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

IC: Omegon
Bridge of the Aximand, entering the Axum system

As Omegon strode through the corridors of the Aximand, he watched crew bustle around him, prepping the ship for re-entry into realspace. Ammunition and fuel cells were prepared, ships readied, and officers and communications readied as they approached the Axum system. Their trip here was primarily planned to offset the risk of damage to the ship from jumping directly from Coruscant’s atmosphere, but with the Aximand undamaged, they would almost certainly be moving on almost immediately, at least after sending communiques to Sith Space. Hopefully, they would be able to make contact with the regent Apollyon on Korriban through the hyperwave communication systems onboard the ship and warn her about the destruction of Coruscant.

Omegon was worried, though, that perhaps Coruscant and maybe even Axum had gone through the same attack. What if the galaxy was already decimated? How would they respond and rebuild then? He shook off the questions as he entered the bridge. They would be answered momentarily, and the Aximand and crew could act accordingly. The doors hissed open, and Omegon was greeted with the view of a busy crew and the beautiful appearance of the Axum system. Scans were picking up ships, life signs, and it looked like Axum was still active, though Anaxes was as dead as ever. The similarities between Anaxes and what had occurred on Coruscant were undeniable, but Omegon had no time to study and compare the two right now; still, it left a bad taste in his mouth, a sense of foreboding. Coruscant had been an attack. A purposeful and strategic strike on one of the most heavily populated planets in the galaxy, designed to sow fear and chaos. He could only hope that Korriban had not undergone the same strike.

“Captain Teracotus! A most excellent arrival. I am glad to be back in realspace, and at least relatively safe. Keep the ship ready for another jump along the hyper-route towards Sith Space, should the threat from Coruscant spread to here. I would like to reach out to Korriban, and warn them of the strike, and ask what our next move should be.” Omegon couldn’t help but be impressed by his captain’s attitude. He had hoped that the strict discipline and rigorous selection process would pay off, and it certainly seemed that it had. The discipline and fortitude of the Teracotus was evident in his stance and his tone.

Turning to address the interruption of the ensign, he raised an eyebrow. Emergency frequency? Perhaps they were not as safe as they had thought. “Thank you, Ensign. Patch them through to the main screen so we can see what they have to say.” Omegon had hoped the rest of the survivors from Coruscant would be on the bridge, but he hadn’t heard anything from them when he was waiting in the training room, or when he sent out the summons to head to the bridge. Could they all have slept in? The events of Coruscant had been traumatic, and it was certainly a possibility. He made a personal note to remember to send someone to check their quarters once this meeting was over if they didn’t show up, and then turned to the main screen to see what the Axum official had to say.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Senec Tinople, @Dorrian Shadowsun, @Rayge, @Oberleutnant Deleritas
@Tobbi Airskipper
 
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IC: Lord Catalyst
Tunnels beneath the Temple, Korriban
The strange portal, blank and featureless on the stone wall, continued to vex all who stared into it. The frigid cold emanating from within nipped the uncovered flesh of Catalyst's arms, raising fine hairs and goosebumps, though he wasn't sure if that was entirely from the chill. Small hairs on the nape of his neck also rose, anticipation and anxiety creating a portent of unease that pumped through his body. Apollyon seemed equally perturbed by the gate, "A hypergate," Volshe's possessed Nautolan corpse was kind enough to exposit for them, but had enough of her wits to stop Voidwalker from haphazardly charging into the unknown. I wouldn't have stopped him.. He suppressed the urge to chuckle, before his attention was drawn away from Volshe's thrall negotiating with the Myke he had administered a swift rebuke to moments earlier.

The Force pulled at his gaze, his head turning right to facilitate the call. A stone face, presumably the visage of an ancient Sith Lord, stared down at them with blank eyes. Its mouth yawned open revealing another pitch dark entryway that the light of their sabers barely penetrated. He stepped away from Apollyon, raising his saber to shed the light as far as possible, meaningless as it seemed in these dark depths. He couldn't help but imagine the original owner of the face being less than thrilled with his tribute being surrounded by mountains of corpses. Then again, the ancient Sith were, in a word, strange. So are some of the so-called modern Sith. His eyes shifted briefly to a number of figures that he couldn't believe he was stuck down here with, and his smirk widened.

The sound of his name called him back to attention in the middle of Kain's inspirational monologue. Clearly he had something of a plan, that much Catalyst was thankful for.
“Catalyst, Xarxes, Volacius — you three should scout out the passage through the maw of Karness Muur, preferably without going inside if you can help it. Foresight, good eyesight, hell, even a fireball may do. If that passageway is our plan B, we need to know what it entails without risking any of you getting trapped on the other side. Anyone else you three feel necessary to take with you, do so. Perhaps one of the lower ranks will be willing to test for any traps." Karness Muur, that's who it was! Catalyst's elated realization helped disguise the scowl that formed on his face at the mention of the two that he was grouped with. Volacius's shouting next to him further enhanced the scowl and Catalyst flinched away as the proclamation assaulted his ears.

“Death to the Betrayer, Dreadwar! ALL HAIL THE BELOVED KING OF THE STARS!” Shout in my ear again, Volacius, I swear... Catalyst shook his head to clear the ringing, and opened his eyes slowly. He could forgive the patriotic fervor if it hadn't been right next to him. Ten minutes ago, he might have even joined in a celebratory crowning. Force knew, Kain had the popularity and power to seize control of the Sith if he wanted to. Now was not the time, though. Perhaps if they escaped, Catalyst would cheer his friend on as he took the mantle, but he had a hard time concentrating on that as all hell broke loose around them. At least Volacius wasn't completely useless though. “I can light the way, unless either of you has a more effective means to reconnoiter this path.” His flaming sword certainly seemed to shed a considerable amount of light, but the darkness around them seemed to hungrily absorb any illumination offered.

Xarxes, mercifully, remained silent in the face of their predicament. The quiet stoicism that he now exhibited was perhaps the first time that Catalyst could legitimately express fondness for the Arkanian. It was evident he was deep in thought, and Catalyst preferred he stay that way for a while. He looked down at his apprentice, the violet glow of her guard shoto doing just as much piercing the veil as his own weapon. She was safe by his side for now, and he wouldn't forgive himself if carelessness on his part caused her harm. He felt his gaze shift towards Apollyon again. While she was significantly more capable of fending for herself, he couldn't help but feel an obligation to protect her as well.

And then there was Xiannarr.

The mindwiped Master once again bumbled into his path, addressing Xarxes and offering to send yet more fire down the passage in an attempt to illuminate it. Well done, Kain, you have your very own cult following. "Yes, please, Xiannarr," Catalyst's voice dripped with disdain and exhaustion. "Go forth, light the way. While you're at it, let me offer you a torch!" He reached behind him, using his mastery of telekinesis to attempt to grab and fling a pile of deceased apprentices into the gaping maw of Karness Muur. Poetic, really. The Dark Lord leveled his irate gaze on the Dread Master. "Go on. I'm sure you can conjure up more use than them." Catalyst stopped himself from continuing to verbally abuse Xiannarr with a forced smile, and he cocked his head in the direction of the door. "Please." He could tell the stress was weighing on him. The Dark Side rewarded passion, but could also bring people to be consumed by it in excess. He took a deep breath to calm himself, wrinkling his nose as he immediately regretted inhaling the scent of the impromptu mausoleum. Centering himself in the Force, Catalyst closed his eyes and tried to pull a clue from the path ahead. While he wasn't skilled in the art, he had seen visions of the future before, albeit twisted, and he was only hoping that anything he could call into his mind would be of some use to them now. Hoping that he had something to hope for.

Powers used:
Telekinesis (4)
Farsight (2)


TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @Darth Kain , @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios @Jihadi Quartz, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Zareel Jhenan´doka , @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @Darth Xxys, @Drakul_Xarxes
 
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IC: I-Ron-Butterfly and Karin Welko
“Im here to disipate the rumours that Gehenna is going to happen soon.”
Cuthbert Beckett



The icy cold and powerful bombardment of eldritch energies on the backs of I-Ron and Karin meant one thing, and one thing only: He was here.

That catastrophe that floated, the black cowl that spoke the forbidden messages of the black stars and heralded the Reckoning. That message was heard by the universe, recoiling in sheer terror, and emitted ice and doom and gloom to everyone.

I-Ron tried to smile at Master Glorious and her apprentice, say something to them as they had spoken to her and her apprentice before. A wave of the hand, a wink of the eye that a human could acknowledge as part of non-verbal communication and trust. Would that have been enough to stop them from going in there?

She felt their deaths, Karin too. There was no time to look back.

Their deaths were a rending in the telluric of the universe, a raging wound that expunged red hot blood that was so hot it steamed into an acidic and ocre smell.

Don't turn back. Go away, run.

There was no escape from the antediluvian capabilities of this false Dreadwar, this champion of the reckoning, the instigator of the war in heaven.

The pressure in the heart (metaphorical) of the Shard was so much that the deaths of both master and apprentice sent her to her knees, almost crying oil. Karin tried to help her to get up, but she weighed almost a hundred kilograms, there was no way Karin could do something to lift her. It was all lost now, away from any allies and support, all alone in the blackness that was encroaching on them, everything was lost, all hope was burned like the last candle of the banquet hall.

-The galaxy will not end until I say so- A voice reverberated in the corridor, lifting I-Ron against her will.

Her prayers were answered! An angel had come to save her, a terrible fiery angel. If he was allowed to be here, then it was a signal that God, the real Dreadwar, was still out there, his bening will willing to help the Sith in their darkest hour.

A protector angel, a spirit made of the ichor of her own faith in God. Engulfed in shadows yet still on fire like the abyss of hell, red eyes ready to fire lasers, and fat hands like an oversized baby, Shaitan danced behind I-Ron, lifting her up because the crown of that queen could fall from her head if she didn't looked forward, towards the dungeon and her salvation.

And on she marched, her knife on one hand, her maser pistol on the other hand. Walking towards the Dungeons, where she listened to parts of the speech, almost an echo from that distance, but she did listen to everyone hailing Lord Kain.

And how delighted she was to hear it, she wanted to hail him also, to pray to him, to march on his Jihad against the enemy.

But for that, she needed to arrive there, and survive long enough.

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Powers Maintained: Sith Ilusions lvl 3, Mechu Deru lvl 3.


@Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Darth Cruor, @Darth Kain , @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios , @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Kielor, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Zareel Jhenan´doka , @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @Darth Xxys, @Drakul_Xarxes
 
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IC: Sol Kira and Keres Dymos
Dungeons/Tunnels beneath the Temple, Korriban

As Sol ascended the stairs, she began to slow as she reached the top. But before she could get there, the sound of footsteps could be heard echoing off the walls of the stairwell. She looked, only to see a group of strange beings surrounding Lord Pravum as he descended the stairs.

“I’m going back down,” She thought to herself, and was only met by protests from the demon. She turned anyways, rushing down the steps to avoid being trampled by the strange creatures she had seen.

“No. I told you, I will kill you if you do not listen to me.”

“Someone loyal to her is coming to the dungeons. Do you really think that would be happening if something hadn’t happened up there? And anyways, what do you expect me to do? Go through whatever’s surrounding him?” She was met with silence then. She smirked at the silence, and then thought of where to go.

Keres.

She had seen Keres go down the stairs, passing by her quickly as she herself went up them. She had been with the group containing Lord Voidwalker earlier. She had to have been returning to them.

And just like that, she was off. Sol ran back to the dungeons, only to find they were not there. She continued her run, dashing towards the next set of stairs she could only assume they had gone down. She took the steps carefully, the darkness consuming her until she was met with a dim light and the overwhelming smell of rotting flesh.

“Keres,” She whispered, approaching from behind her fellow Apprentice. Even in the dim light, she was able to recognize her, having been around her so often in their training. She was panting a bit, but thankful to finally be off of the dreadful stairs.

Keres whirled at the sound of her name, and sucked in a breath. Relief crashed over her, surprisingly potent. Maybe the events of the day had made her maudlin.

“Kira!” Keres hissed back, clasping a pale arm. “You’re alright? What happened? I went down into the tunnels but it was a trap!” She nodded her head at their fellow dead apprentices. “Thankfully Marcus and Xiannarr were still arguing in the dungeons and I managed to survive. Where’s Loharr?” She didn’t actually care about him, but it seemed like her torrent of questions was coming with or without her consent.

“What about Her Majesty? Are they coming? Or are they going to go to the shuttle?”

“I’m not sure, I was going up there but got cut off by Lord Pravum. I assumed if he wasn’t going to the shuttles, the Empress must be coming here as well, but he had these things with him so I couldn’t have continued going up…” But then she paused, realization dawning on her.

“…You must have not seen it, Loharr is dead. He fell on some stairs in the throne room and cracked his head open. Very gross.”

Keres’ eyes went wide, then she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a very inappropriate guffaw. Sol smirked at the apprentice, stopping herself from laughing with her.

“He what?” Keres managed to say after a minute. She hadn’t really liked the apprentice, found him petty and aloof, and found his demise waffling somewhere between hilarious and sad.

She was jerked out of further questioning by Lord Kain’s voice. First, she was relieved at having a plan, any plan, and then her unease grew. Her grip on Kira’s arm tightened, quite without her noticing. This did not sound like good odds. And, well…

Keres appreciated what Lord Kain had done, but she was feeling like following him through the portal was a declaration of sorts, and it worried her. Keres didn’t have the strength or protection to ride out a power struggle.

“Kira, what is happening out there?” Keres but breathed, real fear touching her. The tunnels had hurt her, had scared her, but whatever was going on outside these walls was a terror far worse. “I was in the tunnels, and when I came out it seemed everyone was already moving here. Who has attacked us? What fate is outside, encroaching upon us?”

“I only looked outside for a moment, seeing what it was was enough to send me running… Keres,” Sol paused mid sentence, whispering to her as quiet as she could manage, “Death is coming for us all.”

TAGS: @Darth Kain , @Admiral Volshe , @Catalyst , @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes@Admiral Volshe, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald,, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Dreadwar
 
IC: Darth Voidwalker
Location: Before the Dark Door, Dungeons, Sith Temple, Korriban


"Apathy is death. Worse than death, because at least a rotting corpse feeds the beasts and insects." -Kreia a.k.a Darth Traya I

Well here goes nothing, it's too late to back down now. Whatever awaits me on the other side of this hypergate will have to kill me before it has a chance to do any more harm. I understand now, this is my destiny, to make sure Kain survives. He is the one that will rebuild our Order and lead them to greatness. I do not fear death, and I do this for all of you.

The thoughts of Voidwalker filled his head as an unusual calmness fell over him. He'd come to terms that he was almost certain to face death on the other side. Yet if it bought the rest of them time to escape, then it would be worth it. He was a capable combatant and was confident in his skills that he could at least stop some of the threat should it call for it. Never had he thought he'd be a martyr, but here he was, it seemed it was his destiny. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and stepped forward towards the dark doorway....

"Voidwalker, stop, you drunken fool!” a voice cried out, and a hand pressed against his chest. The alarming tone of the words, blended with the pressure of the palm, caused Voidwalker to stop dead in his tracks and his eyes snapped open. The lacquered nails of Apollyon pressed into his chest, which acted as a warning but only a physical one, yet It had also seemed to work as a sort of wakening. Moving his sight from the hand of Apollyon back to the hypergate, dark and dastardly energies full of malicious intent radiated from the gateway, hungering like a starving beast that lay trapped within one of the desolate tombs cradled within the valley of the dark lords.

What in the hell was I thinking? I'm more useful to Kain alive. He needs those he can count on! "My apologies, Lady Apollyon. I... I'm not sure what came over me. Thank you." Voidwalker said with a wavering tone as he slowly stepped back from where he'd been.

"No one step through that door." Came the voice of the Beloved King. "I gazed into the future, a future where I step through that gate. Anything that goes through it will be disintegrated. It’s instant, unavoidable."

Kain continued on, speaking of what it had been that he'd seen on the other side of the hypergate. Unfortunately for Voidwalker he had trouble focusing on what else the Son of Suns had seen. His mind was too busy trying to accept the fact that he'd just damn near walked willingly into his own demise.

Disintegrated....unavoidable....I would have been disintegrated. Killed instantly. My sacrifice wouldn't have made any difference. I would have just been dead, nothing more. What sort of destiny is that?

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

Kain's words might not have been directed at him directly, but they still stung all the same. Perhaps the words had been purposely chosen to be aimed at him. Surely Kain must have known Voidwalker better than to willingly risk his life for no reason. Either way, it didn't matter. No wonder so many of the others didn't trust him, or thought him to be a fool. Shame is all Voidwalker could feel now. Shame for his actions, how could he be so dumb?

We were born to desperate times, perhaps none of you wished for this to happen in our time. So do I. But that is not for us to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

Kain was giving a speech to all that had gathered in the chamber of the hypergate, his words carrying an inspiration with them. "We shall not fade nor fail. We will go on to the end. We will fight for Korriban in its tunnels and tombs. We will fight with growing confidence and growing strength in orbit, among that sea of dark pyramids that threatens our lives. We will return to retake our home, whatever the cost may be. We will fight in valleys, dunes, in temples, in streets and on the mountains. We will never surrender and even if this temple is torn asunder, then we shall rebuild. Not as heirs to the name of Sith, but as heirs to the very stars themselves.” Kain had been known as a man of actions, not words. It was almost odd. It seemed out of character for him, yet it seemed fitting at the same time. He seemed so calm and confident in what he said. Fitting for a leader and better suited for a King.

"Voidwalker, you make sure no one interferes with the thrall’s work. If anyone interferes, toss them into that gate and watch them fry.”

"Right away, Lord Kain!" Voidwalker responded now with a restored sense of confidence. He hoped that by Kain assigning him a personal task that he still believed in him, at least somewhat. "It shall be done and no one will interfere and live." On this you have my word.

Voidwalker stepped over to where the Nautolan thrall of Volshe was. Console pad in hand, cycling what looked like menu screens to try and reprogram the warp gate. He eyed the one that stood across from the thrall, the same one that had suddenly ended their temporary alliance earlier when they decided to retrieve the holocron from the banquet hall. If he would betray him over carrying a holocron, then what was to stop him from betraying all of them now? Voidwalker placed a hand on the top of one of his lightsaber hilts, ready to act and draw the weapon forth should the call for it arise. If anyone was to try and betray them now, they would die without hesitation and without remorse.

Just over his shoulder, he could hear Kain finishing up his speech to the rest that he hadn't called upon by name to carry out an order. "We will fight another day, and when we do, the Dread-King will wish he never crossed the Beloved King of the Stars… or his allies.”

"ALL HAIL THE BELOVED KING OF THE STARS!” came the voice of Kain's former apprentice, the titan Mirialan, Volacius.

"HAIL THE BELOVED KING OF THE STARS!" Voidwalker shouted back in response to Volacius'.

Voidwalker hadn't given his loyalty and allegiance to anyone other than himself since the former Emperor had vanished, supposedly being killed. But now it was clear that his loyalty without a doubt was to Kain. It didn't matter who sat upon the throne of the Sith, if it was Volshe, or the one known as Hesper who seemed to have her own followers. It didn't matter if it was Krayt or he himself who claimed the title of Sith Emperor. Voidwalker knew that Kain was a King that Emperor's would serve.

Even in all of his confidence and Kain's words, there was one part that stood out in his mind the most. It weighed on him heavily. "Not as heirs to the name of Sith, but as heirs to the very stars themselves."

Voidwalker was a Sith for all intents and purposes, it's what he knew and where he felt he belonged. He took pride in being Sith. He was already an heir. Heir to the most feared Sith in all the Galaxy and the one that now waged war upon them. It didn't matter, he felt indifferent about that now. All he could think of were the words he'd once heard Dreadwar say. At the time he didn't understand the lesson behind the cryptic message but now it was abundantly clear. What is deadlier than hate, and flows without limit? Indifference. It didn't matter if they called themselves Sith, they were facing enemies that would kill them nonetheless. What mattered now is that their new leader would elevate them. They would become more than they were, they would be stronger, they'd be heirs of the stars. It is time we ascend and we become One Level Higher, I will become One Level Higher. Kain is the Beloved King of the Stars, and Kings must know when to rain down chaos on their enemies, and that's who I shall be. His Left Hand, and I shall be the Chaos of the Stars.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Kain, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes
 
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IC: Apprentice Kielor
Location: Passages, Sith Temple, Korriban


Charging down the passageway to rejoin with those Sith who were gathering in the dungeons, the staunch countenance of his Tuk’ata companion bolsters Kielor’s resolve. Now clad in the durasteel plate armour which he had managed to assemble during his twenty year career in the mercenary trade; cutting the fearsome image of the Sith Eradicators, so synonymous with the acolytes of the ancient Sith Empire. That same Empire which had reclaimed the planet of Korriban four thousand years prior. The echoes of his foot falls toll throughout the chambers like the rapid beat of his heart, as his durasteel greaves ring off of the stone floors.

From the end of the passageway, a cabal of Sith round the corner to cross his path. Still his charges forward. That is, until he sees her. Volshe. Widow to his Emperor. He immediately slows his approach, halting suddenly as one of her compatriots ignites the ruby blade of his lightsaber. “RAGS!” he shouts, presuming the weapon has been drawn to slay his beast. His misapprehension is fleeting however, as the tall dark being grasps for the former Empress’s wrist, then commands all those among them to flee.

“TURN BACK! EVERYONE TO THE DUNGEONS!”

“Kark me,” Kielor mutters to himself, watching as the throng of vastly more powerful entities turn and flee. The prickle of cold upon his neck the tell-tale that they had sensed something immensely dark approaching from behind and that he needed to continue with all speed, or die.

Closing toward the alcove of the stair which led back to the dungeons, an immense shambling amalgam of furniture and kitchenware rounds to bend, followed closely by another, then another two more. The apprentice presses himself against the cold stone walls of the passage, daring not to get in their way, before a thunderous boom erupted from the hallway behind him. A rush of heat blasts up the corridor, the force of which causes his robes to billow in the otherwise still enclosure of the
hallway.

“Kark this, Rags,” he exclaims, resuming his rapid dash toward the dungeon. The fear and adrenaline fill him with energy and he attempts to leverage that energy to augment his speed. He knows that if he doesn’t rejoin with the stronger Sith that he will surely perish. He is merely an apprentice, he has much to learn and his power is meagre.

Barging past the supernatural fusion of homewares, the middle aged apprentice resumes his rushed pace back toward the dungeons and the lower levels. Brushing the palm of his right hand against the alcove as he rounds the corner to find that the throng of Sith has grown in his brief absence. Quickly he identifies a number whom his Master had spoken highly of; The Butcher of Coruscant, Darth Hesper, and the imposing cyborg Lord Grievance Vexx. His eyes do not find his Master, although with so many crammed into such a confined space he is not panicked by this. In her absence, he resolves to stay close with this pair of force users, and onward with the gather mass into the lower level where Dymos had only minutes ago nearly lost her life. Resting his palm upon the nape of his companion’s neck, he weaves their way through the assembly.

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

@Darth Dreadwar @corinthia @Reiis Invadator @Grievance Vexx
 
IC: Nacros Telcontare
Location: Sith Temple, Korriban

This whole day continued to get crazier and crazier. Nacros was certainly not one to turn down some excitement here and there, but this was just getting out of hand! He stood amongst the group, mostly quiet, but he had grabbed his staff from his back and held it, ready for battle at a moment's notice. Besides being merely an apprentice in the company of truly great, and terrifying Sith, he simply did not know enough of this situation to be able to help. He did his best to pay attention to all the conversations going on around him. If there was one thing he had learned through his life, was to listen. Anybody with half a brain should know how important knowledge is. To have knowledge, one must gain information and that is done by being patient and listening.

The commotion around him seemed never ending. Everyone was trying to figure out the best escape route, and of course how to stay alive long enough to escape via said route. For a moment, a presence entered his mind and proposed an appealing plan of escape, the dungeons. Besides the fact that the thought appeared so suddenly, something about the presence felt familiar. After a moment it clicked, this was Hesper! He had wondered where she was during this all, and now he had a pretty good guess. Nacros sensed her presence earlier, but had not been able to connect with her yet. He made a mental note that he should try to contact her when the moment allowed for it. However for now, back to the problem at hand, how would they escape?

Amongst the various conversations going on, one caught his attention in particular. He noticed his master, Lord Nathemus, being called over to participate in a particularly interesting conversation. He could not quite make out what they were saying as they were speaking in hushed voices, but nonetheless, he was intrigued by the non-verbal gestures and facial expressions occurring. Empress Volshe seemed to have one idea while Nihl seemed to have another. Nacros assumed this was where the Sedriss came into play, a third opinion to sway the decision. Before their conversation could come to a conclusion, a voice rang out all around the temple, "Shields Deactivated". //Well kriff, that puts a bit of a damper on things... maybe it's time to get the kriff out of here!// Nacros thought this to himself, but he dare not say something like that out loud. After all, he did have a particular fondness of his head staying attached to his neck. He understood the importance of making sound strategic decisions, but to him, it felt like they were sitting in one place for far too long.

Barely a moment passed after the announcement when Volshe took control of the situation. She commanded Master Sedriss to guard two individuals Nacros did not know. After that, Volshe addressed the group and said, "All of you, with me." Before leaving the room, she stood up on the seat of Dreadwar's throne and proclaimed that the way to safety was with her, and to the hangers. Nacros followed his Master and the rest of the group out of the throne room and towards the hanger. As they turned and started down the hallway leading to the hanger, suddenly Nihl slowed and then halted. He then said in an even tone, "Dreadwar is here, Dreadwar is in the hangar." Immediately, he turned around and began sprinting back the way they came while yelling in a voice loud enough to be heard all through the hallway and then some, "TURN BACK, TURN BACK!" Nacros felt a feeling of fear, not one he had felt in a long, long time. It was one thing to be afraid, it was a whole other level of fear to sprint the opposite direction yelling for people to turn back. The fear gripped Nacros for a moment, but he got ahold of his mind and re-established control over his emotions. He focused himself back to the situation at hand. He had to get moving, and be quick about it too. Focusing a moment, he attempted to utilize the force in giving his body a boost of strength, allowing his legs to carry him faster. He turned and began running back the way they had come, away from the very present danger.

Powers Used:
Augmentation (1)

TAGS: @Admiral Volshe, @Jihadi Quartz, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia
 
IC: Zareel Jhenan'doka
Location: Tunnels beneath the Temple, Korriban

“A plan B was more than I could have expected at this point.” Zareel thought after noticing how another apparent door was in front of them. However, she would question whether they were on the letter B or one much further on in the alphabet at this point; especially considering the number of directions she had run in that day.

Then, Lord Kain had thought a motivational speech was appropriate, perhaps some required something to boost their morale; though as far as she was concerned, her morale would only rise when she was out of danger and very far from that planet. It was true that she had finally begun to feel at home at Korriban; but in the same way, she had also witnessed the dark and ominous steed advancing towards the temple, without needing any further clues as to who was riding and what was surrounding it.

She moved slowly, just a couple of steps closer to the face-shaped door, but not too far from her master and the others. Zareel was sharpening her hearing for whatever might be there, for any echoes that might suggest a way out or a potential hidden enemy.

Yet her concentration was broken by the fervent oath of some of the Lords towards the King of the Stars, as they seemed to proclaim him now. "Hail..." she mumbled to herself with bitter indifference. She no longer cared if someone wanted to call themselves king, empress or the Saturday night queen of the Dreshdae Cantina. No one asked a corpse its title.

The apprentice possessed no abilities of precognition, future or enhanced vision. Due to this, the balosar continue to rely on her senses and raised her antennae again; paying attention once more. Just in case something had decided to make a move, particularly after the noise they had made in the last few minutes.

Sabers and the like did not provide luminosity at a long distance; the fire of the pyromancers might help, but only by reducing to a minimum. Zareel gave a meaningful glance at the remains of the apprentices his master offered to his former overseer; using the parts scattered would only increase the stench and perhaps attract something else. She truly hoped no one would bother to sincerely consider that option.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Voidwalker, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Darth Kain, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Hadzuska_The Jester,
 
"I'm afraid it makes no sense, Jedi Thul," the droid replied. "I must be misunderstanding."
"Tell me anyway," Raynar ordered.
"Very well," C-3PO said. "Thuruht keeps saying that the hive must prepare."
"Prepare?" Raynar asked. "For what?"
"That's the part I must be misunderstanding," C-3PO answered. "Thuruht seems convinced that the galaxy is about to perish. She keeps saying that the end of time has come."

~FOTJ: Apocalypse


COMBO WITH DARTH DREADWAR, SOL KIRA, AND DARTH NATHEMUS

IC: Empress Volshe
The Tunnels

A blanket of ice had settled upon the Vahlan woman’s shoulders before Nihl had moved but a millimeter, her awareness flooded with the acknowledgment of Dreadwar’s presence before he had said anything. She had stopped before even a single word was uttered, her mind suddenly overtaken by a blazing war of fear and determination.

He was here. And there was nothing holding him back.

In minutes, their armies would overtake them.

She released her breath in an anxious swirl, her indecision evident in her posture. Her shoulders were tensed into a curl, her eyes hardened as they stared ahead into the hall. There was only one thing she could do, now. There was no defence between them, no way to afford the thousand strong behind her time to make it to safety.

“There is danger ahead. To the tunnels, now,” she called, at last, swallowing as she turned. She pointed, lurching toward Nihl as the golems cleared. “In orderly fashion, but with haste. The same as before, young first. Lords, pursue them. You are aware of the hierarchy. Ensure the remainder behind you hears this order.”

She offered one last wave of mental conviction, of silent rallying and reassurance, to silently condition an undying fealty to both herself and Nihl, before relinquishing her coercion of those around her, leaving them to follow her verbalized instruction. She ordered the thralls the same.

She hoped her powerful conditioning would be enough. Judging by the throng following her, now, in the hall - it was. Those who had not found themselves convinced by this last wave of mental influence would certainly find themselves convinced by societal pressure. She began to slowly withdraw the threads of control from the thrall in the war room, knowing full well that there was nothing more she could do in that specific scenario.

“Hurry back,” the thrall said to the man who had entered beside her in the war room. “Lest you die.”

Then, its body returned to its senses, eyes unglazing as she released it from her control. And it ran.

The only other thrall she maintained tenuous command over was in the tower, the shuddering, shaking tower that was being rammed now by the monolithic beast several hundred feet below. The shields would certainly fail again, soon enough, but the last whisper she fed the thrall was one of monumental task, technical instructions fed into its temporal lobe to ensure she could attempt to complete the task without influence.

Restore the shields, by whatever means necessary.

And then, her mind was free, the Force slowly flooding back to her as her senses returned in a rush. It was enough to unsteady her, a wave of dizziness temporarily causing her to sway. A Knight reached his hand to her, offering stability. She took it, gripping the cortosis woven gauntlet tightly and looking about.

“Lord Xxys,” she said, grimly, her lips pressed into thin line. “On my signal, detonate the charges and stop his approach. Lord Pravum, create a perimeter alongside my ghouls with your golems.”

She turned back to face the hall whence he had come. She needed to stop Dreadwar, and only she knew how. It was foolish, perhaps. It would be viewed as folly, she knew.

But it was what she must do.

~ 💀 ~​

IC: The Empress, Lord Nihl, the Twins, Darth Maladi, Sol Kira, Lord Nathemus...and Darth Dreadwar
The Hangar

The entourage rounded the corner, mounting the stairs behind the Empress. She took the first strides into the hangar, her heels clicking against the shining floors, her amulets and suspenda beads jingling in an ominous symphony. The hangar was deafening in its silence, even as she broke it. It was loud enough she could feel pressure upon her shoulders.

Or perhaps it was the weight of her decision.

He was there, standing there, cowled figure glittering with eerie resplendence that almost seemed to mock her own.

She did not glance to those already beside her, although she wished to. If nothing else, to offer them reassurance in the moments that they stared down death, and death stared back at them. Nihl grasped her arm as he and Maladi approached beside her, a gesture of reassurance that mirrored the one she wished she herself could give. It was only now that Deianara looked at what stood before them, wrenching her small face from where it has been nestled in her mother’s skirts.

Panic instantly filled her eyes, dazzling light glittering in her gaze. She looked to her mother, to Lord Nihl with tiny, frantic hands flapping in indecision. Primordius grasped for her, unable to tear his eyes away from what felt like his father but was most certainly not his father.

Deianara squealed in terror, clutching for the hand of the Nagai beside her frantically as he returned his yorik coral ‘saber to his back. A single word slipped from her lips as they twisted and her eyes began to sparkle with tears.

“Daddy,” she whimpered, her small hands gripping the leatheris and the white skin of his quadriceps, and the warlord looked down with a remarkable tenderness in his crimson gaze, quickly hoisting her into his arms - where she buried her face into his neck.

Nihl’s free hand found her waist, silently pulling her closer.

The Empress’ gaze did not waver, though she carefully cradled the head of Primordius as he fearfully watched from just behind her, his blonde head peeking out from the level of her waist.

“We are what you desire. Me. Your children,” she began, swallowing and clearing her throat, her voice shuddering as she did. Her eyes narrowed, anger roiling in them despite her placid words. “And so we have come to surrender, to serve your cause.”

"Bid the children approach me," Dreadwar hissed, without the slightest pause of hesitation or consideration. Shuttles and fighter craft floated around him, and the air weighed heavy with power, like a coiled spring about to snap, a serpent about to strike. "I would not have you retain hostages. Then cast your weapons at my feet, turn to the wall, and kneel at once, placing your hands upon your heads; do not call upon the Force at any time, or you die upon the spot."

The empty hood brooked no dissent, eyeless gaze dispassionately fixed. It was very, very cold, each breath departing lips a gasping mist of gelid frost.

Kára Volshe raised a slow hand and gave a nod to the others, extracting herself from Nihl’s grip. She herself was not armed, barring a shikkar she would not be removing from its place in the presence of her former husband.

Primordius was clutching desperately to her jewelled skirts, sparkling eye peering out from behind. He did not budge, though he had heard the words of his maybe-father. He would not go alone, and Dreadwar would see her approach - or any of the One - as a threat. But there was an option. A simple apprentice, but one who held deep loyalty to her, stood at their side.

“Sol,” she said, her voice thin in the desolately frigid air. Her slender hand cupped the blonde head of her son. She knelt a moment later, both hands on his small shoulders, smiling warmly at him. “Take Prim to the Emperor. You will keep him safe, I know. You trust Sol, yes, my dear?”

Primordius looked at the cloaked wraith, at the floating ships, his hand gripping the beaded sleeve of his mother. He nodded. She smiled. “There you are.”

She offered a glance up to the Onderonian Princess, then brought Primordius’ hand from her sleeve up to meet Sol’s. “I love you.”

She gave the boy a kiss upon his forehead, a tender touch upon his cheek. And then slowly, agonizingly, stood to face Lord Nihl - who yet held Deianara.

Sol looked down to Primordius, her eyes burning as she held back any emotion that could influence the boy.

“Remember what I told you when we first met? I told you it will all be over soon, and that we’d be back home and away from this place. I meant it then, and I mean it now little one. It will be alright.”

He nodded up at her, and she gave another look to the group before walking away from the group. She looked straight ahead, her eyes unwavering and her face expressionless as they walked.

“Buy them time. You are dispensable,” the demon whispered, and she gulped.

“I know,” She thought back to him.

When they reached Dreadwar, she turned to face Primordius, leaning down to give him a hug.

“Turn around and look at Mommy. Run back to her if you can. Run as fast as you can. Do not watch this,” She whispered quietly in his ear, her heart racing.

In one fluid motion, she moved up, her demonic arm swinging up in an attempt to punch the wraith.

Volshe paled, her hands wrapped around Deianara who was clutched in her arms. It all seemed as if it moved in slow motion. Her eyes widened.

“Sol, no!” She shrieked, the sound echoing through the hangar as if it were a barren tundra, not brimming with machinery and ships. Nihl grabbed her and pulled her back, but did not ignite his ‘saber so as to not antagonise the Dread Lord who held the power to annihilate them all in one breath.

Sol's fist stopped short before it even reached the glowing sphere of emerald energy surrounding the Dread-King, as if some invisible hand had curled around her fist, arresting all momentum with bone-breaking power. Dreadwar's own gauntleted hand shot out, stygian digits curling, and for a half-second those claws of cruel cortosis remained extended, palm facing upwards, before Dreadwar laughed, a single, shuddering screech, and the hand rotated. "Clever girl," he hissed.

And then the awful tension in the air was unleashed, a single ripple of radioactive cerulean ripping through the hangar, and the shuttles and fighters hovering aloft were cast violently aside. Those craft closest to the epicentre of the lethal wave were atomised, while the most distant slipped off the edge of the hangar towards the sands below. Sol Kira dissolved as the telekinetic pulse hit, Primordius crumbling beside her, and Nathemus, Nihl and Volshe, Deianara in her arms, were hurled against the far wall. Nihl's skull cracked as he fell, and he lay very still; Nathemus' flesh was shredded, while Deianara's now-motionless body protected Viscretus from the worst of the effects, a shattered ribcage the only mark of the Dread-King's savagery. Darth Dreadwar was already moving forward, fingers slicing through the air as he approached the prone survivors.


Her eyes shut as she slid to the floor, sickening crunch of death echoing about her. But she did not moan in suffering, nor shed single tear. It was not a feeble cough that wrenched itself from her throat, no, though inky blood trickled from her lips.

She laughed, the sound a sputter from her lithe chest, trickling through the void that surrounded them all. Frigid wind, spawned by the malefic aura of Dreadwar, tangled her hair into tendrils of spun gold.

She rose, staggering to her full height. Gone was serenity and grace, swept away by glacial gales. All that remained was a great and terrible beauty.

Her eyes reopened as pools of desolate blackness, her lips splitting into a razor sharp grin. The talons at the tips of her fingers melted into inky black threads, shaping into slithering masses of tentacles. They glistened with limn of sickly gold as they writhed about her.

257288440_226813309520941_8312131081025436618_n.jpg
There was a frown as she swept her gaze to the side, spotting Lord Nihl lying motionless, the twinkle in her bottomless eyes growing bitter.

You killed my pet, she whined silently to herself, tendrils of ink writhing around her, breath swirling ever so softly into the glacial air of the hangar. Her neck jerked up to regard Dreadwar again. She would drag him back, perhaps clawing, from Chaos. It was no task at all.

“Ku’ar,” she warbled, saccharine sweetness leeching from her malevolent lips. She tutted, shaking her head. Her gaze was only more terrible now, the rays of golden sun far gone. The blackness was beyond comprehension, the only light tiny pricks through which chaos bled. She was annihilation as much as she was elegance, death as much as she was love. She was agony, there, in the glaring light. “Did you think they were so foolish?”

Her voice was solar wind, harsh, grating. It was the end and the beginning. Fate, wrapped in a pretty bow.

The click of boots sounded behind her, melting into the hiss and snap of bubbling tar. There was a malignant hiss, a sound that could not be wrested from her own throat. A hand, no, not a hand, tarry blackness and terrible rot curled into her shoulder. There were eyes aglow behind her, watching as the spidering claws caressed her pale skin. She looked back and smiled, a dozen needle-sharp fangs glittering in the fluorescence of the hangar’s light.

“Well done, whore-mother,” came the reply, a garbled hiss that sounded as if it were a drowned man. His eyes were nothing more than endless stellar voids, bottomless chasms that pulsed with gangrenous fluid, rot seeping down crumbling cheeks into his gaping lips. A baleful hiss resonated in his chest, strips of flesh shuddering with the breath that had been forced into the necrosis-ridden avatar. It was a sound that would burrow deep as the maggots that nestled into his blackened gums. They writhed as he spoke, as if worshipping even the breath of the god from their fleshy burrows. "Serak tah merak nash shal fystorath."

Her smile only grew, somehow, wyyyschokk threads of spittle dangling from the tips of the pale thorns that were her teeth and then dripping to own her lips as they widened.

“The false Sith all in one meagre temple. The galaxy left to our hand.”

Nathemus laid there, writhing in pain from the Dread-King's near lethal Force Wave. Dreadwar had incredible power, and this is exactly why they should never have come to face him. It was a massacre. Sol was dead, his father was dead. His new sister and brother were no doubt dying if not dead already. And now Volshe showed her true self. She had been an agent for the betrayer the entire time. She'd been corrupted by Dreadwar. "Mother," he said, tone low and raspy. He wasn't even sure if the abomination Queen of the Stars could hear him. "Why? Why would you betray us? How could you sell out your family for Dreadwar?" If he could stand, he'd have thrown the mighty axe Asimikots squarely towards her head, but he lacked the energy to do this even now.

"Oh, oh no, no no." Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated the idea. "I sold him out, too."

She laughed, sputtering obsidian blood onto the durasteel at her feet, her crimson maw rippling with the bell-like sound. "Oh," she breathed, as if her breath had been wrest away by the very Chaos she venerated. "How beautiful it is."

~ 💀 ~

NB. GM approved!

OOC: For their use of REDACTED (redaction approved by GM), REDACTED rolls 8 + 23 + 10 against DC 30, and succeeds. Effect is 25 + 5.

Sol Kira's attack rolls a 15 + 3 against DC 50, and fails.

Dreadwar's usage of Force Wave rolls a 13 + 25 + 10 against DC 30 (the environment), Sol's DC 5, Nathemus' DC 40 and Volshe's DC 46, respectively, and succeeds on all counts; Damage is 3 + 4 + 5 + 5 + 6 + Modifier of 5 + Bonus of 10, and the HP of Sol, Nathemus and Volshe are reduced to 0, 2 and 8, respectively.


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


IC Darth Thana, Dread Master
Location: Tunnels


Darth Thana was making her way passing people running in different directions towards what felt like her destination. As soon as there was more light from different angles she saw all the rest or most of the rest of the higher ups of Lords and Ladies gathered around. What lay before them was a hypergate and a tunnel with a Statue. She hadn't heard all that much of the speech being given by Lord Kain as others as well were into their own heads. Turning to face her Trandoshan counterpart as this seemed like a safe enough place to heal up and gather up a plan.

Some seemed to favor the hypergate way to jump off the planet and others were trying to check on the safety of the tunnel that would lead further into the temple. It would be the hope that it would lead to safer place to escape what is on it's way in terrorizing the Sith. Facing Mirtis she spoke up "Now let's try to both get healed up, since you offered and it would be smarter to have us at full strength. You try your hand at that while I make some allies for us."

She turned away from Mirtis allowing him to grab on to her damaged forearm while she closed her eyes. Now attempting to concentrate, her free hand would attempt to summon fire outwardly. Her mind however would picture beings made of pure fire, as many as she could summon forth using the dark side. Some with razor sharp sword-like hands to use as protection. She prayed that the force would favor her attempts here, the creatures that would bend to her every will.


IC Darth Mirtis, General of Venom
Tunnels


Darth Mirtis looked back from where they came though, to see if he could see Darth Noxia approaching. But Thana’s words caught his attention. He looked around once more to see if any threat looked nearby.
“Alright sounds like a good idea.” Mirtis tried to be gentle with her arm as he held her wrist with his left and his right hand over the wounded area. He closed his eyes and focused. In his mind, he spoke out to the force to heed his requests rather then making it submit. In addition to that, happy moments in his life seem to flash by him rising a sense of content in him opposed to the rage and pain he harbored more frequently. As he did so, he attempted to force heal Darth Thana.


Powers attempted:

Thana-
Pyrokinesis-4
Animate Golem-3

Mirtis-
Many Shades of the force-1
Force Heal-1

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


DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT! WHY IS NOTHING GOING RIGHT? Hadzuska internally raged. First the library, and now this hot piece of rancor dung. Why couldn’t he find the information that he seeks? For the briefest of moments if anyone was truly paying attention, they would have seen the purest look of rage and hatred in his eyes before he masked his feelings once more.


Then there was this feeling of darkness that kept getting closer, and stronger. He was getting curious what this feeling was caused by. He’d heard someone say it was somebody named Dreadwar, but it couldn’t be just one person, could it? He closed his eyes, and began to silently pray to The Old Gods. But most importantly he began to pray to The Old God that once answered him, asking for guidance. What should I do?


He opened his eyes after his silent prayer. No answer had been given yet, but he was sure it would be given soon enough. As he opened his eyes he noticed the Lord he betrayed staring daggers at him, with his hand resting on his saber. Hadzuska looked him over, then looked to the Manchild and remembered that he was trying to prevent as many from dying because of certain predicaments. Hadzuska was safe from his retribution for now.


Then suddenly he was swept away. He was no longer in the tunnels on Korriban. He was surrounded by Rakghouls, fighting alongside others. His red clawed hand swung a crimson saber down on one, removing its head from it’s body. He needed to clear the way for his Lord, Darth Krayt, should he need it. But just as fast as he was there, Hadzuska was back in the tunnels, as the screams of the Quarren’s throat, his throat, getting ripped out became yet another unlocked memory. He was unnerved, but he kept that hidden behind the mask, along with his rage and hatred.


TAGs: @Admiral Volshe, @Darth Nathemus, @Voidwalker, @skira, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Reatith Blodraald, @Keres Dymos, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @dragonsith13, @Darth Xxys, @Helkosh, @G.Kn, @Darth Thana, @corinthia, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Xirr, @DarthFeros, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @Metus, @Sith_Imperios @Darth Dreadwar
 
Chapter IX: The Hands of a God
IC: Ānhrā Māhnîu.
Location: Approaching the Eternal Fleet, near Bosthirda.


Summoning:



9BDBB8D3-3646-4BA6-8B48-2BF692CF89A0.jpgPassing beyond the doors of death, his hands swirled through slick pitch. He could feel them, closer than ever, the flickers of conscious light shimmering in the oily beyond. The physical realm had been left behind, beneath his notice. Yet even as his physical chant had concluded, the spell still sang itself within his mind.

‘’Ja’ak. Vexok Savaka.’’
‘’Ja’ak. Vexok Savaka.’’
‘’Ja’ak. Vexok Savaka.’’

Ethereal feelers flowed and slithered forward, strings of mental might as tangible as magical mist. Converging on the first point in the line, it coalesced into ten spindly limbs.

‘’Tsaiwinokka Siqsakut.’’

The ghastly facsimiles reached out through his spectral retina, each one unfolding into six skeletal claws. The presences for which they reached were a mere atom’s breadth from nonexistence. And yet the god-king, the Jen’nu, could sense them.

Even as the corpses rotted in ravaging void, their spirits dispersing into oblivion, they remained as traces, anchors through which he could portal his new self.
Even as the cold embrace of annihilation closed around the poor souls, echoes of life remained. And as he reached outward, the concepts of life and death mere words in the interstellar wind, he could hear them. The ripples of shock and confusion, terror and betrayal, merely a flimsy undulation.
IMG_6817.JPGThey would need a guide.


‘’Come to me.’’

The hazy hands stretched through space, envisioning forms everywhere. And as their serpentine talons hooked themselves into the spectral shapes, he spoke.


‘’Yes.’’
‘’Though you float through this abyss in the shadow of death, you will not fear me.’’
‘’For I am with you; my sword and staff they follow thee.’’

It was the voice of rebirth.

‘’Come to me and you may live again.’’
‘’Come to me and have my revenge.’’

It was the voice of their luminary numen.


‘’Your god is here for you.’’
‘’Your soul is my soul.’’


Powers used:
Reanimate Spectral Undead - 3 (continued)

(TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Darth Sedicious)
 
IC: The Sedriss
Location: Dungeons, heading towards tunnels, Sith Temple, Korriban

Cold.

That was the overwhelming feeling Nathemus experienced as he and his charges made their way to the hangar. He knew full well that what now inhabited their chosen escape route was a being they could not simply pass by. It’s him. The Emperor. For all that now mattered, the hangars were blocked. He dared not face the might of Dreadwar, for it would not be a lesson in losing, but a loss, and the only loss option was death.

If Dreadwar was in the hangar, surely his infernal Council had breached the Temple too. The Shadow hand was always on guard, and he prayed further to the Sith spirits he called upon. Lord Malgus, Lord Wyyrlok! Bring your power to bear, help me in my darkest time! Invaders have breached Korriban, the Temple will fall! If they heard his cries, perhaps he would have assistance in dealing death blows to the Tsis.

All over the Temple, inside and out, he could see through the eyes of the Ghouls. No less than five Dark Lords of the Sith strode forth. Two Rakata, one of whom he learned the nature of Force Weapons and Mind Traps by, Court Magician Raspir, and the other unknown to the Sedriss. The other three were much more prominent in ancient Sith history. The greatest swordsman in history, Tulak Hord, and the pioneer of Transfer Essence and Eternal Hatred, God-King Andeddu. Ironic, the very architect of the power that made Lord Nathemus immortal was now charging forth to end his life. The last Lord was less certain. It was the massive armor that he knew from various datacrons and history lessons, worn by such notable individuals as Warb Null and Malleus, but its true Master was the ancient King of Korriban, Lord Adas. He couldn’t be sure, but it was reasonable to assume the Sleeping King had taken control once more.

The Dark Lord knew his Ghouls could not kill the charging invaders, but if they could be slowed, that would allow more time to escape into the now only option: the tunnels below. Nathemus hated the idea of being boxed in, but perhaps there was an escape route down there he knew little about. As soon as his father spoke, Nathemus could feel the urgency in his voice. It was time to go. He immediately turned on his heel and made his way towards the dungeons, bolting into the stairwell that Pravum’s animated golems had now vacated. Sol Kira was also descending down the stairwell, he noticed. Voidwalker had sent a vague telepathic message earlier requesting to protect her. Everyone wants my protection now, it seems. Perhaps in the coming moments I’ll get to kill something instead of saving something. First the Federation prisoners, now this.

Twenty Ghouls now barricaded the Temple entrance. They couldn’t prevent the doors from being ripped from their frames, but they would claw and swipe at the entering ancient Lords. If they could get only a few blows in, if they could divert even one of their focuses, that would provide the opening for his family to escape.

Perhaps the Ghouls could slow down the Dark Lords. Perhaps they'd be nothing but cannon fodder. But if Nathemus and his family survived, illusory Ghouls mattered not. He truly believed he could take on one, maybe two, of the charging invaders, but all of them? No, that would be suicide. And the Supreme Malevolence was not in the business of killing himself.

Survive. That is all that should matter to a Dark Lord of the Sith. And that base instinct was all the more true of a Lord of Pain. Lord Andeddu knew it, he was an unliving example, a 7000 year old example of what a Lord of Pain should be. But if either of them perished this day, it would be Andeddu.

He therefore continued to run down through the dungeons to the beginning of the stairwell leading into the underground tunnels, hopefully with the Federation leaders, his family, and current Apprentice in tow. "Empress! Father! Get the kids down to the tunnels as quickly as you can. Take Sia and Stazi with you. I will meet you down there soon. Sister, my mind remains open to you. Keep me in the know."

Ladies Hesper and Arach were present as well as the one who claimed to be Krayt, though he had a different air about him than at the feast. He gave the Sith Ladies respectful nods, then addressed Hesper. "Greetings, Lady Hesper. I had assumed you perished at Mortis, but like me, you're a survivor. Let's all survive this day."

His previous Apprentice wouldn't be so lucky. Yenøh was still trapped in the Sedriss' shuttle in the hangar. She was small enough to hide beneath the viewport of the shuttle after she saw the Dread Emperor enter. Swiftly, she attempted to reduce her Force signature down to a pin, hoping and praying to not only be hidden from his sight but his senses as well. Thankfully, as she had hidden beneath the viewport, she had not seen the cadre of beings facing down Dreadwar, most seemingly dead or dying.

Powers used:
Sedriss
Sith Illusions (continued): 5
Invoke Spirits (second turn): 5
Yenøh
Conceal Essence: 3 (pending companion CS)

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

“I will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage.”
~Cersei Lannister, A Feast For Crows

IC: Empress Kára Volshe
The Dungeons and the Underdelve

In the hall, Empress Kára Volshe wavered. Her hand flit up to her brow, sweat beading there as concentration took its toll upon her. She glanced to the side, steadying herself against the Imperial Knight as the taxing effect of the similfuturus waged war against her force reserves. One entity was difficult enough, but only a master of such phantasmic art could create multiple avatars - and for how long, she did not know. Minutes, she believed, hoping that would be enough to funnel a thousand Sith into the depths below them. But she was already verging on weariness, the exhaustion of raising an army and seizing the minds of a thousand taking its toll. Her muscles ached. Her mind burned as if it had been set ablaze.

“Nihl, Maladi,” she spoke to the One at her side as she stepped towards the dungeons. It was likely loud enough for the others to hear, for she did not waste time nor energy quieting her voice. “I am holding Dreadwar now, in the hangar. For how long, I do not know. Seconds, minutes. He will make it easily through the decimation once that fails.”

It was likely not evident how, but her glassy gaze likely gave some indication that it was with some excessive use of power.

“Something wicked is coming.”

“Majesty…” One of the Knights warned, quietly, palming his ‘saber as a wave of cold overtook them. She could feel it, the converging darkness, on the fringes of her senses. It chilled her to her core. There was more than simply Dreadwar, she knew. But how much more? They were running out of time.

She looked to a trio of the throng of Sith, unsure of their identities. Knights, at most, she figured. Though perhaps they were not. “Ensure your comrades pursue me into the dungeons. Do not allow any of them ahead, and do not allow any of them to be left behind unless absolutely necessary. This is my will.”

She had not missed the violent explosion behind, or the smoking, gaping wound and the rubble now throughout the partially collapsed hall that led to the hangar. But she also did not trust the Sith to be logical. They were oft ruled by fear. And fear unchained was enough to drive a man insane.

She began down the steps. She motioned to the Knights to guide Marasiah and the children first, ensuring as they stepped into the murky darkness of the dungeons, punctuated only with the insidious light of flame, that neither she nor Stazi, nor the youth at her feet would be left behind. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the waning light as they hurried through the dungeon, a blade of verdant green and deadly crimson catching her eye. Her lip curled.

Krayt.

He was not all that caught her disdainful eye. The apprentice of Dreadwar was nearby. A crown atop her head.

“With me,” she hissed to Marasiah, aware the woman likely would not take kindly to her guiding her by force. But she trusted neither of the ones nearby. Hesper even less, now that it appeared she was dressing as if she had claimed the throne, whilst Volshe had crafted and commanded armies beyond the great stone walls. They had done nothing but waltz into her coronation feast. And only after she had brought an Empire to heel once more. Only after she had prepared the Galaxy for the ruthless war they now faced. What exactly had they done?

A swarm of feverish fire-wasps burned upon the tip of her tongue. But it was not the time.

They should have thrown Krayt to the wastes beyond the Temple, leaving him to the same fate as K’Kruhk. He deserved it far more. Imagining it pleased her, immensely so.

But a meat shield was a meat shield. The more left alive, the more left to protect her and her interests, and the more left to ensure they would emerge victorious from this war. It was her power that would assure such. Power was the currency of the Sith. Power was what decided who led and who followed, not honeyed words or crowns upon heads.

It was she above them who held it.

She swallowed hot magma, the seemingly effortless placidity not once leaving her alabaster countenance. She would not intervene and she would not satiate her petty desires, though it would have been a spot of light in her now quite terrible day.

She turned her eye to the maw that heralded the thousands of steps ahead, well before she approached them. It was a sight she would not forget, but it was something she would outwardly pay no mind. She did not so much as look at the woman as she passed, nor the bastard who stood nearby. She strode towards the steps with posture as statuesque as the milkstone spearmen who stood eternal guard on Coruscant, slowing her steps as her Imperial Knight detail attempted to clear a path for them in the chaos. Fear, cold as it was dark, pricked its sharp daggers at her neck.

“Majesty,” one of them offered, extending his hand to guide her past both Hesper and Krayt, the four of them stepping beside her as a wall of crimson protection - but leaving space for the other Lords with her to filter in behind.

“With haste,” she reminded those around her, gathering her skirts and beginning down the steps. Her pace increased as she left the landing, her bare feet light on the damp and frigid stone. She used the wall as guidance, on occasion, but the Knight provided her more stability and she relied on him most often.

“Lord Kain! Lady Apollyon! I have arrived,” she called, a tinge of venom in her jubilant tone as they at last stepped into the terrible chamber below, the depths even more disgusting as she could have gleaned from her possession of the thrall. She looked to the Nautolan woman - who likely would be waking from her Force-imposed stupor at any moment. They had not a moment to spare. Her voice was strained. She was strained. And that was the only reason she did not offer more challenge to those she had heard around her proverbial son. Her hand beckoned with a quirk of two ring-adorned fingers as she approached the pale Nautolan. “Dear. Give me the console.”

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~

POWERS USED:
Similfuturus (continuing from last post)
Mind Trick (continuing from last post)​

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

IC: Darth Traya III
Location: Leaving the balcony, Fountain Palace, Hapes


Traya felt her magick weaving through the aether of the Force and savored in the sensation of feeling burning chains of enslavement seizing several of the nobles' minds. In her deepest of hopes she’d dreamed she might ensnare hundreds, perhaps thousands like the Siths of legend, yet she was no legend. All the same, these pawns would do nicely.

She tested her willpower over her new slaves by willing them to bow their heads in reverence to her, and to Dhe.

“All that feel the call of my voice, escort me and my company to the throne room.” she commanded in a voice as innocent and demure as her species. She turned away from her disrupted poplus, still smirking as the mire of ages of apathy were forced to shatter amidst her betrayal of the ancient customs.

She willed her thralls to follow her, and then proceed in front of her in a guard formation. She paused as she left the balcony and briefly turned her perceptions to Dhe’s presence. Thrumming with the adrenaline of casting one of the more complex spells, she felt her heart surge with affection and the fluttering beat in her womb stirring. If only she had the luxury of savoring these moments, these small waves of tenderness . All she could do for this brief frame of time was express her rush of emotion to Dhe with a brief kiss, the warmth of his lips brought a surge of heat to her icy lips. This might appear odd to Necros Solaar, as she could feel Dhe wore the guise of a woman, yet she’d ceased to care what the stranger thought. She only suffered his presence and barbed jabs due to his connections. She must obey Emperor Dreadwar, and Necros was here by his design.

“Shall we?” he mockingly invited her into the heart of the palace.

We shall, yet where did you learn the details of such a spell? I searched endless dusty archives for any whisper of this arcane spell. My own Master never uttered its existence. How do you know its exact enunciation, my friend?” she pried, grasping for a kernel of knowledge as to who this elusive being was.

Traya poured her focus into the thralls, guiding them to slip into the halls of the palace, for them to raise any blades or blasters they had to act as the first line of defense if any dared to threaten her.

As Traya herself stepped forward, she fell awash with the relief of feeling her legs splitting at the knee. This greatly relieved the dull aching in her feet. The Miraluka’s pale, bare feet warped and distorted as each toe began to grow into a flopping tentacle, the segments lengthened, thickened and writhed freely. The flesh-colored tentacles toughened into thick reptilian scales then darkened to a mottled grey and green, from the end of each flailing tendril serpentine heads completely with fangs and flickering forked tongue burst from the ends of each appendage. In place of legs, from the knees downward Traya writhed on serpentine appendages.

There had once been a time she’d merely projected this fearsome illusion to make herself more intimidating. Most did not feel threatened in the presence of a Miraluka female, and yet…Traya’s mind could not recall when the use of this eldritch illusion began to feel like her true form, and the form of the mere Miraluka was the illusion.

Cast too many illusions, and one runs the risk of losing themselves.

Yet lost or not, it felt akin to total liberation as she assumed her preferred aesthetic within her marble and gold-trimmed halls. Shed of the guise of Aurelia Chume, Darth Traya the Third manifested as a lanky half-starved monstrosity that stood a foot taller, her pointed helm gleaming in the sunlight, the white silk of her gown contrasting starkly with the hissing and writhing of her muscular limbs.

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“We will likely meet resistance. Be prepared.” She spoke to her husband, her tenuous ally, and her thralls as she withdrew the gleaming yew bow from her back, as well as two beskar arrows. She primed her bow at a half draw, and held to the mental reins of her thralls as she began her approach to the room that would pave her path to the stars.

Powers Used:
Qazoi Kyantuska: 4(sustained)
Alter Image: 4



IC: Dhe
Dhe did not appear the least bit impressed nor phased by Necro's cryptic answer. The stranger spoke in riddles, and the veiled sentences and threats of an assassin or a Sith. Dhe could not accurately speculate if the stranger was either, but at least one veiled riddle he could deduce.

“So, you're an agent of Emperor Dreadwar, yes?” he speculated, hoping it might merit a response. “The Queen Mother told me the story of her ascension, and her fealty to Dreadwar remains unchanged. Where the Queen Mother’s is loyal, I shall follow…but what is the goal of this call to arms? What is Dreadwar’s glorious purpose?” Dhe mused, yet didn’t expect anything more than riddles from the pallid stranger.

The final singing notes of the Queen Mother’s spell were cast, and she turned from the balcony to regard her nobles, Necos and himself. Although the cruel spell was not meant for him, not this time…some fractured splinter of his psyche felt compelled to obey. He flexed his hands, and they moved to his own accord. If he’d been affected, he could not have moved without the Queen Mother’s command. He merely could feel her insidious power weaving through the aether of the Force, a web that snagged fresh flies in its strands. And the utterance of those words caused the fissures of his mind to overflow with adoration of Aurelia. Those words caused him to know the enrapturing grasp of love for the first time in his unremarkable life.

“All that feel the call of my voice, escort me to the throne room,” Traya spoke, her commands were calm and measured, clearly reaching out to her thralls.
Once cleared from the view of the majority of the populus, the Queen Mother spared a single moment for Dhe. A swift embrace, and delicate kiss that burned with the sting of ice upon his lips. It was but a brief instant of passion in the heat of conflict…and was it truly passion? Had the devotion he felt been a product of his once enslaved mind?

Aurelia moved swiftly away, striding toward the throne room. Before her bare feet touched the ground her toes, and entirely of the legs from the knees down divided, lengthened, and writhed until she possessed the serpentine appendages she preferred when donning her Sith persona.

“We will likely meet resistance. Be prepared.” Aurelia warned as she took her golden bow from her back and began toward the throne room. She appeared prepared for an attack, thus Dhe’s talents would be required.

He paused for a moment to close his eyes, focus on immersing himself in the Force and pulling it around him to hopefully cloak him in its folds and render him near invisible.

Powers Used:
Force Cloak: 2


Tag: @Darth Dreadwar
 
IC: Darth Solus
Location: Korriban


Cold… everything felt cold. The air grew still and chilled with the aura of death. A cold seeming to freeze time and Solus recognized it. Dreadwar. Every ounce of Solus’ body seemed to approach the realization at once. Perhaps this was a situation where The Commandant wanted to be wrong. He never believed Dreadwar was dead and that thought had crossed his mind earlier this day. Why am I already proved correct? Perhaps it was foolish but fear wasn’t the feeling Solus had. Annoyance. That’s the feeling. Every part of the escapade was more typical Sith power tripping. Everyone has to feel high and mighty. Perhaps my trust is in the wrong boat.

Nihl bumped hard into Solus as he shouted and charged for the steps to the dungeons. A man in panic is like a stripped screw. The only way to fix it, is to cut it. His saber slipped from his belt in a rehearsed motion. It was likely Solus would die for this action, but his charges, the children, would survive. As a whole the mission would be successful. With or without Dreadwar’s arrival.

“There is danger ahead. To the tunnels, now, In orderly fashion, but with haste. The same as before, young first. Lords, pursue them. You are aware of the hierarchy. Ensure the remainder behind you hears this order.”

All the Commandant could do was nod. His position meant nothing here and if nothing else Lady Volshe and her entourage had made that clear. Pointless. His previous motion was halted and the next one beginning. A new direction.


“Children! You heard Lady Volshe, move now to the tunnels. I am close behind.”

As the children moved, Solus followed close behind his saber still in his hand and lightning flitting around his grasp. If there was an enemy in the path then the next step was clear, but for now his charge. His mission. His orders were the children. All else could be handled at a later date.

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

SOLUS FORCE POWERS USED/ATTEMPTED:
(Passive) Electrical Aura-4
Mind Shield- 4
Force Lightning (Preparatory)- 4
 
IC: Darth Noxia
Location: Sith temple tunnels, Korriban


Sounds echoed through the passageway. Cries, groans, the chaotic rhythm of labored breathing as the Sith attempted to put distance between themselves and the looming threat. There were too many?

It didn’t matter. Noxia knew she only needed to slow them down so she could get out of the temple. She had lost sight of Mirtis, she knew that much. She thought she had heard Metus’s steps behind her. She knew she had to get moving again.

As the voice of Apollyon grew further from her, Noxia felt her adrenaline begin to rise. She has to go. Quickly…

No.

Focus.

She channeled the fear, the urgency that threatened to break into panic.

Focus.

She held tight onto that thread of the force which she had cast to summon those from the depths of the temple. She could feel their presence. They were there, she only need awaken them.

Focus.

She felt the steady rhythm of her breathing. The ambient cries and groans were drowned out. Here she had all the time in the world.

(Powers used: reanimate Sith Undead-4)


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


The thrum of Hesper's lightsaber filled her ears; a familiar droning, punctuated by motion as she flexed her wrist and twirled her blade. The burning red of its plasma cast light upon her face as it passed before her, held at the ready as Krayt barked orders and the disorganized escapees fell into line to file into the tunnels below. She sensed the minutest of changes, then, as yet more bodies pushed past Hesper's station at the entrance into the dungeons level.

"Where are we going? What's down there?" It was Talon—svelte red thing, she was. Hesper cocked her head towards her, scarred eye glimmering in the crimson light.

Her precognition was clear: she sensed the claustrophobia, the feeling of hot, nervous breath on each other's faces. Whatever tunnel awaited them was tight, pressing in from all sides, an oppressive darkness and weight-- or resistance, really—foreshadowing a difficult passage. And she heard that scream again… and this time, the voice was almost familiar… Apollyon? She wondered…

"We are fleeing into the tunnels, Talon," Hesper said after Arach's response. "There is a pathway that leads out of this Temple; I've foreseen our salvation. Go now—waste no time!"

Hesper was almost irritated with how many Sith were stopping to speak to one another or to her; she was beginning to feel as though she were vibrating with anxiety, wishing that everyone would just get down into the tunnels below already and stop wasting precious time. She waved off the comments from some hulking man with cracked ashen, skin; survivors, bah! They would not survive if every Sith were to stop for dallying conversation with one another like this.

It was then that Hesper felt the almost indiscernible drop in temperature, solidifying her anxiousness and heightening her fear by another few degrees. Dreadwar.

Now, there was absolutely no time to waste at all. Her heart pounded in her chest, and regret tugged at its strings as her thoughts reached out towards Sorin, who was somewhere above, searching out a way to connect with their troops and fleet above Korriban's neighboring world of Bosthirda—the Hesperians' self-made homeworld. Urgently, she reached out to Sorin, grasping for the bond she shared with all her disciples to speak to him telepathically, recalling him to the dungeons immediately. She took a deep breath. He would return posthaste, and they would at last begin their descent, joining the others below, to lead them towards the promising light she had foreseen.





IC: Lieutenant Sorin Valantin Ar'váez
War Room

Sorin's feet pounded heavily against the stone floors of the Temple as he raced from dungeons to war room; though he had never set foot in this temple, he somehow felt he knew where to go. His feet carried him through throngs of panicked citizens that he pushed aside with little regard, until he was bounding up a staircase two steps at a time. All around, klaxons blared and alarms howled, and the dire warning of the shields' deactivation repeated itself until it felt like torture in his skull. Yet somehow it was all a bit familiar—the siren song of adrenaline and danger. It dredged up memories of a time before his devotion to the Hesperians, among his fleet as a member of the clandestine Blazing Chain, when he was not a Lieutenant but a feared and respected Adacap. Daring feats of piracy and navigation had always seemed to be accompanied by similar such symphonies of warning bells.

Sweeping his golden-brown hair back from his face and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of a glove, he entered into what could only be the war room. It was dim, and ominous, with a low, round table in the center boasting all manner of consoles and holograms. It was easy to imagine this space as a tactical hub.

Sorin set the lightsaber pike in his hands aside, leaning it against a console as he pulled off his gloves. His brow was furrowed as he inspected the panels, ignoring all the seemingly mentally vacant officers who Sorin assumed worked here—he didn't ask permission to touch anything, seeing as most did not seem to be able to give permission, anyway.

Only one other was fussing over a console, the glazed, disconnected eyes of the trooper flicking over the display of a communications panel. He peered over their shoulder, jaw tensing as he saw the damning message on the screen: the attempted transmission had been sent and successfully received. But no reply had been returned. They're ignoring us. Sorin grumbled, scratching his beard as he shouldered the trooper out of the way.

"Hurry back," it said, "Lest you die."

The trooper's voice was drawn out, detached, but before Sorin could raise a protest, the trooper seemed to have her senses return before she bolted from the war room. "Chaos," he muttered, shaking his head. Today was certainly a day for strange and unexpected happenings.

His hands were already fleet over the panel's controls, keying in the frequency for the Hesperians' flagship, the Auspex, which lay in wait in orbit around Bosthirda, just one system north-by-northeast from Korriban. A mere hop and skip away. If the ignored communique had been received by ships in orbit, perhaps ships elsewhere would have a better response…

He punched the button to connect, and while he waited for the ping to signify he was successful, Sorin recorded his message:

"This is Lieutenant Ar'váez hailing the Auspex, do you read me? Please acknowledge."


 
CS DREADWAR APPROVED!




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Name/Title: Tobbiramas Airskipper

Nicknames/Aliases: Tobbi (Toe-bee)

Age: 25

Sex: Male

Species: Half-Korun

Homeworld: Cato Nemodia

Occupation: CEO of the Airskipper corporation

Height: 6'1

Weight: 196lbs

Physical Description: Dark-skinned and muscular with white hair, his most striking features are undoubtedly the patches of gnarled, wrinkled, purple skin that cover much of his lower face and neck, all the way down past his collarbone, below his eyes, around his torso, and his arms. These mangled and wrinkled patches of skin are held together by crude surgical stitches, which were implemented in a desperate attempt to save his mutilated skin immediately.

Clothing: Wears a draping blue Jacket with a white T-shirt and blue jeans.

Weapons: Ancient Lightsaber that has been modified to have removable bladed handle guards and bladed ornate pommel to accommodate saber staff and dual saber options.

Vehicles: X-70B phantom

Pets (if applicable): N/A

Languages: Galactic Basic, Pak-Pak

Combat Skills (brief summary of general combat strengths, including non-Force-based skills not reflected in Skills statistics section): A budding master of Echani, which doesn't mean much as he's inexperienced in actual combat situations.

Other Strengths (brief summary of general strengths, including non-Force-based strengths not reflected in Skills statistics section):

Tobbi is a very passionate and determined individual; he will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Tobbi's willpower and patience are remarkable as well; he is willing to wait for extraordinary amounts of time to have the best chance of accomplishing what he seeks.

Flaws (brief summary of general weaknesses, including non-Force-based weaknesses not reflected in Skills statistics section):

Tobbi can be a very reckless and selfish person if his ego gets inflated enough. Tobbi, in this state, can be combative and competitive with others he views as below him or at the same level; in addition, the pursuit of knowledge and power has put him in some precarious positions due to him suffering from tunnel vision.

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral, Tobbi can be selfless towards those he cares about but will often question his actions as most of the unselfish decisions he makes are entirely reflexive.

Personality: Tobbi is a paranoid, arrogant, fun-loving, and competitive man; he loves subtly and loudly boasting about his accomplishments when he gets the chance to do so, along with flexing his superior prowess above those he views as lesser. Tobbi can be headstrong, but this comes from a place of yearning for success, power to protect his loved ones, and knowledge.


Fears: The perfect loss, where Tobbi not only loves his own life but also watching as everything falls apart around him, his loved ones dying, his wealth stolen, his legacy crushed, with the knowledge that his legacy will amount to nothing and will die only being a footnote in someone else's autobiography.

Likes: Fighting, training, reading, learning, eating, passion.

Dislikes: Cowardice, duplicity, those who are merely comfortable and never seeking to reach new heights.

Habits: Tends to overthink situations and make situations seem more complicated than they are. Thinks aloud when he believes he's alone, sometimes having full-on conversations with himself.

Relationships:
Family (For background purpose):


[IMG]


Name: Devron Airskipper (Father/ deceased)
Age: 57. (When you're rich and famous like him, you spend a fortune to maintain your appearance )
Homeworld: Resides in Cato Nemoidia born initially on Nar Shaddaa
Personal equipment: A holdout blaster attached to a shoulder holster and concealed within his jacket; a Vibro-knife sheathed to the inside of his boot; personal datapad and wrist comlink; usually dresses in a smart suit.
Personal ship.

Conflict was all Devron ever knew; war, death, exploitation, and manipulation were all things that had become normal for Devron growing up. Devron had grown up a slave on Nar Shaddaa by the resident Draper mob family, a group made rich by their constant heists on galactic banks and liquidating the profit.

Becoming a criminal empire that could rival the Hutts; it's why they set up operations on Nar Shaddaa to challenge them.

Eventually, at the age of 18, Devron was noticed by his owners after being a last-minute selection for a heist as a Gunman after every other Gunman member before him either backed out or died before the job. The Draper family, Donald Draper the IV, took a chance on Lil' Devron and inducted him into the family as a soldier.

[IMG]

(Donald Draper the 4th)

This was a mistake on Draper's part. Would a former slave really continue to serve someone who knowingly put them through humiliation and ire? Maybe Donald did this before with other slaves, and they happily served him for the rest of their days. But Devron isn't another slave; he's a man who wants everything. So Devron spent years shadowing Don, studying him, reading his files, and gaining allies within. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike as he ascended the ranks of the mob, and it came.

The majority of Donald Draper's assets were annihilated in a chance cataclysm, and from the Devron saw his opportunity and struck, planning and enacting a coup d'etat, dividing the mafia in half.
After a year of warfare, Draper's followers began to lose faith in him, especially since Devron had the backing of the Hutts. Draper, tired of the conflict, momentarily took a sabbatical from command of the war, leaving it to his trusted advisor. However, his advisor had other ideas and contacted Devron to make a deal and guarantee his freedom, so the advisor told Devron Draper's location with a heavy heart. So that night, security was intentionally lax, and Devron had killed Donald Draper the 4th, usurped his assets, and began building his empire from the ground up.

As a condition for receiving the Hutt's help, Devron left Hutt space. Within two years, the Airskipper family would set up operations in Cato Nemoidia, Deko Nemoidia, Koru Nemoidia, and has forged a strong alliance with Muunilinst. These planets are so rich that they are nearly untouchable in whatever galactic affairs transpire.

Devron knew that he needed an heir to his empire, someone who could protect the family name from all sides of the galaxy, Jedi, Sith, Hutts, and Mandalorians. Devron wanted all of them to be no match for his progeny. So Devron found and seduced several force-sensitive women to find the proper heir;


Yasseem Airskipper "The Black Jaguar" (Half-Brother)

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Age: 34

Faction: Obsidian king of both the Black Guards and the Seyugi Dervishes.

Equipment: A suit made out of Obsidian as part of Blackguard tradition.
Obsidian sword. Obsidian claws.

The Force: Yes

Bio: Yasseem left the Airskipper family at 18 after realizing he fell out of favor with his father over something he can't control. Yasseem joined the Black Guards soon after.


Joshua "Joshu" Airskipper (Half-Brother)

[IMG]


Age: 32
Occupation: (information broker)
The Force: Yes
Bio: Devron would've stopped here if it weren't for two factors.

  1. Joshu never developed the aptitude to practice his force powers.
  2. Devron also wanted an heir that at least found the opposite sex attractive to continue the dynasty.
With that all in mind, Devron cast Joshu out of the family. However, much to everyone's surprise, Joshu carved out a nice living as an information broker for the Underworld's dealings. Joshu acts like he's moved on, but he's definitely up to something. It has been reported that Joshu is working closely with a private military company called the thunder dogs and is setting up an alliance with the Grey Paladins.


Nadia Airskipper (Half-Sister)


[IMG]



Age: 26

Faction: Civilian ( Former Airskipper family Underboss)

The Force: No much to her and her father's disappointment

Bio: Nadia, like Joshu, was almost the heir to the family; she's self-motivating, ambitious, and, most importantly, always has the family's best interest in mind. After finding out that Nadia had no potential in the force, Devron was devastated, almost afraid that he would never find a strong heir until he did.

Nadia has continued to show loyalty to her father, even after falling out of favor. In return, Devron has promoted her to underboss. However, one has to wonder if she's this loyal to Devron after everything that transpired. Devron wonders too.

However, Nadia has recently been in contact with the Umbaran militia and the Hutts.

Heimdall Airskipper (Uncle)


[IMG]



Name: Heimdall Airskipper
Age: 65 (Deceased)
Homeworld: Nar Shadaa
Personal equipment: Blasters, grenades, vibrosword, medkit
Faction: Bounty hunter
The Force: no
Bio: Heimdall and Devron grew up together as slaves to the Don Draper mafia family and formed a deep bond, however at the age of 16, Heimdall was sold to a band of mercenaries. From there, the brothers would never see each other, not see each other until a whole twenty years later, and once Heimdall saw Devron on the holonet as he was overjoyed and rushed immediately to find him. However, Heimdall met Devron at the Airskipper estate and was shocked; Devron was no longer the shy and kind-hearted kid he once knew; instead, he was hardened, ruthless and wealthy. Heimdall couldn't bear to see the brother he loved so much turn into a monster, so he left.

Eventually, Heimdall would continue living as a bounty hunter as it was the only life he knew.


Cervantes O'Deorain (Grandfather)


[IMG]



Age: 94 (Deceased)
Homeworld: Nomadic, birth planet is unknown
One giant sword imbued with the force and a pistol sword that was also imbued with the force.
Faction: Former Blazing chains leader
The Force: Yes
Bio: A swashbuckling force-sensitive pirate and member of the Blazing chains organization. There was a time when he was also the leader but stepped down and had a family on the planet of Concord dawn.

Gloria O'Deorain (Mother)


[IMG]



Age: 51 (Deceased)
Homeworld: Concord dawn originally but migrated to Dyspeth
The Force: Yes
Species: Korun
Bio:
After her Father Cervantes died, nothing protected her and her mother from the residents of concord dawn that saw them as force-sensitive freaks. So with desperate urgency, Gloria and her mother evacuated the planet and intended to travel far, far away from civilization. Only by chance bumping into the personal luxury ship yacht 3000 while Devron made weapon arrangements with the Mandalorians. Gloria ignored her mother and took her to her intended destination Dyspeth. From there, Devron and Gloria got along well; meanwhile, her mother always warned Gloria about Devron.

After spending a year with Devron, Gloria became pregnant, but at this point, she felt like she couldn't become a mother; she wasn't ready for it. Devron convinced Gloria to keep the baby, but Devron cut off all contact with Gloria once it was born and named his fourth child Tobbi. Disheartened by Devron's cold dismissal of her, Gloria traveled back to her ancestral home planet where her mother went. Only to discover a force sect there called the Disciples of twilight, Gloria spent years engrossing herself in their studies and rising through the ranks until she became their leader. Gloria found contentment and even had another child that she raised this time! Gloria always wondered what her life would've been like with Devron, something that became blatantly obvious to her offspring.


Kenneth O'Deorain (half-brother)


[IMG]



Age: 14
Homeworld: Dyspeth
Personal equipment: cybernetic eye.
The Force: Yes
Bio:
Kenneth grew up only hearing his mother talk about Devron. Devron this, Devron that, it was as if Kenneth didn't exist at times! This, needless to say, embedded a bottomless hunger for his mother's affection and approval and a fostered hatred for the Airskipper family. Kenneth plans to do this soon, and he even removed his eye and replaced it with a cybernetic eye that can see through walls and read vital signs. Kenneth seeks to go out into the galaxy and destroy them, but he must convince his mother to mobilize the Disciples of twilight.



Love Interests/ Companion (if applicable):

899579c18916db1888e679c37a841725(1).jpg


Name: Rebecca Thorja
Character theme:
Titles/Rank: Cheif Emissary
Aliases: SS-149
Species: Cyborg
Gender: Female
Home Planet: Sullust
Faction Affiliation: To Tobbi Airskipper

Height: 5'5
Weight: 142lbs
Clothing: in armor
8195875-d87e9fe8518fcf8fd4f3d29176b2e527.png


Weapon(s): twin blaster pistols
Ships/Transportation: shares the same ship as Tobbi
Languages: Galactic Basic, Binary (can understand, not speak)
Non-Force Strengths: Her cybernetic body is an excellent shot that allows her to be much faster and stronger than the average sentient biological life form.

Her durability is also much higher, able to withstand blows that will put a purely biological lifeform out of commission.

Non-Force Weaknesses: Lightning will put her out of commission instantly.
Personality: Rebecca is a troubled, loud, rude, sarcastic, deadly, very competitive, short-tempered, cynical, confident, and considerably aggressive nihilist (a person who believes that life is meaningless and rejects all religious and moral principles) who also exhibits a wild temperament. Rebecca is also undiplomatic, believing in the use of brute force and coercion to get her way. Deep down, however, she is scared, and despite her ruthless nature, she's also capable of showing humor, and she can be quite a talker when she isn't mad. Another aspect of her personality is her connection to Tobbi; she loves the man and would die for him, even becoming uncharacteristically dormant in his presence at times, constantly following his lead.

Biography:

Rebecca was born in the slums of Corellia; she saw the worst the galaxy had to offer, prostitution, death, drugs, genocide, and other heinous crimes. These acts, coupled with her kidnapping from BLACK LIGHT, a paramilitary organization under the direct employ of Devron Airskipper at the time, transformed her into a bioengineered soldier as Rebecca was subjected to torture and had her extremities replaced with synthetic parts to make her a better weapon.

Separating herself as an elite talent by displaying her quickness and ruthless aim, Devron assigned Rebecca to be the personal messenger of his son Tobbi Airskipper who was 20 at the time. Rebecca would often tag along with her new assignment and see that Tobbi had a huge heart and cared a lot for his people and family despite his tyrannical disposition. During a mission to kill a politician of the Phennir line, the two constantly switched roles between rescuer and damsel, eventually managing to save themselves by the skin of their teeth; the two soon engaged in a whirlwind of a romance. Rebecca wrestles with the feeling that her nihilistic outlook is fading as she sees nothing but hope in Tobbi.

Friendships (if applicable): His head hunters and the Jensaari twins he brokered a deal with, Tobbi doesn't trust anyone else.

THE OUTCASTED JENSAARAI - Background purposes only
[IMG]



7797812-1612630851494_image.jpg


Name: Narancia and Yuffie C'baoth
Age: 21 and 24 respectivley
Species: Human
Homeworld: Susefvi
[IMG]


Height: 6'1
Weight: 220
Gender: Male and female
Species: Mostly Human with a hint of Noorian Lineage.
Weapons: 1 purple lightsaber of the defender model, one ancient bronze short saber.
Personal effects: Com-link, 3 rations pill, 2 medpacs
Personal ship: The A-24 Sleuth
Short Bio: Narancia is the son of Talion and Emily C'baoth and the brother of Yuffie C'baoth . Narancia follows a long line of Jensaarai warriors who harbor a hatred for both the Jedi and the Sith. Narancia's mother and father both died at the hands of a renegade Sith while his grandfather on his father's side were killed by the Jedi. Effectively orphaned at a very young age both Narancia and Yuffie were raised by the unofficial battle master Shalidor Dowa. Eventually Narancia and Yuffie found out that they were the descendants of the original Jorus C'baoth who before his death abused their ancestor and became one of the founding members of the Jensaarai.

THE HEADHUNTERS - Background purposes only

The Headhunters are a four-person squad of super soldiers that constantly serve as Devron's eyes, ears, sword, and shield. Devron handpicked these supersoldiers that now appear as "official" members of Devron's cabinet.

Zarya or SS-141 is the Devron Airskipper's Chief of Staff. As Cheif of Staff, she generally works behind the scenes to solve problems, mediate disputes, and deal with issues before they are brought to the chief executive. Often chiefs of staff act as a confidant and advisor to the chief executive, acting as a sounding board for ideas.

With Armor:
[IMG]




Rock, aka S.S 150, as a Director of Communications, controls the flow of information between an organization and the public. Along with managing a communications team, communications directors determine marketing strategies, direct public relations campaigns, and often face media events.

With Armor:
[IMG]



Dutch aka S.S 137 is the organization's most senior executive accountable for the development and oversight of policies and programs intended to mitigate and reduce compliance, operational, strategic, financial, and reputational security risk.

[IMG]






Bio:

Tobbi Airskipper was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father, Devron Airskipper, had three other children with different force-sensitive mothers before him, but they did not live up to his expectations for various reasons. These half-siblings in order were Yaseem, Joshu, and Nadia.

Devron was about ready to give up. That was until the spoiled brat of the family demonstrated his potential in front of everyone at the age of 10, saving his favorite servant Wesker from a 2- ton boulder with very noticeable strain as the very young Tobbi passed out afterward.

From then on, Devron named Tobbi the heir to his company and began training him to become a Sith so that Devron's company could be secure, amongst other reasons. Tobbi, eventually mastering Echani at the age of 20 and honing his force powers, began searching for the Sith.

However, Devron revealed his true intentions before starting his journey and tried to swap consciousness with Tobbi using a new mind-changing machine. Tobbi managed to avoid his father's plan and killed him.

In 156 ABY, Tobbi had no idea that fate would drastically change his life in such a swift and brutal manner. Before the attack, before the betrayal of his most trusted kin, Nadia Airskipper. Nadia was always an excellent sibling to Tobbi; she was always there for Tobbi to lean on whenever he felt the pang of loneliness hit him from being the "successful one," the true heir to his father's empire.

Tobbi, deep down, always wanted a family; he always wanted to be accepted by his father, constantly seeking his approval and readily getting it by being showered with praise and toys but not his father's time and effort. Devron tried to become a father only when he was brutally training his son in Echani, making sure to break bones for any disappointing attempt. Tobbi realized that he was never seen for the person he was deep down; he was never understood.

Tobbi had been betrayed in the past, but the one person he didn't expect to betray him was his dear sister. As during a regular meeting that the two siblings would have together, Nadia revealed that she was never on Tobbi's side, and in fact, she coordinated with her brothers; Joshu Airskipper and Yaseem, to gather evidence to implicate Tobbi's company in the actions of GENTEK which was quickly done as Joshu a former insider of the company and information Broker sold the information to the Galactic federation which sprung a trap upon the Sith hopeful.

So not only did the federation rain upon the estate but also the various siblings' allies. Tobbi was left to fend for himself, a handful of the Federation's military enforcement and many other assailants; Tobbi fought bravely and was eventually beaten to submission and viciously burned as the assailants hated the young Airskipper with a burning passion. And Tobbi indeed would've died if it wasn't for the Sith Empire.

As the Sith military rescued Tobbi, being instantly recognized as the leader of the Sith sympathizers and Galactic federation terrorists, GENTEK, and saved him.

After being allowed time to grieve over the death of his company due to the Galactic Federation having enough evidence to implicate the company after this revelation was made, the Federation responded drastically by freezing all of Tobbi's assets repossessing them within their territory.

Although Tobbi didn't go bankrupt or lose all of his money, he wisely invested his revenue stream within the outer rim planets such as Munnilist and Nal Hutta. So there was still enough for Tobbi to hide away and retire for the rest of his life if he wished to. However, this brought no satisfaction to Tobbi; the legacy that he cultivated was now gone.

After checking for his force sensitivity, the Sith saw this drive and found that the now maimed but alive man had immense potential in the force. Tobbi was offered entry into the Sith Empire, where Tobbi could not only grow stronger but seek revenge on his siblings for betraying and maiming him.

"There is no trust. There are only alliances.

There is no love. There is only passion.

There is no fate. There is only will.

There is nothing…

Only Power."

STR (Strength): 6
FPR (Force Power): 9
DEX (Dexterity): 10
INT (Intellect): 5
CON (Constitution): 8
MAN (Manipulation): 7
PER (Perception): 8
DES (Destiny): 7


Rank/Level: Level 1

Base Class: Warrior

Subclass (if applicable): N/A

Prestige Class (optional): N/A

Skills :
Augmentation* - 1
Force Jump - 1
Force Speed - 1
Telekinesis* - 1
Force Push - 1
Shii-Cho - 1
Djem so - 1
Force Shock - 1
 
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IC: Reatith Blodraald

Location: Hallways of the temple then to the tunnels


He sprinted as quietly as he could under his concealment when another command from Volshe came to his mind to return and enter the tunnels with them. He stopped, spun around and sprinted back as quickly as he could so he wouldn't be left behind, but his thoughts grew increasingly more disturbing.


"KRIFF. These so called Sith Lords have no idea what they are doing. I joined this Empire because I looked up to them, their strength and leadership. But now that they are under attack, they fall apart completely with indecision and fear. Surely the 10 strongest among them could work together, combining their power to eliminate the old Emperor. But here we are, they have lost their strength and their nerve. Maybe THIS is why Dreadwar has returned to destroy us, because he was sick of seeing these.... these...... CHILDREN...... running around playing with their toys. And I am one of their toys to pawn around."


He turned the corner, dropping his camouflage and saw his Master, Lord Solus with burning anger in his eyes. His inner thoughts continued as he saw those eyes behind the war scarred mask.


"Does Lord Solus feel the same about the situation and his 'leaders' or am I just a pawn to him as well, a toy to be sacrificed if it would improve his chances of survival?" Anxiety gripped his gut and twisted his innards at the thought. "I am no more than a plaything to these who claim to weild true power. The cowards who run from a fight and are incapable of working together or even fighting together when their lives are at stake. They are too busy correcting everyone when they don't call them Empress. As if the name itself will somehow make them a better leader, smarter or stronger. Fools.... I don't blame Dreadwar for wanting to wipe us from the galaxy like the greasy stain we are. Especially after his betrayal."


These thoughts overcame his entire being. He truly was alone. He felt the deep hole in his chest that told him couldn't trust or rely on any of these Sith, not to train him or provide security or leadership. In a room full of "powerful" beings, he felt completely alone, naked and exposed. Helooked over to Roshkas and knew that he felt the same, they were going to die here, and no one would even blink an eye at their passing.

And then he heard the explosion.....

~~~


Powers Used:

(None)

All cloaking and abilities are dropped


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

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