Fortress of Tawntoom

Vullorr nodded to the Royal Guardsman.

=Vullorr=
He will be informed of your arrival as well as the Greater Roon representative and the full details of your mission.

The Sith then motions for Azrea to follow him as she would need to be returned to the turbolift that took her from the bowels of the fortress. Mysterious, Xazatar had vanished during this conversation. The older Human walked with Azrea as he showed her the way back.

=Vullorr=
Xitan is among several Acolytes who are highly favored by the Supreme Leader. An Acolyte wouldn't have command of a ship and a legion after all. These individuals will likely lead the future of the Eternal, one day, and assist the Supreme Leader and the Council in our plans more than others.

The most promising of the next generation Xitan and his colleagues were.

=Vullorr=
Is there anything else you need, Commander Thrune?

Azrea Thrune

Vullorr halts at the turbolift entry and then turns to the Imperial Guardsman.

=Vullorr=
Then go forth and prove yourself, Commander Thrune.

The Sith then departs Thrune and proceeds to return to the depths of the fortress to continue his work for the Sith Eternal. Likely, the vessel that would be her means of transport was likely in orbit as they spoke and awaiting her arrival.

A hydraulic hiss sounded as a wide set of doors on one side of the hangar split apart, revealing a towering figure encased in dark metal, radiating an aura of despair and barely contained violence. The dim lighting of the bay hardly reflected off the armour encasing ancient bones and intricate mechanics, so gore encrusted was its exterior. With the helmet visor locked in the up position, the leering skull of the Sith elite warbot known as Krell could be seen, illuminated by two crimson glowing photo-receptors protruding from its eye sockets. It took a step forwards, mechanical joints screeching shrilly with every grinding movement. Stinking of death and the rotten wilted nature of decay, Krell advanced towards Kel-Sin, a cape of freshly flayed keshiri skin billowing behind it in the faint breeze of the open hangar doors.

Little was known about the entity called Krell, save that the ancient war machine had come into the possession of the Great Devourer many years ago when Dragus had assumed the throne of Onderon, as brief as that venture at nobility had been. Many believed the Hungering One had constructed the technological terror himself, though nothing could be further from the truth. Once, long ago, Krell had been a living breathing man in service to the mighty Freedon Nadd, the Sith King of Onderon. For his unwavering service in life, his bones were encased in a metal shell upon death, bent to serve as a tomb guard for his master's grave after his physical demise. Coopting the warbot's loyalty had proven a challenge, even for one as steeped in the malevolent fey as the saurian Sith, but eventually Krell had been bent to Dragus' purpose.

Krell came to a stop a body lengths distance from the Falleen, chains jingling about his armoured waist, each ending in a gore slicked hook fitted with the severed head of a keshiri slave. He had just come from the monolith being constructed on Roon's orbital satellite at the behest of his cruel master, so there hadn't been time to clean up as of yet. The handle of a massive great sword protruded over his metallic shoulder, nearly as tall as the warbot's seven foot height. Its head bent towards Kel-Sin, seeming to inspect the acolyte of the Sith Eternal cult. When it spoke, the words boomed from a vocal-output unit fitted between the jaws of its yellowed skull, though there was something else as well. An almost ethereal whisper from something physically absent mingled with the machine's mechanical tone, something...wicked.

"You are Kel-Sin." It spoke knowingly. "I have been instructed to accompany you on your mission to ensure its success."

Usually Krell didn't say much of anything at all, not unless questioned directly by the Hungering One. For the sake of the mission, however, his leash had been slackened considerably.

Packed lunch? With a creak that bespoke a desperate need for lubrication, the Sith elite warbot inclined its cybernetic head, photo-receptors analyzing Kel-Sin with curiosity while programmed subroutines attempted to decipher the spoken expression. Cross-referenced with a hundred different similar phrases, the mechanical minion of the Hungering One derived meaning from it, understanding in its own way what the Falleen had meant. The ceaselessly leering skull trailed from Kel-Sin to the crate containing the alter and then back again before nodding.

"Indeed, though the feasting won't begin in earnest until we have arrived at our destination. The master..." Obviously referring to the Sith Eternal's dark apothecary. "...has commanded that I escort the device to Ryloth personally."

Steam hissed from hydraulic joints and bubbled the congealed remains of blood on the alchemically altered tomb guard's armoured frame as it took a seat opposite Kel-Sin.

"If you live long enough..." The words boomed from the speaker between the skull's jaw. "...you may even see what it is for."

Kel-Sin's thinking was of course accurate. This was to be more than a simple gathering of slave fodder for the flesh markets and the dark apothecaries experiments. It was an opportunity to fuel the device. Krell was a contingency in case something went wrong, for the object encased in dark metal could not be risked to fall into the hands of someone outside the cult. That said, this was still the Falleen's mission to lead, with Krell only serving as an extra set of hands and perhaps an executioner should he fail in his task. There was no room for weakness among the followers of the Three Emperors, no place for failure. The only option was to succeed and savor the rewards of a job well done. The alternative was death.

I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it on the air.

A hiss left the bared teeth. The Zabrak knelt and removed a glove, placing his red hand on the surface: he could feel the pulsating heat in waves, lurking just beneath the crust of the planet's surface, a living furnace. The pull of the dark in the planet had been strong, like a stream of darkness and like veins under the skin it ended on such a place, a derelict volcano. A fortrest stood at the top, like an evil nest. The yellow eyes glanced the towering structure beneath the black hooded robe. The red-lensed spy droids hovered around, their pincers moving.

This should not be inhabited. But lectures are right... and I can feel it.

The ship he had left in a wood clearing, not quite far away, cloaked. A sleek black-hulled speeder bike rested next to the Sith, its engine still purring. When he stood again one could glance the long hilt of a silvery twin-bladed lightsaber, pending from the leathern belt of cured rancor pelt. The Sith placed his hand again on the glove, flexing his fingers, the fabric tense over the ink-engraved skin and the bones. The Zabrak frowned.

This presence... somehow... I never felt. This is new

After abandoning Iridonia, past kin and retainers, he found himself stranded, traversing the stars with no destiny on sight. Savage dwelled on the Force, meditating, expanding his mind. Finally, almost by chance, he felt a pull, a touch, darkness like tendrils, probing his conciousness, seeking his power in return. He sought the source, crossing hyperlanes in search of a planet that seemed lost. The Sith could cross the Cloak of the Sith using the Force, letting it guide his helm. The name of such a fringe of space made him smile: the darkness emanating from the planest nested within resonated powerfully within the Dark Side. Such, he could not resist the call, and that was the reason why the exiled Sith found himself far from any place he ever called home, in Roon, at the feet of a volcano's steep slopes. The binocolars showed a way to the top, and the red-and-black skinned Zabrak mounts his bike, heading up to the fortress crowning the broken peak and dominating the surrounding landscape like an evil cancerous growth.

The presence had turned intoxicating as he climbed, and he could feel his mind probed and inspected -interestingly enough, he did not feel, for once in an age, the presence of his father, that wound of the Force-. The young Sith then sensed three Dark siders, they were so very different, but clearly, their wills were unmistakable, they were as he were. It remained to be seen how strong or what their intentions were. Obscure are the ways of the Sith. Finally, one decided to make a jump, trying to take him by surprise, and surprise him he did, but by calling out his name.

They know me... interesting.

Thought Savage, as he stood and leaped on the seat, flexing his boot clad legs, just as he raised the speed, letting the bike slam itself against the lumbering foe. Mid air he grabbed the lightsaber hilt with the Force and he landed like a cat, both feet on the ground. Expecting the bike not to be anything but a distraction at best, he ignited one of his blades, crouched and dashed forward amidst the wreckage, silently, slicing from side to side, it all happened fast, in a mere instant. He was using Juyo, as many other adepts of twin-bladed weapons, but with a single blade ignited, as to test his foe, there were elements of Niman on his movements.

From further up, Vullorr and Melabor observed the fight between Garrax and Craxious.

=Melabor=
What do we know this male?

Vullorr takes a moment to look at his colleague before refocusing on the duel below.

=Vullorr=
A son of the pretender Sith'ari, Viox Savage. I heard he sought to claim Iridonia for himself, but vanished for a time after. His mentor was a then reigning Jen'ari it seems. The name of the Sith was... Darth Malvus. He too vanished from public life after a split, from what it appears. This was prior to the recent recession of the Imperium.

Vullorr spoke from the files made by Xazatar's agents. Thankfully, there was plenty of pertinent information found in the archives left by the Blackguard Imperium. It was mostly political information that was put together by what wasn't corrupted deliberately and deleted. The information involving Iridonia had been in a military report while the mention of Craxious' master was found in what remained of political articles. However, how did they know this Zabrak was a son of Savage? The Supreme Leader. Their overlord had felt it in the Force and sensed Craxious through the Dark Side.

Melabor glances at his associate.

=Melabor=
Who do you think will emerge victorious?

This time, Vullorr doesn't do the same.

=Vullorr=
It's not a matter of victory. It's a matter of showing how skilled he is.

==============================

When it came to larger projectiles, Craxious was right about the blade of Garrax slashing them in half and cutting them away. However, the smaller rocks and pebbles was a different story. They contacted with flesh, some biting a bit deeper than others to make scratches become little slits where blood came out. But none of this seemed to bother the Fist of the Eternal. Rather, the pain felt good to Garrax! Pain that could relish in, draw upon, and unleash upon his opponent. His own blades batted away the thrusts and the stabs, the gleeful look on the male's face hardly faltering.

=Garrax=
A mosquitoes! A mosquitoes of a Sith!

The Sith let out a bellowing laugh before allowing his expression to become more sinister. The gleeful look turned, once more, into crazed hunger. A hunger for battle and glory! Garrax rushed forward, aiming to connect lightsaber with lightsaber. His heavy blows were intended to force his foe back and give up ground. This is what he loved: forcing his foes on the defensive, watching them try to deflect his raw attacks. This was battle! This was dueling! This was what truly made him feel alive!!!