Fidem Vita Fateri

[Carthis]

Many kilometers below the duracrete peaks which dominate the Coruscant skyline and far away from the buzz of the flashy speeders which swarm around them, there resides a dark urban underworld. A place where no natural light can touch, it is said to harbour the scum and villainy too poor and notorious to survive any lawful society. Its streets crawl with ravenous vermin with which many of its inhabitants are forced to share a home, hidden amongst the festering squalor with nothing but a knife in their pocket. The more fortunate have the luxury of spending their days and nights lost in a drunken torpor, left to rot in the corners of blood-spattered barrooms and seedy strip joints until taken by disease and death. Deeper still, concealed from the garish glow of last stop establishments, there are devolved wretches, an unsightly subclass of human cast into the depths and amputated from the world like a gangrenous limb. If the city planet is truly unsleeping, then its Underlevels are left unwaking from its black stygian nightmare.


SLAVE GIRLS
SLAVE GIRLS
SLAVE GIRLS


A sign illuminated a street popular with night-time revellers unable to visit the Uscru district. The neon lights fizzed and crackled above the open doorway, occasionally the Girls part of the sign dimmed and attracted questionable clientele, and the last line hadn't worked for years. In places, the glowing crimson floor glinted with broken glass. On the other side of the street there was a tiny liquor store called The Bar Destroyer, white light spilled out from its open door, in which lied its unconscious owner, Taby, cradling an empty bottle of Starschnapps. A side street, barely wide enough to accommodate a single speeder, slipped away from the throbbing music and clamour of violence and into darkness it plunged. It led at length to a double door made of thick riveted steel, on either side the walls were plastered with faded posters, except one shimmered in the pale hue of an overhanging streetlamp. It had been freshly painted and simply read:


CHURCH OF THE DARK SITH BIMONTHLY MEETING
MYSTERY GUEST TO BE ANNOUNCED


The simmer of mass conversation burbled beyond the weighty doors where a sixty-strong congregation of local down-and-outs had assembled in anticipation of the special visitor they had been promised. They sat in rows on wooden benches, some sat on barrels arranged in semi-circles around empty crates on which they leaned, hands clasped in prayer. The walls stretched and curled in arches high overhead, ancient symbols and iconography had been scratched into the paintwork, in some places the ceiling had collapsed exposing a maze of rusty dripping pipes, but in spite of this, the building was still very much an old church. A candle lit alcove sat at the end of the cavernous room, in which were nestled three robed figures around an altar made of damp rotten wood. Over the chanting of foreign tongues, excited whisperings were heard:

"Do you suppose it could be a new priestess for the master?"
"Don't be daft, Huxley, there can only ever be two at any given time, remember?"
"Then what about the old mystic who lurks about on the other side of town?"
"The Cartographer of Dathomir? That's just a rumour, surely."
"I bet it's one of those exiled Nightsisters Priestess Paradoxia mentioned last month."
"Could be! Could be! Or it could just be the philosopher again..."
"I hope not! Not again!"
"If Biletongue walks through that door I swear, by the Emperor's black bones, I'm walking out."
"I'm with you..."

"Welcome! Welcome, brothers and sisters! Welcome!" boomed a voice from the far end of the building.

The central of the three robed figures raised his arms in greeting of the latest arrivals to be granted clearance through the hefty metal doors. Heads turned in unison.

"Make yourselves comfortable in my home, my dark brethren, the ceremony shall begin shortly," he said, the dancing light illuminating beneath a large hood a rather crudely painted face.

The sound of conversation resumed and the strangers took their seats at the back of the room, muttering to each other while casting about cautious glances. It was their first visit to the ill-reputed Church of the Dark Sith and if anything, they expected a memorable evening. And the rest of the congregated faithful felt the same.

[Ourania]

Amongst the latest admissions to the church there was a robed figure, who moved silent and alone. There were others who wore similar attire, swathed in folds of cloth, and some who clad themselves in studded leather, their hair styled into outlandish spikes and their faces marked with paint and piercings. Yet, for all they appeared intimidating, there were few as unsettling as the solitary figure.

Midnight blue fabric covered every limb, with only a thin band of alabaster white skin visible upon the face. There, a thin nose could be seen and eyes so pale and bright that they seemed almost like stars amongst the smothering darkness of the chamber. They moved here and there, the head tilting by degrees to take in all the eccentricities on display. When the figure began to cross the damp wooden floor, it was almost as if it did not walk but rather glided, head continuing to turn back and forth in an endless appraisal of its surroundings.

[Sanya Tagge]

Curiosity. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it gnawed at her. In her office at the pinnacle of Tower Aletheia, headquarters of the Imperial Ministry of Truth, Sanya Tagge sighed. Before her, there lay a tables worth of data-sheets, flimsies and all manner of reports on recent occurrences throughout the Empire. Ahead, there stood a wall of constantly flickering holovids, each screen offering a glimpse into a different place, hundreds upon hundreds of camera lenses all connected to a central system, and everyone of them at her command.

The light patterned over Sanya's features flickered and changed in hue as the video-feeds shifted through their endless, restless cycle. One displayed a looping feed of a speech by Miranda Tarkin. On another, a championship game of COMPNOR's sport of choice: Wegsphere. On a third, a re-run episode of Win or Die, a tragic holodrama about a boys ardent desire to support the New Order, against his parents wishes. Sanya's eyes lingered on this screen for a moment, watching as Emperor Palpatine cradled in his arms the dying child, a single tear rolling down his wrinkled cheek. Within a few moments, her eyes had begun to glaze over and become distant.

Shaking away the momentary trance, Sanya returned her attention to the work that lay before her – and yet, she felt no focus, no drive to do what needed to be done. There was an erroneous variable amongst it all, something that would have to be removed and processed before she could turn all of this raw data into a viable output.

The fly in the ointment was a single paper-based flier, its very existence as such making it a peculiarity. It had been poorly made, the ink bleeding and smudging in places, but it was not the quality of its production that distracted Sanya so much from her work; it was the content. Boldly, it proclaimed: CHURCH OF THE SITH BIMONTHLY MEETING That such an item should have come into her hands might have seemed improbable, but the truth of it was that since arriving on Coruscant, Sanya had taken it upon herself to establish a renewed connection with the vast city. The center of the universe, and the Empire, it was a keystone to the New Order's continuing success. Nothing short of full knowledge of its every nook and crevice would be satisfactory.

Yet, though she tried to deny it, there was something more than professional interest drawing her attention – time and time again – back to that flier. The dreams which had begun on Vjun, of dark figures so distance yet somehow familiar, had not ceased upon her departure from Chateau Malreaux. Indeed, they had only increased in number, the violence of the visions becoming all the more pronounced, until she woke in a cold sweat, heart thumping with terror. Terror, but not at what she had seen, rather how it had made her feel: exhilarated. Those close to her could never know what glory she felt in those private moments, what rapture. It shamed her to even think on it, and yet she could not deny it, could not ignore the very thing which clearly lay somewhere within her subconscious mind...

On Vjun, she had taken captive Force Users for her own personal study, in an endeavor to unravel the mystery of it all. Where had she come from? What had she inherited from her ancestors – her true ancestors – that brought upon such bouts of near-madness? Somehow, though she could not explain it, she knew that the intangible threads of the Force were woven into her life's story, underlining a heritage which she was not aware of, and – in that ignorance - feared.

[Jackson Mcgraves]

Somehow Jackson had managed to get himself into this decrepit old church. It had only been a few days since he had seen the flyer that had caught his interest. The word sith was what had caught his eye about it. It was a word of horror stories his dead master use to tell him. It was a dead word of a dead religion but somehow someone in the under belly had found it and was using it but for what gain?

It was a question Jackson had asked himself for the past two days. He was still asking himself that question as he looked around at all the down and outers that had gathered here for some sort of ceremony. Jackson had made himself look a little more disheveled and even wore his old masters red dirty long jacket to try and fit the part. It was up to last Jedi in the galaxy to investigate the goings on in his part of the galaxy so he had come here.

He reached his hand up to his mouth to see if the sip of whiskey he had taken was still on his breath. He didn't want to lose his cover amongst all these people he was only one man. As he reached his hand up he noted a creepy looking woman moving through the crowd with even creepier pale yet bright eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have come here he started to think.

[Adrea Veliner]

:: Adrea stepped inside, sizing up the others as she remained near the door ::

[Carthis]

From his vantage point behind the altar, the mysterious robed figure spied new faces amongst the old and his thin lips curled into a cold grin. The steady trickle of people filtering through the large doors and into the ecclectic crowd came to a halt. He raised his arm, thick folds of cloth crashed around his elbow and pale spindly fingers hung ominously in the air. The doors sealed with a deep thunk which rumbled in the dark corners of the building, the congregation settled and their conversation ceased. He relished the silence for a moment then allowed his hand to fall and in unison, the priestess to his left drove a wooden mallet into a large bronze gong. The vibrant crash filled the grim hall and shimmered at length before it faded.

"Greetings, my brothers and sisters! The Force be with you!" he spoke with melodic melodrama, elongating his vowels.

"We are joined by new faces tonight and as our humble congregation grows we ask what wind blows these strangers into our midst? It is the winds of change, my brethren, the winds of change. Since we last gathered, the tides of fate have shifted and a new empress has rose in power over the Empire... as foretold by the sacred holocron!"

This caused an enthusiastic stir in the crowd, the muttered voices were silenced when the master raised his arms and proceded to address them.

"Yes, my brothers, I have spent many long hours in dark communion with the ancient spirits, unlocking the mysteries of the sacred holocron and it has spoken to me. It speaks of the rise of the Sith and our return to power. That time is coming, friends, it is coming. To tell us more about these revelations we have a special guest joining us and to welcome him, let us sing."

The master started to sing in a language that was not basic, his voice was strong and promptly other voices joined in. Singers fumbled for the words, warbling long minor notes with uncertainty while others glanced around in desperate attempts to spy the mystery guest. The large doors were suddenly thrown open, hinges screeched in protest and the clang of metal silenced the tuneless drone. All heads turned.

In the doorway stood a figure dressed in the familiar riot uniform of the Coruscant City Watch; his identity was hidden behind the black visor on his helmet. He stepped forward and dragged something behind him into the light. It was a man, bound by the wrists and ankles. A brown sack had been pulled over his head and tied to mask his identity as well. The stunned silence persisted and so the stranger proceeded down the aisle, between the rows of benches, dragging the body behind him. Finally, the master found his voice.

"Who are you?" he asked weakly, "You are not Phineous Biletongue."

The stranger failed to acknowledge his question and simply trudged forward with the sound of his eerily silent captive scraping over the floorboards. He appeared unarmed but his presence had clearly disturbed members of the congregation, some of whom had stood and were eyeing the open doorway, bracing themselves to run. The heavy doors slammed shut, the steady ringing which reverberated throughout the hall was punctured only by feeble cries of alarm. He stopped before the altar and relinquished his hold on the rope which bound the captives feet, the rope fell from his shoulder and the bare feet slapped the cold floor. The master, now angered, leaned forward on his creaking table and yelled at the intrduer.

"Identify yourself!" he failed to disguise the fear in his voice.

A slight tilt of the helmet suggested the stranger had looked at the robed master but he turned away to face his congregation. Gloved hands lifted away the black helmet to reveal a face of deathly pale skin deformed by deep jagged scars. Some of that awful skin was hidden under thick dashes of crimson which stretched crudley around his features like primative war paint. By the candle light, his eyes glistened black.

"I... am your mystery guest."

[Tetsuya Hairetsutsu]

The seat in front of Adrea was occupied by a youth, who looked on with stone-set features, unchanging as the visitor made his entrance. One heavy boot tapped monotonously on the floor, beating out a slow, steady rhythm. His eyes narrowed on the newcomer, watching carefully, whilst a calm hand checked for the familar, cylindrical object beneath his grey flight jacket.

[Ourania]

All throughout the hall, voices rose in the silence.

“Who's he?”
“What's wrong with his face?”
“What's that he's dragging behind him?”
“Looks like some kinda clown...”

In their small groups, the congregation speculated wildly, their feverish whispers becoming like the incessant buzz of a hive. Some had risen to their feet, standing alert against the possibility that conflict might break out. The pale woman, alone, said nothing though her eyes fixed unwaveringly upon the grim visage of the Church's mystery guest.

Though caught off guard, the master could not afford to appear as such to his flock. It would undermine his authority and go some way to dispelling the myth that he was omniscient. Already, he saw doubt in some of the faces looking up at him, who had heard the quivering in his voice as he demanded to know who the interloper was. Now, when he spoke, his voice was a harsh whisper, loud enough so that only the stranger and those very close to the platform upon which he stood would hear.

“What is the meaning of this?”

[Adrea Veliner]

:: The Falleen grew bored with the poor entertainment, and she thought about slaying the prisoner, just to get on with the proceedings ::

[Jackson Mcgraves]

Jackson was amongst those that had risen from their seat in the commotion. Although his reasons where not the same as all the rest of the people in this room. He wanted to get a good look at the victim on the floor. He thoughts where racing with how to save the man while being surrounded by a pack of wild wolves that would pounce on him.

His left hand thumbed his master’s old light saber in his jacket. While his right hand was reaching for the blaster in his leg holster. He assessed the crowd already knowing he was out numbered. He knew he couldn't let the man on the floor die but if he tried to save him he would no doubt die in the process. The Jedi in him one out save the victim despite the odds. So Jackson began to push his way through the crowd past a Falleen and the human in front of her.

[Sanya Tagge]

Unseen by those gathered – their eyes drawn towards the spectacle unfolding at the front of the hall – another figure slipped through the doors, into the church. To the eye, it appeared an unobtrusive thing, dressed in robes that mirrored the style of many others present, but a closer look would have revealed that this attire was nothing more than a hastily fashioned disguise to create the illusion of uniformity. The truth of it was that beneath the many folds of cloth, enshrouded within a heavy hood, was a man on the brink of terror.

An apprentice artisan within the Ministry of Truth, his duty was to monitor and process data. His days were spent before a computer terminal, eyes fixed unwaveringly upon a screen and the hundreds upon thousands of characters to be read. What his post did not include was field excursions in the unsavory depths of Coruscant, where a man with a patriotic disposition towards the Empire would find himself out-numbered and out-gunned by those who thought otherwise.

The fear and sweat rolled off him in waves, as he crept his way forward to one of the benches furthest from the Master's lectern. Eyes twitching back and forth, he placed himself at a distance from any others and strained his neck to try and see what was going on up ahead...

[Carthis]

His head turned a fraction, a maze of black lines zig-zagged through the deathly pallor of his skin. He didn't answer the master immediately, instead he stared at nothing with unblinking eyes, allowing the swelling clamor to speak for itself. Then he addressed the people in a voice which scratched like metal.

"Let's talk about faith."

He waited, and watched with a glimmer in his eyes, for the crowd to return their attention to him. The murmering died. He raised his index finger no higher than eye level.

"I have it," he said, then pointed the finger into the crowd, "You have it. But what do we do with it?"

Another pause, he frowned at the silence, and stepped away from the unconscious man about his feet. His measured steps made heavy thuds as he patrolled the width of the congregation.

"It brought you here tonight. It makes you listen. It makes you think. It makes you hope. But it never makes you do, does it?"

A young man was shuffling forward through the crowd, shoving through with some urgency, and in the sudden stillness had made himself very obvious. On the orator's grizzled lips flashed a momentary grin.

"So, I have come here to change that tonight. I am not one of your Dark Lords..."

He swivelled to look at the master.

"But I do speak on their behalf."

[Tetsuya Hairetsutsu]

Tetsuya cast a brief, puzzled look back at Adrea, before getting a rough shove in the back. He stood to glower at the man, reaching to grab him by the neck, before being distracted by the speaker.

Who is this man?

The youth ran his tongue across his teeth, exhaling heavily. The room was tense, and he was growing impatient. This rhetoric scraped at Tetsuya's ears, putting him on edge, betraying his collected exterior. His hand retreated back to his side, wishing this curious creature would make his purpose known.

[Adrea Veliner]

:: She spoke to Tetsuya telepatically ::

<i>Be patient</i>

[Jackson Mcgraves]

With one final push Jackson broke thru the crowd into the open area surrounding the guest of honor. He had missed much of the speech in his urgency but he did here words "dark lords". It didn't deter the stubborn young man though as he moved up to the man lying on the floor. He knelt down in the man and reached over to check his pulse.

"You speak only for yourself."

Jackson muttered the words but kept his attention on the injured man. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do now though. He didn't really have an escape plan at least not one that he could use carrying extra weight. Now that his cover was blown he didn't have much choice but to wait for the crazy psychopath to make his next move.

[Ourania]

Whilst others seethed or scoffed at the words passing those cracked and painted lips, the pale woman watched and listened with eyes unblinking, something akin to a child-like curiousity in her expression. There was a bird-like grace to the way her head tilted to follow his pacing, her gaze never leaving him.

“What do they say.. the dead ones?”

[Reginald Nil’vak]

All eyes were focused upon the guest, fighting for a good view of everything...but among those that held back was one of the newest members of the church, fidgeting and more absorbed with attempting to ignore the overall filth of the ruined place than attempting to fight a crowd to have a better listen at what he was saying. Reginald figured the dull roar of questioning and speculating voices would quiet down if things got real interesting - they had when the scarred man had mentioned dark lords. There was little need for him to brush up against his less sanitary compatriots. The cloak he wore offered only mild protection to all the grime, if he just sat still maybe he wouldn't have to rush off to have his wardrobe cleaned as soon as this was all over.

When the pale woman spoke up, Reginald took a pause in his internal cringing to hear what the reply would be, to see if his one was truly going to say something worthy, or if this was truly going to end up being another wasted evening that resorted back to prayer that only ever made Reginald want to off the whole lot of them in their hypocritical nonsense...or if the true will of Bogan (or any other name they wished to call it) would present itself that evening perhaps to offer true purpose finally.

[Kassandra Distorith]

There had been a time, some twenty years ago, when she had sworn that she'd never set foot on the city-planet again after leaving it to join the Jedi.

That vow had lasted about as long as her stint on Zhar had.

Shaking the profusion of silken raven curls that crowned her head, the Mistress raised a hand to toy with a dark lock. Stiletto heels clicked along the floor as she sauntered into the main chamber, having followed Reginald as he trailed through the....unwashed masses.

Kassandra had chosen a particularly lush ensemble (http://i43.tinypic.com/wm1k42.jpg) for her evening, wrapping her curves in a carefully constructed black silk and organza creation. The tops of her stockings were visible, as were the glittering anchors that held them pinned to her toned thighs - trickles of blood trailing from each diamond-studded pin.

Fingers lit softly on Reginald's shoulder as she stopped by his side, arching a sculpted brow at the proceedings up ahead. They were...interesting, so far, the Mistress mused. Crimson eyes flicked across the crowd and lit upon those standing at the front, watching...and waiting, as her power shimmered and rippled around her in discreet tendrils.

[Carthis]

“What do they say.. the dead ones?”

He closed his eyes and smiled in serenity, then turned to find the owner of the melodic voice, ignoring the master's cries denouncing his blasphemy. She was nearby and he approached her slowly, his head stooped and tilted like a predator circling its prey, he leaned in close.

"They say," he said, breaking eye contact to glance around, "Apathy is the enemy."

"And we're all guilty of it."

Now his voice echoed in the furthest chambers of the church, he stood upright, turned, and strode the length of the aisle back to the front. The young man had succeeded in untying the prisoner's bonds, he looked up cautiously, and as Carthis passed, he pointed a finger at him.

"Everyone, except him," he said, and climbed the stairs leading up to the altar, "This man acts on his convictions. He seeks to change the world around him. We could take a page out of his book..."

Off came the brown bag, revealing a beaten and bruised middle-aged man with very little hair. There was an adhesive tape wrapped around his head, covering the mouth, beneath which there flashed a dim red light. Carthis whirled around to face the congregation, in his hand he held a detonator. He shrugged.

"Unfortunately for him, he is on the wrong side, so..."

He pressed the button and the prisoner's head was torn apart in an eruption of gore, sending pieces of flesh and skull cascading into the seated masses. The detonator pocketed, he pulled out a blaster pistol and fired a single shot into the roof to silence the sudden uproar.

"My question to you is simple: which of you are do-ers and which of you are not? Stand and be counted."

[Jackson Mcgraves]

Blood and brain splatter into Jackson face as the detonator went off. Jackson who was leaning down undoing the man’s binds was no on his butt. He skittered backwards in the horror of it all. What had this man done to deserve his head getting blown off? Who did this speaker think he was? No man good or evil deserved such a horrid fate as this. Except maybe this speaker, in disgust for this man Jackson rose slowly to his feet.

"Unfortunate for you I'm on the wrong side."

Jackson didn't know where this bravery was coming from as he reached into his coat. He pulled out a cylinder and gripped it tightly in his right hand. Jackson had never purposely killed a man before. This speaker would be the first man he would cut down in cold blood.

"Also unfortunate you won't be amongst the standing."

Jackson tilted his head to the side cracking his neck with a pop. The Jedi ignited his saber into a green beam of light.

"Nor the counted."

[Adrea Veliner]

:: There was a double snap hiss as the Falleen ignited her twin sabres, both crimson. She walked in a predatory circle until she stood between Jackson and Carthis. She locked eyes with him, and awaited his next move with deadly silence ::