Character
Citadel Caelitus
Carlac
Darth Solipsis
She had travelled, undeterred and unfettered for nearly two decades. It was a journey like no other for Donne. She made the symbolic pilgrimage twice a year, set to reaffirm her intentions to remain loyal to her former tutor's legacy and memory.
She had been to the Citadel numerous times when he was alive, before he became one with the Force. Then it had teemed with acolytes and scholars, servants and soldiers, warriors and inquisitors, all set to administer Halketh's great works.
She winced a little, caught in a flash of memory of his demise, crushed by thought of his undoing.
Her journey to the frosty wasteland of Carlac was more difficult this time.
It had become apparent that activity was beginning to increase on the frosty tundra-world, a sense of scepticism and dread coming over the Sith. Was the Necropolis under threat? Was somebody trying to claim it for their own?
She paid these thoughts no mind, her shuttle dipping through the thick sleet and over the vast walled complex, or whatever remained from the various sieges and destruction levied upon it before it fell into disuse, abandoned to the ravages of time.
She coughed a little, the dry artificial environment of the ship giving her little comfort. She almost enjoyed the pain, though was less of a sadist as might be expected of her.
She was older now, in her sixties, and the young girl of determination and spite was long buried beneath years of experience, of study, of reflection and growth.
She felt a twinge of unease. There was something she didn't like about today's visit. She returned the ship's navigation console to its default, ready to make a quick escape if the need arose. Normally, there was a leisure about her journey to Carlac; no longer.
She walked onto the landing bay, close beneath the Necropolis and the citadel proper, the cold air biting at her cheeks. She wrapped her cloak around her, allowing it to serve as an extra layer of warmth as she trudged the well-trod path towards the Inner Sanctum, deep within the citadel.
The long corridors and atriums, where once armies of adherents worked and lived, no echoed with nothing but her footsteps, undisturbed since her last visit months before. Her psychometric skills were finely tuned, used now to the flashes of force memories that occupied each part of the citadel. She had learned now to manage them, so familiar with their unique nature that she could anticipate them and calm them, making their residue only fleeting now.
She, in turn, began to reach out, absorbing the innate dark energies that were inlaid into each wall, dark writings that nice occupying each corner of wall in the blood of victims, long dried up.
She entered the familiar Throne Room, near to the Inner Sanctum and paused.
She felt a sharp wire of panic in her chest, like something screaming for her to leave. She had not felt this before. She stopped frozen and waited.
Somebody was here.
Carlac
Darth Solipsis
She had travelled, undeterred and unfettered for nearly two decades. It was a journey like no other for Donne. She made the symbolic pilgrimage twice a year, set to reaffirm her intentions to remain loyal to her former tutor's legacy and memory.
She had been to the Citadel numerous times when he was alive, before he became one with the Force. Then it had teemed with acolytes and scholars, servants and soldiers, warriors and inquisitors, all set to administer Halketh's great works.
She winced a little, caught in a flash of memory of his demise, crushed by thought of his undoing.
Her journey to the frosty wasteland of Carlac was more difficult this time.
It had become apparent that activity was beginning to increase on the frosty tundra-world, a sense of scepticism and dread coming over the Sith. Was the Necropolis under threat? Was somebody trying to claim it for their own?
She paid these thoughts no mind, her shuttle dipping through the thick sleet and over the vast walled complex, or whatever remained from the various sieges and destruction levied upon it before it fell into disuse, abandoned to the ravages of time.
She coughed a little, the dry artificial environment of the ship giving her little comfort. She almost enjoyed the pain, though was less of a sadist as might be expected of her.
She was older now, in her sixties, and the young girl of determination and spite was long buried beneath years of experience, of study, of reflection and growth.
She felt a twinge of unease. There was something she didn't like about today's visit. She returned the ship's navigation console to its default, ready to make a quick escape if the need arose. Normally, there was a leisure about her journey to Carlac; no longer.
She walked onto the landing bay, close beneath the Necropolis and the citadel proper, the cold air biting at her cheeks. She wrapped her cloak around her, allowing it to serve as an extra layer of warmth as she trudged the well-trod path towards the Inner Sanctum, deep within the citadel.
The long corridors and atriums, where once armies of adherents worked and lived, no echoed with nothing but her footsteps, undisturbed since her last visit months before. Her psychometric skills were finely tuned, used now to the flashes of force memories that occupied each part of the citadel. She had learned now to manage them, so familiar with their unique nature that she could anticipate them and calm them, making their residue only fleeting now.
She, in turn, began to reach out, absorbing the innate dark energies that were inlaid into each wall, dark writings that nice occupying each corner of wall in the blood of victims, long dried up.
She entered the familiar Throne Room, near to the Inner Sanctum and paused.
She felt a sharp wire of panic in her chest, like something screaming for her to leave. She had not felt this before. She stopped frozen and waited.
Somebody was here.