The greatest structure still standing on the volcanic moon of [Oricon], the ruined fortress that once served as the headquarters of the [Dread Masters], remains as a beacon of darkness. Impenetrable at its heart, the fortress is surrounded by a lava moat with a single bridge for access with walls two stories high and crafted of the hardest permacrete. Its walkways and open courtyards are decorated with eternally-burning braziers, hanging and broken chains, and even plaques and murals depicting acts of tyranny and strength. Statues, obelisks and pillars show signs of aging, crumbling, cracked and ruined, though their fearsome, ancient Sith visages still stand as a testament to the Dark Side and the imposing power that the masters of the fortress willed upon their visitors.

Down into the central palace and through one of the two sets of staircases lays the ruins of the atrium. It has long been looted for all of its artifacts and knowledge, left bare by the raiding and marauding of treasure hunters and researchers. Four side-chambers lead down, two to the left and right, deeper—these rooms, all abandoned, hold obelisks fused into the very stonework of the floor. Ancient Sith wisdom is etched into each one—messages of fear, of control, of domination and madness alike.

At the very rear of the palace is a large, tall stairway, leading up into what can only be considered the throne room of the wicked Council. A seven-sided platform sits atop a bottomless pit, with the walkway from the doorway taking up one side flanked by six green crystals. The remaining six edges are dedicated to walkways ending in a dais, resting upon which are the tall thrones topped with crystal where the ancient Masters of Dread once sat.

“Hold the ship, Remee,” the Zeltron said quietly over her commlink to the droid back on her ship. “Just a heads-up though: we maaay have some company.”

A soft series of whirs and bleeps relayed her droid’s confirmation of her orders. After arriving on the Force-forsaken moon, Qyreia had found no issues believing that the Sith had at one point inhabited the place. The air was technically breathable, but it was only bearable within the walls of the so-called “Dread Fortress.” There was little that she truly saw worthy of dread amidst the decaying stonework. The Galerian Aedile only wanted to complete her recon of the ancient structure and get back to Selen.

Unfortunately, that particular choice did not seem to be on the menu.

It was difficult to tell who had arrived first. All that the mercenary could make out was the lone figure walking in the dim lighting of the palace atrium. A cursory look through her rifle’s sights told her that this other person was a Togruta, female, and wearing at least a few blades on her person. What are you doing here? Qyreia thought, continuing to observe the fellow intruder. With word spreading of the Grand Master’s disappearance, more than a few missions had returned with tales of mysterious encounters. Friends inadvertently fired on friends, and enemies on enemies. Everything was upside down. That was why the military arm of Arcona suddenly found itself in such dire demand as to send its second-in-command on a task that would otherwise be reserved for a scout platoon.

Down in the expanse of the atrium, Tahiri looked around anxiously. The Tarenti wanted to get off the volatile world as much as she wanted to absorb the secrets of the dead fortress. The Nekros Coven would be pleased if some end were achieved in the course of the Clan’s desire for intelligence beyond their immediate holdings. If she could reap a greater benefit above all, then what could a Sith do but casually prosper?

More than once, an obelisk had shaken off its stony dust, reacting to some distant volcanic eruption, and she had merely twitched in anticipation. The dead wandered here. It lingered less on her senses within the Force than with her gut instincts, even if the mild awareness she gained from her montrals only showed her more broken rocks and pillars.

So when a particularly strong tremor rocked a pillar into toppling over, her hand instantly went for her lightsaber, the sudden crimson glow offering a modicum of relief. There were legends of monsters created by the Sith alchemy of the ancient Dread Masters. The very real presence of a red lightsaber, in Qyreia’s eyes, denoted the Togruta as a Sith; and Sith were generally not her friends. In fact, most darksiders that she’d met had tried to kill her. Shouldering her blaster seemed a simple and logical reaction. Shoot her before she stabs you. The mercenary wanted to hold back, but between her fear of being pulled into a close-quarters battle with the Force user and the stifling air that seemed to pierce into her very skull, her finger seemed to squeeze the trigger all on its own.

Tahiri felt something wrong before she really knew it. Her body, with lightning reflexes, practically moved of its own accord as the red blaster bolt narrowly sped past into the stonework beyond. Her yellow-and-black eyes darted around the atrium, but the faint luminescence and the size of the atrium revealed nothing within her visual range.

“Sithspit,” the Arconan hissed quietly, gritting her teeth as she lined up another shot. She could see the Togruta knew the general direction that the bolt had originated from. It was just a matter of time before she closed the distance.

From her prone position, the furious barrage that she sent at the intimidatingly designed Togruta was deadly accurate. The Shien practitioner, however, had little issue with finding cover behind her skillfully spun lightsaber. Every blocked shot — and there were plenty — brought forth a growled “druk” from the Zeltron as she continued shooting, ever more conscious that she should probably just cut her losses and make for her ship. There was something wrong about this place. She could feel it in her bones.