Further Up, Further In...

[Julius Sedaire]

Location: Above Mandalore, Awaiting Transit​

​

It was time. Months and more had been spent healing, recovering, retraining his body. The patch still covered one eye, a bionic not quite devised that would work the way he liked it. The interior systems of his helmet more than made up for it when it counted anyhow. He sat in an easy meditative posture amidst a fine black sand garden which might have looked at home in Atrisia. This ship was more a floating apartment than any proper war vessel or anything of the like. But he had made as much creature comforts as he could. And this meditation garden, with it's ankarres trees and a small stream, filled the surroundings of the room with an air of utter tranquility.

To his side gleamed a massive hammer and single bladed sword, both sitting just the other side of the stream running through the room by the largest of the trees. His murder-tooth skin jacket and a battered flat hat hung on the haft of the hammer, and a gunbelt with a heavy custom pistol rested on the cross of the blade. Ijaat himself sat cross-legged, wrists poised and balanced with palms both natural and cybernetic up on his knees. His clothing was simple, just a tunic with poet lacings a the neck, a crisply fresh green, and bloused trousers ending in leg wraps of deep brown to match the belt at his waist. No weapon was near him save the shattered and jagged form of his old jada blade.

But what was in front of him, humming and pulsing, was the Codex of Tython, floating above a beautifully velvet lined box of veshok wood and electrum. And next to the box, in a heavy leather dossier, rested pages upon pages of transcribed data. Whatever it was, Ijaat didn't trust it to be connected to any electronic device and thus prone to theft by slicers. The same sigil as they had puzzled out from the Codex and its' original box was stamped in relief on the dossier, and the gar'buir sat with eyes closed, faintly radiating calm and a distinct lack of anything else.

For the moment, he waited for perhaps one of his closest friends to arrive. Hopefully, his droid would see him to the right room and not into a janitors closet. Ijaat had finally drawn enough knowledge from the Codex and searching in general that he believed he might have an idea of the next move. And he wished to discuss it with his former student. To gain the man's insight and opinion. It was the dearest wish of anyone who taught to see the pupil exceed them, and the Supercommando had no qualms in admitting [member="Draco Vereen"] had surpassed and exceeded him in every measure. Pride, even, was felt at it. That he had helped such a man and could call him a friend.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco arrived shortly after receiving the summons. Going to his friend's aid wasn't a question, it never had been. When the tales of Ijaat's death on Concord Dawn had reached him, Draco had been saddened that he had not stayed at his mentor's side longer, that he had not studied longer under his mentor's watchful eye. It had been regret, and when Ijaat had returned with the aid of another, Draco was glad his old master was back and in proper fighting shape.

Over the few years since his return to the living, Ijaat had grown and developed his Force affinity, much like Draco had when he discovered his own. However they differed. Ijaat remained focused and hardened, like a craftsman, he refined his skills to precision with each step forward he would take two steps back to ensure he was an expert before moving on. Draco may have surpassed his mentor in some areas, but he held no qualms in admitting there was still much to learn from the old man. He had a lifetime of experience trapped within him, and a mountain of records and data he could share. To be honest, Ijaat had likely forgotten more about metalworking than Draco knew of in the first place. Where Draco excelled was using the Force to enhance himself and his works. That was all he knew. Every good sword was an extension of its master, a piece of its smith. And then the Force was little more than a sword with a razor's edge, as much a part of him as his own fingers.

The droid lead the recently retired warlord from the access hatch to the quaint garden aboard Ijaat's ship. An ankarres tree, black sand, a little stream and stones resting beneath the water. It was surreal how much effort had been taken to create a place to relax. Even just entering, Draco could feel the stresses a soon to be Father always had slipping off his shoulders. "How's it going Ijaat. Its been a while." He said, his voice low and calm, mixing in with the subtle sounds of running water, babbling over rocks, air rustling through grass. The little floating orb didn't bother him, though he knew what it was. A device similar to it had severely injured him when he had been unprepared. Not all holocrons were simple books to be read. Some lashed out when you probed too deep.

The warrior dropped into a cross legged position in front of the Iron Father, respectfully sitting across from him. "What is it you need old friend?" He asked as he got comfortable on the ground, careful not to disturb the sand any more than was necessary. They chatted on occasion, but normally Ijaat didn't ask to see him unless it was something important. If had just wanted to hang out, he would have just shown up, as one of the few people that knew the exact location of Draco and Faith's house on Aldera. No, this was something important, something that just wouldn't be right to bring up with a casual visit.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The arrival had been felt as Draco boarded. This meditation room had been made in the craft to be such that it provided a sort of boost to Ijaat's own senses. Nothing like a meditation sphere or the like, but the same idea applied. However, the craft had been focused less outward on this creation and more inward. One could more easily slip into a trance and float the tides of their own mind within this garden. He had begun to collect various things famed from all over the Galaxy for relaxation. Rumors had it there were even Force Sensitive rocks somewhere. Now that he would dearly love to get his hands on. But the time he spent inward was also outward, as was proper. Never neglectful to atrophy. He had settled down only about a day ago to meditate, and that was not terribly long for him now.

Whereas Draco had power, rather great and terrible... Ijaat had the yang to that yin, so to speak. Scalpel sharp and razor limited though much of his knowledge was outside the basics of any Force Users toolbox, what he knew beyond that was swiftly becoming quite extensive in depth, if not in breadth. Sensory arts were one of them, and at this point, it was as if almost every grain of sand was linked to him, the sap flowing in the trees, the eddies and ripples of the stream across the rocks. Were he to pick up his blade to fight Draco, the speed he would display would apt to be astounding, and would the foresight in tactics. But none of them were fancy applications of Space Magic. They were the result of a deep, burning look inward.

After his death, and then rebirth by the Ke'Dem associates, he had wondered often what he would be. The only edict to his life was the one he had made the robed and masked woman at his side when he woke: He would fight the Sith, tooth and nail. They would never know quarter or peace from him. Despite all the serenity displayed and won now, were one to step into the room... What the Iron Father would do would likely shock his friend with the savagery of it. No mercy, no respite. The Crusade had been missed because he had sat it out. At first because of disagreement to the methodology and cause. And then because, simply... He did not know himself. And a warrior can not fight being of two minds. So he had sought the teachings of Marasun, of his old master of blades, and of other cultures. In that seeking, he had begun to unravel the mystery of who he would be. The Codex held hints of that. Possibilities.

Now, though, was not the time to discuss all of that. Instead, eyes opened slowly, and he smiled to Draco, nodding. The voice that came forth was easy, even-keeled, slow and almost a sigh. As if waking up from a long and present dream. In a way, he was. as his senses flooded back to the present and his own mind, shrinking and coalescing into a coherent consciousness. Odd traits, perhaps, to most Mandalorians. But any who doubted his ability to fight, or the code he lived by, might find the lesson abrupt and sharp. Rather painful and humiliating as well, for his body was being honed as well as his mind. And there was not nearly five decades of war to hold it back this time.

"It's been a while... And that I am sorry for. I had to take the time to find answers. And to find more questions as well. But you will remember the holocron I took well enough... I've studied it, at length. Searched for context. Meaning. Challenged the gatekeepers within it. Fought to know of myself and grow, so that they might judge me worthy... And I've unraveled, with the knowledge from Solo's holocrons that you lent me, what it can teach me. And I have learned of its origins, the people it chronicles. The planet... There was much there... And may still be... That object we found was ancient... Before the Republic... Before the Jedi and before the Sith... Before all of it fell apart... I would discuss what I have learned from it... And perhaps offer you a chance to join me on a trip somewhere..."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"We've all been busy old friend. There is nothing to apologize for." Draco waved a hand at his friends apologetic words. They were sincere, that much was true, but Draco didn't consider either of them to be at fault with each other. They both led lives that consumed a great deal of their time, and both led trades that consumed even more. It was of little consequence that one or both of them would eventually fall off the radar for some weeks or months.

"I recognize the Holocron. Its old, that much I know." The humming orb floated above the box it normally resided in, and Draco did not know if that was because of interesting magnetic or repulsor technology in the container, or if Ijaat was holding it up using the Force. He could feel the calm in the center of the storm about Ijaat, but he couldn't tell where his applications of the Force were without focus and concentration, the subtle web of life difficult to read passively.

The warlord listened to Ijaat as he spoke, waited for him to finish. It was old indeed to contain knowledge before the Jedi, older than the Sith Kings of myth. Such things often acted as a monkey's paw, but Draco didn't believe the holocron Ijaat kept was intended for that purpose. It was a knowledge bank and it radiated neither hatred nor compassion. It simply was, from what Draco could tell from his interactions with it. "Alright. I have a few days to myself, but not long. I can't be out and about for weeks at a time." Draco grinned as he thought about how his wife would react if he just went missing for two weeks. Even one or two days and she would be grumpy when he returned.

"Where are we going?"

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"Tython"

The word seemed to drag out of him, slow and heavy and full of anticipation. A lot of reading had been done when he had begun to glean information from this Holocron, from the Codex of Tython, as he had learned to call it. Wonders of the Je'daii, the precursors to Jedi and Sith orders now populating the Galaxy, existed there. Or they did once. Who knows what the eons of change had wrought. Regardless, he had reason to believe that within several of the Tho Yor and other great structures lay scraps of knowledge at the least. If nothing more, there would at the least be trinkets to study and perhaps glean knowledge from.

"More specifically, Vur Tepe, the great Forge Temple of the Je'daii... I hope to perhaps find some knowledge i've came across reference in the Codex there that would be... Invaluable... The only other person I know, or trust, to help me get and study this is you... Others might abuse it, or misuse it. And some of the things done at Vur Tepe were wonderous even by todays' standards. I can't promise a day trip, but it shouldn't be too long. Unless there is pressing paperwork for Mandalore demanded of his Cuir Rekr?"

He smiled then, letting his focus and connection to the Codex fade completely in his mind, the object sinking back to its box. Stretching, he cracked his neck and sighed as he stared at it a moment, fingertips drubbing across his belt. This would be dangerous, even with the One Sith crumbling. Truth was, he also needed that cunning of Draco's... So far as a tactician in a ground battle, he was not at all deficient. But stealth ops, hyperlanes trickery... Those were outside of his toolbox, and more in the younger mans' domain. Beyond the trust even, this was why.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"Ah, Tython."

Draco knew it well, he'd been there several times for several reasons. The amount of information he had on the place was minimal, as at the time he hadn't been the treasure hunter he had become later in life, however he knew names of a few places. Darth Carach's old playground was one of the places he studied the Force on, where he had trained and gained knowledge on the arcane arts. It was there that he encountered his first holocron, and there that he learned the arts of Smoke Demons and Force Phantoms.

"I know Tython better than some. I've been there since its... corruption." Draco said carefully choosing the words. He knew some that would take offense at the mere mention of the ancient birth place of the Je'daii and Jedi's desecration. To Draco it was a neat rock with neat things he liked to study when he had the chance. To someone like Ijaat, Vur Tepe was like the Holy Land and the continent it sat on was just as precious. Much of the knowledge trapped their had been lost, and it was rumored that the smith's of Vur Tepe knew more than any collection of smiths since. "I've spent some time in Vur Tepe. You've seen my anvil, it came from there a while back. I believe you when you say its something that should be kept quiet. This won't be the only thing found on Tython that should be guarded." At the time it had just been a trophy, then it had become a symbol for the things Draco could not accomplish, for how little he truly knew. Its radiance, though outwardly plain, and even inwardly simple, acted to humble the Mandalorian whenever he grew too proud.

"I would expect some Sith remnants to remain on the planet. It was the Fortress of one the Dark Lord's Voices for years, even housed a group of the Dark Lord's Royal Guards." Draco ticked off things on his fingers as though remembering topics. "And after that the home of one of the lesser Dark Councilors. I would expect some Sith and their lackeys to remain on the planet in some capacity, though they didn't congregate around those temples." The Forge, the old Jedi Master's retreat. Those were the places the Sith normally stayed near, but that wasn't to say there were not more lurking now that the empire had crumbled.

The warlord stroked his short facial hair as he thought. He produced a small map of the planet from his armor's computer to point at as he felt like. "I would suggest stealth entry, use an Orar'uliik to get to the surface. We can paradrop near it, have the ship land here thanks to your AI," he gestured at a canyon south of the temple, "Get what we are after, then hike down the canyon to the ship. No one goes down there, so it will be safe from prying eyes. I'm good for a few days out of the house if you are."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The Mandalorian smith stood, slowly, as Draco finished his suggestions. That he knew of the planet from his time with the One Sith was... Useful.. Somehow he had known, beyond the trust and bond between the two that his former apprentice and close friend was the man for the job. There was little to justify the thinking, true. But more and more he was coming to realize the deeper his senses became, the more that such inklings were not random. Will of the Force. Destiny. Fate. Many cultures called them many things, but that was irrelevant. The key became that when he listened to this impulse in his heart and soul, things fell into place. Maybe not as expected, but as they were needed.

Knees no longer creaked to straighten, and the grin that creased his features was reminiscent of his former self. But the eyes, though they shone with it, had a different light to them than before. A sort of worry and wear creased the corners like premature crows feet. But the smack on the shoulder of the bigger man rocked with strength as it impacted him, and the grin had a tilt of mischievousness suddenly. It was almost like the old days, him and Draco on some damn fool mission after some artifact or intel or target. Not quite really, but close enough it made him take a satisfied look about him.

"Geoff has been in deep hibernation on my old ship. A coma sleep, so to speak. Our minds together with my cybernetic alterations were becoming erratic and unpredictable. But I think I've secured ways to keep our consciousness seperated. I will send out the comm to have his data activated. I suppose I had best find some armor to squeeze into. Meditation clothes are not the best. When can you have one of your boats here, and do we need anything special for the mission besides the A.I.???"

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"I have a boat less than an hour from here on Concordia. I can have it brought up in no time flat, and I'll have the lads toss a suit of beskar'gam on it for you. We've got some lying around on the moon, but the Clan has for the most part made its exodus to the Nebula and to Alderaan. They like staying away from Mandalore more and more." Draco himself didn't even have an office on Mandalore anymore. There was a mining operation on Concordia, but beyond that, the seat of power had long since moved to a space station in the Murgo Choke with the colonies spread throughout the shell nebula.

Draco and Ijaat had a shared bond, both as a former apprentice and a friend, but they also shared the bond of combat and profession. That meant that they had similar lines of thinking often enough. They attacked problems along the same lines, though Ijaat was a lot more intelligent in his plan of attack, where as Draco had the benefit of resources. It allowed the warlord to be a little more broad with his plans, and in the end, Draco preferred allowing for fluidity of his actions, going with the flow, adjusting his course of action to the situation as it developed. He liked playing it by ear.

"Once the boat and AI get here, we can make our way to Tython. Shouldn't be too bad for the two of us to sneak in and sneak out without raising too many eyebrows. Besides, the two of us can handle a lot of whatever we find there." Ijaat was a smith with a Force Sensitive now, and despite not having the same level of control over the Force Draco had, he was highly skilled, and his particular skill set was rather frightening.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"Oh I have armor... It's just not... It hasn't been tested in battle. And if there are old Guard from the One Sith and the lair of a former Voice.... It might be dangerous to trod with it... But... I suppose I can try it out.. Call you boat and come with me. I'll need to suit up..."

Reaching into the folds of his tunic he withdrew a crystalline latticed thing that looked almost the length of a thumb, with an uplink connector at one side. He depressed a button that was at first unseen, and a red light flickered within it. The Iron Fathers eyes closed, obviously darting behind the lids in frantic motion. Suddenly they opened and he sighed, his jaw muscle thrumming a bit. Working the mandible of his face and rubbing at his chin, his eyes looked around as if groggy, drunk, lost or all three in some mixture. But finally, he nodded as if satisfied. And from the ships comms, there came a voice. Low, melodious, and posh.

"Hello, sir. Draco. I have returned. Ijaat is bringing me up to speed. But please, continue to speak. I just need to orient my programming to this cycle. I am here if needed."

The voice trailed off, and Ijaat nodded to Draco as Geoff went quiet. His creation would take a while to get a handle on things. Until then.

"To the armory.... Lets see what toys I can find."

With an extended hand, the jacket, hat, and hammer flew to him quite adeptly, and he caught them, sliding them on and putting the band of the hammer around his chest. The blade he handed to Draco.

"That is from Rusaan. It's yours. I think you'll like it."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"Oh, nice." Draco said, giving the sword a twirl in his hand and cradling it in his hands. While not an ornate weapon, it was light weight, the blade razor sharp, and the patterns in the grain of the metal were intricate and interesting. "Very nice. I'll make good use of it."

"I don't think we will have to worry about many of the old school Sith on the planet. The Voice that was there is the one I went to Netherworld with, and the other competent Sith have for the most part fled from the One Sith. I doubt any that we bump into will be serious trouble." Carach was gone, Reverance was around but no longer affiliated with the One Sith. Certainly not enough to keep eyes and ears close enough to the ground to respond to a pair of unknown's robbing Tython. Kaine was off in his little Empire, and the rest of the big names had never really cared about dropping in on Tython before.

Draco tapped a few buttons on his wrist and sent a message to Concordia, "Ship should be on the way." Orar'uliik were small, fast, and decently armed by nature. Beskar armor, mediocre shielding, and a full stealth suite made for an excellent raiding ship capable of sneaking in and sneaking out of most systems. Even the Warden-class Frigate had trouble locating them if the pilot was smart.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"I half hope we meet the old Wrath... My uncle and I have things to discuss"

The admission came easily, of the blood relation. Ijaat didn't even realize, and as he spoke it his calm aura would curdle and sicken in the Force. Turning into something insidious in rage and utter hatred the brimmed with violence and bloodshed. His fathers brother had tortured him, experimented on him, and eventually drove him insane. To say the Forge Father hated his uncle was.... The understatement of perhaps all understatements to be made. White knuckles forcibly opened, hand shaking in anger as a door opened into what would be for he and Draco a veritable candy store of weaponry and explosives and armor.

Sitting in a durasteel and crystalline display case lay a set of fresh armor in his traditional white, bronze and black colors. And it was to this he walked over and looked down upon as he waited for Draco to enter into the armory.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Uncle huh. I hope we don't run into him personally. Despite your feelings, I've seen what Reverance can do to a man, and it's not something I wish on people." He and Reverance had been allies last they had met. 'Never Break faith with a friend or ally' stood in his code of honor as words to hold one's self to, and that meant that he couldn't act against either Ijaat or Reverance unless it was to save one of their lives or they broke those bonds first. As far as Draco knew, the Wrath had remained faithful to his words.

That the Wrath had been Ijaat's uncle wasn't something Draco knew about, and he could tell there was most certainly some family drama going on behind the scenes he knew nothing about. Better that way to be honest. Somethings were meant to be kept behind closed doors, and with his odd relationship with the Wrath, and with his friendship with Ijaat, it was better he didn't step into that particular closet.

Draco stepped into the armory and smiled. There were lots of neat toys on the walls and in cases. "Nice things you have here. I've got a deathrattle, but I could use a solid rifle of sorts for this mission. Everything else I have of my own will be plenty." Armor, a pair of wrist weapons, both excellent at dealing with Force Users, armored opponents, and all comers. A Deathrattle Sound Pistol was one of the best anti-Force User/Mando guns that existed. And then his sword and Axe were nasty close combat weapons that could handle most folks provided Draco paid them the proper respects in close combat.

"Once you get geared up, we should be good to go. A little risky, us going on a mission alone and neither of us can fly a ship worth a damn, but funnier that way."

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The armor went on swiftly for such a process, the hinges and scallops and rivets making the process quicker than standard. A few decades designing such suits, and one began to have ideas, find tricks. The vambrace snapped closed, lights indicating that it was pressurized and systems to go. A shacklebolt was grabbed and slung across his chest, and one tossed to Draco. Hammer was strung across his back, grenades across his chest, and assorted other tools and weaponry. The last thing to go on was a broken blade in a short case, right in the small of the back under the heavy hide of his murder-tooth jacket, the hat being left on a shelf. Nodding confidently, he rolled his shoulders.

"He is kin. And if I see him, you can watch as I rip him limb for limb for filling me with vong parasites the last we met. And for killing my wife and sons. In fact, I may kill you if you kill him first"

The last was with a touch of mirth, as the helmet seals hissed pressure and closed.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"Noted. I'll sit and watch if it happens from the peanut gallery. Might pack some popcorn just in case." He knew he would be rooting for Ijaat in that kind of fight, certainly. Reverance was an ally once, but not his close friend. If Ijaat was dead set on vengeance, Draco wouldn't stand in his way, wouldn't jeopardize a man his goal. He could see how driven Ijaat was about that subject, and Draco knew better than most about how dangerous a line that could be. "Just take care of yourself if it does happen." And Draco left it at that. Much of a man could be lost if a drive like that was taken away. Much could be shaken if someone questioned them in their passion.

The Shacklebolt was one of Draco's favorites, a nice pristine fighting weapon. Comparable to a Verpine Shattergun with a recoil suppressor and highly accurate. With the recoil, she was glorious and scared the right crap out of Force Users more than his other weaponry already did. "Let's hope we don't end up fighting an army. I'll have to resort to throwing speeders at them." Unlike Ijaat, Draco couldn't use Telekinesis. Not even a little. Ijaat could, though not to rival the likes of Siobhan or Mikhail Shorn.

Before long, their ride would be closing with the ship they sat on, and the pair could go see what destiny had in store for them. The task was relatively simple, and the pair of warriors were experienced and powerful in their own right.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Forcibly he relaxed his muscles starting at the body at another wave of utter hatred, and made a business of checking the weaponry twice, smiling as each piece was tuned and tweaked to exacting details. He also grabbed a large field bag and stuffed several sets of tunics, breeches, socks and a set or two of dun colored robes and other devices. If all went well, he would be sending Draco back to Mandalore, ostensibly staying there on Tython for fabricated reasons. Space was needed to clear his head and get in touch with himself. The Clans were too unstable, and he needed to get a sense of who he was without his people. It pained him, but he could not depend on them like he had in the past. Not anymore.

A chime beeped, and Ijaat looked up and nodded to it as he slung the rucksack across his chest to hang at his hip.

"Rides here. We should go meet it."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

Spoiler

Robes packed: