The dark durasteel hall drank in all light from the distant sun as the small ship darted like a shadow towards Korriban. As the forsaken planet loomed, the whispers of long dead Sith Lords stretched out through the Force. Their cries of aggression and hate radiated with the intensity of a black sun. The robed and hooded figure in the meditation chamber of the ship grinned. The ancient Sith knew why he has here.
The empty cockpit whistled and beeped as the controls moved effortlessly and autonomously, guiding the ship into a perfect landing onto the rocky, desolate surface. Ksshhhhh, the landing ramp lowered and the sound of the pressurized air mixed with the whistling of the wind and sand. It almost sounded like the screams of the tormented souls forced to build the tombs that lay in the valley ahead. The hooded figure slowly, deliberately descended. His robes were coarse and black. His stature, small and slightly hunched. What little exposed skin was bleached white and ravaged as if by untold centuries. Yet despite his small figure, his presence emanated a great power. The air around him seemed to sizzle and crack with energy. A harsh smell of ozone accompanied him as we walked towards the lost Valley of the Sleeping Kings.
Large humanoid statues stood a hundred meters tall on either side of the valley entrance. Carved from solid rock their great spears were crossed in contention to intruders. Along their bodies, etched in a million different languages was an ancient promise: swift death finds all who enter here. The hooded figure laughed, a hideous cackle. Six thousand years ago, at the height of the Sith Empire, such a threat would have held just as little meaning to him as it does today. He continued under the arch of spears and stepped into the valley.
Just as soon as his foot fell, the valley came alive with the echoes of a hundred hissing reptiles. Three meters long, standing two meters tall and covered in a million spiny scales, the monsters rushed towards the figure. Their two, six inch talons, gleaming on each of their four legs, as their spike covered tail waved behind them. Yet the hooded figure merely continued walking forward completely undeterred. As the nearest reptilian creature drew with a meter its mouth opened wide, revealing an array of three rows of sharp serrated teeth. Suddenly a crack, like a great sonic boom, ran through the canyon and a tremendous pressure wave sent the nearest forty assailants sailing into the rock walls, shattering bones and crashing skulls. The remaining attackers arrested their momentum and quickly changed direction fleeing in terror. The hssiss, as their species is known, are easily manipulated by the wills of the dead Sith whose spirits still roam their forgotten tombs. But as the hooded figure knew, all things' wills bend to fear.
On he went through the ancient ruins, once great mausoleums of the fallen. Now, collapsed and eroded by time. Desolated by thousands of years of grave robbers scouring for Sith relics of immense power. They were all of them deceived. For the power that lay in these ruins did not reside in the artifacts, but in the secret knowledge contained deep within.
If not for the foreboding echoes of the dead, or the suffering that still seemed to cling to the chiseled rocks, the place may have once held a certain majesty. For great stone statues of the Sith Lords lined the walls and their tombs were intricately carved, containing may places for large gems and plated gold, long stolen away. But the hooded figure felt no sorrow for the loss grandeur. Indeed, he felt little kinship with the founders of his creed. They were weak. Their death, a testimony to their failures. There was, but one whose power he respected. And even this great master succumbed to the relentless pursuit of time. After countless millennia controlling the shadows and breading chaos, Darth Plagueis was no more. His secrets buried deep by his fallen brethren, who were so horrified by his power that they had stricken his name from every record and attempted to destroy his tomb. As in all other things they had failed at this too.
Hours passed and night began to fall, until finally the methodical pace of the hooded figure took him to the end of the valley. There a great mountain stood, the remnants of a long dormant volcano. The dark figure at last came to a stop. There he stood for a long time, as the seven moons of Korriban crossed overhead. Reaching out with the Force, he rooted himself in place. Building invisible tethers to the hard bedrock. Time seemed to slow and after what may have been an eternity his hands darted outwards so fast another sonic boom filled the canyon. His fingers were curled into talons, his palms extended up towards the dark night sky. Slowly he began to rise his arms reaching over his head. As he did the earth began to shake. Large cracks formed in the rocks of the volcano. Tremors spread throughout the valley, until suddenly the massive mountain itself began to lift into the air. Rocks cascaded down in every direction. Crushing ancient statues and filling the valley behind the hooded figure. Yet he remained stationary and though rocks tumbled behind him, none came within ten meters of his rigid form. With a brush of his hands to the left, he sent the long dead volcano crashing down into a distant valley. Where once there was a mountain now lay only jagged rocks and a half buried sphere of solid lava two hundred meters in diameter. The ancient Sith Lords sought to destroy the tomb of Darth Plagueis by tapping deep into the crust of Korriban to resurrect a volcano underneath. They had only succeeded in burying the crypt deep under the earth. For the Force protected his tomb from the scorching heat of the magma. Now their failure was complete.
With a sharp thrust of his fist the hooded figure punched a two meter hole in the rock that still encased the tomb. Slowly, deliberately he entered.
Far from the ruins of the other crypts, Darth Plagueis's burial site was in pristine condition. Although, far less opulent in terms of gems, it was made of a type of polished black marble, that glimmered and flowed in the starlight. Its shape resembled that of an enormous pentagonal pyramid with its base held on the backs of a thousand salves molded from a type of obsidian like metal. Each of them two and a half meters tall. From their form, they were likely modeled after the ancient sith species that were native to Korriban, now long extinct. The only structure that decorated the exterior was an elaborate model of the galaxy which was surrounded on the top and bottom by two giant hands that seemed poised to crush it. While this adorned the forward facing side, There was no discernible entrance that the eye could see. But the hooded figure was not looking with his eyes. With the flick of his wrist the figure reached out with the Force and bent two of the slaves so they were prostrating before him, revealing the entrance beyond. Using theirs arms as a ramp the figure stepped into the vault.
Inside, was a great antechamber, its walls were laced with platinum and gold tapestries. From floor to ceiling the images told of the many heinous crimes committed by the Dark Lord. Two adjacent large staircases led up to the central chamber, in the center of which, lie the statue of a great guardian. It was more than three meters tall with the head of an alien skull. Its four arms extended outwards ready to attack, though bearing no weapons. The statue was made of a white metal that stood in stark contrast to the black marble floor. The hooded figure reached out to the statue with the Force, expecting a trap, but the whole place was shrouded in an ethereal shadow. If this bothered him he did not show it, and he continued to walk up one of the staircases to the main burial chamber.
A booming yet hollow warning echoed through the room, resonating from the very walls. "Go no further or face certain doom." The baritone words seemed bereft of life, empty and forlorn.
Again the hooded figure's hideous cackle of a laugh escaped his lips. "You resist me even in death, just as I have foreseen. It is of no consequence. I will have what I seek. And you will surrender yourself to me." The statement was spoken with absolute certainty, bending the future to the fulfillment of his will. And his voice, it would have given a rancor chills; erratically alternating between high and low pitch it was precisely calculated to induce fear. The words were malice, ripe with hatred, and dripping with power. He continued to walk forward.
When he was within a few meters of the burial chamber entrance the guardians eyes blazed a fiery yellow and with that it came to life: a darkside golem. Moving almost swifter than the eye can see it reached down to its belt and extracted four lightsabers. Their characteristic snap-hiss filled the antechamber as they ignited. A blood red glow fell upon the room. Without hesitating the guardian swung two of his swords directly down on the hooded figures head, just as it prepared to swing the other two across his body. It never got the chance.
The hooded figure blocked the first two lightsabers with his bare hands, using the Force to dissipate the the extreme heat of the plasma. He then sent the metal golem careening into the far wall with a powerful force push.
As the guardian righted himself. The air began to spark and crackle with static electricity. Suddenly great lightening bolts shot forth from the hooded figure's finger tips. They collided with the guardian and surrounded him in a halo of bright blue light. The chamber filled with the smell of ozone.
"Hahahaha, you are skilled, stranger, but it will not save you." The golem laughed. Its voice again emanating from the very stones. It advanced, seemingly unaffected by the lightening.
Still rooted to his spot halfway up the stairs with the lightening cascading from his hands, a great scowl spread across the hooded figure's face. As the warrior advanced the figure reached out with the Force toward the ceiling and sent spears of energy into the microscope crevices in the rock, causing them to fragment and fall. Large junks of black marble began to rain down on the golem. However, he was more nimble than he appeared. Dodging them easily, he swung this time with all four of his lightsabers in a crisscross motion. The hooded figure had no choice but to evade. Using the Force he vaulted into the air and landed on the other side of the antechamber. Turning, he saw that the golem wasn't far behind. The lightsabers were becoming a problem, but nothing could match the power of the Darkside. At the heart of darkness lies chaos and the essence of chaos is entropy. As the metal golem advanced, he reached out into the Force, harnessing his anger and hatred for this nuisance to maintain focus. Time began to slow as he tapped into the fuel cells that powered the plasma swords. Enough energy was stored to power them for generations, but with the Darkside the hooded figure turned seconds into centuries. The glowing swords began to flicker, fade and as the golem swung them in a fatal arc, they abruptly were extinguished. A wry smile found its way to the shrouded figures face as he repeated one of his favorite Sith proverbs: "all lights must go out."
If the metal guardian was perplexed by the loss of his weapons he did not show it. Without the slightest hesitation he moved to hand tactics. Striking at the black robed figure with a series of twenty lightening jabs, followed by several round house kicks. But each time he struck nothing but air. The hooded figure had created some sort of force field around himself. The harder it hit the stronger the shield became. The attacks could not get through. So again the guardian switched tactics. Using two of us arms he reached for the hooded figures neck. Although it could not strike him, it could grasp the edges of his shield. With a powerful throw, the golem tossed the robed figure across the room into the other staircase.
Adjusting mid air, the robed figure landed softly on the top of the stairs, another grisly smile on his face. But in a blink of an eye, his face morphed and contorted into a look of absolute rage. Energy billowed off him in waves and then, suddenly, a tremendous explosion filled the room. It seemed to originate from the guardian's own metal chest plate. It blew apart one of the far walls and buried the golem in an avalanche of rocks. The hooded figure stood firmly in place, completely untouched by the blast.
Again the guardian's voice rang out from the rubble "You would tamper with the very fabric with which we are made. Such a reckless display of power I have not seen for countless generations. But you cannot destroy me. My armor was woven with the Darkside of the Force. You would have to dismantle it atom by atom. By then I will have escaped and avenged this witless intrusion."
The dark figure reached out with the Force to the incapacitated golem, a flood of memories washed over him and immediately it all became clear. "So it is with Darth Grievous I quarrel. An apprentice of Darth Plagueis, you attempted to take your master's life. As punishment, he bound your soul to this retched form to protect his crypt for eternity. You are a fool. I have mastered the Darkside of the Force. Serve me and I will release you from his curse."
"Why should I exchange one master for another? I am bound to his will." Replied the golem, struggling to free himself. Though buried under meters of rock his voice radiated clearly.
"And soon you will be bound to another's. Each passing moment brings you closer to being my servant. You, like the galaxy, will be mine!" With that the hooded figure turned and passed through the entrance to the main burial chamber. Once he had obtained the secret of Darth Plagueis's power, none could resist him.
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