Darkhawk looked up from the battle coordinator, the holographic light bouncing off of his eyes. He had no reason to doubt the man’s intel. He had connections all over the galaxy, after all. He’d needed them. But still, he had concerns.
“Athiss?” He watched Muz as he turned the datapad around, showing him what he had received. Sure enough, the signatures from the scan indicated a subterranean facility where there shouldn’t have been one. The wisps of tunnels appeared near the southern edge of a mountain range, before coming to an abrupt halt. Was it a natural landslide that sealed off the tomb, or was it a seal from something bigger than they had thought. It didn’t matter.
Locke leaned forward, neck craning as he looked at the datapad, then settling back and shooting a look at Sanguinius. Quentin smiled and nodded. The Krath were both more than ready for an archaeologcal excursion, and the Sentinel wouldn’t mind an excursion anyway.
A durasteel finger reached down, pointing at a single name, the Lion’s call to attention unavoidable.
Vodal Kressh.
The name seemed to bore into their eyes from the datapad. They all had read about the tomb of the alchemist in his studies. The last of the Great Rival’s bloodline, a powerful Sith indeed. How he had likely been the best at the art, and how it had driven him mad enough to challenge the Sith Emperor of his day. And how, in his exile, his laboratory became his tomb. Even the rumored cultists and other traps wouldn’t dissuade them from their prize. If there was anything left in that grave, it would be theirs.
Muz just nodded, black eyes glinting with the same holographic glow. It wouldn’t be the first time that He had dragged them back to the scene of the crime. To the battleworlds of the Golden Era. But this one felt personal somehow.
Darkhawk slowly nodded back, watching his members quickly overtake the pirate’s yacht on the coordinator.
“When they are done, we’ll make our way.” Darkhawk paused, his mind racing at the thought of it. To plant Sadow boots in the Grave of the greatest rival. Darkhawk looked up, smiling.
“For Sadow.”
Malisane remained kneeling in the dark room for a time after his words had faded. The oath always brought a surge of emotion into him, they were not just idle sentiments, they were the code he had lived by through the years. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet and checked his weapons and the small Envoy satchell were still in place and then walked through the opening door into the patrol craft’s cargo bay. He passed the nearly empty area containing supplies and the covered speeder and into the corridor. He spotted the short dark shape of the astromech waiting eagerly and frowned beneath his helmet. He was in no mood for the droid’s antics. “Zero, deactivate, password herf, leth, krill.” The lights on the droid darkened and he passed it without another thought. He glanced at the cockpit, where the pilot droid would be waiting to carry out its orders, and then walked down the open ramp into the hangar. He heard the ramp close behind him, and turned for a second as the Deathshead powered up it’s engines and smoothly lifted off and left the hangar, heading back to Aeotheran.
He walked hurriedly past a few guards and technicians, who turned to look of the unfamiliar figure in the white armour with the emblems of Naga Sadow, Ludo Kressh and Shar Dakhan on the chest, and left and right pauldrons respectively, and the blaster rifle hanging from his back. Malisane ignored them and walked along to the bar, entering and seeking out the Clan leaders who ought to be around somewhere.
Locke considered the situation. A whole alchemy lab, and Macron back in the fold at the same time? What a horrible coincidence. Maybe if he was lucky the mad alchemist would blow himself up trying to tinker with one of Kressh’s devices.
Either way, Locke would try to gather what he could on behalf of Marka Ragnos - and then make it disappear. The less sith alchemy in the galaxy, the better. Who knew what madness it could unleash?
In any case, they still had to get there.
“Athiss,” he said aloud. “So how are we getting there? Taking our own ships or are we all riding in that fancy Corvette Muz has?”
Muz tilted his head a degree, looking at DarkHawk. It was official clan business after all, so they could justify taking some heavy machinery out for a spin. On the other hand…They could all take the Fallen Spear, and leave the clan fleets in defense mode. Considering the recent increase in random pirate activity in the system, it probably wasn’t a terrible idea. With the Spear’s stealth capabilities, no one who was waiting for the Clan members to leave the system would ever know, either. Still, he knew that DarkHawk was eager to see more of the new Interceptors in action. He let the one word question out, both through his lips and through his mind.
“Consul?”
The Sadow Mark VII Interceptors made a quick flyby before racing towards their destination. The starships were sleek from nose to tail, yet brutally intimidating. Their paint scheme was completely blacked out with only their anti-collision lights separating them from the darkness of space. Watching intently, DarkHawk was eager to see them go head-to-head in a dogfight. Today would not be that day, there was other business that would take priority over spectating.
DarkHawk halted his attention from spectating when Grandmaster Keibatsu’s one simple word boomed in his head. Consul?
Turning slightly to face the Grandmaster, As much as I would like to stay and watch this play out, I believe we can turn this operation over to Moff Simonetti and the fleet. I believe we have more pressing matters are at our doorstep.
Muz nodded, “The Spear is available if you like.”
“I will never pass up an opportunity to hitch a ride on the Spear my Liege.”
The two Summiters turned and began walking away, DarkHawk activated his comlink which was followed by a series of squawks. “Perdition, this is Sepros One.”
“Sepros One, go ahead.”
“Moff Simonetti, you have operational command. Summit will be boarding the Spear and heading to our destination.”
*Affirmative sir, we have your NAV data and will await for your SITREP.”
“”Copy that Perdition, happy hunting.”
The Sadow Mark VII Interceptors made a quick flyby before racing towards their destination. The starships were sleek from nose to tail, yet brutally intimidating. Their paint scheme was completely blacked out with only their anti-collision lights separating them from the darkness of space. Watching intently, DarkHawk was eager to see them go head-to-head in a dogfight. Today would not be that day, there was other business that would take priority over spectating.
DarkHawk halted his attention from spectating when Grandmaster Keibatsu’s one simple word boomed in his head. Consul?
Turning slightly to face the Grandmaster, As much as I would like to stay and watch this play out, I believe we can turn this operation over to Moff Simonetti and the fleet. I believe we have more pressing matters are at our doorstep.
Muz nodded, The Spear is available if you like.
I will never pass up an opportunity to hitch a ride on the Spear my Liege.
The two Summiters turned and began heading towards their exit. DarkHawk activated his comlink which was followed by a series of squawks. “Perdition, this is Sepros One.”
“Sepros One, go ahead.”
“Moff Simonetti, you have operational command. Summit will be boarding the Spear and heading to our destination.”
*Affirmative sir, we have your NAV data and will await for your SITREP.”
“Copy that Perdition, happy hunting.”
“They will come, Syra.” Macron stood by the one of the entryway hatch connections to Grandmaster Ashen’s ship. “I felt it. This is where we need to be.”
“The Dark Side tells you that? I mean, I can do some things.” The Arkanian looked at the Spear outside Dentaavi, attached by docking connections. “It’s an odd vessel. Like nothing I have seen before, and I’ve seen a few. Arkania gets a lot of traffic.”
“The ship is made by a species you would not know.” The Adept smiled. “Not the Dark Side telling me, as you call it. Bogan is a viewpoint. A method of channeling the Force. Some try to follow the will of the Force. Others, like the Sith and the Rakata before us, make it serve them.”
“Deep thoughts.” Syra chuckled. “It’s all a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Don’t discount yourself. I also do not believe your pleasant facade. No one survives the Sith Knighthood trials without a heart of fire and iron will.” The Sith pointed at Syra’s hip. “And a blade of crimson.”
“I suppose so. Your antique ways are inefficient to me. Sure, I carry a saber. I can use it.” She slapped the heavy blaster pistol at her other hip. “And this thing too. Whatever gets the job done and I get to go on living.” The pale-skinned woman looked up as the hatch leading to the bay opened. The Consul and Lord Ashen came through the opening. “Uh oh.”
Macron bowed and gestured to Syra Dath to do the same. “My Lords. I have seen some impressions of this place we seek. Tubing of zinc and copper, dried sanguinity, gnashing teeth, azure fumes, the usual gruesome things one would expect given the reputation of the Master associated with the redoubt. And there was something else.”
Muz looked on silently as DarkHawk spoke. “What might that be, Alchemist?”
“A crashed ship of some sort. I was unable to visualize a clearer image.”
Malisane entered the bay as the conversation happened. “Ah, there you folks are.” <@284848346672136192> <@524388230481707009> <@424911230386438160>
As Hades exits the shuttle he sees commotion in the shuttle bay. He walks over to another member of the Clan to ask what was going on.
“The Clan is moving on Athiss, Battlelord.” said the journeyman in front of him. “Are we taking the fleet?” Hades asked hopefully while observing the movement around him.
“No, sir. Stealth strike is my understanding. I believe the Consul is heading to the Grand Master’s ship.” Hades nods and waves the young man away.
Well….crap. Hades thought to himself. “I guess fleet maneuvers will have to wait.” The Battlelord returned to his shuttle Omega 7 and re-equipped himself.
“Bob, keep the shuttle secure. Monitor my frequency. The Consul wants to go to Athiss, discretely. I should be a few days.” Felinx came up to him purring as he was giving orders. Scratching behind the cat’s ear he smiled before turning to leave.
Bob waved. “Have fun storming the castle.” Sarcastic ass Hades though with a small chuckle to himself as he made his way toward Muz’s ship and the Force knows what else.
Roxas ran over to the group his helmet attached to his belt. It took him longer than he thought to get the prisoners squared away. It had been a long time since he was active in the clan and many of the troops didn’t believe he was even still alive. He had also stopped by his ship to replenish his ammunition. The Mandalorian huffed as he came to a stop and politely said “At your service my lords.” With a slight bow. He was always sure the lion due respect after their first meeting long ago when he saw what true power was with an introduction to the floor.
Malisane nodded politely to the leaders and the Alchemist, “Consul, Pro Consul, Adept. I have secured a suitable acting manager for the Dentaavi complex and am accompanying you on this mission. Would someone tell me what we are to undertake?”
He waited until <@1147585737177432077> had repeated what he had told the Summit. The Marauder nodded. “I did not have much faith in visions and dreams until the warning of the incursion of the Sigma Aliens, and that proved to be a valuable warning many lives were saved. I am content to trust the Adept’s foresight and judgement.” He turned and studied the deck plan just inside the Fallen Spear’s entrance. “If anyone needs me I will be in the meditation garden.”
The jump to hyperspace throbbed in the back of their heads as the Ship slipped toward the ancient territories of the Sith Empire. There was some trepidation there, thick in the air as the members of the clan split up to find some area of the Lion’s famed ship to hold their attention and and keep anxiety at bay.
Hades found himself standing next to Blackwind, watching the swirling blue miasma of hyperspaces from the bridge of the Autochthonian ship. Their conversation tipped from pleasantries to rather in-depth debate of fleet tactics during the rebellion era.
Roxas debated heading to the gym, where the Nihilgenia kept themselves in shape or the dojo on the private deck. He narrowed his eyes, opting to maybe just head to the recreational area instead.
Macron, familiar as he was with the ship, elbowed Kojiro and grinned. The laboratory on the Spear was usually stocked, and sometimes even had samples of something rather interesting. Giving a quick glimpse at the Silooth as it was nestled in the hangar, he made his way to the turbolifts. It would only be a brief few hours before they would be in Athiss’ orbit, if the maps were to be believed.
Darkhawk and Muz stood, watching the blur of hyperspace from the hangar bay, the mouth of the ship sealed off from the void by transparent energy fields. Ashia came to her husband’s side quietly, having changed aboard her own ship into the long warcoat and bodysuit that the clan mates were all more familiar with. He nodded at her as she placed a hand on his shoulder, then looked to the Consul.
“Two hours.”
Beneath his helm, Darkhawk grinned.
Neither of the foes wore armor or any weapons. Macron wore a simple Echani-style red jumpsuit, and Syra Dath wore the clean style of Teras Kasi. This was a rare personal “conversation” in the extensive martial arts workout area of the Fallen Spear.
“No! Strike-here!” The Alchemist tapped his side as Syra missed with a spinning kick. “The opening could not have been more clear.” Both of them rolled in sweat as they sparred. Each shifted their position. Syra stod in a firm grounded stance as Macron coiled in his corner.
“A true Sith wastes no time. There is no lost opportunity. Only Death.” Macron backhanded Syra upside her head with a loose open hand as her next foray failed.
The Arkanian licked her lips and sneered as she spat blood from her busted lips. “I can feel it, you prick.” She kicked out and shot a hard bone-crushing Teras Kasi front kick towards the Madman’s stomach. It impacted with force. “You dishonor this dojo.”
“Hagh.That one was puke-worthy.” Macron coughed hard. “Well done. Hork.” The madman wiped the puke from his lips, breathed deep and relaxed. The recent kick was written with a grunt and spittle. This was now part of the Echani conversation. Questions were asked and answers would be given in return by both parties. The Equation always solved itself in the end. The solution would be had.
“Bring it you clown,” hissed the Arkanian. “I will wipe your old (redacted) out.” The Dark Side surged within her flesh as she fought. “You are aged and stupid. The Dark Side is With me!”
The madman smiled. As she came with puissance and purpose, he understood her. Echani violence was all about a “conversation” between the combatants.
As the Arkanian attacked with a deadly hard front reverse punch to a target that had moved, the target found her almost instantly in return.
One relaxed but whip-strong hand smoothly swept the woman’s moving punch to an oblique angle, and the other snake-hand simultaneously slapped her ribs at an organ point with an open palm that quivered like water. A shock and energy was delivered directly to her livers.
Syra fell to her knees gasping. The strike had pushed her diaphragm into spasms. “Hukk, hurrgh,” As she choked Macron brushed her with one hand and pushed one point along her heart. Syra stopped choking.
“Death. Can you feel it? Remember it Sith. Right here with us, right now.” The Adept stepped back and tried to relax. “It is always with all Sith. Nothing personal. You will be fine.” The Adept stood up and clasped his own ribs. “And you did well. I am getting old. Are you ready for this mission Syra?”
The young Sith woman stood up and wiped a bit of blood from her bottom lip as her eyes turned lambent yellow. “I am. The Clan has been good to me. Before my father passed, he had medical care and was well taken care of on Sepros. It is more than Arkania would have given a disgraced scientist.”
Locke wondered around the ship. He didn’t talk to anyone or stop anywhere for long. He saw Hades and Blackwind talking, no doubt about a subject way over his head. He noticed Macron and his apprentice (he assumed) training. That reminded Locke that he hadn’t done any fighting personally in awhile. He was looking forward to the opportunity to join battle again.
He thought about his goals and personal objectives. He had decided it was probably best not to do anything too crazy on this mission. Muz would probably not appreciate it anyway and he wasn’t about to go against the GM.
Locke chuckled to himself. That reminded him of a time long ago, in the Temple of Sorrow, when he and Macron had gone at it and Muz had to step in. Now all of Locke’s allies from that time had moved on and he had since found new ones, while he was sharing a ship with Macron and Roxas now. How interesting it was, what changed and what didn’t over so many years.
He almost hoped they came at him, just for the thrill of fighting them again. His powers had more then doubled since then. He didn’t even need his allies. He was- “ugh,” he muttered to himself. “You’re just as bad as any Sith.”
He heard a half a dozen voices lecturing; Sang, Malik, Kiana, Anya. It all boiled down to one thing: you want to stop the Sith, curtail them, prevent them from getting out of hand. And yet, you’re just as mad and destructive as they. You think like a Sith, you act like a Sith. You would use people as well as any Sith.
But no, his goals were different, whatever his friends and family said. He was different.
He looked out a view port at hyperspace. His hand tightened into a fist. A smile came to his lips.
He hoped there would be fighting on Athiss. And with fighting…. opportunity.
Several Days Earlier (During Shenanigans)
The Noghri looked down at the datapad, and then back up at Consul. “Very well, Overlord, your payment has been received,” he said in his gravelly voice, “you have my services on retention for three months, as a ‘political advisor’ as you call it.” He gave a stiff bow. “As stated I will not carry out any further business for other clients without your permission, and in return I will terminate the contract and refund any due moneys if asked to do anything that breaks my own personal code. Otherwise I will follow your specific orders or another person you delegate, and will not share any details of my duties with any others persons inside your Clan or elsewhere.” He bowed to <@524388230481707009> again and left the room.
The Present
Malisane knelt in the meditation gardens, his thoughts at rest. He had found that regular meditation grounded the memories of the past and his paranoia, and the fury he occasionally felt towards people and events around him. As usual the threat to the Clan was triggering him, especially one related to his former House. He also had the concern of the personal threat of the Third Cousin, he paused for a second, Twice Removed. He had no worries for himself, but he did not want personal issues to threaten the Clan. When this was over he would seek out the former Mortis Agent and eliminate them and any support they had. He was owed enough favours from over the years to not directly need to use Clan resources.
There were also strange things going on in the Clan, something that was not entirely unusual, but specifically the presence in the Summit of the former Grandmaster troubled him. He had not been present in the Clan during much of the Grandmaster’s rule over the Brotherhood, his search for the item he had lost and his following isolation had taken up much of it, but he had heard dark, dark stories that went beyond the actions of even Vexatus or Trevarus. Whether his role of Pro Consul was part of some personal scheme, or in response to a greater external threat to the Clan than Malisane was able to be aware of, it suggested dark times ahead. He would have to keep his eyes and ears open, what was left of them.
He frowned as he sensed a presence nearby and his eyes opened. He did not replace his helmet but turned his gaze turned to the corner of the room where he could make out a slight distortion. “I know you are there, whoever you are.” There was a pause, and then the distortion formed into a short grey dressed figure in a matching cloak. Sarthis studied the Sith for a few seconds. “I find observing those of your kind teaches me much,” the Noghri said in his gravelly voice. “Observe elsewhere mercenary,” Malisane told him, “I was not aware you were onboard.” “I suppose not,” the Noghri replied simply, “I will leave you in peace.” Malisane watched him go, and then he returned to his thoughts.
“All I am saying is that while an Imperial Star Destroyer is an amazing tool for a job it is not the only tool one should use. The first Death Star was blown apart by a brat in an X-Wing. So why not a) put a lot more credits into anti-starfighter defenses on the second Death Star and b) use all of the combined fleets with the support/escort ships like Lancer-Class frigates intermixed with Star Destroyers above Endor?” Hades with his arms spread wide. Blackwind just shook his head.
“I heard the Moffs and Admirals at the time. They kept talking about luck like it was an accident. And that was for destruction of both Death Stars. They underestimated their opponent and it cost them. They had skill and were willing to lay down their life for their beliefs. No one should dismiss that so lightly.” Hades folded his arms and gazed back out of the viewports in front of him. His eyes glassed over as his memories resurfaced. The sticky tendril of fear that had found him in his squadron’s wardroom when news had come of the massive defeat over Endor. It seemed like the world was ending, at least at the time. The Emperor, gone. Lord Vader, gone. Lord Vader… he had served on Vader’s Super-class Star Destroyer early in his career. His mind could almost make out the faces of his friends on that ship with time bringing those faces just out of focus for him to make out clearly. How many of them were still there in the end?
Hades slowed his breathing and closed his eyes to bring himself back into the here and now. He opened them slowly as he returned his focus on the present situation. To his credit, Blackwind didn’t say a word. Hades turned and exited, intent to find a place to sit down, alone.
Roxas walked down the corridor, not in a rush. He took a relaxed pace as he headed for the recreational area. He didn’t expect anyone would be there, so it would be nice and quiet. Some had their fists full of conversation, other reminisced of fights past, while others plotted or even meditated. The Mandalorian on the other hand was gonna call his wife, smoke a cigar, and then take a nap in the one place no one was gonna go because they were to preoccupied to think of entertainment.
The transition from hyperspace to realspace was subtle, but they could all feel it, even after all this time. Muz Moved down the hallway toward the bridge, the door sliding open ahead of him. The planet grew in their view as they grew closer, the green and blue marble eventually filling the entirety of the transparisteel.
“Cloaking re-engaged. Any changes to the coordinates?” Blackwind’s eyebrow went up as he turned his head toward the Lion.
Muz shook his head once. Their plan would stand. Early intel had a reasonable landing zone for the large ship less than a few hundred feet from where they had believed the tunnels had caved in.
Caved in, or were sealed.
Muz tapped the saber holster at his belt as his hand casually draped over it. There was a lot that they didn’t know, and even more that the Force had been hazy about. Macrons visions, his own Farsight…all pointed in one direction.
Out of the black and into the blue, they all descended, the warmth of sunlight pouring through atmosphere upon dark green trees and grass that littered the sides of the mountain range below. The ship adjusted slightly, Blackwind’s steady hand tilting the ship as they lost altitude, smoothly descending toward their target.
Muz turned his head to the man and nodded before pivoting to leave the bridge. By the time he had made it down to the hangar, the seals would be opened and they would have made landfall. From there…
Muz smiled at the thought.
Clan Naga Sadow had returned to Athiss.
Locke waited at the boarding ramp and the ship descended. He thought back to last time he had visited here, during the Dark Crusade. So much had changed since then. Now, this world, forgotten by most of the Brotherhood, was free for Naga Sadow to pick over.
Personally, Locke was hoping they wouldn’t find anything too useful, although he always liked exploring ancient ruins. It was interesting to see what came before their modern Sith Empire. The ancients often had skills and knowledge the modern warrior could only dream of. He regretted that so much was lost for time, but maybe it was for the best. Some knowledge was better left lost to time.
As the ramp settled down, Locke descended. “Forgot how hot it was here,” he muttered, as the world’s ambient heat hit him. Why couldn’t the Sith ever use their sorcery to create a nice place to live?
He decided to take a look around while waiting for the others, but only in the area immediately around the ship.
As DarkHawk made his way back from the Spear’s armory, he could feel the ship exiting hyperspace and come into orbit around their target of Athiss. DarkHawk entered the hangar floating a very masterfully crafted set of throwing knives out in front of him. His admiration took a pause when he sensed Lord Keibatsu nearby. Watching the Dark Lord enter the opposite side of the hangar, DarkHawk made his way over to him. Further into the hangar he could see other Sadowans begin to congregate.
Within meters of reaching Lord Keibatsu, the Dark Lord effortlessly reached out through the Force and stepping through the veil of the Shaevalian’s mind. I see you found your way to the armory…
“Indeed sir. The craftsmanship on these are remarkable. I will take great pride in putting these to good use.” DarkHawk said as he balanced one of the blades on his index finger by its tip . He stowed the knives away and began walking with the Grand Master.
“Have yours or Macron’s visions found any clarity?”
The Lion provided only a subtle head shake.
“My Lord, do you believe that the teachings are accurate as to what we should expect planet side?”
With the old masters…expect the unexpected and hope for the worst.
“Then let Athiss show us her worst…”
Roxas walked down the ramp and onto the grass. The heat hit him, but it reminded him of Dxun. The sun was bright, so they had good visibility. This was his first time on Athiss and he had no idea what to expect. He was captured by the One Sith during the attack on Aeotheran. The planet still showed some scars from the war, but had regrown over a lot of it. He silently started triple checking his gear and supplies while waiting for orders.
The ramp lowered as Syra and Macron approached the exit. The Adept gestured at the Dark Eye droid that followed them as they passed by Roxas with a respectful nod. “DRK, connect with the Professor in the Silooth. Begin a full sensor scan grid, five meter scale. Start 100 meters out from the ship.” The Sith closed his helm and sealed it. He pushed his speeder bike along slowly. “I want emission and absorbtion both.”
“Hm.” Syra Dath looked about cautiously. “Haven’t been to this kark-hole before. I mean, it’s in the catalog at the Academy.” She pushed her unlit speeder bike along slowly down the ramp. “Not very clean. Too warm too.”
“Smell that, snowgirl? I don’t. A lot of people died here during the Crusades,” mused the madman as the Dark Eye zoomed off. ‘HK 22, you are to protect the two of us as your primary directive. And any of the Clan.”
“Primary as well, Master?” as the droid checked and hefted its weaponry. “I am one hundred percent changed, functional, and ready to engage in multiple terminations.”
“Secondary,” chuckled Macron. “Of course you are. I love that about you Twenty Two.” The Sith watched as Locke nosed about the perimeter. There was no love lost between them, although the Sith respected Locke in his own way. It was good to have powerful foes. And better to have them close by. Macron’s comlink blipped. “Yes, Professor?”
“The droid’s sensors have detected slightly less than normal ultraviolet emissions around wavelength 560.” The line went quiet as the Collegium Research Droid signed off.
“Well shavit.” Syra snorted quietly. “So much for that.” She looked her speeder bike over. “Hm. Might need to change the plasma motivator plugs soon. So what does all that old arcane stuff tell you?”
The Adept closed his mismatched eyes and breathed deeply. He opened them quickly. “Nothing. That which we seek as a Clan is well hidden in the Force as expected. I cannot sense it. Perhaps one of the others can if we can point them in the right direction.” The Adept palmed the sniffer probe from the side of his pack and connected it to his molecular analyzer and radiation detector. “It is not about what you see, Knight. Sometimes it is what is not seen.” The spectral readouts of the natural background radiation gamma ray wavelengths scrolled across the readout. “That is an interesting absorption line. Hmm.”
The Arkanian shrugged and jacked a powerclip into her blaster rifle and slung it over her back. She checked her heavy blaster pistol, blade, and lightsaber. “Yep. About as ready as I can be. Plenty of party favors for all.”
“Slightly elevated bismuth line, an absorption band around lead increasing in one direction. Science. I am sure you can appreciate that, Arkanian. As you say about your weaponry- whatever gets the job done.” Macron gestured to the west as others filed down the ramp. “That way about four hundred meters roughly. They used native lead and sulphide ore tailings from their metal refining to cover it. Can’t scan through it.”
Malisane was stood unobtrusively by the entrance to the ship, his helmet back on and his weapons clipped in place on his armour. This was not his mission to direct and he had no experience of this world unlike some of the others present. He was content to follow for now and see where events took them. His gaze took in the nearby Mandolorian checking his equipment, the Ragnos Quaestor nearby exploring the area, and whatever the Alchemist was undertaking. He took a bit more interest in the latter. Though his chief passion was architecture and planning cities and systems, he had always taken an interest in alchemy, even if his training on Lyspair had led to a passing grade in the exam and the unfortunate and unpleasant death of the creature he had designed and bred for his coursework. However it did not look like the other Sith needed any assistance so he remained where he was.
He frowned and looked down when he sensed something near his feet and looked down, his calm demeanour suddenly turning into anger. Near his feet he saw an insect like creature looking up at him, and recognised it as the millicreep droid that had threatened to shock him during the final moments of the confrontation with the Noghri at Mt Dakhan. He remained still, fighting the urge to stamp an armoured boot on the droid, while he prepared for a sudden and violent tekekenetic attack that would crush it. Then he heard a noise behind him and saw the grey robed figure calmly walk down the ramp and past him. After a second the droid followed it’s owner, catching him on its little legs, and with a quick jump it climbed up the noghri’s cloak, before slipping out of sight underneath.
Sarthis looked curiously around at the planet as he felt the droid flatten against his back and deactivate. He could sense an evil presence around him, more concentrated that he had felt even on the Jedi worlds around Orian. He reached down to his belt and unclipped his scanner. There seemed to be mass life form readings but nothing particularly sinister or dangerous as far as he could see, aside from those he had accompanied here. He began to cycle through various modes, expanding the search and looking for different readings of what might be around them.
She trailed after her husband to the hangar bay, their boots echoing down the corridor in unison.
‘Are you sure your intel is correct?’ She let her thoughts drift ahead of her.
Even without turning around she could sense his eyebrow raise.
As they entered the hangar bay, Darkhawk made his way toward them, a set of throwing knives floated in front of him and his eyes twinkled with delight.
Macron’s Silooth was nestled in with the Lambda. That’s all that would fit in the hangar.
‘You need a bigger ship.’ Her thoughts drifted towards her husband as if carried by the wind.
A barely audible snicker came from the Grand Master as he moved to address the Consul.
As they descended the ramp, they were met with a blast of hot air. The heaviness of the atmosphere enveloped them like a blanket.
Mostly rock and sand, a few trees dotted the landscape before them. A large outcrop of ragged stone stood not too far from where they landed. A carved pillar peered out from the ruins like a watchful sentry.
Locke stood out a ways, poking at the ground with the toe of his boot then looked up towards the pillar and then back towards the ship.
“Why does it have to be so hot?” The Quaestor shook his head with mild irritation as he addressed them.
“I take it that’s where we’re headed?” He nodded towards the pile of rock and debris that hid the pillar.
Muz nodded, “We’ll need to find a way in.” His voice was but a whisper. <@524388230481707009> <@225840973802897408> <@284848346672136192>
“Well brother, we could always get the shovels out and dig out way through,” a slight smile creased the lips of the silver haired Keibatsu as he walked upto the newly formed group. Whilst Mum was quiet, Koji had learned to pick up bits and pieces from his time spent with his family. “Or…we could get everyone to lift at once and I’m sure the way will be clear on no time. Though, I am almost more looking forward to the work gang with shovels idea more.”
He watched Muz raise a slightly bemused eyebrow, and he thought he caught a hint of exasperation from his Quaestor as two sets of gently padding feet came up behind the Keibatsu. Kojiro turned his head head slightly to take in the magnificent sight of the two predators behind him. Tu'taka and his mutated Narglarch satin their haunches, tongues out as they coped with the heat.
“Is it wise bringing them along little brother?” Ashia asked with some concern. “This heat…”
“I know. But an two pairs of eyes never hurt. Plus I won’t let anything happen to them,” he turned his attention back to where they needed to go. “With everyone gathered here I am pretty sure we could rip any passage open with the Force. We can all contribute and it’ll be done in no time.”
“It’ll probably work easily enough,” Locke interjected before Kojiro’s mouth kept running onto some Tangent. “Given everyone here is trained on Telekinesis in some way, some more than others…” His eyes darted to Muz “…it shouldn’t take anytime at all.”
“Indeed. Though could moving the boulders bring the rest down and cause further issues?” Darkhawk piped up.
“Possibly, but it’s better to try. We can have some clear and some brace until we get a better idea.” Locke ran his hand through his hair. The heat had begun to plaster it to his scalp a little. To be fair as he looked around he noted the majority of those gathered started to look the same as the beat above bore down.
“If anyone knows how to form strong barriers could even use that as a brace of sorts.” The Mad alchemist threw into the conversation. “Either way. Let’s go.”
So they did. As they approached the Sadowans spread out around the base of the pillar, each taking a chunk of the debris. Some closed their eyes, stretched, muttered under their breath to get themselves ready. A few held out hands but those trained simply waited.
“On three,” the voice of Darkhawk echoed around the group. “One, two…three!”
And the Force from the combined Sadowans was unleashed.
<@284848346672136192> <@586720783481569290> <@524388230481707009> <@225840973802897408> <@1147585737177432077>
Deep within their chests, they felt it. Resonating with their pulse, it shook their ribs, their lungs, their hearts. It rattled their teeth and buzzed in their heads. Warm, loud, but above all, strong.
The Force
Individually, they were as legends, elders of a brotherhood shrouded in darkness, devotees of a eldritch lord dead so long that even his bones were dust. Yet together, they were so much more. Their minds wrapped around each other, pulling each other up as they stood there, eyes focused on the task at hand. As they chained the primordial All into their bidding, they strained against reality itself, working at the loom of the very gods. The maneuvering to keep each other in check, the caution and distrust, the ambition washed in blood and rage; all of those fleeting concerns were silent for a moment as they united as a clan in common purpose.
The crack of the world giving way to their will echoed across their senses as so many tons of material lifted from the slope ahead of them, filtered through the invisible fingers of their minds and cast aside. Beneath the shadows of time and earth, stone and striations, it lay. The mouth of a tunnel gaped at them, smooth stone the color of Korriban’s sands chiseled into brutal figures, necks craning to the ground in eternal obeiscance as they framed the tunnel that led into the darkness of the mountain.
Their minds uncoiled from each other, breaths caught in their throats as they recovered their senses of ego, eyes blinking at the feat they had managed.
Roxas removed his helmet as he looked at the gaping hole ahead of them. He had let his mind touch the Force, to Sense his clan mates when they were linked. It made good business sense, after all, to know where they stood. His gloved hand rubbed his head, his hair moving between his fingers as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking “Y’all hate too much.”
Macron belched out laughing loudly as Locke turned to the Mandalorian. Based on their reactions, Roxas was not the only one who thought to do that. Locke blinked at him before asking. “How have you not lost count of all the people you’ve killed?”
“Good at math, I guess.” Roxas shrugged as Macron laughed louder. The others stood silently, not really wanting to dive too much into each other. Everyone always wanted their privacy and to be stoic. It was a mask, and one that was difficult to keep on when their minds connected to do such amazing feats.
The rush of collective consciousness passed. Macron laughed out loud. It was such an unusual and slightly disgusting experience. And they had all shared at least a little bit of connection. The madman felt the distinct need for a bacta bath. He shuddered in revulsion inside his battlesuit as the old fears touched him. “Pung Sha, what a rush. ”
The Alchemist touched his helm and took it off. He wiped his face and composed himself as Roxas passed by. “Mandalorian, Dealer of Death” canted the Sith by way of mutual respect.
HK Twenty Two stood nearby. “Master, I detect no living sentients to terminate.”
“Shut up Clanker,” quipped Syra Dath as she wiped her brow and looked about. “It was not like Lightsiders,” commented the Sith Knight as she gathered herself. Several more of the Clan that she didn’t know passed by as the woman stood stooped over and holding her knees. “Not that I am one, mind you,“ Syra coughed. “They talked about that Jedi pudu in the Academy. Holy crap. I mean… this was mentioned briefly in about one sentence in the Powers class. I never thought I would see it. I mean, well, feel it, like, be it.” The Arkanian shuffled her feet and looked down. “Damn.” She looked about as each of the group gathered themselves. “Who is the lady with the strange energy? It is not Sith, Darksider maybe?”
“That would be Lady Ashia, and her husband, Lord Ashen.” Macron commented. “Both are hard and ruthless, but fair in my opinion. You would do well to respect them both. She is a Sister of Darkness. Do not let your guard down around her or anyone here. Anyone. The Sith rely only on themselves.”
“But we relied on each other right?” The Akanian peered into the dark stony hole as others passed by. “Old stuff. What is it about old stuff and you folks?”
“You are not wrong, my Apprentice. The Force moves in mysterious ways. Seven before you survived and became powerful Sith. Others died. I killed one of them personally since she betrayed the Clan.“ Macron smiled. His weird eyes drifted towards Locke. It would not do to allow someone who could cause one problems to stray out of sight. “We are not like the Jedi. It is harder for us to connect as a group. Perhaps it is a weakness. Let them go ahead. We will answer questions, translate, or destroy threats as needed. Some of those glyphs look to be old Sith, or maybe even some Rakatan transcription.”
With an approval from the Consul, Sarthis approached the recently uncovered entrance to the ruins. He was aware of the jedi and their mysterious ‘force’, he had heard the stories and had met more than a few of their bretheran over the years, but this was the first time he had seen them do anything on that scale. It was unnatural to him, even if he occasionally sensed danger or clues he put it down to his natural noghri perception and his learning than any mysterious powers. He moved forward slowly, hearing the conversation behind him and ignoring it. He knew where his weapons were, ready where he needed them, and confident that he could perceive any danger he met before it perceived him back, he continued into the cave. Soon his diminutive shape and grey cloak that blended into the darkness were out of sight of the force users outside.
Malisane’s gaze went from the disappearing bounty hunter to the discussion between the Alchemist and his companions. Like the others he had felt the joining, but for him it was with a distaste he had not felt so strongly for some time. His fellow members were his Clan, he would fight beside them, run across great distance or molten lava when they were in danger, and deal with each equally so long as they served Sadow. However he felt no comfort in being close to them, sensing their thoughts and emotions, their ambitions, their scheming, their desires and perversions and their petty arrogance. He knew he had once been weak like them once, desiring wealth, power, reputation and the pleasures of the flesh. The hope for Sadow was that they would one day see the true path via service to something greater.
With a final glance at his fellow members he strode forward to follow the Noghri into the ruins.
As the Sadowans descend into the unknown, the atmosphere becomes immediately oppressive, thick with a sense of ancient malevolence. The air grows stale, carrying with it a scent of age and decay, an added attribute for being sealed for centuries. The only source of light is a dim, flickering glow emanating from sinister torches mounted on the cold, stone walls, casting long, unsettling shadows that dance eerily around the chamber.
The corridor leading deeper into the tomb is narrow, the walls adorned with ancient Sith inscriptions and ominous carvings that seem to pulsate with an otherworldly energy. The sound of footsteps on the cold, unforgiving stone is muffled by the oppressive silence that envelops the tomb. Every step taken echoes with a hollow resonance, creating an unsettling symphony of eerie noises that resonate in the tomb’s depths.
Soon distant whispers seem to reach out and entangle the newcomers, carried by unseen forces begin to play tricks on senses. The whispers are unintelligible, yet their presence adds to the growing unease. Glimpses of strange, ghostly apparitions at the periphery of an individual’s vision, disappearing as quickly as they appear. The air seems charged with a dark energy that sends bursts of dark energy at the trespassers.
The dim illumination reveals alcoves along the corridor, each housing ancient Sith artifacts and skeletal remains of those who dared to enter before. The air becomes more acrid as the group progresses deeper, a mix of dust, mildew, and an underlying scent of something unnatural, hinting at the dark rituals that once took place within these cursed walls.
The flickering torches cast long, distorted shadows that seem to move independently, creating an illusion of malevolent entities lurking in the corners. The oppressive darkness and eerie silence become almost palpable, and the very air seems to vibrate with the dark side of the Force.
Slowly and silenty the noghri mercenary made his way through the corridor, occasionally glancing at the scanner. It seemed to be having problems giving him a clear view of his surroundings, the readings fluctuating. He looked ahead. He kept on moving. Suddenly there was a flash on the scanner, and he studied the readings. There appeared to be lifeforms ahead, the scanner was still struggling to get a satisfactory reading. He kept moving forward.
Finally he saw more light ahead and crept forward. He slowly emerged into a larger area and surveyed his surroundings, making himself smaller. He was crouched on a ledge above a large chamber. There was fallen rock or masonry scattered about the floor, and what appeared to be some sort of broken tile floor with a mosaic of some kind. Shafts of light from above and torches highlighted the room in sporadic patterns, creating pools of light. There appeared to be two other tunnels or corridors leading off on the far left and right side.
He could sense movement, creatures lying in the darkness, and occasionally moving about slowly. From what he could make out they were large reptillian creatures, scaly and about two metres in length, of a kind he had never seen before. Slowly he removed his datapad from his belt and turned the camera on, focusing in on one of the creatures and recording. Finally he transmitted a small and quiet message,
“This is Sarthis. I have encountered a large chamber with an unknown reptillian xenotype. The exact quantity is unclear but I estimate between ten and fifteen. I am transmitting images. There appears to be no way of proceding without clearing the chamber. I am observing and awaiting instructions.”
Further down the corridor but ahead of the main group, Malisane heard the message and studied the transmitted images. A cold feeling of recognition came over him as he focused on his own datapad. He had spent enough time on Kangaras and other Sith worlds not to recognise Hssiss when he saw them. He continued to make his way cautiously forward, also awaiting orders from the Consul and the others to catch him up. <@524388230481707009> <@284848346672136192> <@225840973802897408> <@1147585737177432077> <@854787468817858591> <@586720783481569290> <@1171812493715308668> <@1147585737177432077>
“Darkside dragons,” commented Macron to Syra as the images flowed across his Inquisitorius datapad. “Worthy foes. I have seen some that were similar before, on Korriban.” The Adept closed his helm and drew his Forcesaber. “Prepare yourself.”
“You have been to Moraband?’ Syra drew her heavy blaster rifle and thumbed the safety stud. “Not many have.”
“Yes. Korriban to me. I prefer the old names. That Noghri is in imminent danger.” The Adept centered himself on the fire within in preparation for the coming assault.
Roxas unslung his 11D blaster rifle and unfolded the stock. He pulled the stock into his shoulder and checked his ammunition. He figured it best to keep the weapon at the ready. He knew his slugthrower in the holster was ready to go. He made a habit of keeping it ready at all times because it was the one of the few weapons in his arsenal that can’t be deflected by a lightsaber. He kept his safety on as the group moved through the dimly lit corridor. It wouldn’t take, but a split second to flick it off when he needed to fire. He didn’t prime the rifles under mounted grenade attachment. It would be foolish to use such a weapon underground.
Kojiro bared his fangs as the scents of the tunnel entered his helmet. An unfamiliar but recognisable scent filled his nostrils and a soft growl of anticipation escaped his lips. The two creatures besides him had picked up the scent as well and low throaty growls emitted from the pair to match their master.
Kojiro rolled his shoulders as his saber left his belt and wound it’s way up to his now open palm and with a small flick of his wrist the black blade danced into being. His Force imbued senses were ringing out in his head like an alarm bell and the Dark Jedi could almost feel the pull of his own animalistic nature urging him forward, even whilst his compatriots readied themselves. Kojiro was used to the urges of his body and most often he ignored them, able easily to toss them them to the side and be about his day. But here, confined in this tunnel and his own creatures feedings resonating with him…today something felt off.
Perhaps inside he felt some need to protect the Clan member that had pushed on and was surrounded. Perhaps it was simply Fierrerro biology. Whatever it was one minute the young Keibatsu was there alongside his brethren. The next the Force flowed through him, pushing his body to its limitations and he was gone. Down the tunnel at an amplified speed, beasts trailing behind him and a throaty howl escaping the lips of all three.
The hunt was on.
The tunnels stretched out before them, deep beneath the mountain, backward in time, and forward into darkness. The dust had a metallic smell, like an echo of rust that covered everything, swirling up with each bootfall. It grew dark, darker than it seemed it should with the daylight filtering through the opening only a few meters behind them.
The telltale snarl of saber ignition filled their ears as someone activated the weapon to illuminate their path. The blade cast unnatural shadows across their faces as it swept side to side, lighting the ancient angular script along the walls. Ur-kittat, the ancient language of the Sith, wove together along the lines of the stone, caked in dust and age. It was not the first time any of them had been in an ancient tomb, so that was unsurprising. But yet there was something more. Another smell, another sound, whispering behind the saber’s hum.
The blade was raised, casting the light forward as best as they could manage. Down the tunnel, as it opened up into some sort of chamber, the dull grey Noghri scout crouched, making himself small. The pregnant pause that remained in the stillness after was filled with momentary dread as the glow reached further and reflected off of reptilian eyes.
As they approached, the group found themselves facing the gnashing teeth and the scaly hides of a pack of Hssiss. These fearsome creatures were utilized by the Sith to guard their most sacred places. The beasts were a testament to the dark power that had once thrived in the tomb.
Both the Consul and Proconsul signaled for the group to halt. Muz pointed out the movements within the shadows. He spoke one word for all to hear, “Hssiss.” DarkHawk activated the Multi-Frequency Target Acquisition System (MFTAS) in his helm, surveying multiple targets with a mix of caution and anticipation. The members of the Clan stood ready for the impending confrontation.
The Hssiss, guardians of the ancient Sith tomb, harnessed the power of shadows with eerie finesse. Their near obsidian scales melded seamlessly with the darkness, rendering them nearly invisible. As Sadowan members ventured cautiously, the Hssiss slinked through the shadows, striking with predatory precision. Each attack materialized from the obscurity, leaving Sadowans grappling with adversaries that seemed to materialize from the very darkness itself. The enigmatic dance between the Hssiss and shadows made them formidable foes in the tomb’s ominous depths.
The tomb itself seemed to react to the clash of powers within its walls. Ancient Sith glyphs glowed ominously, and the air became charged with dark energy. The line between the living and the dead blurred, as if the spirits of long-dead Sith Lords were awakening to witness the intruders.
“Mind the shadows,” commented the Alchemist as he held his lit Forcesaber aloft and examined the runic writing. “The creatures use the Dark Side to create illusion and hide in the darkness. It is where they…” His statement was interrupted by a scream as one of the Hssiss swooped from the shadows and chomped down on Syra’s blaster rifle. The powerful jaws crunched down and smashed the weapon with a scattering of sparks. Syra recoiled in surprise, fumbling to draw a blaster pistol. HK 22 came running up from the rear.
Macron snarled in anger as his new Apprentice was threatened. “Rrrrarghh!” The raw emotion erupted from an outstretched hand as he lost his temper, blasting the offending lizard with a cable of azure lightning. The Dragon’s bones showed through it’s hide briefly as it was illuminated.
Macron then sprung at the stunned lizard, swinging a mighty stroke. The crimson-bladed Forcesaber slashed into the large creature. It howled in agony and turned it’s gnashing teeth towards the madman. As it snapped at him, the madman hopped backwards and raised his blade in defense. The beast was not stupid enough to try and bite the energy weapon. Macron had it’s full attention.
Syra ruthlessly blasted the creature from behind with her now in-hand heavy blaster pistol as HK 22 opened fire on it as well. Her shot was precise and hit the weakened creature in an ear orifice. The shot went directly into it’s brain.
HK 22 pumped a volley into the twitching corpse for good measure. “This reptilian has been terminated, Master. Switching to infrared view.” The assassin droid quipped sarcastically, “Droids are not affected by illusion of course. If I did not know better, I would say you actually cared about the Arkanian. Touching”
“Watch yourself droid.” Macron steadied himself and switched out lightsabers for his Elder lightsaber. It snapped on with a highpitched hiss and whine, the orange light spilling from it to illuminate the area. “Syra, You failed. You allowed yourself to be taken by surprise, Knight. You should be dead. Ten years ago, I would have killed you myself.” Macron frowned under his helm and exhaled as the sounds of battle echoed from up ahead. “Still, these are different times and I am not the same teacher I once was. Those particular old ways of Sith training are not efficient. I saved your life. Do not let me down in your training.”
The Arkanian nodded. “Thank you, Master. I won’t. You and this Clan have treated me better than most, and I am grateful. We should get moving, the others might need help.“
"That’s the spirit. Sith do feel camaraderie. Come, Twenty Two.‘
The shadows would play tricks on you in the darkness, even more so in a place strong in the dark side. Macron’s lightning had slightly lit the room before he and his apprentice had silenced their foe. The team continued on their path watching their sides for more attacks. The light Roxas was using barely cut through the darkness. It was fully charged, but it would never be able to provide enough illumination to cut through the darkness of the Force. There was a slight growl and the Mandalorian readied himself. A Hssiss leapt from the shadows toward him, but his rifle was at the ready. A flurry of blaster bolts hit the beast, but were ineffective. He quickly stepped back to gain a small amount of distance as he dropped his rifle, the sling catching it and keeping it still within reach. His orange lightsaber howled to life like a wild animal thirsty for its prey. The scaley creature swiped at its target, but the Horseman of War brought his blade forward fast and cleaved the beast’s arm off. It slammed to floor with a thud, the wound cauterized by the heat of the blade. It writhed around screaming in pain. The area was saturated with the dark side and it made it easier for the Mandalorian to calm upon the Force. It was something he didn’t do too often, but it felt appropriate here. He outstretched his arm and a bolt of lightning cracked louder form his left hand. The crackling echoed in the chamber as the electricity caused the beast to twitch. The bones in the animal’s body would flash in and out of visibility, but he didn’t let up until he saw smoke come from the creature’s mouth. It was dead. He took his rifle off and slung it to his back feeling it wouldn’t be useful on the hssiss seeing as it didn’t harm this one. His lightsaber would be his choice for the time being.
.
Roxas pivoted, his saber casting an amber glow in the tunnel as he admired his handiwork. Something crept up his senses, hiding along the periphery, as though his mind could see it but his eyes didn’t recognize it just yet. He dipped his helm, changing the field of view through the narrow slit of the Mandalorian helmet, eyes darting. There.
The knight shifted her weight, the white of her hair, garb….well, everything a stark contrast to millennia-old dust and stone. Syra curled a lip, her eyes focused on the tunnel ahead. “Master, are you seeing this?” Macron shifted his gaze from the dead hsiss, looking at her with a questioning tilt of the head as Koji stamped forward, the loud bootfalls echoing in the narrow corridor.
“Well, aren’t you just adorable?” Koji admired them from afar, the eyes glowing with intelligence…or was it rage…from further down in the dark. The shadows seemed to swirl around them, but he knew their form all too well. Much larger than the ones he had seen in some time, their musculature more well defined, their tails longer, more whiplike, and with something else at the end that he did not recognize. His mouth formed the word in the Ur-kittat for the tomb guardians of the ancient Sith, the harsh tones and severe consonants seeming to create a reaction in the beasts that glowered at them.
“Tukata.”
“Sith hounds.” Macron smiled beneath his helmet as he regaled his apprentice. “Alchemically modified beasts set to prevent intruders… Each lord had found new and innovative ways to craft their own specific breeds to their own liking. Vicious. Intelligent. Wonderful.”
Syra braced her back leg as she listened to her master speak, unwilling to take her eyes off of them as her mind tried to reconcile what she could and could not yet see in the dark. “But you’re Sith, soooo…”
Macron smiled. “Yes, but…”
Koji’s own beasts clawed at the stones, awaiting their master’s order, a glint of fear behind their actions that made him want to soothe them. “We’re not their Sith.”
There was only a heartbeat before they had closed the gap, midnight ichor dripping off of teeth the size of daggers as they lusted for purchase in their flesh.
Their fangs bared in a vicious snarl.
Without hesitation, DarkHawk ignited his lightsaber, the crimson blades casting an eerie glow in the darkness. Clanmates followed suit, their weapons humming to life as they prepared to face the oncoming threat.
The Tukata lunged forward, their claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. Sadowans moved with practiced agility, a kaleidoscope of lightsabers began striking at the creatures with swift, precise attacks. But the Tukata were relentless, their numbers and ferocity proving to be a formidable challenge.
DarkHawk knew the herd needed to be thinned quickly if they were to survive. With a swift motion, he disengaged his lightsaber and activated his customized energy bow. Drawing back the string, he unleashed a barrage of energy arrows, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The Tukata howled in pain as the energy arrows pierced their thick flesh. Still, they pressed on with savage determination.
“Ah shavfock!” Syra Dath yelled as she opened up with her remaining heavy blaster pistol against the Tukata that confronted them. “What the hell! Frack this thing!” The Arkanian Knight stepped aside in an alcove and maneuvered her shots to her teams advantage. Her heavy blaster pistol got hot as she pushed it hard and hammered the bolts out. They seemed to have little effect other than to annoy the Sith Hound. “I am not ready to die, and you can suck tibanna and my ****!”
HK 22, always the professional killer, moved into the darkness and suppressed it’s noise signature. As Syra yelled and shot bolts the assassin droid calibrated it’s heavy blaster rifle. Just as the Tukata charged Macron the droid opened up with the heavy blaster rifle on full automatic. Twenty Two gave a full-on repeater rifle stream on full-go into the Tukata.
The massive beast turned towards the droid’s fire stream. It appeared to be taking damage and to be highly annoyed. These Sith Hounds were huge and seemed to have resistance against blaster fire. The Hound seemed about to crunch down on the assassin droid.
As it was distracted, Macron dashed in with a Dark Side burst of speed and struck it in the backside with twin hyposyinges. One injected a toxin that disoriented the beast, and the other drew a sample of the Tukata’s blood. “Now bitch,” chuckled the madman as he ignited his Elder lightsaber. The Sith Adept girded his flesh with as much energy as he could muster, and took several strikes to finish off the Tukata. It was a gruesome and somewhat sad scene as Macron screamed in anger and beat the beast down slowly while it was at a disadvantage.
While Macron beat the Tukata to death another ran out of the darkness at Roxas, but the Mandalorian was ready for it. He swung his orange blade, but the beast evaded before running at him again. The Mandalorian brought his lightsaber around fast slicing the animal. It screamed in pain as it hit the floor beside the Horseman of War. He didn’t strike to kill, but had aimed to wound. It rolled and writhed, howling in pain with its freshly removed limbs laying next to it. The Mandalorian turned to the beast and ignited his flame projector to set the tukata ablaze. The animal screeched as it began to roast. It’s soon to be lifeless corpse twitched, rolled, and hopped around before falling lifeless to the floor. The flames of its body granting more light in the darkness and making the room more visible.
The smell of burning flesh was pungent to say the least. As the flames from the slain beasts flickered the Sadowans stood ready waiting for another wave of attacks. Surprisingly those attacks did not come forward, at least for the moment. Roxas intently watched as Macron joyfully took blood and spinal fluid samples from one of the Tukata’s. The madman continued his on scene autopsy and removed the beast’s heart from its chest. “This will make for fine research” he squawked.
The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows upon the walls, revealing more intricate carvings depicting scenes of Sith triumph and treachery. Grand Master Keibatsu pointed to his left, another passage leading further into the tomb. ‘Let’s move out folks, stay at the ready, these ones were certainly the first line of defense.” DarkHawk instructed. The group formed up and headed deeper into the tomb.
With each twist and turn of the labyrinthine corridors, the sense of foreboding intensified, yet the Sadowans remained resolute in their plight. Among them stood warriors of unmatched skill, their spirits undaunted by the perils that lay ahead.
As they pressed onward, their senses keenly attuned to any hint of danger, the passage led them to a seemingly dead end. “Damn it!” DarkHawk growled.
“This cannot be right, it makes no sense. There must be another way.”
“There is.” Muz’s voice thundered in DarkHawk’s psyche.
Guided by the whispers of the Force, Grand Master Keibatsu sensed a hidden passage concealed within the shadows. With a silent command, he motioned for his companions to stand ready as he approached the wall, his hands outstretched in search of the hidden mechanism that would grant them access to the secrets that lay beyond.
After moments that felt like an eternity, Muz’s fingers brushed against a subtle indentation in the stone, and with a deft twist, he activated the mechanism, causing the wall to slide open with a low rumble. Beyond lay a winding staircase descending into the depths of the tomb, its darkness swallowing the feeble light of their torches.
“Onward.”
With a silent nod to the Grand Master, Adept Sadow led his clanmates into the unknown, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence of the tomb. Driven by their insatiable thirst for knowledge and power, each step brought them closer to the heart of darkness, their resolve unshaken by the countless perils that lay in wait. For in the heart of darkness lay the key to unlocking untold secrets of the Sith, and they would stop at nothing to claim it as their own.
The noghri hunter followed the group, content to not scout ahead for once. He was tired and a little jaded following the fight against the strange lizard like creatures. He had planned on slowly making his way around and past them alone when the large dark jedi had turned up in his clear and visible white heavy armour. Despite Sarthis attempts to keep him quiet, the dark jedi had thrown caution to the wind and attacked. The noghri thought the vision would remain with him forever of the human ripping his helmet off, roaring and firing his jetpack, sending him straight into the middle of the clearly surprised creatures, and the resulting force detonation scattering them before he laid into them with his azure weapon.
The noghri had briefly considered leaving him to his fate, when the resulting aftershocks had caused the ledge he was crouching on to collapse, causing Sarthis to stumble down and join the melee unwillingly. The resulting fight had been short and brutal, more of a desperate skirmish than the planned actions Sarthis preferred.
The height of the battle and the source of much of the noghri’s irritation was the sudden and unexpected arrival of the dark jedi’s astromech droid with his heavy weapons, and the resulting partial collapse of the ceiling. The downpour of trapped rainwater had helped extinguish much of the flames though, and the noghri and the droid had managed to dig the dark jedi out. With his helmet retreived and the droid dismissed back to the Fallen Spear in disgrace, the dark jedi had lead the noghri off to catch up with the others. Sarthis was now seriously wondering if he had quoted too low for this assignment, and if three months would turn out to be longer than he expected.
Slightly ahead Malisane was feeling satisfied after the fight, though he would look at Zero’s programming when he returned to Mount Dakhan.
Claustrophobic.
The steps wound round themselves in an ever tightening spiral as they led down into the dark. Koji paused, his pets having issues with the worn steps as they moved. The walls grew closer on each side, polished sand stone dropping aeons of dust as thier shoulders brushed up against them. DarkHawk paused, the consul tilting his head to ensure the safety of those who followed him down into the deep. Macron cackled about something to his apprentice, the mirth in his voice seeming to cover for the mild anxiety that they all seemed to feel. Every step down seemed to bring the walls closer together.
It made sense from a tactical point of view, a filter to narrow any groups down to single file. It would be easier to defend on the other side. Easier to slay any interlopers. Roxas checked the gas levels in his pistol, the lights on his weapons syste reflecting off of the t-shaped visor of his helmet as he checked the other systems. Hopefully, the steps wouldn’t narrow too much further, and close off any windows to take a shot.
There. It festered, like a wound in their heads, throbbing with their heartbeats.
“You feeling that?” DarkHawk growled. It was less a question than it was a confirmation that he felt it too. They had felt this sort of thing before, the pressure behind their eyes, deep within sinus cavities and across memories that all had tried to forget. The hiss of Macron releasing some manner of gas inside his own helmet to help him dealw ith the pressure punctuated the Noghri’s confusion as he lurked, his eyes darting to his normal employer.
“Rhak-skuri.” The ur-Kittat word was uttered low, the voice of the Lion of Tarthos resonating in the stairwell. Confusion bloomed among some, and fear among others. The image flung from the Lord of the Krath into their heads, the dream-singers already brutal and cruel before being subjected to whatever the ancient Sith Alchemist had done to them.
A faint waft of cool air blew up at them from below, those without helms feeling the fresh air and concern as they continued, the door ahead coming into view. Thick bands of iron held timbers together, the door swinging inward, toward them, further confounding their plans. DarkHawk smiled, beneath his mask, looking back at the assembled force from the Ancient Clan. After all, they hadn’t come all this way for nothing.
As the members of Clan Naga Sadow approached the entrance to the tomb of their Sadowan rival, a palpable tension filled the air. The power of the dark side surged around them, its presence a familiar yet foreboding sensation that resonated through their very beings. Memories of past trials and tribulations flooded their minds, urging caution as they stood before the imposing entrance to the tomb.
The entrance itself was a testament to the ancient power contained within the tomb. Thick bands of iron encased the timbers, holding the door together with an ominous weight. As the door swung inward, creaking on its ancient hinges, a rush of anticipation mingled with trepidation washed over the group, further confounding their plans.
Cautiously stepping into the darkness beyond the threshold, DarkHawk activated his helm’s night vision capabilities. They all stood in a dome shaped vestibule, the HUD flickered violently, not able to sustain a locked signal on the environment.
“There are sequences of old glyphs, however this depth is causing interference to comlinks, can’t make out much” he growled.
The interference is not mechanical in nature. Lord Keibatsu’s voice rang loudly in their minds.
DarkHawk could only identify two of the glyphs before the HUD displayed “No data-Lost Connection.” “Khar Delba and flagship?” DarkHawk said looking back over his shoulder.
Before anyone could respond, the tendrils of the Force constricted unabated around them. They were greeted by a scene of eerie grandeur. The air was thick with the scent of age-old secrets, and the walls seemed to pulse with a dim, otherworldly light. Hieroglyphs adorning the walls, now aligned to tell tales of conquest and betrayal, of power sought and lost.
Pressing forward, the members of Clan Naga Sadow moved with a cautious reverence, their senses alert for any sign of danger lurking in the shadows. Each step brought them closer to the heart of the tomb, where their most rival of nemesis awaited.
As they delved deeper into the depths of the tomb, the very essence of the Force seemed to grow more potent, guiding them toward their ultimate confrontation. With steely determination, they pressed on, ready to face whatever trials lay ahead in their quest for power and redemption.
Roxas had taken the rear and followed his clan mates further into the abyss that this tomb seemed to be. He felt cold, but not from the temperature, it was the sting presence of the dark side of the force giving him the chills. He could tell the room opened up some, so he holstered his slugthrower and lifted his rifle. He had his chest light and helmet lights on, but dim to not blind his comrades if they turned around. His visor on the other hand was constantly scanning. He occasionally would turn around and walk backwards to check their rear and make sure nothing was sneaking up on them. If nothing else this place had gotten more eerie and ancient as they moved. Everything was covered in thick layers of dust and the air was extremely stale.
The ethers twisted, a scab on the psyche that festered and fell off, revealing raw nerves. They seemed to congeal, half visibile in the disturbed dust of what used to be a lab. If you squinted, you could make out something that used to be, tendrils that used to be fleshy draping from the corner of its lips, its chin.
“Good, more subjects.” The voice rattled through them all before a wind that was not there scattered the vision to the corners of the room, mirthful laughter echoing loud enough to knock centuries of dus from the stone rafters.
Muz shifted his weight and pivoted his hip. Those who had fought alongside him before feeling the sense of dread as they recognized him lowering his center of gravity. He expected an assault. fingers writhed in arthritic rote as he twisted his mind through the eldritch patterns. To what end, few could guess. As the phantom laughter subsided, the Lord of the Krath nodded at the rest of them.
“Kressh…” The name fell from his lips and scraped across their minds. The reaction was instantaneous, the sensation of being watched, of having all of the attention swarmed the senses.
“Ahhhh, yes.” The voice came from everywhere around them. “I smell… Korriban on you all.” A wet sound, like lips dragged across rotting teeth, punctuated the words. “And the reeking of…him.” The next sound seemed derisive, phlegmy, like a sort of spitting cough. “Generations of maggots later, after your forebears supped on the rotting corpse of a failed emperor, you’ve come to me, and for what?”
Muz’s eyebrow shot up, his black eyes darting from DarkHawk to Macron, then to Roxas, Koji and Malisane.
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