The soil crunched under Alexander Anderson’s boots. He was a tall, lean man with sharp facial features. The equite, known as Xander, had a fair complexion and dark shoulder-length hair which he kept unkept, in contrast to his sleek military uniform, which he kept immaculately clean.
“They couldn’t have sent Zentru'la or something for this?” he silently muttered to himself as he looked around.
The camp Xander had been sent to was on a moon’s surface. It was illuminated by the light of distant stars and the glow of nearby gas giants. It was barren, rocky, and dominated by craters, jagged cliffs, and a faint layer of dust that seemed to cling to everything.
The Children of Mortis have hidden their base deep within the ruins of an ancient Kyber temple, long abandoned and half-buried beneath the lunar surface. From above, little is visible beyond the crumbling remnants of old stone towers, half-toppled and eroded by time. The few visible structures are covered in a fine, gray dust, their inscriptions barely legible. Dark entryways lead to underground passages, where the true base is hidden.
Surrounding the base are automated defenses and sentry drones, continuously patrolling the area to detect any unwanted visitors. The camp on this desolate moon serves as a concealed fortress, repurposed from the past for a foreboding future.
Xander’s mission, as instructed by the Consul, was to retrieve a large box containing an ancient Sith relic if he wanted to continue his life of debauchery on the clan’s pay.