Through the Blood

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

Chapter I​

Part I: Through the Blood​

Primeday 13:48; Athiss, Loro Babis System, Esstran Sector, Outer Rim​

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The pair stood upon the brink of the slope; a tomb to the decedent, resting upon the horizon. A path lined the descent, carved from the arising stone, blanketed by carpet moss and sprouting weeds, which blossomed from their aged cracks - split by the last winter's ice. It was treacherous, long since tread upon hitherto by the feet of men - those who sought to complete this rite. Long had it been since Lord Pruina had taken apprentices and long had it been since any had been tasked with the walking of such a path - a trial of grasses. In the distance, through the clay-colored, red terrain and pockets of sparse trees, lay the Sepulcher of the Dead Sun; its name's reasoning lost upon them - it was a hallmark to a time far beyond their own, a cryptic reality which Pruina held deeply concealed. They made no attempts to discern this, and only departed upon request; their goal: to enter the tomb and retrieve Pruina's holocron. It was their first trial together, and one of utmost importance; the powerful secrets allegedly concealed within would undoubtedly provide a tremendous boon to the Order of the Dead Sun.

The Talatheen Amalgam, the cybernetic fiend cloaked in dark swathes of black shrouds, stood foremost of the pair, along the edge of the badlands outcrop; his arms folded over his breast and his breath heavy. From his belt hung a blade, sheathed in a dark scabbard; the whistling wind that knocked and wove throughout their ascended vantage point knocked against this weapon, causing it to click against his concealed, armored shin. Behind him, his brother in arms, fellow apprentice to the ancient Dark Lord of the Sith: Aphos, an abyssin, cloaked in much lighter clothes of conventionality: he wore a leather jacket over plain attire - at his waist a blaster pistol, stored away within its holster of faintly-cracked nerfhide leather. His cyclopean gaze, through the shade of a brow-mounted visor's brim, eyed his ally with concern - and with his hidden musings, he voiced such worry in a booming voice riddled with a vibrant bass: "Talat'een, is eve'ah't'ing alright?"

He was freshly tutored in the common tongue, and it showed through his pronunciation which gave him a rudimentary accent - one that always brought a smile to Talatheen's lips, though it was always hidden. "Yes- Indeed, yes; Aphos, I can already see the Sepulcher in the distance - I can sense its power. It's waiting for us- both of us; I find it accepting, though we must satiate it. Please, don't hold me down-"

"Hold you down? Who you t'ink you be talking to?"

"Sorry- sorry! I misspoke, I meant no disrespect for I also fear for my capability."

The green-skinned alien smiled, patting his fellow apprentice on the back with a sharp clap, then began down the path - directing their descent along the ragged, badland cliff face. "I understand, I only meant to joke," he said in that familiar, awkward fashion - his tone perplexingly light, juxtaposed to his deep voice. This eased Talatheen's discomfort, and with the relaxing ease, visible in slacking shoulders and falling hands (which found themselves loose about his waist), he turned and followed suit down the steep, earthen stairway. "The Sepulcher of the Dead Sun," he began; "Do you know much about it? At that, do you know much about the Order? I was brought in at a young age, our training mainly fixated on Galactic knowledge and combat; I know little of the organization, embarrassingly enough."

"Not at all, bot'ah. I was taken' in at such a young age, mu'h like you, 'ememb'ah?"

"I know, I know, I know... I was hoping that you had happened to pick up on something I had missed, though."

"A'faid not."

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

A maw, opening wide, hungrily to the catacombs below: the Sepulcher of the Dead Sun, wrought in dark stone, long since weathered, penetrated the terrain and rose to the sky as a opaque obelisk, cast against the bleak terrain. The pair approached, side-by-side, in brotherly abandon; Talatheen drawing his blade, anticipating the trials to come - Aphos watching with unkempt patience. There was a tactile darkness here, palpable against the whispering wind which nipped at their exposed flesh and tugged at the edges of their attire; their eyes fixated upon the peak of the monolith. Nothing lived here, that much could be sensed; some dark ward permeated this corner of the world, and all who sought longevity and health avoided it so; it was a foul, unholy place, and even in the depths of their depravity, neither apprentice volunteered to venture forth first, and instead waited, near the breadth of the climb, which lead into the gaping hole which served as its entrance.

Then Talatheen stepped forward, tip of blade dipping against the edges of the steps, dragging as he ascended; it dulled the blade, and screeched against the stone - drawing a one-eyed flinch from his friend, but it was ceremonious, and was entirely undisturbed. As he climbed, a long scar against the stairwell remained; a mark, a symbol to his own constitution - and, enthralled, his partnered followed suit in a far more bombastic manner: he pursued him and removed his blaster, shooting off a bolt towards his feet, sparking against the steps once he had completed his climb, earning a flinch from the Amalgam. "What the hell, Aphos?" he queried, shoulders hunched as his gaze, hidden beneath the fetters of his mask, gazed with a rather unsettling, mechanical intensity. "So'y," spoke the abyssin in mock shame, "I was just so inspi'ed by yah subdued sense of wa'monge'ing i'ah - what do you hope to accomplis' wit' it? Yah got ta use that head o' yah's mo'e."

"It solidifies my restitution; it is the embodiment of my emotion. Peace is a lie-"

"-the'ah is only passen," completes his fellow acolyte.

"Through passion I gain strength."

"T'rough strengt' I gain powah."

"Through power I gain victory."

"T'rough victo'y my hains ah b'oken."

And together: "The Force shall free me." - "Ta' Fo'ce s'all f'ee me."

And with that code recited, they departed into the dark, weapons drawn in preparation to the horrors that lay within. Pruina had laid this holocron to rest, long before their time within this Galaxy had begun, and had been intended to remain there long after their time had then ended; it was to be lost, to be forgotten - and now that she, in her infinite fickleness, had decreed her want for this artifact, she chose to use it as an opportunity to test their strength... their worthiness. She told them not what traps lay in wait, nor the realities of what they would experience; she only swore a single phrase, dry on her throat: Only one would return.