Tending the Flame

[Meira]

***Content Warning***
This thread will contain depictions of enslavement, experimentation on sentient beings, and violent death. Please do not read if you are averse to this kind of content.

---

The speaker over her station crackled, providing only a split second's warning before the high pitch blast of the end-of-day message bombarded her. She flinched, leaning her head away and to the left as it came and the red light just below the speaker switched to a flashing yellow. The machine at her station began to slow, the pistons winding down as the blast sounded again and again. When it at last came to a complete stop, the overhead light turned green. She moved in almost perfect step with those from the stations to her left and right. They all stepped back onto the metal pathway that ran between the rows of stations. As they stepped back, the next shift worker stepped up to the machine. The green light blinked back to yellow as the blasts came again. She walked, eyes down and seeing only the boots another worker and the orange lines marking the safe path on the walkway. Overhead lights blinked red at she stepped out into creeping dusk.

It was hot. Even with the sun now hours below the horizon, the air outside felt nearly as close and stifling as what she'd been breathing inside all day. She moved mechanically -she was too tired for any real conscious thought- with the others as they walked down the steps to the duracrete path that connected the work building to the bunkhouse. With her eyes low, she did not see the guard until he was directly in front of her. His hand stretched out, blocking her path and causing her to jerk quickly to a stop to avoid touching him. Her eyes, crystal blue, shot up to assess the situation, but the guard's mask was in place, concealing his expression.

"Hold here." the guard ordered, then glanced down at a datapad. When he looked back up again, he counted her and four of the workers behind her. "You five, this way." he said, gesturing with his left hand toward the supply annex.

"But we only get ten minutes before the cafeteria closes." protested the human man directly behind her. He'd been on the same transport in as she was, but he still hadn't quite grasped the rules. Another guard silently stepped up to the man, producing a shock stick. She dropped her eyes to the ground and moved as instructed. An alternate was pulled from the line to replace the idiot and the five were marched to the annex.

Inside, crates were stacked in orderly rows, with an open space left in the middle. There were large garage doors on either end of the long building, allowing transports to drive in and out without fuss. The supply trucks were done for the day, but one transport sat in the empty space, rear door open and waiting. Only half the lights were on, leaving the corners of the interior cast in shadow.

"Quickly, quickly. We haven't got all night." She stiffened, instantly picking up the pace as she registered that the voice belonged to the Warden, a rather tall Chiss woman who was not one for repeating herself. It hadn't taken long to learn that. "Let's see what we have. Hmmm. Mirialan, in you go. Human, keep up..."

She moved as fast as she could into the transport, not wanting to be caught anywhere near the Warden. The five were quickly seated within the transport, along with two guards. The rear door was closed and the engines started up. There were no windows, and she did not dare ask where they were being taken.

---Two Weeks Later---

The last of the facility's three buildings was finished. The workers had been cleared out as soon as the final supports were secured. A new team would come in to furnish it. They, of course, would not be wards. They would have no collars around their necks. They would be able to leave the planet when their work was done. She was shuffled back to the bunk house. This one nearly identical to the one she'd been living in when she was at the factory. The only difference was that it was smaller. This bunkhouse had 50 beds, each shared by two workers. When she slept, her night shift counterpart was working. When she woke, that counterpart took her turn. Unlike the factory, however, the work that was being done at the facility had no clear purpose. They were not breaking down scrap for recycling, or manufacturing bolts for starship bulkheads. As far as she could tell, their work was more in line with subsistence. They built their bunkhouse and plotted out farmland for crops. Then they built the main building, and last the third. Each time, they were rushed away upon completion of their portion of the work. But she had little to complain about. While tough, the work was not difficult, and they got more food and more sleep since arriving. There were whispers, of course, of what it was all for. But she didn't participate. It didn't matter. She kept her head down and did her work.

Attention. Attention.

She lifted her gaze to the speaker on the cafeteria wall.

All wards, assemble in the main yard. Repeat. All wards, assemble in the main yard.

She shoveled two last spoonfuls of the nutri-gunk she'd been given into her mouth and jumped quickly to her feet. All around her, the other wards were moving quickly as well. When she moved through the doors to step out to the main yard, she saw a stream of the night shift crew blinking and shielding their eyes as they emerged, yawning, from the bunkhouse. Within minutes, they were all arranged in the main yard, like troops presenting for inspection. At the front of their gathering, the caretaker paced. He was a human, with a softer voice than her previous warden and a tendency to smile as if that were somehow helpful.

"We are honored, today." The caretaker said into an amplifier. "We will host members of the Sith Order, Dark Lords of great power and influence. I know that it need not be said, but I will say it all the same. You are all expected to obey any command given to you by our esteemed guests. You will not speak unless explicitly instructed to do so. Ah, here they come now."

Only a moment after the caretaker said the words, the rumble of ship engines caused her and most of the other wards to look skyward as a transport ship made its way to the landing platform near the main yard.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

”What a miserable place.” Imago marched down the loading ramp, trailing behind one of the Empress’ security teams. Half a dozen porters and servants swarmed the landing pad, a great deal of activity with no obvious result. It would be literally impossible to make this place fit for Her Radiance. Scraggly fields of native crops stretched to an indefinite horizon, broken up here and there by modular cermet buildings. In the immediate vicinity were rows of hollow-eyed wretches – and their keepers. Too few of the latter, he judged, had the prisoners really wanted to cause trouble. Alas, it is much too late now. There was really no point wasting thought on those who would not even try to save themselves. The Dark Lady’s goons made their sweep and Imago walked a circuit of his own, silently fuming as the region’s silty ochre soil clung to his shoes. It was eerie though, how the warden kept smiling at him. He found it deeply unnatural for so many people to stand there in silence. Eventually satisfied that the more traditional guards hadn’t missed anything, Imago returned to the landing pad. He produced a handkerchief from an inner jacket pocket, bent down, and wiped clean his shoes. Then he stood and, after a long pause to shove his misgivings aside, touched his finger to the sizable ruby on his lapel. For the time being, he wore no other color or cult affiliation. ”We are the first to arrive, Your Radiance. I do not sense anything amiss.”

[caelum]

One truly had to wonder at how the course of a galaxy may change forever. 

If Mandalore the Betrayer had not struck against the Republic, if the Mandalorians had not been expunged and scattered, if the Republic had only struck quickly against the nascent Sith Empire, if the First of the New Sith had been weaker, things would have been different. Nostos knew, perhaps more than most, how fragile the fabric of the waking world could truly be. How it was in the most fragile of things, the most small of things, that the masses and the universe itself could be moved. That the galaxy had taken on this path was a singularly unique course of events, one that could not be pinned on a singular source or an overarching mastermind. The Jedi would have called it the Will of the Force, though Nostos knew that Darth Traya would have had far less pleasant things to say about it.

Nonetheless here he was upon the surface of Birgis, deep in the clutches of an autocratic government bent against the supremacy of the Inner Sphere and subservient to the will of the Order of the Sith. A hundred years ago this place would have been just like any other, a petri dish of organic life desperately trying to survive. 

Yet now? Now events had transpired, will transpire, that shall draw the planet forth from the footnotes of galactic history. 

The Prophet stepped off the shuttle, allowing the Empress's security forces to lead him onward. He had not come alone, the Arbitrary Solipsism still on geosynchronous orbit, but the Sith Lord was aware of the importance of propriety. To come armed and armored would have sent a statement most unwise, and in the end the ultimate guarantee of safety was always one's own power. Nostos held his head high as he walked forward, footsteps clanking off the ground as he surveyed the growing tide of the organic masses as they swelled and abated at the approach of their betters. His clothes were distinctly military in aspect, and if not for the lightsaber dangling off his belt or the corruption upon his body one would have suspected him of being some manner of Imperial agent. He wore no obvious signs of cult affiliation, though the silver diamond that served as his belt buckle was a not so subtle reminder of his status. A half cape shrouded his shoulder, the sway of the Sith Lord's movements obscuring lightsaber and dominant hand both.

Nostos's eyes glanced towards Imago, bright eyes briefly considering him. He waited a moment out of courtesy before moving closer, not so much that one would consider it a particularly in depth conversation, but one that certainly demand his attention as the Prophet looked out to the silent watchers. 

"Some amongst the Order believe that misery is its own reward, a means from which to venerate the dark side by wracking such creatures with unbearable suffering. I can certainly see the utility of such a technique, though I would be much more hard pressed to find the taste for it."

[That's So Wizard]

A loud snap-hiss. Flashes of red light. Screeching like a siren's wail. The thrashing only got more intense, as did the noise. Bright blue sparks, smoke and molten orange metal followed in trails. Screens flickered and popped like bulbs that had gotten too hot. The terrified breathing of the two white-haired attendants as they watched. Fear. Horror. That was what she wanted. If they feared her she had power over them.

Viula suddenly stopped, panting and sweating a little from the exertion, coming down from her haze as she looked over her handiwork. The console, the wall, the ceiling, the floor. All were unrecognizable, transforming into molten slag and ruined electronics before her very eyes. Her lightsaber give it all a mottled red glow, it's hum the only consistency in this chaotic scene.

She could see the thoughts of her two attendants plain as day on their faces. Why had she done this to her own ship? Anger. Frustration. Hate. Ever since meeting Viren her mind had been all over the place, so many more outbursts than usual and they were getting more severe. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to put her saber through his face and watch the life drain from his eyes for how he looked down at her. Looked through her.

And now... now that they had insisted she travel on that dreadful transport rather than her own ship? She wanted those slaves to look upon her and her things in awe and fear and understand their place. How was her splendor supposed to radiate if she was just going to appear alongside everyone else? She wanted to be special. She wanted everyone to know her name.

Viula's lips flickered into a smile, retracting her saber and placing it gently upon her belt. "Have this fixed by the time I get back, dear."

---

The snake lady kept her previous episode hidden beneath the mask of her features. The charismatic smile hiding a burning, writhing destructive instinct. She recognized one of the other people in the transport but not the other. Lord Nostos, a fellow Prophet. Someone she'd seen around but never spoken to. That scarred, gaunt face seemed to mask his intentions well and she had always steered herself towards people more easily manipulated. Clearly he was of some import, however, if the Empress had insisted he be here. The other person though... she did not recognize.

From the dispatch it was obvious his name was Imago, considering that was the only other name of import mentioned besides the Empress herself. The fact that she did not know of him scared her a little. She knew a lot of things... this ignorance was a weakness. Again, if he was important to be summoned by the Empress by name, he was someone she needed to learn more about. If she could only... touch one of their lightsabers, perhaps... she could know everything she needed. The Force would let her see the impressions placed upon the item...

Suddenly her mind snapped back to the present as the ramp began to lower.

The only indication of her disgust was a brief twitch of her lips. How truly dreadful this place was and the people were worse. What was this? Clearly the warden had sought to impress the Sith Lords with their rigidity of formation. How feeble. If she wished to stare at sallow-hearted people submitting to the stronger power she would have stayed on Dantooine. At least there the subjugated had many, many reminders of the price of resistance. She wondered if they had cleaned the bodies from the streets yet... driven off the kath hounds that had come to feast on the scraps...

Something about that image gave her so much satisfaction.

Her lips curled into a sinister grin at Nostos' words as she came up behind them. "What could be the matter, dear?~ Don't have the stomach for needless suffering?~ You don't enjoy reminding such worthless cretins why we rule them? What's the point of power if you don't use it, darling?~" Viula turned, looking out over the legion of weak, pathetic 'wards', taking a deep breath as she felt all of their fear and confusion, the tension in the air only building as they wondered why these Sith Lords had graced this miserable planet with their presence. "Such is a tradition that the ancient Sith have used since the dawn of time. Why should we be any different?~"

[Meira]

She watched as the transport landed. Watched as beings came out from it. They moved with purpose. They were clean, well fed; their clothes were pressed and fitted. These were not wards. They swarmed. Some carrying crates, others scanned and checked. One paced around them. He was the cleanest, his clothes creased and just so. She could only watch him for a moment before he moved beyond her periphery. She could not turn her head. The caretaker followed the clean man. She could hear his halted declarations of preparedness. Then, another arrived. The caretaker did not forget the clean man, but he did seem to shift his explanations. The next arrival was older, his angles sharper. He was also clean, but understated. The first man had completed his circuit and the second went to stand beside him. They were too far for her to tell if they were talking. She waited. Her nose itched but she did not move to scratch it. How much longer? Who were these Lords? Why had they come? These were questions to which she was not entitled and answer. But they buzzed in her mind all the same.

A woman came next. To her, the caretaker also kowtowed. She got a small -very small- bit of satisfaction in seeing him fumble over who to direct his supplication toward the most. She'd learned quickly not to indulge in such satisfactions. It only allowed more dangerous thoughts to fester. She saw what such thoughts bought others. Once, not so long ago, she thought that fate was better. That had been beaten out of her quickly. Funny how fast a mind could be changed.

Overhead, another transport approached. The wards and the caretaker alike looked skyward, confusion and curiosity getting the better of all of them for a moment. The transport on the landing pad lifted away, making room for this next arrival. She brought her eyes back down, catching a glimpse of the caretaker checking his datapad. He looked back and forth between it and the Sith. Did he not know what was happening? How could that be?

---

"Your Radiance, please forgive my intrusion."

Renata's eyes fluttered open as she reluctantly pulled her presence from the object of her meditations. Slowly, her senses settled back into the present and her awareness registered the guard who bowed low before her. Reaching outward, she began to feel the others on the ship with her. A moment later, a soft tone from the comm at her side signaled a message from Imago. His voice followed.

”We are the first to arrive, Your Radiance. I do not sense anything amiss.”

The first? Where were her Prophets? Renata reached out a hand and pulled a datapad toward herself from where it rested on a side table across the room. After a few moments, she saw that transports for Nostos and Vecordia had indeed arrived in the system, and it appeared their transports to the surface were en route. It was disappointing that they had not arrived sooner, but it would not delay plans beyond a more crowded landing pattern. On any other day, she might express her displeasure. But there were far greater things in store for this day. Renata turned her gaze back on the container. She could feel it's call in her very bones. Soon.

"Take us down."

---

"You will find that all affairs are in order, my Lords, Lady." The caretaker held up his datapad as if to reinforce his statement. "We've worked around the clock to ensure this facility is entirely self-sustaining for your arrival. There will be no outside interference. Comms will be scrambled and the area will be all but invisible to sca-"[/i]

The sounds of a transport overhead cut the man off. Almost immediately, the transport on the pad lifted away and the next moved in. The caretaker looked back and forth between his datapad and the Sith, then to the newly arrived transport. His mouth moved with half formed, mumbled questions. But when the new transport landed and the crimson insignia emblazoned on its hull came into view, all words escaped him. For a moment, his mouth sagged in astonishment, his eyes wide. But his training soon caught up to him and his mouth snapped closed with an audible clack. He fumbled quickly for a comm on his belt, bringing it to his mouth as the engines of the transport died down.

"Attention!" he exclaimed. "Attention! This is indeed a most glorious day! All wards, rejoice and behold!" He gestured toward the transport. There was a long, silent moment when nothing happened. The caretaker stood, hand still outstretched as the seconds ticked by. Then, the ship's door opened and the ramp descended. "Re... Rejoice and behold! Her Imperial Radiance, Darth Renata!"

The caretaker immediately fell to one knee, head bowed toward the ship. At the name, all of the other attendants that had buzzed out from the first transport also stopped and knelt. The wards, well trained by now, followed suit. From the ship, the first forms to appear were two of the Adamant Guard. They moved down the ramp, preceding the object of the assembled people's supposed adoration. Renata was clothed in a simple dress of deep crimson. She wore no decorative jewelry, nor did she carry her lightsabers. Her hair, fiery as ever, hung loose over her shoulders in flowing curls. She held herself straight and tall as she descended the ramp, eyes sweeping over the assembly before her. Behind her, two more of the Guard moved in her wake. Behind them, four more emerged with a large case.

Renata moved to where the caretaker knelt near the Sith. First, she regarded each of her Order with a nod, then turned her eyes down toward the kneeling man. "Rise, caretaker." The man glanced up, then quickly came to his feet. When he dared to look up at her again, he beheld her wide, thin smile. His eyes widened in response, but he did not speak. "We are glad to see you have worked so diligently in preparation for Our arrival, though you did not know We would come. You will of course forgive the necessary secrecy." The caretaker all but fell over himself bowing and nodding in silent response. "Be proud of your work, caretaker. You will be greatly rewarded."

With the slightest wave of her hand, she dismissed the man. He moved back a few steps before turning and disappearing into a cluster of attendants. At that dismissal, he and the attendants set back into the quiet, background frenzy of work required to accommodate Her Radiance's presence. Renata turned her attention back to the Sith that awaited her.

"We are so pleased to see you." she said, smiling to each in turn. "It is a great work We will do here, one that will demonstrate the power and glory of Our Empire and usher it into a new age of enlightenment and peace. Please, settle yourselves in the quarters that have been prepared for you. We will receive you later this evening and discuss the work ahead." Renata again nodded her head toward Nostos and Vecordia, gesturing with one hand toward the structure where their rooms awaited. "Imago, you will await Us in Our quarters."

She turned then, facing the assembled wards. She walked along one side of the formation, studying each being as she passed. They did not meet her gaze, but each looked forward and slightly down. She could feel their minds, their thoughts and feelings clear and unobstructed. Confusion, fear, weariness, were common. But there was also the occasional note of excitement and curiosity at seeing their Empress. There was no defiance, nor resentment. Renata smiled at the efficiency of the reeducation training. She passed a Mirialan, still strong of body and spirit. Newer stock, most likely. And even she was docile. Renata stopped in front of the woman, reaching deeper into her mind. Untouched by the Force as she was, she had no resistance. The memories on the surface were of work, long and arduous, the kind that left no room for anything else. Deeper, there was fighting, great struggle... a desperation for freedom. Ah... Dantooine. When she touched those memories, she felt the woman's panic as she struggled to move her mind away from... danger. Renata smiled. The training was good. This woman feared the memories of sedition. They were now a shame to her. She pushed deeper and found the smell of campfires, the bitter burn of home brewed spirits, laughter and music. The Mirialan woman's tension eased as she relaxed into the more pleasant memories that Renata brought forward. Tears began to stream from the woman's crystal blue eyes as she was overwhelmed with the sweet ache of memory. But even that, she quickly struggled to suppress. Again, Renata smiled as she witnessed the woman, within and without, overcome her selfish desires and return her mind to the discipline bestowed upon her by the Empire. A few moments later, she was focused again on the present and on the work awaiting her once dismissed.

Renata turned away from the woman, eyes quickly finding the caretaker who was hovering nearby. "Extra rations for all once their work is complete." she said, beginning to move toward her accommodations. "And see that they all get plenty of rest. Their greatest service is almost upon them."

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Ah, yes. You don’t have to be a sadist – but it sure helps. Imago made little pretension toward wisdom in his life, but chatting ethics with strange Sith seemed particularly foolhardy even for him. He pasted on a friendly smile and moved to clap the other man affably on the shoulder. If he didn’t know better, he would wonder if this was an Ascension probe. ”I serve our Lady’s pleasure exclusively. Taste has nothing to do with it, friend.” The second prophet arrived and joined the conversation immediately, asking her questions in a bizarre sing-song voice. Imago shrugged and drifted a few steps away, awaiting the Empress’s transport. He watched the warden’s antics with some contempt. The man’s effusive behavior bordered on irony – or mania. From what Imago could sense, it did not carry over unto the beaten-down wretches except as a greater sense of unease. A routine broken and few among them capable of even wondering why. Hopefully this test wouldn’t take long. The landing ramp descended and Imago bowed gracefully at the waist, holding that position until he felt the Empress’s eyes pass over him. The case carried down behind her riveted his attention afterward. Imago felt for the scar beneath his collar, tracing the souvenir from Teth subconsciously. He had been touched by the Chorus in a way few survivors had. To say he didn’t trust the thing in the case was putting it very mildly. But it didn’t matter. Renata wanted this and you didn’t tell the Empress that she was naked and expect to live through the telling. Is that ’Our’ quarters or our quarters? How much gossip were two prophets expected to generate, he wondered. Well, that didn't matter either. He’d figure out where to put his things later. ”Your Radiance.” Imago nodded his head and strode toward the most recent cluster of prefab building at once.

[caelum]

Nostos did not find the idea of domination particularly enthralling, as far as the temptations the dark side offered went in any case. To re-educate the masses, or at least those deemed worthy of it, in such a manner as displayed here stank of crude methods. It spoke of the application of pain and the targeted obliteration of intellect, useful in the measured control of a populace perhaps, but Nostos had always considered himself a Learner and Philosopher first, all other roles his title had given him being secondary.

Nonetheless, he had no interest in broaching the topic with the Empress. Such things were necessary, either objectively in the application of large scale control over the populace, or by simple virtue of the program sustaining the Empress's Interest. 

Though speaking of Her Interest, her interaction with Imago was curious, wasn't it? 'Our' quarters. If Nostos was the talkative type, he might have considered making inroads towards confirming the validity of her statement, but he knew better. The Sith do not make idle talk, and rarely did they make mistakes, vanishingly few ever survived such stumbles in vigilance after all. The Empress was not one to idly make such mistakes, and so one had to consider the reason for why she deigned to comment as such in front of those not in the know. Was it an admittance of trust, that the Empress considered us worthy enough to know such interesting things about her? Was it a ploy to draw out treachery, wait to see whether such rumors would spread and punish the one who had broken her confidence? Or was spreading such rumors the point, that the Empress wished a spotlight cast on Imago, wherever that may lead?

Regardless, Nostos was not one to talk, and secrets held power of a different sort than a blaster or a battleship, and so he resolved to keep his silence on any further matters. He turned away from the Empress, making his ways to the quarters prepared for him.

The room prepared for him was opulent and extravagant, in the typical manner that those of the aristocracy enjoyed. Nostos was not unfamiliar with the depiction of wealth and privilege, in that time before when he had yet to be truly born, Clarent Latt had traveled with his master in a variety of such aristocratic dwellings so as to broaden his education. In times past, when he had yet been uncertain of his place, he had been exposed to the dwellings of generals and noblemen, merchants and career veterans, and while such....pronounced, displays of wealth were not necessarily a display of incompetence, it was rarely proof of one's proficiency either. 

There is a slight movement at the corner of his vision, and Nostos's gaze lands coolly upon the other being within the room itself. An attendant, well groomed and dressed in a flowing yet practical robe with silver lining, she looked human at first glance. Closer inspection revealed, to Nostos's own amused curiosity, that the attendant was Hapan. A subtle invasion of her mind found only a finely honed fear, one designed to maximize obedience at all other expense.

The woman rushed forward, moving at a speed fast enough to be mistaken as judicious but not so fast as to be seen as desperate, bowing her head and averting her eyes. "My Lord, Nostos. It is a pleasure to meet you. While you are to be housed here, I have been given over to your service, to do with as you will."

Nostos did not speak immediately, studying her for a moment, bright eyes staring at her form. His gaze burned into her, tearing away the pale mask atop her face, the sinews of fear and obedience drawn into the shape of a person, cutting through the beating anxiety of her heart until finally settling down into the soul within. The Prophet studied what he found for a moment, considering, judging, before withdrawing a moment later and turning away.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Terys Mar." Nostos notes, drawing forth a twitch of fear from the Hapan attendant. He imagined that she hadn't been called such in a long time. "You will find that I require little by way of your service, in acts material or otherwise. You may leave, whereupon your early dismissal may be seen as a sign of your incompetence and will be punished accordingly. Alternatively, you may stay, in which case I would request you to bring Bisellian Lobster. There is time yet until dinner, and I've been starved since the morning."

Terys stayed still from his words as he approached the stocked bar, drawing forth a bottle of wine and a glass. A moment later, she speaks. "I shall return to you with your request, my Lord."

"See that you do." I remark, and dismiss her for the moment. There was time yet until the Empress would call for him, and he had no intention of making a fool of himself.

[Meira]

The rooms prepared for Renata were simple by Imperial standards. But what they lacked in extravagance, they made up for in sheer quality of craftsmanship. The furniture brought in was unique in design and of the highest quality materials. Renata made note of the settee in the receiving room that joined her private suite with Imago's quarters. That piece would return to Dromund Kaas with her when their work here was done. It would look simply perfect in her private study. Another sofa, and two single chairs filled the room. A round, low table in the center was arranged with a bouquet of fresh flowers. The wall here, as with the other chambers, were draped in silks and linens to hide the rough materials of the pre-fabricated structure. It gave the whole space a sort of luxurious safari air.

When she arrived in the room, two servants materialized from a side door, bringing a tray of with a glass of chilled wine. Renata lowered herself onto the settee and bid one of the servants come brush and braid her hair. It was in this relaxed state that she received her publicly favored Imago. As the man entered, Renata tapped the rim of her glass. The servant in charge of the wine brought another glass and filled it for him. When this was done, Renata waved both servants away, waiting until she could feel they were far enough away before speaking.

"This is an auspicious day." she said, gesturing for Imago to choose a seat. "Our greatest work yet."

Only paces away, in her chambers, the object of her obsession waited. Its glow, previously a vibrant violet, had shifted to something more like a rich burgundy from her continuous meditations. She could feel it calling out to her, singing. It was a wordless song, transcending language in any conventional understanding. But its meaning was clear. Power. Pure, magnificent control. That song seeped into the gaps of her every waking moment, filling her with an image she knew but could not quite articulate. It was the desire to absorb, to assimilate all things. It was the pure drive of the Archeri. But, without the so called Chorus, that drive was rudderless. What use was there in consuming for consumption's sake alone? One could not ceaselessly pull in and hold forever. She'd been meditating over this dilemma for some time. What purpose could she put such power toward. How might it serve her interests? With the recent insult from the Republic fresh in mind, she had begun to conceive of a plan. And now, after ceaseless meditation and preparation, she was finally ready to test it out.

"You will be vital in this process, Imago." Renata said, returning her attention to the Epicanthix man. "Not only to the work, but to me. Know that your dedication has not gone unnoticed. Nor will it go unrewarded. But be vigilant. This ritual will leave me vulnerable." Her eyes connected with his, her presence surrounding him in the room to hold his full attention. "I will be relying on you. Completely."

---

The dining hall, similar to Renata's suite, was simply, but well appointed. The table accommodated Her Radiance at one end, with a seat for each Lord and Knight along either side, and the caretaker afforded a place of honor opposite Renata. All were seated according to station within the Order. Renata encouraged congenial conversation among those at the table during the meal. She ensured that each had ample opportunity to share how their various projects were progressing. She favored the caretaker in particular, extolling him for the efficiency and speed with which the site was prepared.

As the meal came to an end, Renata brought silence to the table with a gaze. When all attention was turned toward her, she smiled. "We are so pleased to have you all in attendance with Us at this momentous occasion. Not long ago, the galaxy stood at the precipice, nearly overrun by the strange abomination that was the Archeri. But in Our most desperate hour, the Empire rose triumphant..." she trailed off, allowing and edge of ice to fill the silence, "and Our grace and trust was betrayed by cowards. Those same cowards now hide behind the rotting bureaucracy of a dying relic, justice and vengeance denied to Us though it is Ours by rights. We do not suffer this insult lightly, nor do We accept it. Here, we prepare a ritual of Our own design; one that will remind that fetid Republic that Our Empire will not be attacked and denied retribution. You will all have the honor of participating in the perfection of the Hecatomb. Together, we will reignite the flame of Imperial supremacy throughout the galaxy."

Renata raised her glass.

"Prepare yourselves." Bringing the glass to her lips, she drank deeply.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Ah. Adjoining rooms. He should have thought of that, an arrangement quite to his tastes. The Empress’s favor was best enjoyed in small intervals. Thrilling as it was to be to focus of her attention, it could be terrifying too. Like being stalked by a half-tame hunting cat – who was simultaneously a stickler for table manners. He dared not run, or reach for the wrong fork … The latch on the door clicked audibly and it swung open on silent hinges. Imago passed through, accepting a glass of wine from another uniformed servant. He could hardly tell them apart, Renata’s silent army. By now, he’d surely met hundred of them in dozens of rooms almost exactly like this one. The wine was almost purple, colder than he preferred, but excellent nonetheless. He took a small sip only, anticipating that he would need all of his wits about him. It seemed to go right behind his eyes, echoing the malevolent presence of the crystal in the other room. ”Yes, your Radiance.” Imago arranged himself on one of the sofas, an artfully relaxed posture that was pure fabrication. He kept the easy smile on his face by force of will, as Renata met his gaze and hinted at the honors she would bestow upon him for all his good service. One could not refuse the Empress’s gifts. He found himself holding his breath, then broke eye contact when he could bear it no more, gravely nodding his head. ”I will not disappoint you.” The dinner reception was mildly insufferable, with yet more time spent praising the warden of this place, but Imago persevered. He made quiet conversation with those seated near him on what he thought of as safe topics. Mostly, this tended toward Birgis and agriculture, which he knew little about, and the CommUnity centers, the Empire’s greatest civil project in this half of the decade. Strangely, the prophet of the sing-song voice and sadistic questions was absent from dinner. Imago wondered at that, looking askance at the other one, the older looking man. It meant one less person to keep an eye on during the ritual, of course. Yet what it meant for the remaining participants, he could not guess.

[Meira]

After the toast, the Caretaker took his leave, citing the need to finalize preparations in the morning. He bowed low to the Empress, then again to the Lords and Ladies, before exiting the room. He moved quickly down the hall, and to an office area within the main building. There, he found two lists on his desk, just as he'd requested. It was a simple enough thing, dividing the wards into the two groups. They were already divided thus for day and night shift. The lists were a formality. Each group was as evenly represented as possible in the counts of species, gender, and so on. Efficient in all things, the Empire was prepared. In the morning, the day shift wards would be loaded into the transports and taken out beyond the farthest fields to the secondary location. The night shift wards needed no special instruction or care. They would be in their beds, well fed and clean. The Caretaker would go with the day shift group to ensure all was in order. It would not be said that any complications in the Empress' plans were due to his negligence. All would be perfect for Her Radiance. He checked the order dispatches one last time, ensuring that the transports had been properly prepared before concluding that it was time to retire. Just as the wards needed their full rest to be ready for Her Radiance in the morning, so too did he.

In the ward bunkhouse, the Mirialan woman rolled over once again on her bunk. She could not seem to get comfortable. Their work had ended early that day, and their meal had been generous. She'd become so accustomed to the long work hours that she simply was not tired, and the meal had filled her to a now unfamiliar state of discomfort. It was strange, and she was worried. All around her, others seemed to toss and turn as well. She did not make a habit of speaking too often with her fellow wards, as anyone was bound to disappear at any given time. That was how life in the camps worked. Or worse, there were those who sought to instigate sedition and then turn over those who were weak or disloyal to the Empire. No, it was better to stay silent, to keep one's eyes down, and just do the work. But she looked around now, all the same. In the bunks around her, she saw other eyes searching, unsure of what this sudden change might mean.

---

The doors to the dining hall opened and two of the Adamant Guard entered, a large crate hovering in the air between them. The table, now cleared of all food and refreshment, soon became the crate's resting place. Once it was settled, the guard snapped a salute to their Empress and then stepped out of the room, closing the doors behind them. At the head of the table, Renata stood, gesturing for the others to rise as well. With a wave of her hand, the crate opened with the slightest hiss of the air seals. The lid retracted and the sides folded down until the crystal was on full display.

The crystal itself was roughly formed, lacking the detailed facets of a precious stone. It was large, however, rivaling Darth Viren in sheer bulk. That alone was impressive. But many planets boasted crystals far more massive, and recent memory of the Singing Spire itself dwarfed this remnant. It glowed, as well. Not the vibrant violet of the Archeri Chorus; that was muted, turned through Morbus' efforts and then her own. Its glow now was a deeper, burgundy. Less flashy, perhaps, but stronger. These things alone made the crystal a curiosity. But what made it truly fascinating, what had drawn Renata's obsession, was what whispered within the crystal.

In the silence of the dining hall, surrounded by the chosen of Renata's faithful, those whispers began to be heard. Faint, alien hymns; wailing, sobbing, desperate cries; entreaties, invitations, propositions; admonishments, threats, battlecries... the whispers of countless lives. Renata heard them all the time now, ghostly lips at her ear day and night. She opened their voices for the others to hear, to feel.

"The Archeri were an abomination." she said. "But they discovered a union within the Force unlike any this galaxy has ever seen. Through their methods, We have developed a new ritual, powerful and terrible to behold. Tomorrow, We will harness this power and test it. Once perfected, Our enemies will know the true power of the Empire, and of the Dark Side. Through the Hecatomb, We shall know victory. Come, open yourselves. Attune. In the morning, we will begin."

Renata moved around the table, encouraging the Lords and Knights to move closer and to open themselves to the crystal through the Force. Her eyes caught Imago's only briefly, but her message was clear enough to him in his mind. Observe. Stand ready. When all were in place and focusing, she returned to her place at the head of the table and closed her eyes, opening herself to the Force, the crystal, and to the others. This would take only an hour or two, and then all would need to rest for the ritual in the morning.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Imago gripped the back of his chair, expression and stance tuned to a well practiced polite attentiveness. The crystal – Renata’s new weapon – was decanted, taking the place of honor among the gathered Sith. The sight of it brought him back to Teth, to that whispering purple-black pylon and the crushing presence of the Chorus. How that impossible mind had teased apart his mental defenses like so much soggy tissue paper. His jaw flexed and the low rumbling squeak of his teeth grinding brought the room gradually back into focus. Chittering near-silence. Then the Empress speaking clearly over the crystal, laying out her plans for tomorrow, and her expectations for the gathered Lords and Ladies of the cult of Mysteries. He felt her watching him and nodded just once, withdrawing slightly from his place at the table. He plied a servant for another glass of wine and circulated the room. It seemed to him that most of Renata’s guests tonight were a predictable lot. One and all were excited by the prospect of a new, powerful ritual and eager to see it unleashed. This was not to say there was no work for Imago – he overheard plenty of grousing, the airing of wounded pride by those who felt they should have been invited to the project earlier. Personally, they were not a major concern. The summons had been carefully issued. Not too many of any particular allegiance and any new traitorous accords would take time to forge. Still, it was in the nature of the Sith. To always search for weakness and push against it. Renata’s paranoia was not without cause – even if it was, at times, excessive. Imago marked each face as the assembled Sith attuned to the crystal one at a time. Those who hesitated, and those who lingered especially. Surely none of them would be foolish enough to attempt seizing it for themselves. Yet it would make his job much more interesting if they tried.

[caelum]

If there was one thing that he’d learned upon his induction into the ranks of the Sith, it was to be wary when one Sith invited another to dine with them.

It was not so much irrational paranoia as it was a development brought about entirely for prudent reasons. United as the Sith were under the aegis of the Empress, the fact of the matter remained that his kind was not particularly inclined to trust while being eminently comfortable with the concept of moral relativism. Hence the Bisellian Lobster, something heavy and filling enough such that he would not hunger too heavily in the Empress’s presence.

Not that he expected to Empress to kill him, she had far more thorough, far more effective, means than mere poison. It was something to do with manners and something to do with politics, when one is brought to a table and hungry, to eat one’s fill implied a degree of trust and reliance towards the host. Granted, in a situation where the one coming to your table is a pawn, that is only reasonable.

But for a Lord of the Sith to do so? Never that, hence the lobster.

Nostos sipped upon the wine, listening intently to the Empress’s words as she spoke the words and committed herself publicly. It was one thing to know it was likely to happen, another entirely to hear the words from the Empress’s mouth.

There was always going to be that time again, that time of war. The internal structures of both the Republic and the Empire meant that neither could condone or allow the existence of a rival. Whether it was the Empire or the Republic to strike that first blow hardly mattered at all, only that it mattered at all. It meant a return to the inefficiencies of war, the destruction of a hundred worlds, the unlocking of the Hecatomb.

Nostos was fairly certain what Clarent would have thought of that, once upon a time. What Nostos thought about it was another matter entirely.

The Caretaker took his leave, and Nostos took that as a sign of things to come. He was right, and soon enough the crystal was brought to bear, the fruits of the Empire’s labor; both taken from the corpses of the Chorus and from the late Morbus’s efforts. It sang its necrotic song, the distilled lives and hopes and manifestations of countless souls. He heard them through his strength in the Force, reverberating in his mind, seeking acceptance, seeking passage, for even the faintest warmth of dried out ember. But Nostos’s heart was cold, even as his Empress spoke, and he studied the thing before him.

It was something of the past, and yet it wasn’t. If he closed his eyes and listened to their song, he could clearly see the influence of the likes of Nihlus and his hunger, an abomination of the force expanded and enlarged into something obscene. And yet there was something more here, something derived from the Archeri that he couldn’t comprehend, and not for the first time he regretted his absence from that war. It was clear enough that Morbus had derived his achievement through study of the Chorus, the synthesis of past glories and present triumphs, magnified into the future. His hands did not reach to touch it, clasped gently into his own, as he studied what would be the future of war.

His senses prickled, the notion of observation and attention upon him, and bright eyes slipped away from the crystal to meet another’s. Dark almond eyes studied him, though that was not an honor given particularly to him. No enemy spy would be so bold as him, to study all those near the crystal, so by process of elimination it must be one of the Emperss’s tools. Nostos gave the faintest of smiles, one that could barely be called such to a person standing next to him, nevermind one from across the room, and dismissed the other Sith from his attention.

If he was here to gauge whether avarice or cowardice would blind his path, then it was neither. The Hecatomb was a tool akin to a hammer, there was no finesse here, only the ruthless application of force upon a galactic scale. It was a thing too large to exist, or rather, it was a thing that said much to Morbus’s madness. That it was being used now as a tool for conquest was disappointing, but perhaps necessary.

No, he would not be one of the many fools to lust over such a thing. His ambitions were rather less suicidal.

[Meira]

The lights flickered on, but the Mirialan woman was already awake. She'd been lying on her back, staring at the ceiling for almost half an hour. That's when the lights should have come on. She'd always been an early riser, and her internal clock was steady. What was going on? The question repeated in her mind as she sat up and stretched. Those on the bunks around her were doing the same. She watched them, avoiding their eyes, but they seemed just as bewildered as her. The doors at the far end of the bunk hall opened and the night shift crew came walking in, each with a bundle in their arms. The wards rising from the bunks all paused, watching as their counterparts filed in. One by one, the night crew handed over their bundles to their corresponding day crew bunk mates. The Mirialan's counterpart was a short Tholothian woman.

"They said to give this to you." the woman said, handing over the bundle.

It was a new jumpsuit, clean and pressed, folded around undergarments and socks. The Mirialan took the bundle, wondering at the fabric when a foreman's voice sounded at the doors. All day crew had one hour to clean up, change, and eat before reporting to the depot for transport to the remote site for special assignment. The Mirialan looked up at the Tholothian, but she did not look back. Grabbing her boots, the Mirialan left the Tholothian to settle into the bunk for her rest.

An hour later, she stood in line to board the transports. Each ward was given a facial scan, which was then paired to a scan on the collar of their jumpsuit before boarding the transport. A new security measure? There hadn't been any escape attempts that she'd heard of. Perhaps something had happened back at the factories. She didn't ask. The process was fast, efficient. They were loaded and moving out within half an hour. They were expanding the new site, she decided. For what, who knew, but that had to be what they were doing. Perhaps they'd be residing there as well. That could be it. New location, new jumpsuit. That made the most sense.

---

The lights brightened slowly, easing her into the new day. The subtle, sweet scent of freshly arranged firelilies filled the room and Renata found herself waking with a smile. She did not often sleep well... or at all, for that matter. There was too much to do. Too many enemies to prepare for. From without, but also from within. But here -though she was afire with anticipation as she stood on the precipice of a great discovery- she found a stillness she'd not felt in a great many years. It was all falling into place. Soon, she would have all she would ever need to set the wrongs of the galaxy to right. All would come to heel. There would be order, and peace. Soon, all would know her true power and bow before it. It would finally all be hers.

"Your Radiance..." the servant curtsied by the door, eyes down, as she awaited permission to enter.

"Yes, come." Renata said, rolling to her back and stretching, luxuriously in the bed.

The servant hurried about the room, drawing back curtains and preparing the Empress' gown for the day. Another servant entered with a tray and set about arranging the it on the small table. Tea, fresh fruit, and... Renata smiled. Fresh baked muja fruit pastry. Renata slowly rolled to the side of the bed, standing as the first servant rushed over with her robe and held it up for the Empress to slip her arms in. Tying the robe, she moved over to the table, accepting the just-poured cup of hot tea from the second servant as she sat.

"That will be all, ladies. Thank you." Renata said. The two servants curtsied and quickly removed themselves from the room. In blessed silence and solitude, the Empress took her breakfast. She was eager for what the day would bring, but in no particular hurry. She was the Pristine Heart, after all. The Empire -and soon the galaxy- moved at her pace.

---

"Keep moving, come on. Yes... two more. Stop there." the guard spoke his orders, hardly looking up from his datapad as another counted the wards off. At regular intervals, they redirected the wards in a different direction. Some were sent into the single building that stood at the remote site, some to the small grove of trees that stood nearby. Others were sent to... the middle of an empty field. The Mirialan woman was hesitant to glance around too much, but she couldn't understand what was happening. There was some reason, some order to it, that much was obvious. But what that reason was, she could not say. She was sent to the bunker. Two soldiers stood where the heavy metal door lay open, the guard sorting the wards gestured in their direction, then waved to them. One of the guards lifted a hand and the one sorting the wards told her to run along to him. She did, jogging across the open space until she arrived at the bunker entrance.

Metal stairs descended down into the ground, disappearing into black. She hesitated, glancing up at one of the guards. He told her to move along, that there was a light switch at the bottom of the stairs. As the rest of her group caught up, she moved down the stairs and found the promised switch. The bunker was a small room with a duracrete floor and metal paneled walls. There was no furniture. When all ten wards had entered, one of the guards descended the stairs.

"You are to wait here." he said, then turned back and ascended back to the surface. A moment later, the heavy door was closed and locked.

The ten wards stood, nervously glancing at each other, then to their feet or at the walls. No one spoke. The only sound was the shuffle of a foot, or the sniff of a nose. But the tension was growing. They'd all lived with a steady, if somewhat dormant level of fear. It was their constant companion, even if it was not always active. They'd all felt the harsh punishment of a word out of order or a toe out of line. They'd learned to avoid it. But it was always there, looming over them. They'd grown comfortable with it. It was familiar. Knowing where it was, and how or when it might be wielded against them brought an ironic sense of safety. As long as they obeyed, they would not be harmed. But this... this was strange, unfamiliar territory. How were they to know what might bring the whip down now?

You are to wait here. The Mirialan woman repeated the instruction in her mind. Simple.

"What are they doing?"

The voice was almost like a punch, causing several of the wards to flinch. Someone reached out, jostling the offender's shoulder. Was he stupid? They all returned to silence, but the tension was only growing stronger. They fidgeted, shuffled around. The Mirialan woman crossed her arms, hands clenching tight as she tried to just focus on breathing steady.

---

The dining hall had been cleared of table and chairs. The crystal, on its support pedestal, was the only object in the room. It whispered to her as she entered, and Renata felt her very soul pulling toward it, yearning for the power it held. She smiled as she approached, one hand extending out to rest atop the crystal for a few moments. She could feel the way it resonated through the Force, how it anticipated what was to come. She circled around the crystal, taking up her place at the head of the room and awaited her devoted.

They would find her, clad in a close fitting black gown, hair arranged in an elaborate braid, and arms open in welcome as they entered. Each was directed to their place around the crystal and when all were in place, the doors were closed. A soft voice from an overhead speaker announced that the Hecatomb would commence in five minutes.

"Open yourselves." Renata said to the gathered Lords and Ladies. "In the first phase of the ritual, you will lend your power to Us through the crystal and We absorb the energy needed for the second phase. Your role is to contain the energy We pull in. The crystal will aid Us. It is the vessel, and the amplifier. Keep your minds clear, focus only on your task. Attune your minds to the crystal, and to my voice."

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

The console in his room was satisfactory, if not as comfortable to linger at as one might wish. Imago sat before it in shirtsleeves and socks, hair mussed into something resembling an avian plume by repeatedly running his fingers through it. The data pouring in – a novelty of access, doled out so sparingly by the Empress – was raw, unfiltered. The mundane dross and the everything else. If there was, truly, anything else to it tonight. Of course there were other, better-suited analysts at work on this. In orbit, in the bowels of this facility -- but most of them without the Force. Imago sat back in his chair, eyes going a little glassy and unfocused, trying to catch at any loose threads. Morning arrived, eventually. Or some semblance of it, anyway – this backwater’s solar dawn had little to do with the hours kept by the Empress, to be sure. The thin chrono unit on his wrist vibrated and Imago uncurled from the uncomfortable office chair. He selected an identical crisp black suit from among several shrouded garment bags on a standing rack. He shaved and showered and preened for no more than a modest 15 minutes. A quick perusal of the unit’s medicine cabinet saw him peel two fingernail-sized dermiplasts from their adhesive backing and press them to the inside of his left arm. At once, full wakefulness made itself known, sharp pinpricks behind his eyes. A brief throb of pain in his sinuses. There seemed to have been no overnight disasters. There was only today to go and the crash and distance would be self-indulgent and wonderful. Imago smiled at his reflection, summoning his Sith mask into being. Aloof and self-satisfied amber cat eyes looked back at him. His stance aped the discipline of the Adamant Guard but the arch of his brow and the amused set of his lips said that he did so without quite taking them seriously. It was time to get to work. Imago troubled the facility staff for a bite to eat, then made his way back to the central chamber where the crystal had waited alone through the night. He had to admit, that big, white-painted space cleared of everything except that red and alien stone, it really did make for an arresting sight. Renata had always had a sense of drama. A similar scene, broadcast Empire-wide so many years ago, had set his life to this path. Had made him wish to serve, though that was hardly considered a worthy pursuit within the Order. As the last of the Lords and Ladies of the Cult of Mysteries filed in, the doors sealed behind them with a mechanical hiss. Imago paced the very outside edges of the room, stopping a few strides from the Empress. Apart from the ritual itself, he would be her hands and eyes should she have need of another pair of either.

[Meira]

One by one, the Sith that encircled the crystal closed their eyes. One by one, Renata felt them reach out through the Force and connect. She felt her own consciousness expand as they added their power to it. Her heartbeat quickened. This was it! With seemingly similar excitement, the crystal reacted as well, it's low glow brightening as the Sith attuned themselves. That whisper, so quiet and alluring, soon grew. It resonated between them all, speaking to them... singing. Not with words, but with something that transcended language itself. Renata stepped forward, placing both hands on the crystal. Instantly, she could feel the currents of energy pulsing through it, through the others, through the planet itself! In her excitement, it was all she could do to contain the sheer power and guide it, pulling it toward herself.

"Focus your minds!" She implored, feeling the strain of some of her faithful as the crystal absorbed their energy and intensified it. "We will now draw upon the reservoir. Center yourselves. We must contain the energy."

---

The guard paced around the perimeter of the bunk room. It was a typical patrol, no abnormalities or misbehavior from the night crew wards. If there was one thing they did right with these disloyal cretins, it was working them into exhaustion. He'd never had such an easy posting. Reaching the corner of the room, the guard checked his chrono. Ten more minutes and he'd rotate to outer patrol. Though, with the day crew taken to the secondary location, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd be guarding at that point. Not his problem though.

The guard passed the Tholothian woman on her bunk. She heard each of his footfalls, first faint, then louder, and finally fading again as he passed. She counted them, as she often did. It helped her relax her mind for sleep. Normally, falling asleep wasn't much of a problem. But their work overnight had been less than typical, and their meal more. She was unusually full, and it was keeping her awake. When the guard's steps had faded to a safe distance, she rolled over on the bunk. Across the aisle, a pair of human eyes blinked at her.

Those eyes moved in the direction of the guard, who now stood by the main doors, then back at the Tholothian with barely furrowed brows. Something is weird.

The Tholothian's own eyes echoed the movement and expression. Something is weird.

The human's eyes glanced upward. Wonder what.

The Tholothian's eyes glanced up, then quickly down. Doesn't matter.

The human quirked an eyebrow. Fair enough.

The Tholothian was about to roll back over, but noticed another shift in the human's expression. Their eyes widened slightly, brows high as if surprised. The Tholothian, confused, shook her head. What was going on? The human's mouth opened slightly, as if they were about to say something.

Further down the row, one of the other wards let out a quiet groan. Then, in a far corner, someone coughed. The guard began to move again, preventing the Tholothian from risking a look around. She instead focused on the human, who still seemed on the verge of saying something. The Tholothian shook her head. Don't.... don't!

"Ahhhggghh!" the sound came from behind the THolothian.

She turned over, only to find herself wincing in pain at the motion. What...?

"Knock it off!" the guard's voice boomed through the room.

The Tholothian was suddenly aware of the groans of several wards, of the thrashing of blankets. All around the room, wards were tossing about. There was a buzzing in the air... a strange... hum? She looked back toward the human, but as she turned her head, her vision swam. The Tholothian grabbed for the frame of the cot, suddenly fearful that the world would tip and she'd fall away from it... fall forever.


"AAAAHHHGHH!!!"

"Stop it! Make it stop!!"

"I said knock it...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

The human's body was shaking, but the Tholothian could hardly register this as she curled her knees to her chest, cringing against the sudden shock of pain that moved through her whole body. Her bones felt like acid, burning her from the inside out. And the humming... it was too loud. She closed her eyes tight against the noise, against the pain. She might have screamed. Who could tell in all that terrible sound?

---

She could feel each breath, each heartbeat. The crystal pulled them all in, pulled them all to her. It pulsed now, fiery and hot as it absorbed the reservoir. Renata pulled the air into her lungs through clenched teeth. It was a dangerous thing, to open one's self to the life force of another. There was no avoiding the vulnerability of it. To pull this many demanded she balance on the razor's edge lest it overwhelm her completely. But the power!

Renata's head fell back, eyes wide and white as she pulled it all in. This was the ultimate expression of power, of control of the Force itself! It was hers! She held life in her very hands! And soon, she would unleash that great and terrible power and the galaxy would tremble! They would all...

A ripple, a hiccup, in the flow of energy alerted the Empress to a danger. Something... no, someone was out of place. She couldn't... She had to hold on. NO! She could feel a pull on the energy... on HER power. They could not! THEY WOULD NOT TAKE THIS FROM HER! But Renata could not let go. There was too much energy in the crystal, within herself. It would kill her. She couldn't... It was all she could do to hold on. The ritual could not fail... The first stage was almost complete!

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

There was something thrilling about this, about being the only one in this crowded chamber fully in possession of his own body and senses. Pulse beginning to race, Imago waited and tried to ignore the oppressive, tooth-vibrating hum of the stolen Archeri crystal. The merits and dangers of this situation did not matter – only that the Empress wanted it. It was his pleasure to guard her today, though never from her own ambition. The power gathering in the room was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even when the Chorus had spoken to him, that had only been a small fragment of the hivemind’s attention. His hackles rose, a sharp and metallic taste lingering on his tongue. Slowly, he paced around the chamber, amber gaze slipping from one Lord or Lady to the next. Something was wrong. The steady build of pressure behind his eyes fumbled like a forgotten line in a song or a stray inappropriate thought. When it did not correct itself, Imago reluctantly cast his senses wide. It was a dozen times worse, almost as bad as the twisted grove on Teth, cast red instead of violet. Imago stalked the discordant thread to its end and seized Lady Adora of the Mysteries around the lower jaw. She started to scream, slightly muffled by the thick wool of his sleeve. Heat and moisture leached from the air, freezing around her wildly kicking legs. As that gradually slowed, the Lady bit and scratched. Imago swore as fiery pain and a rush of wet heat ran down his forearm. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to save them from the raking of her sharp nails. ”That’s quite enough my Lady.” He let go, watching her stagger on frostbite-ruined legs. Force lightning raked him in turn, raising blisters. He shoved Lady Adora away, a telekinetic assault that left her momentarily dazed. With little further thought, Imago seized her legs with the same power, cruelly twisting until the crystallized flesh broke and tore. Mercifully, the traitor’s screams trailed off – unconsciousness, he hoped. The Empress would want to question her if she lived. Which she might, but only if those wounds were seen to before her body warmed and circulation returned.

[caelum]

The concept of superweapons, either upon the precept of the Force on more mundane physical principles, was.....difficult to swallow for Nostos. He was not so droll as to discount its effects, neither was he so particularly bound by common morality to find them unpalatable. To properly utilize the dark side to its full potential, one must accept that suffering was the bread and butter by which the Sith could properly manifest their strength. He had learnt it in the dark corners of his former Mistress's dungeons after all; there were countless means by which one could be made to suffer but not die. Then, once one may inflict such suffering unto others, it was merely a task for the imagination to expand such suffering unto a galactic scale.

If one could bring themselves to kill another, to rip apart the strands of fate that would ultimately connect a bring to the Living Force, could such an act not be repeated? When such an act is thus repeated, was it not easier to reproduce? When an act is reproducible, does the act not become common, unworthy of particular focus?

Superweapons were the natural conclusion to such thoughts. If one were forced to massacre a population for creed or duty or want, does it matter how such an act was done? When a world has been decreed to die, its population sundered, its mantle cracked open into the void of space, did it matter that a Sith conclude such an atrocity by dint of their own hand or by the resources harvested by their Empire?

Nostos knew the answer to that question; it absolutely did matter. There was a sheer, palpable, difference 

But in practicality? In this, Nostos was no fool. Practicality had a seductive sort of cerebration all on its own. There was a time for philosophical purity and a time wherein the necessities of the state must be foremost. A necessary sacrifice, one that must be made to accomplish his goals.

The Force howled and bellowed, power manifested in a way that only the Dark Side could truly unleash. Nostos stood, unbent by the storm, his purpose clear. To untether oneself from one's ego, to surrender to the boiling power of the Empress's superweapon, to serve as merely one of many conduits to her will. He could see it now, the way that the Empress wielded the power, though his eyes were shut tight. He saw her through the Force, a figure of malignant will, power unbroken to do upon it as she willed.

A fanciful view. A sight that would make many across the galaxy bend their knees in awe and terror, even that of the many creatures that presupposed themselves as Sith. But Nostos was aware of the greater mysteries within the Sith, could see the formulation of the power in her hands, the way she exulted herself, grew drunk in its power....

And a small, curious, thought in his heart treasonously stirred. Surely, she could do so much better than that? Surely, the Empress was capable of more than this?

A twist of horror, of a shifting in the tenebrous storm, and Nostos knew immediately that something was wrong. In his mind's eye, he could see the entirety of chamber, identified the crack in its eldritch machinery. He watched, mind adrift, as one of the conduits faltered. From treachery or incompetence he could not surmise, but the effect was immediate and undeniable. A transference of will, an unbalancing of the scales; that the ritual was in danger was not in doubt, though the sheer whiplash of such a misalignment was breathtaking in its sheer possibility. The Dark Side of the Force was never forgiving when its supplicants failed, and the backlash of such a failure could very well kill everyone present if they were all tremendously unlucky.

Nostos reached out, adjusting to and complying with Lady Adora's loss. Not a particularly easy task, but one that must be done nonetheless. The Dark Lord's will stretched beyond reckoning, a stabbing pain from behind his eyes, blood spilling as the strain of the ritual made itself known.

But pain was an old companion now, one that held no power over him. The Lord Nostos would hold, because that was what was to be expected; that, and he had no intention of dying in such an embarrassing fashion today.

[Meira]

The perimeter guard checked his chrono, noting it was time to make his way back to the guard house and switch shifts. He turned, retracing his steps back the way he'd come. As he walked, there was a strange blip of sound on his comm. The beginning of a voice, but then heavy static. The guard fiddled with his comm as he walked, but the static only grew louder.

"Say again?" he said into the comm, but a ear splitting pitch stopped him from speaking further. Wincing, he shut the comm of, resolving that it was obviously busted. He could grab a new one back at the guard house. He picked up his pace and arrived at the structure just over a minute later.

"Comm is busted." he said, stepping through the doorway. But when there was no answering voice, he looked up to find the sparse room empty. "What the..." he murmured, moving over to the control station. Where was Varn? Glancing around, he saw the door to the small storage closet was open. Moving over, he tried to push the door open further so he could look inside, but something was blocking it. Shinning a light into the dark space, the first thing the guard saw was a boot.

"Varn? Varn!" the guard's voice filled with concern. He pushed harder on the door, trying to get to his fellow soldier. But as he did, his vision began to blur. The strength quickly left his limbs, and he collapsed to the floor. And then, he began to scream as the pain washed over him.

---

The abnormality within the containment was soon corrected. Renata's thin smile widened as she noted the displays of loyalty around her. With the brief distraction handled and the slack taken up quickly, she turned her attention back to the crystal. She could feel the energy swell as it pulled more and more on the life force she'd had prepared. Yes! It was time! Through the crystal, her senses were amplified a hundred fold. She could touch the very soul of every being in the area. They were hers. She could do with them all as she pleased.

"Hold now." she commanded, her voice reverberating through the crystal into each of her loyal subjects. "We wield the purest, most powerful expression of the Force now between us. Feel it! All the despair, the pain, the life yet to live! We have taken it! Let it pass through you now! Open your minds to me, and I will show you what this power is truly capable of!"

Renata's head fell back as she pulled on the pure energy. Through the crystal, she amplified it, coiled it. Over and over again until the reverberation threatened to shatter the very air around them. And when it was surely too much, when even a moment longer threatened to spell doom for them all, unleashed it. With a cry somewhere half between pain and triumph, Renata sent the energy outward. But this was no uncontrolled blast. No. Through the Force Renata could sense every living thing on this planet, and she guided that pure energy to one very specific point.

---

They were all sitting on the floor now. Some had even laid down and started to sleep. The few attempts at conversation were brief and fruitless. There could be listening devices in the walls, after all. So they had all settled into silence. Some took it easier than others. The Mirialan woman was not one of the fidgeters. Not anymore. She had been, when she'd first been brought to the planet. Growing up on Dantooine, there'd always been work to do. Chores, hunting, drinking... their idiotic attempt at a liberation movement. She bit her lip, letting the sting push the thoughts away. It only hurt to remember them.

The general quiet in the strange bunker gradually changed. It was a shift so subtle that it took some time before it was noticed. What had been only the sound of breathing soon included the shifting of bodies unable to find a comfortable position. Then sniffs, the sound of someone clearing their throat. More bodies shifted, and eyes began to glance around warily. As they each noticed, their eyes began to widen as they looked at one another.

"What's happening?" one person asked.

"Do you feel that?"

The voices, the questions became more frantic. People were on their feet, pacing. The Mirialan squirmed, clenched her jaw, and stood. She moved quickly to the stairs and climbed them. Not surprised, she found the door at the top locked tight. In a moment of idiotic bravery, she banged on the door. "HEY!" she shouted. "Something is wrong!"

But there was no response.

She turned, moving back down the stairs and rejoined the group of now very distraught workers. Their previous caution now abandoned, they all moved around each other, each trying to express the sensation that they were all now very sure that they were feeling. The Mirialan woman leaned against a wall, eyes unfocused as she turned her attention inward. It was like her organs were all moving... shifting. Her breathing was coming faster. Her pulse was up. Had they cut off the air? Was it getting hotter?

"I can't! I... What's happening?" a Twi'lek woman was saying. "It hurts!" And then, as one, each being within the bunker cried out. A heat rose within them all, burning so hot that it transcended pain entirely.

"...Dutch." The Mirialan woman mouthed as her vision went red, then blinding white.

---

Releasing all of that energy was the most difficult thing she'd ever done. To wield such power, to feel it coursing through her, and then to let it go... Renata's chest rose and fell in large, steady gulps as she felt her consciousness pull itself back into her body. Looking around the circle of gathered Sith, she could see the toll the ritual had taken on them. Two or three had even passed out when the power left them. She knew that she herself must look drained as well. Indeed, any who turned their gaze upon the Empress would see that the whites of her eyes were almost entirely red now from how blood vessels there had burst. The yellow glow that had overtaken the usually electric blue irises was now all the more disturbing.

"Go." she commanded, her voice raspy, but steady. "Rest and recover. Later, I will show you what we have achieved." She watched, holding herself tall as the others complied, filing out of the room slowly. "Imago." she said, turning her eyes onto the crumpled form of Lady Adora. "Bring her over to me."

[Meira]

Several hours later, a procession of Sith moved through the compound. It was eerily quiet. The only sound came from the padded footsteps, soft breaths. The tour first brought the Sith through the bunk room, where the fruits of the first stage of their ritual were on display. In the bunks, and strewn about the floor, were the dried and shriveled husks of beings so recently full of life. Their figures, wards and guards alike, were twisted and curled. The agony of their final moments still played out plainly across their pinched faces. Their eye sockets sat empty, dried patches of various liquids around them hinting at what had occurred. Those that once had lips now grinned in a grotesque mockery of joy, their skin pulled back and so taught that many were torn. Renata ran her hand over the cheek of one such figure and the skin, so tight and fragile, broke and crumbled to show the dried muscle and bone beneath.

When they'd had their fill of the effects of the initial phase of the ritual, Renata ordered transports brought around. The group boarded these transports and filed through the gates and across the plains to the secondary location. Renata, alone in her droid piloted transport, soaked up the vast, stretching aberrations in the Force that now blanketed the area for miles. It still churned with the power they'd unleashed and she drank it in with greedy lips.

It was not a long ride, and Renata ordered the droid to stop a ways out from the secondary location. With the other transports stopping behind hers, she stepped out onto the dirt path that marked the way. In the near distance, the temporary structure could be seen, but what drew the eye were the smaller clusters of figures dotting the landscape. The sun was now low on the horizon, casting its light across the landscape at just the right angle to refract through the figures. The resulting glints of ruby red light were breathtaking and Renata stood, transfixed by the sight as her loyal Sith gathered behind her.

"Behold," she said in a breathy whisper, "the power of the Hecatomb!"

The Sith moved closer in reverent silence. Some crossed the fields to where a number of the figures were grouped under a grove of trees. Some entered the temporary structure, where they found other figures at the tables and curled on the floor. Renata descended through a heavy metal door down into a bunker. Even the souls hidden away here, beneath the earth and encased in duracrete and durasteel alike, were transformed. It was impossible to discern guard from ward among these subjects. What clothing they'd worn had burned or melted away. The weapons the guards had carried had been dropped and could have belonged to anyone. Now, they were all pure.

She approached a particular figure, a droid hovering beside her to provide light. The being, in their final moments, had fallen to their knees. Their arms were pulled tight to their chest and their head had fallen back. Their facial features were lost in the transformation, leaving a smoothed over abstract of a humanoid face. But the mouth was open in an unmistakable scream of agony. As the droid circled, its light glowed through the red and black swirls and Renata could just barely sense the the life that had once been. The life that she had taken. Smiling, Renata stroked this being's cheek. It did not tear and crumble as the other had.

In the hours that followed, Renata inspected every single crystal figure at the secondary location. As she did, she selected her favorites and ordered that they be loaded onto her ship with the greatest of care. She would bring these prizes back to her yacht, and to her throne room. Wherever the Pristine Heart received her subjects, they would look on these marvels she'd created. They would see her power and her fury, and they would know that the Force was with her. They would kneel. They would lay themselves face down into the dirt and proclaim that She was the Radiant Empress, Champion of the Force!

And if they did not, they would join her collection.