Populate The Legend of Set and Veré | THR Populate of Quila & Farstine

[Pari Sylune]

Pari was by Knight Zors side, her steps quiet but her mind racing. Outside of the ship the Force felt even more disrupted. It felt old, and stale somehow, yet also lingering with a memory of something just beyond reach. Foreign was probably the best word they had to describe it right now, but it did not sit well wit her. She walked quietly, her teak colored eyes alert and wary.

As they stepped up to the monolith they did indeed notice a door at the base, beneath the lowest platform. They stepped up to the monolith and the entire party paused, all at once, as if they needed a moment to resolve themselves. Pari felt the waves coming from the monolith and spoke softly,

"It feels...." Her voice faded. Knight Zor turned to her.

"Trust your feelings young one. What do you feel?"

"... pain.. hurt.... it's wounded." As a healer she was absolutely certain of this. She'd felt it so many times before. But how could it be wounded? Wasn't it just stone?

Knight Zor frowned and he too looked up at the massive structure. He did not correct Pari. He was no healer so he felt ill at ease to challenge her assumption. He was more of a hunter himself and so his advice was in that realm.

"Then we must step lightly. The wounded are usually frightened and may attack if they feel threatened."

That didn't sound so good.

Michael Angellus

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

Journal Entry:
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​

Whispers of ancient Sith echo from the pit known as the Hollow Gate. Cracked, faceless statues ring the sinkhole, as if in silent vigil. Discover its secrets. Prepare a report on the danger this place poses to future travelers.

ENTRY 118
Time: Oh, I don’t know at this point

Dear Diary,

There’s a door in the monolith.
Not a hatch. Not a hole. A door—seamless, angular, fitted so tight you’d never spot it unless the Force wanted you to.

We found it beneath the lowest floating platform, after a controlled descent. Still not sure how these platforms hover—no repulsors, no visible fields—but BRED said they’re “sitting on top of nothing and violating physics.” (Which is basically Katabasis’s entire résumé.)

I stayed back while Knight Zor and Pari stepped forward. Watching them together, I realized something weird: I didn’t feel like the Jedi were leading us into this place.

I felt like we were being invited.

But whatever’s calling us? It’s not a host. It’s more like… a patient.

Outside the ship, the Force was wrong. Again. But wrong in a new way—disrupted, yes, but also heavy. Like walking into a room full of grief, still echoing with someone else's pain. Zor stood firm. Pari kept close. Her hands never left her belt, but her eyes weren’t searching for danger. They were listening.

And then she said it.

“It’s wounded.”

I almost scoffed—I mean, how can a monolith be wounded? But the moment she said it, I felt it too. Not pain in the body. Pain in the memory. The air around the stone shifted.

And the Force spoke.

Not words…
… but echoes.

Images slammed into my head like a rush of heat and glass.

• A figure kneeling in the dark, bound in tethers of red energy, screaming without sound.
  
  
• A voice like thunder, whispering a name I couldn’t hold onto—Set? Verè? Something older?
  
  
• A field of broken sabers, laid like offerings at the foot of this very monolith.
  
  
• And over it all, a suffocating feeling of regret—not guilt. Regret. As if whatever this was had chosen something terrible, and had centuries to realize it.
  

I staggered. Caught myself on the platform’s edge. Zor however, didn’t move. His jaw clenched, eyes closed, breathing deep like he was absorbing it all in silence.

Pari trembled just once, then straightened.

The healer said it was wounded.
The hunter said we must step lightly.
Me? I say this thing doesn’t want to be understood. It wants to be left alone—but it can’t be.

Because it’s still here. Still echoing. Still feeling.

We haven’t opened the door yet. We’re waiting. Zor’s meditating again, this time with one hand placed directly on the surface. BRED’s doing slow scans and keeps muttering to himself like he’s trying to decode a forgotten language. And me? I’m writing this and watching those symbols that Pari saw.

OOooo [What the frell is this? “Abandon Yoke, all who Egg here”?]

What are you talking about?

Booeep [Oh, I got it. “Man childs should let their droids do their job. Or face the consequences.” Very prophetic.]

Whatever.

They're back now. Brighter. Sharper. They almost shimmer when you don’t look directly at them.
If I had to guess? This wasn’t just a prison. It was a confession chamber. A memory vault for something that couldn’t die, but needed to be remembered. The wound isn't just the monolith. The wound may be the world. We’re going in soon.

Wish us luck.

Or clarity.

Or both.

—Michael
(Echoes in the stone. Blood in the memory. We’re not alone down here.)

ENTRY 119
Time: Honestly, I don’t know anymore. Let’s call it "Too Deep."

Dear Diary,

The door opened.

Not with sound. Not with a hiss or a hum. Just a shift in reality. Like the air blinked—and the stone decided we could enter. We stepped into a corridor lit by nothing, yet not dark. The walls shimmered with a color I don’t have words for. Gray, maybe. But alive. The kind of gray you get when blood dries on steel and time forgets the stain.

Zor led, saber unlit. Pari stayed close behind him. I brought up the rear, blaster low, my free hand on my own saber, helmet lights active—but the light bent strangely inside. It didn’t go forward. It just… settled.

The air got thicker the deeper we went. Like trying to breathe through smoke you can’t see.
BRED stayed docked to the Dropship. Good call. I didn’t want him seeing this.
Because this next part?

I don’t know if it was a vision… or a memory I’d forgotten… or a lie the monolith needed me to believe.

It started with a whisper.


Not in my ears. Not in the Force. In my bones.
A low vibration, like a deep cello note playing under my skin. Then the corridor walls began to flicker. Like a holovid skipping. And then—I was somewhere else. A jungle planet. One I don’t remember landing on. I was running. Helmet cracked. Blood in my mouth. My hand was gripping a lightsaber—my lightsaber. But I’ve never built one. I’m barely even—

The sky above me burned.
Sith ships. Screams. Something ancient and winged howling through a ruined temple.“You said you'd protect them,” a voice snarled—not at me, but through me. I turned. A child was reaching for me. Dust-covered. Crying. And I… I turned away, WHAT? Walked into the smoke. Left them behind. [/I]WHAT?[/I]

SNAP—Back to the corridor. My knees hit the floor. Zor was beside me in an instant, his hand on my shoulder. “Echo flare,” he said, steady. “It pulled from you. Tried to fill the space with something it could understand.”

I couldn’t speak for a second. My throat was raw. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t real.
But the thing is… Some of it was. Not all. Not in that way. But pieces. Fears. Failures. The guilt I hide under sarcasm and flight goggles.
That moment where I hesitated. That time I let someone else take the risk. The voices I try not to remember when I close the cockpit canopy. The monolith pulled them out like thread. Wove them into something bigger. It’s not just echoes in this place.
It’s reflections.

Distorted.

Amplified.

Weaponized.

And it’s not just trying to be remembered anymore. It’s trying to understand us.

Zor helped me back to my feet. Didn’t say a word. Just looked ahead toward the next chamber—some kind of inner sanctum, pulsing like a heartbeat.
He said the Force here is layered. Like memories stacked on top of each other. Some personal. Some mythic. Some neither.

We go deeper next.

Wish I didn’t feel like I left a piece of myself behind.
—Michael
(The monolith remembers. And now… it remembers me.)




Pari Sylune

 

[Pari Sylune]

Things were getting intense. Pari stepped over to Angellus, attempting to take his pulse and make certain he was alright. She figured he would push her away, most tough combat men did, but as the only healer here she felt she ought to at least look after the group. All seemed fine, and yet not fine. It was as if the Force was trying to take pieces of them and cast those pieces into the air. She could not understand it at all.

Her small fingers traced the walls, her eyes closed, trying to feel what the structure felt. It was all jumbled, like a buzzing noise whose location you couldn't identify.

"I think it's interacting with Officer Angellus because he came first so it's known him the longest." She frowned as soon as she said these words. "I don't think time works the same way down here."

She let her fingers fall from the wall and looked at Master Zor. He looked troubled but he did not scold or rebuff her theory. Instead he kept forward, leading them deeper. Pari now walked behind Officer Angellus, her keen eye watching how he walked to see if he was injured.










Michael Angellus

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

She wasn’t aware of falling, only that the world of stone and scaffolding had vanished. The hum of activity, the taste of dust, the prickling wind across her face; it was all gone. Even her body did not feel near, it felt distant now. She was floating in something too heavy to be air. It wasn’t cold nor was it warm; it was simply old.

She started to realise, slowly and painfully, that the temple had pulled her in and by doing so it was telling her things.

A glimmer of light began to pulse through the gloom, as if her thoughts had weight and shape in an empty void. She shifted her body and allowed herself to drift toward it without motion. The shadows thinned as she went, forming into patterns; it formed architecture wrought from memory, rather than stone.

Columns of root and vine. A house of stone and glass, within a hall of petrified trees, their limbs twisted into arches that reached endlessly overhead. The air smelled of bark and rain-drenched leaves. Somewhere nearby, water rippled softly over the stone, playing against her ears.

Then came the voice. It was feminine. It was gentle and it sung in tones pleasant to one's hearing.

“Down by the willow where the waterdrakes sleep…”

It echoed between the trees like a child’s rhyme, but no child had sung this for centuries. Bastila recognised it though, not from memory, but from somewhere deeper, somewhere within her blood. It was embedded in her, taking sprout like a seed long left dormant.

“Verè sang soft, and the roots ran deep…”

The floor beneath her feet became a pool. It wasn’t water that began to lap at her boots, it was something clearer and clean, it was reflective, but shifted as she looked at it. Her reflection in it wavered, wearing different faces each time she could focus on it: She saw her own, and yet not at the same time. The woman who looked back was older. Tired. Cold. Gold eyes stared back at her with a knowing that cut her to the bone.

“Set wore the crown of the storm-lit tree…”

A figure began to form in the grove ahead. They were unnaturally tall, and wrapped in something like bark, woven of shadow and sap. Its face was obscured, and yet its presence was immense. It said no words, it simply existed, and that was enough to rattle Bastila’s heartbeat loose from its steady rhythm.

“Bound in bark so none could see…”

Then came the rushes. Growing up around her feet, brushing her legs like fingers. They whispered, she couldn’t ignore it and the words took shape.

“The rushes bend when the red moon climbs…”
“Whispering songs in skipping rhymes…”

She heard laughter now, children playing somewhere in the dark, beyond her sight; but on the edge of her hearing the sound turned, twisted at the edge into something else. A scream buried under the joy.

A violet flower bloomed in front of her, its petals trembling with dew.

“Don’t drink the dew from the violet’s breath…”

A pause. The air itself seemed to still.

“It makes you dream of things long left.”

Bastila’s lips parted as if in answer. She wasn’t sure whether the breath she took was her own but clearly there was someone else or something here.

Then without so much as a sound the petals fell from the flower, liquid falling upon her drenching her head and face, it crept into her mouth like it had movement of its own and the shadows crept in before visions struck like a memory returning too sharply.

She saw it all as clear as anything that had come before;

The echo of a battlefield.
The silhouette of her father’s face.
The glint of blood on her hands.
The moment Briana had left her in that house of falling stone.
The sound of her mother’s voice, singing in a house that no longer stood.

The poem lingered on her mother’s tongue, her voice something that Bastila never wanted to go away, it was like she was there, right there in front of her.

Beneath that familiar, comforting voice however the temple spoke again; this time not in rhyme, but in that same, cold tone. The bark infused figure again formed this time behind her, long creeping fingers setting on her shoulder.

“Now that you have drunk from the flower, child of no destiny… What will you remember? And what will you choose to forget?”


In the temple proper, she remained seated, almost at peace; but Bastila’s head began to sink her chin nearly at her chest. Her eyes flickered wildly, her mouth dripping blood from a lip that had found itself between her teeth.

Ala Quin Lorn Reingard Maiz Tor'val

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[Michael Angellus]

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Journal Entry:
.

​

Whispers of ancient Sith echo from the pit known as the Hollow Gate. Cracked, faceless statues ring the sinkhole, as if in silent vigil. Discover its secrets. Prepare a report on the danger this place poses to future travelers.

ENTRY 120
Location: Oh, who cares?!
Time: We’re past minutes. We’re counting in memories now.

Dear Diary,

I don’t remember falling.

But apparently I did.

Pari was at my side the second I slumped against the corridor wall—kneeling beside me, fingers at my throat checking my pulse. That’s healer instinct, I guess. I didn’t fight her off. Couldn’t, really. And I think… I didn’t want to.

She didn’t say much. Just that I was “fine, and yet… not fine.”
Yeah. That about sums it up.

The feeling I am getting was that it’s like the Force is trying to take pieces of us, and cast them into the air.

I may be wrong.

But it feels like that.
Like this place isn’t content to just be remembered—it wants to remember through us. Through me.
Pari stayed close as we moved on. I didn’t say anything, but I could feel her watching. Tracking how I walked. Looking for a limp, a wince, a flinch. Anything to tell her what the monolith had done to me.

I kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Head down, heart still hammering. The inner sanctum revealed itself like a memory surfacing from deep water, too weird. No doors. No threshold. Just space, impossibly vast, where there shouldn’t have been room for it to exist. The ceiling vanished into shadow. The walls shimmered with glyphs—not glowing, not carved. They just... appeared as you moved. Like the monolith was pulling your mind into its language.

There were no furnishings. No altar.
Just a void in the center.

A hollow, swirling with Force energy that wasn’t light, wasn’t dark. Just... old. Beyond alignment. Witnessed, but not understood. Pari brushed her fingers against the wall. I watched her go still. Eyes closed. Sensing.

“I think it’s interacting with Officer Angellus because he came first,”

she said quietly.

“So it’s known him the longest.”

Then she frowned.

“I don’t think time works the same way down here.”

You’re right, it’s not.

Weird I say that, because when I stepped forward—The monolith moved.

Not physically. But in the Force. That’s CRAZY!

It reached for me.

And suddenly, the echoes weren’t just visions or projections anymore. They were tethers.
One wrapped around my chest. Another brushed against the back of my mind. A pressure, a warmth, a recognition. Like an old friend you don’t remember meeting saying, “There you are.”
I fell to one knee.

I heard a name.
Not my own.

“Verè.”

And then—
I was standing in a great hall of light and stone. Banners snapped in wind I couldn’t feel.
A woman stood at the far end—tall, armored, radiant. Her eyes burned like dying stars.
“They will forget me,” she said. “But you will carry it.” I tried to speak. Tried to ask what?
But she raised a hand, and the Force surged through my skull like a floodgate cracking open.

I felt her rage.
Her sacrifice.
Her hope.
And something else—Something unfinished.

When I came to, Zor had placed himself between me and the core. He hadn’t drawn his saber, but the air around him thrummed like a held breath. Pari was still behind me—hands steady, watching with healer’s eyes. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
Whatever I just touched?

It’s following me. It knows me now.
And worse?

It thinks I’m supposed to be here.

This isn’t just a wound.

This is a beacon.
And I might be its next message.

—Michael
(If I’m Verè’s echo… who was Set?)





Pari Sylune

 

[Pillar of Freedom]

The lights they had strung through the chamber flickered, dimmed, and then held steady again. But too steady. The shadows no longer moved naturally. They hung like painted lines, refusing to shift even when the team moved through them.

Dr. Tavren Harrex stood before the central dais of the Heart of Descent: a circular platform etched with concentric spirals and flanked by upright monoliths arranged in a broken crescent. At the center stood the orb they had given the name of "chime stone". It had done nothing but sit atop its perch...

Until now.

A single low note, deep, and vibrating to the bone emerged from the stone. And then it began to lift from its perch. And a subtle red glow began to emerge from the core of the stone.

Oswin froze, datapad slipping from her fingers. "That wasn't me," she said quickly.

Harrex rumbled low in his throat and stepped forward, studying the formation. "There's a change in the resonance field," said the tech nearest the scanner array. "It's...not reflecting. It's absorbing everything."

The hum grew louder. One of the nearby monoliths cracked.

"No seismic activity," muttered another team member, scanning frantically. "It didn't fracture. It compressed...on itself...it is smaller now..."

Harrex did not speak. He placed his hand on the chime stone. It was warm. A second tone began, higher, discordant, like the first two notes of a lullaby.

Behind them, the sealed rock wall, once carved with only decorative motifs, shifted. The etchings folded outward. A seam split along its surface, revealing a smooth passage descending in a perfect spiral.

Harrex's voice broke the silence. "We've gone too far."

Hollow Gate: Michael Angellus Pari Sylune
The wailing intensifies. Air moves in the pit. Statues above weep. She is mourning for those who died for her. The souls of those sacrificed to the pit begin to awake.

The Black Spiral: Kyric Kellan Jericho Scherezade deWinter Kas Larsen Brandyn Sal-Soren Voli Cholrass
The summit of the Black Spiral begins to hum with a high pitched resonance, just shy of grating to those of normal hearing. Deep in the heart of the Spiral, something loud is knocking at an unseen door. Glyphs on the floor glow in ancient tongue, yet somehow understandable by instinct...the door must stay closed.

The Temple of Broken Chains: Maiz Tor'val Lorn Reingard Ala Quin Bastila Sal-Soren
The head of a statue seems to have moved, bowing towards the altar in the middle of the room. A sense of some imminent arrival washes over all present. Down the corridor, beyond the barricade, and towards the Heart of Descent chamber...an ominous red glow.

Sibylla Abrantes Dominique Vexx - Lore has been sent.​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique smiled as Sibylla gestured they walk together. Not fast nor far; there were other dusty folio and tomes to find. Hard to see how ancient history would matter, but if what the young woman said was true... a change in attitude toward one's legends could have striking effect on the present. It wouldn't be such a bad thing to see where all of this led.

A single, soft laugh behind closed lips followed Sibylla's inquiry. "Merely a blockade by the One Sith. There were some skirmishes on the ground, but largely they thought to lay siege to Denon; no doubt they thought our lack of agriculture would lead us to capitulate out of fear of starvation. The Galactic Alliance did us a favor in dispelling their presence, which led us to our original diplomatic overtures with them." Dominique smiled, not the least bit perturbed by the moment in history they spoke of. "Their shadow, as you put it, would likely be what led to renewed... malcontent that groups such as Darkwire took full advantage."

After Sibylla paused, Dominique looked down at the folio extended toward her. She accepted it as the other woman explained her interest verbally. A peek up from the writing toward the woman revealed a small smile and a soft gaze. Evidently, a good story to have left such an impression -- no wonder if meant so much to a native.

A deity cloaked in mortality to walk among them? Hardly seemed likely. Dominique suspected they'd simply been a righteous woman people looked up to and deified after the fact to explain her good nature amidst the turmoil. "Well, I certainly don't mind a woman that brings prosperity."

"Destiny is never kind." Dominique straightened up to look over at her companion. "Not when someone bothered to write it down. There is nothing more romantic in ancient tales than a story of loss and woe. I have to admit, the stories that endured did so with reason." A quiet hum followed. "I can't say -- if I took it all at face value -- I would have done the same. There are a lot of handsome and beautiful people in the world." A slight pause accompanied her gaze at the folio. "Perhaps, if you found someone pure and genuine... I could see the allure. And that's why it's a singular story among many. No one writes about all the failed romances and people that never measured up."

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

The goddess Shiraya? This was a goddess not known to the Elamshan. It was still unnerving to learn of so many different names and values of these aliens. Her people hadn't been a space-faring people that'd encountered so many different cultures and beliefs. The galaxy was truly overwhelming, but as her Matron's daughter it was her duty to brave these dark seas and bring knowledge back to her world. If all of this were introduced all at once it could have serious ramifications. Though, Maiz suspected it would simply result in casting out all aliens and isolating themselves. It was a tempting thought at times. Futile as it seemed to be with all this 'technology,' they'd fought a war against such people before -- and nearly lost everything in the process.

Lorn, on the other hand, did not think this place as hallow. Maiz's blue eyes turned to him with the clarity of defiance held in them. She bit her tongue around alien men, but that did not make it any easier to have them boldly and proudly moving around. To think all these women allowed them authority to command them. By the grace of the goddesses, she would endure.

"See what?" Maiz turned her head to look over at Bastila. There certainly was something there. At first Maiz was cross the man didn't bother to describe it, but having seen it herself the wisps didn't really mean anything to her either.

There was no time to delve into it as a faint humming caught her pointed ear. Then someone spoke of it being sung and the Elamshan Priestess turned to regard the intern and Ala. A song? The melody did not sound familiar, but it was surprisingly pleasant for an alien craft to her ear. "I have heard such songs before, but I do not know what violet of which it speaks." What was a violet anyway? Something with breath, obviously.

A sharp look snapped aside to Lorn and then Bastila. What was he speaking about? Then Maiz blinked. "What is she doing? She dreams too deeply!" There were rituals and rites of High Priestesses to divine deep truths that alluded waking thought. Worlds within worlds, they said, with much to learn. Too much. At times, a careless dreamer might go too deep or seek to uncover more than they were ready for with great consequence. "Wake--!"

The words died on her lips suddenly and without thought. Maiz sucked in a deep breath, her eyes wide. "Something is here," she breathed. Her hand reached out toward Lorn, "We must get them out of here. Quickly!" The interns and anyone else not blessed or prepared for what was to come. Maiz didn't even know what this shrine to some 'hunger' would do even to someone like herself, but it would not be merciful to the rest. She would not be too eager to linger, herself, but nor would she flee out of terror.

Lorn Reingard | Ala Quin | Bastila Sal-Soren | Pillar of Freedom​

 

[Ala Quin]

"Someone should help her, Lorn," Ala said, prompting him to go and check on Bastila, "I need to contact Dr. Harrex...something...feels...off...even for this place."

Ala was leaning on the altar, almost sitting against it. Her fingers gently brushing its top in mindless swirling motions. Her eyes though were transfixed beyond the barricade to the red light shining in the distance.

Something out of the corner of her eye, caught her attention. Ala turned her head slowly, as if guided while she resisted. Her eyes set upon a worn column that was barely in the shape of a human form. What would have once been its head was now bowed. The ashen elven woman was correct. "She is here," Ala said to no one. Tone low, unnaturally so for her.

The lullaby was no longer audible, but she still felt the tune playing in her heart. It called now, beckoning. "We should leave this place." But she made no attempt to move.

"Master Jedi...your hands..." The intern who had deciphered the lullaby stood by, face white as ash.

Ala looked down, to see her hands sinking downward into the rock. She pulled them back, the altar resisted, unwilling to let go of its prey.

Her eyes, wide with impending horror, cast a glance toward the woman that begged they all leave. "We are too late..."

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Lorn Reingard Maiz Tor'val Bastila Sal-Soren | Equipment: Two short-blade yellow lightsabers |​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

"I was supposed to be keeping unwelcome guests out of here," Brandyn said calmly, defying the growing disquiet he felt in his gut, "but I suspect that none of us are truly welcome here."

His fingers picked at his ears, the ringing in them was persistent. "Do you hear that?" He said, finally standing and stepping out of the shadows. His hand fell to this side, and his lightsaber hilt as he did so.

Something had changed in this already ominous spire, something that demanded his attention. "And no...I am not...scared...but again...I wonder if I should be?" He said, eyeing the woman cautiously.

"This world is under the care of the High Republic. State your business..."

THUD.

His eyes flicked towards a long descending corridor that had not been there a moment ago.

THUD.

Without turning, he looked back at the mystery woman.

"You do hear that don't you?" He said, hoping to Shiraya that he was not going crazy.

| TAG: Scherezade deWinter |

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