Project Naya

[Darth Ophidia]

Library Raid FRESIA:
Step 1: “Legacy of the One Sith” The Temple of Pain

Black boots touched down on the once neatly bricked road that lead to the infamous Temple of Pain. Now, strands of grass clamoured for space between the bricks and pushed them aside so life could once more claim what man had wrought. Her black robes brushed over the autumn leaves, turning them away as the one they once called the ‘Sphere of Mysteries’ set foot on soil since lost.

Memories came trailing back to her as she let her eyes trail over the landscape, the ruin, and the vast, empty pit that once held the accumulated lives of countless sacrifices. She had been there, seen the bodies melt, heard the screams like string and brass to the percussion of a persistent chant. She remembered learning to craft here; fighting to protect it, and setting it aflame as she left it behind.

Burn them! Burn them all!​

Her black hand clenched and un-clenched

There was still more to be taken from the Temple of Pain, she knew this to be true. A new empire required what was left behind from an old one: So the Sith Empire came to collect. Behind her, a flotilla of transport ships descended on the area surrounding the Temple of Pain to pick the ruins clean before the Galactic Alliance laid claim on it.

Darth Ophidia clasped her hands behind her back and descended up the path and stairs with quick and confident strides. This was home; this was hers. The doors were cast open, and one could almost see the disappointment in her eyes when she saw the effect of the decay. So much of its riches had been pillaged and taken away, but she hoped they had not penetrated through to its deepest reaches.

All of this belonged to the Sith by right.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Project Naya

In front of Darth Ophidia, the halls stretched on and on in what appeared like infinity. A few rows in, the domed ceiling had collapsed, letting sunlight and withered leaves inside. The opening doors cast the leaves aside, like worshippers parting and bowing before a divine entity. She made the simile because she had seen it; The Queen of Shadows had been both the leaf and the wind.

She spotted chains littering the floor. They were speckled with rust, but that was not what had cleft them; these had been cut and since shunted aside. She knelt down and traced her fingers over the cut: It was too smooth to be cut by tools or broken by brute force. No, this had been melted through by something very warm.

Her brow furrowed in anger as she cast the chain aside and stood up.

“Caution: There may be force users within. Kill them.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the platoon of imperial troops that escorted them. They were too close to Alliance space to not take such precautions.

“-And pile their corpses on the stairs.” “Yes, My Lord.”

With a hand signal, the commander brought his troops to the front and marched them down the corridor. Ophidia let them pass on either side of her; like water around an unyielding rock. She was never a commander in truth, but she did sense the rush of power that came with giving orders to well-disciplined troops. They unzipped their ranks in the intersections and spread into squads that would probe the rooms and flush out any squatters.

Once most the troopers had passed, the ashen-skinned one resumed her own march down the main hall of the Temple of Pain. She let her feet, and the Force, tug on her senses. Her feelings, fuelled by her greed and pride, called her in one direction. She gazed up at the weathered face of the demon statue and continued past it towards the Eternal Libraries.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Project Naya

As troopers spread through the half-ruin of the Temple of Pain, clearing corridor by corridor and floor by floor, the Queen of Shadows made her strides along the skeletal arches that once held the grand domed ceiling. In the distance, she could hear footfalls and the firing of blasters. Side-corridors lit up with flashes of red as she threw open the doors of the Eternal Library and took in the scent.

The smell of data record upon data record, filed neatly for all of prosperity. As she expected, the library had held up well against the tooth of time. It was designed to keep rot from seeping in and subverting the conservation process, after all.

Behind her came a two-file troop of Imperials in simple uniforms. They were military personnel, but not there to fight. Following the Sith Lord into the library, they began the process of copying what they could and taking with them what they could not. These records belonged to the Sith, and the Empire was the rightful heir to all the One Sith’s old assets.

“Let not the Alliance take a shred of what is ours. Bring it on board; bring it home.”

With quickened strides, Darth Ophidia crossed the library floor, delving deeper and deeper into the maze of skeletal shelves being drained of their resources. She could see some that had been pillaged or vandalised. Others had succumbed to rot despite best efforts. The deeper she ventured, the older the media, and the more obscure the contents. She knew, at the end there be treasure unimaginable.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Project Naya

At the end of the library, pale sunlight peaked through a hole in the domed ceiling. Its durasteel supports jutted up like exposed bone in a clean-picked carcass as the fingers of light touched down upon the mildly corroded vault door.

Anger flared up on the Pale Assassin’s face as she approached it; the door was unlocked, left open to wind and weather. What travesty was this? What insult to the legacy of Sith? She threw he heavy door aside with a shout of anger and stared into the lightless interior with her ember eyes. The metal door crashed into the wall, sending dust and old leaves fluttering down from their place of rest.

The contents of the vault were largely looted. Priceless tomes lay scattered, flimsiplast pages open to the wind and now chewed by the mould. She stepped inside and kneeled down, picking up one of the tomes and turning its pages. Crisp and grey, they would have to be transcribed. More work for the scholars.

Standing up, she traced her eyes long the room until they fell into the crown place: Empty.

“Chit!”

She placed the grimoire back on a shelf and hurried over to the pedestal where the Holocron had stood. Her fingers traced gently over the two layers of dust: A few weeks ago. Were they still present? She turned in a huff, looking out at the men and women loading up and downloading the Eternal library. She would have to look.

“Commander. I need status report on the forcers. Come in”

She waited for a second. Three of the imperial collectors came to place the precious tomes in vacuum sealed boxes and transport them away. Wisely, they all refrained from interacting with the furious Sith Lord in their midst.

“Tchhh! -ord. Hostiles in the Forge. They have kkrtch-aded themselves. We are pressed. Over” “Hold your position, do not advance. I will be there shortly.”

 

[Jairus Starvald]

There is a certain tension between intent and actions.

Man always wished to do one thing, but ended up doing the exact opposite through no fault of their own.

It was simply the way the Galaxy turned.

The Sith wished to grow stronger and stronger, but instead they destroyed themselves over and over again. The Jedi wished to protect, but often left only destruction and chaos in their wake. Ineptitude? Oran thought not, it would be too easy to blame it on the inequities of mankind and call it a day after that.

One could get coffee early, yes, but they'd hardly get to the bottom of things.

Ever since the human had left Kuras III behind a light breeze enter the cadence of his stride. The freedom felt good- not to be locked into a tiny room to go over dusty tomes anymore.... rather the illusion of choice had shattered and reshaped itself into true choice. Oh, here he was, sitting in this decrepit tomb of a temple and studying the object in his hands. But this was his choice, was it not? Nobody had forced Shule to travel to Fresia itself and visit the old Temple of Pain.

No, that had been all him.

"You are rather annoying, you know this, yes?" Oran mumbled to the hexa-shaped holocron in his hands. It had kissed his hands four times now, each time cutting a small slice into his skin and causing blood to seep. It disappeared into the dim metal casing, as if it was drinking from his life-blood.

Around him were bodies.

They wore armor.

Still warm, as were the rifles they had turned against one another. Strangely enough they stopped rushing into the room, trying to kill him once they realized it would simply turn into the same conclusion.

Only the insane attempted to do the same thing over and over again, thinking the end result would be different.

"Ah. There we go." A soft whiiiiine as the holocron pulsed once and then the Gatekeeper rose up. Oran tilted his head... this was going to be interesting.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]​

 

[Darth Ophidia]

It did not take long for her to arrive.

Troopers stood spread around the corner, two dead, one being patched up. They were all on ready, fear and frustration on their faces. Some of them looked over at the approaching form of Darth Ophidia with a sense of hope. Hands clenched around weapons as bodies moved to give her room. The Lieutenant bowed her head in deference before the Sith Lord.

“Only one hostile confirmed. I think we find your forcer, ma’am.” “Good job, Lieutenant. I trust you did not lose too many?” The commander cringed.

End of the niceties, the Sith Lord passed through the final corridor and into the forge. Her hands folded in front of her, resting close to the paired lightsabres on her hips. Her eyes peered out from under the hood of her charcoal robes: Embers in a face of pale ashes. She made no attempt at hiding, not now.

She did not need to hide before scavengers.

“My-my. What a mess you have made.”

She slipped her feet apart to shoulder width, taking a solid stance to block the way. Her hands slipped apart, fingers curling like talons within the fine leather gloves.

“But I see you found my Holocron. Hand it over, if you please.”

She extended her left hand, fingers splayed in a gesture of receival. Her eyes, in their burning orange hue, remained still and unblinking in her hairless face. Lips, tinted purple, curled up in the hint of a wry smile.

[member="Oran Shule"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

It often surprised Shule how entitled Man could be.

Knowledge... it was a wonderful thing and not something one could truly claim. Unless they were the ones who had crafted or discovered it in the first place. Perhaps it would surprise Ophidia that the tall man, sitting next to one of the corrupting forges, did not take his eyes of the holocron when she walked in and started talking.

His expression did grow a fraction more pointed out of.. concentration or maybe annoyance. It was tough to say when the fires casted deep shadows were eyes should be. Not even the gatekeeper was fierce enough to lighten that.

"You made this Holocron?" Shule finally asked patiently, head tilting slightly as the Gatekeeper whispered to him. Another little nugget of information given to him freely.

Enlightening.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

‘Did you make it?’

Such an honest question, and Ophidia could sense where he was leading her. She did not accept his rhetoric. It was hers because she claimed it.

“I unearthed it. I put it in that vault for safe-keeping. I came here to collect it, and I intend to walk from here holding it in my hand. Whether you live to witness it or not depends.”

As she spoke, the outstretched hand curled, fingers bending into talons. There was something to her voice that drew the light out of the room. Or perhaps it was a trick of the Force. She expected him to resume his nonchalance despite her words.

As her fingers curled, she reached out with the Force to pry the Holocron from his hands and take it for herself.

While spiteful of the incident. She was admittedly curious about the reasons this person could have for seeking out this place, and this specific Holocron.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

He watched silently as the holocron suddenly flew out of his hand and into hers.

"I, I, I, I, self-centered to a fault, I see." After that the man watched with amusement as Ophidia fiddled with the holocron. Maybe she was just studying if he had damaged it somehow or maybe she was trying to activate it herself for a moment. Either way the direction ran, his response was the same. "You might have some trouble activating it." She looked up and Oran smiled. There was nothing pretty about the smile, but there was a lot wrong with it.

It stretched out his skin and made his face seem thinner at places.

Malnourishment, perhaps, or maybe it wasn't his face. Teeth were impeccable, but they seemed sharp. As if they cut straight through flesh if he wanted it to. There was a shine to it all, dreamy, illusive, strange. But Oran was strange, was he not? Wander into a ruined library, take a rare holocron, make those that come for him kill themselves without much in the way of remorse or even real commentary.

Then converse with a Sith Lord as if they were equals.

Though that last one was a silly suggestion. How would he be wearing a face that wasn't strictly his? "It exacted a blood price to be opened. It is keyed to me now. Quite worthless to you without my assistance." The galaxy had forgotten a substantial amount of information, when it came to holocrons. To some degree or another they were alive and the crystals that pulsed within could be manipulated. If you knew how and if there was one group in the Galaxy that had that knowledge?

It would be the Blackguard.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Her hands flitted over the Holocron, touching the spots and pressing with the Force where she had pressed once before when she had looked inside the Holocron of Darth Sol. The fact that it was now bound to someone else brought a visible fury to her face.

For a moment, it looked as though she was about to crush the precious pyramid with her bare hands, but she did not.

The anger in her features subsided into a stern nonchalance as she looked at Oran again.

“Very well. If that is the case.”

She could keep butting heads with him. The odds were, she butted harder than he. But she knew this was her pride speaking when it should be pragmatism that held her ear.

“A trade then. You aid me, and I will aid you in return.”

She held the Holocron like a gift now, but had no intention of letting him take it until he had given a definitive answer. – A promise if you will. - Until then, it remained shrouded in a field of telekinesis set on immobility.

“Mutual utility.”

She had her guesses at to what his next questions were to be.

[member="Oran Shule"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

For the moment Ophidia had not truly impressed him much.

Not that it was strictly her fault, he was a man with high standards and he was keenly aware of this. But it did make him look up to her for a brief moment as Shule pondered his answer. The fact that it was not an immediate, yes, yes, yes! would presumably already tell her something about the man she was interacting with.

But Shule was not suicidal, even if it might have looked that way in the moment.

Simply curious and not easy to dissuade from a course of action. "I suppose that could be seen as fair." Oran responded cautiously, before tilting his head a fraction.

"What is it that I can do for you, Sith?"

Very obviously a Sith. All the hallmarks of one and all the things that made them weak and unreliable as anything, besides short-term tools to be left behind later on. The fact that Ophidia was a Lord did not truly come into the equation for him. She was unquestionably more powerful than Oran was, this was not something to dispute.

But there were more ways of power.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Sith.

The one utterance spoke volumes about their juxtaposition. It also reminded Ophidia to modify her way of speaking to Oran. The Lieutenant would not be happy to see her wander off with this individual; Barlan’s zealotry was often useful, though it meant Ophidia regularly had to put her in check when more flexible options were needed.

“Well first, let’s discontinue the hostilities to create a better working environment.”

She turned sideways, Holocron still held in the hand closest to Oran. She paced over the corpses of her troops with casual grace, never breaking stride.

“Secondly, there is information in this device I require in order to progress further in my projects.”

Information she had forced the gatekeeper to hold for her. Information about things that were hidden, persons to contact, and a recipe to a weapon she had left dormant since the fall of the One Sith.

“You give me that information, and I will leave you to the rest of the Holocron’s secrets”

Secrets she had already unlocked. Yet, good secrets none the less. Darth Sol had been an insightful and accomplished wielder of the dark side before the 500 year darkness. Unfortunately, her contributions were still largely left unknown by the galaxy at large.

"If you serve me even further. Say, aid me in completing my current project, then I would owe you a favour. That is the favour of a Sith Lord."

She raised her hairless brows at him, half a wry smile playing on her purple lips.

[member="Oran Shule"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

In Oran's perspective he had been nothing but polite from the moment this conversation had started and even before that with her compatriots.

Before they decided to open fire, before his first sentence had been finished anyway. After that Shule had realized it was time to get strict with them. The conclusion of that was spread around the entire room as Ophidia would notice. But the Blackguard did not note that verbally, even if his eyebrow rose a fraction at her first sentence, if she paid enough attention she might even notice it.

If not truly connect the basis of that quirk.

The first request was easy, but it was the ease of it that made him naturally suspicious. But the second request was better- it suggested a more prolonged contact and that had better chances of not being stabbed in the back, once purpose was served.

"What project would that be, then?" Amused curl of the lip followed suit as she seemed to shoot him a glance. "I cannot determine if I would be of use to you without the specifications of the project, Sith."

In this instance it was not an insult. He did not know her name, her title or the validity of her supposed status as a Lord. All that Shule trusted was the fact that she was Sith and no more. If there was one thing that Oran believed in, clung to without any reservations, it was accuracy. The word of truth could not be corrupted, it had to be kept pure and firm.

Otherwise words lost their meaning.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

She was reluctant to give him too much, given his dubious affiliations. He clearly had no love for Sith, or any respect for the power they command. Yet, she had to give him something in order to lure him through on this. If she found a chance to simply stick him in the back and pull Darth Sol's holocron back on track, then she certainly would. And it was not lost on her that this ambition and casual disregard for Oran's life was the very reason he did not trust her. So she gave him a part of the story, one she thought he would like.

"The Sith Library on Krayiss Two"

The words came out of her mouth with a sharpness to them. She let him swallow the words, but did not give him time to get another word in.

"The Dominion tried to destroy it, and nearly succeeded. I intend to restore it to former glory and more."

She turned the holocron between her fingers.

"Somewhere safe, comprehensive, and eternal. A temple of knowledge, of wisdom, truth. - And the key to all of it is in this holocron."

She looked him over again, judging whether he erred on the side of reluctance or interest. She was banking on the idea of a greater expanse of knowledge being available. They were already clearing out this place, and there were others yet to clear and copy. She thought of the weapons they could create once they had it all centralised.

[member="Oran Shule"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

He erred on the side of apathy.

Outwardly anyway.

There was certainly some interest in this endeavor, but caution was required when dealing with Sith. They were chaotic spawn, more inclined towards pursuits of destruction and mayhem than that of research and the thrill of discovering more knowledge. Be that as it may, they had their uses as far as Oran was concerned. Point a Sith at a target and give them the right amount of push... and they would leave nothing in their wake besides a clean score.

Also misery.

But that was part of the deal you made with yourself when you decided to utilize a Sith.

"Truth, is it?" Shule repeated and there was just a hint of disbelief there. The only truth the Sith cared about was their own, which was... fragile at best suffice it to say. "Very well, my interest is yours, I am quite anxious to find out what type of truth you identify yourself with."

Pushing himself up and off, he lingered briefly at one of the corpses.

Burned.

Face disfigured and charred. He crouched down there, touching neck, running a finger up the vein and down. Something was exchanged between touch of skin and blood, but that was irrelevant in the moment.

"When do we begin?"

 

[Darth Ophidia]

He may have dressed himself in apathy, but Ophidia could taste his interest.

"We already have."

She turned the holocron between her fingers as she stepped over to the corpse Oran was fiddling with, and promptly placed the pyramid down on the corpse's chest. Her hands then clasped behind her back as she straightened up again. Her form, tall, thin, like a pillar of smoke and ash. She took two steps back, making it evident that he had access to it.

As Ophidia stepped back, she took in the room: The workshops of Fresia. She remembered seeing the craftsmen there. They had forged the armour she still wore on the battlefield, and milled pieces of the lightsabres she used to this day. This was the cradle of her creativity, where she had truly learned to craft weapons of alchemy. When her eyes surveyed the room, she noted an object on one of the desks; short, hardly significant in the Force.

She moved over to it and picked the dagger from the bench. It was covered in dust, but untouched by wear or tear: Simple alchemy, but a powerful symbol. It was a blade not tarnished by time or use. Still sharp, and under the dust, still pristine.

"There are more locations to scour for the rebuilding on Krayiss Two. Do keep up."

Was that a joke? The dryness of her voice left it ambiguous.

[member="Oran Shule"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

Oran did not move immediately to grasp for the holocron.

Not from a lack of desire, but rather from the intent of obscuring. This Sith did not need to know just how much he valued knowledge and just how much he would do in pursuit of it. Once the fiddling with the corpse's neck was finished the 'cron was swiped by deft hands and it disappeared within the folds of his attire. "I see." He rose, rubbing the traces of blood between the tips of his fingers and watching Ophidia with interest. The interest of a scientist studying a viper, cautious, but with pronounced desire to see more.

"Lead on then, Sith." Shadows, the blood had whispered to him. Queen. The corpse had been afraid of this one, images flooding of worlds burning and people massacred all in the pursuit of true chaos. It was distasteful, of course.

Wanton destruction never led to true knowledge.

All it did was ensure that old knowledge disappeared and new was fragmented beyond use. This, though, was irrelevant with the pact formed here. Oran had his own research to conduct and this Sith was power, perhaps he would be able to make use of this temporary alliance for gains of Kuras.

Maybe.

They left the workshops behind and once they entered the hallways... the troopers all staring, barrels of the rifles aiming somewhere between his knees and lap. Ready to raise up within the span of a moment to shoot him in the face. But they maintained patience for now- fear was a strong catalyst and their fear for the Queen was stronger than their fear for this unassuming man who had taken so many of them. If Ophidia wanted him dead, he would have been, after all.

Taking a risk and inviting her wrath? Inadvisable.

"What did you do to inspire such fear in your men, SIth?" Oran asked with seeming curiosity. There was no judgement in that tone for once.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

A hint of a wicked smile flashed over her lips as Oran posed his question concerning fear.

"They see what they need to see."

She turned her head to look straight into the eyes of one of her troopers. He did not look away, she had told them never to look away from what they feared, but to stare back with all their intensity. If they were to die, then they should see death coming and fight to the last breath: That was what made a true legionaire. Not fearlessness, but a willingness to act past their fear.

"Some see what is. Some see what were. Some see what has not yet come to pass, but shall occur if they fail to give but their utmost devotion."

Her eyes trailed back to the exit and the ships beyond as they were loaded with treasures of the former One Sith.

"Really, I have only been truthful with my subjects."

Behind them there was the barest flicker of a smile, palpable in the Force, coming from the short-haired Mirialan commander of the Satwasin; she smiled at the word subjects, finding it ironic, but making no objection in her mind that they were indeed under the queen's command.

[member="Oran Shule"]