The Broken Lord (Open)

[Darth Abyss]

Space, Far beyond the edges of the known galaxy

Darkness.

For a moment Abyss used all his focus to open his eyes, only to be reminded that he had none. The darkness was not a product of eyelids blocking his sight, but the absence of humanity that he had chosen. How much time had passed, how did he end up here? Even more importantly where was "here"? Before his mind had time to comprehend any of those questions something else rose within it, shrouding each of those thought in a dark, endless void. The last time he had feed was before he lost himself in the depths of space, and now the hunger that plagued him since the dark side had touched him had become unbearable.

Suddenly he could see again, the tendrils of his mind reaching out towards the world around him. The ship was close to falling apart, little more than a shield and an engine drifting through the vast emptiness, held together not by logic but by faith. For the first time in what felt like ages the hollow construct, no longer a statue limited by the basic rules of reality, returned to unlive. Yet he was no longer what he had been before.

While the metalic entity looked no less terrifying then before, he had lost most of his wretched glory. The once imposing figure had suffered dearly under the passing of time, the armor that served as his physical presence in the galaxy deformed, twisted and broken, the chest plate now a violent patchwork of metal and the grin of eternal mockery lacking a handful of toxic, metal teeth. Most of his body was wrapped in dirty black and grey rags, and a wide hood clouded the sight onto the one thing untouched by the decay, the wooden mask that held his spirit within.

Why had his mind come back? Why was it gone in the first place?

Slowly the memories of his fate returned, fragments and pieces that lacked the context needed to make out their meaning. When he ventured into the edges of the galaxy on yet another quest to find even more rare, forbidden knowledge to consume he had been at the height of his power, but from there came the fall. The further he traveled, the further he moved away from the worlds filled with living, thinking beings with more minds to devour, the louder the void called for him. First only a few members of the crew went missing, then more and more until no one was left. Once the last thought had become part of the Mindeater, the strange being simply fell idle, lacking any purpose besides survival. Even his mind went dark, quietly waiting for the day he was to return to the galaxy.

Now that time had come, as marked by the small scavenger freighter that was in the process of docking to the half faded ship. Moments later two men, wearing heavy space suits, began their path through the broken innards of the wreck, not knowing what they had awoken in their foolish greed for lost treasures.

"Hey Frank look at that. Have you ever seen a sculpture like this?"

The man that had entered the bridge first was drifting through the weightless void, a single hand dancing over the rusted, motionless figure standing in the center of the room.

"No. Looks old, maybe even rare. Could be our best find so far."

As two pairs of hand reached for the figure, meant to bring the rare trinket back onto the ship a hollow voice broke through the silence of space. Not that of a man, not one spoken fully in the realm of the living. An ethereal, otherworldly whisper that had no source, eerily resounding in the dead ship.

"I have returned."

Two twisted talons extended in a rapid fury, claws cutting through the helmets worn by the two men, piercing into the heads below. Then the life left their eyes, as both their mind and their oxygen faded into the endless darkness. Cold steps carried the Mindeater through the ship, towards the docked freighter. The time had come. The Mindeater had awoken once more.

 

[Causstik Rahn]

Causstik Rahn floated listlessly through the void of space aboard the S.S. Scorekeeper. He peered out of the bridge’s canopy with his one good eye and watched the salvage ship dock with the derelict vessel. The pirate knew the fools to be doomed the moment they entered that decrepit ship. Causstik turned his gaze to his second in command and gave him a curt nod. The reptilian warchief responded with a bow and finally spoke

“The shuttle is ready warlord,” He said with a hint of curiosity in his tone “Are you sure he's even still alive? If it can even be called a he anymore…” Crossk finished, a little fear plain in his voice.

“He is alive. For how do you kill something like that?” Causstik said, a little unsure himself.
Not of whether Abyss was alive, but whether bringing him back to the galaxy at large was the right thing to do. Causstik had no morals, but even he was frightened by the taint that was Abyss. Still, Causstik knew no treasure like the amount he had received when he served the dark lord. He had taken no slaves since the man’s departure and it pained him so.

He was a pirate and a slaver, yet everywhere he turned people were forcing him to set aside who he truly was. It made him angry. Furious that they would diminish the T’doshok’s way of life. But, he had had to accept the payroll, simply because he needed the money. At least under Abyss he had the freedom to do what he wanted. Causstik was tired of being the galaxies lap dog. He wanted to burn it asunder. To plunder, pillage, and destroy.

So, as he boarded the loan shuttle that would take him to the derelict craft, he grew anxious with anticipation. Would the darklord destroy them on the spot? Would he come with the Trandoshan or would he simply cast him aside? A hundred thoughts raced through Causstik’s mind, each worse than the last. But, his thoughts were interrupted as the shuttle jarred and rocked as it docked with the broken vessel that was Abyss’s.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Loyalty was such an fragile, volatile thing, and yet it could be found in the oddest of places. In this case inside the soul of a ruthless, amoral Trandoshan that had stood and fought besides Abyss more times than he could count.

Like an animal picking up a scent, Abyss caught a glimpse of a known presence in the force, dampened and fractured under the various layers of void stone and other things designed for the sole purpose of bringing those gifted by the force to their deserved end. The steps of the hollow monstrosity stopped as he noticed that another vessel was docking to the broken ship, the Mindeater once more freezing in place like a lifeless sculpture of himself.

Other than before, despite the fact that his metal shell showed not a single sign of unlive within it, there was a clear, sharp mind in control of it now. He hadn't fallen idle again, his mind hadn't faded a second time. Instead he recalled what many saw as his most wretched, most terrifying trait, his dark and inhuman sense of humor that provoked fear and anger but rarely amusement. It would show him if [member="Causstik Rahn"] had lost his edge during his absence.

Standing close to the airlock Abyss remained perfectly silent, resisting the feral urge to devour and destroy and instead focused on the possibility to watch a crew of violent murderers shudder in fear when the statue would suddenly return to haunt the galaxy. The minds of the two scavengers had barely stilled his hunger, their worthless thoughts merely drops in the endless, ever growing, ever consuming void that raged on within the the empty armor. While it was enough to keep it contained for now, Causstik and his men would do best to keep him entertained, or else the Mindeater would once take over control and push aside the thoughts and desires of Darth Abyss.

 

[Causstik Rahn]

Causstik Rahn and his warriors meandered through the derelict ship. Half the men were jumping at shadows while the other half kept fingering triggers. Needless to say, tensions were high. Causstik nerves were frayed and he found himself constantly flicking the safety to his scattergun on and off. He had to consciously stop himself as they neared the bridge. Causstik peered round the area and spied a statuesque piece of armor.

His goons sat outside the room, hesitant to come in. Causstik motioned for them to enter and Crossk brought forth a battery pack. They jury rigged it to a nearby terminal and the computer came to life with a soft whir. Crossk typed in a few commands and the blast door slammed shut behind them. Crossk approached Causstik, but his eyes were on the suit of armor.

“Are you sure that’s it? Looks like it’s dead…” Crossk growled in their native tongue.

Causstik smiled wryly, a big toothy grin full of canines and incisors.

“He just needs a little juice…” Causstik growled as he unholstered his scattergun.

He pointed it low and Blew Crossk’s kneecaps asunder.

The Warchief fell to the floor with a wet thud, though he was not dead yet.

“You bastard! It’s a trap men!” Crossk cried out.

He hadn't expected to be among the sacrifices. Not he who had been with Causstik since they were both hatchlings… A few of the other Trandoshans raised their weapons, but most simply ran for the doors. Though the doors had been sealed shut by Crossk himself. What a fool he had been Crossk thought as his eyes grew wide with terror. Had the statue just moved? Had the Ghostlord come to feast upon their minds? The Trandoshans brave enough to face their warlord fired. Laser rounds bounced off phrik and shield.

lauCausstik smiled grimly as he withdrew a large phrik blade from his back and wielded it one handed, his scattergun in the other. He charged the remaining Trandoshans and began hacking away at kneecaps, hamstrings, and tendons. Careful to leave his prey alive as he did so. When all was said and done, a dozen moaning Trandoshans lay on the floor and Causstik stood panting, covered in the blood of his kin. He walked to the suit of armor and kneeled.

“I have brought you a feast my lord,”

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Seconds passed without a reaction from Abyss, waiting for [member="Causstik Rahn"] to doubt his decision. The longer he would remain the more the alien warlord would realize the irony of sacrificing all his men to a twisted demon only to learn that the demon was long gone. When almost a minute had passed by, a minute in which the half dead warriors tried their best to stand or fight, a task that showed to be impossible which was a clear testament to Causstik's skills with a blade.

Then a broken laugh echoed through the dim light of the bridge, dancing of the walls while the sounds began to layer upon each other until only a twisted, distorted cacophony remained. Slow, precise steps began to carry the laughing demon through the ship, as the eyes of the half dead finally caught sight of the being that Causstik had offered them to.

Every time he passed by one the warriors on the ground a claw reached for them, their mind ripped out of their heads without a sign of struggle or effort. With each new mind added to his collection the hollow figure seemed to stand straighter. Stilling his otherworldly hunger couldn't fix the damages done to his armor by time and isolation, but it could reform his shattered mind from a feral monster into that of a demigod.

In the end only one of the sacrifices remained, a man known as Crossk. Abyss could feel the delicate presence of anger and betrayal upon him even stronger then upon the other he had devoured. Metal hands reached for the alien on the ground, lifting him up with supernatural strength so that his eyes could look into the dark, empty holes inside Abyss mask.

"Fear not little insect, your sacrifice will not be in vain. Soon chaos and horror will return to the galaxy and your mind will be responsible. Embrace your legacy."

Once more Abyss laughed, while the last remnant of conscience thought faded Crossk's eyes. Then the husk turned to Causstik, while the body in his hands dropped to the floor once more.

"Fear not either, my loyal blade. Your dedication to me will be rewarded with power, blood and fortune. Rise."

 

[Causstik Rahn]

Causstik watched the still statue for what seemed like hours. It’s cruel metal talons unmoving. The wooden mask which adorned its head seemingly empty of the power that had festered within it before. Had Crossk been right? Was the Mindeater truly dead? Causstik was still panting from his previous excursion. Had he just doomed his companions for no reason? Their moans and terrified whimpers resounded through the broken bridge. Causstik sighed, and prepared to raise his scattergun. If the Darklord truly was dead, there was no sense in letting his people suffer any longer.

But, just as Causstik’s hand drifted towards the weapon at his waist, a terrible laughter like a hundred souls bound into one echoed throughout the room. It seemed to come from everywhere, as if that terrible noise had wormed itself out of their very minds. Causstik suppressed a shiver as the laughter continued. Finally the armor moved as the room grew silent. The Trandoshans no longer moaned in pain, but instead stared at the darklord in utter terror. Some tried to scramble away using their arms, others sat completely petrified, while one whimpered uncontrollably to himself.

“Causstik wouldn't do this to me… I’m his second in command. This isn't happening.. Wake up Crossk! Wake up!” The alien rambled on and Causstik’s face grew sour.

He had no need of friends. Only power and riches. He watched as the Mindeater wandered across the bridge, devouring the minds of the Trandoshan warriors, leaving them as little more than lobotomized vegetables. Finally Abyss reached Crossk and his babbling ceased. He stared in horror at the figure before him. Abyss spoke once more in that all encompassing voice and Crossk literally soiled himself. After the Mindeater feasted he approached Causstik.

"Fear not either, my loyal blade. Your dedication to me will be rewarded with power, blood and fortune. Rise."

The warlord did as comanded.

“Yes my lord,” Blood and fortune he promised Causstik. The Trandoshan smiled merrily. It would soon begin. “I have prepared a shuttle for our departure. My warship and army are at your disposal lord. Wherever you wish to go, we shall,”

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

"The Free Cities come first. Once my reign over them is restored we can return to conquest and plundering."

Like a living being awaking in the morning the husk stretched out his deformed limbs, a high pitched shriek filling the air as metal began to bend and scratched over metal, until the husk stood at his full height. After his postion was fixed to more resemble the sith monstrosity that had left the galaxy his claw like hands wandered to his robe, wrapping it around his armor to further cover the makeshift rags that kept his twisted, broken body hidden below.

"Lead the way."

The strange figure lifted a hand, a talon piercing between two of his metal teeth, where something, or possibly even someone, was stuck. With a disgusted motion of his head Abyss looked at what appeared to be a piece of rotten flesh before flicking it from the tip of his finger. He could only barley believe how feral and deranged he had grown in isolation if he even attempted to consume flesh to still his ethereal hunger.

"Maybe we should stop for a bite along the way. A trading ship or two should do."

Once more the Mindeater laughed, feeling as the desire he had just stilled was already crawling back in the edge of his mind. The effects of isolation seemed to be far worse than he initially expected.

[member="Causstik Rahn"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

MALACHOR || TEMPLE OF THE UNSEEN EYE​

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It had been a fair while since Darth Vesper had attended to his fortress in Malachor. After the fall of the free cities, he had seen little reason to - it was almost as though his sole motive to dominate the planet was nothing but pure spite towards his enemy of all enemies, the renegade Dark Lord who so confounded him. It was a horrid place, dreary and sterile, full of darkness. He had hoped for the palatial accommodations he so loved, that which made him starkly aware of his glory, that which fed his pride. His hopes were not fulfilled - yet in a way, this place had grown on him. It was safe, after all - secure - and the first place of residence he had the fortune of acquiring. However remote and isolated, it was his home.

It wouldn't do to call his situation "absolute control" of the planet, far from it. His "street devil" troopers were, by the by, returned to the at-large Imperial military after their long, strange assignment stalking the streets of Malachor. Physically, his presence was nil. His reputation on the planet, his identity? He was unknown. Still, the superior information power of his fortress was something he did not let go unused. He just... skimmed. A touch of blackmail, a touch of extortion or slicing, he simply acquired credits to help finance his lifestyle. That was all he needed from the ruined, dusty misery of the Free Cities, whose streets he scorned. As far as he was concerned, it was another resource, one of poor efficiency - its people too indoctrinated in their cult of anarchy to be useful as anything other than objects of deceit.

A porcelain droid, eerily humanoid and masked, delivered a covered platter to the Sith Lord, in casual garb - a simple black tunic, slacks and a sash, a few rings shimmering on his fingers, darkly metallic or as bloodshine jewels. It was a large room, somewhat too large, intended to be a rather intimidating conference room, yet now it was utterly dark, and instead of a wide place for many seats, it was a table with one chair, illuminated by a single, blue pillar of light shining down from a crystal suspended midair. Dismissing the machine, he waited until its footsteps no longer echoed in his ears before lifting the cover.

Some sort of crustacean, slick and shimmery with butter. Lifting a fork, he poked at it for a moment, watching steam curl out of where its shell cracked - idly wondering how many street rats in the so called "Free Cities" would kill each other for something like it. Maybe he should put it to the test, if he ever has time for leisure. He lifted to sip from a glass of an Ord Radama white -

- he rose from the chair with a start, the glass spilling, shattering, he stumbles and comes to rest against the wall. Sweat slicked his forehead, his heart raced. A vision - it was coming back, it was coming back to take it all away from him again. Damn that creature, damn his fortune, damn the Force, it was still alive!

No. Vesper, you will not be defeated by such a thing. That confrontation will come when you are ready, no sooner, no later. And when it does, the Prophet will re-learn how to feel fear.

"Droid, come - clean this mess up!" He grimaced, glancing down at his stained robes, summoning his dignity in the usual form it took - haughtiness. "And keep the entree warm while I change into something presentable, but prepare two other seats at the table. I have a feeling we will be entertaining guests by the time desert is ready."

| [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Causstik Rahn"] |​

 

[Causstik Rahn]

Causstik Rahn looked to his lord with his one good eye, but said nothing. Instead opting to merely do as he was told. So the T’dohok led the way back towards the shuttle. They traversed dilapidated halls, the smell of rust and blood strong in the air. Causstik idly wondered where the ever present smell of gore came from, but decided it best if he didn't know. He entered the ship that would take them to Causstik’s own warship and banked it away from the ruins that once were Abyss's Vessel.

Causstik eyed the battleship as they entered it’s tractor beam range. It was an ugly vessel, scarred, scratched and battered. The hull was an eerie rust red color, the ship was long and angular shaped. Much like that of certain confederate ships. It was not much to look at, but it did the trick. Causstik Rahn docked with the S.S. Skorekeeper and entered its bowels. As Causstik made his way through the hide strewn halls the Trandoshans that also walked them bowed to the return of their dark lord.

Causstik entered the bridge and was met with utter silence. Many noted Crossk’s absence, but none dared to question it. “Plot a course for Malachor,” Causstik growled and soon after they were met by the maddening blue swirls of hyperspace

[member="Darth Vesper"] / [member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Malachor, The Tainted City

The Prophet's return was not one with any sense of grandstanding. No parade blasted through the dirty streets, no banners raised an no monument build in his honour. Instead the S. S. Scorekeeper simply touched the ground on an unmarked landing pad in the furthest outskirts of Malachor's capital. There his most loyal of followers already awaited him, hidden from sight by the security of a openly rundown warehouse that had served as temporary base of operation countless times.

With the coming Empire as new overlord watching the half dead world, also came change. One that openly appeared to have changed Malachor for the better, but once you looked closer it became apparent that it was mostly a cosmetic adaption. Instead of fighting the empire, the free people simply arranged themselves with their new coexistence. Large shops and stores now paid taxes, but the empire couldn't tax business conducted below their watchful eyes. The gangs of the slums and the red light district had made agreements with the soldiers that patrolled their area, and so illegal money of Malachorian crime was flowing in their personal pockets to enable them to make even more new money to bribe them with.

Once the hollow figure of Darth Abyss, Prophet of the Free Cities, emerged from within the ship he was already meet by the various greetings of his followers and servants. The Witches, Warlocks and Necromancers kneeled on the ground in the fashion of the sith, the Inner Eye and most of his military officers offered a strict salute, while the gang bosses and heads of the casino families showed their loyalty by a wild mix of various gangsigns, shouts and more exotic offerings. Only a high ranking member of the sith empire, who only very recently ended up on the Inner Eye's payroll, wasn't entirely certain what to do, opting for kneeling like he would do towards the highest of lords in the empire after a few akward seconds of standing around undecided.

"Report."

Little time was spend by Abyss to extend the same courtesy back to his men. A handful of nods aimed at the inner circle within his inner circle were all he offered before returning to business. One agent of the Inner Eye stepped forward, a datapad in hand.

"The Free Cities are stable and still under our command. The occupation by the Empire has lead to a shift of power, the gangs have lost significant influence while smuggler and runner crews have risen in their place. We adapted to this new circumstances and are currently controlling roughly 70 percent of any major smuggling within and outside the Cities. We also engineered a constant stream of money into the Empire's pocket that mimics general taxation.

Abyss nodded slowly, pleased to hear that his operation had not fallen to ruin in his absence. Only a slight hint of doubt had plagued his mind, but his Inner Eye had always been absurdly capable and faithful to their death.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. We are currently investigating an unknown player within the cities. Their dentity remains unknown but we were able to follow a trail of credits and information to a handful of possible locations. So far they have made no major moves, but their resources were deliberately used to mislead and evade our eyes.

The agent stepped forward to show Abyss the collection of possible locations on a map. Empowered by the force the Sith Lord allowed his hand to dance over the map, following the calling of the dark side instead of any conscious thought.

"Here. Prepare a speeder, I will handle this myself."

With a flick of his hand Abyss signed [member="Causstik Rahn"] to follow him towards the vehicle that would, unbeknownst even to the Prophet, lead them to hid old nemesis [member="Darth Vesper"]. Decending into a seat he left the position of driver open for his loyal bodyguard and warlord. His return was nearing its completion.

 

[Darth Abyss]

Malachor, The Tainted City

The Prophet's return was not one with any sense of grandstanding. No parade blasted through the dirty streets, no banners raised and no monument build in his honour. Instead the S. S. Scorekeeper simply touched the ground on an unmarked landing pad in the furthest outskirts of Malachor's capital. There his most loyal of followers already awaited him, hidden from sight by the security of a openly rundown warehouse that had served as temporary base of operation countless times.

With the coming Empire as new overlord watching the half dead world, also came change. One that openly appeared to have changed Malachor for the better, but once you looked closer it became apparent that it was mostly a cosmetic adaption. Instead of fighting the empire, the free people simply arranged themselves with their new coexistence. Large shops and stores now paid taxes, but the empire couldn't tax business conducted below their watchful eyes. The gangs of the slums and the red light district had made agreements with the soldiers that patrolled their area, and so illegal money of Malachorian crime was flowing in their personal pockets to enable them to make even more new money to bribe them with.

Once the hollow figure of Darth Abyss, Prophet of the Free Cities, emerged from within the ship he was already meet by the various greetings of his followers and servants. The Witches, Warlocks and Necromancers kneeled on the ground in the fashion of the sith, the Inner Eye and most of his military officers offered a strict salute, while the gang bosses and heads of the casino families showed their loyalty by a wild mix of various gangsigns, shouts and more exotic offerings. Only a high ranking member of the sith empire, who only very recently ended up on the Inner Eye's payroll, wasn't entirely certain what to do, opting for kneeling like he would do towards the highest of lords in the empire after a few akward seconds of standing around undecided.

"Report."

Little time was spend by Abyss to extend the same courtesy back to his men. A handful of nods aimed at the inner circle within his inner circle were all he offered before returning to business. One agent of the Inner Eye stepped forward, a datapad in hand.

"The Free Cities are stable and still under our command. The occupation by the Empire has lead to a shift of power, the gangs have lost significant influence while smuggler and runner crews have risen in their place.
We adapted to this new circumstances and are currently controlling roughly 70 percent of any major smuggling operation within and outside the Cities. We also engineered a constant stream of money into the Empire's pocket that mimics general taxation. Currently we're investigating a unknown player. Their influence is limited but their resources appear to be dedicated to deliberately evade and mislead our eyes. Through a trail of money and information we were able to collect a handful of possible locations.

The agent offered the datapad to Abyss, a map showing the various locations he had spoke of. Allowing the force to guide his hand the Prophet had his metal fingers dance over the device before one slowly fell down on a single, marked point deep in Malachor's wasteland.

"There. Prepare a speeder, I will handle this matter myself."

Abyss handed the datapad back and signaled [member="Causstik Rahn"] to follow him with a flick of his wrist. While the sith was unable to to say why, he could already feel that this was a meeting of fate destined to happen today.

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Causstik Rahn]

[SIZE=11pt]Causstik Rahn and twenty of his best [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]warriors[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] emerged from the [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Scorekeeper[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt], before the ship would abruptly take off and sail into the depths of Malachor’s atmosphere once more, where it would begin laying a net of proximity mines. The troops Causstik brought with him were of the Iron Maw band. Trandoshans decorated in power armor, outfitted with repulsor lifts, sonic weaponry, and plenty of missiles. Just as capable of taking down force users as their warlord. Lightsaber’s lined their armor, tied to the massive frame’s by padawan braids. Scalps sat idly chained to their hips, trophies from many great hunts.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Causstik himself was adorned in his signature armor, Pirate’s Folly. The battle scarred dented plate armor had a massive fur coat hanging from the pauldrons, while black rancor hide lay stretched over the phrik plate mail, giving it a disgusting fleshy look. Beskar chain clinked as Causstik walked. It was not very high tech, but it did the job. What's more, Causstik’s most prized possession, the precious gems that were encrusted all over his armor, were void stone. The one thing that allowed him to hunt force users so ferociously. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Causstik beat his hide covered plate mail and growled as the various goons came to proclaim their loyalty to Abyss. Causstik and the Iron Maw surrounded their lord with lethal intent for any who thought they might get close. While it was true the Dark Lord was a spirit Causstik had heard of certain artifacts that could damage such a being and he would take no chances in losing his lord again. So Causstik allowed only the Inner eye to even get within a smidge of Abyss and even then two large Trandoshans in power armor stood between them and the Dark Lord. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As they finished their report Causstik and the twenty Trandoshans meandered towards a trio of speeders at Abyss’s command. Causstik entered the Driver’s seat and activated the speeder. While his retinue flew in two other speeders, one in front of Causstik’s own and one behind it. They held no special decor or greatness about them. In fact these speeders were dilapidated and rather ugly, much like the Lizards who drove them. They were attempting to remain inconspicuous. The three vehicles drove through the free cities until they reached a crossing point. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The trio split up in order to check all of the locations that had been marked on the map. Causstik was to go to the Temple of the Unseen Eye, as this was to be the place most likely where the other Sith resided. They reached the tall menacing structure and the warlord parked his craft in the shade of an outcropping. He and six of the power armored T’doshok exited the craft and began making their way towards the palace.[/SIZE]

[member="Darth Abyss"] / [member="Darth Vesper"]