Populate The Fire Still Burns | SO Populate of Empty Hex

[The King in Red]

Objective II |

The unrelenting wind continues to batter the half-buried blast doors of the southeast teamster port, swirling powdered snow into frenetic spirals that cling to every piece of machinery. The storm-hazed sky makes it difficult to distinguish day from night; the cutting edge of cold gnaws at any exposed skin, and every breath hangs in the air in ragged plumes.

Despite the conditions, the progress on the door tracks is steady. Darth Strosius moves with a deliberate efficiency, carving away thick ice until great chunks clatter and crack beneath his heavy boots. Nearby, Ukvax's Geonosian crew shivers in the biting wind, their antennae twitching, their mechanical tools flashing arcs of heat that melt narrow channels of frost. Archduke or not, he works as tirelessly as his drones, determined to keep the path clear. Tamsin stands off to one side, peeling away her excess layers in frustration, each gust of wind both a relief against her sweat and a fresh bite of chill. Darth Anathemous channels fire across the last stubborn ridges, boiling and steaming them away into rivulets that pool in shimmering, half-frozen puddles.

When a faint power surge rattles through the control panel, a few sparks fly and the remnants of an automated broadcast crackle over the local comm. There is little more than half-garbled words—"dead… if… key…"—drifting into static that fades against the relentless growl of wind. A weak red glow stutters behind the seam in the door, hinting at power somewhere deeper inside the complex, though it's impossible to know if it is safe or if it might fail at any moment. The structure groans under its own weight, the partial clearing revealing old mechanical tracks still jammed with ice. Deeper inside, the motors remain sluggish, unresponsive until they can be fully thawed or repaired.

For now, the rush of wind carries an increasing bite, and small drifts of snow continue to pile up at the edges of the hangar mouth. There is no telling how much longer the metal rails will hold or when the next violent shift in the storm will threaten to seal everyone out—or in. All that remains is to make use of what little time and energy remain before the temperature plummets any further, and the port's only chance at restoration freezes over completely.

Darth Strosius // Ukvax the Gilded // Kaila Irons // Tamsin Graves // Quinn Varanin // Eira Dyn

 

[CT-312]

(All art on this bio/thread is made by me. The rights belong to myself. Please do not use the art without permission. Thank you.)
//: Jacen Breska 'TK-710' , Lord Nyeklas , Trayze Tesar , OPEN //:
//: Malgus, Arturius-023 //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: DLT-19, EC-17 blaster, Vibroblade Knife //:
//: OBJECTIVE 1 : Find out what happened. //:

​

As CT-312 surveyed the location one last time before she made her way back to regroup. Zooming in closer at the snow covered security port. It seemed so peaceful. So Empty. The longer she stared at the port, the atmosphere around her began to feel heavy. Yet, nothing was out of place. It was off-putting. ‘The cold must be getting to me.' Increasing her zoom with her visor optics she noticed something unusual. ‘...Odd.’. Despite the heavy snowfall, she spotted some distortions in the snow. ‘Boot prints?’. There were too many in the snow and they only headed in one direction. In. 'What the…', She scanned around to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. There were no other signs of life aside from the prints. A red flash appeared for a split moment on her HUD. Without hesitation she went into her ready stance, aiming down the sights of her weapon and faced towards the direction. Eyes scanning rapidly looking. She thought she saw something, but it vanished. ‘Maybe the snowstorm is messing around with the equipment?’ she wondered. As the winds howled around her, CT-312 thought she could hear something in the wind. Slowly standing up, making her way back to the group.

"Command to ground team. You are cleared for breach. Proceed. Report in every ten minutes. If we lose contact for longer than that..."

The message cut out.

Then the comms hissed again. Another voice.

But this one wasn’t from command.

It was faint, buried beneath static, almost sobbing—then rising into laughter.

"Don’t go… there…"

"...still hungry."

'Ten minutes?' Not liking the short check-in time. Especially with the potential interference coming from the snowstorm. Just means they need to be quick with what they're looking for. CT-312 stopped in her tracks. Tapping the outside of her helmet, where her receiver was located. ‘Another technical malfunction?’... it was barely a whisper, sounded like maybe someone accidentally tapped in their frequency and was hungry? Shaking her head, ‘Why can’t the missions ever be normal.’ Her thoughts were interrupted by TK-710’s private comms.

“TK-710 to CT-312. Y-you know. I actually kind of miss the bad drops. You know? They never told us anything about what we’d find. They told us our mission, dropped us where we didn’t really have time to think about it, and we either died or didn’t.”

Glad she wasn’t the only one thinking of the same. She replied “You mean to tell me you don’t want to build a snowman?” Chuckling. She agreed. “I do miss the ‘drops.'”. Switching her frequency to their Trooper squad, changing her tone. “Eyes up boys. Something ain’t right about this place. Have your heads on a swivel.”

Returning to base camp, she saw that TK-710 and their Troopers were no longer alone. The two figures that she saw just before she left were still there. She approached. Her helmet’s voice modulator let out a deep low tone. “Sir, CT-312, reporting. New updates of the security port. There’s signs of life. Just trails of footprints going in a singular direction…into the facility. The surrounding area was left undisturbed though. May I ask whom am I speaking to?” CT-312 looked at the figure in black robes, then turned her head to the figure dressed in a mix of robe and armor. She was unfamiliar with the both of them. She caught TK-710’s movement, signaling the rest of their Troopers to move ahead.

"CT-312." came the Kiffar's next set of orders. "Switch burst to narrow blowtorch, focus fire."

She smirked, liking this person’s style. CT-312 flipped the switch on her heavy blaster rifle. “Affirmative .” Making her way back to TK-710 and the others. She noticed the blast doors that were closed before were now open. It was pitch black looking in. Approaching her squad, she could faintly hear Jacen rambling again. He was smacked in the head by a Trooper, stopping him from spiraling. Jacen looked at her.

“Yeah fair play. Whatever let’s make it happen. Sooner it’s done, the sooner we’re done.” He shrugged and shivered, all in one, before keying his comm to the Team Frequency. “Alright let’s hit it Troopers we’re dead already. Signal your ready to begin.”

“Agreed.” The other Troopers nodded their heads in unison. CT-312 spoke loudly “TK-3232, Up In Front with me. CC-1441, TK710 Middle. MB-1782, RK-1001 in the back, watch our flank”

Changing her frequency to open and to the ‘Black Kahn’ command network “We’re in front of the blast doors. I repeat we are in front of the blast doors. We are about to make our way in. This is CT-312, Ready.”

“This is TK-710 reporting Trooper ready.”

“MB-1782, Ready”
“CC-1441, Trooper ready”
“RK-1001, Ready as I’ll ever be”
“TK-3232, Reporting ready”

CT-312 deeply inhaled. 'It's go time'. Focusing up, she tapped on the Flame Trooper's shoulder who was in front with her. Signaling to move. "Can't keep the 'Black Kahn' waiting now. Let's move out"

They entered in.

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Frankie //:
//: BYOO //:

Allyson hated Hoth, or whatever the Sith called it. She had only been to the planet a handful of times, and every time, she found herself nearly dead. It was too cold, too barren, and the tauntaun stunk.

Still, when Taeli called - Allyson answered. The motherly lady of secrets knew how to draw the Corellian out of the shadows to take on missions that she found deplorable. At least on Hoth, there was nothing eldritch or close to whatever Darth Nefaron was. The thoughts of the Sith Lord's face still gave her the shivers. For the most part, the mission she was given seemed calm.

The sound of the wagon Allyson dragged behind her creaked against the hard floor of the abandoned academy. She followed behind Frankie as the woman suddenly started to talk. Allyson quickly snapped to the blonde before her, eyebrows threatening to crawl under her hairline. To her great surprise, the usually stoic and silent agent was talking, giving her a short history lesson and a briefing. Allyson pursed her lips together while her eyes looked around the area they were walking through.

Everything looked like it had already been purged, but if this was a First Order establishment, there would be things she could use. Suddenly, a little pep was in the Corellian's step as she caught up to Frankie and chirped happily, "You can have whatever you want - I just want a fully intact First Order uniform." Looking at the blonde beside her, there was a glint of mischief behind her eyes, "You think we'd be able to find one of those here?"

Allyson was now on the hunt for what she wanted. She slowly turned her head back to Frankie, "Wait—this is the most I've ever heard you speak? What?" Allyson squinted her eyes towards the woman; this had to be some fake someone masquerading as the real Frankie.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Agent Stone-Face?" Allyson smirked, "So this First Order stuff is pretty important to the Commonwealth?" She asked but knew that there were roots, having known a bit of the history of the Commonwealth's leadership. Kneeling, she picked up a bit of scrap, turning it over in her hands. As she looked at it, the hum of her eye echoed in her head.

The small data bank had a serial number known within the first Galactic Alliance—the same one that had recruited her originally when she was doing smuggling runs. "You know," she stood, dropping the empty data bank; it was obvious it had already been stripped. "I didn't fight for the First Order; I was actually fighting against them."

Allyson didn't understand why she was called to help; there had to be others who would have been a better choice. She went to rub her chin but was denied the gesture from the visor of the environmental suit that kept her warm and alive.

"So, why was I called to do this with you? I mean, I don't mind it, of course, especially because I was able to see a galactic phenomenon of Frankie talking." Allyson laughed and lightly kicked the debris and junk on the floor.

While Allyson remembered fighting the First Order, this battle, in particular, was a bit fuzzy. In quite the Allyson fashion, she nearly got herself killed when she was spaced.

 

[Frankie]

BYOO: Hoth Blooded

Frankie almost didn't register what Allyson had said at first—something about dressing the part. Her focus was on the device in her gloved hands, its screen blinking steadily as it swept through encrypted pings and frequency echoes buried beneath decades of snow and ruin. Still, she heard enough to offer a dry response, her voice low but cutting through the icy air.

"Fairly certain I could just requisition you a full First Order uniform, intact. Fewer corpses involved. Less snow," she added with a flick of her eyes toward the older woman, then back to the scanner without missing a beat.

Her boots crunched through the hardened ice crusting the floor as they moved deeper into the Academy of Bogan's half-collapsed interior. Jagged steel beams pierced the rubble at odd angles, jutting like bones from the body of the ruined structure. A low wind hissed through the gaps, whistling like the long breath of some ancient, dying beast.

"Then again," she muttered, "you might have to peel it off the original wearer."

She didn't bother to check if Allyson had caught the joke. Frankie wasn't there to entertain. Her duty was plain—secure the remains of the Academy, extract anything useful, and begin laying the groundwork for something far greater.

"I'm still the same agent you met on Varonat," she continued, her tone flat and laced with purposeful indifference. "Just slightly less annoyed this time."

Frankie came to a stop beside a collapsed doorway, her expression unreadable as she gestured toward the skeletal remains half-buried beneath a mound of snow and rusted durasteel. "Come along. Unless you'd prefer some quality time with your frozen admirers."

There was no true malice in her voice, but there was certainly judgment.

Moving into what was likely once a security control hub, Frankie slid a secondary holotape device from her coat and crouched beside a cracked server bank. She didn't hesitate, fingers working with efficient confidence as she began linking the tape to the archaic system, her scanner already filtering through corrupted logs and buried data archives. The smell of ozone and frost filled the room—old circuits sparking faintly as they warmed under her touch.

"It's our history," she said quietly, almost to herself. "You'll find few Imperials in the Commonwealth who don't see themselves as First Order descendants—or First Imperials."

Behind her, Allyson rattled on with some long-form anecdote, but Frankie didn't so much as glance back.

"Uh-huh. That's nice," she offered—not dismissively, but distracted, her focus buried in decoding a particularly stubborn access log from 856 ABY.

She paused as the drive engaged, her hand hovering just over the panel.

"I didn't ask for you," she said, matter-of-fact, turning her head just slightly to glance over her shoulder. "I asked my grandmother for assistance."

A beat.

"And here you are."

The holotape chimed softly, indicating the download had begun. Frankie turned back, her face impassive beneath the frost-rimmed hood of her cloak. Snow drifted lazily in from a shattered viewport, scattering across the ruined room like ash.

"It's less of a galactic phenomenon than you think," she added, eyes locked onto the data stream. "I assure you."

And with that, she said nothing more—her attention reclaimed by the ghostly whispers of a dead empire still humming through the wires.

Allyson Locke

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective 1: Find out what happened
Equipment: Unchanged
Tags: Trayze Tesar / Lirka Ka / The Final Omen /OPEN​

As Trayze chatted with the local garrison, Helix turned his attention to his surroundings. He didn't quite have traditional senses anymore, rather interpreting data taken in by his billions of constituent nanocells. Such information-gathering capabilities were all but unrivaled in the galaxy, at least over short distance. He didn't like what they were telling him.

"I am detecting a number of anomalies in the locale." He murmured out loud. "Something is here, and it is watching us. It is unhappy about our presence. Reminds me of the thing in the tomb some time ago."

That thought gave him a brief flicker of apprehension, and his carapace rippled visibly as the nanites composing it readjusted themselves. Helix wasn't worried by much out there. As horrors went, he was certainly now one himself, a living cloud of flaying blades and remorseless malice. Still, he knew better now than to underestimate some of the things that slept in the old places of the galaxy. This, however, was a factory, and one not that ancient as he reckoned things.

Perhaps, then, something had crept into the site from somewhere else. Twice in one year. It almost suggested a pattern, but he dismissed the thought after a few nanoseconds' deliberation. Twice was a coincidence. Thrice was a pattern. Nonetheless, even a coincidence might merit analysis and countermeasures.

"Remaining on high alert." He said, one hand drawing his pistol while the other formed into a long, saw-edged blade. A third arm sprouted from underneath his left shoulder, sporting a scissor-bladed claw. A bit excessive for a mere feeling, perhaps, but as one only recently endowed with instincts and intuition, Helix had learned to trust them.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OBJ 3: SURVIVE

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags:

This blasted planet should be glassed for its ecology alone. Or lack thereof. Everything about it pissed him off. The extreme cold with more approaching storms only served to increase his annoyance as his helmets HUD continued to flash a warning about the weather. His armor was holding up well in this shit storm but wouldn't for long. Not out in the open as he was. To make it worst, something had damaged the function of his suit stopping him from clearly the damn warning system.

So instead, he was hiking through knee high snow on a planet he could give less of a shit about while his suit constantly reminded him about the dangerous temperature. Warning. Warning. Warning. Blast it.

His crimson cloak was trailing in the snow as he made his way from the crash site. Odrin planned to search the other two crash sites before realizing he could care less about anyone else in this situation. Nor was he going to waste valuable energy carrying his heavy self to them.

A small trip almost sent him careening into the deep snow as he almost fell over yet another stone. A scream of frustration emanated from his helmets voice modulator as he reached into the snow and lifted the rock, spinning as he threw it far as a squishing sound could be heard from its impact.

Odrin, huffing in anger, looked over to where he had threw the rock. Indeed, it had impacted someone or something. Roaring in anger, a ten foot tall wampa was feeding on a bunch of Talz tribals. Now its attention was directed at the black clad Sith making his way through its domain. An attempt to make it back to the facility he was supposed to be at by now. No doubt already being beat to all the objectives by others.

This, mixed with his malfunctioning and battered armor, alongside his frustration at this complete bantha dung of a operation drove him to charge at the wampa. Seeing more potential prey, the wampa itself began running to meet the Sith. Right before his charge of courage and bravery met this indomitable but savage creature, Odrin found himself face first in the thick snow.

Another blasted rock.

Over the pinging of his helmets warning system, he could hear the loud roaring of the wampa as it grabbed him by his neck and waist, lifting him above its head before tossing him away. Odrin grunted as he landed with a heavy thump, snow flying up to mark his embarrassment. Naturally, this is the part where he would reach for his lightsaber and cut this thing to pieces.

Though his hand could not find it at the moment. Shit.

As the wampa once again charged to him, Odrin poured his emotions into a display of Force Lightning from his outstretched hand that sent the beast backwards onto its back, whimpering in agony. Odrins head fell back down into the snow, releasing another yell from his helmet.

"BLAST THIS PLANET!"

....

Another moment later, Odrin was standing above the injured wampa after having spent several minutes searching for his lightsaber. Igniting the red blade, the big guy went to work skinning this savage beast alive.

Hooking his lightsaber back onto his combat belt, Odrin pulled the wampa coat around his shoulders as he set off once more in the direction of the objective. Hopefully, the facility was still standing and he would still be able to contribute in some meaningful way outside fighting the locals.

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE 1
TAGS: Trayze Tesar Commodore Helix CT-312 Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Lord Nyeklas The Final Omen

Lirka enjoyed a nice frosty "paradise", and a new mystery to solve. The debacle near alakatha had been an enlightening experience of spirits, monsters, and the manipulations of the natural world. Some had quaked, shuddered, recoiled after the fact. Not Lirka, perhaps not inconsiderably because the Once-Sephi was already deranged before she ever set foot in that temple. Rhand had given her piecemeal understanding of such things already, and the quest for foul knowledge had only grown.

Yet, there was quest far more important. One born of pettiness, and the desire for general obnoxious amusement. Where Trayze Tesar Lirka was surely to be not too far behind to offer the nuisance of her own existence to the poor Kiffar. Even in an important endeavor like this. Immediately did she quip out at his first bout of dry humor.

“Mine are feeling plenty warm, Captain Tesar.”

While the trio moved, Lirka spent plenty more time focused on the machinations of Commodore Helix . From an outsider’s perspective they might have even looked familiar, the nanite mechanoid and the hulking power suit that Lirka wore over her person. After quipping with Tesar, she quickly bounced to “seriously” responding to the Commodore’s cold humor.

“Well, you see Commodore passion is a fundamental aspect of the Sith. If we went somewhere nice, they’d simply get nothing done. At least the cold makes a good distraction.”

The remainder of the team interested her little, and paid them no mind. Sith, troopers, all had yet to prove themselves interesting enough to earn the unfortunate thing that was Lirka’s attention or ire. Still, she continued on with the “dear Commodore”

“Commodore, I never got to ask. What did you end up seeing when our tomb-raiding went south?”

It was born of true curiosity, but no question from Lirka didn’t have at least a hint of sinister intent. Knowledge was power, it paid to know things about her fellows.

Yet, she was interrupted in her endeavors by the crackling communications from the Black Khan in orbit, beckoning the team forward into the breach. And the growing oddities, not entirely dissimilar to what had been seen on Alakatha’s
planetoid. This Galaxy was a strange place, and the Sith made it even stranger it seemed.

“Wise estimation, Commodore. Perhaps if we are lucky, we will have the chance to show this one our might.”

If Lirka had fear, she did not show it, and her concerns were kept only to whatever laid beneath those dark metal plates. She walked as she so often did, clawed hands clasped behind her back. Ready at a moment’s notice to explode into violence if the situation so demanded it. The Commodore may have allowed his form to erupt into weapons of great violence, Lirka intended to meet whatever oddity laid within this facility with a tempered edge, rather than the flaming rage and violence she had met the apparition in the tomb with.

 

[Trayze Tesar]

Objective 1: Figure Out What Happened

---

CURRENT MISSION - Cold Case
Immediate Goals -
1: Investigate Arcturus-028 (optional)

BLUFOR - Commodore Helix || Jacen Breska 'TK-710' || CT-312 || Lirka Ka (reluctantly) || Lord Nyeklas

OPFOR - @The Final Omen(?) || @The King in Red(?)

TARGETING ACTION(S) - BLUFOR || OPEN FREQUENCY

---

"Es-Ay-cee 814-oh-one, on bravo, moving up." Trayze concluded, echoing the callouts of the troopers and taking his spearheading a train of trained SWAT operatives that his compatriots may or may not emulate - discipline helped harden his face while the latest arrival made her presence unwelcomely known.

The crooning concession of Lirka Ka 's unmentionables being warmed, a refute of the rhetorical assuagement for the troopers, nearly caused the Kiffar to gag. While inexperienced in the ways of female physiology, especially whatever the hell the Once-Sephi is currently, he would have much preferred her to have kept that "witty quip" to herself - but alas, where Darth Carnifex went, his sycophants no doubt followed.

Their mention of their shared incident brought an uncomfortable light to a memory he wanted to forget - though aboard the less glorious endeavor of ascertaining the Kaiser, the comparisons between that op and this one were uncanny. But he needed to keep his mind open, focused, the moment he gave into fear, creatures that lurked and fed off of that fear would have him.

Work with what you know, remove the impossible, whatever is left - no matter how improbable, must be considered as true.

"Commodore? I may have use of your capacities." the Kiffar began, turning to the famed Helix that had long aided the Tsis'Kaar. "Troopers, we're going quiet. Standard stack movement."

Iciness accentuated the tension of going headfirst into a trap to spring it, and the chill was the familiar danger to the squadron. What lay inside Arcturus-028 may be far more dangerous...

 

[The Final Omen]

Darkness swallows you.
Not abruptly—no single flicker or moment. Rather, like a mouth closing slowly behind you.

The moment the last trooper crossed the threshold of the blast doors, the storm's howling was muffled into a low moan, as if the world outside sighed in relief at your departure. And inside, all sound flattened.

Not silence—pressure.
Every step echoed too long. Every breath fogged glass just a fraction too slow.

The corridor ahead was unnaturally intact. No signs of a firefight. No barricades. No bodies. Just sleek permacrete, faded crimson lights flickering behind grates in the walls like dying coals in a buried hearth. The security port was too clean—not pristine, but undisturbed. As if everything simply… stopped.

And that's when it began.

Jacen Breska 'TK-710'

The moment you step deeper into the hallway, you swear it gets colder, not warmer. Not in degrees, but in sensation. Your breath crystallizes more quickly. Your fingers ache. And your lamp—your single, precious lamp—flickers once… then stays on. For now.

As you sweep your light along the wall, you catch it:
Scratches. Dozens of them. Not markings—scratches. Hand-carved, desperate gouges. As if someone tried to claw their way out of this place. Some appear to be from metal, others… not.

A single phrase is barely legible above one airlock port, repeated in Basic:

"They weren't silent. We just stopped listening."

Then your comm picks up Trayze's call again—muffled. Garbled.

And for a moment, your visor fogs from the inside. You wipe it. Behind the blur of glass—was that a face?

Trayze Tesar

Detective. Captain. Inquisitor by another name. But today: witness.

You lead the stack through the first checkpoint—a sealed blast door now slightly ajar. On the other side, you find the security chamber.

And your eyes fall upon the monitors.

The main feed is looping a silent holovid. Playback timestamp: three weeks ago.
There's movement. Workers. Security. Technicians. A crew of twenty-eight, moving with routine efficiency.

Then, the screen shudders.
Frame skips.
Playback stutters.
And the room in the feed is suddenly… empty.

No cuts. No alarms.
Just gone.

No one reacts in the footage. The remaining workers continue for several minutes. Then, one by one, each stops, turns to the camera—
—and begins smiling.

No words. No gestures.
Just smiles. Far too wide. Far too long.
You kill the feed. It stays on for several seconds before finally shutting down.

CT-312

Your heads-up display recalibrates to interior lighting, and immediately you're bombarded with minor glitches: intermittent hollow silhouettes appear in your HUD for half-seconds—dozens of them, unmoving, standing against walls or slumped in corners. When you look directly at the locations, nothing is there. Just cold air. You cycle your helmet, check your connection—nothing's malfunctioning.

And then your shoulder feels warm.
A soft, human pressure. Like someone standing just behind you, touching your pauldron.
You turn. Nothing.

Your comms crackle—but this time, it's not a voice. It's breathing.

Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.

Not yours. Not anyone's nearby. Just enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

Commodore Helix

The nanite swarm that composes your physicality is registering phenomena with no natural signature. Data feedback loops from your proximity sensors are spitting out impossibilities.

• Objects exist in places they physically cannot.
• Humidity levels suggest living breath in the walls.
• Light frequencies oscillate in patterns resembling brainwave signals.

Worse, your movement predictors—normally flawless for anticipating hostile motion—fail. There is something present ahead of you. Moving. Watching.

And yet, every scan reads null. Your nanite array pulses in minor syncopation—not fear, but calculated concern.

Somewhere behind the walls, you feel it: the faintest tremor. A rhythmic hum, like machinery buried too deep. Only…

It isn't mechanical.
It's biological.
A pulse.
A heartbeat.

Lirka Ka

Even behind your armor, the air tastes stale.
Ancient.
Not just age—but time itself feels brittle here, as though your very movement risks cracking something unseen.

The deeper you step, the more you feel the Dark Side—but not as power.
No, this is residue. A stain. A leftover scream echoing in the metal itself.

You see a side corridor marked Jin'Jsina Rites. A name familiar from your studies—rumored, whispered, but here, tangible.

Inside: chains. Not for machinery. For people.

You see restraints carved from darksteel, etched with symbols for "fear," "pain," and "binding." Faint streaks of blackened blood line the floor, but none of it is fresh.

There is a final workstation against the far wall. In its center lies a melted ingot—glowing faintly, vibrating with a low hum that resonates in your bones. A single word has been etched in it:

HUNGER

You do not need to be a master alchemist to know: this was not a successful forging.
This was something else.

Something that ate the ritual.



The ground shudders.
A low, drawn-out groan echoes through the sublevel.

Not machinery. Not tectonic. Not atmospheric.
Organic.

A sound like lungs inhaling for the first time in centuries.

The air warps. Lights dim. For a brief instant, gravity fluctuates.
Dust particles hang still.
And every lamp flares red for exactly two seconds.

Then all returns to stillness.

The voice comes again. Not over comms this time. Just a whisper in the mind.

"Come and see."

 

[Jacen Breska 'TK-710']

Find Out What Happened

(All art on this bio/thread is made by river23. The rights belong to them. Please do not use the art without permission. Thank you.)​

// Malgus- Arturius-023 \\​

WEAPON: DC-17m with Stimrifle attachment.
ARMOR: Second Legion Armor
NEARBY: CT-312 Trayze Tesar The Final Omen | OPEN!

"Troopers, we're going quiet. Standard stack movement."

“Copy.” He said quietly, stepping inside the facility. His team of troopers behind him advanced alongside him through the door, and broke off as they swept the entrance lobby. Immediately, Jacen noticed the chilled sensation. Less a physical coldness as it was outside the door, but the effects of the cold grew stronger. Shaking his hand out and squeezing it a few times, Jacen shuddered again. “No way it’s colder in here,” he said quietly to himself as he and the rest of the troopers finished their sweep of the room.

One by one, his team reported a single word.

“Clear.”

“Copy that. Lobby clear,” he reported, turning to Tesar, “We’re going advancing through first airlock. Same breach order as before, team. Stack up.” He approached the door, readying himself by the console, his hand ready to press the release as he waited for a series of taps to travel up the stack behind him. One by one, his troopers tapped the trooper ahead of them until finally his shoulder was tapped, signaling their ready. Jacen pressed the button, and the door groaned open to reveal a corridor. They shone their lights down the darkness, choosing not to rely on low-light vision modes yet as each trooper’s personal lamp illuminated them in a sphere of warm orange glow, and saw the walls covered in scratches. A sight only illuminated further as the lights of the facility warmed up to their arrival in a terrifyingly simple ‘welcome’.

Jacen exhaled softly, his team of troopers advancing down the hallway halfway, leaving a blaster on each closed door, and two troopers posted looking down into the dark hallway.

With his team in position, Jacen looked around, examining the markings. He turned to see TK-1982, the trooper who smacked him who went by the name ‘Marc’, staring at a marking above the door and Jacen could not help but look up at it as well.

"They weren't silent. We just stopped listening."

“What do you make of that, Jacen?”

Jacen stared, then turned to look at Marc.

“It’s karking terrifying Marc. What did you think I was gonna say?” Marc chuckled, turning away and joining the team in securing the hallway, leaving Jacen to look at the marking.

“Cryptic as all hell. I choose to continue being blissfully ignorant, is what that means.” He put an ear to his comm, “First Bulkhead Hallway secured–” His lamp flickered, “Nuh uh,” he muttered in a panic, transmitting accidentally before with amazingly quick lightning fast reflexes he smacked his heat lamp with the back of his hand, and it stayed on. For now.

Jacen cleared his throat, “Apologies, equipment malfunction. As I was saying… Reporting hallway secured, TK-1982 and I will advance further with the rest of the group. Team, maintain this hallway and our exit. You’re on rear guard.”

“Copy. Enjoy the haunted house,” another trooper, Luc, said with a salute, as he and the other troopers prepared to set up their defensive positions.

Jacen gave him a rude finger gesture, then keyed his comm, “312, I’m headed to you.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 2 Restart the Forge / Riddle of Steel
Tags: Ukvax the Gilded / Kaila Irons / Tamsin Graves / The King in Red
---‐-----------------------------

The process of de-icing the tracks was by no means delicate nor particularly swift, even with a lightsaber in hand. The thicker chunks of ice still required a good few slashes of His blade given the lower power so that it didn't cleave into the track itself. Casting the carved blocks and fragments of ice aside after they had been cut away wasn't complicated of course but finding the room to do so without blocking other efforts to defrost the door did unfortunately take up some precious moments.

With the united efforts progress was nevertheless well underway, with a Sith that was somewhat familiar and what seemed to be her apprentice quick to join in with the Geonosians on their work while He Himself freed up the other side of the tracks that alongside the volunteer engineers. He only paused when a very brief and difficult to discern communication slipped over the local comm channel, one that had been dead before their arrival and which seemed to give out a dying croak that hardly made any sense to Him.

It seemed as if the facility still had some power then, although none that was of immediate use to them at the moment given that the doors were still unresponsive. Time was starting to tick ever faster as the wind picked up and the chill that it carried with it seemed through the insulated clothing of the engineers and Sith alike. Darth Strosius clenched His fangs together as His already cool skin was brushed by freezing wind that managed to seep between His heavy robes.

They were running out of time. "Oh feth it all."

With a few more hacks and smashing of the largest clumps of ice yet remaining on the tracks, the masked man extinguished His lightsaber and stepped back as the engineers continued their more delicate work. Delicate work that would no long be suitable. He rolled His shoulders and hissed a sigh through His fangs as He spread His arms out and let His senses flow over the inanimate motors and still tracks. This wasn't ideal. In fact this could very well turn the facility into their tomb.

But power was still flickering and thus so long as they could access the deeper parts of the foundry then these doors or another such port could theoretically be opened. A risk that He was willing to take if it meant avoiding freezing to death on this forsaken ball of ice. Metal groaned and screeched as frozen and half-repaired motors suddenly whirred to life. The doors slid gradually across the freed tracks but with all the ruckus and noise of a battlefield to accompany them. He was sealing them in before they all froze.

"Either die out there or hurry in here!" Darth Strosius called out over the raging wind and whining metal, grimacing as the doors reached the parts of the tracks still covered in ice. His gloved fingers tensed and began to clench, the doors responding by shoving through the ice with all the grace of a battering ram. It wouldn't be long before the port was sealed at this rate, potentially for good if they failed in their mission.

 

[Lord Depravious]

// Location: Malgus

// Objective 3





The winds roared outside as Depravious's transport struggled to open its doors from the crash. All on his transport had perished in the crash so he was stuck attempting to get the door open. The opening mechanism struggled continuously trying to open itself before immediately closing again registering the malfunction.

The cold had already crept into the ship, each moment it creeped into the corpses that now lay strewn about Lord Depravious, their blood beginning to freeze like rivers in the dead of winter.

Shaidin wasn't exactly the most patient of men, and in his later years had grown even more impatient – he knew that there was a real possibility of freezing to death in this forsaken wasteland if he remained trapped in this hunk of metal.

In frustration he closed his eyes before reaching his gloved hand out before him, the darkside rippled and flourished under his control, crushing the mechanism, and then the door itself before flying yards away from the ship.

As Lord Depravious stepped out of the transport he took a look around – not noticing anyone specific other than what could have potentially been smoke in the distance, though in these weather conditions it was hard to tell.

Even in his thermal gear the cold gripped and bit at his skin like an animal starved. The only real shelter near were the cave systems that Shaidin had heard plenty about and even experienced a few times, though near the crash site he could feel the dark side of the force pulling him in the direction of the cave system. Whether this pull was because the darkside wanted him to live, or if it was because there was a much older, and darker presence inside of the caves – Depravious planned to find out.

As he entered the nearest cave, while the cold was still ever present, the chill that ran down his spine wasn't because of the weather, there was a deep and foreboding presence in these tunnels. Shaidin Kamari closed his eyes taking a deep breath in, inhaling the scent of evil that had brooded in these systems for a millennia. To a Sith Lord such as him, the scent was like a breath of fresh air.

Determined to find the source, he continued deeper into the cave system.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Obj 2 //:
//: The King in Red //: Kaila Irons //: Tamsin Graves //: Darth Strosius //:
//: Hoth //:

Hoth was a planet Quinn had never been to. She had heard stories of its changed name and the planet's history. It was a place blanketed by the cold, and its white snow caps reminded her of brief winters in Eshan. It was annoying how her feelings of home crept up on her during this time.

The feelings were becoming more and more frequent. Maybe it was because Ashin had made an appearance at the Academy asking her questions and, in a sense, making the young woman doubt her journey. Was she cut out to be the leader the Empire needed? Should she continue to strive for power?

The young Princess continued to ask herself these questions. It didn't help that she was exiled, and even then, did she have the right to claim her title?

Quinn wrapped the cloak tighter around her frame, using the force to help retain and regulate her body temperature. Even with those abilities, she still wore an environmental suit. The cold, biting wind would easily freeze her nose off. Quinn frowned, wrinkling her nose at the thought of looking like the Corpse Emperor.

As much as she wanted to succeed him, she didn't want to look like him.

Quinn's attention was drawn by her paramour. Kaila spoke of the Geonosians and of Strosius. Both surprised the young royal, but she accepted their presence, particularly the Geonosians. Quinn was chuckling at Kaila's comment about the aristocracy getting their hands dirty. "I will say it's been fun, as much as I would rather be at home - there's been something about being out in the field that makes me feel normal." Quinn pushed forward, her feet sinking slightly with every step.

"There are far worse things that I could be caught up in than being out here getting my hands dirty, as you say." Quinn mused not seeing others like her, but even then, a part of her was happy he hadn't shown his face in a while. Not since their last encounter, the constant rubber-banding of their relationship wore on her. Sometimes, she missed speaking to someone who understood her on that level, but the frustrated feelings weren't worth it. Those around her were learning and accepting of her faults.

Looking up, the Lord Strosius' shouts were heard over the growing cold winds. Quinn looked to Kaila and then to Tamsin, who seemed to want to peel away the protective layers. "It looks like he's found something. Let's get there before he decides to lock us out."

Quinn moved closer, arriving as quickly as she could where the man was shouting from. "What did you find Strosius?" she asked curiously, trying to determine what he was standing near.

 

[Kaila Irons]

OBJECTIVE II​

Wearing: Armor + Thermal cape + Mask
Tag: Quinn Varanin Tamsin Graves Darth Strosius Ukvax the Gilded

Anathemous' proudly rested her hands upon her hips as the tracks began to move.

Her heart sank however when Quinn spoke, reminding her that she too was an aristocrat. The young Darth had seemingly forgotten her paramour's titles again, a frequent occurrence as Quinn meant more to her than her than royal blood ever would.

"Normal..." she echoed regretfully over her shoulder.

"There are far worse things that I could be caught up in than being out here getting my hands dirty, as you say."

"Forgive me, my lady, I forget myself."

The knight sighed, sending frigid mist through either side of her mask. It was... hellish, that they were unable to speak their mind in such company, relying instead on their force bond to communicate how they truly felt. For her part, Kaila sent feelings of apology and regret for implying that Quinn was anything but normal. Or perhaps she was better than normal? Oh for frak sake she was making it worse.

"I'm to dang hot in these damn clothes."

Now even Tamsin was complaining, something she never did. But why? The wind was starting to bite now that Kaila's flames had died down, and she was over there removing layers? Had she given her too many?

"dead… if… key…"

Anathemous snapped towards her commlink, about to demand they identify themselves until the message repeated, alluding to it's automated nature.

"...I have a bad a feeling about this..."

Gods, now even she was complaining!

"Either die out there or hurry in here!" Darth Strosius called out over the raging wind and whining metal, grimacing as the doors reached the parts of the tracks still covered in ice.

Anathemous stood opposite from Darth Strosius beside the narrow entrance, waiting until the rest had entered.

"Yes, go go!"

Her droids however were made to wait, standing aside so that their organic masters may enter while time remained. It was better to risk crushing more machinery than lives, logic they were not programmed to argue with. They would enter only when all others had, even the Geonosians if need be.

All the while, Anathemous anxiously drummed her fingers along her armor, watching each person enter while pulling her cloak a little tighter. Each time the wind shrieked, a part of her worried it was the door beginning to scrape across the ice again, that with each passing moment, they all risked being crushed.

Yet still she would enter last before the droids, unless Strosius planned to waiting longer than she.


Whatever cast that eerie glow inside, it'd better be warm, she thought bitterly.

​

 

[CT-312]

(All art on this bio/thread is made by me. The rights belong to myself. Please do not use the art without permission. Thank you.)
//: Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Trayze Tesar Commodore Helix Lirka Ka , OPEN //:
//: Malgus, Arturius-023 //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: DLT-19, EC-17 blaster, Vibroblade Knife //:
//: OBJECTIVE 1 : Find out what happened. //:

Their boots marching on the facility's metal floors echoed throughout the corridor. ‘Where was everyone?’ CT-312 wondered, as she was inspecting the condition of the facility from the inside where they had passed. Nothing. No disturbance. No mess. No signs of life. It was as if everyone in this facility just stopped what they were doing and left. But where?

Your heads-up display recalibrates to interior lighting, and immediately you're bombarded with minor glitches: intermittent hollow silhouettes appear in your HUD for half-seconds—dozens of them, unmoving, standing against walls or slumped in corners. When you look directly at the locations, nothing is there. Just cold air. You cycle your helmet, check your connection—nothing's malfunctioning.

And then your shoulder feels warm.
A soft, human pressure. Like someone standing just behind you, touching your pauldron.
You turn. Nothing.

Soon CT-312’s helmet’s HUD started changing its mode to interior lighting and artifacts she was seeing through her visor. Tapping the side of her visor, looking towards one of the corridor’s wall. Outlines of something briefly appeared, briefly. ‘What the?’, rapidly blinking for a bit and firmly smacking the side of her helmet, the HUD’s display went back to normal. Feeling around the helmet making sure everything was secure as well as running diagnostics on the HUD. Everything was fine. Confused. CT-312 always did an equipment check for each mission. Everything was functioning normally. She chalked it up to the extreme cold and severe snow storm or probably whatever materials they used to make this facility, that’s messing up her equipment. ‘Annoying’ she grumbled.

Feeling pressure on her left shoulder, it felt like someone on the squad was trying to get her attention. CT-312 turned around. The Troopers with her were minding their own business. It was nothing. Inspecting her squad, she took her torch out and flashed it behind. “Slow speed, checking-in.” she said out loud and she slowed her pace, dropping to the back of the squad. She saw TK-710 directing the other group of Troopers he was sent with.

“312, I’m headed to you.”

It seems the other group would stay by the entry hallway. CT-312 watched as TK-710 joined up with her squad, along with another Trooper. “Whose that?” , Pointing her head towards the unidentified Trooper next to Jacen. Turning around to catch up with her squad and the others. TK-710 and this other Trooper followed suit.

Your comms crackle—but this time, it's not a voice. It's breathing.

Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.

Not yours. Not anyone's nearby. Just enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

Hearing crackling in the comms, it was unorthodox to be mouth breathing into the mic. CT-312 knew none of her Troopers nor TK-710 were mouth breathers. But this new Trooper that was brought along? She kept her head facing forward. “TK-710. Tell your buddy there to stop eating the mic, It’s bizarre”, just how she felt about this situation.

As they caught up with the group, they neared the three non-Troopers that were at their objective. Thoroughly inspecting as they talked amongst themselves. CT-312 was able to catch some of their conversation.

"Remaining on high alert."

A droid. A tall droid if that. Standing at 2.3 meters, CT-312 watched as he drew his pistol and his other arm formed into a long saw edged blade. They were calling the droid “Commodore”. A third arm that was a scissor bladed claw appeared.

“Mine are feeling plenty warm, Captain Tesar.”

Lirka. The power armored suited figure stood at 2.19 meters, just short of the droid. Two imposing beings standing next to Captain Tesar. ‘Ah, so that’s who the earlier person that she met at base camp was’.

"Troopers, we're going quiet. Standard stack movement."

Captain Tesar was tall, but compared to these two. He looked small. If he and the other Troopers of the same height are considered small at 5’11 ft. Then CT-312 is considered tiny. Her 5’5 ft stature. ‘Why is everyone in the Sith Empire so tall? What the heck.’ Clearly her geneticists that engineered her didn’t receive the memo. She shook her head.

CT-312 reported in. “Affirmative Captain Tesar”, turning toward Commodore and Lirka “This Trooper is CT-312, I am with Squad 2, that are in the facility. There’s Squad 1, stationed at the entry hallway. TK-710’s is handling that group.”. She pointed her thumb back towards Jacen. “Please let us know how we may be of assistance, I must return back to my squad.” CT-312 nodded towards the two. Hustling back to the front.


They've been walking inside for a while now. Doing the 10 min check in was coming up. Changing her channel to open as well as connecting to the ‘Black Kahn’ command network. CT-312 relayed their update. “Black Kahn, this is Trooper Squad 2 along with Captain Tesar, Lirka, and Commodore. Trooper Squad 1 is by the front. We are currently going deeper into the facility. So far it’s pretty empty and it doesn’t seem like power is running. I repeat, going further into the facility and is without power. Over. ”

Lifting her hand up, she swapped the comms to open. “May I ask, any idea what we may be facing here?”

The metal floor trembled. Staggering the Troopers for a moment. A low groan could be heard. Clearly from someone or thing. Soon some of the Troopers equipment started to slightly lift. CT-312 was feeling briefly weightless. All the lamps that were off were turned on. Glaring Red into the Corridor. As quickly this all happened. It disappeared. Met with darkness once more. Gravity was back on.

The Troopers whispered into their private comms amongst the squad.

“What is going on”
“Okay I know for sure this time I wasn’t the only one who was experiencing that”

The voice comes again. Not over comms this time. Just a whisper in the mind.

"Come and see."

“We all heard that right? I mean like. In our mind”

CT-312 kept silent. Thinking about the whisper. ‘Come and see, what?’. She would love to see. If her HUD would stop having technical difficulties and constantly flickering at random times. CT-312 quickly shook her head. Now she’s talking herself into hearing things. Irritated. Being in the dark was going to drive everyone mad. On an open frequency, “Keep a look out for a power generator or anything to get some proper damn lights in here.”

As they continued deeper into the facility, they passed a few large rooms that were open. They looked like a dinning area and some personnel quarters. All were empty though. Nothing out of place, everything just frozen. And not from the cold frozen. CT-312 nudged TK-710 with her elbow gently on the side. “What do you make of this?”

​

 

[The King in Red]

The wind roars more furiously by the moment, rattling against the battered frame as the door grinds shut over the ice-clogged rails. Darth Strosius's efforts to force the motors into motion produce a tortured shriek of metal, each heartbeat punctuated by a jarring, mechanical slam. The screeching intensifies, ice fracturing in large chunks that tumble across the threshold or scatter around nearby feet.


Engineers and Sith alike surge into the narrow gap while the last of the Geonosians, shivering and chittering, hurry forward in a flurry of leathery wings and tools. The temperature in the cramped passageway feels marginally warmer—if only because the glacial winds from outside are beginning to fade as the thick durasteel doors grind closer together. Every moment sees the opening narrow further, accompanied by bursts of vaporous breath in the dim overhead lights.


The final thunderous clang echoes through the port as the doors seal against the last fringes of the storm. Drifting ice crystals remain on the floor and walls, reflecting a weak red glow that dances across everyone's silhouette. The auxiliary lighting blinks irregularly, flickering on and off as if unsure whether it, too, should give in to the cold. A faint current of air flows through vents that seem half-choked with frost, carrying a hollow moan from deep within the facility.


The voice over the comm remains silent, leaving only the memory of that garbled message—"dead… if… key…"—to linger in uncertain minds. The storm outside rages on, now muffled behind thick plating, while ahead lies a dimly lit corridor that extends into shadow. The sense of quiet is nearly as unsettling as the bitter cold; the structure's faint creaks and groans suggest the power running through the port is as unsteady as the half-frozen metal beneath your boots.


However rough the entry may have been, everyone who needed to be inside now stands on this threshold together. The hiss of evaporating ice around Kaila's lingering embers recedes, leaving an eerie calm. Every second in this hush feels borrowed, as if the facility itself holds its breath, waiting to reveal whatever secrets lie deeper within.

A faint tremor runs through the deck beneath everyone's feet, as though some distant machinery has sputtered awake deeper within the port. Wisps of mist slide across the corridor floor and dissipate in the weak crimson lights overhead. The air is still cold enough that each breath plumes in ghostly tendrils, and the far-off groaning of metal echoes through the walls in rhythmic pulses.

A panel on the wall suddenly sparks, spilling a brief shower of orange embers onto the frosted floor. A dull hum follows in its wake, and the corridor lights shift and flicker as if struggling to remain powered. A battered sign near a branching passage reads "Maintenance Access," though the lettering is half-obscured by a layer of frost. Ice creeps in odd patterns across the bulkheads—patterns that just might be odd cracks, or might be something else.

Somewhere in the darkness ahead, a dull clank reverberates, then another. Each resounding clang sounds deliberate, as if a tool or piece of equipment is being dropped on metal grating. Another half-broken comm panel nearby crackles with static, then sputters out once more, providing no further clues. The taste of cold metal hangs in the air, and the walls seem to murmur with the facility's low, unsteady heartbeat.

At least for the moment, the storm's fury remains locked behind the now-sealed blast door. But between the flickering power and the abrupt tremors, it appears the facility has begun its own process of waking—whether that awakening is under control or not remains to be seen.

Darth Strosius // Ukvax the Gilded // Tamsin Graves // Kaila Irons // Quinn Varanin

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective: Find out what happened.
Equipment: Unchanged
Tags: Lirka Ka / Trayze Tesar / CT-312 / The Final Omen​

Helix noted, with some cold amusement, that Ka was already seizing the opportunity to torment Trayze. Under normal circumstances, he would not stand for Tesar being antagonized in this way, but one needed to take levity where they could find it in a place like this, where one's own sensors couldn't be trusted.

“Commodore, I never got to ask. What did you end up seeing when our tomb-raiding went south?”

Helix considered Lirka's question for a time, as if contemplating how honestly to answer it. In truth, he was contemplating whether or not to answer it at all, but eventually, a response was forthcoming.

"Otherspace." He responded. "Such an innocuous name for such a place. I will not speak of it here. This place reeks enough of otherworldly influence without inviting yet more ill fortune." A strangely superstitious response from one normally so unshaken, but there it was. He tried not to listen to the anomalies now blanketing his sensor net. He knew they were not real, but that did not make them less annoying.

"Commodore? I may have use of your capacities."

Nodding to Trayze, he stepped forward toward the doors, already noticing a heightening of his sensors' anomalies. "Something is observing us." He commented. "My sensors indicate susurration inside the walls, but I believe we may write this off as an anomaly. Similar to the ones experienced at the previous site. Additional anomalies are numerous, and growing steadily. Nonetheless, I do not believe we have cause for alarm. Not yet, at any rate."

“May I ask, any idea what we may be facing here?”

"Nothing your blaster will be any use against, I suspect." Helix answered the soldier's query in his less-than-reassuring fashion, his voice coming as a crackling snarl across the open channel. "Unless it has more of a liking for flesh and blood manifestations than the last. Courage and discipline will be far more useful here. Still, it never hurts to shoot something just to be safe." Melding the additional limbs back into his seemingly-liquid form, he brushed one hand against the wall again, hefting his own blaster for emphasis. "Ignore any audio or visual hallucinations you may be experiencing. They are, I am afraid, par for the course in such sites, if the previous is anything to go by."

He strode near the front of the column, reasoning that any solid manifestations would likely attack him first. He presented a large target, but more importantly, a durable one. His wounds could be replaced quickly, but the soldiers were an asset, one that was no use to them dead.

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE I
TAGS: Trayze Tesar Commodore Helix CT-312 Jacen Breska 'TK-710' The Final Omen

Plenty content to see the mental anguish she was able to cause Trayze Tesar Lirka now strummed over the words that Commodore Helix spoke to her. He had, perhaps foolishly, satiated her curiosity. Otherspace. She was jealous of him, ultimately. She craved that most unholy of places, the near lifeless void filled with biomechanical horrors, a so-called "anti-force", and what Lirka could only hope was there - deep knowledge of Primordial Dark, the likes of which this Galaxy would not see for millennia.

"But of course. Speak not the devil."

It was strange to see the Commodore show some sort of actual superstition, and Lirka quickly took note of it: in such a thing, she saw opportunity. Another chance to grab at a wayward soul and show them the dark truths she had uncovered in her long years, to make another understand the parts of the Galaxy that she knew. But alas, today was not a day for preaching. Today was a day for unspeakable horrors, and digging through old, worn-out facilities.

For a moment, she considered responding to CT-312 in some meaningful way, but more important things pressed at her mind now - instead she offered a casual dismissiveness melded with praise for the good Commodore.

"I believe the dear Commodore has described what to expect rather aptly. If you do lose your senses Warrior, do be so kind as to shoot the Captain first in your madness."

And she'd never miss the opportunity to take a jab at "dear" Tesar. But alas, the time for childish antics quickly dissolved the further the group descended into the madness of this place. The planetoid from before had steeled Lirka's soul, she expected apparitions, monsters, and all manner of foul things. She had walked the path of unnaturalistic terrors before, the foulness of Rhand did wonders to prepare those unfortunate souls who had spent long years upon its surface and among the company of the rotting nigh-undead monsters that called it home.

Lirka took a deep breath, taking in the stale air as if it were from the idyllic luster of an agri-world. It steeled the Once-Sephi's resolve even more, Lirka craved foul knowledge: and here, on Hoth, she intended to learn as many as things as she could.

Jin'Jinsa. Fascinating.

Lirka approached the ritual site without much particular fear, for such was the hubris of a monster. She noted the dilapidated misery of this place, chains of which the quality she did not approve - she certainly could have made better restraints for unfortunate souls. Slowly, steadily, did she approach the molten form of the ingot. Curiously acknowledging the thing from a distant, the only emotion her blank-faced helm offered by the slight cock of her head. What strange machinations had the Sith gotten themselves up to today?

As if responding to her query, reality warped ever so momentarily. Words whispered into her mind, that Lirka was fairly certain wasn't one of the voices in her head prattling at the back of her skull again, and they propelled her pride forward. Straightening her back, puffing her chest. The Once Sephi spoke out to no one in particular, but demanded a response all the same.

She was Lirka Ka. And Lirka Ka knew no fear.

"Reveal yourself to me, demon. I have come, and I shall witness."

Lirka didn't really believe in demons, but she had read of many cultures that did - and these recent ordeals seemed about as close to demons as she was ever going to see.

 

[Luka Felcado]

​

BYOO: Related to this thread​

She uttered sounds to the body, but the no words emerged. Only the struggling sounds attempting to communicate emerged from the lips of Luka, waist deep in snow amidst the storm.

She trudged further, trying to utter words to calm herself, to calm her brother. The body of baby brother - younger in her mind than the 34 years old he was at death. The body was frozen stiff, long since beheaded, yet she tried to soothe an assure Jo'Han that everything would be alright.

Carbonite sickness still addled her mind, but something deeper in her psyche was torn. She had to put Jo'Han back together - she had to find the boy, her boy. All she could do was wail and mutter and trudge through the snow withe the decapitated body of her kin.

In a brief moment of lucidity she saw through the illusion her mind presented her.

She howled and shrieked - ice and snow blew clear from her in a perfect semicircle around her. The ice flow below cracked underneathe the force of it.

She screamed until her voice was gone, until her lungs were on fire, until she could scream no more. A sound carried on the wind, mingling with the roaring of the snowstorm.

She collapsed into the snow once more.
​

"Keep moving. No need for us both to freeze out here."​

Luka nodded. Jo'Han was right.

What about your head? I couldn't find it by the rest of you?
​

"It's not here. We'll find it, but we need to get you out of here. Now stand up, and keep walking before the cold sets in further."​

Luka's tears froze to her cheek, but she complied, lifting the corpse once more and trudging towards the horizon, where she thought she spotted the silhouette of a structure.​

OPEN​

 

[The Final Omen]

CT-312 Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Lirka Ka Trayze Tesar Commodore Helix

The descent took longer than it should have.

Long enough for even the most hardened among them to start counting the seconds in their head. Long enough for Jacen Breska to wonder how deep a place like this could possibly go. Long enough for CT-312 to glance down at her boots and realize the lift's hum wasn't quite in sync with its motion. Long enough for Lirka Ka to feel a subtle, ambient pressure coil around her shoulders like a shawl of unseen hands.

There was no music of hydraulics, no steady rhythm to comfort their descent. Just an occasional groan of steel—like a breath drawn through rotting lungs—and the ever-present, inorganic silence of a dead place.

The walls of the shaft were smooth, devoid of labeling, graffiti, or warning signs. As if this place wasn't meant to be known. As if this level wasn't built… but grown.

The shadows beyond the translucent lift doors twisted occasionally, like something just outside perception moved with them. When the red interior light flickered, someone could've sworn they saw a reflection with no source. It looked like the team—but the heads were turned the wrong way.

Then the lift stopped.

No lurch. No whine. No warning.

Just a single, sharp hiss…
And the doors opened.

What lay beyond was not on the schematics. Not in any databanks. Not in any records. Even the Black Khan's archives—comprehensive, authoritative, and classified beyond most Sith Lords' clearance—had shown this sublevel ending two stories higher.

But the place existed.

It did more than exist. It waited.

Chamber Theta-3 revealed itself in pieces as they stepped forward—first as a wall of heat, thick and damp, like exhaled breath in the depths of a foundry. Then as lightless scale, the vast dome above flickering with the occasional pulse of red from unseen conduits, like veins illuminated by distant lightning.

The air shimmered faintly, distorting vision, not from temperature—but from pressure. The kind that made joints ache and teeth throb. The kind that whispered you were no longer alone.

As the group fanned out, the chamber revealed its shape:

As the group fanned out, the chamber revealed itself in dreadful majesty. It was a wide, circular space—far too large for a standard foundry, more akin to a cathedral hollowed into the bones of the earth. The walls were blackened with soot, etched with sprawling, burned-in Sith runes and streaked with dried residue that shimmered a sickly violet when caught in the flicker of distant emergency lighting. Overhead, broken catwalks and rusted scaffolds sagged like the decaying webs of some long-dead predator, too fragile to climb, yet disturbingly marked with human footprints—fresh enough to question, too numerous to make sense.

At the heart of the chamber rose a shattered dais of ancient stone fused with alchemized metal, cracked down the center as if struck by something divine and furious. The core of the structure—where a forging focus or ritual anchor might have once stood—was conspicuously absent, not carefully removed, but violently torn away, as though the chamber itself had suffered a catastrophic rejection. What remained looked less like a workstation and more like the altar of a butchered god.

And then the lights flickered… only once.
And the Force… screamed.

Runes, burned into every wall, began to glow faintly—blood red, then deep violet, then a flickering, chaotic strobe of something that couldn't decide what color it was. They were not ornamental. They were functional, made for ritual, for tethering.

But they'd been scarred.
Not overwritten.
Not deactivated.

Attacked. From the inside.

Whatever happened here didn't end in failure—it ended in defiance.

Something fought back.

And then, across the far wall… they saw it.

A massive lump of metal, fused into the durasteel bulkhead like a festering wound. The alchemized phrik alloy rippled with internal veins of dull crimson, and was embedded with faces.

Dozens.
Hundreds.
Thousands.

Twisted in torment. Screaming. Agonized. Some frozen mid-wail, others mid-laugh, one with its mouth eternally open as if gasping for a final breath.

And worst of all—
One of them was moving.

Not just twitching.
Mouthing words.

A whisper. A breath.

For Force-sensitives, the weight of what happened here pressed down like a collapsing ceiling of unmade history. This was not a failed forging. This was a detonation of reality.

They hadn't imbued the metal.
They'd tried to trap something inside it.
And it had refused to stay.

What escaped, no one knew.

But what remained… might have been worse.

Then came the sound.

A click.
Then another.
Then six.
Then more.

High in the dark, nestled between the rib-like girders of the upper scaffolding, eyes ignited.
Six red lights.
Six heads turning in perfect unison.

Security droids.
But not like any they'd seen.

Their frames were built from reinforced phrik alloy, dark as void and unnervingly seamless, with components that hissed and snapped as if straining under invisible torment. Every movement was accompanied by a faint mechanical groan, not of wear or friction, but something closer to anguish—an echo of agony etched into the metal itself. These constructs were not made for intimidation; they were forged for absolute efficiency, each motion precise, cold, and unfeeling, with none of the jittering hesitation found in common droids.

Their torsos bore not the symbol of the Sith Empire, but the personal mark of the Emperor himself—an obsidian emblem, sharp and angular, embedded with slivers of this strange metal like a spine of fused vertebrae. Their limbs were multi-jointed and disturbingly fluid, bending in ways no biological form ever should. One raised an arm that collapsed into a blaster cannon, humming with gathering charge; another's forearm uncoiled into a rotary blade, already spinning, dripping a thick black ichor that sizzled when it touched the floor. Shock-lances folded out of their wrists in unison, their tips crackling to life. These were not guards. They were executioners.

They did not descend.
They dropped.
Hard. Impactful. Knees locking with the ringing thud of death bells.

They surrounded the chamber in perfect formation.

Their voices came in unison—a chorus of static-filtered, malevolent programming, still bound to the protocol that had survived whatever broke this place:

"HOSTILE PRESENCE DETECTED."
"SECURITY OVERRIDE CODE: ALCH-NULL-7."
"FORGING SITE COMPROMISED."
"PURGE PROTOCOL INITIATED."

And without further warning—
they opened fire.