The One Man who Never Asked Of Me (Dissero)

[Ashin Varanin]

Rudrig
Sith Empire
Sith Archives

Short-lived dynasties had come and gone, power had ebbed and flowed, and titles had been granted and rescinded half a dozen times since Lord Dissero had built these vaults on Rudrig. Under some, but not all, of the administrations since then, Dissero had had the mandate of a planetary governor; in the interim, the senior Sith Knight -- veteran of a dozen wars -- had remained in the archives he had built with his own hands. Velok squinted against the morning sun, one great three-clawed hand trailing along a stone balustrade. If Dissero had designed the building's exterior along with its more purpose-built foundations, he had an architect's eye, in the artistic sense. The old Whiphid, freshly retired from the Dark Council, couldn't help but feel that he now had the chance to just slow down and appreciate life.

Something he had rarely managed to do, in two hundred painful and monotonous years. He grimaced and found a seat, a marble bench in a small garden, with the bulk of the archives at his back. The guest in his shuttle might have pressed him for time, flush with the impatience of relative youth, but that was one major reason Velok had left his passenger behind. Besides, the man was boring, a functionary with purpose and drive and no wisdom. Dissero, however, stood in sharp contrast to all such men, and the Dark Lord would happily trade for his company with the currency of a thousand Imperials or Sith.

The marble bench stayed cold beneath him, and he shifted, grunting. The sun had yet to permeate the garden's simple furniture. With a groan half-stifled, Velok rose from his bench, willing warmth back into his old bones. He dismissed the garden and shambled into the archives proper. This had been a large part of his domain as a Dark Councilor, with Dissero as his local representative, and functionaries and scholars alike nodded to him or bowed as he made his way to Dissero's office. He was known here, and perilously close to being at home. He returned their bows and nods in kind, so far as he could without inconveniencing himself or his old back.

The turbolift closed, sealing him in, and he began to move towards Dissero's office. The Knight and archivist kept unassuming quarters, all told, or so Velok seemed to remember. Not like they needed to be ornate, so long as Dissero had good access to his prized vaults. And now that governorships for Sith Knights had been largely abolished, Dissero had that much more time to devote to his true love.

The door hissed open, and Velok reached out to knock daintily on the doorsill as he stepped through. "Lord Dissero?" he rumbled in basso profundo, casting about with eyes and Force for the archivist. "I've brought you the scroll we discussed, from that one expedition."

 

[Dissero]

"Master Velok?"

Truth be told, the Archivist was caught mostly unawares by this sudden arrival. For a while now the Archives had received few visitors. A trip to Rudrig was vastly irrelevant to most and inconvenient to all. He didn't know a single Sith that wasn't offended by the protocol of weapon prohibition. Not to mention the scenery of purple meadows was often something of an eyesore to those more particularly dark individuals who preferred an arid desert, salty quagmire or barren wasteland.

Dissero rather liked the vast sea of purple grasses that surrounded his home and habit. It made for rather brilliant (and romantic) scenic outtings. What with entertaining Verie Lacroix, this was certainly all the better.

Speaking of Verie - upon the rumbling words of the arriving Master he quickly moved to hide the young lady's picture. He kept it concealed in a book on the shelf behind his desk. Largely it was propped open, displayed within the cut-out-frame of pages for him to glance at when his mood needed lightening. When visitors arrived it was easily stashed away, back within the wall of bookbindings where no one would be the wiser. He did just that from his stance across the chamber, mentally grateful for the little every day things that the Force came in so useful for.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon. Come in, please-" another motion of his hand and the chamber door unlocked.

He greeted the Master with a welcoming grin and a sideways bow from his spot four feet off the ground - halfway up a durasteel ladder. In his right hand he held a brushpen with which he quickly scrawled the last of several strange symbols on a massive sheet of parchment paper currently stapled against the far wall of his office. Velok would recognize them as symbols of the Ancient Sith texts, but these were meant for formulas. Equations of spells and archaic powers that stretched across the ten foot length, covering everything but the bottom two feet.

"Excellent," he remarked as he stepped down, "the final piece I hope. ...you left your Assistant in the shuttle again, didn't you?"

 

[Ashin Varanin]

The Whiphid grunted, his eyes already roaming over the immense wall-mounted parchment like Avicus DuSang looking at anything with legs and a pulse. "The man's a troglodyte," he said, picking his way across Dissero's office. "Putting his team in charge of watching me is like setting hens to guard a fox -- and such loud hens, too. Lord Velok, train me -- Lord Velok, make me a Master -- Lord Velok, give me powers nobody else has. Incessant drivel. I shot myself in the foot the day I agreed to train anyone in this Empire. But you...for all the times I've been here, all the weeks I've spent in your vaults, you never asked for knowledge from me, beyond what I bring you." He gestured with the priceless Sith scroll, yellow eyes still fixed on the parchment. "Now, I might simply think that you've cracked my holocron; it's been in your care since Desmius gave it to you. But you would know that I would not include everything in that holocron. My guarantees against the ravages of time and death are somewhat less obvious, whatever Her Majesty thought when she took it from me."

The truth was, naturally, more complex. In happier days, when Ashin Varanin was a new Master and Velok her recruiter and teacher -- in the Sith'ari Centrality, deep in the Unknown Regions -- he had made her Keeper of Holocrons. Holocrons she had maintained when she took his ideal of a Sith Purge to the next level, eradicated the Centrality, butchered its Sith, stripped Velok of his bound spirits and cast him down. At which point she'd gone to take the Empire from Moridin, leaving Velok to come along in her path and wait for her to do it all again.

But Voracitos' treachery at Roche had left her scrambling, unprepared. A number of her personal resources had vanished with her -- the Chimaera, for one, though he knew where that was. The holocrons, mercifully, had remained here. Even Ashin Varanin, it seemed, would not willingly cross Dissero on home ground.

"In any case, you've asked nothing from me and strangely that makes me feel as if I owe you something. All is relativity, as a wise Sith once said." He finished unrolling the ancient scroll -- a thin sheet of untarnished metal, engraved with runes that hurt his eyes -- and passed it up to Dissero for the archivist's inspection. "Here you are, but it's not the final piece we hoped for. More of an intermediate step, all told. A key, even. I suspect we're going [SIZE=9pt]to have to compare the sources we have with untouched primary sources."[/SIZE]

Velok stepped back for a better view of the immense parchment, then shrugged found a seat that wasn't the one behind Dissero's desk. You could tell a lot about a man from his desk, and Dissero's was professional, utilitarian, with a few decorative touches that hinted at sentiment. The kind of desk that suggested home. Greel-wood, too, or something equally classy-yet-understated. A holocron sat there, one he didn't recognize.

"There are some things even the archives lack, sad as it is to say. There are vaults on Darvannis -- I've alluded to them before; did you ever meet Delana Saan or hear the story of Styrak? -- where entire spellbooks are written on stone walls thirty feet high. The scroll, as near as I can tell, is a partial transcript of an initial incantation." He leaned over and picked up the holocron, then stood, examining it. Its Gatekeeper flared to life, and he found he didn't recognize the image. A wave of his hand banished the simulacrum, once he'd verified that no spirit dwelt within the holocron. "Incredible as this equation is, I'm starting to believe that it's the phenomenally complex key and the hand that turns said key. The lock is elsewhere."

 

[Allyson Locke]

The touch of smooth and chic metal chilled her fingertips while her hand ran across the edge of the desk. It had been ages since she wrote a letter of her own accord, the royal probably had forgotten how to discuss things from her heart. The woman wasn’t the only one that had done things with this desk, her father before her and the other woman that she couldn’t remember her name who had a sister that looked exactly alike. The screech of the chair echoed the quiet room as she pulled it out and stared at the papers shuffled on the desk. Several data pads stacked with different information on research she had done and everything lead to one place, to one person, no not the usual suspect, but a man named Dissero.

This man was someone of importance, while Spencer as in the Sith Empire she had heard tales of this place called the Sith Archives. There a stock pile of information, holocrons, dark powers and everything Spencer needed for her research. Finally taking a seat she ran her hands down her backside and under her thighs to fold in the dress she was wearing. As much as she disliked dressing up for the position, Spencer didn’t mind the dresses. They were something of convenience. The breeze would just blow right up the opening and cool you down. You didn’t have to worry about anything when you had business to take care of and the material was easy to take on and off when the day was starting or when the day has ended.

Grabbing her favorite pen she twirled it in her fingers and pondered how she was going to word this letter. From her understanding Dissero was a lover of all that was old and ancient. One probably had to be to like being the curator or something to the Sith Archives. She loved history and knowledge, but Spencer wondered deep down if she would be able to do Dissero’s job. The thought of being in a dark and gloomy type of place made her sad, she was already going insane having to be on Eshan for lengthy times. The girl was a wanderer and enjoyed feeling the ability to move when her feet got ‘itchy’. She’s had those itchy feet for some time now and there was no helping it.

The blonde hunched over her desk and her hair cascaded over her shoulders and into her view. A frustrated flick of her head caused the waves of straw colored hair to flow back where they came. A smile spread in her victory over her hair. The mop tended to have a mind of its own especially during the early mornings when she had to wake up and actually look presentable. A hand continued to fiddle with the pen until she finally got the urge to write after all of this time. The head of the pen pressed into the paper and she started to write, the scratching sound of the ink and tool against paper worked and broke the lovely silence of her office.

Dearest Dissero,

I write to you with much concern to the Sith Archives. My name is Spencer Jacobs, I was formally the First Apprentice to Dark Lord of the Sith Desimus the First. I apologize for the brief sense of urgency that comes with this note, but I require your assistance with a holocron. I know I no longer belong within the Sith Empire, but there is something there of dire need. I hope this letter finds you in good health and fortune.


I also hope that you will be willing to help with my endeavors.

Till we formally meet

Spencer Jacobs

Queen of Eshan

Force Master

Folding the letter with elegance she placed it inside the small protective envelope and handed it off to her handmaiden. The woman quickly ran down the hallway and set off the letter.

Few days later…

As Velok arrived a letter would find its place near both of them falling in by some sort of force. The letter addressed to Dissero with the seal of the Echani Compact.

 

[Dissero]

The Archivist could only chuckle at the Master's words of ... praise? There was humor lost there on both of them - neglecting the internal snipe at Dissero's blood father, the Knight knew well of the incessant need of up-and-coming students. He'd taken to avoiding all places where they tend to congregate: Dromund Kaas (now that he no longer had a need to be there as the once-vaults of the Empire were empty) and Korriban just to name two. Last time he'd set foot there he'd picked up a whelp claiming to be the son of Darth Sidious as a favor to the Empress who quite obviously couldn't be bothered with such nonsense. The Archivist snorted at the memory, glad to have narrowed down his efforts to but a single person and the only one he believed truly worthy of them. But without getting lost of thoughts that were neither here nor there he decided to turn an interested gaze upon the Whiphid.

A droll mark of guilt pulled at the side of his mouth at the mention of Velok's holocron. Yes, he mused, one of his more prized gifts. He'd ventured into its contents on few occasions but had yet to fully delve into what knowledge the old Master had left behind. It seemed rather silly to do so when the Sith was so very much alive and well. Perhaps not all entirely willing to divulge his secrets, but who was?

A wise and rather scarey man had told him once that the only knowledge to learn willingly is that which was given willingly. Too often did the greed of students beget resentment in their mentors. Mentors who often were driven to sabotaging their progeny through false education simply to teach them a lesson - one that most of them never came to grasp.

He smiled and took the offered metal sheet, inspecting it as the Master inspected the holocron on his desk.

"I appreciate your time and your wisdom, Master, whenever you so choose to offer it. Seems to me if you didn't care to then I wasn't deserving in the first place - ...this is very curious." Far more intriguing he was certain than the shell of a holocron Velok presently discarded. Even if it wasn't the end piece they were seeking, it was a very substantial piece to what remain missing. Blue eyes crossing the curious lines, he muttered a few spoken words of the old Sith text under his breath before giving his head a shake, "This is not a dialect I am familiar with, but everything is there." The Archivist rolled the metal sheet again and looked to Velok, "I'm afraid I fall a bit short where knowledge on Darvannis is concerned, though I know I've read about it. You know, my mind simply learns better through seeing and experiencing. I think comparing sources is the best route-"

He stopped, eyes falling upon his desk where a note lay not far from the abandoned holocron. That wasn't there before ... was it?

"Feeling adventurous, Master Velok? We've gotten this far, what's a quick jump across the galaxy. You drive, I'll do the heavy lifting," smiling, he moved to his seat behind the desk. He set the metal sheet aside before taking up the note and breaking the seal. It was short, written in hurried cursive, and most-

"Curious. Spencer Jacobs a Master and Queen. That girl was just a Jedi Padawan marionette of the Empress when I first met her. Strange how time slows down in the dark..." indeed it seemed that while he pursued his labor of love in the depths of the archives the rest of the galaxy was spinning away. If it weren't for his time spent with Verie he was positive that he'd discover time travel in here.

"But she hasn't been under the flag of the Empire for some time. What do you make of this, Master?" ordinarily he wouldn't have passed off a letter personally addressed to him, but as he valued the opinion and thoughts of his fellow seeker of knowledge he felt it wouldn't hurt.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Immense eyebrows crashed like icebergs as the Dark Lord examined the letter. "In the strictest and most technical sense, I am not under the Empire's flag either, at least not for the last handful of days since my retirement. I am a relic, Dissero, but one who departed more recently than Jacobs and, so far as I can tell, inspired less ill will during my tenure. Miss Jacobs, the former Darth Sanctuary or something along those lines -- the trivia elude me -- is almost impressively enigmatic. She is also, I believe, nineteen or twenty years old. Strong in the Force, yes, even prodigious -- I helped train her -- but without the life experience necessary to be, what have we here, Queen of Eshan? Ah, yes, she's Vondiranach's daughter."

He had, in truth, tracked down Spencer Jacobs after her disastrous duel with Anaya Fen on Mustafar, and convinced her to take the crown and throne of Eshan, but Dissero did not need to know that. Velok kept few secrets other than his own, but Spencer Jacobs had earned a measure of his discretion.

"Dire need, she says. It has been a very long time since the phrase 'dire need' was applied to a holocron in my hearing. I'd suggest offering her a tacit pass through Sith borders to Rudrig, but these are uncertain times and we live under uncertain laws." The old Whiphid whuffled and refolded the letter with immense talons. "But I should not wax maudlin over the lawfulness of previous regimes. Say what you will about Moridin..."

He left the thought unfinished with a shrug. "In any case, Lord Dissero, Spencer Jacobs is very probably considered an enemy of the Empire since Eshan began the process of joining the Republic -- and she aided the Republic fleet at Polis Massa with battle meditation. I find it disconcerting that, so far as I'm aware, I am the only person on this side of things capable of Sith battle coordination or anything of that sort. And I am far from a specialist. No, Jacobs is not the sort of person to thwart, not when she boasts the powers of a minor god, the throne of a ruler, and the neurochemistry of a teenage humanoid. Enemy of the Empire, enemy of @[member="Tyrin Ardik"] or not-"

Once more he cut himself off with a frown. Depositing the holocron in a bag, he came to stand beneath the huge parchment once again. "Enemy of the Empire or not," he said at last, "at Polis Massa she was overcome by a Phobis Device and transmitted its effects across the entire battlefield. Direct mental contact with an artifact of Styrak -- that's something that I can't claim, nor you so far as I'm aware. If we relocate your research to Darvannis, it might be appropriate to have her meet us there."

 

[Dissero]

"Hmmm," the Archivist was pensive. So many things to consider. The Empire currently sat precariously at the edge of a cliff with the weights and balances in a constant state of flux. Despite the ups and downs, losing and regaining of titles, Dissero had found it imperative to keep his head low and his eyes on the target. He'd stuck to the quest assigned him so long ago by Empress Desmius.

Build a hall worthy of Sith heritage, history, power and prophecy. A place where the valuables can be kept safe, knowledge can be found freely, and secrets can be made secure.

Rudrig might no longer host him as Governor, but it respected him and his quest. So much so that even after being stripped of his title the Council of Scholars invited him to remain and to continue providing them with his insight and his skills. Mostly he believed they were loathe to lose him as a beneficiary to the many new projects and buildings currently under construction, but certainly that was only one part of it. He wasn't bothered by the thought, as it allowed him unobstructed and uninterrupted access to the Archives; his brain child and life's work. He felt confident in his station here as Master of Vaults and would give his superiors no reason to rescind that title and responsibility. Dissero did not believe there was a single other person in the Empire capable of doing his job so well as he.

"The Empire has so many enemies," Dissero said with a look of distaste, "Mahet-"

A noghri dressed in robes of black and green entered the room then, looking characteristically dour. Velok would recognize him as Dissero's assistant/body guard/sidekick/compatriot and a long-since-retired Imperial Ambassador of Honoghr. Mahet gave Velok a short bow before turning an unsmiling look to the Archivist.

"I need you to deliver a letter. Have you ever been to Eshan?"

"Never," replied the Noghri, looking as though Dissero had asked him if he'd ever willingly dined on bantha droppings.

"You are in for a treat, my friend. A moment, if you will, Master-" Dissero motioned to Velok with a pen, indicating that he meant to return address with due haste.

Lady Jacobs,

I must commend you on your rise to such a prestigious throne and honorable title. You have certainly come a long way since first I met you. I lament that this new station of yours places you in a position directly opposing my own and as such would make an exchange both difficult and dangerous.

However, I am not so far beyond reason so long as you are not so far beyond fair trade.


Sitting back a moment Dissero considered his next words. "Fortuitous," he murmured, glancing to Velok who currently stood before the length of his most recent project but did not finish the thought. Fortuitous that one of the very few individuals of the galaxy having experience with the article they presently sought would have such a dire need. On the day, even, that Velok would arrive upon a seemingly essential key to the puzzle. The happenstance of what was unfolding quite literally on his desk was remarkable.

Mahet grunted softly as if to urge him to go on, though it was more likely he was simply growing impatient. Noghri were not known for their patience.

Dissero sighed and resumed scratching his quill across the parchment, "that you have such a repertoire of skills in handling royalty, Mahet. You'll be perfect for escorting the Queen safely to Rudrig. How do you feel about reliving your glory days?"

The noghri's face visibly twitched.

We will discuss the details upon your arrival. I am sending my most trusted friend, Mahet, as well as a comfortable yet unassuming ship. I will not be offended should you choose to forgo these efforts of precaution; know that I offer them only as an assurance for safe and unhindered travel to Rudrig. Mahet is well versed in caring for such precious cargo, however I cannot promise good conversation.

Awaiting your arrival expectantly,

Lord Dissero
Master of Vaults

The Archivist took great pleasure in folding and sealing the return letter, stamping a glob of melted wax with the Shamalain family crest ring he wore on his right hand. Standing, the man handed it over to the Noghri with a pleased smirk, "Make haste, my friend," he said, clamping the old warrior on the shoulder much to the Noghri's chagrin, "and wear something nice."

After Mahet departed (grumbling in Honoghran along the way) he turned back to Velok, "What say we take a walk through the vaults."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Velok watched the Noghri go, his face inscrutable. There had been a time, and not long ago by most reckonings, when Honoghr had been next on the Imperial agenda after Tund, in Desmius' plan to ensnare Hutt Space -- or at least set up an advantageous bargaining position. To find that Dissero kept company with Noghri surprised the Whiphid a little. But then, he'd always known that Dissero was better that most about staying private. "To the vaults, then," said the Dark Lord with a nod. "The crew of my Veratus -- and my handlers, for lack of a better term -- know that they might expect your people, if and when you decide to send your research notes along. Better send parchment, too. Darvannis isn't known for its scholarly amenities. In fact, when I went there last year with one Delana Saan, a very old and dear friend, I found nothing but the kind of bazaar one might see on Tatooine or Ryloth. Then again, perhaps you're capable of writing Sith equations using rusty weapons and reek pelts as ink and canvas...but then again, it wouldn't be like you to scrimp on reference material."

He cast a long and somewhat covetous look around Dissero's library before the door closed behind him. Not that Dissero owned the majority of them, any more than he owned the rest of the vault's contents, but then again Dissero had always been the subject of bequests from those more powerful than him. There had been a time when the Vault Lord's name had been invoked whenever a Master found an artifact worthy of expert study and secure care. It was said that Dissero had, in his keeping, artifacts and items belonging to some of the greatest living Masters, and Velok had certainly deposited enough items in these vaults. So had Desmius, and Moridin and Apparatus before her. So had others, Lords and Ladies within and without the bounds of Empire. As the turbolift sank into the depths of the archives, Velok confessed that he really had no comprehensive idea what was down here, despite his many visits during his time as Dark Councilor in charge of this sort of thing.

"My thought," he said, exiting the turbolift, "is that we may get more out of some of these resources with side-by-side comparison. That one door at the bottom level, for example -- the one whose window looks upon an obsidian podium, and a certain book. I have reason to suspect that, if we were to successfully apply the book's spells to Styrak's tomb, it would unlock combinations that Delana and I were unable to crack. But this is your stewardship. I am, shall we say, an interested contributor to your research. I established long ago, in ways I will not elaborate, that it is not for me to be able to control Styrak's work. I am merely insatiably curious."

 

[Dissero]

While Velok might only guess as to the contents of the vaults, Dissero was a veritable catalog of the myriad treasures resting peacefully below. Already as they made the journey towards the chambers deep beneath the mountains he was examining the contents of them in his mind. He would need to gather anything remotely related to Darvannis, Styrak and the Phobis Device. This would mean pulling the transport crates out of storage again and many long nights of fishing metal splinters out of his hands.

The Archivist frowned at this and slowly folded his hands behind his back, brow lofting at Velok's comment on reference material.

"Might look good on a resume," he returned, blue eyes wandering towards the ceiling as he imagined.

Skillset: Resourceful, innovative. See section 6 - Synopsis of Memoirs of an Archivist Written on a Pelt


Starcharts, he mused as the lift motor hummed in the background. He couldn't recall in his many perusals of galactic maps ever seeing Darvannis marked. Fortunately Velok had already been there and could handle the navigation. Dissero meant to put it on the map. A map. More precisely, his map. The thought made him giddy like a boy about to take his first bicycle ride. It would be one more planet he could mark as visited on the very long list he held in competition with his cousin, Quietus. She was currently in the lead, but she also had a 400 year head start. He'd catch up to her. Probably.

"That book," said Dissero over the hollow echo of footsteps following their path down the corridor, "that book and I have unfinished business. I can't say if I am yet ready to, but you're probably right." His expression hardened as his mind wandered to the image of the leather-bound book resting so unassumingly atop that enchanted podium. He'd revisited it on several occaisions without any intent to open or even read it. He'd simply stood in its presence, steeling his will against it, refusing to give in to it. The point Velok made about the contents of the book was largely valid. The book itself, old and arcane as it was, was the subject of much scrutiny by those who had come long before he. There were literally dozens of tomes and personal journals filled with entries written by Lords and Ladies lusting after the knowledge it contained. It was said to be composed of spells and information of a hundred Dark Lords before his time, unnamed and completely obscure. He'd wondered if it was something his own mother might be familiar with. Had she been a contributor so many centuries ago? It wasn't something he was about to ask her.

You never ask a Sith woman her age.

The Knight had hoped to one day find his resolution steadfast enough to look upon those pages with his own eyes, but he had not hoped for it so soon.

"May be best to start there since I've got my wits about me," and your presence and power should I need it, he thought to himself.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"You haven't looked at it? You? For once in my life let me quote the Code of the tradition we both, ah, claim to serve. The Force shall free me from fear, from mortal limitations, from anything that might hold you back and, thus, cripple you when you stand before your goal. Purpose. You're close enough to a Master of the Force that you have the right to watch the universe respond to your sense of purpose, to your right to know. Yes, this is a motivational speech. Yes, I consider it necessary."

The Dark Lord's stalk slowed to a crawl as he passed a more prosaic vault than the one he discussed. "Excuse me a moment," he said. "I'm sure you'd know better than I, but I seem to recall Desmius leaving my own holocron in here. Better to tidy up loose ends while I'm here." The door opened at his touch, and he left it open for Dissero. This particular room held a plinth, and the plinth held three holocrons. One was a dusty blue cube, the Sorkatar Holocron, the same that he'd filled with his arts and those of the first Ori'vod, a Prophet of the Dark Side. Another was a dull red pyramid, the holocron of Vulta Daanat, his forebear and founder of the only Order he had ever called his own in his heart of hearts. The third was an alchemized black skull whose brainpan contained the holocron proper, visible only as a reddish gleam deep behind the eye sockets.

The first two were the holocrons he had given into Varanin's care, when the galaxy was young. He pocketed his old friends with immense satisfaction and held the Skull Holocron up to the light. "This is what I was after," he said. "The holocron that taught Desmius alchemy. Its creator was named Xushan, a name whose phonetic equivalent I happened to find on Darvannis. I think this holocron's Gatekeeper might have been a contemporary of Styrak. No promises, and I've heard Xushan is unusually reticent, but perhaps exposure to the tomb will unlock her, assuming we can use the book to unlock the tomb."

He presented the black skull gingerly to Dissero, not that he needed to, and shut the door behind him. "Bone made lightsabre-proof. Masterwork. I'm starting to suspect a Phobis Device may have similar materials requirements, though personally I haven't found anything conclusive. One way or another, this holocron should know that, too. Then again, that presupposes we can get it to talk at all, let alone stop using thees and thous -- unless you've had some success with this one before."

 

[Allyson Locke]

The ride to Eshan would lack the events that one would desire on trips of great importance. Eshan was the planet that was bedded deep within the Republic and acted as a gateway for the Mandolorians if they wished to attack. The planet was lush with its people’s culture which was on display at every turn filling the pride of the people of Eshan. Typically the Echani people were pale skinned with wisps of white hair upon their heads; they rarely spoke keeping their most intimate conversations to be done through physical combat. The Echani combat style was not only battle ready and deadly, but it provided its people a connection that many didn’t understand.

Their queen understood parts of the language, she did not grow up on Eshan like her Father probably had wanted her too after they were born. The woman was a Dathomirian child in more ways than one, she without knowing its true origin desired to feel the force flow through her from nature. She grew up understanding the force in a different way, seeking to praise it as if it were a deity instead of a tool. Respect for family and a clan were imbedded into her body, sacrificing one for many was a mantra she meditated and lived. This understanding of where one was never to be put ahead of the clan was never hindered, except for one instance. The Queen would never put the clan ahead of her desires and love for one woman, but that granted a ticket to exile. She would never feel the warmth of the Dathomirian home, she would never see the festivities of the old ways, and she would never be able to call Dathomir home again.

Bare feet felt the stone walk way as she weaved her way through the gardens of the royal estate; she rarely resided here as she had other matters to attend to. The wandering child never stayed in one place too long – she felt home in space, the stars providing a guiding path to her freedom in the Unknown Region. Her heart longed to feel the chill of space and the horrors that awaited her out there, the Fringe was a place she could be what she was meant to be and be with those that she was meant to be with. While she pondered her double life she continued to walk through the gardens, several children learning the art of Echani Combat littered the schools. One child falling she wandered over and placed a hand against his wound healing him, his white hair spiked under her hand and an adoring smile spread across his face. Standing he bowed slightly and then ran off.

As much as she desired the Fringe to be her permanent home, she knew her presence was needed here until another could take her place. The other, she already had in mind would not ready for the responsibilities soon enough. The teacher nodded thanking the royal despite his belief in wounds giving a better lesson. Spencer felt it and decided it was time to continue through the path, the sound of heels echoed along the path as she felt someone coming. It was someone she had never felt before and she wondered if it was finally an answer from Dissero. A figure came behind her and she turned to see one of her messengers.

“Lady Jacobs, someone is here with a message for you”

He handed over the letter and Spencer quickly read it. She knew that there was going to be a payment for the holocron and any other information she needed for her plants. What she didn’t expect was the desire to be met in person for the exchange of goods. Spencer folded the letter and waved.

“I understand the message please bring me to this messenger.”

The man led quickly towards the throne room. The woman wearing plain Echani combat clothes, they hung off of her like a malnourished child, but she stood still barefoot in front of the Noghri. A smile spread across her face as she nodded.

“So I’m to go with you to see Dissero, if you want to rest you can, eat until you’re full and then we can be off. I would dislike for my escort to feel he was mistreated. But if you’re ready now then let’s be off.”

 

[Dissero]

Master Velok succeeded, as few truly before him ever had, in granting the Sith Knight a humbling moment. It had been some time since Dissero had need of a motivational speech, and even now in the brilliant, dark glory of the Sith Master's words he still found himself floundering for ... something. Something decent to reply with, witty perhaps. He dug deep down and all he found was the mental image of his mother looking down at him in disdain for his presumptuous attempt at controlling things far beyond his scope. The man followed the Whiphid in silence, opting to keep internal thoughts as they were.

Did Velok have so much faith in his abilities to think he had a right to that tome? Or was he acting upon a very Sith-like nature of culling a perceived threat in its adolescent stages? Dissero have never openly divulged his own personal view of the Darkside mantras and likely Velok would never know just how far from the true Sith doctrines he strayed. He did not believe a vision of grandeur made him anymore deserving of power than any other half-wit with a red bladed lightsaber. He also lacked a certain taste for ultimate power. He did not wish to rule the galaxy, merely to experience it. And, supposing his luck continued to follow him as it had thus far, Dissero was in no great hurry. His mother had given him the gift of longevity and he meant to savor it, not squander it by testing the temper of an ancient power.

Did that make him less of a Sith? Only to himself, he supposed. As far as everyone else was concerned, he was just like them.

The skull holocron of Xushan felt heavy in his fingers and Dissero turned an appreciative look down at the artifact, content to have something to derail his previous train of thought.

Chuckling, the Archivist held the holocron up into the light, turning it to one side and then the other whilst he recalled memories of his time spent with it.

"I have an affinity with the terminally reticent," he confided though it was unlikely that Velok would understand why. Given his lineage and experience with literal and figurative mutes it hadn't been difficult to make acquaintances with Xushan, "luck yes. I only hope she doesn't grow shy if what you say is true." Clasping the skull in his right hand he drew a measured breath and motioned down the corridor, "there are a few others I can think of that may be of use. Holocrons of Dark Alchemists. I'm curious about this woman you spoke of, Delana Saan. Was she a pupil of yours?"


~~~~~~~~~~~


Mahet stood primly as the Queen arrived and swept into a quick and graceful bow that might've taken some by surprise, "Highness," he hissed, asserting the woman with a stare that was beastly. Noghri found it difficult to express anything humanly warm or friendly on their faces, and were so often mistaken for being angered that they rarely were invited to parties. It was a common misconception that Noghri simply did not have any fun. Misunderstood creatures, the Lady Silencia had called them right before sending droves of their greatest assassins and warriors into battle to slaughter thousands. It's really such a shame.

His robes were the color of molten lava, standing in stark contrast to his grey-green scales and skin. Touches of gold spoke of his own high stature and the insignia of Knowledge embroidered at his back spoke of his station within the Empire. The Noghri laced clawed fingers together as he took in the Queen, his super-human sense of smell detecting every nuance of her scent and storing it within his memory. He attempted a smile at her words of concern but what resulted was an unpleasant grimace of fangs.

"I am prepared to leave at once, Highness," the Noghri gestured for her to take the lead. His ship was refueling while he waited and would be ready to go by the time they boarded.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"More alchemists? I've always found Xushan a sufficient source for most of my relevant needs, but you're the archivist here." The Dark Lord shrugged and locked the subvault behind him. Yellow eyes stopped on another door. Velok shuffled over and peered through the window slot. "The other alchemists, if I'm remembering right...ah, yes, here we are."

He cracked the door open with a series of gestures -- telekinesis, not sorcery's frippery -- to reveal another subvault. "There are some records I consider old friends," he said, taking a couple of dusty little holocrons from a shelf and holding them up to the light. "And then there are some I consider in-laws, extended cousins, acquaintances and passersby. This one here, the record of Festulus, is more akin to the person who defiled the public 'fresher before I arrived. But even Festulus may offer some insight, much as I hate to admit it. It's irksome, but I literally won't know without comparing these sources to the-"

With a roiling Whiphid curse, he tucked the sources away and whirled on Dissero. "Materials. Building materials. We won't need just holocrons and scrolls and that spellbook, we'll literally need the physical substance of the machine, and I have no idea what a Phobis Device is made from. The most likely guess is holocron-stuff, crystalline lattice, and I hope you're capable of making a holocron because that particular lost art is one I've never entirely mastered. I know it, don't get me wrong. But it could be holocron matrices, it could be alchemical metals or full, solid crystals -- we'll need a furnace, no, two furnaces. One for crystal-forging, one for metals alchemy. And that's merely for the most likely possibilities. You have both here, I've used them before. I'm flying a Veratus, unless the local garrison has something bigger. A Veratus has a light freighter's cargo capacity; it should be enough...excuse me a moment."

Velok closed his eyes and focused. Verbal telepathy was not practical (nor plausible, by most accounts) but he could project images and ideas well enough to the crew of his ship. After a couple of minutes, he sagged against the shelving. "Done," he said. "My crew will start the loading procedure -- the furnaces, and I've instructed a pair of of my aides to come down and get what we'll need." He gently slapped his shoulder-bag. "I'd rather not carry all of these while trying the spellbook. Source interaction is a frightening thing."

Within a handful of minutes, businesslike Sith functionaries joined them in the vaults with bags and a pair of hovercarts. One took their accumulated research materials; Velok set the other one to work on a particular set of shelves, and took his hovercart down the ramp to the lower level.

The level that terminated in a specific door. A specific door that concealed an obsidian podium and a book the size of a small child. Velok rested on the hovercart's control stand.

"If I'm recalling correctly, the podium itself needs to be moved, correct?"

 

[Dissero]

OOC - Liked for the use of "frippery," a word I have never had a great opportunity to use. Haha.

Dissero noted the skipping over of Delana Saan but gave it little mind. He wasn't one to ask a question twice lest it was of utmost importance. Listening to the Whiphid speak of holocrons was much like hearing a warrior recount the stories of his battle scars. He smiled at how intimately familiar with these things the elder Master was; how he spoke of the objects like old friends. For Dissero, even despite his time spent pouring over this treasure trove, he was only halfway there in earning the right to speak so fondly, so personally of them.

The Archivist raised his brows as Velok rounded on him and looked thoughtful for a moment, nodding at each item listed for the necessary ingredients. "Resources and materials I have. As well as experience in crafting Holocrons. I've managed three successful pieces to this date thanks in part to some help from ... an old Master Sorceress," the Queen of Kuat's ability far surpassed his own and he wondered if he might be able to convince her to join them on this venture. Many of the items found within these archives were of her own make and discovery. Her knowledge and experience would be dreadfully helpful but...he quickly waved that notion away without a second thought. These were the sort of ordeals she had him for, he reminded himself. It was why she'd tasked him with retrieving her old trinkets and not done it herself. All this time he'd thought it was to keep him busy, give him life experience, encourage his sense of discovery and expand his knowledge-- but it was really much simpler than that. She just didn't care for it.

"Your ship should suffice, I doubt we'll need more room than that. Yet, anyways." Dissero helped Velok disperse orders amidst the Aides as they arrived and watched with a wary gaze as they handled the artifacts and materials. He was loath to leave them to it without his supervision, but what was a leader if he could not trust his associates to do his bidding? He walked with Velok to the lift and mastered himself as he punched in the passcode that would grant them access to the single level where the book was stored.

"If we wish to maintain ourselves through this ordeal, then yes," he nodded and reached under the collar of his shirt to pull out what looked to be one of his three successful holocrons dangling from a bronzed chain, "we will need to move the podium as well."


~~~~~

The approach to the chamber was perhaps lack-luster at best. A tome of such power, prestige and reputation should certainly imbue one with a sense of foreboding. Moreso than the simple knot of growing apprehension Dissero felt in his chest. The truth of the matter was there was no lingering tide of dark energies to greet them as they stepped off the lift. Only a long, dark hall that ended in a single vault.

Pausing at the precipice of the lift gate, the Knight reached up to the collar of his robes and gently pulled at a brass chain to produce a smallish metallic object from the layers of clothing. It gleamed faintly, turning as he reached the chain over his head and coiled it in the palm of his hand. It's weight seemed to reassure him, reminding him of his own accomplishments. Three holocrons, at his age, the third of which now warming between his fingers. It had to count for something.

Dissero lead the way down the hall, recounting in his mind the number of strides it took to meet the door; the number of visits to this vault he'd made in the last several months; the rather short list of Sith Masters allowed to make the same journey. How many of them had successfully lifted that cover? Or could?

The vault doorway loomed before him in what felt only the blink of an eye. Breathing steadily he dropped the small holocron from his palm, catching the end of the chain at his fingertips where it hung suspended as it had every time anyone had requested access to the book. How quaint it might've been for other Masters to take this walk with him. Try as they might to force their way in, it was impossible without that holocron and without his will. Some knowledge simply wasn't fit for everyone.

The holocron swung at the end of its tether once, twice, then lifted gently through the air and into a matching slot in the door. The chain swung limply from it, ringing across the metal surface. Dissero approached and pressed both hands flat against the vault at either side of the key slot and took a breath.

"L'er'griff seke eravnik zhah wun zhaunl dos zhaun naubol."

His voice reverberated throughout the hall like thunder through a mountain pass, empowered by the Force it seemed to permeate the very walls. The vault quaked and trembled, issuing a chorus of mechanical noise as the unseen locks shifted and dropped. The gateway cracked open, at once issuing a belch of raw darkside power. It flooded the Knight's senses, bringing back to him all the same dark fantasies of unlimited power as it had done time and time before. This time he was ready to face it. He would not be caught in the net it cast, not like so many others before him.

Sharp, unwavering blue eyes settled upon the book as it sat so unassuming upon its obsidian podium. With the vault bore open Velok would find that the entire walls were cased in the same material and cast with the same containment spells. It had been of some effort on part of Lord Tirdarius to mimic those safe measures, but essential nevertheless. When sealed, the chamber prevented the Tome from luring in its next victim. The precautions were not so much for worry of losing the book, but to protect the galaxy from the book itself.

Dissero stepped in, sensing Velok in his peripherals but refusing to lose sight of the artifact. Maintaining his distance, the Knight reached out with the Force to a looming case set behind the podium and springing open the door at its front. He felt a ripple in the Force that disturbed him for it came not from any living being present, but from the Tome itself.

It had been waiting a very long time and it was ready to be of use again.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

A curious sense of deja vu gripped Velok as he stepped up to the podium. "I wonder if there are temporal effects," he said. "I've got the strangest feeling I've done every bit of this before. Reached up to the cover, like so -- paused to consider the consequences, like so -- then touched the book-"

He set his jaw and flipped open the cover. A grunt escaped him as his focus narrowed from the corporeal. To call the book's presence an assault would be not unlike saying a tide or a stampede was attacking him. It reminded him strongly of being brutalized by weather, by climate, as if he was coming face to face with an eternal and unflinching truth. He gave it the mental equivalent of hunkering down before a storm, but found himself unable to turn from resilience to examination of the book. He could endure, but he could not prevail, not to the standard which the task required.

At least, not if he kept doing what he was doing.

He knew what the book wanted to find: A full and complete knowledge of the consequences of examining said book. Will alone wouldn't do it, boldness wouldn't do it. Those were qualities all too common and all too lacking foundation, especially in Sith. No, the book was measuring maturity -- willingness to take the consequences -- and experience enough to know the price of failure.

He opened his mind to the book and turned the first page. He scanned it, too quickly to read, then flipped farther. Page by page he glanced at the whole book, taking in little. His skills of memory enhancement would let him read at his own pace, but for now, he needed to scan everything, and find the closest thing to-

He flipped over the last page and closed the book, sagging against the obsidian podium. "You were right," he muttered, mind still whirling. "This is precisely what will open Styrak's tomb. Once we apply certain elements of this book to the wall paintings and engravings I saw there, there are...no limits."

With a grunt, he gestured, and book and podium floated gently into the waiting crate on the hovercart. The lid, its interior dull with honey-colored nullification resin, shut with a snick. The room ceased to feel quite so malevolent, and Velok resisted the urge to lean against the obsidian walls or rest on the crate. Instead, he grabbed the controls of the hoversled and shoved the crate out of its vault. "If your people and mine are quick enough at loading my shuttle with the requisite research materials, we should be out of here soon. I have some inkling of what Jacobs wants; it's among what we've already collected. We can extract fair terms, but I'm anxious to get to Darvannis and get to work on Styrak's tomb. She can meet us there. Give me a moment."

Once out of the vault, the Dark Lord leaned against the wall beside the door. He put his head back, closed his eyes. "I've done a great deal for the Empire, Lord Dissero. Trained a substantial fraction of its Knights, once upon a time. Conquered worlds, matched twice my number of Republic ships at Roche, built monsters, made kings. This will be my magnum opus, I think." His yellow eyes opened, restless, and he pushed away from the wall. "Time to finish what I've begun."

He pushed the hoversled up ramps and through turbolifts, exiting at last through gardens whose portion of sunlight gave him no real clue as to how long they'd spent in the vaults. Velok's crew and Dissero's assistants were engrossed in moving research materials into the big shuttle. With a grunt, he shoved the sled and its precious cargo up the ramp. "The burdens of scholarship," he groused. "Pilot, as soon as the scholars give the all-clear, take us up."

He didn't risk a glance into the main hold. Too many temptations. Too many things -- eons' worth, an Empire's worth -- that could distract him from the task at hand.

 

[Dissero]

Left wondering at the Master's resilience, Dissero imparted the Whiphid with naught but silent respect. You did not congratulate a being of his experience, you merely took it in and savored the show. Stepping out of the vault behind him the Sith Knight turned to look back at the empty chamber, giving it a curious glance. Nostalgia touched his senses momentarily, causing him to think on the Lord @[member="Tirdarius"] and where it was the man now whiled away his hours. Something told him he would find out soon enough. People like them were often so rare, few and far between that their shared interests and skills kept them linked for life. Dissero smiled to himself as he motioned one last time to the vault doors and stood back as they sealed, enclosing nothing but a shadow.

Taking up the holocron hung around his neck, he looked aside at Velok as the Sith regained his strength and listened to his sobering words.

"Let us finish this together then," he nodded, knowing full well what challenges lay before them and moved to place a hand on the Master's shoulder, resolved to see it through to the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dearest Verie,

When you receive this letter I will be far from orbit of Rudrig. A breakthrough in my research has arrived with much urgency so with regret I must leave you to your own devices for a time. I have not forgotten the promise I made you but I must first see to a promise I made someone else some time ago.

What this box contains is my gift to you. You know its contents. Please keep it with you at all times.

I will send Mahet to stay at the house with you during my leave. If you have any need at all, he will see to them.

Keep safe.

Yours,
Merovign



A heavy sigh escaped the Knight's lips as he stamped the Shamalain family crest ring into the wax seal, locking away these feelings of concern into a neat roll of parchment. It wasn't the first time he had traveled from her for research, but it was the first time he felt anxious about it. He made no mistake of his own mortality and especially not hers. The dangers of what he and Velok set out to do were far too real, too tangible to neglect. What if they made a mistake? What if they died? A Phobis Device was no mere tool or artifact - it was a weapon of destruction that grew in even the strongest of Masters a level of fear and hysteria to break them utterly.

The fabric of the Subtle Cloak felt smooth within his fingers and lighter than he remembered it. Nearly a year had passed since he last used it and until this time he'd contemplated tucking it away with his own private pieces for the remainder of its years. He never wished for there to be a need for it again but he simply did not trust the people of his Empire. His Apprentice was too dear to him and if there were any further measures he could take to ensure her safety in his absence he would pack them away in the box as well. But Verie was not strong enough to wield the weapons in his keep or use the artifacts of his Vaults. So with a steadying breath did he gently fold the Subtle Cloak into the corners and close the lid over top.

"Watch over her, mother," he said as he placed the rolled parchment on top.

It would be enough, the powers this cloak contained went beyond merely hiding was wished to be hidden. Some part of it was the spiritual awareness of the woman who birthed him into this world, at least he always liked to believe it was.

"Take this to my house. Do not leave until it is in the hands of @[member="Verie Lacroix"]." Dissero placed the parcel in the arms of an Assistant, a young scholar of the Rudrig Institute of Galactic History. Not a Sith nor a Jedi. Not even Force Sensitive. Simply a man who could be trusted because he in turn respected the Archivist.

He watched him go for a moment and followed the man's steps down the hall. When he turned the corner Dissero felt his reservations leave with him. The Archivist closed his eyes and allowed his mind shed its misgivings. He could not doubt himself any longer. He had to help Velok with a clear conscience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the entire contents of his office packed away into the cargo hold of the ship, Dissero joined the remaining assistants in the hold. He stood silent, counting boxes, ticking off his checklist just as he had done nearly a year ago on Dromund Kaas only this time there would be no further interference from Darth Apparatus or the late Moridin. When the last crate made its way up the ramp he closed up the datapad and shook the hand of his head Assistant.

"Good work. I'll be in touch with your next assignment. Until then I need you to continue cataloging the Archive files. We're expanding the search - cover everything."

"Everything, Sire?" the Assistant looked curious.

"The device we intend to create has little in the way of recorded information. I need you to double check every file. I'm putting my life at stake here, Emmrich, I could die if I don't have the information I need. I'm not making a fething wedding ring. Every file to the outbound server so that I have it available to use."

"Yes Sire."

"Thank you," Dissero watched him go before signaling to close up the hold and made his way to bridge where he found Velok already seated. Nodding to the Master to signify they were ready to go he took a seat as well and watched out the viewport as the Scholars and Assistants stepped away with their carts, eyes bleary in the heat of the ship engines.

The ship slowly rose, groaning under the added weight of their research tools and cargo, leaving behind the black walls of the Archives glistening amidst the mountain peaks. As it shrank away to be overcome by the stretch of purple Rudrigian pastures Dissero settled back in his seat looking pensive. Pale blue skies swallowed them, taking them into the dark gut of space and moments before they prepared to jump Dissero looked across to Velok.

"You grabbed the Telos, right?"

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"Would I forget that?" Velok made his way through the shuttle to the cockpit, where a trusted, Force-sensitive pilot -- a man who'd served him for years -- was already steering them skyward. Velok settled into the copilot's chair, eyes half-lidded. Darvannis was a distant and poorly charted world, well outside the Empire. He tapped the pilot's arm. "Engels, once you're comfortably past the atmosphere, do send a message to @[member="Tyrin Ardik"], on the number I provided. Inform him that the expedition has left Rudrig, and by this time next month he should have a fully functional..."

Even Velok hesitated to say the name.

"...a fully functional Phobis Device. As with my prior projects, he is more than welcome to join us. It's always best to invite the Emperor along," he amplified, as Dissero reached the cockpit, fresh from cataloging the Imperial archives. "And message Lord Dissero's representative Mahet on Eshan. Plans have changed; Her Majesty can meet us on Darvannis rather than Rudrig. It's always best to minimize the time a teenage demigod spends in Imperial space."

The Veratus-class Imperial shuttle, fast for its size and boasting a very full cargo hold, clawed for space. Velok gestured to another command-cabin chair for Dissero. "I was meaning to discuss something with you," he said as the atmosphere fell away. "For once we're done here, assuming we don't get pegged as inventors of superweapons, tarred with the same brush as Umak Leth and Qwi Xux and Bevel Lemelisk and Nasdra Magrody. Assuming we survive this, my hope is that you and I could work together on a different project. I'm a Blackguard, you see, not a Sith. It's an old heretic cult -- I'm sure you've heard of it. I'm the last Blackguard, as it happens. Our core tenet was always that the true purpose of Force power is to attain understanding of the universe. As a result, we've spent centuries cataloging the secrets of other Force sects. I always suspected there might come a time when the galaxy no longer needed a secret archivist such as myself, but a disseminator of information. A father of intellectual freedom, you might say. And your skill with holocron creation, not to mention your encyclopediac knowledge of the history of the Force, might well make you an ideal...business partner. What are your thoughts, Lord Dissero?"

The atmosphere fell away, and the pilot turned his attention to the comms while the navicomputer whirred away. Velok took the controls; he loved to fly from time to time.

 

[Allyson Locke]

Spencer nodded as her guest decided to wave off a meal and water. It was interesting, she had never seen or known a Noghri. Though remembering the letter she assumed she wouldn’t get to know this one either. Looking towards one of the handmaidens in the room she nodded her head in a fashion only the woman would understand. White hair bounced as she ran off towards the halls of the Estate. Spencer would wait as the woman gathered the necessary things, the Force had prepared her and she was able to give a list of necessary items for the woman to grab when the time came. Spencer remained quiet as she folded her arms against her chest, something tickled at the back of her mind and her hand raised and rubbed against her temple.

Nothing was the same after the encounter with the Phobis Device. There were times at night she could still hear the horrors that whispered to her while she was battling it along with the whispers of the hive mind. A constant reminder of her mortality and her fragile existence within the force, nothing was as safe as she wished it to be. Slowly Spencer dropped her hand and loosened her arms from her chest. The handmaiden had made her appearance again and dropped the bag at the woman’s feet with a bow. Spencer smiled and handed over a small package, the handmaiden knew exactly what it was and she tucked it away in her robes and disappeared.

Spencer gathered her bag and followed the Noghri towards the ship that was prepared for them. She decided against following in the Peregrine as the ship could draw some attention, it wasn’t a secret that the ship was built to keep her safe. The former Empress ensured the small fort was to Spencer’s liking. The hanger was only a short ways away and soon they would be at the ship and off of Eshan.

The handmaiden quickly made her way towards the back room. She ran her hand against a wall at the end of the hallway. Fingers tracing a pattern until she finished it, the door slowly slide open revealing several shelves. As she walked down the hallways several half completed holocrons all shapes and sizes adorned them along with older holocrons that Spencer had collected. One she kept special belonged to the greatest battle mediator, there was a space next to it open for a holocron of Bastila Shan – a goal of the young woman to find. Opening a shelf, the handmaiden placed the finished holocron inside. She didn’t open it, but on the outside a date was etched along with Dissero’s name.

It was apparent, Spencer’s obsession with Holocrons has moved into her documenting every important account of her life with in them. A lost art, the creation of proper holocrons. Spencer sat happily on the ship and mused over what the request of the Keeper would be.

 

[Darth Osano]

RUDRIG SYSTEM

Garrison duty was a dull affair, but what were the Sith going to do with a Super Tactical Droid that wasn't actively engaged on the field of battle? Of course they would stick him and his fleet in orbit of Rudrig. Dull planet, but one with a scholarly reputation. He could appreciate that, but TB-18 was more for worlds like Corulag and Kalee. Worlds with rich military history. Violence. Warfare. That sort of thing. Books and arcane scripture did not have much appeal to an entity that simply downloaded something it wished to have intricate knowledge of. And all TB-18 cared for was military tactics and strategy. TB-18 did not expect he would have much to do here, until reports came in that a trusted Sith Master was emptying Rudrig's Sith Archives with apparent compliance from the individuals entrusted with taking care of it. TB-18 was not Force sensitive. He was not in tune with organic life. He was a droid, yet somehow he swore he could feel the unbridled fury of the present Emperor screaming across space and time with such force that a lesser God might be put to shame.

And now it fell on him to rectify such things.

The exact scope of the punishment those involved would be in for was likely beyond TB-18's artificial comprehension. The punishment for him if he failed to capture them was not, and so the Super Tactical Droid was properly motivated to closely monitor Master Velok's ship and mobilize his fleet in its entirity to intercept the thieving Master and his doomed accomplice. Perhaps there was more to Tyrin's rage than just that. It was likely mixed with disappointment. In its present incarnation, TB-18's fleet consisted of two Tulak'Hords and six Xo'Xaans. There were other ships, of course, but those were not important. What was important was that between them all, there were eighty tractor beams. When a ship was presently exiting the atmosphere of a planet burdened with the weight of an Empire's sum of Sith knowledge, one did not fire the turbolaser batteries and launch concussion missiles. They sought to capture it. And so, TB-18 made that his objective. There was one ship, piloted by one Whiphid. There were eighty tractor beams, operated by hundreds of trained Imperial personnel.

So when all of those beams that were in a position to do so could do as much, they engaged them. Statistically speaking, and with the laws of probability on the Super Tactical Droid's side, it would be impossible to not capture the intrepid vessel. On the off chance that it did fail, however, a screen of fighters was prepared to pursue the vessel to the best of their ability, with specific orders to target the engines of said vessel.

There came a single transmission, and TB-18's aloof mechanical voice would come through the Veratus-class. "This is Commander TB-18 of the 18th Assault Fleet. Please power down your engines and prepare to be boarded. Thank you for your cooperation."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

At the controls, Velok winked enigmatically at Dissero and the pilot, and leaned forward to the comm. The navicomputer was already well on its way. He had time for a small conversation before they entered tractor beam range.

On the channel, he cleared his throat.

"Genetic samples of myself and Lord Dissero have been secured elsewhere. Ask Mandalore Garrett how long it will take me to replace my body. Ask my old student how long it will take him to replace thirty-five thousand years of Sith lore. My ship is wired to detonate at my command.

"Your move."