Silently the blade lay, on the stone floor of one of the caves of K'eel Doba, not far from the planet's capital city. It was a beautiul blade, of an ancient and far superior craftsmanship. The sword seemed to shine with an alluring aura, seemed to invite, indeed, to plea to be held. Though voiceless, the blade seemed to whisper promises of power and glory to whomever next grasped its hilt.

The allure of this blade was perhaps the focal point of the first stages of the plan that was forming in the mind of Ragorian, the ancient sorcerer who's spirit dwealt within the sword.

Too long have I remained idle, too long have I watched in the shadows, he thought determinedly to himself. Too long have I been absent from my people. It is time, well past time, for me to rejoin them. To rejoin the Sith!

With these words, Ragorian focused his mind, shutting out the sensations of the cave around him, shut off his link to the young Rykounagin, shut everything else off, and focused on this, the crucial first step of his plan.

Concentrating on the magickal powers that he had been honing for centuries, the ancient sorcerer began broadcasting these powers in invisible waves from the vessel that contained his spirit. The waves streteched across the stretch of land, across K'eel Doba, sweeping over the capital city several times before fading.

The purpose of these waves was simply to intrigue the beings of the city, to let them feel the magick and know there was some sort of power residing out in the wilds of K'eel Doba. Ragorian figured that whomever was in charge of the city in Graysith's absense (if indeed she was gone, as the information he had garnered from Rykounagin stated), would send some sort of Sith patrol to investigate the waves. Ragorian knew, or hoped that he would be able to hoodwink at least one of the Sith into grasping the blade, and therefore becoming his new host, the essential beginning of his new plan. But the enitire plot hinged on the Sith feeling these waves, feeling their power, and being puzzles enough to investigate. Ragorian continued broadcasting for many many minutes, before his powers waned for a time and, tiring, he settled back to wait.

Come, he thought desperately, his thought echoing in the own silent chambers of his mind.

Come to me.

[ 08-31-2004 05:07 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Graysith ]

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“She will return to me,” the spirit thought. “Already I feel her growing closer, and she, the One, will have already once again felt drawn to me. Yes, dear lady, I await you. I need you as you need me.”

A wave of strange power wafted through the atmosphere, almost as a beckoning of some sort. T’elion tried to follow it, but it disappeared too quickly.

“There is something here,” he thought. “Something strange, old, and… not quite sane. What was it?”

His thoughts were interrupted by another wave of energy, followed by another, and another. Wave after wave now pulsed through the air, and T’elion grew more and more wary with each burst. A strange sense of familiarity came with those bursts, and T’elion thought back through the ages of his inhabiting this device. All of those with which he tried to bond, all of those who had died in failure.

But, no, this memory was of a different sort. This was not the lost echo of a failed host, this was the beckoning call of another spirit. A spirit thought lost, defeated… Yes, T’elion now recalled. A time when he was wielded by a captain of the Sith Warrior Clan, strong though he was the captain had no magick and was of little use. But he stayed, as if compelled by the gods. Then during a raid upon a sect of Sorcerers, he felt a power so strong he felt initially compelled to bond with it. But the power was not right, not in line with his purpose. T’elion’s dilemma was quickly ended, however, as the warriors stormed the cave and put and end to the sect forever.

But this was the power. Yes, this was it…

The spirit’s attention turned to the guard near the door of the great hall. The guard’s fidgets gave clue that he, too, had felt this energy. T’elion concentrated on the guard’s thoughts, his desires, and sent waves of need towards him.

But now... something strange seemed to be happening.

It wasn't anything he could place a finger upon. In fact, if truth were to be known, it wasn't anything that he really was consciously aware of. But from somewhere, somewhere very far away, something old and evil and very, very patient seemed to be trying to slide insidiously into his being.

He broke his rigid posture by the doorway, swaying the tiniest fraction. Beads of sweat sprang upon his brow, increasing until they could no longer withstand gravity's force and began trickling slowly down his face. His hands tightened of their own accord upon his pike, and quite suddenly it seemed that he couldn't breathe.

He slid his eyes to his companion. That worthy seemed to be having some sort of difficulty of his own, judging by the wetness gleaming on his face.

He wasn't too surprised to see eyes staring sideways right back into his own.

But he was surprised when his fellow guard suddenly whirled upon him, his own pike held threateningly, and charged.

No matter. His own pike lowered instinctively as the other rushed him; without uttering a sound he waited until the very last moment then stepped a bit back and to the left, thrusting low and ripping high as he did so.

He smiled darkly, not understanding truly why this horrendous action was so deeply satisfying, and pushed the pike more deeply into the dying flesh of his fellow. As the ripped and bleeding body struck the floor he released the pike, uncaring to the fact that its presence would telegraph who had killed the warrior.

It was the why that would be unknown, and the thought of approaching intrigue made him smile.

He looked at the body at his feet, then, uncaring, turned away. His footsteps were sure and steady as he went straight to the fireplace. There his brilliant sky blue eyes focused on the floating image of the Finger of R'lous, which hovered where the Dark Lady had left it.

His hand didn't even tremble as he reached out and grasped the hilt. It felt warm and powerful and very, very good as he literally plucked it from thin air and pulled it to him....

"I am Xax'andaar," he thought back, not quite aware that he was actually in conversation with... something.

Smiling, he held the finger up and gazed upon the jewels it bore, which were gleaming and glistening like drops of blood upon its hilt.

As he allowed the waves of magic to flow out of him and cross the city, Ragorian this time allowed them to carry a bit of extra magick, a kind of "power sonar" he had created that would send a new wave resonating back towards him if it incountered another powerful being in the city, or on the planet, for that matter. Or at least Ragorian hoped.

After a surprisingly short wait, a wave did come back to him. As he absorbed it, it imparted to him a "feeling" of sorts of the power it had found. Ragorian soon observed that the power did not come from the Lady Graysith.

So she is gone from the planet, he mused to himself. Very interesting...

But although that had answered one of his questions, another one arose.

If that was not the Lady Graysith...then who was it? it was unmistakably powerful...and also, unmistakably Sith.

After a moment of pondering, Ragorian released another wave, this one specifically targeted towards this powerful entity. He meant to entice it, bring it to him, and, hopefully, ensnare it. Or at least one of its subordinates. A power like that, mixed with his own, would do him good. Perhaps it would even be enough to revive him...

Putting his hopeful thoughts aside, Ragorian waited, albeit impatiently, for his chance ot arrive.

[ 09-02-2004 02:18 AM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Blade of Chaos ]

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The Spirit, T’elion, was cut short by the feel of another wave. This one was different, charged with some sort of energy…

Sith magick, T’elion mused. He allowed the direct magick to flow into him, siphoning it into the Finger of R’Lous and allowing the device to capture that magick. The rest of the wave passed harmlessly around. The odd magick, that reflective bit of curiosity, would not be returned to the sender. Whatever energy the sender would feel returned would not be that of T'elion or the Finger, but of some other being.

Ah, it is good to be wanted, dear Sorcerer, but mine is not the energy you will feel returned. There is another here, one whom you would be wise to not touch without invitation. I will let it pass, but SHE will not.

He returned his attention to the warrior.

“-- take me to the source of these waves. Use this bit of magick to guide you. But do well to keep others from knowing your intentions, do not allow their jealousy to delay us. Quickly, to the west!”

Much time had passed since the night when ShaRhylla felt the passing of Entaris' being from her body, time in which she had gradually come to terms with who she really was, not who someone else would have had her be.

It took months for the nightmares to lessen, which they did in quantity, never degree. The nights in which she would jerk frantically from slumber, pearly claws grasping and rending sheets wet with sweat, grew farther and farther apart. Yet each one of those nights was just as vivid in her memories, just as horrendous.

And, although it was deeply repressed within the very core of her being, just as welcomed and longed for as ever it had been during her time with Entaris in the Darker Realms.

The majority of her nights, though, were the same as any other, quiet and filled with refreshing sleep, and her days were filled with lessons of being Sith and heiress to entitlement. Of learning how to read the language, how to fight in hand-to-hand combat, how to wield sword and knife and staff. How to command servants, how to treat the courtisans.

How to be the Dark Lady of Warriors, which as the daughter of Lord Roan and Lady Graysith, she indeed would be one day.

Upon occasion her sister Darra would join her, but never stayed long. She was fully human, something ShaRhylla found instinctively repulsive for some reason. Mother must have adopted her, she would often tell herself, and Darra too for that matter; never once did she really bother to address the fact that Mother was indeed human herself.

Mother was, after all.... Mother.

And so time passed. Those within the great temple did their best to teach the fiery young adolescent what she needed to learn, and she in turn tried her best to do what was expected of her.

Even though deep in her heart she longed for something... more.

It is said that all things come at length to those who wait, and she was no exception. It really was no surprise to her heart of hearts when one evening as she lay lounging in her chambers, hunting voracious creatures in the dancing flames of the fireplace, that something with the heart of said creatures but a far surpassing intelligence whinged softly into her being, a great and gentle and overwhelming flow of pure magicks.

She leapt to her feet, every cell instantly alert. Innate magicks of her own took hold; from her father she had inherited the magick of the Sith, and from her mother the power of the All. She didn't even have to think, but immediately grasped hold of the flowing wave, holding it closely to her being for inner scrutiny.

It seemed to roil and writhe and flower and bloom and beckon in a manner more seductive than she had ever known, even more seductive than had been her dear Dark Heart.

Her lip curled, exposing a delicate and razor sharp fang. Holding the wave to her heart she threw back her head and simply basked in the moment of it.

Then she let fly with a great returning burst of her own.

"I know you...."

The recognition, of course, was not a conscious one at all, but on a level buried deep within her psyche. Moving gracefully to her balcony then, she laid her hands against the balustrade and leaned out into the coolness of the night.

I know you....

[ 09-02-2004 05:04 AM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by ShaRhylla ]

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There was the familiar glow of Sith magicks that he knew so well, but mixed in with it was a different power, something alien to him. Something he had felt once before...in the presence, he now remembered, of the Lady Graysith. But this magick aura was definitely not hers.

Suddenly, a voice echoed in the chambers of Ragorian's spirit. A voice he had never before heard spoke to him, whispering its message that had been carried along with the wave.

"I know you...", it said

For Ragorian, the whispered message brought only confusion. He had never heard this voice before in his life. How could he know this...person? But then, as the wave enveloped him completely, he too felt the subconcious recognicion, familiarity with a spirit not unlike his own. Savoring the feeling, he paused a moment in silent repose.

Soon enough, he allowed the moment to pass, quickly gethering another wave, one hinting at powers unmatched, a wave seductive and calling, composed using all his whiles and the persuasive magicks of the blade. Within moments the wave was released, focused solely on the being who had called to him before. To that one the wave went, to that one it would deliver its silent, beckoning message as it washed over and enveloped whoever had called to him this night.

"Come to me," the message said, and the desire ran itself through and around the corridors of Ragorian's mind even after the wave had departed and began searching for its appointed target.

Come...come to me...come...

[ 09-04-2004 06:25 AM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Blade of Chaos ]

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The blatant absence of his fellow spoke the obvious.

What had possessed him? He was one to be trusted, always had been as long as he had known him; now circumstantial evidence pointed to the probability that the loyal Xax'andaar had turned traitor, killed his fellow, taken the Finger, and run.

But the ominous question running in dark undercurrent was... why?

Salandaar turned in disgust, putting aside for the moment all thought of what the Dark Lady might do if she returned to discover the Finger still missing. Withholding the fact that it had been absconded with to begin with was something her Second simply would not not consider; however, the shame he felt that this had indeed happened while he was in charge would be cleanly washed away if he could catch the perpetrator and return the item to its proper owner.

He strode to a nearby gong, struck it a mighty blow. The sharply musical note bounded forth into the echoing corridors of the Temple, leaping from wall to floor to ceiling to wall again as it traversed in ever increasing timbre.

Moments later, he was confronted by two of his Captains. A quick glance was all they needed to understand the dilemma at hand.

Salandaar said little. He moved not.

"Find it, and he who took it."

The others bowed and whirled, barking orders to alert their own squadrons, crying out into those corridors that something was amiss, that the warriors were to assemble with their tuk'ata.

Throughout the Temple the cry went out, warriors grabbed weaponry and armor, while the rudely awakened servants and other minions could only shrink into themselves, shuddering, in reply.

Thousands of them, in fact.

Veiled within the depths of a silken and flowing cloak, one enveloping her in the color of the forest's canopy at sunset, she had gone unnoticed, not quite following, perhaps in some manner actually hunting, but in either case responding to a call so deep and subliminal she really wasn't quite aware of it lurking in her soul.

And so it was she had run through the entirety of the temple and had at last come upon this tiny back door, where she stood in sudden alertness. For although she couldn't actually hear anything other than the beating of her own heart, somehow she knew there was something amiss within the cold stone walls of the Temple of the Warriors.

Cocking her head, she listened with every cell of her being... and then smiled.

Good. No one knows I am no longer in my chambers.

Not even bothering to wonder why, she pushed the little door open, slid through it, and gradually found her way down to street level. All was quiet, although now she could definitely hear the faintly ringing cries as behind her the warriors awoke to unexpected duty.

No matter.

Holding her cloak more tightly about herself, she melted into the night, flitting through street and side street, until finally coming to the edge of the great city of Phrinn'chatka.

The starfield glittered in her eyes as she set out across the surrounding countryside, heading away from greenery and field and meadow, and going gradually upslope to where all slowly transformed into rock and scree.

Coming to a talus slope, she began scrabbling uphill, knowing instinctively that the thing calling so subliminally to her lay somewhere beyond its apex.

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Xax'andaar padded through the market and past the Grand Library, now reopened, though lightless in the night hours. He paid no mind to the bows and respectful nods from the nocturnal citizens who paused as he strode past, and he intently pursued the trail of power left in the wind like a tuk’ata locked on the scent of prey.

As cobblestone gave way to brick tiles, which in turn gave way to dirt, T’elion could begin to sense the spirit at the source of the power. The warrior moved into a wooded area at the base of a vast slope, away from prying eyes, and removed the Finger from its hiding place. The jewels glowed a brilliant red.

Some time later, unexpectedly, his efforts were rewarded. One of Ragorian's honed abilites was his one to "smell," as it were, powerful spirits, souls ripe with magick or power of some sort. To his amazement, Ragorian felt one of these coming his way. As he strove outwards with his abilities, he also felt, in addition to this powerful spirit, the soul, unmistakably, of a Sith coming closer as well.

An attendant to this first one, perhaps? he mused.

It seemed the logical explanation. Something, however, made him think not. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but something was...different...about this Sith's aura. Something else was with the Sith.

Euphoric at these results, Ragorian sent another wave out of the cave, then another, then another. Not sure who he directed them at, perhaps both in particular, the waves carried his desire to be found towards the entities who approached him.

Yes! they seemed to shout, their desire almost palpable.

Yes! Come! Quickly! Come and find me!

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“This one wants to be found,” the spirit sent to the warrior. “So we shall allow it. You shall be protected as long as you are true to me, great warrior, for if he finds you then this wizard will try desperately to woo you with his lies. But you are beyond his influence, trust in my guidance and soon you shall be rewarded with the greatness you so deserve. Another approaches, it is she who shall decide the fate of this wizard, and if she chooses correctly then my quest is one step closer to fulfillment.”

The spirit could now sense the power from the daughter of the Dark One.

Not able to bear silence any longer, Ragorian focused his mind, reaching out, attempting to speak with one, with either of the ones who were so close to him.

I am here! he called out, lacing his words with everty ounce of his seductive, compelling, beckoning aura. You have found me. Please, come and free me. Please...

[ 10-19-2004 03:28 AM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Blade of Chaos ]

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Tucking it under his hunting cloak then, he melted backward into the embrace of a vertical fault, and waited in silence to see who was coming.

All the while the entreaty coming from the cave beat loudly and seductively in his ears, difficult to keep at bay.

Ahead was only darkness... and from that darkness that voice seemed to beg for her to hurry.

She swayed a bit, something deeply buried and even more deeply dark rising to meet this challenge, while that newer portion of her being, that reflecting the humanity she had inherited from her mother augmented by what she had learned since coming back to K'eel Doba, shied away like a nervous colt.

Who is this? Why does he call out to me... or indeed, why have I received this call?

Was it meant for me, or--?

That particular line of query was nipped in the bud as her other half, that dictated by the Sith blood running in her veins, blood she had gotten from her father, rose to squelch it.

I fear nothing and no one! I am ShaRhylla, the Heir Apparent to the Warriors, and daughter of Dark Lord Roan! I answer to no one; all, rather, answer to me!

Her eyes narrowed to slits then and she smiled, continuing upward with the agility and grace of a cat. At length she stood at the entrance to the cave; a moment's hesitation and she tossed her head imperiously and strode inside about fifteen feet.

"I am here," she announced in a light whisper, and fell silent.

[ 10-19-2004 11:48 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by ShaRhylla ]

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Although it seemed to him that he had been brought a powerful ally indeed by...her, for it was a her, scent, something about that scent was different. As far as Ragorian could make out, the female was Sith...mostly Sith. Curiously, Ragorian also seemed to feel the scent of a human mingled among the Sith. An odd combination indeed. But certainly more interesting than that was the scent of her power. Sith magick he could sense, that was certain, but she also seemed to possess something more. A power that he had not sensed since being in the presence of the Lady Graysith. Most interesting indeed.

Sending forth a desperate, snaking tendril of his own spirit and magick, Ragorian called to her mind softly, beckoningly, but wordlessly, for he could not actually speak with one who did not grasp the hilt of the sword, save for a few choice words that rapidly sapped his mind's energy.

At the same time Ragorian directed a slight amount of his magickal energies into his vessel, the sword, making the beautiful, wonderously-crafted blade glow faintly, edged with a deep red light that cut through the darkness of the cave and cast shadows on the newcomers face. He also took a moment to activate and strengthen the alluring spell of the sword, that which made it seem to call out to any nearby, to beg to be weilded, and promise immeasurable power and glory to that who did weild it so.

Now he could only hope his coaxing becokoning would entice the newcomer to take up, or at least touch, the sword...

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The scrape of his foot against rock sounded loudly in his ears as he took an involuntary step forward, gripping the Finger of R'lous and holding it to himself like a shield. He stopped at the sound his own foot made, and waited, holding his breath, cursing himself for moving as he had in disobedience to that which had instructed him to stay.

She gasped at the wondrous sight in front of her. There limned in red, was a sword, a sword of great beauty, of wondrous temper, a sword so obviously strong that it could only be fit for a ruler, for a king...

Or for a queen.

That human portion of her unique duality let out a frightened little cry when that realization arose, and shrank back.

No no no! What blade speaks? It is bewitched; turn now, depart from this place, go back to the Temple and find Salandaar...!

Her Sith blood only scoffed, and pushed that small attempt at reason and sanity into the furthest recesses of her mind.

"Fit for a queen..." she breathed, cocking her head to the side, her nostrils flaring and her eyes widening even more in the dimness of the cave.

Then she strode forward and simply took up the blade. It fit in her small hand as if it had been made to her personal specifications.

It was then that she heard the noise; gripping the blade, she whirled, sensing out with the innate All she had been born with, reaching out with what Sith magicks she had learned, seeking to find with every sense and talent available to her just who was lurking behind her in the night.

For indeed, someone was.

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Blinding fury, rage, and desire were fed like a sudden eruption into the warrior. T’elion pushed harder and harder, for in the mind of the warrior there could only be one outcome, and after the glorious taste of bloodshed he alone would stand holding both the Finger of R’lous and the mighty blade! The courage of the warrior grew intensely, spurred on by the waves of confidence T’elion gave the warrior…

What was one so young and fair doing lurking about in such a place at this time of night? Up to no good, probably meeting with some other dark one to plot and scheme against my Lady; well not while I have arm to raise and weapon to bring to bear!

The honor of my Lady and that of the Sith and my family and myself shall be protected at all costs!

He let forth a great howling cry, that of the warrior leaping to the call, and drawing his sword leapt likewise into the cave.

"Traitor!" he hissed between his fangs as ShaRhylla whirled to meet him, her head cocked a bit to one side as if she was seeking something of her own, a gleaming blade of her own held in her small hand.

ShaRhylla's lips curled in a derisive smile as the howling warrior appeared from seeming nowhere to leap upon her, murder in his heart, glistening blade in his hand.

But she was not the daughter of Lord Roan for nothing; far from losing her composure in the face of this unexpected attack, she met it head on.

She had only the time to tense, ready to spring in either direction, judging the warriors trajectory with a careful eye, before he was centimeters from impact.

Only then did she neatly sidestep from him, the blade in her hand singing its wondrous song, filling her ears and the cave with those musical notes, filling her heart with a promise of power.

Power now used as easily as that of plucking a flower from a grassy meadow.

She came in low and fast. The momentum she put into the blow turned her in a complete circle, but when she finally halted, once again facing the direction from whence the raging warrior had sprung, it was to face only thin air.

He was laying on the rocky, stone-strewn floor of the cave in two pieces, the light fading from his eyes as his blood poured from what was left of his body. In his loosened hand, something gleamed a beckoning red.

ShaRhylla approached to wipe the offending blood from her blade. Her eye caught the glow; she bent over a bit, curious, and nudged that something with the tip of her blade.

"Now, what strangeness is this?" she asked of no one in particular, and fell silent.

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The Sith Lieutenant made a quick movement with the hand by which he held his straining tuk'ata, looping the thick leather leash yet another time about his hand. His other held his pike aloft, pointing toward the top of a rocky incline perhaps fifty meters ahead of him.

"Up there, the trail leads there!" he called, waiting a moment afterward to be certain his cry had been heard by the others. At length warriors and their beasts began coming to him out of the night, responding immediately to his call, relieved that their own fruitless side-quests were over.

Now the trail left by the traitor was a certainty.

The tuk'ata yowled and raged, pulling and tugging against their masters, their great rending claws ripping huge rents into the thin soil at their feet, not having to penetrate far until they met with solid rock. Their garbled cries grew even more heated, more urgent, more blood-thirsty.

The Lieutenant smiled.

"Release them, and follow," he ordered, then standing aside to let the ensuing rush of beasts go by. That smile never faltered but grew even more grim, more certain of itself as, raising his pike aloft, he uttered another cry and began leading the warriors up the incline that their tuk'ata were now traversing in ever-increasing leaps.

He squinted as he marched along: there, near the apex, was a dark little blotch.

A cave.

More than likely it is where the traitor has taken shelter, a pitiful enough attempt at evasion indeed.

What he learned surprised him.

The daughter of the Lady Graysith was she, hers and...a Sith. Dark Lord Roan was the name given to him by her mind. He had called to him the Dark Lady's own daughter! Before he could speak to her, however, suddenly she was moving, as was he. Looking through her eyes as well as feeling the motion of the sword, Ragorian felt the perfect harmony, witnessed the moment of shared euphoria when she...he...they cut down the unexpected opponent, Sit hwarrior though he may be. Never had he been so weilded! Excitement kindled the dormant fires of Ragorian's spirit as he felt the power coursing through her, coursing through them.

Yes! he sang out in her mind. Well done indeed!

Calming his tone, he continued. Well done, and well met, ShaRhylla, Daughter of Graysith.

And pausing, he waited for her reply.

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