So it was that a game of sorts began between the two Sith. Ry Nymbis was wily and worked to distract his master so he might steal into Darth Caldoth’s chambers and search out the hidden scrolls, studying them hurriedly to glean what new information he could.
Darth Caldoth, wiser and older than the Twi’lek, allowed it, for he knew it would buy him time and that his apprentice had grown bitter and twisted and would not be discouraged from treading the path he had taken.
For many years that dance continued, and all the while Darth Caldoth delved ever deeper into the forgotten arts, and his status in the galaxy grew until even his name was not whispered for fear that in its speaking he might be summoned and appear to wreak devastation upon those who had dared call him out.
Darth Caldoth was not immune to pride, and such did his stature grow that he began to seek out those who might offer him fealty, to fashion an army of the dispossessed, an empire of slaves. And all the while Ry Nymbis watched and plotted, for he had grown tired of doing his master’s bidding, and the time had come to strike and claim all that might be his.
The day came when, returning to Korriban, Darth Caldoth demanded from his apprentice a tribute—a monument, high on a mountaintop overlooking the desolate plains—that might serve as a warning to all those who dared underestimate his power.
So it was that Ry Nymbis devised a plan to erect a statue of his master, a permanent tribute to Darth Caldoth’s enduring power. The statue would be so lifelike, so true, that all who looked upon it might wonder if it were not, in fact, the real Sith Lord of legend. Indeed, Ry Nymbis would ensure the veracity of the statue by deploying one of the alchemical rituals he had stolen from Darth Caldoth’s chambers—a ritual that would bind Darth Caldoth’s flesh in stone, trapping him forever in a living nightmare. There on the mountaintop, Ry Nymbis would take the place of his master and his apprenticeship would finally end.
Darth Caldoth, however, remained wise to his apprentice’s ambitions, and after hearing Ry Nymbis talk of the great monument he would unveil, he allowed himself to be lured to the mountaintop where his fate would be sealed.
Ry Nymbis was pleased, for his plan had worked and, as far as he knew, his master was unaware of the deadly plot—for Darth Caldoth, in his eyes, had given himself over to his own arrogance and in that arrogance had fostered ignorance.
As the two Sith stood upon the mountaintop, their robes stirring in the breeze, the Twi’lek enacted the ritual, muttering the unfamiliar words, feeling the arcane power rippling through him, his connection to the Force all-consuming.
Yet Ry Nymbis had not accounted for his master’s cunning, and the tribute was but another trial, a means by which to draw out the traitorous apprentice. Darth Caldoth had suspected his apprentice’s betrayal and had prepared for it, altering the words of the ritual hidden in his chambers.
So it was that Ry Nymbis was destroyed by his own hubris. The ritual was a complete success, only, rather than turning the master to stone, it was the apprentice himself who succumbed to the creeping tide of calcification—from the tips of his toes to the ends of the lekku upon his head—until he had become his own monument.
Darth Caldoth had anticipated that chain of events, and his tribute was complete—a monument for all of time, a warning to those who might betray him, an apprentice turned to stone.
So it was that the statue of a lonesome Twi’lek came to stand upon a mountaintop on the planet Moraband. Even now, if any remain in the vicinity of the statue long enough, they might see a single black tear rolling down its cheek—perhaps the residue of the dark side ritual that once turned the Twi’lek to stone, or perhaps the anguish of the failed apprentice who has remained trapped on that mountaintop ever since.
T WAS ONCE SAID THAT, SO powerful and all-encompassing was the will of the Emperor, the eyes of his agents could see into every crevice and darkened corner throughout the known galaxy and no deed could ever pass unobserved. Yet observing is not the same as seeing, and the Emperor’s attention was forever drawn to matters of governance and the quelling of rebellion. Therefore, in many of those hidden places on the Outer Rim, seeds of indifference flourished, and those who had once lived under the Empire’s yoke had become disillusioned by the iron rule of Imperial law and in their grievance seized the opportunity to carve their own path.
So it was that a small band of pirates came to find themselves aboard a stolen ship with a huge haul of treasure in its hold.
There is little honor among thieves, and these pirates—a bald, leathery-skinned Weequay named Marath, a tentacle-faced Quarren named Kalab, and a human named Houliet—had once been part of a much larger crew, but the lure of riches had proved too strong, and the three conspirators had betrayed their fellow criminals to make off with the treasure. As a consequence, they found themselves hunted not only by their former allies but also by the forces of the Imperial governor from whom they had originally stolen the treasure, and desperately in need of a safe haven and a suitable hiding place in which to store their ill-gotten gains.
Hounded at every turn by those who would have their revenge, the pirates fled from star system to star system until, finally, in the orbit of the planet Jhas in the system of Hoth, they found momentary respite.
Seeing that it was only a matter of time before their enemies caught up with them, the pirates devised a plan. They would hide their newly acquired wealth where none but them could find it—for they had each become enamored with the promise of the riches in their hold, and none could bear the thought of any other laying hands upon the treasure. They would then scatter to the distant corners of Wild Space to lay low for a time, until their trail grew cold and their crimes were all but forgotten. Then, when the moment was right, the three
of them would meet again to recover the treasure, which they would split equally amongst them—assuming that they all still lived and had managed to evade those who sought them out.
So it was that Houliet—for she was the smartest and most devious of the three, and a former lieutenant in the military—settled on a small, uninhabited moon in the orbit of Jhas as the location for their hiding place.
The moon of Jhas Krill—it was whispered by those in the murky cantinas of the Outer Rim—was a foreboding place, where nothing lived but the swamp creatures and the twisted trees that grew amidst the foul bogs and steaming swamps. It was said that all who visited the moon disappeared, swallowed by the swamps themselves, so the moon was given a wide berth by any and all travelers who went to the region.
Houliet reasoned—despite the trepidation of her companions—that such a place would prove the perfect spot to hide their treasure, for no one would think to search for it in such a grim and isolated location, and the rumors would do the work for them and dissuade others from seeking their fortunes there.
Thus, the three pirates made landfall on the small, unwelcoming moon.
Pirates, by their very nature, are not fearful people; so, upon disembarking from their ship—perched on a low, rocky plateau above the forest canopy—they were not dismayed by the strange, murky quality of the light or the shifting sounds of things moving deep in the bubbling swamp water.
As far as their eyes could see, the surface of the moon was wild and untamed, teeming with plant and animal life. There were no buildings, no suborbital platforms, no sign of anything at all, save for mile upon mile of swamp and marshland, and towering trees, twisted and spiky, their branches swaying as they whispered to one another in the cool breeze.
They knew they had found the perfect place to stow their treasure—if only they could find a suitable cavern or hollow for it.
The ship and its precious cargo, they agreed, would be safe for a short while, and the automated defense systems would ensure that anyone who did follow them would be in for a nasty shock. Thus, the three pirates set out to explore the immediate area, each of them anxious to settle on a final hiding place before the darkness set in.
The three of them searched for hours, trudging th
rough the mud, but still no caverns or hollows presented themselves. Thus, they were forced to delve ever deeper into the forbidding jungle, their boots stirring the swirling swamp water while unseen creatures slithered around the boles of trees, following through the undergrowth.
The jungle proved difficult to navigate, and the pirates had a sense that even as they walked, the pathways through the trees were shifting and altering in their wake, branches twisting and knotting together to block their retreat. None of them gave voice to this fear, however, lest they incur the mockery of the others; so they continued, uneasily, ever deeper into the darkening jungle, each of them fearful of speaking out or attempting to return to the ship.
Night soon fell, and as the last of the light bled away beneath the treetops, the creatures in the swamps began to stir, dragging their lizard-like bellies from the dirty pools and streams, sliding amongst the fallen leaves that formed a slippery carpet on the forest floor. Shadows seemed to leer at them from amongst the trees, describing monstrous things in the darkness, leaving them jittery and nervous as they crept on through the jungle. They searched now for a place of shelter as much as a hiding place for their treasure, for the route back to the ship was long lost behind them, and they knew that to stumble onward through the dark was to invite danger, for they might at any moment lose their footing in the boggy swamps or, worse, succumb to one of the terrible creatures they could hear snuffling through the undergrowth all around them.
Their way was lit by nothing but a single torch and the weak glow of distant Jhas, and as they forced their way on, shivering, even the beam of the torch began to waver.
“We must find shelter,” said Marath, “or all has been for naught and we shall die out here, lost in the swamps, and in time others will find our treasure.”
The others agreed, and, compelled by the thought that they might lose that which they had sacrificed so much to gain, they pressed on, even as the torch flickered and died and they were forced to navigate in near darkness, mindful of every step.
Now the jungle seemed like a small, dark place, closing in around them as they crept, and even the trees clawed at them with vicious branches, scratching at their arms as they stumbled blindly in the hope of salvation. All around them, the slithering sounds of the creatures grew ever louder, ever closer.
It was then that Kalab spotted the soft glow of a light, up ahead amongst the trees. At first the pirates could not tell if it was the nearby flicker of a firebug or the distant light of a pyre, so disoriented were they by the oppressive surroundings.
Like moths to a beacon they were drawn to that light, stumbling from the path they had been following, through the press of branches and the frigid, ankle-deep water, until, at last, they came upon its source.
There, deep in the forest, was a small clearing, and in that clearing was a house.
The pirates looked to one another in sheer astonishment, for the moon was thought to be uninhabited, and not one of them could fathom who would even conceive of building a home out there, in the deepest, darkest part of the jungle, on a distant, unwelcoming moon.
Nevertheless, the pirates knew that they had been saved, for there they could take shelter for the night, and, moreover, they had found just the thing they had been searching for—a place to hide their treasure.
First, however, there remained the question of who already inhabited the strange house, for a light was shining in the window and the scent of fresh cooking made their stomachs growl in hunger. The house was a modest abode, built from felled logs, with a single window and a single door. Smoke curled from a small stone chimney, suggestive of a welcome fire within. After their treacherous journey through the jungle, the pirates yearned for the warmth and safety it represented.
As one they peered through the lone window to see a woman sitting by the fire in a wooden chair, stirring a large pot of broth on the hearth. She was alone and looked content. After a moment the woman glanced up, sensing their presence at the window, and at once she hurried to the door to beckon them in.
She was a tall, thin woman with a pale face and short black hair, and she was dressed in billowing robes of red and black. She smiled warmly as she urged them into the small house, closing the door behind them. There was not a hint of annoyance at their obvious intrusion on her solitude. Gratefully, the pirates hurried in from the cold to huddle near the warmth of the fire.
“I am Shelish,” the woman told them, “and you are most welcome in my home.”
The little house was cozy, and the fire cast deep shadows into the corners of the single room—but not deep enough to hide the glittering treasures that covered every wall and every surface. To their amazement, the pirates spotted strange totems cast in shining gold, silver goblets inlaid with precious gems, etched swords and ancient armor, priceless relics from the distant ages—treasures from across the galaxy. The woman had amassed such treasure that what awaited the pirates in the hold of their ship paled in comparison.
“Tell me, what brings you here?” prompted Shelish. “For I am not used to visitors and would understand what has brought you to my doorstep in this strange and lonely place I call home.”
The pirates spun a tale of terrible woe, claiming they were hunted by fearsome pirates who sought to steal their ship and they had come to the moon to hide, only to find themselves lost in the darkening jungle, with nowhere left to turn and no way back to their vessel.
Shelish listened patiently and then, in turn, told of how she had long before been stranded on the moon after she, too, fled persecution and that, in all those long years, the three of them—Marath, Kalab, and Houliet—were the first visitors to come upon her home.
She promised them shelter and a bowl of warm broth, and she returned to her cauldron by the hearth, stirring and stirring the rich-scented contents. Not once did she ask for their help or intimate that they might rescue her by taking her with them aboard their ship.
The pirates were untrustworthy sorts, and despite the woman’s kindness, they plotted amongst themselves in whispered words and secret code. Just as they had betrayed their former colleagues, so, too, would they betray the woman. They resolved to make the most of her hospitality—to enjoy her broth and her shelter—before killing her and taking her treasure for their own, despite the fact that in the hold of their ship they already had more treasure than any of them could ever need. Such is the nature of greed, the affliction that strikes those who seek power and wealth above all else.
Shelish’s house, they decided, would become their hiding place, and they would store their riches there, away from prying eyes and thieving fingers, and from that day they would never have to work as pirates again.
Seemingly ignorant of their plans, Shelish merrily set about serving up their broth, so happy was she to have company once again after all those years alone. The broth smelled wonderful as she handed it to them in little golden bowls, each one engraved with strange and abstract symbols, and which the pirates knew were worth more than the woman could ever conceive.
Hungrily they slurped down the broth, savoring its delicious flavor, so welcome after such a nightmarish journey through the dark jungle—which, now they had reached safety, even the pirates had to admit had been terrifying. They sipped from goblets of rich, dark wine and feasted on succulent fruit, which Shelish told them had been scavenged from the nearby forest. All the while Shelish watched them eat, sipping only water as she sat by the fire in her wooden chair, smiling in pleasure at the pirates wolfing down her food.
While Kalab helped himself to seconds, Houliet asked Shelish whether she had any family—inquiring, in truth, to discover if the woman had any kin who might yet come in search of her, for the pirates wished to know that their treasure would be safe there, in that strange, melancholy house in the jungle.
Shelish shook her head. “I once had sisters, but now they are gone,” she told them, “although I seek to honor them every day.” Houliet smiled, for she knew that a woman alone in the world would nev
er be missed, and neither, therefore, would her treasure.
When they had finished their meal and assured Shelish that their appetites were sated, she collected their bowls and carried them to the other end of the room to rinse them clean.
While she had her back turned, Houliet gave Marath a signal, and in recognition he drew his dagger, rising to his feet with evil intent. On his face he wore a wicked grin, for he knew nothing but the ways of the pirates, and he thought only of the treasure that would be theirs once the terrible deed was done.
Yet Shelish was wise to the pirates’ plot, having, in truth, suspected all along that they harbored murderous intentions, and as Marath crept silently toward her, she turned, a knowing smile on her crimson lips.
There was something in that smile that caused the Weequay to halt in his tracks, his knifepoint wavering, but even as he did so his attention was drawn to the shadows in the far corner, which had—as if agitated by the very darkest of magic—begun to stir to life.
In horror, the three pirates watched as the shadows swirled like living things, dancing and cavorting, until, at last, they took form, swimming together to reveal the towering form of a shaggy-maned Wookiee.
Shelish laughed—a chill laugh that seemed to cut to the pirates’ very souls—as the Wookiee took a step toward Marath, a low, threatening growl rumbling in its throat. Its fur was the color of shadows, and its eyes were bright and yellow and menacing. It was half again as tall as Marath, looming over him as it blocked his path to Shelish. It tossed its head back and roared, revealing rows of teeth like vicious daggers.
Shelish waved a hand, and swirling mists followed in its wake, encircling her in lazy rings, bright and luminous, a sorcerous barrier to defend her against attack.
The pirates knew that they stood no chance of overpowering the witch and her Wookiee familiar, and yet, as if compelled to see the plan through, or perhaps dazzled by the promise of treasure, Marath threw himself toward Shelish with murder in his eyes.
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