A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]

[Slade Xandir]

Blood felt himself growing more and more troubled within the realms of his mind. More often than not, there's dreams that gorge the happiness until they devolve into nightmares, tearing each other apart until all that remains is the same iconic image.
Tormentous reigning, standing over a pile of bodies, and Blood's twisted and mutilated body being the freshest of them all.

Tonight he twisted and turned in the lavish bed of his, comforter and sheets already shredded from the many times both hand and feet claws cut through the soft fabric. He couldn't feel the breeze, not with this skin and scale. He couldn't feel many things on the surface of what was once epidermis, now hardened layers of keratin. He could barely feel the heat that rose in his chest as his fury grew, budding and blossoming into an unstoppable inferno while in his mind, he saw that damned Sire, the Dark One, mocking him, shaking his head.

"It was supposed to be you, Blood. Weak."

Blood sat up just a words echoed around him, smoke clouding his mind just as it clouded his nares. Fire. All across him. New, but spreading. It took a matter of seconds, but seconds nonetheless, for him to reabsorb the energy his nightmare had left him with, soot and ash now blanketing him rather than what was once a comforter or sheets. Sweeping aside the smudging mess, he pulled his massive frame from the mattress, the creaking of the springs underneath disgruntled by his weight.

The Sithian knew his ability to speak was compromised as when he awoke, the energy within him itself livened. From it, branching off into it's own forest of magnitude, was the Dark Side, already trying to beckon him into another hunt. A hunt to satisfy a hunger that never left, nor would ever leave him. It made him more predator than man, and he simply couldn't allow the lisp of his draconic mouth ruin what he needed to get done.
Savage lies. Deceit in it's worst of forms.

Pinging Valkyr, Blood issued a simple command, and even in it's extreme level of risk, she had committed to it- she had no choice; she was a cyborg. Filters didn't exist for her. But faux voices did. And with digital prowess, her vocabulator emitted the vocal clip to all the Jedi enclaves through their secured channel.

"Please! That monster! He's back! Tormentous is back!," she omitted in her old Cathar vocals. "Please, Ben Kenobi, stop him, before he kills us all!"

Blood listened to the message play ominously through the lines, hidden by encrypted coding only just enough to prevent whoever came to respond from knowing it was from a Sith bot. Other than that, all anyone could understand was a Cathar woman was terrified of the coming doom.

[Ben Kenobi]

A Galaxy vast and wide, yet fate had its way of playing its due course with the pawns that it had upon its grand table. The message of the Sith bot, while dispatched equally as far as it had wide, was intercepted on the keen ears of a single being. The transmission was isolated and brought in for deeper examination. Being on the general frequency accepted as the primary lane of Jedi communication, it would surely be subject to intense scrutiny. With key words pinging off of Tormentous and Kenobi, the message would surely be brought in and the Jedi Council would dispatch its Investigators out to seek the origin.

But here, amongst the stars… the message had found a home upon the datapad of a certain Togrutan Jedi Knight. Her vibrant orange skin barely held in check by her robes and cloak, custom headset fitting nicely over the white and grey streaked lekku as she sat within the cockpit of her assigned Delta VII Jedi Starfighter. Ahead of her fighter another Knight flew and within seconds he keyed his comm.. “Asori, did you just get that ping?”

She looked down at the datapad and took a moment to really let the words sink in. She’d known Ben had been rescued and while her heart had wanted to go and see him, her duties had denied it, the Jedi had kept her firmly half a Galaxy away from her old Master. Now, seeing his name sent in a communiqué specifically, it brought back those needing feelings. “Yea,” she replied quietly, still wrapped in deep thought, “I retrieved the transmission and decoded it. It’s a distress call.” As if snapping out of a trance her fingers went to work, dancing over her navicomputer. “Looks like we’re going to have to cut this patrol short, this needs to get into the proper hands.”

“Understood,” the reply came along with the lead Delta VII banking gently to port in a loose one hundred and thirty-five degree turn. “Plotting distance to our hyperrings, just a few minutes.”

“Good,” she didn’t want to chance transmitting the message again, there was no telling who would intercept it this time. Instinctually her gut was screaming that this was a trap, likely some Sith ploy to recapture or assassinate Ben Kenobi before he got back into the swing of things; eliminating a threat before it was able to return to service. Even so, to disregard the message entirely would be to risk the lives of another or perhaps even let slip an opportunity to bring that tyrant to justice, once and for all. Determined in her decision, she came back to reality as her Delta VII was clamping itself into the hyperring, in moments both Jedi Starfighters were initiating the jump and streaking off to deliver the message to those that needed to hear it…

***Permafrost - Unknown***

Clipping into place, the power cell settled neatly within its housing sealed around the cradle of the sparkling mephite adegan crystal. Completed, he thought to ensure that he thanked Miyaza Jiyu for securing the precious stone back when the Sith attacked Naboo. If she hadn’t, the construction of his lightspear would have been far more difficult. Needless to say, however, she’d spared him a lengthy quest though he admitted it probably would have done him some good to get off Permafrost for once; he’d been here since his release. While he didn’t exactly feel like a million credits, he was becoming restless as it was in his nature to stay on the move.

Even so, gathering up the components for his spear had been a good exercise with which to continue distracting him from the past. Despite his meditations and recovery, overcoming the past was not an easy thing, even for him. He’d come a long way, it was time to keep the progress going and not allow stagnation to seize a hold on him. So, with the reconstruction of his saber, he was committed to the final elements in said recovery.

He stood and focused, gripping his lightspear in both hands. The Lightside of the Force came to his call and he let the strength of it flow into his mind and body both. Revitalizing fatigue and restoring himself. Flowing around him, the river of Light swept away his worries that he could fully become absorbed by the task at hand. His essence poured in upon the crystal at the center of the spear and it began to connect to his soul, a vibrant strength washed over the stone and in moments the entire weapon reverberated with the energy it restrained. With a bold snap-hiss a yellow beam shot from the emitter and splashed the surrounding area with rays of its light. The hum was steady and sound, it brought comfort in knowing that he had once again secured his Jedi weapon.

For several long moments he let the light bathe upon him and the sounds of the strong beam to steady him further. Now, confident in himself once more, he extinguished the lightsaber’s blade and tapped it to the ground a good solid time. Satisfied with his work, he set off; it was time to go and speak to the Council… it was time for him to become reinstated once more, officially, as a Jedi of the Coalition…

[Slade Xandir]

"Transmission successfully received," the warbot confirmed to Blood who drowsily stretched his irritated body. With a nod, he affirmed his hearing of her, and stood, walking over to the viewport in his room. Considering he had no clothes that were abt to fit him, he committed to what he had been doing since birth; being resourceful. The sheet that was shredded beyond a usual comfortable night's rest he pulled from the bed with a snatch of telekinetic power, and stepped inside one of the larger holes that lie in the middle of the fabric. Then, typing the ends of the silk piece together, he made himself a makeshift front-back loincloth. The top was then secured in place as another pull of Force threw one of the many leather belts he had in place. It was plain, black with notched holes which he had to fasten and make tight around his waist. Attached was the pair of dragonscale hilts that belonged to his sabers, sticking out from his holsters as though they were additional claws of his as their fanged bottoms jutted out with a sinister gleam in the light of the passing stars.

Never having moved from his place, Blood stood there, gazing out of the window as the darkness was illuminated by tiny light specks, stars, many galaxies away. Could he go through with this? He had to; he had no other choice. Tormentous was making his return, and just mere mention of his return would steal the loyalties of the soldiers and armies that he had commanded in his stead. They would leave him, and Blood would be defenseless, save that of his own followers. Blood couldn't even be certain that this fate would befall him, but the growing paranoia of a Sith Leader, the inner voices that spoke of him being over thrown, the dreams that gave life to them - he couldn't take them. He simply wouldn't accept being second best, anymore. Tormentous had fled to recover, but this was a hard blow. Sith may have not been immediately in danger's way, or critical from his absence, but Blood knew fate had ways of making you see how unfortunate life could be to the point where you wished for death. He didn't know what would have happened to them if he hadn't taken the reins, but in his caution to preserve and build, he had kept the Sith from trying to lay onslaught to the masses. To make his own spawn, adding to the horde, only for them to rebel and flee from his grasp. For even Kroxata himself to disperse, and for Dastan and Mercy to never have been heard from, again.

But in the end, Blood had gained valuable allies, and in his own twisted way, he appreciated them more than the memories of men, for they were here. They served him. And they pledged loyalty to the monster that he was, for he led them to a brighter and more powerful future. Tormentous had no hand in the seeds he had sown and grown; Tormentous had his hands in men who were no longer here. And those powerful men were nothing but memories that could not touch him.
But Tormentous could - and this had to be prevented.

Blood pulled his overhanging brows together as he felt the problem hit him over and over in the chest. He respected Tormentous, hell, even had some fanatical obsession over the man to a degree, would do anything for him. But that was in servitude, as then Blood was being sired by the Dark One. Now that he had chosen to take the mantle of Sith's Ruler, he could not simply kneel and hand over the throne. He had to fight Tormentous, but that personally was impossible. Considering Tormentous saw him as someone who wouldn't dare to oppose him unless he was ready, Blood was adhering to that, yet in a more fiendish way. Using Kenobi to dispatch of the Alphaic tendencies within him. For him to be bested in said combat. Plans conjured together in his mind with extreme velocity, throwing themselves together in a fathomless pool of brainstorming. When Kenobi came to vanquish Tormentous, could he disguise the man as himself? To perpetrate a simulated battle between the two? He could attempt such a feat, but at what cost? Would it even fool the wise Darth? Perhaps with the assistance of Kenobi, he could seal Tormentous away - but he shook his crown as he ridded himself of that idea. He wanted Tormentous as an ally, not an adversary, nor absent. There was much they could accomplish together, as they were growing to be two powerful duos. They understood each other.

More thoughts rushed the Sith Lord, but Blood felt himself growing impatient, as if time was running directly through his hands. As if Tormentous was striding into that very throne room right now, to take it back. As if that bright crimson saber of Tormentous' grew neared and nearer his neck. He felt pressure rising within him, and his breath grew hot as the flames within his chest were kindled by this push. An exhale released smoke, wisps of dark swirls that were flecked by tiny embers. As much as he wanted to consider it just paranoia, time was indeed running out. And he had to do something before it did.

[Ben Kenobi]

***Koda Station***

The pair of Delta VII’s were still spooling down their engines when Asori Spero’s brown leather boots padded to the deck. Hangar teams were already moving towards the pair of starfighters to refuel them and tend to any minute repairs or maintenance they required after their shortened patrol flight. The Togrutan female tossed her Knight comrade a salute and from there she rushed off into the corridors to deliver her message straight to the ears of a Jedi Master. All the while she held her own reservations about delivering the holographic message at all, her instincts screamed at the obvious trap this was and how unlikely that this was a true plea of help.

Despite these reservations, she made her way into the inner sanctuary of Koda Station where Jedi Master Yuan Mynb was waiting for her arrive. As soon as Asori had arrived in-system, she’d warned the Master of her imminent arrival and the urgent need of an audience which was granted upon her approach. The Sullustan female stood before a set of chairs surrounding a circular table, no doubt a meeting place of the Koda Station Temple Masters. When Asori entered, she was still wearing her flight gloves and headset.

At once, Master Yuan regarded her with a knowing smile though shook her head at the scene. “Sorry Master Mynb,” she took a moment to discard her equipment to the table and take a breath as she just realized that she’d ran down sets of corridors easily over a mile’s worth of distance. Bowing respectfully, Asori Spero began. “Master Yuan, on my patrol of the outer reaches, my wingman and I accepted this transmission.”

Producing the datapad from her robes she set it on the table and projected the gritty image. It was unclear of the origin, the blues and whites in the image were too distorted to make out anything other than it was humanoid. Speech however was provided without distortion enough to make the words indecipherable. It played once, Asori played it again and after the second time she shut the device down, looking to the Jedi Master in turn. For long moments the Sullustan remained silent, even turned away and retreating several steps in deep thought before eventually returning to the table and this time taking a seat, eyes intent on the device.

“What is your assessment?” The Master inquired, a forefinger and thumb resting her chin in contemplation.

Asori Spero wasted no time, though her voice was kept in check by discipline and patience. “It is a trap. Designed to lure Master Kenobi in and entrap him a second time or perhaps finish off what the Sith started.”

Yuan lifted an eyebrow, “So sure are you that its origin is Sith?”

She was taken aback, realizing she held no evidence to reinforce her case, but neither did she have it to the contrary. “Well, no Master. But other than the Jedi, Master Kenobi is still presumed missing by the Galaxy-at-large. If it was a Jedi transmission then they’d have said as much. I’m then led to conclude that the only other party knowing of his freedom is, in fact, the Sith.”

She nodded, “A sound conclusion. And what do you suggest we do about it? What if it does originate from a helpless soul?”

Indeed, the threat of Tormentous’ return was severe. If he returned not only would the Sith rally to his banner and unify into the terrors they’d once been, but the Galaxy would see another bloody campaign at the cost of many millions of lives. Darth Tormentous was a horror story and a nightmare ready to be unleashed. The Jedi had no choice but to act. But there again, Asori was unsure of the intent of the message. “One thing is certain, Master, I believe that the Dark One has returned, just as pointed out in this message.”

“That we can agree on.” Interjected Yuan.

Asori continued, “But I cannot be certain that it is in truth a plea of help or a trap set to destroy Master Kenobi.”

“Does it matter?”

Taken aback by the casual nature of the question, Asori was uncertain of how to reply. “Of course it does. We could be sending Master Kenobi into the rancor’s den all over again. Or we could be sending him to help a needing people…” Her voice was conflicted, this was difficult to discern without further intelligence on the matter.

“The intent doesn’t matter as much as the end result and how we proceed from here. Be it a handful of Sith or a trapped family, we know Tormentous is involved so right off, we aren’t sending this message to Master Kenobi without a heavy warning that regardless of the details, this mission holds dark roots to its origins.”

The Togrutan picked up the datapad and pocketed it, “Then I’ll deliver the message at once.”

“You won’t do just that, but I recommend that you reacquaint yourself with Master Kenobi and go with him to see this situation out to its conclusion. He was reinstated this morning, I’m sure he’ll be eager to get off Permafrost anyhow.”

Asori bowed and turned, sprinting back down the corridor.

***Permafrost***

Before the High Jedi Council he stood, attempting to remain straight in posture, he still leant his weight to his staff a bit. They’d been speaking on the matter for the last thirty-two minutes and Ben was getting weary of standing around. He fought to keep his disposition though, knowing he needed to get off his feet and back into the swing of things. The booming voices debated his presence; the need for further examination by the Consulars, to dig deeper into his mind to truly seek out any taint of the Darkside or any lingering sorcery that was hidden. Time and again though the refute of this precaution was enforced as Kenobi had willingly undergone every testing prod and probe they’d subjected him too and aside from the effects of being a prisoner of the Sith for over three years and some, he was mentally capable of returning to service.

The Jedi Masters of the Council were being cautious and it was understandable. Often the deepest wounds had been carved by treachery and to be absolutely certain over the comfort of one man was a price they were willing to pay.

In the end however, the Masters finally fell upon the consensus that Ben Kenobi was no threat to the Jedi Coalition or to the Galactic Alliance and therefore he was formally reinstated the status and title of Jedi Master though with the caveat that he would remain under a certain level of surveillance for a time to verify his ongoing actions, going forward. Honestly, it had been more than he’d expected. He’d been ready to receive a denial of service from the Jedi Coalition and to be forced to continue independently. He’d not have done anything differently, he’d still venture the Galaxy as a Jedi… just not under any official pretense.

But, to be accepted fully back into the folds of the Coalition was a relief that weighed away from his shoulders. As the Council welcomed him back his commlink began buzzing, the tone implied urgency and so he accepted the short range transmission. The voice on the other end was that of a Knight that he’d failed to memorize the name of, though he knew, it dismayed him a bit to be unable to recall the name precisely.

“Master Kenobi, we’ve got an incoming message for you, Asori Spero will meet you in Hangar Bay Four.”

Surprised, he turned to the Council and bowed before their wisdom, “I apologize, Masters, but I must be away. I’ve an urgent matter to attend.”

Grand Master Kilsar stepped down from her chair and approached Ben, taking his hand and sincerely speaking. “Take care Master Kenobi, I know your tendencies are to handle things alone, as a precious few of our Sentinels do; but remember, you’re not alone anymore.”

Graciously he bowed his head in thanks… then he departed from the chambers of the High Council…

[Jacobi Wylcott]

---Moraband

High above, standing upon the balcony of his bastion overlooking the Valley of the Dark Lords and the vast complex-like Army Compound that had been built over the ruins of the slave camps and the bones of the slaves that had been spent to recover these grand stretches of earth from the chaos of the Imperial bombardments - his eye, white and unseeing, stared out beyond the canyons and through the storms of dust in the distance. These last days he’d seen much - from the escape of Adara Silver, albeit by his allowance, to the return of his mighty presence to the Gordian Reach.

After the Thought Bomb, he had retreated into study, leaving the running of the daily workings of his Sith Empire to his loyal servant, Blood. The reliable sort, Tormentous hadn’t felt the need to speak to Blood and tell him of his plans to seek deeper knowledge of the Dark Side of the Force, to him, it was simply done. Faith was in Tormentous for his pupil to be able to continue the legacy given to him - failing that, to whip the other Sith into place and subject the unnumbered and worthless pawns to his command.

Now that he was returned, now that he’d taken back his thrown - he felt unease. Paranoia began to settle in as he sat upon the Throne of Skulls. For all the skulls that his boots stood upon - his enemies and champions, Blood had been the most capable and his existence among the living rather than among the mountainous piles of bone - it brought Tormentous the hint feeling of betrayal. Paranoia in that Blood was conspiring with the other Sith to lay siege to the Fortress of Moraband and take claim to the Skull Throne. To become the Dark Lord of the Sith and take everything for himself.

Part of Tormentous was pleased in this, he’d raised Blood right to think that he was now becoming more a threat than not. Threats though, in Tormentous’ world, were to be eliminated. His eye narrowed on a twinkling star, distant and bright. He’d never feared losing his trophies, of all the campaigns fought and the conquests won, nothing had ever come close to laying Darth Tormentous low. The Sith Empire had won and lost its share, sure, but Tormentous himself was a stranger to defeat in these days. There had been little he could not dominate - and he had no intention of letting up. He was just getting into his prime.

But Blood, the whelp was proving himself daily to be quite the shining star. Tormentous continued to stare at the twinkling light in the distance until the looming form of scaleiron and teeth swept down from the mountain peaks on leathery wings, two massive heads and a long spinned tail, he could feel the presence of his Battle Hydra, Kraujas Ntima. It had been long since Darth Tormentous had made connection to his minion - this was to be overdue. He flexed his grip as the winged creature drove forth on wings of muscle bound tendons as strong as steel. He longed for the hold of the reigns just as much as he longed for the leather bound hilt of the Jidai Maras.

Even with these distractions, he failed to remove Blood from his mind - perhaps - it was time for Lord Blood to meet his destiny.

Perhaps it was time to force Blood into a confrontation that would either see him slay Tormentous and take the throne of power - or it would see Blood slain to be replaced by someone stronger. In the creed of Tormentous, the Apprentice was to usurp the Master. It was the only way. Long had Blood served faithfully without question.

He needed one final test.

Blood would prove himself worthy to take up the Throne, or he would die. Tormentous’ grip tightened once again - yes, the time had come.

[Silas Karn]

***Sector N-8, Eshan***

Upon the highest tower of the imperial palace, sitting within an ornate circle carved into the newly forged pinnacle the Black Hand held firm in meditation. Silas had long ago set aside time each day to connect to the supernatural flow far beyond the borders of the expanding reaches of his domain. In the long months since Tormentous’s final victory the dispersing of those that served the Dark Lord and the now dormant state of the Sith on the galactic stage had allowed Silas to return to Eshan without fear from either the reeling Galactic Empire nor the whims of the Sith.

In that time a permanent union between Thyrsus and Eshan had been formed through Silas’s marriage to Idaan. With his line now secured with the promise of an heir to his house soon to come Silas had in many ways achieved every goal set for his self so many cycles ago. Yet, in the long hour of mediation a subtle tremor within the Force caused much turmoil within the Echani Sovereign. A connection or bond left fallow now felt just beyond Silas’s ability to reach. ‘Something is wrong, I can trace its source but as I do my mind feels clouded as if influence by an outside presence. The epicenter of this tremor carries the distinction of a sentient and given my sense of familiarity it should be one I have meet before but no matter how precise my manipulations I cannot succeed in identifying the cause.’

Silas mused in a fury as the influence beyond the limitations of his famed foresight eluded him. This continued for a few moments before an image of his trails on Korriban sparked within his consciousness. “That witch!” Silas exclaimed as his eyes snapped open and his breath became heavy. “All this time, I foolishly concluded she stole something from the distant past! No, Traya was far too cunning to simply meddle with my former memories. It seems I may soon discover the true cost of my mastery of the blade.” Silas slowly calmed his frantic thoughts as there was simply nothing that could be done in the short term to correct the tampering of the former Sith Lord’s specter.

Closing his eyes and dampening his sensitivity to the long oft ripple Silas returned to his meditations to calm his mind before returning to his duties as Sovereign. Within minutes the former tremors were swept aside by a great swelling of a far greater presence and very powerful connection to Silas his self; Tormentous had stirred from his self-imposed exile. It took a few moments to confirm what his senses where screaming to him as Silas’s was reluctant to admit his days with the Sith Lord had not yet come to an end. However, the Black Hand needed no holotransmission, no words sent from the Force, no messenger to hear the call of the Dark Lord.

Opening his eyes and wresting his flesh from the cold stone beneath him Silas rose to his feet. Feeling an upsurge of Dark Side energies held dormant since departing from Tormentous’s sect Silas looked up toward the picturesque skies of Eshan. ‘In order to maintain the light I will return to the darkness.’ Silas spoke aloud before beginning his walk back to the throne room. “Captain Lain, have Nil brought to the imperial docks alongside my ship. Prepare the Vasto for departure and inform Xenolith of the change in my status, I have a mission to complete.” Silas send a swift order via the ever present com-link that adorned his right ear. Upon reaching the throne room Silas was intercepted by Idaan. Trained not simply as a Jedi but as a hard counter to Silas his self Idaan was perhaps the only individual in the galaxy that could easily deny Silas his pursuits. Easily detecting the swelling darkness within Silas’s spirit Idaan stopped her husband. “Silas, what has taken hold of you? I was just told your intentions are to leave. Now of all times?”

Silas did not look Idaan in the eyes as he replied, “I told you my stay here was conditional. It seems that occurrence has arrived. The Sith are soon to move and I must see to their intentions.” Idaan nodded slightly in acknowledgment before hugging Silas and then lifting his chin such that their eyes met. “You are the future of our people, and this family, promise me that you will return.” Silas averted his gaze, “I will not willfully endanger my self needlessly, that is all I can promise. You now carry the true hopes and dreams of the Echani. See to your own safety.” Silas then quickly departed from Idaan’s side. With and understanding of Silas’s plight as Sovereign, Idaan did not stand in the way as he left for the imperial docks.

“Drau, have my armor and weapons placed within my ship and notify the Vasto dock chief alerted. I wish my effects brought ahead of me to my chambers.” Mounting an awaiting speeder bike Silas swiftly made transit across the imperial grounds to the docks. “Shall I assume our duties abroad have been renewed?” Nil greeted Silas. “Excellent, it has been far too long since I shot a sentient in the back.” As the pair piled into the matte black TIE Defender Silas granted his response, “I suppose being a body guard is simply not fulfilling for one with such talents for taking life. Then take heart for your favorite sentient has begun to stir once more.” The nimble craft then rocketed out from the imperial docks and swiftly closed the distance toward the first capital ship of the proposed Echani Navy which had been granted the title ED1-Vasto.

Vasto was roughly the size and shape of an Imperial Victory Class 2 Destroyer though notably its design was far sleeker in appearance lacking the sharp angles in favor of an almost aerodynamic sensibility. Upon reaching the docking bay within the Defender, Silas disembarked. “Take your leave to the bridge and I will meet you there. Pass these coordinates on to Admiral Lennis.” After a few logistical exchanges Silas finally arrived within his the VIP quarters that would serve as his personal chamber. The 1.83 meter tall 98 kilogram in weight Echani male of supreme physical conditioning began the process of donning the magnificent heirloom armor and personally forged weapons that had granted him no small amount of infamy.

His once silver battlemaster grade light battle armor had been charred black by the discharge of his own Force Lightning and now carried a faint Dark Side aura. To the uninformed the armor would appear to be the same as that of the Royal Guard within the Galactic Empire. Of course such notions were founded by the malicious hand that had marred his heritage. Adorning this darkened armor was black long coat and cowl that hid the beauty of Silas’s platinum hair and now citrine hued eyes which gleamed out an eerie light still visible from the hood. Attached to the small of Silas’s back were four distinctly not-ornate silver saber hilts.

The four hilts were easily juxtaposed against the ornate curved silver hilts attached to Silas’s belt. Intergraded into the same belt was a P-15 shield generator almost as seamlessly as Silas’s Bothan inspired stun gauntlets were into his armor. With the instillation of a Bacta Tank on the Vasto and an emergency pack that held stims and a small critical med pak Silas was able to sustain his self over long campaigns and in severe combat instances. Pulling his hood over his head and fastening his belt Silas looked upon his visage a moment within a mirror before turning and departing for the bridge. As Silas arrived an anthem played in announcement of such before he motioned for Lennis. “Admiral, depart immediately. Time is not on our side.”

After a swift acceptance of the order Silas motioned for Nil to follow him to the viewport of the bridge. “Not like you to rush about so much Lord Silas.” Silas immediately granted a reply, “This warrants such haste.” Nil quickly chided, “Well my Lord though you often operate on a non-tangible level our destination does require such, where then are we headed?” Silas eyed his assassin quietly a moment before granting, “Just beyond the Reach.”

[Slade Xandir]

After confirmation of signal receiving a ping of contact, Valkyr vocalized such to the Sithian before their current goal lay before them. His own trial was one he came up with, as he knew how important strength and power was in something of this magnitude. Tormentous' return was no small thing, nor was the involvement of the Jedi. All of this was set to bring battle to someone if not all of them, and he would have to be quick in his deciphering of the situation.

With such, the lush green of Dxun the Demon Moon before his Infiltrator, as Blood had done his studies well before concluding this challenge. He would need to be as best protected as possible with something as dire as what he was facing. Obalisks proved the most superior in such case when in dealings with combat. He had uncovered secrets from Sith holocrons on how best to deal with them and which species to attract. With the Infiltrator cloaked in its invisibility, Blood waited through the process of landing upon the moon, until it was eventually time to disembark.

He reviewed his studies through his mind as he walked down the ramp and through the entrance of a cavern. Orbalisks were a delicacy in the art of warfare. Capable of being near impenetrable in reference to the plasma heat of lightsabers, the Sith Lord had intention of being incased in them. He still wasn't pleased at his scales being capable of being seared by the heat of the sabers, and as resistant as his hardened skin was, it was still vulnerable. So the Dragonian was willing to undergo the misery if he increased his rate of survival. Not willing to travel far, he walked about a few meters into the cave's throat before stopping. Not bothering to look around, he hastily felt around to seek the miniature signals of life that the parasites gave off, and surprisingly he was surrounded by them. Wasting no more time, the Sith Lord released his mind from the constraints of the control.

Almost as though it were a shell he were confined in, darkness burst free of it's cage. As tremendous as the power was, Blood felt it crawling slowly, but unpaused. Almost invincibly. He had rarely given it release, and the price was being paid by memories and the emotions they sparked up. It began with the loathe of being abandoned by his Sire, the anguish he felt as the connection between them disappeared. The loneliness he faced, even surrounded by as many pupils and Apprentices that he had. The distorted views he had to sort through as he had no leadership, no guidance, only his own initiative to go on. He was a broken man who forced himself to pretend he was whole. Wolves lived by rigid rules, by laws that jurisdicted whether you lived to see another day, or whether you died. Wolves needed packs for survival, and even with the minor assistance he garnered from his group, all he felt was on his shoulders. It was a burden the messiah of wickedness was fated to uphold. But with his revelation of retribution, the Dragon King kept his mind on exactly what spirit dwelled within him...that of a beast which bowed to none. A monster who tore through any and all that stood in their way, burning down all resistance and gorging on lives as it claimed all of which was theirs. He was a Lord of the Sith, one of the last spawn of Tormentous, and he would unleash the mastery of Force as it was meant to be! He would claim his Alphaship through the cunning of a serpent but be unknelt to anything that opposed his wish. And his wish was to see Tormentous recognize his sins, and atone in the servitude to a ruler who would not leave his House heartless.

The emotions swirled within him as a tornado would, brewing a storm so thick he near felt himself lose his grip on reality. A reality that cared nothing about you, nor anything you cared about. A reality that was only in existence to rob those of their potential, to use them as any parasite would. Pride paired with vile intents, as indignation danced with irrevocable passion, and he felt how the Dark Side was meant to be truly harnessed. As a catalyst for it, the draconian felt arrogance rise in him as a wave of fired ecstasy. Heat simmered the air around him, the high humidity sizzling in wisps of steam and shimmer.

Then the scuttlings began.

A sharp nip against his shoulder that should have been near imperceptible, but hurt beyond belief , it struck him and impulsively he reached to snatch it off. The parasite, the Orbalisk, it was unmoving under his hard and sharp nails. seeming to bite harder even just to say in place. Soon something else bit him in his other shoulder, another in the base of his thickly muscled spine. He watched as another latched to his massive bicep, it's black exoskeleton gleaming in the dim light of the cave. As it settled, it bit, and again he was flooded with pain. More and more came, and over and over he was flooded with the adrenaline. The adrenaline pushed forward the savory cap of Dark Side, ramming his head like a plow of malevolent trespass. Soon, he was unable to stand, his naked form falling to knee, a knee once scaled and now shelled over. Black shells skittered over him, and the agony tripled within every new bite. His mind began to tear at itself, the pain eating away his logic. It only fueled his hatred, his emotions blaring through him like toxins. If Tormentous simply hadn't gone and left him, had shown him how to be what was meant to be, this wouldn't have to happen. He wouldn't need to go this madness to accomplish success.

But as his final orbalisk settled in its place, he had come to realize:

Every step taken, no matter how agonizingly dreaded, was a step gained.

It took a few hours for the majority of pain to ebb away into a throbbing pulsing. But it was there. And it was never going away. He had survived the onslaught of orbalisks, and was fully armored from head to toe in miniature near unkillable parasites that fed from his pain. Standing on wobbling legs, he stumbled his way back to his ship to heal both mind and body, while awaiting a response from the Jedi.

[Ben Kenobi]

Hangar Four wasn’t crowded and the blast doors were in the process of closing after letting the pair of Delta VII’s cruise inside and touch down to the deck. There was a flurry outside and the snow drifted winds washed over the hangar complex casting everything into a stark chill. Kenobi wrapped his cloak around him a bit more as he eased into the cavernous structure where he spotted them from across the way; the first was a swell looking fellow, Bothan by the look of it. Grey fur streaked with dark lines and a white diamond pattern in the middle of his forehead, he would become known as Jedi Knight Ei’noa. A male Bothan and Consular.

The other, however, could hardly be mistaken. Asori Spero was just finishing her conversation with the Hangar Chief when she noticed Ben walking into this wing of the station and she could hardly hide her expression. A broad smile emerged and her run was unchecked, leaping with her arms wrapping around his neck in a strong embrace. Their welcoming dialogue was bright and uplifting and did not end until Ei’noa arrived and once he did they parted and faced the Bothan. He bowed deeply, “Master Kenobi, I’ve heard much about you.”

Ben only smiled and returned the welcome before the conversation moved to a more realistic tone. “Is there a place where we may speak more in private?” Ei’noa struck Ben, in that moment, as a very cautious fellow and he could certainly appreciate that. The elder Master waved them both to follow and they weaved through the encumbrance of the hangar, more towards the aft sections where there sat an elder Corellian YT 2000. Over Kenobi’s career he had marshaled a generous capital and aside from his YT 1300 that had been destroyed at the hands of Darth Tormentous, he also owned a newer and far less used 2000 model. Though instead of parking the 1300 and using his new vessel, he instead left the 2000 to gather dust preferring to utilize the far more weathered and experienced Kalidor. Though now with events as they were, his YT 2000 would be his new vessel of choice.

They approached the dormant YT, a large faded tan tarp lay over the top of it and there was a set of cables and wires draped across the cockpit and bow section. Without use, it had more or less become just a part of the hangar’s structure, the deck hands now simply worked around it as if it wasn’t even there. On their approach Ben keyed the ramp and it descended though the power supply sounded labored, he’d need to ensure the charge was prepared in the power cells if they were to take the ship anywhere. Arriving at the ramp the nameplate of the ship was visible. It was covered in a thin layer of dust that didn’t obstruct the lettering, though it did hide the fine silver and gold finish of the plate itself. Talon.

Truly, other than the age marks of unused dust and a bit of rust here and there, the Talon was brand new. The marched up the ramp and made way into the galley where sheets covered the furnishings, lighting was set to auxiliary and so everything was cast into a poorly lit setting. Ben offered the two Knights to have a seat while he made way to the control station at the junction that led further into the ship and by extension the cockpit. Setting his hands into motion he activated the ship’s main power core and the sound of the Talon powering up would last for the next several minutes as the ship began to draw from the many power cables attached to its belly, connected to the hangar. Over time the lighting would switch from auxiliary power to primary and shortly thereafter the systems would come online one after another.

By the time Ben returned to the pair of Knights, they had set up their datapad to project into a larger outlet. Phasing into view on a near life size replica was now the distorted image of the sender. The message played and they all listened, Ben even walked to be face to face with the desperate individual. Only when it silenced and faded away did he part ways and walk from the pair but a few feet. Ei’noa spoke up, breaking the silence. “We’ve brought the message as fast as we could manage, Master Kenobi, but it has now been nearly twenty hours.”

He waved a dismissive hand to push aside any regrets they expressed. “No need to fret over it. By the sound of things I do not suspect our worried party is in any imminent danger. At least not just yet.” Asori and Ei’noa both looked puzzled, Ben turned back to them and explained. “Cathar in origin, a traumatized race, already the urgency is exaggerated. Also, the Darth is infamous for jamming communications, this obviously wasn’t a deliberate attack in progress. I could be wrong, but I feel that while time is of the essence here, anything we could have done to prevent this occurrence until this moment has been out of our hands.” He approached both Knights and reassured them. “You’ve both done well and may return to your duties.”

Asori stood abruptly. “Master, with all due respect, I’m not letting you go alone.” Ben raised an eyebrow and cracked a smile. “We don’t know where this is, but if the Sith are involved, namely Tormentous. Then it’s too dangerous to go alone.”

“Master Kenobi, short of Asori’s outburst, I must agree. Our instincts have pointed us towards this situation being a trap. Going in alone would be foolish.” Ei’noa respectfully presented his argument.

Ben nodded, “I also have contemplated it being a trap. Though I feel it is not. Whoever the originator is, I believe they are in need of assistance. Though, you both are right; to go back into a situation where the Sith are involved, going alone is not the answer.” He turned away and moved back to the control panel where he checked the ship’s systems. “We’ve about an hour before the Talon is ready to depart. You’ve until then to go and get the go ahead to accompany me. By then the hangar crew will have my ship cleared off and we’ll be set to leave.”

Both bowed and shuffled out of the Talon while Kenobi made back and replayed the message a few more times. Here alone, he gave it some final thought on the matter. Closing his eyes he reached out with his presence and he searched the Force for answers. On the horizon he could feel the storm clouds brewing, massive thunder heads rolling up out of the northeast. The Darkness surrounded the storm, swallowing all Light and life alike. As the storm passed over cities, they crumbled beneath and blew away as ashes. From the most tremendous cloud came a burning demon, unfurling wings of leather with a pair of heads sporting rows of razor teeth. Upon this monster was a man… he carried a sword of fire… and death followed him.

Ben Kenobi knew this to be a portent of the potential that which was not yet come to pass. He had a chance to stop this from becoming reality. Understanding the stakes at hand, he sent a signal to the Talon’s main computer which activated the long range communications equipment. For a more clear message it would bounce from a satellite orbiting Permafrost, to Koda Station and from there outwards to multiple relays until it discovered the original signal, which in itself wasn’t that far off being in the orbit of Onderon.

He took a breath and took up, folding his hands before him. ‘This is Master Kenobi, I am set to depart en route to your location. Requesting rendezvous coordinates.’

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Turning away from the balcony he departed from the sinking starlight of Moraband’s dusk. The dry air was good and without much wind to avoid the tidal flow of sand that enjoyed blasting the landscape whenever a good gust came about. Flames flickered and spat golden orange across the hardened sandstone, burn marks kissed the walls and ceiling with soot, the corridor remained darkened and poorly illuminated - he moved as if he’d dwelt here a hundred years. The lengthy corridor stretched long and twisted the corners of the fortress walls, not a single inch was not tirelessly engraved upon some telling of the Sith Empire. Heroes long gone, villains cast down, emperors driven mad by time - yet to be weather worn, this was a place of knowledge without being any sort of librarium.

Passage through these corridors went swiftly, there was no one to bar his way nor dared they if they were. He came out finally to a mezzanine overlooking the mighty Chamber of the One. Its size bedeviled the eye - long and wide, poised by strong pillars large enough that ten men could not reach around them. Torches perched on every plinth and a deep pit in the middle where a roaring hearth fire bore its light upon the scene. This room was easily large enough to fit several tanks. A few corridors peeled away from the chamber though at the forefront was beheld a mammothian size double door, its metal material was heavy enough that it took two well built slaves to push a single door aside. The doors were tall enough to permit Krajas Ntmia and the space of the room was enough to allow the beast to coil up and rest if it was brought within - though it was not in the mind of the Dark One to do such a thing for the mass of that beast would render significant damage to the workings of this temple.

Opposite the doorway and beyond the hearth was a multi-tier dais where upon the crux was beheld a throne of black iron, forged by the finest blacksmiths in the Gordian Reach. It was gothic in nature, the headboard flanked by mighty spires and the arm rests wide. Though for this throne, as imposing as it was, it could not do justice to the sheer mountain that stood behind it. A mound of fading white bones - skulls. There were hundreds of thousands of them if not far more. They piled up the rear wall and spilled over the dais with impunity, they’ve just begun to cover the lower reaches of the multi-tiers, not including the approach. Upon the throne itself was given a select few skulls - they’d been either pierced by a spine or wired onto the throne. These were the few skulls that Tormentous knew by name - they included the Dark Council and the prior Dark Emperor of the Sith, and one of a particular prize was the Mandalorian Chieftain of Clan Ka’ra, Derric Starr himself who sat with a spine through its eye socket and jaw agape in an eternal scream.

The rest, the ones that lay upon the mountain, were the greatest enemies and champions of Darth Tormentous alike. They were from battles and wars all across the Gordian Reach and well beyond. From one end of the galaxy to the other, Tormentous’ armies had bled long and hard to glorify his name. He had honored them by their eternal resting place, here among his host. Here, they would never be forgotten, here they would never be lost.

Each of the pillars that stood, holding the mass of the ceiling at bay, was carved of the spitting image and likeness of one of Tormentous’ apprentices that had spilled their blood across the stars. There were many, yet he had never forgotten any of them. Surely those that had died along the way were unworthy of memory, yet their accomplishments and deeds were of note and thereby their image would be remembered. Their deeds were carved around the bases of the pillar in the sacred script of the Ancient Sith. To read these notes would be to uncover the hidden secrets of the current Sith Empire.

Though nearest the dais, were two pillar-statues of import. One was the likeness of a horrid figure indeed, a crown of horns stood atop an unforgiving face that only a mother could love on a pleasant day, he held a menacing glaive in one hand and his scowl told the saga of his namesake - the Dathomiri Hammer himself.

But it was the rightmost pillar, the right hand of the Dark One, the favored son - it stood out in detail of a man whose striking image could sway billions with a glance, though whose stare could send those many into stark silence with but that same glance. It was of an age before he’d found his current alterations akin to the dragon. Though it was clear that this pillar was to stand out before all others, it was the form of Lord Blood.

As Darth Tormentous moved through the chamber he made pause before this likeness and he looked up into the flickering shadows, the unforgiving eyes of his son, they held the promise of ages in them. For this, Tormentous knew was true. Would he be the one to succeed the Master? Or would he fall short like so many before him? He reached out a gloved hand, leather to stone for but a moment before he looked away and marched up the long steps to his throne.

Arriving at the top he took his seat, he would spend the next few hours in deep thought. The future of the Sith Order was at hand. As the leader of his House he needed to come to the determination - was he still the Lord of Darkness, or was his presence weighing down that which he’d striven to build.

[Silas Karn]

***Sector P-5***

Transit had never been the highlight of Silas’s many ventures and yet it seemed to consume a vast swath of his time. Once more he found his self a day removed from his target locked within the cage of a ship. Standing at the forefront of the bridge peering out into the void as it the ED-1 transitioned from Eshan to Korriban Silas could not but bide his time. “Lord Silas, it would be wise to return to your chambers. No vigil will expedite this trip.” Nil spoke as it read the vitals of the absolute ruler of all Echani. Silas lowered his gaze slightly before growling, “Leave me!” As Nil recoiled Silas looked back at the viewport and as if by instinct tapped into the darkness that now permeated every fiber of his being.

The air grew cold as Nil hurried its pace and a few crew members shuffled toward the entry door to the bridge. The essential personnel averted their gaze as Silas called upon his nearly peerless connection to the Force. As his anger began to boil memories of Silas’s final days spent with Tormentous began to flicker into his consciousness. It was neither the Dark Lord’s departure nor the allowance of Sith’s hierarchy being granted to one of the many lesser acolytes bound to Tormentous that bothered Silas. No, it was the events that surrounded the deaths of the former dark council by perhaps the greatest expression of the Force seen since the days of the ancient Sith Lord’s that predated even the Old Republic.

Tormentous’s mastery of the Thought Bomb had been the driving element behind Silas’s learning Telekinetic Lightsaber Combat. In yet another divide between the old rivals Tormentous had in a manner mastered the Force itself as Silas mastered the lightsaber. The two warriors had held a silent arms race that had not ceased even as Silas offered willing service. The pair were now so far and away the strongest of the Sith that even the Dathomiri Hammer would have great difficulty battling on the same tier if it was even feasible at all. Yet, Silas had been away for so long now and the Sith seemingly dormant that the absence of any galactic struggles stemming from the Reach felt troubling. Tormentous had to be preserved in Silas’s eyes even as the Dark Lord’s existence carried with it a constant source of strife. With the Empire reeling from their losses and the stagnant Alliance, the Sith were the greatest source of potential calamity.

As odd as it would seem to an outsider, so long as Tormentous maintained his position at the head of the faction their movements could be anticipated. However, if one unworthy of the throne usurps him utter chaos would spread like an unstoppable fire across every corner of the galaxy. Yet, Tormentous’s power within the Force seemingly could not be reached by Silas regardless of his efforts. The gap between them had only grown even as Silas continued to master techniques and abilities within the Force lost to time. “What spurred his return? Why did he leave? Surely even the Jedi could be culled by such an entity. What is your goal Mandalorian?”