The Sinyaquenta: Tales of Arda and the Galaxy

by Lord Exar Kun

Following the end of 'Arda Unleashed' this book contains the varied tales, adventures and stories of characters both old and new. Follow them through this new galaxy. Follow Sauron, Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padme, Aragorn, Gandalf and many more in the lead up to the next step in the great tale of Arda in the Galaxy. Much will change, for good and for ill. Time alone shall tell.

17. Ghosts of Korriban

Chapter 17

Ghosts of Korriban

Some weeks after Sauron met with those who now formed a sort of strange council upon Bâlmírdan, he found himself traveling to the great desert wastes of the Sith species. Though the strategies of Grievous, Thrawn, Exar Kun, Karness Muur, and the Witch-King were debated within the halls of the great mountain ring palace, Sauron had issued forth commands to some, and recommendations to others. The forces were being calculated. The armies of machine men, and other such things of use and power were being prepared. Though this conflict to come may not yet rise in the weeks or months ahead, the planning of it required action now. Planning now, and the gnawing anxiety prickled with oozing excitement stabbed at those who found intrigue, enjoyment, even lust for war.

That was then, this was now. The Dark Lord in all his plans and machinations continued on with his schemes. The sandy dunes of another seemingly dead world that was of the barest hint familiar to him, flowed. The Witch, as ever, was more than enthusiastic to explore the wastes of the Sith homeworld. That place, here, where the Dark Side found ancient roots. If not the home of the Dark Side, certainly not, then a place where it could and had grown unimpeded by the delusions of the Jedi or their forefathers in act, mind and manner.

Sauron came unto Korriban upon a simple shuttle. No fleet coming with him. Not this time shadowed by Grievous who must attend to the matters revolving around the coming accords. This time, the Dark Lord, come from Mordor, wished to explore with just he, his host and partner as it were. The palantír had called them here, but such was not necessary. For the plan had always been to return to Korriban. To steep and stoop into the darkened folds of the world. Vica's interest in the Sith and the Dark Side of the Force was obvious and need no great analysis as to why such was the case. Sauron, for his part, upon awakening beyond Arda found himself cramped within halls of cold metal. Murdering troopers who dared to try and stop him from escaping. Where he then came upon Sidious in the aftermath of his rampage, and all else was now history. Even back then Sauron had heard whispers in the dark. Ghostly thoughts scattered as witless questions wondering as to the coming of something with his 'fire.' Even then, there had been the awareness in his mind of house-less spirits wandering about the sands, and within deep darkened caverns.

"So much history!" Vica whirled about herself in astral apparition. Her face, the vision of a mischievous and somehow equally childish grin. Her arms spread about and the spin of her imagined clothing followed as her boots danced upon unmolested sands beneath herself. Sauron felt and heard the crunch of the sands under the boots their shared body wore. A vessel he presently, of course, commanded. Their body's eyes were of a dark green, and their appearance was changed. Ever sure to appear one way here, and another there. To be as confusing a being to describe but for obvious human flesh for any wayward eyes.

Today Vica's body was much like her natural raiment. Slender and strong, but her clothing denied one easy realization of her common gender. Atop their shared head was a familiar cowl, but this time it was of a bold red color, across their body simple leather armor of a dirty gray-white tied about her waist with a blackened sash. Their mouth and nose covered by an equally dark face mask of simple cloth and their flesh a brown hue like that of the sands underneath them. Unseen, their hair now seemed long and black, but presently was tied in braids atop their scalp, done by Vica herself upon the changes Sauron made. At their waist was a blaster pistol, but no discernible lightsaber. Instead that lay hidden in their tunic sleeve. A favored place for poor Sidious when he once wielded one of his own. Presently Sidious was himself house-less. His prior body tortured to the point of breaking. His Shadow Ring now within a satchel carried by Sauron even now.

"I did not take you as one to enjoy history. Especially considering prior conversations." Sauron intoned. Their voice, a huskier woman's like that of sanded gravel, smoothed and feminine in rasp.

"Your idea of history can get boring." Vica scoffed as she popped out of sight and appeared again ahead of Sauron sat upon a ruined wall of stone.

"My kind of history is about the Sith! The Dark Side and all it has to offer. Sith, some of them, what little access I was allowed under the tutelage of Dooku, have spent all their mortal years looking for ways to live forever. To become immortal and invulnerable. The reasons I'd say are pretty obvious, eh?"

"Indeed." Sauron nodded as he crunched over sand. Feeling slabs of what he would guess to be stone under the soft layer. He paused and tilted their shared head right. A whirl of hot wind passed down from atop a rocky peak. Upon either side of their body were great canyon walls. Dug within them spotted here and there in states of ruin and decay were structures. Tombs of old made in reverence of the long dead.

"Do you know how any and every Sith, every Dark Side user in history would have killed, maimed and tortured to be where I am? Where we are? With you I don't die. We're together...maybe not forever. I'd like my body back someday."

"Indeed." Sauron repeated as she waved him off nonchalantly and continued.

"My point being that by circumstance I am lucky. I'm not dumb or deluded in that way. But, with our current immortality, thanks to that ring, I'd still like to learn all I can. Kun and Muur have shown us a few tricks, and you are a quick learner. My body, myself...I need more time. Even if we share the flesh."

"I have given you ample time to become well versed to the powers that are taught to us."

"A few hours! But...yes, I mean I need more. More time, more knowledge! Nothing fascinates Sith and Jedi alike more than the discovery of things from both our Orders once thought lost. So forgotten we don't even know the names of who had them or made them. We're monastic, or holy orders. We're something, but to both our Orders we're also historians...and sorcerers." Vica intoned to herself. A stated realization as she mused upon the interest of her own mind. Sauron gave her credit for attempting to delve just a little deeper of late. Their union must have forced some manner of introspection when he controlled their body most of the time. She certainly had little else to do, and Sauron knew this.

"As for you!" She pointed a stabbing finger, with a familiar...less introspective giggle. Her eyes flaring in her own self-satisfied humor.

"Your idea of history can and does include everything! You wanna read about the Jedi and the Sith, even some of the lesser Force Orders out there." She popped out of sight and again appeared. This time atop what seemed a landing five meters, or sixteen feet by some counts, off the ground along a ledge built into the canyon across an old entrance to one of many dilapidated tombs.

"Then you read up on cellular growth, bacteria, and viral pathogens. You read about decay of tissue for various species, and how hyperlanes were discovered and when. The philosophers from ancient, and modern times. Writing books nobody reads, or HoloNet blogs nobody cares about. 'What's a nexu?' 'Who was Supreme Chancellor Blotus?' 'What were the Pius Dea Crusades?'" She wagged her head side to side, taking on a wholly unserious tone even as her specter pretended to steady herself along the ledge and walk about it one foot before the next. Sauron shook their shared head. Her mannerisms, as ever, a source of irritation and no small amount of confusion for him. Though she had become more tolerable with time...and exposure.

"Such history is long and vast, Witch. From it I gleam the great source of all beings. Through history we come to the present. You are born, thoughtless of the world. Without reason to find hatred in another or wage war. Yet, by the actions of the past you have already been defined in part for the present. A child born during...let's say the Mandalorian Wars will be unlikely to experience them, should it be the year of their birth is the last of that war. Yet, as they age they shall harbor great hatred, and fear of the Mandalorians. Or, in kind of the Republic. Birth in poverty makes a man fickle and anxious. Birth into riches makes a man disinterested in the spending of their wealth. Not always, but common are the routes upon which we walk, the streams mortals and alike are carried by. The past, as I said Witch, is that metric by which we carve the future. The great misunderstanding by many is that the future is far off, it is tomorrow. When, in reality, it is the present. One flows from second to second and does thus. Ergo, all history is of importance especially when we seek to wield power."

As Sauron explained he approached the same tomb remnants Vica found her specter moving along. The Dark Lord swept a dark gloved hand across a diagonal pillar. Pieces of its stone having been lost to time. Through the weathering of long years under the burning sands, or torn out by way of blaster bolts and conflict that took part in places such as these. It was lined in markings, carvings, that Sauron assumed to be of importance to the Sith culture and the nearly forgotten language. A language he had only gleamed the surface of in his own studies.

"Yeah yeah." Vica answered back flippantly. "Learn from history, correct and don't repeat yourself. Fair points. Just saying, some history is made unequal in its superior intrigue to curious minds."

"Are not all minds curious in one way or another?" Sauron intoned, more to himself than to her. She did not reply. Her apparition 'fell' from the ledge with a humored mumble of surprise. Disappearing and then reappearing beside Sauron, 'dusting' her being of wholly imagined dirt with a giddy smile on her face.

"I do not imagine you know who occupied this tomb?" Sauron wondered as Vica tilted her head. Ponderous an expression came upon her and she hummed.

"Can't say that I do. I wasn't given the freedom to explore Korriban back in my days under Dooku. Let alone given an in-depth map of who occupied which pilfered and plundered tomb. Sad really. Lots of history, lore, items of power, all lost to people who haven't an idea what it is they're touching or dealing with." Vica disappeared and reappeared beside the caved-in entrance of the tomb. Pillars about its side having fallen and the doorway bending into the sands. A great slab of mobile stone that had its ancient winch system long broken.

"Hmm." Sauron hummed in the voice of their taken construct. His eyes traced the carvings about the pillar he stood near. Sweeping himself around he looked about the canyon. A long track that went for leagues with great walls of rock upon either side. Sands swept about scattered along ancient paved stones. Many stairways onto higher plateaus. Tombs there too desecrated and ruined. Where as great chambers within the canyon and upon its floor had been crudely opened up and looted. As the Witch inferred, by minds and beings wholly unaware of what it is they took. For profit or for foolish endeavor to make themselves powerful...Sauron guessed with simple ease not a one among them found great success. Save but for the seller of forgotten wares here and there.

Sauron turned his worn head up. There upon the highest heights about the canyon walls, miles up, there danced and fell misty rain of further sands from the highs. Tracing, dancing their way down into the far gorge. Winds from either end whirled into the valley made here and would form a wind tunnel carrying some sands out into the dune wastes again. The process repeating for eternity with none to tend the tombs, none to care for the forgotten dead. Curious, Sauron perceived, that such dead beings imagined their effigies to greatness to be pampered once they were gone. Where all they left in their wake were those who spat upon them for ego, and the chance to claim greater lordship if not the inheritance of the dead's own power.

"Hear anything?" Vica wondered, appearing once again as a sudden percolating apparition. Disappearing and reappearing at will.

"Many whispers." Sauron nodded absently. Their shared eyes narrowing. "Can you not?"

"Yeah...some." Vica noted with a slight tightening of her spectral brow. "Unlike on Yavin IV the voices here are...duller. Harder to pinpoint. Kun was not necessarily hiding himself so stringently from us. These are old...some seem…"

"Deranged." Sauron completed knowingly.

"Yes. There are voices in the far dark and shadows. Gnashing teeth and babbling of their masters, apprentices and their hollowed chambers. The trickling of dampness in caves beneath caves seems to have driven some mad. Whilst others languish. Mumbling of their coming returned glory should one but grant them chance to seize flesh and bone. Whilst the dead lay about them scattered. Prior attempts failing, madness running rampant. A most cruel fate." Sauron hummed with a callous disregard for that suffering for which he spoke.

"Guess they can't all be as worthy as a Kun or Karness Muur." Vica shrugged. "But are there any you think worthy enough to follow? Or, do you just wanna go tomb exploring?!" She jumped and wondered. That familiar giddiness to her almost wholly crazed eyes.

"There is someone." Sauron narrowed his eyes.

"Close by? Or in a tomb?"

"No." Sauron shook his head. "There is someone here. Alive. Over there." He pointed deeper into the Valley of the Dark Lords proper. Vica followed. Confusion showed upon her brow, but she seemed to close her astral eyes and peer through the Force. Opening again as she showed a frown.

"There is." She sighed. "Always there has to be someone to ruin the moment."

"Let us go have a look, shall we?"

"Fine." She conceded with little fight. Feigning the act of kicking a nearby rock in the sand. "So long as it doesn't take up too much of our time."

"We shall see." Sauron nodded and walked once again upon the hot sands. Moving deeper into the valley where there he sensed someone quite alive to be.

…

Sauron walked for little more than twenty minutes by the common count. The great walls of the canyons on either side rose higher the deeper you went, reaching a zenith that leveled out for many a long league ahead and then back. Whilst into the gorge there were tributaries. Deeps that ran into the rock of the world. Some caves would be doubtless found there. Others had nestled away smaller tombs. Houses made for the dead in splendor and then ruin by those who imagined their greatness more than earned it in their lives.

Great were the tombs within the main valley. Striking statues baring the faces of beings that were, some of them at least, human, and others a little less so. Showing the odd facial tendrils and bone growths of the Sith species melded with humans. Many stones were collapsed on their sides, or stood by sheer quantity of sand holding them at diagonal angles. They too bore symbols, markings of great deeds and tales of names forgotten to time. The valley floor laden in pathways. Some older and even more ruinous, and some made centuries or millennia after, to suffer the same fate.

Fewer, but no less visible came bodies. So too were the beasts. Ragged bones tortured by the elements until they, like the sand, neared a state of dust. Their cloth and armor testimony to once existing as living things among the decay. Often it was clearer to see a boot sticking out of the sand. Perhaps there was a body attached to it. Perhaps but a bone of a foot. More likely still, the body was gone and all that was left was the harder to decay mass of the objects worn by dead men. Explorers, pirates, smugglers, thieves, grave robbers, soldiers, Sith who came to take from their Order's forebears for their own ends and gains. Even Jedi. All the same voices called out. Wallowing, moaning, weeping for themselves. Some skittered and spoke whispers to Sauron, or agitated Vica who crinkled her astral nose and wafted wind about her face as though a stink of rancid breath reached her ghostly nostrils. These beings between that state of life and death, much as the Nazgûl, did not know with whom they contended with nor looked upon in Sauron. For he willed it not, that they should seem him as he yet was.

Regardless, they walked as one. In the distance Vica would pause and zip about without care for where her 'feet' fell. Floating and as though flying about. Nearing what were seen to be multi-horned spindly beasts upon four clawed paws. Spines ran along some, and others were more nuanced, and sleek. They bore maws of razor sharp teeth. Many rows of which could and did rend flesh. They slunk about, reminding Sauron of a gangling creature he had once tortured. These things, Vica took great momentary interest in. She called them Tuk'ata. Dogs in appearance they shared many qualities. Hounds that tread the wastes and ruins of Sith Lords tombs and the valleys about. Their red eyes, ruby-like. Glistening in the blood they hungered for. In forever service to those dead masters whom they had never known yet still hearkened to.

They should have certainly sought to approach Sauron. Perhaps even consume their flesh, he and the Witch. Yet, Sauron bade them to be careful. The Force rippled and those beasts kept their distance. Some upon highs loomed. Their eyes shimmering in shadows as crimson sights dagger-struck upon him in their hunger. Yet they felt the warning through the Force. The dark snarl that led to know this was not simple food. They too smelled something near, and stalked it from a distance. Sauron now shared this quarry with these beasts.

There, as Vica's astral figure stood upon an elevated and dilapidated set of stairs near the canyon wall; elevated some feet before a drop and incline, Sauron approached. The Witch turned towards him at her left and then back. Nudging her chin down below.

"Guessing that's our very much alive friend." Sauron did not reply. Instead he observed. There was a well enough tended cargo ship in the center of the valley. Its boarding ramp down. Several crates were out in a circle, in the look of a camp of sorts. Sat atop one of the closed crates was a human. He was young, fair skinned, but slightly browned, doubtless by the harsh sunlight. If not from here on Korriban then from elsewhere in the galaxy. He wore a black flight jacket over a simple light cream shirt, with black jeans and boots to end off. A blaster pistol at his waist and in his hands a small device that seemed to show a holographic layout. Likely of the valley to some degree.

"Shall we-" Vica began, but before she could finish Sauron jumped over the stairway and slid down the sand dune upon the opposite side. The sound of which was loud enough a scattering of millions of grains.

"Okay." She 'clicked' her tongue and floated after as the man jumped from his crate and turned fully to his right to see Sauron on approach. Of course, to his eye it was a robed women in red, white and black. His right hand flicked t his pistol and his eyes, brown, opened wide before he loosed an uncomfortable breath.

"Kriff!" He cursed in a laugh. A boyish smile on his face. "You scared the tar outta me! Didn't uh...well...don't really expect to meet fellow travelers out here. You know?" He had shaggy brown hair that was tinted with the sands of Korriban. How he had become so layered in a fine dusting was curious to Sauron who came nearer still. Even as his hand remained near the pistol. Though, Sauron remained silent for a time. Coming to a stop just before the barrier, the ring made by the man's crates.

"You uh...you talk?" The man asked. Sauron's worn green eyes flicked left to the cargo ship. Semicircular of some model he knew not. Then he traced his worn eyes back along the camp and man. Noting the datapad in left hand, and the right above the pistol.

"You do not expect to come across anyone else on Korriban, because it is Korriban." Sauron mused simply and assertively. "One could easily assume you have come here to rob from the dead."

"H...hey!" The man tilted his arms and hands out in an unassuming manner. Attempted at least.

"I uh...well...I…" He stuttered. His eyes fell and so too did his shoulders. "Let me guess; based on your robes, your attitude, the ease you've apparently been moving in this valley, you're a Jedi." He charged.

"Sorry about...you know, what happened to your Order. Knightfall...Order 66 and all that." he chuckled nervously. "the Supreme Chancellor being a kriffing Sith Lord. Crazy times am I right?"

"Crazy." Sauron repeated simply and nodded.

"Yeah…" The man elongated. Clicking his tongue several times. "Look, I know how you folk feel about anyone coming to old Sith worlds. But, I assure you I ain't come here to take nothing for...anything bad. I mean...I ain't come here to take anything! I'm an explorer! I like digging around old caves, caverns and tombs! You gotta admit, Master Jedi, this place is a treasure trove."

"Interesting choice of words." Sauron issued, and watched the boyish smile he wore slowly relax into a frown. Disappointment abounding in his own word choice.

"Yeah...I mean, no!" He assured in another laugh. "Korriban is-"

"You think," Sauron cut him off. His taken feminine voice dark, low, and at once alluring in its danger. "Based upon what I wear alone, I am a Jedi?"

"Well yeah. Nobody else walks around in that tunic, cloak, armor sort of getup besides Jedi. Well Jedi and…" He paused as he had once again sported a self-assured smirk. The word, caught upon his tongue did not release. In his brow Sauron saw a realization pass over him and the man swallowed nervously.

"Alright." He nodded. "Maybe...maybe not just Jedi wear that kind of outfit."

"Do you think all your lies will long be accepted by a Jedi?" Sauron mused stepping near and sliding his right gloved hand upon one of the crates. With a flick of his index finger, turning his head back up to the man, the crate slid open. Revealing inside all manner of sand laden junk. Parchments, cloth, rusted metal.

"How long should your lies be tolerated by someone who is not a Jedi? That is a far more important question."

"It is, isn't it?" He concurred, swallowing again in nervousness. A heavy silence passed for a log moment. Sauron numbly shut the container again. A slight jangling of its contents resounding as he did so. The stranger, the evident grave robber shut his eyes. Some unknown realization and surrender passed through his mind and his shoulders slumped. His right hand came away from his pistol and he reached into the interior of his jacket. Producing an unexpected item. A slip of paper.

"Fine." He relented. "I didn't mean no...dishonor or anything. No disrespect. These folk? They've been dead for centuries and millennia. I figured what was found out here, in any of them, was fair game."

"And this?" Sauron stepped close. The man presented the paper and Sauron easily, coolly, took it. Opening several folds to reveal crude drawings of a room. Squares and arrows. Not immediately discernible by simple look.

"I'm not a grave robber. Well...not in the way you would say, Miss. I collect things. Sometimes I sell them among other collectors in the galaxy. The market for old Sith and Jedi wares and goods is lucrative. I'm sure you can imagine a certain...series of events have made the collection of goods go through another boom in sales." He chortled boyishly. His demeanor calmer than Sauron had expected, though youth brought about carelessness in the face of danger.

"That there is a map I drew. Nothing special, but I'm pretty good at seeing them places that folk didn't want seen immediately. 'Least I think I am. I once found a wholly unopened tomb on Ziost a year back. Wasn't anything special. Some unimportant petty Sith Lord, likely from the Reconstituted Era during the 'Great Galactic Wars.' But, a whole trove of blasters, swords, and a few lightsabers from that era. I kept a few select pieces, sold the rest. Unlike any run-of-the-mill HoloNet trader or 'shop' all my stuff is genuine." He bore a proud drawl. Patting his head of sandy dust as Sauron peered back at him.

"A scavenger that collects the bones he feasts upon."

"Well...sure." He waved his arms out, and let them plop down at his sides. Oddly honest once the facade fell.

"This?" Sauron questioned again.

"Well, that is where I think I saw an entryway to a previously hidden chamber, or unseen portion within a tomb here on Korriban. What uh...what do you know about Marka Ragnos?"

"Marka Ragnos?!" Vica appeared to Sauron. Her voice a flushed air of breathless excitement. Clapping her hands. She went unheard to the man, but Sauron tilted to look upon her. The man following Sauron's eyes in confusion.

"One of the most powerful Sith to have ever ruled the Old Empire! He-"

"I know of his history, Witch. Part of the Sith history I did read." Sauron answered within their mind. Vica beamed a grin, as Sauron focused on the man again.

"You were planning on excavating then?"

"Well uh...exploring. Seeing if there was anything worth finding inside. Or it's a chamber meant to kill fools like me who dig a little too deep." He took on a glint of excitement to his brown eyes.

"The riches of Marka Ragnos were said to have been buried with him! More, several of Ragnos' greatest items have been lost. Some say taken by the likes of Revan in his days, and when his Empire scoured Korriban, and Malak after. That, however, I think has been nothing more than an honorary tomb. History records, what remains after the many wars, purges, and Republic exterminations here on Korriban, of a far more opulent tomb than the one explored after. I think the Sith weren't stupid. There is a proper tomb of Ragnos connected to this auxiliary. Sure a few of his trinkets were within, but the real trove of the Emperor's lay somewhere else. I think another adjacent valley. Cut off from the main one through a tunnel or cave system."

"A lot of assumptions." Sauron offered. Returning the paper. The man was shocked, confused even. But, gingerly, he took the flimsy and folded it back up.

"Doubtless there will be perils that await in any such system."

"Sure." He agreed. "But, I've managed to survive my fair share."

"How old are you by common count?" Sauron wondered.

"Heh...well...what does that matter?" Genuine repressed agitation showed upon his youthful brow.

"I am curious, and I would know." The faintest tremor passed from Sauron's worn voice. The man settled. Seemingly remembering who he was speaking to and nodded. Holding his hands up.

"Right. No harm done. Twenty, by galactic standards. Syne."

"What?" To Sauron's question he held out his right hand.

"Rillum Syne, I just go by Syne though." Sauron eyed the given hand, but at the last took it and gave a single shake. Syne winced at the unexpected strength in the woman's grasp. Recoiling his hand after and trying to hide shaking it of pangs.

"Where are you from, Syne?"

"Ah...Commenor. You know it?"

"Within the Colonies region. Just beyond the Core Worlds."

"That's it. Nice place. Basically the Core Worlds." Syne shrugged. Sauron nodded and said nothing. An awkward silence passing between the two as Syne shifted upon the sands. Awkward for Syne, in the least.

"Well then, we best be on our way, shouldn't we?" Sauron offered.

"Come again?"

"This hidden passage, or whatever it may be. You will require those of some skill to make it through, I should think. It is by some happy chance you crossed my path, I should say."

"Right. Lucky." Syne intoned as a concerned frown fell upon him. Scowling all the same he sighed and seemed to accept whatever terrible fate he assumed himself to have gotten into. He pressed a key and his freighter's ramp closed and locked. Again he threw his arms out and let them fall to his sides.

"Please, lead the way." Sauron swept his right hand out smoothly.

"You're the boss. I guess." Syne threw his hands up and turned around. Marching off further into the valley, Sauron in his wake.

"Why not just kill him and take his little map?" Vica's apparition wondered.

"This one seemingly has some skill, and knowledge of the hidden places within this tomb. I sense...more."

"More?" She repeated.

"He may be of some use. For now. Should he no longer be of any, then your blood lust shall be sated, Witch."

"Fair enough." She fizzled from sight as Syne paused and turned about himself. Mumbling, he tapped his right forefinger to his lips. Before making an 'ah' sound and pointing in right. Into another portion of the great valley.

Soon they would be upon a tomb so simple, made, seemingly, for a great Dark Lord of the Sith.

…

The trek took some odd thirty minutes. The heat of Korriban simmered as midday ebbed nearer towards the looming call of darkness, night and the cold of deserts once missing their radiant star. Syne had at times mumbled thoughts aloud to himself along the walk. Intoning about his own directions. Stepping upon a hidden rock in the sand to nearly trip, cursing as he grumbled. Irritated at the suddenly reality of his impressment by an unknown being whom he feared. The emotion, the sensation of which thrummed lowly. Though, Sauron continued to sense through the Force a muted excitement. The quality of this man did tend Sauron to believe there was more truth than not in his stated words before. The call of history was heard within this man. A collector, perhaps? Maybe a truth. Dangerous were the wares in which he coveted and sold, but that too played part to his passion.

As the Sith Code said: 'Peace is a lie, there is only Passion.' In that Sauron perceived, without being a Sith himself, this man was led by such passion. Newly met, Sauron was intrigued. More so still for what possibilities such a lone strange unlucky to cross his path may have discovered. Perhaps an ill day for him? Perhaps not, time would tell.

Nevertheless, at the end of this even further extended trek, the two being came upon what Sauron saw to be an elevated portion of the valley. Upon a high plateau there were two great dome like structures built atop either side of a further adjoined rock face. Ahead there was a flat land of fallen pillars and old stones, as seen elsewhere. Far beyond there was what looked to be the weathered pathway cut about rock that led to a building further beyond.

Syne patted his hands as he hoisted himself up the rock face that led to this plateau. A sigh passed, contentedly sounded as he came up alongside Sauron's being at the right.

"Well here we are. Partially anyways. See that?" Sauron followed Syne's pointed finger ahead.

"Yes."

"That path leads to an old Sith Academy run during the Jedi Civil War era, and beyond that old Dreshdae. The Academy is in utter ruins. I don't even want to know what happened in there. Place gave me the creeps. More interesting are these, on either of our sides." Syne stepped forward and pointed in both directions. At the right he pointed towards a ruinous doorway, nearest Sauron and the edge of this plateaus drop where the two had scaled up a seemingly forgotten path.

"That entrance there was, supposedly, for the tomb of Naga Sadow. Most hilariously to me is the obvious. Naga Sadow never died on Korriban. He escaped to...one of the moons of Yavin I think. I haven't been there in ages."

"Amusing."

"What is?" Syne wondered as Sauron mused if Kun had ever seen this man upon his moon in times past? Meanwhile Vica laughed unseen.

"The tomb."

"Ah right." Syne chuckled mirthlessly. Shaking his head as he continued. "Anyways, supposedly it was used for initiation rites for those students in that Academy over there for some reason. I've seen no use in going in there. The Reconstituted Sith Empire under Vitiate really plundered that sucker, but...you never know."

"This one?" Sauron nudged his worn chin to the opposing ruined doorway on the other side of the barren field. The opposing structure was scarred in what seemed scorch marks, and chunks of stone were broken from along random portions. The doorway there was saved in by pillars, but just beyond there seemed to be a cavernous hole torn about the stone door within.

"That? That one I think belonged to Tulak Hord. Some big bad in the really really ancient days of the Sith. Don't know much about him myself. Had thought about going in seeing as if you look close there's maybe a gap in the stones. But...I think there may be a tuk'ata infestation. Would need more firepower and a little more stupidity to do that. Besides," Syne scoffed. "I doubt that's actually his tomb."

"The same as Marka Ragnos?"

"You know, with how often this place has been dug through, treasures sought after, and empires come, fall, and come again, there can't be nothing certain about anything!" Syne waved a dismissive hand towards the tomb entrance.

"The real tomb or not someone was buried in there and some goods went in there with them. I'm just unsure if this is all as it was meant to be. Records show tombs with catacombs. Structures of opulence. These were some of the greatest Sith in history, and we're supposed to believe four were nestled into these little shared domes? No...no." Syne shook his head. Speaking, as though, more to himself on the matter. Forgetting, even, for a moment he was moving about here against his will. He swept sweat aside from his brow, dark hair atop his head loosing more sand as he observed Sauron.

"I don't think the Sith were so stupid as to make these places the burial spots of their lords and masters. Some...maybe…" He trailed off nodding. "Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so."

"Quite the confidence in yourself." Sauron stepped near. His worn crimson cloak whirled as he sensed amused whispers in the darkness between life and death. It would seem...some old minds here found Syne's deduction amusing. To what end Sauron did not yet know. Either they thought him a fool, or they were impressed by his observation.

"Got to have a working theory if you're going to come looking for old Sith goods on Korriban. My uh...crate back at my ship proves I can at least sniff them out where others have missed." Syne beamed another grin. Sauron bowed his head, conceding the point.

"This one, then?" Sauron pointed left hand along the same building as Hord's 'tomb.' Syne turned and nodded.

"That would be, again, supposedly, Ajunta Pall."

"Him I know of." Vica's voice informed, not for the first time.

"The leader of the Second Great Schism." Sauron answered before Syne.

"Yep. That'd be him. Talk about a guy the Jedi Order don't like talking about. I'd say him and someone like...Xendor probably make a Jedi blush. No...offense?" He wondered, pressing the confusion to Sauron's being.

"Hmm." The Dark Lord gave no real reply.

"From what I hear," Syne continued thoughtfully. "Pall had some nasty weapon. I thought it was a lightsaber, but the Jedi back in those days used swords for the most part I learned. Some proto-lightsabers and whatnot but...whatever." He shrugged.

"Regardless, the legends I've read talk about the guy having a mean weapon. I don't know all the Force business – you know, light side and Dark Side, but it was something to do with all of that."

"Do you think such a weapon would be in there?" Sauron's voice hummed in a question.

"Well...if it had been I doubt it would be in there any longer." Syne sniffled. "I did a little research on the thing. You know...a sword like that would be a heck of a thing to add to a collection."

"Or sell."

"Or sell." Syne smiled coyly. "But for me I'd like to hang that sucker on a wall somewhere." The man spread his outstretched hands apart from one another to accentuate the idea. Seeing a wall in his mind's eye.

"But, like I said, it probably wouldn't be in that tomb. If it had been in the first place. I haven't found anything in my own research showing a different tomb for Ajunta Pall. So...maybe, just maybe, that was or is, his tomb. Regardless, that thing had been plucked by the Sith under Revan and Malak. Heard of a guy some years back...what was his name…?"

He mused to himself as Sauron stepped by him and observed the many fallen over obelisks about the small field between the two structures. The Force grumbled with the seeming visage of wild beasts Sauron did not see with his naked eye. Rather...they clung to the dead. Reptilian monsters that glowered, but did not strike. They seemed to almost be watching over the unseen corpses here and elsewhere spread across Korriban.

"Gomen, or what is Gurmen?" Syne continued to himself. Genuinely captivated by his own question.

"Well, point is I knew of a guy named Gomen who made it his mission to come back here and look for the sword. He claimed he got into the tomb and all the way to the burial chamber, but it was long since ransacked. Place was spooky...poor guy got eaten on Dromund Kaas last I heard…"

"Riveting." Sauron coolly cut in. Syne turned around, seeming to only then appreciate his unknown lady friend had moved on by him.

"I assume that leaves this one to be the tomb of Marka Ragnos? Or at least what is thought to be the Lord's tomb."

"Yep that would be it." Syne nodded, coming near. "I uh...I've already made a hole there in the front slab. Laser cutters. Not the most cheap thing, but these days they go for fair market value."

"Lead on." Sauron swept his right hand. Syne looked at it. Swallowing again as he seemed to comprehend, or rather, remember he was not quite sure if he was safe here.

"This way, Miss." He cleared his throat and marched towards the tomb.

Indeed, the stone slab doorway seemed to have long broken down. A large enough square hole had been pushed in and a slab of the door way on the dingy floor inside where Syne had pushed it in after cutting it free. Syne went first, ducking low as sand from along the doorway fell onto him. Sauron after. Both dusting themselves free with pats. Where upon the other side of the door was a dank, dingy and dark long hallway. It began upon their level, and then angled up onto a higher floor.

"Place is pretty simple for a tomb." Syne whispered once both stood within the hall. "Another reason I doubt this is the real tomb for old Ragnos. No great Sith Lord or Emperor would have their sarcophagus put in a tomb that consists of one long hallways, and then the central chamber itself. At least I certainly wouldn't like that. If Sith ghosts are real, I'd haunt anyone and everyone who made that decision."

"Why are you whispering?" Sauron wondered loud enough that the feminine voice he bore echoed and Syne jolted. He grumbled, and sputtered about to speak...before sighing and throwing his hands up.

"I don't know! Just seemed like the right thing to do. These places...always a little spooky. Just because you died and got buried five thousand years ago, or whatever, doesn't mean they didn't have sound based traps neither."

"We appear to be alright, for the moment."

"For the moment, yeah." Syne conceded. Shaking his head he lazily pointed to the floor before fishing the paper from his jacket again.

"Mind where you step, Miss. I came in here yesterday and tripped over a bunch of scattered droid parts. Pretty old, but not sure how long they've been in here. Looks like some lightsabers ripped them apart, a few blaster scorch marks. Traps or guards from many a year ago."

"This passage," Sauron cut in. "Where does it begin?"

"No room for small talk I see." Syne's brow rose up in his sarcastic intone. "Right well, once we reach the actual sarcophagus room at the top there will be three little chamber-closets on either side, and one in the back. They all lead nowhere. That is, if you hadn't actually taken a second glance. The floor in the rear is on a mobile stone platform. I think I found the switch. Behind the sarcophagus there's a small indent that doesn't have any practical purpose. Haven't pressed it yet...was going to be cautious."

"I see." Sauron chortled a single lone laugh. "Come along then, grave robber."

"You're the boss! Whoever you are…" He followed as Sauron led the way. The light within was dim, there seemed to be ancient small ports cut in the ceiling allowing some natural light inside. Even still, Syne pulled a small flashlight from his belt and used it to help guide him. Sauron needn't the aid.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway, rising up the incline and indeed seeing many long ruined droid bits and pieces scattered about, the two entered the main chamber. Daylight fell upon the central sarcophagus. Dust and sand flickered in the streams of light casting moody rain of decay upon stone work meant to cover what was a plainly visible rotted skeleton. Sauron neared it whilst Vica's shade popped back into his sight within the room. Wide-eyed wonder about her visage as she spun about the room. Taking in the sights of a Sith Lord's burial sight...or at least a variation of it and if Syne were to be believed, a mere mirage for true glory.

"There he is. Or...somebody."

"You don't think that's Marka Ragnos?"

"In this little dingy dump? Again, I'd be insulted were it me." Syne chuckled in his boyish manner. Rounding the opened, long opened at that, sarcophagus. Kneeling down behind the slab he searched for whatever trigger or object he had found. Sauron neared the dead body. Bones rotted to a blackened state for unknown reasons. Bones, some missing, while a jaw hung ajar in a forever silent scream. The Dark Side, the Force whispered. This body was ancient, old, and itself imbued with the ebbs of darkness, but...it was dull. Compared to what Sauron should have expected from the remnants of such a being as this Ragnos was told to be.

"I think he's got a point." Vica spoke in their mind. "I'd be annoyed if I was Lord for over a hundred years and the buried in this shabby hold."

"Perhaps." Sauron nodded, speaking aloud.

"What's that?"

"Nothing of concern, grave robber." To his answer Syne shrugged.

"Check the chamber ahead." Sauron bid Vica in their mind. "You are but a specter. See if there is indeed a passage beyond that hold."

"Fair point!" She grinned and as a ghostly apparition she moved towards the rear closet. An old wicker basket long emptied of any goods tossed onto its rotted side. Vica turned about herself, before looking down at the floor. As a ghost out the corner of one's mind, she dropped into the stone, out of sight.

"Yeah, here it is!" Syne announced. "Little lever here. I'm thinking it opens up a passage down into a tunnel system that leads away from this tomb. Ragnos, in my estimation has a real tomb a real temple somewhere in one of the adjacent valley gorge's. Covered by sand, or simply unseen before."

"Or," Sauron countered, rounding the dead man's resting place. "Or, already pilfered and plundered without you knowing of it."

"Now that would suck, wouldn't it?" Syne cast coy look up sideways.

"For some."

"Right." Syne shook his head. Silence passed for a moment as the grave robber checked the latch. Sauron would seem, masked and robed, disinterested and scanning the stone walls of this dust laden room. Very distant calls echoed in the hall beyond and seemingly the walls. Beasts in the deep places of this world. Not dissimilar to the far caverns dug by monsters on Arda, or by the Dwarves in their holds and kingdoms.

"Oh yeah!" Vica reappeared, in spectral form rising from the stone. "There's a whole long hallways down here! Checked it as far as I could. Goes for a-ways."

"Smart man." Sauron offered aloud. Syne paused and turned to look up at the strange woman.

"Me?"

"Perhaps." Sauron intoned. "Flip the lever."

"Well...it could be trapped."

"Not that one, I don't think." Vica answered for the man, though only Sauron heard.

"We shall be safe. Flip it." He was uncertain. Gulping again the young man sighed and shook his head. Running his hand upon the sweaty back of his neck. He did as instructed. Snapping whatever unseen lever.

A loud 'snap' sounded. The room gave a slight jostle and rumble. The grating sound that made one's teeth-grind, that of stone sliding against one another reverberated. Syne jumped up to a stand, whirled around and pointed his flashlight at the rear wall and closet. His hand shaking in fear mingled with excitement. Dust and sand shot out of small unseen ports in the wall around them. Syne ducked in fear, Sauron stood firm. The gears made in ancient days of old began to twist and turn. Chains moved and at the last the stone floor beneath the wicker basket was pulled in towards the center of the rounded room. Disappearing with a puff of dust. An open dark passage below.

"Kriff I'm good!" Syne beamed. Turning to Sauron grinning before running forward. Excited joy clearing away all fears of the strange woman with him as he got onto his stomach and dipped his head into the passage, slinking flashlight down and moving back and forth.

"Woo!" Syne barked, and the echo of his call rumbled long and far through the tunnel. Amusing Sauron inwardly for a man who but moments ago spoke in hushed whispers for dangers unknown.

"Smell that! That's the dank of a tunnel ain't been tread in a long, long time!" Syne laughed. Pushing back up and out.

"Hold on...hold this for me." He passed his flashlight. Sauron took it while cocking a brow. Syne fumbled through several pockets before producing a flare. Snapping it to life the sparks of it bristled and burned. The man tossed it in and it illuminated a larger portion of the tunnel below.

"Thank you, Miss." He took the flashlight back. "Looks like a drop of eh...eight feet. Can you-"

Before he finished Sauron stepped over him and fell into the tunnel below. The thundering thud of the boots echoing the tunnel resounded long and far away.

"Right, dumb question." Syne turned, slipped his feet over the side and dropped in. He landed on his feet less gracefully and sniffled.

"Usually I'd run a rope, but...here's to living dangerously."

"Very much so." Sauron agreed. Syne smirked and nodded. Turning about the hall looking for…

"Ah there. Torches on the wall. If we're lucky, and experience teaches me anything…" He neared a blackened extensions on the wall. Stabbing metal thorns rose up at diagonal angles. Indeed torches, alike those Sauron had seen often and many times before within homes across Arda, indeed within his own fortresses. Though now his grand palace and fortress was lined with some in the shape of torches, powered by the wonders of electricity.

"Oil!" Syne laughed. "Beautiful sons of kath hounds ya!'" He turned and jostled his flashlight along the torch as Sauron neared.

"Anyone building secret tunnel and passages worth their stock make sure to use oil. Leaving rotted wood around is a bigger 'kriff yourself' than even trapdoors in my experience. The illusion of hope if you're stuck in a deep dark tunnel like this."

"Astute observation."

"I have those every now and again, Miss." He chuckled. "Hold on a minute...I got a torch here. Uh, well not like this...hold on…" He mumbled before Syne pulled from another pocket a small torch attached to a cylindrical fuel canister. He snapped the lever on it and the sound of churning gas whirred, before a small flame puffed and lit the gas into a stabbing knife of fire.

The man pushed the flame into the central pit of the mounted torch and with a stink of old oil and the rise of smoke a sudden burst of fire grew from the torch. Casting a greater light around, especially as the discarded flare upon the floor began to wither and die.

Syne killed his torch for a moment and sighed happily.

"Now we just gotta do that along the way. More torches on either side. Should be okay with one side though."

"Hmm." Sauron hummed. Lifting his left hand in such a manner that Syne turned and saw. Stepping back his eyes widened for a second. Before the worn hand Sauron bore the sizzle of heat churned. Within him, about him, of him, dark fire growled and like the commandment of some wretched sorcery the flame became manifest. A spark that seemed to draw air, hotly, inwards. That newborn fir within the torch pit hearkened to him. Whipping as though in abasement of itself towards a long unseen master. Until the flame before the hand thrust forward. Casting long down the hall, dashing, dancing, jumping from torch to torch to torch. From one end of the hall to the next in a magical hopscotch of bouncing inferno. Carried on and on as the entire hall filled with the smell of heat, fire, and then the warmth of flickering light. Turning the darkness and dankness into a long stretch of orange hues and the cream colors of the long built stones.

"That should make our trip simpler." Sauron offered. That worn feminine voice thrumming a gentle rumble that was the barest echo of some hidden power within. A tremble of great ancient being and power. Syne, for whatever his mortal ears took in, swallowed nervously once again. His excitement momentarily dampened.

"I uh...guessed you were a Force user already."

"The robes." Sauron repeated from before. Unseen a smirk under his cloth mask at the man's disconcert.

"Heh...yeah, the robes." A small genuine chuckle. The man visibly circled his head and his shoulders shook free of an unknown chill.

"Never seen a Jedi...or anyone do that before. Cool party trick. The fire and all."

"That which brings warmth and life yet burns away and destroys. Paradoxical, but so too are all elements given force, strength and will, Rillum Syne."

"True." He nodded. "Could drink water or drown in it."

"Could walk upon good soil, or be crushed by rock and stone. Air to can rip bodies to shreds given enough speed."

"Well," Syne clapped his hands after pocketing his flashlight. "Let's not anger any of the...elements, huh?"

"A good idea." Sauron mused. The real conversation layered in sarcasm, irony and allusion.

"Lead on, grave robber. Your great discovery may yet await." Again, Sauron lifted his left hand. Palm pointed to the stone ceiling. Syne nodded. Taking a calming breath as he again shivered some chill that crept along his being and very spirit.

The first step took courage and those that followed took ambition to keep going. Syne moved ahead and Sauron followed. Their boots stamping and echoing. Vica reappeared and chuckled.

"Scaring the little folk, my Lord?"

"By my will or not fear captures the hearts of men and else more readily than any other emotion. Great power brings lust, craving and fear in kind." As ever with prose, Sauron answered. Vica rolled her eyes as she floated alongside.

"Just don't stink up this nice dusty floor by making him wet himself."

"Hmm." Sauron hummed aloud. Carrying on forward.

…

Sauron and poor impressed Syne marched through the long stone tunnel. The floor, the ceiling and the walls were of great slabs long out in place. Expertly cut from sandy rock here on Korriban. The dankness and dust that lad long languished undisturbed was cast about as the two walked. The percussion sent through the old air by the loosening of fire from the Dark Lord's worn body stirred all things about.

During their walk through the tunnel Syne pulled paper from his jacket and drew a long stretch indicating the tunnel. His prior pensiveness at the expression of Sauron's power having dimmed. Perhaps his drawings were a way of calming himself? Sauron did not mind nor interfere. The mortal man, a young lad by all accounts and by the count of age among the race of Men, had a slight studiousness to him. Syne's eyes flicked about the hall. Even as little changed from slab to slab, from footstep to footstep.

Nevertheless, the two eventually reached the end of the tunnel. An opened archway showed into a larger chamber. Syne whistled upon reaching the entrance. Peering inside there was no stairway, and the floor fell some many more feet towards a ring below. About the center of the chamber was a central podium of carved stone. Along its walls was blackened onyx or obsidian it would seem. Whitened patterns like lightning and torch-bearing pits lined gold.

As with the tunnel Sauron loosed a snarl of fire born from unseen pits. It circled the room by some fell will and found all unlit oil. Lighting them and filling the chamber for greater sight. Showing intricate carvings along the walls where the tunnel entrance was, and more intricate carvings along the central pillar within the chamber. Hung chained chandeliers of black flickered with sudden light granted by the Dark Lord. Whilst statues, yet unmolested by mortal hands or shaken earth stood robed, heads cast down and supplicated.

"No stairs." Syne stated simply as he clicked his tongue.

"Gonna need…" He began, but before he could finish the woman, so he perceived, leapt out the hall and fell to the central podium. A slight bend of Sauron's worn knees and the barest of huffs from the air in his retained lungs. Syne sighed and chortled after.

"Never mind. Forgot I'm dealing with a – hey!" He was suddenly lifted clear off his feet. His eyes widened and his legs kicked as he was effortlessly brought off the ground up in the hall and slowly brought down where Sauron stood now with left arm raised. Fingers gently flicking as muscle, bones, and tendon about the hands and fingers flexed. Allowing the sputtering man to drop less ceremoniously to his feet and then his right knee. A slight quake of fear to him.

"That was...phew…" He breathed as Sauron's unseen lips flickered with the phantom of a smirk.

"This chamber? What do you make of it, grave robber?"

"Always with the 'grave robber.'" Syne cleared his throat, rising to his feet and dusting his pants.

"Chamber, right. Uh…" He looked about himself in a circle while Sauron fixed his green-eyed gaze upon one of the statues. The glowering gloomy expression of a mostly featureless man stared down upon them both. An exact replica of the statue stood in all four corners of the room.

"Looks like it was meant to deter folks like me from getting in too easily. No way down but from a little Force aided jumping, I think."

"Just a deterrent room?"

"Maybe." Syne intoned thoughtfully. Moving to the edge he glanced down. The pillar was several feet across at all sides, eight-sided with cut angles. Down its body were the torch pits and carvings while the roof above them showed stone murals. A man with a horned helm overlooking a mass of people. They would at once appear in awe, and willingly servile, while at the same time one could gleam terror, and submission in the presence of such a being as the one over them.

"I don't see any doors." Syne noted as he skirted the edge of the platform. "No doors on the bottom level just a pit."

"For anyone who would fall or make their way down. A death trap." Sauron noted.

"Nasty fall. Surviving that would make your last moments all too...painful."

"Of course." Sauron agreed. "Here." The Dark Lord's form pointed towards the statues.

"What do you see?"

"The statues?"

"Yes." Sauron bid. Syne, for his part moved near the one pointed toward. His eyes narrowed and he tilted to the next, and then the next.

"Same faces, same robes…" Syne hummed a breath. "They all have a plaque on their chests, different design." He intoned as he saw what Sauron had caught prior.

"There's a puzzle in here." Syne flicked his hand in thought. "Something only a Force user can do." The man rapidly clicked his tongue and circled the platform again.

"That symbol there," He aimed at the statue to Sauron's immediate left. "That one is familiar." Syne then pulled that datapad he had when Sauron first came upon him from his jacket. The blue stream activated and Syne sifted through notes.

"Yep! Here it is. That's a sigil to Ajunta Pall. That one…" He returned to the first statue. "That's...XoXaan."

"XoXaan." Sauron repeated. "That name has appeared once or twice in my studies. A rather reclusive figure he must've been."

"A woman, I think." Syne beamed knowingly. "Found an old tapestry of some of the first Jedi who came to Korriban in the olden old days. A list of sorts in honor of the 'Jen'jidai.' The fallen Jedi who made the Sith into...the Sith. If you get me?"

"I do." Sauron hummed.

"Well, this one is Muur." Syne pointed to the one behind Sauron, and the Dark Lord's mind fluttered back to the Sith Lord. Constrained within the body of Celeste Morne, Muur currently was lounging within Mardorithil. As with Exar Kun, himself returned to Yavin IV, both were catching up on the many thousands of years events and history as has passed in their slumbers.

"Which makes this one...Sorzus Syn. The sigil I mean."

"Sorzus Syn?"

"Yeah." Syne nodded absently still looking at his own notes of hieroglyphs, symbols and sigils.

"She apparently wrote some books on the Jedi coming to Korriban. Dominating the Sith Purebloods and alchemy. She also, seemingly, might have wrote that Code the Sith have."

"I see." Sauron nodded as Vica reappeared. She sat along the edge of the platform, 'kicking' her feet over the side.

"He sure knows a lot for a guy who robs graves."

"If indeed he is a collector his knowledge may be genuine from a genuine passion." Sauron countered within their mind.

"My kind of history anyways." She hummed gleefully as Syne looked at the statues again.

"I think the placards…" He mumbled without finishing. Nearing the edge, he unknowingly stepped through Vica's apparition causing her to frown while the man pointed towards the 'Pall' statue.

"If those placards can be pushed in by the Force it may be as simple as pushing them all in."

"May be." Sauron repeated.

"Yeah...but that seems too easy, you're right." Syne agreed, though no point had been verbally made. It needn't have been.

"Code...maybe?" He flipped through his datapad. Sauron cocked a brow as Syne found what appeared from a distance to be the Sith Code in Aurebesh.

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Though passion, strength. Through strength, power, through power, victory. Broken chains, and freed…" Syne narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Sauron spoke not. Allowing him to work through his own thoughts as the man eyed all four statues once again.

"Follow me here – Passion, Strength, Power, Victory. Broken chains, and freedom. Who is which? Maybe…" Again he trailed off, again Syne looked them over, and finally he pointed at Sorzus Syn.

"Her first."

"Are you sure?" Sauron cautioned coolly.

"No." Syne grinned, and Sauron huffed a single dark laugh before raising right arm and flicking fingers once more. Indeed the placard upon the statue bearing the crest or sigil of Sorzus Syn pushed in. creaking stone grinding against stone. The entire room trembled and dust fell from the roof, and then something unseen ground before silence fell. Syne had shrunk where he stood. His eyes dancing to and fro, before he breathed a held breath loose.

"Okay, so far so good...I think?" He shook free of lingering unease.

"Uh...strength, that's tough."

"How so?" Sauron pushed.

"Ajunta Pall seems the most logical. But he was the first Dark Lord of the Dark Jedi. That feels like Power. Strength and Power overlap in my mind. Muur...Muur was strong. So strong some of the others feared him, especially Dreypa."

"And XoXaan?"

"She's...more complicated. More a sorceress. From what I've got she was low key, but integral to reshaping the Sith into a subservient peoples."

"There is strength in the silent tides of control." Sauron mused. "One need not have overt power to readily command vast legions, or even direct the course of their peoples history and fate."

"You got a point." Syne bit his bottom lip. His brow creased again.

"Power and Victory…" He repeated. "Muur had power, but Pall...Pall was the great Dark Lord. His victory...his power...okay." Syne nodded.

"XoXaan, Muur then Pall."

"We shall see if you're right, grave robber." Sauron mused, but quickly did as instructed. Inwards pressed by the Force went the placard upon the statue bearing Xoxaan's sigil, then Muur for Power, and Pall for Victory.

There then the room gave a heaving groan. The stones shivered and shook, and perceived by Sauron came the thrusting winds of darkness. A gnashing of snarling teeth was heard rousing within the Dark Side. Something woke in the deep, and Sauron wondered what it was. Whilst the snapping of one...two and the three...things rung in their ears. The room continued to quake and Syne bent low to the platform floor for balance and refuge as his brow remained creased in fear.

Until a portion of the stone began to snap backwards, as it were. Between Pall and Muur the wall stones began to recede out of sight. Something pulled them back. Some ancient intricate winch system. As it did more heaves of dust blew outwards into the chamber Sauron and Syne found themselves. Whilst air that was slowly finding its way in all the way back from the fake tomb beyond rushed inside. Sauron titled his head and Vica rose from where she sat sensing it too. A smirk upon her figure as she winked towards Sauron and disappeared.

Syne circled his head about.

"What is that?" A chittering and chattering sounded. The chorus of maws rumbled and the stink of forgotten beasts rose to the nostrils of those now who breathed.

"Protectors of the tomb. Stay down, grave robber." Sauron bid. Stepping near. For beyond the opened wall, there lay immediate darkness, bleak and abyssal. The sounds came nearer...and nearer. The hissing snarls, the cawing grunts and mewls. The flapping chaotic thrashing of wings. Syne unseen, his eyes widened and he dropped covering his head.

"Shyracks!"

Bat-like creatures swarmed from the opened cavern! Their maws agape and their cries snarling, ragged and intermingled with the shivering, shaking and shuddering of their many, many wings. They came near Sauron. Dozens became in an instant hundreds! They circled the room as their bodies, grayed and decayed, came closer in seconds.

Sauron raised his right hand and the Force swept them back in a might Force wave. A boom undulated the entire room sending them back. They snarled and swarmed in a circle about their prey. Sauron turned about himself holding them back as they formed a ring of impending and looming death. They sported two spindly arms pulled into their bodies, tipped without fingers and more singular claws. Their wings beat and at their backs slithered a reptilian-like tail. Yet, through the Force Sauron perceived decay. Their bodies were molting flesh. Bone was bare upon some, their maws hung and bodies collapsing whilst wings torn with holes beat along the air. The Dark Side thrummed about them. Alive now, these things were tortured. Kept alive by the Dark Side, starved for centuries they were rabid and crazed and they only saw Sauron's worn flesh and Syne.

"Alas," Sauron spoke, his right hand rising over his head. His fingers flexed and sprawled and the Force gathered.

"There shall be no feast, no sating, no reprieve this day. Hunger turned to madness, let us ease their pain." The Dark Lord's voice rumbled and then, in an instant, another boom! Syne cried in fear and hunkered low, but managed to peek and see.

From the woman's hand rose a mass of electrical tendrils. Rising into the air the storm of bolts slithered and struck in all directions at once. The shyracks became, as it would seem, frozen in the air. Their horrified screams of pain, and madness turned to writhing torture. Their shapes twisted and rebounded as every final muscle, tendon, nerve and part of their being was ravaged by electrical bolts snapping, charring and then spilling what seemed to be rotten black sick from their bodies. Out of mouths and maws, from ripped tears made in their flesh by snapping, and the bolts cleaving through them.

The electrical storm, the Force storm lit the room in a great shivering and shaking of light. The woman's visage was nearly luminous. While the crackling of the lightning struck one shyrack, and then flew to another and another. All screeching, all dying. For them...it was indeed a blessing. The Force unknown to Syne reveled in the sudden beat of death. Whilst the man himself glimpsed the woman's body through the flicking of the erupting light from her hand. Something was within that visage now. The woman...yet something else. Like strings of robe along a whitened-gold cloak. Firm, proud and strong, standing as a Lord over Men. Their face indiscernible, but for the commanding stance. Their hand held aloft, upwards as a fist rallying for war. Terrible, and somehow Syne paused and unbidden the word 'beautiful' came to mind.

He soon shook himself of such strange thoughts. Especially as his companion lowered their hand. The stink of charred flesh filled the room and Syne gagged and hacked openly. Covering his nose as the many dozens of shyrack carcasses fell about the ring, and lower floor surrounding the platform they occupied. The imagined vision, as Syne believed, was stripped away in a moment. Leaving the red robed, white armored, masked woman standing. A slight crackle about her right hand that she flicked away as the room ceased creaking, and groaning among the stones.

"Well…" Syne gagged, but managed to push himself back up. His heart still racing and adrenaline fueling a strange mixture of fear, terror and excitement.

"Not exactly what I had hoped for."

"Decaying beasts kept living by the Dark Side. Hardly living at all." Sauron intoned.

Syne nodded, not understanding how the Force worked, but knowing enough to know he didn't know. Those shyrack had looked sick...beyond sick. Like zombies. He would let it be. Instead he fished for his flashlight and quickly pointed it into the cavern they had sprung from. The deep dark like void pierced by his light, but barely showed rocks, a great cave like any other on Korriban. The ceiling was lined in jagged teeth, while the floor was much the same. A great horrific maw filled with rocky talons to rend flesh in the form of stalactites and stalagmites. There was...nothing else, nothing but the stink of a room filled with waste and decay of rotting bodies kept living for countless years.

"What?" Syne grunted nearing the edge of the platform nearest the cavern hole.

"Did we do them out of order?" He wondered still. Whilst the woman, Sauron, neared the edge as well. Though he peered down. There on the lower tier the bodies of the dead shyrack were spread. Their corpses spilling ooze whilst the rotted flesh was rapidly beginning to seemingly decay. The bubbling of their bodies like froth and tar spilling about the floor. Filling the small seams between the stones and beginning to sound as a pit bubbling from convection.

"Cast your eyes downward, grave robber."

"Huh?" Syne raised his brows, but did as ordered the moment next.

"Oh…!" He breathed...then gagged again, covering his nose. The black ooze, the decay of dead flesh, the death of these simply guardians, and the ring about which they had been killed. This was but the next stage. Expected of they who would pierce the entrance of the tomb to the great Marka Ragnos was the test to see if they were capable of killing the rabid swarm. Those with blasters, explosive and the like could make their way in. But such a terrible flock would have picked them, eaten them, and run amok freed of their prison. A Lord willingly or unwittingly should be powerful enough to fell them all, and cast their stinking bodies about the ring. A sacrifice to an ancient system, itself like the shyracks, hungered for blood rotted as it may have been.

The two watched in rapt morbidity to varying degrees as the froth tar-like liquid that puddled from the heaps of dead began to ill the cracks and seams. The lines became darkened and within several moments the room again rumbled. Some sealant was loosed and the lower level began to crawl upwards. Some great winch under the chamber pushed the lower floor with its rotted mounds of dead shyracks up. Until the floor became even and level with the once elevated platform. Both beings turning as a previously unseen seam in another art of the stone wall moved. Revealing another pathway for them to enter and explore. To which, after Sauron used the Force to push the now disintegrating bodies aside, both beings moved into. Leaving the chamber, its watchful half covered statues, and the dead, in their wake.

…

Freed of the chamber the two moved through a connective corridor into a great hall. Within it were murals upon high ceilings and move furnaces or pits to be lit by the Dark Lord's fire. Revealing statues in waiting. Effigies of stone showing Sith Purebloods bowing before human-seeming masters. Mixed men of great power showing their Sith heritage in race as well as in Order. Before the two moved along a great staircase onto an elevated strip of onyx stone that echoed unblemished. A descending staircase upon the other side led to a strip where upon either side of the walkway were six fire pits in the form of cauldrons. Lit already by the surge of heat through the room bloomed by Sauron. Beyond was a vast wall. End to end it spanned some sixty feet by some counts. A small door was upon that wall with a symbol etched upon the archway of it. A massive mural ran the length of the wall.

The man bearing a horned helm showed, eyes cast down in judgment and pensive expression carefully cleaved. His arms outspread and hands showing awaiting and seemingly accepting guests within his hold. Small caricatures of bowing subjects, weeping slaves, and bringers bearing gifts and offerings abounded. The names of many carved about in the lower hems of the great mural.

Either side of the great chamber were lined with bones. Discarded long dead and some partially mummified. Remnants of what Sauron could, before Syne pointed it out to be, those slaves cast within the burial chamber with their Lord. Meant to remain there until they too died, and passed beyond in a ritualistic and quite mortal conceptual view of forever service in a life beyond this one. Where the dead went, that is, where Men went beyond the Halls of Mandos, Sauron did not yet know. But to be in service to a dead Sith Lord? He doubted it in humor and some small disgust.

"Look at this!" Syne whistled, leading into an exhalation. Circling about himself he drank in the murals, the hieroglyphs, and the symbols. Sauron was keenly aware of the man's gaze leading up. Several great pillars stood throughout the room like support beams from ground to ceiling. Dark stone that was lined gold about the tops and bottoms. High upon the pillars were weaved golden symbols ending in square slots embedded with gems that glimmered in the new fiery light. Syne saw them and the Force thrummed gently in the call of want and greed.

"Come along, grave robber." Sauron bid with no small implied command.

"Could just call me Syne, you know?"

"I am aware." Sauron intoned thoughtfully as the two reached the doorway and the entrance onto another hall of sorts. Within could be seen a larger chamber. An arched room that ran many feet off the 'ground.' Though, the ground, as it were, was many long feet down. A hall, more a bridge, lay upon the other side. It ran forward before curving off right unseen to where it lead. On either side down there was the radiant heat and red ebb of magma. Molten rock scorched and bubbled, the sound of churning magma flow wholly natural and normal for Sauron, unknown, of course, to Syne. The man, for his part peeked his head into the corridor. Angling left then right.

"Nasty drop if you fall. No rails either…"

"Hardly the thing one worthy of such a place should be worried about." Sauron tested and to his credit Syne loosed a sardonic laugh.

"Yeah! Easy for you to say! You can kill a horde of shyrack with your mind and lightning. Best I got is a blaster and my wits, and they don't serve well sometimes."

"Your wits fail when you're...motivated to help a stranger find an ancient Sith tomb?"

"No, I imply you find me five juma juices down at a casino on Nar Shaddaa and you'll see a man who has lost all wit." Syne grinned. Sauron shook his worn head whilst Vica popped back into being within the corridor ahead. The woman's apparition moved freely about the long bridge. She 'hummed' about herself and looked to and fro.

"Looks like the bridge will give out once you step onto it." Vica called, yelling though truly she needn't. Sauron winced gently at the sudden shrillness.

"Very un-fun." She hummed without worry or care.

"Do you see a means to stop such from happening? I'd rather not dip our shared vessel in molten rock." Sauron asked within his mind. Throwing his left arm out as Syne made ready to step through the precipice.

"What?"

"Hold." Sauron warned. Syne didn't push the issue. Vica, meanwhile, tilted her head about.

"Looks like there's a switch or lever. In the room you're in, those large squares on the walls try pushing those in."

"Where was all this help in the prior room, Witch?"

"Oh please." Vica scoffed. "You were having your fun. Didn't need nor ask me for much help if I remember correctly." A statement, not a real question.

"Hmm." Sauron hummed aloud, saying no more.

"What?" Syne wondered again, but Sauron did not answer. Instead turning back towards the main chamber. Indeed, spread across the walls, minus the great mural above the door were stone slabs. These were bare by outward appearance. Yet, as Sauron looked upon them, he felt a low ebbing prickle at the back of the skull he shared with the Witch. The Force called to them both so subtly as to be ignored unless looked for.

Focusing with some small memory of what Sauron had learned on his own, and the small additions of knowledge given by Kun and Muur, the Dark Lord closed his eyes. Delving deep into the Force. Willing for the lens of that which lay beyond the mortal coil, Sauron opened those lids again. Where in that moment there now seemed to be the shimmering memories of markings placed upon the stone slabs. All of them swirls, circles, lines or two lines. None of them of any significance in Sauron's mind and knowledge.

Deciphering which meant which was foolhardy. The time was past, and Sauron grew ever more impatient to reach this tomb. Though, this was no great feat. As the mural of Marka Ragnos peered down upon those who dared deem themselves worthy to enter the next corridor, he commanded you use sight and foresight at that to know the bridge ahead would be perilous. He or his tomb builders in the least.

Upon the floor, indeed the path made leading towards the mural wall and the lone doorway, between the six cauldrons lit in dark flame now, there were sigils. They seemed to glow with the sight granted by the Force. From one image onto the next from the beginning of the path at the end of the stairs, to the stones before the doorway entrance. There were three. The sequence now evident and plain.

Simple, and with cool confidence; the grave robber silently watching the unknown woman step in circles about, Sauron used the Force. Pushing in stone, after stone, after stone. Three slabs ground against more and the room gave a slight rumble. Then the creaking snap of a great lock sounded and the corridor beyond churned a little more before going silent.

"I see." Syne intoned at last. A slight smirk on his youthful face.

"Guess that Force really does come in handy, huh? Me alone? I'm guessing I wouldn't have liked what would've happened without the stone slab...rearrangement?" He gave in sarcastic humor.

"Not likely, grave robber. Come, we have waited long enough. The tomb, with luck, awaits."

"Fair point!" He beamed in agreement. Without care or concern...or realization that Sauron bid and let him enter the next chamber first. As a precaution. When nothing ill happened, he too stepped through the threshold.

Indeed, the two traversed into the next corridor with some manner of impending revelation bounding them forth with excitement. Different ways and for different reasons that were of similar origination. The idle ebbs of Syne's internal dialogue, and fear at being pressed into service by the woman with him flowed, but he was enraptured by every wall, and every step. The blackened stone of the bridge moved inwards, then jutted hard right. Upon either side, over the crevasse deep where lay below churning magma, were pillars. Rows of them that ran the length of the turning corridor. The bottoms of which, pressed into the wall, ironically seemed to show the image of an eye, or at least that is how Sauron perceived them. Indeed, they may well have been mere diamonds.

Over the bridge there were hung more chandeliers that were soon set ablaze to add to the light of the room. At the end, however, there lay two great blackened doors. Rising high into the air upon the sandy stone walls. Without thought, without will, and without any act they opened. The slit between growing as the slabs gave way.

Syne paused. His eyes wide, and his breath audibly caught. Sauron awaited. Though, beyond the door what could immediately be seen was a room, of course. A great chamber. Where in the distance, along the furthest wall from the door was a great statue. A man sat upon a seat, or throne. Along his body great carved robes, his right hand in a fist, where his right cheek pressed against. His demeanor lounged, and confident in power. Upon his head, atop it, a great horned helm. Twin fires flickered in bowls held by statues of robed servants before the great figure. Their fires...already lit. by some dark power Sauron knew well as nipped at his shared mind from the Force.

"By the Force! It's him! I mean...his tomb. The tomb! Marka Ragnos!" Syne cried out. Jolting forth into a jog forward, Sauron gave the man freedom to do thus. He passed the threshold into the chamber, and nothing ill came for him. No beast, no trap, no overt act of death upon the wayward intruder into that space of the resting Lord. Thus Sauron followed after.

The echo of their boots became more pronounced. Sauron took in the room, this room at the last, even as the Dark Side skittered. Something stirred unseen and the oil of concealment ran stinking through the mind's eye. Vica too reappeared, and in much the manner as Syne, she gasped as her shade. Sweeping into the room and spinning in revelry and dance in the presence of dust, stone, and history.

Sauron came to a stop. The level he was upon ran down from a set of stairs. At the end, before the statue, and likely sarcophagus of Marka Ragnos, lay another set of stairs. A flattened stone floor between laid with interwoven diamond carved symbols that went the length.

Either side of the rectangular room were obelisks showing more, but this time unmarred and untainted, symbols. Etchings of honor, renown, and dissertations alluding to the glory and victory that was the life of Ragnos, Dark Lord of the Sith. Sloped box like stones jutted from the sides, atop them were stone statues in the shape of tuk'ata. The hounds of the Dark Side lay upon their stomachs, heads raised, perched and on guard against any unwanted guest. Six small pillars, like sloped candles in diamond shapes upon the top showed flickering fires at their tips. As with the fires held by the statue figures, these too burned bright, and seemingly without end. Set by the dying slaves millennia ago? Or, powered alone by the dark will of a long dead Sith, Sauron did not know. Yet, it mattered little in the grand scheme of things.

"This is it!" Syne repeated! His voice heaving an almost shaky and heartfelt laugh of exuberance. He threw his arms out, his eyes glinting in the fiery light of the room.

"The tomb! The real tomb! Centuries...millennia! And I...we, found it!" He corrected himself.

"It was indeed by way of your keen eye, grave robber." Sauron conceded stepping down the stairs to the main floor. The visage of Marka Ragnos stared down in bored observation. Keen-eyed, depicted as disinterested. Sauron recognized by this alone the being had some intelligence to him. Even in death he would assume that of a vacuous and pompous monarch, while within there loomed the mind of a power-broker. From tale and sight and the perception of the being in death, Sauron formed an image in his shared mind.

Meanwhile Syne paused as his hands swept through his brown short locks of hair. His eyes focused upon a previously unseen mantel that loomed behind the sculpture. He cocked his head while Sauron finally looked upon him and followed his sight.

"No...that can't...no!" Syne's words came as a refutation, but the tone betrayed him. Awe, excitement, disbelief too.

"What is it?" Sauron wondered. There held upon a mantel of two metal bars protruding from the back wall was laid a long rod. One end was almost sword-like. A pommel in appearance with twin guards, the first longer, and the second after shorter. Whilst the cylindrical body rose up, up, and up, shaped in appearance like a blade with a prominent central groove, ending then with two small spiked protrusions. The end beyond which were two great spikes, shaped in obvious reference to the horned-helm seen upon the many representations of Marka Ragnos seen thus far. Seen in fact within this room. Though, unlike the helm the horns, or spikes, were turned inwards rather than pushed out. Forming a forked crest.

As Sauron looked upon it and Syne gasped another laugh, the dark side again snarled. The worn green eyes of the Lord from Mordor narrowed as the Force groaned with long hidden power.

"That's the...the...Force! I had heard tale of it! Seen a few murals and statues like these, but never in my life did I think I would find it! Hardly even figured it was of any real importance."

"Explain." Sauron commanded, this time a little more firmly as to shake Syne from his frenzied state.

"Right, sorry. Uh, the Scepter! The Scepter of Ragnos. Just a long mark of his power and nobility...well, that's what some say. I found a few notes made from notes from notes before – histories quoting historians, you know?" He blurted breathlessly.

"Some said that scepter was like that sword I told you about, Ajunta Pall's sword. Something to do with all the Force magic business Jedi and Dark Jedi wield. Something about that scepter being able to channel the Force."

"Hmm." Sauron hummed as Vica popped back into sight.

"Channel the Force?!" She beamed, grinning ear to ear. "That sounds like a worthy prize for all this walking and dust. Certainly not something for this helpful little gnat to have...right?" Sounding almost unsure, Vica cast undue glower upon Syne. Sauron could only guess to her reasons for the sudden surge of disdain. Such were her mood swings that such was unworthy of questioning unless they lingered long. Though, a good point was made.

Sauron lifted right hand, and commanded the Force. Syne jumped by the simple action. Throat dried, heart thudding, sweat beading as all manner of sensation and emotion rippled through and writhed about him. The scepter shivered, disturbed for the first time in countless long years, dust shivered free, and the item lifted off its support and flew through the air. In a flash of motion, it flung forth.

Smacking into Sauron's opened hand with a thud of metal hitting gloved hand. The long scepter fell and there came another rumble of the Force. The Dark Side growled, and grumbled on. Some long groaning elation, and some ancient flicker as a flame of woe in the long abyss of the void seemed suddenly flushed with life and air anew. For Sauron looked upon the scepter. Dropping the rod into the other hand and snaking eyes along from end to end. The Force trembled within. Creeping about, and whispering in a manner such as the Force did.

"Look at that beauty!" Syne intoned. Happily, of course, but an air of sudden disappointment about the man.

"Consolation prize, I was here when it was found." He sought to make himself feel better.

"Yes, you were." Sauron nodded. Voice low as those worn green eyes flickered. Unseen they bloomed with a blaze of infernal heat. Turning from Syne, Sauron faced the wall at his right, right from the way into the tomb. Something called to him. He took the scepter in his right hand and found the item to be of some weight, but nothing he could not wield with ease, nor Vica without his presence. The Witch herself, wide-eyed, circling about Sauron, 'oohing' and 'awing' the long lost and powerful artifact.

"There is...something here."

"Something?" Syne repeated. Sauron, however, did not answer. Raising the Scepter of Ragnos, the forked pinnacle faced the wall. Sauron felt a strange compulsion and he pressed his presence onto the Scepter. His will flushing the Dark Side into it, before orange tendrils like that of lightning upon a star shivered in flashed about the long cylindrical body. Rising to the forks, a building of power suddenly pulsated, and hummed aloud! Before – boom! Syne ducked on instinct as Sauron's right lurched backwards. A beam of concentrated Dark Side energies exploded from the scepter and tore through the stone Sauron faced. The beam, like a turbolaser, melted through stone and rock and the earth of this world! A long emaciated and hungry, or unquenched thirst drank greedily from that power Sauron channeled into the Scepter.

Until, at the last, Sauron ceased giving it that taste long denied. The beam of brilliant energy came to a sudden stop and Sauron's arm reeled back. He circled it and planted the pommel end of the scepter into against the stone floor. While the sound of sand falling, stone collapsing and settling rumbled.

"Sweet mother of…" Syne mumbled. Rising to a full stand and slinking around the front of Sauron. His eyes beholding the hole made that ran long. Until at the furthest end, daylight could be seen. About the made fissure sand fell. For indeed the great tomb of Marka Ragnos was buried beneath great heaps and mounds of churned sand in times long ago and lost.

"Here, grave robber." Sauron called. Syne spun about. Fear once more in his being at the display of power...more still at the seeming ease and lackadaisical manner from whence this woman acted in the presence of an artifact now proven weapon.

"Huh?" Syne wondered as she held the Scepter out to him.

"You were here when it was found. Wield it, for a time."

"You...you're serious?"

"If you do not wish to-"

"No!" Syne almost lunged. Chuckling nervously, and wiping sweat from his face. Another impish smirk upon him as well as dumbfounded awe.

"No...I mean, yes! I just...didn't expect you to offer."

"Keen observation. Now, take it." Sauron simply said, and Syne readily held both hands up. Allowing the woman companion who had impressed him into service, to lay the long scepter about. He trembled, swallowing his excitement once more. Thrill rattled his bones and spirit as he snaked his fingers abut the length of the body. Eyes widened to that of boyish, almost child-like wonder and veneration.

"Not as heavy as I expected…" He trailed off. Syne's awed gaze turned to another full facial grin. He held the Scepter high and the forked end seemed to almost glint, caught by the fiery light of the room.

"This is...this is...hah!" Syne breathed. "My old man would be proud." Whimsically he added.

"You could say we were a family business."

"Robbing graves?"

"That's one way to put it." Syne relented, or at least was unwilling to argue the point. Smirking in continued internal whimsy at memories unseen by Sauron. The Dark Lord choosing not to pry.

"But…" Syne smiled, and in the action he seemed now older, for the first time than his mannerisms and appearance would say. Whimsy and happy memory turning dark and longing. The long defeat of death whispering to Sauron. The evidence clear in the spoken word. Syne's father had gone where none knew the fate thereafter.

"But it's obviously yours...Miss." A statement of fact, Sauron would suffer no other claimant of such a stupendous thing. Vica even now was giddy, jumping up and down to which Sauron momentarily ignored. Yet, there was resignation in the mortal man's words. A declaration of his own firm belief. In his mind Sauron, or whomever he may have perceived his form to be, had earned the prize within this tomb. A strange moral code, or perhaps a sportsmanship like code of ethics that demanded he relinquish that which was not earned by he himself.

"No!" Then, all came to a sudden pause. A voice rumbled through the room as a foul murmur.

"It is not hers, not theirs, not yours. It is mine!"

"Am I hearing things?" Syne gasped, turning about himself.

"We both are."

"Oh...oh that's good." He chuckled humorlessly at Sauron's declaration. The Dark Side cackling in revelry as the looming arrival of that thing Sauron long felt awaken finally came to the fore. The room shivered and creaked as though the stones above, about and below could warble and bend. While the flickering lamps of fiery light whipped and whirled about with the sudden foul wind.

"There!" Vica pointed for Sauron. The Dark Lord turned, perhaps to where was most obvious. The great statue of Marka Ragnos. Syne followed, still holding the Scepter of Ragnos. Sauron was firm and unshaken, but there was a certain...anticipation within him as rising from the statue came the ghostly visage of a beastly thing.

The helm upon their head was the giveaway, for their flesh, the facsimile of it, seemed ragged, and worn. The more human features shown on murals and even this very statue were lost. Jagged misshapen teeth within a snarling maw. Where the fleshy twin appendages often seen on the face of Sith Purebloods ran down upon either side of his mouth. His eyes were shadows, or pitted voids from when no light nor emotion could be discerned. Robes of tattered unknown color flowed down a partially spectral body, pauldrons upon both shoulders where slunk down chains about a central crest at his chest. The great horns standing great, proud, and powerful.

"Marka Ragnos…" Syne breathed. His sight now at last showing him what Vica and Sauron both already discerned.

"A ghost...a real Sith spirit!" Syne uttered. Sauron clearly able to determine such was known to the man, but previously disbelieved. Or, at the least unseen before. For his part, however, Ragnos, the seeming shade of him rose high into the air. The tomb whipping in winds hearkening to him. Flowing from about towards the ghost in a drawing of power.

"It has been far...far too long since any voices have been uttered here in my tomb." His voice began a croaking but guttural remnant of what must have once been a strong baritone.

"I am too often bored by the presence of robbers, explorers, Jedi and Sith year after year, century after century who come to Korriban seeking riches and power they have not earned. Asking questions they themselves refuse to answer. Yet, for the first time, in a long time, do I see those who have made their way through blood into my burial chamber. And have marred its craftsmanship." Ragnos chuckled darkly. Every utterance of the cackle growing deeper, darker, and hoarse.

"I have heard you three since your passing from the later built tomb into my own. The first to see past long made tricks to claim the lives of many fools. Those who made it receiving simple treasures, basic trinkets, false hopes for power in gauntlets, face masks, and those coveted artifacts I so easily threw into bins whilst I lived. For this you should be commended. Yes," Ragnos nodded, the chains about his specter shifting without sound.

"Yes, even you. I see your companion, even if this one cannot."

"What?" Syne turned as Ragnos pointed, unknown to the man, at Vica. She, for her part, smiled. A lack of fear in her being. A lack even of respect for the grandiosity of those beings she long sought and even now wished to speak with. Bold and brash she was becoming wrapped in the power of her own companion. Sauron, who in kind paid Syne no heed, and spoke.

"The Great Marka Ragnos, Dark Lord of the Sith, and ruler over an Empire of a century."

"All true, little would-be thief." Ragnos charged. "To you three I am grateful for rousing me from deep a sleep once more. The last time one walked upon Korriban with strength enough to earn my notice was long ago now. A half delirious Muun denouncing the existence of spirits. But, I digress. Curious it is that you wander with another. Curious still that you are shrouded in a deep shadowed cloak. To what end is your being here, dark one?" Ragnos wondered, still fixed on Sauron's taken appearance. Syne from the side looked on. Confusion steeped in ridges about his brow, and his eyes searching where Ragnos had pointed before. Finding nothing there.

"We have-" Vica began, but Sauron raised his left hand and she silenced in the mildest of agitations.

"We have come to take from your tomb what is earned by right of power, and show of skill. Little wound and smaller still have been the trials set before us. Simple indeed is the death of beasts kept living through sorcery and the trickery which requires Force Sight. You insult me with such paltry tricks, Mark Ragnos."

"Uh...maybe we shouldn't irritate the ancient Sith Lord?" Syne seethed lowly as Ragnos reared back. A snarl showing and deep a frown curving into dip.

"Insult?! You have been insulted by my tomb?! Grave robbers, and thieves who plunder the treasure holds and hordes of the great ones come before. Parasites, leeches! Vermin who feast upon rotten flesh! Lesser still are the insects who consume the rot of history and time. You say you have been insulted? Amusing." Ragnos bared sudden toothy grin.

"Ah...it has been too long since I have been waylaid by the boastful and the proud! Though I have seen many come and go before. I have seen, even traveled beyond the confines of Korriban to declare the authority of 'Dark Lord' unto others. I have counseled Sith who come crawling for power onto the sand dunes and wastes of this tomb world. I have taken counsel with the many dead who rest here. The maddened ones reeling and wailing, I mock them. Those with minds yet toward victory, resurrection and the foretold victory over the Jedi, I glory in their own imaginations. For myself, however," Ragnos lowered his specter down some. His being great and terrible. Certainly larger than he was in the flesh.

"I choose to sleep. We spirits can indeed sleep, you know? Difficult as it may be. There I can rest, a thousand years, ten more if need be, and on. Eons shall come and go, and I shall remain. Until at the requisite moment, I find way to claim for myself that which I yearn for once again."

"Too weak to claim it now?" Sauron dared goad.

"Do we have to do this?" Vica grunted. Am obvious degree of heroic worship within her glimmering ghostly eyes.

"Oi…" Syne seemed unknowingly to agree with her, as Ragnos cackled once again. Creaking, groaning and doom portending.

"Weakness? No, no weakness. The Dark Side heeds my call even now." Ragnos waved his left hand forth. Syne hitched a breath as the Scepter began to shake in his hands. He held onto it and tried in desperation to yank it back, but it seemed stuck in place. So too did his hands.

"Uh...a little help?!"

"Your struggle amuses me, by all means keep going!" Ragnos bellowed a laugh that rumbled and rattled the chamber. Sauron took a step away from Syne as Vica's visage seemed to flicker. The Dark Side snarled in the Force, and all the world of Korriban seemed to lurch in the rising tide of darkness. It was, of course, Korriban. None were near enough nor thoughtfully looking close enough to be aware of such. To Sauron's benefit and desire.

"AGH!" Syne's body became whipped about by feral winds! The room turned hot, and then biting cold. The Scepter showed a luminosity between the forks and then...Ragnos' spirit struck forth! The entity disappeared into the man who wielded his long at rest artifact. Syne...his body at lest reeled back at last. The Scepter held easily aloft in his right hand now.

Breaths came in puffs of exertion. Whilst the Force circled around and seemed to enter into him such as it had not before. Not by his own skill and being did the Force heed. But, by that new power within, it did. Syne's expression turned to dull observation. Emotionless pits about his boyish eyes, and what seemed the rapid aging of his being and demeanor. Not in the flesh, necessarily. His stance, his presence, his baring. Regal in demeanor and well aware of his stance.

Eyes turned yellow, turned to Sauron at Syne's left. A darkened smirk about dark brow. Ragnos controlled the body of Syne, and with ease brought the Scepter into both hands once more. Snapping right thumb upon a small latch, something released, and indeed a sword was slid free. The grinding of metal along more metal as a sword came free from the forked half, which Ragnos held in his left hand.

Ragnos now, raised the pointed end of his sword at Sauron. A dare in the stance alone. The Dark Side circled the two beings that wore flesh while Vica receded to a far corner of the room and watched on. Her eyes never losing an awed countenance.

"It has been a very long time since I dared play with a thing with a pulse." Ragnos spoke, and Syne's voice now bore a ghostly echo underneath it. A stretched thing that was abnormal, abominable and playful as it was wretched. Whispering under the surface even upon the echo of the spoken word.

"I know the feeling well, Sith Lord." Sauron spoke. Now too did his voice, that chosen voice for this chosen appearance bore more of his own will. The dreadful power of his voice rumbled from the deepened caverns of a realm beyond mortal being. The traces of creation abounded and wisdom limbed by Ages of experience shown. The shadowed veil about his being dropped but a little and the fiery depths were nearer at hand.

"There is more underneath all that darkness! I approve." Ragnos almost sounded congratulatory.

"Indeed." Sauron nodded, and with a flash, a lightsaber came to his right hand. It hissed to life with the luminosity of crimson blood. Ragnos grinned, a shade of Syne's youthful boyish impishness traced the outlines as the man's body bent at the knees in preparation for combat.

Sauron spun his lightsaber in flourish, before standing firm in place, the saber pointed down at his right. The long breath came before the expectant plunge. And the plunge came swiftly after all the same.

A snarling roar bellowed from Ragnos' stolen mouth! Running forward he swept the forked sheath of the separated scepter forth. Boom! Another beam of power exploded! Sauron swept himself left, the beam blew open one of the slanted stone structures behind him. Spilling forth from it unseen came the sound of metals. Sauron ignored it. Dashing around as Ragnos homed in and stabbed in at Sauron's stomach. The Dark Lord of Mordor parried. The Witch's lightsaber met the sword and it did not break or burn. The Force imbued within it gave it properties defensive against lightsabers.

All the same Sauron forced it up. Ragnos spun at his right. The forked sheath struck Sauron's right and threw him to the ground. His saber extinguished as he rolled. Coming to a stop atop his left knee, glaring up as Ragnos aimed from but a few paces, the scepter's end. Another beam readied. Sauron threw his left hand forth. The Force roared! The Dark Side crackled as lighting ripped through the air! Sparks flew in wild tendrils. Striking Ragnos scepter and his arm lurched back! The scepter sheath was lost, and he spun around. Both hands upon the pommel of the blade. With ease and furious speed he dashed upon Sauron, who now rose still loosing bolts from his left hand.

Upon Ragnos' coming, Sauron reactivated the saber at his right. Slashing left and meeting the sword. Both pushed the other back. The Dark Side rumbled between them as a burst of percussive air. Then Sauron stabbed in, and fell into a series of flurries. Stab left and right. Swinging around wildly with some measure of knowledge for the Djem So style.

Ragnos parried each and every strike. Ending by ducking at the wild swing. Falling to his right he kicked his foot out and the crack of boot hitting bone rung in a dull thud. Vica's body winced as Sauron felt pain rattled his right ankle, and a seethe forced forth as mortal coil received earnest pain. The Force aiding him into a series of spins about himself, Ragnos flipped back to a full stand, slashing up! Cleaving the sword along Sauron's center, for which he loosed a wave through the Force. Casting Ragnos back to miss his mark.

Skirting upon boots, Ragnos smirked. Raising freed left hand now it was his turn. Tendrils of hissing lightning bolts churned to life. Singing smoke crackled the air, and then the blue bolts careened forth. Sauron raised the crimson saber and the beam caught and absorbed the terrible tendrils. Sauron slashed right, and Ragnos' body lurched as the bolts were, with his arm tossed aside with some malice from the Force sent by Sauron.

Then the being in woman's form raised left fist. Snapping all fingers the spark of fire bloomed as a growling tempest. Ragnos cocked his worn head as the infernal heat once more called all fires about to it. Sauron's eyes flared, flashing in similar darkened flame the pits of the void narrowed, and Ragnos' own eyes flashed in surprise.

A growl not from the woman's mouth groaned and quaked. The room shivered as Sauron threw forth left hand, and a tumult of fire like a twister went forth. The flames seemed to stricken even the air itself, the fuel of its being as the Dark Side and some other power churned and empowered it.

Ragnos raised both arms out, his right hand still holding his blade, fingers slightly raised, a bubble of the Force formed about him. The fire swept around entire. Creating then a new tornado of whirling wind and terrible heat that consumed his form entire. Sauron squeezed fingers in. The fire broke between unseen fingers enfolding around the bubble encasing Ragnos. The Sith Lord grunted in exertion as he now fought against the grip of the invader to his tomb.

A snarl and heave, Sauron threw his left arm right across himself, and Ragnos within his bubble was sent careening, back cracking against the stone of his own statue. Air forced from his stolen lungs as pain rattled him. His protective bubble in a way burst.

The woman in red loomed, and Ragnos rose back to a stand. A feral gleam in wild eyes, an equally enthused grin about his stolen face. The Sith Lord called on the Dark Side. Gnashing unheard wails gathered about as a storm, and he dashed forth! A shade of movement through speed. The sword he bore stabbed, Sauron parried as the blade's tip cut at the collar at the right of Sauron's neck. Sauron sent another wave, Ragnos raised hand and blocked it from throwing him. Another feral roar and he stabbed in, slashing up and then spinning into a cross slash down. Sauron blocked the strikes. Stepping back, he slashed down left. Their blades met and Ragnos fought to force the woman back. Sauron's grip shook in a challenge of raw physical strength.

"Gonmûbî az!" The voice that flowed from the woman came as a sudden strike from the depths of ancient past. The power from them threw Ragnos back with a whining howl as fire seemed to illuminate from about their being for merely a moment. Their form becoming a bleak shadow, the mere simulacra of a human's, with no discernible feature about. Whilst the lightsaber was at once a great and terrible mace.

Ragnos stumbled back. His body shaken by the sheer power, the physical and...whatever he had perceived. The Dark Side enfolded the stranger once more. The woman was visible, and she stabbed at him. Ragnos parried up, and then she whirled around and slashed diagonally. Ragnos sidestepped and struck in, the woman sent a push through the Force with ease into Ragnos' right shoulder. Before blade made contact with flesh he was thrown off kilter. The woman fell into frenzied stabs, slashes and the wild abandon of overhead swipes, dashes and thrashes. Yet in seeming chaos there was grace. Many forms flowing together as only the greatest masters of Niman could muster forth.

Ragnos concede ground. Ducking low he spun about himself missing a lightsaber swipe meant for the neck he wore. The woman unknown paused where she stood. Ragnos backed into one of the stone pillars. Where atop each flickered fire. Breath from this body coming ragged. Silence remained for a long moment between the two. Until it was Ragnos who broke it.

"You hide great power underneath all of that." The Sith stated obviously.

"That I do."

"What are your intentions?" Ragnos wondered. "To come to Korriban and look about old tombs, forgotten or not?"

"Some voices of the past have knowledge, wisdom yet to share. For one such as myself, I seek all there is to be learned. Taken or otherwise. Great changes are to come. In this bounty the Sith may also prosper made in mine own image, and mine own structures."

"Though you are not Sith." A statement of fact.

"No."

"The words you spoke...the fire?"

"Long is the tale." She hummed, the spirit about. Tendrils like black smoke whipped in billowing strings seemed to wriggle off her body. Just beyond the visible spectrum of mortal, or living sight. Within the Force alone and sight greater than mortal eyes could such be seen alone.

"I see." Ragnos nodded. A grim smile on the human face he inhabited. Raising left free hand he called the discarded sheath and body of the Scepter. Without show of impending continued battle, the Sith Lord returned the sword to the sheath and a snap sounded as it locked into place.

"Several Sith of some renown now work with me, with us." The woman motioned to the spiritual vision of the other. She disappeared and re-materialized beside the one in the flesh.

"Karness Muur, and Exar Kun."

"Ah, both names are known to me...I sense no deception. But then," Ragnos grinned. "Why should I with one such as yourself?" Indeed a statement of congratulations.

Marka Ragnos crossed the distance between them and held the Scepter forth. Planting it in the space between himself and the stranger. Only then their lightsaber deactivated.

"You give it to me freely?" They wondered.

"An honor!" The ghostly woman beamed.

"I have little use for it in this state. Temporary is the hold upon this body. Little need have I to tend to matters of the flesh where Sith still walk in the galaxy. Long were my years, greater still was what came after. Death, glory, Empires, multiple at that, and the continued conflict for supremacy with Jedi. Near or far from the sands of Korriban I sensed it rage on." He angled the Scepter forward, and the woman's left hand wrapped about it. Taking hold, as Ragnos let go.

"It was I who scarred the symbol into Exar Kun's brow. I have seen many Sith great and insignificant walk upon Korriban. None have...intrigued me quite as you have. By no small feat that is. But, more important it is because of what you are and are not. You are of...power, but not of the flesh. Not of the Dark Side, yet you wield it. No meaningless praise and no base adoration."

"Hmm." The being in woman's flesh nodded their seeming understanding.

"I haven't any desire...in this moment to rise from my long sleep. Some Sith pass into this place between the Netherworld of the Force and life, or as some say the Void, and they cannot find comfort or peace and solace. As I said, one can sleep if they learn how. For me and my reign, ancient as it was, strictly speaking and paramount in my eyes was the continuity of the Sith. When Ludo Kressh and Naga Sadow waged conflict one upon the other and then with fleets of war it ripped the Sith apart. Leaving room for other forces to take root and rise. Vitiate and his disquieted mind and methods. Kun rose in time, and from him flowed others. Many who walked in the dark places of the galaxy, here included upon Korriban. A trainee who begged the spirits to speak to him and found nothing, for his answers lay in other dark places. The Muun later, and one I sense a faint memory upon you."

"Sidious." The being spoke and Ragnos merely grinned.

"Sith or no, you understand our ways."

"I do my part." The astral woman interrupted. Marka looked upon her for a moment and then nodded.

"I am sure that is true." He sighed contentedly. "For now, I am satisfied. By all means, take what you will from this place. Learn of it what you would and will. Use it to claim for yourself what strength, power and victory you are owed. Break your chains, whatever they may be, and become free."

"To what end would it seem to you?"

"It doesn't matter!" Ragnos threw Syne's arms out at his sides.

"Onto each Sith the end result is theirs to form. A Sith is bound by the destiny they make. Not the Force, not the Sith who teach them or who abide among them, and no one else. To be a construct by another but for what wisdom and knowledge you take is to become a shade of them. A feckless shadow without any real ambition and strength of your own. To be Sith is to define the Sith."

"Then we have an accord." The being in the woman's flesh bowed their hooded head. Ragnos bowed Syne at his waist.

"The man you inhabit, do not damage him upon your exit. He has earned that much." The being asked nicely, and without word on the matter Ragnos hummed a low chortle. Nodding as a final question showed upon his worn face.

"Before I retreat, what name should I know you by?" A momentary pause, but the being cocked their brow. A question in their own mind answered the moment next.

"Sauron. Given to me by my enemies. I claim it as my own now."

Marka Ragnos needn't speak any further. He beamed a wicked grin upon the flesh he wore. Bidding goodbye in his own way, wisps like smoke simmered out the back of Syne. Until a breath of wind fluttered and the spirit receded to places unknown. Leaving the man to fall forward with a gag to the floor.

Choking, nauseating gasps racked him! His body spasmed and his hands fell to stone, his shoulders quaked and sweat beaded upon his brow. Syne shivered and heaved...but nothing came forth.

"Wha...what happened? What did I do las...oh!" Syne lurched...again nothing came forth. His left hand covered his mouth upon looking up and seeing the masked womanly visage in red white and black looking down. In her hand the Scepter of Ragnos. Syne's eyes widened, and those orbs flicked left to right in thought.

"What happened?! Where's...where's Marka Ragnos?! I didn't dream all of that? I...I couldn't have."

"Gone from here is the spirit of old, grave robber." A hand was presented. The free right. Syne looked on it. Trepidation came, but in the moment after he dared take it, and was hoisted up to his feet with strength unexpected.

"What remember you?"

"I...we...you were speaking to him. Then he said...something. You...goaded him and then…" Syne's brow furrowed deeper than ever.

"I was...cold."

"Are you cold now?" The woman wondered, and Syne's right hand patted his own chest thoughtfully.

"No...no it's damn hot in here." A nervous chuckle followed.

"Very good." She nodded, and turned away moving towards the great statue of the lounging Dark Lord of the Sith. Syne stood unmoved. Unsure what had happened at all. He shook himself and wiped a sheen of sweat from atop his upper lip. Following after his...terrifying lady companion after.

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "Looks like you got that Scepter in the end. Lucky find! If I do say so myself." He shook but slowly returned to his prior self. A flare of roguishness about him.

"At least I got to be here for it. Got to meet a long dead Sith too. As a ghost, but...you know." He shrugged and laughed into another throat clearing.

"Think not so little of your part, or reward, grave robber." The woman rasped in a low, nearly sensuous manner.

"What you have failed to see whilst focused upon one treasure is the heaps before you."

"What do you…" Syne began to ask, but paused as the woman pointed the pommel-end of the Scepter to the left wall of the chamber.

One of the slanted stone protrusions, atop which loomed the sculpture of a tuk'ata, its face was broken open. Blasted it would seem by the same power unleashed by the Scepter...but Syne didn't remember how that happened, and at this point he was too unwilling to ask. More importantly, however, he stared down at the gaping wound about the stone. Spilled out along the floor was a great treasure trove. Mounds of gold and gemstones. Trinkets of rings and necklaces, offerings that must've meant something at one point or another. Quite a few were singed, and some were even flash vaporized leaving powdered metal dust from the blast of the Scepter.

"Well, well, well…!" Syne gasped and bent down. Grabbing an ancient square piece of gold expertly cut he held it up and dared not repress the grin that sprouted across his face.

"Marka Ragnos' treasure hoard! As in life so to be with him in death…" Syne looked at the other stone slabs jutting along this wall, and then over his shoulder at those upon the opposing wall. A whistle blew from his lips as he imagined the depths of wealth laid in this room.

"You think he'd uh…?"

"Take your fill...Syne." The woman softly commanded, giving in effect her permission.

"For my own self, I wish for these treasures." She noted and bent down. Upon a stack of gold and gems there lay nestled between layers of metals, a small metal roll, or tube rather. The woman in red pushed upon a bulbous end and then twisted. Releasing a thunk sound. Out of which spilled a scroll. Among the treasures were more of these things.

"Mind if I...at least make some notes?" Syne dared ask. A slight grin on his face as he pushed his luck. All too aware his proper name had been used moments prior.

"We shall see. For now," The woman hummed happily at whatever lay upon the scroll unseen. Returning the ancient creamy and slightly weathered paper to its hold in remarkable condition, she looked down upon his squat self.

"Let us leave through our self-made exit. Find your ship and bring it near. To you and your efforts, a boon shall be loaded."

"Well, hey!" Syne clapped his hands and pushed up with a low groan.

"I won't say no to help loading up!" He grinned.

…

Moving towards the hole made by the Scepter, the two would make a trek back to Syne's camp. Marka Ragnos' great tomb was indeed buried under a great heap of sand that had hidden away a tributary region of the Valley of the Dark Lords. Be it by design or by weather's happenstance time would not allow them to know, nor did they care either of them.

Returning to the entrance, Syne would fill crates with necklaces, rings and trinkets of Sith make and design. Though not all things were removed. Some were left, as a 'good omen' the man said. Other things, a small crown, not the great helm of course, but the crown would be going with Syne into his personal collection so he said.

Whereas Sauron aided with the Force in lifting the then triply heavy crates over uneven sand dunes into his ship's hold. Until, after some two additional hours, they stood upon a slope near the top of the buried tomb, the ship sunk into sand stable enough to hold it up, at least. A final bag slumped over Syne's left shoulder down his body as he sighed.

"Well...I'd say we both made out pretty well! All things considered. Ghosts, death traps, and an angry Sith ghost. Not sure what to say about...the day really! More than I ever thought or expected."

"Perhaps the least said, the better, Rillum Syne." A statement and matter-of-fact spoken by his lady friend. Certainly of some kind of spooky Dark Sider origin.

"You may have a point, Miss." He nodded. A pregnant pause followed until he, with a thoughtful and uncertain utterance reached down into his right pocket, shifting the bag across his body.

"Here. Maybe you'll get some use out of this."

"What is it?" Sauron, the stranger in the man's eyes, wondered. Handed to the Dark Lord was a small diary. Cream papers lined in crinkles and wrinkles kept together by a black cover of old feeling leather on either face, a small tie kept it closed through a loop.

"My notes for the Valley. I uh...am guessing you'll be staying for a while after I go...if I'm allowed to go?"

"Why should you not be?" Sauron wondered with raised brow. "Would I aid in the filling of your ship if I intended to kill you now?"

"If you were going to take my ship and all the treasure, yes!" He grinned with mischief and fearful testing mingled about. To which Sauron shook his worn head.

"You are free to go your own way, Syne."

"Right...well, I mean, good!" He scratched the back of his neck, and pointed at the diary.

"I...well I made some notes about tombs and places. Places outside or inside buildings, tombs, reliquaries and what not. Showing where some hidden passages or at the least some caches may be. I did my due diligence before coming here, and copied over some of my dad's work from long ways back. Don't worry, I got the originals." Syne grinned and Sauron nodded simply.

"Eh...anyways, maybe it'd be of use to you. A parting gift for...not killing me? Oh and letting me come along on the trip."

"I let you, did I?"

"From a certain way of looking at it...hey I ain't complaining!" He chuckled.

Sauron held the diary up, nodded, and let arm fall at his side.

"It is well received, your gift, Rillum Syne."

"Well good...good." He intoned. Turning towards his ship's boarding ramp. He took a step and paused again.

"Oh, if you ever need an expert in old places, old caverns and old trinkets...my comlink code. I paid top dollar for a hard and heavy encryption, so don't worry about speaking freely should you ever need little ole' me for anything, Miss!" Syne handed a small code cylinder. Wordless Sauron took it, said nothing, nodded and accepted by pocketing it.

Again, Syne made up his ramp a step or two...and paused for a final time.

"You know," He turned to see the woman watching. The brilliant red cloak upon her body whipping gently in the stray winds of dimming Korriban with night on approach.

"I'd assume that were I ever asked if I have been on Korriban, the answer would be no. If I had been, then I never met anyone. If I did then I can't remember who they were or what they looked like. If I could or did, I wouldn't care to, and if I cared to, I wouldn't be so keen on doing it. You catch me?"

Unseen, under the black cloth mask Sauron's body wore a simple smile formed at the edges of his lips.

"Very wise, Rillum Syne. Very wise."

At the last he disappeared up the ramp with a lazy salute, and took his leave. Allowing for Sauron to find a nearby sun-burnt rock and sit atop it as night fell and the cold stripped it of the great accumulated heat. Vica reappeared and danced idle in twirls upon the sands of the Sith graveyard world. Recounting the awe she experienced this one day alone as Sauron brought cloth forth, pulled the Scepter of Ragnos onto his lap and cleaned it. About the living body soon gathered unsure tuk'ata who dared not strike upon such ripe flesh as they saw, and indeed as time went forth some drew near and laid their bellies to the sand. As though bowing in the presence of a master of old.

There, here, upon Korriban Sauron looked up into the sky at the stars of this galaxy. The dark about them, underneath them, enfolding them. But one world, but one night, and in it he had already garnered great new trifles, toys and trinkets.

The Witch danced in spectral joy, the tuk'ata bowed about and formed as hounds a pack about the unknown Lord, and the Lord? The Lord sat in contemplation, in glory and the dreams of imagination of what was to come flowed over his mind.

---

L's Note: OoooOoOooohHhhH the story is dead! OOoOOoooOOhhhHHh. ;P ;3

Lololo, all joking aside, this IS the longest chapter of this story thus far. Also a fun look into the explorations of Sauron within the galaxy. Part of the series of his travels. An important note is that the tomb detailed here from start to finish is based in part on Marka Ragnos tomb from KOTOR I and II, a little totally made up, and then partially inspired and based on Jedi Knight: Jedi Academy for reference. BUT, it is slightly made up, so don't come at me or Lord Kun more specifically over exact recreation through text. ;P

Thanks to Archon, newboy, Thomas Drovin, Darth krayt1, and Daryh Kyuubi kurama in NO particular order for your reviews! They are appreciated! :D

As always point out any really offputting grammatical errors, I likely missed a few in this sucker, and I will fix them, or otherwise ignore.

Till the next!

-L

Gonmûbî az! - Roughly translates to = "Look upon me."

Edit Note: Edited/Updated 09/08/2024