The Prince of Purgatory

[Aiwaz Khath]

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Scorching white rested upon an ancient rock, stone tendrils reaching up to flank its every side as if desperate claws of salvation and servitude, inflicting dark shadows that ripped through the light. This was the Lonely Five mountainscape, a hard and bitter land, twisted and tough from centuries of unchangeable solitude, yet home to one of the jewels of Twi'lek society. The city thrummed within its mighty rock cocoon, harbouring within its earthen shell a labyrinth of urban escape. Neon-drenched industry, smogged homes and cluttered diaspora marked the identity of modern Kala'uun. It was the perfect place to disappear. It was the perfect place to find that which was often hidden. The city's lower districts were far grimmer than those above, which already left much to be desired. Its floors hummed and rattled to the rhythm of the metropolis' deific power source that sat unmovable in the heart-centre of the stoneward fortress. It was here, in the deeper recesses of this stone and metal monolith, where a shadow half alive sought refuge and salvation from a twisting dark.

"It could be done," mused a unkempt, middle-aged man in a grubby overcoat, who was prodding at the insides of a fresh scalp that sat on his desk with a scalpel. "Perhaps. But it is a very risky procedure. I don't even fully know the extent of your condition."
"Nor I," grumbled the other man with a grimace, who was leaning against the wall closest to his host, sharp eyes scanning his surroundings. They both stood in a cramped office space stuffed with odd trinkets, tools and collectibles, that seemed to belong more to a kleptomania than any man of medicine. "I shouldn't be here," admitted the guest with a chill, as voices that were not his own rushed his mind to object to such a statement. He closed his eyes and twisted his neck as he struggled to silence the familiar conflict. "Surely you have some... procedures of some kind."
"It's experimental," retorted the wayward doctor in an instant without looking away from his scalp.
"I don't care. At this point, I will try anything, and you are the best in this field."
"'Clinical necromancy'. What does that term mean to you?" His grey eyes slinked upward towards his undead acquaintance.
"You can bring people back to life." At that, the doctor snorted.
"Perhaps, for a time, occasionally. But what you're asking of me is something completely different. I'm not even sure what you are." His eyes narrowed as he examined him closely. "I've dealt with undead before, but there's something else about you. I'm not sure what."
"So you can't help me?" The doctor coughed and returned his gaze back down to his scalp.
"I'll think about it. Come back in a month, maybe."
"I don't think I can afford a month," admitted the man.
"If you can afford me, you can afford a month. Good day," he concluded with a 'shooing' motion with his hand.

Outside the office block, the lost spirit felt a rush of emotion and memory flood him to blindness. Disjointed symbols, black blood and an eternal cold consumed him, and screams that were not of this world rattled his skull. He was unsure how long he was on his knees, but night had already fallen by the time he had gained the strength of stability once more. He was running out of time.


[member="Darth Tacitus"]

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

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Equipment: Wither | The Triad | The Shrouded Blade​

Attn: [member="Auron Song"]​

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• Ryloth
  Confederacy of Independent Systems

Space above the world heaved and buckled as if straining under a great weight. It stretched and stretched, until it finally passed beyond breaking point and a rift tore itself open in the fabric of reality as the battlecruiser emerged from hyperspace. Its matte-black hull reflected little light and as its Stealth systems engaged, it completely disappeared from all sensors, separated from the outside universe by the Stygium field that surrounded it. Blinded from the outside galaxy, it continued along the predetermined path and then it came to a halt.

Even though it was in friendly space, Nocturnal-class battlecruisers were still a highly classified vessel and Ryloth was a fairly populated world. Procedure dictated that the ship was to operate with maximum secrecy, no matter where it went.

This particular one belonged to Sword Armada and as such, it was under the command of the Eternal Emperor of Nelvaan, who had personally brought it to Ryloth in order to investigate a tip received from one of the local doctors, who had been on the Empire's payroll for years and was supposed to report anything unusual.

A group of four Styx-class dropships emerged from the battlecruiser's hangar and made their way down to the planet in standard formation, piercing the atmosphere at a sharp angle which allowed them to slow down rapidly, but also caused them to leave red streaks across the sky.

Ten Wolfguards emerged from the lead shuttle, along with their leader and four white-robed figures, Wardens of the Shroud, members of a mysterious secret society of Force wielders that operated within the Eternal Empire, although their role and exact function was unknown. The group swiftly made its way to the doctor's office and debriefed him in regards to the situation. A message was then sent to the mysterious patient, stating that an interested third party which could help, had been found and that he should return to the clinic as soon as possible.

 

[Aiwaz Khath]

Stumbling along his way, the afflicted one did all that he could to maintain some kind of public stability. For a time, he had managed to keep up appearances, holding himself together with fiery zealousness. But such was an illusion of the temporary, for as time went on he could see his weakness for its deeper meaning, and with it came a mountain of confusion. How did this all come to be? he questioned himself repeatedly. All he had were flashes of memory; a young man, a burning forest, a collapsing home... and after that, a black figure, a great fortress, and the sense of terrible sin against a planet.

Night fell entirely upon the fumed city, and for a time he had managed to settle and rest against a narrow stairwell that hid between a string of abandoned shops and homes. It was not completely dark, for the lights of streets of the city's upper layers leaked down, yet the thick blanket of smoke and smog in the immediate area made it murkier than most streets, and he used that to cover himself with the security of isolation. At least for an hour or so he'd be able to rest...

At least, he had hoped for such, but no such luck had arrived. Instead, the incessant shrieking of a siren pulled him from a near-death slumber, and when his eyes finally found their focus again, he was greeted by some kind of small probe droid that floated beside him at head height. Its one huge eyes stared expectedly at him.
"What?" the man grumbled finally, breaking the awkward silence. It spoke back in harsh, mechanical tones, which always seemed to emphasise to wrong words in each sentence.
"You-are-requested-to-return-to-the-office-of-Doctor-Guilin."
"Why should I do that? I just came from there."
"There-awaits-one-who-is-interested-in-your-case-who-wishes-to-help."
As annoying as the machine was, its words sparked immediate interest in the man.
"Help? Who?" The machine merely repeated exactly what it had just said.
"You-are-requested-to-return-to-the-office-of-Doctor-Guilin. There-awaits-"
"Alright, I suppose I ought to find out for myself, then."

It didn't take long for him to retrace his steps, even in the dark, and as the office block came back into view, he could notice a considerably heavier presence of something around it than before.

[member="Darth Tacitus"]