Valley of the Shadow of Death

[Ras'kala'han]

Prakith​

The Deep Core​

​

Once, perhaps, it had been a tower. If so, it had doubtlessly been built strategically — near the mountainside, where any Dark Lord's taste for ostentation could be satiated without exposing vulnerability, where the terrain rippled out from it as though its presence was like a stone cast into water, or if it had been a javelin that had broken open the ground itself, secure from detection and intrusion.

For eras after endless eras, it had been watched. For wars upon wars, it had lain undetected, save by the select few who would carefully comb it, seeking secrets, seeking anything... and they would depart. None had yet rebuilt it.

Now, millennia had finally done their work in grinding the outside to grey powder. Once, this might have been a spire, but it lay broken across the ground. A pantheon's dome caved in like a stricken eggshell. The clenched fist of nature had beaten the grand thoroughfare that once lead into its halls into a weedy wall of inaccessible stone.

Some might take this as a metaphor, a message, for the inevitability of the grinding of empires to dust. Andeddu, Darth Andeddu, the Lord whose work and legend concerned Antherion, had been old when he was first beginning his studies. Now, the profane Order of the Sith was a cadre of fragmented warlords, and while they gleefully ransacked whatever treasures the past could provide to fuel their conquests, the Jedi sought to preclude them from using it by simply annihilating what he once would have called 'his people' from history and memory.

He had moved past the Sith, but a part of him still yet felt offended.

Easing in through the atmosphere in a corporate class transport vessel, Antherion reflected on the aforementioned metaphor. A crumbling shell... but the knowledge might be alive. A broken body, but a vital spirit. That was what he needed and desired.

And that was what he would have. Exiting the ship, robed in a light, shimmersilk tunic and zeyd-cloth slacks that did nothing to hide the mess of scar tissue his arms and legs had become, or his throat's broken, cybernetic husk, he moved quickly to the appointed meeting spot. A chain of songsteel hung from around his neck, and two rings glimmered on his left hand — a dark blue Corusca gem, and an Arkanian Funeral Diamond, pressed from the ashes of a certain mummy he had exhumed.

He waited for the man whose favor he had called in to arrive.

[member="Krest"] | [member="Darth Abyss"]​

 

[Darth Ferus]

The secrets of the Sith were often safeguarded in one way or another. Traps, monstrous guardians, powerful slaves, the list went on and on. To dive into the tomb of the dead was to face death, and to succeed was to triumph over the pale horseman himself. [member="Antherion"] had asked for help, and help is what he would get. Krest, once known as War itself, came to assist just as promised. Dressed in the black cloak of the Sith he would approach his friend from the path below.

Krest was not in his normal demeanor. As he got closer, the Dark Side would be clearly felt from his form in it's truest form. The very air around him seemed to freeze as the feelings of hate and malice flowed freely. Eyes red as blood gazed out from under his hood as he got closer to the cripple, the clearest sign of the Lord's mastery. On his hip was the very sword Antherion had helped him craft, giving off the same coldness that the Sith had.

He would stop beside the Knight who had transcended the Sith but never once glanced in his direction. "These tombs reek of death." His words, his mind, none betrayed his feelings on this matter, save for the slightest hint of excitement as his lips twitched into a smile for a moment. "I have brought along others to combat the threats within, and to be used as fodder if necessary. One of which I will ask you not to attack outright." Of course, he meant [member="Darth Abyss"] . Famine would be a welcome asset with his extensive knowledge of tombs. If Krest knew more, he might of avoided the inevitable conflict, but alas, there was no other.

And of course, he brought along [member="Darth Exode"] , a woman he had known for years. Here and there he trained her, and this was another chance for her to learn more of the Sith, especially those that had come before her, or him. How she and Abyss got there wasn't his concern, only that they did.

 

[Darth Exode]

Ravana stepped off of the Ship, her aura of seduction wrapped around her like a Purple Mist, to those sensitive in the Force. The Force Charged her Pheromones, enhancing them beyond what they should be capable of. But because it was made Partially of the Force, her Aura was easier for Force Users to shrug off, as she had learnt the hard way, when she had fought Krest on Tatooine all those years ago, but her aura still could affect Force Users, she knew that for a fact. She had left him on Dathomir, to create her Sabers on Korriban, and deal with the insanity that had ensued on her Homeworld after. That was around two or three years ago, that she had gone her seperate way from [member="Krest"], and it was the first time she had got into contact with the man since.

"So, my Dears..." The now 18 year old woman spoke. "What is on the agenda today? Well, besides a spot of Tomb-Raiding here and there." She finished with her Signature flirtatious smirk, standing there watching Krest, and the man apparently leading said expedition, [member="Antherion"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

"Another day then."

On the cue of [member="Krest"]'s remark about not outright attacking Abyss towards [member="Antherion"] the metal shell of the Mindeater appeared out the shadows right behind his crippled foe. His right hand was raised above his head, in it a strange looking blue knife, yet the distance was a bit to far and the stance a little to theatrical to be part of a real assassination attempt. Obviously Krest had informed him about today's venture and while he still looked forward to the day he would send the cripple back into his wheelchair, he had decided to remain civil for now. Or well as civil as only mocking instead of murdering someone was. The empty metal figure made a step forward to stand besides the others, the hollow black gaps where his eyes had been looking at the man that had opposed him on Malachor. His inhuman voice formed out of thin air without any clear source to it, an otherworldly echo trailing of behind it.

"You can rest easy for today my crippled friend, I am only here to look for some scripts that are still missing in my collection. Also knowing Darth Andeddu there is a good chance that you will die here without my intervention, and I would hate to miss that."

Abyss mood was the exact opposite to that of Krest. While he lacked a face to show emotions, the wicked grin fixed onto his unmoving metal jaw for once fitted how he felt. It was good to be back, it had been a while since he had hunted ancient tombs, mainly because he had seen almost all of them by now. It wasn't the first remain of the God-King that he ventured into on the hunt for secrets, and probably not the last. This would be good.

[member="Darth Exode"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Well, the hunting party was assembled, and the quarry was knowledge that many beings would rather let stay dead and buried, for the sake of mortality, and for the sake of hiding it from their own persistent enemies. And who did it consist of? A decaying cripple with delusions of power, a humble murderer with delusions of kindness, a perfumed weapon with delusions of seduction, and an emptied shell with a delusion of life. He shook his head slightly, clearing his mind of the fog of the woman's cloying, tingling aura.

"Krest, my friend, I'm honestly curious. Did you bring these people to help, or are they here to laugh at me when a ghost pops out of the ground to eat my soul or something?"

It was a touch difficult to detect the sarcasm in his voice, but that was primarily because such subtleties were impossible for the synthesizer. He pondered, for a moment, why he didn't want to opt for something more directly connected to his mind, able to create a more subtle inflection... well, the muscle groups that normally could be read to produce such at thing were replaced with automated tubing. That left interconnection to the mind, and the last thing he wanted was an ion pulse frying his very thoughts.

"Not that it matters. I trust your judgement." He trusted no one, though of all the Sith he knew, this one seemed to adhere to some code of strange honor, and he sensed a spark of veracity in it, threads of loyalty to an Order, a cause greater than one's self. That was what he could place limited trust in. "If I die with a knife in my back, for example, a knife with way too many poisons applied to it to the point where it starts to stray from the cunning to the tactless to the absurd, just start running because I swear to the Dark that I'll haunt you 'til the end of time."

That was mostly a joke. As his droid, his preferred chauffeur, began to close down the ship in preparation for his return, he began to stride to the ideal spot in the wall of stone they were nearest to. The greatest entryways were barred, shattered, and broken. But they were a conclave of Sith, beings of power. They would go where they pleased.

He touched it, felt it, sent himself into it and felt himself travel along the invisible fault lines of the stone, of the earth, and return to himself, tracing each flaw and fracture in the shaped earth in spiritual echolocation. He stepped back, and swept his arms aside like he was taking flight with them.

A cloud of dust erupted, a crevice narrow enough for one to pass through with a touch of effort had opened in the stone, and a roughly carved service tunnel was revealed, their entry into the Keep that once was.

He did not speak when he entered. He did not need to. They would all follow the call of power unbidden.

| [member="Krest"] | [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Darth Exode"] |

 

[Darth Ferus]

"If a ghost pops out to eat your soul, we all may be in some serious trouble." What ever illusion of the laid back elder Krest had portrayed was shattered here on this world. His burning red eyes stared ahead with no sense of amusement from any of the actions around him. [member="Darth Abyss"] had gone for another clean kill, yet it was needless here. Krest could hear the sarcasm within [member="Antherion"] voice despite the respirator, but he did not crack a grin as he may have before.

Here among the dead, Krest was a true Lord of the Sith.

"I am glad you were able to find us Ravana, but do keep your senses about you. The dead care not for the pleasures of flesh." A not so subtle warning for [member="Darth Exode"] to not rely so heavily on her natural aura. An aura that, if Krest had been twenty years younger, would have completely taken over the mind of the Zabrak. Decades of training, and booze, helped.

With that he fell silent, following Antherion into the keep of the dead. Yet as he walked he never let his hand stray far from the hilt of his weapon. He knew all too well the traps and monsters that would be found within.

 

[Darth Exode]

Ravana nodded, knowing that [member="Krest"] was serious. She had chuckled a bit when [member="Antherion"] mentioned getting nommed on by Ghosts, and [member="Darth Abyss"] seemed to be... the interesting sort. He was probably fun. "Of course, my dear. I shall endeavour to be the warrior you know me to be." She smirked, a wink sealing the statement. "So... aside from being a midnight snack for a poltergeist, what are we here for? Artifacts? Weapons? Fonts of Ancient Knowledge? Or are we just wandering until we find something? Possibly a Ghost. I am just asking for curiosity's sake, mind you."

 

[Darth Abyss]

The husk followed behind the others, his claw like hands clasped behind his back, a stance of being casually unimpressed that he adopted from his master. This wasn't his first time doing this, and as long as the spirit of Darth Andeddu didn't decided to personally come by and kill him it would also not be the last.

"I have investigated more than one ancient tomb left behind by the God King. Ghosts are by far the least of our worries."

Out of the four venturing into the darkness of Andeddus derelict sanctum, Abyss was probably the most well versed, or at the very least a close second to [member="Krest"], when it came to exploring the remnants of the Lords of the ages before. In the days before his ascend into his new form he had been well known as a historian of the sith, a looter, scholar and collector who had seen every important ruin that hadn't fallen victim to decay of time, as well as various less important, yet similarly fascinating and dangerous relics of the past.

"All of those, and none of them girl. The sith of old have hidden their knowledge well, better than most you can find in this age. If the force is with us well today then there will be books and words in our hands to learn from. If not, then maybe death is all we will find."

Without moving his metal head while walking, Abyss focused on [member="Darth Exode"]. Other than his friend Krest, and his foe [member="Antherion"], she was an unknown to him, a risk when descending into the mix of darkness and madness that all such places had in store for those that meant to pillage them. Her aura had no effect on him whatsoever, he was neither flesh nor blood, only cold and unforgiving metal. And metal did not bow to the power of pheromones, with or without a spirit inside.