Log:Sith Empire: A New Foe

Sith Empire: A New Foe

OOC Date: November 8, 2021
Location: Star Destroyer: Harbinger, Corusca System
Participants: Sith Empire: Xavier Harcourt (GM), Tamsin Cas, Tarq Najjic

The call had come over an hour ago left on Tamsin's navcomputer. Voice only and breathy; strained. The Harbinger knew of his approach before the jump from Nar Shadda and upon exiting hyperspace, the Harbinger got their clearance rather quickly.

A Pursuer breeches the forcefield that separates the hangar from the vacuum of space. Repulsors flare to life, keeping the craft hovering mere feet over the deck as it slowly spins around until the nose is facing forward. The uneventful landing completes when the Usual Loper touches down and the engines begin winding down.

Ramp open and the depths of the Loper remains still for a handful of breaths. Then a dark-haired man appears at the top grasping tightly on the edge of the frame.

Xavier's face is streaked with dried blood, his slumping posture tells the tale of many bruises and injuries still unseen under his clothing. Jacket off, his tunic is torn in places and flecked with an odd mixture of materials; some of which colourful and even... glittery? His unfocused eyes are looking down the ramp trying to make sense of the haze in front of him.

By the look of him, it's a wonder he landed the ship at all. Most of it likely done by the autopilot. But he's alive. It's what he does best.

The timing was not perfect, alas, but Tamsin, having received the message, had departed the moon as quickly as was possible. She did not worry for supplies. She had everything she needed in her ship, and a medical bay besides. Perhaps it was not the best idea, that she had brought the svelte, but is was the fastest ship that she had with clearance to land on the Harbinger.

"We should be touching down shortly." Tamsin was not terrible accustomed to having company on her ship that was not a droid, but the current temporary resident was, perhaps the cause for the delay in the ship's arrival at the Harbinger. The call had been received, and Tarq had been alerted. Once the pair had met, they had departed for parts known. It was best not to go into such situations alone.

Tarq heard her. His only response, however, was to rise from where he was sitting in the cockpit, his deliberate, measured steps taking him to where the ramp will open when they land. Once there, he pulls his lightsaber from his belt, widens his stance, and half-closes his eyes, letting the Force guide his reactions to keep his footing during the landing. It's a posture the others have seen. By a few months into his time with the Knights of Ren, it was his normal posture during a hostile landing. The Sith have seen it as well, in their insertions.

This may not be a drop into a combat zone, but he is treating like it is. He's standing right on the ramp, so it when it opens - he'll be gone.

There's certainly no action awaiting them on the Harbinger. What fool would even attempt such a thing, really? The mind boggles to ponder such insanity.

The walk up his ramp on Nar Shaddaa had been a trial for Xavier, but at least he could lean forward and use an arm to help him up the incline. Looking at the ramp now, the ramp seems to Harcourt like a ninety degree fall: a guaranteed tumble to the flight deck that would assuredly add to his problems.

So instead, the man has sat himself on his rear at the top of the ramp, battered body leaned up against the frame. Head rested back, a lit cigarette dangles from his lips trailing smoke and smoldering but not being inhaled.

<"Sir. Do you require assistance?"> One of the troopers asks from somewhere seemingly far, far below. Xavier doesn't open his eyes though a brow just lifts a little. "Waiting on a friend," he answers coolly. Well, it was supposed to be cooky. His voice is dry and ragged.

There's certainly no action awaiting them on the Harbinger. What fool would even attempt such a thing, really? The mind boggles to ponder such insanity.

The walk up his ramp on Nar Shaddaa had been a trial for Xavier, but at least he could lean forward and use an arm to help him up the incline. Looking at the ramp now, it seems to Harcourt like a ninety degree fall: a guaranteed tumble to the flight deck that would assuredly add to his problems.

So instead, the man has sat himself on his rear at the top of the ramp, battered body leaned up against the frame. Head rested back, a lit cigarette dangles from his lips trailing smoke and smoldering but not being inhaled.

<"Sir. Do you require assistance?"> One of the troopers asks from somewhere seemingly far, far below.

Xavier doesn't open his eyes though a brow just lifts a little. "Waiting on a friend," he answers coolly. Well, it was supposed to be coolly. His voice is dry and ragged.

Tamsin, familiar with Tarq's standard mode of operations, brought the shuttle around in a circle, so that as the ramp opened, both she, from the cockpit, and Tarq, from his position at the central body, could get a full 360 degree view of the hangar before the ramp opened far enough for him to depart the ship. Tamsin did not follow immediately, but, rather, gathered up her supplies, and then, ensuring that she had all she would need, including her saber, she moved to exit the ship. The Harbinger was, yes, a safe space, but there were few things in the world more dangerous than a force user. The pair were clearly taking no chances.

The ramp opens and Tarq is off down it, moving quickly enough that he drops down into a slide, coming off the end of the ramp before it's even touched the ground. He throws up a hand at the troopers to stay back as he reaches the Pursuer. "Xavier. Look terrible. Tarq Najjic must have missed /some/ party." Then he's up the side of the engine and into the ship, activating his lightsaber as he heads inside the ship to look for anyone who might have either stowed away or forced Xavier to fly here.

He doesn't even stop to ask Xavier if this was that kind of situation. If he's under duress, the answer can't be trusted anyway.

His eyes open halfway at the sound of Tamsin's ship makes its approach; roll of his head to the side brings Tarq into view and two fingers lift excruciatingly slowly to take the cig from his mouth. "Thanks," he replies to Tarq as the Kuati man bounds past him to take stock of the ship. "Forgive me for not standing."

A quick run of the Loper's interior turns up nothing aside from the knowledge that Xavier isn't much of a decorator. It's as stark and impersonal as the day he bought it. A more thorough check reveals more of the same. Really. For all his years, Xavier suffers from a severe lack of style.

It's a small enough ship. Doesn't take long for the all clear. If he wanted to be really nosy, Tarq can check the navcoms logs, as well. But nothing out of the ordinary is found. Nothing fun at the very least. Insultingly boring.

"Doctor." The cigarette sways from one side to the other as the two fingers holding it gesture to Tamsin when she gets close enough.

Tamsin, moving at a good pace behind Tarq, watched the kuati bon vivant, who was, alas, neither very bon or very vivant at the moment, though he was still ready with the quip, move to clear the ship while she moved to retrieve her scanner, approaching Xavier where he was sitting, "Xavier. I would say those things will kill you, but, given your chosen profession, it might be the best possible death you could hope for." Thankfully, Tamsin could work and talk at the same time, "So, what precisely happened to you? And who was responsible?" Both were potentially important questions to ask and have answered. And the scanner needed time to catalog the injuries sustained.

There's the sound of some minor rummaging, and of hatches hissing open and closed.

That's all that's apparent from the outside, but within, Tarq is slipping from room to room, trying to see or sense anyone alive - or any thing alive - on board. He's not terribly practiced in the technique, and he never leaves one room until he's certain he's alone in it. It'll take a minute before he's satisfied.

A red light illuminates the cockpit from within as he steps through it, visible from down below.

His chosen spot at the apex of his ramp is quite comfy, really. A nice view of the hangar. The lullaby of the ship's systems gently running. The pitter patter of Tarq's feet somewhere in the depths of his ship. Soothing, really.

Tamsin's comment on his awful smoking habit gets a tired grin and, at least for her sake while she works on him, he snuffs it out on cold metal of the ramp under him. "They can get in line, mmm?"

He seems to be waiting for Tarq to rejoin them before continuing. "Someone I've been looking for found me first." He tries to shrug. It's a terrible idea and he cringes in pain; a jagged breath sniping the humour right out of him. "Lord Arxius, a Sith from the Sidious age. Former Master." Xavier turns his head and spits after having to say it; a mixture of saliva and old blood splat. "The one who called me to Exegol and had me become part of the--"

He grits his teeth. "I have a list of old acquaintances I am hoping to confirm dead. He was at the top of that list."

"Another one of your long-lived species, perhaps? Or was this particular Sith at the twilight of his years?" Given that that particular call to Exegol took place somewhere about thirty years ago, now, and Sith masters were rarely spring chickens. Tamsin, though, allowed the conversation to flow around her, as she retrieved some numbing agent, "We should likely move you to medical, unless you wish to undress before an audience." Tamsin kept a weather ear for Tarq's arrival from the interior of the ship.

Softly he arrives, emerging without warning at the top of the ramp with lightsaber out of sight, under the harness of his cape where it normally rests. "All clear. Heard something about Sith master." Tarq glides down the ramp, where he can be out of the way. "And medical. If we lift him together, Tamsin, will be a smooth easy trip." His right fingers flex, though he doesn't move to actually pick Xavier up, with the Force or otherwise, without doctor's orders.

"The most dangerous game, yes? Prey that is, itself, predator. Could ask for help, you know," he points out. "We are all in this together." All the way in. All Knights, all Sith, and on this ship manned by Sith loyalists raised to be that way from birth, all outsiders, whatever authority they've been given.

Xavier's head does more of a roll back and forth rather than a shake to Tamsin's question. "I never was able to discern where he's from or what he is. His true name has been lost to history. I've only known him as Arixus. Long-lived? Yes. Older than me. Perhaps Morellian. Maybe a Shi'ido whom had picked a form and stuck with it. I do not know." And it's one of many thorns in his side that he doesn't know.

The thought of undressing in front of Tamsin, Tarq, four dozen Sith Troopers, and Oblivion itself doesn't seem to bother Xavier much. Still, a bed does sound a bit better. Reaching above his head, Xavier grasps onto the frame with his left arm and starts the long, arduous process of lifting one hundred and seventy pounds of man off the floor. "He's too powerful for me," Xavier admits freely to Tarq. "Though not as powerful as I remember. Something must have happened to him, as well. Even so, he's extremely dangerous and while I've not had chance yet to look into it, I've reason to belief others will be servicing beneath him."

Perhaps in echo of Tarq, Tamsin offered, "There was no reason to go looking into the past alone." But, anything else, Tamsin did not bother to continue with. For now, she simply put away her scanner, stepping back as she focused on Xavier. "And you'll only do yourself more damage." She did not, however, simply pull a yeet the not quite corpse, but, instead, Xavier would feel some of his weight lifted, allowing him to rise more easily. It was not entirely weightless, because that was likely to throw him off, but it was assistance. "You can walk if you like," because Tamsin understood pride, even if it was falsely displaced, "Or you can opt for the palanquin approach.

"Palanquins. Luxurious, opulent. When have choice, /always/ choose palanquin." Tarq's advice notwithstanding, he again only flexes his fingers in case he wants the lift. Until he does, the Kuati Sith simply follows behind, to make sure anything he drops gets picked right back up, and that he doesn't loll too far to one side.

One hundred and seventy pounds turn into fifty... forty... thirty. Xavier makes it to his feet with a wobble, brown eyes looking Tamsin over. "I was lead to understand none of you put much stock into the past. Besides, I hadn't intended to intercept him or any of them alone should I find them. But in this particular situation, I had no choice."

Externally, Xavier's hand rises to his head; fingers raked in his hair as he fights off what looks to be one killer stab of a migraine. "I /had/ to intercept." He reiterates aloud in a growl for no discernable reason; as if arguing with himself for the moment.

Pride is a fickle mistress and today, she is filing her nails and aloof. Xavier accepts Tamsin's offer without a word but a nod of gratitude is there. "He likely left Nar Shaddaa soon after I did, but I couldn't take the chance of being tracked again. Not knowing how much of his abilities he retained in the past few decades or where he's been, I cannot say any of us are a match to him alone. I--" A correction. "---We will have to find out more. Find those who serve under him. Where he operates from. Arxius is a rival we cannot afford to have." With the unseen aide, Xavier's steps are sturdy enough to at least look like he's walking himself to the medical bay.

"I don't," was Tamsin's honest reply, "But, I accept that my feelings on the past are nor your feelings, as you have shown before, nor are they the feelings of most of the people I encounter. So, if I am faced with a situation where I know that saying 'Don't go looking behind' is going to be fruitless, then what is the alternative" It was cautioning not to do it alone, as she just had.

Tamsin accompanied Xavier as the trio made their way from the hangar and away from his ship. She kept a steady hand, as it were, on her fellow sith, supporting him enough that he could move under his own power without needing to use as much effort and do himself more damage as he might have otherwise. "We will have you fixed up in no time." Isn't that what doctors always said?

Tarq is ready to take sides in an internal argument. "Why /did/ you intercept? Too many unknowns. Not the smart play. /INJURED COMING THROUGH!/" He doesn't outright say it's a bad decision, and he's waiting for the reason. From his expression, though - which Xavier can't see and Tamsin probably isn't looking at - it would have to be a pretty strong reason to convince him otherwise.

His gloved thumbs are behind his belt. He doesn't acknowledge the salutes from the soldiers and crew that they pass or the movements to the side where people stand at attention and don't make eye contact. For now, at least, it works in their favor. "Will have a mint for you when you leave bacta tank. That and a smoke, and taste and smell of bacta will end." An optimistic assessment: bacta has a tendency to persist.

If Xavier had full movement of his neck, his head would turn around towawrds Tarq as the man outwardly insists on what the internal voice is nagging Xavier about. As it is, turning his head too fast one direction or the other gives Xavier a great deal of vertigo. A lesson he learned a few times on the flight back to Coruscant. The cleaning droids aboard the Harbinger definitely have a few blood-streaked bile messes to erase once they board the Loper.

"To prevent him from learning more than I want him to." Knowing that answer will not suffice, Xavier relents before he can be pressed. "There is a particular woman. You both know of her, I believe. A Lorrdian who must have been born without a sense of self preservation. She came across Arxius at the Chance Castle theater. I can only assume he was looking for me there." A grunt of frustration punctuates a confession. "Must have been the Hutt audiance that drew him out. He likes to toy with his prey, rip every bit of information he can from them, then relishes in their demise. As obnoxious as this woman is, she could prove useful. And I cannot chance the information one such as her has that he could then weaoponize."

Halfway to the medical bay, Xavier slows to a stop and leans against the corridor wall; a hand up in a wordless request for a quick rest. Even with the aide, there is a great deal of injuries under the surface draining his energy and making it difficult to remain upright for too long. And why are the lights here so damn bright?!

"And how much of this information would she have had to be taken from her, if you had not been so open about who you are? You still use the name you had then. You still associate with at least one of the people you knew then, by your own admission. Your past came looking for you because you made your past an open book for your enemies to read." When Xavier paused, Tamsin's tone changed. It was always crisp, now it was clinical. "Alright, that's enough of that." The grip around Xavier, while not painful, grew more firm, as he was lifted from his feet, and he would find himself air carried the rest of the way into the medical bay.

Tamsin does not need the help, but there are always more people carrying a patient than strictly necessary to avoid any mishaps.

So it is that Tarq's hand, too, is raised, helping stabilize Xavier during the rest of the trip, and lightening the burden for the doctor, should she need to pause and do something to aid him before they reach their destination. "Tamsin is right. But-" He moves with a bit of quickness to stay close when they round a corner and to keep him in sight throughout the turn. "Tarq Najjic understands not letting /everything/ go. Names are hard."

"A change of name will only deter the committed for so long, Tamsin," Xavier replies as the weight is taken off of his feet and he's pulled away from his precious wall. His favourite wall. "You know I've worn many, Tamsin. And they are always linked back. No matter how many planets you go to. No matter how many faces you try. The past nips at your heels and mine in particular has teeth. You do not fight an enemy with your back to them."

Now just floating along with the pair, Xavier takes this opportunity to close his eyes. At least he can shut out those oppressive lights. "I've confirmed a few of those on my list dead. Many are unaccounted for and I imagine will remain so. Likely skeletal dust buried somewhere on Exegol. Arxius escaped this fate as I did. It behooves us all to figure out how. How long he's been active since and what he's planning."

One eye dares to crack open towards Tarq. "After about a dozen identities, one tends to run out of good ideas."

"It still does not answer the question of why you chose to go about this alone, with no word given to either of us, nor to Ferren, I would assume, who might have been able to assist you in remaining uninjured. And a name is only a name, but plucking at strings of the last, like former associates is a more telling means of identification than just a name. And a face can be changed. If needs must, we could have remade you into an entirely different person." Tamsin had the skill, and the technology. "There are ways to avoid the past, even if one cannot mask their presence in the force from those who know you well." They were soon in medical, and Xavier was deposited on an open bed, "Thank you, Tarq." At least some of the pressure disappeared, as Tamsin no longer needed to hold onto the morellian.

"With others, continuity can be /strength/. Draw enemies like rodhi to a flame." Upon their arrival in Medical, Tarq's duty moved to just staying out of the way, so orderlies - people who know what they're doing - can assist Tamsin. "Then they burn." He watches from the wall past the foot of the bed. Any issues about seeing blood and guts have vanished since joining the Knights. Hacking through enough foes will do that.

He does glance at the button for calling for assistance and moves two fingers. It goes off and lights up. Whatever makes Tamsin's job easier.

"A desire not to be lectured, for starters?" Xavier tries to laugh but it only comes out as another groan. A ragged breath that almost results in the coughing up of phelgm and other sorts of unpleasantries. "I cannot stress this enough, it would seem. I was /not/ looking to cross him. Any of them. I operate in information. It's what I do--- did. This alteraction was not planned so there was no time to inform either of you." The question of Ferren is left floating away unanswered.

"I rather like my face and I have zero intentions of spending my years in hiding." There is only so much Xavier can say freely when laying near-dead in the heart of the Sith Empire's fleet. So all he can say to the two is: "I've my reasons." Then adds, "Rest assured, no one knows anything that would link back any of you. Or here. Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not a fool. But true freedom means destruction of threats both current as well as past and future. I am willing to accept the aide if it is offered, of course. But I will not be otherwise deterred. This duel was joined thirty years ago."

Tamsin's voice was still crisp. "Then do not do things which require a lecture. You claim the altercation was not planned and yet, the search was planned, and I would assume you anticipated what the reaction might be if you encountered any of these people who you were searching for." Tamsin shook her head, offering a lift of her shoulders as she settled into the work, focusing on doing what she had been called to do. It was clear that she had said all that she had any intention of saying.

The Kuati sits out the end of the discussion, simply standing aside as the medical work proceeds. "Xavier. Let Tarq Najjic know when and where. Preferably," he adds drily, "have some sort of advantage first, but-" He wiggles a hand back and forth. "Cannot always have things the way we want. Will check in on you in the morning."

"Noted." Xavier only allows himself a brief nod of his head but otherwise remains still so the doctor can work. "I will certainly do that, Tarq. It's appreciated." He looks towards Tamsin, watching her with a curious gaze. "I respectfully disagree with your assessment on the grounds that I cannot ask anyone to partake in any kind of danger without knowing what the danger is or if it even exists. Especially given these working relationships are still in their infancy and all our situations have taken a sudden, simultaneous turn for the unknown."

He tries to raise a hand, but only manages to lift a few fingers. "Further pointing out this search has been on-going for quite some time. We all need a hobby. Some people build scale replicas of starfigthers..."

The relief is immediate as the treatment begins; pain receptors numbed to the point of completely switched off and a knot of warmth starting to form in his core and spread outwards. Damaged organs begin that slow process of mending but it will take some time before his energy returns.

"I don't trust easily." The fog of his mind grows more glassy and speckled as the medications work their magic. Semi-lucid, Xavier's voice is drifting further away. Sentences less coherant. Words spaced more and more. "Came here first. Told you both... what ... I knew. There's something... to be said... about...." Brows furrow as Xavier searches for the words behind closed eyes. Then they relax and his vitals show him slipping into blissful unconsciousness.

"You went out seeking at least one known Sith, Xavier," Tamsin offered, as Xavier was drifting off into sleep, "How precisely could you have not known what potential danger they might have posed?" Tamsin only shook her head, once the man was descending into sleep, his wounds being tended to. Whether they would need the tank remained to be seen. But she did look over to Tarq, her tone still measured, once Xavier was unconscious. "There is too much of the Jedi still in him. We will have to be on our guard."

"You mean protecting others," Tarq's eyes shift to the unconscious Xavier, then back to Tamsin's, "Or charging into danger, reckless, alone?" He smiles, and it slowly broadens. "Both?" He tilts his head to one side, and his shoulders rise a tad, then fall. "Are people Tarq Najjic would do same for. Netep Muri or Asalla, odd choices maybe."

"Think is unhealthy blend of both Jedi and Sith habits causing trouble. Path of revenge, but not ruthless enough; path of righteousness, but no trust or companions. Killing Muri would /also/ have solved problem," he points out. "But am glad he did not. Rather like her. Must be on guard, Tamsin, yes, but helping in quest, foolhardy or not, will help us. We need all /true/ allies we can get." He raises his eyebrows. It's clear he's not talking about the Sith. "Better three than two, and he does hate Jedi, Sith both. Is a start." He waves a hand at Xavier. "Good work. Still looks like hell, but- do not pay you to be beautician, yes?"

"He spoke once, of wanting to preserve the last of his species, something I found entirely odd. But perhaps having no connection to my own species, I cannot understand the sentimentality inherent in that desire. But it was certainly a glaring flag, in light of his claim to being what he is." Tamsin moved around the patient, making certain all was well. The bacta bed might do for now. She would continue monitoring him. "How often did Syrus rail again the Jedi, Tarq? And how often did I listen to him, did we both listen to him do so? I lost count of how many times I felt he was speaking with longing for what he had once been and not true hate." Tamsin, stepping away for a moment, "I assume it must have been Muri, and I know her not at all. But a potential loose end is more dangerous than a charming personality is appealing, which I am told that she has."

Tarq points at Tamsin. "Are right, loose end is dangerous. Working ends lose unravels mysteries, plots." But he steps closer still so he's speaking from over her shoulder, near her ear. "But is also more expendable than Xavier. Loose ends attract plotters. Will keep an ear close to Shadowport contacts; if she is targeted, will know about it. Will /not/ say you worry too much; you do not." He smiles again. "/Will/ say you pay closer mind to risk than opportunity. Let it play out. We will see." He turns to leave. He really is just an obstacle here.

It is then, as the two Siths leave the infirmary, that the medical droids make their entrance. Xavier lay in the bacta bed stabilized and unconscious; the perfect patient for the ever-watching droids to monitor vitals, brainwaves, and the progress of regenerating internal organs.

The injuries are extensive; a good indication of this new foe that has entered the fray. But for now, floating in Coruscant airspace, the fleet have other matters to deal with. The liberation of the Citadel takes priority as does snuffing out local resistance.

All battles will be fought in their own time and somewhere in the galaxy, Arxius licks his wounds and begins to plan.