Korriban
Ruins of Dreshdae
A world of tombs. This desolate rock was nothing more than a collection of the dead. Looters, Grave robbers, and those seeking unknown mysteries of the dark lore were the only congregation in this church of the damned. Picked apart piece by piece, inch by inch. Centuries upon centuries had passed weathering the rock and stone of ages long forgotten, fashioning the ruins into the windswept remains of something vaguely familiar. The artifacts buried in the tombs had been seized, even as far into the past as the years of the Old Republic - whereas now, the thought that there might be a hidden gem on this arid rock was as absurd as it was foolish. Beings did not come here for what the planet may hold - not for the trinkets of black market sale, they came for the legend. Korriban held sway in the stories that were so garish and demented that only those mad enough to cast away those warnings - or brave enough to foolishly trek would embrace. This endless desert gave nothing to that of life and meaning, but only a constant and grim reminder of an early grave. Claiming the lives of thousands, of those that traveled without adequate provisions from the caustic climate alone - even more were driven to their demise by the souls of those ancient Lords of Evil, that remained haunting the ethereal plane connected to the Dark Side of the Force. And yet - the call had been placed.
Once a settlement on the eastern hemisphere of the planet - Dreshdae, the capital of Korriban no longer held the foot traffic it had once claimed thousands of years before the battle of Yavin. The location was nothing more than the feint shadow of a culture that no longer existed. Yet despite the desertification that claimed this globe, some structures carried their hollow shell of purpose even to this date. The rough estimate of a star port for example, to which the navigation computer brought the bulk freighter to rest on. Dust and sand whipped about the vessel, assaulting it's hull with the course grain of it's amber hues. A deep rumbling within the ship's bow activated the loading ramp, that slid out and touched down with a weighty thud. The resulting swirl of sand shading the approach of a shadowed figure clipping off the durasteel ramp and onto the wasted real estate of this forgotten planet. Earlier in his travels, he'd landed outside a site given to a group of Mandalorian mercenaries who had sought something beyond their feeble minds, only to be ensnared by the clever prophet who lured his prey. This time, the approach had more meaning, and Nazo had decided to cast his lot towards the westerly winds of the planet proper.
Dusk was falling over this half of the planet, drawing the shadows of the various stone ruins into casting jagged teeth on the horizon. Sounds of the wind shaping the course of the sandy terrain and his own footsteps - the only audio for kilometers on end. Fabric frayed and tattered pulled against the exoskeleton that advanced upon the capital city. Seven feet of durasteel scrap plodding along with the direction and desire to understand where this beacon's source had led him. A glance towards the heavens however gave little help or hope to that cause - as that mighty burning asteroid no longer appeared to ride the dark cosmos. It had led him here, and at the same token abandoned his quest. Nazo however did not deter from that meaningless metaphor, and continued in his search - one that he could abide with patience of the centuries on his side. Meters from his ship, the outline of it's weighty frame vanishing in the haze of sand until direction itself seemed to elude even the crafty intellect of the space slug. That's when the voices came.
Mind the flesh
Protect the soul
Run to peril
Expand the hole
Death awaits
End is near
Layered in sand
Blanket of fear
Footfalls creating shallow and unknown shapes in the sandy topography paused once the voices stirred around his figure. Nazo's form shifted the porcelain white mask back and forth in search for the origin to these voices. They came in a swarm, whispering, shouting, laughing and crying. The empty timber of their vocals seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. A trait was used to, but not on the receiving end. This was however not from a single entity, the signature pattern was far too complex and rotational to be from one particular source. Yet every word seemed to be directed at him as an assault - for which the slug paused in his stride. The headdress billowed back and forth upon the crown of the being's head, while the mask bowed down, touching into the dark recesses of the Force itself. Each word strung together into a rhyme, an intelligent if not cryptic clue perhaps to the coming trial. Moments later a raise of his ruby eyed gaze drew into sight the figure that rested just a few meters from himself at an alcove of some once famous landmark - now just the ruination of a former hovel.
The bodies of two
Shyrack's lay decimated and looted upon under the hungry gaze of a thick muscled Trandoshan. His leathery hide calloused and somewhat covered to protect against the natural erosion of the planet proper. Weapons seemed to emanate from various cloth attachments on his person, while the hunched figure scraped off some meaty remains of the kill. Green vitae spilled from the chin of the rather deranged looking creature. Talon like claws picked at the kill, while keeping his posture poised for a pounce should danger creep too close. A sense in temperature difference caused
Niss to produce a low chortle which formed into a sickening growl knowing that he was not alone on this spit of land, and something was coming that might attempt to ruin his dining experience. The first of many challenges, Nazo assumed would come his way, at least a barrier of sorts to his destination, and thus approach was required.
[member="Lord Kataklysmos"]
