Private The Last Word

[Salamander]

Location: Onderon, during the Sith-Imperial invasion...
Gear: Paranoia, Suspicion, Regret
Tag: Arctus Silmar

Onderon was a world whose fate was forever tied with that of the Sith, it seemed. Their history was full of tyrants whose power they had inherited from Freedon Nadd, one of the more fearsome ancient Sith Lords who had conquered the planet thousands of years ago and ruled it via a Dark Side theocracy. It had been ravaged, plundered, destroyed and rebuilt over and over and over again... and now the cycle was at work once more as the Sith Empire invaded, attempting to seize the planet from the Silver Jedi Concord's protection.

After a strange encounter with a female Twi'lek Jedi, Messala had made his way to his intended destination: a small squat building in the forest. Presumed to be a long-abandoned weapons cache from one of the previous wars, it had become overgrown with ivy and vines. Messala cut through the undergrowth with his sword, slicing his way to the door, which he forced open with a telekinetic push.

Inside was emptiness. Shelves and crates picked clean by scavengers now sat rusting. The air was filled with the putrid odor of decay, stagnant moisture, and the bloodlike smell of oxygenated iron. His hooves crunched against decomposing leaves and dirt, wet with rainwater that had soaked through (and widened) the cracks in the duracrete foundation.

At the far corner of the room there was a pile of dirt. No - a pile of deliberately-placed trash that had slowly, over many centuries, turned into dust. Messala sheathed his weapons and pulled out a compact shovel, digging through the pile until he struck a hatch in the floor. Beneath it was a ladder leading into darkness far below. Setting aside his shovel, Messala headed into the depths.

The climb was so deep he half expected it to reach the center of the world. But the bottom placed him in the midst of a winding network of tunnels. It was pitch black, the air in the caves cool, dry, and smelling of salt and other minerals. Far off the sound of dripping water echoed through the vast space. Messala saw in the darkness with only the Force as his guide.

The tunnels gradually elongated, thinned, and then petered off into cavernous chambers. Messala's gauntleted hand not longer brushed rough rock, but smooth hewn stone. The walls became flat, joined with corners. The tunnels were now hallways carved into the earth. Ahead, there was a man-made structure from which radiated an icy coldness that reached even into the marrow of Messala's bones. He smiled behind his helmet. He had found the laboratory.

And if the other presence nearby was any indication, he was not alone in his discovery. Holding both his weapons in either hand, the lightsaber not yet ignited, he called out, "Who's there?" Though he had used the Sith invasion as a cover for his activities, he had yet to actually kill anyone on this planet. If possible, he'd like to keep it that way - he disliked leaving messes behind wherever he went.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

Salamander

Though his contemporaries were busy waging war and bringing rise to fire on Onderon once again the Shaper had instead elected to devote this time to the scouring of artifacts and knowledge from one of the many lost laboratories on Onderon as it was no secret that one of the many successors of his own kind had turned Onderon into something of a personal playground in the millennia following his own demise. As well as, from what he could gather. this 'Freedon Nadd' was taught by one of the more prominent Sith Lords closer to the Shaper's own original time. 'How interesting....' He idly mused, turning what was once a holocron in his gauntlet-ed grasp, though it was of no design he was familiar with. He hardly needed conjure any light or wield a torch as he studied the various objects nearly as ancient as he. The Whilstones provided plenty of light for his enhanced eyesight to pick out the finest details.

As soon as Messala began to make his way down into this long forgotten laboratory the Shaper calmly set the ancient, desiccated holocron back down upon the ruined pile it had once no doubt sat proudly upon, it's knowledge forever lost to the eons. As the light of the Whilstones revealed the armored individual who asked after the Shaper's identity the Shaper briefly considered assaulting this intruder for interrupting his research until he sensed the familiar touch of the Dark Side on this individual, the Whilstone of Acuity showing him various future in which Messala also searched this place alongside the Shaper, and the Shaper's masked face tilted ever so slightly in an idle show of curiosity. Ignoring Messala's question entirely he instead stated "Quite an odd thing for one like us to say when met with uncertainty."

The Shaper let this comment meant to unbalance Messala hang in the air for only a moment before continuing in a casual, almost alluring tone were it not for it's unnatural resonance "I sense you are also a man of science and learning, how wonderful." The Shaper's gaze roamed appreciatively over the artifice Messala was clad in. From the armor to the sword at his hip, the Shaper waved a hand to summon forth a flame in the center of the long forgotten laboratory, where two scientists could have a.... civil discussion. Idly commenting on Messala's equipment as he did so. "Impressive. Most impressive. To answer your question I am called The Shaper, or Arctus if you prefer, and I suspect like yourself I am a man who appreciates knowledge in all it's forms." The Shaper's tone took on a slightly warmer tone as he motioned to the treasure trove of ancient rubble around the laboratory, asking Messala in a tone dripping with practiced, false politeness as well as genuine desire for the company of another who seemed to have some competency in these same fields. "Won't you join me?"

Regardless of Messala's answer the Shaper would turn to begin studying the objects left behind so very long ago, a hidden tension in his body perfectly concealed in his still very much there interest in this place, that if Messala felt the need to attack him in attempt to claim this knowledge for himself...... he would be more than prepared.

 

[Salamander]

"Quite an odd thing for one like us to say when met with uncertainty."

A man emerged from the darkness. Clad from head to foot in dark armor, armed with both sword and spear, Messala’s gaze was drawn above all to the crown which sat upon the figure’s head, studded with crystals that emitted a white glow like stars. It was beautiful, and no doubt very, very old.

Messala still held his own weapons at the ready, though he made no move to attack. “Really, I was only being polite,” he said, a smirk apparent in the tone of his damaged voice. “After all, there’s an invasion going on upstairs. Wouldn’t want to slaughter an unarmed war refugee who was simply seeking shelter underground.”

Of course, it was obvious that this was no innocent lost civilian. The stranger reeked of alchemy; it clung to him like a perfume, impossible to ignore. So did the Dark Side. In fact, Messala mused, in many ways this fellow felt more quintessentially, innately Sith than the Emperor himself.

"I sense you are also a man of science and learning, how wonderful."

The stranger summoned a magical flame that produced enough light to illuminate the entirety of the laboratory. Shelves, cabinets, tables, and desks took shape, each one laden with the dust and cobwebs of millennia. But inside, there were treasures untold.

"Impressive. Most impressive. To answer your question I am called The Shaper, or Arctus if you prefer, and I suspect like yourself I am a man who appreciates knowledge in all its forms."

Messala forced himself to look away from the minutiae of the room, fixing his gaze upon The Shaper once again. “I came here seeking knowledge, yes,” he replied. The magical flame cast shadows that did strange things to the intricate corrugations of his meat-red armor. “I am Arrius Messala. Nice crown.”

"Won't you join me?"

His raised eyebrow hidden behind his helmet, Messala sheathed his sword and clipped his lightsaber to his hip. He strode around the table The Shaper was studying at so that the two stood facing each other on either side. Upon the table lay a set of ancient scientific instruments, many of them tarnished, damaged, or too badly decayed to be used ever again. Among them Messala spotted the remains of the unusual holocron The Shaper had been examining prior to his entrance.

It was tempting to ignore this unexpected fellow intruder altogether and focus on the artifacts, but given the bizarre circumstances, Messala figured it was a good idea to keep The Shaper talking. “How did you find out about this place?” he inquired.

As for himself, he had learned of the rumored location of an underground lab via one of his scouts. For years he had wanted to build his own secret lab here on Onderon, but the SJC presence had prevented that dream from becoming reality. The next best thing, regardless of whether the Sith-Imperials managed to seize control of this world, was to plunder one of its few remaining labs for all it was worth. And who knew—maybe he would find something truly worthwhile among the decomposing, rusting, outdated technology here. Like the holocron.

With gauntleted hands empty of weapons, Messala reached out and picked up the holocron, wanting to see it for himself. It too had been rendered unusable by the ruthless forces of time, its knowledge lost to the ages. “A pity,” he murmured to himself, setting the holocron back in its place (obvious to the naked eye by the holocron-shaped absence of dust on the table). His voice took on a casual, almost carelessly laid-back tone. “So, what else have you found here so far, Arctus?”

Arctus Silmar​

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

Salamander

The Shaper found Messala's comment amusing and nodded idly, not so much in agreement with the sentiment about war refugees, but rather that he had heard what Messala said. The introduction of their name and the comment about his crown made the Shaper chuckle and turned to study some of the artifacts Messala showed interest in. At Messala's question about how he had found this place The Shaper idly lifted a tattered, ancient book from the dust and carried it toward the flames. Stating simply "The dead told me. This place has fallen to ruin in the physical plane, but beyond, the spirits of those who gave their life to the research done here still linger. As for what I have found.... something beyond."

As soon as the last word left his lips the Shaper tossed the book into the flames, causing them to turn a vibrant shade of green, before the Shaper turned his head to glance back at Messala. "If you happen to find the dead revolting, I would suggest averting your gaze." With that said the Shaper turned back to the now emerald flames and his voice began to echo and reverberate around the dark, flame-lit laboratory. The flames twisting and curling in unnatural undulations before expanding out into a circle around the pile of dust and ash the book had become. The flames then began to sputter and lower, sinking down and down as they grew smaller and smaller, before the flames coalesced into seething emerald runes of the Sith language upon the ground.

The Shaper's hands then began to conjure and seep green mist, the mist drifting toward the pile of dust and ash before the pile began to rise, twitching and convulsing as it twisted, cracked and shook. The limp of ash and dust compiling together before turning into pale, grey, ashy flesh. Nothingmore than a writhing sack of flesh before sharp, cracking and snapping noises filled the gloom. Something vaguely resembling a human skull pushing and bulging out the top of the sack before two bone-thin, spasming arms sprouted from the sack as well. It's shape distending and thinning as material was moved painfully into place.

As soon as the head formed a mouth the laboratory was filled with the unnatural screams of a body that should not exist, of a soul dragged back into a hellish existence as their eyes clenched shut and body spasmed within the runic circle. Eventually, finally, the sack of flesh and bone formed into what appeared to be a horribly emaciated human form with gleaming green eyes. Their voice crackling and more hoarse than any Messala had likely heard before. "P-Pleeease! Please n-noooooo! Kill me! I am not meant to be heeeere!" The Shaper rent and twisted the being's body, even as the being attempted to cry, only for nothing to come.

Once he was confident that the being would not die without his magics he turned to Messala and inclined his head. "This being is a rough amalgam of the body of those who burnt to death in this laboratory, formed from the remains of their ashes and the very tracest amounts of their DNA. Their souls have been forced back within, but only for a time and only within this circle, this is not a true resurrection." The Shaper approached Messala and, glancing up at them, motioned to the being. "I offer the knowledge their spirits contain, in exchange for something, as I am sure you aware those of our stripe do naught for free."

The Shaper paused a moment to allow Messala to weigh the prospect of this offer before offering a hand. "Quite simply, I would offer you knowledge, power and position, in exchange I would ask your support and loyalty for the plans I have in the future. I am not of this time but I am still SITH. As such....." The Shaper trailed off and stepped back, turning aside, leaving Messala a clear opening to walk to the being as he swept his arm toward it. "..... having allies and individuals of skill and power associated is always a wise move to make." A wry smile twisted the Shaper's lip behind his mask before he commented rather dryly. "Also before you comment on the sudden nature of this offer, I sense you have ends to which a power base to work from would be very.... beneficial."

 

[Salamander]

Messala’s gaze flicked from the book to Arctus, already guessing what lay in store. Great, another necromancer. Well, it was hardly out of the ordinary among Sith, especially those interested in archaeology.

"If you happen to find the dead revolting, I would suggest averting your gaze."

Messala did not turn away from the mass of flesh The Shaper conjured up from the ashes. Death and decay had been his constant companions, from childhood’s hour it seemed. He had ventured into tombs, studied bones and mummified remains, buried the bodies of friends and foes slain in battles both justified and pointless. No, he was not revolted by the dead.

"This being is a rough amalgam of the body of those who burnt to death in this laboratory, formed from the remains of their ashes and the very tracest amounts of their DNA. Their souls have been forced back within, but only for a time and only within this circle, this is not a true resurrection. I offer the knowledge their spirits contain, in exchange for something, as I am sure you are aware that those of our stripe do naught for free."

Messala bit his tongue and said nothing, waiting to hear The Shaper’s demands.

"Quite simply, I would offer you knowledge, power and position, in exchange I would ask your support and loyalty for the plans I have in the future. I am not of this time but I am still SITH. As such..... having allies and individuals of skill and power associated is always a wise move to make."

During the lengthy pause while The Shaper turned away from his Frankenstein monster, Messala cautiously moved forward. One hoof entered the circle, opening the gate. He sensed at once the suffering of the legion of spirits crammed within the unstable “body” which had been hastily fashioned to entrap them.

"Also before you comment on the sudden nature of this offer, I sense you have ends to which a power base to work from would be very.... Beneficial."

The Half-Bothan exhaled deeply, then laughed, a dry crackling sound like autumn leaves crunching underfoot. Depending on how good his hearing was within his suit of armor, The Shaper might notice that the volume and timbre of Messala’s voice had changed, no longer slightly muffled and quiet. While Arctus’ back was turned, he had removed his helmet and now held it under one arm. The flames created a silhouette of the side of Messala's face, outlining the harsh profile of his hideous visage and leaving the rest in shadow.

“You mean the Primyn Group? You don’t need my help to join them. It is run by Councilor AMCO . He's the Sith Empire’s golden boy when it comes to all things alchemical. And he's always looking for new recruits to join his little science club.”

With his free arm Messala reached out to caress the skeletal head, cradling it in his gauntleted hand as one might hold a newborn baby. The monstrosity mewled in terror and torment, trying to escape him.

“But if it’s a proper introduction into the fold you want, I can arrange it. Such a favor is no big deal for me, boss.” His voice dropped to a soft murmur as he uttered an incantation of his own in High Sith. “Imdniji tuti ri noudnizi sûtja iw ri shutitursa, hiklêkinasi tuti ri dizni. Iriti dro, titsû raria shinsi j'us.”

Leaning forward, he kissed the twisted amalgamation’s bony brow. With a shuddering gasp, The Shaper’s magic was undone. Ashes returned to ashes, dust to dust, and the spirits of the dead locked within the cage of flesh were released, seeping out in a green mist that rapidly dispersed. Messala shook out the powdered remains of what had once been the creature's skull from his fingers.

“Memory is faulty. I don’t trust it enough to cite it as a source. If there’s nothing here I can study, then I’ll just have to leave empty handed. Unless, of course, you have something better to offer in exchange for my help...”

Arctus Silmar​

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

Salamander

The Shaper was, in no uncertain terms, utterly surprised by both Messala's misunderstanding and his reaction to the offer he had made. Though one was at least more interesting and informative than the other, and as the Shaper turned to watch Messala cradle the amalgam and grant it rest with a measure of peace and contentment that made the Shaper's gut coil as he was reminded all too starkly of the Jedi. Inhaling a deep breathe the Shaper could in fact detect the change in Messala's voice and was, to be blunt, rather disinterested with this.... pretender. Disgust and borderline revulsion at Messala's demeanor sharpening the Shaper's perception like a hateful teacher looking for something to criticize of a student they did not like. What the Shaper found and saw changed his mind immediately.

Though Messala was not a beautiful thing to look at and, likely by his own metric, a failure or mistake, the Shaper could recognize great craftsmanship and a work of art when he saw it. Which Messala, whether he saw it or not, particularly was. A small, silent 'ahh' of understanding left the Shaper's lips as all the little pieces fell together. Messala's hunger for knowledge, the mercy shown to a suffering experiment and his obviously flawed visage only added to the many threads of fate the Whilstone of Acuity showed him tied to Messala. He also became starkly aware of how his summoning of the amalgam may have..... offended the Half-Bothan and so he thought over his next words more carefully. Ultimately, he decided on a more blunt, yet what he considered a slightly more tacit approach.

Striding over to Messala with practiced motion the Shaper made hardly a noise as he came to stand beside Messala's kneeling form, looking down on him the briefest of moments, before matching Messala's motion of removing his helmet as a subconscious effort to build trust. His raven curls spilling out over his armored shoulders in an obsidian waterfall before he gave a small, tight smile down at Messala. Understanding dawning on his features even as removing the Whilstones caused the clarity of the visions he saw to dim into obfuscation. The Shaper's echoing, delayed voice all but surrounding Messala as he spoke.

"I shall be more frank then. An introduction to this group would be of great value and as you have shared a bit of yourself with I, I shall do the same. I am not of this time of yours, long have I slumbered, and I have returned to our Empire with only the efforts of my craft and my power to my name." The Shaper idly glanced down to the Whilstones before looking Messala in the eyes, should the Half-Bothan be so inclined, before he nodded ever so slightly. "I may be from another time, Arrius Messala, but I can recognize a work of art when I see it." The Shaper would motion now to Messala himself, his eyes smoldering like amber coals as he did so, before continuing. "I will be a Lord of the Sith once more, soon, and though I have learned the practice of the Kaggath has been.... removed. Nonetheless I feel a base of power and influence is essential for any Sith who would truly call themselves a Lord. I would see you amongst mine. I can offer you a residence of privacy, room to study to yourself, and support should you wish. Naturally I expect neither of us to grant support in matters counter to our own private interests."

Reaching down the Shaper would don the Iron Crown once more, Whilstones expanding to a blinding brightness, before he would reach down. Should Messala allow it the Shaper would share a vision of import as the Shaper lay a gauntleted hand on Messala's head. In a swirling, featureless expanse Messala and the Shaper would stand before a presence of imminent familiarity to Messala. An object, or rather person, of no small amount of interest to Messala. Though before the vision could clear enough to reveal the location of this individual of interest to Messala, a move of exacting tactical importance as the Shaper's hand withdrew, he would walk by Messala toward the entrance to the lab. Letting him think on the vision for a moment, before stating simply in a voice dripping promise. "As well as assisting the work of art in finding their artist......"

 

[Salamander]

Messala thought he could sense a sharp change in Arctus’ attitude—but it turned out to be one of several swerves, each one more difficult to ascertain than the last. The Half-Bothan stood by as The Shaper approached and removed his helmet.

Of course the bastard was beautiful. Beautiful and terrible as the dawn, if you will. But removing the Iron Crown meant that The Shaper had weakened himself somewhat in Messala’s presence, which was a gesture the Lord of Doubt could appreciate. He was used to having to lower himself before others to assuage their paranoia, removing his mask and exposing his grotesque visage even though it pained him at times to sense their revulsion, their shallow judgement, their refusal to understand why he chose to remain this way even though alchemical beauty was within his grasp...

"I shall be more frank then. An introduction to this group would be of great value and as you have shared a bit of yourself with I, I shall do the same. I am not of this time of yours, long have I slumbered, and I have returned to our Empire with only the efforts of my craft and my power to my name.”

“I can tell you’re not from around these parts, boss. And I don’t doubt your power.” Blue eyes flicked toward the Iron Crown with barely disguised longing.

"I may be from another time, Arrius Messala, but I can recognize a work of art when I see it."

Messala snorted. “Thanks. That’s quite high praise, coming from you. But flattery will get you nowhere with me.” If The Shaper was from an age when Sith could only interact in terms of bargaining with one another, Messala was happy to speak that dead language for Arctus’ sake.

Still, The Shaper had more to say.

"I will be a Lord of the Sith once more, soon, and though I have learned the practice of the Kaggath has been.... removed. Nonetheless I feel a base of power and influence is essential for any Sith who would truly call themselves a Lord. I would see you amongst mine. I can offer you a residence of privacy, room to study to yourself, and support should you wish. Naturally I expect neither of us to grant support in matters counter to our own private interests."

The Kaggath? Stars, this guy really was a fossil. Still, Messala couldn’t help but feel a measure of pity for him… up to a point, anyway. He crossed his arms over his chest, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with good humor. “Arctus, perhaps it pains a proud old lord like you to say the word out loud, but I’m pretty sure you’re asking me to be your friend. There’s no shame in a Sith Lord having friends, at least not anymore.” He had a feeling Arctus was going to be very displeased, if not incredibly unhappy, with the new state of things once he got the ball rolling on his quest for power.

Then came the vision at the touch of The Shaper. Messala gaped at the figure which appeared before him. Creator, father—the quest, the search—

He reached out, but the vision faded before he could even touch the hem of Arimanes Bosch’s garment. Instead of the Shi’ido, he saw Arctus walking away from him, having retracted his hand from Messala’s head.

"As well as assisting the work of art in finding their artist......"

A muffled gasp escaped the satyr’s ruined throat; he had been holding his breath without realizing it. Recovering quickly, he put his helmet back on, retreating into the relative safety of anonymity.

He detected enough energy emanating from Arctus' head to figure out what had happened. That blasted Crown! Messala didn’t normally covet his neighbor’s goods—well, unless the likes of AMCO or the poor wretched circus alchemist Aylmer were his neighbors—haha, maybe in hell!—but in this case he couldn’t deny his lust. This case stung with a particular bitterness, for Messala had never been able to have visions of his own. The future was always unknown to him, even when it came to sensing treachery in combat.

“...As I was saying… I have no problem being a friend to you,” Messala said as soon as he was able to speak again. “Especially if you would assist me… teach me the forgotten arts of alchemy which have for so long eluded me. Take over the whole damned Empire if you want.” The time for subtlety had passed. He pointed toward the Whilstones adorning the ancient Sith’s brow. “Just help me cook up a magic star or two of my own, boss.”

Arctus Silmar​

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

The Shaper looked at Salamander fondly, or rather, in a well-crafted imitation of fondness at his words. "Friend....." The word rolled off the Shaper's tongue like honey, reverberating softly from the walls of the ancient laboratory, even as it sat like acrid bile in his throat. The Shaper was easily able to hide his contempt for the idea, while the vision the Whilstones granted Messala had obviously rocked the Half-Bothan to an extreme degree. Prying apart his carefully crafted visage for the Shaper to study like he was just another work of artifice to judge, which was how he preferred his working relationships. Messala would be only slightly different, it seemed.

As Messala showed evident and obvious longing for not only the Whilstones in his possession, but the art with which to fashion his own, the Shaper smiled a false, almost fatherly, smile. Turning to gaze at Messala through the mask that adorned his face before remarking in a measured and, should Messala catch it, tantalizing tone. He had found the carrot of Messala's interest and now? Now he would only sweeten the prospect for Messala. "To craft a Whilstone such as these?" The Shaper asked rhetorically, before shaking his head, a bit of passion leaking into his echoing voice as he chuckled. "Oh no, Arrius Messala, you and I shall craft artifacts of even greater magnificence."

With the carrot thoroughly presented to Messala he drew in a slow breathe before, as with all measures of temptation, he had to present the stick as well. "But you will understand, of course, that I will not simply hand you all that I possess. You will learn secrets, crafts and powers kept for millennia unto myself. But I offer nothing freely. I've apprentices that need discipline, refinement, I've a power base to solidify and an Empire to aid in crafting into the tool of perfection the Sith were always destined to be. If you are capable of aiding in these endeavors, then you will find yourself rewarded appropriately. Now..... if you would introduce me to this group, I must also about securing Corbos for myself. Every great plan requires a staging ground to make the first step." With that said the Shaper turned to the entrance of the laboratory and motioned for Messala. "Come, we've work to attend to. Friend."

 

[Salamander]

Messala exhaled sharply through his nose as Arctus turned to leave. He hated to play the part of the petulant, spoiled, stubborn child, but damn it all, he wanted a Whilstone, not artifacts of greater magnificence. His obsession with the gems might seem ludicrous in light of everything else that was being offered to him, but he had learned long ago how to set his heart on one goal above all else. Even the mere name was enough to send him. Whilstone. As in the mystical, mythical Whills?

But the Shaper was already moving on to discussing payment. “Of course,” Messala muttered, waving his hand. “I’d expect nothing less if I were in your position and you in mine. Rest assured, it’s still the Sith way too—some things never change.”

At the mention of Corbos, he grew puzzled. "Corbos? Isn't that a planet in the Outer Rim?"

However Arctus answered, Messala followed him out and activated his comlink, eager to prove his sincerity and commitment. “Patch me through to AMCO ,” he said, speaking to a crewmember of his ship. There was a faint, murmuring reply. “I figured he wasn’t here on Onderon. This sort of gig isn’t really his style. Too much mud, wouldn't want to get his hands dirty. But get me in touch with him, if he’s available, or at least his brain in a jar.”

A few seconds later, Messala’s disposition became cheery and jovial. “Xesh, you old wad of gray matter!” he cackled. “How have things been?... I know you can’t tell me the Dark Councilor’s business, I’m asking about you!... Oh, never mind. I’ve some hot new data for you to think about, beautiful mind. But first, I need you to pass on a message to your young master. There’s someone who wants in on the Primyn Group. Somebody with plenty to offer us. Hell, I’m sure the Dark Councilor will want to meet this guy himself…”

Messala quickly iterated the Shaper's identity and desire to become a member of the esteemed Sith science club. He could practically hear the neurons firing across light years. When all was said and done, Messala ended the call and addressed Arctus. "That was a Tsudakyr, one of Vandiir's creations. Sort of a giant brain that operates similarly to an artificial intelligence, but allows for telepathic communication. Anyway, you now have a date with the Archons. Casual dress is prohibited. Be sure to look your best."

Arctus Silmar​