Myriad Reckonings

"I have a translator if need be." He touched one of the pouches on his belt. "I can't imagine there isn't at least one of them that speak basic." He supposed Tarkin knew more of the populus than he did, but he reckoned he was prepared well enough.

"You would be surprised. They were rather secluded before the Empire arrived. If there are any left, they're probably set on keeping their traditions untouched."

"We'll find out I suppose." He didn't appreciate the nitpicking. He'd figure out a solution just fine on his own. He'd learned a few words in their language, but mostly to understand their spells he'd discovered down in their caves and temples. He would have some difficulties if none of them spoke a lick of basic but he would manage.

Tarkin input a command to exit hyperspace, and the stars shrank into their usual twinkling pinpoints. Atoa loomed ahead of them, glittering in the light of its sun. He inhaled slowly, then let out his breath as quietly as he could. No more delays. It wouldn't be long now before they got to the bottom of this, he could feel it.

He steered the ship down towards the atmosphere, buckling himself in as he did so. "Now would be a good time to tell me those coordinates," he said to Sirejj. "Be ready to step out the second I touch down."

Sirejj projected them from the small device and typed them in to the ship's navigation system. "I should be able to contact you if you're in orbit directly above and not on the other side of the planet. Do not initiate any communication, I'll call you." He smiled, showing his teeth. He could feel the turbulence as they entered the atmosphere. "Get me low enough to jump and you won't even need to land."

"I'll do my best." Tarkin had seen Vader skate so close to the ground that the landing gear was touching grass. He himself preferred not to risk damaging an entire ship just for the sake of avoiding landing protocols, but he supposed he should have as little contact with the planet as possible while Sirejj was conducting his business.

The Carrion Spike shuddered for a few minutes as it cut through the various layers of atmosphere, then leveled out and coasted briefly. Tarkin glanced at the guiding lines on the lower display and turned toward their destination.

Sirejj made his way to a bay door and waited. He was eager to get his boots back on to solid ground. Ensuring all of his gear was secured he waited for the right moment to make his exit.

The ship shuddered as it neared the ground. It was a large vessel to be attempting such acrobatics, but Sirejj had seen worse. At least the descent was controlled and he wasn't abandoning a crash landing. He'd done that a time or two and still wore the scars.

Tarkin's knuckles were white as he edged lower and lower, doing his best to judge a safe jumping distance from the cockpit. When he thought it was enough, he opened the bay doors. "You're clear," he called back to Sirejj.

Sirejj sensed Tarkin's tension and chuckled. "You're still a little high, but I suppose you weren't taught flying on the Carrion." He leaped from the ship, the distance being more than reasonable for him to safely land. He landed easily, crystals scattering around his boots. He stood and watched the ship leave, not moving from where he'd landed.

Tarkin's temper spiked a little as Sirejj spoke--he knew how to fly. Caution was different from inexperience. In fact, it came from experience. The Zabrak was gone before he could make a retort, though, and Tarkin pivoted to get a view of him. Seeing that he was fine, he angled the ship upward and shot out of the atmosphere.

Sirejj knew his comment had landed and laughed to himself as he watched the ship disappear. He waited until the ship had left completely and there wasn't a sound to grace the face of the crystal moon. He crouched, listening to the crystals crunch under his boots. He touched the ground and listened, taking in the space around him. This trickery would take focus and a steady mind. He reached into the veil of the moon and could feel, not far away, several beings doing the same. It was not a common tactic, but one when mastered was very effective at hiding from other force-users, especially those intending on destruction.

Sirejj stood and searched for a good place to cache some of his gear. He didn't trust any of his things not to be rummaged through by Tarkin, so he'd brought the few possessions he had along with him. He found a hole to his liking and took only enough condensed rations and water to make it a couple days, his staff and cloak, translator, holomap, and a single pouch that contained very miniscule medical supplies and various smaller items.

The cat's tooth was in an inside pocket of his vest. Despite it weighing nothing, he knew it was there at all times.

After moving a small boulder with the force to cover his stash, he turned towards the coordinates he'd taken when he'd first been on the planet. There must be an entrance somewhere. He took his staff from his back and carried it like a walking stick. He'd attempt peaceful contact first. He reached back into his mind to what he was when he first had left Dathomir. He'd hidden it well, but he'd been lost and afraid. He brought back those memories in order to take on a more believable persona of the wanderer, searching for knowledge to restore himself and his home. He felt if there were force-users among the survivors, which there almost certainly were, he could make this image of himself believable enough to learn what he wanted. Then along the way, he was sure Tarkin's information would turn up. He was sure of it.

Deep underground, hidden behind a waterfall and the thousands of winding tunnels beneath the planet's surface, beings stirred.

There were twelve in all, nine of whom were still tethered to this plane. The other three lay in quiet meditation, though their brows were furrowed in discomfort.

"There is a presence far above," one of the wakeful ones murmured to her sister. "Find Mother." Of the twelve in the haven, they were the two youngest at fifty. The oldest was a woman who was rumored to be two hundred years old, though that had never been proven. She was one of the three in meditation and had not woken since long before the interlopers arrived with their mining equipment and blaster pistols.

The sister rose. She was small and thin with a deeply lined face framed by long silver hair. The gods had not called her as they had her sister and mother; her mind was stillborn, set on worldly matters and attachments. It made her an excellent fighter, but she was cut off from Atoa's life force. She sensed nothing but what was right in front of her.
"I will investigate," she said, taking up her lance. "Fetch Mother if you like."

"No, Raia." One had to be firm with the stillborns. "What does not yet pose a threat shouldn't be met with weaponry."

"Does this presence seek us out?" Raia's grip tightened on her lance.

"That is what you will ask Mother. I must soothe the dreamers." She stood and moved to the cots on which the dreamers lay, resting a hand on the oldest one's forehead. It burned hot; Atoa was ill at ease. The gods must be speaking to her now.

Sirejj lit out on foot, using his senses to try and find an entry point. After a while of searching with his eyes he paused and tapped the ground with his staff, whispering a few words. A wisp of green smoke wrapped around the hand that gripped the staff and travelled up his arm before darting away across the ground at lightning speed. It lit up a pathway for a split second, and then vanished.

Stronger magick wielders might have been able to hold the spell for longer, but Sirejj only had the knowledge that he'd dug from the wreckage of his homeworld with his bare hands. He had seen the direction in which the smoke had disappeared and saved the image in his mind. If he moved quickly, he may find what he was looking for before the image faded.

There was certainly a powerful presence here, but it was nothing like the Sith or Jedi. No, it was more reminiscent of his own people if anything, just leaning more towards the brighter end of the Force spectrum. His own people drew greatly from the Dark Side, but managed to do so powerfully without adopting the philosophy of the Sith. He knew his presence may feel all too similar to another being who'd been at the center of the destruction of their temple. He felt a little shiver travel down his spine as he remembered for a split second the huge, gloved hand reaching into his mind. He shook it off quickly. Any thought of Vader or the Empire would surely raise suspicion from whoever these people were.

He knew enough about the Atoans not to underestimate them. Tarkin may think they were primitive savages, but Sirejj's own people had been termed similarly many times. No, he had a certain respect for those Force wielders who were separate from the Sith and Jedi and who used the Force as their culture and world around them willed. He had no genuine quarrel with these people. Hopefully they would see that. Even so, he carried his staff, which, though not as assuming as a saber or blaster, was a lethal weapon and powerful tool in his hands.

Raia slipped down one of the many corridors branching out from the main chamber, trailing her fingers aling the smooth cave walls. She couldn't sense her mother's whereabouts as her sister Kurra could, but she could intuit.

Sure enough, her mother knelt with her head bowed in front of a round rock formation. A blessing from the Old Tongue had been carved into it and a number of weathered belongings rested on its flat top.
Mother was in her early seventies, a downright tiny person with a wasted face and thinning hair. Nobody got enough food or water down here, nor was there enough sunlight. The surface had not been safe for years.

"He means us no harm," Mother said before Raia could announce herself. She held up a hand without turning to face her daughter, and Raia stepped forward to help her up. "Not yet. But his discovery of us may bring trouble."

"You know what this presence is?" Raia asked, guiding her mother toward the exit.

"His shape and intent are unclear to me, but I am certain he is not hostile."

Sirejj felt movement from the tunnels under the surface. He picked up a few fleeting thoughts of fear - they knew he was here. He must be careful now, for he did not know how hostile these people were. He'd rather not get messy...Tarkin had demanded a prisoner, which he would provide if necessary. But now that he was free from the Governor breathing down the back of his neck, he would make decisions based on what was in front of him, not on what Tarkin wanted.

He crept without hardly a sound as he walked over the tunnels deep beneath him. The entrance must be somewhere closeby. He followed the jagged directions where the smoke had pointed, always alert to what might emerge from the depths.