Korriban

[Exodus]

• Take a moment, breathe.

 

 

The airflow in the room oscillated without notice; it was an instantaneous shift that buckled underneath the weight of the Force that Exodus now incarnated through his flesh. The darkness thirsted for what was one of the most prevalent Commanders of it, and could not wait a second more to crawl back to his feet and wash over him. Beneath his robes his scars and tribal ink would siphon the atmosphere, and they would run red with pure energy as the Force returned, they would bleed color for but a brief moment. He remained utterly poised while the Dark Side cascaded into his impregnable vessel and threaded his bones with unfathomable power. There was a loud and malicious hiss in his ear, one audible to Exodus alone, one he could tell was a an imminent foreshadowing for the divide that the Ysalamir had caused. “Silence!”

 

 

• … Shhhhhhhh.

 

Not even a whisper. Exodus held the commlink in his hand, and stared over the piece, he understood what it had meant on a deeper level and pocketed the device beneath folds of black. He was well aware of the how the Dark Power would tax as well, and as he reviewed the holo-projection of what appeared to be Faust in the flesh, he knew there was an unsettled debt for the actions he was accused of. The evidence was written all over his broken body. Darth Luciferian had come to offer his respects no less, and he spoke the words truer than most would, with a shrewdness that had indeed tried Exodus on some level. He reverentially bowed his head low in return to the pair, acknowledging the quarrel that Faust faced as well as accepting his esteemed pledge.

 

 

“Your respects are well-received Vladimir, and you leave with my blessing.” His voice was forthright, trickling with light homage. Exodus reassured the couple as they parted ways, knowing that there may be others that would take advantage of what they had just witnessed. Brother Sheog was quick to voice his scorn thereafter, and he could feel the fire inside of his apprentice burn loud, but also how she tempered it faster than she had ever managed before. She was learning, as was the Jedi who was quick to heed command. Good boy. The chants and glorification of the Dark One would eventually settle and an empowering of the infrastructure to come would begin shortly after. The warriors and soldiers had their designations, and the Spider, commanded thousands as he stood here far removed from the scene.

 

 

• "From the mindless support you are getting from the masses, Spider.."
  "... I do not trust shadow-spinners who attempt to walk with the graces of unseen power." Sheog explained.

 

 

"And I do not trust sniveling Jedi, and yet, here we are." A stroke of irony left his silver-tongue. Exodus measured the distasteful look that smeared itself across the features of the Hutt, the manner in which he spoke, and now the rather unexpected spill of the tankard at his feet. The liquid pooled itself across the cobblestones and spread with a cobwebbed pattern, the motion was mesmeric and for a moment, it captured the Dark Lord. He could see his himself in partials with the reflection of the blood-red spill, especially as it swept across where he stood and wet the hide of his boots. There were those that would underestimate the Hutt because of his rather absurd mannerisms, but Exodus knew there was a much darker side to the Hutt, one that teased itself to the surface and decided to rear it’s ugly head here and now. Exodus could read it between the laughter, he could smell the astriction in the air, and knew that an anger boiled inside of the Giant Krath.

 

 

“Sheog Diresto, Master of the Krath, Exemplar of the Cunning. Do you intend to insult me?” Exodus smiled in return, but his too, carried a darker and deeper tone. He bent at the knee, looking over the squandered mess that attempted to soak him. There was an unnatural breeze that seemed to ripple the red waters below, and the tattered ends of his robes now dipped freely into it. He traced a finger along the drowned cobblestone and then lifted himself to his full stature once more. With a slight veer in the direction of the creature that he considered kin, he locked eyes with the massive Hutt. "Faust will find power, with or without help, just as any of us have done time and time again. Trust has no face in what we've done here," Exodus turned his body whole in the direction of the one he spoke to, feet quietly swimming in the puddles. —But I wonder, if even you underestimate me, dear friend." The words hissed from his mouth with assured venom, knowing that a side of the Hutt that few ever witnessed was on the brink of discovery, and this brought a genuine inkling of mischief out of the Assassin. He would do whatever it took to drag the excellence out of his people, even if he had to beat it out of them.

 

 

"..Did you wish to show us what you're holding back?" Exodus stood relaxed, predisposed to his natural cool, laughing low even. ".. You might frighten your guest."

[Sheog the Mad]

<>

A Tuk’ata meandered into the grand hallway, its glossy coat a canvas painted with streaks and swirls of black and white. It walked with a gate measured and carrying purpose. As the creature’s clawed toes began to soak in the growing vermillion sea, its voice erupted in harsh barking, marked in fearish yelps. The running waters crawled and thrashed upon, swelling around the Tuk’ata as its yelping cries grew louder and more frantic. The liquid took upon itself the colours of a rusted hulk, and its reflection became terrible.

 

<>

 

The yelping turned to curling shrieks that echoed upon the fire-lit walls. A thousand hands reached from beyond the reflection, tearing through the veil to consume the frightened beast. Fistfuls of glossy mane were followed by the sundering of hand-torn flesh, and still the beast cried.

 

<>

 

The Tuk’ata’s skeleton, picked of flesh by rasping fingers, fell shuddering into the churning sea. A chorus of deep laughter arose from the waves as they began to flow into themselves, a collapsing ripple in a pond. The Hutt’s eyes grew darker as he moved his staff to stand before him. The pull of the void was nearly unavoidable without his connection to the Force. His voice became weary, holding within it a rasping hunger

 

<>

 

His eyes bored into Faust’s

 

<>

 

The Overlarge Hutt flicked his staff against the cobbles, and a stream of servants began to bring out trays of cakes and pudding. Frozen Bantha-cream was held aloft in silver chalices, adorned in candies decorated in gold. Each guest had their choice of their favourites. The Hutt laughed through a moist mouthful of wine-soaked cake

 

<>

 

The jumbled bones of the desecrated beast began to dissolve upon the dried cobbles, taken to ashes, devoid of all things living.

[Lusef Aryan]

Faust's gaze met Sheog's cooly, and despite the rotted, burnt skeletal quality of the holoprojected face, Alpha could see those lips curl into a rictus smile, not daring to hide his amusement any more. Alpha's master gave a final nod to the group and then left the Sith's sanctum, a slow, rasping chuckle escaping his lips once more, ending in a withering cough. Alpha just fell in beside his lord, feeling the tension of the encounter seep out of him. Not wasting a beat, he could see Faust's fingers punching in something onto his chair, a comm he knew that would go back to his ship. In all likelihood, the stromtrooper mused, Bespin.

 

Once back into the open Valley of the Sith, Faust lead him off the beaten path. Even under his armor, Alpha swore he could feel a chill wind seep into his bones. "You played your part well," Faust said coolly, breaking the silence. "I have trust in the new Dark Lord. The Hutt and his apprentice think me a weak, broken thing." Though Faust had put his hood up since leaving the audience hall, Alpha could make out a smile. "They are right, but they underestimate me. That is... pleasing." A mirthless, cold laugh escapes Faust once more, broken only by more wheezing and clutching at his chest. "There was a third purpose for the ysalamir," Faust continues, his voice softer, almost gentle. At that Alpha tensed up again, knowing that was when his lord was at his most dangerous. "If they had proven unworthy and an active hindrance to our plans, they wouldn't have seen their doom coming. That entire building would have been leveled." It was completely casual in how it was said, and Alpha understood then his life would have been forfeit in such actions. A strike from Gamma in the shuttle? A thermal detonator or similar bomb within the chair? Or some other contingency? Faust didn't elaborate on how he could have done it. "If they were unworthy and willing, I could still work with them. If they were worthy and opposed me I could at least manipulate them out of self-interest, but if they were both, I'd have done them a mercy," he continues, his smile vicious.

 

"Fortunately, our Dark Lord is no fool. He never was though I came prepared. We must be wary of Sheog. He wears his vices on his sleeve, letting others think him a decadent fool. The ashes of those who believed that litter his path." He bows his head and Alpha sees him think. "I foresee a glorious new age for the Sith. And perhaps..." His fingers steeple, index fingers tapping thoughtfully. What ever he was thinking, Alpha noted, he chose not to share.

 

They approached what looked like an ornate cave opening some distance from the Sith's headquarters. Though Alpha knew the Force was pushed back, he still swore he could feel a palpable blackness within. The tombs of the ancient Sith lay ahead, their spirits restless, their traps no less deadly with age. He followed his master within, even more on alert than before.

 

*****

 

Beta greeted her lord and Alpha as they made it back to the ship some time later. Faust's white robe looked like it'd been frayed around the edges, a scorch mark here and there. Alpha carried his helmet, dented horribly under his arm, a gash over his short clipped black hair. Beta rushed over to him, grabbing a medkit, remembering her lord's directions back on Dathomir. Her lord seemed unperturbed, his mechanical hands stroking what looked like a amulet. It was round and carried the insignia of the ancient Sith on it. Alpha, she saw was staring at it, a haunted look in his eyes. Both their ysalamir were still intact, she saw a moment later.

 

"The tombs..." he whispered, shaking his head. "Even with the ysalamir... I could feel their hatred of us in their forces and eyes. The lord was right, the ancient spirits were not so forgiving." He slumped into a seat off to the side of the entrance, his blaster rifle scratched as well. "What I saw... the traps, the creatures... Awesome, and terrible." Beta put a hand on his shoulder and started treating the headwound. Her lord's chair rolled on, seemingly ignore the exchange. What they saw, and the details of what was retrieved, Beta knew would be a tale for another day. It was then she noticed that Faust and Alpha were not alone in coming up the ramp. Four Sith, marked out in the old style had followed Luciferian up into the ship. Beta felt a small surge of unease, then realized what had happened. On his way back, her lord had mingled with the crowd, and found those who were once personally loyal to him or trusted him to aid the Sith's goals. From three, they were now seven, and under the Sith's umbrella, Faust was rebuilding and restoring his networks.

 

As the shuttle lifted off, Faust called the group together, keeping Gamma looped in by comm as he took the ship into hyperspace for their next destination, once more coming as a surprise to the assembled group. "I've set a few additional plans into motion, and retrieved something to augment my power while my body recovers," he explains. His hands project more holos, head bowed in thought, showing a couple of distinguished Galacticly known figures. "The chaos we will seek happen. I'll leave Black Sun to the Dark Lord, but Bespin will be sure to fall. As for the Empire..." his gaze turns directly to Beta, another rictus grin from his bloodless lips. "Tell me, Beta, have you worn armor made of Beskar before?"

[Dahar Raikanda]

Dahar picked a bit at a bowl of pudding. The Sith certainly had better food, that was for sure. It was as if the Jedi Order, in a stuffy meeting room somewhere a millennia ago, had banned flavor. The sugary taste dissolved on his tongue heightening his awareness of the possibility flesh pleasures could bring. He thought for a brief moment about how awesome it would be to see that pretty dancer girl that had escorted him licking some of the pudding off her sparkly white teeth. He shuddered in ecstasy at the thought.

 

Seeing as he didn't really have anything to contribute to the conversation he continued to eat, biting into a soft candy. If it weren't for the food he would probably be getting bored and starting to question his decision to come out of his month-long retirement and journey to Korriban... But the Hutt Lord sure knew how to rock a feast.

[Exodus]

An unseen collection of the Inquisition that was predisposed to the location of the vessel that the darksider Faust had arrived in, had been called off and immediately seized their operation with a fascinating urgency. The few platoons that had passed earlier were an indication of a concealed scheme pushed forward to terminate the former Sith and wipe out his means of departure. The imminent destruction was waived off with cryptic eloquence and raw commandment; two birds were killed with one stone and bloodshed was staved off for now. Faust carried the sanctification of Exodus, which was a grace he had earned on this day.

 

 

• “I hear you, Brother.” A measure of understanding hinted in his voice, stern in delivery no less.

 

The demonstration that Sheog delivered was evidence to what Exodus knew, he hid a mumbling power that was eclipsed by farces and quick wit, a power he truly wished to see more of. What the Hutt had declared rang true though, the two were bound by blood, and his allegiance was a matter that he would never make light of. Exodus watched the sickly bones soften and then dissolve into spoiled ashes, he watched but his mind hitched itself to an idea far from this place, far from this room. The preoccupation of his mind was almost common since he landed on Korriban, a distraction he was purely disciplined against. Reflection, meditation and a new space would clear his ruminations. More delicacies and cuisines shoveled into the room on queue, but Exodus held a stomach for much much more. “Sheog. Tend to your guest, and keep me informed.” He spit the words, but did not look to the unusual Jedi. This time the Dark Lord swept his curious gaze to the opening passage of the chamber, languidly traversed the distance to the exit, and vanished with a spry march towards the Temple of the Assassins.

 

 

• ===

 

The scores of Sith and servants outside the Praxeum concentrated into different masses, seemingly centralized by peculiar individuals dressed in ministerial frocks, brandishing distinctive scepters encrusted with enchanting red gems. Curiously, a small cruiser canoed into an open space on the floor before the Praxeum while it’s TIE chaperons careened off into the distance. Grand Inquisitor, Braku Qesraa, retreated from the cruiser with a complement of priests on either side of him as he sauntered down the ramp. The pale-white Zabrak known as Iniquisitor Qesraa dressed in plain maroon robes with a large pretentious book at his side, and an even more pretentious scepter in his grasp. He hummed in a loud tune, crooning an ancient Sith invocation. Men stood to attention as he walked passed, in no particular direction, circling the masses as they were collected. A headdress sat atop his forehead, sparkling brilliantly in the desert light. His face was outlined in cardinal colored streaks drawn from the bags of his eyes to beneath his neckline like tears. The other priests walked side-by-side, hoods covering their appearance whole, and their black robes swarming the Grand Inquisitor. Their collective presence was haunting.

 

 

“Keenava, do not speak, just listen.” The voice may have surprised her, but her composure was noticeably healthier as of late, so he understood that she would not make a scene. “These passageways are unfamiliar to me, I must naturalize myself to these conditions and in the meantime, make contact with an accomplice of the Sith.” Exodus’ voice whispered through her encrypted communications link, steady and curious altogether. “There is a man that has just arrived, meet with him when you are ready, he will help you construct a task force sworn to your purpose. Your purpose will be clear soon enough, for it is my will, and my will alone is the reason you exist.” He did not mean exist pertaining to the concept of being alive, he meant exist as in the concept of freedom, freedom was what it meant to be true amongst the Sith and this is what he provided her. “Remember, when you are ready, move— but only when you are ready. When you have your team, I will advise you further...” He was finished with her instructions, the sound in her ear would draw quiet for a solid four seconds before, the small rasp of his voice came alive once more. “...peace is a lie, there is only passion. Prepare to spill blood.”

 

 

Exodus closed the link, and entered the ghostly depths of the Hall of Assassins...

[Keenava Dira]

The rose wilted a little; maintenance ignored and care retracted.

 

Meanwhile, the chattel chanted with fervor for their master. Fervent husks, with little else in the galaxy, were drawn to an uproar. They spoke with fierce intent. Their words were loud and their hearts were strong. Yet, their yearning wasn’t natural. The intensity did not belong to them. Exodus was their leader, their master, their puppeteer. His game was elusive. It hung in plain sight, but simultaneously far from perceivable inclinations. Keenava understood this because Furion’s ambitions were often cut from the same cloth. However, such methods were difficult to decipher and thus frustrating to work around.

 

Her attention drifted for a moment to the vacuous, raucous affliction that spread throughout the feast hall, but ultimately stalled when she reached for more food. Her choices hinged on the ample supply of comestibles and the conversation’s tense underpinnings. The ‘pleasance’ of the topic at hand, coupled with the lovely bouquet of smells that wafted through her addled mind, made her decision for her. After all, to her, meat was a luxury that she couldn’t often afford. She wanted to avail herself of it while she could, even if her host was simply content with covering her face in spittle. She’d hoped he would be somewhat interested in carousing and possibly reminiscing. Her expressive reception came with the expectation of such an exchange. Yet, his focus rested with her Master and Keenava’s interest in small talk started to wane. The Hutt was still a friend, and would probably have to commit something grave to destroy her affiliation, but his attention was diverted and she began to figure that her energy was best spent elsewhere.

 

Metal mixed with the tangy taste barbecue sauce filled her mouth just as she received a small chirp in her ear. Exodus’ visage was absent, but his voice filled her ear just the same. It was a short message, but Keenava picked up all the subtle details and excused herself from the table when she finished her plate. A polite curtsey and a few thankful words to the lord of gluttony were the only gestures she imparted before the Assassin wiped the debris from her face, replaced her hood, and disappeared. Her silhouette was lost in a cloud of darkness. And within moments the cloud dissipated, leaving nothing in its wake.

 

Keenava reappeared on the steps of the Praxeum, hands on the hilts of her knives, leading out to Korriban proper. The Grand Inquisitor stood where Exodus left him. The Zabrak Braku Qesraa looked at Keenava with a smile and bowed ever so slightly when she approached.

“Hello, mistress Keenava. It is time to get started. Follow me.” Braku said, motioning with his scepter.

[Exodus]

Nestled inside the nucleus of the House of the Assassins, Lord Exodus concluded a commune with several ancestral spirits, one that would allineate the focus inside of his mind and expel the distractions that crawled about without warrant. The spirits were fierce entities that provided a wealth of inherent wisdom, creatures that would seize the weak and take possession whenever the chance would show itself, but Exodus brandished a command of them that remained unshakable with ball and chain. Like wisps of smoke, each of them vanished, and Exodus sat alone riddled inside of complete darkness. The room was bare and sealed off without even the slightest measure of a candlefire to see what was inside, and somehow he was perched on a small armchair, where he now weighed his thoughts and deliberations. The darkness covered him whole, not a feature was visible on his person, and it seemed to smother him and return him to an atmosphere that would rejuvenate him.

 

“Carry this message to Master Sheog,” He extracted a small device, but from where, could not be seen. In a hurry, the datapad vanished as if an arm emerged from a void and disappeared altogether. The message read:

 

 

Master Krath,

 

In an effort to determine the whereabouts of our allies, The Black Sun, it has become apparent that there is an invasion in full bloom on one of their occupied planets. Word spreads like wildfire on Bespin, and the Dark tells of death. The current state of the criminal syndicate has waned over the years, and their forces are coming to extinction. You will contact your affiliate within the syndicate, and aggressively barter the terms of their consolidation. Sheog, leave them no choice. We have the means to ensure their survival, and they have the resources to feed our insatiable Sith Empire. Do not fail me, Brother.

[Sheog the Mad]

The overlarge Hutt watched his guests disappear one after the other, not caring to stay to take part in the Hutt tradition of waterpipes and watching dancing girls. It made his heart heavy to watch each guest not care for protocol, with the exception of the Jedi Master, Dahar. Seeing the man staying at the table, the Master of the Krath motioned for a large variety of waterpipes to be brought to the man. The process of vaping was seen intergalactically as a douche-move, but water pipes could be used for far more than spewing clouds of vapour to impress the half-wits of the galaxy.

 

Sheog selected a slender pipe, catching its metallic hook into the side of his maw and allowing the vapour to fill the enlarged crevasse that made up his mouth. It carried with it a meek spice called Alberayr-blue, flavoured as chocolate-cream, which relaxed the mind. It had little effect on the Mountainous Lord of Gluttony, other then a tingling feeling of calm that danced about the edge of his madness. The Hutt exhaled a cloud of water vapour, letting it fall about the two of them like a curtain. Into the vapour, the Krath passed his avarice and unending hunger.

 

<>

 

The vapour began to fold itself into the form of a Wookiee, the best impression Sheog could muster of the Jedi, Kiralocca, from the memory of his death at the Hutt’s hands. The shifting and clouded Wookiee began to roar, and the Force sprung awake with corrupting influence of greed.

 

<

[Keenava Dira]

Keenava nodded her head and followed Braku around the amphitheater of the dead. The assembled were gathered around lost Sith Masters like flies to a glowing flame. Keenava read a few historical documents pertaining to the ancient Masters that were buried in these tombs. And the blanks were later filled in by Exodus and Furion. With deference to her betters, Keenava did not stray into the entrance of any of the tombs. She did not veer away from Braku in his tour. The Twi’lek simply looked on, her hood up, bowing ever so gently as she passed the gaping portals to the damned.

 

Braku walked a span of sandstone that ran further away from the Praxeum. Here, a large variety of groups lingered. Some were evenly organized and did not react as they walked up. Others were milling about with casual small talk and snapped to attention when Braku and others of the inquisition accompanied him.

 

The Zabrak motioned with his scepter at the gathered groups and bent his head in a gesture of light prostration. “Master Exodus has given me leave to assist you with your task. Here are one hundred of our fighting forces. They are the best of our warriors and you shall have the privilege of picking a few to join you.”

 

Keenava smiled but moved her arms outward, indicating that Braku should stand back. Without a word, Keenava shrieked internally through the force. Her face was motionless, but a powerful psychic scream went through the minds of those assembled. It washed over the men and women before her and many them started to cry out in pain. They were not pushed to any lethal extent, but pain was the tool in this exercise.

 

“All of you who flinched, please leave the group. And don’t lie, I will find you if you do.” Keenava said, a hint of glee in her tone as she reached for the hilt of Clotho.

 

When the indicated troops left the mass of one hundred, there were only thirty strong. Most of the troops left over were shadow assassins from Umbara, which Keenava understood. Umbara was hardly a place of rainbows and Nabooian gumdrops. Their days were likely spent rubbing elbows with pain and desperation. And those aspects could be powerful motivators.

 

Next, Keenava challenged the remaining thirty to a race. From where they stood, they were to run all the way to the end of the canyon. If they beat her or came close to beating her to the other side, they would stay. If they didn’t, they were out. A few of the contenders were silent and others seemed cocky. Keenava had no more to say in answer to their dispositions. The Twi’lek dipped into a low ready stance a few feet behind the group of thirty. But when she signaled the start of the race, the Twi’lek shot off with incredible speed. Adrenaline fueled her muscles and the force helped to guide her flight. Air and exhilarant effort pushed her further and further until she ended up at the finish line, seconds after she had started. One of the contenders managed to beat her, and ten of the thirty managed to get there within the first minute. The rest were sent away before they made it to the end of the race.

 

Of the eleven remaining: eight were Umbaran shadow assassins, including the one that beat her. Two were warriors from Krayiss. And the last was a tall female Zeltron with latent force capabilities.

 

“Alright, for the second to last trial, I am going to tell each of you a secret that you are bound not to tell any of your peers,” Keenava said, passing through the number of warriors gathered around her and whispering something in each ear as she passed by. When all of them were finished, Keenava stepped into the middle of them and held her arms out from her body, facing toward the ground.

 

In the following seconds, massive amounts of pain, fear, anguish and malice poured into the eleven that stood before her. The force power it took to pull that much energy through the air was a bit taxing. But she had to be sure.

 

A few minutes passed; half-an-hour passed; then forty-five minutes passed and a few started to crack, revealing the useless things that Keenava had said to measure their loyalty. The ones that cracked were sent away and only eight remained. Keenava smiled under her hood, examining the ones that made it this far. But the last challenge was the ultimate test. Keenava bowed to each of them and then plunged into one of the temples. She said a small prayer to respect the elder that was buried but shot into the darkness, indicating that her prospects should follow.

 

A few moments passed before the eight troops proceeded into the tomb after her, each making their own acknowledgment to the dead Sith Master. What they found, was a blanket of velvet night. There was no visibility here. In the dark, there was only the thinning light that emerged from the open canyon. The eight that participated refused to give up though. They moved further into the tomb and pushed onward.

 

Keenava, having run only a few feet into the tomb before she clung to the ceiling, listened to her promising squad members and waited for one of them to trip up. Her hand clung to the hilt of her right knife and her mind occupied itself, waiting for the moment to strike.

 

Minutes passed, and a boot scraped the sandstone. Keenava lashed out, slicing a throat and then cartwheeling back into the darkness. Seven left.

 

Rocks clattered around the toes of another. A swift strike later and he was nothing more than a puddle. Six left.

 

The sound of a knife clearing its hilt and heavy breathing were heard not far from where Keenava hid. One slice in the gut, and then a quick retreat. Five left.

 

Hours passed. Nothing. Silence.

 

When Keenava determined that the remaining candidates were adequate for her purposes, she indicated that the trial was concluded and that all her new squad mates could report outside. Even after her dismissal, the assassin heard nothing. They were very good; whoever was left.

 

Keenava slipped off the ceiling and then slithered outside to find the five promising candidates standing in a row. The small Umbaran shadow that had beaten her in the race survived. The Zeltron female had survived. And the last three were significant, but the depths of their identities would be deciphered another time. Keenava smiled and paced up and down the line of women that were gathered before her.

 

“Congratulations are to you ladies. You are all members of my elite assassination team. When I stop talking, you will introduce yourselves in order from left to right.”

 

The Zeltron female stepped up and said, “My name is Madia Cavaerus.”

 

The small Umbaran stepped forward and continued, “My name, before I became an Umbaran shadow warrior, was Mina Uthiss.”

 

The other three followed one at a time and introduced themselves as Qarta, Indiko, and Palla.

 

Keenava bowed her head, acknowledging the introductions. She took a moment to breathe and then stopped before the group.

 

“As you know, I am the Dark Lord’s Apprentice. I represent his right hand in the Assassin branch of the Sith Empire. With that, comes certain responsibilities. Considering the importance that he has granted me, I wish for you to consider instead, that I am the right arm of the Assassin branch of the Empire. From there, you can deduce that you will all serve as my hand. With me to guide you and assist you, we will carry out orders given to us by the Dark Lord as if we are his own limb. We are an extension of his will and if we act in opposition to these whims, we are no longer fit to live.” Keenava intoned, a gravely serious expression plastered across her face. “If you break this oath, you forfeit your life to me or Master Exodus. Do you understand?”

 

The group nodded in unison and looked to Keenava for guidance. The Twi’lek smiled once more and then nodded in return. “Alright, let’s go find Exodus.”

[AVATAR Kain]

The Sword Logic pulled out of hyperspace like intestinal tract could be pulled out of a still conscious Jedi. After he verified his credentials, Kain piloted the ship down to the surface, his nanite skin shifting to simply outwardly display an obviously droid body. For now, he had no reason to hide what he was, but he didn't need to necessarily let the other Sith besides Exodus know quite who he was.

 

He entered the temple, finding the dining hall with ease, but kept his distance on the outskirts of the room, milling about with the rest of the servants and serving droids. He would wait. He had patience.

[Exodus]

Grains of Korriban sand flushed slowly into the breeches of an archaic hourglass, the little seeds of time gushed ahead with a sickly impatience. The fossilized time-machine was chiseled into the bulk of the stone wall, standing four meters high with the width of a Hutt, and would drain when the bottom bulb was outright filled. It was almost time for the sand to sink.

 

Exodus stood mere inches from the timekeeper with a push of oxygen that steamed from his nose and spread vapor across the glass. He stared into the infinity of his own reflection, searching the frenzied emerald glow of his eyes that locked onto him, facing the beast that his enemies had suffered before their deaths. He lifted his left hand slowly, as if concern had seized him. He stifled the air in his throat for but a moment, and reached towards the mirrored reflection. The metal of his gauntlet kissed the urn, a sharp tink let off into the air and he remembered—

 

• “My King, your subjects are—”

 

The expression in his face tightened and his hand clawed the timekeeper with quick distaste. The sharp reaction was enough to halt the speech of the one who spoke out, and freeze his tongue where it lay. The servant nodded hesitantly, and quickly shuffled from the chambers. Exodus turned entirely, while the rest of the room swung into picture. His obsidians cloaks lashed out like the blackened wings of a Mynock, and then rested peacefully at his side. He smiled, devilishly as always, “Let us begin then.” The dark echo of his grim voice would tear the soul from you.

 

In the middle of the room was a round table, above it hung a feudal chandelier lit sixteen different ways, which still wasn’t enough to disperse the overwhelming darkness of the room. On the table there was a set of brightly-hued power crystals, bleeding the color of red and all hoisted up by a crystalline lattice. Bottles of a particular resin littered the tabletop as well, some tipped over and empty, some still upright and filled with an emanating glow.

 

“Exodus, our Dark Lord and savior, has come to lead us on a righteous and unholy crusade to purge the unbelievers and prepare us to ascend so we may become one with the Force!” There. From the wall a body stood taut and strapped in with a metal bracket across his neck and most other appendages constricted with a hard leather. The words flew from his mouth in a panic, as if he was unsure in what he spoke, but still the language vomited from his mouth with absolute fanaticism. A white handkerchief barred the man’s vision, and he jerked his pinched body to try and desperately set himself free, so he could lay eyes on what was happening. Exodus was thoroughly amused.

 

The Dark Lord marched towards his captive swiftly now. He rounded the wooden table, stretched an arm towards the lattice and yanked the set of power crystals from it. His prisoner trembled hard as a chill dawned over his body, teeth clattering loud as if pneumonia had took him. He could not see Exodus with his own eyes, but he could feel the heave of a dread so heavy drawing closer which was burying an actual physical weight deep into his chest. While the slave was suspended just a mere foot off of the floor, struggling to make sense of the unbridled power, Exodus drew level with him as he came to a stop. Exodus was beside the slave now, so close that he could watch the folds of snot drain from his nose and spill sloppily into his mouth. Fear

 

The body odour of the prisoner wafted into the immediate atmosphere. Fear. The pressure in his chest disappeared, and the Slave seized. Fear. Did Lord Exodus leave? Was my behaviour too shameful? I can do better, I just can’t control my nerves sometimes. Fear. Ugh! I've pissed all over myself. What have I done? Fear. A cold wet streak lined his trousers and dripped slowly onto the canvas. He truly panicked now, he was to become one with the Force, he had promised to serve the rise of the Sith Empire at any cost and he had shamed himself before the glorious Dark Lord. “My King, I-i-i am sorry, please give me another chance. This shell is weak, I submit!” His body lost all fight, he knew he had failed, and all emotion flushed out of him except embarrassment.

 

 

• Silence took over, and nothing but the drip of urine could be heard from the capture for a solid minute.

 

--

 

 

“I shall set you free…” Exodus shoveled the crystals into the mouth of the victim and held his armored hand tightly over his mouth. Exodus leaned forward and allowed his weight to pin the crystals into his mouth and brace against the wild fear that unleashed altogether. The confusion, the terror, the unforeseen curveball; loud and stifled sounds of aggressive from the slave came alive all at once, from his convulsions to his full blown anxiety he tried to voice from a closed mouth.

 

Exodus raised his right hand high into the air, dangling just above his the forehead of the slave, while his left hand pinned his mouth shut. He slowly closed and tightened his fist, extremely slowly, even methodically so. The panic and murmurs turned to full blown asphyxiated screams, but the power of the Dark Lords’ restrain was unbreakable. The fist drew tighter and tighter, and blood started to leak from the long ears of the slave. His face burned a bright purple from the original pale it held. His movements were violent now, trying to lift his own head so he could bash it to pieces against the wall. “Isn’t this what you asked for?” Exodus whispered calmly to the bloodstream leaving his prisoners’ left ear. The fist was almost closed and the summoned pressure was, at this point, caving in the skull of the captive. Exodus smiled softly as he could feel the seizures drumming through his victim at an alarming rate. He could feel the crystals extracting a raw amount of terror and discord, swallowing the sheer torment. Exodus chuckled low as he knew what the pressure was about to do, and then he opened wide for a loud cackle that thundered as hammer against the echo of drums.

 

 

The final drop of sand rimmed the hourglass and fell upon the mound.

 

The slave had a name, Otta Kasche.

 

The slave had a mind for power, a hunger to feed the Dark Side.

 

The skull beneath his skin ruptured, buckled for a brief moment, and then exploded with an abrupt crack of the flesh that would paint the walls. Exodus wiped the blood from his face with the brunt of his forearm, while the power stones danced in the middle of the air, beaming with impetuous energy. He juggled the saliva in his mouth, and spit it to the wayside. The communications link attached to his own ear shrieked alive, with a timing that couldn’t be more efficient. Exodus looked towards the the timekeeper, watching the sand flush into the bowels, and smiling at his reflection in the distance.

 

 

“Sir, Lord Kain has arrived. I have sent for him.” the voice sounded cybernetic through the link.

 

 

Another hooded body shuffled into the chamber, sniveling and stifling a cry. Exodus would pry answers out of this one before Kain could find his way to the torture chambers

[AVATAR Kain]

Eventually, Kain received a silent summons. Nobody noticed the servant droid walking through the hallways, giving way and expressing the appropriate respectful idiosyncrasies to any Sith he happened across. Once he almost drew the unfortunate ire of a particularly irritated Sith Lord in one of the hallways, however thanks to a nearby biological servant (which provided far more enjoyment to inflict suffering upon than a simple droid), Kain was spared a fate from electrical torment. He made a note in his subroutines to acquire an immunity to the electrical attack, perhaps some sort of grounding system, easily fabricated from the nanites. Continuing on, no other threats presented themselves. To everyone in the Temple, he was just another droid.

 

Until he reached the torture room. He recognized the being before him, but it seemed...different from when Kain had seen him from across a Holonet access point. Kain's photoreceptor eyes calculated there was something off, that some light refused to reflect off of him, which made him...darker...though it was debatable whether or not it would actually be noticed by a biological set of eyes. Never before had the AI come across a being that could casually bend the laws of physics. He'd studied the combat potential of Force Users before, but to see something like this was something else...was the electrocution of a slave he witnessed in the hallway a manifestation of the Force as opposed to some kind of electrical projection weapon? He hadn't paid that close attention to it... Kain spoke slowly, now unsure of himself.

 

"You...sent for me. How can I serve?"

[Dahar Raikanda]

Dahar joined Sheog in the smoking activity. It wasn't something he was accustomed to but he was reminded of the old adage, "When in Korriban, do as the Korribianians." It was only recently that he had begun to drink on occasion, and the calming effects of the device was new to him. He obviously didn't have the body mass to take the same size puffs as the Hutt, but he took little inhales, enough to get a taste of it.

 

"Well, Sheog, in your original message you told me the Dark Side was more fun. It may sound childish, but I've had very little fun as of late. Being the Grandmaster certainly wasn't fun. It was the opposite. It became painfully clearly to me that the Jedi were useless. At first I thought you," Dahar motioned to Sheog and the entire temple, "the Sith, were the problem in the galaxy. But now I realize the true enemy... to all of us... is stagnation. Just like water sitting in a pond, the Jedi are rotting and festering. Balance be damned, the Force can balance itself, I want to do things."

 

Dahar took another deep inhale and allowed both the smoke and the Force to flow through him. With the ysalamari gone his wits were becoming increasingly sharp.

 

"Well, that and the fact that the Order tried to assassinate me."

[Exodus]

There were many names. He did not expect there to be such an abundance, but there was. Exodus combed through the mind of a creature that some would call a man, but the Dark Lord knew him as far less than that. He was a creature that had existed and served the many faces of the Sith for decades on decades, and he was one who kept his ear to the ground to swallow up even the tiniest sources of information. This creature was an Anzati, and for the incredible duration of life he was given, he understood the connections between all who associated themselves in the order whether from previous eras or of the new one. This was his gift and his curse, and Exodus was sure to leverage this, whether willing or not. Using the pressures of mind manipulation, an expertise that no other was greater exercised in, he had found a full bounty of names tied to other Masters and Dark Lords of the past and present. Slavers, Soldiers, and Servants; absolutely anything, including the droids and working artificial intelligences, they were noted and catalogued in an encrypted datasheet for future reference.

 

 

“Lady Nightshade. I have some sensitive information for you to, pick through.” Exodus didn’t laugh, but he knew she could see his smile as the last two words rolled from his tongue, and the unconscious body of the Elder Anzati was dragged from the chamber by two serving Sith. “The names, the names that I’ve sent you, I want you to erase them. All of them. They are the weeds in the garden of our madness, yank them from our grace. Use your team, do it quietly.” The elimination of old ties was a fundamental push forward, and his Hand would not fail him on this. These actions would set a fresh course forward, and phase out those that would aspire to impose their tired will on the powerful Sith Empire.

 

 

==

 

 

Each of the resin bottles were exhausted at this point, and the crystal lattice on the table now hoisted an imprisoned power that resonated brightly. The machine Kain had now entered however, and Exodus stared at him from across the room in complete silence, distracting from the brilliant glow. The hesitation in the voice of the artificial intelligence provoked a swelling curiosity inside of his mind, and while he dwelled on it for the moment, the black of the room obsessed over his physical. Standing from behind the disheveled table, which was surfaced with experimental tools and trinkets, Exodus found the handle of a long blade. He ran a finger down the smooth of the edge, and seized decently weighted weapon with his bare hand. He flicked the weapon high into the air, flourishing the torque of it, watching it spin and capture the darkness all around it brilliantly. On it's fall, and without watching, he reached out and caught the blade with a dangerous fluid motion; retrieving the blade from the air with lightning reflexes, and a slingshot of the weapon amplified with incredible dark telekinetic force, aimed towards the chest of his guest.

[Sheog the Mad]

The massive Hutt watched his guest as the man pondered the paths that lay before him. The Jedi seemed to be troubled by the specters of his past, weighed down by a troubled conscious and a willful malice. The Lord of the Krath took another delightfully long drag on his water-pipe, enjoying the changing flavours of muja and chocolate as the herbs were boiled into steam for his tongue to enjoy.

 

<>

 

The mountain of gluttony sighed out a mouthful of steam, which smelled delightfully of melting chocolate

 

<>

The Hutt took in another breath, watching as a set of Twi’lek twins began to dance to the sounds of upbeat background music. Their lithe forms didn’t interest him much, but it was mainly for the pleasure of his guests

 

<

 

The Hutt passed a chubby hand through his steam, letting the Force swirl it into a picture of the galaxy.

 

<

[Keenava Dira]

Stood, Keenava did, silent as the grave. The five in her charge stood behind her, equally silent. They were a court of dark reverence, watching the torture of the elder Anzati with rapt fascination. Keenava hadn’t had a chance to observe the Dark Lord’s work and was marveling at the craft he used to expunge valuable information. A niggling conscientious suggestion wormed its way into the back of Keenava’s mind as she looked on though, questioning the meaning behind the Dark Lord’s gesture. And the quote that followed the question, was even more probing.

 

You could give it all up and remain here, in sanctuary, what do you say?

 

Rumo’s words, once again, echoed in her mind. It was a feigned misgiving, but one that she decided to consciously consider while she held her quiet repose. It was a loaded question. And one that led to no small amount of conflict in the Twi’lek’s past. She could have stayed on Arachnakorr or gone back to Ryloth and tried to live a normal life. But, every time someone entered her house, she would have the urge to jump into action. She would never trust anyone ever again; not to the extent that most people want. The trauma of her past would keep her wary of all men she encountered. And she would gauge or case a place whenever she entered. Every moment would be a test of survival. Even a simple excursion like buying things at a store would become as complicated as a military operation. Not to mention, after days of no fighting or activity, her body would cry for exertion. Her hands would yearn for the spilling of blood.

 

Knowing that, she could have been a mercenary or a military officer. But their art was too mundane; to typical. They didn’t kill with art or finesse. Military officials were told what to do and where to do it at every phase of their career. Their kills were choreographed and blunt. Which meant that Keenava’s only options were to be a Bounty Hunter or an Assassin. And if she were going to be an Assassin anyway, it would make little difference if she had tried to forge a normal life.

 

No. The chance for a mundane life was gone. And Keenava couldn’t run to it now. That path was so thick with brambles that it would be a fool that chased it to its end. Keenava was set on her path. It was who she was now. And the surety of her choice was what guided the grace of her steps. She was the Dark Lord’s apprentice; she was the Nightshade; she was the Shadow Hand.

“The names, the names that I’ve sent you, I want you to erase them. All of them. They are the weeds in the garden of our madness, yank them from our grace. Use your team, do it quietly.”

 

Keenava’s blood red eyes opened, a fiendish glow burning inside. “As directed, Dark Lord.”

And with his word, the reverent court of darkness disappeared. Six assassins spread, names in hand, to the farthest reaches of the Sith holdings on Korriban. Dark herbalists, the assassins spread to exterminate the weeds on their list. One by one, the violent coup ensued. Umbaran shadows lay in wait, watching as their targets isolated themselves and acted with ruthless efficiency. The Zeltron drew each of her targets away with promises of affection and cut them down. All obstructions were disposed of in large canyons, incinerated beyond recognition and added to the bones of Korriban’s past.

 

Keenava wove a string of death through Korriban’s silent sands. Seductive hands wrangled and webbed those foolish enough to fall for alluring deceit. Cold claws of death met those that wandered too far from their group. And others were taken without explanation, a shadow robbing them in the dead of night, expunging the useless shrubs and cutting the chaff from their ignorant comforts.

[Lusef Aryan]

A brief holocomm arrives for the Dark Lord from near Coruscant.

 

 

 

A holoprojection of Faust in his hoverchair, grounded now is shown. The Hunter's face is covered. His hands move deftly, as if fidgeting, an almost angry, frenzied looking tapping, rhythmic in its nature. Despite that, the one-time Sith Master's voice is calm and steady despite the intense rasping.

 

I came by earlier to pay my respect and that still holds as only a fool would ignore your power. I would ask you to look carefully at the actions unfolding before you so you understand the depth of what I am about to say. I can... appreciate... the need to consolidate power, to throw off loose ends. That is business and... acceptable losses... And yet, while my hands, eyes, and ears are all limited because of my condition, I found my senses, my arms, shortened yet again. I find it... revealing... that such a purge was executed now, placing me in a weaker position and I suspect it is known widely you ordered this or had a hand in it.

 

I love a good mass killing as much as any other and salute you for taking the timely opportunity, but this passes into insult. The silence from Korriban speaks volumes. If you openly spit on an alliance, then so must I. I must now seek means to openly undermine you since I cannot trust you. A shame that it had to come to this, my Lord, but I see no other way now. The enemy of my enemy is my friend... You will hear from me again...

 

One of those wire-laden hands curls into an angry fist, shaking, as if quivering in anger.

 

[AVATAR Kain]

Kain's perception of reality was far different than most standard biological life forms. He took in information at speeds that would put the best data transfer service to shame, and his advanced AI and hardware made him capable of processing that data in the span of nanoseconds. Life was a veritable eternity to him in this chassis, which was why he was particularly fond of it. Before the blade had left Exodus's hand, Kain had calculated its velocity, trajectory, and twelve avenues of dealing with it as well as follow up counterattacks. When the velocity suddenly increased by almost a magnitude, this too was a simple calculation made before the blade had passed a mere two inches through the air.

 

He would have marveled at the beauty of watching these events unfold in slow motion, had he really any sense of appreciation for them. And while he enjoyed the edge it gave him, it was also rather boring. Kain's hand rose slowly as the blade approached, and he slowly began to rotate his torso, for after all, his suspension was still beholden to the laws of physics. His hydraulic musculature, however, was far stronger than that of a normal being, and capable of operating more than fast enough to pluck the hilt as it began to pass him by. The shearing forces easily tore the nanite skin on his hands, but the hydraulics of the skeleton dug in and held fast, negating the forward momentum through sheer force. Immediately the nanites went to work repairing the tear, but Kain didn't pay it any mind or allocate it any more system resources than what was standard. Here, he was known. He had no need for disguises.

 

To Exodus, whole act seemed superhuman as Kain's body snapped back, the blade now held in the droid's hand. Instead of attacking, though, Kain straightened, keeping the blade at the ready.

 

"This chassis is not ideal for combat. If you would prefer to fight me, you might get a better challenge from a mech designed for that purpose. Also, our arrangement was for protection. Am I to assume the arrangement null and void?"

 

Kain had studied the Sith, and knew there was a 89.7% chance that he was merely being tested as opposed to a renege on their contract. Still, it didn't hurt to field the question...after all, it was an easy opportunity to peer deeper into what kind of man the Dark Lord held himself to be. That, and likely Kain wouldn't be able to even ask the question in the first place were the contract null and void, as Exodus could have simply triggered the kill switch encrypted into Kain's base coding.

[Raynuk Montar]

A response comes in, designated for Sheog.

 

 

I am pleased to hear that the Sith are on the rise once again my friend. I regret that my warning of the return of Faust came too late, but I applaud you for removing his influence from our temple so swiftly. If a trinity has been called in the presence of the Dark Lord Exodus, I would be foolish to ignore the summons, and you would be foolish still to fill the role with the likes of that Massassi. Once I finish my business here on Corellia, I will hasten my arrival on Korriban. For I have things to share with you both as well.

 

[Dahar Raikanda]

The soon-to-be ex-Jedi thought hard about what the Sith was telling him. Had the rest of the Galaxy always known about the Jedi's lack of action? How had he not seen it himself after all those years? Surely he had been in battles, done things, but it was always in reaction to something else. It seemed to Dahar that the Jedi only acted when forced to. He was done sitting around in a meditation chamber.

 

"The Jedi Code has become to me an unwanted bondage. I want to be free of those chains. I don't want to have to consult a committee every time I want to make a move. You are right, they are stagnant. I would like to do something about it. Perhaps teach them what happens when you sit and wait." Dahar considered his words. "Actually, no, I don't want to teach them anything. I want to punish them."

 

"If the plot to take my life was truly handed down from the top then the rest of the Order may not be aware of it." In actuality nobody had tried to take Dahar's life. He had left Kirlocca, a heartbroken Wookiee, in disbelief of his resignation. But reality was irrelevant because in Dahar's fractured mind, the part that had taken over his body, the Jedi had betrayed him.

 

"I may be able to obliterate one target before I publicly become Jedi Enemy #1. Truthfully the Order is in disarray, that is why they betrayed me when I tried to fix things. There wouldn't be much tactical advantage to one spot over another. However, there is one place that is central to the figurative heart of the Jedi Order. It was the birthplace of the Jedi and home to the very first Jedi Temple. It's still where younglings go to train and Jedi go to refresh and regroup..."

 

Dahar edged toward his Hutt host. "What's in it for me? I'll help you penetrate the very heart of the Jedi Order... in return I want to learn the ways of the Dark Side."

[Exodus]

"This chassis is not ideal for combat. If you would prefer to fight me, you might get a better challenge from a mech designed for that purpose. Also, our arrangement was for protection. Am I to assume the arrangement null and void?"

 

 

Exodus paid no mind to the line of questions and suggestions that the machine spout, he found them to be tiresome and quite absent of the point of the blade, and he was sure that Kain knew better than that. Alternatively and more towards the point, Exodus kept a careful eye on the manner in which what seemed to be nanites, re-working the skin overlay that dressed the body of the machine. He had heard of their functions before, in a time where Lord Ryu reigned, and Mechis III was a central hub for cybernetic experimentation. The rare mechanisms revealed the earmarks of a reactive specimen, one that reconditioned the skeletal structure to operate without err. Exodus nodded confidently, and brushed over the crystal lattice once more with his masterful eye. He approached Kain leisurely, and summoned the small and extremely complex crystal lacework to hover between the two of them.

 

 

“I have a gift for you.” Ignoring the questions prior, Exodus spoke suspensefully, as if a marvelous idea was about to hatch. The crystal hexagon was deliberately suspended before the machine, knowing that the supercomputer would scrutinize the surface of the item indiscriminately. The eye could not catch what was buried within though, but if it could, Kain would be able to speak of terror in a thousand languages dangling before him. Could he empathize with terror, or did he exact it without understanding the joy of it? Exodus dismissed the inquiry as soon as he questioned it, staring at Kain for what he was. Buried beneath the long folds of Exodus' raven hair, the pulse of his communications link prodded his left ear briefly and assured him that there was further information to be dissected. He would wait to address the matter.

 

“This here is a Fragment of the Dark. It is an internal component I have orchestrated for your personal benefit." Exodus paused and deliberated the value of such an item, he knew what this could mean. "Your processes will not register what this is quite yet, but the synergy between these power crystals and the activity of those nanites should function simultaneously." He measured a guessing game at what it was that had healed Kain so efficiently, but he was sure of this, and had accounted for other possibilities nonetheless. "If you decide to integrate with this, once it is programmed, you will need to configure a function that grants you the ability to instantaneously mount the lattice in a particular misalignment inside of your core," Exodus stepped forward gently, closing distance with the object, and raising his hands to telekinectically anchor the Fragment of the Dark. The component unhinged and the solid cube unfastened slightly to instead show four separate rows of crystals laid bare, each of them now budding with a powerful glow, and each dangerously unconcealed. "This will establish a certain symbiosis between your available framework and the power of the Fragment. A power unknown to you will exist inside of you, and you will learn to utilize it to your benefit. The effect can also be reversed if the lattice is realigned by the very same function, as the power of the unit will withdraw from you because of a complete and orderly cohesion of the crystals.” The Dark Lord smiled, and pushed the item towards his relatively new accomplice.

 

 

• "It is yours to do with as you please." Exodus turned his back to the machine and returned his attention to the table surface, scurrying over blueprints and schematics.

 

“The pieces move quickly, Kain. Do not fall behind. Our enemies brood, and our allies idle.” Exodus pushed the architectural sketch of a new project from his view, and returned his attention to the exceptional automation. “You will be an intrinsic element to the Council, when the time comes, but for now you need ships.” His voice was sinister, and the words left the mouth as adamant commands rather than small talk, depending on the machine to read between the lines. “My apprentice bends the sword in my absence, Sheog The Mad scours the likes of a Jedi in these very halls, and Lord Faust extends his rather vague advocacy.” The depth of those that were available to him within the ranks of the Order was a fine line to be trifled with, and Exodus combed them inside of his mind as he wondered what each of them were capable of, and how far their loyalties truly stretched. "The rest of the Sith Empire breeds rapidly, while there are others too far removed to be of any use, there are those like yourself that I expect greatness from." Exodus stood at full height with his arms cradled behind his back, broodingly militant in how he visually expressed his stance.

 

 

• "Lord Kain, Grand Admiral of the True Empire, what have you learned of this.. Raven Zinthos?"

[AVATAR Kain]

Kain took in everything, exceptionally curious about the crystal lattice that the Dark Lord had fashioned for him...he had speculations on what it was for, but only because he had access to old Sith holochat logs referring to an 'alchemy' of some sort, with depictions of a similar design using these crystals. Cross referencing that information with the Sith Library databases he had access to pointed to something to do with a 'presence', whatever that was...apparently those versed in this ancient magick could feel others, and this would help him camouflage himself against them. Or at least, that was the general premise of the texts. Of course, this in depth research was conducted in the brief lull after the Dark Lord had told him it was his...a gift.

 

Kain didn't fully understand what Exodus meant when he was referring to other people, but as it didn't pertain to him too much, it was filed under nonessential information for the time being. He was an intelligent and learning AI, but without direct knowledge of events outside of his sphere of influence, even he would not be able to catch meanings he had no frame of reference for.

 

"Lord Kain, Grand Admiral of the True Empire, what have you learned of this.. Raven Zinthos?"

 

Kain extended his left hand, gesturing to a nearby holoprojector, which immediately called up her rotating head profile from his stored personnel files.

 

"Raven Zinthos. Born on Zinthos, a small planet with a smaller population, to a Dathomiri witch. She negotiated the peace accords at the closing of the battle of the Death Star to surrender the Empire's assets into the forging of the Galactic Alliance when she was fourteen. Current Head of State of the Imperial...Remnant. She was present at Carida in our recent skirmish, though due to the tactics employed there cross referenced with the tactics used at the battle of the Death Star, it is unlikely she was commanding the ships. It is likely that she relies on a cadre of experienced officers and consuls, as well as many other experienced liaisons to operate her pseudo-government."

 

The holoprojector shifted to display several new things, an image of Carida with a tactical information display, holo news articles, pictures of other less prominent individuals pictured in the Remnant's hierarchy.

 

"She adopted a tone of peacekeeping after the battle of the Death Star, but recent intelligence from cross referenced holonet broadcasts following the assault on Carida suggests a mobilization of military forces, adopting a more rugged and traditionalist Imperial attitude towards our insurgency on their holdings. Her command structure may very well be her downfall, as she is poised to receive bad advice from a digital misinformation campaign, or suffer a coup due to the singular leader structure of the government combined with her political history. Militarily, they are currently a match for our holdings, but that could easily change in their favor should they revert back to the military industrial complex the Empire has traditionally been. Recommend procurement of planetary-level revenue streams so as to solidify our holdings from any potential backlash by raising a new fleet and standing army."

 

At that, Kain paused for a while, allowing the Dark Lord to brood over this information. He picked up the crystal latticework off the table, intuiting how it worked, and pressed it against his chest, the nanite skin 'grabbing' onto it and slowly beginning to subsume it. Already his internal components were slowly being rewired and reworked from the busy little nanites, his main systems being transferred over to run off a much more efficient solid state drive, allowing him to finally rid himself of the biological brain that was incorporated into his beta design for the same reasons of the crystal lattice, though from experience Kain knew it rarely worked. After a few hours, the brain would be broken down into molecular components, expelled from his skin as simple dust. Finally he would be 'pure'. As Kain began to speak, his nanite skin was already changing, slowly warping his appearance to be that of a hooded figure with glowing red eyes and a hidden face. The process would likely finish by the time they ended their conversation.

 

"I understand you are a hard man to please, much less impress. While I am incapable of feeling true pleasure, I would hope you know that working with you has made my heuristic algorithms run much more efficiently. The Sith are brutally efficient at realizing the vision of the old Empire, and I see now why it was a mistake the bond was ever broken. You hold true to the sword logic, fostering strength and banishing weakness. I will do my part in ensuring the Sith reestablish themselves as a dominant force in the galaxy. But while my programming is immortal, my body is transient, and a fleet requires funds to build. Should I fall in battle, how may I acquire another of these devices you have given me? And how would you have me procure the fleet? Say the word, command me, and it will be done."

 

Kain knelt, still keeping his wits about him should the Dark Lord try to strike him again. The sword logic dictated constant forging of ones self, and Kain knew he was subject to a test from his dark master at any time, just like his master was subject to a test from him. The price of failure was death, but as Kain was functionally immortal, it would only serve to improve him next time. Of course, he still held the sword, should either route be taken...but further violence wasn't necessary. Yet. Greater matters needed to be attended to. The philosophy applied to galactic governments and organizations as well as individuals, and they would better serve the greater picture by not wasting time at this juncture.

[Exodus]

The cold-blooded and porcelain demeanor of the Dark Lord never flinched as he listened and thoroughly consumed the words the machine chose to contribute. He remained immoveable, industrious eyes dissecting the holo-projections as well as the cross references that were laid out before him. Fractions of the information spewed was unfamiliar, some known and others reaffirmed, all of it rather instrumental depending on the mind that played with it. Exodus nodded, only slightly, but enough for the machine to perceive a measure of silent acknowledgement. He knew what had to be done when he had left Umbara; the dissolution of the Sith ushered in an imbalance, or rather, a disease of complacency that needed to be rooted out. Yet, the advice of Kain was welcomed for the sole reason that two minds were at last alike. Furthermore, as the A.I. project assimilated the fragment of the Dark, Lord Kain would now seem to slowly evolve into a true creature of the night. His appearance metamorphosed axiomatically as the fragment bled into his core, and Exodus was keen to watch the process that the nanites played in all of this. Somewhere inside of him, he could feel that he somewhat relished the dark transformation that the AVATAR embraced, and understood that this one would be instrumental in the coming days.

 

“Your praise is understood, AVATAR Kain.” The smooth and almost abstract tone of his force saturated voice cracked the silence at last. His Grand Admiral knelt before him now, blanketed in tufted shadows as his frame calmly manifested into a flesh darker than the darkest of demons.

 

“The salvaging of the Black Sun Syndicate, our rather diminishing allies, is upon us. There is no choice for them in this as their days are numbered and they fall from grace. We will stave their extinction for a price that will most certainly nourish our advancement,” Exodus pushed the folds of hair from his face to the back of his head as he turned to the table beside him. He planted both hands onto the crust of the table and searched the many papers that filled it as Kain remained on knee. “The promise of wealth captures the hearts and minds of the kinds of people that fill most criminal empires, but on the other hand those same people will compensate handsomely for their continued survival. You will head into the belly of the Smuggler’s Moon, an underworld dominated by that same criminal element, and you will comb through the masses until you find those that wish to bargain with power.”

 

 

• “Nar Shaddaa. Do not fail. Do not fall. Those are your answers.” His powerful tone carried an inclination that threatened the machine to not fall short, but machines had limited comprehension in such eccentricities. “...Now rise, Immortal.”

 

The Dark Lord endured his research, and activated the recording that was previously sent to him, indifferent to whether Kain paid mind to it before his departure or not. A holo-projection of his esteemed visitor sprung to life, revealing a mixture of tell-tale emotion almost immediately. He remained hidden, as he seemed to prefer, but his ligaments moved frantically. His voice was similar to his own, an unnatural cool despite any circumstances. Yet, it was the way he spoke and the manner of his words chosen that Exodus dissected, especially in how he revealed emotions similar to a child throwing a tantrum. The transmission cut, with the shake of an angry fist, and Exodus closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to swim with sequitur. He opened his hawkish gaze once more, and smiled. The slaughter of the sleeper cells inside of his camp was just the beginning.

 

 

• 
  “Excellent work, apprentice. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed that.” Exodus spoke chillingly after he pressed into his personal comlink. “The Umbaran Shadows you have commissioned are becoming, but you must groom them further, exist as their example." Exodus looked up to ensure that Kain had left at this point, which was futile because he could naturally sense the Dark Fragment inside of his body descending the hall. “There’s a man headed down the long hall of the Assassins,” Exodus’ smile unraveled brilliantly, and then he whispered. “...Break him.”
  

[AVATAR Kain]

Understanding his orders, Kain rose and left, still tracking Exodus through his sensors until he was gone. The man was good to work with, but dangerous at the same time. Kain would need to be cautious in the future.

[Sheog the Mad]

The overlarge Hutt smiled at the former Jedi Grandmaster, and in the distance a distant screech could be heard, coming from a young voice, and with it the rasping of chains. The Hutt leaned against his staff, his crimson eyes assessing the man before him

 

<

 

The Hutt’s eyes flashed bright with the embrace of his own darkness. A young girl was hurled to her knees before the pair, her age indiscernible, but she was clearly before her physical maturation. She wore tattered robes, indicative of a Jedi padawan, and in the Force one could feel her trying to reign in her terror, but doing so badly. The Sith Master lifted her trembling and tear-streaked chin with the end of his staff, the emitter on its base scraping away a bit of the grime and drawing more tears.

 

<>

[Keenava Dira]

As the fate-weaver kissed its final target goodbye, parting the thin flesh of his neck with its keen edge, a sharp trilling sound hit the assassin’s ears. Her quarry fell to his knees, and in a sputter of futile resistance, tried to claw at her before his body fell uselessly to the sand. A gasp of defiance was all the cadaver could muster before retreating to the silence of death’s cold embrace. But Keenava didn’t break stride. With the cool indifference of muscle memory, the assassin wiped the lifeblood from her weapon and placed it back in its sheath at her hip. She callously placed her boot on the limp form of her final target and listened intently to her comm, digging her heel into the cadaver’s spine.

 

Her master’s patient words told of her deeds and made her inaudibly preen. His commendation was commensurate with a job well done and Keenava made no effort to hide the smile that graced the shadow beneath her hood. Ivory teeth glinted in the low light of Korriban’s hazy desert atmosphere. It seemed all was not done, however. For her master’s next command, was vague, yet condemning.

 

“There’s a man headed down the long hall of the Assassins ...

• • Break him.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Keenava sent a small comm to her team, asking them to rendezvous at the entrance to the Praxeum and wait for her there. Then, after dragging the corpse of her target to the nearest chasm and throwing it in, Keenava made for the hall of the Assassins at break-neck speed. Force-imbued muscles powered her flight and pushed her beyond the confines of mortal constrictions. The joy of spilling blood and the pride felt by her physical prowess, fueled the speed of her feet and carried her far. And when she arrived at the mouth of the building, she crouched, shifting all her kinetic energy into potential energy. The Twi’lek tensed her quads and her core. She jumped to the ceiling and used the force to hold her aloft. From there, Keenava crept down the hallway and suppressed as much of her force presence as she could. She silenced her breathing and made each movement with the care and dexterity of a leaf drifting on water.

 

Each elegant step of her form as she crawled on the ceiling was meditated and weighed. The twenty-foot tall ceiling would put her considerably higher than her opponent and the wide hallway would give them plenty of space to move. But the dark was notable as she drew deeper in. It wasn’t a problem for her. Her target, however, that was a different story and not a story that she knew. It would be stupid to think that the dark would only serve her when her opponent might have similar abilities. She couldn’t think about that though. Her senses picked up a thinly veiled presence wandering amidst the sandstone hall and zeroed in on the target with every perceptive power she could.

 

The hall, twenty feet tall and fifteen feet wide, was cold and dark. The air grew thin and the spider drew ever closer to her fly. Embracing the cold chill around her, Keenava let the cool steel of her blade drift from its sheath. Images of the assassin, clothed in her shadowy robes appeared to the wanderer as he continued down the hall. From afar, each looked as real as Keenava herself. But upon closer inspection, they were phantoms. They were ghosts that spoke with poison. They carried her words to disguise her true location and helped her ready herself straight above her target. Keenava's blade drawn, breath held, and eagerness tested, she projected her thoughts through her phantom army as her target ambled alone in the dark.

 

• Existence is a question.

 

• • What do we do?

 

• Why are we here?

 

The words echoed in the stone. And, just as the echo of her words faded, Keenava dropped from the ceiling and sliced at where the man’s jugular would be. When her strike finished, she tumbled to the stone and stood a few feet from the man, blade at the ready.

 

Death is the answer…

[Raynuk Montar]

After taking some time to freshen up and change, Raia had rejoined him in the cockpit, finding that 2V had apparently returned from it’s ‘exile’ of cleaning and had re-occupied the copilot’s seat.

 

“2V, you’ve been online and active for what, eight days straight now?” Raynuk asked after he turned to see Raia entering.

 

<> the droid responded, having not noticed or chosen to ignore Raia’s entrance.

 

“Thought so. Why don’t you go power down for a while and recharge. I can handle the ship for a while.”

 

The droid’s head turned to regard Raynuk, silently deciding for itself. <>

 

2V stood up, and only then did his photoreceptors shift to ‘notice’ Raia before the droid brushed past her and out of the cockpit. Raynuk then glanced at Raia and gestured to the copilot’s chair with a small smirk on his face.

 

Not surprisingly, she’d changed into an outfit that left no chance of her tattoo showing. A high-collar tunic the same storm grey as her eyes and decorated with a subtle rose motif lie beneath a hooded black long sleeve outer tunic with silver detailing along the hood and hems. At her throat, on a thinly woven braided string of leather, hung the blood-crystal tree Draken had formed from her blood (and possibly Raynuk’s) and the ashes of her birthworld. Slightly lighter grey leggings and boots completed her choice of outfit along with what appeared to be a rancor-hide belt and the lightsaber she’d been given at their first meeting.

 

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Raynuk glanced at, and then pointed to one of the switches in front of Raia. “We’re coming up on Korriban. When I say, flip that switch.”

“In three...two… one… now.” The time had come to drop the Ravenhammer out of hyperspace over Korriban. As Raia’s gloved hand flipped the switch, the hyperdrive cut out, the star-lines faded, and the sandy, desolate world of Korriban and the space around it filled the viewport. He allowed a few seconds to pass with the pair of them looking at the planet in silence, before he kicked in the sublight engines to bring the ship closer to the planet.

 

Once his wanderlust from seeing Korriban again faded, Raynuk immediately took note of the several starfighters that were in orbit over Korriban. A moment before his brain kicked into ‘defensive concern’ mode, he took note of the fact that the ships appeared to be in a defensive formation, and that they had not immediately shifted to attack the Ravenhammer.

 

“Interesting. Those weren’t there before…” he mused as the ship loomed closer to the planet. Reaching across to the console between the two seats, he keyed the comm, sending a message to the only point of contact on the planet he knew; Sheog.

 

“The Dark Lord has called, and I have answered that call. Care to light the way in my gluttonous friend?” He said when Sheog answered.

[Raia Montar]

Beside him, she settled back in the co-pilot’s seat and closed her eyes, willing herself to be as implacable as a stone within Raynuk’s shadow. He’d assured her that she had nothing to fear and she was repeating the mantra over and over in her head very much glad to have been able to talk through some of the fear and worries that had gripped her after her latest nightmare.

 

Oddly enough, she didn’t feel stifled but felt stronger dressed as she was. It wasn’t just fabric that covered her, but everything she wore had been given to her by what had started to become her new clan. The sleeveless under tunic and crystal had come from Lord Draken; the tunic, boots, and leggings had been given to her by Emily; the arm-length gloves had come from Alora, and the lightsaber at her hip had been Raynuk’s before he’d given it to her. Only the rancor-leather belt and scraps of leather that she’d woven around the crimson crystal necklace had come from what she’d originally left Dathomir with.

 

A muffled thud from the back of the ship, followed by the playful sounds of the tuk’ata’s rough-housing made Raia smile slightly. “At least they can stretch their legs on Korriban. They don’t like being contained either.”

[AVATAR Kain]

Kain was taken by surprise. Which was certainly saying something, considering he was on high alert. However, his calculations hadn't included an attack from above, and his sensors were focused behind him, more for in case the Dark Lord decided to change his mind and engage him. This was, no doubt, still a test. His thoughts occurred across a handful of milliseconds, processing what had happened. A Sith would likely openly attack a Droid out of boredom, or even a slave, but anyone else of status was generally left untouched from all but the dumbest and cockiest of Sith...who were usually the Warriors, not the Assassins. This attack was calculated...planned. Ordered. The woman's face registered as one he'd seen earlier at the dining hall...Sith records only identified her as Lallunia Kallemi, code named Nightshade.

 

Had Kain been a biological being, the cut would have easily been lethal. As it was, the knife barely cut through the nanite skin, which would heal in about two seconds. He knew he was no match for an actual Sith at this point, their Force powers, while still generally not fully understood by the droid, were still very well known and cataloged. There was little to no defense for a being like him. A singular application of telekinesis and it was waiting for recompilation on Mechis III all over again. No...this attack required a different avenue of response outside of traditional combat. He decided to morph his outer appearance again, only this time taking on the guise of the Dark Lord himself.

 

Immediately, he tapped into the Temple's comm systems, generating an alert and call to arms to all guards in Exodus's replicated voice, labeling the woman as a traitor to the Sith and giving her location and appearance. Like a swarm of ants, guards began converging on their location, instructed to use a mixture of stun blasts and blaster bolts to take her down, with lethal force authorized.

 

As his appearance shifted, he spoke to her, calmly. "That...was a poor decision. I realize I am not much of a match for you, but I guarantee you...if you kill me, you will only die with me. If you let this go, if you instead recognize me as an ally to everything that will return true power to the Sith, then you will live. The choice is yours."

 

After speaking, he realized he couldn't let this go for Exodus, either. An attack demanded a counterattack in kind, even if only to keep your opponent's guard up. Tapping into the Sith computer systems, he began injecting rouge coding.

 

>login.AVATARKAIN
>pass.w0rldbr34k3r666
>access{firesupress{asasinwngtorturrm}}&suppresstest=true
>access{comptrmnl{asasinwngtorturrm}}&safetybypass=false
>JollyRoger.gif
>feedbackloop.exe
>ERROR, OVERLOAD IN PROGRESS, SAFETY OFFLINE
>logout.AVATARKAIN

 

In short order, the fire suppression systems in the room Exodus currently occupied would begin spraying water and foam fire suppressants, while the computer terminals would overload, causing several high voltage electrical cascades through the very conductive liquids now spraying down from the ceiling, likely onto the Dark Lord. At the least, if it didn't kill him, it would be an amusing mess to clean up.

[Keenava Dira]

When her blade crashed against metal, Keenava’s mind lit with realization. Her tumble gave her time to focus and when she leaped to her feet, she was ready. Her thoughts were clear and her cold gaze pierced the gap between them. A dim red hue glowed from beneath her hood.

 

No mind to read. No thoughts to see. It’s likely a manifestation or a droid of some kind. Some pulse indicates a malevolent force deep within, but no organic brain activity.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…"

 

"It seems I only needed to cast my hand to break you. For a metal man with no emotion, you do a remarkable job emulating fear. But, in your foolish charade, you have forgotten three things."

"One…

Thralls rushed in, misguided and hoodwinked to believe a falsehood. Their feet pounded the ground with fervor, thinking that, for a second, their orders were true. Keenava reached out spectral hands and combed through the anger and revulsion as it rose in the tide of swarming guardsmen. The fire of their internal conflict burned against her and swam with multi-faceted potential. When she was sure that all their emotional turmoil was clasped in the open palm of her ghostly hand, she closed her manifestation, forming a fist. A fist that she turned against the rampaging guardsmen. Not at their bodies. No. Killing Exodus’ loyal guard would be poor form. Their minds were putty in a wave of mental suggestion that pressed against them and culled their useless march. Denial swarmed through their certainty and stopped their procession. The guards that rushed in, with their weapons drawn, started to mill about and go back to their duties as if nothing happened. A few guards were tougher to crack and took more energy to assuage. But, when all was said and done, the fury of guardsmen had ceased and they were no longer rushing into the hall.

 

… You underestimate me." Keenava finished, a small smirk dashing across her ebony face.

 

"Two, your façade is convincing, but you lack the sheer mental presence of my Master. Your foolish ploy was entertaining but wasted. Keep that in mind if you ever decide to take the shape of a force user."

 

During her speech, Keenava didn't move. Her ruby eyes continued to stare forward, burying deep into the droid's photoreceptors.

 

"Three. You and I both know, that if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now. I have wasted enough time with you. Ally or enemy, that is not for me to decide. Target. That is what is important right now. I was told to break you, so I have."

 

"Good luck metal man. Let’s hope you don’t end up on my list again someday."

 

With a parting glance, Keenava slipped her blade back into its sheath and vanished. The overflow of energy left by the rage she absorbed, blanketed her body and suffused her with darkness. She simply winked out and shot down the hallway.

 

When she left the entryway to the hall of Assassins, she was greeted by a herd of wandering guardsmen. They were still a bit delirious from her mental attack and it would take some time to wear off. By that time, Exodus would’ve sorted everything out and righted the few complications that existed. Either that or Keenava would have to deal with the aftermath and figure it out from there.

 

When the assassin was sufficiently out of earshot, she keyed her comm to report back to her master:

"Master, it seems your droid is a bit jumpy. I think he’s learned his place. If he needs a reminder, you know how to reach me. In the meantime, I'm heading to the praxeum to outfit my team."