| abstract
| - _______________________________________________________________ Though the sky is now clear, there's still the cloying humidity and the smell of rain in the air when the sleek shape of a Lambda shuttle glides in and pulls up its wings as it lands in rocky clearing. The sound isn't anything that the creatures in this area of the world have heard in long centuries, and a great flock of flying ... things ... rise up and fly around, disturbed by the noise before wheeling around and landing back in the jungle canopy. The hatch opens up, and thick, hot air already feels a bit oppressive, with the sun glinting off of hundreds of fresh puddles. First out of the ship is Lyra, not even bothering to walk all the way down the ramp, instead forging her own path by hopping off the ramp (and splashing into a puddle) in a typical display of youthful "rebellion." The glare of the sun makes her squint, as she reaches into her (much lighter) satchel and pulls out a mapbox and turns it on. After rotating it once, then twice to get screen oriented right, she looks towards a large outjutting of stone that doesn't really look like temple at all but a sheer bluff of rock. "Hey, it looks just like the image from orbit," she says, a bit lamely, as if it might somehow look different from the ground. "I guess it really is like a cave or something." She takes a few more steps in the puddles and starts looking around, before she makes her next profound observation, "Is this entire planet feels like a cooling pond for a reactor. Or a shower or something," she says, looking around and waiting for the others to emerge from the shuttle. Emerging from the ship, Paul tries to remain the soul of patience, really he does. But what he really wants is one of those leashes that certain parents attach to their toddlers ... only he'd use it more like a pet's leash problem, tugging back on Lyra's neck and barking 'heel!' every two seconds. But he's terrified to let the girl get ahead of him and lightly he warns, "Don't go rushing off ahead of us. The Sith are very protective of their secrets and their legacy. It is not at all uncommon for there to be traps." Hazel eyes lift to rake the area, eyes narrowed against the glare as he rolls up his sleeves and mutters darkly, "Lots and lots of very dangerous, trying to kill you traps ...." His head tilts at Lyra's comment as he replies, "It feels like a planet with a primarily rainforest climate - large masses of water, deeply wooded jungles, close proximity to a star to provide the necessary heat and sunlight ..." Turning to glance back at Jessalyn the Corellian muses, "I've never been in any of the non-jungle sections of the planet, so I can't speak to whether the whole place is this heavily humid or not." Already Paul is pushing back his hair as the humidity makes it wilt with heat and moisture. Drawing up to Lyra's side, Paul's experienced gaze starts to explore the area as he settles his satchel at his hip, the two of them matching in that regard as he moves forward with caution. Though they have landed on the opposite side of Yavin's fourth moon from where Jessalyn spent many of her formative years, the lush landscape seems hardly different than that with which she is more familiar. As the small, sleek shuttlecraft glides through the moist atmosphere and comes to a landing, she questions the wisdom of this trip for perhaps the hundredth time since they left Ord Mantell, leaving Sabine and Kiri behind in Sha'dria's capable care. She can't help but twitch inwardly at the separation, but she puts it out of her mind for now, following Lyra and Paul out of the ship and watching the girl tromp around in the mud puddles like one of the children, herself. Jessalyn smirks to herself, sensing Paul's agitation with the swoop-girl and giving him a sympathetic glance. She ties back her thick hair as she descends the ramp the rest of the way, glancing over once Lyra orients them toward what looks like a rocky outcrop. The air is heavy with moisture, and drops of recently fallen rain fall from the trees overhead to splatter against the visitors. Lyra's comments and Paul's warning make her chuckle, "Just think of it as a visit to the spa... with dangerous booby traps that can maim and kill you. Great idea for a vacation." She pulls out a pair of macrobinoculars from the utility belt around her waist and peers through it. "Oh, the whole damn moon is like this, Professor." Grinning, she hands over the binocs to him if he wants to have a look, and then starts ahead of the others with a confident spring in her step. "It's not really too different than some places on Nar Shaddaa," Lyra says a bit absently, her attention already drawn as she looks around at whatever passes locally for birds circle around in the distance. "Like people hang around siphoning water from the pipes bringing water to the reactors to cool 'em off for drinking and stuff but the people who have the water don't want to share it, so they set up traps and stuff." Then finally, a breath. The swoop-girl gives the area a once more, her point made, at least in her mind, seems content to follow Jessalyn, wandering off behind the Jedi, even as she tucks the mapviewer device into her satchel. Though the path from the clearing the ship landed in to the place indicated appears to be short and straightforward, actually negotiating the jungle to there is a completely different story, involving climbing over rotting, fallen trees, vines, thorny bushes, small streams, and whatever else an untracked wilderness can throw at wanderers, something that seems to be a surprise to Lyra, who compares it to chasing someone through a busy market. Eventually, however, the trio makes it to the cliffside, a jagged wall of stone thrusting a couple of dozen yards straight up, heavily overgrown with vines. The entrance to the tomb appears to be in a shallow cave, easy enough to find because of a persistent cool breeze that whispers out of a cave's face, something made all the more suspicious because after a very short entrance, the cave is sealed off by what appears to be a large, circular stone door that plugs the cave ... a door that's very obviously closed and not providing anywhere enough room for such a cold breeze to get started. Further making the door strange is that the stone appears to be heavy and thick has no obvious handles or levers, and appears heavily carved with hieroglyphs of some alien language. Only a few pillars of badly eroded stone remain around the door, perhaps once being altars or pillars, but now barely noticeable from natural pillars caused by the slow drip of water. "Except for all the planets a such," Paul notes wryly, wondering again for the millionth time it seems what the deal with Lyra really is. Such an odd girl. But then she explains her point more clearly, the Corellian's mouth opening in a silent 'ahhh' of comprehension as he nods and stays abreast with the young woman. He trusts Jessalyn's Jedi sensibilities to tingle should there be anything dangerous ahead, though his eyes to rest upon her back from time to time before scanning the area before her. Just in case. "Yeah, the Sith don't like anybody messing with their stuff ... not even other Sith." As the path before them becomes more complicated, Paul pulls out a small machete blade from his hip to help ease the passage, hacking branches and vines out of his way, handling the rough terrain with casual experience of a man used to working in less than civilized climes. As the draw closer to the cliffside, he sheathes the blade again and reaches into his satchel, pulling out a small device upon which he keeps references for languages and glyphs, drawing closer to the stone door, one hand reaching out to try to find the source of the breeze, which might indicate a juncture point to be levered, his attention then shifting back to the hieroglyphics. Vines,, plants, and thick moss have nearly obscured the text and for awhile Paul works on simply clearing off enough of the growth to make out the markings beneath it, their incisions in the rock filled in with dirt to make them ironically more visible and readable than when they were first carved. "Well," he notes with a hint of relief, "The hieroglyphs match the rest of the ones found on the tombs of Yavin, so we don't have to work from scratch. But there are definitely some familiar ones here and there are still some debated on what the ones translated thus far actually /say/." His hand touches here and there, noting "Sith," absently, fingers clearing off more dirt and moss as he studies the rock and his references before resting a hand on his hip and calling over his shoulder to Jessalyn. "This looks like a job for you, sweetheart." Dirt-stained fingers trail over the rock surface as he explains, "If I'm reading this right, there's some sort of hidden mechanism that can only be moved through the Force ... it's behind a section of the stone cave, but I can't tell if it says exactly where yet ..." Hazel eyes continue to read over the text, searching for bigger and better clues as it were. No stranger to picking her way through the most overgrown of jungles, the path is nevertheless tedious and tiring even for Jessalyn. She only stays in the lead for a short while, letting Paul move ahead in order to cut through obstacles that might otherwise take hours to traverse or move out of their way. It's better to be behind them anyway so she can keep a careful eye on her two companions, knowing that there are any number of carnivorous creatures that might be curious enough to turn any of them into a nice snack. But for the most part their trek is untroubled. As they reach the face of the cliff, she almost pays no mind to that strange cool breeze other than to be grateful for a respite from the oppressive heat, assuming it must be coming from the cave. She steps closer to the massive stone blocking their entrance, frowning and putting her hands on her hips, looking at the sigils and markings without comprehension. There's no doubt they're in the right place, though... even now, she can detect the faintest whiff of Dark energy still clinging to the place like a foul odor that won't be cleansed no matter how many times the offending article has been washed. Glancing around, Jessalyn finds an ancient tree stump to turn into a chair, and sits down for a while to watch as Paul does his thing, making sense of the heiroglyphs and hopefully finding a way for them to get inside. When he calls her, she hops up and wanders back over, nodding her head as he gives her instructions. "Let me see if I can find it," she says, placing her palm flat against the center of the massive stone and closing her eyes. A few moments later there is a low grinding noise, then a sharp pop, and another rush of cooled air that's strong enough to blow the hair back from her face as the seal is broken and the stone starts to roll away like a great wheel. Unlike the Corellian's sophisticated, cerebral effort to solve the problem, Lyra's is typically straightforward and violent: "Anyone have a thermal detonator?" is her observation as she examines the huge stone door, easily twice her height and probably some hundred times her weight. She gives the stone door a good, swift kick, then another, which does little little except cause a torrent of gravel and dust to fall from the door. In fact, the door's so solid it doesn't even make much noise. "Maybe two or three," she says, apparently forming her 'expert' opinion from a few kicks. "Oh, hey, you can read that?" Lyra says, sounding impressed by Paul's ability, or at least showing it, for the first time. Then she pauses, takes stock of the situation, like a kid with the dad who's known for filling his daughter's head with ridiculous stories. "Are you sure?" she adds. It's only when the Corellian calls the redhaired Jedi woman over and she starts to examine stuff does it really seem to sink in. Totally out of her depth, Lyra for once actually shuts up, granting the pair a few moments of blessed silence. The door does indeed roll out of the way like a gigantic cog, dislodging further dust and small stones, as well as some snake-like creatures that if you didn't know they were animals, one would swear they pause to size up the three interlopers before thinking better of it and slithering off. Compared to outside, there's nearly a polar cold inside the dim interior. Even as the door rolls out of the way, a desiccated skeleton of what appears to be a ... well, it's honestly hard to tell, but some human or near-human unfortunate falls apart in a puff of dust, as it was leaning against the door. Beyond, into the darkness and down the tunnel goes into this cliff or mesa-like stone massif. Perhaps most of all though, is like corpse exhale of frigid air from the depths of the tomb. Even for those without Force Powers, there's a palatable sense of dread coming from somewhere up ahead; it's simply much stronger for those attuned. Worst of all, from somewhere outside, a bird's or similar creature's call changes to something that sounds suspiciously like a crone's cackle. There is a muffled oath as Paul nearly swallows his tongue and stepping forward he announces, "Okay, there are some rules that I need to make perfectly clear. Rule number one, no taking stuff, stealing stuff, or anything like that. We leave everything here and if there /is/ something that is going to be removed it will be done so by me, as the scientist who filed the papers on this site and future excavation and who will be responsible for the contents thereof. Two, there will be no blowing up of doors, walls, artifacts, or anything like that unless it is a danger or a threat according to either Master Valios or myself. Rule three, no touching, grabbing, or rough handling of anything that is in a fragile state - that means books, papers, scrolls, artwork, bones, pottery, etc. Unless it is stone or solid metal, ask before touching. Hell, ask before touching regardless I think ..." Holding up his hand Paul reiterates, "No taking, no destroying, no touching." Jeez, it really is like being on a field trip with your Dad. It's only a matter of time before he threatens to turn this tomb around and go back home. A small smile of satisfaction touches his mouth as Jessalyn so easily opens the door, his hand resting on his blaster for a moment as creatures consider the odds before moving off and with a hint of humor in his voice, Paul notes, "I should take you on /allllll/ my explorations." He shivers a little and takes a step forward as a skeleton collapses right in front of them, kneeling down and studying the position of the thing before glancing up at the other and then in. "Perhaps a slave left to perish within the tomb along with his Master? Maybe a guard ... or some other explorer who got trapped within. Be careful you two, there could be traps designed to close us back inside of this place." The dread hits Paul hard, the Corellian actually taking a step back and shivering in reaction. It takes hima moment to shake off the heebie-jeebies, or at least ignore them as he pulls out a torch light and turns it on. "I got a bad feeling about this," he rumbles under his breath as he takes a step in. Lyra's violent suggestion for the means of opening the door receives a sharp glance from Jessalyn, but she doesn't have to lecture the girl. Oh no, Paul's taking care of that just fine on his own. She can't help but suppress a grin as he dishes out the rules and regulations, and has to cover her mouth with her hand and look away to keep from giggling. But she's all seriousness as the massive stone block rolls aside and the feeling of dread that comes over them all wipes the smirk right off her face. Like Paul, Jessalyn's hand also reaches for her weapon, pulling the lightsaber free as those serpents give them all a strange look before slithering off into the underbrush. She stands firm as Paul staggers back from the sensation of fear, but she has to call on the Force to steel her courage before stepping foot inside only to hop away as the skeleton crumbles right before them. "Mmm. Looks large enough to be a Massassi slave. They were bigger than their Masters." Yep, keep it business-like and clinical, Jessa. She swallows hard and steps into the gloom, untying the jacket she'd kept around her waist and shoving her arms into the sleeves as goosebumps rise all along her flesh from the bone-chilling cold. It's much colder than a cavern has any right to be, and she's surprised to see her breath turn to frost in the air in front of her. A flashlight is produced and she shines it into the darkness, glancing back at the silhouettes of her two companions. "Don't say that," she admonishes Paul. "Something bad always happens whenever someone says that." Even as Paul goes on (and on and on and on, in Lyra's mind), the leather-clad redhead bobs her head in time with Paul's words even as the swoop-girl mutters under her breath to Jessalyn, "I feel sorry for your daughter already." Any further snide remarks are cut off by the that wave of what feels like some sort of hostile cold coming from deep within the tomb. It causes her to quite shiver quite violently, either in fear or biting into a really strong sourball candy. In fact, Lyra's hand goes to her blaster at her hip and for the sharp-eyed who might watch the motion, it appears less that Lyra seems about to draw it, but rather she seems to be making sure it is there, like how some might put their hand to a religious icon on a necklace in times of peril for strength, it appears this girl gets hers from the grip of a well-used blaster whose handle is worn around with dirty grip-tape. "W-wow...it sure is cold in here," Lyra says a little more loudly than she should, as if to steel her courage. Cold ... and scary. However, her voice sounds piercingly loud and as gauche as someone bursting out in laughter in a church or a funeral service. The swoop-girl hunches her shoulders for once and gives a wary glance around the irregular, water-smoothed walls of the passage as if someone besides Paul (and probably a lot scarier) would come and admonish her. The cave itself winds down deeper into the earth, and if it's a bit chilly, and there's the oppressive weight of 'something bad about to happen' besides that, it seems prosaically dull - just heavy stone, dust, and the occasional rivulet of water. Despite that, it seems that batteries and lights are either running out of power, or there's some quality to the darkness that makes swallows it up, making the light seem feeble or brittle in comparison. Finally, the cave itself ends, and it widens into a room lined with 12 figures carved in stone. Anyone with experience of the old Sith recognize them as Sith knights - not the Dark Jedi who later took the title of Sith, but the race of Sith beings themselves. Each one has his (her?) head down, and grips a blade in both hands before it. A curtain, perhaps once of cloth, but now appearing like a curtain of cobwebs and dust obscures the only way out of the room. A single inscription in Sith hieroglyphs is engraved over the top of the archway. The Corellian notices Lyra's nervous reaction, but he really cant blame her and in fact he finds it rather reassuring that it's not only him who 'feels' the evil. After what happened during the birth of Sabine, Paul has been trying to deny and forget he sensed and experienced. This palpable sense of evil reminded him of that all too well, so it is ironically a relief to know that Lyra feels it too. Fortunately he misses her side-comment to Jessalyn, though he would have only given her a cold stare down the length of his nose if he had. He would have seriously considered taking marks off her grade if she had been a student, of course, but tragically she is not. No, wait, that's a good thing. He winces slightly at Lyra's overloud words and steps into the tomb with patience and caution. When they reach the end of the cave, however, Paul's eyes lift, his torch scanning over the Sith writing on the walls, another low oath escaping his lips as he mutters under his breath, "There is where the screaming and the running start ...." On Mandalore, there were many tests. Tests of fire and water, of earth and air. Tests of courage, of comradeship, of sacrifice, and knowledge. Most of these tests they barely escaped with their lives. One of them didn't. "Jessalyn ... care to take a guess at what is behind curtain number one?" he asks as he makes a slow and careful approach, trying to see beyond the straggled remains of rotting cloth, dust, and cobwebs. Lyra's snarky remark just receives an annoyed look from the Jedi Master. If Lyra wasn't already being chewed out, she'd probably say something else, but Jessa decides to let Paul be the disciplinarian in this trio. Besides, once they are inside the cave, she's much more concerned with what they might discover than with Lyra's opinions. As the swoop-girl's brassy voice echoes off the cavernous walls, the Jedi shivers and moves ahead, gritting her teeth, careful to project with her Force-senses as well to test out the area ahead. But other than the feeling of oppressive fear and dread, she encounters nothing of substance until the cave opens up into the room dominated by statues of the ancient Sith. Jessalyn recognizes them from her research, since she's never been in any Sith tombs herself, but the sensation reminds her very much of the nexus of Dark Side energy inside Dagobah's mysterious cave. Jessalyn shines her flashlight onto the faces of the statues while the flickering light from Paul's torch casts eerie shadows over them all. "Screaming and running? Sounds fun," she mutters, glancing over as Paul calls her name. She peers at the curtained archway, tipping back her head to look at the warning inscribed above it. "Probably more snakes," she answers half-heartedly, really having no idea what could be back there. He's the expert on creepy tombs! Jessalyn reaches out a hand to push aside the gauzy curtain of cobwebs, gathering up her courage and shining the light ahead as she leans in for a better look. Beyond the curtains or drapes is a rough hewn-room, filled with what appears to be pottery, bowls and vases and similar containers arranged around the edges of the room, like votive offerings. A thick coating of dust suggests that these vessels haven't been touched in decades, if not centuries. Despite this, the circular chamber has a paved stone floor, covered in carefully fitted stones radiating outwards from a single circular stone in the center of the room. The walls are hung with ghostly masks of white. They appear to be death (or life) masks - each one appears to be the face of a human, the empty eyesockets and faces empty of emotion somehow disturbing, the dark stone hung with what must be dozens of these masks. At the other end of the chamber there is what appears to be an larger stone face, caved in a similar style to the masks hung on the walls, only a lot larger. "Hey, what's in there?" Lyra asks, peeking over Jessalyn's shoulder, perhaps forced to go on the tips of her toes to look over Jessalyn's shoulder. Paul enters the room slowly and cautiously, studying all of the items and murmuring in soft warning, "Don't touch anything ..." He studies the floor as well, looking for any stones that might look like trigger points. Standing still he shines his torch about the room, the masks only creepy because of the Sithly vibe that this place emanates enough for him to sense. "This tomb is not like the other tombs," he muses with a hint of warning in his voice. One of these things is not like the others, which is good reason to be extra cautious. "Sith," he mutters darkly under his breath. "Why did it have to be Sith?" That's it. Next excavation is going to be on a nice planet with cute little furry humanoids that have big eyes and fluffy tails that love peace and tranquility and are vegetarians. Even as Paul walks in, hung masks glow with a faint phosphorescence, a cool, dim ghost-light, similar to those of certain insects or deep-sea dwelling creatures. The glow flickers to life behind each mask, filling the hollow eyes and parted lips with an eerie, greenish glow. Though none of their mouths move, it seems like all of them speak in hollow, hoarse whisper that seems more felt than heard, the effect made all the more eerie as the voices speak in a multitude of languages, none of them familiar to modern ears, yet the dusty tongues are somehow all understood, the chorus whispering: "Peace is a lie..." However, nothing else is forthcoming, though the air feels somehow pregnant with anticipation, as if the masks were waiting for some sort of answer. Jessalyn's gaze is first drawn to the huge stone mask in the center of the room, then the ghostly visages of dozens of smaller masks catch the corner of her eye, making her skin crawl as she senses the Dark Side even stronger within them. She shakes her head as Paul mutters about the Sith, agreeing with his sentiment. "Don't touch anything," she repeats the warning to Lyra, not really trusting her to follow the rules, but her paranoia is heightened in this room without her really being aware of it. She swallows hard as she studies the faintly glowing masks, and when they speak, she jumps back involuntarily, wrapping a hand around Paul's arm. "Wait," she whispers, looking all around in vain for the source of the voice. "Wait, I know that. It's the Sith code." Jessa lifts her head and speaks in a louder voice that echoes around the chamber, "There is only passion." "Through passion, I gain strength..." comes the chorused whispering again, and Jessalyn gasps with surprise, finishing each phrase herself, "Through strength, I gain victory." "Through power, I have victory." "Through victory, my chains are broken,"" As one, the Sith voices and Jessalyn's finish with, "The Force shall free me." For once, the talkative swoop-girl remains blessedly silent, her eyes wide as she regards the masks with superstitious awe. Given the circumstances, she might not be too far off. Still, as long as it seems Jessalyn answers, the swoop-girl's first respond "draw blaster-and-shoot-until-problem-goes-away" seems to be short-circuited, though her fingers grip the pistol so tight the flesh goes white and bloodless. Even as the masks ask and Jessalyn answers, the masks somehow seem to ... approve, though their faces cast in stone or some similar material never change expression. It's only with the final answer that the masks whisper a hoarse, "Then pass." The larger stone face at the other end of the passage begins to contort. Despite it being stone, it doesn't crack or split, the stone somehow stretching, though it makes a dry creaking noise, with the inescapable association between that of dry old bones being snapped, the snapping, creaking noise increasing in frequency as the large stone face's expression somehow looking more and more pained as the mouth gradually opens into a yawning portal, the face entirely vanishing until the vast open mouth is large enough to easily walk through, becoming a mouth locked into a rictus of scream of agony, opening up to a glimpse of a large much larger cavern, looking entirely natural, the path seems to descend until submerges under the water. Huge stalactites and stalagmites adorn the natural chamber like enormous fangs, their aspect somehow seeming sharper, harder, and hungry. The only sounds in that room are the whisper of the cold bone-chilling breeze and the irregular drips of water from the stalactites into the underground lake that consists of most of the floor of the cavern ahead. Across the center of the cavern is a narrow path of stepping stones, it would appear. Though each stepping-stone is actually quite large (which much chance of falling into the water unless one was drunk) compared to the size of cavern, they seem tiny and feeble. However, at the other end of the cavern, there appears to be some sort of light, though where it is coming from is obscured by a bend in the path cavern and the stepping-stones. Well, /that's/ a relief! Paul was already pondering what sort of phrase would come next and was gearing up to reply 'Pain is truth', since it seemed a good Sithly belief. But he exhales the breath he didn't realize that he had been holding as Jessalyn knows the catechism and recites it back. Leaning close he murmurs softly into her ear, "When did /you/ attend Sith services?" Looking about Paul turns to Jessalyn and muses softly, "It can't be that simple, can it?" He's waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop, but when the voices bid them pass and the stone shifts before them, the Corellian lays a hand upon Jessalyn's and watches and waits. They move ahead cautiously as Paul ponders just how many strange, mystical, surreal experiences he's had on his adventures, slightly jealous of those xenoarchaeologists who just find skeletons versus talking skulls, pieces of the past versus actual ghosts of the past. Must be nice. Peaceful. Clearly Paul's been picking the wrong planets to dig up. His eyes go everywhere, study everything, and as they draw closer to the water the Corellian stares down into it, looking for hidden dangers, creatures or things that might be hiding beneath to threaten them. He blinks as he looks up from the water to find him surrounded by all sort of beings and creatures cheering, screaming, and yelling in a mix of bloodlust, excitement, and debauchery. He's tired, oh so tired, a number of cuts upon his body bleeding heavily, the Mandalorian saber in his hand heavy. A Hutt watches with particularly malevolent interest, his bulbous eyes flickering back and forth from Paul to a slender, elegant woman of sapphire blue eyes and golden blonde hair. Ylsa. Wiping the sweat from his eyes Paul's gaze lifts to his opponent, the man huge, brutish, a sick sadistic smile on his lips as he studies the weakening Corellian. Stepping closer he rumbles, "You don't have a chance and you know it. You're going to die here, Corellian dog, and do you know what happens then?" He licks his lips and sneers. "Ullo will give her to me. She'll be mine. I've already had her, raped her, but after this fight, she'll be mine, all mine, to do what/ever/ I want to, whenever I want to." Beady black eyes flicker over to the woman nearly drained of color for the fear that she is experiencing. "Your precious little creamcat over there? I'm going to break her, body and spirit, into a million pieces over and over and over again ...." Blood. It must be blood in his eyes because everything has gone red. And like a dream, Paul knows that his moment is not what it was, that the past has been changed, but it doesn't matter. It is now, it is then, it has become the past and in this moment a small horrible smile curls the Corellian's lips as he reaches down into himself, into the DNA that has been created within him, and from it he pulls out power, the kind of power he had only felt raging against him, never within him. The power of the Sith Mandalore. The power of Malign. The power of the Emperor. Like a sword of pure darkness, he pulls this power forth and lets it loose in a blast of energy and fire. All those laughing, shouting, mocking faces are transformed into terror and fear as Paul's pain and rage, anger and vengence, pour from him like lava from an exploding volcano, choking them all, melting them all, the fire purging this battleground of all the evil, depraved, sadistic creatures within it still only two people remain in the charred aftermath, Ylsa kneeling at his feet while Paul stands, his saber now stained midnight black, smoking curling up from the blade. Watching with wide eyes as the stone's mouth opens up to allow their passage, Jessalyn can't help but chuckle at how simple that was. "It's almost the opposite of the Jedi Code, so kinda easy to remember," she replies with a shrug. "It's smart to know your enemy, right?" She laughs hollowly and holds on tightly to Paul's hand, her palm sweaty despite the cold in the room. She creeps ahead as they enter the gaping mouth of the giant stone, looking all around, and her own gaze follows Paul's to the water rushing alongside them... Jessalyn catches her breath and looks up to see fireworks explode against the backdrop of Coruscant's sky, the sound of cheering voices and trumpeting fanfares heard for miles around. She's in a parade that winds slowly through the streets, around the New Senate Rotunda and the rebuilt Jedi Temple that shines as if newly gilt with gold. Throngs of beings crowd the thoroughfare, the footbridges and windows of hundreds of skyscrapers that look out upon the scene. Inside a well-armored but highly visible repulsor vehicle rides the one whom they've all come to see, to bow their respects to the Jedi Empress who's liberated them all from the oppression of the Empire and the terror of the Sith Order. The woman looks out upon the adoring masses, smiling as the Forceless throngs pay proper homage to the Jedi who've liberated them -- and as it should be. Without her leadership and impressive powers, they would have long ago been overrun by the might of the Imperial military or Malign's mutant armies -- or even those within her own Order who'd dared to doubt her methods. Victory was the proof of her rightness, and the Jedi Order acknowledged her now that she'd removed Skywalker from power. Confetti rains upon them like a shower of petals, and the Empress sits up straighter, her magnificent gown festooned with gold and jewels glittering in the light. By some macabre contrast, this elegant scene is punctuated by barbaric pikes that line every city block, each topped with the head of an enemy -- and not simply the Sithlords and their minions, but the Jedi who had resisted her, former lovers, family members, friends, students -- and especially the Skywalkers. A beautiful but predatory smile plays over her features as she watches them pass by, the crowds bowing at her feet. But not just her feet. Reaching out a beringed hand, Jessalyn caresses the red-gold hair of the adolescent girl beside her, similarly garbed in jewels and silk. "All this will be yours one day," she promises her, whispering into the girl's ear. "Don't be afraid to use your power to stop those who would oppose you. After all, we only want to bring peace and stability to these poor people. It took me almost too long to learn that lesson." She leans back and laughs with delight, her forest-green eyes no longer reflecting the verdant world of her youth, but glowing red and yellow with the power of the Dark Side that has long since overtaken her. Sunlight. A dome of expensive spun glass, overlooking a blue sky dotted with clouds. Then a voice a man. Not a young man, but not old yet either. Perhaps a man in his middle years, his voice sounding a bit tired, yet with that tone that sounds like a man used to being obeyed. "Tiagana, you'll take Avialle with you. There's a shuttle and you should be able to escape if you leave now." "Tadrek, you don't have to stay here. You can come with us, escape." The speakers are a man and a woman, the man with his back to the woman. Both of them have dark hair, blue eyes, and a tanned, almost olive or swarthy complexion, both of them dressed styles once considered the height of noble fashion on Alderaan. For those familiar with Princess Leia Organa, these pair lack certain formal jewels and other marks that would mark them as Prince or Princess. The man studies a vast, curving holoscreen which lines about half of the room. A dot in the center of the screen identifies itself as "ALDERAAN" with another dot slowly moving towards it, labelled simply "BATTLESTATION." The battlestation's dot is surrounded with a dimmer halo, helpfully labelled "Laser Optimal Range." The halo is perilously close to eclipsing Alderaan. "No, I have to. You know, I helped build that thing. I...we profited massively from it, trillions. No, this is my responsibility, I have to stay here with our people, Tiagana." The moment shifts slightly back, there's there a redheaded child, serene in her cream robes of a noble child, her own coloring so different from that of the others perhaps she was adopted? Lyra silently takes the hand of the woman, led out into a hall where, bizarrely enough it would appear there is an image of Luke Skywalker, Jessalyn, and a shadowed figure without much in the way of details that is somehow known to be Yoda (perhaps Lyra's never seen an image of Yoda?). They don't appear to notice Lyra and Tiagana walk by, and neither group pauses in what their doing - Lyra and Tiagana heading through a passage to a shuttle on a landing pad. Yoda, Luke, and Jessalyn hunched over, looking somehow gaunt and menacing, whispering about, "We'll have to let Alderaan die. When it does, the people of the Republic will have their martyrs and we will finally be free destroy the Death Star...and take power. Nobody will ever be the wiser." However, by the time Lyra steps outside, her mother is gone ... a feeling of betrayal and abandonment, with the child-Lyra somehow knowing that her mother - Tiagana - has left her. Yet, the mother has been replaced by redheaded swoop-girl Lyra, holding the child Lyra's hand as they step out onto a landing paid on Nar Shaddaa. The older swoop-girl turns to the young woman obviously the grow-up version of the child. "I told you I'd bring them," the swoop-girl says, then abruptly vanishes. Instead on the landing pad are ... gods. Or something like it. The men are all brilliantly handsome in a way that no man could be. The women are so beautiful it is painful to look at them. They all seem to be surrounded with a lambent glow. Each of them carries a lightsaber. "Avialle, we're so glad you told us what's happened to the Republic. We're here now," says one of the men in a voice so strong and wise that it would be impossible not to fall down and weep and worship the man. "The Jedi have returned. You'll never have to be scared, or hungry again. We'll take care of you. We'll take care of everyone. Nobody will ever lie to you or betray you again." Paul actually stumbles as reality suddenly rights itself within his mind, his brain almost whirling in the aftermath, snippets of what he saw, of what Jessalyn saw, what Lyra saw still rattling though his head and ringing in his ears. It takes him a minute to recover and he's dismayed to realize that he's trembling in reaction. A deep breath is taken in as he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing for a moment as he struggles to find his balance again, mentally and physically before his hazel eyes regard the world around them again. "Fucking Sith," he curses, half tempted to spit on the ground in his anger and dismay. Studying Jessalyn and Lyra in turn he asks them both, "You two okay?" When Jessalyn comes out of the vision's grip, she nearly slips off the stone she finds herself standing on, water splashing as she regains her balance. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, shaken by what each of them saw. She glances over at Lyra, understanding more about her as well as having some of her suspicions confirmed. "Yeah," she murmurs as Paul swears and asks if they're okay. "I think so," she whispers, ashamed and almost afraid to meet his gaze. She clears her throat and looks around at the still underground lake. "Uh. How'd we get out here?" "No...no...no..." comes another voice, the 'other Lyra' for those familiar with the voice. The voice sounds timid, frightened, entirely at odds with the swoop-girl saying it, like it was some princess or noblewoman dressing up as a swoop-girl, the accent sounding so smooth it must have been coached. "D...don't go..." She falls to her hands and knees, her voice abruptly segueing back to the more familiar swoop-girl's, "No. Nonono. No," she says, her voice no longer frightened but more denying something...perhaps the reality she's been abruptly returned to. Then abruptly, she simply dry heaves a few times towards the waters, fortunately, as she hasn't eaten much lately nothing happens. She pants a few times, then coughs a few times, a hand blindly groping until it finds the blaster she dropped, taking it with a clawing motion, scrabbling it near to her, holding it to her in a way that perversely might remind someone of the way that a woman might clutch a child close to her. She realizes where she is, and springs to her feet swiftly especially if she feels that anyone has gotten close to her or tries, taking a few steps away, shaking her head, "I'm fine. I'm fine," she says, with a set of her mouth, as if she were telling herself that as much as others. "T...that way, I think," she says, motioning with her chin towards the curve in the stepping-stone path further up the chamber where it appears there is some dim light ... sunlight perhaps. Despite her forced attempt at normalcy, she clutches the blaster tightly, in both hands, not holding it in a shooting grip but in the way that a child might hold something precious that she's afraid might get taken away from her. Paul's initial reaction is to try and offer Lyra some sort of comfort, but he stops short as she clings to her blaster and insists that she's alright. Frowning, he glances over at Jessalyn a little worriedly before taking a step closer to Lyra, one hand reaching out to perhaps touch her shoulder before dropping down again and fisting at his side. Shaking his head, Paul counters, "I'm just glad that we didn't drown ourselves while we were off in la-la land." The Corellian seems to be shaking off the experience fairly well, but then he didn't make himself ruler of the Universe or anything in his vision. His eyes lift to the direction Lyra suggests and with a soft sigh he concurs, "It's as good a direction as any ..." and takes a step toward it. Like Paul, Jessalyn is inclined to go to Lyra when she sees how distraught she is, and she shoves aside her own feelings and guilt to take a step toward the girl, understanding at last, perhaps, why she is the way she is. "Lyra," Jessalyn says as the girl gets back to her feet, and frowning when it appears she's not going to let anyone approach her. She summons up the Force, projecting a sense of calm and well-being to the girl, hoping she might be able to get through to her. "C'mon, it's all right," she says to her, then turns to go in the direction indicated, giving Paul a quick, worried glance but willing to take the lead again as she heads for the source of light. The path of the stepping-stones isn't that hard to follow once on it; the stones are neither slippery, nor treacherous with cracks, or spaced wide apart. There are some curious (and suspicious) bubblings and swishings in the water, occasionally, like something (or things) might live within the water, but nothing reveals itself before the bend is turned. Sadly, the light isn't Lyra's hoped-for exit to the tomb or cavern network, something that becomes pretty clear as the trio get closer to the light, which clearly shows itself to be simply too greenish to be natural. Instead, the light appears to come from a number of glass bulb-like things filled with some sort glowing substance. The globes are far too high up in the air to be reached normally. On the ground, nourished by the strange light appears to be plants, a lush growth of vines climbing up crumbled pillars and a low, wide staircase leading up with a few steps to an open doorway beyond. Even from a distance, it's clear that the vines are flowering, bearing what appear to be some sort of black orchid-like flowers, though a quick pass of any kind of lightsource besides the glowing globes reveals the flowers to actually have a very dark red color. Unfortunately, without any kind of tending, the vines have completely overgrown the path in a combination of living and dead vines, and a mass of flowers. At least they don't appear to be thorny. The Corellian does his best to leave the past behind him, banishing those thoughts and visions from his mind as he steps forward onto the path before them with determination and not a little amount of righteous anger. Paul, for one, is getting sick of the manipulations and power plays of the Sith against him and his, his jaw setting into a hard line as he clenches it and walks purposefully, even if he doesn't know what they're walking toward or even looking for. His steps slow as he draws closer to the strange lights, frowning up and them and wondering what could possibly be powering them after all this time, his hazel gaze dropping to the planet life with equal suspicion. "Try not to touch the plants with your skin and by no means take this as a moment to stop and smell the flowers. I would not be surprised at all if they aren't either poisonous or hallucinogenic ..." The movement in the water keeps grabbing Jessalyn's attention in spite of her efforts not to look down into those depths again as she follows the stepping-stones across the mysterious lake. It's growing harder and harder for her to deny that something has changed regarding Paul's connection or lack thereof with the Force... a fact that makes her quite a bit warier of his anger, righteous as it may be, than she would ordinarily be. She keeps her arms wrapped tightly around herself, shivering in the frigid cold of the cave, her steps growing a bit slower as they reach the light source. She grew up on this world, and thought she knew virtually every type of flower Yavin's moon has to offer, but she reacts with surprise at the sight of these cave-dwelling orchids. "How can they possibly get enough light in here?" she wonders aloud, walking to one of the walls and about to touch one of the vine-flowers creeping across the cold stone until Paul warns them not to. "Strange." She draws back her hand, clenching it into a fist, and looks over at Lyra and then Paul. "What makes you say that?" "Yeah...flowers," Lyra comments warily. "Don't they need light or ... yeah," she says, nodding in agreement to Jessalyn's comment about the lack of light. "Maybe they live off of blood or something. Y'know, like the blood of babies," she says. However, she makes no attempt to touch them. It would seem even that the streetwise swoop-girl is wary about flowers now. She peers at them like they were sort of alien creatures, no doubt as poisonous or hallucinogenic as the Corellian archeologist supposes. Unfortunately, the discovery just makes Lyra a bit more irate. "So if we can't touch them, how are we going to get up there," she says, pointing at the archway ... and the crumbling stone staircase leading to it, carpeted by the fat green vines. She takes the opportunity to move her blaster to her hand, "I guess I could just shoot through the stuff," she considers aloud. Paul gives Jessalyn a slightly incredulous look and notes, "Because we're in a tomb created by the Sith, there are lights above likely specifically designed to encourage the growth of these plants, and by and large the Sith are evil, so if the plants aren't poisonous by either intent or perverse pleasure I would be surprised. And since we already had the water of visions I don't see why we can't possibly be facing the flowers of hallucinations. In the end, why take chances? They're either harmless or they aren't. I vote we assume they are and pat ourselves on the back for being so smart and defeating the Sithly evil poisoning hallucinatory plot." Considering Lyra for a moment Paul notes, "If they are poisonous, they are only a danger if they touch our skin. So we could potentially wade through them safely, our clothes protecting us for the time being. We could also try burning them, but that has other risks of making their contents airborne or smoking us out, literally." His head tilts as he notes, "Blasting a path might not be a bad idea. It probably won't make them catch fire, it will more melt them than vaporize them, which might protect against any toxic fumes they might release ..." "Wait a minute, wait a minute," Jessalyn waves both hands in the air, a little perturbed at the condescending attitude and not really thinking the idea of blasting their way through is a very good one. "I'm not gonna risk anything like that. Just -- put your blaster away, Lyra. There's no guarantee nothing's going to get airborne, and I don't wanna have to detoxify all of us. Besides, you start blasting away, no telling what booby traps you might set off." She drops her hands back to her sides and flexes her fingers, closing her eyes as she faces the blocked doorway. Her breathing grows slower and deeper, slipping into a meditative state of concentration almost at once, and the creeping tendrils of the vines crossing their path start to slowly untangle, but gradually picking up speed as she sorts through the knots with her mind and pushes the vines to either side of the base of the stairwell. "All right, go on and pass. I'll... hold it until we're all through," she says in a quiet, thready voice. "You sure? Come on, I could just blast them. I bet they'd explode like a Gand's head when a Trand hits them with one of those weird guns they use. You ever see that?" Lyra says, almost sounding a little petulant she can't just shoot at it. Nevertheless, maybe the level that she's spooked is seen in that she doesn't shoot it, but instead waits around for Jessalyn to move the vines. However, once the vines start to move, apparently on their own, "Hey, they're moving!" she says, taking a few steps back. It appears there's no mass of weird flowering vines creature that Lyra's ever run into. "Wait, are you doing that?" she asks Jessalyn, nodding as Jedi gives her answer. In fact, the vines don't release any kind of strange pollens or anything else like that. No, it would appear that the vines and flowers have a far more ... petty ... thing they do. Even as the Jedi moves them, some of the vines are bent or pressed down and with that, there's a sound like a cry of pain that come from the flowers, along with a drip of some sort of sap or something the color of blood. For anyone looking closely at the sick joke, it seems clear that the vines have some sort of air bladders in the vines that would be forced closed when someone stepped on them or otherwise disturbed them, and that air is somehow pushed through flowers that someone went to the trouble of making so that they make a noise, and not just a noise, but the sound of someone crying out in fear or pain. Grimacing at the cries of 'pain' that the flowers give off, Paul mutters darkly, "Charming ... okay, let's not waste a second on the off chance this is some kind of alarm system. Lyra, go!" Without a moment of hesitation, the Corellian literally sweeps Jessalyn off of her feet and mutters, "Don't think you can hold them back and walk through them at the same time," before he's off and moving through the pathway that she's created, noting to Lyra, "Stay sharp, in case this is more than just some sort of macabre botanist's idea of a cool hybrid ..." Momentarily amused by Lyra's surprise at her abilities, for a second Jessalyn falters when the flowers start to scream with agony as she moves them aside, her eyes flying open to stare at the the blood-dripping, wailing plants. She swallows hard and refocuses, just in time to find herself airborne as Paul lifts her into his arms. "Go, go," she repeats to Lyra, wrapping her arms around Paul's neck as he carries her off, her eyes half-lidded with concentration. As they move past them, she tries to get a better look at the flowers, tempted to reach out and touch one, pluck it, so she can study it at a later date. Lyra doesn't need to be told twice. When the path is cleared of the vines, the swoop-girl simply runs, and to her credit, when she runs she runs pretty fast, running being the other (less glamorous) half of the "fight-or-flight" rule her kind lives by. The redhead runs up the stairs, and into the passage beyond. She gives hardly a glance over her shoulder until she's well into the tunnel, then waits for the others to arrive. The passage in question being a long, straight tubular tunnel that stretches off into darkness, the entire passage made of fitted stones. The stones, like many parts of the cave seem a bit damp and slimy in this case, the a musty, humid smell coming from the passage ahead, from whatever lies ahead. The Corellian runs every day to keep in shape, but carrying both his weight and Jessalyn's slows him down some such that he's a few lengths behind Lyra as he gets them through the bizarre greenhouse room. Once past the plants he murmurs into Jessalyn's ear, "All clear," but still takes a few steps before swinging her back down till her feet touch the ground. "Okay, that was weird. And creepy. And just /wrong/." Paul glances back over his shoulder dubiously, still a little surprised that nothing else came from that whole ordeal than just the willies, but then he isn't about to look a gift Venus flytrap in the mouth. Looking about them, Paul blows out a breath and jerks his chin forward toward the only direction left to them and mutters, "Forward, ho, I suppose ..." He resettles his satchel at his hip and begins to stride forward once again, eyes narrowed in concentration, his whole frame slightly tensed and set in a state of readiness. The stones of the passage have a faint, silvery-black hue to them, as if they were faced in something that wasn't quite just stone, but instead perhaps some sort of ... metal? Something like metal, it would appear, though time has dulled the sheen to something closer to black. Regardless, even as Paul's light passes over it, some bare parts glint back in the electric torch's light. Sadly, it'd seem that Paul's wariness isn't misplaced. There's the sound of stone grinding against stone, just for a brief moment, coming from the floor. Then abruptly, there's a loud slamming noise as the passage is abruptly cut off at both ends by a massive slab-shaped stone, one at each end of the passage, the monolithic pieces looking quite solid, as the ringing impact of the heavy stone echoes in the now-sealed passage. Once Paul sets her back on her feet, Jessalyn glances back over her shoulder, raking a hand through her hair which has come loose from the band holding it back at the nape of her neck. She watches as Lyra and the Corellian move ahead, a sense of warning crawling up her spine, but she can't verbalize it until after it's too late. "Wait!" she calls out, just as the sound of grinding stone can be heard. As the slabs come crashing down at either end of the passage, she whirls around, looking for something to fling beneath the slab before it can reach the cavern floor. It's way too late to do anything about it, though, and her shoulders sag with defeat as she turns to wrap her hand around Paul's almost without thinking. "Great. Just... great. Any ideas?" she asks, her voice echoing off the metallic walls of the sealed-in chamber. The swoop-girl is making her way down the passage, and would seem like a pretty prime candidate for stepping on the infamous 'loose stone.' She even looks down to where she's standing. But it seems that there's no stones out of place. Then she gives a wary glance at Paul's feet, but there doesn't seem to be a stone out of place there, either. "Oh hey, this is like one vid...um...what was it called? Um...with that guy...I can't remember his name," Lyra says, sounding more excited than anything else, like she hasn't quite associated the situation with danger quite yet, casting a glance to the end of the now sealed passage, looking over her should to make sure that yes, like some action vid on the holonet, the passage is indeed sealed off. "I thought these were supposed to be traps where like someone steps on a stone in the floor and it opens a pit or something?" The swoop-girl's voice rings hollowly off of the stones as she takes a few steps down the tunnel to check out the far end of the tunnel. He isn't surprised. Not really. It was only a question of time before the trap was sprung, and this would be it. Sighing deeply, Paul starts to walk along the corridor, searching the walls of it and calling out to the others, "Start looking for something - a lever, some glyphs, hell even a little snowman with his hat blown off. Something we can use to perhaps make this tunnel of death like us again and open up." Shaking his head wryly as Lyra almost guiltily checks about her feet, Paul notes, "It was the plants. They were the trigger. I guess you were right - we shoulda scorched them." Shining his torch up along the ceiling, Paul mutters under his breath, "I think I've seen this holopic before. Hell, I think I've /starred/ in this holopic before. Now is when the tunnel starts flooding with water ..." And then Paul frowns as he hears a strange sound, his head tilting to the side for a moment before he curses softly and points his torch back down to the ground. From between the floor stones up bubbles water, the entire surface of the floor covered with a slick sheen in a matter of seconds. Another few seconds as he can see the water level rising over the bottom later of his boots. "Okay people, look faster!" His voice sounds calm, but his heart his suddenly beating so fast that Paul practically hear it. The last time he got caught in a water trap like this, someone had to die. Granted, they came back to life, but Paul doesn't expect that they can count on that kind of assistance here. That was a test, this is a trap. Watching for a moment as Lyra heads down the passage, Jessalyn sighs tiredly, too. "I thought we needed to just pass by without touching them -- I didn't know it was an alarm," she says dejectedly, heading over to the opposite wall from Paul and running her hands over the tarnished walls, feeling for any markings, levers or imperfections. At first she just chuckles at the Corellian's joking about the matter, but almost as soon as he mentions the word, "water," she glances over at him sharply and then looks down at the floor, seeing the first rivulets of water rise up between the cracks in the ground as if he'd summoned them. "Nine hells," she mutters, looking more frantically over the wall, trying to extend her senses even as she can feel the level of the water rising up over her ankles already. "I don't see anything," she calls over to him, trying to keep her voice calm, but even Jedi Masters suffer the effects of a sudden rush of panicked adrenaline. "Hey, I think it heard you," the swoop-girl calls to Paul, peering at the ground owlishly, her voice ringing off of the wet stones. "Maybe if you tell it to stop, it'll stop." Lyra certainly isn't taking the situation seriously at all, then perhaps about the time the water starts to cover the toes of her boots and the pace which the water starts filling the tunnel seems to only become faster instead of slower does Lyra seem to take the situation more seriously and starts to inspect the tunnel. As the seconds pass, the pressure of water seems to push debris and scum from the hundreds or thousands of holes drilled between the stones where the water comes from, and very soon, the floor isn't just oozing water, there's hundreds of tiny fountains jetting water. Plus, there's water now oozing out between other stones further up the sides of the tunnel, more debris being pushed outwards and a further trickle of water into the tunnel, suggesting that whatever force is pushing water into the tunnel, the water level is rising in it. Very soon, the water level is to Lyra's knees, and the water, paradoxically isn't icy cold as would be expected, but feels blood-warm, like it was being drained from a pond or lake on the surface of Yavin. "Hey, maybe it's some Force thing, you know? Like you have to have use the Force to do something?" Lyra ventures, obviously guessing as from the tone of her voice, she really has no idea what the Force can and cannot do. Hell, anything is worth a shot, even a crazy idea like that. It wouldn't be the first time that something in a crazy excavation site obeyed him. So in a firm voice, mustering up all the authority his years as a professor have imbued him with, Paul yells at the walls, "STOP!" The water just keeps swirling slowly, but steadily higher and higher and shrugging his shoulders Paul quips, "Guess the water main bust ...." Humor helps to cover the mounting fear that rises with each inch that the water does. Glancing over his shoulder Paul calls to Jessalyn, "Your turn. You're the Force User here, it seems to like you best." A non-partisan Sith tomb. How politically correct. For himself, however, Paul is searching the walls with greater haste for something that resembles a trigger or text, hoping that somewhere in here there is a clue as to a way out. As Paul tries out Lyra's first suggestion, Jessalyn secretly holds her breath, hoping that it might actually work. But it couldn't be that easy. She glances at Lyra, frustrated. "Use the Force to do what? Make us all able to breathe underwater?" she tries not to snap but it's hard not to hide her mounting worry. This is not the way she was planning on checking out. Jessa wades through the strangely warm water, debris floating past her, and despite her protests she does open up to the Force, listening and feeling for some unseen mechanism that might be hiding behind the walls. She follows her instincts to the far end of the tunnel, placing both hands flat against the black metal wall near their would-be escape hatch as the water creeps up closer to her hips. A second later, she steps back, lightsaber in hand, and ignites the blade, striking it toward the wall in what's meant to be a surgical cut to reveal the mechanism hiding behind it. But the blade is halted by the metal, sparks flying from the saber, leaving hardly a mark in its wake. Frowning, Jessa hacks at the wall more violently, sending a shower of sparks spraying all around her. "I think we're in trouble," she whispers. "These walls are made of cortosis." As the water comes quickly creeping over Lyra's waist, it's almost possible to float and tread water in it. In a few seconds certainly it will be. "I don't know, if you're such a mighty Jedi, shouldn't you be able to do -something-?" Lyra demands, her voice betraying a familiar dread ... the fear of dying, in a polar reversal of her amusement of being caught in such a trap before. "Cortosis? What's that?" Lyra asks, practically shouting to be heard above the roar of the water filling the room. Of course, with the failure of the lightsaber, obviously, it's time to try the blaster. Lyra takes out her trusty blaster and aims it at where Jessalyn slashed at the wall. And learns quickly exactly what Cortosis and similar materials do. The bolt follows in a glowing reflective path, zinging off of the panel in a shower of sparks. Then it reflects off against another part of the tunnel. Then a few others before finally losing enough power so that it just fizzles into the water. Before this, the bolt leaves a shower of sparks and hazard at least nine or ten times, causing the swoop-girl to cringe. It's really amazing that nobody was hit. "Okay okay, so that's Cortosis, you don't need to rub it in!" she hollers to ... whatever might be listening. Shaking his head, Paul returns to Jessalyn, "If using the Force can help you hold your breath longer, go for it babe," his voice coming out strained as he tries to keep the panic from it, the water level now up to his thighs which is making his progress and his searching much more difficult. "I meant tell it to stop. You knew the chant, it has somehow recognized you as one of its own. It may now recognize you as an authority figure. Try commanding it. I promise I won't laugh." Yeah, cause there's nothing more embarrassing than getting killed by inanimate objects ... save the dying part. At Lyra's question Paul starts to open his mouth to explain and instead shouts out, "No, don't!" as she pulls out her blaster, his warning coming just a second too late. The blaster shot ricochets about the room and with a gulp Paul tries to duck out of the way as the bolt flies toward him, going down under the surface of the water. Only he doesn't come back up. Jessalyn smirks over her shoulder at Paul, but then understands what he's talking about. But before she has a chance to try it out, Lyra's fired her blaster right next to where Jessa's standing. She jerks back, not trusting the woman's aim or the fact that she knows what's about to happen next. She sloshes backward through the water, doubling over and holding her hands over her head, just hoping she doesn't get hit with a ricocheted shot. "Yeah, that's cortosis," Jessa snaps at the girl, frowning as the waterline is now above her waist, and then frowning even more as she looks around and doesn't see Paul. "Water.... stop!" she calls out, using her own authoritative, motherly voice in this instance, like the rising tide is one of her errant offspring. "Stop!!!" She wades as quickly as she can back to where she last saw the Corellian, frantically searching with her eyes and the Force for some sign of him. "Paul!" she screams over the roar of the water, and then she too disappears under the debris-strewn surface. Herst the sound of Jessalyn's authoritative voice ... the water's flow actually slackens off... ...for like a second. Like there was a bubble of air in the pipe or something, the entire chamber makes a coughing, gurgling noise, and a moment later, the flow of water begins again, in fact, stronger than before for a few seconds before levelling off to the now familiar jets of water filling the room. First Paul vanishes under the water...then a moment later, Jessalyn. By now, the tunnel is full up to chest-height, at least for Lyra, and she's really no longer standing in the water, but standing near one of the edges of the tunnel's curved surfaces to keep her head over water without wading. The water, unfortunately, is murky and with Paul's disappearance, the flashlight vanishes with it. Fortunately, Lyra has her own, and if the light is a little more feeble, it snaps on as she makes her way over to where she last saw Paul and Jessalyn, "Hey, did you find something in there?" she asks, shouting to be heard, as if her voice could be heard under the water. Just as Jessalyn plunges beneath the surface of the water Paul resurfaces, gasping for air and shouts out, "Everybody float! Everybody get on your backs and float!" And with that the Corellian takes another deep breath and drops below the surface, his light shining on a section of the submerged wall, fingers rubbing over it frantically. When he surfaces again, coughing and sputtering a little, Paul repeats, "Float on your back, torches pointing toward the ceiling, move around! Look for a stone section and if you find one PUSH on it! Hurry!" The Corellian has dropped his satchel such that it doesn't weigh him down and shifts till he is floating on his back, using the walls and the ceiling to move himself about as he searches for this elusive section of stone that will be their salvation ... if they can find it in time. The movement of the torchlight under the water is the giveaway to Paul's location, and a few seconds after he comes back up for a breath, Jessalyn resurfaces, staying close to the wall and hanging onto it to try and stay afloat. "Don't... -do- that!" she yells at the Corellian, but then realizes he's giving them instructions and shuts the hell up, spitting foul water from her mouth and pushing wet hair from her eyes. Doing as he says, Jessalyn lets her feet leave the ground with a little helpless gulp of chittering fear, the gap between the water's surface and the ceiling growing much too close for her comfort. But she pushes that all aside and does as instructed, floating over the water upon her back and kicking her way along the ceiling as she feels for a section of stone. Finally, the metal seems to give way to natural stone, and she gasps, lifting her head and then shoving upon the stone with both her feet and the palms of her hands. "Over here!" she calls out. But she needn't have asked for help. The stone gives way after a few seconds with a grinding noise, and all at once the jets of water go quiet. Jessalyn gulps down some air and swims toward the end of the tunnel, and the water begins to swirl, draining from the room in a matter of minutes. Shaking, Jessa goes down on her knees upon the slick floor, catching her breath and freezing now that the warm water has been drained, leaving them all damp in the cold environ of the cavern. There's another grinding sound of stone upon stone and the door finally slides up and out of the way, permitting safe passage. Evil is here, and it's not the remnants of the ancient Sith, or the lingering dark side presence still within these walls. The Jedi has probably been too busy to notice that sudden change in the air, the shift in atmosphere, too focused on dealing with the temple's traps to focus on that feeling that all is not right. The dark side nexus that has built up within these walls over so many centuries clouds the Jedi, masking the true evil that is now here, lurking, watching. It watches as the Jedi continue their fight for survival, emerging from the water to safety. It's time to bring it home. As the stone door slides off, granting access to the passage out of the temple, the presence of a dark side entity is felt by Jessalyn; it is strong, evil, but not quite the Emperor. Standing at the entrance of the passageway, now revealed with the stone door gone, is the form of Darth Malign, Dark Lord of the Sith and ruler of the Sith Empire. His lightsaber is in hand, ignited and held vertically in front of him. He tips the blade forward and down, bringing it to point at Jessalyn. "This is the end of the road, Jedi Valios. You and your friends will find eternal damnation within these sacred walls. I will be most pleased to send you off to the netherworld." For a moment Paul just sits on the floor of their almost tomb, letting his heartrate return to a more sane level before levering up his tall form and walking toward his satchel. Most of what is in there is probably ruined now from the long exposure to water, but perhaps not, and some of the tools can survive being dunked for awhile. His clothes are plastered to his body but at least they were close fitting to begin with, which means they don't hinder him so much be they wet or dry. He shivers, mistaking the cold for the air upon his wet clothes and skin, but a moment later it sinks in, the unmistakeable sense of evil, stronger than when they first entered the tomb and muttering a soft oath under his breath, Paul starts to draw closer to Jessalyn when suddenly Malign is standing there with his lightsaber raised before her. He doesn't hesitate for even a second, just pulls his blaster from its holster, aims at Malign, and fires. It has become clear to Jessalyn over the last year or two that the stronger the Dark Side presence, the more easily her senses can be fooled, as if a veil has been drawn to hide whatever may be the source of the Darkness. And so when she begins to finally detect this other presence, she's dismayed but not surprised that she had not felt it before. As Paul draws close behind her, she looks up from her kneeling position and her eyes go wide at the sight before her. She scrambles backward, getting to her feet as quickly as she can and backing away from the point of Malign's lightsaber, drawing her own in response. But before she can ignite it, Paul's blaster is already going off and she cringes, hoping the Dark Lord doesn't deflect the shot off the walls of cortosis and kill them all. Lyra, emerges from the depths of the tunnel that's just drained with water, really doing her best imitation of a drowned womp-rat. Her hair, which (unlike most swoop-girls) she wears long and somehow finds time to care for is a mess. It's plastered to her as much as her clothes and drips with water. In fact, there's whatever slime or scum that was on the walls in her hair. She definitely looks about as pleased as bathed cat, to be honest. "Ugh," she just manages, trying to shake the water free from her, followed by more sounds of disgust. When the door finally rumbles open, she feels rather than sees Malign at first, straightening up and shivering involuntarily as she looks at the figure ignite his lightsaber, coming up behind Paul and Jessalyn. "I take it he's not one of yours," Lyra says flatly, and while that's probably not the biggest understatement ever, and probably not the biggest understatement in the last year in the galaxy, it probably would qualify for the biggest understatement uttered on Yavin IV in recent memory. Still, when Nighman draws and fires, Lyra simply follows suit...or is about it when she thinks better of it and draws out a heavy archaic pistol instead. But always rather cheap about the expensive and hard-to-find ammo for the gun, she (at least in her mind) lets Paul have the honor of the first shot to see if he solves the problem. As Paul pulls his blaster out and opens fire, Malign instantly reacts with his lightsaber, bringing it to parry the incoming bolts. But rather than let the lightsaber redirect the bolts into the wall, he instead angles the lightsaber to redirect it back to Paul - but not at Paul himself. The angle is so precise that the bolts are redirected towards his blaster, aiming to destroy the blaster in Paul's hand. It is a much safer alternative to letting the blaster bolt redirect into the cortosis. Malign doesn't want the fight to end so quickly, after all. He doesn't waste any time in waiting to see if the bolts actually hit the blaster or not; he's rushing towards the three with a Force-propelled charge, his lightsaber coming to bear upon Jessalyn. He gets in close to the Jedi Witch and swings at her with the lightsaber. Paul didn't actually think that he was going to shoot Malign. His experience with the Sith Lord has been such that he knows how insignificant he is in comparison, how nothing he might do would not be sensed, transmitted, and easily rebuffed. But it does do what Paul hoped it would do. It buys Jessalyn a little more time, gives her a chance to draw her weapon and defend herself, maybe even make a strike against the Sith. Paul cries out in pain as his blaster's shot is redirected upon itself, reeling back and dropping the destroyed weapon, his hand blistered and burnt, clutched to his chest. He reels away, hating to leave Jessalyn to this alone, but knowing that if he is in harm's way, he'll only make himself a target for Malign and a distraction to her. There's no time to think about Lyra and Paul, which might be a good thing -- there is only time to react. "Stay back!" Jessalyn yells to her friends as she ignites her own blade which clashes almost at once with Malign's. Their sabers lock together loudly and violently as Jessalyn struggles against the Corellian Sithlord's superior strength, her muscles aching and trembling from the cold and the effort. She's breathing hard, her drenched hair clinging to her ghostly white features that are lit by the glow of both of their ancient weapons. "Not today, Malign," she says in a voice of relative calm, and as the two engage once again, she feints to one side, grateful for the extra time Paul bought her, and brings her bright blade around in a turquoise-white arc aimed for severing the Dark Lord's sword-hand. Lyra watches something she's maybe heard of in rumor. But it's not something someone really believes until they actually /see/ it. In this case, it's the way the arc of Malign's lightsaber simply bats the blaster bolt away in the same way a Wookiee might bat away an insect. "That's cheating," Lyra manages a little petulantly, though she doesn't say that too loud. Still, she manages to take a step back. Well, not just a step back. Maybe two or three. She keeps an eye on unfolding fight between the two lightsaber-wielding Force Users, even as she pulls her blaster from her holster, "Can you shoot with your other hand?" she asks Paul over the din of the sizzling sabers as they clash over and over again. Malign opens himself to the Force and the dark side, allowing it to grant him strength. His mind keeps note of Paul and Lyra as they stand to the side, not allowing himself to be blind to their actions in case they try anything. But he focuses mostly on Jessalyn, the Jedi Witch, and the fight at hand. Their blades make contact, and although Jessalyn parries, Malign is already beginning a second and third attack, his blade relentless as it swings, trying to find an opening in her defense and end her life. But there is something different about this Malign - his attacks and parries are not as fast or precise as Malign normally is. There is a sluggish feel to him. Jessalyn exploits his apparent inferiority by feinting to his side. He turns to parry, but is too late... his hand is on the floor, severed. The lightsaber extinguishes and Malign drops his knees in pain, looking at his lump in shock and horror. He tilts his head upward to look at Jessalyn, fear in his eyes. 'Kill him... strike him down. He is weak and at your mercy. He is evil incarnate... kill him now, and save the galaxy from further devastation. You will be a hero... you will be revered as the savior of the Republic. End the threat of the Sith! Strike him down now, before he can inflict any more hurt on those you love. It is... the right thing to do." The words enter Jessalyn's head. It is the voice of the dark side itself. But to Jessalyn, it may sound like nothing more than her own subconscious, egging her on to do what must be done... "Not without risking hitting Jessalyn," Paul rasps back, trying to massage feeling back into his burnt and numbed hand. How is it that the nerves in his skin are screaming, 'FIRE!' but the nerves controlling his muscles are scratching their heads in confusion and looking around bemusedly? When Jessalyn manages to cut off Malign's hand, however, Paul is actively shocked. He had the advantage, she is still recovering from giving birth, she was soaked, caught off guard and they have been more evenly matched in the past. Once again, it seems like it was too easy. Like the plants. "Jessa!" he shouts abruptly, "Be careful, it might be a trap!" There is no anger and hatred flowing through her as Jessalyn defends herself from the Sithlord; despite the strength of the Dark Side here, she has not called upon it or given in to her fear or rage. Her moves are elegant and impressive, her lightsaber a blur of motion that the Dark Lord can't penetrate, and once she's disarmed him and Malign falls to his knees before her, only then is she reminded of the vision. She steps toward Darth Malign, her blue-green blade burning as she holds it to his vulnerable throat, ready to end it. There's never been a doubt in her mind that it's the right thing to do, but as that voice goads her own, Jessalyn hesitates, looking down into those fearful eyes. Hearing Paul shout to her, her brows furrow in confusion as she senses his worry. After all Malign has done, how would it not be just to strike him down now? After what he'd done to Paul, to Kiri, to his own sister, to Enb'Zik's family, to Lynae, to the countless others across the galaxy bowing before the Sith Empire's dark might. But... she can't kill a disarmed man. Even if it's Darth Malign. She can't become that Jedi. "Do you surrender?" she asks, her voice a warning, her eyes intent and full of resignation and sadness as she meets the fallen Corellian's hazel eyes. The lightsaber blade hums a deadly note mere centimeters from Malign's tattooed throat. Malign continues look up helplessly at Jessalyn, his eyes stricken with fear. "Please... no..." Malign utters, but the voices in Jessalyn's head continue, 'kill him, kill him, save the galaxy.' But the Jedi's will is too strong. Her refusal to do the dark side's bidding is cast, and the dark side knows it has lost this battle for her soul. Malign's face turns into a scowl, and the doppelganger disappears... but the evil presence does not depart. In fact, it grows only stronger, more intense. It is now the familiar feeling of the Emperor himself. He appears at the passageway in all his glory, his masked face hiding a wicked smile. He wastes no time in pleasantries. Summoning upon the dark side, the Emperor calls upon "Force Wind," a strong gust of wind blowing through the passage and towards the three. It hits them all at once, the strong winds blowing them back and into the cortosis-lined wall. Laughing, the Emperor steps into the room slowly. "I have underestimated you, Valios." The Emperor raises his left hand towards Jessalyn, using the Force to pin her against the cortosis wall and restrict her movements. He then looks to Lyra and Paul as he keeps his hand pointed at Jessalyn, bowing his head to them. "Welcome, friends." "Wait. You're not going to kill him? Isn't he some major killer of millions and stuff?" Lyra sounds surprised, shocked really. The swoop-girl stares at the Jedi Witch, incredulously. She doesn't have her weapon even pointed at Malign, so sure she is that Jessalyn will simply end things with some remark and the terrible swift sword. "You're really just going to ..." "Oh. Right," Lyra remarks as she watches the duplicate of Malign simply vanish in some Force-fuelled sleight of hand like a openly carried purse of credits on Nar Shaddaa. When the robed and masked stranger steps out, the figure seems somehow familiar to Lyra, but she doesn't draw or fire yet, even when Jessalyn is simply picked up and slammed against the wall. She does level her weapon at that stranger, however. "Friend, huh? W..." she spares a glance at Jessalyn, then back at the stranger, "And who are you, anyway?" she asks, "You the one this tomb is for?" In a way, Paul isn't sure why Jessalyn shouldn't kill Malign right now either save for the fact that something about the matter just seemed ... wrong. Lyra's words remind Paul of what Malign is, what he did to Kiri and himself, what continues to do to Paul after the fact. But then the Corellian is slammed back into the wall with the sudden gust of wind, another soft bark of pain escaping him as he tries to turn and face the /actual/ enemy, gritting his teeth as he recognizes the voice, if not the figure standing before them. Hazel eyes flicker to Lyra, suspecting that her bravado is more due to the very fact that she does not know who it is that stands before them. She would probably not be so blithe if she did, if she had felt his power raised up against her. Instead, Paul starts to make his way against the wind toward Jessalyn, to help her however he might. Jessalyn's lightsaber falls back to her side as the doppleganger disappers, and for just a few seconds a sense of relief washes over her. "I... I'm sorry," she says, actually meaning it. She really is sorry it is not so simple as that, that she's unwilling to take a step down the path that caused Kiri to lose his father. Malign would see justice, Jessalyn vows to make sure of that, but not by being killed in cold blood at her hands. Perhaps she'd passed some test and now -- but no. The Darkness only grows stronger, so strong Jessalyn wants to weep before it as the Emperor reveals himself. She holds up an arm to shield her face from the ghostly wind he summons up, and then finds herself thrown back, pinned to the wall, immobilized, the lightsaber falling from her suddenly rigid fingers to clatter, extinguished, on the cavern floor. She can only writhe against her unseen bonds, as if invisible hands are holding her fast to the wall. "No," she moans, watching the coalesced figure of the Emperor stride into the room, approaching Paul and Lyra as the swoop-girl taunts him ridiculously. At least the wind helps to dry her hair and clothes, but it's still freezing as she looks over to see the Corellian trying to make his way toward her. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Jessalyn can't move her arms or legs, but she can still use the Force. "Paul!" she calls out in warning. The hilt of her lightsaber gives a tiny shudder, then it is airborne, flying neatly to land at Paul's feet. Of course it would be ludicrous for anyone untrained to go up against the Emperor in lightsaber combat, injured hand the least of his worries, but perhaps he can buy her some time to get free. And besides all that, the Force is with him, whether he likes it or not. The Emperor rests his gaze upon Lyra, tilting his head to the side some. "No. The Sith who built these tombs are long dead, though their presence still lingers, as does the spirits of the Massassi." He steps closer to Lyra, peering at her through his mask. "The Jedi you seek are no long here, young one. There is nothing but death here." The Emperor turns away from Lyra, knowing she poses no threat to him, however ignorant she may be of his power. He turns his attention on Paul as he struggles to reach Jessalyn and help her. He watches as the lightsaber rolls along the floor towards him, holding back a slight chuckle. He raises a hand at Paul and a strong energy is thrown at him, pushing him back into the wall opposite of Jessalyn with a strong impact. "A lightsaber in his hands, Valios? You insult me." The Emperor approaches Paul, his own lightsaber now in his hand; it is a gold hilt, and a red blade emanates forth from it. He very rarely uses his lightsaber. It is an archaic weapon, beneath him; but the Jedi oh so enjoy their lightsaber games, so he feels it's appropriate to oblige them. He stands above Paul, his lightsaber hover several inches from Paul. It is a scene eerily similiar to Jessalyn's nightmare... the Emperor stands above Paul, his lightsaber in hand, Paul seemingly at his mercy, ready to strike. "Now you will see, Valios, the truth. You cannot save him. You cannot save anyone. As Orson and Aurejin before him, he will die." The Emperor raises his blade up, preparing to deliver the killing blow to Paul. Of course, trying to keep a bead on the Emperor with the unnatural wind is impossible. There's no point - but despite the futility, Lyra doesn't give up, to her credit, despite the fact her weapon is eventually firmly pinned in a direction where if she pulled the trigger, she'd only shoot herself. The closer the Emperor steps, the stronger the buffeting "wind" becomes, and her arm is slowly, slowly pushed down, with each step. Still, she tries anyway, trying to pull up her arm, perhaps she can hit this ... whomever it is, she pulls hard enough so that she nearly dislocates her arm, but it doesn't little good. Abruptly, something in Lyra seems to snap, and there is something beyond fear...beyond hatred. Simple curiousity. Though the "trick" or whatever Lyra does is already familiar to Jessalyn and Paul, when Lyra speaks next, it's not in the clipped space-derived accent of Nar Shaddaa. It's in the accent of a noblewoman from Alderaan, long lost. Her voice is calm and cool, as if she wasn't pushed away and trapped by some buffeting breeze as she asks, "Do you know where they went, then? If it all but death here, where did they go? Or do you not know at all?" His own weapon is nearly a piece of slag on the floor and while his hand still hurts like hell, control over the muscles thereof has returned to the Corellian. When the lightsaber lands at his feet, he doesn't think or question the move. He just acts. With his left hand, Paul jerks off his satchel and flings with all its waterlogged weight and heft at the Emperor as he reaches down to snatch up the lightsaber. Or at least that is what he tries to do, but the power of the Emperor's will bears down upon him and knocks Paul into the opposite wall with a sharp expulsion of breath. Hazel eyes lift up to the Sith Lord's face, but there is only defiance in his expression. He doesn't know what to make of Lyra's question or her change in tone, but the Corellian never lets his attention waver, looking for any opportunity that he might avail himself of. Jessalyn watches forlornly as Lyra is pressed back by the winds, and Paul's attempt to take her lightsaber is thwarted by the Emperor. But he still tries to buy her more time, as does Lyra, and she's grateful enough to take advantage of it. As he is pinned to the opposite wall by the Emperor, Jessalyn cries out in protest. She knows what is going to happen before it does. And so, she knows what she has to do. Jessalyn closes her eyes, listening only distantly as the Emperor humors the swoop-girl, taking those precious moments to gather up her strength and fill herself with the Force. She stops struggling against the Emperor's spell, her muscles going lax as she hears Lyra speaking in that noblewoman's voice once again. Her true voice, that of Alderaanian nobility. When she opens her eyes, the Emperor taunts her, just like in the dream, his blade drawing back to take Paul's life. And then, in one fluid motion, it's as if Jessalyn just slips beneath the bonds like she is made of some impossibly limber material that can't be contained, her lightsaber lit and arcing from the ground, across the room and into her palm with a satisfying smack as she wraps her fingers around it and leaps like a coiled cat. It doesn't matter if she's tired and sore and still not completely recovered from childbirth; she puts all her will and power into this one strike, crying out as she slices her lightsaber through the air to bisect the Emperor's spine. "The Unknown Regions. Long gone from here, I'm afraid," The Emperor says to Lyra before he raises his lightsaber over Paul. Yes, the rogue Jedi are long gone from this galaxy... to the Unknown Regions. Their exact fate the Emperor does not even know. But he wastes no more time on humoring Lyra. He focuses on his kill, smiling wickedly as he brings the blade down on Paul... or so he tries. A terrifying roar escapes from the masked being as the blade cuts into his back. It is an inhuman scream, one that literally shakes the room. But the Emperor is not dead. Far from it. He immediately turns about to face Jessalyn as she finishes her strike. His body is filled with an unearthly rage, the power of the dark side flowing through him. "JEDI SCUM!" He drops his lightsaber and lashes out with a torrent of high-power Force lightning, pouring every bit of energy into the concentrated attack of pure dark side energy. He very much intends to kill her and her miserable Jedi life. No more games. She has done something that no being in tens of thousands of years has done to him. She has hurt him. And she will pay very dearly for it. So consumed by his rage, he has all but forgotten about Paul and Lyra... "Ah, thank you for that," Lyra says, her voice, cool and smooth. Her odd violet eyes peer at the ground without concern (apparently) for Jessalyn's fate; a simple ladylike tug of the arm is enough for Lyra to decide she's still trapped ... wait. The swoop-girl's eyes narrow, as she realizes that something is indeed missing. She swiftly takes one, then two steps, her eyes intent not on using her blaster, which has been proven to be less that useful so far, but with a kick of the swoop-ganger's plated boots, she sends the Emperor's own lightsaber skittering across the floor ... towards Nighman. Only then does the swoop-girl lift the heavy, archaic pistol into a shooting stance and starts pulling the trigger. The weapon was made to be barely controllable by a much larger, stronger, and male person. In Lyra's hands, even with both hands on the gun, the recoil is enough to nearly break slim, ladylike wrists. She has no illusions that the fat, ugly metal slugs will be ignored as easily as blaster shots ... but it's only a distraction for Paul now... Again, like before, there is no hesitation. There can't be. He threw himself between the Emperor's lightning and fire to protect Jessalyn and their child once and he would do it again if he thought it could save her. But he knows better now. He knows that it can't. He knows that this time the Emperor wouldn't hesitate, that he would incinerate him on the spot. But there is a better option. So instead of throwing himself between the two Force users, Paul drops all the way down to the ground when the force holding him pinned dwindles away along with the Emperor's attention. Without a moment of hesitation he snatches up the dropped lightsaber, flicking it on as he brings his anger and will to bear and with an upward slash he strikes at the Emperor's hands, aiming to cut them off at the arm or wrist, much as Jessalyn cut off the illusionary Malign's hand just a moment before. That inhuman cry is enough to make Jessalyn stagger backward once she's delivered what she believed to be the killing strike, and she stares with fierce determination at the Emperor as he whirls around, away from Paul, to face her alone. His roaring epithet only bolsters her confidence for a moment, and as he drops his saber she moves to strike at him again, taking advantage of the moment -- but she doesn't see his true intent until it's too late. The impact of the lightning drops Jessalyn to the ground and she loses her grip on her lightsaber, forgetting instantly about it and everything else except for the searing pain that courses through her entire body, electric energy powered by the Emperor's pure evil crackling over her form as she screams in agony and writhes upon the cold, damp stone floor. Feebly, she tries to call on the Force to block the attack, and perhaps she's partially successful at lessening the intensity for a moment more as she hears the sharp bark of Lyra's slugthrower, and perhaps the sound of another lightsaber igniting. But she's no match for the Emperor's rage and hatred all poured into destroying her, and she curls in on her agony, her brain fleeing desperately from the experience as she starts to go into shock... clinging to kinder images as her life literally flashes before her eyes. She goes still, smoke wafting up from her singed clothing. The pure rage surging forth from the Emperor can be felt across Yavin; creatures, more in tune with nature than most sentient beings, flee in terror to hide themselves. The room itself becomes a focal point of all the dark energy through the tombs, and the Emperor channels it all straight into Jessalyn. He takes great delight in watching her writhe in pain and terror, her life force waning as more and more dark energy is poured into her body, coursing through and causing unimaginable pain. But such rage has its costs. They make one blind to its surroundings, to other people and their actions... so focused on killing Jessalyn, the Emperor does not see Paul reach for the Emperor's lightsaber. He does not notice Paul take it and bring it down upon his hands... the slugs come next, hitting his already wounded back. The Emperor drops to his knees, clearly in a state of shock to even register the pain of losing his hands. His attack against Jessalyn ends, and he's quiet... his plan has clearly gone awry. "Jedi... scum..." At that moment, the entire Temple begins to shake and rumble violently. It is beginning to collapse. Debris begins to fall down as the shaking intensifies. The Emperor is going to bring the entire Temple down on all of them, and end it all. He will not allow the Jedi to have the last laugh... he will not be defeated. Click. The heavy sound of the hammer falling on an empty pistol rings forth, even as Lyra tries to pull the trigger on her dry weapon a few more times. "Swallow that, Bantha-bait," the familiar swoop-girl mutters under her breath. It's only then that a lurch to the tomb nearly makes Lyra fall. She drops her weapon as it lands with a heavy sound on ground. Lyra is nothing if she doesn't have a gun. Refugee or someone with a future, the difference is the weapon to her and ducks to pick up the gun before she does anything else, giving it a quick-once over even as she holsters it, oblivious to the tomb collapsing, a finger run over the comforting mass of the weapon as she manages a ghost of a smile. Only then does she remember her surrounds, "I...I think this place is about to collapse!" she shouts. Wow, Mistress of the Obvious, Lyra. She quickly turns to give Jessalyn a glance then Paul, "I think it's time to go!" she says, her voice carrying an edge of panic, as she gets ready to leave the way she came, pulling Jessalyn or at least helping Paul pick her up as is necessary. There is no thrill of success, no pride in the defeat of his enemy. Paul barely gives the Emperor a second glance once his hands have been removed and the power lancing from them stopped. The lightsaber's red blade dies, the weapon shoved into the holster that used to hold his blaster as Paul gathers Jessalyn to himself and pulls her away from the Sith Lord in case he might have some other bag of tricks up his sleeve. Trembling fingers scramble to find her throat as Paul rasps, "Jessa? Jessa!" Fingertips find a pulse, thready and weak, but there, his body trembling with fear. No, wait, not just with fear. As the room starts to collapse around them, Paul shifts once more, slipping Jessalyn over one shoulder to better support her weight, rising up as he turns to Lyra in assent and barks, "Go! Go, go, GO!!" The Corellian only hopes that they can make it out before they are crushed to death. Jessalyn is dimly aware of the rumbling of the ground beneath her as the Temple begins to quake, and then the sensation of being lifted as Paul takes her up into his arms. The rest of her body throbs with unimaginable pain, her flesh and bones all seared by the Emperor's Force-lightning, her nerves still twitching from the vestiges of electricity that jolt through her even now. Her lashes flutter as Paul says her name, and she tries to assure him that she's alive, at least for the moment. She whispers, "Paul," before her eyes close again and all her muscles go slack, her brain finally shutting down to shield her from the shock of her agony. There's huge rocks, and water falling from the ceiling. But at this point, Lyra really cares little. The slim swoop-girl essentially scouts up ahead as much as she is able, running out of the tunnels, picking up anything that Paul (or Jessalyn) might drop, and otherwise making sure the pair make it out. She moves ahead of them on the stepping stones, narrowing being missed by some massive spear-like stalactite that splashes into the water, but the room is otherwise navigated without problem, as is the room with the masks, the hundreds of Sith masks now lying broken and hollow on the floor - whatever Force that animated them now fled. As the heroes escape from the Temple, the Emperor continues to expend all his energy to bring the temple down on them, to seal them in forever. But the Emperor is unsuccessful... as the Temple completely caves in upon itself, the heroes make it through the exit, just in the nick of time. Behind them, the temple is gone, destroyed. There is no sign of the Emperor, seemingly dead with the Temple. Outside a light rain begins to trickle down... the heroes have survived, against the ruthless Emperor. The dark taint that had surrounded the Temple and its corridors is now gone, and there is no presence of the Emperor on the world any longer.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)