Private Chapter I: Darkness In The Blood

[Damien Dooku]

LEGACIES OF THE FORCE
CHAPTER I: DARKNESS IN THE BLOOD
THEME​

...IT CAME TO HIM IN FLASHES​

The feeling that had tugged in the back of his mind ever since his run-in with Kyric had not ceased its relentless pull. It was as if his soul had been touched by something that had once been inseparable from who he was, right down to the blood in his veins. At some point it had been ripped from him before the inception of those abilities had the chance to grow, inevitably tearing from him a part that he'd subconsciously knew would leave him incomplete. Deadened to the echoes of the force, Damien entered the galaxy a young man with nothing to lose, and everything to regain.

But it had remained silent for as long as he could remember– until it was not.

Coruscant had triggered something deep within to awaken. The tugs and pulls at the back of his mind grew stronger with each passing day, and for the first time in what felt like eons past, Damien listened. He listened every night in silent thought, glazed over eyes focused solely upon the city's skyline from the respite he found within his mother's spare apartment. He could feel the echoes turning into something more concrete for him to perceive, those miniscule tugs at the back of his mind now beginning to take the form of echoes that only he could understand, that only he could see.

It called upon him, much like the fisherman who cast his line so far into the depths of the sea with his bait still alive at the end of the hook. Damien was the sole focus of its unnatural attention, and so too was it for him. Long had it sat quietly in the glove box of his starfighter, the object existing dead to the world around it for decades by that point. In a curious twist of the astomech's usual mode of operation, the droid revealed that it had once belonged to his father, and his ancestors long before in a time where even he could barely remember. Yet the device simply refused to unlock, and no matter what Damien did he could not figure out any other way to access the contents within.

So he locked it back up and left it to gather dust. ​

...UNTIL FATE THRUST IT UPON HIM ​

​

It hummed in his hand, each side of the triangular holocron glowing a vibrant shade of crimson that made him feel uneasy just being around it. The internal workings of the holocron oscillated within, though he was certain there were no gears inside. It thrummed with a deep, guttural sense of foreboding that echoed the legacy of an era long since dead in the past, but calling out to him nonetheless.

ANGER LEADS TO HATE​

HATE LEADS TO POWER​

Damien recoiled from the device, and it dropped to the floor as the words forced themselves into his mind with that same sense of augury that probed at his mind. "What the feth have you gotten yourself into, Damien." He muttered to himself, confused as to why the thing still thrummed with that same oscillating force, even as it lay still on the ground. The sound of gears opening and realigning followed the top of the pyraimd's descent into itself, leaving behind the bottom half of a pyramid with a dark, smooth surface visible from above. Sanguine tendrils of light shot into the air, coalescing into the form of a man with his eyes shut closed, and the curved hilt of a lightsaber held tightly within his hands.

​

A crimson blade ignited before his eyes, but Damien stepped away from the hologram nonetheless. The figure opened his eyes, exuding an aura of gravitas from head to toe, and clearly focused upon the boy standing apprenhsively to his front. It took a step forwards, the force behind it bringing Damien to move his hind foot backwards almost in unison. Curiosity, if you could call it that, appeared on the man's visage. He raised an eyebrow in a manner similar to Damien and displayed amusement, but also contempt.

"Just how far has my line fallen." The voice boomed throughout the room, and he took another step forwards. Despite this being having emanated from the holocron on the ground, both the voice and the boots that glided across the ground felt tangible to the senses. "...That a boy is all there is left to it." The disdain was palpable in its voice, but for now the crimson blade in its hand had stayed idle at their side. "You seek strength, boy. But are you worthy of the power that's in your blood?" He asked, though his tone gave the impression that he was mocking Damien, much like a parent does to an indolent child.

"The way you are now– You will not save her." The specter of his mother's form appeared beside the man ever-so briefly before he brought his lightsaber through her flesh. Auteme dissapated in a haze of etherealness before his eyes, and the stranger smiled. "She will die in the coming trials you will face, and it is your own doubt that will be the cause." Another amused and drawn out laugh bellowed from closed lips.

Damien mustered up a response, but the words would not come out. On the contrary the man took another step closer to Damien, and rose a single hand forwards that outstretched in his direction. His feet slid across the ground as he felt himself being pulled forcefully into the figure's grip, the scruff of his jacket balled up in a weathered fist that was all too real for this to have been a hallucination. He was beginning to doubt his sanity as the heat of the crimson blade washed over his side, and the familiar smell of a Serennoan brand of cologne entered his nostrils, further confusing him even more.

"You will learn, boy." The crimson blade deactivated at his side, and the man raised a finger to the center of Damien's forehead. His eyes widened as he found the shackles of his mind broken clean through, a force of being penetrating past the barriers that had cut him off from the force for so long.

"That one man is more than enough to make a difference– if you are powerful enough."



Part 1 of 2
Kyric Tyrus Vastor ​

 

[Damien Dooku]

LEGACIES OF THE FORCE
CHAPTER I: DARKNESS IN THE BLOOD – PART TWO
IT BEGINS



"You are weak boy!" ​

The curved hilt of the Count's blade cut through the air with the intent to kill Damien, but he felt no hint of the fear that had been circulating through him just moments prior to their battle. It was him, but at the same time Damien could feel that he was different down to the core. His senses felt sharper, which was confirmed in less than the time it took for him to blink as his body moved on instinct to dodge and then deflect the blow.

The blazing intensity of two lightsabers connecting filled his vision as the azure blade in his hands deftly kept Count Dooku at bay, but for how long he could hold out, Damien was unsure. He felt his eye twitch at the thought; The lightsaber in his hands...it was unfamiliar? When did he learn to wield one, and why did this one in particular feel so familiar? Ever since his return to Coruscant this sensation of familiarity had flooded him many times over, but–

"Now's not the time for weakness!" Count Dooku interupted his thoughts, almost as if the man knew what he was thinking, when he was thinking it. A perfidious grin spread across the aged Sith's face as yet another vocal sign of his amusement rose up from his lungs. Despite his age the old man moved with the quickness of a lothwolf on the hunt, mixing perfectly-timed footwork with a weave of lightning fast strikes that aimed to pierce through his guard with pinpoint accuracy.

Damien gritted his teeth, unable to push back on the offensive long enough to overcome his opponent's control of the duel. The smell of burned ozone and filtered air had warped his senses into believing that this scene was truly real. It felt it, at least, and a part of him truly believed it, and demanded that the Jedi fight hard.

Wait.. Jedi?

No.

​

"That is right, boy. You are no Jedi– You're barely even a man, yet you believe you can save her?" The Count scoffed at Damien, and he could feel the rage boiling inside of him with every pointed word that cut him deep to the core. "What the feth do you know?!" Damien lept forwards with all his strength, propelling himself into the air with the brilliant blade of cerulean falling down upon the Count in a magnificent show of strength. He wasn't expecting the man's smile to widen even further. It was almost as if the battle itself was something he'd longed for, or maybe it was something else altgother.

The Count sidestepped out of the heavy blow's path, avoiding the penetrating strike which ruptured the panels of the starship's bridge with ease. Slagged, molten metal and durasteel debris was left in its wake, and Damien only felt the anger within him growing stronger.

RESENTMENT

DESPAIR. ​

HATRED​

He roared out between clenched teeth, dragging the blade through the steel beneath it and connecting a powerful strike that seemed easily deflected by his opponent. No matter what he said, Damien would not fail. He couldn't afford to. He would kill this man and save her, even if it costed him everything in the process.

But could he really?

This wasn't him. The battle raging outside the bridge's viewport was nothing he'd ever seen before, and the strength he found himself capable of wielding was something out of a dream. He wanted this power so bad, now that he thought about it. If this was truly what he was capable of, then–

"How terrible it must be." Damien was forcefully pushed backwards by the Sith's extended hand, and he felt the terrible blow through the force deliver a pressure that he'd never known upon his chest. He stumbled down onto one knee, but picked himself back up and tightened his grip around the hilt of his weapon.

"To know that your every thought has been perceived by your enemy–" The old man weaved a combination of piercing stabs and interconnected strikes that slowly, but surely weakened his faltering guard. His black robes were singed down to the flesh across his arms and legs, but no vital points had so far been hit.

"To know that your mother will die because of your inadequacy." He bellowed out yet another laugh, but this one came from the pit of his chest.

"NO! I WON'T LET THAT HAPPEN!" ​

He whipped both hands forwards, his eyes filled with the burning embers of hatred and determination to defeat the foe who mocked him to no end. The amber that was their naturally color matched the intensity of the long tendrils of lightning he emitted from the tips of his fingers, but the Count held his weapon at an angle and avoided the brunt of what had been Damien's most powerful counter so far. The smile grew even wider upon the man's face.

"Your blood is not as weak as it seemed on the surface, boy." A mirage of crimson light circled in front of him as he swept the lightning aside with one blow, then lunged across the bridge, his blade extended outwards to pierce through Damien and end him where he stood.

Their blades connected in a flurry of reddish-blue hues that lit up the bridge in an amazing show of lights, where they not engaged in a duel to the death. Damien's intensity had only increased as the fight raged on, his strikes becoming more deft with each bout, the speed and strength behind each blow carrying the weight of Master Windu when he fought unshackled by the limitations he placed upon his own power. Whereas the younger of the two felt himself growing perpetually more in tune with the blade in his hands – his hatred for his enemy fueling him to soar higher past his limits – the elder Sith had only become weaker himself.

Old age, perhaps. Damien did not care, for this man had gotten into his head and threatened the one he loved the most in this cruel, fucked up galaxy. He would not let him live– No, he couldn't.

The Count struck once again, but Damien pushed hard against the lightsaber's edge, dragging the azure edge of his blade up the length of the Count's own before bringing it down through the exposed flesh above his wrist. It separated from his appendage, but the Count did not let any sign of pain escape from his lips.

​

Damien's palm opened up, the curved hilt drawn into his grasp as he activated the lightsaber in tandem with his own. The old man fell to one knee, his piercing orange eyes locking with Damien's own without a shred of fear for his impending death. Both lightsabers crossed on either side of the Count's neck, but Damien hesitated before the final blow had been delivered. There was something in this man's eyes that just felt familiar, and he couldn't tell whether it was pity, or a genuine sense of attachment that stayed his hand.

"Your father once suffered this very same dilemma." The Count's tone had softened, and it felt more tired than it had been before. Damien hesitated again, his eyebrow raised in a manner much similar to how the man had done earlier. "My.. father?" He repeated, only to receive a nod from the kneeling old man. "There is a darkness in our blood, young Damien. It draws us to it, yearns for us to seek out that which may see our power grow."

Hesitation turned into regret. This old man felt more like a grandfather to him than anything else, and as these feelings overtook his mind, the battle outside the viewport would shift into nothing but darkness itself.

"You must not hesitate to destroy your enemies when they are bent before you." The Count continued. "And do not get overconfident with this victory either, for what little i've taught you shall not be enough to save your mother when the time comes." His heart dropped upon hearing that same premonition once agian. Damien felt his hands tremble over the cold metal of each hilt, but there was something in the old man's eyes that steeled his resolve. "Until you are truly ready, we will not meet again." The Count tilted his chin upwards. "Seek out Tyrus Vastor – a Jedi you are fated to meet."

Damien took the name into his mind and repeated it as many times as he could. He didn't know how much of this...vision, or whatever it is, would be retained after all.

"Now do it."

Seconds passed, and his hands stayed where they were.

"I said d–" ​

The Count's head separated from his body, rolling down the side of the Count's cape before hitting the floor with a thud. His headless form followed, and the darkness receded back to whence it came, leaving Damien standing in the middle of his apartment with determination burning behind his eyes. The holocron sat lifeless on the floor, and he scooped it up and tossed it into a nearby drawer. He would remember the old man's words, until they eventually met again.

Damien picked up his communicator and dialed Kyric about an hour later. "I uhh– I need your help again." He told him, his voice brought to a shake in the aftermath of what just happened. "Tyrus Vastor." Damien continued.

"Have you heard of 'em?"

fin.

honorary tags: Galen Dooku | Talin Treicolt | Tansu Treicolt | Dax
​

 

[Kyric]

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

[ Sir. ]

Nothingness drifted away slowly, replaced by a grating beep in Kyric's right ear. The neon lights of Galactic City pierced his vision like knives. He regretted not closing the blinds before bed as he padded over.

[ I am sorry to wake you before your specified time. You are receiving a communications request from the Chancellor's private residence. ]

Kyric rubbed the sleep from his eyes and trundled over to the communicator on the nightstand. He lifted it to his lips and spoke. "Kyric here."

"I uhh– I need your help again." He told him, his voice brought to a shake in the aftermath of what just happened. "Tyrus Vastor." Damien continued. "Have you heard of 'em?"

Tyrus Vastor ?

Now that was a name Kyric hadn't heard for damn near two years. Hearing it out of Damien's lips made it all the more interesting. What did his brother mean to gain from the Undercity Hunter?

"We crossed paths on a case I worked almost two years back. Good man. Reliable in a fight. Cool-headed when things get spooky. And, probably my favorite thing about him, Vastor's the Wayseeker type. He keeps formal communications with the Order to a minimum." Kyric pushed off the nightstand and wandered across his bedroom. He bounced awkwardly as he pulled up one pant leg, then the other, before slipping a shirt overhead.

"You ain't gettin' anything else until you fill me in. I'll be by the apartment in thirty minutes."

Kyric cut communications with a wince. He wasn't the rude type, but Damien had developed a bad habit over the years of dragging Kyric along. That sort of thing was fine when they were kids, but the kiffar could hear the desperation in his brother's voice. He could feel it in their shared connection.

Their mother came to mind.

"Oh, Ma," Kyric sighed. "Somethin' tells me we're needin' you now more than ever."

Ten minutes saw Kyric boots on, out the door, and mounting his given speeder bike atop the skyscraper roof. Ten more minutes saw the speeder pull into the family's private garage, where he parked it side-by-side his half-brother's. The slate gray garage door stood between him and the apartment proper. The blastdoor did not deter him, no. It would respond to his biometric signature, much like the other members of their large family.

She always wanted it to be a safe place for her family.

Kyric took a deep breath and stepped forward. The door slid open, so the kiffar strode inside.

Not much had changed. An end table had been moved opposite the hall from where it was before, and a new rug decorated the stretch of hallway between the parking garage and the central room. New paintings covered the walls. His mother's, perhaps?

He hoped so.

"Alright, alright!" Kyric called as he strode into the main chamber. "I'm here. Time to fill me in."

Damien Dooku | Auteme

 

[Damien Dooku]

Half an hour came and went in no time. Damien had occupied himself by sitting on the arm of one of the two couches in the room, his eyes glazed over by what he'd just seen. No, what he'd done, how he fought tooth and nail with the old man in a battle that felt existential to what both of them loved dearly. Shocked, exhausted and confused by the memories implanted in his mind, Damien's thoughts would eventually return to the same thing at the end of each cycle.

Tyrus Vastor ​

The name stuck out to him more than the bright flashing lights of space warfare, or the power he felt coursing through his veins as he and the old man threw everything they had at each other but the panels on the walls. Weariness in his visage shifted itself into determination upon hearing the name in his head. To protect the ones he loved, to live up to the legacies that his parents bestowed upon him with his birth. That final thought brought an eyebrow to a perch, and he tilted his head slightly as the door behind him slid open.

...IS THAT MY THOUGHT?​

He nodded his head at Kyric and managed the slightest curve at the corner of his lips in a feigned effort to greet his brother. "Sup." He said with little effort behind it, then waited for him to settle in. Damien opened the drawer holding the holocron and peered inside slowly, almost hoping that a bright crimson glow did not radiate across the room. Seconds passed by to no effect. "I uhh– I've got somethin' to show you." He pulled it out and held it close to his chest, both his eyes focused on the inert prism in silence. He broke the connection that tugged at his mind, shaking his head twice from right to left.

It was tossed towards Kyric in the next motion, the audible reverberations of turblolasers striking shields and lightsaber combat fading out of his skull. His eyes resettled across the room and back onto his brother. He figured seeing the thing first hand would be quicker than answering a slew of basic questions from his inquisitive and sometimes annoying sibling.

 

[Kyric]

Kyric plucked the inert holocron out of the air with his gloved hand. He turned it over and studied it closely, his gaze flickering up to Damien in quiet suspicion every so often. The thing had an ancient feel to it–like the kiffar could smash it between his hands if he tried hard enough.

"I'll spare you the questions on why you have a Sith artifact of great power on your person." Kyric pressed his bare hand against its surface and ran his fingers along the thin divots carved across the holocron. To Damien, the kiffar's eyes would glaze over for a split-second. Kyric's prowess for psychometry manifested not in reading the memories of living tissue, but in seeing much deeper into the past of inorganic matter at a rapid speed.

Visions swam within his mind.

He saw Damien leaning against the sofa, eyes cast to the cityscape. His fingers were locked tight around the holocron as emotions waged for control within the boy's mind. Two other presences filled the space. Their wills waged for control of... Damien? Kyric couldn't tell. Flashes of an unfamiliar room appeared before him. Crimson swept across his vision as a lightsaber clashed with an azure counterpart.

Then Kyric saw Auteme lifeless on the floor.

His gaze snapped back to Damien. "What does Tyrus Vastor have to do with this? He ain't the type to fall to the dark side." Kyric tossed the holocron back to his brother. "You thinkin' he can be of some help?"

Damien Dooku

 

[Damien Dooku]

Damien wondered if that is what he looked like, when the visions – which he wasn't sold on if that was what they were – happened to him. Unlike himself, Kyric was not just your run off the mill scoundrel who just so happened to come from a family of great Jedi. He was good, even if Damien had never directly told him that to his face. The way he could handle a situation against basically anything was something that made Damien proud to have grown up with him. It made him proud to be his brother, even if the two couldn't walk on the same path like they did during their youth.

His gaze snapped back to Damien. "What dooes Tyrus have to do with this? He ain't the type to fall to the dark side." Kyric tossed the holocron back to his brother. "You thinkin' he can be of some help?"​

He shook his head as if to say no to the first statement, but he couldn't find the words immediately to explain the flood of visions and memories still freshly a mess inside of his head. "I... saw things." He spoke up. "Battles, starfighters flying everywhere– there was this bridge and I was on it, and so was the old man, but–" He stopped himself short. "I'm guessing you saw most of it too, yeah?" It was more for his self-assurance than anything else, so he continued on to the point. "The old man inside of the holocron told me to find 'em. Said we're fated to meet, or something like that."

He offered a weak variant of his usual smirk. "You know, the usual Jedi mumbo-jumbo." If Kyric had bothered to correct him on it being a Sith holocron, Damien would shrug his shoulders in return. The old man definitely gave off the impression he was a Sith, but there was something behind the veil that assured Damien that he didn't mean him any harm. Besides, what Sith tells someone to seek out the Jedi and not one of their own?

"His eyes towards the end." It was a thought, but the words became audible without him realizing it. "It was like he knew me– or somethin' like that."

He went quiet again, then looked up at Kyric once again. Damien didn't feel like expanding upon his reasoning even further if his brother understood enough already. He hoped he did at least, as he found himself feeling a rise of unwanted emotion at the vivid depiction of his slain mother once more.

Kyric | Tyrus Vastor | Auteme ​

 

[Kyric]

Damien was wrong.

Kyric hadn't seen the vision. Not to the degree his brother described. He viewed it through the lens of an echo, formed via the powerful emotions Damien felt when viewing the contents of the holocron. A little deductive reasoning applied alongside his half-brother's panicked state allowed Kyric to get a good idea of their predicament, even if Damien chose to be tight-lipped about the nature of Auteme's involvement.

"Sounds to me like you might be gettin' premonitions again, Damien." Kyric crossed his arms over his chest. "I know yer' not the Livin' Force type, but this can't be a coincidence. We ran into each other a year ago, then again at the Plaza. Now you've got the name of an obscure Jedi Master in the Undercity."

He crossed the living room into the kitchen and fixed the pair of them both a tall, bubbling glass of Sprite. Pushing one across the counter, Kyric sipped his, then continued.

"I trust the Force, but more importantly," Kyric pointed directly at his brother. "I trust you, Damien–with my life. If this is serious enough for you to come callin' for not one, but two Jedi, well, I'd be a damn Tuskan on Taris not to help you out."

Kyric grinned. "We're headin' to the Hollow Heart. Shouldn't be any trouble to get in contact with Vastor there."

Damien Dooku | Auteme | Tyrus Vastor

 

[Tyrus Vastor]

Location: Coruscant, Level 1280.
Status: Head back to Hollow Heart Enclave.

The labyrinthine alleys of Level 1280, where the distant glow of the upper city seems like a dream, something stirs in the shadows. The air is muggy with the scent of sweat and desperation as criminals and gang members flee in terror, their footsteps echoing off the grimy overgrown walls. The entity, shrouded in darkness, moves with an eerie tribal like rhythm, effortlessly navigating the twisted pathways of the lower levels. Its form is obscured, appearing as little more than a fleeting shadow, yet its presence is unmistakable, A primal instinct ready lash out at any moment. It felt more animal than man.

As the criminals scramble through abandoned alleyways and into the dark, deconstructed streets, they are met with a nightmare landscape. Mutants, monsters, and twisted biotech remnants of the Yuuzhan Vong era have made the lower levels their home, adding to the chaos and confusion. One by one, the hunted are picked off, their panicked screams swallowed by the oppressive darkness. Each disappearance serving as a grim reminder of survival. Life and death. A relentless pursuit, driving the survivors deeper into the abyss. Finally, a group of desperate criminals finds themselves at a dead end, their backs against the lush and humid alien foilage and flora. With nowhere left to run, they turn to face the direction of their pursuer, their hearts beating hard like the striking of a third world drum. A sound that brought not only the hunt to life for their stalker but also for the many other creatures hungry in the depths. Creatures that would, no doubt, tear and rip apart the men and devour them slowly. A horrible death.

Fortunately for them.
They would all be given quest deaths for their crimes.

With a snap-hiss, a vibrant purple hue cuts through the darkness as a lightsaber ignites, casting an otherworldly glow upon the scene. In a blur of motion, the Jedi pursuer emerges from the shadows, their movements fluid and precise. In a single blinding motion, two criminals are cut down, their screams silenced as their lifeless bodies crumple to the ground. The air hangs heavy with the scent of burnt ozone and the echoes of violence, as the Jedi, Tyrus Vastor, stands amidst the sudden silence and glares through red lenses at the last standing criminal. A man stocky muscular man with a single scar over his left eye and a orange mohawk atop his head.

" Tell me what I need to know and your free to go." Tyrus stepped forward slightly and flourished his blade. The criminal, still in shock from the carnage earlier blinked several times in disbelief before replying. He said " How do I know you just wont kill me?! Huh?" His eye and brow muscles twitched under the stress. " What kind of Jedi are you? Your supposed to stand for justice and peace! Take me in! Arrest me. Please! I'll tell you everything!" He begged and then fell back on his arse when a purple glowing blade was thrust forward only to stop short of his neck. The blades hum, though low and subtle, was loud enough to feel.

" You eh. You da one dat wan Jus-tice? For ya, I give Tan Pel'trokal. Pelekotan. Judge you!." Tyrus spoke in Korunnai. Jungle Justice. " Fine take it! My data pad. Take it!" The device was tossed in the air and caught with a gloved hand before scanned briefly and stored in a large trench coat pocket. With a click the hum and light of the purple blade was drawn back into the hilt and with it the only source of light in the overgrown alien alley way. Heavy breaths were expelled out of the stocky mans maw. An the realization that he was infact alone and free dawned on him with a smirk. Im free! He wasn't lying after all! Hahahaha! Fething jedi. Crazy Korunnai.

A sort lived realization. One that broke into a thousand pieces when a dozen amber glowing eyes peeked out of the darkness. The sound of drool slopping to the shattered duracrete floor came with a sloshing crash and low growls emitted in the dark. What came next was no details of sight but rather sound. Scuffling of clothing mixed with heavy breaths, no, erratic breathing. Then louder growls and roars, lumbering movements and the gnawing bite of enamel against sinew, muscle and flesh. The screams of the slaver echo'd throughout Lvl1280 as a shriek. It might as well of been a dinner bell.

Tyrus felt little for the man. He had the free will to choose and he chose along time ago.
Slavers. Good Riddance.

" This is Lor Pelek. I found the womp rat problem and i am on my way back to paradise. Prepare me some Sprite and glass of Mandalorian Wine." Vastor spoke in code over a secure holo-line. It had been weeks since he had personally visited this so called Paradise. A personal Nickname for the Hollow Heart Enclave.

Tags: Damien Dooku Kyric ​

 

[Damien Dooku]

CHAPTER I: DARKNESS IN THE BLOOD
PART 3: THE UNDERCITY HUNTER
THEME​

...CORUSCANT UNDERCITY, AL-SHURUQ NIGHTCLUB​

"Unexpected." ​

Damien looked over at his brother with that devilish sense of guile that always spelled trouble when the two were together. There were several ways for them to reach the Hollow Heart, but both of them agreed that heading through the sewers wasn't the preferred route. That lead them several levels up, then a few more down, the unorthodox path a result of various shortcuts that made traveling through the lower levels more easier on the legs.

Eventually they arrived at the doors of the AL-SHURUQ, a most definitely poppin' nightclub that somehow managed to keep its doors not shot up or blown off the hinges. He'd never even considered that there were things beneath the surface that weren't just dirt and grime to begin with, to be fair. His assumption was that it was nothing more than a pit of misery and despair, but even down here there were folks who just wanted to blow off steam and have a good time. Even more-so than the surface, perhaps.

He slid through the doors with all the grace of a wildcat on the hunt, his shoulders moving to the rising crescendo of the deafening bass and synthetic tones. To his left he felt the brush of a woman's hand across his shoulder and he turned to see her form slid across to his right. "Aight now!" Roguish as always he pushed his gaze smoothly across to the other side. The woman twirled away from his lingering gaze, shifting like a mirage towards the center of the dance floor. She weaved melodic patterns with her hands, a bright tapestry of neon sparkling with each snap of her fingers. Damien briefly turned back to look at his brother, but the elder of the two probably knew where this was going before it had even began.

Before Kyric had the chance to get a word out, the boy was doin' his thing.

Eventually he was pulled away by his brother, but not before inputting her number into his wrist-comm after a little bit of smooth-talking. They proceeded into the back of the club, a password here, a secret code there, nothing more crazy than what he'd seen working with the more obscure syndicates on the Rim.

The thump of the club above lingered in the distance as they reached the Enclave's entrance. "Be a real shame if this was some big-brained ruse meant to lead us into a trap, yeah?." He remarked off hand, removing a cigarette from his jacket and tossing it between his lips. Damien was hoping he didn't will yet another misadventure into existence, but found solace in seeing the opposite once Kyric keyed in the code and led them in, revealing a quiet, almost desolate for his tastes building. He was expecting a few Jedi at least, but not a soul was there.

...A FEW HOURS LATER​

Damien sat idly on a stack of crates while the two waited things out. His brother was doing his thing and so too was he, which mainly consisted of playing a hand-held game system and smoking his third cigarette of the evening. "Does this Vastor guy come here often?" He eventually called out to Kyric, his impatience having gotten the better of him by that point. "...Or are we 'sposed to wait here for a few days and 'meditate on the force' and will him into existence?"

Kyric | Tyrus Vastor ​

 

[Kyric]

Their trip through the lower levels proved peaceful, much to Kyric's surprise. A combination of their knowledge of the city and a map provided to them via BD-8 brought them to the club sooner than expected. This made the time Damien wasted more tolerable to the kiffar, so he allowed his brother his fun and did the rounds. Even if he didn't know the establishment's staff personally, Kyric followed his mother Ripley's example and greeted those on shift.

Most of them hadn't changed in the last few years. Some new faces joined the crew, so Kyric did his due diligence and offered his best before collecting Damien and disappearing into the tunnel below the club.

"Be a real shame if this was some big-brained ruse meant to lead us into a trap, yeah?."​

"Sounds like a good time to me," the fight-happy kiffar commented. "That sorta thing ain't likely to happen this close to the enclave. Ripley made this place impossible to pick up via scanner–even energy distribution across the block, thick duracrete walls with half-inch thick durasteel plating to veil heat, and force-enhanced wiring throughout the circuitry to mask force detection."

While it wasn't perfect on its own, compared to everything else worth protecting down here, the lack of anything significant went a long way to securing the enclave. And had done so now for well over a decade.

"There should be non-perishables in the kitchen." Kyric booted up his holopad and connected it to the central mainframe used by the enclave. "I'm going to do some digging. See who's been by recently." He met his brother's gaze. "Feel free to relax–shouldn't take me more than a few hours."

A few hours later...

"Does this Vastor guy come here often?" He eventually called out to Kyric, his impatience having gotten the better of him by that point. "...Or are we 'sposed to wait here for a few days and 'meditate on the force' and will him into existence?" ​

He lasted a lot longer than expected.

Agreed.

Kyric looked up from his holopad. "This is one of the only havens in the lower levels of Coruscant. It is probably the only place Vastor frequents." He stood up from the desk and approached his brother. "Here, let me show you something. And- before you ask, no, I ain't gonna lecture ye." The screen revealed what was essentially a graph plotting out the Enclave's use by three distinct Jedi. Ripley Kühn's passage was tracked in pink, Vastor's in purple, and Kyric's in green. Damien would quite easily notice that Vastor made use of the enclave far more often than the other two. Kyric then swiped the graph away, revealing what he spent the last hour on.

A single equation.

"Using Vastor's rate of arrival across the last three years as my basis, I ran the numbers. His prime window of arrival is every 12.5682 days on average. Which means..." The kiffar turned to the entry hall. "He should be arriving here shortly."

Damien Dooku | Tyrus Vastor

 

[Tyrus Vastor]

Location: Al-Shuruq Nightclub, In the Enclave​

The Al-Shuruq Nightclub pulsated with the rhythmic beats of exotic music, its neon lights casting vibrant hues across the dance floor where patrons swayed and gyrated in a symphony of motion. The air was thick with the heady scent of various intoxicants and the promise of not so forbidden pleasures. This was the undercity after all. There was no law here. Just a concrete jungle that scum of all sorts called home. In this kaleidoscope of revelry, a figure emerged from just outside, towering and imposing. A large Korunnai male moved with an air of quiet confidence as he made his way through the crowded club. His presence commanded attention, yet he moved with a casual ease, acknowledging the nods and greetings of the club staff as he passed with his infamous smile.

At the center of the club, amidst the swirling throng of dancers, a voluptuous Lethan Twi'lek named Uulaa captivated the attention of many with her graceful movements and seductive allure. Tyrus's gaze lingered on her for a moment, appreciating her beauty and how she seemed to float about the stage as he made his way to the bar. Uulaa, as soon as I get done with these files, I am all yours. With a nod to the bartender, Tyrus was handed a glass of Mandalorian wine. Gods, I love this shit. Savoring the rich taste as he surveyed the scene before him with a meditative pause and took in deep breaths. Resting against the bar counter, he eased to finger against his right temple and blinked hard underneath his shades. Damned headaches are back again. I thought I was done with these. As his drink dwindled, Tyrus reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of underworld credit chips and left them on the counter as a more than generous tip. With a final nod to the bartender, he made his way towards the back of the club, where a discreet bouncer stood guard. Stopping before the bouncer, Tyrus spoke a passphrase in a low voice and with a nearly imperceptible nod of recognition, the bouncer stepped aside, allowing Tyrus entry into the private sanctum beyond. Inside, the atmosphere shifted rapidly, becoming more subdued and quiet.

Passing through a hall the Korunnai removed his leather duster and sported just a red synthweave long sleeve shirt with a tactical metal plated vest over top. Retiring the duster on a hook with a unconscious sigh, another pulsating strike came against his head. The pains were natural but also how Vastor's body translated information he received in the force. He knew this, yet sometimes it was difficult to discern the difference and so when Tyrus looked up to see two young men couple meters near the enclave's terminal staring down at him... Who the feth. Surprised and cautious he swaggered toward them and subtly grinned to himself apon seeing Kyric .

​

" Dôshalo Kyric? You look..." Tyrus looked the young man up and down briefly. Kyric was not a dôshalo by blood. He was not Korunnai, but he was clanned with Tyrus as a jedi and that was enough. " Clean." It was not exactly a compliment. Especially in the undercity. The Korun laughed aloud and then raised a brow when his shaded gaze fell over Damien Dooku . Again his head pulsated, but this time it was even stronger. Enough to cause the Korun to change his expression with a winced scowl. Not sure what to make of the pair, yet alone this unknown stranger, in the Enclave he did what he did best. Investigate. " What the kark is goin on now?"

 

[Damien Dooku]

" Dôshalo Kyric? You look..." Tyrus looked the young man up and down briefly. Kyric was not a dôshalo by blood. He was not Korunnai, but he was clanned with Tyrus as a jedi and that was enough. " Clean."

An eyebrow was brought to a perch as the newcomer appeared and immediately brought a wince into the core of his mind. He didn't need to introduce himself for the imposing man to be recognized by Damien, but he was not one for overt fanfare, or playing his cards preemptively even when caution wasn't needed. He remained seated on the stack of crates, his legs dangling and the handheld device clutched between his hands, but his eyes followed him intently once the tug in his head had simmered off into nothingness.

" What the kark is goin on now?"

Perhaps the Jedi had felt it too– the tug that bound him to the imposing Jedi to himself. Damien shoved his gaming device into his jacket, then pushed himself off the crates the next moment after. "You can blame me for askin' my brother to meet unexpectant like this." He'd chime in before Kyric had an opportunity to do so himself. He turned his gaze towards Kyric for just a moment, then took a few steps forwards until he was close enough to look Vastor in the shades. "An old man inside of a holocron left by my dad told me to find you by name." He let the words sink in with the eerie ambience of the Enclave, his face devoid of any of the roguishness from before.

"He said me and you are supposedly connected by fate or the force or whatever; that you were my best bet at saving my m-" He stopped himself short of the last word, but continued quick enough in an effort to keep that card away from the limelight for as long as he could. "...saving somebody I know from a fate that's currently not set in stone." His hands clenched into a set of fists as he thought back to the visions, the feelings, and those amber eyes that matched his own. "I'm not some Jedi like my brother, and the last thing I want is to be caught dead reppin' their colors on some unknown world."

Damien looked Vastor up and down, once more appraising the alleged Jedi and coming to the conclusion that he was unlike most Jedi he'd come across in the past. "But somethin' tells me the old man wasn't lying. I need to get stronger somehow, so i'm not just a burden when things get rough, and if the Sith do come for my home."

Home.​

It had been a long time since he thought of Coruscant in that way. It still didn't feel right to say it out loud but here he was, and he had no intention of leaving until the future he saw coming had been reversed.

Kyric | Tyrus Vastor ​

 

[Kyric]

Kyric greeted Tyrus with a nod and one of his customary grins. Damien cut in immediately. His breakdown of the circumstances that led the two to the enclave, and Tyrus specifically, was sufficient enough for the kiffar not to fill in what Damien left out. The admission of insecurity, however, surprised Kyric.

Never in any world did he think Damien would lead with the truth when faced with a Jedi Knight. It brought a smile to Kyric's face.

He cleared his throat for the other's attention once the novelty wore off. Lifting a tiny metallic device in his gloved hand, he flicked his thumb over a tiny activation sensor, and blue light shaped into the flickering features of force-sensitives aligned with the Dark Emperor. Dozens of different people flashed by before he spoke. "We're up against an unknowable enemy. Not much different than usual, if I'm bein' honest, but you can't disregard fact."

Solipsis' face appeared within the azure projection... and remained.

"I've crossed paths with operatives of this Dark Empire in recent days more than I care to. They are here on Coruscant. I think they have somethin' to do with my brother's visions, Tyrus. You've been huntin' creatures of the dark down here in the Under City for years. I can't imagine there's a more qualified master to help us flush these cowards out into the light." He reattached the mini-holo device to his belt and met Vastor's gaze.

"We didn't go lookin' for this fight. Hell, most of us," Kyric motioned to Damien, then himself. "Wanted nothin' to do with the Order, or the past, or anything else to do with the war, but it found us. It ain't given us a choice, and I'll be damned if I go down without taking a hundred of those bastards with me."

Damien Dooku | Tyrus Vastor

 

[Tyrus Vastor]

Crossing his arms against his chest, Tyrus listened and heard the two as they explained their situations and how they came to believe it may connect to Vastors own. The more the Korun heard, the more his smile began to fade. This is a lot to process right now. Tyrus nodded occasionally, his best attempt to show he was listening, But there was something that had caught his eye about the duo. It started with this new young man. Daimen.

Damn sure aint no Jedi. It was obvious to Tyrus that much but this just the first layer of it all. Behind the Koruns high tech glareshades, behind his hard expression, behind his physical sight and into to the force he saw the preternatural "transparent" lines interconnect like webs. They fractured out into more directions than he could count and interlinked with Kyric's and Tyrus's own person. A shatterpoint. For the brief moment that Tyrus held his focus to further examine the phenomenon, the more overtly aware be became of their intent, attitudes and also his own. A branch can bend or it can break. There were other factors and questions that the Korun had for Damien but right now was not exactly the time. Based on his posture and choice words, Tyrus could deduct there was a significant amount of context left out, a worrying prospect, but one he could confront later for this newcomer.

Tyrus's perception crept over Kyric next. Interconnected as before but something was different and did not make sense to the Korun. The lines are leading to? Blinking hard accouple times and shaking his head some. Tyrus let out a groan, rubbed his temple and then lost his focus due to another pulse in his head. " Damn." He muttered in his breath. It will come back. It always will. Once It does I'll know more. With a inhale and exhale Tyrus cleared his being. Relaxing but also not, There was an edge about him and more than in times past.

"He said me and you are supposedly connected by fate or the force or whatever; that you were my best bet at saving my m-" He stopped himself short of the last word, but continued quick enough in an effort to keep that card away from the limelight for as long as he could. "...saving somebody I know from a fate that's currently not set in stone." His hands clenched into a set of fists as he thought back to the visions, the feelings, and those amber eyes that matched his own.

This type of edge was personal and though Tyrus carried it well. He could see himself in this young man Damien Dooku before him. He saw a man that held onto a ember that had the potential to grow into a flame and consume all those around him. He saw a clear purpose and ambition as well. All the proceedings of power and destiny. If there was guidance. He wants me to teach him? It was not that the Korun doubted himself, he had taught others before, it was how he trained people that was the major factor and in this circumstance. Tyrus felt as if he was meeting a younger version of himself. Only instead of the lush humid jungles of Haruun Kal, It was the concrete jungle of Coruscants underbelly.

He began to cut out the "wants from needs" of the information and proceeded to look at the metaphorical bones left over. He started with a simple fact. I know this mans life story and still dont know their name. Typical. It was becoming more and more common for Tyrus.

"I've crossed paths with operatives of this Dark Empire in recent days more than I care to. They are here on Coruscant. I think they have somethin' to do with my brother's visions, Tyrus. You've been huntin' creatures of the dark down here in the Under City for years. I can't imagine there's a more qualified master to help us flush these cowards out into the light." He reattached the mini-holo device to his belt and met Vastor's gaze.

"We didn't go lookin' for this fight. Hell, most of us," Kyric motioned to Damien, then himself. "Wanted nothin' to do with the Order, or the past, or anything else to do with the war, but it found us. It ain't given us a choice, and I'll be damned if I go down without taking a hundred of those bastards with me."

" Enemies being on Coruscant is hardly a surprise. No one regulates the duracrete jungle. No one wants to look at it." he paused and looked at Damien and reminded himself that the man should be addressed at the least. " I may already have a lead connected to a slaving organization on that matter. But..." Tyrus turned and faced Damien directly now. Looking down at him he spoke.

" First off, I sure hope you got a name. Otherwise you will forever be known as Kyric's brother. Secondly-" He paused and took in a deep inhale before continuing. " I am going to need time to process all that and before any of this goes any further, I'll start with one question for you." His a hand reached for up and removed the glareshades from his face. What was revealed was a normal, relatively strong youthful face, albiet a slightly dirty one that held a piercing gaze. Eyes that did not match in color and that held a hardness to them. One eye was light brown and the other was a sulfuric crimson. A touch of the dark that I carry with me. Forever.

Finally after taking his time he asked the question.

​

Tags: Kyric Damien Dooku ​