Icebreaker

[Ras'kala'han]

Oricon​

Sith Space​

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It is a commonly known fact that the galaxy is a big place - blisteringly obvious to the preclusion of all discussion. The ramifications of this are seldom thought of by the Force-anointed heroes and scourges that wander it, however. Most of them, anyways. Suppose, for example, that there was a box, sealed airtight with a shimmering reflective surface. Suppose that the box orbited the planet Oricon, steadily, above its atmosphere - its contents undisturbed, how long it would take for any soul to find it of all the specks in the galaxy, across the thousands of kilometers that formed all the paths it could take. Suppose, like any piece of insignificant garbage, it has drifted until decay - but it does not decay. Suppose it has been making its grim procession across the sky of the accursed world for more than four thousand years. Suppose that something inside the box was still alive.

Suppose.

In his slumber, a being who's name was lost to the march of time dreamed of all the things he had lost. He had been so close - and yet so far away. He had been so powerful, except when it mattered. So untouchable, except by the one person he had thought never thought would turn against him. His reach had begun to broaden, to the point where he could touch all the galaxy and set it spinning as he desired, but it was not to be - his chains had been broken, until he had been locked away.

She put him into the carbonite, the cocoon of cold and nightmares, with her name on his lips. "Thaina... Sister. Please." Perhaps he had been imploring her to stop, to join him and bring the galaxy to heel. Perhaps he wished for simple death. In the end, it didn't matter.

"You have no sister."

The enclaves of many Sith had risen and fallen on Oricon. Of these, the greatest and most glorious would always be the Dread Masters, the six disciples of terror who laid low fleets and drove mad worlds. Who fought against the armies of all the galaxy, and nearly won. These great heroes of the Sith were all dead, however.

Yet some Sith on the world were very much alive - and, in the end, it was inevitable that one would cross the path of the last living child of the Old Empire. In this galaxy, the forsaken father must always account before the heir.

[member="Lyra Naerys"]

 

[Progflaw99]

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[ img source ]​

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Lyra scrunched her face up as an angry chirp sounded from the small speaker embedded in the control board. Rapidly punching in a few keys, she was greeted with a soft tone this time, a green light showing on the display. "Yes!" she shouted, her hands lifted in excitement - and then she remembered herself. Lowering her arms sheepishly she looked around the otherwise empty cockpit, she was sure Tirdarius would have raised an eyebrow at that. He seemed so calm and collected, all the time. It was eerie. Looking to the viewport in front of her, she gazed at the surface of Oricon, the volcanic moon she now called home. Inhospitable. The first time she'd touched down on its surface she'd been a stowaway, little more than a mouse aboard a mining vessel aimed towards the planet - now, she was more than that. Just outside the orbit of the moon hung the Starlight-class Light Freighter Lyra had acquired. It was an odd vessel, decidedly awkward in appearance having only one large wing on the port side of the vessel. It was a strange encounter, the one she'd had that led to her acquisition of the freighter to begin with, and on top of that Lyra was anything but a pilot. Despite that, she'd done herself a justice and learned - at least the basics. Even now, she was teaching herself how to operate the vessel. This far away from civilization, Lyra doubted that someone could find Oricon even if they knew where it was - she could almost confirm that with how long the miners had taken to discover the volcanic moon, that and Tirdarius had just about said as much himself upon their first meeting.

Setting her mind back to the task at hand her nimble fingers inputting a few more memorized commands into the panel in front of her before reaching down to the controls. Gently prodding forward the engines, the vessel began moving and with a slight adjustment she began to drop into orbit, allowing the gravitational pull of the moon to take her ship with it. A trill sounded, indicating the vessel had secured itself in the moon's orbit and would remain in orbit via small automated thruster adjustments. The corner of Lyra's mouth tugged upwards as she smirked. *Good* It wasn't anything terribly impressive but to her it was an achievement. Lyra reached up to the comm panel, preparing to enter a code when...

*THWUUUUMP*​

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A loud jarring contact rattled the ship, the dull thud reverberating within the confines of the light freighter. *What was that?!* Thought Lyra, her eyes darting to the viewport as if she could see what they'd hit. Several minor alarms sounded, the whine of the collision alarm drowning out all conscious thought. Staring blankly for a few seconds she reached down to the harness, unclipping herself from the pilot's chair. Stepping to a panel on the bulkhead Lyra's eyes narrowed - the display had begun displaying a 3D projection of the ship, the object defined by gridlined image. *Strange.* A relatively rectangular object appeared to have hit the hull, certainly not an ordinary piece of debris. Even as she watched the display flickered, the image shifting sizes and shapes before her eyes. It looked as if the scanners were having trouble ascertaining the exact form of the object, but it wasn't a chunk of space rock, that was evident enough. Curiosity fed on the edges of Lyra's mind, *What is that?!*. Quickly taking her seat again, the harness left unclipped, she input several commands. Equalizing the pressure of the empty cargo bay with that of the vacuum, she opened the cargo lift. With any luck, it would fit.

Grasping at the controls, she deactivated the auto-orbit system, guiding the vessel towards where the strange reading was coming from. The great thing about the cargo lift system on the freighter was that there was a forward facing camera just above the lift, likely placed there for just this sort of thing. In a grid pattern, she could see the erroneous reading. Centering the lift's open space on the target, she pressed the engines forward, gently drifting the strange object just over the center of the lift. Pulling back on the power, she brought the small freighter to a halt - object right where she wanted it. Once more, she activated the lift, an audible clank sounding as the object was pushed upwards into the hold of the ship. Now that she could see the object, it made her wonder all the more. A shiver of excitement traveled down her spine as she rose, almost forgetting to re-enable the auto-orbit system. With a flick of a switch, her booted feet took her from the cockpit back towards the cargo bay. As it had been depressurized, she would be kept waiting for another two minutes as the vessel pushed oxygen back into the hold.

[member="Antherion"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

[member="Lyra Naerys"]

--

The object stumbled upon was, at best, curious. Heavy and angular, it was also eerily smooth - as though it was organic, as though it had simply come into being out of nature. However, the Reflec shell of the item that had baffled Lyra's sensors had been slightly damaged by the impact - a faint web of cracks was visible in the shifting of the light across its surface.

These cracks called attention to another fact - the top surface of this... box, so to speak, had text engraved on it.

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LIAR​

KINSLAYER​

TRAITOR​

BROTHER​

YOU WANTED IMMORTALITY, SO SLEEP UNTIL THE STARS BURN OUT​

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The force of the impact seemed to push the container over the edge of the wear and tear of time, however, as the coating seemed to be flaking off in layers. Reflec, baffleweave, layered thinly - and passion clung to it, visible in the Force - not recent, ancient in fact, but left undisturbed for so long that it had refused to fall away from the thing. It clung to it, a feeling that demanded to be felt: Sorrow. Scorn. Regret. Whatever might have been in there would have been well-protected from radiation, from... well, anything. What lay beneath it would be utterly undisturbed.

It was a face that Lyra saw first. Carbonite masked the details, but there was no agonized scream, no miserable wail frozen on it. No expression at all - just numbness. Visible outlined by the metal was a fairly opulent robe, ruffled by the hibernation process and a trace of whatever final struggle may have been offered.

Within, as whatever last wish sublimated into the Force, or spell whispered in solemn mourning fell away. There was something unmistakeable beneath ancient metal. The spark of life.

It was alive.

 

[Progflaw99]

With a quick input of commands on the control panel, Lyra made her entrance to the small cargo bay, footsteps cautious. She could see the visible wear of time taking its toll on the strange container, the act of exposing it to oxygen no doubt a catalyst for much of the degradation it was now experiencing. She felt an aura emanating from it - something, no - someone yet clung to life in the container. Was it an escape pod? It was certainly not shaped like one. And then she saw the face. The features were obscured but as she got closer and a small piece of ice which clung to it had melted she could see the blank expression on the creature's face. Strange, it almost looked serene.

As she stepped forward even closer she could feel the cool coming from the being frozen in what appeared to be carbonite - a particularly interesting substance she'd read about in the archives contained in Lord Tirdarius' personal library. It had been used to great effect in the bounty hunting world though more as a means of imprisonment than an actual capture technique. Standing directly next to the container she could now see something near the head - engraved text. What it read should have been a clue but the girl let her curiosity get the better of her. It was this impulsiveness she had yet to squelch completely, something that would no doubt be learned through pain and the passage of time alone. Experience was a bitter mistress.

Directing her attention to the small control panel on the device's vertical edge, Lyra was able to input several commands, a dark chill coursing through her fingers with every touch of the pad. Several seconds later a red blinking light began to pulse - a warning symbol flashing on the small screen. Whatever she'd just done - she wouldn't have to wait long for the result. Instinctively taking a quick two steps backwards the girl fumbled for the blaster at her hip, drawing it clumsily as she watched wide eyed the container.

[member="Antherion"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

The first thing Antherion was conscious of was the pain. Directionless, sourceless, shapeless... a dull ache? No, a fire. He didn't grimace, though - his expression never changed, but he opened his eyes, blue eyes, pupils dilating as they widened, open as far and hard as he could force them to. Dreams fell away, like coming to the surface of the water, and he began to see his surroundings.

First - he was leaning back against something, his carbonite coffin, held up by the material that had been holding him fast for as long as he could remember, it melted away like peeling off a coating of lead. Second... the hull of a ship? It was unfamiliar in make, model, and he couldn't see the stars to orient himself. Third, a woman, blaster in hand. For the sin of carrying a weapon with harmful intent - even in fear - he opened his mouth, a few words of punishment on his lips before he ripped her weapon from her and her mind to shreds -

Then, the floor grew close rapidly, and it was all he could do to slow what would have been a nose-breaking fall into an undignified, three-step stumble to the ground. He reached for his powers. He couldn't feel them. He tried to move his legs. He couldn't feel them. [member="Lyra Naerys"] could feel the dark emotions in this being - pale, white-blonde, painfully thin and smooth-skinned, dressed in ornate robes - surge outwards. Malevolent power... yet it was clouded. Cut off from him. He was incomplete, clearly injured somehow.

Bleary, disoriented, and tired, he took an arm and painfully rolled himself onto his back, looking straight up at his rescuer.

"Who are you?" He spoke softly, calmly.