The halfling crept, slithered, and occasionally flung herself through the lush canopy of the Korris'ian forest, fleeing the ship and those who had brought her here, not really noting them too much any more. Strangely they had become reduced in importance, unnecessary to her, unneeded. She could survive here alone if that was S'slaan's will, and not only simply knew it but felt the simple truth of it in the very depths of her bones.

But yet, she knew she would not be alone.

It was that innate knowledge, that wild song raised to triumphant crescendo in her blood, that had sent her fleeing the cold metal of machinations, and out to meet that which she knew she would. Which she knew she needed.

And strangely enough, all this certainty carried along with it the biggest -- if only -- unknown she had ever experienced in her young life.

From far behind a discordant sound suddenly came into her ears: the harsh skritch of metal meeting metal as the hatch of the ship she was fleeing opened yet again. She came to a sudden and impossible halt, flattening against the branch she had paused upon, willing her body to become part and parcel with the wondrous beauty of the wild, wild tree.

Something strange began to insinuate itself amidst the growls and hisses that had come from nowhere to fill her heart, her soul... her mind. Words:

"The one cannot find me, the one mustn't hear me; the other must remain unblemished..."

She blinked in surprise, wondering at the strangeness of it all. Not at the meaning of the words... but at the very sound of them in her mind. They seemed so suddenly...

Alien.

She growled, hunkered more flatly against the branch that it would hide her from the one whom she knew was approaching, and allowed her being to become absolutely, positively and completely...

Alive.

But she had not gone far, he could sense it. Something in the air called to him, filling his senses with the world around him, and made him feel alert and aware. It was a keen, real thing.

He lowered to one knee and placed his palm on the ground. The grass felt good. He could sense its life through his own skin – blades of green life that flowed with the same essence that connected him to the planet. It flowed through the grass and into the ground, into the roots of the trees, the air surrounding them… into the very insects, the birds, the animals.

This was his home now, his true home. He was Dark Lord here.

He slowed his breathing and listened. Slowly, very slowly, the sounds of his own body – his heard, his lungs, became muted from the sounds of his world. He listened carefully for that which did not belong. A humming, gentle but present – the ship. Heartbeats, two, Sith… and one other…. Elsewhere… there!

Phalomir’s head jerked to the trees, away from the clearing the ship had created. She was there, near, hiding.

"No-o-oo!" she shrieked, the word bursting from her more howl than speech, defiant anger and affrontery carried upon its quaking back. The sound carried far through the canopy, and below; off into all directions, sending distant wildlife thrashing and yowling and flapping in turn.

And something else...

She tensed, crouched, and then stood, lithe and limber at eighty feet above the forest floor, the move as easy and natural as if she was walking upon the deck of her own ship.

"NO!"

From somewhere far off, there came an icily piercing yowl. It arrowed through the air, cutting trees in its path, shooting straight into her ears, her heart.

Her soul.

Impossibly, her eyes darkened further. Her lips curled back, exposing her gleaming fangs; her fingers likewise curled, tensely arched daggers projected toward that fearsome unknown.

Yet, it was known to her, more than known, recognized; it was oh so achingly needed...

"Yes-ss-sss..."

The incongruous whisper trickled from her lips and she whirled, the oncoming Phalomir as nothing to her, nothing but a mote of life in a world so overwhelmingly rife with such. With no further thought she leapt, landed on a nearby branch, and from there leapt again, bounding from tree to tree, sometimes grasping slenderer branches to swing upon for further momentum, but keeping forward, keeping to her path...

She kept moving, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Phalomir followed below the trees, watching and listening. He was intent upon his quarry and moved quickly through the dense underbrush.

Then he heard it. Rather, he felt it. His planet spoke to him, indeed, but there was something else. A strange presence, or power, dwelling in the distance, calling out… and ShaRhylla was answering. He felt it though, felt its draw, and a small, very small part of him wanted to answer.

But another feeling drew him, and he knew what it was. And he had a feeling that both he and ShaRhylla were headed to the same destination.

And then came the yowl, although now it was not so much shriek as somehow a welcome...

With an answering yowl of her own she leapt down from the tree, the All inherent within her keeping her from harm, allowing her to land lightly upon the duff of the gloomy forest floor. There she stood, her heart pounding, the Tooth she had taken suddenly in her hand, her hair tumbling wildly about as she jerked her head this way and that, seeking, searching...

Until it came into view. No... she came into view.

Over two meters at the shoulder, nearly four from nose to tail-tip, the tuk'ata was a marvel of night and day. The deepest of dusky blues in color, she sported myriad patchy spots in hues of ivory and silver, iron and gold along her back, shoulders and hips. Stripes wound down her powerfully muscled legs; her nearly transparent, deceptively soft-looking claws seemed the size of a rancor's; her pupilless deep violet eyes stared into the halfling's own bi-colored pair.

For a moment they both paused, staring each other, eye to eye, eye for eye; then from the shadows came another roar and a bounding shape launched itself into their midst.

The Master woke, his head splitting. He raised a bloody hand to his temple and felt a sticky wet glob there. The dark one had done much damage to him, and although he had been able to heal himself somewhat, the Master still had much work to do.

His powers were in flux. He had felt the return of his connection with Sith magick, and with the All, but there was a problem. He could not call forth the powers at his will, not yet. It was there, yes, but full mastery was just out of his grasp.

“What did my son do to me?” he said out loud. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and sleep overtook him.

---

Several hours later he woke again.

His vision was blurred and his mind drifted, and awareness was slow in returning. He looked up and saw blackness. He turned to his left and saw more of the same. He felt around with his hands and felt nothing, yet he seemed to be lying on something firm. He shifted his weight and the firm shifted with him.

He sat up slowly and looked again, and groaned.

“The Elseness,” he sighed.

---

Hours later the Master had stood on the nothingness that still provided a firm foothold. It was a strong sensation. He could take steps and move as if on ground, but like a non-dimensional painting he could change direction and angle and still fell the same ground. He walked this way for another hour, playing with the angles.

After a while he sat and looked about again. Everything around him was dark. No, not dark. That would imply an absence of light – this was not even so simple. It was worse, much worse.

But not simply beasts.

A snarling smile crossed Phalomir’s lips as he immediately recognized his own clan mate – the Lord of the Temple pride, Md'diffnnd.

The male tuk'ata roared another challenge.

The dusky female flattened her ears, refusing to back down, and roared defiantly in turn. This was followed by yet another bestial return, but this time with the big male taking a threatening step forward. The female refused to back down, merely hunkered lower to the ground more closely, protecting her belly as she crouched in preparedness of anything. Another roar bellowed forth from her maw.

Yet another earth-shattering bellow from the male, yet another step taken...

...and the halfling was suddenly there, suddenly between them with Tooth in hand, her knees bent and her arms out somewhat to the sides as jutting forth her chin she in turn added her own defiant brand of roar into the growing melee.

It was directed toward the big male.

His breath was matched with Md’diffnnd, a raspy sneer that whispered its warning to the wind. Without thinking, he matched the roar from his clan mate as it called a warning to the interfering Halfling.

The Master awoke.

His eyelids ached as he blinked his eyes against the darkness. His mind ached as well, and a deep subdued pain throbbed gently within his body. He closed his eyes once more.

He knew where he was and it brought him no joy. He had opened a portal to this place, using all but his last remaining strength and power. The last bit was used to hurl large stones at his intended prey – his own son. Or rather, the shell that was his son, now home to the entity that believed it ruled the Darker Realms.

He had meant to flatten that body and shove it into this dimension of non-existence. But instead he now found himself here, floating in a void yet lying on what seemed to be solid ground. Yet he knew that if began to walk then the space beneath his feet would be solid also. It was a confusing state of being and he preferred now to not even look.

His initial battle with the son-darkness thing had left him badly beaten and on the verge of death. He had flung great bolts of energy at the Phalomir-thing, used every ounce of his cunning, and defended himself until he succumbed to the power of that darkness. But what did he expect? He was battling the god of that realm within its realm. Once his defenses were cracked, the Master was beaten into a bloody pulp, kept alive only by sheer force of will and the powers he still possessed.

But then the All had left him. Suddenly, inexplicably, it just… vanished. He felt his life slipping away then, lying on the black desert turf in the shadows of the Dark Tower. Even his connection to the Sith, his magick, was not responding. It was only the aid of an unlikely ally that saved him. And now he wished that winged demon the best of luck as it plotted its own course for the future.

As for the Master, well, he had plenty of time to think of what to do.

Or did he? What would happen now, here in the Elseness, if he passed into oblivion? Would his soul wander here for eternity?

No, no sense in that kind of thought. He was alive, barely. Yes, he had felt his magick some back to him shortly before the return of the Phalomir-thing. There was even a small connection back with the All, although it was weak and he could not now pull any response from it. So he had healed himself the best he could using his magick, but even that was not very much before the sound of his son had interrupted him. His son, and someone else… who had he seen there? Ah, yes, the blonde woman, Shayla. She had been corrupted her as well. Ah well, at least her suffering would be short in comparison.

He forced his eyes to open. This would not be an eternal pity party. Even if his connection to the All was too weak to open a portal out of this forsaken place, he could still move enough to wander. There were holes, after all. Few and far between, yes, but they were there. It was not his first time in the Elseness, nor was it likely to be his last. Back in the day, yes, when he was Master to Thoran, and even before when he commanded legions, he used this place well.

And so he walked.

And walked.

And when he tired of walking, he floated. Time passed, how much he could not tell. Time passed differently here, it must. But did moments here equal years on the prime realm? Or was it the opposite, or equal? It did not matter, this place was without time. Yet, despite of that, his body still grew weary, his hunger still grew, and his pain intensified. Internal injuries, no doubt. And he was still too weak in spirit to even continue healing through Sith magick. No, he would either find a way out or die here.

No one knew when or how the tradition had actually begun, but through the millennia of their power it had segued from mere tradition to something embedded in their very lives, their very beings, their very souls. Perhaps it had something to do with the magick that came to them so naturally, perhaps it was that aspect of said magick that allowed those privileged few of them to discover and then touch upon the wonder of the True Power of the Universe.

Whatever it's origins, it now sang full-bore through ShaRhylla's blood, blanking her to everything and everyone but the One who had called out to her over the Void, the One who had come to her, responding to her coming, willing to join with her mind to mind and soul to soul.

The One who now bid her to Hunt...

Her eyes widened, then darkened as the first encroaching tendrils of the tuk'ata's mentality attempted to gain entry into her thoughts. She welcomed it, tried to open her mind to it, but all she received in turn was a bundle of snarls and yowls entwined with a blood thirst so deep as to bring physical pain with it.

This was the Way, the Way of Things. It was through this almost supernatural bond that their inherent magicks could blossom to full strength, a coming of age, if you will. But the Two would not become One until the Prey bonded them in Blood.

And now the Prey had come...

So she crouched further, her Tooth in one hand, her sword swiftly yanked to find a home in the other. Off to one side she sensed the female tuk'ata making herself invisible, slinking and circling and doing what came natural to tuk'atas that their chosen prey would succumb more easily to the pair of them.

Only this pair was a bit different. That the halfling yet had sense enough to realize. The big male tuk'ata was older, and by that weaker, albeit that by his age he carried the cunning of years of experience upon his back. But the female was young and lithe and strong in her own right; the male therefore was not the first prey to attack.

But the towering Sith...

A cold smile spread across ShaRhylla's face as her initial animosity toward Phalomir came flooding into every cell of her body. It boosted her physical senses; she could see the movement of his chest with every beat of his heart, hear those beats as loud as thunder in the night; the Sword and Tooth in her hands felt as hot as vengeance, cold as death.

Her smile flickered; she knew the tuk'ata was in place.

Then she straightened fully, and shrieked full challenge to the towering Dark Lord, willing him to make the first, fatal move in attacking her.

It was only the grunt from the tuk’ata next to him that kept Phalomir from leaping forward, aimed at the halfling’s throat. An image then burned its way into Phalomir’s mind – a familiar place, and a sudden urgency to be there. To lead the way there.

Ahead of her branches of green beckoned with a beguiling sway, the air filled with the scent of the Sith and his Beast. Both filled her being with heady desire, the desire to attack, to rend and tear and kill, to let the life's blood flow back into the forest now giving her strength to follow.

Then something knocked her to the ground in a mighty, unexpected rush of power.

She rolled, thrashing to gain her feet, screaming in further outrage, and came to a halt against a heavily barked tree. Her Tooth flashed to her hand as she likewise flashed to her feet, seeking that which dared detain her on her quest. And it was only gradually that the bloodlust drew away its filming curtain, allowing her to see...

The female tuk'ata, standing some six meters from her. The great head was hanging low, the deep violet eyes blazing a warning that the mental efforts of the animal could not yet portray to her in words.

ShaRhylla understood.

"There is Prey elsewhere, my would-be companion. Let us seek it out."

And there is a later time and place for that One...

With that she ran to where the tuk'ata quietly stood, and leapt atop it's broad back. The great creature's snarling warning to the creatures of the woods was joined by ShaRhylla's as together they bounded off amidst the trees, their rising, conjoined song only continuing the magickal rite that, once blooded, would entwine their souls together forever as one.

Or so the Master thought he perceived. Time was a strange thing to him now, ironic since time was his tool for so long. He sat in the nothing that was and contemplated.

One thought that crossed his mind was the realization that he could no longer feel his legs. He reached a hand down to verify that they were indeed there, but the nerves were not sending impulses to his brain.

I am shutting down, he thought. For too long the powers within me have kept me whole, and now even that is failing.

And that was the last thought for quite some time from the broken being that floated in the bleak emptiness.

When at last he stirred once more, all that moved was a single eyelid. It fluttered, then closed, then open slowly. A strange cloudy wave swam in the inky darkness, and he blinked again to clear the image.

Yes, there was something. Very far away from the looks of it, but a small tiny speck of light exclaimed its existence in the nether reaches of the nothing. He smiled a bit at that, for now he no longer felt alone.

He call this dot “Metna” – a word for friend that he had picked up from some language long ago. He had no reason to use that word for a very long time. Truly, who in his life could he call “friend”? Who could possibly trust him, or even take the time to listen? Someone must, though, for he had knowledge that must be handed down. He had been so wrong, so wrong.

My dear son, forgive me.

Blackness overtook him once more.

When at last he opened an eye again he could feel nothing but his face. He winced at this, then relished in that bit of sensation. No, wait, one arm still functioned. Barely, slowly, but there. It took several tries but he eventually brought his hand to his face and let it rest there. It would not be long.

Everything ends. Everything has its time. This was his.

He scanned his eye for Metna, and could not locate it. Either he had drifted away from it or had turned in the other direction. He despaired at this and felt loneliness beset him once more.

But wait, there was something. Not Metna, no, but something. An odd sort of disturbance in the blackness before him, a sort of rippling.

Hope returned, and he forced his arm downward before him. He reached for the ripples, but he drew no closer. He growled and moved his fingers, trying to crawl though the emptiness. Slowly, very slowly, he moved forward.

And so inch by inch he made his way to the rippling space. When he reached it, however, he paused. Such holes led out of this realm, to be certain, but to where? Or more precisely, to when? There was a time in his life when he could know such things, even call them forth. But now he could not call upon this portal to take him where he desired. Instead, it seemed to call to him somehow. Trust me, it seemed to say.

He realized that his mind must be shutting down with the rest of his body. There was no more discussion, no more contemplation. It was go through or face certain death. It was time to trust.

He went through.

(((The Master goes to "Event Horizon" in the Complete SW Universe forums)))

Perhaps a result of divergent evolution, it looked like a rancor. The only difference was that, evolving to live in a thick jungle, it was somewhat smaller, about the height of a young ronto. But that didn't make it's claws any less sharp, nor it's fangs any less lethal. It crouched amidst the duff, scattering lesser animals with yet another roar, then launched itself at the two who had so fool-hardily come beneath it's tree.

As if joined mind to mind, a feat not yet quite accomplished, ShaRhylla waited with her mount. Then at the seemingly last instant she dived over it's nose, her weapons flashing into her hands, while the tuk'ata let loose a yowl of its own and leapt sideways into the jungle. Freed now of the halfling, it proceeded to quickly circle around, aiming to come up behind the beast, who well aware of this fact now began turning in place, keen ears cocked to follow the crashing sounds the tuk'ata was making.

This was all ShaRhylla needed. Ducking her head so as to land on her shoulder, she rolled and came quickly to her feet, crouching in assessment, and ready to attack.

The opportunity came sooner than she'd thought, for in turning the beast unwittingly left it's left side briefly open, neck unprotected, it's claws aiming outward toward the noisy greenery where the tuk'ata was still crashing about. The halfling smiled, exposing her fangs, and leapt again, sword leading the way, Tooth held cautiously back should it be needed for the killing blow, or to defend herself.

The creature heard her coming, turned it's head, one great paw lashing toward her...

...when that power inherent to her, that wonder of the All, seemed to give sentience to her very feet as the trajectory of her launch landed one dainty foot upon the creature's very arm...

...from which she launched herself yet again, ducking the instinctive blow it lashed out, balancing skillfully in the manner only learned at the feet of the Dark Lord of the Warriors, and ended her leap with her sword embedded to the hilt in the beast's throat.

It gargled a roar of pain and startlement, which called forth a snarling, raging tuk'ata. The dusky female now launched herself in turn, her great fangs finding purchase in the beast's other arm and biting there deeply into the bone, severing arteries and nerves and rendering the appendage generally useless.

One arm now dangling, life's blood spurting about the embedded sword, the creature whirled dizzily, it's good arm lashing out, the overwhelming stench of its decay-ridden breath filling the forest with the smell of promising death. But the pair were not yet finished; letting loose the howl of the warrior, ShaRhylla leapt upon the back of the tuk'ata once again, who then in one mighty leap leapt atop the head of the rancor-like beast.

She bent her head down, sank her fangs fully into the skull, while ShaRhylla leaned outward and downward with the Tooth, plunging it into the nearest eye, grinding it in, popping the soft tissues, sending ichor spurting until it broke through the bony socket beyond to join the tuk'ata's teeth in the flesh of the brain.

The beast stiffened, gargling, then snapping it's growl off in mid-roar it simply fell to the ground, where it lay jerking spasmodically.

The tuk'ata leapt from it's head just before impact, and came to a light halt amidst the shadows where the two of them, True Hunting Pair now, watched the death throes of the beast. When they finally stilled ShaRhylla went to it, and with her Tooth dug out it's longest fang, and cut off it's longest claw. These she placed in her belt before turning back to the tuk'ata.

The look in the deep violet eyes was suddenly sentient, and hesitant words came softly into her head.

"Now together we are, in kind running, in the blood-call going, going. Seek ye other, now so hungry; together only shall we do."

The halfling smiled, her eyes darkening as she licked the blood of the beast from her Tooth while holding the sword down to her Blood Hunt Companion that she might do the same.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice soft and diabolical. All thought of love, or Rykounagin, of any budding alliance, of anything most humans would term good had disappeared, lost to the hunt, lost to the blood. Lost too, for there was no one there to bring them back.

She patted the tuk'ata, closed her eyes and let the animal finish it's speech.

"Yours are we and mine is ours. Together as One, in blood hunting, in life keeping, in death finding, go--"

There was a pause, as if the animal was seeking something in her very brain.

"...go Sha- ShaRheelya and T'Karryn'd."

With that T'Karryn'd crouched that the halfling could mount her. Then turning away from the dead hulk she flashed off into the jungle, heading back the way they had come, and after a bit came upon the lingering trail of the old, male tuk'ata.

And followed it.

Though Daughter of the Dark Lord of the Sith she might be, daughter of the Dark Lady who gave unto her the utter impossibility that was The All... she couldn't help it.

She not only could not help it, she was quite helpless before it.

It crept into her ears, her nostrils flared to receive it, it flowed insidiously into her blood, her very cells, and quite easily took over whatever common sense she might command, whatever recognition she might acquiesce.

The Call. The Bonding. The Heat, The Panting, The Seeking, That-Which-Must-Be-Fulfilled...

All link to reality disappeared as she became One with her Companion, with the One who would later become her Guardian, her life's bond, her otherness...

... but who now for the moment, sans any understanding on her own part, could be nothing more than pure animal instinct.

Unable to withstand the onslaught of pure animal being, she gave in before it's pressure. Atop the easily loping tuk'ata, she threw back her head, her tresses flying before a wind of their own making, and let loose all that was trapped within her.

Let loose an animalistic, primal scream.

Beneath her slight figure, the muscles of T'Karryn'd rippled as if momentarily offended; then, almost as if in acceptance of the act, they hardened and the darkling creature leapt on.

On and on, following the scent, that of the Old One and the One who rode it's back; both were old, old... easy prey... yet prey to be dealt with in an understanding of respect, if not leniency...

ShaRhylla was almost tossed from the back of her young but powerful mount as the tuk'ata, with a silent scream of defiance, brought itself to a sliding stop amidst the duff of the forest floor. Before them...

A building. Old it was, creaked with age, lined with cracks brought upon it's facade by the vagaries of time, of creep, of...

Of.

They skidded to a halt, and stood panting in anticipation. Before them, the footprints of the Elder tuk'ata padded ahead, up to an ancient arched doorway, only to disappear.

ShaRhylla was off her mount in an instant, the Tooth she had appropriated in one hand even as the other patted T'Karyn'd with growing affection.

"Come; they have gone hither, to try to hide from us," she whispered into the ears of her personal Beast. Then she moved forward, her Blood Hunt Companion seeking to adhere physically to her side, and entered into the strange Temple she would not admit even to herself that sent her very blood to running icy cold.

That rang true to him as an imperative. The Sith were growing weaker each day -- the Warriors and Sorcerors each provided their own strength to the Sith, but they served at opposite ends of the spectrum. It was the Armorers who brought unity and real strength to the race as a whole. It was from this Clan that the others grew.

Is that what had brought him here? Is that why Md'diffnnd had sought him and carried him to this place? And what even now guided his steps as he descended into the darker levels of the Temple?

As the pair walked – Dark Lord and his companion tuk’ata – the orbs mounted into the walls flared into life and then diminished as they passed. He quickened his pace, knowing that ShaRhylla would soon follow – the same strange pull towards the underground of the Temple told him also of this.

They walked for what seemed an eternity, until their progress was halted by a jumble of stones that had fallen from the ceiling. Phalomir narrowed his eyes and threw his hands forward. His confidence in his ability fueled the magick within him and the stones began to glow, first a deep crimson and quickly turning to a bright shimmering red. The tuk’ata turned his head from the light and the heat, then Phalomir pushed forward with his hands. The glowing stones slowly oozed together and flowed into the hallway ahead. The hot material seeped into cracks and pores and spread further into the hall. Phalomir then changed the position of his hands and blew a cool breath. The heat diminished quickly, leaving behind a smooth walkway that raised the floor by half a meter.

Phalomir smiled and continued down the hallway, the floor still warm and the air filled with the smell of his endeavors.

ShaRhylla neverminded this. For while she felt herself the superior in the approaching battle, she was far from underestimating her adversary.

He knows we are following; I know he can hear us. All the more reason to change the approach; let the enemy think you are doing one thing, then do its opposite. Classic warfare strategy, taught to her by her beloved father, Dark Lord Roan.

But she did not adhere to this teaching so much that when she came upon the elevated walkway Phalomir had created she simply leapt atop it to continue her hunt. Rather, she came to a sudden halt in front of it; then with but the barest hesitation closed her eyes, laid back her head, and demanded.

In an instant, the walkway, the tumbled stones over which it was elevated, vanished. In their place, the flagstones of the Temple floor were restored to their ancient beauty, the ones overhead and arching down to the corridor walls repaired.

ShaRhylla slit her eyes in satisfaction of her prowess, and continued. It did not take her long to come to where Phalomir and his tuk'ata were standing, in front of a great, closed door.

"Hello," she said simply, shifting her body slightly to place her feet in warrior's stance, that she would be able to leap in any direction at the slightest provocation. For a moment she retained her grip on the Tooth; then with the tiniest of smiles curling her lips she sheathed it.

“You have bonded with a worthy hunt mate,” he said to the tuk’ata. “You have come to finish your hunt, but it will not end here. I am Dark Lord, and we stand within my Temple. Your challenge will come, but it will not be on this day.”

Phalomir’s words echoed down the long corridor as his eis eyes shifted to ShaRhylla. Their eyes met and held there for several seconds.

“This door holds a secret,” he said at last. “I have heard the Temple calling to me, and to you. We were brought here, ShaRhylla, both of us, so we may learn a truth. Do you join me in this discovery, or do you issue your challenge to me now?”

He then waited, poised.

Here be I and I the we-ness,
To the seeking we-ness now be
Not the finding in the blooding,
Lay I lowly in the hunt.

This was her hunt! This was her chosen victim! By methodology long revered by her clan, this was the realization that had suddenly come to her, there in the ship, when the madness of the Blood Hunt first began to descend upon her, the means by which she could finally rid herself of an adversary that, unbeknownst to her, she had no real clue why she hated as she did.

She only knew that he had to die...

But not by her hand alone. Not within the walls of his own Temple, this she begrudged him. Not without the assistance, and by that assistance the approval, of her new Blood Hunt Companion. With the tuk'ata's help the act would be a Hunt, one to further bond their budding connection.

Without her, however, it would be nothing but murder. And one actually beneath the questionable honor of the halfling, for it would not be an action perpetrated that she herself could gain Ladyship of the Armorers; she cared not one whit for the title.

Murder it would be. Her days of murder for its sake alone were gone, yanked from her being that day in the Darker Realms when her mother came, tore out every speck of evil Entaris had entwined with her being, and used it to stop him, and to save her from a fate of her own making.

She stood motionless for a moment, seeing red, her hands clenching into fists of anger. Then her stance softened the slightest, her arms dropped to her sides, and the form of Lord Phalomir swam into focus along with that of his own Blood Hunt Companion, who looked ready to move out at his slightest command.

She huffed a snort of derision, derision for the apparent betrayal of T'Karryn'd, and for herself for not thinking things through. For quite obviously the path she had tried to follow was anathematic to Sith honor and beliefs; perhaps it would be something she would regret somewhere down the road of her life.

That road will be a long one! she swore silently to herself, even as her eyes lit with another idea. For what had he just said? There was a truth waiting to be revealed to the two of them. Maybe this truth would help her rid herself of him at a later date; maybe this truth was something to demean him and place her on a pedestal over him; how delicious, that such a thing would happen in his very own Temple!

She softened further, but remained alert, ready for the slightest deception. At her side, T'Karryn'd raised her head, looked over toward her, and laced a single face-tendril about her arm.

She kept her gaze pinned on Phalomir.

"What secret?" she finally asked.

"And what truth?"

“That is indeed the question of the day,” he said. “I do not know what lies beyond this door, but a voice in the wind has called med here to discover it. But the door would not open for me, confirming what I suspected. This message is for both of us, and now that you are here…”

Phalomir turned to face the door, pausing only a second. He half expected ShaRhylla to rush him, but he counted on both the honor of her hunt mate and her own curiosity. He then stepped forward and stood before the door. He reached out and grasped the large handle and pulled.

The door creaked on its massive hinges and swung towards him. Phalomir stepped backwards and finished opening the door.

The room inside was dimly lit. A lone, blue glow came from the darkness, a small ball of hazy light. Phalomir glanced at ShaRhylla and turned back to the doorway.

The glow intensified as they watched, then warped into a cloud. It twirled and whirled, then twisted as if to take shape. It formed arms, then legs, then a head. Tendrils of blue smoke reached upward from the head and into large horns. In a moment Phalomir realized the haze was forming into an all too familiar shape.

All anger, whether genuine or not, dropped from the halfling's haughty facade like a stone as impulse lent wings to her feet and she exploded from her position beside the still quiet T'Karynn'd. She barreled into Phalomir, shoving at him with both hands to propel herself to where she could get a better look.

Which was directly in front of the ghostly blue image of her father...

Who threw back his head, and laughed.

"Father!" she burst out, reaching out with both arms but froze when quite suddenly the image grew more indistinct, muzzier, wavery as though being seen through water, water that grew deeper and deeper until the image itself was lost, leaving nothing but that weird blueish glow behind. She stood open-mouthed, her hands outstretched; from behind, her Blood Hunt Companion let forth a whine of concern and bounded to her side.

"No," she whimpered, letting her hands drop as the glow seemed to dim...

Only to brighten, with almost vicious rapidity. Brighter and brighter it became, slamming up the scale of resolution until she was staring at what seemed to be a moon, brilliant in its fullness.

Then that moon wavered, strengthened, and slowly segued into yet another image...

Again it was her father, but one a poor shade of the one just revealed to them. Now he hung shackled to a noisome wall, great streaks of ichor mixing with his still-oozing magenta blood. His mouth hung slackly, revealing empty sockets where his fangs had been. His horns likewise had been hacked off at the base.

And his eyes...

ShaRhylla's hands flew to her mouth in horror. Simultaneously, the apparition simply vanished.

She remained silent, shell-shocked, staring sightlessly at the darkness which now supplanted the glowing blue; at her side the tuk'ata shivered, and hunkered close.

"F-father..." she whispered, before rounding on Phalomir. Her hands dropped to fists, her eyes flashed and her brows thundered.

"What did you do to him?"

“I--” he began. He stood for a moment longer, searching for words. “I am as astounded as you,” he said finally. “Lord Roan, at first well and whole, then chained as a prisoner and – and defanged.”

Phalomir turned to ShaRhylla, his face a mirror of his confusion.

“The first image of Roan,” he said, “it was as we knew him. Strong, defiant… but there was something not right, did you see? It was blurred, yes, and somehow – watery. But the symbol of the Warriors, it was not. It was not there! But in the second image, it was.”

He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to remember, a difficult task as he worked also to shake himself back to reality.

“Was it there?” he asked himself. “Was it? I don’t recall, it happened so quickly and I had the limited vision of Panthar’s human body at that time. I don’t recall it, but I was not whole. It may not have been there, the mark may not have been there when I-- ”

He stopped, and looked sharply down at ShaRhylla.

That broke the spell, and allowed the urgency voiced in Phalomir's words to penetrate the wall of anger ShaRhylla had erected. Swallowing, she loosened her stance a bit, then closed her eyes and tried to remember. Memories wouldn't come; that is to say, not truthful ones. For it is through a forgiving pane we view those lost to us; it suddenly dawned upon ShaRhylla that the images she was beckoning from the far reaches of her mind might not be ones that accurately portrayed her father, but..

Perhaps portrayed him as she wished to portray him.

She peeped an eye open, and glanced up at Phalomir. The look she received in turn quenched the final fires of anger; to the depth of her soul she knew all pretense must be dropped, and that she had to give his quety an honest, solid answer. The "why" of it all eluded her, but that for the moment was of less importance.

So she closed her eyes again and brought forth the All, striving to see that which she thought she would never, ever forget...

Her eyes flew open, and once more found Phalomir's own.

"I-- I don't understand," she whispered under her breath, more to herself than to him. "I-- "

She took in a breath, and hugged the face-tendril more closely to her body.

"No," she finally said, her voice soft and low and utterly disbelieving.

"It was not there. Father did not have the Mark of the Warrior Clan upon him.

“Because he was not Dark Lord,” he said, slowly. “That is what the vision is telling us, Roan, in his prime, but not Dark Lord. Then Roan, broken and imprisoned, the real Dark Lord.”

He turned to face ShaRhylla.

"But... but..." she stammered, looking up at Phalomir, whose image suddenly seemed to be wavering as though seen though the depths of an ocean. She gulped fiercely, swiped angrily at her eyes, daring anybody to even see that tears were suddenly leaking from them.

Her looked at her form, a perfect hybrid of human and Sith… but was she Sith? What was this new mystery that unfolded before them, and why were they shown this image?

That is the question which must be answered. But even if the real Lord Roan were somehow taken prisoner and defiled, replaced by a doppelganger, surely her mother would have known the difference. It is not likely that someone so close could be fooled thus. There are differences…

Yes, differences. And who was it that told him of the greatness of Lord Roan? That his demeanor had changed over the years? Was it the spirit of Lord Rean that had spoken these words to him?

Phalomir’s thoughts wandered, drifting back to his rivals. Recinis, who challenged Roan for the Lordship and then disappeared, leading to Phalomir’s own confrontation with Roan. It was Eye of R’lous that had saved Phalomir, but he had long puzzled over that fight. How had he managed to kill the powerful Roan in such a fashion?

And what of Recinis? He returned eventually, but he was different than even Phalomir remembered him. Not the confident Sith lord, but a more subdued and almost sheepish person of logic. Yet his actions in reality brought Phalomir and Jharmeen together, and then Recinis vanished once again. But there was a difference.

And then there was Aelvedaar. Phalomir nearly perished at the hands of this Sorceror, only to discover that the real Aelvedaar was held captive. And yes, he turned out to be very different from the monster Phalomir first thought him to be.

This was the same.

“ShaRhylla,” he said, speaking to the little girl which nearly trembled before him. “Your father is Roan, Dark Lord of the Warriors. I know this, you carry the blood of the Dark Lords within you, I can feel it. The thing which we saw, what walked among us, was not your father. It was a doppelganger, like the one that impersonated Lord Aelvedaar for so many years. But your father lives… your TRUE father. And we will find him, it is why the Temple has shown us this.”

"Be steady, my Companion." Allowing herself a final sniff, she unclenched a fist she hadn't been aware she was making, and started to lightly stroke the nearest face tendril. It in turned seemed to soften it's grip, but still held her bound in protective cords.

ShaRhylla then finally steadied herself, and only then did those sense organs of the beast begin to unwind. When they all finally had unraveled from her form, it was to reveal A ShaRhylla seemingly back to her old, vibrant self.

"We shall find my father, and release him from his torment," she stated as a simple matter of fact. For indeed it was nothing less than that; a mere reaching out with her talents and his location would surely be easily found. Another stretch, and He The Tormentor would likewise be discovered...

Phalomir stopped. His words echoed in the dark hallway long after his mouth stopped speaking them, his attention now focused inward. His head then turned to ShaRhylla, a puzzled look now overtaking him.

"You did not know," he said. "Your mother, and you. Neither of you, with all of your powers, the knowledge of the Sith at your fingertips, and neither of you knew that Roan was not truly Roan, just as none of us knew that Aelvedaar was likewise captured and replaced."

He sighed deeply and looked again into now silent chamber before them.

"There is a cloud, a shadow obscuring your vision from this. What else has been hidden from your eyes, I wonder?"

Just a quick refresher.))

That... was...

She frowned, now ignoring everything that surrounded her: the small sounds of Phalomir's clothing that lightly rustled with each breath he took; the strangely empty sounds of the ages that floated just beyond coherent hearing; the nearly imperceptible whine let forth from T'Karryn'd as, perhaps the only one among them to sense the impending arrival of Something Unspeakable, she once more tightened her grasp about her young Mistress and drew her against her lithe, muscular body.

All this went utterly ignored as ShaRhylla closed her eyes so as to concentrate harder. But it seemed the more she tried, the farther away that which she sought seemed to slip. Memories half shown now fractured into enticingly incorporeal bits, ghostly images of something which may or not have been, thoughts and feelings which in reality should be raging in her breast with the vitality of her very soul only seemed to dwindle, diminished with every passing tick of the clock, until nothing, absolutely nothing was left.

Shock forced her eyes open with the realization that, other than a lingering sensation of something approaching apathy toward Rykounagin, there were no memories within her but extremely short-term ones.

She somewhat remembered coming here, to this place. How exactly, escaped her. Vague memories of darkly shadowed trees, of fighting a beast, of a new heart and mind joining hers in bestial union bowed beneath a surge of elation, of utter joy, of an ecstasy so profound as to almost totally destroy any other sensation of memory pooled within her. But beyond that...

It took the greatest of efforts, one boosted by the assistance of her innate talents, to even part that curtain, but at length it complied... only to reveal soft, cottony darkness smiling behind it.

She forced herself to remain still as wonder now followed revelation.

What had happened to her memories? Why was it that something so easily retrieved was instead being doled out in crumbs too small to interest the hungriest of womprats?

She could not fathom this, had no answer to the quandary.

"I-- I do not know," she finally replied truthfully.

"Do you?"

“I do,” he said. “And you deserve to know the truth.” His eyes wandered as his voice trailed, looking into the darkness.

Phalomir inhaled deeply, then turned his whole attention to ShaRhylla.

“It was so long ago, it seems. He was bent on destruction, having arranged a deadly showdown with Lord Recinis. At that time I did not understand who I was, or where I came from, and the only familiar thing I carried was an ancient relic, the Eye of R’Lous. I had no memories, I only wanted to search for clues, and I did my best to stay out of the way.”

“But Roan – or what I thought was Roan – was ill met in the underground hallways. He was anxious for the battle with Recinis, as if it were the culmination of some grand scheme. More than anxious – impatient. He was ready for battle, and I was an easy target. He attacked with a blast of energy, from the All, but he didn’t know that I held the Eye.”

Phalomir paused, recalling that terrifying moment. It was an image that he would never forget.

"So you killed the Imposter," she finally said. "Very good; he is gone, and is now more than likely in the Hell he deserves."

She paused a moment longer to scratch her tuk'ata's neck, letting the last tendrils of her earlier rage dissolve completely. But deep within her, something dark niggled; some lost bit of memory not quite completely eliminated by the talents of her mother tickled on an unconscious level so deep that, while it brought a slight frown to her features, she was unaware of the act.

Hell. There was something about it... And something about a lad with glacial hair and eyes of fire...

She blinked, and straightened.

For that matter, it may have actually been her true father that had died. He quickly pushed that thought away and turned his attention to the room.

"Yes," she spoke up, taking a step forward to stand beside Phalomir. Her locks flamed down her back as she tilted her head up, turning about in place to scrutinize the shadowed mystery surrounding her.

"Show me where my father is, the true Dark Lord of the Warrior Clan of the Sith!"

Triumph turned ashen then, as the Temple once again obliged. Once more an image waffled from the dark, grew into coherence before the pair:

It was the same image of the bound and tortured Roan... with another one exactly like him standing in front of his broken body. The second Roan was hale and whole, and even as they watched he threw back his horned head in a laugh they could only observe. The image changed in size then, growing smaller and smaller as perspective altered; the view was being brought outward, until a great, broken stone wall was revealed...

...followed by noisomely rippling Dark, upon whose unnatural surface there slavered millions and millions of spike-tailed demonic beings.

It seemed somehow familiar...

ShaRhylla quickly shrugged off that weird moment of deja vu, turning with wide eyes to Phalomir.

"I-- I don't under--" she began, when from nowhere a burst of knowledge so certain as to be nearly instinctual in origin descended upon her.

Her eyes widened even further; T'Karryn'd wrapped her tendrils yet more tightly about her young mistress as the halfling's one hand flashed up to her lips.

"One is my Father... and one is the Dark Lord..." she whispered, now taking an involuntary step backward as understanding pressed mockingly against her. "But yet--?"

At a loss for words she merely lowered her hand and bared her wrist. There upon it glowed the Tattoo of Entitlement, steady and pure.

But how...?

“The Dark Lord Roan,” he said. “He was a fierce warrior. I researched him, after I returned to my -- “

He paused, thinking of the days, so long ago now, when he first found himself in this time. So unsure of himself, so confused, and stuck in the body of a human. He had caused the death of Roan, and needed to know more. To be sure of what he had done, of he had killed.

“He was a great Dark Lord,” he continued. “A fierce warrior, and a great leader. But then things changed -- he began to make rash decisions, callous, cruel actions… he was leading the Sith down a dark path, making enemies. It wasn’t him anymore… literally, apparently. “

He turned to the girl, his face grim.

“The Dark Lord Roan,” he said, “the real Dark Lord, is captive. The other one we saw, he is an imposter, and from what the image has shown us, born of the Darker Realms. That is where the Dark Lord is held prisoner.”

Because if he were to die, then the Dark Lordship would fall to the next in line. And that would be… who? Recinis? Me? Or some other?

And if the imposter is her father… then help us all.

“And that is where we must go to rescue him,” he said. “But we cannot do it alone, not there. We need others. Your mother, for one. And someone who may know something of this – one who has admittedly done work for the Realms -- Thoran.”

“ I believe the Temple has shown us what it brought us here to see. We should collect the others and leave this place.”

Sniffing, she straightened, assured by the tightening tendrils about her slim waist.

"If what you say is true," she began, faltering a bit. "If my true father, the True Dark Lord of the Warriors, is being held in these realms of gloom and sorrow..."

She gulped momentarily as a whisper from her own vague and disjointed memories ruffled in to disarm her: images of Entaris, her Lord, his fangs ripping her flesh, her life, sending her blood gushing outward ever and ever, into the waters from whence sprang their children...

Their daughters...

She suddenly straightened.

"Lead on, Phalomir!" she cried as with the lithe of a true warrioress she sprang atop the back of her Blood Hunt Brother's back, ignoring all propriety for the moment as she did. For while this one might at the moment be the Dark Lord of the Armorers, it did not necessarily hold true in future events, and for the moment was disregarded as such. But as for her own past, a past which seemed to be something far less than a mere dream, yet one which was stabbed throughout with visions of one she thought that at one time she truly loved...

Or hated. The two were so very, very similar...

All was moot.

"I will retrieve my father from his pain!" she vowed with the trembling strength of the all-powerful adolescent. "He shall be returned to the Realm of the Living, to take his place in K'eel Doba as true Dark Lord of the Warriors!"

Of that she had no doubt.

Without waiting to hear what her companion might say or caution, she pressed her heels to the side of her tuk'ata. Her Beast yowled into the night, as they took flight as one, and soon were lost to the shadows surrounding them.

He snarled and turned, and in one motion leapt forward onto the back of his own giant brother.

On and on they went, the ship they were returning to a vague sort of image in ShaRhylla's mind, but corporeal enough that T'Karryn'd knew precisely where it was she was supposed to go. And before the sun could drop enough to truly begin darkening the forest through which they sped, they were out of it, and she was on her feet and running up to the hatch which yet lay invitingly open.

She burst inside, took a quick glance around, surprising Panthar who, looking somewhat the worse for wear, was fiddling about with the controls.

"We must go, we must leave this place!" she announced all in one word as without even waiting for a reply she hastened toward him and shouldered him a bit to one side. Before her lay the entirety of the ship's controls; she eyed them fiercely, as if by sheer will alone she could make them do her bidding.

Behind her, there came a yowl of concern, as her tuk'ata thrashed about at the base of the gangplank. She paused a moment, thought of going to T'Karryn'd, then returned her attention to the controls.

"Oh, HOW does one manage this?" she growled. Then she stopped herself, and reared back.

Her talents. How easily she could reach out with them, and just...

T'Karryn'd yowled again, the timbre growing suddenly frantic.

Panthar crawled backwards on his hands as ShaRhylla stood before the controls, having pushed him aside and to the ground.

Oh, poor Phalomir! Now we’ll never get off of this planet alive, and I’ll never get back to—

His thoughts were cut short by the frantic howling coming from outside the ship. He ignored ShaRhylla for the moment, as she seemed totally obsessed with the controls, and looked out into the outside world.

A large tuk’ata was reared up next to the hatchway, its back pressed against the ship. It was nearly standing on its hind legs, and its eyes blazed hot with rage. Panther shuddered at its closeness. He began to follow its gaze out to the edge of the clearing and stopped short when the form of Phalomir blasted in from the woods, atop another tuk’ata that was at least somewhat familiar. Panthar sighed a little, but realized the strange beast next to him was still howling. And now it was pushing harder against the ship, almost as if it were cornered.

“Great,” he said. “It’s not enough that you hate Phal, your pet does too?”

A loud growling roar came from the direction of Phalomir, and Panthar jerked his attention back to that area. Phalomir and his mount had made it halfway across the clearing already, but Panthar’s gaze was drawn further across the field. He squinted to make the image out more, then he realized what the tuk’ata was howling about.

A pair of giant, disembodied eyes glared at them from across the clearing, just inside the woods. It was on the opposite side from where Phalomir had entered, but it was there, clearly. The hairs on the back of Panthar’s neck stood straight and he could feel the weight of his innards as they sank.

The eyes narrowed, and they were looking at him.

He was frozen, immobilized by the burning eyes. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, not moving, sweat dripping from his forehead and stinging his eyes. Finally, mercifully, an enormous red hand grabbed his shoulder and he was able to pull away from those eyes. It was Phalomir, standing before him and smiling.

But Panthar did not return the smile. Instead his eyes remained wide open and darted back to the edge of the clearing.

The eyes were joined by a mouth, just as disembodied. It was huge, fanged, and grinning ever so slightly. He heard Phalomir yell something a hundred miles away, the sound nothing more than a watery echo. Something about Roan, perhaps? It didn’t matter, as he felt himself being shoved into the ship and Phalomir rushing forward to ShaRhylla.

Then Phalomir burst into the ship, shouting questions, orders, his deep voice rising up to override the frantic yowls of the pair of tuk'ata outside. He grabbed Panthar by the shoulder, yanked him bodily around, shoved him into the nearest seat as he himself then headed her way, intent on the controls of the ship.

"NO!"

The single word burst instinctively from her lips. She headed toward Phalomir, pointing to the apparently stunned Panthar as she did.

"Leave him!"

Hastening beyond him now, she came up to the hatchway, jerked to a halt before the horrible visage hanging at the edge of the clearing, yowling its demonic laughter at them. In front of the ship the pair of tuk'ata had joined forces, and were reared up on their hindmost legs, their others slashing the air in defiant protection as they spat and slavered and hissed at the apparition.

ShaRhylla turned back to Phalomir but cut a quick glance in Panthar's direction. His stunned visage was by now apparently giving way to one of confusion, judging by the shaking hand he was holding up to his head.

"Leave him."

She pointed imperiously toward the hatch, jutted her chin at Phalomir.

"The Blood-brothers will protect him, leave him!"

Why exactly this act was of dire importance to them all, she couldn't honestly say. She only knew that if they didn't abandon Panthar right here and now, they would all die.

“You can’t—“

But the look in her eyes told Phalomir that she could, and she did, mean exactly what she said. She was desperate, adamant, and so sure of what she was saying. Something had led them here – to the planet, to this clearing, to the temple… And something had been planting feelings and impulses into ShaRhylla. So far everything had clicked into place, and now that the end of this game was in sight a new twist was being thrown.

But she looked so sure.

She clenched her fists, fought against the tsunami wave within.

“Hold on with all of your might and go to the Temple,” he told Panthar as he walked towards his trembling friend. “I must go with ShaRhylla, but I will be back for you. Take care of Rykounagin. Md’diffnnd will hunt for you, and there are supplies in the inner chambers.”

Without another word he escorted the two outside. He looked sharply across the field, but there was nothing to see. The tuk’ata calmed somewhat and Phalomir helped Panthar onto Md’diffnnd. He looked back to the hatchway and nodded to ShaRhylla.

“Instruct your companion,” he said. “Then we leave this place.”

"Assist as best you can, and speak with Them both." Using the Link that now existed permanently between them, the halfling sent her final instructions directly into T'Karryn'd's mind.

"Treat them and obey them as you would me until my return, my dear tuk'ata."

T'Karryn'd responded by lifting her felinoid face upward and unleashing a fierce yet somehow mournful yowl. Then she quieted and moved carefully to stand next to her counterpart, two face tendrils reaching out to lightly touch Panthar's leg while the other seemed to lightly caress Rykounagin. Giving out a little huff, she then hunkered down so that the white-haired lad could more easily climb aboard.

Her cargo secure on her back then, she rose to her feet, and directed a somehow even more mournful look directly into ShaRhylla's bi-colored eyes.

"Go! And protect!"

With an imperious gesture the halfling pointed toward the woods, but said no more. T'Karryn'd, although clearly unhappy about it, woofled once, turned, and with a lithe and easy bound disappeared with her burden into the shadows. ShaRhylla watched as the larger male tuk'ata followed suit. Then--

"We must go now, come!"

Saying no more, she disappeared into the ship.

She paused only long enough to give the great Dark Lord of the Sorcerers a loving look.

Then her fingers assumed the odd horned pattern, pointer and pinky upward, the middle two curled against her palm, her thumb holding them surely there. She tweaked, and the interstices of space and time bowed to her command. A strangely bubbling blackness vortexed open, the other side of which she could not see but could feel as clearly as if she stood within it.

"This will take but a moment, Father. Your trust in me shall hasten my -- our return."

With that she stepped forward and passed through the Portal she had created, this one between the realm of the real, and that one known by no other name than Elseness.

For indeed, no other title could come close to describing this non-dimension's utter strangeness...

The Portal snickered closed in her wake, leaving the great Sorcerer Lord alone with the roiling Octahedron and his even more roiling thoughts...

She stepped out onto a jungled world, lifted her head, and reached out with her abilities. Her daughter and her beloved were here, and if she had done things correctly would be someplace in the vicinity of her arrival.

Wishing she had the comforting strength of her dear M'wonBo'o to help her, she set off in a direction no more distinguished from any other, than the fact that this one seemed to trigger a guiding nudge from her heart.

A strange prickling rose on the back of his neck. He paused, shuddering slightly as a chill accompanied the sensation. His thoughts turned immediately to Jharmeen, her face flashing in his mind’s eye in an instant. How long had it been since he had seen her last? How many countless days had they been apart? He trusted K’kihl absolutely, and he knew she would be safe with him, but the longing in his heart was great and he wished dearly to see her. To know for certain if she was safe.

He sighed lightly and stepped up into the ship.

“Googly,” he muttered. “Old Googly, that’s what Galen called him. But it wasn’t him, though, not really. That was different, he was a big pain in the butt but he wasn’t so mean looking.”

He realized that nobody was near enough to hear him.

“Hey, wait! What?” he called out, looking around. “How did I get here? I was… oh, right.” Phalomir’s last words to him came wafting through his memory. The eyes vanished from his mind for the moment, replaced by new worries and realizations.

“Hunt for me? How long does he think I’ll be here?”

Worries and realizations now gave way to anxieties and dread. He was hallucinating, that had to be the answer. They surely would not have returned to the Elseness, to this planet, not after being warned by the big Googly himself. Right, that was it. And ShaRhylla crashing the ship, that was just crazy! OK, well, she might actually do that in real life, but this was definitely a dream. All he needed now was to see Graysith and that would seal the deal!

A flash of red hair flickered in the woods, many trees away. Yep, that was all he needed. He was definitely dreaming.

But somehow, he just wasn’t totally convinced.

This is right. They are here...He is here...!

The thought of being finally reunited with both her beloved Lord and her equally beloved daughter lent wings to her feet; now she ran with the assistance of the All, letting it momentarily dissolve molecular bonds of vegetation which would impede her progress, letting it build pulmonary strength within her, more and firmer muscle fibers, everything she needed so as to be able to run with the fleetness of the wind without having to stop...

Except for a distant cry.

She skidded to a halt, her heart not even accelerated, and cocked her head to listen.

Nothing... save the diminishing echoes of a ghostly, "Hey...!"

Overlain immediately with a distinct chuff.

Tuk'ata.

Her heart nudged even as she turned from her former path, and headed quickly in the direction of that fading echo. Soon she burst out into a small clearing, one surrounded by heavy growth, but one containing the welcomed sight of two wild tuk'ata, one bearing a lad of her disapproving familiarity, and the other...

"Panthar!?" she cried as without pausing she ran up to the female tuk'ata that was carrying the man. It drew back, hissing as it prepared to protect it's burden, but a quick stab into it's mind, aided by her own scent, so reminiscent of ShaRhylla's own, quieted the animal enough that she could come up directly beside it.

For a brief she let her jaw drop in astonishment, then firmed it.

She jerked her face to him, her brow wrinkling in thought.

"I--" she began, then stopped.

Deep inside, Something stirred. Something that perhaps wasn't quite as extinguished as certain others would have believed. Something which upon occasion had sent little tendrils out to test, to touch, to seek the response of the living flesh of this halfling who had endured the strangest past of anyone in the entire Galaxy and beyond, for all the tenderness of her years.

Something smiled... and after a little bit of time, backed away.

"I-- well, of course I can!"

She drew herself up haughtily, moved away from the console and waved an imperious hand at them.

"Tell this ship what to do, even while I tell it where to go!"

With that, unaware even unto herself as to just exactly how it was she was able to do this, she closed her eyes and stretched. Immediately everything surrounding them began to crack into darkness, as if something encompassing more than death itself was trying to shatter the very reality of all that existed.

“It’s good to see you!” he cried. “Yes! Yes, they’re here! They’re over there in the…”

He stepped back, his senses snapping back into place at the sudden realization of what had happened in the previous hours.

“Phal and ShaRhylla,” he said. “They were in the ship, but they were leaving for – well, for somewhere, they didn’t say. They threw us on the beasties here, and sounded like they’d be gone for a long time. Told me to hide in the temple and have this guy hunt for me.”

He reached out a hand and stroked the tuk’ata’s sde. A low growl answered him, but he paid it no attention.

So close! She had been so very, very close...

Her eyes snapped open to bore into Panthar's own, seeking deep into his mind now, looking for that which may have slipped there unbeknownst to his conscious awareness. But he was telling the truth.

Her shoulders slumped as for the tiniest of moments she let that disappointment well up and swell completely over her. After doing thus, it continued on until at length it had completely flowed away, leaving determination in its wake.

Motioning that Rykounagin dismount, she took firm hold of both the lad and the towering Sith body which held the human essence of Panthar Dantares.

"Come," she said simply, and without preamble rent open the non-reality in which they were held, allowing them entry back into the reality that was the Great Temple of the Sorcerers on Khar Delba. Behind them, two tuk'ata yowled at the loss of their charges, too distraught by the thievery to be concerned by the strangeness of it all.

And it had nearly been his home.

“We are here,” he said flatly.

The vastness of eternal darkness stretched before them, lending only an endless stream of unknown landmarks to confound and deflect any attempt to navigate this wasteland. Yet Phalomir knew what he sought was here, out there in the ethereal ocean and unreal substance that was the landscape. All that he was, past and present, though a wild tangle of conflicting memories, held one constant that would not waver. And she was here.

“Jharmeen,” he said softly, gazing into the void. He glanced at ShaRhylla, his strange ally, daughter of hate and love, and no stronger a soul would there ever be.

“She is here,” he said to her. “And so is your father. There is a tower in this wasteland, a mockery of light that stands alone and tall in the curtain of darkness. That is where our search should begin. Feel for it, reach for it, tell me the direction and I will take the ship there.”

((OOC: Follow Phalomir and ShaRhylla into The Hand that Rocks the Cradle in the "Jedi/Sith" forums, thank you.))

The Master sat on the soft grass of the main courtyard of the ruined Temple of Armorers. He had many fond memories of this place and it served him well to reflect on the past and the path before him. His efforts to convince Graysith to assist him in destroying the Phalomir clone had proven fruitless, yet he did gain the valuable knowledge that this possessed thing was not in fact his true son. Well, genetically perhaps, but not equipped with the actual powers required by the darkness.

He wondered where he went wrong with her. Where should he have stopped fabricating? Would it have been enough to just say that the clone intended to kill Phalomir? Perhaps that lie would have sufficed. No matter now, it was enough for her know that her precious blonde had taken up residency by its side. Graysith would surely invade the Realm now.

But could she destroy the thing that dwelled within the clone? He doubted she could, that would take a force more powerful than she could ever hope to wield. She had become quite skilled in manipulating the All, but surely she did not understand it. He had not lied to her about that part, not entirely. He hated the All, hated its existence, hated the day that the Sith discovered it. It was not natural, not like the Force. Not native, even? He had no better answers than she would, it would remain a mystery.

But wait… perhaps there was another who did know more about it. Someone who was there from the beginning, or at least close enough. Yes, Thoran might know. He had not fully understood that strange one’s origins, but he did know that Thoran was part of the Realms long before the Master’s own entry into it. He though back to those days, ran over his own foolishness in his head. Thoran was given to him as an assistant, but in truth he was a spy and a guard. Thoran never professed to know anything about the All, yet he seemed to always be able to get of any situation. He could hop his spirit between realms, even to other physical bodies, hiding in them. That also was quite useful to the Master in those days, but had he really ever stopped to wonder how he could do this? Was Thoran even really a Sith originally?

He wanted answers. He also wanted help with killing the Phalomir clone. Thoran was one who could do it.

Using an old technique, nearly forgotten, he opened a small portal and reached out through it. Seeking, searching, and finally discovering. He held the portal open and widened it, pushing the other end towards his quarry.

Thoran stirred and eventually raised his head. He shook it slowly and with disgust.

“Thoran, my friend!” he exclaimed. “My otherworldly companion, my bosom bu—“

“Let me cut you off right there,” said Thoran. “Your penchant for the dramatic is enough to turn my stomach, but you incessant dribble is even worse. Before you even start to tell me what dire emergency I need to help you with this time, I am going to say that this is the absolute worse timing.”

“No time is ever good,” said the Master. “Time is not our friend, I’m afraid. The heart of the darkness beats inside the breast of a living being. The wrong being.”

Thoran smiled dryly. “So,” he said, “You succeeded in cloning your son then? And the darkness took possession, and you pulled off the scam of all ages. And now the Darker Realms will go war under the leadership of an imposter, but it means nothing to you for now you have been granted your ultimate power and you brought me here to gloat. Did I leave anything out?”

The Master scowled and proffered a hand to Thoran. After a moment, during which Thoran seemed to weigh the option of spitting on it or taking it, he finally thrust his hand into the Master’s and accepted the help in standing.

“There is a problem,” the Master said. “Yes, I admit it, I finally created a clone that I was certain could fool the darkness. It worked for a while, but something in that creature knew that I had resorted to trickery. It nearly killed me.”

“Hmm, what a tragedy that would have been,” Thoran snickered.

“I escaped, of course,” continued the Master. “The thing is bent on owning Phalomir and will not stop until it does. I even tried to involve the witch-- I mean Graysith. I felt sure that she would see my points and join me in saving Phalomir. But she would not join me.”

“Most likely because you lied to her,” quipped Thoran. “You lie to everyone, it’s in your nature. I’ve told you before that you cannot gain allies without proving yourself trustworthy.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Master. “So here I am, friendless, without an ally, trying desperately to save my son from an all-powerful foe.”

“Save your tears,” said Thoran. “Perhaps it’s time to admit defeat in this. Forget the Realms. Forget the power that you seek. Let the darkness have Phalomir and retire to some tropical moon on a distant planet. Gather your strength, drink some fruity drinks, settle down with some furry indigenous fluffball and maybe someday the new Empire will invade and you can use your own magick to kill them all. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The Master sighed heavily and crossed his arms over his chest.

Thoran thought back through the many years. In the days of Trelanicus, in the workshop where the Eye of R’lous was created, before the days of his imprisonment with Phalomir, he knew this day would come. Phalomir had become a friend in those days and Thoran had hated what he had to do. But the future that once was had to be sacrificed in order to save the present that they had created.

The Master had thought that the scope of the plan was all about stopping the darkness. That was only a small part of it, and there was much that he was not allowed to divulge to the Master. Even now Thoran suspected that there was much more to it than even he understood. He knew of the players, but not of their motives, and not of any prize they sought.

“If you can pull your head out of your backside for a moment,” he said, “then perhaps you can stop and listen to me for a change. Yes, this news you bring is terrible, but it is not the end of the galaxy. At least not entirely. There is more at stake, and as always there is more to the picture than your petty needs.”

Thoran stopped suddenly as a realization came upon him. The grass, the trees, the nearby temple…

“We’re on Korris’ian,” he said flatly.

The Master started to reply, but Thoran cut him short.