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Game ⚜️ Knights of the Eternal Empire: The True Sith Trials ⚜️

Darth Dreadwar

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Immortalis
GM Update

IC: Ermir Marcus
Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban


The stair beneath the dungeons resembled the spinal column of a sea leviathan, a long, thin rope of uneven rock winding down into an ocean of darkness. The precipitous spiral had no rail, and each ginger footfall down the craggy vertebrae of its steps was accompanied by the perilous sound of pebbles crumbling away underfoot, skittering in the pitch-black depths. The wall to the left, the only support a hand might seek, gave away after only twelve feet, as the stair continued its relentless convolutions into the midst of a sea of black infinity.

The echoes of falling stone indicated a gargantuan cavern.

The sounds of the dungeons above faded with its light, the faint glow of the passageway whence Keres had come shrinking down to a distant window of flickering orange. A great silence descended, broken only by the intermittent patter of pebbles and scattered rock–and the gasping breaths of those unfortunate few who dared ever descend the secret stair, as the air grew stale and musty, dust rising to choke lungs already shuddering in the clotted perfumes of decay. The dark side was strong here, and oppressive. Not even the glimmer of a lightsaber could pierce the gloom, only, at most, shed the barest illumination upon where the stair abruptly terminated into blackness with each sudden turn.

A hundred blind footsteps, twenty twists of the coil, and the stair ended. A torch flickered to life, unbidden, and the darkness retreated but ten meters, as if temporarily repelled by the tongues of flame flicking from the wall, but circling with rapine intent. Beside the torch was an archway, beyond which nothing could be seen, two more wall-mounted sconces, yet unlit, and two statues, identical save for where millennia of erosion had worn away a crudely carved helmet. A keen student of history might recognise the cruel, hoary countenance of Karness Muur, dead eyes staring with sightless malice above beards of stone.

But there were crueler eyes staring.

A woman stood in front of the archway of darkness. She was not Lady Apollyon.

purebloodpriestess.jpgShe turned, as if detecting Keres' presence, and in the flickering light of the torch the demoniac shade of her crimson skin was laid bare, creasing around a rotting half-smile of exposed molars. A Zabrak without horns? A Zeltron with glowing eyes? The fiend was no species Keres had ever seen before.

In her hands was a device resembling a datapad, wires trailing to a crooked niche in the wall behind, suggesting it had been torn out. The screen raced with letters beneath the fiend's black fingernails, flashing between splotches of green and blue with epileptic frenzy. To a master of the lost art of mechu deru, sending a message via the Temple's central training programme was no difficult feat. The perfect trap, overriding an acolyte's skepticism of such self-sabotaging instructions through the sheer authority of their own regent's orders. Perfect, at least, until the last class.

Bodies lay around Keres, barely visible at the periphery of the torch's light. They wore copper masks, and their hands, outstretched as if intent on causing Keres to stumble, bore no lightsabers.

Jidai,” the strange woman hissed.

And the darkness answered. “Jiiiidaaaiii!” the shadow slayers whispered, slinking from the blackness with pitted swords of iron held aloft in skeletal hands. Their own masks were bone, seven skulls grinning beneath raised hoods of tattered black. “Jiiiddaaaaii...”


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Blind to Keres' plight in the underlevels below, Ermir Marcus raised his hand. He saw neither the retreating back of Zareel, nor the absent gestures of Kielor; he saw only red. “You dare address me in that manner,” he shouted at Xiannarr, “you mewling milksop of a mumpsimus, you bantha-brained fool of an imbecile, you Chaos-bound cockalorum!” Among Ermir's many predilections, his eccentric grasp of Basic was perhaps equally notorious to his predation and perversion. Strings of obscure insults, drawn from the dusted pages of a Pius Dea dictionary, usually preceded more lethal chastisement.

A bolt of lightning hurled itself from Ermir's outstretched hand, crossing the distance between the outraged alchemist and his fellow overseer in an instant. But in the furor of his rage, Ermir had misjudged his aim, and the sizzling bolts of electricity screeched past Xiannarr's ear, impacting on the stone wall. An embedded control console sparked, and exploded.


The dungeons were alight with fire.

TAGs: @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Kielor, possibly @Zareel Jhenan´doka

OOC:
Ermir Marcus attacks Xiannarr with Force Lightning, equivalent to 3 Skill Points. The Attack Roll is 2 (+ 15 + 5), failing to overcome Xiannarr's Difficulty Class of 30. There is no need to check Kielor's Force usage at this time.

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IC: Teraktassi
Hangar of the Wrath of Vader, approaching Korriban


The engines of the Wrath of Vader trailed dark blood as the colossal Star Dreadnaught passed over the TIE Reaper like a great firaxan shark birthed from the black gulfs of Manaan, leaving the lone transport ship and its tenebrous foe bathed in a low arterial glow. Perhaps a silent prayer had been answered, or perhaps Sedicious’ illusions had held true, but the behemoth did not turn; the Devastator-class warship sliced through the fabric of space as a dagger headed towards the heart of Korriban, destroyers launching from its shadowed hangars and wheeling about with dreadful purpose to face the defense flotilla scrambling in confused chaos ahead.

The TIE Reaper faced a leviathan of its own.

“Breathe fire!” Lord Cruor bellowed in the void, and the dragon answered. “Fire!” Lord Māhnîu commanded, and the Reaper retorted.

Draa’zekyl’s gout of flame went wide as the Reaper whirled in evasive action, opening fire with concealed L-s9.3 laser cannons. It had been impossible to tell where the Reaper was previously, but the bolts of ruby plasma streaking from star-spattered blackness now betrayed the invisible troop carrier’s position. Yet 114D had aimed true, and the packets of plasma peppered Draa’zekyl’s armoured hide, scales blistering beneath an onslaught that would have downed any starfighter.

The battle was on.

Aboard the receding dreadnaught, Teraktassi addressed his troops. A thousand glowing eyes, the colour of angry Horuset, glowered from below, ranks of wicked warriors with hulking profiles and crimson skin jabbing the points of their pole-arms against the hangar deck in a chorus of gathering malice. “Gorbazg azg turaktul,” Teraktassi began, in a harsh, alien tongue. Our time has come. “Gurazg orbatok guri nyâsh dyi murok throl, inzig septaka jenihil perann.” For thirty thousand years we waited, in the darkness of the Unknown Regions...


TAGs: @Darth Cruor, @Darth Sedicious, @Ānhrā Māhnîu

OOC:
For a space battle between a Pet and a Vehicle, using ordinary battle mechanics of Difficulty Class, Hit Points and Skill Point x d6 Damage rolls wouldn't make much sense (and wouldn't make for a fair fight if contrived to apply, as Cruor's Difficulty Class is much higher), so we will use a simple d20 to determine whether an attack from the spaceship or the dragon hits (with 10 being the target number for success), and a second d20 to determine damage (with 0-5 from the TIE Reaper's laser cannons causing minimal damage, 6-10 causing moderate damage, 11-15 causing severe damage, and 16-20 killing the dragon, while the dragon's breath, canonically stated to be over twenty times more powerful than a turbolaser, will result in moderate damage with a roll of 0-5, severe damage with 6-10, and destruction of the TIE Reaper with 11-20).

The dragon rolled an 8 (with a penalty of -5), unable to overcome the target number of 10, and failing. The Reaper rolled a 16, overcoming the target number of 10, and succeeding; the subsequent d20 Damage Roll was 5. I applied a penalty of -5 to Cruor's Attack Roll to reflect the invisibility of the Reaper, although the Reaper is now firing so its position is no longer so difficult to determine. Sedicious' Battle Meditation wouldn't affect 114D, so I gave no bonus to the TIE Reaper's Attack Roll. This isn't the appropriate power to attempt to mentally dominate Cruor's mount, so did not roll for his usage of Battle Meditation against Draa’zekyl, although will apply a penalty against future Attack Rolls, to accurately reflect hostile usage of Battle Meditation.


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IC: Necro Solaar
Communications chamber, Fountain Palace, Hapes

A cerulean haze coalesced above the table, striated with flickering streaks of white, a grainy hologram flowing from an embedded projector to tower above Aurelia Chume. Had she but eyes to see, rusted sabatons, sharpened to cruel points, would have occupied her eyeline, as if their owner were defiling her palace by standing upon its furniture, a tattered cloak of black, midnight blue by the projector’s dim light, flowing upwards like an inverse waterfall, terminating six feet above at a cowl of rotting raiment. Nothing could be seen within the hood.

Goledriel averted her eyes, a deep sigh emanating from her painted lips, as she paused near the entryway and turned to face her nightmare. Solaar smiled.

“Darth Traya,” came forth the seething, hissing whisper, each syllable lingering like malignant poison, settling in the chamber with the ominous finality of chosen fate. The voice was as hollow as the tombs of Korriban and chilling as the crypts of Ziost, scratching at the ears as if its audience were being flayed to the bone. It was the same susurrus that had once scourged the galaxy, echoing with the terror of the ten trillion subjects who had stood enraptured by holographic broadcasts that had mercifully lain silent for two years. It was the voice of Darth Dreadwar the Magnificent.

“Aboard the vessel that brought you to these stars,” the hologram hissed, “you swore an oath of personal fealty to me, under the Crown of Verity. In return, I gave you the crown of Hapes. Now, I am come to collect on your debt.”

A rotting gauntlet rose, claws caressing the air. “Lisssten to my words, blind one, and lissten well. Upon receipt of this message, you are to deploy the Battle Dragons of Hapes to the Stygian Caldera. You are to turn all the power of the Hapes Consortium, all its wealth, all its sssoldiers, upon the New Sith Order. You are to lay wassste to Dromund Kaasss and Dromund Felsss, to Ziosst, to Rhelg, to Korriban and Korriz. You are to betray your former compatriotsss, your alliess, and destroy that which you call the Sith Empire, and all its factionss. You will leave none alive.”

Solaar’s smile deepened.

“You will do this thing, Darth Traya, or you will die… for I remind you that your vow of unswerving obedience is unbreakable, and to defy the Crown of Verity is to forfeit your life. Hear my words, blind one, and obey.”

The hologram flickered out, leaving only the silence of death, and the Lady of Betrayal.


TAG: @Darth Traya

OOC:
For Traya’s usage of Farsight and Precognition, we will roll d20s with usual modifiers against a DC of 10, followed by d6 Effect Rolls if successful. For Farsight, she rolled a 14 (+19 + 10), and for Precognition, she rolled a 12 (+19 + 10); her Effect Rolls were 5 + 2 and 1 + 4 + 2 + 4, respectively. She cannot perceive anything significant via Farsight, but her Precognition shows her muddled imagery of Solaar grinning beside a ghoul in a desert, and the vague chaos of an attack in a throne room resembling that of the Fountain Palace; Goledriel cannot be sensed in these visions, but they are faded like a snippet of a dream.

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IC: Commander Threntel
Walkway near the border of the Desrini District, Coruscant

Threntel hurled himself into a roll, a sizzling plume of plasma whizzing by overhead, singeing the scarlet-dyed Endorian horse hairs that sprouted from his bronze-rimmed helm. He emerged from his roll in a crouch, pressing his back against a large chunk of permacrete as Deleritas’ voice crackled through his wrist communicator. For a second, turned towards the trench he had just vacated, he was afforded a view of the reinforcements racing across the abandoned speeder park towards the battlefield. There were Stormtroopers with armour as white as Threntel’s own among the black-plated ranks, but they bore no crests; not centurions of the Sith, but privates of the New Galactic Empire, loyal to Empress Volshe. The crimson figures with staves of plasmic silver could only be Imperial Knights.

The Sith governor had been careful to court the favour of Volshe and Apollyon both, Threntel knew, and the recent alliance between the two regents was a welcome implication for the defense of Coruscant. And the Sith Civil War, Threntel thought, but there was no time for further rumination.

Turning, he aimed his blaster rifle around the jagged edge of the boulder, aligning the sights at the retreating back of a Federation soldier. He squeezed off a shot before ducking back behind cover, bringing his wrist towards his visor the instant Deleritas finished speaking. “Pizza the Hutt,” he said simply, providing the Sith Knight with an easily-identifiable position from which to launch his assault; the pizzeria, four blocks past the ruined Dex’s Diner and two blocks past the fleeing Federation lines, was shaped like a giant Hutt. It was larger than any of the other buildings save the locked-down starscrapers, and the durasteel of its sculpted shell would stand up to heavy repeating blasters better than the crumbled ceramacrete of the neighbouring stores.

Deleritas’ suggestion of avoiding friendly fire was obvious, but Threntel still saw utility in blockading the walkway, preventing the Feds from simply fleeing into the neighbouring CoCo District. “Have half your men leave their speeder bikes across the walkway ahead first, block their path before falling to join you in the diner on the right. There’s alleyways on either side, ensure they’re cut off too.” Only the Sith possessed the code cylinders to ignite the speeders’ repulsors, and they were heavy enough to make acceptable obstacles.

Threntel poked out behind his cover again, firing at the evermore distant backs, before standing and waving his hand. “Come on, men!” he shouted, charging forward with his head lowered. The fire from the Federation fighters had diminished to retreating potshots, and Threntel was not the only one to take advantage; he noticed Darth Vesper, accompanied by a retinue of Imperial Knights, ducking into Dex’s Diner. A good vantage point of the battlefield, but the Imperial lines would swiftly sweep past her. What good would her lightsaber do them over there?

Inside, Rand Ko pointed out the window on the right. “My lady, the chaingun turret,” he said. “Can you reposition it?” The Federation artillery had been abandoned, but the two Sith Stormtroopers struggling to turn the heavy gun were not having much luck in pointing it at its former operators, and Ko’s own telekinetic prowess was middling at best. Unlike the Force-blind Threntel, Ko knew a Sith sorceress as Vesper often best served the battlefield through long-range applications of her powers, and a master of the arcane arts brought far more to the table than just telekinesis. “Whoa!” Ko shouted, as Omegon, some sixty meters away, demonstrated the point. “Is that…” A giant rancor reared above the ferrocrete rubble, swiping at enemies left and right. Ten fighters went flying, while three survivors returned fire, aiming for the rancor’s kneecaps.

As Threntel weaved across the walkway past the diner, the great sight of the rancor occluded by clouds of dust and a half-collapsed public refresher, blood and brain matter splattered across his plasteel greaves. He spared the briefest of glances to his left, lip curling in cold satisfaction at the gory sight, before resuming firing upon the routed ranks; two meters away, the Jedi Padawan lay on his back beneath the weight of Dorrian Shadowsun, crushed skull a crimson flower in bloom upon the deck, life-force sluicing into the Force before Pythonus could siphon it. Unharmed, Knight Rayge added his own bloody paint to the battlefield of darkening grey, double-bladed lightsaber activating with a snap-hiss.

The sun’s rays were dwindling behind the horizon, and the final night was falling upon the Federation.


TAGs: @Kint Dranlor, @Rayge, @Dorrian Shadowsun, @Oberleutnant Deleritas, @Darth Vesper, @Senec Tinople (from last round's GM and player tags)

OOC:
Dorrian Shadowsun attacks the Jedi Padawan with a non-conventional melee attack. His Attack Roll is 18 + 10, surpassing the Padawan’s DC of 20. For damage, we will roll a single d6; he rolls a 5 + Damage Modifier of 2 + Damage Bonus of 2 for a total of 9, depleting the Padawan’s HP to 0.

Rayge was attacked by a Federation soldier last round, whose level is assigned the same as Rayge’s own. The soldier’s Attack Roll is 10 + 10, matching Rayge’s DC of 20. A single d6 will be rolled for damage; the solier rolls 1. While Rayge should be attempting to absorb or deflect the blaster bolts with a raised hand as per his usage of Tutaminis, we will roll for his usage anyway; his Defense Roll is 4 + 6 + 2 + Defense Modifier of 2, and the blaster bolts are entirely absorbed.

Omegon rolls a 6 + 7 against multiple (arbitrated as ten Level 10) Federation grunts and multiple (arbitrated as three Level 20) Federation officers and experienced soldiers. This overcomes the grunts’ DC of 10, and Rancor melee damage of 15 with a Damage Modifier of 1 is used. The ten Federation grunts’ HP are reduced to 0. This attack fails to overcome the three more powerful Feds’ DC.
 
Combo with Kain

The Flashback
IC: Lord Kain & Apprentice Chunran
Sith Training Room, Korriban
154 ABY


Chunran stood third from the left in the second row. He was sweating profusely before they had even begun to channel flames. Chunran could only attribute this to Lord Kain’s flame aura. The Sith Apprentice cast a glance around the room, the surrounding group were a sorry lot.

“Right. Listen up, and listen close; I don't like repeating myself. Pyromancy is one of the deadliest schools of Force usage you can learn here in the academy. Without focus and control, it will consume you. However, if you master it, you will become a terrifying presence for any who dare to stand against you. There are those who would tell you the abilities of Cryokinesis or even Force Lightning are the most powerful of Force skills, but they are wrong. Pyrokinesis surpasses all of them."

As Lord Kain spoke, the air in front of the class began to glow, then shimmer. The room grew uncomfortably hot as Lord Kain’s flame aura flared. The Sith Lord produced a flame on his forefinger. It glowed bright orange before shifting to a stronger blue, and finally a white hot flame.

“Fire consumes the air. It turns water to steam and can crack open the earth. Fire can destroy all, but it can also create. Fire gives life to certain seeds in the forest. It can be used to heal. Now I want you all to focus, to feel the Force within you. Bring that power to your hands, envision it into the flame you see before you.”

With that, Kain extinguished his flame, instructing the class to spread out as he moved among them. Giving aid and help where he deemed it necessary.

Chunran concentrated with all his might, feeling the deep well of the Force within him. The Apprentice focused on channeling that energy through himself, envisioning his hand engulfing itself in flames. He could feel the heat within his hand, yet was unable to produce even a flicker of flame on his finger so far. Meanwhile, Apprentice Vek had, in that moment, set his whole arm on fire, uncontrollably hysteric as he waved it around, nearly setting alight his comrades.

“Master Kain, I just can't seem to grasp this. What am I doing wrong, my Lord?” Chunran questioned, a deep burning desire to impress the Sith Lord filling him. “I can feel the Force within me. I feel it flowing through my body, up my arm, and into my palm, but no flames appear.”

The Beloved Prince of the Stars turned a weary eye to the apprentice. This class had not been... very productive, so far. One of the apprentices had third-degree burns across their arm, another had to be sent to the medbay for receiving a fireball to the chest. At least this one - Chunran, was it? - wasn't asking for a nurse droid.

"Close your eyes, apprentice, and imagine the Force as it flows through you. What does it look like? Translucent energy flowing through your veins like a stream? A ball of blackened ice attached to your heart? Electricity coursing through your entire body?" He paused, giving the apprentice a moment to think on it.
"Whatever it is, change its shape. Will it into a furnace, a hearth of fire in your heart. Let it burn with any emotion you can find. Anger, frustration, hatred, fear. All will feed the flames. And then you will have no issue summoning the fire, and it then only becomes a matter of what your imagination will allow."

Chunran dug deep, picturing the Force within him, as the deep wellspring he had always felt. He imagined rivers coursing through his body, connecting everything he was to the source of his Force ability. In his mind, he imagined that spring becoming a lake of lava, feeling the heat course through his veins, fuelling his eternal flame with his frustration at failing so far. Chunran all but felt the flame on his finger tip, concentrating hard. There was a flicker, and then another, before his fingertip was alight with a two inch flame.

"There you are," said Kain, nodding. "Better to start off small than to set your entire arm aflame." He glared sideways at the apprentice who'd done so, the fool saved from burning to death by the Beloved Prince. "Eventually the flame will obey your every command, and it can be used in very interesting ways. For example..."

Awe filled Chunran as Lord Kain cleared the students to the sides of the room, summoning a training dummy before him. Pausing for a moment almost to steel himself, Kain opened his mouth wide. The room filled with a simmering heat, emanating from the Sith Lords throat. A gigantic fireball flew forth. Chunran felt the synthetic cloth of his tunic begin to melt as the hairs on his arms were singed. The fireball slammed into the target, setting it aflame before even striking it. The target was turned to ash in an instant. The room was filled with the smell of a warm campfire.




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IC: Darth Xiannarr
Present day:
Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

Xiannarr tensed, as Ermir raised a hand towards the Dread Master. Spewing forth his own string of obscenities. Xiannarr could feel the anger and hatred emanating off of the Overseer, he had wanted to goad the man, and it had seemed his wish had been granted. A bolt of lighting shot forth streaking toward Xiannarr, flying past his left ear narrowly missing its intended target.

In a flash Xiannarr brought up the saber at his hip, igniting it with a snap hiss and a primal growl. Its scarlet blade hummed menacingly, filled with the hatred Xiannarr now focused on Ermir. The sabers curved hilt fit perfectly into the Dread Master’s hand, it became an extension of his own arm almost. A grin spread itself across Xiannarr’s face, as he dropped into a makashi stance. Not bothering to salute the Overseer, he spoke again instead, for Ermir had sealed his own fate.

“Buried and forgotten, under the sands of Korriban it is.” Xiannarr spat, feeling the Force within him turn hot, the once water like cosmic force that flowed through him had changed. Fire now burned through Xiannarr’s body, like magma hot and unyielding, fire that was his to command, to shape and to kill with. At the centre of his being was a volcano, once dormant, now beginning to erupt. The lava moved itself through Xiannarr’s body, culminating in the space above his chest just below his throat.

XIannarr convulsed briefly, akin to a loth-cat expelling a hairball, as he forced the ball of heat up his esophagus and out his mouth. The fireball was hot, very hot, but not nearly as overbearing as the white hot flames Lord Kain could produce. It streaked forward towards Ermir’s chest, as Xiannarr followed closely behind, before lunging forward with a Shiak aimed at Ermir’s throat. Xiannarr landed in an offensive neutral stance, bringing his blade back towards himself, preparing for a Makashi Riposte.


Powers used:
Fireball belch-3
Saber Form used:
Makashi-4

Powers still in use:
Force Resistance -3
Mental Shield -4


tags: @Keres Dymos @Kielor @Zareel Jhenan´doka
 
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Darth Cruor

Well-known member
Immortalis
Darth Cruor
Upon Draa'zekyl above Korriban

Draa’zeykl screeched in pain and anger as it’s wounded scale burned into his flesh and with the instinct of a predator snapped its neck around to find what harmed it, like a Loth-cat hunting a Loth-rat it began to stalk its prey. Eyes accustomed to the darkness of space immediately went to where the crimson spears originated then with a flap of its powerful wings changed course and attempted to hone in on it’s unseen target.

Cruor seethed.

The invisible assailant had just attacked the Battlelord of the True Sith. They would have been better if they had evaded and attempted to remain unseen, they might have lived. Now? It was a death sentence.

Their presence in the Force still shined like a beacon, a dim beacon, but a guiding light nonetheless. While his dragon swooped to where it thought the attackers once were, Cruor attempted to determine where they were now. The void-like sockets the Taral’s skulled face looked to where he felt them the strongest, raising one powerful arm he held up a gauntleted hand with fingers outstretched, waiting for the right moment.

His fist clenched.

If the Dark had guided his attack to success the Jidai’s TIE Reaper would be somewhere in the midst of a powerful telekinetic wave seeking to turn it into scrap, he had little time or patience for distractions in this moment of their triumph.

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Darth Sedicious

Powers Used:

Precognition: 5
Force Crush: 5
 
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Dorrian Shadowsun

Active member
Walkway near the border of the Desrini District, Coruscant
IC: Dorrian Shadowsun
Dorrian watched with a sneer as the head of the Padawan popped like a grape beneath his immense weight and strength, spreading a wonderful bloom of red splatter across the ground. He stared at the once Jedi for a moment, delighted at the horror and helplessness he must have felt in his last moments. He intended to spread that feeling to every member of the Republic.

Rummaging through his robes and pockets for anything useful he grabbed his lightsaber as a trophy, planning to hang it on his chamber walls upon his return. With a twist he was able to separate the outer shell of the lightsaber, exposing the crystal within. Using his claws he carefully removed the crystal and set it upon the chest of the Padawan before closing the saber hilt.

"As we agreed, Omegon. Your prize." Dorrian's voice came out proudly as he spoke.

With a snort, he stood and pulled his glaive from the ground, returning it to his back before nodding at Commander Threntel and moving forward toward the retreating Republic lines. The last rays of sunlight fading from the sky elongated his shadow in the direction he was walking, making his enormous presence that much more imposing.

You will learn to fear the darkness. You will know Horror. You will Suffer at my hand.

That singular thought raced through Dorrian's mind and permeated every fiber of his being, washing out every other sensation and thought until the only feeling left was sadistic, maniacal glee.

Tags:
@Rayge @Kint Dranlor @Oberleutnant Deleritas @Darth Vesper @Senec Tinople
 

Dark Lady Makaria

Moderator
Moderator
Dark Council
IC: Keres Dymos
Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

It was a relief that Marcus did not stop her, but Keres found, to her own surprise, that she wished someone was with her. The way was treacherous-dark, and she did not dare to light her saber. All the rumors and stories she’d heard about the tunnels were at the forefront of her mind, and she stumbled a little on the next step.

One hand threw itself out instinctively for balance, and her other attempted to hold up a skirt she wasn’t wearing, and she paused for a moment to breathe. The dank air rasped through the mask, and the cool air was making the metal slick and clammy against her skin. She lit her saber, but kept the key tight in her other hand. Even if Lady Apollyon had given her orders, it seemed things were going poorly upstairs, and Keres might want all the meager weapons of her arsenal available to her. At the very least, she needed to see where she was going.

Finally, the barest scraping of light against the endless dark stone of the stairs, and she flicked her saber off. Keres blinked a few times, rapidly adjusting to the light as she took the last step. Her eyes flicked up to the statue flickering in the dim light, and then to the much smaller, living figure. Keres froze. The woman’s face was a half-rotted rictus, and the datapad in her hands had been clearly ripped from the wall.

Oh. It had been a trap. This woman was trying to lure them here, and had only gotten Keres for her efforts.

Her gaze, almost unwillingly, looked around her, and caught on the bodies, empty-handed and copper-masked. As she almost had been.

Keres lurched back instinctively when the woman spoke, and fumbled to get the key in the lock. Her palm was clammy and she couldn’t see what she was doing. She backed up another small step as the bone specters advanced, lighting her saber as the key sank into the lock. Her saber shook in her hand as the mask came off, but she moved into a defensive position anyways.

She couldn’t hope to fight them and go backwards up the stairs at the same time. If she turned and fled, they would catch her. Standing her ground was her only option right now.

Getting the mask off had, however, given her some clarity, and the dark room offered one benefit: Shadow Armor would hopefully be very effective against these things.

“Should I even ask if you have a motive for this?” Keres bit out as she focused her rage on channeling the Force into her Shadow Armor, hopefully making her a terrible target.

TAGS: @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Kielor, possibly @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Darth Dreadwar

Powers Used:
Shadow Armor - 1
 

Jen'nu

Well-known member
Moderator
Dark Council
Chapter IV: Dragonflame
Combo IC: Ānhrā Māhnîu & Darth Sedicious.
Location: Underneath the
Wrath of Vader, space above Korriban.


Fight back now:

Fire sprayed from the aerial apparitions, but one swung wild and the other struck home. A draconic roar of his own almost burst from the grim Jen’nu inside the Reaper as well. The power of pure thought had afforded them a momentary advantage. Yet it was indeed only temporary, the lasers partially revealing their location.

And as if only the barest of good could come forth today, the blasts did little discernible damage. At this point he would’ve likely been fuming, had it not been for a combination of adrenaline, enzymes, and cranial calculation. His anxiety suppressed, he could only focus forward.

‘’Keep going. Get us around and past this abomination!’’

michael-chang-night-king-viserion-artstation.jpgFurious, Lord Sedicious threw away subtler methods and focused on the life force of the star dragon. He suppressed his growing fear of fatigue, and remembered his very life was at stake, and was skirting near to a far too early end. He visualized again, knowing he was little more than a mote of dust before the colossus, and determined to survive, envisioning the only method that might ensure his survival.

A noxious black tendril of thought-smothering fury emerged from Sedicious and struck out into the infinite gulf of night to pierce with corrosive force into the mind of the star dragon. Once there, it would flood its mind with nerve-blazing anger, and in the throes of frothing spasmodic rage, all its thoughts would be on its baleful master.
Battle Meditation, passed down from the ancient Sith magicians as Battle Coordination, would ever be his ally. To make the vision he imposed become reality, he would play no complacent role, and began his psychic assault.

And in a shared ethereal eye they saw. Their mental might pushed back against the dragon’s, calling upon a buried wrath against its rider. They saw themselves a vision where the dragon rose up toward its ship, against its titanic rider, breaking its advance. And they saw themselves a vision where the dragon’s massive tail swung upwards to swipe its cavalier into the depths of space.

istockphoto-804612882-612x612.jpgYet the Jen’nu could feel the power roiling above them. And he saw Death. It was not enough. They were not going to make it. The waterfall of black fire was coming down. Unless they could find a way to escape this cluster, there would be no victory.
Unless they could find a way to escape.
Unless there was an escape.
Unless there was an idea so uselessly simple, yet so perfectly patterned that the fanged jaws of defeat and downfall could not tear it.

In his own cranially mechanical mind he saw starlight. Not merely starlight though, but lines of starlight. Only minutes earlier he had seen the effects of an interrupted hyperspace jump. A spatial displacement with a duration of only a moment, but that was all they needed. And unlike a normal jump there would be no danger of encountering hyperspatial anomalies, their course being contained by interdiction wells.
An instantaneous escape and instantaneous return.
Evade at hyperspeed and return just as swiftly.
‘’114D! Punch it!’’ And so the droid, already prepared from the previous attempt, activated the hyperdrive.


cKesxbVmAWXRY3bnN4F55Z-1200-80.jpg


Powers used:
Battle Mediation - 4 (Bolstering Sedicious’ allies and eroding his enemies’)
Sith Illusions - 4 (Maintaining what concealment he can)
Mind Trick - 4 (Attempting to turn Draa’zekyl against Darth Cruor)
Force Channel - 1 (Active)


Telekinesis - 4 (Attempting to push Draa’zekyl away and swing its tail at Darth Cruor)
Mind Trick - 2 (Attempting to turn Draa’zekyl against Darth Cruor)


(TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Cruor)
 
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Darth Traya

Lady of the Sith, the Saarai-Kaar, the Dark Sun

“There must always be a Darth Traya. One who holds the knowledge of betrayal, who has been betrayed and will betray in turn.


…And the last is a creature of betrayals, for without such things, there is no hope. ~ Kreia, KOTOR II



*Flashback*


IC: Aurelia Illium
Location: Nar Shadda, The Red Sector



Aurelia walked the street of Nar Shadda in an ungainly stumble. Upon reflecting on this memory that detail alone confounded her, why did she possess human legs? Her legs weren’t the only thing unpleasant within the memory. She was sweating and panting furiously, her body on the verge of collapse after running on pure adrenaline. Her breasts and eyesockets were sticky with ejaculate, she wore only a cheap golden painted bikini, and in her hand, she held a softly humming crimson blade. She’s heard of these blades on Dathomir, lightsabers. Witches from alien space wielded them. And just like on Dathomir space witches tore the magicks into a binary, a good and evil. Light and Dark. This weapon was of the Darkness. It was a weapon of the Sith. There was no blood on Aurelia’s hands from the Sith client she’d serviced. She’d manipulated the Magick in such a way that he did the deed himself. She raided his body, hoping for a clue to follow the path to be what he was. A space witch of the Darkness. A Sith.


According to the audio recordings, the young apprentice she’d killed originated from an Academy on Korriban. Thus Korriban would become her destination.


“Shipsbane!” Aurelia called, the soft thumping hop of webbed feet on duracrete and steel filled her senses, a moment later the reptilian creature jumped into her arms. She lovingly scratched behind the nubs that passed for its ears. The reptiles were called gizka, and they were regarded as bothersome pests here on Nar Shadda, but all the same, this gizka was the first creature to show her compassion since leaving Dathomir and finding only the chains of servitude. “Are you ready? We are leaving this cesspool, to join the Sith!”


Find what you were seeking amongst the dead?” a gravely old woman’s voice interjected.


Aurelia started and lifted the weapon of light into an untrained defensive stance. Indeed the grey aura of a frail old woman stood just feet from here, yet moments ago she sensed nothing.


“Who are you? Where did you come from?”


“I am Kreia. I am the one who shall guide you. Others shall train you, mold you and hoan you into a weapon of their desires. but your legacy shall follow mine.” said the woman, whose aura was clouded in a manner, unlike any living being she’d encountered. Was this woman dead, and merely her spirit lingered? Was she trained in assassin arts? Was she the result of smoking too much spice and snorting too much glitter stim, then killing a space witch?


“And what path did you choose?” Aurelia inquired of the woman.


The galaxy needs its betrayals. For without betrayal there is no hope,” she answered cryptically.


Aurelia didn’t understand this riddle. “If betrayal of my dancing contract gets me off this miserable shit hole, then I accept.”


The old woman did not directly address her situation. It would not be before the pimps descended upon Aurelia and dragged her back to the cantinas and flophouses. “You still do not listen, but all the same now is the time for silence. The Force echoes in this spot, rather simply feel this moment for as long as it may last. Feel life as it is, with the crude matter of choice and betrayal stripped away. “


Silently Aurelia did as the spirit, hallucination or assassin did. She felt the Magicks…the Force as the outsiders called it… branching in all directions. And no matter what path she took, be it the Siths dark or the Jedi’s light, she would betray. And yet the woman had said that without betrayal there was no hope. What in the Hutt spit did that mean?


Aurelia roused a moment later, had she eyes she mighr has snapped them up from her stupor but rather she jerked her head up to sense the aura around her. There was the usual vibrational din of electronics and simple people like herself, scraping by to survive another day. But Kreia’s aura was gone.


She merely shook her head, unable to comprehend any of this. “To the Sith Academy! ” she proclaimed anew to her gizka. Aurelia never could determine how the specter from the past manifested, if it was a sign or merely a drug-hazed dream, but the spirit had a name beyond Kreia. She possessed a legacy in which Aurelia herself followed. Slowly over meticulous research, she learned this woman had been called Darth Traya, the Betrayer.


There must always be a Darth Traya.



Present Day
IC: Darth Traya
Location: Communications chamber, Fountain Palace, Hapes



Traya felt the same sensation she had previously known two years ago at the holographic emergence of the tattered, pure black aura with the empty facial cavity. She felt as if she were being pulled into the event horizon of a black hole as if all she knew and possessed were being stripped away from her and erased into utter emptiness. She was reduced to constitute atoms, but that hissing death rattle of a corpse's sibilant voice held her together still, molded her into a creature stronger even than the gravitational forces of spaghettification. The gizka beneath her skirt chirped in raw primal fear as if it were reliving the memory of the wraith that challenged her to kill her beloved pet.


“Darth Traya…Aboard the vessel that brought you to these stars,” the hologram seethed in a silabnant hiss, “you swore an oath of personal fealty to me, under the Crown of Verity. In return, I gave you the crown of Hapes. Now, I am come to collect on your debt.”



The memory of that vow burned vividly within Traya's mind, as searing as an eclipse totality.

That rotting, sibilant voice oddly has such an ability to hold one utterly captive. “Do you pledge your allegiance to me, your Emperor, no matter what may happen in the years to come? When you enter your throne as Queen Mother of Hapes, do you pledge to forever heed my commands at the expense of all others, with unquestioning faith and obedience? Do you place your loyalty in me, personally, above all other interests, even that of the Sith Order?"


As though the words were plucked from her very mind and urged past her lips, the impassioned cause the Emperor Dreadwar stirred within her formed into a solemn vow, that didn’t pause for a second of hesitation or anxiety.


Yes, my liege. I place my allegiance, loyalty, and faith in you, in your judgment and you're, well no matter what fate awaits me. My blade,bmy arrows, and my powers are yours to command. Your command shall reign supreme over all others, and my devotion lays within you alone, my Emperor. The Sith Order does not command my hand, the Emperor does. As you will it then it shall be done.” she spoke the words, her heart thrumming with pride and her mind a bit confused as to how simply they had flowed from her lips, without any need to carefully choose her words. They simply were, and thus were spoken.


Now in the present day Traya smiled, a vicious painted slash across her alabaster skin. She’d never forgotten her debt to the Emperor Dreadwar, nor has she tried to resist the chains it placed upon her. She’d tried to contact him with the most advanced technology known to Hapes, to inform him she’d kept her vows, but all summons went without an answer. There must be some reason for him to want Hapes at her command, or want something from Hapes.


The gauntleted black hand rose, its movement demanding the Miraluka's attention.


“Lisssten to my words, blind one, and lissten well. Upon receipt of this message, you are to deploy the Battle Dragons of Hapes to the Stygian Caldera. You are to turn all the power of the Hapes Consortium, all its wealth, all its sssoldiers, upon the New Sith Order. You are to lay wassste to Dromund Kaasss and Dromund Felsss, to Ziosst, to Rhelg, to Korriban and Korriz. You are to betray your former compatriotsss, your alliess, and destroy that which you call the Sith Empire, and all its factionss. You will leave none alive. You will do this thing, Darth Traya, or you will die… for I remind you that your vow of unswerving obedience is unbreakable, and to defy the Crown of Verity is to forfeit your life. Hear my words, blind one, and obey.”



Before she had a chance to reveal her eagerness to serve, the holographic form flickered and ceased.


Her mouth yearned to speak her vows again, yet there was only the silence of the communications room. But if Dreadwar were near it wasn’t within the realm of impossibility that perhaps he could hear her thoughts if she projected them across the galaxy.


My liege, it shall be done.” She thought, pouring her devotion into the words but not knowing if casting them would mean aught.


Necros Solaar, did you obtain this message? Do you know its origin?” she questioned the stranger. Her precognitive delve didn’t reveal anything of profound interest regarding him, her precognitive visions were far more detailed than mere Force Sight. Thought then she could see as one with organic eyes. In this faint vision, she noted the stranger in his physical form; a dead pale human with milk clouded eyes. A crooked grin was slashed across his face as he stood beside something that Traya didn’t have a proper name for, a being that looked more dead than alive. The vision was pale, faint; as if something pulled from a distant dream that was ill remembered. She couldn’t make much use of it. “Did you
come as a messenger of Darth Dreadwar?”
she questioned.



Goledriel… '' she addresses the wretched woman. Regarding her and what ploy she might be scheming, Traya sensed even less, except for a chaotic scene in what might have been the throne room. It also felt dream-like, and fragmented. She paused a moment to gather her mental energies and attempted to cast an illusion of herself within her throne room, sitting calmly upon the White Throne. If this would be enough to fool any plot aimed at executing her, Traya simply could not predict.



You were wrong.” she continued. “This message does not spell the end of Hapes. This message warns of a terrible threat, a threat so profound that the might of Hapes is required to expunge it from the galaxy. Perhaps you believe Hapes is better left in this static golden age, amassing piles of wealth while cutting each other's throats for but a brief chance of sitting upon the white throne. But you do not understand…apathy is death! Worse than death! At least a rotting corpse feeds the beasts and insects. This message prophesizes the glory of Hapes!”


With impassioned fury and a glowing glorious purpose burning in her bosom she glided to the communications console and pressed a secure sequence of buttons that would transmit a message to the Royal Navy and Military. “I, Aurelia Chume, the Queen Mother, issued this order of my divine will. I want every Battle Dragon, starfighter, frigate, cruiser, and Star Home primed for take-off. We shall be attacking the Stygian Caldera, we shall fight mercilessly lest the filth that dwells there strikes us down first! The time for display and political posturing is over. Now we shall fight. For the Consortium, for Hapes! “ She demanded calmly into the comm, yet should not deny the pit of dread mounting in her stomach. She did not know many of the Sith well, as she spent near all of her time locked away here in this stagnate palace. Yet she had connections and alliances, similar to her Sisters on Dathomir.


Why would her liege command such a thing? As she rifled her memory, he’d been planning this debt, yet why? Had he turned from the Sith? Or was he something…different? Something more akin to Nihilus? Something born of the lost teaching of the Trayus Academy? Something manifested from teachings and rituals she couldn’t possibly fathom? All the same, he must have been contemplating this moment for years, and she’d sworn of her own free will. Now was no time for burdensome feelings to interfere, the Sith were always forged on fragile alliances of hatred. Now all would be shattered.


She spared a thought for the child in her womb. Gwyndolin…that would be its name, without regard to gender. Aurelia now had no choice but to fight with every ounce of her own strength to try and bring this little one into the merciless galaxy. “My little one…” she thought inwardly. “Together we shall discover what it means to be the Lord of Betrayals. The galaxy needs its Betrayers.”


“It is my will to return to the parade and address the people in person, kindly escort me , Goledriel.” she commanded with a malicious grin.

Tag @Darth Dreadwar

Power Used: Telepathy: 4 (attempt to contact Dreadwar)

Force Illusion: 3 (in Throne Room)
 
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Zareel Jhenan´doka

Active member
IC: Zareel Jhenan'doka
Leaving the Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

Two masters fighting? One didn't need to be too sharp to know that the safest place to be was away from them; there was no greater reason for a sith to decide to watch over the integrity of an apprentice who didn't know how to take care of himself.

Gradually the Balosar heard how her fellow apprentice was walking away in the direction they had been originally instructed to go. Some remorse appeared in her mind, was it because she was leaving on her own? Perhaps because something bad might happen down there; however, something bad was bound to happen wherever she went if her luck was as usual, especially with those odd sensations in the last few hours.

Zareel tightened once more the grip on the hilt of her tonfa and did not look back; on the contrary, she accelerated starting to run. Looking back was anti-aerodynamic and neither the possibility of being stopped or the insults that she could half distinguish in the distance would slow her down this time. She retraced the path she had walked earlier; though at times she had to stop for a second, just to remember which turn and which stair she had passed through with the group.

"Don't disgrace yourself for once." She quietly muttered to herself before turning around one of the last corners she could remember. The previous pause she took in her path made her consider how perhaps it was just a convenient excuse. The path was clear in her head, and yet, the ominous feeling was surrounding her even more; it was harder to avoid the foolish idea of slowing down, of getting the hell out of there and having a drink. It was tempting... too tempting. "Please just stop." She massaged the bridge of her nose, clearing her anxious thoughts, before resuming her walk.

First of all, she needed to locate her master, perhaps through his force signature; but what was going on... in the distance, outside and apparently moving closer, Zareel thought she heard a turmoil. Slowly she began to approach the source of it.


TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Keres Dymos @Undying Master Xiannarr @Kielor
 
IC: Deleritas
Location: Pizza the Hutt, Coruscant

“Pizza the Hutt”

Deleritas was caught, momentarily, off-guard. His eyes leaped to the dilapidated building that was the Pizza the Hutt. What little was left of the building was easily recognizable due to its size and distinctive shape.

“Roger that, Commander.”

Deleritas needed no further instruction. Now was the time for action. Screaming over the sound of blasterfire and chaos, he got the attention of all of his men within earshot, “I want First and Second Squads on me. We are establishing fighting positions from atop the Pizza the Hutt! Third and Fourth Squads, do what you can to out-flank the Feds. Cut them off if you can.”

The second that last order left his lips, Deleritas had a terrible taste in his mouth. He understood the order and he was more than capable of executing the order, but there was something about sending troops directly into friendly fire situations that didn’t sit right with him. Despite their helmets, he could feel their doubt searing holes into his soul. But they did what good troopers do…they followed the order. As one of the squad leaders raced by, Deleritas grabbed his arm, “don’t do anything crazy. If you can’t get there, extend the line of fire, and establish a good, dominant position.”

The trooper replied in the affirmative, but Deleritas could still sense the distrust. It was far from ideal, and it very well could be perceived that Deleritas was sentencing these soldiers to death by friendly fire. He tried to shake it off and motioned with a swing of his arm for the rest of the cavalry platoon to follow him into the abandoned restaurant. Stepping over permacrete rubble and fractured durasteel beams, he led the fourteen Sith troopers through the tangled mess and into an overwatch position. They postured for an assault in what was left of the Hutt-head-shaped portion of the building; each getting into the prone and peering over the edge. Deleritas stood in the middle, between the eyes of the Hutt. Giving the command, his troopers opened a cascade of blasterfire down on the fleeing Federation Forces below. Red lasers rained upon the Feds. Dropping bodies left and right. Plenty of rounds missed their mark and were snuffed out by the rubble and dirt below.


Deleritas continued watching as the battle raged. Hoping that his men staging their ambushes were okay.

@Kint Dranlor, @Rayge, @Dorrian Shadowsun, @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Vesper, @Senec Tinople
 

Kielor

Active member
IC: Kielor
Location: Hutta Town, Nar Shaddaa

136ABY


Lit by the neon glow from the signs of nearby pleasure houses, the teenage human steps out into the grimy streetscape. The rush of speeders in the traffic lanes beneath this level of Hutta Town cause the tattered banners of merchants to flutter and wave, as dust and detritus shuffle about in those same currents. The patrons seated in the alfresco of the servery appear nervous, as they slowly pick at their food, casting sideways glances at the young man. Just beyond the dusky awning of the dining area, the trio of thugs lurk. A series of large crates obscuring the path beyond in darkness.

“Jimbo ‘ere bin washin’ you,” said the Weequay, gesturing to the Zabrak. “Reckons you got the ‘rena master on da take,” he continues, looking back to the young human.

“You can’t have so many wins without a single loss,” rasps the Iridonain, his eyes narrowing with a grimace. “Some big boys too, and you’re no more than a pup,” he spits.

Silence fills the space between them for several moments. Kielor doesn’t need to say anything at this point, he isn’t the one making the moves. He leaves his assailants to decide how the coming events will unfold, knowing full well that they are far beneath his level of capability, especially in this environment. “Not worth taking the chance on though,” the Zabrak continues, a devious grin creeping upon his face, as an audible chime sounds from nearby.

A mighty clank rings out from the darkness, the sound of heavy metal on permacrete, followed by the unmistakable sound of mechanical appendages whining and clattering, as a modified load lifter droid steps out from the darkness behind the storage crates.

Kielor’s senses are assaulted. Images and emotions flash through his mind.

Blood.

Sorrow.

Anger.

His father, crushed in a factory before his eyes. A poorly maintained load lifter. The screech of metal on metal, and the barely audible scream mixed with the tearing sound. Unsure if the scream was real or imagined. Something audible or just in his head.

His vision goes red. The trio, no longer visible, now only silhouettes in his rage-filled vision. The droid lumbers toward him, and he leaps to his left as the two gigantic robotic appendages lurch for him. Patrons run for shelter, as the droid smashes into the dining area. Kielor is unarmed, save for the items around him. Cutlery and chairs. There is nothing substantial within reach. He is overcome by the sense of the danger in which he now finds himself. He knows that he cannot combat such an enormous droid without a significant weapon. A plasma torch, even a hydrospanner, anything he can use to dismantle the assailant. He leaps, again to the left, looking for an option. The servos and motors are far too large to dismantle by hand. A way to disable the beast of a machine would do; if even just enough to allow him the upper hand. He sprints back toward the diner, hoping to find something of use inside. A service droid, golden, bipedal and humanoid in design shuffles into the entryway.

“Oh my!” exclaims the droid in a prissy, and somewhat whiny voice. “I’m sorry sir,” it continues, “but you cannot come in here! We’re not equipped to manage a siege!”

The young man slams into the golden machine, toppling it onto it’s back as though it were a large carbonite slab. “Aaaaaaggh!” screams the droid, as it flails it’s arms flaccidly during the descent. Kielor’s hands rest upon the torso of the shiny whining contraption, his fingers mere millimeters from the restraining bolt which limits the droid’s function. He pushes himself back up to his feet, snatching the bolt as he rises.

Kielor grasps one of the chairs from the servery and launches it toward the load droid with preternatural speed. The metal object crashes into the swinging arm of the droid with a shriek as it crumples and is sent careening from the edge of the level on which they stand, through the traffic lanes to depths of Hutta Town below. Kielor leaps again, this time to his right. Then again, towards the trio who had brought this situation upon him. He slams his right foot into the neck of the Weequay, the crunching pop of vertebrae crumbling clearly felt beneath the soles of his bloodied boots.

Leaping again, twice in quick succession he brings himself closer to the edge of the level. The air currents from the speeder traffic below rush past him, warm air blasting a spray of sweat droplets from his brow. The loader droid lurches toward him again, and he leaps to place himself behind the possessed creation. Leaping again onto the rear of the machine, he slams the restraining bolt onto it’s central control processor. The machine immediately ceases it’s assault. It’s arms drop to the sides, and it begins to topple forward. Kielor places his feet into the back of the droid and pushes off, leaping high into the air in a backward somersault, as the droid falls from the ledge and into the traffic flow beneath. Twisting in the air, Kielor lands softly into a crouched position, and raises his head to locate the remaining two of his assailants. A loud boom resonates from the traffic lanes below, his silhouette a blackened shadow against the fiery glow.


IC: Apprentice Kielor
Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

Present

Flames.

Smoke.

Lightning.

The apprentice was truly unsure how the Overseer would respond to Xiannarr’s retort. He was eager to see this slimy wretch of a man brought into line. The rumours of Ermir’s treatment of others preceded himself, and Kielor was always one to despise unnecessary use of force or violence. Kielor relished the rush of adrenaline which came with combat and bloodshed, however no such pleasure was found through sadistic application of harm or control. Fear is a tool, and he knows this well, however he had always favoured a direct approach, not subconscious assaults and coercion, nor did he enjoy dragging out one’s suffering.

Ermir’s response was not at all unexpected, but the sudden realisation that he was now in mortal danger washed over Kielor like a wave of black beetles; biting away at his confidence, eroding his conviction and filling him with fear. These beings were far more powerful than he. Both Masters, and he but a lowly Apprentice. He stood no chance of having an impact in this fight with his own ability to wield the force; Ermir’s defence would nullify any attempt. He’d never been one to back down from a fight though. He would need to play it smart. Use his cunning to assist the Dread Master, while keeping himself out of harm's way.

The rapid blast of force lightning streaked from the Overseer’s wretched paw, arcing across the hallway to lance the stone wall. The shower of sparks loosed by the impact illuminated the dungeons momentarily, as fragments of the disintegrated control panel clattered against the worn surface of the temple floor. Flickering flames began to trickle from the site, as Xiannarr began to conjure his own inner fire.

Still standing near the doorway to the dungeon where the torture masks had been kept, the outstretched fury of Marcus Ermir between himself and Master Xiannarr, Kielor firms his grasp upon the wretched helmet, opening it widely in preparation for his attack. Richly steeped in the dark side of the force, Kielor establishes his force defenses as best he is able; while also readying himself to take shelter behind the doorway, safely out of the path of Xiannarr’s impending rebuttal, and out of the Overseer’s line of sight should he direct his attention to the Apprentice.

The adrenaline and fear feed the dark side, and with a burst of energy Kielor throws the torture mask toward the cranium of Marcus Ermir, using a little telekinetic guidance to attempt to encase his visage within the helm. His goal, ideally, was to rescind the Overseer’s force defence before Xiannarr’s attack is loosed upon him, or at the very to least distract the man. Without sparing a moment to confirm the outcome of his attempt, the Apprentice ducks back within the dungeon whence the torture mask originated, his priority to get himself clear of the impending wrath of Xiannarr, and out of reach of Marcus.


Abilities used:
Tutaminis 2
Telekinesis 2

Abilities still in use:
Feed on the Dark Side 2
 

Darth Dreadwar

Administrator
Staff member
Administrator
Immortalis
GM Update Part I

IC: Darth Apollyon
Reentering the Sith Temple, Korriban

The last of the Star Wars was begun.

venomisattacks.jpgGnashing teeth, biting swords, lethal discs of spinning metal, these were the elements of Korriban in its final hour. The lightsaber of Darth Xirr, bearing a crossguard in the ancient style, screeched in sudden motion, and the projectiles seeking his throat dropped in neat halves to the blood-soaked sands; chains of lightning leapt from Arach’s palm, but the dead raced towards her unabated; a halberd raked past Skyllan as the S'kytri backpedalled, futilely attempting to drain the Force’s ethereal energy from an onrushing revenant, but finding nothing to siphon save for the faintest echo of archaic alchemy.

Nearby, black-eyed Darth Thana, wings sprouting from greying skin as if in mockery of Skyllan’s own, made her own hasty retreat; a raised hand blew back the lanvarok discs whirling towards her, but they landed harmlessly in the sands, and the skeletal feet of the soulless trod upon them. A second hand rose to join her left, and the hellfire of Chaos streamed from the sorceress’ palms, but the dead kept coming, alight with flame like the bone-daemons of Iridonian myth. Hesperian Guard were falling beside her, joining the blood-sprayed bodies of Volshe’s Imperial Knights, as they desperately attempted to maintain their defensive perimeter in an embattled retreat around their Imperatrix.

Powerful bursts of raw Force energy were emanating from Darth Hesper in air-rupturing ripples, the first jettisoning a single skeleton across the sands like a bullet from a slugthrower, the second exploding from her hand as a tsunami of telekinetic might, hurtling thrice a dozen ghouls back into their own spear-bristling ranks. Unfortunately, the long-dead warriors were not the only ones caught in the blast.

Darth Krayt, lightsabers whirling around him in a telekinetic kaleidoscope of death, had just succeeded in slicing apart the skeleton accosting Skyllan when the wave hit him, carrying him some ten meters until he landed atop that same ghoul. Its left arm was missing, its bones were charred black by Thana’s flames, and its ribcage was diced into a dozen splinters, but its jaws still snapped in unnatural animation, and it had succeeded in drawing blood from Krayt. Not from its desperate bites, no, but from the sharp, broken rib that had jammed into Krayt’s abdomen upon impact, sliding between his beskar plates. Thana had landed nearby, ulna fracturing as she smashed against the sands, but her wings had produced sufficient drag to blunt the telekinetic wave, sparing her further injury.

The skeleton attacking Invadator had taken the brunt of the blast, and its spear narrowly missed the Sith Lady’s leg as it was abruptly hurtled back. Lord Grievance was not so lucky, and had been hurled against the lowered boarding ramp of Hesper’s shuttle, metal clanging on metal as his cybernetic cranium collided with the ramp’s edge, leaving a dent; his chassis was already mildly scorched, courtesy of a zombie's blaster fire. Skyllan, Xirr and Zyldek had been bowled over as well; the two senior Sith had suffered naught but bruises and a couple of broken bones, but the Chagrian had fared far worse, smacking into an obelisk at the corner of the landing, head cracking against the stone.

Draconis, meanwhile, had dodged his assailant’s axe and ensnared it with his own severed chain, but whether Grievance’s hold on the cable would drag the Dark Lord down to the sands with the skeleton remained to be seen. Beyond them, a lone droid raced from Pravum’s conspicuously parked shuttle towards the ranks of the dead, electrostaff twirling in a seemingly suicidal charge. Spears and staves clashed, and the droid fell, servomotors torn open by a thorny row of wicked blades, photoreceptors fading beneath a thousand skeletal feet.

Closer to the entrance, Volacius' chin was torn open by a stray claw as the ghoul leaping towards him connected, landing on all fours like a skittering insect beside him. Volacius’ retort was a gout of flame that swiftly engulfed the skeleton, its dry bones igniting like tinder, but the revenant was undeterred. It ambled after Volacius as the Mirialan reached out with the Force, attempting to pluck Stazi and K'Kruhk—if that is who they were—from their positions of peril. Beside him, Darth Kain lashed out with invisible power, and the pair of ghasts attacking him went flying alongside the ghoul pinning Stazi, allowing Volacius to retrieve the ostensible Federation Admiral from where he lay. K'Kruhk was powerful in the Force, however, and Volacius’ attempt to pull him, however well-intended, was considerably less successful; the already-injured Jedi Master went down in a flurry of flashing blades, and the metal points of rusted swords sunk into his flesh with cruel abandon.

It was savage butchery.

Nearby, blaster bolts screamed past Noxia, impacting harmlessly on the walls, just beside where Xxys ducked under a fiend’s rusted shield. Noxia rent the ghoul she held aloft with brutal efficiency, ribs and forelimbs hurling themselves towards the ground, but the thing's skull remained stubbornly attached to its spine, and it snapped at the hand wrapped around its uppermost vertebrae, attempting to catch her wrist with its teeth.

The skeleton attacking Mirtis was swifter with its flail than the Trandoshan was with his shield, and the spiked metal ball at the end of the flail's chain crashed into Mirtis' arm, tearing his tough scales but mercifully leaving the arm unbroken. Mirtis’ retaliatory punch sent the skeleton clattering to the stone, before the reptillian Sith took off running towards the Temple's entrance, the black breath of death cold upon his neck. Metus’ quick reflexes allowed him to dodge another revenant’s slash with a vibroknife, but the ghoul was equally swift, rearing back out of range as Metus swung his lightsaber. It chased after the Sith warrior as he swung at two more skeletons firing on Noxia, gouging bones as he passed. Armoured Xarxes was a grey blur beside him.

Apollyon’s own retreat would not have been so swift, if it were not for Xxys. The two undead pursuing Apollyon snapped to the side as Xxys’ invisible punches struck home, telekinetically pummeling the skeletons from afar even while neatly bisecting his own foe with a swipe of his lightsaber. The ghoul assaulting him may have been in two pieces, but it still swung at Xxys’ heels with its claws.

“Shields activated!” went up the cry from the Shadow Guard, fingers flying across the keys of the control consoles on either side of the entranceway as Apollyon raced past them, whirling about with lightsaber ignited to face the horde of death racing towards the gates. With an audible groan, the great doors were closing, the exterior doors of sculpted beryllius slowly swinging shut as ciridium chains withdrew clank by painful clank around two hidden winches concealed within twin circular holes on each opposing wall. Interior blast doors of reinforced Mandalorian iron descended like a portcullis of meter-thick solid metal behind, pointed tips aimed for the grooves inset within each jamb of the gateway like vibroblades sliding towards their sheaths.

The last rays of Horuset flared, and then dimmed to a muted crimson as a field of energy rose from hidden projectors within the sands some thirty meters beyond the doorway, climbing for the heavens. An electron wall, fed by the limitless geothermal power of the same volcanic veins that fuelled the subterranean forge, harvested by a generator housed within the Temple’s central tower. The crimson force field was capable of vaporising any enemy that dared attempt passage, and, layered with a ray shield, was powerful enough to deflect any bombardment.

The doors shut with a dull thud, and the screeches of the dead abruptly quieted. Only two had made it inside, Apollyon noted, and the Shadow Guard swiftly wheeled about to face them. Cerulean lightning danced across their skeletal forms, rending the air with a screech as Darth Pravum unleashed his fury. If the dead felt pain, they did not show it, and they continued their relentless attack; polearms missing the preternaturally quick Sith Lord, they swung the ancient Massassi lanvaroks towards the Shadow Guard approaching from behind, axeheads crashing harmlessly against the guards’ vonduun crab armour before the halberds spun, a smatter of silver discs whirling towards Pravum’s abdomen.

Apollyon had no time for distractions. “Catalyst!” she shouted over the fray, a stray shoulder spinning her to the side as the tide of retreating Sith collided with her. The entrance hall that lay between the gates and the banquet hall was short and narrow, like a corridor with a lofty ceiling, and could scarcely accommodate more than twenty; already, the bulk of the crowd was spilling back into the vast space between dining tables, just as Zareel Jhenan'doka emerged from a passageway into the tumult. Platters and dishes were scattered everywhere in the banquet hall behind Apollyon, as a wave of back-turned bodies pressed against the tables and dismayed service droids, toppling goblets of champagne intended for a second course that would never be served.

Wincing, Apollyon called again. “Catalyst!” The Sith Lord had proved a sturdy ally in the past, and mercifully appeared uninjured, his burst of speed bringing him past the entranceway in a second. “With me, to the battlements!” She tossed her head to the right, indicating towards the entrance hall’s only sidedoor, and the spiral stair beyond.

A ten-meter ascent would bring them to the same terrace Catalyst had leapt to earlier. The Temple’s lowest-lying battlements were more for ceremony than defense, with a great mural of Ziost splashed across its rear walls in dazzling holopaint, but it would afford Apollyon, and whoever joined her, a good vantage point to view the battlefield. She needed to know whether the shields held, and six black-armoured Stormtroopers, already racing for the same stair, would man the laser turrets lining the parapets between each merlon; many ghouls would have been trapped between the force field and the Temple’s walls, Apollyon knew. Every second counted, now; every minute action, every strategy. There could be no missteps.

The survival of the Sith Order depended upon it.



OOC: I leave it up to the players, this ensuing round, as to whether their main characters or Companions have successfully made it inside, are trapped between the shields and the closed doors, or are trapped outside the shields entirely.

I am assigning the Korriban zombies a DC equivalent to their opponents, up to a maximum of 30. Pravum attacks two zombies with Force Lightning while using Force Reflex, and the Attack Roll is 18 + Attack Modifiers of 18 + 5 + Attack Bonus of 4, easily surpassing the zombies’ DC of 30. Damage Rolls are 6 + 2 + 1 + 6 + Damage Modifier of 2, and the two zombies’ HP are each reduced to 13. The zombies’ own attacks on Pravum are 14 + 15 + 5 - 4 and 9 + 15 + 5 - 4, respectively, and neither attack succeeds.

The zombie’s attack on Xirr, Thana and Krayt is 5 + 15 + 5, and fails; its attack on Skyllan is 13 + 15 + 5 - 4, and Skyllan’s backpedalling successfully dodges; the telekinetic pull on Arach rolls a 14 + 16 + 5, and fails unless Arach allows it; the attempt to Drain Force from the undead fails without a dice roll required. Krayt’s attack with a Saber Barrier rolls a 6 + 19 + 10 + Attack Bonus of 4, and succeeds; the Damage Roll is 1 + 3 + 1 + Damage Modifier of 1 + Damage Bonus of 4 + Damage Bonus of 4, and the zombie targeted has its HP reduced to 16. The zombie’s attack on Catalyst is 5 + 15 + 5, and Catalyst’s sidestepping successfully dodges. The zombies’ attacks on Kain are 14 + 15 + 5 and 11 + 15 + 5, and Kain’s backpedalling successfully dodges both. Kain’s usage of Force Push rolls a 3 + 21 + 10, and succeeds; Damage is 2 + 5 + 6 + 4 + Damage Modifier of 5, and the HP of the three zombies targeted by Kain are depleted to 8.

The zombie’s attack on Volacius is 11 + 15 + 5, and succeeds; a single d6 Damage Roll of 3 depletes Volacius’ HP from 31 to 28. Volacius’ pyrokinetic attack is 16 + 16 + 5, and succeeds; Damage is 1 + 5 + 1 + 2 + Damage Modifier of 4 + Damage Bonus of 1, and the zombie’s HP is depleted to 16. Volacius’ attempt to telekinetically pull Stazi and K’Kruhk will incur a d20 against a target number of 10 with usual modifiers; he rolls a 13 + 16 + 5, and succeeds; his Effect Roll is 2 + 3 + 6 + Effect Modifier of 4, and he is able to pull one (arbitrated as Stazi) but not the other (K’Kruhk).

Arach’s Chain Lightning attack rolls a 16 + 20 + 10, and succeeds; the multiple (arbitrated as ten) zombies affected have their HP depleted to 14 by the Damage Roll of 4 + 5 + 5 + Modifier of 2, but they are not slowed. Thana’s attempt to transform succeeds against a target number of 10 (9 + 15 + 5), her telekinetic attack rolls a 1 + 15 + 5 and fails to overcome the DC of the zombies targeted; her pyrokinetic attack rolls a 16 + 15 + 5 and succeeds, triggering a Damage Roll of 6 + 2 + 6 + 3 + Damage Modifier of +1, and multiple (arbitrated as four) zombies affected have their HP depleted from 30 to 12, but are not slowed; a fifth (the zombie attacking Skyllan, Xirr, Thana and Krayt) has its HP further reduced to 0, yet remains animate!

The zombie’s attack against Invadator narrowly misses, after an Attack Roll of 14 + 10 + 5 fails to overcome her Difficulty Class. Her telekinetic attack against the zombies around Xarxes rolls a 4 + 17 + 10, and succeeds in hurling back multiple (arbitrated as four) zombies accosting the circle, rolling 6 + 6 + 4 + 5 + Damage Modifier of 1 and reducing their HP to 8. Her attempt to telepathically contact Kielor rolls a 17 with usual modifiers of 17 + 10 against a DC of 10, and succeeds.

Zyldek's Force Lightning rolls a 15 + 9, and succeeds; Damage is 5 + 6, and the zombies targeted (arbitrated as two) have their HP reduced to 6. There is no roll for Xarxes' usage of Sith Illusions, as I do not believe magically animated skeletons would have the capacity of thought to be tricked by the power of belief, ergo automatic failure is applied; there is no need to check his usage of Force Speed here, but this power can be considered successful. Coincidentally (considering Grievance's automatic assumption of success), the zombie's attack against Grievance rolls a natural 20, a Critical Hit; the attack automatically succeeds and inflicts 2 Damage, which was (coincidentally) already well-encapsulated by Grievance's description of minor damage in his last post.

Hesper’s telekinetic attacks roll 17 + 21 + 10 and 8 + 21 + 10, respectively, and both succeed in surpassing the Difficulty Class of the zombies; however, as the d20 roll of the latter is below 10, I will be treating Hesper’s aim as unlucky and roll for friendly-fire against her nearest allies as this is a power with a wide and typically indiscriminate range of effect, halving any Damage Rolls for successful hits to reflect her attempt to miss them. The Force Wave surpasses the DC (in effect bolstered by +4 by Grievance’s Battle Meditation in the case of Invadator, Arach, Draconis and Grievance) of (and hits) Krayt, Xirr, Thana, Skyllan, Grievance, and Zyldek (I did not roll against Xarxes as Xarxes is using Force Speed to enter the temple), but fails to overcome the DC of Draconis, Invadator and Arach; Damage is 5 + 3 + 4 + 6 + 6 + Damage Modifier of 4, and the HP of the multiple (arbitrated as twenty) zombies affected are reduced to 2; this total Damage is halved to 14 for her allies, reducing Krayt’s HP from 38 to 24, reducing Skyllan’s HP from 32 to 18, reducing Thana’s HP from 30 to 16, further reducing Grievance’s HP from 33 to 19, reducing Xirr’s HP from 36 to 22, and reducing Zyldek’s HP (arbitrated as a maximum of 17, at least for now if Companion Sheet is pending) to 3.

The two zombies firing at Noxia roll a 17 + 15 + 5 and a 5 + 15 + 5, and miss; the zombie attacking with a sword rolls a 3 + 15 + 5, and misses; Noxia's usage of Force Rend rolls a 6 + 19 + 10, and succeeds, rolling a 6 + 6 + 6 + Damage Modifier of 4, depleting the zombie's HP to 8. The zombie attacking Mirtis rolls 19 + 15 + 5, and succeeds; it inflicts 4 Damage, reducing Mirtis' HP to 26. Mirtis' retaliatory Force Punch rolls a 17 + 15 + 5, and succeeds, inflicting 2 + 4 + 3 + 2 + Modifier of 4 + Bonus of 1 Damage, reducing the zombie's HP to 14. The zombie attacking Metus rolls 10 + 10 - 2, and fails; Metus' retaliatory attack rolls 3 + 10, and fails, while his attack on the two attacking Noxia rolls 14 + 10 + 2 and, temporarily altering the targets' DC to reflect Metus' level, succeeds, resulting in 3 Damage and their HP being reduced to 27.

Sparky appears to be suicidally charging the army of the dead; no specific attack has been made to process here, but the multiple (arbitrated as five) zombies closest to him in the ranks do attack, rolling a 3 + 9, an 8 + 9, a 13 + 9, a 10 + 9, and a 9 + 9. Four of these attacks succeed, and Damage inflicted is 6, 4, 5 and 2, respectively. As Sparky's maximum possible HP is 17, Sparky's HP must be depleted, and the character is dead.


The zombie's attack against Xxys rolls 9 + 15 + 5, and fails; Xxys' retaliatory strike rolls 19 + 19 + 10 + Bonus of 4, and succeeds, inflicting 5 + 2 + 3 + 2 + Modifier of 4 damage, reducing the zombie's HP to 14. His attempt at Shadow Strike rolls 4 + 19 + 10, and succeeds, inflicting 1 + 6 + 1 + 4 + Modifier of 2 Damage, reducing the two targets' HP to 16.

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IC: Darth Nihl
Interior of the Sith Temple, Korriban

The hangar lay still as Reatith Blodraald crept towards the opened blast doors, flaming brands of cinnabar held aloft. The shadows clung to the Sith apprentice, undulating and shifting in the passage of his lightsabers, but his attempts to conceal himself entirely had proven too much. Attempting to bend light around one’s body was an arduous application of the Force, and simultaneously concentrating on concealing his signature in that aetheric ocean of energy had divided his focus, the Force fleeing from the fractured fingers of his mind like smoke from outstretched hands.

The Force was a fickle thing, and the most recondite techniques of bending its power to one’s advantage oft eluded the grasp of those newly-trained in its subtleties.

Nonetheless, the shadows of the hangar provided some stealth. The cavernous chamber was dimmer than normal, hued with blood; its far-side, ordinarily a bright vista of Korriban’s desert, revealed only a flickering veil of crimson against a muted sky. An electron wall, some thirty meters beyond the hangar’s opening. There were six shuttles attached to fueling cables, seemingly unattended, but so long as the shields remained up, no ships would be getting in or out.

There was a flicker of movement between the red canisters of rhydonium, but before Blodraald could investigate, the hangar came alive with a wail. The sirens were blaring, rouge lights flaring, and the hangar pulsed with their beat like a racing heart. “Attention,” a feminine voice filled the panic-soaked air, crackling through the loudspeakers, “all hands to battle stations, all hands to battle stations. The Temple is under attack, siege protocols activated. This is not a drill. All hands to battle stations, all hands to battle stations.”

In the throne room, Darth Nihl rose to his feet, as if jolted by the same alarm. The hall was darkening, a black mass of solid metal descending from the ceiling to conceal the windows beyond the throne. Blast doors.

“We need to get to the war room,” Maladi spoke up immediately, eyeing Nacros and I-Ron. She referred to the Council Communications and Coordination chamber, typically abbreviated as CoCoCo, located on the second floor beside the Sith Intelligence wing. “We need to establish contact with the fleet and order them to open fire immediately on those pyramids,” she gestured towards Nathemus, as if pointing out the lack of return contact, “or else plan the defense of the Temple without them. Something’s wrong.”

“I agree,” Nihl replied. “Empress, if I might—Empress!” Darth Viscretus collapsed to her side, just as the woman she ministered opened her eyes. The Dark Lady had given too much of herself to Marasiah Fel; the triumvir’s wound was sealed, a spotless patch of skin revealed by the tear in the white cloth, but Viscretus’ own life-force had been spent as fuel. “Get an escort to the medbay!” Nihl shouted, kneeling beside the fallen Empress and placing a hand on her forehead. Her eyelids were flickering.

The Imperial Knights raced into action, crossing the throne room in quick strides, but Nihl was faster, placing his left arm beneath Volshe’s neck and his right arm beneath her thighs, and scooping her up. There was no time for a stretcher. Turning, the Nagai sprinted from the throne room, past Kira and Voidwalker in the antechamber beyond, six Knights following at his heels. Standing idly by, seemingly lost in a world of his own thoughts, Loharr Talem was bowled over by an onrushing Knight, head cracking against a stone step. His body began to violently twitch, spittle frothing around spasming lips.

Attention claimed by the twins, moving to toddle after Nihl and their mother, Maladi did not even notice. “Don’t follow,” she said, raising a crimson hand. “Lord Nathemus, they’ll be safer in the war room than here.” Ten meters to her left, as the blast doors thudded against the floor and the throne room turned to night, Loharr Talem stopped seizing, and lay very still. The malaise of the darkening Force, the morass of confused emotions and the rising storm of war, was scarcely stirred by the departure of another unfortunate soul.

In the library, chaos was unfolding around Hadzuska. Jerked to their feet by the dire announcement, students were bolting from their desks, lightsabers in hand. The yellowed viewscreen in front of Hadzuska showed rows of Aurebesh text, the results of his query. A touch of the finger would unveil further detail for each result.


“The Architects: The Myth Behind the Corellian System”
Book, Non-fiction, Galactic History, Voren Na’al

The Architects, believed to be synonymous with the Celestials, are hypothesised to be an extinct race of powerful precursors who once…
HoloNet News article, Entertainment, Gurak Nen

The powerful architect behind the Mos Espa Grand Arena, believed to be Derren Flet himself, is believed to have amassed contacts from the Ubrikkian Corporation…
Cloud City News Network article, category undetected, Rejig Ban

“Supernatural Encounters: The Trial and Transformation of Arhul Hextrophon”
Book, Fiction, Spurious Directories, Arhul Hextrophon

Next to the dormitories, meanwhile, the Devaronian crone hushed the frightened younglings. “It’s just the sirens, young apprentices,” she said. “It’s just the sirens.” Mavros had spoken true, and the immediate path ahead was clear, but the hangar lurked in Solus’ mind, blurred with sudden motion. No danger prickled at his senses, but the Force had unveiled the possibility of a commotion, images of younglings leaping back beneath strobing red light, and the startled whine of a droid.

TAGs: @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Nathemus, @Jihadi Quartz, @Voidwalker, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Solus, @Reatith Blodraald, @Hadzuska_The Jester

OOC:
For Reatith’s usage of the Force, we once again roll a d20 with usual modifiers against DC 10. Conceal Essence rolls a 4 + 5, and fails. Force Cloak rolls a 3 + 5, and fails.

For Solus’ usage of the Force, we also roll a d20 with usual modifiers against DC 10. Solus rolls 7 + 18 + 10, and his Effect Roll is 2 + 5 + 6 + 4 + Effect Modifier of 2; his precognition allows him to sense a commotion in the hangar, but nothing more precise.

For Mavros’ usage of the Force, we also roll a d20 with usual modifiers against DC 10. He rolls a Natural 20, and automatically succeeds. No Effect Rolls are necessary, and Mavros can sense there are no enemies in the path to the hangar, and no lifeforms in the hangar beside Reatith Blodraald.

For the healing of Marasiah, Volshe rolled a 1 + 23 + 10 against a DC of 10, and succeeded; the Effect Roll was 2 + 2 + 2 + 4 + 2 + Modifier of 5, and Marasiah's HP was repleted to 30. No dice rolls were required for ensuing actions, and Loharr Talem is dead.


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IC: No one
Space, Horuset system, near Korriban

The stars wheeled in their lonely multitude, twirling with dizzying intensity about the Reaper and the dragon as they danced in the endless black. Shadow, and flame; the ship concealed by a caliginous curtain of gossamer illusion, the naked drake flashing with the celestial fire of its starry birth. Atop the great reptile’s smoldering back, the shadowy hand of Darth Cruor, that most ancient bane of Athiss, curled into a cruel fist.

Yet the power of cunning Sedicious pressed upon the Dark Lord, coaching failure and plying confusion. Battle meditation was traditionally a Jedi art, yet the hands of the Sith had warped it foul, and from long-dead Caedus to the Breath of Cocytus, the masters of the recherché technique had long utilised such sinister trance to disrupt the focus of the Forceful, and sew dismay among the blind. Not even the Taral, that hoary veteran of a hundred-year darkness and a thousand-year war, was immune.

Although veiled from Cruor’s gaze, the survival of the shuttle—or at least its occupants—was laid bare, for no petals of pain blossomed into the Force; no bones were crushed by malevolent purpose. The Dark was a treacherous ally, and it was Cruor’s mount, not his quarry, who fell victim. Gripped by an invisible hand, Draa'zekyl fell upside-down through the directionless void. Sedicious and Ānhrā sought to shove it against the baleful ship that had birthed it!

The Wrath of Vader was rapidly retreating from the stellar skirmish, but its engines yet bathed the combatants in its crimson glow, and the dragon was swept by infinite momentum, wings beating futilely, perilously close to the gargantuan gulf of a blood-spewing thruster. The exhaust was blistering, charged particles tearing through the dragon’s scales at the speed of light, and the dragon’s flesh roasted beneath the Star Dreadnaught’s radioactive wrath. The hellfire of nuclear fusion beat upon Cruor for agonising seconds, before the flagship of the necromancer, ion drives ploughing the pointed prow forward, pulled away on its steady trajectory.

Driven by pain and unnatural fury, threaded through its cunning mind by the twin sorcerers aboard the receding TIE, Draa'zekyl twisted its neck towards its rider, jaws snapping with deadly purpose. The steed had turned against the rider!

Yet as ever, when playing the game of the Dark, triumph was fleeting. Their moment of reprieve offered no swift escape for Sedicious and the Jen’nu, for the Reaper’s hyperdrive altogether failed to engage, and no lurch of interrupted acceleration flung them yonder. Cruor and his mount, although thrice as distant, remained a most potent danger, gnawing at the sorcerers’ senses like a fanged Devaronian breathing upon the neck.


The Dark would have its prize… one way or the other.

TAGs: @Darth Cruor, @Ānhrā Māhnîu, @Darth Sedicious


OOC: As the shuttle was essentially made visible by virtue of firing last round, no penalties will be applied to Cruor’s attack by Sedicious’ continued usage of Sith Illusions in this round; Darth Cruor rolls 5 + Attack Modifiers of 23 + 10 Debuffed -4 for a total of 34. This does not surpass the DC of Anhra and Sedicious (35), and fails. Sedicious is using too many powers simultaneously here, but we will roll regardless; Mind Trick rolls 14 + Attack Modifiers of 18 + 5 + Attack Bonus of 4 for a total of 41, and succeeds against the dragon’s maximum possible DC of 23. Sedicious’ Effect Roll is 6 + 3 + 1 + 6 + Modifier of 4, and this, a moderate effect, is very close to the maximum effect of successfully turning the dragon against its rider; as they are combining their power on this goal, Anhra’s Effect Roll, if his Mind Trick succeeds, will be added to determine total effect.

Anhra’s Telekinesis rolls 16 + Attack Modifiers of 18 + 5 + Attack Bonus of 4 for a total of 43, and succeeds against the dragon’s maximum possible DC of 23, although the tail-swipe at Cruor will be processed as an attack against Cruor, and fails. An attempt is described of shoving the dragon against its ship; while the Wrath of Vader was already stated to be vacating the area in the previous update, its rear is presumably close by considering the combatants are still bathed in the engines’ glow, so a Damage Roll is appropriate, particularly given the limitless momentum in vacuum. Damage is 6 + 3 + 3 + 5 + Damage Modifier of 4, and, assuming the dragon’s HP is its maximum possible of 33 (including a Racial Bonus), its HP is depleted to 12. Anhra’s Mind Trick rolls 6 + 18 + 5 + 4 for a total of 33, and succeeds; the Effect Roll is 4 + 5, pushing the combined Mind Trick into the maximum range of values. The Mind Trick achieves its desired effect.


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IC: Goledriel and Necro Solaar
Communications chamber, Fountain Palace, Hapes

“Yes, my Chume,” Goledriel bowed stiffly, and turned, leading the way out of the communications chamber. She did not argue with the Queen Mother’s grand speech; whichever sorcery of control the decrepit Dread-King had spoken of clearly had Aurelia Chume in its grasp, and delusion was the result. Attack the Sith Empire, the dominant galactic power? Madness. Utter madness.

For the good of Hapes, Aurelia Chume would have to be destroyed.

As Goledriel paced ahead, Necro Solaar pulled behind Traya, and answered in a low voice. “I indeed serve the Lord of the Thirteen,” he said, quiet enough for the Ducha to not overhear, “who is not dead, but who eternal lies. I am an emissary of Nilrebmah, sent from the unknowns, and was instructed to reveal my true allegiances upon receipt of the message.” The implication was obvious; the message was no two-year-old recording, but a snare more recently transmitted, and Solaar was to reveal nothing until the trap slid shut.

He smiled coldly, eyeing Goledriel ahead. “You serve us, now, Traya. I shall be in command of the fleet… for to defy me is to defy the will of the Ari, and to defy the Ari is to defy the power of the Crown of Verity, that binds you to your unbreakable oath.” The titles used were unfamiliar to Traya, but the references to Darth Dreadwar could not have been plainer.

Goledriel paused in the hall outside, turning not to the left, back towards the balcony whence they had come, but turning again to face Traya. Solaar leaned away, smile fading to an expression of schooled neutrality. “If you intend on unveiling this… campaign to the masses,” Goledriel said hesitantly, “might I suggest we attend the throne room first? A private address to your most trusted counsellors might be wise, before speaking to all Aurelia Chume’dan.” She gestured to Traya’s right, towards the great columns of statues, where the hall led deeper into the Fountain Palace.

TAG: @Darth Traya

OOC:
Traya’s attempt to telepathically contact Dreadwar from such a distance will require a Natural 20 to succeed. She rolled a 19, and failed.

Traya’s usage of Force Illusion does not require a check at this time, and can be considered successful.


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IC: Wei'val Torment and Ermir Marcus
Beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

The red woman laughed.

“It is the will of the gods,” she rasped, in heavily accented Basic, “that all life must die. Valtaullu mortis.” The proverb was alien to Keres’ ears, some apothegm from another tongue, but it carried with it an air of finality, of fatalism and nihilism and subjection before the endless Dark that awaited all things. Existence is fleeting, said the warlocks of a shadowed world Dymos had never seen, but destruction is eternal.

And then there were no more words, and the shadow slayers struck.

Keres was a novice in the usage of the Force, and the technique of immersing oneself in caliginous currents, of veiling oneself from sight in the darkness, was a trick even most overseers struggled to master… let alone when beset by fear, the bane of all focus. The shadows were with the slayers this day, and their swords stabbed out with lethal precision towards Keres’ position. One on the left aimed for the side of her torso, and the rusted point sunk some two inches into her flesh, barely missing her spleen, while another on the right jabbed towards her thigh, cruel blade rupturing sinew until grinding to a halt against the bone.

The other five began to spread about in a bent line, seeking to encircle Keres and prevent her from escaping back up the perilous stairs. Dim sparks of lightning, fainter than the hypnagogic colours one sees in the darkness behind closed eyelids, were crackling at their skeletal fingertips. If Keres did not act fast, however injured, the shadow slayers would surely be her doom.

In the dungeons above, Ermir Marcus hurled himself to the right, and the fireball, retched from Xiannarr’s throat, detonated against the back wall, lighting the doorway through which Keres had descended. The rope cordoning off the opposite stair fell to dangle limply off the wall, frayed and scorched.

The same motion spared the Overseer from the mask Kielor had thrown towards him, and the crude copper helm clattered to the stone floor. “You dare…!” Ermir managed, and his own fury at the apprentice’s unlikely attack cost him; eyes flitting to the left for but a second, he was too slow to avoid Xiannarr’s blade from sinking through his left shoulder, perilously close to his neck.

“Augh!” Ermir cried, stumbling back, a thin trail of smoke rising from the smoldering hole in his white robes. For a second, he clutched his injured shoulder, blinking back stars, and then, the Force screaming with imminent peril, he took another step back, and raised his head. He stared at Xiannarr with hatred, eyes bright with pain, anger and agony fuelling his command of the dark side.

His right hand rose again, palm upturned, and a telekinetic wave warped the air as it ripped towards the rival overseer. Swept off his feet, Xiannarr smacked into the doorway Kielor had retreated through, and his head hit the stone. Ermir’s attack had left nothing but a small bloody gash beneath Xiannarr’s hair, but it had bought Ermir time. The scent of ozone filled the air, as Ermir’s ruby-red lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss. “You will die for this!” he screamed, veins popping through his neck. “You will both die for this outrage!”


It was at that moment that the sirens sounded, loud enough for even Keres to hear, however faintly, and from a distant loudspeaker came the terrible announcement: “Attention, all hands to battle stations, all hands to battle stations. The Temple is under attack, siege protocols activated. This is not a drill. All hands to battle stations, all hands to battle stations.”

TAGs: @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Keres Dymos

OOC:
For her usage of Shadow Armour, Keres rolls a 7 + Modifier of 1 against DC 10, and fails.

The Shadow Slayers are Level 5 Sith Undead of True Sith Assassin class. The left slayer rolls a 7 + 3 against Keres’ DC of 10, and succeeds. Damage is 4. The right slayer rolls 16 + 3 against Keres’ DC of 10, and succeeds. Damage is 4. Keres’ HP is depleted from 10 to 2.

Xiannarr’s usage of Fireball Belch rolls a 6 + Attack Modifiers of 15 + 5, and fails against Ermir Marcus’ DC of 30. Xiannarr’s stab rolls a 16 + 15 + 5, and succeeds. Damage Rolls were 1 + 3 + 6 + 6, and Ermir’s HP is reduced from 30 to 14.

Kielor’s attack on Marcus rolls a 2 + Attack Modifier of 8 + Attack Bonus of 2, and fails against Ermir Marcus’ DC of 30.

Ermir’s Force Push, equivalent to 4 Skill Points, rolls an 18 + 15 + 5, and succeeds against Xiannarr’s DC of 30. Damage Rolls are 5 + 5 + 1 + 1 + Damage Modifier of 3, but Xiannarr is using Force Resistance; Defense Rolls are 1 + 5 + 3 + Defense Modifier of 4 for a total of 13 Defense, and the attack is blunted from 15 Damage to 2 Damage; Xiannarr’s HP is depleted to 28.
 

Darth Kain

Legendary Member
Moderator
Dark Council
Immortalis
IC: Darth Kain, the Beloved Prince of the Stars
The Sith Temple, Korriban

He had failed.

He watched as the undead butchered the Jedi Master, their rusted blades coating with blood more and more with every stab into his body. It was a peculiar sensation, some mixture of satisfaction and dismay, that filled him with each thrust of their swords into K’Kruhk’s corpse. The glee had come from his desire to destroy those that threatened his family, but the distress had come from somewhere else. He had been given a task by the Beloved Queen of the Stars, and he had failed. Her orders echoed in his mind, a plea to save the Federation leaders despite their trespasses. And he had tried.

Or had he?

He could have eradicated those zombies surrounding the Whiphid Jedi. He could have disintegrated them, pulled Stazi and K’Kruhk inside himself. He could have done it easily!

But no, he had to go and let the old apprentice have an attempt at glory.

Stupid, Kain! Stupid!

He made it inside the temple, just barely, letting go his efforts of a barrier as he lazily dragged Stazi inside by the collar of his shirt. The shields had come up anyway; a secondary barrier would have been needless, wasted effort. But he wasn’t thinking about that now.

PicsArt_09-15-02.46.50.jpgFurious, he let the Duros fall to the floor before he leaned his forehead against the wall. Blood was dripping from him. He did not know whose it was. His heart was beating at the pace of a war drum. It felt like electricity was flowing through his limbs, begging him to move, to do something - anything. He wanted to smash his own head into the wall. He wanted to go back out there and fight a million of those undead freaks. He wanted nothing more than to be useful, to be the Beloved Prince of the Stars, to be the god he was supposed to be.

But he would not bash his head into the wall. He would not go back out there to fight. He would be in here, among the clamoring rabble, no different from the rest of them. He would be useless. He would not be the god he was meant to be.

Why?

Why wouldn’t he be that force to be reckoned with? Why wouldn’t he use the utmost of his abilities to fight the horde at their doorstep? What was stopping him?

A voice of a long-dead man rang in his ears. Then he realized.

The only man capable of stopping you on your path to greatness is you. Don’t doubt yourself so much, Corvar. You are the master of your destiny.

And so he would be, and no one else.

Snapping back into action, withdrawn from the wyyyschokk’s web of self-doubt, Kain pulled Stazi to his feet. “Come on, old man. I’m taking you to the one person in this temple that doesn’t want to strangle you with your own entrails. Then you’ll be her problem.”

Kain and Stazi moved haphazardly through the crowd, pushing past anyone too sluggish to get out of the way. Before long, on the way to the throne room, Kain spotted a few of the Sith loitering about. A couple apprentices, the Shard butler, and, most chief among them, Lord Voidwalker.

Perhaps he did not want to face her with his failure. Perhaps he did not want to get caught up in another one of her foolhardy orders. Even he didn’t know what the true reason was.

“Voidwalker,” said Kain, tossing formalities aside, “get this man to the Empress.” He gently pushed Admiral Stazi towards his fellow Sith. “I have business to attend to on the battlements. Make sure he gets to her in one piece.”

He spoke no other words. There was no time for them. No time to catch up on older, better times. All he had was now. And now, well, now was not much time at all.

The Beloved Prince of the Stars raced back in the direction he came from, making a sharp turn towards the side door in the entrance hall, then up the spiral staircase. He practically glided up them, reaching the battlements only a few moments after Lady Apollyon did.

A shimmering wall of crimson shielded the temple from the horrors that lied beyond, yet also entrapped the horrors that lied within. Down in the blood-stained sand, there were still over a dozen Sith fighting for their lives, struggling against a foe that did not tire, weep, or die. The pyramids that hung in the air, ever still, loomed menacingly. It was not a matter of if they would begin bombarding the shields, but when. And Venomis… he was still out there. Coming closer.

Kain was not sure what he should fear the most, or if he should fear at all.

“Those shields won’t last forever,” he said to Apollyon, not meeting her eyes as they scanned the battlefield. “They have the numbers to wait us out even if they don’t try to bombard us immediately. Do we have an escape route, or some means of calling reinforcements?” Please tell me you have some sort of plan, he thought to himself. If I don’t get to see my family again within the next day, I’m burning that entire fleet to cinders on my own.

Meanwhile, his eyes scanned the battlefield himself. If there were any Sith inside the shields that had been too slow to make it inside the doors in time, he was more than willing to try and pull them up here with an invisible hand.

TAGS:
@Darth Dreadwar, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Darth Xirr, @DarthNoxia, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xxys, @Volacius, @Metus, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Jihadi Quartz


OOC: If any of you feel like you wouldn’t have made it in time, but feel like you’d still be inside the shields, feel free to wave to Kain on the battlements. He might try to save you.
 
Last edited:

Darth Xirr

Member
IC: Darth Xirr
Just Inside the Sith Temple, Korriban

The gargantuan stone doors that separated the banquet hall from the courtyard outside slammed shut just behind Xirr and a group of others as they raced inside. Apollyon and her guard had been quick in bringing up the shield generators and closing, Xirr assumed, all of the routes into the Temple.

Xirr took a few timid steps on the stone that was once again beneath his feet and listened as it echoed down the corridor that led further into the Temple. This was bad. Magnitudes worse than Xirr had presumed this gathering would end up. He knew the doors and shields wouldn’t hold forever. They were more than powerful enough to stand up to Jedi assaults, but this? This was different.

He heard Apollyon call out to Catalyst and seemingly find him, it was somewhat comforting to know that he had at least one ally inside the sandstone walls that now more than ever felt like a prison… or a tomb.

The armored lord paced around for a moment, concluding that he would at least follow Apollyon, Catalyst, and Kain to the battlements to witness their demise as it crept ever closer. Seconds felt like hours as Xirr’s plated sabatons clicked a metallic rhythm upon the floors of the temple, up the stairs and out onto the battlements he went, seeing the others seemingly with the same purpose Xirr came with.

“Those shields wont last forever.” He heard Kain say. Xirr agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

“They have the numbers to wait us out even if they don’t try to bombard us immediately. Do we have an escape route, or some means of calling reinforcements?” The Prince of the Stars concluded.

“Whatever we do, we need to do it fast,” Xirr said as he stepped towards the rail on the front of the battlements leaning over slightly to examine the battlefield as his eyes trailed up towards the silhouettes of the Monolithic Pyramids that hung in the sky outside the shields,

“I get the sense that they, whoever they are, didn’t come to fire a warning shot.” He concluded, turning to look at the others for response before he returned his attention to the fighting below, noticing still more sith trapped between the shield and the now sealed temple door.


TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Darth Xirr, @DarthNoxia, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xxys, @Volacius, @Metus, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach
 

Darth Xxys

Active member
Moderator
Dark Council
Immortalis
(IC XXYS)
Feast/ Courtyard Battle

The smell.

Xxys had been on a thousand battlefields and always it was the smell he remembered. Fresh blood, and a thousand cruel gut wounds, burnt flesh, and sweat. But this was more than just the stench of battle, and it assailed his senses. This was the smell of rot and decay, of a million open graves left too long in the sun. The smell of corruption, sickly, and sweet, it made his gorge rise.

The zombies attack had been easy enough to avoid and Xxys was now well within the ghouls guard. The shield impacted the wall behind and just above Xxys' head with a resounding "CLANG!"
Xxys' blade found its mark on the screaming zombie, and with only the slightest hesitation the crimson blade ripped through the creature cleaving it in two. The two halves crumpled, but even as the upper torso, now bereft of its lower half fell to the ground it swiped at the assassins fast retreating heels, teeth still gnashing as a guttural scream issued from the zombies gapping maw. The clawed hand found only air as the Dark Lord had already displaced. Xxys kept his saber at the ready as he swiftly made for the opening of the temple.
Suddenly there were bodies and parts of ripped zombies flying through the air. They radiated out from a central point with the Lady Hesper at its center. Friend and foe alike were tossed into the air and across the sand like ragdolls. Several of the zombie exploded with the force of the blast sending viscera and gore spiraling out like gruesome shrapnel.

Chaos

His anger was palpable and Xxys let it flow through his being, channeling his hatred for these invaders to strengthen his connection to the Dark Side.

"Shields activated!" came the cry over the tulmut and Xxys could hear the blast doors beginning to cycle. A curtain of energy rose from the sand just behind the most forward elements of the rotting hoard, trapping hundreds of the ghouls within the confines of the immediate temple grounds.

Xxys' Shadow Strikes had also found their marks sending the pair of rotting zombies besetting Lady Apollyon flying and creating the gap he intended. The Lady Apollyon wasted no time and made good her escape into the temple. Xxys was fast on her heels as he dashed to the quickly closing portal. He passed through the opening but was followed by two ghouls who managed to slip in just as the massive door shut. As he turned to face the creatures Xxys came set in a defensive posture and sent a blast of Force Lightning arcing from his now outstretched left hand, saber raised overhead ready to strike the rushing ghouls if they survived his attack. He poured his anger and hate into the blast, venting his rage with a Bellow that sent a wave of Force energy coursing along with the cuellian Lightning. His attack joined another who had simultaneously sent a lightning barrage into the pair just as they had unleashed their crude disc launching weapons. The creature's shots had gone wide and missed their intended target, the steel disc's clattering harmlessly against the stone walls and floor.

(Force powers used)
Force Lightning 4
Force Bellow 3


TAG: @Darth Sedicious @Darth Dreadwar @Volacius @Darth Nathemus @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Reatith Blodraald @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Darth Thana @Hadzuska_The Jester @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Admiral Volshe @Darth Xirr
 

Omegon

Well-known member
𝝮 Omegon 𝝮



Trenches, Desrini District, Coruscant





Triumph; Omegon roared his victory at the sky, the echoes filling the ears of all around. Perhaps it would cause the federation soldiers to flee in terror, or perhaps they would remain and be disemboweled by his massive claws. Either way, he would take his victory from them, he was sure of that.



Vaguely, he felt the slight stinging of blaster bolts off of his thick hide as a trio of federation soldiers opened fire at him, targeting his lower legs. Glancing down, he saw the three remaining troopers, opening fire with their weapons. And puny weapons they were, when compared to his size. Omegon had to fight to keep himself under control, holding back the inherent arrogance and rage of the rancor physiology.



He would not attack blindly; he would attack with precision and a plan, and he would emerge victorious. This he knew. This he had seen. Vaguely, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shadowsun finish off the padawan, crushing his head against the ground and sending the Jedi into the abyss, his spirit gone and body shattered. It was a sign of their weakness that the Jedi had only confronted them with a padawan so far, but Omegon knew that might change. This retreat could very well be a trap designed to draw the Sith into an ambush, before the more powerful Jedi revealed themselves in a bid to cut down the empire’s forces in a swift decapitation strike against the leadership.



Hopefully, though, their air superiority, flanking, and encirclement would be enough to warn them of any ambush when combined with the precognition and force senses of the Sith. He would need Pythonus, perhaps to scout ahead or act as bodyguard, and so he sent for him with a simple telepathic directive through their link. Pythonus would likely already be on his way though, with the Jedi now finished. He would be seeking new targets to sate his thirst for bloodhsed.



Advancing on the three remaining troopers, Omegon bellowed once more in defiance as they fired their tiny weapons at him. He could kill them more easily in his true form, he knew. But this was not just about killing. It was about sending a message. A message of terror and unpreventable victory.



Swiping his massive claw across the ground, Omegon used his massive size to hurl rubble at the leftmost soldier. Perhaps it would kill him, perhaps wound him, or perhaps only blind him momentarily. Regardless, he should be relatively unable to respond as Omegon confronted his friends.



And confront them Omegon did, lashing out with his arms as he charged towards them in large but calculated strikes. His right claw scythed forward, talons extended and spread to cover the largest area possible. He was trying to grab this one, crush him in his grasp and then tear the flesh from his bones, devouring him in a single gulp. The other soldier, he attempted to backhand with a massive strike, strong enough to hopefully hurl the man across the battlefield, cracking bone and pulping flesh.



If this was not enough to finish off the trio, then he would slay them with the support of Pythonus. If it was, then they would advance. The federation forces would be surrounded, defeated, and wiped out to a man. He would be sure of it.





IC: Pythonus



Trenches, Desrini District, Coruscant



Blood spread across the permacrete riddled ground, pooling around the prone form of the Jedi padawan slain by Shadowsun. That couldn’t be allowed; blood, especially that of force sensitive beings, was incredibly valuable to a Sith alchemist like Omegon. Pythonus had no intention of failing his commander and letting it go to waste.



Catching the crystal thrown his direction, he nodded his gratitude to Shadowsun. “Many thanks, Knight. Omegon will be grateful.” Swiftly, he began bagging the blood, drawing it out from the wound, the chest, and the arms. Two other things he needed, as well. Reaching in, he removed what remained of the brain and bagged it, being careful not to damage it any more than shadowsun’s massive claws already had. Then, he reached into the padawan’s chest, the alchemized gauntlet cutting through flesh with ease as he removed the heart, tearing it loose from its connecting veins and arteries. Placing all of the biological components along with the crystal into the bag slung over his shoulder, he stood, almost ready to go. Then, he noticed something.



Reaching back down, he collected a comlink from the padawan’s pocket; that, he knew, would prove useful. Whether transmitting recordings of the tortured and dying over the enemy radio waves, or using it to listen in, it would be another valuable asset. Slipping it into the bag as well, he placed the satchel at his side and surveyed the battlefield. He watched as Omegon, having taken the form of a Rancor, decimated the enemy ranks, tearing through ten soldiers at once. Three, however, remained steadfast and opened fire. That would not do. The goal was to generate terror, and heroes standing up to the rancor would inspire heroism, not terror.



“Shadowsun. Rayge. Let us remove those three soldiers before we regroup. From there, we can make plans to root the rest of the Jedi out of their precious trenches.” Standing to his full height, his swords once again drawn, he leapt forward, bounding across the battlefield towards Omegon and the three who still resisted him.



He couldn’t fire a weapon, not yet. The rancor was too close to the three soldiers for him to fire without risk of hitting Omegon. But once Omegon saw him approaching, hopefully he would back up and enable Pythonus to have a clear strike. And, if the soldiers got too ambitious? Well, Pythonus would be there to bring them down to earth, reminding them of their rightful place: beneath the boots of the Sith.




Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Oberleutnant Deleritas, @Senec Tinople, @Rayge, @Dorrian Shadowsun@Darth Vesper
 

Catalyst

The Cunning Linguist
Staff member
Moderator
Underworld Ruler
Immortalis
IC Lord Catalyst
Sith Temple, Korriban

As the great doors of the Sith Temple shuttered behind him, Catalyst deactivated his saberstaff and afforded himself a moment to catch his breath. His limbs were still tense from the sudden burst of speed, and he squeezed his hand to help abate the tremor that was beginning to affect his fingers. Adrenaline continued to course through his system as more and more Sith flooded the crowded entryway. He scanned the survivors, hoping to spot friendlier faces in the tumult. He noted that Kain and Xirr had made it into the gates, and breathed a small sigh of relief. From the corridor behind, he also spotted his apprentice entering the hall, and he flashed a warm smile at her.


Apollyon's voice called his attention, and he swiveled his head towards the passage she indicated. Looking back to Zareel, Catalyst jerked his head in a wordless indication for her to follow, and proceeded towards the stairwell behind Kain and Xirr, extending his hand to try to pull another filled goblet from the banquet hall as he passed. He definitely needed more than just a drink now, but it would have to do. He breathed a heavy sigh of resignation as he looked up the towering spiral staircase that loomed before him, shaking the doubts from his head before making his way up the many flights.


Atop the battlements once more, Catalyst surveyed the remains of the carnage. There were still fighters down there, surrounded by undead but at least they were inside the energy shield. He hoped that none of the zombies had the sense to begin scaling the walls to reach them, but relented in his mind that their luck had already been poor today and stepped back from the rails to distance himself from any exceptionally clever minds among the dead. A squad of stormtroopers quickly filled the gaps, and appeared to be readying turrets to siege the combat below. Something still nagged in the back of his mind. If he could make that jump, what was stopping anyone or anything else from doing the very same? He wasn't about to take the chance. In his hand, he readied a blast of telekinetic energy to unleash at anything that appeared from below. His reflexes were still twitchy from the retreat, though, and he wasn't going to afford any favors to allies who had missed the closing doors either.


The conversation before him made him even more uneasy. Kain was right, even with the shields in place they could just wait out the inhabitants of the temple, though that would undoubtedly be a long siege. More likely, the trapped Sith would turn on each other and the invaders would have their work done for them. The shield itself, while likely robust to withstand said siege for a while, was still keeping them trapped in its dome. "An escape route would be better than fighting our way out," Catalyst spoke up in agreement with Kain. "I'm not keen on the idea of tangling with this army if I can help it."


Powers used:
Telekinesis 4 (I need a freaking drink, man)
Force Push: 4 (readied)



TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Xirr, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Darth Xirr, @DarthNoxia, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xxys, @Volacius, @Metus, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach
 

Volacius

Member
IC: Darth Volacius, Scourge of the Jedi
The Execution Grounds, Korriban

Volacius had failed. Though he’d managed to rescue the hated Federation Admiral, his grip on Master K’Kruhk had not been strong enough, and the Whipid had been reduced to meat and entrails by the abominations that had surrounded him. Were the situation not so hopeless, perhaps the well-built Mirialan would have been worried about suffering punishment for his blunder, either from Lord Kain or Empress Volshe; instead, Volacius was left to hope that he would live to see that punishment. The Sith Master’s face continued to twitch, particularly in his left cheek and brow, the involuntary spasming having worsened since the unarmed zombie had struck his face. Blood oozed from the ugly, jagged lacerations in his chin, disrupting the charcoal-black of his geometric tattoos with a deep crimson that glistened in Horuset’s final, uncaring rays of light.

Volacius continued to back up, angling his alchemized sword, and loosing another swirling deluge of flames through its familiar, yet esoteric symbols toward the now-burning husk that had wounded him. This time, he intended to finish the job, but in truth the fate of the assailing zombie was not nearly as important as the creaking rumble of the colossal doors to the temple.

He didn’t have much time left.

The Mirialan Sith glanced to his side, witnessing Lord Kain retrieve Gar Stazi and retreat into the Temple, the shields having now been activated by the timely work of a nearby Shadow Guard. With the safety of his former master, and one of his charges now verified to him, Volacius ducked into the limited safety of the Temple a mere hand's-breadth behind them, sparing only a thought to lament that Skyllan was not beside him. Volacius paused for a moment to witness the Beloved Prince slump his head against the wall. Though the twitching in his facial muscles had subsided, a renewed terror dawned on him, sending chills down his spine colder than the blizzards of Orto Plutonia. It felt as though even the eternal flame of Lord Kain’s spirit was flickering with uncertainty.


Volacius dared not meet his former master’s eyes, and instead proceeded further into the Temple, taking the slow, cautious steps of a man who had witnessed a sobering new reality toward the churning cauldron of emotions he could sense inside the throne room. Only after Kain stormed past him, the aging Duros Admiral still in his inflexible clutches did Volacius come back to his senses.

Kain! Volacius straightened up, firmly wiping the still-dripping blood from his chin in spite of the pain he incurred by touching the injury. I must stay close to Kain to survive!


The Mirialan Master noted Kain’s passage up the steps to the battlements, and he followed, confident that if the Beloved Prince truly didn’t want him nearby, he would surely make it clear. Arriving at the top, Volacius caught the tail-end of Kain’s conversation with Lady Apollyon, as well as Xirr’s and Catalyst’s remarks. Even in the midst of the horrifying siege, Volacius’ reflexes for decorum kicked in, and he bowed. Blessed with a temporary reprieve from the fighting, the remnants of his earlier plan for survival once again surfaced in his refocusing mind.


“My Lords,” he said, his voice ragged from the pain of moving his torn-up jaw, “my Lady. If you feel it useful, I could enact Battle Meditation to assist our comrades that are stuck outside the walls. But in any case, I am at your disposal.” He waited patiently for the response of his superiors, casting aside the myriad of distractions around him in preparation to begin the meditation should they agree.

POWERS USED:
Convection 1 — Pyrokinesis 4 (+1 Sword bonus)
Force Bond 3 — Battle Meditation 4 (readied)

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Darth Xirr, @DarthNoxia, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xxys, @Volacius, @Metus, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Jihadi Quartz
 

Hadzuska_The Jester

Well-known member
Moderator
Dark Council
IC: Hadzuska

Library, Sith Temple, Korriban


As soon as Hadzuska had entered his search once more he was somewhere else. It was pouring rain, lightning flashed continuously around them. He wore a hood to keep the rain from his eyes. He held a whip in right hand as he walked through the slaves, seeing over the work on the statues.


Dromund Kaas, though it was a seat of the Empire, was dreary. The only pleasure he seemed to get currently was when he punished an unruly slave, which unfortunately hadn’t happened in a few weeks. He was currently walking through the area where they were mining the stone. Another overseer on the other side of the area could be heard luckily cracking his whip and shouting. “FASTER!” And then he heard a tone shift as everyone of the slaves seemed to move as one, humming the same tune. Then as one, they began to sing.


Overseers all over began yelling, whips cracking, streams of lightning crackling all over as some of the overseers called upon the Force to enact harsher punishments. “QUIET! FASTER!


He was about to join his fellow overseers when he noticed one of the slaves doing nothing, not even working like he should be. “YOU! GET BACK TO WORK!” He roared at the slave.


Nah, I don’t think I will. Can’t keep the harmony.” The slave replied smugly. Enraged, he unfurled his whip and reached back about to punish when his arm was grabbed, and he was spun around. Surprised he did not see the flashing silver until it pierced his flesh into his heart. With a grunt the blade was removed, fresh blood dripping from it as the blade comes back and pushed into his heart again. Stabbing, once more, twice more, three more times, all followed with a grunt. The whip falls from his hands, as he drops to his knees, while his sight fades.


As he takes his last breath, he finds himself back in the library. “No. NO! NOOOOOO!!!” Hadzuska’s hand brushes the screen, not paying attention unveiling the details of ‘Supernatural Encounters: The Trials and Transformation of Arhul Hextrophon.’ “I will not die! Not again! All will suffer before they ever get the chance!” He roars at no one in particular, his eyes wild from witnessing himself die for the third time in the past twenty minutes, before noticing the alarms. He needed to finish here sooner rather than later. Looking back at the screen he began to study, not realizing their were other options to choose.



TAGs: @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Nathemus, @Jihadi Quartz, @Voidwalker, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Solus, @Reatith Blodraald, @Darth Dreadwar


(OOC: In all fairness I rolled a d4 to make the decision on where my hand brushed and rolled a 4)
 

Grievance Vexx

Dark Lord Krigsbefallaf
Staff member
Moderator
Dark Council
IC- Lord Grievance Vexx
Location- Korriban


Hearing Draconis’s shout and being reminded that the tether that had once connected them is still in his hand, Vexx tightens his hold as his master draws the line taut between them, understanding the intent immediately. However, as Hesper’s telekinetic blast hits him like a battering ram mere seconds later, he can only hope Draconis’s reflexes do not fail him and he lets go of his airborne apprentice. As for Vexx, all of his own reflexes are at first set toward resistance and when that fails, those reflexes make ready to brace for an impact that is most likely going to hurt.

Like a kite caught in a straight-line hurricane force wind, the Kaleesh cyborg weighing in at over three hundred pounds in his durasteel casing might as well have all the body mass of a piece of parchment. Somehow he manages the swift capacity to extinguish his lightsabers and his brain commands his cybernetic hands to hold fast to the hilts, lest he lose them whenever and wherever he lands. He also has the sense about him on the fly—literally—to draw upon Force Barrier in hopes that it will offer him a bit of shock absorption when he does find solid ground again, knowing it will not be a gentle meeting.

The collision of metal against metal is without mercy; bone-shattering; more than enough to force the air from his lungs in addition to causing him to see an explosion of stars as his spine and the back of his head slams solidly against the ramp, leaving a deep dent at the site of impact. He is barely aware of his body sliding down the tilted ramp and coming to rest in the scarlet sands. Lying at an odd angle on his back, arms splayed and legs contorted in what looks like an unnatural position, his head is throbbing and tinnitus has returned, deafening him once again as though trying to aide the darkness he can feel creeping into his consciousness. The sands vibrate beneath him as a shield of some sort encompasses him, but in his dazed state, he assumes the sensation is brought on by the blow to the head, effecting his cybernetics in some strange way. He simply doesn’t have the capacity to process that a shield has extended from somewhere and he has, by some merciful will of the Force, landed within its perimeter.

F367006F-3A0E-478A-850E-F8A98ECCC825.jpeg

The oblivion of unconsciousness is so tempting right now. What is all of this for anyway? The pain; the struggle? He had spent a great deal of his life wishing death would come and set him free from the humiliated way of existing forced upon him so long ago. A life confined to a whirring, rattling, humming coffin that forces air into his lungs and sustains him whether he wants it or not. The hatred for it burns anew inside of him as his body convulses with painful coughing, his infernal respirator trying to settle on an even kilter once again after the impact of his crash landing.

Where dead man lies
I’m paralyzed
My brother’s eyes are gone
And he shall be buried here
Nameless marks his grave
Mother home
Get a telegram
And shed a tear of grief
Mud and blood
In foreign land
Trying to understand

Where is this greatness I’ve been told?
These are the lies that we’ve been sold.
Is this a worthy sacrifice?

Where is the greatness Hesper had spoken of? She had said the Jedi were no more. Is this what they are now reduced to? Fighting the dead oozing with their stench and rot? Death by friendly fire? This seems no more honorable than his previous line of duty. Perhaps now is his time to die; to stop being used by others for some agenda he has never really understood. His death would rob them of a tool; a pawn. It may not stop the agenda, but perhaps it would slow it down...

Great War—and I cannot take more
Great tour—I keep on marching on
I play the great score
There will be no encore
Great War—the war to end all wars

His mechanical ribs heave against the synthetic skin protecting his internal organs and he is once again reminded of the blaster shots that had slammed into him there by pain renewed from his entire body colliding with steel at a velocity that probably would have killed a weaker being with ease. He cannot die. As much as he may feel he will and as much as he may even want to, he has orders. One of those orders had been that he survive and he has never been one to willfully disobey or disappoint. His respirator grinds him into another coughing fit and he realizes he has to get up; turn over at the very least. His world is spinning, dipping in and out of darkness as though his consciousness is a yo-yo in the hands of a youngling who has no idea what he is doing, but the Krigsbefallaf clings to the shred of clear thinking that calls him to never surrender.

I’m standing here
I’m full of fear
With bodies at my feet
Over there
In the other trench
Bullets wear my name
Lead ahead
As the captain said
And show them no remorse
Who am I to understand?
What have I become?

I do my duties; pay the price
I do the worthy sacrifice
I know my deeds are not in vain

With painstaking difficulty that causes his head to spin and his guts to roil with nausea, Vexx manages to turn himself over. Even if his throbbing head cannot tolerate being fully upright just yet, at least he is in a position to be able to crawl back to his allies. His clawed hands, still clutching his lightsabers, move as though gravity is his enemy, pushing back against his efforts as he struggles to find the gumption to pull himself forward. All of his limbs are still functional, but everything hurts and the concussion he battles continues its persistent call, beckoning him to let unconsciousness engulf his pain.

71D59DF7-90B9-4479-9F2D-5D605CC81267.jpeg

No. He will not be so weak. He will never go down without a knockdown drag-out fight. He has a duty to uphold and his honor demands that he remain faithful. His swimming doubled vision makes it difficult to distinguish what is what on the battlefield. Skeletons are scurrying and being dispatched; lightsabers hum; rusted weapons clang in their own symphony of death and destruction. Where is Invadator? Draconis? The lady called Arach? His disorientation is maddening; fueling anger and frustration.

And feet by feet
We pay the price of a mile here
Though men are falling
We see heroes rise
We face the heat
As we are fighting until the dawn
So follow me
And we will write our own history

Drawing upon Battlemind to combat his injuries and his fatigue, he attempts to bolster his stamina as he continues to creep along over the sands, eventually picking up speed as his own determination pushes him forward. His anger still swelling, not really directed at anyone or anything other than the struggle he is having to reorient himself, Grievance Vexx at last manages to take up a vertical stance once again. His head makes him pay for that bold move by making him wish he had the capacity to vomit, on the chance that he might feel better if he did.

Great War—and I cannot take more
Great tour—I keep on marching on
I play the great score
There will be no encore
Great War—the war to end all wars

707E170F-4393-47A2-98C5-02E9EDFFF332.jpeg

As soon as he is upright once again, his lightsabers ignite like beacons of defiance and he encloses himself in a barrier of strobing energized plasma once again. The familiar eager hum of his rapidly whirling blades helps him recenter himself and, in spite of the pain gnawing away at his skull, he manages to regroup with his allies as they fight to get to safety.


Powers attempted:
Force Barrier (+4)
Battlemind (+4)
Saber Barrier (+4)

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Reiis Invadator, @Arach, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst
 

Dark Lady Makaria

Moderator
Moderator
Dark Council
IC: Keres Dymos
Beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

Keres had miscalculated, badly. She'd hoped to buy herself time to think things through, but the wraiths had quickly overpowered her. The pain was overwhelming and pulsed with her heart, and she could feel her pant leg quickly dampening with blood. Had it hit an artery? She didn't know, there was no time to check. But if it had, she had no time anyways. There was no time. Keres sucked in a breath as her saber hand dropped, unable to think about fighting.

She wasn't going to win here.

But the shadow figures hadn't quite surrounded her, not with the stairs at her back, and Keres whipped around to force herself up the steps and flicking off her saber. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But she was small, and dressed in dark clothes, and there were no walls. If they tried to get to her, she could hope to shove them off. And, hopefully, she could get help. Gulping air as she tried her best to run up the stairs, trying to channel the pain and fear of her situation into the Force. Her telepathic call was less words and more a cry for help, a panicked shout into the void to see who would respond, putting as much power in it that she could.

She could just barely hear the alarms, and she lurched on the next step before resuming her pace. Oh Force... what if she managed to make it up there and everyone had left. Then again, surely Master Xiannarr or Overseer Marcus would make sure to collect her? Then again, she had fled as Xiannarr had abruptly turned against Marcus, and she was fairly certain the other apprentices would flee to their masters. Her chances for survival was looking terribly small right now.

Powers Used:
Telepathy - 1

TAGS: @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Darth Dreadwar
 

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