Enemy at the Gates (Mars)

[Zereth Lancer]

There it was. The sensation, the feeling, the presence. It had dominated his meditation for weeks on end, a faint prickling at the back of his mind that roused his mind from it's hibernation and refused to leave him alone. He tried to ignore it, but to no avail. He could simply not refuse the familiarity of this feeling like something was reaching out to him, or perhaps at at him, but nearby enough that it proved a strong sensation to his slumbering mind. While awake and alert he could not feel it. Only during long periods of meditation could it be felt and received. He wanted to ignore it and return to his mindless wandering, but it was somehow alluring. The mystery to this familiar presence kept pulling him back and eventually forcing him to follow after the sensation. Star ways passed and hyper space routes flew by. Whenever he became lost he stopped his ship and went into deep meditation until he located the source again, a sort of internal compass that could only be read during meditation. So he followed it till it led him to his final destination, the forsaken planet of Onderon.

Zereth was no class idiot, he knew enough of the history of the Onderonians to know that this was a place steepled in darkside mysticism, and more than that he could feel the ambient darkness. Not generated by its people, but rather from the planet itself, as if it had been permanently scarred by the crimes against nature that had transpired upon its surface. Equally its moon of Dxun felt equally tainted. This did not bode well. Although a sith by declaration, Zereth was not comfortable in such places. Korriban, Dagobah, Dathomir; all places he avoided if he could help it. He could feel the taint and he knew it could corrupt him if he let it. Now he was having second thoughts about this journey. Did he really want to set foot on a planet that felt so wrong to him? However, he had nothing better to do with himself and there was little left for him to lose, so perhaps it was worth the risk of losing what left of his purity in order to discover the source of the familiar presence.

The Star of Oblivion rocketed into orbit, the greens and blues of the planet below reflecting on the glossy surface of the transport ship as it descended into the atmosphere. While his ship moved on auto-pilot, Zereth was busy within the expansive corridors of his ship preparing for the task at hand. He had no idea what was calling him below on the surface of the planet, but it was no doubt a force adept otherwise it would be difficult for anything other than that to distract him during his meditation. So he took everything with him that he could possibly need. His blaster was strapped into its holster on his leg and his lightsabres were slipped into their separate hiding places. One was slipped just inside his boot and the other was placed on the back of his belt, where his cloak would hide it. And what a cloak it was. Once a bright red age and weather had worn it down to a faded red color and many times redying it had turned it a deep, dark red color. It was ragged and torn at the edges, but it still kept his shoulders warm and concealed him when needed. His clothing consisted of black trousers with boots that went all the up to just below his knees. His tunic was simple and short sleeve, and also black. A pair of leather gloves masked his hands. The fingers of which were cut off to reveal his worn digits but the arm guards of the gloves traveled all the way up his arm to a scant few inches from his elbow and leaving only his elbows themselves exposed. A lengthy knife was slipped into its sheath attached to his pistol holster and his cloak was donned. Zereth was a warrior by nature, by design, and he dressed as such.

Returning to the cockpit Zereth stood at the helm, watching the landscape dwindle past and grow darker as he moved to the opposite side of the planet as it's sun. The city of Iziz was in it's night cycle, but as his ship flew over Zereth could see nothing but light. The entire city seemed alive below. Not one square inch of the place seemed spare from the apparent festivities transpiring below. No true detail could be made from this height so he commed for whomever was in charge of air control and requested permission to land and enter the city. Personal information was offered, as well as anything else the handler on the other end of the comm requested. Onderon did not just let anyone into their city but Zereth's information painted him as a perfect gentleman. When asked his purpose for entering the city his answer was easily given. "To join the festivities."

The Star of Oblivion was given permission to land outside the city on an external docking bay built into the very wall that surrounded Iziz. Rising from his command chair Zereth strode through the length of his ship to the cargo bay where the cargo elevator that served as the only entry to and from his ship. There were guards waiting for him on the floor of the docking pad, three men all armed and waiting to search him. Zereth opened up his clothing, pulling his cloak aside to reveal his slender, muscular body and the weaponry there. However, the guards saw nothing of it. Zereth's gift of illusion removed the weapons from the minds of the guards, who instead saw just empty spaces where the actual items truly existed. One guard inquired after his attire, and Zereth informed him that it was a costume for the festival. Finally allowed to enter the city, Zereth wasted no time moving inside the confines of the walls and into the mass of bodies on the other side.

Now, where is this person he was searching for? He would have to enter meditation to locate him specifically, but there was no chance of that in this chaos. All around him people were crowding around, cheering, and hollering at whatever it was that stroke their fancy. Zereth was a tall man and could see over most heads, but even at that he could hardly make out what the crowds were actually surrounding. He assumed there was performers of some sort at the center of these circles of crowds. Rather then try to penetrate them he moved around the outside, looking and searching for the individual he was trying to locate. But to no avail. When it came to the contraptions of the mind outside of his own illusionary craft he was weak and could not penetrate this throng of minds to find the individual he was searching for. Rather, instead he opened up his own mind. Perhaps this other person was a strong force adept and could pick up his own force signature and come to him instead. It was a better ploy then walking into a potential trap.

So in the meantime he kept to the back of the crowds and remained alert, his body hidden under the folds of his cloak, his fingers never far from his weapons.

[Lucianus Adair]

The discomforting throngs of people aside, the Festival of Four Moons was tolerable. Marsuo'ur'stalis had found himself keeping not off to the side where he was not visible. Far from being mysterious and cryptic, he was in the midst of it all, observing with muted interest upon discovering certain presences here that the normal populace would be oblivious to. It was things such as these that shouted to this mind of his, attuned over a millenia and a half of sensing, watching and hunting prey for the purpose of tipping the Balance - not to any one side, but deeper still, to the whims of the Beast within, thirsting for blood and chaos, kept well subdued and controlled with an iron fist. Phoenix Mars Whyte was the epitomy of self-control, for he would otherwise fly apart into many pieces, something infinitely more dangerous and unpredictable... even to himself.

Mars - the predator, the ancient - stood near to the stage of the fencing competition, watching combatants suffer defeat or celebrate victory. At this point, was the time that the Princess Razielle and her soon-to-be husband Prince Tristan Alastor of Hapes took to the stage to face off against one another. The attention of the royal court had been on him, and they were aware of his presence here now, though not clear on what he was, or his capabilities. Enough, simply, to give them caution. Just as the next fencing match was to begin, something else alighted on his mind - another presence, one of barest, fleeting familiarity. Likely that he had not encountered its owner head-on, but perhaps, in passing, in a short moment he had felt it nearby. It had been some time since that feeling, but second occurences were enough to warrant his interest. The only other Force signatures that he had previously encountered had died at his hands, and by all rights, he should not be happening upon any of them again. Concentrating on it as he turned away from the stage, and began weaving through the tight-knit crowd, his sense confirmed that this individual (whoever it was he sought) had never been in direct confrontation with him. Familiar, but not known. How did such a presence go unseen, yet retain familiarity? It irked him that this had slipped past him, that perhaps he hadn’t taken the time to investigate it further the first time and either remove the source from existing or bend it to his will and make it useful… The latter far less likely, given it was not typical of him to do so. But if need be, there is a reason for everything.
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You are as out of place as I am, stranger. You would not do well to hide, as either I or those like me whom are in power in this place will find you out eventually. He thought to himself, as his faith in his abilities as a hunter were right and well-placed, having been proven time and time again.<o></o>

[Zereth Lancer]

Voices and sensations tickled Zereth's senses. A patron of the festival bumped into Zereth's arm with his elbow, causing his hand to dip down and draw the long, practical knife from its sheath and jabbing it forward once he finished his tight spin, but the blade encountered nothing but air as the man moved past and away blissfully unaware of how close he had come to death. Frustrated, Zereth looked around wildly with nostrils flaring, his dark red eyes dancing around madly as they looked for the person, or creature, he sought. It felt so close, like this person should be appearing out of the crowd at any moment to devour him. Turning back around, Zereth quickly pulled back toward the nearest building, putting his back up against the reassuring bricks; the hard, flat surface informing him that there were no sharp objects positioned behind him.

There was something yet familiar in the aura of the entity he felt. He knew he had felt it before, but he needed a face to put to the sensation before he could pin down this person's identity. It had been close to eighty years since he had first crawled from his underground birthplace. That was a lot of time, a lot of faces. A lot of voices

Zereth moved again, moving at a steady pace but always keeping a wall or obstacle on his back or left side, never leaving too many angles open and vulnerable. His knife had returned to its sheath but his hand remained gripping its handle, ready to pull it out if required. He would rather avoid bloodshed if at all possible, but sometimes you just had to inject a little chaos to get what you wanted. While not a violent man, Zereth was willing to do whatever he deemed necessary to reach whatever goal he placed high enough to be worth such measures to begin with. And right now this entire situation was putting him on edge.

His path took him closer to the unseen palace. While he could not put a direct position on the entity, he could feel a general direction to take that would lead him toward it. It was like a blind man wandering toward the sun.

[Lucianus Adair]

Come out, come out, wherever you are...

He doubted, though, that the owner of the faintly familiar presence was hiding. It seemed to moved, drawing his senses incrementally from one position to the next, slipping through, around, in and out. It seemed to be seeking. It was getting closer and so was he. The tight-knit crowds did not allow for too much freedom of movement, the warning air he had put on dissuaded much of the normal thoughts of curiosity or thievery some citizens might think to exact on his well-dressed and beautifully armed self. Already, earlier in this day, some young boys had sought to sate their curiosity on the predator's blade. A trick to the mind, a deeply suggestive course of images dissuaded the boy and his friends and had them whispering and bickering amongst themselves, quivering words like 'sorcerer'.

It was that line that reeled in the notice of one gateway to the local base of power, one whose presence was hard to ignore. It was here, it called out to him and greatly piqued his interest, much like the oddly familiar presence did now. And so sudden, he halted in his weaving and slipping, narrowing his eyes from his visual stance above the average height of the crowd. Being seven-foot-two had certain advantages.

He did not move a hand to ready a weapon. If such an action was needed, it would be done at the time required. Advance preparation such as that had not been required of the ancient for some hundreds of years.

Your scent is distinctive. Show yourself to me... I know you are here.

Who are you?

[Zereth Lancer]

It here, somewhere. The search was frustrating him to no end. This signature, steeped in the force, did not feel like a Jedi, and in his experience most non-Jedi were power hungry war mongers with super powers who tend to rush anything else with a connection to the force in a blitz tactic to remove it as quickly as possible. There could only be one, apparently, but those kinds of force users were easily dispatched. Their blind lust for power was always their undoing. The lightsabre is not the greatest weapon in a man's arsenal. It is his mind.

So it was with great caution that Zereth crept through the packed street, the knife still in hand, but held upside down, angled up to rest against the arm guard of his glove. Hidden from basic sight, especially here in the crowded streets, but out of the way so that the pushing tourists should not accidentally cut themselves, not unless he willed it.

The street angled up, sloping over a hill and forcing Zereth to inch up the easy incline. However, as he cleared the top the palace came into view in the distance, and the feeling got even stronger. The man was here, somewhere. Nearby. Looking around, red eyes in the darkness, he moved from face to face, looking for something, anything. The feeling was familiar, it had to be someone he had met in his past, somewhere. However, with a past as long as his he had plenty of faces to go over. Nothing, however. He kept looking, just Onderonians as far as the eye can see, a few Mandalorians in their body armor here and there, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary.

What the schutta? There was a man, or rather the head of a man, looming out of the top of the crowd. A giant. Now that was unusual. Not even Mandalorians grew that tall. Either the guy was standing on a box or he was quite tall. While his height loomed, his frame was subtle. People did not seem to mind the giant in this midst, but Zereth found it incredible unusual. Cautiously he stepped into the flow of bodies, moving toward the giant, who was easy to see with his head sticking out of the crowd, like a sunken mast among the beating waves.

Slowly, closer and closer, but Zereth had no idea what he would do when he reached the man. He would let the giant play the first card, move the first piece. Then he would respond. Unlike most force adepts of his alignment, Zereth did not make the first blow if he could help it. Not in uncertain times like these. Better to react and be sure then to act and make a fool of yourself. However, he did get the indication that he was walking into a sand panther's den, and he did not like displaying himself so openly to the giant, whom he was sure was the source of the familiar feeling. In a crowd like this both him and the other man were limited, and Zereth did not like to be limited. Not being able to flee or fight meant he was trapped. He did not like the risk he was taking, however he had to know who or what this person was. He needed a better angle to make out his facial features better. Just a little closer...