Bells will Toll

[Rugs]

Force, I hope we’re nearly there. Karn sat atop a large shipping container with one foot propped up on its edge and the other hanging down over the side. He leaned back, arms supporting his upper body, and drummed softly on the thick metal with his clawed fingertips. Imperial freighter I-7803AZ was the last place Karn expected to be hitching a ride anywhere.

And yet, here he was, on a journey halfway across the Sith Empire with an assassin whose company was about as pleasant as a nest of shrieking mynocks. An insult to shrieking mynocks, he corrected himself with a sidelong glance at Nameless while his fingers tap-tap-tapped softly away.

It could be worse, Karn admitted to himself. The freighter was large and boxy, with a modular cargo bay that could be swapped to different configurations, based on carrying need. The freighter presently maintained its default configuration — a large back attachment with plenty of room big cargo hauls from one end of Imperial space to the other. Freighter I-7803AZ was, at present, loaded up with food and good from the agriworld of Agamar, bound for an Imperial facility on Rhen Var, from which it would likely be distributed to the appropriate storehouses to support the Sith presence on the frozen world for the next few months.

It was a stroke of astounding luck that the freighter had been preparing to depart once Karn and Nameless — his foe-turned-forced ally — decided on the course of action that send them rushing from the Vikar Estate on Agamar to Rhen Var’s frozen wastes. That was, as far as Karn was concerned, about the only stroke of luck he’d had since encountering the assassin.

Agamar was a temperate world, and so Karn hadn’t brought attire befitting Rhen Var’s climate with him on the trip. Thus, he’d been reduced to pilfering through the Vikar’s clothes — it wasn’t as if the dead nobles would need them anymore — until he found a set of suitable cold weather hunting gear that belonged to the late Lord Vikar. It wasn’t the best fit — he and Lord Vikar were of a height with each other, thankfully, though the noble was broader than Karn — but he’d make it work.

After retrieving only a few basic necessities — his datapad, the items recovered from the Vikars’ vault, and so on — from his guest room, leaving the rest of his incidentals and ensuring that his personal ship was locked and secured, Karn lied his way into Agamar Prime Starport, with a clumsy application of Force persuasion he hoped would have the guards forgetting they’d seen him, and snuck onto the freighter with the dead man’s clothes in tow, just in time for liftoff.

He had pointedly ignored Nameless once boarding the freighter and while they hid during a pre-flight cargo inspection — though at least took that opportunity demonstrated that he was perfectly capable of stealth without a stealth suit like the one the assassin used — until they were off the ground and in hyperspace.

There, finally, he had a chance to tend to his wounds from their fight and grapple, silently, with the realization Nameless, for all his annoyances, was stronger than he wanted to admit. Victory, had their messy duel dragged out longer, was far from guaranteed.

And now, here he was, dead as far as the rest of the Galaxy knew, if Lady Syko’s scheme advanced towards her expectations. Except for a vague, encrypted message to his master, Karn had spoken a word of what was happening to any other Sith. There simply hadn’t been time, and he dared not send a signal out from his datapad that might catch the freighter crew’s attention. Anticipation churned in his belly. So too did a seed of fear. Hunting a Sith Lord, with an assassin he’d never worked with before and did not like.

If they failed...

Karn shook his head and hopped abruptly down from his perch, landing lightly on his feet with little sound. His gaze lingered briefly on Nameless and he approached the weird little assassin, looking as if he wanted to say something.

He was about to make some passing complaint — not for the first time — about their travel arrangements, but stopped himself after remembering the assassin drew no small joy from his displeasure.

Instead, he decided to turn his focus to the coming task.

“So, you familiar with Rhen Var at all?” Karn had only visited the world once, on an expeditionary mission with Imago. A world torn from the Jedi’s hands. Their Temple now served the Sith Order. Karn wondered how close their task might take them to that sacred place. Did Syko scheme treason in the shadows of the legacy left behind by the Order’s greatest foes?

“Old Jedi world, used to be fertile.” That was what the histories said, anyway. Before some cataclysm turned it to a ball of ice and snow and blowing wind. “I think I prefer it the way it is now, though.”

[Blue]

Dread gnawed at Moor. The thought of returning to that place, where his first, stumbling steps of discovering the Force had begun, was not a pleasant sensation. They tried to shackle you- they lied they lied they lied they lied- Do you remember the desert? You should have died with your family, they stole you away- Stole you away and abandoned you to the slavers- They paved the way, stepping stones, to where real strength was! Moor's head twitched. The trip was, thankfully, passed in relative quiet. Karn Albrecht seemed in no mood to chat after the discovery that they would be stowing away on this vessel rather than taking a personal ship. In his sullen mood, Moor had taken great glee in the few times the pale man did speak, mainly to complain about their travelling status, which were met only with the blank look of his visor and amused silence. Wiling away the hours, the assassin pondered if Darth Aurelius had received his coded message yet. It had been child play, hacking into one of the starport terminals and shooting off an encrypted text announcing that a certain Dark Lady of the Sith's power base was about to become leaderless. He had put in just enough clues for the Inner Sanctum lord to figure out who it was; it never entered Moor's mind that the Darth would not learn who it was referring to in time to prepare to scoop up the resulting mess. Beyond that, all that Moor had to do was stew in his own fear and occasionally ward off a member of the crew that wandered too close during the pre-flight inspection. Every time this happened, Moor had probed into their minds lightly, triggered a haunting feeling within them when they approached that caused them to retreat. They were hard men and women, with the arrogance and ego to boot; they never told anyone else about the strange sensation they got when coming close to the Sith's corner of the hold. They were a lot like Karn Albrecht in that regard. Lots of bluster, but scared children under it all. Fear rules everyone. Just need to press the right buttons. Moor's thoughts were intruded on when the pale man got up and sauntered over, spouting some unimportant nonsense. The visor stared at the apprentice for a few seconds. "I know of it," the raspy voice said eventually. And that was that. Moor himself stood up, unfolding his limbs in a strange manner that should have seemed impossible, but was simply a small touch against the Force to balance and lift him up into position. "When we arrive at the estate, there will be a back door," Moor said without preamble. Since he wants to talk, then we should talk about useful things. "Upon the completion of my mission, I was to enter via this door with the code I was given. This was to avoid any chance of me being caught by the security measures put in place around the building, resulting in evidence being created of our involvement." Of course, Lady Syko could have simply turned off the cameras and various other security devices, but in the off-chance that anyone investigated her this would seem rather suspicious. But the back entrance was more lax, for this very purpose in mind. A way in and out that could not be traced. "I will infiltrate the estate ahead of time and await your arrival. She will expect me; she will instead receive you," the assassin continued, laying out the plan that had been turning in his mind for the last few hours. "This will throw Lady Syko off balance, bring her attention to focus on you and the implications of your arrival. She will not kill you straight away; she will consider her options, first. A calculating mind always hesitates. As you speak with her, I will attack her from concealment at the opportune moment. I will kill her if we are lucky, but wounding her is more likely. She did not reach her current status without possessing superior skill and instincts. Then together, we will kill her." As Moor spoke, it was as if the matter was already done. It was not confidence; it was absolute certainty, as if the event had already come to pass and the lithe Sith were merely recalling it in passing. "Questions?" Moor asked, before quickly adding "Relevant questions?"

[Rugs]

That faceless mask stared dully at Karn, and he began to suspect that his passing attempt at a non-hostil conversation was going down in flames. Suit yourself, Karn griped silently at Nameless’ curt response. It suited him just fine; no need to waste breath on someone who clearly wasn’t interested.

Karn let the pass over him with any outward response beyond a subtle shrug as the assassin stood like a weirdo. He was preparing to make his way back over to his little corner of the cargo hold when Nameless began to speak. Planning. Deception. Karn had wondered at how they might take on Syko, but had yet to broach the subject.

As things stood, the nature of the task before them meant he knew precious little about Syko other than that she was powerful and should be approached with caution and nothing about where they might find her. Normally, such details would be at his fingertips, given his position directly under the Praetor Magnus, but with his access to the outside severely limited, Karn was flying blind. Trusting an assassin he barely knew and did not like, and suspected would stick a knife in his back at the first reasonable opportunity. Karn, aggressive, arrogant, dominant, was used to taking charge in any situation that allowed it, not playing second fiddle, yet here the situation dictated that Nameless take the lead.

And it rankled.

Karn folded his arms and shifted his weight to one leg as Nameless laid out the plan. Use him as bait, allow the assassin to strike. If they were lucky, it’d kill Syko before she knew what was happening. More likely, though, the sneak attack would be the first salvo in a brutal, difficult confrontation.

Much as he hated to admit it, Karn had no qualms with Nameless’ plan. Long as you don’t leave me out to dry, he said. What would happen in those few moments of vulnerability? He could not defeat a Dark Lord alone, and trusting another Sith often came at one’s own peril...

“You know...” Karn began at Nameless’ needlessly acrid question. He closed his eyes and bit back his retort. For a moment, he wished he was instead tackling this task with Visarion instead or even Kath.

Strange, he realized, that he should find more comfort in a Jedi’s company than in one of his so-called brethren.

Karn inhaled deeply and let the annoyance go with a sharp exhalation through flared nostrils. His arms fell to his sides as he began to pace, a step or two to the side, then back. Slowly, thoughtfully. “The plan is solid, I will admit, assuming there’s no outside interference,” he said. “Lord Fim.” Karn glanced at Nameless. The assassin presumably remembered Syko’s crony from the Vikars’ secret recording. “Seems unlikely that he’s with her, but if he is...” Then what? Retreat? Alter the plan to down Syko before he noticed? Feign some distraction. Karn left the implication of the unfinished question for Nameless to consider. “Similarly, do we know if she has an apprentice?” Security, they could handle, if it came to it. The presence of another Force user would heavily alter the calculus of the situation, and not in their favor.

“Additionally, there are things I would know, before I go rushing into this.” Now Karn looked straight at Nameless — at where his eyes would be behind that black mask. Know your enemies. He could hear the refrain from his masters, present and deceased, pounding with his skull. “What do you know of Syko’s abilities?” he asked. “She is a Dark Lord, so the general assumption of ‘she’s strong’ only gets us so far. What are her strengths, her weaknesses?” What Nameless knew of the woman’s personality would get them close. If they killed her, her capabilities wouldn’t matter. If it came to a fight, they very much would.

More importantly, know yourself.

“I’d ask the same of you, Nameless,” Karn said, stopping his pacing as he stared down the smaller Sith. It was normally a fool’s errand, to ask a Sith their talents. Everyone kept secrets close, like hidden knives to slip between an unsuspecting rival’s ribs. Karn harbored no illusions about his relationship with the assassin, but with a monumental trial before them, every bit of shared knowledge helped. There was not nearly enough time left for them to rehearse working in perfect harmony, but any degree of coordination was better than blind hope that they could blend their skills on the fly.

“I have... some idea,” he said, referring back to their scrap in the Vikar estate, “but we’re not going to be fighting goons here. I need to know what you can do, if we’re going to do this.”

Karn shifted his weight again, awaiting the assassin’s response. Expecting, indeed, to have his question turned back on him.

[Blue]

The frustration and anger that rose in Karn Albrecht infused the Sith assassin's very soul with satisfaction. Here was a man used to doing things his own way, taking the lead even when he had no business in doing so. To take that power away from him, to push him down the Chain in a manner that did not involve killing was... it filled Moor with a strange pleasure that the lithe Sith did not know existed within him. I have the Power here. For once, I am in control- I could lure him into the estate, leave him to Syko, leave him to die- Nobody would know- He could wound Syko before death, then I could take it all- WAKE HIM WEEP MAKE HIM WEEP MAKE HIM WEEP- Moor's head twitched. These fantasies, while pleasant, were folly. Even if Karn Albrecht were to wound the Dark Lady before his demise, there was no certainty that Moor could finish the job. And there was no guarantee that, even should the assassin survive, that Darth Viren would not seek out those that had the audacity to slaughter his personal apprentice. These thoughts cooled his racing, fractured mind, schooling them back into sensibility. Remember the Fear. It will keep you alive. It will keep you strong. As the pale man spoke again, Moor was relieved. Finally, he says something worth listening to. "Lady Syko is distancing herself from the act she is about to embark on, staying isolated to grant her the veneer of innocence. If she were to have those that others know work for her enter her private estate shortly before the disposing of another Dark Lord, it defeats the purpose entirely," Moor stated slowly. Before he had headed out on the original mission, the assassin had surreptitiously investigated Lady Syko to ensure that she was who she said she was. Paranoid, perhaps. But it felt more than justified now. "As for her apprentice, she is currently managing her master's affairs on Dromund Kaas. Distant enough to deny involvement, but close enough so that, should any suspicions become intense, blame could be easily shifted upon her. An unlikely but acceptable suspect, especially since evidence will be difficult to find. And after all, apprentices can be so easily... replaced." Moor tasted that last word as it left his mouth, as if savouring it. It turned sour as the pale man inquired after the assassin's abilities. Knowledge was power, and the enemy of your enemy was a friend only briefly. There was a silence as Moor sized up Karn, recalling their brief battle, making estimates. I can always kill him later. Kill him. "Your skills land more in the physical," Moor stated, his visored face looking the man opposite him up and down. "You favour a more aggressive style of combat. I'm guessing... Ataru, like myself, possibly. More likely Juyo, though; less flow, more forceful. You kept attempting to utilize brute force against me, but the confinement of the bedroom made it difficult for you to build momentum with your lightsaber. The Force affliction you used was thought out; hampering my movements, slowing down a quicker opponent. So, you can think well on your feet; like when I struck you while hiding my presence, you were able to just avoid death. But your focus is easily broken. You lack mental defence, and a moderate application of fear was all it took to break myself free. Every time you pulled on the Force, you were driven by raw emotion: anger, arrogance... fear. Like how you fight, you rely too much on the brute strength of your emotions to bend the Force to your will. And I... I consumed it." Moor's rasping, whispering voice changed for the slightest of moments, becoming more twisted as the space around him began to distort slightly... EAT HIM EAT HIM EAT HIM- Enemy of my enemy of my enemy of my enemy of my enem- When he sleeps he dies- Moor's head twitched. The voices quieted down, and the... wrongness passed. "You are lucky," Moor continued, shaking off the fracturing that assaulted him. "Lady Syko's notable abilities do not involve mental or emotional attacks. She uses more... mundane means to do that. She is an accomplished duellist and favours Makashi, however, and has killed many Sith in the past while fighting one-on-one. During the war, she quite often utilized a powerful maelstrom of Force energy to destroy entire units of enemy soldiers. She will be difficult to deal with head-on, which is why we will attack her at unawares first. With you applying your affliction, her skills with a lightsaber will be greatly reduced. With me assaulting her mind, she will have considerable trouble summoning the Force to aid her. And with her body damaged, her capability will be significantly hampered from the very start." There was a burst of static noise that came from Moor as he cleared his aching throat. So much talking. I miss the Quiet. "So? Was I far off, with your skillset?" Moor asked. Behind the mask, thin lips peeled back, baring teeth.

[Rugs]

As expected, no apprentice. No co-conspirators. Just Syko, if Nameless’ read on her was correct, and, at worst, some servants. Karn made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort in basic acknowledgment that he’d heard and understood Nameless’ analysis. Still, his eyes narrowed very slightly at the last, at the suggestion that apprentices could be replaced, and easily.

A threat? Karn didn’t trust the little assassin as far as he could throw him. Or was he jumping at shadows? Trust other Sith only as far as you must. “Most are,” he said casually. Trust this assassin less.

It should have come as no surprise that the assassin sidestepped Karn’s question of his abilities. He’d expected some resistance, some half-truths and lies by omission. He had not, expected an analysis of his own capabilities. To Nameless’ credit, it came sprinkled with hints of his own skill — Karn did not know the little Sith used Ataru, as their short fight had been litigated, primarily, through the Force.

Yet the assassin’s assessment was... distressingly accurate, for as short as their fight had been. That he knew the gist of Karn’s strength hardly concerned the Arkanian — let Nameless think he relied only on raw power, at his own peril. Worse was that their fight, when he’d let loose the fear Karn had set upon him, had revealed his greatest weakness, his vulnerability to mental assaults and the torments that come with them.

But even in that, Nameless only saw part of the picture. That flaw, to Karn’s great shame, ran far deeper than Nameless knew. Than I can ever allow him to know, Karn told himself silently, resolve hardening even as the air grew thick with some strange power.

“You were as correct as you wish to be,” he said blandly, silently reviewing what he’d learned of Syko. Makashi. Juyo held some advantage against the form, but Karn suspected that would matter little against a master. It didn’t matter at all against Janse, he told himself bitterly. Still, he held Djem So, the antithesis to Makashi’s grace, in his repertoire and had taken great pains to learn more of the form under Viren and diversify his skillset from Juyo’s relentless offense. Perhaps it would see some use, along with other tricks he decided Nameless did not need to know right now.

“You’d sing a different tune if you hadn’t caught me flat-footed,” Karn said, in a tone that said he was as certain of this as he was that they were stowed in away in a spartan cargo hold. He did not care that it sounded bitter. Let Nameless make of it what he wanted.

“You prefer a lighter touch, striking from the shadows, to keep your foes unbalanced.” Karn leaned casually against a shipping crate, arms folded across his chest as he sized Nameless up. “Seeking blind spots, weak points. Though even with the jump on me, you couldn’t fell me.” Karn smiled subtly — a gentle upturn at one corner of his mouth, barely noticeable in the dim light.

“But when that fails, you’re no less a brute than I. Aggression, attempts to overwhelm before your opponent can fully respond. I know the strategy well.” Nameless’ intrusion had been sudden, overwhelming, forceful. Not the seeking fog Janse had unleashed upon Karn’s mind, nor the surgeon’s scalpel he’d seen Visarion employ. “But I guess that’s not surprising, is it? It’s fear that drives you, Nameless. I felt it, from the moment you revealed yourself, to the panic I let loose on you when I struck you with Slow, until you stuck your grubby hands into my mind. And in the heat of the moment, fear doesn’t ask for subtlety or grace. It demands only action. Remove the threat. Survive. Advance. Nothing else matters. How long I wonder, til that fear eats you alive?”

In that, they weren’t so different. Fear drove everyone, in one way or another, Karn supposed. Karn stood fully, stretching as the pit of his stomach shifted, followed by a brief rumbling of the ship around them. They’d left hyperspace and had, presumably, arrived in the Rhen Var system. Time was short.

“And all this wrapped up in a package that has the social grace and presence of a hydrospanner. Karn snorted a laugh. “Delightful.”

“Anyway, I will be your bait, assassin,” he said, turning as he began to walk back toward his corner of the ship to prepare for their inevitable departure. “But,” he paused, looking over his shoulder to his temporary ally, “if you think to betray me, I will leave two corpses in Syko’s manor.”

[Blue]

Moor could taste the surprise and shame in the air, rippling from Karn Albrecht as the assassin spoke. Although the lithe Sith had already been aware that the things he had said had been true, having those words spoken out loud caused the pale man's mind to spin. And it was glorious. Even the almost visible withdrawal into his shell, the rising of his defences, gave the assassin a joy he had not experienced in a long time. It may have even been the first time he had felt such a thing. As the man opposite him began attempting to level the same treatment upon Moor, Moor could not help but raise an eyebrow at Karn Albrecht's initial description of his skills. "Congratulations, Karn Albrecht. You have just successfully described the skill set and fighting preference of all assassins, proving that you are capable of reading a dictionary for its definition. My estimation of your intellect has now greatly improved," Moor stated dryly. "And you seem awfully proud that you barely escaped an opening strike performed against what I thought was a Force-blind person. Your instincts are clearly... adequate." While this was true, at the time of his assassination attempt Moor had still hid his presence in the Force and treated the unknown intruder as if they just as powerful as himself, yet Karn had still been able to escape unscathed. He must never know this. The more I bruise his ego, the more I throw him off balance, leave him uncertain. Useful, for later. He spoke not one word as Karn began espousing on fear, on how it drove him, what it meant. Moor wanted to cut the arrogant sop down where he stood. WHAT DOES HE KNOW OF FEAR? OF IT'S POWER? OF IT'S PURITY? HE'S JUST A SCARED LITTLE BOY. That strange hacking sound that counted as laughter came from the lithe Sith once more. "Fear is the root of all emotion, Karn Albrecht. Fight against it if you want; you know you can never win, not really. But I... I have embraced it. Fear already consumed me, long ago. Now... I revel in it." A juddering sensation swept through the ship as they dropped out of hyperspace above that blasted planet. We are closing in on the final leg. I must concentrate, now. No more time to waste of pointless chatter. Evidently the pale man nearby felt differently, spitting out some nonsense before moving to leave. Then he paused and offered a final threat, moving to ready himself. Moor said nothing, but could not help but sneer. You are right, Karn Albrecht. Should I betray you, there certainly will be two bodies in that manor before this is all said and done. --- The clack, clack of footsteps echoed through the mansion as Lady Syko, Dark Lady of the Sith, made her way to her private study. She was a tall woman, elegant and beautiful, features she had wielded like weapons within the Order as much as she did her lightsaber or the Force. There were no unused assets within her personal armoury. The study was a spacious room, far too grandiose for her usual tastes, but after struggling and plotting and fighting to make her way up the hierarchy of the Sith Order, she believed that she deserved a little luxury. And soon, that luxury would soon grow even further. Syko seated herself behind a grand desk, flicking through files on an elegantly constructed holo-screen. Names, dates, assurances, reports. Everything was in place, and only the preliminary cleaning remained. Once that was done, there would be nothing to tie her to the coming storm about to descend upon Lord Prath, and she would seamlessly step into his position. No sooner had that thought entered her head, Syko felt a dark presence enter her mansion, and she smiled. The assassin has finally returned. The lithe Sith was usually so careful, reducing his presence in the Force to nothing even while not hiding away. She had... requested for him to allow her to feel his presence once he came to the mansion to report his success, to ensure that she did not mistake him for some thief sneaking in. In reality, Syko had simply wanted to know that he was here, so dealing with him would be that much simpler. As such, this was the first time she had felt his presence in the Force. Hm... his power seems to fit his rank. If this was someone sent to kill me, they would have sent someone far more powerful than this. Yes, I do believe this is him. Reaching out and grasping at a tall glass of red wine, Syko sipped the drink as she waited for the assassin to present himself to her, allowing her own presence in the Force to billow out to guide him to her side. And behind her, unnoticed in the flickering shadows, something watched and waited.

[Rugs]

Lady Syko, for all her many apparent sins, had exquisite taste, in Karn’s estimation. Her manor, tucked away on the side of a low mountain a short trip away from the Jedi-turned-Sith Temple, was large enough to impress but stopped short of being as self-indulgent as the Vikar estate. It boasted a subtle, graceful decor with pieces imported from across the Empire that said, to Karn, Lady Syko had employed the aid of a professional designer or could moonlight as one herself, if the whole Sith thing didn’t work out.

Karn stood in a corridor in its lower levels, looking through a large transparisteel window where the mountain’s stony sides parted for a commanding view of the ice and snow-coated valley below. Far in the distance, just on the near side of the horizon, he could see the Temple rising from the snow-shrouded terrain and framed by distant peaks.

A relic of the Jedi that once watched over this lonesome place. A testament to the new Sith Order’s might.

The cold, distant sun was just beginning to crest those distant mountains, thrusting Syko’s manor into the light while much of the intervening valley between it and the Temple remained yet in shadow.

He sniffed to himself and kept on, with the hood of his stolen coat up — ostensibly against the subtle cool that crept into the manor. In truth, the white fur lining the hood of the late Lord Vikar’s hunting coat sheltered his face from prying eyes, from the glance of any stray servants who might cross his path.

His presence in the manor was no secret. According to Nameless, Syko was expecting the assassin’s return. Here their similar strengths played to their advantage — Karn was free to proceed as he wished into the manor while his ally skulked about and set himself for their ambush.

Karn couldn’t hide a smile as he jogged down a short flight of stairs and turned down another short hallway. Yes, he was very much looking forward to surprising Syko. For more reason than one.

—-

A few minutes later found Karn standing in the heart of a large wine cellar, perusing Syko’s collection. It was as expansive as her hoard of relics and cultural artifacts, with vintages ranging from Dromund Kaas’ finest to a rare selection from Aiaru. “Ah, what’s this?” Karn leaned down, peering at a pair of bottles with an unmistakable blue label.

He took one, as of yet unopened, gingerly by the neck and pulled it from its spot. His slender fingers cradled it gently as he lifted raised it before him to observe the label in the cool cellar’s dim light.

Vrieska Vinyards
Mountain Red, VTG 1400

“Oh, Syko,” Karn cooed softly, “you are a bold one aren’t you?” Imported goods from the Republic were frowned upon within the Empire, but wine from the Supreme Chancellor’s family vineyards?

Karn laughed as he placed the bottle into a small ice bucket, retrieved a pair of wine glasses and took his leave from Syko’s wine cellar.

He could hardly wait to meet the Dark Lady.

—-

Karn felt a knot of fear in his stomach as he stood outside the doors to Syko’s study. His hand, clutching the ice bucket’s handle trembled. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was to come, and pushed the fear away. Fear, despite what Nameless might claim, would not serve him here. Fear would undermine his play, weaken his hand.

He pushed down his coat's hood — he’d no longer need to hide his presence once Syko laid eyes on him, and called put on steady, cocksure airs as he opened the heavy door and stepped inside.

“Lady Syko,” he said amiably as he strolled within. The study was a spacious, elegant place, moodily lit in a way that imitated torches without threatening the countless volumes that lined the shelves and left dark, flickering shadows. The woman seated before him — the Dark Lady who’s betrayal must be stopped before it could begin — looked up. Karn felt a pang of disappointment to see she’d already procured some wine for himself.

He felt a rush of satisfaction at the surprise that flickered across her face before she smoothed it to placidity. Time to strike.

“I do apologize for keeping you waiting, but I thought some refreshments might lighten the mood,” he raised the bucket slightly to indicate his selection and placed it and the accompanying glasses on the desk as he arrived. “Your collection is impressive. Tea is more my speed, but I do enjoy a good red every now and then. Though I must say, Vrieska Vineyards?” Karn retrieved a wine bottle opener, taken from the cellar, from his pocket and popped the cork free from its place as he raised a pale brow at the Sith Lady. “I doubt Her Radiance would be pleased with it, but it is a bold choice. It’s fitting,” he looked up as he poured, first for her, then himself, “because you are a bold woman, Syko.”

Karn slid the glass for Syko towards her with the tip of his finger, then took his own in hand and sat easily in the chair across from her. He pressed on relentlessly, not giving the woman time to respond or to think.

“A calculating mind hesitates,” Nameless had said. Let that be true, and let the little shit be near enough to hear Karn’s words as he stalled for the right time for their ambush.

“It seems, my Lady, that you are betrayed,” he said gravely. “The assassin you employed did manage to off the Vikars but any blind idiot could kill some old fools in their sleep. He failed, as you can see, to eliminate me, however.” Karn smirked as he spread his arms, slightly. “He claims, if you can believe it, that he struck at me as if I were unable to reach the Force. Sloppy on his part, but well, why hire a good assassin if you plan to dispose of them after the job, right? Anyway, after his spectacular failure to defeat me, he told me of your plans, of Prath, of everything.”

“Now I have come to you with an offer if you’ll hear it.” Karn drank from the wine, letting his words sink in. “And I think you very much will, my Lady.”

He dug again into his coat pocket and when his slender fingers emerged, they gripped the old lightsaber hilt — the very relic Syko had allegedly so desperately wanted pried from the Vikars' grip.

[Blue]

Syko's face was quickly schooled back into neutrality as the stranger walked in... No, not a stranger... I know him. He's Darth Viren's apprentice? Why is he here? The pale boy began speaking as the thoughts in the Sith Lady's head ran at a mile a minute. Moor killed the Vikars, but why was Karn Albrecht there? Does Darth Viren know?... No, impossible. If he did, I would already be in deep shit. There's no way that he would let a Dark Lord under his direct command be removed so blatantly. It isn't just politics; it's a direct assault on his authority. If he knew, he would not have sent his boy wonder to do his dirty work. As Karn went on, it became clear that Moor had indeed run his filthy mouth to the full extent. Far too full. I never told Moor about my plans. I only asked him to retrieve the lightsaber. How could he have known? It was the Vikars that knew, not the assassin. Did Moor get there too late to silence them? But why would Karn lie about who told him? Then the lightsaber was presented to her, and even more questions flooded her mind, filling her usually confident demeanour with doubt. Just what is going on? Moor clearly told Karn about his mission... did Karn figure out that the evidence was secreted away in the Vikars' vault? Despite the chaos going on in her mind, Syko's face remained blank, tinged with mild curiosity at the boy's proposal of some sort of 'offer'. Does he still think that I wanted the lightsaber enough to murder some nobodies on some backwater? It's valuable, true, but it was simply pretence for me to order Moor to trash the contents of the vault... Very well. Let's see what grand schemes this simpleton has concocted. "Please, by all means. Do go on," Syko said, her melodic voice light as she took the proffered wine glass, tipping it back to take a tiny sip as a small smile playful danced on her lips. --- A shadow in the darkness watched and waited. Moor observed Karn's entrance; blustering, attention grabbing. Everything it needed to be. With so much noise faintly echoing in the study, the assassin's silent footsteps where completely inaudible as he closed the distance between himself and his prey. He was so close that he could see every ripple in Lady Syko's evening gown. The wrist blade had been extended hours ago so that there was no risk of the sound of metal unsheathing alerting the Dark Lady of a murderous presence. “Now I have come to you with an offer if you’ll hear it.” Moor froze. What is he doing? Offer? Is he going to turn on me? Kill him kill him kill him kill kill ki- Betrayal! Betrayal! BETRAYAL! BE- RIP OUT HIS HEART AND FEED IT TOO HIM- THE CHAIN, I CANNOT FALL HERE- Moor's head twitched. There was nothing that he could do except wait and see what the pale idiot planned on saying. It's just a part of the plan. Take Syko off-guard. Unbalance, then strike. But what if it isn't? Then there will be two bodies before the night is out.

[Rugs]

Karn’s heart thudded in his chest. He could almost feel the gears turning in Syko’s mind as she considered his offer of an offer. Now came the first major stumbling point, the first chance for her to blow his little scheme apart. If she denied his offer, what then? If Nameless wasn’t in position, he’d have to keep stalling and be out some fun with the annoying little assassin to boot. Surely he’s here. Karn set the ancient lightsaber hilt on Syko’s desk and tipped his own wine glass back to his lips. Embargoed or no, the stuff was good, he had to admit.

Maybe he’d take the other bottle home with him. Or share a celebratory glass with Nameless if they pulled this harebrained scheme. As if. Karn would’ve snorted if it wouldn’t break his facade. The list of things he’d rather do than attempt to socialize with Nameless was long, and some of its entries were rather painful.

"Please, by all means,” Syko was saying as she raised her own glass. “Do go on."

“Excellent,” Karn said, with more satisfaction than Syko could hope to understand. Now the real fun began. Hope you’re paying attention, Nameless.

“While the assassin you hired — what was his name again? — left some things to be desired, he did stumble into a gem of a find in the Vikars’ vault.” For the third time, Karn reached into a pocket, this time a large one on the coat’s front, and retrieved his datapad. He held it up as a video began to play.

"Is everything ready?" a hooded Syko asked, followed by an answer from Lord Fim as the message played on, revealing the Dark Lady’s treason to her face.

“We’re both intelligent people here, Lady Syko, and I trust I don’t need to explain what this is to you,” Karn said smoothly. “This, I assume, is what you sent the assassin to deal with — why the Vikars were silenced.” He smiled subtly as he put the datapad away and tapped the lightsaber. “I’m a fan of relics myself, Lady Syko, but this? Why murder aristocrats for a lightsaber? There are countless ancient specimens buried within Korriban’s tomb.

“But knowledge of a plot to remove one of the Praetor Magnus’ chosen lieutenants — that’s worth killing over.” Karn paused, smiling at the Dark Lady as he sipped again from his wine and drank on.

“And so I was left with a choice. Help this insufferable assassin who tried to kill me and would do so again, if given the chance, or take a different tack. Darth Viren is, as you must surely know, my master. I was to meet with the Vikars the very next day after your assassin murdered them, and he knows that my task has taken on an unexpected change,” Karn leaned into the word, giving it weight, “but not the nature of that change. Not yet.”

“My last communication with him included a failsafe. A dead-man’s switch of sorts, if you will. After calculating the travel time from Agamar to Rhen Var, with some extra time to meet with you, I have set a timer, after the expiration of which, the very file we just watched will be transmitted to my Master, along with a message I wrote with the assumption that I am dead, by your hands.” Karn smirked darkly and glanced, significantly, at a chronometer on the wall.

His threat was an exaggeration, but not an extreme one. He had set the file to send automatically from his ship — indeed a failsafe if Syko triumphed in the coming battle — though it had not yet transmitted and not on as aggressive a timeline as he’d just now told Syko. Easy enough to stop via remote access, should they triumph, and even if they did, Viren would see the video anyway. Whatever the woman chose, her quest for greatness was forfeit. Karn knew his master, and Viren recognized strength, cunning, and, importantly, honor.

“I can still stop it, of course, but not for long. But, agree to spare me your terrible wrath, my Lady, and help me slay the assassin, and I will work with you. I have my Master’s ear, after all. Pin the blame for the Vikars’ deaths — rightly — on the assassin, and Lord Fim, say you enlisted my aid to help see this work done after learning of what was coming, and this file never sees the light of day. So long as you abide by our agreement, of course.”

It was, of course, all bantha shit. What glory was there to be gained in offing some nothing assassin in place of felling a Sith Lord gone rogue? And what guarantee was there for any long-term safety for himself, especially once Nameless was dealt with and the automated message stopped?

But Karn, ever thirsting to bend situations to his whims was going to wring his opportunity for all it was worth to show Nameless that he wasn’t the only one capable of thoughts of betrayal. That the offer might fall apart under scrutiny didn’t matter — only that he forced the Syko and Nameless both to feel the heat now, in the heat of the moment.

“And if Prath falls in the process, well,” Karn shrugged, “it is unfortunate Lord Fim got so carried away, isn’t it?” Surely Nameless was near enough to set things off. “So, my Lady, what do you say?” Karn grinned like a cat with a mouse in its clutches and raised his glass. “To be clear, Syko, I don't hold you plan against you. To scheme and struggle for greatness — that is to be Sith. You were so close, to pulling it off. But now your time is short.”

[Blue]

As the event played out before her, Syko's mind never stopped moving, revolving around the potentials, the chains of events, the possibilities that were unfolding before her eyes. The boy lounged opposite her, unrolling a scene for her; a betrayal found, a timer set, an offer extended. Syko's eyes narrowed incrementally, her smile taking on a predatory edge. Is this boy really one of us? He can't lie for shit. Syko leaned back in her chair, allowing the silence to reign just a few moments longer than was comfortable, taking another sip of wine. A tongue extended, delicately tasting the lingering remains of the vintage on her lips before clicking against the roof of her mouth. A few half-truths sprinkled within, hm? The situation is not as dangerous for me as Karn would like me to believe... but there is still a threat. But he knows that whatever that threat is, I can handle it easily enough if I act fast. Then I shall gratefully oblige him. "My dear Karn," the Dark Lady said, her words unhurried. Slowly, ever so slowly, she leaned forwards towards the boy, lifting her body from the chair. "If you want to convincingly tell a lie to a Dark Lord... or Lady... of the Sith, perhaps you should run through the story a few times while watching yourself in a mirror? It helps tremendously for those just starting out... of course, I fear you may not get the opportunity to-" --- And there's my opening! Lady Syko shifted her weight, moving to stand. Both hands on the desk. The Force beginning to crackle around her eyes. The best time to strike was when the target was not fully balanced... even better when they were just starting to summon the Dark Side to them. There was no warning. The blade struck thrice. One pierced the abdomen. Kidneys. Stomach. Clipped intestine. The next stabbed into her chest. Ribs. A lung. Missed the heart. The last, her neck. The three blows were fast, so fast that the stealth field flickered and revealed the darkly clothed arm for a brief moment. They were powered by rage. Rage born of fear. YOU WANT TO KILL ME?! YOU WANT TO USE ME?! YOU WILL LEARN WHAT FEAR IS AND PAIN WILL BE YOUR TEACHER! Despite the sudden attack, Lady Syko did not get to where she was today to fall so easily. Although the original interrupted power she was summoning was rampaging more pain through her body, the Dark Lady reached deep and screamed. A wave of Dark Side power blasted from her, throwing Moor and even the heavy desk away from her. The lithe Sith flipped through the air, but maintained surprising control, as if he had been thrown around like this before. He hit the wall with his feet, legs bending to absorb the impact, and he stayed there. The magnatomic grips held fast, and he clung to the wall like a large spider, his stealth field flickering off and the cloak hiding his presence receding. Pure rage billowed from Moor, rage so hot it felt like it could set his surrounding alight. Syko gained some distance from the two intruders, one hand clutching at the wound in her neck and an ugly snarl forming on her face. "Moor... you little rat", Syko spat. Missed the airway. The bleeding from the Dark Lady's body had already begun to stem... at least, from the wounds in her neck and chest. The first strike was far deeper, and the dark power she was wrapping herself in could not heal it without more time and concentration. "You... You have no idea the suffering I'm going to-" she began, only to be forced to defend herself with her lightsaber as Moor shot like a blaster bolt towards her, his own weapon igniting and clashing against her. She stumbled, still not steady on her feet, but was able to block the worst of the attack. A minor burn appeared on the once flawless skin of her face, and Moor rolled into a crouch. Behind the mask, teeth were bared. DESTROY HER DESTORY HER DESTORY HER DESTORY- DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE- TEAR. HER. FROM. THE. CHAIN! "I will skin you BOTH and hang your flesh from the walls of the Jedi ruins!" Syko screeched, Dark Side energies fluctuating around her as inanimate objects began to rise upwards throughout the whole study, lightning flashing in short bursts as she drew in more power.

[Rugs]

Silence held.

Karn’s stomach fluttered. Now was the moment; now was the time for Syko’s decision. A meaningless choice in the end — despite the exaggerations of his precautions woven into his threat, Karn had no intention of working with the woman. As much distaste as he held for Nameless, all that mattered was that he created an opening for the assassin to strike. Why then, did he wait on pins and needles to see Syko’s reaction?

She drank from her wine. Karn mirrored this, downing the last of the small portion he’d poured for himself. He wanted more, but too much wine would dull the senses and slow his reflexes. Suicide, considering what was to come.

Confidence rippled through Syko’s presence. Smug self-assurance. She began to stand, leaning forward over her desk. Karn tilted slightly in his seat, only barely feigning interest. Now’s your chance Nameless, he thought, wondering where the assassin waited. Don’t fuck this up.

"If you want to convincingly tell a lie...”

So that’s her answer. Karn felt a rush of giddiness as he took violent hold of the Force. There would be no reasoning with her, no alliance against Nameless. It would be a pity, where that ever a real option. A sly smirk began to curl a corner of his lip upward.

Then everything happened at once.

Nameless revealed himself in a brutal, gory assault on Syko, the concealment field flickering away with his actions. Karn, finally free to let the facade fall away, laughed as Syko screeched her rage at Nameless. Or, he would have, if the Scream she unleashed — not unlike his own back in the Vikar estate — didn’t throw his chair back across the room and him with it.

Karn managed to land with some semblance of grace, twisting out of the chair and stopping in a crouch as his former seat tumbled back crashed into a heavy bookshelf. A hurried wave of his hand sent forth the Force, diverting her solid, wooden desk just enough to avoid slamming into him.

As he stood, as Syko spat rage at Nameless — at Moor — Karn threw aside the stolen Vikar hunting coat, leaving his shirt, one of slate grey that fit well to his lean frame, on instead.

“My dear Syko,” Karn cooed, echoing the woman’s words. “It’s unbecoming to boast of your rank, especially before getting stabbed.” He smiled cruelly, taking his long-hilted lightsaber in hand and igniting its vermillion blade. “I could avoid his attack from the shadows,” he went on, stepping forward over broken shards of glass and spilled wine. “Why couldn’t you? Could it be that your rank was as falsely-earned as this ascension you so desperately want?”

Karn did not idle as he spoke. The Force surged into him, strengthening him. He was already quick on his feet, and stronger than most though from his slender frame. Makashi falters against brute force, when applied correctly. If he employed Djem So, he might be able to exploit that. With added strength, he could bolster that advantage.

Yet it wasn’t as easy as he expected. Between the billowing rage spilling from Moor and the all-consuming fury consuming Syko, the Force was turbulent, choppy. Karn squinted slightly with effort as he willed the Force to bend to his command. I need more time. But there wasn’t any.

With some added strength, he began to move forward, readying his lightsaber to fight as Syko’s fury threw the study into disarray. “Now, My Lady” he said, grinning like a cat as he decided to twist the knife, “come face your betters.”

There was no turning back now. The die was cast for their spectacular gamble, and either untold glories or horrible, painful deaths awaited them both.

[Blue]

As Karn made his way over, taking his time to gloat and mock Lady Syko, Moor's own focus was as taut as a wire. He did not waste breath on speaking, but directed all his energy on the laborious task ahead: Killing a Dark Lady of the Sith. As his co-conspirator clumsily summoned the Force to him, the assassin could not help but sneer in his heart. If only he was as skilled as a Sith as he was with his glib tongue. I wonder when someone will tire of it enough and just cut it out of his mouth. They would be doing the galaxy a favour. His thoughts were swiftly brought back to attention as the Force, with far more effective results, began to screech around Syko. A translucent bubble form around her body, crackling with lightning, and the random objects in her study started to swirl around her as if she were a hurricane, faster and faster. The results, if she was able to finish the attack, could be imagined: Karn and himself likely splattered across the walls. A death by stationary and chairs. She needed to lose focus. There was so much Dark Side power infused in the air that Moor felt his head swim, with so much rage and fear permeating the space that taking it in was like a man attempting to drink an entire ocean. The lithe Sith felt bloated as raw energy was pulled into his twisted soul, and then smashed down onto Syko's psyche. Baleful, sickly yellow fire blazed in Moor's eyes once again, so intense that it could be seen through the featureless mask. Space itself seemed to warp around the assassin, as if the very fabric of reality did not want to come close to him, and a voice spoke... not just to Syko, but to the room, the planet of Rhen Var, the very galaxy itself. It sounded like Moor. But it resonated with pure power, twisted and evil, as if coming from the darkest depths of the most feared of hells. "WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF FEAR?!" Even wounded and take by surprise, a Sith Lady was still a Sith Lady; those belonging to the highest stations in the Sith Order were always ready for an attack, either physical or mental. But what Syko was not prepared for was the very rage she was feeling being used as fuel, nor that Moor's assault would be so overwhelming. As the Insanity smashed through her hastily erected mental defences, Syko froze. The floating objects froze. The lighting flicking around her froze. It seemed as if time itself froze in terror. Then Syko started screaming. Not the powerful, rage-filled screech she emitted before. This was a sound of primal, mortal, soul shattering horror. The first scream was high, and the floating objects fell to the floor. The second was the same, but longer, and the lighting fizzled out. The third was protracted, as if coming from a victim lashed to the rack of the most bloodthirsty torturer, and with an almost audible pop the bubble protecting her collapsed. Behind her violet eyes, unspeakable scenes unfolded that barraged her sanity, striking over and over and over again until, with a final, retching shriek, her lightsaber struck out. There was a thud as Syko's severed left hand and forearm flopped to the ground. Gritting her teeth, Syko looked up at the approaching Karn. Her hair, once meticulously pinned, was now loose around her paling face. Her eyes were wild, and her remaining hand gripped the hilt of her lightsaber until the bones creaked. With a guttural growl she launched forwards with a flurry of blows, the elegance of Makashi marred by the fracturing of her mind and the pain in her abdomen and still smoking stump. Moor readied his own weapon, and moved forwards to join the assault. Cut. Her. Down.

[Rugs]

The Force gathered around Syko and coalesced into a thin, shimmering shield. Karn hurried his pace, nearly breaking to a run to reach the woman before she could turn her power against them. What was it Moor had said she could do? Create maelstroms of the Force. Karn was familiar with this ability, in a purely academic sense, though he’d never seen it employed.

Given the situation, he preferred to keep things that way. That Syko might kill Nameless — Moor — wasn’t worth getting flattened against one of the many bookcases lining her study’s walls.

Before Karn could reach the Sith Lady, he felt Moor’s presence, dark and unsettling as ever, surge forward and into the woman. The air thickened, a chill took to the air and lights lining the walls seemed to darken. Awestruck, Karn skittered to a sudden halt, look with wide eyes toward Moor before he wiped the expression away. The assassin crouched, draped in dark, terrible power as a voice — it seemed to be Moor’s, but Karn couldn’t imagine such force coming from Moor’s little body — boomed out with such strength that it shook the walls and knocked books from their perches on shelves to the carpeted floor.

How did he...? Moor seemed almost a different being than the one he’d gone toe-to-toe with in the Vikar estate. No time. Syko. Focus. Karn spared a sidelong glance to Moor as he turned back to the Sith Lady. I’ll show you what I can do, you little shit.

Karn could only imagine the horrors playing out unseen within Syko’s mind. Whatever they were, whatever madness now drove the woman, flailed and shrieked and struggled against Moor’s curse. If Karn felt some sympathy for her, it faded as she took her arm. The now useless end of the limb thudded dully to the floor, forgotten as Syko turned her ire to Karn in a wordless growl.

Another injury, greater than those Moor inflicted. Karn’s stance shifted, from low Djem So to a high, open Juyo position to meet Syko’s advance. It was a wonder that the woman could stand, let alone fight.

Her lightsaber blade darted in high at Karn’s neck. Rather than deflect it, Karn leaned back, confident in his own agility even as the tip of Syko’s blade passed a hand’s width from his slender neck. “You’re pathetic,” he taunted as she attacked again, forcing him to retreat with rolling, forceful strikes that abandoned Makashi’s elegance. High left. Thrust at his side. Slash at his ribs that whirled into a lightning-quick poke at his skull. Karn blocked or deftly avoided Syko’s streaks, smirking at her.

Were she not so badly injured, he’d likely be in trouble. Karn was certain of this as he gave ground, backing slowly toward the desk she’d sent sailing back with her earlier Scream. But she was injured, and down an arm, her ferocious onslaught was limited — hampered by her own blade before their battle could even begin.

“You talk,” Syko said around gritted teeth as she struck twice more at Karn, “too much.” She struck abruptly, nearly catching Karn as he transitioned out of a block. She struck not at his body, but at his weapon — at the long hilt, seeking to disable it and leave him defenseless.

Rather than try to clumsily evade, Karn lifted his weapon to meet her strike — an overhand blow that connected with much more strength than he anticipated from a one-armed woman — and caught it. Syko’s hissing blade caught and pressed against the hilt. It did not break. The lighsaber's hilt, forged of songsteel, held fast. Karn laughed as surprise flickered across Syko’s face.

“Clever,” he said, forcing her blade slowly back as he lifted his now-sideways lightsaber with both hands, “but did you really think I didn’t consider that when I made this?” He tsked as if scolding a child.

He acted suddenly, forcefully. Karn pivoted, turning his lightsaber to keep Syko’s blade away as he did and letting her own momentum carry her stumbling forward as her blade seared through her desk. He kicked her in the side as he moved back to regain his footing.

He’d hoped to send her tumbling over the desk and to the ground, but Syko was proving more hardy than he expected. She caught herself, using the stump in a move that made Karn wince in spite of himself. Her lips peeled to a hateful snarl as she turned to him, blade dragging a glowing circle on the floor.

Whatever she might have planned, Karn wasted no time allowing her to execute it. As soon as he set his feet, he was on her, unleashing Juyo’s ferocity. His blade was a whirlwind of searing red as he battered her, trying to find some hole, some weakness to exploit. There was no rhythm to his attacks, by design. Where one seemed to emerge, it was quickly broken, sped up or delayed just enough to throw off a defense. Yet Syko persisted, keeping Karn at bay while he searched for an opening.

He just needed one.

[Blue]

Moor felt a thrill of delight as he crushed the Dark Lady's mind with terror. He twisted and warped her memories, every feeling she ever had, until every recollection tormented her. The self-mutilation was surprising, and deserved some modicum of respect; there were not many who would understand the concept of crippling themselves mid-combat for the slightest chance of survival. Moor understood. Her senses somewhat regained, Syko launched her counter-offensive... against Karn, rather than the one who betrayed and then tortured her. This suited the assassin just fine; let the apprentice endure the fury of the mad. Moor would hold and wait for the right moment to strike again. His lightsaber extinguished, the lithe Sith gathered the Force around himself, becoming smaller, nothing, out of sight, out of mind. With all of her attention on the mocking man before her, Syko's already shaken senses would be hard-pressed to detect when the next attack would come. Behind the visor, Moor's eyes watched unblinking as Karn and Syko duelled, keeping his centre of gravity lower and always skittering into the Dark Lady's blind spot. The block with the hilt surprised the assassin. Cortosis, maybe? Some lightsaber resistant material. Interesting. Would win him a split second; all a skilled combatant needs. Yet despite this advantage, Karn was still unable to land any decisive blows against his opponent, who, despite being heavily wounded and mentally shaken, was putting up a harsh defence. The pale man's attacks were vicious, but probing and varied, trying to pry Syko's defensive web of light open, trying to find that one crack. There! Syko overextended her arm by the tiniest fraction, not enough to give Karn an advantage but more than enough to leave her open to an attack from behind. Moor's leg muscles, already coiled taut, exploded forwards. The shroud hiding him from the Force dropped and the assassin summoned it to him, increasing his speed as he darted onwards and upwards in the hawk-bat swoop, pouncing from the nearby rubble of a destroyed table to gain height. Even heavily wounded and surrounded, Syko was still very much a threat. The second Moor dropped the shroud hiding himself from her senses, she realized an attack was coming and instinctively shoved off from a deadlock she was struggling with against Karn. Already aware of the assassin's preferred methods, she kept her blade hand free and gestured upwards with her stump, smashing the Force into the lithe Sith as he was airborne and inches away from striking her back. The aggressive defence was not wholly successful, however. Moor rode the impact of the Push as it sent him flipping straight upwards and threw his blade, sending it spinning down and forcing Syko to break her flow to fend it off with her own lightsaber. Your opening is there, Karn Albrecht. Time to pull your weight. Moor's ascent carried him right into the high ceiling of the study, his controlled spinning allowing him to land feet first on the plaster. It crumbled under the weight of the momentum and the assassin bent his knees to absorb the impact, reaching out his hand. His lightsaber returned, pointed downwards like a glowing red stalactite, and Moor felt the summons of gravity. Pushing off, the lithe Sith flashed downwards towards the Dark Lady again, his blade lancing forwards, his whole body like a spear, ready to follow up whatever attack Karn had been able to inflict upon Syko.

[Rugs]

Syko, marred and outnumbered, proved to be a frustratingly stubborn opponent. Perhaps it was a lucky twist of fate for her that Makashi typically demanded only the use of one hand, and that her self-inflicted mutilation — painful though it was — was not crippling, at least, in her ability to swing her lightsaber around. On and on they went, lightsabers whirring and crashing with every exchange. Syko could not break Karn’s offensive, nor could he slip through her defense.

Then in came Moor, springing from behind with a slash that should have cut Syko open from hip to shoulder as her blade locked with Karn’s. She was, frustratingly as ever, able to throw the little Sith back, though he took the chance to hurl his lightsaber at the accursed woman. This forced her from her lock with Karn, who surged mercilessly forward with a twirling strike that clipped her thigh but inflicted no real harm.

Syko swiped at Karn as she retreated to regain her footing. Karn broke of his pursuit as he glanced skyward to see Moor push from the ceiling. In an instant, he’d come crashing down like a bolt of crimson lightning.

In an instant, Karn would have an opening to play his ace.

He backed away as Moor’s spearing attack threw Syko back onto defense. Karn stepped back, disengaged his lightsaber and closed his eyes. The Force came to him, and not with the clumsy, fumbling grasp he’d held at the battle’s onset. The turbulence they’d stirred in their struggle felt as natural as the sunlight to Karn. He was Sith, not one to ride the Force in passive serenity like the Jedi and their ilk. To be Sith was to fight, to struggle even against the Force itself.

He lifted his hand, palm up and clawed fingers curling as his focus narrowed on Syko. The force changed at his presence touched spread. It was at first a subtle thing, like bits of oil clinging to the surface of a puddle, but this quickly worsened, as Karn’s hold on the Force strengthened. A taint. A poison. A toxin, spreading through the air, infecting the very Force itself. Karn might have felt nauseous were he not so enamored with his own strength.

Old legends told in dead languages, long forgotten save for the dustiest corners of the Sith Temple’s archives, spoke of cruel gods who turned horrible punishments upon their wayward subjects. Earthquakes. Droughts. Storms that rained flaming hail from the sky. They were all interesting, in their own ways, but to Karn, none more so than the tales of plagues.

Unstoppable. Invisible. Deadly.

Karn extended his hand, reaching through the Force as he found Syko’s presence. He connected violently, turning his silent wrath loose into her body. There was a moment of confirmation — a gasped breath — a stagger that nearly got her other arm taken off at the elbow. Karn smiled darkly and wondered, for a moment, how those gods of legend must have felt.

Pay heed, Moor, he said silently, watching the assassin battle the Dark Lady. Or I’ll turn this loose on you.

“What did have you done?” Syko demanded as she tried to push past Moor to Karn. What little color remained in her pale face was beginning to drain. Already, her features grew wan and sickly. She began to pant suddenly exhausted when not even her considerable injuries had slowed her down before.

There was a narrow window — a few seconds wide — where Karn could halt the effects of his Plague before it reached the point of no return on a chain reaction that would not stop until his target fell dead. “Me?” he asked, feigning sheepishness as he smiled subtly. “I am the one who should be asking you questions, my Lady.” She was beginning to cough, and small flecks of red came up as she staggered away from Moor, trying to gain control of the hacking.

“How does it feel, I wonder,” Karn went on, reigniting his blade and walking slowly forward, “to be in your position?” Red spots, subtle for now, were beginning to rise on Syko’s skin. Soon they’d turn to boils, and those boils would burst, hemorrhaging pus and blood. A mercy, compared to the torment to come unseen within Syko’s body.

“How does it feel, Syko, to know that no matter what you do, how much you struggle and flail, that your fate is sealed?”

[Blue]

As Moor struck from above, Karn used the moment as a chance to break away from the fight, leaving the assassin to face the Dark Lady one-on-one. Beneath the blank mask, the lithe Sith frowned. With Syko weakened, all it would take to finish her was their combined lightsabers. Why retreat now? Although Syko was more skilled in lightsaber combat than he was, she was also far more wounded. This more than levelled the playing field, and soon she had a number of new wounds blossoming on her body as Moor flickered around her, dodging and diving and somersaulting around, hard to hit, hard to defend against. Finally, Karn made his move, unleashing his power on Syko's already ravaged physique. The effects were clear; it was a more powerful version of what the pale man had attempted to push onto him during their short-lived fight in the Vikar mansion. So he was able to push it to the next level. He's stronger than I thought. Should we fight again, I will be sure to fracture his mind first... It would hardly be a difficult task. Syko attempted to push by him to get to Karn but her desperate act, hampered further by her deep wounds and new affliction, was easily diverted by Moor with a flourish of his lightsaber, putting her back onto the defensive. The assassin did not let up even as the pale man continued to drivel on, and it became clear that the end was nearly in sight. With each exchange of blows, he could feel her strength weaken as the signs of the Plague grew worse. With a kick to the stomach, Syko was sent stumbling back, falling to one knee. "My fate?!" she hissed, stumbling back to her feet. She had a wild look to her now, teeth bared, hair frayed, eyes burning with madness and rage. "It's your own fates that you've fucked. If you kill me, no matter what evidence you may have found, my own allies will strike back against you. You think that it was only I who aimed to prosper from this plan? There are others-" "There is no-one who will dig your grave," Moor growled. Syko actually flinched back slightly at the sound of his voice by instinct, the memory of his words causing the still fresh wounds in her mind to throb with an echo of agony. "Everything you planned has fallen to ash. You will die here, and there will be nobody to bury you. There is no escaping death. Say it." Syko's mouth opened and closed several times, tendrils of Insanity beginning to invade her mind once more. "There... There is no-" the Dark Lady began to actually say, before a glint of pure madness flashed in her eyes. With a cry that caused the Force to shudder, Syko charged forwards. There was no finesse, no skill in this attack. It was pure ferocity, unchained from sanity, directed at the two Sith who had cost her everything. Moor moved, discarding the Force he had begun to summon to assault her mind. His lightsaber swept out, redirecting the momentum of Syko's charge towards his co-conspirator. The lithe Sith's weight pivoted, and he went in low, the blade of red light striking across the back of the Dark Lady's legs. She stumbled forwards, her crazed glare directed at the mocking features of Karn Albrecht as, even now, she attempted to turn her fall into a blow against the pale man.

[Rugs]

Syko screamed and wailed and railed against Karn’s declaration, against the jaws of fate closing shut around her. Karn’s smile was subtle. Pitying. Syko’s allies, whoever they were, would do nothing once word of her death spread. Her little circle would break. Her sycophants would melt away into the shadows to await greater opportunities to rise. Pitiable, in a way.

But it was the Sith way. No one mourned the weak or the stupid, and a Sith Lady who fell to two young upstarts must be too much of both to have any true hope of greatness.

Karn laughed — a dark thing, full of joy and bloodlust from the victory he knew was at hand — as he strolled leisurely forward. The tip of his lightsaber left a glowing, serpentine trail behind him as he wandered forward, evidently unconcerned with helping Moor as Syko raged against her dying light. She was a dead woman already, after all; if the assassin couldn’t handle her, that was hardly Karn’s concern.

Even Moor’s gloating — Karn doubted his ally meant it to be such — fed the elation building within the Arkanian Sith’s mind. Yes, no one would bury Syko. No one would mourn her or her misbegotten schemes.

The broken woman lunged forward, striking at Moor in a desperate last grasp. Moor evaded, turning Syko’s strike into an awkward charge at Karn as a crimson lightsaber bit into the back of her legs.

Time seemed to slow for Karn as a host of options opened within his mind. Parry high and slash at her throat. Death. Evade and thrust through her heart. Death. Parry into whirling cut across her torso from armpit to hip. Death.

Clean. Simple, all of them. But not nearly cruel enough — not for his tastes.

Her blade came wheeling around and Karn knocked it aside with all the thought he might give to swatting at a fly that dared buzz too near his ear. He stepped aside, letting the woman’s own failing momentum carry her to the ground, and brought his lightsaber down with a quick strike that severed her saber arm at the shoulder.

Another stroke at her legs concluded the work Moor began with his cut a moment earlier, severing them. Karn leaned over slowly, casually, as Syko wailed agony to pry the saber from her amputated hand’s grip. He held aloft, taking a moment to study its fine craftsmanship in the flickering light while its creator suffered on the floor.

“There is no one who will dig your grave,” he said, voice just above a whisper and nearly putting a tune to the words. “No one,” he said louder, more forcefully as he clipped her lightsaber, now a trophy, to his belt. “No one will bury you. No one will mourn your death.” His voice grew more forceful with each word, as if Syko had committed some personal sin against him.

"Your current master will face challenges and turmoil the likes of which will test even the strongest of our kind. A steadfast, loyal, creature such as yourself is of more use protecting Viren's back than some starry-eyed, treacherous little mongrel in search of his five minutes of fame." The Prophet Nostos’ voice echoed in Karn’s mind. Karn hated the man with every fiber of his being, but he could feel the weight, the truth of his declaration now as Syko’s life lay before him to end as he pleased.

He crouched down and turned the dying woman over, grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. She was light, now divorced of her limbs and with the Force still giving him strength that exceeded his own.

“No one will remember you.” Karn’s fingers tightened around Syko’s neck. If he noticed the blackened blood that oozed onto his fingers and down his hand and wrist from the Plague-inflicted boils bursting beneath his grip, he did not show that he cared. “All that scheming, all that planning and work, undone. Your legacy, my Lady is to be a footnote’s footnote when the final story of this great Order is told.” Syko writhed in his grip, beating weakly at his arm with her stump of an arm, but Karn’s grip might as well have been a ship’s docking clam. He did not budge.

“You will be forgotten.” His voice dropped suddenly, but there was no comfort in it. It was cold and harsh, like the wind sweeping over the mountains beyond the manor walls, as his grip tightened further and his clawed fingers began to dig into Syko’s frail skin. Her resistance was growing weaker, her skin pale and eyes bloodshot. “You will die here in the valley,” he said as he felt the woman’s last breaths shake her body, “while I...” he paused, briefly, but meaningfully, “we will climb the mountain.”

Finished, he tossed Syko’s body lifeless corpse aside and stood in silent reflection, blood dripping from his dirtied hands onto the study’s carpeted floor. After a moment, he turned to look over his shoulder to Moor. There was an intensity to his gaze, a silent challenge, a do not fuck with me warning, here and gone in an instant.

Finally, Karn sighed and, letting his shoulders relax as he disengaged his saber, begrudgingly said, “Good work.”

[Blue]

Moor frowned as Karn Albrecht decided to play with his food. This is pointless. Just kill her. She's done, finish the job. There's nobody here who cares about your pointless grandstanding; even Syko is beyond caring at this point. His annoyance grew as the pale man dismembered her, then crushed her windpipe, all while prattling on. The assassin straightened up, deactivating his lightsaber. If this had gone on much longer, he would have killed the Dark Lady himself while Karn Albrecht was mid-sentence. A glare was shot towards him; a warning, a threat. Karn Albrecht had already made many during their short acquaintance, this one held no more substance. Moor had been, after all, at the painful attentions of those far more powerful, and far more terrifying. "Hm," the assassin grunted, stepping forwards past the pale man to inspect the remains of Syko. She barely resembled anything like her previous appearance, now bloated and cracked and leaking foul fluids onto a very expensive carpet. She had struck such fear into him once. It was strange that he had taken her life, at least in part. Killing a Dark Lady or Lord of the Sith was no easy feat for someone of his position, even with assistance. He would be lying to himself if he denied he was thinking of taking a trophy, some keepsake, but anything decorative of hers could easily be traced back, and Moor had no interest of taking the blame for killing a Dark Lady. Let Karn shoulder that glory. Apprentice to a Darth, unlikely to face repercussions, especially with that evidence. But I, I have no-one. A casual thought of annoyance at a scheme foiled from co-conspirators might end me... or would it? If Karn were absent, could I have killed her myself? These thoughts flashed through his mind like mercury as he observed the broken remains. He took note of a chain on her hip and gestured. The thin metal snapped and a small object flew into his grasp; a digital key. Likely to some vault hidden in the estate. In here? Likely. A private study is a controlled environment... most of the time. "Syko was correct about one thing, Karn Albrecht," Moor uttered as he began to circle the study, looking for any hint of a hidden door. "You talk too much." After a few moments of padding a circle around the room, Moor stopped in front of a bookcase. Of course. It's always a bookcase. "We should take whatever is valuable in this place, then destroy it before we leave. Many will suspect what has happened here, but none will know with certainty... save for you and your master," Moor stated, raising the digital key in his hand. One of the books, old-fashioned bound tomes, flashed with light and scanned the key, revealing it to be a cleverly hidden device, and the bookcase began to roll to the side. Beyond was an archway, and within was a room not unlike the vault in the Vikar estate. Inside this room were various items of surprisingly benign provenience: cases of credits, comfortable furniture, security screens. Upon cursory investigation, it seemed more of a safe room than a vault. But there was one thing that caught Moor's eye; a workbench, upon which were many old papers and datapads, as well as an odd shard of some sort. As the assassin approached, he felt a strange pulsing sensation from the Force, originating from his pack, where he had placed the items he had taken from the Vikar vault. There is something here. Moor picked up the shard, turning it his hands and it felt... right. I have to take this. He placed it into his pack for later study, along with the papers and datapads. A look around the safe room offered nothing else of interest to him, save for a diary of sorts that, after taking a moment to slice into it, listed Syko's co-conspirators and those of whom she had a hold over. More information. Useful. The lithe Sith downloaded the contents, then destroyed the datapad. "Take anything you might value. Then we burn this place to the ground."

[Rugs]

The deed was done, and Karn saw little need to spare any further time or attention on Syko’s rotting corpse. The Plague would continue its nasty work for a few minutes; though her life was ended, inertia dragged some functions onward at the microscopic level. Karn leaned over and tore a piece of cloth from her outfit to use for wiping off the dark blood that still clung to his hand. He wrinkled his nose and the foul smell wafting from her corpse.

She’d have to be disposed of before she stunk up the place.

As he stood, Karn took a chance to actually observe their surroundings. The study was a mess, to put it lightly. Books, torn free from their perches on many heavy wooden shelves by eruptions of the Force, lay scattered across the floor. The wine Karn had plucked from Syko’s cellar left an angular stain across the floor from when she’d hurled the desk, and him, back at the struggle’s start.

While Moor busied himself with plucking the key from Syko’s body, Karn rifled through a few of the books on a shelf. Ancient histories, treatises on philosophy and war. For all Syko’s misdeeds, the woman’s collection was impressive. He could lose himself in this study, were the circumstances different.

"Syko was correct about one thing, Karn Albrecht," Moor said, while Karn flipped idly through Relics of the Ancient Ones: A Study of Lesser Outer Rim Religions. "You talk too much."

“Then silence me,” Karn said flatly, clapping the book shut with a single hand as he looked to Moor. The assassin circled, searching for Syko’s hidden vault. “Our departed friend here could not, but feel free to try your luck. Otherwise, you’re just as full of empty bitching as she was.” He ached to turn his power loose on Moor. With their work done, the assassin was worthless to Karn. As far as he was concerned, Moor’s rotting corpse would do just as well beside Syko’s before the manor came tumbling down onto them.

As the way to Syko’s hidden vault opened, Karn tucked the book under his arm and ambled along after Moor. The room’s interior was... different than the Vikar’s vault. This was a place that was meant not only to hold personal baubles, but to be used. Karn poked around, sliding open the drawers of a heavy cabinet that sat against the room’s back wall. A false bottom, nearly overlooked were it not for recognizing that one drawer was shorter than the others, peeled back to reveal a small box of finely polished wood, encrusted with gold and small jewels.

“What’s this?” he muttered, cradling the thing in his hands. A small latch held its top shut. He flicked it free and the top sprang up.

It was a music box. A small wheel turned within, playing a soft melody. As it played, a small projector whirred to life, displaying the holographic image of Syko. The footage was old and crackled with static, but Karn could see this was a much younger version of the woman they’d faced. Her hair was cut shoulder-length, with a thin braid hanging over her shoulder. Her dark robes were simple, monastic. A Jedi’s robes.

“Teshyn, I promise,” the young Syko said, her face twisted with worry and grief, “the Order will help you. Our healers can cure you.” She gripped a hand between both of hers, though the recording did not show more than the attached wrist and lower arm. “If I could heal you I would, but...” She bit at her lip, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, Teshyn, you just have to hang on. We’ll be there in another day or two...”

The music faded and with it the recording. Karn stood, silent, looking at the box. He frowned, contempt marring his face as the box rose from his open palm. It creaked and cracked and crunched in on itself. He snorted and turned away as he let the music box’s remains tumble to the floor.

“Come,” he said to Moor, leaving Syko’s vault. “There’s nothing here that’s worth remembering.” He paused as he stepped back into the study, waiting for Moor to catch up. “Before we set this place to flame,” he said, for once showing some affability even if it grated, “how about some wine? To victory.”

[Blue]

Moor did not react to the pale man's words. Yes, she could not kill you. But if I was not here, it would be you laying dead on the ground. You know it. I know it. The music box's secrets produced a wordless sneer from the assassin. He felt no sympathy for Syko's past. She was just another Jedi that fell from the path. She was not the first, nor would she be the last. The safe room offered nothing more to him, so Moor left the place behind Karn. The proffered drink was met with silence for a few breaths, the featureless mask looking at the pale Sith. "Oh? Are we comrades, now? Are we bosom friends?" Moors hoarse voice sounded, contempt dripping from his words as he rebuked the offer. "Let us make our relationship very clear, Karn Albrecht. You were nothing more than convenience and bait, and were you not apprenticed to a lord of the Inner Sanctum, your head will have left your shoulders while you were monologuing to corpse." Moor moved past Karn, though his back never fully turned. He had sensed the man's hostility towards him from beginning to end; it was not exactly something the pale Sith attempted to hide. "You have served your purpose to me, as I have to you, and once this place is nothing more than burning rubble that relationship will end. My interest in you now lies only in what your next action will be once you've returned to your master," Moor continued. "The glory is yours; none know of my presence here. You could spin any tale you wish to Darth Viren. But would he believe you? Do you think that he is blind to your limits? So, what will you do, Karn Albrecht? Shield your pride, and claim sole responsibility? Or confess to what we both know to be true, and your master will doubtlessly suspect: that if I were not here, you would be dead." There was a relish in the assassin's tone, as well as a strange curiosity; he truly was eager to see what Karn would do. "I will be listening to hear what wins out over you, in the end. Your pride... or your fear." Once again, that strange, hacking sound that passed for a laugh emitted from Moor as he revealed his true motive for allowing Karn to take all the credit. Fear. It was so... wonderfully diverse in its myriad of forms. In the end, it was the root of all emotion, the rawest and purest of them all. But pride was powerful, too, especially to those in the Sith Order; it fuelled almost every thing that they did. So would Karn Albrecht chose pride, to protect his image against the perception of others? Or would he succumb to the fear of that lie being exposed, his claims turned against him by others within the Order, his position mocked and perhaps even threatened. The Order did not tolerate careless Sith, after all. "So go! Your audience awaits you. I will clean up here, to ensure that your lie cannot be too easily unravelled; it would defeat the whole point if someone stumbled over any proof." As Moor spoke he touched his wrist, and he vanished from sight, and his presence in the Force faded to nothing. His voice spoke once more, sounding further and further away, before there was only silence left. "I would not linger. In twenty minutes, this place is going to be decidedly unhealthy to be near..."