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

DarthNoxia

Active member
IC: Darth Noxia
Location: Sith Temple, Korriban

Once again, Noxia found herself navigating through a temple away from something she didn’t quite understand. She only knew that, to meet it would be their destruction. Apollyon knew it too. “RUN” she heard the voice of Dreadwar’s apprentice echo through the passageway. The Togruta picked up her pace. This wasn’t sustainable. They couldn’t run forever. Had the hordes of undead already surrounded the temple? Had they spread so far that wherever the group emerged, death would be waiting?

As futile as it felt, Noxia felt she had to do something. She hated being powerless. She stopped at the end of the corridor. Noxia had spent much of her time as an apprentice in the Valley of the Dark Lords. She had come here to study, to meditate, to walk the temples of the ancients and bathe in the power of this massive nexus. She knew the names of long-dead Dark Lords that lay beneath the red sands, Marka Ragnos, Ajunta Pall, Naga Sadow…

Closing her eyes, she tapped into the power that radiated all around. It felt different this time, the power was being drawn on elsewhere too, from many sides like a length of cloth stretching, it’s seams being wrenched to the point of ripping. She could feel the dark side in chaos as each faction fought to control it. She found a thread onto which to hold and pulled. She stretched out her power into the depths of the temple, seeking out the auras of those long passed that still held the dark side within them.

The tomb of XoXaan. Noxia’s ethereal cord wound itself down into the depths of darkness finding the eye of power there and threading itself through. Summoning those that lay beneath, calling up corpses and willing their tattered souls to join with the remains behind ribbons of shredded robes, Noxia willed them to emerge so that ancient undead may join ancient undead in the fray.

(Powers used: Reanimate Sith Undead-4)

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, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @Darth Cruor , @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Darth Kain, @Drakul_Xarxes
 

Cardun Vrek

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

What is this stupid crone doing?


Lord Solus was the higher rank, and this glorified babysitter had taken it upon herself to lead them to the tunnels. She would be lucky if she lasted five seconds more. Part of him wanted to let her lead the children into the tunnels, at least then he wouldn't need to deal with them anymore.

But why did the tunnels feel like a good idea? He had just said that he didn’t want to go near them. Yet somehow, in the back of his mind, heading for the tunnels felt...right. And then, he heard the alert that sent a shiver down his spine; the shields were down. Whatever was attacking them now had a clear path to the temple itself. Yes, the tunnels were the only way to go.

He was just about to open his mouth to voice that new opinion aloud when a familiar voice touched his mind.

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


It was the voice of Empress Viscretus. Suddenly, the tunnels no longer seemed like such a good idea after all. It seemed now they would have to return to the hangers, which frustrated Mavros, as they had just come from the very place they now had to return to. Brilliant. The intrusion into his head was also unwelcome, he valued his privacy.

I don’t like people messing with my head. The only voice I want in here is this one.


“Excuse me, Mavros.”

Mavros had been so deep in his own thoughts that he had not noticed Lord Solus turning towards the Crone. Lightning was crackling at his fingertips, and Mavros stepped back, expecting a swift end for the Devaronian. Then, a new voice echoed through the corridor, the same voice that he had heard within his own head.

“No, no, come with me. Come with us. To the hangars.”


Empress Viscretus and her entourage were now coming down the corridor, and Solus immediately ceased the impending attack on the Crone. Now, the Commandant spun into action, his attention now refocused.

“Mavros, advance to the hangers and reclear them for the entourage to follow. Reatith go with him and provide support. Children come with us immediately, we now have more protection and a more secure plan.”


Easy enough, hopefully.

Mavros smiled and nodded, igniting his lightsaber.

"Understood, My Lord."

He then sprinted at full speed back down towards the hanger bay, and hopefully, towards escape.

At least now I'm shot of those whining children.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @DarthNoxia, @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, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @Darth Cruor , @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Darth Kain, @Drakul_Xarxes
 

corinthia

Administrator
Staff member
Administrator
Immortalis

IC: Imperatrix Hesper
Korriban – Entering the tunnels


"Shield deactivated."

"Shield deactivated."


A swear tore from Hesper's lips; around her, the retinue of Hesperian Guards once again ignited their pikes, silver blades snapping and hissing. They pressed inward, protecting their charge in their Lieutenant's absence. Hesper's brow furrowed. The shield had fallen, and they were now made vulnerable to Venomis' legions, and those of her former master. The screech of the announcement system grated on her ears, and her mind was ablaze with running all manner of scenarios—what wouldn't she give to be back in the Vergence Scatter, where potentialities could be explored like a labyrinth of fate!

But she clung tightly to the strings of destiny she had woven in her mind's eye, willing her desire for those gathering in the dungeons and pouring into the tunnels below to live. She shaped and tugged on those threads, pulling them away from anyone now abandoned above the dungeon level. Except for Sorin… she wanted him to return safely, bearing good news of a long-range comms connection, even as the shields had gone down and she could feel the impelling presence of the hordes of True Sith forces breaching the temple doorstep.

"Shield deactivated."

"Go!" she commanded of her Guard, as she heard Apollyon's cry to run from below. "Protect our allies. Follow Apollyon and the others, and keep them safe. Guide them and ensure their panic does not get out of hand. I will follow once Lieutenant Valantin has returned."

The Guardsmen nodded grimly, and departed in a swirl of black robes, barking their own commands at the straggling throng pushing its way downwards, into the tunnels below. Nearby, Arach ignited her saber; noble as ever. But she was right to do so, for the battle was closer at hand than ever before. Hesper set her mouth in a firm line, and with a flourish, she shed her gown, pulling it apart from neck to hem. Its black velvet parted to reveal garb far more suited to battle than the sumptuous frock it had been mere moments before. She stood now in emerald surplice and fitted trousers, with the same black surcoat she once wore as an apprentice hanging from her shoulders; its long, draping sleeves were slit from hem to shoulder, revealing the glimmering starlight cloth within that was visible inside the sleeves of the gown she had just doffed. She wore glinting copper pauldrons upon each shoulder and faulds hanging over each hip, and her slit sleeves revealed bronze vambraces on each bare arm. Quickly, she pulled the top half of her hair back, securing it into a messy plait.

She vanished her gown into a pocket of Dimension Shift with a simple sleight of hand, continuing the gesture with her lightsaber appearing in her palm, spinning it before grasping it with white knuckles.

"Hesper!" came a shout: It was Lord Kain, whom Hesper knew by reputation alone. He was pushing downwards towards the tunnels. "They cannot be allowed to follow us. Bring this damned temple down on their heads!"

A twisted grin cracked Hesper's face, white teeth glinting in the dim torchlight of the dungeons. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Lord Kain!" she called back as his cloak vanished down the steps.

Then, another voice, shouting over the throng of terrified, escaping people: "Lady Hesper, we have to organize this somehow or it's going to turn into a stampede before we can stop it." Lord Feros' shout was barely audible over the din, but Hesper still heard, turning her head towards him.

"My Guardsmen are interspersed throughout; Lady Apollyon leads the charge, and Lady Arach has instructed everyone to protect the weak and wounded. They will keep this exodus in hand," she replied. "You, too, will make sure this escape remains orderly."

Hesper could see, as well, that her allies Grievance and Invadator had at last arrived—which meant that hopefully, she thought with a painful gulp, Draconis was also nearby. Her escaped prisoner was dangerously low on her current list of priorities, but there was little to be done. It wasn't as if she could simply pause such a dire invasion to take care of this loose end.

The stream of escapees was waning, by now; the dungeon hallway was emptying as a steady two-by-two line was forming down the tunnel steps. Hesper watched with as much calm as she could muster, despite the screaming of the alarms and klaxons and the palpable anxiety on the air. She was nearly chanting a mantra to keep her allies safe, from Sorin racing to the war room, to Apollyon fleeing down the tunnel staircase. The lightsaber in her hand again felt heavy, and her palms itched as the Force ebbed and flowed around her, belying how fraught it was with tension and fear. My battle is soon upon me… she thought. And perhaps my death. The idea filled her with a cold apprehension, injecting ice into her veins and blossoming frost on her bones. Immediately, she cast her presaging forward again; such a dark notion demanded confirmation. Glancing towards Arach, who flanked the doorway to the dungeons on the opposite side, Hesper tried to tuck away her cold dread. Taking a deep breath, she retrieved one last piece from the space-time pocket of her Dimension Shift.

A crown.

It did not look wholly complete: it was not a full circle, instead appearing as roughly a half-circle shape, with curving ends at each termination of the band, suggesting they would hook securely over the tops of the wearer's ears. Thorny, jagged points swept upwards, tangling and crooking around each other. It was crafted of a black-onyx metal, which caught the orange flame of the torches overhead and glimmered royally and with dark aspect. Hesper breathed deep. If she were going to die, she would die as Imperatrix—leader of her loyal Hesperians and their burgeoning Final Sith Order. Her role as prophet had been put aside when the invasion began. Now, she believed, those who followed her needed to see her as the ruler she had suspected she may become.

Carefully, she placed the thistly black crown upon her head, pressing around the back of her skull. Its bowed ends nestled perfectly over her ears, and its points crested elegantly over the top of her head. She sucked in another deep breath.

Letting it out slowly, she sharpened her resolve, and with a deep snap-hiss, her crimson lightsaber flashed to life in her hand.

Let whatever may come, come. I am ready.


TAG:
@Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Kain, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Catalyst, @DarthFeros, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Darth Thana


Powers used:
• Darksight - GODLIKE - 10
(re-focusing on only those in the dungeons and below, plus Sorin on his mission to the war room. Darksight is now removed completely from Hangar tagset)
• Precognition - 5
• Dimension Shift - 3
(to put away/retrieve gown and crown)
 

Helkosh

Active member
IC: Darth Pravum
Location: Banquet Hall


"Choices, choices, choices." - Helkosh Yram, to himself in a Keren haberdashery

After a tic, finally, his junked monstrosities rose, forty strong, their large, crooked bodies pointing every which way. Not the most handsome of armies, he had to admit, but certainly an adequate protective force. Now it was time to go find that other guy, whom the Empress had referred to as Mavros. His search was long and exhausting, but after approximately two picoseconds his eyes registered that his target was, in fact, right in front of him, having been only temporarily obscured by his own mess as he'd created the golems. He opened his mouth to speak to him, but was cut off.

Lord Pravum, your creations, have them guard the doors alongside mine so that we may escape.”, came the voice of the Empress of the Sith. Pravum frowned. These were his golems. He did not like being told what to do with them. Or with anything. Actually, after a moment of thought, Pravum decided that he simply did not like being told what to do. Nevertheless, he respected the rationale of her request, and he commanded a portion of his force accordingly. "You four, over there by the door. And you four, over there by the other door. Do not let anyone pass down into those staircases, but be sure to let anyone fleeing from the lower levels back up. You eight. No, not you. Not you. I SAID NOT YOU! You, you, you, you, not you, you, you, you, and you, assist the Shadow Guard in holding back the armies of the dead.", he said, already exasperated.

His golems took their positions. The first four guarded the banquet room stairs entering the dungeons, and the other four guarded the other stairs to the dungeons in the hallway between the banquet hall and hangars. With so many hundreds of Sith running about in utter chaos, the golems would create a funnel effect, stopping any Sith attempting to run to their deaths in the tunnels and instead leading them all to the hangar bay. The other eight went to assist the Shadow Guardsmen, attempting to slide in front and take the brunt of the skeletal assault. Pravum knew that they wouldn't last forever, nor would they likely do very much damage, but their bodies were debris; even the ones that fell apart would leave their bodies as a physical barrier to hold back the dead and provide cover for the Shadow Guard.

"The other...", Pravum paused, counting on his fingers, "... Twenty-four? Yes. Twenty four. The other twenty four of you, come with me.", he said as he took off from the banquet hall behind the Empress and her entourage.

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, @Admiral Volshe
 

Darth Sedicious

Member
Moderator
Dark Council
Jedi Council
The Dark Side is what?

The more severe emotions, the tenebrous phantoms of the brain channeled into the ethereal Force connecting all thing?

It has been argued by far more Sith scholars than not that the Dark Side, the Bogan, unlike Light Side, Ashla—which is conjured by life and its propagation (whether that be via its actual reproduction or through pleasure, that which makes life want to be)—is not a mere technique of channeling the Force but, rather, the very absence of life, a freezing void, the darkness waiting for the death of the light. It was always there, and the Father has come to extinguish the dimming candle halting all things' return to it.

_____________________________


IC: Darth Sedicious
Location: Approaching the Eternal Fleet, near Bosthirda​



His return, though physically unobserved by the dual necromancers aboard the lonely TIE reaper now facing toward a legion of baroque, naval masterworks, was so forceful that the ends of the galaxy shook in pain and terror.
Though masters of the Dark Side, Darth Sedicious and Anhra Mahniu were still subject to the terms of their birth and part of the Force. And when the Force screamed in transfiguring agony, when a trillion bearers of its presence were annihilated and cast unto deafening terror of eternal silence, the wielders long submerged in it gasped and ached and groaned and screamed.

Sedicious, thankfully, was not so close as to merely die or slip into the pseudo-death of comatose—unlike so many other unfortunates—but was still affected to the extent pain rippled throughout his gaunt, gelid body, forcing a well-suppressed scream shuddering through his vocal chords.
Instantly, he fell back on his personal discipline, and not allowing the agony to overwhelm him, he flooded his mind with the present. His Battle Meditation was nearly bucked from his mind, and his illusory concealment wavered and oscillated like shredded paper in a hurricane. Swiftly he struck a hand up to visualize a saving grasp and shifted into Force Channel, a meditative stance to boost his control over the Force, and the illusion cast shielded from sight and sensor once again, Battle Meditation helping to seat that comfortably.

Three ships, during the Forceful paroxysm, had burst through the shadowy infinity to stab out at them with their gargantuan pointed bow. A laugh, unconsciously, escaped Sedicious' ragged throat.
In that growling tone borne of woodrot of the body, he spoke, "Of course. When it rains it pours. I'm not sure whether to be fearful or embrace the comedy of it. But I do suppose it is a question if they are to be feared at all."

They still had yet to know if the ships were even hostile, and in the moment Sedicious emerged with frail and rash plan, and, if only to acquire superior ones through dialogue, spoke it aloud for the ones near him:
"That fucking jolt felt like Chaos, but this cloak is child's play. Being as it is I must maintain this cloak, I have an alternative to clairvoyance…"

Then he noticed that familiar incantation, the knives carving patterns into the flesh of the Force: the Sith spell of reanimation, Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut.
But the flavoring was different; rather than commanding the empty vessels of the departed to rise, the command was directed toward the possessors themselves, the slumbering spirits of Chaos to be dragged back into the realm of the unchained. His preferred variation, and the preference of many ancient Sith, including the great Freedon Nadd, apprentice of his idol, Naga Sadow.

Mahniu did not need his help as much as he had lead him to believe.

Powers Used:
Battle Meditation — (maintaining) boosting Sedicious and allies
Sith Illusions — (maintaining) cloaking ship
Force Channel — active


Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Ānhrā Māhnîu
 
Last edited:

Omegon

Well-known member
The Aximand Combo
Location: Onboard the Aximand, in hyperspace traveling from Coruscant to Anaxes
IC: Omegon, Pythonus, Ensign Torvus, Deleritas


Light flashed by the Aximand’s viewports as it sped through hyperspace, calm onboard the vessel belying the chaos of crashing energies that was hyperspace. The ship slept, and those onboard slept with it, resting from the chaos that they had experienced on Coruscant. The psychological trauma caused by the dying of a planet would take years to repair, but for now all they had was rest. Well, all of them but Omegon and Pythonus. Once they had all dispersed from the hangar, going to their separate rooms, Omegon peeled off his armor and his bodysuit beneath. It was plastered in sweat, some from the exertion of battle but most from absolute terror. The rank scent disgusted him; it reminded him of fear, and of his powerlessness. He discarded the material and selected a new one from his closet, slipping it on over his bulk form. His armor, he left on the table. He would need to make use of it soon.

Cracking open a nutrient pack, Omegon stared at the visual feed his helm had recorded on coruscant on repeat as he ate, watching the hologram projection of the planet’s death again and again. Men died, and women, and children. A whole planet being devoured by… By what? Some eldritch being? Some plague? An obscure natural phenomenon? Or was it simply an act of God, whatever God was out there? There was no way for Omegon to know what caused it. All he knew was that it filled him with terror. Terror, and dread.


The bright white light caused Deleritas to throw his arm over his face. Then, slowly adjusting to the change of scenery and he glanced around at the others in the MA-AT bay. Four disheveled Sith and a handful of crewmembers in varying states of consciousness and comprehension. Deleritas rolled over from his stomach and propped himself up on his hands. His vision came and went as he grappled with everything that had transpired on the surface of the planet below. The voices around him reverberated inside of his skull and were warped as though speaking from behind a pane of glass. Deleritas’ face contorted in confusion as he wrestled to regain control of his mind and body. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, a formerly unfamiliar feeling. But, that hot ball of lead that made its presence known caused Deleritas’ palms to sweat and his throat to swell. Raising his left hand, he tugged at his collar in a feeble attempt at relief.


The broken speech of his compatriots was the only thing preventing him from slipping into unconsciousness. He hadn’t felt this physically weakened since he first began his training under Lord Solus.


“…prepare the hyperdrive…vent plasma…”


“…the Aximand…”


“…commanding a jump…”


“…we have escaped…”


“…reach Anaxes…”


Deleritas’ spirit was fading. He knew with some rest he would be just fine, but he couldn’t rest here. Not among the dead and dying. Rising up from his seated position in the same fashion that a marionette might be pulled up from the stage, Deleritas left the MA-AT and blindly followed the others through the Aximand’s hangar area. He watched brief exchanges between Omegon, Pythonus, an imperial officer, and Senec. Upon approach, he recognized that greetings were being exchanged. Gently swaying as he stood among the haggard survivors, Deleritas struggled to remain composed. His heart jumped as he heard someone say that there were cabins available for everyone. Once all had said their piece, he offered his own.


“I am Iron Knight Deleritas. Though I wish my introduction to each of you were in a less depleted state, given our previous ordeal, I’m sure we can all understand; we can engage more later. So, I will see you tomorrow morning.”


Deleritas stumbled out of the hangar and down corridor after corridor searching for the cabin that had been blocked off for his use. Bumping into walls, knocking over crates of supplies, and narrowly avoiding collisions with crewmembers, Deleritas finally found his room. He didn’t bother to strip himself of his torn and tattered uniform. Instead, he collapsed onto the cot that had been prepared for him and passed out. His dreams were a tangled mess of nightmares that realized his worst fears meshed with the events that had transpired that day. The only refuge from the chaos of the night would come with the dawn of a new day and the strategizing that would come from joining the others in the morning.




Shadows danced across the walls of the forge, cast by the flickering flames of the forge. The bellows were ready and the materials set aside, making ready for the forging process. Omegon had chosen not to rest, being unable to sleep as he was. And so, taking Pythonus with him, he had come here, to begin his work on the armor.

The armor, first, was anointed with oil, lubricating the metal and preparing it for the forging process. It would take days, weeks even, before the armor was complete, but he was determined. He had scrolls of runes in front of him, as well as ancient texts and holographic projections with instructions, and yet somehow he still felt unprepared. This would likely be his largest project to date, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.


Rising from his bed, Deleritas stretched toward the ceiling and groaned with the aches and pains of battle fatigue becoming real. From a seated position, he twisted at his waist popped his back, releasing some stress. He took off his clothes and walked to the shower to finally get cleaned up and wash away the pain and dirt of yesterday. Getting out and putting on fresh clothes, he walked to the mess area to hopefully grab some food and eat in peace before the planning began. With any luck at all, he would run into the others while out and about.

“Good morning, my lord,” Ensign Torvus nodded at Deleritas, as he shuffled into the queue before the mess hall, a line of uniformed officers winding around the corner, towards the service stations. There were dark circles under Torvus’ eyes, and an empty, haunted look to his gaze; despite his greeting, it was obvious Torvus had not slept well. He inhaled, as if to say more, and then thought better of it, lapsing into an uneasy silence as he directed an awkward smile towards the unfamiliar Sith.

Meanwhile, Omegon awaited the members of the surviving Sith in the training room. Fresh robes, padded like a gambeson, had been left in each of their rooms, along with black Sith cloaks and nutrient packs. While he waited, he stretched and prepared himself, forcing his body through pull-ups, push ups, squats, and various other exercises. The caf he had taken might help him stay awake for longer, but he needed physical activity to get his adrenaline going once more. He was not dressed in his typical armor, as it was still in the forge. Rather, he wore black robes nearly identical to that he had left for his allies, with durasteel plate armor sitting on a table on the edge of the room.

He had begun his work the previous night on his armor, and now Pythonus was still there, working to continue what he had begun while Omegon started his work with the team. He had a star map, a layout of the ship, and a few scans of crew members who had been more affected by the Coruscant event, showing their mental and physical state projected via hologram into the air, and the sandy training arena had been cleared, ready for use by the crew.

“My lord,” a voice spoke up, from behind. A lieutenant, by his rank insignia. “The captain requests your presence on the bridge. We are approaching Anaxes, my lord, and the captain is unsure of the intent of your next moves.”

Turning, Omegon noted the lieutenant’s words. “Very well. I had hoped that we would have time to prepare, but it appears otherwise. Notify the captain I’ll be on the bridge shortly; I’ll notify the team to meet there as well.” With that, he turned and swiftly strapped on his plate armor, and, carrying his helm under his arm, made his way to the bridge. As he passed by the crew and soldiers still aboard his ship, he could see the cold terror and trauma in their eyes. They would carry these scars for the rest of their lives, but Omegon was convinced that, as disciplined as he had trained and selected them, the majority might make it out stronger on the other side.

Reaching the bridge, Omegon tapped his wrist mounted communicator, sending a quick message to the others, informing them of his updated location so they could join him, and then stepped through the hissing blast doors onto the command deck. “Captain! What do you have for me?”


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

Darth Dreadwar

Active member
Immortalis
GM Update

IC: Darth Dreadwar
Entering the hangar, Sith Temple, Korriban



The Lord of Darkness rose like thunder into the bruised and bleeding sky, caliginous cloak spread behind him as the wings of an avenging angel, a snarling army of swarming death receding beneath the cruel, downward-pointed tips of his cortosis sabatons. As that horrid figure ascended unto the heavens, a silhouette of abysmal darkness against tenebrous twilit mountains, the screams of the fearful wafted into the dust-choked air, a parched chorus of paralysed terror wrenched from the throats of acolytes and apprentices alike watching in eldritch, stricken rapture from the windows and portholes dotting the temple’s western wall. All the while, the miasmic horde of the Dread-King chanted beneath, their own fell cries rising around the rippling cowl of their treacherous sultan like a poisonous fume.

“Gorog! Gorog! Gorog!”

The drums of war had met their tumultuous crescendo, as Darth Dreadwar the Magnificent, aloft the currents of the dark side, reached the apex of his dreadful climb. Malachite flame flickered around him, a baleful shield of twisted Force energy surrounding the frayed tatters of his floating form to ensconce him in a faintly glowing film of sorcerous protection. Not one turret below rose to meet the challenge, the broken spindles of their behemothic barrels sliding off the battlements like thorns on a wilting vine.

With frightening alacrity, the Dread-King advanced, his flight no longer bringing him upwards, but forwards, towards the cavernous opening of the hangar where his sabatons, swinging forward like the talons of a raptor, came to rest. Crushed beneath the heels of that terrible wraith, the grapes of wrath were ready to bleed, and from the sweet juice of victory, great Dreadwar would drink his fill.

Four insignificants had scattered before him; a golden droid skittering into the darkness, followed by a man, a woman and a fleshy, drooling amphibian. But there were others, possessed of lesser wisdom than their kin, who rushed into the hangar from the same passageway through which the insects had fled, red lightsabers held aloft as if blades of plasma could forestall their conqueror.

It was difficult to tell, behind the crimson dye of their tattooed countenances, whether the colour had drained from their faces, but the blade on the right had started wavering, as if the hand holding it were trembling.

“We’ll take him together,” Darth Glorius muttered, barely hearing her own voice over the pounding in her breast, layering shield after shield of invisible Force energy around her. “You go in slowly on the right—”

“For Glorius’ purpose!” shouted Lerod Porkins, the heavyset apprentice charging forward without heed for his master’s orders, boots thudding beneath him. Cursing in every unhallowed tongue of the Sith, Glorius followed.

Foolish children.

From across the hangar, Darth Dreadwar raised his gauntlet of shadow, metal claws curling. Crimson light ruptured from the chests of the two onrushing Sith, snaking towards that outstretched hand, curling into the waiting palm. They fell forwards as if stumbling, two skeletons sloughing greying skin as they toppled towards the gleaming deck, crumbling into dust upon impact. The crimson light died, and as fragmented bone, carried by momentum, skittered towards the edge of the hangar, Darth Dreadwar strode forward.


His wrist rotated, a casual, contemptuous gesture, and behind him, shuttles and fighters began to lazily rise into the air. The dark side curdled, clots of black intent thickening with malice, ready to be unleashed.

TAG: No one

OOC:
Darth Dreadwar uses Hunger on Darth Glorius (protected by Force Resistance and Tutaminis) and Lerod Porkins, a Level 34 Sith Master and Level 18 Sith Apprentice, respectively. Dreadwar rolls 18 + 25 + 10 against DC 1, and succeeds; Damage is 10d10 + Modifiers, or 9 + 3 + 7 + 3 + 8 + 2 + 7 + 7 + 3 + 9 + Modifiers of 5 + 10, for a total of 73 Damage. Glorius’ and Lerod’s HP are reduced to 0.




IC: Darth Nihl
Leaving the banquet hall, Sith Temple, Korriban

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One foot followed the other, mindlessly, stone meeting leatheris soles in a dull, staccato rhythm matched only by the monotonous thumping of Nihl’s heart. His body felt like it was on autopilot, the sheer momentum of some monumental error carrying him forward, inertia guiding one boot in front of the other even as every instinct screamed at him to stop. He was peripherally aware of others moving with him, Vua, Nix, the fourth Wyyrlok, but his mind was occupied with only one thought. The words of moments prior replayed again and again, while the Temple alarms, strobing red, washed away every competing fragment of cognition.

It will be the first thing the enemy thinks of...

They were making a mistake. Nihl could feel it in his bones, decades of warcraft calcifying his instincts, some layer of battle-hardening beneath his conscious awareness. All his experience, all his years of service to the Nagai and the Sith, had surmounted to something like prescience.

It will be the first thing the enemy thinks of...

War was no game. War obeyed no rules of fairness. And war did not contrive itself to the convenience of a playwright's plot. Turn it around, from the enemy’s perspective, where the enemy does their own intelligent planning, out-of-sight…

It will be the first thing the enemy thinks of...

Darth Dreadwar could not have possibly missed the gaping cavern of the hangar cut into the Temple’s forward wall. The enemy had been planning this assault; for months, possibly years. They had thought of Korriban’s protective fleet, and although Nihl knew not what manner of cunning had been employed, he knew they had planned, in advance, to negate all possibility of counterattack. They had thought of the Temple’s shields, and torn them down like paper. They had thought of Volshe’s powers of mental subjugation—it was a guess, but it felt like certainty, in that moment—and deployed an army that could not be suborned by any foreign force of will.

It will be the first thing…

A thousand alien ships hung in the skies above the Temple. Why, if Korriban’s own fleet posed no threat? The answer was obvious. The enemy had thought of their quarry escaping by shuttle, and prepared for it too.

Nihl would have thought of such, in their place, and the enemy was allowed to think anything Nihl would have thought. The enemy was cunning. Those ships hung in the skies specifically to prohibit anything from escaping via air, to destroy all who took such methods of flight… and in the real world, in the real wars which Nihl had spent a lifetime waging, one did not get a second chance in such things. A mistake, pressed to its conclusion, did not mean you suffered and persevered and got to try again; it simply meant you died, pointlessly, cruelly, prematurely.

The enemy…

The enemy was coming.

He could feel it, as he turned into the hallway behind Volshe, dozens of other Sith squeezing in from the banquet hall behind. He could feel him. The wound in the Force was unmistakable, a gaping void cut in the fabric of the world, the icy gale of its power rushing down the corridor ahead.

Blodraald, signature muted in the Force, was proceeding down that corridor now, black robes wavering into a translucent shimmer as he bent the very light around him to fade from sight, Mavros beside him. The corridor bent to the right ahead, leading to a lengthy flight of stairs that brought one to the upper floors, and the hallway outside the hangar. PEKA was racing down those stairs, approaching where Xxys had laid his mines, four legs beating like pistons beneath its gold-plated chassis as it squealed a dire warning at the two Sith sprinting towards it head-on.

Kielor, channeling Force energy into the muscles of his legs, was already well ahead of the droid, while the feminine form of I-Ron—in the chassis of a human replica droid—and her Selkath apprentice were only paces behind, a dark shadow coalescing beside the Shard even as she pressed her servomotors to their limits in the haste of her flight. But it was not the strange shadow that radiated danger in the Force; there were far darker phantasms than mere illusions, and a strange wind, prickling the flesh with daggers of ice, was advancing from the doorway at the top of the stairs.

Neither Blodraald nor Mavros could see what lurked above, and Nihl, twenty meters behind, could not see around the bend. But Nihl did not need to. He could sense the void, coming closer, closer. Up, and to the right. Up, and to the right.

Nihl hissed, and stopped in his tracks. Unbidden, the lightsaber leapt from his waist, sheer instinct guiding the comforting staff of yorik coral to his palm. Ruby-red spurted forth with a screech, the scent of ozone flooding the narrow space, as the air turned arctic, cold flooding down the passageway now. His hand seized Volshe’s arm.

“Dreadwar is here,” he said, tone level, betraying not one flicker of the shudder crawling up his spine. “Dreadwar is in the hangar.”

Nihl turned immediately, letting go of Volshe. “TURN BACK!” he shouted, raising his voice so that all could hear. “TURN BACK!” There was no more time to argue, no more time to explain; confrontation with Darth Dreadwar was not survivable, and even those who had not yet discovered their former Emperor’s treachery would not miss that terrible void approaching in the Force, screaming with lethal intent. They had perhaps only seconds to act, and there was only one course of action left. “Son, with me! EVERYONE TO THE DUNGEONS!”

Maladi was already lunging to her left, Primordius in her arms, but stopped short. Four giant golems, hulking monstrosities of wooden debris held together by cerulean bonds of Force energy, barred the stairway down to the dungeons. “GET THESE CURSED SITHSPAWN OUT OF THE WAY!” Nihl shouted, shoulder colliding with Solus as he sprinted towards Maladi. His lightsaber was already swinging towards the nearest golem, sheer rage lighting his eyes with scarlet flame.

He did not wait for Volshe. It was a gambit, coercion rather than suasion, but the Empress would not risk being separated from him, he was confident, and would not proceed into Dreadwar’s jaws alone. Her anger would no doubt be quite immense, but at least she would be alive to be angry at him.


Surviving the next minute; that was all that mattered now.

TAGs: @Admiral Volshe, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @skira, possibly @Nacros_Telcontare

OOC:
Kielor’s usage of Augmentation would ordinarily function as a buff, but on this occasion I will roll for it, the d20 is 6 + 7 against DC 10, and his attempt to augment his speed is ever-so-slightly successful with an Effect Roll of 3. Nonetheless, Pravum’s golems are blocking both sets of stairs leading to the dungeons, so Kielor’s progress beyond the hallway is barred.

Nathemus’ usage of Invoke Spirits requires two turns of sustained effort to complete. His usage of Sith Illusions against the Korriban zombies has no effect, as they have no minds to deceive; specific attacks on other opponents may be processed in future rounds.

Blodraald’s usage of Force Cloak rolls 19 + 5 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect is 6 + 4, and Blodraald fades from visible sight, leaving only a slight but persistent shimmering effect in the air. His attempt at Conceal Essence rolls 12 + 5 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect is 1 + 4, and Blodraald is able to reduce his signature in the Force.

I will be treating I-Ron’s unique usage of Mechu Deru as a passive buff for the duration of its usage. His usage of Sith Illusions rolls 17 + 13 + 5 against DC 10, and succeeds; I am unsure what exactly he is attempting to create, but the Effect of 5 + 3 + 6 + Modifier of 3 allows the desired image to form.





IC: Darth Apollyon
Underdelve beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

“What is this devilry?” Apollyon breathed, tone oddly reverent, the hollow pits of her onyx eyes taking in the doorway of abyssal darkness. She stood before the stone archway with Kain, Voidwalker and others beside, yet where the silvery flame flickering from Kain’s palm illuminated the grotesque statuary framing the strange doorway with frightful clarity, neither Kain’s light nor Catalyst’s lightsaber could pierce the utter blackness beyond.

The eldritch sight triggered an eerie sense of familiarity in Apollyon, and she had the vague sense she had seen her master before this archway before, that night he had summoned her to the subterranean depths beneath the Temple for lessons in the most recondite arts. She had thought nothing of it then, a doorway of darkness within darkness, assuming a hidden laboratory from which her master had emerged, but no; the gloom beyond the doorway was not simply some lair or tunnel awaiting a glow-rod to illuminate its hidden scenery. It was a darkness beyond the darkness of the cavern, a darkness that could not be repelled, a gateway of perfect nothingness.

Only Xarxes, through the oculus of the bio-technological mqaaq'it that occupied one of his eye-sockets, could see the glacial air, painted in the arctic blues of his infrared vision, wafting from the doorway, but Apollyon could feel it as she approached, the kiss of death upon her neck, and she shivered in spite of herself. She had the thought of raising her hand towards the pane of blackness, but froze the moment her fingers began to move, as the Force repelled the slightest motion with a sharp surge of

No—

Don’t—


The warning in the Force could not be mistaken; the doorway was somehow dangerous, perhaps lethally so. And so of course Voidwalker, perhaps still inebriated from his overindulgence at the feast, walked straight towards it.

“I am not sure,” Apollyon said, in answer to the Nautolan’s query. “Perhaps you should—Voidwalker, stop, you drunken fool!” Her voice rose in a sudden shout, all attention drawn from Volshe’s thrall as her hand snapped out, palm extended to press flat against Voidwalker’s chest. There was pressure in the gesture, not enough to arrest the Onderonian’s forward momentum if he were truly determined, but enough to draw attention to the sharp sense of danger spiking in the Force with every footfall.

The danger, Kain alone knew, probing past the veil of the Force, of utter annihilation.

nilrebmahgate.jpgThat is what the Force showed the master of the Aing-Tii arts, a kaleidoscope of scenes gleaming in the darkness like the facets of a rainbow gem only the mind’s eye could perceive. The imagery was conflicting, confusing; when one concentrated on what lay beyond the doorway, focused on those facets, one saw both a confined room of unlit stone and an endless vista of black sands, emptiness in what little could be seen of the former, a howling cacophony of horror lining the scenery of the latter. There was a doorway in the latter scene, akin to the one before them, only standing alone atop the surface of some foul planet Kain had never before seen, a world of eternal night upon which an infinite army of deathless abominations—clad in the same tattered black robes of the frightful enemies Kain had slain—marched with dreadful purpose towards the portal of abysmal black.

But when one shifted focus to possible futures, the consequences of walking into the darkness, all the facets agreed; the forks of forward motion led to a death so instant the word disintegration failed as an adequate descriptor. Violent scenes that could scarcely be described, ineffable imagery of particles bursting in a shower of scintillating death accompanied by a feeling of being torn apart at some scale beyond mortal comprehension.

In the foetid water to the right, the control console blinked with lines of text, the faint blue letters of Aurebesh reflecting in the glassy black orbs of the Nautolan’s inspecting eyes.


HYPERGATE STATUS: ACTIVE. WORMHOLE: INCOMING, GRID COORDINATES G21 TO R5. MATTER STREAM: NONE IN PROGRESS.

Smaller yellow letters blinked in the upper left corner, beside two buttons embedded in the frame in the primitive, seemingly ancient datapad, one green, one red.

SESSION: AUTHORISED PERSONNEL: COMMANDER TORMENT. ACCESS GATE CONTROLS Y/N.

Before the thrall could investigate any further, the datapad rose from the dark stone floor, wavering as it floated towards Hadzuska’s hand. The wires connecting it to the wall stretched, pulling increasingly taut, but there was still just a little slack in them as the device landed in Hadzuska’s palm.

Past the two, the rightward wall of the subterranean chamber at last came into view, the combined illumination provided by Kain, Catalyst, Zareel and Volacius revealing the faintest details of a massive stone face carved into the wall some ten meters along from the cavern’s roughly-hewn corner. The face bore a resemblance to the statues on either side of the gateway on the forward wall, with tendrils of long hair sprouting from a balding cranium, a beard and pointed ears giving the impression of some foul wizard of ancient times. The visage of Karness Muur.

The mouth was a gaping circular hole, six feet in diameter, and Xarxes’ infrared vision alone could detect the faint reflection of dripping stone beyond that sinister maw. A hidden room, perhaps… or a tunnel.


The rest of the vast cavern remained a stubborn mystery, the bodies of the slain apprentices stretching into the darkness beyond the foot of the stairs, behind the assembling group of Sith; further investigation would be required to reveal the full extent of the vault.

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TAGs: @Darth Kain, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes

OOC:
Darth Kain’s usage of Aing-Tii Fighting Sight rolls a 4 + 21 + 10, matching the DC of 35, and succeeds. Effect is 6 + 4 + 4 + 3 + 6, and Kain achieves his goal of perceiving what would happen if he should enter the doorway: instant atomisation.

Catalyst’s usage of Force Sense rolls 18 + 20 + 10 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect is 5 + 4 + Modifier of 2, and Catalyst is moderately successful, sensing another opening in the cavern to his right, but not sensing anything else in the furthest reaches of the darkness.

Voidwalker’s attempt at telepathy rolls 6 + 19 + 10 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect is 4 + 4 + Modifier of 1 + Bonus of 4, and Voidwalker is moderately successful in conveying his telepathic message to Nathemus, conveying imagery of protecting Kira and the planet Onderon, but without precise details.

Hadzuska’s usage of Telekinesis rolls 13 + 15 + 5 against DC 10, and succeeds; Effect is 1 + 6 + 1 + 2 + Modifier of 3, and the console is pulled from the thrall’s inspection to float to Hadzuska’s hand.





IC: Darth Talon
Dungeons of the Sith Temple, Korriban

Clank.

The heavy cast-iron door shut with the sharp note of metal meeting stone, gears working within to seal the lock. The enraged screeches of the ghoul could barely penetrate the twelve inches of solid metal, as it hurled itself at the door with all its power, the bony claws of its skeletal digits futilely scratching the iron.

Darth Talon allowed a small smirk to crease her red lips, as she mimed dusting her hands off, relinquishing her telekinetic hold on her vexatious enemy as she turned towards the end of the dungeon passageway. The Devaronian crone stood nearby, skin tattooed scarlet crisscrossed by black, as Talon’s own, although fading with age. Several of her young charges loitered on the stairs leading up to the hallway on Talon’s right, caught in the competing forces of indecision; three were slowly turning back to walk up towards the golems barring the doorway at the top, casting questioning looks at the adults they could see and trying to weave around the giants’ wooden legs, while others saw their trusted overseer’s hesitance, and remained in the dungeons.

The bulk of the younglings remained in the hallway above, Talon knew, but she had no time to concern herself with such things. Mewling snot-nosed brats, all of them. By the Goddess, she despised children.

The Twi’lek moved forward, hurried but not undisciplined, ignoring the faint screams of panic emanating from the banquet hall behind. Save for the crone and the younglings, the few Sith who had already entered the dungeons were forming two columns of perhaps half-a-dozen each ahead, Overseer Marcus staggering to his feet to fall into line. Lord Krayt always had a way of organising people, Talon mused, and the rude cyborg from earlier had the sense to listen, it seemed, as did the woman calling herself Hesper. Still, there were precious few black robes in the passageway; the majority of escapees were merely the mysterious priestess’ guardsmen, far outnumbering the dozen or so Sith adherents Talon could see.

No matter. Thousands would die today; Talon’s only concern was that she not be one of them.


“Where are we going?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with skepticism as she approached Hesper and Arach. She had not missed the overall trajectory of the small crowd, and where Lord Draconis went, Talon had learned to follow. “What’s down there?” she pointed to the stairs on the right, leading into the darkness. Anxiety laced her tone; one had to be blind and deaf to ignore the dire alarms repeating the fact of the shields’ deactivation, but it was more than that. There was a terrible sense of approaching danger, threatening imminence giving way to deadly urgency, and Talon could swear the temperature of the passageway had dropped a degree.

Hesper's own prescience was far keener: as her mind drifted along the currents of the Force, the dire potentialities of the future manifested themselves in fractured images of darkness. A tunnel, tight and claustrophobic, bodies pressed against her, rocks falling from above, and an overbearing feeling of pressure from the left and right. Hesper! came that scream, feminine. Apollyon? I cannot hold it alone! Ebon armour glinted in the darkness, catching the faint light at the end of that long and narrow passage, a blood-stained battle-axe rising high above a sea of snarling visages.


TAGs: @corinthia, @Arach, @Darth Thana, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @Sith_Imperios, @Metus, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xirr

OOC:
Noxia’s usage of Reanimate Sith Undead requires two turns of sustained effort to complete, and is not processed this round.

I see no need to roll for Hesper’s usage of Dimension Shift or continued usage of Darksight from last round; her attempt at Precognition rolls 18 + 21 + 10 against DC 10, and succeeds, with an Effect Roll of 3 + 4 + 5 + 5 + 3 + Modifier of 4, and she is able to see potential futures with great clarity.





IC: Darth Malleus
Outside the Sith Temple, Korriban

Twenty-eight thousand years had passed since the first King of Korriban had set foot upon his homeworld.

How things had changed.

Gone were the palm fronds that had once cooled Horuset’s fiery touch, the Sacred Sea to the east but a salted pool compared to its former glory, lapping with the frothing tongue of thirst at the Valley of the Sleeping Kings. Korriban, once an oasis of yellow sands, had become a desert of blood-soaked ruin, its gleaming white pyramids crumbling into drab mountains of corrosion. And where the Sith had once roamed, red flesh proudly displayed beneath the sun, footsteps guided by the immortal gods that had formed them from the dust, now alien sorcerers called Jidai took up their roost in the ruins of Sith power, dyeing their skin a poor mockery of crimson and claiming the title of Adas’ people in the ultimate act of sacrilege.

The enemy was not Sith.

The enemy knew not the old ones, knew not the ways of the Dark. When the gods decreed all the galaxy was to die, the enemy dared disagree. The enemy called this awareness; they called it autonomy; they called it power. The enemy was obsessed with power. Conflict, sacred conflict, was but a means to an end to them. They did not see that conflict itself was an end. They did not see that the galaxy’s end was the only end worth pursuing, the only end that accorded with the way of the universe. Incessantly babbling about the Jidai’s Force, about the duality of what was truly the caliginous Unity of the Dark, the enemy did not see their sorceries were but the gifts of the elder gods, abused to false ends in defiance of inevitable fate.

Adas was no stranger to fighting to the bitter end. When the Rakata had come to Korriban long ago, seeking to use Adas as their puppet in their own internecine conflicts between the infernal faithful of Soa and the presumptuous vulgarians of the Over-Predor, Adas had rejected the invaders; the Rakata were not the gods they had once served, and their presumption of dominance contravened the natural order of Sith superiority, no matter how much of their splendour they had lost in the two thousand years since the fall of mighty Tharagorrogaraht. But the gods had been silent then, sealed by the accursed Celestials; their mortal servants had been forced to pick up the pieces of the fallen and truly infinite empire of their former dominion, carving up pieces for themselves, scrambling to regain lost glory. The gods were silent no longer. What excuse did these Jidai have, in not rolling upon their backs and offering themselves as sacrifice?

Proud, had Adas been. Exalted from birth for the charcoal shade of his skin that marked him as the descendant of the gods, exalted unto even claiming Typhojem’s vacant title—a necessity to unify the scattered tribes that walked the surface of their Father’s shattered skull. But there were limits to Adas’ pride; no matter how many of his subjects had worshipped him, no matter his cunning in tethering his spirit to his grimoire and surviving the treachery of Yshaar Kael, he had always known he was born a creature of mortal flesh, clay sculpted by the left hand of the true Sith’ari.

These pretenders were not proud. They were foolish.

As Adas had humbled the Builders who thought themselves Architects, so would Darth Malleus humble the Jedi who thought themselves Sith. The ebon armour that Adas’ shade had bade Shas Dovos forge in imitation of his ancient spiked suit, the armour that now ensconced the necrotic form of Telloti Cillmam'n and sustained the mockery of the Sith King’s life, glinted in the dying light as Malleus advanced.

His old court magician, Raspir, advanced on the left; the Sith sorcerer was clad in the skin of the Rakata, but Malleus could sense the unquiet spirit within, wearing a vessel of foreign flesh in much the same manner as his former sovereign. True Rakata, led by Elder Ruthic, followed behind; the amphibians’ opportunism had long ago been punished by the plague-god that the Sith hailed Daritha, stripped of the powers they had raised in defiance of their rightful rulers, but it was the will of the Sith’ari that their sentence be concluded, and it had been Raspir who had wrought the Dark Sovereign’s mercy upon Tulpaa. Now, Rakatan mages, possessed of powerful magicks, once again marched alongside the true Sith in faithful service to the Dark.

The gate was close, now, Malleus’ steady pace bringing him and his compatriots up two shallow steps of stone to the dais before the temple’s sealed entrance, treading upon the bodies of the slain with contempt. Raspir and Ruthic, for their part, leapt the walls to the lowest-lying battlements in a single Force-assisted bound, moving at once towards the stairs leading into the Temple’s interior, while behind them, as the Taral the Shadow Councillors had been sent to protect regained his feet, the mighty Gorog rose to its hindlimbs, the army of scelerous dead weaving between the colossal trunks of its legs to engage the flickering shadow-ghouls.

The Gorog’s purpose was not to breach the gates. Such was unworthy of its strength. Instead, a single titanic hand rose with terrible slowness into the air—and then swung forward with the force of a battering ram, a closed fist sailing above the walls of the enemy’s fortress aimed for the base of the central tower.

The door… The door was Malleus’ to breach. Among all the unhallowed lords of the Sith, Malleus’ raw telekinetic might was second-to-none, and no gate of iron could resist his power. As his gauntleted hand stretched out, a tortured groan of metal rent the air, met by the dusty laugh of Andeddu beside him, and the door began to bend.

An array of choices presented themselves to Cruor—to assist his fellow Shadow Councillors in breaching the gates, to follow Raspir and his Rakata in scaling the battlements, to fight the shadow-ghouls, or perhaps enter the temple some other way? Regardless of what cruel strategy was pursued, there could not be any doubt, as the chariots of the undead raced forward ahead of the white-robed blasphemy walking with calm purpose towards the temple, that all roads led to victory.


TAG: @Darth Cruor, possibly @Admiral Volshe and @Darth Nathemus

OOC:
Cruor’s usage of Force Body and Reduce Injury are buffs that cannot be processed. Nonetheless, his HP regenerates to 32.




IC: No one
War room, Sith Temple, Korriban
Strictly speaking, the war room was meant to be off-limits to interlopers such as Sorin. A serendipitous side-effect of Volshe’s act of mass possession, however, had meant the enthralled troopers were too busy staring off into space, or shuffling about the halls in preparation for the temple’s defense, to offer the slightest challenge to the Hesperian’s approach.

Without any credentials authorising passage, Sorin was thus able to reach the second floor, from the stairs by the empty throne room, and enter the central communications and monitoring hub situated beside the Sith Intelligence wing. The war room was large and dark, circular as the dull metal table that crouched in its centre, lit by the cold hues of flickering holograms, banks of data consoles, and lines of floating Aurebesh projected into the air.

Where ordinarily officers would be bustling about the chamber, frantically combing through data and analysing the ongoing attack, too many were simply loitering, miming their usual routines if moving at all, eyes hollow. Mental domination on such scales had its downsides.

Not all of Volshe’s subjugates were so mindless; a thread of singular concentration directed one trooper to attempt long-distance communication. Surprisingly, the transmission registered as sent and received. The lack of response, then, was neither caused by jamming nor the fleet’s destruction. It was as if the ships above were choosing not to respond.

There were monitors all around the room, displaying what appeared to be live surveillance feeds; some scenes were clearly familiar, the Temple library, if in faded monochrome, a hangar in which a vague, warping shape stood, surrounded by noise and an eerie white glow. There were stone hallways in which Volshe’s thralls stood in eerie stillness, and the banquet hall filled to bursting with panicked Sith.

But there were other scenes, too; images of metal passageways and decks, hangars filled with fightercraft and strange, dark ships with chitinous spines sprouting from their hulls. There, too, troopers and officers stood still, eyes shining strangely; the only movement in these scenes came from mysterious alien warriors with savage, snarling countenances, moving past the holocams with swords in their hands.


TAGs: @corinthia, @Admiral Volshe




IC: Captain Teracotus
Bridge of the Aximand, entering the Axum system

At the edge of the Axum system, on the Perlemian Trade Route, an otherwise unremarkable patch of empty space emitted a sudden, sharp burst of cronau radiation—the only warning before the pointed prow of a thin, elongated vessel ruptured the fabric of spacetime, and the Strike-class medium cruiser Aximand slammed back into reality.

With the seamless instantaneity of automated systems, the sublight engines kicked into gear, powerful thrusters propelling the ship towards the distant yellow sun of Solis Axum. Its smooth grey hull was subtly segmented into three sections, evoking the waisted body of a colossus wasp, with an unobtrusive bridge sprouting from where the abdomen might be imagined to meet the thorax. Everything about its design whispered lethal intent, a stinger, as sharp as it was elegant.

Few seeing that sleek cruiser slink through the darkness would have guessed it was not animated by the swiftness of a predator… but the desperation of prey.

“Sir, we have arrived in the Axum system,” Captain Teracotus spoke, eyes pulling from the twinkling stars beyond the viewport of the Aximand’s bridge towards the entrance through which Omegon strode. Deleritas, Rayge, Shadowsun and Tinople had been summoned by comm.

“The worlds of Axum and Anaxes are before us,” he continued. Pythonus’ choice of evacuation had been curious; although Axum remained a titan of industry, none of the system’s other seven worlds were inhabited, not since once-bountiful Anaxes had been laid to waste by the former Emperor during the First Dread War. Teracotus had not questioned the orders at the time, for escaping the unfolding calamity—he suppressed a shudder—had claimed all his attention. Yet now that the Axum system presented itself, it seemed peculiar indeed that Pythonus had specified Anaxes as their destination.

“I would ask what our next steps are,” he said. “Whether you would have us jump again, perhaps to…“

A soft beeping interrupted the silver-haired man, and a young female ensign twisted her neck, looking up from her console with alarm reflected in her brown eyes. “Sirs,” she said, “there is an incoming transmission from Axum central command, emergency frequency.”


TAGs: @Kint Dranlor, @Senec Tinople, @Dorrian Shadowsun, @Rayge, @Oberleutnant Deleritas




IC: Rand Ko
Cockpit of Sigma-class shuttle, departing the Empress Teta system

“At once, my lady,” Rand Ko nodded, fingers already deftly flicking switches, angling the shuttle’s communications array for optimal transmission before recording an audio message bearing Vesper’s warning and request, scrambling the contents with third-tier encryption before depressing the button that would beam the message towards Empress Teta.

The console chimed, an automated return affirming the message had been received, and Rand shifted his attention to the navicomputer, inputting the coordinates of Saijo and directing the ship’s computer to plot an optimal course, updated for stellar drift around the uncommon route, and the comet cluster near Cantros VII. After a minute of calculations, the jump was prepared, and Rand reached over to the central controls to gently pull back on a red-rimmed lever of black metal.

Stars streaked into infinity, and once again the cobalt chaos of the cosmos viewed at lightspeed swirled ahead of the viewport.

Rand leaned back in the pilot’s chair, and permitted himself a sigh. He looked up at Vesper as she stood, and inhaled as if to speak. A pause. Another inhalation. “My lady,” his voice was small, all the bravery of a trained Imperial Knight leeched from its tones, “what are we to do? What…“ What manner of evil is this, that entire worlds fall before its might? “What awaits us at Saijo?” he finished, lamely.


TAG: @Darth Vesper




IC: Necro Solaar
Balcony of the Fountain Palace, Hapes

Necro glanced aside at Dhe, milky-white eyes betraying nothing of his distaste. “I am an emissary of a race unknown to you,” he said, voice soft and low, too quiet for the nobles to hear. “An emissary of the power that placed your Queen upon her throne. My purpose is to ensure the grand design is completed, that this world serve its purpose before all things end.”

He laughed, bone-white hand waving in a gesture of contemptuous dismissal. “I would not pry overly much, dear. The powers I serve are beyond your comprehension, and I fear my revelations would only drive your mind past the brink of sanity.”

He turned, eyes falling to Darth Traya, arm spreading in mock invitation towards the resplendent hall they had emerged from. “Shall we?” he asked. “And I do advise you press your tongue against your teeth when pronouncing the vowel 'oi,' in future; the spell of suppressing thought is rather sensitive to precise pronunciation.” A soft smile played across his lips; it was obvious that his advice to Traya had less to do with helpfulness, and more to do with conveying his familiarity with such lost arts of antiquarian obscurity. Nonetheless, Traya’s spellwork had taken hold.

Several nobles stiffened, eyes becoming glass, as threads of sorcerous energy, woven with sinister purpose by Traya’s delicate movements, laced through their neurons and slipped loops around every lever behind every muscle. Like marionettes on invisible strings, they stood ready to obey her every thought—but to puppeteer with such precision required considerable concentration.

TAG: @Darth Traya


OOC: Qazoi Kyantuska rolls a 15 + 19 + 10 and succeeds, with Effect of 10 + 3. The spell takes hold, and several nobles can now be puppeteered by Traya like marionettes, if full concentration is applied to their exact movements or actions.




IC: No one
Empty space between Korriban and Bosthirda

Ahead of the TIE Reaper, strange energy was gathering in the black. A whisper of ivory, paler than milk and fainter than mist, curling around the twitching body floating beyond the viewport.

The spell was taking hold, but such delicate sorceries required the utmost concentration to see through to their terminus. Māhnîu would be able to feel the currents of the Force shifting, some oily presence looming from the deep, but the spirit he sought to raise from beyond perdition required shepherding, a guide to coax its feeble essence back to the realm of the living.

If the gleaming galleons beyond took any note of the faint light, they did not show such; instead, they were wheeling around as one, ships rotating within the lattice of their machine-precise formation to face the trio of Star Destroyers silhouetted against the nebula. The three goliaths were slowly drifting forwards, like vast daggers raised against a foe.

Suddenly, a searing bolt of emerald energy streaked from the closest Executor-class. In the eerie silence of vacuum, only a great flash of light announced the discharge of a turbolaser, firing a single shot over the prow of one of the mysterious galleys. A warning shot?


TAGs: @Ānhrā Māhnîu, @Darth Sedicious

OOC:
Reanimate Spectral Dead is a Sith spell, and will require a second turn of sustained effort to process. Buffs do not require processing at this time.
 

Admiral Volshe

Legendary Member
NGE Empress
C-C-C-COMBO TIME with @Hadzuska_The Jester

IC: Nautolan Thrall and Hadzuska
The Underdelve

“A hypergate,” the alien voice of the thrall rang out in the din. A programmable hypergate.

She knew precisely where they would go. Her sanctuary, her only sanctuary. There were no other safe options. All the rest would be in the clutches of the True Sith. Or even Dreadwar alone.

“I can program it to safe coordinates, away from here, to a place with access to other worlds. A planet called Nirthos, one of my Throneworlds, where I have-.”

Her sentence was aborted by the console being yanked from her hands. She grabbed for it, lamely, fingers curling into empty air.

The Nautolan’s head snapped around in a motion that was more like a marionette pulled by a dozen taut strings than the usually agile species. Who held the console was not one she recognized. She had seen them, throughout the evening, in brief glimpses...but she had no name to give them. There were no identifiable features that she could recall.

“What are you doing with that?” It asked, voice lowering, turning to see who had wrenched it from its hands. The iridescent hand of the possessed servant reached out. Every motion was slow, measured, but the intensity of her words was there. Each consonant a spark and ember, each breath stoking an anxious flame. “Give it back. Do not touch anything-“

The thrall paused, eyes widening briefly, a shudder of terror prickling along the body the Empress has claimed as her own. Its headtresses shuddered, curling into the cloak of dark zeyd cloth that hung at her shoulders, as if clutching the fabric would allow them to cling to the tenuous chance of safety. The source remained unseen, unheard. It was as if she were frozen in carbonite for a split second.

Her hand jolted forward expectantly as she seemed to regain herself.

Hadzuska quickly eyed the console.

HYPERGATE STATUS: ACTIVE. WORMHOLE: INCOMING, GRID COORDINATES G21 TO R5. MATTER STREAM: NONE IN PROGRESS.

This was for a Hypergate? More nonsense he didn't know. This was aggravating. Everything he tried to learn ended up not giving results. And now this thing wanted the console. It was no use to him.

He smiled grimly. "Well nothing on it means anything to me. If you can make something of it, have at it. At least you won't electrocute yourself now." He said politely and matter of factly as he handed the console over.

She retrieved the console from him, offering him a quiet thank you and taking it into her alabaster hands. With a few quick motions, she had recalled the now-vital information she had learned in her time on Zakuul and within the Nihil Retreat.

She accepted the command offered by the golden text and next would enter the coordinates for the only safe world she knew of - before anyone could interject. They had perhaps by pure chance known better, before, but they could not know better now.

The situation was already dire. It did not need to be more so. While she would certainly accept the destination it had already set, she would not accept it willingly. Who knew where it led?

Her unblinking eyes looked to Lord Kain and Zelashiel, intent in the glittering blackness.

“Once the destination is set, someone must enter to ensure it is as safe as I left it. Then, we can send everyone through the gate.”

She inhaled sharply, the sound whistling eerily through the gills of her nautolan body. And then, she waited, hoping that her attempt to reprogram it - an attempt she had completed a thousand times before - would in fact succeed.

TAG: @Darth Kain, @Darth Dreadwar, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes
 
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Helkosh

Active member
IC: Darth Pravum
Location: Hallway

“Make up your damn mind!” - former Calipsan Royal Seamstress, seconds before her death at the hands of Darth Pravum

It was an altogether unfamiliar feeling, as if all the blood in the young Naboo’s veins had suddenly become as cold as an autumn river, not quite so freezing as to paralyze Darth Pravum but almost nearly so.

“TURN BACK!” came the frantic voice of Darth Nihl. Make up your damned minds, thought Pravum. No longer having the luxury of time to command his forces with his voic, Pravum reached out to command his junk servants with the Force. The golems were simple creatures, and Pravum needn’t convey any specific commands. They were to abandon their posts, to begin to flee alongside the Sith Order down into the tunnels. Except the four in the hallway, their task was far more suicidal. They cleared the doorway to the stairs immediately. They were to make their way to the hangars, to block off whatever threat had emerged there. Once the hangars were cleared of Sith, they’d bash against the walls with their massive bodies, sealing themselves in, as if they were sacrificial offerings for whatever monster lurking at the edge of the Force was barging into the hangar but hopefully preventing it from devouring the rest of them.

The plan had changed, and now there was no choice for Pravum and the Order but to seal themselves beneath the temple. The chance for escape was gone, the once-great Sith Order now reduced to stealing a few more minutes of continued breathing. Pravum knew no allegiance to the Sith; he came to Korriban to advance his own power, and that was just what he’d done. He felt no impulse to protect them beyond creating more bodies to die before him. But, for now, they were his allies, trapped together. The twenty four golems he’d brought along as a personal attaché packed even more closely around him as he made a mad dash down the stairs into the dungeons.

POWERS USED: Telepathy (4)

TAG: @Admiral Volshe, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @skira, possibly @Nacros_Telcontare
 

Darth Kain

Administrator
Staff member
Administrator
Moderator
Dark Council
Immortalis
Combo with Brief Appearance from @Admiral Volshe

IC: Darth Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars
Before the Gate to Hell, Korriban

His inquiry had received its response. To whisper to the cruel threads of fate, to squeeze a cord and watch traces of the future drip from an intangible fist, was an act few could do with such certainty. Were he daring to gaze upon any other future, perhaps he would have smiled. But he did not. Destiny had not whispered a soothing song back to him, reveling him with a tale of escape and hope. It had done the opposite.

All he could see was death and undeath, annihilation and obliteration. There was a room on the other side, a room as gray as a waterlogged corpse and as empty as the Void. Beyond it, or perhaps contradicting it, was terrain of amaranthine obsidian. Decorating the black sands was a doorway similar - no, too similar - to the one he stood before now. Surrounding it was the source of the terror that filled every cell in his body like it was the ink of a devilsquid, onyx and viscous.
black-death-knight-art-vhi8ba8hekvjcz5s.jpg
An army.

The flesh was living, but the souls had spoiled. Tattered in robes, the same robes on the creatures he had incinerated only minutes ago. But there were far more than five of them. No, no there had to be thousands, matching or possibly even exceeding the sheer numbers that had begun to march across the Wight Wastes. And all that separated them was this doorway, this gate from one world to another.

It was a technology referenced in ancient myths, forgotten legends only spoken of by the few that were respected enough by the reclusive, custodial Gree. Kain had not paid the vague stories much mind during his studies of the ancient races, an attempt to perhaps better understand the elusive realm of Dark Illathurion. He had been but a child fumbling in the dark, he now realized. The stories most vital to his future had been disregarded in favor of what he had once considered practical. ‘What are these monsters and how do I kill them?’ rather than, ‘Which ancient gods are the greatest threat, and what tools will they use against me?’

Foolish,
he chided himself. You were just as naive as Dreadwar thought you were.

He would be the Beloved Fool of the Dread-King no longer. He was the King now, and his former mentor was nothing more than a traitor, albeit a well-prepared one.

The future may have been conflicted between the abysmal room and the abyssal legion, but it was certain of one thing. If anything, living or dead, stepped through the gate on this side, it would be destroyed. Utterly. Certainly.

His focus returned to the present as Apollyon’s lacquered nails pressed into Voidwalker’s chest, stopping him from stepping through. She is wiser than anyone gives her credit for, he mused.

“No one step through that door,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at it. He then backed away, nodding to the others that they should follow suit. “I gazed into the future, a future where I step through that gate.” He paused, taking a breath. Anyone would be able to see that he was keeping his composure well, but that he had seen something awful in that vision. “Anything that goes through it will be disintegrated. It’s instant, unavoidable. I have no doubts that it’s a trap set by the monsters I slew in the Emperor’s tower, and the ones that got themselves killed in the dungeons.” He shifted his feet, now imagining the macabre mixture of their ashes and the viscid blood of these apprentices encrusted in the tread of his boots.

“But there’s more.”

He sighed, “I saw what is on the other side of the portal. It’s another world, but one we would not want to escape to. There are thousands of those creatures on the other side, ready to pour through this doorway the moment their master gives them the word. We need to destroy this side of the link if we’re to escape through these tunnels. Otherwise they… wait.”

His limited knowledge of the hypergates finally synced in his brain, and he realized that there was only one person in these tunnels that knew of them more than he, and also knew far more of Dreadwar’s plans than he. Well, she was not here in body, but she was here in spirit.

The Beloved King turned towards the pale Nautolan, and before he could speak, she was doing so already, confirming what he suspected. She knew of the hypergates well, enough to attempt to reprogram the destination. “Volshe,” he said, hoping to get her attention, “an army of undead on a world with black sand and dark skies. Does that sound familiar to you?”

The Nautolan’s head snapped to look at Lord Kain. “It is likely Nilrebmah,” she purred, the words wafting from her lips. “But we cannot go there, not unless it is our sole option. The Force is vanished from the world. It is not unlike Malachor.”

Now Malachor, that was a story he had not unwisely waved off. A world destroyed by war not once, but twice. Would Korriban suffer the same fate?

It was clear that Nilrebmah was not an option, then. Fighting an army of undead without the Force on an open field was suicide. With the Force would be another matter entirely, but that was obviously not an option.

“Then let us hope you’re able to take us to this Nirthos, and without anyone being needlessly atomized.”

He then gave a passing glance to the illuminated doorway that bore the vilified visage of Karness Muur, barely giving it any mind before realizing that a Plan B would be necessary if this hypergate was a failure. And then he saw the awaiting faces of the Sith staring at him, as if waiting on his word. Voidwalker, Volacius… he had not heard the words of the former, but he could tell that many of the people here had begun to put their faith in him. Some sort of speech was in order, to lay out their plans and give hope to those that had none. Perhaps that was not the Sithly thing to do, but Kain no longer gave a damn about such rot. If these people would deem him worthy to follow, they would realize they were not following a man claiming the throne to the New Sith Order. They would be following a god claiming the throne of all the stars.

His voice rose for all to hear.


“We were born to desperate times,” he began, extending his other hand and allowing the silver flame to spawn from his free palm. “Perhaps none of you wished for this to happen in our time. So do I. But that is not for us to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. And I fear we have been given far more time than those that chose to remain above.” His jaw clenched as he thought of the people still up those stairs, of Volshe, of her children. He did not want them to die. His eyes glistened for a moment, but no tears were given leave from his ducts. This was not the time, nor the place.

“So we must make use of that time. Volshe’s thrall will try its best to reprogram this gate to another world, one where we can regroup and formulate our response to this treachery. If this portal will not allow us passage, we will find another way. Fate would not give us this chance needlessly. The enemies that bare down on us today will be bore down upon tomorrow. We shall not fade nor fail. We will go on to the end. We will fight for Korriban in its tunnels and tombs. We will fight with growing confidence and growing strength in orbit, among that sea of dark pyramids that threatens our lives. We will return to retake our home, whatever the cost may be. We will fight in valleys, dunes, in temples, in streets and on the mountains. We will never surrender and even if this temple is torn asunder, then we shall rebuild. Not as heirs to the name of Sith, but as heirs to the very stars themselves.”

He gave a moment for the words to sink in, and then continued.

“Catalyst, Xarxes, Volacius — you three should scout out the passage through the maw of Karness Muur, preferably without going inside if you can help it. Foresight, good eyesight, hell, even a fireball may do. If that passageway is our plan B, we need to know what it entails without risking any of you getting trapped on the other side. Anyone else you three feel necessary to take with you, do so. Perhaps one of the lower ranks will be willing to test for any traps.
Voidwalker, you make sure no one interferes with the thrall’s work.”
His eyes glanced over to the strange looking man that played Hot Potato with the console only moments ago. “If anyone interferes, toss them into that gate and watch them fry.”

Lastly, he turned to the rest for some final words on the matter.

“You do not have to heed my words or follow my instructions. I am not Dreadwar. I do not aim to rule by fear and fear alone. But we do not have time to argue, nor do we have time for anything else. We have decided what to do with the time given to us: we will fight another day, and when we do, the Dread-King will wish he never crossed the Beloved King of the Stars… or his allies.”

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)
 

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Arach

Active member
IC-Darth Arach
Dungeons, Sith Temple Korriban

“Where are we going?”

Arach met the Twi’lek woman’s gaze. “We are going to the tunnels below.”

Talon pointed to the stairs. “What’s down there?”

“A chance of escape,” the assassin answered. She raised her gaze to look at past the Sith lady and past the stream of Sith still trying to escape. “I’m afraid it’s the only chance.” She brought her golden gaze back to Talon. “Unless you want to throw yourself on Dreadwar’s mercy?” she asked, wryly.

Arach absently rubbed the ring she wore on her left forefinger with her thumb. Talon’s nervousness rubbing off on her. Then, she became irritated at herself. Arach clenched her fist. There was no time for second guesses.“Hurry down, or stay and help. Just don’t stand there. You’re in the way,” she snapped at the Twi’lek.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @Darth Thana, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @Sith_Imperios, @Metus, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xirr
 
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Volacius

Active member
IC: Darth Volacius, Scourge of the Jedi
The Tunnels, Korriban

Volacius’ shoulders sank in dismay, the muscles in his arms relaxing and allowing gravity to pull them down until both his sword and saberstaff hung on either side from the white-knucked grip with which his hands had entrapped them. He abandoned his stance as he heeded Kain’s warning, as if he could have bought Kain even a single second of time were the great Betrayer to descend the staircase behind them. Not that it would have mattered, as the enemy was capable of deploying thousands of reinforcements through this strange “hypergate,” the Nautolan thrall had called it. Effectively, the Sith Order was surrounded, doomed to be crushed between the army of abominations that awaited them through the portal, and the full might of Darth Dreadwar quite literally crashing down upon them. Volshe’s thrall offered a possible route of escape to somewhere she referred to as Nirthos, but either out of devotion to the spawn of Abeloth or distrust of Volshe, Volacius didn’t allow his despair to lift until his former master endorsed the idea as well. Lord Kain seemed to gaze upon him and the others nearby, his brilliant green eyes affirming to the disparate assortment of Sith that surrounded him that the Beloved Prince of the Stars had not resigned himself to defeat, not yet.

And then Kain spoke. “We were born to desperate times...”


His speech surged as his pristine flames roared on, cutting through the maddening cacophony of panic and dread that permeated the tunnels as the disjointed stream of Sith continued rushing down the nearby stairs. Hope was reborn in Volacius’ chest as he listened to Kain speak, embers sparking the wick of newfound courage into a blaze, one that was quickly made manifest as the fires surrounding his ancient Sith blade swelled.

“We will fight in valleys, dunes, in temples…”

Fear scurried away to the depths of Volacius’ subconscious, banished at the Mirialan's command and spurred on by Kain’s provocation even as the abyssal, frigid presence of Dreadwar crept closer. They would fight indeed. The former ‘god’ Emperor might have forced them into retreat for now, but he had needed the element of surprise and an armada one-thousand strong to do so. As the Beloved Prince continued to galvanize the Order’s best, The Mirialan Sith Master swore that the great Betrayer would not have that chance again.

Volacius snapped his head up with pride as Lord Kain addressed him, meeting his old master’s gaze as he issued his orders and laid out their options of escape. In the moment, he didn’t care that scouting the tunnel meant leaving the vicinity of the hypergate, nor did it bother him that this peculiar tunnel could very well be just as dangerous as the Wight Wastes and the hordes of zombified warriors that infested it. For what he did now, he did in service to Darth Kain, the only man among them worthy to lead their struggle.

“Death to the Betrayer, Dreadwar!” Volacius roared with glorious purpose, one he hadn’t felt since the civil war had begun. “ALL HAIL THE BELOVED KING OF THE STARS!”

Turning away, he rushed to the carved tunnel entrance, warily examining the craftsmanship for hidden traps. Motioning toward Xarxes and Catalyst, Volacius pointed his fiery sword toward the stone Muur’s sizable maw. “I can light the way, unless either of you has a more effective means to reconnoiter this path.”

Volacius awaited the response of his compatriots, eager to carry out his orders and do his part to claim victory in this new war. With men like Voidwalker on his side, and Lord Kain as his leader—his ruler, Volacius’ earlier unease and dejection had been replaced with inexplicable confidence that he would survive.

Good, he mused privately, his thoughts momentarily drifting from the present to his memories of Trinaya, I still have plenty of reasons to live.

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, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios
 

...

Well-known member
Immortalis
Darth Cruor
Outside the Sith Temple, Korriban

The horde of the True Sith would not wait for Darth Cruor to gain his feet before they surged forward and began to seek out the enemy, even now his former entourage were beginning their attempt to breach the front gates, with others prowling upon the battlements seeking entrance from the upper levels. Lord Dreadwar, once revered Emperor now stands between a great number of Jidai and their freedom, in order to earn it they would have to defeat him and none here were capable of doing so.

There was no escape.

A glorious day for the True Sith, a victorious day for Typhojem! The Taral stood amid an unconquerable army who had their prey cornered, trapped, soon to be dead. He had lived among those prey decades, had personal involvement in the founding of their order, had fought with them, and even trained them. Some he knew from birth, some had tried to kill him, some sworn to his service.

Today they would all die.

Nothing he did, or did not do, would alter the inevitable outcome. The massive Gen’Dai could run forward faster than the eye could follow, finding the frontlines of combat and personally hunting down each of his former associates, slaughtering them one by one or in groups until none remained. Or he could reduce the temperature of the entire Temple to unbearable levels for most living beings, freezing the rats in their tracks so the advancing horde could overcome them and shatter their corpses.

He hesitated, briefly.

The obsidian and gold Soulsaber flew from his hip to gauntleted left hand, from the mouth of the gold dragon encircling the hilt emanated a deep violet blade with blood red flecks running up it’s length. The power of the weapon spread outward the moment it was activated, granting power to its wielder as well as emanating an aura which would deter most from approaching.

All things come to an end.

His eyes closed, the twin red fiery points of light which burned ever dimly in the hollows of his skull's eyes disappeared. The violent and ill intending mind of the Battlelord reached outward seeking the minds of his allies and enemies alike, inviting the minds of the True Sith and other living vassals to benefit from coordination and a wide host of other benefits, a darkness descending upon the minds of the fleeing Jidai and overwhelming them with despair in an attempt to break their wills and hasten their demise.

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar

Powers Used:
Battle Meditation 5, Aura of Uneasiness 3 and Battlemind 3 emanating from the Soulsaber.
 

Darth Xxys

Active member
Moderator
Dark Council
Immortalis
(XXYS IC TOP OF STAIRS,HALLWAY BETWEEN HANGER AND BANQUET HALL)


Xxys had just set the charges in the doorway of the hall leading to the hanger entrance a few meters away when suddenly the door to the cavernous hanger bay sprang open and a golden droid flew from the room, into the hall, and down the stairs. It was followed by a few more functionaries all fleeing in panic. For a brief moment the door was open to the hanger and Xxys could see several more people fleeing in his direction just as the opening to the exterior was eclipsed by a rippling mass of desiccated fabric.
Xxys felt the already cold air of Korriban grow suddenly colder. Unfortunately this had nothing to do with the weather, this was...deeper, as if the warmth of life itself was being consumed.

DREADWAR!20211113_235900.jpg

Xxys could feel the blood drain from his face and his heart nearly froze in his chest as he recognized the Emperor. Death was but meters away as he saw two guards in the hanger igniting their sabers then charge with a bellow

'For glorious purpose!'


Xxys didn't wait to see their fates. That outcome was never in doubt.

"RUN!"
he exclaimed to the others not already heading away.

Xxys turned and heeded his own advice. He moved fast and took the stairs two at a time and saw that several people were still heading towards the hanger.

"GO BACK!" he shouted.

As he fled the Dread Emperor turned enemy Xxys felt a terrifying sensation surge through the Force...a hunger. An all consuming desire to devour...everything. Xxys only caught the fringe of the power unleashed behind him but the world seemed to, dim under its weight, and he redoubled his efforts to escape. As he sprinted down the hallway leading back to the banquet room several gigantic what could only be described in an archaic term as 'golem' were lumbering down the hallway. The Creatures were cobbled together from the furniture from the banquet hall and held together with azure sorcery...but who controlled them? No time to ponder and Xxys never slowed his momentum. He ignited his saber and was about to wade into the nearest ones legs in hopes to hack a way past but to his astonishment they retreated to the walls letting him pass unimpeded.

Death was moving on swift wings, and only a fool stands in the path of a God. Xxys would not stand in the path being swathed by that grisly mower, but he would certainly litter it with all the caltrops, pitfalls, and obstacles he could manage,

"The enemy you seek is down that passage!" the sprinting Sith shouted at the golem as he flew past at a dead run, reasoning that if they did not attack him they must be sent from someone on the side of the besieged and when he had gained a few more sprinting strides, he keyed the fob.

There was a prodigious blast as the three thermal charges detonated in unison but Xxys did not stop the see the results. He hoped the fel creature he had known as his Emperor had been in the passage when mines detonated. Xxys doubted the blast would kill Dreadwar (how did one kill death?) but that it would trap him in the rubble and buy them all more time to escape the creeping death that had been the Emperor Dreadwar.

The Emperor...that entity was dead to him now. Like his own former Master's fall to the light side this betrayal struck Xxys to his core. He had died at the hands of this monster before, only to be reborn as Dreadwar's instrument of silent death. His loyalty to that specter had been resolute and unwavering. Now once more his loyalty was being tested, but this was no fair measure...this was a fight against the the things that should not be... a fight against the end of...everything.

As he entered the banquet hall he skidded to a halt and called out to the Empress

"My Lady we must run now! Dreadwar is but steps behind me and I don't know if my efforts to stall him worked!"

Xxys could see the banquet hall was in complete shambles. The furniture had been cobbled together into nearly three dozen more grotesque lumbering hulks held together by crackling cuellian energies. The homunculi were taking up positions around the hall and some had already arrived at the door leading down into the dungeons while still more joined their brethren in their ranks filing towards the hanger.

Xxys rejoined the Empresses vanguard and moved to the head of the stairs leading down.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."


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
 

dragonsith13

Emissary of Death
Moderator
Immortalis
Draconis
Dungeons, Sith Temple Korriban


His hand traced the cold stone walls of the corridors as he traversed further down the twisting corridors deeper into the temple, the sensation of the worn stone upon his fingertips connecting him to the temple and the energy that was swirling about. Attempting to gauge the temple itself, what had changed, and learn what was familiar. The shouts from the banquet hall and further back up the corridors have grown faint, replaced by a low droning groan of malice and pain pushing back and forth on each other in the struggle that is playing out. Draconis finds a room

The sudden retching of the force caused him to slow his pace and come to a stop, pausing momentarily as the violent scream within the force played out. A slow plunging dagger to the heart, direct and purposeful which precedes the sensation of the force being suppressed on an unimaginable scale. The very force itself twisted and defiled. For the briefest moment its currents are gone. A sensation he had felt once before in another time. Coupled with knowing who is out there, the acolytes who surround the temple mere conduit for what was being set in motion.

He resumes his pace, his eyes darting to the side in the briefest moment as he hears the footsteps further back. The trailing cyborg and black clad warrior’s lumbering steps need no paying attention to as the duo announces itself with every step like a limbering bantha. Though Draconis makes no high effort to avoid them other than staying on his intended route. The slightly robotic voice of the cyborg echoes down the corridors as he inquires as to the purpose of Draconis moving deeper into the temple while looking for some sense of reassurance from him.

The sealed chamber door that he had sought out, opened without hesitation recognizing his presence as he entered. The carved runes on it intended to keep others out ceding to him. With a distinct purpose he moved about what was a modestly adorned living quarters until he had come to exactly what he had sought out. The dagger was as he remembered as he grasped it holding it with both hands one at the base of the brip the other lightly under the blade so as to not touch the edge and evoke its properties. Draconis reached out, drawing upon the memories of the blade and seeking to find what he could.

“Where have you been… and where are you going?” Draconis softly spoke, his eyes moving rapidly under his closed eyelids as his head twisted slightly as if moving to an unseen current.

Placing the dagger back where it had been found, Draconis whirled about exiting the chambers and pausing once back outside in the dark corridor. Leaving it as he had found it, though knowing that his presence would not go entirely unnoticed.

Draconis double backed and would appear out of nowhere back in front of the cyborg who had been pursuing him and the others who had begun to wander down this path. “This way.” Draconis spoke confidently as he appeared out from the darker shadows of the under-temple corridors before turning and proceeding back down where he had come from. He continued to graze the sides of the temple corridors with his fingertips, reaching out and drawing upon the temple as if following a silent and invisible map of familiarity while processing and readjusting based upon what was known from the past and what was here and now.

The signatures of Hesper and a number of others were close, whether the others behind him, the cyborg, black clad warrior, and those behind them Arach, Talon... followed was up to them. Descending down through the twisting corridors and maze of the temple under-levels would soon give way to cavern. Untouched by chisel and hammer and beyond the very foundation of the temple itself. Intriguing speech on the behalf of an individual he was not familiar with.

Coming into focus after the brief detour was Hesper, and it seemed Draconis had arrived just in time to hear a rather intriguing speech on behalf of an individual whom he was not familiar with. The sight of what seemed like a funeral procession descending into the depths of the temple. Concerning.

@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


Flow-walking -10
Psycometry -2
Concentration -5
Farsight -5
 

Xarxes

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


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Two things wholly prevented Kain from eliciting the slightest reaction in Xarxes. The first, and far graver, was the ever-encroaching presence of the wraith Dreadwar, the icy blue smudge in his present vision indicating the sheer breadth of his aura. Earlier, the empty visage of the former Emperor had sent shivers along his body. Now, if not for the adrenaline of wishing to survive, he would have been frozen in place with terror.

The other object of his focus, however, allowed him freedom of movement. Indeed, it allowed alacrity. The gaping visage of Karness Muur lay before him, its maw offering…safety? Doom? Xarxes knew not which, but while Kain and the Nautolan interloper attempted to navigate the controls to the hypergate, he intended to seek an answer to the other gateway.

Stepping towards the water, oblivious to Kain’s words, the Nightfather looked both with eyes and with mind, peering through time and space to seek the preservation of the Sith. But one question was on his mind, and while he could not be precise as the two titanic allied powers near him, he still asked the only question pertinent to any animal whose life is in danger…

What must I do to survive?

The Mqaaq’it peered into the tunnel behind Muur’s yawn, zooming in on the dripping stones beyond, looking for passageways and creatures which may pose a threat. At the same time, his mind’s eye opened to the future, seeking the path of necessity, of what direction would lead him to survival, to victory…

To Alcina.

As he entered into this state of discernment, he heard the last few words of Kain’s speech. Xarxes…scout out the passage….” Xarxes merely thought to himself how foolish the rest of the grandstanding was. Inspirational though the attempt may be, it was a waste of time, something uncharacteristic of the Beloved Prince—no—Beloved King of Stars.

Get busy on that hypergate, Kain. I’m working on the “plan B.”


TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @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 Xxys

Abilities Used
-Precognition (4) To see what comes next, or what may come next
-Farsight (3) To look beyond the maw into the tunnel to see the road ahead

Gear Used
-Vong Mqaaq'it (to look through the maw of Muur and investigate)
 

DarthFeros

Active member
Moderator
Jedi Council
IC: Darth Feros
Tunnels
Korriban

Anticipation


Ozone. The smell was familiar and, somehow, comforting in such a fray. He heard all around the snap-hiss of lightsabers coming to life. The dull wohmwohmwohm of the overheated plasma lighting the tunnels in a dull crimson. He had to admit, objectively, it was eerily beautiful. He thumbed the ignition switches on his sabers too. One casting a deep ruby blade, the other a bright, luminous green, adding another shade to the litany of color.


He wanted to be angry. To feel betrayed or slighted somehow. But right now all he could feel was, well, what was the word for it? Worried? No, that didn't do it justice. Afraid? No. Not quite that, either. Grimly resolute. That was the best way he could describe it.


They'd been attacked. On their planet. Whatever those things out there were riding with Dreadwar, had long since forfeited this land, if they'd ever held it to begin with. It was no longer theirs. Though, he had a sharp feeling that was rapidly changing.


He heard Hesper, telling him to continue organizing the throng of psuedo-refugees. Arach was ahead, trying to guard the forward, and Vexx seemed to have the other flank. Feros then devised a hasty plan.


"Arach!" He yelled, using the Force to augment his voice as loudly as he could, "hold up your Saber as high as you can and loop it in circles. Everyone move just ahead of or behind that Saber." He thought of military signaling. "Vexx, hold your flank! Everyone, move away from the walls! They'll funnel any projectiles into them. And two ranks! Or I'll start thinning the herd myself!" He held his flank roughly alongside Vexx, trying to move everyone in an orderly fashion, if any could be established.


"You know this feeling." The cold voice inside his head said.


"Yes. You do as well. The almost tangible anticipation of a fight. A real fight, not just a scrap or skirmish." He said back.


"It reminds me of the Clone Wars. The feeling never leaves you, does it?"


"No. You feel it in your dreams when you sleep. It becomes like an old friend. I last felt it just before I razed the Temple on Coruscant."



"Yes. I felt it every time."


There seemed to be a small moment of camaraderie with the two men inhabiting one body. A mutual understanding. It also, however, felt like something was going unsaid.


"If you have something to add, add it. We can sort out who's going to ride this meatsuit for eternity later. Right now, I'm busy. So spit it out or shut up." He thought.


"I was going to say the same thing. If we get off this rock, we can sort the body out amongst ourselves. Just don't die. I don't see many other candidates to hop into."


"Sure."
Feros thought. "That was very helpful."


He brought himself back to the matter before him, and opened himself to the Force. He set himself ready for whatever lay in the blackness ahead, glaring at him like a massive, onyx eye, Beckoning him and the others to break themselves upon its mysteries. He raised a Barrier of Force energy around himself to be safe. He also reached out, trying to sense possible futures, possible threads of the strand that were in constant motion. Maybe he'd see something no one else had.

"Force give me something." He thought to himself.



Powers Used:
Tutaminis - 4
Precognition - 4



TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Arach, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @Drakul_Xarxes, @G.Kn, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Kain, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Xirr, @Darth Solus, @DarthNoxia, @Jihadi Quartz, @Voidwalker, @Ānhrā Māhnîu, @Reatith Blodraald, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Sedicious, @Helkosh, @Darth Xxys, @Metus, @Catalyst, @Nacros_Telcontare, @corinthia
 

Undying Master Xiannarr

Well-known member
Ic Dreadmaster Xiannarr, (brief appearance from Lord Kain)
The Dungeon, a door to nowhere, Korriban

It would seem they were doomed. There would be no salvation for them in this tunnel.

********

Lord Kain commanded that none step through the door unless they wished to die an instant death. With a quick word from Kain to the pale Nautolan, it would seem the portal would lead to Nilrebmah.

Xiannarr would not be given more time to ponder if he wanted to see Nilrebmah, as Lord Kain continued to speak, rallying the sith to his side. There was something regal about Lord Kain, he was no longer simply a Lord of this Sith. This was a King, guiding his people, offering them hope and leadership.

Then the Lord of Fire shattered Xiannarr to the core.
“You do not have to heed my words or follow my instructions. I am not Dreadwar. I do not aim to rule by fear and fear alone. But we do not have time to argue, nor do we have time for anything else. We have decided what to do with the time given to us: we will fight another day, and when we do, the Dread-King will wish he never crossed the Beloved King of the Stars… or his allies.”

Dreadwar would not save them. No Dreadwar had betrayed them, he was never their Emperor, he had been their puppetmaster. Moving them like pawns to suit his needs, this was a slight that would never be forgotten. Not all would be lost however, Xiannarr had learnt plenty of skills from Dreadwar. Xiannar vowed silently to himself that he would not rest until Dreadwar lay dead at his feet, and all history of his legacy washed away and forgotten.

This would not be the only vow Xiannarr would make on this day. He took the slow tentative step towards Lord Kain, steeling himself for the pledge he was about to make. Dropping to one knee.
“Lord Kain, Master of Fire, Beloved King of the stars, my Liege. I pledge myself to your service. Should you have need of me, I will travel to the farthest reaches of unknown space to do your bidding. Whilst my lungs still draw breath my life is yours to command. If you will have me I will, with your leave assist with the passage scouting, through your tutelage I can illuminate the passage with a fireball belch”

Kain had always hated the term 'fireball belch'. He much preferred to call it 'Dragon's Breath', but that had not been the formal name. Regardless, the Sith Master meant well in his intent, and it was possible that the flame would briefly illuminate any dangers that lay ahead in that tunnel.

The Beloved King nodded to his new subject.

"Do so, without scorching our comrades. I doubt any of them will be so forgiving..." He stopped himself from completing the sentence. ... will be so forgiving as you are of Ermir Marcus.

“ It will be done, my King,” Xiannarr vowed, rising back to his feet. Bowing once more to his new King he turned back, following the path back to the visage of a sith of old that Xiannarr did not recognise. Ahead of him, Xiannarr could spot the towering form of Xarxes, imposing and huge, seemingly investigating the mouth of the statue. As he approached Xiannarr could make out little more than an opening, six feet or so in diameter and dark. ‘Could this be their new path to safety’ the Dreadmaster thought to himself.

“Lord Xarxes, I have been tasked by Lord Kain to assist with scouting this... entrance. I don't know about you but I can't see a kriffing thing, I do have an idea however, I can send a fireball down and see what it illuminates for us. It can light up the tunnel, provide some light to see by temporarily, and if there's any more of those blasted creatures waiting for us it might provide a nasty surprise for them.”


Tags: @Darth Kain, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes
 

Grievance Vexx

Dark Lord Krigsbefallaf
Moderator
Dark Council
IC- Grievance Vexx
Korriban - Sith Temple, Tunnels


Vexx is ever alert to the whereabouts of Draconis, but it seems the infernal squealing of the panicked have now anchored him here while his master wanders down an adjacent tunnel. The cyborg curses in Kaleesh. His master is sometimes like trying to keep track of a youngling who finds mischievous amusement in wandering away unsupervised. Now what is he supposed to do?

He can feel his temper rising dangerously, which is unusual for him despite his Sheelal DNA. Something about being in these tunnels immersed in so much fear from people he doesn’t really know is starting to get to him and not in a good way. He has half a mind to seize the nearest whimpering coward and fling them to the front of the line just to calm his mounting frustration. He can sense Reiis Invadator still nearby and he turns warily to her.


“Follow Draconis if you wish,” he tells her, “It would probably be the wiser thing to do at this point. It seems I have obligated myself to sustain order here among these who have little control over their panic.”

The feral growl that accompanies his words will be heard by those closest to him and they should take it as the most polite warning they will get from him. Next he will be giving them something to whine and whimper about, like a foot crushed by his own talons. It would by no means be an accident either. His yellow eyes, glowing eerily in the dim light, shift to Feros as the Sith Lord requests that he hold his ground. Though anxiety regarding Draconis claws at his guts, he inclines his head in a single nod, committing to his position. For now.

62897C93-42F5-4356-8143-1407C2F1FFC4.jpeg

One clawed hand takes hold of one of the four lightsabers attached to his hip armor. The White Death snaps to life, its blinding stark white blade causing Vexx’s own eyes to water. In one move, he could bisect or decapitate about half a dozen people in front of him and the temptation is frightfully strong right now. He doesn’t care about any of them. His only concern is for the ones he had arrived in this hellhole with, but his self-control is on full display at this point. He can sense Hesper is close by and with any good fortune, neither Draconis nor Invadator will wander far from here and they can regroup shortly.

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros
 

Cardun Vrek

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

Well...that doesn’t look good.


Mavros stopped dead in his tracks as Kielor, I-Ron, the Shard’s other Apprentice and the strange droid from the hanger sprinted down the stairs, clearly fleeing from something that had forced them out of the hanger bay above.

Maybe this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

TURN BACK! TURN BACK!!” The voice of Darth Nihl bellowed from behind. “EVERYONE TO THE DUNGEONS!” Mavros did not wait for an explanation; if something could cause Nihl to act this way, then that something was clearly deadly enough to merit an immediate retreat. Not waiting another instant, he began running back down the corridor towards the stairs to the dungeons, just as Lord Xxys joined the group that were fleeing from the hanger, adding his own warning to Nihl’s. He moved between the four Golems now charging their way up the corridor and towards whatever enemy was occupying the hanger bay.

They’ve breached the hanger...kriff. The Dungeons...what’s even down there?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an explosion from behind. Someone had sealed off the hanger by blowing up the access corridor. Hopefully that would stall the enemy for a time.

Hopefully.

Well...guess I’ll never get my ship back now…

Mavros reached the Empress’ group and panted slightly, deactivating his lightsaber but holding the hilt ready in his hand. Lord Xxys arrived just behind him. The legendary Sith Lord called out to the Empress, and even he seemed slightly rattled.

"My Lady we must run now! Dreadwar is but steps behind me and I don't know if my efforts to stall him worked!"

Dreadwar...but...how? He’s dead, isn’t he?

This revelation stumped Mavros for a moment; Dreadwar had been the undisputed Emperor of the Sith, and who all Sith with more than half a brain had at the very least acknowledged as their leader, even if they had resented it. But he had died, and indeed it was his death that had kicked off the very succession crisis that had led to this fateful gathering on Korriban. But now, it seemed that Dreadwar was alive, and was participating in the attack on those that he had once ruled.

That disturbance I felt...was it him? Or something worse?

Did Dreadwar serve another master? Or had he come to cleanse the order that he had practically built up from near ruin? Or was Lord Xxys simply mistaken? Either way, Mavros did not fancy meeting the former Emperor to find out. He had heard enough stories to know better. He had to get to those dungeons.

He moved to the stairwell leading down, following Lord Pravum and his small retinue of Golems.

Worst case scenario, I can always throw the younglings at Dreadwar. That might buy me a few seconds.

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, @Darth Xxys , @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
 

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