Dark Renascence

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part IV
D’Aylanna’s bittersweet smile mirrored the chaos of her emotions.  Oh, she’d cooly kept an impassive mask securely upon her face–an innate survival technique that had been firmly entrenched since early childhood within the Hapan Court–but her emotions were anything but.

Death is lighter than a feather; Duty heavier than a planet

Even though the context of the Hapan axiom was meant for something far, far different, the fact remained that it was a truism for D’Aylanna in the here-and-now.

Just as Jorya too had done her duty when Kage Oyuna Chan’dn had tasked the Togruta to infiltrate and gather intel on the Sons of Kessel with Kenneniah Mack of the Mak’Tor².

As a newly promoted, full-fledged koawan, Jorya was given full autonomy commensurate with her rank.  Yes, she was young (again, not so young as D’Aylanna had been but young nevertheless), but she’d proven herself during the Dark Singer Conflict³ against Jennira and her brood-thrall Melinchae.

Once again proving herself with (and amongst) the Sons.

D’Aylanna smiled wistfully, remembering the marked change within her daughter: from when she and Kenneniah had left they’d been almost exuberant in their eagerness. 

Ah, the naivete of youth…

However, when Jorya had returned–with more surprising news that Kenneniah was engaged–she was no longer, to use her Skakal’s euphemism, so green.

Closing her eyes, D’Aylanna well remembered that day on Zonama Sekot listening to Jorya’s After Action Report from her chair as 7th Speaker of the Hall of Balance.  From how the Sons were organized to their (then) seeming inexhaustible supply of materiel to their enigmatic enforcer Black Armor to the man himself, Scrubber.

The Sons had turned out to be many things…but they were not the terrorists that the Gray Convocation had assumed.  Indeed, thanks in no small part to Jorya’s intel, they now knew that the Sons of Kessel were an anti-slavery group, one that had arisen as an autonomous power within Hutt Space.  And while they were trained, the Sons were much more.  Jorya had more than seen it; she’d lived it.

She had not spoken of them as something separate but instead with a sense of belonging.

Apropos of such, she’d seen action surrounded by the people that Jorya had come to respect and care for…and how she’d lost comrades.  Yes, she’d seen death before, but this time it had been “closer” and “more real” (her words).

But that hadn’t been the worst…

It had only been later on that night within their apartments that Jorya had sought her out.  Her Skakal had been busy helping Master Karmack so it was just the two of them.

“...Mom?” Jorya’s tentative voice was at complete odds with the confidence that she’d displayed in front of the Council of Balance earlier that day.  D’Aylanna herself had been meditating on the floor of the Atrium, legs crossed as a honey-lavender incense stick burned slowly.  Even in the setting sun, D’Aylanna’s brown bare shoulder seemed to glow with an innate warmth.  “Mom?”

Without opening her eyes, she gestured for her daughter to enter.  “Please, Dear One.”  Lightly tapping her hand on the floor, she smiled.  “Here: sit next to me.”  Admittedly it had been awhile since she had Meditated with her.

Slipping her boots off, Jorya quietly sat opposite D’Aylanna, virtually mirroring her.  Wrapped in the Force and in such close proximity, D’Aylanna could sense the unrest within her daughter.

“Breathe.  Balance.  Release that which ails you, my daughter.” D’Aylanna’s low voice was hypnotic, trying to assuage the unspoken trepidation affecting the Togruta’s aura.  Through slitted eyes she saw the much taller young woman’s face try to relax.  It worked.  Somewhat.

Minute things–fingers tightly clasping then releasing, micro-figeting, her slightly ragged breathing–became apparent.  Not that Jorya didn’t try…but whatever was bothering her would not be solved by Meditation.

Feeling that there was a better way, D’Aylanna opened her eyes fully, giving her daughter a small smile of comfort.  “Dear One…” She offered, gently touching Jorya’s folded leg, “Please.” She said simply.

Jorya smiled wistfully before her lips began quivering, unshed tears in her eyes.  “...Mom…it…I couldn’t…it was…it was…terrifying.”  She said the last in a whisper, her head sinking so low that she was almost folded in half.  Steadying herself with both of her hands on the ground on either side of her, she did not sob…but D’Aylanna could hear the soft, wet sounds of tears falling upon the floor.

“Please, Dear One…” She reached out, gently touching her daughter’s montrals.  At D’Aylanna’s touch, Jorya seemed to calm down, taking comfort in her mother’s tenderness.

Slowly she inhaled, the breath seeming cathartic as she found her voice once again.  “It…it was Black Armor.  I…we...were in trouble, real danger…I didn’t know what…what to do…then…then…he appeared.” Jorya raised her head, her blue eyes staring deeply into D’Aylanna’s.  “There…there was so…so much blood…” She shivered as she mentally relived the moment⁴, horror that she’d buried abruptly erupting forth.  “I…I…” Her voice trailed off, quiet and suddenly small.

Drawing herself up upon her knees, D’Aylanna wrapped her daughter within her arms, the taller Togruta timidly seeking comfort in the warm embrace as if she were a small child.  Softly, D’Aylanna began to sing a lullaby–a Hapan lullaby that she’d learned long ago when she herself was young–as she tenderly stroked her cheek.

“I have you, Dear One.” She assured her.  “I am here.  Father is always here for you.  We’ll never abandon you…never stop loving you.”  She glanced down at Jorya’s face, the healing weight of her words giving solace.  Gently, D’Aylanna rocked back and forth, the hypnotic motion helping to bring serenity to her daughter.  “I love you.” She whispered, her dark, slender hand delicately stroking Jorya’s face.

Jorya was one of the bravest people that D’Aylanna knew.  And even now all these years later, she knew that the young woman was frightened by that incident…but she’d learned to accept the fear, to continue on despite the fear.

It made D’Aylanna love Jorya all the more.

Which helped her in the here-and-now: D’Aylanna knew that what she did she did because she loved Jorya.  And she always would.

Finally D’Aylanna felt her apprehension evaporate away.  As she knew she must, she would do that which was required.  She would defeat Gaetana.  And free her daughter.

She deserved nothing less.  She loved her…

And always would.

   <<<<< >>>>>


Surrounded by darkness and the almost womb-like sounds deep within the ship of the hyperspace transit, Or’an was dealing with his own memories.

But unlike D’Aylanna’s peace, his elicited absolute terror.

He was back, back on Zonama Sekot, back with the Ferroans, back in the village.  He had never experienced such beauty, such tranquility, such happiness, such life.

The Ferroans had accepted him, taken him in as one of their sacred own.  It was the first time since crashlanding there that he’d felt a sense of belonging…

…A home.

But then came that night, the Gloaming of the Beast.

Even as horrible the memory he felt, his visage did not change, the carefully controlled mask that he perpetually wore firmly affixed.

And would remain so.

For even after the Gloaming, he’d been twice lucky: he’d some upon the Cataphract Triarch, Alcyorr.  That and he’d been given a new purpose in life, one that only the Triarch could offer, that of the Hamask. 

It was then that Or’an felt the dread and fury abate.  Purpose.  Duty.  Existence.

He was Hamask.  And, as always, his judgment was absolute.
_________________________________________________________________
2. As seen way back in “The Gray&the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom, CH.1 Missions:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=37226.msg606264#msg606264
3. As seen way back in “Shadow Etude, CH.14 Contrapasso, partI&II:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542
4. As seen way back in “The Gray&the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom, CH.6 Finagle's Law, part III:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542

[Lord_S_Gray]

A great look into D'Alyanna's and Jorya's relationship here, magnifying and filling in details from prior stories in new ways, making it both familiar and fresh, very well done. 

But there is a sad undercurrent, D'Alyanna is arguably going through a pre-emptive grieving process in her reflections, pulling on the memories of Jorya as she was in D'Alyanna's eyes, and affirming her maternal affection, yet at the same time preparing to "do that which was required" - it appears she is laying Jorya to rest in her mind so when she finds Gaetana, it is only Gaetana she sees.  

It's a very bitter sweet process Dutch has articulated here, a horrible necessity for D'Alyanna, in that it is the very love for Jorya that will allow D'Alyanna to do what she must, it is a very 'Gray Jedi' solution to the problem she faces - she won't cut down Gaetana with hate or rage for taking her daughter from her, but out of love for Jorya and honouring her.

This also highlights D'Alyannas shrewdness in not telling Zearic her true plans, this isn't something he could do, his is a fiercly protective love for his family - no greater then D'Alyanna's of course, but of a type that couldn't contemplate not trying everything to free her from possession which, I think D'Alyanna knows is futile [to wit in his battle with Karmack in WYLB Zearic was ever trying to bring him back to the light].

And that is a pain she wishes to spare him - D'Alyanna I think knows that Zearic would more easily accept (relatively speaking it will still be devastating) Jorya's death in battle than seeing her live caged as Gaetana's flesh puppet indefinitely.

Well done here Dutch for creating such a complex emotional and moral dilemma and working through the DAlyanna's process in dealing with it - it is perhaps causing D'Alyanna even more pain than her Hapan captivity ever inflicted.

Regardless her 'Shakal' is dealing with his own problems. 

Kintiks 'faith' in Sidious 'plan' has been rewarded - though how much is actual plan versus Kintiks sharp mind perhaps following a hope rather than reality is another matter...but given the results it hardly matters.  
He's found an absolute boon of a cache of warriors - in decent condition considering the time that's passed (clearly someone planned that well...the Ars Ingens perhaps?) - and who knows what else, and for every success of the Executor the Vhal'dan are in greater danger - unknown Imperials accessing an unknown ruin (to them at least) that is thick with the Darkside - the Cataphracts now hoping they can just get out alive now. 

And waiting, quiet in body if not in mind is the Hamask, haunting the fringes of each chapter...some great images generated here too, Oran looks fearsome and bulky as one would imagine!  

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 6: Captive Pursuits, part I
Sitting within the subdued confines of the large quarry, Gaetana took notice of the various rock strata, appreciative of the varied layers that made the stone of the room look as if it were painted.  Unconsciously, she twirled a computer stylus in her hand, the long, slender cylinder dancing between her fingers as her attention switched from the geology of the room back to the holomonitor.  As she did this, she idly stroked her cybernetic lekku with her other hand while focusing on the three sentients that looked both confused and frantic.

Unknown to (or even usually interested in) Gaetana, these were all idiosyncrasies that Jorya would adopt when deep in thought.  It would have concerned her acutely…again, had she been conscious of such.

But she was not.

That wasn’t to say that it went unnoticed–it had been–just not by either Shard within Jorya’s captive body.

Instead, Gaetana kicked her boots up on the computer station while she curiously watched the three sentients on the holomonitor as they tried to get their bearings: all three had awoken in a small, metal room that had but one exit.  Of course, she couldn’t make it look too easy so she’d activated a simple forcefield as if to keep them confined.

She watched as they searched first their room–which had a single bench bolt-welded to the deck–and then their unremarkable utility coveralls which they all wore.  ...Yes… She thought mockingly.  ...Your captor is foolish enough to leave tools to aid in your escape, you frellik… Gaetana laughed as she cursed…

…Something that the real Gaetana would never have done.  But Jorya did, something that she’d picked up from her Father.  The iron in the sandstone really gave it a particular ruddy beauty…

In the holo-image, one of the humans triumphantly held up a small hydrospanner they found in their pocket, soon beginning the work of dismantling the wall panel next to the door.  Yet even with that, a bored Gaetana noticed that it took an additional 12 minutes for them to disengage the forcefield.  It was a good thing that she’d chosen them as participants for her Alchemy; clearly they were not particularly qualified technicians.

...Father always said that anything can be solved with time and pressure…just like with geology… She thought idly, the stylus never slowing as she manipulated it with delicate orange fingers.

From the two dozen miners, techs, and soldiers that she’d hired to restore these caves, Gaetana still had about 17 left.  More than enough for her intentions.

She watched half-interested as they cautiously made their way from the non-descript, metal-lined room, through the tunnel, and into another small rock cavern.  She smiled as they paused, their trepidation evident even over the holo-image: confronting them were three tight rock tunnels cut from the substrata of the deep mines, each one only visible a few meters in before being completely enveloped in darkness.

The stylus continued to dance through and across her fingers effortlessly while she  intently watched as the three miners decided what to do.  At first they seemed at a loss as to how to continue, each one pointing towards a vague direction before growing ever more irritated before the large Togruta gained control.  Whatever he said, the two humans seemed to agree, each moving around the other.  She chuckled when she saw that each one had chosen a separate tunnel.  ...Wrong choice, you pfassks…

Reclining in the chair, she tilted her head back and laughed, a melodious and serene sound completely at odds with her devious smile and the dangerous look in her eyes.  Gleefully she watched as the holo-image split in three to follow each sentient as they penetrated further into each tunnel.  They should’ve paid more attention to those stress fractures in the floor, especially since the andesite was native to this layer…

Pressing a button, Gaetana watched as the holofeed switched from pitch-black to thermal imaging, the heat signatures of each miner now clearly delineated from their surroundings.  Tentatively, each one made their way further down the darkened tunnels, the walls becoming ever tighter.  Perfect.

...Now…! She told herself as she slapped a red button.  In the holo-image, she saw the three miners falling into the floor, each suddenly trapped in a durasteel tube they’d dropped into.  Terrified, they tried–in vain–to gain purchase with their fingers or batter at the walls with closed fists; anything to escape…

...Too late… She smiled grimly, yellow Sith eyes staring unblinking.  The three miners all went motionless in reaction to something that Gaetana could not hear or see.  But she knew precisely what it entailed and meant.  Evilly, her grin widened.  Almost as one, they began to flounder within the tubes as far as the cylinders would allow.  She saw the three miners struggling, as if they were being tortured.

Which in a very real way they were.  All three of them began to spasm, each successive convulsion worse than the last, fingers splayed in all directions in unnatural gesticulations and ways that they were never meant to.  One of the humans looked as if their spine was about to bend into itself.

As violent as their initial struggles were, all three quickly succumbed, all movement ceasing in mere seconds.  Pushing another button, Gaetana saw that the hermetically sealed tubes were unlocked from their place, an automatic conveyor belt taking each into a central chamber deep underground where they were placed horizontally on a shelf that already had several tubes atop, one that disappeared into the hazed distance of the imperfect holo-image.

Each tube had several connections that linked them to the archaic computer bank lining the shelf, the manufacture and design of which had not been seen in over three millennia.  Idly, she wondered what would happen if the “contents” of the older tubes regained consciousness…would they still be sane?  Aware?  Would they even be sentient at all?

It mattered for nothing, at least not to her.

Smiling, Gaetana nodded to herself, confident that she now had enough to power her Sith Alchemies.  Of course, she hadn’t attained the rank of High Inquisitor with “enough…”  Besides, the problem was always the inevitable loss of biofuel across the Force-body barrier.

Sighing, she punched another button, changing to yet another holoimage.  Like the previous, it showed three bedraggled, dirty, and confused sentients in nothing but prison utilities.  Better to be sure…

As she watched as the sentients bungled through the hopeless maze, the stylus dancing across her fingers never once wavered, the intricate and deft dexterity of her orange fingers soon making the stylus all but a blur in her hand.

But as unconcerned thoughts of the surrounding geology continued to sneak into her musings, Gaetana smiled, seeing her plans this close to fruition.  She felt a confidence that had long been denied her.

And–unbeknownst to her–she was not the only one.

   <<<<< >>>>>



Jorya schooled her emotions, “showing” no outward signs of how she felt.  But there was absolutely no denying it now.

She’d witnessed just how many of her mannerisms Gaetana seemed to copy, all the while ignorant of that fact.

Within Jorya’s absconded body, Gaetana’s and Kadmaur’s Mind Shards had firm control, Gaetana having emerged the clear “winner” between the two as to which held primacy.  But, as she’d noted, Jorya now knew beyond any doubt that there was a…a “bleeding” of sorts between her own personality and that of the Shards.

And that was not all…

“And you’re certain that this will work for the both of us?” Kadmaur’s Shard inquired, so unlike the man himself.  Unsurprising that; after all, this was merely a shadow of the real Kadmaur.  But given Gaetana’s more direct possession, her Shard was the one now in control.

“Of course.” She answered devoid of doubt.  “You yourself saw the two Clawdites.”  Kadmaur quieted but Jorya could tell that he was by no means completely satisfied.  Or for that matter, trusting of Gaetana.  Such dissension required effort from both Shards.

…Effort that weakened them.

So it was that a few days prior, when both Shards had been “arguing” about something about Sith Alchemies, Jorya had slowly, tentatively, and gently “reached” for control.

And for two seconds, her body had been hers again.  Jorya had remained “motionless” lest she call attention to her efforts but–and this was most important–the Shards had not noticed.

At all.

Jorya now knew that she would be able to wrest control from the Shards.  The problem was that she could not–at least not at present–maintain said control for long.  But it was becoming more and more apparent to her that the longer the three of them remained together, the more things would “bleed over” into the others.

So while Gaetana and Kadmaur played puppetmaster, Jorya slowly but inexorably drew upon the reservoir of power that she’d first learned to focus upon from Father, then Mother and Grandfather Kazic, and finally Master Gray Chillum.

And when the time was right, she would do what was necessary…

   <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to LSG: much of this is his writing!  This chapter is dedicated to him 
*********************************************************************

Chapter 6: Captive Pursuits, part II
As the Cataphracts raced under their stealth fields over the sands the grenades timer ran out, blasting fragments of the lift down to where Kintik had been standing, Stormtroopers and techs immediately rushing to the scene and scanning the area.
 
“THERE!” Footsteps appeared in the red sands without anyone to make them, a personal cloak no doubt.
 
“Set to Stun!” The captain called as the nearest squads opened up on the path of the invisible assailants.
 
Death Troopers at the main landing area rushing to join the battle.
 
Triad Isk duck and wove through the blue bolts, the odd glancing hit taken, the Cataphract armour able to take it, but not without a numb static radiating over their skin as they tried to get up the rise to the escarpment.
 
The Troopers' positions were too spread out to overlap fire quickly; they had been placed to keep people out of the excavation zone not in.  Air support was already being called in as the Death Troopers rounded the monolithic crashed vessel that served as the marker for the Vault, their E11-D’s aimed high and fired with precision.
 
Four shots struck Sio in the back, finally overriding his armor, Zearic skidding over to help him up despite his own wounds.  Resignedly clenching his teeth Zearic let the full potential of his tainted blood help him bear his comrade and himself, a lightheaded feeling as a strength not of his own choosing or achievement helped him survive once more.  Yet it allowed him to avoid the incoming fire, a fact he was most grateful for, at least in the moment.
 
Cresting the top of the hill they had a brief reprieve, but could not stop.
 
“Beckon call active, the TIE Guardian is moving in!” Olyna called, the distance was immaterial for their ship, but it would take a few minutes for the navicomp to chart a course, precious minutes in which they would be overwhelmed by incoming TIE Interceptors.

...Speaking of... Zearic thought as the all-too-familiar screech roared from behind them.
 
Interceptors flew over slamming bolts into the ground near them, their stealth fields finally dying from overuse and too many stun shots.
 
Overburdened, wounded, and his armor now running on reserve power, Zearic looked up...just in time to see the Interceptors come round for another pass, Triad Isk's only course of action to keep running.
 
Diving to the ground Zearic barely held onto Sio, the weight of his comrade driving him down to one knee as red sand turned to glass while the Interceptors boxed them in with another run--they were not trying to kill them, just slow them enough for the Death Troopers to catch up (and they were moving in fast)--fresh and ready they crested the hill and started firing immediately while a huge plume of sand appeared in the distance.

...Get up...! Zearic commanded his body as several more blaster shots connected with his armor.  Alarmed, he knew that he was in trouble: with each successive hit, Zearic could feel the sting of the blaster shots more and more, a fact indicative that his armor was close to failure.  And, unless he could get it recharged, he would soon be all too exposed.

Regardless, he quickly hoisted Sio on his shoulders repositioning him, the very thought of leaving one of his Triad never once entering his mind and started running straight at the Death Troopers.

Roaring defiantly, his baritone shout echoed throughout the valley.

Zearic had to hand it to the black-armored Imperials: they did not so much as flinch as he barreled straight at them.  Weighing over 300kg in his Cataphract Armor--not to mention carrying Sio on his shoulders for an additional 200kg--the wide man looked the unstoppable force that he projected.  But, as he said, the Death Troopers were made of sterner stuff.

Almost as one, they spent an extra two seconds to acquire target lock on the huge armored bearded man as he ran directly as them, their E-11D’s primed to snipe him dea--

"Zearic!  GET DOWN!" Olyna's shout cut straight through Zearic's consternation and pain, his Primus' yell supplemented in the Force as well.  Immediately he hit the deck, red sand obscuring his helmeted vision as a sand storm roared to life above him...
 
...Not a sand storm, he realized, but rather the Cataphracts TIE Guardian coming in dangerously low. 
 
Snapping round Zearic and Sio fired from their arm mounted cannons at the Death Troopers to force them to hit the ground as Olyna guided the transport on her HUD¹.
 
The Interceptors were facing the wrong direction, needing to turn before coming in for another pass.
 
Dust concealing them, the TIE Guardian had finally arrived, Sio half-shambling, half-falling in first, Zearic second, the inheritance of gods giving him strength to lift Olyna up without the Force.
 
Without pausing, she rushed to the cockpit as the Interceptors turned, their cannons now set to quad link, but the dust making it hard to get a clear shot before their sensors could compensate.  Even before she was fully seated, she activated the Guardian's defenses.
 
Heaving blasts slammed into the TIE Guardian from above, but the shields held as Olyna grabbed the controls, hammering the accelerator and activating auto-tracking for missiles.
 
“We’ll round the planet in atmosphere, split the ring system and do a near-Langrangian jump from the other side of the planet,” There was no way they would risk breaching atmosphere this close to the excavation site with Imperial ships up there...even so an upper atmosphere jump would be virtually suicidal in light of the planet's mass shadow.

They would have to get at least as far as the small planet's Lagrange Point before initiating a hyperspace jump.
 
Vaulting into the chair Zearic took the gunner seat, terminals switching on as he took control of the quad cannons, seeking the Interceptors as they flew over the Death Troopers who cursed ineffectually.
 
Locked into his armor’s recharge port, Sio administered his armor’s autodoc protocols.  “Cataphracts!  We are leavi–!” He shouted while almost breathing a sigh of relief.

That’s when the ship buckled as if it had crashed.

<<<<< >>>>>


 
Kintik raged in frustration as he stood staring up waiting for a new repulsor lift or cable to be sent down to get him to the surface, the sting of his cuts starting to bite.  He would not allow these interlopers to escape!  He was not some impotent member of the Inquisitorious; he was Dark Side Elite!  Gathering the Force around him, Kintik used the fury within.

There, peering from the depths of the Vault and into the sky he reached out with both hands to grab the ship, slowing it to moving barely a meter a second, the Dark Side of the Vault flowing through him like a tide of dark oil sharpened by the pain of his wounds that he let feed his anger, focused into the single Will of stopping the escape.

The Dark Side pulsed as if obliging him, filling Kintik with immense power.  Opening his eyes, they almost glowed gold as he concentrated on his enemy.

He would get his answers...either by questioning them or examining their corpses.

<<<<< >>>>>

Even though the inertial dampeners struggled to compensate for the sudden change they were completely successful.  Sio, already dizzy from the blaster shots, smashed his forehead on the bulkhead knocking him unconscious.  Both Zearic and Olyna winced as they felt it through the BattleMeld.  Things had just gone from bad to worse, their TIE Guardian held fast in the Darksider’s grip.
 
Zearic fired at the approaching TIEs best he could, but it seemed pointless…something that Olyna could also sense through their BattleMeld.  And as Primus, it was her responsibility–hers and hers alone!--to keep her Triad safe.

No matter the cost.
 
“Zearic, get ready to take over….” Olyna said drawing the Light through her body, a soft glow emanating from within her armour.  Soon, she felt as if she were shining as fierce as the noontime sun!
 
Her teeth chattered and fur stood on end, her muscles tensing until….
 
A flare of Lightside energy burst through and around the TIE Guardian, breaking Kintik's hold, the Dark Side energies rebounding as if a rubber band had suddenly been severed. 

The ship half-controlled flung itself forward as Olyna slumped unconscious in the huge chair, the Interceptors missing their mark then overshooting as the ships stuttered then burst ahead.  And upon her face was a tired, small smile.

However, she was completely insensate.

...Oh shavit... Zearic thought as he flew from his gunner's chair to swiftly-yet-gently remove the now unconscious Olyna from the pilot's seat.  With a quick inhale, he took her place knowing that he was not the pilot that his other Triad members were.

He was confident that Olyna's flight plan was still the best course of action.  Taking the Guardian off auto-pilot, he keyed in the destination and, with a silent prayer to the Maker, counted down the seconds that it would take to reach the necessary distance to escape the planet's mass shadow.

And the Interceptors had regrouped, six of them now in close pursuit.

<<<<< >>>>>
 
Kintik growled as he watched the vessel escape yet not all was lost.  One of the troopers had thrown down an abseiling line to him.  Empowered by an ocean of Dark Side energies, he made short work of the climb.
 
Once at the top, he took off his helm and glanced at the cut on his face in the dim reflection upon the black polished kortosis alloy, noting how easily it had been sliced through...quite the dagger his attacker seemed to own.  Hopefully micro fragments could be found to determine what type of weapon it was.

But that was for later.

Running, his black boots kicked up the red sand until he was in proximity to his own personal vessel.  Again, using the Dark Side flowing through him, he made a tremendous jump, using the Force to land squarely within the pod of the ship, having just cleared the now-closing hatch.  With practiced calm, he powered up the ship from its "Loiter" status (a short cut that he was now vindicated by today's circumstances) and enabled the thrusters.

Like the predator it was, the TIE Bat shot forth, the sleek vessel fast, powerful, and agile, the Autonomous Fleet's most deadly and top-of-the-line ship-to-ship fighter.

A fact that the interlopers were about to learn first-hand.
 
He had to admit that he was concerned: while there was much Kintik did not know, what seemed clear was that these attackers were as ignorant of the nature of the vaults as he was...were they searching for them too?  Perhaps, perhaps not.
 
All Kintik knew for certain now was that Lord Sidious' guidance was vindicated, and time was short.

At least, insofar as his prey was concerned.
______________________________________________________________________
1. HUD: Heads Up Display

[Lord_S_Gray]

Jorya continues to make painfully slow progress to regaining some agency...but there seems to be a very distinct time limit/  Gaetana's plans are clearly advancing quickly, and the combination of 'ingredients' she has is intriguing (or rather disturbing) to say the least and the mention of Millenia olf occupants of sealed tubes bears more than a passing resemblenace to Kintiks recent find.  There is now very much a race between Gaetana's plan, Jorya's building her energy, and D'Alyanna (and her Hamask hitchhiker), if the latter reaches 'Jorya' and her own unwanted passengers first all Jorya and Gaetana are working on could be quickly undone...but if she doesn't get there in time then...she may find a very much worse situation - having to face a possessed Jorya is bad enough, potentially a revisvd Gaetana and Kadmaur (even if a shard of his former self,....) could only make things worse.

Meanwhile Zearic and his Triad are going from bad to worse.  Vastly outnumbered, the Triumvirate is now onto them, and Kintik very annoyed (not to mention buoyed by a well of dark side power that took all Olyna's power to break just once) and looks like we're in for an chase. 

Things are really ramping up, and a great pic of Zearic there too!

[TheDutchman]

Meh I've been having trouble posting lately.  Hopefully this will be corrected soon  
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Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part III


Battle-bridge of the ”Mnemosyne,” Harrower-class Battle Cruiser, 3626BBY, Aftermath of “The Battle of Arda”
Surveying the wreckage of the Imperial flotilla that had attacked the Ars Ingens’ fleet, Darth Obliquus perused the destruction that his forces had wrought.  The Sith fleet had been utterly destroyed to a ship.

 But there was no satisfaction to be gained; not here and not now.

This was but the latest setback in a decade of disappointments with the Leviathans no closer to finding their Emperor.  He thought of neither pretender Darth Acina nor Darth Vowrawn, the false claimants that had each assumed the mantle of Emperor in the wake of the Second Galactic War.  No, for Obliquus there was–and would forever be–only one true Emperor.

The majestic Sith Emperor Vitiate.

Obliquus’ blue cheek almost twitched.  Yes, yes, his Emperor had worn many faces and names, the most famous (besides Vitiate) being Valkorion and Tenebrae.  Regardless, whatever skin he wore, the Ars Ingens were forever his most loyal of liegemen and -women, always fighting against those who would stand against their Emperor.

Even other Sith.

Unfortunately, that meant that the Ars Ingens had been fighting a war on multiple fronts, from the False Emperors and their Sith to the ever-present thorn of the Republic.  Obliquus was not complaining but he was pragmatic: his forces were being worn down in the inevitable war of attrition that the long search of his Emperor had all but guaranteed.  And while he and his Darths possessed a mighty army still, it was markedly diminished.

After Servant Six had been rescued, the numbers of the Ars Ingens had swelled to well over 130,000 strong, including 6,000 Sith Acolytes, Swords, Lords, and Darths.  The days of yesteryear had seen the Leviathans ever victorious regardless of whichever enemy they faced.  In some cases, the Ars Ingens gained even more converts, Sith (and the rare occasional Jedi) that recognized the immutable Truth that was the Emperor.

Power.

Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention to the present.  Obliquus noticed that one of the Terminus-class destroyers was trying to flee the battlefield, almost a fifth of the ship’s hull having already been vaporized.  Whomever was on that vessel must be incredibly brave to attempt such maneuvers in such shape.  He was almost impressed.

“Tactical…” Obliquus’ voice was as emotionless as his face.  “Target that ship.  Notify when you have a shooting solution.”  It seemed that the commander of the destroyer was intent on relying on the copious debris strewn about the AO¹ to give them cover, despite negotiating through deadly debris fields or in danger of their vessel exploding.  Clever.

“My lord, we have multiple shooting solutions.” The lieutenant crisply announced, her technicians dutifully awaiting Obliquus’ command.  This time Obliquus did feel a flicker of pride: still after these ten years his people were consummate professionals.

“Fire at will.”

Even before the last syllable had left his lips, multiple green turbolaser fire lanced out through space, the first shot quickly overwhelming the overworked shields while each subsequent shot hit true, producing an expanding spherical fireball.  As the Terminus-class destroyer’s doonium hull vaporized it vented atmosphere and occupant alike until–after multiple turbolaser barrages–the ship disappeared amidst an expanding white explosion as its reactor went critical.

Obliquus’ face remained impassive: he was certain that the derelict would take an additional salvo before being destroyed.  He suddenly felt introspective; a rarity for him.  The Terminus must have been in worse shape than he’d initially surmised.  It made the commander’s decision to attempt escape that much more brave.  Or foolish.  He couldn’t decide.  No matter; only results were important.

Which brought the reality of his situation crashing back around him.

“Captain Obeth…” He addressed the CO² of the Mnemosyne without looking at him.  “You have the Con.”  Not hearing the captain’s polished response, Obliquus turned on his heel to step off the battle-bridge and into the turbolift.  Surrounded by silence as well as the turmoil of his own thoughts, Obliquus was mildly annoyed to find himself such.  A good leader should not be victim to such distractions.

But that seemed to be more and more the problem lately: instead of results, the Leviathans were bogged down by distractions.

Even his top three Darths…

Now, yes, it was true that they had executed their offices and duty to Obliquus’ satisfaction–not to mention their efforts today–but…

As the turbolift’s doors opened, he stepped into a large room, one specifically belonging exclusively to the Ars Ingens.  Within, dozens of Sith Acolytes and Swords, Lords and Darths were in various states of arousal, celebrating their victory over the Pretender’s forces.

And it was his top three Darths that seemed to lead in the celebration.

Invidia, Sagitta, and Surdus: all three were entangled together, their open tryst not the point…

…No, Obliquus found nothing wrong in the fact that–over the last decade–they’d formed a close-knit relationship.  The Sith were empowered by strong emotions and if their passions for each other helped the Ars Ingens all the better.  Rather what galled him, right here and now, was that they should have been with him to the very last second until victory was beyond a foregone conclusion.

Instead, he found them down here, more naked than clothed, leading in this bacchanalia…

Striding up to the three of them, he knew that they had seen him, taking notice of his presence (if not his anger; Obliquus’ face was almost a constant blank canvas that had fooled many an enemy).  Yet, to a person, they all had almost identical smiles of exhilaration.  “My Lord…” Invidia’s surprisingly deep voice was incongruous with her youthful, cherubic olive face.  “You know that you are always welcome amongst us.”  She made a gesture with her finger, inviting him closer while her other hand stroked first Saggita’s lips and then Surdus’ muscled jowls, the humongous human male balancing both women on his lap.

Nothing stirred within Obliquus, even less so any biological response.  At least in consideration of their enticement.

However, the irritation that he’d felt earlier suddenly erupted into full-blown anger.

“Stop this immediately.” He hadn’t raised his voice but his tone cut through the room, everyone within turning their attention to Darth Obliquus.

Each and every one of them felt fear, to a greater or lesser extent.

Some part of his mind noticed that his three Darths were amongst those that controlled theirs best.  Again, pride in his people.  But the current situation swept the muted emotion aside.

“I will forget the faces of everyone that leaves.  Now.” He raised his voice to include the room but his gaze never once left the Darths in front of him.  “Not you three.” He commanded.

Invidia’s face looked intense as Saggita’s assumed a bored expression.  However, Surdus stood, his face an unexpected mix of annoyance and defiance…and something else.  Was it…expectation?  Whatever it was, it only served to enrage Obliquus further.

Towering over Obliquus, wearing nothing but some loose pants that did nothing to cover the lower half of the huge man’s body, he stepped to the slender man, the faded scar on the side of his face only enhancing his dark mood…and the ghost of a knowing smile.  Saying nothing, the enormous man glared down at Obliquus from yellow Sith eyes below a dark, furrowed brow.

Unperturbed, Obliquus glanced up at his Darth, conscious of the murderous precedent ubiquitous throughout the Sith Empire.  After all, it was the modus operandi of all Sith to challenge one another for supremacy, forever vying for dominance.

It was yet another distraction that the Ars Ingens should be above of and far removed, a hindrance that prevented them from serving their Emperor to the best of their abilities.  His fingers slowly closed to make a tight fist.

However, Obliquus could not allow so direct a threat to his authority remain unpunished.

Glancing up from an impassive face, Obliquus’ allowed his cheek to twitch, the blue skin telegraphing his displeasure.  It was the only warning Surdus would get.

The enormous man stepped closer, an intimidating and deadly bent upon his furious face; he must have either not seen Obliquus’ physical admonition or otherwise ignored it.  Hands the size of a Hutts balled in anger, dark yellow Sith eyes flashing.  And that almost-smile…

Pity; Obliquus like Surdus the best of his Darths.

Without hesitation, the slender Sith Lord moved, the back of his seemingly unthreatening hand moving faster than a Kodachi viper, striking Surdus in his exposed groin, doubling the man over, the glistening muscles of his back emphasized by the sweat.  Simultaneously, Obliquus used the Force to Shield the stunned Darth, effectively cutting him off, if for only a few seconds.

But during those seconds, Obliquus finally felt the quandranium grip that he usually held upon his own rage give way, drawing deeply from his emotions to power his attack.  With Surdus’ head parallel to the deck, Obliquus grabbed the huge man’s long hair, shoving his face down while bringing his armored knee up, the resulting impact destroying Surdus’ nose and shattering both orbital bones as well as the man’s face.

To his credit, the gigantic human remained on his feet, pain–and something else–radiating from his bloodshot eyes.  Growling something unintelligible, he rushed the much smaller man.

Another mistake.

With folded armored knuckles, Obliquus’ arm shot out, his strike hitting Surdus in the throat.  Had the slender man not pulled his punch at the last moment, Surdus’ windpipe would’ve been irreparably crushed.  However, Obliquus was not finished.

While the huge man tried in vain to pull oxygen through his battered throat, Obliquus brought down his armored elbow, connecting with Surdus’ head.  Unceremoniously, he crumpled down upon the deck, an ever-growing pool of blood widening around him.  Through the haze of his anger, Obliquus noticed the incredible musculature of the Darth, a specimen of unparalleled perfection.

Yet Obliquus was not finished, his conscious mind lost deep within the fury and hate consuming him.  His first kick shattered Surdus’ ribs, the next ruptured a lung, the third breaking his femur, the striated definition of the man’s quadriceps marred by the jutting, broken bone.  And still Obliquus continued to rain blow after blow down upon the huge man, his unremitting rage doubling every second, the red in his vision matching Surdus’ blood.

He would not kill the man; he would utterly destroy him, destroy those around him, destroy them AL–

Suddenly, Obliquus felt a gentle touch upon his cheek and then his other, the cool, soft skin of calming tactile comfort deliberately slicing through the rage-induced tunnel vision turning his entire world blood-red.  For several seconds, Obliquus–or rather the mindless thing that he’d become as a result of giving into his fury–breathed heavily, his entire body frozen as if in carbonite until his conscious mind caught up.

Both Darths Invidia and Saggita were on either side of him, their outstretched hands gently touching his face, their prior salaciousness all but forgotten.  They had identical looks of concern and patience mixed with strained effort marring their faces.  And, oddly enough, something else that Obliquus could not for the life of him identify.  “Please, my Lord…” One of them said–he wasn’t certain which–while the other pleaded, “My Lord, it’s not worth it…”

It didn’t really matter what the words spoken were but rather the collective tones of the two womens’ voices that served to dispel the hate-filled rage storm that possessed Obliquus.  Standing to either side, both women seemed as if in a trance, dual voices winding up, down, and around the four of them.  As it always was.

As the tranquility of emotional detachment settled once again around Obliquus, his control finally reasserted itself.  “Please my Lord…” and “He’s learned his lesson…” Echoed hollowly around him, forgotten trigger phrases a soothing balm against the ocean of fury that Obliquus normally kept at bay, a storm that contained his rampant desire.

While the soothing voices of the women continued to calm the Sith Lord, Invidia knelt at his feet, her hands cupping Surdus’ head.  Without pausing her litany, she drew upon the Force to direct Healing flows into the enormous man’s broken body.  As it always was.

A sliver of Obliquus’ conscious mind amusedly considered the irony that a rabid sadist like Invidia should have such a Talent with Healing.

In moments, the most grievous of injuries were on the mend, flesh, bone, and sinew reknitting, bruises fading.  But not all.

Nor was it “Healing” in the classic sense of the word; no, after all this was the Dark Side that was being practiced.  Instead, Invidia drew upon the three other Darths–Obliquus, Sagitta, and Invidia herself–to “feed” it to Surdus.  Again…as it always was.

Theirs was a unique relationship: Invidia, Saggita, Surdus…and Obliquus.  Yes, the other three were officially a throuple, but it nevertheless included Obliquus as well…if in a much more macabre sense.

Apropos sentiments given the Sith Lord’s emotional proclivities.

Now tranquil, Obliquus’ anger once again (and finally) gave way to passion, a lust that Saggita now sought to slake.  Removing his armor’s codpiece, he ripped the tall woman’s diaphanous robes from her body.  But it was Saggita that then took charge: pushing the tall, slender Darth to the deck, she towered above him, judgemental gaze pinning him to the floor.  Hungrilly, she grabbed him while crouching down on her knees, both shuddering as deferred cravings were attended to.  In moments, they were embracing one another, moving in unison as they felt the fatigue of Invidia’s Force Drain beginning to affect them.

Fighting against the weariness, they forced themselves to redouble their efforts.  Saggita grabbed a handful of Obliquus' hair in a vice-like grip as she beared down, the slender man’s sunken eyes staring ravenously at her.  Again, a sliver of his conscious mind noticed that Invidia had finally stopped with her Force ministrations and she too was currently “occupied” with Surdus, the two of them wrapped around each other.

Or rather, as much as the diminutive, childlike woman could with the enormous man.  Perhaps a more accurate description would be that he had enveloped the woman in his arms as she seemed to hang in midair from him.  But then, Obliquus could no longer think; in fact, for several minutes, nothing anywhere mattered…

Except he and Saggita.

In a moment of immodesty, the four Darths succumbed to their ardor and collapsed upon the other, each spent from the dual activities of the Force Drain as well as their coupling.

As it always was.

For several minutes no one moved, their languid apathy indicative of their satiated desires.

Not to mention the Healing.

“...Not so bad as last time, my Lord…” Surdus’ lazy voice joked, causing the other Darths to chuckle.

Obliquus allowed himself to feel the gratitude of the situation.  “Thank you.” He said to the others, meaning it.  And they knew it.

No one understood them; no one could.  They were Ars Ingens.

That was all that anyone else needed to know.

      <<<<< >>>>>
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1. AO: Area of Operations
2. CO: Commanding Officer

[TheDutchman]

Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part III (cont.)

Imperial Officer’s Conference Room of the ”Mnemosyne,” Harrower-class Battle Cruiser, 3626BBY, Aftermath of “The Battle of Arda”
“Our losses were minimal this time, my Lord.” Captain Obeth announced, not bothering to consult with the Padd that his adjutant tried to hand him.  The Captain was well informed about his ship and their personnel.  “Only 137 casualties, including 52 dead.”

Obliquus’ lips thinned.

True, those were minimal losses, but as he’d thought before his army could not afford them.  At least should they fulfill their duty to his Emperor by giving him the strongest force in the galaxy as possible.  Something must be done.

But what…?

“Thank you, Captain.”  He walked to the far wall of the conference room, the transparisteel window overlooking the Mnemosyne’s dagger-like superstructure. Staring at the clustered starfields amidst the ocean of blackness, Obliquus kept his concerns to himself.  “That will be all.”

Bowing first to the tall man and then the other three Darths, Captain Obeth departed, the turbolift doors loud in the silence after the large, bearded man left.

“What’s on your mind, my Lord?” Surdus’ quiet voice boomed within the room.  He’d recovered nicely, the savage cut that Obliquus had inflicted on his face almost completely faded.

Just like all of the others.

Saggita suddenly chuckled.  “Surdus my dear, isn’t it obvious?  Our Lord is worried about our army’s numbers.”  Even though she was seated, she seemed to luxuriate in place.  Fitting: even though she was fully clothed from neck to toe in black leather, the skintight outfit emphasized her buxom nature, the stiletto heels on her boots literal daggers.

Obliquus sensed movement rather than hearing or seeing any.  “My Lord…” Invidia’s deep voice was breathy in his ear, quite the trick given she was over 35 centimeters shorter than him.  “Allow me to help you and your trepidations…” Before the last word had left her lips, he felt a burning sting behind his head.

Obliquus felt the cut upon his neck as Invidia flayed a small, roughly square centimeter of skin from beneath his ear with her vibrostiletto.  But it did the trick; it helped to give him proper focus…but it also gave Invidia the excitement that she constantly sought.  Without pausing, she slipped the vibrostiletto into her mouth, swallowing the flayed skin as well as the attendant blood.  Smiling deeply, she placed a small hand on the tall Darth’s vambrace before sauntering towards the other two seated Sith Lords.

“Saggita is correct.” He suppressed a sigh.  “These pointless conflicts between the Ars Ingens and both the Republic and the Pretender’s Empire serves no point and only further weakens us.”  He turned from the transparisteel window.  “And we are no closer to finding our Emperor.”  Now that he had given it voice, the reality of the matter galled him utterly.

After all, his Emperor may be immortal but he and his Leviathans were not.

During the last ten years, Obliquus had given all of his energies to finding him.  Oh, he’d been close on several occasions–especially after he’d revealed himself in his guise of Valkorion–but before he and the Ars Ingens could offer their collective fealty, Obliquus had learned that he’d been killed by none other than the Hero of Tython.

Years wasted.

And now more come and gone.

Obliquus knew that he would have to divide his attention now between the search and how best to preserve the Ars Ingens’ numbers.

But…how?

Standing in front of his three most trusted Darths, he was about to make a pronouncement when the turbolift door slid open, vomiting forth a room-filling banshee’s keening.

“ARRGGGHHHH!” Another scream exploded forth as the turbolift’s occupant half-rushed, half-fell into the conference room.

Before anyone else had moved, Surdus was there, the enormous man catching the slender, red-skinned woman who had produced the shrieking wail.  She looked the size of a child in his bulky arms, even garbed in her voluminous robes (and she was not a small woman).  As Surdus’ meaty, heavy hands gently smoothed the woman’s hair from her barbed brow, Servant Six’s breathing seemed to calm, although her sharp teeth ground together as she tightly clenched her jaw.

“What is the meaning of this?” Obliquus inquired coldly.  He wasn’t antagonistic towards the Pureblood Sith woman…but neither was he friendly.  “Servant Six?”

At the mention of her name, she peaked through a lidded eye, her orange irises burning with an intensity that Obliquus himself was utterly convinced of: the supremacy of their Emperor.

“The…the…he…he’s…” She coughed, half-sobbing as her throat tightened.  “...He’s…DEAD!”  She finally shouted as she regained her voice.

Something in her voice sent stalactites of ice shearing down his spine.  “Who?” Obliquus asked, already guessing the answer.

Now Servant Six did open her eyes fully, staring deep into Obliquus’ own.  “Our…our Emperor!”  For a moment none of the four Darths present could speak.

“Vitiate is dead?” Obliquus heard himself ask, convinced of the truth.  But how?  What Obliquus knew–what only a scant few in the galaxy knew–was that the only way that death could claim his Emperor was if his body, his original body, was destroyed.  And he’d taken great pains to hide its location.

Yet he also knew that the Servants had an unbreakable metaphysical connection to their Emperor that even the most ardent of Sith Sorcerers failed to fully grasp.  Again: he held no doubts whatsoever that Servant Six’s attestation was nothing but the unvarnished truth.

Which left Obliquus and the Leviathans just exactly where he no longer knew…

He felt as if the entirety of the galaxy was collapsing upon him, creating a singularity from which nothing could escape.  Numbly he felt three sets of hands upon him, two sets smaller followed by an enormous pair.  Sounds absent their attendant words surrounded him, their meaning absolutely worthless.  How is it that after all this time the Ars Ingens had failed?

That he had failed?!

...NO…! His self-admonishment from the depths of his being surprised even him.  ...Do NOT capitulate…!

Mentally shaking his head, his vision regained clarity, his Darths responding immediately upon seeing his face change, his eyes focusing.  “Wait…” He spoke to all but directed his voice towards the Sith Pureblood.  “Our Emperor was nothing if not resourceful: he would’ve had a…a contingency.”  He saw Servant Six’s own gaze rise, the panic withdraw.  “Surely you must’ve heard something that would help our Emperor should such a possibility arise.”  To everyone else’s ears, Obliquus’ voice was calm yet determined; to himself he sounded as if he was pleading for an agreement.

For long seconds, the Sith Pureblood seemed not to have heard, her face a mask of terror.  But then…

“...Yes…” She said slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought.  “Yes.  A ‘contingency’ as you say.”  She smiled, the kolta-infused regrown tissue of her cheek slightly discolored compared to the rest of her face.  But her smile faded as swiftly as it had appeared.  “But I must warn you: it will not be easy.”

Obliquus' mouth drew down in a slight smirk as his other three Darths scoffed.  Surdus barked a deep laugh.  And when Obliquus spoke, his voice sounded as tired as he felt.  “Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj.³”  He sighed before speaking at his usual volume.  “It never is.”
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3. Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj: Sith for “Next time in the Emperor’s glory.”

[Lord_S_Gray]

Once more into the past of the Ars Ingens.  The Sith remnant faction has a very ‘Ronin’ like quality, utterly loyal but absent their master and wandering without definite aim seeking the needle in the hay stack of their Emperors newest host. 

The celebrations certainly show a new side to the relationship between the four key members, and how they ‘balance’ each other, notably Obliquus destructive tendencies once his ‘serenity’ is broken, it a very Sith relationship, marked by aggressive intensity, no peace only passion as per their code, pain to focus Obliquus mind when needed delivered promptly due to their bonds.

But it seems they’ve finally come to the conclusion that waiting will only whittle their numbers further, they need to search yes, but, short of becoming a military state somewhere, which would bring its own dangers and inevitable watering down of their core purpose, they will be ground down eventually no matter how they try to minimise losses or recruit more. 

So now the Ars Ingens, a contingency in and of themselves must seek yet another contingency…and surely this somehow all ties to the ‘present day’ tale of a Sith army encased in carbonite….