Of Dust and Bones (Caelum)

[hugo]

Visarion was not pleased. The gaunt Hapan could not hide an acrid grimace as the Muun in front of him, Lord Scobis, droned on. His thin, ugly lips moved, but any sound they made had long been drowned out by the pulsing throb that was growing within. Rage. Increasingly hot and loud, it filled him and threatened to take control. Only a clear understanding of the consequences, immediate and otherwise, kept the stirring darkness bridled. Flanking the towering Scobis were two of his bodyguards, part of his larger cadre of handpicked disciples. It was said that Lord Scobis, a Prophet of the Cult of Mysteries and thus technically his superior, possessed an intelligence rivaled only by his cruelty. If one could believe the more spurious rumors that circulated in some circles, the Muun Lord was said to have chosen his bodyguards from the Jedi taken prisoner when Ziost fell to the Empire.  He reportedly tortured them, nurturing their hatred until he could break their will and bind them to himself, creating a small cohort of deadly, unwaveringly loyal living weapons.  They were fierce warriors, abominations of hatred, loss, and rage.  

It was an interesting idea, Visarion thought, but a little showy and more than a little cliche.  However fearsome his reputation, Lord Scobis had become an obstacle.  In the following weeks, he'd been reading everything he could find about this Citadel.  It was built as a retreat for the ancient Dark Lord Ajunta Pall, a redoubt where he could work and practice strange magics away from the prying eyes of Korriban.  After translating a series of Sith legends, he'd discovered a tale of a great sorcerer only referred to as Lobesh the Lesser, a slave of Pall who'd apparently been a scientist of sorts, experimenting with all manner of ancient technologies.  Purportedly, Pall built a massive, labyrinth-like complex below his citadel that served as a workshop and testing ground of sorts of Lobesh's creations.  He'd spent the interim trying to ascertain whether this was more myth or history, and had made little progress until a breakthrough had come.

Apparently, he had not been the first to search for Lobesh's workshop.  Centuries ago, a Sith Lord once apprenticed to Darth Traya also searched for the fabled vault.  That was enough to catch the eye of Lord Nostos, head of the Cult of Mysteries and scholar of the Sith Triumvirate.  It was with his blessing that Visarion had traveled to the ancient, dark world of Ziost.

Only this illustrous lord Scobis now stood in his way.  He was a man of considerable wealth and influence, and had managed to become head archivist here at the citadel of Ajunta Pall.  

"and I don't care who sent you, access to the lower levels is strictly forbidden."  Scobis droned on, apparently amused by Visarion's plain irritation.  But the Knight was no fool, he knew the guards, hulks with great saberpikes and covered in phrik alloy armor, would make short work of him on his own, and who knew what Scobis was capable of.

"Very well, my lord."  He gave the slightest of bows in contempt, and left the refitted office chamber in a huff.  

~~~

The dusty, dank pyramid behind him, Visarion retreated to the relative privacy of his ship to contact Korriban for further instruction.  Standing straight before the holoterminal, he put in the appropriate code and bowed slowly as the transmission went through.

"Lord Nostos.  It is as you predicted, the insolent Lord Scobis stands in my way.  I believe he is hiding something."  he paused.  "How should I proceed?"

[caelum]

The Cult of Mysteries was a sad, fractured, little thing.

It was to be expected really. The Cult of Mysteries had suffered a grievous blow not too long ago, and the loss of it's Grand Prophet had resulted in both a loss of prestige and a fracturing of it's central authority. Darth Keres was many things, but her primary role, and that which she achieved quite well, was the unity of the Cult underneath her authority. With the events of Nar Shadda, that unity had fractured, and unlike the Cult of Strife, none yet had appeared to heal the division of her disappearance.

Disappearance, not death. The nature of the dark side is one of parasitism and endurance, until Nostos saw her body laid in front of him, bereft of life and the force, there was always the minimal possibility of her return. A problematic issue.

Nonetheless, whether or not she lived was an unnecessary concern. Her absence ensured that all throughout the Empire, the Cult has fractured. Not to the point of civil war, not at all, but the nature of the beast has changed. While already secretive, each sect of the Cult of Mysteries has become more insular, more secretive of it's lore. An ill omen. Factionalism within any organization was dangerous, and was a reliable precursor to the fracturing of the Sith in ages past.

A crimson light erupts from the terminal in front of him, bathing the dark room in a soft red glow. A bowing, male hapan stood before him.

"Lord Nostos. It is as you predicted, the insolent Lord Scobis stands in my way. I believe he is hiding something. How should I proceed?"

Which was why the likes of Lord Scobis was more than a minor irritation. He was symptomatic of the decay and the mounting discord erupting within the formerly serene seas of silver that was the Cult of Mysteries. Not the largest growing sect, but an influential one nonetheless, what with his self-declared fiefdom over Ziost itself. Nostos imagined that Scobis would have fancied himself one of Darth Keres's elite, as narcissistic and deluded as the thought may be. That Scobis was denyinh him Ajunta Pall's redoubt only irritated the Prophet further.

"That is unfortunate." Nostos remarked. He was standing in the dark room, hands clasped together and set at his waist. A thinking posture he remembered his old Jedi Master adopting often. "How would you describe him? I recall that he and my predecessor enjoyed a degree of friendship that I imagined would have made access to the redoubt a fairly straightforward affair. Any insights, Visarion?"

[hugo]

How would he describe Scobis? He was a son of a bitch.  More pertinently, he was powerful.  From his research into the Muun lord, he had come from Muunilinst. As the erudite scion of a fabulously wealthy financier, he ostensibly followed in his father's footsteps and become a successful banker in his own right, though in actuality he'd spent much of his life a diligent student of the Dark Side.  Once the Sith revealed themselves, he was one of the first to pledge his family's considerable resources to the Order.  In the years following he rose through the Order's ranks, eventually becoming a Prophet and. later, head of the Order's considerable archaeological efforts on Ziost.  Since assuming the reins of power there, he'd slowly consolidated his grip over the ancient world by methodically subordinating or eliminating most of his peers on the planet and assembling powerful allies, both on Dromund and planet-side. 

Darth Keres, who Visarion himself knew briefly, was apparently one of those allies.  But now Darth Keres was gone, and Scobis was vulnerable.  The Knight cocked his head pensively.  Perhaps Scobis was flailing, afraid that the Cult had sent their Hapan errand boy to burn his little castle down.  Maybe it was a stunt, a show of strength to inform the new powers that be, or were soon would be, that his dominion would not be challenged.  Alternatively, he could have been hiding something.  He may have known of something of value deep within the citadel.  Something he wished to claim for himself.   

"Lord Scobis is . . . cunning and scrupulous.  His resistance to my entry into the catacombs is not a vain bout of hierarchical politicking.  I sense a desperation here."  Visarion paused to study the shimmering blue likeness of Nostos that glowed above him.  "I believe Lord Scobis to be under one of two impressions.  Either he is unsure what his stance in the new Cult, with Keres gone, and seeks to test Your Lordship, or he has found something of value that he wishes to keep for himself."

"As for how to proceed, I submit that your presence on Ziost would be beneficial.  I understand pressing are hardly rare for Your Lordship considering our present circumstances, but I believe Scobis would have more difficulty refusing an order from you directly.  In any event, I believe a heavier hand will be needed from now on if we are to find that which we seek."  He paused and waited for Nostos' response.

With the Cult's central authority being undermined more and more with each passing day, it couldn't hurt to remind the uppity lords of Ziost how the Cult of Mysteries dealt with insolence.  Infighting was a cancer, and it would destroy the Cult, the Order, and the entire Empire if allowed to fester.  Whether Scobis needed to be humbled by force or merely given a stern talking-to by someone with more legitimacy, Visarion was eager to put the Prophet in his place.  It was insulting, to approach as a fellow disciple of the darkness to be turned from his search for truth as if he were an errant schoolboy, sent to the wrong lecture hall.  Scobis would pay for it, dearly, Visarion hoped. 

[caelum]

Scrupulous and cunning, that was certainly appropriate enough. The assessment that Scobis was hiding something was as intriguing as it was expected. Without Keres, it was only a matter of time before each individual Prophet grew more concerned with their own particular spheres of influence and projects than the Empire as a whole. That the Prophet ignored and waylaid the knight was to be expected, not particularly enlightening, but certainly confirming certain suspicions. 

Ajunta Pall was an interesting figure. As far as records indicated, he was among the first, if not the first, to take the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith. He forged an empire of the sith, constructed citadels, and was one of the early guiding hands that led their evolution from Dark Jedi to Sith Lords. Lobesh the Lesser may not be Ajunta Pall's heir or a significant holder of the Sith Lord's power, but he was still a follower that had constructed this citadel far and away from the eyes of Korriban. The secrets he would find would, most likely, be typical of the Sith of that era. Esoteric sorcery, force imbued blades and other such trivialities. Nostos was uninterested in these scraps, Scobis could have them for all he cared.

What he did care for was the Citadel's former tenant. A member of the Sith Triumvirate of decades past, she had been sent here once, when the Triumvirate was whole and united. When the coalition collapsed, the Sith Lords scattered, carrying about their own agendas while that same sith stayed in Ziost for......

For what, exactly? The scraps of information that led to this conclusion was drawn from crushed computers and scattered records, debris captured and whose point of origin led to what could have been the location of Malachor V before it's destruction. That he even knew this much at all was a miracle, the records didn't even indicate the sith's name. Nostos hypothesized that the sith had answered directly to Darth Traya herself, for no other reason that if her alleigance lay to Sion or Nihlus, they would have used whatever they found in Ziost to perpetuate their war against the Jedi.

That Scobis held the Citadel meant that if there were any indication of her presence, he would know of it. That he denied him access rankled him. 

"If Scobis denied you access, knowing you came under my aegis, then whatever pressure we are ready to bring to bear would not faze him." Nostos finally spoke aloud. "Alternative measures would need to be carried out."

Nostos paused, his hand reaching out across the holotransmitter, bringing forth an intricate web of lattices and crimson lights that eventually coalesced into a blueprint of Scobis's citadel. "Lady Eeyrie and Scobis had once been close allies, but being allied did not mean they trusted each other. Eeyrie had taken steps to keep herself updated on Lord Scobis's capabilities, while the muun took strides to ensure his own creations could battle Eeyrie should connfrontation ever occur."

The blueprint shrank as the transmitter's view over the area expanded. Silver lattices crossed the sky, revolving spheres of awareness spiraling around the fortress reaching far into the upper limits of the atmosphere. "Covert insertion with my ship will be impossible. Approaching in force will result in a significant response. I could arrive in my proper regalia, with my ship hovering above, but once I enter this place the advantage would surely be his."

A pause, before he gave the knight a significant look. "In your opinion, Visarion, do you believe that we could accomplish our mission without the use of force? I am leery of expending significant effort against our own colleagues, but if needs must then I would want this done in totality. Do you understand?"

[hugo]

Their's was a delicate affair.  Lord Scobis' insolence presented to them a dilemma.  Inaction would result in an insult to the Cult's sovereignty, and by extension, to that of its Pristine Heart, the Empress.  Other Prophets, of greater or lesser influence than Scobis, would take Nostos' acquiescence as a carte blanche to assert however much autonomy they desired with no fear of repercussions.  On the other hand, too savage of a response to their archaeological kerfuffle would result in a reactive sentiment, provoking hushed criticisms and eventually overt questioning of how legitimate the Cult, de jure leaderless and ideologically fractured at present, could be if it employed disproportionate brutality against respected Prophets in such an overt fashion.

"Yes, My Lord.  I understand."  he said firmly.

Neither result, from Visarion's perspective, was acceptable.  They would have to be deft in perception and cunning in execution to accomplish both the immediate objective of unearthing the catacombs' mysteries and the long-term concern of the Order's uncertain hierarchical integrity.  In his view, Nostos' presence would be necessary.  A part of him suspected that Scobis' recalcitrance could be at least blunted by the dignity of an official appearance.  He did not reckon that Scobis had the courage to do them harm at present.

"I'd surmise there is at least one scenario that does not result in bloodshed."  He hypothesized, "I do not expect he intends either of us direct physical harm at present.  The . . . recognition your presence would bring, I believe, could at least incline him to share more of what he knows, if not acquiesce to our requests for access."

Violence, of course, was always an option, but with these circumstances, it would have been a distasteful solution considering both the immediate expense and political ramifications thereof.  No, if they wanted to ultimately seize direct control of the citadel, it would have to be done with foresight and intrigue, not by outright force.               

[caelum]

The problematic issue with relying upon an intermediary to make these assessments is that any such future plans were reliant on their analysis. Scobis was not bound to speak truthfully or honestly towards Visarion, and so there remained the possibility that the conclusion he had drawn forth was based off of one or more false premises. It would be unfortunate, and galling, to be deceived in such a way.

Of course, there was the possibility that Visarion was lying to him. That Scobis had offered power and influence towards the knight in return towards eliminating Eeyrie's Heir. Nostos considered the possibility dispassionately. A non-zero possibility certainly, but the likeliness of it rested on whether Scobis had the charisma necessary to bring Visarion in line with his desires. Considering Eeyrie's notes on the topic, Nostos doubted it.

"I believe that if Scobis were to reveal his secrets, he would not do so without a price." Nostos says dryly. "Still, your point is noted."

There is a pause, and the world melts away. Nostos feels weightless, his....soul, for lack of a better term, feeling almost detached from his body. It dissipates into the aether, and a sliver of himself scatters. They bypass the durasteel walls around him, the machines and circuitry that had more in similarity with the veins and arteries of a living organism, until they reach their targets.

The first are the guards outside, waiting with arms set to their side. He feels their readiness, their sharpness and discipline, as well as the sudden intake of breath at his arrival. They are new, and the sudden sensation is uncomfortable, as though a sudden presence had blanketed their awareness. He had been told the sensation is not unlike being watched; as though one was measured, considered and judged in the blink of an eye. He had also been told that, in times past, when he was careful, the sensation was akin to being drowned. The next is Lieutenant Nivix, and from her there is no reaction, only a sensation of increased alertness, as though he had only called her name.

Again and again, his presence expands, enveloping the ship like a cold wave across their senses. In time, the presence reaches the captain, a hapan woman, and it is here that he speaks, not in words, but with something deeper.

S̶e̸t̵ ̵a̷ ̸c̶o̴u̷r̵s̴e̵ ̴f̷o̸r̴ ̵Z̸i̴o̴s̷t̶.̶ ̶P̴r̵e̶p̵a̶r̶e̵.̸

They move, acting as one at Nostos's pronouncement. It is not fear that guides them, not the authority he naturally commands or his personal relationship with each man and woman aboard, but something far more esoteric.

In times past, the Art of Battle Meditation was a force multiplier of galactic proportions. In the era of Darth Revan's rebellion, it was only through Satele Shan's skill in the Art that the Republic narrowly avoided destruction. In the brief period in which she served under Darth Malak, the Sith's expansion was exponential. It was a harrowing experience, he knew, and not one the Jedi would soon forget. He was not naive, once it was known a Sith Lord with mastery over Battle Meditation was active in the Empire, they would send their Shadows after him. He would be a strategic threat, worthy of elimination from the field, and Nostos was under no delusion that he would be able to kill every assassin they send after him.

Which was why, for now, he needed to operate differently from his kin. Secrets and shadows were his shield, and in this he took inspiration from the strategies of the Triumvirate, the teachings of Darth Traya. His knowledge of them, his understanding of them, greatly increased the likelihood of his own survival, and the fact that this muun stood in his way was irritating in a way that defied definition and explanation.

Nostos returned to himself, both greater and lesser than himself from before. His body felt lighter, less present, even as his own presence was intertwined with that of his crew. The Prophet spoke aloud, his will forcing his jaw and tongue to move.

"I will arrive in time." he says. "But I will not rely upon a Sith Lord's good will to ensure my survival. I want you to explore his fortress, find clues, determine weakpoints and tell them to me before I arrive. You will have a few hours to carry this out. Your report will dictate whether my arrival will result in a negotiation or an extermination, understand?"

[hugo]

The nature of Scobis' motivations, it seemed, would be determinative, the fulcrum on which their two alternative courses of action balanced. Coup d'etat always bore the most treacherous stench, and should the Hapan have caught wind of it among his host's effects, surely his only sensible response would be to recoil, to warn the Lord before him, to exorcise its rancid aroma from the sacred world.



Absent such a political design or a hidden vendetta, Visarion could only guess as to just what the sneering Muun wanted. Did he seek autonomy? Wealth? A seat on the board of directors of the Kaas City Imperial Orchestra? A better question was how he, a somewhat unwelcome guest, would find out.



Your report will dictate whether my arrival will result in a negotiation or an extermination, understand?

Yes.  He understood.  "Perfectly, my Lord."

So the time for action had come upon him.  The following hours would be critical; much would be determined in little time.  There was no room for failure, for doubt.  The Hapan cut off the holofeed.  Pulling up his gray hood, he turned and made to exit the ship and return to the towering citadel.

---

At one time, millennia ago, the great citadel of Ajunta Pall was host to a massive, indoor arena.  From what Visarion had read on the subject, the ancient Dark Lord entertained hundreds of guests with gruesome expositions of gladiatorial combat.  The captives of his many conquests battled great beasts and one another, all to the merriment and sanguine satisfaction of the Dark Lord's courtiers.  

Lord Scobis, in an evident twist of macabre irony, had undertaken to transform the cavernous vestiges of what had been into the facility's guest wing.  The stands which once seated hundreds as cathedral to slaughter had been thoroughly renovated, taking care, Visarion noticed, to preserve the integrity of the original structure.  That was admirable at least, an authentic attention to detail and history. 

What had been the ring was now a carefully cultivated indoor garden, encircled by a wide avenue of sorts and entwined with several manicured gravel pathways that offered more intimate perspectives of the alien flora within.  Judging from the impressive height and surreal coloration of the plantlife therein, he judged them to be Felucian in origin.  

In the place of the viewing stands, and in that of what must have before been the arena's preferred viewing boxes, were roughly two dozen units, hewn from a remarkable mimicry of the old stone of the old Citadel that surrounded them.  They were suites, not very stately but elegant nonetheless, and arranged circularly around the garden and pathways below.  The guest units were arranged back o back in pairs, on three levels and spaced evenly in an oscillating pattern.  Connecting them to one another and the garden-nexus below were four equidistant stairways, which crisscrossed diagonally at each level at a stone landing several meters wide that afforded access to the individual rooms.

Visarion appraised all of this as he was gratuitously escorted to his appointed quarters by one of Scobis' menacing disciples.  The man, Nautolan, stood several inches taller than the Hapan beside him.  Rendered anonymous by the mask that he wore, the escort offered few niceties since Visarion had returned and requested to be seen to his accommodations.  There was little to be gained from idle chatter anyway.

It was truly a sight to behold, far outstripping any previous quarters he'd been given by the Sith.  It made sense he supposed.  Sith of various stripes and under various objectives, though mostly his Mystic colleagues, were in and out of the Citadel every day.  It was an important archaeological and symbolic asset.  It was deserving of some grandeur.  

As the Nautolan led him up the leftward flight of stairs, he noticed a movement in the garden.  A young, Twi'lek man, a servant it seemed, was crouched and attending closely to the plant before him, a wide, flapped flower painted with an intense, bioluminescent pattern resembling a bulls-eye.  Visarion paused for a moment, intrigued as to what he was doing.  The gardener reached down and pulled something out of a container, his hands cupped tightly.  He eased closer to the flower, unclasping his hands to toss something onto it.  It was a creature of some kind, but before Visarion could tell what kind and why, the shining flower went dark and and clasped tightly into a bulb, consuming the creature the moment it made contact.  He turned to mount the stairs with a confused frown.  

Well that wasn't ominous in any way.

---

With little time to waste, Visarion quickly decided on a course of action.  Much rested on his performance. Seated comfortably on the edge of the cabin's bed, he let his head fall between his hands, running his bony fingers through his hair as he exhaled.  He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

He decided, firstly, that the easiest way to gather the background information they needed was to know who Scobis had been talking to.  If he had designed on the Silver Pillar's Darthship, he would certainly have had to gather support somehow.  No one, not even those as shrewd and talented as Lord Scobis, became a Dark Lord of the Sith by neglecting such precautions as elementary as concealing one's correspondence, however. It would be no simple task.  It would take all of his effort- no, he knew better than that.  When one touched the Force, truly felt its power and saw its face, he knew that effort had nothing to do with it. There was only triumph or defeat. 

When confronted with a question as vexing as this, he was always reminded of Lady Eltrixa's favorite maxim.  His former master-now Praetor and friend-used to say that if you were given ten minutes to solve the galaxy's greatest problem, you would be wisest to spend the first nine minutes deciding precisely what the question was before spending the last answering it.

As fate would have it, an answer presented itself.  Visarion had no illusions of being anyone's slicer or burglar extraordinaire.  Hacking into Scobis' holomail, or better yet, infiltrating the lord's bureau, was flatly impossible if he wanted to avoid detection.  No, his probe could not be a physical one.  The Force would guide him to an answer, in time.

Visarion withdrew deeply into himself, to his mental refuge.  He focused on feeling the living Force around him, from the tiniest lifeforms all around his person to his fellow guests further out in their respective rooms.  Beyond even the arena-suites, he could feel those within the larger citadel, their individual essences blurred into a kaleidoscopic presence.  There were many Sith here, and beyond that, hundreds of support staff, guardsmen, and other lay persons. 

Even so, he could sense Scobis' presence, the greatest among them.  Visarion was wary of extending his conscious presence to the Prophet.  When one peered too deeply into the dark, the dark tended to peer back.  Instead he directed his focus to his more immediate surroundings.  Perhaps clues could be found among Scobis' guests.  

Amidst the visitors' suites were a few Sith, he apprised, along with several non-Force sensitives.  He doubted the former could a) be trusted and b) be relied upon to know anything useful.  Rather, he explored the surfaces of the others, whose auras, though fainter, were unguarded.  One by one, he touched their minds, gently, in hopes of feeling what they felt.  The survey revealed the normal range of expected emotions, absent joy (few relished, save the most committed of historians, the prospect of fulfilling an assignment on Ziost).

Before his hope began to wane, Visarion had an inkling as he passed over one being.  It was frustrated, unsure, but unafraid.  There was some comfort, at least, in knowing he was not alone in those sentiments.  More pertinently, frustration suggested controversy, and controversy could be telling.  With only a few hours to spare before assessment would have to be rendered to Nostos, he resolved to follow it as the only lead he had.  Moving but hardly present, Visarion arose and exited the suite, following the frustration to its source.  It was cross the quasi-atrium, in one of the suites.  

The black robes, frayed slightly where they dragged the grown, hung off the slender Hapan's frame, billowing slightly when he took a hard step right to avoid the killer-plant he'd observed earlier.  Arriving at the target suit, he breathed deeply and pushed the door control, but it clicked audibly and didn't budge. Locked.  After a pause, the door slid open to reveal a Human woman, not quite middle aged, but with premature proto-wrinkles just around her eyes.  She was very pretty, tall, with very short, golden hair and bright viridian eyes.  "Can I help you?"  she demanded, looking up at him briefly from her handheld datapad, still typing manically when she did, before looking back down at it .

"Oh.." he feigned mistake. "My apologies, I must have the wrong suite..."

---

The woman's name was Jaella Nirs, a no-nonsense, high powered corporate attorney from Dromund Kaas.  She was here on Ziost for work, and that was the seminal fact from which his invasive inquiry branched out.  There was much without use, like the fact that Jaella liked jawa juice and hated her husband, with whom she was going through an acrimonious divorce.  More pertinently, she specialized her practice in a single field: bankruptcy.

Now just why was a, judging from her JulieKatarn pantsuit, very expensive bankruptcy attorney on Ziost, a guest of Scobis?  Well, why would anyone hire a preeminent bankruptcy attorney? Scobis was broke.  The frustration that drew him to her turned out to be justified.  Creditors. Liquidation.  Banking Clan. Arbitration.  These words swirled in her mind. 
  
Of course, Visarion did not come by these thoughts by seduction or coercion.  It was a cruder thing than that.  He'd simply taken the memories from the woman.  Drain Knowledge was an ancient, arcane art, as sure to break the minds of its victims as it was to pluck the memories from their brain.  Fortunately for her, Visarion had invested no small effort in refining the talent, and had actually become one its more masterful practitioner within the Order.  She would be mostly fine, aside from some short-term memory loss and a nonzero possibility of developing a debilitatingly vivid form of psychosis.  Well worth the risk.  She was resting now, in the cabin where he'd found her.  The mystic Knight was been careful to extract, once he'd relieved her of consciousness, not only those memories pertinent to Scobis but any memory of their interaction as well.  It was not a science; the minds of others were unsure things, their mechanics obscured by idiosyncrasy.

There were no assurances that Scobis' newfound vulnerability neutered his viability as a threat.  Yet, vulnerable he was.  As a stranger to wealth, Visarion had a poor understanding of it, but for a man like Scobis, he surmised it meant something fundamental.  Scobis' assets had aided his meteoric rise through the young Order, and without it, it was he was diminished, naked in part.

Still the question remained, why he would be so obstinate in resisting Visarion's entry.  Whatever connected his findings to Scobis' peculiar behavior, Nostos would need to know.  Once he'd relayed an encrypted update to the approaching lord, he would await his arrival and they could plot their next act. 

[caelum]

Nostos was prepared for eventualities.

The state of the Empire was not nearly as united as it may appear, either from perspective of those that obeyed from within or the enemies peering from without. This unity espoused by the Empress was new and strange, his studies into Sith history could find no true analogue to the modern Order. It required a....melding of sorts, adopting a devotion to the whole more in common with Jedi philosophies than Sith ones. There would be none during the era of Darth Revan or Tulak Hord that would condone the hierarchy as it stood. One Empress and Four Darths merely invited a dead empress and four warring factions of the Empire in times gone by, and yet so far it still stood. The Empire still stood.

Granted, it was young still; a cancer to the host body that was the Republic. Time would very much tell whether the cancer would be subsumed by it's host or whether it would successfully murder it's maker, but such grandiose plans weren't the focus of his current thoughts. It was a matter of trust.

The modern Order was founded upon an institutional need to trust one another. Previous iterations of the Order had thrived and waned due to the basic inability to trust one another. The dark side prompted one to compete and destroy one's rivals, and in times past that had allowed great things to flourish. When the Order was ruled by a strong hand and a great vision it had flourished, as it did with Revan and Treya and Exar Kun. Yet, when that hand weakened, for even the briefest moment, their adherents were compelled to turn on one another, breaking the Order and throwing it into the darkness. Those same paragons had faltered and fallen due to the actions of their apprentices after all.

The Cult of Mysteries required a steady hand to lead it now. With the absence of Darth Keres, things needed to be done swiftly. Nostos had no illusions of his own ability, nor self delusions towards his own ambitions. A new Grand Prophet would be good for the Cult, good for the Order, but it would also be good for him personally to step into that role.

There would be many that would fight him for it, kill him for it, and Nostos was under no delusions about his chances there as well. His skill with the lightsaber and strength in the Force notwithstanding, there were only so many would-be-Darths he could kill before they overwhelmed him.

Which meant he required knowledge, he required allies and he required patronage of the Empress herself. All three were out of reach for the moment, but they could be worked towards. If Scobis himself had truly deigned to hide something of value, then it could perhaps be used to leverage himself into greater heights. If that could be achieved, and he could show himself to bring stability to the Cult, then patronage is not too far away either.

But he would need allies. More than just manipulable pawns, he required members of the Order to stand by his side, either out of genuine loyalty or mutual benefit. Darth Viren seemed to consider him positively, but he knew better than to rely on such uncertain ground. To Viren, he was a potential tool, one who's use fluctuated out of need or perceived usefulness. He could not rely on him.

Which was why, as his ship entered realspace, the dull silver finish of the warship reflecting Ziost's distant star, he found himself considering Visarion more and more.

He was about to send the knight a message, coded to defy Scobis's listening posts and to inform him that he'd arrived in-system, when he received Visarion's own reply. It seemed that he hadn't been indolent after all, and after ensuring a secure line could be reached, contacted him.

"Visarion." Nostos greeted him, a hint of amusement visible on his scarred face. "It seems you've been busy."

[hugo]

Visarion had, by now, returned to his cabin as innocently as he'd left, awaiting the arrival of the Dark Lord Nostos.  There, he took the opportunity to rest and meditate, the latter made more difficult by his active thoughts.  In truth, he was still a little surprised, disgusted, and amused at the information he'd uncovered.  Something as simple and as crass as credits was endangering the unity of their Cult, absurd as it was unacceptable.  

How to proceed, though, was vexing.  Considering Scobis' newfound vulnerability, he was confident Nostos could get him to toe the line without great difficulty, employing either the carrot or the stick.  Or the Prophet would kill Scobis for his insolence and weakness and replace him with someone more trustworthy.  The latter was not Nostos' way, so Visarion very much doubted the Dark Lord's arrival would bring with it violence.  

In any event, the Knight resolved to be prepared.  

---

Visarion had perched himself high in the citadel's tallest spire, gazing distantly at the dark forest below.  His arrival some hours earlier had been in darkness, but if it was at all possible, the darkness grew thicker over the landscape, and but for the sparse illumination around the citadel's perimeter, he saw nothing.  

Yet the planet was soaked in the Dark Side.  The Citadel, the vast, ebony forests, even the molecules constituting the atmosphere, all of it was infested with that peculiar energy.  It was heavy, almost pungent, and even as his Hapan eyes left Visarion blind to the scene below, the acuteness of the Force here lent him a greater sense of presence.  

It was then that his datapad chirped, revealing an incoming holo message from the specially encrypted code he recognized as Nostos'. He answered, confirming that he remained alone on the narrow terrace. He all but smiled, mirroring the Dark Lord's relative good humor.

"Indeed, my Lord.  It seems we have much to discuss with my gracious host, if the Banking Clan doesn't repossess the place before you're able to land."  Now he actually smiled.  It wasn't often that Visarion joked, but he felt the absurdity of a bankrupt Muun merited some amusement.

Visarion knew the arrival of his ally and superior would not go unnoticed for long, it at all.  It would not be long before Scobis was made aware of the sudden intrusion, he thought, and he was curious just what the imperilled lord was thinking just then, when retribution reared its head so suddenly to meet his insolence.  He liked to think there was fear.  
Visarion breathed in the heavy, tainted air.  Yes.  There was fear.

The corridors of the citadel were very sparse as descended to its base, where he would slip out and meet Nostos near the landing pad.  

He was still clad in his nondescript, black robes, a similarly dark tunic somewhat loose around his frail torso.  The hood was drawn up over his face, under which peered his bright, intense eyes, the natural sapphires now swirling with a yellow to sickly to be called gold.  A breeze picked up, causing his robe to billow slightly.  Before long, Nostos' shuttle would arrive and justice would be had.  

[caelum]

"The Banking Clan?" Nostos repeated, curiosity evident in his tone. "You have been busy."

The Arbitrary Solipsism began its descent as they spoke, the ship passing through the lines of orbital defenses and system wide sensors that blanketed the planet's orbit. If the intent had ever been to approach the planet stealthily, that opportunity had long since passed.

Nonetheless, Nostos didn't particularly mind. Stealth had it's place in one's stratagems, but more often than not such a role was best left to the Order's assassins or the Empire's operatives. To be Lord in an Order, in any Order, demanded a degree of panache. Whether to intimidate or inspire, one could not very well do so from the shadows. Admittedly, Nostos missed the time when he had not been high enough in the hierarchy that he could afford such diversions as stealth. If nothing else, the Lady of Pain certainly made good use of his work in those days.

Then again, this new life of his certainly has its perks.

"We have entered the planet's atmosphere." The Prophet continued, his eyes on Visarion. "Scobis will know, and as such we will be well informed of his response soon. The odds are good that he will meet us in person, perhaps a measure of diplomacy, but we should not rely on it. Be aware for treachery."

The ship shuddered slightly as atmospheric currents began to bear down on the decidedly not aerodynamic hull. Nostos blinks. "I will be arriving soon enough. Don't die before I arrive."

With that, the Prophet cuts the connection. He didn't really expect anything terrible to happen upon landing, but he'd certainly been wrong before. Nostos noted with some amusement that he wasn't sure whether he'd be irritated or excited at the prospect of Scobis making a full of himself.

[hugo]

"Very well." 

Visarion cut the connection from the small holodisc before tucking it into one of his cloak pockets.  Nostos would arrive shortly; he estimated the shuttle would touch down within a matter of minutes.  Until then, he resolved to stay put.  If Scobis' elegant lair had been unwelcoming before, the Knight imagined the sudden arrival of a prominent Prophet's personal warship only shortly after Visarion's own arrival could make the place downright hostile.  

Scobis wasn't a laggard or a fool, recent discoveries aside, so Visarion wagered that the Muun knew his days were numbered.  If the Hapan had such an embarrassing, damaging liability stuffed away and hidden so haphazardly, he would certainly be making preparations for fight or flight.  But flight seemed less like an option with Nostos' warship suspended in orbit, bristling with hungry turbolasers.  No, his only viable option was to fight.  And Scobis would start with him.  The Hapan knew too much.  Without his testimony, it would be his word against Nostos', and with tensions flaring with the Republic, Visarion couldn't imagine the Order investing too much time into Scobis' indiscretions.

But if Nostos could land before Scobis made his move, perhaps the situation could be resolved with minimal bloodshed.  He had something the visiting Sith wanted, and all he had to do was give it to them.  The purported contents of the vaults were of only practical interest to Visarion in that it was Nostos who really wanted whatever was sealed in there.  The Knight was merely in this for favor with the ascendant Lord, who could prove to be a key ally in the coming years, when resources for their research would be thinnest.  

As he ruminated, Visarion became aware of the faint outline of a shuttlecraft in the gloomy distance of the darkening sky.  The engines zoomed, less faintly as it drew near, but it was the stirring of cold, unnatural energy that caught Visarion's attention at first.  Lord Nostos had arrived.  An ominous aura hung over the scene, not lessened by the nightmarish ambience of the ancient world.  [

Another minute, and the shuttle had set itself down with a gentle thud.  With an impatient air, the bay doors hissed open and the durasteel ramp extended slowly to the landing pad of the same, clanging loudly against the hissing of the craft as it idled.  His Hapan eyes saw only Nostos' waifish silhouette against the glare of the bright interior, and he bowed shallow but respectful.

"My Lord, I believe Scobis is expecting us."