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

[corinthia]

IC: Imperatrix Hesper and Darth Drakul Xarxes
The Underdelve​

This damn door!

Xarxes dropped Zyldek to his feet as the Sith leading the charge came to a stop before the barricaded passage, the thin slivers of crimson light showing the one path to salvation remaining. Beside him, Hesper studied the door with fervent eyes, her mind probing what premonitions she had had about this egress. She felt that strange sensation stir in her chest, a still-warm ember among desolate ashes of anguish and dread: hope. Hesitantly, she touched the metal and stone, feeling the cool essence of thousands of years of history; she traced a finger along its seam, watching the way the red light from beyond it backlit her fingernail. She held fast to her tenacity, the deep-seated desire to survive this. She continued to nudge her desire upon destiny.

Xarxes eyed Darth Hesper, the determined aura– still crying in silent pain– about her intensifying as they hit an obstacle. This was unacceptable, dangerous. Even more so now that his mqaaq’it revealed the cold corpses crawling from the earth of the tunnel to pursue to fleeing New Sith.

“Lady Hesper,” he growled, ignoring the others around him, “do you have a plan?”

Hesper’s eyes alighted on Xarxes, acknowledging him, communicating with a glimmer that he was to follow her lead.

“Men, stay your hands!” Hesper commanded, stepping between the hulking Nathemus, a Mirialan she didn’t recognize, all the others recklessly attacking in such a tight space, and the door from which that thin line of light had been shining. At her bark, four of the fifteen remaining Hesperian Guardsmen stepped forward, flanking Hesper and Xarxes, silver pikes ignited and angled to prevent further tampering with the door. Her chest was heaving; she still reeled from the sensation of fire blooming across her skin, and sweat was beginning to trickle down her back. It was stifling in this tunnel, with the throng of panicked bodies pressing from all sides; the adrenaline pulsing through the air was enough to raise anyone’s heartrate, and Hesper’s own heart thumped uncomfortably in her ribcage.

She could hear the shouts of many, fraught voices ricocheting down the stone passageway to her ears. What is it, Hesper? What is it? She had been at the very helm of this affrighted procession as it delved further and further into the depths below what had once been the Sith Temple. Before anyone pressed any further, she realized: she needed to speak to the throngs. They could no longer forge ahead with little mind for the others. They needed guidance. In Xarxes’ words: a plan.

“Xarxes,” she said, “They cannot see me, I’m too short. I need to speak to those behind us. Give me a leg up.”

Xarxes, who had been preparing to dip into the Force to influence the outcomes of the efforts of all in attendance, responded with immediacy, laying his intention on the wayside and instead taking a knee for the Prophetess, his knee perpendicular to her. “As you command, Darth Hesper.”

Though surely there are better choices to be made now? Though he may have had personal reservations about the immediate, he trusted in her unparalleled foresight. Whatever Darth Hesper was doing, it was bound to be a wise path to follow.

He briefly took in those now present. There was Darth Nathemus, one who held some prestige among both the Sith and the eye of Darth Viscretus. After all, he was technically her adopted son now. Also there was Darth Volacious, the former Apprentice of Darth Kain, if he correctly recalled. He could only imagine how he felt now.

If he could have, he would have spoken to Nathemus, urged him to break the blast door while Hesper did whatever she was intending to do now. Instead, he remained quiet, staving off the sense of impending doom that accompanied the sounds of the oncoming dark forces on the other end of the tunnel.

Quickly, Hesper stepped up onto Xarxes’ proffered knee, bare feet sure and steady as she touched the fingers of her left hand to his shoulder for balance. In her right hand, she held her red saber, its bloody plasma flickering in the dark of the tunnel as she rose head and shoulders above the crowd. It cast her face in wicked carmine light, illuminating her long, dark scar and pale, glinting eye. She could see now the snarl at the end of the exodus, see the speeder plowing through bodies, see the scurrying shapes at the edges of the passage, and see the three dark figures chanting damnable Sith spells. Hesper sucked in a breath.

“Listen, you lot!” She bellowed, voice shockingly loud for such a small stature. “Protect the rear and our flanks! Draw up barriers, mind your aim, do not be reckless. Protect the children, leave the dead and wounded, and leave that stupid speeder before more are killed by it! It is crowded enough as it is in here. And for Chaos’ sake, someone give us Battle Meditation!” Hesper grit her teeth. “There is a door; hold together until it is open. Do not push forward until I give the signal that it is safe to do so.”

Stepping down off Xarxes’ knee, Hesper muttered under her breath: “Force have mercy.” Then, to Xarxes, “Thank you. Here is the plan: I am going to rend that door. When it is open, and we are sure it is safe, we will funnel everyone through as quickly and as orderly as possible. We will lead with six Guardsmen, and the rest will bring up the rear. Now,” she turned to Nathemus and the Mirialan. “Step aside.” Her voice was like a knife, cold and scathing.

She drew upon her powers of prophesy, and upon her profound and innate understanding of the physical world; breathing deeply, she reached out with the Force to fathom the deeper structural design of the archaic blast door before them.

Hesper’s command had but just left her lips as Xarxes, now standing, prepared to dip his mind into the flow of the Force, extending his will of strength upon those nearest him, and simultaneously reaching back towards his foes, willing their muscles and minds alike to be plagued by haze and weakness. A gruff command issued forth from his lips, disregarding all tact and decorum in the moment. “Nathemus,” he growled, “I will need to be moved when the door is down. Aid me when that happens.”

While the power of Battle Meditation required stillness for full effect, he doubted that his allies at the helm would leave him when they inevitably broke through the door. His senses to them were already dulled, and though he could sense his surroundings, it was almost as if he was doing so from the third person. Yet his will remained strong, imposed on those around him, willing their success in opening the path to salvation.

Meanwhile, Hesper commanded her Guardsmen to hold back the throng, pushing with their pikes to give those at the helm of the crowd space to perform their powers. Such discord and fervor was dangerous, especially as bodies were packed together like tinned fish. "Stand back!" She shouted, holding her arms wide to prevent further prodding and jostling. "Focus on protecting our rear and flank, or else there won't be any of us left to pass through this door!"

Turning, she placed her hands upon the ancient blast door, one palm on each of its halves; and she summoned to her her great power, her finely honed skill in the telekinetic arts. Bolstered by Xarxes' meditation and guided by her manifestation of an altered destiny, she flexed. Focusing her power on the seam and the crimson light behind it, she wrenched it apart with the Force, throwing every ounce of herself into the action. Force willing, this door would open...

TAG:
@Darth Dreadwar, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @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, @Sith_Imperios


Powers used:
Hesper:
Darksight - GODLIKE - 10
(To protect allies in the tunnel, and to ensure the door opens and the way is clear)
Force Rend - 5

Xarxes:
Battle Meditation - 4​

 

[Voidwalker]

IC: Darth Arach, Sol Kira, & Darth Voidwalker
Deep in Karness Murr's Mouth

The mouth of Karness Murr stood wide open, ready to receive all the meat suit organics that rushed into his mouth hoping to come to a safe haven. But Sol was already deep into the tunnels, running as fast as she could manage with the people around her. She only paused when she heard the speeder behind her as well as Lady Apollyon’s warning, and hugged the wall to avoid it. She looked back down the tunnel from where she came, uneasiness creeping into her mind.

“Perhaps there’s snakes down here,” A voice whispered, and Sol’s head darted to the side, looking for the person it came from. But no face near her matched the voice, and the uneasiness grew.

“Zoradon, leave them. Come back now,” She whispered telepathically to the demon, looking down at the darkness she had come from. And emerging from that darkness came two people, one familiar to her.

“Lord Voidwalker?” She said, walking towards them.

Voidwalker moved from the wall once the crazed pilot of the speeder zoomed past him and Arach. He was breathing hard, he'd been through a bit in a short period of time. He needed to do something to get his power back. Closing his eyes he focused on himself, channeling his knowledge and skill of dark transfer to command the Force to heal his injuries. Hearing his name, he instantly recognized the voice of Sol Kira. "Sol! Sol is that you?" Voidwalker called back out as his name was called."Are you alright?"

Arach pushed herself off the wall after the speeder passed. She w las still irritated at the man beside her. She narrowed her golden eyes at him, then punched his shoulder. “Pick me up like that again and you’ll get worse.” With her pride somewhat appeased, Arach’s glare softened. “Thank you. I would probably be dead now if you hadn’t.”

Arach's punch didn't even register to him. His mind was being distracted by another more troublesome nuisance "Everyone wants you dead! Why do you continue to tolerate this insolence? Kill them. Or release me and I'll kill them if you're not strong enough!" Came the warp and twisted voice from deep within his mind once again calling out to him. This primal hunger to be released and bring havok continuing to grow. Scratching at the door of his mind.

"Shut up! You will never be released, I overcame you once and I shall do so again. This is my body, and my life." Voidwalker shot back at the animalistic thought. He refused to truly acknowledge what it was.

"Is that what you think? You couldn't even help your friend. What was his name, Bain?"

"I said to shut up! His name was Lord Kain, and he died to save all of us. Now show some respect to the dead."

"His name doesn't matter, you'll never be him. They will never accept you or see you more than a punching bag. But it doesn't matter, you can't hold me prisoner forever. Eventually I'll have my freedom."

Finally his head was silent and he could think again. Arach's words finally registered in his head. "You're welcome. I told you that I would fight next to you if you would fight with me. That goes for getting you out of bad spots as well. But don't worry I won't pick you up like that again, as long as you don't attempt to throw your life away again."

Arach merely inclined her head at Voidwalker’s words. She made a mental note to stay just out of reach. She was about to respond. At the sound of Voidwalker’s name, the assassin closed her mouth and turned her head to curiously watch a young woman approach.

“I… No. I don’t want to die,” She confessed, pain still lingering from the mark on her forehead. She didn’t think any of them could outlive a King of the Stars for long, but wouldn’t admit such out loud.

“You will die.”

“You will all die.”

Voices whispered again, and her head shot to the side once more. She realized then that no one was talking, another voice confirming what she already knew to be true.

“Zoradon warned you we’d come back.”

“Are you alright?” She asked him, her eyes lingering to the woman with him. “Who is this?”

“Lady Arach,” Arach responded a little distantly, her gaze slipping past the young woman, down the tunnel. Her tone picked up some slight sarcasm. “I would expound on my credentials, Apprentice, or merely ignore you if this were a normal day. Since it’s not and we have three immortals on our tails, I think that can wait.” Arach’s hand fell to her lightsaber hilt hanging from her belt, the only sign of her agitation at the approaching Councilors.

Seeing Arach's hand fall to her lightsaber, Voidwalker reached out to take her arm and looked her in her eyes. "This is MY apprentice, Sol Kira. I'd prefer to keep her in one piece and longer than a day, unlike Nathemus."

Arach turned her head to raise an eyebrow at Voidwalker. “That’s all well and good, but there are three immortals coming after us. I’d rather not be caught unaware.” Her gaze flickered down to Voidwalker’s hand on her arm, then back toward the mouth of the tunnel.

He let her arm go and his own hand fell back to his side as he turned his attention back to his apprentice.

He truly didn't know what to say, but he knew he had to assure her. He didn't wish to lie to her, and he refused to. "Sol, look at me, you're not going to die. Not here, not today." Voidwalker stepped forward and threw his arms around her in a hug to help reassure the young girl, and so she could see he was serious in what he said.

Sol stiffened at first, confused as to what he was doing. But she thought, for a moment, of her twin brother and what she would do if she saw him again. And with that thought, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.



"We're getting off of this rock. I told you, we're going home and that's exactly what we're going to do. As for me, between Viscretus attacking me, and…." He paused, starting to feel his emotions return. He took but a moment to regain himself, Sol couldn't see him be emotional, not if she was going to believe him. "And of course the loss of Lord Kain. Things have certainly looked better but it's nothing we can't overcome. We're Sith, that's what we do. But I won't lie to you, this enemy is like no other I've ever encountered."

Letting go of Sol, Voidwalker took a step back and finally noticed the difference in her. "Your eyes, they're blue. Just like the first time I met you." As his thoughts flooded he thought back to the moment that he swore he'd seen two of her before he'd returned to the dungeons to help Nathemus. "What happened to you when I went back upstairs?"

“Let’s keep moving. I’ll tell you if we survive, and you can tell me about when we met, because I have no memory of it,” She said, turning on her heel and moving towards the group of sith. ‘What had he done to the Empress to make her attack him?’ She thought to herself, not caring enough to ask it out loud. Politics had little place in an apocalypse.

More came from behind her, running for safety. Unbeknownst to her, from behind, Zoradon had heard her message, and was moving past the people, trying to reach her as fast as he could.

"Then I'll tell you if we survive." Voidwalker responded, sending Sol's own words back to her. From around the bend that laid ahead of Sol, a figure emerged, it was Lord Xxys, he raced past the three Sith with no acknowledgement. He had a look of determination about him.

Where is Lord Xxys going? He can't seriously be thinking of facing them head on can he?

"Well looky there, another one racing off to throw their life away. Perhaps in the search for glory perhaps." The warped twisted voice of his deepest thoughts came.

Then from the opposite that Xxys had been heading, Nathemus came barreling through. Pushing his way past. Nathemus made no attempt to stop, not even a glance he just kept on moving.

"And to think you risked your life to save him, yet he ignores you completely. Running scared, too scared to check on one he calls brother."

Voidwalker hated to admit it, but perhaps these thoughts were right. Why hadn't Nathemus stopped? Where was the loyalty in that? Voidwalker pondered as the shaking of bones caught his attention. Bones moving, corpses starting to animate to make their unnatural return back to life. "Run! Arach, Sol, go now!" He shouted, a touch of panic hinting in his voice.

Arach had turned to follow Sol further back into the tunnel. She paused when she noticed the expression on Voidwalker’s face. When he gave the order to run, her eyes had just landed on something that should definitely not be moving anymore.

She unhooked her lightsaber from her belt. She met Voidwalker’s gaze and smirked. “Need a lift?”

"Ha ha, ha ha, very funny, now come on." Voidwalker sarcastically exclaimed as he broke the gaze with Arach, grabbing her by the arm and nudging her ahead of him to get going. "I mean it, we don't have time for the "not leaving without you" back and forth, we have to make distance between us and those bodies." He was prepared to run, and get as far away from these animating corpses as possible, but he had to make sure they were all three on the same page. "Sol, run!"

Sol screeched as hands and bones reached out for them, sprinting as fast as she could down the hall and to the others with her saber in her hand, ready to ignite. When she reached the back of the group, she attempted to push past anyone she could, trying to get further away from the danger. Eventually, she reached the middle of the group, and stopped pushing ahead.

The dead were rising. Again.

Arach ran after Sol, keeping an eye on the rapidly moving skeletons. Voidwalker was right. They needed to run.

There was no time to waste, if the dead were going to rise, it was untelling how many would reawaken. Korriban was as much a graveyard as it was a planet. Voidwalker ran, chasing behind Arach and Sol. Racing into the darkness of the bend of the tunnel they pressed on, time was not on their side.

Picking up the pace, Voidwalker caught up to the other two and what seemed to be the rest of the other survivors. Everyone was stopped and gathered in what seemed to be huddled all together like a heard of cattle, preparing to be slaughtered. What in chaos is this? Why has everyone stopped? We need to keep moving! Surprisingly I'm not surprised. Can't anything just go right today? "Sol, do whatever you can to get people moving. Arach, come here."

Arach slowed to a stop next to Voidwalker, also eyeing the door that others were attempting to open. “Pursued from the back and trapped in the front.” Gold eyes met crimson. “What are you thinking?"

"We need a way to buy time for the others to figure out a better escape route. We need to keep those undead away for as long as possible." Screeching came from the tunnel way that had led to the now sealed chamber, the grim sound of bone scraping against stone growing closer. Voidwalker reached out, crimson eyes met golden. "Things look bad, but I'm not about to meaninglessly throw my life away." He took Arach's hand, "Will you stand next to me and fight? There's no guarantee we're coming back, but we have to do what we can."

Arach’s first instinct was to pull away. She had gone through too much to willingly and randomly trust anybody. Yet, something felt different. She found herself tampering her instinct and returning Voidwalker’s grip on her hand. She had helped save his life and he had saved hers. For now, that was proof enough.

The assassin stepped closer. “I did say that I would help you if I were able. And I am able to help you.” She opened her free hand and started building her lightning. She smirked, the light from the electricity intermittently shining on her face. “I’m ready when you are.”

A dark smile covered his face hearing her words and feeling her own grip tighten around his hand. "We have to hurry, there's not much time." Still holding Arach's hand, Voidwalker ran with Arach in tow back down the tunnel they had just come from. "Get ready to hit them with everything you got." He called out over his shoulder.

Arach picked up her pace to run beside Voidwalker and she nodded. “Let’s do it!”

Focusing his mind and willing the force to obey him once more, Voidwalker looked upon the on coming undead. Staring into their large empty eye sockets, the sharp teeth exposed, he felt his own primal instincts clawing to be released and test these undead creatures to see who was truly the apex predator. He channeled those instincts into power to concentrate his attack, raising his free hand he let loose the waves of enteropathy from his darkshear. Hoping to decay any joints of the undead, stopping them in their tracks.

As Voidwalker released his attack, Arach raised her hand and sent arcs of lightning at the skeletons. She aimed for the skeleton’s Voidwalker might have missed, and she added a little extra power to the ones that were hit, just to make sure they stayed dead.


POWERS USED:
Arach:
Force Lightning - 3

Voidwalker:
Dark Transfer - 4
Darkshear - 4

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

 

[Jen'nu]

Chapter XIV: Nu
IC: Ānhrā Māhnîu.
Mindscape.

The Chosen Ones:

Before the ethereal emanation of Ānhrā Māhnîu could chuckle a soft response or worry about his lack of weapons, the oceans of transcendent tenebrosity crashed ashore in slithering shadow. With them came the sound of sunless serpents, the haughty fangs of hissing sneers lunging at his psyche. That abominable voice, cackling in abyssal intonation, clawed at his innermost essence in a daemonic hurricane of avaricious hunger.

‘’I have touched all of you, though ye know it not; you are all unclean. Now I shall have you all.’’
And it laughed and laughed and laughed, an accursed caricature of a child’s gurgling cry.​

The hideous hooting drowned him in glooming goo, spiraling down a maelstrom of malignant muck. Blinking rapidly, he raced across the spectrum of light, with nothing in sight. Until a sanguine shimmer glimmered into view right ahead of him: the luster of a lightsaber, held in front of a familiar face.
‘’Come quickly.’’ It was the growl of Darth Havok, back from the dead and undead alike, blackened tattoos seemingly slobbering from his jaw with every word.

What? Where? How? Why? When?​

The presence of the past set his mind racing, searching for a solution to this conundrum. This was not a memory, the differences were far too significant already. Could this be a premonition, a future return to a previous event? This possibility sent his mind further outward. Living in a three-dimensional universe, he was subject to the associated directions. The first dimension was length; the second dimension was width; the third dimension was depth, and the fourth dimension was time.

Except that was not truly the case. Time existed on its own, completely separate from any spatial dimension, and with only one direction: forward. And yet it manifested as a seemingly linear string of events motivated by actions of some sort. From the perspective of a hypothetical being or entity that extended across more than the primary directions, what would a globular universe look like?
Like a circle, a flat circle. As flat and immaterial as a three-dimensional being’s holofilm.

If time was a flat circle, meaning cyclical, the idea of absolute and unchanging points on a repeating timeline would not be entirely inconceivable. And it would lend some credence to the notion of precognition, foresight, and prophecy. It would not be unreasonable to assume this was simply an observation of another point, a temporary telepathic leap onto a separate segment.
The thought was absolutely repulsive. He would not have himself be reduced to a mindless worm crawling tunnels, controlled by causality outside his sovereignty. He would forever reject such a reality, along with everything in it. The entire universe was connected by incomprehensible energy, independently discovered and developed across the galaxy, attributed to science and gods and magical spirits. It transcended the mundane actuality and worldly senses. And it would be his, along with everything else in existence.

The questions that had surfaced earlier clambered back into his brain as he searched for freedom. Why were these specific individuals here alongside him? Why were they here in the first place? What exactly was here?

‘’I have touched all of you, though ye know it not; you are all unclean. Now I shall have you all.’’​

Why had the presence of Venomis felt so familiar, conjured up those particular images? An arachnoid web of translucent slime was assuming form in this temporally twisted mental landscape; a set of oozing threads stretching backwards through time to his absolute quintessence.
Here there be monsters.

The abysmal voice of Venomis had shouted a single order:
‘’LIVE!’’​

Yet it had not been a command; it was its desire. But it was not alone in longing. Ānhrā Māhnîu, styled as the Lord of Life and Avatar of the True Gods, stared ahead with stars in his sockets. A pair of gauntleted, clawed hands reached ahead towards the Iktotchi. One reached directly for the quaint cup the Inquisitor was offering, the other curling underneath to grasp the bottom.

He would indeed live…​

‘’After such a short time, eternality is in the palm of my hand.’’ He glanced at Havok’s waiting eyes.
‘’It belongs to me. It will always belong to me.’’ The wraith chose again.
‘’And so will you.’’ In a single swift stroke his hands jerked up, into and past the ancient mug. Those demonic eyes would now feel the taste of this eldritch elixir, as he swiped to splash it onto Havok's face.

…and Venomis would not stand in his way.

His supremacy was absolute.


(TAGS: @Darth Dreadwar, @Admiral Volshe, @Catalyst)​

 

[Grievance Vexx]

Pressing Forward
Combo featuring Lord Draconis, General Reiis Invadator, and Grievance Vexx

"It spreads like disease; there's no sign of peace..."

​

Korriban, Underdelve

Vexx trains his watchful eyes on Draconis as the shadowy master assassin investigates the tomb-like cavern. He finds a peculiar sense of calm in just observing the seemingly unconcerned way the Emissary of Death satisfies his own curiosity. The familiarity of his master's behavior is actually a welcome comfort in this time of uncertainty and chaos. Vexx almost laughs out loud at the thought. His master, the most unnerving and unpredictable Sith Lord he has ever encountered, is able to invoke a sense of calm reassurance to at least one of his apprentices. Vexx cannot speak for fellow apprentice Reiis Invadator, but what he is observing below reminds him of their mission on the Revelator. Nothing had shaken Draconis then and it seems that nothing will shake him now.

Speaking of Reiis Invadator, Vexx shifts his attention to the swarm of Sith struggling to get out of this place and Invadator and Kielor fighting to stay calm in the surrounding chaos. The runes etched into his armor glow a defiant crimson through the rising smoke and darkness as he wills himself to be a beacon to help them stay together.

"We need to get out of here, Master," he calls down to Draconis, "If you have any ideas, I am all audio receptors."

The General keeps Kielor close, locking her cybernetic grip on her apprentice in such a way that it is almost certain to leave bruises by the time all this is over. That is, if they don’t incur worse injuries that leave the process of bruising unfinished. Lord Vexx remains on the ceiling, a place where he is readily visible even as bodies crowd around them, threatening to crush them into the floor. She elbows someone in the kidney, kicking someone else in the kneecap, loud enough to hear a crack even among the shouts and screams. The crimson pulsing of his armor’s etchings proves to be very helpful in keeping track of his location.

She doesn’t know what to do, but following the Krigsbefallaf’s gaze points her toward the direction of a person she can only assume is Draconis. And he, she feels, is the only person worth following. And so she pushes further down the tunnels.

The palpable fear that permeates the tunnel saturates the air, Draconis instinctively draws from feeding on the fear of the masses, like cattle being herded. Yet he finds himself among them, the notion of such he finds of particular interest mixed with a hint of concern as to where the force is guiding him. The fear empowering him, sharpening his senses and perception even further. The black-clad warrior had found her way into the tunnel, continuing to keep a gauge on him and attempt to keep pace, which he notes. The cyborg that had been observing him and tracked him into the blackness of the underdelve continued his own tracking, though Draconis wondered if he planned to simply stay put and be consumed by the lake of fire or make use of himself. There was simply no sense in remaining. The recently appeared Sith, while familiar and known to an extent to Draconis, were a group of beings thought to have been extinct for thousands and thousands of years. He had always wondered if small pockets had found their ways to other worlds and somehow survived, interbred with other species and passed on their legacy. He had suspected as much with his Apprentice Tarle, part of what had drawn him to her. Perhaps there were still traces of the bloodlines somewhere flowing but his thoughts had pursued this well enough for now. The present incarnation and threat, these Sith manifested were in fact that which had been thought lost so very long ago, there was no wondering about their lineage and this meant that every assumption they had about them through study and knowledge was now open to interpretation. More importantly it meant they were outmatched . Draconis stepped back into the moment as he continued to push forward. From his studies he recalled the words of Lady Traya of the academy on Malachor V, her musings on the ancients… “If you were to face an ancient Sith Lord in combat, you would learn that we are as children playing with toys compared to the prowess of the old Masters." Her reference to the likes of the oldest of the Sith Lords, being terrifying in their abilities. And while the ancient Sith Lords ruled over the Sith, the Sith themselves were the true wellspring of power and darkness and it was through them that these beings became so. And now they were being spurred forward by them, like a master cracking a whip and driving them for sport. Which seemed exactly like what this was…

Vexx is sorely tempted to just give this up. Were he alone with no one familiar or important to him, this would likely be his choice; to be cremated and buried here rather than continue in this ceaseless struggle for Force only knows what anymore. While he is not what one would consider "old", he has seen much, been through his own layers of hell, and he is tired. To give himself up to death almost has an overwhelming appeal. Sure, the process of dying would come with its own pain and fears, but he has always hoped and believed that afterward, there would be rest. Even nothingness would be better than some of the rubbish he has seen and experienced.

He shakes his head to clear his mind of these despairing thoughts. He has two here that he must live for and he must also live to demand answers from Hesper later. These thoughts cause him to scuttle hastily along the ceiling, continuing to move away from the impending inferno. Unfortunately, his hurried path does not take him out of harm's way. Possible death in the form of a blazing hot plasma blade careening toward him like a propeller loosed from an archaic shuttle. He knows he is going to be hit by it even as he tries to avoid it and so his mind already steels itself for the worst.

A shriek from the blade as it makes contact is followed by a shower of molten steel as the cyborg's shoulder plate takes the brunt of the damage. He feels it thanks to the alchemized armor; feels the searing heat as though it has touched actual flesh, but he refuses to vocalize his pain. He bites it back by his stubborn will alone. Fortunately, the glancing blow is not enough to sever either of the two arms on that side, but it does disrupt his ability to use those arms to their fullest capacity. He loses his grip on the ceiling with his damaged side, but maintains a dogged hold with his talons and other two arms, not wanting to fall and be the cause of more death by landing on anyone below. He cannot hold on like this for much longer though and so he struggles in a jagged skittering gait to get back to the floor. His cybernetics are still remarkably quick, but the arms hindered by his shoulder damage make the going far less fluid.

Above all, the predatory hum of a flying lightsaber catches her attention. For the briefest moment, The General finds it odd that she notices this sound above all others, especially when there are other weapons nearby. But she quickly understands why this has caught her attention. As she sees the lightsaber glance off Lord Vexx, she inhales in shock and horror, immediately causing her respirator to buck against the unnatural force of her scarred physical lungs. She coughs painfully, still gripping onto Kielor. Vexx manages to get back to the floor quickly and comparatively easily, so her panic is lightly assuaged. Draconis is still beyond them, but not quite as much as before.

She pulls her apprentice close enough for him to hear her. “Get to Draconis. Don’t let him out of your sight.” Whether or not this is for Draconis’ sake or Kielor’s sake, he won’t have a chance to ask either way as The General roughs her way through the crowd closer to where Vexx has descended. Only after punching and kicking a few people does she finally catch up to him.

“Are you okay?!” she yells over the cacophony of violence and panic, visually surveying his arm to see if there is any damage.

“Get to Draconis….” The statement finds his ears as he continues to press forward, moving past the woman in her now tattered and scorched formal dress, overcoming her as he moves down the tunnel moving between bodies like a serpent as he finds his way down the tunnel. It is still a wonder to him why they cling so tightly… slightly amusing, perhaps it was expected with the loyalty they displayed to Hesper and their charge in bringing him here in the first place. The dutiful guards they were. A bend in the tunnel produces further down what seems to be a significant logjam as those that had first entered the tunnel had now found themselves faced with a distinct dead barrier in their way. The chant of the Sith echos in his ears like a drum beat. “Tsaiwinokka tsishoyakut!” The tongue was one Draconis had dedicated much study to and something that was innate ingrained in him from so much time as a servant of Korriban. It was no surprise what was happening and about to befall them. They were in the very bowels of the temple, catacombs themselves. They had already been set upon by legions of the dead, and now they would be set upon again by the dead from underneath and around them. Draconis knew they were coming, reaching out with his senses moving beyond the tunnel and walls that hemmed them in right now.

There is definitely damage to be found, but the Kaleesh warrior dismisses it with a growl, scuttling back to ground level where some clumsy fool blunders right into his wounded shoulder. He doesn't even think twice about elbowing the unfortunate offender right in the gut with his solid and decidedly pointy metal arm, neither can he deny that being so unforgiving felt particularly good in that moment.

"Maybe if you would look before running and screaming like a mindless idiot, things like that would not happen," he grumbles before turning his attention to General Invadator, "I am fine. It is just a flesh wound."


"Just a flesh wound?" the familiar voice of EV-A4-D crackles in his audio receptor, "Are you kidding me? You need flesh to have a flesh wound, you iron head! That is rather serious damage to a ball and socket joint and thanks to your good friend Reiis Invadator, I'm sure you are feeling every bit of it and you're just going to have to suffer with it until I can get to you to administer the repairs. You're lucky that didn't hit anything organic. You know what? Take two aspirin and call me in the morning."

Vexx growls and kills the transmission from his droid doctor, clearly not in the mood for any ill-timed jokes. "We need to get the hell out of this suffocating dung heap!" he coughs nudging the General ahead of him, "Go! Before I am met with another regret I might live with. Draconis is our best chance at navigating through this mess. He knows things; I know he does. He always has. I do not know how he knows; I just know he knows. Now go!"

Shrugging stiffly, Vexx moves to follow, no longer caring whom he mows down as he tromps along. Clearly no one cares about anyone in this mad stampede of cattle, so he will just return the favor. Crunch! Whoops. That was someone's phalanges. Oh well. He attempts to raise a Force Barrier around himself to hopefully shield him from taking more damage for a while, if only to keep his droid medic off his back. At the same time, he doesn't slow his pace, elbowing others out of his way as he reaches the narrow passage up ahead. He grabs a random young baby-faced fellow by his shoulders and bodily moves him out of the way.

"Age before beauty, tender foot," he grumbles, shoving the bewildered young man up against a wall and ducking through the bottleneck passageway just behind the General.

Ever a grouchy one. The General all but rolls her eyes at Lord Vexx. He seems quite fine despite taking some damage. She should have expected as much, seeing as he’s all but entirely metal. At least now she can breathe more easily. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps back, but the bite in her tone has dissipated. She, too, raises her defenses to avoid any unfortunately timed and placed attacks.

They elbow, kick, and crunch their way through the narrowing passageway. With her hurry and his long strides, coupled with their complete disregard for everyone else, it isn’t long before they get much closer to Draconis. Invadator nearly elbows someone in the neck before she realizes who it is. “Kielor!” she exclaims, before grabbing his collar with a death grip and pulling him along with her. To the cloaked man making his way with more assurance than the rest, she calls out. “Master!”

If he thinks Invadator is trying to uphold her duty as a guard, he is wrong – there isn’t a single individual she trusts more to know a possible way to escape. “Go, go,” she ushers her cybernetic friend and her apprentice further along ahead of her, taking up the rear and ready to hack at anything that comes near.



Draconis powers used:
Feed on the darkside -5 (to buff perception if possible)
Farsight -5 to look beyond tunnel and walls upon encroaching reanimated dead, gauge their approach.

Vexx power(s) used:
Force Barrier

Invadator powers used:
Force Defense

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

 

[Sith_Imperios]

IC: Darth Mirtis
Location: Underdelve

Darth Mirtis looked around him after his target was destroyed. No outside force was making him stop in place as chaos ensued. Fights broke out as he took it all in. Moments passed him as he felt gone from his body as if ejected to take in this surreal fight. It may have been due to the rare opportunity he had to be among the Sith on this day. But something screamed at him. No that was not correct as sounds from weapons to the crackling sound of flames from the Darth Thana's golems rang in his ears, a growl from his gut came that he believed to be vibrations from his surroundings manifested as his hunter instinct. The scream came from within him as he snapped from his trance like state.

Run! Survive and fight!

The words came clear as his own voice on a holo recording. The moment crashed down on him as it finally dawned on him to escape with the others as they had all started to go. The reptile dug his clawed digits into the ground and pushed off into a sprint for the tunnel. His mind was being flooded with panic thoughts of being dragged back but did not dare look behind him. He jumped toward his peers, attempting to use levitation to fly faster then he could run.

Ahead of him Mirtis saw Golems made of fire block the opening. His body tensed up as he tried to raise a defensive measure as to not get burned as he planned to ram right through. The rumble in his gut came again, but now as he was more aware of his environment as well as self; he knew what it was. He could only grin as he braced himself to face his obstacle head on as instinct spoke out against his wishes. He did not look back to see if the dispersed broken wind behind him had caused anyone any discomfort. But he had great hopes that someone may have, and also took note not to eat uncooked meat again.

Powers attempted:
Levitation-4
Tutanamis-3

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

 

[Zareel Jhenan´doka]

IC: Zareel Jhenan'doka
Location: The underdelve

A whistle, a whisper barely in her antennae made her crouch against a wall; eyes closed, holding one of the little ones almost instinctively against her to cover him. Then a bump, no... it wasn't just one, but she couldn't stop to count casualties at that moment; there was no longer a point in thinking about those who had been lost.

'Whoever the jerk was, I hope the speeder blows up his ass.' She muttered to herself, alert for any other sounds or warnings that might be shouted from the distance; Lady Apollyon's words had come, but not in time enough for some. Sol's lapdog had again been summoned out of nowhere, as he had abandoned the supposed burden of carrying some of the children.

"Don't look at the ground, don't pay attention to whoever stays behind. Pay attention only to your own steps. Move when I tell you and stop immediately if I do." Zareel opened her eyes again, focusing on the remaining youngling alive and close to her, not on whatever might be approaching from the rear or any other direction. There wasn't much to do with the younglings, nor did she know why she had suddenly assumed as a personal mission keeping as many of them alive as she could; though was fruitless to spend time second-guessing herself rather than moving.

She knew she would exhaust herself more quickly. 'Fitness is something that happens to others.' Yet, she didn't let go of the child she still carried; with him in her arms, she continued to run until she felt the air no longer seemed to be sufficient. When the road seemed too crowded she slowed down, absentmindedly cradling the child's back in her arms before lowering him to a full stop.

Lady Hesper in the distance in front had announced something about a door, preventing them from moving forward, from finding a secure place. Her right hand was suddenly trembling, but she returned it to the safety of the handle of her tonfa on her belt to control herself; the other on the little boy's shoulder, moving him behind her back as she turned to face the place from whence they had come. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to ignite her saber; Zareel just wanted to run from there, she didn't want to stay there and she hated the feeling. She had chosen this place as a new home and all she could see was a mass grave in her future.


Tag: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @Drakul_Xarxes, @Arach, @DarthNoxia, @dragonsith13, @Grievance Vexx, @Reiis Invadator, @DarthFeros, @Nacros_Telcontare, @Kielor, @Jihadi Quartz, @Darth Nathemus, @Helkosh, @Darth Solus, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Xxys, @Reatith Blodraald, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Voidwalker, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Keres Dymos, @skira, @Volacius, @Darth Thana, @Sith_Imperios

 

[DarthNoxia]

IC: Lady Noxia
Location: Korriban tunnels

Something told her to stop. Noxia sensed that the tunnel up ahead was blocked. The bodies moving rapidly sent their vibrations through the stale, balmy air of the tunnel. Something was wrong. She heard Hesper’s voice echo as more passed her to join the cluster of bodies at the front.

Confusion and frustration welled up, as often happened with Noxia when a tough decision was at hand. She began pacing back and forth, not very far from one way to the next in the tunnel, but she could feel the adrenaline rise. And almost animalistic sense of aggression as a caged animal might experience. The answer was obvious. As much as she hated it. Hesper had said it herself, and she was right. The only way forward was to turn back and ensure that whatever was coming for them could be held off long enough for the door to be opened.

Several figures stopped short of the Togruta, unleashing an onslaught of dark side power at the undead behind them. One of them she knew, another she had seen out in the courtyard. Nostrils flaring and jaw clenched, Noxia doubled back just far enough that her own assault wouldn’t catch the others In it’s tendrils.

“Be right back, huh?” Noxia turned to Voidwalker and rolled her eyes. If those would be her last words at least they reflected the scorn she felt for just about everyone and everything in this damned underdelve. Rather a tomb than a prison. Death was not the enemy and the more she fought it, the more it would haunt her.

Taking a calm breath, she stretched out her hand and focused on the undead that lumbered through the darkness. They looked so fragile. Bones barely held in place by thin strings of sinew. Mere shades. Most of them had been worn away already, it wouldn’t take much, would it? Her goal was sheer entropy. By her will each of the undead would erode into layers of ash.

Coils of dark gray magic shot forth, winding their way among the horde…

(Powers used: Darkshear)



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

 

[Helkosh]

IC: Darth Pravum
Location: Hell Tunnels beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

"There is nothing... Only me." - The Creed of Ruin

"OW!", Darth Pravum did not say as the flames licked his back. Instead, he grunted out an "oomph" as he quickly dismounted his golem along its front side and throwing off his blazing cloak, placing him at the mouth of the quickly packing tunnel and thankfully no longer aflame. He'd found himself at an impasse, both strategic and literal. His golems were far too large to fit within the tunnel ahead, which left him with 40 lumps of metal to either abandon or quickly put to one last use. But what? The leaders of the assault, the ones who'd burned him, thet themselves were clearly far too well versed in the Dark Side of the Force for his golems to pose any threat. And the footsoldiers were nowhere to be seen, perhaps unable to meaningfully penetrate the now ruined staircase that had led them down here in the first place. That meant abandonment was the only option.

But how to abandon them? Allow them to mill about and die in their final moments? No, there had to be some final function they could serve. A dark thought crossed his mind. All the golems were here, right at the entrance of what appeared to be the only remaining escape route. They were literally made of metal; even the pyrokinetic blast that ached across his back had done little more than to singe his mount's shoulders. But the others, those who'd not yet escaped, they would die, the chained, beaten portion of his mind that still felt empathy protested. The others? Since when had he cared about others? Every man, woman, and child in this room could die, and he'd feel no guilt, no shame, so long as he persisted, he convinced himself.

Pravum willed his golems to block off the small entrance, allowing none to pass. A 30 strong militia of giants now blockaded the exit; Pravum commanded those furthest from the entrance to actively fight off any who still rushed toward the doorway, while those blocking the door would remain resolute, creating a wall of metal that none would pass if he had his way. Meanwhile, there was the issue of his pain. He willed the midichlorians within him to restore the anima, the life essence of the Force to him, willed them to heal his wounds and end his pain. He did not look back to see who or what he'd locked out of the exit tunnel; survival was all that remained important to him.

Powers used: Midichlorian Manipulation (4)

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

 

[Darth Cold]

GM Approved Character Sheet
Character Illustration (optional)

Theme Music

Name/Title: Samael

Nicknames/Aliases: The Lightbringer

Age: 18

Sex: Male

Species: Deveronian

Orientation (optional): Heterosexual

Homeworld: Unknown

Occupation: Sith

Height: 5’8”

Weight: 160 lbs.

Physical Description: Red skin, Black horns, Sharp teeth

Clothing: Black robes

Weapons: One blue lightsaber

Equipment: None

Vehicles: None

Pets (if applicable): None

Languages: Basic

Combat Skills (brief summary of general combat strengths, including non-Force-based skills not reflected in Skills statistics section): Lightsaber combat

Other Strengths (brief summary of general strengths, including non-Force-based strengths not reflected in Skills statistics section): Able to be around extreme heat.

Flaws (brief summary of general weaknesses, including non-Force-based weaknesses not reflected in Skills statistics section): Unable to control his emotions.

Alignment (Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic, Good/Neutral/Evil): Chaotic Good

Personality: Has always had a hard time controlling his emotions.

Fears: The unknown

Likes: Meeting new people

Dislikes: Bullies

Habits: Playing with fire

Relationships/Love Interests (if applicable): Crush on Apollyon

Friendships (if applicable): Shalyx’har’zan

Masters (if applicable): Lord Xirr, Hadzuska

Apprentices (if applicable): N/A

Reputation: N/A

Biography: The Jedi found baby Samael discarded in a dumpster on Coruscant, and took him in after noticing his sensitivity to the Force. As the child grew they noticed he was having a hard time controlling his emotions. When it was time to leave the stage of becoming a youngling and being trained as a padawan by a Master the Council chose one that they felt would be able to help Samael learn to control his emotions. The night before the ceremony Samael snuck into his soon to be Master's room whilst they slept to get a sneak peek at who he would be training with. Samael always had a thing for for fire, the Council had no idea he had learned to summon it theough the Force. When he saw his soon to be Master he felt he should celebrate and summoned fire burning the man to a crisp. Samael has no idea what he did was wrong. Upon learning what happened the Jedi Council expelled the young man from their order. Now he travels from place to place no longer having a place he could call home. Eventually on his travels, he met a Sith that taught him the ways of the Dark Side. He two met a crispy end amidst the night.

Eventually he found himself in the Sith academy. Called upon by Lord Catalyst for a mission to Yavin IV, he was placed under the apprenticeship of Lord Xirr. Upon landing on Yavin IV he met the beautiful Lady Apollyon, whose beauty was the first to eclipse that of his fire’s. Their mission went along without any problems other than the fact what they were there for was not.

In the next three years, Samael’s Master would be too busy to show him any recognition or training in the least. Looking to challenge himself, Samael began exploring different tombs around Korriban, never going too deep however. One day as he came to a cave he had mistaken as a hidden tomb he found the Star Dragon Shalyx’har’zan (Shalyx for short) still healing from his own past adventure. Leaving for a short while Samael would return and perform basic first aid on the dragon as he slept. Over the course of a year the two became best friends.

One day Samael would start having terrifying visions as well as hear a voice calling to him. He would search for this voice, leaving Korriban to do so. Upon finding the owner of the voice, who introduced himself as Hadzuska, he was offered the right to serve him in doing so he was told he would get everything he desired. Not knowing if it was true or not, but not wanting to pass up the chance if it were, he accepted.

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

Rank/Level: 1
Base Class: Sorcerer
Subclass (if applicable):
Prestige Class (optional):
Skills (game mechanics only; listing all chosen Skills and Skill Points therein): 8


Form I - Shii-Cho - 1
Form III - Soresu (Requires Form I - Shii-Cho) - 1
Convection - 1
Telekinesis - 1
Force Resistance - 1
Force Push (Requires Telekinesis) - 1
Levitation (Requires Telekinesis) - 1
Telepathy - 1

 

[Darth Kain]

Eva

Character Image


Character Theme Music
https://youtu.be/dOHH52iB_VQ

Character Summary
Eva is a former Jedi Padawan from the time of the Clone Wars, frozen in carbonite and awoken by her new adopted father, Darth Kain.

Name/Title: Eva

Nicknames/Aliases: None

Age: 10 (186 - Including Carbonite Freeze)

Sex: Female

Species: Human

Homeworld: Alderaan

Occupation: N/A

Height: 4'1"

Weight: 66 lb.

Physical Description: Eva is as much of a young girl now as she was when she was a Jedi Padawan during the Clone Wars. She has long, dark hair with dark brown eyes. After learning of the death of the Jedi Order, and after Darth Kain informed her of its corruption, she has since cut off her Padawan braid.

Clothing: She tends to prefer wearing the color red, whether it be dresses or hooded robes.

Weapon(s): Yellow-Bladed Lightsaber (as pictured below)

Language(s): Galactic Basic

Description of Abilities: Learning at the feet of both the Jedi and Darth Kain, Eva has found her affinity for lightsaber combat, mostly focusing on defensive techniques such as Soresu.
Her knowledge of the Force is admirable for one her age, but beyond her innate ability of Psychometry, she does not appear to have any extraordinary Force potential.

Alignment: Neutral Good

Personality: Eva has an inquisitive mind and a rebellious streak a mile long. She has a habit of disobeying orders if they do not align with what she wants, even if doing so will put her in danger. She has had a difficult time coming to terms with the end of her previous life, and this often manifests in bouts of quietness that few can break.

Fear(s): mild arachnophobia, moderate thalassophobia, scared of being alone

Likes: sparring, going outdoors, sketching

Dislikes: dogs/wolves, reading, cabin fever

Habits: crosses arms often

Pet(s): Corvar the Loth-Cat

Family/Relationship(s): Darth Kain - Adopted Father, Darth Abaddon - Adopted Mother

Friend(s): T1-FA, Erastus Sallacine

Companion(s): Darth Abaddon - sister of Darth Apollyon, Eva's adopted mother - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1u9QBacUagAuVT1wpnLLzYhD0UchFMT8f3Py8KYt5q14/edit?usp=drivesdk

Reputation: Few know of Eva's existence, thanks to Kain being secretive of his family on Vitae. Those that do know her know she is a kind-hearted girl, though very headstrong.

Biography: Eva's first memories were of her time in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, learning at the feet of some of the most renowned Jedi of all time. She had many friends among her fellow Padawans, but she was closer to no one in the Order more than her Master, Shi'nok. The pair was practically inseparable. That is, until they met an ill fate on their way to Felucia, when Order 66 was enacted.
Shi'nok, in order to save his Padawan's life, froze her in carbonite as he was shot down by their own Clone troopers. Her last memory of her old life was watching her Master, the older brother she'd never had, die.

While frozen in carbonite she was traded around as an art piece by many shady collectors across the galaxy for over a century, as no one believed she could survive being freed from her frozen prison. This lasted until she became the property of Federation Senator Kaiya, a Zeltron with an unusual taste in art. Darth Kain was sent by Kubjo the Hutt to retrieve this art piece from the senator, until he sensed Eva's life force within. He instead froze the Senator in carbonite, created an illusion to make it appear as if it was Eva still frozen, and gave the false art piece to Kubjo, alerting the Federation that the Hutt had kidnapped a Senator all the while.

Kain freed Eva from her own carbonite prison, using his power to keep her alive. She awoke confused, disoriented. The galaxy had changed so much, it felt as if she had no place within it. Her rescuer offered to give her a home until she decided what to do, and she accepted.
In time, Kain became less of a rescuer and more of a father, as he sheltered her and taught her everything she needed to know about this terrifying new galaxy. Their relationship hit quite a bump, however, when she learned the truth about who he was, and what he was. It took a long time for her to trust him again, but with Abaddon being introduced to her, and life as a family starting to feel like something close to normal, she eventually forgave him for hiding the truth from her.
He has trained her to hone her Force abilities and sharpen her skill with a lightsaber, though he has made it clear he does not wish for her to join the New Sith Order. She is one of the few beings in the galaxy he has admitted to using the Sith as a tool, and that he wishes for her to be something more.

Skill Sheet
Rank/Level: Apprentice, Level 1
Class: Warrior

Attributes

Strength - 5
Force Power - 10
Dexterity - 7
Intellect - 8
Constitution - 5
Manipulation - 5
Perception - 7
Destiny - 13

Skills

Form I: Shii-Cho - 1
Form III: Soresu - 1
Augmentation - 1
Force Sense - 1
Telekinesis - 1
Force Resistance - 1
Force Bond - 1
Psychometry - 1​

 

[Darth Vesper]

The Empress
IC: Darth Vesper
Location: Saijo​

Ketoteta’s kohl-lined eyes bore through Vesper, yet the Mind Witch held the gaze of the Tetan Empress with her own kohl-lined, blood red, gaze. If there was one lesson that many within the Empire had learned, it was the lesson to lose, even Vesper herself had learned such a lesson. The Empress…had not. If she had, Vesper was sure it was in a torrential burst of emotion that was unbecoming of one in such a regal status. As Empress Teta spoke, the Mind Witch stood with hands clasped taking in every word, and feeling what seemed like irritation crawling up Rand Ko, like a spider, or neuropathy of some kind. When the Empress concluded her line of questions Vesper stepped forward, hands still clasped.

“Empress Teta, greetings. I am Lady Vesper, Empress’ Viscretus’ diplomat and member of her council.” She paused momentarily, her stare seemingly becoming full of scrutiny. “As any loyal ally of Empress Viscretus would know, Darkfire was indeed enacted, on her order. So why question and imply that you are weak of mind? I find such hard to believe of a woman of your stature.” She eyed the woman and her enlarged headdress which was about the size of her inflated ego. “They would also know,” Vesper’s chin rose regally, her hands to indicate the planet itself. “That Saijo was the intended rendezvous point. Should you wish to question the Empress Viscretus orders that were agreed to when Darkfire was created, you can be my guest.” Her eyebrow quipped, questioning the woman. Vesper knew there was no way the Empress could be this daft, let alone an ally of Empress Viscretus. She also knew that there was no way the Tetan fleet would only come as a half. So either something was going on that Vesper was not privy to, or the Empress of Teta was hiding something. The question was, which was it.


TAG:
@Darth Dreadwar

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks



Working his way down from the helm, the next item Pythonus came to forge was a brooch and chain designed to hold his terentatek skin cloak. The cloak itself was already incredibly durable, having been torn from the back of a terentatek that Omegon had slain personally, and held a resistance to both physical damage and the force. Enchanting it would likely be difficult and hold many unseen obstacles. But enchanting the chain that held it in place would be far easier, and accomplish the same thing.



Omegon took pride in operating from the shadows, and if Pythonus recalled correctly, he had once held in his possession a cloak of invisibility. This would be far less powerful, but serve the same purpose: To cloak the wearer in darkness and hide them from prying eyes. Each link was forged from steel and dipped in blood while Pythonus chanted the rites of concealment over them, scratching runes of secrecy and darkness into the links as he hammered them together.



There were 20 links in total, and over the course of hours, they were turned from raw steel into alchemized works of art. And in the center, holding the links together, was a circular medallion with a hydra sigil carved into it. Into this, Pythonus poured an incredibly fine powder: more crushed stygian crystal, mixed with blood of a tuk’ata and sacred oils. The mixture was green, and filled the grooves perfectly, forming the serpentine shape within the amulet. It hardened in minutes, and Pythonus then proceeded to carve script into the edge of the medallion, a repeated rune of concealment all around the outside of the disk.



Channeling his power through his hands and into the disk, Pythonus felt the amulet heat up, and the runes began to glow as more and more power was pushed into them. Indeed, the light leapt from the amulet and jumped from link to link, until the runes that covered the chain and the amulet were lit with a soft green light. With a clatter, it fell from his hands to the table, and the glow faded as the enchantment was completed.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Admiral Volshe]

COMBO with @Darth Dreadwar

“Mothers.” The man made the word sound like a curse. “I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad.”
~A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin

IC: Empress Kára Volshe
The Mindscape ​

The memory rang in her head, and everything around her was both terribly stark and terribly real. The beams of orange sunlight, spilling in around them, the scent of ancient stone wafting through the air. The weight of Nihl’s hand in her own. His voice, soft, reassuring. It was…tempting, to complete the memory. To allow it to blossom into blissful recollection of reality.

But it was no memory at all.

She restrained the urge to shake her head, knowing it would not chase it away. That had not been what happened. The memory was false, one that warred against her own recollection. Instead, she stood beside Lord Nihl, the true Nihl, for a moment that seemed to vanish into the curls of distant smoke on the horizon. There had been no hesitation for her then, no hestitation for the Nagai, either.

She laughed, a short, sharp laugh, one that echoed in the dark and chill throne room.

“No,” she hissed, relinquishing the Nagai’s hand and withdrawing. “You will have to do better than that. You have attempted to break me, from the moment my mind gained sapient thought. I know you far better than you believe.”

"Dear?" Nihl frowned, cocking his head, quizzically. "You're not making any sense. We are to get married, no? Before the enemy breaches the gates?" His hand reached for hers again, slick black talons curling against smooth ivory skin. "Dreadwar is not here. You need have no fear of his intrusions. Open your heart to me, just say I do, and it will just be us... together forever."

Another laugh quite nearly bubbled up from her. He had not once, never once in thirty years, called her dear. Those of his native language, and odd pet names pulled from ancient tomes of High Galactic or even the odd dialects of the Sith, but never dear.

It had been clear before that this was some attempt at suading her into weakness. It was ever more clear. Dear? That was a manifestation of her, an attempt to stitch a convincing façade of reality from the personality Venomis knew. He had failed once more.

At this point, it was amusing to her. She was likely the most stubborn woman in the galaxy, she had certainly been told such, and he assumed he could coax her with a simple mirage.

She would play along, for a moment, already carefully summoning a new vision, spinning it from the stone beneath their feet. Her gown trailed upon that same stone, glittering stars spilling over the cold obsidian as she stepped ever so lightly forward.

“My mind…it must be frayed, frazzled,” she whispered, warmth in even the quiet tones. She did not retake his hand. Instead, she leaned close to him and embraced him, lips finding his ear. “I…do…”

Her eyes shut. It was not Naboo in her mind’s eye, but Coruscant. She imagined the vision unfurling, chasing the throne room of Korriban away. It was a memory where she stood at the pinnacle of power - the pinnacle of the Galaxy. A moment where she stood alone, atop the glittering dais, and the Senate roared about her.

“Not.”

It was a baleful hiss, her teeth bared. She attempted then to shove herself free from the vision he had spun with ethereal thread. She would not be a victim to him any longer.

Two centuries was long enough.

"If the past will not suade you," Nihl hissed, venom and malice now laid bare, "then perhaps the present will!"

The last vestiges of Korriban's stone crumbled away, reknitting into metal and marble. Coruscant was hers, the throne of her former, foremost power, exactly as she remembered it.

Wait, no. Not exactly as she remembered it. The night was too quiet, the planet too still. Stars spattered the black sky above the Senate building, and the moons cast their feeble light, but no eyes beheld their waning brilliance. All around her were bodies, corpses strewn across the plaza, without the slightest motion to betray life.

The visage of Nihl had faded - but that hateful voice remained.

"Coruscant is dead," the snake whispered in her ear, a breath on the hollow, whistling wind. "The great light of the universe has gone out, and all your power with it. You wish to see these innocents rise again? These women, these children? Open yourself to my power. I alone can raise them again, from the grave of durasteel my master condemned them. Accept your fate!"

The wind gusted around her, whipping at her gown, tearing it into ragged strips of raiment. "You are naked before the lidless eye. It is pointless to resist. We are the end of everything... but through me, you alone can survive. You alone can attain life eternal. It is your destiny!"

She stood, silently. She was still, bathed in moonlight, for the present persuaded her ever less than the past. Lies. It was all a lie, a desperate clawing at her for weakness, to wound her so that he might find where she bled. It was futile. She did not desire promises of eternal power or life. Eternal life was useless when lived by another, when it was her soul that would be annihilated.

She smiled out at the endless sea of rubble that once was Coruscant, her painted lips parting to relinquish a single word.

“No.”

No... No.... NOOOOO!

Viscretus' words reverberated in an awful, terrified scream, echoing across the new scene that accosted her senses. Fire surrounded her on all sides, rising about a shattered stone walkway a thousand feet above a colossal, catastrophic chasm of destiny.

"Volshe, don't! He's gone! He's gone!"

Voices cried about her, amid the confusion of death and dying - to be drowned out by a single, apocalyptic roar of utter, mind-shattering evil, vaster than the void between galaxies, greater than any mortal ear could hear, and yet live. A single, all-consuming shadow stood before her, a body of broken horror crushed beneath the caliginous heel of ultimate, unconquerable malevolence.

In its presence, Volshe began to die.

"Do you know what this is?" came that horrid voice of poison, slithering into the screaming, whining deafness of her ear. All pretense at Nihl had been lost.

“I do not care,” she said. There was strength in those words, a strength she had within herself. The body he attempted to manipulate was nothing more than an illusion of her he wished her to see. He wished her to believe.

It was not enough.

The agony curling into her flesh was not enough to break her. The heat of the flame was not enough to sear through her determination, only enough to temper the assessment she had made before. He was growing desperate, she figured, seeking any weakness he could find. Every weakness he believed she possessed was no weakness at all. Not in this battle. The stakes were different than Venomis believed, her strength and fortitude far greater than he had foolishly assessed.

She was not the one dying, though it felt as if she were.

Her jaw clenched. Her cheeks were streaked with unbidden tears. Her nails curled into the stone, as if she were scoring gashes in Venomis with those curled talons. Though though her mortal body writhed beneath her, though fear attempted to grab hold of some weakness to anchor itself it. But even fear found no foothold, no place to catch on its descent into oblivion.

The only path destiny had forged was her victory.

She fell back on her heels, even as terror and agony worked in tandem, tethers wrapped around her psyche and attempting to rip it in two. Yet, the suffering rolled from her, unable to rip into her as it attempted. Her glistening eyes, golden curls lashing about her face with the searing wind, did not close.

Once more, she looked ahead. She knew what stood before her, for she had seen him before, she had before suffered in the mere presence of his Eye. There was no worse nightmare, for her, than death. But this would not be her own.

“You could torment me for millennia, you could lavish me with temptation. There is no offer of yours I will accept. What you have broken, I have rebuilt. No longer can you break it.”

She stared up, golden eyes centring on the malefic shade that threatened to swallow her whole.

It was not the Eye of Typhojem that cast its terrible glare upon her.

It was she that stared into the damnation that was a God.

“I do not fear you.”

Her words were resolute, but more than that, they were the truth.

She had feared him, before, perhaps as recently when the dusk was young and new, when the sands were unstained with blood, though it was not something she would admit. But now, knowing what stood before her was nothing more than illusion, as agonizing as it was…he was begging for life, nothing more. A life he would not get.

Fire burned in her gaze, the inferno raging around them, glittering in that unflinching gaze. In those flames was a reminder of the sight her ghastly thralls had succumbed to.

The illusion of Nihl, flitting again across that pond of thought behind her golden eyes, had done nothing but strengthen her resolve. The throne room was not the memory of him she held onto. It was the elation that even a fearsome warlord could not hide, deep in his crimson eyes in the moment he had felt those dazzling auras, dancing in the Force. Tiny lights, binary suns, that shimmered with that boundless energy, beneath their entwined hands.

They were quiet, now.

They were scared.

Malice joined the determination in her eyes.

The hatred of a mother was the only thing more dangerous than their love, and there was one grave mistake even a God could make: challenging that.

“You know as well as I do that I would endure the unimaginable to save the life of a single child.”

Her life was her own, her mind was her own, but her body…her body was not just her own. That was not hers to forfeit. She had lost one child already, though by blood he may not have been. She had lost a daughter, a son, so many years before.

She would not lose another.

No sweet illusion, no honeyed temptation, no brutal agony would sway her.

She reached into the Force, twining the energy of herself with their father’s lingering aura to wrap them in an illusory embrace, to reassure the tiny ones hiding within her that it would be alright.

Her voice quieted. It was low, cold venom seeping into every last word. Even the roar of fire could not silence her.

“Now…imagine what I will endure for my own.”

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

 

[Catalyst]

WE LIVE ON A PLACID ISLAND OF IGNORANCE IN THE MIDST
OF BLACK SEAS OF INFINITY, AND IT WAS NOT MEANT THAT
WE SHOULD VOYAGE FAR.
· H.P. LOVECRAFT

IC: Lord Catalyst
Tunnels, Korriban​

Darkness.

All-encompassing, noise quenching darkness.

Catalyst wasn't sure what was happening as blackness crept around the periphery of his view. As he fell to the damp floor, fighting to retain consciousness, he made one last, desperate whisper before succumbing to unconsciousness.

"Eva."

​

---

The Mindscape
​

The swirling penumbra that greeted his waking mind brought him no sense of comfort. Everything felt eerily still, and yet the shadows undulated and pulsed around him. He looked down to his feet, nothingness continuing to grasp at the edge of his eyesight. The floor he stood upon was real enough, even if it appeared to fade in and out of existence as he watched it. He had a vague feeling of familiarity with this place. A fleeting tremor in the aether twisted his head to its whim, allowing him to see that he wasn't alone. Standing by him, yet cloaked in the same inky blackness that permeated their surroundings were Volshe and.. How the kriff did Anhra manage to get back here? Clearly they weren't on Korriban any more.

His eyes once again jerked, drawn to the other inhabitant of the broken reality that they were stuck in. The shadowy tendrils that were coiling around the three Sith seemed to convalesce themselves in his gaping maw, drawing them closer. And yet, an infinite and somehow even darker emptiness yawned beneath the man. He scrambled at the cliffside, reaching out in wrathful terror for any that would save him from the precipice. A guttural screech exhumed itself from his cracked lips, and the single word echoed like a gale around them.

"LIVE!"

The invocated compulsion pushed against Catalyst's back and he found himself bracing his legs in response. His muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth, fighting the supernatural pull of the abyss. The voices of Anhra and Viscretus, muted and warbling yet still perceptible amidst the waves of chaotic fear, floated into his ears. Volshe's proclamation was what stuck with him though.

Venomis.

If what Volshe said was true, then it meant Kain's death hadn't been in vain. The Dark Lord smiled broadly, and deep, genuine laughter rumbled up from his abdomen. The God of Rot had met his physical end, and was now trying to stave off his final death by reaching out to the three of them. It made sense to try to subsume Volshe's body. Who wouldn't want the face of the New Galactic Empire as their own to puppet? Anhra and himself though, the choice confused him. The two of them were insignificant in comparison. They shared little in common with the Empress, and even less with each other. To Catalyst, this only showed the true desperation of Venomis's plan for survival.

Chuckling turned to hideous cackling, and Catalyst doubled over as he stared down the self-proclaimed god begging for his life. Was it audacity that prompted the outburst of mockery, or had Catalyst finally lost his grasp of reality? Nothing else mattered anymore. There was no sanity in this plane, and Catalyst embraced the truly ridiculous power he had in the situation. Here, on the literal edge of life and death, he stood barring the path to true Evil, alongside a tragically insane sorceress and a stoic freak of nature. The irony of his own tenuous sanity was not lost on him, though, and more uncontrollable laughter wracked his body further as he gripped his sides. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. He blinked them away as best he could, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to control himself.

It seemed that insanity was truly embracing him, however, as when he was finally able to open his eyes again, everything had changed once more. Now, he was back in the Sith barracks. The savory scent of braised Tuk'ata wafted into his nostrils, paired with the bitter sweetness of roasted tubers. He looked upon the spread of food at the stone table and felt his mouth water ever so slightly. Something was off, though. As his eyes moved across each item laid out amongst the banquet, the color seemed to shift at the edge of his vision, as if correcting itself only when he tried to focus on it.



Catalyst rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself back to his senses. He was soon distracted by another aroma permeating the air. A sweet scent of spoiled cream, mingled with bath salts and a bloody, coppery tinge. He turned his head to the source. Gazing back with hungry, onyx eyes was Lady Apollyon. "Just kiss me." He looked down into the tub they were occupying. The water obscured his lower half, yet left no detail of hers uncovered. He gazed upon her toned, unblemished stomach, captivated by the perfection of her skin. Her smooth legs curled around him like a constrictor serpent coiling about its prey, as her voice purred into his ear. “Just kiss me, and we shall become one flesh.”

Her warm breath raised goosebumps across his shoulders, and an involuntary shudder coursed through him as her nails etched down from his navel. His hand instinctively reached behind her back and pulled at her waist. He felt his hair cascade down his shoulders as he arched his spine, looming over her. His free arm gripped the tub for support. He could feel her contorting beneath him, grinding against his flesh. "I want you inside me," her voice called to him once more, beckoning with yearning.

Something in his mind clicked.

Apollyon would never say these things. He couldn't even imagine her saying these things without the two of them bursting into laughter. The only situation where she possibly would have tried would only be in an attempt to fluster him, and she would only have succeeded in bringing a deep crimson flush to her caramel skin. The same skin that, when he looked upon it now, was almost uniform in its perfection. He could only find imperfection if he actively searched it out, and even then, it seemed to blur and fade in his peripherals. It assaulted his eyes in such an uncanny way.

This wasn't his Apollyon.

But he was still here, still vulnerable. He chuckled lightly, playing into the façade being presented to him. "When did you become so forward, my dear?" He pulled his body back, trying to extricate himself from her embrace. The flickering torches reflected from his pale, dripping skin, sparkling like moonlight across the walls. "I think I need more wine if we're to experiment with that kind of talk."

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Admiral Volshe @Ānhrā Māhnîu and the rest of your weirdos watching us bathe again.

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks



The largest single piece of armor, the chestplate, was the next for Pythonus to forge. It was to be made of several interlocking pieces, with multiple layers of protection for maximum flexibility and defense, and Pythonus had spent several hours modifying existing designs on the holoprojector, determining exactly how to shape and form the metal, as well as making the molds to pour the molten durasteel into. Each piece was designed with edge and peak reinforcements, and with room for embossment and artistic license.



Pythonus’s biceps and forearms flexed and tensed as he carried the vat of liquid metal towards the mold. This was by far the largest single section of the armor, and the amount of material required was almost beyond him to comfortably carry in one go once combined with the weight of the heavy vat and the effect of the heat and steam. With a great grunt of effort, he upturned the mixture of durasteel, exotic minerals, and alchemical materials into the mold, watching as the glow slowly faded and the liquid changed to solid.



Several pieces had power cable plug holes already built into them from the mold, and in the chest almost concealed beneath where the armpit would be there were heat release vents. Thicker trim pieces, to be riveted on later, were also in their own molds, cooling at a slower rate to achieve a stronger, tougher, and less flexible metal. Like every armor piece before, these were all dunked in the vats of blood once they were properly solidified, and then the now-cooled pieces of metal were carried by Pythonus and his aides to the anvil.


Edge by edge, plate by plate, he hammered away with various tools, forcing his will onto the metal in the Sith way. Indeed, if a Jedi had forged the armor, it might have been flowing and smooth, as if the metal had shaped itself through the hands of the forger. But Pythonus was a Sith, and just as they exerted control over the force rather than being controlled, they bent their tools and their armor to their very desires.


The multiple layers of chest armor slotted together, and upon them Pythonus embossed the triple serpent symbology of Omegon and his followers, with a hydra emerging from each side of the chest plate reaching towards the central line from the trim. Underneath this thickest plate was a series of interlocking plates designed for maximum flexibility in the abdomen, and connected on the edges were the side plates that contained the heat vents and the links to the armor back.


On the inside of the chest plate, below the gorget by 20 centimeters, Omegon had carved a slot in the shape of an amulet, while cutting sith runes and power focusing symbols leading to it from the rest of the armor. The entirety of the inside of the plates, as with all of the armor, was covered in these symbols. But this slot was unique, designed to hold the concentration amulet already possessed by Omegon, hiding it beneath his armor and allowing him to access it with ease.

Beneath the breastplate went the armored girdle, embossed with a massive Tionese Omega in silver, wrapped in the symbol of the unbroken chain. This relatively massive belt buckle was connected to a series of rectangular plates designed to connect to each other and wrap entirely around Omegon’s waist when he donned it, and Pythonus, when constructing them, had designed them as hollow, to hold whatever Omegon might need to conceal on his person.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks​

The most complex part of the armor now lay ahead: the bracers and gauntlets. While the base components of each one would be done individually, they would each have separate components as well that would set them apart. Each of them were forged of freshly wrought alchemized durasteel, cast in newly minted molds and cooled in sacred oil and blood. And, each of them were inscribed with even more runes and sigils than nearly any other part of the armor. They were the focal points, where the energy would be channeled and the spells cast.


The fingertips and knuckles were sharpened and honed with svolten rhyolite, transforming them into daggers, and the palms had inlays of silver geometric projection runes, designed to project power and amplify the focusing effect. Each piece of the gauntlet fit together like a puzzle, interlocking to allow maximum protection and still enable full range of motion without impeding speed or dexterity.


Turning then to the tools and weapons beside him, Pythonus set about disassembling the disruptor pistol and the verpine shattergun, and the ancient lanvarok taken from within the Ninushodojinyaut taking them apart into their component pieces. The magnetic acceleration rails of the shattergun were placed within the partially disassembled lanvarok launcher, and a rotating cylinder loading system to hold lanvarok disks was fabricated, capable of holding nine disks in three stacks of three, and elevating a disk from any of the three stacks into the loader in less than a second. The disruptor field generator from the ripper, capable of charging matter with a disintegration field, was placed at the back of the magnetic coils, so that the projectile could be charged as it was launched if activated.


Mounting the lanvarok on a trio of extending servos, Pythonus placed it inside a slot inside the thick forearm plate, capable of concealing itself beneath an alchemized plate, or extending and firing at a prompting from the wearer. Lanvarok magazines, with space for three disks apiece of varying types or payload, were forged specifically to fit within the pack, pouches, and belt link hollows.


Behind the launcher was placed a standard holoprojector for tactical analysis, planning, communication, and scanning, with several keys and buttons for controlling it or altering it when his helmet was removed.


Upon the right bracer, Pythonus placed a secondary armor plate, this one covered in the same scales as the shoulder plates and edged in thick silver trim. However, rather than for defensive purposes, these scales had different runes, the runes of Kilthor, painstakingly inscribed by Pythonus upon their alchemized surface. These runes were that of storing and spellwork, of energy channeling and containment, designed to take the mystical energies of the force and trap them in the artifact.


But, what would hold these spells and energies? Pythonus lifted the kyber crystal he had taken from the dead Jedi in his hand, and examined it. Such an item was perfect for containing force power. Selecting a thin chisel, he lifted his hammer and brought it down with a thundering crash, repeating the blow four times, leaving the kyber crystal shattered into five pieces. Each piece was a shard of its former self, roughly the size of the metal scales, if slightly thicker. Taking a laser etching device, for this was the only tool capable of making the cuts small enough for Pythonus’s needs, he set about burning into the crystals the rites of binding, runes of containment, and the ancient Sith glyphs of magic.


Setting the alchemically enhanced plate in the center of a circle on the ground, Pythonus proceeded to circle it in salt, and then sketch pentagramatic shapes and runes around the armor piece. Blood was dripped onto it, and then around it, and ritual prayers were recited under the smoke of incense. The crystal shards flared jade, the inscriptions on their surfaces seeming to twist and writhe, the text changing and highlighting in the mellifluous energies, before going dark. No, not quite dark Pythonus saw; there was a dull glow within each crystal shard, the thrumming of potential but not power. They would glow when they held a spell, perhaps, but for now, they would remain mostly darkened.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks​

Proceeding down the body, Pythonus came to the thigh plates and knees. The thigh plates were rather simple, a quick and standard 3D design, followed by casting and cooling within the blood vats, with alchemized silver trim hammered into shape along its edges. Pythonus placed mag-locks within the thigh plates for holding weapons or equipment, and power sockets for channeling the energy generated by the armor to the lower limbs.


But the true work came when he reached the knee plates. The left knee plate, he designed to be one of the ancient artifacts he had first learned of when he was taught the art of alchemy: a shield talisman, something to protect and guard him from attacks, keeping him safe and aiding him in his efforts.


The first thing he did was take a large chunk of unworked silver, slightly larger than a standard knee plate. Taking out his hammer and a torch, Pythonus began the work of shaping it, contorting it, and working it into a piece of art. Hour upon hour he spent, until the block began to look not like a piece of unworked metal but instead looked like a dragon’s head, with bared teeth, fangs, crest, and snout. It would fit over the existing knee plate, but worked into the silver were repeated runes of Cilie and Ur, runes of protection and defense.


Into each eye socket, he placed a worked gemstone of jade color, laser etched and infused with power, also covered with runes of defense and geometric patterns of ancient sith magicks. These gemstones glowed with light, and into them, Pythonus channeled his strength, sending force energy into them to charge them for use and imbuing them with power.


The right knee plate, by comparison, was a simple work of alchemized metal, with two embossed silver hydra’s heads adorning its surface and sweeping silver trim protecting it’s edges.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks​

And now, at last, Pythonus had come to the final piece of the armor. There were other parts, to be sure, from the electronics to the underlayer. But this was the last piece of plate to be forged, and his mind swelled with pride to see what he had accomplished and what was about to be completed.


Each greave and each sabaton were made of 3 pieces of metal, 6 for each leg enabling maximum mobility and speed. Each was cast, and Pythonus poured the metal as if in a trance, finding it hard to believe he was already almost done. As per usual, a small drone hovered at his side and caught his sweat as it fell.


One by one, Pythonus dipped and cooled the plates in blood vats, and then anointed them in oil. Fitting them together, each interlocked into a full length boot, with magnetic interfaces inserted to hold them together and connect them to the knee joints. And inside each calf he inscribed the repeated runes of Ziggra'nar, the runes of physical enhancement. Runes of speed and enhancement, coupled with the sith inscriptions of similar purpose, covered the inside of the plates, surrounding the legs.


They were designed to enhance force augmentation and speed, coupling with the powered armor to increase the wearer’s speed and agility and granting them mobility almost unheard of for such heavy armor. The plates flowed together and seemed to vibrate for a second with their contained power as Pythonus riveted chunks into place, eager to be put to use.


And with that, each piece of the armor was fitted onto the hollow frame built identical to Omegon’s form. The old armor plates, now outdated and outdone, sat in a pile on the ground, oddly similar in appearance to the new plate with a few exceptions. Cable after cable was run from part to part beneath the plates. Eventually these would be covered by the undersuit, but that had not yet been constructed, and it’s synthetic muscles did not yet cover the frame.


Taking, then, dozens upon dozens of threads of wirelike durasteel, Pythonus heated them and wove them together, before dipping them in blood and hammering them into shape. Each was woven into the rest, until they formed a flexible and yet strong covering, like chainmail but superior. Taking these pieces of metallic cloth, Pythonus fit them over new, amplified and more powerful Cybermatrix synthetic muscle fibers.


The strands were not placed over the entire suit, however, but were only placed on the joints and anywhere that might be exposed during movement by the flexing armor. The synthetic muscles, contracting and expanding based on neurotransmitters within the armor, were nearly twice as strong as those in Omegon’s former armor, and designed to be easily overclocked via mechu deru, receiving enhancement or alteration without difficulty.


Within the powerpack, Pythonus checked the seals and added an oxygen tank, capable of providing Omegon with nearly an hour of fresh oxygen, along with a rebreather to recycle that oxygen that was already there. Within the helm, he replaced the eye lenses, dipped in blood and alchemized like the rest of the armor, and added the hologram projectors required to operate the armor from within. Advanced multi-spectral sensors were slotted into place, and dampening systems as well, designed to block out any unwanted noise or light. Into the neck, he threaded stim injectors, and from the backpack to various areas around the armor, he ran bacta injectors, to be activated in the event of a wound. Into the stim injectors, he ran adrenaline and steroid reserves, and mixed in with these was a fluid containing some of the ashen remains of the dead from coruscant.


The cloth lining from Omegon’s previous armor, the one taken from the sarcophagus on korriban within the tomb of Dreadwar, was taken from the old armor and placed within the new, sown under the synthetic muscles and providing some padding between the wearer and the rough armor.


Taking this now-complete underlayer, Pythonus placed it too upon the rack, completing the armor and layering it under the plates. Turning, he scooped gray ash from a massive crate beside him. It was all the ash of the crew that had been devoured over coruscant, and it saddened him to see good men reduced to naught but powder for no reason other than sate the hunger of a god.


Taking his two palms full of the ash, he anointed the armor plate, pouring the ash upon the alchemized metal and grinding it into the surface, letting all of his rage and anger at their deaths flow through him. He would find whoever was responsible, and he would unleash the might of the Sith empire upon them. This armor would stand as an example and evidence of his promise, it’s dull black surface seeming to scream with the deaths of his men.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks​

Taking yet another batch of durasteel, Pythonus crafted two daggers, identical and with large pommels and grips. Within these, he placed plasma charges, capable of vaporizing nearly a full room of combatants, but with a delicate, three stage ignition. He had learned from the deaths of others, and these would not be going off from a stray blaster bolt or volley of force lightning. They were designed to be completely stable if the exact detonation process was not followed. Easily triggered, yes. But not accidentally. The edges of the daggers he dipped in the vats of blood and hammered and sharpened with svolten rhyolite, so that he could use them to combat a lightsaber or a sith sword. But beside that, they appeared perfectly normal, ordinary in fact.


Next, a more alteration than creation, he prepared a dozen tracking devices. Tiny, gel-adhesive devices designed to help Omegon keep track of the crew. And on a few of them, he added explosive charges. These were not delicate, and he did not take care that they would not be accidentally detonated. They were basic, and would not be able to penetrate his armor, but more importantly, he planned on planting them on enemies, not keeping them on himself.


Three sheathes, identical, were placed in the lower back of the armor, and within these sheaths were placed curving Larangs, alchemized and enchanted to return to the thrower. But as much as he enjoyed these weapons, he had a second type of ancient sith tool he wished to forge.


The shikkar. A glass weapon, deadly and designed to bring agony to its victims, it is a consummately Sith tool in design. In the forge, Pythonus began melting sand down above a flame, watching as it liquified and slowly was turned to glass. Drawing out three long and thick strands, he twisted and cooled them, dipping them in blood and anointing them.


Each blade had a thin pocket of air on the inside, and taking a green vial of deadly poison, Pythonus filled each air pocket before inserting them one by one into elaborate thin stone handles, he was left with three ornate stone and glass shikkars, twisting and deadly, with a barely visible jade coloration permeating them. Should they be stabbed into an enemy and twisted, they would shatter and send poison and glass shards deep into enemy flesh.


A fourth glass blade, longer than the rest and not hollow, he drew from the molten sand. It was incredibly thin and needlelike, but sith magicks held it together. Taking a laser etching device, Pythonus inscribed upon its twisting length the spell of concealment and the rune of Swatak'Hatrata, the rune of hiding and stealth. He sought to make the already difficult to see piece of glass invisible. Loading it into a metal tube along with a spring, it was mag locked onto the right forearm of Omegon’s new armor. At a moment’s notice, it could be extended as an almost invisible tool of death.


Finally, the last of the glass he removed in a large chunk, crushing it into fine and sharp powder. Pouring over it a mix of acid and poison, he stirred the mixture with a metal rod before filling a small bag with it, to be thrown in an enemy’s face as a nasty surprise.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Omegon]

IC: Pythonus

Location: Forges within the Aximand’s middle decks​

Ready to begin his next project, Pythonus gestured to the men guarding the entrance to the forge. “Bring them in!” The door hissed open for a few seconds, and four men were herded in. Stowaways, essentially, though under ordinary circumstances Pythonus and Omegon would have forgiven their crime. Having had only one way off the collapsing planet of Coruscant, these men and several others had boarded the Aximand to try to escape. However, while the others had proven useful and skilled, these four had been deemed… Expendable.


Each was swiftly strapped down, with every inch of their body being locked in place by thick durasteel, leaving only a few exposed areas. They would not be able to move at all, and while the lengths Pythonus went to seemed extreme, he wanted to ensure they would not escape under any circumstances. Their mouths, feet, and hands were completely encased, and as they started to suffocate, each was injected with a solution of zombie saliva and blood.


With terrifying speed, in just minutes, all of them turned. They tried to thrash, to turn on him and infect him, but even if they could, he wore thick armor. More durasteel was locked in place over each subject, until only a few inches were exposed of each zombie, where their necks had been. The virus spread with terrifying rapidity, and so Pythonus turned these men into incubators for his virus. Taking from each of them a blood and tissue sample, he placed each vial inside a rapid expansion smoke grenade. He wore a mask the whole time, his whole body sealed off from the world and relying on an independent oxygen supply to keep himself safe.


Now that it was done, he should be able to infect those who inhaled his smoke grenades, turning them to mindless beasts before they could even realize what had been done.


In addition to this, he forged alchemized disks for the Lanvarok, coating some with poison or biological weapons, while others were forged of unaltered cortosis to take on lightsaber wielders. One magazine was charged with electromagnetic ion energy, designed to take on droids or other similar combatants, while another was made with an energy field generator built into it. Pythonus smiled when he made these, recalling Omegon’s tales of hunting starwierds aboard his freighter, creating energy rounds on the fly. Now, he wouldn’t have to. A magazine of yorik coral disks, as well, was added to the pouches on the armor belt. And in addition to these specialized rounds, of course, there were the standard ones, some with explosive charges and some without, all with alchemized razor sharp blade edges. Ground up fragments of the coral, mixed with flesh burning acid, were placed within smoke grenades as a fine powder, ready to be aerosolized and detonated to blind and devour anyone unlucky enough to be caught in it’s blast.


The ability to create force wraiths was one many used to forge tools for war, armies of ten foot tall beasts, or swarms of insectoid creatures. But Pythonus sought to make a relatively small thing with it: a serpent. A meter and long dragon-like creature of jade and silver, with four small legs easily concealed beneath its serpentine coils.


Focusing, Pythonus willed it into existence, watching the dark energies swirl and coalesce into the shape he desired. Focusing, he bent the energies to his will and shaped it like a sculptor shaping a work of art. Reaching out his hands, his fingers danced and eyelids flickered as he brought it into being, birthing it into this world.


Knowing where it belonged, the creature immediately leapt up and flew through the air, circling itself around Omegon’s armor’s left arm, wrapping itself repeatedly around the bicep and forearm until it looked like it was a part of the armor, built into it and made of metal and bone.


Tags: @Darth Dreadwar