Dim, reddish light cast itself across the volcanic plains of Oricon as black boots pressed into the ash of its plains, the distant crackle and blast of active calderas echoing across the empty fields. The air, a distinctive mixture of frigid cold and updrafts of hot air from the planet's broken skin, swept up to his robes, ashen winds caressing against a face with no eyes. Empty sockets behind a strip of black velvet peered blindly upon the planet, and the fortress looming up before him, and saw with a depth no mortal eyes could comprehend.
The Force illumined the moon of Oricon; reality swirled before the eyes of the Miraluka in tones of blue, some pale and faint as the currents of the wind. Others painted a deep indigo and azure picture, as shapes and textures drew themselves as varied shades upon the black canvas of his mind. Above, the stars were unseen, as were the clouds of the planet; instead, a canvas of black, lightly touched by fading currents of flowing blue and silver. All of that ended when he looked upon the Palace before him.
Deep red, the color of fresh blood splashed upon the walls, the Dread Fortress' visage tore at the corners of its mind as it howled out the colors of the Dark Side. This was his goal; this was where he was meant to be.
Vivackus Kavon's eyeless gaze held steady as he travelled onward, the edges of a broken mind reeling as it worked within the head of another man. Colors from his past, the red of slick blood, the sapphire tones of a clear sky, the depths of an ocean - these were memories from an earlier time, a time before the great Civil War on the planet of Korriban. Memories from when he'd had a human form, before he'd been laid low, left at the precipice of death.
His old Master would have left him there, to die. A new Master - the Dark Lord Esoteric, enemy of the Brotherhood - had given him a different gift. One stolen from another, one too weak to hold the Dark Side's might at bay.
The di Plagia's boots pressed from ashen plains onto finely-hewn black stones as they pushed onward, loose-fitting black robes slashed with white and blue flowing upon the currents of hot wind from below as he took his first steps upon the singular bridge that led into the Fortress. A wide moat of exposed lava surrounded the fortress, eternal fire that threw up glowing clouds of burning microscopic rock, their glowing embers burning tiny scars into the thick cloak that shrouded his approach. His eyeless gaze was wary, glancing up at towering walls of blackened permacrete, scarred superficially with the ravages of ancient weaponry, tools of Jedi and Sith from the ancient past. None of them had held the might to bring down the mighty walls. As he strode the length of the bridge, beyond the menacing glare of the walls' lonely entrance, he kept the Dark Side's power near to his grasp. In a place like this, it was easy to find, and he would soon have need of it.
The spies of Clan Plagueis, his allies in Darkness, had given him warning. A Jedi had come to Oricon ahead of him, his purposes unknown. Many would have said the Light Side posed no threat; a Sith knew better. Only a dead man dropped his guard.
His ebon cloak, pitted and pockmarked by the burning rock outside, trailed a path through a thin veneer of ash that had settled over the cracked stone of the Fortress. Age had taken its toll; massive obelisks seemed to grow up from the ground, their razor edges and flat planes worn and split by the passing of time where ancient combat hadn't shattered them outright. Durasteel braziers above burned even still, their metal charred black and their heat powered not by wooden fuel, but by the aura of hatred that permeated this place.
Tones of blood surrounded Kavon now, the distant blues of the natural world outside faint even from the doorway; flames burned a bright scarlet, while stone walls and floors reflected deep hues of crimson limned by lighter hues that defined edges and corners. As Kavon approached, his wary gaze turned away from the visceral hues of the walls and ceilings, away from the faint outlines of metal chains hanging from the walls and ceilings above. As he neared the twin staircases ahead - passages to the darkest secrets of the Fortress - the unbroken red began to give way, parting and swirling around a glowing aura of pale blue, almost silvery-white. It was an aura that he, new to this life of blindness and Force sight as he was, recognized immediately.
This was the Light Side of the Force; it glowed brightly within the frame of the old man before him, his back held straight and his burly frame standing proudly in the Darkness. That he was old could not be contested; subtle clues in his body language, the way he held himself, his calm, deliberate breath, even his relaxed stance bespoke wisdom found only with extreme age. Silvery lines flowed across him with the Force, etching the fine details of a blunt yet kindly face, the wrinkles and hard lines that only a life of hardship could bestow. The eddies of the Light twisted and curved around a long mane of wild, unkempt hair, flowing down his back as his thick and bushy beard flowed from his face and down his chest. The long hilt of a lightsaber, its details harder to make out in ethereal sight than the living being clutching it, rested within long, calloused fingers. The man's eyes, Kavon could not discern; yet he felt their gaze, and suspected they would reflect a fire within, an open challenge of the spirit against the cold void that had once rested behind Vivackus' human orbs.
"You do not run for cover, or hide for a better vantage point," Vivackus said coldly, the tones of his voice carrying an icy chill that grew outward from the dispassion of a Sith-trained heart. "Why are you here, old one? Do you seek death?"
The old man smiled as the Force twisted around his face, illumining the clarity of facial lines used to such a gesture. He was so calm; most beings felt turmoil before battle, one that turned the details of their aura into a storm of flurried light. That Kavon could so clearly see him was testament to his lack of strife; where even most Jedi were a raging tempest of discipline and restraint, this man was as a pond on a clear day, untouched by the winds beyond. He did not move, did not respond to the subtle taunts of the Sith - a fact that internally set Kavon's hackles on edge. This man would not bend with a few words; such beings never went down without a fight.
Liam's own gaze peered out from twinkling brown eyes, heavy brows and lashes framing them as he looked the man over. To his gaze was not presented a maelstrom of scarlet, but rather a dim blackness broken only by the orange haze of the fires above. He spoke calmly, as his gaze took in murals cut into black stone, depictions of torment and domination. "Twilight falls upon us all one day, Sith, whether we seek it or not." He chuckled faintly. "I am here because of you. It is rare, that your Ascendant Clan gives the Jedi of Odan-Urr hints about your dark purposes. So when we want to stand in your way," He replied, "We need only let you know we are coming to do so, and you find us all by yourselves."
The Sith's mouth drew into a hard line, as he took hold of his lightsaber's hilt in his right hand. The old man's ramblings annoyed him already - that his strategy of hiding in plain sight had worked was insulting. "Death, then," He said, as his blue blade shot free with a snap-hiss.
Liam stared him down in reply, his heartbeat steady, face calm as it had ever been. He stood before this avatar of the Dark Side with a peace born only to those in their golden years. Taking up his long hilt in a firm two-handed grip, he shot forth one green blade, its forest hues shining an unwelcome light on the ruins of the Dread Masters of old. His stance widened, knees bending slightly as he turned his frame away from the foe, reducing the exposed surface of his body. The Sith watched it all, his stance unchanged, incorporeal vision studying his foe's every move. The Warden's smile faded to a look of determination, as he gave a silent nod.
Vivackus hardly needed the invitation; with the silence of the grave, he sprinted forward, his blade darting in a two-handed grip to pierce the Consular's heart.
A crackle of plasma on plasma shot through halls left silent for eons, as the two blades met and turned one another side, piercing attacks aiming for the vitals of the Jedi. Each was turned aside by the Jedi's weaving blade, his hilt turning almost like a quarterstaff as he dodged and blocked, curving through the air as if painting upon a sweeping canvas. Their feet danced and swept across the floor as their blades traced an ancient dance through the chill air of the Fortress, ashes and dust pushed aside by leather soles, one set fine and black as it faced off against well-worn brown. Their bodies wove the archaic tale of Jedi and Sith for an audience of silent stone and echoes of Darkness, each testing and probing the other as they went.
Kavon, his patience wearing thin, drew upon the Darkness to speed him. Feinting a strike to the chest, he pirouetted around the old man's guard, aiming a horizontal slash for his back. Torun didn't spin, as expected. Instead, he thrust the pommel of his saber out behind him, a second green blade flashing out to ensnare the deceptive blue weapon in a growling lock. The old man's limbs had strength in them still, and speed - not many would have held against so fierce a strike, especially from behind.
The di Plagia's eyebrow raised appreciatively, as he gave a nod of appraisal. "You know the Jedi arts well." He said, breaking off the impromptu stalemate and hurrying backward, ready for a surprise attack. "Your movements show an ease most do not know. As if you'd learned this dance long ago. But tell me..." His mouth quirked up into a hard smirk, as he flourished his blade. "Do you know how to kill?"
Liam's own lips turned upward at the corners, that infuriatingly warm grin again. Even to the eyeless, it was as if looking at one's grandfather. His second blade slipped back into its hilt, as he took up his defensive stance anew. "When I have to."
