Public Chasing a Rumor On Samovar

[Jacen Nimdok]

Image Credit​

Planetary Capital of Melekess, Samovar
The Western Reaches

Eight hundred years after Samovar's natural reserves of doonium and dolovite were mined to exhaustion by the Galactic Empire during construction of the Death Star, the planet is only now beginning to develop trade with the rest of the galaxy. There is no more doonium or dolovite to be found there, but other resources have slowly become available as the wildlife of the once-verdant world recovers. In particular, tea is now being exported in large quantities. With a pinkish orange color and an unusually sweet taste, the native leaf is said to rival that of...

Nimdok stopped reading and rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep during the shuttle ride to Samovar or at the inn where he was staying. Samovar was backwards and isolated, tainted by its history and forgotten by the rest of the galaxy. Even just getting accommodations for himself had been an ordeal. Not only was he stared and glared at by total strangers, he had been detained by the authorities and nearly ripped off by the innkeeper. The Samovarians were descended from imperial miners, and they still harbored the Empire's xenophobic views as well as a violent suspicion toward all offworlders. He hadn't felt safe ever since he arrived.

To make matters worse, he was chasing a rumor. Allegedly, an ancient Sith holocron had fallen into the hands of a Samovarian noble, who purchased it under illegal circumstances from a private dealer. This was the way of things on Samovar, from what Nimdok could tell - the elites had suddenly come into money and were looking to spend it on whatever struck their fancy. No doubt the noble in question had no idea what they had bought or how dangerous it could be.

Hiding his datapad within his robes, he pulled his hood over his head and stepped out into the cold. The city stretched out before him, its spires, statues, and domes blanketed in snow. He had only one lead - a place called Lazdinay.

Spoiler: OOC Info

This thread is welcome to everyone and aims to develop the world of Samovar.

 

[AMCO]

Samovar. Perhaps it had been important once, the fuel for Tarkin's insanity - torn up and mangled by rampant mining efforts to supply a catastrophic misinvestment. Or that was how the young Knight viewed it, anyway.

With centuries to recover, it had reclaimed some of its natural splendour. Pretty enough in places, but not why he was here.

Exhaling slowly, as if to watch the effect of his breath upon the cold air with amusement born of unfamiliarity, he pulled the thermal jacket tighter around himself. Some petty noble had beat him to the punch, or so he had gleaned - and he had not been able to glean much. Who would have expected a black marketeer, of all people, to be so concerned about the privacy of his customers? Integrity among criminals, bah!

At least Melekess was appealing enough, if in a very provincial fashion, though the locals' attitudes left much to be expected.

Jacen Nimdok​

 

[Zara Tate]

As Jacen Nimdok past through the busy streets of Melekess he would perchance notice a lone woman standing among the stone towers nearby. Clad in a gray fur cloak with her hood lowered about her agile shoulders. She stood alone on a wide elevated stone platform. Perhaps once a public garden, now covered with snow, and with a grand view of the city's River Quarter far below. She held aloof a rare and distinctive gold artifact. A Sith Dagger. Holding it above her head. As if to examine the whole cloudiness of the cities skyline through it's shining golden blade.

She moved the blade about searchingly. As if peering through the etched blade towards some far off mystery beyond. Then she settled it's gaze upon the lower city and smiled. The blade appeared to glow suddenly. As if revealing some cryptic secret with a burst of light upon the blade.

"Bingo!"

The woman exclaimed. Then she easily sheathed the dagger beneath her cloak and turned to view the Archaeologist with a smile. As if she had been aware of his attention all along. Giving him her best winter wonderland wink,

wink

Hmm. A second Sith Artifact in the city? Perhaps they were searching for the same thing?

 

[Westenra Mina]

Came to Samovar in: Mercy's Aegis (J-Type Diplomatic Barge)

Westenra: Therapy Gown (Silver Armorweave dress)

Armed with: Poisoned Ring (Paralytic Tranquilizer), stunning looks...

Currently configured as: Psychologist (See Bio)


Samovar was the single most inhospitable world that Westenra had yet visited.

The locals were nasty, suspicious, and it required the full use of her pheremones to influence them to not subject her and her ship to every scan and regulation on this world. Especially when they picked up an affiliation with The Republic. Imperial sentiments still ran deep in this place. Westenra had contempt for this mindset: propping up the attitudes of a government that had never done anything but make it worse for everyone else.

The cobblestone streets and archaic architectural style made it the type of environment perfect for Vampire attacks. But she had not come here to do too many of those--she wasn't homicidal like her sister-instead she had come to examine a patient. A new inductee of her clan suffering from recurrent nightmares. As she functioned not only as the Clan's chief Financial Officer, but also as the Clan Therapist if requested, she had been obligated to arrive.

Westenra didn't have dreams, as Westenra never slept. She wanted to sleep, if only to know what a dream was.

She was clad in a silvery, tight fitting armorweave dress that was semi-transparent on the sides and sleeves, her current guise that of a curvy, middle aged, but very beautiful woman with brown hair that flowed down her back semi curled, pink eyes blinking as it took in the sights and suspicious scowls of passersby, though more and more grew intrigued by her as she slinked effortlessly through the streets, having gotten past customs, having sweet talked her way past the dock officer who had tried to extort her. She bore him no ill will, nor indeed, anyone on this world, but she would not permit herself to be swindled.

As she sauntered through the quaintly designed Melekess, she noticed a man trying to pretend like he wasn't looking at her, suddenly start to follow her. He had a knife, from what her X-Ray sight could tell. She rounded a corner casually, not wanting to make a scene in front of anyone, eventually turning down a deserted, empty street full of closed shops, the snow hitting her. Her body was not affected by the cold. She didn't even feel it.

She smiled as her enhanced hearing singled out the pattern of his footsteps as he took an alternate route through a nearby alley. She moved from the street lights, attempting to bait him.

She smiled as he stopped, hearing the hesitation in the way his feet shuffled on the ground before sprinting while she was out of sight of everyone.

She only grinned as he snuck up from behind, holding the knife under her chin from behind.

"No sudden moves, offworlder. There's a tax for outsiders, and I'm here to collect." the local theif sneered. "Gimme your valuables. All of 'em!"

"The only thing valuable is this dress, dear." She cooed, her pheremones already in the air as she answered him.

"O--off--w-worlder scum..." the theif swooned.

Her hand, the one with a ring containing a paralytic tranquilizer shot up, injecting him with a toxin through the wrist that rendered him sluggish, and slowly, gradually paralyzed.

Westenra turned to him, stroking his face lovingly, trying to calm him. She didn't want him to be frightened. She hated seeing fear in others, especially fear of her.

"You won't feel a thing..." she promised earnestly.

Black fangs slid into place and she bit into his neck, flesh rippling for a moment as it non-lethally consumed some of his psychic energy, leaving him alive, standing in the empty, quiet street paralyzed, and out cold.

Westenra pulled back, licking minor blood off her fangs, getting none of it on the dress as she walked away to continue her task...

Jacen Nimdok

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Nimdok did notice the babe-in-furs Zara Tate holding aloft her mysterious dagger and winking at him, but he made an active attempt to seem like he hadn’t.

His reasons for ignoring her were fairly straightforward. Right out of the gate, he was already facing rivals in his quest to obtain the holocron. His best course of action was to play the oblivious fool for the time being. If she had no intention of competing with him, let her approach him deliberately. Otherwise, he automatically considered her playful antics a mocking provocation.

The inn where he was staying was located between the city’s River Quarter and Lazdinay—which, from what he had picked up in his flash-research session that morning, was an avenue known for its theaters, cafes, and luxury shops. Nimdok had weathered the innkeeper’s attempts at swindling him because he knew that if he stayed there, he would have a clean route to his destination.

His path took him past AMCO as he walked down the street. The young alchemist stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd. While the common-folk Samovarians were fond of frigid glares and hate-filled scowls, Sir Vandiir had aristocratic airs and a very unattractive habit of looking down his nose at people, one of the side effects of living in the topmost floor of the ivory tower of intellectual superiority. In a nicer part of the city, he might have passed for an overly-educated nobleman, but here among the "provincials" he was obviously, pervasively foreign. It was only a matter of time before he was accosted by thieves looking to entrap a hapless tourist from a privileged background. Nimdok allowed himself a smirk at the thought, but he couldn’t stick around to watch.

As he rounded the corner, he found himself gazing down an empty street. With the sun setting, all the shops were closed for the night. But at the very end of the street, faintly visible through the snow, there stood a massive building gloriously lit from within. Figures carved in relief covered the stone walls and angelic statues perched on the roof, looking down at anyone who passed by like gods observing mortals. This was the Lazdinay Theater, a favorite haunt of the nobility, for they were the only ones wealthy enough to afford tickets.

He headed for the Theater, his boots crunching over the snow… only to halt in his tracks. His pointed ears picked up on a faint noise, like strained breathing, coming from somewhere nearby. He looked around for the source of the sound, and was surprised to see a man standing in the shadows beyond the reach of the street lamps’ glow.

Nimdok took note not only of his labored breathing, but the fact that the man was standing completely still, utterly motionless, as if he were frozen. It was certainly an odd sight, but not exactly his problem. Weighing the possible consequences of his actions should he decide to investigate, the archaeologist took a deep breath, his breath fogging in the wintry air, and approached the man.

“Begging your pardon sir, but are you all right?”

He received no response. Up close, he could now see that the man’s eyes were closed, yet he was still standing stiffly upright, his joints locked in place. He chanced to touch the man, pushing lightly against his shoulder, and was met with firm resistance—but no reaction whatsoever.

The man was suffering some sort of paralysis. As Nimdok continued to examine him, he noticed a knife lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, turning the blade over in his hands. It was a plain, ordinary kitchen knife, the kind carried by a petty thug or a civilian trying to defend themselves. Either way, the poor fellow had clearly bit off more than he could chew.

Nimdok wished he could do more to help the man, but there was no time. Since he didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, the archaeologist left him where he was—and kept an eye out for the person responsible for his paralyzed state as he made his way into the Theater.

Westenra Mina

 

[Lord Venari]

An Imperial shuttle shuttered, passing through the tundra world of Samovar's upper atmosphere. Within sat lord Venari, accompanied by a small detachment of Sith-Imperial troops. The Sith Lord sat in trance; his gaze fixated on the gunmetal gray wall above the squad sergeant sitting across from him, his focus clearly elsewhere. A Sith Knight by the name of AMCO pursued the whispers of holocron groundside, one that apparently exchanged between the hands of miscreants and nobility. Venari would assist the young Knight in his pursuit.

Meanwhile his Destroyer, the Reclaimer, would remain on standby further out in system. Samovar existed as one of many sovereign worlds yet to be claimed by the powers of the galaxy, still it sat just beyond the OPA's borders so if Venari could avoid creating too great a scene, he would. Subtlety was often the wisest course, at least for the onset duration.

The journey to the winter world left Venari time to sift through his contact's background. Adrian was a part of the Primyn Group; a conglomerate that explored arcane magic & alchemy which Venari collaborated with on occasion. They had acted as the middleman between Venari and Adrian. He was young and hungry Sith of ample talent. Good, little time would be wasted then. When Adrian reported to Primyn that he'd come across a potential lead on Samovar, they in turn requested Venari's resources knowing he would never turn away the prospect of power left behind by the ancient Sith. Predictability was not a quality the Sith Lord appreciated being associated with, but in the pursuit of knowledge he would overlook the minuscule manipulations.

"Take us down just outside the capital," he ordered, "keep the ship safe, I'll handle our business here alone."
"As you command, my lord," the sergeant replied.

Diving through low orbit and toward the ground, the shuttle descended far from Melekess, avoiding detection. A few moments flying close to ground and the transport touched down in a small snowy patch of land surrounded by icy woods just outside the capital. Imperial troops marched outside of the ship and took positions around the LZ, securing their location, behind them Venari strode off the ramp and trekked through the snow towards the capital. It would only take him a few minutes to reach the perennial city. From there he'd make contact with the Sith Knight, and come one step closer to the holocron.

Jacen Nimdok Zara Tate Westenra Mina

 

[Zara Tate]

Jacen Nimdok chose to ignore Zara and continue on his way.

"Hm?"

Zara seemed surprised at the foreigner's choice as he disappeared into the gray city streets. But she couldn't blame him. Usually, when the Force swirls around a man like it had Nimdok in the moment. It meant it was a nudge in the right direction for any Jedi Sentinel worth their investigative salt. Alas. Zara had meet many people today with whom the Force had taken such an interest. Nimdok was simply one of many extraordinary Centerpoints on this frozen world. No big deal. So, surely one further pointy-eared foreigner wasn't much to consider on her journey. She'd continue onward non-the-less.

So Zara shrugged in her soft furs and took the long stairs down into the River District. An industrial, lower income, part of town. Famous for it's warehouses, damp sewers, dock workers, and of course, the frozen river canal that ran right down the middle of it.

Her golden dagger had shown her a clue hidden somewhere in the warehouses of the plush nobility. Perhaps it would lead her one step closer to any Sith artifacts connected to her auspicious golden dagger? Perhaps it lead to the den of an infamous artifact smuggler too?

Oh my.

Westenra Mina | Lord Venari | AMCO​

 

[AMCO]

Did that smug-looking commoner have pointy ears? Ah, no matter. Even the most humanocentric of worlds usually had some near-human mixed into the gene pool. Shaking his head, the Alchemist continued on his path, smiling softly when a local guide finally presented themselves.

Making no attempt to hide his obvious wealth, the young Knight allowed the man to guide him to what was most certainly a trap - and lo and behold, the local ruffians. One unarmed Sith against half a dozen gangsters. How decidedly unfair.

"About time. You don't just engage in petty violence, do you? No, of course not. I am here looking for a noble with expensive - and very much illegal - interests. Help me..." Smile turning predatory, he allowed tendrils of lightning to dance across his fingertips. "... or I will slowly, ever so slowly, atomize your very cells until you change your minds."

A bit excessive, perhaps, but the threat should be enough... and besides, he had always found scoundrels such as these most distasteful.

Jacen Nimdok | Lord Venari | Zara Tate | Westenra Mina​

 

[Draconis Caesar]

Draco stirred in his drunken slumber, his torso was sprawled out across a table, his arms cradled his head and his buttocks was firmly planted in a wooden chair. A sliver of drool inched it's way into a lake as he and the rest of the initiates from his cohort lay strewn across the tavern in various degrees of the same spell.

They were all clad in the same armor that marked them as Golden Company initiates, all though Draconis's own armor bore more scars than most. The inn keeper hid in his own room with the door locked. The mercenaries had chased him out of the bar almost the moment they had entered. He had relinquished the place without even a fight. All though Draconis had promised to see that all damages and goods were paid for.

As mid day approached the lights within the place flickered to life, the tell tale signs that this was around the time the keeper would open his doors for business, but out of fear for the rowdy Thyrsians, it'd be lucky if he even came out of his room. Draco's head was pounding as the rays of yellow light pierced through his eye lids like javelins hurled by the offending fixtures.

He groaned softly as his head twisted in it's cradle. He lifted it ever so slowly and saw the state of the bar. A table was tipped haphazardly surrounded by what appeared to be several broken chairs, one of the lights had been busted and empty bottles lay everywhere. Their even appeared to be vomit in the corner of the room in which was sprawled a half naked local.

Another wild night for Draconis...

It wasn't odd for the mercenary and his friends to go out drinking during their leave and end up somewhere they shouldn't be. Truth was he hadn't even a clue what planet they were on... He stood from the chair slowly and his stomach did a flip. Draconis put hand to mouth and ran to the nearest garbage bin, vomiting profusely into the refuse.

He stood from his hunched position and wiped a strand of throw up from the corner of his lip. He waded towards the closest of his friends who was laid upon the floor still clutching a bottle and nudged him with foot carefully. The man relinquished hold of the bottle and curled up into the fetal position.

"Just let me sleep a little longer mum..." He mumbled in his drunken dream state.

Draconis sighed and decided he best go find out exactly where the hell he was. He approached the tavern door and gave it a push. He was immediately greeted by a sobering gust of a chill wind. He shielded his eyes from the faint rays of sun peeking through the clouds of grey and surveyed the cobblestone buildings...

 

[Westenra Mina]

There was a knock at the door of Roland Kyn, a man in his early thirties, with clean cut brown hair and in a simple but elegant black suit.

He was a minor tradesmen on Samovar. His trade of choice was rare teas. He had been approached for induction in order for the clan to have a hidden hand in the Samovar Tea Industry, as well as due to the fact he was a native of this land and thus would not arouse suspicion from the locals. He wasn't a Psy-Pire like many of House Li-Ves. Not yet, anyway. He had been convinced to join to eventually earn the extended life span and benefits of all Psy-Pires.

Westenra had done discrete observations of him before he was even approached, not that he knew it. He lacked much of the xenophobic attitudes of his fellow natives, though even he had been highly suspicious of them when he had been kidnapped via a hilarious prank involving a trail of candy and a large box to trap him under (Just in case you are wondering, Roland wasn't actually stupid enough to eat the candy but his curiousity had nonetheless gotten the better of him for he was STILL stupid enough to actually follow the trail.) and taken to the ship. The valuable metals and gems they had tossed at his feet had quickly made him get over whatever lingering sentiments he had about offworlders, especially when the reward for cooperation was so immense.

He lived modestly, and quietly, and beyond his hand in the tea trade he was useful for local intel. So when he had started to complain to them of extremely vivid recurring nightmares, it had been only natural they would send someone to check on their newest asset.

He had been rather morose the past few days, hesitant to sleep in his semi-opulent home, filled with paintings and sculptures. He was on three cups of coffee a day to stay awake longer. He'd barely heard the knock in his contemplation on his rocking chair, staring into his fireplace, and when the knock became more insistent he finally stirred from his seat and went to answer it.

"Yes, yes, what is--" he stopped, gazing upon the beauty of the android in the snow, a purple glint faint but visible at the center of pink eyes. She had deactivated the pheremone production in order to keep him level headed while they talked.

That said, even with the pheremone production cut, Westenra was still gorgeous (albeit still unsettling on some unconscious level to him.) to behold and as she smiled, despite his lingering slight mistrust of outsiders, even those he was allied with, he had to struggle not to gape at her sheer beauty.

"Mr. Kyn. My name is Lorna." the biot lied, using the alias for the psychologist appearance she was currently in. She preferred this appearance, despite having a different public identity already set up, as this guise actually allowed her to try and genuinely help people one on one. She regarded this form as her true one, for this reason.

"You the doctor they sent?"

The vampiric android nodded.

"May I come in?"

Roland stepped aside. "By all means, please."

She glided in, her walk oozing femme fatale. She found the nearest seat.

"I'm told you have had recurring nightmares the past three weeks, Mr. Kyn. Have you tried anything to help you sleep better?" Westenra asked.

"I played relaxing music and drank decaf tea, no sugar, before bed. It didn't work. Nothing works." Roland answered glumly, sitting in his rocking chair.

"Hmmm..." Westenra paused, leaning back in her seat, her psychology programs already working over the possible symptoms and diagnosis.

"Have you been under a lot of stress? At work? Personally?"

"Beyond the nightmares? No. That's what I can't figure out. Work's great, not married, don't have children..."

"I see..." she replied gently. "These nightmares of yours. Are you comfortable enough to describe them?"

Roland got very hesitant.

"Do I have to?"

"If you are ready to talk about them. I assure you, whatever is said I will be under strict doctor-patient confidentiality." Westenra answered placatingly.

Roland sighed, leaning back in his own seat.

"It starts out that I'm in this place. A cave. But with carvings. Statues."

"Could it be a tomb?" Westenra asked.

"I...I dunno...maybe? I don't know much about that stuff. Anyway...I'm bound to something. An altar, or some such. And these...these shadows are all around me...and there is this chunk of crystal...I saw it somewhere before..."

"Crystal?" Westenra asked, the shadows created by the fireplace hiding her features except the purple glint at the center of her eyes.

"A block of crystal. With strange symbols." Roland elaborated. "Anyway...I'm at the center of this altar, and the shadows around me, they hide...things...terrible things I don't know how to describe...and...they...they..."

"It's alright, Mr. Kyn. Take your time."

Roland took a moment to compose himself.

"I see...mouths...mouths filled with teeth. Sharp, pointy teeth. They...they devour me. From the toes up. And I don't die, even when the teeth start to eat my neck and all that's left is my head...and I don't die even when they start to eat the head. And I feel all of it..."

Westenra winced in sympathy.

"I can tell you are experiencing a lot of turmoil, Mr. Kyn. About the crystal...you mentioned seeing it before. Where?"

"I...I saw it at party I went to about a month, two months back. Its been in my dreams ever since."

"Did you touch it?"

"Yeah. It was an auction. Pyramid shaped. Red. Got drunk that night."

"Mr. Kyn, I don't think you are crazy." Westenra assured. "I think you were exposed to a Sith Holocron."

"What's that?"

"A database of evil. Created by evil hands that practice unholy sorcery. My mother knows of such things. If you handled it, it means you may have accidentally established some link mentally to it. Can you draw the symbols for me?"

Roland went to a nearby cabinet, retrieving a set of papers. He handed them to the unnaturally still beautiful woman, who, in a precise, mechanical manner, took them from his hands.

Westenra examined them, pink eyes narrowing at the wicked, unholy looking iconography.

"What's the treatment?" He asked.

"For now...this link is still relatively weak, and it indicates very minor Force Sensitivity on your part. For, now I will prescribe acquisition of an animal known as a Ysalamir. They emit a very strong field that cancels out the Force in its immediate radius, and while it might make you nauseated slightly, it will also prevent any telepathic link from functioning. You will have to keep it with you when you go to sleep until this link with the holocron can be broken. Do you know who bought it?"

"Sorry. Was sloshed, like I said."

"A pity..."

"There might be someone though."

Westenra perked up. "Who?"

"Pointy eared, logical lookin' fella by the name of Jacen Nimdok . Locals were giving him chit like they do with everybody, but he's toughed it out. I heard he was some sort of archeologist. Truth is, I was actually considering half approaching him with this before deciding to contact the Li-Ves Clan. But he's smart, from what the crap rumor mill around here says. Brainy.

"And we are glad you did..." Westenra said, rising up. "I will go and seek him out. May I show him these drawings?" She asked.

Roland nodded. "Will I have to pay for the animal."

"I'll cover it, don't worry. I'll have it delivered here in a day or so..." she spoke truthfully. Until then, I recommend meditation and clearing your mind before you go to bed. Hopefully that will lessen the effects. Now...this "Nimdok"...where might I find him?"

"Rented a place out not far from here. You might have passed by his place and not known it." Roland answered, betraying his anxious state of mind.

"Thank you. I will check on you in three days. Right now I should go and see about this 'Nimdok'." Westenra said.

She rose just as unnaturally precise as she had sat down. Despite her beauty, Roland felt himself getting increasingly unsettled by her, and was all too happy when she went to leave his house after he gave her Nimdok's address.

Fifteen minutes later...

Westenra slinked through the night after leaving Roland's home, walking with that feminine grace to the Inn where Nimdok had been staying. She took non regular routes through alley ways to reach it, and, after initial suspicion from the innkeeper, Westenra overcame it by restarting pheremone production. Pheremones capable of influencing even Force Adepts. He'd never had a chance to resist. Even pointing her to his possible location as he was not only greedy but nosy. She had thanked him, then paralyzed and painlessly fed on his psychic energy to remove the memory of the encounter before making her way to the theater.

She saw Zara Tate making her way through the river district. Westenra thought her beautiful and half considered making her meal number three but Nimdok was the more pressing concern tonight. She even ignored the plight AMCO was in. Her enhanced hearing picked up his taunts and that only reinforced her opinion he had it covered. Her patient took ultimate priority, as she had promised aid. Draconis Caesar she didn't dare get near, as the stench of wherever he had been she could almost taste from afar. She wouldn't feed on him if you paid her to.

The Biot reached the luxurious theater, the man at check in scowling at the foreigner at first until a lascivious smile and her pheremones made her allow her in free of charge.

Slinking into the theater proper, turning heads as she passed, she smiled as she spotted Nimdok and made her way to him, shutting down her pheremones to keep him rational, not wanting to coerce it out of him unless given no choice.

She hoped he would understand the...logic...in cooperating.

"Mr. Nimdok, is it?" My name is Lorna. I am sorry to disturb you so abruptly but I am here because I need your expertise."

She kept her distance, hoping the fact she was naturally easy on the eyes (Especially in a semi-transparent skintight dress) might do the hard work of loosening his tongue as she paced about a little, hands folded behind her back.

"I am a psychologist, treating a patient I believe has come into contact with a Sith Holocron at some sort of auction. They have been drawing these symbols..." she stated, showing him the papers. "I was wondering if these are the sort of things you would find on a Holocron. To be blunt, I seek to destroy the device...my client suffers severe nightmares that I fear may become lethal if whatever link it formed is not broken."

 

[Lord Venari]

Light snowfall grew into a flurry; still, Venari trudged through the piling snow until he reached and a stony outcrop alongside a dirt path. Following the road led Venari to the large antiquated stone walls surrounding the capital city in minutes. His black cloak concealed his weapons as well as his red tunic. While he didn't quite fit in, he didn't stick out among the gloomy masses either.

The echoes of an Empire gone roughly eight centuries ago still resounded on this world, its population decidedly human and bordering on a caste system. Over time, the figurative hat of nobility had been traded off from those who led Imperial mining efforts to tea farmers. Bonus points for those who could maintain production in Samovar's cold winter months. Venari had traveled to many worlds, but this one stuck out as an oddity suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Samovar wasn't an Imperial jewel of any sort; it was a resource and the Galactic Empire made very little effort to hide that fact yet hundreds of years later, Samovarans latched onto the ways of old.

As the Sith Lord passed a small garrison by the wall that housed a feeble local militia, he removed his comlink, " AMCO , this is Lord Venari. As requested by our mutual acquaintance I have arrived. I'm in the capital now. Relay a point of contact and I'll see you there shortly," he kept it brief and discreet.

While waiting for Adrian's reply, Venari chose to peruse the capital. All information was useful information in the right circumstance. Outmoded housing surrounding a marketplace full of wares and Samovar's famous teas. A few offworlders stood out from the crowds but they were not the objects of Venari's focus. In the distance, a series of towers stood above the bulk of the city, undoubtedly where the aristocracy resided. There was a strong possibility the Holocron was located in one of those towers, placed there as some decoration by one who didn't know any better. Venari would relieve them of their acquisition soon.

Jacen Nimdok Zara Tate Westenra Mina Draconis Caesar

 

[AMCO]

To his credit, the leader was a tough one. Didn't fold from the threat alone, even resisted what torments the Knight could stomach inflicting upon him. Clicking his tongue, Adrian stared down at the man, frown only deepening when he spit on his artisanal rancor-leather boots.

"So be it, it's your funeral."

Clutching the man's sweaty scalp in his slender fingers, tendrils of icy blue lightning leapt out, trawling through the mob boss' deepest secrets. After a short while, Adrian released him, allowing his drooling head to drop to the floor with a loud bang.

"Hmm, he really didn't know that much." Sighing dramatically, he shrugged at the gangster's horrified looking goons. "Should have just said so."

Straightening his jacket, he simply left, leaving them to be discovered by the local authorities... at some point. He would have to remember to let someone know. Hearing the ping of his communicator, he activated it, seeing the visage of a vaguely familiar Sith Lord ( Lord Venari ). A mutual friend? Lord Dabo, that Weequay scoundrel! Hah, perhaps he was worried that Adrian would keep all the Holocron to himself.

"Ah-ha, excellent. I have been led to believe that an art gallery in the River Quarter is involved. Money laundering, facilitating exchanges, the works. Sending you the approximate coordinates now. It..." closing his eyes, he accessed the stolen memories. "... is near the Lazdinay Theatre. Locally famous, I think."

Lord Venari | Anyone else.​

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

After his unnerving encounter with the paralyzed man on the street outside, Nimdok was left with a feeling of unease as he entered the Lazdinay Theater. It was warm and dimly lit inside, so he lowered his hood as he made his way to the ticket box.

“My name is Nimdok. There should be a ticket for the eight o’clock show in my name.”

In response, the teller looked Nimdok up and down. But rather than turning up his lip in disgust at the foreigner, he simply uttered a disapproving “Humph.”

“...Is there something wrong?” Nimdok asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Did you get lost on your way to the monastery, friar?” the teller replied smugly.

“Are you cracking wise? I had to go through hell to get this ticket—“

“And you decided to show up in a bathrobe?”

Nimdok hesitated, then let out a sigh. “All right, just give me a minute. Where’s the ‘fresher?”

The teller pointed down the hall. Nimdok left in the direction he indicated and returned a few minutes later wearing a fine brown suit. Where it had come from was not obvious, but the teller was in no position to question it. He gave the offworlder a once-over, nodded in approval, and produced his ticket.

As soon as the ticket was in his hand, Nimdok started moving. He could hear the stirrings of the orchestra through the walls; the show had already begun.

He got to the orchestra box as quickly as he could. Luckily for him, most of the people he passed along the way were too preoccupied with finding their seats to take notice of the pointy-eared foreigner in their midst. Sweeping aside velvet curtains, he found balcony was occupied by only two people, as planned. Their backs were to him, focused on the activity of the orchestra below as they played the overture. Both were female, clad in black evening dresses and festooned with jet jewelry.

As he approached, they heard his footsteps and turned around. The younger of the two, a button-nosed teenage girl, whispered uncertainly, “...Mr. Nimdok?”

He tilted his head. “Countess Astapova?”

“Er, no… she’s the real Countess,” the girl admitted, turning to the older woman. “I’m only Lady Astapova.”

The Countess had not taken her eyes off Nimdok ever since he walked in. “Oh,” she breathed as he took a seat near them. “Your ears—they’re so attractive.”

“Mother!” the girl hissed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry Mr. Nimdok, you’ll have to excuse her. She hasn't been the same since my father died. I've been handling the investigation in her name—I'm the one who contacted you.”

“No offense taken,” Nimdok replied, smirking with amusement. “I’m glad at least one person around here appreciates them. But anyway, I’m afraid we’re a bit short on time, so we better get down to business—”

“Mr. Nimdok, is it?”

All three turned toward the open curtain, where a beautiful woman wearing a nearly transparent silver dress stood.

“My name is Lorna. I am sorry to disturb you so abruptly but I am here because I need your expertise."

As Lorna began to pace the length of the box, the Countess looked her up and down with an expression that told of both distaste and envy. Her young daughter was merely confused by this sudden third party. Nimdok, on the other hand, was both interested and cautious. How had she found him? He’d only been on Samovar for a couple of days. Clearly she had connections, at the very least.

"I am a psychologist, treating a patient I believe has come into contact with a Sith Holocron at some sort of auction. They have been drawing these symbols..."

She produced some papers covered in strange markings. Nimdok took them and looked them over as Lorna finished talking. Her revealing her motives did much to ease his mind, but he still had some reservations.

“Yes, these are Sith runes—I recognize them from the textbooks.” He handed the papers to the girl. “Lady Astapova, do these look familiar?”

“Why, yes,” she murmured, her eyes widening. “They’re just like the ones on the crystal my father bought at the auction…” Her expression crumpled abruptly, her hands dropping to her lap. “Then it’s true—the crystal is what made him go mad. It’s the reason why he’s dead...”

She burst into tears. Nimdok took the papers out of her grasp, folded them and tucked them into his suit, then covered the girl’s hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“We must deal with the holocron now, before it does any more harm.” He touched her chin lightly, lifting her tear-streaked face. “Do you know where it is being kept?”

“It should still be in the summer palace,” she replied, swallowing. “He took it there after his nightmares became unbearable. It’s where we found his body. The servants have refused to enter the place ever since—they claim it’s haunted.”

“Then I will deal with it at once.” Standing up, he motioned to Lorna, indicating that he needed to speak to her in private.

Once they were out of earshot, the archaeologist said, “Judging by your clients’ nightmares and the suicide of Count Astapova, it seems this holocron is particularly potent. But I can’t justify destroying it, not as long as it can still offer me some insight.”

He pulled the folded papers out of his jacket. “I recognize the symbols as Sith in origin, but I don’t know what they mean. If I can have them deciphered, then a value judgment can be made. If it is too dangerous to be studied, then we will get rid of it.”

For all that he loved to acquire knowledge, Nimdok was not naive, nor was he heartless. The holocron had already claimed one casualty, and he didn’t want to be blamed for it destroying a second life.

Westenra Mina AMCO Lord Venari Draconis Caesar Zara Tate

 

[Draconis Caesar]

Draconis stared out across the expanse of the stone city in wonder. It appeared as though they had gone back in time, stone structures of medieval make were sprawled across the cityscape and the locals stared upon the mercenary in what appeared to be a mix of curiosity and disgust. Draconis ignored them, to be gold was to be above the xenophobic eccentricities of others. Alas the stares told him he would get no help from them, but he was in luck.

A man clad in black approached.

He was flanked by two guards whom were attempting to blend in, but even so they stood out like sore thumbs to Dracos well trained eyes. The man drew near the sell sword and placed hand to his back. Draconis gave him a distasteful look and shrugged the man's hand off. He recoiled as if zapped by lightning.

His type was obvious.

Cowardly, arse kissing, boot licker. He smiled at the mercenary and beckoned him to follow. Out of curiosity Draconis did as he bid. He feared no threat and was sure this man and his two cronies weren't even that. As they entered a secluded alley far from the prying eyes of the public his guards stood in the entry way and the man spoke in whispers. But as he did so his face seemed to sag, it was almost as if he were wearing a mask... Draconis's curiosity was piqued.

"Greetings Thyrsian. I work for a mutual friend. The Sith have come here to Samovar and I aim to please them. I have heard your kind often work for our lords..." He spoke quietly, it sounded almost as though he talked through his nose and their was the faint look of fear in his eyes.

Draconis held up a hand to stop the whelp.

"I have no lord save the Twin Suns and Golden Company pledges no allegiance to anyone," He spoke in a baritone brass that brokered no nonsense. "Still our services are offered for a price, should you be able to afford them..." He finished as he eyed the man and his black suit suspiciously. He looked as though he had money, but probably not enough.

The man chuckled a grating laugh. It sounded of raking leaves and Draco tilted his head.

"I have money mercenary, ten thousand credits should you and your men assist my lords..." He smiled as though he had played his ace and the game was already won.

Draonis shook his head and countered with his own devilish grin, folding his arms as he did so.

"Make it twenty and you may have the service of one Golden Company initiate," Draconis said as he prepared for the man to refuse. He knew he hadn't enough money to pay for Gold. "We are not common thugs and we do not come cheap," He finished loud enough for the guards to hear, as if he were baiting them. One turned his head and gave the off world mercenary a doubtful look, but said nothing... At least they were more disciplined than most of their ilk.

The worm balked, it seemed as though he were choking on his own words... He glared for all but a moment, Draconis responded by starring down his nose at him. The man shook his head in defeat.

"Very well, but you shall go personally! I shall inform Lord Venari of your help! You will rendezvous at his location when he request for you and not be a moment late!" He spoke as though in saying the last words he had beaten Draco at something, but they both knew who had truly won. Even so, Draconis would not even allow him that...

"Wise choice," The Sell Sword said smiling. The man simply hrumpfed and exited the alley with holocomm in hand...

 

[Zara Tate]

Zara stood in the middle of a very cramped, very full warehouse. It was dark and smelled of wood chips and mold. Snow was falling lightly outside the small icy windows. There was no heat inside the building and little but filtered street light to see by. So Zara kept her fur hood close to her heart.

"Let's see. Purchases, purchases."

She stood over a long wooden table filled with bronze trinkets. Her eyes skimming a giant paperback log. Hand penned and written in scrawling feathered strokes. A log of what came and went through the warehouse.

"Paintings. Paintings. Stolen paintings. Stolen statues. More paintings..."

This warehouse was a smuggler's cache. Neatly hidden among a throng of nearly-legitimate artwork.

"Hmm. Incoming. Sorcerer's Box? That sounds interesting."

She flipped through the page to the outgoing items.

"Sorcerer's Box. Sold. Parcel only. Foxglove to Summer Palace. Mmm. No names. Pity."

She closed the book. Well. At least she had a lead. A Summer Palace. Guess it was time to start asking around.

She turned her hood to the side and looked down at one of the bronze trinkets on the table. A strange small statue. Too small to be the secret hiding place of a Sith's golden lightsaber. It didn't match the description of what she had been searching for.

Zara withdraw the dagger again and scanned the statue. Still, it burned brightly. Illuminated like a swirling star through the transparent golden blade.

"Well. It's definitely connected to the blade. That's for sure."

So she put the dagger away and picked up the strange Sith statue. Turning it over.

"Hmm. Nothing written on it. Maybe..? The material?"

She scratched it.

"Ah ha. It's brushed with paint. Fake bronze. It is a Phrik statue! Yes!"

So maybe there was some secret Sith item buried within. Jackpot. Zara withdrew her lightsaber and ignited the tall blue blade. Time to see what's inside.

Meanwhile. Two gang lackeys were tapping each other across the frozen canal.

"Eh mate? What's that? Inside Moxxie's warehouse? See there."

"Wut? I don't know. Should anybody even be in Moxxie's place this time o' day?"

"Falk me man. Course not! It's Moxxies. Nobody is supposed to be in there."

"Well falk me man. I don't know. I just work here?"

The two dim-wits stared at each for a second. Then back at the strange blue light coming from the dark warehouse across the canal.

Then they ran off to the tell their boss. Somebody was snooping Moxxie's goods.

Jacen Nimdok | Draconis Caesar | AMCO | Lord Venari | Westenra Mina​

 

[Lord Venari]

Two holocalls were one more than Venari had expected or cared for. He was to rendezvous with the Sith Knight at an art gallery in the river quarter near the Lazdinay theatre. The coordinates he received were hardly necessary given how far above the angelic theatre loomed over its neighbors. Still, the Sith lord approved of Adrian's efficiency. The second contact stood out, an Imperial contact had been informed on Venari's arrival. Had the Primyn group announced his presence so leisurely or was there another informed party at play? This contact, the wretch that he clearly was, had provided a potentially useful resource. A first-rate mercenary from the sound of it. One to be called upon at Venari's leisure and he wouldn't even have to provide the credits. Venari wasn't one to deny expendable assets.

Passing between the line of demarcation between the poorer settlers and those who could afford the luxuries in the Lazdinay, the Sith cut short of the monumental theatre and stepped alongside an alleyway. As passersby approached the grandiose theatre, he took his comlink in hand again and reached out to this Draconis Caesar.

"Assuming my time has not been wasted and this is the Thyrsian, I am Lord Venari. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance who has presented me your highly regarded services," Venari stepped further down the barren alleyway, "currently I have no need of your presence personally, but if you could inquire on those who might be searching for an old Sith relic, keep me informed of them, and... deter any from further pursuits of the relic, that would make for a most agreeable start to our business venture," he spoke with words of poison.

With link still in hand, Lord Venari sauntered out of the alleyway and down the avenue. Lanterns flickered to life dotting the city with light and last-minute attendants of the show scurried by Venari as he moved away from the theater. Avoiding the tardy attendees, he turned a corner at the far end of the venue and arrived at the Lazdinay gallery. He raised his communicator once more this time contacting the Sith Knight, " AMCO , I've arrived." Short and simple.

A massive Houk "doorman" blocked Venari's entrance on approach.
"Sir this showing is by invitation only," the brute said.
"You've seen my invitation. You won't bother me again," the Sith commanded with the slightest wave of the hand.
"My mistake sir, please enjoy." The Houk stood aside allowing Venari his entrance.
Now to play the waiting game, he thought entering the building.

Jacen Nimdok Zara Tate AMCO Westenra Mina Draconis Caesar

 

[Westenra Mina]

Westenra took the time to examine Jacen Nimdok as he questioned the Countess. Her psychology programming begin constructing a profile of the man almost immediately. He didn't seem like the usual greedy fool after a trinket he could not possibly hope to control. But that being said...what insight could he possibly hope to gain? Was he curious about the Dark Side?

The Android knew reaching the Summer Palace was now of primary importance. The important thing was to get there without drawing too much attention. None, if at all possible.

Holocron sales, especially by noobs like the Elites of Samovar, never ever stay quiet for long. Why? Because Noobs have not been in the game all that long. Noobs have noob tactics, noob greed, and especially noob chickenchittery. But from what she could tell, in this case they simply truly hadn't known what they had found. Blind luck. Blind, awful luck. Her artificial heart pulsed with pity for the poor woman.

Still, the point must be stressed.

If one is going to auction off a Holocron, with as little risk as possible of a faction of Force Adepts finding out, then multiple precautions need to be taken. You can't just put it out in auction like you are selling an antique vase that's been in your attic for years. The location of the sale must be remote. Inaccessible almost unless a very specific route is followed. The Holocron should ideally be coated in nullification resin beforehand to block its effects. And you must absolutely scrutinize the background of the buyer for even a hint of ties to Force Adepts. Only the buyer and seller should be present, and then only after planning spontaneously.

Westenra spoke.

"Countess, I understand this is an awful and painful thing, but can you describe the exact timetable from when your husband's nightmares started to the time of death? Every little detail could save my own client. I've given him what I am fairly certain is a stalling measure but I don't know how long it will be effective. Did your husband ever describe his nightmares to you?"

Lord Venari

Draconis Caesar

AMCO

Zara Tate

 

[AMCO]

Arriving soon after his fellow Sith, Adrian was surprised to seek a Houk, of all people, guarding the fancy gallery's door. Given the planet's rampant humanocentrism, a well-treated employee who wasn't even near-human would be a recipe for loyalty. Clever.

Entirely confident, he waved his hand dismissively, looking around for listeners before turning his smuggest, most aristocratic look upon the bouncer. "I don't need an invitation, I'm a friend of Moxxie."

Knowing full well that no locals in their right mind would make such a claim without it being the truth - he had gleaned as much from the mobster - he was quickly let inside. Taking a moment to admire the art on display - a cover it might be, but they still knew their art - he entered the gallery proper, immediately spotting Lord Venari. Even compared to himself, the Sith Lord looked obviously foreign.

"Ah, Lord Venari? I do believe we are gatecrashing a private party. How positively rude of us." Smiling wickedly, he turned his icy eyes upon a posh looking gentleman currently "explaining the meaning of a picture" to a married couple. Subtle, even here. "Shall we be ruder still?"

Lord Venari & Draconis Caesar | Jacen Nimdok , Zara Tate, & Westenra Mina​

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Lady Astapova prepared to speak on her mother’s behalf, but the girl was cut off by the Countess. It soon became apparent by the widow’s words that she was no longer in her right mind, though whether this was from exposure to the holocron or simply the effects of grief was uncertain.

“What do you all care so much about that damned crystal? Oh, fine. He bought it at auction some, ah… was it a month ago? Two? Three? Hm, I don’t remember. Anyway, it was labeled an art piece. Dunno why. Have you seen it? Ugly as galvanized sin! Just looking at it was enough to give you nightmares, I should say.”

When the Countess finished, her daughter quietly added, “My father was an avid art collector. He bought it about three months ago from an exhibition. I was staying with a friend in Bobriki at the time, so I wasn’t there when he made the purchase.” She shook her head, her earrings dangling. “I remember him calling me in the middle of the night. He was saying strange things about locusts and teeth. I could tell just from the way he sounded that something was wrong. He never talked about the nightmares themselves, but he seemed shaken and tired. He wasn’t getting much sleep and was irritable, snapping at me when I tried to ask questions.”

She took a deep breath. “I came home, but by then it had gotten to the point where he was screaming and thrashing in his sleep every night. Rumors started to spread. It was obvious that he was suffering, but he wouldn’t speak of it… it was as if he was trying to hide what was happening to him. I thought that maybe he took the crystal to the summer palace in order to shield the rest of us. He refused to see anyone, sent all the servants away, and then…”

“You’ve given us more than enough info,” Nimdok assured her. His interruption was meant to prevent another emotional outburst from her, taking pity on the family in mourning.

He turned to Lorna. “This client of yours… is he a noble or in some way connected to the Astapovas? How did he come into contact with the holocron?”

While the psychologist answered his question, he was vaguely aware of the chirping of a portable comm device. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the girl answering the call, her expression becoming concerned as she tried to argue with the person on the other end only to be cut off.

“Mr. Nimdok,” she said, catching his attention. “My brother just called me. He said there are a bunch of offworlders asking questions about my father and the holocron. He’s at an art gallery just down the street from the Theater… I think he went there to try and find the original seller.” She hesitated before admitting, “He hasn’t been taking any of this very well. I’m afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble.”

“Well, that certainly does complicate matters,” Nimdok muttered. He was anxious to get to the summer palace and secure the holocron, but the types who were normally interested in acquiring Sith artifacts tended to be far more dangerous than himself. “If we were to accompany you to the gallery, could you talk him down?”

She bit her lip. “He sounded really angry. I don’t know if I can.”

“It would be in your best interest to try.”

After a moment’s pause, she nodded and stood up. Her poor mother didn't seem aware of the conversation. Absorbed in the show that had by that time begun, she didn't protest her teenage daughter leaving with a pair of strangers.

“I’ll keep trying to reach him, and if he still doesn’t pick up…” the girl trailed off.

“We’ll have to stop him from impeding our investigation into his father's death," Nimdok said. Posing as a private investigator could work to his advantage in a situation where his attempts to claim the holocron would be viewed with suspicion and distrust. It certainly would divert Lorna's scrutiny of his motives.

Westenra Mina AMCO Lord Venari Zara Tate Draconis Caesar

 

[Lord Venari]

"Ah, Lord Venari? I do believe we are gatecrashing a private party."

Venari was as interested in the pieces stung about the gallery as a rancor was in bantha fodder. He felt AMCO 's approach before the man spoke, but his attention was divided. The practiced eye could spot those woven into the force whether that be powerful force sensitives or in this case, touched by it, intertwined by fate. After a moment's delay the Sith Lord turned to Adrian, and examined the Knight. The young man carried an aristocratic aura but behind it was a hunger. His eyes were a deep blue rather than the telltale Sith yellow and red, either he still hadn't fully embraced the hunger, or he was masking it. Most curious was his right arm, it brimmed with its own unique essence in the dark side.

"Shall we be ruder still?"

The Sith Lord smirked, "Yes, I do believe it time we make our introductions," he replied. Adrian must have seen those same interwoven threads, eyeing a nearby couple discussing an art piece with a stark aesthete.

The duo Sith lined up next to the couple and gave the piece a once-over. An archaic tower sitting on a lone island surrounded by a lake below and Samovar's constellations above. A defendable location if one was grounded given the natural moat, but otherwise unremarkable. Small minds tried to extrapolate meaning in the meaningless.

"It is rather droll." Venari said, "but there are more interesting matters to discuss as of late, no?"

"Excuse me sir. If you don't mind I was just in the middle of explaining-" with the wave a hand the clearly annoyed aesthete went silent, "walk away, this doesn't concern you," Venari ordered and the man complied.

The lady of the pair looked in astonishment then turned to the duo, mouth agape, “by the stars how did you-" with another wave of the hand Venari cut her off as well and seized the minds of the noble couple, "A Sith artifact has recently come into the possession of the aristocracy on Samovar, it would appear to be a red pyramidal crystal. Tell us who has it and where it might be."

"It... it was count Astapova, he... he outbid us by a measly five thou-"
"Unimportant, where is this count Astapova? Where would he keep it?"
"He's dead, sent all his servants away and-"
"I don't need irrelevant details, I need a location," Venari growled impatiently.

"It's relevant to some of us," a third party interrupted, "that's my father you're talking about! Count Cyone, how could you be so garrulous with such matter, and with off worlders no less! I know our families have never been on best of terms, as a matter of fact I came here to speak with you myself, but this?" the young Astapova fumed, his a pointed finger stretched toward Venari.

The crowded gallery went quiet. A scene had been made with the Astapova boy drawing attention to them all, something Venari had hoped to avoid. What's done is done the Sith thought to himself. He raised his hand, "tell me boy, where did your father place the Holocron, the crystal."

Master Aspanova fell to a knee and grasped his temple, he screamed in anguish. This wasn't the genial mind trick of the Jedi. Venari was dominating the young man's mind and ripping away control. "I won't repeat myself again. Where did your father keep the Holocron?” The guests stared in awe, not yet comprehending the power before them.

"The... the summer palace, he sent everyone away. Us, the servants, everyone, just before he died there!" the boy shouted, tears racing down his cheeks. Venari let the grasp of the dark side loosen on Aspanova's mind, "that wasn't so hard was it?"

The Houk charged into the gallery from the entrance and scanned the room. His gaze fell upon Venari but he did nothing, the Sith Lord's earlier command rendering him useless.

A most minuscule spark of electricity sailed between Venari's fingers, "so do I dirty my own hands or have you all do it for me?" He spoke in but a whisper.

Jacen Nimdok Zara Tate AMCO Westenra Mina Draconis Caesar