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

Darth Kain

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Dark Council
Immortalis
The Slayer of Slayers
A Combo between @Darth Kain, @Darth Dreadwar, and @Admiral Volshe

PicsArt_10-25-02.54.25.jpg
IC: Darth Kain, The Thralls and Shadow Ghouls, and the Shadow Slayers
The Emperor's Tower, Sith Temple, Korriban


The hiss of the sinister Slayers was their only response to the quip of the Dark Messiah. His eyes narrowed, for the title of Jidai, assumingly short for Jen’Jidai, was not one he had been called before. He knew the title well, thanks to the texts offered to him from the library in this very temple. And while many here would be insulted at the prospect of not being hailed as a Sith Lord, Kain did not think on it. Partially, it was due to his lack of adherence to the Sith’s code in the first place, subscribing to the ideal that true ambition would only be held back by the invisible chains of any code but his own. But, of course, the largest reason was that the words of soon-to-be-dead creatures mattered little to the Beloved King of the Stars.

They shambled in their horrid forms, bone and metal scraping against one another as they attempted to move past, to surround Kain and push him back toward the stairwell. He knew well enough that fighting multiple foes was done best with them on one side and you on the other, however. And so he retreated, stepping backward and taking advantage of the thick layer of dust coating everything in this abandoned tower.

Azure flames leapt from his palms, spraying the floor before the Slayers. A foundation had been laid, and so the wall rose. Higher, higher, creating an impenetrable barrier of flame that threatened to roast anything that dared to pass it.

The Slayers hissed, rearing back as the flames rose before them, licking the low ceiling with frenzied thirst. Their empty eye sockets reflected nothing.

It was then that the shield generator began to quake and tremble, a grinding noise emanating from its base. Barely visible through the wall of fire, a raised hand, one of the Slayers plying its telekinetic power to achieve its sinister goal. Another contested Kain's power directly, an aura of freezing cold intruding into the flame, seeking to extinguish enough of the fire to allow passage. Yet the flames remained bright and undwindled.

There were both the ghouls and the thralls possessed by Volshe at the summit. A thrall levelled its rifle, aiming a burst shot at the heads of the approaching Slayers. The ghouls followed suit, launching themselves at the Slayers. Their ethereal claws hacked and slashed at the intruders, converging on them with a cruel vigour.

Meanwhile, Kain sought to make the Slayers easier targets for the undead thralls and ghouls of Volshe. They had been unable to breach his wall of flames so far, but that did not mean they were completely harmless. The fiends had to die, and they had to die quickly.

To hold them in place for the hopefully well-aimed shots of these sulken-eyed servants, the Beloved King cast his hands forward, seeking to grasp the Slayers and envelop them in an inescapable field of energy. With luck, they would be forced still, easy targets for whatever else the Son of Suns had in mind.

The Slayers were swift, ducking and weaving around the bolts of plasma, evading the shadow-ghouls' claws, but the moment Kain's power took hold, they froze, the air shimmering around them with unnatural energy, blurring their otherwise motionless outlines as if their tattered robes flickered like black flame. Their hands remained outstretched, but the generator no longer shook.

The Slayers were still, now. The thrall again aimed their blaster at the Slayers and fired a more precise round at the Slayers’ heads - the ghouls converging once more. The bolt streaked through the air, impacting the open maw of the closest slayer and blasting its lower jaw off its frozen skull, scattering rotten teeth across the floor.

The ghouls lunged at the now-still invaders, lethal swipes of their claws aiming towards the chests and throats of the nearest Slayers. Streaks of ethereal black trailed in the passage of their claws, necrotic energy gouging the Slayers' skeletal forms

It seemed that Volshe’s thralls and ghouls were causing some damage, but it was not enough. Shattered bones and flesh wounds would not be enough to fell these ugly undead. No, no they would have to end up like their brethren at the bottom of this tower.

Burnt to ashes.

Lord Kain willed for the wall of flame to expand and rush forward, to pass over the flammable tinder of their rotting flesh and decrepit skeletons.

The stairwell behind them flared, utter darkness receding before the brilliant scarlet light, sandstone rippling with heat powerful enough to melt rock, and then the fire faded. Crumbled, charred bone and soot blackened the floor between Kain and the doorway like shadows scorched into the rock, the only lingering stain testifying to the existence of the five Slayers.

He took a breath, then two. Most would find the odor of disintegrated flesh and bone to be absolutely horrid, but not him. It was bittersweet, like the smell of roasting caf in the morning. There was a certain comfort to it, reminding him that because he could smell that awful smell, he was alive, and his enemies were not. The irony was not lost on him in the slightest here; all that was left of the Shadow Slayers were their shadows. He grinned, and then frowned. Now he had to get back down from here, and he did not wish to Fold Space back to his previous position, which was no doubt littered with Sith scrambling into the tunnels.

The Dark Messiah turned to the thralls and ghouls, and then stared at the shield generator. It was still running fine, even if it was a disturbing piece of technology. The crimson tubes running from it to the floor were as blood vessels, the generator itself some pernicious heart that was responsible for the lives of everyone in this temple. Despite its loathsome appearance, Kain knew that this generator had to remain unharmed. Otherwise, those guests at their doorstep would be given the invitation they so desperately desired.

“I must return to the others and ensure that we get off of this planet in one piece,” he told a thrall. “After I head down, form a barrier in the stairwell. Use chairs, tables, anything you can find to slow down any other invaders that come up this way. Buy us as much time as you can.”


The thrall nodded, slowly, eyes devoid of any sign of personal understanding. But for a husk of a human being, puppeteered by the invisible marionette of Empress Volshe, personal understanding was not required.

He stopped for a moment to stare out of that narrow window, out into the darkening horizon of Korriban. The screams of the damned had not been lost on him. He heard their cries in the Force, their pleading of mercy from an indescribably terrible fate. He even felt the Force itself recoil at such horror, shuddering and retreating in fear of the monstrous Typhojem and his no-doubt dramatic entrance into the galaxy. But as loud as their cries were, in their trillions upon trillions, it was naught but a pin drop compared to the final cry of one.

His descent down the tower had begun, the thousand steps less an annoyance and more a time to ponder. Perhaps he would meet the others on their way up. Or perhaps the reason for their delay was that they had died grisly deaths. He would do them the favor of stepping over their corpses, at the very least. A kinder treatment than whoever crushed that poor fool’s skull back near the throne room.

TAGS: @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios


OOC GM NOTES: Kain rolls 19 + 21 + 10, and succeeds in his usage of Pyrokinesis. I see no need for an Effect or Damage Roll until the Slayers come into contact with the wall of flame.


The thrall's attack rolls a 1, and misses. The ghouls' attack rolls a 3 + 5 against DC 10, and fails. Kain's attack rolls 19 + 21 + 10 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect Roll is 21 + Modifier of 5, achieving full success.

The thrall's second attack rolls 14 against DC 10, and succeeds. 3 Damage is inflicted, reducing the slayer's HP to 7.

The ghouls' second attack rolls 7 + 5 against DC 10, and succeeds. Damage to each slayer (arbitrated as three) is 1, reducing one slayer's HP to 6, and two others' to 9.

Kain rolls 11 + 21 + 10 against DC 10, and succeeds. Damage to each slayer is 17 + Modifier of 5, reducing each slayer's HP to 0.
 

Darth Xxys

Active member
Moderator
Dark Council
Immortalis
(XXYS IC Corridor)

Chaos.

All about him was chaos.

The red skinned Twi-lek continued to hack away at the skeletal warrior, to little or no effect. She shouted at the hulking cyborg which had been the keeper of the fireball hurling former prisoner, who had after his firey addition, made good his escape. The Kaleesh warrior had dashed away after his charge and was quickly out of site in a few bounds. She had shouted her desire for him to try and levitate the now smoldering, but still animate, and still throughly murderous, skeleton warrior in an attempt to stimy its rampage.

The siren song of death being sung so sweetly by the Empress to thrall her army still lingering in the ether for any that had the ability to hear, mixing with the unrelenting onslaught of the invaders.

Xxys bolstered his mental defences and clamped down on his fear. The nearly paralyzing sensation had never ceased to emanate from the invading army, but now there was another, riding the edge of sanity, a presence he had not felt since...

It started as a tremor in the Force, a growing terror even deeper than the fear the invaders sought to instill.

The Force was bleeding

and like an irresistible flood Xxys was nearly overwhelmed by the wretched lamenting of a trillion souls screaming their last breaths into the void then suddenly, and inexorably, stamped out...consumed. The waves of sorrow, and malicious intent, pouring from whatever had transpired wrenched the binding power of the universe. The Force twisted like a serpent in a fire pit, and such was the grief contained within the sudden surge of power that it was all Xxys could do to contain his own emotions. It seemed the Force itself must be ripped asunder under the ghastly manipulations...but no, it held its integrity, though it was greatly diminished, as if the energy field was passing through a curtain of sticky, sickly ichor. So too was his connection diminished, but unlike the Ysalamiri who absorbed the Force energy, this was jagged teeth in a black tooth grin, slashing and biting the tendons that anchored the Force to the flesh of the living universe, further stressing the tenuous connection.

He and to get the hell out of this place and back into space. Was his ship even there anymore?

First Xxys had to find the Empress and be sure she, and her progeny, were safe. This was his first priority and to that end he exstiguished his sabers but kept them to hand and made his way back towards the throne room where he sensed her presence. As he passed through the doorway into the throne room he could see the Empress and her party had congregated at the foot of the seat itself and she was still focused on her fel magics.

"My liege," Xxys genuflected before the Empress and her entourage. These were some of the most powerful beings on the planet surface other than the marauding army attempting to gain entrance to the temple.
"I am at your service. Who is it that besieges us? I have sensed a presences in the din of the hoard, but it seems...unlikely, and the cacophony of voices in the Force have made any clear distinction nearly impossible." Xxys had sensed the presence, but was not convinced it was indeed the creature himself.

"My liege...has Dreadwar become our enemy?"


TAG: TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Darth Kain , @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Zareel Jhenan´doka , @G.Kn, @Darth Thana
 

Catalyst

The Cunning Linguist
Moderator
Underworld Ruler
Immortalis
Convoluted Combo (now with 20% less Combo!)

IC: Master Darth Xiannarr, Lord Catalyst, Lady Apollyon
Dungeons under the Sith Academy, Korriban


“Right you lot, we are here today to.. to .. to. What’s going on here, where am I?.”

Xiannarr had blinked the exact moment Xarxes mind rub had taken effect. Before he had closed his eyes, he was walking into the classroom ready to begin training the apprentices. Now he was underground , it felt underground, the air was cold and still.


Xiannarr could feel the tension in the air, he was oblivious to the cause. Out of the corner of his eye, Xiannarr could see Ermir crawling pitifully across the ground. His first instinct was the laugh, he had never liked the Overseer, and some of the stories about him were beyond grotesque. Yet the Dread Master knew, it would reflect well all things considered, if he healed the injured overseer.


Before he could take a step forward and begin to heal the injured overseer, his eyes fell on Lady Apollyon, Lord Catalyst and the Butcher of Coruscant. Xiannarr dropped straight to his knees

“Hail my Lords and Ladies, forgive me for asking but where are we? And why are we here? Last thing I remember is entering the training hall earlier at Lady Apollyon’s request.”

The gasping excuses Hadzuska put forth fell upon uncaring ears, as Catalyst squeezed harder on his larynx. "I don't give a kriff who or what you were aiming for," he hissed with all the conviction of a scolding mother. "It ends now." A steady glare punctuated his words for a few seconds before he released his psychic grasp on the pale skinned Sith.


Catalyst's attention turned to the whispered revelations of Lady Apollyon. “I solved the prophecy, you know,” she said quietly. “That prophecy of apocalypse, from the tomb. Mitth’res’pheie. It wasn’t a Chiss. It was an anagram. The Sith Empire. I don’t know what good it does us now. But I solved it. The outward riddle, anyway. The deeper meaning…In time of greatest dread… will come The Sith Empire? Catalyst puzzled the solved riddle in his head. He couldn't quite remember the exact wording but he was sure that it had to do with saving the galaxy from some great apocalypse. This solution, however, seemed to offer more questions than answers.


"If it takes you two years to solve an anagram, remind me not to invite you over for game night," he ribbed, a sly grin forming on his face. "Of course, we could just play strip-Sabaac instead." Truthfully, he hadn't thought about that riddle much since their return from that gods-forsaken tomb, due to being sent almost immediately to Yavin IV afterwards.


The Force convulsed in agony around him as he ruminated. He steadied himself, grasping Apollyon's hand tightly as their collective weight shifted. He had felt this feeling once before. A billion voices crying out in terror, before suddenly being silenced. Almost instinctively, he raised his head, expecting to look to a starry sky with the remnants of destruction rapidly expanding from what had once been a planet. Catalyst had been nowhere near Alderaan when the Death Star reduced it to little more than an asteroid field, and he had not seen the results then, just as he saw nothing more than the stone ceiling now. He could only wonder what had fallen now, and what had caused this wave of despair in the Force.


Thankfully, not Korriban.


The Lord of Linguistics pulled his saberstaff from his belt, thumbing the activation button but not igniting the blades. He wanted to be ready in case more things came from these tunnels. Behind him, others followed, including a noticeably confused Xiannarr, asking what was going on. Force, Xarxes what did you do to his brain? He rolled his eyes and ventured forth into the dark, supporting Apollyon as her heeled steps regained their steadiness.


Apollyon’s grip tightened on his arm, as if encouraging Catalyst to slow, as she paused a moment. Xarxes had evidently addled Xiannarr’s mind—some spell of confusion, perhaps—and ordinarily Apollyon would have taken advantage; such opportunities for a practical joke were few and far between. But no matter how much Catalyst’s incorrigible personality had rubbed off on her, there simply wasn’t enough time for foolishness.


“Lord Xarxes did something to pacify your mind, I believe,” she said. “You were being rather fighty. We’re in grave danger, and there’s no time to explain. An invasion force is assaulting us, and we’re heading down to the tunnels to escape. Aid Marcus, and keep up.” She tossed her head, indicating for Xiannarr to follow, and resumed her pace, still lightly tugging on Catalyst to slow his gait. Chills were running up and down her body, now, and she used her free hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.


“Gods, Catalyst,” she turned her head towards the Inquisitor, “you are aware I’m wearing heels?” She would cast them off and run barefoot, if it came to that, but her range of motion was still hampered by her crimson gown; if there was but time, she would have rushed to her chambers and changed into more utilitarian garb. But there was not, and she could only hope avoiding short-term risk would not exact a price long-term.

“Invasion..? What?, who ?” The confusion was evident in Xiannarr’s voice, the Sith Master cast a glance at Ermir. No time to heal this one if we’re under duress, I doubt the great buffoon would be much help to us anyway. Xiannarr thought to himself. The Dread Master's right hand dropped to his hip, seeking the comfortable familiar comfort of the saber at his side. Except it was gone, looking down he saw only one of his weapons was in place.



“H-h-has anyone seen my lightsaber?.” This was all too beginning to become too much for Xiannarrr, “ and I'm guessing now isn't a good time to head back up to my room for my cigarras? Can anyone Spare a couple ?” As he spoke he moved towards the crawling overseer, who glared at Xiannarr with hatred burning in his eyes. Reaching down to grip Ermir’s upper forearm, Xiannarr would try to hoist the fallen overseer up to his feet and allow the overseer to lean on the Dread Master for support. “What are you doing, you fool?” Ermir snapped, not so much as raising a hand towards Xiannarr’s proffered aid. “Do not touch me!”


Catalyst was content to ignore Xiannarr's blathering. Even if he had cigarras on hand, he wasn't one to share them unless under the light of the moons. He slowed his walking pace for the benefit of Apollyon but his mouth offered her no such reprieve. "I could always carry you again, if you prefer," he offered flirtatiously. "Seemed to work out well enough the last time we faced death."


Apollyon glanced back at Ermir, but her focus was clearly on Catalyst alone, as her lips parted to reply. “Now that, I might actually require, if we suddenly have to run for it.” She glanced back to Catalyst, offering a weak smile, and then back ahead; the two overseers behind her could come to an arrangement between themselves. They were at the end of the passageway, now, the stairs to the Emperor’s tower on the left, the stairs down to the tunnels on the right. The musty scent of wasting death wafted from the darkness.


Apollyon inhaled deeply, and blew out a breath; a stray hair moved only slightly with the exhalation, sticking to the sweat already regathering upon her forehead. “I would ordinarily say ‘ladies first,’ but if you might be the brave gentleman, Lord Catalyst,” she said, arm sweeping to indicate the door before them.


"If only because Kain asked nicely," Catalyst responded with a touch of apprehension. He was still unsure what was waiting for them down there, and if there were more of these shadow slayers, he certainly didn't want to be first in line to deal with them. He would have preferred someone a little more heavily armored take charge. Where is Xirr when I need him? Alas, he was the first to take the cautious steps into the tunnels below, his fingers firmly interlaced with Apollyon's. It offered a small measure of security, knowing that she cared for his well being beyond just as an asset. He would he sure to return the favor.

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Xxys, @corinthia, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Darth Kain , @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Zareel Jhenan´doka , @G.Kn, @Darth Thana
 

Darth Cold

Well-known member
Moderator
Dark Council
IC: Hadzuska
Dungeons, Sith Temple, Korriban


"I don't give a kriff who or what you were aiming for, it ends now.” The Lord had said with a punctuating stare before releasing him, where Hadzuska would fall to the ground unsteady.

Grasping his throat for a second longer as the appropriate amount of air was able to be inhaled and exhaled, steadying him to a point, he stood up, his ears popping as he did. He'll pay for this. I don't care that the child likes him. I can't forgive an arrogant, superficial, manchild such as him. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but he will pay for this. He thought to himself. However it seemed the Force had other plans, for as he finally seemed to get his balance he felt a shocking amount of life suddenly vanish through the Force. It felt like the Force itself was dying, and it unsteadied him enough to drop his knee onto the floor once more. He began to breathe heavier for a moment as he once again attempted to steady himself. As he rose again he began to listen.

Lord Xarxes did something to pacify your mind, I believe,” Apollyon said. “You were being rather fighty. We’re in grave danger, and there’s no time to explain. An invasion force is assaulting us, and we’re heading down to the tunnels to escape. Aid Marcus, and keep up.

Us in grave danger? An invasion Force? Who had the nerves of steel to invade a planet of Sith? And more importantly, how are they so powerful that we are in grave danger? Is that what that overpowering darkness has been this entire time? And that crushing feeling where life seemed to disappear all at once. What could have caused that? Thankfully it was so far away. Whatever happens I need to survive. Am I on the winning side of this conflict? If not, I need to join the winning side. To hell with this place, my survival matters more than theirs. I WILL NOT DIE!!!



(Powers Used: Force Sense <Passive Use>)

TAGs: @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Darth Dreadwar
 

Xarxes

Sith Imperator
Sith Emperor
Moderator
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
Immortalis
IC: Darth Drakul Xarxes
Dungeons, Sith Temple, Korriban





Apollyon, you fool.

Xarxes did not care terribly for her telling Xiannarr what he had done, though none of them knew exactly what it was, but for the sake of cooperation, it probably would have been best to remain mum on the subject. Looking past Hadzuska towards the dungeons, the iron-clad lord began to feel a compulsion furthering his desire to do as Lady Hesper had ordered. It was odd. Invasive, almost.

It was not, however, comparable to the force which shook him to the core in the next instant. A draining, unlike any he had felt before, struck him. The spirits within his armor cried out as a chorus resounded through the Force, a cacophony of tormented souls howling in anguish as their life was snuffed out. The field from which all Force-sensitives drew their strength dwindled momentarily as billions upon billions of lives were extinguished as quickly as blowing a candle out.

He stumbled, catching himself with his sword. A hand shot up to his forehead, massaging its steel shielding. He reached out through the Force, grasping for home. Arkania…it couldn’t be…

No. No! Not Arkania, somewhere else, it must be. There were few places to house so many residents as his planet, but there was at least one with a far greater population, and while he did not dare stretch himself to as to receive confirmation, his own powers of deduction confirmed it for him: Coruscant!

That planet mattered little to him, whether it stood or fell, but the likely safety, at least for now, of Arkania was enough to soothe him temporarily. He extended a hand once more, and stepping toward the entrance to the tunnels, he used his powers of sight to discern, truly, what lay in waiting for them through the deeps.

Powers Used
Farsight (To determine what lies within the tunnels): 3
TAGS: @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Darth Dreadwar, @Hadzuska_The Jester
 

Jen'nu

Legendary Member
Moderator
Dark Council
Chapter VII: Dead End
IC: Ānhrā Māhnîu. (Darth Sedicious and 114D written with permission).
Location: Approaching the Eternal Fleet, near Bosthirda.

Empty Emotions:

iuQmVPLBRbmRQeoA46VTZ6.jpgThe Jen’nu was left partially transfixed by the almost literal flying fortress mounting before their eyes. With binocular vision he could witness a scarp of starships, unrecognizable in scope and shape, blocking their path ahead. In an instant his eyes had darkened. This fleet, whatever it was, had seemingly managed to wipe out the Federation forces calling for assistance. The same Federation forces meant to come under his service, to aid his supreme aspirations. All of them had been butchered in the most senseless of manners, depriving him of their lives, his lives.

The interstellar nebulae of aetherial cobwebs that encompassed each and every microscopic moment of their lives; the causal strings that unraveled around them; the silken flavor they had overlaid on galactic history, all incinerated in a blink of the cosmic oculus.
His own could only stare, with the blankly shocked sorrow of a child at a funeral. Streaks of wrath and heartache welled up and fell down across his face as he turned his attention to Sedicious.

‘’We should get out of here. Conceal the ship, we’ll maneuver through the wreckage. And there’s something I need to do.’’

The icy eyes of Darth Sedicious fell behind his equally lapis lids. Beautiful as this wall of spacecraft was, their presence had jaded him. It was a mildly sinking sensation, neither surprise nor sadness, only an emotional hardening. As his thoughts toughened, so did the veil of illusion cloaking the ship from harm.

The objective having turned to flight, the Jen’nu could now take the time to assess, staring out the cockpit viewport. They’d been pulled out by gravity mines. Hapans? Based on his current information they would be under the command of the Sith Order, ruled over by Darth Traya. The use of interdiction mines was a distinctly Hapan tactic, but the fleet looming over them seemed rather dissimilar from their discoid Star Dragons.
This kind of technology had been popularized within the Federation in the last few decades though, which would explain their presence here. According to the message however, those forces had been betrayed by their ambiguous allies, who now stood overlooking their fallen prey. A devious tactic indeed, letting them deploy their own net of artificial mass shadow, and then obliterating them as they’d closed off any escape. He could’ve found it amusingly and elegantly ironic, a strategy he himself would undoubtedly enjoy. This would be an exception though.

image0-2.jpgTowards the back of the ship, a glittering power was rising. Ice met fire in the void and together they made life, as the mental might of the Force spiraled from Sedicious’ meditative state.

Ānhrā Māhnîu’s knees finally bent into a seating meditation in the second cockpit chair. For now, he was waiting for the fires of power to wash over him again. There were two things he desired: information and restitution. For that he would need only a few seconds of preparation. And to cover as much as he could, he turned to the pilot.


‘’114D.’’
‘’Yes my Lord,’’ it replied clinically, keeping its gaze on the field of debris it was now slithering the carrier through.
‘’The frequency we received that message from. Send a message back. Do not say anything that reveals who or where we are. You will only request a response and status update. If there is no response from Admiral Getqit or anyone else on the Enterprise, simply abort the transmission. Is this understood?’’
‘’Transparently my Lord.’’ Maintaining the meticulous precision of a machine, it switched onto the communication’s array.
‘’Admiral Getqit, Federation starship Enterprise, come in. Do you copy? Requesting an immediate response.
Admira Getqit, Federation starship Enterprise, come in. Do you copy? Requesting an immediate response…’’


As the Shard droid sent the message into the void, the Jen’nu extended his own consciousness. As a curious child approaches insects underground, tendrils of thought stretched out into space. If any anomalous survivor remained, whatever the contrived circumstance may be, he would find them. And if the enemy was approaching with hostile intent, he would know.



Powers used:
Battle Meditation - 4 (Bolstering Sedicious and his allies)
Sith Illusions - 4 (Cloaking the ship)

Force Sense - 2 (Searching for potential lifeforms approaching them)

 
Last edited:

Cardun Vrek

Legendary Member
Moderator
Jedi Council
IC: Darth Mavros
Temple of the New Sith Order, Korriban


Mavros halted as they reached the barrier of debris and tensed, instinctively reaching for his lightsaber and unhooking the inactive hilt. The force had sent a warning flash to his mind; the way ahead was fraught with danger. His thumb was just about to press down on the activation switch when he paused, and looked back at the children. It probably would not be best to start waving around his lightsaber in front of them, lest one of the whelps panic and run.

This is a waste of time. We should just leave these...things...and save the people who can actually fight. These ones have probably never even held a training saber, never mind an actual lightsaber.

He kept the inactive hilt in hand, and examined the pile of debris. A blast of telekinetic energy would probably be able to break through, but it would likely be messy. The last thing he needed to deal with was a crying child. He sighed, and turned back as the crone was trying to persuade Lord Solus into diverting through the dungeons.

The dungeons...possible, yes, but we don’t know what’s down there. This idiot might lead us into an ambush, or the children could take a wrong turn down there and get lost.

If only…


But then again, the danger was directly ahead. He sighed. He couldn’t help but think that this whole affair was turning into an absolute fiasco. If it were up to him, they would cut their losses, and just leave the less able members of their order and regather in a place of strength. But no, he had to help shepherd a bunch of whelps around an active warzone. He simply had to trust that Viscretus’ plan of escape would eventually bear fruit. If it didn’t, well, he didn’t want to think about that.

“My Lord,” He began, approaching Lord Solus and speaking in a low voice so as to not be overheard by the children, “The way ahead is dangerous, I can sense it. But...I’m not sure about the dungeons. We don’t know if that path is secure or not. It could be even more dangerous than the path we’re on. I could break that barrier with a little effort, If you wish. But the choice is yours.”

He ignored the crone, directing his full attention to the Commandant. He had little time to start arguing with a glorified childminder.

TAGS: @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Solus, @Drakul_Xarxes , @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Darth Dreadwar, @Hadzuska_The Jester
 

Voidwalker

Active member
Streaming Partner
Combo With @skira & @Volacius
Cameo by @Darth Kain

IC: Darth Voidwalker, Darth Volacius, Sol Kira, Darth Kain
Stairway to the Emperor's Tower, Sith Academy, Korriban


Time. Time passed with each heartbeat, with every step taken, with every convoluted thought. Time raced against the New Sith Order, as the trio of Sith raced up the stone steps to the tower of the former Emperor. The stairwell seemed never ending as it continuously spiraled upwards into the shadows of the dimly lit passageway. It was almost poetic, a crushing feeling of darkness had been weighing down on them for some time now, and yet they rushed further into darkness head-on.

Every passing moment was a moment that passed closer towards their destruction. Yet, with every step they ascended, it was one step closer to victory. Even if it was to be short lived.

Voidwalker's muscles burned as they climbed higher towards the top of the tower. They just had to reach the top no matter the cost. Then it hit him, they needed to retreat and head to the - his thought cut short, replaced by a screaming in the Force. A scream similar to a battalion of soldiers all being mauled down on the battlefield at one time simultaneously. It was almost maddening. What was this horrible choir of screams?

The question lingered in his mind, pulling all of his focus to the fearsome answer that no doubtably waits to be revealed. It would have to wait until the current task was finished. Then, without any warning, he was falling forward. The stone step that had just been beneath his foot, seemed as if it just crumbled and gave away. His body hit the remaining steps with a hard thud, his hands and knees taking most of the impact as he attempted to catch himself. Even managing to catch himself, he still slid down a few steps before doing so. It felt as if his foot had come in contact with something directly behind him, hopefully it was just another step.

With that crushing feeling in the force, Sol felt as if something had slammed into her chest. The air escaped her lungs and her throat burned as she tried to breathe. She did trip, her demonic hands scraping against the wall in an attempt to lessen her fall. She landed against the stairs on her side, grunting at the slight impact. But just as her mind had been haunted with voices, it latched onto that scream in the force, and an echo lurked in her mind.

Death is coming for us all,” The Demon whispered with the scream.

Ow,” She muttered, paying the demon no mind as she pushed herself off of the dusty floor. She looked to Voidwalker and Volacious as she pulled herself to her feet, trying to look to see if something else had caused her to fall.

You both heard that too, right? What was that?”

Volacius stumbled. It was shameful for a man of his talents, as both his endless hours of training and his image as a worthy commander demanded perfection when it came to such basic matters like footwork. But in that moment, the well-built Mirialan fell onto his left shoulder, the clang of enchanted metal against ancient stone reverberating up and down the hollow tower as his sword struck the steps. He’d fallen hearing the petrified shrieks of countless people, each and every one of them bawling out one final sound of agony before their lives were snuffed, as if the tiny wicks of waning candles. Volacius lay against the stairs for a moment, regaining control of his suddenly-rapid breaths and warily scanning the ceiling above him for hidden threats.

What in all the galaxy could make that sort of sound? Volacius wondered, dumbfounded. I haven’t felt anything like that since OsThe Mirialan mentally recoiled at the thought, but decided to entertain it just this once.

Since the Massacre of Ossus.

An apprentice spoke up beside him, one was marginally certain went by the name of Sol Kira. “Indeed, I heard it. That, young apprentice, is the sound of death on an incredible scale.” He paused briefly, the trickle he’d allowed of his childhood memories causing his brow to furrow. He could see it clearly now, the memories of a young boy, an identity he had cast aside long ago. He recalled the chaos of Jedi Knights rushing to their defensive positions, older caretakers ushering the younglings in the opposite direction. He remembered the shrill scream of TIE Predator engines, their cannons shrieking as they passed by. He remembered the first dead bodies he’d ever seen in his life. Five Stormtroopers clad in dirtied white armour resting limp against the cracked stone wall; A Nautolan Jedi Master lying flat on his back with a smoldering gash crossing from his right hip to his left shoulder, Two human padawans side-by-side on the floor, one with a blaster wound in his neck, the other with smoke trailing over a dozen separate burn marks across her ruined body. Her corpse had twitched before he could be instructed to look away. Volacius blinked the memories away. He’d indulged them far too long already. “I have felt this before,” he continued with another long, deliberate breath, “but never with such... magnitude.”

The sounds of battle echoing down the stairs gave Volacius renewed focus. Now was not the time to ponder the cause of some unknown noise. They needed to get back down to the tunnels and—wait, Volacius reconsidered, that wasn’t our mission, was it? We need to back down to the tunnels so that—no. No, that’s not right, Lord Kain… Lord Kain ordered us to follow him… up… the tower. He ordered us to protect the shield generator!


Come, my comrades!” Volacius rallied, trying to ignore the cloudiness in his head whilst raising his sword and pointing up the winding stairwell. “We must assist Lord Kain!” Transitioning to a shout, Volacius turned to gaze ahead. “Lord Kain, we’re on our way!”

Voidwalker's eye narrowed at the realization that not only had he fallen, but so did both of his allies that had been in tow. How? It wasn't like they all fell on top of one another, they just all seemed to fall at the exact same time. There was no way it was sheer coincidence that they fell. Had the stone step actually crumbled? It didn't matter. Volacius was right, they had a mission to complete, they had to get to Kain and finish what they set out to do.

"Volacius is right, we have to get up to Lord Kain first. Once we do that and the shield generators are safe, then we can worry about the screams in the Force. As of now though, survival is our first priority. Now let's get moving."

Pushing himself back up to his feet and making sure his feet were planted firmly, Voidwalker looked back to check on the others. Everyone was back up and seemed to be well enough to continue on. With no other words needed, Voidwalker gave an affirming nod to the titan that was Darth Volacius, and his newly gained apprentice, Sol Kira. The mishap had cost them precious moments, and they had to make up for it.

The group rushed up the remaining half of the stairs, following the spiraling path as they continued to ascend. The journey had been tiring, but they were finally closing in on their destination. High above the dungeons entryway that they had left, the stairwell curved one last time as they came to a sudden stop meeting Lord Kain on his descent down.

With ragged breaths, Voidwalker was surprised to see Lord Kain walking back down. Surprised but somehow not shocked. "We were coming to help as you instructed. Judging by how calm you seem, I assume you took care of the threat already. What's our next move then?"

"To the dungeons, Lord Voidwalker," said the Beloved King. "But make sure we stay to the rear of the group. If something starts slaughtering them in there, we're going to be the first ones out."

Voidwalker's brow furrowed at Kain's mention of the dungeons, but he trusted Kain. More than most of the others that made up the Sith Order. "Very well, Lord Kain. We'll follow your lead." Voidwalker turned and prepared to head back down the stairs that they had just frantically conquered to rendezvous with Kain. Now to head back down into the darkness and see what awaits beyond the dungeons. "You know it's odd, I had a feeling or something telling me to go back to the dungeons as we were heading up to meet you."


POWERS USED:
Force Resistance — 4 (continued)


TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Kain, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Admiral Volshe
 

Helkosh

Active member
IC: Darth Pravum

The Shadow Guard, useless as they were, began encroaching upon Darth Pravum, unable to hold against the onslaught, forcing the young Sith Lord to adjust his position, momentarily disrupting his concentration as he crept further and further away from the line of battle, daring not move too quickly and interrupt his entire spell. Upon putting what felt like a comfortable distance between himself and the ghouls, he doubled down on his efforts, pouring the very essence of the Dark Side into his abominable creations.

But where to go next, a voice from the back of his mind asked him. It seemed that with the ghouls closing in, the safest path would be to escape through the tunnels in the dungeons. Surely some other Sith would have the same idea and they could all regroup. But where did the tunnels go? There was no reason to believe anywhere on Moraband would be safe, no reason to believe that any world was safe. Then what would they do? Would the Sith Order die out cowering in darkness, afraid to make a sound like a prey animal fears its predator?The only thing Pravum knew to be certain was that getting off-planet had to be his immediate priority. The Empress had sent a few Sith off earlier to the hangars. If anyone had had an idea for how to get off-world, it’d be them.

Powers used: Animate Golem (4) (continued)

TAG:TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Kain, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Voidwalker, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Admiral Volshe
 

Admiral Volshe

Legendary Member
NGE Empress
And when the Current turns, Thuruht said, it is the Force that suffers.

In his drive to change the vision he had seen, Darth Caedus had unleashed Destruction herself.

Chaos, not Destruction, Thuruht corrected. Chaos brings destruction, but she also brings new energy and change.

As Lowbacca and the others joined them, Raynar began to speak aloud, both so his companions would understand, and so C-3PO could record him.

"Thuruht believes that a change in the Current caused Abeloth's release," Raynar said, summarizing for his companions. He turned back to Thuruht. "But the Jedi believe the future is always in motion. So I have trouble seeing why a change in the Current would release Abeloth."

"Is a river current not in motion?" Thuruht replied, also speaking aloud. "And will it not carry a boat to many different places, depending on how the riders paddle?"


"Yes, that's true," Raynar said, with some impatience. "But wherever they land, they do not usually free Abeloth."

"They do not ever free her, because they have not changed the Current," Thuruht replied. "They have only ridden it to one of many different destinations. But if they wish to go where the Current cannot carry them, the current must be turned."

"And to do that, the river itself must be altered," Raynar finished.

"Yes," Thuruht replied. "The Force guides the Current. It is impossible to turn the Current without also changing the Force."

"And that is what frees Abeloth," Raynar clarified.

"Yes," Thuruht agreed. "The Force is in the dominion of the Celestials. When their power is usurped, the Bringer of Chaos comes."

Raynar waited while C-3PO translated the exchange for his companions. He was about to recap his suspicions regarding Jacen when Tekli arrived at the same conclusion.

"Then Jacen freed Abeloth?" she asked.

"Yes."

"By changing what he saw in his Force vision?" Tekli clarified.

Thuruht clacked her mandibles in a Killik shrug. "We do not know what Jacen saw in his Force vision."

Tekli's ears flattened in frustration. She looked to Lowbacca, who let out a sad groan and replied that even Tahiri had not known for certain. She believed the vision had to do with a dark man who ruled the galaxy, and that Jacen had been so disturbed by what he saw that he had turned to the dark side to prevent it.

After C-3PO had translated Lowbacca's explanation, Thuruht curled her antennae in the Killik equivalent of a nod.

"Then, yes," Thuruht replied. "If the dark man was the future Jacen wished to prevent, then it must be the future he changed."


~FOTJ: Apocalypse

~⚜~​

IC: Empress Kara Volshe, Darth Nihl, and Sedriss Nathemus
The Throne Room, Korriban


“No.”

The word wrested itself free from the serenity of the woman upon the throne, her eyes snapping open and recentering on the open doors far beyond. She had heard both Marasiah’s plan, and she had heard the quiet footsteps of her twin children as they attempted to steal away into the halls.

“We are not returning to the dungeons, nor are we going outside. There is an army at least a thousand strong of the undead, and Sith more powerful than even I. The dungeons lead to the Valley, and a single foot set in the sands...It would mean our death.”

She stood, her dress fluttering down about her. Slowly, steadily, she made her way down the steps. Her head tilted, watching as the twins made their attempt to pass Maladi. “If you would stop them,” she said, her voice thin. Her patience was growing ever thinner. Her children would not be leaving. Neither would the remaining Triumvirs.

And she would not allow Marasiah to create a plan more solid than her own. “I have decided upon our next course of action.”

“Though it would likely be safer to continue the assault with the forces I have created, it will not allow us an escape,”
she said. Her head turned to Nihl, inclining to him. Her arm extended in a silent request of his assistance. She would have, in any other moment, maintained her poise and dignity to the utmost degree. But given the plan she had formulated, any strength she had in her reserves would need to be utilized.

“I will conceal my essence in the Force, so that the ones beyond cannot detect me,” she said, her arm extending to Lord Nihl so that he could aid her mortal shell in preserving its remaining stamina. His hand took hers, chalk-white flesh against sunlit ivory, and a spark of power passed between them. “There is absolutely no opportunity for us to evade them, should we leave on foot. We will take charge of a shuttle. There were perhaps thirty or more within the hangar. As I command much of the Order, they will quite easily obey my instruction to attend alongside us.”

For a moment, she visualized the hangar she had arrived in. There was a long silence as she processed how exactly she would get a shuttle past the thousand ships above. Her own had stygium cloaking, but it would only hold perhaps three quarters of the remaining order. Six or seven hundred, at most, if they utilized the entirety of the cargo hold.

It was better than nothing. Certainly, many of them would not follow her, even if she reminded them of their potential fate.

She knew they were gathering in the dungeons. She could see through the eyes of her thralls, hear whatever was spoken through their ears. She knew well that Hesper desired them to follow her, but she had herself assessed the inevitable chain of events. Every path through the catacombs and dungeons would only lead back to the Valley - or nothingness. There was more than one path that simply had been cordoned off...or that went deep below the sands, only to end in some empty chamber that had long since been stripped of its valuables and left to the cruel clutches of time.

There was a reason that was precisely as Dreadwar wanted.

It was either that he desired them dead, for they complicated his design; enslaved, for they furthered his plans; or perhaps - and the thought was dark, her very eyes glittering with the morosity of it - he wished to simply enslave them through the same indoctrination he had thrust upon them for years. Perhaps he simply intended to manipulate them into seeing him as their saviour, even though he had arrived alongside those who wished for their eternal suffering.
If Dreadwar desired it, there was evil behind it, and not the sort that she wielded. It was the sort that ran deep, and cold. It was the sort of evil the Jedi believed they must fight against, the sort of evil they believed ran in Sidious, or Revan, or even Krayt. It was beyond such. Perhaps even beyond the maleficence of Vitiate.

None were beyond the bounds of his scheming, she knew. He would do whatever it took to realize his vision.

She would not let him, but, for now, she would let him believe that he would emerge victorious. His illusions of success and desire for grandeur would sate him until they could strike. And she would. For all the fear she had, for every ounce of terror the apocalypse they faced stirred within her, a vehement determination reigned over it a hundred fold.

“Lord Nathemus, you command the art of Sith Illusions, and should focus on making our shuttle invisible to their eye. Perhaps you have not done so, but what a sorcerer can make visible, they can also do the inverse. My shuttle has a cloaking device powered by stygium, which will make it invisible to scanners. And if they do not detect my aura, they will not find us.”

She frowned, briefly. It was not secure enough. Something more would have to be done. If one of the Lords below so much as suspected there was a shuttle escaping, if one stray eye spotted them…

She replayed her words in her mind, over and over again. Her eyes levelled on Lord Nihl, her lips parting to speak and then closing once more. She was searching for some third level of insurance, something beyond simply sneaking a single shuttle past enemy lines.

“I will have, at minimum, thirty of my thralls pilot the remaining shuttles. They will leave simultaneously, providing us cover.”

Briefly, her gaze went down, to the floor, flicking back up a second later. Her head tilted, curls tumbling to the side, muting the soft symphony of the suspenda beads, as if to ask “do you disagree?”

In that same moment, not wishing to delay, she began her preparations. It was a tenuous moment, a careful orchestration of that she commanded, her focus carefully divided upon the tasks she had taken on. It was fortunate she did not have to heal, nor complete any task beyond the first step of Art of the Small - anything beyond that, she likely could not attempt without sacrificing the quality and quantity of her enthralled army.

She envisioned her aura shrinking into something even her eye could not see, far beyond that. Miniscule. Microscopic. No, smaller. Smaller than the motes of dust that swirled about them, than the most infinitesimal grain of sand in the vast Valley beyond. A breath passed her lips. It was almost silent.

She imagined the smallest grain of sand, the silicon glittering, a shard of pale ochre. And then, she imagined it upon the tip of her finger, her within its crystalline form. Smaller. It became a matrix. She became a matrix, a lattice of pentose sugars and nitrogenous bases, the very billions that twined through her body to form the nuclei of her cells. She envisioned her aura as the atom nestled upon the cresting ridge of her genetic code.

If she succeeded, she would be utterly undetectable... unless one knew precisely where to look. She would become a drop in the oceans of Dac, a leaf upon a tree of Endor, a breath in the mountains of Naboo.

Her arm gripped Nihl’s, and she leaned in close to him. Her voice fell to a whisper. It was soft, though the lower notes carried through the cavernous room. “I would ask to speak to you, alone, outside, before we leave for certain.”

Nihl glanced over to the reception hall, noticing Maladi had smoothly intercepted the twins. Deianara stared at the long skirt in front of her with an intense frown, before raising a distinctly grumpy face up at the Devaronian. Nihl’s countenance remained expressionless, as he turned back to Volshe.

“Shall we speak now?” he asked quietly, too low and too faint for the others in the throne room to hear. “I have grave concerns with your plan, domina.”

She took a moment to consider, instead taking measured strides to the side of the dais, her pace so that she neither taxed herself nor moved asynchronously with him. She slowed in a spot just past where the cast of shadow from the banners above was softened with light, tucked away beside the massive obsidian throne.

“I understand that it is...unconventional,” she began, quietly murmuring as her gaze returned from the floor to him. “But I see no other option. Tell me your concerns, so that we may prevent such potentialities coming to fruition.”

His hand pulled away from hers, as he ran his fingers through his dark hair; an exceedingly rare gesture of nervousness from the Nagai. Questions competed for his attention, and there was little time to ask them; nonetheless, before critiquing her plan, he needed to unravel the strange preamble to said plan, some other plan Volshe had seemingly dismissed, without Nihl hearing anything about it. “Firstly,” he exhaled, “why did you say the dungeons lead to the Valley? Are you speaking of an escape tunnel?”

The existence of such a thing was not implausible; many fortresses of old possessed such, and Nihl had not forgotten the catacombs Talon had led him to beneath the tombs of the Valley, the subterranean complex in which Darth Krayt had prepared his cybernetic army. But he had never heard of a tunnel connecting the temple to the distant necropolis. Was Volshe privy to information he knew not? That seemed… unlikely.

“It is a logical assumption,” she said. “Every other tomb or crypt has at least a single passage that leads to the Valley, even if it is for something as simple as access for the grotthu for menial tasks. It would be arguably more fortunate if they did not, but then we are cornered in their depths.”

Her voice quieted further, as she glanced to the others. “But I know I am correct. The lower levels are not empty. There are undead that have infiltrated through. Currently my thralls war with them alongside Lord Kain, and there are corpses of more within the catacombs. Their presence does not bode well for the validity of such an escape. Certainly it goes to the Valley beyond, or some place below that the True Sith have access to. My intent to withdraw into the lower levels was valid, before, but it is no longer so.”

“Then let us prepare for a siege,” Nihl said, “and await reinforcements. Maladi is right, we should be going to the war room. Anything but evacuating by air.” His tone was insistent. “Domina, I am a veteran of many wars. You remember how well I commanded the attack on Ossus. These… These attackers will be thinking as I did then, how to cut off escape to a thousand Force-users. Shuttles flying out of a hangar? Even if all our number could fit into the shuttles, which I doubt, it will be the first method of escape the enemy will think of. You might be able to hide your signature, but the others cannot. The instant you deactivate the shields, their ships will shoot us out of the sky. Or… Or Dreadwar will destroy us; I’ve seen him bring down Star Destroyers, devour armies with a glance. My son is a capable illusionist, but his power will be nothing before Dreadwar’s cunning. We’ll be dead before we hit the ground. Dead!” Nihl’s fist clenched, pallid skin tightening like bone about to break. “We cannot gamble the entire Order on such a plan.”

We cannot gamble our children.

“I share the same fears, but the war room is no safer. Their infiltrators are already attempting to dismantle our defences. They nearly deactivated the shields, moments ago. This army, they are intent on coming inside the Temple, and it is only a matter of time before they are successful. If we are inside when they arrive...”


She trailed off. That was a future she did not wish to think of. She took a long pause, the gravity weighing on her. Her lips turned into a creased frown, her brow tensing. They could not be anywhere near the army once it managed its way inside. “Any move we make is a gamble. If we are inside the Temple, or inside the tunnels, we are at their mercy. They want us to be cornered. They want something beyond just our death, or they would have seen to our deaths already. Dreadwar could kill us in an instant. Venomis would take far less time, if he chose to expedite our death instead of tormenting us.”

She was determined in her plan. She could not trust any location on Korriban with their safety.

“We die, either way. The tunnels are confined, and we already know they likely lead nowhere beyond right into their hands. And we cannot linger within the Temple, Nihl. Unless you have another option...”

Her eyes met his, a celestial storm in the starry gold, clearly more distressed than she was showing. But she was attempting to warm them, to show some reassurance and determination. Her features - and voice - softened the same. Her other hand moved to rest on his clenched fist, fingertips gently attempting to uncurl it in the same moment. “We will have to use the Order in its furthest extent to ensure our escape. If I must utilize alternative means to ensure they do, I most certainly will. Your son will not work alone. I trust his ability, but I would not expect the Order’s fate to rest squarely on his shoulders.”

Nihl let his fist unfurl, fingers cupping hers. “I’m not suggesting the war room for safety, I’m suggesting we try to make contact with the fleet, and take stock of our strategic situation.” It was obvious, to Nihl, that something had gone wrong, up there; the silence was deafening, and if the fleet was capable of such, it would have opened fire on the pyramids already.

If the pyramids had ion cannons, they could have conceivably disabled a ship or two, but the entire fleet? A hundred bursts would have surely lit Korriban’s skies, and Nihl had not noticed such through the window. Perhaps the enemy had blinded the fleet, somehow, using Sith illusions to conceal their presence on sensors—or perhaps they had never appeared on sensors at all, and the fleet remained blissfully ignorant of the attack, for the pyramids themselves were illusory. But no, that didn’t explain the lack of return contact… Although, there could be different factors at play, there. After all, a communications disruption often preceded invasion; jamming was hardly difficult.

“If the fleet is still operable,” Nihl continued, words tumbling out in pace with his racing thoughts, “we can thin the pyramids and distract them. And we can send a single shuttle out with acolytes on-board, if the shields are breached—we should not do their work for them, by deactivating them ourselves. See what happens to it, before risking our lives. Send a scouting party into the tunnels as well, see what happens to them.”

Nihl was aware his own strategy was a gamble, for it was possible Volshe was right, and the temple could not hold the siege for longer than a few minutes. But he knew, with the confidence of nearly three decades of military command, that Volshe’s plan, in its current form, was suicide. “Please listen to me, domina, as you listened to me on Naboo,” he reminded her, tone firm. The fact they would not be in this predicament now, if he hadn’t suggested pledging themselves to Dreadwar, all those years ago, was not lost on him. Nonetheless, he had saved her then, from an even bleaker fate. “There’s not a single thing any of us can do, if we go out there in shuttles, and a thousand capital ships open fire on us.”

She was tempted by his plan. It was entirely reasonable, in most situations. An assessment of the situation they faced was fitting and intelligent. But it would only take time. She exhaled, willing the tightness in her throat to fade, softening her tone as best she could manage.

“I do trust you. I trust your judgment, I know well that it would normally be a solid plan. But this is not the Federation, this is not a mortal minded war. The stakes are far greater.”

Her lips pressed into a line. She knew they could not stay. The very thought of being in the Temple a moment more made her nauseous, now that she had processed all the potential outcomes. One thing flashed in her mind. Lord Kain. His dark eyes, his solemn realization only days ago. It was not something she was yet used to, though she openly mocked Dreadwar with it minutes ago.

But she realized, then, she had not told the Nagai. He was likely assuming their approach was purely intended to rid the galaxy of the mortal order. “There is a reason, a far greater reason, I would much rather risk death than spend further time on this desolate planet. I believe - no, no, I know - they intend to weaponize me.”

Her teeth briefly worried her lip, her gaze flicking to the floor as she pondered how exactly to communicate such a thing in the midst of the siege they were victim to. She shook her head, gently, then resolved that simply saying it was likely the best method. “I spoke to Lord Kain, on Vitae, some days ago. Well, a clone of me did. He gave me her memories, and I gave him my memories. He knows everything I do.”

“But there is something else. These memories, these visions, he...recognized me. I knew some of what my dreams and visions spoke of. I am not merely this long lost wife of Dreadwar, not some incarnation as I was led to believe. Lord Nihl, I am Abeloth. And not the one we know, not the same, but...she is the very reason I exist. I am her.”


Now, she fell silent. She had spent years in exile where simply mentioning such oddities in her mind or in her life had resulted in threats of institutionalizations. Where her rambling and theorizing would have resulted in her being shunned, or perhaps far worse. She inhaled and held her breath. There was desperation in her, an impending storm that she was only barely restraining behind her features. The very words she had spoken were bitter, foreign. More importantly, they were terrifying. There was the chance he would not believe her, that he would attribute her claim to some faux grandiosity inflicted by the stress of the assault upon Korriban and her mental state’s resultant deterioration.

Or he could believe her...and no matter the bond they had shared, he could kill her where she stood.

“Do not tell anyone. I implore you.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes now desperately searching his. Her hands gripped his more tightly, her own facade of calmness fracturing. “I cannot stay here. I cannot. We must leave Korriban. The Order must.”

“We can talk about those things later,” Nihl said. Volshe’s words made no sense to him, but Nihl had long ago learned that this rarely meant Volshe’s words were nonsensical; riddles and ancient mysteries, that was Volshe to the core. But nonetheless, he would interrogate her regarding her strange claims another time; there were more pressing matters to attend to than some ostensible connection to a mysterious entity Krayt had once intimated vanquishing, decades before Nihl’s birth. Nihl was a general, a military strategist, not a master of the arcane, and such abstract concepts rarely mattered to him.

“I do not see how you can defend this plan as only a close call,” he continued. “I do not believe we can fit more than a hundred into a Sentinel-class. Neither are you explaining a method of survival against Dreadwar and his army.”

Volshe was right about one thing; if what Nihl had heard of Dreadwar’s actions at Anaxes bore any truth, it was strange that they weren’t already dead. But it seemed flimsy evidence for Volshe’s conclusions, at best. Perhaps Dreadwar wanted to preserve… Apollyon’s life, for some reason. Or maybe he could not destroy them without destroying the entire planet. Or, perhaps Dreadwar’s power worked by some ritual that would take time to prepare. All of Nihl’s studies of Sith history had revealed the most recondite rites of Sith power to be complex and lengthy affairs, so that seemed plausible; even if Nihl had witnessed the frightening instaneity of Dreadwar’s siphoning powers first-hand, a localised effect—no matter against how many hundreds—was not quite the same thing as consuming a world.

“We can certainly fit far more than one hundred. It can fit tanks, and I have seen such. I already explained how we would maintain our survival,” she said, after a brief second of processing, her head tilting and a corner of her lip curling with an inquisitive quirk. She brought her hand to Nihl’s gaunt cheek, fingertips resting where the white of his skin met the tattooed spines of black. Her eyes lingered upon his, only briefly recognizing that this could very well be one of the last moments that they would share. She had wracked her brain for some alternative. But what the eyes of those below had seen, what their ears had heard, it had shattered her fleeting illusions of the Temple’s safety and sanctity. She wished there was some better option.

She knew in her heart that there was not.

She did not allow herself to think on anything more, remaining fixated on his crimson eyes - drops of blood nestled in black. Her voice fell to soft, honeyed tones, as light and soothing as the first rays of dawn. Her head inclined, her breath still incensed with wine and the faint spice of the Ambrian cheroot she had indulged in only minutes ago.

“Nothing is certain, I know. But my dear...plan your contingencies as we travel there, and I will see to it that your will is done. You are my Emperor, now, and the Order will serve you just as they will serve me. Whatever you believe must be done to ensure our survival will be done. I will ensure it.”

She was already playing to his ego with her supple words, indulging the ambition she knew had always flowed in abundance within him. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was convince the men closest to her to follow her - even if it was to the farthest corners of insanity.

This was insanity, she knew. But it all was.

She allowed her eyes to fall, briefly, her hand doing the same, brushing past the obsidian skin of his neck and at last resting on the dark carapace he wore. Her lacquered fingertips traced one of the ovals of carmine, there, and she shifted ever closer, so that only inches remained between them. Now it was not merely her breath that immersed them, but the exotic redolence she was steeped in. Her eyes returned to his. They were smouldering, now, hypnotic embers dancing about golden flame.

“I trust you will keep me - us - safe,” she said, her other hand coaxing his to her rounded abdomen, “and I know your inimitable brilliance will see us through. But, my love, we cannot remain on Korriban. We must leave.”

Nihl’s expression remained impassive, but a flicker of annoyance passed through the Force. Multiple facets and possibilities. Volshe’s nebulous language betrayed no concrete plan; no specifics on how she would avoid the overwhelming likelihood of the shuttle being blown out of the sky. Illusions, capable of deceiving Dreadwar? Concealing a shuttle from his senses? What would she do when such measures inevitably proved inadequate?

She pressed him for answers on his worries, just as he pressed her for specifics, but it seemed there was a communication gap; no matter how Nihl attempted to convey such in her language, he could not make her see that, from the perspective of a military mind, this plan was simply too risky. There were too many variables.

Her attempts to distract him… Did she think he would forget his strategic analysis, over something as important as their certain death, with a few honeyed words and a coy touch? His hand grasped hers, peeling it away from his chestplate and holding it, instead.

Volshe’s stubbornness—her most endearing quality, admittedly—had always proven difficult to erode, even when smoothed by the calm temperament and patience of his Nagai heritage. Yet honour demanded he intervene, this time, no matter how much it inflamed Volshe’s legendary temper; for the sake of her life, and the children she carried.

If she would not listen to him, if she would not listen to reason, perhaps she would cave to pressure.

“Lord Nathemus, my son,” Nihl spoke up, powerful voice echoing around the throne room. His eyes remained locked on Volshe’s own, fiery orange melting pools of illustrious gold.

The Lord of Pain had listened intently to the conversation between his father and the Empress. They were discussing every detail of the plan to escape. Taking the majority of the Empire onto a single shuttle while manning dozens of decoy shuttles was not the greatest plan in the Galaxy, but it was surely better than the other heavy on the mind suggestion.

The Shadow Ghouls had multiplied threefold. The army was now 1500 strong. The corporeal specters moved in a strange unison. Perhaps those with experience in the recondite Sith Illusion power would see through them, but the bulk of the Sith Empire would be completely unaware. The Sedriss could only hope that Dreadwar and his agents would not see through them either.

Nathemus approached.

Nihl spoke once more.

“Advise the Empress. She believes we can escape via her shuttle, fly out of the hangar beneath the pyramids’ watching eyes. What chances do you give this plan?” Maladi, frowning, turned to look; it was obvious she had heard his words.

"The shuttle plan is not fool-proof," Lord Nathemus told his father. "But the Empress is wise. We will combine our powers and use our Sith Illusions to hide our own shuttle and escape the system, and we'll combine it with the shuttle's own native stygium cloaking technology."

She tilted her head, assessing, pondering, and offered additional support to the Lord of Pain.

“As added insurance, we can, though I do not believe it necessary, send a shuttle out first, as you’ve suggested. Once we know their approach to an attempt at escape, we can further conceal the essences of those aboard. And I am certain that more than one of our numbers can provide an additional distraction. Multiple. Something bold, to draw their attention to the chaos unfolding, not to the ship they do not see. I can even act in some dramatic fashion, utilizing my pawns, to further distract Dreadwar and his allies.”

There was only one thing she was willing to do to assuage his concerns, because she was now most definitely not going to alter her plans. “If all you wish is to contact the fleet from the war room, I will ensure a soldier I have puppeted does so. If you wish to fly beyond the temple, away from the ships, before we enter the atmosphere, we can. But remaining here...where will we go, once the shields fail? There is nowhere to go. They will find us, no matter where we attempt to hide.”

“We have a single, slim, chance of escape. That is all. I do not wish to waste time going back and forth when that will assure our demise. The same options remain. We have minutes...minutes, Nihl, before they find their way into the Temple. Dreadwar revitalized this temple, he knows every centimetre of it. Once they get inside, then we will die. You know that I watched them plot on Zakuul. They are ruthless and effective. There is no alternative. The catacombs, the war room, it matters not where we are. We cannot hold back gods with stone walls. We will die here, if we are in this temple. That is certain. Korriban is in their hands, and Korriban will be our grave.”


She took a moment to calm the torrent of irritation, to quell the frustration she felt.

“Take the comm. Attempt once more to contact the fleet. I will do the same from the war room with one of the troopers I possess. I will further plan contingencies for our escape. That is the most we can do. Lingering here while we wait is no longer an option.”

She did not yet abandon her attempts to sway him, pressing the device into his hand and closing his fingers around it. Her other hand relinquished the one at her waist and flit up to rest upon the curve of his neck.

Nihl's lips pressed into a firm line. We cannot hold back gods with stone walls, Volshe had said. Did she not see the irony in her words, the contradiction? Volshe seemed to think she could hold them back with stygium bulkheads. But he said nothing. His last attempt at suasion had failed, for he had entirely overestimated his son's intelligence.

The seconds only weighed on her more and more heavily as they ticked by, each passing moment seeming to join in the darkness that surrounded them. They were running out of time. Every inch of the Force was distress, every glittering star that surrounded her crimson with danger. They were all in danger.

The sound of the throne room doors roused her from being immersed in the sensation, and her gaze broke away from Nihl’s, briefly. It returned a moment later.

“I appreciate your strategy, but we do not have time to find another tactic, and if we do not enact it, now, we will die. This is not finding the ideal path through a battlefield - this is our sole chance of escape. We may die, but our death is certainty if we remain.”

She shut her eyes, but it was not frustration nor fear that prompted such. It was entirely in an effort to refocus her mind and enhance her concentration.

She did as she promised. Where their eyes could not be, hers could. Nothing within the temple was beyond her reach. The nerveless fingers of a thrall attempted to find the war room and open a channel to the fleet, hoping to contact them and request a status.

But she also reached beyond her command of the thralls, focussing on the Order in its entirety - barring those she knew well that she could no longer trust nor make use of. The remainder she attempted to influence with a subtle nudge. She did not attempt to sway them with words, beyond a subtle direction that she intended to seem innocent, for they would potentially recognize the words as her own.

There is a way to escape. Come to the hangars at once, came the silvery whisper, melodic and lilting as it wafted through the ethereal realm into the neurons of every last one she could influence.

Simultaneously, she would puppet another thrall to speak in their presence. Her intent was to create the idea that the subtle manipulation of their allegiance was an idea spawned from her thrall, that the promise of survival was enough to pull them towards the hangars.

The moment they heard the thrall speak, the moment they witnessed her soft coaxing, the words would lodge deep in their minds and summon them to her side.

It was emotion that she sent in waves beyond those subtle words, intending it to wash over them and reassure them. It was feelings and brief glimpses of the future they needed to follow that found their way into the minds of the Order.

The hangars. Hope. The stars. Safety.

Survival.

It would become a tantalizing idea, an irresistible potential, nestling itself in their minds. Any other plan would trigger fear, and aversion. There would be no doubt, only conviction. Every last mind she touched she willed would find their way to her, that they would believe in her - and the Nagai by her side - with utterly unshakeable resolution.

Even if the tenuous loyalty would only last for minutes, or hours, she willed them to her cause.

Her eyes opened, her hand fell. She turned to make her way towards the hangars, through the throne room doors, only making it two strides past Lord Nihl before she noticed both Keres and Lord Xxys had entered, his questioning of the situation briefly flaring her temper. But she remained calm, serenity in her features despite her annoyance at the situation. She focussed on the welcome arrival of the Lord, in order to maintain serenity. She nodded the same to Keres.

“I am afraid he has. The True Sith. A terrible enemy from beyond known space.” It was not entirely true, but it at least offered a mostly accurate assessment. “Dreadwar is among them. He has been lost to them. I will explain all I know, but only on the way. We are not headed to the tunnels. They are not safe. We are leaving to the hangars, for we have not a moment to lose. Let us go now, before they mount another attack and we miss our opportunity to escape.”

~⚜~​

IC: A Thrall
The Dungeons, Korriban


“Sith,” the thrall hissed, a Nautolan woman of ivory skin, dressed in the modest garb of a servant. The woman’s headtresses briefly twitched, erratically, before settling as it adjusted to Volshe’s sudden regain of command. “Do not pursue the path ahead. It is a folly you will not survive. Dreadwar desires this, for he has long been lost. Perhaps you believe you know better. You do not. Perhaps there is something beyond, perhaps some chance of survival yet tempts you, but I would not doubt it is merely death topped with a pretty bow.”

The Nautolan jerked her head to the side, the unending blackness of her eyes glittering with the insidious firelight. Though it was difficult to tell, given her lack of pupils, her gaze was centred on Hesper. “I implore you to reconsider.”

“The tunnels here, the Tomb of XoXaan, the catacombs, they lead only to the Valley greater or the depths of tombs, The valley is overrun with the undead. It will mean only your demise. Perhaps it will be quick. Perhaps they will give you the honour of a death without suffering, if they do not desire you to be a plaything for eternity.”

“We have found a method of escape. There is a path to survival. Yes, you could trust a slim chance that you would not be torn limb from limb by the wights outside, or slaughtered by the dark forces that will certainly come next... or, you can come with us to the Hangars, where we have arranged transport to safety. My thralls, my ghouls, they will accompany you to ensure your safe arrival.”

“You have two choices, now. Come with me and live...or die.”


The Nautolan awaited their response, but the other thralls began to withdraw, lumbering towards the steps that lead back to the Hangars, passing by the group of children and the Sith that accompanied them.

~⚜~

POWERS USED:
GODLIKE - Art of the Small -- 10
Mind Trick (expanding) — 5

~⚜~
TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Kain, @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Voidwalker, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Helkosh
 
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Kielor

Active member
IC: Apprentice Kielor
Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

The events unfolded around him as though he were but a spectre, observing what appeared to him as the entire hierarchy of the Sith steadily flowing into the corridors of the dungeon. Sadly, Xiannarr was interrupted before delivering the death knell to Marcus, and Kielor suspected that the Overseer would not soon forget that for a short moment he had been party to the attack. Surely he could pass off that the torture mask left his hands in a panic, although Ermir would be unlikely to believe as much. The hulking Arkanian, a fellow apprentice of General Invadator, if his studies were to be believed, appeared to have used some form of memory rub upon Xiannarr; the Dread Master appearing confused about recent events. The same sorcery would need to be used upon Ermir if either Kielor or Xiannarr were to be able to rest easy.

His Master was, at this point, not to be seen. She was certainly within the temple, she had reached out to him and he could still sense her presence.

Quite out of his league among so many powerful Lords of the Sith, the middle aged apprentice keeps his head down, listening to the chatter and gaining an understanding of the current situation. Dreadwar had returned, and he rode against them. The Emperor which Kielor had worshiped, reportedly dead, was risen. Volshe had claimed the throne, and possessed a horde of undead to rival Dreadwar’s. The shambling corpse before them preaching solace in the hanger. I’ll go. Gather my things from the Wayfarer. If Volshe, or any others are there I will entertain their proposal, but I must find The General.

Slipping quietly through the throng of powerful beings, Kielor makes his way through the dungeons toward the hanger. Augmenting his speed with the force where he is able, slowing to pass respectfully by Darth Noxia and her two companions, and then stepping into the recess of an adjoining hall as several Sith lead a procession of younglings toward the direction which he had originated. I should hurry. Everyone is heading toward the place I’m leaving. Except perhaps Volshe.

Still huddled in the alcove, Kielor reaches out, feeling through the darkside of the force to find the primal being which had come to be his companion. She was close. A creature of the darkside, Rags had possibly been drawn to the temple by the gathering of powerful darkside users. Or perhaps the coming of Dreadwar had been enough for her to seek him out. It didn’t matter, however it came to be, he was glad that she was close.

Emerging into the hangar, Kielor runs to his ship. Beside it, seated proudly by the forward landing strut, is the hulking Tuk’ata, Rags. The deep red hide almost black in the shadow of the starship. He reaches out a hand toward her; a low rumbling snarl emits from deep within the core of the beast. She raises her head to meet with his outstretched palm, then quickly rises to stand on all four of her powerful legs.

Kielor slips around to the storage compartment. Opening the hatch his eyes come to rest upon an armoury of ordinance and armament. That is not what he is looking for though. Opening a crate within the compartment he finds his battle armour. This day had started in the dojo with training, but he was far beyond training if the whispers within the dungeon were to be believed. He quickly pulled on the plated armour, clasping the helmet into place before pulling his black Sith robes back on. Closing the crate he again gazed upon the cache of military tech. Not today. Not until I understand what is going on.

Powers used:
Augmentation (1)
Beast Trick (2)
Force Sense (1)

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar @Reiis Invadator
 

...

Well-known member
Immortalis
Darth Cruor
Attack upon the Temple Shield, Korriban

The Taral’s hooded head turned toward the gathered Shadow Council, “Tulak Hord, darr tah Ortan Cela, darr tah Ada!” His voice carried easily over the din of the assembled army, turning his gaze to the defensive shield which he had been tasked to take down, “With me”. The Shadow Councilors would need no further direction to complete their task.

Standing amid a sea of living dead, Darth Cruor let his keen eye sweep over the surrounding scene in order to find the best path to the shield. Thousands of years of experience allowed him to read the chaos of battle as easily as a sorcerer reads spells from a scroll, and he quickly determined which path would keep them away from the isolated pockets of resistance presented by the Empress’ shadow-ghouls.

As the Battlelord made his way to the shield the undead instinctively removed themselves from his path, allowing him and his powerful escort to pass. Darth Cruor’s focus was now fully upon the task ahead of him, and he quickly made his way to the shield. It shimmered before him, almost as if in mocking defiance to anyone seeking to breach it.

Calling on The Dark he prepared himself for the coming task, finally standing before the shield the mighty Gen’Dai braced himself for a brief moment, but hesitating no longer he reached outward with both gauntleted hands and grabbed the shield. Bringing impossibly sharp talons to bear he sought to penetrate the shield and rend it open, an immense amount of energy was about to course through his body but he was a master of Tutaminis so drew upon this ancient power in order to absorb some the energy of the Temple shield and lessen it's damaging impact.

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar

Tutaminis: 5
 

Omegon

Well-known member
The Aximand Combo
Location: Onboard the Aximand, in hyperspace traveling from Coruscant to Anaxes
IC: Omegon, Pythonus, Ensign Torvus, Senec Tinople, Dorrian Shadowsun, Rayge Vigor


The Aximand shuddered as it leapt into hyperspace, and Omegon and Pythonus dropped to their knees in exhaustion and relief. Omegon could not believe their escape, it seemed too good to be true, and yet here they were, safe from harm for the time being. The ship seemed intact and his allies primarily unharmed. Rising with the aid of Pythonus, he turned, slipping his amulet back inside his cloak, and removed his helm. His teeth flashed in a brief smile as he glanced around the hangar, but the emotion did not reach his eyes.

Just looking around, he could tell almost a quarter of his crew were missing, perhaps more. And those who remained… Well, their mental and physical condition was tenuous at best. A glance at Pythonus was enough to convey his will. Pythonus advanced on the crew, raising his arms and his voice in instruction as he spoke, his voice emanating from his helm but also being projected over the comms of the ship. “We have made it to hyperspace; our escape is complete and it is time to rest and recover. If you are injured or mentally unwell in any way, make your way to the med bay and we can put you through a psychological and physical checkup before we drop back into realspace at Anaxes.”

As Pythonus spoke, Omegon approached the others, his strides heavy. “We have escaped, brothers. But… At what cost? If Coruscant has been decimated by such a force, we need to try to reach the empire and see if any other planets have befallen such a fate. We can drop out into realspace at Anaxes, and then proceed into Sith Space once we have confirmed the situation and checked the ship for damage and repairs. In the meantime, we should prepare and strengthen ourselves. There will almost certainly be more fights to come.”

A retching sound interrupted Omegon, drawing gazes to the officer standing some five meters away, hands on his knees as he bent over next to a canister of rhydonium. No vomit was pooling on the hangar’s glistening deck, but strings of thick saliva were trailing from the ensign’s mouth, and beneath his uniform, it was clear his stomach was convulsing. After several gasping breaths, the ensign brought the back of his clammy hand to his lips, wiping away the saliva and wiping his hand on his trousers in turn, before he straightened shakily, fingers touching the canister for support. His face was pale, and the taste of bile filled his mouth, as he glanced around the hangar, gaze dwelling upon the fallen bodies, the rictus-grins and the emaciated faces.

“A-apologies,” he stuttered, breathing unsteadily as he turned back to face the two Sith. “E-ensign Torvus, P-pythonus Primaris.” It was the ensign who had greeted them when the shuttle had first landed. “W-what… What was that?” All sense of decorum had fled, in the face of that unassailable horror.

“It was a calamity,” came a grim, quavering voice as Senec Tinople emerged from the chaos of the hangar, leaning heavily on his cane, “A calamity not only on Coruscant, but seemingly on the Force itself.” He nodded to the Sith as he sat on the rhydonium canister with an exhausted grunt. “I’m sure you must have felt it, as well. Whatever this calamity was, this was clearly meant to be provocative, to announce to the galaxy in shocking fashion the beginning of its conquest. I fear it may go beyond posing a threat to our Empire and pose a threat to the galaxy itself.”

He wrenched himself from his listless gaze and focused back on the ensign with a more optimistic tone, “But the Knight is right, Ensign. There is little point for now on dwelling on those horrors when it is so far beyond our ability to control. You are likely only to drive yourself mad. I suggest you clean yourself up and report to the med bay as instructed.”

With a jerky nod, Torvus did as bade, straightening the front of his uniform with a shaking hand and turning on his squeaking boot heel to head for the medbay. He was not sure conquest was the word for such catastrophe—there was no strategic value in destroying the galactic capital—but Tinople's suggestions were sensible, otherwise. Ahead of him, bodies were being dragged across the deck, as officers, troopers and technicians shared the grim work of clearing up the dead.

With a sigh, Senec rose from the canister and approached Omegon and Pythonus, offering the Knight a short bow and a nod to Pythonus. “Apprentice Senec Tinople at your service, Knight. I hope this hyperspace journey will offer the opportunity for our haphazard band of Sith to get to know one another a bit.”

Feeling the ship lurch into hyperspace gave Dorrian a chance to return to reality and gather his senses about him. Placing his hands on either side of the console before him he forced himself to take a deep breath, the stench of death permeating his nostrils yet again. As he exhaled tears streamed down his face at the raw memories pulled to the forefront of his mind by whatever the thing on Coruscant was. He was glad to have his back to the rest of their group, taking several minutes to compose himself before turning around to see who was speaking.

Wiping his hands across his eyes and face he was able to see several members of their group standing not far away, conversing lightly with each other. Another deep breath came, ragged and forced, followed by a sigh before Dorrian moved closer to those gathered. He waited quietly for a break in the conversation, despite his heavy bootsteps, before speaking.

“It is good to see you all well after…”HIs voice trailed off before catching again.”I am both saddened at the loss of your men and grateful for a place on your ship. I believe that Apprentice Senec has the correct idea, it would do us some good to not dwell on recent events as well as giving us a chance to understand each other better. I have a strong suspicion that we are going to be working together for some time to come.” The sonorous tone of his voice resonated around the gathered group as he cast his crimson gaze between everyone gathered.

“Indeed,” Omegon said, speaking up once more. “Our focus must remain on what is ahead. Once we reach Anaxes, I’ll attempt to reach Korriban to inform the regent of the events on Coruscant. We can plan our way forward from there. Hopefully, this is the only event like this that occurred in the galaxy, and it’s not a widespread phenomenon.”

Lifting up his wrist, his communicator projected a holo-display of a series of numbers. “I have a Cabin set aside for each of you, to store your belongings if you have any. Though, in the state that we arrived, I doubt any of you have many items. I can have robes sent to your chambers should you require them, and I have an extensive physical training area as well that is open for use. I, personally, plan to take advantage of our long trip back to Sith space by using my recently-acquired Jedi blood to enchant my armor. Should any of you desire to aid me, or require aid or materials of your own, do not hesitate to contact me.” Omegon’s speech, though it may have seemed calm, was almost robotic in its recitation. His mind was still reeling at the implications of the assault on Coruscant, and he was now operating, essentially, on autopilot.

What would happen to the lines of communication and supply? What if the massive number of weapons, vehicles, and raw resources left on Coruscant? if someone returned after the presence left and took possession of it all, the power vacuum would be incredibly potent, and the resources at their command near limitless. For a half second Omegon contemplated doing this himself, but immediately tossed the idea aside. He didn’t have the luxury of scheming right now; their top priority was survival and warning the rest of the Sith Empire. Or at least, whatever remnants of it remained after this cataclysm was over.

Nearly collapsing, Rayge entered the area keeping himself somewhat upright by keeping pressure against the wall either with his outstretched arm and hand that trembled from pure exhaustion or with the related shoulder. He was carrying his helmet in the opposite hand while it protected him from a majority of the damage he could suffer it, in turn, created a feverish environment, especially under continuous physical stress. The removal allowed him to better catch his breath and cool off a bit while he made his way back to the hangar. He noticed a few of his compatriots gathered together and mustered the energy to approach them, leaving the support of the wall behind.

He stepped in just as Omegon had informed the group of their available cabins and the training room they all had access to. "A welcoming gesture, brother" Rayge muttered as he joined the conversation "Perhaps I will put your training equipment to the test once I've recovered from all of this..." he gestures around the ship at the chaos that had just transpired while cracking a lighthearted smile, trying to forgo the horrendous events that just occurred but painfully masking the lingering fear and sadness that overcame him during the ordeal.

"Oh and for those that don't know me, I am Death Knight, Rayge Vigör. I'm glad to meet the rest of ya. I am unsure as to if we would've survived that tragedy on Coruscant on our own and now that we're all here we have more manpower to throw at whatever this may be." He glanced around to the others, the gratitude apparent on his face.

Senec clung on to consciousness as best he could, strained to keep his focus on the words of the others, offering bleary nods to each new arrival as they introduced themselves. Between the mindless exhaustion of the day’s travel and battle, followed by the unparalleled madness of escape, Senec had built up quite an adrenaline rush, but that adrenaline was now beginning to wear off, and he felt his knees begin to wobble. Casting a weary glance around revealed a similar plight from Imperial and Sith alike, many too drained to even rise from where they slumped against piled crates and against the hangar walls.

Senec summoned a last drop of energy, offering a weak smile. “I am pleased to meet you all and look forward to knowing you further when I am no longer half-dead. For now,” he turned to Omegon, “I will take you up on your offer of fresh robes and sleeping chambers.”

Catching sight of his droid just outside the door to the hangar, he nodded to his companions and limped off. His voice could just barely be heard, snapping at the droid, as he disappeared into the bustling hallways outside of the hangar, “Evade! Find me a blasted cup of tea.”

Pythonus walked back towards Omegon, raising an eyebrow at Senec and his droid. “Before you go, I’d like to put together a list of each of our strengths and weaknesses, specialties and skills, and potential weaknesses that we need to guard against. If each of you could send a quick description to my personal chambers, I can put together a series of battlefield plans and contingencies, and we can begin combat training. I think we may have a long journey ahead of us, and I would have us as ready and prepared as we can be by the time we arrive back in Sith Space.”

And with that, Omegon and Pythonus turned and walked out as one. Omegon had alchemical experiments to get to, and physical exertion might help him take his mind off of the chaos that was their experience on Coruscant. Far better to focus on moving large amounts of mass than to contemplate the meaninglessness of life and the tremendous power that they had faced.

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

corinthia

Administrator
Staff member
Administrator
Immortalis
IC: Imperatrix Hesper
Korriban – Temple Dungeons

Hesper pulled her mind from the depths of a dark reverie—she had been meditating on what was to come, shaping those threads of fate. Pulling and plucking where she saw fit, drawing some near who might otherwise stray from their own survival. She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear, the many small rings upon it catching the dim, flickering light of the dungeon as she turned her head to speak again to Arach, who remained beside her. We need to get moving, she had said, but Hesper's mind was filled suddenly with other voices. One foreign, one painfully familiar. One a pledge of loyalty, the other a gentle suggestion of its owner, though it was just as insidious and sly. Draconis. Ah! How the jolting memory of what had transpired between capturer and captured came rushing back… But at least he would be nearing where she needed everyone else to gather. She needed to keep him in hand.

Hesper bit back a discomforted noise, hiding her distress at remembering her prisoner was still unbound and at large… instead, she gave direction to Arach, pointing her towards the entryway to the dungeons, instructing her to funnel people towards the tunnels. "Have them prepared to descend; everyone should carry a weapon and be ready to defend themselves. Make sure the weak and wounded are accounted for and accompanied by able-bodied Sith."

And then—

Then…

Slack-jawed, eyes wide—it hit her. Arach had flagged, and so did Hesper. Likely others in the dungeons did as well, for something had just rocked the Force. Violent, rippling waves, like a piercing scream, tore through the fabric of the Force. Almost as if billions of voices had cried out at once, shrieking in agony and horror so deep Hesper could almost feel the pain herself, like a knife twisted in her gut. Hesper couldn't stop the noise that escaped her as she crumpled, her knees having gone weak. Her velveteen gown pooled around her, and an arm looped around her as she failed to stop her fall.

Opening herself up to the potentiality of the Force left her also quite vulnerable; such a scream of despair had caught her off-guard. Such death. Death, death, death…

Only one being was capable of such mass destruction in one fell swoop, sucking what could only be a planet teeming with trillions of lives dry. Instantly murdering them all.

She tipped her face to Sorin, who had slowed her fall; he shielded her from the rest of the room with his broad body, and behind him, what was left of the Hesperian Guard retinue stepped into formation around them. He had felt it too—the unmistakable shockwave that had cascaded through the Force. But he was mercifully less perceptive, and such echoing anguish did little more than stagger him briefly, though the resounding heartache was unshakeable.

Hesper grasped Sorin's arm, skinny fingers digging in. "A planet just died," she whispered. Her voice was overwrought, drawn thin. Just as the Force was—stretched to its limit, pulled too fine, like weak wool being spun into yarn. She could feel its power beginning to wane. Her eyes searched Sorin's face, her quaking gaze wavering over the lines deepening on his cheeks and forehead. "He walks among us…"

"My lady," Sorin urged; he knew of who she spoke. Many times had she regaled him and his men of their impending doom, waxing prophetic of the emerald eye that beheld her in the Vergence Scatter. Even now he could almost see its image in her own eyes—baleful green fire wreathing one black slit of a pupil, powerfully scrutinizing and keen. He tried to soften his gaze, willing some gentle strength to transfer from him to her, through their limbs where they touched. "You've given us such warning; we are ready to face whatever wrath may come to pass."

Hesper squeezed her eyes shut, shooing away the dark storm clouds which threatened to encroach on the edges of her consciousness; the same such clouds that covered her on Lothal, fogging her thinking and sending her into that downward spiral of madness. There were times she wondered if she hadn't lost her mind in the world between worlds, and as she opened her eyes again she mused if now wasn't one of those times as well. She felt pulled so thin. Her body felt hollow, terror having scraped away her innards. Finally the time had come to lead, and here she was crumpled on the floor in a heap, with her retinue of cultist guards hiding her from the withering stares of others who were now beginning to rush into the dungeons. This is not the manner a leader should conduct herself in, Hesper thought. But I cannot deny that I am afraid.

Sucking in a breath, Hesper lifted her eyes to meet Sorin's. They were the color of sage, soft and penetratingly focused on hers. "You've not heard anything from the Auspex, have you?" Hesper asked; she'd suddenly remembered that Sorin had sent a comms message to their forces on Bosthirda, calling forth their trio of Star Destroyers, helmed by the flagship Auspex, while they had been outside the Temple walls, when the black legions of pyramid ships had first arrived.

"No," Sorin replied, and as he did so he extricated his arm from Hesper and pulled his commlink from his belt. "Comms have been silent; no reply from General ben Jzora, or from Admiral Ontos."

Hesper sat back on her heels. "We must be being jammed."

Scratching at his scruffy beard, Sorin said, "It would change a lot if those here had access to clear long-range communications. We could call in orbital support."

"Or evac," Hesper added.

Nodding grimly, Sorin replaced his commlink on his belt. "I'll find the communications hub. This temple is bound to have one. I'll see if I can un-jam any frequencies and establish a connection with our people." He stood and offered a hand to Hesper. She gratefully accepted it, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Go quickly, Lieutenant," Hesper said, her hand lingering in his for a moment. "I'll remain here in the dungeons until all who would flee with us are safely gathered."

"Understood, Imperatrix." Sorin pulled his hand away from Hesper's, and stepped back to give her a gentlemanly bow. She tried a smile at him, wringing her hands before herself as he signaled to two of his Guardsmen to follow him, leaving the rest to fall into formation behind Hesper, silver pikes always at the ready. Watching Sorin's back retreating up the dungeon steps to the main levels of the Temple, Hesper thought on her threads of fate again; she wanted Sorin back as soon as possible. And she wanted his venture to be successful. It was quite a gamble to send him back up into the Temple, and she did not want to play with the lives of anyone loyal to her.

She raked her fingers through her hair. Apollyon was already descending into the tunnels, her hand knotted with that of a suave, dark-haired Inquisitor; Good, Hesper thought. The plan was in motion. With Arach posted up to point people towards the tunnels, Apollyon at the helm of the crowd, and Xarxes casting his Foresight forward to see what lie ahead, they would be well-prepared. Hesper had been keeping her grip on the threads of destiny in her mind's eye, too, continuing to ensure and envision the safe escape of all those in the temple above, and those congregating in the dungeons and descending into the tunnels below.

The vision of black armor glinting sinisterly in the dark of the tunnels resurfaced to haunt Hesper, and she grimaced. There was an eerie emptiness that accompanied it, knowing also that there was once again some event she could not see beyond—whether it meant her death, or some great upheaval of predestiny, she could not augur. But she sensed she may be about to walk into a battle she may face alone. Or a battle she would not allow anyone to intervene in, lest they risk their own safety. Hesper had returned to Korriban with one purpose: to warn of His coming. She had done her duty, and now her goal was to protect those she had borne the news to. Whether that meant she had to sacrifice herself… she cared not.


TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Arach, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Darth Thana, @dragonsith13, all others in temple and dungeons/tunnels

Powers used:
Darksight - GODLIKE - 10 (sustained use, directing people towards the dungeons and tunnels; also ensuring Sorin's safe trip to the comms suite/war room and back)
 
Last edited:

Darth Dreadwar

Active member
Immortalis

GM Update

IC: Darth Dreadwar

Wight Wastes, outside the Sith Temple, Korriban


Night was falling on the New Sith Order.

The last, feeble rays of Horuset bathed the Wight Wastes in the low arterial glow of dusk, the emaciated shadows of a hundred thousand horrors stretching towards the encircled temple as all hope of the besieged, the betrayed, dwindled in the last flickers of celestial flame. The bloody end of a futile battle; this is what the elements foretold, as if Korriban itself were conspiring with the eldritch host of its antiquarian masters, greeting the return of the ancient destroyers with a sanguine smile behind the ragged black fangs of Dreshdae’s mountains.

If he had but lips, Dreadwar would have rejoined Horuset’s fiery grin with a faint smile of his own, but the abyssal depths of his empty cowl, dark as the void between galaxies, betrayed no ghostly flicker of his cold amusement. His ethereal gaze remained affixed on the bastion before him, as the Lords of the Shadow Council strode forth, three dire shades of undying hatred stalking across the endless and barren dunes towards the fracas of deathless battle, behind the thudding footfalls of an immortal titan of indomitable malice.

The shadow-ghouls had multiplied, the threescore that had lurched beyond the crimson bubble of the temple’s shield joined by a hundred more phantasmagoric apparitions, but the sclerotic vanguard that Dreadwar had deployed to the front numbered nigh ten thousand, and Volshe’s eldritch conjurations could only whittle away so many. Dreadwar’s long-dead legionaries were inflicting losses of their own, no matter how impermanent, shadow-ghouls disintegrating into fell cries on the wind, before slithering free of the prone bodies behind the shield to crawl forth once more. A novelty, that, but even if it became a matter of attrition, there could only be one outcome. The Shadow Council merely hastened such inevitability.

Lord Hord broke right, ebon armour glinting in the dying light as he ignited his ancient lightsaber with a violent snap-hiss, swinging the crimson blade at the sable spirits closest to him. Beside him, Darth Malleus reached towards his back, and drew forth a great battle-axe of cruel metal, hurling back a dozen shadow-ghouls with a single swing of that mighty arm. Darth Andeddu erected a moat of flame with a broad circling gesture, a wall to guard Cruor’s passage while the towering Gen’Dai lich approached the shield.

A fraction of their power, Dreadwar knew, but it did not take more than a tenth measure of their might to fulfill their charge.

Darth Cruor stepped into the shield.

All around the temple, the crimson field flared, waves of white intensity rippling towards Cruor with a static hiss, even as the rotten sinews of Cruor’s undead flesh sizzled beneath the merciless assault of the electron wall. The skeletons of Dreadwar’s vanguard would have been incinerated in an instant. Yet Cruor stood tall, colossal arms tearing into the shield even as it intensified its efforts to vaporise him, sparks flying from an increasingly turbulent ocean of frothing energy. The agony, Dreadwar could scarcely conceive. The shield was screeching now, or perhaps it was Cruor, an unearthly roar echoing across the plains—and then the shield began to flicker, the entire field pulsing in ever-fainting scintillations of scarlet, the white-hot concentration of power hissing around Cruor beginning to fade to red.

“The shield dies,” Teraktassi breathed, the Massassi commander watching slack-jawed beside Dreadwar’s steed, the pupilless pools of his yellow eyes reflecting only violently strobing crimson.

And then, with one last exertion of energy, and a thunderous blue-white flash, the shield flickered out. The charred remains of Cruor lay on the sands, a wretched ruin of blackened flesh, smoldering ribbons of flesh cooking in the last light of the sun. To one such as he, but a flesh-wound, Dreadwar thought to himself. It was not a question of if Cruor would rise again, but when.

Andeddu had stepped into his own circle of flame, perhaps betraying an illusory nature to his power, drawing near to protect Cruor in case any enterprising defender chose to take advantage of the Gen’Dai’s temporary vulnerability. Hord and Malleus had closed ranks, also, the latter reaching a hand towards the battlements and tearing free the desperately-bleating laser turrets, and their occupants with them, breaking them upon the dunes. Hord had erected some kind of shield, and smaller packets of plasma, pumping from handheld rifles, peppered the faint surface of shimmering Force energy with no effect.

Dreadwar did not waste a second.

Dismounting with a single practiced movement, the ancient wraith stepped on the back of a kneeling grotthu to reach the sands. The temple’s defenses were broken; it was time.

“Ssend foorth all legionsss,” Dreadwar whispered. “Do not stop the attack until the temple is taken. Sslay them all, save for my children; bring them to me alive and unssspoiled.”

Teraktassi raised a clawed finger towards the side of his helmet, and the canine visage of a Tuk’ata snapped into position, metal plates rising from the collar and sliding from the sides to conceal his Massassi visage behind a bestial countenance of cold cortosis. “And what of the mother?” he growled, a modulated metallic snarl.

Venomis glanced over, the perverse inversion of a smile twisting his lips in a sneer. “I am not in the habit of repeating orders,” Dreadwar hissed. “The heir-children alone shall you spare.”

“Yes, my lord,” Teraktassi said, and turned. “Sound the advance!” he shouted, and a maroon-skinned Zuguruk behind him raised a trumpet to his lips. As the signal to advance blared forth, the baleful army of the true Sith began their dreadful march.

chariots.jpgmassassi.jpgThe innumerable horde moved as one. Legions of undead infantry, some helmeted and armoured, others bereft of all but the faintest wisps of cloth, bearing swords and shields and spears and axes. Massassi warriors, yet serving in life before joining the ranks of the dead, hulks of crimson flesh pulled taut over bulging muscle, snarling and roaring behind bristly rows of lanvaroks. Long-dead charioteers joined by archers bearing energy-bows and snipers bearing ancient blasters, dust billowing into the miasmic air behind rotting wooden wheels as a thousand skeletal steeds lunged forward.

Kissai priests of Rhand, in hooded robes of black, brown and violet, groaned in loathsome liturgies to the ancient gods of Illathurion beside Zuguruk beast-masters heaving on the chains of hungry Tuk’ata and humongous Terentatek. Leviathans of El’Shuddem, as tall as the temple walls, wriggled between the unholy ranks, their bulk dwarfed only by the vast Gorog—named in honour of the unseen queen that had birthed its kind—advancing on its knuckles towards the temple gates beside the vivified Soros, that abominable Lord of Sarafur bearing the head of a Sith atop the contorted body of a Killik. “Gorog!” went up the chant, as the behemoth, taller than the Emperor’s tower, advanced like a battering ram. “Gorog! Gorog!”

ssither.pngThe Ssither slithered forward, undead serpents with frightful humanoid skulls, and the Rakata marched beside them. Behind the Sith Lords of desolation, behind the Shadow Council in their tattered robes, behind the muttering multitude of Mnggal-Mnggal and his ten thousand putrid, dripping thralls, the flames of a hundred siqsa of Morddoth rose like funereal sacrifices towards the dust-laden heavens, smoke demons of the ancient world in all the flickering, squalid shapes of humanity’s worst fears. All the fell races sworn to the Father of Shadows, all the servitors of the true Sith, all had answered Mortis’ call. And in their ears whispered the voices of their caliginous masters, urging them ever onward, according to all the foul device of their cunning.

balrog.jpg“Raspir, Ruthic,” Dreadwar hissed, “lead the Rakatan mages to the forward battlements, and proceed down the stairway into the banquet hall. Once the doors are breached, join the death legions and scour the ground floor before moving upwards, butchering floor-by-floor. I shall work my way down, eliminating all in my path, and join you from above.” The empty hood turned, affixing a sightless gaze upon the cavernous hangar yonder, and then Darth Dreadwar began to rise into the air, complex gestures weaving the Force around him as malachite energy emanated from his ghastly form, a shimmering shield of arcane power.

Venomis was issuing his own orders, directing the black-robed wraith beside him to devour any enemy seen escaping the temple on sight. “Darr tah Nihil, Ari sektan Malachor, muratuk sinta sazg derriphan.” Even as he delivered instruction, Venomis reached out with his senses, feeling for the gnats in the temple, while his thralls worked the controls of his fleet, the pyramids hovering above beginning to rotate as long-dormant weapons powered up.


In the hangar, PEKA squealed, eye rotating wildly around its chassis as it spied the distant floating figure—nothing but a hundred meters of empty air between them. It skittered across the prayer rug I-RON had laid out for his god, and raced for the exit. Karin alone could understand the single word it sputtered: RUN. But Kielor and I-RON did not need a translator for the calm, artificial tones of a woman, projected from the loudspeakers: "Shield deactivated. Shield deactivated. Shield deactivated."

Behind his grim mask, Teraktassi smiled in satisfaction. “The hour of the Jen’jidai is over. The time of the Tsis is come.”


TAG: @Darth Cruor, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Admiral Volshe, possibly @Reatith Blodraald

OOC:
For Volshe's continued attack with shadow-ghouls, 100 d20s are rolled. Of these, six score Critical Hits, diminishing the ranks of the Korriban zombies by six.

For Cruor's unique feat with the shield, a single d100 will be rolled to determine damage. The result is 49, reduced to 28 by Cruor's usage of Tutaminis (1 + 1 + 4 + 4 + 6 + Modifier of 5), and Cruor's HP is depleted to 27.

Kielor's Force usage can be considered successful, as his Force Sense and Beast Trick is on his own pet.





IC: Darth Apollyon
Entering the underdelve, beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban


The eerily calm tones of the Temple’s central computer reverberated throughout the dungeons, as if the voice broadcasting from distant loudspeakers were mocking the urgency of their plight. “Shield deactivated,” it repeated, over and over, as the emergency lights strobed red, and the flame torches quietly crackled in their sconces. “Shield deactivated. Shield deactivated.”

For a second, Apollyon remained frozen in place at the end of the passageway, on the lip of those fateful right-hand stairs that led into the darkness below. Her lacquered black fingernails dug into Catalyst’s palm with enough force to draw blood, her onyx eyes staring into the void, uncomprehending. Her heart hammered in her chest, thumping painfully in synchrony with each flare of the alarms.

She could feel Volshe’s silvery whisper crawl across her skull, dancing with the lightness of a moon-spider, hear her thrall urge them to the hangar. She could feel Catalyst pulling on her, as he took his first steps into the black, hear Arach, urging them to move forward. A cacophony of voices, of confusion and disarray, pulling influences and competing wills.

And then it didn’t matter anymore.

There was only one thing to do, and though she knew not where it led, there was only one path forward. In the split-second that she realised that the enemy was upon them, as the icy gale of her master’s power drew nearer, sheer momentum guided her steps, and she knew there would be no second chances, no time for further analysis or debate. She slammed her mental defenses into place, kicked the heeled shoes off her feet, and inhaled. “RUN!” Apollyon cried.

She turned behind her for only an instant, taking in the scene. The long, torchlit passageway of the dungeons stretched for meters behind her, terminating at the stairs leading up the banquet hall; on either side of the corridor, there were doors and doors, leading to dungeon cells and classrooms, and an ancillary stair down which the Devaronian crone prodded her young charges, taking initiative heedless of Solus’ delay, and Mavros’ questioning. Noxia, Metus and Mirtis were there, at the end, and Grievance and Invadator, pursuing Draconis; behind them, descending the stairs from the banquet hall up which Sorin had raced, Darth Talon—Apollyon flinched—with a wriggling, screeching skeleton held aloft in her telekinetic grasp.

The man calling himself Krayt was saying something, as was Hesper, shepherding the Sith from the rear, although Apollyon could hear neither over the ghoul’s screeches. And then Apollyon saw the one she sought in the crowd, the Nautolan that had spoken with Volshe’s voice. To say Apollyon was annoyed at her friend’s presumptuousness in invading the sanctity of her mind was an understatement, but she did not want her to die.

“Kára!” Apollyon shouted, a single word conveying her plea. In all the years she had known her, it was the first time Apollyon had called her closest ally by her given name. And then Apollyon turned, gaze sweeping past Xarxes and Xiannarr and the fallen Marcus, past the left-hand stairs down which Voidwalker, Volacius, Kain and Kira descended, and, kicking the heeled shoes off her feet, lurched down the stairs on the right, into the jaws of fate.





maptemple2.png

In the banquet hall above, the broken furniture and debris began to coalesce into crude figures, as Pravum’s power took hold, shaping inanimate matter into golems held together by telekinetic energy. On the opposite side of that great hall, Darth Nihl emerged from the reception room, Maladi and the surviving Federation triumvirs weaving through the chaos of a thousand panicked Sith, buffeted by the swell of the crowd. The twins trailed behind, tiny hands clutching at their mother’s skirts; Primordius’ lower lip was wobbling.

Nihl reached for Volshe’s arm, a sudden grasp, nails sharp enough to leave scratches. “Did you hear that?” he hissed, words tearing between gritted teeth as the alarm repeated its dire warning.

“We cannot evacuate via ship in time. Xxys, Nathemus… domina… Let us go from this place, to the tunnels this apprentice spoke of,” he said, a claw rising to point at Keres. Sorin was racing past him, towards the war room on the upper floor, but Nihl paid the Hesperian no mind, instead attempting to physically yank Volshe towards the entrance to the dungeons on the left. “Men cannot fight against gods.”




Apollyon ran.

A thousand broken steps descended into the darkness, cleaving to the wall of the subterranean vault for the first few meters, before abruptly spiralling downwards into the midst of the abyss. Apollyon raced down them two at a time, bare feet pounding stone. The cavern beneath the dungeons was truly vast, and there was no light save for the faint, flickering illumination from the passageway she had just vacated, and soon, it, too, was receding behind her.

Her left hand grasped Catalyst’s for support, even as her free hand dropped to her waist, once again drawing forth her lightsaber and igniting the bloody blade, two spurs of scarlet plasma spurting from the crossguard. It allowed her to see the next step in front of her, such that she could avoid—or leap over—the most obvious cracks as she made her hasty descent, but the illumination provided was not enough to shed light on the true size of the cavern, nor reach its most distant walls.

The darkness felt like a living thing, this far beneath the temple, the cold, musty breath of a cave that had never seen the light of day, stirred by some faint wind from an unknown origin.

Awaiting Apollyon at the bottom, the bodies of a hundred slain apprentices, lying in their own blood, gilded masks strapped to their skulls. And ahead, just barely visible in the gloom, a wall bearing a single doorway, radiating sheer, lethal danger in the Force. No matter what manner of light was shone upon it, nothing could be seen beyond that portal of utter blackness. A control console lay in a puddle of foetid water near its frame, wires connecting it to the wall beside.

Was this the tunnel Hesper had spoken of?


hypergate.jpg
TAGs: @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios

OOC:
Viscretus expands her usage of Mind Trick, rolling 16 + 23 + 10 against the DC of players targeted (specified as Kain, Voidwalker, Krayt, Xiannarr, Mavros, Catalyst, Pravum, Solus, Blodraald, Xxys, Volacius, Xirr, Kielor, Metus, Mirtis, Nacros, Thana, Kira, Zareel, Talon, Apollyon, Wyyrlok IV, Nix, and the crone), succeeding against all targets. Effect Roll is 19 + Modifier of 3, achieving her desired effect.

However, Hesper is continuing to use Darksight to influence the exact opposite (albeit through probability manipulation rather than mental coercion), as well as a new usage to protect Sorin, which rolls 11 + 21 + 10 against DC 35, and succeeds (with an Effect Roll of 46 + Modifier of 4, an extreme success). As ordinary game mechanics are not designed to arbitrate such a complex clash of forces, we shall roll d20s with usual Modifiers to arbitrate which feat of mass influence wins out over the other, with the two feats negating each other if the outcome values are within 10 integers of one another: Viscretus rolls 5 + 23 + 10, while Hesper rolls 3 + 21 + 10.

The two powers can thus be considered to cancel each other out. While Hesper succeeds in protecting Sorin, and Volshe succeeds in a silvery whisper of manipulation in the minds of her targets, I leave it up to players as to whether they are under any compulsion to head for the hangar or the dungeons, if they find themselves in a complex clash of forces where they are mentally urged to head for the hangar yet encounter situations mysteriously resulting in them returning to the dungeons, or whether they remain uninfluenced and can make a free choice of action.

Viscretus’ usage of Art of the Small rolls 15 + 23 + 10 against DC 35, and succeeds; Effect Roll is 28 + Modifier of 4, an extreme success, and her signature in the Force shrinks down to a pinpoint; when desired, her presence can become entirely forgettable.

Grievance’s usage of Force Sense rolls 7 + 19 + 10 against DC 10, and succeeds; I see no need for an Effect Roll, and Grievance can sense Draconis’ presence if Draconis permits such. Hadzuska’s usage of Force Sense appears to be sense the disturbance in the Force, and requires no roll.

Xarxes’ usage of Farsight rolls a 1, and fails. The disturbance in the Force interferes in his clairvoyance, the screams of the dead deafening him to its subtle currents.

Pravum’s usage of Animate Golem rolls 4 + 18 + 5 against DC 20, and succeeds; Effect Roll is 15 + Modifier of 4, a moderate success, and up to 40 junk golems may form from the broken furniture and debris.





IC: No one
Empty space, between Korriban and Bosthirda

The TIE Reaper glided against the starry wash of infinite night, black as the void whence it came, translucent as the nebulaic aether that arrayed itself in all its cold majesty before it.

“Admiral Getqit, Federation starship Enterprise, come in. Do you copy? Requesting an immediate response.”

In that lonely and forgotten patch of space, the phantasmal fighter passed unseen, no living eye piercing through its diaphanous veils of illusion, no living ear hearing its distant cry.

“Admiral Getqit, Federation starship Enterprise, come in. Do you copy? Requesting an immediate response.”

Only silence greeted 114D’s query, as the droid’s broadcast receded into uncaring infinity, dwindling bursts of radiation-encoded noise to stir the stillness of eternity, before all was quiet once more. The graveyard of shattered ships and spherical gravity mines, of cracked escape pods and tumbling wreckage, bore not one hint of life to Ānhrā’s senses. Not even the galleys beyond, cruising triumphantly in their orderly multitude, shone with the slightest warmth in the Force, the cold gleaming metal of their gilded hulls betraying only the stark reflection of distant stars, and the blinking pinpricks of perfect machinery.

But there was something out there, that much Ānhrā’s senses could tell, stirring the Force. A ripple, like water disturbed by approaching footsteps, or perhaps a wave, parting before the onrushing prow of a boat.

In the cockpit of the Reaper, an alarm chimed, and across the central display, small crimson letters typed themselves out: HYPERSPACE REVERSAL DETECTED. Not a message, but a warning from automated sensors, detecting the abrupt twisting of timespace—

The behemothic hull of an Executor-class Star Dreadnaught asserted itself with sudden violence against the backdrop, a dark silhouette settling against blossoming cerulean. Only half-a-second later, the dagger-shaped prows of two more frightful warships tore into reality, as if ripped from the pages of nightmare to plague the luckless Sith Lords yet further, the faint flicker of emerald lights illuminating bank after bank of bristling turbolasers.


TAGs: @Ānhrā Māhnîu, @Darth Sedicious

OOC:
Anhra’s usage of Force Sense rolls 7 + 18 + 5 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect is 3 + 5 + Modifier of 1, and Anhra can sense no lifeforms in the wreckage; however, his senses do not extend very far. There is no need to check Sedicous’ usage of Sith Illusions at this time.
 

Arach

Active member
IC- Darth Arach
Temple Dungeons, Korriban

Arach only gave a sharp nod to acknowledge Hesper’s order, then entered the dungeon.

She unhooked her lightsaber, but didn’t ignite it. “My lords and lady, get into the tunnels. Be on your guard.” She glanced at the still fallen Marcus, then made brief eye contact with everyone else. Arach felt the flash of disdain for the crawling Marcus, but pushed it away. “Those who can’t fight for themselves, stick close. We can’t leave anyone behind.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than the automated voice sounded, repeating the same message. “Shield deactivated.”

Not good! Arach swore silently. With the shield down the undead would be here very soon.

Arach was just about to reach out with the Force, but felt unnatural coldness run down her spine. Distantly, she heard Apollyon’s voice echo a command to run.

The assassin froze, her head tilted back as she felt his presence. Oh, kriff, he’s coming.

Without taking her eyes off the ceiling, Arach raised her voice at those still present, urgency sharpening her voice a little more than necessary, “Move quickly, or die!”

Her eyes flickered towards Hesper. She knew her fellow former apprentice could feel their master’s presence, but she gave Hesper a silent urgent warning, anyway. They needed her to lead.

As for herself, the assassin subconsciously slipped into a fighting stance. She wanted to make sure as many Sith as possible, especially Hesper, got into the tunnels. She thumbed her lightsaber on. Arach narrowed her golden eyes as she raised a shield around her mind.

If she needed to, she was prepared to die.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios

(Mental Shield- 5
Telepathy- 5)
 
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Admiral Volshe

Legendary Member
NGE Empress

IC: Empress Kára Volshe
The Reception Room

“Nihl!” She exclaimed, in a startled breath, his sudden grip and tug of her causing her to stumble. She caught herself, just barely, on the harsh, frigid stone of the window frames.

“What has gotten into you?” She hissed, the alarm not missed by her. Neither was his seeming descent into frantic motions missed. There was no time to say anything further. The banquet hall was just beyond. The dungeons were nearby, the hangar beyond that… They would die in the dungeons, in the tunnels below. She knew they would. She had seen the catacombs, she had seen the vast depths, all in her time with the One.

In her time as Dark Lady.

For a moment, a brief flicker of doubt crossed her mind. What if he was…

She shook her head. He still had her best interests at heart. That much was clear. She steadied herself with the aid of his bicep, an imperial knight lurching forward to aid her.

“Guard Sia from the hordes. You as well, Nathemus, until we reach the hangar,” she instructed them, quietly, though her Knight Master narrowed his eyes. She glared. “I will be fine. I am in my home. She is not.”

She looked back to the Duros admiral, suppressing a sigh. “Stazi, as well.”

She glanced around, nervously, thinking though every possibility ahead in the flash of a moment. They needed to go, now, or they would also die in the Temple. Precisely as she had told him.

“Come with mommy, and you, with Maladi,” she said, looking up to the Devaronian witch, before scooping Deianara into her arms. She pointed Prim towards the crimson-skinned Sith Lady, giving Maladi a silent look of direction. Her voice fell to a gentle coo, a silken whisper as she looked to them both. “It will be alright. I will keep you safe. I promise.”

“All of you, with me,” she said, this time looking at the rest of the group. The room was chaos. Her mind was chaos. She looked about, right, then left, her gaze sweeping as she thought of the best plan of action. There did not seem to be one. There were too many. She lurched forward, her daughter in her arms, and mounted the obsidian banquet throne of Dreadwar. But she was not sitting within it. She stood upon its seat.

She raised her voice - gone was the serenity that most knew. Now, she was the woman of decades past, a physician ordering surgical precision in the most desolate moments deep in the heat of war.

A mother, guiding fifteen hundred children with stern hand.

Her plan had changed, given the urgency. But it had not changed all that much. There were other cloaked shuttles, she knew. Catalyst’s very own would be present, likely, but if not, there were more. They would simply have to divide their passengers into groups of importance and preparedness. There were thousand strong before her, and five hundred commanded by her hand. There would be enough. Enough of them would survive.

“To the hangars, at once. We can fit almost all before me in my shuttle. All those capable of illusion and concealing essences and auras at the front of the group. Lords and younglings with them. We will go in waves as the rest of the Order presents to the hangars. Each shuttle we command will have both, to conceal us from the incoming forces’ senses. Communicate this to anyone and everyone present, or any ally we encounter. Everyone must know my direction. And a small force may remain who wish to stay and fight, my great warriors who see no fear in death, only honour. Some of you must clear us a path to safety, and must not remain, but I ask a group of you to stay and tear them limb from limb. We will not die this day. I will assure it.”

She pointed, her hand rising towards the hall to the hangars. Her voice raised to straining, now, echoing around the hall. “Now. To the hangars, at once, or you will miss your only chance at life.”

She sent a similar message to be voiced by her thralls in the dungeon halls. She waited only a beat, then relinquished her space upon the throne, somewhat clumsily manoeuvring to the ground, then made her way hurriedly towards the hall. This time her free hand grabbed Nihl’s arm and tugged him forward.

“Come, now,” she said, again, insistently - now turning her thralls’ motion to pursuing her in what she hoped would be a seeming display of confidence alongside the dark councillors who would also follow her. She commanded the ghouls and thralls within the hangar, or nearby it, to board the ships and prepare them.

She looked to her godson, next, who had made himself obvious in the crowd by annihilating the furniture and turning it into golems. She gave him hushed directions, as she moved ever closer to him. “Lord Pravum, your creations, have them guard the doors alongside mine so that we may escape.”

She willed her remaining ghouls to advance to guide their path, guarding the mass of thralls, as she receded with quick steps into the hall towards the shuttles with her entourage.

There was fear in the air, fear in her chest, a pike she could not remove nor swallow away despite her attempts. But there was no remedy beyond their escape. She would not save all of the Order, she knew. It was far too late for that. But she would save as many as she could. Her thralls, at least, and those in the banquet hall.

Up ahead and through the doorway, only a few strides from her, was the trio she had sent to gather the younglings some time ago. They stood in the hall, a much older Devaronian woman ushering them towards the dungeons.

“No, no,” Volshe called, extending a hand for one of the smallest of their tot-sized entourage as she approached. “Come with me. Come with us. To the hangars.”

~ ⚜ ~​


IC: The Nautolan Thrall
A Lot of Stairs and the Underdepths

The thrall pursued Apollyon, ambling down the steps in a pace slower than the woman’s breakneck one. It managed to reach the bottom a short while after she did, pursuing her with a lumbering gait.

“Zelashiel?” It called, as she vanished into darkness, then blood red flared into the tunnel. “I am leaving through the hangars. I will aid you in this body. If there is a way to survive through here.”

The voice was throaty, seduced into an unnatural warmth from the icy Sith Lady floors above.

Then, in a blink, they were standing before an abyssal arch, filled to brimming with shadow. The connection with the thrall wavered, briefly, the danger pouring from the strange scene enough to suddenly intensify the icy spear that lodged itself in Volshe’s chest a thousand steps above. It nearly broke her focus, but she held on, recentring herself as the Nautolan stared ahead for a long moment.

It knelt down to the water around the control panel, inspecting the controls. It could say nothing - the connection it shared with Volshe tenuous in the moment of anxiety. She merely directed it to inspect the panel, within the strange room, so that she could review such information in a few moments - once she had a moment to breathe away from the chaos above.
Their individual decisions were made. Silently, she studied Apollyon through the orbs of glassy black that she had taken command of. There was no return now, no time to make a change. She would do her best to ensure that anyone in the lower levels survived.

Though now, with the darkened halls and endless nothingness, and only a doorway to what resonated with the deepest aura of chaos itself, it seemed she was correct in her decision.

The Nautolan looked to Apollyon from its near-crouch on the floor, before it had inspected the panel. “Tell me what you require of me.”

It turned to look down. “I do not wish you to die.”

~⚜~

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios
 
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Darth Kain

Administrator
Staff member
Administrator
Moderator
Dark Council
Immortalis
IC: Darth Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars
The Dungeons and What Lies Below, Sith Temple, Korriban

“Shields deactivated.”

PicsArt_11-03-11.19.33.jpgHis nostrils flared. A cloud of fire swirled in his chest. The fury of fruitless victory filled every fiber of his being. All of that was for nothing?
He stormed ahead, pushing past Voidwalker and the others without a care. They would make it inside well enough, he was sure. But he did not care either way, not now. Not with molten lava running through his veins. No, he had to contradict his previous words. If the True Sith were coming behind them, he was not going to wait around to get stabbed in the back. A King had to lead his people, after all.

He saw the infamous Lady Hesper holding herself to the rear of the swarming Sith, ushering them in ahead of her. Kain did not trust her. He never could trust someone else to lead him again. Not when the last man he followed proved just how folly the notion was. But he could sense her desire for goodness, if there was such a thing among butchers of senates. She had the will to risk herself for the good of the New Sith Order, and that was enough for the Beloved King of the Stars to offer her one moment of his attention, even in the midst of his rage.

“Hesper!” he shouted to her. “They cannot be allowed to follow us. Bring this damned temple down on their heads!”

He did not stop to make it more than a one-sided conversation. If she wanted to resume it, she was more than able to follow him down - after doing as he advised. And if she failed, well, then she was not worthy of one more word from him.

The winding staircase descended down, down and down into the pitch-black darkness of what surely had to be some ring of hell. The freezing cold of Korriban was even felt down here by the others, no doubt, though Kain himself had no worries about catching a chill.
He had ignored the warnings of the Nautolan thrall in his fit of exasperation, but the whisper of the Empress had penetrated that embankment of enmity.

There is a way to escape. Come to the hangars at once.

Well, it’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?


Kain had grown annoyed with the constant tugging in his mind, the constant questioning of what he should or should not do. Indecision would only lead to the deaths of himself and everyone around him. It could not be afforded. It could not be tolerated.

Wait, he thought. Was that actually her?

He could sense the True Sith were powerful; certainly a few were stronger than even he in the ways of the Force, for now. It was not out of the realm of possibility that one of them could replicate the voice of another, even in his mind. They could be trying to sow disorder, confusion. To make them linger long enough so that they could all be slaughtered.

You cannot fool me.

PicsArt_11-03-11.12.31.jpgHe made no attempt to respond to the telepathic message as he continued his descent, stepping down alongside some other being he could no longer identify in the darkness. It felt as if he were winding down the twisted spine of the temple, the steps each a transverse process of the ancient, crumbling cord. When the shadows proved too much for him to safely see, he simply outstretched his hand, the palm coming alight with white fire. It was bright enough to illuminate the path around him, even in the oppressive gloom surrounding them. For those near him, he was the brightest beacon in the abyss, a guide through the darkness should their lightsabers prove too dim to light their way.

It did not take long for him to regroup with Catalyst and Apollyon, having pushed past anyone else in his way. His light, plus that of his soon-to-be sister-in-law’s lightsaber, highlighted two things of equal horror.

The smell had hit him before he saw them, though he had originally assumed it to be the usual dank, disgusting mephitis one could expect in an underground tunnel. I hate being below ground. But the sight had helped identify the stench. It was blood. And corpses. And death. The perfect odorous cocktail to make any normal man vomit. To add to the terror would have been the sheer number of them; there had to be dozens of corpses here, slain apprentices with masks forever attached to their heads. No doubt if one tried to peel one of the masks off, the face would come with it.

But the doorway… the Force warned him of that far more than even a thousand corpses would. It absorbed all light, even his, with terrifying greed. Nothing could be seen on the other side, and whatever was on that other side felt like it wanted him dead. It wanted all of them dead. Perhaps it would get its wish.

But not if he had anything to say about it.

He approached the doorway as the thrall examined the control panel, placing his non-alight hand on the wall beside it. Getting this close to the abyssal gateway only increased the paranoia, the fear. He did not even notice he’d begun to sweat.

But he knew how to apply these feelings. Folding space was not the only ability granted to him by the Aing-Tii. No, no he had been given visions of the near-future before, and it had always been in perfect clarity. It came in times of danger, and what greater danger was there than what he faced now?

"I am going to try something," was all he said aloud. The gravity in his voice would have to be enough for the others to recognize it was best to leave the Dark Messiah to his works.

Before, he had never called upon the sight actively. But he was a completely different beast now than he had been when he first learned from the Aing-Tii. The Beloved King of the Stars had destiny on his side, and so he asked it, silently, a very simple question:

What will happen if I walk through that door?

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios

Power(s) Used:
Pyrokinesis (NO ROLL NECESSARY)
Aing-Tii Fighting Sight (5)
 

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skira

Administrator
Staff member
Administrator
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
IC: Sol Kira
Stairway to the Emperor’s Tower/Dungeons, Korriban

As they descended the steps, Volshe’s whisper came through her mind. But she ignored it, why would she go back up the steps again? The dungeons were safe, wherever they went after that would be safe too. She could feel it.

“Because you make such good choices,” the demon spoke, and she rolled her eyes as she continued down.

But once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped suddenly, unable to move another inch. Her legs were locked like cement, and her heart raced. She focused on nothing around her, it was as if her ears were ringing.

“Stop. Let’s think this through,” He said again in her mind, and her jaw tightened.

“Think what through? You saw what was out there, it’s death. Pure death. The further we can get from that, the better,” She thought back to him, still unable to move from her spot.

“Do you really think you can outrun that? You need a ship.”

“Let me move.”

“No.”

“You are wasting time.”

“Who is most able to protect you? Who is the strongest among us that we know of?”

“She cannot save us all.”

“Neither can they!”

“Let me go!“ They screamed at one another in the walls of her mind.

She was able to move then, only it wasn’t her deciding what she did. Her right hand moved towards her dagger, ripping it away from its holster on her waist and stabbing it towards her own stomach. Her other hand sprung free of the lock the demon had placed on her body, moving between her stomach and the dagger. The gauntlet covering her left arm blocked it from stabbing into her, and she looked down at her hands with pure horror.

“I will kill you if you refuse to listen to me. Now go.

She looked to Lord Voidwalker then, unable to read his expression due to their lack of light in dungeons. She could have waited for his command, perhaps he would have thought the same. Perhaps the ships were safer? Perhaps the demon was right, she could hardly make good decisions for herself.

Kriff.

“I’m following the Empress,” She said, her voice shaking. She put the dagger back into her holster and turned, running back up the steps she had originally come down as fast as she could manage. Her muscles ached slightly from how much she had gone up and down them in the past few minutes, but she pushed through it. If she could just get to the Empress, she might survive. Or maybe not. Either scenario was better than killing herself, or rather the demon forcing her to. As soon as she would reach the exit for the banquet hall she would run for the hangars from which she had arrived in. For now, she would continue her climb up the steps. Perhaps it would be her last ascent on any steps in this temple on this damned planet.

No matter how small it was, it was her only chance at survival.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar , @Admiral Volshe , @Voidwalker , @Volacius , @Darth Kain
 

Kielor

Active member
IC: Apprentice Kielor
Dreshdae
156ABY



Arriving at Dreshdae Spaceport, Kielor began the walk throughout the dusty red outpost, toward The Valley of the Dark Lords. Aside from the many Acolytes and Apprentices, the number of peons that he passed nearby to the Sith Academy was indeed surprising. More than once he overheard a nobody trying to convince those around them that they were a powerful and mighty Sith.


“I am Darth Malignant! And I am truly powerful! Your Emperor will kneel before my might!” Cheered a weasley looking Zabrak. Kielor stretched out with the force and could sense an amount of force sensitivity within this fool. Certainly he was no different from the other self important wretches who arrive at the Empire grasping for underserved power, but he would make a decent meal for a hungry Tuk’ata.


Approaching the wretch, Kielor reaches out to touch his feeble mind. “Darth Malignant, it is indeed an honour to meet you! I am Kielor, merely an Apprentice, however I have knowledge of a relic which I hope may elevate me. Alas, I do not have the power alone to claim it and so I search for powerful allies.”


“I am all powerful,” claimed the pitiful excuse for a Sith. “I will help you, for a share of the prize.”


“You honour me, great one! We must go with haste! To the tomb of Marka Ragnos!”


Kielor led the delusional fool through the outskirts of Dreshdae and into The Valley of the Dark Lords, all the time this wretched mess continued to prattle about their power, and their achievements which they had apparently accomplished in a far away galaxy. Kielor had always been patient, but he was certainly looking forward to the opportunity to dispatch the false Darth.


The Tomb of Marka Ragnos loomed ahead, the heat of the midday sun creating a shimmer haze, giving the appearance that the tomb was somehow floating just above the ground. The many Tuk’ata which had once dwelled in the valley were not to be seen, and Kielor was unsure whether the activity of the Korriban Academy and Dreshdae itself may have been enough to push the mighty beasts out of the valley, and deeper into the tombs.


“We are here, oh Dark Lord” Kielor mused to his unsuspecting victim. As the pair climbed the stairs to the tomb and entered the darkness of the mausoleum, the supposed Dark Lord begins to lose his composure.


They press inside of the tomb and the darkness hits them like a wave, washing over them are millenia of dark side energies. Kielor breathes it in deeply, bathing himself in the power of the Sith, of Marka Ragnos, of a Tulak Hord, of Naga Sadow and Ludo Kressh. The peon, on the other hand, completely loses his bundle.


“I’m not powerful! We’re going to die in here! Dark things live here!” Cried the whelp.


“SILENCE PEON!” comes the shout from Kielor as he grasps the Zabrak’s mind with the force. “Now, walk Peon, to your death.”


Turning the peon back around, Kielor ignites his mainhand weapon, casting a violet light into the crypt, and they resume their descent into the depths of the tomb of Marka Ragnos. The tomb is silent, save for the whimper of the peon, marching forward under the force of Kielor’s will, however still lucid enough for his terror to overwhelm his senses.


From deep within the silence a low, very deep, guttural growl resonates, and a little rush of excitement charges through Kielor’s chest. A pair of glowing red dots in the darkness come closer and closer, materialising as luminous crimson eyes. The sound of savage claws scraping on the stone floor of the mausoleum precede the creature's approach, as it comes into the light of Kielor’s weapon.


This could be her, she’s certainly large enough. Her fanged jaws bared, her horns and spines bathed in the violet glow of his weapon.


He commands the peon with his hand, driving him toward the magnificent beast. “Hello gorgeous. Hungry?”


As the beast looms nearer Kielor is struck by her beauty, her savage visage, and her unmistakable strength. The deep, dark red of her hide absorbing and reflecting the violet hue of his weapon with grand majesty. The fiery red eyes could burn holes into space itself. If he could convince her, she would make the perfect companion.


She didn’t seem too excited to see him, and she cast the worthless peon aside with no more than an amputated limb; leaving the pitiful wretch to bleed out on the ancient stone floor. Clearly she hungered for the dark side, and she sensed it to be far stronger within Kielor. Perhaps she felt his control of the other. Either way, she no doubt considered him significantly more of a threat, and she placed herself to neutralise him.


As she leapt forward, a strike from her tail sails directly toward the Apprentice’s head, her savage claws drawn and on target to flay his chest. Kielor doesn’t want to injure the magnificent beast, and so he leaps to his right, avoiding the incoming projectile as well as her attack. At the same time he grasps for her with the force, catching her mid leap, and telekinetically pushes her backwards away from him.


Attempting to touch the mind of this ancient creature. He bleeds the feeling of adoration toward her, as well as respect and confidence. He wants her to understand his power, his connection to the dark side; something that they both share. He wants her to know that he means no harm, for his intention is certainly not to subjugate this grand beast, but to nurture her as the powerful ally that she would become.


Again, as he reaches out to touch her mind, he offers the peon as sacrifice.


She turns her massive frame to regard the peon who lies still bleeding and near death. Still pouring out a clear presence of malevolence and aggression, Kielor cautiously watches the magnificent beast as she prowls gracefully toward his offering, sensing that she has acknowledged his influence, albeit reluctantly, and with a distinct lack of sufferance.


She turns her head back to look at the apprentice, her blazing red eyes bore into him like a bolt from a turbolaser. Without warning her tail lashes out at him with deadly speed. His lightsaber still lit in his hand, he rapidly deactivates it to be sure that he doesn’t injure the beast; dismemberment being low on his list of preferred courtship rituals. At the same time he pushes out with telekinesis, however this time not attempting to stop the Tuk’ata but to push himself back, using her tail as an anchor point, maintaining roughly five metres of distance from the arc of its path and keeping himself well wide of its spiked tip.


He lands gracefully, lightly, on the balls of his feet. Reigniting the violet blade of his weapon as he raises a force barrier to hopefully absorb the impact on any further attacks.


Seemingly she cared not if the attack had found it's mark, she wanted to feed. And food there was, presented right in front of her. She quickly dug in, fangs tearing into the peon. He had been knocked unconscious by the throw, but had awoken to find a massive Tuk'ata gorging on his intestines.


Watching as she devoured the whelp, Kielor was in awe of her efficiency, her capability, her primal ruthlessness. It was beautiful. The way she slashed his throat, so as to silence him such that she may enjoy her meal in peace; then proceeded to bite through his face, chewing up brain and bone without any impedance at all. She was perfect.


As she turned to face the Apprentice, he realised that he had been staring. Reaching out with the force, he attempts to touch her mind again. “I can provide you a great many who are touched by the force. A nearly constant supply of fresh meat and force power.” He stands, unwavering. His lightsaber still in his right hand, although not defensively or aggressively held; a passive grip, tip pointed low to the ground; capable of returning to an active position at any moment.


She is strong but so is he, and while perhaps he should fear her, he does not. He calls to her, “Join me, together we will feed on the power of the dark side of the force.”




IC: Apprentice Kielor
Location: Hangar Bay, Sith Temple, Korriban
Present



Rising for a crouched position, Kielor closes the hatch of the storage crate within the cargo hold of his Wayfarer class starfighter. Beside him, Rags, his companion beast; a Tuk’ata claimed from the tomb of Marka Ragnos. A gigantic Sith spawn, her hide the deepest red, she is uncharacteristically large. She is perhaps as ancient as the ones whose tomb she guarded, or perhaps her size is the result of prolonged exposure to powers which some may consider, unnatural. Sensing his intent to move, she quickly rises to her full height. The bristling spines about her nape clacking together as she shakes her head.


Casting his gaze down the hangar toward the entrance, Kielor is overcome by the compulsion to return to the tunnels. At the same time his mind is telling him to wait and hear out Volshe, however he knows that his Master will follow Lady Hesper, and that she was one of those whom he had seen within the dungeons. His turmoil is abruptly interrupted by the smooth dulcet tone of a woman’s voice over the public address system within the temple. “Shield deactivated. Shield deactivated. Shield deactivated.”


The hackles upon Rags shoulders bristled, and Kielor quickly closed the cargo hatch, making ready for his escape back toward the tunnels. The Tuk’ata levelled her fiery red gaze upon him, a deep rumbling growl emanating from deep within the creature.


“You’re right,” he says, quickly reopening the cargo bay. Snatching up the twin bandoliers loaded with explosives, as well as the DC17m weapons system, carry gear and DC17 sidearm. He slams the hatch shut and begins a rapid sprint back toward the dungeon; wrapping the carry gear around himself as he goes. Lashing the bandoliers over his torso, one loaded with no lethal ordnance; stun, smoke, cryo and concussion grenades; the other more lethal; incendiary, frag, plasma and ion; he charges toward the dungeon where the two Masters had fought. Drawing on the power of the force to augment his speed, his fear and adrenaline fuel the darkside. Rags bounds before him, turning her bulky form to look back periodically, keeping an eye on him.

He just hopes to be able to get back before the throng of serious force users have descended into the lower levels.


Powers used:
Beast Trick (2)
Feed on the Darkside (2)
Augmentation (1)

@Darth Dreadwar @Reiis Invadator


OOC: I’m hoping that Kielor will make it all the way back to the group in the tunnel, but defer to the GM call as to how far he makes it this turn.
 

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