Oculus Serpentis, the Awakening

[Obsidian]

Commenor

Several hundred kilometres from the capital city rise a jagged, unforgiving mountain range that can be seen on a clear crisp day from the lowlands. Before the cataclysm centuries prior, it was home to a small population of inbred peasants toiling away at the infertile plateaus with only the bare minimum of modern comforts. Their villages connected by narrow unpaved roads that seemed to be cut directly from the sharp cliff-faces. Originally said to be part of an ancient Duchy whose lineage as well as its territorial integrity had long since disappeared from the Galaxy, Alfonso Constantius could only shake his head as he looked up from his desk out of the window of his pre-fabricated shelter to look at the ruined towers of a once mighty fortress.

"How did a simple petty lord, a vassal to the Dukes of House Zenos construct this structure deep in these mountains? Sure, there was the tech, but what of the finances? The manpower?"

At the heart of the mountain range was the ruined settlement of the largest town in this ancient fiefdom. Nestled in a valley, it was almost as if it was built in a deep crater of a giant, ancient, dormant volcano but with the added twist of sharp chasms between the surrounding mountains and the plateau the town had once stood on. As if competing with the rim of the valley, rising high above the town in a dominating position was an ancient castle reinforced and built upon over the millennia that had been further strengthened by internal renovations. As a testament to the last touches imposed upon it, even after the chaos of the Four Hundred Year Darkness, it still stood intact and ready to invite its old residents back.

The fortress was built near the northern rim of plateau, close to the edges of the crater-like valley, atop a hill that on its southern face had a gentle, almost inviting slope but on the northern face was a jagged cliff face that dropped down past the edges of the plateau into the chasm that formed the second circle within the crater. Its spires were like claws or talons reaching up into the sky. Indeed, the lesser spires seemed to be connected to each other and helped form the base of the five primary spires. When looked on from above, the primary spires were equidistant from each other around a single wall forming a perfect circle. When looked at from the front gates, it was clear that the northernmost spire was directly attached to the four-sided keep, as if a bell-tower to an ancient cathedral to some unholy deity. The four other spires were shorter and less impressive than the first, they formed the four corners of this irregularly sized keep.

Outside the inner fortress was evidence that in the past, a series of outer walls protected the fortress grounds to the foot of the slope. Even if it was gentle and inviting from a distance, Alfonso knew from personal experience that the trek up by foot was a good workout in and of itself. The unpaved road from the town took an intentionally winding approach that showed clearly where the outer wall gates had once stood. Whether the local serfs in the more modern days had used separate footpaths was uncertain, and the excavation team had spent a good ten days finding this path, nature having taken its course even in this infertile environment, beautiful grass had overrun the grounds of the Cromwell Estate.

At the foot of the slope, the township finally started, the ruins of these houses indicated a poorer technological level than the fortress and the greater world as a whole, the primary construction material was masonry, but with the exception of the town centre, all evidence pointed to the remaining housing to be one or two storeys tall. As befitting the status as the centre of local government, the town centre featured evidence of public facilities large enough to accommodate more than the projected population of the town based on its size. The town occupied only a little more than a third of the total area of the plateau, the remaining southern half appeared to have been used for farming or grazing the herd animals.

Alfonso Constantius was a Commenorian archaeologist in name, but mostly a historian. He had recently stumbled upon unusual entries in the Commenorian archives that indicated a period when the noble houses of Commenor had been wiped out in an incident. Only three houses are said to have survived and two of them for the most part departed from the political sphere soon after. The Noble House of Cromwell was the de jure vassals of the Ducal House of Zenos, while the Ducal House of Roetblume is recorded to have only had one heir in the twilight years of aristocratic rule of the planet who was married to the head of the Zenos household in a political union. These two houses disappeared for two very different reasons. The House of Zenos on the other hand continued to serve as a symbol of sorts in the transition period from aristocracy to a more meritocratic oligarchy. Since the Ducal House of Roetblume was consumed in the alliance with Zenos, their disappearance made a certain sense. Alfonso was concerned with the Cromwell's fate.

And so, despite the scepticism of his colleagues, he had set out with a team composed of some hired hands, his students from university and several apprentices/interns who had all shown interest in his endeavour. It helped he was giving them academic credit for their participation. The valley may have been isolated by land, but with atmospheric shuttles, the trip from here to the university was but an hour flight away, most of the students went back to their dorms at regular intervals, if not daily. It had not even been a month into his expedition and Alfonso was leading a team of several hundred individuals. A rudimentary but highly disciplined chain of command had been established. His post-graduate students each took a team of graduate students who in turn lead undergraduates. They took shifts so some would scour the library and archives while others came to excavate the land, documenting everything they found to hint at the life spent by those who lived here centuries ago.

What was spectacular about this day, on the fifteenth week into the excavation, was that they had to charter almost all the shuttles in the university hangar. Everyone involved in the expedition had assembled for this historic day. Last week, a team had stumbled upon a hidden doorway in the inner sanctum of the fortress. The throne room they had been investigating was supposedly a dead end. However, an undergraduate student had accidentally tripped on his way up a set of stair-like platforms to a magnificent and modern looking throne, pushing a button that caused a tremor in the chamber. If Alfonso was not there himself, he would have hardly believed such stupefying series of coincidences, but the wall behind the throne gave way to a turbolift shaft. They had long since tested that power was not running in the fortress, so no one had thought to try out the buttons on the command throne. Naturally, everyone wanted to be the first to go down with their professor, but the one week they spent investigating the turbolift shaft indicated that the hidden area ran deep underground and split off into various directions under the plateau and perhaps, even further below. Alfonso decided to call in everyone involved at the end of the academic term for a full month of vacation period extracurricular archaeological expedition into this underground facility. In light of the fact that power was running, they even recruited volunteers from other departments as well as the CSS (the Computer Science Society) also known as the SlicerSoc.

Alfonso felt a strong sense of destiny as he came out of his prefab office at the entrance of the inner fortress and he looked down the hill to see the grass fields filled with bright young minds. He was even met with several of his colleagues in the various faculties who had come to join him. In the world of academia, jealousy and self-interest was always self-evident, but so was a begrudging acceptance of facts before speculation. Alfonso did not hold any misgivings about how quickly his colleagues switched sides once he had made this discovery, he had even told them. He was glad to share in this historic moment with his fellow co-workers and students.

But the greater galaxy on the other hand, he had made sure to not let them know. Sure, the University of Commenor would make this knowledge public...but only after they found out what exactly was buried under an abandoned settlement deep in the mountains.

 

[Obsidian]

"Young Master?"

Azurael opened his golden eyes to look up to a manservant entering his chamber. Getting up from his bed he folded away the sheets that covered him in his sleep. As the butler set the table in his chambers with breakfast still warm from the kitchens, the third son of Roktar walked over to his closet and picked out an appropriate wear to put on. Today, it was a simple shirt, tunic and trousers accompanied by leather shoes.

"Today's breakfast is poached fish fresh from the market accompanied by buttered bread and tea. The leaves are fresh from..."

"...Alderaan, I recognise the smell. You may leave."

A melodic, baritone voice that seemed to invite respect while simultaneously giving off an aura of arrogance. Azurael Roktar was very much a product of his upbringing. Born to a major commercial family on Coruscant, his two elder £$%^&*()(*&^%$£" It was believed he would make an excellent steward of the household in light of his academic nature. On the surface, the House of Roktar was stable under the clear line of succession. In light of the recent illness of their father, it was up to the three brothers to keep the family business going.

Nonetheless, behind such a happy family facade lurked a Machiavellian power politics. It was perhaps inevitable that £$%^&*(*&^%$£$%^ Azurael looked to his former manservant on his floor, choking on the poached fish the butler had tampered with. Shaking his head, the young master could only sigh as he picked up the cup of tea to take a sip. This game of playing at assassination was getting old. Poison immunity was for the most part a feature of the three brothers' existence. Azurael on the other hand was the only one who had actively poisoned himself this past fifteen years to obtain a better resistance to such unwanted substances.

"Enjoying your breakfast, young master?"

Azurael looked up with a weary smile on his face. A smile you would not expect to see in an eighteen year old child. Looking up to a wizened old man that was the head steward of the household, his uncle, Azurael nodded.

"Yes, Benjamin, an exquisite tea. Can't say the same for the fish. A tad too much seasoning if you ask me. I seem to have made quite a mess of my chambers, please have it cleaned up before tonight."

Benjamin bowed low to the compliments and the command. As if nothing had happened, he took in a tray the body as well as the half touched dishes.

Tonight was the big night. The bedchamber had to be immaculate.

$%^&*(*&^£$%^$^$&£$^£^^%*%£$*(*)(*^*$^%$£^)&)^*$^%"£*^&%*%&%£&$£&%*^$^£"%"%£*^(^&$£&^£I&%*^$^£"%$"^&$

Azurael looked behind him to see the shocked faces of his household guards. His golden eyes reflected the lights from their glowrods and his waist length golden hair like a lion's mane whipped up by the cold Coruscanti air gushing into the room through the broken window. Assassins on the floor around him with precise shots to their heads. In his hands, evidence indicating assassins sent by a rival household.

Throwing the evidence over to his useless guards, Azurael barked orders. Not even twenty four hours had passed since his father passed away and they were already sending assassins. $%^&*^$^£%&&%&£%$"

"And of those who ordered the deaths of my brothers?"

Two assassins knelt behind him on the balcony. The industrial fumes scorched the nostrils of the hooded Azurael but he did not seem to mind. The blistering heat made the assassins uncomfortable but they professionally kept their form.

"Dead. My Liege."

Droplets of water could be seen dripping from Azurael's face as he turned around to face his two hired weapons. The young master was not crying per say, but his eyes were indeed bleeding tears without his own noticing.

"Good. You have served me well."

As Azurael left, he could hear the stifled screams of the hired assassins as they themselves were silenced. From this day, until his death almost sixty five years later, Azurael would never again resort to such overt bloodshed.

 

[Obsidian]

For the next three weeks, Alfonso and his team of students, professors and volunteers from the university mapped out the underground installation. At about a thousand metres below hardened volcanic rock, they quickly realised the turbolift shaft was not the only one going down to the main floors. What they had found was but one turbolift shaft of nearly a dozen. Each one slowly being added as they went further underground as if to service a larger human traffic. This was their first clue as to the original use of the facility. The second clue was the archaic, albeit perfectly functional design of the facility. Combined with the artificial gravity in place, the historians concluded this to be an ancient vessel pre-dating the plague induced four centuries of darkness. However, what unnerved them all was that this facility, no matter its original purpose now looked more akin to an ancient tomb. A tomb that spanned almost the entire plateau above them, nearly a kilometre in diameter, they found what could only be considered catacomb-like stasis chambers. Vast chambers with these stasis pods lined the outer layers of this vessel, hydroponic farms no longer in use covered the inner layers.

By the second week, they had mapped out the entire outer facility. The farms could in theory feed hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions of individuals, while they found cramped sleeping quarters to house a massive army in the most inhumane conditions. All of them were recorded as empty save the occasional technological finds such as an archaic datapad or curious rods that seemed empty but with some holes in them. They did find armouries dotted throughout the facility with ancient weapons in them still under lock and key. The slicers were tasked to eventually work on it after they finished with assisting the mapping process. Their assistance so far had been invaluable. The discovery of the turbolift shaft had activated that wing's reactors to supply power, and while the backup reactor was still very much alive, it seemed only to be supplying energy to the inner sanctum. The outer generators had appeared to have either failed or been shut off, leaving the stasis chambers filled with long dead corpses. So the slicers had been divided up to be attached to mapping teams to help them get the other main generators online.

At the beginning of the third week, they had all gathered around one of the larger halls, its original purpose notwithstanding, it had a massive blastdoor leading into the inner facility on a raised dais. Alfonso and his fellow professors gathered with the students below them. They had become a disciplined group of scouts in the fortnight, and it almost looked like a military parade on display. The slicers finally managed to get the codes in and the blast door that was about a half dozen grown men wide gaped open to reveal a long corridor lined with statuesque figures. Metal statues in the form of guardians lined the hallway with pike-like weapons. Each one was adorned by a body length cloak and their structure was almost skeletal save the armour plating. Each one was about two metres in height and almost half as wide. Their lifeless figures were slumped over in a bad posture, indicating that they were likely even taller. Unnerved by this sudden display of morbid guardians, Alfonso seemed hesitant to take the first step, but he was adamant he had made a finding of the century. This would shed light to the history of Commenor long since lost. With his faith in his own convictions, his career at stake, he could not back away now. If he got the government to help out, he would lose the right to be the discoverer. Selfishness and self-interested glory to mark his place in the history books let him overcome his fear and stepped foot into the inner facility. His colleagues and his students followed. Each determined to play their part in this new chapter of Commenor's renaissance.

 

[Obsidian]

The skies over Coruscant burned red under the flaming sun disappearing into the distant structures that pierced the skies. Closer to the seat of the senate, overlooking the dome shaped superstructure beneath their feet with the backdrop of the majestic Jedi Temple almost floating atop the Senate from their perspective, stood two small figures cloaked to provide protection from the billowing wind. Their features were hidden beneath deep hoods that cast long shadows. The sun cast their shadows before them as their heads adorned a massive halo when seen from the senate tower. Beneath their feet, an army of unprecedented proportions marched to martial themes as citizens rushed out in droves to take one look at their patriotic brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, cousins and friends on their way to war. Beacons of light lead each column. Armoured, cloaked men held their beacons aloft for all to see. Jedi Commanders leading their lesser peers on a march towards total, unrelenting war. In the distance, Jedi who had shed the final fig leaf hiding their hypocrisy adorned themselves at the foot of the Senate Tower in their full regalia. Jedi who had taken up their place as the rightful Lords of the Republic. Their private armies formed elite cores that witnessed this grand parade. Above them all on a balcony overlooking the Senate Plaza, a single Jedi Supreme Chancellor crowned the irony of this entire scenario. Raising his lightsabre in salute, his fellow Jedi Lords followed suit.

For five centuries, they had slept. They grew as fetuses in vats as they witnessed their caretakers change generation after generation. Theirs was the legacy of Azurael Roktar. Theirs was the gift of a man obsessed with life and death. But while they were supposed to be the temporary fix, a false cure to the greatest disease known to all life, their caretakers had knelt before them as if beseeching the Gods upon their release from their confined slumber. Disgust was evident on both their faces but the fools before them upon their emergence had not realised the grave disservice and error of their philosophy. A gift for all was to come at a price. For the next two hundred years after their awakening, they had lead their clan together as brothers and as one mind. For they were two individuals who represented a single entity. They had helped the Republic in their hour of dire need with their financial power. They had aided the Galaxy fight off the Sith. But so had they aided the Sith through proxies whenever they saw the Jedi on the brink of victory or the Sith on the brink of defeat.

A Benefactor never chooses sides. He only provides those who seek his aid.

The troops loaded themselves onto the awaiting shuttles in the Senate Plaza. Small, surface to orbit vessels. Hundreds of thousands of these tiny gunships produced a constant stream of military hardware. Their gift to the Republic this time had been $&£)£"&$(^"(&(&)&$(*^£%(^)£(*"!(^£&%"&*$(*^$*)£&%)&_!(&$*%^)£*^%*"^!^$)"&$)("_$&(%

As the draft from the departing shuttles whipped above their heads, the pair of boys looked up, this action and that of the wind blew back their hoods, revealing youthful but chiselled features with eyes that betrayed their actual psychological age. One boy had a body length hair the colour of silver, the sun's last rays reflecting off of the hair giving him an almost golden mane as the wind unfurled his neatly hidden away feature. The other boy had hair of comparable length, but black as the void, as if sucking in the very energy of the sun's light in an enveloping shadow. Their eyes met with a Jedi commander on a gunboat, looking out. They both bowed to the quickly departing figure, but the Jedi had not missed them, he saluted with his lightsabre before closing the side hatch of the gunboat shuttle as the atmosphere thinned in the higher altitude.

"My time is ^&^(*£^&$*&£^()%_)"_(!($ Know that &*£)&)%&*£("^)!"£(%* shall forever be with you. My memories are yours. Now and forever."

 

[Obsidian]

Alfonso ran as fast as he could down an empty corridor. His left arm was numb from a grazed stun bolt. His right leg burned from a grazing blaster bolt. Blood dripped down his face and sweat trickled down his spine from overexertion as well as terror. For the past half an hour, he had not heard or seen another living soul. His primal instincts alone forced his feet to take one laborious step after another. His head was dizzy from adrenaline and blood loss, though he could feel the wounds clotting up as he ran. His heavy breathing betrayed his panic and fear as well as his position. He had to thank whoever had made this place into a maze for leaving the inner sanctum with such volume.

They had come from nowhere. Soldiers with no insignias. Silent, uncompromising human soldiers armed with blasters, vibroblades, stun batons and nets. The first inkling of trouble was when they had lost all contact with the surface. Of course, such trivial problems during excavation projects could be expected and had indeed happened before when the signal boosters had failed and they had to locate the broken down boosters. No, the real issue was when they had sent teams to fix the broken hardware. They failed to report in at their designated coordinates and had disappeared. One by one, teams began to disappear. In the end, they converged at the primary entrance to the inner sanctum. Re-establishing contact with the surface, they organised the hall into their new headquarters and began to send out search parties to ascertain what had happened to the missing undergraduates.

When they found the missing undergraduates, all that was left behind of their existence was the blood staining the corridors. Meanwhile, in the underground headquarters where the professors and academics discussed the risks of further progress into the inner sanctum, the attack happened. It was multifaceted, it was brutal and it was wholly one-sided. They first lost sight of the surface camp, the last transmissions sounded like some heavy atmospheric craft had arrived onto the scene and the distinct sound of stun bolts from blaster fire. While the faculty meeting continued with the new agenda, the undergraduates who were heading up to the surface to see what was going on reported finding two children, twins, dressed like undertakers. The screams of the undergraduates froze the faculty in place as the hall fell silent. It was not long before the twins appeared before the hall with a small army of soldiers behind them. As if flanked by the twins, there stood a short, boyish young man with raven black hair and wicked purple eyes. If they all shared one trait, was that that their skin was deathly pale. Unlike the twins who looked like they had just come out from the slaughterhouse, unlike the solders who wore the same, bored expressionless features despite being distinctly different from each other in any other form of description, the one young man with a black aristocratic tunic with a black cape smiled with a wicked grin. As if eyeing a prey he had for the longest time tried to ensnare, his look of pure triumph could not be denied. With a single wave of his arms, the young man silently issued an order heard only by his soldiers. Like bloodhounds let go of their leash, the twins started a slaughter that the soldiers followed into.

Alfonso could still hear the haunting laughter of the twins. Their innocent laughter befitting their innocent appearance. Completely offset by the blood, the gore, the glimmer of their eyes. Such was his delirium he had not noticed he had left the confines of the tunnel-like hallways of the inner sanctum. He walked upon dried dirt. A once glorious garden lay in ruins with a dried up fountain in the middle. He was in some sort of a domed green house or something with evidence of an ecosystem in the past. With no power, the soil had withered. But the centrepiece behind the central fountain still stood tall and proud. A manor house of ancient aristocracy. An underground manor. Limping to the doors, he hammered to be let in fear in his eyes as he sought refuge from the bloodhound twins. He could almost hear the sound of the metal axehead scraping the metal deck, the sound of metal casings from a heavy repeating slug-thrower clattering in their casings. He hammered at the doors without ever realising the doors were not locked. Eventually the old rusted handles of the doors gave way and he fell through into an empty, dusty entrance hall. Seeking refuge, he clambered in.

As he clambered in, near the entrance to the domed manor, laughter echoed as the image of two children, twins, one a young boy no older than ten in appearance and his identical featured sister, appeared into the dimly lit garden. The boy carried an axe with the length of his leg, it was a simple, combat axe with no power-cells. A primitive but highly combat ready weapon. His short cropped platinum blonde hair glimmered in the half light as did his crystal blue eyes. He wore a pair of shorts held up with braces, knee long black socks and dress shoes, white collared shirt with a knee long black coat. He wore a black bow tie to finish his mourning clothes appearance. His sister held aloft with her nimble hands a heavy repeating slug-thrower longer than she was tall. Like her brother, she wore a black formal dress appropriate for a funeral. Adorned with white frills everywhere, her long skirt dress completed her Gothic Lolita look. Like her identical twin brother, she had beautiful platinum blonde hair, but she wore them down to her knees, flowing behind her back tied down with an equally frilly black head scarf.

Their blue eyes seemed to glow in the low light atmosphere, singing a morbid tune, they slowly chased after Alfonso. Murder in their eyes, but never rushing. Like cats playing with a cornered mouse before mauling it to death, they took their time. Slowly cutting off his retreat.