Faction Unearthing Horror

[Darth Solipsis]

​

“There is a great disturbance in the Force.”​

The ravages of war had claimed Lao-Mon, gobbling up Goshen and it’s many proxies in the fires of tribulation as the Jedi and their allies amongst the Imperials and Alliance invaded. They were rebuked, they were countered, they were left to soak in their precious cradle of power, broken and divided more than ever. The Shi’ido for their role in the act of defiance on the soil of Lao-Mon were swiftly punished, brutally put to the stake as the Brotherhood committed active genocide to wipe clean the rebellious race once and for all.

The deaths of millions, the cleansing of a race from their homeworld burned through the empyrean like a unholy star. A wound was created that was so great it’s echo could be felt throughout the cosmos if one was sensitive enough to touch it. It was the dream walkers, those who could not escape to shelter, those who could not evacuate off world. It was they who made the greatest scream in the metaphysical void. It was they who caught the ear of something long buried. Something long forgotten.

Or better yet.. someone.

The reconstruction of Goshen and the many projects around it’s body took countless hours, manpower, and machine to salvage the broken earth around them. Amidst the toil of the workers, something dark was discovered, something ancient.

A tomb of ancient Shi’ido origin, crafted with the handiwork of what almost appeared to be Sith artisans. An obsidian complex lay just beneath their feet, long buried below by the ancient people of Lao-Mon.

Those Shi’ido whom had wisely submitted, the ones turned into the vile Fleshtakers, whispered a tale of horror. One ill remembered as a childhood ghost story, a legend that should not be yet was. The Mark of the Rin'Kurre was burned into the entry way of the obsidian mantle, a grim warning against those who would trespass for all who enter would need abandon all hope.

Many marauders, zealots, and mystics have since entered. None have returned save one, an insane half-dead left in the muck to die as he should have inside the wretched tomb.

The Dark Voice, amidst his great galactic game with the powers of the galaxy, has sensed a great disturbance that must be uncovered. He has relayed the discovery of the tomb to those among the New Sith Order and the Heathen Priesthood, from there the vile Priests have issued a call to any and all who would enter the horrors of this dark tomb to discover what lies within.

Enter the tomb, unravel the mystery of what lies within and claim any trinkets you may find within. Make your mark.



OOC NOTE: The party will gather at the entrance to the subterranean tomb and enter. From then on it’s anyone’s game, storyteller will provide extra opposition and horror for any looking to delve deep into the tomb.

​

 

[Romund Sro]

Romund was once more enroute to Lao-Mon. How much more trouble can this planet be worth? He wondered to himself at the bridge of his ship, an old but well maintained GX1 short hauler. He’d managed to intercept the transmission from The Dark Voice themself to the New Sith Order. As a warlord it probably was none of his business, but he was a Sith, once at least, so he knew they weren’t the most trustworthy types.

When he was there at the “crowning” of sorts for Darth Solipsis on Exegol, he took a major risk going into the den of snakes that was, and even more of a risk in admitting how he didn’t really care of Sith code, and that his time was one was merely a means to an end. He took a gamble being honest and upfront with the NSO and Maw, and it has worked. So far at least…

They claimed to have found something worthy of interest for the Maw on the scorched planet. This was rather exciting for the collector. He had failed in his mission to take advantage of the chaos that took place during the battle that raged on the Shi-ido home world. As his ship exited the blue haze of hyperspace he looked out upon the planet as they began their quick descent. After his conflicts in the heart of the core worlds earlier he had felt his connection to the Darkside weakened some and his strength in the force dwindled. However, he was cured in the midst of battle of his prominent headaches. Ones that he wore an eyepatch covered in sith runes to prevent. The blast of Force light had managed to save him from it, but also severed some of his connection to the darkside. Whatever it was here that seemed to have the oh so mighty Dark Voice concerned, perhaps it could aid in this weakened state he finds himself in.

As the ship touched down on the planet close to the meeting spot for those called. He walked down the ramp of his ship, his cane tapping on the metal as he walked down. Romund was no longer in need of a cane now that his leg and other wounds had heal. Yet he liked it now as a bit of a fashion accessory. But that wasn’t it’s only function, it was a Power Cane, a dubious vibro weapon disguised as a mere cane. Hidden on his wrists were two more small but retractable vibro blades to help supplement his fighting style. As he left the ship he spoke over his shoulder to his clone soldier that accompanied him. Telling them to wait at the ship, that he had the feeling they were of no need for this mission.

Romund made his way to the spot he was supposedly meant to be in order to meet with those who were coming long to investigate what appeared to be a tomb of sorts. Already for Romund he could sense it’s darkness from where he was. Needing to be this close was telling of his recent numbness to The Force.

 

[Darth Malignus]

HE WHO LIES DREAMING

​

Old evil slept, even as interlopers tore holes the firmament. Foreign steps treaded upon ground that had been otherwise unmolested for a millennia. Even in the darkest recesses of a ceaseless dream, Malignus could feel their presence. His slumbering formed stirred ever-so-slightly as he exerted his influence over the oneiric realm. Force of will emanated a inexplicable dark allure that intensified the disturbance that head led his seekers here. If they were the ones his somnial prodigies portended, it would mean the conquering of the labyrinth, and his liberation.

Sleeping limbs shifted, somnambulation of the hands weaved a beguiling hex that sought to take hold of those intruding upon his crypt. Intoxicating, the notions foreign and empyrean would tug them through the stygian labyrinth that played incarcerator to the Lord of Perdition. Though many of his old minions has their spirits bound to this place, forever lost to its halls, no other entity living knew its corners and corridors like the lord unable to rouse and traverse them.

Yet, his drowsing psyche could not manifest confidence for this escape. It remained objective and skeptical in the face of a thousand years worth of failed attempts. The child of his descendant to which his essence could transfer had its very conception prevented by the dreamwalkers. Dozens of enthralled agents within the ranks of his captives had all been rooted out. At least a hundred attempts to brute-force himself out with bands of infatuated cultists never succeed either.

But now, those who would be his kin in the force stood within the walls of his prison. It was equally troubling and consoling. Their intentions couldn't be predicted, but his hexes and will strove to turn them into his salvation. Whatever they've come for, it either meant freedom now or later. It mattered little beyond his eagerness to return, and his atrophying muscle's desire for a strech. In the end, despite their intentions, the Will reigns triumphant, and darkness always comes.

Those tenants were among the most undeniable of absolutes.

Best estimate of a taglist from asking around.
Darth Solipsis | Romund Sro | Darth Vinaze | Zna-Abaroth | Darth Mori
​

 

[Vesta]

she lives in red light​

Terrors of the deep.

Shi'ido that had begged her for mercy, mercy she denied them as she took their flesh and bone to craft her blade, had threatened - warned, she supposed - her of something, someone, that would lead to oblivion if it were to be disturbed. She had ignored their pleas while they screamed, channeled their fear into the sword she had created from their remains, and turned her attention, as Darth Solipsis had, towards the source of these fearful rumors. There was little doubt in her mind behind the concept of a being awoken from the screams of the damned, as she had been when Csilla was shattered, but there was even less doubt in her mind that such a thing must be brought into the fold or it'd prove an even greater nuisance than the Alliance that nipped at their heels.

Legends of beings which held immense power were not lost on her, her mother had been one of those such people, once, but stories were hardly ever close enough to the truth to be reliable. Whoever it was, or whatever it had been, she needed to see it with her own eyes - so she stepped into the road to hell without an ounce of fear in her eyes.

As the darkness surrounded her she could feel the familiarity of this call, this slumbering wretch that housed whatever tales of great evil that had been whispered into her ears, in the last gasps for freedom, from an opportunistic species that she was thereafter disappointed to share genetic code with. Every step she took was weighted down by the veil of corruption that came from the dark side of the force, though sealed away it might've been. Much time must've passed for it to have saturated the land to such a degree, particularly given the nature of this crypt, and it seemed to lend credence to the tall tales she had been urged to avoid - before she had stoked the flames further, anyway.

Horrors below or not, she didn't care, she was set on finding and releasing whatever it was that had been contained here for so long.

Darth Malignus | Romund Sro | Darth Vinaze | Zna-Abaroth

 

[Alars Keto]

The Drengir Hivemind screamed in his head, but it’s throes of terror were muffled and panicked. He’d been here on Lao-Mon countless times, managed different areas of Goshen, fought the Shi’ido rebels in the jungles, and picked apart the weak with his blade in the fighting pits of the marauder camps.

He’d seen it all. Except that.

That tomb, that blackened shadow was a hungering pit that swallowed all that entered. The plant like beings that hungered for the Harvest to come, the siblings of the Eldervine , their influence could not dwell in the presence of what laid within.

He led the small party of elite Marauders in the wake of the New Sith that entered, led by the powerful Darth Mori. He kept his distance, knowing his place among the mysterious darksiders. The darkness was permeating it all, all light drowned out and a damp fog hovering above the ground floor. There was music, wait was it music? He heard the symphony over the empty static, it was quiet but there he swore it was there but no one seemed to notice.

“Do you hear that?”

He turned to Romund Sro .

 

[Romund Sro]

Romund kept his can in hand, holding the disguised weapon in the middle. He wanted to keep his eyes and ears keen and aware. Something a little bit harder to do if he kept tapping it on the ground as he walked. They are led by a young mistress by the name of Darth Mori. He did once have a Darth title, but chose to abandon it along with the Sith code before pledging his allegiance to the Brotherhood as a warlord. He didn’t know much of the woman leading them. Perhaps keeping an eye on her could shed some light on herself and the New Sith Order as a whole.

With how the tomb was that they were trekking into, Romund himself saw it better to try and see with The Force rather than his eyes. After learning of the Miralukan and how they overcame their lack of physical sight Romund had begun to familiarize himself with the technique. Finding it to be a natural progression to his affinity to the extra sensory gifts that The Force provided him. But even than the sight the force offered him was dampened, and fuzzy.

That was until the man next to him spoke to Romund. Looking over at them he somewhat recognized the man before him. Raising an eyebrow he shook his head. “No I’m afraid not, I’m not sure if something about this place feels like it’s screwing with my senses a little. Why did you hear something?” He asked the man rather calmly before explaining his own situation. All the while following Mori as he did.

Alars Keto Darth Mori Darth Malignus

 

[Vesta]

Venturing into the depths of chasms, veritable abysses, was something that the Shi'ido had done often during her time in the old empire, hiding her true nature from those around her - those that saw her as little more than the child of a Sith lord, a girl that had no interest in the darker, grittier, bits of reality. It was in this darkness that she had felt some sort of comfort, the sensation of feeling truly isolated was almost cathartic to her, and her gradual loss of physical sight to the shadows which swallowed them whole provided her with much the same feeling. She'd been quiet, as she usually was, while they walked down, forever downwards, but the mention of something which did not reach her own ears was something worth noticing.

Furthest in, she should have heard anything that Alars Keto had.

She nearly moved to raise a hand before realizing the futility of such a gesture without much open light - though no doubt the ones behind her could at least see more than a silhouette of her with their artificial torches - and instead cleared her throat to provide much the same signal. "Keep yourselves focused, if you can hear something that I do not, then it is not something you are hearing at all." She said, slowing her pace as she ran her hand along the smooth surface of the wall that sloped inwards and down, a curving spiral that seemed to have been leading them on forever at this point.

"We do not know what is further in, or what else is keeping it company."

Romund Sro | Darth Malignus

 

[McGill]

He would rather have been dead. Anything but this. Anything but the warm smothering darkness, the stale humid air that constituted his every breath, and the sound of the witch’s voice coiling like a snake around him as she forced him to descend into the depths of the Clanless One’s lair.

“They could have killed him, you know.”

Shut up. He willed her to silence, but she just kept talking. He suspected it was out of spite, or perhaps just to remind him who was in charge, as if her direct control over his body and mind wasn’t enough. She could tune into his mind as easily as if she was picking up a local radio signal. Nothing belonged to him as long as she was around, not even his thoughts.

“If the Benandanti could subdue him, it was certainly within their power. But they were smart. They knew that someone like him could find a way to cheat death. So they put him to sleep instead. Let him dream of power and conquest, but not possess it.”

She laughed, almost to herself, low and raspy. He wanted to throttle her. He imagined his hands turning into tendrils that would wrap around her throat, squeezing tighter, tighter, until she couldn’t make another sound. But the mental image only made her laugh louder.

“Their mistake was thinking that they could keep him dreaming forever.”

“You think you can keep me like this forever?” McGill bit out from between grit teeth.

He saw her out of the corner of his eye, a silhouette in the gloom. Bony contusions sprouted from her head like a crown of cartilage, the long train of her gown dragging dead leaves and fungi across the floor. Her eyes were all black and glistening like a swamp creature’s hide in moonlight. He felt slimy as her gaze raked over him.

“No,” she replied. “But I’ll have fun with you while it lasts.”

She puppeteered him forward. Three other explorers were up ahead, two with torches to light their way. They were in the midst of talking amongst themselves about mysterious music one of them had allegedly heard. Their leader, a woman who felt like a Shi’ido, and yet reeked of wrongness, advised caution and focus, because they didn’t know what they were getting into.

Cais ned’jin, these people were insane. And McGill had seen some crazy people—all that time spent in Azrael Asylum introduced you to many different flavors of madness, but nothing quite beat the taste of plain old recklessness and stupidity.

The witch propelled McGill past the trio, ignoring them and their warnings. Upon reaching a portion of the wall which might have constituted a door, she stopped and thrust a hand into something soft and squelching. It had to be made of some type of nenuphar, but it was so strange and unfamiliar as to seem alien even to McGill. He was used to plant-based biomaterial; this seemed fleshier. The wall pulsated as though it were alive, then dilated, revealing an opening just big enough to pass through.

If the Clanless One wasn’t dead, then this wasn’t really a tomb. It was an ancient nursery, a primordial bedroom—a fething return to the womb, if the throbbing gunk that made up the innermost sanctum was any indication. The sarcophagus which held the slumbering old tyrant was a king-sized bed, the burial shroud a blanket. McGill wondered if he drooled in his sleep, or if his snores had echoed unbearably against the walls of his coffin for the past fifteen hundred years.

He had no interest in asking Rin’Kurre directly, but the morons and pawns of morons who had taken over Lao-mon and killed off most of the native population were determined to find the answers to all these questions and more. McGill didn't want to care, but given that he found himself right in the middle of this mess, he sort of had to. That, and because the witch was shoving him through the gap.

Darth Malignus Darth Mori Romund Sro Alars Keto​

 

[Maestus]

At Long Last...

Finally. After what felt like years in solitude on Crakull, learning and conducting heinous experiments, the Great Beast emerged. Something, someone drew her from isolation.

Drawn to Lao-Mon, yet she knew not why. As she sped towards the wasteland planet aboard her ship, Praedo Mundos, she spent time in her meditation chamber. Pondering such affairs. Her mind, bent and twisted by the Dark Side, considered the many possibilities for the call. She knew this trip could be her last. She felt the approaching danger and horror that awaited her. But her Master, Darth Solipsis , had beckoned. For now, she obeyed. After all, this could become an unimaginable opportunity. The knowledge, lore and artificats that may await spurred her onwards.

She gave the order for her ship to maintain orbit, and for a shuttle to be prepped. She exited her chamber, striding purposefully through halls to one of the hangar bays. Accompanied by 2 of her Chosen, they maintained a strict measure, 3 paces behind their unholy mistress. The very peak of perfection, the Chosen were Maestus' elite warriors. 40 in total, she kept her band small. United under banner and absolute control. More than 1 had dared question and challenge her. She delivered swift and brutal responses. For years now, none dared to raise opposition to her.

TThe trip to the surface was uneventful. Her pilot was skilled. And perhaps fearful for his life, should the short journey be wrought with any peril. Maestus had no patience for error or failure. All under her command knew this fact. It drove them to inhuman lengths to ensure their mistress remained placate.

Onice landed, the click of her boothells preceded her down the loading ramp. Once her feet touched ground, she paused and surveyed her surroundings. God's how she despised this planet. In her opinion, a wasteland not worth fighting for. At least on the surface. As she stood, she felt a growing presence. A gnawing at the edge of her psyche. Head turning slightly one way, then the other...She began moving towards Darth Mori and the small group accompanying her.

EEvery step and she expanded her senses. Searching for the long buried presence that drew them here. She longed to learn the deep buried and forgotten secrets of Lao-Mon. Perhaps give her a reason for her opinion of the planet to change.

She came upon the group, and looked over all present. Different perspectives and skill sets were needed, since the group did not know what lay within.

Her eyes landed on Alars Keto for a moment. Hardening further were such a thing possible for her. The red flames surrounded black irises beginning to flick and expand. Another time, they would have words.

For now, she had more pressing matters to attend.​

 

[Raxtos]

~Follow the Screaming~​

Invisible to scanners, the Chiss stealth transport raced low over the ruined jungles of Lao-Mon. Gripping the flight controls nervously, the young pilot tried his best to fly unaffected by the sounds in his ears. But it was impossible.

It felt as if it had been an age since his encounter with the Brotherhood on Avidich. Forced to compete in their sick death game, Raxtos had begun to feel as if his trials and the planet itself were changing him. Then a scream on the wind had ignited his curiosity, which had bloomed into an obsession. What had seized him in ignorance and confusion? Was filling others with understanding and purpose. All this he had learned from a scream.

He'd thought perhaps insanity had taken hold, even considered going to see an Esoteric, or trying to find a much-lauded Jedi. Maybe this strange feeling had something to do with the mysterious Force? But this he'd dismissed as impossible. The Force was something born to a different class of person. It was supposed to be mystical and complex and deeply profound. Not something that would grip a street rat with an attitude problem.

No, this was barbarous and raw. An anger that came from nowhere and everything. Something that filled him with primal strength and gave his voice power to shatter stone. He'd never been taught about anything like this in his life. And he knew of only one person who might be able to teach him.

The shuttle from Praeto Mundos had been headed in this direction over the jungle, but he was mainly following the scream in his ears as he flew. Or.... no. That was odd. When had the faint screaming turned to singing?

He was so startled, he entirely missed the source of the sound, and flew right over it in his stupor. Whoops. Tactical imaging showed that he'd flown quite low over the heads of a small crowd of people gathered around something in the ground. He'd likely ruffled some hair down there.

So much for subtlety. While his stealth craft was undetectable by sensors and was relatively quiet, the key word there was relatively. Besides that, it was a fething starship, and very visible to the naked eye. The music was growing quieter behind him as he put distance between himself and the crowd. Awkward. Well, no sense turning back. The sleek craft spun down for a quick landing within a burned clearing in the cratered jungle.

Stepping out to gaze at the sky ovehead, Rax guessed he was a little less than a klik from the group he'd seen. He turned to his droid.

"Deet, stay with the ship."

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