Korriban

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Karys listened with a profound respect as he took in all the overlarge Hutt said and spoke of. It was true he desired war...lusted perhaps for it even, but such was where he felt at home amidst the chaos and fury of battle. He fathomed in some way Sheog lusted in a similar fashion for knowledge.

 

As the spectre of what he could become took form, Karys stood awestruck and yet understood the intent all the same. This was him. At least what he could yet be, however he was undeterred...and determined he would not allow himself to become a monster even if he was a sith. He would show restraint where possible.

 

As the scene ended, Karys considered what was said and the acene he had seen. He had much to consider.

 

However he was pulled from thougth when the young girl, Sheog's aid Hayley came to him and beckoned he follow her lead. It appeared he had a new task, to travel to Myrkr and do battle there. From what he recalled the planet was home to the ylsamiri that blocked the Force and Vornskr's which hunted them, the thought brought a tinge of excitement.

 

It was worthy challenge.

 

As Hayley spoke he replied as the two walked. As it happened he was somewhat aware of her task due to overhearing what was said. His acute ears having picked up on the fact.

 

"Perhaps, but I would have it no other way. I recall a quote I was once told. Every battle you fight, is an opportunity to find your weaknesses and make them your strengths, and a opportunity for glory in the overcoming of them. The greater the obstacles, and the greater the challenge...the better the victory when such odds are defeated. Regardless of if we survive or not it will be an honour to fight alongside you Hayley, to whatever end awaits us."

 

Karys hated to admit it but during the short time Sheog and Hayley had been on Korriban, he had become fond of the girl, her humour in even the darkest moments was pleasing and so hoped she did not die...in fact he would make certain of that. He hoped. If anything he saw this as a opportunity to get to know her a little more, what made her tick and what story did she have. The shuttle ride at least would provide such a chance to ask if she was willing to indulge him, it would be a long ride otherwise. He thought on it as they entered the craft.

[Sheog the Mad]

As the masterfully insane Hutt watched the two meander away towards his luxury shuttle, he felt a slight burning rise in the chambers of his third heart. Last time he had let the youthful child in the care of another, the fallen angel had tried to rape her. He mused to himself his careful thoughts, using one oily finger to dig a slightly digested bit of Caracal Cake from the corner of his gaping maw.

 

<

 

With a rattling surge, the Hutt expectorated the chunky morsel of Caracal Cake like a emotionally unstable teenage girl desiring to purge herself to become desirable to the Sabacc player that would eventually leave her a single mother after taking his own life with a hacksaw in the restroom of a Mujabee’s during their second anniversary, apparently to escape the constant squalling of the infant. Observing the half rotting lump in the palm of his hand, strings of spittle connecting it like webbing to all of his fingers, the Hutt was overcome by his own Gluttony. Its taste was fetid upon his waggling tongue, crumbling into a mixture of slobber and mold before he licked his palm clean. With a grunt of satisfaction, the Mountain of Hunger turned back to his temple, to work on one of the many projects his demented mind had spun into partial reality.

__________________

 

“Honor is for the Living. Dead is for the Dead.”

 

The young girl turned her eyes towards the Massassi and caught his gaze. Within them, Karys would watch the hazlenut stains of her iris corrode into a swirl of crimson and gold, the tale of the corrupting Dark Side. Her smile was soft upon her alabaster features, interrupted only by the dusting of freckles that passed across the bridge of her nose. Fieldgrey’s voice set a power within her words, an undertone that hinted to the wickedness that lay beneath the placid surface of her mind. All humor had drained from it, sucked into the insanity that was the Dark Side

 

"You might desire an honourable death Massassi, but I survive. At any cost.”

 

She closed her eyes for a moment, and the darkness lifted from her small frame, as if a storm had passed upon the mountains and light once again shown through.

 

“To our master’s ship then…”

 

The landing ramp of The Fox lowered as they approached, revealing a small cargo bay, occupied by an oversized bed that enveloped the entire space. It had blankets of scarlet, with a duvet of charcoal, and at least half a dozen pillows of various shapes. As they walked past the bed, the autopilot lifted them from the surface of Korriban, and into the expanse of Space

[AVATAR Kain]

A large squadron of myriad starfighters pulled out of hyperspace like the opposite of what Qaela's lovers used to do. Their instructions were simple: avoid engagement and wait until they were contacted. If needed, the Sith temple was available for refueling and replenishing of rations and supplies, however they were to mostly remain mobile and in formation in space to facilitate combat readiness at the drop of a hat.

[Delta73]

A heavily encrypted message arrives for the Hutt Sith Master from his old friend Delta.

 

 

"Operation Hammerfall has begun, target Bothawui. Feel free to exploit the results of the destruction of the Bothan Unity Council."

 

[Exodus]

The cold black rush of the F8 Lightning model blinked into the beautiful expanse of Korriban space. The machine was exquisite, Exodus admired the craftsmanship of the vessel as well as the adaptabilities it provided, there was a keen sense that this ship was designed to compliment his very own style of combat. He had found himself so moved by the artistry that he escaped the chance to fall to slumber and rest on his journey. The HUD on the Lightbreaker ignited once more as it did back on Carida, except this time, the masses that surrounded his vessel were identified as friendlies. Exodus refashioned the armored harness across his forearm slowly, the tighter the better, and nonchalantly lifted his attention to see what the disturbance was.

 

• “Lightbreaker. Identify your Cargo.” The voice was cruel and echoed through the console.

 

 

Exodus searched the magnitude and number of starfighters with his own eyes, the look of bold audacity carved into every feature of his face, then returned his focus to fastening the light armor he was dressed in. There was just one buckle that seemed to catch his nerves, every damn time. In his head however, a photographic illustration of the types of ships that surrounded him were being dissected one by one. Defenders, Interdictors, and K-wings. All were enmeshed but thoughtfully assembled in aggressive formation. “Seventy-two.”

 

 

• “Darkblade Package secured friendly, stand down.” The system responded briskly, and Exodus silently approved.

 

 

The AI manifest of the ship (Lightbreaker), complied with the protocol set in place for the starfighter contingent to follow, and then made an immediate pivot towards entry of Korriban. The swarm of starfighters overhauled their formations without further questioning and formed up on the slowly measured lead of the Lightbreaker. Perhaps it was wise not to attempt to address what the men could only guess was the Dark Lord of the Sith, sitting hand-over-fist in the cockpit of the most powerful ship here. There were no shared details about the operation, but the men were conveniently disciplined enough to know better than to pry. The dangerous assemblage increased their acceleration no sooner, and broke into the veil of the planet Korriban, returning home at last.

[Sheog the Mad]

The Lord of Madness leaned heavily on the operation table, up to his flabby elbows in the fragrant intestines of a Tuk’ata queen, mulling over a small bit of fascia in his gullet. The flesh of the Tuk’ata would make a wonderful meal, flame seared with a Red-Wine Reduction, the overlarge Hutt schemed, designing a full course around the beast, before remembering he needed to design a new sub-species for integration into the Sith military not into a meal.

 

<>

 

A clatter shook his concentration as a Sith apprentice ran into the room, knocking delicate scientific equipment all across the sterile tiles. The Hutt stared at the incompetence in horror as the Sith began to stammer

 

“Mastt-ttt-ttter-”

 

The Hutt glared lightsabers at the man, a hunger-fueled rage beginning to blaze hot within his mind

 

<>

The Hutt bit back the rest of his frustrated insult, feeling immediately horrid about mocking a person with a disability. The Sith began to hyperventilate

 

<>

 

The massive Hutt crossed the operating room, propelling himself forward on his slime with a few strokes of his incredibly muscular tail. He places a gore stained hand across the man’s face, forcing him to breath through his nose

 

<>

 

The Sith Apprentice’s breathing slowed as he found his center, his eyes still wide behind the Hutt’s gigantic palm. Sheog took away his hand, admiring the bloody handprint on the young man’s face

 

“Something has taken control of our fleet, utilizing a priority Dark Lord command…”

 

The Hutt’s heavy brows folded in concern, and he wiped his hands on the lime-green apron he wore, covering the writing “Kiss me I’m Dathomiri” in chunks of refuse and blood. He activated a priority comlink from the nearby wall-console, patching him through to the cockpit of Exodus with a hologram of his massively flabby face

 

<>

 

The Hutt tried to think of something somewhat funny, while crossing his fingers, hoping whoever had the Dark Lord priority codes was not a Dooku knockoff named Shadowlord. He stared at the blank screen in hope of seeing a return image

 

<

[Exodus]

The mainframe of the Lightbreaker illuminated with a well-padded face not easily forgotten. Exodus examined quietly for a moment as the words broke over the comlink, a quick hush followed the welcoming words of the Hutt. The calm was necessary to validate just who he was about to reveal himself too, and then the authenticity sank in with the comical expressions that the Mad creature digitally conveyed. “Machine, show him.” The vessel obeyed immediately and activated the visual transmitter to reveal the Dark Lord reclined comfortably, laid back regardless of poise or regal disposition.

 

 

• “You’ve lost weight, Sheog Anjiliac Diresto.”

 

The pronunciation of the name breathed coolly from the metal of his mask, spoken as if addressing pure-blooded royalty. “Pleasure to you see you again, old friend.” The Dark Lord pressed his sheathed finger against the left side of his armored half-visor until the metal puckered in on itself and fell into his hands. His long dark hair danced disheveled across the skin of his strong cheekbones and the impressions of the dark side was now more than blatant across his features. His mesmeric grin was as sinister as ever, his countenance carried a wholehearted malevolence, and his once bloodless flesh now carried an adumbral blush to it. The pressure of the starfighter breaching the atmosphere of the planet kicked in with timely fashion, soon Exodus and his detachment would feel the sacred land of Korriban beneath their feet.

[Sheog the Mad]

The overlarge Hutt’s crimson eyes widened to the size of even larger dinner plates at the vision of the Master of Assassins appeared on his holoscreen. He had met the human with his dark and dashing mane of luscious locks at a Tattoo festival with Furion if his memory served him right, many years past. The Hutt felt a blush beginning to turn his greenish flesh a deep violet, the colour of overripe muja fruit, at mention of his weight loss. He placed an oily palm upon his flabby chest, over the fourth of his five hearts, a symbol of humility amongst his wormish species

 

<>

 

The Hutt was shaken by an uproarious laugh that rose from his belly, causing him to jiggle like a backworlds stripper after her fifth child. The laugh had the unfortunate side-effect of covering the holoprojecter in a globby film of pus-like spittle, as if he had just drained a rotting abscess from the belly of a greasy homeless Rodian.

 

<>

 

The Hutt attempted to snap his fingers to summon a servant and failed miserably due to the buttery nature of his flabby fingers. Reaching out with his gluttonous desire he summoned the kitchen staff to ensure the table was set with a feast for at least a hundred, and seats for two.

 

<

[Dahar Raikanda]

The former Jedi Grandmaster sat at the helm of his ship and pensively stroked the strands of his long black hair that fell down his cheek. His ship was a Jedi Ace, a model of the same squadron he had flown in the last time he had encountered Sheog almost a decade earlier. He mused to himself that it was an almost poetic irony. Dahar had died that day, or at least one his prisons of flesh had been incinerated. Death could only stop those without the resolve to hold on to the world of the living. He still wasn't sure why he bothered anymore. He had gotten into long-winded philosophical conversations with his friend Aryian about the balance of the Force. And with his old pal Tobias about what it was like to exist in the spirit world. Yet here he was, still clinging to a familiar bag of carbon, exiting hyperspace above a Sith world.

 

This certainly wasn't someplace he would have visited even a few months ago. Back then he was determined that the Sith were the problem with the galaxy. But now he had a new enemy, the foul rot of stagnation. He had to keep moving, keep doing, keep changing. The Dark Side was the last house on the block for a Jedi who had done it all. After all, after Grandmaster of the Jedi Order what else was there left to achieve? He thought he'd be able to bring about change in that role but he found out that he was wrong. The Jedi were lazy, stale.

 

Most of Dahar's companions who dabbled in the Dark Side did so on a level that would benefit them. None of them truly belonged to it. Except for a man Dahar met when he was just a Jedi Knight. Vladmir Faust's power and demeanor had been intoxicating to the young Jedi. They had spoken only once, on a short flight that eventually left Dahar stranded. But the man went on to do great things... or great from a certain point of view.

 

"At least he did something," Dahar muttered to himself.

 

His ship was coming up on Korriban. The console beeped the usual beeps that signal it's time to send a message and not get blown up. Or at least hopefully not blown up. He sent a message directly to the channel that had contacted him a few weeks ago.

 

"Sheog, this is Dahar, former Grandmaster of the Jedi Order... As I'm sure you've assumed from the ship. Remember these? I do believe you told me we could have some fun?"

[Exodus]

Exodus let loose a rather unexpected fit of laughter for the first time since the call of the Dark had awakened him. The sound of something so innocent leaving his body still exuded such terrifying power, others would freeze in confusion, but he knew Sheog was fearless and could feel the validity of his warm gesture . "..Cognac will be fine, old friend. I will see you shortly." The swarm of vessels that were submerged in all black with red paint trimmings fell from the skies in wild fashion. The Horde of Sith that flocked behind the descent of the Lightbreaker began to position themselves all across the immediacy of the untrodden Praxeum, some amongst the starport for re-fuelling, and others on new directives from Exodus himself.

 

 

• ====

 

 

Landing between the starport and the Valley of the Dark Lords, the hatch of his war-craft hissed open with a whiplash of swift pressurized air. Exodus peeled his back from the comfort of his seat and clasped the corner of the cockpit to leverage and launch himself from the bed of the ship. He landed imperiously, brushed the wrinkles from his raiment, and lifted his chin to look skyward and realize the reawakening of the Sith. The loud engines of the scattered starfighters drummed heavily through the expanse and echoed from all around, the sands of Korriban blew fiercely between hard metallic husks and the quiet stampede of hundreds of Sith and many lesser folk. The colossal praxeum of the Sith loomed high above all else in the distance, those that surrounded him now knew just who he was and the whispers of the common folk could be heard rattling against the breeze. Exodus closed his eyes and his mind for but a moment, leaned his head backwards and breathed in the rapture of absolute power through his lungs that the people and the world itself shed unknowingly into his body. “Lightbreaker, refuel and meet me when I call.” The machine lifted immediately, rotated and closed its hatched simultaneously before dashing over to the engrossed starport. Just then, a crowd began to converge on Exodus, most of which towed speeders in-hand.

 

 

• ====

 

 

The company rode in a disheveled diamond formation throughout the illustrious valley, kicking up a sandstorm in their wake. With Exodus as the centerpiece of the formation, they burned through tunnels and checkpoints due to the realization of who commanded them, and advanced towards the Praxeum with phantom haste. On their final stretch, the formation opened up to a slow and Exodus rocketed through the flood of them before he choked his acceleration to a complete stop just before the first footstep of the flight of stairs that lead to the entranceway. Exodus dismounted the speeder and marched composedly towards the top, while the others mingled and sauntered amongst themselves. On his final step, unbothered by the scenic route, the Dark Lord stood a small distance from the Master Krath that rivaled the height of over thirteen feet, brushed the thick mane from his own face, and nodded studiously towards the giant. He questioned the mind of the Mad Hutt in this specific moment, he looked back towards the troops that had trailed him, and then up into the eyes of the unconquerable Hutt.

 

 

• "You cannot eat them, friend. They're with us." The devilish smile of Malacoda Syn stretched across his pearly whites.

[Sheog the Mad]

The obtuse Hutt leaned heavily upon his staff, the Sith-forged steel supporting even his enormous weight. He stared past the great Sith Master, upon the forces that had fallen in behind him. For a moment the light began to bend around his enormous shape, turning into bright blues and deep reds, staining the room crimson in the shifting of colours attempting to escape the eternal pull of a black hole. Avarice and gluttony sprang forth about them like the curling flames of a solar prominence, untangling themselves from their master, as a child from behind an overbearing mother. The Leviathan spoke first, a wriggling serpent bathed in emerald flame.

 

<>

Following the words of Avarice, came a swarm of hunger, as a rain of locusts to devour and fill the wound growing in the Force

 

<>

As swiftly as they came, the madness replaced them with a bellowing laugh. The wound within the Force disappeared with them, taken into the veil of insanity. The Hutt smiled broadly at Exodus, and extended to him an oversized draft of Cognac, larger than the head of a human. He motioned him towards a long table, set for two, with two chairs. One for a human, made of ebony hardwood, with pillows for reclining, the other an oversized rolling chair that were more commonly seen in holorooms.

 

<>

__

 

A solemn voice came over the comlink system to the ship of Dahar

 

“Landing pad Gemini, Master Jedi. A dancing girl will escort you to our master. Do you prefer Human or Bothan?”

[Lusef Aryan]

The trooper codenamed Luciferian Beta heard the signal as the shuttle came out of hyperspace on the outskirts of the Korriban system. Underneath her stormtrooper's helmet, her lips curled into an uneasy frown, one hand gripped the back of her lord's chair all the tighter. She glanced at Alpha, who nonchalantly leaned against a wall in the shuttle, his body coursing with too much nervous energy to sit still. Gamma was taking the ship into a wide orbit around the planet, keeping into a defensive pattern. This was a world known to harbor all sorts of Sith nasties and an Imperial Delta class shuttle was likely not to be given the warmest of welcomes given the Holonet communication that had come while they were in route.

 

"You are uneasy," Faust whispered, his hooded head not even looking up. One hand clutched where his forehead should be, the other drummed on the arm of his chair. It wasn't an impatient drumming, but once more gave the impression of one keying in console commands. Beta stiffened, her hand withdrawing from the chair. "Fear is a weakness," her lord continued. "It consumes. Only when it passes into cool anger or hatred is it beneficial, only when one can convert it to that edge does it empower." He turns, the blue glow of his pale, scarred lips twisting into a smile. "That is something that every Sith knows, Beta, and you should as well. I understand your... unease, but we need to send this message. The other Sith and their spirits will not sense the shuttle, not with their most potent tools." He leans back in his chair, the hand at his head pointing to the mounted ysalamir mounted to it. He glances over as Gamma worked the transponder array, setting what would be read as a field of static around the ship. It wouldn't cloak the shuttle visually, nor a very targeted scan, but it would keep a dedicated sensor array from catching them too easily.

 

"Lord Faust," came the call from Gamma. Beta could detect a tense urgency in his voice. "The path to the Valley of the Sith, we're not alone here. There are others." Beta looked immediately back to her lord who punched in a set of commands into his chair. A holo image shot out in front, showing a gathering of ships, all for some event. Faust tapped into his chair once more, picking up some of the communications, both along Imperial and Sith frequencies.

 

"Interesting," he murmured, suppressing a cough. "Take us down. I'll relay the security codes. They are older, but should work," He steepled his fingers. "We have arrived by what some view as chance at an interesting time." At the mention of chance, hatred drips in his voice, raw and pure. A true Jedi or Sith knew chance and luck were falsities, only the will of the Force existed. "There is a new Dark Lord of the Sith crowning himself. I had hoped to merely retrieve certain... effects of power... from the tombs, left by my late adepts to charge and soak in the latent energies there in preparation for a day like today when the Force is denied me." He gives a bitter laugh. "I did not expect to encounter a spoiler like Exodus." His lips twist into a smile, though when he speaks there is no irony in his voice. "Let us pay our respects to the new Dark Lord." He gives one more command. "Gamma, takes us alongside the Jedi Ace to the starport. We will invite ourselves down." He hesitates, then gives the command. "Patch me through to our communications array. I will announce myself."

 

To the assorted Sith, a comm went out, as the shuttle's sensor array now clearly broadcast its location. It took a defensive orbit, ready to pull out if something turned hostile. Faust knew how well among some Sith his last exercise was received and figured Exodus would be far, far less forgiving than Raynuk had been.

 

A merry gathering we have. And here I thought to merely find only the dead haunting this place, rattling in their tombs. I have had a change of plans beyond merely retrieving my belongings and wish to speak with the Dark Lord. Tell everyone that Darth Luciferian has returned and will be offering his counsel.

[Keenava Dira]

Silence fell. The pilot - not alive, nor dead - held orbit of the shuttle right above Korriban’s atmosphere. It made no attempt to broach the perimeter of Sith defenses, nor did it take any offensive strides. It was an inert rock that floated along the elliptical until it gave the requisite codes and asked to land on the planet’s surface.

 

Shadow lurked in the shuttle cabin. The rose rest gently on the plinth of cloth beneath its verdant stem. The thorns of her wicked dance lay upon her chest and the echoes of effort and exertion stood upon her brow. Deep breaths kept her level and her dreams were filled with uncertainty. The art of killing was never kind. It took the innocent, the cruel, the careless, the careful, the oblivious, the aware, the meaningless and the meaningful; nothing was free of its wicked grasp. Yet, those who stood on the edge – the ones holding the paintbrush and committing their gruesome art to practice – were judged ever more. If you killed for good, you were a hero. If you killed mercilessly, callously or without good cause, you were viewed as a monster. But whose cause was just and whose wasn’t? Who made the moral implications?

 

Rumo’s words hung over her head. And she felt her saber warm at her hip -- the pinnacle of both freedom and indecision. The frame of its cylindrical design was excellently chosen. The shackles and rags of her slavery were used to manifest a weapon that would win her enduring freedom. But, in the same vein, she was a slave to her art, her master, and her order. She would act against them at her own risk. Wasn’t that some level of mental imprisonment? It spat in the face of the freedom that she fought for and was anathema to the very code she was ordered to live by. The heart of her saber’s design was built of her heartstone and the stone of a fallen Jedi. Which made for a tumultuous but apropos concept. Her heartstone sung with the energy she had as a young girl living on Ryloth and the fallen Jedi was a significant choice made in an insignificant environment. Had her lot been different, Keenava would have been a simple girl with little ambition. Had her lot been different, she would never have met Furion or Jzora or Exodus. She would have lived in mundane silence and stagnated. It was the horror of her life that illuminated her path and dragged her down. It was the torment that she felt that pulled her forward and pushed her into a life of death and subterfuge. Would she choose something different? Would she choose to be a kind person instead of a ‘monster?’ Would she have been doomed to fall regardless?

 

Those choices echoed in her mind as exhaustion wore upon her body. And ultimately, they withered away, unanswered. Her mind muddled and clouded. The dust of uncertainty threatened to confuse and congest the sepals of the rose as it lay, tearing at its vibrant crimson petals. But she fought, the rose’s thorns tore through the congealed obscurity and surfaced from slumber with more sweat on her brow than before.

 

Her head hung low, the leather armor obscuring her lekku and face. She looked at the dark of the shuttle cabin and let the cold of the still air wash over her. While those questions bore a significant incongruence to her path, Keenava wasn’t uncertain. A nightmare of her past, that feared the lack of certainty, conjured abscesses of thought in attempts to terrify and bewilder her. But that didn’t work. Whatever view the moral righteous ones would take; whatever attempts they made to change or push her out of her path, would fall on deaf ears. She was set on her path. Killing was more a part of her now than living a normal life. The exhilaration of running through shadow. The exciting temptation of steel at the threshold of mortality. The undying joy that came with muscular excellence and acrobatic mastery. The joy at ending a soul that deserved it and the indifference that came with ending others. Like breathing, it was second nature. Aimless ones would say she was a monster. Those on the precipice of hubris would call her despicable. But those same moral giants would come to call on the artist when their commission was due. They needed the corrupt to do what they couldn’t. It was nature. It was inevitable.

 

With a subtle nod of her head, Keenava shifted from her spot on the side bench and appeared by the shuttle intercom. She signaled the pilot to give the requisite codes and tell Exodus that his ‘Nightshade,’ had arrived. She added a greeting to Sheog, if he was there, but didn't know if he would get her message.

[AVATAR Kain]

A simple comm comes in for the Dark Lord, a textual message stating Kain's status and requesting orders.

[Exodus]

Manifestations of sin shed from the drooling skin of the mammoth Hutt with deep and distorted voices that surrendered all hints of humanity. Exodus held a calm definition in his face that remained thoroughly uninterrupted, he was familiar with the reign of dark spirits, especially on worlds such as this one. A hand rose to wash the locks of black from his own face before he addressed both spirits individually, with a quick and cultured bow of the head. “An honour,” the voice of the spider bled with resplendence. He pivoted and turned his eye to the makeshift encampment once more, lifted his curious gaze to the busy skies knowingly, then returned his attention to the present and advanced towards the inner sanctum.

 

 

--

 

 

“Dahar Raikanda. I have heard the name spoken before,” he spoke dismissively, uninterested in the weight of his handle. Exodus relaxed into the ease of the dark-wood armchair while his left hand marshaled the broad glass that the Hutt had offered previously. The clinks of his armored vise echoed off of the walls before he downed a few satisfying swigs of the drink, almost noble in how he did so. The dry Korriban air dehydrated the throat almost immediately, so the refreshment was more than welcomed. “Where are the elder Sith, Sheog? Do they hide from the ridiculous threat of the Remnant?” The inflection of embarrassment was obvious in the question he was dying to know, but his curiosity was suddenly delayed as his communications unit heralded his attention. He listened and dissected the information meticulously. The Force was hard at work, and wasted no time in the aggregation of known powers, this was how it always was. “Let Vladimir know his counsel will be heard. He knows where to find me.” The name now sounded foreign falling from his tongue, and Exodus did not share a lick of concern for what this Faust had once aspired to. Exodus was absent and slumbered beneath the Well of the Dark, not invested in the rumors that this Luciferian now carried under his name. Evil would breed evil, and to judge a man on the extent in which he wished to pursue it was not his driving force.

 

 

• “As for my apprentice, tell the Nightshade to make haste, opportunity is in abundance..”

 

 

--

 

The Lightbreaker received the restricted communication relay from Kain, and immediately sent off a pre-composed response.

[Raynuk Montar]

A comm comes in to Sheog's personal comm. Heavily encrypted, the message would only open and decrypt with the sound of a Hutt burping loudly and rudely. The encryption protocol had a note on it however that read, "Just eat something fattening."

 

 

"I apologize for the lateness of my response, but I have been away from my ship for nearly a week. Im pleased to hear the construction is complete however, and I must say, it looks splendid if your attached picture is anything to go by. I may have to frame that picture and use it to decorate my ship though. As for your request… You know I have a great deal of research and scientific data regarding that. When my path takes me to the temple, I will share with you what I have developed. Until then… "

 

There was a slight pause.

 

"…Stay vigilant. I have had an encounter here that leads me to believe it is possible that Vladamir Faust isn’t as dead as he should be."

 

[Lusef Aryan]

Luciferian Alpha hears the response and watches the master make a motion for the shuttle to land, having Gamma take it in to a designated landing pad, touching it down as smooth as ever. He could tell from his lord's posture he was deep in thought, contemplating this latest development, his hooded head bowed deep, fingers steepled, but tapping his index fingers together gently. When his lordship looked up, his tone was direct, firm. Whatever coughs and infirmities he had were subdued.

 

"The current Dark Lord has set out to have the Sith carve their own path in this Galaxy, free of the Jedi, the Alliance, and even the Empire." The tone in the lord's voice is chill, hard. "When I sought you out, the Imperial remnant was scattered, unfocused, but it's coalescing, and just in time to walk head on into a collision course with the Sith." He rests his arms on the chair, a gesture that Alpha thought made him look deceptively at ease. "You now have conflicting loyalties. I will in all likelihood be working with the Sith, likely against the Empire's immediate interests. Are you willing to follow me, even now?"

 

Alpha felt a chill run down his spine at the question. The strength and force in the voice reminded him of his lordship at his prime, as Emperor, commanding entire legions, whether it was simple patrols or to raid and attack worlds. Though reduced, as they all were, he could feel that will in there, pushing, testing them for weakness. Beta answered first, dropping to one knee, followed by Gamma as he approached from the cockpit. Finally, Alpha himself dropped, and he knew the words Beta would be speaking. "My lord, we are loyal to you. We trust in your and your vision. We will follow your orders until our last breath." Alpha and Gamma nodded in assent. It looked like Faust was satisfied. He motioned for Alpha to follow him, then spoke up one last time to his followers.

 

"Gamma, have the ship ready as usual. I do not anticipate this turning into a fight, but be cautious and stay within the ysalamir's protective field. Beta, stay on the alert, protect the ship. Alpha, come with me. We're going to meet the Dark Lord." He started to motion his chair down the landing ramp, breaking into a fit of coughing and wheezing, the spell lasting for almost a minute. Alpha just marched in line, hearing the coughing rasps, wondering now how much of it was a façade of weakness and how much was real?

 

In short order Alpha found himself, as Faust's escort, marching alongside his master. He felt unease as he passed rows and rows of Sith servants and more, thankful for the ysalamir he carried on his back. He noticed how utterly at ease Faust seemed to be. He was still operating through a mechanical doll, but he knew that his lordship would be just as brave even if here in the flesh. He kept pace behind his master, watching him head further into the Sith's headquarters, heading in and reaching a cultured looking room with a couple of occupants. Alpha recognized the two at the long table from a dossier he'd studied previously. He saw a subtle hand gesture from Faust and dropped to one knee. He tried to study the Dark Lord and Sheog's reactions as they saw Faust in his hoverchair, a connected mess of tubes and wires to keep a frail body alive by all outward appearances.

 

"Dark Lord," Faust said softly, his head inclining. "Lord Sheog," he said, acknowledging the massive Hutt. His tone was respectful, but not differential. "I hope you do not mind my pets," he continues, his hands gesturing to the pet above his chair. "Summoning the Force has been... difficult since my last encounter, and what I cannot use, I must deny to those who could do me harm." Though his head was bowed under the hood, concealing it, Alpha could hear that bitter twist of his lordship's lips. "Alas, I have fallen out of favor with the Force. It did not take kindly to my attempt to murder it." Alpha felt his heart racing at that candid admission to the Sith.

 

Faust's rasping voice broke into a chuckle, followed by a cough, his master clutching his chest. "Despite my physical and spiritual weakness at present, I can still bring my knowledge this table. There are certain... plans and artifacts I cannot use while I come back into my strength. I would offer them to you, as it would further both of our ends." Faust's hands steady themselves, gripping the edges of his medical chair.

[Dahar Raikanda]

The Jedi had never really considered what kind of being he would enjoy having dance for him. He had been with some women when he was younger, at home, but the concept had fell away from him a long time ago. He tried to think what kind of physical traits he enjoyed in others. This was hard because he rarely thought of people in that way. So he thought about what he liked in himself, what he thought was a sign of good health.

 

"Um... a human... with nice teeth if you have one... will do nicely. I'll be planetside shortly. Thank you."

 

He brought his ace down to the gemini pad as instructed. He wasn't alone, there were other ships making an arrival as well. It seemed as if he had arrived at a particularly notable occasion. He wasn't all too familiar with Sith politics but he knew that the powerful didn't gather together as often as the Jedi did. Quite frequently Jedi Masters would meet as a council, or complete tasks together, with their signatures multiplying each other through the Force. But what was going on here was quite literally the opposite. In the same way that Tython amplified the Ashla, Korriban seemed to be amplifying the Bogan. That combined with all the master wielders of the Dark Side created an atmosphere, a feeling, that Dahar hadn't experienced in quite a while... and perhaps never at this magnitude.

 

The holocron hung around his neck was heated to the point of singeing the flesh it rested on.

 

At the landing pad there was indeed a pretty young human with spectacular teeth. She smiled at Dahar and he admired the immaculacy of her teeth. Every tooth stood perfectly in the place it was supposed to be, shiny and beckoning. This little show of flesh was the first time in decades Dahar experienced something that could be compared with arousal, or at least an appreciation for the aesthetics that the Jedi had denied him.

 

The girl escorted the wayward Jedi to where the Hutt Lord and his guests would be.

[Keenava Dira]

“… make haste. Opportunity is in abundance…”

 

What does that mean I wonder?

 

The swollen mass of sandstone that sat before her, gracefully pierced the sky with its brilliant peak. It was accompanied by a series of other pyramid structures, each one as a magnificent as the last. But her eyes fell on the gate as she scaled the majestic entryway. Her admission was silent and without quarrel, so she approached quickly and unassuming. Hiding was considered, but the effort seemed wasted on a planet where other Sith were commonplace. Additionally, hiding might bid some measure of aggression, which was welcome, but needless. As a precaution, however, she didn’t remove her hood. Keenava approached the temple with her blackened leather dulling the visibility of her figure. The spark of freedom sat on her hip and her knives were obscured in their black leather sheaths, temptation beckoning the steel to action, but there was nothing to kill. There was nothing to do at present, so her tempers and emotions were quieted. The spark was muted and sleeping.

 

Kana and the others were relatively silent too. Her thoughts were the most audible force in her mind. And viable though they may have been, Keenava's thoughts entertained her like pyres of pointless luminescent clouds. They milled about aimlessly. Their consistency was logical and pragmatic, but they were ultimately shiny flashes of little substance; useless jetsam tied to her brain that cluttered her consciousness. With a careful guiding hand, they fled and puffed out. Steel focus replaced the chaotic rambling of her mind and Keenava entered the entranceway to the praxeum with a serene emptiness. Her will was tempered by the wise admonition of Urik and her strength was held at bay through active suppression -- the more cards she held to her chest, were more cards she held to attack others or defend herself should the need arise. Stone eyes, the eyes of her master, looked down upon her from his likeness as she continued her procession. She could feel his granite glare descend with indifferent derision and felt that his judgment was ironically lacking in substance. The history they shared, even as small as it was, made his judgment here, into a show that defied her initial impression and every gesture since.

 

But the most immediate concern that remained, niggling in the back of her head, was the reason for her summons. What did Exodus need? Why did he need her? Was her training pausing here and resuming later? The nagging briefly resurfaced before Keenava quashed the rabid inquiry and stepped into the praxeum proper. The guide of Sheog’s attentive staff and the smell of food led her further in. And when she entered the feast-hall, she stepped to the side and watched the proceedings attentively.

 

The Twi’lek nodded to her master and stood to the side by a pillar. She was, technically, not invited to eat with Sheog and did not wish to impose any more than she already had. It was nice to see him again, but Exodus had business for her. It seemed others were summoned or similarly imposing, but that didn’t really justify intervention. If Keenava knew anything, it was to respect those you liked, and respect those that were more powerful than you. Otherwise, who knew what might happen.

 

Her heartbeat accelerated a little at the site of more powerful force users. Her eyes flicked to the exits and she unconsciously took stock of every escape route she could find. She measured each new face with equal parts suspicion and curiosity. Until proven otherwise, they couldn’t be trusted.

 

Such was the Sith way.

[Sheog the Mad]

<<Exodus... The Elder Sith are off doing their own things... Cavorting with whores and being romantic for some reason. Perhaps they all got infected by some romantically inclined fungal plague. Quietus has been the only one responsive to my questions...>>

The massive Hutt’s nose flattened in reptilian fashion as the touch of the Ysalamiri’s influence passed over him. The sound of intestinal distress began to stir about the room, coming in roiling waves from the ravenous hunger within the Hutt’s multiple stomachs and from his insane mind. For so long he had feasted on a mixture of food and the natural essence of the Force about him, and now he was denied sustenance. He blinked his overly large eyes a few times, the multiple lids keeping them slick with a gooey slime, before he inclined his head slightly towards the disabled Faust.

 

<>

 

With a wave of a trembling hand, the Hutt ordered in the awaiting feast, which was dragged, carried, and sloshed onto the expanded table by an army of various guards and kitchen staff who were very much uncomfortable in the task of serving such Sith Masters. The overlarge Hutt leaned heavily on his staff, watching as the multitude of dishes piled up on the mahogany table. He caught sight of the young Jedi he had dueled several times, perhaps even once in a dream, and beckoned him to his side.

 

<<Dahar! Come and join us for the feast. This mate->>

The overlarge Hutt indicated the disabled Faust with the butt of his staff in a respectful manner and a comedic wink

 

<>

 

The Hutt snorted derisively, his pudgy stomach heaving with exertion and irritation. Without the assistance of the Force, his madness was rising swiftly. He found his center, his hands beginning to quiver, followed by rippling in his underarms. He sighed deeply

 

<>

 

As the Hutt flexed in a sad display of quivering chubbiness, an adolescent Gammorean waddled up quickly with a tray of assorted candies, wearing a colourful smock of pastels. The Hutt bent down, swallowing the squealing and tender pig whole, leaving the tray to clatter on the ground, dumping the candy onto the slime-tracked cobblestones.

 

<>

 

The Master of the Krath indicated the table with a wave of his greasy palm, and the silver-lined platters on which it was served. The meal was more themed around quantity rather than quality. The main course was an entire brazed bantha, cooked to a medium rare, with pitchers of hamameal gravy, along with a dozen different types of dinner rolls, even ones without gluten. To top off the course was a salad of Alderanean kale and sweetgrass, with ships of Iridonian chestnuts and a drizzle of vinegar dressing. A locally sourced Nerf-cheese fondue was available for dipping of a variety of breads and meats.

 

The Hutt pulled a handful of the Bantha-meat off the ribcage, before shoving it into his gullet with a satisfying slurp and smacking of his greasy lips. He glanced around at the assembled guests, and spotted the girl Keenava where she stood awkwardly to the side

 

<>

[Exodus]

The Valley of the Dark Lords must have changed while burrowed among the skewed mountains of Korriban. Bleeding with an unconquerable dark power, the valley was most sacred to the Sith; it was a monumental burial of many Dark Lords that reigned over the temples that were built in this very place. It was a place that the powerful and the wise sought to commune with the spirits of those that came before, in an effort to dredge their understanding of the dark side of the Force, and feast on the powers that forever laid dormant. These lands were mired with the history of Kings, and the company that stood before the King now was absolute heresy, guests that were disparagingly clueless to the grounds they were allowed walk.

 

The wash of the Ysalamir overspread the Dark Lord and he immediately suppressed an impatience that billowed in the nethermost corner of his soul. His hand made no shift towards his blade but his mind lusted for the handle. While a relentless tone of pleasantries and comical banter drummed loud from the monstrous Hutt, the Dark Lord sat with a very different unveiling; a devilish and chilling demure that canvassed each and every individual here. The shaggy straight of his long hair hung in front of his face and cast shadows over the particulars of his grim expression. Kill. The invasive arrest of his force affluence did not sit too kindly, and it would not stand for much longer.

 

“You insult me, Vladimir. Your failures and deficiencies do not justify the abomination you carry at your neck,” Exodus mirrored the impassivity in his voice that his expression carried and cast aside the rationalizations that the shrewd warrior feigned with. “Fear is fear, a delicacy we indulge much more than the meat of this Bantha. If you must brandish that creature to shelter yourself from harm’s way, understand that that is far from enough to do so here.” Exodus deliberately slid a suspicious eye towards the former Grandmaster as he concluded his point, more than telling in the way he did so and then gave an affirming nod towards his Nightshade as she entered.

 

“However— Since you take with one hand, I am interested in what it is that the other hand offers. Your quarry with the Force does not concern me in the least, but cunning has a particular value to me.” Exodus reclined further into his seat and rimmed the mouth of his glass with a single finger. Plates and platters clashed, the burning smell of food and feast filled the atmosphere, and a tangible thick of tension slowly crept up. Just kill them all. Dark whispers in his mind began to breach the walls in which he imprisoned them, scratching at them with broken nails, yawning teases of murder. The absence of the Dark Side was a danger to everything around Malacoda Syn, the one true Exodus.

 

 

• "..I'm listening."

Edited May 10, 2017 by Guest

[Keenava Dira]

Tension bloomed in the air. Tendrils of cold, tarry, black apprehension spread from all corners of the hall. The din of its influence was palpable. And whether she wished to avoid it, the omnipresent sludge wasn’t going to permit evasion. Its path was indecipherable. And although a cloud of nothingness stood close to her, she could feel the apprehension wash over her. Like the wave of a mighty ocean, it demanded submission through powerful oppression. But, Keenava’s focus remained. Even with her Master’s thoughts swimming through her head, influencing her hand to grip at the steel of Clotho’s handle, her focus remained.

 

Her head tilted toward the only figure in the room – save the Jedi – that she didn’t recognize. He seemed to be the center of everyone’s attention. His aura was strangely absent. If it wasn’t for the lizard that he wore, his void would have unsettled her. As it was, it simply upset her. The clogging sensations of tension began to make more sense. And if it weren’t for her Master’s own reticence, she might have killed the man for daring to bring such a detestable creature into her friend’s temple. Sheog’s invitation – made in between plentiful bites of Bantha meat – abruptly halted her observation and stirred her thoughts. It jarred her concentration for a moment and his pleasant humor was a welcome break from the obscure mist of feigned and repressed aggression.

 

She smiled underneath her hood. Sheog’s hospitality was rivaled by no other Sith that she knew. And his remarkable kindness, even to a former slave, was extraordinary. There was a reason that he was one of three friends that she could count among the ranks of the Sith. Of course, 'friend' may have been a strong word, but she wasn’t going to split hairs.

 

The black Twi’lek slid her hood and mask back so they no longer obscured her face. She looked toward Sheog with pristine ruby eyes that glittered in the opulent light display, hanging above the grand feast table, and smiled. "Thank you friend, it’s nice to see you again. And I would be honored to sit next to you."

 

Keenava approached the edge of the rotund table where the Hutt sat, happily gorging himself, and chose an open chair next to him. She declined the offered galoshes, asking instead for two large napkins – one to place in her lap and one to put in the front of her chest armor like a crude oversized ascot. Then, for the next few moments, she made a conscious effort to reach for food that the Hutt had not chosen for himself. Keenava had some experience with Hutt dining habits and was rather fond of her hands.

[Lusef Aryan]

The storm trooper codenamed Alpha stood rigidly over master's shoulder. He tried to appear alert, but every instinct he'd had since trained as a trooper on Carida ages and ages ago told him that any outward display of hostility would be instantly or immediately fatal. His helmet remained passively forward, but even despite the loud and boisterous behavior of the Hutt, he knew he'd be absolutely deadly as evidenced by his helping of pork. The new Dark Lord gave off an even more intense feeling. Alpha became very, very self-conscious of the ysalamir he and his master carried on his back.

 

At the same time, he was pleased that their host seemed accepting, The barbed jab from the Hutt didn't even cause his lord to stir, his finger remaining calmly over the edge of his chair. Ever so faintly though, they tightened, and yet Alpha swore Faust was more amused than angered at the admonishment, and a soft, rattling chuckle could be heard afterwards, confirming that opinion.

 

"No insult is intended," Faust replies, his voice very straight, very dry, and yet Alpha swore he could pick up that thread of amusement still. "Merely prudence. My most recent encounters with the Sith were quite... hostile. And as it is, I am here to go into the deep catacombs of the Valley once this meeting is done to retrieve something I've left there as a focus. There are spirits and wraiths guarding it who are less forgiving of my most recent efforts than you are." Faust's hands pull together, steepling again, taking in a harsh wheeze. "And my dear, Malachi, do not forget we are Sith. We appreciate fear as a motivator, a seducer, but we are above fear. A Sith uses fear, we wield it, we inspire it when needed, but we, ourselves, do not fear. Our passions transpire fear and mere anger, our sublime hatred is what drives us." The rebuke in that voice is as cold and hard as Hoth's ice sheets, and made even Alpha flinch, though the trooper wondered if that was more out of fear for himself.

 

Unperturbed, Faust continues, coughing first. "I will withdraw as soon I've made my offer and it's been heard out," he continues. "It is twofold. I still have contacts within the Empire, those loyal to me and me alone from my time as Emperor, and those I can subvert. I care not for the throne and it would please me to see the Sith advance at the current Empire's expense." His head turns staring at Alpha, the ideal, archetypical well trained stormtrooper. Now Alpha understood fully the gravity of his master's earlier statements in the ship. "Just as I have my allies within the criminal underworld of the Black Sun, the Hutts, and various bounty hunters. If you wish it," he adds, tapping his chair once. "I can bleed the Empire at no expense to the Sith, save for any who have an interest in the fate of the Black Sun." A holo image flashes briefly, a blue rotating image of the Cloud City on Bespin. "Just give the word, and I can reach back out to one of my remaining agents there and set off a firestorm and we can watch the chaos unfold."

 

Alpha watched the three in the room, trying to get a sense on how they'd react to that offer. He didn't have much chance before his lord continued. Two more holos appeared, similar to the ones he'd presented Raynuk. A dagger of some kind with an ornate head, and a pendant in the form of a furious beast. "The last is an... exchange and invitation. I have a storehouse, hidden safe on an unknown world. My arts of alchemy, breeding monsters, various rituals such as those to create and imbibe power from a Wound in the Force, poisons, and the arts of refining RAGE and more are housed there." At the mention of RAGE, Faust brings up a third holo-feed from his chair, of his poisoning of the GA's senate, causing the group to tear themselves apart in a frenzy of hatred and fear. "It is locked with a key even I have lost. One of my... followers or their heirs... was last in possession of these two artifacts here. They are both key and map in one. Find the artifacts and the person carrying them for me, and it'll have to be alive I'm afraid, and my knowledge is yours."

 

Alpha listened closely this time, and he realized something as Faust spoke. He wanted those artifacts and the person carrying them. He was willing to set Raynuk, Exodus, the Cult of Morthos and others all on the trail for him, but he realized something else too. Faust didn't care if he was the one to open that storehouse or not as long as it was opened by one versed in the Dark Side. He once more used his peripheral vision, such as his helmet would allow, trying to read the reactions from Syn, Sheog, and Keenava.

[Dahar Raikanda]

Dahar joined the festivities and sat down near the Hutt who invited him. It was a weird place to be even for a disenfranchised Jedi Master. He hadn't had a feast like this since his youth. Dahar had grown up as royalty on Adumar and the concept of gluttony had escaped him since then. But Sheog sure appeared to be having fun so he figured he'd try and indulge. The other participants varied as much in personanlity as they did species. It was evident to him that his presence was not without suspicion. Dahar had been staying out of the public eye so he wasn't even sure if it was known to the galaxy that he was no longer Grandmaster. The turn of events for him were almost random, as if some puppetmaster holding his strings had gotten bored with the course of events and decided to completely change things up for no reason.

 

It had also been quite a while since his last exposure to ysalmari. It wasn't a pleasant experience, and it was clear that nobody attuned to the Force, either Light or Dark, enjoyed having that connection severed. He wondered if Faust's actions had been so grave that the Force had abandoned him. He knew about what had happen, at least through the whispers that traveled telling the Jedi side of events. He hadn't seen Faust in ages, the aged master being part of Dahar's motivation to stay open to all aspects of the Force. He had always respected, perhaps envied, Faust's power.

 

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Sheog, it's a pleasure to be here in person." Dahar looked around making it plain that he was no addressing everybody. "I know my presence here is probably... a little weird. But I want you to know that I have no loyalties to the Order that I used to represent. When I exposed them for the weakness and tried to bring about revolutionary changes... they tried to have me killed. At the Wookiee's orders, I suspect, although he was the one who tipped me off. The motives behind these actions are very shaky...

 

I'm here because our gracious host gave me an offer that I chose to accept. I want to learn what you're all about. In turn, and perhaps to prove my honest intetions, I offer any information about the scum that I used to call my brothers that you may be intersted in."

 

After finishing his little introduction to everybody he approached the... much differnt than he remembered... Faust, getting as close as his cohorts would allow. He pressed through the bubble that the lizards were creating, feeling the very essence stripped within him, relearning how to survive on only oxygen. He gave a small bow, and made direct eye contact with the man he had once shared a flight with... "I'm not even sure how to address you, Faust. Not as your fellows here would, because I am not one of you. But with whatever way respect is shown amongst you, that is what I offer. I doubt you're aware of the influence you had on the young Jedi Knight that I used to be. You are a legend in my eyes."

[Keenava Dira]

Keenava was utterly unenthused by Faust or the former Jedi Dahar. Her extrasensory nerves would not let her forget their places in the room, but she couldn’t care less about their dialogue. Faust disrespected the hallowed ground he walked on. Furion once told her of those that rested here and that their deeds were celebrated among the Sith. This man, whatever he was, insulted the order no matter which way he spilled his slimy words. Bringing a lizard of force nullifying power to a feast created to honor the Dark Lord, was a huge affront to the structure that derived Keenava’s purpose for being here. On top of that, the Sithling that prided himself with importance above his station attempted to educate her master on what ‘Fear’ was. Even if it was a crude rebuttal to her master’s own retort, it still made Keenava laugh. Dahar on the other hand just didn’t register as someone that Keenava needed to know. Exodus was certainly keeping stock of his presence, but Keenava was here for Exodus and Sheog.

 

She grabbed a little at the bantha that the Hutt had left on the platter and put it on her plate. Instead of turning to face either Dahar or Faust, Keenava turned to Sheog and smiled. “Sheog! I meant to thank you for loaning me money for that manse. I trust my follow up payments made it to you?”Keenava said before eagerly swallowing a mouthful of bantha meat. It was a little cold, but excellently marinated. It was moist and deliciously cooked to a texture that Keenava had to savor for a moment before continuing. “Oh, and I almost forgot. It seems that the Last Call is up for auction. The owner has been gone for some time. He and I were friends once upon a time, so I put up a modest sum to pledge my interest in buying the property. If you wanted to, you might be able to petition the auctioneers as well. Some Coruscant property would surely benefit the Sith, if not your own monetary interests.”

[Exodus]

Exodus listened to the man speak of fear, he paid close attention to how Vladimir colored the details, and watched as he took the time shade in his rationalizations. Exodus existed as fear manifested in physical form, to those that knew of him, and had little need to hear about it. There was not a word that could leave the lips of the one known as Faust, that would save face from that accursed creature he fancied to protect himself. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the words exchanged, and hoped the Jedi paid close attention to them. Exodus caved to a thin smile across his face as the man continued, a familiar expression he flourished candidly, but the fire that built itself inside of him where the Force once swelled was no joke. It had to return soon, the hushed voice in his head reminded him, or else it would be dreadfully adverse to all who remained near.

 

 

He shifted in his seat a tad, naturally adjusting his peripheral to oversee the creatures that dallied about this room so comfortably. “... Malachi,” The sound of the name was almost unfamiliar to him at this point in his life. The name belonged to a ferociously hopeful little boy born of the wild with a heart full of faith. It was deceptively marvellous how young Malachi had turned out; there was no faith to be found, and there was no heart left to salvage, the deep chapters of his life had burned the lights out. A hand rose to rub the side of his face, and pull himself innocuously from the quick muse over his former life.

 

 

The boisterous march of organized military sounded over the shallow surface of the temple halls. Two columns moved with synchronized precision born of experience, but as a people individually, it was impossible to tell them apart. Each of them were decorated in metallic armor casings, made from several plates of hardened material over a black body glove. Their facial appearances were entirely obscured from view by a one-way visor, leaving them disturbingly faceless. These were Sith Troopers that had arrived from Umbara, at last. Parallel to one another, the platoon came to a halt in front of the main archway that presented the Sith Lords and their guests. The split platoon did not enter the room, they instead turned to face their Dark Lord, brought their weapons to their chest, and addressed their King with reverent bows of the head. Reflective armor shimmered in the artificial light that poured down from the high ceiling, and Exodus raised his glass high in recognition, before downing the last bit of the aged and savory drink. “Lord Exodus!” They roared as they lifted their tools of war, planted their feet powerfully enough to echo the halls, and pivoted swiftly to exit towards their ordinance.

 

 

“Brother Sheog, keep your guest on a leash!” Exodus barked to his kin as he watched the Jedi close distance to the wheelchair of Faust, frothing at the mouth in admiration. “Understand this, simple Jedi worm. You walk on hallowed grounds, but you do not walk freely. You are a guest of the Hutt, but you are a prisoner of the Sith. You will give what is commanded of you, and speak when spoken too. Until you have proven yourself useful—” Exodus stood up from his seat and withdrew the infamous hilt from his belt-line, barring any semblance of hesitation. “Recognize that you are in the presence of danger, sit down, and compose yourself.” He stared into the eyes of the Jedi with an unsettling vengeance that dug far deeper than the two of them on a personal level; it was the war of the Dark and the Light that thundered through his voice, and the hatred that the history of his people had carried against the Jedi. The Ysalamiri repealed the drum of Exodus’ dark power, but an almighty chanting of his name could now be heard from the voices of hundreds outside of the temple. It grew louder in the silence that carried forward, the Sith were alive and well, and their spirits were now unleashed in the name of Exodus.

 

 

The commotion outside the building represented freedom, a warmongering passion that was now being unearthed for the first time in many years. Men and women of various walks of life had gathered across the surface of the Praxeum. Pavilions, canvases and barricades had reared from the sands. Small vendors had opened, and the masses of militants aligned themselves into groups that distanced themselves from the average folk. Inquisitors of the Sith Empire scattered themselves from the Valley to the Starport, carrying out their due diligences. Time was of the essence.

 

 

“As for you, Brother Faust, before you say another word— Remove your hood when you speak to me.” His voice was hard, calloused from the absence of the dark in his system, and a respect that was long overdue. He was unsure of how the rest of the Sith carried themselves since his return, but as it stood, there was a Jedi that walked the land of the dead freely and a known traitor that dishonorably covered his appearance as well as his signature. These were small matters of decorum that Exodus paid attention too, and to deny them, was nothing but impudence. Exodus now paced back and forth alongside the length of the table, eyeing the company that Faust brought, and subliminally measuring the total spread of the dead force zone. “Your proposition is modest, I’ll admit.” The Dark Lord folded his arms behind his back and walked with deep consideration on his face. “However Master Puppeteer, I know there are strings that you hide from me in plain sight.” He smiled, knowing this to be true, but respected the notion. “Your presentation is charming, but your reputation precedes you.”

 

 

“Do what you want with Bespin, but leave Black Sun to me.” Exodus turned to face the cloaked individual, still leery of who he was, and what his true motives were. “The Empire as it stands must break, this we both understand. But I want you to deliver better than that Faust, you must break the bonds of your betrayal, and what you offer does not earn that quite yet. Perhaps the Sith of Old were unworthy, and this I can understand, but you must show me a loyalty stronger than the toys you keep inside of your playhouse.” Exodus nodded slow, reassuringly, while the dance of his black cloaks swept the floors. “Do this, and I will aid you in your hunt, Darth Luciferian.”

 

 

Exodus searched for the face of the one he spoke too, awaiting his words, and understanding at the same time that there were far too many ears present. He would not settle for less however, not while he had plans of his own. He looked over the Nightshade, and gave a telling look, and his attention turned back to their guests. The two understood each other on a level that surpassed words or simple telepathy, and he was encouraged by her immediate growth in order to achieve that. Still, the Dark Lord stood attentive with a steady hand and a calculative mind that dissected this negotiation of words and power.

[Lusef Aryan]

Alpha stood protectively over his master, though one hand immediately struck out, positioning itself between Dahar and his lord's vessel as Faust slowly lowered his hood, determined not to make eye contact with the Jedi. He could tell his master was interested in keeping up the charade of being there in the flesh as long as he could. Even so, at the almost fawning praise, Alpha saw his lord's index fingers give an impatient tap before the hooded head turned back towards the Dark Lord of the Sith.

 

From his angle, Alpha could barely see lower end of his hood, the thin movement of lips curling into a smile at the rebuke the Dark Lord gave the former Jedi. That smile actually widened as his lord was commanded to remove his hood. Alpha drew back, unsure on how his lord's deception would be received. To his surprise, Lord Faust gave a slow, rasping chuckle, especially as the word puppeteer was uttered, then lifted his head, drawing back the hood. The results were as hideous as before. A simulacrum of a face, holo projected from lightyears away, burnt, twisted, and Alpha swore from his angle, that even bits of exposed skull could be seen. How was Faust still even alive?! He understood too then why Faust kept the ysalamir, carrying it into this place instead of leaving it outside, as it aided in the masquerade, allowing him to conceal the nature of his droid shell, and get a better reading of the new Dark Lord and the Sith he gathered to him.

 

"I had expected you to ask this sooner, my Lord," Faust chuckled, breaking into a whispered rasp. " Alas, I cannot be here in the flesh... indeed what I have barely holds me to this mortal coil." There's a grimace, those now flickering and bloodless lips, showing patchy holes in his right cheek. Faust's mechanical body holds up its hands once more, a holoprojection displaying of what looked like a bacta-tank. A shadow covered body dangled inside, a mess of rotted looking flesh and wires. Was that truly all Faust was reduced to? Alpha still wondered where his lord's body was, and how he'd pulled himself back from the abyss. The image vanished a moment later.

 

"Your suspicion of me is quite warranted and if you had not voiced it," he said, breaking off into a wheeze, clutching his chest. "I'd have questioned your judgment. I know I am not to be trusted, and I am surprised you heard me out even. But I say this in all seriousness when I said I came to pay my respects." For the first time since the conversation started, Faust's tone is deferential towards the Dark Lord, his projected head giving a faint nod of respect. Nothing in his tone suggested fear or groveling, but as Alpha watched, he was reminded of a master fencer acknowledging a well earned touch. Faust's visage turns towards Alpha, and the trooper, understanding the signal, produces a commlink, just a commlink, and presents it respectfully to the Dark Lord, kneeling since his lord could not. "I will be at your call as I am able, and will work you will when I can. But first and foremost, I seek to return to my former strength. The Dark Side hungers, and no matter what form of flesh I take, it strikes out, taking its toll. The Font of Power will have its due indeed. I will take my leave, my lord." There's that odd note in Faust's voice as describes the Force when he finishes, its meaning inscrutable to Alpha's ears. Faust bows his head once more then backs his chair away, giving the Dark Lord and his guests full access to their powers once more. Alpha stays at his side, bowing once more at the bidding of a subtle wave of the finger from his lord.

 

"And Lord Sheog and Lord Ootunavi," Faust says, almost as an afterthought, still motioning to leave, his tone thoughtful and laced with genuine caution. "I would not be so quick to presume that auction was correct or your bids would be successful. The old fool that owns the Last Call may have long retired from influencing the galactic stage directly, raising his own children and whatever other brood he's adopted since, but do not presume he's blind to what's happening in the galaxy or willing to risk yielding the place's vaunted neutrality."

[Keenava Dira]

The din of tension and deliberation hung audibly around the room. The Dark one and the pretender stood at an apropos juxtaposition. Exodus, the father of a new generation stood and brooked no trust for the hooded figure. The other, a pretender - a husk, chittered away behind false pretenses. Their words were not intended for her. It was not her conversation. Keenava remained focused upon Sheog, awaiting an answer, but her thoughts, her ears, and every available exterior sense probed the rest of her environ. The Jedi supplicant foolishly wandered when he should have heeled. But that was also not Keenava’s affair.

 

The art of conversation was a complex one. Finding the words that lay beneath the surface and the subtle chess games that were played between two opposing powers was a finesse that Keenava knew. She was no master. But the banter that wedged itself between the two Masters was something that followed a pattern. It wouldn’t do to interrupt and break the formality that engaged both figures. It would simply break the flow and drive all emotion toward her. Any hostility, derision, hate, or apathy that flew between them, would follow their eyes if she chose to interject.

 

There was nothing for it.

 

When Exodus’ careful gaze fell on her, she felt his will upon her. It wasn’t explicit, but she could pick out the meaning of his intention even through the subtle gesture. With a slight tilt of her head and subtle twitch of her lekku, she silently regarded her Master’s acknowledgment. Although her right hand was gripping the ornate handle of a fork, her left hand was hovering in wait over the knife that rested at her hip.

• 
  Whatever happens.

 

Faust’s closing words were cold. He interjected in an affair that wasn’t his to know or understand. The word fool sent a small pick of ice through the center of Keenava’s eyes and a small fire built deep within her, but she smothered it. It wouldn’t do anything. There was no purpose behind it. And, above that, it wasn’t her place to disgrace the sanctity of her Master’s conversation with her petty whims. Kheldar was one of her friends and she had had no intention of turning his cantina into a Sith paradise. It was her dream to make it as popular as it once was years ago when she was a more consistent employee; a dream that would wait for some time, but a decent aspiration nonetheless.

 

Silent and eating, Keenava eagerly awaited her friend’s response and bid no farewell to Faust as he left. Her gaze was hard won and he had done nothing to earn her regard. Exodus, however, composed himself in a way that drew the pretender’s hand. And for that, Keenava’s regard of her Master grew. A smile crept across her face. It was a small gesture but meant in equal parts for both Exodus and Sheog.

[Sheog the Mad]

With a heavy sigh, the Lord of Madness removed his weight from his staff, letting its ornate handle play across the oil of his palm, the ridges of cracked leather providing a comforting texture not unlike sandpaper. His appetite had left him with the din of the newly crowned Dark Lord’s admiring crowd, and with it crumbled his joyful playfulness. His eyes turned from a bright crimson to a sickly orange and his perplexion faded from ignorant smile to grim satisfaction.

<>

 

With the tip of his staff, The Master of the Krath stirred a large bucket of punch that was brought to him by two bewildered Weequay. Its colour reflected the light of the hallway, changing with flashes of merlot and emerald as it picked up different wavelengths of light. The Overlarge Hutt turned to Exodus with a smile

 

<

 

With another gesture, the Hutt flicked the tankard to the floor, where it covered the sandstone cobbles with a deep river that appeared as blood, running the length of the hall in a wave of scarlet. The Hutt’s laughter returned, but darker and much deeper

 

<>

 

Over the endless chanting of the mindless, the Hutt turned to the Twi'lek, still holding his staff. His voice was overloud, and loaded with gobs of spittle

 

<>

[Dahar Raikanda]

Dahar was starting to get a little bit of a feel of who was who at the party. The angry dude who called him a worm seemed to be the higher ranking of the group. It was a bit of a cliche insult, "Jedi Worm" being the number two most popular insult on the holowebsite Galactic Buzzfeed's "Top 10 Slurs For Jedi", but he let it slide. Truthfully nothing had any effect on him anymore. The Jedi had nearly completely lost his mind. The original Dahar, the kind-of balanced and sensible Dahar, had been snuffed out by this new, senseless Dahar, who just wanted to randomly go places and do whatever.

 

So, along with the madness, came a complete and utter lack of regard for his own safety. It just didn't matter to him anymore what situations might be copacetic and what wouldn't. Sure, it had occurred to him that showing up on a place like this could be a trap that would result in the Sith sharing pieces of his body to make jewelry out of... but he just didn't care. That didn't, however, completely eliminate his common sense. Dahar had come here on a promise, a promise that the Dark Side would be "fun". And now, having the mental balance of a lunatic, he would pursue that fun. Picking a fight with the Dark Lord could DEFINITELY be fun. But not now, not yet.

 

Dahar logically knew that he wasn't safe here, but he wasn't capable of the emotions that would bring him to fear anymore. He had been reprogrammed. Logic told him he was outnumbered, and therefore in no position to challenge anyone at the gathering. Individually, however, his own confidence, perhaps even arrogance, told him that none of them would be a one-on-one match for the former Grandmaster.

 

He would indeed prove himself useful. The malice these men clearly held towards the Jedi was matched with his own. The difference was that Dahar had secrets, locations, knowledge. Perhaps he even still had access to certain things. The holocron he wore around his neck had at one point ran an entire temple... it had reached out across the entire galaxy to relay a message to all the Jedi. Surely it could be of some use if he were to return it to one of the temples. Yes, he would prove himself useful. But for now he would pick his battles. And this was not a battle for him.

 

The former Jedi gave a small bow to the Dark Lord and rejoined the Hutt in his section of the table. He sat down with a smile, the maniacal smile of a man who had nothing to lose, and grabbed another piece of meat.