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The dark walls began to kindle slowly. Strings of bright-red inscriptions illuminated upon stone, one after the other, circling the vast room. A sound of burning flint drew louder and louder as the arcane symbols lit up, layer after layer the strange symbols seethed. Amidst the commotion, a slamming racket rang out from the entryway to the sub-basement, undoubtedly the sound of heavy metal collapsing at the top of the stairs. The way was sealed. If there was another, none here knew of it. All around them was black, and stone, and nakedness of nothing. The air itself held a stale density to it, becoming cloudier as the foreign language continued to carve itself complete. The forgotten dialect began to pulsate as if it followed the rhythm of a beating heart, flickering from black to life. The small near-polyhedronic device was still and cold until now. Once the sizzling of stone crawled to a haunting close and the flames of written oration had drawn conclusion, the archaic holocron rattled where it laid. Red line-work throbbed throughout the metal frame, just as the walls around the foundation did. The rattling of the device remained indiscriminate of who or what had touched the surface of it's magic, choosing now to release a coal hue of chalk-like smoke from the source. Incomprehensible power emanated from the object, souring any hope of this being the right time to engage what was not yet understood. With every heartbeat of illumination from the ancient scripture detailed across the walls, it became quickly apparent that the inky smoke that poured fourth from the holocron began to churn into unusual shapes. The outlines became outlandishly tall, freakishly beast-like in every sense of the word. There was four shapes in particular, identical to the Nydaks of Dathomir. In fact, they were becoming just that..