Game Star Wars Judgment Day: Part III of the Prelude to Requiem

Cardun Vrek

Legendary Member
Jedi Council
IC: Cal Vastrom

The Howling Hawkbat, Nar Shaddaa

Cal listened as Kain spoke. This device he spoke of, it sounded too good to be true. To be able to destroy every shadow being in the known Galaxy at once, and to purge the darkness for good. Such a powerful Wall of Light could kill anyone even slightly touched by the darkness. Not everyone who fell to the lure of the Darkness was lost forever. This…it could kill thousands…maybe even millions. Not all of them would be those lost forever.

But the wars would end. Peace could be achieved. Cal tried to push these thoughts out of his mind but they clung on and refused to be ejected.

No more Jedi would need to die, Cal…

Not you…not again...

“What is the cost? Such power never comes freely.” Master Durron asked, finally speaking. Whatever train of thought he had drifted off into had clearly settled into his head. He was listening now, intently. Perhaps he had always been listening, and letting Cal take the lead whilst he took in what was being said from both sides. Perhaps he was testing Cal. It allowed him to take his mind off of the all too familiar voice in his head.

Kain’s eyes fell on the Grandmaster, and the happiness Cal had seen come across Kain’s face as he revealed the path to destroying the shadow beings drained away. “This device—the Darr’al—was a gift from the Architect known as Cold Danda Sine, claimed by the Rakata as technology they invented themselves. It amplifies whatever Force ability you pour into it—lightning, fire, light, darkness, whatever you wish—and allows you to magnify its spread, even so far as to cover an entire galaxy. But this power does not come freely.” Kain let out a sigh before continuing. “It is powered by souls, the spirits of the dead. The further you wish to spread your power, the more souls it requires.”

“Then it’s a non-starter, Lord Kain. If powering the device means killing on an industrial scale and forcing the souls of the dead to be fed to this Darr’al of yours…its too high a price. Even for the cleansing of the Galaxy from the shadow beings.” Cal answered at once, without really thinking. It was an instinctive reaction to something that went against everything he’d be trained to believe in. “And besides, a device that requires souls to function is clearly a creation of the Dark Side. If the Rakata used it, it must be so. Even if we tried to channel the power of the light side through it, the dark nature of the device may reject it, or the light may cleanse the device, as it does with all others clearly dark in nature.” Call added, shaking his head and turning away from Kain, unable to meet his gaze. A part of him, the part he had nearly given into during the war, was still urging him to use it.

Think of the greater good, Cal. Billions will die in a war. What’s a few thousand souls in exchange for peace?

That’s a slippery slope. That’s how Palpatine pitched his Empire. Peace for the majority in exchange for the suffering of the minority.

What if the old man was right? You can’t save everyone, Cal. You could pick who was to die. It could be criminals, slavers, Sith, the worst kind of scum.

Even the worst kind of scum don’t deserve that kind of death.

Fine. Continue to be the model Jedi. But when you lose this war, Master Vastrom, don’t come crying to me.

“I can’t be a part of something like that, Lord Kain. I…I can’t.” Cal answered, still not facing Kain, afraid that if Kain looked him in the eye, he would see the dark reflection of the voice that was echoing inside Cal’s head. The part of him that urged him to take the easy path, that using the Dark Side was justifiable.

I won’t be a part of this. I won’t.

We shall see, Jedi. We shall see…

TAG: @Darth Kain, @Darth Nathemus


Well-known member
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
IC: Darth Eschaton
The Cargo Hold

Eschaton was only momentarily bewildered as his bolt struck a target. But this individual, the one he had noticed go unseen was no longer so. Now, instead, he noticed the now-crippled Unknown near the entrance of the room to which Lady Kolasi had forbidden entry. He bared his bloody fangs, extending his gauntleted hands with the passion of a telekinetic grip, attempting to throw the figure into the ceiling with unnatural force.

Powers Used: Telekinesis (4)

TAGS: @Darth Kain @Voidwalker , @Arach , @skira , @Hadzuska_The Jester


Well-known member
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
IC: Lord Vaer, Lord Xarxes, Lord Mavros, and Lady Kolasi
(Combo with @Darth Kain , @Drakul_Xarxes, @Cardun Vrek , & @skira)
Aboard the Tsushima

As Kain pulled him to his feet and spoke to him, Mavros realised that his time on this ship was not over. His new liege had a task for him: save Lady Kolasi’s life. In the few seconds he had, Mavros drew upon the power of the Dark Side to heal some of the wounds dealt to him by Morrow and the now departed Zareel. Seconds later, he found himself standing next to Lady Kolasi and facing his least favourite person in the Galaxy apart from his deceased former Master.


Of course it would be him.

Oh, this should be interesting.

Vaer spoke, but Mavros did not listen to what he said. He looked at Kolasi, who surely must’ve been surprised to see him there, and inclined his head towards her as a sign he was there to aid her. He waited for her to make the first move.

She did outrank him in the old Sith hierarchy, after all.

I better get a bloody statue built on Onderon if I end up dying for her...

Lord Vaer,” Kolasi started, giving a half smile to Mavros before taking a step towards Vaer and grabbing for her saber. She gripped the hilt tightly in her hand, but neglected to ignite it. Not yet, anyways.

Sol,” A voice echoed in her mind. Her husband’s.

Avery,” She started, speaking through the force back to him. How did you get here?"

The Empress, she sent us. Sol, she didn’t give any commands to board this ship. We shouldn’t be here.

That was it. That was all she needed to know. The final piece of the puzzle, the final justification she needed for what she’d do next.

Get everyone you can off the ship. I’ll see you on ours soon.

Lord Vaer, the Empress gave no order for us to board this ship. And despite my own personal concerns that I stated to you about the validity of her message, you chose to ignore me, rather than investigate the matter further. You chose to ignore direct orders and concerns from the Empress’ Triumvir. You chose to place I and other high ranking Sith in an unsafe situation, for reasons that remain unknown. As such, you are to come with me to Onderon to await until we may investigate this matter further, and so the Empress may determine if it was someone else conspiring against us, or if it was you’re own treason.”

Mavros did not remove his lightsaber hilt from his belt right away, but placed his hand on it ready to do so. He looked Vaer straight in the eye, a smirk forming on his face. He felt refreshed, the healing had done what he needed it to do.

We can do this the easy way, My Lord, or you can make this more difficult than it has to be.” He said smoothly, removing the lightsaber hilt from his belt and holding it ready in his hand.

Vaer rolled his eyes at the pair of Sith Lords. "Is every Sith from this damned fleet suffering amnesia? We all received that command through the admiral. If the Empress didn't give that bloody command, then string him up. I was only following orders, like I am right now." He stepped forward. "Stay in my way for one more second and your little friend from Onderon is going to get murdered before I can be the hero that saves the day."

You seem to be confused, Lord Vaer,” Kolasi started, taking a step towards him as her smile turned from a smirk to a rictus of annoyance and anger towards the Lord. Too long had he refused to kneel to her authority over him.

I wasn’t asking. Come with us now, willingly. It will be far easier for you, and you don’t seem like you can take too much more of a beating today.”

"You're willing to let Voidwalker die over whatever ill-perceived hatred you have of me, then?"

Lord Voidwalker can take care of himself. I cannot allow a treasonous little snake such as yourself continue to work your way through the ranks of our Order and poison it.”

It’s you against a Triumvir. Resist, and this won’t end well for you.” Mavros added, eyes watching Vaer’s every movement, his finger resting on his lightsaber’s activation switch.

Vaer shook his head. "You are ignorant of the threat that he faces. Or perhaps you are not, and you do not care whether he lives or dies. But Lord Xarxes does. And he is of the same rank as you. If you do not stand aside, I'll allow him to show you the error of your command. Or..." His eyes fell on Mavros. "Perhaps you would want to sacrifice this one in Voidwalker's place? The demons have to take someone, and he is barely a Lord."

Mavros laughed. “I’m more fit to wear the title than you. All you are is Lord Xarxes’ little pet. Even as a supposed Dark Councillor your still nothing more than his errand boy.

"If you were fit for the title you would have earned it. But you haven't, and you won't. Now stand aside, unless you want your all-too-long career as a Sith Nobody to end in a single stroke."

The Triumvir has said you are coming with us. She outranks you. So I’ll stay standing where I am. Go fetch your Master and if he tells me to move, I’ll move.

"Very well, then."

Vaer's mind stretched out once more, searching for the thoughts of his master. It did not take long to find them, circulating within the cargo hold of the Tsushima. What those thoughts were, he could not tell. But he had one to add among the reverie.

Your fellow Triumvir and her lackey are trying to arrest me before I can execute your command. Please do me the favor of getting her the hell out of my way before they end up just as responsible for Voidwalker's demise as I am.

Mavros feigned looking at a chronometer on his wrist.

On the other side of the ship, Xarxes looked away from Kain, his mind once more rent by the calling of his apprentice.

Kain, Arach, the life of Voidwalker is in grave danger,” he said, utter sincerity in his words. For as much as he did not care for the Dread Heir, the war against the Old Ones required all available resources, and Voidwalker was valuable. “I must away to save his life.

He closed his eyes, mind focusing wholeheartedly on the waking consciousnesses of Lady Kolasi and Darth Mavros, his telepathic calling resonating through the Force. “Cease this madness. Let Lord Vaer accomplish his mission, for the sake of Lord Voidwalker’s life.

Kolasi paused for a moment. Could she truly allow Lord Voidwalker to die? The man that had partially trained her, the brother of her sister, someone that practically became her own brother? Could she trust that Lord Voidwalker could escape this alive?

Her mind raced. Raced for an explanation, a reason for what she had to do. She could not tell the truth. Lord Xarxes very likely already knew Vaer’s side of it. And if he didn’t, his Apprentice was already able to manipulate his mind.

And then, a realization dawned on her. An idea. A lie.

Despite the familial love I may share with Lord Voidwalker, it does not change the fact that he too has betrayed the Order. I’ll not allow my attachment to him make me betray my duties. I may have felt sympathy for the Lord Kain at one time, but that sympathy is far gone,” She said as she looked upon Vaer, raising her arm and igniting her saber. The blade was only a few inches from his face, the red plasma reflecting off of him and lighting up the room. She reached out to Lord Xarxes and Lord Vaer, sending a message in return.

Your apprentice has lied to you, Lord Xarxes. He’s betrayed the Order, and the Empress. The creature aboard this ship, the one behind all of this, I spoke with it myself. Lord Vaer created it, and planned to kill us all with it and conveniently be the only one to survive. He believes he should be a Triumvir along side you, instead of me. He is to come with me to Onderon while the Empress investigates this matter.

As Kolasi ignited her saber, Mavros did the same. He knew she was lying, after all, he knew that Kain was the one who had hired the presumably once human Morrow and this ship to transport some sort of cargo.

But his new master had given him orders, and they superseded the ones Xarxes had just issued.

But isn’t Lord Voidwalker one of Kain’s closest allies?

He shook that thought from his mind. His focus was protecting Lady Kolasi as Kain had ordered. Nothing else mattered right now.

He took up a defensive posture, ready to react if Vaer attacked.

A titanic guffaw resounded through Kolasi’s mind, quickly shifting to a growl of anger. “You dare lie to me, Sol Kira? You assume that I do not see all that my Apprentice does, or that I do not sense the falsehoods you’ve handled as a child might handle their first solid food? Pah! You’ve set your ambitions above your weight class.

There was a sharp decrease in pressure for a moment as the Force’s presence became concentrated for a moment, and then ceased.

Well…that was rather anticlimactic.

Mavros deactivated his lightsaber and frowned, turning his head to face Kolasi.

Not that I think anyone needs a reason, but why exactly were you trying to detain Vaer? I was dropped in without much context.

Kolasi’s lips pursed, and she extinguished her saber, looking over at Mavros.

He tortured and killed Lord Kain’s wife,” She stated plainly, placing her saber back in its holster on her waist before she spoke again. Perhaps he didn’t kill her, but his actions had lead to her demise. And that was the same as far as she was concerned.

He’d be Kain’s problem now.

I’m going home,” She said, nodding her head to him out of respect before walking towards the hangars for her ship.

No wonder Kain wants him dead…

He fell into step behind her as she made for the hangar bays.
I was given orders to protect you. So I suppose I shall escort you to the hanger bay and see you safely off of the ship.

Far off, Xarxes still faced Kain, but now Lord Vaer stood where he was most needed. “No, Kain. Many things are very, very, wrong.” He extended his mind to the others in the cargo hold, most especially Voidwalker, who seemed concentrated and terrified all at once. “Act quickly, Vaer,” he spoke through the mental link. “Time is of the essence.

IC: Avery Sunka and (briefly) Lady Kolasi
Aboard the Tsushima

Avery and the other Onderonians had started moving the moment Kolasi gave the orders, Avery ushering them all back quickly to where they'd come from.

"Bloody Hell." Avery cursed under his breath at what had come along with Lord Voidwalker. What was this, bloody Halloween?

"We may have a problem," Avery whispered through the mental connection to his wife, grabbing for his weapons. He heald his blaster securely in his left hand, with his saber occupying the right. The other beast riders followed suit, all grabbing for their blasters as well.

Not that it'd do them any bloody good.

"We do, I'm heading back to our ship now. Are you almost there?"

"Not exactly,"

"For kriff's sake," His wife cursed through their bond, though no other messages came after.

On the other side of the ship, Kolasi reached for Kain's mind through their strange bond once more.

"Lord Kain," She started, still moving quickly for her own ship. "I'm sure you're busy. Unfortunately, our plan has been ruined by the good Lord Xarxes. Lord Vaer will have to be yours to deal with alone. My presence is needed elsewhere, I must go home. Could you please send my husband and our guards to my ship?"

OOC Notes:

Mavros Powers Used:
- Dark Side Healing (3)

Vaer Powers Used:
- Telepathy (4)

Xarxes Powers Used:
- Fold Space (5)
- Mind Shard (5)

Mavros' Dark Side Healing rolls 18 + 18 + 5, succeeding. 3d6 of Healing is rolled for, rolling 5 + 4 + 6. Mavros' HP is brought up to 26.

Vaer's use of Telepathy to speak with Lord Xarxes rolls 10 + 19 + 5, succeeding. An Effect Modifier of 20 + 8 allows the message to come through clearly.

Xarxes' use of Fold Space rolls 13 + 20 + 10, succeeding. An Effect Modifier of 18 + 8 transports Vaer to the intended destination safely.

His use of Mind Shard on Lady Kolasi then rolls 11 + 20 + 10, breaching her DC and succeeding. 5d6 of Psychic Damage rolls 4 + 1 + 3 + 2 + 4, totaling 14 and dropping Kolasi's HP to 26.

Tags: @Cardun Vrek @Drakul_Xarxes @Voidwalker @Arach @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Kain

Hadzuska_The Jester

Well-known member
Dark Council
IC: The Unknown
Location: Outside the Cargo Hold, The Tsushima

As he was sent flying forward into the wall by the Veridian Bolt of Hatred, the Unknown Man dropped his Force Stealth, focusing on keeping his signature in the Force hidden as a priority, the sound of him colliding with the wall clear for all to hear. He would have screamed in excruciating pain if his mouth wasn’t sewn shut, though blood began to make its way past those very same lips. Insufferable malcontent, I’ll see to your coming death in my report, so help me by the Dark Powers that be, you will die. He glared at Eschaton as he raised his defense in the Force, slowly standing up in pain.

My orders are beyond this, I must continue on, she has been out of sight long enough. I need to bear witness to everything. I will not fail my mission because of these mouth breathers. I must carry on. I will not fail.

As he tried to move further to find her, to be able to move through the pain he began to attempt to control the pain, he went through the closest door.

(Powers Used:
Conceal Essence continued - 4
Force Resistance - 4
Control Pain - 4)

OOC GM Note: The Unknown's use of Force Resistance rolls 5 + 18 + 5, succeeding. An Effect Modifier of 11 + 3 allows him to add a +7 to his DC so long as it's active.

Eschaton's use of Telekinesis on the Unknown rolls 11 + 19 + 5, failing to overcome the Unknown's DC with the added bonus of his Force Resistance. The Unknown may feel a tug against his body, but he is in no way lifted off his feet.

TAG: @Cardun Vrek @Drakul_Xarxes @Voidwalker @Arach @skira @Darth Kain
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Hadzuska_The Jester

Well-known member
Dark Council
IC: Samael
Location: Citadel of Fire, Hangar, Hastur

The Avatar gave a proud smirk in Samael’s direction as he approached. “You use the light side of the Force to heal yourself. That’s wise. Manipulating the dark side into doing the same is never quite as effective.

Samael looked at him confused for a moment. “I wouldn’t call it the light side. Jedi are taught not to give into their emotions, something I failed at enough I was cast out of the Order for.It’s not my fault the Master I was to train under was undeserving to be in the presence of God. I only wanted to introduce them to my best and only friend.But to heal someone, even yourself, you give yourself into emotions such as caring and love as you tap into the Force. So I would just see it as the Force itself, not Light, and not Dark. While I was trained to be a Sith after being expelled from the Jedi Order, I never really felt comfortable with the darker emotions that others tend to lean on. Before I joined the Sith Order I was trained by a hermit who explained that Passion doesn’t have to come from hate and anger. It could come from a place of love, as long as there is Passion I can gain Strength, then Power, and finally Victory to break the chains that restrain us. Its an unpopular approach as I’ve seen, but I appreciate the lesson he taught me.Even if he two was undeserving to be in God’s presence.Don’t get me wrong, I do believe there is a Light Side, and a Dark Side to the Force, but I also believe there is something in the middle that keeps the balance. I feel like what you are attempting to do is somewhere in that middle as well.

The Avatar's smirk dissolved, though he seemed no less joyful. “The people arriving are friends of mine and Brooke. The droid is named D-3PO. He talks a lot but he means well. Zo will be the grouchy one, though again, she also means well. K’win is the bubbly one. I’m sure you’ll like her. Just… no baptisms by fire for any of them. They’re not as likely to survive fiery explosions as you are.

I understand, but before they get here.” Samael pulled out the lightsaber that somehow came into his possession, and ignited it. With a snap-hiss the green blade extended. “This is definitely not mine. I’m actually not sure where it came from. I just woke up with it in my hand after the explosion.” He then deactivated the blade. “It's strange that it ended up in my possession, but the Will of the Force works in mysterious ways, just as God does. Maybe I will find out later why it chose to give me another weapon. Hopefully it's not because anything happens to mine. It's the only thing I have left from my past life. A memory I don't want to lose. A path I followed I don't want to forget.” Samael said as he hid the lightsaber again within his robes.

I look forward to meeting these friends of yours though. They seem like they will be lively from your description.

TAG: @Darth Kain @Catalyst @Undying Master Xiannarr
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Active member
IC: Lord Volacius, The Wrath of Kain
Underground Abode, Verdanth
Volacius shared Catalyst’s disgust as he quietly stepped into the house and its entropic filth. The stench of death and decay was in many ways familiar, it reminded him of the battlefield, when hapless Federation troops and their Jedi leaders were the worst thing to clash against the might of the Empire. In that way, it was oddly nostalgic. Nevertheless, he still had to concentrate to keep from gagging, his mind quashing the silent protest of his senses.

Indeed, his mind would win the day, as he laid eyes on their target, confirmed by a thought from Catalyst. We do need her alive, Volacius repeated, but she doesn’t need her limbs to survive.

Volacius strafed to the right, hands resting on his twin lightsabers as he gently inched closer across the weathered floorboards. His arcane sword would be more useful if it came down to a fight, but if Catalyst could successfully incapacitate her, Volacius would prefer weapons that would cauterize Nephthys’ wounds and prevent her from bleeding out.

Tags: @Darth Kain, @Darth Nathemus, @Catalyst
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Undying Master Xiannarr

Well-known member
IC: Keldro Unmar


Keldro moved gingerly, the Bacta tank had done exactly what he needed. He felt sore, though he imagined that was a given.
Beside him was a black tunic and robe, as he dressed, he paid no attention to the arriving company.
Instead his mind wandered with questions.
‘Had Ardee really just tried to kill them all?
‘Was it a Jedi directive?’
none of them knew where he was going, had the droid acted alone? It was all so confusing.

He glanced around for his saber it wasn't here,

‘Blast it, where in the hells could it be?’

He turned, coming face to face with Miss Brooke

“Madam Brooke! , I am most glad to see that you're okay! And the same for Apollo. I have no idea what happened, I wouldn't have thought Ardee capable of it. It's just unimaginable and to think we all
Could have ended up a lot worse for wear.”
Keldro rambled, each word coming out faster than the last. He hoped no one thought him responsible for the wayward Droid.

Tags: @Darth Kain , @Catalyst , @Hadzuska_The Jester

Darth Voxyn

Active member
IC: Voxyn and Vitani
The Tsushima

A thud echoed through the room as the creature hit the ground, a lump of burned flesh on the ground. It did not move. It wasn’t dead, Voxyn could sense that much, but it was going to take a moment for it to get up.

He needed to tend to Vitani. Turning from the creature he went to his sister. The floor was covered in red, she had lost so much blood. At the least, he needed to get the bleeding to stop so she could be stabilized. Anything past that could wait, stopping the bleeding was the most urgent thing right now to keep her from dying. Placing his hands on her injuries he called on the force again, trying to direct it to her to stop the bleeding, to seal her injuries and heal her.

Powers Used: Dark Side Healing 4

TAG: @Darth Kain

Dark Lady Makaria

Dark Council
IC: Dark Lady Makaria
In orbit over Nytocrises

It was so easy to connect to the apprentices, a silent voyeur to their story. Short as it would be. Makaria grimaced as the symbiotes took hold, and each apprentice fell, one after the other. Even the ones who attempted to resist fell with little effort, and her connection to them severed.

"Stop," she commanded, and the ship pulled back, still in uncertain orbit. She stared out the viewfinder, her baleful glare impotent as she realized the situation. To go down would be suicide. The insects would attack at once. Makaria tapped her nails against the arm of her seat exactly once. The other alternative was to fold space around herself and land directly on the planet's surface. It could be done, and she might even be able to bring a guard or two with her.

But that was just as suicidal. Even though the pheromone potion had been a lie, Makaria knew her limits, and constantly disguising herself, and others, so as to remain undetected? It would never last, and she'd be just as dead as the most trusting apprentice.

"Turn the ship around, we return to the Empress," Makaria ordered, though she hated it. She sent a hateful glare towards Nytocrises, lashing out with the Force even if she knew it was unlikely to work. She imagined the unseen Master, her intestines writhing, her lungs crushed under invisible pressure, her heart desperately spurting blood. "And make haste, I don't trust that we won't be attacked at once."

The ship began to move almost at once, pulling out of orbit as quickly as they dared. Scowling, Makaria closed her eyes and focused, She was no master illusionist, but she thought she had the power for this:

A theoretically perfect replica of the ship, as if they were a cell splitting in two, the illusion going just far enough away that if there was an attack it would hopefully split the enemy forces. She could only hope her skill would be great enough for this. Or that the insects would be stupid enough to fall for it.

TAGS: @Darth Kain, @Mardinga, @Sharkish’Ki

Powers Used:

Force Wound - 4

Sith Illusions - 2


Active member
Streaming Partner
Voidwalker, Cursed Champion of the Stars
The Tsushima

Voidwalker tried to defend himself, and again his attacks failed to connect. A feeling of despair starting to claw at him, trying to sink its claws into his psyche, looking to anchor the feelings of hopelessness and dread. The Cursed Champion could feel the fatigue setting in on him. His body felt heavy, his knees wanting to buckle just under the strain of keeping him upright.

Is this my destiny? To die here in atonement for the sins of my life? After everything I've overcome in life, how can this be the veil destiny has woven for me?

Still he continued to stand, but he could feel his body giving out. With his legs shaking, Voidwalker felt that it took all of his strength to even keep his head held up, as he watched the Hellpriestess continue on her path and grow closer. Terror started to creep over his body, preparing to overtake his very essence. Voidwalker's mind started to race, showing him quick flashes of various events and people from his life. Everything he'd ever done or met wouldn't mean a thing in moments. He'd be taken from this world and nothing would matter. Not the past war, not this war, not Hesper, Kain, Arach, or Scarlett.

Voidwalker's mind kept showing Scarlett's face and he imagined a world where she didn't survive because of him and this reignited a new feeling deep within the Cursed Champion, hatred.


The Cursed Champion remained on his feet, all sense of terror being expelled from him completely. The fire of hatred now being the catalyst for a new found strength.

I will find some way to stop you. I just need to find a weakness.

If there was a weak spot on this dark creature, then he'd only have to look. Through his innate ability known as shatterpoint his eyes glared at the foul entity that advanced towards him. He stared hard, looking for the threaded connections of a weakness or the Force. The only thing that seemed to ever resemble a network or connections were the pins sticking out of her head.

It's a long shot, but it's the best chance I have. She has to have some connection to the Force to which she draws her power from.

Voidwalker knew it would be difficult but he had an idea, if he could aim for her head and destroy the pins, then perhaps he could slow her down, if not stop her all together. The Cursed Champion reached deep within himself to gather the strength he needed and focused his attack, then released it. Fate was now in the hands of destiny.

Powers Used:
Shatterpoint - 5
Sever Force - 10

Tag: @Darth Kain, @Drakul_Xarxes, @skira, @Hadzuska_The Jester

GM's NOTE: Voidwalker's use of Shatterpoint rolls a 4 + 21 + 10, failing to overcome the Hellpriestess' DC. As far as he perceives, the only latticework of connections she has are the pins spread evenly across her head.


The Cunning Linguist
Staff member
Underworld Ruler
IC: Brooke
Citadel of Fire, Hastur

Brooke smiled absently as Keldro spoke. While she was glad he was alright, there was something nagging in her mind. There was something wrong with Apollo, though she couldn’t tell quite what. She hoped that the medical tests would reveal something, though she was certain whatever it was went deeper than what medical scanners would see. Worry creased her brow, and she turned towards Keldro. “What happened in there?” she questioned him. “You didn’t come here to light a bomb in Kain’s palace, I know that. Regardless of the reasoning behind the explosion, it did something to Apollo…” she let the worry creep into her voice. “Something is very wrong, and I don’t know what.”

IC: D-3PO, Zo & K’win

The transport coasted smoothly through the acrid skies of Hastur as Zo manned the helm. D-3PO was perfectly capable of handling the ship while they were in deep space, but she much preferred her hands on the yoke when they were in atmosphere or during a space battle. At this point, she was still hesitant to not go in guns blazing, but for Brooke’s safety, niceties were still important to recognize. D-3PO chirped up as they descended towards the citadel.

“This must be the new abode of Mister Kain!” he yammered excitedly. “I must say, it is very becoming of a Sith Lord of his stature. Zo scoffed a little in disgust but didn’t say anything in return. She knew better than to speak around the droid when it lacked the ability to keep its vocabulator silent. Anything she said was liable to be repeated around Kain, and there was no reason for him to hear her private thoughts on the matter.

As the ship landed in the open hangar bay, Zo had to take note of the wreckage that littered the landing area. There were scorch marks, aftermath of a firefight? Pieces of a starship, it looked like a Jedi Starfighter, were strewn about the site as well. “Keep your guard up, I don’t like this,” she called back to K’win. The ship settled in the bay and she elected to let D-3PO exit first. Better to have a friendly face greet Kain after he presumably just cooked a Jedi.

D-3PO toddled out of the ship, stepping towards Kain and Samael with no hesitation. “Greetings!” he launched into his standard salutation. “I am D-3PO. It is good to see you again, Mister Kain! You’re looking very alive for someone that is supposedly deceased.” His photoreceptors diverted towards Samael. “I’m afraid we have not made our introductions! How shall I call you Mister…?”

Zo and K’win stepped down the ship’s ramp much more apprehensively than the protocol droid had. The former gave a small, curt nod of greeting in Kain’s direction, while the Twi’lek made a face of melancholy recognition. She wasn’t quite sure how to process Kain’s return, but the idea of him being alive was still preferable to him being deceased. They both noticed very quickly though, that while Kain was accompanied by a Devaronian, Brooke was nowhere in sight. Zo, ever the diplomat, was the first to speak. “Where is she?”

TAG: @Darth Kain, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Undying Master Xiannarr

Darth Kain

Legendary Member
Dark Council

IC: Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars (Combo w/ @Drakul_Xarxes and @Arach)
Cargo Hold, The Tsushima


Far off, Xarxes still faced Kain, but now Lord Vaer stood where he was most needed. “No, Kain. Many things are very, very, wrong.” He extended his mind to the others in the cargo hold, most especially Voidwalker, who seemed concentrated and terrified all at once.

Act quickly, Vaer, he spoke through the mental link. Time is of the essence.

Arach stopped in surprise upon seeing Kain standing in the room she and Xarxes just entered. “Kain?” she asked, her brain taking a moment to process what it was seeing. Relief and a glimmer of hope replaced her surprise.

Perhaps, he could help? She was about to respond, but hesitated a little as she began to remember the last time she and Kain had met, as well as the images he had projected. I can only ask.

She waited a beat to see if Xarxes would continue and when he didn’t, she responded, “That’s an oversimplification.” Arach locked her gaze onto Kain. “I don’t know what Xarxes has gone through, but Voidwalker is in deep trouble. Vaer, a Councilor, stabbed him with a special blade that summons these demons. They’ll torture him for eternity. Vaer was sent to sacrifice someone else in his place, but I fear…” she trailed off before shooting a quick glance toward Xarxes. She thought better of voicing her doubts about Vaer in front of his former master. Instead, she cleared her throat and returned her gaze to Kain. Arach stretched out with her senses to find Voidwalker. “If there is anything you can do, please help him. I’ll be in your debt.”

"Voidwalker is in danger,"
Kain repeated. How had he not sensed it before? Had he simply not cared enough to keep track of his Champion's progress? No. Voidwalker was not a pawn to be used and discarded. There had simply been too many things occurring at once; Kain's mortal upbringing acted as both an anchor to goodness and an obstacle to his view of all the galaxy. Then again, while he wished himself omniscient, none of his kin had ever claimed such an ability, and he certainly would not either.

His eyes fell on Lord Xarxes, narrowing. "You should have turned that cursed blade on Vaer himself. It's the least he deserves."

Xarxes felt the words of the Beloved King pierce his essence, a call to truth that he had too long ignored. “Perhaps,” he said, voice tinged with morose lament, “you are right, Kain. But I have chosen the path of compassion. My apprentice will receive his final warning, when this is finished, and you will not interfere. There is no reason for us to allow any ally to die without due cause. We need all we can get.”

Vanity stirred within Kain, prodding his need for vengeance like a fire poker in the hearth. "What goodness do you sense in him? What is there that could redeem him, Xarxes?"

“How do you not see it, Kain? He was raised like a caged animal, and apart from myself, whom he has never attempted to wrong, all others have treated him as a savage. Can you not see that this is a product of nurture, of which numerous members of this Order, Lady Kolasi included, have stoked in him?”
Xarxes was livid, the fatherly instincts within him unfurling the truth of his feelings towards Vaer.

"I do not see it," Kain snarled, "because all I can see is the man responsible for my wife's death." A father's rage warred with a husband's. Neither seemed willing to yield. "I will give him this one chance to redeem himself. It is not something that I owe him, but that I owe you. Yet if he squanders that chance, I will not hesitate to force upon him the suffering of all his victims, Abaddon most of all."

Xarxes suppressed his emotions once more, covering them to allow his faculty of reason to surface. The revelation that, at least in Kain’s eyes, Vaer was responsible for Abaddon’s death was shocking, but he could not allow his feelings to cloud his judgment.

“I understand, Kain. And I would expect no less, especially if you speak the truth. There is much to be discussed when we are no longer here, but this ship is unsafe. When Voidwalker’s life is spared, we must hasten to save the lives of all on this vessel.”

"I can agree to that."

Kain's eyes fell on Arach now. He could sense her hatred for Vaer, the very same that he shared, and that Kolasi shared. His attempts to enlist assassins against Vaer would cease for now. But if the weasel dared to escape after failing in his path to redemption, Kain suspected that he'd have yet another powerful ally ready to hunt the fiend down.

"Arach. Your husband is not far. Defend him for as long as you can. I will draw the attention of the demon in charge of this cursed entourage."

It had taken effort to remain still and quiet as Kain and Xarxes conversed, with her fear and worry clawing at her heart. As she listened, she felt a spark of sympathy for the Beloved King and a renewed hatred for Vaer. However, now was not the time to express any of this. For now, the assassin focused on her new orders. “Gladly,” she responded.

Arach dipped her head in a bow before quickly turning and heading for the other exit. She reached out to her husband. Hold on, my love. I’m on my way.

TAGS: @Drakul_Xarxes, @Arach

OOC: I will consider Arach’s telepathic message to Voidwalker as an automatic success.


IC: Eva
Underground Abode, Verdanth


It should have been impossible. That flickered through Catalyst’s mind, some unforeseen whisper that he only heard at the last possible moment. Each attempt at invoking the Force within the claustrophobic depths of this accursed cave had propelled them through the chasms of time, either ahead or behind. Yet, as Catalyst delved into the Force itself, his mind penetrating the very cells of Nephthys—his aim to cripple her connection to the dark side—something strange occurred. He remained rooted in the here and now, perhaps owed to his proximity to the alleged epicenter of this insidious chronomancy. Or maybe it was because he attacked the source at its very core. It was neither here nor there.

Because he’d done it.

From his perspective, it required nothing more than unwavering concentration and a casual wave of his hand. For Nephthys, however, every cell in her form blazed with searing pain. Her attempts at meditation crumbled as she collapsed upon the wooden floor, her body convulsing as if coursing with a malevolent electric current. Her screams tore through the air, a cacophony of agony as her very essence pleaded for escape from the inexorable terror that ensnared her. In her torment, she reached out a trembling hand, a desperate attempt to ward off her assailants with the same effortless mastery of the Force she had wielded over the ages.

Yet, nothing came. The Force had forsaken her. As she lay there, gripped by the dread of her sudden isolation from the cosmic web, time knitted itself back together. It unraveled and surged, akin to the relentless undertow of a maelstrom, swirling and swirling until all irregularity was purged from this small patch of reality. Her eyes settled upon the lifeless figure of her concubine, a man she had slain only moments prior to the onset of this temporal anomaly, a penalty for his ultimate disobedience. The corpse retained the freshness it had possessed mere seconds before the time curse, with the metallic scent of blood overpowering the fetid grasp of decay.

Eva descended from the attic, her gaze fixated on the scene as she observed it through a crack in the ceiling. Her lightsaber hummed to life, her confidence in vanquishing the True Sith's power eclipsed by profound trepidation. Beyond the walls, they could sense Nathemus exerting his will to force Nephthys' acolytes into submission, even as the fiends stood over the fresh corpses of stormtroopers.

"It ends now," Eva declared, her blade's tip pointed at the fallen Nephthys. "Surrender peacefully, and you will have a trial. That’s more than you ever afforded your enemies."

Nephthys struggled to rise, her movements unsteady as she found her knees. ”You!” she growled, staring daggers at the young Jedi. “This is all his fault!”


“Your damned father, you wretch!”

Eva's knuckles whitened around her lightsaber. “What did he do?”

"He tampered with time to locate me, and how does the universe respond? It punishes me for his transgression!"

The much younger woman didn't seem remotely taken aback. Kain had always been on the hunt for ever darker means to gain an edge over his foes, even before his death. Now, having returned, he seemed relentlessly determined to escalate those malevolent efforts at any cost. “Seems like the curse is broken.”

The True Sith’s eyes flitted toward Catalyst. “I suppose I have you to thank for that, Blackwing.

She could smell it on him, even all these years later; the sweet rot of Mnggal-Mnggal’s stench would never leave Catalyst, not to someone as attuned as her.

“But you’re too late. Your Beloved King has failed. The True Sith may not rule the galaxy as we were promised, but our masters will take our place.”

Eva drew nearer, her lightsaber's golden blade sizzling threateningly. “Typhojem is dead. You have no master.”

Nephthys smiled. “That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.”

Without warning, the Force fell upon the minds of Eva, Catalyst, Volacius, and Nathemus like a rush of boiling magma. It poured into their skulls, melting their thoughts into a congealed sea of terror and pain. It was a warning, a terrible cry that echoed across the stars. Nephthys could no longer feel such sensitivity to the Force’s calls, but she could see the pain in their eyes all the same. She smiled.

It was time.

TAGS: @Catalyst, @Volacius, @Darth Nathemus

OOC: Catalyst’s use of Midichlorian Manipulation rolls 14 + 21 + 10, matching Nephthys’ DC and succeeding. This particular use of Midichlorian Manipulation (destroying midichlorians) will have a unique set of rolls to determine its effectiveness. I will roll 5d20, with the totaled results being the percentage of midichlorians that are destroyed.

Thus, it rolls 11 + 20 + 12 + 15 + 13, totaling 71 and dropping Nephthys’ midichlorian count all the way to 29% of its original total (roughly around 5,000). I will construe this as her having enough midichlorians to survive, but not quite enough to effectively call on the Force.


IC: No One

Flight Lounge, The Tsushima

Too focused on saving his sister to notice the disappearance of the Hunter Necromorph and the threat it presented, Voxyn devoted all of his concentration to manipulating the dark side once again. At this rate, someone was going to mistake him for some cleric of darkness rather than a man of science. But that did not truly matter in the end.

It worked. The hemorrhaging came to an abrupt halt, with the damaged veins, arteries, and surviving organs miraculously mending. Those lost organs, like parts of her intestines and her liver, began to regenerate within her, manipulated by the dark side to replicate the lost tissue as closely as possible. The repairs were far from complete, and she would certainly require some level of cybernetics in order to function properly. But she would survive this accursed ship. It was not her time yet.

As brother tended to sister, their ears caught the distant cadence of bootsteps on the floor. These footsteps did not approach the flight lounge. Instead, they paused just short of their location, directed toward the fractured hangar from which they had entered. It might have been the prudent choice, leaving the Tsushima behind as a grim memory among a sea of grim memories.

Meanwhile, the woman to whom those boots belonged would sense a peculiar tingling at the base of her skull. A voice, one Kolasi knew all too well, whispered, “I saved him. He’ll be home soo--”

The voice disappeared as suddenly as it came, and worse, the presence of the man it belonged to also disappeared from Kolasi’s senses. Mavros would sense it too, now that he had been entrusted by Kain. Something had happened to the Beloved King of the Stars.

And something worse followed.

Agony bore into the minds of all. Kolasi, Mavros, Voxyn, Vitani. Even the distant Khatt Douw would feel the sheer horror of the unknown pressing upon the inner folds of their brains. The Force was crying in terror at some unforeseen crime against itself, and all that felt its presence would feel its torment.

TAGS: @skira, @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Voxyn, @Jen’nu

OOC: Voxyn’s use of Dark Side Healing rolls 15 + 18 + 5 + 10, succeeding. 4d6 of Healing is rolled for, rolling 4 + 5 + 3 + 6. I will construe this as being a successful enough healing that Vitani loses the External Bleeding effect, and she has her HP replenished to 20.


IC: Helvara



This had been her second mission in service to the Queen of Perpetual Night. The first was back on Nysis, only days after the Old One came to her and Bubonis after the masked outcast earned Kain’s blade from Darth Abaddon. Funny. They first thought Thargorograht an enemy like any other, hoping to stop them in their efforts to bring back the Beloved King of the Stars. But not only had she supported their cause; she had ensured it. Without her, they never would have found the temple buried under the ecumenopolis of Nysis. Without her, they would have been fumbling in the dark for decades.

It was a shame that Kain’s True Form had broken Bubonis, and an even greater shame that Hesper’s lackeys had killed him. He would have been proud to have seen her today, she thought. The army of Thargorograht grew stronger with each passing day, and with their sheer numbers, they would be able to hold back the tide. They would inherit the galaxy. It was their calling.

Something broke Helvara from her reverie like a blade wedging between her ribs. An invisible sledgehammer crushed her guts. An unseen claw tore into her lung. An unmistakable fist struck against her heart. She collapsed to her knees, wheezing and coughing blood onto the ground in splats of black and crimson.

Her golden, hate-filled eyes found the sky, and the ship that burrowed through it. The cruiser that belonged to Darth Makaria, turning away from Nytocrises as a fuzzy afterimage flickered beside it. Every ounce of her mangled body screamed for vengeance. Were she powerful enough, she would have ripped that bloody starship from the sky, driving it to the ground in a display of might and fire.

But the voice of her Queen whispered in her mind. No, there would be no recourse. Lady Makaria would be one of their greatest allies. There was no place for violence against her.

Helvara settled her hatred upon the two apprentices who had dared to attack her before their submission to the symbiotes. She stomped upon their severed hands, feeling the bones splinter beneath her feet with wet crunches. They would be her greatest lieutenants in the coming war, penance for their crimes. They would grow powerful in their service to the Queen of Perpetual Night, and the moment that Thargorograht no longer needed them, Helvara would happily see their pitiful lives snuffed out.

This was their fate.

And as Makaria abandoned them to that fate, wisely choosing to fight another day, she felt a needle drive into each of her temples. It was cruel agony, a pain not felt since the horrors of the True Sith War. It was a cry of desperation, the Force’s lone warning of a darkness once encroaching, now here.

TAGS: @Dark Lady Makaria, @Sharkish’Ki, @Mardinga

OOC: Makaria’s use of Force Wound on Helvara rolls 16 + 16 + 5 + 10, succeeding. 4d6 of Blunt Damage is rolled for, rolling 3 + 2 + 5 + 2. Helvara’s HP is reduced to 18.

Makaria’s subsequent usage of Sith Illusions to create a duplicate cruiser for any potential enemies to follow rolls 5 + 16 + 5, failing. At most, she creates a fuzzy image that flickers for a moment before dying entirely.


IC: Apollo and Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars

Citadel of Fire, Hastur

The boy sat upon the cold table as the droid did its work. The droid itself was a bulky thing, hundreds of individual parts rotating and whirring as it commenced its scans and diagnosed symptoms. Its faceplate was not so personable as T1-FA’s, instead little more than flat, gray steel and a panel of three blinking lights. But what the droid lacked in personality, it more than made up for in effectiveness. The three lights on its face flashed green, signaling that its scans were complete.

Droid spoke to droid, the bulky one saying, “I detect no known pathogens. His heart rate is 122 beats per minute, faster than it should be. His blood pressure is 115 over 85, also too high. His adrenal gland is unusually active, and is causing damage. My diagnosis is that he must relax himself. I leave that to you.”

T1-FA gave a nod. “Thank you, doctor.”

As the medical droid rolled away, tending to its other duties, Apollo still sat there on the table. He looked to be suppressing the urge to vomit.

“Perhaps you will feel better if you take a nap, Apollo,” said the nurse droid. “Your bed is mighty comfortable, I must say.”

He ignored the unlikelihood that a droid could even begin to understand what was comfortable. Instead, Apollo looked over toward Brooke and Keldro, who were obviously discussing the explosion at the hangar. His heart began to settle, and the vile enigma coursing through his veins seemed to grow distant, as he reminded himself how lucky they were to have survived. “I think I’ll be okay,” he said. “I want to talk to them.”

“Of course.”

The boy stepped off of the table, crossing the room and approaching the pair that had taken part in saving his life.

Meanwhile, in the hangar, Kain gave a curt bow to D-3PO, then to K’win, and last to Zo. As the protocol droid began to speak with Samael, Zo was quick to question where Brooke was. It did not take the Force to sense that even after their mission to save Brooke all those years ago, Zo did not trust him. Or perhaps she once had, and that trust had eroded the moment he came back from the dead.

“She is in the medical bay with my son. One of her friends, a Jedi, came to check on her.” His face grew a tad bit sour. “Unfortunately, I am afraid the astromech he brought along had been tampered with by our enemies. It caused the explosion of his starfighter.” He motioned to the debris, which a band of Hasturans were beginning to clear as best they could. “Thankfully, Brooke and my son seemed relatively unharmed, as was Samael here. The Jedi needed bacta, however, and I’m sure they’re checking up on him by now. We can go together. I know Brooke will be happy to see you all, in a manner of speaking.”

The Beloved King of the Stars extended his arm, motioning for the others to take their place beside him as they would traverse his citadel. This was what he wanted, in the end. His friends and allies all together so that he may be able to keep them from harm. Sure, he had taken unsavory means to get there, but he would endeavor to make up for those mistakes. His ploy with Samael and the Jedi had happened before the conclusion of his meeting with the Architects, and while it was certainly too egregious of a crime to admit to, it was one he would never repeat.

Samael provided an intriguing curiosity, now that Kain was given a brief moment to think. It seemed that Samael had not been with the Jedi Order long enough to learn the true nature of the Force. Balance /was/ the light, as much as Kain had tried to ignore such a lesson for much of his life. The darkness was nothing more than selfishness made manifest, for it was any attempt to change the natural order of the universe to sate your own desires. Whether those desires were beneficial to others or not was irrelevant. If you manipulated the cosmic energy of the universe to your bidding, you were making it your tool rather than your ally. The Jedi may have been foolishly dogmatic, and often misunderstood their own grasp on the light side, but they were far closer to the truth than the Sith ever were.

There was no middle ground. As a mortal, you either use the Force as an ally or as a tool. The more you did of the latter, the more the Force would take from you in repayment. Your looks, your youth, your mind. All were forfeit in the end. That would have to be the first lesson Kain would teach the Devaronian, before they moved onto the pyromantic arts that Samael no doubt desired.

As Kain was about to mention that the lightsaber in Samael’s possession was Keldro’s, and that Samael must have picked it up at some point in the aftermath of the explosion, another of his Phantoms suffered a fate that would affect them all.

He vanished.

And with a terrible wail, the Force lamented in torment. It pierced through the minds of Apollo, of Samael, of Keldro, and of Brooke most of all. Something foul had just been unleashed upon the galaxy, an evil that would come for them all.

TAGS: @Catalyst, @Undying Master Xiannarr, @Hadzuska_The Jester


IC: Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars

The Howling Hawkbat, Nar Shaddaa

His eyes blinked rapidly as he took in the Jedi’s words. His jaw clenched. His tongue rolled within his mouth, eager to spill words just as well as blood. This was his one chance. The way to end this war without sacrificing his only begotten son. His only chance!

What is the worth of a single life? It was a question he had pondered for much of his existence.

The only life that matters is mine. He once thought that, back before he had anyone else to care for. Before Abaddon, before Eva, before Apollo. It was a selfish life he lived, and barely a life at all. It was the furthest thing from the correct answer.

It depends on the life. That had been an answer he’d been satisfied with since then. His family’s lives had been worth far more to him than those of the New Sith Order, and even more still than the remainder of the galaxy. Such a foolish notion. There were trillions of well-loved wives, well-loved daughters, well-loved sons. Why were his any more important?

Because they are mine.

No. They were not his. He did not own them. That had been the fatal mistake of Anakin Skywalker, the man who fumbled the single greatest destiny of any mortal in the universe. His attachment became ownership. Love became a chain, one that he unwittingly wrapped around the neck of his own wife.

Each life is of infinite value, and merits sacrificing everything for.

Yes, that was the truth of it. Apollo was worth just as much as anyone else, and every one was worth everything. Whatever he did to end this war against the darkness must mitigate the loss of mortal life. That was what was required of him. That was his burden as the Spawn of Vanity, the Seed of Chaos. If he were to right the wrongs of the past, he would have to sacrifice the least in order to save the most. Even if that least meant the most in all the galaxy to him.

Kain leaned against the bloody table that the summit had surrounded what felt like ages ago. His breaths were slow and measured, and his eyes had grown hard with determination. “I understand, Master Jedi. I know what I must do, then.”

His eyes found the ceiling. Welling tears streamed past his cheeks, dropping and sizzling through the durasteel like acid. “I can sense that you know of my son’s capabilities, the plague that runs rampant through his blood. A cruel trick by a demon filled with nothing but malice and hatred for all that breathes, crawls, and lives. It will destroy everything it touches. A scarlet rot that will eat the flesh of men and gods alike. It is the bane of flesh, the ender of all things. But it does not have to end us. I saw it in a vision, me abandoning my son in the far reaches of Dark Illathurion, leaving him and his plague to destroy our enemy in their fetid nests.

“I thought I could find another way. /Any/ other way that could let me raise my son not as a weapon, but as a man. To show him the joys of life so that he one day may find love like I did, so that he can find purpose beyond this tainted legacy we’ve inherited. But no other way will spare the lives of the innocent. Every tactic, every plan I stumble across requires sacrifice. Souls, blood, pain, death. Nothing comes freely. I am left with nothing but the certainty that my boy will never become a man. That he will die with our enemy in their home, alone, far from my reach. We will win. Skyriver will survive. But is it right? I don’t know anymore. I wish I did. I thought that by embracing the lessons of Wutzek, of Horliss-Horliss, of Elegast, that I could find peace in doing what is right, that I would /know/ what is right. But I am as blind as our enemy, enshrouded in darkness that I will never escape, scrambling to find the light.

“Has it abandoned me? Am I meant for nothing but pain? Is my family damned to… this?” He gestured to the corpses surrounding them, streams of crimson and viridian blood congealing in a sea of misery and despair. “Perhaps that is all I deserve for all that I have done.”

Suddenly, the presence that Cal Vastrom and Kei Durron had perceived as Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars, was gone. His Phantom warped out of existence with an unexpected pop, his image dissolving into nothing at all.

And then the Force began to scream.

TAGS: @Cardun Vrek, @Darth Nathemus


IC: Darth Vaer and Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars

Lower Deck, The Tsushima



King Avery and his men stood, weapons drawn, as they balanced between the desire to flee back to Onderon and the courage to stand in defense of Voidwalker, their kinsman. Darth Eschaton snarled in disdain as his quarry, the Unknown assassin, shrugged off the attempt to incapacitate him and smothered the nerve endings left screaming in agony after that reckless Bolt of Hatred. Voidwalker, so exhausted that he could barely stand, feebly attempted to sever the connection of the foul Hellpriestess that stood before him. And now Darth Vaer appeared out of thin air, warped by the saving grace of Drakul Xarxes, so that he may find a replacement victim for the soon-dead Champion of the Stars.

His eyes scanned the hall for potential targets. The Hellpriestess was immune to the curse of the configuration, not too unlike her Cenobite followers. Though they could be destroyed upon being marked, they could not take the place of a mortal. And neither fate would befall her. She would simply be amused, and then she would twist the configuration to strike at Vaer for so foolishly trying to break their blood-sealed pact.

Eschaton was a tempting subject. He had always hated the ragged-toothed fiend. But this was all being done in an effort to /please/ Xarxes, and sacrificing his Black Steward was certainly not going to do that.

There was this Unknown man slinking away toward the cargo hold, his mouth sewn shut and his presence in the Force entirely absent. That would have been the ideal target, a rational man’s choice.

But when Vaer’s eyes fell on King Avery of Onderon, the husband of the bitch that just tried to stop him, a predator’s instincts washed away all sense. He lunged toward the poor fool who had married Darth Kolasi, the blade of his Lacerant Configuration ready to spill royal blood. This would be a lesson for her. No one, not even a Triumvir of the Final Sith Order, shall dare stand between the Mind Thief and his prey.

But as he leaped, blade mere inches away from driving into Avery’s throat, a mere second before he would be gunned down by the blasters of the Onderonians, he froze in place. Hovering in the air, he spun. And with terror etched on his scarred face, he flew toward the man who had just saved King Avery’s life.

Kain’s hand wrapped around Vaer’s throat, squeezing with the force of a mudhorn and the intent of a killer. How easy it would be to snap his pathetic, mortal neck. How unsatisfyingly quick that would be. This was it. This was the justification he needed. Darth Vaer had just attempted to kill the husband of a Triumvir. Xarxes would have no choice but to let his rabid dog die. And Kain would do it. Slowly, painfully. Whatever eternal hatred that flowed through the Mind Thief’s veins would eventually die with him, eager to be free of the torment that the Dark Messiah would inflict.

Xarxes and Arach were in the hall now, left to watch with all the rest as Kain raised his other hand, ready to--

A sharp pain exploded in Kain’s ribs.

He looked down, down at the golden, bloody blade wedged in between his ribs, attached to the arm of Vaer. Kain’s arms grew weak. He dropped his victim to the floor, clutching the wound as the Hellpriestess turned from Voidwalker, her soulless eyes falling on him. All the universe narrowed to a single path, a dark corridor where only he and her resided. His blood spilled onto the floor, sizzling.

“This is a mere Phantom,” he wheezed. “Take it. I have dozens more to fulfill my destiny.”

The Hellpriestess smiled. “Why would I settle for that, when we are owed the whole of you?”

@Voidwalker, @Drakul_Xarxes, @skira, @Hadzuska_The Jester, @Arach

OOC: Voidwalker’s attempt to sever the Hellpriestess’ connection to the Force rolls a 5 + 21 + 10, failing to overcome her DC. His exhaustion is simply too much for him to combat such a powerful foe.

The Unknown’s use of Control Pain rolls a natural 20, succeeding. An Effect Modifier of 12 + 3 allows him to nullify most of the pain he’s suffering from as a result of Eschaton’s Bolt of Hatred.

His attempt to reapply his Conceal Essence, which was broken momentarily by being attacked, rolls 11 + 18 + 5. He successfully reapplies it, the Effect Modifier rolling 16 + 5 and fully concealing his presence in the Force.

Kain’s use of Telekinesis on Vaer rolls 13 + 25 + 10, succeeding. An Effect Modifier of 22 + 10 allows Kain full control over Vaer’s body, letting him stop Vaer dead in his tracks and drag him toward his awaiting grasp.

Vaer’s attack with the Lacerant Configuration rolls with advantage, since Kain is not expecting any recourse from the Mind Thief. He rolls a nat 20, successfully hitting Kain. 1d4 of Sharp Damage is rolled for, rolling a 3 and dropping Kain’s HP to 47. Kain has been marked by the Lacerant Configuration and will be pursued by the Cenobites.


IC: The Hellpriestess and Kain, the Beloved King of the Stars


He knelt there, before the decadent waters. The Font of Power and the Pool of Knowledge reflected the tear in the sky, the twisting, writhing energy that threatened to swallow whole all the universe. He was all that stood between them and Skyriver, here in this place. In this decrepit body, withered further and further by the agony he inflicted upon himself to make easier the battles of his allies.

His arms and legs had little to no meat separating the bone from the skin. His ribs protruded like knives, sharp enough to cut should anyone dare lay a hand upon his chest. Tentacles, sprawled and unorganized, spawned from his flesh like some maligned infection rather than the terrifying glory of his mother, the Beloved Queen of the Stars. His eyes of stars in black wells were dark, closed, as he concentrated on a dozen Phantoms, each a hand outstretched to the galaxy, each a portion of his will. Every use of his power, be it the unnatural ability of Force Travel to even the simplest of flames, drained him. The wisdom of the Architects had begun to unlock the fullness of his potential, but it was too little too late. The majority of his power was here on Vitae, holding closed a rip in the fabric of reality that no other could ever dare hold.

And then he felt a cold chill run down his protruding spine. Sharp, dark fingernails raked across his pallid skin. His eyes, flickering like dying stars, found the demons standing before him. The Hellpriestess was here, having left the broken /Tsushima/ behind. Her followers, the malformed malcontents known as Cenobites, encircled him. They blocked his view of the tear in the sky. The world grew dark around him.

“You will not hold me,” he rasped. “I am creation and destruction made manifest. You will all burn.”

The Hellpriestess did naught but look at him. Then, in a whisper, he heard the words.

“We look forward to it.”

Chains leaped from the ground, spawning from nothing. Hooks dug into his flesh, snapping through the bones. He could not even scream, his mouth of needles opening only for barbed tendrils to pull at the corners, holding open a pained smile. But worst of all was the cold. That was what made him realize it. His fire was running cold. And the last thing he saw before entering the realm of pain and lamentation, the home of the Cenobites and their cursed ways, was the sky splitting open.

The forces of Dark Illathurion poured forth like a geyser. First were Ooradryl and his brood, the maleficent cubes of hatred and hunger. All life upon the surface of Vitae, from the flora to the fauna, vanished within minutes, disappearing into the insatiable maws of the invaders. Then came the bloodthirsty Yevetha, the wicked Zanibar, the formidable Mairan, the terrifying Rozzum, and all the evils birthed from the machinations of the Old Ones. Every square inch of Kain’s home was utterly annihilated. His manor, worn from disrepair, was razed in a sea of fire. The defense systems in orbit, built to fight off any invading force from space, were not prepared for an assault from the ground. And even the grounds upon which Kain had been stolen from, the place where the Ones once drank from the Pool, the Font, and the Wellspring, was gone.

Vitae was no more. The first world of many.

TAGS: @everyone

OOC: This is the final GM update that you all will respond to. Get your last posts in and then I’ll write the epilogue and close out Judgment Day!

Hadzuska_The Jester

Well-known member
Dark Council
Small Combo with Brooke(@Catalyst ), and GM (@Darth Kain )

IC: Samael the Lightbringer
Location: Citadel of Fire, Hastur

The moment the Avatar of God disappeared, Samael went rigid. “No.” He said softly, his aura of flame dimmed drastically as the Force wailed in lamenting torment. A great and foul darkness had appeared just as the bright light that was Kain disappeared. He motioned to one of the guards in the hallway. “Summon the Leaders that are on Hastur to the Throne Room immediately. I’ll address them soon.” He ordered before leading the new guests to the Med Bay.

The first thing he noticed upon entering the was that the Jedi, Keldro was out of the Bacta Tank and was looking remarkably better than he did prior. Apollo was with him and Brooke. “Brooke…” He paused still in shock from the disappearance of the Avatar, and the Force crying out. “Will you please watch out for Apollo?” He shuddered. “With what’s going on currently, I feel he is safest under your care. Just please stay within the Citadel until things settle.” There was no ill intent in his voice, Samael sounded more frightened than anything. He just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.

Any response from Keldro fell upon deaf ears as Brooke brought her hands to her head. It was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out in shock. The Force was screaming in her mind, and though she could control herself from lashing out at the room around, she had to fight her mind from tearing itself apart. She knew part of this feeling: Kain was gone once more. This time, though, it was different. A new sensation replaced the bright fire that was the self-proclaimed Divine King. An inky darkness, weaving snakelike tendrils through the stars, reaching and grasping at every source of light it could extinguish, assaulted Brooke's vision. It took all of her strength and self control to keep it in her head, but her fear of causing more pain proved stronger than the primal terror that ravaged her mind.

The approach of her two best friends, accompanying the one Kain had called Samael, helped ground her in reality. Immediately, they could tell something was wrong, though the disappearance of Kain's apparition was enough evidence for them. Samael's next words only confirmed their shared worry. He addressed Brooke with a demeanor just short of compassion. His main concern was Apollo, something that Brooke echoed.

"We will take care of him," the blind seer spoke, still clutching her head. She shook away the sensation, though it still throbbed like the lingering aura of a migraine. Her gaze shifted to Apollo. The blackness of whatever replaced Kain was suspiciously similar to the affliction that shrouded Apollo's aura, though she could only surmise that whatever had causes Kain's cessation of existence was now trying to work its way to his next of kin. "Without Kain, though, is Hastur the safest place for him?" Her mind wandered briefly to the horrors that had attacked them on Tython, and then further to the attacks she had suffered over the many years before Kain had found her. Was anywhere safe?

Samael nodded to Brooke out of habit. “Thank you, and I understand your doubts. Right now the safest place for him is within the Citadel for the next few days. After that you may take him where you wish. With his disappearance I just want to make sure you aren’t attacked if you decide to leave. Apollo’s safety is what his Father wanted, and I’ll make sure it’s what he gets.” He paused for a moment. “I do apologize but I have people waiting for me now. It’s time to make sure things are secure. If you require any assistance, you can find me in the Throne Room.” Turning to leave he addressed the newcomers. “I’m sorry this isn’t a better time. I would have liked to talk properly. My directions are for you as well, do not leave until things are safer. My priority is to make sure the Citadel is safe first. Once it is, I’ll make sure you have a way to leave if you desire.

He didn’t wait for any more responses, he quickly rushed to the Throne Room. Throughout this time, his aura of flame had been weak, but now he needed the strength of God to guide him for what was next. In his mind, and soul he heard a song of lamenting, but more so it led into hope and faith deep in his heart.

Shadows fall
And hope has fled
Steel your heart
The dawn will come

The night is long
And the path is dark
Look to the sky
For one day soon

The dawn will come

Samael’s eyes watered with tears. The flames surrounding him, normally a bright vibrant orange, were a deep shade of purple.

The Shepherd's lost
And his home is far
Keep to the stars
The dawn will come

The night is long
And the path is dark
Look to the sky
For one day soon

The dawn will come

At this point, he looked up, the tears in his eyes growing, but so was the heat from his aura causing them to evaporate before they could even fall down his face.

Bare your blade
And raise it high
Stand your ground
The dawn will come

The night is long
And the path is dark
Look to the sky
For one day soon

The dawn will come

Samael wiped what little tears that were left in his eyes away, his aura seemingly renewed in power. Maybe even brighter, and hotter than it had been before. God was with him. God would guide him. God’s Avatar would not be gone forever. He would find him. He will keep everyone safe. And anyone that will try to get in the way will BURN!

He pushed open the doors to the Throne Room, he was burning bright for all there to see. He passed them without a second thought and stood in front of the Flaming Throne itself. “Make no mistake, it was not your King that summoned you here, it was me. Your King is gone, but not forever. Until his return, you will come to me. I will see to your continual growth and prosperity. No, I will not claim his title. You may consider me, more as a Regent. But his Commands. His Orders. I will see to it that everything is done as he desired. AND I WILL BRING HIM HOME!

The Hasturan warriors that had arrived were not many in number, largely consisting of the greater lieutenants that had been available at the time. They exchanged confused glances with one another, grunting in their infernal language as they processed the words of the interloper.

Some wished him dead. Some wished him gone. But one made the most valuable point among them all. This alien was a pet project of their Beloved King, and upon Kain's inevitable return, he would not be pleased to learn that the boy had perished. Pandora would return soon, and she would see to the affairs of the kingdom until their king came home.

Fists found chests as they acknowledged Samael's efforts to maintain some level of stability. There would be limits to his power until the true leaders returned, but he would have his chance as the Regent they'd follow.

Samael internally sighed in relief at the acknowledgment. He had no idea if they would accept it or not. “Thank you for your time, trust, and cooperation. I will not let you down. You may return to your duties.

As they left, Samael turned towards the flaming throne and approached it. He was tempted. Oh was he sorely tempted. This throne would one day be his. He could feel it. But alas, the Avatar of God still had their claim to it, even if he was missing. He’ll return, I have to believe he will return. It’s not mine yet. And with that confirmation to himself, he sat down in front of it, listening to the crackling of the flames. He needed God’s guidance now more than ever. That dark feeling from earlier was reminding him of the past, and his primal side seemed to be waking. They will burn. My enemies will burn. The Darkness will see the Light as it BURNS!!!

TAG: @Undying Master Xiannarr @Catalyst @Darth Kain
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Cardun Vrek

Legendary Member
Jedi Council
IC: Cal Vastrom
The Howling Hawkbat, Nar Shaddaa

“I understand, Master Jedi. I know what I must do, then.”

The words made Cal turn on the spot. He had expected Kain to argue, to appeal to Cal to try to think less like a Jedi, and more like the *other* Cal that had finally reawakened after a decade of peace. Kain seemed resigned…no, in actual fact, he looked defeated.

He was even crying, though his tears burned like they had just come from a boiling pot on a stove. Cal felt…pity. He even instinctively reached out a hand to comfort the so-called King of the Stars, but stopped himself. Kain, deliberately looking up at the ceiling, did not seem to notice. The weeping King began to speak, and Cal listened.

“I can sense that you know of my son’s capabilities, the plague that runs rampant through his blood. A cruel trick by a demon filled with nothing but malice and hatred for all that breathes, crawls, and lives. It will destroy everything it touches. A scarlet rot that will eat the flesh of men and gods alike. It is the bane of flesh, the ender of all things. But it does not have to end us. I saw it in a vision, me abandoning my son in the far reaches of Dark Illathurion, leaving him and his plague to destroy our enemy in their fetid nests.” Kain began, and Cal felt the pieces of a puzzle falling into place in his mind.

That’s why Eva took the boy away…she wanted to save him.

But it was more than that. Something had wanted Cal to kill Apollo, back on that shuttle. He had meditated on that dream, or vision, ever since, but had found no meaning. But now…what if something had invaded his mind, when he was already in a weakened state, and showed him that vision so Cal would kill Apollo, and thus, the vision Kain spoke of would never come to pass.

And maybe Eva was tricked too…and Hesper, when she sent the assassins. Someone has been playing us.

Cal continued to listen to Kain, his mind working to finish the puzzle as he did.

“I thought I could find another way. /Any/ other way that could let me raise my son not as a weapon, but as a man. To show him the joys of life so that he one day may find love like I did, so that he can find purpose beyond this tainted legacy we’ve inherited. But no other way will spare the lives of the innocent. Every tactic, every plan I stumble across requires sacrifice. Souls, blood, pain, death. Nothing comes freely. I am left with nothing but the certainty that my boy will never become a man. That he will die with our enemy in their home, alone, far from my reach. We will win. Skyriver will survive. But is it right? I don’t know anymore. I wish I did. I thought that by embracing the lessons of Wutzek, of Horliss-Horliss, of Elegast, that I could find peace in doing what is right, that I would /know/ what is right. But I am as blind as our enemy, enshrouded in darkness that I will never escape, scrambling to find the light. “Has it abandoned me? Am I meant for nothing but pain? Is my family damned to… this?” He gestured to the bloodied bodies that lay on the floor, Master Temm’s amongst them. “Perhaps that is all I deserve for all that I have done.”

He wanted to save his son…just like any father would.

Cal opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to convey to Kain how sorry he was about his plight, but just when he found the words, Kain vanished. Cal jumped back, startled, and almost grabbed his lightsaber, but stopped. He turned to Grandmaster Durron.

“What do you think-ARGHHH!”
A wave crashed against Cal’s skull. He fell to his knees, unable to stand against the sudden onslaught. The Force…was screaming. It reverberated through his entire being. He felt sick, and a sudden wave of shock, and above all else…fear.

Because Cal Vastrom had felt this before.

The day his Homeworld had died. And as he knelt on the floor of the blood strewn back room of the Howling Hawkbat, he was drawn back to that day.

He had been on a Federation warship, part of a reserve fleet holding position near Fondor. They had received intelligence that the various factions of Sith were gathering en masse on Korriban, and that all forces were to hold position and await orders. Command had been concerned it was false info, and a cover for a renewed, united offensive. Coruscant was already a warzone, and Cal had been talking to his father over via hologram when it happened.

“They have us in shelters now in the lower city. The Sith forces are pressing hard. Colonel Vrimm gives us a day, maybe more, before we’re forced underground into the lower city for good.” His father had been saying.

“Dad, I told you I could’ve gotten you and Mother off-world on an evac shuttle. You were in a senior governmental role, they would have-” Cal had started to argue, but his father cut him off.

“Cal, I’m an old man. And your mother isn’t getting any younger either. We both agreed we weren’t depriving someone younger of a seat on a transport. And besides, Coruscant is my home. I was born here, and damn it, I’ll die here too. I didn’t let Krayt and his lot force me out, and I say to these new Sith to come and try to take me. I still have my old rifle. I’ll take a few of those bastards with me.
” Cal’s father had answered defiantly.

Cal had nodded, unable to hide the sense of pride that had washed over him at the bravery of his father. But then, his father’s expression had changed, from defiance, to confusion, and then to concern.

“Dad, what’s happening? I can hear screaming. Did the Sith break through the defences?” Cal had asked, in a slight panic.

“No…it’s something-” Those had been the last words his father had ever said. Just like now, Cal had feltl a wave crash into him that forced him to his knees. He felt the terror of trillions, their voices crying out in fear and then…silence.

But that had been Typhojem.

Whatever it was that was causing this now, they had the same level of destructive power.

Cal pulled himself to his feet, and looked over towards the Grandmaster.

“Did you feel that? It was like…like when Coruscant…died.” Cal said, a solitary tear trickling down his face as he remembered his final words with his father.

The Grandmaster of the Jedi Order was found leaning on the door frame, his white hair and beard hanging low like waterfalls of silver. The sky outside seemed darker than it had been before, though the Force did not warn them of a danger present here, on this world. No, it was another that had suffered some cruel fate. The first of a series of horrors that would be inflicted upon all the galaxy.

"The war never ended," Durron murmured, struggling to stand straight and pull his hair back. "We were simply afforded an armistice. One that we wasted."

“At the very least, we should return to Tython. The Council-“ Cal stopped. Could they even trust the council?

“You and the council will need to decide what to do next. Once you can be sure none of them are shadow beings.” Cal finished. “Come, we should return to the ship…and return Master Temm’s body too. Whatever he was at the end, he deserves a proper funeral.”

"Of course. Yes, of course."

His hand clasped onto Cal's shoulder. "We will have much to discuss, Councillor Vastrom."

“Um…what?” Cal asked, slightly stunned at the Grandmaster’s words, certain he had misheard.

“I…Councillor…” Cal hesitated. He didn’t know what to say.

“You think I’m worthy enough to serve on the council?” Cal asked after a long pause. He certainly didn’t think he was. Not after the war. Not after almost losing himself.

"Right now, you are the only Jedi in all the galaxy that I know I can trust implicitly," said Durron. "Despite any conflict that may have resided in your heart, you denied Kain's offer of an easy path to victory, for you held the wisdom to realize that such a price is too high, no matter the outcome. I ask not that you are free of those dark wants, for that is something every Jedi must conquer. But you deny those wants all the same."

He smiled. "You are worthy."

“I…suppose I will have to trust your judgement, Grandmaster.” Cal replied, allowing himself to chuckle a little.

“We still need to get back to Tython, then. We can test the rest of the council, and then…then, I suppose, we try to save the Galaxy. Again.”

TAG: @Darth Kain


Well-known member
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
IC: Darth Drakul Xarxes
The Antechamber, The Tsushima


The deluge of terror in the Force was palpable for those deeply attuned. It was akin to a feeling Xarxes had only felt once before those many years ago on Korriban. In an instant, he forgot about Arach standing beside him and rushed into the next room as the Phantom of Kain dissipated.

There, he saw it: the fading form of Kain holding aloft the body of his apprentice, a bladed gauntlet sunk into the Beloved King’s side—the Lacerant Configuration, its curse turned against another. Vaer dropped to the ground as his assailant disappeared. Nearby, he heard Voidwalker breathe a sigh of relief. He was free. But Kain was gone. The trade was hardly fair.

Xarxes was stunned for a moment, attempting to process the metaphysical blade sinking into his own abdomen. The command of the Architects rang through his mind, blotting out all other thoughts. All of this, everything that he strove for, could have been lost by Vaer’s act just now. The best shot at facing the monstrous Old Ones, gone. The lives of everyone in the galaxy, Hesper, Voidwalker, those on his own planet and from beyond his reach…


Alcina was at risk. Xarxes knew now what it meant to Kain that Vaer had caused his wife’s death. The possibility of her loss was too palpable to him, unbearable to stand with, and his own promise echoed in his head.

Vaer had squandered that chance of mercy. There would be no more chances.

As the Kage crumpled to his knees, Xarxes spared him nothing. A telekinetic grip wrenched him from his stoop and propelled him forward, straight into the connecting fist Drakul Xarxes. The flesh of Vaer’s face exploded, flecks of blood and particles of flesh decorating the armor of his attacker. The barrage did not stop there, as blow after blow turned Vaer unrecognizable. Bone shone through what little flesh remained in a matter of moments, the ferocity of Xarxes’ strikes previously unmatched.


Another strike. A spray of red mist.


Yet another. A sickening crunch.


A final resounded blow. The red mist in Xarxes’ eyes dissipated, replaced by a deluge of tears as he looked at the twitching form of his former apprentice in a pool of his own blood. His face bore no resemblance to the man he had known. Bits of tissue hung from a cracked skull, a dislocated jaw with no more teeth. A limply flopping tongue dangled out of the corner of his mouth. His eyelids had been torn open, preventing him from looking away. All that Vaer could do was twitch and groan without discernibility. But he clung to life, the last vestiges of his undying hatred keeping him away from sinking into Chaos.

Xarxes stood, motioning to Darth Arach. “Leave us, Arach. Now. I must finish what I started. You too, Jorah. This is between myself and the boy.” Darth Eschaton nodded his obtrusive head, a black tongue licking across cracked and yellowed teeth. Within moments, the room was vacant save for Master and Apprentice.

He took he in his hand his sword from its sheath, its cold blade alien even in this dark vessel. In holding it, Xarxes found some small measure of solace, a glimpse of his own sense of orderliness and composure even in the tumult of his misery. His voice, deep and resonant, broke the silence, filled with anger, disappointment, and a hint of sorrow.

Ah, Vaer... my apprentice, my prodigy. Look at what your hubris has wrought. In your quest for power, for glory, you have torn asunder the very fabric of our purpose. Did you truly believe your actions would go unnoticed? Unpunished?

He paced slowly, his boots echoing in the fleshy chamber. Each step reverberated with the weight of his words.

You knew, Vaer. You knew the importance of Kain. A key to a lock you never understood. The Architects entrusted me, us, with the guardianship of a balance far greater than our personal conquests and ambitions. And chose to throw it all into the abyss, blinded by your own short-sighted desires.

Silence. He stopped pacing, his back turned on the near-corpse as he fought the lump in his throat. Then his expression hardened and he turned, his gaze fixed on Vaer, eyes blazing with a dark fire.

What pains me, Vaer, is not merely your betrayal. It's not just the disruption of cosmic plans, of destinies intertwined with the fabric of the galaxy itself. No. What grieves the core of my being is the loss... the loss of what you were meant to become. You were like a son to me, Vaer! More than an apprentice – a legacy, a continuation of a vision far beyond the mundane squabbles for power and revenge.

He knelt beside the Kage, his voice softening as his face drew closer to Vaer’s, overladen with a sorrowful intensity.
In your eyes, I saw a future where the might of the Sith could be more than oppression and fear. A force to guide, to shape, to lead into an era of new strength. But that... that was a dream, a figment of a hope now as broken as your body before me.

He removed the faceplate of his helm, revealing the face of bitter sorrow superimposed on a cold, angelic visage. He stood, turning from Vaer once more.

Now, I stand at a precipice, Vaer. The choice seems clear, yet it's entangled in the complexities of what was once a bond deeper than the chasms of Korriban,” His voice was clear, the Dark Lord once more in control. “To let you live would be a folly, risking further unraveling of a tapestry too fragile, too crucial. Yet, to extinguish your life is to admit a defeat of my own... a failure in shaping you, in guiding you away from this... this abhorrent lapse.

Your fate, apprentice, is a mirror to my own shortcomings. But it is a mirror I must shatter to salvage what fragments remain of a grander scheme. Know this, as you gaze into the void you've so foolishly embraced: you were loved, you were valued. And it is with a heavy heart, burdened by a duty greater than us both, that I must do what is necessary."

He turned back, raising his free hand. Holy light crackled from it, bathing the room around him and forcing the fleshy bits remaining to recoil at its brightness. The power of Force Light was a truly incredible sight, signaling that Xarxes’ choice now was not only final, but was made by the most detached, painful orderliness he could muster.

For the greater good, for the future that must still be secured, I bid you... farewell, Vaer.

The golden light intensified, enveloping Vaer, as Xarxes closed his eyes, a single tear escaping down his cheek. The chamber filled with a blinding light and a thunderous roar, echoing the agony of a Sith Lord torn between duty and affection, as the figure of Vaer was evaporated into ash by the purity permeating his darkness.

And Xarxes wept.


The Corridor, The Tsushima
Moments Later…


Darth Eschaton bowed his head as his lord reappeared in the hallway above the cargo hold, back to where he had first met on the Tsushima. “Are you alright, my Lord? You seem under duress.” Despite being blind, Eschaton took careful note of the lightsaber and Lacerant Configuration that Xarxes now held.

Do not mention him, Jorah. It is not your place.” His voice was monotone, but Eschaton could still sense the anger within him.

Of course, my Lord. A Sith vessel awaits us outside. Perhaps you would care to travel there via escape pod?

There is no time, Jorah. I will travel there as I often do. I–

Suddenly, Xarxes clutched his chest. In the midst of all the chaos of the past several minutes, the passionate cries ravaging his mind had intensified. He went to grab at the flask at his side, the blood to dilute the spirits that caused these occasional bouts.

The flask was gone. Lost in the commotion of the night.

He nearly doubled over, clutching at his head. He could barely hear Eschaton’s voice over the ringing, like a great bell, that plagued him. The pain was intense, and with it came a sense of unease growing within him, a serpent uncoiling in the pit of his stomach. The shadows cast by the flickering lights of the corridor seem to dance mockingly, as if privy to a dark secret that evades his grasp. Thoughts, once as disciplined and ordered as legions of soldiers, now marched in disarray, besieged by a growing suspicion.

His eyes went wide, pieces of a sinister puzzle beginning to fall into place. Memories of Darth Eschaton, once viewed through the lens of trust, now reassembled into a mosaic of deceit. Each interaction, each decision involving Eschaton, replayed in Xarxes’ mind with a venomous tinge. The subtle nudges in strategy, the advice during critical moments, the whispered insights – could all these have been orchestrated maneuvers in a grander scheme?

The Dark Lord’s fists clench as he recalls specific instances - moments of vulnerability when he relied on Eschaton’s counsel. Since he slew his mother, his life had changed for the better. Was his path to power, his very ascension within the Sith, not a testament to his strength, but a path carefully paved by the treachery of another? The thought was a poison, seeping into the very marrow of his bones.

Rage began to simmer, a fiery counter to the cold, creeping dread. How could he, Drakul Xarxes, a lord renowned for his perception and intelligence, have been blind to the machinations of this Shadow? Anger at himself for his obliviousness warred with fury towards his deceitful servant. His hand unconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword, a physical manifestation of his desire to unleash his wrath.

Yet beneath the anger, there’s an unnerving sense of vulnerability. If Eschaton has been an instrument of deceit, how deep did this treachery run? What other truths lay shrouded in lies? The foundations of his belief, his decisions, his very understanding of the Force – were they all tainted by this duplicity?

In the midst of this storm of emotions, a steely resolve begins to crystallize. Xarxes knew the path of a Sith is fraught with peril, betrayal, and deception. To falter now would be to admit defeat. He must reclaim control of his destiny. No matter how painful the truth, he must face it with the full might of his will.

With a deep, steadying breath, Xarxes rose to his full height. His silhouette stood firm and imposing against the backdrop of flickering shadows. The turmoil within coalesced into a singular, unwavering focus. He will not be a puppet in the shadows any longer. He would confront this deceit, tear it out root and stem, and emerge stronger. For he is Drakul Xarxes, and his will is his own.

Are you well, my Lord?

The Mqaaq’it whirled at the speaker, burrowing deep into his essence. Across from him loomed the shadowy form of Darth Eschaton, his imposing figure cloaked in darkness, his features obscured save for the disturbing visage of his mouth – lips cracked and bleeding, tongue dark as night, teeth stained yellow by corruption. What truly lay beneath that iron crown? What evil eyes, more venomous than his own, did the Black Steward bear?

Your deceptions are as a foul blight upon the Dark Side,” Xarxes spoke, his voice smooth and articulate, betraying a hint of the inner turmoil churning beneath his composed exterior. “What game do you play at, Eschaton?

Eschaton's laugh, dark and resonating, filled the room. “Oh, my noble lord, the game? 'Tis but a mere whisper in the grand symphony of chaos,” he replied, his voice a haunting melody of malice and eloquence.

As he spoke, Eschaton moved with a predatory grace, his iron gauntlets clinking softly. The dark crown hiding his eyes made his head tilts all the more disconcerting.

You are naught but an echo, a shadow," Xarxes countered, stepping closer, his third eye now opening to the horrible truth. “Reveal your true master, Phantom.

Eschaton halted, head tilting in mock curiosity. “So, the ‘All-Seeing Eye’ has finally unraveled the threads of truth. Yes, I am but a ghost, an emissary from the darkest depths of space. Yet, my influence is vast, shaping destinies and commanding the fates of many, including yours.

The revelation hit Xarxes like a physical blow. His breath caught, heart pounding against his chest. The room seemed to spin as he processed the magnitude of the betrayal.

You are a puppet master then, cloaked in secrecy. I demand the truth! Who controls you, who speaks through your twisted words?” Xarxes asked, regaining his composure, though his voice wavered with a mix of rage and disbelief.

Daritha Ptolemekh,” Eschaton hissed the name with reverence, “Lies behind this spectral facade. The True Sith, concealed within the Unknown Regions. A grand manipulator, he has steered you, mighty Xarxes, orchestrating your path from his shadowed throne.

Xarxes felt a chill crawl up his spine. The name Ptolemekh – a whisper from the True Sith War, a specter in Sith lore, now revealed to be terrifyingly real and alarmingly close.

You've been his pawn, Xarxes. My pawn! All your righteous order, your quest for justice – mere steps in his grand design,” Eschaton mocked. “What you see as betrayal is merely another move in a much grander scheme. Embrace your role, Lord Xarxes.

The revelation set a fire ablaze within Xarxes. His fists clenched, his own Dark Side energies crackling in response to his fury and humiliation. “Then it is clear what must be done. Ptolemekh shall find no more use in his puppet,” Xarxes declared with a newfound resolve, the noble inflection of his voice now sharpened with a cutting edge. He extended his hand, summoning his sword to his palm with a force born of rage and betrayal. The cerulean blade shimmered, casting an aquarian hue across his anguished features. “This revelation does not bind me further but frees me. I am a Sith Lord, master of my own destiny. No hidden master, no phantom king shall dictate my will! Your end, Eschaton, is but the beginning of my true path.

Such defiance is admirable but ultimately pointless. The paths of destiny cannot be easily changed. Your resistance will prove fruitless.

Pointless or not, I will choose my own path, shaped by my own hands, not as a puppet but as the creator of a new reality. Let Daritha Ptolemekh hear this - I am no longer his subject, but a force of my own, unbound and sovereign!

Eschaton simply chuckled, a sound as vile as his cracked, bleeding smile, taking forth his crimson saber. “Then come, noble Sith. Show your master the depth of your resolve.

With that, the hallway erupted into a maelstrom of flashing blades and unleashed Dark Side energies, a battle not just for supremacy, but for the very soul of Drakul Xarxes.

Xarxes brandished his colossal Sword of Order – a formidable artifact whose chilling kiss promised an eternal frost. The weapon, gargantuan in its craftsmanship, sliced through the air with a grace that belied its massive form, each swing an ode to the lethal ballet of combat.

Opposite him, Eschaton, a specter cloaked in malevolence, whirled in a dance of death with his crimson lightsaber. His figure, agile and shadow-like, parried against the relentless onslaught with the precision of a seasoned duelist. But his most sinister weapon lay in his command of Darkshear: the arcane ability that wove entropy itself into waves of withering decay.

The very tiles of the hallway bore witness to their titanic struggle, quaking under the onslaught of clashing powers. Xarxes, with a warrior's intuition, wielded his icy blade not only as an instrument of destruction but as a sovereign of space, each mighty stroke parting the very air, sending shards of ice hurtling in wild abandon. The corridors reverberated with the echoes of their struggle, a symphony of destruction resonating in that plagued and besieged vessel.

Eschaton, his visage twisted in a rictus of dark ambition, sought to unravel Xarxes’ indomitable spirit with his Darkshear. The air around him crackled with the sinister energy of decaying time, attempting to sap the very life from the Sith Lord. Yet, Xarxes, undaunted, stood as an unyielding force, his every movement a testament to his superiority, a whirlwind of obliteration against the creeping death of entropy.

The dance of their blades was a tempest of light and shadow, Xarxes’ massive sword nearing its frozen touch upon Eschaton, who artfully dodged each frigid embrace. Eschaton, in a gambit of dark cunning, invoked his Darkshear to corrode the very ceiling, sending a cascade of weakened metal upon Xarxes. But with a display of sheer might, Xarxes shattered the oncoming doom with a resonating blow of his sword, turning the rubble into a storm of icy shards.

Narrowing the gap between them, Xarxes unleashed a torrent of formidable blows, each strike more fearsome than the last, pressing Eschaton into the clutches of defeat. With a final, Herculean swing, his sword thundered towards Eschaton, a harbinger of an icy, unforgiving end.

In the climactic clash, Eschaton’s lightsaber, faced with the overwhelming might of the Ostrine blade, gave way. The impact released a cataclysmic wave of frozen energy, seizing Eschaton in a crystalline prison of ice.

It was finished. The shape of the Black Steward entrapped turned a sickening blue, his face frozen into eternal anguish and shock.

As Xarxes watched, the frozen form of Eschaton began to fracture and crumble, not into flesh and blood, but into nothingness. The Phantom, a mere puppet of a far more sinister will, shattered and dissipated into the ether, leaving no trace but the echo of his last, desperate defiance.

Drakul Xarxes stood amidst the ruins of it all, his breathing heavy, his figure a lone sentinel amidst the chaos of their battle. The hallway, scarred and frosted, bore silent testament to the demise of Darth Eschaton and the unyielding might of a Sith Lord who had glimpsed the deceit woven into the fabric of his destiny, now more resolved than ever to confront the true puppeteer lurking in the shadows.

But this was not over. If this Ptolemekh could send Phantoms anywhere in the galaxy, he could seek to harm Alcina, his children…

No, Ptolemekh would be stopped. With the mirror of deception in pieces, the All-Seeing Eye was at last opened. Years of hidden truths came rushing to him. The brutal ‘Drakul’ persona, the voice of his mother and of all those slain on Raxus Secundas…


In the shadowed recesses of his heart, where once had dwelt the iron-clad convictions of duty and might, there now surged a tumultuous sea of lamentation. Drakul Xarxes, whose name had been whispered with fear and veneration across the star-swept dominions, stood cloaked in the oppressive shroud of his own desolation. The grievous revelations concerning Ptolemekh, like venomous serpents, coiled tightly around his soul, squeezing with relentless ferocity. How he had danced, a mere puppet, to the clandestine orchestrations of that concealed master, performing acts so vile that their very remembrance seemed to blacken the stars.

Upon the lamented world of Raxus Secundas, a name now synonymous with sorrow and atrocity, he had invoked the unspeakable. With words older than time, uttered in tones that cleaved the very fabric of reality, he had unleashed a cataclysm, an apocalyptic maelstrom borne from the darkest womb of sorcery. The skies had bled crimson, the rivers ran with the spectral light of souls torn asunder, and the very ground wept tears of molten anguish. Millions had perished, their lives extinguished like candles in a stygian tempest, their essences drawn into the voracious maw of an ancient, unfathomable rite.

Oh, how the stars had gazed down, cold and indifferent, upon that benighted world, as Xarxes, in his hubristic folly, sculpted his damned masterpiece of death and despair. Each life extinguished under the grim banner of his will now flickered like a mournful specter in his mind's eye, a ghastly tapestry of regret and horror.

As he stood, a lone figure against the backdrop of his past transgressions, Xarxes grappled with the monstrous realization of his deeds. Like a mariner lost in thought upon a sea of Stygian darkness, he pondered the grievous path laid down by Ptolemekh’s infernal machinations. The weight of his actions, a crushing yoke about his neck, threatened to drag him into an abyss of his own making, an endless night wherein hope was but a distant, fading star.

His heart, once a fortress of Sith conviction, now lay besieged by the harrowing specters of guilt and remorse. With each whisper of the wind, with each susurration of the distant stars, he heard the keening of the lost, the anguished cries of those countless innocents whose demise he had authored. In this bleak and barren landscape of his soul, where once ambition’s fires burned bright, now dwelt the cold, ashen remnants of a dream sundered, a purpose defiled by the unseen hand of a darker will.

Thus, the once-mighty Xarxes, confronted by the grim tapestry of his past, beheld the stark, unyielding truth of his existence. Torn betwixt the tempest of his internal strife and the inexorable tide of destiny, he stood, a tragic figure etched against the vast, unfeeling cosmos; a somber testament to the perilous path of power and the dolorous price of revelation.

In the somber wake of remorse, amid the ruins of a spirit once unassailable, a singular, unwavering resolve kindled within the depths of Lord Xarxes' soul. It burned like a beacon in the night, guiding him through the tempest of his tormented thoughts. With the weight of his past transgressions bowing his shoulders yet not breaking his spirit, he turned his gaze, steadfast and unyielding, toward the crystalline world of Arkania, his heart's ancient refuge.

Through the ethereal currents of the galaxy, his Apocrypha, a specter against the velvet expanse, sailed towards home. Home – where Alcina, his beloved, resided like a star amidst the darkness, her radiance undimmed by the shadows that pursued him. Home – where Ladon and Yasha, his progeny, blossomed under the light of innocence, untouched by the corrupting tendrils of Ptolemekh’s vile deceit.

Each star that streaked past his view was a reminder of the endless battles waged, of victories and defeats, of empires risen and fallen. Yet none shone with the promise of redemption like the thought of safeguarding his family. In them, he saw the possibility of salvation, a chance to mend the tapestry of his soul, torn and tattered by the machinations of a hidden enemy.

As the icy spires of Arkania loomed into view, a fortress against the encroaching dark, Xarxes prepared for the unseen war. Ptolemekh, a shadowed thorn woven into the fabric of the galaxy, would not cease his vile designs. The Phantoms and his myriad of minions, mere extensions of his insidious will, lurked in the unseen corners, waiting to strike. But they would find in Xarxes not a broken remnant of a Sith Lord, but a bastion of strength, a shield wrought of unyielding resolve and tempered in the fires of regret and wisdom.

Alcina, the one who had seen beyond the Sith armor and into the heart of the man, would stand with him, her wisdom and clarity a guiding light amidst the encroaching gloom. And in Ladon and Yasha, he saw the future – a future he vowed to protect, a spark that he would shield against the howling dark.

So it was that Lord Xarxes, the once-mighty harbinger of darkness, found within himself a new purpose. Not as a mere tool of destruction, but as a guardian, a defender of those few precious lights amidst a sea of unending night. With every step upon the frost-kissed earth of Arkania, he felt his resolve harden, the pieces of his shattered spirit coalescing into a new, unbreakable whole.

I am coming, Alcina,” the whisper in the Force reverberated through time and space. “I will always be there for you.


Castle Adasca, Arkania


In the spectral stillness of the night, beneath the pallid glow of a million stars, shadows crept with sinister intent up the spiraling towers of Castle Adasca. These Phantoms, ghastly echoes of Darth Eschaton, bore the same dreadful mien that had once terrorized many a brave soul – faces hidden behind iron crowns, their mouths twisted into grotesque smiles, revealing blackened tongues and yellowed, jagged teeth. They moved with eerie silence, specters gliding through the stone corridors, driven by a dark purpose set by Daritha Ptolemekh to extinguish the lights of Xarxes' life – his family.

Inside the castle, an ambiance of peaceful slumber prevailed. The children's chamber, adjacent to the master bedroom, was steeped in gentle shadows and the soft, rhythmic breathing of slumber. Ladon, now on the cusp of his teenage years, lay entwined in dreams of distant galaxies and adventures, a peaceful countenance upon his youthful visage. Beside him, in a crib wrought of Arkanian crystal, Yasha, the infant, slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in the serene tempo of innocent rest.

Alcina Adasca, the Queen-Regent, mother and protector, seemed to be in repose within the master chamber. Her form, draped in silken sheets, exuded a calm and dignified elegance even in sleep. However, beneath this veneer of tranquility, a vigilant spirit stirred.

The Phantoms, drawing ever closer to their quarry, paused momentarily outside the chamber door. Their dark presence was like a blight against the hallowed sanctity of the family's resting place. But unbeknownst to them, within the heart of Alcina Adasca, there beat not just the love of a mother and queen, but the fierce resolve of a lioness.

As the first Phantom reached for the handle, ready to unleash terror and despair, the figure in the bed stirred, and in the same instant a dagger flew through the air, piercing the hand of the reaching Phantom. With a fluid grace that belied the suddenness of her movement, Alcina rose. Her eyes, reflecting the glacial beauty and fierceness of her Arkanian heritage, snapped open, glowing with an inner fire. Though it appeared she had been asleep, she had been acutely aware of the encroaching darkness, her senses honed by years living alongside a Sith Lord.

In the dim, starlit chamber of Castle Adasca, Alcina, Queen-Regent of Arkania, stood as if carved from the very legends of old, a vision of ethereal, daunting beauty. Her hair, dark as the raven's wing, cascaded in lustrous waves down her back, a stark contrast to the luminous pallor of her skin, reminiscent of the finest Arkanian porcelain. This juxtaposition of shadow and light not only enhanced her mesmerizing presence but also echoed the dual nature of her life, nurtured in both love and the complexities of Sith politics.

Alcina's figure, both motherly and sensuous, bore the traces of her dual heritage; the generous curves spoke of her nurturing spirit, while the elegant lines of her form whispered of a latent, graceful strength. Her eyes, striking and extraordinary, were void of pupils, like orbs of polished obsidian set into her ethereal visage, piercing through the shadows to discern truth and deceit alike.

Her fingers, four to each hand, ended in natural, delicate claws, refined yet hinting at an inherent ferocity, a reminder of the wild, untamed legacy running through her veins. Her ears, gently pointed, accentuated the noble contour of her face, lending her an air of otherworldly grace.

Clad for the night, her attire blended regal formality with practical necessity. A robe of midnight blue, embroidered intricately with the silver threads of ancient Arkanian motifs, hugged her form, its fabric whispering against her skin like a cool breeze. The robe, while majestic, was fashioned for swift movement, allowing her to transition seamlessly from regal elegance to lethal agility.

In her hand, she quietly withdrew her saber, its hilt forged from the fabled songsteel, known for its resonance with the Force. The hilt was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, inlaid with delicate filigree that mirrored the frost patterns on Arkanian windows. Her grip on the weapon was both tender and firm, a symbol of her resolve to protect her family at any cost. Her stance, poised and noble, was that of a dancer, every muscle and sinew aligned in perfect harmony, ready to unleash a storm of graceful yet deadly strikes. In the shadow-draped chamber, where moonlight spilled through veiled windows, Alcina stood with the majesty of an ancient goddess, both motherly and fiercely sensual. The Phantoms, ethereal and sinister, were like nightmares made flesh, bearing the ghastly visage of Darth Eschaton, their bloodied lips dripping with midnight ooze. They crept closer, silent save for the whisper of malice that seemed to emanate from their very being.

Alcina's lightsaber burst into life, its blade cast a glow that further accentuated her fearsome yet exquisite form - a queen, a mother, a protector, standing resolute against the encroaching darkness, her every line and movement an embodiment of refined strength and undying love. She positioned herself, not just as a queen defending her throne, but as a mother protecting her children, her heart's treasures, against the nightmare that dared to invade their sanctuary.

The light played off her elegant, clawed digits and the pointed grace of her ears. In her stance, there was the refined nobility of a queen and the deadly promise of a warrior. Her movements were a fluid, mesmerizing blend of defense and attack, a dance of light that held back the encroaching dark.

The Phantoms, six in all, did not recoil from the light of the saber, for throughout their existence, they had beheld much doom. Alcina did not falter in her gaze, her rich and noble voice, capable of both sultry and ferocious tones, took the latter as she cursed her foes. “Shadows of deceit, you dare invade the sanctity of my home, threaten the heirs of a lineage as ancient as the stars themselves?

The most prominent Phantom hissed. “The lady of light speaks…but darkness cares not for her noble words.

Our whispers have drowned out mighter pleas than thine,” sneered a second. “What hope have you alone?

The porcelain queen stepped forward, crimson blade arcing in a deadly stroke. “Hope? I wield not hope, but certainty. The certainty that as long as I stand, you shall falter and fall.

Her blade met the Phantoms with precision and grace, each movement a stroke of artistry against the backdrop of night. She moved like a whisper, her combat style an extension of her will, a dance ethereal yet devastating. The chamber echoed with the symphony of battle, her blade singing a lullaby of destruction.

The first, a wraith draped in midnight garb, lunged with a silence that belied its murderous intent. Alcina, with grace bestowed by the ancient blood of Arkania, danced aside, her movements a fluid counterpoint to the Phantom's jagged malice. Her lightsaber, a burst of infernal flame to contrast its heavenly wielder, sang a high, clear note as it arced through the air, severing the wraith's advance and unmaking its essence into scattered dust motes that glittered like a macabre constellation upon the stone floor.

Her form, a tapestry of lethal elegance, shifted to face the second assailant. This Phantom harbored a cruelty that radiated from its hollow, hidden eyes, a depth of darkness akin to the abyssal plains of space. But Alcina's resolve was a beacon unyielding; she parried a strike intended to maim with the poise of a sovereign whose decree was bound by neither time nor fate. A riposte, swift and precise, cleaved through the Phantom's core, its form dissipating in a silent scream that echoed the void's own emptiness.

Two others advanced not as separate threats, but as a single storm of malice. Yet, the tempest met with the mountain; Alcina, undaunted, wove her blade in patterns of intricate demise. The third Phantom, emboldened by desperation, reached with spectral claws aiming to grasp her heart. Alcina's songsteel saber whispered death, its melody a requiem that snatched away the Phantom's ambition, rendering it into nothing but a memory fading at the break of dawn.

The fourth hesitated. In that moment's breadth, Alcina's gaze, pupilless and penetrating, met the wraith's blind gaze. A truth unspoken passed between them — the inevitability of the Phantom's defeat. With a lunge that married wrath with beauty, Alcina struck, her blade a piercing lance of purity against the sullied dark. The Phantom's form shattered, an effigy of evil undone, leaving behind only the echo of its annihilation.

But even as she fought with a skill born of both training and instinct, the final two Phantoms managed to circle her, their attacks more coordinated, their forms more substantial. Alcina's eyes, lacking pupils, blazed with an otherworldly intensity, a testament to her indomitable spirit.

Just as the tide of battle seemed to shift, a new presence filled the room – a shift in the air, a change in the shadow. Drakul Xarxes, her husband, emerged like a tempest’s edge, his presence overwhelming. Clad in the regalia befitting his status, he wielded his own weapon, the Sith Sword of Order, its power palpable even in its stillness. The sword's enormous blade promised frozen oblivion to any it touched.

The Dark Lord himself,” croaked one of the Phantoms, a tinge of fear almost present in its voice.

Xarxes charged one of the Phantoms, sending him careening into the upholstery of the marriage bed. He stepped in line with Alcina, ready to face these final two figures. “Let this be the hour where shadows cower,” he thundered. “You mistake her solitude for vulnerability, a fatal error.

We are but emissaries,” the thrown Phantom retaliated, almost desperate. “Our demise changes naught!

With Xarxes' arrival, the dynamic of the battle changed instantaneously. Where Alcina was the graceful defender, Xarxes was the unstoppable force, his every strike a tempest that froze and shattered. Together, they fought back the two remaining Phantoms – a duo of darkness and light, their love and strength intermingling in the dance of combat.

Emissaries of doom, you are nothing but whispers in the darkness. Begone!

With a final, powerful strike, the last Phantom fell, dissipating into shadows and screams.

As the last echoes of battle faded, Xarxes stood amidst the quietude, his gaze tracing the contours of Alcina’s form with a softness that belied his fierce nature. The room was hushed, the silence punctuated only by their shared breaths.

With a tender smile, Alcina stepped into the safety of Xarxes’ arms, her own wrapping around him as if to anchor herself in the reality of his return. “You’re here,” she whispered, as if the words were delicate things, afraid they might crumble under the weight of too much feeling.

Xarxes brushed a lock of raven hair from her face, his touch light as a feather. “I am,” he said simply, “and here is where I’ll stay. The galaxy’s affairs pale in comparison to this family I must protect; its endless turmoil is no match for what we’ve built, what we guard. I lost sight of that, but never again.

Their lips met in a kiss that was not the fiery blaze of youth but the deep, burning ember of enduring love, steadfast and sure. It was the promise of every tomorrow they would face together, the unspoken pledge that no distance or darkness would part them again.

The moment was shattered by the sudden cry of their infant daughter from the next room. Alcina pulled back slightly, her mother's instinct responding to the call. Her eyes met Xarxes’, a smile playing upon them. “Duty calls, my lord, and it seems she will not be denied.

Xarxes chuckled, the sound rich with love and understanding. “Then we must answer,” he agreed. “Our little empress commands, and we, her humble servants, must obey.

With a final, lingering look, Alcina slipped from his embrace and glided towards the door, her silhouette a shadow of grace against the flickering lights. Xarxes remained a moment longer, watching her leave before following, the cries of their daughter drawing him back into the fold of family, back into the heart of home.


Veeshas Tuwan, Arkania
The Next Morning…

The first light of dawn had not yet pierced the depths of Veeshas Tuwan, the ancient Sith citadel that Drakul Xarxes had dedicated decades to restoring. In this grand library housing knowledge so arcane, so steeped in the Dark Side, that it could rend the fabric of the galaxy itself, Xarxes sought redemption — not from the Dark Side, but from the missteps of his own past.
In the citadel’s bowels, he stood before the Eye of Typhojem, the spherical holocron pulsating with veridian energy, its surface a tapestry of otherworldly knowledge. The Eye, an echo of the Sith God’s will, whispered of the Dark, a symphony of temptation and promise. But Xarxes' focus lay elsewhere, upon the lightsaber that rested beside the Eye — a solemn relic of his apprentice, Lord Vaer.

This subterranean chamber, brimming with the residues of Sith Sorcery, was a sanctuary for Xarxes’ inner turmoil. He was a maestro of the dark arts, yet the scales of his spirit were imbalanced. The loss of Kain, the bright star in the galaxy's murky firmament, weighed heavily upon him. He knew the dark tide was rising, and he had to be the bulwark against it.

He mulled over his fractured alliances. Lady Kolasi, cunning and ambitious, had tried to undermine his relationship with Vaer, yet her power was crucial in the uncertain days to come. Empress Hesper, the sovereign whose throne loomed over all — how could he reassure her of his loyalty, when his own apprentice had fallen by his hand? And then there was Lord Voidwalker, enigmatic and unwavering, who had served Kain with a fervor that bordered on zealous. The loss of his master would either break him or harden his resolve.

Xarxes knew that words would be as brittle as bones in the harsh light of betrayal and loss. He had to offer more than mere condolences or promises of vengeance. The Sith operated in the currency of power and action. He would have to show them that Kain’s vision — their shared ambition — could be salvaged, even in the absence of its herald.

As if summoned by the silent call of his disquietude, the subtle sound of a presence approaching stirred the air. Alcina entered the chamber, cradling young Yasha to her breast. The infant lay peacefully in her mother's embrace, undisturbed by the sinister artifacts that surrounded them.

Xarxes turned, his fierce countenance softening at the sight of them. Alcina's eyes, so full of understanding, met his, and in that gaze, he found a haven as tranquil as the surface of a moonlit lake.

My beloved,” Alcina began, her voice a soothing balm to the turmoil within him, “the dawn has yet to break, and already your burdens weigh heavily upon you.

Her husband moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently caress the downy crown of Yasha's head. “I am entwined in a web of my own making, Alcina. The galaxy reels from a wound that I inadvertently helped to inflict. I must act, but the path is as shrouded as the Dark Side itself.

Alcina nodded, her wisdom as clear as the stars that shone beyond their world. “Act, you must, but not in haste. The Dark Side thrives on impulse, my love. Draw instead on the bond that unites us, the strength that our family bestows. Your actions must be a beacon, for those lost in the shadow of Kain's absence.

The alliances are fragile, splintered,” Xarxes confessed, his voice a deep rumble of unrest. “Lady Kolasi, Empress Hesper, Lord Voidwalker, and others—they are uncertain, their loyalties tested.

Then offer them certainty,” Alcina counseled. “Show them that the strength of Xarxes is the strength of a legacy that will endure beyond the fleeting tempests of power and ambition. Each of them seeks a foothold amidst the chaos—be that foothold. Be the bedrock upon which the new order for the galaxy can be built.

Xarxes considered her words, the wisdom in her counsel piercing the fog of his doubts. “And if they do not accept? If the lures of power or despair tempt them to darker paths?

Then we will face that storm together, as we always have.” Alcina's grip on Yasha tightened protectively. “We are not simply Sith Lords, my husband. We are a family, and our power is bound by more than the Dark Side. It is bound by love, by the future we hold in our arms.

Xarxes looked down at Yasha, her tiny form a testament to a future they would shape—a future not of darkness, but of stars that might yet shine bright. Alcina's unwavering faith in him, in them, ignited a clarity within. The Dark Side was his to command, but it would not command him. He would extend his hand in unity, and should it be spurned, they would stand united against whatever may come.

With a nod of resolute determination, he sealed his resolve with a tender kiss to his daughter's forehead and a loving embrace for his wife. Together, they would usher in an era not of fear, but of formidable strength—a legacy inscribed not in the annals of conquest, but in the unyielding bonds of family.

The Eye of Typhojem hummed, its presence a reminder of the unfathomable depths of power at his command. Xarxes would have to draw upon the ancient wisdom, the forbidden secrets that the holocron offered, to weave a new tapestry of allegiance and common cause.

He resolved to messages layered in code, symbols of his intentions. To Lady Kolasi — an acknowledgment of the past and an invitation to shape the future. To Empress Hesper, a missive encrypted with the highest reverence, coupled with a verbal tribute fitting her imperial stature and desire for her reign to remain secured. And to Lord Voidwalker, he would extend an offer to join him in meditation before the Eye, to seek guidance from the Architects once more, to find a path through the shadow of mourning.



Within the solemn confines of his sanctum, amid the relics of power and pinnacles of arcane knowledge, he prepared to reach across the void to Empress Hesper. A subtle, ambient hum pervaded the chamber as ancient machines siphoned the esoteric energies required to craft a transmission worthy of the Empress's audience.

As he composed his thoughts, his posture was one of rigid propriety, the very image of Sith dignity. With an imperious yet deliberate gesture, he activated the intricate communication device—a marvel of both technology and sorcery, the mechanisms supporting the Palantir whirling into life with a sound like the whispering of spirits.

Empress Hesper, Sovereign of our Order and Warden of our most sacred creed,” Xarxes began, his voice measured and resonant. “I, Darth Xarxes, in fealty and with unwavering loyalty, present before you an appeal for counsel and unity.

The air shimmered with the power of his voice, and the room seemed to contract, as if in anticipation of the message's weight.
News of grave import compels my hand. Lord Vaer, once a loyal servant of our cause, has fallen. His betrayal, most heinous and unforgivable, necessitated his end. His ambitions, now dust and echoes, serve as a grim reminder of the price of disloyalty.

He paused, the silence a canvas for the Empress to paint her thoughts upon.

Kain is gone because of that treachery. In the wake of this discord, a convergence of purpose beckons. The shadows that threaten our dominion grow long, and only through combined might can we hope to truncate their reach.

He inclined his head slightly, a gesture of deference that betrayed no weakness, only respect for the hierarchy he upheld.
I extend an invitation to convene on the ancient world of Zeffo, a sanctum of neutrality and contemplation, where we may deliberate our path forward. Your guidance is the compass by which we shall navigate this storm.

The transmission crystal, pulsing with the essence of his message, hovered before him. He regarded it as one might a vessel of fateful voyage.

May the Dark Side illuminate our congress, and our wills be done,” he concluded, his tone a solemn dirge for the unity he sought.

With a final, decisive motion, he dispatched the message into the ether, where it would cross the stars to reach the Empress. He did not waver as he turned his mental gaze to the horizon beyond his citadel walls—a horizon that bore the tumult of coming war and the hope of an Empire united under the Empress's indomitable will.


Drawing a deep breath, Xarxes now turned to compose his message to the enigmatic and formidable Darth Voidwalker, whose loyalty to the fallen Kain was as renowned as it was absolute. Xarxes' respect for such fidelity was unwavering, and it was with a rare touch of solemnity that he began to weave the intricate web of Dark Side energy required to dispatch his entreaty across the vast, unfeeling void of space.

Lord Voidwalker, traveller between the stars, your master's fate has cast a shadow upon us all,” Xarxes' voice resonated with a potent blend of strength and empathy, the timbre of a man who had seen much and lost more. “I, Lord Xarxes, keeper of forbidden lore, extend my hand to you in this hour of uncertainty and mourning.

He paused, gathering the tendrils of the Force around him like a cloak. His next words spoken into the Palantir were carefully chosen, imbued with the gravity of the moment.

The Eye of Typhojem lies before me—its depths uncharted, its truths untold. It beckons us, Lord Voidwalker, to gaze into its core and commune with the Architects themselves. In unity, there is strength; in counsel, wisdom. Let us seek their guidance, to discern the weave of fate and find our path through the encroaching darkness.

Xarxes’ hand hovered over the Eye, his fingertips grazing the artifact's surface, the Holocron reacting with a deeper luminescence as if in anticipation of the proposed communion.

And in the silence left by Kain's absence, let us share condolence, for even in the hearts of the Sith, the loss of a comrade, a mentor, a friend, echoes with the weight of a star's demise.

The chamber seemed to pulse with the power of his invocation, the Force swirling with the possibility of alliance and the hope of piercing the veil of future's uncertainty.

Join me, and together let us seek the guidance of those who came before. Through the Architects' sight, may we find the clarity to steer our course true.

With a final gesture, Xarxes released the message, a serpent of energy slithering into the abyss, seeking out the one known as Darth Voidwalker. He stepped back from the Palantir, his silhouette a monument to the dark power he wielded, and the burdens that came with it.


Castle Adasca, Arkania
Later That Same Day

Xarxes sat upon his throne as Amaunator Adasca, bereft of his armor and mighty Sword of Order, taking instead the regal and stylish robes of a Patriarch, arrayed in a splendor of crimson and gold. Before his throne sat a table at waist level, upon which sat a holocommunication platform for sending missives. The modern technology would no doubt be more welcomed by the Witch Queen than another unsolicited mental probing. Currently, it was keyed to send a message to Darth Kolasi in her Onderonian palace in Iziz. He hoped the message he had prepared would be received well, though he knew that nothing was certain.

Yet, within himself he found the confidence in the character of the formidable Sith sorceress, the resolve she had against the powers of the encroaching Old Ones and their insatiable hunger to consume the galaxy, rending it according to their machinations.

Lady Kolasi, Queen of Onderon,” Xarxes intoned, his words carving through the silence with the precision of a saber's edge. “This is Darth Xarxes, Lord of the Sith, and I extend this communiqué as a confluence of necessity and respect.

His eyes, once the forge of rage and ambition, now held a tempered clarity. “Our past is a tapestry woven with the threads of strife and the stain of blood, yet our future need not be cast from the same loom. A shadow, ancient and insidious, stretches across the stars, threatening to eclipse all we hold sovereign.

He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to permeate the Holocron's memory. “The Old Ones stir, their machinations a harbinger of ruination. You know as well as I that alone, we are but embers struggling against the night's chill. Together, we could be a conflagration that sears the coming darkness from the annals of time.

I propose a convening of our powers, a parley to forge a bastion against this encroaching oblivion. Let us lay down the gauntlet of our discord, to take up arms against a greater foe.

A faint smile, uncharacteristic of the Sith Lord, hinted at the wisdom he had gleaned from recent revelations and the counsel of his queen. “You are invited to parley on Zeffo, a place of neutrality, in the temple of Miktrull, under the banner of truce and the auspices of potential unity.

A pause. A painful continuation.

Vaer is dead, Kolasi. By my hand.

He composed himself, readjusting in his throne. He closed his message with a finality that brooked no uncertainty. “I await your counsel, Lady Kolasi. In the balance hangs the fate of our galaxy.


The decisions were made; the steps were clear. Drakul Xarxes, once a harbinger of horror, now sought to mend the fractures in a galaxy teetering on the edge. He rose from his throne, the golden light of Olim shining through the grand windows of the throne room, bathing the Patriarch in beams of heaven as he strode forth to set his plans in motion. For the Dark Side was ever a means to an end, and his end was the salvation of the galaxy he had once sought to dominate.


Zhaevorim, Ptolemekhis


Ah, the enduring dance of light and shadow.” The voice pierced the howls of ravenous beasts that crawled across the world.
It is as predictable as it is... tiresome. They rally against the night, brandishing their feeble lightsabers, thinking themselves beacons.

Upon his obsidian throne, within the heart of a citadel twisted by dark sorceries and etched with the cries of the forsaken, Daritha Ptolemekh brooded. The planet Ptolemekhis, a world of death and decay, swirled with the storms of his wrath, its skies a perpetual canvas of despair. Zhaevorim, a monument to his malice, loomed like a blight upon a blighted land, its twisted spires surrounding a colossal pyramid clawed at the void with silent malevolence.

The Daritha’s gaze, as ancient and unyielding as the stars themselves, pierced the veil between worlds, tracking the skeins of fate that bound his Phantoms to their conflict with Lord Xarxes and his queen, Alcina. With eyes that glowed like emerald fire, he watched as his ethereal minions fell before the might and cunning of the Sith Lord and his fiercely beautiful consort. Each demise was a whisper in the symphony of chaos he composed, each setback a pause before the crescendo of his grand design.

These Sith, these pretenders, they cling to their constructs of power and dominion. But what are they but children playing at being gods?

Daritha Ptolemekh, whose very name was a shroud over the hearts of the mortal and immortal alike, was no stranger to the long game. The loss of his Phantoms was but a ripple in the vast ocean of his plans, insignificant before the tide that was to come. His thoughts, dark and inexorable, turned to the woven tapestry of his plot, each thread a life, a world, a star, all converging towards a single, inevitable point: galactic dominion.

They believe they have achieved victory, they revel in the illusion of control. But I...,” he paused, the flickers of light dying at his whim, “I am no illusionist. I am the weaver of reality, the shaper of destinies.

His lips, a line of cruelty upon a visage that had not known the warmth of light for eons, curved into a semblance of a smile. It was not a smile that promised joy or reprieve; it was the promise of a hunter to the hunted, the certainty of death's embrace.

Let the Sith celebrate their fleeting victory,” he murmured, his voice the grave-song of countless dead civilizations. “Let them cling to their love and their light. They are but candles in the tempest of the coming night.

With a hand that was both flesh and not, gnarled by the ravages of dark magics, he reached forth, caressing the air as one might stroke the scales of a slumbering beast. The fabric of reality yielded to his touch, revealing to him the skein of possibilities, the myriad paths of destruction that lay before him.

I shall weave a new web,” he intoned, and the very stars seemed to listen. “A grander scheme, with threads of malice so fine, so intricate, that not even the most vigilant of eyes shall discern their pattern until it is far too late.

The Daritha rose, his towering form a testament to the dread power of the True Sith, and as he stood, the shadows bowed before him, the darkness his loyal servant. His staff of sorcery, entwined with the living wood of Brylark, thrummed with anticipation of its master’s will.

The matrix of their complacency will shatter,” Ptolemekh declared, “and in their desperation, they will come to see the truth. That I am inevitable.

His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a secret with the darkness itself.

The galaxy shall be mine,” he intoned, his voice carrying across the voids between stars, a vow that promised an age of suffering and subjugation. “And all shall despair. Let them play their games. Let them scramble for their fleeting victories. In the end, all will kneel before the throne of Ptolemekh. For I am the harbinger, the genesis of their end. And this galaxy...,” he paused, a slow, malevolent grin spreading across his face, “...this galaxy will be reborn in my image!

With that, Daritha Ptolemekh, the shadow in the stars, the doom of worlds, turned his gaze towards the galactic tapestry once more. His figure receded into the gloom, not a creature of flesh and blood, but a force of nature, a maelstrom of darkness that would not rest until all lay within his grasp.

In the creeping silence that followed, as the first of many new Phantoms began to coalesce in the depths of his citadel, surrounded by a horde of countless millions of undead creatures, Sith and beast alike, the universe held its breath, awaiting the storm that was yet to break.

TAGS: @Darth Kain @corinthia @skira @Voidwalker @Darth Voxyn @Darth Nathemus @Hadzuska_The Jester @Cardun Vrek @Catalyst @Jen'nu @Volacius @Arach


Well-known member
Final Triumvirate
Dark Council
IC: Lady Kolasi, Lord Mavros, Avery Sunka, Lord Voxyn, Darth Vitani, Lord Voidwalker, Darth Arach
Aboard the Tsushima

Upon entering the room, Arach’s gaze snagged first on Voidwalker. Upon seeing him alive and well, though looking exhausted, she nearly collapsed in relief. He’s safe.

Everything happened so fast it was as if it were a blur of an after image. One second the Cursed Champion was starring down the Hellpriestess, ready to meet his end, then her gaze had shifted. Her eyes had fallen on another as she changed her direction. Voidwalker's eyes followed the Hellpriestess' movements, past Arach, past Xarxes, then he seen it. Vaer standing face to face with the Beloved King of the Stars, that damned despicable blade of Vaer's raised in triumph, sticking out of Kain's side.

At the sight of Kain, or his phantom anyway disappearing, hatred and rage erupted within Voidwalker as his first instinct was to pull his lightsaber and kill the man that had just saved his life. At first the Cursed Champion thought he could hear himself screaming, only to realize that the screaming was coming from within his own head. The Force was lashing out horribly and violently. What had Vaer done?

On the other side of the ship, they all still were making their ways off. Both Kolasi and her apparent protector, though they’d seemingly stalled their approach, and Voxyn and Vitani.

The bleeding stopped, traumatically damaged organs and blood vessels mended and the rips in Vitani's sides stitched together under the command of the force as Voxyn called on it. His sister would live, though the healing was far from complete. Surgery was going to be needed he suspected, some things inside her were just too damaged by the creatures bone claws and would need replaced. Be it with artificial organs or lab grown organic replacements it didn't matter, just that the damaged be removed and repaired. He could hear the sound of boots down the hall, he kept an ear on the sound of the boots, trying to hear how far away they were and which direction they were going.

You couldn't have been a little faster in killing that thing and healing me?" Vitani coughed as healing finished and she began to stand up, only to fall down again, light headed and the room swaying. She felt cold, she felt nauseous, and everything was blurry to her.

"Easy, Anista, easy!" Voxyn said as he caught her before she could hit the ground and set her gently down. "You aren't bleeding to death anymore but you have still lost a lot of blood. We need to get you out of here and to a proper med bay. Is your ship here?" She nodded in confirmation. Perfect, he could get her into a bacta tank on her ship once he got her off this one.

Kolasi’s heart thumped in her chest as she awaited Kain’s response to her plea. She called out for her husband, but he too did not respond. The familiar freighter had come into view as they slowed, which gave her a bit of relief. Though, not enough to stop her.

Dwomutsiqs-“ The cursed spell began to pour from her lips, Kain’s call coming to her mind halfway through it. And then, the pain. It all happened so fast, and her mind shattered. A scream came from her lips, one guttural and full of terror and pain. One that would break the minds of those around her, had she ever been taught the method of how to do that. Her body contorted, her hands grabbing for her chest as she fell to her knees gasping for breath.

The unnerving dread from that day on Korriban flooded her mind, and it was all too much. Where she was conscious one moment, she now fell to the floor, the force enveloping her mind as the world slipped away from her.

Mavros followed behind Lady Kolasi, unsure as to what exactly he was meant to. Kain had ordered him to protect her, so he supposed that’s what he was to do, until he had new-

He fell to his knees, unable to stand against the wave that crashed into him. His hands flew to his head as the force itself began to scream.


Typhojem was dead. This was all meant be over. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And then…he felt an absence.

Kain was…gone. Something had happened to him.

"Good we had better get you there now. Come on, let's get go…" Voxyn was cut off by a sudden stabbing pain in his brain. Terror was crashing through the force like a rampaging Leviathan. The force itself was screaming, ringing in the ears of the twins and causing Vitani to lose consciousness.

On the other side of the ship, Avery and his entourage of men all flinched to attack Lord Vaer. But Avery’s hand shot up, stopping all of them before they could pull the triggers on their weapons.

Don’t!” He commanded the riders around him as they all raised their weapons at Vaer after Kain disappeared. They looked at him, confusion clear on their faces. But Avery simply shook his head, his eyes staring daggers at the Mind Thief and his master.

You will regret this decision,” Avery said, his accent heavy as he spoke to them. A curse. A threat. A promise. All was true in what he said, as simple as it had been. The King of Onderon turned on his heel, and his men followed in suit.

It was time to go home.

Voidwalker clutched at his head as the screaming persisted, his vision growing blurry as everything was becoming incoherent. He'd just managed to see King Avery and the other Beast Riders making their way out, presumably to a way off this damned ship. Voidwalker turned his head back to where his eyes had briefly passed over Arach. Looking to make sure he'd actually seen what he thought he did, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along behind him in tow as they gave chase to Avery.

Her head snapped in the other direction as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She saw Kain holding Vaer by his throat and the evil blade in Kain’s ribs. The effects were immediate. Horror made her blood run cold. She was about to look at Xarxes when pain erupted in her skull. Arach pressed her hands to her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to comprehend what she had just witnessed. Kain was gone. Again. Vaer sacrificed him to them. Whatever Kain might be or whatever he might have done, he didn’t deserve that fate.

The assassin’s anger and hatred began to boil anew toward Vaer. The parasite needed to die! Xarxes be damned! She cracked her eyes open and began to reach for her dagger, but was stopped when Voidwalker grabbed her hand. She stumbled after him a few steps, but gained her footing quickly even as a migraine threatened to split her head open. “What are you doing?” she hissed, pain evident in her voice. “We need to stop Vaer! He can’t get away with this!

"He won't, I assure you of that. He will die for what he's done, but right now, we have bigger problems. Kain's gone, that means there's no one holding back the Father of Shadows. We need to get out of here now."

Arach allowed herself a moment to process what she had been told. Her brows furrowed and she took a few breaths to attempt to control her pain. “We never should have been here to begin with,” she muttered. “After we get out of here, what’s the next step?

That was a good question, what was the next step? Voidwalker didn't answer immediately, he tried to find an answer as they continued to run. With the arrival of Xarxes onboard and Kain's arrival at the summit with the Jedi Grand Master, Voidwalker could only assume both meetings had been successful. Though until he had confirmation, he couldn't be certain. Either way, he had to think of something.

"I need you to get back to Onderon, get our daughter and head home. There's more that I need to do before I can join you. Once I know more I can contact you. Just make sure the two of you are ready."

Arach was about to argue, but reconsidered. The best possible place for her was to protect their daughter. Scarlett had already come such a long way since she began her training, but she had yet along way to go. She still needed protection.

Arach picked up her pace so she was beside her husband. She gripped his hand tighter and responded with a teasing smirk, “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be waiting for you. Just don’t do anything too reckless?”

"When have you ever known me to do that?" He shot back.

King Avery and the others moved quickly through the ship, but it wasn’t until he heard his wife’s dreaded scream that he began to run. They reached the Queen as she collapsed to the ground, Avery lifting her unconscious body into his arms.

Sol?” He said quietly, his hand gently holding her face up.

But as much as he wanted to help his wife, he knew well enough to know she was still alive. And they needed to get off this damned ship.

After the screaming stopped Voxyn checked on his sister, she was out cold. He needed to get her out of here, she's the only one of the two that knows where to go to get out of this ship, and she is out cold. He didn't like it, he didn't know if the people he heard down the hall earlier were friend or foe, but he was going to have to take that risk.

He picked up his sister and ran out of the flight lounge and in the direction he had heard the boots. What he found was Darth Mavros, an unconscious Lady Kolasi, and King Avery with his guards of all people. Just great, Avery hadn't gad the kindest words to Voxyn when he had departed with Hesper from Nar Shadaa earlier. Hopefully he isn't the petty type.

Take her,” Avery spoke to Derrik, though his men had already leaned down to lift her up. Derrik carried her onto the ship, while the others followed behind him. Avery took a moment to collect himself, before standing to address the other Sith in the room.

We all need to leave. If you’re in need of a way off, you have a place on our vessel, as well as on Onderon. We’re happy to house anyone, but if you want to go, we’re leaving now.”

Mavros stumbled back to his feet. He felt groggy, his legs felt like they weighed as much as a grown Bantha. His head felt like someone was driving a battering ram against it. He could see Kolasi collapse ahead of him, and then the other Onderonians arrived.

One of the Onderonians- Mavros’ groggy mind could barely comprehend who- offered him a place on their ship.


His own ship was docked here, but, he was in no condition to pilot her. He stumbled towards the Onderonians and nodded his head.

Kain…gave me orders…I was to protect…Lady Kolasi…I’m…with you…” he said through rasping breaths, struggling to keep himself standing as he spoke.

Lord… Mavros, yes?” Avery moved across the room to him. He’d recognized him from some of the holo-photos his wife had of members of the Order. He, too, seemed to have gone mad.

Myn!” Avery yelled over his shoulder, and the young man ran quickly back from the ramp of the ship.

Lord Mavros, I am King Avery of Onderon. This is Myn, he’ll take you aboard our ship so you may rest. You don’t seem well, my Lord,” Avery said gently, cautiously reaching to touch his shoulder.

Can’t you…feel it? The Force…is screaming.” Mavros said, still wavering slightly on the spot. He didn’t even register who ‘Myn’ was.

I cannot, my Lord,” Avery said, motioning for Myn to come. He moved to stand beside Mavros, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to usher him to the ship.

T-thank…you.” Mavros said again, allowing Myn to take hold of him. He fiddled around in his pocket, looking for his commlink. Even with his mind shrouded by fog and still recovering, he knew he had to get the blasted droid to follow them with his own ship.

"Do you have room for two more on your ship?" Voxyn asked as he approached the Onderonians. "We won't take up much space for too long, we have a ship out there we just need dropped off on."

Avery took a step towards Voxyn and his unconscious sister, chuckling at the sight of him.

Well, how the hell did today end up like this,” He said, smiling at Voxyn and ushering him towards the ship.

You’ll see where they put the Queen, they’ll have a place for her as well,” He said, nodding up to Derrik as he reemerged from the ship.

She’s alright, the droid said she simply sleeps,” He explained, extending a hand out to Voxyn to guide him onto the ship.

Put her in the bacta tank then, Sol shouldn’t need it,” He stated, and waited a minute or two to see if anyone else would come.

Meanwhile inside the ship, Kolasi seemed to sleep quietly and peacefully on a small cot across from the bacta tank.

We can place her in ours, or return you both to your ship if you’d rather wait a little while longer.”

It appeared that Avery was the forgiving type. With a chuckle and a smile, he beckoned Voxyn onto the ship, even offering their personal bacta tank for Vitani to use. It was a very jarring change in tone from their last meeting, was it some sort of trap or was this simply what it was like to be dealing with someone not stuck in the backstabbing culture of the Sith?

Thank you.” He said, genuinely he found, not the usual hollow civility he had been taught since he was a child in the Hapes cluster. He entered the ship, going where he had been guided, and found where Avery had said Kolasi would be. He had just handed his sister off to the medical droid when his commlink went off, it was Voidwalker trying to contact him. In the chaos of the fight and his sister's injuries, he hadn’t actually realized he had been separated from Voidwalker. Where had he and Arach gone when that thing attacked?

On the other side of the living quarters, Myn sat quietly by Mavros, his own mind feeling scattered at the events of the day.

Mavros’ head began to clear. The fog seemed to lift, though he still felt…odd. He looked at Myn, sitting next to him. And then he looked down. His commlink was sitting in his hand. He couldn’t even remember why he had it out. He frowned, and then remembered.

His ship. Of course. But, that could wait until they had actually departed. Knowing that protocol droid, if he ordered it to follow them now, the stupid thing would pilot the Decimator into the Onderonian freighter.

He looked over at Myn.

How is your Queen? Is she alright?” He asked, wiping away the cold sweat on his brow.

The droid says she’s just asleep,” Myn said, looking over his shoulder at her across the room. All of the people of their home had grown to care for the Good Queen of Onderon, but no group cared more for her than the beast riders of the wildlands. She’d saved them from extinction, and gave them something to fight for that wasn’t just their own selfish reasons.

She’s survived worse than whatever that ship could’ve done to her. I’m sure the same could be said for you, my Lord.”

Yes…though I fear for what may happen in the future.” Mavros said, his head clearing. He stared off into the distance for a moment, thinking.

Tell me, does Iziz possess a well stocked library?” He asked, trying to sound casual.

There’s a few… As well as a few in the Wildlands. I believe Menarta has some as well. None compare to the Queen’s personal library though, I’m sure she’ll show you it once we’re home.”

Here’s hoping.” Mavros answered. He planned to do as much research as he could into what, other than Typhojem, could have caused the disturbance in the force he had felt moments ago. Hopefully Onderon had something, even a passing reference or the ravings of a madman.

Anything would do.

As the pair rounded the corner, they could see King Avery just up ahead. As they approached, with gasps of breath, Voidwalker looked the Onderonian King in his eye. A show of respect to the man that had become like a brother to him. "King Avery, wait. Please, I ask you that you return Arach to Onderon. She might need medical attention."

Avery sighed, the smile that had come across his face fading a bit at Voidwalker’s words.

Draven,” He started, using Voidwalker’s birth name rather than what everyone typically called him. It was a complete lack of formality on his part, though such was unneeded amongst family.

You’re my brother. You both are family. No matter what little spouts come up, that will always remain true. And you’ll both always have a place with us.”

"Thank you, Avery." A small sigh escaping his lips, at the realization that at least one small matter was now concluded. "Don't stay here much longer, everyone needs to get off this ship. Unfortunately, I cannot go with you. I'm still needed elsewhere. But I wish you all the best."

Voidwalker turned to walk away, stopping after only a few steps before turning over his shoulder. "Just in case this is the last time we speak, allow me to it, thank you my brother. You and Sol have been the best family I never knew I'd have. Keep them safe Avery, it's up to you now."

The conversation with Voidwalker brought news that Voxyn did not want to hear. Kain was dead… again.. He had no idea how Kain could have died, it took Venomis to kill him last time, but whatever happened must have been bad and Voidwalker needed a ship so he can “follow up on some things”. Ending the communication with Voidwalker, Voxyn opened a channel to the captain of his sister's ship, the Iridescent Spear.

Captain Nurssk, this is Lord Voxyn, respond,” Voxyn said into the commlink and waited for the reply.

Thiss is Captain Nurssk. What can thiss one do for you my lord?” came the reply in the gruff hissing voice of the Barabel that Vitani trusted to manage her ship in her absence.

I need you to dispatch a shuttle to the Tsushima to pick up this man,” Voxyn answered as he transmitted an image of Voidwalker. “You are to follow his orders and take him wherever he needs to go. Vitani and I will rendezvous with you after his mission is complete.”

Thiss one understands. Dispatching a shuttle now.” Voxyn ended the communication with the Barabel and began to explore the ship looking for Arach, Voidwalker said she was here and she likely had some answers for what had happened.

Arach gave her husband’s hand one last squeeze in farewell before letting go. As he began speaking to Avery, she scanned the room to take note of who was currently there. She noted with relief that Voxyn and Vitani were there in addition to the Onderonian royals and Mavros, though Vitani didn’t look to be in good shape.

She felt guilt for not only leaving them behind, but also making that rather cold suggestion to Xarxes. She tamped down on her errant feelings, reminding herself of just how desperate things had been at the time. Still, she felt uneasy.

Arach began moving toward the twins to check up on them, when she noticed that there was someone absent from their group. She scanned the hangar again, looking for a glimpse of their missing comrade. When she found none, she furrowed her brows in concern. “Where’s Zareel?” she asked.

She’s dead.” Mavros answered, bluntly. “Her mind was corrupted by…well I’m not sure what by. Some shadow creature masquerading as the ship’s captain. But she tried to kill me. And so…I had no choice. It was my life or hers.” He explained, sighing in apparent regret.

Kain might have been able to save her, but the creature that took over her mind ripped her soul from her body and sent it to kill me. She’s gone. For good.” He finished.

Arach clenched her jaw in anger at the answer she was given. In response, she felt the hair on her arms begin to stand on end as her anger began to manifest as lightning. Granted, she hadn’t known Zareel too well, but she had come to respect the Balosar during their failed mission on Denova. She knew her enough, though, to know that Zareel shouldn’t have died like that. “This creature that killed her, is it dead?” Arach asked, her voice low. She suppressed the sparks of lightning before they could physically manifest.

Kain destroyed it. It is dead.” Mavros said, sitting back and closing his eyes as if to rest them. Now that the adrenaline rush of the days events was over, fatigue was beginning to set in. But he was not sleeping.

Arach inhaled a deep breath, her anger satisfied for the moment. At least she was avenged, she thought. In response to Mavros, she nodded her head slightly in acknowledgement of his words. “We never should have boarded this cursed ship,” she said, her voice soft and sad.

As Mavros settled in to rest, she followed after Voxyn and Vitani, her heart heavy with the events that had happened that day.

Avery waited a few more moments before boarding the ship himself, the ramp closing behind him and sealing shut. He made his way to the controls, sitting next to Derrik as their ship detached from the Tsushima.

We’re gonna make this jump quick, be ready,” Avery called out to the others from over his shoulder, switching on the hyperdrive and clicking on the comm to their main ship.

Retrieve our shuttle from Nar Shaddaa and go home, I’ve retrieved Queen Solisius,” He explained, waiting to receive a confirmation before turning the comm back off.

Can you handle this?” Avery asked to Derrik, who chuckled and nodded.

Bee could handle getting us into hyperspace. I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Avery stepped away from his seat and into the living quarters of the freighter, sighing as he looked at the group that had joined them.

You all are welcome to remain on Onderon with us, or leave from our spaceport. I cannot guarantee what will come next, but I can promise you all will receive the best possible protection from it under S-, Lady Kolasi.”

Mavros’ eyes opened once more.

My orders are to protect Lady Kolasi. So I will remain on Onderon until told otherwise. I would be grateful, however, if my ship could be docked somewhere on the planet. Preferably somewhere secure.

Avery nodded, looking at the rest as they all seemed to agree to come with them. Good, Avery thought. We need all the allies we can get.

The Onderonian King moved back to sit with his wife, his hand on her cheek as he whispered their native tongue near her ear.

Engines ready!” Derrik called over his shoulder, everyone chuffing to more secure seating before the ship rumbled a bit, then shot forward into hyperspace.

IC: Lady Kolasi

Kolasi’s head rose slowly as her senses slowly returned to her. She looked around, shallow water surrounding her, but nothing more. No, she wasn’t awake. Not truly, that much she was certain of.

Sol,” A familiar voice came from behind her, and she rose to see her father.

What is this?” She asked, walking towards him slowly. Though she had just been sitting in the water, she wasn’t wet as she should have been. No, this was something truly strange.

I don’t have much time,” He said, taking a step towards her as well. They stood only a few feet apart now, and he looked down at his daughter with a strange look on his face.

What is this?” She repeated.

The Force has granted me one last chance to tell you what I haven’t.”

You’re dead, then?

Come here.

He pulled his daughter close, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. He did that for a few moments, and then stepped back.

Now you know, now I can find peace,” He stated simply, and before Kolasi could respond, the world around them began to fade away too. Until it was nothing more than a strange dream.

Coming out of hyperspace,” A faint voice echoed in her mind, and everything slowly became less muffled. Until a sharp gasp came from her lips, and Kolasi’s eyes flew open.


IC: Queen Solisius Kira
Iziz, Onderon

A Funeral Fit for a King

That’s what the House Heads had called it.

Despite their sworn oaths to their Queen, despite the war that had followed the former King’s antics, it’s what they all wanted. A funeral fit for a King. Perhaps the more shocking part of it, though, was the agreement from the Queen.

Her disdain for her father had never been a secret. What he’d done to her hadn’t been a secret since she’d returned home all those years prior. And despite that, despite the abuse and torment she’d suffered at his hands, she still agreed. And until the day of the funeral, no one seemed to understand why. Even her husband.

But as the rain poured down on the people of Iziz, as they all gathered to lay the late King to rest, the reasoning became abundantly clear.

The Queen stood at the very front of the funeral, the tomb directly in front of her and her sibilings. And, her son. The eldest of the Queen’s children, Oron, stood alongside his mother and aunts and uncle, looking silently at the tomb that would hold the person said to be his grandfather. But his mother had remained true to her word, and had never let her children meet the man. Why, then, was the heir standing with his mother and few other family members, while his father and siblings stood a few feet behind them?

Because his name was Oron Kira. Because his mother’s name was Solisius Kira. And her brother’s name was Esta Kira. And their sisters’ names were Lucia Kira and Astrid Kira Nethervoid.

Because they were the Last of the Kira’s. The 5 of them, together, made up what was left of the Kira legacy. And as the tomb of the person that had created them was sealed, fate too had been sealed for the young boy. Oron would have no contest to his ascension upon his mother’s death, though he’d hoped that day would come far later.

And it’d be up to him to continue that legacy.

That was why the Queen had been alright with what the House Heads requested. It wasn’t for her. She’d never hid her disdain for her father, even now. But her sibilings, Esta and Lucia. They deserved a chance to mourn their father. Someone that had been entirely different to them than he had been to Sol or Astrid. And the Queen knew that.

She stepped past her siblings and son, extending her arm to reveal a single red flower she’d been holding. She dropped the flower in front of the tomb’s sealed door, bowing out of respect, and tradition, for the former King.

Let’s go,” Sol whispered down to her son, her hand touching the top of his head gently as she comforted him. It wasn’t that he was sad at his grandfather’s passing, but rather, was sad that he’d never gotten the chance to know him.

But Sol knew better. And held no regrets in protecting her children from the horrible man.

Inside the speeder, Oron sat beside his brother and father, making cooing noises down at Jon. The baby giggled at his older brother, the noise causing Avery to look up at his wife and smile. Sol smiled back, her arm wrapping around her daughter as she pulled her into a half embrace.

A piece of your thoughts?” Sol asked Sommer, who’d been eerily quiet since their return a week prior. She’d thought it might’ve been the strangers that had accompanied them, but with most of them now being occupied with their own hobbies within the palace, Sol and Avery had begun to worry.

A plague on both your houses,” Sommer whispered as she stared blankly out the window of the speeder, watching as the rain streamed down the glass.

What was that, my love?”

A plague on both your houses,” The young girl repeated herself, causing a chill to go down the backs of her parents. But Sommer continued her blank stare, and Sol could only tighten her embrace a bit and sigh.

I suppose so,” She whispered into her daughter’s hair, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her back gently.

In the weeks following, the rain only continued. It’d been the longest rain period Onderon had seen in most, if not all of the population’s lives. While the King buried himself in war strategies and planning, the Queen had buried herself within the walls of the crypts below the city. Today, she found herself in a library, one or two of the Sith that had joined them back to Onderon from the cursed mission studying her home’s ancient texts silently in the room.

Queen Solisius,” a guard approached from behind the Dark Lady, and she sighed as she tore her concentration away from the document she’d been reading and to the young woman.


We’re receiving a message from the planet Arkania, a Lord-,” The guard attempted to explain, but the Queen quickly interjected.

I know whose message you’ve received. I’m not really interested in being lectured by the Good Lord Xarxes,” She said, the annoyance and disdain clear in her voice.

I don’t believe it to be a lecture, my Lady. It seems he’s requesting a meeting with you.”

Dear Lord, the ruler of Arkania would be the death of her.

Fine, let’s go.”

After the message had been played, Lady Kolasi stood silently in the communication room, laughing quietly at the revelation Lord Xarxes had made.

Lord Vaer was dead. Good. The cunt deserved it. The fact that it wasn’t her had angered her for a brief second, but the fact that it was done instead by his Master’s hand made it far better than any satisfaction she would’ve gotten from being able to do it herself.

Would you like to respond, my Queen?” the guard from earlier asked her as she sat down at one of the chairs in the room, a monitor and assortment of controls in front of her. Sol nodded in response, and waited a few moments for the light to shine on her face before she finally spoke.

You know, I wasn’t trying to lie to you. I’d have told a much better one if I was,” She started, humor in her tone as she smirked and continued the message.

That night, before Sol returned to her own bed, she stopped at her daughter’s room. Sommer sat quietly on a chair near her bed, a blanket wrapped around her as she wrote in a book. A sight that could have been welcomed, had she been any older than 7. Instead, watching her daughter quickly write on the paper made her uneasy.

Sommer,” She said quietly at the door, and her daughter paused her writing, looking up at her mother slowly.

Momma,” She said quietly, dropping the pin on the ground as if she’d forgotten what she’d been doing a few seconds prior. She stood and walked over to her mom, wrapping her arms around her waist in a tight embrace.

Your father and I have been worried about you, Oron and Scarlett said you were very quiet on Endor.”

Dreams,” She whispered against her mom’s stomach, only loosening her grip when she felt her body lower. Sol looked in her daughter’s eyes, rubbing her cheek softly.

I’m quite familiar with unwanted dreams. Come on, let me tuck you in,” Sol said, ushering Sommer to her bed and tucking her in loosely as she laid there.

I know”, Sommer replied, once again causing her mother to feel uneasy. She knew her daughter’s telepathic ability was unlike anything she’d seen before, but had her daughter truly been able to hear her thoughts even in her sleep? Or worse, had Sol unknowingly shared the memories of those dreams with her daughter?

Tell me, what happened in your dreams?”

A while later, long after Sommer and the other children had fallen asleep, the demon moon of Onderon had risen far into the sky. The rain had finally ceased, leaving the sky clear. Sol leaned silently against the stone guardrail of her balcony, sipping a glass of wine.


She’d wrapped herself in a blue silken robe with gold embellishments decorating the edges, and tied it loosely at her stomach.

It wasn’t until she felt the warm lips of her husband against her neck that she finally stopped focusing on her thoughts, and focused on the world around them.

My love,” He whispered against her shoulder as he left a trail of kisses down her neck and towards her shoulder, his arm wrapping around the front of her and pulling her against him. His hand made its way past her silk rope, and he gently caressed the long scar on her stomach, causing his wife to flinch for a moment before relaxing in her husband’s arms again. The memory of that dreaded birth was still clear in their minds, but it had all been worth it for Jon. He was good, he was kind. Already. Everything Avery and Sol were and weren’t, all of the good, wrapped into a small baby boy.

We need to talk about something,” She whispered, stepping away from her husband. Another glass of wine floated midair in front of them, and Avery took it as he grinned at his wife.

I’m sure we can discuss whatever it is after…


Heathen, you could even say.”

I’m serious,” Sol laughed, swatting her husband as she walked over to the bed, sitting her glass of wine down at a nearby table and picking up a holopad.

No, no more leaving. At least not for a few weeks. We’ve got time to make up for,” Avery made his way across the room as well, sitting his glass beside his wife’s as he sat down on the bed next to her.

How has your work been going?”

Good, I suppose. We have our ships armed, our hyperspace lane is closed to any incoming aircraft, not that it could stop shadow beings, and whatever created them.

And evacuations?”

The plans are prepared. Our ships can house at least half of our people, and there’s enough planets nearby that could be temporarily hospitable. Especially with our technological capabilities.”

But only half? What if we cannot take half and come back for the rest?

My hope is we will not need to evacuate at all.”

But if we do?”

Avery paused, his brow furrowing as he remembered the stress from the past few days. “I’m not sure.”

Sol pondered for a moment, looking back and forth between Avery and the city outside their windows.

The crypts?” She suggested, earning a puzzled look from her husband.

I don’t think the crypts could house half a billion people, let alone the unknown numbers outside the city walls.”

The crypts are far more complex and sophisticated than people realize, they stretch for miles and miles below the ground, beyond what you’ve even visited. My father had the hall sealed, but I believe if we tore that down, we could still access the rest that lies below.

After a few minutes of thinking on it, Avery nodded his head. “It could work, I suppose. In an emergency at least.”

Sol smiled, swiping on the holopad she’d nearly forgotten about and displaying a document on it. “I wasn’t going to talk about leaving. There was something else…

She handed it to her husband, taking a sip of her wine as he read the first line and looked up at her, confusion clear on his face.

Our legacy isn’t this planet. It’s not the wars we’ve fought, or the peace we’ve brought. It’s our children. And Sommer has been having visions that she mistook as dreams.

You know what can happen when people believe too much in dreams,” Avery countered, causing his wife to roll her eyes.

This is different. I know it. And this isn’t the same as what my mother did to me. This will protect them, and anyone that comes after them.

But a Beast Heir? Do you truly believe the people of this city would follow a beast rider? They hardly tolerate me.

It will be one of our descendants, should there ever come a time for one to be needed. Our blood. They wouldn’t have a choice but to.

After a few moments, Avery sighed, conceding to his wife. “Let’s discuss it more in the morning.

Sol nodded, lying down beside Avery as he rubbed her scarred arm gently, the grooves still evident from the burns of the gauntlet that had once been attached to her. “Is he really gone?

They hadn’t discussed Lord Kain, not really. Sol hadn’t even allowed herself to think about it.

No, I don’t believe so. But I’m not sure how much of him will return this time, I fear his soul may be too corrupted to be of any help to anyone.

Hm, another problem for another time I suppose.

There are far worse games to play.”


The Cunning Linguist
Staff member
Underworld Ruler
IC Catalyst & Volacius
Caves, Verdanth

It worked.

As Nephthys writhed upon the floor, cursing and attempting to grasp at a power she could no longer wield, time shifted them back into place where they belonged. Gone were the flies surrounding the corpse that still hung from the wall. Now it looked like the poor soul had died mere minutes before their arrival. The sound of Nathemus purging away the remains of Nephthys's forces only confirmed it. They had settled back to their present.

The spitting insults from the Sith witch's mouth was music to Catalyst's ears, a far better accompaniment than the wretched power that she would have brought to bear upon them had they attacked her more directly. He even managed a chuckle when she referred to the malady that was the Blackwing virus. The very same one that encouraged his study of the art responsible for her powerless state. It was like poetry, in a sense.

Volacius’ Lightsabers had shot downward into crimson life as Nephthys shrieked and flailed. He’d brought them into a defensive posture as she reached her hand out against him and his compatriots, and a smile had crept onto his face as he realized her efforts were folly. Whatever Catalyst had done, Volacius could feel that it had crippled her ability to use the Force. So much the better, Volacius thought, So many died defenseless against the True Sith and their spawn, it’s only fitting that she should fall before us in the same manner.

And yet, Eva had seen fit to foul his smile with her insufferable Jedi optimism and mercy. What had Nephthys done to deserve a fair trial? Her guilt was unquestionable. Yet Volacius held his tongue, confident that Eva’s words were just that: words. Nephthys would be interrogated for every scrap of information she possessed, and then she would be executed for her crimes against the galaxy.

His grin returned as Nephthys spoke to them, voice ragged and dripping with venom. He relished ever moment of her suffering, drinking it as a weary desert wanderer would drink water from an oasis. His smile turned wicked. Yes, rage against us. Waste your energy in futility. Too late, you say? Pah!

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,” Nephthys recited, the same eerie line that she had forced from the mouth of Captain Teltif, her voice suddenly cool and haunting, “and with strange aeons even death may die.”

Volacius scowled. He readied his mouth to spit vitriol back at her, to twist her own accursed rhyme against her. He readied his Lightsabers to sear her flesh, to cleave her limb from limb.

And then the Force plunged his mind into agony. Volacius fell to his knees, his Lightsabers dropped to the floor with the clunks of metal against wood. His eyelids raced shut as the Force dug layer by layer into his mind with a thousand scorching needles, yet as he closed his eyes he found no respite. Instead of darkness, Volacius was greeted by the sight of an all too familiar cavern. He fought back the pain and wrestled his eyes open, and yet each blink carried him back to that accursed tunnel in Korriban’s depths. He’d collapsed to his knees back then, as well. Oncemore, Kain was gone.

Before he could quip in response, the Force tore through Catalyst's mind. He recognized the sensation, to an extent. Kain was gone once more, and in his place something dark and dangerous rose. The malevolent grin of Nephthys only confirmed his worst fears.

Kain was right.

Catalyst's eyes squeezed shut, flashbacks of Korriban and of the abyss that threatened his spirit dancing on the inside of his eyelids. They had faced down gods and demons before, but this horror was wholly different in scope and scale. It threatened to eclipse this galaxy and all others with its all consuming hunger. Where Typhojem represented evil incarnate, what they faced now was nothing short of oblivion, and the mere presence of it in the galaxy threatened to leave Catalyst in a catatonic state.

Then all was quiet.

The thrum of Eva's lightsaber blade fileld the stillness of the abode, even as Nephthys grinned her mocking smile. Catalyst gripped the hilt of his staff tightly. How badly he wanted to wipe the smile from her face, and end her pitiful life where she sat. He had already crippled her though, and even with Kain gone once more, her knowledge could prove useful if they could just extract it. "It's a pity you won't know the fruits of your labor," Catalyst snorted in response to Nephthys's needling. "Your kind are all the same, spitting threats like an enraged tooka with barely the claws to back them up." He casually lifted her with a wave of his hand, restraining her in his telekinetic grasp. "What would your masters want with a pawn that can't enforce their will? Your legacy is one of failure after failure, and the only solace you seek to find is that whatever malevolence threatens us might purge the evidence of your ineffectual efforts from the galaxy. I hope you're used to the taste of defeat, because you will know nothing else for the rest of your days."

Lightsabers launched back into Volacius's hands as the Force relented, his sickly yellow-orange eyes settling on Nephthys with a glare that could slice a Star Destroyer in two. In his rational mind, he knew this wasn’t her doing. But this was no time to be rational. It was time to make Nephthys suffer. Surging forward, Volacius raised his sabers high, ready to begin quenching his thirst for blood by cleaving Nephthys’ right arm from its socket. But as he committed to his swing, The Lord of Linguistics used the Force to raise her into the air, and the sudden change in position potentially left Catalyst in the path of his blades. Eyes wide, Volacius diverted himself to the right, his lightsabers finding purchase in the cabin’s wooden wall instead of Nephthys’ flesh.

Volacius's outburst did not surprise Catalyst in the slightest. As the burning plasma buried itself in the wall of the cabin, Catalyst couldn't help but shake his head. He could feel all that the Mirialian was feeling, thanks in no small part to their bond. He understood the grief and rage that consumed the man at losing his former Master once again.

"Calm yourself, Volacius," Catalyst spoke with sincerity, perhaps for the first time since they had come to this gods-forsaken planet. An almost fatherly demeanor had overtaken him, not unsurprisingly in this moment of pain and loss. In any other moment, Volacius would have lashed out against Catalyst with words and blades alike. But as the Lord of Linguistics met his frenzied, stricken glare, Volacius could see, could feel the simple earnesty, made all the more serious and concrete by its stark contrast with everything Volacius had observed of the man in the past. For once, Volacius was put at something resembling ease by Catalyst’s words. Volacius’ Lighsabers extinguished with a hiss-snap, and he straightened his posture as he clipped both hilts to his belt.

"You'll have your revenge in time,” Catalyst continued. “We've got what we came for. If you let this schutta continue to play games with your head, you give her power." He looked into Volacius's eyes, no sneer or grin playing across his face this time. "We honor Kain by finishing his fight against the forces of oblivion." His gaze flitted towards Eva briefly, an unspoken moment of familial care. "Capturing this pawn is a small step along the way."

Honour. Volacius repeated the word in his mind as Catalyst spoke it. Yes, I suppose we do honour Kain by our service. Funny, he thought to himself as a pair of narrow tears streamed unopposed down his tattooed cheeks, Kain’s first lesson to me was that honour is a fool’s prize, that there is no honour for the dead. Yet here it is, honour for him even in death.

Volacius stood silently, stoic, as if already attending the funeral, already watching the twenty-one blaster salute. I’m sorry if you find this foolish, my old master, Volacius thought, even though he knew Kain was beyond hearing him, but I can’t keep living by that first lesson you taught me; I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist. Memories flashed across his mind’s eye, his dreadful life from orphan, to fugitive, to Acolyte, to bloodthirsty Sith warlord, always bent on revenge and little else. I will honour you. I must honour you. And for once in my life, I will honour myself.

With their quarry neutralized and captured, the trek back to the surface was simple. It appeared Nathemus had effectively dealt with Nephthys's followers, and there was nothing more down in the caves for them. The boulders that blocked their path before were barely an obstacle for the three Sith Lords and Eva, and before they knew it, sunlight touched their faces once more.

Conveniently, Catalyst had not ordered his crew to ignore any orders from the surface, and in a matter of minutes, his corvette had settled in the clearing that had caused him so much annoyance earlier. The four of them boarded with Nephthys in tow and were soon whisked back to Nathemus's flagship. It was decided amongst them that the Harbinger had the most ample cells to transport their True Sith prisoner, and in short order, she was caged and Volacius was ferried back to his own star destroyer. Catalyst insisted that Eva accompany him, since he was the one she had been looking for in the first place, and separately, the three Sith Lords made the jump back towards Hastur.

Catalyst and Eva chatted for what felt like days aboard his little corvette. Where once he was derisive towards her, and dismissive of their shared history, now he felt a sense of pride. It warmed his heart to see her grown up and able to fend for herself, though he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards her. It was hard not to see the young girl that he had met under Kain's care all those years ago. And yet, here she was.

At some point during the long journey through Hyperspace, their comms pinged in unison. Catalyst couldn't help but chuckle when he saw another veteran of the True Sith wars appear before him as the holographic image sprang to life. "Catalyst, Nathemus, Volacius, this is Voidwalker, what's your status?"

TAG: @Darth Kain @Volacius @Darth Nathemus @Voidwalker

Tune in next week to see Catalyst and Voidwalker harassing each other! What's going to happen? Rage! Hope! Love? See it all next time, on Prelude to Requiem!

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