Log:Knights of Ren: Lone Survivor of Exegol

Knights of Ren: Lone Survivor of Exegol

OOC Date: Sunday, July 18, 2021
Location: Exegol
Participants: Knights of Ren, Xavier Harcourt, Tamsin Cas, Sebek

Exegol. Hidden planet. Historic site that marked the beginning and end of an era. A place of resurrection. A potential seat of power. The epicenter of arrogance and determination. The galaxy is lousy for them, really.

The Sith Citadel is nearly two years destroyed; a hollow husk of what it once had been. What it could have been. The inverted pyramid, damaged by a surge of power, is now slowly succumbing to the harsh elements. Forgotten. Discarded. Hostile.

Within the carcass of Sith ambition are toppled walls and broken statues. Rubble and debris make for a labyrinth of narrow passageways and dead ends. Yet any number of artifacts and historical tokens could have survived in the levels below ground though with the collapse of the upper levels, it would take more excavation rather than exploration to locate them.

Only the insane would roam here.

Tamsin Cas was not, as one would normally judge things, insane. She left that to, potentially, other members of the Knights of Ren. But what she was, was determined to root out each and every artifact of value that would be gleaned from the ruins of the Sith and those who had claimed to follow those old and outdated ways.

To that end, Tamsin had spread the Knights' net wide, paying for every hint of knowledge and information on where such artifacts could be located. One such missive had directed her to this blasted world. Word of scavengers who had been attempting to strip the world of useful technology. technology which, from what little could be gleaned, was not so dissimilar to the technology which had laid hidden beneath that old, abandoned estate on Muunilinst.

The good doctor did not believe in coincidence. She believed in a measured approach to destruction. And so, the Night Buzzard had set out from its dock at Spearhead, braving the spaceways as it journeyed into the Unknown Regions to a place that was, for many, still very much unknown. But, perhaps, not for long.

Sebek of the Desert, Flagbearer of Coret, Conqueror of the Sixteenth Deck, Consumer of Hounds, Wielder of Tei Tenga, He Who Hunts, on the other hand, was /quite/ mad. In fact, in the recent months, he had been anywhere from stewing in his chambers to abruptly gone to suddenly returned to fraying at the edges to the pinnacle of calm. Recent-ish events had done a number on the Lost Falleen.

Showing a surprising amount of finesse for a man who specialized in extreme force, Sebek piloted the !! NIGHT BUZZARD !! using only his fingertips, with one leg folded over the other. "Behold, the gravesite of the failure," he did thus declare, his voice oozing richly in that thick accent of his. The ship slipped into the atmosphere like a brick in a tornado, being buffetted by the Eternal storm encompassing the slowly dying planet. "Sith. Pah," he mused, "victims of theology and arrogance. It is but no surprise that they die so fast, being fat of mind and soul."

Who was he even talking to? He wasn't paying attention to anything but the flight.

"Behold," he stated, spying a flat place marked only by the decayed corpse of a very tall Resistance soldier. The landing gear GROANED as the ship came down to rest upon the corpse, crushing it and the snapped pieces of a large-bore rifle into fine powder. "We have arrived upon the tomb of the filthy."

Exegol is mostly desert wasteland; as all the notable but ultimately worthless planets usually are. Rocky and vast, it is ravaged by a near-constant stormy climate that puts Nar Shaddaa to shame if only for the fact that it lacks a half decent noodle shop. Scavengers -- those who gained knowledge of Exegol and managed to travel there in one piece -- have picked at the corpse of abandoned warehouses and tattered encampments.

But the crown jewel of this hellhole is the Sith Citadel itself. The ground around it permanently marred by the blast of power that expanded outwards, it is jagged and rugged; littered with corpses bloated and bleached. One of which is crushed under the several ton weight of the Night Buzzard.

The Citadel itself speaks to them; its voice a howl of wind that blows through the gaping holes and numerous passages within. Dark and useless. Yet what few reports that make it out to the fringes speak of parties venturing in and few coming out. They speak of a phantom, a ghost, a breathing shadow in the darkness that picks off the unfortunate bastards that venture inside and haunt those who make it out.

Surely stories to excuse past failures.

"Behold." Tamsin's measured tones, as she stood behind Sebek's pilot's chair, a hand settled on the back of the seat, held neither derision or awe. Whatever the Knight felt for the world, it was neither reverence for those who once build their dark dreams here, or awe at the remains of a world battling every step of the way towards its destruction. "They may have died quickly, but there are still too many willing to take up where they have left off." And that was not to be borne. "Thank you, Sebek." There were many things for which Tamsin might have thanked the Mad Falleen, for he, of all of the Knights, had been her most dedicated tutor. But, for now, she was glad to have been granted safe passage through the storm.

Tamsin, of course, could not see the remains, oh, excuse me, the former remains of that lost Resistance soldier, but, what Tamsin did see, as she waited for the ram to lower and stepped out onto the surface, not far from the temple, was a dead world. But, if accounts were true, not dead enough. "I do not have confirmation that it is Nightfall that has been operating on the planet, but, whomever it is, we will find out soon enough. And if we can destroy one branch, eventually, it will lead us to the root." Ghost stories Tamsin put nos tock in. The dark was full of them. The Knights had vanquished their fair share.

"Oft an eon passes wherein one fights a shadow, and yet the murder of a specter occurs with glorious regularity amongst us," waxed the Falleen poetical, pulling his snarling-faced beast helmet on over his topknot, the flared kabuto (there is no Star Wars word for this and Vader had one, so) blending in with the shadows of his armoured battle cassock. In his hand was a long baton weapon, held in some sort of reverse grip as the mace-head pommel was pointed backwards. Let's all ignore the emitter-like thing at the other end.

"Come then, She Who Rages." His voice was flanged, metallic. "Let us remind the false inheritors of the folly in crossing us." Sebek of the Desert, Gang Leader wasted no time stalking down the ramp, possessed of the fervour of one who literally deemed themselves invulnerable. "And bring about their promised end."

The reports of the Sith Citadel were sparse and scattered but consistent. A place where one of the most notorious of the Sith Lords was not only reborn but forged ahead his plans to remain undying. Experiments spanning decades. Dabbling in genetic manipulation of the Force. Clone research. Immortality. It all came to a head with a clash of monumental proportions and, indeed, behold: the fruits of their labour.

A temple to failure.

Within those howling halls: more corpses. More destruction. The remnants of a battle that was supposed to be the final chapter but only began the next story. The main hallway remains mostly in tact with several doors ways and gaping holes providing any number of offshoots. And as one ventures from the grey light of a story day into the shadows of the Citadel, it goes colder. The bodies become fresher. More recent. A few months, perhaps. Few and far between but unmistakably newer than those that fell two years ago.

This place is dead... but not dead enough.

Somewhere in the recesses of the construct, a body is propped up against a damp wall. Head bowed, bearded chin resting on its chest. Asleep? Dead?

Voices carry on the wind from outside. Remaining otherwise motionless, dark brown eyes open.

As Tamsin made her way into the temple, her head turned this way and that, stopping at this corpse here, and that corpse there, a hilt taken in each hand. One, she ignited, its soft, pure white light offering them some additional illumination as she and Sebek moved through the halls, some more illuminated by broken architecture than others. "I am afraid I did not bring supplies with me, Sebek. Perhaps," Tamsin knew the Falleen well, "If these are still new enough, they might appease you." One did not wish to see the Mad Falleen searching a ruin on an empty stomach.

They entered into one of the former internment areas, and Tamsin walked towards a pair of pods, which had long ago been broken open, "These are reminiscent of those we found before. But the technology appears much newer." She walked a slow circle around them, "They do not appear to have been under power for some time. And I see signs of scavengers at work."

"A thoughtful gesture, She Who Rages," mused the Falleen through his snarling helm, his topknot (sticking out the top) being caught by stray wisps of wind with no discernable source, "but this place carries the taint of alchemy and failure. I would be ill."

Failing to note just how recent some of the bodies were, Sebek joined She Who Rages at regarding the shattered pods. From within the mask was the sound of a deep nasal inhale, scoping out just how /wrong/ the beings inside were. "Of places to scavenge, this is far from apt. A call to our assets, destroy this foul gravesite. Such things beyond ken must not exist. Scavengers, sorcerers, specters, all must fall under holy fire."

The room they enter has been picked clean. The technology left behind only mostly buttons and wires. Anything not stripped to the bone is far too broken to be useful for sale, but for information gathering it may provide at least some boons.

There are empty cells where prisoners were held. Other cells still house theirs but any risk of escape has long since been nullified. Along the back wall is a line of large tanks, most of which are broken and the remains of whatever was inside now nothing more than stains on the floor. There are only two still intact. Within one, the life support system has failed and whatever was inside has now putrefied into one cohesive brown gel that is ever-so-slowly leaking past dried, molded gaskets.

The other pod is in tact but completely empty.

Meanwhile, in one of the nearby offshoots, the figure slowly extends his right hand and fingers curl around the metal cylinder of a spear. Voices. Voices, voices. Basic. The head lifts up and tilts towards the direction the sound is coming from, triangulating it towards the laboratory.

He moves fluidly, the only sound a soft flutter of robes barely audible amongst the winds.

"I am almost tempted," Tamsin admitted, as she walked from room to room, cell to cell, "To attempt to revive some of this old science. Who knows what could be made of it, with the proper application of intelligence." Rather than the ambition which had doomed it all to failure. "I have never been here before, Sebek, have you?" If Sebek might know secrets she did not, Tamsin was not above asking him.

As they moved out of the cells, and back towards another room filled with tanks, Tamsin inspected one, filled with the remains of something that once was, and then approached one which appeared almost entirely intact, "This one might be worth some salvage, before we destroy what remains."

The Force screamed.

"No, and I shall never return," declared Sebek, picking up the sound and the scent of prey. His head jerked up, to the side, until he was looking directly at the wall where he'd heard the noise. "Prepare, She Who Rages," he instructed, hefting the baton in his hand to remind himself that the extension of his arm was ever present. "We stand not alone here."

Knowing these halls all too well, the figure makes his way around piles of debris and through arches of rubble; a familiar path that puts him closer to the laboratory but unable to see in. Not yet willing to risk himself being seen.

Two voices. Two intruders unless the others were silent both in voice and movement. Unlikely. Two. He could handle two.

"Who sent you?"

The words come out as a long, drawn-out hiss: rasped and breathy as if to be carried not by vocal chords but on the air itself. Bouncing against the walls and piles, it sounds like it is coming from all sides. Pinpointing its origin could be difficult but not impossible. [Language: Sith]

Tamsin had learned, long ago, that ignoring Sebek's warning was a road that lead only to pain and suffering. When an Apex predator warned you to be on your guard, you had best listen to what he was telling you. Tamsin did not drop the white blade she carried, as she stopped her forward movement, but she readied the second, finger poised on the hilt, "It would seem that we are not alone." Though Tamsin could not understand the words, she judged that the sound had come from a living throat. And if she could not pinpoint the location of source of the sound, she could still fall into step with Sebek, the better to work in tandem with him should the source prove a danger to them.

Sebek the Lost grasped the Force by its metaphorical neck and demanded answers, to which the Force, a fickle and catty beast, merely laughed in his face. This was enough to set the figurative hairs on the nonexistent ears of the Falleen to prickle, and for him to shift into maximum overdrive.

snap-hisssss

Behold Tei Tenga! Behold the ruby blade of destruction! Behold the reaper of Ren! The baton-like weapon, hilt about the length of a saberstaff but asymmetric in design, was whirled into a ready position with the blade held out and upwards in Sebek's typical wider grip. "Show yourself, beast of the tomb! Bring forth your fury so that I may show you your impotence!"

He heard it first. That snaphiss of the blade that made his own fingers twitch and the reflection of red light now streaming out from the laboratory and hitting the damp, humid air in beams. That sinful hum that brought his blood to a boil.

A deep, throaty laugh took the same path to their ears; echoing in the dead chambers and rustling the dust.

"Sith. So finally, you've come. Lord Arxius has sent his vermin to clean up his mess? You will die with the rest of them."

It is a hate-filled voice speaking in an ancient tongue but amongst the words can be heard the name 'Arxius.' A flutter of robes and he is on the move again, rolling on his shoulder and darting across the open doorway of the laboratory in a flash of black.

The lab itself is full of holes from all sides. Should this new figure slip past their defenses, there is no doubt by the sound of his foreign words that he means them harm. [Language: Sith]

The sound of more words brought a thoughtful look to Tamsin's normally placid expression. "Are we supposed to be afraid of words, Sebek?" Perhaps so, but, words which could not be understood tended not to raise fear in most. Only a vague consternation. Ah well, the source, Tam judged, as she could feel it rippling along that place where what was her and what was not her met, told her they would find out soon enough. And while Tamsin did not drop the white blade, it's twin, after a fashion, joined it, the red casting its glow across her face, fighting with the pure white, which...seemed to encompass everything in that silent clash of light that was the young Knight.

And then the figure revealed itself, a deadly spear swinging in time with its movements as it charged out of one of the hollows that dotted the walls. But the young Knight was not without her defenses, and though her saber remained at ready, a blast of unseen force exploded out of her, aimed to upend the figure and push them back from where she and Sebek were standing. "We are not alone." [Language: Basic]

He Who Hunts and She Who Rages had fought like this for a long, long time now.

The Falleen was fast. When the telekinetic blast went off, Sebek charged forward to follow the wave. His free hand darted out towards the neck of the slippery fighter, caught only by literal taloned fingernails (black as sin) that sank into fabrics of robe and were pulled into a clenched fist. With a solid pull and a step forward, the pair were now uncomfortably face-to-mask.

"The babbling loon deems itself threatening!" The laughter that spilled from the mouth of Sebek the Lost was not in any way pleasant at all, and should only be used when frightening children. Definitely not when well within the personal space of a potential attacker. Then it abruptly stopped as Tei Tenga whirled, the red blade hovering dangerously in that area between neck and shoulder. "Delve his thoughts, She Who Rages. Tell me what occurs behind this shameful visage."

All he needs is one good strike to knock the first one down. A spear to the throat would put an end to her then he can focus on the bigger one. The one he believes is a User. Though anyone who attains a saber can use one, he is not taking chances.

It is a slight miscalculation, however, to not assume the other could potentially be one, as well. A quick dodge from the female is not a surprise, but the blast of unseen force barrelling into him merits a flash of wide brown eyes before he is sent flying across the room.

Xavier's back hits the far wall, the air knocked out of him with an audible snap of some vertebrae. Crumbling to floor, he scurries to his feet dazed, looking up just as the Faleen is on top of him. He dukes to the side and nearly escapes, but finds his robes caught and his entire body pulled in until he is glaring down the mask in front of him through strands of long, greasy black hair.

Spear still in hand, Xavier spins it between his fingers and attempts to knock the saber from Sebek's hand. This goes about as well as expected.

Tamsin showed no surprise as Sebek darted forward, catching the creature, man, was it a man? Who had attempted to attack her. In many ways, she and the Falleen could not have been more different, but they had learned, long ago, now to fight together, each adding strength to strength and supporting each other. "His mind is clouded, whether from his time here or his rage at being uncovered. I cannot read what is within. Perhaps you might soften him up a bit." Ah Tamsin, such a reasonable and logical sort. "It might make discovering who he is and what use he might be to us easier." See? Reasonable.

The fun thing about being within kissing distance is that a ranged weapon like a spear has no power here. It took nothing but an elbow to stop the weapon from spinning wildly in potentially threatening ways. "Very well," was his answer, oozing and accented and possibly even bored. The decision to acquesciese to She Who Rages was not one done willy-nilly, nor would it be one granted to another.

With zero ceremony and lightning speed, Sebek let go with his grappling hand and slapped the madman clear across the face. "You will obey when your betters make requests of you," he warned, poking the man now in the chest with that same sharp fingernail and not once moving the red blade of Tei Tenga from that /very/ dangerous shoulder-neck zone. Even if he did have it in a reverse grip and was resting the pommel on his shoulder. "Open your soul, and it will be," the pause here was dramatic in nature, "less unpleasant for you."

Xavier feels the tendrils in his mind probing within the depths like spider legs plucking at his consciousness. With a feral growl he shuts his eyes tightly, fighting off her attempts.

"No... out...."

The voice is the same; tense and raged but the hissing language slipping into the Basic being spoken around him; cracked and heavily accented as if he hadn't spoken it for a long time.

He shoves Tamsin out from his mind but loses his spear in the process; the metal weapon clattering to the ground in an echo of metal in the large chamber. Staring down a losing battle, the man does not relent.

His arm snaps out towards Tamsin; palm outwards in a motion driven purely by muscle memory. An eerily familiar gesture behind which the man is concentrating. Trying... trying to concentrate...

Anger quickly turns into pain and he screams out, both hands coming to his head to grasp it desperately. But at least he's stopped attacking.

Tamsin, who stood her ground, the white and red held at the ready, titled her head as she saw that gesture, but, felt neither the ripple of force, nor the response from the energy that propelled it. "Curious." Trusting Sebek to keep the man, yes, it was a man, she was sure of that now, at bay, she turned her attention to Sebek. "It may be worthwhile to interrogate him in an area we can control." That said, she looked back to the figure held suspended in Sebek's claws.

It was a subtle thing, the feeling of tension around the robed man's throat, the tightening of airways that sought to stave oxygen from his lungs, and, perhaps, render him more compliant.

"Hm."

What was it He Who Leads had esposed? That the Knights of Ren held a duty of care over those unbound. It was as Sebek's head turned to watch the outwards palm that this lesson, perhaps ill remembered, came to the fore. "A whelp. A fledgeling. A madman. But not without potential." The Falleen unceremoniously let go of the ragged fellow, letting him collapse to the ground so that he might enjoy his inability to breathe in solitude. "A rare occurrence, truly, to be proven wrong, rarer still to be elated by it. But we comported ourselves true by not merely destroying this planet from orbit."

The blood-red blade complained angrily as Tei Tenga disengaged, the weapon returning to a holster on the warrior's thigh. Then the Falleen, once more the picture of serenity and peace, folded his arms behind him. "You were instructed to relent, He Who Resists," behold! "and now you suffer the result of your foolishness. Open your mind." The next words were a combination of growling and hissing, that despite Sebek's body language, he was losing his patience.

"Let us in."

Nothing answers his commands. The silence of his mind he fights for suddenly filled with discodance. It happens every time. Why.... why?! The screams.... the white-hot flashes of pain and torment that shattered any attempt to concentrate. To reach out. To find any sort of line back again. They took it, they took it---

Brown eyes flash dangerous. "Every... last one of you...." he bites out in defiance to them both before his voice is taken from him.

Dropped to the floor, Xavier writhes against the invisible hand choking the life out of him. Grasping his throat futilely, his jaw falls slack but nothing comes out except the smallest, slightest whimpers of a trachea collapsing.

There is a crack in his psyche. A break in his mental defenses as he fights on the disgusting laboratory floor. Then brief glimpses are projected to those seeking it.

Walls of fire and a black robe against them. A red saber in hand. Fire in his palms. A circle of dark figures. A vat. Floating... floating... And an immeasurable amount of pain. Of torture. Needles and scalpels. Sedation and silent screams. Then... darkness.

He's starting to fade.

Tamsin, who had learned the fine art of manipulation at the feet of the echo of Vader who had helped her to perfect her skill, understood when the time came to release the figure from that unseen grip. Perhaps it was something in Sebek's words that reminded her of the charge that had been given to them by Malik Ren. To destroy what must be destroyed, but, to save what could be saved, if it might be put to good use. "We are not who you think we are," Tamsin replied, as she felt those image flood into her. "But neither are you." She turned to Sebek. "He was a prisoner here, a test subject. Perhaps he was like us once, or he may be again. But, he is no danger to us, now, even in his madness." Looking back towards Sebek, she tipped her head in the figure's direction, "Will you help me secure him? I have had enough of this place. And I think...so has he."

Sebek was listening, promise, but he was kneeling down and looking into the tormented eyes of the man suffering unknowable pain. 'Unknowable' as the Falleen didn't have a direct USB connection to it in the same way She Who Rages did. He Who Resists had finally stopped. "I shall address his return to our vessel," confirmed the Falleen, turning his head to She Who Rages (heads shouldn't be able to turn that far) then back to the madman.

"Sleep," he instructed, and then the back of his glove cracked across the man's temple, knocking him cold. Then with barely any effort, Sebek threw him over his shoulder and straightened up. "Let us depart this wretched place, and /then/ destroy it from orbit." Priorities.

The hand releases and Xavier takes in a sharp, tight breath as the darkness that had been closing in around his peripheral vision pulled away. The formidable figure looming over him comes into focus first, then Tamsin's words filtering in. What are they saying? His lungs burning and his head throbbing, there is a brief moment of lucidity to Xavier's eyes before a hand meets his temple and darkness takes over.

The second pod, empty, along the back wall is inoperable; the control panel fried and the liquid drained. Unlike the specimen that never escaped and became part of its liquid tomb, whoever was in here had the fortune -- or misfortune -- of being released instead of left to rot. Below the hollow vat is a single name engraved on the green copper plating.

'Xavier Harcourt'

The two Knights of Ren return to their ship a little richer in knowledge and burdened with an unconscious captive. It may be difficult to tell if it is a mission success just yet. Thus is the nature Exegol. The tomb of galactic failures.