Ask Under Umbaran Skies

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar initially didn’t react when Vossari grasped his thigh, his mind entirely on the flying. He was doing breathing exercises to calm himself, but he focused on the touch, distracting his thoughts away from the ship and taking off. That was when he realized Voss was tapping out a rhythm, and Azar picked it up to keep it going. He slowly looked over at the Wrean, hearing them rhyme to that beat. It took a moment to realize he was rhyming in real time about what was happening now, not some poetry they already knew. Azar had never witnessed this form of art before, and suddenly Vossari had his full attention.

Azar’s yellow gazed remained fixed on Vossari, chuckling at the lyrics as the Wreans spat them. He didn’t even notice that the ship revved on and began to lift up. He was hooked on every word, fascinated that it reflected their mission, spoke about him, and Vossari was effortlessly stringing it all together in rhyme. Azar’s expression changed from wonder, to laughter, to curiosity as if flipping through Holonet channels with each line.

After it was done, Azar clapped to show his appreciation, but he soon looked away and started laughing, his face heating up. As was often the case when he laughed, his hand came up to muffle his face. This was a gesture he had never witnessed before from another, especially one that was so tailored, “I’m not that short,” He said with a mock huff, playfully shoving Vossari. Azar didn’t understand a lot of slang or terms, so he took ‘shorty’ literally, having no clue it was a term of endearment.

He paused for a moment, glancing over at Vossari, “May I braid you hair?” He asked quietly, knowing it was likely an odd request. If Vossari agreed, Azar would step up behind him and part his hair and work with dextrous fingers, “Many of my people have hair like yours, and in the royal households our hair was as part of our presentation as our clothing,” He would tug, pull, comb, likely eliciting some pain as he worked. But he methodically kept going anyway, neatly forming braid stitches and wrapping a braid above. It took a long while, but Azar found it almost therapeutic.

At the end of it, he gestured for Vossari to rise and take a look at his hair in a mirror. Azar smiled from where he stood, “Now I’m not the only princess,” He flashed a playful wink, his arms crossed over his chest.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari chose not to correct Azar. He was literally a shorty. It'd be cute enough to tease him with. He followed Azar's fingers as they trailed up to his skull. Vossari's braids were rather frizzy right now, a result of not having them retwisted since the party. The man was full of surprises. "You didn't tell me you did braids. I would've hit you up for this back on the academy!" There weren't an infinite amount of species with hair, and even many of the humans and near-humans had so many different hair textures. To have someone to tend to his locs was a new joy.

He leaned back into his chair, allowing Azar to undo his braids. He hissed when the comb first tugged through his curls, but he eventually settled into the braiding process. They would have some time in hyperspace before they were near Tund's system, out in the remote reaches of space. They decided to fill the gap in time with conversation, listening to Azar as he explained the intricacies of Sith hairstyles. He thought back to Wrea. It was common for the women of his tribe to braid the hair of the young minnows of Wrea. They would sing while they did it - haunting, angelic odes to the long history of their people deep beneath the waves. Vossari, motherless and distant from his tribe, had to learn to braid his own hair young.

"There weren't a lot of caretakers for me on Wrea." He said, relaxing back into the pilot's chair as red fingers combed through his braids. "But there was this one woman. She was called a witch, a sea-hag by the rest of my people." He remembered her grotto - a deep sea cave surrounded by kelp at a particularly dark corner of the ocean floor. She lived alone, her and her baubles, but she always had a presence to her.

"That witch used to braid my hair. Used to sing to me. It was her who taught me about my gifts, about the Dark Side, about how to use passion as a vehicle to power." He was too young to understand it, then, but it was her that had set this path in motion. Had she been a Sith in the past, he wondered? Or was she like many others in the galaxy - a Force user disillusioned by the distrust towards them, by the Jedi-like teachings of tranquility and peace in a world filled with violence and hate?

They sighed, quietly, as they summoned one of the droid pilots to the copilot's chair. He would let them steer while he enjoyed being tended to. He closed his eyes and just breathed as Azar worked his magic.

Some time later, Vossari opened his eyes and glanced into the mirror. He felt his braids - tight, heavy on his head. Azar had done well to pull off a style so intricate. "Yo, you killed it, princess." He chuckled a snort as Azar called him it in return. He supposed it was fitting: Vossari contained the haughty, preened, and dramatic attitudes of those he associated with the aristocracy.

"You said something about Sith royalty. I know the Order used to have an empress. But what's the motion now? Do your people have a..." What was the word? It seemed like Purebloods were on the rise in the Order. Did one of their planets have a new king? Or a ruling council or something? "I dunno. Like a ruling class? Who's in charge of the Sith peoples these days?"

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

It was oddly pleasant to just do this - no battle, no wars, no mission yet, just a quiet and soothing mutual existence. He didn’t have five fingers on each hand, but he more than made up for it with his dexterity. He held the comb between his teeth while he tightened up the braids, listening to Vossari speak of his life on Wrea. The planet sounded enchanting and otherworldly, and if Azar hadn’t been so terrified of oceans, he would have visited by now. His mind briefly flicked over to Nakoa - the only other Wrean he knew that also told him stories of their life.

At some point, Azar smiled faintly, turning to gaze at Vossari, “This witch…did she enjoy being called a witch?” He asked, “Was that a title she adopted or…was it one that was forced on her?” He asked, his eyes lingering on Vossari’s for a few moments before he allowed the Wrean to check out his hair in the mirror. The question about Korriban wasn’t surprising, but it caught him off guard all the same.

“We have castes,” Azar explained, “The priest caste, the warrior caste, the engineer caste and the slaves. I am Kissai, the priest caste,” He explained, “Those of us that are fully pureblood only have three fingers,” He raised his hand to show Vossari, “If you see those with more, they’ either have a genetic anomaly or they are hybrid,” Azar said, “The last time Korriban had a ruler was over two decades ago when Darth Raze defeated a steward king. He gave the crown to a woman named Darth Malacia who took the crown..and was shortly killed thereafter. Raze relinquished his rule and the planet fell back into disarray. Our people do not have a good history of assuming the throne and holding a united front under one banner.”

Azar paused there for a moment, considering his own ambitions, “No one is in charge because our people never know how to unite,” He said as he took slow steps, “No Pureblood in centuries has managed it. No one has had the drive, the passion, the strength, the charisma, the tenacity..” Azar moved till he stood in front of Vossari, gazing into the mirror with the taller Wrean standing behind him and both reflected in the mirror. Azar’s gaze fixed on his own reflection, “What do you think?” He asked with a dangerous glint in his eye, “Think I could pull off a crown?”

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Had she wanted to be called a witch? He didn't know how the name had stuck to her - merely that she was called it and she called herself it. "She embraced it...in her own way." He imagined it was a lonely existence that she had, living as a bogeyman all on her own. Yet, even as an elderly woman, Vossari always saw her as the ultimate being of freedom. She was unfettered by the cruelties of Wrean society that had made both of them outcasts. She seemed lonely, but she was self-possessed. Totally in control of her own world. It was what Vossari aspired for.

Castes, nobility, an exciting history...it seemed so adventurous, life on Korriban. Though Vossari knew, there, he would be just another part of the common rabble. Like he was on Wrea, on Nar Shadda, and now in the Sith. Common. Azar, on the other hand. seemed destined to rise above the flotsam of society like a bubble of air rising from the seafloor to the surface. Perhaps it was because of his noble birth, but he felt something deeper there. Azar already ruled the hearts of nearly every member of the Order, it seemed. All were drawn to that look in his eyes - the golden glow of unabated ambition.

"Oh, Azar. When I look at you," He ran a finger up the Sith's shoulder, stretching underneath his black locks to stretch across his red temple. He leaned down to whisper into Azar's ear. "I can already see the crown."

In mere moments, they would arrive to a font of power and history significant to all Sith, but especially Azar. It felt significant to share this with him, to learn the customs of his people.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

It was curious that the two likely had the same illusions of grandeur about the opposite’s planet. Azar envisioned Wrea as this magnificent world of rich culture, heritage, tradition and a timeless sense of identity. In Korriban he saw mostly disparate tribes and cities without unified purpose. Azar’s gaze remained on his reflection until Vossari leaned in, tracing a finger along his shoulder. That whisper against his ear sent a jolt down his spine. If there was one thing Azar found undeniably desirable about the Wrean, it was their fearless resolve.

“You play with fire far more than any Wrean ought to,” Azar said with a smirk, catching Vossari’s eyes in the reflection in the mirror. He turned to face the acolyte, staring into those hazel eyes that always burned with fire Azar had only seen in the Korriban forges.

“If you see the crown, then perhaps it will surprise you to learn that I am exiled,” He smiled at Vossari then, “My name was taken from me. I am motherless, fatherless…just as you,” Azar leaned in closer, “And yet you see the crown. Others can’t see the crown until you start seeing it for yourself,” He told the Wrean, reminding him to find his sense of purpose instead of letting anyone define it for him, “You must reach out and take it,” Azar said as he grasped fistfuls of Vossari’s nicely braided hair, “And never apologize.”

He said nothing more, yanking Vossari down to press their lips together. Until then, it had always been the Wrean making the first move. It was Azar’s turn now, and he took his time kissing them. The only difference was he didn’t stop this time, nudging Vossari back into the wall behind them. His hands worked to start undoing their clothing, a new kind of hunger in that kiss that hadn’t been there before. Things had simmered between them for long enough, and Azar wanted to act on his cravings.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari obliged every request of Azar's. He was hungry for Azar - he had been since ever they first met. Finally, in this moment of intimacy, of closeness, and of privacy, their bodies would give in to what Vossari had wanted for longer than he could admit to himself. He was longing, nimble, dexterous, and more than eager to please.

Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours as the pair rolled and threw their way around Azar's starship, as it slowly careened towards their eventual desperation. Eventually, a tired and sweaty Vossari retrieved that joint that he had stashed behind his ears. He retrieved a lighter from their intermingled clothes, using the force to spare himself from rising from the Sith's side. He lit it, taking a long puff before passing it to Azar. He rolled up to one side, to face Azar, his brown eyes gleaming with hope and doubt.

"Azar," it was a name he had a new appreciation for, gained at some point during this escapade. No need for a nickname when his true name felt like honey to say. "I..."

The starship shuttered to a stop as Azar's ship approached the Tund system. Vossari braced himself on Azar, cradling him as the Wrean grabbed onto the nearest countertop.

Vossari saved his thought for another time. Plucking the joint from Azar once more, he gestured to the viewport. The red planet Tund loomed in the distance, clouds swirling with the chaotic power of the arcane that crackled on the surface below. "Shall we?"

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was more than pleased with his time with Vossari. The Wrean was clearly creative in more ways than just with art. And Vossari had boundless energy that was almost tough to keep up with. Azar exhaled a content sigh, tired and craving a nap. Instead, he took drags from the joint, his entire body feeling as if every limb was filled with lead.

He glanced over to look at Vossari when he heard him say his name, catching a glance into those warm, chestnut eyes. As Vossari began to speak, Azar reached over to gently place a finger over his lips, “Perhaps best kept to yourself,” Azar said softly as he gave a tender smile at the Wrean. Of course Vossari wouldn’t. Vossari was as wild and stormy as the temperamental oceans on their planet. Azar wouldn’t like him any other way.

Azar yelped as the ship lurched out of hyperspace, wincing before he realized that Vossari cradled him in his arms. When the ship was stable again, Azar gently extracted himself, scoffing at Vossari’s suggestion, “You can be as disgusting as you want, I’m taking a shower,” He said as he got to his feet with a bit of a wobble after having contorted into interesting positions for a while. Azar took his time rinsing off and getting ready. Almost two more hours passed. Vossari could wait. If he snooped around the ship, he would find several evidences of protein powers, weights, lots of cooking utensils, aprons with inappropriate slogans, clothing for a far larger man, and a blade in a sheath that hummed with ominous energy.

Before long, Azar was back to the prim and proper Potion Master, adorned in black, formal robes and his vials and potions hidden away. He stepped down the ramp, feeling the pulse of the Force already, “The nexus…” Azar mused aloud, “Do you feel it?”

He took a moment to feel it surge through him, the Dark Side heeding his command easily. It felt good, “You do have a plan, right?” Azar asked with a quirked brow, “Now that we’re here?”

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

A quick sniff to Vossari's armpits was all it took to confirm that he was stinky. Sweat and adrenaline usually had that effect. But he lingered, puffing on marcan herbs and pulling out his datapad, moving to the ship's scanners to monitor their location. Make sure the two of them were safe.

Only civilian freighters occasionally came and left the range of their scanners over the course of the next two hours. It was more of a confirmation than a surprise - Tund was a relatively low-tech world, and unwanted outsiders were kept away from the world by the massive powers of their force-wielding rulers. They likely only had a token naval force, gathered around the holdings of the Sorcerer-Lords who ruled the jungles beneath. Though the Sorcerers were no longer Sith, the surge of Dark Side energy they used to power themselves was palpable. And with the dissolution of the Sith Empire, the Tundians would be overconfident in their power. It could be used against them.

Vossari confirmed on his datapad the location of their destination before searching about the ship for a snack. They saw all of Karys's things, carefully placed within the apartment. It didn't fill him with the rage he expected, but the longing sensation returned. Even when he wasn't here, Karys's presence was felt. Maybe it was a mistake for Vossari to keep entertaining these flights of fancy.

No. They had made a vow to themselves to never let anyone ruin their fun. Perhaps now, more than ever, was time to live out that mantra. They mixed themselves a protein shake while they smoked, scrolling listlessly as they did. When Azar emerged, fully dressed and perfumed, Vossari snuck back for a quick 10 minute shower, leaving his dirty clothes strewn about the ship. Azar had used all the hot water, so he settled for a mediocre, lukewarm shower, greedily using the exquisite Korribani soaps and oils to clean himself.

He emerged in another streetwear outfit. He pulled a long-black shawl and overcoat on himself, and now felt dressed for the days ahead. "A plan? Me?" Vossari laughed at the question. "Never." Vossari opened his datapad again, and tapped in coordinates to the ship's terminal. The pilot droids wordlessly began to bring their ship towards a landing site.

"What I do have is an interview." He smiled fangs. "One of the Great Houses of Tund needs a private tutor for their heir. Figure it's a place to start, and we can just sorta...scat from there, you know what I mean?" Vossari figured, all they needed was an entrance. For the door to be slightly open. Then, they could pry their way into the heart of Tund, and steal all their wizarding secrets and power for themself.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar’s brows rose when Vossari strutted out in that stylish attire. It was, again, nothing like the frumpy potato sacks he usually wore, “You keep dressing like that I may not want to leave the ship,” He said teasingly, shamelessly slapping the Wrean on the ass when they passed. Vossari had been hiding their beauty and was now rapidly embracing it, and it made them that much more compelling.

“And what’s my role going to be?” He asked with an amused grin as they walked. To his surprise, there was a luxury speeder waiting for them. Azar eyed it skeptically, especially as he slowly read the sign for the name.

Criativ Choclatte

Azar glared at Vossari, but said nothing.

“Hello, Mister Choclatte?” The driver asked, adding a very fancy twist to the stupid name, “And who are you?”

“Shadi Redding,” Azar said, already with his own idiotic name ready to go to keep with the theme, “I was asked to join last minute to interview as the ur-Kittat instructor.”

“Ah, very well,” The driver said with a sagely nod as the two slid into the speeder. Azar saw plenty of Toong as they passed, eyeing them curiously. The planet was temperate with verdant scenery as they rode. Azar was still not used to vast forests and rivers, the sight always catching his attention.

Eventually the speeder pulled up to giant gates that slowly opened to allow them into a massive courtyard. The manor looked like something out of a horror story - huge, overwhelming and with trees and a dark sky looming around it. Azar wondered if they came here to get murdered.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Azar acted quickly to come up with his cover. Had he not, Vossari would've named him 'Seymour Azz.' Oh well - could always save that for another adventure. At least they both had stupid names now. "It's Monsieur Choclatte, thank you very much." Vossari did his best impression of a stuffy Core Worlder accent. As they drove, the driver regaled them with hours worth of exposition about Tund. The Sorcerers, the Toong, the history of the crumbling manors and sweeping landscapes. All of this was incredibly boring to Vossari. He just wanted to get to the good part.

But the castle did catch his eye. As they approached, Vossari gently touched Azar's arm, and pointed at one of the gargoyles that sat menacingly on the gate. The manor was covered in them. "Wow, look at the details on those." His hand followed up to the pointed spires of the tower. "And the buttresses. It looks like they're following the Korribani building pattern." To support their grand buildings, the Korribani architects of old used external arched supports that transferred the lateral thrust of the vaulted ceilings to the building's exterior. It looked as if the architects of Tund followed course.

"Bravo, Mr. Choclatte. Yes, the Great Houses of Tund all reside in manors such as this, built after the exile of the Sith sorcerers to our planet." The driver pulled to a stop and opened the doors for Vossari and Azar to enter into the truly creepy manor.

Vossari stepped out into the courtyard as a gaggle of ravens launched into caws, flying away from the massive, stainlglass rose windows that decorated the central building of the manor. The windows looked like kaleidoscopic eyes, staring down at them. Vossasri pretended not to be afraid, though, and kept walking in a straight line through the massive, stone doors.

The sounds of organ music wafted through the air of the Manor, as the effervescent driver took them through the red-carpeted halls of the house. "Welcome, gentlemen, to the House al-Arakim." The organ music in the air reached a crescendo at the name - al-Arakim. "I apologize for this, but the grand tour will have to wait. The Sorceress and Lady Al-Arakim wishes to see you immediately."

The pair sped through dusty libraries and old, out-of-date foyers to eventually reach a massive throne-room. In here, the architecture was even more archaic, if such a thing was imaginable, and a set of old, stone chairs faced a massive throne smelted from bronze. Atop that throne sat a seemingly young and beautiful woman with a horned headdress. Nothing was as it seemed on Tund, though. A smile crawled to her face as fierce, serpentine eyes. Her smile grew as she she saw the Pureblood master enter the room.

<Monsieur Choclatte,> she began to drawl in a practiced, academic sounding Ur-Kittat. <You did not mention that you would bring a companion from the Old World.> A long nail reached up to touch her lip. <It is a pleasure.>

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar followed Vossari’s line of sight as they remarked on the gargoyles. While the creatures weren’t normally sculpted on Korriban, the architecture was Korribani. The pureblood’s brows rose, “How do you know so much about Korriban?” Azar asked them point blank.

The manor made him more uneasy by the second. As the ravens burst out, Azar gave a little scream, fiercely clutching onto Vossari while he ducked behind them. For all the ways he was the terrifying Potion Master, he still had things that made him jumpy. Azar stepped out and cleared his throat, pretending his theatrics didn’t just happen.

The organ music was unsettling. Somehow it was more eerie here than inside an old Sith tomb on Moraband or Korriban. Azar stepped through and looked all around, catching sight of the various old paintings to depict the lineage of these people. Their ancestors once looked closer to Purebloods, and he could see the dilution in blood over the years. The sight disgusted him, but the blame could also be put on his own people for allowing this to happen.

When the beautiful woman stepped out, Azar braced himself for Vossari saying something crude and stupid. Regardless of what the Wrean said, the Pureblood gave a formal bow, “I am Shadi Redding,” He introduced himself, regretting his own name choice, “I was told there was a need for an ur-kittat teacher,” Azar said, bullshitting through his teeth.

The woman gave a polite laugh, <Mm, no, but undeniably it is needed,>She said with a glint in her eye, <Please come this way so you can meet Samara.>

She opened a door at the very end of the corridor and it was lined with porcelain dolls. Each one was fixed with a piercing stare and a smile that extended far too wide. There was a little girl sitting on the floor playing with what looked like a monster mask. There was a detached doll arm through one of the eye sockets.

"Samara, these will be your teachers,"The woman said with a forced smile, “Well, gents, make yourselves comfortable, I will tell the workers to get dinner prepared,” She said as she booked it from there. Azar turned to ask a question but she was long gone.

The little girl looked up with a creepy smile and a dead stare. She looked right at Vossari, tilting her head all the way to one side and revealing a wide grin, "Will you draw something for me?" She said with a high pitched, child-like voice.

Azar, deeply unsettled, started mumbling some excuse to go find a refresher. Unless Vossari stopped him, he too would bolt out of there as fast as possible.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

"I don't know shit about Korriban, Az-...Redding. I took an art history class at the academy." They shrugged, reflecting back on the dreadfully boring Umbaran professors, but the incredibly interesting, sandswept architecture of the Korribani people...

Vossari smirked when the Sorcerer's eyes fixed on him, even though, somewhere deep in his primal mind, he felt like a mouse before a panther. <My Ur-Kittat is horrible, but I'll show you what else this mouth...> He trailed off quietly, captured by Madame al-Arakim's unrelenting gaze. "Yes. Let's meet Samara." As the long corridor wound towards a particularly dark and depressing hovel in the manor. Vossari stared on as this little girl began to speak to him in his exact same voice, with a childish, high-pitched tinge.

That was a little weird, but nothing Vossari couldn't handle. "Yeah, sure thing, Samara. But first, you have to help me with something. A DANCE BREAK!" Had Vossari been carrying his boombox this whole time? A song kicked out, loudly droning out the operatic organ music that had filled the halls. As Azar sped out, Vossari, desperate to make a good impression on his interview, decided to demonstrate some of his unique hirable attributes for a developing demonspawn: His motivational energy.

Samara stared blankly as Vossari began to boogie his heart away. "What? No, I told you to DRAW!"

Vossari continued to glide around the rotten room as he snatched the paper from the little demon girl's hands and grabbed a marker. "Okay, Samara, I'll draw you something." Still sliding about the room, he began to draw. "What do you wanna see?"

Samara's festering grin widened. "People. Dying." She chucked in her weird, hi-pitched imitation of Vossari. Vossari continued to skirt about the room, scribbling in marker as he did so. Eventually, he handed her a scribbled drawing of stick figures with blood shooting out.

"Ta-da." Vossari replied.

She looked unenthused.

(charm the demon child roll: 10/20)

Lightning struck as Azar left the halls to frantically search for a refresher. The halls seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. It was like a maze, each row lined down with fetid, red carpeting. Eventually, an aging, wooden door indicated a refresher. A horrid, sloshing sound came from behind the door. Does Azar dare enter?

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar heard that infernal boombox again and he felt rage building up just as it had on Saleucami. Fortunately, he was quickly speeding away from the scene. Thunder resounded loud enough to make the windows rattle and shake. Azar could have sworn he saw figures and shadows illuminated every time there was a crack of lightning.

Fortunately, Azar actually had zero intentions of going to a refresher. It was some bullshit excuse to make a hasty exit from the demon girl. The door with the sloshing sounds behind it was promptly ignored and he turned to the left. Azar soon realized that the door to go back to the main chambers was locked.

“What the..” Azar took a step back, attempting to call the Force to himself to burst through the door. For some reason, he couldn’t channel it effectively. There was something happening with the nexus on the planet and he felt oddly weak. Azar turned to the right just as two misshapen figures began to move towards him. There was a spray of what appeared to be blood coming out of them as they lunged towards Azar.

Without the Force at his disposal, he turned and bolted back towards Vossari. By then the song from his stupid boombox changed into something else. Azar scrambled towards the room right as Vossari was moonwalking backwards out of the doorway. It was a full on collision, both of them sent tumbling into the opposite wall. Azar caught a glimpse of Vossari’s drawing and it had an uncanny resemblance to the figures that were chasing him.

“WHAT DID YOU DO YOU FUCKING IDIOT?!??!?!?” Azar screeched, unable to channel the Force. So he settled for grabbing Vossari by the shoulders and vigorously shaking them. The Pureblood rolled off Vossari, spotting the bleeding figures advancing on them, “Draw them lying down DRAW THEM LYING DOWN!” Azar screamed at Vossari.

Meanwhile the little girl could be heard cackling loudly above even the music.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari remained dancing, enraptured by the command of the demon child while the creatures ran towards them. Vossari only faintly registered Azar's cried for help, so taken was he by following Samara's orders. The gravity of the situation sunk in once Azar literally grabbed him, shaking them away.. Vossari tried to scribble them away, but only added malfigured limbs to the existing stick drawings. They ran, galloping, in the direction of Azar and Vossari. He shredded the paper in half and felt a ripple of pain on his back, as if his wounds hand reopened and blood ripped out. Vossari fell to his knees, briefly, but the drawings split apart and rippled into the wind as a black, chalky dust. The pain awoke him from whatever stupor he was in.

Vossari looked around. The child was gone. But her laughter remained in the air. Cackling. It was as if it was coming from the boombox. Azar and Vossari were left in a dark, cold room with nothing but the wriggling eyes of dolls from the floor, all turned towards them. Vossari felt the spell had taken him roll through his system. "I have no idea what just came over me." He pulled Azar's wrist and exited the room, slamming the door to avoid looking at those dolls any longer.

He held the journal firm in his hand, and his eyes met Azar's. "Sorcerers. They're illusionists and enchanters at heart." So they had heard, at least. Their rituals and magic was half the reason Vossari was here - Was this all the power of the Sorcerers? Was the seemingly narcotics-induced trip the last few minutes had been caused by them? "I'll keep a better lid on." Perhaps Azar's power and skepticism of the situation protected his mind from the strange power of Tundian sorcery.

"Maybe I should've asked more questions about the job interview." The shadows seemed to run longer and longer in the halls of the manor, and the halls began to look unfamiliar. Through meticulously crafted glass windows, the purple, rumbling clouds that had marked their entrance now stretched out all across the horizon. The only light that broke through the sea of stormclouds was the occasional bolt of lightning.

Vossari opened the bedroom door once more, and what was the child's bedroom was now a broom closet, with nothing but an hold coat and a dusty broom inside. More trickery. "But why..." Vossari thought out loud, racking his brain to make sense of the situation. It was obviously the work of the Sorcerer al-Arakim. Right? Was this whole manor a maze?

Vossari vice-gripped Azar's wrist with his hand and slowly pointed down the wall, back the way we came. "You, uh..." They tried to bury their nerves once more, but beads of sweat rolled down their face. Palpable confusion was there, and with confusion came fear. "You think we go back the way we came?"

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was still processing everything that was happening, the room with the little girl shifting and changing. The only thing that anchored him to reality was Vossari’s vice-like grip on his wrist. Azar began to wonder if the Wrean was actually there, the thought unsettling. He let Vossari have his meltdown as he assessed the situation, trying to keep his own thoughts from going haywire.

Vossari opened the door and the girl’s room was a closet. When he spoke of going back the way they came, Azar shook his head. He turned to regard the Wrean, catching the beads of sweat and terror in their eyes. The Pureblood exhaled and placed a hand along the side of his face, “Look at me,” He said, his voice firm and anchored, “I need you to focus,” Azar explained, “Any path out of here is within the designs of the sorcerers,” He said, “That’s why a new one must be created,” His gaze flicked to the wall in the back of the closet behind Vossari.

Azar looked to the sketchpad that he now knew was a cursed and twisted object, “You have to draw it. It will pull from you…from us,” He added with a nod, not drawing his arm away from where Vossari gripped it, “Focus.”

If Vossari worked on creating a new doorway, it would pull from his blood and siphon from his Force reserves. However, he would also begin to notice lacerations appearing on Azar’s arm where he gripped it, the Pureblood supplying his strength to create such a powerful exit.

The shadows continued to loom and it was certain that al-Arakim had intended to consume both of them in some shape or form.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari's racing mind eased with Azar's voice, like the siren's call on a stormy night at sea. Vossari's features softened at his firm touch, nodded deliberately when Azar spoke to him. His counsel was brilliant, and Vossari realized that he was right. They held the power themselves, right in Vossari's own hand. It was time to write a new chapter on this story, to cut through the illusions of the Tundian witchcraft.

Vossari turned to a new page in the journal. He closed his eyes as he pictured it - a path forward, enshrined in golden glow, to cut through this fog of Tund's mysticism. As pen touched paper, the pain returned. This is what resolve was - to see a way forward when no one else could. To make an opportunity where none existed. This was not the first time Azar had done such a feat. On Saleucami, he had turned Vossari's blithering mistakes into a foothold for power. He had heard the same from Zygerria. Such was the power of an alchemist: The ability to turn a common lump of coal into gold itself. Azar had that effect on situations, able to seize victory from the jaws of defeat at a moment's notice. He seemed to have that effect on people too.

With Azar's strength at his side, he felt limitless. Each penstroke took all his willpower to draw, but he remained resolved. A path slowly sketched itself to life in the hallway - with cartoonish bricks of gold and lined by blood-red torchlight. They needed vision to reach where they were headed next. While he did not know the layout of this building, in his heart he felt a destination: The heart of the manor. Al-Arakim had made a terrible mistake in attacking two Sith. She would soon realize that.

Each step on the long, straight path took strength. And with each step, the pair would feel a pulse of the Dark Side. Rhymthic, steady, strong, like a heartbeat. It only grew in strength as the path reached out ahead of them. Vossari's fear returned - his panic. But he would not fail this, not make a fool of himself in this moment. They trudged forward as the path continued to form in front of them.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar winced as pain laced through his arm, blood seeping from his wounds. It was a high price, but it was perhaps the only way out of the maze crafted by their captors. With each cut to their flesh, the new path began to form. Azar didn’t know where it led, but he trusted in Vossari to design it. While he would have drawn a path out, he had a feeling the Wrean would take them right to the enemy. Vossari never backed down and right now Azar didn’t want to either. No, he wanted to defeat her and then he wanted to devour and consume her mind.

He stumbled through the path, both Sith leaving a trail of blood in their wake. The Dark Side hummed and pulsed through them and Azar prepared himself. He knew this kind of sorcery, and he would turn their weakness into a weapon.

The woman hadn’t been expecting them to burst out into the center of the manor itself. She stood there in her true form, half her face skeletal with the flesh torn away, illuminated with each strike of lightning to herald the storm that truly raged outside. She had been alive far too long, had grown far too confident and believed herself to be above mortal mishaps. She had sent her guards outside of the manor to chase the Sith down, but here they were right in the heart of it all.

The woman channeled the Force to herself, preparing to attack, “You have no power here,” She cackled, “You were a fool to return!”

Azar was a step ahead, pressing one hand against own arm. He chanted ancient, ritualistic phrases in ur-Kittat, his gaze on the woman. She could block them from using the Force in the traditional sense, but not ancient Sith sorcery.

Before she could attack, Azar paid with his blood and pulled from his wounds, powerfully surging the Force. The entire room began to rumble, Azar’s eyes glowing white as he summoned the strengths of his ancestors. The woman began to shriek, agony taking over her as spirits invaded her mind and spirit. She was being torn apart in the astral plane with swift vengeance. If Vossari looked, Azar would be bleeding from his nostrils, mouth and his eyes, but the rage and determination to strip her apart in every essence of the word held fast. She slammed herself against walls, clutching at her clothing, her hair, nails clawing away at walls till they peeled right off and turned bloody.

The woman’s scream was music to his ears, even as she attempted to shoot a stream of lightning in them by channeling her pure agony. If Vossari didn’t block it, he would be in the direct line of fire.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari watched on as that hot mamacita revealed herself to be a horrid corpse. That's the way life goes sometimes.

Azar's display of strength would not go alone. Just as he had aided Vossari with his blood, Vossari would lend their blood, in turn, to help Azar attack. Red blood poured away from both of them to create a blood-red mist. Azar, communing with the spirits of his ancestors, could not see it. But Vossari could. And they saw the blood pour out of the two of them into a cloud of red shadow. Figures formed around the room, swirling and concentrating on Azar. From the bloody clouds, Vossari could barely make them out - piercing eyes hidden beneath long cloaks. The specters stretched their three-fingered hands out towards Azar, lending their strength to their living descendant. The power of the Sith Ancestors was made manifest, for what individual could ever hope to compare against the strength of an entire lineage, birthed in sand and blood, all focused onto one target? The specters multiplied as more and more of the Azar's long-dead family emerged from the grave to heed his call to strike.

As the witch charged her lightning, Vossari broke off his concentration to draw once more. In his mind, he needed something strong enough to protect him and Azar for the final push. He conceptualized and drew it, rapidly - a giant, bubble-text formatted shield formed in front of him, made with the last of Vossari's strength. Voss gripped onto it and stepped in front of Azar as he continued his attack. The stream of lighting would have to pass through him to reach Azar.

Perhaps it was the strength of this strange artifact, or perhaps it was because her power and the artifact came from the same source, but the shield held. A barrage of lightning crashed into the shield. Vossari felt it. He felt every tendril of electricity crackle. The pain was deafening. As the shield was made from his own blood, it took his willpower to hold it together. Every part of him wanted to dive out the way, to release himself from this torture, but he had suffered to get here. When Param had electrocuted him on her ship. When Karys had choked him on Umbara, knocked him on Nar Shadda. When he had been burnt on Saleucami. It was Azar, then, who used his unyielding resolve to save Vossari from themself.

Vossari would not break.

After her final gasp of lightning, Azar's attack fully rended her flesh from her body. The withered collection of her bones fell from the ceiling, collapsing to the ground ineffectually. Vossari was left huffing, on the ground, spine tingling from the shock of power that had reached him. He looked to Azar and shared a pained smile. "You..." They huffed. "You did it."

With her death, the veil of illusions that hung over the manor lifted. It would take time for Vossari and Azar to recognize the changes. First and foremost, the pair would notice the room they were in...change. The rhythmic heartbeat of the Dark Side faded with her death, but it was replaced with an all-consuming weight of a Dark Side Nexus. She had tied her power to the nexus that the manor sat atop. Without her siphoning its energy, it was now free, released into the the world writ large.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

The attack on the woman was powerful enough to tear through any illusion she created. The manor itself began to shift and change around them, their reality blurring into abstractions. Colors meshed together and the sounds of the storm grew even louder. At some point Azar caught Vossari standing in front of him, throwing up a shield against the woman’s attacks.

At the end of it all, Azar collapsed into a heap. The manor’s true form was revealed as open, vacant ruins. Moss and overgrown flora was everywhere and it was clear no one had set foot in this area in decades. The ceiling had collapsed and rain poured over them both. Azar simply lay on his back on the floor, gazing up at the cloudy sky. The rain washed away his blood and he was entirely soaked, but he couldn’t muster the strength to move. Vossari’s words drew out a chuckle as he spat out some water.

“You did..big fish,” Azar said with a faint smile as he spat out some more blood. He had no desire to move, so he simply focused on that nexus. It would slowly empower him again and fill up his depleted reserves. Azar tilted his head to look at the Wrean, who was entirely in their element with all the rain, “Why did you step in front of me?” He asked, his voice weak, “You could have died if your stick figure shield didn't work...” Azar smirked, closing his eyes from the pain.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Rain poured down on the pair of them, beneath the crumbled ruins of the old manor. It instantly replenished him - that and the font of power they found themselves on. As raindrops rolled down their faces, Vossari huffed and puffed triumphantly. It was obvious, to him, why he saved Azar. Vossari was self-interested, sure, but he had a vision that extended far beyond himself. He was loyal to the Sith. Those who embodied their principles were the true masters of the galaxy, the threads of fate pulled by their hands alone. The Dark Lord was so named Tempest because her power was that of the storm and the gale - uncontrollable by the weak hands of mortals. The Sith were limitless.

Azar was a leader of the Sith. One of their few Masters. It was only fitting that an acolyte should risk their own life for them. But he knew there was something deeper there, buried far beneath the surface. Deep within Vossari, he could still picture the moment his weakness began to fester, on Saleucami, when Vossari's idiocy had gotten him shot. He couldn't let that happen again. "We'd be dead if not for you." A few times over. Vossari knew he was a lot to handle. He knew he caused trouble.

He almost couldn't help it. It was like they bumbled and blundered through life, mistake after mistake. Time spent with Azar was a salve to that: when they were together, it felt like music. "I couldn't do this without you."

@Sreeya