That Which Slumbers And Shalt Never Be Awoken [Talus]

[Vilka Pharro]

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Source: Ruined Temple 2 by Derrick Song​

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MATAOU - THE OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

The dust had long settled upon the fallen world of Mataou. Now, a vast grey cover suffocated its sky, a terrible miasma of ash and sand; the pale sunlight desperately yearned to break though the dark, but all it would reveal was more desolation. Truly, this world's devastation had known no end- from pole to pole, Mataou was an endless stretch of fallen palaces, and crumbling monuments now only fit for tombs. Like great white maggots crawling across its surface, all that yet remained was naught a rotting stonework jungle. Its masters, the Hutts, had long ago fallen prey to their own avarice, as had all who came after- neither Imperial might nor rebel cunning had ever truly claimed dominion over this world. Time had played no favourites, it would seem; Mataou hated all conquerors equally.

But surely was but the duty of the Sith, to defy the past; Vilka knew this. With a thunderclap, a black shadow shot from orbit, scattering the ash clouds as it raced along the sky- her shuttle became but a sliver of a shadow as it ran along the horizon, weaving through the labyrinth of sundered temples and caving archways with shrieking engines. Her dark eyes looked out onto the ruins as they sped by, torn between awe and terror. She felt it- the dark side, hanging over this world thicker than any cloud. Drawn to the death, perhaps. The sheer scale of its ruination. Or was it something deeper? She reached out, falling into the Force, and waded through the darkness, and yet for all her will could do nothing- from all sides, the Force seemed to ensnare her, to mask and obfuscate its every motive with each step. This, if nothing else, was a reason to push on. Vilka set the shuttle at the summit of a sunken step pyramid, striding out into the shadow of the pale stones.

Myths clamoured to this place like flies to a body; they spoke of a great Hutt, the last to truly lay claim to this world; a warlord, who had clad even his dancers in gold, and courted the dark side; that he had bested a legendary beast in single combat; and that now his slave his great monster still wandered the underworld, and standing vigil upon his lost treasure. They said that beneath this world its steps still echoed in the lost halls of his vast necropolis, a tomb that dwarfed any city. Nonsense, certainly- each new storyteller had spun Vilka a tale more absurd and grandiose than the last. But now, stood over the greatest mausoleum in the Outer Rim, Vilka could not deny what her own feelings betrayed- fear. She also knew that whatever lay beneath had to be worth finding. Whatever the cost.

[member="Talus Morid"]

 

[Talus Morid]

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

Talus stalked among the ruins.

He moved like a predator, his eyes flicking from broken stone to crumbling column. There was something about this world that set him on edge. Every muscle, every tendon seemed to be tense. No matter who slowly he breathed, no matter how much he tried to calm himself, everything was just on the edge of setting him off.

A part of him knew why, he just didn't want to admit it.

The Kiffar knew that this quest was a foolish one, the idea suicidal. It was something however that had to be done, a rite that if performed successfully would see him climb to knew heights. His homeworld, his tribe, was based in superstition, and this was one of their greatest and longest standing. He knew that coming home with his prize would see him rise to chief, and that was what mattered. He needed that power, that prestige. It would be the only way for him to get what he truly wanted.

So he was here.

So he stalked forward, moving through the ruins and heading towards the caverns.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

The wind can fell a mountain, if you give it time; the same seemed to be true of Mataou. Like the a river against the banks, time had turned the ruins into one marble canyon after another, all paths twisting downward. By the second Vilka felt the dull thump of darkness run faster, a cold hand writhing beyond her mind's eye.

There truly was nothing left of the city now- one palace fell into another, the faceless statues of their forgotten gods bound together with black ivy. All things have their chains. Indeed, the further she descended, Vilka couldn't help but feel hers tighten. Perhaps there was truth to the myths- as could be said of all beasts, it seemed to Vilka that every burrow on Mataou led in the same direction; back to the lair. Time pulls all things downward.

She recoiled for a moment- the stench of beasts thickened with each coming terrace. Even Hutts couldn't leave a stench like this, not for this long. Ancient bodies, sealed in ash, littered the passes now. Slaves, perhaps- a different kind of bondage now, she supposed. But no gold. Of all the details to have been embellishments.

Something's- In an instant, pain seized her body whole- darkness' hand closed its fist. Every muscle in her body seized, rebelling against her mind until, gasping on all fours, the world vanished, and she passed to a place beyond eyes, shrouded in an infinite mist. The art of precognition; scarcely elevated above palm reading, and yet... Her head rolled forward with a flash. It had all been simple, so very simple- yes. Vilka saw the truth now: she wasn't alone. There were two beasts here.

And one- he walked upright.

[member="Talus Morid"]

 

[Talus Morid]

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

The lightsabter slipped into his palm.

Something was wrong, he could feel it. The power rippled through him in soft waves, but something else touched it. Was it the cavern? The beasts within? He frowned slightly as he slowly stepped through the ruins, pale yellow eyes slowly floating over the broken rocks and fallen columns. His gaze wandered for the longest time as he slowly came to a stop, lips thinning as he realized he would find nothing hidden within the rubble. A slow breath filled his lungs.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber, and then slowly he continued his path. His free hand traced over some of the broken and fallen rock, brief flashes of long passed memory circulating through his mind. While Vilka had the gift of foresight, Talus could see the past.

Kiffar were naturally blessed with the gift of psychometry, and Talus was gifted in particular. He saw flashes of the past, the beasts that prowled through the streets of these ruined. Among the visions he found what he was looking for, and slowly he began to hike towards the norther of the city. There the caverns he was looking for sat, and within them he would find his prize.

If his opponent didn't find him first.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

One by one, the stones and statues gave way to naught but darkness and the stench of death. And yet, the howling of the wind grew louder as the passages narrowed; Vilka knew she must be nearing the central chamber, some great sinkhole in the ruins. Now her head rang with howls of the Force; she and her uninvited visitor were drawing close, close indeed. Broaching a black archway, she felt the breath forced from her lungs, and looked down into a vast and circular chasm, like some lost and accursed amphitheater. In the distance, she heard the ring of distant footsteps, and yet now, felt her attention drawn elsewhere.

From wall to wall, a tangled network of ancient chains ran throughout the pit, a vast and rusted spider's web, charred and blackened like the branches of an infernal tree; and at its centre, a towering obelisk loomed. Vilka stepped from chain to chain, weaving a path through the iron cobweb, breathless. Wiping the dust from the monolith with one hand, the pale light revealed a worn inscription:

'Herein, bound to these gilded walls, forever rests the SUBJUGATOR; ETERNAL KING OF HUTTS, he who extends beyond mortality and defeat, WARMONGER TO WARLORDS, SLAVER TO SLAVERS, and TYRANT TO TYRANTS. May his bones remain forever unstirred, and his VAST TREASURES untouched, and his honour unbesmirched, lest ye, FOOL, find yourself betwixt unholy jaws, sealed betwixt the void and oblivion, and so face in his COLISEUM the wrath of his HIS CHTHONIAN WARDEN, THE ABOMINABLE SCOURGE OF MATAOU- THAT WHICH SLUMBERS, AND SHALT NEVER BE AWOKEN.'

Vilka's eyes widened- a gasp escaped her dark lips. This wasn't just a tomb. It was an arena.

And her first opponent was fast approaching.

[member="Talus Morid"]

 

[Talus Morid]

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

The hilt of his lightsaber gentle trolled within the crook of his fingers. There was something wrong. He did not know what, but the power was singing to him. Ordinarily it came in titanic waves and great washes of power, but here it ebbed slowly. He could not have said why, but the odd prickle at the back of his mind seemed to sing to him.

His lips thinned.

The stone columns all around him seemed to rise and form together, the heavy rock becoming a single wall that went along the northern half of the tomb. Briefly he wondered if he had been right in coming here. The Sith whom had shown him the way, the old crone within the caverns, had told him it would help him gain what he wanted. She had been vague within her words, but then again those sorts always were. With a frown Talus removed the glove from his off hand.

A bare palm slipped along the stone wall.

Within his mind he caught flashes of memory.

He saw great gladiators, huge monsters, and blood. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, fingers tightened around his lightsaber and slowly he stepped out into what could only be called a grand entryway. He stood high above Vilka, lingering where the Hutt that owned this arena might have sat.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

A change in the shadows- another narrow blade, piercing the darkness. A figure- a man.

Another, here? Vilka narrowed her eyes. It was not unforseeable, that another slave of the Darkness might wander here, as she had, in search of one abhorrent truth or another. Slipping alongside the ebb and flow of the Dark Side, stalking the caves, and all the wretches that still dwelt within- yes, the virulence of his spirit betrayed him. He was here as she was. Glory at any cost.

Wild. Marked. Her visitor bore his meaning plainly, she supposed. But what, after all, was more dangerous than the Krayt starved?

"It is a curiosity to find another here." She called out to the stark void of the emperor's box where he loomed.

Perhaps words were superfluous. Here, where dried blood a thousand-years-thick painted the walls. Here, where rage burned brighter than sunlight. Far below him, the sand crunched beneath her boots. Her palms itched. "Your purpose here, I need not question. But I fear your presence is... regrettable. There is still time to leave."

Indeed the sun was thin- but this peace, she knew, frailer still.

"Do you have a name? Or will the grave be unmarked?" She grinned.

[member="Talus Morid"]