Private Dathomir Nights

[Onith]

~Sir, are they still following us,~ The robotic voice whispered.

The response came a moment later, as the pureblooded Sith felt out through the Force, ~No, they've stopped behind those statues we passed. I think they are waiting for something.~

~Should we be worried? I think this is a matter for concern.~

~Don't start that. The temple is just ahead. I can feel it.~

~If you say so.~

The scarlet female shook her head in annoyance. This was an opportunity she would not pass up. This world bore such Force potential; even with her severely weakened connection to the Force, she could feel it. This building was a hope-filled light in the darkness of this uncertain present. It might be that the once Force Hound could find descriptions of rituals that could bend the Force in ways she had only dreamed of. Or perhaps it would contain some artefact of great value she could learn from. She hoped, perhaps foolishly, that this might be an ancient Star Temple. If it were, then she believed it might be possible to alter its purpose to her own designs. She just needed knowledge, Onith felt a burning desire to correct the mistake made in sending her to this time.

The two moved with careful steps until at last, they entered into the shadows of a great foyer, crumbling and overgrown. The dim interior stood in grim, silent stillness and Onith found her senses strangely blunted, even as she felt the Force growing more prevalent. She gently tapped her right hip, expecting to feel the reassuring presence of her Force Saber there, but being reminded once more that it had been lost. She was without any physical weapon, but still she had no fear. She had survived such an expedition once before; she hoped this time it would be easier to get out as it was to get in.

-----

Many eyes watched as the duo made their passage through the jungles. Forms concealed by strange magic, these witches remained well hidden from the physical senses even as they observed. As the strangers from the stars began to enter the ancient temple, one of the sisters called through the Force to her matriarch.

"They enter the temple! Should we stop them?"

A quiet voice, soothing and calm, replied, "Leave them, return to the tribe at once."

"But, but they will desecrate the place, or worse!"

This time a firmness crept into the answer, "Let the temple have them. The moon is full this night and covers the guardian constellation. That magics will be strong and the Nightsisters will no doubt make a move this night. We will need the whole tribe together. The temple will care for itself, these invaders will not survive."

"And their ship? It is near the Nightsister territory."

"The jungle shall take it before the night's end. We will send an acolyte to collect the remains in the morning."

"Yes mother." With silent movements, the witch of Dathomir motioned to her sisters and the group dissolved into the darkness of the Dathomiran night.

Sycamore Warrey

 

[Sycamore Warrey]

He was not alone.

That suspicion, that feeling, like an unscratchable itch at the back of the mind had been plaguing Sycamore ever since he’d arrived in this…what could it be called? Temple? Sanctum? Crypt, perhaps?

The latter seemed the most appropriate. For the deeper that one ventured into this place, the more disturbing the sights became. Burial chambers, full of the mummified dead that must have been the natives of Dathomir. Not left laying out to rot, no. These must have been the venerated dead based upon their fine garb and their respectful manner of final rest.

The sheer number of them was unnerving. Sycamore had come upon dozens in what, based upon the assumed size and scale of the temple, in what had been but the faintest of explorations of the site. How many more rooms were there, just like the ones that were found earlier? Just how many of the dead were housed here? And what, most importantly, was that unshakable feeling that troubled the knight from the instant he’d set foot in this place?

Sycamore’s mission remained his guiding light, in these darkened depths. He wore that as if it were a second layer of armor, intangible over the layers of plastoid and composite materials that served as his protection, yet just as surely heartening. He had come here with a purpose. A purpose greater than himself.

A purpose that was in the name of the Empire and all those who enjoyed the protection beneath the Iron Sun. That, Sycamore told himself, was enough to steel his resolve to face any darkness. Come what may.

Imperial Intelligence learned of this place, and an especially troublesome relic. Infested with dark energies, of wisdom that was deemed too dangerous to be left for just anyone to stumble upon. The only sensible thing to be done was to either confiscate said relic, or if needs be destroyed. For the good of the galaxy and Empire.

There! A presence was felt, ahead, not far. Different from the congealed mess and confusion that hung in the air of this place that made searching for the relic by feeling alone akin to finding ink in a pit of blackness. This presence stood out, and most importantly, was coming this way.

Sycamore looked left, then right. Nothing but solid rock greeted him on either side. Which left three options. Retreat. Back the way he’d come, back into those corridors lined with crypts and deeper into the unknown. To stay where he was, simply wait and see if they were to stumble upon him. Or, to advance forward, to meet this new presence head on, and uncover the mystery of who would be mad enough to come to a place like this?

Sycamore never was one for mulling about, as the unsubtle sound of his boots on stone carried him forward, an eagerness to them that told the tale of one either bolder than smarter, or simply one eager to encounter something among the living.

 

[Onith]

This place was old, Onith could feel it in the cracked stones beneath her feet and the crumbling pillars surrounding them. Old enough that she could sense the Force moving and shifting, her connection restored to some small degree by the dark side's overwhelming presence. From the feel of the Force surrounding her, the warrior guessed that the age of this structure could be measured in centuries at least. She was looking for things whose span of existence was measured in millennia; this place was far too young. Disappointment set in, knowing that this was likely a waste of time.

~My audio-receptors suggest something is moving.~ The mechanical voice of BR broke through her thoughts.

Without responding to the droid's warning, Onith closed her physical eyes while opening her mind to the Force. Its currents flowed strongly in this place, but she could barely tap into the native power of the temple. Nonetheless, she sensed it a moment before the echoing sound of boots on the hard floor reached her ears. A being of no minor strength, rising from the depths of this place bearing darkness within that seemed to have a different tempo to that of the surrounding structure. Another force, perhaps the guardian of this nexus? She could almost taste the being's strength of conviction.

Her eyes flicked open and the traveller nodded to the droid, whispering under her breath, ~Stay behind me; might be trouble.~

The robot responded with a simple clicking nod before slowing its pace to fall behind its master. In comparison, Onith picked up her gait and prepared herself for confrontation. This would not be the first guardian of some ancient temple she had faced. Protectors of ancient places rarely seemed to back down, intent on defending their wards from interlopers. But few stood in her way for long, for she had a strength of will few beings in this time truly appreciated.

Stopping she fell into a low stance, feeling her shod feet slide on the worn floor as she adjusted for a fight. A single hand gesture and BR spoke loudly enough to be heard, speaking in basic in the hopes that something might respond, "H-hello, is someone there?"

Sycamore Warrey

 

[Sycamore Warrey]

"H-hello, is someone there?"

The voice stopped Sycamore dead in his tracks, boots unsubtly skidding against the hard packed earth of the floor beneath in a noise that seemed to echo in the relative silence of the hall, cascading down in an unprompted response to the inquiring voice ahead.

Sycamore studied the voice, replaying the words in his head as best one could in the same tone and inflection, scrying for what could be discovered and most importantly, what couldn’t. The voice came from a droid, that much was a certainty. The mechanical resonance, the rigid uniformity to it that was as unyielding as durasteel. It neither went up, nor down in tone. Dead of genuine emotion.

What could not be discerned, as maddeningly frustrating as it was, was anything beyond merely that. Feeling through the force was akin to reaching out and catching smoke with bare hands in the pitch black. Something was there, but whom? Or what?

A wise man never rushed headlong into such uncertain situations. They lingered back, concealed themselves in the same darkness that wouldn’t be penetrated and observed. Watched. Waited for the opportune moment to seize the initiative only when it was ripe for the plucking.

Alas, Sycamore was never found to be guilty of such a charge.

Stepping through the final threshold that separated the two parties from one another, the darkness about them was cut clean by the brilliance of Sycamore’s ignited lightsaber, white light searing the darkness around them and sending it to flight.

The room they were in was no bigger nor smaller than any of the others Sycamore explored in the earlier hour, if truth be told holding nothing of note beyond the four passageways that led to halls all leading into opposing directions. Nothing to note, beyond the sight of a stranger and their droid.

That, here, now that was remarkable.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Sycamore demanded in a tone that was filled with as much authority as could be mustered, given the circumstances. These circumstances being in an unfamiliar place, alone, with nerves wracked to their utmost from the night’s earlier sights.

 

[Onith]

Onith almost jumped in surprise when she heard the sudden skid of boots not too far distant in this impenetrable gloom. She had anticipated a response, just not one quite so loud or unanticipated. Briefly, the warrior considered that this other being could be something other than a temple guardian. Maybe it was another explorer. While this might have presented an opportunity to consolidate forces, after all, two individuals searching a structure of such size and complexity in tandem would no doubt be more efficient; she was more concerned about a potential competitor than hoping for an ally.

Some might have claimed that this was a tragic waste of opportunity; however, as a servant of the Infinite Empire, she had been trained to think in terms of threats and betrayal. An unknown element in any equation was seen as little more than a potential danger that needed to be preemptively destroyed or understood and accounted for.

The slow steps reverberated ominously as whatever form closed the distance. Then, as if to herald a transition, a blazing beam of light materialized. Casting a steady beam of bright light, Onith raised her hand instinctively to shade her eyes. In that moment, she knew the chance to take the initiative had slipped from her grasp.

BR responded to the stranger's question, "I am BR-4, translator unit. This is my master Onith, yes as in the letter of the alphabet."

Onith spoke, asking her droid a simple question, ~Sounds like basic. He's isn't the guardian of this place, is he?~

The droid's head turned, and it replied in her language, ~He is speaking in galactic basic, I would concur that he is not the defender of the temple based on a number of factors. He is asking what we are doing here.~

~Why we are here is our own business, not his.~ Predicting her droid's response, she continued with a sigh, ~Tell him we are here to find the secrets of this place.~ She understood that this stranger was in a position of greater power, the lightsaber a clear indication of his standing.

BR proceeded to translate to the stranger, adding his own question, "And who might you be, sir?"

Sycamore Warrey

 

[Sycamore Warrey]

The secrets of this place.

The words alone troubled Sycamore. The result being a frown creasing his lips as suspicion only hardened in his eyes, narrowing to survey the stranger in the light cast by the blade in his hand.

Feeling them through the force had been an act in hopelessness. An impossible task. But now, illuminated in the light of his blade, a summary of them could be made. A summary, read plainly across Sycamore’s face, was one that told the tale of a union of deepened suspicion as well as alarm.

This was no mere local who wandered on into the ruin, carried by the winds of ignorant curiosity. No. They were someone who boldly ventured here with purpose. There were few things more dangerous than someone compelled on a quest of their own. Especially in a place such as this.

They would have known the risks. Risks that were often mitigated against by weapons, and the knowledge to use them.

“Now what could you be seeking in a tomb such as this?” Sycamore inquired, intently deflecting the droid’s question with his own in a voice heavy with fabricated amiability, laced with accusation.

“There is naught but bones here. Bones, and ruin, and death.” And knowledge. Sycamore thought, pacing around the stranger and their droid in the pursuit to take the full measure of them both. There is knowledge here. Dark knowledge. Horrid, foul things that ought never to see the light of day nor see the opportunity to corrupt minds. Conclusions were already being jumped to in Sycamore’s mind. At best the pair that stood before him were tomb raiders, with dreams of the wealth that such relics buried here would fetch them. At worst…

Such a train of thought never found itself concluded. Not when something caught Sycamore’s eye. So subtle and brief of a movement in the cavernous shadows that immediate doubt filled the man in the following instant as if it were but the light playing tricks on the eyes.

That was, until the sound of movement joined it. Subtle, at first. Yet in the silence of the tomb unmistakable. The sound of fatigued shambling. Shambling that persistently grew nearer. Slow, steady, unwavering. Yet that wasn’t the most horrible part.

For that noise was coming from all directions of the passages. From all four.

At once.

Sycamore turned, back to the tomb delving pair composed of the stranger and their droid, and raised the blade in their defense.

“Stay behind me.”

 

[Onith]

Though the words this man spoke were meaningless to Onith, their tone delivered a clear message. The underlying venom was laid bare through the manufactured cordial affect. His second sentence seemed almost dismissive as if there was nought of importance to be found in it. Onith wished the Force would return to her so that she could plumb the depths of his psyche and drag forth whatever hidden thoughts and realities it contained. But, such an ability had never truly been hers to master; even in her days of greatest power, she had learned little of the mind-manipulating capabilities of the Force.

As the stranger slowly circled them, Onith felt the tension build. BR broke the momentary silence with a quick translation, though Onith barely listened. The man, whose name had been peculiarly absent from the conversation, seemed akin to a vine cat preparing to pounce. She felt the urge to strike out pre-emptively, to assert control over a situation where she was most definitely on the reactive side. However, taking the initiative would require her to take a risk out of proportion with the reward. At the moment, she concluded, this person did not recognize her potential in combat, but she could not move to become proactive without potentially running afoul of his blade. There was the crux of the situation, the point around which this encounter seemed to revolve. The lightsaber was a projector of prowess and command; without it, the playing field would be levelled more favourable in her direction.

Twitching, her hands clenched in preparation for the seemingly inevitable brawl before a sudden change manifested. Barely discernable, the atmosphere's electric and antagonistic charge abated minutely. If Onith had not been a trained fighter, the shift might have gone unnoticed; instead, she felt it as a key change in music. His eyes flicked away from her, betraying a momentary lapse in focus and in the field of battle she might have taken the gambit. But as it was, Onith felt as if there was something more at work here. Perhaps it was a ploy to goad her into a premature strike; such a strategem had proven effective before.

The gentle thrum of the lightsaber, and its dazzling light, disoriented Onith just enough that the little sounds that caught the stranger's trained senses were lost on her. Thus it was a surprise of unimaginable proportions when the man turned and raised his blade as if to defend against some attacker from behind. Her droid spoke with a calm, poised voice only those without the ability to feel the pressures of the sudden environmental shift could manage, translating him word for word.

~What is he doing?~ Yet the question was answered by circumstance as the first shadow began to emerge from the inky blackness.

Her query shifted to an exclamation, ~What in the Builders' name is that?~ Her mind recognized the import of what this stranger had said, as translated by BR, noting the sudden shift from aggressor to defender as her thoughts dissipated in preparation for whatever conflict may lie ahead. She wasn't going to retreat or rely on another to protect her alone. If they were to fight, it would be alongside one another, even if she bore no weapon. Her pride dictated this foolish demand, pride in herself and in her heritage. She would show this upstart what she was capable of. She promised the fates that much, at least.

It was a promise that would be tested this night, as the moon rose and the strange magics of Dathomir grew stronger.

Sycamore Warrey