Of Things Curious and Lost

[roadkill]

She came in with the wind, to the familiar halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant; a swirling darkness emanating from her person. Not her, specifically, but an amulet she carried. Though, it would have taken a discerning glance through the Force to differentiate. Were she not at least vaguely familiar as a Jedi Master, even her appearance would have reinforced the notion that a Dark Jedi had come. Nyx had come from the Outer Rim world of Agamar, dispatched at the repeated request of the local populace to investigate a series of odd murders and other connected crimes, now to follow a lead on her findings from that investigation. So far as she was concerned, the investigation into the cult she liberated the amulet from was still wide open. Too much wasn’t adding up.



There was an inscription on the amulet, in the ancient Sith language. Nyx couldn’t read it, but she had a fair idea of who could—the Grandmaster himself. She knew him to be one who could truly appreciate a good mystery, and seeking him out might save her a long trawl through the archives and several dead-ends. Through the vast halls, Nyx strode with purpose until she reached the Grandmaster’s office. Even if he weren’t in, she would simply wait until he was. The Shadow found the door to be ajar, but more closed than open. The telltale sounds of occupancy emanated from within. Unceremoniously, Nyx rapped on the door once, or twice, before pushing herself inside, a hand casually holding on to the doorframe.



The sweet-smelling aroma of cigarra smoke clung to her dark jacket and pants, evidence on her face pointed to more than a few sleepless nights. There wasn’t a sense of desperation, though, nor much sense of inner conflict. But there was plainly something large on her mind, troubling her deeply. The long scar across her left eye contrasted deeply against pale skin, contrasted again by dark circles under both eyes. Disheveled hair, messily tied up into a bun atop her head might have been a symptom, were it not a usual style for Nyx.



”Sorry to intrude, Grandmaster,” Nyx began, that confident, husky but pleasant alto delivering as usual. ”But I’ve something of a conundrum on my hands.” It was more than that. The cultists who held possession of the amulet shouldn’t have been able to control it. Her other hand fished inside the outer coat pocket closest to it, and retrieved the trinket in question. Old, very old, perhaps thousands of years. Brass was tarnished, but it encased a pink crystal that still glowed ever-so-slightly. It radiated Dark Side energies, fed off of them; and amplified them. There was always a darkness within Nyx, much pain loss and sadness had she confronted in her destiny; but she never gave in. The path of a Jedi Shadow was frequently on the razor’s edge. The amulet, after being in close proximity to it for several days, had begun affecting her. Urging her to give in to her baser natures and use the amulet’s power to augment her own.



All too readily, Nyx tossed the trinket so that it would land upon the Grandmaster’s desk for him to inspect. ”I recovered this from some Dark Jedi cultists on Agamar. There’s an inscription on the back, I believe it to be in the Sith language but cannot read it.” Old, faded, but still legibly scrawled upon it was the Sith’ari Prophecy; the Dark Side’s answer to the Prophesy of the Chosen One.



Blue

[Blue]

The day had been quiet, for the most part. Of all the things being the Grand Master of the Order entailed, endless paperwork seemed to be the prevalent duty. Updates on the youngling's progressions in classes, accounting confirmations, reports from Knights and Master spread throughout the galaxy. The list was endless and constantly growing. Moho survived such administerial obligations by speed reading and feeling out the reports with the Force; an unorthodox use of his abilities, but it aided him considerably in keeping on top of things. As the afternoon wore on, however, the Prellian sensed a dark presence approaching close. A concerned look entered the old Jedi's amber eyes, and he quickly closed them, stretching out his formidable senses to ascertain what threat approached Coruscant. He touched upon that dark force, almost drowning out another, more familiar aura, and Moho sighed. He sent out a message to the Temple that a Master was returning with something dangerous, and was not to be disturbed in their mission. It was not long before a knock announced someone at his door, though in truth, Moho was more than aware of their presence; that darkness invaded the air, almost choking him with its potency. Regardless, when Master Kumolt entered and apologized for intruding, he offered her a warm smile, nevertheless. "It is no intrusion, Nyx. Welcome back. Please come in," the Grand Master said kindly. Normally, he would not speak to another person so informally, but he was aware that this was the way that the Jedi Shadow before preferred to be addressed, and so he would do so. A curious frowned marred the Grand Master's usually serene expression as the object was casually thrown towards him. It stopped halfway through its trajectory, hovering in the air for a moment before gently floating closer to the large Jedi. He listened to the Shadow as she spoke, his head tilted slightly as the amulet slowly rotated in front of him. Eventually, his eyes turned back onto Master Kumolt. "You have done well to bring this to the Temple. I can see that it has burdened you not insignificantly; do take a seat, and I shall aid you in purging the alien aura of the amulet while I inspect it closer," Moho offered, gesturing with one of his large pincers. A seat opposite him quietly pulled out, and from his form a comforting, warm pulse began to steadily reach out, slowly washing the air clean of the dreadful taint of the Dark Side by gently overwhelming it with that of the Light. "It is a pity that Master Ziee is not here," Moho said wistfully as a bag from one of the shelves was summoned onto his desk. "This falls very neatly into her area of expertise. Alas, she is elsewhere in the galaxy, attending to other such objects that require safe disposal. So, I fear that I will have to suffice for now." Despite his words, the Grand Master could not help but feel a nostalgic excitement come over him; it had been some time since he had been able to ply his knowledge of archaeology. From the bag, a thin wire headset emerged and floated down on top of Moho's head, several magnifying glasses slotting down that allowed him to inspect the amulet in further detail. He checked the writing that Master Kumolt mentioned on the back and discovered that it was indeed written in High Sith, and pertained to an old prophecy. "Hm. This appears to refer to something called the Sith'ari which, if my memory serves, pertains to an ancient prophecy not dissimilar to our own Order's own Chosen One," Moho said slowly. It had been a long time, several centuries in fact, since he had last heard of this term, when he had discovered the Sith holocron and learned the Sith language through it. "The Sith'ari will be free of limits. The Sith'ari will lead the Sith and destroy them. The Sith'ari will raise the Sith from death and make them stronger than before." The old Jedi recited the words, then directed a comforting smile towards the Jedi Shadow. "Prophecies are tricky things at the best of times, however. Take the Chosen One: it states that A Jedi will come, to destroy the Sith, and bring balance to the Force. But it does not state that this person will be and do those things all at once, or even in their own lifetime. We as sentients tend to... fill in the blanks ourselves, often to our detriment. But I feel there is more to this item than simple ornamentation and declaration..." The Grand Master trailed off here with a quiet hum, carefully inspecting every inch of the object before him. "Tell me more of this cult that you encountered," Moho asked as he worked, probing the amulet with his senses as he listened for Master Kumolt's response.

[roadkill]

The room became gently awash with the light side, eliciting obvious (and much needed) relief from the burden of carrying the amulet from Agamar. Content, for now, the Shadow slinked into the offered seat but sat up with her back straight. As the Grandmaster read the prophecy as inscribed, Nyx’ brow furrowed deeply. Wherever such things were in play, it tended to bring out the most extreme zealots. She, herself, never put much stock into prophecies, just as she tended to take visions of the future as possible but not probable. She was perhaps more pragmatic than the majority of her contemporaries—perhaps due to having seen firsthand how terrible and dark a place the galaxy could be.

”Indeed,” she agreed with the Grandmaster’s assessment of prophecies in general, and with the amulet in particular. There was a lot to unpack concerning Moho’s question. ”They were a gang of Force sensitives that called themselves the Chosen Few, and had built up a spree of especially heinous murders before the Order even received the first plea for help. Months rolled by, sector authorities continually came up empty. The leader, if you could call him that, was a rather large Iktotchi who seemed to be able to draw strength from this amulet. By the time I arrived on Agamar, the Chosen Few had razed entire settlements on the fringes of society. After visiting several of the sites, well…”

Nyx inhaled sharply, raising both eyebrows momentarily as her green eyes went wide. The trouble with having a photographic memory was that one remembered everything. The Shadow counted herself fortunate not to be endowed with the gift (or curse) of psychometry. She took just a moment to break the unpleasant reverie before continuing. ”It was as if there were….wounds in the Force. Large, gaping holes of nothingness where something should have been. The villagers, the wildlife, the plants—nothing registered. As if something powerful and terrible had fed upon not just the life there, but the destruction of it. Village after village, murder scene after murder scene it was all the same; the only connecting thread between each of the crimes. Weeks later, I was able to catch up with the Chosen Few. A petty swoop gang known to the area; hardly the prime suspect at the time, but definitely of some interest. They seemed disorganized and weak, nowhere near calculating enough to pull off things of this magnitude. Then their leader pulled that amulet from around his neck and imbued his followers with its power---the power of the Dark Side collected from each of those grisly scenes…It transformed them into ravenous creatures.”

She would skip the details of the ensuing combat, though she would relive it blow-by-blow just the same in silence. Each clash of the saber, having to dig deeper within herself to find the strength to finish the fight than she had in a long, long time. Reflexively, she went for the package of cigarras in her pocket, retrieved one and lit it as if practiced a thousand times a day for thirty years. A gray plume of smoke wafted upward, hovering just near her head and drifting slightly away. Eyes narrowed again, her jaw set as the minutes of the battle transpired in milliseconds inside her own mind. The snap-hiss of her sabers deactivating rang true, as the cult lay dead on the warehouse floor. In the now, her eyes darted back and forth at the recollection.
”They had stolen the amulet from a salvager, who bought it off another salvager, who bought it from another and so on, until I interviewed the one who uncovered it in the ruins of the Crescent Sea floor years ago. She told me that she couldn’t have gotten rid of it fast enough and referred to it as a bad luck charm—something of a local superstition among the salvagers who had been there the longest.” Nyx took a hearty drag from the cigarra, held it in her lung for just a moment longer than necessary and shook her head from side to side. Eyes looked up at last to meet that of the Grandmaster’s. ”I don’t think any of them knew they could use the Force until the amulet called to them. But it took their raw power and augmented it greatly. I could hear its whispers within minutes of taking possession, growing louder and more persistent with each passing hour. It hungers for the Dark Side in a way I have never seen.”

Simply keeping the amulet out of the hands of those who could abuse it wasn’t enough. Destroying it, likewise, wasn’t enough. There was something even more sinister going on, and Nyx couldn’t shake that feeling. In all her years, she had seen a great many terrible things that should have had an explanation and didn’t. This was not one of those things—there had to be a puppet-master pulling the strings somewhere. ”The rub of it all is,” she offered in conclusion, ”I suspect something far more sinister than a single cult is afoot. The Chosen Few hadn’t the mastery of the Force to be able to use the amulet; someone had to teach them.”

Nyx leaned back in the chair, her exposition complete and theory presented. It wasn’t often anymore she had to turn to a Council member for assistance with a case, but everything had told her the amulet was merely one portion of a conspiracy. To do what, Nyx hadn’t the foggiest idea. But there was Sith magic at work. Greater than the likes of one lone Jedi Master could handle. If everything seemed to be a conspiracy, chances were good that it was a conspiracy. Where the Force was concerned, there were no such thing as coincidences.

[Blue]

Moho listened carefully as Master Kumolt gave her report on the cult she had fought against, while still inspecting the amulet. Her description of the cult's leader, the Iktotchi, drawing power from the item was not a surprising state of affairs; objects such as this hoarded Dark Side energies like a sponge in water. However, when the Jedi Shadow recalled the effects of the destruction left in the cult's wake, the Grand Master frowned. Such a thing- The planet shook around him as he raised his arm, giving the struggling shuttle one last push to ensure its survival. It broke orbit; this was all he could do. Many had escaped this disaster. Too many had not. They screamed. The world screamed. The Force screamed. Moho screamed. And then... nothing... The memory-vision blasted into his mind like a grenade, and the Grand Master took a steadying breath. That had been a trying time, lost on that planet for those years. But he had learned from it, what it meant for there to be a wound in the very fabric of the Force. The old Jedi looked up from his inspection, towards the woman before him. "A wound in the Force?" he repeated back, surprise evident in his voice. "I know that there are echoes in the Force born from the destruction of villages and towns; remnants of the pain and fear and anger of the victims and aggressors alike. I have felt them myself. But a wound... Such things are normally only caused by events like the deaths of planets." His words did not imply that he did not believe Master Kumolt's report, but the idea that something so dark happening on a smaller scale that caused damage to the very skein of the Force was immensely troubling indeed. Moho's amber eyes returned to the amulet before him, the warm light within them becoming much sharper. Those weak in the Force are empowered greatly by it. Causing damage so intense it leaves wounds even in small scale massacres. A presence so heavy in the Dark Side that it taints the aura of even a Jedi Master so swiftly by simple proximity. This is not some trinket created by any adept... "There are many tales of those with only the most tenuous grasp of the Force becoming powerful when stumbling across Dark Side holocrons," Moho muttered. His eyes narrowed as his senses finally caught something; a minute flicker in the energy around the amulet. "Perhaps this item provides something similar... Ah!" His words were interrupted with a small sound of triumph as something within the amulet clicked into place. The High Sith text denoting the Sith'ari Prophecy began to glow dimly and shift, twisting into new words. Moho leaned closer, reading the newer, more expansive text out loud for the benefit of his companion. "I will not be cast away," the Grand Master recited slowly. "Flesh now dust shall be remade. Mind now faded shall be renewed. Soul now sundered shall be reforged. By mortal hands am I destroyed; by blood and the Force shall I be returned. By the Mantle, I will have form. By the Chain, I will have cognizance. By the Periapt, I will have power. Bring them forth, with three times purest blood spilled; I will walk the stars once more." As Moho spoke, the lights in the Grand Master's office seemed to fade, as if some unseen, looming presence was lingering in the room with them, causing the skin to crawl and the senses to falter. But when the old Jedi sighed, this strange gossamer-like existence vanished, like mist in a gentle breeze. He gave Master Kumolt and reassuring smile. "I fear that you are right, Nyx. I fear that this is not some isolated incident of a Dark Side artefact finding its way by accident into the hands of those that can use it," Moho confirmed. "I sense that there are wheels in motion that we have only just begun to catch a glimpse of. Dark plans that we must uncover."

[roadkill]

Echoes, she had felt ten times over. It was assuredly worse, literal voids in the Force. They had been….difficult to encounter. To see something severed from the Force was a terrible thing. A thing Nyx couldn’t fathom, but wound was the only adjective for it. She hadn’t considered the amulet could act like a holocron, but the Sith often had shaped their holocrons unusually and inconspicuously. The amulet clicked and the words shifted into others.

She considered each word and phrase the Grandmaster read off, lips absentmindedly mouthing the words Mantle, Chain and Periapt as she referenced her memory for any sort of context. Nothing came, but it certainly sounded as if there was a sacrifice involved. The color from her already pale face drained, though Moho reassured her with a warm smile as ever. The cigarra burned and burned between her fingers, the string of ash growing but remaining perfectly in shape at the end. Nyx shook her head gently, once or twice, and flicked the ash from the burning end with a flick of her thumb before bringing the sweet cigarra to her lips to toke upon thoughtfully once more.

That the Grandmaster had utilized we instead of you was somewhat surprising, if not heartening. Surely Moho had more important duties to attend to that one single mystery. Perhaps he was more like her than she thought, tired of being cooped up in the Temple to deal with the daily monotony of presiding over the Order. It was easy to forget that every Master was once a Knight, and that their wisdom was earned over a lifetime of work abroad; not gleaned through cloistering among the rest of their monastic Order.

”A ritual sacrifice involving this amulet—the Periapt, to resurrect The Sith’ari,” she concluded. ”King Adas of Korriban, perhaps? I know of no other to have held that title. It sounds…preposterous, Nyx mused, smoke rolling from her nostrils. The amulet’s existence and clear power pointed to the contrary. Such things were possible. Nyx knew the Jedi could, through a lifetime of devotion to the Light Side and utter selflessness, retain their identities for a time after death. For the Sith to have a comparable ability was both logical and terrifying. A chill ran up her spine at the thought of it, as things started to sink in.

Nyx shrugged and shook her head again. ”If we’ve the Periapt, whoever seeks to perform this ritual shouldn’t be able to complete it.” Wishful thinking on the part of one weary and utterly terrified Jedi Shadow. Case closed, on to the next one—no such luck. Deep down, Nyx knew the Grandmaster was quite correct. It was their duty now to uncover the rest of the plot and be certain of its end. Before Moho could correct her thinking, the raven-maned Nyx sighed and held out a hand, palm facing the Grandmaster as if to say ‘I know, I know.’

”We should consult the Archives,” she resolved, nodding gently. Nyx could feel the heat from the cigarra reaching close to her fingers. The offhand that had been extended moved toward her mouth, the index finger and thumb tips licked, then moved to pinch the burning ember and extinguish it. The butt was rolled up in the hand that once held it, and dropped nonchalantly into her pocket for later disposal. ”I’m going to need more whiskey for this…” she muttered. Traipsing about Korriban, or some other Sith world, in search of a forgotten tomb for answers was far from her list of things to accomplish before death. But such was the path of the Shadow—seeking out and destroying Dark Side artifacts and unraveling the mysteries of the Sith.

Such a duty she wished upon no being, Jedi or otherwise. It was often a lonely path, fraught with toil and danger. This was no exception. There were never any exceptions. Another sigh escaped her lips before Nyx rose from the seat opposite the Grandmaster. Poring over ancient texts in the Archives seemed a welcome distraction from the daunting tasks ahead, however humdrum it was. If only old Da’Gar had warned her that the path of a Shadow involved many such excursions to the Archives, she might have never embarked upon it.

A wry sort-of half smile threatened to turn one corner of her mouth upward, while the color returned to her face. ”Shall we?”.

[Blue]

Moho nodded his head at the Jedi Shadow's conclusion that they would have to head to the Archives; as one of the greatest repositories of knowledge in the entire galaxy, it was their best chance to find something relevant to the issue at hand. With a thought, a drawer in the desk before him opened and a small leather pouch emerged. The Periapt slid inside and the laces drew it shut. From the corner of the office, a large hoverchair lifted into the air and floated towards the Prellian. The Grand Master himself began to levitate from his desk chair, his many legs stretching in the air for a moment before lacing back underneath his bulk as he settled down into his mobility device. A quiet hum filled the room as Moho followed after Master Kumolt, the bagged item going into a compartment in the arm of the device. "Hm... King Adas fulfils some requirements, true," Moho said as they made their way towards the Archives. "But there are many powerful Dark Side adepts, stretching back in time, that are unknown to us. Even the Sith do not remember them all. And not all of them revealed their power so brazenly; some may have operated in the shadows." They passed by several Jedi, alone and in ones and twos, going about their business in the Temple. The heavy miasma that the Periapt originally exuded seemed to have been suppressed, incapable of reaching out... for the meantime, anyway. "As for our Order obtaining one of the three objects required for this ritual... you may be correct in thinking that this alone will not prevent this plan from unfolding. But it will, at the very least, slow things down while our investigation starts in earnest," the old Jedi continued as they moved. "The Mantle is form. The Chain is mind. The Periapt is power. Going by this, the Form grants a physical body, the Mind is one's ability to think and reason, and Power... perhaps means this being's skills in the Force." It made a certain amount of sense; the Periapt oozed with Dark Side energies, was strong enough to corrupt minds and suppress the aura of even a Jedi Master, and was even able to traumatize the Force itself, leaving wounds in places where its power had been unleashed. "If so, then we hold a very important key to this ritual, one that proceeding without might result in disastrous consequences for the one resurrected. I remember what it feels like, to be cut off from the Force," Moho went on. His words held a hint of pain as he recalled his time on that fractured planet, unable to call for help or even touch on the Force. "If this ritual is continued without the Periapt, it is possible that this Dark Side entity may still be revived... only without their ability to touch on the Force." As the entryway into the Archives came into view, Moho offered a rueful smile. "Of course, this is simple conjecture. We shall know more once we have done some research, yes?" the Grand Master noted. "It may be worth keeping in mind that prophesies about a single entity can be applied to many individuals; King Adas is only one of several beings that could be said to be the Sith'ari."

[roadkill]

As the Grandmaster waxed painfully about recalling what it felt like to be cut off from the Force, her own thoughts turned back to Agamar again; a cold shiver running up her spine at the remembrance of what those gaping holes in the Force felt like. Cold, dark, and empty. Devoid of any feeling. Nyx hoped to never experience such a thing first-hand, though she had heard of rituals that could sever one’s connection to the Force. A frightening thought, especially for a Jedi Shadow who found herself delving deep in the Dark more oft than naught.

The pair passed others on their way to the Archives, some met with polite nods and others with a slight, but earnest smile or a brief ‘Hello.’ ”Of course,” Nyx offered, at the Grandmasters conjecture. ”As terrible as another King Adas would be, I find it disconcerting that there could be something much worse—so horrible that even the Sith wished to lose them to the annals of time.”

Before long, they had reached the Archives. Politely, the Shadow extended a hand to allow Moho to enter first. Rank might not have meant much to Nyx, but it still meant something. She followed suit, taking a couple of quick-steps to regain her position at the side of the Grandmaster’s hoverchair. She was at a loss as to where to begin the search for answers, aside from scouring through reports of similar incidents to the one she had uncovered (and thought solved) upon Agamar.

Most of all, she was just glad to be rid of that dreadful amulet. Moho’s act of cleansing had done much, but deep down she knew it was only temporary. Only distance from it, and time, would fully wash its horrid stench from her soul. ”Well, I shall start combing through reports of similar cults. Perhaps even my own case files will have some hint. I have seen….many Dark Side cults. Too many. Perhaps you can brush up on known Sith artefacts and we will find a common thread to pull.” Far be it for her to suggest to the Grandmaster what he should do, but if he had a better idea she was wide open to it.

Ordinarily, this part of an investigation was quite enjoyable for Nyx—as much as she enjoyed the long stake-outs and inevitable confrontations with the seedy underbelly of the Galaxy. But something as sinister as reviving an ancient Sith Lord….By the Force, could it really even be done? Part of her hoped not. Most of her, in fact. She was no slouch when it came to combat, and typically eager to engage once there was no other option. Facing a fully-blooded Lord fueled by dark rituals, however, was far from being on her list of things to accomplish prior to her death. Why couldn’t she have just gone back to Corellia and forgotten about the amulet? Why did the Force have to bring her along for this particular ride?

It was a mystery, for Destiny was a tricky thing that way.

[Blue]

Although the Prellian sense of smell was far from keen, Moho still could not help but take a deep breath whenever he entered the Archives. He was not certain whether it was simply in his own head or if it was a real sensation, but when he entered this place he could almost smell the knowledge that pervaded every inch of the sprawling halls here. As Master Kumolt spoke, the Grand Master could not help but give a small smile at her suggestion. The Shadow had grown into an exemplary investigator and Jedi. "I was going to suggest the very same thing," Moho stated with a warm chuckle. "I also intend to research some Force rituals that I know of that may cleanse this artefact of its Dark Side powers. It is costly in time, as I recall, and requires several Masters to perform properly and safely. But if we are able to destroy this Periapt rather than simply holding on to it, it would greatly hamper any chances of this unknown Sith from making a full return." The old Jedi gave a nod. "Best of luck in your search. I shall reach out to you if I make any significant finds; please do the same, and we can share what we have learned up until that point. Hopefully, we can uncover more of this troubling entity," Moho finished, giving the Jedi Shadow one last smile before turning his hoverchair away and slowly floating away into the near endless data stacks. --- Multiple datapads hovered in front of Moho's broad face, his amber eyes flickering constantly between them all. Information flowed into his mind, his multitasking brain filtering through it all in the search of something relevant and useful to the dark mystery that Master Kumolt had brought before him. Of the Periapt and the Mantle, the Grand Master had been unable to find anything concrete on. But the Chain spoken off in the prophecy was seemingly referenced several times under various names in different holocrons and personal logs of Jedi and their allies, some dating back over a thousand years. After confirming some details, Moho's mind reached out, touching on the Force and feeling out for a familiar aura. I have compiled some notes on what I have so far. Not much on two of the artefacts as of yet, but I have something on the Chain. If you have anything to share, shall we reconvene and compare what we have? The gentle message was sent out to Master Kumolt, and Moho awaited a reply before making his way to one of the common areas in the Archives.

[roadkill]

The trouble with finding a thread to pull, came after pulling the thread. Sometimes, it was just one thread that led to nowhere. Other times, it led to many threads. Nodding, Nyx trotted off to a secluded corner to scour the collective files of her fellow Investigators and Shadows. Most were sealed, but her own clearance was more than adequate to unlock their secrets both dark and terrible. The Galaxy was a horrible place, fueled by such darkness and there was only a thin line of Jedi like herself to hold back the tide of evil. Hours rolled, and each report seemed worse than the last. Nyx didn’t envy the Council of First Knowledge one bit, having to comb through each and every tale from their agents. Despite her tenure as a Master and Shadow, she hadn’t quite realized just how many Dark Side cults popped up.

Nyx was also cursed with a photographic memory. Or blessed. It made her that much more suited to her work, but also tended to keep her awake more nights than not. Hours rolled by, and each detail had been committed to memory for cross-referencing on the fly—only a droid could have been more efficient. Spent cigarra butts and snack food wrappers had piled up at her side, the only reminder of how much time had passed. Admittedly, it was far from her favorite part of investigating though Nyx knew it was the most crucial. No agent dared enter the field without having done their due diligence, and this was no exception. Perhaps it was even the very rule. Just as she felt like she was finally on to something, Nyx felt the familiar tingle of the Grandmaster reaching out to her mind. At once, all she offered in response.

She hadn’t much to bring to the table, but there were too many coincidences to ignore. Several cults, seeming to be separate entities, with similar MO’s as the attack she had thwarted on Agamar. All across the Outer Rim, each leaving behind some type of void in their wake. There was no such thing as a coincidence, only the Force; Someone was harvesting Force energy.

Nyx collated the reports onto her personal datapad and made way for the common area, following Moho’s presence to a coffee table. Unceremoniously, she plopped down into a chair and let the datapad clatter to the tabletop as she did. ”Scattered reports over the course of the last three years indicate more than one cult gathering up Force energy, and leaving behind the same….wound as I encountered on Agamar.” Her brow furrowed at the word, no, the memory of it. An area completely devoid of the Force, as if it had been torn asunder. It was more than disconcerting. ”It would seem this cult is both large and organized into separate cells.” Another more-than-disconcerting fact. The more things shaped up, the less she liked it. But it was long past time to be able to cut-and-run. Jedi didn’t turn from things just because they were difficult to face. Nyx face scrunched tighter than a Kinrath pup, and she bit down on her lower lip unable to shake the thought that they were in deep now. Too deep.

If Da’Gar were still here, he would have told her to cut and run and let the Council of First Knowledge handle things from there.

[Blue]

Moho smiled as he saw Master Kumolt arrive at the table. The datapad that she threw on the table slid across the surface, then proceeded to lift into the air and hover in front of the old Jedi's eyes. The Grand Master scanned through the contents as the Jedi Shadow gave a summary of what she had been able to find. It was troubling news indeed. Three years of gathering power, enough power to cause a wound in the Force. Moho's mind returned to the Periapt, to the dark energies that oozed from it. It was not too much of a leap to assume that the gathered power was being drawn into the artefact to 'charge it up', in a fashion. For what purpose? If the prophesy written on the Periapt was any clue, it indicated one thing strongly: resurrection. In particular, the old Jedi noted several locations that the wounds in the Force had been discovered, and frowned. "Hm. All of these locations directly correlate with planets that the Chain has been reported to have been seen on..." the Grand Master muttered. Another datapad hovered into the air and made its way over to the Jedi Shadow, placing itself on the table in front of her. "According to these dates, the Chain was spotted in the possession of a person, usually a cult leader of some kind, on one of these planets and within a couple of years these wounds in the Force would appear," Moho explained. "The individual with the Chain would change every few years. If what we suspect is true, and the Chain relates to this Sith Lord's mind, it would not be too farfetched to theorize that they are taken over mentally in some aspect. Pushed into doing their bidding." The two large pincers raised into the air in a shrugging motion. "The power of this Lord's will must prove too great for most souls to bear, and burn out their minds after only a short time," the Grand Master suggested, before continuing on. "I do not doubt that if we were to cross-check with other planets that the Chain had been brought to that we would discover more incidents involving these wounds. And considering that these incidents have escalated over the last few years, I fear that the ritual to bring this Sith Lord back is close to completion." Despite the ominous words, Moho still provided Master Kumolt a reassuring smile. "But now, we have the Periapt, and this plan is now off course. We now possess the advantage... for the moment."

[roadkill]

Aliens were just that—alien. Yet somehow, still human-- if not humanoid. The giant Prellian’s smile was somehow off-putting and reassuring all the same. Still, her face remained scrunched up tight and her mind thoughtful. He was right, of course. All the evidence pointed to the fact that the ritual was near completion. None of it could be refuted now. Yet even the fact that they had a crucial piece of the puzzle, thus preventing the ritual’s completion, was far from reassuring.

A long moment passed in silence as Nyx connected the dots—wheels turning (more like grinding) in her mind. ”Then I fear it won’t be long until this Lord’s minions come looking for the periapt. I did my best to not leave a trail to follow from Agamar, but in my haste to depart I likewise fear I have led them to our doorstep,” she said as her gaze rose to meet the Grandmaster’s golden eyes. ”No, no. That doesn’t fit the profile; these cultists have to be pushed into action. They’re greedy, but not so power-hungry to be foolish. The attacks are smartly planned, and executed from a place of strength….” She let the thought trail off, continuing only in her mind—though it was open for the Grandmaster to read.

But not, wholly. The walls were still erected around the thoughts of dark deeds done on her path as a Shadow. It was her instinct that said she had to meet out this cult head-first and render Justice. To stamp out any traces of the Dark Side within the Order’s reach and beyond. But that, too, she knew to be folly. The only logical course was to lay a trap of their own. Nyx had a number of underworld contacts offworld, any one of them could spread a careful rumor about the artefact’s location and the ease with which it could be re-acquired. A dangerous gamble, but that was Nyx: a gambler. Da’Gar’s influence, no doubt. But this was no card game in a smoke-filled backroom of a seedy cantina out on the fringe. The stakes were much higher; all the more reason to gamble big.

Her eyes ceased darting about, returning from their narrowed posture with a slight nod. ”We, too, must attack from a place of strength. Draw them out into the open, lie in wait and lay them to waste when they are exposed.” It didn’t matter who among the Order was there to spring the trap, all were equally vulnerable to whatever foul misdeeds awaited. But sending the strongest of them, the most resolute, would give them far better odds. If only they could stack the deck, or have a proverbial grifter up their sleeves, perhaps the Idiot card or the Ace. But if the Grandmaster had a better plan, or even a different one, Nyx was all ears.

Her posture softened some, face un-tightening as a look of resolve took its place. Still fearful of the implications and revelations they had come to find, but no longer recoiling from it. Jedi didn’t run, nor did they hide from their duty. And it was her duty to see this through.

[Blue]

The Grand Master could feel the flow of emotions crash against each other inside the Jedi Shadow. That is a hard path to walk, to tread so close to the Dark without becoming a part of it. It was a position as admirable as it was dangerous. Moho listened as Master Kumolt gave her opinion and offered up the concept of a plan. To draw those under the influence of this unnamed Sith Lord into a trap and eliminate them. It might deal with the immediate problem, but in the end would this Lord not simply send more of his pawns to recapture the Periapt? An ambush may work once or twice, but eventually, with enough bodies and skill, they could very likely recapture it and continue with their plans. "Even if we deal with these forces, others will be sent until the relic is successfully retrieved," Moho stated. "But, there is an additional option. We can push these cultists into recklessness, and prevent them from planning their attack carefully, we can circumvent the caution they might otherwise employ. I know of a ritual that should work to neutralize the dark power of the Periapt-" The Force Vision slammed into the Prellian mid-sentence... Drowned in blackness, boiling. Sense conquering sight. Swirling eddies of emotion, as tides in a sea, locking essence in stasis. But awareness stretched out like roots, digging into a thousand minds, knowing. A faint heartbeat pounds as a scheme is uncovered. A roar built, one of pure fury... and desperation. "THE PERIAPT IS MINE, JEDI." The Vision ended suddenly, and the bulk of the Grand Master shuddered from the aftermath. The connection he had experienced was rich in Dark Side power, hidden in the ether of the Force as a strange mockery of life. To survive the demise of the body and exist in the Force is not an unfamiliar phenomenon, but to maintain so much of one's ego, their sense of self... their power. I must investigate this more deeply once time allows. "I fear that our time may be more limited than we expected," Moho announced, taking a steadying breath. The remnants of the dark power that had slithered into his being dispersed as the Light purged them, his soul and mind healing from the minor trauma. "The entity, this Sith Lord phantom... they are already aware of the Periapt's location, as well as our intentions towards it. They are powerful. I merely caught a glance of their strength and I can tell that they are as strong as I am. If they were to be resurrected from their formless state... I am not certain that even the combined power of the Jedi High Council and the Sith Inner Sanctum would be able to do more than inconvenience them." Yet, the old Jedi still offered that small, calm smile. "However, now that they know where the Periapt is and that their time is running out to take it back, we hold an advantage. We are already at our strongest place of power. We control the timeline they must adhere to. It will be close, but we still have hope of containing this dark power." Moho's words were confidant, his thoughts already working towards a successful result. "I shall summon the Council. Together, we shall contain and neutralize the Periapt's power and defend the Temple from those who would steal it away," Moho announced. "Thankfully, many of our number are currently on Coruscant, or close enough to lend their aid. Masters Narnir, Soz and Fendo shall assist in the defence of those of us that will be cleansing the artefact. What position would you prefer to take, Nyx? Defence, or cleanse?"

[roadkill]

An eyebrow raised, her head cocking slightly to the side as the Grandmaster seized mid-thought. A hand reached out, but Nyx thought better of it, feeling the swirling currents in the Force. As quickly as the Grandmaster had faded, so he returned to the present with worse news. She was no stranger to the clock running close to expiry, or high stakes. But this….this was an entirely new level of fierfeked. An ancient Sith Lord so powerful, even in death, that it gave the strongest among their Order the faintest hint of pause.

The entirety of her life among the Jedi had been dedicated solely to rooting out the Dark Side; seeking it out and eradicating individuals and artefacts. Either through cleansing, or by combat. Da’Gar had taught her that eradication was always safer and surer; that the vast majority of the time individuals were beyond redemption. She found it to ring true, time and time again. It worried her, on her worst days, that she was so eager to engage in battle and mete out justice at the end of a lightsaber. That worry was all that kept her on the proper side of balance. The day she stopped, that would be the day she fell completely.

Moho laid out his own plan, born of a place of wisdom. It was not dissimilar from her own, simply that the trap was more elaborate to draw out the leader. A nod punctuated the proposal, as she found it beyond satisfactory. The Grandmaster was such for a reason. ”The Mantle and Chain must be present at our ambush. They must be captured and cleansed or destroyed, else this is all for naught,” all she added. The personnel of the cult, even their supposed leader possessed by a Sith Lord mattered little. Without any of the artefacts, they could no longer complete their fowl plan. The individuals could be hunted down at a later date, if need be. Total victory was possible, but not likely.

”My skills would be put to better use with Narnir, Soz and Fendo,” Nyx admitted with confidence. Cleansing the taint of the Dark Side was far from her strong suit, but all knew her prowess with a blade. A true master of Ataru and Soresu, and no slouch when it came to Makashi, many dozens of younglings, apprentices and knights had learned from her during her time as an instructor at the Academy here on Coruscant. The economy of motion, she had once preached, was of the utmost import. None were more important than Soresu, the building block upon which all Jedi must construct. With deep reserves of stamina, an avid practitioner could wear an opponent down. With patience, all it took was waiting for one to make a mistake and leave an opening to attack.

Soz and Fendo she knew well, and had worked with them on a number of occasions. Fendo was a hunter of great renown, an avowed seeker of Dark Side acolytes; their paths crossed often once upon a time, before he was seated on the Council. The Sullustan Soz had to be familiar with the myriad of reports Nyx filed over the years. She looked forward to joining them in battle once more. To Togruta Narnir, she knew by face and reputation only; if by a handful of conversations. It had long been her wish to spar with the Weapon Master, to test her own skills against his. Likewise, she looked forward to seeing the man in action, up close. ”I will…center myself and await your summons, Grandmaster.” she added, with some finality.

[Blue]

Moho nodded at Master Kumolt's statement that the other two relics would also likely be present during the assault. The Sith Lord would not be able to risk the loss of the Periapt, so would undoubtedly utilize every available asset they had at hand to prevent the Jedi from taking it away. "You are most probably right. This is a chance they cannot afford to lose, nor can we. Force willing, we shall bring an end to this shadowy danger before it has a chance to threaten the galaxy," the Grand Master confirmed, nodding to the Jedi Shadow. "Ready yourself. I must make preparations to evacuate the Temple to ensure the younglings are safe. Soon, the ritual will begin, and this danger shall break upon us like waves against rock." 31 Hours Later In a chamber in the lower levels of the Jedi Temple, Moho and several Masters were gathered in a circle. In the centre of this circle was a plinth, upon which a dark stone was gently floating. The Periapt glinted darkly in the dim light of the room, and several of the people in the chamber repressed a shudder. "This object is powerful, indeed," Shuaq Elbot muttered, the Quarren's flesh and blood hand absent-mindedly rubbing the cold metal of the elegantly designed cybernetic that replaced her other. "It is fortunate that we were close by to assist in this ritual. This object cannot be allowed to continue plaguing the galaxy," came the steady voice of Jilkoow Ziee. The Rodian archaeologist seemed less perturbed by the aura of the Periapt than the other assembled Masters, her mind a bastion against such Dark Side influences. "The Force is surely with us." The other two members of the company said nothing; Teemar Vosh's head tilted curiously as she observed the intricate carvings surrounding the artefact, and Sarris Zag'da took a steadying breath as she centred herself for the trial to come. "This will be the first time in over a century that the Council has performed a ritual of this magnitude," Moho stated calmly, bringing the present Council members' thoughts back to the task at hand. Idly, the old Jedi wished that the Chief Librarian could have attended, but as he had business elsewhere and could not reach the Temple in time, they had to continue on without him. "I will begin. Please follow my lead and pace yourselves; this will take all of our effort and concentration." "We are beginning the ritual," Moho sent his though out to the Masters waiting outside the room. "Stay alert. The enemy will attack with everything that they have. They shall hold nothing back. Answer their onslaught with our purity of purpose, our strength of will, our very Light." "May the Force be with us" "May the Force be with us." Moho's words echoed as he spoke through the Force and from his own mouth. Then he closed his eyes, and began. The way to the chamber in which the ritual was performed was a narrow corridor, barely wide enough to fit the Grand Master's bulky form. It was the only entrance and exit; a dangerous place to be under siege. But Moho had chosen this place because of his unconditional faith in the people guarding it. Leading out of the ritual chamber, the corridor ended in a sturdy door, behind which was an open, circular storeroom. It was empty, unused for some time, and the perfect stage for a final stand. Only small numbers of foes could enter at a time and, with the guarding contingent's smaller size, the advantage lay with them. Daraan Narnir, the towering Togruta Weapon Master, stood in front of the door like an impassible mountain, one hand held behind his back and the other grasping the ornate shaft of his lightsaber pike. His was the role of final obstacle, to remain in front of the doorway so that none may slip past. Beside him were the Jedi Shadows, Masters Kumolt and Fendo. The pair of them had many major physical contrasts, but that went without saying; Kin Fendo was a Geonosian, and his appearance rarely fitted in anywhere. The Council member Shadow's head suddenly twitched to the side. "They come," Master Fendo stated in his strange, clicking tongue. His hand grasped one of the three lightsabers at his waist, while the others hovered up on their own, taking a position next to each of his shoulders. "I do not sense... wait..." began Master Narnir, his eyes narrowing as he caught a glimmer of what the Geonosian had noticed. "Master Fendo is correct. They are coming." Sess Soz's quiet, fast voice came from nowhere, appearing in the large circular room as if from thin air and causing the Weapons Master to startle. "I hate it when you do that," Master Narnir hissed, not for the first time in their long acquaintance. The Sullustan bowed his head towards the massive Jedi, his large, dark eyes glittering. "Apologies, Master Narnir," Master Soz stated, before turning to address all three of the masters. "It is as Master Moho predicted; they do not search, nor seek out others. Their path is straight, and it is towards us. If we stop them here, no others will be harmed." "Numbers? Power?" Master Fendo inquired brusquely. "They number many, several groups of ten, and their powers are varied from what I could sense," Master Soz replied. "All are Dark. Murder is in their hearts. One in particular is... imposing. Wearing chains around their chest and arms. This will be a difficult fight." A low chuckle came from Master Narnir as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. "Good. It has been too long since I have met a worthy foe in battle. Let us test the mettle of these Dark Apostles," the Weapons Master decreed, a smile forming on his intimidating features.

[roadkill]

Waiting was always the hardest part, particularly when the outcome was known. Victory, however, was not assured. There was an eerie silence in the corridor as the various Masters prepared in their own ways for the battle ahead. The giant Narnir was an imposing figure, starkly contrasted by the others—each a contradiction to the last. The Geonosian clicked and twitched, announcing that their quarry was approaching. She could sense it too. Narnir and Soz each went back-and-forth, but Nyx could feel it too. Creeping darkness, the growing storm building.

Each hand went to pull the lightsabers from their belt clips as she tightened her jaw. Narnir rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. A difficult fight didn’t concern her, but failure did. They were the first and final line of defense of the Masters within the chamber, cleansing the Periapt of its filth if they could. ”We must not fail,” all she could add to the conversation, her mind occupied with thoughts of battle. Nyx took a centering breath, trying to push aside the oncoming presences of Dark acolytes, far more numerous than she could have anticipated.

She tensed, assuming a fighting stance more akin to a coiled serpent poised to strike than a Jedi Master. The telltale sounds of combat could be heard faintly as the horde pressed further in. Hands gripped the lightsaber hilts, knuckles white. The door at the far end of the corridor crashed open, shoved inside the hall with the Force. The distinct snap-hiss, times two, sounded as both of her blades ignited. All the while, Nyx continued to channel the Force inside her. Steady, steady…..hold…. The horde rushed in, blades ablaze—what few of them with actual lightsabers anyway.

The Shadow leapt forward, high and away to be the first to join the fray. Her blades crashed downward upon the first, what was once a human—now a twisted thing born of taint and corruption, her fellows maybe a half-step behind her. Jaw clenched, Nyx’s blades were met with resistance from a lightsaber. As quickly as she had landed on her feet, she launched a kick center-mass to force the combatant down. Fighting in tight quarters was always problematic, but the Shadow maintained her connection to her fellow Jedi, feeling their movements as they fought. She swung her body around to block an incoming strike from a vibroblade with her main saber, the other found purchase in the attacker’s torso. Riposte, and she was on to the next.

As the horde’s numbers inside the corridor built, so too did her thirst for battle. Feelings were muddled, stuck somewhere in the ambiguity of the gray. These monsters had come with ill intent, there was no chance to otherwise redeem them. Yet she struck first, struck hard, and showed no mercy. Put the hammer down, get the job done right. Jacked up and clocked in to a firefight. Still there was a certain grace about her as she whirled and wheeled around, a certain peace that came with attunement to the Force. As if she had been endowed with vigor by one of her compatriots through the Force. It was a dance of death she stepped, hewing one after another, rebounding off the walls and twirling midair.

And still they came. For every two she cut down, four replaced them. ”Not one step back!” she cried out to her fellows. Darkness built around her, and within her as her momentum built. It was a familiar rhythm, a sight to behold. For all the serene peace she exuded outside of combat, it was naught but a mask for the most vicious and voracious of fighters…

[Blue]

Silence reigned in the few moments before the enemy barged into the circular room. The masters readied themselves, igniting their lightsabers: Master Fendo with his three weapons, each a different colour and two hovering in the surrounding air, Master Soz with his curved-hilted lightsaber and shoto. Only Master Narnir's weapon did not turn on, the lightsaber pike remaining deactivated as he grasped it in both hands like a staff. And then the dark tide rolled forth. They did not waste time on words; it was clear that these people had no minds of their own, twisted and broken to serve their intangible master. As Nyx took the centre, Fendo took the left and Soz the right, leaving Narnir blocking the only door into the ritual chamber. Fendo's lightsabers never stopped moving, the yellow one in his hands flowing seamlessly with the green and blue ones floating around him. In a pin-wheel of colour, he flew around the chamber like a whirlwind of death, uttering "Return to nothing," with each life that he took. The Sullustan Jedi Soz was no less deadly, the unassuming Investigator's yellow blades moving in a simple yet graceful economy of motion. Every last person that faced off with him died in no less than two exchanges, the master's face never shifting from its peaceful neutrality. Behind them all, Narnir waited with a scowl on his face, but intrigue in his eyes. It was not often that he was able to watch the other masters fight, and it was an honour and an education to watch two of the most exemplarily fighters outside the Battlemaster in combat. However, he was left with only a smattering of foes, most of whom were either injured or weak. He deflected their weapons with the shaft of his lightsaber pike with ease, the elegant carvings on the metal suffering not even a single nick, and sending them flying as he struck them with the full power of his Force enhanced body without so much as moving an inch from the doorway. Despite their fervour and disregard for their own lives, the people attacking the Jedi in the chamber lacked any real capability in combat, especially when compared to such highly skilled opponents. Their advantage of numbers began to dwindle, and an end seemed in sight. At least, that was until the second wave of enemies came. As the last of the cultist fell, others began to step into the chamber. Unlike the first collection, who had only the merest hint of power, these acolytes had an aura of darkness playing around them. Each of them held a lightsaber in their hands and advanced with confidence and just as much zeal as the ones that charged in before. And a creature behind them slowly walked into the room. It was impossible to tell what the person's age or even gender was, as shadows played around their features like oil on water. They wore a dark cloak that twitched with constant movement, and chains could be seen winding around their arms and torso. Flaming red orbs hovered where their eyes would be as they observed the four Jedi blocking the path. "Jedi dogs. You have taken something that you should never have touched. Kneel and serve, or stand and perish!" As they spoke, their voice reverberating until it was almost impossible to bear, a wave of sickening energy pouring like a tidal wave from the creature's form. When it touched the cultists, they became frenzied and attacked with renewed vigour. When it hit the Council members, they shuddered as if struck by a sudden fever, but they endured albeit with difficulty. The Sith Lord stepped forward and was met by both Soz and Fendo. They struck together, their many blades piercing the Sith Lord's flesh... only for the torn form to pull itself back together, the Mantle squirming and twisting around them. A single red lightsaber sprung into the creature's hand and began to flash in arcs so fast that it felt as if space itself was scarred by its passing. Even with five blades against one, both Soz and Fendo were barely able to hold their own against the Sith Lord as he dominated the room. "Hold fast! These slaves to the Dark shall not prevail! NONE. SHALL. PASS!" roared Narnir. Now that two of the Masters were engaged with the powerful Sith Lord, more Dark acolytes were slipping through to assault the Togruta. He battered them away like they were weightless, breaking their bodies and tossing them aside as the Force flowed through his very veins. And from behind them, in the ritual chamber they guarded, a terrible sound could be heard. The strong, heated beating of a heart. Inside the ritual chamber, all four Masters felt the approach of the Sith Lord, and the effect it had on the Periapt was instantly apparent. It began to pulse with Dark Side energies, oozing into the air. Strain was evident on all of their faces, save for the Grand Master himself, whose expression remained calm. "How foul," Master Vosh said through gritted teeth. The other two said nothing, but the virulent power that seeped from the Periapt from the call of its master brought great unease to their minds. "Steady your hearts," Moho reassured them. Calm radiated out from the oldest Jedi, soothing the unsettled nerves of his compatriots. "Trust in your fellow Jedi, to your left and right and to those outside. Danger may be upon us, but we will not falter in our duty." And like that, the shadow of uncertainty passed. Moho's gentle smile beamed towards the other masters, washing away the miasma of fear. "Let us begin," he stated, closing his eyes. There was a silence as the masters began the ritual. The dreadful thump, thump of the Periapt's resonance continued for a few moments, before a small beam of illumination fell upon it. As soon as that light hit the relic, the steady pounding twisted into a staccato rhythm, and as the seconds crept by it became evermore desperate. The four Councillors continued to channel the Light Side energy, pouring it expertly into the waiting Grand Master. The old Jedi moulded that power smoothly, allowing it to flow through him. He became an empty vessel, serenely forming the essence of life and Light into what they needed it to be. And from the chamber, that terrible thudding began to slow and tremble weakly. As Soz and Fendo fought to a draw with the Sith Lord, the creature with the shadowy mask faltered. Their body convulsed for a moment, and the Jedi Shadow did not fail to take advantage and struck against them several times before swiftly withdrawing into the air to avoid the riposte. The wounds still sealed as they did before, but the soothing energy now emanating from the ritual chamber seemed to counter the dominating Dark Side aura that the Sith Lord had been, up until that moment, endlessly emitting. Sensing a change, Soz glanced at Fendo and nodded, striking a devastating blow once more before stepping back... and vanishing utterly and completely from sight and sense. The Geonosian immediately followed up with a barrage of attacks, locking the Sith Lord in combat. Near the door, Narnir was almost completely surrounded by lightsaber-wielding acolytes when a handful fell, Soz's small form darting among them in a blur and alleviating the pressure on the Weapons Master for a moment.

[roadkill]

No sooner had the brief lull happened, the second wave of attackers came pouring in—this time stronger than before. Lightsabers. Trailed by what could only be described as a Sith Lord. The figure bellowed out its demands of service, enforceable by death. When it spoke, a terrible sensation ripped through her; requiring focus to endure. Soz and Fendo sought to stand in its way, Narnir had the door—well, more precisely he was the door.

With speed and precision, Nyx whirled to engage the Acolytes. She could allow a few past her toward Narnir, but none could get past her toward Soz and Fendo. Sabers clashed in a brilliant kaleidoscope of color, hissing and grinding—filling the air with the scent of charred ozone. Olfactory senses couldn’t be reproduced in the holovids. The stench of death was not something one ever forgot, however much they wished to. Nor did they forget the swirling maelstrom of the Force. Nyx maintained position, imposing a lethal tax upon those wishing for entry into the fray.

Narnir roared his rallying cry, and the battle raged on in earnest. Acolytes had her surrounded, each seeking to engage her full attention so others could slip past. Nyx had to slip back into the familiar patterns of Soresu, batting each strike away, redirecting it into another blade; a kick to the chest to gain more breathing room, wheel around to start the cycle over. Her main saber ahead, her shoto behind, the pressure was only mounting. One of them managed to lock up her main blade for just long enough—her reaction was microseconds too late to prevent the searing hot lightsaber from gaining small purchase across her offhand shoulder.

A shout of pain and anger in equal measure escaped as Nyx dug deep within her reserves to push the entourage away through the Force, using the opportunity to deliver killing blows to the first ones still reeling. Flipping away, she fiercely met another’s blade—howling still she struck with her shoto from the side, savagely cutting another down. It was a dangerous thing to give in to anger, or pain, though it was useful in combat. Pain was a reminder that one was still alive and could thusly fight on. Anger oft turned to fury, far from the Jedi way. Using them was a simple matter of allowing it to happen.

Zealously, Nyx surged at the remainder of those who had been assaulting her—still set on their onslaught. No longer was her form pristine and graceful, but still savagely beautiful, and precise. Thrust, cut, riposte, recover—repeat, and the threat was less immediate. Huffing, she stalked to and fro, engaging Acolytes with her eyes as if to dare any to approach. Any fool enough to would be cleaved into pieces and left to die in agony. The Jedi had taught her the moves, but not how to be a killer. No, life had done that. Life in the Shadows, ferreting out the Dark things. As more charged in, she met them, batting their blades away as if they were her very own playthings (and they were). Jab, slice, jab—another fell. Spin, deflect, headbutt, a clean slice across the abdomen.

Still she roared and howled as sabers clashed and bodies fell. The line was closer now, far closer than it had been. Would she step across it meekly and come running back? Would she march over it, as if it were some arbitrary border on a backwater world the Republic barely knew about? Would she approach and consider, the next step could be destiny-altering? To fall was such a quiet thing, without applause or fanfare. Would her fellows even realize it? Would she realize it?

Crack-hiss, another mistake. This time a blade scored her chest, singing what old leather covered her, and beyond to the soft flesh underneath. Nyx cried out, her attacks briefly amplified by the surge of endorphins and adrenaline. Another step toward the line, more of a short leap. Her strikes came strongly now, as if trying to bat them hundreds of yards away in some spectator sport. Blind now to any who slipped past her flanks to attack the others, Nyx pressed forward into the mass of what remained, carving her way through—and getting carved all the while. None would escape today, so long as she drew breath.

Until there were none left before her, and only stragglers behind. Nyx winced as she wheeled around, unsure of what was still holding her chest together. She leapt, screaming like a banshee, to the flank of several going for Soz and Fendo. Moments later they were ribbons, caught unaware by gale-force winds. The line was getting near, now. She could see it—trip over it had she cared to stop and examine things. The Great One bid her a welcome to join the combat, to join her fellows in defeat and death. Perhaps a fate worse than Death, trapped to serve the dark rituals that had allowed such a creature to endure so long after its own death.

No, not while there were still Acolytes on the field. Still howling, Nyx wheeled around to fight her way back towards Narnir’s position at the door. The Light was fading, but there was still time. There was still fuel in the tank. Fumes, but it burned nonetheless. She plunged her main blade deep through the back of one, batting away another’s attack with her offhand. With a flourish, Nyx swung the blade free, casting off the remains as if it were unwanted waste on a carving knife. Zeal and fury, perhaps even the faintest hint of glee. The battle had to end soon, or she would find herself on the other side of the line.

It was more than a whisper now, clawing its way from the recesses of her mind. That little voice that cried out when it knew something was wrong. The one that said ‘stop, before it’s too late’—the one that never seemed to tire or grow weary, if less audible over time. Control yourself, it whispered. It was her own voice, one final failsafe to prevent the unforgivable. But it was late in the game for control. Control required precious seconds that weren’t allotted for.

With Zeal and Fury, something she resolved to name her lightsabers should she come out alive, Nyx struck out. She could feel it, her reserves beginning to drain. It had cost her much to continue holding her body together, let alone to press on. The acrobatics would have to be suspended. She just had to hold on, a little longer; relieve some of the pressure on Narnir. Then… Then oblivion. Surely that was the logical result, someone in a state such as hers taking on an undead Sith Lord, who the strongest and best among them could only fight to a standstill at best? Fight to survive? Or would it contort her passions, and nudge her over the line.

[Blue]

With the sudden influx of power being neutralized to an extent, the pressure on the Masters fighting off the hordes of cultists lessened. But that did not mean that it disappeared entirely; more people were entering the chamber and, while their abilities had been dampened, the Sith Lord was still a force to be reckoned with. The chamber itself was becoming a rather grim scene, with dead bodies scattered on the ground beginning to pile up and cause footwork to become difficult. The four Jedi holding the forces of the Dark Side off began to fall into a pattern: Fendo stalled the Sith Lord and Narnir held the door, while Soz and Kumolt disrupted the formation of those attempting to overwhelm the other two. When the numbers began to turn their focus onto the Geonosian, Soz would step forward and force them away. When Narnir began to encounter a tide of fanatics, Kumolt broke it down. Still, despite their combined skill, injuries were beginning to show. Soz took several grazing hits from the numerous lightsabers aimed at him, and Fendo had been bludgeoned by a powerful strike of Force Lightning. Kumolt had the worst of it, her wounds beginning to slow her down and disrupt her focus. Only Narnir remained unscathed, mostly in part due to the other three Masters preventing many of their foes from reaching him. Though that state of affairs was soon set to change. With Kumolt gaining more and more injuries, Soz shot a single glance at Narnir, who nodded. That was all it took, their years of association allowing such simple communication to speak volumes, and the Sullistan slipped towards the Jedi Shadow to ward off the dark acolytes assailing her. Yet despite the severity of their situation, the Masters felt a sudden elevation of the dark pressure that had up until that point pressing down on them. A wave of Light Side energy washed through the chamber, and the Sith Lord cast their head back and screeched in anguish as the power that roiled within them was neutered. Fendo wasted no time in delivering a whirlwind of blows against their form; the body still stitched itself back together, but the overwhelming sense of danger still remained dispersed. The ritual, it seemed, was a success. The thin beam of Light had become a blazing pillar, and within the core of that pillar rotated the Periapt. The oozing Dark Side energy it had exuded was weakening, weakening... then, with one last piercing scream, the terrible heartbeat ceased. The pillar of Light remained, but the amulet clattered to the ground, dull and empty. There was a collective sigh as the four Masters sank into their seats. The ritual had been immensely taxing on their energies; summoning the Force and funnelling it into Moho at such levels for so long was immensely taxing to say the least. The Grandmaster himself, however, looked no worse for wear, his kind amber eyes flashing with power. "Do not stop just yet, my sisters," Moho stated. His hoverchair turned, his attention shifting to the battle he could sense not far from them. Those kind eyes sharpened. "We have one last task to attend to." Though their tether to the Force had apparently been successfully severed, the Sith Lord proved that they were still more than capable of causing havoc. With their plans to reunite with the Periapt destroyed, they unleashed their entire fury towards the goal of killing every last Jedi before them. Fendo, who had been fighting the entity to a standstill up until now, began to get pushed back once more. The veritable horde of cultists threw themselves towards the Masters without regard to their lives, and Narnir was compelled to send them flying backwards with greater and greater applications of the Force. But something was approaching them. A beacon of bright light, pushing back the Dark. The door behind Narnir disintegrated; not violently, with flames and explosive force. But gently, like snow in the morning sun. The Weapon Master knocked down and dispatched two of his foes and glanced behind him with concern. His eyes widened as he saw Shovaah Moho float by him and into the room. To the naked eye, the old Jedi's form was causing the surrounding air to quiver, like air around a fire, but to those with Force Sight he was all but blinding. His amber eyes were gone, and in their place were two blazing orbs of pure blue and gold light. At his approach the cultists froze, as if petrified, and the wounds on the Jedi Masters began to heal. "Children of Dark. You trespass upon the domain of Light," Moho announced. His calm voice reverberated with pure Force energy, and the Sith Lord's shadowed form coiled as if desperate to pounce. Any action that they had intended to make was stopped in its tracks as a wall of light pulsed from Moho's body with a single word. "Begone." The Wall pushed forwards and when it passed through the cultists, they collapsed where they stood, like puppets with their strings cut, while the bodies of the dead vanished. The Sith Lord roared, placing their hands up against the light that was bearing down upon them. As they touched, the Wall faltered in its forward momentum for a moment and the Sith's hands burned and peeled, constantly regenerating. But after a few seconds, the healing slowed as the Mantle they wore stopped writhing around them and fell limp. The Sith Lord let out a swiftly muted screamed as the Wall pushed on through them, the Chains wrapped around their body snapping and turning to dust. The light continued on, out of the room, through the entire Temple, cleansing the entire building of the Dark Side taint that had invaded it. Then the Light slowly faded, and was gone. In his hoverchair, the Grandmaster slumped forward in exhaustion. Being the channel for so much Light Side power was no easy task, and it had left him feeling beyond drained. He estimated that it would take many days of meditation to regain his strength. Even so, there was still one more thing he needed to do. "Master Fendo, Master Kumolt," Moho muttered, his voice uncharacteristically weary. "Would you be so kind as to inspect the Sith Lord's affects? Master Soz, Master Narnir, attend to the cultists. The ritual should have cleansed the objects of any Dark Side energies, and the people will no longer pose a threat as adepts of the Force... but we must not be careless."

[roadkill]

Crack-HISS, it reverberated. Her lights had been fading, and fading fast. It had been merely a blink, but it had felt….was it still the same day? Instinct had saved her from what was sure to be a grievous blow, eyes snapping wide with a brief shot of adrenaline. All she felt was….cold. Cold in her extremities, digits and limbs threatening to go numb. The telltale signs of shock. Unbeknownst to her, she had been cut with a vibroblade, or a knife—something that was causing her to bleed. With an exasperated shout, Nyx shoved back with what might she had left, unlocking their lightsabers, buying her precious seconds to…. To….

It was going black again. Just a blink, a wink; the struggle was real. Too late to strike. Focus! the voice inside shouted. The blade came forward again, low. Nyx batted it aside with her shoto and plunged her main blade deep with a pitiful cry. As they fell, she too began to shudder and buckle at the knees.

Down. She went down, knees cracking upon the Temple floor with a thud, unheard over the sounds of battle. But she knew. Nyx knew….nothing. Black again, until the sounds of her lightsabers clattering to the ground jarred her back. Just a blink, another precious millisecond wasted. But this time, her vision was blurred. ”Unh-hngrh” she grunted, breath shaky at best. Hands had clutched various wounds for just a moment. The pressure caused pain, yet was comforting. Another brief spurt of adrenaline surged, Nyx tapped into the Force to assist her in rising, calling her lightsabers back to each hand, her shoto now coated in the blood from her offhand—a quick glance down told her all she needed to know. At some point she had been pig-stuck in the side.

All set to advance upon the Sith Lord, forward unto oblivion, Nyx planted her feet and prepared to lunge high and catch the beast unaware when…. The door behind Narnir dissipated with a blinding Light. The last light she would see as she folded like a house of cards to the floor again with a whimper. Eyes rolled back, and there it was; the old familiar empty blackness of….nothing. Hands tried to grasp at the stone one last time before her body went limp; blood beginning to slowly pool beneath her. Victory, failure, whatever was to come would happen with finality without her. And there remained nothing but the Void for what seemed both an eternity and a blink.

Moho would come, and her wounds began to close. He would finish the job, though it would take its own toll. The Wall would pass, and she would stir once again, unaware of the passage of time entirely. The scene before her, as her doubled vision tried to resolve itself to just the one, seemed familiar…the Temple! Nyx shot up, wincing with pain as her still tender wounds threatened to open themselves up again. The battle was…done? And the bodies…not near in number as…. The details were wrong. Even Moho’s voice was…off.

Nyx shook her head about, vigorously, trying to break loose the last vestiges of grogginess. It was she that was off; Moho was simply exhausted. Weren’t they all? All but Narnir, it seemed. Of course. If how she felt was any indication, it seemed she took the lion’s share of the beating. ”Y-yes, of course,” she rasped out as the Grandmaster retreated from the corridor. The notion that nobody would believe what happened today, had there not been so many witnesses, began to set in as she surveyed what was left of the aftermath. Had so many of their opponents been mere specters? Had they become one with the Force, somehow, despite their dedication to the Dark Side?

Each step became increasingly steady as she joined her colleague at the Lord’s remains. Pensively, at first, Nyx stuck the toe of her boot into the mass of tattered robes, and kicked the lightsaber away. Just in case. The thought to squat, kneel or bend over to more closely inspect the artefacts left behind left as quickly as it entered her mind. She reached out through the Force to raise the Mantle far enough to reach out and grab. Though, her hand paused just before making contact; feeling an unusual amount of heat radiating from the Mantle. Not scalding, not hot, but uncomfortably warm to the touch. Assessing it, Nyx felt no residual corruption emanating from it, though her senses were still somewhat dulled from exhaustion. She floated it over to Master Fendo for his own testament as to its supposedly inert state. It was less that she didn’t trust her own judgment and more that given the potential power of even one functional artefact, it was better to err on the side of caution. Her preference would have been to destroy it all, but both the Council and Council of First Knowledge (or enough members of) were readily available to weigh the options and risks.

It had been some time since her own confidence in her judgment in the field had wavered enough to bring something back to the Council for further study. The value of research was almost never a thought in her mind as Nyx believed the best course of action was typically destruction; remove the temptation to utilize them from the equation. Colored, obviously, by her own predilection to edge close to the Dark Side in combat. If it was easy for her to give in to something so base, it was easy for any Force adept across the spectrum to give into the temptation of a powerful artefact that crawled inside one’s thoughts and clouded them.

[Blue]

Throughout the round chamber, quiet groans had begun to sound as the erstwhile disciples of the Sith Lord started to come to. Exchanging a look, Masters Narnir and Soz stopped simply checking the cultists for life signs and went about binding them to ensure that they could not cause any more trouble. As they regained consciousness, some blinked and gazed around at their surroundings in dull confusion, and others struggled furiously against their restraints with vicious snarls on their lips as they attempted to summon the power of the Force to escape or attack. It became clear to the Jedi Masters that some of the people who had invaded the Temple had their minds subverted by brute force and, now that they had been cleansed of the Dark Side, their true personalities had now finally emerged. On the other hand, others appeared to have submitted readily to the Sith Lord's will for one reason or another. Narnir and Soz divided these groups up, providing assurance to one and a watchful eye to the other. On the other end of the room, Master Fendo took ahold of the Mantle that Nyx passed over to him, running his fingers across the fabric with his eyes closed. His wings fluttered, emitting a soft buzzing sound as the Force flowed through him. After a moment, the hand lowered and the Geonsian's eyes opened. 'Is clean,' Fendo said shortly, roughly bundling the Mantle up in his hands. 'No taint. Still, best to destroy.' 'I would agree. Though I would prefer to inspect them myself before we dispose of them,' another voice stated. From the narrow corridor that Moho had appeared from, the other group of Masters appeared. They all looked exhausted, save for the resilient Rodian Jilkoow Ziee, who had just spoken. She held up the now dormant Periapt. 'These were vessels of Dark Side power for a long time; it would be a good use of our time to investigate the effect on their molecular structure. It could reveal some interesting information about Force receptive materials, and the consequences of storing Force energy in the long term.' 'This discussion must wait for a later time,' Moho announced, turning his hoverchair. 'We will hold onto the objects for proper investigation or destruction, but as for right now, we have people we must attend to and authorities to notify.' The collected High Council members nodded, and Master Fendo passed the Mantle on to Master Ziee. She had proven her resilience to the Dark Side many times before; if she had not been filled with love of science and ancient relics, the Rodian may have become a Shadow herself instead of a researcher. The Grandmaster's attention shifted over to the injured Nyx, and he gave her a soft, tired smile. 'You have done well, Nyx. Very well, indeed,' the old Jedi praised. His kind amber eyes flittered over her numerous wounds, the orbs flickering with regret. So much pain. I will never understand it. 'We can handle things down here. Please, retire to the medical facilities and treat your injuries; I would heal you myself, but I am afraid that I have expended all the energy that I can spare already and, for that, you have my apologies.'