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

skira

Active member
Moderator
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
IC: Sol Kira
Sith Temple, Korriban

(VERY!!! small combo with Empress Volshe for one of her companions, Primordius. I promise I’m not automoving him.)

Sol ran. She ran and ran and ran, through ever turn and down every step the Empress’ message had warned her of, until she reached the outside of the throne room. She hadn’t stopped to see if Loharr had kept up, she didn’t quite care. Her chest heaved and she took a moment, placing her hand on the wall to balance herself as her breaths steadied. She then stepped into the throne room, seeing Lady Maladi, Lord Nihl and Lord Nathemus. She knelt to all of them before looking to the children.

“Prim!” She exclaimed, standing and then leaning down to hug the young boy. It might have been strange to anyone else, seeing the damaged woman hugging the boy, and he having no hesitation. But in the short time she had spent as an advisor on the Empress’ council, she had bonded with both of the Empress’ children, neither of them caring about the scar on her cheek or her mangled red arm. Primordius more so than Deianara, who was much more reserved than her brother. She looked to the young girl and smiled at her as she held her brother in her arms, the young boy hugging her tightly.

What was even stranger, more so to Sol than anyone else, was how well she had bonded to the two children. She had never wanted any of her own, had never even been given the option to. She hadn’t met any other children that she even remotely enjoyed the presence of. Perhaps it was their natural affluence of the Force, and how she had been similar at such a young age. Perhaps she saw them and realized how fortunate they were to be brought into the universe with parents willing and wanting to teach them about all it had to offer, that their use and power in the force would continue to grow, and how unfortunate she had been to grow up completely cut off from any use or teaching of the Force. She placed Primordius back down, smiling at him and his sister before straightening back to look at the other three in the room.

When she did, her eyes fell to Lord Nihl and a knot began to grow in her throat. Worry had clearly spread across his face. “My Lord, what’s going on? Where is everyone… Where is the Empress?” As she asked, a message clear and precise came through to her mind. “Enact protocol zeta-krill-four-three-seven.” The Empress’ voice had spoken through her mind. She looked to the children, and she cursed under her breath. The demon went alert too, pure panic in his own voice.

“We need to leave, my Child. We need to leave now,” he echoed to her, and she slightly shook her head.

“No. Not without the Empress. Not without the children,” she thought back to him, her breath steady. She wasn’t sure of what to expect from this, but she knew the Children and their Mother would get off this planet alive and away from this threat, even if it took everyone else’s lives to get them there.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar , @Loharr Talem, @Admiral Volshe , @Undying Master Xiannarr , @Keres Dymos , @Nacros_Telcontare , @Kielor , @Zareel Jhenan´doka , @Voidwalker , @Hadzuska_The Jester
 
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Darth Kain

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


The change came suddenly. In one moment, Lady Apollyon’s words were all that filled his ears. Words of discontent, of confusion. She did not understand why Viscretus had done what she had, just as Kain did not. The difference was that Apollyon owed no allegiance to Volshe, no confidence that had not already been shaken. But in the end, it mattered not.
The importance of her words dissolved as a drop of water in fire the moment it arrived. It was naught but a mere shadow to him, at first. A darkened sky, easily thought of as a cloud passing between the gaze of Horuset and the ground below. But a cloud would never take a perfect triangular shape, would it?

PicsArt_08-25-01.41.27.jpgHis eyes turned skyward, and the Force was upon him like a rabid animal. He felt it clawing upon his flesh, sinking its teeth into his skull, kicking him in the chest. And then the panic of the others, particularly of Empress Volshe, further irritated the invisible beast. It wanted to tear him asunder, to rip him limb from limb. Anything to spur him into action, anything to make him realize that he was in the gravest of dangers. Every foe he had ever faced, whether it be spawn from the wretched halls of Dark Illathurion to the most powerful of Sith Lords, had never drawn this sensation from his danger sense. Every fiber in his body tensed with fear of the unknown. And then it multiplied further. Not just one of these strange, pyramidal ships had appeared in orbit, but thousands. This was not an enemy he could conquer with raw power, clever maneuvering, or even a combination of both. You cannot survive this, it warned. Not yet.

The Beloved Prince of the Stars pushed the pain of the warning away, demanding to be set free from this torment. Such agony would not have saved him; it would have damned him. He had to think clearly, respond to this rationally. He knew this. But the fear was ineluctable, the warning unforgettable. Whatever it was that had come to interrupt this meeting would be the end of them all if they stayed; even he. Was this the threat that Hesper had warned them of only moments ago?

His suspicions were quickly, if indirectly, confirmed by Viscretus. These ships were supposed to be unbeatable, inescapable. If they were so by her account, then so too would they have to be for him. Who were these fiends that held such power? The power to arrive to Korriban and immediately make its occupants want to flee? Not even the Federation could have ever dared such a bold attack without being little more than insects smashing into the windscreen of a landspeeder. This power… it was enviable. But the thought passed through one ear and out the other to make way for the orders that Volshe was giving, orders to aid her in securing the prisoners. He looked down at them, the wretches still on their knees.

Gar Stazi. A Duros that Kain had never met, and once had never intended to. The former admiral was a war hero during the reign of Darth Krayt, overcoming thought-to-be insurmountable odds with wit and the clever management of limited resources. Kain could understand why Volshe wanted him alive. The Republic was renowned for faring well in a fleet battle. But could the Republic, even when it was at its full strength, survive against the terrors currently in orbit? If the Force was accurate in its warning, certainly not.

K’Kruhk. A Whiphid Jedi Master that had survived far longer than any Jedi ever should. Even now, Kain had to resist the urge to snap his neck and accept the reprisal from the Empress. But there was no time to cause further chaos, no need to earn the ire of the woman trying to lead them all to safety. The Jedi may have been responsible for the attack on his home, but he would not be responsible for the destruction of their leader.

Not yet.

Once Viscretus sliced away their bonds, the smoking alusteel dropping into the sand, he pulled the both of them up by their arms, gripping onto the wrinkled blue flesh of one and the thick fur of the other. Touching the Jedi brought a feeling of pure abhorrence, as if K’Kruhk’s aura was at war with his own. “To your feet, the both of you,” he said. “You are worth more as an ally than an example.”


His angry gaze scanned the guards, if briefly, for any sign of aggression. If detected, he would not hesitate to murder the lot of them. This was no time for duty. It was time to survive. And if any of these fools, be it guard or Sith, thought to disobey their desire to live in exchange for some foolish loyalty to any being other than the Empress…

With the prisoners in hand, Kain turned back to the crowd. “Volacius!” he called. “Catalyst!” Names of men he could trust in doing what it would take to survive, even if it meant combating their sinister nature. He paused. Part of him refused to say her name, furious with her attempt to circumvent the will of his celestial mother. But he knew Abaddon would kill him if he did not even try to save her. “Apollyon!” he added. “Come with me if you want to live!”

His gaze finally turned back to the Empress. She would see his eyes were wide, darting like his irises were hawkbats trapped in cages of milky white. “I sense we have no time to waste. Let’s get the children off this accursed planet.”

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

Catalyst

The Cunning Linguist
Staff member
Moderator
Underworld Ruler
Immortalis
IC Lord Catalyst
Courtyard Rooftop, Korriban

Surveying the crowd from his vantage point, Catalyst no longer bothered repressing the rolling of his eyes. Volshe, ever confident in her ability to machinate cooperation amongst those too bloodthirsty to care, was still trying to command the situation. To her credit, though, she was wiling to work with Apollyon and Hesper to come to a solution, and it seemed that even Kain was being added to the negotiating party. Favoritism at work as always, Viscretus. He looked over the rest of the crowd to try and gauge where the powder keg would burst.

The quartet accompanying Hesper seemed like the ideal place for a fuse, given the sheer malevolence that was coming from the chained being. The rest were far from cuddly though, Catalyst surmised. If fighting broke out, they would surely carve a swath through the combatants in defense of their Lady.

Xarxes and Xirr were poised near the front of the potential carnage, though Catalyst could not be certain of the former's loyalties. Xirr would do what he needed to survive, and if it came to blows, Catalyst would be certain to keep a sharp eye on his friend.

Notably, Catalyst saw some absences that struck him as suspicious. Nathemus, he had already guessed was making his own move to supplant himself as Emperor du jour. In addition to him though, Seditious, Voidwalker, Anhra and Hadzuska were nowhere to be seen. Catalyst knew the foremost to have connections with Nathemus, likely helping him hold the throne. Voidwalker and Anhra were potentially allies to him as well, though Catalyst couldn't help but wonder if the two of them would try to stake their own claims. He knew little of Hadzuska, though that just made him slightly more uncomfortable not knowing where he was.

As he watched Volshe and Kain begin leading the imprisoned Federation leaders away, likely to keep them from being targeted by the more fanatic members of the crowd, Apollyon stepped in to intervene. Like her, Catalyst believed in the positive effect of their execution. While she made her impassioned argument for their deaths, Catalyst drew back his fist, readying a Shadowstrike at the Jedi K'Kruhk. Good riddance, Master Jedi. I've been waiting for this day for a long time.

Then she stopped.

Her eyes turned upwards, just as Catalyst felt bristling of hairs dragging shards of broken glass on the back of his brain. He looked up at the sky, and his stomach fell to the ground. Massive pyramids, juggernauts of obsidian and granite, hung in the air menacingly. The air turned solid, as silence roared around them. Catalyst could no longer feel his own presence, the entirety of his individuality being dwarfed by the singularity in the Force that was drowning out everything else.

Hours of painful stillness gripped the breath in Catalyst's throat, waiting for the heavy tick of the next second. It was an eternity before the shrill call of Volshe's voice summoned him from his stupor. The light of her saber, a beacon to safety. He drew his own from his belt, and leapt back down to the gathering, dropping his concealment on the way down. Kain's summons caught his attention and he acknowledged it with a terse nod before casting his own voice over the crowd. "Xirr, with me!" he called out, simultaneously seeking Apollyon as well. He grunted in frustration as he located her, staring at the sky in catatonic shock. This day just keeps getting better and better. A thought crossed his mind and he grabbed his communicator. "Zareel," he spoke into it solemnly. "I'm sorry, Apprentice, this isn't working out. It's time we talked about where you're going from here. Come to the courtyard; meet me with Lord Kain." The quickest of grins flashed across his face, and he afforded himself a chuckle. Even if everything was going to come to an end, he wasn't ready to lose himself in the abyss yet.

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach, @Zareel Jhenan´doka
 
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corinthia

Imperatrix of the Sith
Staff member
Administrator
Sith Empress
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
Master of the Order
Jedi Council
Immortalis

IC: Imperatrix Hesper
Korriban – As chaos unfolds
Hesper could feel something was amiss; she turned away from the confluence of would-be rulers and leaders, tipping her face to the bloody Korriban skies. A chill in her bones. But… she couldn't see anything. Even her presaging was somehow off-kilter, causing her stomach to turn and head to feel a wave of vertigo. Something began to gnaw at her insides. Her eyes shifted once again to Volshe, to Apollyon, and to the others. Volshe, her words cloying and calculating, turned to depart while Apollyon—fanatical, sycophantic Apollyon—was still speaking, pushing her agenda that the execution of the Federation prisoners proceed. Hesper, were she willing to give these political charades the time of day, would have sided with Apollyon in this instance; the executions should proceed. And if those who were truly loyal to the tenets of the Sith Empire remained staunch, they might yet still occur.

"The time for discussion is over," Hesper murmured, mostly to herself, now. She felt as if she stood upon the very edge of a cliff, her toes curling against its brink.

Then it hit.

A violent wave of fear, shot through with a wretched band of black despair. It buffeted Hesper, causing her heart to palpitate painfully in her chest, knocking against her ribcage like a trapped animal. Her memory howled, that abhorrent scream shattering her thoughts like glass; she hissed, pressing a hand to her temple to stay the agonizing sound and vision. Her knees buckled and her palms began to sweat.

Shadows passed overhead—nearly paralyzed, Hesper turned her silver and opal eyes to what lurked above. Dire black pyramids hovered in the sky, and Sith stood bewildered in the desert below, looking upwards. Terror—sheer, unfettered terror—oozed from the beings around her. Hesper could feel it too, deep in her bones, like ice had replaced her marrow. They appeared with great rumbling, three, five, ten… numbers ever growing until the whole of the firmament was dotted with black, triangular stars in dreadful constellations.

Beside her, Lieutenant Valantin quaked, his knuckles white as he gripped his phrik lightsaber pike. "By Chaos," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"It's happening," Hesper breathed, her voice barely a sound on her lips. Her memory of the Vergence Scatter ricocheted in her skull, dredging up the sinister doorway which had shown her this very scene in which she was now standing. Déjà vu of the highest extreme rocked her, and she staggered, blood draining from her face and leaving her pale and fraught. Sorin reached out a gauntleted hand to steady his liege, gently gripping her small shoulder. "This is what I came to deliver a warning for."

Hesper reached up to lay a hand over Sorin's on her shoulder, wordlessly telling him she would be alright now; then, she raised her voice. "Guardsmen, to me!"

The thirty or so Hesperian Guards garbed in black and grey snapped to attention, picking their jaws up out of the sand and trying their best to pack away their terror. Behind Hesper, Sorin smacked the back of his arm's brace against his pike and barked out a string of orders in an alien language; synchronized and well-practiced, the Guardsmen formed a tight protective ring around the Imperatrix, igniting their silver-bladed lightsaber pikes.

"Lieutenant," Hesper continued; her own lightsaber materialized in her hand, yet ignited, drawn out from an alter dimension. "Signal the Auspex and the Haruspex, have them make the jump from Bosthirda." Sorin nodded crisply, unclipping a comm device from his belt.

Hesper's wild eyes scanned the crowd through the gaps in her Guardsmen, and she cried out when she spied her apostles. "Lord Xarxes! Master Skyllan! I trust you have upheld your duties; call upon your forces!"

Sweat was beginning to drip down the back of Hesper's neck. Draconis… she thought, and could not suppress the distressed groan that escaped her. There was little to be done to keep him contained, should pitch battle break out between these ships and what they bore and the Sith below. Surely Grievance and Invadator would do their best to keep him subjugated but… "Lord Grievance, General Invadator," she called, "contain Draconis but defend yourselves should you need. You and Lady Arach must survive!"

Fear was knotting itself in Hesper's chest like an ouroboros of dread; eating itself from tip to tail, unending and contorting. It was… so hard to fight. But she had to; she knew her fate was pre-written. And although there was still that blackened void beyond which she could not presage, and although whatever was aboard the dreaded ships had its sway over her foresight, she knew she must keep her grip tightly on her belief that there was still a grand design and that there was still a dark, guiding force that would lead her and her people out from this fresh hell. She painfully swallowed the lump in her throat, and braced herself for what would surely be a bloody, bloody battle.

It had begun.


 
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Darth Xirr

Member
IC: Darth Xirr
Korriban, Temple Courtyard
Xirr was nearly beginning to grow bored of the bickering and politicking unfolding before him before he heard the unmistakable roaring of a shuttle making its way to the hangar. Another latecomer he supposed, until he looked to the sky, the shadow of his cowl shielding his eyes from Horuset’s stinging rays. It looked like a… person?! Falling like a silken meteor, gossamer black robes whipping around in the sandy wind, and then they landed, carving a rather generous crater into the sand in front of the crowd of sith. They were unmistakable now, The Butcher of Coruscant, Lady Hesper.

She began to speak, her words seeming to corroborate Viscretus’s raving. Then everything began to move so quickly, and the boredom Xirr found himself falling into moments prior was eradicated in an instant. Apollyon began to argue with Viscretus, attempting to rally the onlooking Sith behind her cause once more, before she stopped abruptly. Xirr’s eyes darted around him for an instant, taking stock of who was to be nearest to him with this got out of hand. He noted that Catalyst had slipped away, and a hulking man clad in plated armor head to toe stood near him now as well; this one, Xirr didn’t recognize.

Then suddenly, Xirr knew exactly why Apollyon had halted her sentence so abruptly. Xirr too felt the wave of crushing terror grip his body as Apollyon managed to stammer out, “Wh- What is that?”

Xirr’s eyes followed hers until he too saw it. At first it seemed to be only one, an odd triangular-shaped starcraft of some kind. It was not non-threatening on its own, in fact, Xirr couldn’t recall the last time he had been so intimidated by a single starship. Suddenly it was more than just one… thousands of triangular behemoths suddenly hung ominously over the bloody sands of Korriban.

“Hear me now if you wish to live. There is great danger. These ships...they are impossibly fast, impossibly powerful. They are death incarnate. They are beyond our greatest enemy. You cannot overcome them. You cannot join them, nor trust them. We must leave, now. It is our only chance.”

Viscretus’s words snapped Xirr out of his trance, and he was able to pull his gaze from the unidentified ships. He snapped his head to the left and to the right, quickly taking in the scene as it unfolded. The prisoners whom they had all been bickering over and jumping at the chance to kill, were now being freed and… armed? This threat must have been truly great, Xirr concluded, whipping his free hand into one of the weathered pouches that hung from his belt. He pulled his holocommunicator and sent a message to the Bridge of the ISS Brotherhood, hoping it would cut through.

“Captain Varynn, crew to posts, scramble fighters, and prepare to jump.” Xirr checked to see if the message went through, but had little time to dally, quickly stuffing the silver disk back into the pouch from whence it came.

“Xirr, with me!” he heard the familiar voice of Lord Catalyst call, as he appeared once more in the courtyard. That was a voice the armored lord knew he could trust, and it appeared that their only strength now in the presence of these new enemies, was in numbers. Lightsabers ignited all around them, bathing the courtyard in all manner of colored hues, Xirr’s own would join them as he palmed both of his hilts and in one motion removed them from his belt and triggered the igniter switches, the familiar snap-hiss was almost comforting to Xirr at a time like this. He looked around himself once more, Xirr cantered across the courtyard towards Catalyst, “kriff” the word repeated itself in Xirrs mind, and even out loud a few times before he steeled himself for what was to come. If the sith were to die today, Xirr would not go down without a fight.

TAG​
@Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Kain, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Xirr, @Catalyst, @Darth Solus, @DarthNoxia, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Jihadi Quartz, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Reatith Blodraald, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @Cardun Vrek, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xxys, @Volacius, @Metus, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach, @corinthia
 
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Arach

Member
IC- Darth Arach
Courtyard, Korriban


Arach watched the crowd of Sith in front of her cautiously. Things were about to boil. She rested her hand on her lightsaber.

Another memory stirred of a different feast as she focused on the retreating back of the stately woman and the one who stopped her. She remembered these two. The blonde was… Viscretus. Apollyon was the black eyed woman, another apprentice of Dreadwar. She was too far away to hear what Apollyon was saying to Viscretus, but she did hear the sound of a lightsaber snapping on behind her.

The assassin started, whirled around, her own lightsaber in her hand. She saw the bodies of the two Knights who guarded Draconis drop to the ground. Draconis was standing still, his jet black gaze on his two former apprentices. He seemed at ease, not trying to escape. Her golden eyes narrowed. What-?

A sudden spike of fear made her snap her head back toward Apollyon. She saw the woman staring straight up. Arach followed her gaze and saw the ship. Soon, others looked up and saw the appearance of fleets of pyramid shaped ships.

Arach looked at Hesper. She was right. They’re here.

A shaft of fear ran through her, but she repressed it. Now was not the time to give in to fear.

She felt spikes of fear and panic flare up all around her. She heard Viscretus’ call to flee and saw her free the prisoners nearby. She saw some run towards the hanger, others still staring at the sky in horror.

As for herself, Arach felt her fear diminish and her rage ignite. She just came home and she would be damned if she just let them take it from her without a fight. Never again.

The assassin heard Hesper’s orders to her lieutenant. Good, she wasn’t the only one wanting to fight.

Arach glared defiantly at the ships and bared her teeth in a silent snarl, keeping her growing rage in check for now. “Come and get it,” she growled, igniting her lightsaber.

She was ready.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr@Darth Solus, @DarthNoxia@Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz@Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana@Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek@DarthFeros @Darth Xxys@Volacius, @Metus, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx
 

G.Kn

Active member
IC: Darth Skyllan
Location: Korriban Execution Grounds


----

Technically speaking, stopping kneeling before it was acknowledged by the person you knelt to is usually considered rude. That reasoning had already stopped them moving when the bound figure behind Hesper that had killed those guarding him had stared at Skyllan. That being said at the current moment there were bigger concerns then such a potent sith laying eyes on them.

There was an armada appearing above them. Bathing the gathering on Korriban's surface in the sense of their own impending doom. In the back of the Winged Sith's mind, they wondered if this was the same sort of feeling other people experienced when a sith army arrived. The newcomers had that sort of darkness to them after all, mayb- ah, Viscretus was providing exposition.

After listening Skyllan couldn't help but smile. Beings that posed this much worry on beings like Hesper and Volshe would no doubt make for excellent flavours to sample. They began calling out to the gathering. "Everyone with a ship in the atmosphere, order them to open fire! If any of you hope to get off the surface then you'll need a distraction or else the shuttles are going to shot down before anyone get anywhere!" Skyllan called out to the notoriously selfish sith as things errupted into panicked pandemonium. That would also provide good cover fire for the attackers. It sure would be helpful if everyone just picked one of the blondes who know what is going on and followed their lead.

"Lord Xarxes! Master Skyllan! I trust you have upheld your duties; call upon your forces!"

Skyllan's face split into a broad smile as they heard this, they turned their gaze on Xarxes. For a moment the sith master looked like they had when they had laid siege to Secundus. Feral, wild and excited at the chance of death. Not only the death of the interlopers, but their death even. 'If I have mine ready themselves, will you have yours get the ships moving?' The Winged Sith whispered into Nightfather's mind. Relying on their familiarity with each other and eye contact to let them wash up on the man's shields.

"R6! Transmit 'S2-C6' to Reciever 3 and tell the Celaeno to shadow Apocrypha." Skyllan barked into their comlink, barely registering the droid's affirmative. Scenario 2 - Command 6 was code for you're about to jump into hyperspace to my position, so settle into a joining ritual to pool your power ready to pour it into me via the bond between you and I.

Skyllan stood ready on the outside of the guards surrounding Hesper, the crystal of their sceptre nearly black as they prepared to draw on its power. Readying their force enhanced reflexes to respond to any incoming threats. They leant on their bond to the one they had sworn to serve. 'High Priestess, you found us in distant corners of the galaxy, could you find where life dwells in the pyramids to guide Lord Xarxes' teleportation? If so he and myself could start serving as a strike team to go between the ships and start crippling them from the inside out.'

It was a risky proposal, but one that could pay off well for the sith. Chaos, if these ships are as dangerous as Viscretus made out, it might be their only real chance given that ship to ship combat was as potentially one sided as people claimed. That being said, Skyllan didn't give a kriff who these invaders were. The most common way people accessed the force as a child was through anger, fear or pain. Which made sith who were underdogs uniquely positioned to win. It had been a long time, but the people gathered here today were finally underdogs again. Maybe these pyramid kriffs had more mechanical power, but the possibility that on an individual level these interloper's strongest could stand up against Hesper, Kain, Viscretus, Nathemus, Xxys and so on was a joke that Skyllan would die laughing about.

Especially if it turned out to be true.

----

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr@Darth Solus, @DarthNoxia@Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz@Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Arach @Darth Thana@Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek@DarthFeros @Darth Xxys@Volacius, @Metus, @Catalyst, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx
 
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Grievance Vexx

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


Vexx growls inwardly as the agony of his tinnitus escalates further. There are so many Force-wielders here, it is not even funny. They are drawing on their powers for one reason or another and, unfortunately, none of it goes undetected by the Kaleesh cyborg. What he wouldn’t give to just haul off and execute a Force Sever here and now! Shut it all down and thereby shut up the infernal shrieking between his audio receptors! It is absolutely maddening beyond what even he, decades accustomed to his affliction, can bear anymore!

But then there is Draconis. Without warning, the Dark Lord unceremoniously murders the two knights charged with handling him. The Krigsbefallaf cannot blame him really and, in a way, he had anticipated something like this. It stands to reason though. It is what he would have done and he was trained by the one committing the actions now. Oddly enough, Vexx feels no alarm or concern. On the contrary, he is impressed. Maybe a little on edge from just watching the scene play out. Draconis always had a way of making him nervous.

He makes no move to stop or restrain his master. It feels almost like betrayal to even consider doing as much. Rather, he watches in awestruck wonder as the one who had broken him so long ago effortlessly levels his captors. The spell breaks, however, when Draconis addresses him and Invadator, almost daring them to pick up his “leash” as it lies unattended on the ground beside him.

Vexx glances warily at Invadator, remembering her to be the one who sometimes acted without thinking. His look almost begs her to hesitate. He doesn’t know how well-versed she is with the torture Draconis is capable of inflicting, but he will never forget a moment of it as long as he lives. His eyes shift toward Draconis, not with fear, but certainly caution. He does not relish the thought of bearing the brunt of his master’s wrath, but orders are orders: keep Draconis close; guard him. This didn’t necessarily mean keep him restrained, right? Vexx’s interpretation falls more in line with protecting him. Not that he really needs it, but still...

So Vexx tentatively stretches out one taloned foot and places it on top of the cable attached to his master as it lies on the ground, shifting his weight to stand solidly on it—all three-hundred-plus pounds of his durasteel body. It bothers him to see Draconis chained up like some sort of slave, the sight itself threatening to trigger flashbacks for him, but he knows better than to act beyond orders at this point. He warily meets Draconis’s gaze, genuinely concerned after what he has witnessed and able to sense the toxins poisoning the Dark Lord’s blood.


“My medical droid should be able to help you, Master,” he offers quietly, “He is archaic, but well programmed.”

“Oh, hell, no!” EV-A4-D’s protesting voice explodes through Vexx’s comlink loud enough to cause the Kaleesh to cringe in pain, “I am not getting anywhere near that crazy master of yours, Sheelal! I’m sure he’ll be fine anyway. I mean, look at him. He’s probably far more deadly than any poisons they could put into him. By the way, you better not take damage standing so close to him. I am not up for any extensive repairs or life preservation efforts today...”

The droid’s chatter suddenly becomes nothing more than barely perceptible white noise in the background as the weight of the Force becomes unbearable and his affliction shrieks through his head like the telepathic scream of a starweird; dizzying, disorienting, deafening. Vexx almost collapses in sheer agony as his head feels like it might explode. Who in the galaxy is to blame for this unexpected and bizarrely powerful pull on the Force?

Fighting the dizziness that threatens to put him down in the red sand underfoot, the Krigsbefallaf lifts his gaze to behold what looks like massive black holocrons manifesting on the horizon. Like ships dropping out of hyperspace, they blacken the skies. What in the hell is this?! Vexx isn’t sure if he had said the words or merely thought them. He simply cannot hear above the screaming inside his skull.

Desperate to anchor himself to something outside of the agony, he shifts his attention to two beings; nay, three. Draconis...Invadator...Hesper. He will follow the Imperatrix’s orders now just as he would have if there were no black geometric shapes on the horizon. Terror such as he has never known pours into him as though he is an open vessel beneath a waterfall. It is baseless; without any rationale. Though the desire to flee like a terrified prey animal is overwhelming, he fights it. He will not react. Impulse has never been a friend of his. Patience. Logic. Courage. These are what drive his actions; they always have and they always will. All three fortify the honor that means everything to him.

For now, he anchors himself beside his master, awaiting orders from Hesper as surely the plans must change along with the environment. His gaze momentarily shifts to Invadator, briefly wondering what she makes of all of this. Has she ever seen something like this before? Is she feeling the same inexplicable terror bombarding his own senses? He is having a hard time determining this even through the Force.

Somehow, Hesper’s orders penetrate the infernal ringing between his audio receptors. He latches onto her words as though they are his only tether to sanity. Contain Draconis? Under any other circumstances, he just might laugh. Nevertheless, he would rather follow orders to stay with his master and Invadator and fight than be faced with orders to flee for his life.


“If you have a plan, Master, I am listening,” he murmurs quietly, though his eyes remain fixed on the ever-growing number of pyramids darkening the sky, “Otherwise, I am prepared to fight and act as your bodyguard. You are no prisoner to me and I will not let you die in captivity.”

Nothing has changed in all these years. The loyalty the Kaleesh had pledged to his master is as binding now as it was then. He finally stoops to take up the opposite end of the tether attached the the fetter around Draconis’s neck. This is so obscenely wrong! It makes him seethe inside as memories prick more forcibly at his consciousness. Captivity. Slavery. Humiliation. Cruelty. He is tempted to turn his anger toward Hesper and demand an answer for this display, but he swallows it. He may need the reserves of anger to face whatever is bearing down upon them now.

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Reiis Invadator, @Arach, @G.Kn, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Darth Xxys, @Drakul_Xarxes
 

Loharr Talem

Legendary Member
IC: Loharr Talem
Location: Sith Temple, Korriban

~~~~~

As he ran down the stairs, he continued to follow Sol. Even as she took off in a dead sprint. The instant that he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and followed Sol's lead. Bolting forward, he sped up to keep pace with his compatriot. She was absolutely booking it. If he focused his eyesight enough, he might have been able to see the dust from the floor be kicked up by the speed and drag produced by both himself and his fellow apprentice.

But, he didn't.

Had he focused his eyesight to view such minuscule particles, he wouldn't be able to focus on the greater world around him. Fortunately, there was nothing to worry about regarding such concerns, as the two apprentices finally made their way into the throne room. The occupants of the room were expected, although some were a surprise. Lord Nihl and Lady Maladi were the expected ones, but it was the other one present who was a surprise.

Lord Nathemus.

He focused on himself as he surpressed his surprise. His chest was rising and falling as the sounds of inhales and exhales could be heard. He had just spent a fair number of moments sprinting, which was something he wasn't particularly conditioned for. Perhaps he should work on that. Sol entered the room, Loharr did the same, walking beside her. In one synchronous movement, they crossed the threshold of the throne room and knelt down. A decent display of synchronization, which would soon be broken by Sol.

Prim!” She exclaimed, as she stood up before leaning down to hug the young heir.

Loharr recovered from his kneel, but didn't move from his spot opting to merely put his hands behind his back in present company. There were no words spoken from the Sith Lords and Lady before him. There was something... strange. Lord Nihl's face was cemented with a look that wasn't often seen on the Dark Lord's face. It was worry. Something equally as strange, was Lord Nihl's grip on Lord Nathemus' arm. Something was definitely not right... but what? Unlike others in the order, Loharr wasn't blessed with skill in precognitive abilities, nor did he have a general proficiency for telepathic abilities. And believe me when I tell you, it was not for lack of trying.

It seemed that he was not the only one to notice the strangeness of the situation before him, as his fellow apprentice cleared her throat and spoke up.

My Lord, what’s going on? Where is everyone… Where is the Empress?” She inquried, but there would be no opportunity for an answer to be given.

A voice rang out... but it was different than the voices in the room. For one, this voice was being projected directly into his mind. A bit apropos, considering the fact that he was just ruminating over his telepathic inabilities. But the one whom the voice belonged to was no mystery, not by a long shot. It was the Empress, and her words were concise.

Enact protocol zeta-krill-four-three-seven.

Now why did those words ring a bell? There were dozens, if not hundreds, of Imperial Protocols. He hadn't quite gotten around to memorizing them all, but this one sounded familiar. He was wracking his brain, trying to remember what the order was, but it wasn't until he heard an incomprehensible noise from Sol that it finally clicked. He was ashamed it took him so long to remember this specific protocol, but luckily, it had only been a few silent, contemplative seconds.

Reflexively, he moved his hands from behind his back to at his side, just barely forward. He was no longer in 'standby mode', but now in 'action mode'. Whatever prompted the enactment of this protocol...was most certainly bad news. He needed to be ready, for whatever he could. Though realistically, there was no way for him to consider every single possibility on the field.

Here, he was at a disadvantage.

He looked down at Primordius and Deianara. They were now his highest priority. Given the current gathering of Sith in the room, he would say that there was quite a wall protecting the Imperial Heirs. Surely anyone unfortunate enough to try and harm the heirs now would surely have a rather painful remainder of the day. If they were lucky enough to survive, that is.

~~~~~

TAGS: @skira , @Undying Master Xiannarr , @Keres Dymos , @Nacros_Telcontare , @Kielor , @Zareel Jhenan´doka , @Hadzuska_The Jester , @Voidwalker , @Darth Dreadwar
 
IC: Darth Xiannarr
Leaving the Training Room, Korriban

Xiannarr watched on with glee as Ermir made a rather feeble attempt to act like he knew what Apprentice Kira was talking about. Xiannarr himself had no idea what the apprentices were talking about, but it wasn't his problem. They would face consequences for their actions later, no doubt. The Sith Master was a little put out that Ermir seemed totally unaffected by his aura, and that his telepathy seemed to be blocked.

Who’d have thought that slime ball would have any kind of mental defence,” Xiannarr thought to himself. The Dread Master watched on with an eyebrow raised as Ermir sought to lead the apprentices that were already following Xiannarr to follow him instead. Not allowing it to bother him, Xiannarr took up the rear, relishing in the sounds of lightsaber combat that filled the hallways. He followed the path that Ermir was taking, past the banquet hall where Xiannarr knew his old apprentice should have been. Concern filled the Sith Master. He could neither see nor sense Lord Sedicious.

However, the Dread Lord had grown into a powerful individual. He was surely okay. Xiannarr followed a path to the left and descended three short stairs. He saw someone he had not laid eyes on in quite some time. Darth Voidwalker and another Sith that Xiannarr did not recognize. Nodding to Voidwalker, Xiannarr avoided starting up a conversation. There was something about the other Sith that didn't sit right with him.

Moving further down the corridor, the air became decidedly colder. The air was still and silent. Their misfit group had moved into a portion of the academy largely unused. Xiannarr felt unease at moving so far underground, the walls themselves felt like they were closing in on him. One final staircase remained between Xiannarr and the dungeons. They descended it, step by step.

Finally, they had reached the dungeons. His nose was assaulted with the scent of burnt cabbage mixed with something foul. Xiannarr zoned out as Ermir directed the Apprentices again. There was something about the Overseer's dull voice that drove a spike into Xiannarr’s frontal lobe. Xiannarr instead inspected the various saber pikes. They weren’t a weapon Xiannarr had ever bothered with. As he favoured the makashi style, the length of the pike would have been more of a hindrance.

A flicker of movement out the corner of his eye tore his attention back to Ermir Marcus. He had leaned up against a wall and produced a cigarra, before offering a second to Xiannarr. Xiannarr’s fingers itched to reach out and take it. He was craving a smoke rather badly. However, this action was out of character for Ermir. There was no denying the animosity between the two. Still, Xiananrr would take the offered vice. Instead of lighting it, he once more opened up his telepathy trying to gauge the Overseer's intentions. It was no secret that Ermir favoured the study of alchemy, and Xiannarr couldn’t guarantee the cigarra was safe.

Before Xiannarr could ponder the cigarra further, a shadow passed over the corridor. Wait - no - this was no shadow. This was something more carnal and evil. Turning to Ermir, Xiannarr spoke to him. For the first time, there was no hostility in the Sith Master’s voice.

“Something isn't right here. I think we are very much in danger, Ermir. Tell me you felt that, just now. We need to proceed very carefully.”


Powers used:
Telepathy- 1

tags: @skira @Loharr Talem @Keres Dymos @Nacros_Telcontare @Kielor @Zareel Jhenan´doka @Darth Dreadwar @Voidwalker @Hadzuska_The Jester
 

Reiis Invadator

Legendary Member
IC: Reiis Invadator
Korriban

Reiis Invadator is entirely convinced that Draconis is humoring them, and this makes her noticeably uneasy. She watches from a short distance as their master neatly dispatched of the two armed guards who had so naively provoked him. In her experience, it wasn't like the cunning assassin he was to kill for pure sport. There was always an underlying reason. Always. Now seemed to be no exception, and so she ignored the corpses and kept her attention fixed on the Sith Lord.

It was, if nothing else, an effective warning. So she sure as hell wasn't about to pick up the chain when he so obviously goaded them to do so. It comes as something of a surprise when Lord Vexx places his foot down on the chain, and Invadator levels a concerned frown at him. "Master, should you choose to depart early for the evening," she quips low enough so that only the three of them can hear, "I am quite sure my grip will not stop you." She watches Draconis carefully to see if he'll do something, but even if he does, her attention has been drawn to a presence nearby. A presence coming from a person who has just pledged loyalty to the Priestess. Xarxes. Her apprentice. She turns his way fully, and while her outward acknowledgement is minimal -- just a polite nod in his direction -- it is clear through their Master/Apprentice bond that she is pleased to see him. Kielor, now Xarxes. She planned to take time to speak to both of her apprentices.

Cold, malevolent terror echoed through the sky, their minds, and their very souls.

Invadator has no idea what these mean, and it's difficult to concentrate through the mental bombardment. She meets Vexx's gaze, looking as lost as he might feel concerning the meaning of all this. The Priestess barks out an order to them: keep Draconis contained, but not at their own expense. Not bad, considering what it could have been: die for the cause, which Invadator will certainly NOT do. She would have been very interested to hear if their Master had a plan, but she instead fixes her gaze on Xarxes.

*Don't die for this, whatever this is. Abandon this planet if you must.*

She doesn't have time to see if he responds. Hoping he has listened, Invadator turns back to Vexx and Draconis. "My apprentice is on this planet. He's still in training. I *have* to get him out of here." Her jaw is set: one way or another, she's going to get Kielor off of Korriban. She just hopes her fellow cyborg and their Master will agree to follow so she does not have to abandon her orders.

TAGS:

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

Admiral Volshe

Legendary Member
NGE Empress
IC: Empress Volshe (Darth Viscretus)
The Courtyard, Korriban


The sound of Hesper’s voice tore through the courtyard, ripping her attention from the woman at her side.

No.

The thought was in time with the throb of her heart, a flush of blood flooding to her cheeks. There was no time to react, no time to change what had been said. Each word the Sith Lady spoke came to her like a gossamer dream, ethereal, wrapping around her throat and blanketing her mind in molten threads of rage.

No.

It all insulted her. Guards? Orders, against her own, from them? There was no defense of her, no acknowledgement of her instructions. Only confusion, spawned by the seeming refusal to accept her will. It affronted her, their very audacity an acid that pooled in her chest and liquified her heart into venomous anger. Every misstep of theirs risked her own. Her loyalists. Her lover. Her children.

Fight? They could not fight. Certainly they would not fight. It was futile. Useless.

And yet those allied with the woman seemed determined to.

Her head turned to face them. She blinked. Everything was slowed, each second stretching beyond its bounds, each motion merely a dance of fate.

The S’kytri. Xarxes. The chained one.

Hesper.

She hesitated, lip curling in distaste. poised to release Marasiah in that instant and send Hesper and those followers who questioned her orders skittering across the sand with arcane incantation. Her hand rose, at first curled into a fist. Her fingers splayed, snapping out in practiced motion as her lips moved to call upon the occult. Ire billowed in her gut. Miasmic. Poisonous.

Something stopped her. Perhaps it was the insanity summoned by the endless fleet above, gripping her. Perhaps it was something else. It was not something she could dissect.

She stood, nerveless, for what felt like an eternity. Her fingers remained outstretched, her muscles tensed, as if she were one of the ancient guardians of stone that oversaw the Valley.

Her thoughts returned to her in a tumultuous rush as her heart beat once again. Memory flooded back to her, even her internal monologue drowned by the onslaught of it all. It was every moment of her time spent beyond the realm of the known Galaxy, and it overtook her before she could protest.

She was blanketed in darkness. It swallowed her, winding about her and leading her into the depths of her psyche. Cold sweat beaded on her brow. Blood flushed to her cheeks, her delicate beauty painted briefly with fear.

The Rot God was before her, terrible in his sight, no matter the form he claimed. She could hardly stand, her mind urging her to throw herself to the ground in dreadful reverence. She resisted, somehow, staring up to him.

"Mine is the face of blood and fire. I am Mordiggian, the Immortal God of the Sith, Daritha Venomis of the Rakata. He who is worshipped under a thousand names. Mnggal-Mnggal! He who feeds the goat with a thousand young. Ea ea! Mugg! He who is the Gate! Ea ea! Mog! He who dwells beyond the Veil! Ea ea! Morddoth! Morddoth confundar!"


Ice spun about her veins, crystallizing them in fear. His voice echoed in her ears, as powerful as the screaming wind and quiet as the grave. It was nearly too much to bear: as it had been every time she faced such abominations.

Her heart pulsed again, blood perfusing through her and tearing her away from the unspeakable being before her. She was gripped again by a vision of the past. For a moment, she was outside her body, watching as she writhed on a stone balcony. Then, she was within herself, watching helplessly as it all unfolded.

A sickening clacking of jaws echoed. Chattering at her, chastising her for his attempts to hide. It would not be ignored. Her eyes snapped open once more as the clacking grew into raucous hisses, spittle flying into her face.

Her eyes met with hundreds of glistening black orbs, each glowing with scenes of twisted anguish.

It curled tentacles of onyx and sickening greens around the near-corpse, then around her legs, lacing them up to her waist, caressing her face. Putrid black stains seeped through to her skin, singeing it with poisonous fear. Her mouth flexed in torment. Suffocating from the claws around her neck, she could not scream.

Its mouthpieces widened to vomit - spewing squealing, squelched carcasses onto her lap.

As her body wracked with spasms, begging for air, dying as it gasped for escape, insects crawled from the melting visage of Ku’ar Danar, spewing themselves onto her as his organs turned to putrid liquid, each one burrowing into her skin with a flash of tormented imagery. It was as if every insect that dropped from his orifices brought to witness every death, every fear the Galaxy had known at once. It seemed as though it would never end, though her mind begged it to. Though it seemed the assault would kill her at any moment. Suddenly the images changed to unspeakable horrors upon those she knew. And herself. So vivid she could not tell if they were real. Her heart stopped briefly, finally brought to its limit.

“You will not change this. You are nothing.”

The voice was shrieking now in acidic hiss, her eardrums nearly rupturing with the inescapable volume. Her eyes faded to blackness.

“Death comes for you.”


She was thrust into softly lit rooms of the Sith Temple, a thrall of Dreadwar beside her. She recalled her questioning of the Dread Lord, the words that she struggled to speak through parched throat. Answers she had begged of him. Who was it who plagued her? Who had shown her such atrocities?

"He Who Dwells Beyond the Veil. An apocalyptic deity beyond the Gunninga Gap."

The Lord unfathomable, whom she had somehow fathomed. Whom she had witnessed, and lived. Her mind reeled.

Her heart throbbed again, feeling as if it might burst. Her chest ached. The dying light of Horuset glared in her eyes, as though it were blood that pooled in them, instead of tears spawned from her terrible vision.

Her eyes shut just as the silver blades of the guard ignited, surrounding Hesper. Her mind screamed, begging the words the woman had spoken to vanish into the air unheard, to return to non-existence. It felt as if she were floating in the void that enveloped them all, submerged in the darkness, unable to escape, struggling for breath.

The future. The past. It all converged.

All that she had sacrificed. All she had borne. was a ghost before her. A mirage, shimmering in the waning sun.

Wounds, inflicted upon her pale, delicate skin. Blood trickling from the blistered, scorched flesh. Pain gnashing at her every nerve as she crawled on hands and knees.

It dissipated as paper in flame, ash left to the wind.

A smiling man, maggots dripping from his serpentine smile.

A thousand children, their fate in her hands.


Her sacrifice had stayed their demise. Her stomach lurched, bile in her throat, envisioning the thrall of Venomis enraptured in his profane desecration. Her own suffering, recalled from that moment, threatened to drown her in its agonizing depths.

A thousand Sith, now the same.

Every memory, every second, every minute, every year she had spent in her exile amongst their very enemy. It had all led to this.

The ships leering above them, birthed by ancient alchemies, inconceivable to the greater Galaxy.

A Council converged in shadow, formed of Lords of legend, obscured from all.

Generals of the True Sith, convened alongside her in cloistered halls, working to plan the very assaults she now knew would soon arrive.

The hissing voice of Sorzus Syn and saccharine snarl of XoXaan, baleful as they spoke of betrayals and cataclysms.

Warnings from the darkest sources, spoken to her in her stolen moments of seclusion.

Plots, endless plots, spun between her loyalists and her confidantes, dangerous in their treasonous intents...yet necessary to ensure their survival.

Secrets, uncovered by her command of the esoteric. Knowledge that would bring the most powerful and wise of the Sith to their knees.


She was nearly brought to hers. Her next step was halted. She could not move. She could scarcely breathe.

All she had done was not meant to be done. All she had lived was not meant to be lived. It was not meant for mortal eyes, tender and nearly blind. It was not meant for mortal soul, weak and diaphanous.

Her soul was not spun of the same thread.

Lord Kain’s voice echoed around her. Everything was yet in slow motion. Her head snapped backwards, curls and delicate gems splaying across her face. He was aiding her in her mission, every word he spoke blanketing her in realization. She could not comprehend what he said, metres away, but the warm tones steeped her in memory.

“I do not think you are just connected to Abeloth in some way. I believe you are her.”

Her heart lurched again. The words did not leave her. They remained, lingering in the back of her mind, not for a moment leaving her. It was if the Valley had taken his voice, the chaos hissing it back to her, reminding her of a truth she had attempted to bury deep within. That she had obscured from even those closest to her.

No longer.


Deceiver. Pretender.

The words spawned venom at the tip of her tongue and stoked the smouldering flame within her. She was neither.

She was more than a daughter of Vahl. She was more than their Mother’s creation.

She was Her.

She had carried burdens they would never know, they could never bear, they could never understand. For their sake. Every moment of torment was a moment they would all live.

Dreadwar’s hiss returned to her, snaking up her spine.

She who causeth the mightiest to tremble, their teeth to gnash and on their lip gnarl;
Whose hair is as the golden dawn, whose countenance is splendorous as the sun…


The obelisk rose in her mind’s eye, far on the horizon. The Perann Nebula swirled beyond it and bathed the monument in crimson glow.

Her heart beat again. The obelisk collapsed, crumbling into violent fire.

The Witch-Queen of Ambria.

Another beat.

The scarlet nebula swirled at her fingertips, as if it were spun of her blood and by her design.

The Divine Mother.

Another.

She was bathed in celestial fire, swathed in endless dark waters, in a realm beyond reality. Eternity surrounded her.

Beloved Queen of the Stars.

The burnt orange of Korriban returned to her, her eyes focusing on the scene around her as the ethereal visions faded away.

It was not only bravery that had returned to her, but pride.

Her fingers flexed, ready still to strike or recoil. It would be so very easy to eliminate them all, to siphon their very essence in moments, or seconds. It would take mere seconds to damn them into oblivion with tendrils of ink spun from Chaos itself.

It tempted her. Oh, it tempted her.

Her breath released. Their damnation never came. She did not summon it, though she had briefly seduced their fate, courted it, dancing with its lissom form in the recesses of her mind.

They were Sith. They would have every chance to fight. She would have every chance to spill blood, to annihilate those who insulted her. But not now.

Not now.

It would be a waste.

The curse on her lips slithered away, vanishing before she had even uttered a single syllable. Her mind and the muscles relented simultaneously, and her hand fell to her side. Her resolve returned, her mind surfacing again in the courtyard. Rage ebbed from her, now. The vibrant colour returned to her eyes in its place, sound following to her ears. She swallowed. Speaking out would only sow further discord. She would not convince them otherwise. She would simply take advantage of the situation.

They were giving their lives for her.

She would make use of their sacrifice, however foolish it was, to save the others.

She took a moment to recenter herself, to focus her anger and forge it into a focussed determination. Her eyes shut for what felt like minutes, though she knew by everything echoing around her it was not even a minute.

Her eyes glanced about the courtyard. Barely a soul had moved in the time that had passed. Her gaze hardened, lip curling.

She pulled Marasiah closer in the same moment, instinct overtaking her as Hesper and her followers sowed discord - unwilling to let anything harm the woman at her side.

They would not take anything more from her. Not those who challenged her. Not the True Sith. No soul would have such power again.

Fire burned in her soul, the Force roiling around her as if she were a wildfire of obsidian flame - as if she were not only the thousands of stars that burned in the unfathomable void above, but the void itself.

Her eyes, twin suns, blazed as they found Hesper, then Apollyon. There was violence, there, an unspoken challenge should they have met that brief glance.

All that had been lost were seconds in her ruminations. But everything moved, now, and she was immersed in chaos yet again. Her foot landed again, pulling her forward as it sunk into the frigid sand.

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

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

Apollyon had not moved from her station beside the guillotine having rebuffed the Empresses call to spare the prisoners, and with Hesper and her factions arrival it seemed that chaos was about to explode.
Another prisoner was present in the Butchers ranks as well. This man was chained and obviously drugged. A length of steel chain formed a leash and he was half pulled and half dragged down the ramp by a pair of guards. He stumbled and fell as the guard behind shoved him down the ramp igniting a lightsaber as he pursued his victim who had slid a few feet in the swirling dust. It was fast, and escaped the notice of nearly everyone standing just a few feet away so focused were they on the brewing conflagration. The same guard that had shoved the bound man lifted the ragged wretch from the sand by the leash when he inexplicably went on his tiptoes as his head suddenly and violently twisted on its base, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch. His saber never fell, but instead hung in the air and quickly turned flat. The other guard never had the chance to turn to see what had happened to his comrade as he was suddenly jerked backwards and decapitated by the waiting floating blade. The weapon then deactivated and fell to the sand

The ragged prisoner never moved.

Now Xxys did draw his weapon to hand and made ready to enter the inevitable bloodbath that this action would surely spark when Apollyon suddenly stiffened and pointed to the sky.

It had not been there a second before.

'What...what is that?' she croaked

A massive pyramid, blacker than the floors of Chaos hung in the atmosphere of Korriban. No noise emanated from the impossible vessle and no visable means of propulsion was evident.

A ripple of fear rolled across the crowd.

Then there were three...

twenty...

hundreds...

thousands.

Like a sledgehammer the fear hit Xxys. His mind was always locked in the most ridgid control but this power was staggering, and the feelings of dread threatened to smother him. It was as if oily black tendrils had begun to ooze through his mind, flooding his vision with images of horror and carnage.

It permeated his being with hopeless dispare...and desire.

Desire to serve. To cast himself down and worship his new...Gods?

This was the same deep terror he had felt all those decades ago, when he had stared into the endless void of hyperspace, the same sense that the void, was staring back.

His knees buckled but did not fail him, though he had to reach out to steady himself on the cold stone wall behind him.
His focus was such that he could only attempt to shield his mind, and concentrate on not going mad, thus he was forced to drop his bid to remain hidden, and with a shimmer he stepped from the shadows. Xxys clamped down on his mind to shut out the horrors.

"Get the kriff out of my head!" He snarled and refocused his attention on the Empress as she called her followers to her side and expounded to all within earshot

'Hear me now if you wish to live! There is great danger. These ships...they are impossibly fast, impossibly powerful. They are death incarnate. They are beyond our greatest enemy. You cannot overcome them. You cannot join them, nor trust them. We must leave, now. It is our only chance.'

So too had Hesper called her followers back to her side, guardsmen forming a protective ring around their mistress, silver saber-pikes igniting in unison. She dispatched the hulking cyborg she had arrived with, and one that Xxys recognized as the General Invadator, to deal with the prisoner who had, in all this, not moved after the felling of his guards.
Xxys' tore his gaze from the gathered fleet that had literally caught the entire Empire flat-footed, to the gathered factions vying for the throne.

It was a long way to his personal shuttle and it looked like the principle players were making to escape the planet.


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

Moderator
Moderator
Dark Council
IC: Keres Dymos
Leaving the Training Room, Korriban

The descent to the dungeons was swift, as Overseer Marcus hurried them along, away from his embarrassing lack of control over Talem and Kira. They passed the banquet hall, which was disappointingly empty. Keres wasn't exactly trying to gain undue attention, but she hoped to have at least caught someone's eye as they passed. Later, then.

Down yet more stairs, where she barely managed to keep her face straight as they dodged two Sith (Lords? She didn't know them by sight) awkwardly hauling a holocron away. Were they stealing it? Why else would they be taking it by hand instead of having a droid do it? Keres dropped it, determined to not speculate. She wasn't getting her mind raked over the coals because someone caught her thinking about it.

The dungeons were rank, foul and burnt and acrid, and she shuffled unhappily into the room, where the masks gleamed with a dull, menacing, light. The door closed behind Overseer Marcus, who was apparently too lazy to even watch and make sure they obeyed orders. Which, well, what else were they to do? The room was crossed too quick, and she picked up the metal mask. It was heavy, and cold. Her unease gave the mask a strange, hostile quality. What would happen to them, defenseless and weak in a place filled with powerful Lords and Ladies? Keres had felt so confident earlier, that Lady Apollyon couldn't want them dead, but she couldn't find that confidence now.

But dared she disobey? At the risk of two Sith Masters, and maybe the Lady herself? Keres eyed her fellow apprentices, dreading being the first to put her mask on. But how long could she linger? Sith were dangerous, and strict. Could this be a secret test? It didn't feel like it. Hesitantly, she put the mask on. It was cold, and heavy.

The lock turned and her sense of the Force snapped, leaving her cold and alone in a void she didn't want to be in. The scrabbling animal instinct begged for her to turn the key, not pull it out and put it in the drawer, to not unclip her saber and put it in there as well. But Keres did, forcing herself to turn away after she'd done it. Her shoulders were tight, and she forced them down, and folded her hands together. It was an affected poise she had used many times in anger, but never in fear. Keres tried to let the fear shrink, and fall, like a stone in a lake. This was her decision after all, for the good or the ill of it, and she wouldn't backtrack.

TAGS: @skira @Loharr Talem @Undying Master Xiannarr @Nacros_Telcontare @Kielor @Zareel Jhenan´doka @Darth Dreadwar @Voidwalker @Hadzuska_The Jester
 
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Darth Nathemus

Sedriss of House Dreadwar
Staff member
Moderator
Grand Master
Dark Council
Jedi Council
Immortalis
IC: The Sedriss
Location: Throne Room, Sith Temple, Korriban

Lord Nathemus felt more and more wary with each passing moment. The more time spent in the throne room of the believed deceased Darth Dreadwar, the more dread he felt. Lord Nihl was a stoic man, not one prone to either great fear or wild outbursts, but he always showed his family great compassion. That is what made his next action so strange and out of character in the eyes of the Sedriss. Instead of responding to Nathemus protecting the children, his father gave off the sense of undeniable dread and grabbed his son's arm while claiming that the Empress was in danger.

//This is undeniably strange. My father has never shown me fear in my entire life. If he says that Empress Volshe is in danger, then it must be grave. I cannot leave my post here protecting the Heirs, but I can do my best to save them all.//

In his next breath, his response was clear and calm. "Then we will save her. We'll save everyone from whatever is coming." His senses continued to heighten. The Dark Side was strongest on Korriban, like it was on many of the ancestral throneworlds of the Sith.

Ziost.

Dromund Kaas.

Prakith.

Exegol.

All of these planets and many more were wellsprings of dark power, but if they were mere springs, what he now felt was like a great ocean. The Dark Side had just experienced a power surge like no other the Shadow Hand had ever seen.
//What could be causing this??// He wondered. His thoughts came to a brief halt when two Apprentices came running into the throne room almost in unison. The woman was Sol Kira, the Red Death she was known as. The Sedriss knew she held a deep bond with the Empress' son Primordius, and that was on full display here today. The man he had never met before. It was possible that he was a new Acolyte in the Sith Academy, but of that the Dark Lord was unsure.

Kira inquired the location of the Empress, but the other said nothing. At least he kneeled. Maybe he'd be useful.
"We can only assume the Empress remains outside, but my father believes she's in grave danger. If that's indeed true, then we must remain here. She tasked Lady Maladi and I to protect Lord Nihl and her children, and I now charge the two of you with the same. The Heirs must survive, even if it means your own life."

After the Shadow Hand charged the Apprentices, he wrenched his arm free of his father's still tight grasp to get a look through the hallway windows. Horuset was seemingly missing, replaced by an armada of starships he had never before seen. //They look like Holocrons in the sky.// The feeling was still a strange and challenging one. The ships must have been what caused a massive surge of the Dark Side, but did that mean they were Sith? And if they were Sith, were they friend or foe? He knew full well that it was not worth sticking around to find out if it meant that his family and he would perish. They had to survive. The Sith had to survive.

The feeling of existential dread was palpable. It was almost insurmountable, but Darth Nathemus was never one to believe that such feeling could not be overcome. He was taught from a young age that Sith aren't supposed to fear. He moved back to the throne room and took up his position in front of his father and began to center himself. Three of his Apprentices, two former and one current, were present on Korriban. His telepathic prowess surpassed the vast majority of the Sith Order, but no usage of the Force was guaranteed. The Sedriss closed his eyes and attempted to reach out.


//Yenoh, start up the shuttle. If enemies begin pouring out of the pyramids, get back to the ship as fast as you can. I-Ron, Nacros, whatever you may be doing, I need you on my position. If it's our place to fight, we'll stand and fight. If this contest is unwinnable, then it's better that we leave.//

Not pausing to see if he'd get a response, he quickly pulled out his communicator and sent a message to Admiral Trench, the chiss lady who commanded the Harbinger. If you yet live, take the ship back to Nur as fast as you can. Don't worry about me. He looked around at every Sith in the room. Lady Maladi, his father Lord Nihl, Apprentice Sol Kira, and the other young Apprentice, before fixating on the two children for a second. Then he gave them all a quick address.

"Everyone here, draw your weapons. Get ready. When the Empress returns, if she commands us to fight, we fight to our dying breath. We protect her and her Heirs. Dreadwar's Heirs as well. If they die, we have failed. But if she tells us we must leave, then we follow without question. It then is better to live and fight another day."

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius @Metus @Catalyst @corinthia @Reiis Invadator @dragonsith13 @Grievance Vexx @Arach @Nacros_Telcontare @Loharr Talem @skira
 
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Character Illustration

A person wearing a costume  Description automatically generated


Theme Music



Name/Title: Birth Name – Gha Rahkts II ; Taken Name - Deleritas

Nicknames/Aliases: N/A

Age: 19

Sex: Male

Species: Human

Orientation: Heterosexual

Homeworld: Trandosha

Occupation: Sith Assassin

Height: 5’6

Weight: 150

Physical Description: Deleritas is an adolescent human male with well-kept blond hair. Clean-shaven and rounded features. Heavily scarred from self-harm during a brutal 6-month long trip from his home planet of Trandosha to Korriban where he met his master, Solus. He is short in stature but, athletic and nimble. He wears simple black garb consisting of a long-sleeve shirt, pants, and soft-soled shoes. He wears a mask that he earned through a trial given by Solus and its primary function is to enhance his physical and mental capabilities as well as place a bridle/harness on the voices in his head (hence his name…Latin for insanity)



Clothing: Ninja-like in appearance. Simple black pants and long-sleeve black shirt, Black soft-soled shoes, Mask with a small handful of technological capabilities, Hood that is only worn for intimidation or shadow and distortion

Weapons: Typically armed with a staff saber that glows crimson and emits a sound that is eerily reminiscent of his vanquished foes. It has a special property, derived from the Kyber crystals that were used to power his saber, in that it takes in the last remnants of the life force of his dying foes. He is also trained and proficient on a wide variety of other weapons ranging from standard issue blaster rifles to sniper rifles and bowcasters due to his upbringing as a Trandoshan and their cultural emphasis on hunting

Equipment: Mission dependent. Deleritas has access to an assortment of weaponry in the compound that he bases his operations out of and tends to frequently change his loadout to give him the greatest possible advantage over his enemies. However, his standard load consists of his staff and a pouch containing food pods, fire starters, and a comlink. His mask is capable of thermal and night visions as well as acting as a gas mask and temporary oxygen filter for underwater situations (lasting for about 45 minutes in duration before a surface is required). Blackwing antidote

Vehicles: Kom’rk-Class Fighter. Dual-engined troop transport/starfighter.

Outfitted with two laser cannons. Painted a sleek, matte black with red trim.

Pets: N/A

Languages: Basic, Trandoshan, Shyriiwook/Thykaraan/Xaczik, Galactic Sign Language

Combat Skills: Deleritas frequently elects to not wear armor due its tendency to be bulky and limit movements. His hunting background has given him an excellent sense of navigation and stealth in order to most effectively find, ensnare, and kill his prey

Other Strengths: Despite his poorer upbringing and lack of education, Deleritas prides himself in his desire to learn and understand various topics of discussion and study. He is eloquent in speech and extremely polite. However, his manners do not come across as pretentious. A natural at the controls, he expertly flies all manner of aircraft. Military tactics and strategy. Confident

Flaws: Fiercely loyal to those that he calls family. Schizophrenic (a disease inflicted upon him by his former master) and lacks control over the voices that run rampant in his mind. Makes decisions mostly based on whatever emotion is running highest at the time

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Personality: Stoic yet has trouble concealing some of his emotions; passionate;

hard-working; strong-willed; eloquent in speech; extremely polite but not pretentious

Fears: Failure. Disappointment. Losing his family.

Likes: Training. Running. Weightlifting. Fighting. Loyalty. Devotion. Integrity. Marksmanship. Night. Consistency

Dislikes: Narcissism. Traitors. Wookies. Undisciplined. Daylight. Cowards. Chauvinists. Misogynists

Habits: Regular training schedule.

Relationships/Love Interests: N/A

Companions: N/A

Masters: Lord Solus (former)

Apprentices: Terrogate

Reputation: His only reputation is that of being trained by one of the most well-respected tacticians and fighters in the Galaxy, Lord Solus. He has been afforded a couple of missions that have been successful, but has yet to distinguish himself from the crowd

Biography: I never knew my birth parents. I have worn a leather necklace on which was attached a pair of twin crystals for as long as I can remember. They were merely an indication of who my birth family may have been. I didn’t know what the crystals were nor what their power was. Never have I asked anyone about them for fear of having them stripped from my possession. I only knew that the crystals would speak to me at night when I was trying to sleep and would whisper horrible things to me. Filling my subconscious with nightmares of the most unimaginable sort…

Based on my human appearances, I assume that my parents hailed from somewhere on or near Coruscant. Yet, I was far from being a normal human. I had no interest in pursuing politics or being an entrepreneur. I didn’t wish to join the massive Army. However, I do pride myself on being a very skilled hunter. Having been raised by Trandoshans, I learned to hunt via our ceremonial rite of passage. We hunted everything. Jedi, Womp Rats, Wookies, etc. You name it, I probably have a mounted trophy of it. Don’t ask me why my adopted parents, Gha Rahkts and Nare Sham, chose to adopt me because, quite frankly, I don’t know myself. According to my father (for whom I am named), he supposedly went on his ceremonial hunting expedition and I was his selected prey. I don’t remember any of this but, according to my father, I was able to elude him. I foiled his every attempt at capture and slaughter. He told me there was something almost supernatural about my ability to avoid him. After all, I was only a toddler, there was no reason for me to understand any of what was going on at the time…

I said my goodbyes and boarded the ship that was to take me to an undisclosed location. It was a small single-man ship. Similar to an X-wing fighter but, without the weaponry or the option for an R-2-unit co-pilot. Immediately after my boarding the ship, the voices that had only spoken to me in my dreams, began to speak to me and visions plagued my mind. Muttering unimaginable things. From the vilest of insults to mere schoolyard taunts. I saw images of the only two people I had ever loved, my mother and my father, being brutally tortured and murdered. For ages, I travelled in that cursed ship. For ages, I dealt with the images set before my eyes. For ages, the insults were screamed in my ears. For ages, the images got more gruesome and the insults grew more hostile until I could feel myself approaching the razor’s edge: the brink of sanity and insanity. I separated my skin from my bones; dug at my flesh like a schizophrenic with a razor blade. To this day, my fingers trace scars that lace up and down my arms; the scars that run up and down my legs; the scars that web across my chest; and the scars that distort my face. Scars that mapped out reminders of just how much I was able to take. I mutilated myself until I was nearly unrecognizable when even I looked at myself in a mirror. Daily, death crooned in my ear. Yet, no matter the torture or pain I put myself through, I got no rest. No relief, from every sensation that plagued me. Death was on the doorstep and yet, I was unable to let her in…

Instantaneously, all the cloaked figures in the room rose and spun in my direction. Their bright red blades ignited. I ignited my blades and they all began to attack in a fury. The swift and seamless motions of acquired my blades cut them to pieces. A dense white fog began to engulf me and choked the life out of my cloaked enemies. The mists poured into my sabers changing each blade’s color to a deep blood-red. The steady hum of energy that was once emitted from the blades, gave way to a crackling and hissing, eerily reminiscent of the agonized wails of my recently vanquished foes. The fog cleared and I stood amongst hundreds of pure-white skeletons whose life forces had given in to my blades. The figure in the mask came down from the pulpit and quickly accelerated into a run towards me…

Doubled-over, out-of-breath, sweating profusely, muscles-aching. I trained and trained and trained under the watchful eye of my newfound teacher.



“Again” Darth Solus called.



I continued with the exercises he had outlined hours earlier getting sloppier and sloppier with each attempt due to my ever-growing fatigue. But, I continued to press forward so as to not disappoint Solus and to prove that I will never give up. After all, persistence is one of my strongest qualities. But, I had never encountered training quite like this. Darth Solus combined intense physical tasks with learning all forms of saber fighting. All that compounded with my routine weapons familiarization and proficiency training, made for long and exhausting days. My day would begin before the sun rose over Korriban to awaken the planet. My first exercise after stretching and meditation was to run for as long as I could and as soon as I could feel myself getting tired to run faster and rely on the Force to carry me and I would run until I physically collapsed. Solus used the Force to flit alongside me, effortlessly, and would bring me back to our small compound for the first of three meals and a short hydration period. Immediately following this was self-defense and hand-to-hand combat training. Darth Solus was an expert in three forms of martial arts, anyone with said capabilities was labelled a deadly weapon by the Empire and could not provoke any fights. That being said, Solus would always say that while he may never start a fight, he’ll finish one every time…



STR (Strength): 11

FPR (Force Power): 11

DEX (Dexterity): 13



INT (Intellect): 10

CON (Constitution): 12

MAN (Manipulation): 12



PER (Perception): 11

DES (Destiny): 10

Rank/Level: Level 25 Sith Knight

Base Class: Assassin

Subclass: Stalker

Prestige Class: TBD

Skills:

Saber Combat – 1

Form I: Shii-Cho – 2

Form II: Makashi – 2

Form IV: Ataru – 2

Jar’kai – 2

Augmentation – 1

Jump: 2

Speed: 2

Telekinesis – 1

Push/Pull: 2

Telepathy – 1

Mind Shield: 2

Shock – 1

Lightning: 1

Contort: 2

Emptiness: 2

Reflex: 2

Conceal Essence: 2

Stealth: 2

Shadow Armor: 2

Cloak: 2

Dim Other’s Senses: 2

Godlike Skill –

Ghost: 0 (Intended to be first godlike skill learned, when points are available)



 

Volacius

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

The mood just outside the Sith Temple changed in an instant. The power struggle that had been the center of the past two years and the reason for the banquet that Apollyon had organized just… stopped. The tensions that were about to come to a head as Volshe made her play to save the Federation leaders, the sudden, flamboyant arrival of Darth Hesper and her entourage of deadly Sith Lords, and the protestations of Apollyon no longer mattered. The plan that Volacius had begun to formulate to find Lord Nathemus and in doing so ensure his own survival in the event that Volshe and Hesper clashed fell to the wayside, scrapped like the endless husks of rusted starships that rested on Bracca’s surface. Any conflict between contenders to Dreadwar’s throne had been temporarily abandoned as each and every Sith standing outside the Temple turned their eyes to the sky.

They watched as a thousand pyramidal starships appeared, each suspended ominously in the distance.

The Dark side of the Force swelled, a tremor Volacius knew he could not be alone in detecting. The Mirialan’s heart was pounding in his chest like the marching of all the Empire’s innumerable legions as he felt the power wash over him. But this was not like anything he had ever experienced. Normally, he felt exhilarated by the churning of emotion; rage, fear, hatred, all of it gave him the energy he wanted—he needed—to burn his enemies to cinders.

Not this time. There was no anger, no fury to coax him into a blood-soaked rampage like his battles against the Jedi. There was only his own uneasy, dreadful breaths and fear like a wall of impenetrable phrik threatening to crush everyone and everything in its path; a wall composed of black, featureless pyramids.

Volshe addressed the crowd once more, a sense of dread in her voice and stance that it did not seem she was at all trying to hide. A chill ran down Volacius’ spine as the Empress spoke, the realization hitting him harder than her words of warning.

Empress Volshe is afraid.

Thoroughly unsettled, the Mirialan’s eyes darted to his former master, and his stomach dropped as he observed a similar reaction from him.

Lord Kain is afraid.

Sweat began to soak into the Rear Admiral’s tunic, and instinctively his hand slid around the deep black cloth that entwined the hilt of his ancient sword. As Volshe began to give orders to her supporters, Volacius drew his sword to his side, the etched runes on each side of the blade flaring to life with pulses of orange and indigo. Passion, strength, power, victory. These were the words written in the ancient language of the Sith on the unnaturally-strong metal of the weapon. They were words he had lived by, words that assured him of his victory each and every time he had entered battle. For the first time since he’d retrieved the sword on Lotho Minor, Volacius wondered if those words would be enough.

The call of his former master ripped his gaze from his looming foe, a threat that had inspired more fear in the Mirialan than the Jedi, or the Sith for that matter, had ever managed in all his years of strife. “I will follow your lead, my Lord!” Volacius responded.

The Mirialan Sith quickly rallied to Kain’s side, the realization that the Beloved Prince was carrying two of the loathsome Federation prisoners wholly overtaken by his desire to survive the coming confrontation. With his free hand, Volacius took his holocommunicator from his belt, tapping the device to contact his flagship in orbit. He was willing to sacrifice his ship if the situation called for it, but if he could preserve the Angelus Mortis and her seasoned crew for the battles ahead, he had to at least try.

Angelus Mortis,” Volacius barked, “this is Admiral Volacius. An armada of hostile warships has arrived. If the claims of Empress Volshe are to be believed, they are deadlier than almost any ship in orbit. Your orders are to survive. Retreat from the system if you can, but in any case, survive; by any means necessary. I will attempt to rendezvous with you at a later time.”

Volacius did not wait for an acknowledgement. He couldn’t. He had to be alert, ready to heed Lord Kain’s commands and to combat this new enemy should they decide to make a landing. And if they do decide to land and challenge Lord Kain and I, Volacius thought to himself, drawing once again from the veritable well of hate and pain he had stored up over the years, They will witness my fury as they burn to ash.

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

Well-known member
Moderator
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
Immortalis
IC Darth Drakul Xarxes


He had seen it coming. One moment the Force had begun to darken around him, seeping shadows into the corner of his vision. In the next, shadows that were all too real dotted the landscape of Korriban, cast by great black pyramids blotting out the light from above.

He knew nothing of what this could be, save that it was dark, far darker, and more potent than anything present, and it did not follow anyone on the ground below.

Several now moved towards shelter, starships, or battle positions. Even Darth Viscretus was afraid.

Volshe? Afraid?

Despite his vehemence for the Empress of the New Galactic Empire, there was no denying that she bore power more significant than all others present. For her to be displaying fear could only mean one thing: to stay was to die.

The Nightfather heard the voice of the Winged Sith before him. Getting onto one of those vessels? Were they mad? Were they all mad? Darth Hesper and her entourage stood at the ready, sabers and pikes poised for an incoming attack. The first to act, the first to ready themselves against the inevitable enemy. He admired their courage. It would do them no good if they all died here.

His Master’s heeding echoed in his ears, and he wholeheartedly agreed with her. Action had to be taken, even if it was a violation of the orders Hesper had only just given.

The mountainous man rushed to the side of the Dark Lady, breaching the ring of his Hesperian Guard, Zyldek following close behind. Placing a hand on Hesper’s shoulder, he breathed the words, barely audible above the din of rushing Sith.

No, Darth Hesper. Now is not the time for valor. That comes later.

Screen Shot 2021-08-27 at 8.01.01 PM.png

And at that, he began to grip the bond between them, tugging at her power to bolster his own. He hoped she would sense his intention, or at least understand that what he did now was for the benefit of them all. If she, Skyllan, and the others could intuit it enough, they might even be able to rally their remaining allies to follow his command.

Hesper’s power was immense, far more robust than his own, and its tap nearly overwhelmed him at his first gaze into it. The bond between them strained at the transfer of power, threatening to loose the unbreakable cord of the Force they shared, yet it persisted. Through the tension, he reached out, attempting to encapsulate all surrounding him within his power. Hesper, Draconis, Invadator, Skyllan, Vexx, Arach, Zyldek, Cassir, and the assembled Guard. All of them would be ensnared and protected by his guiding veil, should he succeed.

And in his mind, though his soul trembled under stress, he reached out for the place that Hesper had said to prepare for her: a beautiful world bearing the stain of ancient Sith presence and one where they would find sanctuary in their hour of need.




Bosthirda.


Abilities Used:
—Force Bond (4)
—Fold Space (4) [Beginning]

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

Omegon

Well-known member
𝝮 Omegon 𝝮

Trenches, Desrini District, Coruscant

There is no feeling greater than victory, than watching your enemies flee before you and hearing the sound of their agony filling your ears. And as the grenades erupted in the enemy trenches, Omegon was filled with that feeling of utter triumph. It was a symphony to him, a chorus of death and a choir of pain. The arithmetic of violence was what he specialized in, and he had solved the equation.

Indeed, soon after the first wave of explosions ended, he heard the ground erupt with a force enhanced bellow and the hypnotic screeching of the Maelibus, Shadowsun, who had tunneled into the back of the enemy trench, flanking and distracting them, leaving the federation forces vulnerable to a frontal assault as they struggled and died fighting against the infiltrated force. All according to plan, he mused. Omegon knew, however, that they would be unable to handle the enemy on their own. No, they would require assistance, and it was assistance that he would provide. And so, his assistant stepped forward, feeling his call. He was his master’s servant, and he knew his will.

“Go forth Pythonus, and lay waste. Show them the meaning of fear.” Omegon slipped his scabbard off his back and clipped it onto that of Pythonus. It could prove useful in the melee combat he would find himself in, while Omegon stayed back, coordinating, planning, and casting sorcerous curses upon the foes. Attached to the scabbard was a small bag, with various items to aid the assassin in his role. “Be careful, do not underestimate the Jedi. Take one of my Gauntlets as well, and wear it well.” His gauntlet hydraulics hissed as he removed it, and swapped gauntlets with his servant.

The gauntlet fit perfectly over Pythonus’s hand, and he flexed his fingers as Omegon slipped his servants gauntlet over his hand. “Hydra Dominatus, Omegon. They shall know terror like never before.” Omegon reached forward, clasping gauntlets with Pythonus and saying his farewells. As he stepped back, he heard the whizzing of speeders and the triumphant shouts of the Sith soldiers. Glancing back, he sighed in disappointment upon seeing the landed shuttles. It seemed he had not been able to turn the tide before the reinforcements arrived. No matter, he would demonstrate his worth regardless, taking the victory from the cold dead hands of the Jedi.

Drawing his pistol, Omegon stepped up above the trench line as swoop bikes flew past and Stormtroopers charged passed him. Aiming with precision, he began firing as he strode towards the enemy trench. He had no desire to engage the enemy Jedi in direct combat, but would instead stay back, directing the assault while Pythonus, Shadowsun, Rayge, and Deleritas took the fight to the Jedi. In the meantime, he used his helmet’s enhanced sensor system to scan the battlefield, searching for commanders or officers on the federation side. Telepathically, he reached out towards apprentice Sennec overhead, attempting to show him what he saw. Target the officers, he sent, and the rest of the force will crumble around them.

Continuing on his path, but staying behind the masses of Sith Soldiers, his eyes blazed and his mind raced as he thought up new and fresh tortures for the Jedi enemies. There was no limit to what he could do beyond his imagination, and with the Federation forces distracted by the charging lines of Sith… Well, it would be a pity to let such an opportunity go to waste, now wouldn’t it?


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IC: Pythonus
Location:

Death. There was no honor greater to Pythonus than to be granted the opportunity to bring this gift to the enemies of Omegon and the Sith Empire. He would give them the gift of a swift release, ending their pitiful existences without remorse. They should be grateful for the chance to die in combat against an agent of the true power of the galaxy, a warrior of the Sith Empire. Such a chance was rare, and surely, at least deep down, each of them knew that this was a privilege. And if they didn’t, well, that only made them more deserving of death.

Slipping two amulets from the bag he had been given, Pythonus offered up a prayer to the ancient gods of the Sith, thanking them for such a generous master. Omegon saw fit to protect him in combat, and these gifts were a sign of favor and blessing. Delicately, almost religiously, Pythonus put the two amulets around his neck and under his armor. The Glaive on his back, he left in place. He had more experience with his swords, and such a powerful weapon should be treated with reverence, only drawn at the most important of times.

And so, he drew his twin curved blades, watching as poison ran down their snakelike length, pooling on the edges. He would take many lives today, he knew. And these would be his instrument of destruction.

Pythonus leapt forward, hurtling down the tunnel made by Shadowsun and bursting out the other side, his shoulder plate tearing through rock and dirt in a veritable explosion of debris as he exited the other side. Around him, he saw nothing but chaos. Soldiers fell, Jedi fought, and targets raised their heads.

Silver flashed in the smoke as his blades tore the air in anticipation of an opponent. Three men were already dead on the ground, brains melted by Shadowsun’s terrifying roar. But many others still lived, only dazed or incapacitated by his sound. He stabbed his blade down at a federation soldier who was moaning in agony, before looking up at the Jedi facing Shadowsun. Young though the padawan was, Pythonus was sure the jedi was dangerous. After all, the Maelibus’s roar had not killed the child.

No matter. They would end this rebel together. Drawing his blades up into a prepatory stance, the Slayer turned his eyes to Shadowsun. “Shall we destroy this filth together, Knight? My fangs thirst for their flesh.” He extended his twin swords, eager to cut and reave, to end life and mangle bodies. Pythonus’s wrists sput, his blades flashing and dancing in the smoke of battle.

Moving forward, Pythonus circled the Padawan, aiming to keep himself at least 15 meters away at all time, and splitting the Jedi’s attention between himself and Shadowsun. “Come on then, child. Show us why you merit our presence.”


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Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Oberleutnant Deleritas, @Senec Tinople, @Rayge, @Dorrian Shadowsun
 
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“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”



― Frank Herbert, Dune​


IC: I-Ron- The execution grounds of Korriban. Ground Zero for The Event.

intensE silence as the black oily pyramids waltzed into the system, hundreds of black arrows of eldritch proportions finally reached the great beast the sitH was, now like a victim of a particularly horrid acupuncture session was beginning to bleed in fear, unable to move while even more and more black needles nested into the skin.





I-roN would have assumed it was another warlike faction of the sitH. likE there are many of them, thE vapidS, the blackS, the redS, those who live in thulE, those who live in kesH. hundredS of them, and all of them were basically the same flavor of juice but with a different color. alL of them dancing with red shoes until they exhaust themselves in a powerful concert full of bravado and macho might that afforded them some time in the spotlight, to forever fade away in time and without anyone remembering them, really.





howeveR. thE ships were unique in shape, far away from view yet distinct enough. I-roN gazed at the sitH templE in front of him, triangular in shape. nO. A pyramid. likE the ships. waS that the chariot of god? waS he returning from beyond the shadows ready to impart wisdom upon all? cominG in as a wild hunt, spiritual ships that did not appeared on any radar nor used any hyperspacE engine or sublight engine to move





buT the sheer powerful terror of the sitH collective persuaded I-roN from prostrating himself in adoration in front of those wild chariots. hE wanted to join them as an apocalypse preacher, but no orders from high command told him to do so. hE was praying, yet the voice of god was not in his head at that time.





saD, he wanted to be taken by that wild black phantasmal pyramid shaped chariot. nO one allowed I-roN to have any fun.





everyonE was on high alert, he wondered why still. whaT other sith faction was more powerful than the lot of them united?





thaT's when he simply assumed the forgone conclusion.





aT least three or four sitH factions (with considerable power, the rest were not even registered but they were more) were inside the sands of korribaN. thE colors and even the flavor inside the rainbow where too much to even mix. goD, everyone hates bittersweet endings, and if those bitter and poisoned sithS joined with each other that was what we would get there.





noW, those blacK pyramidS moved as one.





onE.





fouR.





whO is better coordinated? witH a single soul and a single goal and a single arm to aim it all?





hespeR wanted to fight. volshE wanted to run. apollyoN wanted to not cry.





decisionS, decisions…



Then! His master ringed at his autoreceptors! Finally something clear to understand.



“I must leave, my Master is calling me” I-Ron muttered to Lady Apollyon. He hoped she would not understand, but first listen. He did not wanted to leave, and hoped for her to override the order so he could stay. But in the time being he started to walk towards where his Master was.


The throne room.


He started to listen to the audio feedback from his master´s commlink, it came with some feedback and came after the mental order because it was slower and less precise.


Clear as day, crisp and very detailed was the voice of Sol, her own apprentice there in the throne room, with the rest of the Empress entourage. With Nihl, and the kids. By God, the kids of Dreadwar. They had to be protected. Yet, what was she doing there? Where was Karin?


“What is my apprentice doing with the Empress?” I-Ron asked himself, not oud loud but with the chirping of the metal and electricity in his body. Sparkles that, if anyone touched him, would cause all the hair on the body to shrivel up full of static. The rage at the unknown factors. The secrets that were kept from apprentice to Master. It made him proud in a certain sordid way, for he was an inquisitor and she was her apprentice. That thing was hidden from his eyes, he should have not been so careless with her. He, the Electric Eye of the inquisitorium did not knew something so important. What other secrets did she had? The inquisitorial need to know drove him into opening a channel with the force to pick and see into her mind, maybe or maybe not letting her know he was inside her.


She was an apprentice, he was the master. The right to privacy and personal space was forfeited when she partook in the induction test of the Gom Jabbar.


He aimed a mental dagger towards her, aiming for her amygdala, using as a coundict the bond between the master and the apprentice, delivering a not deadly but insidious cargo with it.


He wanted to know.


Powers Used: Force Bond-3, Probe Mind-3.



IC- Karin Welko-Throne Room.


Entering into the throne room was horrible for her. All her world becoming smaller and smaller, the scale of the stars was not to be determined now that she was without the force to aid her in her studies. She was, last week after Sol´s last task, training with I-Ron how to “see” the objects in other less rigid structures of time. Psychometry. But she never finished the task, for it was time for the preparations of the Sith Banquet that now here they were trapped in.


She saw Sol walking around looking for a child. But she could not be bothered to run towards her, only a mild walk like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.


There she saw those two weirdos with the giant holocron. She was not trying to hide herself, but stood behind them as they were messing with the big holocron, as big as her slender body really, but made of perhaps stone and so they were struggling to hold it. She could not help with TK of her own, she was cut off.


But, an avid historian like her recognized the woman in the holorecording. Bastila Shan, wife of the late Revan. Interesting things she was talking about. She wondered what could it be. Assumed to be Vitiate´s Empire, perhaps? She was not recalling all the facts now. No one was pressing her for details, and so she felt relief, even if her eyes were lit as a beacon calling a far away kingdom for aid.


She shrugged off and followed Sol. She was close with the Lords as the commotion came in, the whole arena outside falling into a deep sepulchral silence that scared her to her core. Sith´s not making a sound, then an overwhelming sound of “cry havoc “ and murmurs of fear. Everything was chaos outside, hundreds of screamings of differentes natures devolving into nigh unreadable uncertainty.


“Hail, My Lords.” She said as per the culture went. Bowing like a fair lady while doing so. Then, when she had the chance, she glared at Sol. Shooting venom like a scorpion into the back of a frog while doing so, her expression of pure contempt not hiding the fact that she hated her completely, to the core.



“Master sent me looking for you, you know.” She said that in the same tone someone spat on the floor, then gazed at the kid. “You know he wont like it, Red. Want to lose all those good girl points you have?” She said the loudest part in the most quiet and reserved tone she could muster herself to use, trying so the Lords would not be bothered by the rivalry of two apprentices. “Anywhere you go, I go.”


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