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“Buried. Trapped. Thy mettle will be tested. Will you survive or remain forevermore within your new grave?”
Objective; Survive. Escape.
Secondary Objective; Retrieve the Artifact.
No one ever really survived Oricon. You merely left before it noticed you were there.
The glacier had been quiet for years. Slumbering like a beast whose hunger had been forgotten. That changed the moment the Obsidian Court uncovered the signal. A pulse. Faint, rhythmic, too structured to be natural. Deep readings confirmed it; something buried beneath the Shattered Fang had awakened. A vault, perhaps. A prison, more likely.
Sith Master Veraxis had dispatched two of his most volatile apprentices… not as a team, but as rivals. Myrren and Yulvaris. They were to descend into the fault line and secure the artifact responsible for the signal. Each had their own reasons. Each expected to return alone.
Neither realized it might be their last assignment.
The descent was steep—first through black stone, then through veins of glacial ice that shimmered with unnatural hues. They passed carvings frozen mid-scream in the walls, and brittle bridges of dark crystal. The air thinned. The Force grew dim. Even the light from their glowrods seemed to shrink the deeper they went.
At the bottom, they found the door; obsidian alloy, bound in Sith alchemy, beating faintly like a heart. It took both of them to unlock it. Power aligned not through trust, but necessity. When the seal broke, so had the glacier above.
The vault welcomed them with a scream of shifting ice and falling sky.
They tried to run but it was too late.
The collapse sealed the world behind them. Now, a kilometer of ice hangs above their heads. No signals can escape. No reinforcements are coming to rescue them. The only way forward is down through ruins untouched for hundreds of years, carved in languages neither of them can understand, pulsing with energies that feel hungry.
There is warmth, yes. A geothermal pulse within the stone that keeps the place barely survivable. But the cold lingers in the walls. In the bones. In the eyes of the corpses frozen in alcoves, arms stretched toward doors that never opened.
And deeper still… something moves. Something that stirs when they draw on the Force. It listens when they speak. It waits.
They may yet find the artifact. One of them may even leave with it.
But first, they must survive each other.
Objective; Survive. Escape.
Secondary Objective; Retrieve the Artifact.
No one ever really survived Oricon. You merely left before it noticed you were there.
The glacier had been quiet for years. Slumbering like a beast whose hunger had been forgotten. That changed the moment the Obsidian Court uncovered the signal. A pulse. Faint, rhythmic, too structured to be natural. Deep readings confirmed it; something buried beneath the Shattered Fang had awakened. A vault, perhaps. A prison, more likely.
Sith Master Veraxis had dispatched two of his most volatile apprentices… not as a team, but as rivals. Myrren and Yulvaris. They were to descend into the fault line and secure the artifact responsible for the signal. Each had their own reasons. Each expected to return alone.
Neither realized it might be their last assignment.
The descent was steep—first through black stone, then through veins of glacial ice that shimmered with unnatural hues. They passed carvings frozen mid-scream in the walls, and brittle bridges of dark crystal. The air thinned. The Force grew dim. Even the light from their glowrods seemed to shrink the deeper they went.
At the bottom, they found the door; obsidian alloy, bound in Sith alchemy, beating faintly like a heart. It took both of them to unlock it. Power aligned not through trust, but necessity. When the seal broke, so had the glacier above.
The vault welcomed them with a scream of shifting ice and falling sky.
They tried to run but it was too late.
The collapse sealed the world behind them. Now, a kilometer of ice hangs above their heads. No signals can escape. No reinforcements are coming to rescue them. The only way forward is down through ruins untouched for hundreds of years, carved in languages neither of them can understand, pulsing with energies that feel hungry.
There is warmth, yes. A geothermal pulse within the stone that keeps the place barely survivable. But the cold lingers in the walls. In the bones. In the eyes of the corpses frozen in alcoves, arms stretched toward doors that never opened.
And deeper still… something moves. Something that stirs when they draw on the Force. It listens when they speak. It waits.
They may yet find the artifact. One of them may even leave with it.
But first, they must survive each other.
