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

[Oberleutnant Deleritas]

IC: Deleritas
Location: Coruscant

Deleritas played little role in rounding up the remaining Feds. He had dealt with them enough. Instead, he turned his attention to collecting his men and checking on the ambush teams. He counted every helmeted head and looked around. It appeared that all were accounted for, and each trooper gave him a respectful nod. There was an unspoken understanding between them, despite the circumstances, the Sith Knight had wanted the situation to afford him another choice. Once he had ensured that their numbers had not been depleted and that the injured were properly attended to, he sought Commander Threntel. Now was the time to continue formulating strategies to ensure that the war was won.

Commander Threntel came over Deleritas’ comms, “Knight Deleritas, have your me-“ His message was cut off. Deleritas immediately tried to get comms back up. Fearing the worst, Deleritas tried to speak to the commander, “Commander, I missed that last part. What do you need me to do?” Deleritas hardly finished his sentence when he felt frozen in his position. His cadaverous pallor betrayed an aura of foreboding as all the color drained from his face. What’s happening? His sight grew dim, and everything felt heavy. He strained against the feeling was able to turn slightly. Everyone else had frozen in place too. The moments seemed to last an eternity as each soul appeared to experience a million life sentences of torture in mere minutes. The voices Deleritas strove to harness, went unbridled once more. Hurling insults in his head and Delertias was powerless to shut them out.

Enduring every comment, every slur, every name in the common language and in Trandoshan. Revisiting memories from when he was a mere child on Trandosha. The only human that many had ever encountered. Constantly rejected by the Trandoshan youths and forced to be an outsider. Then the visions started. Imagery of his Master being slaughtered. Flashes of the mutilated bodies of his parents. Worse yet, frame-by-frame sequences of people within the Empire taking turns attacking his parents and leaving them for dead. Deleritas couldn’t shake his head. Deleritas couldn’t cover his ears. He had to endure. Suddenly everything stopped. He felt free to move, but something drove him to look up into the sky. A massive, celestial hand began to overtake the Coruscant sky and cityscape. Reducing all in its path to nothingness. NO! IT CAN’T BE! Deleritas did what he could to bark orders out to those that remained and were able to move.

“ALRIGHT, WE GOTTA MOVE! WE ONLY HAVE A HANDFUL OF OPTIONS AND, IF WE AREN’T QUICK, WE WON’T MAKE IT OUT OF HERE ALIVE. GRAB A BIKE AND GRAB A MAN! GET TO THE NEAREST TRANSPORT AND/OR STARCRUISER AND GET THE HELL OFF THIS PLANET!”

Once Deleritas had finished giving commands, he ensured that he, too, did as he instructed. Pandemonium ensued. Troopers weren’t coming out of their daze the same. They weren’t calm, cool, and collected. They were attacking each other. Blasters were aimed at any living thing as they fought and clawed to get a speeder. Deleritas grabbed a trooper that hadn’t come to yet and threw him on the back of his speeder. Deleritas charged through the blaster fire, weaving left and right to get out of the restaurant. Hurtling over the edge, Deleritas saw the chaos below. Everyone on the planet had the same thought process. GET OUT NOW! Prisoners scratched and clawed at their restraints in desperate attempts to free themselves. Stumbling over each other. Omegon, Rayge, and Dorrian fled as fast as their legs could carry them in the direction of the MA-AT that Omedgon had flown in on. Senec plummeted to the ground and made a move to return to his gunship as well.

Revving the engine and ripping open the throttle, Deleritas sped towards the MA-AT carrying the others in a seemingly futile attempt to escape the void. Screaming at the top of his lungs, “DON’T LEAVE WITHOUT ME!!” Deleritas despised the words as they left his lips, but he didn’t have time to rethink his phrasing. Death loomed on the horizon and if he weren’t quick, it would all be over. Dipping and bobbing over cracked duracrete and fragmented durasteel Deleritas soared towards that MA-AT as take-off preparations commenced. ALMOST…THERE… Deleritas strained the limits of machine and man. Praying to any god that could hear that he would live to see another day. He could see Dorrian and Rayge waving frantically to board the transport as the ramp began to rise. Deleritas made a split-second decision to leap from the speeder and slip through the gap between the ramp and transport. The ship rocked as the speeder collided with its hull and exploded.

“LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!” Deleritas cried, crawling to his hands and knees from his sprawled position. “TODAY IS NOT OUR DAY TO DIE!”

Tags:
@Darth Dreadwar @Kint Dranlor @Dorrian Shadowsun @Senec Tinople
@Rayge @Darth Vesper

 

[Kielor]

IC: Kielor
Location: Hutta Town, Nar Shaddaa
136ABY

Tearing his view away from the Zabrak, the young man bounds over the barrier and into the sky lanes. Scrambling down, he finds small hand holds created by transfer conduits and piping, as he makes his way closer to the smouldering wreckage. The neon glare of nearby signage paints the evening traffic flow in vibrant pinks, purples and green, augmented by the vivid luminescence of the speeders as they sail through the warm night air. He leaps forward to grasp a holonet cable which connects a series of buildings in the bustling heart of Huttatown, scaling hand over hand rapidly before leaping out again to close the distance to the adjoining building, rolling as he lands on the open terrace.

The Metrocab was torn wide open, the back of the speeder appeared to have been peeled from the front, as though it had been twisted in two by giant spectral hands. The wreckage had gouged a furrow as wide as Kielor’s youthful frame into the building’s surface. The screams from inside the building indicated a man was injured, the tone of his anguish deep and sonorous. Response droids had already begun descending on the building, spraying fire retardant foam onto the smoulding hulk, and stabilisers onto the shattered facade of the building.

A piercing cry assaults his senses, and his attention is drawn to the rear of the cab, fractured and overhanging the precipice of the terrace. He leaps over the mangled wreckage to assess the danger, finding a youthful woman clinging to the crash webbing of what is left of the rear compartment of the speeder.

“Hold on!” He yells, hurdling over wreckage to reach the shattered remnants of the passenger compartment. Reaching out to grasp the terrified young lady, an ear piercing screech of metal fills the mid levels of Huttatown, as part of the vehicle tears away and begins to fall toward the ground levels, so many kilometres below. The woman shrieks, reaching out toward Kielor, their eyes locked. Hers, filled with terror. His, filled with determination.


IC: Apprentice Kielor
Dungeons beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban
Present

Saw that coming, thought Kielor, as what had initially appeared to be a truce rapidly revealed itself to be a ruse. The bolts of violet lightning wracked the body of Master Xiannarr, and Kielor’s nostrils were filled with the scent of singed hair and charred flesh.

The Apprentice tightened, bracing for an attack directed at himself to come from the enraged Overseer. He pushed with the darkside, channeling all that he could muster, to create a defensive barrier to any offensive use of the force, while maintaining a heightened readiness to physically evade. He knew now that he would not be able to land a mark on the Overseer, and part of him regret committing to side with Xiannarr. He had thought this a good opportunity to increase his prestige among the Academy, however with the unknown dread descending upon the entire temple, and the urgent plea from the tunnels, he wished that he had just followed the orders that he’d been given. He knew not what horror may have befallen Keres below. He knew that had he followed, that they may both be dead. There was certainly part of him that felt guilt for not having been with her though. It ate at him; fed his anxieties. It was heavy on his shoulders. An unseen and intangible weight pressing against the muscles of his chest. There, but not there.

Now was not the time for such
feelings.

“You son of a shutta!” Came the bellow from Xiannarr, rousing Kielor from his ruminations. The Dread Master lashed out with each hand, one after the other, attempting to wield the force in unseen ways to bring an end to the wounded Overseer. Don’t engage, Kielor internalised. Xiannarr was brutally clear that he was not to get in his way, and while he had not immediately obeyed the summons from Lady Apollyon, Kielor was a good soldier, and good soldiers follow orders.

The deathly tension which had curbed the Apprentice’s actions was immediately shattered by the piercing cry of a woman’s voice from within the tunnels. His eyes shot to the entry to the stairwell which Keres had descended, as the screeching howl muttered in some unknown tongue. Expecting to see some hideous monstrosity clamber through the entryway, he reached out immediately upon seeing the injured frame of Keres Dymos emerge behind Marcus; his empty hand grasping flaccidly tthe young woman. A steel weapon slashed behind her, clearly intending to finish what had begun in the tunnels, as it rang hard against the stone of the dungeon floor.

We’re all in this now, he thought, wondering how things would develop between the two masters now that there was another threat to be managed. Keres was clearly injured, and Kielor could see that she wouldn't handle much more punishment. He channeled his energy into the force to attempt to telekinetically assist Keres forward and away from her assailant, or assailants, as yet he was not sure. If he was able to bring her to him he could apply medical aid, to at least slow the bleeding. He had wound dressings and bacta spray in his flightsuit, but he suspected he wouldn’t have much time to administer treatment. Whoever, or whatever, had attacked her in the tunnels below was about to burst forth into the hall.

Powers used:
Force resistance (2)
Telekinesis (2)

Powers still in use:
Feed on the Darkside (2)

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Keres Dymos @Undying Master Xiannarr

 

[Darth Vesper]

IC: Darth Vesper
Location: Between Dex’s and beyond the Pizza the Hutt.

Star Wars Episode 2 Complete Score | "Zam is Eliminated" (Film Version)

*The Interim*​

As they made their way to their next vantage point, opposite from where they had arrived, far beyond the Pizza the Hutt, Vesper blocked a few stray blaster fire with her crimson blade. Viscretus’ voice rang in over the holo on Vesper's comms as another blaster fire pinged and met its target. The message was clear. Enact protocol zeta-krill-four-three-seven. Operation: Darkfire. As she passed Delertias, the Sith Lord took one glance and the two exchanged a nod. Vesper and her Imperial guards continued on. Once beyond a certain point there seemed to be a lull in the fighting. They had to be close, she could sense it. The chaos was behind them and night was closing in fast. Inhaling sharply as she came around to a clearing, her nostrils flared as they burned with the sharpness of the aroma of war. There. The shuttles. Right on time.

The Imperial Guards closed in around Vesper as she made her way upon the shuttle and sealed herself and her guards inside. Alone at last, quiet, at last. Yet it would not be for long. Vesper took to the inner chamber of the shuttle and steadied her footing on the durasteel beneath her boots. She rolled her head around on the joint of her neck and shook her arms out releasing the energy from the battle she had just fought through. Another inhale and her eyes fell closed. It was not black as many would have seen or perceived. No, it was far from pitch black behind her eyes. She could see everything. Hear, everything. Feel all the interweavings of the Force. She sensed every lifeform on the planet, yet there was something...something she couldn’t put a finger on, dark and foreboding, like meeting one's death.

Children of Dune Soundtrack - 27 - Sign of the Bene Gesserit

She would not ignore it, but she had orders to carry out and carry them out she would.

Stretching outwards within the confines of energy she radiated power and strength into all those fighting alongside them. Seemingly an intrinsic force that was lost within each one now rose to life once more. The battle continued on and night began to fall and an image came before Vesper’s inner eye. The Empress. Volshe. Viscretus. A powerful Dark Lady many considered the true Empress of the Sith.

Her very image Vesper made appear over every holo and transmission in Coruscant. She spoke the Empress’ words through her own lips, yet all anyone heard was that of Empress Viscretus herself.

“The war is over. Coruscant is safely in the hands of the New Galactic Empire.”

There was a measured pause, the image projected her hands clasping at her waist on the holoscreen. She was dressed in white, blonde hair tumbling down to her shoulders.

Serenity and power.

“But we are not safe yet. There is another threat. The Empire is enacting Operation: Darkfire. A ceasefire has been extended to the Federation, by my order, and we shall prepare for what may come. We shall face this with strength, and we shall certainly emerge victorious.”

Rand Ko made for the cockpit and began take off procedure as night fell on Coruscant. He hovered low, heading back towards Deleritas’ location as those who had opposed them admitted their defeat. The ground troops were being ordered by Delertias as the shuttle came up on him. “Ko to Knight Deleritas, incoming transport. Prepare for evac.” Vesper opened her eyes and overheard Deleritas’ voice crackle over comms “NO. IT CAN’T BE.”

The Ashes Will Be Woken

Weakness shook within her knees as the darkness she had sensed prior expanded over her like she was suffocating. She felt the memories wash over her that she had long since buried. The marking on her back glowed furiously, the reminder that she had once belonged to him. But she didn’t. She didn’t belong to him and had not in over a hundred years. And where was he now? Gone. Lost in the Force. No one knew for sure.

Vesper forced herself upon her feet and stumbled into the cockpit using the leather seats for extra support. Her gaze wandered out the viewport in time to see Deleritas barely make it into another shuttle and his voice call out on the comms. “TODAY IS NOT OUR DAY TO DIE!”

“Get us out of here.” Vesper gasped out the order, her arm wrapped around her midsection, her stomach sick, sections of dark hair falling into her face as she struggled to keep the memories at bay. The Mind Witch did her best to make it seem like they were still on the ground below, cloaking their appearance as they lifted off the ground. She hoped her shuttle and Deleritas' crew would make it in one piece.



Powers used in the interim:

Battle Meditation
Sith Illusions

Powers used in the present:

Sith Illusions.


TAG: @Rayge @Dorrian Shadowsun @Kint Dranlor @Senec Tinople @Oberleutnant Deleritas @Darth Dreadwar @Admiral Volshe

 

[Grievance Vexx]

IC- Lord Grievance Vexx
Location- Korriban, Sith Temple

Vexx is still fighting a reeling head and roiling nausea by the time he rejoins Draconis and the General as they fight their way after Hesper toward the temple. His vision is swimming and the tinnitus only adds to the disoriented feeling. Fortunately, he has enough fight left in him to keep his wits sharp as he dispatches a straggling skeleton with his talons. He tries to anchor his focus on the fight in order to forget his injuries, but apparently, his master has other plans.

The Kaleesh barely hears Draconis’s shout aimed at drawing his attention off the battlefield and toward safety. How Vexx hates to retreat, but he finds that he doesn’t exactly trust himself or his skills right now—not with his head spinning like it is. And so Grievance Vexx follows his master and Reiis Invadator up the temple steps and into the stone walls of a hopeful place of respite from the nightmarish onslaught that seems to be without end.

Once inside, the Krigsbefallaf moves along the nearest wall, in part to guard his back and partially to support himself, having lost confidence in his own balance. Extinguishing his lightsabers, he slumps to rest his shoulder against the wall and closes his eyes to block out the tilting of the room. He startles noticeably with a feral snarl akin to that of a wounded animal as the General presses her hand against the visibly dented durasteel plates over his skull. As she bids him not to argue, his snarl dissipates to a soft growl that is more instigated by pain than a true sense of “get away from me”.

The Force feels both warm and cooling at the same time as it seems to know exactly where and what type of injury the Kaleesh has sustained. The tinnitus rises to a crescendo as the healing passes from Invadator to himself and he visibly cringes under the maddening sound only he can hear. He doesn’t realize this deafening whine is not only suffered by him alone, nor does he know that it is not simply caused by his own lifelong affliction. He has suffered this for so long that the disturbance in the Force seems to blend right into it, but it is maddening...oh, so very maddening.

“After all these years, you still fight me,” a voice unspoken penetrates the tinnitus. Only Vexx can hear it and though he could never describe what the voice sounds like, he recognizes it all the same: the firm but gentle presence of the Force, rebuking his stubbornness as it had so many times in his younger days. “Accept this gift from your comrade. You do not have to tough this out. Relax. Trust...”



A final growl releases in what almost sounds like a defeated sigh, but Vexx is far from defeated. As the Force relieves the pressure of the injury to his brain, Vexx opens his eyes to find the room is still and he is no longer plagued by pain or sickness. Though the dent to the durasteel over his head remains, he is whole once more and the tinnitus, though still there and still amplified by something more, feels more tolerable for now.

“Thank you, General,” he says softly. He is about to say something more, but then the skeleton ghoul—who is apparently as stubborn as he is in regards to death—shambles its way toward them. Instinctively, Vexx shoves Invadator behind him so he is between her and the ghoul and erects Force Barrier to hopefully shield both of them from more friendly fire as Lord Xxys tries to put down the nuisance undead creature with a series of Force attacks. In the event that the ghoul is able to continue its advance anyway, Vexx ignites one of his lightsabers with a Makashi flourish, ready to reinforce Xxys’s strikes with strikes of his own if necessary.

Powers attempted:
Force Barrier (+4)

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar, @dragonsith13, @Reiis Invadator, @Darth Xxys, @corinthia (mentioned only)

 

[Cardun Vrek]

IC: Darth Mavros
Hanger Bay, Temple of the New Sith Order, Korriban


Instinctively, Mavros took a step back and raised his lightsaber in a defensive posture as something ran out from between the canisters. Upon realising it was merely a droid, he deactivated his lightsaber and relaxed slightly, hooking the inactive hilt back onto his belt. He gave Reatith a rather superior look, then turned back to the droid without comment. That will teach him to open his mouth and doubt my words. He’s lucky Lord Solus is here. Mavros thought to himself.

The droid was of an unusual design, though Mavros recognised it as being a creation of the long lost Rakata, having taken a great deal of interest in their empire during his time at the Sith Academy. After all, it had been in an ancient Rakatan ruin on his home planet of Dantooine that he had been first awakened to the Dark Side of the Force.

What he could not recognise, however, was what the droid was attempting to communicate to them. It was making a series of rather strange spluttering noises, which were rather uncomfortable to listen to. The droid clearly belonged to someone important due to its gold plated chassis, but why exactly it was in the hangar bay was a mystery to him. Either its vocoder is faulty, or some idiot set it to speak a language only they know. Rakatan droids were normally programmed with the languages of the various species the ancient imperialists had enslaved, but Mavros could not understand the language that it was attempting to communicate with now.
He sighed, and massaged his temple, slightly frustrated.

They had made it to the hanger bay, gathered the younglings, and secured it, just like Empress Viscretus had ordered them to. But where was everyone? Apart from Lord Solus and Reatith, no other Sith aside from Mavros had yet reached the hanger. All they had found was a droid babbling a nonsensical language. Which meant one of two things; the plan had changed and they did not know, or something had happened that had prevented the others from joining them. He shouted over to Lord Solus, deciding he may as well relay exactly what he had found.

“The Hanger is clear, My Lord. Nothing except this droid, and I can’t understand what it’s trying to communicate.”

They needed to figure out what was going on. A battle was raging, of that there could be little doubt, but from Viscretus’ instructions, she had not seemed very keen on lingering on Korriban for too long.

What had changed? Why had no one thought to inform them of such a change?

Where the Kriff was everyone?

I’m going to end up murdering someone today...I just don’t know who.

He glanced back at the droid, and decided he might as well try to tackle the communication problem head on. If this droid doesn’t stop spluttering this babble, I’m going to disassemble it. Violently.

“Droid, do you have any other language settings? We cannot understand your current communication. Switch to another method.” Mavros ordered, staring directly into the droids blinking yellow eye.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Solus, @Reatith Blodraald

 

[Jihadi Quartz]

God is there watching us, I-Ron said to himself. God is here, god is with us. In our darkest moments, he is with us to guide our swords, guide our efforts in this righteous jihad against this unknown enemy that preys upon us using our own weapons and history.


What Sith from the unknown region or the deep core, places where one could hide the making of such an army, was there to kill them all on this reckoning of wraiths?


But I-Ron knew better, he was a sword of the empire, the hand that takes the shield and raises the spear. Not long ago, a mere fraction of a second in the life of an immortal like him, was he trapped inside Tatooine, fighting the Yuuzhan Vong, besieged and abandoned by everyone he loved, but ready to fight to his last electrical spark, clawing at uncertainty with the malice of the dark side as his fuel, anger as his weapon more powerful than a hundred canons.


He was trapped inside once, a situation similar like this. And only the good grace of god helped him out that time. When the Krayt Dragon started attacking the Vongs in the midsts of a sandstorm, was a gift from God, the only chance for them to survive such an onslaught, the only thing in the world that saved the dire situation was a miracle, orchestrated by celestial wills eldritch and holy at the same time. Equal measure wickedness and righteous fury cursed thru the body of I-Ron that day and this day alike.


He heard the screaming in the force. That monumental truth was sifted through I-Ron´s own paradigm, inciting all those memories of desert warriors giving their all in the sand dunes, battling until dawn for their very survival in a siege against a powerful and unholy enemy, the makings of a holy war.


Then Empress Volshe and Lord Nathemus speaked to him.


But they were wrong, God-Emperor Dreadwar was not there to aid the enemy. No, he was a miracle incarnated, not following his ancient will was heresy. He was out there, doing battle with the countless hordes of eldritch zombies. And to doubt his capabilities, or even think one could match his power and go toe to toe with such an army like he was doing was also heresy.


People around him were powerful, jackals and wolves, wildcats and ocelots. With the gift of godlike powers that I-Ron was not allowed to match in any sort of way. With a wave of the hand they could rain death upon the land.


I-Ron was a predator, an eldritch sorcerer, an imperial inquisitor. He would fight like one, huddled up in the darkness of the temple, waiting for the reckoning to end, ready to attack when cornered. For he was a fox of the desert, and a cornered fox is more dangerous than a jackal!


The Shards that prayed to him, and in turn prayed to Dreadwar. With his circuitry mind he taped to them, he called them with the force, using his bond to them, to that Shard colony in Orax, calling them like one calls upon back up in order to reinforce himself. The pool of cold water was pierced, dancing around between being water and ice, freezing and moving inside the infinite river at the same time. I-Ron, in her true form, her Dread Shape, was able to touch with her fingers what was on the water and the shape of the water itself.


A great crystal formation, pure viridian green tinctured by the black depths of the ocean and its natural blue. A rainbow of cold colors, now being agitated by the dark machinations of I-Rons mind thru the force, a channel directly towards the million colony of Shards, a ritual of communion, a mass at midnight where one was addicted to the power of the deep.


-I call to you, I call to you.- I-Ron said in her channeling, trying to channel enough force of strength to drain the power of the prayers of the Shard colony in Orax. -A Knight needs an ally, a Sith needs strength, a Shard needs a friend.-


She wanted to fill herself with power, to be a dreaded dark point in the force and bursting with a superavit of strength in order to fuel the war to come, in order to be prepared to use and abuse the force and its powers, having prep time to be ready and in peak condition.


Whether her channeling was a success or not, I-Ron came back to the waking world after the communion, because she needed the power for the jihad to come, she had to use it, she had to be there.


She was in the Sith temple, being besieged by what she didn't know was the True Sith, not knowing that her god had betrayed the entire Sith Order.


The Shard then looked at Lord Voidwalker and his orders to stop the skeletons if they entered the temple. Looked at her apprentice Welko, then said: “I'm smarter than that, I won't do it.”


Then the Shard gazed at Sol, trying to calm himself, because Sol was a ravenous Dog, one that would betray the owner if the owner started to discipline the dog after years of pampering. With the most calm and detached voice a Shard could create with the voice recorder, still a human voice but with the subtle threat of shame and malice he said to her: “I gave you an order, if you want to follow it then come with me, I won't seek you anymore if you don't, if our time together meant something for you.”


Then, a small respite from the ensuing chaos happened.


A WEDDING!


God, for the first time in her life, finally Volshe did something I-Ron approved of, it was a time to cherish. His master surely felt the same, it was his family after all. And if his master would feel like that, then I-Ron would do the same. He started to clap for the ceremony, specially because Sol participated in it, I-Ron wanted so much to encourage her with a gaze but he did not, so much encouraging for a damaged girl only created a pampered wretch of a Sith that was very week by herself, and I-Ron would contemplate self harm because he knew he was to blame.


If a Shard could cry, he would for such an augustus moment. Weddings in the middle of a storm were always a good omen.


Sol has no agency of her own, but the will of others guiding her moves. Volshe, the Demon, perhaps Voidwalker if what Oron Kira said was true, and at last I-Ron, like the last unlucky straw with the least effect on her. No, he was not able to get over it, he could not get over it.


Some call it obsesion.


Some seek perfection as an unhealthy coping mechanism.


Maybe instead of her, he should have chastised Oron. Maybe if he would have gotten his hands on a better psychologist to track the emotional growth of Sol. Maybe if he would use other kinds of positive and negative reinforcement. Maybe, maybe Pavlov was not right. Maybe one can't just grow a person on ideals and stimuli alone. Maybe I-Ron just was not good enough to do all what he wanted to accomplish.


A small memory came to the Shards mind.


It was Halcyon, bloody hands, broken and battered face and ribs and legs. He was an utterly despicable person, a betrayer and betrayed. And he was dead. I-Ron killed him on a spiritual level. He showed him that no mater how strong he supposedly was, how many machines he built, how many girls he fucked and how many girls he abused, he was always a lesser man made from lesser materials. He was tested and tried, and weighted and pushed. And he was always found lacking. I-Ron clashed with him, and I-Ron defeated him, even if the Silicon Zealot was a lowly knight and he was an accomplished master.


No, I-Ron was good enough. He would not let the clouds of self hatred cloud him in his jihad.


He recoiled like a gun being fired, ready to do battle.


“Karin, come with me to the hangar. Master, we shall stay in touch, you know I can always hear you. Sol, you know deep down what to do. Marasiah, we live in a strange world, because I never believed I would fight side by side with an Imperial Knight, but if push comes to shove, I will personally aid you and stand side by side with you in combat. Empress Volshe, I will dedicate my personal Jihad on bringing back God back to our fold, I will not fail so I am not thinking on what to do if I fail. Voidwalker, I wish you the best of lucks in the war to come, I hope to see you alive and perhaps call you “friend” in the future.”


And then, he started to walk towards the hangar, to look for his weapons, for a new body, and perhaps signs of tampering also there, check the ships before moving onto another place.


“We are all in this suffering together.” He said to himself, trying not to think about religion now, hyperfocusing on this task at hand in order to not think about the implications of working with someone who should not be Empress, and an Imperial Knight, and to not think of Sol leaving him.


“Control, this is I-Ron” He said to the tower´s sensors array. “Tell me if there are cameras that are not active now, look for any blind spot or a video feed that could be tampered with and report to me ASAP.”


Powers Used: Force Drain-Passive, Force Bond.


@Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare

 

[Darth Thana]

IC: Darth Thana
Sith Temple, Korriban

Now that Thana had shifted back into a Zabrak she was finally able to catch her breath looking down at her tightly wrapped up forearm. Suddenly she heard the red skinned Twi'lek shout then leap past her head with speed and grace. The young zabrak turned as she felt the smallest amount of air shift pass her making eye contact towards the body of the twi'lek as she began to clash her saber against the lanvarok of the wild and frantic ghoul.

The dread Master's blood was still rapidly pumping as she had not had enough time to completely cool off, she quickly attempted to shield her body in the force as a precaution. Seeing that Lord Xxys and the Twi'lek were taking on one ghoul as they called for the other sith to pin it down, she turned to see Lord Pravum who had just taken metal discs to his flesh against another. The flame witch moved with haste adjacently to the vain Lord as she focused her mind raising both hands up and taking two deep breaths in. Here she wanted to wanted to unbalance the zombie keeping some distance away as she envisioned it shaking more and more, hopefully the shaking would increase faster. Thana wanted to telekinetically grasp the two ends of the ghoul and forcefully rip it apart then hopefully the shaking would continue until it completely exploded violently.

The Dread Master would pour in the stored up energy she received from abundance of negative emotions that she had just recently acquired from when she reverted to her true form in hopes that it together would pull of a true explosive display. She would wait to see if Pravum would join in her efforts if not it would of no worry as if her attack landed how she had quickly devised in her mind.

Powers Used:

Force Resistance -4
Force Rend -2
Flamusfracta -2
Feed on Dark Side (Use of stored energy)

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar @Reiis Invadator @Grievance Vexx @dragonsith13 @Darth Xxys @Helkosh @G.Kn

 

[Darth Cold]

IC: Hadzuska
Library, Sith Temple, Korriban


Hadzuska began to skim through the table of contents. Upon getting to Part III, he began to get excited, he was going to find the knowledge he seemed and then he could leave before anyone got the chance to look for him. Or even more important, before the betrayed Lord found him. Scrolling further he noticed a chapter in Part III that was most intriguing. The Left-Handed God. This. This he could use to get even more control of the cult. Information on the Old Gods that they probably don't know.

A grin began to grow across his face into a full blown smile. And then he began to scroll past the table of contents, only to find nothing. It was gone. It was all gone. Everything he had searched for. All the information he required. Gone. "NO!!! NO!!! I WILL NOT BE DENIED WHEN I HAVE COME SO CLOSE!!!" Hadzuska threatened the terminal, not thinking clearly at the moment. In frustration a sapphire blade with a black core is ignited as he swings it at the terminal. Swinging once, twice, thrice, four times, the terminal sparked and caught aflame as Hadzuska stalked to the door in anger.

Now he just wanted to cause problems for this damned place since he had been inconvenienced. A place filled with sadistic psychopaths that taught up and coming sadistic psychopaths had to have prisoners. Hadzuska decided he was going to let them loose to cause problems for the damned Temple whilst he left. But where would he find them? Probably on a lower level, but he'd have to look around more to be sure.


TAG: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Sith_Imperios]

IC: Darth Mirtis
Korriban, Outside the Sith Temple

The battlements were right before him. safety from the horde of nightmarish horrors. That was, until a blast of energy collided into Mirtis. He suddenly found himself falling along with Metus. He was stunned by the sudden attack, unknown to him it was Lord Catalyst that had been behind it though not on purpose. But before he could react to do something, the floor met his backside. The air ripped from his lungs as he struggled to breath, he saw those same horrors begin to descend upon him.

Pain... Anger... These emotions overwhelmed Mirtis, and his surroundings did nothing to ease the caged feeling began to set in. He felt pain shoot from the attacks of the ghouls, and retaliated. The air returned to his lungs as he breathed hard inward, he felt pain surge from his ribs. He roared in pain, letting a force shockwave loose trying to off balance his enemies. Mirtis attempted to grab the Metus' body and summon the force into his body, mainly his legs. He held on to Metus' body over his left shoulder as he attempted to leap upward into flight, trying to reach the battlement once again. Determined to survive at any costs.

Powers attempted:
Force Shockwave-1
Augmentation-4
Levitation-4

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus,

 

[Darth Sedicious]

IC: Darth Sedicious
Location: Aboard the TIE Reaper
​

The torturous snapping distance of a million miles between his mind and body and the sickening collapse of the bridge—scarred by innumerable eldritch terrors birthed doubtlessly from the chilling vacuum of endless night—which his awareness traveled upon was enough to make Sedicious plant the back of his hideously horned head into the rough metal floor of the TIE reaper.


Anxiety and anger fled him at once, replaced by a joy not borne of Battle Meditation. He rested his metaphorical muscles and moved with care toward the cockpit, stepping through the open door to be drenched in the bright blue whirlpool of the cosmos: they had survived, and caused the death of the wraith's mount as well. Pride inched its way into his icy heart, before being chilled by decades of discipline.


He had known no good would ever come from such a gathering, and never again would he be physically close to such obvious, unparalleled strategic stupidity. He pressed several translucent buttons on the back of his helmet, still at his waist. His ship, his home, Wreathing Shadows, would be waiting for them on the other side, hidden out of sight and sensor, as he had ordered its AI thus.


Never bored, Sedicious knew such a lengthy wait would not be wasted. He thought back to the ships he had seen, not only the grotesque figures of multi-faced bioships but of the pyramid ships as well. He pulled from every corner of his mind to reference such a design, sure to make a most unsettling discovery, for his own ship, the Pallid Mask bore such a design similar.


But his attention was pulled away, and to the message awaiting.


"Answer it, 114D."

(TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar , @Ānhrā Māhnîu )

 

[Zareel Jhenan´doka]

IC: Zareel Jhenan'doka
Location: Battlements, Sith Temple, Korriban

"There's no escape.” She wished she had not heard Lady Apollyon's words laden with resignation for an instant. Watching someone powerful fall into despair was never a pleasant thing; not that there was any shortage of reasons for it. Zareel could see the endless invading troops continuing to advance, despite all the defensive manoeuvres many of the people there had devised. Fear coursed through Zareel's body like waves of electricity.

Lords and Ladies had managed to enter the temple and battlements by less traditional methods, at least those who could claim better luck. Her palms began to sweat, cold sweat, thinking of her end.

Lady Apollyon mentioned the black horse with urgency to her master. Zareel looked at them both and then into the distance again, trying to identify the figure even though there was no need to try. Who could not recognise him? Fear tightened the lump in her throat, stealing her breath.

Apollyon's unannounced inquiry made her almost jump in her position; Zareel had thought her comment had fallen on deaf ears, mostly because who could care less about the words of an apprentice? Not the ones who were really paying attention to what was going on at the moment, at least. But the Sith Lady's urgent tone led her to consider that her worries in the dungeons had not been in vain.

"While we were in the training hall, we received a message with orders to go to the dungeon, and train with the Sith torture masks completely unarmed." The apprentice paused, that wasn't right, was there someone down there waiting? Or was it just to keep nuisances away? From hearing her own words, she felt that from the outside it must have sounded like a pretty obvious move, given the circumstances. "Then you, My Lady, would join us."

A shiver ran down her spine while she gave a look at the outsides; Lady Apollyon had not given the order? Yes, all hell had broken loose out there, but down below... what had she run away from without knowing?

And finally, there it was, and she almost missed it at this point; it was a level of anxiety that hadn't visited her in quite some time. Pure and simple panic flowing through her nervous system and she was comfortable again at last. So much peace was not good for health or the brain; moreover, it was a bad sign, a lie to yourself. Only fear kept her alert and to be alert was to stay alive, it was much more reassuring to feel that way.

As she ran a hand through her hair expectant of what they might decide, her antennae perked up at Lady Arach's words. She turned to the sith lady and bowed her head in a brief gesture just before speaking in her direction. "Apprentices and those who were in charge of them should still be there. If anyone else found a way in they must have encountered them." What fate befell those who remained in the dungeons depended only on their own luck.


TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar @corinthia @Catalyst @Darth Kain @Volacius @Darth Xirr @Arach @DarthFeros @Darth Cruor @Drakul_Xarxes @DarthNoxia @Metus @Sith_Imperios

 

[Dark Lady Makaria]

IC: Keres Dymos
Dungeons, Sith Temple, Korriban

Keres was so exhausted by her mad flight up the stairs that she actually stumbled when she hit the landing. The sense of her predators grew stronger and Keres somehow found the strength to swerve, bolting past Overseer Marcus as a heavy sword struck the dungeon floor. As her vision cleared from the alarming haze of adrenaline-fueled panic, she came to the infuriating conclusion that Marcus and Xiannarr had been ineffectually fighting each other this entire time. The wall was unyielding, but helped keep her upright as Keres tried to skirt the two Masters.

"Trap!" Keres managed to wheeze out, in case someone had missed it. Somehow she pushed herself forward a little, trying to get Xiannarr and Marcus solidly between her and the zombies. The enemies were still there, of course, and Marcus was hardly an ally, but Xiannarr had displayed a bizarre-but-useful protective side. And now with roughly two people between her and the zombies, she had pretty good odds if she said so herself.

And if the zombies were strong enough to overpower two Masters, well, they'd probably give the things a good enough fight for her to get up the stairs. Though she had not liked the sound of that alarm, and Keres was nervous to what that could mean for an injured apprentice such as herself. Now that the adrenaline was, well, not fading —her wounds were still bizarrely painless— but leveling out, she could hear something in the Force. Something like a high, thin, whine, just on the edge of hearing. The shrill edge of a banshee's scream, pulsing against her mind. She didn't know what it was, it was too faint to understand, but she didn't like it.

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

 

[DarthNoxia]

IC: Darth Noxia
Location: Sith Temple, Koriban

Hearing no response, the Togruta turned back to her Generals. Where were they? She glanced around. They were nowhere in sight, not among those on the battlements. She ran back to the ledge where she had ascended the temple. Below her lay the trandoshan and the human, neither seemed to move for a moment until Mirtis stirred. “Kriffing…” she cursed under her breath. If she didn’t need them, she would have left them where they had fallen, undead hands clawing at their bodies.

She didn’t have much time at all, from the looks of it. Another onslaught of enemies were on their way, dripping with a dark substance. She had seen something similar before on Duxn...was it possible? Immediately another figure came into view. It gave her a sickening feeling, again, she had felt it before.

Noxia couldn’t waste another second. She had to mitigate some of the damage her Generals’ bodies had taken by the fall and fast. Mirtis looked like he might be able to get them up to the battlements. Once they were out of harm’s way, they could focus on the rest.

Stepping back from the ledge, the Dark Lady focused her mind on the pair. The bond between them made it easier as she seemed to be able to tap into their minds and bodies almost as well as her own. A pain radiated through her body and she doubled over. “This had better be worth it,” she thought.

They had to get out of here. There was no surviving the necromantic army. With all her practice and skill in the art, she knew this…

Powers used:
Battlelord
(Attempt to mitigate 5 damage from Mirtis and 8 damage from Metus)

 

[Volacius]

IC: Camion Ishar
Promenade District, Nar Shaddaa, 151 ABY

Camion swaggered across the grungy, musty walkways of the Promenade District, strutting briskly through the befouled crowds of woeful slaves, slimy Gamorrean guardsmen under Hutt employ, and handfuls of rugged mercenaries clamoring for the prestige of earning a contract with the Hutt Cartels. A tattered sack of soot-stained cloth concealing what was left of his latest mark hung from his worn utility belt, bouncing against the repeated motion of his right hip and drawing the eyes of the occasional merc. The remains, a head severed from the wiry shoulders of a sly Rodian con-artist by the name of Karo, were the well-earned culmination of a month-long hunt across the outskirts of Hutt space. The Rodian had proven cunning, far more so than the Mirialan hunter would have expected, but ultimately Camion had caught up with him on Zeltros, and imparted to him the wrath of the Hutt crime lords he had incensed with his trickery. The location that had been chosen by Camion’s contact was a large, yet unremarkable cantina known as the Slippery Slope, its reputation being as debaucherous as its name suggested. Being situated on the Promenade, floating high above the endless metropolis of the planet below, the establishment entertained patrons from all over the galaxy, as weary travellers often shuttled to the bustling district from the nearby Mezenti Spaceport via taxi.

Such was the case as Camion stepped through the slightly-rusted metals of the doorway, dim violet neons and swirling multicolour spotlights casting long, short-lived shadows across the length and breadth of the space. Holographic advertisements lined the walls, Though few customers took any notice of them, instead busying themselves gulping down the venue’s dubiously-obtained spirits or ogling at the sultry curves of the scantily-clad Twi’lek dancers. Camion, for his part, didn’t care for any of the carnal delights that the cantina offered, and purchased a simple ale for the purpose of blending in with the crowd. His quarry was dead, but the Rodian fetched a high price, and the last thing the young Mirialan outlaw wanted was to be ambushed and robbed of his prize.

Camion took a seat on the second level, at the agreed upon table beside the balcony overlooking the dancefloor, and quickly came to the unsavory realization that he had arrived early. Minutes dawdled by, leaving the Mirialan hunter with nothing but his ale and the myriad conversations from adjacent tables to occupy his attention. Dialogues from dozens of beings in just as many languages overlapped one another as well as the music’s pulsing beat, and Camion began reaching out with the Force to enhance his senses and help him isolate individual voices amongst the meaningless cacophony. Confident as he was in his own abilities, life as a bounty hunter had taught him never to be too complacent, and to always keep his guard up no matter how safe any given situation appeared. If there was anyone on the second level of the cantina that posed a direct threat to him, Camion would learn of it.

Most of the topics being discussed were dreadfully mundane; a cocky smuggler regaling gullible pilots with embellished tales of his adventures, one of the Twi’lek dancers describing to her friends the bliss she felt when in the arms of her newfound lover, a tech specialist lamenting his failure to solve computer troubles at a rich client’s office. There was one conversation, held between a bald, grizzled human and his blue-skinned Nuatolan friend, that caught the hunter’s ear, however.

“Just like that!” The human snapped his fingers. “Whole planet, dead.”

“You’re screwing with me,” the Nautolan responded incredulously. “Nobody can just kill a whole planet of people. Not without one of those fancy superlaser things.”

“I’m telling you how it is man,” the human fired back, playfully feigning to be hurt at his friend’s lack of trust, “no superlaser! Heard rumours it was more like a ghost, actually.”

“A ghost?!” The Nautolan man repeated. “Be honest with me Gri, how much have you had to drink?”

The human rolled his eyes, “I saw it on the news, you moron!”

“What are you talking about?” Camion interrupted, rising from his seat so he could look down on the pair of patrons sitting across from him.

The human gave him a dismissive glance. “You ever heard of this thing called ‘the news’? You both should really look into it, it’s real helpful.” Camion responded with a guttural growl, narrowing his gaze into a glare so harrowing both the human and Nautolan broke eye contact. “Okay, geez. Word is, the Sith Empire is back, or something like that. Came outta nowhere with some big new leader in charge.”

“And he ‘killed a planet,’ you said?” Camion pressed.

“So the story goes,” the human shrugged. “Apparently scared the piss out of the Federation, ‘cause they signed an armistice with ‘em after it happened. Don’t know if it’s true, but—hey, where are you going?!”

Camion had heard enough. The Sith had returned, and with an Emperor who had performed acts more powerful than Krayt could have dreamed. Thoughts of the possibilities raced through Camion’s mind. If it was indeed true—and Camion fully intended on verifying these claims once his business was concluded—then the golden opportunity to grow his own strength had presented itself. The former Jedi would’ve sooner taken his own life than dishonour himself by joining the remnants of Krayt’s order, especially if Nihl still lived and was their leader. But with their new Emperor wielding such awful power, there was no telling how much Camion could learn if he sought them out. Such an action would come with substantial risk, particularly where he had once been their sworn enemy. He’d fought against them, even killed one of their kind, and there was no guarantee that they would be merciful given his trespasses against them.

But if they did accept him into their ranks, train him to wield their awesome might, he could bide his time until he’d become strong enough to exact vengeance on Nihl and any other members of the One Sith who remained.

And he could burn down the Jedi Order that had failed him.


IC: Darth Volacius, Scourge of the Jedi
The Sith Temple, Korriban, Present Day

Volacius’ eyes burned brighter than any flames he’d ever loosed against his enemies as he followed Apollyon’s gaze. Beside Lord Cruor—whose house Volacius had been a member of—Emperor Dreadwar sat upon his frightful steed, poised outside the Temple’s shield alongside the grotesque, malicious forces that besieged them. More than that, he was leading them. The Mirialan Sith could not conceive of greater treachery than this; that the phantasmic Lord of the Sith would turn upon the very order that he had built, the progenitor of Volacius’ own great house at his side. The fuel of newfound rage and hatred crashed into his heart with the strength of a Kaminoan tidal wave as he stared. But creeping up behind that swelling fury was yet another emotion, one that anyone around Volacius would have no trouble detecting, even without attempting to read his thoughts. Like a distant, but rapidly approaching hurricane of continental proportions, the baleful whirlwind of confusion threatened to snatch his heart up into its swirling grasp. Memories flashed in Volacius’ mind, thoughts of his first journey to Korriban and his entrance to the Sith Academy. He’d been younger and more naive then, craving the power that had been described to him, eager to learn and grow from this new order of the Sith that was helmed by their planet-killing ruler.

The wraith he’d come to recognize as the “God-Emperor” Darth Dreadwar.

He had spent years of his life arduously training and fighting; the expedition to find Damian Kento and defeat Darth Quetzu—who had threatened to strike down Dreadwar’s rule, his rise through the ranks of the Sith and the military, his savage campaign against the Jedi during the war with the Federation. Suddenly, his very reason for joining the Sith in the first place and almost everything he’d said and done since that fateful day, had all been called into question. The civil war following their victory over the Federation had already shaken his faith in the Sith. He’d joined them to help usher in a new order, one that unlike the Jedi was truly capable of protecting the galaxy. Yet, here they stood, cowering behind their defensive shield, trapped by the mindless hordes of terror and beings of such unimaginable power that had promised to lead them to greatness.

For but an instant, his mind drifted to the time of his childhood, to the wailing cacophony that had been the Massacre of Ossus. Volacius rejected the memory as soon as it arose, but could not shake the realization that this assault on Korriban was no different.

NO

Volacius shook his head. He needed to stay in the present, keep his mind focused on what was happening around him, lest his memories and musing become his final acts. Inspired by the fear of Dreadwar’s unmatched power and Cruor’s unyielding bloodlust, Volacius thrust his raging soul into his Mental Shield. The Mirialan Master knew his defenses wouldn’t necessarily be strong enough should the wraith decide to single him out, but he had to try. To do otherwise would be to give up on the primary goal of the Sith: to survive, and if nothing else, Volacius fully intended on surviving.

Taking note of the conversation being held by the Lords and Ladies around him, as well as one of the apprentices, Volacius paid close attention to the remarks about the Temple’s subterranean tunnels, one of few dwindling avenues for their escape. His eyes widened in alarm as Apollyon exclaimed that she had not ordered anyone to go down to the tunnels before the attack, and in his fearful state Volacius made a split-second choice.

Without a word, the Sith Master rushed back away from the battlements, summoning the Force around him in hopes of enhancing his pace with preternatural speed as he descended toward the dungeons and tunnels below. He would not allow the enemy to ambush them from within their own stronghold, nor would he condone them blocking what was potentially their only way of retreat.

Slowing down at the final staircase, Volacius came to a stop just in time to spot two overseers engaged in a senseless duel not far from the entrance to the tunnels, a clearly-wounded apprentice squeezing past them. Though he did not recognize the wounded woman, the fact that she had clearly emerged from the tunnels confirmed to Volacius that there was indeed a threat coming from that direction, and the Sith Master quickly drew his sword and Saberstaff, activating one shimmering crimson blade imbued with flames by its barab ingot.

“IDIOTS!” Volacius roared, pointing his Sword in the direction of the tunnels. Already fed-up with the unceasing Sith infighting of late, his frothing anger at the shortsightedness of the squabbling overseers overpowered any pain that accompanied the harsh movement of his lacerated jaw. “THE ENEMY IS UPON US!”

POWERS USED:
Telepathy 3 — Mental Shield 4
Augmentation 4 — Force Speed 3

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

 

[Reiis Invadator]

IC: Reiis Invadator
Temple on Korriban

It's going to take more than a little bit of growling to stop Reiis Invadator from doing whatever she wants to do. Inwardly, she makes herself a hazy promise that one day, she's going to learn to growl so she can do it right back at the cantaknerous Kaleesh, just to see the bewildered (more likely annoyed) look on his face. She ignores his wishy-washy protest with pursed lips, steeling herself against her own now-fatigued state.

So she is definitely not ready when a clawed cybernetic hand shoves her back, and absolutely unprepared when her foot catches on his, sending her sprawling towards the wall behind them. A loud THUNK as faceplace connects with wall is heard, but Invadator is a durable as she is rude.

"Blasted stars, Sheelal, I swear," she curses under her breath as she turns to see the object of his focus. One of the living dead things got in, and it hasn't yet been killed. But Lord Xxys was already on it. More hands to kill it might get one of their own killed. She calls once more to Kielor, knowing he is somewhere in here. She wants him closer, even if they are all to die.

Powers Attempted
Telepathy-4

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Darth Xxys, @Kielor

 

[Darth Traya]

IC: Darth Traya/ Aurelia Chume

Location: Exiting the communications room, moving toward the balcony.



A ripple of intoxicating malice washed over Traya as she sensed Goledriel fall to the floor with a wet, helpless smack, and clawing at her neck as her breath came in helpless gasps. Her amphistaff wrapped around her ankles, leaving Traya free to drag her toward the balcony. She sustained her telekinetic chokehold a few seconds longer, long enough for the Ducha to feel her life slipping away with each strained heartbeat, yet not suffering out life completely.

As she moved from the communications room she felt an agitated ripple within the muted golden aura to her left. She turned momentarily to face the aura of Dhe, a golden helmed eyeless glare of an unspoken truth between her husband.

You have no free will, you're bound to me by blood. You will stay with me, and do as I bid!

The expression of relentless control broke for but a fleeting moment. Darth Traya’s leer was replaced with Aurelia’s alluring radiance. She spoke rapidly in Miralukese to her husband who knew the language well enough to grasp the simple sentence. “Jotain upeaa on tapahtunut. Olen raskaana!” Something wonderful has happened. I am pregnant!

In the next heartbeat, Darth Traya returned and didn’t pause to study his aura for a reaction. Rather she allowed her attention to the stranger sent from Emperor Dreadwar.

“Might I suggest simply killing her? It is imperative we suffer no distractions, for the fleet must be ready within hours. My lord desires the fall of the Dromund system with all haste.” Necros offered, his words carried a great weight of importance.

“I’ll handle her, then we proceed directly to the hangers. But Hapan spies and assassins breed faster than gizka. I anticipate that others will make every effort to hinder the fleet, time we don’t have to spare. Be wary of attack.” She assured Necros, briefly wondering if another glimpse into the future might be in order, yet she needed to sustain her illusion in the throne room.

Goledriel writhed on the marble, trying to feebly escape. Gurgling words burbled from her painted lips.

“Please,” she gasped, “s-spare… Ack… My…” Perhaps she had moments left to live, enough time for Traya’s to make her final statement to the amassed crowd.

Traya returned to the balcony, to the company of her royal guard which she supposed wore horrified or guilty expressions, as she dragged the writhing Ducha.

“My glorious people….” she called out in a voice far too dainty, and deceptively innocent to carry, yet all the same messages could be relayed via datapad and comms. “You now have your orders! Our Consortium is under a malicious threat, our one hope is to eradicate them lest they strike us. Men…you are freed of your shackles! Every Hapan will stand equally lest they die severed by the quarrels of your own men and women! If we do not stand together, we die alone! And those that defy me to expose our Consortium to the enemy will be subject to my mercy…I do not suffer betrayal lightly.”

Seconds before the relentless crush on Goledriel’s windpipe might claim her life the invisible pressure abated. A chill mountain wind billowed though Traya’s white silks and icy blonde hair, causing them to flutter in a beautiful yet lethal aura.

Then the Miraluka in the gilded guise of a Hapan froze, something unseen and unheard clawed at her consciousness.

“My Chume!” cried Dhe, betraying he did not sound the least bit female despite his armor. “Something…”

“….I sense it to….I…” she trailed off.
Unbidden a memory welled to her consciousness, the words her Clans Mother had used to exile her from the Singing Mountain.

“You can sing the spells….but you cannot hear yourself. Cast illusions….and cannot see yourself. You feel the magicks….but cannot feel yourself.” the clans Mother, her adoptive mother condemned sternly. Her aura was radiant in her leathers and tall headdress...but harsh with condemnation. Aurelia, only aged 8 years was not given a chance to try and explain what had happened. She couldn’t have put the words together anyway. All she could do was show her new spell, and she hungered for it now. Only sentimentality held her back. “You have become different...changed. The Eclipse was your crucible of change. You're a corruption of the magicks, and as such, we exile you from the Singing Mountain clan…”

As unwelcome as the words of exile rushed the memory of a spirit she sensed at the age of 8, on Dathomir. It’s form manifested so vividly, and all-encompassing she might as well have possessed eyes. A being that reeked of decay and putrefaction, clothed in ragged robes long fallen to tatters, only a bone-white mask slashed with red identified it as something more than shadow. It was something already dead, something that had already fallen, and something Aurelia feared would never rest…a haunting wound she feared she would never overpower. The terrible shackles of memory rattled within her skull.


“Nu tuti ri jina'tis ir dia wisa natura drarina!” the Void figure uttered, his voice a rattling conglomeration of shrieking souls, of death knells, or torment all combined into one obscene, horrific echo of voices. It pierced like venom-filled arrows into her skull, every word scratching into her memory and embedding themselves there. And that insidious venom coaxed a previously unknown knowledge, despite never hearing the language she knew what he was saying. “I am the darkness in which all life dies!”

Horror gripped her heart as the figure stepped closer. She could smell the stench of decay clinging to these robes, like a rancor carcass left to rot in the sun.

“Umm, hello Darkness. I am Aurelia. Can….can you let me go? Please….I am so scared…” she pleaded, voice saccharine with childish innocence.

The Darkness had no features that would have held sway to a reaction. It kept stepping closer, and Aurelia began to feel weak….as if she’d gone without food or rest for days….than even weaker, as if she was diseased and burning with fever...and finally, she realized this man was somehow draining the magicks from her.
She howled wildly, it was agony beyond words….the empty masked face was leaned down over her, filling her briefly acquired sight. All the Miraluka child could do was sob in her tearless manner. The figure didn’t touch her. It didn’t need to but still inflicted an invading torment. She could feel his clammy dead hands upon her skin, felt him clawing into places where only male slaves were permitted with consent and there was nothing the girl could do to stop it.

“dari nindz j'us norit sis, ardira?” the Void Monster cackled in its cacophony of voices.``Didn’t you want this, child?”

All she could do was wait until the Monster was satisfied. She didn’t recall exactly how long that took, only that mercifully her sight returned to normal darkness emblazoned with auras. The Void Monster faded back into the shadows, and she regained control of her body. Progress was agonizingly slow, the slightest movement of her fingers exhausted her into unconsciousness. Two moons rose in the sky when she finally found the strength to sit up. Bruises welled across her throat, trickles of blood ran down from her nose and mouth, and down her thighs. She didn’t fully understand its implication but knew she’d been robbed of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

And something was clawing in her chest. A raw, gnawing hunger. A cancerous dead spot that could not be denied for long. Again she cried out, not sure what this void was and what it wanted. She leaned on her spear to pull herself to stand up. A serpent wound its way through the rubble, paying her no mind. Without consciousness thought Aurelia flung her hand out and a thread of orange energy streamed….but not from her palm. It came from the creature whose life essence was being sucked away, the serpent twisted and writhed for a few seconds before falling still as a mummified husk.

Mercifully Aurelia's consciousness shifted back to the present moment. Perhaps only a half of a second had passed since she’d released her chokehold on Goledriel. She paid heed to the unexplained fear still rising in her chest. Was….was it him? Nihilius….is that the echo I am hearing?

The very thought brought a bolt of hatred to clear Aurelia’s mind and focus on the present moment. On Goledriel gasping, and writhing before her, on the illusion she’d placed in the throne room.

A malicious, writhing fiery gold tendril manifested from Traya’s left hand. It was a power born only from those that knew true loss, and true wounds. A means of severing the very ties of life, and in Traya it manifested as a writhing hunger, a cancer placed there by the violating touch of a long-dead spirit. If this malignant, blazing tendril connected, the Ducha’s life would be severed and Traya’s gnawing desire would abate for a moment.

Perhaps then, if she severed another from life, she might have the strength she needed to face the unseen and unheard threat she feared the most.

Location: The Throne Room


The illusion of Aurelia Chume in the white throne waited calmly, a lightsaber concealed in one hand, her gizka squirming in her arms. This illusion was but a hollow image of what the Miraluka was capable of; hopefully, a fitting distraction depending on if the interlopers believed it.

She didn’t comment on her guardians suddenly appearing as blind as Miraluka’s. Rather the vision of the Queen Mother faced the twin guests as if they were merely honored guests.

“Kneel.” she would command the Twi-Lek’s.


Powers Used:
Force Illusion; 3 (Sustained)
Force Choke: 2 (sustained then dropped)
Drain Life: 4





IC: Dhe Ta’ Dalv

Dhe’s life always consisted of lurking in the shadow, clinging to darkness. Hidden away and hopefully forgotten, overlooked. It was a curse that manifested physically, much to the abject horror of his family. From birth it was apparent he possessed a severe allergy to sunlight. A single ray could cause his skin to break into crippling urticating hives, after five minutes of exposure he’d begin to blister and peel with second degree burns.

On a planet of eternal light, he’d been raised as a shameful, hideous secret in a dungeon. At the very least the genetic mutation that robbed him of the light was kind enough to grant him eyes that could see well enough in the darkness, not quite as well as human but far better than a Hapan’s typical sight in such conditions.

Still…if one must rely on shadows to exist, are they truly Hapan?

Wherever the darkness existed, Dhe fled to its shelter. Naturally, he’s little choice but to flee the Consortium and become a Lorell raider, an existence he detested, however, it did lead him to the path of the Sith. Yet even the path of Sith he thread with little passion or emotion, hiring himself out as an assassin merely gave a fleeting meaning to his existence.

He’d never known passion until he, like so many others, attempted to assassinate the Queen Mother. An attempt that left his mind broken and enslaved to her bidding, as certain as that of a Gun of Command. Yet when the Queen Mother eased her control…Dhe found himself complacent in her company. Willing and welcoming. Even when unchained of her mental shackles he felt physically attracted to her in a manner he’d never felt toward any other women or men. Admitting he loved her took for more courage than any raid or assassination.
The ramifications of that affection being mutual didn’t occur to Dhe at the time. She accepted his proposal, in his mind he believed they married for desire. For love. And passion. He didn’t truly factor in just how exposed he left himself in marrying the Queen Mother, nor did he fully know who Darth Traya was. Was Aurelia the illusion Darth Traya the Third used, or was Darth Traya the Third the illusion of a Sith that Aurelia used?

Perhaps they were merely faces of the same crystal.

He’s been prepared to fire his gun of command should the Ducha attack Aurelia Chume, yet the Queen Mother’s cruelty ensnared her. Dhe couldn’t help but feel a pang of tormented memory. Detested memories of his mother dragging him by the ankles back into the dungeons when he’d learned to contort his body and make a desperate attempt for escape.

He trained his face to remain impassive as Aurelia Chume dragged the Ducha toward the balcony, and tried not to think of the merciless acts he’d committed as a Lorell raider. Of the nameless faces, he’d killed either by contract or free will. He didn’t allow his aura of anxiety to stir any further as the Queen Mother turned to glare at him in defense of her actions, a gilded empty stare that reminded him just how powerless he was. Of an agreement, he’d long taken to heart.

You have no free will, you're bound to me by blood. You will stay with me, and do as I bid!

In the next moment, that visage flickered, reverting to that of Aurelia Chume whom he loved dearly in a universe devoid of all passion, and warmth. She spoke in Miralukese, a language he was knowledgeable only through her lessons.
“Something wonderful has happened. I am pregnant!” she’d said in her mother tongue.

The visage of Aurelia didn’t last long enough for her to take notice of his joy, and sudden upsurge of love for a being he’d never met, of being he’d stomached his detest of intercourse to bring into this cruel galaxy. He hoped in vain he might be a better parent to his child than his parents, even dare hope the allure of raising an heir would make him want to hang up his sword.

That first paternal stir within the Lorell raider turned Sith Assassin was swiftly severed. Another emotion suffused him….it was like…an echo. A scream rent from the very fabric of the Force. As much as he wanted to stifle this horrendous gnawing fear, he could not. What was this ceaseless unrest?

“My Chume!” He cried out, forgetting to disguise his voice. “Something…”
He’d wanted to warn her, yet while he could sense something like a faint echo…there was no tangleable danger.

“….I sense it to….I…” she trailed off briefly before resuming her prior wraith upon the Ducha.

To Dhe this formless fear manifested in the pit of his stomach as if a ball of scorching sunlight were roasting his genetically imperfect flesh alive. Memories of being dragged again and again into the darkness, begging his mother for mercy. And then endless visions of Aurelia, pierced by thousands of blades…or was she roasted to a charred corpse? Broken and splintered upon a rack? Was that her face swollen and purple from decay, and purging fluid streaming from her lips? Was she being torn apart by armies of the undead? Was she little more than a shriveled husk? No matter the state of the body…it was always Aurelia, and the blood trickling between her legs was all that remained of their child.

When he closed his eyes the visions faded, yet his heart raced still. Something terrible festered within the Force…perhaps within the galaxy itself. What it was, what shape it took, what insidious fate it desired Dhe could not hope to grasp.

When he looked upon the burning tendril manifesting within Aurelia’s hand…an abhorrent power that both sustained and corrupted her, he couldn’t help but to feel that gnawing horror again. This sickening displacement within the Force.

The Hapan could only avert his eyes. Whatever he sensed, he feared it was capable of horror far more unimaginable than his Queen Mother’s wraith, and he feared she was threading into a Darkness cloaked path even an assassin cursed with the darkness could not follow.

Tag: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Darth Solus]

IC: Darth Solus
Location: Hanger/Near Hanger, Korriban


Solus continued his walk forward as the droid sprung to life. There was a lack of a threat present, but something still gnawed at his thoughts. The droid had to be important somehow, or at least useful. Overall, the hanger seemed clear though. There wasn’t an apparent threat in the area, but there also wasn’t any assistance.

“Where is Volshe?”

The Consulate looked around somewhat hoping to see a suitable shuttle and partially looking for Volshe, or Nihl. She should have arrived by now and the fact that she was late was… concerning. I wonder if something happened. Perhaps there is a threat closer than I realized. Mavros’ voice interrupted Solus’ thoughts and pulled him back

“The Hanger is clear, My Lord. Nothing except this droid, and I can’t understand what it’s trying to communicate.”

“Thank you, Mavros. Please continue trying to communicate with the droid. It may have some useful information.”

The Commandant stopped and turned back to where the children were. Without a present threat there was no reason for them to stay farther away than needed.

“May we enter, my lord?”

A grin crossed the Sith Lords chiseled features. It appears she has had a similar idea.

“Please do, Ma’am. Children keep your heads on a swivel and if any of you know what this droid is saying please feel free to tell me.”

It was a long shot that one of the children would know what the droid was saying but using others strengths was how someone became a Lord. Nobody can do it all alone. Solus’ gaze drifted momentarily to Reatith. Nobody.

“Reatith! How is Roshkas doing? Any updates?”

The Commandant stayed facing the children while waiting for a response from his own apprentice. He also took the moment to address the crone.

“Ma’am, I will need your assistance. We are going to need to look for a decent ship in the event that our allies do not arrive, and thank you for your assistance so far.”

Solus snapped around looking around the hanger for the best ship to allow for the group’s escape. Hopefully, Mavros makes some headway with the droid. As he scanned Solus checked off his list of requirements for a vessel. Hyperspace capable, Defendable, Large enough to fit the group.

“Which ship will work best?”


TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Reatith Blodraald, @Cardun Vrek

SOLUS FORCE POWERS USED/ATTEMPTED:
(Passive) Electrical Aura-4

 

[Metus]

IC: Metus Aurelius
Location: Below the battlements - Sith Temple

Nothing. That’s all there was. Time and his sense of self has ceased entirely. A mind detached from reality and the horrors unfolding around him. No ghoulish shrieks or chaotic clanging of steel on steel, blade against bone or skull on stone…

One might have said that Metus laid there submerged in the blackness for what felt like an eternity; how ever wrong a description it may have been. There was no telling where one moment ended and the next began as though the perception of his own existence, existence itself seemed to sit neither in the tangible or the abstract. Something familiar soon crept through the darkness. Something he couldn’t quite recall… This thing had a name.

‘What’s a name?’

What was anything? How?… Voices, that’s what they were called, that’s what he knew them as. Voices swirled around him. They came from no direction, no distance they were just, there. Total inability to comprehend his own senses, Metus’s mind churned in on itself. Were there a throat he was aware of, there would be a knot in it. If his own stomach he could feel, it would heave like waves in the ocean beneath a raging storm.
Being and non-being. Brief flashes of understanding collapsed back into the void. Rising and falling at the same time. Nothing again.

There were; three, that’s the name. Name… Three of ‘them’. The same but different. Two were more alike than the other but in different ways again. And the one that shared familiarity with the first was also akin to the last by the same measure but not of the same substance…
The first was red, glinting ruby in the abyss. Warm and comfortable.

The next, it’s eyes obscured. Exuded the same warmth as the first, fire that burned away the void. Beneath this radiance was a memory of a ravaged corpse-like figure.
Name… He had her name. The first one, he had hers too!

And the third presence. Bloody and spiteful. A visage of death and yet Metus was drawn to it a little more than the others.

‘Metus… That’s a name. MY name.’

“Get up, Metus.” The voice. Things slowly shifted into form. Like a million lightning strikes twisting between every star in the sky, illuminating the void around him.
She was, blind in one eye, like him. Reaching out with blackened claw and the shimmering crimson warmth from that one before; pressed hard against his face.
He could feel! Pain, dread, no… Not now.

‘GET UP!’ A venomous scream cracked through the darkness. The threads of reality began to weave themselves together tentatively. A featherlight grip on what had happened, where he was. How easily he could slip back down in the dark.



TAG:Tags: @Darth Dreadwar @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia,

 

[Helkosh]

IC: Darth Pravum

"Seriously, just kriffing die already.", Jamillia Yram, whispering to her stomach, 7 months pregnant.

As the lavanrok discs pierced his armor, Pravum felt dazed with pain. The Force had failed him, and the skeletons were merely delayed in their advance. To his right, some form of ghoul was attacking him one-armed with yet another lavanrok polearm.

"Oh, kriff this!", Pravum shouted, dropping any pretense of civility or nobility, rolling backward and away from his attackers. "I told you to BURN!", he shouted at the undead, unsure and uncaring as to whether or not they were capable of understanding speech. Anger consumed him, controlling every fiber of his being. Veins bulged under the milky white of his forehead and his blue eyes passed through violet to a blood-soaked red, his anger manifesting literally with the power of the Force, seeking to destroy anything and anyone in his field of vision.

He was well beyond the point of differentiating between friend and foe, utterly exhausted not with battle, but with frustration at the zombies' refusal to die at his command. Never before had he been defied with such impunity, such disregard for his station. He was Helkosh Yram, the Marquess of Kaadara, the boy who got everything he wanted because he deserved to have it. The boy who built an empire from plasma, gems, and spice, and used a portion of the fortune it brought him to purchase the droid these very same undead had just torn to pieces. His droid. His.

It would happen in an instant, despite his distorted, anger-induced perception. His eyes would flash red, unleashing a wave of hell, and just as quickly he'd turn to sprint for the relative safety of the temple, unsure in the moment of how, exactly, he'd force his way in. He snatched the lightfoil from his belt, igniting it as he ran as his ears perked up, feeling the emanations in the Force, waiting for any whisper, any shudder of another attack should his assailants still not die and feel the need to chase after him.

His pride, virtuous confidence in his eyes, his greatest flaw, was not so blinding that he could not see the bigger picture at play. These monsters, these so-called "true Sith" as his compatriots had shouted out throughout the battle, they would not feel the pain they deserved from the destruction of a few of their mindless pets. No, they'd die. All of them.

No one struck Darth Pravum and lived.

Powers used: Deadly Sight (4), Force Sense (2)

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana

 

[Voidwalker]

(Combo with @Darth Kain)
IC: Darth Voidwalker & Darth Kain
Throne Room, Sith Temple, Korriban

"Daddy's here! Daddy's here!" The words of Deianara confirmed the suspicion Voidwalker wondered at the feel of the all too familiar icy cold presence of death that rushed over him. The Emperor, Darth Dreadwar, his ancient ancestor was on Korriban. The reaction of Marasiah Fel's hissing only further confirmed it.

The presence of Dreadwar was unmistakable, once you had been exposed to his presence, it wasn't one to be forgotten. The feelings of ice, death, despair, and dread all combined as if the emotions themselves were peering at you from an empty hood. To stand before him left memories and scars not only within your mind but on one's own soul.

Everything Nathemus said was true, with Dreadwar returning there was bound to be those who would follow to their deaths. Those who viewed the former Emperor as a god. A False God he was. Nathemus made a good speech though, even if his last bit of words was foolish, if he truly believed it. The "Lord of his death", Nathemus had always been bold, but to actually claim that? He must have drank too much wine at the feast.

Then Volshe had asked Sol Kira to unite her and Nihl in marital matrimony, merely moments after she'd sat herself upon the throne and named herself Empress. It was shocking but also sweet to witness. They way they carried themselves when they were together, it was as if they truly complimented and completed one another. It was a brief and quick ceremony, yet somehow it seemed fitting. Like any marriage, it had been sealed with a kiss.

I suppose if we're all facing possible annihilation, then they might as well be happy for the time.

"Hail to the Emperor!" Voidwalker called out after the Empress' own words. Yet somehow the words felt wrong in his mouth. But why? Voidwalker didn't care as to who sat themselves upon the throne. He didn't care too much about who the ruling Sith was. So why did it feel foul to say the words? Had he been so accustomed to speaking the words in honor of Dreadwar? Or did he perhaps still hold some amount of loyalty to the former Emperor? He had never been disloyal to the Emperor, nor to the Empire. Why did he feel this sort of guilt in speaking the words?

Voidwalker turned back to the Federation leaders that Kain had dropped off to him moments prior. "Go and speak with the Empress. I'm sure she has need of you."

I-Ron's words broke through the last if Voidwalker's instructions to the Federation Admiral, words of defiance. It mattered not, the Empress and Nihl had returned and Volshe's new orders would take precedence over any that he had given out. There was no need to respond or argue with the shard. It was better to keep level heads rather than I-Ron's Droid body blowing a circuit.

For all the back and forth that had taken place in more recent times, it was I-Ron's departing words that surprised Voidwalker the most. "Voidwalker, I wish you the best of luck in the war to come, I hope to see you alive and perhaps call you “friend” in the future.” It had seemed that the radical Jihad shard actually meant what he said. It was touching.

"I-Ron," Voidwalker called out to him as the droid body was making his way to the exit. "Take care. If you find yourself in a bad spot and need a friend, contact me. Safe travels, and know that wherever you go, you carry the blessing of the War Priest."

The Empress had given her orders, and I-Ron was on his way to do what he felt he must do, yet still something was off. Voidwalker had done what he'd been commanded to do. Kain! Where had Kain gone?

"Everyone go! I'll meet you all in the lower levels, trust me!" Voidwalker shouted over his shoulder as he ran out of the throne room into the hallway heading in the direction that Kain had ran off. He ran down the long corridor, passed by a yellow blur heading in the opposite direction. Coming to the stairwell, he made his way up the stairs. At the top he could see where others had gathered and among them was the one he sought, Kain.

He raced towards them, approaching the group that stared out into the distance, at a dark figure. Darker than any night. A six legged steed, who's rider was none other than death itself, Dreadwar. It is him! The former Emperor himself! The ancestor has truly returned! The growing feeling of darkness and doom only grew stronger at the actual sight of the former Emperor. A cold sweat covering his body from the sight, only offset by an inferno of a Force signature in front of him.

"Kain! Kain, listen you have to come with me. All of you, we have to get to the lower levels." Voidwalker exclaimed through short breaths as he tried to regain the air into his lungs. "Volshe and Nihl have named themselves Emperor and Empress and they want us to meet in the lower levels of the temple to try and escape. We have a better chance if we work together."

Kain's eyes narrowed at the words of the frantic Voidwalker, his heart still beating out of his chest, both out of fury and of grief. A power play? Now? Of all times? And worse yet, interlaced with a unifying plan that actually made sense.

It reminded the Beloved King of horror stories he'd heard from the Federation Senate, of motions being passed with hidden agendas weaved throughout. And while Kain supported Volshe's claim to the throne of the Sith more than anyone else, the politics of it all grew... tiresome. He was focused on nothing more than claiming a throne beyond that of even the Sith, of ensuring his family's survival, before exacting his vengeance on these villainous invaders.

Still, he had no better plan. To drop the shields and unleash himself on the enemy was a pleasant dream, but it would be a nightmare for everyone else. Especially when the combined forces of those fiends outside the gate would no doubt overwhelm him... eventually.

The tunnels were their best bet, for now. And on top of that, he did recall someone mentioning the acolytes and apprentices being led down there by someone impersonating Apollyon. If said acolytes included Keres Dymos, a promising upstart that Kain had his eye on to take as an apprentice, well, he'd have interest in saving them from whatever trap was no doubt waiting for them.

"Lead the way then, Voidwalker. I am assuming the Admiral made it to her safely?"

"Yes, of course he did." Voidwalker quickly shot back. His breathing starting to level out. "When I left the group they were still in the throne room, so we shouldn't be too far behind them. The Empress seemed to be bothered by something more than just the presence of Dreadwar. It was as if something else called out to her. She didn't say it, but you know how she is. Wait a moment, are you alright? Something seems different about you."

Kain's eyes flared.

"I am fine."

It was all he said. All he would say. For now.

While Kain might have spoken, no true response was given. Just the flared gaze of Kain's stare. The pools of green showing no sign of emotion. Voidwalker understood the look. Although he didn't know what troubled Kain, it was as if a conversation could be had between the two of them without a single word spoken.

"Very well, let's get moving then. Watch your step on these stairs, I witnessed an idiot apprentice meet a stone step head first. But we should get going. Come on."

The two Sith, and anyone else who cared to follow, made their way down the stairs and through the various hallways until they reached their way back down to the dungeons. Just as they passed through the entry way it seemed that others had already made their way. At least three others were just ahead it seemed, as the figures came into view so did the shouting voices that could be heard.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar @Darth Nathemus @skira @Jihadi Quartz @Nacros_Telcontare @Darth Kain