Open Impotence

[The Storyteller]

Necropolis

She had been heavily sedated, but was still alive as she was transported to the desolate junk world of Necropolis. It was never clear as to why the Dark Lord had chosen to attack Onderon, the dark woman who stood as victor could only guess it was a supposed quick grab of territory. It was a gamble that could have been seen with beatable odds, but perhaps what no one could predict was how the fight unfolded. Darth Tiamat would consider herself a merciful sith, she would often ensure death came quickly, but in this instance, she did not feel it was deserving. For what reasons Tiamat concluded, she decided this was for punishment, to be made an example and a warning to those who defied her Lord, he may have not be physically present, but his children and creators were not going be pushed into servitude of another.

Tempest was missing her lower half, her legs severed from her hips, but currently patched up just enough so infection wouldn't quickly settle in or bleeding complications wouldn't quickly grant her a quick death. Tiamat was certain The Locust and his minions feasted on the body parts in addition to her eyes. It would be a horrid realization to the woman when she woke finding she could no longer physically see, however, maybe her eyes were her faulting and learning to see differently would help her avoid another mishap in the future.

Despite these physical and torturous setbacks, when the Dark Lady awoke or if her Sith followers found her, there was weakness within the woman and not just the failing to take Onderon, but literal weakness - no longer holding the power of a Dark Lord. Through a fascinating and dark ritual, Tiamat decided Lady Tempest could assist them in returning their dark Lord to their realm. Perhaps it would even earn some graciousness from Lord Raze instead of is ire for trying to take Onderon. Tiamat doubted it, but it was wishful thinking for Tempest as her Force Essence had been drained into an artifact that would later be used in ritual fashion. She didn't drain all of her power, and with courtesy, left her with enough power of someone who would be considered a Sith Master in the Order. No doubt still powerful in rite, but while she still held a title of dark lord, Tiamat was certainly curious to see power hungry Sith pounce on this opportunity, maybe even keep them from thinking about attacking one of holds of Raze.

By the time the sedation would wear off, Tiamat and the others would be far gone, no longer interested in their prisoner, she was a free woman, depending on one's certain point of view. And so on this barren world of trash and junk laid the Dark Lady of the Sith (@Altaris), a throne of jagged durasteel and fringed wires as she would come to wake in this unfamiliar setting.

OoC: This is open to individuals interested in rescuing Tempest, if something becomes nonsensical in an attempt to derail then prepare to have a ship landed on you and be ejected from the thread.

 

[Darth Tempest]

Hours had passed since Darth Tempest had been left for dead on Necropolis. Hours spent as the half-Annyn drifted across the very edges of lucidity - struggling to grasp everything that had occurred and the wasteland where she’d been abandoned. It went without saying that the fight on Onderon had gone poorly - and her subsequent captivity had been no kinder. The price for failure was high amongst the Sith, and the Dark Lord was no exception in her own.

Perhaps sedation had been a kindness - spared from the horrifying reality of what she had become. It was a familiar loss to the one she had known on Korriban, amplified to extremes she hadn’t dared to consider. Phantom pain and ache lingered where her legs had once been, mended only so far as to prevent her bleeding out. But that was the least of it. The blackness of her vision - the realization of what the Locust had taken from her - was enough to chill her to the bone.

A different weakness fell upon her like the weight of the world - pressing down upon her every attempt to crawl across the trash-covered ground. It was a chilling void, emptiness and fragility left to fill the absence of her own strength. She knew well enough, after having drained the Pureblood exile on Thule, what had been done to her.

There were no tears left to be shed, and yet the desire to scream out in anguish was uncontrollable. And for hours, that was precisely what she did. Even as her voice echoed across the trash-heaps of Necropolis. Even as her throat grew ragged and hoarse. Even as not a single soul called back in answer.

She had been a titan amongst her Order. Now? She was weak. Broken. Abandoned to die.

There was nothing left of the Vahliri Kahtal who had declared her leadership upon Junction. There was nothing but the anguish that roiled through what was left of her. Pronounced pain that radiated through the plain of the Force, manifesting across the senses of those closest to her. Most of all, Altair ( @Sreeya ) would feel the suffering of his lover like a hot knife through the heart, a flurry of emotions that would ache and burn a wound all its own. Others would feel its ripples, through perhaps none would truly understand the gravity of what had occurred.

As the hours passed, she couldn’t help but ponder everything that had occurred - anger boiling from within. Just how long had she been missing? There was no way she could have known. How long would it take for the Sith Order to cannibalize itself in her absence, or to rally beneath the banner of Korriban’s newest monarch? How long before she was supplanted for her failures?

And then there was something else.

The sound of shifting trash and debris was easily detected by the half-Annfyn’s sensitive hearing - causing the fluted tips of her ears to flatten harshly against the sides of her skull. There was an unfamiliar sense of anxiety that came her weakened state - unable to assess the threats that lurked at the edges of her senses. Threats she was now blind to. Had Tiamat come to finish the job, broken as she was? Had some abomination come to feast upon what was left of her?

Her senses expanded all around her - until it finally settled upon the source of the noise. The Jawa collector spoke not a word to the Dark Lord as it surveyed its surroundings, scouting the mounds of Necropolis for anything of value. Was it her screams that had drawn its attention? Or had the collector simply stumbled upon her amongst the other broken and discarded things?

There was a pause - and the blindness left Tempest to only wonder what the next moment would bring. The sound of footsteps drew closer, only to be replaced by the sensation of small hands roaming the top of her dented and bloodied armor. Feeling beneath the pieces of phrik, armorplast and metal. She felt the saberhilt pulled from her belt, tossed into a cart, before the Jawa began to peel the vambraces still fastened at her wrists. It would take what little remained of value and left Tempest to her fate, she quickly realized.

Its intentions, nevertheless, were interrupted as the Jawa froze in place.

Confusion was replaced by panic as invisible tendrils of the Force coiled around the would-be looter, tightening against his body through the shaggy robes it wore. Panic was replaced by agony as its very Life Essence was siphoned from its body, manifesting as wisps of crimson mist that loafed into the air - pulled into the shaking fingers of the Dark Lord.

She drank deeply and desperate - gasping each breath as the Jawa was reduced to a husk at her feet. It was nothing to what the Dark Lord had lost, a temporary salve to the pain that haunted her. And yet she savored every ounce of strength like a woman starved.

Slowly but surely, her hands extended toward - nails digging into the ground where she’d been left. Her arms strained as she pulled herself across the beds of trash and scrap metal, wincing as jagged edges caught against armorweave and scraped against her breastplate. Dragging herself through the dirt, towards whatever shelter might’ve been hidden amongst the wasteland that might yet be her grave.

In that moment, the Dark Lord could think little of her own position or what came next. There was no thought spared to anyone but herself.

In that moment, there was only survival.

 

[Altair Din]

Altair knew this day would come eventually. He had talked to her about it countless times over, had cautioned her, begged her to leave the Sith, and yet her passions governed her. He had left the Empire a while ago and hadn’t looked back. His helmet was polished and maintained, but he hadn’t worn it since. His focus was on his farm, his daughter and the life he was trying to build with Vahliri. He never knew her as Tempest and he never wanted to.

He hesitated even now, staring at the glass case within which he neatly arranged his armor. Zara was already with her mother. Altair didn’t explain exactly where he was going to Clove, knowing she would go into a spiral. Even after all these years, he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that the mother of his child was still in love with him despite the sentiments being one sided.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he methodically placed the pieces of his armor back on himself. He moved with quiet, calculated precision, boarding his personal ship and going right where Vahliri indicated. Altair’s mind swirled with the pain he sensed from her through the Force. He knew a decisive blow had been struck, something that perhaps even broke her. He knew it was risky for her to be approached by other Sith at this point. He knew what the Sith were like - after all, he was the one that broke them in half before.

Altair didn’t have to be this man in years and a part of him despised it. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to look through the visor, what it felt like to wear the Matukai gloves, what it felt like to be the man that many quietly referred to as Emperor. It was a cursed word, one he ran from for a long time and thought he left behind. And now he was dragged right back into it. He was once again the man he wanted to shield from his daughter.

It didn’t take long for Altair to land on the junkyard planet, fury coursing through him. He walked with methodical purpose towards where he could sense Vahliri. If anyone or anything got in his way, he would erase them from the galaxy.

@Altaris

 

[Darth Tempest]

The horizon of Necropolis stretched out before Altair - dominated by mountains of abandon ships and trash heaps - without a soul amongst them. Fury radiated through the Force, chaotic and raw strength of a Sith Lord in all but name, and yet not a single creature arose to stand in his way. There was a purpose in the decision to abandon Tempest in such a place. It was desolate and remote - far removed from any semblance of galactic politics, far removed from any visitors.

She was meant to die here. To be forgotten and turned against by those within her Order. To be discarded amongst a plethora of broken things that littered the ground beneath is feet. Even if Altair had yet to locate the woman he loved, there was no denying the severity of the situation if this was the place she had been abandoned.

Pain lanced through the Force like a heartbeat all it’s own - bringing with it the familiar ache and soreness that had haunted the Tiefling for hours. It was a sensation that would drive the Tiefling to stay away - primal instinct to retreat from the thing that wounded him. But like a trail of blood against the ground, it would guide him towards the caves where Vahliri - where Tempest - had crawled herself towards. Where the abandoned hull of Star Destroyers decayed and caved in upon themselves, creating the artificial tunnels and cave networks that stretched beneath their feet.

And through that pain, he would hear the singular name that passed through her mind. The desperation, anguish and solitude, and the sole person she dared to call upon.

Altair.

Along his path, Altair would come across the very landing where Vahliri had been left. He would come across the corpse of the Jawa left in her path. The small sentient was drained and dehydrated, it’s body withered and aged. There www no mistaking what had been done to the would-be looter.

And Altair would also see the Lightsaber hilt that had been tossed into the Jawa’s cart. The curved handle and filigree design were unmistakable, and the crimson of its blade - if Altair opted to ignite it - would leave no mystery to whom it belonged.

Eventually, the trail would lead Altair towards the very cave where Vahliri had dragged herself - beneath the ground and into the endless stretches of darkness. And at the entrance of those caves, he would come across the band of Jawa that gathered - rifles and crude blades in hand. He was not the first to encounter the dead looter, and the group had clearly gathered to hunt the woman responsible for their comrades gruesome demise.

@Sreeya