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

IC: Adacap Asteron
Aboard the Blazing Chain Redcrescent fleet flagship Zephyrus

- 150 ABY -​

Swirling red nebula parted like placid water before the tinted forward viewport as the sleek Zephyrus swanned through space dust and ethereal light; beneath his feet, the decking of the ship's bridge thrummed with the constant reverberations of sublight. This was the Unknown Regions: dangerous, beautiful, alluring. A dark pit in the far reaches of the galaxy, where only the most intrepid, fearless, and darkest of intent kept their grip on the barest fingerholds. Most of this region was unnavigable and unmappable.

A small asteroid tumbled past the viewport, missing the hull of the Zephyrus by centimeters—his eyes followed it as it went. This is why, he thought. He remembered, too, the myriad dangers he had navigated in all his time out here in the fringes. Black holes and treacherous nebulas, gravity wells and galactic halos. Hands clasped behind his back, Adacap Asteron watched the dancing colors and starlight continue to pass them by from where he stood before the flashing consoles of the bridge. His jaw was firmly set, teeth clenched under smooth olive skin and a rugged short brown beard, eyes of sage green reflecting the lightshow before him. Within, he was reaching out with trained precision, searching for a safe hyperspace route through the rusty, rocky nebula the Zephyrus had entered earlier. The Adacap turned his head, thick brows furrowing as he searched, and he was silhouetted in the sanguine light—handsome nose, golden-brown hair swept back from a face touched with the faintest, barest lines of age, and a tall, well-cut figure.

His true name was Sorin Valantín Ar'váez: A rogue Jedi Knight, once captured by the Blazing Chain, now master of his own fleet and a clever, deadly pirate who had blazed his own trail of blood through the Unknown Regions.

Something in his subconscious tugged, and Adacap Asteron was pulled away from his Force-led astrogation. Turning, he was met by the anxious face of his first officer, a slight Twi'lek woman named Giza Vrei. Her hand was on the blaster at her hip as she skittered to a stop before the Adacap.

"Adacap Asteron!" she exclaimed. Her face was flushed, and her breath came heavy and fast. "It's the Nimbus, their boarding craft just breached the engineering level. I think Captain Kruusk means to challenge you for the fleet."

Asteron held up a hand, quelling Giza's panic. Kruusk was not the first to challenge him; and likely he would not be the last, either. "The crew knows what to do," he said, "Seal off engineering and hail the Nimbus. We'll begin by—"

Asteron tore his eyes away from Giza, distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway to the bridge. Suddenly, the pervasive rumble of the engines seemed too loud, and Asteron's hand instinctively fell to the lightsaber at his side. That was quick, he thought. Kruusk's boarding party must have moved like quicksilver, making quick work of what crew may have tried to stop them. The footsteps echoed, and Asteron drew his lightsaber at once, igniting it with that so familiar deep snap-hiss. Deep, vibrant blue light commingled with the crimson light of the nebula shining throughout the Zephyrus' bridge.

Let them come.

IC: Lieutenant Sorin Valantín
War Room​

Footsteps! Fearfully, Sorin crouched against the wall, feeling the dreadful, thunderous rumble reverberating throughout the temple. His search for an egress was proving futile; there didn't appear to be a single viable exit, apart from the entrance he had come in from… and which was where those damned footsteps were now emanating from. Shit, don't let them come in here, he thought, pleadingly, as he gingerly set down his pike and let his hand drift to the hilt of his greatsword. He drew it with a metallic hiss, and held it low at his side, preparing to fight for his life.

"Oh, High Priestess," he prayed, voice barely a whisper. "If there were ever a time for a miracle, now would be the time…"


TAG:
@Darth Dreadwar




IC: Imperatrix Hesper
Tunnels of the Underdelve​

Hesper slowed as the tunnel transformed from rough sandstone to something… different. Her feet were soft against the stone floor as she tarried, her eyes drawn as if by some magnetic power to the frescoes splashed against the uncanny walls. This artwork… She reached out trembling, pale fingers, stopping just millimeters from the reliefs. She knew this artwork. This artisanship—she had once studied arcane texts that brimmed with illustrations of such styles. It was a natural interest, as comfortable as your favorite house slippers, and Hesper remembered lingering long hours in this very same temple's library, under the eerily vigilant supervision of the fetid Lorekeeper, poring over mountains of tomes. Art! Her first, true passion. Her eyes flickered over such alluringly alien statuaries, breath hitching in her throat at the exquisiteness of form. A name came to her lips: the Architects. She whispered it with utter reverence.

Curiously, Hesper closed the distance with once finger, tracing its tip down an illogical curlicue. "I know this," she whispered, but her voice sounded distant, strange: like a specter speaking through the distance of time. Oh, the sublimity! The shape! Only hands blessed with unearthly skill could have crafted such brilliance. She stepped closer, drawn ever in, enraptured. Swaying, she put her other hand up to the carvings, lightsaber still held in curled fingers. She was almost… dizzy. Like looking at these phenomenal, Euclidean walls seemed to incite some kind of wooziness. Or a vertiginous, sideways madness, a consuming and irresistible violence that threatened to swallow her up with a most deranged glee. Through her fingertips, she could feel the pull of the Force: a reflex. On instinct, she probed the histories of this sickening mural. She plumbed its depths, fingers almost sensual across its stone surface; she wanted to know its every secret…

As her body flagged from the exertion and her eyes wandered to the garbled, ancient runes etched alongside the reliefs, it occurred to her that something was wrong. The madness was already nibbling at her consciousness with alien teeth, sharp and hungry; the sensation crawled in waves up her spine, turning her stomach and raising the hairs on her arms. With great effort, she pushed away from the fresco, tearing her glassy eyes from that tantalizing and fantastical craftsmanship.

She searched for Xarxes, who was just ahead with his swiveling mqaaq'it, and stumbled towards him, moving to lead him once again into the tunnel. Her mind was swimming, disoriented from the mesmerizing architecture and buffeted by her own visions and psychometry. The image of Lieutenant Valantín crouched against cold stone, the looming fear of death hanging about him like a dark fog, pressed itself into her third eye, and she swore as the distant sounds of his prayer floated about her mind. She saw, too, a widening in the tunnel ahead, suggestive of some open space beyond what they could see.

Hesper set her jaw, clenching and unclenching her teeth as she raced deeper into the tunnel. She reached out with desperation towards Sorin in the Force, carefully wrapping him in the protection of her Darksight; and she swaddled those alongside her in the tunnel with it, too, exerting a gentle pressure on the Force to twist it to her will, like bending a spoon with her mind. Their passage would be clear, and safe. She could see it now…

"Lord Xarxes," she said as she kept apace with the Lord of Arkania. The remnants of their Hesperian Guard flanked them, their boots noisy against the stone floors. The phrik pikes in their hands cast the aphotic tunnel in pale, silvery light. "We need a way to retrieve your Lieutenant from the war room. I sense he may be trapped."

Dizziness still clung to Hesper's mind; she breathed deep to steady her footsteps. Part of her yearned to turn back and admire those hallowed, grotesque stone reliefs forever. To bask in their dark glory. But the madness! Her eyes continued to search along the walls and floor as she moved, quickly analyzing every strange angle, twisted face, and withered, dusty mummy. It was almost as if pieces of a puzzle were beginning to fall into place, beginning with everything she had seen and experienced in the Vergence Scatter, everything she had once studied as a diligent student of the Order in this same temple, and in concert now with what she was seeing as they delved deeper into the black underbelly of Korriban. It was painting a picture of their true enemy, but swathes of understanding were still missing. Hesper stuck her fingers in her hair, pushing strands aside as her golden brow beetled under the weight of her thoughts.

Could it be… they were facing…?

 
Last edited:
GM Approved

Name: Ingh'rayne Bordst
Nicknames/Aliases (optional): Call me Rayne
Rank: Acolyte
Class: Assassin
House: House Tenebris
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Species: Devaronian
Homeworld: Devaron
Occupation: Smuggler
Height: 1.6 Meters
Weight: 102 KG
Physical Description: I am a glorious specimen. Though I look like an evil entity in most religions, I keep my skin clear and my horns sharpened and cleaned.
Clothing: I have an extensive wardrobe, as I like to look my best. Though I do try to stay to darker clolors. The layers also allow me to keep my tools (*ahem* knives) concealed.
Weapons: I normally will carry many things with me, though you wouldn't know it. Throwing knives are my favorite. They're small, easily concealable, and can be quite deadly when thrown skillfully. I do like to practice a lot whenever I can. Apologies in advance if I almost hit you. I promise I don't kill people accidentally. Just maim or seriously injure.
Equipment/Vehicle: Nemesis-class patrol ship
Pets: None
Languages: Basic and Devaronian
Combat Skills: One of the reasons I have my own crew is that I am good at motivating. I surround myself with people and items that compliment my weaknesses. I learned that from my father, who had people for each needed skill.
Strengths: So many. I'm lovable, I'm handsome and still quite humble about it all. Though standing out because of my horns, I can blend in very well. This is due to me being shorter than most. This has allowed me to rob several places deemed "safe and secure."
Flaws: Someone once called me boisterous and rude. They must be delusional.
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Personality: I like to smile. Whatever I need to do to do that, I will. If that means I cheat or steal from someone, well, they must have deserved it.
Fears: Life is too short for fear. Certainly I have some things that I wouldn't like. Getting hurt is not my favorite thing, for instance, but it happens. In my opinion, continue with what you're doing. If something ill happens, fix it.
Likes: I'm a big fan of doing what you like. You may call it hedonism. Though, why would someone do something if there wasn't some benefit to it?
Dislikes: I really don't like to be around people who bring the party down. Some people are just that way. I don't have to be around them.
Habits: Fastidiousness. Even though my chosen occupation can get messy, that doesn't mean I have to live in filth. I clean up very well.
Relationships/Love Interests: I've had many loves in my life. Most Devaronian women. They haven't stuck, though, mainly because I am travelling so often.
Companions/Friendships: I'd never call my crew "friends." Though they were the closest I had to such. Friendships can be sticky, though. If one needs to cut a crew member short (as I've had to do from time to time), having a friendship with them gets in the way.
Masters: None yet
Apprentices: None
Biography:

I grew up, like most Devaronian males without a single father figure. My father was off travelling the galaxy with his crew. He provided well for us, though, so I had most everything I desired. I went to some of the best schools. Yet, I inherited my fathers love for wandering.

As soon as my friends and I could scrape together the credits, we left school and started out on our own. We went through more than a few scrapes. One of my friends lost a horn in a battle. (Thank goodness they grow back. He looked awful without it.)

I encountered prejudice more than a few times because of my looks. They just don't understand how handsome I am because of their religious beliefs. Their loss! Someone was unwise enough to attack me, though, because of it. The picture below was taken after that encounter. My horns served a special purpose that day.

I discovered I had Force powers early on. Not a surprise. My father was, too. They served me quite well during our travels. I could get in and out of many places just by sensing people nearby. Handy when trying to avoid guards.

My crew and I specialize in liberating special items for select individuals. I've had wealthy individuals ask me to take items from other wealthy individuals. And then I've been asked to steal the items back. Basically getting paid twice for the same job.

I've also been paid to smuggle things for the Hutts and Black Sun Syndicates. Our crew has more than a few ships to take care of those operations. I swear, people like Han Solo who do things with only one ship are either lucky or crazy or both. We have an armada to do our jobs. And we've never had our quarry taken because we know how to fake-out the authorities. Spice, slaves, drugs, contraband. We don't ask questions. Just pay us.

I have had several interactions with various Sith and darksiders. Possibly because of that, I've become fascinated with dark side items, myself. I have several statues of moderate value. One of which was, ostensibly, in Palpatine's office when he was attacked by the Jedi. I also have one lightsaber with a red blade. That is my pride and joy, even if its provenance is questionable.

The reason I have come to the home of the Sith is because I respect them. I have learned that the Sith have the most honest embrace of the depth and breadth of the Force and life. I aim to not only be part of their ranks, but to be a leader and an example for how the Sith can bring out the greatness in everyone.

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Skills (60 attribute points):
Strength - 7
Force Power - 9
Dexterity - 9
Intellect - 8
Constitution - 7
Manipulation - 7
Perception - 9
Destiny - 4

Powers (8 skill points):
No lightsaber skill yet.
Force Sense - 1
Telekinesis - 1
Force Push - 1
Levitation - 1
Force Resistence - 1
Contort - 1
Force Stealth - 1
Force Cloak - 1
 
GM Update
Responses due Monday night

IC: Darth Venomis
For the last time, the Sith Temple, Korriban


Power, unlimited power.

From the scorched and blackened sands, the vortex of celestial flame rose into the sky, the final fiery breath of Darth Kain taking flight like a vengeful phoenix from the ashes of death.

Power, unlimited power.

The fire stormed forth on the wind of its master’s last will, a testament bequeathing nothing to Kain’s conquerors but the pyrrhic victory of a funeral pyre. The thousand eyes of Mnggal-Mnggal, gleaming black as obsidian, reflected nothing but a churning wall of sulphuric yellow and violent crimson, as the magmic wrath of the lost King of the Stars surged towards the ancient temple and the black pyramids hovering aloft with all the unstoppable immensity and impossible alacrity of a tidal wave.

Stargate-anubis-1.gifPower, unlimited power crashed into the dreadful army of the true Sith. The gargantuan Gorog roared, a single moment of pure, hellish pain and primitive, bestial terror wrenched from the incinerated throat of that towering monolith of flesh before a colossal, charred skeleton, flaking fingers reaching dumbly towards its crumbling jaw, began to fall towards the atomised tower it had besieged. The walls of the temple exploded, masonry swept away to the nuclear holocaust of infernal winds, as the scorching hurricane of Kain’s fury ripped through the banquet hall. Scarlet-skinned savages screamed, cursed skeletons shrieked, and Darth Dreadwar cried aloud as he raised his gloved hand in futile, instinctive protection. “NO!”

But there was nothing they could do. For all the baleful power of Darth Venomis, reaching to devour the souls of his enemy in one last gap of hate, for all the caliginous secrets of Rhand and the dreadful chants of the Kissai, there was nothing they could do… and Venomis was too late.

The storm rolled through the temple in a second, turning stone to dust and sand to glass, and left nothing in its wake. The shadow of Dreadwar dissipated with a fell cry, and Venomis burned with screaming mouth upturned towards newly-revealed heavens; the towering titan Cruor was reduced to cinders, and the army behind, the dreadful chariots of the Kissai, the flickering siqsa of Morddoth, and the miasmic hordes of macabre infantry, scattered to the desert as naught but ashes caught in a whirlwind, as the pillar of fire corkscrewed into the dark sky above.

The pyramids began to turn, undersides glowing as the strange systems of propulsion that had brought them to Korriban’s skies came to renewed life, but in this was the magnitude of Venomis’ folly laid bare, for he had brought all his strength to Korriban, all his dread host, gathered from across the shadowed worlds of the Unknown Regions in their millions, and it was said that the plague that possessed them could only be destroyed by one force among all the elements of the galaxy: fire. Thus, before a single pyramid of the caliginous fleet could complete the escape it so desperately sought, was the multitude of Mnggal-Mnggal burned away.

The storm towered into the heavens, tearing through the Wrath of Vader to touch the void of space, and when, at long last, it receded into the darkness, nothing below remained. The Temple of the New Sith Order, all its inhabitants, all the wicked fleet that laid siege, was no more.

The black and barren sands stretched far away.

TAG: @Darth Cruor

OOC: Darth Kain’s Force Fire Storm impacts against its targets, succeeding against DC 1 and inflicting 10d12 (10 + 2 + 11 + 6 + 8 + 12 + 9 + 10 + 12 + 9 for a total of 89) Damage + Modifier of 5 + Modifier of 10 upon all targets. The temple, the surrounding environment, the thousand pyramid ships, the Wrath of Vader, and all NPCs above-ground (including the millions of Mnggal-Mnggal hosts within the pyramid ships), are atomised. The Abominor, and other ships (including True Sith ships and player ships) beyond the atmosphere of Korriban, are not affected.

Darth Venomis’ HP is depleted from 100 to 0. Darth Venomis is dead, although may attempt revival with Transfer Essence.

Darth Cruor’s HP is depleted from 45 to 0. Darth Cruor is dead, and may not attempt revival with Eternal Hatred or Gen’Dai regeneration, although may persist as a Force Ghost thanks to Transfer Essence (Object). (PM the GM to discuss.)

Sorin Valantin’s HP is depleted from a maximum of 21 to 0. Sorin Valantin is dead and may not be revived; a final death post for the character may be written.



IC: Darth Apollyon
Underdelve beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

​

Pandaemonium.

Beneath the apocalypse of Kain’s infernal vengeance, in that dim, abyssal vault of cyclopean stone and prehistoric antiquity yawning in Korriban’s moribund depths, chaos reigned.

The scarlet-appareled, self-proclaimed regent of the Sith twirled in her banquet gown as if in waltz, but where Darth Catalyst might have served as partner in the ball she had so exquisitely and pointlessly prepared for the post-feast festivities, now only death and foul devilry danced with Apollyon in the pale maroon light of her flickering blade. She did not sway to the gentle rhythm of classical Mecetti composition, but to the instinctive reflex of Makashi mastery, swirling around the biting glint of briefly-illuminated iron and a stray burst of flame while the harsh reports of slugthrower fire, echoing like claps of thunder in the darkness, rang in her ears. Where she had planned for delicate strokes of political authority and dazzling displays of unity, all so that the New Sith Order might thrive, now, as she wove between the lethal weapons of the two shadow slayers snarling on her either side, all her will was bent to only one purpose: that she and her compatriots merely survive.

An arterial burst of pinwheeling plasma spat sparks into the darkness, briefly illuminating the crumbling doorway of the inactive hypergate in a staccato-flash of crimson as Apollyon’s blade struck home, the ragged, rippling edge slicing through the femur of the slayer accosting Blodraald and his charges, spraying molten droplets of antiquated iron armour upon the stone floor to her left. The slayer stumbled as a second blade flashed out of the black; Darth Xxys, lightsaber whirling as if in imitation of Apollyon’s own pirouette, had neatly sliced away the enemy’s other leg. It was a mastery of Makashi and Jar’Kai that made Xxys so formidable a killer, Apollyon knew, and it was just as well this assassin was fighting for them; no sooner had the left slayer collapsed to the ground had Xxys, in tandem with Sol Kira’s own prodigious slash, taken advantage of the right slayer’s momentary if surprising imbalance to separate its masked head from its black-robed body, a second lightsaber flashing in his right hand in a remarkable display of ambidextrousness.

Apollyon took similarly quick advantage of Xxys’ handiwork, reversing the grip on her weapon and stabbing downwards, piercing the back of the first slayer’s torso and letting the horrific thing slide off her frothing blade to crash into the ground face-down. Further leftward still, a third slayer, restrained by Darth Thana, burst into splinters of bony shrapnel courtesy of its captor’s combustive power, skittering across the tiles to rest against Apollyon’s bare feet, and what remained of its ribcage was promptly shattered by a single Force-fuelled punch from Darth Mirtis.

Withdrawing her lightsaber from her victim, Apollyon looked up and around, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of the same hand that gripped her weapon, revealing a sallow, sweat-drenched face in the scintillating light of her unstable blade. Her obsidian eyes chanced upwards, towards the top of the crooked stairs that spiralled down to the floor of the vault, and her blood ran cold.

Chaos reigned, and its princes were here.

Three figures more frightening than any mere assassin stood on the rocky ledge hundreds of meters above, silhouetted as opaque shadows against a daemoniacal orange glow emanating from the dark and crumbling dungeons whence they came. Large rocks were detaching from the doorway behind them, kicking up magnificent plumes of dust that shrouded the wraiths’ forms like a desolate, thirsting mockery of a mist, and at first Apollyon thought she was witnessing the aftereffect of whichever feat of telekinesis the three eidolons had used to clear their path into the underdelve, but no; the rocks were crumbling with ever-increasing speed and severity as the hellish glow grew in feverish intensity, and the three lich-lords of the Shadow Council at once hurried from their perilous perch, making for the thousand steps of crooked stone that spiralled below.

It was at that moment that Darth Feros raised his hand.

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What happened next was unclear to Apollyon; at once the air rippled, perhaps the result of some great telekinetic exertion, or simply the suddenly soaring temperature, and the stairs began to collapse, just as the doorway to the dungeons exploded in a gout of flame. Massive boulders fell from the now-illuminated ceiling to smash into the floor hundreds of meters below, piling up in front of the three ossuaries now rapidly fragmenting before Draconis and Grievance, while a massive chunk of stair, bearing the three shadow-lords in descent, rotated away from the crumbling wall of the vault to slowly fall towards its centre. A veritable river of molten rock, accompanied by the gaseous breath of some apocalyptic fire, surged from the dungeons above, seeping over the ledge like a pyroclastic flow even as fire and brimstone rained down on the cavern beneath.

All around Apollyon, the bottomless pit became a lake of fire.

She yelped with alarm as blackened embers burnt her bare feet and smoke began to trail from the hem of her dress, backpedalling as flames sprouted across the cavern floor, licking at Hadzuska and the junk golems behind an avalanche of collapsing stone steps. Mercifully, the brackish pool of water beside the hypergate extinguished many of the initial fires, although boiling steam, hissing into the air around chunks of smoldering rock, yet imperilled the remainder of the survivors, and the abyssal torrent of flame continued to pour into the cavern from above.

In the centre of the vault, flame, smoke and choking dust plumed in the darkness, as the ponderously leaning section of stair bearing the shadow-lords at last impacted the stone floor.

For a second, Apollyon held hope that the worst peril would be the fire, and the imminent collapse of the cavern around them. But no; amidst the rubble, amidst shadow and flame, three opaque demons rose in pursuit, silhouetted black.

The Shadow Councillors had survived.

“Ja’ak,” the foulest of the demons called out, voice high and cruel. His spindly fingers, black against the rising hell around him, sliced through the air; a slash upwards and to the left. “Vexok…” A slash downwards. “Savaka.” A slash across to the right, the pattern of a triangle, drawn out thrice in time with his chant. “Ja’ak. Vexok savaka. Ja’ak. Vexok savaka.’’ And finally, his fingers dashed left to right, and back again, as his armoured compatriots lurched forward, and with the thunderous footfalls of titans, began to advance.

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“This foe is beyond any of us,” Apollyon screamed, shrill voice straining to be heard over the roar of fire, and the dread spell gathering. “Run!” And with that frightened cry, Apollyon spun on her heel, away from brave Hadzuska and Draconis and Grievance, away from the fiery animations of Thana and the deathly harbingers of armageddon, towards that small, circular tunnel that was the throat of stony Karness Muur. She could hear that hateful demon, crowing in triumph behind her, as the heat on her back grew hadean, like the breath of a panting predator. “Tsaiwinokka tsishoyakut!”

All around her, Sith and Imperial Knights alike turned to flee, blades of rouge and silver held aloft like glow-rods as they raced into the darkness. It was the sudden, mass movement of those fortunate few survivors that exposed those who did not follow; Viscretus and Catalyst were slumped to the floor, eyelids flickering as if locked in tartarean phantasy, feet pounding around them.

Their sudden faint had evidently just occurred, for Nihl only now turned from glowering at Voidwalker to kneel down beside his queen, shaking and jostling her with quiet urgency in his tone. “Domina!” he hissed.

Perhaps Voidwalker had visited such fate upon the Empress, for Nihl’s active lightsaber suggested an altercation, but no, Voidwalker himself seemed dazed… and there was no time to think on the matter further. Nihl was already scooping Volshe up in his arms, while the Imperial Knights closed ranks around her, and Catalyst, dear Catalyst, was left on the floor, just inside the mouth of the claustrophobic tunnel. “Mavros!” Apollyon cried, hand already rising to telekinetically hoist Catalyst aloft. “Help me put him on the speeder!” The two-seated craft, responding to Mavros’ tentative explorations in the chamber with every sign it yet held life, was just narrow enough to fit through the tunnel’s six-foot-by-six-foot opening, and Catalyst could be draped across the passenger seat if Mavros piloted—although great skill would be needed to thread the needle, particularly given the number of Sith crowding either side. “Fly! Fly!”

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Into the jaws of fate, into the maw of Karness Muur, the Sith stampeded. Even as Hesper’s mind filled with the mangled and mutilated imagery of paleogenic psychometry, misproportioned, tendrilous cacodemons of crimson countenance grinning with empty, lantern-glowing eyes as they miserably chiselled in insane repetition at unmarked stone beneath the eyes of a charcoal-skinned giant, the catacombs around her began to stir in the all-too-real mephitis of the present, malformed mummies and calciform cadavers twitching in the darkness.

The tunnel, long and loathsome, stretched far ahead.

Fly, you fools.

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

OOC: Malleus’ usage of Telekinesis rolls a 19 + 23 + 10 against DC 10, clearing the debris in the Shadow Councillors’ path with an Effect of 11 + 5.

There is no need to roll for Hadzuska’s usage of Sith Illusions against the Massassi above, nor any need to continue mass rolls for Viscretus’ shadow-ghouls. Samael rolls a 3 + 8 against DC 15, and his pyrokinetic attack against the shadow slayers misses.

Xxys’ first attack rolls an 18 + 19 + 10 against DC 15, and connects, inflicting 13 Damage + Modifier of 4, reducing the right slayer’s HP to 0 via beheading. Xxys’ second attack rolls 16 + 19 + 10 against DC 15, and connects, inflicting 8 Damage + Modifier of 4, reducing the left slayer’s HP to 3 while removing one of its legs. There is no need to roll for Saber Barrier, as no example matching this power’s description is seen within the post. There is no need to roll for Sol Kira’s or Zareel’s attacks, as the right slayer is dead, but they can be considered successful.

Apollyon’s attack against the left slayer succeeds with a roll of 2 + 19 + 10 against DC 15, inflicting 14 + 4 Damage, reducing its HP to 0. There is no need to roll for Blodraald’s attack with his pistols, as the left slayer is dead, but it can be considered successful.

Thana attacks the restrained slayer with Flamusfracta, rolling an 8 + 15 + 10, and succeeding, inflicting 7 Damage + Modifier of 1, reducing its HP to 3. Mirtis’ Force Punch against the same slayer rolls a 5 + 15 + 10, and succeeds, inflicting 17 Damage + 4, reducing its HP to 0. There is no need to roll for Enhance Attribute, as this is a buff and cannot substitute for Force Jump.

Feros’ Force Wave is rolled against the environment’s DC 35, and succeeds with an 8 + 19 + 10, with an Effect of 10 + Modifier of 2, damaging the stairs and causing their collapse. It fails to inflict any damage upon the Shadow Councillors entering the underdelve, failing against their DCs 45 and 46.

Viscretus’ Mind Trick against Darth Voidwalker rolls a Natural 20, automatically succeeding. The Effect is 24 + Modifier of 3, a complete success that places Voidwalker under Viscretus’ thrall, and compels the character to obey Viscretus’ mental commands so long as the Mind Trick is maintained (which, due to Viscretus’ collapse, only applies to this round). Viscretus’ Drain Force against Voidwalker rolls a 17 + 23 + 10 against DC 37, and succeeds; clarification of player intent directed a weak usage, so I will be rolling for a 1 Skill Point-equivalent attack, with an Effect of 5. Darth Voidwalker’s level is thus reduced from 37 to 32, requiring resubmission of player Character Sheet via PM for stats approval, while replenishing Viscretus’ Force reserves.

Hesper’s usage of Darksight is continued from last round with the same serendipitous Effect, but the new usage to protect Sorin from Kain’s Fire Storm fails with a roll of 7 + 21 + 10 against DC 42. Hesper’s usage of Psychometry rolls a Natural 20, automatically succeeding; an Effect of 13 + Modifier of 3 allows for some relevant visions of the mural’s history.

Darth Andeddu deploys Dark Side Healing on Malleus, rolling a 16 + 23 + 10 against DC 20, and succeeding with an Effect of 18 + 5, replenishing Malleus’ HP to 42. Andeddu prepares to cast Reanimate Sith Undead.



IC: No one
Mindscape

​

The surroundings of the TIE Reaper, the cerulean wash of hyperspace and the supportive presence of Darth Sedicious, abruptly faded to blackness as Ānhrā Māhnîu slunk to the deck.

His heart was pounding, eyelids flickering.

That strange, otherworldly thudding stayed with him, somehow, as the blackness, thick and inky and clinging to his robes, pulsed into new scenery. He was not alone—but it was not Sedicious, nor 114D, that awaited him in this eerie, seething landscape of demented dreams.

Darth Catalyst and Darth Viscretus, warped and trailing sticky darkness, were beside him. There was the vaguest impression of a stone archway behind them, yet this landscape, this island of stone adrift the seas of black infinity, only hovered on the periphery of reality, as if its contours were yet to be filled in by whichever foul imagining had conjured it.

Ahead, clinging to the infinite cliff that marked the edge of the island, white robes whipping in the ink-bleeding wind as if some great abyss threatened to pull him from his precarious perch, was a man with black eyes, black teeth, black wings. His polluted mouth hung open, spilling the vile darkness that choked the phantastic chasm like a noxious fume, and a single venomous word strained forth, fear, urgency and hate combined into a single, omnivorous outcry of desperate, omnipotent will. “LIVE!”

TAGs: @Ānhrā Māhnîu, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Darth Sedicious (for last round's GM tag and external environment only)

OOC: Darth Venomis attempts Essence Transfer on Catalyst, Viscretus and Anhra, rolling a 3 + 50 + 10 against DC 39, DC 46 and DC 35, respectively. This initial roll is successful, and a mental Battle of Wills thus begins. The three characters are unconscious and may only interact with the mindscape tagset until the Battle of Wills concludes.



IC: Rand Ko
Communications room, fortress, Saijo​

The swift arrival of the Tetan fleet was predictable enough, Rand thought. The Sigma-class shuttle that had brought him and Vesper to Saijo was a speedy vessel, with a class 1.0 hyperdrive, but the cutting-edge capital ships of the new era, from the Pellaeon-class to the Imperious-class, boasted even faster drives of class 0.75, and it was hardly surprising that the Tetan fleet, perhaps embarking many hours after receiving Vesper’s transmission, had made the journey in significantly shorter time.

What was surprising was the number of ships. If Rand recalled correctly, Vesper had advised all the Tetan forces to gather at Saijo; this was but a single flotilla. Was it possible that Empress Ketoteta had been unable to extricate her ships from the Imperial fleets within which they were embedded? Or was it simply a matter of interplanetary congestion on the Koros Trunk Line, delays at Kuar and Foerost and Kaikielius?

“I fear, Lady Vesper,” Kaikko spoke up, as the nearest console began to chime, “that this is not the opportune moment. We are receiving a transmission from the fleet, audio/visual.” She turned to a uniformed Nagai whose bone-white fingers were adjusting a variety of dials, intensifying the strength of the signal. “Put it on-screen.” The chiming ceased, and a viewscreen on the far wall, suspended above the rows of communication consoles, came to sudden life, fuzzy static swirling into colours and shades, hued predominantly cerulean.

“It is Empress Ketoteta herself,” a nearby Nagai muttered, and Rand saw that he spoke true.

ketoteta3.jpgA woman sat enthroned within the circular confines of the viewscreen, hands draped across the armrests of her stately chair, the background behind her suggesting luxury quarters within what could only be a Tetan flagship. She had olive skin, and wore a black hairpiece that was more headdress than wig, with a figurine of a golden serpent gleaming above her dark brown, heavily kohl-lined eyes. Rand faintly recalled that serpentine motifs were common amongst Tetan royalty; Aleema Keto, a Sith sorceress who had seized command of Empress Teta in the days of yore, had been particularly fond of the aesthetic. Fortunately, the diabolical secret society that Keto and her equally sadistic if less seductive cousin had created, named in honour of a maleficent deity of antiquarian myth called Krath, was long-since extinct, and Ketoteta, granddaughter of Sebban Keto and descendant of the great Empress Teta who had lent the powerful star system its name, had proven to be nothing but a close and sturdy ally to the New Galactic Empire.

Perhaps too close, if there was anything to that rumour about Erastus Sallacine fumbling in her presence.

“Lady Vesper, Lady… Kaikko,” Ketoteta spoke, inclining her head ever-so-slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. A spoiled princess; that was the sense that immediately impressed itself upon Rand, just by virtue of the Empress’ saccharine and haughty tone. Clearly, this was a woman accustomed to getting her own way.

“Operation: Darkfire is in effect, then? Why was I requested to rendezvous here, of all systems?” Kaikko bristled, but Ketoteta continued on without regard, in that airy manner Rand was already finding irritating. “The bright centre of the universe may have gone out, but is Saijo not the world furthest from it?”

TAG: @Darth Vesper
 
Darth Cruor
Outside the Sith Temple, Korriban

The path was cleared violently causing stone to be sent flying, it rained down upon ally and foe alike, he cared little that he stepped on the bodies of the fallen as he began to advance upon the temple. The presence of numerous Sith still flickered from within those ancient stone walls, and he was eager to finally engage in the fight.

With his master returned to this realm the very thought of falling short in this critical moment sent a chill up his spine, he knew that failure would ensure the promise of an oblivion would be denied and instead he’d endure eternal suffering. After so long he wished for nothing more than to sleep forever, hadn’t he earned that over the past seven millennia?

If one wasn’t careful The Dark would eagerly rush to fulfill such wishes, such was the case now it seemed, for he was about to get what he desired. The first sign of such was a blinding light coming from the upper levels of the Temple, a great pillar of flame spiraling upward into the atmosphere, and a superheated wave of air that rushed past him causing his robes to flutter ominously. He knew before looking that great power was being released, he could feel it.

The ancient and battle scarred mask tilted upward to the sky and the red glow from the flame made the silvery mask appear crimson, his eyes widened as he realized that already the eruption was spreading outward and consuming all that it touched. Even from this distance he could feel the heat, it being so great that it eroded the ever present aura of cold that surrounded him, this was not something he would escape....it was not something he wished to escape.

Most would react in fear when facing imminent death, not Darth Cruor, death had been his companion for a long time now and he would greet it as a friend. As the conflagration rushed outward from the Temple the Gen’Dai stretched his arms outward, lifted his head to the sky with eyes closed, and without so much as a cry of anguish or pain was consumed entirely by the fire of the dying Darth Kain.

Tag: Nobody

Powers Used: None

OOC: I love you all, you all mean more to me than you can know. I've got some personal stuff to work on, this seems like good time to dip out and take some time for that. I am eager to see how this story ends, Force willing sooner or later I'll be back to read it!

May the Dark Side be with you, all.
 
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Chapter XIII: The Creeping Chaos
IC: Ānhrā Māhnîu.
Location: Hyperspace, Kamat Krote hyperlane, en route to Dromund Kaas.

Creeping Chaos:


[A few seconds earlier]​
Al’Zhaelor was as unfailing as ever. Hustling around the rear area, he quickly brought a container. At one point stuffed with supplies, it was now completely empty. It obviously needed to be for this particular job. Yet even as the orders receded into the recesses of his mind, the Vong guard’s hands remained uncertain. Understandable enough, most beings would probably feel similarly about this almost literal disassembling. It would apply especially well to the royal guard facing its Supreme God-King.

The process of removing an orbalisk from its host was deceptively simple, especially considering the kind of punishment the critters could withstand from conventional means of attack. When supplemented by the alchemical bodysuit and robes their current host overlaid them with, there were few forms of physical damage that could overwhelm him outright. Yet the power they afforded did come at a cost, one which could come quickly if countermeasures were neglected. Bringing them along had perhaps not been his wisest choice.

Without a body possessing exceptional tolerance for pain and the ability to withstand the continuous supply of chemicals, the user would quickly fall to their primal wrath, or simply die from the sheer physical strain. The Jen’nu did thankfully possess the means to accomplish both, but that case was clearly more tenuous than he had anticipated. The suppression of the enzymes required consistent attention, and the possibility had now emerged of his timeless body failing. Thus these measures would now be required.

IMG_8051.jpgIn truth he could easily have opted for a suit of Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, affording similar benefits without the same liabilities. Yet he had ultimately elected otherwise. The more standard metallic armor had lost its luster, feeling dull and clunky compared to their organic counterparts. They did not remake or improve him as their living alternatives could, and so they would forever be inferior.
Yet now he would need to go unarmored.

—

IC: Azhura Mazrakh.​
The Overlord had finally called upon him, and as his Tchilat he would manifest his glorious intention. Placing the large box on the floor, his left hand reached out to seize the wired pole and to work. Meanwhile the Avatar spoke, his newly acquired otherworldly intonations fading in transient aether.
‘’Now,’’ he began, addressing the ghastly shapes around him.
‘’Tell me all that you know of your former allies.’’
Yet no answer came, as before the ghosts could respond, their master slumped over and fell into the arms of his servant. Even as armor encased them both, heartbeats sensibly thundered to the touch as a pair of scarlet irises were swallowed by inky blackness.

—

[NOW]
IC: Ānhrā Māhnîu.​
Chaos engulfed his conscious as the ship and its surroundings evaporated into abominable abstracta. Omnipresent darkness expanded endlessly in all directions, a roiling ocean of infinite night so vast and dense it blotted out all discernible features. Even the empyrean mqaaq’it did nothing to reclaim light.
Unseen and unheard, there was nothing to be perceived and nothing to be learned in this nyxious abyss.
And yet he knew, with no discernible cause, where he was. He had seen this. The summoning had afforded him only a glimpse, the dread Holocron uncovered by Darth Kain immeasurably more. His life was treading on a luminescent knife’s edge. Beyond this tombstone of eternity he could feel only nothingness.

Immediately as that realization dawned on him, contours defined themselves. To his left stood the would-be Sith Empress Darth Viscretus, and to her left the linguistic Lord Inquisitor Darth Catalyst. Their forms were distorted by slithering spectral smoke, yet unaccountably unmistakable. With his preference for truth and sincerity, the Jen’nu could imagine many alternative allies he would prefer in a situation like this. Then again, this was one of rather few cases where he’d rather not be alone.

Before he could utter a greeting though, a singular screech of furious anguish and all-encompassing lust.

‘’LIVE!’’​

IMG_8372.JPGUnconsciously slipping into a defensive stance, the self-proclaimed Lord of Life glared ahead, onto the edge of the headstone. Staring back was an abyssal abomination of unimaginable abhorrence. Some hideous simulacrum resembling a Human man was glowering through uncanny pools of lacquer seemingly mistaken for eyes. With yawning singularity mimicking a mouth, black blood impossibly flowed through rotted jet spikes. The aqueous event horizon extended into a pair of demonic appendages spreading from the creature’s back.

In any other situation Ānhrā Māhnîu would’ve looked at this entity with a roughly even mix of intrigue and derisive superiority. All such thoughts were myth here. The mere sight of this existential force transmogrified his superlunary emanation into diaphanous shadow. Its glare conjured images from eons past, witnessed in another life only years ago: crystalline yet splintered visages of figures in dark robes and an inverted underground pyramid.
A sense of smug satisfaction assaulted his senses from outside, along with the vision of divine distortion. A buried memory reemerged unbidden: a scroll referencing a Black Son of the Red God, the builder of a suspiciously desolate concealed construction.

Shivering streaks of instinctual awareness coursed through him in the wake of a row of remarkably basic questions. Who exactly was this ahead of them? Why were these two specific individuals here alongside him? And why exactly were they all here? Strings of suspicion were shaping a subliminal, crude puzzle painting, one that his psyche was seemingly desperate to reject.
His fingers flexed absently, searching for some weapon he could summon from the aether. Simply being in the presence of this monstrosity was degrading his mind, primal instincts and memories returning from its deepest recesses. Flashes of hunting on the Unknown World emerged like swipes from undead hands. With a bracing of elemental willpower, he refocused on the present. He needed to know more, and so turned to his fellows.
‘’My Lady, my Lord,’’ he stated simply, as a quick greeting.
‘’If any valuable information is available, now is a good time.’’


Powers used:
Dimension Shift - 3 (attempting to summon his claymore).

(TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Darth Sedicious)​
 
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(IC XXYS Underdelve)


"Even if a warriors head is suddenly removed from his body he should be able to compleat one action with absolute certainty"


Like a duo of elegant dervish dancers the Lady Apollyon and Lord Xxys wove a tapestry of death. Xxys never stopped his momentum as he felt the slight hesitation from his Lightsaber blades passing through the pair of shadow slayers nearly simultaneously and with a fluid, well practiced motion, Xxys reversed the grip of his left hand saber in a crisp reposté as the strike swept the shadow slayers leg off at the hip. The blade in his right hand compleated its trajectory and the head of the shadow slayer separated from its torso which collapsed to the ground in a heap of bones, and desiccated cloth. The Lady Apollyon likewise reversed her blade and drove the tip of her crackling energy weapon through the spine of the shadow slayer she had engaged, delivering the perfect killing stroke.
The air suddenly rang with the deafening report of slugthrowers and the familiar high pitched whine of close quarters gunfire filled Xxys' ears, shutting out the screaming and yelling that had been like an assault on his already overtaxed senses. A warrior just behind him had fired several shots from a short barreled pistol, and too their credit scored a few good hits, however the report from the weapons was deafening in such close proximty and the rounds passed through the shadow slayers and into the wall behind. The scene took on a surreal quality as the cacophony of sound was reduced to a single perfect tone. He could see that the remaining shadow slayers had been dispatched in a shatter of bones that splintered across the dusty floor.
With a fast florish Xxys deactivated his sabers and returned the hilts to his belt. He had just turned to be sure the children were still moving when the Lady Apollyon suddenly froze in her tracks, and cast her gaze nearly straight up to the head of the spiraling, spinel staircase.Though he could not hear her, Xxys could see the terror in her eyes, and the excited words were easy to read on her trembling lips.

"These enemies are beyond any of us...RUN!"

Like a slow motion avalanche the massive spiral stone staircase had begun to collapse within the Underdelve. A glowing orange ball of fire bloomed like an impossible flower high above, illuminating a trio of spectral figures as Molten stone, and scalding rock bagan to fall from high above in a deadly thermal cascade. A tremor ran through the room, and a low rumble filled the air. A voice, fel, and dripping with malice, began to emanate from above. Xxys could just see that one of the creatures was making hand signs in what he instantly recognized as a magical invocation, the words, initiators to some deadly spell. Again he was not one to stand by to see the results of an enemies initiated attack, so he turned and followed the Lady...and...the dead Empress!??
Xxys' heart lept to his throat as he saw her pass. She was being carried by Lord Nihl, cradled in his arms like a child. Behind him another person, whos face Xxys could not see, was being carried over a guards shoulder.
Had she been felled out of his sight?
Had one of the shadow slayers from some unseen corner reached her?
Not likely.
There would be a pile of bodies, his own included, before any enemy would touch her, and she was no easy mark, so the cause must have been something else. He didn't dwell on it, there was no time, but he did lessen his mental defences enough to feel for her presence in the Force. A small wave of relief passed through him as he could sense Her life essence was still connected to her flesh, but he was struck by a sudden overall sense of...loss. The constant screaming of the Force being ripped and torn by the raging enemies above had now given way...to fire.

No...fire was too small a word to encapsulate what raged and roared above...
a blistering conflagration of searing incineration
...an...Inferno.

The immolation of a God.

A coronal radiance of such power, and magnitude it had reached into the Force itself and scorched away the pervasive fear that had preceeded the enemies advance. A star exploding in a supernova of anger and pain...and love...then...the heart of the supernova...went cold...consumed by the very antecedent to life itselt...the Lord of Rot...Venimos.

Xxys staggered in his step and had to steady himself on the wall as the full measure of what was transpiring above hit him through the Force.

Lord Kain was dead.

Xxys slammed his mental guards shut even tighter than before lest he succumb to the grief radiating from the Empress. No time to lamnet the fallen, else they join them. He plunged down into the very belly of the temple through the open maw of the huge carved head to the right of the hypergate.

The ground heaved, and this time Xxys did fall to the stone floor as the entire tunnel shook with the impact of the collapsing staircase. A plume of dust blasted down the narrow passage filling the air and snuffing out any visablely. He reached to the back of his belt and removed the respirator from its pouch slipping the apparatus over his face. He took a few cleansing breaths then looked down the tunnel in the direction the flow of bodies were traveling.

Others had already disappeared into the blackness behind the portals opening, and Xxys let the group of younglings pass before he followed but was never more than a few meters behind the Empress and her party.


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

blasting, blazing; stars exploding
a cosmic war raging in the sky
but all I could hear
was your last goodbye


IC: Sorin Valantin
War room – The end ​

This is the end, he mused. A note of resignation, somber in its thread through Sorin's mind, shaded this penultimate thought.

He almost didn't feel the pain; scorching as it was, washing over his garments and skin in a brilliant blaze of red and gold. He distanced himself from it, reaching instead with every last ounce of his power towards his liege, his light, that woman who had appeared to him as the very visage of divine made manifest… Hesper. He pushed away the agony, curling his body against the blast of fiery death that had so suddenly rained down from above, crushing the ceiling of the war room and blowing out the doors through which he had come. Molten rock and blistering air pelted him, but still he clung to the last frayed thread of connection with Hesper, calling out to her desperately through the Force even as a cry of pain escaped him.

His sword tumbled from his hand, clattering against the hot stone beneath him, and in the wavering mirage of heat before him, he could almost see her, hair like the golden dawn framing her face as she turned to him, anguish flickering like distant stars on the horizon in her eyes. Her face twisted—whether it was her expression or the distortion of the sweltering air, Sorin could not tell—and her lips formed the shape of his name, though the sweet song of her voice did not reach his ears.

Curls of flame licked at his crumpled body, tearing away skin and black raiment. Tears tracked paths of clean skin down his face, cutting through the ash which darkened his chapped cheeks. Could not death have waited for him just a little bit longer? He was a just man, an honorable man. Devoted in spirit and service to the woman he had truly come to cherish. His fingers, blistered bloody from the inferno, grasped at the four-pointed starburst emblazoned so proudly on the chest of his tunic. Surely such fealty should have been rewarded.

Sorin's body was withering; no longer able to kneel, he fell forward, face pressed against burning stone. Again, he looked forward to that shimmering phantasm of Hesper. She seemed to be weeping, arm outstretched to him with perfect, delicate fingers reaching as if to brush the tears from his eyes. That bond she had forged with him on the night he had sworn his fealty to her was growing thin. Sorin could feel it beginning to slip away.

The pain was growing unbearable—excruciating, blazing heat enveloped him, eating at his flesh like a starved demon. Unable to move, he wept. Wordless, formless, it was an elegy, a lamentation for words gone unsaid and actions gone undone. For opportunities that slipped past in lulls in private conversation and in fervent looks shared in hallways and over shoulders. Ah, but he had loved her!

The vision of Hesper faded before him, her tiny, aurelian form vanishing as her last scream echoed through the Force, reaching Sorin's ears like the distant reverberations of a funeral bell. She was swallowed up by smoke and ash, devoured by the wicked flames. Sorin closed his eyes. Do not weep for me.

It was time to let go.

"Farewell," he whispered, the last of him fading to ash.

- - -


IC: Imperatrix Hesper
The Underdelve​

A thousand feet below, twisted grotesqueries danced through Hesper's mind with motions both elegant and extraordinarily foreign; red skin—decidedly alien, tendrilous—rippled under dim lighting, accompanied by the ever-pressing sensation of being watched. When she inhaled, she could smell the damp, putrid stench of rotting corpses entombed in nightmarish sarcophagi, and the repetitive, dull sound of chisels on stone scratched in her ears as they crafted away at the carvings Hesper had admired just moments before. They, like her, were artists. Their artistry was beyond belief, beyond comprehension, such beautifully bizarre shape and form. But so strangely familiar, like a distant memory from some old tome. These peoples… they were true Sith! The elusive, foul progenitors of their Order, their religion which had been altered beyond all recognition of what the Sith once were! Hesper blanched. They were not what she was. It all warped, turning around on itself and seeming to breathe with the history as Hesper so vividly hallucinated the imagery her Psychometry had fed her. She felt… sick, off-kilter. Like a bad trip made worse by the sheer horror of the realization and the desiccated bodies on all sides of her.

The walls seemed to press inward, the overwhelming memory of ancient past making her sway. She reached out a hand for something to steady herself on. But blessedly, she was beginning to return to herself, the hellish, demoniacal recollections passed to her from Force to fingertips slipping away. Something was rousing her back to the present...

First, it was the heat. Like laying a hand on a still-hot stovetop, or standing too close to the fireplace. Uncomfortable, stifling, but not unbearable. A soft radiance that could almost have been written off as some unusual phenomena of delving deeper into the dark of the tunnels. But… it came in a sudden wave from behind, and Hesper turned just in time to feel that strange warmth wash over her as it raced deeper into the tunnels. As it passed, she could sense through the Force that the oppressive aura from above was snuffed out. Like a heavy curtain being lifted.

Then, it was the realization that the connection she had once forged with a most trusted lieutenant had snapped, like a frayed rope pulled too taut.

His name was soft on her lips: "Sorin?"

Then—the pain.

Hesper crumpled. The bedrock of the tunnel floor was sharp against her knees as she fell, dull golden hair shuddering with the quaking of her shoulders as her breath heaved. Fiery, rippling pain knifed through her body, and an agonized scream tore from her throat. It felt as though her skin were dripping with white-hot metal, searing and burning and caustic. She held her hand before her eyes, expecting to see hungry red flame on her white skin, but there was none. Tears, torrid and salty and so shocking on her skin, sprung to Hesper's eyes as she wailed. She could hear his voice echoing on the Force, a gentle goodbye that tugged at her heart with claws that cut her deep. This was a broken bond, a thread of fate snipped too soon. Had she missed some crucial piece? Could this have been more than it was? She rocked, the pain still wracking her body.

There could be no mistake: the same explosive shockwave that had just buffeted the doorway to the underdelve just killed Lieutenant Sorin Valantin.

Her breath was ragged in her ears, and her skin still burned with the sensation of a blazing inferno. She pulled her eyes from the rough stone under her hands and knees to look to her followers. Her fretful gaze cut between Xarxes and the Guardsmen before returning to the ground. "Lieutenant Valantin is dead." Her tone was thin, pained.

But her wavering voice was superimposed by Apollyon's frantic screams and the rumbling of stone and footsteps. The cavern outside the needle-eye of Karness Muur's stone mouth was collapsing, alight with fire and thick with smoke, and just barely through it all, Hesper could see the approach of the shadowed figures Apollyon had raised alarm for. They had to go. Now.

Shakily, Hesper stood, lightsaber still gripped in her white knuckles. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand, sniffling. Though her heart was heavy, her duty to her Order could not waver. She set her intention again, drawing deeply on the Force and the darkness that walked around her, putting every ounce of her power into the protection of those in her charge. They must live!

"Lord Xarxes," she commanded of her companion, "Time to run. Rally the Guardsmen. Mind the evacuees and the children. We move now!"

Turning on her heel, Hesper began to run, yelling over her shoulder to follow her—to follow her to safety, and salvation!


 
IC: Hadzuska
Underdelve beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban


He had become accustomed to the heat of fire due to the living flamethrower, that would go off at random, that he had spent the past three years with. That being said, it still burned when flames got too close as they did now. But that was not the worst of it, three opaque shadows stood before them. The darkness had come, not as strong as previously felt, but it was there none the less.

“This foe is beyond any of us,” Apollyon screamed, shrill voice straining to be heard over the roar of fire, and the dread spell gathering. “Run!” And with that frightened cry, Apollyon spun on her heel.

How anyone like that could even consider to lead them was beyond him. Even if she would not face them, he would. He was resolved in this mission. The boy must live. When he is safe, I’ll find a way to survive as well. His weapons activated. The blue light around the black core of his weapons illuminating his grim look, the carved smile on his face adding to the ominous feel.

Stepping into a defensive stance his lightsaber is raised with his left hand, when the lightwhip is lashed out in an attempt to wrap around Malleus’s left leg to pull his leg out from underneath him. Meanwhile as the lightwhip extends Hadzuska focuses a Telekinetic Throw, using the debris around him, at Malleus to try and push him back harder, hopefully hard enough to crack his skull on the steps.



Powers Used:
Form VI - 4 Defensive Stance
Telekinesis - 4



*************


IC: Samael
Underdelve beneath the Sith Temple


His fireball missed, but it didn’t matter anyways, those attacking were defeated by the other multitude of Sith here. Though he did recognize a few here that weren’t Sith now that the danger had passed. Why were they here? Suddenly he felt something, it wasn’t the Force as he wasn’t that familiar with the process, no it was something so much more beautiful. The beauty of fire was in the air far above, but the heat could be felt even here. It was beautiful, and all that came to mind was, I want it. Pushing that to the back of his head, for now, he noticed Lord Catalyst begin to rush down one of the tunnels before collapsing, and beginning to convulse.

Lady Apollyon, in her beautiful grace, made it to the fallen Lord first. “Mavros!” She cried out as she raised her hand seemingly trying to focus on something. “Help me put him on the speeder!”

Acting without another thought, Samael rushed to Lord Catalyst’s side and tried to lift him physically as the Nice Lord convulsed elbowing Samael in the face a couple times in the process. “As you command, my Lady.” Was all the shy boy could let escape his lips as he worried about his friend.


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


The slow, steady pulse of a burning star pounded in the core of the Nighfather’s being. He was, zealot warrior being, prepared to do whatever the Lady Hesper deemed necessary for the preservation of the Sith provided it went not against his own personal obligations. In the moment, he prepared to reach out with the Force, to grip his lieutenant and rip him into their midst, away from his infernal fate.
But the instant Hesper’s visage contorted in agony, he knew he was too late. His right hand, Lieutenant Valentin…Sorin…was gone. There was nothing to be done.
Xarxes had not known Sorin as well as he ought to. Sorin was minute next to him in the Force, and would have not been worth considering as a lieutenant at all had it not been for Hesper’s command and Valentin’s unshakable tenacity. There had been no shortage of wariness in Xarxes’s refining of Valentin’s skills, sensing from him a similar, yet different in nature, zealotry for Hesper. His will went beyond Xarxes’s own in this regard, though the Nightfather lacked the social insight to tell exactly what this could mean. For him, another Force-bonded being, to be tied to Hesper, to die, surely caused the Prophetess severe pain.
And indeed she was in the throes of anguish. A sorrow, almost, emanated from her, throwing Xarxes off-kilter, and in that moment he realized he could not mourn or ponder. His mqaaq’it swiveled in its grotesque socket, looking back towards the entryway to the tunnels. A throng approached, pursued, he saw, by three figures. Two bore the armor of Sith of old, and another cast dizzying gestures with his digits. Even from here, Xarxes could sense the foulness of the sorcery at use.
The hulk of a man, wearing the heavier suit of the two, stared forth with glowing eyes, a shadowy visage encased in even darker armor. This was the one he had sensed earlier. He survived! The Ar’Adas knew not who he was, but he did not intend to stay to find out.
At his side, suddenly, was Zyldek, weak but wild with survivor’s instinct, muttering to himself about survival. Xarxes scoffed. What a coward I have taken as an apprentice.
He dwelled on his thoughts not a second longer as the determined voice of Hesper fell upon his ears. Aye! There’s a command to follow. Xarxes’s fist punched air as a guttural command resounded from his chest, the blazing star in his soul going supernova as he spurned his Guard onward. “GO, MEN, IF YOU HAVE ANY WILL TO SURVIVE!”
Stooping briefly, he caught his wayward apprentice in his arm, hefting him as he led the charge, alongside Darth Hesper, to the distant sliver of crimson hope.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Arach, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst, @DarthNoxia, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Admiral Volshe, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios
 
IC- Grievance Vexx
Korriban, Underdelve


Vexx is learning to never think for a moment that things cannot possibly get worse. No. He had learned that a long, long time ago. Things can and often do always get worse. Life among the Sith has taught him this well, but he realizes that he had known this a long time ago; long before he had ever encountered the Sith or the Force or the Dark Side or any of the things he is so familiar with now.

He is determined to hold his position, even as massive stones collapse and fall from the ceiling he clings to. He lets his natural instincts guide him as he feels the vibrations and moves away to stay clear of the falling rock and debris. He must hold this position so he can keep an eye on all he is concerned with: Draconis, Invadator, Kielor, and Hesper.

And where is Hesper?! He's about ready to begin that interrogation as to why she brought him to this time period and he isn't about to mince words on the matter either. She will have to learn Kaleesh on the fly for all the cursing he is quite certain he will do. She becomes extremely easy to locate, however, as she lets loose a keening wail of agony and grief combined. At first, a sense of dread strikes him as he thinks Hesper may have been captured, but then he senses it--another death. He sends out the Force, trying to identify the subject of the loss. It appears to be the lead Hesperian guard, Sorin Valentin. Vexx remembers him from the shuttle journey to Korriban. His mind flits to his past once again, recalling the oath taken by those sworn to protect the highest of ranks.

Sworn protectors of the throne,
Royal doctrine set in stone.
For the crown, you shall give your life.
And if one should fall,
Yet another heeds the call.
For king and for country
They lay down their lives...

Death and grief will never be far from Grievance Vexx and his respect and appreciation for both will never leave him. From birth, he had learned that the only thing certain in life is death and so when it comes, he appreciates that, amid all the unknowns and the mysteries of life, death and its finality remains unchanged. It means there is an end to this tragic existence and the madness therein. He only remains bitter over the fact that he may have been cheated by being brought to this time period.

Of course, his focus is shaken even as he tries to keep it affixed on the four individuals he has prioritized, but it is not shaken by the raining stone or the molten hellish flames arising from nothing. It is shaken by that damn woman Apollyon again; her and her insufferable panic. He can deal with everything else, but her fear makes him want to give her a stout cuff to the head that will knock her out until this is all over. He growls irritably as she declares defeat yet again and flees blindly--again. He would like to kill her himself.

But no. He must lay all of that aside for now. He allows his sense in the Force to wander, trying to pinpoint Hesper, Invadator, Kielor, and Draconis in the chaos of swarming lightsabers below. Come hell or high water, he will stay with them. It is his only mission and he will do his best to see that they all get out alive. With that thought in mind, he channels his energy into making his armor etchings burn brighter. At least if he loses sight of anyone he has prioritized, they can easily spot him.

He moves along the unstable ceiling, following the flow of others below, but at a slower, more calculated pace as he tries to maintain surveillance on his allies. Thoughts of throttling Apollyon help to fuel his determination and, by extension, the glow of the runes in his armor. His choice of staying on the ceiling has as many disadvantages as it does advantages. The smoke from the sudden inferno is finding its way to the highest points to which he clings, putting his respirator through hell as it tries to filter so much toxicity. He doesn't care though. He can see Hesper below; hear her urgent commands. And he does his best to follow through.

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

IC: Empress Volshe and Darth Nihl
The Underdelve, Korriban​

The Empress glared at Lord Voidwalker as he stepped away, chaos erupting around them in the moment that her mental manipulation slithered into the man’s mind.

You shall obey my will. You will not subvert me again.

The silvery message had no sooner left her on its journey to Voidwalker than the Empress found herself gripped by sudden chill. It was not the sort that one found in winter. It was desolate, seeping into her skin in an instant, overtaking her mind, spidering across her every thought as if she were a placid lake in the depths of winter.

“Venomis,” she whispered, as she slackened. But though she fell into what appeared to be fitful slumber, she did not relinquish her ties to the mortal world all at once. She held tightly to one single thread, the warm summer night that she had grown familiar with, the only thing in that moment that she could imagine could aid her in whatever attack Venomis was hoping to impose upon her. She needed to combat him, somehow. Her nails curled into the forearm of the Nagai before she went limp entirely, a single phrase mouthed as she attempted to cling to him.

Don’t let go.

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They were no longer in the Underdelve. The miasma of must and rot gave way to the wafting scent of sumptuous millaflower and warm incense, the dark walls melting into the golden sunlight of Naboo. Stained glass shattered the beams into prismatic shards, rainbows dancing upon the pale stone.

“Nihl,” she called, her voice echoing through the marble hall. She was no longer lying atop bricks of ancient diorite, but a plush chaise, swathed in silks. She glanced about, but a flash caught her attention, darting past the windows. She rose. Crimson silk pooled around her, spilling down from the delicate open-backed gown she wore.

Her eyes studied the sprawl of Naboo, the very edge of the Palace plaza in view. Below that, where the waterfalls tumbled over the cliffside, verdant forests stretched as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful, as always, but something was not right. Nausea tightened in her chest. Cold chills rolled through her.

In the distance, a storm raged. Darkness was upon the horizon, the jungles swaying in the tempestuous winds. Vivid forks of lightning arced across the sky. She blinked, and it was somehow closer. The churning clouds had begun to cast her view in shadow.

“Nihl, my dear,” she called, again, more urgently, hand rising to her temple. Her head had begun to ache in just those moments where the storm approached.

"I am here," came the familiar voice, as if from across some great abyss beyond the sky. Nihl could not be seen, nor felt; his voice was the wind, beneath the gathering storm. "What is wrong? I can hear you in my mind. What is happening to you?”

Alarm was thick in his tone, and it stirred the palace, somehow, the ominous atmosphere becoming electric, stone taking on the appearance of glass, as if a single shiver of anxiety or gust of tempestuous breath might bring the surroundings down.

The distant trees were shaking, their boughs bending, as if some great predator were winding through the forest towards her, darkness threading the turbulent sky in tendrils of inky black.

"Domina?"

Nihl's voice was insistent.

Reassurance flooded the Force. She was not alone.

“It is Venomis,” she said, at last, scanning the horizon before turning, looking for her warlord in the turbulent scene. She knew that he was there, alongside her, but somehow he was no more than the currents of wind upon her bared shoulders.

It was all too familiar. She had been here before. She recognized the scream of the Force around her; she recalled the torment imposed upon her now years ago by the lord of rot. Though her demeanour was calm - glacial, even - the heat of anxiety twined up her neck. She had already spoken to him of what she had witnessed upon Korriban before his return, and even the suffering she had endured in the supposed-sanctuary of Zakuul. Anger flared in the bond they shared as she recalled those moments. She would not allow it again. Not with the Order at stake, not with her children at stake. “He is attempting to take hold of me again.”

"Again? Did you not furnish blood sacrifice to hold him off, and stem his influence?" Nihl referred to a caliginous ritual Volshe had oft repeated, at Dreadwar's recommendation, and the clouds flashed with memories of those frightful, bubbling vats of pungent green fluid, the writhing forms of condemned slaves and willing sacrifices moaning upon the cold tiles of decadent Zakuulan flooring, vile tubes bringing the blood of thousands into Volshe's own veins in a desperate bid to hold the Sickness within her at bay.

"What do you sense?" Nihl pressed, as the memory of the rich red blood, the frothing green fluids, turned necrotic black, skin becoming scabrous as moans mingled with croaking and drear liturgies of madness. Naboo was crumbling, Zakuul breaking through, no, not Zakuul - worse. The darkness beyond Zakuul, not memory, but pestilential present. "Where is he?" Nihl's voice was becoming fainter, further away, as the sky darkened to an overhanging, churning ocean of midnight black.

The ritual was greater than that. She had not simply held back Venomis, she was supposed to have defeated him. Every last trace of his essence was supposed to have been annihilated by arcane ritual.

“Everywhere,” she said, the word swallowed up by the growing storm almost the moment it had left her. She refocused her mind and energy, attempting to maintain her tenuous connection. Her eyes closed, mind working again on painting the cavernous palace around her. She needed an escape, not simply a place to hide. But she could not think of one. Everything had been tainted by the coming storm. Darkness swelled around her, coaxing her into the waves that battered the palace.

Breath hissed from her as she, once more, fought back.

“Tell Maladi,” she began, clawing for the voice to speak. The storm drew closer in that instant, waves of wind and rain lashing against the fractured windows. “Satele Shan. The plague of Vitiate. The ritual. Tell her of Venomis. She will know. She will understand.”

"Take my strength!" came Nihl's voice, one last distant cry, as the wind and the darkness whipped around her. There was a connection, there, however strained - a bond. And then the palace crumbled away, as the ground became the storm, and darkness ate away the world.

She clung fast to him, heeding his demand.


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An island of desolate stone was all that remained, a splinter of the mind's eye narrower than a figment of the faintest imagination. Blackness was all around Volshe - blackness, and Catalyst, and Anhra, all standing on the edge of their diminishing world, as memory and mind sluiced into the abyss, into the gaping maw of the Lord of Rot.

"LIVE!" he cried.

The screech roused her from the last remnants of the palace in her mind, memories of marble giving way to jagged obsidian. She was perched on the shard of a bleak wasteland. Solar wind raked its claws through her hair, warmed her cheeks as much as the desolation chilled her. She stood upon the edge of the Galaxy, surrounded by nothing but space and time. For a moment, it froze her, the cold vastness sinking into her conscious mind.

But she was not alone. The stars before her were not all that glowed in the strange fabric that wrapped around her.

She recognized them.

The others were near enough she could feel their auras, threads being twined together in a tangled mess that was stained by dark ichor. They were all connected, somehow, in some way. She did not understand why, or how. But it was there.

‘’My Lady, my Lord,’’ Māhniu said, greeting them in the eerie scape around them. ‘’If any valuable information is available, now is a good time.’’

“I believe,” Volshe answered, steeling herself and holding tightly to the thread that meandered from her off into an unseen oblivion. It offered reassurance, though she would not admit she required it. It was her last vestige, that nebulous hold she had upon her now-husband, as if his hand were twined with his, even now. Even in a hellscape of celestial oblivion, they were darkness and light, unified against the oncoming storm.

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Beyond that small token, she had only logic to guide her. Most unfortunately, she had more than enough evidence to draw upon. The memories of Zakuul briefly took hold in her mind, before skittering away, leaving the acrid tang of smoke and blood lingering in the air about her. “From my experiences, that Venomis desires us - one of us, all of us, I do not know - as his host, for the pitiful fool has met his demise.”

She glanced to Lord Catalyst, then ahead, willing the nebulae around them to drape their starry cloth about her shoulders. A celestial crown spun itself from the silvery pinpricks, nestling atop her head. She smiled, lightly, obscuring the unease they likely all felt. She did not hide the flame of rage that burgeoned in her chest. “He will only find disappointment here.”

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~​

POWERS USED: Force Bond - 5
(A la Echoes of Oblivion)

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Arach, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst, @DarthNoxia, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Drakul_Xarxes , @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios
 
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Draconis
Underdelve beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

The wandering figure of Draconis was lost in his own curiosity for the moment, removed from the sounds of lightsabers and slight flashes of light against the vast walls of the underdelve. The faint sounds of the throngs of fleeing Sith, screams and groans in all, still audible as they pressed into the tunnel and flowed down it at the other end of the underdelve. A number of his previous party members had already moved deeper into the passage including Hesper. Oh how he wondered what was on her mind with him not being within her keen dark sight. The cyborg was still lurking, seemingly attempting to assess the whereabouts of him.

The immensity of the situation and the overarching chaos above, the closing imminent threat of death from above were not lost on him, such things never were. It simply was all ingrained in his understanding of how things worked and while the sky was falling for everyone else, Draconis was lost in the chaos that abounded, mesmerized at what he had found secluded in the darker corner of the underdelve, mentally mapping out and observing the details of the new territory that he had discovered. While it by no means was a discovery for the ages, it was telling as an unfolding moment intrigue and interest piqued his curiosity. Admiring what was before him.

His eyes fell upon the left archway. Peering past the two statues and sighting what was an empty sarcophagus. Recognizing the name of its owner, one of the fallen, among the cadre of Jedi pressed forward through the gauntlet of the Hundred Years of Darkness war, the conquistadors of Adjunta Pall whos arrival to this place and declaration unto themselves as the Lords of the Sith was still playing out to this day. XoXaan the original Machinoness of the Black Legions, Draconis scoured the memory banks of his own knowledge about her from his study of the ancients. It was clear that any potential riches of her legacy in this place had all been plundered - rumors of her ferocity as a commander and the depths of knowledge of the dark art of healing.

The SEPULCHER OF LACERUS … this was not familiar to him, he made a mental note. To which he wondered for a moment, questioning his own recollection and knowledge of stories of the rising of the dead came to mind, how convenient…

Finally his eyes gazed upon the status guarding the rightmost chamber. Noting and musing over their appearance and features while hearing the trickle of water emanating from it as he traced the flowing black water from it which was similar if not the same as which which surrounded the hypergate in the broader underdelve area that had drawn the attention of many of the gathered Sith. There was a thought to even grab a sample, if he had a vial to accomplish such.

The figures guarding it were familiar and recognized as that of the ancients, the Sith themselves…. It made sense as to their positioning in this darker arrangement. One of the original fallen Jedi and proclaimed Lords of the Sith surrounding herself with those they had subjugated and bound. However things that are always bound never remain, as they always find a way out.

Draconis stepped into the chamber with the sarcophagus for the briefest of moments, approaching the empty sarcophagus and observing the plundered and seemingly empty room in more detail. .

Placing a hand upon the side of the sarcophagus and drawing in with the force, concentrating and using his psychometric prowess. It was true that the treasures that this place once held were all but long gone, what no doubt may have held a holocron, armor, a blade, tomes or scrolls of ritual of some design perhaps plundered and more than likely wasted upon those who had found them. However for those willing to look properly, there were always treasures and more importantly meaning to be found. For what was valuable to one, was often meaninglessly overlooked and what was of value was always in the eye of the beholder and while decrepit of what many would describe as treasures the remaining silent tombs and sarcophagi were exuding a knowledge to those who recognized them for what they were. A legacy of a story. Their ancientness unto itself was a story to be told, silently waiting for anyone who was willing to just be still and listen.

If there was anything of remnant that would have been overlooked by those seeking to simply plunder this place for its “riches” he would find it. Whether physical or through sight he would draw it out to him.

Satisfied that he had given it as much attention as he could given the time constraints it was time to move on. While as intriguing to its effect as this place was, there was simply not enough time for an excavation and exploration despite the yearning and furthermore Draconis knew precisely where they were and where all those rushing to escape were heading, it was unavoidable at this point.

He was a hundred or so feet away from the crowd still packing itself into the slightly beyond the edges of them… when he emerged back out of the chamber of Lady Xoxaan, his fingers tracing the archway and brushing the guarding status of her as he moved silently back towards the main part of the underdelve. The currents of the force shifted noticeably as he pauses with a distinct noticeable grimace of pain that travels up his arm and down his spine to flow through his whole body. Draconis raises his left hand and arm with it, gazing upon his inner forearm which has turned to a smoldering molten glow, pyrokinesis is something that comes naturally to him, but this was not self induced. The shard embedded under his skin glows with a ferocious intensity of bright red and orange, clearly shining through his grey skin. Clasping his forearm in a firm embrace Draconis immediately begins drawing up his darkside healing to counter the ferocious burning that is occurring. He knows exactly what is occurring as he glances upward. A mix of both innate pain and gleeful resolve at what he knows has transpired as the dshard returns to its normal state. “Again?” He mutters in a sarcastic and lighthearted accusatory tone directed at the Gen’Dai.

The proclaimed Empress and her gathered throng were still attending to the hypergate, though it seemed with some slight progress. Her exclaiming inquiry about wanting someone to inform her about which was contained in the dark abyss behind them… Draconis wondered if she referred to the darkness of the underdelve from which Draconis moments earlier had emerged from. Nonetheless Draconis was happy to offer his assessment. “A warning…” Simple and to the point Draconis offers the comment in passing as he moves back into the broader underdelve. No sooner had Draconis offered his two cents of a warning did he feel the presence above them in the form of three eldritch shadows saturated in the darkness that was for no other explanation, Korriban itself. They were one in the same, this place and them indistinguishable and all too familiar to him

Their arrival began the unraveling as the very ceiling and underdelve itself wretched itself in an tumultuous and violent manner. Exuding fire and molten rock as the deeply carved dungeon and cavernous underdelve began to crumble upon itself and fall away to a fiery hellscape, a veritable lake of fire.

The utterance of the ancient tongue, resemblance to the guardians of Xoxaan’s crypt. They were the Sith.

The call to run, flee from the Dark Lady in her gown like dress was heard. Clearly this was not the time to linger further and Draconis had come to that conclusion at the same moment as her. Ja’ak. Vexok savaka.’’ Draconis heard the dark ones speak as he broke into a dash towards the tunnel entrance, and the phrase only enshrined what he already knew was transpiring.

The tunnel itself was still crammed as the flow of people, many of which would no doubt be swallowed by the lake of fire, made it difficult to simply navigate freely. Though with a determination and ease of a skilled assassin Draconis made his way forward. The entrance to this place, the tunnel itself all lined with the record of tales and history of this place and it would not be much longer until it awakened from its slumber… Draconis could sense Hesper up ahead and so he continued to push forward in her direction as he passed further down the tunnel.

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

OOC: Long catch up post, so power use in order of flow…

Psycometry -2 (in Xoxaan chambers)
Concentration -5 (to aid his use of psycometry and perception of the chamber for anything)
Force sense -5 (perceiving anything present - attempting to learn about chamber and potential hidden)
Darkside healing -5 (healing wound suffered at death of Cruor)
Augmentation -5 (to aid movement)
Force Speed -5 (moving to tunnel and beyond)
 
IC: Sol Kira, Keres Dymos, and Zareel Jhenan’doka
Underdelve, Korriban

For a brief moment, chaos took a breath.

Once the Slayer’s head dissected from its body, Sol felt a momentary relief. She deactivated her saber and reattached it to her waist holster, and turned to look at her fellow Apprentices.

“Lord Kain is dead. Whatever is up there is coming for us, we need to go now,” she said, looking between the two of them.

Then, chaos reigned once more.

Around them, the tunnels began to crumble. The ground shook, and the temperature raised dramatically. And above them, three figures stared menacingly down at them.

“Run!” Lady Apollyon shouted, and Sol grabbed at both of their arms.

“Let’s go. Now!”

Keres yelped, jerked along by Sol’s momentum. Her attention flicked over the younglings, and she forced her heels down before Kira could get them into the tunnels.

“No! The younglings need help!” Keres shouted over the noise, heart pounding. She wrenched her arm free and ran back. There was smoke and dust, and the fires were creating unsettling shadows. But there were children there, with only the crone to push them forward. And their little round faces, each a reflection of the terror she felt.

“Keres, no!” Sol stopped her movement at the loss of contact and screamed towards Keres in the chaos, but it was no use. She turned her attention to the demon, her jaw clenched.

“Go get her,” She commanded, and began running in the opposite direction and into the mouth of the tunnels. She had little care for the younglings, and cared much more about surviving. The demon followed Keres back, reaching out and grabbing at her arm.

“It’s of no use. You cannot help them all!” He shouted at her.

“I can try!” she shouted, yanking. But his grip was much stronger than hers, and she didn’t make any headway. “We can’t just leave them! They don’t deserve this!” Her hysteria was rising, old grief overtaking the ruthless pragmatism she had so prided in herself and saw reflected in the Sith. Now, she merely feared.

The plan was simple and merely involved running.

The plan was still so simple, though it now included the attempt to help Sol that it didn't need to be effective and in the end; it had worked out well, however, by no means were they safe. It looked like the chaos was only set to be a constant that would not give up on its plan to envelop them completely.

The plan was too simple to understand; they merely had to flee now, to get out of this mess by the path that seemed so clear now. "You don't need to repeat it," She murmured, smiling nervously at Sol, ready to turn her back on the temple she held so dear in order to get out alive.

If everything was so simple, why would Keres turn back? Why wasn't she listening to Sol, at least they seemed close enough so she could convince her? Or maybe not.

She inhaled deeply, searching inside herself for the stillness that every now and then began to ignore her; all she could do was do her best to not give way to the panic, which at any moment could take over her mind. She held her breath during the exchange between the two women before exhaling exhaustedly; Zareel shook her head and walked in Keres' direction, shortly after the demon had followed her.

"The younger ones." The Balosar hurried past them speaking in their direction anyway. Behind the children, making way for them to advance first, she caught sight of Lord Xxys; the Dark Lord's prowess gave her a sense of security, especially after having seen how he had taken out the attackers earlier.

"We can help the smaller ones to prevent them from slowing the others down for fear of moving forward. They'll only get in the way if someone else doesn't assist them along." Her voice was laced with a false calm; the urgency for the welfare of the little ones in Keres' voice triggered something within her that would not allow her to resist her plea.

“I should have stayed in the damned girl’s head,” Zoradon whispered, following after them. “I can grab two, maybe three if they’re small enough.”

Keres paused, surprised by the other Apprentice’s help, then she nodded, buoyed by the support.

“Everyone, grab hands,” Keres ordered crisply, finally able to bury the panic and fear under a cool façade. “You all need to follow us into the tunnel, understand?”

"You've already been able to get this far, prove you are capable of getting out of this place." Even if they were only children, the sense of pride at achievement and self-preservation should be something they should be familiar with, they were growing up among Siths.

Zareel tried to sound as confident as she could, lying wasn't the harsh bite of the whole situation. Although uncertain if she was saying it to the younglings or herself, she didn't bother analyzing it. She just offered her hands to some of the younger ones, urging them all to move faster with them in the direction of the door that several were already heading towards.

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Arach, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst, @DarthNoxia, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Drakul_Xarxes , @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios
 
IC: Lady Noxia
Location: The Underdelve


A rush of heat met the Togruta’s back as the room she had just escaped bust into flame. The cacophony of crumbling stone assaulted her ears, echoing in the tunnel. The voices of those she had passed grew in shrieks of panic. Then she heard it again, like some chaotic mantra Apollyon’s voice rang out once more for them to flee.

an avalanche of dust and ember assaulted her senses. Then she ran. She ran for her life. She could hear the voice of Hesper ahead and knew that she was not far from their group. But she had only to meet more warnings and pleas to keep moving.

Noxia stared down the tunnel ahead and it seemed to stare back, the darkness mocking her as if it were never-ending. Her heart began torace once more as flashes of Dxun and a putrid black ooze flooded her mind. “Don’t go there,” she told herself. “Not now.”

It was all she could do to keep from reimagining the sensory deprivation, to keep from hearing that cruel vice that had taunted and tortured her in the temple. “Not today.” And her senses kicked in…

Her montrals caught the sounds echoing upon the walls she heard each footfall, each breath in front and behind her. She knew exactly where she was and how far she had to go to reach the group ahead. What light had been swallowed by the gaping maw of Karnes Murr lit the way, refracting in her eyes.

She ran as she had run before though her lungs burned and her muscles aches. She ran. There was no fighting what had assaulted them in front of the temple. To do so would be certain death. So she ran for her life. She wouldn’t stop until safety was at hand.

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Arach, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst, @ Volshe , @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Drakul_Xarxes , @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios
 
IC: Darth Mavros
Location: The Underdelve, Korriban


Finally…SOMETHING has gone right for once today.

Mavros couldn’t suppress a smile as he saw that the speeder was still active. Now he could get the kriff out of this cave, and keep going as far as he could within the craft. Hopefully, he could find a way out back to the surface, and then…then what? He supposed there would be a ship somewhere he could commandeer. Given the sounds coming from the temple above, it was unlikely the Dark Wind had survived.

Dreadwar owes me a damn ship. I hope he rots in Chaos for eternity…

But still, that was a problem for future Mavros. Right now, he had a chance at escape, and that was better than nothing. He glanced back. Everything was quite literally falling apart. Apollyon screamed for everyone to run.

And run they did.

If they get in my way, I’ll run them over. Kriff them. Every man for himself.

“Mavros! Help me put him on the speeder!”

FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHY ME, WOMAN?

Mavros turned around to see who had shouted. Apollyon was rushing towards him, the convulsing body of Lord Catalyst floating behind her. Viscretus too had collapsed. Mavros hesitated for a moment, torn between his desire to jump in the speeder and go and the realisation that if he did so, and Apollyon and Catalyst somehow survived, they would surely seek him out and exact vengeance for abandoning them.

Kriff it. They’re both done. Why get myself killed helping a dead man?

Just as Mavros made the decision to abandon Catalyst to his fate, someone else picked up the unconscious Sith Lord and headed for the speeder.

Well…saves me the trouble, I guess.

Mavros jumped into the speeder, starting it up. He waited for the stranger to put Catalyst in the passenger seat and then set off for the narrow exit, caring not for anyone that was in his way. He reached out with the force, trying to gauge the best path ahead.

Come on…come on…I really don’t want to die in a cave…

Power Used- Force Sense (3)

TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Arach, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst, @ Volshe , @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @DarthNoxia, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Drakul_Xarxes , @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios
 
"He's burning! He's burning! The sun fell from the sky and he's burning!"

– Mental Ward patient, Day Four of the “Week of Nightmares”​

IC: I-Ron-Butterfly-Traya and Apprentice Karin Welko.


The sky rolled up like a scroll to be read and understood by all those who were worthy. A blanket of fire was spreaded over it, like when the gods decide that a day is going to be cloudy and roll clouds on the skyes, but with hell, fire and damnation. The cascade of almost plasma tore everything up like a hurricane of biblical proportions, a bard who saw such an event surely would write twenty epic songs and one extremely dreadful and sad song about it.


In other planets, meanwhile, such ripples in the force, such sadness and such soulfire started to drive people mad. Mental ward patients started to chant about some kind of occurrence, some kind of prince of cinders.


The ward was I-Ron, the mental patient was I-Ron, the eyes gazing up at the threnody sky was I-Ron.


Now Kain was the Lord of Cinders, rejoicing in death and the soul departed from this husk of existence, thanks to the breath of Mordiggian.


There was so much heat, so much fire. A firestorm crushing the temple, scorching the lands like a deadly wind, the toxic wastes of the nuclear battle soon crushing the onto the temple, there were even rocks falling!


So so so much heat, the temperature surely was up in the 40°c. Heat cancer everywhere, I-Ron could not even stomach it, she was lost in the thoughts of the stars, she was far away, inside the software of the Hypérgate, listening to what the thunder said.


The fire cancer sky illuminated in the gaze of I-Ron suddenly had a tincture of purple and blue bright light, as the map of the galaxy in her brain downloaded the location of all other hypergates in the galaxy. Her mind twisted and her body started to peel of the excess skin, as she started to lose cohesion and imagined herself being as simple as a small lizard. She hated this, she could feel how her ego formed what was to be the start of hatred. She didn't wanted to live in this desert any longer, she wanted to go to another place where the dreams of cinders falling from the sky, where the dreams of hell and fire and damnation were no longer. She wanted to dream of sheep, dreams of mist, dreams of a stormy weather. She wanted to dream about what the thunder said, to drink those waters that the tired travelers drank, even if it felt like copper in her throat.


Because here, inside the tomb of the lords of yore, there is no water to drink, there is only rocks falling from the ceiling. Rocks and no water but sandy roads that lead to damnation, mountains up above perhaps, but with no water to drink for this Tusken raider that needed something to hold onto, here inside the womb of this dead mountain of carious teeth that cannot spit.


She snapped out of it, the guttural screaming of a Sith brought her back to reality.


“GO, MEN, IF YOU HAVE ANY WILL TO SURVIVE!”


Finally I-Ron was in a world of rocks and stone and flesh and blood. Something to be understood, instead of the mindscape of mourning and galaxy maps.


She hold onto her apprentice fast, hugging her like a dear friend, while Karin startled with the strangeness of her master because it basically springed from nothing to everything.


“What is wrong, Master?” Then she took I-Ron by the face, surprised even more than before, because tears casted with Sith Illusions poured from her cheeks as the face of I-Ron expressed sadness and mourning at the same time. “Master! What is wrong? Why are you giving water?”


“I am giving water to those who walk and don't know how completely, utterly damned they are.” She responded, her soul firing up like a jihad spreading all over the galaxy. “I am giving water to the dead men walking, I am giving water to mourn the utter and total anihilation that we will bring to our enemies.” She held a tight grip on Karin, almost scaring her by seeing how it seemed her master had lost it.


“I am giving mourning water because there is no escape from this violence, we shall take twenty scores of them for every one of us they had massacred. And we shall leave nothing but salted land upon our wake.” The volume of her voice went up, trying to be heard, in almost the exact same tone as an end of the world priest announcing the reckoning. I-Ron was now in a vigil, she was a hunter. One candle blows out, but lights two more as it passes. The Hunter dies, but the Vigil goes on forever. World without end, amen. “When we invade their planets, use their own technologies and teachings against them.”


Then, she sent a telepathy message directly towards Lord Xarxes and Lord Nathemus at the same time, hoping to be heard in all the chaos and commotion.


“I have a stellar map of the location of all hypergates on the entire galaxy, even on unknown or undiscovered planets. We can take the fight to them once we escape this.”


Then she, alongside Karin, almost in the same manner raver girls walk down the street after an entire savage day of drugs and dancing, started to run albeit at an exhausted pace towards the mouth of the cave, alongside Xarxes, Hesper, and all others.


Then, at the end of her turn, I-Ron simply turned her head to gaze at the three marching lords, ready to harvest destruction.


“Burn them all” She said to Shaitan, her “summoned” demon. “Give them hell, my boy.”


And gathering her strength, while running away, she simply gave the order to her summoning to go on and make what he was meant to do.


She weaved with the force, gathering the dark side and the vibrations of all those around her, to create again her dark and chaotic fire demon Shaitan, to blow himself up in a righteous jihad in front of the three dread lords of yore.


Powers Used: Telepathy lvl 3 (To communicate a message)


Sith Illusions and Feed on the Dark Side both lvl 3



TAGs: @corinthia, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Darth Xirr, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Darth Cruor, @Darth Kain, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Voidwalker, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @DarthNoxia @Darth Dreadwar @Hadzuska_The Jester
 
IC Darth Thana
Underdelve beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban


Thana had not paid attention to her surrounds as she poured in all her efforts to completely and violently annihilate this attacker while her vines had held it in place. The walls shaking with the might of the force angry and unforgiving, she had not yet none that Lord Kain had given his all to take out so many of their enemies above. The structure caving hard dropping every inch of the walls the Sith she knew took had earlier had their meals and drinks.

As her prey had began to shake with malevolent intent she felt the change of forces around her. The fear that radiated within the room and the angry mixed with sadness that was coming from different directions. Every slayer meeting their end with powerful strikes from many that wanted to escape here. The intent behind survival was strong here and her attack combined with Mirtis was no different. The force must have favored her in this moment as the shaking hit it's peak...

The raven haired Zabrak had witnessed her slayer burst into what seemed like millions of splinters of bony shrapnel courtesy of her combustive attack scattering around the floor near Lady Apollyon. The Slayer was finished achieving complete obliteration of it's ribcage was annihilated by what she could only imagine as a rage filled punch from her ally, Darth Mirtis. The energy of the room shifted into a clashing energy than she had every felt around these Sith.

As soon as she thought that the remaining amount of stones shifted dropping heavy plumes of dust that painted the dark tunnel that they all shared. Three figures that she had not recognized stood with a powerful presence but one she could easily guess would not aid her here. She stepped back as the dust began to clear the air, she quietly commanded her living beings of fire to follow as they were meant to protect her. The third stood at the mouth of the six foot cavern that Darth Hesper had talked of retreating to. Thana would not stay here and die by the hands of these unknown figures. The floor had changed and they began to speak, words she did not now for sure. The presence of changing force here was one mighty indicator that she would be safer in the tunnels that her mind still called for.

“Ja’ak..." was heard then "Vexok…” Thana watched as the figure A slash downwards. “Savaka.” A slash across to the right, the pattern of a triangle, drawn out thrice in time with his chant. “Ja’ak. Vexok savaka. Ja’ak. Vexok savaka.’’ Thana didn't catch the last movement before hearing "This foe is beyond any of us,” screamed emanated from Apollyon. Thana shifted to her golems as she heard "Run!" Which she thought was a perfect idea.

"You two stay here and block the mouth of the tunnel with your lives after I leave if those demons approach forth. Your lives are willed to me so my life hangs in the balance. You will do as I will." The third would accompany her through the tunnel as she pulled forth all the negative emotions flourishing in the cavern before taking her leave with the golem watching her back as it's footsteps followed hers as she rushed forth hopefully the final time. She would not wait around to see the power they possessed. She caught an emotional display that Darth Xarxes had as he spoke with might “GO, MEN, IF YOU HAVE ANY WILL TO SURVIVE!” The negative emotions flowing like a sponge soaking every water droplet into it's being, Thana did the same with all that lurked in the air, filling her being to hold some storage as she felt that she would need it soon until she was safe....


Powers:
Feed on Dark Side-3

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar @corinthia , @Arach @DarthNoxia @dragonsith13 @Grievance Vexx @Reiis Invadator @DarthFeros @Nacros_Telcontare , @Kielor @Jihadi Quartz , @Darth Nathemus @Helkosh @Darth Solus @Cardun Vrek @Darth Xxys @Reatith Blodraald @Admiral Volshe , @Catalyst @Undying Master Xiannarr , @Voidwalker @Hadzuska_The Jester @Keres Dymos @skira @Zareel Jhenan´doka @Volacius , @Drakul_Xarxes , @Sith_Imperios
 
IC: Darth Arach & Darth Voidwalker
Underdelve, Sith Temple, Korriban

"Know that there was once a Darth Traya. And that she cast aside that role, was exiled, and found a new purpose. But there must always be a Darth Traya, one that holds the knowledge of betrayal. Who has been betrayed in their heart, and will betray in turn." - Darth Traya

Tensions from the day's events were high, leaving everyone on high alert and edge. Only thing higher were the emotions from the loss of one of their very own, Lord Kain. The Beloved King had willingly sacrificed himself to give the others a chance at survival. It was a recipe for disaster waiting to happen, as Voidwalker and Volshe exchanged words. Nothing out of the ordinary for those who just lost someone close to them.

Words stung, but they could be forgiven, but they could also be what pushes someone over the edge. Voidwalker and Volshe had argued, and he was walking away from the situation when disaster took form. Betrayal. Betrayal is what came to Voidwalker as he walked away from the brief exchange of words with Kàrà Volshe, the Empress of the New Galactic Empire and current self proclaimed "Empress of the Sith." Her betrayal said more than her words ever could have. For one that claimed to want to save everyone, her actions certainly seemed to speak otherwise as she let loose with her attack. Volshe raised her hand, ethereal tendrils cut loose from her hand as she attempted to to hurt the young man that had also just risked his own life to save others. She now looked to harm him and drain him of his essence.

A cowardly attack from behind as Voidwalker continued to walk away and do what he thought was best for the rest of the survivors. He never even saw it coming. He was hit, the feeling of all his energy and very essence being peeled back and siphoned from him.

No pain, no suffering, only the whispered words of a silk serpent slithering into his mind. Constricting itself around his free will, and oozing her venomous words of toxicity to control him.

"You shall obey my will. You will not subvert me again."

"Yes my Empress, of course. I will not subvert you again." Voidwalker responded immediately as if his body was simply running on autopilot. Placing a fist over his heart, he started to kneel down.

Arach saw the effects of Volshe’s attack on Voidwalker. “Coward!” she spat, swinging around to face the older woman. Every feeling of compassion and pity melted away for the self- proclaimed Empress. In their place, her fury and hatred grew. Too much had happened on this day. Too much tension and grief. Too much politicking, pride, and infighting happening when they should have been focusing more on working together.

Then, she felt everything. She felt a scorching heat and the disappearance of her former master. At the same time, she felt and heard Hesper’s anguish and saw Volshe collapse. What broke her the restraint on her fury was the sight of the three at the top of the destroyed stairs. After everything, these three remained.

Arach raised her hand, palm down, towards the rubble of the stairs and felt for anything else she could use. She concentrated on everything she had collected and caused them to vibrate. “Go!” she yelled at Feros and Voidwalker. “I’ll cover us!”

From his kneeling position, Arach's orders snapped his attention. Volshe laid on the ground unconscious, Nihl scooping her up into his arms and rushing her away, followed in tow by the Knights of the New Galactic Empire. The ancient armored Goliath from the dungeon now stood alongside two others at the bottom of the vault.

"Dammit! Why won't these bastards just die and stay dead already?"

Voidwalker's anger flaring in sight of the three destroyers that had been released upon them once more. He stood up quickly, extending his arms with open palms, he meant to deliver a deadly blast of energy at the trio, only for nothing to occur. The Force had failed to respond to his command and he felt dizzy from standing up too quickly. He felt weak and out of control. As if his legs were ready to give out from underneath him. The lingering effects of Volshe's attack of draining his power. His body under strain from the sudden series of movements.

"Arach, get out of there!" He shouted to the assassin.

“Not without you!” Arach snapped, shooting a glare at Voidwalker. “And from the looks of it, you’re in no shape to take on all three!” She shifted her gaze back towards the three demons. And shifted closer to Voidwalker. She reached out with her free hand and took hold of his arm. “Go! I’m right behind you!” she hissed, letting go of his arm.

Not waiting for an answer, Arach felt that her
projectiles were ready. She scrunched the fingers of her outstretched hand, then shot them straight, releasing a battle cry. In response all of the debris, pebbles and rocks that had broken free shot towards the three survivors with all the force her anger and hatred could muster.

Voidwalker could tell that there had been more said in her body language than she had verbalized. He felt that she was lying. It made sense, it's what he would have done in the same scenario. "We didn't risk our lives to save one another for you to throw your life away now." Voidwalker shot back at her.

Voidwalker again tried to regain his command of the Force, and still nothing. Arach was right, he was in no shape to fight. Let alone three enemies. He would be forced to retreat, but not by himself. Voidwalker crouched low under and scooped Arach up over his shoulder. Her smaller frame seemed as if she practically weighed nothing. Even in his weakened state, he had no trouble holding her up. "Like you said, not without you! You can hate me later, but we're leaving now." Over his free shoulder he called out to his other allies, "Feros, Nathemus, let's go, we have to regroup with the others." Then he headed off with Arach draped over him, closing in on the tunnel mouth.

Starting their ascension towards the tunnel entrance that Catalyst and others had been sent down to explore earlier, another individual passed him and Arach heading head on towards the three ancient entities. It was the one who had helped him recover the giant Holocron from the banquet throne. He was charging them head on. Now was not the time for tactics such as heroism. Voidwalker stopped and turned to the side to give a command to Nathemus. "Grab that fool and keep moving. We don't have time to play hero right now. We have to retreat."

“You’d better put me down, Voidwalker, or so help me I will finish what Volshe started!” Arach threatened, pushing against the sorcerer’s back. “Kriffing motherkriffer!”

"Yeah, yeah I hear you. Finish what Volshe started, got it. Well make sure you remember that because I'm not putting you down until we're back with the others." Voidwalker shot back at Arach's threat as she fought against him. "Look if you're going to fight then do something helpful instead of fighting me. Up here on the right there's a hypergate. We'll be passing it in a moment, blast it with everything you got. Just don't miss, we have one shot at this."

Arach set her jaw in anger but she twisted her head around as much as she could and saw what Voidwalker was talking about. Her anger at the indignity of the situation subsided a little bit and her understanding sharpened. She lifted her hand and aimed at the gate, taking care not to hit Voidwalker, even though she would have loved to give him a little jolt. Arcs of lightning shot from her fingertips as they passed and Arach prayed that it would be enough.

The air was hot, be it from the increased heat or the strain he continued to place upon his body, sweat easily broke across his brow. His legs burned from the constant use of running and climbing stairs, yet he pushed on. Voidwalker pressed on towards the safety of the tunnel, coming into view in the steam hilled haze of the dark vault was the giant carving, mouth opened wide to swallow all who dared to pass the entry way. Voidwalker raced on, his body seeming to regain its strength.

Coming to the opening he stopped just short of the entryway. They weren't safe yet, but Voidwalker had gotten her out of the immediate danger. He didn't wish to embarrass Arach by being seen as weak or lesser by others of the order. He leaned down and set her feet down gently on the ground. "You can scream at me later if we survive. But for now, come on." He told Arach as he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along into the safety of the tunnel. He didn't hold her hand to try and be a hero or because she was a damsel in distress, it was simply a way of making sure she didn't try to go back and fight.

"Let me go!" She shouted at him, her molten eyes glaring at him. "I don't need you to guide me like a small child." She exclaimed as she pulled loose from Voidwalker's grip. "I'm quite capable…"

"Shhh" Voidwalker cut her off, indicating that he was trying to pick up on something he couldn't see. "Do you hear that?" A high pitched humming mixed with a low rumbling sounds building, it was an unmistakable sound, a speeder.

The sounds of a speeder echoed through the walls of the tunnel. Unsure of where or what the sound was being caused by,Voidwalker and Arach moved closer to the side of the path. Hugging the walls to keep from being seen and having room to pass if there was a speeder up ahead. Continuing the path through the tunnel they passed through a larger chamber that had been littered with shyrak corpses. They pressed on, finally starting to hear the chatter of others as they started to finally catch up with the group of other remaining survivors.

Powers Used:
Ballistakinesis- 4
Force Lightning- 3

TAGS:
@Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Darth Cruor, @Darth Kain, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios, @Darth Nathemus, @DarthFeros
 
Last edited:
IC: Darth Pravum
Location: Underdelves, Sith Temple, Moraband

“Run, run, fast as you can.”, - Urtthan children’s rhyme

The stairs behind him collapsed with a thundering bang, and Pravum looked back from atop the shoulders of the golem. He telepathically commanded the ten he’d left behind to instead turn around and follow he and the rest of his soldiers as they fled away from the temple and toward the tunnels. He took care to ensure that any fleeing golems moved out of the way of the speeding Darth Mavros; one could only imagine the damage that a collision would inflict upon the speeder, to say nothing of its inhabitants. Worse still, the wreckage would create a barrier and that would only tighten the already narrow path of escape.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the limp body of Volshe slung over the shoulder of Lord Nihl. Could she be…?

Unlikely. Volshe was as powerful as they came; any attack capable of killing her would certainly be capable of attracting Pravum’s attention; and likely would result in the deaths of several hundred others in the process in these tight quarters. Plus, lovers or not, surely Lord Nihl would not waste time and energy preserving the body of a dead woman in these circumstances.

Pravum shook his head quietly as his golem steed charged to the tunnel entrance. He’d gotten lost in his thoughts again. No time for that now.

Powers used: none

TAG:mad:Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia , @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Darth Nathemus, @Darth Thana, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Zareel Jhenan´doka, @Volacius, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Sith_Imperios
 
IC: The Sedriss
Location: Underdelve, Under what used to be the Sith Temple, Korriban

It was still utter carnage.

Even if the Sith had escaped the inky, grotesque blackness, the undead, and the behemoths above, they were not out of the woods yet. Tempers were flaring, words against words, Force against Force, mother against son, even. Prior to yet another collapse of the Empress, Nathemus felt his bonded brother go through the very same Drain that happened to him years earlier in Sadow's Tomb, in yet another cave. Mother of the century, how about that. It was not uncommon for their mother to lash out violently, even at her children, if things didn't go exactly as she wanted them.

"Brother, rise, you mustn't falter here today," he commanded Voidwalker to plow through the pain of the Force Drain. It was excruciating, he knew, but it could be overcome.

But what happened next was a myriad of craziness. Volshe slumped over yet again, and Nihl was of course there to cradle her in his arms. She was unconscious and unmoving. But that was the least of his worries currently. His parents, the Empress and Emperor of the Sith, could handle themselves. What Nathemus was concerned with was the rest of the company of Sith, both leaders and underlings, as well as the three familiar companions that had just joined them in the underdelve.

He was slightly downtrodden by the fact their ancient assailants hadn't perished above before they somehow made their way downstairs too, but if they were indeed Sith, they were survivors like the rest. Perhaps the Shadow Hand could grant their glorious warrior's deaths now. Apollyon believed that these foes were beyond any of their power, but she was mistaken. She had not seen Nathemus' successful attack on the three mere minutes ago. It seemed the younger companion of the curious clown-looking character had already begun to charge his way towards the ancient Lords. Voidwalker noticed this in the midst of his back and forth with Arach and asked Nathemus to take him. But the white-skinned one began to attack them in turn.

Nathemus considered it briefly, grabbing the unknown Sith and heading straight into the gaping hole of Karness Muur's mouth. But the moment was fleeting. He had to strike again. Quickly, he called out to the charging one and said, "Fool of a Sith! Stay by your Master!" Whether he heeded these words or not, it didn't much matter. The Sedriss' focus was elsewhere.

He began to move quickly towards Muur's maw, but his eyes stayed focused on the assailants. His mind began to race, attempting to influence the strong wills of the ancient Lords, while also raising his own Mind Shield. Freeze; you shall not pass. He wanted to stop them in their tracks, mind and body, to make way for his next strike. Nathemus, the foremost Sith Sorcerer of the Order, trailed his left index finger through the air and formed a circle. Attempting to form the Bolt of Hatred, he aimed for the Lich, the Immortal God-King of Prakith who was already casting another spell. He intoned in a low, baritone voice, "Sutta Chwituskak." He hoped to whatever gods there were in the universe that it would help kill the assailants and expedite their escape.

Powers used:
Mind Trick: 5 (attacking Hord, Andeddu, and Malleus)
Mental Shield: 5
Sutta Chwituskak: 5 (attacking Andeddu only)

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