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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jan 15, 2017 1:46:14 GMT -5
Welcome, friends, to The Old Sith Trials, a prequel to The New Sith Trials, sequel to Senate Aflame, Shadow War, Sith Trials II, Sith Trials and your latest installment in the ABYVerse. ![]()  It is a time of palpable dread. From the ashes of the New Sith Order, a grand SITH EMPIRE has risen from the forgotten world of Korriban. Fear and panic grip the galaxy as the Sith once again consolidate their power behind worthy leadership.In an ancient temple on the long-neglected Sith home world, the eldritch DARTH DREADWAR has proclaimed the FIRST SITH TRIUMVIRATE to helm the new dark regime. As his nefarious Night Herald and deranged Shadow Hand jockey for his favor, the mighty EMPRESS VOLSHE flees a vicious horde of Mandalorian Crusaders, abdicating her besieged throne to swear allegiance to the new Sith Emperor.Beyond the Unknown Regions, a greater threat lies in wait. The Sith Empire now stands as the only buffer between it and the galaxy at large. Beset by treachery on all sides, the Dark Lords have begun training a new generation of acolytes to cement their tenuous hold on the Outer Rim.~Rules~
1) Absolutely NO trolling within this thread.
2) Keep all OOC chatter to a minimum. Only use OOC notes if accompanied by an IC post. 3) No godmoding. 4) The GM - that's me - is the ultimate authority in this RPG. The GM has the final say in everything. 5) ALL CHARACTER SHEETS MUST BE SENT TO ME VIA PM OR FACEBOOK MESSENGER FOR APPROVAL.
~Setting~
We are set 154 years after the Battle of Yavin, in the Legends continuity. Familiarity with the other role-playing games mentioned above, or familiarity with the Expanded Universe, is absolutely not necessary. We have a detailed continuity due to players participating in several games and drawing upon previous events for their characters, but players and GMs are more than willing to teach new role-players the ropes.
At the end of the Legends comic, Legacy: War, the Galactic Federation Triumvirate was formed by the Jedi Order, Galactic Alliance remnant and Empire-in-Exile to become the predominant galactic government, leaving the beleaguered Sith to flee to the far corners of the galaxy. They serve the role of the Galactic Republic in this RPG.
In our previous RPGs, this political instability and the uncertain structure of the Federation saw many factions jockey for power, from the Mandalorian Clans, to the Yuuzhan Vong, to more classic Imperials unhappy with the 'puppet' ceremonial Empress Marasiah Fel, led by Empress Kára Volshe.
The Sith reinvented themselves, first under the command of the baroque Darth Vassago, before treachery saw Vassago enter self-exile, and in his wake fracture into rival dominions that scattered before the relentless fleets of the Federation into the depths of deep space. As they battled for the scant scraps the Unknown Regions had to offer, they awoke an ancient evil. The founder of the Sith Order, Ku'ar Danar, born anew as the eldritch Darth Dreadwar. Liberated from spiritual imprisonment, the Lord of Darkness has unified the Sith beneath his banner and claimed the long-lost title of Sith Emperor.
Swiftly carving out a swathe of territory across the Outer Rim using an archaic superweapon to bully worlds into becoming tribute-paying vassals, the Sith Order has become a feudal Empire once again, brokering a tenuous concordance with the Triumvirate as the Federation's eye turns towards the Core Worlds and rebuilding. Now with their own Triumvirate to answer the Federation's three-pronged leadership, the Sith will stop at nothing to replenish their diminished ranks and strengthen their grip on the shadowed edge of the galaxy.
Their primordial Emperor has restored many forgotten traditions. In the Dread Temple on mortuary Korriban, the time of the Sith Trials is at hand.
~Character Sheet Template~
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*character theme music (optional)* Character Summary:
Name/Title:
Age:
Sex:
Species:
Homeworld:
Occupation:
Height:
Appearance:
Weapons:
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Description of Abilities:
Personality:
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jan 16, 2017 3:56:21 GMT -5
Darth Dreadwar
Emperor of the Sith
Name/Title: Darth Dreadwar the Magnificent, Lord of Darkness, born Ku'ar Danar
Species: Force entity (formerly human)
Age: circa 7,200
Sex: Male (usually; essence transfer is a thing)
Homeworld: Nilrebmah XIII
Occupation: Sith Emperor
Faction: Sith Empire
Height: 6' 6"
Appearance: Dreadwar is a wraith, neither living nor dead, appearing as an opaque shadow surrounded by arcane energies, clad in tattered black robes with a long cloak, voluminous sleeves and a deep, ominously empty hood. Clawed gauntlets of rusted cortosis protect his hands.
Weapons: None.
Equipment: Various Sith artifacts, Force relics and eldritch technological devices rumoured to be from 'other' realms, some stored in his personal sanctum, some hidden under his robes on his person, including, but not limited to, the Gauntlet of Kressh the Younger (worn as a bracer on the right arm), Ludo Kressh's armband (worn as a bracer on the left arm), "Exar Kun Amulet" (left hand), Gauntlet of Crassus (right hand), "Qel-Droma Amulet" (necklace), Shadow Crown (implant), Yoke of Seeming, talisman of ensnarement, Sith Abattar, Oracle stone, Phobis devices, talisman of transformation (ring), Rin Shuuir's healing amulet, Totem of the Elementals, Totem of the Familiars, Void Stone, Crown of Verity, soul snares, molecular disruptor, Wraith Box.
Ships/Transportation: The ghost ship Wrath of Vader, a Devastator-class Star Monitor 66km in length with 6,600 turbolasers, 6,600 heavy turbolasers, 1,000 heavy ion cannons, 100 tractor beam projectors, 1,500 point defense laser cannons, 300 proton torpedo tubes, 1,000 mass driver cannons (including flak cannons and micrometeorite guns), and superweaponry: particle disintegrator warheads, 1 axial superlaser, 2 lateral ion cannons and 1 quantum crystalline ram. The Wrath of Vader has a crew of 882,000 and carries 12 Pellaeon-class Star Destroyers, 600 TIE Raptors, various other assault and support craft, and 300,000 Sith zombies.
The Dread Throne, a large throne of alchemically treated obsidian doubling as an open-top meditation sphere with a magnetic containment field, sublight ion engines and a hyperdrive.
Languages: Old Galactic Standard, Mid-Galactic Standard, High Galactic, Galactic Basic, Old Coruscanti, Olys Corellisi (Old Corellian), Sith (all variants), Myke, Arkanian, Rakatan, Hapan, Selkath, Huttese, Mando'a, Twi'leki, Defel, Croke, Tiss'shar, Tionese, Ssi Ruuvi and more, acquired over millennia of living as many, diverse lifetimes as possible.
Combat Abilities: Immensely powerful in the Force and a master of Sith wizardry, Dreadwar is well versed in conventional powers, and boasts a repertoire of more recondite abilities, including necromancy, essence transfer, Deadly Sight, Force Phantom creation and Force Drain on apocalyptic scales. While he is hopelessly out of his depth when it comes to lightsaber combat, Dreadwar is familiar with ancient Sith swords and poisoned daggers, yet prefers to rely on his dark genius and silver tongue to get out of a tight spot if his sorcery is unavailable to him.
Strengths: Genius intelligence of a cold, calculating rationalist, with exceptional analytical ability and scientific knowledge. Glacially calm and logical, even in stress. Extremely adept at understanding, reading and manipulating people. Highly creative.
Weaknesses: Arrogant, overconfident and stubborn. Unable to feel sympathy, although he views this as a strength. Prone to boredom, and taking unnecessarily complex steps to alleviate it. Prone to procrastination. Well-concealed obsessive-compulsive traits. Pathological fear of death.
Personality: A callous, cynical and amoral rationalist, this high-functioning sociopath ultimately hopes to remake the universe in his image, ridding the galaxy of death and forging a utilitarian utopia. To that aim he brings a ruthless, diamond-like clarity of cunning, a cold and pervasively unfeeling personality with shallow emotions, and a ferocious power of mind obsessed with survival and infamous for its ability to exploit even the smallest circumstances or weakest powers to their zenith.
Most of his superficial personality is borrowed from holofilms, plays and books, a chameleon's fluidity that obscures a deep and abiding melancholy. He has no caring for social conventions, enjoying violating taboos and covertly revelling in eccentricity, and indeed has little caring for anything at all, beyond his grandiose goals of godhood, amusing himself across his immortal existence, and the occasional romance.
Biography: Darth Dreadwar is an ancient Sith entity heralding from circa 7,100 years before the Battle of Yavin. Born to the name Ku'ar Danar and enduring a brutal childhood, Dreadwar was schooled through a rational, impersonal lens of the Force under the auspices of the Jal Shey, before becoming an iconoclastic Jedi Master who hid his addiction to risk and hunger for lost arcana in a nomadic role that assuaged his perpetual boredom best: a Jedi navigator.
Tracking snippets of rumours to Malachor V, Danar traveled thence to Korriban, guided by the secret maps entombed within the Trayus Academy, leading his expedition team to the Valley of the Sleeping Kings, where the indigenous Sith led the newcomer to the Great Temple built in reverence to the primitives' Dark Pantheon. To the astonishment of a man who had long dismissed the superstitious cultism of his childhood in favour of materialistic empiricism, he discovered a shrine through which communion could be established with a deity: The Left-Handed God of the Sith, Typhojem. Danar was inexorably drawn to the promised power, and tarried on Korriban while his expedition team, fearing the tribal Sith and the growing darkness in Danar, fled the Stygian Caldera. The Dread-King (Dan'ari), as he became known, single-handedly subjugated the Sith species and ripped the knowledge of their unique black magic from their minds, dominating and repurposing Dathka Graush, King of Golg, as his vassal and foremost servant, only to ultimately end his reign through assassination after his use was expended.
Danar, in time, became the first Lord over the Sith not born to their blood, leaving Korriban to forge an interstellar Dark Empire through spreading dissent among the ranks of his Jedi colleagues and instigating the first schism in tens of thousands of years: the Hundred-Year Darkness. Pulling the strings of the century-long war and proclaiming himself Jen'ari (Hidden Lord, Shadow Lord or, more usually, Dark Lord), Danar reclused himself to his homeworld in the Nilrebmah system, feeding upon the death and destruction of the conflict to attempt a radical rite of his own devising: the Ritual of the Void, the progenitor of the Thought Bomb. While Danar succeeded in tearing Nilrebmah XIII from its orbit and tethering his essence to it upon consuming its subjugated population, unleashing his spirit from his body and empowering it to terrible and deific heights, his ritual was interrupted by a fleet of Jedi erecting a Wall of Light, trapping his soul in the monolith he had raised to accomplish his sorcery.
His lifelong goal of immortality was achieved, however, and Danar rechristened himself Darth Dreadwar, signifying his triumph over death. Projecting a measure of his influence across the galaxy through pioneering the art of Force Phantom, Dreadwar not only utilised possession and his astral avatars to live a thousand hedonistic lifetimes over the ensuing three millennia, but also orchestrated many of the Old Sith Wars that would follow, tutoring Naga Sadow and Freedon Nadd in the dark side, and forging a complex time capsule in the form of twin amulets that would crown Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma messiahs to the waning Sith.
It was at this time that adventurers from the future, Jedi apprentice Dace Vinagar, and Qel-Droma himself, would meet in a confluence of fate at Nilrebmah, manipulated by Dreadwar to finally liberate him from the confines the monolith placed on his power and complete his ritual. Succeeding in his scheme, Nilrebmah was unhinged from time, casting Dreadwar into the future, chasing a vision of a galaxy enthralled in the grip of the dark side.
The death of Palpatine and resultant rebalancing of the Force unleashed a shockwave of energy that tore through the stasis that held Dreadwar frozen in time, reawakening the long-silent Lord of Darkness. Gathering an army of Sith preserved in carbonite for his plans, freed by the Nightsister Silri, he patiently gathered his strength, knitting a powerful Sith dominion out of the Rakatan Archipelago and the Sorcerers of Rhand. After decades of expansion, the time was at hand to enter the galactic stage, and so Dreadwar moved to unify the disparate factions of the Sith at the foot of his new throne on Korriban. Now Emperor of a Sith Empire, Dreadwar is moving his pieces towards an inscrutable goal. One level higher, he plays, he is fond of saying, and as his genius schemes see star system after star system fall to his tyranny until all the Outer Rim answers to the Dread-King, his followers believe him...
Rank/Level: Level 10 Dark Lord of the Sith
Class: Sorcerer (Arcanist)
Skills (game mechanics only):
Force push/pull – 1
Force choke – 1
Force Avalanche – 1
Force Lightning – 5
Mind Trick – 5
Tutaminis – 10
Hunger – 10
Essence Transfer – 10
Reanimate Dead – 4
Deadly Sight – 3
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Volshe
Administrator 
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
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Post by Volshe on Jan 17, 2017 0:01:58 GMT -5
Dreadwar Approved.  Darth Viscretus
Name: Darth (Lady) Viscretus / Kára Volshe (from 146 to 150 ABY she was known as Empress Volshe of the New Galactic Empire, but this is not known to the Sith, and her current identity is not known to her previous subjects). Age: Approximately 200 years old, appears 25.
Sex: Female.
Species: half-human, half-Vahla
Homeworld: Naboo
Height: 1.82 metres (6'1")
Weight: ~60 kg / ~135 lbs
Occupation: Sith Master and Arcanist, Director of Sith Intelligence
Physical description: Thin, tall, lanky. Her face is very classically structured - "Nordic" - with porcelain complexion, light blonde hair (often worn in braids or various updos), glasz eyes (truthfully, they are an ominous yellow-red). Various brandings of a mysterious origin descend from her forehead to lower jaw. Wears dark makeup quite often, usually a familiar plum on her lips and eyes.
Clothing: Prefers cloaks, dresses, and robes with intricate design to any uniform or anything more form fitting. Especially enjoys lavish headdresses. Seeks to appear mysterious and ominous. She does have black armour when absolutely necessary (read: when the situation forces it). Example of headdress here. Example of dress here, cloak here.
Weapons: Two lightsabers, black bladed with violet glow. Athame, inscribed with ancient spell and depictions of various folk goddesses of Serenno. Rarely if ever uses them as she prefers Force powers.
Equipment: Personalised Lambda T4-a class shuttle. In her quarters (occasionally on her person), various circlets of minor enhancing power; Relle Talisman; three strange amulets of opalescent, black (shard of Conteska), and violet crystal; a crumbling staff of greelwood and silver; a small latticed gold puzzlebox with a prayer to Vahl inscribed upon it; and various tomes of Sith alchemy, history, and similar topics.
Description of abilities: General skills include diplomacy, medical and biological sciences, logic, agility, general intelligence/knowledge (of many seemingly inconsequential topics), languages.
She is a first and foremost a scholar, one who craves knowledge and seeks to hold the universe's worth of knowledge in her mind.
As for Force abilities, she prefers the arcane and elemental (lightning especially), as well as what she likes to call "psychology" - manipulation is one of her fortes. She also possesses Tutaminis, though her skill is not yet that of a master.
Personality: Imperious and reserved to most, she still maintains the posture of an Empress. Her ego and goals do not afford her much patience, and she is just as quick with sardonicism or punishment for errant as she is with her pleasantries for those who do not test her. But beyond her outward persona, she is not merely the questionably sane, charmingly, coldly cordial former-Empress she plays. Her passions and fears drive her to relentlessly pursue immortality and power as well as forge an ultimate utopian society, no matter how chaotic the path to success may be. Her indulgences are dark and a great many, her darknesses even greater, and her sanity precariously on the edge, balanced on her success.
Biography: Born on Naboo, she served in the original Galactic Empire before its collapse before returning to her home of Keren, Naboo. It was then she vanished from the city and the Chommell system, claiming she was drawn to the stars beyond. During her self-imposed exile, she resided on Serenno, in ruins nestled in the mountains. It is here that she began her studies of the Dark Side.
Upon her return to Galactic civilization, she was Empress of the New Galactic Empire for a time. But, that is not knowledge she indulges anyone with. Her disappearance from the throne had great reason. That very same reason relies on her secret remaining preserved.
For the Sith, Viscretus rose from the shadows seemingly overnight. She appeared quietly, enticed into the Order by the Emperor Dreadwar himself. She claims much of her training came from an Order of Dark Siders during her exile, who are rumoured to trace back to the Old Republic. It is an Order that worships the study of the arcane and thrust her into their ways, ripping her from her home in the mountains of Naboo with a pull only the strongest Force user could possibly create. There are rumours that she has come only to further her power and destroy those who threaten her goals, that she seeks to manipulate the throne for herself - but those are merely dark whispers in even darker halls. She certainly would not confirm it, and would much rather permanently silence those who question her origins.
Little else is known. Her past is as indeterminate as her future, and she discusses both with no one (well, almost no one).
She seeks power - the ultimate powers of the Galaxy and the universe beyond - as well as to preserve the Galaxy in a state of harmonious utopia. A universe where none suffer from the afflictions that mortal life brings.
Class: Sith Master and Sorceress/Arcanist
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135 
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Jan 19, 2017 14:01:40 GMT -5
Name/Title: -Birth Name: Elara Kallos
-Taken Name: Lady Kevala
Age: 23 standard years
Sex: Female
Species: Arkanian-Offshoot (Half-Teevan)
Homeworld: Arkania
Occupation: Assassin
Height: 5’10” (1.78m)
Weight: 125 lbs (56.7kg)
Appearance: Kevala is tall, slim and utterly graceful. She hasn’t an ounce of fat on her, instead wrapped in long, wiry muscle that portrays her as deceptively frail. Her hair is long and typically worn in a variety of braided patterns. The raven-black is accentuated by one section of silvery-white behind her left ear, a hint to her Arkanian ancestry. Kevala’s eyes are a pale silver, the hue of clear moonlight upon an icy landscape. Her skin is likewise pale with the suggestion of silver sheen, hints of her blue veins visible through the skin.
Kevala prefers dark clothes, often shades of black and dark grey. She can typically be seen with tight-fitting, yet flexible, trousers; knee-high boots; elbow-high, fingerless gloves; a corseted tunic; and cowl (such as the outfit seen above). She habits dark eye make-up and deep red lips and has tattoos patterned down her eyes and chin as seen here.
Weapons: A variety of vibro-shivvs and -blades and twin katanas. The katana's handles' are braided, black leather over a silver pommel.
Equipment: Kevala shares a re-purposed H-type Nubian yacht with Scionica. She also keeps an array of poisons and toxins, a comms unit and a data pad.
Description of Abilities: Scionica and Kevala are unmatched in their knowledge of the human body, which makes them extraordinarily deadly combatants and toxicologists. The flexibility granted to Kevala by her half-Teevan ancestry, along with her grace and combat ability are also a force to be reckoned with. She has mastery in various forms of hand-to-hand combat, including both street and martial arts, as well as knowledge in various forms of swordplay. Although she has no awareness of it, she is Force-sensitive, which grants her an upper hand in gut-instinct and premonition, healing, combat awareness and a boost in physical abilities. You will never hear her coming.
Personality: Though quiet, cold, cynical and withdrawn, Kevala possesses a swift mind. She prefers to study situations before jumping in, and can do so in minimal time. She may not be insulting you to your face, but you can be sure she’s thinking it. Her actions are swift and decisive. She is not one to waste time with pointless shows of power and pride when she knows she can likely win at both.
Biography: Kevala is the twin to Scionica. She was born in the slums of Adascopolis, the primary city of Arkania. Her mother was a drug-addict and her father was brutally abusive. At the age of seven, their father came home in a drunken, murderous rage. In a fit of substance-induced jealousy, he murdered his wife over an imagined lover and turned his weapon to his twin daughters. In the state he was in, it was quite easy for the two to get ahold of their father’s weapon and turn it against him.
Freed from parental control, Kevala and her sister turned to the streets. With their unknown Force-sensitivities, they quickly learned the lay of the land and began to acquire the knowledge and abilities that lead them to their occupation as renowned assassins at the age of fifteen. Now twenty-three, the two twins are without equal in their profession and known throughout the galaxy through trembling whispers in the dark of the night.
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chunkeymodest
Gedyk Clan Leader
.: Mandalore the Undead
Posts: 25 
Likes: 10
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Post by chunkeymodest on Jan 19, 2017 22:38:05 GMT -5
Darth Dreadwar ,Character Summary: Name/Title: Chek Mosth, Alor of the Gedyk Clan, Death Watch Reborn Age: 24 Sex: Female Species: Human Homeworld: Drall Occupation: Leader of the Gedyk Clan, a mandalorian clan who holds true to the Death Watch of old. Height: 5’6” Appearance: Red haired blue eyed woman. Known to wear her hair shaved on one side, or simply hack it off to be done with it. Thin, but wiry. Small chested when bound, but out of armor has a good sized chest. Often wears muted colors. Pale skin, subject to sunburns and chafing in extreme dryness. Most identifiable feature is her vibrant red hair. While not shabby, her appearance out of armor is rather unassuming and common. Armor: Traditional Death Watch armor, done in colors of purple and green. Weapons: DC-15A refurbished blaster, Beskar electrorod Equipment: A very much refurbished Jedi Star fighter, painted an obnoxious Violent purple with many patch jobs and sparking fuses. Very much held together through sheer willpower and love. Description of Abilities: Adept with a blaster, but her true skills are with an electrorod. Although it is Beskar, her rod can only hold up for minutes against a ‘saber. Known for hand to hand combat specifically designed to kill quickly and brutally. Personality: Chek is gruff and rough around the edges, but truly believes in her cause. Although she may be harsh and biting with her words, she still remains as polite as possible in diplomatic situations. Very much a spartanesque lovelife, lifestyle, and family. With her clan she is less harsh, but still just as biting. Very dry sense of humor, and has resting deadpan face. Biography: Raised as a young child on Drall, the former Alor of the Gedyk clan picked her up after a street tussle. Both parents are absent and unknown, was raised by her now deceased brother until she became mando’ade. She is very much a firm believer in cin vhetin, that once you don your armor, your past is gone. From sketchy memories, she knows her family smuggled weapons and booze. Her now deceased brother took over the family business until the banker clan got wind of the business. They seized and plundered chek’s inheritance, and she only escaped by shaving her hair, sooting her eyebrows, and learning huttese. Her brother, Chek Darkoor was publicly and brutally murdered in a failed attempt at the subjecting Drall to the banker clan. While Chek has no love for the banker clan, she is willing to do business if only to cheat them in negotiating prices. As much as she is a business minded individual, sith hells have no fury like Chek on a war path. Keep in mind, this woman once raised an entire slavers ship to nothing but scrap for the sake of one of her kidnapped. Outsider beware, her biggest flaw is loyalty, yet it is her cruelest strength.
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jan 21, 2017 3:30:36 GMT -5
Darth Apollyon
Character Summary:Name/Title: Darth Apollyon the Blasphemer, born Zelashiel
Age: 28 (biologically)
Sex: FemaleSpecies: HumanHomeworld: NyssaOccupation: Emperor's Hand
Faction: Sith EmpireHeight: 5' 7"
Physical Description: Apollyon is a tall, slim human female with caramel skin, a long, slender neck, black claws for nails and eyes of celestial fire. She has an abdominal scar, and snaps in pernicious rage if anyone should mention it.Apparel: She typically wears a long, dress-like black coat of elaborately embroidered bantha leather, clasped at the breast. In battle, she discards this coat in favour of the simple black outfit beneath, which bears the style of a male Thyrsusian Stellar Legionnaire, leaving thighs somewhat bare to the knee-length, armoured black boots. Winged leather shoulder pads and a high collar resemble evoke the clothing favoured by the reborn Palpatine. She often wears chokers of finely patterned linen or dyed rancor hide.Weapons: Red, unstable crossguard lightsaber, kept in the left sleeve, of traditional pre-Malachor design, with a brown leather handgrip, and a setting allowing it to transition into a harmless flashlight, for deadly trickery in combat. The most unique facet is that the lightsaber crystal is a shard shorn from the Heart of Graush, containing the captured spirits of ancient Sith warriors; akin to the holocron that Exar Kun smashed, this places anyone wounded by the lightsaber in peril of being corrupted or worse, possessed. Two Sith amulets. Poisonous hold-out dagger in the right sleeve.Equipment: Wears a necklace carrying an ancient Sith talisman, a glowing red gem embedded within, as well as another amulet in a golden gauntlet.Description of Abilities: Powerful with the Force and a master of biology and Sith alchemy, Apollyon is well versed in telekinesis, leeching the life energy of victims, probing minds and inducing maddening visions of horror. Apollyon is an elegant but efficient lightsaber duelist, classically trained, using solely a one-handed grip with the other arm curled behind the back, emphasising stabs and thrusts.Personality: Religious and faithful where Dreadwar is empirical and rationalist, few bonds between apprentice and Master could be stronger than that between Apollyon and Dreadwar. She is loyal above all else, kind to innocents, strangers and her pupils and allies within the Sith Order, yet ruthless in her political dealings where necessary. Life, to her, is life in service of the Dread-king; her morals are absolute and incorrigibly unyielding, but her definition of moral is what Dreadwar decrees to be the greater good.Biography: First and foremost of Dreadwar's apprentices, Darth Apollyon has outgrown the need for his direct tutelage but prefers to retain the title and role of apprentice for the favour and power it brings her. She is deeply resentful of Darth Haretisch, for holding the position she believes she deserves, and of Darth Insipid, for imprisoning her Master.
The Emperor's Hand was born on Nyssa, in 4,017 BBY, to High Lord Tritum XI of House Mecetti and Viscountess Mireya of Vjun. Raised in religious reverence of the ancient Sith, Zelashiel was a prodigy somewhat spoiled by her father, privately tutored in the Arts, the natural sciences and use of the traditional lightfoil, before reading Biology and Palaeontology at the Shey Tapani University on Procopia. Spurning under the increasingly oppressive parenting of her austere mother, and the attentions of the lecherous Sith nobles who Mireya granted tax-free holdings on Nyssa, Zelashiel left the Tapani Sector behind her upon graduating, much to the embarrassment of House Mecetti, interning at Adascorp on Arkania.
It was then that the HoloNet came alive with reports of a great uprising of Sith teachings across the galaxy, as Naddists revolted on Onderon, the Mecrosa Order ascended among the Tapani and a new Dark Lord was declared in Exar Kun. Inspired by the news reports of the Krath Holy Crusade's origins in two nobles of Empress Teta stealing a Sith spellbook from the Galactic Museum, Zelashiel used her internship as an excuse to search for artifacts in the ruins of a great Sith library on Arkania. For tireless months, she researched, using her stipend from her father to fund small excavations. And then at last, her search was rewarded with the discovery of the skeleton of a dinosaur native to Trammis III. Impossibly, within its ribcage, glittered a golden-plated book, magically undamaged. While unable to decipher the Kittât alphabet of most of the Sith writings, enough of the contents was written in archaic High Galactic for her to understand the Grimoire's dark secrets. She was left spellbound by the first lines she comprehended:That iſ not dead which can eternal lie, and with ſtrange eonſ even death may die. For in Hiſ houſe on Nilrebmah, Darth Dreadwar waitſ dreaming. As she poured through the Grimoire, Zelashiel realised the High Galactic portions were describing the life of a Sith Lord more ancient than her understanding of Sith history seemed to make possible, and over the months, she learned the recondite secrets of the dark side contained within, swiftly mastering the power of Force drain; the contents of her Basic translation regarding the formidable rite would later be recorded within Darth Revan's holocron. Yet dreaming of acquiring power greater than that possessed by the Mecrosa Order, Zelashiel abandoned her autodidactic studies on Arkania as swiftly and resolutely as she had abandoned her course on Procopia, converting to a fervently religious adherence to the blasphemous unholiness of the Bogan - the dark side - and what she saw as its embodiments; the True Sith, not the assassins and hedonistic Lords she had known on Nyssa. She embarked on a pilgrimage to Nilbrebmah XIII, and there she found what she ultimately sought: the spirit of powerful Lord Dreadwar, left imprisoned after the cataclysmic Ritual of Nilrebmah that had granted him immortality, but at the cost of his body, all other life on the planet and tearing a rift in the Force and spacetime.
Unbound by time in that eldritch place, Zelashiel the Blasphemer was caught in the wake of a second cataclysm caused by a battle between similarly timeless adventurers and Dreadwar's undead army. As the stars stretched and the blackness of the night sky turned to the maddening blue fire of hyperspace, Zelashiel stood enraptured, looking to the heavens, her eyes turning to fire as the power of Dreadwar coursed through her. When all fell silent, and the sky returned to normality, over four thousand years had passed in an instant.
Dreadwar, having won free of the timestream some decades earlier, was waiting for her, newly clad in the mockery of a physical form, and christened her Darth Apollyon. Leaving Nilrebmah to Rhand, deep in the Unknown Regions, Lady Apollyon began five years of apprenticeship under the ancient Sith Lord. Dreadwar was generous with his knowledge, yet mysteriously a scarcely attentive Master, so Apollyon turned to the Sorcerers of Rhand's Lorekeeper, Blessed Toxmalb, and their death cult, the Knell of Muspilli, to complete other aspects of her training, and just as well she did. When her Lord was imprisoned by a Sith rival in a Rakatan Mind Trap, Apollyon searched tirelessly for her vanished Master, ultimately using the Knell's secrets from the fragments of the 100,000 year old Taurannik Codex - rituals they claimed were also capable of summoning 'apocalyptic deities beyond the Gunninga Gap' - to summon and vivify Dreadwar. Four years have passed since, and in that time, Apollyon has remained at Dreadwar's side as he undertook the forging of a new Sith Empire.
Rank/Level: Level 7 Sith Master
Class: Sith Sorcerer (Inquisitor)
Skills:
Force push/pull – 3
Force Jump – 1
Force choke – 4
Force Avalanche – 3
Mind Trick – 1
Force Defense - 4
Form II/Makashi – 4
Force Drain – 4
Probe Mind – 4 |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jan 22, 2017 20:54:34 GMT -5
Edworion
Infinite Emperor
Edworion's Theme
Character Summary:
Name/Title: His Glorious Majesty Emperor Edworion III
Age: circa 150, appears early 20s
Sex: Male
Species: Human
Homeworld: Zakuul
Occupation: Infinite Emperor
Faction: Eternal Empire
Height: 6' 2"
Physical Description: Edworion is a tall, handsome young man with pale features, a regal, angular nose, full, pouting lips, and cold, narrow eyes of reptilian yellow. His finely coiffed hair is dark brown, although leeched of saturation and streaked with silver; half of the eyelashes on his left eye are also silver. He has a slim but athletic build with a powerful chest, long torso, elegant hands and slender fingers.
Apparel: Edworion wears exquisite robes of a rich midnight blue trimmed with gold, framed by a many-layered cloak of dyed bantha fur held in place by twines of aurodium connected to broad shoulderguards. Beneath a high inverted collar of naval aesthetic is a breastplate of polished white plasteel sculpted into the draconian countenance of Zildrog. A kilt of leather lappets obscures a lightsaber hanging loosely from the elaborately embroidered belt. Black trousers of fine silk and knee-length rancor hide boots complete an outfit of such taste and evident expense that it can only be fit for royalty.
Weapons: A lightsaber with a navy blue blade of unusual length. The hilt is electrum, with a grip of black foam. A crown of platinum adorns the emitter.
Equipment: Sith amulets and talismans embedded in white satin gloves. An Upsilon-class command shuttle called the Golden Fleece.
Description of Abilities: Edworion's capabilities are mysterious. Known as an immortal, supposedly omnipotent god to the people of Zakuul, the Infinite Emperor has displayed supreme elemental command of the Force that would put any known Sith to shame, as well as darker maleficium such as necromancy and mass mind control.
Personality: A figure of outward benevolence and nobility, Edworion is calm, calculating and imperious. His passive if rich baritones mask an innate indifferent cruelty to his voice, an eternal sneer of cold command lending insight to his true nature: a cynical, bored and utterly amoral rationalist. He hopes to remake the universe in his image, ridding the galaxy of death and forging a post-scarcity utopia. Zakuul is the instrument of that goal.
Biography: Edworion's origins are shrouded in mystery. A nobleman born to one of the many feuding warlords of Zakuul in 19 BBY, Edworion was an insignificant figure fighting in the perpetual civil wars of the once-glamorous world until the Year of the Great Storm: 4 ABY. After the heavens opened in a rift of pure energy, Edworion returned to the Spire as the last survivor of a great, seemingly unwinnable battle in the swamps in which both his father and his archnemesis were slain.
Edworion claimed his birthright, marshaling his father's armies, but moreover proclaimed himself the prophesied Demon Saviour, an immortal messiah of ancient myth who would restore Zakuul to glory. Laughter greeted his oratory at first, then disbelief, then rank terror, as Edworion proved his supposed apotheosis with feats of power that turned entire enemy armies to ash. His eyes of celestial fire seemingly hypnotised warlords into pledging fealty, his vast storms of lightning restored power to the Old World, and shambling scores of Zakuul dead rose from the swamps again to serve their deity.
If there was any doubt to Edworion's divinity, it was quelled when the legendary Eternal Throne was recovered from the dusty archives of a museum and responded to his presence, activating for the first time in millennia. Within a year, Zakuul and all its holdings answered once more to a supreme Emperor. Over the course of the next century, Zakuul saw many strange red-skinned demons join the armies of the dead to fight for their ageless Saviour, reforging an Eternal Empire of resplendent wealth out of the Rakatan Archipelago and the Dark Worlds of the Nihil Retreat.
Restoring the Force to the Rakata, they hailed him their Infinite Emperor, who unlocked the mysteries of the Star Forges to not only transform Zakuul into a post-scarcity utopia of droid caretakers and endless pleasures, but create a new Eternal Fleet of automated ships that would carry an exponentially growing army of droids, Technobeasts and ghouls far and wide to conquer nearly the entire Unknown Regions and the seven satellite galaxies, as well as performing vast works of cosmic engineering that included terraforming, xenoforming and the construction of Worldcraft, skyhooks, Dyson spheres and all manner of space habitats. Yet after decades of prosperity veiled from the eyes of the greater galaxy by the hyperspatial disturbances of the Unknown Regions, whispers grow in its darkest depths.
Rumours abound that Edworion is but the vessel of an ancient spirit of evil. The True Sith have returned, they say, the Rakata once again their glorious Builders, and Zakuul is only the throne of a long-silent Lord of Darkness poised to strangle the entire galaxy.
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jan 23, 2017 23:39:11 GMT -5
Darth Catalyst  Catalyst's ThemeName/Title: Cal They'ron (birth name) High Inquisitor Catalyst, Darth Catalyst Age: Born 34 BBY Biologically Late 30's (frozen in Carbonite for 150 years. True age roughly 190) Sex: Male Species: Human Homeworld: Rhommamool Occupation: Imperial Inquisitor Height: 6'2" Appearance: Tall, thin, with long dark hair and we'll groomed beard. Dark, cold eyes that betray nothing. Most often wearing close fitting sleeveless black robes that display an imperial brand burned into his right shoulder and a mystical glyph in the left shoulder along with elbow length fingerless gloves. Flight suit is a standard issue Tie pilot suit with a glossy faceplate on the helmet rather than the standard helm. Battle armor is minimalist, a set of armored dark arm plates which leave the shoulders exposed and matching shin armor, and a dark chest piece reminiscent of ancient armor Weapons: Red/Orange saberstaff, backup single bladed lightsaber of the same color kept hidden under robes, ornate blaster pistol holstered at the hip, thermal detonator, smoke grenade in various pouches. Equipment: aforementioned weaponss, comlink, miniature data pad on wrist, customized multi environment armor, pilots a customized TIE Phantom. Seeking to reaquire command of a Raider Class Corvette. Description of Abilities: Stealth based fighter, expert in hit and run tactics, well versed in Jedi knowledge and combat strategy, mastery of Soresu suplimented with Niman and Jar'Kai. Overall strong lightsaber combatant. Competent fighter pilot and capable naval strategist, though prefers single combat on the ground. Force skills are less prominent, very competent in Force sense, detection and tracking as well as Force stealth and aura supression. Capable of absorbing and redirecting energy and bursts of Force Speed. Weak telekinetic abilities and only capable of simple mind tricks. Incompetent with Force lightning. Lacks negotiation skills. Personality: Cold and calculating in most situations but will often display a wry (if pessimistic) sense of humor in some situations. Looks down on those who don't respect power and hierarchy yet refuses to acknowledge those who have not earned their position. A firm believer in survival of the fittest and trial by sword if necessary. A very logical mind who will often concede if provided a convincing argument. Does not have the patience for politics and squabbles among those vying for power, prefers action over words when possible. Often will quietly watch and judge as others when important discussions are taking place. Would much rather dwell in shadows and mystery than reveal a potential weakness. Cal They'ron was born on Rhomamool to a family he would never know. Early in his life his force potential was discovered by the Jedi Order, who took him in for training. Cal was never one to make waves during his youngling years and was quickly apprenticed by Jedi Master Klar Ka-Lel, who he came to view as a father figure. The two of them went on many adventures, Cal's stealth based mindset often being countered by his master's very direct approach to every situation. When the Clone Wars erupted, Cal was quickly promoted to knighthood and forced to construct is own saber. Knowing that he would be facing many droid troops, Cal chose to construct a yellow saberstaff and intensified his training in Soresu, supplimenting it with Jar'Kai to best utilize his dual blades. During his tenure as Jedi Knight, Cal was sent on many stealth and infiltration missions, only seeing large scale battles when there was no other Jedi General available. When Order 66 was given, Cal was on a solo mission on the planet Dromund Kaas by order of Grand Master Yoda, only hearing the Jedi Temple's distress signal when he turned on his comlink after his mission. Deciding that he would be safe out of reach of the new Empire, Cal set up a small camp and lived as a hermit for years, surrounded by the abandoned Sith temples. Over time, through a combination of boredom and temptation, Cal took much time to venture deeper amd deeper into the temple of Darth Millennial, learning more and more about the ways of the Sith and slowly being corrupted by the Dark Side. He found many ancient holocrons and knowledge from the Sith Empire, including the location of Vitiate's Dark Temple, where he renounced his devotion to the Jedi Order and fell to the Dark Side. It was here where he achieved the black brand on his left shoulder. The spirits of the temple simply told him that the mark would signify his importance to the coming Sith Empire. Eventually he was found by Imperial Inquisitors; his self preservation and new knowledge of where he belonged, Cal quickly surrendered his services to the Empire. After a brief session of torture to test his conviction, Cal was branded with the Imperial sigil and given synthetic red crystals for his lightsaber, which he combined with his original yellow to produce a bright orange color. He was given the codename Catalyst to reflect his role as a being to bring change, and placed in the role of Inquisitor to hunt his former Jedi companions and maintain peace in the galaxy. It was now where he discovered his true purpose. Cal was gone. Catalyst was a master of finding and killing Jedi. He knew their tactics and secrets. He could dispatch them quickly and mercilessly. And he enjoyed it. He rose to the rank of High Inquisitor after the destruction of the first Death Star left a position open, electing not to reach for Grand Inquisitor and place a larger target on hmself. During this time he was given his personal Tie Phantom, which he named Whisper. With its massive firepower and sophisticated cloaking device, Catalyst became all the more dangerous. He was even given command of a Raider Class Corvette which he dubbed Solution. He continued his hunt for enemies of the Empire but quickly began finding himself bored with hunting rebels and insurgents. There were no more Jedi for him to find. Catalyst continued his work for the Empire out of loyalty. The Emperor noticed his lack of enthusiasm and began assigning him reconnaissance missions to keep his mind occupied and as a reward for his loyalty. During one of these missions Catalyst was tasked with resurrecting the Carbonite Army. After Palpatine gave him the coordinates for the sealed tomb, Catalyst departed in the Whisper, leaving the Solution docked aboard the second Death Star. Upon opening the tomb, Catalyst was immediately overwhelmed by a great tremor in the force; Palpatine and Vader had died and the Empire had fallen, or at least he thought so. Knowing the Carbonite Army would only be awakened when the Sith ruled the galaxy once more, Catalyst resealed the temple and subjected himself to Carbonite sleep. When Silri and Dreadwar reopened the temple and awakened the army, Catalyst was ready. Seeing that Dreadwar was the true Emperor he was waiting for, he immediately pledged himself as servant and bodyguard. Seeing his devotion and the mysterious markings on his arm, Dreadwar bestowed the title of Darth upon Catalyst, completing his ascention to the Dark Side. His Phantom, waiting where he left it all those years ago, would now be an enforcer of this new Empire, his sabers would cut down Jedi once more... |
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Jan 25, 2017 0:56:12 GMT -5
Name/Title: Shira A’dola
Age: 25 standard years
Sex: Female
Species: Vraeling
Homeworld: Vrael
Occupation: Empress’ Hand-in-Exile
Height: 5’8” (1.7m)
Weight: 122lbs (55.3kg)
Appearance: As a member of a rare species, Shira is not easily missed. She is tall and slender with a cascade of dirty-blonde curls that hint faintly at red, gold and platinum, depending on how the light falls on the strands. Her skin is smooth porcelain with a natural, delicate vine-like alabaster patterning dancing along the surface. Her eyes change colour depending on her mood but at neutral emotion are glasz, a chaotic and ever-changing mixture of grey, blue and green. Her name-sign, or namaä, is tattooed at the base of her neck.
Shira has no particular leanings in clothing. She prefers to stay in style, but she also has a head for what’s practical in the situation. Day-to-day responsibilities see her in a uniform of slim-fitting trousers and tunic of practical colours with knee-high boots. Social and political events show off her unique features in rich, flowing fabrics that drip with jewels. Battle dresses her in dark, tight, yet flexible materials, tunics with a high collar and elbow-length gloves.
Weapons: Shira possesses a singular lightsaber with a slightly longer and slimmer-than-normal hilt. The blade is a silver-white colour. She also possesses several concealed throwing blades.
Equipment: Ebony-black Geonosian Solar Sailer with a chrome sail, data-pad, comms unit, a small kit of healing herbs and stones from Vrael.
Description of Abilities: Having been trained by some of the most powerful practitioners in the galaxy, Shira is a highly skilled and dangerous combatant. Both her ability with the Force and her ability with a lightsaber are honed to an art and there are very few who can best her. She has particular skill in the physical Force arts.
Personality: Shira is wry and quick-witted. Though quiet and soft-spoken she possesses a subtle sarcasm and dry sense of humour. She’s a social chameleon, able to sense the mood and energy of a room and shift accordingly. She has a great drive for ambition and the ability to rise to the top before anyone realises she’s bested them.
Biography: Born on the quiet, Outer-Rim planet of Vrael, Shira was part of a large tribe as a youngling. She was stolen away by child-traders at the age of three, but was rescued by Jedi a year later. Recognising a strong ability in the Force and unable to identify her race, they brought her to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant to train her as a Jedi Knight. Despite her thirst for knowledge and her talents in the Force, she went through two different Masters. Her first disappeared without a trace at the age of nine. The second used the training bond as a source of manipulation and severe emotional and mental abuse past the point of endurance.
At the age of sixteen, the young woman shattered the training bond and fled the Temple, intruding upon a high-political wing of Coruscant’s neighborhood in search of refuge. On the brink of being kicked out into the night, she was found by Sistros, one of the legendary sages of Dwartii, and taken under his wing. Sistros took up Shira’s training in the ways of Febrayasis, a use of the Force unknown to both the Jedi and the Sith.
As the Emperor of a radical Imperial splinter state within the Unknown Regions descended from the Empire of the Hand, Sistros (known as the Emperor Charn) not only taught Shira the ways of Febrayasis, but also the ways of of court etiquette, politics and the ruling of a nation. For the next five years, the young woman was taught the intricate workings of the regime including the working of the military, the spy network, the web of Force users, politics, the history of the faction and more. She became not only an adept and powerful Febrayasi, but an important political figure as this party of 'True Imperials' gained explosive support within, and ultimately dominion over, the Senate of the Galactic Federation Triumvirate.
When the Empress Volshe came into power and supplanted Empress Fel as head of the New Galactic Empire, Shira was chosen as her second-in-command from Sistros’ personal reference and given the title Empress’ Hand. She was put in charge of the military and the Empress’ personal security as well as a position on the advisory board. This working relationship went on for three years until Mandalorians loyal to the Alliance to Preserve the Republic forced Empress Volshe to flee her besieged throne, restoring control of the Galactic Empire to Marasiah Fel and her triumvirs.
As whispers nor rumours of the Empress Volshe’s whereabouts could be heard, Shira led the minority of Volshe loyalists, consisting of Stormtroopers and Imperial Knights, into the Unknown Regions whence they originated, seeking political asylum as the faction dissolved.
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Post by Lord Vassago on Feb 1, 2017 4:18:12 GMT -5
Name: Unknown
Title(s): Darth Vassago, Voktys
Age: Indeterminable
Sex: Male
Species: Human
Occupation: Dark Lord of the Sith
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 190 lbs.
Physical Description: Completely bald head, adorned with several markings. The tip of his right ear has been lost; a scar runs down the side of his head coming down to his ear. Heavy deep red bags rest below hazel eyes, a faint scar of pink hue crosses down his right eye lid nearly to his cheek. A beard runs midway to his temple but ends before reaching the crown of his skull. His physical body appears thin, no excess weight to speak of.
Appearance.
Clothing: Drab brown cloak he wears conceals the entirety of his clothing; a hood draped over his head shadows his face.
Weapons: None.
Equipment: None.
Description of Abilities: A Master of the Force.
Biography: Darth Vassago once proudly ruled the Sith Order, overseeing a generation of proud and powerful Sith. The Dark Lord ruled with an iron fist and mercilessly defended the honor of his Order. However, despite his best efforts, the Order was not invincible and fell to a greater destructive power. Once the Order crumbled, the Dark Lord fled into a self-imposed exile. No one has seen or heard of the Dark Lord since the fall of the Sith Order, and has been presumed dead for many, many years. |
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Post by Lord Vassago on Feb 1, 2017 4:22:13 GMT -5
Name: Sabba
Age: 21
Sex: Female
Species: Human
Homeworld: Makatak
Occupation: Apprentice
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 122 lbs.
Physical Description: Physically fit from her time exploring, climbing, etc. with a light skin tone, due to living under the canopies of Makatak her entire life. Brilliant green eyes contrast to her skin and deep red hair. Her hair is kept in thick locks, held back slightly to keep it from her face, decorated with many tribal talismans, such as a small skull, feathers, claws, etc. throughout, as is customary for her people. The surprisingly soft features of her face are accented by tribal markings on her forehead and her chin, and span to various parts of her entire body.
Appearance.
Clothing: Sabba wears a black sleeveless over tunic with a short cloak around her shoulders and no under tunic. The neckline of the tunic is modest, and the sash around it is worn around her midsection. The front of the tunic covers her midriff and her back, but her hips are left exposed. The black pants she wears are simple and slung low around her waist, with her belt resting low on her hips more for convenience than function. On her hands she wears black finger less gloves that extend to the middle of her forearm. Black boots with concealed buckles dress her feet, and end mid-calf.
Clothing.
Weapons: A lightsaber, constructed from the Wroshyr tree staff that her Master carried.
Lightsaber.
Equipment: Sabba travels light, and only takes with her that which can fit on her belt.
Description of Abilities: Natural survival instinct, exceptionally skilled in tracking & exploring, very agile, quick reflexes, fast on her feet.
Personality: Sabba is loyal and remains steadfast to her Master's will. She doesn't dare disobey a single command he gives. She still tends to feel emotion for others, but through discipline, she intends to eliminate any remorse from her being.
Biography: Sabba was the eldest of three children, parented by her mother and father, Aeolian and Nahual, respectively. She grew up hearing stories of a mystical elder that lived within the forests of her home planet, granting miracles and using magic to aid villagers that may be in need. One story she heard often told of her mother and father going to this elder when she was still unborn, in her mother's womb. Aeolian had come under terrible illness and they feared the worst. Nahual begged and pleaded with the mystic in the woods, asking that his wife and unborn child be saved. According to the story, the old man heard her father's desperate pleas and was merciful. The mystic laid his hands upon Aeolian's belly and a soothing aura fell over her, putting her to rest. Nahual was told by the mystic that, when his wife woke from her sleep, she would be completely healed and their child would be born healthy, and stronger than before. When Aeolian finally gave birth, the mystic's words rang true and Sabba was born healthier than they could've imagined. To show their gratitude, and honor the mystic, her parents committed to teaching their future family to revere the man the village called "Voktys", which meant holy man in their language.
Along with the stories of miracles and good works, Sabba also heard stories of horror and anguish perpetrated by the mystic. Stories of those who sought out Voktys for foolish reasons, personal gain, such as wealth or power. Sabba heard how grown men were dissolved where they stood, turning to ash, or cursed with horrifying visions in their mind that drove them to insanity and eventually to suicide. While these stories struck her and she developed a healthy reverence for the mystic, her naivety wouldn't let her fully believe that the same man that healed and helped, would punish or kill.
Throughout her young life, Sabba always hoped to meet the man in the woods. To her dismay, she never had reason to go. In the back of her mind, she always feared the reason would be seen as "wrong", and she'd suffer like those in the tales she was told. Only once, while out exploring with a group of friends, did she see him, or so she believed. She felt that it was him, walking through the dense forest and in to a deep cave. When she ran back to tell her friends, they all quickly went to the cave but found it closed off, impossible to enter. This left Sabba looking foolish and her friends joked at her expense that she had seen "the old hermit in the woods". She became the laughing stock of her friends.
It was that one incident that prompted her to, quite simply, spend the majority of her time trying to find a reason to see Voktys. Her friend, and exploring companion, Merune, was one of the only friends she had that did not mock her. Although their views on the mystic in the woods differed, Merune chose to fear and avoid the man, that no good would come of him, but he feared for her safety and knew she needed to be looked after. He was there to keep Sabba's ideas in check, to question all the things she believed, and to keep her out of trouble at any cost.
It was Merune that accompanied Sabba when she found the writings that fateful day; the writings from the cave, finally something she could take to Voktys. While he tried to warn her, she didn't listen and knew that it was her moment.
During the attack of the her village, Sabba's parents and two young brothers were consumed by the un-dead masses. Merune was killed before her very eyes, and Sabba was left with no one but the man she knew only as Voktys. He saved her life on numerous occasion during the invasion of her planet, and though he was harsh toward her at times, she felt he was her destiny. Sabba was told by the Witch on the mountain, Antaneesia, to stay far away from Voktys, and to abandon any thoughts of who she thought he was. The Witch revealed to Sabba that Voktys was actually a fallen Dark Lord of the Sith known as Vassago, a man who thirsted for immortality and would achieve it by any means. Sabba rejected the idea of him being a vicious man and nearly lost her life for it; Antaneesia attempted to sacrifice her body to the dark magics that commanded her. It was Vassago that saved her from the Witch, and later from the entire planet being destroyed.
Once Makatak was destroyed and Sabba had seen the good that Vassago had done on her behalf, she pledged her life to him. Sabba swore an undying oath that she would serve the man known as Voktys, as Darth Vassago, as any other moniker he chose, and she would live and die by his side if he would train her to be as powerful as him.
That was nearly five years ago...
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Feb 1, 2017 23:31:26 GMT -5
Name/Title:
-Birth Name: Tallia Kallos
-Taken Name: Lady Scionica
Age: 23 standard years
Sex: Female
Species: Arkanian-Offshoot (Half-Teevan)
Homeworld: Arkania
Occupation: Assassin
Height: 5’9”
Appearance: Tall, wiry and athletic, Scionica’s appearance is vastly different from the willowy build of her twin. Her long, straight hair is a fiery red that shimmers with rich gold in the light. She prefers to wear her hair down, even in battle. However, if practicality outweighs aesthetics, she’ll tie her hair in a long, single braid that fall down her back. Her eyes are a deep, ebony black, hinting to the vastness of space devoid of stars. They are virtually impossible to separate from her pupils. Smooth alabaster is lined with a matrix of blue veins seen underneath the transparent skin. She has two jet lines tattooed from the outer corners of her eyes and network of tribal-themed tattoos beginning from the right side of her chest, crossing over her shoulder and continuing down her upper arm. She keeps her make-up simple, with deep, red lips and dark eye paints.
Scionica’s choice in clothing does not quite speak to practicality. Slim, dark leather trousers display her shapely legs and leather tops show off her toned abdomen. She prefers knee-high boots and a thigh-strapped bag. Over all she wears a long, dark overcoat and cowl.
Weapons: A variety of vibro-shivvs and -blades and a slim, collapsible vibro-staff.
Equipment: Scionica shares a re-purposed H-type Nubian yacht with Kevala. She also keeps an array of poisons and toxins, a comms unit and a data pad.
Description of Abilities: Scionica and Kevala are unmatched in their knowledge of the human body, which makes them extraordinarily deadly combatants and toxicologists. The flexibility granted to Scionica by her half-Teevan ancestry, along with her grace and combat ability are also a force to be reckoned with. She has mastery in various forms of hand-to-hand combat, including both street and martial arts, as well as knowledge in staff-fighting and, in lesser skill, swordplay. Although she has no awareness of it, she is Force-sensitive, which grants her an upper hand in gut-instinct and premonition, healing, combat awareness and a boost in physical abilities.
Personality: Scionica’s personality differs greatly from that of her twin. She is abrasive, prideful and confrontational. She takes great joy in making others uncomfortable. She is a great purveyor of psychological warfare, known to taunting her opponents and and having great skill in exploiting emotional and physical weaknesses.
Biography: Scionica is the twin to Kevala. She was born in the slums of the primary city of Arkania. Her mother was a drug-addict and her father was brutally abusive. At the age of seven, their father came home in a drunken, murderous rage. In a fit of substance-induced jealously, he murdered his wife over an imagined lover and turned his weapon to his twin daughters. In the state he was in, it was quite easy for the two to get ahold of their father’s weapon and turn it against him.
Freed from parental control, Scionica and her sister turned to the streets. With their unknown Force-sensitivities, they quickly learned the lay of the land and began to acquire the knowledge and abilities that lead them to their occupation as renowned assassins at the age of fifteen. Now twenty-three, the two twins are without equal in their profession and known throughout the galaxy through trembling whispers in the dark of the night.
Note: Scionica does not have a lightsaber for this RPG. This image was developed back when we were doing the original Sith Trials when she did have a 'saber.
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Feb 10, 2017 3:11:28 GMT -5
“There are dark places in the galaxy where few tread. Ancient centers of learning, of knowledge… But I did not walk alone. To be united by hatred is a… fragile alliance at best. But my will was not law. There were disagreements. Ambition. And hunger for power.” ― Darth Traya
In the year 154 After the Battle of Yavin...
“Korriban shall be as it always was. A graveyard for the darkest of the Sith Lords, still whispering within their tombs. It shall always be a source of evil, spawning threats throughout the millennia. It, like Malachor, brushes the edges of the empire that waits in the dark.” ― Darth Traya
IC: Darth Apollyon
Sith Temple Library, KorribanKorriban. Moraband. Pesegam. Many names, one planet, the utterance of any of them bringing with them deserved dread.It is a cold wasteland of blood-soaked sands. Its face is caked in rock that form crumbling mountains hewn by the ravaging wind from the ruins of ancient temples, to tower above wind-cut badlands, parched dunes that weep grit with every updraft, and chasms formed by deep fractures gouged into its depths. Dried-up valleys, that had been dismal brooks and gulches before they were plied by ancient hands into their present state of vainglorious monument, appear as blackened scars from space, puckered by the fissures that web out from them into the crust, the disfigurements left on a withered corpse. Built on the crooked backs of a thousand long-dead slaves... the tombs of buried treasure, the grand Temples dedicated to the dark side, the Academies the crucible on which prospective Sith are flayed into raw embodiments of the dark side's primal power; these are the testaments to Korriban's past, present and future.For this was the birthplace of the Sith, the mortuary world of their greatest Lords, the dark heart of the new Sith Empire.
Several miles distant from the mouth of the Valley of the Dark Lords, nestled in the ragged mountains that bathed the ruins of the ancient city of Dreshdae in shadow, brooded one of the oldest Temples on the planet. Predating even the reign of the first Sith King Adas, this palace, tabernacle and academy was called home not only by Darth Dreadwar, Emperor of the Sith, but by a thousand Sith of his new dark ascendancy. Among their number, Darth Apollyon, Emperor's Hand.
Today, she found herself in the dusty cloister that was generously dubbed the Sith Library by the Temple's rancid Lorekeeper. Apollyon's title was somewhat misleading, for she was hardly the potter's hand which carefully worked the clay, but rather the Emperor's clenched fist, a religious zealot to pummel those who opposed his reign and see Dreadwar's will made manifest. To find her in a library would, therefore, be most unusual. In her hand was the most unusual reason.
"This can't be," Apollyon shook her head in wonderment, fiery eyes reflecting the stark light of the datapad clutched so tightly by ordinarily caramel fingers that they were almost white. The datapad had been handed to her by Sith Intelligence the week before, after the Artifact Reclamation Service, buried within Intelligence's sprawling and often deliberately confusing hierarchy, had found something interesting in the new databanks. The Archives had been flooded by a mass download of datasets belonging to the now-defunct Galactic Empire, which had been generously provided four years ago through entirely unknown and no doubt unscrupulous means by a mysterious new Sith who now sat at the head of Sith Intelligence: Darth Viscretus. The size of the Imperial Archives was not to be understated; it had taken four years to pour through only 18% of the data, and the Artifact Reclamation Service's most advanced search algorithms and digital historians had only now turned up something of significance.
It was a file belonging to the long-dead Mitth'raw'nuruodo, better known as Grand Admiral Thrawn, who had been sent by a fearful Emperor Palpatine into the darkest depths of the Unknown
Regions for a purpose unknown. The file was entirely insignificant save for a photograph and one-paragraph description of a torn piece of yellowed parchment that Thrawn had apparently bought from a collector of ancient Sith artifacts. A piece of paper. But the strange glyphs on that piece of paper had been penned, if Thrawn's account was true and if the collector's word held, by the hand of Naga Sadow himself, some five thousand years ago.
Darth Apollyon read the contents of the fragment to herself aloud for the hundredth time, translating from the ancient Kittât alphabet.
-nd in the time of greatest dread, when the nemesis devours all, there shall come a saviour marked by Ragnarok, unto whom was born-
The ominous words reverberated in her skull. Sith writings often contained dire portents of doom, but there was something about this find which unsettled her... The dark side itself seemed intent to make her heart beat faster, every time she reread it. A prophecy? A stray line from some novella Naga Sadow was writing in his spare time? She would need help to unravel the mystery.
"Erastus," she snapped, clicking her fingers to summon her smartly-dressed young assistant, who seemed to be... was he sniffing the old tomes on the Library shelves?
"Yes, milady," he came to her side swiftly, back straightening. "Go to the offices of Sith Intelligence," Apollyon said. "There you will find Darth Catalyst and Darth Viscretus. Bring them before me..."
"...oh, and Erastus," she called just as he turned to leave. "Rustle up some acolytes as well, if the classes can spare any."
It did not take long for the uniformed ensign to navigate the labyrinth of the Temple's halls to find the Department of Sith Intelligence, on the Temple's upper levels. Stone transitioned into durasteel as he hurried into the vast room in which a hundred intelligence officers bustled back and forth clutching datapads, chittering and chattering around cluttered desks, walls of screens and consoles of black plasteel.
"Lady Viscretus! Inquisitor Catalyst!" he called over the din to the two figures standing still amidst the organised chaos of the office. In his haste, he forgot to bow as he approached. "Lady Apollyon requests that you meet her in the Library," Erastus said breathlessly.
TAG: Volshe , Darth Catalyst
"A culture's teachings, and most importantly, the nature of its people, achieve definition in conflict. They find themselves... or find themselves lacking." ― Darth Traya
IC: Ermir Marcus
Sith Temple Classroom
Elsewhere in the Temple, in a chamber off to the side of one of the lower catacombs that had once served as the fortress' dungeons, Sith Master Ermir Marcus was teaching his class. Dressed in white robes which did little to disguise his repugnant nature, the sharply-nosed and even more sharply-tongued lecturer was today leading his Sith Alchemy class through the finer details of potion-making. His class was composed wholly of initiates hopeful to become true Sith apprentices, most of them in their teens although with some adults either drawn from the ranks of newly freed slaves or having defected from the Jedi.
The classroom's tables were littered with glass jars, bubbling cauldrons and cages full of squawking creatures. A holographic projection portrayed titanic Sithspawn from a bygone age, under the slide's cheery header: How to Make Dragons from Dagbats.
"-and that's why this coprolite, and what's a coprolite--yes, fossilised dung, very good Sneraktu -- that's why this coprolite from Korriban offers conclusive evidence the Terentatek, contrary to popular belief, predated the breeding efforts of Exar Kun on Yavin IV." Ermir Marcus finished the first half of his lesson.
"Now, class, for the rest of this lesson, we're going to be implementing what I just taught you to actually try and mutate your first creature. What I want you to do is pair up, and come stand around these cages over here." As the students slowly came to their feet and obeyed his instructions, Ermir continued. "And what we're going to do is do a test, and that test is going to involve actually channelling your hatred into these captured dagbats as I've taught you, and see if your power is enough to manipulate the midichlorians in its nasal tissues and make the creature breathe fire. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Marcus," the class chorused over the shuffling of papers, scraping of desks and movement of feet. As Ermir paced around the classroom, he came to stop before a young Zeltron. He sneered. "And whoever is least able to accomplish this task," he seemed to glance at her as he spoke, "will be assigned extra homework." The Nautolan apprentice who sat next to Robyn Shaire shivered in abject terror. Everyone knew "homework" in the Sith Academy was deadlier than in most institutions of higher education. Ermir slapped the two students' shared desk. "Initiate Shaire," he snarled, "are you even paying attention?"
TAG: Padawan4687
"Feel the currents here on Nar Shaddaa, the ebb of life. A simple kindness can be given to another. This is the Force. And all our choices, from the greatest to the smallest, affects each other. And the echoes travel." ― Darth Traya
IC: Mandalore the Moderator
Slippery Slopes Cantina, Nar Shaddaa
Many parsecs from Korriban, a greyer orb hung in the abeyance of space, suspended above a bloated swamp of a world which belched industrial gases so high it was a wonder its moon wasn't smothered. The planet Nal Hutta, and its Smuggler's Moon, Nar Shaddaa.
Nar Shaddaa was an ecumenopolis, much like Coruscant, except where Coruscant was a planet-wide city of dreaming spires, Nar Shaddaa was a moon-wide city of dreary monoliths, dull grey skyscrapers struggling to rise so high into the cloudy night when so weighed down by the oppression of injustice, exploitation and crime. It was in the Slippery Slopes Cantina, located in the neon-lit Lucent Square of the city's Lower Promenade, that Beskaryc Taab was waiting, flanked by two visored mercenaries hefting oversized blaster rifles.
Hunched over a comparatively small circular table near a pair of scantily-clad Twi'lek dancers he was no doubt ogling, the stocky man was clad from head-to-toe in armour of black and red reminiscent to that worn by the long-dead Jedi turned Mandalorian Bardan Jusik, his harsh features obscured by a mask that denoted him as the current leader of the Mandalorian Clans - most of them, anyway. He looked to the entrance as the deadly duo he was waiting for finally arrived. "At last," his gruff voice, modulated by his helmet, called out to the black-clad women entering the Cantina, waving them over. He did not stand. He was Mandalore, Mandalore the Moderator. Mandalore stood for no one.
"I am glad you agreed to this meeting. You'll find this contract quite lucrative," Mandalore chuckled darkly, seeming to get straight down to business as he gestured for the assassins to take a seat. Notoriously few of words, Mandalore continued, "All of the details of the hit are on this datacube here," he gestured to the small device on the table next to his empty glass, "and that's all there is to it. Make it slow if you can. I want her to suffer." He smiled grimly as he manipulated the datacube, activating its holoprojector, which brought to shimmering life a three-dimensional image of a young blonde female in luxurious robes, rotating lazily over lines of Aurebesh text which summarised the more salient details:
KARA VOLSHE FORMER EMPRESS OF THE NEW GALACTIC EMPIRE FEMALE 1.82 METRES 60 KILOGRAMS LOCATION UNKNOWN
But, unbeknownst to Mandalore, Kevala and Scionica were not the only ones watching. At a shadowy booth two tables over happened to sit Chek Mosth, leader of the Gedyc Clan, a splinter group that had been relentlessly persecuted, its warriors slaughtered, by Mandalore the Moderator and his forces during his rise to dominance. A rival. She might have just come to the Cantina for a drink. Or she might have followed the brutal Mandalore in with nefarious intent. Whatever the case, she had seen it all. Whatever was she to do?
TAG: Shira , chunkeymodest |
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Feb 10, 2017 13:31:50 GMT -5
Robyn Shaire
Character Summary
Name/Title: Robyn Shaire
Age: 16 standard years
Sex: Female
Species: Zeltron (half-human)
Homeworld: Chrystophsis
Occupation: Sith Apprentice
Height: 5’2”
Appearance: Robyn is a petite young woman with a pink skin tone, long maroon colored hair worn in a bob that trails down past her shoulders, and brick red eyes.
Weapons: A single violet bladed lightsaber, a small blaster pistol and an ornate vibro-dagger.
Equipment: A locket with a chunk of crystal from Chrystophsis.
Description of Abilities: Despite her youth and relative inexperience, Robyn boasts a formidable reserve of Force power. It had been coveted by those wishing to exploit those abilities from the time she was a small child, and as she grew older, that power multiplied. Unfortunately, the most impressive displays of her strength have only revealed themselves during moments of high stress and desperation, and she must train herself further before she can willingly unleash it.
Personality: Robyn is overall a timid person, and her natural nerves only multiplied after leaving the Jedi. Her quiet nature hides a cleverness that has served her very well for analyzing situations and areas of escape.
Biography: Robyn was born on Chrystophsis, where she spent some of her blissful childhood years living with her mother and father. Her family’s status as company owners gave them a relatively high social standing with a comfortable lifestyle, but it came with the drawback of xenophobic enemies. Robyn was ignorant to the many brewing conflicts surrounding her family until they came to a boil after her ninth birthday.
She was kidnapped away from Chrystophsis and sold as a slave. The Zeltron girl found a savior in the face of a young Jedi Knight after many weeks of lonely servitude. She was freed, taken away from her awful “Master”, and ferried back home. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a “home” left to greet her, as her childhood house was revealed to be utterly ransacked. The child’s first “display” of Sensitivity occurred right there in the house, almost knocking it to the ground in the chaotic blasts of unrestrained energy. The Knight witnessed the explosion, and after rescuing the grieving girl from the wreckage, brought her back to her home on Dantooine instead.
Robyn was accepted into the Dantooine Jedi Alcove to be trained as a youngling, and the Knight that saved her resolved to watch over the little girl as she grew. The two gradually took on a mother-daughter relationship, and when the time was right for her to be promoted, Robyn was quickly chosen as her Padawan. She was coming along well in her training, and was looking forward to the day she could become a Knight herself, until one fateful mission to Korriban.
It wasn’t her first ever encounter with a Dark Lord, but the man was still a terrifying force to behold for a girl all alone. Her Jedi Master had a single request: survive him. While Robyn had braced herself for an exhausting battle, the Dark Lord Dreadwar engaged her in more of a mental duel than a physical one. He shattered her faith in the Light Side of the Force and even left her questioning its existence in the short amount of time it took her Jedi Master to reach her.
The “damage” was extensive, and despite her Master’s best efforts to sway her thinking back to the light Robyn couldn’t face her with certainty anymore. Her mind felt forcibly shifted, and she could no longer easily call herself a “Jedi”. However, she didn’t feel like a “Sith” either. Dreadwar offered to instruct her in the ways of the “True” Force, and the confused Padawan shocked herself by accepting. She then went with him, leaving her Master heartbroken, but thankfully unharmed, on Korriban. Despite her leaving the label of Jedi, Robyn finds herself unable to muster even a twinge of negativity for them. She remains plagued with uncertainty, even as her dark powers grow.
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chunkeymodest
Gedyk Clan Leader
.: Mandalore the Undead
Posts: 25
Likes: 10
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Post by chunkeymodest on Feb 10, 2017 14:45:54 GMT -5
IC: Chek MosthSlippery Slopes Cantina, Nar ShaddaaChek took a long pull from her drink. ' 'The Moderator, here in this canteen? Hmph, I should go over and flirt. Force knows he's hit on me plenty of times. United clans my ass, he just wants to get laid. Oooohhhhh but how sweet would it be to loot his helmet and weld it to the front of my ship. I wouldn't have to buy my own drinks or food for monrths in Clan territory. Meh.' She thought whimsically. Chek shook her head before sliding a few credits onto the counter. Glad she was in civvies, she flirtatiously winked at the disgusting Mandalore. He barely glanced her way. Rolling her eyes, Chek boarded her sad little ship. The violent violet paint job needed some touch ups, but otherwise was fine. She needed a way to contact Volshe, Chek owed her for that Darthmor job that went bad. Sending a quick ping to Volshes private padd. Chewing her lip, the Mando thought back, and had no idea if it was still in her possession, so she kept it vague. 'The one whose bucket is bigger than his ego has been sighted. I suspect something most foul. Long live the Queen'. Hopefully that'd do. Chek exited her ship, heading back to see if the Mandalore was still there, in her full kit. She had been here chasing rumors about the Empress, the vod still owed her for that last job before everything went wrong. For now, she's hit on the Moderator of Dicklessness to get any information. Entering the bar she sauntered up to him, murmjng a quick greeting. TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Shira,
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Feb 10, 2017 15:58:19 GMT -5
IC: Lord CatalystIntelligence Center: KorribanCatalyst slowly turned himself to face the assistant as he bumbled through the intelligence center. "I suppose this takes precedence over our current tasks," he quipped under his breath before acknowledging the messenger. "Well if Apollyon has something to show us then we will make haste. My lady," He extended his arm towards Viscretus, "would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the library? I'm sure this will be far more exciting than overseeing these drones." TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe,
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Feb 10, 2017 20:27:30 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Sith Temple catacombs, in Alchemy class
Is it over? Can I get out of this creepy, dark and thoroughly slimy room yet?
"-and that's why this coprolite, and what's a coprolite--yes, fossilised dung, very good Sneraktu -- that's why this coprolite from Korriban offers conclusive evidence the Terentatek, contrary to popular belief...." Not quite. The teacher --and cause of the "slime"-- Ermir Marcus was still droning on... Robyn looked down at her scattered notes, and tried gathering them up and placing them in some sort of order. Her partner's side of the table was still an absolute mess, but she watched with some envy as he lifted his papers with the Force, imitating her motion with half as much physical effort. "What?" the Nautolan boy Chakran asked with a smirk and tiny shrug, "It's easier."
"I still call it lazy," she replied, deliberately turning away and shutting her eyes with a haughty expression. "Well I, call it efficient!" Chakran was quick to counter. "Yeah? You and everyone else in this rat-infested dungeon..." Robyn sighed, resting a hand against her cheek. The two went quiet for a few minutes, catching Marcus's voice again. Seems the rest of the class period would be something different from furious note-taking and the typical lectures, and it involved the curious cages that were set up in the front of the room. Finally, we can see what they're here for! By the time class had hit the halfway point, several of her classmates suspected someone would be fed to whatever creatures sat inside. "Hm..." Robyn absently murmured, crouching down to look closely into one of the cages. The dagbat inside hissed at her, and twisted about in its cage as though it wanted to bite. They were supposed to make them breathe fire? Now that headline on the board made a lot more sense! Not that changing a creature's very chemical makeup sounded easy... While Robyn stood still against her cage, Chakran gave an irritated shiver beside her. "I'm from an aquatic planet, for Force's sake," he hissed, half to himself, "I swear he does this on purpose!" It didn't take long for Robyn to guess he meant the fire, and nodded with a degree of sympathy. "I know," she whispered back to get his attention, "This whole experiment strikes me as really unsafe...in about a dozen different ways."
The two quieted down again as Ermir paced around the room, and Robyn could feel a chill in the air as he suddenly stopped beside the table she shared. He was looking down with an obvious sneer on his face as he began speaking again. "And whoever is least able to accomplish this task," he paused and seemed to glance directly at her, "will be assigned extra homework." "H-homework?" Robyn swallowed hard, andalmost missed Chakran's whisper, but saw him shiver again. He seems even more scared than me right now, she thought, trying to ignore her own racing heartbeat. She knew, just as well as anyone else in the Sith Academy just how dangerous "homework" truly was here. No, not just dangerous...deadly. She was still looking at Chakran, even debating on pressing a hand against his shoulder to help him calm down when a new hand slammed down on their desk. Both apprentices flinched and quickly looked up. " Initiate Shaire," Ermir snarled, "are you even paying attention?" Robyn didn't answer immediately, but did raise an eyebrow. Why was he focusing just on her for?! She was hardly the only one in the room looking down! "Y, yes sir," she finally responded with a slight tremble in her voice, "I was just... thinking about the assignment." She could feel the eyes of her classmates swiveling to stare at her, but she took a slow breath and continued. "The requirement is to make these dagbats breathe fire, right? But... we're in a windowless room without any obvious ventilation. If a dozen small fires are lit in here, the smoke could suffocate us!"TAG: Darth Dreadwar
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Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
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Post by Volshe on Feb 10, 2017 22:37:24 GMT -5
Dreadwar Approved!  Name/Title: Colu Eriodan Age: 34 Sex: Male Species: Vultan Homeworld: Vulta Occupation: Deputy Governor Height: 180 cm Appearance: An aging yet chiseled face of average looks. Skin the colour of pale sand, but as smooth as marble. Cartilaginous ridges on his scalp and upper neck, that shift into small fin like protrusions with slight iridescence at the base of his neck. A thin scar winds its way up behind his ear, and another cuts across his wrist. His body type is fairly normal for a Vultan, but lacks definition. When not required to be in any uniform, he chooses to wear generic tunics with knee or floor length capes (much like Bail Organa or Oss Wilum), usually in deep colours to compliment his fair complexion and colourless irises. Weapons: A single, generic holdout blaster. Equipment: An old datapad, at least 4 generations out of date, that he refuses to replace. A small Harterran moonstone signet ring that was a gift from his father, and an earring in the upper cartilage of his ear representing his union with his wife. Government supplied Crix-class diplomatic courier shuttle, the Squid Calamari. Description of Abilities: A skilled diplomat and average tactician. Has a vast knowledge of cultures and world histories, as well as an interest in architecture. He peculiarly spends much his free time watching historical and fantastical holodramas (much to his wife’s chagrin). Personality: Stern but quirky, soft-hearted, and certainly not one to hurt anyone - even necessarily. He has grown used to the cutthroat nature of his work, but sees it as an opportunity to do more good than bad. Is quite good at empathising, which further benefits his work. He’s not outspoken nor snobbish as those in his position usually are - he is far more interested in humanitarianism than materialism. Biography: Born in 120 ABY to Vultan parents of middle-class status, who soon relocated to Naboo. He is one of five siblings, three of which also went into military and government, and one of whom works in the financial sector of Alsakan. He was initially raised in Theed, but excluded from many of the programs they offered to native citizens of the planet - thus he was sent to an Academy on Coruscant at 15 for further education. Upon graduation, he began interning at Anaxes’ main planetary government office, where he met his now-wife, Sanja, a half-Vultan, half-human physician who worked in the main clinic. As he rose through the ranks, he found himself working with the Coruscant-based government offices and embassies, and now works just beneath Governor Chandrila Tajis - who heads the G51 Communications Analysis Committee. He continues to be a secret sympathiser of the Empress Volshe, and was involved in many projects during her reign. The supporters of the once Empress grow fewer by the year, the once fanatical crowds meek and unwilling to show riotous support. But they have not disappeared entirely. His work earned him his true position - one of many agents implanted by the former Empress and her Hand within the Federation and its ranks, feeding information through the G51’s encrypted channels to others in the Outer Rim. About 20 other loyalists that he knows of work in Coruscanti office, all with the same goal of crippling the Federation and restoring it to the glory of the New Galactic Empire. His wife supports his work, even understanding the gravity of the situation - and so, he works on, with the hope that Volshe will return to power one day...and that he will not be discovered before then. |
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Feb 10, 2017 22:42:27 GMT -5
IC: Kevala and Scionica
Slippery Slopes Cantina, Nar Shadaa
Scionica stalked moodily through the halls of their ship, the Nådilus. Her red hair danced like an open flame, openly proclaiming her irritation at their situation.
“Why him?”, she snapped again.
Adjusting the layer of synth-flesh on her chest as she concluded her daily treatment, Kevala watched her twin sister with a mild expression of amusement. “You know why.”
“The money’s not worth it!”
Ice-hued eyes sparkled quietly as the taller twin leaned back against the wall, simply watching the other.
Snarling softly, Scionica sat down, arms folded defensively. "He tried to kill me!"
“Yes, and I seem to remember you broke his arm in several places. Among other things.”
A swift grin raced across Scionica’s face at the memory. “That was fun.”
A matching grin crossed Kevala’s face as she adjusted her tunic and broke open a fluid-filled package, applying green ocular lenses to her eyes to mask her unusual irises. “It was three years ago, Sci. You knew you’d easily win the fight and not least because he was outstandingly drunk. Your pride is going to kill you one day.”
Deflating with a sigh of resignation, Scionica broke open her own pack of lenses. While her ebony eyes were more difficult to colour than her sister's, these lenses gave off a golden sheen to the black. “I despise him. He may truly be the scum of the galaxy. The lowest form of life.”
“But he’s offering good money. If you're at all worried about recognition, I recall that your hair was a startling shade of blue while we were on Coruscant.”
The barest grumble of “Still not worth it” graced Kevala’s ears and she hid a smile as she assembled her pack and braided her hair back before adjusting her cowl so that only her faux-green eyes showed. Scionica shouldered her own pack and collapsed her vibro-staff, attaching it to the sheath on her back.
“Ready?” Scionica queried as she raised the hood and mask of her own cowl. Kevala nodded, briefly touching the twin blades on her back before walking down the ramp of their ship behind her twin and keying in the lock-code. The ramp hissed as it retracted and locked, leaving their ship virtually impenetrable.
Once out of the ship and into the nightlife, the two assassins faded into the background, moving effortlessly with the crowd. They were, at once, utterly confident and totally unseen. People kept out of their way on instinct and yet never noticed the passing of the two dark-clothed figures as they walked towards the Cantina that was to be the base of communications between them and one Beskaryc Taab.
The Cantina was noisy and bustling, figures of various Twi’leks danced provocatively for leering patrons. Hidden disgust rippled through Kevala as she strolled towards a Mandalorian who had beckoned and called to them. Outstanding. Why on earth would he call attention like that?
“At last. I am glad you agreed to this meeting. You’ll find this contract quite lucrative.” Tabb gestured to the women to sit. They stared blankly at him with a chillingly clear message. They had noticed the slight as he had stayed seated. They would stand. The man shrugged and continued.
"All of the details of the hit are on this datacube here," he gestured to the small device on the table next to his empty glass, "and that's all there is to it. Make it slow if you can. I want her to suffer." He activated the cube and a young, wealthy-looking blonde woman shimmered into sight.
Scionica felt Kevala’s leap of surprise as they recognized the former Empress of the New Galactic Empire. She had disappeared four years ago and not a whisper of her whereabouts had been heard since then. It was as if she had just...disappeared one day, leaving the Empire in control of her Hand. Scionica’s own surprise was drowned in anger and she swiftly switched off the data-cube. This hutt-spawn was going to get them noticed!
“Half payment now, half when the job is done.” Kevala’s voice was cold, clinical and neutral as Scionica pocketed the data-cube. She saw the Mandalorian shift in anger and disbelief. Yet, as he began to voice his dissent, a second Mandalorian, female, sauntered up to them.
Outrage flared through Scionica as she opened up the mental channel she shared with Kevala. -This is unbelievable! I told you he was an idiot. This money isn’t worth us getting caught!-
TAG: Darth Dreadwar , chunkeymodest ,
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Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
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Post by Volshe on Feb 10, 2017 23:52:00 GMT -5
IC: Darth ViscretusSith Intelligence Headquarters, KorribanHer eyes stared vacantly out into the flickering screens on the far walls, flooding with information as yet another report came in. Her mind reached out into the pool of loyal Sith, sifting through their thoughts with claws of darkness. She focussed for a moment on a young Zabrak apprentice. She let herself immerse in his thoughts, watching his expressions carefully. A thought of a Jedi, a brief break from the drone of the report before him on the screen...his mind continuing to wander onto various topics before settling again on the blonde man. His torrid emotion seemed to calm, chaos shifting into a flat blackness. With the lightest of touches, she nudged his mind forward, urging him to continue his thought. She flashed him the man's smiling face, a scene of welcoming, pulling him to the Light. She expected a hesitation. An urge, however brief, to allow himself to follow the man in daydream. Instead, his thoughts shifted violently. Shattering. Death, destruction. The Jedi in his russet robes burning in ruins, flesh curling around his charred bone, his raw throat screaming for mercy. Viscretus smirked in silent congratulations. His reward would be his continued existence. "Lady Viscretus! Inquisitor Catalyst!" Viscretus' attention quickly pulled from the fading destruction to the source of the call. Apollyon's assistant, Erastus, hurried towards them, his feet far ahead of the rest of him. He nearly stumbled into an agent crossing the floor, who shot him a glance as he simply continued on, without care. His breaths were heaving by the time he reached where they stood. "Lady Apollyon requests that you meet her in the Library."Her eyes remained glacial, the only shift in her expression the quirk of an eyebrow as he stood expectantly, without so much as a bow. Clearly, he left his breath with his respect for authority. She thought for a brief moment, wondering what her friend would have found after Intelligence's months upon months of fruitless searching through endless caches of data. The most intriguing were simply historical documents and catalogues of artifacts, though as fascinating as they may be, they never revealed so much as a single Kittât rune or mark of High Basic. Though the research benefit her in endless ways, the process was truly tedious and sifting through so many documents would no doubt drive the sanest insane - were they not already so deranged. "I suppose this takes precedence over our current tasks," Catalyst murmured. She snorted at the remark. What bored the Lord Catalyst was what kept the Intelligence sector working as a well oiled - if fanatically devoted - machine. Not one thought of dissent ever pierced the din below, nor would its owner survive if it did. "Well if Apollyon has something to show us then we will make haste. My lady, would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the library? I'm sure this will be far more exciting than overseeing these drones."She glanced to his extended arm and simply tilted her chin up in superiority, before nodding to Erastus. "Let her know we will meet her at once. Although we might be a bit slower than she would prefer," she turned her head to Catalyst, a mallow-sweet smile inching across her face, a glint of coy insanity in her verdigris eyes, "the halls near the library are filled with the dust of crumbling tomes - and I cannot afford to ruin this cloak. I'm afraid Lord Catalyst will have to carry my train. I am eternally grateful for the offer."
TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Darth Catalyst, TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
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chunkeymodest
Gedyk Clan Leader
.: Mandalore the Undead
Posts: 25
Likes: 10
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Post by chunkeymodest on Feb 11, 2017 2:29:53 GMT -5
IC: Chek Mosth
Slippery Slopes CantinaChek sashayed her hips as she strutted up to the Mandalore. "Funny seeing a man as important as you In a jeri'eyk place like this. Been faaaaar too long since I last saw you, care for some spice? Mmm by the way, the woman on the holocron, heard she was in our home sector, poisoning the minds of our remnants youth. I'd check my own back yard before cobtracting out like this..... seems almost honorless to chase a bounty with no helmet or armor. My, my, what would the Clan Heads think? Oh, we really must discuss that whole debacle on Correlia, honestly it was a bad time. List one of my own and I was grieving" she murmured the last part in pain and clasped her fist over her heart. "Really, I want to reconnect" she added. Turning to the two before her, Chek sighed audibly. "I apologize for this, but outsourcing to non clan is simply scandalous, and Clan must endure. I'm Chek, of Gedyk. I apologize again, but this is a delicate situation. If she truly has broken honor, I must abide my fealties." She paused looking at them before fluttering her fingers over the Mandalores chest. "Truly, have you recovered? I heard such awful things" she murmured. Chek said this rapidly and slightly validly. Giving the Old Clone hand sign for Target behind herself as the Mandalore turned. Chek tilted her head. TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Shira
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Post by Lord Vassago on Feb 11, 2017 5:30:12 GMT -5
IC: Sabba
Terminus
The Outer Rim. One step away from Wild Space, all but forgotten by the majority of the Core Worlds, and their carefree inhabitants. Set on the border of the Unknown Regions, the Outer Rim was home to many primitive and rugged planets, a place where cityscapes and trade hadn't been fully established. Some planets were void of any life, save for the indigenous creatures, while other planets had settlers and those looking for an existence that was free from the tangle of the Galaxy. The one major exception sat within the Kallea sector, a forest planet known as Terminus. The planet brimmed with economy, hosting various trade routes and large, modernized cities throughout. This fact alone made it ideal for those that have an eagerness to avoid attention, but not become completely cut off from civilization.
Five years had passed since the destruction of her home planet, Makatak, and though it took time, she had become accustomed to life on Terminus. The planet offered large forested areas, like those she grew up with, as well as bustling marketplaces deep within Terminus City. The city never appeared overly hostile, only a few notably violent gangs roamed the streets, with everyone mostly keeping to themselves, trying to make their way through the Galaxy. The gangs kept to their own territories, crossing paths only so often, and most of the locals knew when to avoid the main avenues of the city, staying out of any conflicts.
The pale young woman, Sabba, who could hardly speak Basic when she was discovered by her Master, had come a long way in five years. Gone was the naive girl who had never seen a star ship or ventured off-world. Gone was the innocence of never seeing a life taken without absolute need, and there was no longer ignorance within her of the powers at work in the Galaxy. Her Master shared with her only what she needed to know, but even that was enough to expand her mind beyond even the wisest Elder in her old village. She felt that her mind had truly been opened to the realities of the Galaxy, realities she was always sheltered from, and that she had grown beyond all the men and women she came to know and respect on her home planet. If only she wasn't the last of her people, she'd have so much to share. The thought of telling her mother, her father, her friend, Merune, about all she had learned filled her with happiness...and sorrow.
She rolled her wrist forward, pushing the accelerator on the sleek, gun metal speeder she rode through the open plains, her mane of red hair and short cape flowing in the wind behind her. The mirrored goggles she wore protected her eyes from the harsh winds passing by her, but did nothing to quell the warmth she felt from the tears that were building at the bottom of her green eyes. She blinked hard, pushing the watery discharge back, and did her best to clear her mind of the past. If he knew I was feeling so much regret, he would be furious, she thought to herself. Her Master was strict, and expected a disciplined mind and sharp focus from her, and drifting to thoughts of her past life did nothing but distract her from his goals. He'd been explicit in telling her her that dwelling on the past, on her friends and family, would only weaken her resolve, and feed her compassion. "They are dead, you are not," he would often tell her, exposing a harsh reality. "Your compassion will be your undoing, " his words echoed like a mantra in her mind.
Her eyes narrowed behind the goggles and she shifted her focus to her destination on the horizon, Terminus City. The spires and arches grew larger with each passing second, the traffic in the skies above looking less like specs, and becoming more discernible shapes. The hum of the repulsorlift engine was muffled in her ears, a side effect of the scratchy dark cloth scarf that wrapped around her face, just below the goggles; she wore the scarf while riding into the city to protect from the dirt and debris that may flip through the air while moving at such a high speed. The goggles and scarf doubled as a way to keep a low profile while in the city, a precaution her Master insisted she take, though she felt it was wholly unnecessary. No one in that city is looking for me, she thought to herself as he face began to itch from the coarse fabric.
She slowed the speeder to a stop just outside the wall of the city, and threw her leg over the back, hopping off. She threw a low slung satchel over her shoulder and secured the pouches along the sides of the bike, before stepping away to begin the short walk through the archway, into the city. There was a light breeze, which caused the grey poncho she was wearing to flutter a bit with her as she walked. The poncho was worn for much the same reason as the goggles: protection. Her normal trappings, which she also trained in, left her midsection exposed on the sides, near her hips, which allowed her better movement. The poncho covered her delicate skin while riding, protecting it from debris, similar to the scarf for her face.
The gravel crunched under her black Gundark leather boots with each step she took, a small cloud of dust coming up from her sometimes lazy stride. Her slender frame made it easy for her to navigate through the crowds, allowing her to comfortably shift her body to avoid contact with any of the Spacers; they had a habit of taking unwanted contact personally, usually shoving and causing a commotion, and she was told to maintain a low profile. Her gloved right hand hovered near her hip as she moved, over the hilt of her lightsaber, concealed by the poncho. Even just the sight of a lightsaber was enough to cause a stir, bringing unwanted attention, so she was always careful to conceal it whenever she could. She normally traveled with a staff, something she had grown comfortable carrying on her home planet. It was given to her by her Master to take in place of her lightsaber when she ventured into the city, but she'd forgotten it back at the dwelling. He always instructed her only to take her lightsaber if she meant to use it, but she always found that logic odd; how could she possibly know if she would need it. The one time she didn't take it, would be the one time she'd need it most...right?
In and out, he said, don't become distracted, she thought, reminding herself of the instructions given to her by her Master. She had a habit of getting distracted, even five years on, looking around the city and at all the different traders coming through; there was always something new and different, a race or a ship she'd never seen before. She hadn't strayed into a single cantina or a shop that she wasn't instructed to, no, she was always mindful of her Master's direction and followed them to a tee. She'd like to go into a cantina, or even look at some of the more exotic goods at a few of the shops, but she resisted, fearing what her Master would say...or do.
This day she was sent into the city for simple items: bread, Lamta, Pika, and the like for cooking, but also a piece of literature that her Master had been seeking. It was nothing precious, she imagined, just some text pertaining to the history of the planet, or some such information. She tried not to concern herself with her Master's studies; she felt all of that was a level (or twelve) above her knowledge, and she was still working on grasping the powers at work inside herself. While she was careful to mind her instructions, there had been more than one occasion when she'd sneak off to listen to the HoloNet News in one of the local hubs or stations. She found it fascinatiing, hearing about all the events happening around the Galaxy, though she hardly knew what any of it meant; Terminus was only the second world she'd ever been to, and these others sounded so foreign to her, as did the events taking place on them. A day would come when all of it made sense, and she could follow along with the news, she silently hoped.
A visit to a stand for the bread, another for the Lamta and Pika, imported goods from some planet she'd never heard of, and she would be on her way to retrieve the writing her Master sought. She had come to love the way the Lamta tasted, with a Driss pod and some Pallie. All of the foods were still new to her pallet. She'd grown up eating bitter fruits from the trees, and stringy meat from the jungle cats on Makatak. Like so much else, it was still new to her, but she'd grown to enjoy it. Truth be told, she didn't care if she ever tasted another bitter berry from the branches of her home planet again, not as long as she had Pallie to satiate her hunger. Just the thought of one made her mouth water, and she could taste the sweet nectar in her mouth. She softly bit at her bottom lip from behind the scarf, thinking her Master would never notice if just one was missing. Her mind wandered, the temptation of eating the small fruit welling up, but ultimately she resisted; a piece of fruit was not worth potential punishment, if her Master was displeased.
Sabba reached into a pouch on her belt, pushing her poncho out of the way, and fished out a few credits to pay for the goods she'd purchased. She reached her hand out to the short Chadra-Fan, the rodent-like humanoid that ran the stand, and nodded her thanks before turning to leave. Whenever she was sent into the city, her Master would hand her a small sum of credits, though she never questioned where the money came from. It seemed odd to her that a man who lived in self-imposed exile would have no shortage of credits, but she never asked questions. She never second guessed a single word that left his lips, unless he asked "Any questions," and that only came up if she was training; if a question was asked, it would have to pertain to training, not where credits come from. The idea didn't bother her, but she found herself wondering what the credits were from, and what she would do if something happened to her Master. The man was more than capable of handling himself, she knew that for certain, but he appeared to be of advanced age...very advanced. The thought of him just ceasing to exist while sleeping or meditating made her uneasy. Perhaps it was just her compassion talking, and rather than worry for him, she should hope such a thing happens.
She shook her head, clearing her mind of such thoughts, and entered the shop that her Master had directed her to. She pushed through the hanging cloth in the doorway, leaning down a bit to get through easier, and looked around curiously. The shop didn't appear to be anything special, and nothing caught her interest, other than a few hanging charms and an assortment of small sculptures placed around. The entire shop was dim and carried a musty odor with it, seeming very old. Along the back there was an entire wall of bound books, and beside it was a wall of blinking discs, likely holo-recordings. She stepped across the dirt floor and up to the crudely kept counter top, holding her hands at her belt, preferring not to touch the dusty surface. She peered around but saw no one to help her, and there didn't appear to be anyway to call for assistance. She glanced down, perching on her tip-toes to look behind the counter top, but couldn't' see much of anything, and decided to pull her goggles up, resting them on the top of her long red hair.
"Can we help you," an elegant voice popped from behind her. She whipped around, her right hand instinctively falling to the hilt of her lightsaber, and laid eyes on two beings, an Ithorian and his translator, a Pantoran man. The Ithorian had a large cloak on, covering his hammer-like head and concealing most of his body, while the Pantoran man wore a pure black suit with gold accents, contrasting with his pale blue skin. Sabba didn't like being snuck up on, nor did she like the look of the two beings in front of her. She reached into a pouch on her belt, taking a few credits into her grip, all while keeping her right hand steady. Her green eyes bounced between the two men, keeping her guard up despite her Master telling her that she was expected, on his behalf.
"My Master sent me, for the manual," she replied simply, her voice muffled a bit through the scarf. She didn't mention a title, mostly because she wasn't told one, being assured that the shopkeeper would know the reason for her visit. The Ithorian spoke, though it was impossible for her to understand, sounding like nothing but low rumbles and odd clicks with puffs of air. The Pantoran man, beside him, understood perfectly, as was his job, and translated on his behalf.
"The humble Churr Dualtethh wishes to inform you that no payment will be needed, this is a favor for your...Master," he said, his voice became a bit darker as he spoke to her. Sabba narrowed her eyes, remaning on her guard before the two beings she had no reason to trust. The Ithorian spoke again and motioned behind the counter, sending his translator over to pick up the bound pages that Sabba's Master sought. The translator did not hesistate to follow the instruction, and hurried around to the counter. He bent down and took the manual in his grip, then set it on the dusty counter and slid it over, toward Sabba, before coming around the front again. Sabba noticed the Panthoran's eyes wandering up and down her form, lingering at the bits of the exposed pale skin on her hips, and stiffened her upper lip. It was not a feeling she was comfortable with, but she had grown used to it, coming in and out of the city on so many occasions; the Spacers, who would stay in groups most times, and gang members were especially bad about it, acting like they had something to prove to those around them.
She found it revolting.
"My Master gives his thanks," Sabba said, incling her head slightly. She reached behind her with her left hand and took the manual into her grip, then placed it into the satchel she carried over her shoulder. The Ithorian, Churr, and his translator both bowed low to her as she walked passed them, pushing through the hanging cloth and stepping into the light of day, once more. She reached up, her hands grazing against her goggles, intending to pull them down and shield her eyes, but before she could someone knocked into her. Sabba stumbled back two steps, steadying herself against the outside wall of the shop, and glanced down to find whomever bumped into her.
A young Togruta girl latched on to her poncho, pulling at the cloth, and clutched her small arms around Sabba's thigh. The young girl was crying, begging, repeating "no" over and over through her tears, and kept looking over her shoulder. Sabba's turned her eyes up, looking at the Spacers and traders that did nothing to help the girl, nor did they seem to care that the young humanoid was in fear. Sabba's eyes scanned the area, looking back to where she believed the girl ran from, and saw three Devaronian men, likely gang members, slowling their pace from a run to a walk. The three aliens, all with two horns protruding from the fron of their skulls, looked back and forth at each other, each one nodding and smiling, exposing their jagged teeth. Each one of them was dressed in black jackets, no shirt beneath it, and pants with long chains at the sides, and each one carried a weapon; one had a blaster rifled slung over his shoulder, the other a vibro-ax, while one flipped a dagger around between his hands. The three devilish looking aliens walked forward, eyeing the girl and...Sabba.
Sabba knelt down quickly and looked into the little girls tear filled eyes. She pointed back, asking if those were the men chasing her, and the small girl nodded, then ran to hide behind Sabba's form. She could've guessed, nodding to herself and standing back up, holding a hand back at the little girl while she stepped forward. In the five years she'd spent on the planet, Sabba learned about the locals and she knew what the gangs often kidnapped young girls and women. She knew that the little girl was running for her life, from the fear of being put into slavery, trafficked like a piece of meat to the highest bidding sleeze Spacer or Smuggler who came to Terminus. She knew it wasn't her job, nor was it her duty, to protect anyone, as her Master had made clear; he always told her to remain neutral, to stay out of local "affairs" and "leave them to do as they will". She didn't like it. But then she didn't have to like it, she had to obey. But, in those five years living there, the city had never thrown anything like this at her, before. It wasn't uncommon for her to hear whispers of it, or see a girl who looked scared, and far too young, being marched off with a gang member, but she never bothered with it. But this...this fell at her feet.
"Looks like we'ave ourselves a two 'fer one 'ere, boys," the Devaronian with the rifle said, bringing the weapon down across his chest, into his hands. "Why dun you be a good 'ittle girl, and come o'vr to us, huh?" He said, gesturing the rifle toward the little girl, causing her to cry hard again and scurry behind a basket, near a stall.
"What'bout the red'ed, boss? I like 'em wiv the red'air," the other gang member spewed, pointing at Sabba while twisting the dagger against his cheek.
"Aye, we'll take'em bov, 'den," the leader said, pulling back the loading mechanism on the rifle.
Sabba's right hand drifted back the hilt of her lightsaber, contemplating her move. She saw the gang member advancing toward her quickly, his rifle locked and ready to fire, and brought a hand out in front of her, waving it slowly, like she was trying to deter him. The Devaronian smirked, thinking it would be an easy get, the two of them, no trouble at all. Before he reached her, Sabba brought her outstretched hand back, manipulating the strings of the Force, and ripping the rifle from the Devaronian's grip. The rifle hit the ground at her boot clad feet with a heavy clank, and the gang member was nearly pulled with it. He stumbled forward, trying to keep his grip on the weapon. Sabba's green eyes narrowed as he stumbled within feet of her, and watched his face drop when he realized she would not, in fact, be an easy get.
"Sod it, 'dis one's a sorcerer, boys," the Devaronian called over his shoulder, to his gang mates, his voice rattling slightly. When he turned back he was met by Sabba's hand around the collar of his jacket, pulling him into her, and the snap-hiss ignition of a crimson blade. A hush fell over the onlookers in the market when the sound rang out, a sound they were not accustomed to hearing, most having only heard stories about the fabled weapons. The Devaronian's face lost all color, turning from deep maroon to white, and his beady eyes rolled back into his horned head. Sabba had driven her blade into him as she pulled him, pushing the scorching blade of energy through his chest, impaling him. She clenched her jaw from behind the scarf, her arm tense with the weight of the now dead gang member, and pulled the blade out of his chest, letting his lifeless body fall to the ground. She stepped over the corpse, through the small cloud of dust it produced, and spun the hilt of her lightsaber on the edge of her gloved hand, creating a flourish before her. The heavy, ominous hum the blade of the weapon produced as it was twirled through the air gave the remaining gang members second thoughts.
The two red skinned aliens looked at each other, then back to Sabba, and charged in together, brandishing their weapons and shouting. Sabba dashed forward and broke into a slide, dodging the swing of the incoming vibro-ax, and cleaved one gang member's legs off at the knee, sending him falling to the ground howling, clutching two cauterized stumps. The disembodied legs flipped and tumbled, sliding beside their previous owner. The member with the knife looked down at his friend in horror, then up at Sabba, and his face suddenly turned from horror to rage. In a fit, he threw his dagger at Sabba and dashed toward the vibro-ax his friend had dropped. Sabba deftly raised her hand, stopping the knife in mid-air with her command of the Force, and flipped it around, sending it back to the Devaronian. The blade sliced through the air, almost whistling from the speed, and caught him in the forehead, between his horns. A hollow piercing sound rang out and the alien dropped, limp, to the ground beside his fellow gang member. The Devaronian left alive was crawling, crying out that his legs were gone, but no one stopped to help him; the Spacers and traders simply looked on horrified and rushed away, wanting no part of the situation.
Sabba stepped in front of him, the crimson blade humming dangerously at her side, and extended her leg to kick him in the mouth with the toe of her leather boot. A trail of blood flew from his lips, and the Devaronian turned to his back, his hands up begging for his life while sobbing. Sabba placed her blade at his throat, causing him to freeze all of his body but his quivering bottom lip. He swallowed hard, his glassy, tear stained eyes looking up at Sabba, trying to find mercy in her face; she was stoic, her lips held firmly against her teeth, her green eyes looking straight through him.
"C'mon now. Don do 'dis, luv! 'Ave mercy," he cried out, his voice strained, shaking horribly. He turned his sickly eyes toward the small Togruta girl, who had come out of hiding behind the basket, and was standing just a few feet behind Sabba. The small girl tugged at Sabba's cloak, causing her to turn and look down at her. The little girl's eyes sparkled, causing Sabba to feel a small jolt in her stomach; it was the compassion that her Master had warned of. She lightly bit at her bottom lip and turned back to the begging gang member, now feeling a flicker within her, the pull of her compassion.
With everything inside her, all of her training, she fought the feeling. She buried it, she clenched her jaw, her teeth gritting together, and pushed it out of her mind. What would he do, she questioned, thinking of her Master. She knew what he'd do: he would kill any and all remaning, leaving no witnesses. She slowly turned her head, peering around at all the prying eyes, and knew she couldn't slaughter everyone that had seen her. Going into the city and slaughtering an entire market doesn't really fall into the low-profile category. She felt her anger building, her skin getting hot beneath her clothing, the idea of being a disappointment to her Master pushing her closer to a breaking point. She felt her body tense, a swell of anger rising up within her. Sabba's eyes flashed a yellow hue and the Devaronian saw his fate, his mouth fell open when she reared back with her blade and swung it through his neck, detaching his head from his body in an instant.
The crowd gasped at the sound of the blade severing tendons, the pungent odor of seared flesh swirling in the air around the scene. Sabba deactivated her lightsaber and secured the D-clip to her belt, staring down at the disembodied head that had rolled near her feet. She closed her eyes, trying to center herself and control her anger, the emotion she felt, and burn out what compassion she still had flickering inside of her. The sound of whimpering filled her ears, the small Togruta girl was beside her crying with her hands over her eyes, trying to shield herself from the carnage.
"Run home," Sabba said quietly, her voice flat. The little girl peeked from behind her fingers and looked up at her rescuer. She wrapped her arms around Sabba's thigh again, then scurried off into the crowd. Sabba knew the possibility of the the little girl being snatched up again was real, but she had already done too much. If her Master found out, he would be furious; not only did she fail to keep a low profile in the city, but she'd killed three gang members, all in the name of saving a child...
Compassion.
She could almost hear the rumble in the air around her, the sound that filled her ears, like the sky was crashing down around her, when her Master grew angry and scolded her. The thought made her stomach hollow and she winced, bringing a hand up to hold her head while she began to walk back through the market, toward her speeder. The crowd parted around her, like she had a disease none of them wanted to catch, and she lowered her chin. She reached up to pull her goggles back down over her eyes and re-positioned the scarf around her nose and mouth, concealing her face once more, though she feared the crowd had already seen plenty of her. As much as she tried, she couldn't push the worry out of her mind. She feared what her Master would do if he found out. Deep down she knew it wasn't a matter of if, but rather when; she was certain he'd find out, and he'd be displeased. Again, fear crept up within her, the fear of disappointing her Master. That was the last thing she wanted...
When she reached the speeder, she took the satchel off her shoulder and placed it in one of the compartments, then re-secured it. She threw her leg over the bike and kicked the thruster on. Pushing her wrist forward, she throttled the accelerator and and a U shaped turn, kicking dust up in her wake. Her destination was clear, simple: back to her Master at the encampment to answer for what she'd done...
TAG: Darth Dreadwar
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Feb 11, 2017 15:59:56 GMT -5
IC CatalystIntelligence center: Korriban"The halls near the library are filled with the dust of crumbling tomes - and I cannot afford to ruin this cloak. I'm afraid Lord Catalyst will have to carry my train. I am eternally grateful for the offer." Catalyst had to bite his lip to prevent a snarky response from slipping loose. "Of course, Lady Viscretus," he replied, barely containing himself. He gently waved his hand, telekinetically lifting her long, trailing dress less than an inch off the ground. "I had best not touch such exquisite fabrics with my dirtied hands either then." Catalyst smirked back at Viscretus before drawing his hood up with his free hand and regaining his courteous demeanor, "By your leave then, my lady."
TAGS: Volshe,Darth Dreadwar,
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Feb 13, 2017 3:19:55 GMT -5
GM UPDATE
"It is Nar Shaddaa, the true Nar Shaddaa, that you feel around you. It is this moon, with the metal and machines stripped away, and the currents of the Force laid bare." - Darth Traya
IC: Mandalore the Moderator
Slippery Slopes Cantina
These two are as slippery as this dump, Mandalore thought to himself, taking note of the twins' flagrant disrespect in refusing to sit. Or did it represent more? Ever-paranoid, the corrupt leader of the Clans shifted uncomfortably, wondering whether their insistence upon standing was indicative of some threatening stratagem.
Or perhaps just powerful body language to back up their ridiculous demand. "Half payment now, half when the job is done," Kevala said.
It was always the question, wasn't it? The equilibrium of trust. Those who paid half upfront risked the assassin deeming the sum more worthy than the risk and tireless work, and pocketing it without completing their task. Those who insisted paying only when the job was done risked alienating equally and rightfully distrustful wet-workers. Mandalore's solution to the dilemma was simple. He may have been a brute, but he had cunning enough to rise to the top, after all.
"No," Beskaryc grunted, lazily pointing towards Scionica's pocket while purposefully ignoring the girl at the bar winking at him. "That datacube... It's more than just a hit sheet. It responds to the fingerprints of Volshe," his tone turned sour, lip curling in distaste behind his visor. "When you kill her, take her finger; the datacube will unlock, and give you the passcode for a safety deposit box on Mygeeto under the name Fukti Fujkta. You can ask the Bank of Aargau. The money is all there, it all checks out."
Unfortunately, Mandalore had not been cunning enough to recognise the obvious consequence of this dilemma. It meant assassins did not depend on Mandalore being alive to pay them. There was nothing preventing them from killing him too, if they were so inclined.
"Funny seeing a man as important as you in a jeri'eyk place like this," the winking or'dinii interrupted, sauntering over. "Been faaaaar too long since I last saw you, care for some spice? Mmm by the way, the woman on the holocron, heard she was in our home sector, poisoning the minds of our remnants youth. I'd check my own back yard before contracting out like this..... seems almost honorless to chase a bounty with no helmet or armor. My, my, what would the Clan Heads think? Oh, we really must discuss that whole debacle on Corellia, honestly it was a bad time. Lost one of my own and I was grieving," Chek murmured the last part in pain and clasped her fist over her heart. "Really, I want to reconnect."
Mandalore looked at her as dourly as his expressionless visor allowed, as she addressed the twins. "I apologize for this, but outsourcing to non clan is simply scandalous, and Clan must endure. I'm Chek, of Gedyc. I apologize again, but this is a delicate situation. If she truly has broken honor, I must abide my fealties."
Mandalore grabbed her hand as she danced two fingers over his beskar breastplate. "Gedyc?" he spat. The Clan of radicals who sought to restore the Death Watch! The only real opponents to his otherwise uncontested dominion. Now it made sense... Clearly this was no coincidence; the assassins had set him up, this shabuir was here to kill him! "I piss on Clan Gedyc," he snarled, standing. "I piss on your adade, who I killed by the dozens on Balmorra, and I piss on you!"
A familiar whir reached the ears of Kevala, Scionica and Chek as a shimmering blue light coalesced into being around Beskaryc Taab. A Verpine energy shield, a finite barrier to all forms of energy attacks, and a Mandalorian melee shield. "Kill them all!" barked the delusionally paranoid Mandalore, and the two mercenaries flanking him instantly drew sonic pistols, firing rippling of sonic energy towards the three women in a broad arc. If the waves hit them once, their ears would bleed enough to warrant immediate medical attention. If they hit them twice, the hemorrhages would kill them on the spot.
Battle Theme:
TAG: Shira , chunkeymodest
"Be warned... Unresolved events from our past can create wounds in the present, and the future." - Darth Traya
IC: Darth Apollyon
Sith Library
 Darth Apollyon quirked an eyebrow as a most curious sight entered the library. Behind Erastus, her good friend Viscretus, clad in fine raiment as usual, gingerly stepping around the scrolls and tomes that littered the library's stone floor, beside the tall, thin hooded figure of Inquisitor Catalyst. Flowing even longer than Catalyst's hair, a train of a cloak that seemed to float on a strand of etheric power that led to Catalyst's barely raised fingers. The genius! She marvelled. She took a mental note to bid her barely Force-sensitive assistant keep her cloak elevated in like manner in the future; the ends were always browned by Korriban's dust. "Thank you, Erastus," she commented, grabbing a silver goblet from the table to drain its vintage remainder as the two Sith approached. Done, she tossed it aside, clinking and clunking echoing through the hall as it rolled and bumped down a steep stair to the library's underdelve.
Apollyon waved a hand, three chairs scraping along the floor to assemble around the great table in the centre of the library, and sat down. "Take a seat, Lady Viscretus, Lord Catalyst," she smiled in welcome, placing the datapad on the table with the picture of the parchment fragment in full display. "I summoned you from your work because your department recently discovered something of note in the imported Galactic Imperial Archives. This here." She gestured towards the datapad. "If Thrawn's archaeological deductions are accurate," she knew Catalyst would recognise the name, having been his contemporary in the Empire, "this here is a hitherto unknown prophecy - or perhaps just a mad dabbling in fiction - penned by the ancient Dark Lord, Naga Sadow." She upturned the screen towards them, showing the glyphs of the ancient Sith tongue in case either knew how to read the dead language. " And in the time of greatest dread," Apollyon translated for their benefit, tracing a finger over the barbed letters, " when the nemesis devours all, there shall come a saviour marked by Ragnarok, unto whom was born... and then it ends there. Clearly this fragment was torn from a larger piece of parchment." "What do you make of this? Any ideas?" TAG: Volshe , Darth Catalyst (also, don't forget chunkeymodest's TAG, Volshe)
"Learn from me, my mistakes, and use that knowledge to become greater than I." - Darth Traya IC: Ermir MarcusSith Classroom"I was just... thinking about the assignment." Ermir's least favourite student - academically, at least... she did have other attributes worthy of note - stuttered out a reply as the eyes of her fellow Sith weighed heavily upon her. "The requirement is to make these dagbats breathe fire, right? But... we're in a windowless room without any obvious ventilation. If a dozen small fires are lit in here, the smoke could suffocate us!" Ermir's sneer widened as the Zeltron continued wasting the unventilated room's finite supply of oxygen. Once she was done, he turned to the rest of the class. A pause. "Class!" he called. "What is the first line of the Sith Code?" "Peace is a lie, there is only passion!" the Sith students, now nearly all but Robyn standing around the cages, responded in chorus. Ermir turned back to Robyn. "If you suffocate, you suffocate. If you die, you die. Only the fittest survive. And while you may be quite fit, my dear," his eyes raked her lithe form, "your mind seems less exercised than the rest of you, to ask such a stupid QUESTION!" A spark of electricity danced between Emir Marcus' fingertips threateningly, but then he shook his ahead as if he thought better of it, muttering "Let fire consume her, not lightning." "NOW, we have no time to waste," Ermir returned to shouting, his bony pale hand grabbing Robyn by the wrist and forcefully pulling her to her feet. "Approach your dagbat, close your eyes, and let the energy of Korriban flow through you," he continued, pacing around the room once again. "Summon your emotions like a toxic cloud around your mind, and let them burn; use your hatred as fuel for your power, let your most painful memories nourish your strength, and then stretch out with your mind to manipulate the dagbat's chemistry!" It was a grossly unfair test, of course. Even though many of the students would fail anyway, at least they had benefited from months of training in alchemy, in the arcane arts of twisting biology and chemistry to one's will. Robyn the newcomer was at a great disadvantage. Ermir Marcus asked the impossible. Ermir Marcus was, quite simply, an asshole. "Begin!"TAG: Padawan4687
"A lightsaber - any weapon - only achieves worth in how it is wielded - in the effort, in the struggle of the one who holds it." - Darth Traya IC: MeliagluTerminusFor Meliaglu, operative of Sith Intelligence, as far as secret assignments went, this was close to the worst. Five years ago, she had been summoned to a secret audience with the reclusive Sith Emperor himself. After the customary wetting in fear and week-long stint in the Royal Encounter Trauma Therapy Institute - the only kind of mental health service the brutal Sith regime offered - she had been glad to go forth for her first deep cover assignment. That terrible, screaming whisper had seared its imprint onto her neurons, telling her that He had sensed the Force opening in the distant system of Terminus in a way that could only be created by a recondite rite of sorcery not seen since the days of Palpatine: a Force Storm. Darth Dreadwar had commanded her to go to Terminus at once, and surveil the planet vigilantly until something "significant" occurred. That broad directive had resulted in so many wild bantha chases over the years, but no, the fall of a crime syndicate, an attack by Vagaari pirates extruding from Wild Space and the rise of a new folk religion based around the worship of some hermit who probably didn't even exist certainly didn't match the divine Emperor's criteria, much to Meliaglu's chagrin. And so she and her cadre of probe droids stayed on the fringes of Terminus' grubby central city, year after year, until the most bizarre aliens the Unknown Regions had to offer became tediously mundane. The snap-hiss of a lightsaber knifed through that mundanity. She looked up from the drink she was nursing at the local saloon, staring out of the dirty, clouded transparisteel of the seedy establishment's only window at the blade of light spilling fire as readily as it spilled blood. Wrapping a scarf around her face, Meliaglu, dressed in the simple sandy garb of a local, peered out at the spectacle before her. Another Dark Jedi, here on Terminus??She whistled towards her drexl tied up outside. Vast reptillian flying beasts from Onderon and its moon, drexls were hardly common transport on Terminus, but after years of fruitless surveillance, Meliaglu had began to grow lax in maintaining a low profile. Buying a drexl from a trader en route to the Chiss Ascendancy was merely a luxury, but now it was a luxury that came in handy, as the beast laboriously beat its wings, launching from the streets to carry Meliaglu into the air, and in pursuit of the speeder which spirited away the unknown lightsaber-wielder. After five minutes, the drexl drew close with frightening swiftness, close enough for the sound of its wings to finally reach an oblivious Sabba's ears, and shortly after that, for its shadow to fall on her speeder below. Meliaglu somersaulted off her mount's back, and guided by the wings of the Force, landed on the hood of Sabba's speeder. Swiftly turning backwards towards the vehicle's viewport and driver, Meliaglu drew a lightdagger from her sleeve and ignited it with a blaze of crimson. " Stop!" she shouted over the wind, hands outstretched for balance as her robes flapped around her. " In the name of the Dread King!"TAG: Lord Vassago |
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Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
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Post by Volshe on Feb 13, 2017 19:00:44 GMT -5
IC: Darth ViscretusSith Library, Grand Hall - KorribanThe trio entered the grand room, scented with the redolent odour of ink and parchment, sunlight melting into the warm dusty air through arched windows beyond. Viscretus inhaled deeply before Apollyon's figure met her eyes, stepping forward to the table as Erastus hurried in typical fashion to meet her. The Sith Lady stepped forward and turned, her train wrapping delicately about itself as it floated. "Thank you, Lord Catalyst, it is evident now you are a useful addition to the Dread Order. A wise choice of the Emperor, I admit." Her eyes warmed the faintly frigid words into thick honey, mimicking the beams of sunlight that oozed into the stone-chilled library. Yet her lips danced around a roguish smile for the briefest moment as she turned away and strode to the table, just slowly enough to allow him a reply, but with such purpose that it demanded silence. Apollyon prepared the body-wood table for them ahead, the chairs groaning against the scabrous marble tiles beneath their feet. "Take a seat, Lady Viscretus, Lord Catalyst." The Sith Lady smiled to them both. Viscretus gave her a gracious nod as she took her seat, the onyx adornments of her headdress dancing in the fiery glow of the lamps above. Her deep violet cloak pooled around her, the velvet train rippled against the ragged floor as it settled. "I summoned you from your work because your department recently discovered something of note in the imported Galactic Imperial Archives. This here." Her arm waved towards the datapad resting before them. "If Thrawn's archaeological deductions are accurate, this here is a hitherto unknown prophecy - or perhaps just a mad dabbling in fiction - penned by the ancient Dark Lord, Naga Sadow."Viscretus leaned towards the screen with usual stately posture. The caramel Lady opposing her began to recite the prophesy fluidly, creating elegant Basic phrase from jagged ancient runes. "And in the time of greatest dread, when the nemesis devours all, there shall come a saviour marked by Ragnarok, unto whom was born..." She paused, but only briefly - almost as if searching for some further information. "And then it ends there. Clearly this fragment was torn from a larger piece of parchment." “Ragnarök...Ragnarøkkr…” Viscretus murmured in archaic lilt, shifting the word to High Sith as she contemplated the writings before her. “The Twilight of the Gods, for many a Galactic civilization. The coming of great destruction and apocalypse, most commonly. For others, a trial of their merit by their pantheon. Not one culture can agree upon even the broadest of detail. Yet the word has been found in countless ancient texts, defined always as the coming of extraordinary power.”Her fingers traced the Kittât for “dread”, where Apollyon’s own had left the faintest sheen of oil. Her mind focused on the characters, the hooked edges seemingly latching onto her consciousness, dragging her into deep contemplation. Thrawn was far from a novice in historical pursuits, but she hardly trusted such an appraisal of the text when the Sith had dozens who could piece such deductions together. She needed more, far beyond neat lines of characters painted on parchments. The prophesy became chant in her mind, each repetition looking for new meaning - as though it were an ancient artefact with hidden trigger, spun purposefully in her long, ivory fingers. Its basic meaning was as clear to her as anyone, but beyond her assured comments it meant little. There was no link to the past, nor present. There was no link to any other prophesied event that she could recall, no meaning hidden in the dust-caked tomes and crumbling parchments she had studied for centuries. Her eyes broke from the glaze of deep thought. “Well, we very well know there has been no true Ragnarøkkr,” Viscretus mused, hands falling silently to her lap. Her ring-adorned talons, tipped with onyx clasped together as she resumed her imperious pose. “Yet, if truly written by Naga Sadow himself,” she slipped into High Sith once more, his name rolling from her violet lips in a purr, “and with proper intention - it would likely refer to something far beyond the fear of tiny minded beings as crazed Sith of yore claimed themselves Gods. As most Ragnarøkkr would be. I presume this saviour is yet to be marked, should this prophesy be true. However,” she pursed her lips, deciding on her final verdict for the ragged parchment glowing on screen, “I am hesitant to believe that this is any grand prediction for the moment, until we have further proof of its validity.
“I do apologise for my long-winded appraisal, Catalyst,” she glanced to him briefly as she gave the querulous apology, “I anticipate you are quite eager to share your own impressions of the late Grand Admiral’s curious findings.” As she ended her cordial invitation, she rose abruptly, flitting to the end of the table where Apollyon’s research supplements lay astrew. Still within earshot, she shuffled through them lightly, searching for only one thing in the piles of documents before her, weighed down with the odd artefact. Yet she could not guarantee any mention of it would be in the library, nor even upon Korriban itself, let alone the pile before her. She held the slightest hope that it would be. TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Darth Catalyst , (OOC: Will respond to chunkeymodest , once Catalyst has a chance to respond.) TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
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