The Old Sith Trials

IC LORD CATALYST
Sadow's Tomb

The scene of Coatlec and Xirr cooperatively attacking the beached squid was quite the sight to behold. Each was impressive in their own right, with Xirr’s agile motions complimenting the strong grace of Coatlec’s Djem So. What was less than impressive was that the squid was already dying before they started hacking at it with their sabers. Catalyst powered his weapon down and hung it back on his belt. Point for me I suppose. As he smirked to himself, he saw the pool starting to swirl and agitate around Xirr and Coatlec. The walls that Coatlec held suddenly collapsed, bringing a whirlpool of corrosive liquid around the two Sith. Catalyst reached out his hand but noticed something before he decided to wrench the Lords from the pool: they were untouched by the acid. The grin on his face widened further when he noticed the current of power flowing from the other end of the room. Viscretus. No doubt she was upset at the flagrant disobedience of the brutes in the center of the pool. This was their punishment. Catalyst lowered his hand and enjoyed the show before the acid was whisked away down the halls they had entered through and Xirr and Coatlec were left moderately unscathed on the cave floor with a dead squid.



Behind him, Apollyon was unnaturally quiet. He couldn’t tell whether she was silently contemplating a cutting jab or mentally preparing herself for a life without eyes. He decided not to push the issue. She had been through quite enough today between this and the Tuk’ata earlier. Catalyst almost felt pity for her. Then he saw what she was really doing. It surprised him when she telekinetically found the lever holding the trapdoor in place and pulled it open. At least she’s still trying to help. It surprised him further when she started screaming practically in his ear. "Watch out! Sithspawn down below! Kill them quick!" she shouted while scrambling towards the wall.



Catalyst glanced at the trapdoor, then at Coatlec and Xirr who were nearest to it. “You two, get down there and take care of them. You seem to be feeling violent.” He turned back and scooped Apollyon’s lithe form into his arms. “We’ll be right behind you." Then he called across the empty pit, "Viscretus can you round up the Initiates? Sithspawn may be more excitement than Coatlec and Xirr can handle but Shaire and… the other one can probably help.”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , dice , Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror , @lordjania , Padawan4687 , Shira

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: False Tomb of Naga Sadow


Robyn managed a relieved smile once the girl was talking again. "No worries, just glad to see you're all right." After a second, she lowered her hand and glanced back at the Sith across the acid trap. "To call most of the Sith here 'ruthless', would be an understatement... you really have to look out for yourself here on Korriban. It's considered... Jedi-like to have any sort of compassion. You're seen as soft, weak... a liability." She lowered her voice to just above a whisper, but let her red eyes roll as she continued, "But it's not like I can just shut it off on command!"

She quickly realized she was ranting and averted her eyes while pressing a hand to her forehead. "Ahem... sorry..." After a pause, she looked up again. "Hey, I never even got your na-" Loud mental orders from Lady Viscretus promptly shut her up again, and Robyn obediently took a few steps backward within yet another sphere of lightning. I am still convinced she will try to kill me with one of these... It wasn't until the spectacle with the acid river being separated like an ocean, and then tossed aside clearing the room that Robyn found her voice again. The acolyte slowly forged ahead with the discovery of a trap door, Robyn's question evidently missed.

I'll, just ask her later... she thought, making her way down to the ancient door. Instead of hopping down, she crouched near the opening and extended her senses. "Sithspawn? Down there?" The red auras she could see didn't match a monster at all... but people being hidden down this passageway seemed to make even less sense. And yet, voices confirmed it! "...those aren't Sithspawn beasts, there are people down there!" Not only were there people down beneath the acid pool, those people were the same attempted assassins from before. Robyn hardly needed her Sight to recognize something was thoroughly different about them though. One of the auras was especially chaotic, almost unhinged... She'd read about some Force moves that could almost instantly shatter a person's mind to splinters... maybe? 

What in the world is the story with these ladies? she wondered, still hanging back. And why, exactly, are they here now? 


TAG: Darth Catalyst , dice , Volshe , Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror , @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar

IC: Darth Viscretus
The Empty Pool (aka the Evident Initiate Daycare), Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

Round up the Initiates? Viscretus snorted at the notion, instantly following behind Catalyst and the other two. They would find their way forth, or they would end up layered in dust and grime, corpses aged to perfection by the time the next expedition found them.

And so, they did. They each jumped down before her, leaving her in the cavernous room alone. Quiet, excepting the buzzing of 'sabres and the intermittent echo of voices.

She would await their dispatch of the Sithspawn below - if Catalyst so wished her to have the easy work, then she would grant him such. She turned, sauntering back to where Apollyon had stood. Just beyond it, a circular sub-chamber, decorated with crumbling statues and the desiccated remains of explorers past. Her black skirts dusted against the ground as she knelt before fractured pottery, her ivory fingers sifting quickly through what had been left. Nothing but dust and broken artefact, worth nothing, only remarkable in age.  

Moments had passed now. She rose, spun, expecting the unmistakable screech of death to tear itself from the throats of the ones below...growing increasingly suspicious that it had yet to resonate in the Force or the empty corridors.

Until it did.

Her once-saunter quickened with urgency. Yet the echo did not come from the Tomb, nor did the great tearing pain that briefly stole her breath away. It was miles, perhaps parsecs, away. Somewhere beyond the periphery of her Force, yet someone with great power enough to take her heart in their grip. She exhaled, closing her eyes, probing for some hint as to the source - some void left in the scenery of luxurious, yet violent, colour that surrounded them all. There was nothing save the unequivocal weight of loss. A feeling as though the hands that once clawed for her soul had now melted into noxious liquid, dripping into her viscera and burning it with each weighted drop. 

The Darkness could indeed give great power and greater sight, but the preternatural greatness of the Valley could also rip both from one's grasp. 

Voices - not words of combat, nor words of victory - still trickled into the main chamber. She stifled the huff of frustration that waited at her lips, before jumping into the door below.

So she would yet again have to deal with what they could not. Her eyes were still stuck mid-roll before she made it to the floor below, and it took the briefest moment before their unique signatures became clear. 

"You," she hissed, one of her 'sabers igniting in the instant Xirr's had extinguished. "You dare return." 

It was not the thrumming blade that brought ghastly noise to their throat, but the instantaneous sensation of choking as blood and pus rose from within their chests. As pustules bubbled from their skin, and their eyes reddened. As rigors clutched their muscles...and insanity clawed for their minds. 

Her eyes flared a poisonous gold, her head snapping around to glare poisoned daggers at the group around her. She ignored the twins and their unavoidable fate, as the Plague ravaged through their every tissue as wildfire. "And none of you put an end to these wretches' piteous existence? Merely received them with lowered blade?"

Her head cracked back to centre, facing the two of them. "It is no matter. They may welcome you with open arms, but so too shall death." 

All at once she released them, ending the affliction. She stepped forward to them - slowly, languidly - stifling her own heaving breaths as the Force trickled back to her, exhausted by the two feats.

"Once I allow your sufferings to end." 

TAG: Darth Catalyst, Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror, Shira, @lordjania, Padawan4687, dice, Darth Dreadwar,
TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow

IC: Emperor Edworion
The Eternal Throne, Star Forge, above the Gunninga Gap and Zakuul

In the darkest and furthest depths of the Unknown Regions, beyond the periphery of the galactic halo, stars more ancient than the most ancient of civilisations are dying. The death throes of these cosmic giants may only be a moment on a cosmological timescale, but to the eyes of sapient beings, their demise is eternal, a moment in time frozen as if captured by the event horizon of the black hole that binds the stellar cluster together. For over one hundred thousand years, since the Muurshantre Extinction, the stars of the Nihil Retreat have been dying, and their torturous agony has culminated in a beautiful kaleidoscope of celestial blood known as the Perann Nebula, a cloud of gas ejected from the cluster after the ravishing teeth of strong stellar winds ripped the twelve stars' outer layers away, to be lost forever in the hungry abyss of the intergalactic void. Once enough material was relinquished to The Darkness, the stars' luminous cores were left exposed, enabling their ultraviolet radiation to bathe the surrounding gas in crimson radiation.

And at the heart of this orgy of chaos lay the Gunninga Gap.

A supermassive black hole, vaster than the singularities of The Maw put together, that, over millennia of stellar drift, came to ensnare the entire system of Zakuul. And so, in the year 154 After the Battle of Yavin, a much smaller spatial rift than the cosmic chasm of the Gap opened at the edge of the gorge's accretion disc, spitting out the crustacean form of an Abominor warship that, by the orders of its Captain Raspir, had departed Iokath for the capital of the Eternal Empire. The Great Reap had come to Zakuul, and even a thousand visits theretofore could not affect the sublime sensation of rapturous splendor one felt as one stared out the bridge viewport, gazing upon the vista of eternal cosmic destruction.


Marchioness Anigma stood beside Raspir, arms folded, lips slightly parted in awe. They had departed Iokath six hours before, and after running thorough security scans on their Shard visitor, she had granted Darth Hypnos' request to stay on the ship, lending the machine Lord a chamber to stay in for the duration of the hyperspace journey. However, several minutes before reversal to sublight, she had extended the courtesy of notifying Hypnos and escorting him to the bridge, having already informed the mechu deru master of their destination - and what majesty lay at the end of their journey. Or who.

The Great Reap dipped in its descent towards the Gap, passing through a drifting field of silver moon trees before deftly weaving a path between a far-flung belt of asteroids, chunks of shattered planets and a graveyard of dead ships, all a grim if spectacular silhouette of testament to the Gap's inexorable power. It passed by a misshapen black orb that only Raspir and Anigma would recognise as the dread world of Nilrebmah XIII, transmitting a code clearance in its swooping flight towards the singularity beyond, signalling for the deactivation of the shield generator that the planet of eternal night projected around the sunless system. It passed by a gargantuan and distant ring of metal and terrain larger than the gas giant of Yavin, that represented the artificial ring-shaped Worldcraft that Zakuul had been terraformed into, orbited by an artificial luminary held in place by enormous tractor beams. And just before the Reap reached the event horizon of the Gap, it pulled up, defying gravity to climb towards the culprit of Zakuul's transformation: thousands upon thousands upon thousands of miles above the Gunninga Gap, harvesting the energy of the black hole, was the unmistakable, mythical profile of a Rakatan Star Forge.


A tiny speck in the face of the fathomless void beneath, a mote of dust anchored in a supermassive storm. But nonetheless impressively gigantic in its own right, one of the last of its kind - and indeed, perhaps the last, although it was said three Star Forges remained after the destruction of the infamous (and often wrongly presumed only) Star Forge at Rakata Prime - in the galaxy. Swarming around the infernal Forge, bathing in the stellar heat it gathered at its tapering claws or, indeed, products of its supernatural furnaces, a seemingly infinite fleet of Abominor droid-ships, some surely the size of small moons. One could easily lose all sense of scale at the heart of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul, for vast was made to seem small beside even vaster.

The Great Reap continued in its ascent, and Anigma noticed in its approach trajectory that it was not the only Abominor to avoid the far side of the Star Forge, but all she could perceive was that the Forge was silhouetted against a swirling mass of scarlet hue before the mammoth space station swallowed the viewport entirely. And we are still thousands of miles from its surface. Anigma's open lips curled into a feral smile, the savagery of the cosmos reflecting in her eyes as she felt the raw power course through her, building with each minute as the Reap approached. She had been to Zakuul before, but never the Star Forge, and she could feel her mechanical heartbeat quicken in anticipation and undeniable anxiety. It was not even the overwhelming presence of the Forge, concentrating the Force in a nexus to warp to its will, but the crown at the top of the Forge. The pinnacle of the system's mountain of incredible power.

And they were heading straight for it.

The Great Reap climbed still further, its shadow falling upon the hull of the Star Forge as it made its way towards one of the four towering spires that protruded like blades from the very top of the space station. A docking bridge was already extending from the base of the Forge's great fin to meet the Reap's forward airlock, and at last the droid-ship slowed to arrive at its destination. As clanking noises reverberated throughout the vessel of war, Anigma activated her wrist-communicator, contacting the disembarkation officer. "Commodore, inform the Infinite Emperor that Lord Raspir has arrived." The Marchioness turned towards Raspir and Hypnos, flashing them a nervous smile. "If you'll follow me, my Lords." Anigma made her way from the bridge to the Reap's turbolifts, and thence to the docking bridge, crossing an enclosed walkway with rich carperts of gold and azure into the tower proper, where another turbolift - and an escort of golden-armoured Zakuulan Centurions - awaited them.


Such was the nature of a biodroid that it scarcely required oxygen, yet for aesthetic reasons of replication if nothing else, they still breathed - at least, they should have. Anigma found herself holding her breath as they ascended the final turbolift, for she knew what lay on the other side of those turbolift doors. She fought the temptation of nausea - she had opted for select organic innards, grown in vats, so as to preserve the pleasure of eating post-entechment - as the turbolift stopped, and the doors opened.

And then they were there.

Stretching before them was space itself. The vibrant, violent reds of the Perann Nebula all around them. The entire galaxy arrayed before them, the vantage point of the Nihil Retreat giving a full and awe-inspiring view of the galaxy the stellar cluster orbited. The all-consuming Gunninga Gap beneath. Dust and meteroids hurtling by on every side, caught by stellar winds that whistled eerily around them. And ahead of them, a perilously thin walkway, entirely exposed to the vacuum of space save for the artificial gravity generators and magcon shielding that retained a breathable atmosphere, leading towards the swirling crimson vortex that the Star Forge had previously obscured: a legendary Infinity Gate. A wormhole to nowhere and everywhere. A portal of unknown providence to dimensions beyond hyperspace. And at its lip, his cloak rippling in the howling cosmic wind, the Infinite Emperor.


He sat upon a towering throne upon what appeared to be a landing pad, and indeed, such a description would not be inaccurate: the Eternal Throne the almighty Ari had forged from the molten ruin of the old was more than just a throne. It was a personal ship unto itself, its divine occupant having no need of protection from space, and it was on the far side of the walkway, upon the circular platform suspended a hundred lightminutes above the void of the Gap, that it rested. Lining each side of the walkway were Zakuulan Star Tribunes, lightpikes and cortosis shields in hand, two columns of royal guards that were hardly necessary, given the enormous Arkanian dragon that dwarfed the Eternal Throne whose back it was curled around. The albino beast was lying upon the throne platform, its tail flicking lazily as if reaching to pluck distant stars, its huge wings folded, its snout touching the armrest of its master's throne. The fabled White Dragon of Zakuul, Danarys.

"All hail His Glorious Majesty, the Infinite Emperor Edworion," Atha Prime, Chieftain of the Royal Guard, called from beside the turbolift doors, "Third of His Name, Immortal God of the Rakata, Dark Lord of the Sith and Protector of all Zakuul." An orchestra sounded, then, in a chorus of almost melancholy salutation, and upon its completion, Anigma returned the ritualistic greeting with reverent intonation. "All hallow the Ari."


At Atha Prime's nod of permission, Anigma started forward across the long, thin walkway, taking a respectfully slow pace as she passed the row of Zakuulan guards, smiling with pleasure as they successively ignited their cobalt lightpikes as she passed each. Once they reached the circular platform, Anigma sank to her knees, before stretching her arms before her and letting herself fall to lie prostrate three meters from the foot of the dais, refusing to even glance up at the very incarnation of Izax that sat above her... and very much hoping Raspir and Hypnos followed her worshipful example, insomuch as the latter's physiology was capable of such.

The enthroned figure was tall, that much would be apparent even seated, if Anigma had dared look up. A sneer of cold command creased pale features denoted by a regal nose, with lips voluptuous for a male, and narrow, deep-set eyes blazing with golden light brighter than Zakuul's artificial sun. Cascading from his shoulders was a many-layered cloak of bantha fur dyed to a rich midnight blue, held in place by twines of aurodium over a chestplate of polished white plasteel sculpted into the draconian countenance of Zildrog. Strips of dewback leather, studded with coins bearing the Emperor's own portrait, hung loosely around knee-length rancor hide boots, obscuring a lightsaber hilt that tilted over the edge of the royal seat. Black trousers of fine silk contrasted against the white inner lining of a trailing cloak, completing an outfit of such taste and evident expense that it was surely only fit for a living god.

IC: Darth Blight
Fleeing the Sanctum of Sakkra-Kla, Lower Valley, Korriban


"Blight!! It's time for us to leave! We have to get back to the academy!!" Blight could see the wisdom in Nihl's order. They were badly outmatched, not only as heralded by Dynami's miraculous power to transform inanimate matter into violently animate attackers, but as displayed by the utter ineffectiveness of Nihl's electrical attack. Little did Blight know that Dynami was merely employing the bread-and-butter arts of the ancient Sith, a field of sorcery entirely unknown to all but the most learned librarians and scholarly sophists of the modern Sith era. Sith Illusions.

But Blight could not see the plausibility. They had arrived at the Lower Valley on foot, recognising the deleterious effects of such a powerful dark side nexus on technology over time, and so even as Blight duly turned tail and fled, treading sand rapidly as an ominous rumbling built behind them at the instruction of Dynami's upturned hand, she could only think on how many miles and hours of walking - for no one could sustain a run for such longevity, not even fuelled by the Force - they had ahead of them before returning to the Academy whence they came.

There was one consolation. Having destroyed the craft whose engines had whipped the sands into an exponentially growing frenzy, the unnatural sandstorm was flagging to the point of dying, and as the swirling dust began to clear, Blight saw something she had not theretofore. Perhaps it had been obscured by the storm in their initial descent of the Lower Valley. But then, Blight had not seen it in prior missions either; perhaps she had simply never made it so far down this particular vale of the vast and winding necropolis. Mysterious indeed.

But it was unmistakably real. A building guarded by eternal sentries of stone, with a crumbling stair and broken pillars for an entryway, and a strange light atop its cracked roof, shining through the gloom of the stone. A fire? But.. how...?

"Nihl!" Blight shouted, glancing back to see if Dynami was pursuing - and if so, how close she was. "We won't make it back to the Academy outrunning it! This strange revenant won't tire, while we will slow! Perhaps if we take refuge in that... tomb or whatever it is? Lose it there?"

TAG: Volshe , Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror

---

IC: Garn Tarcrulus
Garn's Modest House of Sin, Iziz, Onderon

Garn Tarcrulus did not keep Voidwalker waiting long. Indeed, he was right on Draven's heels, as he furiously stood from his luxuriating comfort, throwing the tome aside as he paced after the prospective Sith into the brothel's main room. Entirely disregarding the prostitutes milling about, or the clients waiting in burgundy leather sofas, Garn shouted at Voidwalker for all to see.

"I am going to kriffing question a Sith," Garn spat. "I am going to question how you're going to pay the value of the girl you just killed," Garn turned to glance at the ladies staffing the reception, publicising Voidwalker's misdeeds if the screams of the second prostitute as she fled the room behind them wasn't clue enough. "I'm going to question what you crave, if not for material things. Oh, an education? A degree at Sith School, huh, so you can get a job in some government? That's all the Sith Empire is. Just another government. Maybe you wager your life at the Academy rather than gambling thousands of creds in student loans, but you're lying to yourself if you don't think your grandiose goals of unlimited power or whatever drives you isn't material. Everything is material."

Garn snarled, and let a single spark of electricity dance off his outstretched finger, singeing the wine curtain behind him. "I'm going to question... how you call yourself a Sith, when you aren't even an Initiate at their bloody Academy yet, which is why you want transport there, no? I'm going to question how the hells you're going to get off-world now, when you've just brought the local authorities and the Federation down on our heads for murder? Gods, is this what passes for Sith nowadays? A serial killer who preys on whores like the rest? I'll pass, on that title, any day."

As Garn ranted, patrons had hastily gotten up from the waiting area, making their way out of the entrance of the establishment, while the prostitutes had fled into their rooms, preferring to hide or escape through backdoors than be anywhere near what could amount to an explosive confrontation. Unlike Voidwalker, they knew of Garn's power; he would not be easy to defeat. Only one girl remained, cowering behind the reception desk, stifling her sobs as she heard the distinctive snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber. Garn had drawn his weapon, but had not used it yet, instead holding it by his side, pointing at the ground as a warning, and a signal he was ready to defend himself if needed.

TAG: Darth Voidwalker

Name/Title: Arcane Sith Apprentice Level 1


Age:27


Sex:Male


Species:Cathar


Homeworld:Cathar


Occupation:Sith Peon


Height:1.8 Meters/ 5'10


Appearance: Arcane has dark, black fur covering his whole body, with a thick mane of the same color. Rare for his species. His mane has formed into dreadlocks. Tapered and pointed feline ears sit near the top of his head. Slim athletic build, his body has a rough exterior. Scars litter it in a random pattern. His eyes are green, however his left eye bares a vertical scar, turning it blue. His skin color beneath his fur is pink, therefore the scars are pink in color against his black fur. His hands have retractable claws.


Weapons: He built his own bow and arrows and carries them with him constantly. He had stolen a small, plain, hilt from raiding on his cargo ship travels. He carries it with him, but seldom uses it.


Equipment: Arcane wears carved bone dread jewelry on a few of his dreads. He has crimson red robes with leather armor underneath. Fingerless leather gauntlets adorn his hands and forearms. All are a tattered and worn. A shining metal ring pierces his left ear near the base.


Description of Abilities: Seems to have a bit of force sensitivity, but has never delved into himself. He can loot and steal quickly. He is great at hand to hand combat, as his species suggests.

Personality: A loner. Gruff. Callous. He doesn't trust easily nor does he go out of his way to try to. Very hot temper.

Bio: Arcane was born to a litter of 5 on his planet of Cathar. He was born a dark color, rare for his species. The clan assumed he would lighten with age. That never happened. At the age of 6 the Mandalorians attacked his planet. Enslaving and murdering most of his people. He escaped his tree top home and hid in an unstable underground bunker. It collapsed, though he was able to escape, this being the first time he used a bit of his force sensitivity. He escaped right into the arms of a Mandalorian. He fought as hard as he could, just barely escaping his grip. It was then he aquired his large vertical scar across his left eye. After he had escaped onto the cargo ship and his eye began to heal, he noticed the color change to a bright blue. He traveled from ship to ship and planet to planet, learning as much as he could with every stop. He was aloof. He was not amiable with passersby. He was alone, and that was all he knew. He would steal and loot for food and supplies. Honing that skill. He picked up a small, plain hilt from one of his cargo trips. He keeps it in his robes, yet seldom uses it.

Rank/Level:

Class:Assassin

Skills



Force push/pull – 1

Force choke –2

Force jump – 2

Force Avalanche – 1

Force Lightning – 0

Force Defense – 2

Mind Trick – 0

IC: Darth Coatlec
Location: Catacombs, False Tomb of Naga Sadow, Valley of the Dark Lords, Korriban


After Coatlec's scolding of the Head of Intelligence for hastily plaguing the twins, he expected her to snap back at him, but his apprentice jumped in between them first. And she said in a seemingly somewhat fearful tone, "Lady Viscretus, is killing them necessary? Like my master said we're here for knowledge. Shouldn't we just add them to the group? It's the most peaceful resolution to this. Please my Lady you were nice enough to heal me and they were subjected to torture before they got here. Please don't hurt them. I will defend them if need be, my Lady." Coatlec was quite surprised at the audacity and courage of his young apprentice to jump in front of the most powerful Sith of the company like that. Coatlec told Jania, "Be careful, my apprentice. There is no peace for a Sith. Peace is a lie! There is only passion." However, she is too powerful for you to defend against. If she does attack, let me handle it.


But Coatlec's calm greeting towards the twins was also not well received. He was in quite the bind between the twins and Viscretus. Scionica spun and whipped a hidden blade towards Coatlec's chest. He saw it come, but let it come, however. He had shown off his regenerative healing nanotechnology in quite some time. It sunk into his chest as Scionica whispered in his ear, "If you ever speak our names again, this blade will embed itself in a far more vital area of your body." The company looked on; Coatlec did not know what they thought of what just happened. He whispered back to Scionica, "Perhaps you will have that opportunity in due time, my Lady." She walked away ripping the knife out of his chest.


Viscretus then walked towards Coatlec, digging her fingers into his open wound. Electricity buzzed in her hand, shocking Coatlec but not to the point where it severed any connection to his nanotechnology. She boasted, "You are not wrong. There is much to learn. So very much...But dead men learn nothing and fools are always forgotten." He snapped back while grabbing her hand to diffuse the electric charge with Force Defense, and he said, "Too bad I'm not dying today, my Lady. I'm not the only one that will learn some today." So Coatlec just stepped back and let the nanotechnology work. The wound began to heal as he stepped back. It would take a few minutes, but that was plenty of time to fend off a potential attack from Viscretus if it were to come. "Complements of my adventures in the Unknown Regions with my father," he said back in the cockiest, most narcissistic attitude. He stepped into a defensive stance, not yet igniting his sabers as he did not wish to fight.


TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Darth Catalyst, dice, @lordjania, Shira, Padawan4687

IC: Darth Viscretus
Catacombs, Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

"Too bad I'm not dying today, my Lady. I'm not the only one that will learn some today." He took a step back, blood staining her fingers as they withdrew from the wound – a wound that was now beginning to heal, flesh fusing together slowly. "Complements of my adventures in the Unknown Regions with my father," he continued, his tone nearly matching her own egotistical poise as he crouched into a ready stance. 

She smirked, but it was a taunt now, the poison in her eyes now a blaze. Nanites, they could heal many a grievous wound, render their master powerful - but they were not invincible. They had limits, just as she had hers. Her mercy had been worn through, her patience lacking.

No, he would not be the only one to learn. The rest of them would gain a valuable lesson...and come to realize what mistakes the bastard boy had made. The blood on her hand fizzled into smoke, her palm suddenly enveloped in brilliant, vicious lightning. She fired a vivid bolt towards him with a flourish of her porcelain hand.

TAG: Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror, Darth Dreadwar,
TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow

IC: Darth Coatlec
Location: Catacombs, False Tomb of Naga Sadow, Valley of the Dark Lords, Korriban


Viscretus was none too pleased with the way Coatlec had diffused her electric charge wedged in his chest. She stepped back, taunting him. But no matter, Coatlec's nanotechnology was healing quickly. In a minute or so, he would be completely healed. She won't fight me. She knows she cannot win. For my skills are the perfect counter. She may have powerful lightning, but I have strong defense. She has the Plague, yet I have a strong mind. But the place I have her above all else is lightsaber combat. That is how I will win.


He saw the blood in her hand turn to smoke. He knew exactly what was coming. Force Lightning. The only way to take down her Force Lightning, which was near masterful level, was to take some with lightsabers, and some with the defense of the Force. Kriffing good thing I carry like 6 sabers. Coatlec reached towards the back of his belt, pulling out to Jedi lightsabers. These sabers belonged to some of his first Jedi kills, Noah Shain and Nyderith Shallon. With a crackle, he ignited the two blades, lighting up the catacombs with green and blue light. He raised them in defense towards her bolt of lightning, but they would short out about halfway through the bolt. He dropped both dead sabers and stretched out his arm in Force Defense, absorbing the rest of the lightning. "Oh, my Lady. It seems you still doubt me. My, my, you will learn."


Oh how the mighty Viscretus has fallen. She played right into my hand. He reached to his belt yet again, revealing two more lightsabers which he drew to his hands. With a hiss and a crackle he yet again ignited his blades. One red, the other matching the yellow in his eyes unvisible underneath his helmet. Though this was not the same Sith saber he had used to kill the tentacled beast moments before. So Coatlec took up and offensive stance of Djem So, his go-to form of lightsaber combat. The Sith Lady would not last long in the bout as Coatlec was far superior in lightsaber combat. He took two power swings towards her, the red heading towards her shoulder, while the yellow went towards her knees.


TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe