Asmenys iv irus kash tave jen'
Equipment: Armor | Handcannon | Stun Pearls (Several dozen) | Powdered Death Stick Gas Grenades | Holorecorder | Dataspikes (4)
Allies:
Coren Starchaser
Ryv
Jedi, etc.
Opponent:
Sanguine Nocturnal
Location: Temple of Sacrifice Approach
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Asmenys iv irus kash tave jen.
Ancient Sith language, or at least, his own somewhat less than fluent understanding of the language. The Blade of Light in the Dark. That was him and his order in a galaxy growing darker with each passing day. More and more Dark Side orders were gaining power and strength as each month passed. More than just Dark Siders, autocracies were growing in strength as people grew fearful and sought a sense of security and strength to ease their fears. Make them feel safe again through military might and warfare. As if they could destroy the Sith in a battle or a war, when war was the greatest tool of the Dark Side. It was a lesson that had been hard-learned by the ancient Republic Jedi. And one even harder learned by the Galactic Alliance he once championed from the shadows.
But now it was one apparently not learned. A strike at Korriban itself. That, he considered madness, but with Coren leading the fray, he knew he would be there. Again. It had been many years since he had last been on Korriban and the memories were unpleasant. Returning was not on his list, but as he crouched in the desert, the sandstorm whipping past him, deafening him to everything but the rasping sounds of the rebreather in his helmet, he wished the ancient Republic during the Hyperspace War had done their job properly and scoured the planet clean.
But they did not. He brought his mind back to the present. He could sense the Jedi meld scattered around the planet, but kept his own mind firmly closed to it, even if more than Coren knew he was here. He hadn't told anyone else and used his own ship to infiltrate the planet, carrying a cargo load of heaters for the frigid world. That was what he had remembered most from his last visit. The chill. More than bone-deep like Hoth had been, the chill of Korriban was
spirit deep. And as an empath, it was something he could not allow access to his mind. It would tear his consciousness from his body, as it had been once, long ago, when a strike team of himself and Jedi Masters had infiltrated a Sith library. One of the Sith Lords had used Force Insanity then, or something akin to it, and would have driven the strike team insane, had he not unleashed his empathy to counter the effects.
Long had his spirit wandered the Netherworld after that, while his body lay in stasis. But in time, his mind and his body were reunited. Only to later get physically transported to the Netherworld, in an act of utter irony. To experience that here, on Korriban? His fate would be even worse. Trapped and tormented by the phantoms and wraiths that haunted the world.
Those were his greatest concern. His Force presence had been shrunk down beyond minuscule for this operation as he crawled forward. Focus. Only focus. He was here to gather intelligence on how Carnifex had been brought back from the dead. Until they knew how that happened, and what could be done to undo it, there was no point fighting him when he could just come back from the dead. Veino'd come back from the dead three times, but none of those were intentional.
Based on the information the Jensaarai possessed on Sith rituals, he knew it would take a great deal of Dark Side power. That meant either the Valley of the Dark Lords or a more obscure temple nearby that had to be just as old, and seem suspiciously unnoticed by most records. From fragments of manuscripts preserved in the crypts of the Jensaarai enclave, there were hints and suggestions about a sacrificial altar somewhere on the planet, which could have been this. He had no way to know which was which, but he put money on the temple of sacrifice. It sounded ominous enough and would make sense. It stank of the Dark Side, even from here. More than that, he felt something almost... beckoning.
Which, if that was not where he gambled on it being the information he needed, would have been enough to turn away and leave. But the fact he felt something trying to draw him in was a sign that it was a trap. Which, ironically enough, was also a sign it was probably the right direction. But then, that was the nature of intelligence work. Sometimes, there just was no information and you just had to use your gut.
It was why he went himself, rather than dispatching an agent or operative. This was far too dangerous for those of less experience. Even for him, he walked the knife's edge. On this world, Darkness devoured the Light, no matter how strong. And the brighter one burned, the more the Darkness would come. Even already, he could feel his attachment to the Light withering and fading, despite his impenetrable mental shields. Simply put, this world was a world of death, not of life, and the power of the Light came from living things.
Which, unless he miscounted, were fewer than the spirits of the dead floating around the rock. They called to him, even if they were unaware of his presence because such was the nature of the Jensaarai. Even more for him, the Saarai-Kaar. In his mind, he stored all the secrets of the Sith that the Jensaarai possessed. Every manuscript. Every Dark holocron. Every pictograph of some horrific ritual. He had committed them all to memory. But so too did he store every scrap of knowledge of the Jedi that they knew, and many more besides, from other sources. Lessons learned from Alexandra Feanor. From Krest before his fall, and even the knowledge of his fall. Lessons learned from the great Jedi champions of the Galactic Republic and the first Galactic Alliance. Yet compared to it all, those were only a small pool in the great ocean of knowledge.
But he carried both Sith and Jedi within him, balance on the line between Light and Dark. In a way, he had an understanding of the Sith, yet one that eluded him and slipped through his mind as he tried to make sense of it. More importantly, however, was the understanding of how easy it would be to fall of the edge and plunge into Darkness. Even as refused the whispers of the Dark in his mind and the stirrings in his heart that called to him to unleash his full power and reveal himself in his might. Use the entirety of his knowledge, his experience, his strength to end the Sith.
But that was the very lure of the Sith, even if it didn't come from them. It came from himself and himself alone. Know thyself and thine enemy, and defeat shall never haunt you, an ancient sage had once written. But really, it should have been know thyself and thine enemy, know them as one and the same. That, he suspected, was a lesson that was not taught by the Jedi of any order, although it should have been, after Endgame.
He pressed on through the sandstorm, simply feeling his way through the blinding waves of sand that scraped across his body and tore away the heat within him. Sand and rock shifted beneath his hands and feet as he crawled along, just below a ridgeline. He sought for a fissure in the rock somewhere, some forgotten, half-collapsed tunnel to get him underground.
Closer to the dead. That thought almost unnerved him, but he pressed it aside, into a small corner of his mind far beneath his conscious awareness. Fighting had erupted down along the valley, by the feel and sound of it, although he knew little of what it meant. What he knew was that time was very short.
If this was a trap, it was only a matter of time before it was sprung. And he intended to be the next star system over when it was sprung. Thoughts of Ruusan hung uneasily in his mind and the evermore practical fact that it would be easy to annihilate the cream of the crop when it came to the new Alliance Jedi in this battle, leaving them crippled and weakened.
Too good an opportunity for the Sith to ignore. Move and counter move. He did not want to be around for the Sith counter. So, risking a greater chance for detection, he rose to a crouch and scuttled forward, one hand on his lightsaber and another on the ground just ahead of him.
It barely saved him, however, as the rock beneath his feet came to an abrupt halt. His hand slipped forward and he nearly tumbled, but caught himself. No sense of immediate danger and he filtered through the forms of vision in his helmet. Nothing living and he inched forward before letting himself drop. About two meters down and his feet hit. He let the ankles bend and flex as he rolled sideways.
The wind was quieter here and the sand less thick. An improvement, but the direction of travel took him downwards and towards the valley rather than the direction he intended. Dangerous, and off-course, but less likely to get caught up in a crossfire. He rolled his neck, unholstered his hand cannon, kept his thumb on the lightsaber switch, and pressed into the darkness ahead of him.
