The Eternal Vigilance (The Maw)

[The Archivist]

The Maw

_______________________________

 

 Laughter echoed maniacally throughout the hallowed halls of the abandoned Jedi vessel. The multi kilometer vessel hung suspended in the void near a thousand black holes. Beside the Eternal Vigilance, seemingly snuggled in its embrace was a singular corvette of corellian make, its orange striping and grey paint marking it a vessel of the Jedi Order. Its engines were dark as the midnight oceans of manaan, its white docking tube extended to the Eternal Vigilance looking for all the galaxy like an embryo, tucked into the womb of that great Jedi Vessel.The entire Jedi training ship was devoid of power and light save the archival room where a single still light flickered. The pale green light of an emergency glowrod illuminated rows of holocrons spread out in arcing circles in which sat a frail old man. His face streaked with lines of age, and there were tears upon his cheeks. The holocron in front of him snapped open, its own red light mixing with the pale green.

 

He sighed, bringing an end to his laughter and letting the sound of shuffling feet and clicking mandrills take its place. He stood, bathed in the red light, and gestured to one of the lurking shadows. 

 

“Come children, we have much to learn.” 

 

_________________________________

 

HAZARD ZONE 

Danger Level: High

[The Archivist]

The light of a hundred holocrons flickered as the Archivist listened to the tune of the force. The chittering of the Subjects rose and fell like a dismal chanting tune. The force moved heavily through them as the sound of distinct footfalls approached where the old man sat stooped over the large pyramid of an ancient holocron. 

 

Master. The force stirs us. A dark one approaches.

 

A laugh returned to their wavering voices.

 

The first of many come to take my prize.

[The Archivist]

The Maw was oppressive to the outside galaxy, and the Eternal Vigilance sat in the middle of a slew of black holes.

 

"Show yourself..."
 

To the erstwhile Dark Jedi, there came only the distant shuffle of feet towards him. The ship was silent, only vague emergency power reaching the edges of the ship where the docking ports were. 

 

Suddenly the force stirred and a voice could be heard, as if carried on the wind to the fallen Jedi Knight. Sounding guttural and echoed from a dozen individual voices whose vocal chords had not been used for a decade. 

 

“Ah the first….” 

 

More feet dragged their way towards him. The dark side reaching out like tendrils from the center of the ship and inhabiting shambling forms of the dead that walked. 

 

“Come my servants will guide you to the Library. I await you there…”

 

The dark side surged again, heavy and oppressive.

“Fynn”

[The Archivist]

The voice was rambling, slow, distracted, as the shambling hordes escorted the fallen jedi to the centre of the ship. 

 

“Are you truly not Fynn Relmis? A miscreant shadow of him perhaps, but the kernel remains. Hidden by this terrible rage. Come now Baron, rage is for children and primitive peoples!” 

 

Laughter cackled from a thousand throats. 

 

“You see this vessel was built upon the heart of another Jedi vessel, stolen from its burial in the outer rim. It’s very bulkheads reek with death. Generational Death. It is only right that I should bring the living dead here to enjoy their temple. I serve other masters than the Sith or the Jedi. They are nothing compared to the power of the true force.” 

 

Upon entry to the great library he could see a wizened old man sitting upon a simple wooden chair, surrounded by holocrons, and a shimmering discharge of the force. The dark side was heavy in the room, and the unrecognizable man was very obviously ancient beyond his years. The nexus in the maw was feeding the terrible power that filled the room and bid the dead to walk. Behind the man stood three in very old armour. Unmoving.

 

“This ship is not something to be claimed. You are one against a Legion. The engines cannot be powered by the force alone, they miss their key which is being brought to us by the Jedi.” The man’s pure white eyes seemed to stare off into nothing, as if seeing through different eyes. "Some which you may have known in your past life." A deep wracking cough shuddered through the old man. “Though if you wish to serve a Dark Lord, there are treasures enough here that you may have.”

[The Archivist]

The laughter echoed again in a raucous cacophony of rotted throats. Two voices were not heard, for the Archivist was looking at his dismembered thrall with what almost appeared to be pity. His expression softened as he turned back to Kern, portraying a world of sadness in a single look. His Legion began to converge around Kern, their voices echoing a thousand different words, some hands empty, some holding blasters, or other implements they may have died with. The Pure white eyes of their master blinked and the sorrow was gone, replaced instead with a look of disgust. 

 

“Listen to yourself, you are no Sith Lord. You act like a child who only wants his dessert, throwing a tantrum with little restraint or consideration. You are nothing more than a Dark Jedi.” 

 

He shook his white head and stood, leaning on a long staff of black metal. 

 

“You know nothing of the Sith. Those Lords who once carved their galaxy out of a million worlds. They did this.-” he extended a frail hand. “-With restraint, with patience. It was only when they gave into the base instinct of greed and power that they fell from their grace. Until you learn those lessons you will never succeed.” 

 

His voice became solemn. And the force moved heavily. Rooting Kern’s feet to the decking. 

 

“So will you fight and die, or will you learn your lesson?”