Star Wars game omake 1: The Tomb of Vash Ta'lorn
So, this is the first post of Omake, or "bonus material", for the Star Wars game that my bf is running. It's kind of my novelization of certain parts of the story pertaining to my character and other story elements I had a hand in. This particular snippet is the introduction to one of the villains, an Arkanian Sith Lord by the name of Vash Ta'lorn. I don't do villains very well, so this was a good technical exercise for me.
Prologue: The Tomb of Vash Ta’lorn
Veins in his hands ridged up against the skin, a crooked web of agony. The bones in his face made a similar bid for freedom, drawing his flesh taut and making his mouth a rictus. It was more than age; it was corruption. Decay whilst still living. He was barely 40. It was the price the darkness within demanded for his power, and he was determined to cheat it! The fragile husk of a man spread crabbed fingers against the glass of the observation tank, remains of his lips curling into a snarl. The peaceful visage of a strong male form gazed out at him, belonging to a body both handsome and powerful.
Once, this vacant shell had been his fondest hope. His people, the Arkanians, were masters of the genetic arts. It was to them Vash Ta’lorn fled when his dark powers began to devour his very flesh. The Sith excelled in self preservation, and Ta’lorn was confident that he could possess the body of a suitable vessel. One, a lackluster designation for the experiment, was a combination of science and sorcery. Its DNA was gilded with the finest traits of several species, including the regenerative cells of the ageless Gen-dai, and its connection to the Force cemented by an alchemically procured infusion of Ta’lorn’s own blood.
He bitterly recalled the day Adar Varban, the chief scientist of his private laboratory, presented One in all its glory for him to take possession of. The doctor, as much showman as he was scientist, had displayed the experiment on a smooth opal byre. It was the first time that Ta’lorn laid eyes upon the body that was to become his own, a graceful, muscular form attired in a simple suit of shimmering black Cathari silk. Emblazoned on the tunic in red dye was his own sigil, and according to Ta’lorn’s cosmetic specifications, the creature had his own complexion of pale blue-white skin and hair almost as dark as the silk it wore. One was perfect. Perfect!
The experiment’s eyes were open, revealing startling blue irises. Though designed with the advanced intelligence capabilities Arkanian science prided itself on instilling in all offshoots of their own species, One was imprinted with only the basic consciousness necessary for life. It stared at the ceiling with the placid glaze of Rohn cattle, awaiting instructions. It had no will of its own, but at a command from Varban, rose and performed a stunning display of physical prowess. One enacted a series of acrobatic maneuvers, dispatched a combat offshoot with deadly precision, and then returned to lie on the byre.
The lifting off of his formless essence from his rotting body was the sweetest spiritual experience Ta’lorn had ever indulged in. He took possession of One with no resistance whatsoever, and enjoyed a day of unparalleled power in his own skin. But that ended with the night. In his sleep, the corruption of his spirit attacked the artificial form and he awoke in a pain more terrible than any he had experienced thus far. Luckily, his former body was merely in stasis, and he was able to return to the withering husk. At the time, it seemed infinitely preferable to what had become of One.
Furious, he demanded his geneticists try again, and again. Three bodies in all, two male and one female. He had hoped in vain that Three’s form might hold his essence better than a man’s. But here they all remained, in their peaceful, empty sleep. Once his poisonous essence vacated their forms, the experiments’ Gen’dai cells went to work, repairing them. But he could not spend so much as a night in their skin.
Just beyond the row of experiment tanks, in what almost seemed to be a place of worship in the secular and sterile hollows of the lab, rested the vial containing his blood. It hung suspended above a small altar, thick red contents illuminated from above by soft silver light. His precious blood, extracted at great cost. The alchemical processes that enabled the blood to transfer much of his sensitivity to the Force to the experiments were arduous and dangerous. So much so, that no Sith before him had dared to attempt what he had done. The first time had almost killed him; he could not survive a second.
Looking at it once filled him with pride. No one else had been brave enough, desperate enough, to do what he had done. Now, he was consumed by fear and defeat. Varban told him that the dwindling sample held only enough blood for two more attempts. And the doctor did not believe they would be any more successful than the first three. Two more experiments, a third male and second female, where being prepped, nonetheless. Ta’lorn didn’t even want to risk the transfer another time; One’s connection to the Force had been every bit as strong as his original form, but by Three, he had sensed a noticeable difference. The sample was degrading. It wasn’t worth risking actually dying the next time only to have an unsuccessful, inferior form for a matter of hours.
He needed a new plan, and soon.
He gazed into the mirrored wall behind the sleek glass vial, yellowed eyes and skull-like features glaring back out at him. At this rate, the taint would claim him. As much as he hated to admit it, he was too well-versed in genetic science to come to any other conclusion. Arkanian bodies did not seem to be able to harness the Dark Side in any great extent. In fact, his research had led him to believe that few bodies of any species could. Physical form, it seemed, was not enough; he needed a spirit both gifted in the Force and easily seduced to Darkness. A host he could graft and grow onto, body and soul, like a cancer.
Two young lab technicians brought the tanks of the final experiments in on repulsor carts. Reverently, they lined Four and Five up with the rest of the bodies. He caught the gleam of ambition in the luminous eyes of one tech, admiring his work openly. Syran Vos, an exemplary paragon of both Arkanian physique and intellect. The young man had worked extensively on Ta’lorn’s project, and it had been he who discovered how to successfully embed the coveted Gen’dai cells into the base makeup that would be grown into the experiments. It was a pity he wasn’t Force Sensitive; he would have made an excellent host, and his knowledge a welcome addition to Ta’lorn’s own considerable mind.
But there were others out there like him, young men of ambition and darkness. A gambit began to form in Ta’lorn’s mind. He glanced up at the neat line of physically powerful and mentally malleable experiments, either already imbued with part of his power or about to be so. Waste Not.
“Vos, go ahead and infuse the last two with the reminder of my sample. Then prep all five for imprinting. My specifications will arrive shortly.”
“Yes sir.”
Despite the wretched, creaking voice of the man who commanded him, the technician took down the notes with alacrity, bowed low with respect. Ta’lorn’s mood was somewhat alleviated. So long as he held the fear and respect of his underlings, there was hope. He swept across the room, determined to walk erect despite the pain, midnight blue robes rustling along the floor. The door anticipated him with a depressurizing hiss as he held his wrist to his lips, speaking low into the comm link.
“Prepare the ship, Filn, and yourself. I have work for you.”
* * *
An ornate dome dominated the jungle complex. The last rays of the setting sun dyed its glass ceiling deeper crimson and reminded Vash Ta’lorn of the sample of his blood those three years ago. Red light bathed minarets of dusky golden sunstone, reflected off of bronze gates and accents. Inside, he knew the windows were curtained in soft, sheer fabrics, and the walls covered in ornate mosaics that displayed the ancient Sith in all their glory. Not a few among them displayed him, his life and his triumphs. While they were not Zeltron, he did admit to a certain vanity and hedonism among his kind.
Filn was there, to bid him off and obtain his reward. The slender, stalk necked Kaminoan, rare among his kind in his gifts of the Force, was fairly salivating. As Ta’lorn’s apprentice, a rich inheritance was his once Ta’lorn lay resting in his “tomb”. Arkanian secrets of cloning, that had been divulged to no one outside of their kind ever before, were his to behold. Provided, of course, that he destroyed Ta’lorn’s lab and all within. Ta’lorn’s spider programs were ready to download the data to a secure channel once news of the explosion resounded through the Arkanian official comm system.
Ta’lorn fingered the chip containing the code to the account where the information would download.
“Your final report,” he wheezed. In just three years, he had degenerated to the point where he appeared to belong in a tomb more than ever.
“I have spread the story even unto the reaches of Republic space, my master.”
If Ra Filn was unnerved by his mentor’s waxy skin, stretched thin over his now hairless skull, he gave no sign. Then again, his black, liquid eyes flicked ever constantly to Ta’lorn’s hand, and the chip grasped in the skeletal digits. Perhaps, in his avarice, he did not notice at all.
“Vash Ta’lorn, the great Sith Lord, has died and taken all his wealth and knowledge with him to the grave. A great tomb, protected by deathless guards with unquestioning obedience and cunning devices designed by the Sith Lord himself, lies in wait for he who can conquer it. To the victor go the . . . spoils. I even sent out over a dozen maps, all suitably vague and several definitely false in the nastiest of ways,” his blue lips curled in a cruel smile. “Even had a Jedi or two who picked up the trail.”
The irony was not lost on Ta’lorn, and would provide him with many pleasant dreams during his long slumber. Vash Ta’lorn reborn in a Jedi host would be an exquisite blow to deal the hated enemies, who had driven his people from their home planet over 700 years ago. He smiled himself, or tried to, pulling skin back from brown teeth. Filn had earned his prize.
Characteristically, his apprentice was not one for long, sentimental farewells. He submitted in silence to a mind probe to determine the truth of his claims, then took the chip and hastened back to his ship with nary a backward glance. He had told his master no lies, though; with any luck, Ta’lorn would see him again soon.
Twilight was now falling on the tomb, hidden deep within a massive jungle on a primitive world at the edge of unknown space. Vash Ta’lorn turned from the small ship, a ball of light rapidly dwindling in the darkening sky. His guardians, the failed offshoot experiments, stood in an honor guard on the effigy lined avenue that led into the complex.
Each experiment, like One, bore the long black hair he had once been so fond of and idealized Arkanian features. Each had the five digit fingers of more base, simian species for enhanced grappling, and had been grown to the pinnacle of health and vigor, which their Gen’dai cells would see that they maintained indefinitely. And each had been imprinted with unconditional loyalty, a directive to serve their master, and the lethal skills of a Sith adept. They were even stamped with his mark, the ancient Sith sigil of Mastery, tattooed just below their collarbones. It was the entourage of a king
Failures as they were in their primary purpose, Ta’lorn still felt an almost fatherly pride beholding them. The three he had actually possessed, his favorites, waited on his right. They would be the tomb’s interior guard. The final two, smaller and weaker than the rest, stood on the left and would patrol the perimeter. They were the first step of the final challenge to his would-be hosts. Even as mediocre as they were, they had come from him, and would be more than enough for any unworthy applicant. After all, they had held their own easily when it came to slaughtering the burly Massassi builders of the mausoleum only earlier this afternoon. When he retired to the magnificent sepulcher beneath the dome, entering his death-like stasis, they would begin their long vigil by burying the unsightly dead.