Moira Skaldi
Paperclip Maximiser
@[member="Maelion Liates"]
Ancient artefacts of untold power had fascinated generations over the millennia. Holovids dramatically depicted the power they had and the devastation they could cause if they fell into the wrong hands, showed dashing heroes armed with blasters and whips have riveting fights with villains on speeders, face off hordes of zombies and ancient guardians in ruins from a bygone age, which somehow always seemed to feature a lava pit, as if the ancient kings had somehow known in advance that one day their tombs would hit the movies.
Of course, reality was oftentimes more prosaic. The ruins of Sith Lords and Rakatan Kings had in most cases been raided several times over. In most cases the interested adventure tourist would be disappointed to find that there were not even traps left to convey him straight into the aforementioned lava pit. Just halls covered in dust, with cobwebs on the ceiling, ancient paintings and hieroglyphs on the walls, from which all colour had long faded, and a dusty, often already destroyed sarcophagus that did not even have house a Sith spirit just waiting for a new host. In other words, reality was terribly boring. However, ever so often it turned out that the legends in fact were true, that power did lie in ancient scrolls and artefacts. After all, the Dark Lord Velok had vaporised Osarian and Rhommamool by harnessing the power gained from raiding the Sith archives. Neither Moira nor Maelion were the excitable type. Indeed, they were quite incapable of being excited, for they did not feel or at least claimed not to at any rate. Nor were they inclined to believe in ancient legends and take holomovies literally. What animated them was relentless machine drive - to achieve power and profit as a means to bring about the Age of Steel.
Research had yielded the information that an 'anonymous buyer', one with whom they were well acquainted with, sought pieces of the Taurannik Codex. It was said to have been destroyed during the Muurshantre Exctinction more than one hundred thousand years ago. Cronal, a Sorcerer of Rhand, had reassembled the pieces of the Codex ages later, or so it was said, now they were lost once more. There were several leads to the Codex, some in the Gunningpa Gap, others in the Perann Nebula, the stronghold of the Sorcerers of Rhand, powerful darkside magi with a predeliction for chaos. Another had brought them to this delightful planet.
Space rippled as the cloaked Lightbringer, invisible to detection, a phantom, emerged from the depths of hyperspace, the Demon Moon of Dxun, a moon steeped in ancient and thus often bloody history, recognisable from the viewing port. Here almost five millennia ago the Mandalorian clans had come to conquer, the Republic had fought a great battle against them, the wreckage of which could still be seen. One might still find the burnt-out wreck of a basilisk war droid here, that of a Republic Gunship there, intermixed with the skeletal remains of soldiers from both sides, forgotten by all except dry historical tomes to be found in libraries, for organics were doomed to forget the mistakes of the past and repeat them time and again with some variation. Darth Bane had come many millennia later, ending up possessing a parasitical orbalisk armour. Coincidentally, by some twist of irony Maelion had fought on Onderon as a Republic agent, displaying the superiority of the machine by terminating darkside cultists and the duplicitous Queen so foolishly eager to reclaim ancient glory, saving the life of the Republic Supreme Commander, who sadly did not comprehend her greatness. The Republic had planted its standards upon the planet, but the cloaking device rendered the ship undetectable, enough for them to infiltrate the foreboding moon and vanish into the void before any red flags were raised. Moreover, officially it was peace time, the wars were over. So was what some called 'dominoing', the exact nature of which still remained elusive.
From space the moon looked like a green marble, for it was covered in lush forests, brilliant green and blue dominating as far as colours were concerned. The jungle covering the rough terrain might seem beautiful, but as with so many things this was deceiving, for some of the deadliest beasts and predators called this moon home, eager to tear anyone brave or foolish enough to tread upon its surface to shreds and fill their belly with the flesh. One could see flickers of what might be lightning and thunder, apparently a storm was raging, doubtless it would be raining in droves as well. To anyone connected to the mystical power of the Force the darkness radiating from the planet would have been palpable, they would have felt the pull of the enticing whispers of Sith spirits from ages past, promising greatness. The nexus of power was the monumental tomb of Freedon Nadd, final resting place for the remains of King Omnin and Queen Amanoa as well as their dark ancestor. Ages ago his spirit had been bound to this place, its corruption such that it could be felt.
Moira and Maelion were neither receptive to the Force nor organic, but had died and been forged anew as sophisticated killing machines fashioned in the form of striking young women, like some new age Pygmalion had decided to make the legend a reality. Except neither Metal Princess was content with being a Galatea. Enigmas wrapped in a conundrum wrapped in a paradox, emotion had been burnt out of them in the metaphorical fires of the forge as the processing device brought order to the chaos of an organic mind, yet they pursued a crusade to eradicate all sentient life with the single-minded zealotry that could only be matched by the most fanatical of organics. In the case of Moira this was particularly ironic, given that she had hailed from a cultist world still in the grip of the Dark Ages, but then the Machine God's Champion on Gehenna had claimed she was a child of Mechanus, and he had been a god to whom the Bando Gora's Machine Cult bent to.
These musings aside, the vessel of destiny sped towards the planet as Moira stood on the bridge, back ramrod straight with immaculate precision, hands clasped behind her back as those piercing blue eyes scanned the scarce but useful information they had been provided with. The lead had come in form of an old professor called Dareius of the University of Alderaan, though born on Onderon. A renowned authority on darkside artefacts, archaeology and Sithian eschatology, doubtless due to the darkness of his own homeworld. He had appeared on a holonet talk show, warning of the dangers posed by the proliferation of such devices, mystical terrorism it was called, in the light of the cataclysm that had vaporised Rhommamool and Osarian.
For in the dark places of the Galaxy there were doors best left unopened, revelations that could drive a lesser mind insane and gives those with the will malevolent power. Few had been inclined to listen, for the Sith Empire had collapsed like a sand castle before the tidal wave, the Jedi were gallantly chasing down the insurrectionists who had dared attacked Coruscant, they were unleashing the holy fire of purification upon the heathen Kraug hordes. So relaxed was the situation that a Jedi who had turned Sith could return to Coruscant and try to sue the Jedi Order, though he still professed his beliefs in the dark creed. Unfortunately for the professor, Moira and Maelion had taken notice and listened. Listened so much that they had abducted him. Harvesting his mind had been useful. Now the knowledge had brought them here.
Ancient artefacts of untold power had fascinated generations over the millennia. Holovids dramatically depicted the power they had and the devastation they could cause if they fell into the wrong hands, showed dashing heroes armed with blasters and whips have riveting fights with villains on speeders, face off hordes of zombies and ancient guardians in ruins from a bygone age, which somehow always seemed to feature a lava pit, as if the ancient kings had somehow known in advance that one day their tombs would hit the movies.
Of course, reality was oftentimes more prosaic. The ruins of Sith Lords and Rakatan Kings had in most cases been raided several times over. In most cases the interested adventure tourist would be disappointed to find that there were not even traps left to convey him straight into the aforementioned lava pit. Just halls covered in dust, with cobwebs on the ceiling, ancient paintings and hieroglyphs on the walls, from which all colour had long faded, and a dusty, often already destroyed sarcophagus that did not even have house a Sith spirit just waiting for a new host. In other words, reality was terribly boring. However, ever so often it turned out that the legends in fact were true, that power did lie in ancient scrolls and artefacts. After all, the Dark Lord Velok had vaporised Osarian and Rhommamool by harnessing the power gained from raiding the Sith archives. Neither Moira nor Maelion were the excitable type. Indeed, they were quite incapable of being excited, for they did not feel or at least claimed not to at any rate. Nor were they inclined to believe in ancient legends and take holomovies literally. What animated them was relentless machine drive - to achieve power and profit as a means to bring about the Age of Steel.
Research had yielded the information that an 'anonymous buyer', one with whom they were well acquainted with, sought pieces of the Taurannik Codex. It was said to have been destroyed during the Muurshantre Exctinction more than one hundred thousand years ago. Cronal, a Sorcerer of Rhand, had reassembled the pieces of the Codex ages later, or so it was said, now they were lost once more. There were several leads to the Codex, some in the Gunningpa Gap, others in the Perann Nebula, the stronghold of the Sorcerers of Rhand, powerful darkside magi with a predeliction for chaos. Another had brought them to this delightful planet.
Space rippled as the cloaked Lightbringer, invisible to detection, a phantom, emerged from the depths of hyperspace, the Demon Moon of Dxun, a moon steeped in ancient and thus often bloody history, recognisable from the viewing port. Here almost five millennia ago the Mandalorian clans had come to conquer, the Republic had fought a great battle against them, the wreckage of which could still be seen. One might still find the burnt-out wreck of a basilisk war droid here, that of a Republic Gunship there, intermixed with the skeletal remains of soldiers from both sides, forgotten by all except dry historical tomes to be found in libraries, for organics were doomed to forget the mistakes of the past and repeat them time and again with some variation. Darth Bane had come many millennia later, ending up possessing a parasitical orbalisk armour. Coincidentally, by some twist of irony Maelion had fought on Onderon as a Republic agent, displaying the superiority of the machine by terminating darkside cultists and the duplicitous Queen so foolishly eager to reclaim ancient glory, saving the life of the Republic Supreme Commander, who sadly did not comprehend her greatness. The Republic had planted its standards upon the planet, but the cloaking device rendered the ship undetectable, enough for them to infiltrate the foreboding moon and vanish into the void before any red flags were raised. Moreover, officially it was peace time, the wars were over. So was what some called 'dominoing', the exact nature of which still remained elusive.
From space the moon looked like a green marble, for it was covered in lush forests, brilliant green and blue dominating as far as colours were concerned. The jungle covering the rough terrain might seem beautiful, but as with so many things this was deceiving, for some of the deadliest beasts and predators called this moon home, eager to tear anyone brave or foolish enough to tread upon its surface to shreds and fill their belly with the flesh. One could see flickers of what might be lightning and thunder, apparently a storm was raging, doubtless it would be raining in droves as well. To anyone connected to the mystical power of the Force the darkness radiating from the planet would have been palpable, they would have felt the pull of the enticing whispers of Sith spirits from ages past, promising greatness. The nexus of power was the monumental tomb of Freedon Nadd, final resting place for the remains of King Omnin and Queen Amanoa as well as their dark ancestor. Ages ago his spirit had been bound to this place, its corruption such that it could be felt.
Moira and Maelion were neither receptive to the Force nor organic, but had died and been forged anew as sophisticated killing machines fashioned in the form of striking young women, like some new age Pygmalion had decided to make the legend a reality. Except neither Metal Princess was content with being a Galatea. Enigmas wrapped in a conundrum wrapped in a paradox, emotion had been burnt out of them in the metaphorical fires of the forge as the processing device brought order to the chaos of an organic mind, yet they pursued a crusade to eradicate all sentient life with the single-minded zealotry that could only be matched by the most fanatical of organics. In the case of Moira this was particularly ironic, given that she had hailed from a cultist world still in the grip of the Dark Ages, but then the Machine God's Champion on Gehenna had claimed she was a child of Mechanus, and he had been a god to whom the Bando Gora's Machine Cult bent to.
These musings aside, the vessel of destiny sped towards the planet as Moira stood on the bridge, back ramrod straight with immaculate precision, hands clasped behind her back as those piercing blue eyes scanned the scarce but useful information they had been provided with. The lead had come in form of an old professor called Dareius of the University of Alderaan, though born on Onderon. A renowned authority on darkside artefacts, archaeology and Sithian eschatology, doubtless due to the darkness of his own homeworld. He had appeared on a holonet talk show, warning of the dangers posed by the proliferation of such devices, mystical terrorism it was called, in the light of the cataclysm that had vaporised Rhommamool and Osarian.
For in the dark places of the Galaxy there were doors best left unopened, revelations that could drive a lesser mind insane and gives those with the will malevolent power. Few had been inclined to listen, for the Sith Empire had collapsed like a sand castle before the tidal wave, the Jedi were gallantly chasing down the insurrectionists who had dared attacked Coruscant, they were unleashing the holy fire of purification upon the heathen Kraug hordes. So relaxed was the situation that a Jedi who had turned Sith could return to Coruscant and try to sue the Jedi Order, though he still professed his beliefs in the dark creed. Unfortunately for the professor, Moira and Maelion had taken notice and listened. Listened so much that they had abducted him. Harvesting his mind had been useful. Now the knowledge had brought them here.
