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

[Pillar of Freedom]

The Legend of Set and Verè lies at the heart of the Shirayan religion, an enduring myth whispered through generations on Naboo. With the recent emergence of the Order of Shiraya, the tale has taken on new significance, not only spiritually but politically, threading its way into the cultural consciousness of the people.

Now, Dr. Tavren Harrex (NPC) of Theed University leads an archaeological dig on a newly discovered world, unearthed along the proposed route of the Five Veils Trade Route. Among the ruins, references to the Set and Verè myth have surfaced, though twisted, darkened, and incomplete. The Jedi who initially discovered the world reported it as strongly attuned to the Dark Side of the Force.

To mitigate the risk of corruption, only a non–Force-sensitive dig team has been sanctioned for work near the deepest parts of the Temple site. The Jedi, meanwhile, have been assigned to explore and catalogue the rest of the Sith world now designated Katabasis.

OOC Note: This storyline marks a pivot point for the Jedi of the High Republic, while offering opportunities for non–Force user characters as well.

Bran will run the thread, with 4–5 key posts from Dr. Harrex that will alter the board upon which your characters play. The sands will shift beneath your feet.

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Jedi and Scholars investigate the mysterious world of Katabasis in an attempt to understand its dangers and convince the committee overseeing the Five Veils Trade Route to steer the path of their hyperspace lane somewhere else.

The following locations are open to investigation, or slice of life roleplay with a hint of the ominous. When Harrex’s posts go up, your destiny will change.

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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.

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The ruinous Black Spiral appears as a weathered fortress, the terminus of a dark side leyline stretching from the Temple of Broken Chains. Explore its shattered halls. Catalogue its secrets. Discover who once called this forsaken place home.

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This is the primary dig site. Jedi are permitted to investigate the surface-level ruins. But a strict perimeter prevents Force users from venturing deeper.

Within the temple walls, you may glimpse visions. Hear echoes. Feel the tug of something that watches, and waits. Even after leaving Katabasis…the feeling lingers.

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Please note this objective is reserved for the NPC team written on this subaccount, and will give events to which people can react.

Beyond the temple’s secure perimeter lies the Heart of Descent, a sealed chamber that no Force-sensitive may enter.

What the Heart wants…is to be free.

Dr. Harrex leads the non-Jedi dig team here, working tirelessly to unravel its nature, and to uncover its connection to Naboo. While reports come from his team, and volunteers on Naboo. The deeper he digs, the more the Force begins to…ripple.

Only Dr. Harrex's NPC team is permitted to work in this area. When you see this banner in the thread, it is introducing a change to the setting.


Meanwhile…

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Far from Katabasis, scholars in Naboo’s ancient archives research the myth of Set and Verè, now laced with new meaning. Anyone with a curious mind may join. If you can justify your character’s presence, you’re welcome.

• With each post, include a d20 dice roll.
• At each of Dr. Harrex’s updates from the Heart of Descent, Bran will review the results.
• The best roll will see that character unlock the next piece of the lore puzzle.

But beware. The pace of discovery will not remain leisurely.

 

[Ala Quin]

This was not Ala's first time on Katabasis. Her report to the Order was that which stirred this action. Katabasis was a creepy place, that was for certain. But Ala brought her normal positive disposition to the gloom.

"You know...with the amount of chills this place gives me," she said to no one and everyone, "the humidity is mostly offset."

The Temple of Broken Chains was abuzz with activity. Young interns dusted and noted items of interest. Every groove or rut in a pillar was carefully examined to see if it could have once been a carving for a rune.

Ala was simply tasked with making sure that no Jedi went further than the rudimentary barricade that was set up just behind her. It was a somewhat thankless job, but it was also less creepy than visiting some of the other locations she has seen on Katabasis.

Her eyes fell on the stone altar at the heart of the circular chamber. It was not in the middle, more off to the side, but a worn channel ran from the altar to a central pattern. She understood what it was for. And it made her shudder. Sacrifices.

"Do you think...they actually...killed people in this room?" She said, and in that moment - as if answering her - a chill breeze brushed her neck.

Ala spun about on her heels, glancing down the darkened hallway. Lights from the work crew beyond the barrier flickered, but nothing had changed. Still. Ala felt colder now.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Lorn Reingard | Equipment: Two short-blade yellow lightsabers |​

 

[Kellan Jericho]

Kyric ​

Something called to him. Not necessarily to the point of obsession, but its pull was strong enough to convince the recently-benched Jedi Knight to volunteer for the task at hand. It had only been several months since his return to Naboo, and reinstatement back into the ranks of the world he once knew as home. Awkward interactions became far too common given the adjustments he'd made to better fit in with those from the Core, with those now common quirks making him stand out like the sore thumb he was around the Order centered upon Naboo's foundations.

Luckily for him, he wasn't the only oddball out on the crew.

Kellan was accompanying another who didn't quite fit-in, but had made himself home there nonetheless. Kyric was an interesting one, and while the two hadn't really spoke prior to this assignment, he had a feeling he'd scored a solid partner to watch his back once they touched down at the fortress. Kellan had seen war during his time with the Galactic Republic. It wasn't anything compared to the Great Hyperspace Wars of the past, but conflict was conflict, no matter the time it existed.

He'd done things in the name of good, despite his conscious telling him a few of those things were bad. Tough decisions would never ask you for permission before they jumped in your lap, and the tempo of war didn't wait for anyone. He'd served his time and came back a Jedi who no longer believed fully in his teachings. He questioned them, and the disagreements with the Council would lead to his exit from the Core, to that familiar world that used to be home. To a new start, where perhaps he'd be able to break down who he once was and build up to someone who just might be a little better.

...Thunk​

The shuttle carrying the Jedi ungraciously made contact with dirt beneath it, knocking Kellan out of the slumber that had kept him busy for most of the trip there. He blinked until his eyes no longer wished to remain hazed, yawning quietly as he rose to his feet in preparation to exit the shuttle. Kellan stepped out first, one arm shielding his eyes from the dust circulating through the air as he walked down the ramp. Black spires foreshadowed their arrival, each one of them large enough to cut through the haze of dust that otherwise drowned out everything from sight.

"..You uhh', wouldn't happen to have experience with exploring foreboding temples that may or may not be steeped in the Dark Side of the Force?" Kellan would yell over his shoulder, his voice just audible enough over the idle roar of the shuttle's engines. Kellan would take the lead as the two made their way towards the fortress, keeping an eye on their surrounding whenever the dust allowed him a chance to see. His lightsaber dangled at his waist for now, though he'd suspected the two would require their weapons at some point, the closest they got to the fortress.

 

[Kyric]

A malign darkness breached the confines of the shuttle long before it ever touched down near the Spiral. It infected the air with a nascent chill. The cold dug into Kyric like little ethereal fingers, digging deeper and deeper the closer the ship drew to their intended target. He absently tightened his bandages and turned his attention from distant memories back to the present; to the dangers presented amid the corridors of this ancient fortress. Constructed on a leyline of corrupted power, the Black Spiral promised unknown risk; secrets bound in place by time, forgotten to all but the good doctor who informed the Order of its location awaited them.

The presence of another marred by war's bloody blade stood across from the kiffar in the dropship.

While Kyric wasn't familiar with the Jedi Knight, he suspected the two had more in common than most Kyric met since his arrival to the Order's headquarters on Theed.

Kellan oozed the same quiet trepidations that kept the Tengu trapped at bay behind Kyric's single cerulean eye. Danger followed his partner like a shadow. The scent of blood wafted off of him, carried on psychic threads that connected the two Jedi directly to Kyric. But could he judge Kellan? Would he if he could? In his heart of hearts, Kyric knew the feeling of standing at the precipice of the void. The way it burrowed it into your heart and drove you to make the hardest choices in an effort to uphold lofty—often impossible—ideals.

It broke lesser Jedi.

Thunk.

Touchdown signaled the start of their mission. Kyric lifted his sheathed weapon from the seat beside him as he stood and quickly reattached it to his hip. He followed Kellan out from the shuttle, good-eye squinting through the dust cloud kicked up by the descending ship. The knife-like Spires loomed overhead like a great beast poised to strike. It sent shivers down the kiffar's spine.

"..You uhh', wouldn't happen to have experience with exploring foreboding temples that may or may not be steeped in the Dark Side of the Force?"

Kyric chuckled at that. "Can't say I do, Hoss. Closest I got is an attack on Dromuund Kaas two years back. The techno-forests and sithspit spirits hauntin' the place gave it a similar vibe, I s'ppose." His wrist fell to rest on the hilt of his blade as they moved closer to the Spire. "What about you?"

On their approach, Kyric felt the leyline thrum beneath them not unlike an artery. It sent another wave of negativity pulsing out around the Jedi. In answer, the kiffar suffused his will into a gleaming wisp of silver-blue light that cast an aura of warmth over the pair. The creeping darkness now kept at bay could do nothing more but scratch uselessly at the light.

---

Tags: Kellan Jericho

 

[Kellan Jericho]

Kyric ​

"Hmmmm." Kellan pondered on the question for a bit too long than was necessary as the two continued their trek forwards, carving a path across the rocky terrain until they'd eventually reached the threshold of their target. "Can't say I've had much experience either..." While his words were carried with seemingly good faith, to the discerning eye there were clear signs of a bit of deception behind the veil. Whether it was those eyes which tracked every minute detail down to his periphery, or the careful steps that danced rhythmically across the dirt in a pattern most effective for avoiding pressure-induced obstacles. Kellan knew a little bit more than he was willing to put on, but so far he was keeping his cards close to his chest.

"...Officially, anyway." The words were half-hearted, almost an afterthought to the imminence that thrummed with power as the Jedi approached. Had it not been so dark and gloomy -- and pulsing with the dark side, for that matter -- it would have even been correct to call it awe-inspiring in scale. Kellan couldn't help but wonder if the place had a history before it had been corrupted and allowed to become a decrepit beacon to the dark.

Perhaps that was part of the reason the force had willed him to journey there in the first place? Secrets were often accompanying those places which dwelled in the dark. He'd learned a few things over the years by then, and in his experience it was wise to avoid them at all costs. His philosophy had changed though in the recent years. Sometimes the force beckoned for you to follow it into the darkest parts of the galaxy when it needed you most.

Luckily for the Jedi, there wasn't any secret codes or hidden levers necessary to enter the fortress. Where once proud gates must've stood, a bleak portal into the oblivion was all that was left. He looked over to Kyric before either one of them entered first. "Think this is the part where we hope what's been dead, remains that way for a good while longer." It was meant to be a joke, a bit of dark humor to ease the burden of himself entering the fortress first. He disappeared into the darkness, only for the blade of his lightsaber to exude its radiance all around him as he raised it up in the air. A Jedi's weapon was a tool, and an improvised source of light for moments like these.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Lorn stood rigid near the chamber's edge, arms crossed tight, his gaze fixed and unlinking.

He'd barely stepped a few paces into the Temple of Broken Chains, but already his stomach felt like a knot of coiled wire, tightening with every shallow breath. The air itself reeked of ash and mold, yes, but also something far older, something like memory left out too long in the sun. A ruined, forgotten thing.

Ala's voice barely cut through the haze, muffled, like someone calling to him through thick glass.

"Do you think… they actually… killed people in this room?"

He blinked, the movement slow and heavy, as his gaze drifted past a collapsed archway. It settled on the dark channel carved into the stone floor, leading straight to the altar. It looked… hungry.

"They didn't build this place for flower arrangements," Lorn muttered.

His voice was quiet, almost absent. But it held that frayed edge, the one that appeared more often since Mirater. A soft wind curled through the temple, and then, distinct as a whisper right by his ear: Lorn.

He froze, every muscle locking. Lorn. The whisper came again, undeniable. He turned toward the sound instinctively, almost hopeful, idiot. Of course it wasn't her. Of course it wasn't any of them. He knew better.

His eyes found only the absolute dark of the hallway ahead, and the impatient flicker of their work lights further down. But still… that voice. It wasn't just in his head. No, not exactly. It had known his name.

Lorn let out a slow, ragged breath through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it with two fingers, as if he could simply wipe away the temple, wipe away the dread.

"We shouldn't stay long," he told Ala, finally dragging his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were heavy, shadowed. "I know we're not allowed past the barricade, but that line in the sand won't mean a damn thing if this place decides it wants us."

Then he turned away, muttering, more to himself than anyone. "I hate this place."

Ala Quin​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Naboo's ancient archives
Theed |Naboo
Dominique Vexx​

The scent of old flimsiplast and dried lake blossoms lingered in the air.

Sibylla stood in one of the quieter wings of the Royal Archives, where the whispers of Naboo's past drifted like netherghosts between the shelves. Her fingers hovered over the spine of a faded folio bound in deep indigo Ikopi hide, the Naboo crest gently embossed into its surface. The script shimmered faintly in Aurebesh, 'The Song of Vere's Bloom.'

She hadn't meant to linger, not with Assembly sessions looming like Trade Federation ships on the horizon. But the tale had burrowed deep.

"Set and Vere." Sibylla whispered the names beneath her breath like they might answer her.

The story had always been told in gentle tones; of lovers separated by stars, by duty, by fate. But the tale had hooked itself into her ribs the moment her mother mentioned it offhand, over spiced caf and tucked in between political updates and vineyard reports. A dig site was discovered on a newly charted world Katabasis along the proposed Five Veils Trade Route. Jedi reports speaking of ruins steeped in the Dark Side.

And in those ruins, potentially the twisted echoes of the myth of Set and Vere.

Sibylla breathed out slowly, eyes tracing the delicate Naboo calligraphy as if it might reshape the aching truth beneath her chest. The legend had always been sung at festivals and in the marble halls of Theed: two lovers, torn apart by duty, bound by stars. But the fragments now recovered now hinted at a different story. A shadowed one.

Vere, the light that burned too brightly.

Set, the guardian who could not let go.

They weren't just tragic lovers anymore. They were symbols warped by time, drawn through the hyperspace lanes of belief and political utility, now seized by the Order of Shiraya as gospel. And maybe that mattered to the Assembly. But for Sibylla it was personal.

Because love and sacrifice weren't abstractions anymore. They had names. And in Lysander von Ascania , they wore a familiar voice in half misted memories that still clung with the acrid scent of blasterfire and earthy dungeons, tangled in a haze of a whispered confession that still made her heart ache.

Her hand closed around the edge of the folio.

"What is the truth?" she murmured, gaze lifting to the ancient skylight above, where a faint shaft of Naboo's daylight filtered through like a spotlight from the heavens.

She needed to understand. To learn. To perhaps find within it a path that could see a solution without such a tragic an ending like that of Shiraya, the Moon Goddess, and Aditya, God of the Sun.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

- derp because my die didn’t roll.

 

[Kyric]

Kyric suspected Kellan wasn't being entirely honest in his answer. Be it the confidence with which he marched through the shaded lands or perhaps the way the human scouted their surroundings with the expertise of a top-of-the-line probe droid. No amount of training provided that level of insight; even the best circumstances with the most exceptional of masters paled in comparison to the real deal. And from Kellan's gait, it was evident he had experience in spades.

Even under the protection of the tiny orb of force light, Kyric found the ever-growing Spire foreboding. For something so large to have existed for so long, seemingly untouched by the greater galaxy, struck the kiffar as odd. He knew firsthand the strength of a proper seer.

Jedi Master Henna Ashina's farsight pierced not only time and space, but even the machinations of the Dark Side. Few places in the galaxy escaped the cumulative abilities bestowed upon her by the line of Seers before her. And Kyric knew others were out there; those capable of witnessing the unseen and deciphering the unwritten.

Was this place truly so powerful?

Kyric approached the vast threshold of the spire and stared into oblivion. His gaze hardened, his single-eye tracking unseen threats he imagined waiting for them just beyond the entrance.

"Knowin' my luck, we're walkin' into a den o' darkness so vile we'll be lucky to make it out alive." Kyric stepped in after Kellan and motioned lazily with his hand. The orb of force light drifted nearby his head and twinkled faintly. It provided a small radius of perfect vision for maybe fifteen feet around the kiffar, but that only served to highlight the vast sea of darkness waiting to crush down upon them. The void reached for them, pushed back faintly with each step, yet never so far out of reach to truly release the two Jedi.

The stones beneath their feet were practically stained black by the shadows. Whatever material the corridors were carved from hadn't eroded in the slightest in all this time, and each sconce they passed bolted to the wall bore not an inkling of rust. Everything Kyric saw pointed to continued maintenance. But that didn't feel right. Nothing sane could've survived beneath the corrupting shadow of the Black Spiral. And anything he pictured with the know-how to do so probably didn't care much for fortress-wide maintenance.

Kyric peered down an adjoining corridor to little effect, so he shifted his focus back to his companion.

"Not to pry, but I'm curious what it was 'bout this assignment that caught yer fancy, Kellan. Not that I don't like deep divin' into Sith ruins as much as the next feller'. You just strike me as the type with intent. Somethin' more than the Force pushin' you along."

---

Tags: Kellan Jericho
Honorable Mentions: Henna Ashina

 

[Michael Angellus]

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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.

“We unearth the past not for glory, but for warning. Katabasis does not want to be remembered.”
– Dr. Tavren Harrex, Field Journal Entry 8

That is the details of the specifics of my orders. Yeah, I’m confused too. My orders were to land and investigate a pit. I get it though, it’s not my job to make sense of it, at least not yet, it’s my job to carry out orders right now. Like Rojuhr Pouihl would say “Do what they say until they do what you say”.
The air over Katabasis stank of copper and lightning. Ash-choked wind dragged itself across the plains, hissing through dead grass and jagged basalt spires that littered the land like a broken crown.

I have seen my share of ghost worlds in a relatively short amount of time. This one didn’t feel dead—it felt asleep. And I’d just stepped into its dream. The Long Gaze, a diplomatic long-range survey cruiser, touched down with a soft tremor on the windswept plateau the dig team had codenamed Sanctum Mesa. I was in an escort and landed nearby.

The Jedi had arrived days earlier to secure the site and verify Force saturation.

Their report? “Cautiously corruptive.”

I didn’t need the Force to feel that.

I stepped out of my fighter, helmet clipped to my belt, a sidearm holstered and his eyes drawn toward the horizon. I had my lightsaber, which made me stick out a lot more than I wanted to. BRED—my BB-unit astromech—followed in tight formation, letting out a low whistle of disapproval. As usual.

BOOEPPP [This place is wrong. Rocks shouldn’t hum.]

I heard him, but was more focused on what I was looking at as I crouched, pressing gloved fingers to the blackened soil. The vibration was subtle. Not seismic. Rhythmic. Like something buried was... breathing.

In the distance, the pit called the Hollow Gate yawned against the sunless sky. A sinkhole larger than a capital ship, ringed by faceless statues whose features had been erased not by erosion, but by intention. Silent. Watchful. Waiting.

Some scientist, no doubt an assistant to Dr. Tavren Harrex approached from a nearby scaffolding, kicking up a cloud of dust. “Lieutenant Angellus,” he greeted, offering a datapad.

“We've cataloged three more inscriptions at the outer ring. They reference a path to something called the 'Sky’s End'—a threshold said to be opened only when the stars fall in line.”

I received the pad. Glyphs scrolled across the screen—some Naboo in origin, others unmistakably Sith. I did not want to interrupt him just yet, I needed to mentally note everything he said so I could report to Lt. Havrin, my immediate boss here, at least until someone from Bravo shows up.

... And you still want to build a trade route over this? I couldn’t help but mutter. I know what I overheard, and it wasn’t much.

Idinit (the scientist) smirked, more tired than amused. “That’s for the committee to decide. Our job is to show them the cost.”

My gaze drifted toward the Hollow Gate again. I am sorry to correct you, but I am a Flight Officer, my immediate supervisor is Lt. Havrin. Let me call him over. Idinit didn’t seem to happy to be made a fool of, but there weren’t many of us here, and I am an officer. I could know. That being said, the shadows between the statues around the gate seemed longer than they should’ve been.

AOOOO [Report on the danger,] BRED buzzed. One great thing about him, he knew decorum. He never changed his personality, but he could be professional without me having to tell him. BEEEOOOP [I vote we label it: ‘maximum.' With a footnote: ‘run.’]

I smiled even if it was thin, but the humor didn’t last. I felt it then, the same thing—like a ripple across his chestplate. A memory that wasn’t his own. Fear.

I then straightened up, eyes narrowing. Put me down for recon.

OOOAH [What? You’re including me in this, aren’t you?]

Idinit blinked. “You’re not cleared to enter the Hollow Gate, Angellus.”

“I agree”. Lt. Havrin finally made his way over.

I didn’t mean to, but ignored him, clipped the datapad to my belt, and walked toward the edge of the plateau.

No one is, I said, trying to be respectful. But I didn’t come here to look at ghosts.

The Whisperer wasn’t made for landings like this. The Naboo-designed scout shuttle was sleek, diplomatic, meant for observation—not spelunking into ancient wounds carved by Sith hands. I don’t think my fighter would hold either, but there was the ‘Raven’ dropship nearby. I knew how to fly that thing like the back of my hand and the loading ramp was open.

BOOUUUP [Are you crazy? You’re going to get in more trouble than you are now!]

Then I’ll pull the “Name on the building” card… or use another “Pouihl” card…

AUGHuuuu [You’re trying to sabotage yourself.]

Normally I would play up this little banter of ours, but I didn’t have time. I’m really not, I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something down there I need to get to.

OOOOAP [This is a “Jedi” thing isn’t it?]

I get what you’re saying, but wouldn’t they already be going down there?

By this time, we were in the dropship and I eased into the cockpit. I keyed in the repulsor alignment override, glanced once to BRED as he plugged into the auxiliary slot behind me and closed the ramp.

OOOOAUUUH [Warning: Shuttle descent path is classified as ‘inadvisable,’ ‘not ideal,’ and ‘profoundly stupid.’ Also, this ship was due for calibration six weeks ago.]

I could only smirk. I’ll log that under ‘atmosphere of mutual trust.’ Hold tight. With a subtle whine of the engines, I got the dropship to be lifted from the mesa. Stone gave way to shadow as he rotated the ship over the edge of the Hollow Gate.


The pit yawned beneath them, deeper than sensors had predicted. Wind howled through the ring of eroded statues, carrying with it the scent of ozone, sulfur—and something older.

Something buried.

As we began our descent, the light above dimmed, swallowed by the stone throat of the world. On the display, strange magnetic pulses began flickering across the diagnostics.

BaaOOOP [This is new. And bad. Definitely bad.]

I see it. Pulling back easy off the stick, descending slowly I kept us at a consistent hover.

The rock walls spiraled around them in twisted patterns—too precise to be natural. Carvings lined the stone in ancient Sith script. Some flickered with residual energy, as if half-awake. As if remembering.

Fifty meters down. Then a hundred.

That’s when the turbulence hit.

The ship shuddered, lurching sideways. Alarms screamed—nonphysical impact. No debris. No contact. Just… pressure.

This was annoying, and when I’m annoyed I grit my teeth, gripping the controls as the ship was shoved violently by an unseen force. The sound inside the cockpit warped, muffled like someone had thrown a blanket over reality.Then—

Silence.

Open Tags[/COLOR]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Brandyn Sal-Soren​

Ear pods were in the Sithling's ear, blasting off music that, would anyone ever know she listened to, would make them question her very existence. Despite all the changes and tumbles she had gone through in her less than fifteen years of existence, her taste in music remained one of the few things she was still shy about. It was hers. Secret. Soft. Which was why this location was perfect for indulging in it as she walked, looking through the fortress.

Once, the place probably had a name. Heck, everything probably did, once. This one though… She chuckled under her breath. Ancient ruins were nothing strange to her, but something here was different. The first thing she'd noticed was the scent. Or rather, the lack of it. There was no blood. Not in the air. Not in the stone. Not even in memory. Just void. She hated it. And then there was the issue of needing a mask to breathe properly. She hated things on her face. But she also hated not finding what she was looking for, so, y'know. Life was all about hard choices.

That was why she'd come here, after all. She was looking for something. Not an artifact, not a person. Just… something. A tug in the Force she hadn't been able to ignore, like a thread snagged on her ribs. It might've started after Denon. After the vocalist. She wasn't sure. She hadn't told anyone.

The music in her ears skipped a beat. Glitched. She frowned, tapped the pod, and then paused.

It hadn't been a glitch. The melody had shifted for a single breath, sliding from soft strings into… a hum. Male. Almost familiar. Almost wrong.

And then her music returned. But the Force still buzzed through her like exposed nerves, scraping against something sharp and oily. It was calling to her, filling her senses, blinding her to the fact that she wasn't alone. But Scherezade didn't notice the shifting echoes behind her, the flickers in the haze, or the footprints that hadn't been hers.

The fortress was old.

She was alone.

Of course she was.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique sat at her desk and tapped the edge of a data pad against it. The Force. The Dark Side. If it weren't for the endless philosophical warfare between Jedi and Sith, and the Jedi's penchant for over committing to grand affairs, the Denonite native wouldn't care about any of it. So they could lift rocks with a thought. Hardly contributed to increasing the productivity of the factories, did it? That's what anti-grav sleds were for and they didn't grow tired or complain half as much as a living being. And yet such matters could not be ignored no matter how convenient it would be to do so. Certain Direx on the Board certainly suggested as much, but Dominique couldn't care for the thoughts of weak-minded fools.

The Five Veils. Katabasis. Dr. Tavren Harrax. The Dark Side.

With a sharp exhale, Dominique set the pad down and stood to her feet. How could this play into the grander conspiracy surrounding the trade route? Would the shadowy organization that sought to control it even care? Perhaps that was just as bad as if they sought to plumb the depths of depravity personally, however. What if they negotiated, in secret, some form of agreement with the Sith Empire? It would be a stretch given their precious Black Wall, but when did obstacles ever deter an ambitious Sith Lord?

Of course Denon dealt with them as well, when the opportunity arose. Credits didn't care what philosophy you held or whose loyalty you clung to. So long as it didn't undermine the Republic what did it matter? Though of late they didn't do much direct negotiations. Again, the Wall. Still, traders that somehow managed to get inside their perimeter did and it wasn't difficult to figure out which. Not their business to report it either.

That wasn't even the only thing on Dominique's mind. No, in fact there were otherwise routine, yet vital, matters to attend in Republic governance to keep their little gaggle of self-serving worlds coexisting harmoniously. Matters destined for the Economic Development Advisory Board, in fact. It might not be half as exciting as some ancient Sith Tomb no one recalls, but a Sith Tomb didn't pad the coffers either. So, then, where was Sibylla Abrantes ? Had that appointment with the Mandalorians gone straight to her head?

"The Royal Archives?" Dominique echoed an attendant when she inquired as to the woman's whereabouts. Perhaps the woman was pursuing matters after all. Somehow, the Senator couldn't bring herself to accept that assumption and decided to confirm Sibylla's whereabouts.

Dressed in white, Dominique strode into those hallowed halls. As she passed through the common area, one of the Librarians drew up along side and confirmed the location of certain materials Dominique herself had put in for. Others were still being located. A smile graced her painted lips for a moment. "Thank you, that's most gratifying to hear." She reached out to take one folio in particular they'd chosen to hand over at that very moment. Good of them to be prepared.

Examining its content might need to wait, however. Best to keep it nothing of any urgency in view of anyone else lurking in the Archives. With that, Dominique continued on to finish confirming Sibylla's location in order to resume more productive works.

"No one really wants the truth, Dear. It's never as romantic." Dominique turned the corner to lay eyes on the wayward member of the Board. "What truth is it you're looking for all the way over here?" She'd noted earlier these were some of the older manuscripts and entries in the Archives. What use could Sibylla have for any of this?

Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

Maiz watched as one of the workers dusted a statue in the temple with great care. Almost reverence, really. Was this what archaeologists did? Even back on Elamshan there were such scholars. They often came before the Matron Queen to give reports of their findings, especially when it involved inactive horrors left behind by their nemesis. Though being a woman of high station Maiz had never once engaged in such work herself, of course.

The black woman reached over to retrieve on of the slender brushes to inspect it more closely. A lone digit fanned the fine, smooth bristles. As delicate as the flick of the wrist they used to wield it. "Is it really so fragile?" she asked of the worker. Wasn't it made of a stone of some kind? Surely even a coarse brush would not damage it.

Better this than fuming over being barred from delving deeper into the temple by that 'perimeter' the Jedi guarded so judiciously. Maiz had given the guard no shortage of words about barring the way of an Elamshan Priestess. Eventually she relented. Not because they'd convinced her, but because she had better things to do than bandy words with witless worms.

A female worker shivered nearby and Maiz's blue eyes slid over her form in a second. "Are you cold?" It certainly didn't feel pleasant in this dusty coffin of a relic, but Maiz had noticed several shiver in her time there. None had an answer for why, just "a feeling," they said. It made no sense, but perhaps a Daughter of the Goddesses was not so easily unnerved! Obviously that was the reason.

Then two of rank seemed to talk in the center of the chamber, which drew Maiz's gaze. Sacrifice? What would sacrificing someone on an alter accomplish? Was this another example of Galaxiers' barbarism because they hadn't grown up on a world replete with the Goddesses' tears (crystals)? There was still so much to learn about these strange people.

Then Lorn said something curious. "Wants us?" Maiz took a few steps in their direction. Originally she had given the man from New Cov his distance, but her curiosity demanded answers. "Only a Temple of the Goddesses has a Will. Are you saying this is such a place? To one of your goddesses?" By 'your' she meant Outsiders or Galaxiers -- those from the galaxy her world had been thrust into unceremoniously.

Lorn Reingard | Ala Quin​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

f there was anywhere in the galaxy Brandyn wanted to be right now, it was here. He needed answers. Meditation, research on Naboo, enquiring of Jedi Masters, it had all led to dead ends. Even now, as he and Cybelle set their minds to opening up about her problems, there was a sinking feeling that Briana would not be able to help. That John and Gianna would come up short. They would care, and support, which would be invaluable. But they wouldn't know what was happening.

Why? Because Sith teachings were forbidden. But it was what Brandyn needed to understand.

With the events of Exegol still lingering in Cybelle, he needed to understand the dark side power that brought her back to life. If he was to understand what was happening to her now, he needed to know what had happened to her then.

Years of spying among terrorist groups had taught him to disappear into the shadows. And from those shadows he watched her. The Force wrapped around him, bending around his presence, but the reveal was necessary if he was to fulfil his other role - keep Sith off this world.

"Why are you here?" He said, as though the shadows themselves began to speak.

| TAG: Scherezade deWinter |

​

 

[Pillar of Freedom]

The slow, wet scrape of stylus against stone echoed through the chamber, followed by the ponderous wheeze of Dr. Tavren Harrex shifting his weight. Cloaked in dust and dim copper glow, the Chevin archaeologist leaned over a ribbed slab of black-veined rock, his breath audible in the hush.

"I said carefully, Oswin. That glyph is older than Theed's bedrock," Harrex rumbled, his voice like stone itself.

"Not touching it," Oswin replied, raising both hands as she crouched. "Just…look, sir."

Dr. Harrex lumbered closer, his great shadow spilling across the floor. Before them, embedded into the base of the carved "door", a vertical oblong etched into the stone with radiant precision, the ancient mechanism pulsed. Where once the rune had been inert, a deep, reddish glow now traced its spiral pattern, shifting clockwise at an almost imperceptible pace.

"That symbol…it's different. It was empty an hour ago."

"Stone doesn't change," muttered another intern.

Harrex grunted. "No. It doesn't. Not without...invitation."

He took a moment to ponder, thoughtfully scratching his long jawline.

Clik. There was a faint crackle beneath their boots. Dust shifted, but nothing visibly moved.

"Mark the timestamp," Harrex rasped. "And don't touch anything else. I will inform the council in my next transmission."

No one spoke as the air seemed to grow thicker.

Hollow Gate:
A sulfur storm is brewing on the horizon. Can you hear it? The woman crying?

The Black Spiral:
Was that wall there before? Or that hallway? Either you are lost, or something has changed.

The Temple of Broken Chains:
There is a humming. It sounds similar to a lullaby sung to Nabooian infants.

Kyric Dominique Vexx Sibylla Abrantes Michael Angellus Lorn Reingard Scherezade deWinter Maiz Tor'val Kellan Jericho​

 

[Kas Larsen]

​

Equipment: Jedi Jumpsuit | Utility Belt | Person Stealth Field | SD Belt | Electronic Lock Breakers | Slicing Computer
Tags: Kellan Jericho | Kyric
Location: Katabasis | Black Spiral | Planet Surface
Objective: Recon of the Fortress | Gain Intel | Meet fellow Jedi

Coming out of lightspeed there aJ-1 Shuttle belonging to Caden, Kas and Seri a family heirloom. Both their mother and father had one each but now they passed one onto their children - Caden, Kas and Seri. Alongside there being two X-82 TwinTail starfighters well three of those but one remains outside the J-1 shuttle as a recon. Caden and Seri were flying the J-1 shuttle their X-83 TwinTail starfighters being kept inside.

Kas meanwhile was on the outside in his X-83 TwinTail starfighter travelled alongside his younger brother and twin sister as they piloted the J-1. Before the trio left they got the necessary equipment and gear aboard the J-1 shuttle. The two ships entered Katabasis' atmosphere to land down in an opening - both ships touched down with gentle bumps upon the planet surface.

Kas climbed out of his starfighter while Caden and Seri got his gear set and supplies available for if they were needed to assist him and other Jedi here they'd come in to help EVAC. Darkness was strong on this but they continued to power against taunts and draws - using the Light side.

"Alright. I'll go meet with Kyric and Master Jericho. I think they've went ahead to this rumoured fortress that's apparently based here. You two be careful. Stay frosty." Kas cautioned.

Caden helped his older brother gather his equipment and handed it to him. "I'll keep the engines warm and sensors on alert for anything obscure Kas. Be safe and keep comms open." Caden said.

Seri nodded in agreement with Caden. First and foremost she wants everyone safe and sound after handling matters on this dark and mysterious world. "I'll keep defences running Kas." Seri said.

"Mahn uhl Fharth bey ihn valle (Translation: May the Force be with you)." Kas said to his siblings before he set off speaking Old Corellian tongue to Caden and Seri.

Kas got the following equipment from the J-1 shuttle: a Person Stealth Field combined with a SD Belt making use of Stealth abilities. Got a couple of Electronic Lock Breakers for getting access to certain facilities and a Slicing Computer personally built.

He set off on his BARC Speeder to head off for the fortress where Kyric and Kellan Jericho were located. Applied auto-pilot functions on the speeder bike to open a comms transmission channel to the pair.

<This is Padawan Learner Kas Larsen reporting in. I'm on my way. Copy. Over.> Kas waited for a response from either Jedi he reached out via his commlink.

Caution taken as Kas journeyed further while resisting the temptations of the Dark side albeit he shouldn't remain here on a long-term basis. Get in, get intel and get out safely with everyone. Prevent any risks while coming here and carrying out reconnaissance for other Jedi.

 

[Kellan Jericho]

Kyric | Kas Larsen ​

"Not to pry, but I'm curious what it was 'bout this assignment that caught yer fancy, Kellan. Not that I don't like deep divin' into Sith ruins as much as the next feller'. You just strike me as the type with intent. Somethin' more than the Force pushin' you along."

It was a fair question, and one that made the corner of his lips crease upwards ever-so slightly. His attention had remained focused between measuring his pace at a speed which allowed him to remain lock-step with his partner, and so he briefly turned and gave Kyric a non-sensical look. "I'm here to seek out Sith knowledge, clearly." He let out a laugh, but soon came to a halt once the stones beneath his feet trembled with something unnatural.

The stone blocks surrounding them thrummed gently, but loud enough if one chose to listen close. Kellan peered through the bleakness of the unending stones that lined either side of the wall. A commbead buzzed in his ear, but for now he'd chosen to continue letting it ping him till he was ready.

"I'm just doin' my best to quit being a stranger in a strange land. It use to be my home... a long time ago. Don't know much about how folks around here feel about that now." His expression turned neutral once the commbead automatically activated within his ear.

<This is Padawan Learner Kas Larsen reporting in. I'm on my way. Copy. Over.>​

He exchanged a brief look with Kyric before looking through his partner entirely. Using nothing but his willpower and the force, Kellan peered through the darkness, confirming for now that the entrance was still within their relative position inside the fortress. "Hmm." Kellan paused before responding to Kas Larsen simply with <"Copy that, kid. Follow the lightsaber blade. You'll find us waitin' for you before we continue in again."> and promptly cutting off the line in his ear. He turned inwards towards the fortress, his gaze honing in on the path they'd been following now for a few minutes. His lightsaber remained trained in the air above him, ensuring that Kas had a nice little beacon to follow-- for now.

"We've got a Padawan inbound, let's hold, Kyr." Kellan looked over at Kyric, nodding through the darkness into the direction they'd been traveling. "...Something feels a bit off, though. The path ahead of us...it feels different."

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

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.

“We unearth the past not for glory, but for warning. Katabasis does not want to be remembered.”
– Dr. Tavren Harrex, Field Journal Entry 8

ENTRY 112 – Katabasis

Dear Diary (because apparently, this is how I cope now),

Today I landed on a world that feels like it’s trying to remember how to scream.

Katabasis.
Even the name sounds like it’s clearing its throat to tell you something awful. From orbit, it looked like someone took a vibroblade to the crust—long, deep scars cutting across plains of black volcanic glass, like the planet got into a fight and lost. I don’t know who named it, but I hope they got a drink afterward.

We touched down on what they’re calling Sanctum Mesa, which is code for “the only vaguely flat spot in walking distance of total doom.” The Jedi were here before me. They stayed topside—sensitive types said the Dark Side down in the pit was “saturating.” That’s Jedi code for “we’d rather not get mind-melted by ancient Sith trauma today, thanks.”

So guess who they called instead?

That’s right. Me.

Michael Angellus.
Pilot, junior peace envoy, part-time dig site babysitter, and today’s official drop-into-hell specialist.

To be fair, I didn’t have to poke the Sith hornet’s nest. I could’ve stood on the mesa with the scholars, given my security rundown, and flown off back to the Long Gaze like a good little lieutenant.

But then Dr. Iddinit showed me the inscriptions.

Old Naboo phrases, barely legible. Twisted Sith glyphs curling around them like vines. The words Sky’s End and Verè stood out like cracks in the hull. That’s not something you expect to find at the bottom of a crater halfway across the galaxy, on a world supposedly lost to history. I asked him what he thought it meant. He said something about “falling stars opening gates.”
And maybe that’s when it started. That itch.
Like I wasn’t just supposed to be here—I was meant to go down there.

So I did what any level-headed pilot would do: I got in the shuttle, flipped the repulsors, and flew straight into the mouth of the planet.

BRED objected. Loudly. Multiple times. I told him to log a complaint with HR. Then the turbulence hit.

Not from the atmosphere—this wasn’t weather. This was pressure. Like the air didn’t want us there. Like it was trying to push us back out. I held the stick steady. BRED cursed in binary (I’m choosing to believe it was binary). The light vanished about fifty meters in. Then it got cold.

Really cold.

We broke through into what I can only describe as a cathedral for nightmares. Giant stone platforms, some floating. A monolith in the middle that hummed like a living thing. The Force down here is thick—even I felt it. That’s how you know it’s bad. It’s like the world was holding its breath… waiting.I could feel the weight of something ancient and powerful pressing down on us. The shuttle trembled as we moved closer, and I swear I heard whispers in the dark. Whatever was down here wasn’t just dangerous—it was alive. And it knew we were coming.

It was weird… such a strange entrance to basically an oasis. Hovering in place, I was stunned, just stunned. What if it rained really bad?

BEEP BEEP BOOOOEEEP (softly) [I take it back. ‘Profoundly stupid’ was generous.]

Opening the comms. I remember being freaked out. Man this was weird.

Michael Angellus to Theed University and Jedi Command. I’ve reached the bottom of the Hollow Gate. You’re going to want to see this.

Yeah! I was a wuss! I opened a comm back to the topside and told them what I saw.

They didn’t answer… Wusses.

Either I’ve lost signal, or I just became the first idiot in history to go on a solo diplomatic mission to the bottom of a Sith sinkhole.

So.
Here I sit.
Still in the shuttle. Still hovering. Watching that black monolith do absolutely nothing but feel like it wants to blink. I should wait for backup. I should power down. I should not, under any circumstances, open that ramp and step outside.

-Michael
(Too bad BRED isn’t complaining how we’re gonna die. He’d probably be right)
...

Entry 113

Journal Entry, (“Dear Diary” makes me sound like a teenage girl)

I’m going to open the ramp. Yeah, yeah I know… Horror Holo-Movie opening.

So. I opened the ramp.

Because I make bad choices under pressure and because something about this place was whispering "You won’t regret this"—which is exactly the kind of thing you always end up regretting.

The air hit me first.

Thick. Wet. Like breathing through a damp towel soaked in history and malevolence. Smelled like old metal, burned incense, and something I’m only going to describe as “disappointment.” I stepped onto one of the stone platforms. It felt solid, which was the only reassuring thing in the past twenty minutes.

The monolith loomed ahead, humming just loud enough to sound like a migraine. I took a few steps toward it, blaster holstered but ready. I figured: I’ve faced pirates, Sith cultists, political press conferences… how bad could one ancient floating obelisk be?
(Spoiler alert: that question always goes badly.)

That’s when BRED beeped twice—low and urgent—and ran a diagnostic on his own sensors.
Then the comms crackled. [Static. Click. A female voice on the network—probably Jedi comms:]
“...storm front approaching from the western ridge... sulfur density rising... advise shelter within five minutes... repeat, massive ion and particulate disruption expected—” BRED turned his dome toward me like a disappointed teacher. Then he rolled back into the shuttle.

BAIP BEEP BOOP “I knew this would happen. Stop being “you” and GET. BACK. IN. THE. SHIP.”

Me?

I’m standing on a death-era Sith platform, at the bottom of a bottomless pit, during a pre-apocalyptic weather event. Just enough signal left to hear the word “ion storm” before the static swallowed it again.

Fantastic.

Look, I know how this sounds. But the truth is… part of me still doesn’t want to leave. This place feels like it’s hiding a memory, like the whole planet is waiting for someone to say the right name, or ask the wrong question. I don’t think I’m the first person who’s stood here. I don’t think I’ll be the last.

But I will be the first to get flash-fried by atmospheric sulfur if I don’t get back inside.

...

Ramp’s closing.
Engines powering up.

I’m going to hover just above the platform while this storm rolls through. If the monolith lights up and tells me I’m the Chosen One, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, add “nearly boiled by toxic clouds” to today’s list of regrets.

See you at Entry 114.
—Michael
(Still alive. For now.)


Entry 114

Journal Entry,

So. I didn’t die.

Yay, me.

Also, new entry title:
“Things You Hear in a Sulfur Storm (That Shouldn’t Have Voices).”

We made it back into the shuttle just as the edge of the storm hit the Hollow Gate. You’d think, being underground, we’d be protected. You’d be wrong. Katabasis laughs at logic. The first thing to go was the light. Not the sun—it hadn’t been doing much anyway—but the interior panels. They just… dimmed. No power failure. No overheating. Just a soft flicker like the ship was trying not to draw attention to itself.

Then the comms died.

No signal. No static. Nothing.

Just a flatline where the Jedi channels used to be.

BRED ran a full diagnostic—he’s been quiet ever since. I don’t think he liked what he found. He keeps plugging and unplugging from the shuttle’s comm panel like he’s trying to convince it to remember how to radio. Every now and then, he turns and stares at me with that slow dome-tilt that just screams “You did this.”

He’s not wrong.

The weird part? We’re still hovering. Engines are fine. Life support’s stable. It's everything else that’s unraveling. A few minutes ago, I started hearing echoes.
Not outside.
Inside.

Faint. Layered. Like half-caught transmissions or maybe... memories? I’m hearing a woman’s voice, old Naboo dialect—reciting something that sounds like a prayer or a warning. Can’t make out the words. Every time I try to record it, it doesn’t play back.

Best guess? The shuttle is haunted.
Worst guess? I’m hearing my own death on repeat.

But here’s the thing.
The monolith is glowing now.

Not bright. Just a thin line down the center. Like a crack. Blueish-white. Cold light. The kind that doesn’t radiate—it sinks into things.

We’re out of here!

Boop [How Noble!]

Shut up, you toaster!

And with the storm outside eating comms and visibility, I made a decision.
I took the Dropship up about twenty meters, just above the top edge of the pit. Just high enough to see the full circumference.

That’s when I saw it:

The statues at the rim—those faceless sentinels—they’ve moved. Not all of them. Just enough to be wrong. They’re not facing the center anymore. They’re facing outward. Like they’re waiting for something. Maybe watching the stars. Maybe guarding us from whatever's beneath.

I climbed into the co-pilot chair and switched the backup relay to a narrowband pulse beacon—dumb signal. No encryption, just one line:

Flight Officer Michael Angellus, alive. Storm disrupted comms. Holding position. Observing anomaly. Need Jedi consult ASAP.

I don’t know if anyone will hear it. But I had to try. I’m not losing my voice down here too.

It took a little while, but the Storm thinned. I’ll make another pass once visibility’s up. Maybe scan the upper layers of the monolith.

Maybe I’ll find nothing.

Maybe I’ll find Set.

Or worse... maybe he finds me first.

—Michael
(still hovering. still haunted. definitely not sleeping tonight.)

Open Tags

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila sat at the edge of it all.

She had chosen a flat slab of carved stone near a cracked archway; its carvings half-eaten by time and dust. Here, she had calmed herself from the initial fear of the temple, of the barricade that was established to keep her and the rest of them from stepping any further. Her posture was deliberate with her legs folded, hands open, and her spine straight. Around her there was a breeze that stirred gently, lifting dust into spirals around her like ghostly dancers. It felt unnatural to her but she knew it was something to do with the temple, so in her silence she made sure that she didn’t move.

Beyond the perimeter, something loomed in the Force, others felt it, most were trying to ignore it while they took samples, or wrote down inscriptions but Bastila just sat there, in complete silence.

The temple was harsh, its ruins surrounding them in weatherworn layers, it felt as if it had been sunken into the earth by its own history, crushed by its very presence on this cursed planet. Pillars and walls sat scattered around like fingers trying to pull it back out into the world of being. Here and there collapsed floors revealed the darkness below as dark as the corridors that stretched out from the walls; walls that made the air thicken, dense and cold.

No noise, not even the noise of the Jedi survey teams broke her ears; Just wind, and stone, and something that waited.

Bastila’s senses stretched outward spider’s webs, the Force here was brittle and she felt like even the slightest mistouch would shatter it. She stretched her mind cautiously, almost as cautiously as it seemed to move around her. It flowed around the temple like water refusing to touch ship fuel. She slowed her breathing. She dissolved her thoughts.

“You were not the first to kneel here,” said a voice, just beyond hearing.

She did not react. Stillness was her answer.

“You carry war in your shadow…”
“…By Shiraya’s Brilliance, I grant you the words of Narglatch…”
“Do you seek peace, or purpose?”

Her eyes remained closed, the voices overlapping in her mind like the words all vying to be heard, while not wanting to at the same time, but within them the temple peeled itself open to her mind.

She saw it all like shadows in the dark;
A palace carved with burning glyphs, its ceiling lost to black sky.
The tears of statues weeping gold.
A mirror of obsidian, untouched by the dust and fire, reflecting her not as she is, but as the shadow she knew sat within her.

A trickle of sweat slid down her temple, dripping down to rest in her closed eye. It was fear. It was discipline, and all of it was fraying.

“Beloved of your line” one voice murmured, she recognised the pitch. “May humility guide your actions. May your journey be marked by triumph.”

“The Force rejoiced when your siblings were born.” Another voice, this one also recognised but she knew not from where. “It sang in praise for the Force has managed to align it’s plans.”

The wind shifted. Not wind; breath. Something exhaled from the nearby barrier.

“But do you know what the Force did for you Bastila Sanna Ee’everwest Sal-Soren?” There was maliciousness in the tone now, settling into Bastila’s soul as she felt the chill of the air against her forehead of sweat. “It cried tears, it wept upon your birth. It looked upon you with despair for in you it only saw…”

She tried to open her eyes, but it was impossible.

She tried to call out to the others around her, but again her voice was held captive.

“On Katabasis…the feeling lingers.” Was the only sound that came from her as she tried. The sound of her mother humming to her the Naboo lullabies of the old tales seeping through every crevice of her mind.

Ala Quin Lorn Reingard

​

 

[Kyric]

​

In the midst of Kellan's answer, Kyric felt something stir within the darkness. His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade in preparation to draw. He whipped his head about in search of the disturbance, expecting an ancient Sith spirit or a towering behemoth poised to strike down from above. There was nothing of the sort. The kiffar's search ended on the wall he knew to have housed a hallway only seconds before. He stopped moving and elbowed Kellan softly in the side.

"The hallway disappeared," Kyric said matter-of-factly. "And I'm feelin' a draft now." He turned rapidly in search of another adjoining corridor, but the darkness made it impossible.

Rather than push forward, the kiffar moved to the wall and pressed his hand against the wall. The stone felt granular. It was cool to the touch and where Kyric ran his hands he felt not a single seam. His gaze sought fault lines within the wall, relying heavily on the likes of shatterpoint to deduce a way through it to the hallway he knew to exist on the otherside.

No such fractures existed. The Black Spiral had swallowed the corridor in its entirely and left the two Jedi to ponder how, and more importantly, why.

"We've got a Padawan inbound, let's hold, Kyr." Kellan looked over at Kyric, nodding through the darkness into the direction they'd been traveling. "...Something feels a bit off, though. The path ahead of us...it feels different."

Kyric nodded near imperceptibly. "Right." He turned his attention away from the wall back toward the entrance as if it stopped the possibility of another shift in the fortress. His mind began to work backward through the single corridor the two Jedi journeyed down while they waited.

What felt like an eternity within the darkness was much closer to a few minutes of walking. Kyric recalled passing a total of four corridors, spaced intermittently with two on each side. None of the adjoining hallways created an intersection thus far. There were a total of twenty-three sconces, all fitted perfectly into the wall.

In what looked almost like a whim, Kyric snapped his fingers and set one of the sconces alight with a burning flame. A weak glow emanated from below his cloak around his collarbone on the gesture and gradually faded away over the course of several seconds. Interestingly, the fire only stretched halfway across the wide hallway. The rest of the corridor remained entirely in gloom; almost as if there was supposed to be a torch directly across from the other.

"This don't bode well for us at all," the one-eyed Jedi mumbled.

Kyric released a sigh and turned back in time to see Kas approaching from the darkness. "Evenin', Kas. Glad ye could make it."

---

Tags: Kellan Jericho | Kas Larsen