Log:Sith: Part of The Solution

The Sith investigate a ripple in the force

OOC Date: March 14, 2023 (Optional)
Location: Corellia
Participants: Aryn Cortess, Ban Iskender, Tamsin Cas, Xavier Harcourt Yusanis, Raskta, Merulia and Reverberate as GM

The second quadrant of Coronet, also called The Working Class Zone, bustling, dirty. Pollution can be smelled on the air and the grinding of heavy machinery behind factory walls is ever present. A sort of melancholy is strong here, the doldrums of working in the production zones grinding down many who find there is no way out of this life, without incurring a severe hardship. The risk of destitution. Of dying without a decicred, starving in a back alley.

A single, pure, bright spark of hope can be felt by locals in this drab section of the city. Not because of any special quality of leadership, or prophetic means... But because the young one who possesses it is irrepressibly good. The boy, maybe eight, is known in the district as the child of a line-worker in a parts factory. A child who has picked up work with a 'rations cart' that moves through the area selling cheap dehydrated dinners. Handed off with a kind word from a child that seems to invigorate the recipient.

Too many coincidences for it to remain ignored and if this child is so strong in the force and still so young as to be properly molded, the Sith must acquire him, or confirm if it is only rumor and nothing more.

Looking upon destitution and experiencing were arguably two separate things. Aryn could relate to the destitution from a stand point of seeing it, smelling it, and some how finding comfort in the view of freshly rained streets and melancholy that haunted this very setting. "The air well reminds me of Delaya, though I can scarcely recall why." Aryn regales aloud as she looks down one way, then turns to observe another. "The air is thick with suffering.. oppressive, sticky, and putrid.."

As with many things in this line of work, some things never go out of fashion. Dark robes, for one. Red sabers for another. These are simple aesthetics, though. There are more tangible hallmarks that rings familiar with Xavier. It wasn't that long ago, fifty years maybe, that he was a hound for the Galatic Empire tracking down Force adepts and either dragging them in alive or seeing to it in no uncertain terms that they did not fall into the hands of the Jedi.

He's not as feral as he had been then. Some would argue, rightly so, that makes him less terrifying. It also means that he can enjoy the stroll for what it is. "You find it just about everywhere," he answers Aryn smoothly, taking a pull from his cigarette. Because of course he's smoking.

As it's been said, some things never go out of fashion.

The dark-robed, dark-helmed, faceless Sith made no comment, as the group made their way into the area, their movements casual, not indolent, but certainly indicating that whatever the atmosphere of the place, it had no deleterious affect on their mindset. A spark had been noticed and they, along with a handful of others had been called. Now the job was simple, as many such jobs were simple. Obtain the spark and evaluate it. Destroy any opposition. The faceless mask scanned the surround, attentive as they always were.

"That would be the pollution," Ban supplies dryly to Aryn's musing on the similarity of Corellian air to that of Delaya. "Tis a wretched world, feeding on greed and gross ambition." That said, the gentleman in grey and black let's his green regard linger sidelong on Xavier as the other speaks before focusing on the task ahead. His mask is plain in design; silver and gold, reminiscent of a barbute's visor, with the solitary ornament of a teardrop engraved below one eye.

Raskta Looks around and sniffs " The one in charge of this place does a disservice to his citizens, " She sneers she, pulls her mask, and slowly brings it up to click it into place hidding her features and adding a filter for herself. Her almost glowing blue eyes take in every inch of this place. She looks to Yusanis, "Remind me to find the ruler of this place and remind him of his duty to the people ". Her voice is now filtered by her mask.

Yusanis smirks coming in beside Raskta he sniffs and shakes his head. "Hmmm....no these conditions are atrocious, and yes yes, we must remind this ruler of their obligation to their people." He says shrugging his one almost glowing blue eyes taking in the scene before them.

And so, Merulia was here aswell. The blonde Nightsister walked among the group, all too aware of the concept of recruiting young...it had been how her people had survived until they had the means to repopulate after all. Still, for the moment she was silent as she walked only up to the mention of the polution. The foul scent on the air had the Sephi girl realising all those others that wore masks may well be onto something.

"The stink is...suffocating. It is a far cry from Dathomir."

Dark robed figures on grime sodden streets is enough to send many ducking back beneath shaded doorways or around near corners. Figures turn to suddenly engrossing conversation with one another or others find they have sudden need to attend one chore or another that had managed to slip their minds earlier in the day.

~Find the source, claim it, debunk it or snuff it.~

Those had been Kessa's commands sent by missive. The rumored figure said to be within this section of the city but little else forthcoming. Un-coded individuals as common as the clouds of smoke rising from distant stacks. A cluster of workers changing place with others, released into the street and their mirrors disappearing into the factories and industrial yards that they would toil.

Conversation and tension run along the streets in currents like a rivers.

"It is not the ruler who is at fault," Aryn coaches. "The pollution is etched upon the bones of this world. It was this way before its ruler took over, and it will be this way long after they perish. Change cannot be influenced by scratching the surface of a problem; one must dig to exhume its roots."

Pausing a moment to bathe her senses within the deep influence of the Force, Aryn detects a strong presence in the force unlike those surrounding her. Stepping down one of the side streets at a casual pace, her boots create a sticky 'clip-clop' noise against the wet duracrete, and the gentle rustle of her cape rocks each time her heels hit its hem.

Aryn turns to glance toward Darth Durandas briefly before moving on.

One more deep pull of his cigarra and Xavier holds in that toxic air while flicking the nub away. Only when it's had proper time to burn it flavor into his lungs does the dark-haired man exhale with a smokey grin. "Now, now," he tuts to the pair. "Don't go killing the leadership unless you intend to replace them. Though far be it for me to tell you how to spend your afternoon." The last of his smoke floats away to join the rest of the filth and particular of this area as a large hand reaches up and pulls the mask of the Sith over his face. "Let's get to work, mm?" That statement seems, for some reason, to be pointed directly at Ban. Idle chatter, perhaps.

The cloaked figure sidesteps slightly and stoops down, resting a gloved hand on the disgusting ground. There he is still, silent, listening to his own breathing and letting his vision unfocus. Like a spider, he extends his senses out into the web of this place, searching for the little vibrations of the prey he is looking for. What he gets back is a wave of despair and anger. For once, it is not his. His shoulders tense and Xavier draws in an audible hiss. "This place is practically rotting from the core. Festering." Xavier lifts his hand and breaks the connection with a grunt as he stands. "If there is any kind of spark of hope here, it is being suffocated by ire."

The faceless Sith moved through the streets, noting, seemingly, neither the pollution nor the people scurrying away like rats looking for holes into which to disappear. Whatever distractions pollution and sentient pestilence presented did not appear to be the focus of their attention, as the mask, and the Sith who wore it turned left and then right again, as a hound catching the scent. The movements of Aryn were noted, as well as the comment from Xavier. When their attention snapped back to the group, they simply moved to step in Aryn's wake.

Ban Iskender draws a slow, steady breath behind his mask, green eyes going closed as his senses reach beyond his body. The mundane stench mingles in his mind with a sense of the anguish that permeates the megacity. When Xavier states that all hope is smothered by ire, Durandus voices evenly, "No. Even here, it remains. Can you not feel it? The morrow.. brings a new day. And it may.. just.. get better," steps stirring in Aryn's wake as he puts to voice the sentiments gleaned from the ambient thoughts of those around them.

Raskta Croutches as she looks around, eyes scanning the various piles of garbage and filth. To many, it's just a mess to. Her she looks for the clues the marks of passage, and moments, the marks made with a cart .. marks made with the clues she was told of her prey. She's young, so her skills are lacking, but She can see some clues " They came past here how long? Hard to say, but they were selling,"

Yusanis goes to do his own Intel, questioning folks making sure they understand what's being asked before returning. "Well I've turned up a name, and general direction."

A name confirmed by Merulia with a nod as she listens, as she sweeps, but Lady Aryn's apparent sense seems to have already confirmed there is something more than idle rumor.

Falling into step, the witch from the wild world walks, alert for signs of warning or ambush.

Passage down the side street results in a parting of bodies before the dark robed forms. Breaking like reeds before a strong wind, bending to the walls of buildings to clear passage on the sidewalks for the moving shadow. Light seems to fade before them and the shadow of their passage is darker yet - but as the seven proceed there is a disturbance for those who have the hooks of the Dark Side sunk into them.

A niggling twinge like the press of a fingertip at the hollow at the base of one's skull, where it meets the spine. A prickling that seers and promises soothing in the same. A small collection of tiny fingers attempting to find purchase where they might crack open the door locking away that aspect of the Force. A sensation that practically demands one to recoil or rebuff it, to affirm the mythology that they are the ones in control and that the Force serves -them-. Not that they are used by the Dark Side for its own purposes.

That glimmer makes the sparklights that seem to flicker ahead and above shimmer just a hair stronger. That abates, marginally, the fear in the hearts of those the Sith pass. A spark that could threaten revolt as the source of bright feelings in these otherwise downtrodden people could come under threat. The pendulum of balance in The Force warring with itself as influenced by the lives of people moving through its currents.

Heads turn further up, from conversations, faces blanching and some becoming veils of hostility veneering the dread that wells up in their presence. The hunt proceeds in a meandering fashion with tenements practically abutting a chemical plant giving way to those erected near salvage works where droids and speeders are being hauled for dismantling and their parts sorted. Each step paired to a pulse, something that is small voiced for these individuals. Almost a pleading of something in the ether questioning their motives. If they should pursue as they do?

Aryn continues to walk in the same direction, casual as one may. Her influence of the force came at the perspective of standing before a vast body of water, much like a lake with visible boundaries. Each person that touched the force created a ripple in this body of water, generating small waves that could be traced to its origin point. Those surrounding Aryn made their own ripples, sure, but she had discerned something foreign and further from them.

This divining of power, and the feeling of a foreign practitioner, brings Aryn to a slower walk. Even as people part from her path eager to avoid standing in their group's way, she raises her hand and takes 'hold' of this foreign connection, creating a link to it in order to sense and feel what they experience. Her eyes close as she does this, traveling to a separate perspective all the while trusting the force to guide her steps as she closed in on this. Tracing this feeling in the force back to its source proved a touch more elusive than she anticipated.

"It is an established fact that we have vastly differing perceptions," Xavier replies to the two Alderaanians, a sadistic grin carrying on his voice that the mask would otherwise cover. "The morrow may bring a new day, but it does not guarantee to be an improvement. Adverstiy will see these people made stronger or dust. What this is--" he gestures to the throng trying hard to ignore there group "--is a purgatory in between. Let the fires forge them as they will and nevermind the ash."

Yunsanis returns with information but doesn't share it. To this, Xavier's mirth falls and there is a shudder of anger reverberating from him. "If you want me to wring the information out of you, I assure you I am quite good at it. But if you would be so kind as to do your part to expedite our search, it would save us both the trouble. Because if you are going to make yourself a subject of my irritation, I will not deny you the full brunt of the result."

Xavier turns full-bodied towards the person he saw Yusanis speaking to, his hand snapping outwawrds the person. This time, the unseen web shoots outwards and pierces the unsuspecting target and all but /rips/ what he wants out of them. The person screams momentarily in pain, clutching their head and staggering. Xavier drops his hand and returns following the group. "The name is Riddney."

The faceless Sith turned their attention to Xavier. Of all of the gathered dark users, it was Xavier they knew best, and the one whose presence in the Force was most familiar, or perhaps comfortable for them. Even as the pain of the mind from whom information was gathered washed over them. When the name was offered, the looked back to the crowds, deeply modulated voice ringing into the air, close enough for the group to hear, "The food sellers are agitated." At least, one would hope, it would mean that that part of the intel was sound. "And they are growing hostile." Which was to be expected. "It might be worthwhile to determine where the stores are. If they work from a central location, the subject may be in that direction."

Ban Iskender walks the back streets with a steady, measured pace that slows only once Aryn does in search of that ethereal tether. "Adversity is what has led them to this fate," Durandus rebuts to Xavier, evenly. I would caution ye be wary of embracing the flame too fully, lest thy fate be more of ash than of iron." A sniff and shake of his head at Xavier's crass display of power. A hand is raised to soothe the mental anguish, after a moment's exertion, overriding the other Sith's inflicted anguish. "Alas, you remain a fool. You only complicate our task here." The words of Darth Durandus remain steady and level, with only hints of inflection coloring his tone toward disdain in places.

Raskta Looks down and sighs " not much to follow but I belive we should be carful " She states as she looks about openng her robe to show her saber and placing her hand on it she dosn't draw but she's being carful as she looks about as she follows the trail eye's on the groups of poeple

Yusanis sighs and shakes his head to Xavier. "I wasn't trying to keep the information, merely waiting for my turn to speak." He says simply. "The names are Ridney and Farl, they've passed through here recently, but the people are getting rather irritated."

The display of torturous power is impressive, but not without some suprise to Merulia whom had gleaned the same information with passive listening. And yet, the screams of the man give her pause as she considered.

To her the darkside was passion, freedom, strength and mystery. She understood the will to use force but...well, the difference between a creature that uses violence to hunt or fight rather than to 'toy with it's food' was well known to her.

"Let us make haste then," the girl offers, calmly opening her cloak to allow reach for the weapon within if necessary.

Salvagers are left behind, but there is something trailing in the seven's wake like the tattered train of a moth chewed gown. Residents of the zone who have a sensation of who or what they seek. Even if those confronted by members of the search party don't speak up to others. They are gathering.

Save one who has been given strength enough to stumble for home, to reflect on the sensations that coursed through them.

But streets passing and the reek of chemical works begins to take the air. Where there isn't substandard housing it is tall, duracrete, structures. Windowless, dismal, stained by soot and work. Beacons of toil and grinding on the very souls of its workers in the name of capital. Of profit.

But a dotted line is forming in the murk of sadness and frustration that permeates the area. Small glowing spots in the form of faces of people having been given one small respite from their daily trudging march. Voices call out ahead, audible even in the street din. Laughter. Really happiness, if fleeting.

Behind the drag of metal on synthetic stone, when a pipe is drawn from a refuse pile. A rippling grumble. The whirring click of a tibanna charger pressurizing.

People who might otherwise avoid each other for fear of more misery compounding their own, drawn to one another. For a single, unspoken, purpose.

Aryn was a veteran of two wars that had tremendous impact upon the galaxy. The smell of cordite, the sound of weapons priming, and the sense of impending danger were all things she could recollect without a devoted thought. It is what prompts her to stop a moment. "Spread out, danger lurks within the shadows.." Aryn says before drawing in a slow, meticulous breath as if savoring that moment; the calm before the storm.

Turning slightly, the swish of her cape sounds gently before settling. "I sense that the good folk closing in upon us intend war, but it is against a foe they can only begin to fathom. Your imaginations prove ill equipped to prepare you for the terror that would be unleashed should you commit to this path and pursue us further."

"Think of your lives in this moment, how your bodies persist in drawing breath while your eyes see. You can still taste, smell, and touch.. joy is not lost to you because you know where to find it. Now consider losing all of these things in an instant, snuffed out like a light switched from on to off, and for what? Is this thing you covet, this life you live, this air you breathe now worth trading?"

"Spare yourselves this further misery and deliver unto us the one we seek. My companions shall speak their name, and you only need to bring them to us. No one will die. No one needs to." Turning in place again, Aryn finishes, her voice still loud enough to be heard. "Consider our words carefully." Guiding her gloved hands to her lower back, Aryn separates herself from what might be their 'front line'. Not that she detested violence, she just had no enthusiasm for inciting it.

Faces turn to Aryn when she speaks. Some drawing back, drifting from the crowd as her words continue. Others harden, determined. Especially when the request for one of their own to be delivered is made. The crowd of potential offenders thinner, but perhaps tempered for their reduction. A hiss and grumble runs through them, some tightening grips on weapons both practical and impromptu. Two threats levied on them now. Against whatever it is that is making them feel less trod upon by Corellia... and by the implication that death waits should they seek to safeguard it.

Further on, beyond the faces of those recoiling from the approaching Sith and their shrouded forms. An old Dashade, bent by his years, lumbers with a repulsor cart following on a remote link turns slightly, glossy black eyes turned towards the disturbances behind them. Lamprey like mouth rippling and then the head turns to a figure walking beside him. Dirty, but kept. Black hair a tatty nest of windblown locks due for a trim. Patched clothes and boots.

The boy reaches out after something is said to him, patting the older non-humans arm with a noticeable affect on the elder's physical demeanor.

Xavier watches as the pain drain from his target, though if he wanted to sustain their suffering, he could have. No, he got what he wanted from them so he shrugs. "Ah, my newest brother. If only you knew how I've danced with the fire. Perhaps another time. When we're not on a schedule." Xavier brushes off any concerns of complicating the situation. This is hardly anything he would call a snafu or even a quagmire. He regards Yusanis with a tilt of his hooded head in the young man's direction. "This isn't school, lad. You needn't wait a turn. You are part of a hunting pack and things do tend to move rather quickly in the field. You will get the sense of the pulse soon enough." The anger that had been there is quelled once more though the mirth hasn't returned, either.

"Councillor," he says up towards the cloaked form of Tamsin. "It would seem tensions are growing high. I will drop back and keep rearguard." A flick of his wrist brings a metal cyllinder into his palm from the depths of his robes but he does not ignite it yet, keeping it hidden in the cuff of his sleeve. There he stands, putting himself between his comrades in the growing masses. They certainly have the numbers. But the everyman always did. "Riddney and Farl," Xavier's voice projects, demanding and to the point afte Aryn's most generous of offers. And listening in the Force for any sort of reaction to the names barked aloud.

As Xavier spoke, the faceless Sith nodded, "Very well," stepping away as he rose to the occasion, or stepped back to it, as the case might be. A few spare words were offered into the internal comms of the Sith's helmet, << "Fire team, move into position. You may be needed for cleanup duty." >> Even had the voice nor been modulated, there would have been no emotion in it. This was the work, and it would be done. What or whom the team would be brought in to clean up was irrelevant. But the helmet drew back to face forward, and the voice was not audible to the small cluster of dark robed figures, "I believe we have our target. The Dashade there, and the boy with them." No weapon drawn, nor any attempt to push any out of their way. They simply moved forward, relentless as the tide.

Ban Iskender turns when Aryn does, taking a position to get side and (once she steps back) before the lady. The stylish swept sword hilt he had favored in years past is long gone, replaced by a simple and pragmatic cylindrical saber hilt on his belt. He takes the sword hilt in gloved hand, and awaits the reaction to Aryn's appeal. He finds himself near Xavier again, at the forefront of the Sith line. Behind his mask, green eyes narrow in consideration, sifting among the many hearts and minds in search of some point of compromise. He cannot find one.

Raskta She doesn't speak she turns, facing the crow, her robes open lowly and her hand slowly slides down to her blade.. she pulls it slowly, almost too slowly, but she brings it out a slow, far to graceful and practiced swing is made, She doesn't turn it on simply pulls it out and slowly draws a line in the ground as if Telling, if you wish to end your life simply step forward and they wil oblige .. That eye behind the mask looking out, almost glowing with the promise of death.

Yusanis steps up beside Raskta he smirks behind the mask. Also pulling his sword slowly keeping it at his side for now

Tensions high, words exchanged and those that hadn't fleed seemed galvanized and more prepared for violence, and yet... Meru steps forwards. She would help with the rear guard, but then perhaps she could do more.

"You are fearful," she speaks up, her own voice was a little more soft than others, the 'carrot' compared to the stick that was the others words. "You think we are here to ruin things for you, to take those you care about and ruin your hope...but this is not the truth. We do not."

A breath, her hands are extended, an offer of peace perhaps to those who might not know the danger a Sith could bring without a weapon. "We seek to teach, to bring them strength and skill that they might not only offer you hope...but strength of your own and the means to be safe. Talent without learning is a spark that burns out far too soon."

A smile, her head tilts. "Rejoice, let us pass, that not only will you see tomorrow, but that it may be brighter for you than you had thought possible."

An older man from the crowd, left leg obviously synthetic and with blotchy synth-skin patch scarring on his face, steps forward. Expression grim and set in stone.

"Let you snuff out what little we have... or be killed trying to stop you." several more voices raise in wordless support of this one, adds "Sounds like living for nothing, or dying for something." knuckles whiten around the grip of an old blaster and some of those who haven't been driven back by calm words or threatening action find more steel in their spines.

Several are hustling towards the Dashade and the child who share a fearful look when their names are cast across the area. Some are further deflected by Merulia's intonations. But more Corellians still remain, true to the stories of their kin and kind. Stubborn. Rebellious. Willfully ignorant of the odds against them.

"You let them be!" one voice calls out.

"Bantha poodoo!" shouts another. The airs of Corellian unity that has carried them through nominal 'independence' even under Palpatine's rule coming to the fore. More growling, angry faces. Several more trying to shepherd the old dashade and the young human when another voice from the crowd hurls,

"Maclunkey!"

Then all the fabled Hells of Corellia cut loose.