The Hand That Mocked Them (Levantine Sanctum Dominion of Tash-Taral)

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Seydon of Arda"]
9/20
The wind carried occasional words -- ogrid, phenotype, alchemy. A reminder, if he needed it, that the man he'd sensed knew his business. The face was unexpected: weatherbeaten, unshaven, not too dissimilar from what Oren saw in the mirror. The eyes-

"Half a pint of pelko venom in my blood," he said, knowing the other man would hear him as he set foot on level sand. "That's what it took to see those eyes in vision. Dunaan." He drawled out the word. His eyes flicked to the young woman, took in the angles of her face, the shades of her hair and eyes. Part-blood, as expected. A Rekali. Her companion, the witcher, might not be as old as Oren, but young certainly didn't describe him. It wasn't just the white hair, either. He carried the weight of decisions made, choices between lesser and greater evils. And that, Oren could respect as much as the death of the Sithspawn.

"Pelko venom and a Calypho rite," he added quietly. He gestured, and a chunk of ash flew to his hand. It crumbled at his touch, stained his fingers even with feather-light contact. He tasted one fingertip and spat. "Now there's a breed worth the burning."

The young woman stirred. "You're Vahla."

"You're not terribly quick on the uptake, daughter of Rekali." Oren folded his arms -- which put his right hand not too far from the hilt of his Sith sword -- and returned his focus to the white-haired man. He raised an eyebrow and made no other inquiry.

 

[Seydon of Arda]

No constabulary had arrived to see to the domestic site of violence, and there wouldn't be enough of the rapidly charring vamp-beast to drag before any local burgomaster. Seydon left the carcass to smoulder, approaching tall Oren by a pace. He looked impressively weathered, hoarse with whiskers under shaded eyes that picked at him in their stare. The gripping on his waiting hilt looked hand-worn, as coarse and lethal as its owner. Hand-and-a-half, Seydon wagered, a 'bastard' weapon. Desert robing was helping to obscure any other kit the Vahla was wearing.

“'Fraid you've got us at a disadvantage,” He told after a small while. “You got a notion of us, but I'm not sure what to make of you. Sounds like you're in the trade, though. ...Mind helping us out? Got a question or three.”

[member="Oren Beorn"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Seydon of Arda"]

Some called it an animal thing, but sentients and weatherfronts and gnarled trees did it too. Some called it a male thing, but those people had insufficient experience with women to make that call. No, when you got down to it, measuring each other up was just part of life, and Oren made a point of accepting that. He didn't relax when Seydon offered words instead of a fight, because he'd never tensed up. Tension made you slow, made you look afraid. And there was a powerful difference between fear and wariness.

"I've never been paid to hunt, not with anything more than food and shelter. What a Dunaan does for a living, I do to live. I'm called Oren Beorn. Welcome to Tash-Taral." He jerked his chin in the direction of the hole through the house. "Get your recompense, witcher. I'll be here when you're done, and you can ask away."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Taking stock of the remains, there was enough to account for a pair of elongated femurs, four ribs, a set of arched talons, and a heat-broiled skull showcasing a hanging jaw bristling with clear, needle-teeth. Seydon collected them into a sterile haversack and clipped the hermetic seal, motioning for Alec. Together, they traversed back through Jakan Port, making occasional enquiry with a handful of market hawkers. If there was a burgomaster or equivalent, they didn't know. Seydon had paid for at least four sweetrolls before a young tasseler pointed out a tall observation tower, converted from the remains of an immense hydroponics bay.

The local magistrate accepted their visit, but bade them be brief. The Dunaan handed off the haversack, and made a fast tale explaining their work and travel. He observed the magistrate cursorily scan over the skull, handing it off to a waiting house-guard. Fifty-two and a half was the tabled offer. Non-negotiable. If the witcher pressed for greater compensation, he'd have to wait a week while the tax was collected through the port. Neither he nor Rekali argued the point. Seydon took their credit-chit, and made again for the port outskirts.

Oren waited in the sprawl of glass and severed furniture, looking comfortable in the household devastation. Seydon picked him out in the gloom, a pair of brown eyes looking strangely glassy in the half light. The home owner was still crying in the bedroom. Every so often, Seydon heard him choke out a name.

“...” The witcher retrieved the drawn portrait and the hank of whittled bone. His necklace-compass shook a tad when the bone charm passed into his hand. “The woman is my wife. Missing for the better part of the last few years. Haven't turned up much in the way of leads, until these arrived for me. Tash-Taral scrimshaw, and a word. ...What would the Vahla have to do with my wife, Oren Beorn?”

[member="Oren Beorn"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Seydon of Arda"]
11/20

As the witcher and his companion went off to claim their reward, Oren knelt behind the house to commune with the mourner. Whether the mourner recognized his mental presence was something else entirely, but Oren knew a thing or two about attenuating grief and drawing strength from it. In a way, he was stealing the intensity of feeling involved, using it to swell his own reserves of power. From another point of view entirely, he was giving the man's subconscious an outlet, the kind of outlet he wished someone could have given him when his own wife passed. The house's owner would be drained and capable of sleep in fairly short order, and from there the healing could begin. As Seydon and the Rekali girl reappeared, Oren broke the subtle connection and stood. He took the bone charm and the image.

"The charm is a bond tracker. Symbolic, maybe. It lets you feel those linked to your quarry by Force bonds, so you don't kill a tuk'ata only to be jumped by its packmates. The sketch...this vellum is from a young vejas'zveris, a storm beast, and you'll never find one off Tash-Taral in this day and age." He danced around the question, working the peripheral points, in part because large portions of this situation were hidden from him. "There's a...crypt of sorts where the storm beasts breed; it's infested with pelko swarms. Sometimes I use it for fire rituals and farseeing sacrifices, and I'm not the only one."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

“ A seer's den,” Seydon put in, retrieving the parchment and running a glove over the bristling vellum-paper. Rosa Mazhar's disappearance put him on a search that had taken him far across known realms and uninhabited wastes, chasing after leads that were never more than promises of mirage and smoke. He likened it to scrabbling for flies in the dark, while deafened and at a loss for equilibrium. Yet, some details were coalescing. Interwoven between sections of frustrating mystery were propped up hints pointing toward the galaxy's more noetic and eldritch quarters. Vahla. Storm beasts. A hall somewhere in the mausoleum halls of a lost subterranean graveyard. Symbolism married with mysticism. Was the bone charm warning of a pack threat? Or just a literal item to aid in battling monsters?

“Then maybe there's something worth seeing. Never put much stock in fortune telling, or divination. Worth a look, at the least. This crypt – Where do we find it?”

[member="Oren Beorn"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Seydon of Arda"]
12/20

He gestured at the desert beyond the port. "Out there, a map will only do you so much good. A matter of a few degrees will kill or save you. You need something more reliable. See, it's not where you find it, Dunaan, but how. What better way than farsight to test a seer's readiness to use the place? That's the old rule: if you can find it, you can use it undisturbed, regardless of what family or clan you follow. Neutral territory." Oren shrugged. "Even those not of our blood can take a chance on learning to see the path, if they do it the right way. With the right pain -- the scars, the fire. Certain sacrifices alter the mind in certain ways, unlock doors -- and if your wife means enough to you, I don't doubt you'll be able to commit. And then you'll find the trail to Enitharmon."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

“You're saying I'm going on third-eye impressions?” Seydon grimaced. “Fine. Rosa always did want me to put a little more stock in something beyond instinct. Maybe this is what the note intended. Anything we need for preparation? Ghoul's venom, draconid hide, six bottles of Corellian whiskey, so if this goes tits up we'll at least go blind-drunk?”

10/20
[member="Oren Beorn"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Seydon of Arda"]
13/20
"Venom is a start," said Oren blandly. "Something painful but not injurious. I'll leave it to you to procure it; no fool would take another man's poison. The market should have what you need, even at this hour. As for the rest...a sharp blade, fuel, a fire pit or brazier. Somewhere out of sight of Jakan Port, I think. As for what you do with them...well, that's between you and the animal side of the Force. The Force respects sacrifice. Only in pain can you find true clarity - Calypho's First Tenet."

 

[Seydon of Arda]

They departed on a cursory nod, stepping back through the household charnel and into melting light. He'd listened to Alec surreptitiously jotting down a brief 'shopping' list in the margins of her datapad, consulting briefly over their needed items. Razor steel was in order, a firepit wouldn't be any great labour, though Alec made a suggestion towards a simple fusion-lamp stove with a brazier of ehx-coals. They split tasks: Rekali for the stove and collapsible brazier, the Dunaan off to procure a suitable poison.

Jakan Port possessed almost innumerable trades, available for work if you could meet their stubborn price-fixes or provide a means of equitable barter. There was always a want for imported materials, especially for electronics. Not so much for their utility, but a holo-console could be stripped bare for raw materials and land the scavenger with a windfall. Golds, silvers, platinum, scrap-metal steel especially for the weaponsmiths. A pistol vender eventually pointed out an chemists shop deeper on inside the port, up several floors aside the Intimidator's sleeping bulk.

He met with a young pair, man and woman, bearing familial traits and identical costumes in deep violet and white. Both of them had augment lenses bolted permanently to their left eyes.

“Potions, decoctions, remedies, distillers?”

“Essences, samples, pure periodic elements?”

“We've everything.”

“And if we don't, we can concoct it!”

“Essen and Essen, at your services.”

Seydon approached the cashier space. “Looking for something specific. A kind of toxoid. Not sure if you two carry anything of the kind.”

“Well that depends.”

“Most raw chemicals we offer on bulk are lethal to ingest out of the container.”

“I know,” Seydon nodded. “But I'm not looking for anything like chlorine or quicksilver.”

The pair glanced at each other. “Ahhhh~ That sort. ...More specific, more pricey.”

“And we can't draw you a receipt of purchase.”

“Don't need one. Coin or a favor, I can pay up through one or the other.”

The woman bowed across her waist and took her leave through a back-hatch opening at her approach. A gene-sniffer was mounted atop the jam, humming in Seydon's ears, while casting a hard-light scanner net across the floor in a narrowed cone. In a moment, she'd returned and held up a slender, topaz phial. Fluid resembling liquidated sunlight sloshed up across the glass.

“There's a very long story how this bauble came into our inventory. It's riddled with the corpses of would-be killers and assassins. We always considered it a tainted artefact. A remnant of House Rist...”

She handed it gently into Seydon's hand, as her brother consulted a splayed open catalogue on their counter space. “But it's your issue to contend with now. Do be wary of your luck.”

11/20

[member="Oren Beorn"]

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

(6/20)


And so after Elpsis' antics, there were lots of dead zombies lying around. Well, zombies are already dead, so maybe it would be more accurate to say lots of them had been destroyed. The air was rank with the smell of burnt, charred flesh, which was not a plesant scent when one considered how foul-smelling the average zombie was. Elpsis crinkled her nose slightly in evident distaste while she dusted herself off. However, unfortunately for our little redhead her trouble magnet days were not over. After all, she had to follow in the footsteps of [member="Coryth Elaris"]. In other words get into trouble at every opportunity.


And so as she walked down the alley, ignoring all the bodies, her danger senses flared up strongly. Something was coming. Precognition meant that she felt the big monster charge straight towards her like some sort of organic battering ram and had enough time to quickly dive to the side and in the same motion unleash a powerful fireball. For this she was rewarded with an animalistic cry of anger as the beast was struck by the blast of pure heat.


Yet the beast did not go down, but rather charged at her once again. Now that she could look upon it she saw how disgusting it was, for it looked like a giant, perversely mutated rat. Its claws were sharp and looked like they could rip apart her limbs, its long tail was spiked and it was covered in boils. Seriously, who the hell experimented on fething rats? Well, apparently her writer thought it would be fun. Quickly she brought up her bolter and fired, pumping the rat creature full of buckshot while she tried to dodge its charges.


BAAAM BAAAM BAAAM Each blast, if it hit home, made the beast reel and knocked it back, but it seemed to have some sort of natural armour too potent to be really hurt much. Shame she had not loaded explosive bolts or APE rounds, but with the beast charging with surprising speed towards her she did not have the time to reload. Gathering her power she sent a stream of blazing light towards the creature to blind it. The beast shrieked in pain and rage when it was robbed of sight.


Quickly Elpsis pulled a frag grenade from her belt, pulled the pin and tossed the deadly ball of explosive towards the rat, but the beast was already moving again. Though robbed of sight it could still smell her and it was very hungry. The shockwave caused by the detonation ironically propelled it forward even while it was peppered with shrapnel that dug bloody wounds into its body. Seeing it close in Elpsis tried to backflip, but the beast's spiked tail smashed into her legs and knocked her down.


Ouch. Well, that hurt. Now the beast was upon her, pinning her down with its considerable weight, while blood seeped out of where her right leg had been struck. Its strong tail wrapped around the leg, then squeezed tightly. Something snapped. She cried out in pain as vicious claws sliced across her shoulder and face. As the beast tried to swallow her she drew upon her power to force mouth open so wide it was painful, exerting all her power to keep it open and break its jaw. The ear-piercing scream that followed was well the abuse her ears suffered. As the beast reeled her hand found her lightsabre and she rammed it into the beast's chest. Hot plasma burnt through the monster and pierced its heart, ending it.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Post 3 of 20
Location: Tash-Taral, 50 clicks south of the Great Valley
Objective: Discover the Tomb of Liber Mordu

The child-knight's boot scraped against the sheer face of the cliff. The remains of a broken temple, shattered as it had been swallowed whole by the earth.

Dangling precariously, the tow-headed boy struggled to maintain his hold on the ledge above. His eye level was slipping lower and lower. The prepubescent muscles of his arms and shoulder burning with the strain of holding up his weight. A second and third attempt at pulling himself up were both similarly discouraged by the fatigue that was starting to settle into his limbs. The sudden turn of events had shattered much of his concentration, the physical pain proving a distraction as he fought to gather his thoughts and tap into the Force.

He was disoriented.

Gritting his teeth, the fifty year veteran of foreign wars pitched himself into a fourth effort. His face exploded in a variety of colors as he struggled -- breathless and haggard -- to pull himself up. As a padawan, this kind of test would have been something his master would have chastised him for taking so long to overcome. But he'd been much more active then, the apprentice to a Jedi Sentinel. As a knight, the Anzat had adopted the path of the Consular, and had apparently spent more time munching biscuits inside the library and not nearly on the jungle gym outside.

As the boy started to make some small successes at pulling himself up, something moved across his field of vision. The child snapped his head to one side sharply, instinct taking control as he shooed away an insect that had landed on the side of his face.

It was a moment later before he felt a strange, numbing sensation. A feeling like that of pins and needles beneath his skin spreading out from his cheek, and then a burning sensation as some allergic reaction kicked in painfully a moment later.

Had he been stung? It had felt as though the insect had barely brushed against...

Wait. Was that...

What was that buzzing sound?

As the child stared up from the broken floor, the vibration in the air grew louder. Within the darkness, a shadow began to undulate and move. And spread, expanding outward. The young Anzat's eyes grew wide as he realized the form that this darkness had taken, as the dark cloud of a pelko swarm erupted from out of the pathway ahead. Aimed at their trapped prey, the cloud seemed to reach out for him like the dark hand of death itself.

Letting go his perch on the ledge, the small Jedi slipped back into the yawning chasm below and fell into shadow. Plunging deeper into the mysteries of the ancient ruins and whatever other creatures the works of the Sith might have attracted.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

(7/20) [member="Valiens Nantaris"] (or whoever you want to use!)


The big, mutated rat beast was finally dead. That was good. What was rather annoying was the fact that in the process it had fallen on her. Ouch. Never mind the fact that it also smelt. Groaning, Elpsis managed to push it far enough with telekinesis so that she could manage to slip out. Shaking a bit she got to her feet, feeling pain course through her body.


Unfortunately, unlike her mother she did not any fancy Force healing tricks at her disposal. Maybe she would have learned how to use the Force to heal herself if she had stayed with the Jedi and not washed out of AgriCorps. Then again, if she had stayed maybe she would have ended up dying in the war with the Sith, gone darkside or been converted into a Vong. So many fun things that could have happened if a single event in her life had been changed. One could write endlessly about the butterfly effect and the repercussions one small change can cause.


Needless to say these were not thoughts that entered her mind. Rather she leaned against the bloated carcass and removed a medpac from her backpack, administering its contents to her leg and patching herself up with some bacta. She was no medic, but it would do for now. Her hand gripped a syringe and she jabbed it into her neck. It took a bit, but soon the stimulant took effect and she felt invigorated once more.

 

[Phylis Alince]

[member="Elpsis Kallikora"]
Location: The Market
Objective: Not be scammed
?/20, probably 6.

“This is not the real thing,” Phylis said, putting down the stone tablet.
“What do you mean, friend?” the Houk merchant said.
Phylis knew enough to know that anyone who called you ‘friend’ wasn’t. “Well clearly this is not genuine. You can tell by the grain of the stone and the tool marks. This was made with a modern rotor-saw rather than the older, manual marks. It’s well disguised, but distinctive. Hmm, and the engraving on the tablet is slightly off, similarly because of the tool markings. It’s a very good reproduction though,” she said with a smile.
“So you’ll still buy it,” the Houk growled.
“Hmm, maybe. But not for your asking price. Two hundred credits…for the nice engraving. However, since you clearly have the original I’ll take that for ten thousand, as agreed.”
She didn’t turn, but knew that several thugs she had sensed coming from the shadows already had produced weapons.
“You listen to me, Jedi. You pay or you die, and if I’m feeling nice I might let you have this one.”
Phylis sighed. “You do know what happens when people try and attack Jedi?”
“Sometimes they win, sometimes they don’t, but there’s more of us than of you.”
“Yes, well, perhaps not for long.”
The Houk drew his blaster and gave a signal.

With incredible agility Phylis leapt into the air, and as she came down, blaster bolts all around her she unleashed a powerful wave of telekinetic energy which tossed her enemies to the ground, overturned shelves and shattered windows.
The green lightsabre flashed to life, effortlessly parrying blaster bolts like only Soresu could. Either reflected bolts or a deft slash of her blade disabled each opponent in turn until there was just the Houk. His attempt to blast her failed when her blade took off his hand at the wrist.
Standing over him in the ruins of the shop, the Jedi Master looked down. “Now, the tablet…please.” She held out credit chips with her free hand.
The Houk indicated a safe. Phylis dropped the credits into his hand and focussed on the safe. With a flick of her hand the door tore off and the booby trapped blaster inside fired harmlessly at the wall opposite. Phylis retrieved the genuine tablet and some other items and headed for the door, deactivating her lightsabre as she did.
“Hey, pay me for the mess you made!”
Phylis looked back. “Be thankful I am a Jedi, Krouk. Now get these people to a medic.”
“I’ll get you for this….”
“I shall add you to my list,” Phylis said, stepping over the (literally) disarmed criminals and exiting the store. “Six-Nine, I’ve got the artefact, get ready to leave, I’ll be there soon.”

Enough time for a certain daughter to stumble across her though.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

([member="Phylis Alince"], that's your fourth post)


"Hey, girl. You new 'round these parts? Tash-Taral's a dangerous place for someone so young." Oh, geez, it seemed that swarmy, thuggish-looking Garhoon in a black leather jacket and with a moustache had decided to be "friendly", in other words play the local creep.


Elpsis was, as could be expected, not very welcoming. "None of your business," she snarled. No, she was not in the most chipper mood. What with being splattered with blood, dust and still in some pain. At least shooting a couple monsters should pay a bit.


However, it seemed her new friend was not shaken off so easily. "Girl, you look at me when I'm talking to you, if you know what's good for you. Why don't we go to the bar and discuss things? Just you, me and my friends...," two equally thuggish looking characters seemed to have shown up behind her and he grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her close against his oh so 'attractive', muscular body. His eyes seemed to sparkle and his fangs clearly showed.


"You know, when you put it like that...that sounds fun," Elpsis spoke, seemingly sounding a bit shy. Abruptly she kissed him as powerful arms locked around her. Then the Garhoon cried out in pain when she suddenly bit down hard on his tongue...so fast and with such viciousness that she bit it off! He violently pushed her back but in a flash her lightsabre was ignited and ran him through, impaling as the hot plasma burnt and sizzled flesh. The blow of a vibroblade from one of the man's comrades made her tumble, but then fire manifested in her hands and was unleashed upon the two remaining thugs, roasting them most beautifully.


(8/20)

 

[Phylis Alince]

[member="Elpsis Kallikora"]
5/20 apparently

Though this area was pretty rough, the sound of a lightsabre and the screams of roasting people still drew attention. One such person was Phylis Alince, diverted from her purpose and heading down to investigate.
Looking at the bloody and dusty redhead she frowned.

“I see I am a little late to offer assistance. Still, I will ask if you wish it.” She eyed the lightsabre at the girl’s side, the colour and affiliation unknown. She did not look a Sith and certainly was not a Jedi, but there were so many neutrals, rogues and darks around that it was hardly surprising.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

[member="Phylis Alince"]

9/20


This writer neglected to mention it, but Elpsis' lightsabre was red. It had been taken from the corpse of a Sith. Like almost every Sith this one apparently believed that lightsabres ought to be colour coded for convenience, but had made the mistake of using the Force during the Netherworld event thing...and been fried for his troubles.


Why is this relevant? Well, not really, except perhaps on an existentialist level. Anyhow, Elpsis noticed that she had drawn attention and immediately tensed. Teenagers these days! The woman who had suddenly shown up did not seem hostile, though she looked and felt like a Jedi. As it happened, Elpsis had a rather problematic history with Jedi. Ironic on so many levels. "I'm fine," she responded, quickly searching the corpse of the dead Garhoon and liberating him of his blaster and credits. "Who are you?"

 

[Phylis Alince]

[member="Elpsis Kallikora"]
6/20 for real!

“Phylis Alince, Jedi Master,” she replied, looking at the carnage. “Well, you’ve dealt with the situation, but would you like an escort back to your ship?”
The other woman was injured, and Phylis was not the sort to leave someone injured.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

[member="Phylis Alince"]

(10/20)


"Right, Jedi. What brings you to this lovely planet? Vacation to search for mystical artefact X?" As everyone knows, the process of archeology does not at all involve having gunfights with archvillains in tombs full of zombies, lava pits and balrogs. No, that only happens in cheesy holovids that have no relation to reality.


"Thought you had a Sith war or something," she said with a shrug and the air of someone who did not care either way. If the gentle reader were to conclude that Elpsis was a bit of a brat they would be correct. Still the somewhat bratty redhead gave the Jedi a good one-over. She did not seem threatening, but on the other hand Elpsis was a prideful girl. Probably too prideful for her own good. "I'm doing just fine, but if you wanna come, you can. Name's Elpsis Kallikora."

 

[Phylis Alince]

[member="Elpsis Kallikora"]
7/20
“Hmmph, it is because of that war I am here Ms Kallikora. Regardless, I’ll help you back to your ship and then we can part ways.”

“Hmm, what brings you here? This doesn’t seem like the most popular destination.”

The Jedi Master made sure to keep a step behind and to the side of Elpsis. It was wise to be mindful that even if the redhead was not a Sith her motives and character were unknown, and being prudent was wise.