In the dark of the wreckage’s hangar, the dust hung heavy, the air stale. Some footsteps rang out, the Noghri and the Mercenraies securing the landing zone, if nothing else.
Muz gestured with a simple finger flick, the top of the heavy case opening to reveal dozens of scanner droids. The same evices thatthey had used on Yavin to scan the Temple that their namesake had built with his own hands. His own hands, and several thousand Massassi hands, no doubt. A quick tap on a control panel and the drones began to stir, hoverdrives kicking on as they rose from the crate in stages, tiny floodlights flickering to life as they turned to plot their coordinated scan. Hopefully there was enough of the wreckage to ensure that their recreation would live up to the ancient legacy. He stepped back as more of the drones flickered up and spread out. They scrambled from the hangar, the floodlamps casting longer shadows on everything, the light chaotic as they swarmed, finding the exits. One of the many doors was seized, half open, the metal crumpled on one side. They seethed through, rapid fire, settign themselves to find literally everything they could.
The Force sang to him, the dirge low and droning. Muz closed his eyes for a moment, listening to it. Senses expanded, feeling along the edges of reality, feeling for knots in the threads that bound this universe together. He had expected that it would not be a mere scanning job. These matters never were. He would not have brought the clan, were that the case. He opened eyes to a hangar as dark as his helm.
“We are not alone.”
“Sir, this reading is troubling.” The operator looked back over his shoulder, then turning to address the Feet Admiral cleanly and sharply, then gesturing at the scanners as new lights started blinking. There was a lot happening suddenly, and had he not known better, he would have questioned it, suspected a malfunction. But no. There were too many of the Sith with them for this to be that easy of a day.
Moving his hand to push aside the safety cover, a finger rest on the toggle that would engage the General Quarters alert, then waited for the man’s nod.
Quentin hears the small drones fly out into the ship over his head toward the hallway ahead of the group as a young ensign approaches pushing a repulsor cart and begins to speak “Lord Muz needs these placed periodically as we scout” he says, relaying his orders.
The Archpriest was the first to reply “What are they?” He asked as he examined the cart carrying medium sized boxes.
The ensign quickly replied “their atmospheric scrubbers, with all the personnel coming to ship, Lord Muz is concerned that the ancient life supports may break down under the strain, these units are self powered and will reduce our impact On the ship’s systems.”
“Lord Muz thinks of everything, doesn’t he?” Quentin says As he cracks a smile before continuing “ Jinx we will take up the rear and guard the cargo and our technician who will be installing them as we go.” He finishes as he motions to Jinx to go adjacent to him on otherside of the repulsor cart.
Before Jinx could get in place the ensigns comm rings out general quarters.” We are not alone” Quentin says as he pulls his lightsaber out in preparation waiting for last second to ignite it’s emerald blade to keep their position hidden for as long as possible.
Jinx pulls out her lightsaber ready to ignite the scorching red blade should she need to fight. “Run scans but stay close and quiet.” Jinx whispers to her droid Lola who switches from hovering over Jinx’s shoulder to standing on it eliminating the noise. Jinx slowly makes her way over to the young ensign blocking his front and double clicks her tongue softest signaling Lola to leap from Jinx’s shoulder to the young ensigns keeping an eye out behind him at the same time ready to alert her owner if she was to see anything shock prod out and ready. She could see the ensign, from what she could tell he was in his 20’s, this was probably his first deployment he wore a technicians outfit with a single ensign rank badge, he had short brown hair and wore thick rimmed black glasses he was showing signs of being nervous “He Is not ready for this, he should return To the ship” she says To her master.
Quentin turns toward his apprentice “ Orders are orders, watch over him!” The Archpriest turns to the ensign “Today will be your baptism by fire, we will do our best to see you survive” he says trying to calm his nerves slightly for he knew the fear for one’s life could keep him alive.
He quickly pulled a small blaster from his holster on his leg “I will do my part, Sir” the young man exclaimed aloud as he tried to hide his visible shaking.
In the dim hangar of the Harrower-class Dreadnaught, DarkHawk activated his helm’s HUD, allowing the night vision to paint the scene in spectral greens. The ship’s condition was dire. Bulkheads were riddled with corrosion, and wires dangled like vines from torn panels. The deck plating bore the scars of combat, charred black in places and buckled elsewhere. Broken crates and tools were strewn about, hinting at a crew’s hasty retreat or annihilation. The hangar’s vast expanse was littered with debris, a graveyard of forgotten equipment. Shadows loomed, unnatural and oppressive, stretching across the walls in jagged, eerie silhouettes.
DarkHawk tapped his helm. “VP, report.” His voice echoed slightly in the desolate chamber. The Viper Probot buzzed to life, its hover-drive humming softly as it ascended. It glided silently through the hangar, its multi-lens eye rotating as it streamed live reconnaissance back to the fleet and boarding parties. Through his HUD, DarkHawk monitored its feed, observing intricate details of the ship’s broken infrastructure. VP slithered through gaps and crevices, undetectable, mapping every corner.
“Ty,” DarkHawk called out, motioning toward the terminal near the hangar’s edge. “Start slicing into the system. Get us a full status report.”
“Roger that,” Ty said, nodding. He sprinted over to the console, his tools quickly at work. Sparks flew as he bypassed the initial security, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. The screen flickered with ancient symbols before somewhat stabilizing. “This system is bloody ancient, but I’m getting there. Give me a couple minutes,” he murmured.
DarkHawk, meanwhile, stilled himself, reaching out with the Force. A wave of unease washed over him. He felt prying eyes, unseen but pervasive, scrutinizing every move. His heart quickened, and the molten core of his rage began to bubble. A wicked grin curled beneath his helm.
“Let them watch,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “They’ll regret it soon enough.”
His grip tightened on his weapon. The anticipation of battle ignited his blood, a simmering fury he relished. Darkness stirred, not just in the hangar, but in him—a symphony of chaos waiting for its conductor to strike the first chord.
Ty scowled at the terminal as his slicing equipment failed to sync with the Harrower’s ancient system. The outdated hardware buzzed faintly, mocking his attempts to interface with it. “DarkHawk, this tech is bloody pre-Republic vintage,” Ty said, frustration tinging his voice. “My gear’s too modern. It can’t sync with these relics.”
DarkHawk’s voice came over the comms, calm yet commanding. “Then adapt. But double time it will ya? We need to know what’s going on with this ship.”
“Bloody’ell man, you’re doing my head in. I’ll have to splice into the system directly,” Ty replied, already rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll rig up a makeshift interface. Won’t be pretty, but it should get me past the firewalls.”
Ty rummaged through his kit, pulling out cables, connectors, and a soldering iron. Sparks flew as he worked, carefully connecting the mismatched components to bridge the gap between his slicer and the ship’s archaic systems.
Meanwhile, DarkHawk prowled deeper into the hangar. His eyes scanned every inch, augmented by his HUD’s spectral readouts. The room reeked of decay and abandonment, yet traces of movement lingered—shadows flickering unnaturally, debris disturbed without explanation. His boot nudged an overturned crate, spilling its contents: fragments of personal data logs, a broken blaster handle, and an access card scorched beyond recognition.
He crouched, picking up one of the logs. Its casing was cracked, but the internal circuitry seemed intact. “VP,” he called, watching the Viper Probot weave its way through the wreckage via the probot’s live feed. “Scan for anything salvageable. There’s data here that might tell us what happened.”
As VP complied, its camera lenses flickering with processing lights, its live feed painted an eerie panorama of the ship’s innards. The feed showed more than just decay—it hinted at chaos. Deep gouges marred the walls, as if something massive had clawed its way through. DarkHawk’s gut tightened.
A faint noise echoed from the shadows, a rhythmic clicking that set his nerves on edge. He stood, weapon drawn, every sense heightened. “Ty,” he barked into the comm, “Hurry it up. I do not believe we are alone here.” DatkHawk switched to an open comm channel, “Sadowans, be at the ready…”
Ty’s voice came back, tinged with concentration and urgency. “Almost there. Just keep whatever hornet’s nest you cheesed off away from me.”
DarkHawk didn’t reply. His attention was locked on the dark void ahead, ready for whatever was watching them to make its move.
Quentin kneels down to examine the rather large scratches with his free hand and finds them heavily covered in dust, quickly running his fingers into the deep scratch gathering the dust up on his glove to bring closer to examine for further clues. Rubbing the dust through his fingertips, he rises and heads over to Darkhawk. “There are chitin flakes.“ he tells him, showing Naga Sadow’s Con what he had discovered. “I remember reading of a insectoid predator/scavenger on the capital world Dromund Kaas during that time, though I cannot recall its name think it begins with a Y” the Archpriest paused before continuing, “Either way, we need to move in. Even if we have to use our lightsabers to light the way before the other boarding parties arrive. What is your command, Sir? “ Quentin said, bowing his head in respect.
Ty wiped sweat from his forehead, fingers working deftly to splice into the Harrower’s ancient system. Sparks flew as he carefully manipulated the outdated circuits, improvising connections that bridged the gap between his slicer and the ship’s crumbling technology. “Almost there,” he muttered, his voice steady despite the pressure. “Another few moments, and I’ll be through the set of firewalls.”
“Let us know when you are in Ty.”
DarkHawk turned his attention back to Quentin, tilting his head slightly to examine what Quentin had discovered. “Are you thinking of a Yozusk?” he asked, voice calm but probing.
Quentin hesitated. “Maybe. I just remember how predatory they were in those accounts.”
DarkHawk’s tone hardened as he straightened, addressing the group. “Everyone, proceed with caution. Call out anything you encounter—no assumptions.”
He activated his helm’s Multi-Frequency Target Acquisition System (MFTAS), the HUD lighting up with dynamic readouts for tracking potential threats. The advanced system pulsed, scanning the dim corridor ahead for movement, as tension thickened in the stale air.
“I will lead the way "The archpriest says as he raises his lightsaber high above out front of him letting its emerald blade snap to life as smoke drifts from his blade from his night sister soaked crystal casting a green glow about the party in the hanger. "This way” he says as he begins leading the group to the other end of the hanger, after a short bit of time they come across a newer ship landed in the hanger that appears to be of Hutt design. “Looks like we are not the first to discover this ship” the archpriest says as he takes his free and knocking off some dust from its hull before continuing toward what looks like the exit of the hanger just at the edge of his lightsaber’s light.
Quentin led the way, his lightsaber casting an eerie green glow that danced across the walls of the hangar. The rest of the group followed in tense silence, eyes darting to every shadow. Meanwhile, DarkHawk slowed his pace, his gaze fixed on the newer ship that sat like an unwelcome guest amid the Imperial debris. His eyes narrowed.
“I’ll catch up,” DarkHawk said over his shoulder. Quentin gave a curt nod, not breaking stride.
Approaching the ship, DarkHawk’s senses sharpened. The design was unmistakable. The rounded hull, emblazoned symbols, and faint stench of spice told him everything he needed to know. His suspicions were confirmed. A Hutt ship… just like Q thought.
He tapped the side of his helmet, activating his comm unit. “Lord Keibatsu, Tyrus, you reading me?”
“Go ahead,” Tyrus’s voice crackled back.
“Why do you suppose the Hutts were doing on an Imperial ship?” DarkHawk asked as he scanned the ship’s access hatch. He crouched near some scorched markings on the deck, his gloved fingers tracing the jagged black marks. Blaster fire.
“Hutts on an Imperial ship?” Tyrus’s voice came back with a note of surprise. “Bloody'ell. Could be an arms deal… maybe one that went sideways.”
“Possible,” DarkHawk muttered, still focused on the scorch marks. His gaze shifted to a set of drag marks leading away from the ship’s cargo hold. He stood slowly, his instincts flaring.
A voice echoed directly into his mind, crisp and commanding. “Rogue Imperials… or pirates.” It was Lord Keibatsu’s voice, telepathic and brief, as always.
DarkHawk moved deeper into the hangar, spotting more signs of conflict. Burn marks. Spent power cells. A trail of smeared crimson. “Someone was definitely unhappy with someone else here,” he muttered, hand drifting to his lightsaber hilt. “And it’s not over.”
“Sir!” The urgency in the young ensign’s voice was unmistakable. Hades turned towards him. “Report, ensign.” “Consul DarkHawk’s team is reporting a ship of Hutt design has been located in their hangar.” Hades could feel the tension rise on the bridge. The officers and crew stationed there were immediately on edge. That was normal for a situation such as this, but it was his job to maintain a calm and professional environment for his people. In such a calm voice he replied. “Very well. Place all squadrons in the Task Force on ready alert. Once the ATRs drop off the last of their troopers they are to assume an overwatch position outside of the hangars of the Harrower. They are to use their ion cannons to disable any ship that exits that derelict that is not a part of our forces.” The communication and operations crew members gave their replies that they understood the order. Hades then walked closer to the communications officer.
“Ensign, has our backup responded to our communique yet?” Hades asked in a lower tone. The communications officer shook their head, not wanting to make eye contact so as not to incur any wrath that might be hiding behind the Warlord’s eyes. Hades chewed on that for a moment and all the possible reasons that communications were down. None appeared to be in their favor. He looked back down at the officer.
“Get me the Lion’s Ascent and the Bloodline.” The officer nodded as their hands expertly worked their console. A few seconds later they looked up at Hades and nodded. “Lion’s Ascent, launch your TIE Defender squadron. They will be escorting the Bloodline for a secondary operation. Bloodline, I am assigning you and the Wrath to check in on our backup force. The Phoenix, Percheron, Blood Moon, and Fenris are at their RP and have not responded to communications.” Hades looked to the crew to send the RP coordinates to the crew of the Bloodline. A Chief Petty Officer gave a thumbs up. “You should have your coordinates. Come out of hyperspace just short so if there is a jammer being used by a third party you will not suffer its effects. Do you understand?" "Yes, Sir. We will get the job done.” The Captain of the Bloodline was a seasoned officer and his confidence was sound. “Very well. Get it done. Orian out.” The comm channel was cut and Hades stood to his full height. He walked back to the forward viewport of the bridge, the stars twinkling their existence from thousands, if not millions of years ago. He began to think of all the battles that have been fought among the stars since the time when beings began to fly between them. The countless lives saved and lost in that time. Before his mind would wonder more he shook his head slightly, bringing himself back into focus. He must remain in the here and now. The clan’s Summit depended on it. Well, maybe not Grand Master Keibatsu, but the rest for sure.
Hades’s voice echoed calmly over the comms. “Summit, this is Hades. Task Force squadrons are on ready alert, ATRs positioned for overwatch. The Lion’s Ascent and Bloodline are executing their assignments. Will relay updates as they come.” His voice was calm, but beneath it lay the weight of a commander balancing countless moving parts. His gaze remained fixed on the stars ahead, eyes scanning for unseen threats.
Meanwhile, DarkHawk and the others prowled through the cavernous hangar of the Harrower. The HUD in the assassin’s helm flickered with data feeds, scanning the environment. Debris and old ship husks lay scattered like fallen soldiers. His senses were sharp, his gaze cutting through the shadows like a blade. The drag marks on the deck plates pulled his attention. He knelt, running his gloved hand along the gouges. “This wasn’t from scrap. Something big got hauled through here,” he muttered to himself.
“DarkHawk, old boy,” Ty’s voice crackled over the comms, his Duros accent laced with annoyance. “My datapad’s run dry, and this ancient old hump won’t boot. I need more bloody power to jumpstart her systems.” His frustration was as palpable as the static in the signal.
DarkHawk rolled his eyes. “So needy, Ty. Always the diva on missions.”
“Keep flappin’ that beak, mate. I’ll remember it next time you need an extraction,” Ty snapped back.
Shaking his head with a grin, DarkHawk’s eyes shifted back to the drag marks. The trail led toward a pile of wreckage from an old Hutt freighter. Using his telekinesis, he reached out. Metal debris groaned, then shifted, revealing two battered—but intact—Gonk power droids buried beneath. Their indicator lights flickered weakly.
“Found your power, Ty,” DarkHawk said, levitating the Gonks toward him with ease. They hovered beside him like dutiful sentinels as he strode toward Ty’s location.
As the Gonks settled on the deck, Ty’s grin was almost audible. “Bloody'ell yeah! That should give her a right good jump.” He wiped sweat from his forehead and began wiring the Gonks to the Harrower’s interface. “Come on, lass. Time to wake up.”
The commline chirped. Quentin’s voice was tight. “Sir, you may wanna head this way.”
As DarkHawk made his way over to Quentin and the others, his HUD feed flashed with VP’s live camera. On level two, sector three, something moved—a blurred mass darting past the probot’s night vision. Something… unmistakably alive.
The archpriest continued further into the hanger getting closer to the exit of the hanger, his lightsaber casting a erie glow around him and his party. He couldn’t shake the feeling of danger growing about them. “Be mindful apprentice” he tells Jinx seeing she too could feel it. “Ensign set up the first scrubbers here.” He orders the technician. “At once my Lord” he quickly replied as he started unloading the first of the box to get the life supports scrubbers up and running. The all to familiar hiss of a lightsaber coming to life casting a crimson red glow from Jinx’s lightsaber. Her and her master now at a heightened sense slowly circling the technician scanning their surroundings trying to find the sense of danger pressing on them. “What ever comes, don’t hold back” Quentin says to Jinx. “Yes my master” she replies
Like a lynx silently stalking her prey, Tasha'vel quietly slipped past the shuttle area into one of the corridors. Marcus had taught her well in the ways of shadow walking and her steps made no sound as she glanced about her surroundings. There had obviously been some sort of struggle taking place as she could see a small metal crate had been knocked over, more crimson dried blood stains marked the floor, walls, even part of the ceiling, and deep gouged claw marks were set deep into the walls of the corridor;yet there were still no bodies visible. Suddenly Tasha could feel a creeping alarming sensation as she quietly took a couple steps forward. She lowered herself to the right side, trying to remain hidden and quiet. Something was off and someone or some predator had its eyes on her. She could sense that whatever hellish thing attacked had just seen her. She reached carefully to her side, all of her instincts heightened as she readied to ignite her violet blade and strike whatever tried to pounce at her unaware. If its one thing Marcus taught her, it was to always assume your target already knows where you are and to always stay one step ahead. Thinking a moment, she debated on whether to throw an object using her telekinetic powers to see if the thing watching her would react to a sudden movement and noise. A thin smile played on her lips. Distractions are fun.
Eyes watched them from afar. In the cold, in the dark, hearts fluttered, feral and lost. Silently they backpedalled, away from their movement, away from their light.
Muz’s eyes closed as he felt along the edges of the universe, pulling back the fabric of reality to see what he could. The lines that connected them all, to each other, to the universe, to everything were convoluted and knotted with mystery and the detritus of age here. Was it new, or had it been happening here since the crash? He dug further, feeling for meaning, emotion, to know the minds of what was here, what would effect them. And found it.
Fear.
Muz’s eyes slammed open. He turned to see the consul moving toward the same door the Twi'lek had vanished down. A flick of the mind sent the image into the consul’s head. That what was hiding here was afraid. Had always been afraid. Generational fear, the kind that makes the unevolved parts of your brain override the rest, the drive of survival drawing them to feral depths.
But not of them.
Quentin’s saber cast long shadows down the corridor ahead, the bend in the hallway taking them away from what light had come from the hangar. His apprentice moved alongside him, silent as the grave that they all seemed to be exploring. There were scrapes in the dust ahead, drag marks where the deckplates had been wiped clean. Quentin took another step forward. he technician, meters behind, carried out his work, unaware, unable to sense what they did.
That was probably for the best, for Quentin had found a corpse.
Half bloated, the ribs splayed out like a blooming flower with the petals missing, the organs within naught but scraps and visceral blood. The eyes and cheeks had been ripped away, the bones beneath scratched and cracked. Quentin kept his saber up, analyzing the ruin of what was once a human. The clothes were scant rags, threadbare and stained. The pool of blood beneath it still looked sticky.
No. This was a recent kill.
DarkHawk stepped cautiously into the deeper part of the hangar, his senses on high alert. Anxiety gnawed at the edges of his mind—a rare and perplexing feeling for someone as disciplined as he was. He fought hard against it, steadying his breathing and trying to silence the whispers of doubt creeping into his thoughts. It was unlike him to feel this way, and the unfamiliarity made it all the more irritating.
His footsteps, though careful, were louder than he would have liked, each sound amplified by the oppressive silence around him. DarkHawk grimaced, cursing the lack of subtlety in his approach. The darkness pressed in close, and the maze of debris ahead twisted like the coils of some ancient beast. Shadows seemed alive, flickering with an unsettling cadence as the phosphor green glow of his helm’s HUD illuminated the path forward.
From Quentin’s direction, DarkHawk thought he caught the faintest sound of movement—a scuffle, perhaps, or the soft shuffle of feet against the cold metal floor. His ears strained as muffled words floated through the air. Quentin was undoubtedly investigating something. The tone of his apprentice suggested plunging further into the unknown.
Yet, the tug of curiosity pulled his gaze toward the path Tasha had taken. The darkness there was thicker, oppressive, almost alive. It reeked of something ancient, something foreboding. A low, primal dread slithered up DarkHawk’s spine as he glanced at the shadows into which Tasha had scurried. It was creepy, to say the least—a place that felt as if it had been waiting for them, lurking with unspoken threats.
For now, he pushed the unease aside. He pivoted toward Quentin’s direction, determined to confirm the source of the muffled sounds and scuffle. Only then, after assessing what Quentin and his apprentice had uncovered, would he turn his attention to the eerie void that Tasha was investigating. Every choice here mattered, and DarkHawk was keenly aware that hesitation could mean death. DarkHawk knew he was not the only one to feel death’s cold touch lurking in this dilapidated behemoth.
A flicker of movement stirred at the far end of the shadow-cloaked hangar, drawing each Sadowans’ gaze. The air grew heavy, anticipation crackling like a storm on the horizon. It was time to spill blood.
Sarthis moved quietly down the corridor to the far left of the docking bay. He was content to be off on his own, the others would only draw attention. These Jedi, or whatever they called themselves, were acceptable in a brawl but had a habit of charging first and thinking later. He stopped when he saw a slight movement further ahead, and he stopped and crouched down, engaging his camoflage system. Ahead was a widening of the corridor, with several boxes scattered in either side, presumbly a small storage area. As he strained his eyes he could make out a number of rough looking humans, with dirty clothes and long scraggly hair and beards. They appeared to be trying to remain unnoticed like himself, whether preparing to ambush or simply avoid intruders or conflict he could only guess at. It represented a problem though, stealthy as he was he could not progress past them. He also did not want to engage in conflict unnessesarily. Slowly, trying to keep his movements subtle, he lifted his communicator and began to talk softly. “Consul, this is Sarthis. I am fifty metres along the left corridor. I have encountered potentially hostile targets, purpose unknown. They appear to be hiding ahead. I can not pass them and request instructions on how to proceed.”
Back in the hangar bay Malisane watched as the Consul stood listening to the noghri’s message, the same quiet words coming over his own communicator. He felt an urge to follow and engage but he was controlling himself. He looked at <@524388230481707009> as the message ended. “Your orders Consul?”
DarkHawk stood motionless, his dark armor blending seamlessly with the shadows of the hangar. The low hum of the ship’s failing power systems was the only sound, but it was Sarthis’ report that gripped his attention. Behind his helm, DarkHawk’s expression twisted into something between confusion and disdain. Humans? Here? His voice was low and cold as he addressed the Noghri over the comm. “Sarthis, can you confirm their numbers? Are they armed? Are they making a move on you?”
Silence.
The comm stayed dead, and DarkHawk’s hand instinctively tightened into a fist at his side. He took a measured breath, suppressing the flicker of anger rising in his chest. “Sarthis, if you copy, stand by. Do not engage. We’re moving to your location.”
DarkHawk turned sharply, his voice cutting through the stale air like a blade. “Rally on Sarthis’ position. Keep a couple alive—if they survived, we need answers. Who they are, how they’re here, and what else might be crawling in this damn ship.”
He activated his communicator, his tone as sharp as the edge of a vibroblade. “Ty, keep your eyes open and watch your six. We’re heading in to investigate. If this goes loud, I’ll need that power online.”
Ty’s response crackled back with an edge of focus. “Gonks are nearly operational. I’ll handle the power; you handle the pests.”
DarkHawk wasted no time, his movements precise as he led the group into the dark corridors. The smell of decay and stagnant air clawed at their senses as they moved closer to Sarthis’ last known location. His mind sharpened with purpose. If these humans were foolish enough to cross their path, their lives were forfeit—save for the few they would spare long enough to extract the truth from their lips. A dark grin twisted beneath his helm. It was going to be a long night.
Sarthis slunk back around the corner, obscuring most of his body and keeping an eye on the targets. There was no need for additional noises out of him. There was enouogh chatter on the comms telling him not to engage enough for all of them. He dialed down the volume mid comment, lowering his center of gravity as he waited. Just in case.
Darkhawk marched through the corridors, eyes narrowing to adjust to the darkness. Others followed their consul into the dark, silently chasing the shadows into the bowels of the ship. Humans. The state of the ship was inhositable, yet humans still lurked in the corners of the ship? Darkhawk did quick maths, wondering how many generations must have passed, if they were the descendants of the original crew of the wreckage. No, it didnt bear thinking about. That was too long to even consider.
Ahead, the shadows seemed deeper, a black form slightly darker than the surrounding area. That would be Sarthis, he figured. Itchy fingers clasped around his weapon. What tales the Force would usually tell him about the next few moments seemed to fall silent, and in that quiet, he found something he had thought forsaken long ago:
Fear.