta Pall here and rule the natives.”
She waved her hand again, almost contemptuously, and the projection shifted from the planet to a basic mock-up of a temple complex. “After we took over enough to complete some archaeological digs but before the whole endeavor blew up in our faces, the old bird sealed the goodies in here. Now that I, last survivor of this ill-fated expedition, have returned to the Grand Master’s favor, I’m here in the name of the Brotherhood to claim whatever is left to be claimed.
“You lovely morsels—and Marick—are tagging along because the facility was sealed as a group effort and can only be unsealed by a group effort. And, frankly, I’m sure the entire thing will be bloody and tedious and I’ll be glad to have the extra bodies. That said, I do want my security deposit back, so try not to die.”
She smiled sweetly, her gratuitously green eyes sparkling. “Any questions?”
Marick listened stoically and attentively to the briefing. His body was still, no fidgeting or motion, his breathing controlled, as he focused both on both the information stream–straight forward–but mostly on Iphis as she spoke and gestured.
His eyes narrowed slightly at the corners but he remained quiet to let her finish.
I’m sure her being the only survivor wasn’t an accident. Also ninety precent of what she is saying is either a half-truth, obfuscation, somehow benefits her, and is generally bullshit.
“None here,” was what he actually said, after she indicated a response from the Envoys. “We are to aid you in solving a problem of your own creation, clean up the errors made in the past, and secure capital gain assets for the Brotherhoods interest.”
Dusa blinked in confusion when the pretty Hapan had made her appearance. The Rattataki leaned back just a smidge, to check out Marick’s ass and then the other female who she hasn’t met yet.
But hold up, just whose ass was she talking about?
Then she placed her hands on her own butt cheeks. She has a nice fine ass but since the lady said axe which meant to Dusa, she lost in that ass category.
Damn it! Who was it that had better ass than her?!
Then she frowned, “The only survivor? Oh, that must’ve been so scary! But have no worries, we’re here to ax-cel and eliminate those threats for you!” She gave the lady two thumbs up.
“Wait, you aren’t coming with us?”
-# <@189568236201705472> <@1056685516441006091> <@371402534973341696>
Iphis watched with transparent amusement as Dusa check out three butts in quick succession.
“Oh no, kitten, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Besides, it would be terribly inefficient to send you down by yourselves. I wasn’t involved in setting up this deathtrap, but I’m intimately familiar with the people who did. Bit of inside huttball, as it were. But it did only seem sporting to take questions, so axe away.”
“Kitten?” Dusa puffed her cheeks as her arms crossed. She wasn’t a kitten! She’s even tougher than that and her axes are sharper than a kitten’s claws.
A magical moment happened as Iphis had made an axe pun.
“You are so axesome!” Dusa grinned.
However, at the moment, she didn’t have any questions or concerns. Just go in, axe away, and come back out alive.
The Saint of Awe shuddered slightly in a way that naval combat veterans would recognize as turbolaser fire.
“Clearing a landing area,” Iphis said nonchalantly. “It should only take a moment.”
Marick did a quick check over his armaments. His messenger bag hugged close to his back under his grayscale cloak.
You can never have too many blades
His Radiant saber remained at his hip, but he actually palmed and held Resonance, unlit but ready. Stealth and subterfuge were off the table, and the modular saberpike was the best for the utility he anticipated needing.
With a gesture from his mind, the twin lightdaggers at his belt unclipped, floated out to the sides, and ignited their shortened azure blades. They manuvered like automonous drones to float off to each side of his shoulders.
He glanced at the other two. “If you get hit, fall back behind me. I can ward you while you recover. I have stims and med kit as well if needed. If I go down, do not try to get me. Continue with the mission objective.”
Marick was not one for words or speeches. He did not inspire with a gilded tongue or honeyed promises of glory or victory. His delivery was bland and boring, but beneath it was the unwavering calm and monotone that spoke with the confidence and weight of his years of survival. There was no hint of ego or pride- just pure objectivity to the facts of what his experience told him was to come.
“That’s what they said!” Dusa attempted but poorly did the finger guns to Iphis. Marick would notice that Dusa may have picked up some habits from his brother.
Marick brought up about leaving him behind if he falls.
As if she was going to leave Wyn’s brother!?
Dusa gave Marick a look that very clearly states:
Kark you and watch me.
If she has to carry Marick over her shoulders and haul ass over coals and snapping crocodinas, she would. If she has to carry Myra on top of Marick, she would.
Even Iphis. Now Dusa was wondering if she would be able to carry all three.
“If it’s any consolation,” Iphis said with her air of affected nonchalance, “if any of you manage to die without my permission, we are so thoroughly fucked that leaving anyone behind won’t be an issue.”
On that reassuring note,The Saint of Awe continued her descent to the recently cleared landing zone.
The group disembarked into a smouldering clearing drenched in ash and glassy, fragmented rocks. The complex was barely visible through the thick growth of towering evergreen trees, undoubtedly the same kind that the ship’s earlier barrage had reduced to the field of ash beneath their feet. The forest surrounded them on all sides; the cleared out landing zone was barely larger than the ship. Ash and embers continued to float gently down from above. The smoky scent was nearly overpowering.
“It’s this way,” Iphis said.
Cinder and ash. Acrid air. Marick’s eyes automatically catalogued their surroundings as they walked. He idly drummed his fingers along the hilt of Resonance, the only real motion of his otherwise clockwork movements as he trailed a pace behind Iphis.
He said nothing, but walked without any visible concern despite the knowledge of how quickly the ground had been turned to glass.
Dusa rose an eyebrow at Iphis’ comment about any of them dying without her permission.
‘Pretty lady, I make my decisions about my life, not you.’
When they landed, Dusa followed behind Iphis and Marick before glancing over to Myra and gave her a thumb up whilist walking backwards off of the ship’s ramp.
The moment her boot stepped on the ashy ground-
Marick’s lightsaber snap-hissed, the azure blade crackling with energy as it ignited. The former Assassin lowered himself into a hunting crouch, knees bent, minimizing his exposure and maximizing his center of gravity all on reflex.
His head turned so quickly his hair momentarily viled his features. By the time the hair had passed, and he realized that no threat had been present beyond a sneeze, he returned to a standing position and disengaged his lightsaber.
He sighed internally, knowing what came next.
One whiff of the acrid air was enough to convince Myra to slip her helmet onto her head; an audible hiss signaled to adjacent ears that she’d sealed herself off from the air the smelled unclean … toxic. Upon performing a final check of her gear, Myra stepped forward, keeping her head on a swivel to watch the others’ six.
Iphis’ eyes met Marick’s, overly verdant green to chilly blue, and she smiled the way one smiles at a pet who has learned a new trick. She didn’t need to say anything, and so she didn’t. She just started walking, one hand shielding her brow with her garish, pearlescent robe.
“Bless you, Dusa.”
“Whoa, I’m a friend! Not enemy!” Dusa held up her hands in surrender at Marick’s reaction.
When Dusa watch Marick turn his glow stick off, she sighed with relief. Yikes. Then she rubbed her eyes, they were getting a bit itchy, however not too bad. And a headache was creeping.
“Ah, thank you, Iphis. I’ll be-”
Dusa immediately covered the next sneeze with her arm as she sniffled.
“I’ll be alright! Let’s get going.” Dusa hoped that the heavy dust and ashes will lessen as they continue on. Her silver eyes glanced over to Myra, who barely said a word and seems even more serious than Marick
If that was even possible.
“You histamine receptors aren’t mission-critical,” Iphis said with a lazy wave of her hand. Dusa found her allergies cleared up almost immediately.
The temple complex–or whatever the appropriate term might have been–was a mix of two different architectures clearly separated by centuries or longer. The base structure was old, composed of weathered, massive stone slabs overgrown with moss and lichens. There were some token decorative reliefs scattered across the walls, but it had apparently been built more for form than function.
That structure had suffered some sort of cataclysmic event and large sections of wall had been blasted away. They had been replaced and fortified with unadorned duracrete without visible seams between slabs. A boxy antechamber had been built in front of the main entrance. Despite the positioning making it very conspicuously the entrance, there was no visible door, only a set of glowing violet runes set in a complex spiral pattern. The pulsed through the Force, a sickening, dulling sensation.
Marick took in the details of everything and filed it away to memory. He knew Iphis had ‘joked’ about using them as meat shields, but he was unconcerned at walking ahead of the others and attempting to enter the structure.
He paused just before his hand touched the…wall that should have been some kind of entrance. There was almost an outline to the weathered material, but no visible trigger or lever or even hidden detail that might act as some kind of key or door. He blinked once, then twice, then took a step back. He debated hitting it with his lightsaber to experiment, but would not give her the satisfaction of outwardly failing at something simple.
“Curious. No traps, but also no way to create an opening. Seems like they were trying to keep something in, not people out. Any ideas, fearless leader?” he didn’t turn to look at Iphis, his words as toneless as his expression.
“Oh that’s so cool, thank you!” Dusa hestiated for a moment before doing a baby sniff.
Then another sniff.
Nothing.
No itchy eyes.
Then a HUGE SNIFF-
That was a mistake as she winced at the ashes.
Okay, allergies gone, but don’t be dumb- oh what’s this?
Dusa smirked. This what she was here for!
“Move back!” The axe buzzed alive with lasers as she swung at the door.
Sparks and bits of duracrete went flying as the blade made contact with a satisfying noise.
“If only someone had brought along four lightsabers,” Iphis said. She didn’t bother to look at Marick, instead keeping her eyes fixed on Dusa’s arms and back as she continued to hack away at the barrier.
THWACK
THWACK
THWACK
Although the wall would take quite a bit more punishment, the runes weren’t so durable. They flickered once before exploding in a shower of violet sparks.
Iphis retched. The Force-users, particularly Iphis and Marick, were struck with an overwhelming wave of nausea as soon as the glowing inscription disappeared.
“I forgot just how awful that was,” Iphis burbled. “You’ll get used to it after a bit.”
Myra watched with an unimpressed expression as Dusa began taking swings at the wall with her axe. Although there was something to be admired about the brutal efficiency of an axe in other contacts, this was not one of those times, as evidenced by the wall rebuffing each one of the strikes with little more than a shallow scratch across its weathered surface.
The runes, however, didn’t fair as well. The Sakiyan-Sephi hybrid narrowed her eyes when she noticed them beginning to pulse sporadically with each strike, as if whatever magick that powered them was straining against the weight of Dusa’s blows. Then, the runes exploded, showering the area in a wave of disorienting energy, Myra took a deep breath to steady herself a bit.
“Those runes …,” she began, “I think they were written in ancient Sith. Though I can’t be sure. It isn’t exactly my expertise.”
Marick’s stomach churned. Reflexively, his body tried to counteract the affect, but it only seemed to make it worse.
Force-relater affliction. Interesting.
While he felt his bloodstream become thick and muddled, he remained in perfect control of his facial expression, keeping it calm and devoid of any reaction.
“If only,” he replied dryly to Iphis.
His attention shifted as Myra mentioned ancient Sith.
“Kiwi,” Marick spoke, but even the act of speaking seemed to make the nausea bubble up. He swallowed, then continued. “Can you decipher this?”
The Envoy droid that had been quietly following the Exarch around articulated it’s polyhedral shape and blinked it’s eye receptor once.
With a binary acknowledgement, it floated over to the text and used a scanning light to attempt to read the ancient script.
Kiwi started translating on the fly, rendering the Sith into Binary, for all the good it did. Invocations of dark power and grandiose threats were interspersed with outright gibberish.
“It’s a binding ritual,” Iphis groaned impatiently. She was rubbing one temple as if to sooth a headache. “Was a binding ritual. It kept me from doing this.”
She shooed Dusa away and placed one palm flat against the wall, closed her eyes, and grimaced. A latticework of fine cracks spread out through the duracrete, but the wall held.
“Marick, just cut the damn thing.”
“Are you sure? Looks like you almost had it,” Marick replied in a deadpan as he folded his arms across his chest.
Then, his saber pike floated unceremoniously off to the side and ignited once again, spun, and started to carve an arc-like entry way into the ancient stone, plasma hissing as it dragged the molten outline.
He kept his hands folded across his chest. It was tougher than he expected. Probably should have just used his arms. But the Lyctor had seemed to unlock a competitive side of him he had long since burried. Even Marick had a bit of pride beneath his cold demeanor.
His brow furrowed with focus, the only sign of strain. The blade finished it’s cutting. He placed his palm against it and pushed, and the slab of cut stone fell forward.
Stepping closer to Dusa, Myra crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Are these two married or something?” she muttered.
<@216702440140046336>
Dusa blinked at the pair dynamics. Then she chuckled at Myra’s question and responded in a hushed voice.
“If I haven’t seen pictures of Marick’s wife… I would’ve thought so myself.”
Then it occured to her. Both Atty and her had white hair. Iphis had pale blonde hair that could be almost mistaken as white.
Does the brothers have the same type when it comes to physical appearances?
“Marick, do you and Wyn have a type towards white hair?”
Marick’s saber hovered off to the side. He had taken a half step back from the opening.
His head turned to Dusa. He raised a hand and opened his mouth, as if to reply, but then seemed to think better of it, and lowered his hand and closed his mouth.
He turned back to the door and went pensive as he assessed the accusation in more detail.
“Oh, my sweet,” Iphis purred. She turned to give Dusa a once over with a look that was absolutely predatory. “He isn’t the one you need to worry about, my snowy haired siren.”
Whatever rizz was in the mix was undercut slightly by how green under the gills she still looked from the nausea, but give a girl credit for trying.
Marick’s mental eye roll echoed through the Force.
“Let’s go,” he said, and stepped into the darkness that awaited them, the glow of his floating saber like a torch.
The antechamber was small, mostly new construction around another massive door with the same set of glowing runes, equally susceptible to Marick’s lightsaber. Past that, the group trekked for maybe a hundred meters down a winding corridor built from the original massive stone blocks, lit only by saberlight. But when they emerged at last into a cavernous open chamber, blue-flamed torches spring to life around the entire perimeter.
And then the buzzing started.
“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” Iphis muttered. “Get ready to kill.”
Grotesque creatures started to writhe free from nooks at the top of the chamber. Each was unique but on the whole they gave the impression that somebody had tried to build a wasp out of a rancor and done a particularly poor job of it
“Why would I be worried about- OH!” Dusa yelped in surprise, her pale cheeks becoming red as the ‘seductive’ glance went over her. Well, as sexy as it can be considering Iphis did not look well and was about to vomit onto the ground.
She was not used to being chase. Usually, she did the chasing and either they reject her or chase right back.
Thankfully, Marick continued on and Dusa quickly high tailed it behind him
“Come here bugs! I want to axe you something!” Dusa smirked as she swung and managed to kill one.
Marick was already in motion before Iphis’ declaration of intent. Twin lightdaggers sprung to life and started to spin like plasma pinwheels. They darted out and met the swarming bees at the same time as Marick tossed his saberpike beside him and telekinetically set it to work as well.
He palmed his true saber–Radiant–and activated the black-cored white blade.
He did not toggle the dual-phase alternator to stun.
The horrid wasp things were barely free from their cubbies before Myra had her scattergun up and firing. But in this case, her hair trigger didn’t serve her, and the things were far enough away and they carapaces tough enough to take the shot without significant damage. Myra grunted and dropped the barrel to reload her weapon, eyes never veering from the incoming threat.
Dusa, for her part, was having a blast. She was absolutely swarmed with creatures, but after pulling her axe free from the first one’s corpse, she was able to keep the others at bay. Her axe hummed and sizzled with the burning wasp juices.
Iphis was a blur, her sword appearing as if from nothing when she drew it from the shadowsheath. A quartet of creatures dove for her, each flying through the place she’d been an instant prior as if by magic—leaving a severed wing or stinger or head behind it. She spared a glance around. Myra had her scattergun reloaded, up, and firing, driving her swarm into frantic evasive maneuvers.
The creatures were faster than he anticipated at first. A folly on the Force Lord’s part. As pain blossomed in small slashes across his person, in between the fabric of his armorweave cloak, he burned the physical stress on his body and the pain like fuel as he danced deftly on the balls of his feet and wove between the attacks, memorizing the pulse on their patterns.
My turn
With a left and right motion of his head, the three floating lightsabers created a spinning vortex around the Hapan. As he danced, the whirlwind of azure plasma around him wove with the black-and-white slices of his hand-held blade tore into the wasp-like creatures with deadly precision.
When the lightsabers stopped their frantic spinning, returning to hovering protetively like a mantle over the Exarch’s shoulders, he whipped his head around to see if the others needed his assistance.
Dusa’s grey eyes were focused but she had a smile that she was having fun.
At least she wasn’t raging out.
A few more swings and the bugs around her were slashed.
She threw the axe handle over her shoulder, adjusted it so her wrists can be over the handles and the handle being at hte back of her neck.
“Ax-shually, I think that was ax-ceptionaly easy.” Why did the others died? Were they allergic or something?
The vaguely insectoid monstrosities poured into the area in droves, throwing what had hitherto been a tense yet otherwise calm mission into a chaos. As much as her working life consisted of strict timetables and disciplined repetition, Myra was nothing if not a woman of contradictions. Beneath the familiar routines of a decorated marksman lay a mind touched by Nazuun, the Shatterer, whose laughter manifested as a distant whisper amongst the din of evolving combat.
She heard that whisper and answered Nazuun’s call. The air around the hybrid’s body seemed to twist and halt, movement ceasing for a fraction of a moment as if space and time itself surrendered to the will of some greater power; something beneath the heavy bandages on her right forearm glowed a strange cyan, accompanied by a signature in the Force that may have registered as both alien and suspiciously familiar to the Exarch ( <@189568236201705472> ), perhaps the others, also, if they had firsthand experience with such peculiarities.
Then, Myra vanished, the space that once held her form briefly fracturing like broken glass before the “wound” healed itself by the time she appeared elsewhere with her scattergun raised. A squeezed trigger let off a wave of deadly slugs that tore hostile carapaces asunder, painting the surrounding walls with ill colored bile and precious viscera. She didn’t linger there long to admire her work. The teleport-and-shoot routine continued at least two more times before she’d executed any remaining opposition in brutally efficient fashion, ending with a final fracturing jaunt that left her perching high enough above the others in a crouch, letting the smoking barrel of her slugthrower hang between her legs while she awaited the others to defeat their lot.
“Ok,” Iphis said, conveying a vague sense of annoyed arousal at watching the Sakiyan rip apart space-time rather than dodge like a normal person. “We will circle back to that.” She gave everyone a quick once over and grunted a noncommittal “hmmph” at Marick’s injuries, superficial as they were, before they started to stitch themselves shut.
“Further up and further in, then. I expect there will be more of those things so don’t get careless.”
Marick nodded once, made a cursory check that Dusa was okay, but realized he had no reason for concern. Formal or not, she was now part of his family, but he could tell immediately why Wyn liked her so much. Marick saw not just the combat prowess, but the ability to somehow remain optimistic and have fun inside the chaos. Exactly like Wyn.
He did not seem to be surprised or impressed by the Sakiyan’s maneuver. It was good to know that he wouldn’t need to worry about them either.
With a tired glance at Iphis, the Exarch padded forward, trip of sabers floating beside him like a glowing mantle.
“Try and keep up, Lyctor,” Marick called over his shoulder, his voice only carying as far as it needed to reach its indtended recipient.