Heads Will Roll

[Blue]

A masterless Sith was always at risk. Moor had not had the protection, for what value that word was worth in the world of the Sith Order, of a master for many years. This would put most others of his rank in the hierarchy in a lot of danger, but the lithe assassin had survived by making himself useful to his superiors, regardless of who that superior was. Most of the time, that person was Lord Aurelius, though he harboured no illusions that the Firrerreo would shelter him if he made any errors. Dead weight was shed, as it should be. Today, that person was Lady Syko. His existence as a masterless Sith had attracted her attention due to a matter of some urgency and need for discretion in equal measure. An artefact that had been in her possession had been stolen from her sanctum; an immensely embarrassing situation, one that could open the Dark Lady of the Sith to ridicule. This was unacceptable, and so she had begun putting out feelers for an unaffiliated source that she could use to rectify this act. And so she had found Moor. The mission was simple: infiltrate the house of Tarsi Vikar, the collector for whom the thief was contracted by, kill the man and his wife, retrieve the artefact (an ancient, inoperable lightsaber), and destroy what remained of the collection. Moor was not certain why the Dark Lady had instructed him to carry out that last part, but he did not question her. The reward: a personal favour from Lady Syko. Can't trust her word. She's using me, knowing I could not refuse, could not challenge. Act as if I believe, cash favour in later, no need to engage. When I am stronger, force her to uphold her end of the bargain. Keep proof, evidence. She won't suspect. They never suspect; broken boy, full of fear. They will only know different when I climb past them on the Chain... or eat them. The planet of Agamar loomed in the porthole, the passenger ship thrumming as it started the process of entering it's orbit. Moor shivered. The death time comes. Silence will reign. --- The Vikar estate was easy to get into. An hour of observation was all it took to memorize the guard patrols and the cameras, slipping in through the gaps. Stealth cloak and thermoguard active, his presence reduced to nothing, no ripple in the Force. It's screaming. It knows what is coming. First was the security room. Two guards: dead. A few minutes later and the technological measures erected to protect Vikar where gone, the layout of their house prised open. The vault. There will be countermeasures. Cannot fail. WILL NOT FAIL. There were no guards inside the house. They did not think that anyone would get in. Now, they would never get out. The house was a small mansion, the bedroom resting in the left wing. Vikar and his wife were asleep. Safe. Moor made his way to them quickly, silently opening the door. Little ghost in the shadows will become real. A blade must do its work. Bloody work; it is for the best. Fewer on the Chain. Kick them down.

[Rugs]

Silence reigned.

Karn should have been asleep, by all means, but he lay awake, atop the too-plush king-sized bed that felt more like an ocean than a bed. The bed sat within a decadent room, given to guests of honor at the Vikar estate. The gaudy decorations — all gold and silver and bits of expensive crap dragged in from Force-knew-where across the Galaxy — were enough to compete with some of the worst self-indulgent tastes within the Order. It’s not that Karn disliked displays of wealth--his family had been far from poor--but there was such a thing as too much.

Pair that with the severe lack of taste, of which the Vikars seemed to suffer acutely, and well...

There it is again. Karn sat upright, his oversized sleeping shirt’s loose sleeves pooling as the soft mattress almost swallowed his hands. Movement in the Force, if it could even be called that. It was a faint disturbance, like the last vestiges of ripples from a rock thrown in on the far side of a lake. Had he been asleep, they wouldn’t have been enough to stir him.

Had the estate been just a bit more active, they would have slipped his notice.

But he’d not yet slept, and the manor was dreadfully silent. Something’s not right. Karn freed himself from the bed and stood, moving easily in the dark to his belongings.

He was, as far as he knew, the only Sith from the Order present in the Vikar estate. Officially, he was there as a matter of diplomacy between the Order and Empire. With the Cult of Truth presently leaderless and division stirring beneath the surface as the Galaxy lurched toward war, it wouldn’t be that out of place for an acolyte to visit one of the lesser-known aristocratic families. That Karn was apprentice to the Praetor Magnus himself turned what may have been an acceptable visit to one of honor, for the Vikars, who were only too happy to welcome them into their estate.

Tomorrow, he was to meet with them and tour the fields around their land, as if Agamar had anything more to offer than that backwater rock, Dantooine.

Unofficially, he was here to recover a relic that’d somehow come into the Vikars’ possession, and determine the how of that in the process.

The task seemed potentially annoying, but easily within Karn’s capabilities, by his own estimation. But nowhere in his briefings was he told to be on the lookout for something going bump in the night.

I’ll figure out what this is. Karn had stripped from his nightclothes and was finishing getting dressed, pulling a light grey shirt on over his head. He called his white and grey coat from its peg on the wall, as well as his long-hilted saber, and snuck out into the hall.

---

There had been no immediate signs that something was wrong. The estate seemed much as it had when Karn arrived, but quieter, under the veil of night. He felt no more disturbances, no more ripples or murmurs in the Force, but that did nothing to quell the voice in the back of his mind that said, over and over, that something was not right.

Thankful that his too-eager guests had given him and entirely too detailed tour of their home upon his arrival, Karn made his way about the estate, first to the main hall, then the side rooms and servants quarters. Nothing was out of place. All was silent.

Karn wanted to go back to his room, return to that stupid bed and go to sleep, but he pushed onward. A cursory glance at the Vikars’ room, not far from his own. Just to confirm they yet lived. Then he’d sleep.

As he entered the short hallway that separated the Vikar room from the rest of the left-wing Karn noticed, through the dark, that the door was ajar. That was not right. His stomach twisted and his pulse quickened.

Was some assassin from a rival lord here to snuff them out? It wasn’t unheard of, in the Empire.

He stalked forward, stepping as quietly as he knew how, and peered into the room from within the hallways. He could see nothing, other than the shapes of two humanoid bodies laying in the bed. So one of them hadn’t stirred to wander into the hall?

Karn swallowed, then spoke, still beyond the threshold. “Who’s goes there?”

[Blue]

There was a strange serenity in the exposing of truth. Peeling away the layers of lies, piece by piece, drop by drop, gasp by gasp. He took no pleasure in the act, but fear was... familiar. To see it in the eyes of another assured him that they too knew the most basic of truths, the most primal of realities: Fear. Ruled. All. The Vikars were sleeping. The wife died first. Quick, clean. Not a whisper, not a whimper. A stage need to be set, though. Moor took no pleasure in the act, but butchery was... his mind looped, closing in on itself, binding tight. The room reeked of blood. It caused the husband to rouse. Moor was swift. A hand clamped tight. Forced the man to look. Fear. It levelled all things. "The vault. Where?" Moor said, his rasping voice a metallic whisper as the terrified face of Vikar stared back at itself in the reflective surface of the visor. A hand pointed towards a statue. "The head. Push the head up. I can open it with my hand-" It was quick. Clean. Vikar gurgled lightly, and Moor set about retrieving the key. His blade was sharp, and the appendage came away easily. As the man had said, the statue's head could be lifted, revealing a palm-reader. Moor pressed the hand against it, waiting until the light scanned up and down and let out a faint beep before dropping it onto the thick, almost grass-like carpet. A section of the bedroom wall rolled silently back. It was masterfully crafted; without interrogating Vikar, Moor would have never noticed the seam where wall ended and door began. Revealed within was a room that, honestly, barely deserved the title of 'vault'. In terms of space, it was about twice the size as the bedroom that lead to it, but the spaces between exhibits was significant. Resting on one pedestal, the lightsaber Lady Syko wanted slowly revolved in a gravity container, and Moor was about to approach it when something else caught his attention. Near the back of the so-called vault hovered a small gem, no larger than an eye. It's colour was dull, but it pulsed faintly, the shades within it swirling like blood through water. Moor's eyes had difficulty tearing away from it, as if the gem was calling to him... Take it, you must have it- Cannot, the mission is to destroy- No, no, nobody would know, nobody can know- It calls, it must be mine- Hush! The silence is broken! The slightest creak, weight on the floorboards exposing an intruder. Someone is coming, no no no. They would see, all would be ruined. No... No, they can see, but silence will still remain. I will see to that. Moor reached up and placed his hands on the wall, leaving the vault door open. Draw them in with the bodies, bait the hook. With practised ease, the lithe Sith quietly climbed the sheer surface of the wall, the magnatomic grip pads allowing him to scale them without issue. The ceiling of the bedroom was high, and Moor moved into position above the door. His gaze was fixed upon the entrance, waiting, watching. "Who’s goes there?" He waited. Is it a guard? No. They do not patrol the halls, just watch the cameras. Something else then. A threat. The door began to open, everything moving slowly, as if time itself held it's breath. The moment a head moved into view, topped by smattering of pale hair, Moor dropped. His wrist blade extended, striking down towards the neck.

[Rugs]

No response.

Karn scowled silently. This was all so stupid, jumping at shadows in the middle of the night like a frightened child when he should have been asleep. The Vikars were likely fine; who would care enough to murder some farmer lords on a backwater, unimportant planet, anyway? No one, that’s who, he told himself.

Except his master had seen fit to send him here. Darth Viren was not one for trifling affairs, and wouldn’t have deployed his apprentice to such a task if it wasn’t, in some way, important. Karn bit back an annoyed groan and stepped forward, slowly, peering deeper into the room. He thought, for a moment, he could see blood--a splash of warmth against the cool bedsheets to his infrared-sensitive eyes.

His pale brows furrowed. “What the-”

A whisper of the Force, so soft it was nearly lost even in the silence. Karn barely heard it and moved without thinking. He dove out of the way, rolling into a crouch as he felt something catch on the back of his coat.

“-fuck?!” he finished, loudly, as the assailant’s body crashed to the floor where he’d been standing just a moment ago. Metal glinted dully in the faint light.

Karn took quick note of his surroundings. He’d rolled into the room, rather than back out of the hallway, with the bed and dead Vikars behind him. He was aware of but did not have time to process, the gaping opening in the wall that led to the hidden vault and its bounty.

His focus narrowed on the assailant as fury turned the Force into a raging storm within him. They were small, face hidden behind some sort of armored suit. An assassin? “Who the fuck are you?!” he demanded loudly, though he gave no time to answer. No sooner had the words left his tongue than he raised his clawed fingers, already crackling with blue-white energy.

The torrent of lightning he unleashed at the unnamed assassin threw the Vikars’ room, and the terrible spectacle of their silent deaths, into harsh, flickering light.

[Blue]

The lurch as he fell from the high ceiling made Moor's stomach drop; he had always been afraid of heights, coming from a place that was nothing but sand dunes. But he turned that fear to power, and his blade pierced the intruder's neck- The intruder moved at the last moment, dashing out of the way, the wrist blade catching nothing but the back of their clothing. The lithe Sith hit the ground with barely a sound, his masked visage looking up at this new foe. He was tall, much taller than himself, and his pale features were contorted in anger. It suddenly occurred to Moor that the movement he had used to escape death was no accident. That was instinct. Oh no. He's skilled. Fear clutched at the assassin's heart and soul, the pupils of his yellowing eyes narrowing to pinpricks of black. The intruder spoke, screamed, and reached out, summoning an all too familiar sight. Force lighting- We are betrayed!- They are Sith, they are powerful- Quiet, please make it stop- Going to die, going to die, going to die- MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE Blue light illuminated the room. No shadows, can't hide, run? Moor ducked and dove to the side, then back again as the Force created lightning tracked him. He felt a stab, a burn, skin peeling as a fraction of the attack licked at his abdomen. Beneath the mask, thin lips pulled back in a rictus of pain... and hunger. They are filled with rage- Taste the air, blood and fury- Consume. Consume. CONSUME! Moor's whole body shivered as the invisible cloak he wore around fell, and the air changed. Nails pierced him as the Force rushed into his senses. It screamed. It raked at his nerve endings, setting them aflame. Pain, death, doom, rage, fear fear fear! The Sith inhaled deeply, his shivering turning into near spasms as he drew the fury of the intruder into himself, all the anger, the fear. It rushed into him, and he felt the Dark Side swell around him, poisoning him, empowering him, feeding him. The assassin drew a second knife from his belt and slammed it into the door of the bedroom. The hardwood splintered as the blade went through it like butter and jammed it shut... barring the only exit, save for the window. No witnesses. No survivors. Only silence. And fear. The space around the two grew thick, as Moor's terror and hunger began to infect the very air, reaching out towards the intruder. The assassin's body lowered, then sprang forward, a gesture calling the lightsaber to his hand. Who am I? Red light ignited the air as Moor spun through the space between them, slashing the blade upwards from the intruder's hip to his shoulder. I am a nightmare, and I can't wake up.

[Rugs]

Karn’s face twisted into a rictus of furor as the lightning seared the air, filling the oversized bedroom with the scent of ozone. The intruder into the estate was quick on their feet. First, they dodged out of the way as Karn’s initial blast arced past and slammed into the wall, leaving smoldering, acrid wallpaper in its wake. Karn snorted. You’re not getting away from me. A second blast followed the evasion, closer this time, nicking the assassin’s side.

That should have been enough, Karn thought. Unless this person carried the Force, few carried the strength of will alone to withstand even a glancing strike of the Dark power without faltering. He started to step forward, to demand again this intruder’s identity, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The Dark Side stirred in the bedroom, and not only of Karn’s accord. The assassin, the other, drew deeply on the Dark energies infesting the place, and Karn realized, with unwelcome clarity, that this task was going to be much tougher than his initial estimation.

Fine, he said, delving further into Dark Side as the assassin threw away a knife to shut the door so that they might fight in private, more glory for me when I leave with your head. The Dark Side was, raging within the young Arkanian, blistering heat and biting cold. Life and death, warring endlessly within him.

Karn reached for the lightsaber hanging at his hip-

The assassin lunged, and faster than Karn expected. He jumped back, nearly falling as he bumped into the bed — momentarily forgotten in the adrenal rush of battle — and its canopy post behind him. He managed to avoid the worst of the strike but fell the telltale burn, like molten metal against his skin, of a scraping blow on his side as he darted away.

He grit his teeth to hold back a scream as he cleared the bed and put it between the assassin and himself. His lightsaber added its own crimson glare to the room as it hissed to life. The canopy post near where he’d stood two moments earlier was now neatly severed, with a diagonal, glowing slash to mark the passing of the assassin’s blade. The whole of the canopy, with a gaudy, sheer gold sheet hanging from its square top, began to collapse onto the silent corpses still occupying the bed.

Karn expedited the collapse with a stroke of his own lightsaber to cut through the post opposite the already-severed one. He retreated again, free hand clawing as he took hold of the whole of the bed canopy, tore the remaining two posts free with the sound of splintering wood, and hurled it — and its silly, billowing sheet-curtain — at the assassin.

[Blue]

The intruder was taken off-guard, but had enough skill to avoid death. Moor's blade merely glanced the skin, and the scent of burning flesh invaded the lithe Sith's brain; far more powerful than what such a minor wound could produce. His head swam as the phantom smell infected his mind, images of death and suffering flashing through him as the Dark Side power he had absorbed wracked his thin frame. It filled him with pain, his very bones aching as the dreadful energy pulsed inside him, fuelling his drive forward. Murder made the air thick, twisting through the room like a deadly smoke that threaten to choke everyone within it. As the pale-skinned man retreated, the assassin deactivated the lightsaber and flipped backwards, causing the gap between them to grow further. But his muscles were coiled like a spring, and a half-heartbeat later Moor launched back towards his foe. As such, the canopy that was sent towards him gave him little time to think. No finesse, no time. Brute force. Break it down. Break him down. The intruder's fury was still palpable, still filling Moor with power. The smaller Sith reached out with his mind, commanding the Force to deflect, to repulse, to destroy. The canopy did not break as much as it did shatter entirely, reduced to little more than a cloud of large splinters that shot straight back at the pale man. The Force shrieked, stabbing into Moor's mind and flesh. It hurts! Make them hurt! KICK THEM DOWN! CLIMB THE CHAIN! Moor followed instantly after the shrapnel, his foot propelling him off of the stump of the ruined bedpost. His lightsaber hissed back to life as he twirled in the air like an acrobat and slashed down at the intruder's head at the bizarre, high angle, arching through the air in a blur of motion.

[Rugs]

There was a moment, once he loosed his hold on the flying bed canopy, that felt like throwing the dice and waiting to see which pips luck turned to stare him in the face. Karn knew precious little of his foe, other than that they were a knife-and-lightsaber-wielding Force user who drank as deeply of the Dark Side than he did.

No time to think. No time to wonder. Action. Reaction.

His body tensed, ready to leap into action, to press the attack and force this masked intruder into submission. He began forward a half-heartbeat after the canopy, ready to introduce this stranger’s face to his lightsaber. How dare they strike at him--at Karn Albrecht, apprentice to Darth Viren himself.

He’d show them just wha-

The canopy exploded in a thousand pieces.

Karn barely had time to yelp in surprise before they were turned back at him him, all slicing like tiny knives. It took all he had to muster a weak wave of the Force, enough to knock some — but not all — of the shards from their course.

Some were too small to hurt him, or to breach what scant protection his clothes offered. Others punched through to the skin and flesh below, drawing blood as he turned awkwardly, at once trying to arrest his forward motion and protect the most sensitive parts of his body. By luck, he’d avoided the worst of it — a fractured bedpost went sailing through the window behind him with a crash — but he didn’t have time to celebrate that minor victory.

The assassin’s blade lit the room again as he came sailing down from overhead with a vicious strike at Karn’s head. Karn, now well and truly pissed and only just planting his feet, lifted his lightsaber to block the strike with a flash of lights and his as red met red.

He retreated again, lashing out with his lightsaber in a waist-high stroke to force his assailant back. Karn moved back just enough to set himself and growl another threat. “You’ve fucked up. I don’t know who you are,” his clawed fingertips stretched forward and with them so too did his will, shrouded in the Dark Side’s terrible power, “but I’m going to kill you.”

He was aware of warm blood trickling down his left arm from his shoulder, of wet warmth spreading in a spot or two where blood soaked into his shirt. The splinters hurt, but pain could be a blessing, as enveloped in the Force as Karn presently was. Pain was fuel, for the inferno roaring within.

The Force grew heavy and thick around the assassin, as Karn turned the darkness infesting the room against them. Slow was the lowest variant of Force Plague — the ace he kept pressed tightly to his chest. It caused no real physical sickness but affected the mind and body at once, slowing a victim’s movements.

This, Karn turned upon the small assassin with a wave of his hand. Only time could tell its effectiveness, but he readied his blade, easing into a Juyo’s opening stance, to prepare his onslaught.

[Blue]

The block that the intruder used was crude, yet it saved the man's life. The other Sith was still on the back foot, unable to bring his full strength to the fore; conversely, this was a place that Moor was strongest. Swift, sudden strikes disturbing the rhythm of his foes. The second swing was almost amateurish, and the lithe assassin's body slipped around the blade of light like water as he spun through the air. The attack missed by a hair's width, but it bought the intruder precious seconds. Which he wasted on words. Moor disregarded them. Silence will reign. Blessed silence. Kill him. Finish mission. Back to the Quiet. His body went to spring forward once more. Then everything went wrong. The intruder had reached out a hand, and now Moor felt as if his entire body had been submerged in thick mud. Panic swiftly rose like flood-water inside him, radiating from him like heat. His advantage was in his speed, in quick, savage attacks that threw the enemy off-balance until they made a fatal error. In one move, the intruder had taken Moor's greatest weapon away. Going to die, going to die- No no no no no no- GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT- Can't escape, must fight- I'll lose, he's prepared to face me now- CONSUME CONSUME CONSUME! Fear and Moor had a strange relationship; it both consumed and sustained him. Few knew fear as intimately as Moor did, how it penetrated everything, every act, every motion, from the swing of a hand to the turning of worlds. Over the years, in his time working as a murderer of the Sith Order, the Force was a constant agony to him. But pain was an effective teacher, and Moor had been enlightened to many things. Such terrible things. The lithe body shook as the assassin stood, moving almost in slow motion under the effects of the power of the intruder. Behind the featureless visor, two points of baleful yellow fire emerged as Moor dug into his wretched, trembling soul. The terror that had been flowing from him became stronger, thicker... directed. Horror. Pure horror began to assault the intruder as Moor's burning gaze fixed upon his pale features, and he took a step forward, the lightsaber held ready by his side. And he spoke, the rasping words buzzing metallically through the speech module. "Who... am... I?"

[Rugs]

There it was. The assassin slowed, as if struggling through a morass. Karn felt terror, pure and potent, bloom in his foe’s chest. Now you see, he thought as a cocksure smile split his pale lips. You’re nothing next to me. To the assassin’s credit, the surprise attack caught him off balance — almost fatally so.

But now they stood against each other to fight in earnest, and whatever element of surprise the intruder had was gone. Karn’s grip tightened on his lightsaber’s long songsteel hilt. Tempting though it was to toy with the slowed assassin, the effect wouldn’t last forever.

Best to make their death quick so he could figure out how much they screwed up his plan. Or better, disable them. Yes, a stroke to the leg would put them down and leave alive for interrogation.

His blade whirred as he stepped forward, beginning an opening stroke-

Then he felt something crash against his mind, his will, his soul. Terror threatened to take root, striking for that primal part of his being that acted on impulse and survival instinct. Karn stumbled back, face twisted with confusion.

He was reminded of his duel with Janse on the Sith Temple’s sparring grounds, months ago, when the unbearable lordling burrowed into Karn’s mind and turned his deepest fears against him en route to a humiliating defeat. But this was not the calculated, overwhelmingly powerful invasion of the mind Janse had unleashed upon him. It was wild, desperate, raw. And a threat all the same.

No. Karn’s focus on the present faded as he stumbled back, barely aware of shattering porcelain as he almost fell over the bedstand, or of the assassin’s repeated question. No, no, no.

It was not, strangely, the assassin that drove him back. Whoever they were, Karn did not fear them. No, it was the misshapen lumps beneath the bedsheets. It was the sinking feeling that he was too late, to stop this assassin from the task that drew them to the Vikar estate.

“Failure...” The word was whispered, as though riding on the gentle breeze that ruffled the curtains framing the shattered bedroom window. “Unworthy. You are a...”

One of the shapes on the bed stirred. The cover pulled back to reveal the Lord Vikar’s face, bloody and marred, with a ragged, gaping wound in his neck pouring as much blood as an accompanying one on his chest. His eyes, burning red like hot coals, bored into Karn’s soul as he inhaled a breath to scream.

“FAILU-”

“NO!” Karn screamed back, and the fear-vision blew away like fog. The bedsheets and corpses atop the mattress, the stands, all went flying back as the terror within gave sent the Force surging upon his scream. Even the heavy bed itself lurched with feet dragging on the floor and until it tilted, up and over onto its side.

The assassin, too, might find themself squarely in the path of danger as the scream tore from Karn’s lungs.

[Blue]

As the horror pummelled the intruder's mind, Moor felt the grip upon his body weaken and fade. With a shrug of power, the assassin removed the effect entirely. The wild, unseeing eyes of the pale man flashed back and forth; a familiar sight. A familiar feeling. He knew it well. Now is the time. Return to silence. It felt as if the intruder had fallen into the trance of fear much easier than most people that Moor had unleashed it upon. A hidden weakness? A flaw in their character that they had buried, come to the surface? No matter. It makes little difference, now. The lithe Sith's lightsaber flashed forward to take this man's life. The scream had been sudden, with little build-up, and as such had caught Moor off-guard. The force of the screech sent him flying backwards, into the vault itself. His body pinged off of one wall, and sent him smashing into the back, the light plaster of the room crumpling like paper under the impact. Pain flared mercilessly, but Moor's hold on his power, while fluctuating, did not release. It was a death grip; he knew that if he let the power go now, he would die. The Horror persisted, blood staining the teeth beneath the mask as the ruined mouth pulled back in a dark grimace. He raised his lightsaber, aiming to throw it straight at the screaming man while he was still afflicted with his own nightmares. One strike, that's all that is needed now. The Horror will hold him, the blade will end him. Then the Quiet come- wait, what is this? As Moor stood and the plaster rained like dust around him, he noticed something bizarre. When he was sent crashing into the vault, he had collided with one of the displays within. Whatever it had been was indiscernible now, but it apparently had held a datapad in some secret compartment. This confused him. Why keep a secret inside a secret? What were the Vikars so intent on keeping from unfriendly eyes? Despite the dangerous situation he was still in, Moor felt a tug of needles in his palm as the Force all but dragged his had to the datapad. He had to see this. His eyes widened as he turned it on and swiftly scanned through the contents. Times, dates, messages, pict-images and recordings... this was evidence! And upon this evidence, a recognizable face and name kept appearing. Lady Syko. I am betrayed, deceived. I knew that I was being used; we are all used. But this is bigger than a Dark Lord or Lady using a faceless acolyte to avoid embarrassment. This is... treason? A bigger betrayal, at the very least. To plan to overthrow a Darth directly under someone of the Inner Sanctum, to tip the balance and throw the Order into chaos at such a delicate, important time... Suddenly, the intruder was utterly unimportant. Moor knew what fate awaited him if he continued with this mission; loose ends must be tidied up. To continue as if this did not exist was pointless, worse than pointless. Suicidal. The horror Moor had unleashed withdrew back into himself as his mind raced, exploring possibilities and outcomes. Did the lady know of this pale man when she sent me? She did not tell me of him... no, I do not think she knew, or at least she had not known when she told me to come here... Even now, doubtless she is moving to disavow all knowledge of this enterprise, cast me to the void... This must be addressed. "I was told to kill everyone. No exceptions. Your Master must be powerful, for you to be targeted like this, and without knowledge of your presence here being given to me." Moor's raw, whispery voice called out from the vault, his eyes still glued to the scrolling datapad while his senses remained on alert in case the intruder decided to keep lashing out. Pain still clung to his thin frame, but it had fallen into the background. "We are both betrayed, it seems."

[Rugs]

Karn remained, for the present, unaware that his scream sent the assailant tumbling away into the vault. He saw it, but he was so lost in his struggle, so consumed in a torrent of the Force, that he did not really see it. The waking night terror was gone. The Lord Vikar’s animated corpse was nothing more than a bad memory as dark, thick blood from his real body pooled and leaked under the bed from the spot where Karn’s scream dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor.

Karn saw but did not see this too.

Control, he gripped at his the sides of his pale head, lightsaber buzzing near his ear. I’ve got to get control.

The horror gripping him faded, broken by the surging Force that accompanied his vehement denial of the Zombie Vikar’s condemnation. Yet now Karn held on by a sliver against losing himself.

To the Sith acolyte, the Dark Side was strength, fuel and fire both, a source of limitless power. But there were dangers to such power. To delve into the Dark Side was not to give oneself over to the Force, as the Jedi preached. It was a struggle against oneself, against the Force itself. All experienced the struggle differently, but to go too far, to dive too deep too quickly, risked losing oneself.

Karn, despite his youth, had a knack for walking that line. But the assassin’s provocation, the terror that came with it, his own overpowering refusal — the scale tipped, and not the right direction.

Got... to pull back. The Force raged like a maelstrom. So much power, sweet and bitter. Life and agonizing pain. His skin burned. His body ached; it felt as if his bones might burn to ash if he didn’t do something.

You.

Karn’s snow-white eyes turned hatefully to the battered assassin in the once-hidden vault. Lightning crackled around his free hand’s fingertips. This is your fault. Karn stepped forward and the rich, dark-stained floorboards broke around his feet torn free and lifted into the air by the power running wild within him. The tip of his lightsaber dragged along the ground as he took one step then another.

Kill him. Crush him. Make him pay. The assassin was saying something. His words washed over Karn, heard but not heard.

All but the last.

"We are both betrayed, it seems."

A moment’s pause. A break in the storm, just enough for Karn to wrest back some control and pull back from the brink. The pieces of floor floating around him clattered to the floor and the lightning arcing between his fingers faded. His crimson lightsaber remained lit, and his grip tightened on it as his narrowed his gaze at the intruder.

“We?” Karn’s chest rose and fell visibly as he took deep, angry breaths. His body ached. Too much of the Force, too quickly. He felt weary. Continuing the fight as he was might be a fool’s venture, but he was not afraid to press on--a part of him thirsted to tear the assassin’s throat out. “What do you mean, we?”

For the first time since entering the Vikars’ bedroom, Karn had time to think. This assassin was skilled, he had to begrudgingly admit, with the Force. And he carried a lightsaber.

“Your Master must be powerful, for you to be targeted like this, and without knowledge of your presence here being given to me.”

The assassin had said that, before claiming betrayal. Karn’s eyes narrowed further. Why would he be given knowledge of my presence? A gnawing suspicion grew in Karn’s gut. Was this assassin Sith? It seemed he might be, but just because a thing seemed true did not make it so.

Karn did not disengage his lightsaber, but his stance shifted slightly, posture shifting away from aggression to waiting, watching. “I will ask you again,” he said, voice indicating that had precious little patience to spare, “who are you?”

[Blue]

Moor could feel the thundering rage and fear blossoming from the intruder in the bedroom. In his demented state, the assassin was not sure that the pale man had even heard him. I must work fast. Withdrawing a small device, Moor copied the information on the datapad onto this portable drive and secreted it on his person just as the intruder stomped into the vault. The manner of this person was... odd. He was Sith, there was no doubt. The power, the arrogance, the way he drew on the Dark Side; it was something that had the feeling of tutoring, not something self-learned. Yet at the same time, he took an attempt on his life so... personally. And he asks stupid questions. Stupidity does not last long in the Order. There was a pause as the helmed head moved into the direction of the two dead people in the bedroom behind the man, then back to the intruder's face. "I am an assassin," Moor said, his raspy voice coming out slowly so that the pale man had time to absorb the information. He needs it, I think. "From the Order. I have worked mostly under Darth Aurelius, though I am not his apprentice. I am masterless, which puts me in a... unique position," he continued. A shiver of fear flashed through him, thinking of all the powerful people that could squash him without a thought, without having to worry much about possible repercussions. "I was under orders from a Dark Lady, Syko, to infiltrate the Vikar mansion, kill everyone inside, retrieve the relic lightsaber... and destroy the contents of the vault. I thought it strange that she asked me not to retrieve everything, but you do not question. Only obey." Moor's words contained a tremble. Even as the plan began to unfold in his mind, he was afraid. He embraced this fear; it would keep him sharp, deadly. "But now I've seen this, tucked away in... whatever that was, things have become clearer," Moor finished, gesturing. The datapad hovered over in front of the pale man, as a video started to play. "Is everything ready?" a woman asked a hooded figure. The woman was Lady Syko. "Yes, my lady. Soon, the players will be in position, and Lord Prath will be helpless to stand against you. His position and resources shall be yours; you have but to reach out and take it!" the hooded figure said. Beneath his mask, Moor grimaced. Such cliché phrases both baffled and wearied him, but it was worth enduring for that name alone. Lord Prath; a direct underling of Darth Viren. Lady Syko plans to remove him and insert herself in his place. Acceptable, if done at the right time and in the right way. Treasonous, if done incompetently and during such delicate times. "Excellent. Once I am settled in my new position, you shall be grandly rewarded, Lord Fim," Lady Syko announced. A small bit player within Lord Prath's sphere of influence. His reward will doubtlessly be the same as the one the lady plans to gift me: eternal silence. "The Vikars had evidently been spying on her. Impressively foolish," Moor stated. He held out a hand and the relic lightsaber's case smashed, the item itself landing in the assassin's hand. No alarms sounded; Moor had long since cut the security system's access to this place. "This lightsaber was clearly just an excuse to send me here, to destroy the evidence they had collected... and to kill you as well, it would seem. Perhaps the thief even stole the relic under Lady Syko's orders." Moor's throat was start to ache terribly. He had not spoken this much for a long time. The featureless visor turned up and looked at the pale man. "Whoever your master is, Lady Syko appears to want to weaken their position."

[Rugs]

A brief silence lingered, interrupted only by the steady humming of Karn’s crimson blade. His ivory eyes locked onto the intruder’s masked face as it seemed to peer toward the bedroom beyond, left in tatters from their sudden, violent confrontation.

“I am an assassin.”

Karn wanted to howl. “Yea, no shit,” he said loudly, allowing runaway aggravation to fill his voice. He motioned broadly at the devastation behind them — at the dead Vikars laying in an awkward heap of limbs and sheets next to the tipped-over bed. What are you, stupid?

Whoever this assassin was, their next words confirmed Karn’s suspicions of their ties to the Order. He deactivated his lightsaber with an annoyed sigh and ran a hand through his pale hair, damp with sweat. The Force left him as he clipped the weapon to his belt and busied himself with prying a large splinter from his shoulder with a grimace as the intruder spoke on.

Working under Darth Aurelius. Ascension, then? What would Ascension want from the Vikars? Was this Lady Syko working with them? His midnight wanderings, undertaken near on a whim, had produced far more questions than answers, and he was none the happier for this assassin’s intrusion into his work.

Despite Karn’s irritation with the other Sith presence and the countless complications it added to what should have been a simple task, he had to admit the video, as presented, was concerning. He knew Prath well enough — a Praetor who held some significant favor under Viren.

Karn’s eyes narrowed, then he signed. One hand clenched into a fist and relaxed at his side. I don’t know Syko, but she must be strife, he thought, running his other hand through his hair again. Getting closer to Master wouldn’t make any sense otherwise; he’d see through that immediately if she wasn’t. He began to pace, mind turning as the assassin spoke on. But what’s her end goal? Off Prath, take his place, and then what? There’s got to be more to it from there. Get in Viren’s ear? More?

“My Master, nameless assassin, is Darth Viren. He commanded me, personally to come to this estate to meet with the Vikars to discuss their collection of relics and how and why they came to possess that lightsaber.” He let the words, and the weight of his master’s name hang in the air for a moment. “Clearly, Nameless, that won’t be happening now because someone murdered them and decided to pick a fight with me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This what only obeying gets you, you know?” Still, were it not for their fight, his assassin might have wandered along blindly further into Syko’s scheming. Whatever the Vikars reason for welcoming Karn so eagerly, he’d never know. Perhaps they wished to share what they knew with him — currying favor with the Praetor Magnus could get them much farther than the same with some Sith Lord, after all.

Whatever their plans, they were dead now.

“I don’t like it, but we may need to unite on undoing this mess. But the timing is troublesome,” Karn muttered. Close enough to get me here, but cut the Vikars off before they could reveal anything. Did she know? Glass crunched underfoot as he walked past the assassin, inspecting the other relics that’d not been destroyed. A few crystals, vases, an ancient mask of dark metal with narrow, angular eyeslits and no hole for the mouth. Karn’s gaze lingered. Something — some old, dark presence — lingered on the mask. Curious.

He turned over his shoulder to regard the other Sith. “Nameless, were you given a date by which to kill them? Or was tonight’s timing of your own choosing?”

[Blue]

The burst of anger from the stating of the obvious confirmed in Moor's mind what he already suspected. You ask a stupid question, you get an answer that fits. Clearly, this pale man was not gifted when it came to intelligence, no doubt relying on brute force to worm his way up the hierarchy. Still, the man calmed himself to a degree once he heard the assassin state his business, which made him smarter than many others of his station in the Order. At the reveal that this man was the apprentice of Darth Viren himself, Moor shivered. Yes. I made the right choice, attempting to end things here and put Lady Syko to the flames. I would have killed him, and my fate would have been sealed. The Dark Lady would have no interest in protecting me; she would just offer me up to the Praetor Magnus to save herself. Moor made it a point to know as many names of people that outranked him as possible; it made it easier to avoid them. Darth Viren's apprentice was named Karn Albrecht. Presumably, this was he. On the matter of just obeying, Moor let out a strange, hacking noise. He was laughing. "Until you reach the higher echelons of our Order, you obey every word of your superiors if you want to live. Would you would refuse your master if he gave you an order, Karn Albrecht, apprentice of Darth Viren? Would you dare oppose him in any way at all?" the lithe Sith asked. There was a sneer in his tone, more withering than any acid. He did not give the pale man time to answer; the answer was obvious, so the question was rhetorical. And this man knows it. If he did not, he would already be dead. "The time was now. Go, kill, retrieve, return. That was the mission. I left as soon as the order was given. You do not keep those more powerful than you waiting," Moor answered, his own eyes darting around the vault. That gem... it called to him. There was even a damaged holocron in one of the cases. His fingers itched. "But if you are the Praetor Magnus' apprentice, things are much clearer," the assassin stated, circling as the man moved further into the vault. Always just out of reach. Always ready to respond. "I kill you. She deals with Prath... then me. The Praetor Magnus' power base is weakened and her ties to that occurrence are buried. He needs to fill the gaps. Lady Syko is not an unattractive option; she is cunning, strong with the Force, and has a significant power base herself. She makes the most sense. And she knows it." It was not a lie. Not really. Lady Syko more than likely had her eyes on serving under this man's master directly... and beyond, most likely. What Sith did not crave the power of an Inner Sanctum position? Who would believe her if she claimed to have no intent of harming the Praetor Magnus' apprentice, especially with evidence that linked her to weakening the Darth's grip on his section of the Order? The man before Moor certainly would not; if the assassin had the right of it, an attempt at murder would only bolster the pale man's ego, and to believe that he was not really the focus of such an assassination would wound his pride too much. Unite to undo this mess. The concept truly disgusted Moor. Working with others always brought uncertainty; it was one of the reasons he was used to kill people and little else. One person can do many things, while a group were encumbered by their many weaknesses. But... the pale man had a point. Moor could not deal with Lady Syko alone and, now that Darth Viren's apprentice was already involved, cutting Karn out of the loop was impossible. Possibly even fatal, if his master took offence. "The only way to 'undo this mess' is by killing Lady Syko before she has a chance to overthrow Lord Prath. Better if we go now, kill her immediately, while she still thinks I am under her employ. Anything less and she will come back to bite you. I doubt a Dark Lady of the Sith will appreciate her... hard work being disrupted," Moor said. His left hand trembled. Do this right and you will rise- Do it wrong and you're dead. Dead dead dead- Need the Quiet. Kill them all- HUSH! Moor's head twitched. He scanned the vault again. "Regardless, the Vikars will no longer need their treasures. They shall be returned to the Order. Where they belong," Moor stated out loud. Can only take a couple of things; I travel light. His mind began to run a mile a minute, plots and plans running along the twisted paths in his mind. With a gesture, the gem and the broken holocron flew into his hands, as the relic lightsaber was thrown to Karn. "If we survive, present that to your master, along with the evidence on that datapad. Tell him that the Vikars were gathering information and Sith relics to buy his favour, and were killed by an assassin the night before you planned to contact him. You killed the assassin; we can use one of the bodies of the security guards I killed in the monitoring station. We make the body unrecognizable. A little lightning should suffice." He paused, his visored visage looking at the pale man. "I assume you have no objection to taking all the glory of thwarting Lady Syko for yourself? If we can kill a Dark Lady of the Sith without dying ourselves."

[Rugs]

Nameless, the assassin, seemed amused by something Karn had said. The Arkanian stopped, looking over his shoulder at the small, masked man as he began to make some odd, grating hack of a laugh. Then he dared to lecture Karn, to imply that he was blithely unaware of the Sith Order’s power structures.

Nameless went on, posing a question he clearly didn’t intend for Karn to answer, then boasted of how well, how quickly, he’d followed Lady’s Syko’s orders.

“Until you reach the higher echelons of our Order, you obey every word of your superiors if you want to live.”

The words rattled around within Karn’s skull. Karn’s mind was, for an instant, back in the Temple on Korriban, on that dry, dusty day. That fateful day, when Viren found him alone, sulking and angry after that humiliating defeat at Janse’s hands. Hurting and lost as he yet reeled from losing his former master to the Archeri.

"Ignore your pain. Stand. Or you die," Viren commanded.

“Ignore my pain?” came Karn’s angry retort as pent-up frustration boiled to the surface and he ignited his lightsaber. “What the fuck do you know about my pain?”

That defiance, that initial refusal to bend to Viren’s will, ignited a confrontation that even drew the eye of the Prophet Nostos. What would have happened if I had simply obeyed? Karn wondered. He had no doubt that he wouldn’t be Viren’s apprentice — he might still be masterless, aimless, lashing out from a wound of the heart that’d only just began to heal.

He was no fool — to flaunt hierarchy too much was to beg for an early death. But to be Sith was to fight, to struggle against the chains that bind, not to accept what was laid out before him like a docile, stagnant Jedi.

Karn watched the assassin over his shoulder. His posture remained relaxed, largely, but a tension clung to his presence, subtle but there, for a discerning eye. “You don’t know as much as you think, Nameless,” he said simply, flatly. “Not by half.” He raised his hand, waving dismissively as he returned his attention to the mask. “Suit yourself. I will climb to the mountaintop while you wallow in the valley of your vaunted subservience. Which,” he glanced over his shoulder again, “by your own admission would have won you an early grave at Syko’s hand, yes?”

He snorted. “What a reward for the loyal lapdog, obeying every word of his superior. And now he plots to kill her. Ironic.”

Karn lifted a hand to his temple. His head was beginning to hurt; an aftereffect of drawing so deeply, so quickly, on the Force, no doubt. Present company doesn’t help. He extended a pale hand, brushed the tip of a clawed finger on the mask’s dark, smooth surface. It was cold to the touch — colder than the air in the vault alone should have accounted for. A chill ran up his hand, along his arm, down his spine.

He’d not missed the rest of what Nameless said, and despite Karn’s apparent need to try to have the last word, he couldn’t deny that the assassin’s summation of the situation — despite the rather bold assumption, in Karn’s eyes, that he could have killed Karn — and suggestions for the next steps were sound.

“Too bad you killed all the security if we’re going to desecrate one’s corpse anyway,” Karn muttered, eyeing the ancient lightsaber hilt Nameless gave over to his possession. Force, but he could use the energy from one of them now, to mend his wounds. Nothing to be done for it now. “But you are right.” The words grated on his tongue. “The quicker we act, the better our chances of catching Syko before she realizes something’s amiss. To that end, we’ll likely need to travel together.”

Karn could only assume nameless had arrived in his own vessel. If this deception were to work, it would need to be complete. His own transport, docked at a Vikar Estate’s guest landing pad, would need to remain, at least until they completed their business with Syko.

“I don’t,” Karn said simply to Nameless’ final question, after a moment’s hesitation. Here was an opportunity for recognition, for greatness, if they succeeded. Why would the assassin relinquish a share of the glory, in stopping a plot against the Praetor Magnus himself? Karn turned a measuring gaze to Nameless, wondering at what thoughts spun beneath that mask.

“We should be leaving here,” he said, turning to take his leave with he ancient mask and lightsaber in hand. More glass crunched underfoot. “Let’s get a guard and do what needs to be done there. Then we depart.”

He stopped just beyond the vault’s entryway, eyeing the assassin once more. “We must find Syko alone, as even you must know. Challenging her by herself will be difficult enough; if any of her cronies are with her, we’re doomed. But she must have a favored place away from Korriban or the capital where she can scheme.” Scheming could and did happen everywhere in the Sith Empire, often hiding in plain sight. But scheming for treason? Syko would have to be bold to conduct so much on Dromund Kaas or Korriban.

Besides, if a confrontation spilled into public at the Sith Temple or in the Imperial capital, it would be all too easy for Syko to turn the blame to them, to two young Sith whose ambitions got the better of their good sense. Considering the risks before them, Karn conceded that might not be an entirely inaccurate charge.

“You work for her. Where might we find her?” Karn felt a rush of excitement, of adrenaline in his weary body. Setting out to take down a Sith Lord was no small task. There was much planning to be done, and not much time to do it. Should they alert Prath? Any disruption might put Syko on alert, make the task that much more difficult.

“Catch her unawares where she thinks herself most secure,” he said, gaze drifting over the dead Vikars. How secure had they thought themselves, here in their bed, surrounded by gaudy testaments to their wealth? “Then we may have a chance.”

[Blue]

Disdain and arrogance rolled off of the pale man like heat from fire as his words spewed out, speaking of mountains and valleys. Moor did not argue the point, as it would have been pointless to do so. It suited him fine to let the fool keep his sense of superiority. Let him think I am lesser. Many do. I know when to bend the knee in subservience... until it is time to strike. A day will come, yes, it will, when Karn Albrecht refuses to bend... and is broken. Even though he had already acknowledged that teaming up was the only way they could proceed, the idea of them having to actually travel together repulsed him... although Moor was surprised to find just how much he was looking forward to telling this pampered fool that he stowed away on a vessel to reach here. He had never truly hated anyone; even when they were trying to kill him, he was too afraid to have room for anger. But now the fight was concluded, and every word out of this man's mouth made the assassin want to stitch the offending orifice shut. Hate was... refreshing. "She gave me co-ordinates to return to once the mission was completed. An estate she was retreating to on Rhen Var, doubtlessly to distance herself from the coming chaos. Minimal guards and security," Moor stated. There was a bitter feeling in his rotted soul as he thought of the location Lady Syko had retired to. Rhen Var. The place he was taken to as a youngling, all those years ago. The place where he had been suppressed, ground down, shackled. His thoughts whirred. The place where he would start his rise. "There is a ship due to depart for these co-ordinates in an hour. We will stow away on board... the same way that I arrived here. No personal vessels. No traces. No witnesses. This is how assassination works, Karn Albrecht," Moor announced. There was a relish in his voice as he spoke. Oh yes. That did feel good. With that said, the lithe Sith took back the knife he had jammed into the door frame and left. He retrieved the corpse of a security guard, dragged it back to the bedroom near the window, and gestured a hand towards it. Lightning shot forth from his fingertips, and the smell of charred meat began to fill the gaudy room. Moor did not stop pouring this Dark Side energy into the corpse, even as it's clothes and hair caught fire; the smell grew worse. The smoke was draw out of the open window, preventing it from setting off any fire alarms. Against the night's starless sky, the dark cloud was next to invisible. Only when the body was completely unrecognisable did the assassin relent, stamping out the flames so that it did not catch the surroundings on fire. "Meet me at Agamar Prime Starport, hanger twelve. That is where our transport will be. In one hour it will depart; do not be late," Moor said blandly. He tapped a device on his wrist, and he vanished from sight, then with a shudder he drew his cloak of Force around himself, his presence disappearing entirely. "I'm confident you can get past the guards with a few carefully chosen words, since you are an... honoured guest," Moor's voice said from somewhere close by. Then he moved, and was gone.