The Bloodied Hand
Miasmær trudged onwards through the darkened lands of the accursed planet, black cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders to shelter her from the cold. No wind moved the fabric that engulfed her form, the cloak blending her into the black texture of the landscape. There had been no wind since she arrived, and there would be no wind when she left. This region of the planet was rich in the force, it saturated all things; from the black moss and gray trees to the poisonous vapor bubbling up out of thermal pools. She strayed away from these latter landmarks, sticking to the valley's cliffed edge as her boots ground moss and gravel beneath her every stride. Pausing under a large outcropping of stone she would gaze about the valley, her pitch black eyes well adjusted to the darkness and picking out the tiny signs of life which flittered to and fro amidst this cursed place.
From her cloak she would retrieve her holocommunicator, the purple light illuminating her in the only color of the valley as the message played again; a simple hologram of a hand beckoning to her. The message had come with coordinates, and Miasmær had followed. It had not taken her long to deduce who the hand had belonged to; the armor was too familiar.
She walked slowly onward after stashing the communicator, the cloak pulled tightly around her wounded shoulder which was only just starting to heal after her most recent trip to Loovria; Lextalionis' kyber crystal still hung from a pendent about her neck, though obscured by the cloak as to not give her position away. The pain of her injuries only pushed her forwards, creeping along the cavern as her mind raced to determine what was to come. Nearby her servants would be waiting, stashed aboard the Maw's Hunger cloaked somewhere above her. She doubted slug throwers in the hands of a few ex-gladiators would help her too much if this was a proper ambush orchestrated by one of Lextalionis' old allies, but they were better than nothing and they would learn to be better. If this was some half-assed attempt by some apprentice or underling to get revenge, or simply to kill one who fled Sith Order space, she felt even in her current state they would be dealt with swiftly.
And if this was the real deal..?
She did not assume as much, did not even hope. She had grown since last seeing her master, had started to pull the reins of her own destiny rather than hand them to another. Yet when one's master called...
Finally she would arrive at the coordinates; the mouth of a cave. The rock formations loomed before her like colossal fangs, and the darkness within was supernatural in its pitch. Within she felt the thrum of the Dark Side, power concentrated long ago for some dark purpose. Slowly she would push her way past two of the more impressive canines of this colossal maw, her boots meeting hard stone as she entered into the black. From her chest she would procure the kyber crystal, the red light it provides more than enough to illuminate a few feet in front of her as she slowly descended into the depths of this place. Whatever was here, Miasmær knew she could not ignore it.
Darth Virelia