Campaign Excavation of Asog

[Vector Monk]

Lord Letifer Khamul Kryze Spindle

GREAT TEMPLE OF TYPHOJEM
UNKNOWN REGIONS
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"Oh they teach it there? Marvelous, I'll have to pay them a visit."

"New Kaas City is a jewel of the Tingel Arm. So much...culture. I recommend peak storm season, the way lightning clashes with the spires is like an electric apocalypse."

Again Vector did not seem phased by the young Sith's unnatural movements. He bowed deeply with a grin and courtly flourish when his work was curtly praised by cold mandalorian steel. Deference tempered with pride in his exceptional talents.

"Of course. The wisdom of the ancients."

"Just so, my lord."

While his dark masters discussed how to proceed Captain Monk produced an electro-whip and lashed several slaves until the rest redoubled their efforts scouring the temple perimeter for scattered artifacts or additional ruins buried in the sands. Only the sound of grinding stone returned his attention to Typhojem's monument.

"Oh, it's beautiful..." tears welled in Vector's eyes and the whip slackened in his hand.

Then he cracked it over the cowering slaves, shouting past their superstitious dread with orders to push the stone gates open wide enough for the Sith masters to pass comfortably through. After thousands of years they returned to Asog in triumph and Monk would be damned before neglecting his duties as a worthy servant.

"It would be the most incredible honor," he knelt before Letifer and the others, "If I might accompany my lords within and document this glorious achievement. Generations that follow deserve to know exactly how your leadership finally won the war against the Jedi."

His lip curled at the word. Vector spoke it like a curse.

 

[Lord Letifer]

Lord Letifer | New Sith Order
Grand Temple Entrance
Vector Monk | Khamul Kryze | Spindle ​

Twin souls reached into the void, the empyrean wind that carried forth their will and drive to dominate all that which laid within. It was their mountain to climb, their discovery to find. The heavy stone labored as it’s inside workings ground together, dust kicking up between the seams as both slabs split open to reveal a massive corridor, ancient and foreboding.

"Oh, it's beautiful..."

The Sith Lord turned his masked gaze, red visor peering out toward the historian with cold momentary indifference. It was only a brief moment, a flash before his eyes and he was back eyeing the entryway set before them. It's mysteries laid bare.

<"Very well Monk. Do not get in my way.">

His apprentice led the way, starting before him. The Sith Lord followed,

<"Yes. Let's.">

Entering the corridor, Sith hieroglyphs lined the long walkway leading towards a massive atrium long undisturbed. At the center of the chamber ahead, a massive obelisk made from obsidian stone. Letifer felt the tense air and touched upon the empyrean, there was something not right here, something unnatural.

 

[Dimitri Voltura]

EXCAVATION OF ASOG

TAG: Darth Ptolemis | The Messenger

SPARKLE OUT OF BLACK HOLE​

"Your plan is to shoot phantoms, is it?"

The Dragon's calm, deep voice sounded from behind his apprentice. He knew he would most probably startle the young man that he had taken under his wing a while back. The Force stealthily unfolded from him in a shield just in case Orlov decided to pull the trigger out of reflex.

The descent had been easy enough for the predator. The dark was nothing to his senses. He should have felt some kind of strain, but that was a feeling that had left him centuries ago.

Within the silence, he heard the movement as the stones crunched ever closer. Dimitri's crimson gaze shone brightly in the darkness as he stepped forward to stand next to his apprentice. And then an equally crimson blade ignited into the silence.

And the red hue illuminated something grotesque.

It resembled a Dathomiri Rancor, but was twisted in a way. The crystalline teeth glistening in the saber-light was more than a give-away of something much worse.
"I will need your aid on this, Orlov. This is no mere rancor." Dimitri told his apprentice. The Beastmaster never outright killed a creature if he could dissuade an attack.

He would need time to connect with this beast.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

​

EXCAVATION OF ASOG
Orlov Ansonnir, Sith Apprentice
Dimitri Voltura | The Messenger
Atmosphere I.
Tags are open.

"Your plan is to shoot phantoms, is it?"​

– SITHSPIT! – The apprentice stumbled backwards in shock and landed on his bottom as his master suddenly addressed him from out of nowhere. Fortunately, his pistol did not discharge, although that probably was more due to the weapon's unreliable nature than anything else. Even this far into the depths of Asog, his master found him. Embarrassed, he stood up and offered a respectful, curt bow – both to express a sort of apology for his verbal reaction and failure to account for the possibility of a hostile sneaking up on him, and to greet the master he in fact admired deeply.

– My master. – The Fondorian glances to where he came from, tracing the echoes of his own voice with his eyes. – I'm beginning to see a pattern. – He turns back to look the Dragon in the eye. – Deep, dark, remote places draw us both ever inward. I should not have been surprised. – The apprentice removes his hood, takes a flare from his waistbelt and cracks it alight. Just before the first spark fizzles into a cloud of fluorescent light, a sound is heard from within the belly of the abyssal darkness ahead.
​

And the red hue illuminated something grotesque.

It resembled a Dathomiri Rancor, but was twisted in a way. The crystalline teeth glistening in the saber-light was more than a give-away of something much worse.
"I will need your aid on this, Orlov. This is no mere rancor." Dimitri told his apprentice. The Beastmaster never outright killed a creature if he could dissuade an attack.​

A terrible presence emanates from the primordial beast. A comedy of life, as it more resembles a tool designed for onslaught than a product of mere harsh evolution. Parallel to the rising heartrate of the corrupted Fondorian, his hunger for success increased ever faster. Yet he knows his place, and does not wish to be hot-headed – not to mention that he is lacking a lightsaber. He needs to rely on his wits, his environment, the Force, but most importantly, his master's wisdom. Their initial meeting is a once in a lifetime opportunity in the mind of the apprentice.

The blooming flare's fumes swirl around the two figures drenched in crimson as they stand face-to-face with the primal terror. Orlov slowly reaches back and readies one of his smoke grenades, should the beast outright charge at them – yet he rests his hand on the grenade for now and dedicates all of his focus to the here and now, and to his master's bidding. He shall be his unseen shadow, and a sinkhole for all his knowledge; ready to assist in whatever capacity he is able. With his heartrate beginning to decrease, he inquires. – What is the plan, master? I've never faced such a creature before.​