A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
Korriban, also known as Moraband, was an Outer Rim planet that was home to the ancient Sith. The desolate and mountainous world was abandoned after many ancient wars.
The brilliant white tunnel of hyperspace suddenly shattered as my shuttle returned to real space.
Korriban. A dusty red orb home to naught but tombs and sand. And yet it was ever here those that worshipped Bogan retreated to when the time came to lick wounds and plan vengeance. Like a favorite watering hole they swarmed to it, drinking deep of the dark energy permeating the planet, letting it nurse them back to health. Letting it fan the flames of their ambition.
Never realizing it sought to consume them, just as any focal point of the dark side would, given half a chance and a foolish misstep.
It was all very played out, and yet here I was. When the call came, resonating through the force like a guttural war cry, I didn't hesitate. I came straight away, just as I had the last three times a new Dark Lord had branded himself such amidst the Valley of Tombs.
I do hate to wax nihilistic, however: this time might just be different. With the universe in tatters, the board has been reset. Who knows where the pieces will fall?
I roused myself from my musings long enough to reach out through the force, to sift through the black energy of this place and find the one who had touched my mind and beckoned me here. It took only a moment.
The eerie silence of abyssal space was shattered, as a bright flash acted as a harbinger of the Dark Lord. The Raven, a black Nubian skiff, exited hyperspace, making its way to the Valley of the Dark Lords. Nexus guided the vessel, clad in his full battle attire, his maelstrom of an aura concealed through the force. Engaging his stealth protocals, scanners would have only detected the ship for a second- it was so quick that it could have been mistaken for a glitch.
As quickly as it had come, the Raven had left; the vessel broke free of the planet's atmospheric grip and disappeared in a flash as it jumped to hyperspace.
A modified Eta-2 Actis fighter hurdled out of space and down onto Korriban. Specifically modified to be a stealth fighter, its pilot had little worry of being noticed before he was ready.
[/i][/b][/ul][/ul][/ul][/ul] I landed in the empty hangar of the abandoned orbital control station without incident, bringing my nondescript Gamma-class shuttle to rest in a row of skiffs and blastboats covered in grime and rust. Descending the ramp alone- I had ordered Ielyn remain in the Valley of the Dark Lords (a task he was none too pleased with)- I set off for the control bridge of the station.
This...presence that I feel. I can't make out its origins, only that it is old, and dangerous, and significant. It struck a chord within me the way a certain sound or smell with overwhelm you with powerful nostalgia, yet I have no recollection of it. For the first time in a long time I feel the tedium drain from the universe. Though it falls short of true excitement, for once I find I am not unbearably weary.
The winding hallways were littered with corpses. Withered cadavers locked in mortal combat, or slumped over in their own excrement. It seems the plague made its way to Korriban after all. I had wondered about that, but the Academy is isolated from the few populated areas of Bogan's planet, and I hadn't the time to investigate further. The thought occurs to me that I should radio to Ielyn and have him venture out to collect samples, but I think better of it. Better to let Abbadon's men be put at risk.
Good help is hard to find, after all.
In the control room I have to pull the body of a security guard away from his desk to gain access to the controls. His withered black lips grin up at me as he smacks against the tile. I pass my hand across the console, nursing circuits back to life until security displays begin to light up across the stacked rows of monitors.
Frowning, I sweep my gaze from room to room. It was time to unveil my mystery caller, and shed some light on this whole debacle.
*At the furthest reach of the Korribani gravity well, a frigate emerges from hyperspace. Corellian Engineering, DP20 model. It arrives along an incident vector connecting Horuset and Coruscant Prime, so to see it by naked eye would be to stare into the sun. Yet, it makes no effort to conceal itself; scanners would immediately detect it, should anyone be monitoring the scopes. Were that the case, they would note that the active systems of the ship provide a sensor footprint more akin to a ship half its size or less.
From the moment it enters realspace, its course does not veer. At a languid pace, with but a single engine aglow, the ship is en route to Korriban. In a bygone era, it might be easily overlooked as no threat whatsoever; or perhaps serve as a spectacle for passers-by, much in the same way that a man’s hovercraft parked on the side of the road draws the gaze of all those in the vicinity. But in the age of cataclysm, with spacecraft activity at a minimum, and inbound flights reduced to a fraction of their former numbers, this might be the only craft showing up on the scopes for the next 72 hours. Korriban ground control employees would have no alternative but to leave their attention lingering on the scanners, slowly tracking its progress as it draws ever, agonizingly, closer.*
[/font][/ul]
*The DP20 approaches. Now, within eyeshot, its silhouette cast by the system’s star, it breaks into clear view as the dawn of a new day. Shimmering, iridescent blue with the glorious light of Horuset spilling over its hull, bent through its deflector shields. Those with knowledge of history might recognize the emblem of the New Sith Order proudly and prominently imprinted periodically across its hull, those who have seen it in action during its heyday might even recognize this craft as The Vengeance, for this ship was a war ship! And though it was a war ship in a time of peace, and though it never saw conflict, its arrival was always a herald to one of great power. The Vengeance: emissary to the mighty, harbinger of those strong in the Dark Side of the Force! Indeed, for anyone in the know, it carries these omens with it even now as it bears down upon Korriban.
As it passes out of eclipse position, the blue shimmer emanating from The Vengeance does not fade. Now that the golden blaze of Horuset does not obscure visual inspection, the hull of the DP20 is revealed to be severely damaged, with clear breaches in several places. Save for one lone strobe, at the starboard nose of the ship, none of its navigational lights are active. Its pace, though pallid from afar, does not abate even now that it is near; and it is now obvious that it does not curve or accelerate, not out of some sense of theatrical approach or dramatic tension, but because it cannot. In fact, as it comes ever more into view, that blue shimmer can be ascribed to only one source: the ship is on fire. The frigate burns, with sapphire tongues of flame reaching up even to lick the void of space itself.*
[/font][/ul]
*The deck of The Vengeance is a messy sight. Internal lighting, completely inoperable. Silent—the alarm system has been disabled. Debris strewn here and there, bodies around every corner. All illuminated by the inextinguishable azure flames emanating from patches here, there, all over; alight but not spreading, casting a flickering glow all around. Cold, due to the lack of functional life support systems, and red indicator lights flashing at every electronic panel in sight. Several blast doors sealed shut to prevent total loss of atmosphere. Escape pods, jettisoned to the last. Throughout the entire ship, search it to your heart’s content, you will encounter but a sole living crew member. He is found nowhere near the bridge, but rather somewhere in the mid levels of the fore-ship section, far from any distractions. Sitting, still, silent, suspended. Meditation in midair.
What kind of man? Clearly, not one allowing himself to be bothered by the debris, nor the chill, nor the rarefied atmosphere, nor the fire. Though not apparent from his folded pose, this is a large man in both height and build. His hands lay gently, open, palms inward, atop his bent knees. Cloaked with a black overcoat whose tails drape past his waist to barely caress the ground below. Armed with twin blasters adorning his belt; and floating on either side of him in slow precession, two poles best described as tridents, with lightsaber emitters adorning each of the polearm tips. On his right arm, a metal bracer. In his lap rests the hilt of an ornately fashioned lightsaber, featuring a hand-guard not often seen on such weapons. Affixed to his face, a silvery mask swirled with dark stripes, which seem to move and have life all their own to them, and crested with two horns. This mask features no eye holes, for the man is sightless.
Indeed. I, Ryu, sit here in the wreckage of this ship, contemplating. Aware, from the moment this ship left hyperspace, the universe has changed. A victim of betrayal—yet here I am. Having naught else, I took full opportunity of the transit time elapsed since my departure from Nubia to collect my thoughts and to prepare myself. I latch myself on to the hope that the rest of the universe has done likewise.
I know who it is before the ship is close enough to be visible to the station's scanners. That aura- quicksilver and crimson, absolute control made manifest- was one I would recognize anywhere. It belonged to the man who set me on the Path, all those years ago. Memories of the opulent gardens of Theed flashed across my mind's eye, subsequently replaced by Rattaka, Nuba, Kamino, Taris. all of them bathed in the aura of the man who had raised me up from my base understanding of the Code, who had instilled in me a higher purpose, and a true understanding of power, and freedom.
Ryu.
I always knew this day would come, you know. No machination of mine could hope to kill you- not permanently, anyway. Come, then, for I am not the son you left behind.
I am less.
If all that is not growth is death, then it is a dead universe you return to, Ryu, and I a corpse.
In the months following my treachery, I had looked forward to this day with something akin to dread. In my heart, though, I knew that by the time you returned I would have amassed enough power to fight you off. For what other way could you be beaten, than to stifle your own acquisition of strength, while redoubling my own efforts? Time is what I sought when I banished you to the hyperspace lanes, Ryu. Naught else.
But now I have fallen, my power has diminished, and I can't even summon the cognizance to see you as a threat. Instead I'm simply empty. I turn on numb legs and stagger from the security station. You're here for me, there can be no other reason. And I won't shy away.
I return to the hangar and wait, amber eyes glittering in anticipation. I couldn't care less if this ends in my death; at last, something of significance is happening once more.
*It is unavoidable, or at the very least, I am unwilling to expend any effort to avoid it. The Vengeance will, without a doubt, crash into the orbital docking station. I deem this an acceptable loss. You might not be aware of this, but I have crash-landed on plenty of occasions. Somehow, I always manage to get to where I need to go, and to date I've yet to experience any adverse health effect caused by doing so. I predict the same to hold true here: by virtue of my meditation levitation, and the optimal choice of location here in the mid-levels of the ship, there will ample space for the ship to perform a high-velocity docking procedure while I shall remain inertially unaffected.
That is the idea, anyways. Practical application always suffers from the unexpected. And, as surely as the Force lives, as we approach the final resting place of The Vengeance, I sense it. Sense him. My True Son. The betrayer. He sought my demise, and I defied it. As I recognize his presence, a smile creeps across my lips. Yes, he is there, observing the catastrophe in progress. And I accept this incursion—for his sake, if he would ask, I would even move mountains for him.*
[/ul] *Devient is the name of the mask I wear. She was made with a ruthless purpose, and follows it through to the letter. Blind though I am, the Force allows me to see. Too well, as it turns out. Long ago, in my desire to surpass myself, I realized that I must strive to do away with any strength that I relied too heavily upon. And so I fashioned this mask from arcane metallurgical methods, thoroughly infused with the Dark Side, so that my senses are dulled when I wear her. The result of my Force Sight, filtered through Devient, is visual perception on par with any average being. I have since become accustomed to this impediment, and should I choose to apply some effort, I can use the Force to enable myself to see with the same level of perceptivity as I did before I ever put on the mask.
Thus, at my command, while I remain levitated, Devient lets me see. But she is as crude as ever, and cannot permit this without a rebuttal.*
[/font][/ul] *I've generally found it best not to reply when she gets like that.
With a blur, the colors of the dark and blue palette of the ship fade away from my perception like smoke, to be replaced with a thousand shades of silver-grey. A nostalgic sight—being rare these days that I make the effort to use this high of a level of Force Sight, or that I take Devient off, I do not get to see like this very often. But it used to be the only way I saw anything, which I do miss from time to time. In my world of chrome I see into the darkest corners of this vessel as if they were lit up by brightest day, for all is laid bare before the Force. Through walls as if made of a gray film. My boundless vision is free to roam, through the heart of the malfunctioning systems of the ship, beyond her battle-stricken hull, into the emptiness of space, across the ever-narrowing gap separating this ship from the station, past the boundaries of the orbital station itself, limited only by how far I am willing to push my focus.
All is not shaded in gray, however. As my view passes around and through the ship, innumerable tiny splotches of vibrant color seek to distract me. Any Force Sensitive can tell you what those are: the best way to describe them that I've heard is that they're like wounds in the Force. Not large ones, not Nihilus-sized ones. No, certainly not; but when a traumatic event occurs, the Force feels it. The Force remembers it. Have you walked into a room and gotten a chill? Known, somehow, without really knowing how you know, that something bad happened there? That's what these are; little scars. Evil deeds, curses, feelings of rage and hatred, even the sheer regret sometimes felt by those who lay dying can cause these impressions on the Force. You've felt them, but I see them. There are some who are able to reach out to the Force to ask what event it was that caused it such pain, and the Force will show them. That is yet another example of the mysterious ways of the Force.
Another source of color to this world I perceive is living beings, because the Force interacts with all things. You, me, the tree, the ship. But it interacts with you and me differently from the tree, and differently still from the tree and the ship. And all who can bend the Force to their will leave it a different color than they left it. Their aura, their shade: I see it. A different color, a refreshing color, from this world of silver gray. True to form, that is the case here, with the one who came to greet me. There he is, standing like a spectator at a sporting event, watching from the nosebleed seats, perhaps even subconsciously having positioned himself above me. There he is, in the main hangar of the station. Fortuitous—since this ship isn't headed to the hangar, he has ample distance between himself and the upcoming point of impact, yet still The Vengeance passes close enough to the open hangar bay that he can quantify the carbon scoring on the hull of his old ship. Yes, there he is, with a vibrant green hue that I could sense from so far apart, even without heightening my senses to see clearly through the mask. Lapay no Tal.
Because it is him, I want to look forever, to savor what I passed on.
It IS, unmistakably, Tal. The body may have changed, but the spirit remains the same. The feeling of you in the Force is as unique as your voice, to those attuned to tell the difference. And I, with my scarlet-silver aura, am no exception to that rule. Imagine! If he had sensed me from the edge of the gravity well, and used the time it took this ship to limp from there to here to await my arrival, how much more so can he feel my gaze piercing him this very second? Now that I am affixing all of my attention to see this man as clearly as you can see the person just to your left, accordingly my presence, my imprint in the Force, will surround him where he stands. But he stands shaken. It IS, unmistakably, Tal. But it is not HIM. Where his will used to shine brightly with taciturn and unwavering resolve, now he flickers like the flames aboard this ship. While his new body—spirit transference, I guess—has overcome his physical frailty, now his mind quavers. What happened to the man I left?*
[/font][/ul]*Is this pity I feel? Or do I lament the power I invested which seems to have borne little fruit? Thoughtlessly my hand wanders to the bracer on my right arm, and I idly stroke my index finger across its surface it as I consider the sight before me. How odd; did we not just share words over Kamino? Did they impact you so deeply? The smile still idly lingering across my mouth slowly begins to contort as my jaw clenches, my teeth creaking as I begin to grit them. How hard it is to see a man unaware of who he should be! Lost? Broken? How can this be? Did I fail to instruct you properly?
Though I do not yet fully grasp the situation, I have seen as much as I need.*
[/font]
"What an odd thing, gloating about your power while riding passively on a ship flying headlong into a space station. You know he can't hear you, right?" "Even if he doesn't hear my voice, he can feel me. Even if my words fail to reach him, those thoughts must already be welling up in his mind." "If he's already thinking it, then what is the point of saying it? Are you a moron?" "... ... ..." "And besides, haven't you noticed?" "I've noticed a lot. What are you referring to?" "When was the last time you came to Korriban? Was it always this deserted?"[/ul]
*While still in the middle of forming a reply to Devient, my thoughts are interrupted with a snap back to reality, and likewise a deliberate relinquishment of Force Sight, as the conical nose of the DP20 begins her forceful intersection with the front plane of the space station with a sound that contends for definition as the furthest possible example from 'pleasant'.*[/font]
In spear-like fashion, The Vengeance has unleashed itself upon the out wall of the docking station. The ship roars as it suffers a tremendous lurch, followed by ominous aftershocks, reverberating all throughout the decks. Astutely, I sense that my time to disembark has come.
What you ought to know about this station is that it was never meant to receive anything larger than a personnel shuttle into its hangar. This was a clearing-house for people wishing to enter Korriban, but capital ships would not dock with it. They would stay in orbit, and they send an envoy to the station. And anyone with a personal starfighter or freighter would be able to enter the station with their ship to represent themselves. So, it is not a large station. It was never meant to accommodate a DP20 under normal circumstances, far less so in an uncontrolled docking procedure such as the present.
To my benefit, as ship and station collide, I am floating. The tremors rippling all over the floors do not concern me. Neither did the initial impact. But now, as the DP20 embeds itself and appears to not be stopping any time soon, I relinquish my Telekinesis and stash my effects, all save one half of Trogdor. This dragon-man is my ticket off of the vessel.
As debris scatters left and right, I march with footsteps echoing into the dim emptiness, a brisk pace to be sure, making my way towards the nose of The Vengeance. The hull of the ship creaks and threatens to give way at any minute, as its own engines continue to drive it on to impale itself, starting to crumple by its own dumb operation. There's probably a lesson to be found here, but I can't be asked to articulate it.
The orbital station has engines, used to correct for small variations-over-time in the trajectory of the station. All orbits eventually either decay or escape, don't you know? Without these enegines to offset its course, the station would run the risk of falling into Korriban, or flying off into space to Force-knows-where. Possibly right into the star. The engine systems are wired to a computer, primitive by most standards, which was tasked to track the current trajectory and calculate the engine output necessary to keep the station in stable orbit over the planet.
Woe to the programmers! Because this droid barely classifies as a Class One, devoted single-mindedly to its task. The sensor systems would alert the station crew if a collision (say, with an asteroid) was imminent, and a different system entirely could be exploited to take evasive action. The parameters of The Vengeance's collision, and continuous thrust, were outside of the norm. They could not be accounted for, because they were not predictable. And so when the station suddenly received a significant change in momentum, the data brain arrived at a solution for what to do.
The station has been moved into a decaying orbital path. It can be returned to a stable orbit. The engines should provide thrust at a certain angle with a certain amount of power such that, in addition to the current velocity vector, the station can reach the stable orbit path. Calculate the angle. Calculate the power. Fire the engines.
Everything in that algorithm sounds right. The problem is that the velocity vector exceeds the boundary conditions assumed by the computer, hence the normal program operation runs the risk of losing validity. Sure enough, the computer calculated that the most efficient path to return to stable orbit was on the other side of Korriban...to be reached by passing through the crust of the planet itself. Before anyone (well, all the sentient overseers are dead, anyways) could do a sanity check and stop it, the station ignited its engines and began to send the station meteoring into the upper reaches of the atmosphere of the planet Korriban.
All of this is so far unknown to me, as I am now approaching the fomremost ship wall. It has lodged itself firmly into the station, having in fact penetrated through the station wall. So here is where I'll take my leave. Sayonara, The Vengeance. It's been real.
Simultaneously igniting the three outer blades of my polearm, I plunge it into the centimeters-thick compromised matrix armor.*
“...that won't be an issue for Trogdor.”
“All right, but it would still be faster and easier elsewhere.”[/ul]
*That's true. But, without taking off the mask, I wouldn't be assured that the DP20 was actually in contact with the station. It's quite likely that Devient is trying to kill me by having me take a space walk.
The process of shredding a hole in the hull is a slow-going one. But everything about this is slow: even with all of the active engines cooperating in directing the station into a fireball-esque demise on Korriban, there's still over ten minutes left before that happens. And so, before long, Trogdor has burned an accessway for me. I take one last look over the ship, for dramatic effect, before ducking through the portway and entering onto the orbital station of Korriban. Once out, I pause to gather my bearings, thinking back to what I saw mere moments before in terms of where Tal would be in relation to my current position, and the pathways which would lead me there.
Trogdor, at my side, still burns in a brilliant red glow.*[/font]
And then...there he was, as clearly as if he'd been standing next to me on the station. I felt his disappointment clearly, as I'd known I would. What other reaction could a father have to his failed son? This is what I had dreaded: not the reckoning due my betrayal, not my possible death, but Ryu's witness to my shortcomings. I bowed my head beneath his scrutiny- it is all I can manage. The Lapay are supposed to be proud, unbent, indomitable...but I am not sure of who I am anymore.
Yet I am angry.
<<I was your son, and I needed your guidance. Do you have any idea, the burden of the power I wield? Peerless...directionless...pointless. What good is it to be the strongest in the universe, when you can no longer surpass yourself?
Stagnation. Emptiness.
I am a void.>>
I know his rebuttal without it being spoken: what fault is that of his? He has given me more than could be asked of anyone, and I complain that I don't know what to do with it? Yet I can't shake the bitterness threatening to engulf me, though I know it is no doubt borne as a defense to the shame already consuming me. Color rises in my cheeks.
Then, cataclysm. The Vengeance strikes the space station in what would have no doubt been a cacophony had it occurred in atmosphere. As it is, the entire station lurches dangerously. I am knocked from my feet amidst a pile of hydrospanners and electrical cables, and for a moment I wonder if the frigate was truly going fast enough to break the station apart. But then, the tremors stop, and I pull myself to my feet, unharmed. I know nothing of the computer's failsafe, or of its adequacy, and so I assume all is well.
So to speak. Ryu has arrived, after all.
I have no Sight to rely upon, and also no need for it. Ryu's aura is a beacon- probably intentionally so- and I immediately make for it, disregarding the actual route I take and simply allowing my feet to carry me to him.
To correct what has gone amiss is the mission laid before me. And, like moth to a flame, Tal now seeks to enter my presence. At the far end of a long corridor, a door hisses open to admit him and he comes towards me with apparent haste. In turn, I stride to meet him.
His betrayal is not forgotten. Though, not something I would be prone to hold a grudge over. To assert his freedom by ridding himself of me is a commendable thought, and not a foreign concept to the Sith. Often enough, their so-called Final Tests have been to slay their Masters. If you succeed at that task, the reasoning goes, your Master had nothing left to teach you. Over time that logic became corrupted, and the important part—the means to the end as opposed to the end itself—became less important than simply reaching the destination. Demonstrably so: consider the Tragedy of Darth Plageuis the Wise. Undoubtedly, there was more that Darth Sidious could have learned from his Master. Yet in his haste to reach the end, he demonstrated his ignorance of the true purpose of the Final Test.
In regard to that tradition, the Way of Lapay is wholly in accord with both the journey and the result. Might I remind you that, unless you test your power often, you have no basis by which to accurately judge how powerful you are? You should seek out ways to exercise your strengths, and overcome the strengths of others. Your Master is no exception to this rule. Demonstrably so: consider the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. The power of Darth Sidious is shown in his ability to exploit the vulnerability of his Master while he slept, and the weakness of Darth Plagueis in failing to anticipate and deny this possibility. Thus Darth Sidious's power was proven, and Darth Plageuis's power shown to be lacking. One must be prepared to die along the journey to freedom.
Shall we lay out the options here? Trogdor hungers, the hum of blades extending from the staff held in my left hand reminding me of his presence. Do I strike my son down? Kill Tal here and now as a consequence of his lack of power? No complaints from either of us if, having pursued freedom, he were to lose his life. Isn't that correct?
But pointless. I have already shown my power, in surviving—thriving, actually—through his betrayal. Power, the means by which freedom is obtained (if you know the Sith Code, then you know it to be true), is sacred. To use it in trivial fashion is vanity, a sin. Because the difference between Tal and myself is already known, there is no need and therefore no reason to test my power. No, the solution to the question of what sort of correction I must do is not to be found in harping on the failure.
What do you do when you take aim at freedom and fall short? You reevaluate yourself, and you ought to be grateful for the opportunity to do so. You take stock of your strength, and from there you have two options: to add to them, or to improve them. In either case, all strengths are derived from passions, just as all power is derived from the totality of your strengths. Prune those things from which your interest has waned, and seek out those things to which you are drawn. Train that which lacks. This is the heart of the Way.
What do you do when your power is so immense that you cannot help but be free? Well, in that case you've gotten to the end-game, but that's a discussion for a different time. Those are the deep secrets.
We approach.*
[/ul]
*The station shudders, its ancient structure ruing its first encounter with atmosphere. Very soon, as gravity aids the engines in accelerating the ship to impact with the surface, the husk will start to burn away. It enters the clutches of Moraband, never to be released from its grasp again.*
*The skies of Korriban bade us farewell as Tal’s Gamma-class shuttle erupts through the clouds and makes its way past the ionosphere, all in a much more controlled and predictable fashion than when we had arrived.
Mere minutes before, I had been in Abaddon’s presence. I was acquiescing membership into the Order of Ruin, unaware of the title of lordship which had been bestowed onto me, and with that there was nothing besides Tal’s short words of excusal; for Abaddon’s gaze had already shifted onto Corec Roke, the other presence who had shared that chamber with us. There was naught else to say.
And Abaddon had given us a pair of beasts, those four-armed monsters that had sought to seal off our exit had circumstances gone south for the Sith’ari. But now his insurance policy has been waived, and the two brothers are in our company now. Curcebithin, the elder, and Galbakhnor, the younger. As if it’s a straightforward matter to assess the ages of species with a vastly different morphology than what you are used to! We’d have never thought to figure that one out, but they told us, in the broken Galactic Basic they speak. If you consider them carefully, though faint, you can tell that they’ve got some latent Force abilities lying within their grasp. Tal and I will figure out something to do with this gift, however awkwardly given.
At the moment they sit silently and watch us. There are no quarters on this shuttle, no rooms to give us respite from each others’ presences despite how inclined I am at the moment to retire for a bit. Well, it’s a troop transport. What do you expect? Soldiers to get their own isolated space? A military that does that is just asking for insubordination in the ranks. So instead what we have is this spartan array of seats, and Ielyn in the pilot seat. I sit across from Tal, thinking carefully over what has been, and has not been, said. Between what transpired and what would have been expected, there are a few discrepancies that lead to interesting trains of thought and conclusions to be drawn from them; but these I keep to myself for now.
As the interior of the ship is set aglow with the light of Horuset while the shuttle orients itself in preparation for the hyperspace jump to come, I observe our destination as it is being typed into the ship’s navicomputer. Idly, I flip the private-channel comlink which Abaddon provided to me over in my hand several times, and then reach into my chest pocket. Letting the comm device drop into the cloth folds, I then extract Devient. She has been idle for quite some time, and that never bodes well for me. I calmly commit my face to the cruel inner surface of the featureless covering, and the fasteners activate to latch her on, one by one, a dull mechanical catch being heard as each drives home in turn.
Once my Force Sight readjusts to normal, and mere seconds before the jump to hyperspace is initiated, I comment.*
The sleek and angular matte black ship pulled out of the gravitational field of the now discarded world of Korriban. Taking a path to the nearest hyperspace route, the ship's hyperdrive kicking in ans spiking the energy emissions. It was always a strange and rather interesting thing to watch the void warp as the ship's speed suddenly sped up. The distorted space messed with his senses but not so much that he had to step away from piloting the ship, especially since it was mostly on autopilot during these jumps.
