Dominion Bela Lugosi's Dead | SO Dominion of Alakatha & Chryya

[Trayze Tesar]

OBJECTIVE 2: AFTERLIFE

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CURRENT MISSION - Dead Men's Trails
Immediate Goals -
1: Investigate the Kaiser
1.1: Ensure that Lt. Somedod's Platoon survives (Optional)

BLUFOR - Darth Malum of House Marr || Darth Strosius || Sith Order

OPFOR - Enemy Unknown

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Nova Ka || Darth Fury || Zanami || OPEN COMMS

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Sith were seldom creatures of decorum, even less of patience. It was only the fact that Trayze Tesar outranked the Sephi creature, and that the men who walked under his command trusted him that he wasn't spaced already - not that the being known as " Nova Ka " didn't have reason to hate him for this. But even the most rotten luck could turn, with the arrival of the Lord of Saijo, Darth Fury arriving to... expedite the investigation in his own way.

The Kiffar had been silent, almost mirroring the eerie atmosphere of the Kaiser as his mind's eye went deeper in. He sensed the gradual arrival of other Sith, one of them he had the pleasure of rescuing and being rescued by ( Tamsin Graves ).

Yet Sith were wily, willful, and stubbornly lonesome creatures - and as the metal was ripped apart by the Lord of Saijo's hands, he would give a final, bitter exhale as the Once-Sephi would no doubt peel off away from his own squadron, who were dutifully using their plasma torches to chip away at their own entry.

"Should we..." one of the lower soldiers found the courage to break the silence of the still-ringing air. "Should we follow them, sir?" The Kiffar looked down and shook his head. "I am assigned to you, Somedod." he began. "And we'll work together. Never break squadron." he exhaled once again, staring into the distance, "seeing" the presences to account for. "Besides, they'll act as recce, and if they're good with their comms, we can rendzevous with them after clearing the area. Slow and steady, we need to go to the depths of the engines to ensure that the Kaiser remains scuttled until we can confirm what happened - this ship will go nowhere."

That of course was the plan, but with so many different Sith aboard, and this being the clearly "inglorious" objective, who knows how well they could pull it off?

Or if anyone would hear them scream should they fail?

 

[Zanami]

Mr. L is Dead

"The Key to Joy is Disobedience
- Aleister Crowley -

Objective: 2 - Afterlife
Gear: In Sig
Tags: Trayze Tesar

Dogma


Zanami fell back to her earlier training, before she stepped religiously into the role of monster, a tattered label she now accepted as that acceptance of those other personas she could control no better than Mother and Father could control her, stretching her senses to allow the Force to guide her through the darkness.

Periodically a flickering light would cast a rainfall of light allowing Zanami to gauge the progress she was making, and other times unidentifiable sounds accompanied the lights, both simultaneously ending abruptly as she passed under them.

Zanami didn't believe in ghosts or phantoms, even as she read about ancient Sith Lords haunting tombs or attaching themselves to materialistic objects, but she did believe there was something lurking in the darkness of this ship.

She could feel them, and if she wasn't already mentally demented, she could testify there were voices speaking to her, not like those living in her head, but something far more different. Far more beautiful. Far more dangerous.​

 

[Lirka Ka]

The stark difference of their movements may have been enough to make someone laugh. While Commodore Helix was a calm and silent thing, Lirka was a thudding goliath of metal that left no grace at all in her thunderous metal steps. Lirka cared little for tombs and ancient history, if it didn't involve her: how important could something really be?

In silence she pondered the words of the Commodore. He was such a fascinating little creature, full of interesting takes that tickled Lirka's brain in a way the fleshy creatures of the Galaxy simply couldn't. It was almost like looking into a mechanical mirror of herself...of course, he just happened to fly the wrong flag. Well. Nobody could be perfect. She let out a low, humorless laugh at the Mechanoid's answer.

“Come now, Commodore. You know my answer: I have to care about these things because Carnifex cares about these things, at least to some extent. I can see your reasoning, the Sith’s foolish addiction to ancient lores does make them easily beguiled by pretty baubles and useless trinkets. Frankly, I’d rather just throw the whole thing into the molecular furnace and make way for new history.”

Callous disregard for all things, it had become almost a staple of Lirka’s existence. She considered the rest of his statements with genuine amusement. A low chuckle humming out of her helmet as the mechanoid’s own callous demeanor.

“Yes, Commodore. Credits do make the Galaxy turn, don’t they? Our ghostly friend should be honored, really, he gets to make us rich! And can find a nice pretty spot somewhere in your collection -“

The Once-Sephi stopped, danger flared in her mind. Reality warped, the droids stirred and the helwolf snarled. They were not alone. Oh how she loathed tombs, and oh how so loathed that Sith bastards simply refused to stay dead she saw the runes appear in front of her eyes, and a low bestial snarl not unlike that of Helix’s aberration escaped her vocalizer.

They were not alone.

With a snap her machete unfurled to life, the plasma filament roaring in glowing green as she prepared to fight something she could not even see in her raw brutish ways. Like a wild animal she looked back and forth, expecting a foe to appear. Slowly did she call out to her mechanical companion

“Commodore…I think you pissed it off.”

 

[Kaila Irons]

C O F F I N​

Wearing: Armor + Helmet
Tag: Quinn Varanin Darth Malum of House Marr Zachariah Conway
Mentioned: Tamsin Graves Eira Dyn

Darth Anathemous wandered the tomb with an uncanny calm.

It was not her own strength which brought her comfort, not that the muscle clad warrior-sorceress lacked for it, especially having devoted so much time to her physical training since her last encounter with the raven lord. Nor was it the steely armor or the lightsabers upon each hip which saw her stride so confidently into this strange, dark place.

Anathemous was simply fascinated.

So many years a Kainite seeker before her rebellion, filling the large shelves of the archives with etchings and looted tomes from a thousand such tombs. She lived for places just like this.

And now she had Quinn Varanin to share the adventure with.

She walked beside the smaller echani princess as if she truly were the woman's knight, helm under her arm, blonde curls and a cloak of pantoran silk spilt over her broad shoulders. And if one looked carefully, a faint smile about her lips.

They held hands but briefly, and Kaila allowed herself a soft smile at the flaxen haired woman under the cover of shadow as they passed between windows.

"The princess doesn't like muck ridden tombs??"

She feigned surprise before whispering; "Shall I carry you back~?"

It was unfortunate that she could not look upon her love's face awhile longer, for fear that her glowing eyes would betray her cover as mere knight and protector, a role she'd adopted ever since Susevfi, and aided by their shared role among the Second Legion under Gerwald Lechner 's command.

When their hands parted, and eyes averted, Kaila found herself idly tracing the promise ring beneath her glove, as if it would somehow retain that feeling of touch just a second more.

She turned away but briefly as the pair approached Malum and the young stranger beside, allowing herself to smile out of view, and only turning to face them once she'd wrangled control over her own face.

"Lord Malum." Anathemous greeted when at last she turned.

"Young sir."

Zachariah Conway was unknown to her however, and so she offered a slight nod before turning her attention back to Quinn.

"Maybe we should have brought our Apprentices with us, Darth Anathemous?" Quinn turned to see the armored woman, a smile spreading on her face, one she typically reserved for her.

"Hm, perhaps. Though I suspect Eira would complain too. Tamsin would at least be quiet about it." she stifled a chuckle.

Behind her deceptively wry smile however was concern. In truth she had no idea what Tamsin Graves was doing up there, something about hailing an unresponsive ship? Something for imperial legionnaires to handle, she thought. Tamsin was capable, but after the events of Zonju 5 she hoped they'd give the poor girl a break to enjoy a nice meal with Eira Dyn or something.

"They'll be fine, right? Eira will take care of Tamsin."

"I think it will be good for her, actually." she concluded.

"Tamsin should socialize more with her fellow apprentices, and Eira, well, so long as she doesn't act on that talk from Naboo, I suppose my apprentice could have worse companions."

Kaila cleared her throat before quickly moving on, hoping to cut Quinn off before she could recall that drunken night.

"Anyway, have either of you made any sense of these runes?" she said towards the others.

"My ur'Kitat is fine, but the language seems to have devolved. Fascinating to be sure..."

"...but difficult to translate."

​

 

[Adean Castor]

OBJECTIVE: Coffin
TAG: Darth Malum of House Marr | Zachariah Conway | Open

Unease pricked at the nerves along Adean's arms, sending an uneasy shiver down her spine as the Epicanthix took in the Ziggurat. Their was a deathly stillness to the air, not quite fully awoken by the sudden uptick in activity. She couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the best anyone could hope for would be that the very air remained that deathly still.

Any thrill of discovery was muted by a healthy sense of self preservation. Adean had found a familiar figure in the silhouette of Darth Malum of House Marr and couldn't help but cling to the somewhat known in the face of the very much unknown. Not wanting to announce herself nor risk her designs being taken as a show or weakness or maliciousness, she's kept as far a distance as she dared. Her own unreliable and often miniscule presence in the force was a boon in such regard.

Yet a commitment to stealth or at least remaining unnoteworthy had been forgotten as she took in the both familiar and unfamiliar script. Her fascination was temporarily broken with the arrival of Zachariah Conway , Darth Latens, as he was greeted. Just as quickly, her brow furrowed in consideration, listening to the Dark Councilor converse with who she assumed was his apprentice. High Sith, huh? That gave her something to go off of.

Producing a datapad, the acolyte snapped a quick photo of a portion of the untranslated text, splitting her screen to pull up previous notes she'd gathered on the Sith language. At first glance, she gleamed nothing. Yet after moments of further study, she started to pick up on shared characters, sentence structures, maybe even words. "Slumber...mirror - or is it secrets?" The words slipped out under her breath, enraptured with the process enough for her cover to slip even more.

A ping of panic washed over the acolyte as her concentration was interrupted by the words of Quinn Varanin and Kaila Irons . Caught in the limbo between feeling shame for having not sensed them coming and accepting the room was quickly filling with those well above her station, Adean could only hope that she remained unnoticed as she clung to the wall, waiting for the right opportunity to take her leave.

 

[Adeline Noctua]

Equipment | In Bio

Location | Obj 1

Tag | Aspect of Passion

She grits her teeth as the burn stung and stabbed into her, this had confirmed to her that something else had long since laid claim to the endless dead that littered this place.

"Mm.."

The bone charms adorning the handle of her weapon would dance, alerting Adeline to what she already knew.. She was being watched. Her hand reaches out, grasping the skull of one of the brittle dead firmly as the occultist attempted to weave her own magic into the owner of this house, attempting to intertwine the connection.

"How is it that you have found yourself here?"

She asks in an authoritarian tone, allowing the clawing inside of her cosmic touched mind.. She was no fragile mortal, but an experienced occultist that had walked inside the corpses of fallen demigods rotting in the void. Adeline herself would attempt to do her own clawing, seeing what all she could nitpick from intertwined web of sickly magic if she had indeed been able to connect.










​

 

[Serina Calis]

Bela Lugosi's Dead.
Location: ???
Objective: 1, Coffin.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Aspect of Passion

The dead do not whisper warnings out of kindness. They scream because they were foolish enough to believe they could contain what was never meant to be chained. And yet, here I stand, invited by silence, watched by ghosts who fear what I might do next. Tell me… if I choose to unmake their work, to rip apart their precious seals with my own hands, who among them will rise to stop me?​

The air felt heavier now.

Not just in weight, but in meaning.

Serina stood still, her breath shallow, as the whispers curled around her like the remnants of a forgotten prayer. The walls bled with her thoughts, carving them into stone, shaping the truth she had tried so hard to ignore. The Ziggurat had opened itself to her, had let her in, not as an intruder, but as something familiar—something it already knew.

She was meant to be here.

She had always been meant to be here.

Her fingers curled at her sides, nails digging into the black fabric of her gloves, holding onto something real, something she could feel, as the past shifted around her. The scent of war clung to the air—her war, their war—the ghosts of Woostri lingering in the stale darkness.

She had bled for the false Sith. She had fought, she had been brutalized, she had been their weapon.

And when she had fallen, when the ocean had swallowed her—

They had left her there.

No one had come.

Not the Lords she thought she had swooned, not the warriors who had stood beside her in payment, not the great and powerful Sith Empire that had demanded her strength. She had been just another piece, another soldier in a war that did not stop to mourn, did not stop to remember, did not stop for anyone.

She had been played by herself.

Serina swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, but the air did not fill her lungs. It was too thick, too full of something else, something that was watching her struggle.

And then—

A carving.

She turned before she even realized she had moved, her sharp blue gaze locking onto the impossible image etched into the stone. The details were rough, jagged, carved with a precision that no hand had ever guided.

But she knew it.

She recognized it.

The curve of the shoulders, the way the body was positioned, the wound in the chest—her wound.

The wound that should have killed her.

The wound that had been meant to end her.

Valery Noble

Her lips parted, but no words came. No thoughts formed. Only silence, a slow, creeping horror curling in her stomach as she looked upon the moment of her death.

But there was another carving, this time, her eye was missing, clearly representing Woostri.

She forced herself to move, to see, to understand.

A hand. Reaching.

Not a Sith's hand.

Not a monster's.

Not the cold, clawed grip of the Dark Lords she had thought herself manipulating into servitude.

No.

It was his.

Serina's hands clenched into fists before she even realized she had done it. Her breath hitched, her chest tightened, the whispers in the walls curling closer, pressing against the edges of her mind, teasing, taunting, telling her the truth she already knew but refused to accept.

"But someone did."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her teeth gritting, her body trembling with something she refused to name. The Ziggurat was watching her, and it knew. It knew.

She had buried it beneath her ambitions. She had buried it beneath her rage, her hunger, her desire for control.

But it was still there.

Because he had found her.

Because he had pulled her from the abyss when no one else did.

Serina hated that she had felt relief.

She hated that it had been a Jedi.

Aadihr Lidos .

He had cornered her, he had forced her hand, he allowed Valery to kill her—and then, in her hour of need, when the war had moved on, when her allies had turned their backs, he had been the one to reach into the darkness and drag her out.

Why?

Why?

The word burned in her mind, echoing through the chamber, slipping into the carved stone like another mark upon the walls.

She turned away from the carving, away from the truth, away from the past she could no longer outrun.

Her breathing was sharp now, uneven, the ache in her chest growing, filling the hollow space where her heart should have been. The tendrils of darkness within her stirred, curling through her veins, reacting to her emotions, pressing against her ribs, a reminder that she was still here.

That she was not nothing.

She was still standing.

She had survived.

The whispers shifted again, the walls moving, the runes bleeding and reforming, shaping themselves into something new.

"Control is something you take."

She knew that.

And yet, in the moments that had mattered most, she had been powerless.

Serina's hands unclenched slowly, her body still tense, but her mind calming.

Fine.

If this place wanted her to remember, then she would remember.

If it wanted her to face the past, then she would face it.

But she would not break.

She refused to break.

Her lips curled into a slow, sharp smile, though it did not reach her eyes.

"Fine," she murmured, her voice low, controlled, measured. Stronger now. "Let's see what else you have to show me."

And she stepped forward, deeper into the tomb.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Objective: 2
Outfit: Training Garb under a spacesuit
Equipment: Daggers, vibro-sword and blaster pistol.
Tag: Tamsin Graves | Mentioned: Quinn Varanin and Kaila Irons

It was the first time that Eira and Tamsin got to interact without Kaila or Quinn hanging around. Eira knew that Kaila was probably concerned that Eira would try acting out or causing trouble in the ways that Eira always tried to cause trouble. Especially after the joys of the Zinder event the group all attended. However, the mission required a focused mind. Things were too strange and unnerving for Eira to even consider expressing flirty banter with Tamsin. That would be something for another day, another time. If it was something she ever attempted.

The sensations of the ship and the atmosphere filled Eira with an odd sense of dread. It took a lot for Eira to feel fear or dread. She was usually the one to attempt to inflict that sensation onto others. However, standing in this ship, something pushed it's presence onto her and Eira was not sure how to feel about it all. Tapping the comms back to Tamsin, "yes. Something strange is definitely going on here. Feels like a horror movie, right?" Eira usually loved watching horror, but actually being in the middle of one. Less entertaining. At least since it felt real unlike the simulated ones.

"Dead bodies... Zombie bodies? Cannibals gone feral?" Eira started listing the wild monsters it could be, "ooooo, they found an alien device that drove them crazy and mutated the people into feral monstrosities that will try to kill us! I saw that one a few days ago, it was pretty good!" Eira smirked, keeping a light and friendly tone in the face of terrifying pressure in front of them.

Watching Tamsin work, Eira admired the skill and hard work that Tamsin was putting in, especially since it was not an art that Eira herself had yet to refine. "You'll have to show me that some day. I still say, Lightsaber to cut it open would be just as fast." Eira chuckled as she stepped into the ship with Tamsin.

"So what do you think we will find then?"

 

[Aspect of Passion]

Objective 1 | Coffin​

​

Overseer Vorian Typhis was a dutiful scholar, and a Senior Sith-Imperial Researcher. For someone who could not use the Force, he had become surpisingly well versed in Sith rituals, occultism, history, and nature. For him, knowledge was valuable in of itself because it was knowledge. For his ethic, he was tasked with overseing the investigation into the planetoid - guided by Captain Saelyn Nox, leading officer of the SIN 'Czar' and its forces.​

​

"Communications are down...", Nox said with a grunt. She hated tombs like this - she'd seen enough of what the Sith could do on a bad day, she didn't want to stick around for something they made on a good one.​

​

"We should pull our forces back to the Czar."​

​

Typhis looked up from his datapad after a moment of scrawling one-to-one copies of nearby text. His look was one of annoyed intermixed with exhaustion.​

​

"We're possibly miles underground, Captain. Of course communications are down. Until we deploy the network pylons, as I've already shown your men, we won't have any signal. Quit your babbling."​

​

The Captain returned his annoyed expression with one of her own, but instead of exhaustion it was anger.​

​

"Babbling? We're miles under a Sith Ziggurat, and you think I'm babbling? These places are dangerous, if you weren't aware, Typhis."​

​

"Overseer.", he corrected.​

​

"The Sith do not fear the past. We embrace it. That means we understand all of this - down to the every letter."​

​

Yet, as he returned to mark down another sigil - the very letter he meant to copy had changed. He was confused for a moment, looking back through the text, then moving to write even the new ones. He whispered a 'remarkable' once or twice, then moved forward a few more steps inside the chamber.​

​

"The text keeps changing... I've seen this once on Odavessa. Deep tombs untouched by modern hands often carry illusory magics to confuse would be trespassers. Most lead to traps, but in this one... it only seems to change the information. The architecture. If we can find the runic sigil center, we might able to remove this 'superstition' permanently."​

​

He motioned for some of the research crew to begin setting up temporary equipment stands near the central coffin. A few more points and commands, and a mobile research center had been established. More junior assistants began making etchings of the walls, yet as some spoke of changes in the text, many more seemed to just etch the same text again and again.​

​

Serina Calis // Lirka Ka // Adeline Noctua // Allyson Locke // Taeli Raaf // Darth Strosius // Adean Castor // Quinn Varanin // Alana Calloway // Darth Malum of House Marr // Madrona A’Mia // Commodore Helix // QK-2510 // Kaila Irons​

​

---​

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Objective 2 | Afterlife​

​

Zanami​

​

The ship did not groan. It did not creak. It did not hum with the lingering charge of dormant machinery.​

​

The SIN 'Kaiser' had never existed.​

​

And yet, here Zaanami was—inside it.​

​

Her boots pressed against metal that should not have been there, stepping over debris that should not exist, walking through a hallway that no one had ever built.​

​

She was inside a corpse that had never lived.​

​

The lights flickered again, casting their stuttering glow through the corridor—but the shadow it revealed was wrong.​

​

Zaanami was alone.​

​

And yet, in the second before the light failed, her shadow had not been.​

​

A second figure had stood beside her.​

​

No.​

​

Not beside her.​

​

It had been her.​

​

The same posture. The same stride. But its head had been tilted, slightly off, slightly wrong, as if it had been listening to something she could not hear.​

​

Darkness.​

​

Silence.​

​

The ship did not breathe, but the air still moved.​

​

A slow draft curled against her neck, a whisper of something unseen, an exhale from lips that did not exist.​

​

And then—​

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The sound.​

​

It was not a voice. Not the usual choir that rattled in her skull.​

​

It was music.​

​

Distant. Faint. A lullaby, sung slow, words just out of reach.​

​

A melody that was already familiar, though she had never heard it before.​

​

It was sung for her.​

​

A flicker—​

​

The lights snapped back on, just for a second—​

​

And the hallway was not the same hallway.​

​

There were no walls.​

​

Only doors.​

​

Rows upon rows of doors, stretching into the distance, smooth, seamless, shut.​

​

Her own voice rasped through her mind, one of the many others caged there, but it did not belong to her now.​

​

"Pick one."​

​

The ship wanted her to choose.​

​

The lullaby grew louder.​

​

And the doors began to open.​

​

---​

Darth Fury // Nova Ka​

​

The SIN 'Kaiser' did not protest.​

​

It did not resist.​

​

And yet, it remained—sealed, silent, staring back.​

​

The torches blazed to life, molten heat biting into the cold durasteel. Sparks scattered across the hangar floor as soldiers worked along the ship's outer plating, carving into its hull like vultures stripping flesh from bone.​

​

Darth Fury barely acknowledged them, stepping toward the service entrance, his presence heavy, his mind fortified against the weight pressing in around him. He would not bow to the unseen force lurking here.​

​

He reached out, and with a surge of power, the service panel was torn from the ship's body. The impact rang through the hangar, the sound louder than it should have been, deeper, reverberating against the bones of the world itself.​

​

And in that moment—​

​

The ship breathed.​

​

Not mechanically. Not like some slumbering beast reawakening.​

​

But the air changed, as if something had exhaled.​

​

The soldiers faltered, their torches sputtering—not extinguished, but flickering, the light warping as though uncertain it was meant to exist.​

​

Nova's scowl deepened. This was wrong. She could feel it, could taste the wrongness in the air, thick and stagnant, carrying something old, something unsaid.​

​

And then—​

​

The soldiers vanished.​

​

Not all at once. Not in motion.​

​

They were there.​

​

And then they weren't.​

​

Their tools clattered to the floor, their gear remained, their footprints freshly pressed into the dust.​

​

But their bodies were gone.​

​

Nova's jaw tightened. She had been looking at them. They had been standing there, working, moving, breathing—​

​

Hadn't they?​

​

A second sound followed.​

​

A voice.​

​

No. Their voices.​

​

The lost soldiers spoke, but they did not return.​

​

"Why are you knocking?"​

​

Nova's spine went rigid.​

​

Because it wasn't a soldier's voice.​

​

It was hers.​

​

Spoken from within the ship, from within the walls, from inside.​

​

And worse—​

​

The cut they had been making into the hull? The one Fury had commanded?​

​

It was gone.​

​

The torches had been burning for minutes, had been carving a clear, deliberate line—​

​

And yet the ship remained whole.​

​

No marks. No damage.​

​

As though the work had never happened at all.​

​

Darth Fury stood at the service entrance, staring into the darkened corridor beyond, where his power had torn away the panel.​

​

It was not empty.​

​

Something waited inside.​

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Not a body. Not a spirit.​

​

A figure—standing in the dark.​

​

It was too far to see clearly. Its shape was almost human.​

​

But not quite.​

​

It tilted its head.​

​

And in Nova's voice—​

​

"Come in, then."​

​

---​

Eira Dyn // Tamsin Graves​

​

The hatch opened too easily.​

​

Not with resistance, not with the struggle of time-worn metal, but with welcome. The tumblers clicked in sequence, the pressure seals released without hesitation. The ship did not protest.​

​

It let them in.​

​

And when the last boot crossed the threshold—the door shut.​

​

Not abruptly. Not with the hiss of an airlock sealing.​

​

Just gone.​

​

As if there had never been a way out to begin with.​

​

The Kaiser was still. Silent in a way that was not simply absence of noise, but absence of acknowledgment. As though sound itself had been forgotten here.​

​

The emergency lights flickered, their rhythm wrong, inconsistent—not failing, but uncertain. Their glow stretched too far in places, not far enough in others. As if the walls themselves shifted when no one was looking.​

​

The air inside the ship was stagnant, untouched by breath or movement for longer than records could claim. And yet, it was not empty.​

​

Not truly.​

​

The ship remembered.​

​

It remembered who had come before.​

​

And it would remember them, too.​

​

The pressure shifted—not gravity, but weight. A feeling just behind the ribs, a sensation like sinking without falling.​

​

Then—​

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A sound.​

​

Not movement. Not machinery.​

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Something else.​

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Not spoken.​

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Not heard.​

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But felt.​

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The hum of something alive in a place where nothing should be. A presence threading through the hull, through the wires and plating, through the spaces between the walls.​

​

Something listened.​

​

Something responded.​

​

And for just a moment, the lights caught something else.​

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A shadow.​

​

Not theirs.​

​

Standing still at the end of the corridor.​

​

Watching.​

​

Waiting.​

​

 

[Aspect of Passion]

Trayze Tesar

The SIN 'Kaiser' was patient.​

​

It had waited for them to arrive. It had welcomed them, in its own way. And now, as Trayze Tesar and his squad moved with purpose, with discipline, it waited still.​

​

The torches carved through the hull, their glow flickering in the dimness—but the ship did not protest.​

​

It simply… watched.​

​

There was no sense of movement. No rumble of shifting metal. No stirring of dormant engines.​

​

Yet, the deeper they pressed, the more the air pressed back.​

​

The Kaiser did not breathe.​

​

But something inside it did.​

​

The soldiers followed their leader, their torches hissing against steel. The silence between them stretched too long, their comms eerily absent of the usual background static.​

​

Trayze focused. His instincts sharpened. He had felt the presence of the others. Knew their paths. Knew how to track them.​

​

And yet, as he reached out—​

​

Something was wrong.​

​

Not missing. Not absent.​

​

Just… misplaced.​

​

Like reaching for a familiar weapon, only to find it a fraction of an inch off from where it should be.​

​

His soldiers did not notice.​

​

But he did.​

​

Something had shifted.​

​

The presence of his allies was not where he had sensed them before.​

​

The mind's eye knew truth. The Force did not lie. But reality—reality had been rewritten.​

​

And then—​

​

A sound.​

​

Not from in front of them.​

​

Not from behind.​

​

From beneath.​

​

A distant clang.​

​

Metal on metal.​

​

Something moving inside the ship's walls.​

​

A noise no one should have been there to make.​

​

One of the soldiers turned toward him, voice uneasy.​

​

"Sir… was that one of ours?"​

​

A simple question.​

​

And yet—​

​

Trayze had no answer.​

​

Because the presence he had just reached for—one of their own, one of the other teams, one of the other Sith aboard this ship—​

​

Had vanished.​

​

Not dimmed.​

​

Not clouded.​

​

Gone.​

​

As if they had never been there at all.​

----

Adeline Noctua

​

The skull in her grasp was brittle, the dust of ages clinging to her fingers like decay refusing to be forgotten.​

​

She reached out with her will, weaving her own power through the corpse before her, demanding answers, clawing at the fabric of whatever had taken this place.​

​

The dead should answer her.​

​

They always had.​

​

The tendrils of her magic seeped into bone, into remnants of what once was, pressing into the withered spirit that should have lingered within.​

​

But the moment she touched it—​

​

Something else touched back.​

​

Not the mind of the corpse.​

​

Not the spirit of the long-dead.​

​

Something beneath it.​

​

Something that had already been there.​

​

Her own magic was turned inward, reversed, pulled into a thread that did not lead to the spirit she sought—​

​

But into something else entirely.​

​

The tomb did not have ghosts.​

​

It had a mirror.​

​

And in it, she saw—​

​

—A girl.​

​

Small. Dirty. Fragile. Kneeling in the filth of Nal Hutta, her head bowed low, her breath shallow, waiting.​

​

The weight of a collar around her throat.​

​

The scent of spice and rotting flesh.​

​

The voice of a man, unseen, yet always watching.​

​

"Eyes down, girl."​

​

Adeline's breath caught.​

​

No.​

​

No.​

​

Her grip on the skull tightened, fingers digging into the fragile bone—​

​

The vision should not have been possible.​

​

Her mind was strong. She was strong.​

​

She was not that child anymore.​

​

But the tomb whispered back.​

​

"You never left."​

​

The words curled through her like a breath against the nape of her neck. Close. Too close.​

​

She had asked how the dead had found themselves here.​

​

Now they asked her the same.​

​

"How did you find yourself here?"​

​

The skull cracked in her grip.​

​

Not from pressure.​

​

Not from time.​

​

But from something inside it, grinning, watching her back.​

​

And in the depth of the Ziggurat, something laughed.​

​

It had her now.​

​

---

Serina Calis

The tomb did not breathe.​

​

It did not move.​

​

But it changed.​

​

The walls shifted, and yet they did not. The runes bled, and yet they remained the same.​

​

Serina had challenged the Ziggurat to show her more.​

​

It obliged.​

​

The first thing she saw was herself.​

​

Not her reflection.​

​

Not a carving.​

​

But her.​

​

Standing in the corridor ahead, bathed in the dim, flickering glow of the Sith runes—older, colder, stronger.​

​

The same sharp smile, the same piercing gaze—but the eyes were wrong.​

​

Not blue.​

​

Not bright.​

​

Dead.​

​

The figure tilted its head slightly, watching her in the way a scientist might observe an experiment.​

​

The way a master observes a pawn.​

​

And when it spoke—​

​

It was her voice.​

​

But not her thoughts.​

​

Not yet.​

​

"You're learning faster this time."​

​

The walls shifted again.​

​

Not physically. Something deeper.​

​

Memories.​

​

Not memories she had buried, not the ones she had locked away—​

​

Ones she had never known at all.​

​

She stood in a chamber she had never entered.​

​

The air was thick with smoke. The scent of scorched metal, of blasterfire, of a crashed speeder.​

​

Her hands trembled—but not in the present.​

​

The screams were distant.​

​

A man and a woman. Crying out.​

​

Her parents.​

​

The memory came from nowhere. She had already buried them. Hadn't she?​

​

She had to.​

​

But she had never been there when it happened.​

​

And yet, here she was.​

​

Watching.​

​

As if the Ziggurat had pulled her into the moment.​

​

She saw their speeder—rigged, smoking, shattered in the street.​

​

Her father's voice, weak, crawling through the flames.​

​

"Serina—why?"​

​

She had no control here.​

​

No power.​

​

She could not look away.​

​

She could not change it.​

​

She could only watch.​

​

Just as something else was watching her.​

​

She turned away from the past, from the scene that should not have been seen—but the chamber had changed again.​

​

The carvings were back.​

​

More this time.​

​

Not just Woostri.​

​

Not just the hand that had saved her.​

​

More failures.​

​

More moments of weakness.​

​

Her hands tightening on Quinn Varanin's face, their lips brushing, the heat of her first and only kiss—​

​

And then, gone.​

​

Just another name in the past.​

​

A carving of Kaila, her face partially erased, smoothed over by the erosion of time, as though she had never mattered.​

​

And then—​

​

At the very center—​

​

A final carving.​

​

Serina.​

​

Alone.​

​

A name beneath it—scraped away.​

​

The Ziggurat knew her greatest fear.​

​

It had shaped itself to show her.​

​

"You will be forgotten."​

​

The whisper was not cruel.​

​

Not mocking.​

​

It was simply true.​

​

And her own voice—her older voice—spoke again, not as comfort, but as inevitability.​

​

"That's why you need to do better."​

​

She was here to save herself.​

​

But wasn't she already too late?​

 

[Adeline Noctua]

Equipment | In Bio

Location | Obj 1

Tag | Aspect of Passion /Open

She had crushed the skull within her hand, the fragments digging in as her blackened blood dripped down onto the dusty stone beneath. Her expression was null, mouth open as if she wanted to speak but couldn't.

The mirror into her past made the woman's dark heart pump faster than it ever had, Adeline falling onto her knees as she could feel the wet mud and filth as her hands dug into the floor.

The chimes rattled further, with both her own will and the protection of the wards keeping out any invaders seeking to take over her body.

"Memory walk.."

She manages to say, watching her past self.

"Research crews missing, sent here to find them and learn more about this place."

Adeline had given the answer to the question asked to her, claws scraping against the stone as her emotion grew thicker.

Whatever or.. Whoever was digging inside of the occultist's mind could stumble upon strange sights, the woman's inner mind laid out like a maze, memories of walking inside the corpses of eldritch demi-gods in a far off realm, flashes of a realm of shadow, and lastly- A persistent clanging and banging of metallic locks deep within.

"Get. Out."

She says in frustration, stumbling up on her feet while pulling down her hood over her face.








​

 

[Serina Calis]

Bela Lugosi's Dead.
Location: ???
Objective: 1, Coffin.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Aspect of Passion
Mentions: Quinn Varanin Kaila Irons Aadihr Lidos

The dead do not whisper warnings out of kindness. They scream because they were foolish enough to believe they could contain what was never meant to be chained. And yet, here I stand, invited by silence, watched by ghosts who fear what I might do next. Tell me… if I choose to unmake their work, to rip apart their precious seals with my own hands, who among them will rise to stop me?​

The tomb did not comfort.

It did not reach out, did not soften its edges to lessen the weight of truth. It merely stood, silent, waiting, as Serina's breath shuddered in the still air. Her hands clenched, then unclenched.

Her heart—if she had one at all anymore—ached in a way she had long thought herself immune to.

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

The past had already happened. The Ziggurat was simply shaping it, twisting it into something she could see, something she could touch, something it could use against her. But that didn't make it false.

Her father's voice still crawled through the flames, weak, broken, and her body trembled with the ghost of something she refused to name.

"Serina—why?"

She could still smell the smoke, could still feel the heat licking at her skin, searing into her memory, burning away whatever innocence had once been there. It had been the only way. The only path left. She had to stop them. She had to keep them from feeding more power into the Chandrilan machine, from eroding their name, from turning House Calis into another cog in the democratic wheel—a house meant to rule, reduced to a servant of bureaucracy.

She had done it to save them, hadn't she?

But their screams had not sounded saved.

Her mother had reached for her, had tried to pull herself from the wreckage, but Serina had turned away. She hadn't looked back. Not then. Not until now.

She let out a slow, unsteady breath, her gaze dragged away from the flames, only to find more scars waiting for her.

Woostri.

The carving of a hand reaching for her, one she had never wanted to see again. A cruel reminder that it had been Aadihr who had found her, not the Sith, not the ones she had bled for.

And then—

Quinn.

Serina's throat closed, a small, sharp gasp slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

It was there, carved into the walls as though it had been etched into the very bones of the planet itself. Her hands on Quinn's face. Their lips brushing. The first and only kiss she had ever given without calculation, without strategy. A moment that had been pure, real, untouched by war and ambition and the endless pursuit of power.

And then, it was gone.

Like everything else.

Like Quinn herself.

Serina's arms wrapped around herself, a cold shiver running down her spine.

"I didn't mean for that to happen."

Her voice was barely a whisper, more thought than sound, but the Ziggurat heard. The walls heard. The past heard.

She hadn't meant for Quinn to die.

She hadn't meant to drive Kaila away.

But meaning nothing and doing everything were the same, weren't they?

Quinn had died, even if she had later risen again. And in the wake of that, Serina had been left adrift, left to stand in the ruins of something she had only just begun to understand.

Kaila's face had been so cold when she turned away.

Serina had loved Quinn.

Serina had fallen for Kaila.

She had tried to keep them both, but her very nature had shattered them instead.

She was the reason the pieces had never fit again.

She had thought herself untouchable, thought she could walk the line, hold it all in her hands and never break—but she had.

She had broken everything.

And now there was only one carving left.

One final image waiting for her.

Serina.

Alone.

A name beneath it—scraped away.

As if she had never mattered at all.

Her breath caught, her vision blurring, her hands pressing against her stomach as though trying to hold herself together.

"No."

It was barely a word, but it escaped anyway.

"No."

She wasn't nothing. She wasn't forgotten.

But the Ziggurat had seen inside of her, had cracked open the parts of her that even she had refused to acknowledge.

It knew.

She had always been afraid of this.

Not of dying. Not of pain. Not even of losing.

But of being erased.

Of being a name that meant nothing, a story with no legacy, no impact, no memory left behind.

Serina let out a ragged breath, her fingers trembling.

And then—

She felt it.

A single tear.

Hot, burning, unforgiving as it slipped down her cheek.

Serina's lips parted, her entire body locking up, as if her own mind was in shock at the reaction.

She didn't cry.

She hadn't truly cried since her fall.

Only the incoherent mess on Rakata Prime that she became came close.

Not when she had stood before her parents' burning wreckage.

Not when she had watched Quinn die.

Not when she had been left to rot in the depths of the ocean.

And yet here, now, in this place that should have been beneath her, the past finally crushed her in its grasp.

The second tear came easier.

The third even more so.

And then, before she could stop it, her shoulders shook, her hands clenching into the fabric of her sleeves as she tried—failed—to hold it in.

She had never wanted power for power's sake.

She had wanted control.

Over herself. Over her life. Over what was hers.

And yet, one by one, the things she had cherished, the things she had held closest to her heart, had slipped through her fingers like sand.

They were gone.

Or worse—they had left her behind.

The whispers in the walls did not mock her.

They did not revel in her pain.

They merely watched.

And her own voice—her older voice—spoke again, quiet, inevitable.

"That's why you need to do better."

Serina squeezed her eyes shut.

The tears kept coming.

Because for the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to be truly, completely alone.

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective: Walk through hell.
Equipment: Same as prior.
Tags: Lirka Ka , Aspect of Passion​

"That is perhaps your greatest virtue, Ka. Pragmatism. While I agree that this little funhouse itself is of no practical value beyond plunder, it has a certain charm, in its way. One might argue th-"

"Uh, sir?" Whined one of the droids. "I think my sensors may be malfunctioning." The others quickly chimed in their agreement.

Helix would have rolled his eyes if he possessed the capability, at least before his own sensors registered similar... anomalies. The gene-altered animal he had brought along snarled and then whimpered, covering its crocodilian snout with its withered paws. Helix made a shushing noise, laying one iridescent metal hand on the creature's forehead. "There there." He whispered. "It is only the spirits, deciding to wake up and defend what is theirs."

He turned to see the hallway behind them stretching backwards into infinity. An unpleasant prospect, if it were real. He considered Lirka's words. "I suppose I did." He confirmed. "Eternity is a long time to walk the same hallways, but it is nothing I have not done before. At least this time I will have company."

He lifted a hand, and the nanites within it flexed. A long, needle-pointed blade extended from his arm, and he prodded one of the glowing runes on the walls curiously. The voidstone inlays in his body reacted as he'd expected; the symbol vanished, then reappeared the moment he stopped touching it. Maybe this place's owner had been more asleep than dead.

Helix paused as he heard the voice chatter in his head. Now that was a neat trick. One he did not much appreciate. "No way to go but forward, now. I'd keep that blade ready, if I were you. Not every manifestation might be parlor tricks and voices." It was true that the voice had not directly attempted to harm them, but he had little confidence that would continue forever. "It seems Carnifex may need to give you a raise, Ka. Or at the very least, some hazard pay."

He continued onward, his confident stride unbroken. His nonchalance was not entirely sincere, however. There were always some risks when dealing with this side of things, the ethereal world that he could never touch. He had taken steps to make it more difficult for the Force to touch him in turn, but he couldn't very well stop it from moving anything else.

It would be a pity if his droids and his loyal hound were killed. He was fond of his creations, in a way. Even the lowliest of them. Service should be commended, not rewarded with eternity in a tomb with naught but dust and ashes for company. Moreso the loss of his new friend. Well, "friend" was perhaps a stretch. Kainites didn't have friends, for all the cavalier use of familial language in their culture. Still, he wasn't anymore eager for Ka to be trapped here than anyone else. The fact that he stood to lose something lent him pause, and caution. That was the problem with bringing your favorite toys. The other parties involved might break them.

"Steady." He murmured to the droids, who were still moving uneasily as their sensors attempted to adjust. "Eyes up. I have a feeling our esteemed cadaver might be a little less dead than we'd been lead to believe."

 

[Darth Fury]

Objective 2: Afterlife
The Kaiser

Darth Fury faltered in his steps. He had been moving along in the service tunnel for only awhile. But enough time has passed since he had made his entry to gain more ground than what he has. He could tell something was amiss. He was moving but not...progressing.

What the hell was going on? This ship...something wa-

Then it happened. A sudden change in temperatur-no, a cold wind? Not that either. Something just...enveloped him? Blew pass him. A presence. A feeling. Empty and cold but at the same time neither. He could not distinguish if it was a presence in the force that had made itself known or an actual physical change in the ships atmosphere.

But his hair never moved. Did it? Did his half cape over his left should billow? He could not remember.

Why could he not remember. It just happened...right?

Clattering. Things falling onto metal. Onto the ground. Weapons and tools? Gear? He knew the sound a armored soldier made when collapsing in war.

Fury quickly looked back. But he only saw shadow. The door to the hangar should be right there. He hadn't made any progress, he thought. Or did he after all?

Where the fuck was he? Why was he hear. Something was wrong here. Something was watching him. Gauging his reactions. Learning of his presence. He felt something.

Going back was no longer an option. The dark blackness stretched out into dark space itself. There was no returning. No safe haven. No soldiers to return to use as fodder in place of himself. He was alone.

THERE!

Fury rounded back around, facing back down the hallway in what should be the way forward. Or was the way forward. Perhaps it still is. The walls felt like they were closing in on him. But he saw it. He saw what was watching him. A specter of something. Unnaturally tall. Humanoid? But not fully. As if it was attempting to imitate something it only just learned of. Not quite getting it right. Not quite understanding.

But he saw it all the same. Right there in front of him. Or was it further away? Anger began to build within himself. Anger to mask the uncertainty he felt. To mask his...fear? No. No he no longer felt that. He would not allow himself to. Not again. He pushed his emotions out into the void via the Force. Whatever it was would not take him.

"What are you?"

He asked with more calm than he could feel.

​

 

[Lirka Ka]

It was odd really, watching the care and compassion that Commodore Helix gave to his minions. It was an unfamiliar thing to Lirka, both in service and in command. Her abominations and freaks were never paid much mind in the Once-Sephi's eyes, just another weapon in the arsenal to be used and discarded in the grand service of the Eternal Father Carnifex. Well, except for dear Nova Ka but Lirka's narcissism didn't allow her to hate something that was about as close to literally herself as the vats allowed. As for Carnifex, well...He had gifted her with the brand on her head that itched, writhed, and burned madly in this most unholy of place: frankly, she wondered if their "marriage" had really been a blessing at all sometime or just another platitude to keep her satisfied...

Yet, Lirka's boundless capability to consider the worst in people was was quickly distracted as the Commodore spoke. Admittedly Lirka understood very little about the mechanoid other than that he was, somewhat, a free agent, somewhat, a Tsis'Kaar (much to her misfortune), and very much someone in tune to the same energies that guided Lirka's ambitions. She called out to her fellow, a grim curiosity in her voice.

"Now, my mechanical friend, where does one go to walk for eternity?"

She moved to keep pace, an eyebrow rising as she watched the mechanoid's strange weapon push away the runes. Interesting. Just what sort of odd creature was he in actuality? Lirka certainly had no experience with droids that were capable of such a thing. As he moved forward, Lirka followed behind: keeping as close as she reasonably could. She had dealt with spirits before, and spirits had a nasty habit of forcing self-reflection: and Lirka hated self reflection. Let whatever fancy tricks the Commodore had keep them at bay, Lirka had dealt with the judgement of a specter enough for lifetimes.

He didn't need to tell her twice, Lirka was always ready for violence. She'd gladly rip every stone out of this ziggurat if it meant reaching sweet sweet fresh air. At the mention of her pay, Lirka let out a proper laugh. Oh if only the Commodore knew what sort of dirty deeds she got up to: they never paid her enough to keep the greed, and bacta, satisfied.

"Oh, dear Kaine owes me plenty...hazard pay would certainly be nice though. Perhaps I could bankrupt the whole Kainate with it, ha!"

If there was one thing Lirka would never get, it was hazard pay. Such was the Once-Sephi's total lack of self preservation and endless masochism. With blade in hand, she marched forward through the abyss: blade pointed forward, using the plasma that crackled off the thing as if it were one giant, sharp, glowstick.

 

[Tamsin Graves]

​

Objective: 2 Afterlife
Theme: Alice In Wonderland
Equipment: Twin Omens | DE-10 | Combat Knife | Multi-Tool | Circlet of Projection | Immediac Spacesuit | Mag Boots | Jetpack | Cutting Torch
Tags: Eira Dyn

Tamsin looked at Eira blinkingly through her helmet. The horror movie fandom that was no surprise that seemed right up Eira's ally, it was the fangirling nerd out that surprised her. She actually seemed enthusiastically happy, which was strangely creepier than the normal angry Eira who seemed about ready to rip anyone's head off.

"Uh…..well I like the one with burn victim that can invade dreams. Also, the one with the cancer patient who makes devices to torture people." Though to be truthful she hadn't seen a lot of horror flicks, though she had read a lot of horror books, Kaila's library had a lot of variety. "I think they show humanity better, the victim trying to get revenge on those that wronged them. To bad the bad guys always win in the end."

Tamsin said seriously thinking the monsters in the stories were supposed to be the good guys and their revenge was stolen from them. She then moved to go into the maintenance hatch she had opened. "Alien device that makes you go mad you say, doesn't Quinn have one of those?"

As she entered into what she thought would be a small maintenance airlock, she looked confused as she looked around but she didn't say anything right away as she waited for Eira to enter behind her. "I heard somewhere that with zombies you should bite them before they bite you." She said calmly though her breathing was heavier just to keep the conversation going on topic to keep her mind off the confusion in front of her.

As Eira entered she asked Tamsin about the locks. "Most ships have maintenance hatches, usually for droids but manned personal can use them to, to fix hull damage make other repairs. They have manual locks on them for safety reasons because digital requires power but if you lose power to a section or whole ship then you're screwed. If you put pressure on the right spot on a tumbler like lock you can feel or hear the clicks when they hit the right spot." This wasn't something Tamsin had just read in some book it, it was something she had learned as a slave from another slave when they attempted to steal some extra food one time.

"The maintenance hatch was a pretty simple one because it is for emergencies so isn't meant to be overly complicated." Though part of her would have thought Eira would have known this as someone who had to be sneaky from time to time. "A saber would maybe have been quicker, but it also would possibly compromised hull integrity same with a torch which is why I am glad I saw the latch before cutting."

She turned around in her confusion to look back at Eira behind her as she asked what she expected to find. "Not….." She stopped as she noticed the hatch they had just entered was gone. "That's not possible…." She looked around her none of this was right, they should have been in a small room between pressure locks but they weren't they were standing in hall of the ship durasteel grated plates beneath their feet.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, like those you get when you're falling or going in a downward position really fast. It wrenched at the guts, and everything felt strange like someone, or something was watching them. She looked to her wrist and a meter on the gauge told her there was breathable air. A sense of dread and fear washed over her as she stood there before Eira. "What the hell….?"

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 1, Study the Ziggurat
Tags: Madrona A’Mia Open!
------------------------------------------

"Chit!"

Violet lightning crackled to life between His fingers as He swung back and loosed a bolt off into the foggy distance, missing the source of the surprise and instead hitting some distant shuttle. Hopefully nothing too important was damaged. His hidden gaze snapped to the familiar yet somewhat morphed form of Korriban's favorite Neti. "Lady Madrona." The words came out in an exhaled sigh, tension slipping from His form as He dismissed the arcs trailing around His hand.

"Some warning of approach would have been appreciated, this structure dulls the senses you know. Too much information all at once." It was a looming presence in and of itself, and that was without factoring in the various Sith and teams which were exploring the area. Plenty of interference for one to get lost in if they weren't careful. "Thus far you've missed little more than the silence of the dead." He gestured towards the Ziggurat with His other hand, the datapad clutched in it now featuring a slight crack where His fingers were wrapped around it.

"There are a few teams looking for the missing crew but to my knowledge no reports of any real findings one way or another." It was still unusual for the lacking activity in a place like this, there should be defenses of some sort guarding a tomb like this. Spirits, droids, traps, yet there was no signs of anything that had made itself known. Then there was a shift. A pulse, almost. Darth Strosius looked to the Ziggurat and felt the wisps of tendrils leaking from His robes flare in response to the subtle change. "Oh. Well that's new."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Objective 1: Decipher and Discover
Tags: Darth Strosius & Open

​

Turning her head in the same motion he fired off a blast, A'Mia blinked and considered the point of impact, then turned back to Alisteri and resumed her her most humanoid appearance. She shrunk herself somewhat, becoming denser and also assuming a more petite form so for once she was shorter than him. It wouldn't do for her to obstruct anyone's view of the worksite and height mattered little to her unless it was serving a purpose.

She blinked again at the use of "Lady", no one ever called her that. Though she supposed it was accurate.

"Some warning of approach would have been appreciated, this structure dulls the senses you know. Too much information all at once."

"Permission to speak to your mind then? When it's prudent that is, not when it would be invasive- of course."

The neti turned in the same direction as her companion, large eyes taking in far more than visual information. She seemed to sway as if in a wind, like she was hit by the ripples caused by the pulse.

"The dead are rarely silent, Alisteri. For those who listen closely enough," she murmured rather ominously, distracted by whatever that pulse was.

"I've brought sithspawn, should your men wish to pass the burden of heavy lifting on to them..." she added as an afterthought, cocking her head as if it would help her spy the source of that disturbance in the Weave.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: The Ziggurat
Tags: Darth Malum of House Marr | Kaila Irons | Quinn Varanin
Equipment: Lightsaber | Sith Armour
​

The expedition had led into the Ziggurat.

Every floor led deeper and deeper, more coffins and tombs revealing themselves. The writing was familar to him, although he couldn't place it. He'd seen it somewhere, perhaps in a book. It was carved into near every surface that the young boy laid his eyes upon.

Each room was larger than the last, the maze he'd entered taking longer than he would have liked to admit to best. He wasn't moving at his usual speed of course, he was still bearing the wounds and the damage from the Battle of Woostri, but he'd made it eventually.

Where he saw Darth Malum of House Marr , who pitched him a question. "...Darth Latens, come tell me, what does this runestone say? You have stayed brushed up on your High Sith, I hope?" The question was one which caused the young boy to pause.

High Sith was a language he knew, but not well. Explained why it was so familar though.

Darth Malum of House Marr had taken the time to introduce him to the texts written in the language of the Sith, but it wasn't something that came overly naturally to the boy. He struggled to read at the best of times, normally too distracted by other ongoings.

Thankfully he was saved from the embarassment of having to translate High Sith by an approaching voice, one that gave him a few seconds to make a mental note that he needed a translator added to his helm. It was always useful to learn where you needed to improve... or cut corners.

"Who is the lucky young man that gets to be your ward, Lord Marr?" the female voice spoke softly, leading Latens to cast his eyes towards her. "Lord Latens" he acknowleged softly, not quite used to how his voice sounded without his helmet covering it.

He also wasn't used to the scar above his eye. A reminder of the battle on the water world.

The young Sith Knight cast his eyes to the runestone which Darth Malum of House Marr had asked him to translate and raised an eyebrow. "There is nothing where you are gesturing" he commented, raising an eyebrow. Had Malum finally gone mad?

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

Coffin​

​

Mission Objective One​

Tag: QK-2510​

Armor:
S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

Alana didn't move—not at first.

The weight of the rifle sighting her down didn't bother her. She'd stared down barrels plenty of times before. No, it was the silence. That choking, oppressive void where sound should be, where life should be. A second ago, she had been alone. And now?

A faceless trooper, a strand-cast, was standing before her, weapon primed, uncertainty etched in every taut muscle.

Alana could almost feel the shift in the air.

Not just unease. Wrongness.

Her own grip tightened on her rifle, but she didn't raise it. Not yet. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on QK-2510, her stance loose, ready—but not hostile.

"Alana Calloway, I'm a squad leader." She said, voice low but firm. "You got a whole squad that just up and vanished too?"

Her words felt thin against the weight pressing down on them.

Then—the lights flickered.

Alana's stomach dropped.

It wasn't a power surge. It wasn't a malfunction. It was something else. Something deeply unnatural.

The walls weren't the same. The coffins weren't where they had been.

And the statues—

She clenched her jaw, muscles coiling.

Then QK-2510's visor flickered, and for a heartbeat, Alana saw the name.

Morrow.

It was like a gut punch. A phantom pain.

Because Morrow wasn't here. Morrow was gone.

The comms crackled.

"Sergeant—?"

Alana's breath stilled.

She didn't look away from QK-2510. Couldn't. Not when her brain was trying to tell her she was looking at someone else entirely.

Slowly, carefully, she reached for her sidearm—not to raise it, not yet, but just to have it in hand. Because whatever was happening?

It wasn't done yet.

And those statues had been seated when they walked in.

She felt her heart beat accelerate within her chest.

Alana took a slow step forward. Then another.

Not fast enough to startle, but deliberate enough to make her intent clear.

Her breath was steady, but the weight in her gut told her it shouldn't be. Her instincts were screaming at her—something is watching. Something just beyond the edges of sight, shifting when she wasn't looking, moving in the space between moments.

But right now, the only thing in front of her was the strand-cast.

QK-2510 still had her rifle up, but Alana didn't stop. Didn't flinch.

She knew what it was like to be alone in places that didn't make sense.

"You're seeing it too, aren't you?" she murmured, low enough that the words barely stirred the thick air between them. "Things ain't where they should be. Lights going out like they're blinking out of existence. The names. The voices."

Her fingers flexed around the grip of her sidearm, but she didn't draw. Not yet.

One more step, just within arm's reach now.

"We stick together," Alana said, quieter this time, eyes searching the opaque visor for any flicker of recognition. "Ain't safe alone."

The statues loomed behind them. Silent. Watching.

But Alana didn't turn.

Didn't dare look away.