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

[Scherezade deWinter]

. : The Spiral : . ​

She wasn't with some mystical them, but… she wasn't with him either? Scherezade's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she began to consider his words. He went on, introduced himself…

She smiled.

"Now that's a proper wedding proposal if I've ever heard one," she almost squeed, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. Images of wedding gowns, expensive halls, and bantha steaks for the masses flashed through her mind. Pink glitter. It would be glorious!

"I do!" she almost yelled, reaching out to place her hand lightly on his arm. There was no malice in her movement, no threat or invitation to violence.

"I am Princess Scherezade deWinter, Princess of Chaos, Definitely not a Jedi, and I don't like coffee!"

There. That was settled. Her future husband-to-be now knew who she was and what she stood for. They could handle getting to know each other better later, when they weren't here.

And then a great crack tore through the Spiral.

The rhythmic thuds faltered, swallowed by a dreadful stillness that wrapped around them like a suffocating cloak.

Scherezade's grin faltered, her eyes widening as a weight settled into the air.

Set. The name whispered in the back of her mind like a curse.

Long imprisoned, the ancient presence stirred, reaching now for his bride.

A grief-turned-hunger threaded into the hearts of those present, testing, weighing, choosing one to be his vessel.

Her hand tightened instinctively on Brandyn's arm, this time not with trust, but with a fierce acknowledgment that they were bound by something far greater than either had expected.


Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Something stirred, not just in the Spiral, but within him. A warmth curled at the edges of his thoughts, a breath on the nape of his neck. Longing, grief, tenderness. Emotions not his own...or were they? They threaded through him. It was both ancient and familiar.

He barely heard her squeal of delight beside him. The world was fading, reshaping. Not erased, rewritten.

THUD.

She grabbed his arm. The gods wept, and Brandyn was caught in the rain.

Black hair in a breeze. A laugh, half-remembered. A voice whispering through a veil of memory, or was it prophecy? “I see you…”

A hiding place. Laughter. Footsteps in grass. Then sterile light, a body still on the slab. Reaching for her…too late. Always too late.

There was a veil of white. Brandyn blinked, shuttering to the next moment in his mind.

A hand resting on a belly. A flutter. A kick. A name — Gianna. He didn’t say it. He felt it. Like something eternal pressing through the seams of the dream.

The moments melted together. They pulled him to her. To the one that held him. To...

Brandyn blinked again. The Spiral faded. His arm was still in her grasp. "Please remove your hand from my arm."

He pried her fingers away, gently but firmly. "My wife is pregnant," he said without looking at her. "You should meet her some time...she is the best." Then he added to no one in particular, "I see you too."

He cast his gaze downward. Down the long hallway that descended toward oblivion. He felt a change in the air. Someone had been taken by the god called Set.

He glanced back to her. "Come on, Chairahzaddy. We've got a god to stop."

Scherezade deWinter
​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique laughed quietly as the terminal unlocked. "You'd find there are many educational clubs on Denon, Sibylla." The Senator gave the other woman a warm smile. "But if you go looking, let me know ahead of time. No all clubs are good for the soul." It would be unfortunate if something happened to Sibylla if she recklessly ventured into the depths of Denon. Much as Dominique loved her world, she knew it had its perils -- which, really, were as much character attributes as they were problems to solve.

Her fingertips returned to the screen in short order to enter in some of the key words they'd uncovered together. A short scroll through the list preceded Dominique keying up one of the entries. A few of the first results had been little more than description of the place or the people, which hardly interested them. A translation of a fragment of an ancient ceremonial tapestry, however, drew her curiosity.

"Unearthed beneath the Oon-Ai's Cathedral in the wake of a seismic event... 'When the stars turned blood and the rivers ceased their song, she came, alone, wrapped in sorrow. The skyfather had broken the bond of flame and water. So she went to the Hollow, where the soul-singers slept, and she gave herself to silence. There they built the chain-song, and cloaked her in its verses. So long as it was sung, the gates would not open. So long as none remembered, she would not rise,'" Dominique read aloud.

Translation note: Several glyphs are threadworn or substituted. Reconstruction is partially speculative.

Footnote by Dr. Hiren Vanthe (Linguist, Naboo Antiquities Trust):
"The 'chain-song' is a recurring motif in heretical texts, a kind of harmonic ritual that seems to serve a suppressive or dimensional-binding function. Notably, early sources equate this rite with the rites of burial and forgetting, suggesting an intentional cultural suppression. We may be looking at an entire class of 'sacred rites' that were actually a remembrance of a great imprisonment."

"Imprisonment," she echoed the footnote's final word.

Dominique turned aside to think, which freed up the console if Sibylla wished to look at it more closely. "Suppression. Imprisonment. Daring to burn together. I fear, Sibylla, that while my knowledge of ancient religions of the Sith are not my forte that these motifs, echoed in the Legend everyone knows today, do suit them." She knew of the Sith, but as for there being an overwhelming need to warn the Jedi... well that Dominique did not know. It was an ancient temple with ancient writings, how dangerous could it be?

Sibylla Abrantes | Pillar of Freedom

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn didn't hear Bastila at first. Her voice was a distant hum against the roaring tide inside his skull. The only thing he could hear clearly was the last fragment of Ala's voice, cut off and stolen; the syllable meant to carry her love that never finished. Now, only emptiness remained. But then Bastila's hand touched his arm. It felt real, solid, a grounding anchor that cut through the fog.

"She's not gone…" Bastila's words bled into him. She wasn't entirely wrong. About grief, about love, about what he was truly allowed to feel. And yet, he didn't pull away. He stood there, letting her hand rest, letting her voice settle over him, letting her try to soothe the frantic animal beating in his chest. His knuckles were bone white around his saber's hilt, the weapon's low hum still vibrating between them. He hadn't moved. Not yet.

Maiz's voice, sharp and reverent, came from somewhere lower. He glanced down, eyes flicking to the kneeling priestess as her foreign words slid like silk over the stone. And then the thing that wore Ala's form spoke. Her voice was gentle, not harsh or cruel. She spoke to him with understanding, with pity. That pity was a sharper blade than hatred. Lorn felt something break inside his ribs.

"She loves you dearly, as mortals do…"

He sagged, sinking into himself for the first time in countless years. His saber lowered, the tip humming dangerously near the stone floor. His face crumpled, not into rage or determination, but into the raw, profound agony of loss. It was the face of a man who had fought every war, lost every battle that mattered, and was now just waiting for the next one to finally end him.

Then Veré turned and simply walked away, Ala's body, her familiar step and grace, moving beneath the skin of something entirely alien. Lorn watched her go, and with each receding step, a cold, hard rage began to crystallize within him. It wasn't the searing fire of a scream, but the chilling grip of ice.

He reached out, not with a physical hand or a drawn saber, but with the Force. His entire body locked, muscles rigid, as he seized at her with the invisible hand of power, a reckless surge only the truly broken dared to wield. The very air around him cracked, groaning like stone under immense pressure. He wouldn't let her leave.

"Bastila." His voice suddenly crystal clear. "Call the guards." He took a step forward, arm outstretched, his hand clenched, as if throttling her from across the room. "Tell them to bring the binders. The stun collars. Every restraint they've got." His hand tightened further in the air. "It's not leaving this place alone." The last words broke from him, quieter now, but laced with a raw, desperate possessiveness. "It's mine."

The Force strained, shadows writhed. Lorn Reingard, the Jedi Commander, the broken son, the lost knight, held the woman he loved suspended in the air.

Ala Quin | Bastila Sal-Soren | Maiz Tor'val​

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

“Call the guards.”

Bastila froze. The words struck her like a bell, a clear, ringing that doubled down on the absolute feeling of dread. Her hand fell away from his arm, as if life had ceased to control it; her fingers curling inward trying to hold on to something unseen that was already slipping through.

“Tell them to bring the binders. The stun collars. Every restraint they've got.”

She swallowed down a response. The authority in his voice was unmistakable, the kind that brooked no argument,allowed no hesitation. She suddenly felt eight again being told to go and get Brandyn after being discovered following his lead in some prank. And yet…

Her gaze flicked to Ala, no, not Ala; and her heart lurched. The body suspended in the air twisted faintly against the invisible grip, not struggling but held, arms half lifted in an eerie, unnatural stillness that settled in your soul. The weight of the Force was thick enough to choke on. Bastila took another step back involuntarily, then another, this time by choice.

“It's not leaving this place alone. It’s mine.”

His voice had dropped, but the violence in it hadn’t.

Bastila pressed her hand to the comm at her wrist, fingers hovering just over the activation button. She was trained for this. It was the task of a Jedi to listen. To obey their seniors. Lorn Reingard was a Master and a Council Member. She was still only a Padawan. He was everything she looked up to.

Her thumb tapped the comm.

“Vanguard team to the inner chamber,” she said quietly, voice low, careful to not show her restraint. “Restraint kit requested. Full suite.”

The silence on the line was long, and almost enough to kill the mind, but then a reply crackled back: “On our way.”

Bastila exhaled slowly, her throat felt tight enough to not let any air through.

She looked back at Lorn. At the way his entire frame was strung as tight as a tripwire. The way he stared at Ala was dark and terrifying to her, it was not with purpose, but with a possession that Bastila did not think possible for a Jedi. And then her eyes met Ala’s, or whatever resided behind Ala’s face. There was no fear there. No malice. Just something watching and waiting.

Bastila’s hand drifted toward her own saber, it was unignited at her hip. She had clipped it back when she had tried to calm Lorn, she would not draw it. Not yet.

“Master…” she tried, keeping her voice calm and quiet, hiding any sound of defiance. “You have her. Whatever she is, you’ve stopped her. Let the guards handle it now.”

Her voice trembled, but she stood her ground.

“You’ve already won.” She wondered if she could get hold of Briana if it came to it, did her old emergency channels work? “Come back to us. For Ala.”

The Force cracked like ice, loud and violently just below the surface.

Lorn Reingard Maiz Tor'val Ala Quin

​

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

Maiz stilled her tongue and her body as the entity spoke, a testament to the calm of Amuth, Goddess of Secrets (and Ice); but her thoughts belonged to Qavalshar, Goddess of Light (and Flame). How she yearned to spit back in the thing's face that of course she was not Maiz's goddess! Perhaps she might have been this fool Jedi's -- were he even a hair reverent of such forces -- but not her, whatever her name might be. But it was best the thing thought Maiz held her with such regard. The real goddesses would understand.

Unlike the panic that thought to intercede before the male got them all killed earlier, the Elamshan Priestess slowly rolled her head up and to the side to look up at Lorn with her cold, crystalline blue eyes. Fool man hadn't listened to her before. He wouldn't listen now. Even the doll of Ala and Bastila did not break through to him -- or did so in ways that only reinforced his desires.

The thing had said it would only strike if wounded. Now, it would seem, they would find out just how literally it took that to be. Despite what seemed inevtiable, however, and the futility of trying to reason with an unreasonable man, Maiz's countenance was the picturesque form of disapproval. His outrageous effort to grapple with the thing inside Ala... If it had been her held hostage instead his actions might have been welcome, if equally as stupid. "She was held here, Je-die. One who knows your Dark Arts. Held. Kept, not slain. Perhaps you should ask why," she growled through clenched teeth.

"Rathath give me strength," Maiz whispered under her breath.

Ala Quin | Lorn Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Naboo's ancient archives
Theed |Naboo
Dominique Vexx​

At first, Sibylla couldn't help the slight upward twist of her lips at Domminqiue's quip regarding the many educational clubs on Denon. She even had a mind to day, "Well... perhaps if you are so inclined, Dominique... I'd be interested in applying to such venues if possible."

However, the humor soon faded as Dominique read the passage she decrypted aloud, the words hitting her like ice shards down her spine.

She gave herself to silence only to be cloaked in a chainsong of verses. So long as it was sung, she would not rise…

Sibylla felt her heart start to jackhammer and her breath caught in her throat.

Imprisonment, not ascension. Not love triumphant, but punishment disguised as reverence.

The story she'd grown up with, the one that had given her hope when duty felt like the only path ahead was unraveling before her eyes in dawning realization.

She swallowed hard, then spoke in a quiet voice.

"Then… they weren't exalted." Her fingers brushed the edge of the console as she stepped closer, eyes scanning the text as if seeing it might make the truth easier to bear.

"They were buried in story. Buried and imprisoned on purpose."

Her heart ached amd not just for them, but for the version of herself that had clung to the legend as something beautiful and possible.

"Then how can they be set free?" she asked, more to the fragment than to Dominique. Her tone had changed, and there was a distinct stubborn glint in her hazel eyes. She was no longer using the careful language of a diplomat, but something rawer. Real.

"And why would anyone do such a wretched thing?" Her voice shook with quiet anger. "What is so wrong with loving someone? She chose him. She chose. Why should that be a crime?"

Her hands curled slightly, doing her best to restrain the frustration coiling through her like a storm behind glass.

"And the Sith, where do they even come in this?" she added, shaking her head. "Why would they care about binding two lovers? It makes no sense. Not unless…"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching the text again.

"…Not unless they were afraid of what that kind of love could do."

@Sibylla | Danger rolled
1d20
:
(11)
= 11

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique listened to what Sibylla had to say, but obviously they had a different interpretation of events. Despite the disappointment so clearly evident, she still held to a more... idealistic interpretation. Afraid of what that kind of love could do? Surely, Sibylla didn't think it was a wholesome love that could purify the Dark Side or something.

The Senator's brow furrowed as her eye caught sight of an indicator inside her glareshades. With a bat of her eyelid, Dominique called up the screen. Evidently the search had turned up something far more pertinent. Well, her shades were hardly a supercomputer on their own so it took time to compile results based on new criteria. Evidently, this one was directly tied to Karabasis and the Temple there.

"If they were concerned what their love could do, my dear, I think we should be equally worried. Imagine, if you will, being held captive for hundreds or thousands of years. What would you do to such people?" Dominique reached out toward the console to quickly tap a few controls to call up the entry on her shades. "I think it's time we sent this to our Jedi friends, Sibylla. Before they land themselves in more trouble than they're prepared to handle."

[ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION - LEVEL DELPHIC CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

/// LOG REF: DS-7E99 ///
/// CONTENT ORIGIN: UNVERIFIED (LIKELY THEED UNIVERSITY REDACTED VAULTS) ///
/// SUBJECT: TABLET OF THE THREE HANDS ///

BEGIN TRANSLATION DRAFT: 7.4.12

[VISUAL ENCODING: Obsidian tablet approx. 0.9m x 0.4m. Surface etched with three symbolic impressions resembling humanoid hands.]

--------------------------------------------​

1st Symbol: [OPEN PALM- ORIENTATION FROM RIGHT TO LEFT]

2nd Symbol: [CLOSED FIST]

3rd Symbol: [PALM FLAT - ORIENTATION UPWARD]

--------------------------------------------​

[REVERSE INSCRIPTION - SPIRAL SIGIL]
Estimated origin: Katabasis (Cross-reference with Temple of Broken Chains spiral glyph 3A)
Text partially damaged, reconstructed with 68% confidence:

"Bound in a moment."

--------------------------------------------​

[ASSOCIATED RECORD - REDACTED]

Mention of the group known as "Daughters of the Scar."
Believed to have suppressed references to Mortis iconography.
ENCRYPTION VERIFIED...

Could they genuinely be two lovers that'd happily leave them all in peace after being set free? Perhaps. Could it all be a bunch of nonsense that only religious zealots could believe? Felt likely. In any event, the Jedi believed in this sort of stuff. It might help Sibylla if she had a more active role in their exploration. They might even let her know of some findings that would answer questions. Little did Dominique know, of course, they hadn't found quite so many answers as they had problems.

Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Naboo's ancient archives
Theed |Naboo
Dominique Vexx​

Sibylla froze at the screen, Dominique's words echoing in her ears.

What would you do to such people?

She didn't answer right away. Her throat felt tight. The question wasn't academic -- it was personal, and far more real than she wanted it to be.

What would I do if I had been locked away, my name turned into legend, my love rewritten into a lie?

"I don't know," she said finally, the words barely above a whisper. "I should like to say I'd show mercy... but were I locked away for centuries, my story twisted into something it is not… I might not be so generous. One does rather grow weary of being misunderstood, even for far less."

She thought about Lysander von Ascania then, only to bite her lower lip.

"Maybe I wouldn't."

She drew a slow breath, steadying herself, eyes flicking back to the passage on Set.

"I wasn't trying to be poetic," she murmured. "Set didn't just fall, he fought. He tried to change things. He sought a weapon strong enough to strike down a god.. for her. That is not the sort of thing one does for the sake of a passing infatuation." Her gaze dropped to the datascreen, her brows scrunching together deep in thought.

"It can't just be about love. There's something else."

Then she caught it on the screen -- Daughters of the Scar.

Sibylla swore she felt her heart skip and her eyes went wide.

"Wait a moment!" she breathed, leaning in. "The Daughters were the ones who helped worlds join the Royal Republic during the early unification. My father has worked alongside one since I was a child... these symbols..."

She scrolled faster, fingers trembling slightly.

"And Mortis? What does that mean?" Sibylla had no knowledge of such deep Force history, so that would not touch any relevance for her. She quickly began to try and find out what else she could learn about it while Dominique finished the message to the archeological site.

 

[Ala Quin]

“Young Jedi. You do not understand.” She spoke in a way that was both weightless and full of sorrow.

“I was imprisoned in the moment of embrace. The final breath of love before it could be lost. And he...in the moment after I was torn from his arms.” She did not blink. Her gaze, serene and endless, moved past Lorn to the guards entering behind them.

“I have spent millennia within the warmth of his devotion. Never once doubting what he felt for me. He spent all that time in silence, grief…and rage.” There was a hum in the air now, barely audible, like a harp string pulled across the bones of the temple. “You must let me go to him.”

Her gaze returned to the guards.

They did not speak. But their pupils shimmered, violet, mirrored shadows flickering just beyond their skin. Illusory renditions of their eyes hovered before their faces, disjointed from flesh yet tethered by a spectral thread. Slowly…the guards turned toward Lorn.

Veré did not raise a hand. She did not command. They were simply made to understand.

“You do well to fear. But do not mistake me for your enemy.”

Her head tilted slightly to the left. Eyes soft with at feirce compassion.

“You forget,” she said. The river within her words were deep and resonant. Able to send a chill to the core of those not swayed to her mindset.

“Love conquers all.”

The guards stepped towards Lorn, raising their weapons.

| Lorn Reingard Maiz Tor'val Bastila Sal-Soren |​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

The Spiral
Brandyn Sal-Soren

For a moment, her grip on his arm stayed there after he spoke. After the Spiral faded. After the name Gianna sank like a stone into the space between them. Her fingers twitched. Not from offense. Not from embarrassment. But because the part of her that had said "I do" wasn't entirely sure if it had been her voice.

Something else had curled up inside her chest. It something ancient, yearning, sharp with grief. It had whispered wedding bells and funeral songs all at once. And it hadn't let go.

Her hand slipped away from his arm slowly, as if on delay.

She looked at her own palm like it didn't belong to her anymore.

"…You weren't supposed to reject me," Scherezade said softly, not to him exactly. Not just to him. Her glowing green eyes shimmered with too many thoughts, too many voices behind them. "You were supposed to catch me when I fell. That's what the bridegroom does."

The Spiral pulsed beneath their feet, slow and steady. She wobbled on her heels, physically and metaphysically, and steadied herself with a breath that did not come from her lungs alone.

It took a few heartbeats before she smiled again.

Too wide.

Too pink.

Like it had been stitched back onto her face.

"Well then," she chirped, and clapped her hands together once. "A pregnant wife! How adorable." Her voice curled with sweetness. And something else. Something sharp enough to bleed on.

Scherezade tilted her head, gaze gliding across Brandyn's face as if she were seeing him for the first time. Or maybe the last. And then she just shrugged.

"Guess I'll have to kill her."

She said it like someone picking out centerpieces.

Then beamed.

"Anyway! Let's go stop a god, husband!"

She twirled once in place, a shimmer of pink glitter dancing around her boots like a storm of poisoned confetti.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Mercy? Their story? Dominique couldn't imagine what she would do under those circumstances. Something extreme. After all, she'd merely been pushed out as the Alliance Senator and Dominique had taken "drastic" action to recover not only what she'd lost, but much more. All that over what amounted to a minor inconvenience on the galactic scale.

"No, it is not," the Senator replied softly. If the story were true. That much, however, Dominique could see being true and it would explain them ending up imprisoned. Well, a good love story was always relatable. The desire to be held, the offense at being denied... all perfectly normal emotions for many creatures in the galaxy.

Dominique's fingers tapped over an input tray not visible to the Human eye, made manifest by the augmented reality within the Senator's glareshades

To: Jedi Expedition Leads
From: Archives of Theed, Naboo
Subject: IMPORTANT Katabasis Temple: Extreme Caution

Message Reads as Follows: Legend of Set and Veré deliberately altered in time. Equinox Chain-song recited to maintain seal imprisoning Set and Veré after Sith transformation. One slain by the Father, the other in grief? Cultists sought to remember willfully hidden truths. Mortis iconography. Three hand gestures to bind enclosed. For Spiral, Temple of Broken Chains? Note: Daughters of the Scar said 'Bound in a moment.' Not a reference to length of time it takes to bind?

1st Symbol: [OPEN PALM- ORIENTATION FROM RIGHT TO LEFT]

2nd Symbol: [CLOSED FIST]

3rd Symbol: [PALM FLAT - ORIENTATION UPWARD]

The message was sent as Sibylla asked about Mortis. "I haven't a clue, my Dear, but perhaps the Jedi at the temple or the archaeologist with them will. Let's continue to look for anything else that may be pertinent."

Sibylla Abrantes | Lorn Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren | Maiz Tor'val | Ala Quin

​

Spoiler: Lore Summary

1. Way of the Returning Star. Set's descent not corruption, but transformation (Sith symbology)? Sabean River Valley.

2. Ascension Hymn. Equinox. Twins. Bind under Veil. Rite of Twin Veils masquerades a praise. Third moon ignored, weakened Seal. Scribe of Moonstone Mantle to Keeper of the Returning Star. Moon (Shiraya/Vere - lit world like morning star) and Sun (Set - mortal) not exalted, but imprisoned for burning together.

3. Oon-Ai's Cathedral. Stars turn blood, rivers silenced, Vere came in sorrow... Skyfather broke bond of fire/water... Vere went to Hollow, Soul-Singers slept, gave self to silence. Chain-song to bind Vere. While sung, bind would hold. Chain-song ~ burial, forgetting, cultural suppression.

4. Tablet. Three Palms. Temple of Broken Chains spiral, Katabasis. 'Bound in a moment.' Daughters of the Scar. Suppressed Mortis iconography..[/quote]

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Naboo's ancient archives
Theed |Naboo
Dominique Vexx​

Sibylla lifted her gaze to settle upon Dominique's profile, watching as the Senator typed out the message on her datapad to send to the Jedi and the archaeologists. While she did that, the young Ambassador quietly studied her.

It was the sort of observation a girl makes of another, measuring her words, studying the silences, trying to see if they were genuine… or if something lingered beneath the surface.

What she found, however, in that quiet moment and the soft reply, was that Dominique spoke with more honesty than Sibylla had seen in most Senators or politicians, for that matter.

To be honest, it was refreshing.

It softened the teenager's heart and stirred a quiet curiosity to know more about Dominique.

"Then let us hope this information is what they need," Sibylla replied, only to pause and then turn to look up at the Senator to add with just the most subtle upward wry twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"And I would also like to ask, if your schedule is amenable to it, to perhaps spend some more time together? I'm very interested in learning more about Denon and its colorful extracurricular clubs."

Dice GolemAPP — 10:12 PM

@Sibylla | Dangerrolled
1d20
: (15) = 15

 

[Kyric]

The Stranger settled an eerie, all-encompassing gaze on Kas. The Jedi's defiance earned him a smile.

"This child," the Stranger began, his hand reaching up to claw a single bloody streak through Kyric's ruined socket. "He is the perfect vessel. His heart bleeds for another; one bonded to him since birth. She has enshrouded his light in the shadows of such deeply rooted suffering no differently than the Sith Lord who slew his father."

The Stranger took a single step toward Kas. The ground trembled beneath them as a fissure tore through the stone, snaking forward to form a dozen tiny tributaries. Each crack in the corridor burned a molten orange color as if carved through with a lightsaber blade. Those trapped within the Black Spiral nearest the Stranger would feel something—no, many somethings—ascending rapidly through the fissures. Pain rolled off these encroaching creatures in endless waves. They seethed in unchecked anger, prepared to strike out against the interlopers.

"I seek to claim what has been denied to me over these long eons, Kas Larsen. I feel her out there even now, radiant, like the guiding light of a lone star on an endless sea of black. Have you ever known the love of another, Jedi? Have you felt the tender caress of one who seeks only your joy in their darkest hours?"

Rotted hands breached the fissures. A smell like a week old battlefield flooded the hall, carried upward from the depths of the Black Spiral by a host of undead. They clawed over one another, tearing flesh and shattering bone, in their race for the living trespassers.

"Flee from this place. Turn tail while you still draw breath in that flimsy body of yours. This nightmare needn't claim you or your companions, it's already taken too much," the Stranger turned away from the Jedi Knight and took to the air, floating inches above the stonework. Blood dripped from the wound carved into Kyric's flesh and fell to the floor to the crescendo of a distant thunderclap.

Tags: Kas Larsen | Kellan Jericho | Voli Cholrass | Ala Quin
Nearby: Brandyn Sal-Soren | Scherezade deWinter

---

Within Kyric's mind, the Stranger—Set—stared in quiet disbelief at a fractured island split into three fragments. A great storm raged all around the island. Choppy waves crashed into the sands, while distant lightning illuminated an endless sea in all directions. Upon each island stood a separate manifestation of Kyric Karis, each one locked into a life-or-death struggle for control of his body.

The first Kyric bore many of the scars associated with the Jedi Knight. His eye was gone. His limbs and torso were covered in a mish-mash of ridged white and precise lines. The Jedi Knight wrestled with a clawed hand embedded in his chest, wrapped tight around his heart.

The second Kyric maintained his poise with a sly smile. His eyes—both of them—were an amber color, tinged with orange. His nails were painted the color of blood and his hair was decorated with intricate braids capped with beads of the same color. Where his other struggled with a baleful grip around his heart, this Kyric fought to keep Set's talon-like fingers from tearing into his core.

The third and final Kyric sat in quiet meditation even as Set reached through the back of his head to take hold of the kiffar's brain.

"Give in, boy. I've already taken your body. You cannot fight me forever."

"Yer not wrong about that, but-" the first began.

"-we can slow you down. Weaken you long enough-" the second continued.

"-for another to free or kill us," the third concluded.

Set snarled. The ancient being sought to understand his vessel, yet each second he stood within the Jedi Knight's fractured mind the more confused Set became. He redoubled his efforts. Claws flexed within each of the three Kyric's, tearing psionic wounds into his already battered mind with total impunity. Scarlet blood trailed down Set's claws, staining the sands in the boy's life blood.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique smiled over at Sibylla as the younger woman spoke of hope. Yes, well, no one had given any indication that little expedition was in any kind of trouble anyway. All of these facts and discoveries were merely intellectual curiosities from where she stood. Of course, Jedi would disagree. They'd take them as some sort of gospel. Meanwhile others, such as Sibylla, held cultural significance to them.

Shame about discovering the romance hadn't been quite so romantic, but who is to say this apocryphal information was any better? The truth was often the first victim of every circumstance -- even when all parties were well intentioned.

"I would enjoy that, Sibylla. Though you may find such clubs are not quite the sort of place someone of your standing would be found in." Dominique smiled again with a slight tilted of her head. "Some sights might be rather shocking. Have you dealt with many Augers out there?" Augmented people, she meant. Cybernetically enhanced. Not mere decorative or with a replacement humanoid limb, but well kitted out. Not exactly standard fare on Naboo.

Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn refused to lower his hand. Not when Bastila's voice lashed his name like a whip, nor when Maiz's cold venom hissed in his ear, and not even when the guards, his own Vanguard, turned their weapons on him. His arm remained locked, his grip clenched in the air, the Force coiling around his outstretched fingers. Every tragic syllable this goddess spoke, dripping with ancient sorrow, all registered with Lorn, but he didn't care. "You don't get to use her to tell your story," he hissed, his breath shaking. "I don't care what happened to you. I don't care about your loss. Your time is long over."

His gaze flickered to Bastila for a brief moment. "I already know what it's like to lose everything," he stated, then his eyes snapped back to Veré. "But you're not taking her. Not her." The air around him tightened with an ominous hum, and he felt the temple itself bend toward her. He felt the guards move, their weapons lifting, his own Vanguard, the men and women who had bled for him, followed him, and trusted him. Yet their eyes were no longer their own... she was inside them.

Lorn's lips peeled back into something resembling a snarl. His golden saber blazed to life again, flaring brighter now, crackling as his fury seeped into the blade. He held his ground, unmoving, refusing to turn and face the guards, refusing to back down. Let them shoot. Let them burn him down. He would not let her go. "Bastila," his voice stripped raw with emotion, "you stand with me, or you stand aside." Without looking at Maiz, he added, "And if you pray to your goddesses, now would be the time."

Then, to the thing wearing Ala's form, he declared, "You talk about love like it's a virtue." His voice broke then, not from weakness, but like a plate shattering on stone. "I talk about it like it's the reason I'm still breathing." He pulled harder with the Force, every tendon in his body straining. Shadows cracked across the floor like glass spiderwebbing from his feet, and his own muscles trembled from the overwhelming strain, yet he held her there. "You want your love story?" His voice cracked again, but now with venom. "Take someone else."

The Vanguard hesitated, weapons shaking in hands that weren't entirely their own. But Lorn didn't flinch. "You are not leaving with her," he stated, a resolute vow. Not while he was still breathing.

Ala Quin | Bastila Sal-Soren | Maiz Tor'val​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Sibylla blinked once, the confusion visible in the slight furrow of her brow.

"Augers?" she echoed, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. Clearly not a term in use during her time at Theed Academy. Still, it wasn't the unfamiliar slang that gave her pause but the implication that followed, and Sibylla's posture straightened ever so slightly.

"Well," she began to reply to Dominique Vexx , her chin lifting with quiet dignity... and maybe more than a bit of a competitive spirit.

"I daresay that regardless of what sort of club it may be, I am perfectly capable of adapting to any scenario." After all, she held high marks across multiple extracurriculars, chaired the Junior Legislature, and even had a respectable run with the Dejarik Club.

She didn't look over as she spoke, too focused on the console's glow as her fingers sifted through the next round of encrypted archive files. Then the next, and suddenly her breath hitched. Then the color drained from her face.

"Blessed Shiraya…" she whispered.

Her eyes scanned the log entry again and again, unwilling to believe the words, and yet unable to deny what was written. A private confession warning about what lay buried under years of dust and silence.

The Sith weren't trying to use the gods. They were trying to destroy them.

And worse still, as confirmed by their earlier theory, the seal was failing.

She turned toward Dominique, her voice low but urgent, the diplomat in her gone now, replaced by something fiercer.

"You were right. This isn't a ruin. It is a prison, and the gods inside -- no, Shiraya and Set, may already be waking."

She drew a steady breath, but her eyes still burned with disbelief and rising conviction.

"When the Sith discovered them, there was some sort of resonance. Something that caused them to fear what was imprisoned. So they created a weapon meant to sever the gods from time itself. But it misfired, causing Katabasis to burn... if the Jedi disturb this site without knowing, without understanding --"

Her voice faltered, and for a second she just stood there, staring at the console like it might burn through her hands.

"They'll set it off again," she said quietly. "They'll hurt them. Everyone, and they won't even know what they've done."

Her jaw tightened, a rare fire lighting behind her usually composed features.

"Not on my watch."

She turned, hands already moving to transmit the file to the Jedi command link. "This has to reach them, now. Before someone makes a terrible mistake."

>> HOLO.ENCRYPT//113M-ejj--; data=ghosted; data-uplink=secure; masking-status=active; function=security; permissions=limited;]

To: Jedi Expedition Leads
From: Archives of Theed, Naboo
Subject: IMPORTANT Katabasis Temple Possible Weapon at the Site
Lorn Reingard Bastila Sal-Soren Maiz Tor'val Brandyn Sal-Soren Ala Quin Kas Larsen Kyric Any other jedi who would get it.


Advise caution, as there may be a potential weapon constructed by the Sith made to try and destroy Shiraya and Set within the prison they were put in. This weapon failed to function, leading to the near destruction of Katabasis.

Do not engage and act in a way that may harm you or those imprisoned. It is imperative to study this more to ensure we are not making any mistakes in our approach with the gods that lie within it.


Private Log Entry – Dr. T. Harrex
Date Unknown – Post-Excavation Reflections
Internal Use Only – Uncirculated
To be released upon my death

I don't believe the Sith put them here.

That was my first mistake, assuming all things of great power lead back to them. But this site…this world… it predates their presence. The architecture, the inscriptions...they found it, just like we did.

And like us, I think they were overwhelmed.

We uncovered evidence of a massive, force-reactive detonation, something that should have shattered the crust, but didn't. A weapon meant for eradication. Glyphs recovered from the Spiral perimeter suggest a singular intention: to sever what was buried here from time and memory.

The Sith weren't trying to use the gods. They were trying to destroy them.

One log references an anomaly they called the Echoing Embrace. I believe they encountered the same phenomena we're experiencing now, the psychic bleed, the emotional recursion, the sense that memory and future overlap. It broke them. And in that fear, they tried to unmake the source.

But the weapon misfired. The atmosphere collapsed. The crust burned. Katabasis died, but not completely.

And now, after millennia of silence... Planeshift. There is atmospheric regeneration and measurable biodiversity. Life is returning. And I think that the seal is failing.

I no longer believe we are excavating ruins. We are unsealing a prison. And the gods within…may not be as asleep as we hoped.

My only hope is that neither the gods, nor the weapon forged to destroy them, bring harm. I do not hold out much hope should my new hypothesis prove true, but to speak of it aloud…I would be a laughingstock.

— TH

 

[Kas Larsen]

​

Equipment: Kas' Gear
Tags: Kyric
Location: Katabasis | Black Spiral | Fortress
Objective: Hold the Line | Aid Jedi Knight Kyric Karis

Kas listened and observed the way Set, the possessed and Dark-sided spirit, over on Kyric. Watched the Stranger make their approach using Kyric's body as a vessel and hearing the cracks ripple throughout. Kas began to see creatures of the Undead begin to emerge from the ground approaching the team.

"Kyric I know you are still in there. Continue to fight and resist this spirit. You can overcome this." Kas called out to provide any morale boost for Kyric to use as fuel to resist and fight back. "You're underestimating him. Kyric won't go down without a fight." Kas ignited the yellow blade of his Adept Lightsaber Hilt.

Tapped a finger onto his commlink communicator device a button for alerting other nearby Jedi and High Republic forces within the expedition teams here on Katabasis. Kas took the defensive Jedi ready stance and began to use an application of a hybrid style in using both Soresu and Shien combat forms. This style of Lightsaber Combat to apply aggressive counter defensive motions towards opposing threats.

The angry can be felt from the Undead creatures making their way to Kas, Kellan and Voli spawned from the possessed Kyric's commands. Kas began to engage some of the Undead creatures as he spun his Lightsaber blade calmly. The eye of the storm he was with the way he applied his combat style against the opponents.

Meanwhile, outside of the fortress, there Caden and Kharis, Kas' siblings had received the alert ping to their commlink devices; meant that there was trouble. The pair got into the Landspeeder the three of them share and use out of the J-1 shuttle. Entered the coordinates from Kas' comms to make their way off to the fortress.

Back within the fortress Kas had been cutting and slicing through the Undead creatures to get closer towards Kyric and do anything, everything possible to remove Set's spirit from the Jedi Knight's body and mind.

"Your claim will remain out of reach. The love you speak of it won't do others any good. You're telling me to flee. I cannot allow you and anyone, anything else to remain a threat to the Galaxy. It ends here." Kas said.

The Padawan Learner remained steadfast and stood the against that surrounded his fellow Jedi and himself while inside of the Black Spiral fortress. Continued to carve his way through all of the Undead creatures. Making his way through to reach Kyric as the Jedi Knight's body laid limp. After hearing a thunderclap.

At the entrance of the fortress the Landspeeder piloted by Caden and Kharis sat shotgun were coming in. Caden parked and stopped outside of the fortress next to Kas' speeder bike that they spotted to confirm this was where their brother was located. The duo equipped their Lightsaber hilts; Kharis wielded a Saberstaff with two blue beams and Caden a single bladed Lightsaber hilt with a green, emerald beam active.

Kas was able to feel and see his siblings make their way through the fortress corridor to reach him. Blue and green streaks cutting and slicing through the Undead creatures as the trio had then banded together to fend off the threats. Their familial bond was strong and it will be tested in this fortress but they stand united.

"Kas! What the heck's going on here?! The Dark-side is so strong in this place..." Caden called out to Kas as he was spinning his Lightsaber blade around to cut-down the incoming Undead creatures gaining on them.

Kharis stabbing and slashing through the Undead creatures that Set had summoned up from the grounds of the fortress that the group of Jedi were within. "These things are like a horde. Did someone trip a wire or something Kas?"

Kas had to bring out his second Lightsaber hilt and ignited the beam although there was no sound, the beam was hardly visible due to the crystal used inside of it. "There's some Spirit that's taken possession of Master Karis and he is injured. We need to clear out these creatures, secure Master Karis and help him remove the Spirit that's possessed him."

The trio continued to fend off the Undead creatures summoned by Set and were engaging the team of Jedi that was led by Kellan. Consisted of Kyric and Voli alongside Kas now Caden and Kharis were here to assist.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

She couldn’t speak, the words caught in her chest like shrapnel.

Lorn’s hand was still outstretched, fingers clenched tight, the Force crackling through his body like a live wire; it was too much, too fast, too far. His face was locked in that terrible mask of fury and desperation, and all around him the room trembled. Not from Veré. Not from whatever haunted them all. No this tremble came from him.

Around them the Vanguard; his Vanguard, stood with weapons lifted and hands that no longer obeyed. Bastila could see eyes that weren’t entirely their own and their bodies betrayed by the presence now twisting the air itself; Veré, still bound in place, her expression serene, pitying.

And yet.

Somewhere beneath the all the dread, all the darkness Bastila felt it. The single thread still holding everything together, impossibly thin, fraying by the second. All she had to do was reach out and stop it from breaking.

“You stand with me, or you stand aside.”

That was what he said, that is what he threw at her, raw and weaponized, full of rage.

She nearly flinched.

Not because she feared him; but instead because she knew that look. She knew that voice. She had seen it before. On other faces, in other ruins, when good people tried to hold back death with their bare hands and refused to understand why it broke them.

She had once thought Lorn different. He was their Sword, he was their pinnacle of Jedi prowess.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

By the Force though she still wanted to reach for him. Still wanted to believe she could say his name and make him look at her and realise that what he was doing was not him. But the moment passed, as it always did. He didn’t turn. He didn’t see her. Not really.

So instead, Bastila breathed.

It was the only thing she could do. One long inhale, and a silence filled her mind. Focusing down, allowing her to think even for just a moment. She had to do something…

She stepped forward.

Slow. Careful. Like walking into a storm she couldn’t stop, but would not let sweep her away.

“Lorn.” Her voice wasn’t loud. But it landed, clear and quiet, slicing through the tension like rain on scorched earth. He didn’t answer. He just pulled harder. She swallowed. The word was gentler than it should have been. She hated that.

Her gaze shifted, just briefly; to Veré. The creature wearing Ala’s face had not moved. Not physically. But she was waiting. Always waiting.

She felt the Force stirring again, this time around her now. Not wild like Lorn’s, not coiling like Veré’s. Just steady and for the first time today it was centered.

She closed her eyes, just enough for a breath. She felt them both, the past and the present, pulling at her like tides and then she made her choice.

The blue rings erupted from the blaster that was now in her hand, having been removed from the holster on her hip. They warped their way fast and true towards Ala…No, not Ala. If she could just get it down she could call the order, get them out of there. With Ala, without a potential death of a council member or worse; her.

“Lorn." The second shot of blue rings went straight towards him. "I'm so sorry."

Ala Quin Maiz Tor'val Lorn Reingard​

​

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

"You are both deaf and blind," Maiz breathed oath. "To make past present and future. Does this temple haunt your thoughts still?" The Elamshan Priestess did not expect any there to honestly reply. Whether it did or not made little difference. All was apparent that they were on a collision course. To what end Maiz could hardly guess, but how could it bode well?

The black skinned woman rose to her feet as Lorn bid her to pray to her goddesses. As though Maiz had not already beseech them for guidance and strength. There was only one left, and Saviss' ability to bring balance and to possess the long-suffering of fools was well in hand.

What could one woman do? Was this creature of ancient times right? Was Lorn justified? Maiz did not possess the wisdom of her Matron Queen in her long years. She was not taught the philosophies of these aliens, or aware of their vaulted histories. What the Priestess did know, however, was that while both parties could hear one another neither listened. In the end, one of them -- likely both -- were going to destroy the other.

Lips twisted as the sight of the guards as they advanced, with Lorn's intense stare, and Bastilla's calm anxiety, Maiz reached out to one of the crystals that circled her crown. Drawn down, Maiz flicked it toward the center of the group. "Elamsha be with us." An azure current trailed after the crystal as the young Priestess sought to call upon the magick of her people. Their world was covered in crystals that supplied every form of power Maiz's people could require. Their society was based on them. Worshiped them. Perhaps, in this place steeped in power, it could swallow in the many swells into itself to unbind they from a dark fate.

Ala Quin | Lorn Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren​