And when the Current turns, Thuruht said, it is the Force that suffers.
In his drive to change the vision he had seen, Darth Caedus had unleashed Destruction herself.
Chaos, not Destruction, Thuruht corrected. Chaos brings destruction, but she also brings new energy and change.
As Lowbacca and the others joined them, Raynar began to speak aloud, both so his companions would understand, and so C-3PO could record him.
"Thuruht believes that a change in the Current caused Abeloth's release," Raynar said, summarizing for his companions. He turned back to Thuruht. "But the Jedi believe the future is always in motion. So I have trouble seeing why a change in the Current would release Abeloth."
"Is a river current not in motion?" Thuruht replied, also speaking aloud. "And will it not carry a boat to many different places, depending on how the riders paddle?"
"Yes, that's true," Raynar said, with some impatience. "But wherever they land, they do not usually free Abeloth."
"They do not ever free her, because they have not changed the Current," Thuruht replied. "They have only ridden it to one of many different destinations. But if they wish to go where the Current cannot carry them, the current must be turned."
"And to do that, the river itself must be altered," Raynar finished.
"Yes," Thuruht replied. "The Force guides the Current. It is impossible to turn the Current without also changing the Force."
"And that is what frees Abeloth," Raynar clarified.
"Yes," Thuruht agreed. "The Force is in the dominion of the Celestials. When their power is usurped, the Bringer of Chaos comes."
Raynar waited while C-3PO translated the exchange for his companions. He was about to recap his suspicions regarding Jacen when Tekli arrived at the same conclusion.
"Then Jacen freed Abeloth?" she asked.
"Yes."
"By changing what he saw in his Force vision?" Tekli clarified.
Thuruht clacked her mandibles in a Killik shrug. "We do not know what Jacen saw in his Force vision."
Tekli's ears flattened in frustration. She looked to Lowbacca, who let out a sad groan and replied that even Tahiri had not known for certain. She believed the vision had to do with a dark man who ruled the galaxy, and that Jacen had been so disturbed by what he saw that he had turned to the dark side to prevent it.
After C-3PO had translated Lowbacca's explanation, Thuruht curled her antennae in the Killik equivalent of a nod.
"Then, yes," Thuruht replied. "If the dark man was the future Jacen wished to prevent, then it must be the future he changed."
~FOTJ: Apocalypse
~⚜~
IC: Empress Kara Volshe, Darth Nihl, and Sedriss Nathemus
The Throne Room, Korriban
“No.”
The word wrested itself free from the serenity of the woman upon the throne, her eyes snapping open and recentering on the open doors far beyond. She had heard both Marasiah’s plan, and she had heard the quiet footsteps of her twin children as they attempted to steal away into the halls.
“We are not returning to the dungeons, nor are we going outside. There is an army at least a thousand strong of the undead, and Sith more powerful than even I. The dungeons lead to the Valley, and a single foot set in the sands...It would mean our death.”
She stood, her dress fluttering down about her. Slowly, steadily, she made her way down the steps. Her head tilted, watching as the twins made their attempt to pass Maladi.
“If you would stop them,” she said, her voice thin. Her patience was growing ever thinner. Her children would not be leaving. Neither would the remaining Triumvirs.
And she would not allow Marasiah to create a plan more solid than her own.
“I have decided upon our next course of action.”
“Though it would likely be safer to continue the assault with the forces I have created, it will not allow us an escape,” she said. Her head turned to Nihl, inclining to him. Her arm extended in a silent request of his assistance. She would have, in any other moment, maintained her poise and dignity to the utmost degree. But given the plan she had formulated, any strength she had in her reserves would need to be utilized.
“I will conceal my essence in the Force, so that the ones beyond cannot detect me,” she said, her arm extending to Lord Nihl so that he could aid her mortal shell in preserving its remaining stamina. His hand took hers, chalk-white flesh against sunlit ivory, and a spark of power passed between them.
“There is absolutely no opportunity for us to evade them, should we leave on foot. We will take charge of a shuttle. There were perhaps thirty or more within the hangar. As I command much of the Order, they will quite easily obey my instruction to attend alongside us.”
For a moment, she visualized the hangar she had arrived in. There was a long silence as she processed how exactly she would get a shuttle past the thousand ships above. Her own had stygium cloaking, but it would only hold perhaps three quarters of the remaining order. Six or seven hundred, at most, if they utilized the entirety of the cargo hold.
It was better than nothing. Certainly, many of them would not follow her, even if she reminded them of their potential fate.
She knew they were gathering in the dungeons. She could see through the eyes of her thralls, hear whatever was spoken through their ears. She knew well that Hesper desired them to follow her, but she had herself assessed the inevitable chain of events. Every path through the catacombs and dungeons would only lead back to the Valley - or nothingness. There was more than one path that simply had been cordoned off...or that went deep below the sands, only to end in some empty chamber that had long since been stripped of its valuables and left to the cruel clutches of time.
There was a reason that was precisely as Dreadwar wanted.
It was either that he desired them dead, for they complicated his design; enslaved, for they furthered his plans; or perhaps - and the thought was dark, her very eyes glittering with the morosity of it - he wished to simply enslave them through the same indoctrination he had thrust upon them for years. Perhaps he simply intended to manipulate them into seeing him as their saviour, even though he had arrived alongside those who wished for their eternal suffering.
If Dreadwar desired it, there was evil behind it, and not the sort that she wielded. It was the sort that ran deep, and cold. It was the sort of evil the Jedi believed they must fight against, the sort of evil they believed ran in Sidious, or Revan, or even Krayt. It was beyond such. Perhaps even beyond the maleficence of Vitiate.
None were beyond the bounds of his scheming, she knew. He would do whatever it took to realize his vision.
She would not let him, but, for now, she would let him believe that he would emerge victorious. His illusions of success and desire for grandeur would sate him until they could strike. And she would. For all the fear she had, for every ounce of terror the apocalypse they faced stirred within her, a vehement determination reigned over it a hundred fold.
“Lord Nathemus, you command the art of Sith Illusions, and should focus on making our shuttle invisible to their eye. Perhaps you have not done so, but what a sorcerer can make visible, they can also do the inverse. My shuttle has a cloaking device powered by stygium, which will make it invisible to scanners. And if they do not detect my aura, they will not find us.”
She frowned, briefly. It was not secure enough. Something more would have to be done. If one of the Lords below so much as suspected there was a shuttle escaping, if one stray eye spotted them…
She replayed her words in her mind, over and over again. Her eyes levelled on Lord Nihl, her lips parting to speak and then closing once more. She was searching for some third level of insurance, something beyond simply sneaking a single shuttle past enemy lines.
“I will have, at minimum, thirty of my thralls pilot the remaining shuttles. They will leave simultaneously, providing us cover.”
Briefly, her gaze went down, to the floor, flicking back up a second later. Her head tilted, curls tumbling to the side, muting the soft symphony of the suspenda beads, as if to ask
“do you disagree?”
In that same moment, not wishing to delay, she began her preparations. It was a tenuous moment, a careful orchestration of that she commanded, her focus carefully divided upon the tasks she had taken on. It was fortunate she did not have to heal, nor complete any task beyond the first step of Art of the Small - anything beyond that, she likely could not attempt without sacrificing the quality and quantity of her enthralled army.
She envisioned her aura shrinking into something even her eye could not see, far beyond that. Miniscule. Microscopic. No, smaller. Smaller than the motes of dust that swirled about them, than the most infinitesimal grain of sand in the vast Valley beyond. A breath passed her lips. It was almost silent.
She imagined the smallest grain of sand, the silicon glittering, a shard of pale ochre. And then, she imagined it upon the tip of her finger, her within its crystalline form. Smaller. It became a matrix. She became a matrix, a lattice of pentose sugars and nitrogenous bases, the very billions that twined through her body to form the nuclei of her cells. She envisioned her aura as the atom nestled upon the cresting ridge of her genetic code.
If she succeeded, she would be utterly undetectable... unless one knew precisely where to look. She would become a drop in the oceans of Dac, a leaf upon a tree of Endor, a breath in the mountains of Naboo.
Her arm gripped Nihl’s, and she leaned in close to him. Her voice fell to a whisper. It was soft, though the lower notes carried through the cavernous room.
“I would ask to speak to you, alone, outside, before we leave for certain.”
Nihl glanced over to the reception hall, noticing Maladi had smoothly intercepted the twins. Deianara stared at the long skirt in front of her with an intense frown, before raising a distinctly grumpy face up at the Devaronian. Nihl’s countenance remained expressionless, as he turned back to Volshe.
“Shall we speak now?” he asked quietly, too low and too faint for the others in the throne room to hear.
“I have grave concerns with your plan, domina.”
She took a moment to consider, instead taking measured strides to the side of the dais, her pace so that she neither taxed herself nor moved asynchronously with him. She slowed in a spot just past where the cast of shadow from the banners above was softened with light, tucked away beside the massive obsidian throne.
“I understand that it is...unconventional,” she began, quietly murmuring as her gaze returned from the floor to him.
“But I see no other option. Tell me your concerns, so that we may prevent such potentialities coming to fruition.”
His hand pulled away from hers, as he ran his fingers through his dark hair; an exceedingly rare gesture of nervousness from the Nagai. Questions competed for his attention, and there was little time to ask them; nonetheless, before critiquing her plan, he needed to unravel the strange preamble to said plan, some other plan Volshe had seemingly dismissed, without Nihl hearing anything about it.
“Firstly,” he exhaled,
“why did you say the dungeons lead to the Valley? Are you speaking of an escape tunnel?”
The existence of such a thing was not implausible; many fortresses of old possessed such, and Nihl had not forgotten the catacombs Talon had led him to beneath the tombs of the Valley, the subterranean complex in which Darth Krayt had prepared his cybernetic army. But he had never heard of a tunnel connecting the temple to the distant necropolis. Was Volshe privy to information he knew not? That seemed… unlikely.
“It is a logical assumption,” she said.
“Every other tomb or crypt has at least a single passage that leads to the Valley, even if it is for something as simple as access for the grotthu for menial tasks. It would be arguably more fortunate if they did not, but then we are cornered in their depths.”
Her voice quieted further, as she glanced to the others.
“But I know I am correct. The lower levels are not empty. There are undead that have infiltrated through. Currently my thralls war with them alongside Lord Kain, and there are corpses of more within the catacombs. Their presence does not bode well for the validity of such an escape. Certainly it goes to the Valley beyond, or some place below that the True Sith have access to. My intent to withdraw into the lower levels was valid, before, but it is no longer so.”
“Then let us prepare for a siege,” Nihl said,
“and await reinforcements. Maladi is right, we should be going to the war room. Anything but evacuating by air.” His tone was insistent.
“Domina, I am a veteran of many wars. You remember how well I commanded the attack on Ossus. These… These attackers will be thinking as I did then, how to cut off escape to a thousand Force-users. Shuttles flying out of a hangar? Even if all our number could fit into the shuttles, which I doubt, it will be the first method of escape the enemy will think of. You might be able to hide your signature, but the others cannot. The instant you deactivate the shields, their ships will shoot us out of the sky. Or… Or Dreadwar will destroy us; I’ve seen him bring down Star Destroyers, devour armies with a glance. My son is a capable illusionist, but his power will be nothing before Dreadwar’s cunning. We’ll be dead before we hit the ground. Dead!” Nihl’s fist clenched, pallid skin tightening like bone about to break.
“We cannot gamble the entire Order on such a plan.”
We cannot gamble our children.
“I share the same fears, but the war room is no safer. Their infiltrators are already attempting to dismantle our defences. They nearly deactivated the shields, moments ago. This army, they are intent on coming inside the Temple, and it is only a matter of time before they are successful. If we are inside when they arrive...”
She trailed off. That was a future she did not wish to think of. She took a long pause, the gravity weighing on her. Her lips turned into a creased frown, her brow tensing. They could not be anywhere near the army once it managed its way inside.
“Any move we make is a gamble. If we are inside the Temple, or inside the tunnels, we are at their mercy. They want us to be cornered. They want something beyond just our death, or they would have seen to our deaths already. Dreadwar could kill us in an instant. Venomis would take far less time, if he chose to expedite our death instead of tormenting us.”
She was determined in her plan. She could not trust any location on Korriban with their safety.
“We die, either way. The tunnels are confined, and we already know they likely lead nowhere beyond right into their hands. And we cannot linger within the Temple, Nihl. Unless you have another option...”
Her eyes met his, a celestial storm in the starry gold, clearly more distressed than she was showing. But she was attempting to warm them, to show some reassurance and determination. Her features - and voice - softened the same. Her other hand moved to rest on his clenched fist, fingertips gently attempting to uncurl it in the same moment.
“We will have to use the Order in its furthest extent to ensure our escape. If I must utilize alternative means to ensure they do, I most certainly will. Your son will not work alone. I trust his ability, but I would not expect the Order’s fate to rest squarely on his shoulders.”
Nihl let his fist unfurl, fingers cupping hers.
“I’m not suggesting the war room for safety, I’m suggesting we try to make contact with the fleet, and take stock of our strategic situation.” It was obvious, to Nihl, that something had gone wrong, up there; the silence was deafening, and if the fleet was capable of such, it would have opened fire on the pyramids already.
If the pyramids had ion cannons, they could have conceivably disabled a ship or two, but the entire fleet? A hundred bursts would have surely lit Korriban’s skies, and Nihl had not noticed such through the window. Perhaps the enemy had blinded the fleet, somehow, using Sith illusions to conceal their presence on sensors—or perhaps they had never appeared on sensors at all, and the fleet remained blissfully ignorant of the attack, for the pyramids themselves were illusory. But no, that didn’t explain the lack of return contact… Although, there could be different factors at play, there. After all, a communications disruption often preceded invasion; jamming was hardly difficult.
“If the fleet is still operable,” Nihl continued, words tumbling out in pace with his racing thoughts,
“we can thin the pyramids and distract them. And we can send a single shuttle out with acolytes on-board, if the shields are breached—we should not do their work for them, by deactivating them ourselves. See what happens to it, before risking our lives. Send a scouting party into the tunnels as well, see what happens to them.”
Nihl was aware his own strategy was a gamble, for it was possible Volshe was right, and the temple could not hold the siege for longer than a few minutes. But he knew, with the confidence of nearly three decades of military command, that Volshe’s plan, in its current form, was suicide.
“Please listen to me, domina, as you listened to me on Naboo,” he reminded her, tone firm. The fact they would not be in this predicament now, if he hadn’t suggested pledging themselves to Dreadwar, all those years ago, was not lost on him. Nonetheless, he had saved her then, from an even bleaker fate.
“There’s not a single thing any of us can do, if we go out there in shuttles, and a thousand capital ships open fire on us.”
She was tempted by his plan. It was entirely reasonable, in most situations. An assessment of the situation they faced was fitting and intelligent. But it would only take time. She exhaled, willing the tightness in her throat to fade, softening her tone as best she could manage.
“I do trust you. I trust your judgment, I know well that it would normally be a solid plan. But this is not the Federation, this is not a mortal minded war. The stakes are far greater.”
Her lips pressed into a line. She knew they could not stay. The very thought of being in the Temple a moment more made her nauseous, now that she had processed all the potential outcomes. One thing flashed in her mind. Lord Kain. His dark eyes, his solemn realization only days ago. It was not something she was yet used to, though she openly mocked Dreadwar with it minutes ago.
But she realized, then, she had not told the Nagai. He was likely assuming their approach was purely intended to rid the galaxy of the mortal order.
“There is a reason, a far greater reason, I would much rather risk death than spend further time on this desolate planet. I believe - no, no, I know - they intend to weaponize me.”
Her teeth briefly worried her lip, her gaze flicking to the floor as she pondered how exactly to communicate such a thing in the midst of the siege they were victim to. She shook her head, gently, then resolved that simply saying it was likely the best method.
“I spoke to Lord Kain, on Vitae, some days ago. Well, a clone of me did. He gave me her memories, and I gave him my memories. He knows everything I do.”
“But there is something else. These memories, these visions, he...recognized me. I knew some of what my dreams and visions spoke of. I am not merely this long lost wife of Dreadwar, not some incarnation as I was led to believe. Lord Nihl, I am Abeloth. And not the one we know, not the same, but...she is the very reason I exist. I am her.”
Now, she fell silent. She had spent years in exile where simply mentioning such oddities in her mind or in her life had resulted in threats of institutionalizations. Where her rambling and theorizing would have resulted in her being shunned, or perhaps far worse. She inhaled and held her breath. There was desperation in her, an impending storm that she was only barely restraining behind her features. The very words she had spoken were bitter, foreign. More importantly, they were terrifying. There was the chance he would not believe her, that he would attribute her claim to some faux grandiosity inflicted by the stress of the assault upon Korriban and her mental state’s resultant deterioration.
Or he could believe her...and no matter the bond they had shared, he could kill her where she stood.
“Do not tell anyone. I implore you.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes now desperately searching his. Her hands gripped his more tightly, her own facade of calmness fracturing. “I cannot stay here. I cannot. We must leave Korriban. The Order must.”
“We can talk about those things later,” Nihl said. Volshe’s words made no sense to him, but Nihl had long ago learned that this rarely meant Volshe’s words were
nonsensical; riddles and ancient mysteries, that was Volshe to the core. But nonetheless, he would interrogate her regarding her strange claims another time; there were more pressing matters to attend to than some ostensible connection to a mysterious entity Krayt had once intimated vanquishing, decades before Nihl’s birth. Nihl was a general, a military strategist, not a master of the arcane, and such abstract concepts rarely mattered to him.
“I do not see how you can defend this plan as only a close call,” he continued.
“I do not believe we can fit more than a hundred into a Sentinel-class. Neither are you explaining a method of survival against Dreadwar and his army.”
Volshe was right about one thing; if what Nihl had heard of Dreadwar’s actions at Anaxes bore any truth, it was strange that they weren’t already dead. But it seemed flimsy evidence for Volshe’s conclusions, at best. Perhaps Dreadwar wanted to preserve… Apollyon’s life, for some reason. Or maybe he could not destroy them without destroying the entire planet. Or, perhaps Dreadwar’s power worked by some ritual that would take time to prepare. All of Nihl’s studies of Sith history had revealed the most recondite rites of Sith power to be complex and lengthy affairs, so that seemed plausible; even if Nihl had witnessed the frightening instaneity of Dreadwar’s siphoning powers first-hand, a localised effect—no matter against how many hundreds—was not quite the same thing as consuming a world.
“We can certainly fit far more than one hundred. It can fit tanks, and I have seen such. I already explained how we would maintain our survival,” she said, after a brief second of processing, her head tilting and a corner of her lip curling with an inquisitive quirk. She brought her hand to Nihl’s gaunt cheek, fingertips resting where the white of his skin met the tattooed spines of black. Her eyes lingered upon his, only briefly recognizing that this could very well be one of the last moments that they would share. She had wracked her brain for some alternative. But what the eyes of those below had seen, what their ears had heard, it had shattered her fleeting illusions of the Temple’s safety and sanctity. She wished there was some better option.
She knew in her heart that there was not.
She did not allow herself to think on anything more, remaining fixated on his crimson eyes - drops of blood nestled in black. Her voice fell to soft, honeyed tones, as light and soothing as the first rays of dawn. Her head inclined, her breath still incensed with wine and the faint spice of the Ambrian cheroot she had indulged in only minutes ago.
“Nothing is certain, I know. But my dear...plan your contingencies as we travel there, and I will see to it that your will is done. You are my Emperor, now, and the Order will serve you just as they will serve me. Whatever you believe must be done to ensure our survival will be done. I will ensure it.”
She was already playing to his ego with her supple words, indulging the ambition she knew had always flowed in abundance within him. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was convince the men closest to her to follow her - even if it was to the farthest corners of insanity.
This was insanity, she knew. But it all was.
She allowed her eyes to fall, briefly, her hand doing the same, brushing past the obsidian skin of his neck and at last resting on the dark carapace he wore. Her lacquered fingertips traced one of the ovals of carmine, there, and she shifted ever closer, so that only inches remained between them. Now it was not merely her breath that immersed them, but the exotic redolence she was steeped in. Her eyes returned to his. They were smouldering, now, hypnotic embers dancing about golden flame.
“I trust you will keep me - us - safe,” she said, her other hand coaxing his to her rounded abdomen,
“and I know your inimitable brilliance will see us through. But, my love, we cannot remain on Korriban. We must leave.”
Nihl’s expression remained impassive, but a flicker of annoyance passed through the Force. Multiple facets and possibilities. Volshe’s nebulous language betrayed no concrete plan; no specifics on how she would avoid the overwhelming likelihood of the shuttle being blown out of the sky. Illusions, capable of deceiving Dreadwar? Concealing a shuttle from his senses? What would she do when such measures inevitably proved inadequate?
She pressed him for answers on his worries, just as he pressed her for specifics, but it seemed there was a communication gap; no matter how Nihl attempted to convey such in her language, he could not make her see that, from the perspective of a military mind, this plan was simply too risky. There were too many variables.
Her attempts to distract him… Did she think he would forget his strategic analysis, over something as important as their certain death, with a few honeyed words and a coy touch? His hand grasped hers, peeling it away from his chestplate and holding it, instead.
Volshe’s stubbornness—her most endearing quality, admittedly—had always proven difficult to erode, even when smoothed by the calm temperament and patience of his Nagai heritage. Yet honour demanded he intervene, this time, no matter how much it inflamed Volshe’s legendary temper; for the sake of her life, and the children she carried.
If she would not listen to him, if she would not listen to reason, perhaps she would cave to pressure.
“Lord Nathemus, my son,” Nihl spoke up, powerful voice echoing around the throne room. His eyes remained locked on Volshe’s own, fiery orange melting pools of illustrious gold.
The Lord of Pain had listened intently to the conversation between his father and the Empress. They were discussing every detail of the plan to escape. Taking the majority of the Empire onto a single shuttle while manning dozens of decoy shuttles was not the greatest plan in the Galaxy, but it was surely better than the other heavy on the mind suggestion.
The Shadow Ghouls had multiplied threefold. The army was now 1500 strong. The corporeal specters moved in a strange unison. Perhaps those with experience in the recondite Sith Illusion power would see through them, but the bulk of the Sith Empire would be completely unaware. The Sedriss could only hope that Dreadwar and his agents would not see through them either.
Nathemus approached.
Nihl spoke once more.
“Advise the Empress. She believes we can escape via her shuttle, fly out of the hangar beneath the pyramids’ watching eyes. What chances do you give this plan?” Maladi, frowning, turned to look; it was obvious she had heard his words.
"The shuttle plan is not fool-proof," Lord Nathemus told his father.
"But the Empress is wise. We will combine our powers and use our Sith Illusions to hide our own shuttle and escape the system, and we'll combine it with the shuttle's own native stygium cloaking technology."
She tilted her head, assessing, pondering, and offered additional support to the Lord of Pain.
“As added insurance, we can, though I do not believe it necessary, send a shuttle out first, as you’ve suggested. Once we know their approach to an attempt at escape, we can further conceal the essences of those aboard. And I am certain that more than one of our numbers can provide an additional distraction. Multiple. Something bold, to draw their attention to the chaos unfolding, not to the ship they do not see. I can even act in some dramatic fashion, utilizing my pawns, to further distract Dreadwar and his allies.”
There was only one thing she was willing to do to assuage his concerns, because she was now most definitely not going to alter her plans.
“If all you wish is to contact the fleet from the war room, I will ensure a soldier I have puppeted does so. If you wish to fly beyond the temple, away from the ships, before we enter the atmosphere, we can. But remaining here...where will we go, once the shields fail? There is nowhere to go. They will find us, no matter where we attempt to hide.”
“We have a single, slim, chance of escape. That is all. I do not wish to waste time going back and forth when that will assure our demise. The same options remain. We have minutes...minutes, Nihl, before they find their way into the Temple. Dreadwar revitalized this temple, he knows every centimetre of it. Once they get inside, then we will die. You know that I watched them plot on Zakuul. They are ruthless and effective. There is no alternative. The catacombs, the war room, it matters not where we are. We cannot hold back gods with stone walls. We will die here, if we are in this temple. That is certain. Korriban is in their hands, and Korriban will be our grave.”
She took a moment to calm the torrent of irritation, to quell the frustration she felt.
“Take the comm. Attempt once more to contact the fleet. I will do the same from the war room with one of the troopers I possess. I will further plan contingencies for our escape. That is the most we can do. Lingering here while we wait is no longer an option.”
She did not yet abandon her attempts to sway him, pressing the device into his hand and closing his fingers around it. Her other hand relinquished the one at her waist and flit up to rest upon the curve of his neck.
Nihl's lips pressed into a firm line.
We cannot hold back gods with stone walls, Volshe had said. Did she not see the irony in her words, the contradiction? Volshe seemed to think she could hold them back with stygium bulkheads. But he said nothing. His last attempt at suasion had failed, for he had entirely overestimated his son's intelligence.
The seconds only weighed on her more and more heavily as they ticked by, each passing moment seeming to join in the darkness that surrounded them. They were running out of time. Every inch of the Force was distress, every glittering star that surrounded her crimson with danger. They were all in danger.
The sound of the throne room doors roused her from being immersed in the sensation, and her gaze broke away from Nihl’s, briefly. It returned a moment later.
“I appreciate your strategy, but we do not have time to find another tactic, and if we do not enact it, now, we will die. This is not finding the ideal path through a battlefield - this is our sole chance of escape. We may die, but our death is certainty if we remain.”
She shut her eyes, but it was not frustration nor fear that prompted such. It was entirely in an effort to refocus her mind and enhance her concentration.
She did as she promised. Where their eyes could not be, hers could. Nothing within the temple was beyond her reach. The nerveless fingers of a thrall attempted to find the war room and open a channel to the fleet, hoping to contact them and request a status.
But she also reached beyond her command of the thralls, focussing on the Order in its entirety - barring those she knew well that she could no longer trust nor make use of. The remainder she attempted to influence with a subtle nudge. She did not attempt to sway them with words, beyond a subtle direction that she intended to seem innocent, for they would potentially recognize the words as her own.
There is a way to escape. Come to the hangars at once, came the silvery whisper, melodic and lilting as it wafted through the ethereal realm into the neurons of every last one she could influence.
Simultaneously, she would puppet another thrall to speak in their presence. Her intent was to create the idea that the subtle manipulation of their allegiance was an idea spawned from her thrall, that the promise of survival was enough to pull them towards the hangars.
The moment they heard the thrall speak, the moment they witnessed her soft coaxing, the words would lodge deep in their minds and summon them to her side.
It was emotion that she sent in waves beyond those subtle words, intending it to wash over them and reassure them. It was feelings and brief glimpses of the future they needed to follow that found their way into the minds of the Order.
The hangars. Hope. The stars. Safety.
Survival.
It would become a tantalizing idea, an irresistible potential, nestling itself in their minds. Any other plan would trigger fear, and aversion. There would be no doubt, only conviction. Every last mind she touched she willed would find their way to her, that they would believe in her - and the Nagai by her side - with utterly unshakeable resolution.
Even if the tenuous loyalty would only last for minutes, or hours, she willed them to her cause.
Her eyes opened, her hand fell. She turned to make her way towards the hangars, through the throne room doors, only making it two strides past Lord Nihl before she noticed both Keres and Lord Xxys had entered, his questioning of the situation briefly flaring her temper. But she remained calm, serenity in her features despite her annoyance at the situation. She focussed on the welcome arrival of the Lord, in order to maintain serenity. She nodded the same to Keres.
“I am afraid he has. The True Sith. A terrible enemy from beyond known space.” It was not entirely true, but it at least offered a mostly accurate assessment.
“Dreadwar is among them. He has been lost to them. I will explain all I know, but only on the way. We are not headed to the tunnels. They are not safe. We are leaving to the hangars, for we have not a moment to lose. Let us go now, before they mount another attack and we miss our opportunity to escape.”
~⚜~
IC: A Thrall
The Dungeons, Korriban
“Sith,” the thrall hissed, a Nautolan woman of ivory skin, dressed in the modest garb of a servant. The woman’s headtresses briefly twitched, erratically, before settling as it adjusted to Volshe’s sudden regain of command.
“Do not pursue the path ahead. It is a folly you will not survive. Dreadwar desires this, for he has long been lost. Perhaps you believe you know better. You do not. Perhaps there is something beyond, perhaps some chance of survival yet tempts you, but I would not doubt it is merely death topped with a pretty bow.”
The Nautolan jerked her head to the side, the unending blackness of her eyes glittering with the insidious firelight. Though it was difficult to tell, given her lack of pupils, her gaze was centred on Hesper.
“I implore you to reconsider.”
“The tunnels here, the Tomb of XoXaan, the catacombs, they lead only to the Valley greater or the depths of tombs, The valley is overrun with the undead. It will mean only your demise. Perhaps it will be quick. Perhaps they will give you the honour of a death without suffering, if they do not desire you to be a plaything for eternity.”
“We have found a method of escape. There is a path to survival. Yes, you could trust a slim chance that you would not be torn limb from limb by the wights outside, or slaughtered by the dark forces that will certainly come next... or, you can come with us to the Hangars, where we have arranged transport to safety. My thralls, my ghouls, they will accompany you to ensure your safe arrival.”
“You have two choices, now. Come with me and live...or die.”
The Nautolan awaited their response, but the other thralls began to withdraw, lumbering towards the steps that lead back to the Hangars, passing by the group of children and the Sith that accompanied them.
~⚜~
POWERS USED:
GODLIKE - Art of the Small -- 10
Mind Trick (expanding) — 5
~⚜~
TAG:
@Darth Dreadwar,
@Darth Nathemus,
@Darth Kain,
@Jihadi Quartz,
@skira,
@Nacros_Telcontare,
@Hadzuska_The Jester,
@Darth Solus,
@Cardun Vrek,
@Reatith Blodraald,
@Keres Dymos,
@Kielor,
@Undying Master Xiannarr,
@Reiis Invadator,
@Grievance Vexx,
@dragonsith13,
@Darth Xxys,
@Voidwalker,
@G.Kn,
@Darth Thana,
@corinthia,
@Catalyst,
@Volacius,
@Darth Xirr,
@DarthFeros,
@Drakul_Xarxes,
@Zareel Jhenan´doka,
@Arach,
@DarthNoxia,
@Metus,
@Sith_Imperios,
@Helkosh