Step into the Void [Path to Transcended 1]

[Darth Abyss]

Space above Dathomir.

While his muscles were still defined, Abyss could see the corruption of the dark side that was slowly draining his body with out a doubt of it. Never before had his hands been this boney, his skin so pale and his veins so exposed. It wasn't a death that took you from on day to another, but the kind that slowly creeped up on you, that waited in the shadows and watched while your body was falling apart, until you would be to weak to fight it. Abyss had done everything he had been able to think of to stop it, but nothing worked. He asked other sith, he even asked a jedi. There had been a day when he had allowed the light to touch him, in a desperate hope that the healing traits of the light side would help his body become whole again. But all to no effect, besides greatly slowing down his death. He had brought himself time, a few years even but not nearly enough for a lifetime.

He needed a solution, and it was presented to him like most the wisdom he had drawn from in his life. Darth Nihilus, the lord of hunger, had done something unnatural and deranged back in his time, a feat that despite the obvious drawbacks had never failed to amaze Abyss. Essence transfer was an important part of it, unchaining the spirit from the body, but other than the lords before him Nihilus didn't simply stopped there. He transcended, he became a being that was nothing but dark side energy and pure, untainted intent, only kept in the physical plane by a set of armor to hold him, instead of taking over a new body that would fall apart like the one before.

Yet while it was common knowledge for those that had studied the history of jedi, sith and the force as whole that it had happened, there was no accounts he had found that had any details how the ancient lord had accomplished his transformation. For long he had thought about a way to find out, but neither his skills in research, nor the art of pyschometry could aid him in finding knowledge that seemed to have never existed. If he could just ask the old sith...

Well he could, even if hadn't been aware of it at first. The thought had pushed him to read the sparse accounts of the netherworld incident. There wasn't much written history of the current times, so all he had were a number of first hand account picked up from all over the galaxy. It didn't told him much, besides the fact there were still places where the veil that departed the void from the physical world was thin, and that with the right technique it could be traversed. One of this points was, at least to his knowledge, Dathomir, but he was no expert on matters of the afterlife. [member="Darth Ophidia"], his master, on the other hand shared a close relationship with death, and if there was one being in the world that would be able to guide him into the land of the death it was her.

The stolen freighter rested space above the homeworld of the witches, unmoved and silent, awaiting his master to come. He had send a message to her, but while she had returned to the galaxy, she was someone that couldn't be commanded, especially by her apprentice, even if called himself a lord of the sith by now. Still he waited, as without her all hope for his next step to ascension would be lost.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

The Netherworld of the Force; many who thought themselves powerful never traversed those realms and returned. Those who did, never came back the same. Even Darth Ophidia thought twice about returning to the realm of the dead and the damned. The thought brought a shiver to her spine as more primeval instincts scratched their way out from the depths of her subconscious. However, the desire to know and the mental discipline to press forth where others would turn and flee combined to reign in the fear. A Sith wielded their passions, but they were not the slaves of base emotion. There were dark things in the pits of hell she too desired.

The Pale Assassin's piloting droid, nicknamed Darling, pulled their small shuttle out of hyperspace. It was an unassuming civilian starship she had purchased for credits through a proxy whose mind she had taken control over and then driven to a quiet, suicidal mania. He was a weak minded thing with no-one to miss him. And she had to admit that it was terribly exciting to see a man voluntarily step through an airlock and out into open space. Now, that same airlock was being cleanly manoeuvred to meet with [member="Darth Abyss"] ' freighter.

Meanwhile, she transmitted a simple message to her old apprentice. The message showed her holographic form, face obscured under a dark hood, but her eyes shone through the shade like embers. Her voice, however, was unmistakable in its cold rasp.

"Darth Abyss. I see you have come far and I sense you have grown powerful. I will meet with you; we have much to discuss."

As the transmission ended, she cast a glance down at Dathomir underneath them. She could feel its dark presence calling to her in soft, inaudible whispers. A smile crept up her ashen cheek, then faded as she made her stride through the ship and towards the boarding platform. Her hands clasped behind her back as she was accustomed to, resting between her curved lightsabre-hilts.

 

[Darth Abyss]

As the ships connected, and the message had been transmitted, Abyss himself made his way to the airlock. Stopping in front of it, he descended down on one knee, his head hanging low. It had been long since he bowed in front of another being, but [member="Darth Ophidia"] was one of the few he still feared. She had been to forge him into what he was, and she knew who he had been years ago. While she never meet the man that had been before Abyss, she still had learned his weaknesses in the course of his training, she was one of the very few that had seen beyond the mask on his face. It was a terrifying thought, as for once the tables were turned. He made an effort to know and understand those he had to fight, and yet his master was a mystery to him. One day they would cross blades a final time, and he had absolutely no clue were her limit was, and what she had held back in their time as master and apprentice.

Yet he did not kneel to her out of fear. It was a deliberate action, a sign of respect. If he were to present himself as an equal to her, there was a chance that she would perceive him as a threat, and force him into a fight he couldn't win. He still needed time for this final test of his might, he still needed more power to give him an edge over the pale assassin. It was one of countless times he had shown submission to her, but one detail was different. They had privacy, and yet he still wore the mask on his face, not showing her the man behind it. Again a deliberate choice, so he seemed loyal but not weak, to not give her a reason to simply eliminate him for his weakness, to not be seen as a failure in her eyes.

When the airlock opened, he could feel the dark, cold presence of his master, but this time his own filled the air rivaling her power with his own. His voice was stoic, emotionless exactly as hers most of the time, giving it a ghost like, inhuman feel.

"Master. I have awaited your return."

Oh, how he had waited, not only today but the whole time she had been faded from the galaxy. Her absence had been a strike into the might of the sith as a whole, leaving them without their most skilled assassin and infiltrator in a time of chaos and uncertainty. But now, the one sith he saw as the most powerful of them all had returned.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"Much has changed in my absence. Yet you, you still hunger."

She stood before him for a moment, taking in the surroundings and revelling in his forceful presence. He was not weak, that was certain. Yet, he was courteous, respectful; lies, all lies. Nothing made her prouder than to see what elusive being he had become. So many wished only to display power, influence, and decadent riches. Not Abyss, he knew the value of a feigned weakness; he knew to exploit pride and harvest favour of the self-righteous. Once upon a time, her former apprentices had attempted to win her favour by showering her in gifts taken from the broken corpses of their vanquished foes. She had received gold trinkets, land, monuments, and deadly weapons. But never had she felt pride over those feats or ownership over its spoils; not like the pride she felt in seeing an apprentice as devout to the shadow as the one that knelt before her.
He and the other.

"Rise, Darth Abyss."

Her left hand emerged from behind her back. The skin of her left hand and forearm had once been burnt off as part of a ritual, then regrown by sithspawning techniques. Now, it was black as ink, with a gnarled pattern as though it had been soaked in boiling water. The hand gestured in concord with her request, asking him to rise.

"We have much to do."

Her black hand ventured up to her hood and slipped it off her head, revealing the hairless scalp with its tattoos and lichtenberg-figure scars. She was no less menacing without the obscurity, and every feature, such as the slight discolouration of grey on her chin, left the mind to spin countless scenarios without coming any closer to conclusion. The gesture of removing the hood, however, made one very clear point: It was time to get work done.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

The figure of the Mindeater rose to his full height, standing at least a head above his master. Under his robe his body was lean and tall, with small, yet defined muscles that were dwarft by those of many sith, but with the robe on he looked larger, and far more massive than he actually was. Combined with the mask he was as threatening as his master, at least from an outside perspective. He simply nodded, and began to walk towards the navigation system in the center of the ship he had stolen.

"The Netherworld is a mystery to me, master. While Jedi and Sith are aware of its existence for long, the event that brought both worlds closer was to recent to be found in our written history."

With a few moves of his hand, the navigation system started up a holographic map of the world below them, markers placed on several places where he believed that the veil was thin enough to traverse it. He wasn't sure about any of them, but from his research they were the most likely options.

"I have researched every account of the event that I could find, but I was not able to pinpoint the exact position that will allow us to enter into the realm of the dead."

The map moved in closer, switching through depictions of several ancient ruins located on Dathomir. it wasn't much, but with his masters knowledge he was sure that they would be able to find what he wished to find so desperately.

"Your knowledge about the Netherworld far exceeds my own. Tell me master, will one of these locations allows us to traverse the veil? Or is there another way i have not heard of yet, besides death?"

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Ophidia had never been the tallest, though she stood a good few inches above the norm of her species and gender. Her teachers and apprentices had all been, or grown to be, taller than she. So, it was to no surprise that The Black would do so as well. She had stood in front of a Dark Lord fierce enough to gather all the greatest Sith in the galaxy under his banner. She had knelt before him and she had participated in his destruction. After that, few mortals were capable of instilling any semblance of terror in her.

"The Netherworld is a mystery to most, even those who have walked it."

Her right hand stroked her chin thoughtfully as she surveyed the locations; her eyes narrowed as she reached out with the Force and felt the proxy-connection to each as the image switched. It was difficult, but she could indeed feel the thinning of the veil even here. Perhaps her proximity to the spirits of the dead helped her. A part of her soul still felt as though it was pulled towards such rifts.

"The most secure is on Csilla. However, it is also heavily guarded and the territory is highly unstable. I would not go there. You were wise to seek out this place."

Her eyes widened a little as one spot appeared. The motion was subtle, barely visible even to one who knew her features. It felt familiar, as though she had seen its reflection in a dream. It lingered in her thoughts even as it switched to the next, and the next.

"The Witches of Dathomir have stretched the veil thin. Not so much that we may simply pass through, but I believe with the right sacrifice and the right ritual we may be able to penetrate with our physical forms. We should not want to go without our earthly tethers. Not yet."

She had read ghastly tales that served as warnings against spirit-walking past the veil. Those who managed to return did not always find their bodies and were subsequently drawn back into the Netherworld and to pits of Chaos.

"This place"

She pointed to a series of caves, some of which were filled with water. It had once housed a beast worshipped by the Witches of Dathomir. It had been a rite of passage to battle the beast's mind and force it into service. Nearly a millennium ago, it had been killed by the last of its host-tribe. The knowledge of it was dubious and only referred to in passing, but now she could feel a certainty about it. They needed to go there.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Csilla. The name of the planet called upon many memories, the place where the empire Abyss had dedicated his live to as an apprentice had fallen a final time. He found the thought of going there, side by side with [member="Darth Ophidia"] oddly appealing, but only because he still hungered for revenge, because he still wished to slaughter every living member of the iron empire, and every Chiss so he could end what he had started. But such things had to wait for now, not even with the help of his master he would be able to take out a whole army. Not yet at least.

Abyss reached for the console, and the navigation system locked on the cave system that she had pointed them to. He didn't believed in luck, so it clearly had to be fate that he stumbled over information that triggered something in her mind, and so it also had to be fate that he would traverse into the world of the dead on this day to finally be reborn on another.

"What kind of sacrifice? Will we need anything that neither our ships nor the world below us does offer? If so, I will have to make some calls."

It wouldn't be a problem, as Abyss position in the underworld basically allowed him to get everything he could think of, from slaves to alchemical resources scavenged from the numerous ancient places all around the galaxy. Yet he still hoped that the sacrifice would be something simpler, as he felt a eagerness for what was about to come, and he didn't wished to be hold up by waiting for someone to run his errant's.

"The ship has calculated a course down to our destination. Do you intent to stay, or will you return to your own ship?"

He didn't waited to hear her answer as he made his way to the cockpit. The darkness was pumping in his veins, and the obsession, the hunger that pushed him forwards was stronger than normally, as he could see his rise written on the horizon.

OOC

Spoiler

Retagging everyone, because each thread of this arc seems to be at risk of dying.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"A blood sacrifice of a force-sensitive ought to be enough. However, we would need to drain the body. Obviously, we will have to acquire a victim. It should not be too difficult in this place."

She lifted her hand in front of herself once more, the fingers flexed and stretched as she reached out in a preliminary search. She would not find any individuals, but she could indeed feel the accumulated presence of the dark side of the Force in this place. Her eyes fluttered in delight as she sensed the lingering, ancient powers that permeated air, earth, and water.

"I will remain aboard your ship. My own will remain in orbit and keep a macro-view of the situation. Its scanners will serve as an outer perimeter against potential intrusion into our operation."

There was very little reason to think anyone would know enough to attempt putting a stopper to what they were about to do. However, she had made such assumptions before and been surprised. This time, and so many times leading up to this point, she would take precautions to avoid any intrusion. If they were attacked in the ritual, then it could all turn out very badly.

As he walked away, she remained, reaching out towards the planet underneath. She appeared to be staring at the screens when in truth her burning gaze was turned far into the horizon. Her perception had gone beyond her self as she reached out with her influence as far as she could reach. The dark tendrils of her mind grasped the planet in a phantom caress.

Dathomir.

What a beautiful place; such a cruel presence.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Leaving a ship in the orbit to have an eye in the sky, just in case. It really wasn't hard to tell that [member="Darth Ophidia"] had been the one to train Abyss, as his methods mirrored hers in many ways. For a while he simply stood in the cockpit, in his thoughts already on the world below him, watching as the ship moved closer and closer to the surface. When they reached a point where it would be a matter of minutes until they would touch the ground, he turned around and made his way back to his master in the center of the ship.

"Do you have contacts here, or will we start a witch hunt once we reach the surface?"

Finding and abducting a witch wouldn't be an easy but also not an impossible task, at least not for two Lords of the sith. Yet he would make a mistake by underestimating the nightsisters, they knew the forests, swamps, caves smd ruins of Dathomir better than anyone else, and they were known to use this knowledge to fight of intruders. And going by the fact that they would venture into a place with some kind of connection to the force and the world of the dead, they would maybe even make an effort to keep them from entering.

The ship reached the ground below it, and slowly air was pushed out to decompress the vessel. Then it opened up, allowing the two sith to finally walk out. When Abyss left the ship, he was greeted by the twilight of the witchworld, the air heavy from the darkness that flowed through the cursed swamps.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

The caves had once been vibrant with the life of witches in the days when they worshipped the beast underneath. Since its passing, they lay silent. Only the shadow of a memory remained of the then civilisation. It was not impossible to think that they would find opposition, but their adversaries would not likely walk among the living. The veil was thin, only the dead wished to remain - restless.

"I have a contact on the surface, he may be able to provide what we need. Though, we should not trust him."

Her contact was a Dathomirian Zabrak who peddled in force sensitive kids, sold as prospects to the Sith or "children" to rich eccentrics. She had found his services during her Knighthood in The One Sith, while manipulating the slave-trade to favour a company more aligned with the Dark Lord's plan. Her service then left her with influence now, but those who sold their own peoples were inherently untrustworthy. She knew this all too well.

With a few quick taps of her fingers, she activated her personal com device and rerouted it through her own ship in order to mask their location. She pulled the hood over her head and shifted her facial features with tension. Shifting her feet, she made sure nothing telling could be seen in the background. These were all simple precautions she took for granted by now. Then, a blue figure sprang up from the portable com.

"OSI-DS-.271" The middle finger of her right hand curled and met her thumb at her abdomen before closing into a fist and resting by her side. "I am in need of repairs, do you have goods?" "I repeat, do you have my repairs?" Every word was carefully chosen, but spoken in the most natural manner. The figure in the com stood silent for a moment before responding.

"DM-R-3.11," He ran his right hand down the front of his nose. "I have your repairs. I am on break, but the shop is open." The Zabrak's voice cracked, lagged and was otherwise distorted, but the words carried through. Ophidia closed the com device, breaking the connection.

"He will meet us, but I suspect local enforcement may be watching him. Be on guard."

She looked to Abyss as her hands clasped behind her back once more. Her left hand casually caressed the side of one of her curved sabre hilts, not threateningly, but assuring. It was an old habit from long before she had entered into her pact with the Dark Side.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

The dead weren't the only restless souls on Dathomir, Abyss himself had a hard time to keep his patience. [member="Darth Ophidia"] had taught him well in that regard, but the promise of the knowledge he desired fueled the hunger and obsession that was running rampant in his mind. Yet he knew that losing his calm wouldn't help him in this situation, as there was little he could do but wait anyway, at least as long he didn't planned to sacrifice either himself of his master to traverse into the nether.

With a casual interest he listened to his master speaking into her com, clearly in some form of code. He agreed that salvers could rarely be trusted, mainly because he had been one for a part of his live. By now he had the wealth of several cities at his fingertips when doing business, but right after the fall of the one sith he had little more than a few loyal men, the strength of his mind and his control over the force. Back then selling slaves that he forced into submission with both the force and a collection of experimental technology and drugs recovered from the remnants of the one sith was the only way for him to finance his operations, and so he had his fair share of interactions with those that sold her own.

"Then we will have more blood to sacrifice."

Local enforcement was less of an threat and more of an time consuming obstacle they had to overcome. A few goons that meant to enforce some form of law wouldn't be able to hold their own against two lords of the sith for long, but there was the risk of reinforcements, even on a world like this. Avoiding a fight would probably be the best solution they had, but that was out of their hands.

Barley noticeable his left reached inside his sleeve, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of one of his trademark throwing knifes. He was almost as quick and precise with them as with a gun, but they had the advantage of making no sound whatsoever when used, which could prove helpful to keep them from being noticed by others should a fight break out. In the distance he could make out a sound, footsteps slowly coming closer towards then. It seemed like Ophidias contact would arrive any minute now.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"We may have use of it. The old sanctuaries of the Nightsisters are not places carelessly traversed. Be wary, my apprentice; the dead sleep restlessly on Dathomir."

Her long legs carried Darth Ophidia in a swift stride without expressing much hurry. Her hands, clasped at her back, reinforced the image of a silent dominance in her presence. Her tall, slender form, though shorter than some, did command a certain respect. She restricted her presence, diminishing it, but not wiping it out entirely. As such, she did not hide who she was, though she would be quite difficult to detect from a distance. It was a balance she had perfected through a decade of careful practice in the art of dealing with lesser beings.

The coordinates and her guidance took them to a building seemingly ripe for bulldosing. Though, before them was a worn, but relatively well-kept set of stairs leading down into a basement. On a corner to the right stood a male Zabrak seemingly reading on his datapad. On the left, another appeared to be sleeping in a lawn-chair. However, she knew both of them were watching the enclosing Sith with hands carefully placed on hidden blasters. It was all part of the deal and she allowed it in order to let their partners feel safer. The well-kept delusion that the scum of this world had some semblance of power to fight back effectively made them malleable to suggestion.

"I have come to look at some repairs. Is your uncle in?"

Ophidia spoke into the door, almost as though expecting the slab of metal itself to respond. After a moment of silence, three metallic clanks preceded the creaking of the door opening. Both the Zabraki, the sleeper and the reader, turned and walked away from the scene. It was all going after procedure.

Before them extended a darkened interior. The woman inside looked at Abyss and Ophidia with suspicion while stepping aside to not stand in their way. A fragrant mist of spice and the pungent smell of drink met them. Ophidia stepped inside, expecting Abyss to follow. She did not dignify the woman at the door with as much as a glance, but strode through. There were more persons here than she anticipated, but their faces did not lend themselves to the law-enforcing kind. Still, she was on edge and to those who had known her longer, it may have shown for a fraction.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Abyss followed his master into the structure, his own presence hidden in a similar fashion than that of his master, his technique only a notch less refined than hers. He was walking on the path of the shadows as well, but his methods had moved a slight bit away from simple hiding and masking. That were things that both [member="Darth Ophidia"] and his acolyte brother Lykos would always have a advantage in.

When they were meet by the smell of spice and drinks, in something that was obviously a business or establishment of the criminal kind a small smile danced over his lips for just a second. Crime was a field he had gained quite the expertise in, to the point where a alias of him became a name known through most underworld groups. That was something that could come in handy in a place like this, to avoid any future confrontation with these they meant to strike a deal with.

Sure criminals were dangerous, but in the underworld appearance and reputation was anything. And the reputation of Prophet was was that he hunted down anyone who tried to cross him merciless, and that there was no way to hide once he was onto someone. It was only a half truth. His network of spies allowed him to see and hear much, but in the end the image he had build around himself was more effective than any operative he had,

Yet announcing his name openly would be foolish, as he didn't knew anyone inside. But there was an easy way to change that. Years in the past his master had introduced him to the art of mentalism, and now he had reached true mastery in it, in numerous different disciplines and application around the manipulation of the mind.

Unseen on the outside his thoughts reached out to the people around him, searching for anything that could give away a possible source of danger. Most held the most common through there were. "What do I eat? What do I drink? Should I buy more spice? Is that woman single?" and a lot more of meaningless impulses that made a very weak case for them being above animals in their evolutionary level.

Only one stood out, a man that waited in the edge of the room, his face obscured by darkness. Abyss had a hard time reading his thoughts without making a lot of noise inside the mans mind, but he could still feel something dangerous in there. He sensed a telepathic message to his master, combined with a mental image of the man

"Stay alert. I sense danger in this ones mind."

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Her eyes drifted over to the man as her apprentice pointed him out. She did not need to poke his mind to tell he was out of place. She knew this den, and its lingo; she knew when someone was being avoided and this man was. He stood with a certain confidence and a tough look on his face, yet he was not spoken to. Backs were turned on him, but eyes kept glancing in his direction. He could have been a bouncer, or some particularly dangerous bounty hunter, but he was waiting for someone.

'Then I trust you will take care of him.'

Darth Ophidia continued her stride towards a Zabrak whose skin was tattooed to the point of near complete blackness. His eyes had been replaced by silvery cybernetics and his teeth had a rotten yellow tint. As she approached the table, he cast down his sabacc cards and laughed loudly as taloned cybernetic hands raked in the local credits. As Ophidia's form came to loom over the table, his smile faded.

"I hear your uncle's on break. Are you the one running the shop then? Zarrakh."

For a moment, it would seem temperance fell out the window as Ophidia's presence in the Force became momentarily apparent. She needed to reassure her former impression and it would seem it worked as the three other Dathomirians by the table suddenly threw their heads back in howls of pain while their fingers turned backwards onto themselves with a series of nasty crunching sounds.

"I want my prize."

A bustle went through the room, if blasters were to be drawn, then this was the moment, and she put faith in her apprentice's ability to control the exterior situation.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

While his master spend her time sealing the deal that would give them the much needed sacrifice, Abyss was on watch, monitoring the room close, and the suspicious man closer. [member="Darth Ophidia"]s words pierced through the air, and inside the man's mind he could feel a surge of adrenaline, as instinct took over and the hidden danger was revealed to the outside.

In a split second a blaster was drawn, but before one blot could be fired a small throwing knife pushed through the man's right, leading to the firearm ending up on the ground while its owner would feel the poison running through his veins all of a sudden. But that was not all, this had to be taken care of a slight bit more bloody than hidden weapons and poison, as his master seemingly had a reputation to secure in this place.

Slowly, menacing the sith Lord moved to the wounded man who clearly had started to suffer from pain and hallucinations from the substances introduced into his bloodstream. The hooded figure of Abyss reached the mentally crippled man, his right forming a claw with nails that pushed into the man's head. A moment later a loud crack could be heard, as a skull was smashed in with the help of the wall behind it.

If there had been more that meant to attack them, they had decided otherwise by now, as all he felt in the minds around him was a mix of fear, disinterest or confusion. Not only had someone disarmed someone with a thrown knife with unnatural precision, but the same man had also violently murder the threat without any emotional reaction while doing so, displeased and remorseless. Not the type of person a simple, selfish criminal wanted to mess with, not without the promise to earn enough credits to be high on spice for the rest of their live.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"You ain't getting poodoo out of us, schutta."

The zabrak rose to his feet with confidence and expected fully that the room would rise with him. His hand went to the blaster at his side and a cocked smile grew on his lips, spreading the corners of his cleft upper lip. Rather than the spreading sound of unity, his defiance was accompanied by a single blaster, disarmed by [member="Darth Abyss"] ' knife and whose wielder was subjected to vampiresque mind-warping and a swift, but brutal end. It most certainly cemented the idea that one did not mess with the cloaked force-wielders. Zarrakh looked less than pleased and more than a little betrayed.

"There is no 'us'; only you."

The lights dimmed and flickered as Ophidia spread a blanket of shadow. Her dry, cold rasp of a voice split as it escaped her lips and spread throughout the room in discordant levels. Within her cloak, she straightened her shoulders and stretched her slender neck to give herself a little more height and solidify her dominance. She had seized her pressure on his comrades' fingers in order to present this focus, this display of otherwordly power.

"And you will do as I say. Now!"

Upon the final word of her request, all the splintered versions of her voice coalesced into a single audible point. Meanwhile, her left hand reached out for him and a white serpent sprung from the skin of her ink-black palm, snapping its jaws right in front of Zarrakh's face before recoiling an curling around Ophidia's shoulders. It hissed at others and turned its gaze around. Its eyes were like embers; like Ophidia's own.

"Yes" "Yes what?" "Yes, ma'am"

The darkness faded and her presence in the force shrunk. However, the white serpent remained as a sentinel upon her shoulders. Had Abyss ever seen it before? She could not tell. He had never expressed to her an interest in the art of sithspawning.

"Three of your nightchildren within the hour, or your head be it. Scamper!"

The poker-players spread in every direction. Some running for help, others simply getting out of the way. Some ordering their lessers to have the orders executed. Zarrakh turned and took a few steps to the right, then the left, looking momentarily bewildered before sitting back down and cupping his face in his metal palms.

"There are three waiting for you to exit. Local government. If I smuggle you out, will you let us live despite our treason... Ma'am?"

Her eyes turned to Abyss while the serpent turned to look at the Zabrak with the iron arms. They had little time and while it was preferable not to fight more than necessary.

 

[Darth Abyss]

"Do it and then we will see."

It wasn't like they couldn't kill the Zabrak afterwards if there was a need to do so, but if he was being honest he couldn't care less if he lived or died as long as they got what they came for. Like any sith he had certain degree of bloodlust within his twisted mind, but it was not nearly as strong as that of many. Killing other was a mostly meaningless act and only acted as a tool and not as a source of pleasure to him. Everything that reduced the time spend outside of the Netherworld was a good thing in his opinion, even if one more piece of scum was allowed to walk the galaxy because of it.

The sith lord gave his master a quick nod, leaving her to make the final decision while he reached for his throwing knife. It was a weapon he had forged himself and imbued with sith runes and magic, and he didn't wanted to leave it in the hand of some dead slaver when he didn't absolute had to. [member="Darth Ophidia"] was the one to lose a reputation here, and he didn't intended to play into her game without a reason. Slaughtering their way through law enforcement wasn't that much of a problem, it only was a time intensive task so he was ready for this situation both ways.

"But before we do anything I want to see the ware."

Abyss knew people like this one well enough to understand that even with the threat of death at hand they could still try to scam them with children that had no connection to the force. The reason why he knew this was the he was one of these people, only many, many levels above this Zabrak, a major player in the underworld instead of a spice addict hidden in a shack on a swamp world.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

The Zabrak looked from Abyss to Ophidia a few times as the words were exchanged his life was in the balance and he knew he could not escape two force users. Especially not their kind. He hated them, and he knew that the more he hated them, the stronger they grew. They had told him so themselves, back when he was the one being investigated for potential apprenticeship. He had failed then and been bitter since.

"We will wait here until we are shown the wares."

The Pale's hands clasped behind her back, the right hand plucked a vial from her sleeve and placed it in the left as she paced the room. The Nagajj on her shoulder kept its eyes firmly on the Zabrak. A purple, forked tongue darted out of its mouth, tasting the air and feeding upon the fear.

"You will then smuggle us out, as offered. That should be sufficient to prove your solidarity to my cause. Further indiscretion will be dealt with with greater severity, know this."

The zabrak nodded in resigned agreement, his metallic hands wringing one another in irritation over his situation. Did all syndicates fare so badly? It was all better in the day the Sith were resigned to conquest of the overt, rather than dabbling in the covert. Now, everywhere he looked, there were these dark beings taking over operations. Some even spoke of a ghost, a spirit of hunger that ruled a vast network in old Hutt space.

"If you should fail me, or raise your hand against me again." She stretched out her left hand, producing the vial between her fingers. Her eyes set upon the zabrak. "Then know your life is forfeit. You are alone, and you belong to me." The right hand circled her left wrist while changing between three gestures. The milky liquid in the flask appeared to bubble. "I own you" The Zabrak broke into a fit of coughs as what appeared to be a speck of black dust escaped his lungs. His eyes followed it as it floated towards the flask and passed through the glass.

A smile spread across Ophidia's lips. This was one of the mysticisms she had picked up in the Netherworld: To steal a trace of soul and thus subdue the will. She gave the flask to the serpent, which swallowed it and dived into the hood of her clothes, merging with her ashen flesh.

"I am waiting; we are waiting."

Within the next forty minutes, three children were brought before them for inspection. They each had a degree of Force sensitivity. One with quite some potential, two mediocre, but sufficient for the ritual. Would they sacrifice all? Keep one? Bleed just a single? Ophidia contemplated. These rituals were not easy to exact.

"Three sacrifices would make for a more stable transition."

[member="Darth Abyss"]