Log:Sith Empire: Soundless Labyrinths

Sith Empire: Soundless Labyrinths

OOC Date: May 3, 2022
Location: Korriban
Participants: Sith Empire: Tamsin Cas, Xavier Harcourt, Kol Goren, Tarq Najjic, and Darth Ferren

The sands of Korriban stir forlornly atop the planet's surface, while deep below, the heirs to their legacy of loss forge a path through the last completed tomb.

Darth Bane, the ancient Sith who created the Rule of Two, was enshrined here in the largest and most grand of all the crypts within the Valley of the Lords. The Rule of Two had held for a thousand years, keeping two and only two true Sith active at any given time. Until now. Now, a band of upstarts behind an emergent Sith who bucks the reins of tradition is seeking to desecrate not only the rule but the tomb of the man behind it.

After finding a hidden door behind a mosaic accessible only by inserting Bane's holocron, the Sith split up, with Darth Ferren, Tamsin, and Syrus going one way and Xavier and Tarq going another. Kol Goren, one of the Mark brought along on the mission, was sent in after losing contact with the shuttle and able to access the same secret door, the same winding passages, while skipping the spirital experiences the Force-attuned had triggered during their divergent explorations.

But enough of what's happened off-screen. The camera pans down on our villains now reuniting in the heart of the tomb, each pathway converging into one forward corridor, blank and featureless, all at the same time, as if by design or direction. The featureless antechamber is a waiting room for what lies beyond, a purgatory space for reconstitution and gathering of wits. Ferren enters it first, the lightsaber in his hand still lit though a shaft cut through the rock from high above allows a pool of square sunlight to spill almost heavily on the stone floor, motes of sandy dust wafting through it.

Having already killed, if only figuratively, the Tamsin doppleganger that the tomb had attempted to dissuade her with, Tamsin had continued in Ferren's wake, eyes scanning the rest of the team, once they were reunited, as she always did, ensuring that none had any injuries which needed to be tended. Seeing that all was well, at least in so far as her eyes could see, Tamsin nodded, waiting for the trooper to join them before they continued on, the lightsaber in her hand held in low guard as she stepped in behind Ferren. "Careful of the center. There's already sand gathering there, I have no doubt that by some unhappy chance, more of it could pour down on our heads. But, it does make me curious as to whether or not something is beneath the sand, as it seems to be the focal pint of the light."

Xavier still carries with him the white glow of the stun saber to help light the way as they traverse the tomb. He's fallen characteristically quiet, sensing that forboding presence that could simply be the remaining echoes of a powerful Sith from too long ago. Or it could simply be his own senses heightned to their peak by entering this place that stirs nearly ever negative emotion he carries strapped to his shoulders.

And those emotions, those invasive thoughts and doubts, took the form of an older man in Jedi robes speaking a dead name. 'Juran. Don't do this. This is not who you are.'

A gloved hand tightens around the cylinder of the saber, the bearded man's expression tightening to a grimace and teeth clenching so tightly, his molars groan in his ears. He is still walking, following the tunnels that lead out into the antechamber, but his eyes are unfocused. His breathing growing heavier.

'Remember your training, Knight Riss. Do not be drawn in by hatred. Look at me. Juran, look at me.'

Xavier stops just inside the larger room and braces a hand against the dusty stone wall. Head hanging, he stands still in silent.

His duties are simple. Kol Goren had ventured through the ruins with his standard-issue Sonn-Blas F-11D blaster rifle in his grip. Through the assistance of his helmet systems he was able to navigate the gloom and darkness, taking care with each treading bootfall. When he had finally linked up with those he was assigned to accompany, the operative of the Mark in his crimson trooper armor had did so in silence. He does not provide idle remarks, one-liners, or other such unprofessional commentary. Instead the stormtrooper treads the ancient place with his mouth shut and his eyes open. Even as the group convenes into that single corridor and begin to advance, Kol does so without commentary.

Admittedly he had been prepared to volunteer himself to take point, but soon enough the one called Ferren is advancing. Only when their leader begins to march forward do the boots of the trooper begin to move in Darth Ferren's wake. Thankfully the floating motes of dust and other such assailants of ones respiratory system are safely ignored on account of the helmet filtration system. This permits Goren an opportunity to survey his surroundings without reservation, which is only enhanced by the low-light capability of his helmet's enhanced goggles and the glow of lightsabers or stunsabers nearby. He takes up a position that will permit him the ability provide optimal cover should the need arise, but otherwise he strives to stay out of the way and ready to respond to unexpected threats.

A humming red blade also serves as both the Kuati Sith's illumination and defense, though only from one emitter. A lightsaber can cannot defend against the metaphysical, however. Whatever he saw, his lips are pressed firmly together, his brown eyes narrowed. Jokes about Sith tombs outlasting Sith achievements are in the past. The accusations from his visions carry truth to them, but injuries are only to his spirit, not his body.

He extends his arm to better show the contours of the door ahead in the red of the lightsaber. "Tarq Najjic - sees - nothing extraordinary." He glances to each side, then up to the source of the dim light shining in one particular spot. "Theatrical architecture." His lips twist in an unbecoming frown. "Would be most strange if were /not/ some trick - by now."

The malevolent pseudo-presence that has oppressed them throughout the tomb's passages is wane here, as though the sunlight has purified this quasi crossroads. "It seems we were all meant to come together and face the last test as one," Ferren announces, glancing at the others who have come out of the stonework to reconvene, eyes lingering momentarily on Xavier. "I take it you have weathered much the same trials as we," he offers by dint of solidarity, nodding at Tamsin.

"The thing haunting this place is not living, not real. It has no vitality, only an infusion of hatred. Like a breeze, or a hurricane." The words have the ring of the didactic but there is an element of uncertainty lurking below it that suggests an optimistic theory rather than certain fact. Having expressed this as reassurance, he steps forward, back into the darkness beyond the sunbeam.

The passageway leads down, as they all seem to, and the shadow enfolds them again. Eventually the stone walls crowding close to either side fall away, and the red light from the glowing sabers slips out across the floor instead like water from a tipped glass. The claustrophic confinement of the passage is traded for a sense of airlessness, a worrying sensation usually experienced with height and now found deep underground, and a premonition of danger returns. "Slowly," Ferren warns, proceeding at a slow pace himself. "We could use more light," he murmurs, expression matching the dark chamber.

Tamsin, eyes taking in everything she could see of the stone, walls, floor and ceiling, as she walked, kept her thoughts to herself, as the group proceeded further down into the belly of the beast, such as it was. This was a dead place, of course, but it was no less living, at least for those who could feel it, and that made dangerous. As they departed from the light, and Ferren called for more, Tamsin reached down, detaching a second saber hilt from her belt, though, when she ignited this one, it was the same pure white light as the stunsaber which Xavier carried. "This is the best that I can do." White and red, much like the doctor herself. The crimson blade she retained at low guard, the white of the stunsaber lifted to use it as a makeshift torch, echoing those long ago days on Hoth which one of their number, at least, would remember.

To say Xavier is used to the voices in his head would be incorrect. He has never gotten used to them, but over time he has developed ways to cope with it. To keep them in the background and sometimes... sometimes silent. Today, however, they are screaming in his mind.

Passing through the light that streams from above granted him temporary relief and Xavier is spared a moment to look up; to look behind him. Nothing. No one is there.

Moving. Keep moving.

Traversing further inwards and downwards, that reprieve melts away and as darkness takes them again, so too do the voices take him. Lagging slightly behind the group, Xavier's dark brown eyes look forward. To those he is with.

And the grip on the saber tightens with the sound of leather creaking.

The black lenses of Kol Goren's helmet shift to consider Xavier when Darth Ferren addresses the Councilor. The comment from Ferren isn't of pressing concern or business to the Mark trooper, so Goren's attention turns away promptly. He returns himself to surveying his surroundings and awaiting some lurking threat to present itself. Should such a thing not arise? Then he continues to precisely that. Watch. Listen. Focus. His duty is to act as an escort for the Councilors and that is precisely what the Mark trooper shall do.

The sound of his bootfalls creates a measured sound that seems to echo within the chamber and across it as he moves. Kol continues to follow in the wake of Darth Ferren and the other Councilors, watching their backs and ultimately making his back to the last in the pack of tomb raiders. That also puts it upon him to watch the rear, which he does with the occasional glance along the path which the Councilors lead.

Where others may feel all manner of things in their spirits? Kol Goren is fortunate in a way. He does not possess those heightened senses of more experienced ruin crawlers. There is dark, dust, and potential danger. That is all that he must take into consideration: for now. Kol Goren's ignorance grants him focus. It makes conducting his duty much simpler.

There was a time when the athletically-built, caped man would have had nothing of use on him save a lightsaber and perhaps makeup, even on missions. He has faced too many enemies, braved too many tombs, and had too many situations go catastrophically sideways, for that Tarq Najjic to still survive.

He pulls single-use glowstick from the back of his belt, pushes it sideways until there's a snapping sound and it bursts into bright yellow light. He raises it in his right hand, for his left is already holding his saber.

Don't get me wrong. He still has the makeup. Some things never change.

The additional light sources do push the darkness back somewhat; they may be agents of the Dark Side, but that doesn't mean they can see in the dark. Except for Tamsin, probably. She's weird like that. The rest of them are still at odds with literal darkness. What they see as they progress further into the chamber and raise more lights is... worrying.

The floor is the same ruddy sandstone they've grown used to within the tomb, but its surface is more uneven than the passageways, less shaped. They are standing on a platform of sorts, a peninsula that appears to grow out from the door they entered via and leans out over an empty gulf that vanished into the abyss. On the other side of that gulf, a span at least five meters across and perhaps wider, the outline of a huge stone sarcophagus, carved in sharp, angular lines, is dimly visible at the edges of their light. Here the mosaic has been traded for a statue, the only hint of which they can see is an outstretched hand with pointed fingers.

Ferren approaches the gap, but stops short, surveilling it thoughtfully.

Tamsin did not lower the stunsaber as they approached what appeared to be a gap, her expression turning, if it were possible, more thoughtful than usual. "I have two thoughts here. First, that if we try to move across the gap, the statue might well lash out at us in some way. And second, that we may have missed a trick somewhere that would raise some sort of bridge or filler to allow us to cross over the abyss." She glanced at Tarq as she put away the lightsaber, clipping it back to her belt so that she could take a knee, her now free hand settling in the rock at the edge of the gap. She was silent for long and long, before she spoke, "Like seeing the ghosts of those who passed here. This gap was not always so, once, the supplicants moved freely across an intact stone floor to and from the tomb. Much of the light which once illuminated this area is now gone."

His steps are nearly dragging now, boots scraping along the stone pathway as Xavier keeps himself moving forward. Forward, forward, forward. Always forward. Even with the past constantly at his side, time never ceases to march onwards. And so does he.

The grip relaxes, allowing the blood to start returning to his fingers and when Xavier looks up again, his focus -- literal and figurative -- has returned. Finally shaking off what had been haunting him, the older man takes his first good look around.

"Trooper," he says to Kol. The first words he has spoken in a while now rumbling through a dried throat. "On alert that nothing sneaks up behind and tries to thrust us into the abyss, mmm?"

That said, Xavier moves up to join Ferren at the edge of oblivion, but instead of looking down, his eyes are piercing forward. The Force shifts ever-so slightly around him and for a moment, the darkness parts and he can /see/ the statue more clearly. This lasts just a moment, though, as the pain is near immediate: using a skill he has lost and has yet to retrain in. The night vision drops after a few seconds and he shakes his head. "Well, that was worth it." Sarcasm. "Got anything?"

Kol Goren remains rooted in place, but attentive. His helmet sweeps this way and that, even turning to his shoulder to survey the path which they traveled to reach this point. He continues to keep an eye on the rear approach. Otherwise the trooper keeps himself silent while the Councilors in the chamber speak. Though when he's addressed by Xavier, the trooper's dark tinted lenses turn to regard the Councilor. He offers a sharp nod of his head, which results in a simple bob of his helmet in acknowledgement before the Mark trooper's voice is delivered in the flat fashion of a stormtrooper's helmet, "Yes, Councilor".

Then Kol returns to considering the path behind. He positions himself that he may look to his left and survey the path which they've only recently traveled. Should he look to his right, then he may look toward the statue lurking in the distance. Back and forth his helmet shifts, regarding the path behind and the abyss ahead. The Councilors too, as they happen to cross his line of sight.

"Has been millennia," the Kuati answers Tamsin. "Years merely - unkind? - to tomb, perhaps. All is dust, in the end." Now Tarq sounds a bit more like Malik Ren in his worse moments. The drop into nothingness earns a longer look. He leans out slightly. "Tarq Najjic thanks you, trooper. Suspect this is situation where /your/ senses will be - less clouded than /ours/."

He holds the glowstick out over the dark pit, looking down, then without warning, releases it to fall into the far-below. He stares down to see what may be revealed - depth, what is at the bottom, whether something eats or quenches it. Even another mental apparition would be more information.

What everyone sees, though, is that light falls, showing stone on both sides. Eventually it leaves sight, with no evidence of a bottom.

He looks both ways, then forward. He waves his hand over the gap. "Do you see this?" Yes, it's just him waving his hand. The hand that held the glowstick.

But even though the glowstick is gone, his hand, and everywhere near where he was holding the glowstick, remains illuminated, as though it took its involuntary swan-dive.

"Maybe whole abyss is illusion of some kind." His hand opens and closes, still sans glowstick. He looks down. "Is stick invisible but still here, at our feet?"

While the others conduct their own versions of reconnaissance as pertains to the chasm, Ferren holds his saber out over the edge, peeking over it to take a look down and seeing nothing but the same darkness as the rest. Withdrawing with a frown, he appears to be sizing up the gap before Tarq's glowstick arcs out into the beyond, disappearing down into the blackness... only as it falls, it also doesn't. Only it did fall, they all saw it fall.

"Did you throw two?" It was almost as if the stick had duplicated mid-fall, with the original falling and a copy remaining behind, but only as pure light and not a physical glowstick. "No, there was only one," the dark lord asserts almost to himself, reaching out his hand towards the disembodied illumination and giving it a push with his mind. The light moves forward, towards the other side of the chasm... but before reaching the other side, it too drops into the abyss, leaving the gap once again shrouded as before.

"Another illusion." Tamsin frowned, really frowned now, as she rose to her feet. "Well, we did not come here to be stymied by the abyss." And then, Tamsin took off at a run, as if she felt that rushing headlong into the darkness and possible death was far preferable to meandering slowly down to her death. The stunsaber whipped back and forth as her arms moved, and the sight of her was an odd thing. Tamsin ran, and then fell, in utter silence, and then, no, the stunsaber was still moving, and then it was gone again. It was as if Tamsin was both there and not there, directly ahead of them. But, perhaps in this case, hearing was more reliable than vision, as they could hear her running for much longer than they could see her, and then the sound of an undrawn breath, and the slipping of sand beneath a boot, before she thumped down. "There is a gap, past the illusion but not as wide as it appears. I'm on the other side." Mostly intact. Whether the stunsaber or the woman herself was visible, she did not know.

Mental clarity is still taking its sweet time returning to Xavier. And that one remaining voice a mere whisper in the empty wind that seems to come up from nowhere in the chasm. He can no longer hear the words. He doesn't want to.

If it is an illsion, it's a damn good one that is certainly standing up to the ravages of time. Tamsin runs forward and jumps. He hesitates. Then Tamsin makes it over, apparently, and so he attempts the same.

Xavier may not look like it, but he is an incredibly old man. One that doesn't move like he used to. Just like on Spearhead, he demonstrates his amazing jumping abilities by miscalculating and not quite clearing the gap. He falls short and when Xavier falls...

He falls. It's only one of him and he is falling. A surprised grunt breaks through followed by what comes naturally: a yell.

As the Councilors begin tempting fate, Kol Goren's attention is drawn. He does of course continue to watch the path they've recently tread, but there's something mesmerizing about watching the Councilors risk their lifes on hunches and whims. Or luck. When such things are afoot however, the soldier's sense of everything that can go wrong-will go wrong, is at its strongest. It's less a conscious motion that Kol lowers a gloved hand to his utility belt and his fingers pluck the grappling hook from within a pouch with only the softest of clatters of his plastoid armor covering the back of his hands touching against the edge of his armor.

It's as though he felt the trouble on the verge of happening; which in the case of the trooper, was utter nonsense. Perhaps it was simply soldier's intuition. As Xavier disappears from view, Kol is quick to rush forward with a flick of his wrist and send the cord and hook careening into the abyss. On a wing, a prayer, and good old fashioned Imperial muscle the grappling hook is slung downward in a blind attempt at snagging the (apparent) falling Councilor.

When he feels resistance against the cord, the blaster rifle is dropped to the ground at his side as both gloved hands move to grip the reinforced wire and curl it around one fist. He grunts and growls within his helmet, but the sound does not transfer through the helmet's broadcast system. He seems to have caught a fish and now he's doing his best not to let it get away as he plants his feet and attempts to prevent himself being dragged in with the Councilor.

Tarq Najjic is perplexed. Seeing the light from his invisible glowstick slip off the invisible edge didn't twig him to the gap's true nature, but seeing Tamsin in two places at once does it. In the moment, though, who is to say which is the illusion? His empty hand widens, fingers stretching outward to guide the unseen Force. When he closes his hand, though, both he and the Force hold nothing. Did he simply miss her?

He puts one foot out towards ledge before he hears the doctor's voice, and exhales sharply, releasing his tension. "Have never been so glad to hear-" He has missed the drama of Xavier following her until this moment, so close was his focus. At Xavier's yell, though, he looks back down and moves his hand. He'll be too late, but he has to try.

Then the hook precedes him, hits and he sees the trooper pulling against the line. He tightens his glove around the line to backstop Kol and move the Morellian up more quickly. "Nice shot." There's genuine admiration there.

The illusory effect of the chasm is uncertain, but Xavier's fall seems to put the lie to the idea that the chasm itself is a lie; there IS a chasm, but its true width is impossible to estimate without many more glowsticks and they only have one Tarq, and thus that plan was abandoned in its infancy. Besides, that sort of scientific approach hews away from the essential spirit of a man who dresses as over the top as Darth Ferren.

And thus when Xavier fails to cross the chasm but is caught by the quick actions of the Mark, Ferren gives Kol an approving nod, making a mental note to check which of the Mark that even is under the helmet to issue a commendation and issue orders for his continued presence on missions. Then he runs into the gulf.

The effect observed by the others and even Ferren himself upon glancing down is an odd sort of double-vision, seeing both the dark lord plummeting down in a billow of black and the steady red glow of his saber bobbing as he runs. He leaps perhaps earlier than necessary, and certainly earlier than he ought, landing off-balance on the very edge of the other side, but somehow the precarious lean backwards never quite tips completely and he swings forward, to safety.

Immediately, the sense of relief is replaced by a sense of dread upon coming in such close proximity to the sarcophagus itself, and the lifesize statue of the armored figure depicted on the entryway mosaic, Bane himself. There can be no doubt that this is the thing they have come to reach and profane. He has no eyes for the others at the moment, captured both by the desire to act and the resisting spirit pushing back against his will. Tamsin would feel it as well, being on this side first.

Tamsin, who had found her footing at the other side of the abyss, kept her jaw clenched, as she did her level best to ignore the oppressive feeling that was trying to pummel her psyche, "I'm here. I will try to grab you, trooper, and bring you over." What Tamsin could see beyond the illusion, she did not trust, but she could feel the life of the group who were still on the other side, and she reached out for the one with whom she was the least familiar. Tarq shone like a beacon, Xavier less so. And that left the trooper. "I will keep you safe, just run and I will bring you the rest of the way." She did not say 'she hoped' out loud. No she did not.

Is this how it ends after two centuries? A mangled corpse at the bottom of some old Sith's tomb? It's not so much the dying part that angers him, no. It's the indignity of the location. He distinctly said before they even came in here that the last thing he wanted was to be entomb--

The hook comes in at a curve, wrapping around Xavier's torso and doing several rotations before his weight pulls the dense, fiberous rope taut in Kol's hands. "Hoomph!" The air is forced out of his lungs by the unforgiving laws of physics. But momentum isn't done yet. Like a pendolum, Xavier swings around and slams into the wall below where Kol is hanging onto him with an impressive natural strength. Yeah, he's going to be feeling all of that later.

Adrenaline is his friend and enemy today. With Kol's help, Xavier makes it back up to solid ground and claps his hand on the trooper's pauldron. "Well done, trooper. Well done." Not to be done-in by a chasm twice, Oblivion be damned, Xavier takes another running start and manages to get to the otherside with maybe a sliver of dignity remaining. "There. No problems, mmm?"

Then BAM! That presence is back again and Xavier physically responds; a hand to his head and hissing, "Shut. Up." To seemingly no one in particular.

There's a low sigh of relief that escapes Goren's throat as Councilor Harcourt is hauled up from the abyss, with Councilor Najjic assisting at Kol Goren's back. As Xavier settles back onto the outcropping and gives a clap of his hand to Kol's pauldron, a simple answer is provided to the praise, "Thank you, Councilor". Kol, the Mark, is quick to unravel the Councilor from the cord and secure it back within his utility belt after a moment of practiced movement. He seems to have practiced a great many things. It was, after all, his duty to be prepared and make the most of his equipment. It was issued to him for a reason.

He collects his dropped blaster rifle, cradles it within his gloved hands, and brushes a little grit off of it. The rifle secure in his grip again, Kol Goren's helmet shifts to regard the others as more of the Councilors jump and leap their way across the chasm.

Then it is his turn, apparently. When Councilor Cas calls out for him to make the leap, there's a slow shift of his helmet. It's likely that subtle shake of the head that an individual performs just before they do something of questionable intelligence. He huffs out a breath, sucks in another, then huffs out another as he breaks into a run into the supposed illusion. He counts his steps. On the fifth he leaps. His eyes may very well be closed but the helmet makes it difficult to verify that information.

He begins to plummet, only for his descent to be slowed by the aid of Councilor Tamsin Cas. When her metaphysical grip on him begins to wane and he suddenly drops a yard with an abruptness, one can almost hear the shout of surprise and fear muffled by the Mark's helmet. Then he's sent hurtling through the air by the aid of another. Darth Ferren plucks him from the air and sends him soaring over the gap and to the awaiting platform with a clatter of plastoid and organic matter thudding against stone. His momentum is fierce enough that as his arms flail and he attempts to correct his angle, his feet slap the stone floor and scrabble to gain purchase. The sound of his boots scraping is the most noteworthy indication of his slide. Until that too goes quiet when the momentum bleeds off and only the Mark's muffled shout contained within his helmet can be heard. Which he promptly stifles. His posture corrects itself and his helmet turns to regard the Councilors, whom he acknowledges with a respectful dip of his helmet. Then he steps to the task of returning to his sentry duties. Just like that.

Once Kol has finished his flight, the caped Kuati gets a running start and proceeds for three long steps past the visible gap before leaping into the air and landing smoothly next to the statue, his bent knees and the Force absorbing the impact of landing. He even shifts the lightsaber blade aside to avoid stabbing anyone.

Then he's staring at the statue. What it presents to him, only he can see, but his response is impossible to miss: "You - are dead. Tarq Najjic lives." Without a moment's pause he lunges forward like a fencer, foot out, spiking his red laser sword right into the statue's side.

Except it doesn't go in that far. He's having to really work it. He shifts his hands to put the strength of both arms behind it, and it inches further. He pulls the blade back neatly and examines the hole he's made. "Is resistant to saber, somehow. Can destroy it this way, but would take /forever/." Meanwhile, it would be fighting their resolve the whole time. "Must be another way."

For a moment, Darth Ferren glances back at the others crossing the chasm and notes the worrying tilt of his sense of where Kol Goren is and reaches out to give the fellow a little lift up and over the edge. At least, that's how he felt about it; Kol's interpretation might vary. With that done, he turns back to the sarcophagal coffin-box and the statue standing behind it, an armored hand outstretched, in time to see Tarq break through the spirit of malaise around it and slash the thing. Despite the lack of the usual dramatic aftereffects, Ferren does not seem dissuaded nor particularly eager to search for clever alternatives.

A blood vessel twitches in his brow, and without speaking, he smashes his saber into the tomb, leaving a furrow in the stone, then another and another. There is scant satisfaction in the act, judging from his expression and the jolt of distilled terror that shoots down his arm like reverberations through an ordinary weapon with each impact.

"Stop. Stop!" Look at Tamsin giving people orders, only not really. More she can feel that waves of malevolence that pulse out like metaphysical screams each time either Tarq or Ferren struck the sarcophagus with their sabers, "We'll end up no better and he'll have won anyway." Tamsin, still with stunsaber at hand, "He tried to send us to the abyss. We should return the favour." She gathered herself. She was not defeated by the specters the tomb had conjured when she was wandering, she would not be now, "I am going to try to push it over the edge into the chasm." The grinding of stone on stone and sand on sand made an almost plaintive sound as anyone close to the sarcophagus would feel it begin to shift, the sheer force of Tamsin's will, coupled with no small amount of anger doing what her physical body could never.

'Why?' 'No, please!' 'Damn you!' 'Stop!' 'Why are you doing this?' 'Save the others!' 'I can't stop him!' 'Who is that?' 'Not like this!'

The closer Xavier gets to the sarcophagus, the more laboured his movements as if trudging through thick sludge. The voices... loud. Clearer than they have been in months. Xavier slows to a stop a foot or so from the coffin that is clearly and effectively pushing back against them.

'Juran. Look at me.'

His hand falls away. Eyes lift under thick brows. Whatever Xavier sees, it breaks him. Or empowers. The Force shifts and starts to press against the elaborate crate that holds Bane. Face wrenched in torment, Xavier grabs onto those tendrils and adds his will directly into those efforts to send this cursed object into the pit he almost sank into.

He tried to send us to the abyss? Kol Goren glances toward Councilor Cas when Tamsin makes that remark. His helmet shifts ever so slightly. He casts a dark lense to this Councilor and that, likely attempting to determine if they felt that Councilor Cas had lost it or not. His helmet shakes, likely discarding his own wonderings in lieu of answering an unspoken call for aid. The trooper steps forward, fixes his rifle to his side, and he steps in to lend some back to the effort. Except those few steps it takes to reach the coffin are slowed. He seems hesitant to approach and suddenly looks to his shoulder, as though he's only just heard something that would cause him to raise the alarm. His helmet then jerks the other direction, searching for the source of some sound.

He finds nothing wherever the dark lenses of his helmet turn and finally he seems to swallow down his paranoia, step forward, and put some old fashioned backside into his efforts to aid in the heaving of the box into the shadowy abyss below. He makes sure to stop shoving so much of his weight and momentum against the box as it nears the edge; clearly he doesn't wish to topple into the abyss along with it. He backs away with a brushing of gloved hands together, likely congratulating himself on a job well done. When he steps back anew, his rifle is collected once more and he returns to his sentry duties.

As the Councilors combine their intent, the long-settled and long-silent tomb begrudingly rises from its resting place and skids along stubborn feet towards the edge of the chasm. Ferren steps forward as though to put his hands directly on it to speed it on its journey, but try as he might, they never touch the box itself. The dead Sith's pervasive, lingering aura of malevolence, dread, hatred, and fear is too great even for him and at the last, Ferren is forced to settle for using the Force to shove at the coffin as well.

It reaches the edge and with a sudden silence, tips over, plummeting soundlessly into whatever lies far below. The haunting presence abates somewhat, sinking with the coffin, as a mold creeps into the walls to grow unseen.

The tomb defiled, its doctrine rejected, the Sith are free to return to their shuttle, free to chart their own future, free from the grip of inconvenient pasts... for the truth is easily forgotten.