Private Welcome to Korriban

[Darth Strosius]

Golden eyes snapped open as the ship emerged from hyperspace, an inhale stretching His recently mended lungs as His presence withdrew and sank into an imperceptible state. The flowing reminders of His incomplete being similarly receded, barely visible as He rose from His sitting position and donned His robes. His mask and armor were still being repaired by His faithful but a spare set of His robes themselves were thankfully easily sourced. A bit of comfort for the task ahead. It had been years since He'd last set foot on Korriban and that hadn't been under the best of circumstances.

Darth Strosius spared a few moments to stretch while the announcement that the vessel was entering Korriban's orbit came over the ship's intercom system. Soon enough He would have to make His way down to the hangar and slip into the shuttle that was destined to take the envoys down to the planet's surface for their little meeting, but He could enjoy a few more moments of rest until then. He might just need the additional strength for what was to come. Malum had made every assurance that he could hold the attention of Korriban's various eyes and ears while He set about finding Revna but plans were so often cast astray in mere moments. Usually with catastrophic results.

He knew that better than most.

He turned to gaze out at the orange world beyond the viewport, the horizon of it growing ever closer as the ship banked in for the appropriate position to launch the shuttle. "Nowhere in the galaxy is more cruel." He mused with a somber tone, gloved fingers pressing against the glass as He sighed. "Always besieged or occupied by my foes, and yet you still draw me back to you each time." First it had been defending it from the Alliance's invasion, then losing it to the Ashlan menace, only for it to be reclaimed and handed over to the Kainites, and now it served as the apparent jail for His apprentice.

It was integral of course, a world almost unmatched in its importance and history to the Sith. And yet it wound up being so elusive to Him as a result. Always out of reach for one reason or another. Always calling to him in one method or another all the same. Always cruel, as a Sith world should be. He closed His eyes and let out another breath that He hadn't meant to hold. "Soon, my Disciple, soon I shall correct my mistake. The Force shall set You free." He spun on His heel and strode away from the viewport with a purpose in each step. "And may there be mercy upon whatever would dare stand in the way of it."

Darth Strosius marched to the hangar bay with an energy that was entirely foreign to the fragile creature which had spent the past few months mending its broken flesh and soul in a palace's basement. Were it not for the lack of His usual adornments and the chilling aura that normally perpetually swirled around Him, one would easily forget His apparent death had happened at all. His steps up the shuttle's ramp echoed in the otherwise quiet hangar as He entered and found His desired seat, although it wasn't quite as comfortable as those that the envoys would be seated in.

A compartment, shielded from most scanners, would serve to contain Him for the ride down to the surface and until the greeting party had been moved far enough away from the shuttle that His presence in it would go unnoticed. Getting here first and slipping into it before the envoys and escorts arrived was an essential step as well, any weak minds could give away His presence with a single stray thought and thus their entire plan could be jeopardized as a result. Malum was the only one that would know of the stowaway. Speaking of which, He reached up to tap His commlink with one hand as the other slid open the compartment. :"I'm in position, feel free to round up your accompaniment and head this way.":

Darth Malum of House Marr / Madrona A’Mia / Darth Caedes / Revna

 

[Darth Caedes]

Outer Rim Territories
Korriban System
c. 905 ABY

"The seeker comes as two—one hides in the dark, the other in plain sight. Look not to the one who speaks, but to the one who watches."
—Jen'rusalka, spoken prophecy​

P R O L O G U E
The air in Vardin's palatial meditation chamber was thick and oppressive. Steam coiled from a shallow basin where fire-heated stones hissed within dark water, suffocating the room in a heavy fog. High above, narrow slit windows let Horuset's dim red light filter in, casting the chamber in a glow like dying embers. Candles guttered in the heavy air, their flames struggling against the sweltering moisture.

Darth Caedes sat cross-legged at the chamber's center. Around him, they swayed—the Jen'rusalka—dozens of pale female figures with stretched, unnaturally long limbs, clad only in greasy hair which pooled on the stone floors around them. Three full covens had joined Caedes this day, more than had been gathered in one place since the taking of Korriban and the erasure of its Ashlan defilers. Their voices rose and fell in throaty chants, harsh and almost simian. The air thrummed with their incantations of far-sight, old syllables stitched together amidst almost incomprehensible noises.

With each breath, Caedes' form shifted. Slowly. Painfully. His natural visage—a clawdite's grey, reptilian skin, marred by deep, slick radiation burns—twitched and melted away. Flesh smoothed. Bones clicked and realigned. Features sharpened. The scars vanished, replaced by the severe, unblemished face of a handsome human man. His torso, slick with sweat, gleamed in the dim light. His chest rose and fell as the final shifts in his transformation took hold.

The chanting stopped.
Silence.

Chamber doors snapped open with a hydraulic hiss, steam spilling into the hall beyond. Caedes opened his eyes—bright gold and gleaming. He rose with deliberate slowness.

One of the Jen'rusalka stirred. As she stood, her twisted form shifted too, hair pulling back, limbs shortening with gut wrenching, wet snaps. In moments, a young Sith woman stood beside him, veiled and dressed in clean white. Without a word, she stepped forward. In her hands, a crown of black hammered metal—its jagged spikes sharp as broken glass. She lifted it high and lowered it onto Caedes' brow.

"There has been an awakening," murmured the veiled woman, her voice no longer a hag's rasp but smooth and serene.​

"I felt it, Ffion," echoed Caedes, his whispered voice like dry leaves beneath the crush of a boot.​

"The fates weave as the fates will. I go now to meet them."​

Ffion bowed, stepping back and once again taking her place among the seated sisters.

"Go, my King." ​

He turned to the newcomer in the room and nodded.

"Lord Seer," he said in greeting, not quite contemptuous.​

"Why have you disturbed my meditation?" ​

Revna Madrona A’Mia Darth Strosius Elmindra Xitaar Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum sat upon the command throne, gazing impassively upon the mass in front of him that was growing in size with each second — the red sands of the planet that had been the birthplace of their Order, the birthplace of their people, Korriban. It had been here that legends had spoken, that histories had argued, that the Dark Jedi had fled after their defeat, that which story that seemed to be the model of all Sith, their victory foiled despite all manner of battlefield success, destined to flight, fated to rebuild, doomed to fail. Their first home, turned nought but desert wastes, the tombs of their ancestors to be the only bounty of worth, as sand attempted to break visor.

For all which respect he bore the planet, Korriban had never... it seemed that he had always had bad luck when it came to visits to Korriban, or more aptly, perhaps it was that he had used up all his luck on his first visit to their ancient homeworld. After all, it could have only been luck, that a Sith acolyte survived the trip to the heart of the Ashlan Crusade, not only surviving both their patrols in space and land, but too, giving him exactly what he needed to uncover the Holocron that had been most dear to him.

But seemingly, after that, every other visit to the world had ended on a sour note, or otherwise been various measures of terrible. When he had gone to actually find the Holocron, success had manifested, but the ancient relic remained inert, unmoving, a piece of the puzzle, one laid out by his most famous and great ancestor refusing his heir, even as its ashes recognised him. Then, the next to rescue his co-apprentice, at the dawn of a rebellion which said co-apprentice had concocted. The leather of his black gloves became taut as he pulled and formed fists, releasing out caustic breath, as masked eyes fell away from the planet, and the anger, that old familiar anger filled him.

Then of course there had been the masquerade when... when he had almost lost himself entirely.

When he had almost done something unforgivable.

And now again, another trip to Korriban promised to be as unfulfilling as the last. As the silence of the bridge droned on, interrupted only by the clanker of fingers entering the information required for their descent, long ago the clearance codes had been supplied, to the colossal Korribani fleet in orbit. It was a waste in his opinion, of all the times the Caldera had been breached, they had never come for Korriban.

There was nothing for the enemy on Korriban apart from Sith humiliation, in such regard, he wondered privately to himself if it was pride alone that had such a fleet be in orbit above the sandy dune. It had only seen widespread deployment on Sluis Van... for all the waste that had been, but, he could hardly blame the Korribani for that.

Still, it had not emerged out for Woostri, which he supposed, fit nicely on the public reason for this visit of a Dark Councillor to the farest fringe of the Empire. What exactly was the King of Korriban up to? There was no lie, that curiosity burned, at the prospect of uncovering what exactly Darth Caedes was doing. Whether it was by mere happenstance or purposeful, the rising stars of the Order had little direct contact with each other, it was not that surprising he supposed, in many regards, Darth Caedes was entirely antithetical to his purposes, a user of the undead, aligned loosely or not with the Kainite, and apparently not one shy about the shedding of innocent blood if the histories that came out of Coruscant ruminated truly.

And of course, prison warden over his cousin's cage. That all reports of the world, had made it readily apparent that it was a gilded one, made little difference to Malum in the end.

He had decided long ago on Thule, that he had little desire to have the Clawdite anywhere near his blood.

He would have to stomach meeting with the confusing figure, who seemed enigmatic at the best of times, who with one hand offered places for Tsis'Kaar within his world and Academy, and with the other, had bowed his head to Kaine in at least seeming allegiance. Curiosity might have made him wonder, but...

...He knew the true purpose of his meeting here.

It was as the shuttle entered orbit, that from behind them, rapidly ships began emerging out of hyperspace, Shikkars and Arbites primarily, followed suit by much heavier and larger, requisitioned Eternalist Leviathan-class Star Destroyers, led at the forefront by a truly primordial and ancient vessel, one which might have rung familiar for the once Lord of the One Sith, a Dar Itah-class Grand Battlecruiser. It was an escort befitting the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar and a Dark Councillor he imagined, and officially that was the role that it would serve, for the grand meeting between Sith Lords. For after all, even with all desire, he had been unable to bring the might of the Tsis'Kaar crashing into the Caldera.

So instead, a reminder, a visible reminder, of all which he could do if he was tested.

He smiled sardonically beneath the mask, as the shuttle began its descent, a voice registering in his ear, providing him with the go-ahead for their operation to begin, standing from his throne, the artificial air of the ship billowed his blackened cloak, as he turned for the hanger.

Taking his place, in front and prominence, behind him, the helmed heads of his Guard, and the masked faces of his Tsis'Kaar. Descending down to the private hanger of the governor of this world.

His amulet was cold.

A foreboding sign.

"...I do not feel her presence." He whispered into the comms by his ear. She was not kept at his palace... somewhere else on the world then?

Darth Strosius Darth Caedes Madrona A’Mia Elmindra Xitaar
Mentioned: Darth Carnifex Revna

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Lost deep in thought, gazing out across the horizon, notice of an approaching vessel reached her via ripples in the Weave mere moments before Korriban's security protocols registered it. A faint nostalgia wafted over her, like a breeze across her skin, and A'Mia made to stand from where she'd been basking in the cold light of Horuset in the front courtyard of the palace. The increasing number of visions she'd been having were promising, though she was still far from being a fully fledged Oracle. At times, the data she received begged twice as many questions as it answered.

Accessing her com-link as she glided, A'Mia sought updates from personnel whose job it was to acquire details of those entering and exiting orbit. The woman considered carefully who else to notify. Then she thought better of making a fuss, regardless of whoever had come calling. Darth Caedes would offer clarity and instruction, so she went to him without delay.

"Lord Seer," he said in greeting, not quite contemptuous."Why have you disturbed my meditation?"

But she sensed he knew why already.

They'd taken what time they had to prepare themselves to welcome guests. A'Mia was dressed simply in deep purple polyweave robes and her long loc-style vines flowed free, cascading down her back. The Lord Seer accompanied her King to the palace landing area and together they waited. There had been no time for fanfare, though the neti doubted it would've been provided anyway. It wasn't that they were austere as a rule. No, many instances of grandeur and artistic expression had occurred under the guiding hand of Caedes and his Lords. Statecraft though was often conducted plainly here which suited A'Mia just fine. Her smooth red-brown face turned up to consider the boarding ramp, her small smile serene on an otherwise emotionless visage.

Darth Strosius & Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Strosius]

As much as Darth Strosius would have liked to slip back into His meditation while the final preparations and then the departure itself was made, He simply couldn't. He was restless, tense and full of nerves. His shifting and turning in the small compartment had only ceased when He heard the shuttle become occupied. Given the need to keep His presence hidden He couldn't even reach out into the Force to sense what was happening, all He could do was wait. And wait. And. Wait.

It wasn't until the almost whisper through His comlink reached His ears that He realized He had gnawed through His on lip in frustration and impatience, wincing slightly as the skin began to heal the moment that His fangs left it. :"All the more reason to begin my search as soon as possible.": There were numerous ways to cloud and mask an individual's presence in the Force and on a world with such a potent nexus like Korriban such methods would be all the easier.

Finding Revna was never going to be an easy feat of course, that much they knew already, but without the Force to guide their direction it would be even harder. It was of no matter though, not with Him there. Darth Strosius and Malum may have been taught similarly by their late master but there was always a few key differences that would never quite fade it seemed. Darth Strosius was a hunter, not merely an assassin but a tracker when the need arose, and He had yet to let any trail go cold on His watch.

He would find Revna even if He had to tear through every tomb on Korriban to do it.

:"Find us a landing zone and quick, I grow tired of this wretched box.": Normally confined spaces were rather comforting but at the moment all it did was remind Him that there was still work to be done, that the task at hand still lay ahead and that His apprentice was still out of reach. Once He could move freely that would all change. If only the shuttle pilot could hurry and land so that no witnesses would spy His own exit from the vessel.

Darth Malum of House Marr / Madrona A’Mia / Darth Caedes / Revna

 

[Darth Caedes]

Outer Rim Territories
Korriban System
c. 905 ABY

"The fool who sits upon an inherited throne mistakes its comfort for dominion. He will drape himself in the robes of much greater Sith, thinking the fabric will grant him power."
—Darth Caedes, ruminations​

Castle Vardin's Northern-most landing platforms lay open beneath Korriban's blood-red sky, exposed to her bitter winds and the chilly glare of Horuset.

Darth Caedes emerged without pageantry, A'Mia at his side, his stride graceful and unhurried. With each step, the loose folds of unadorned black robes whispered against the red stone underfoot. No gilded procession heralded his presence, no banners announced his arrival, no display of force walked in armor alongside him—only the quiet certainty that he was here, and that would suffice. That he had prepared quarters for these visitors was, in itself, magnanimous enough.

Above, distorted by the planet's thin clouds, the silhouettes of Malum's fleet hung in upper atmosphere. The Dar Itah-class Grand Battlecruiser loomed among them, massive and bloated. Apparently, Malum had thought it clever to bring such a vessel here to bare. A flicker of disgust curled in Caedes' gut. Of course he had.

A relic of the One Sith, a warship of conquest from the golden age of their Order's supremacy, now dragged out of the grave to play at being something more than a shadow. Once, these ships had been the spearheads of a unified order, their mere presence a declaration of the Sith's undiminished and unquestionable strength. In those times, the Sith had reigned from the height of their power, himself apprenticed to the Empress Matsu Xiangu, where they presided over Coruscant and the wider galaxy from the Galactic Core. That was when the promise of the Dar Itah had meant something, when that promise was self evident. Now, when the Sith scraped out their domain from the corners of the Galactic Rim? It was an empty prop, a monument to an era Malum had never lived, and a power he had never wielded nor could he ever understand.

Did the boy think this show of force would intimidate him? That parading a borrowed legacy above Korriban would grant him the weight of history? Caedes scowled. Was Malum so insecure outside of the Emperor's shadow that he required the crutch of warships to feel important? Did he need this illusion of strength merely to hold his spine straight beneath Korriban's scrutiny? Did he fear the world, or had he simply mistaken it for another of the Empire's vassal states in need of demonstration?

Darth Carnifex and his Kainite retinue had acted in much the same way. Carnifex had come to Korriban similarly draped in spectacle and smothered by his own self important mythos, his fleets blotting out the sky. At least Carnifex had rights to claim such prestige for himself. And now, Malum followed in his wake, so desperate to be seen, to be feared, that he clutched at old symbols like a blind priest groping toward lost gods.

Malum's shuttle descended, cutting through the haze, the hiss of hydraulics slicing the air as it touched down. The fleet, for all its excess, remained impotent in the heavens above them, a security blanket clutched by a child, such a grand display of excess and waste—and for what? From inside the shuttle, shadows stirred—Malum's guard all preparing to spill forth like actors taking the stage. Actors from an old play, rewritten by those who did not understand the script.

Caedes exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze flat and unimpressed. He came to a stop at the platform's edge, hands folded within his sleeves, gaze molten, waiting.​

Revna Darth Strosius Darth Malum of House Marr Madrona A’Mia Elmindra Xitaar​