First Reply The Dagobah Horror I The Sundering Dawn

[Darth Moskvin]

The Dagobah Horror

"Horrors, I believe, should be original--the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence."
- H.P. Lovecraft -​

Location: Dagobah
Gear: In Sig
Familiar: Archimedes​

O'Death

The Dagobah Horror



{Swirling green mists snaked and slithered through a series of trees, kissing the swampy water as it passed over the murky liquid, chasing away the skittering creatures in unholy procession. The swamps were eerily quiet, as if some unspeakable horror had clawed and crawled its way out of an ancient tomb to spew its rot, turning the swamp into a personal haunting ground. But the mists had a purpose, and it knew what to attract....or who to attract.

Then the silence exploded into a roar of screams and shrieks. But it wasn't from the inhabitants of the swamp, it had manifested from a cave where the green mists collectively danced about. From the maw of the cave, a cold sensation began to wash over the individual this vision was meant for....and from the coldness, the monster awakened from her slumber}

My eyelids snapped open, those duo golden eyes of mine looked about the darkness as I shook the frigidness off my body, pushing aside the metal coffin lid with deathly pale-colored fingers, awaking from The Cold Sleep. Sitting up, the vision slowly fading into obscurity; but it still lingered in my mind. I knew those swamps, I knew it had to be Dagobah. But what of the green mist? The howls? And of this mysterious cave? And more importantly, why was I the recipient of this vision? Whatever the reason I was chosen, my curiosity would not allow me to ignore it, and I felt a little adventure was in order.

Clamoring out of my artistically design coffin, I beckoned my fowl, Archie, to follow as I began to leave the confines of The Hollow to make preparations to depart Dathomir. Normally, I travelled only with Archie, but there was a festering feeling that whatever was in that cave, whatever sent me that vision, required more than just my presences; and so, I brought three sisters from The Paragons of Tenebrosity with me.

As we approached the planet of Dagobah, a creeping sense of uneasiness washed over me and my sisters; a feeling that I found bordering on the plains of madness and fear. I am Lady Death; I install fear into others, I do not believe in being frightened. And yet, something had broken through my armor, putting a small fright in me. I shook it off, replacing it with a temperament befitting of the horrors I represent. Upon landing, and our promptly timed departure from the shuttle, I reached out through the Force, feeling nothing out of the ordinary. It was in the distance, looping around a set of broken and gnarled trees, that we saw the green mist, moving like wisps beckoning us to chase them.

Only the foolish would chase after ghosts and phantoms through a swamp filled with dangers, even ones that are green in veiled transparency. Cautiously we moved through the marshes and putrid waters, our eyes never wavering, our focus on our swirling guides. As we watched them, something was watching us.
​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Moskvin ​

At the hidden enclave of Wonosa on Mustafar, Kasir stood amidst the fiery glow that danced upon the walls–a testament to his solitude.

Then the screams came—inhuman, raw, echoing through the Force. They brutally clawed their way into his mind, testing his defenses in a way he had never known; even worse, they raked at his psyche, making the torment feel physical. No Sith occult ritual, no confrontation, had ever left him like this.

A trail was left. He felt it— a darker calling, a tether that summoned him forward.

A day later, the 578-R descended through the sky, finding a flat spot to land within the swampy terrain of Dagobah. The murky waters and winds whispered confessions in the air as Kasir emerged from the shadows, a figure of menacing determination; his exposed skin, deathly pale and devoid of warmth, gleamed under the transport shuttles lighting. Ebony tresses were pulled and tied back, revealing sharp features; his eyes, chasms of malice, displayed no emotion. Enveloped in armor, without a helm, it was veiled by a flowing black cloak.

Taking his first steps into the terrain, there was something gnawing just on the edges of his consciousness. A brief pause followed, to hone his senses, then extending outward, where he felt something else— a presence. No, more than one. Undeniably, the figures instantly registered on his radar.

The Sangnir moved silently, his steps ghostly light on the uneven ground. With energy dark as ink, it poured outward with each and every precise move; unmasked, and very much deliberate, there was no intention of concealing what he truly was. A storm in the Force, a vortex of darkness capable of consuming all that it touched, Kasir was a being of unnatural power combined with a reckless edge, often leaving destruction wherever he roamed.

However, a transformation awaited him, as if he'd be clinging onto an illusion of having control.

Something deep inside the Sith stirred.

Drawing closer, the same disturbance that had first pulled him at the enclave seemed to enter his very being, and once again, invading his thoughts. An ominous green mist twisted in the near distance, its calling intoxicating, trying to guide him deeper into the heart of whatever lay ahead. His instincts tried to warn him that this was no ordinary threat. A mix of emotions churned within. Fear and anger. There were faint notes of sorrow, too, something he had not endured for as long as he could remember.

It wasn't enough to slow his trajectory; hesitation had never been his way.

Now, he was nearly upon them.

 

[Darth Moskvin]

The Dagobah Horror

"Horrors, I believe, should be original--the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence."
- H.P. Lovecraft -​

Location: Dagobah
Gear: In Sig
Familiar: Archimedes​

O'Death

Scrolling through the swamp, now home to a mysterious and sinister entity, I led the trio of Nightsisters whilst ignoring their collective disquiet nature. I did, however, allow my mind to be pulled like the strings on a marionette by this unseen force, this definable power of aggression and primal hunger. And as I allowed it to sow its seed deep within, my curiosity grew tenfold.

I no longer felt the tinges of fright I experienced earlier; those feeling long defeated by my mental fortitude crusaders. I did, now, begin to feel my hunger grow, as if something was forcing me to feed; an invisible hand holding a spoonful of Anima just under my nose, teasing me. Foolish to tempt a Sangir; foolish further to tempt this one. I've long since learned to control my hunger, no longer susceptible to those dark cravings, abolishing the sensation.

Early I had taking stock through my observations that the swamp laid in silence, and this being Dagobah, was no feat to quell the beasts that roamed the mire. My question was answered when we shambled upon a graveyard filled with the corpses, varying in different states of decomposition, of predator and prey alike. What set my mental acquisitiveness to unearth this mystery, were the few corpses of Daemonium strewn crudely about. On Dathomir, these seclusive giants are rivals to my fellow Sisters of The Nardithi Nightsister Coven; and I knew firsthand these titans were formidable. Yet, they seemed to have been rendered obsolete quickly.

"Fan out and search the area quickly," I said to the others, my eyes remaining locked on the swirling mists. When no other evidence was discovered, we moved toward the mist, watching it spread like parting waters running through an invisible fork in a flowing river or stream. We were obliviously waiting to be hosted. Jointly we sauntered through the parting green vapors, spying the cave I saw in my vision ahead; cold and radiating a smell of ancient, spoiled meat.

Without warning, shrieks borne from unspeakable lunacy, came from behind me. Quickly I turned around to see the trio of Sisters frozen in place; bewitched into a state of comatose. They lived but entranced beyond my assistance. Interesting, I thought, as I turned back to stare into the void of darkness from the mouth of the cave.


Kasir Dorran

​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Moskvin ​

Dagonah’s stillness could've been deceptive, for beneath all which his cruel gaze absorbed, there was a pulse, a throb, something tempting. The Sangnir’s very being now felt drawn to this foreign place, as if it were something lost, begging him to return home. Yet the closer he came to his target through the misty veil, the further it stretched.

Each step his mind waged a battle, curiosity laced with caution; no doubt, it was irresistible, and he knew such dark allure never came without a price.

The oppressive energy weighed heavily against him, different from that of Mustafar where he felt true and invigorated. This one made his skin crawl, as if it was seeping into his pores.

And then came the shrieks—piercing cries that were wickedly sharp, slicing through the air like vibroknives, daring to destroy his eardrums. The sound was chaotic, reverberating in his skull, taunting the assassin to give in to a more primal instinct. True to his nature, instinct took over before logic could register— slender digits, itching, slipped beneath his cloak, curling around the hilt of the saberstaff.

The terrain further revealed itself through the haze, conjuring a sense of deja vu, for the assassin acknowledged it as a place where life had been extinguished with brutality. Still, there was one unfamiliarity that set it apart, for the green mist began to feel like a warm breath on the back of Kasir's neck, an all too familiar sensation to be sure, but it was out of place.

Next, he came upon a group of figures in a frozen state. A lesser creature may have quivered at such a sight, but for him it only brought more intrigue. Senses heightened, there was a trace of one more life, already in motion, moving in ways a predator did when stalking prey; thus, the thrill of a potential challenge was born.

At the maw of the cave, Kasir's movements ceased, but only momentarily, so one might stare into the deep abyss. A single hand reached out, summoning a tendril of the Force, a dark probe that slithered deep into the tunnel. Like his weapon, it was an extension of himself, searching the shadows for his target. Along with it was a telepathic message, woven from both threat and promise— nothing more, nothing less.

<<Why avoid the inevitable when I have already marked you?>>

Unsure if the vision from the prior day was from this figure or some other entity entirely, one thing was for certain: he did believe only one of them would emerge from this cave. Wasting no more time, he began the descent.

 

[Darth Moskvin]

The Dagobah Horror

"Horrors, I believe, should be original--the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence."
- H.P. Lovecraft -​

Location: Dagobah
Gear: In Sig
Familiar: Archimedes​

O'Death

My psyche, compelling and murderous as is, felt a familiar feeling as I bartered further into another potential tomb. It was dead, fashionable late, and smelled oh so tasty. To murder. Alas, I refrain from ignoring this potentially thrilling ending to come. and caustically drenched my signature in the Force. Though, he wouldn't need that to track a female.

Spider....web.

"You hear them too," a voice chirping words in between a dueling of clicking beaks from a ledge above. A raven flew down, perched next to the other of my hideous kind, staring daggers into this Sangnir's eyes. "His name is none of your concern, and don't ask mine....Sangnir." Another sound of fluttering wings echoed mysteriously through the damp air up above. And with a graveness of ruination of soul dancing movements, I glittered the world of the living as I transformed from raven to my form: female Sangnir, and stood before the male, placing a single finger upon his closed lips.

"Before you speak, know I already hate you!"

I've always hated myself, my kind....those robbers who thought themselves superior, taking what, who they want. Taking me. Now, genuflections of my undead life can be blessed; I prey on my kind, traitor....me.

"Before I bore you with the conception of theories as to why two Sangnirs have been drawn here," feigning a fake, mockery bow, "I assume see you dead. No offense, please, I just see you as an enemy more than another enemy."

I chirped, and immediately Archie sat accessorized on my left shoulder. I eyed this male up and down before skittering a poisonous smile on my lips. One tap of my finger upon said pursed male lips, I villainized the tone of my voice, "With that session of fact over a faux warning sadly concluded, answer my question."

Kasir Dorran​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Moskvin ​

Deeper within the cave, the green mist faded from view, but its traces clung to his skin and psyche menacingly in ways that was beyond the Sith's understanding. Something was truly amiss here. While this planet was not one he found himself intimately familiar with, Kasir did understand the bird that made its presence known was not of this world. It didn’t belong here.

Neither did he, perhaps.

A second emerged moments later from the shadows. The words that followed struck a chord within, causing his gaze to deepen from the memories it conjured, ones that would coil tightly around him. The transformation that followed was nothing short of a threat. A single hand found the hilt of his weapon, curling instinctively, both a ritual and reminder of the power ready to be unleashed.

Her finger, cooler than the grave he may have desired to bury her in, then pressed against his lips; it was even more so evident against the oppressive humidity of Dagobah’s swamp. Kasir did not flinch; the gesture lingered solely because he allowed it, for he would answer with neither defiance nor submission. Instead, his head began to incline. Her aura, too, was felt: predatory, calculated, akin to his own. Hatred was clearly a language they both understood; it was as natural as breathing for most Sith. And upon meeting her gaze, the concealed venom reflected, anything but foreign to him.

The Sangnir's mouth barely parted so that he could release the words lingering on his tongue. "From where I stand," he murmured, firmly rooted in his position, "you, are the most likely suspect of all this."

But as the message was delivered, something else began to unravel in the depths of his mind, coming to understand there was more at play than anticipated.

With his hand retreating from the saberstaff and coming to rest at his side, he was undecided whether this was a foolish move or not. Now, he was torn between probing for information, and asserting his own authority. The dark energy within continued churning malevolently.

In truth, he knew little of their kind, aside from the undead Sith he served, Darth Strosius, and his sire, who had long disappeared from Jutrand.

"What brought you here? Do you serve someone--or something?" The assassin's voice was still low. Drawing in a slow breath, he held it, savoring it even, before releasing an exhale. "But if I am truly your foe, and this is to end in blood, why waste time?"

 

[Darth Moskvin]

The Dagobah Horror

"Horrors, I believe, should be original--the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence."
- H.P. Lovecraft -​

Location: Dagobah
Gear: In Sig
Familiar: Archimedes​

O'Death

Meticulously I withdrew back a couple of steps, resting both hands across my breast where my dead, black heart once beat feigning shock at his pompous statement. How dare he accuse me of such a tremendous act, one so pleasantly designed to ensnare not one, but two Sangnir. Our kind was rare. and growing rarer by the passing of every lunar cycle. Shamelessly, I was partially responsible for this xenocide upon our kind. "No, no. You are both mistaken and misaligned in your proposed judgment I am responsible for this," I countered whilst acting out a mocking courtesy. "Though I am pleased you think so high of me."

Gradually I leaned against a cavern wall, arms folded over, as I looked this male Sangir up and down with a mixture of disdain and fascination. He was different, nothing like my beloved who remains lost to me through a crude twist of Fate's weaving, and son my disdain was conquered by curiosity. He was not like she and I, murderers; kids breaking the toys of all that we touched. Gravely, I wondered if the potential was there; less he was one of those weaker Sangir who possessed a melancholy outlook to holding firm to his humanity. And with surprise, an act that slightly bewildered me, he retreated his hand from his weapon. I winked in condemnation of his choice but said nothing.

"Serve? Who should I serve, I wonder?" The tug from that dark energy was growing harder to ignore as I traded words with this man. "A Sith serves no one. Well, this Sith doesn't," I said moving my head closer as my next words were meant only for his ears, "I'm of the rebellious ideologies." Another tug.

"Clearly your Master didn't beat all the common sense from you," I continued to churn out the words. With an annoying sigh I added, "I'm here for the same reason you are, Sith. The reason we've been both drawn here. Does that answer sate your thirst?" And again, that tug. "You will always be my foe, and time means nothing to our kind, surely you've concluded that by now. No, today you are an ally."

I disconnected myself from the cavern wall as I said with a rolling of my eyes toward the deeper bowels of the cavern, where what or who awaited us, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."


Kasir Dorran
​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Moskvin ​

Kasir’s gaze locked onto the woman with intensity as though he were still searching for a truth hidden behind the cynical mask. He inhaled subtly, the faintest trace of her scent weaving through the air. It was like a signature aura, both unmistakable and oddly familiar. The mockery with a sharpened edge did not escape him; even a blind fool would have detected the challenge in her tone. Such disrespect wasn’t something easily dismissed; rather, it was something that often warranted violence. While he had not softened, his thoughts lingered to something entirely more complex: intrigue. But the desire to understand was very much capable of being a double-edged sword; it could wound the wielder just as easily as the target.

Still, his tolerance was not without bounds; there was a fine line between respect and power. Should it not be crossed, it might even be a fire he considered to be worth engaging. “Rebellion clearly suits you, though it doesn't exempt you from consequence. I’d reconsider whether your words are truly worth the risk.”

Beneath the composed demeanor, worn like armor, he felt the magnetic pull of dark energy; it was an irresistible call to the forbidden depths of the cave. It continued tightening around his senses with every exchange. Though he dared not betray his thoughts so openly, part of him long to extend the discussion, even if it clearly lacked substance. Since his transformation less than a year ago on Jutrand, countless nights of contemplation had only led him to one truth– their kind was fragile in numbers.

Allowing the silence to stretch, he collected his thoughts; though, it wasn't from experience, but leaning more towards the quiet menace that defined him.

His focus drifted along the shadows of the cave walls, before returning to the other Sith. “A lone wolf, I take it.” Kasir shook his head; disdain now crept into his voice. “I’ve traveled that path. Few are truly built for it. Power and aggression may be enough to dispatch your enemies, but mastery.. true mastery.. Demands more. Patience. Strategy. Knowing when to strike, and when to wait. Strength is hollow without purpose guiding it.”

As the last of his words trailed off, he finally began the descent; the air thickened, almost suffocating, but his keen vision allowed him to navigate through the darkness with ease. But as he delved deeper, it felt like he was being watched. Whatever was waiting, it beckoned him further into the unknown.

 

[Darth Moskvin]

The Dagobah Horror

"Horrors, I believe, should be original--the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence."
- H.P. Lovecraft -​

Location: Dagobah
Gear: In Sig
Familiar: Archimedes​

O'Death

My lips pursed flirtatiously, leaving his words to dangle in the air like the ends of noosed criminal, turning from him to explore the cave further. I moved down deeper into the darkness, with a feeling of familiarity washing over me, a sense of deja vu more accurately to say. My eyes scanned through the blackness, only to be rewarded with spiraled cobwebs and drooping vines when I brushed against them. Occasionally I caught the slithering of a snake or two retreating into holes, avoiding us, or whatever now housed themselves in the cave. The observation of the snakes was the first sign of anything living in or around the cave; recalling the grisly scene outside.

The soiled ground gave way to a serpentine staircase, with small scones with flickering fires along the walls in a systematic placement to give off just enough lighting, whilst respecting the darkness, as I descended into this utter madness. From below, voices could be heard, a cacophony of words warped into a collective incantation. I didn't recognize the language being spoken, if they were words at all.

Upon reaching the bottom, the singular corridor led to a highly illuminated opening at the end, with a heavy concentration of those green mists roaming about. Those words not only could be heard, but I began to actually feel them crawling through my veins, creeping across my skin with a sensation of tiny arachnid-like appendages. I turned to look at my temporarily companion, gauging his expression and whether he could feel the words, or even hear them; after all, this cave was a mockery of sorts. I turned back to the opening, watching the green mists fade, those words of that unknown language growing louder.

I'm a proficient necromancer, having studied both Sith and Nightsisters tomes, swallowing up the knowledge from those two philosophies of dark arcane workings; but what I saw as I passed through the threshold took my breath away. Gathered in some ritualistic circles were zombies, transfixed and genuflecting before an alter filled with decorative cups, bowls, and other trinkets to attract scavengers, explorers, and archeologists. Within these circles, numbering six in total, was some cryptic pattern, possibly arcane, or religious in nature. And the pattern was glowing green, with more of those mists hovering over them.

I stared hard at the zombies, who outnumbered us thirty to two, and reached for my hilts. These zombies, in various stages of decay and rot, pieces of blackened flesh occasionally falling from a body, where not just zombies; they were Sangnir. Dead-dead Sangnir. Zombified Sangnir. This was not possible, not probable, and most importantly, fascinating. The collective hadn't noticed our arrival. If they did, they shared no interest in us. Then came a booming voice from up above, hidden and masked behind a monolith, polished with a beautiful ebony finish.

"All my children of the Anima are welcomed." Stepping from behind that monument, came a man who reeked of power and wisdom; and aged far beyond time itself; though he looked the same as the day I looked upon his face. His dead face sculptured for immortality in a tomb my sire once took me, before she abandoned me to my eternal curse.

"Qhohldir," I whispered. I turned to my companion, wondering if he knew this Elder, this ancient lord of the Sangnir who died, forever, over two thousand years ago. I turned back to the Elder, my golden eyes growing bright. "You are not real," I said. He clapped his hands together, the zombies rose in unison, hive minded I suspected, turning to face us.

"Oh, I am very much alive," he rebutted. Even as he spoke, his form flickered, giving off an ethereal effect.

Kasir Dorran​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Moskvin ​

Though his night vision had not failed him, his instincts had. There had been signs—something pressing into his bones, the silence stretching a beat too long. The energy was palpable; it didn't drift but crawled. Kasir should have noticed, but by the time he did, it was already too late.

The cave didn’t take him by force, nor did it instill a sense of fear; instead, it lured him toward something ancient. His steps did not falter, and he couldn't detect any immediate threats, something that would have caused one to raise their defenses.

The green mist curled around him. It was neither cold nor warm, but still oppressive nonetheless. Sinking deeper, it found its way into his thoughts; and before he could resist, all around him began to fade away.

Kaas City's streets, pelted by rain, came into view. Silhouettes drifted past—whether figures of the past or illusions, he could not tell. For what felt like an eternity, he saw himself as he had once been— just a boy, lost and alone, burdened by hunger pangs, and trembling from the cold. A past long buried began to resurface, clawing its way back. At that time, he had been desperate—for something, anything.

Suddenly torn from the trance, the darkness returned. Upon gathering himself he realized it was another voice that had pulled him back to reality–- if this was reality at all. While some of the green mists faded away, it felt like they were still trying to desperately cling to his thoughts. Kasir's focus then fell upon an altar nearby. Next to it, he saw more of them. Their forms were grotesque in display, but somehow familiar.

They were clearly watching and waiting.

His words slipped effortlessly into his companion's mind, keeping the telepathic link available, allowing it to slice through the haze of their surroundings. The Sith's voice was cold, devoid of all emotion, fueled only by determination.

<<Like fingers in an open wound, these mists are still trying to show me something. A past I left behind, or perhaps, something I’ve never truly escaped.>>

Rooted in position, he began piecing everything together as if it were a battlefield; from experience, those who made the first move generally had a better chance of survival.

His tone became as cold as the ground he was standing upon. If blood needed to be spilled, he was going to ensure it was not his own.

<<We shouldn't allow them to dictate the pace of this.>>

As if it were a dance choreographed, Kasir's saberstaff emerged gracefully from under the folds of his cloak; a single crimson blade hummed through the air. Using the length of his weapon as an ally, he thrust it towards the figure who had spoken mere moments ago. An unknown entity to the assassin, yet clearly the source of control in this situation. Severing the origin struck him as the only feasible option. But as his strike swished through the figure's ghost-like form, a chain reaction was suddenly set in motion. The once silent pack of zombies, no longer kneeling, surged forward violently.