Arduous winds of an unnamed dead planet in the Unknown Regions beat down upon a slow-moving group of individuals. Laren Uscot, a Pantoran mercenary with a reputation for foolish choices, trudged through mountains of whirling sand and dust, the only remnant of life on the merciless world. He was followed by three other lightly armed soldiers known as Wraiths, they themselves bracing against the unyielding thrashing of the wind storms. They were the elite scout and reconnaissance force of the Ascendant Legion, one of the primary arms of the military of Clan of Dark Jedi known as Plagueis. Wraiths had seen action against dangerous factions of Jedi, vengeful Sith, and even the remnants of the Separatist armies. Each time these Wraiths, highly trained cousins of their Ravager brethren, met their quarry with silent determination and trained efficiency, managing to mow down their opponents with a deadly grace. It was unlikely those combat skills would be put to the test on their current expedition, but Laren was satisfied to have three Wraiths in support if the need arose. Once he had become Praetor to the Headmaster of the ever-maddening Dark Brotherhood, he realized that a little caution or paranoia went a long way to preventing an excruciating death at the hands of a vengeful Sith Lord.
In recent weeks, the wiry mercenary had found his luck to be turning around - though for the best, he couldn't be sure. First he had been abducted, tested, and subsequently hired by the reclusive Headmaster of the Brotherhood, Farrin Xies, to act as his top agent and representative in the field. He had been named Praetor, though he preferred to think of himself as a chief assassin or hiring manager. After a few weeks of recruitment, the Dread Lord herself recalled Laren back to Aliso. For reasons he could not puzzle out, politically or otherwise, his humourous exile to The Circle had been ended in a private ceremony. He had been named Aedile of one of Plagueis's two houses, though in private he had been given a different assignment. The Brotherhood was in turmoil, and the Grand Master was no where to be found. Selika intended to take advantage of the situation, tasking Laren and his team of Wraiths to seek out potential artifacts scattered across the Unknown Regions. The search that had begun on Aliso had taken them to six different systems thus far, though none of the coordinates she had provided led to any tangible artifacts or discoveries. But Laren had more pressing matters than mere recollection, including preventing his own death on this rotting world.
Now they found themselves deep in uncharted space, covered in sand and dust, nearing their target destination - hopefully.
"Only another two hundred metres." Laren could hear the inhuman voice through the commlink nestled in his right ear. Even through the howling winds, the voice was as clear and mechanical as if they were speaking face-to-face. "I'm reading faint traces of metallic alloys, along with other sentient-made materials."
"Could be anything, considering all the interference. Ready your weapons. I will maintain position on point."
The quick discussion was over. Laren didn't need to look back and see that his soldiers were preparing their blaster carbines as he was. They had been programmed to be the perfect warriors, and they could be re-programmed at will, if necessary. Their personalities had been extinguished, leaving behind husks filled with knowledge of war and death. A useful thing, indeed.
Two hundred meters could take an eternity in the conditions they were facing on foot. However, Laren had entrusted the designated second in command, T-Four-Nine, to ensure that he was both following his wrist scanner and their system-wide positioning system to their next target coordinate. They had followed the drone's course to the letter every time. Now they were pursuing their target location through thick clouds of whipping sand that seemed to clog even the smallest of openings on everything from blasters to datapads. He just hoped their scanners weren't askew and were about to lead them off a cliff. What they found, however, was cause for some concern.
A large dome-shaped structure stood in their path, and judging by the lack of rust or corrosion on its metal surface, a deflector shield must have been in place. A square doorway large enough to allow an AT-AT to pass through was located just off to the team’s left, perhaps a metre or so away. The rest of the structure seemed to be completely enclosed and untouched, with no visible traps or weapons to be seen. If Laren had to guess, the structure was unmanned, perhaps even designed to operate autonomously without sentient interference.
“Niner,” Laren began, referring to T-Four-Nine by the nickname he had made. “Get the team to spread out and scan this doorway. We –“
The massive doors were sliding open soundlessly. Perhaps there was some mechanical noise that could be heard, but over the relentless din of the endless sandstorm, nothing could be heard. Laren looked back at the surface of the dome and noticed sand was already beginning to coat its metallic surface. *The deflector shield is down*. Had someone been expected to arrive? He had too many questions, and too little time to answer them all. Something had to be done.
“We’re going in. Check your weapons, and clear the bloody sand out of your chambers.” Laren paused, looking inside to the dark expanse beyond. “And activate your light amplification goggles. We’ll probably need night vision in there.”
One by one, the four-person team stepped through the massive entrance and into the dark beyond. Laren was first, his DC-15 carbine cleared of sand and held ready. Light amplification goggles covered golden orbs, illuminating the grand interior of the gargantuan complex. There were no rooms or walls as far as Laren could see, which he guessed was around four hundred metres with the aid of the goggles. Large columns of the same metallic substance that formed the exterior of the gargantuan structure were driven into the still sandy surface below, though they were spaced far apart. At the near-centre of the structure was a bright object, a ray-shield that was holding a floating red crystal within. Around it, a crude altar made of hardened sandstone was etched with rough carvings of ancient lettering Laren could faintly recall, but not quite name. That, he guessed, was the source of all their adventures and trouble thus far.
“Should we spread out, my Lord?” Niner inquired.
Laren shook his head. “Have you never seen the bloody holovids? When we spread out, we’re picked off one at a time. No, stick together and watch your sectors.” Laren looked away from the Wraiths and took another look at the shimmering monument. He shivered, though it had nothing to do with the heat.
Motioning forward, the team progressed forward with guarded steps. The Wraiths cared not for what they were dealing with, for their orders demanded they retrieve any and all effects of interest on during their mission. Laren, however, struggled to hide conceal his nerves. They hadn’t encountered a single sentient being or droid on their entire expedition, and now they hadn’t faced any traps or defensive mechanisms upon entering this massive structure. Something was amiss, and they wouldn’t likely know until it was too late.
As they neared the monument, the red crystal – oddly smooth upon closer inspection, and almost seeming to be shaped by sentient hands into a bottle or lamp – seemed to spin and pulse within the rayshield. The crude lettering began to glow with the same intense light of the crystalline object inside the shield, and a throbbing hum filled their ears.
Suddenly, three blood-red bursts of light shot out at the three Wraiths. They hung in their air for a moment, enveloped in swirls of energy, before dropping to the ground with a dull thud. Their bodies were limp, and Laren didn’t need to proceed with a further inspection to know that all three were dead.
**WHO COMES BEFORE ME**.
The voice – if it could be called such – filled Laren’s mind. He dropped to his knees, letting his carbine clatter carelessly onto the desert sand below. He ripped off his goggles and gripped his pounding head, the voice filling him with infinite agony and simultaneous ecstasy. It filled his entire existence with wonderment and horror, and he had only enough control over his mind to regard the presence with an open jaw and widened eyes. And yet, he knew he must speak, for the voice willed it.
“One who searches for that which is lost.” Those had not been his intended words, but it was the truth. He could barely think over the looming force pressing on his conscious. Why had he told the truth?
A barking laugh filled his thoughts for a moment before solidifying once more into powerful words.
**IN LIFE, I GRANTED POWER OVER DEATH. IN DEATH, I GRANT POWER THROUGH LIFE. CHOOSE**.
“Choose? What in the hell am I supposed to choose?” The presence returned, and blood began to drip from Laren’s eardrums.
**LIFE THRICE DEVOURED FOR POWER GRANTED THRICE. CHOOSE**.
The answer was less than helpful, besides explaining why the Wraiths had died so quickly. Laren was part of some ritual, and this crystal was alive, in a manner of speaking. It had fed on the life force of the Wraiths and now presented Laren with some form of choice or ultimatum that came in three parts. Long ago, both in Sith lore and beyond, there had been tales of spirits that had granted wishes know as the Gen’nii. Modern folktalkes among children in the streets of urban planets such as Coruscant and Corellia spoke of Genies, beings found in loose cans or pieces of scrap that would grant the finder their deepest wishes. Other tales had spoken of malevolent spirits of trapped Sith Lords who fed off the life force of lesser beings, existing somewhere beyond life, but not quite entrapped in the final embrace of death, desperately seeking the nourishment of the living to return to their physical forms. Yet this presence wasn’t so much malevolent as it was dutiful. It had a purpose, and Laren had his. Yet his choices still alluded him. But he had to try something.
“First, I choose a question. You know of that which I seek. Where can I find these artifacts?”
This time, a voice didn’t respond. Instead, Laren fell onto all fours, sobbing as his mind felt as if it were about to explode. Tears streamed down a flushed, scarred face as information began painfully appearing in his memories. The agony of the process was overwhelming, but even as he cried out into the empty darkness beyond, he felt a rushing wave of elation hold the overwhelming discomfort at bay. He looked up from his hands, tears still glistening in his golden eyes, and made to speak again.
“Next, a request. I want to know the secrets of this Dark Brotherhood, from past to present.”
A gargled noise that could only be described as a chuckle filled Laren’s mind, and once again he screamed and writhed in endless misery. Thoughts seemed to mix and match in his mind as information was planted like seeds in a farmer’s field. Secrets and rituals he could never have even imagined were clear in is mind as the day he had escaped Kessel. He could see where the Grand Master was hidden, he knew what the Headmaster thought. He could even remember the deepest, darkest secrets hidden away in the back of hundreds of Siths’ minds. It was – overwhelming.
**THE FINAL CHOICE, WORM. CHOOSE**.
“What in the hell are you?” Laren asked between sobs.
**ONCE THERE WAS A NAME. NOW, ONLY MEMORY. POWER OVER DEATH LED TO EXISTENCE BEYOND LIFE. NOW THIS IS JUSTICE. ONCE, THIS WAS PLAGUEIS**.
“Plagueis.” Laren looked up at the crystalline object in horror. “As in, Darth Plagueis?”
The crystal object was gone. The blood-red light that had filled his vision had disappeared. The Wraiths bodies had disappeared. He was alone in the metallic structure, the altar now lying in ruins. Had it all been real? He still remembered, still knew that which he had learned. And yet, it didn’t exist. Or did it?
Wiping his face with a dirty hand, Laren picked his weapon off the ground and made for the entrance. He had to get back to Aliso and tell the Synod of what he had experienced.