The Old Sith Trials

IC: Kint Dranlor

Location: space, the final frontier, inside a pyramid ship


Kint sprinted forwards, remaining cloaked. He trusted Lemmy would protect himself from the flying blades, and if he couldn't, well, survival of the fittest would win out.

He was frustrated with himself for not giving Lemmy some method of communication yet. He had an earpiece in his pocket, but hadn't gotten the chance to give it to him.

He drew three throwing daggers from behind his back with his left hand and hurled them at the massassi in one smooth motion, aiming for the three farthest away from him. (Unbeknownst to them, the daggers were implanted with small explosives that could be auto triggered via HUD.)

To those watching, the daggers would appear to blink into existence and fly towards the guards, targeting their exposed necks.

He followed up the throw with a leap, carrying him towards the closest one, his saber concealed in his hand to keep up his invisibility, until the last moment when he ignited it, and struck out with a jab towards its chest and shoulder.

He was careful to give Lemmy room to shoot without placing himself in the line of fire for the other 5 soldiers.

Tags:
Darth Catalyst
Darth Dreadwar

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

Silence permeated the corridor. Coatlec's mind was awash now, but Viscretus did not hear all. Only the briefest words, hanging in the air. Newfound resolution, fusing with anger. She looked away. At the very least, she would grant him the courtesy of privacy in his mind. He had learned, at last, and he did not charge her once more. There was no reason to push him further.

She had succeeded. Though, for a moment, she wondered if her success now would spell an untimely demise ahead. The air had grown...oppressive. It was as though the Tomb itself were listening, breathing, and was awaiting their next failure. 

“Are we done playing now?” Catalyst spoke, and Viscretus turned her head slowly, towards him. At first, quite judgingly, then...her irritation all but disappeared. The room was steeped in fear, even some of it radiating from him. But she expected as much, and she did not see it as weakness. Merely intellect. For he did not slash at her with frenzied blade to prove confidence, his strength was in more than just the physical. There was something to be said about those who feared and yet still acted with great rationale and resolution. His attention turned to the twins, behind her now. Her neck began to prickle, a tingle of awareness. For a moment, she was back upon the flooded mountain paths of Naboo - in crumbling ruins left by vicious war. It was a feeling she had known well, then. But its source was not the putrid darkness of the Vong, of the Vasalians, but of something greater. And much, much closer.

Her attention returned to Catalyst, the thoughts flooding away. “There is a tomb we're here to explore. If the twins can play nice we won't kill them. There's far more important things at play here.” And with that, he proceeded forward, down the corridor. A welcome shift in the focus of the group, though her heart still thrummed with adrenaline and her sinews buzzed with the surplus of Force energy.

“After all,” Catalyst called back, already a sizeable distance away from the rest of them, “We have an apocalypse to stop!”

She turned slowly, back to the group, taking it upon herself to gather them for the journey ahead. A sudden spark of energy raged nearby, bleeding into the malevolence of the tomb.

Was it fear?

No. Something far more powerful. Hatred, anger. Fury. The snap hiss of a ‘saber igniting caught her off-guard. She spun.
Her grin returned, as Jania stood before her, eyes ablaze as brightly as her blade.

“You healed me but plagued my mind... you disregard me because I don’t know your Sith ways and now you hurt my Master. You’re nothing but an evil witch.”

Plagued her mind? Viscretus hid her immediate confusion. She had done nothing malicious to the acolyte before her; in fact, her actions could be construed so far as compassionate. She no doubt believed the screams, the voices, the dread that oozed into the corridors through crumbling walls…was her doing.

“I prefer the title of sorceress, if you would be so kind,” she replied, pausing rather leisurely. “There will not be another battle. If you wish to die this day, then you must accomplish that with some other method.”

The Sith Lady leaned forward, meeting her glowing yellow eyes. Her lips pursed. “And, my child, I did not plague you. The Valley, the Dark Side, has brought that upon you. It has gifted you. But the Force is no tame beast. Now, you must learn to command it." Her voice lowered, shifting to a dark velvet, "Lest it command you.”

She straightened her bodice, then turned on her heel, unthreatened by the blazing blade or the young woman. She allowed herself a postured amble as she followed behind Catalyst. 

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

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


Catalyst and Apollyon made their response. Coatlec noticed the words of Catalyst were almost the exact same as his before he was drained. Of course he could stop conflict but not Coatlec!! Coatlec had to lose a hundred years! "Are we done playing now? There is a tomb we're here to explore. If the twins can play nice we won't kill them. There's far more important things at play here." What a damn coincidence, I said the same thing!! But it matters not. All this will drive me to be better. Better for me, better for my apprentice, better for the Sith, better for...everyone. "After all, we have an apocalypse to stop," he called out.


Jania ran over to Coatlec as he dropped to the ground. She sat him up and started talking as his nanites began their healing process. They couldn't bring back his youth, but at least they would give him the strength to move ahead. But the nanites were not the biggest help here. That was the words of his apprentice. "Master are you ok? Are you ok? What did she do to you?" Her concern was genuine, and it drove him to respond, "Jania, I'll be ok. We will work through this together." She jumped up looking at Viscretus and barked, "You healed me but plagued my mind...you disregard me because I don't know your Sith ways and now you hurt my master. You're nothing but an evil witch." Wow. Quite brave for someone so new. She's doing this for me. Hopefully she doesn't get killed in the process.


Coatlec could barely hear the words of Viscretus and Apollyon, but it seemed like they talked down Jania. At least she would not suffer like Coatlec had. Apollyon neared Coatlec who was still laying on the ground, his nanites still running. She crouched down, and licked the nanites reforming the tissues of his wound. I guess she's trying to heal her eyesight. I can let her do that. Not like I can stop her at this point. She rose, as did Coatlec. He picked up his two shorted lightsabers. Perhaps he could fix them once they return to the academy. After a few minutes, his strength had returned. It was time to move forward. The tomb seemingly was layed out like a monument to the 12, well 13, Jen'jidai Dark Lords.


It's time to fix my wrongs. Right the mistakes. Perhaps these artifacts can help bolster my strength. Something may start the process of returning my youth. I am a servant of the Sith, specifically my Lord the Emperor Dreadwar. But I have become to cocky in the Darkness thinking that is where my power comes from. No, knowledge is power. And I can achieve that power through a measure of balance. A new personal code I am adopting, one known only to me as my comrades would look down on it. They may think I have lost my edge, but now I know this is how it must be. I will still follow the tenets of the Sith Code to the T, but I will no longer be a slave to the Dark Side. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no fear; there is power. I am the heart of the Force. I am the revealing fire of Light. I am the mystery of Darkness. Chaos, yet balance. Immortal in the Force. But for now, the objective is exploring these caves. I must gain as much as I can while we are down here. It's the only way to finally show my apprentice a good example. I have to be better. That's the bottom line.


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

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: False Tomb of Naga Sadow

Without sparing so much as a glance at the now-blind Apollyon, Robyn hopped down into the trap door to meet the two assassins "formally". Elara and Tallia, huh... so Lord Coatlec knows them. Judging from the reaction, lunging forward with a knife... either names were a sour subject, or these ladies just hated Coatlec in particular.

She promptly refused to stick around, taking several wide steps back while their fight dragged on, and transferred combatants from Lord Coatlec and the unhinged assassin, to Coatlec and Lady Viscretus. Robyn continued backing away mutely, flinching at the blows but valuing her self-preservation far too much to even consider intervening or saying a word. The second Acolyte's attempt at a last stand made Robyn look away, just mentally bracing for the sound of a body hitting the floor. However, the only landing was from a drained -and... old?- Lord Coatlec.

Force Drain... I've seen that before. A strike of fear was muted through some familiarity thanks to her time with Dreadwar, but still the risk remained that Viscretus would turn her cold wrath on someone else. Robyn stayed where she was until Lord Catalyst started walking away with Lady Apollyon in his arms with his typical outward calm. ...at least, she was, now she seemed to have turned into an Anzati vampire and pounced on the still vulnerable Coatlec! Drinking blood... what in Correlia's seven Hells...? I know you have a thing for "calamari", but come on! "You're sick..." Robyn softly commented to herself, continuing beside Lord Catalyst and shaking her head in disgust.


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

IC: Shira A’dola
Dining hall of the Pius Dea Cathedral Ship, orbiting Odessen

Breath forced itself violently out of compressed lungs as Isis’ boot connected firmly with her chest. She tumbled backwards, hastily extinguishing her ‘saber to avoid impaling herself upon her own blade. A groan escaped Shira’s lips as she rolled and forced herself back to her feet, silver plasma re-igniting as she cautiously opened her eyes. She hissed quietly, storm-grey eyes stinging, but the cyanogen had finally aired out enough to see without blinding her.

She looked around hurriedly, identifying several tools as her mind once again fragmented, showing her the result of several choices she had yet to make. “Rúma!” she shouted, voice curt as she warned her student to get out of the way. Settling on the path with the highest possibility of calculated success, she stooped to grab the lightsaber of a fallen Jedi. Activating the brilliant emerald blade, she sent a swift burst of Force energy towards Isis, hurling the ‘sabre at the wall. The hilt bounced off stone with a metallic clang, sending the flying blade directly towards Isis’ back.


TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Padawan4687

IC: Darth Xirr 
Tunnels Beneath Sadow's tomb 


    The situation in the caves went from bad to worse very quickly. First it was Viscretus, who's reaction to the appearance of the twins was more than venomous, immediately bringing them to their knees with a simple wave of the hand. Xirr took a collected and casual step in the direction of the newly appointed Knight in Shining Armor, Lord Catalyst, as the choked gargles of someone valiantly fighting a losing battle with death escaped the lips of both twins. Of course, Lord Coatlec, as naive as he was, decided that it was in his best interest to accost Viscretus for her actions. "What in Chaos was the point of that, Lady Viscretus? We're here for knowledge!" He said accusingly. Viscretus reacted coolly, mockingly, to Coatlec's remarks “You are indeed correct, dearest Coatlec,” Viscretus began, her feet slowly turning her towards him, her expression entirely disinterested, “There is much more to learn-“ Viscretus was cut off abruptly as the gleaming tip of a vibroblade whipped past her face, embedding itself deep into Coatlec's chest cavity, swiftly followed up by a strike from the blades owner, one of the twins Elara, and Tallia if Xirr remembered correctly The slender, athletic woman leaned in close, whispering something to Coatlec before violently wrenching the silver blade from his chest.


    Then Viscretus made her move, slender, ivory fingers slipped into the newly opened wound in Coatlec's chest as she spoke “You are not wrong. There is much to learn. So very much.” Viscretus smiled evilly “But dead men learn nothing, and fools are always forgotten.” Immediately, Coatlec jolted as electricity began to course through the newly exposed tissue, though he was able to escape the icy grasp of Viscretus. Viscretus had shaken Xirr, who was not one faint of heart, or soft of stomach, he took another step back, this one more instinctive than the last. 


    The situation escalated again, as a blast of blue, arcing energy left Viscretus's hand, destined for Coatlec's center mass. Coatlec was barely able to block the blow, and immediately followed with a saber strike, the damp hall once again illuminated with a red-orange glow.
 
    The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.


    Viscretus had stolen Coatlec's youth, the spring in his stride, the smooth skin pulled taught over healthy bones, gone. Xirr staggered back this time, not calculated at all, but purely in the closest thing he had felt to terror since becoming sith. Xirr quickly righted himself, hoping that no one had seen, and stood tall... and quiet. The oppressive silence that had taken hold of the group was finally broken by Lord Catalyst “Are we done playing now?” He said confidently “There is a tomb we're here to explore.” He looked to the twins  “If the twins can play nice we won't kill them. There's far more important things at play here.” He turned, taking Apollyon with him deeper into the catacombs that snaked beneath the ancient tomb. “After all,” he called over his shoulder to the group, “We have an apocalypse to stop!”
Xirr followed Catalyst deeper into the gloom, hoping some of his confidence would be instilled into himself, he was silent, for had Xirr spoken a word, the unease that he felt would have been more than evident to anyone who was listening. Xirr couldn't risk that.


    Xirr was silent, and keeping composure quite well...Until the voices returned. The all too familiar sensation took hold of Xirr, as his mind was once again flooded by the ethereal voices of ancient sith long dead "The ever sssstoiccc and mightttyyyy Lorrrdd Xxxxxirrr falterssss noww?..." Xirr stopped in his tracks, his powerful hands gripping the sides of his crimson hood "Not now, not now...." He murmured to himself. The voices continued, oblivious to his pleas. "Those ssssittthhh more powerfulll sssscccarrre theee? Or mayyyhappssss it isss the losssss of onesssss youthhhh that inssssstillsss the fearrr?" Xirr snapped. "TYPHOJEM'S SAKE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!" He bellowed, slamming his helmeted head into the hard, uneven stone of the tunnel wall. "Hahahahahahahahahahah....." The deep, reverberating laugh faded away into nothing as they left him, satisfied, for Xirr had been broken.


TAG@dreadwar,Volshe,Shira,Darth Catalyst,Padawan4687,Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror, @lordjania

IC: Darth Viscretus
The Catacomb Spider Room, Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

Viscretus clicked the glow-rod on as soon as she stepped into the room, the piercing light glaring against the painted carvings. Her pace slowed, allowing her a breath of captivation. The stone irises were the colour of glimmersilk, drawing her into their cores - dark, empty voids. They were all otherwise decorated in strangest fashion, as though based on mythical beast and fearsome legend. Iknayid? Razzak-beast? Spider?

Each of the thirteen corridors were dark, barely lit by her glow-rod in the vastness of the room. It was not quite so large that the light was swallowed into the abyssal atmosphere, but it was large enough that the weak beam did not navigate beyond the archways well. The air was no different than the corridors behind. Stale, antiquated, yet perfumed with rot.

She paused in the centre, holding the glow-rod up for clarity. Her feet only stepped upon plain stone, a far cry from the eerily elaborate dome and the archways surrounding the room. All were garnished with some sort of symbol...no, she realized, stepping closer...glyphs adorned each archway.

She began towards the first door, straight across from where they had entered, intending to read them all as she lapped around. Though her pace quickened as the eyes grew closer - they seemed quite keen on her next decisions, and yet they also seemed as though they judged as cruelly as some Immortal God. Intense and oppressive would most certainly describe them well. The Dark Side shifted, as though the Force itself would wane and leave them stranded within the ancient walls.



She continued, examining them one by one, reading the etched stone as she passed, avoiding the judging glares of the eyes that surrounded them. She felt drawn to the door to her right in particular, not quite directly across from the passage they had entered, but she felt wariness, as well; the Force was saturated with a foreboding sense of warning, perhaps more intense as she passed certain passageways, but it was so subtle she could not tell for certain.



Curious. Sith...text. Kittât? A translation could be in order, before they could proceed safely. Or perhaps there would even be some sign, some clue...she gazed again at the room around them, and then noticed the archaic High Galactic lettering inlaid in the ceiling above her, spelling a phrase in the ancient Sith tongue: Dwomut chirikyât châts nuyak jen qo.

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

IC: Darth Apollyon
Entering the spider room, Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

To Apollyon's earnest surprise, Coatlec did not resist. No decrepit hand clawed for her vampiric lips, no croaks of defiance bled into the stale air in challenge. Coatlec simply sat there dutifully, as Apollyon lapped at his open wound, feeling the swarm of nanites, clumped into macroscale yet still tiny structures, fizz on her tongue and gums as individual nanobots buried through the interior mucous membrane. When she felt resistance from the injury as it tightened and closed, she withdrew her loathsome succubic probing, a bloody smile adorning her caramel features as she stood. Briefly, she towered above the cowed Coatlec, before wiping the excess crimson with the back of her hand and turning around without a word of gratitude or explanation. I owe him none. The Emperor takes what he wants. So does his Hand.

With a slender hand outstretched for guidance, Apollyon walked gingerly past Jania, who had followed her master's example, it seemed, in entirely ignoring her. However, perhaps the Initiate was showing how she had taken Apollyon's lecture to heart, respecting the ladder and Coatlec's position on it, to the extent that she was willing to help prop him up on his rung. Not that he needed propping up. As Apollyon unsteadily receded from the pair, she felt a new wellspring of energy and ambition burst from the dam of Coatlec's prior strictures, a profound change in focus and newfound aspiration that saturated the Force around him with burgeoning darkness. Whatever his unknown resolution was, even Apollyon found it sufficiently unyielding, and there was no doubt in her mind that he had not only learned his lesson, but learned it so thoroughly he would come to teach others its value. His power may be hobbled, for now, but I have no doubt he will make a fine Master.

She chuckled to herself, as she let her long fingers brush across the passageway wall like a spider's legs, feeling her way forwards as the team began to trail after Catalyst and Viscretus. Or at the very least, he'll make a fine source of healing, for maladies my friend can't cure. As the minutes passed, and footsteps echoed in the dark, the nanites were working their magic, restitching optic nerves, rebuilding cornea and mending shattered lenses.

But footfalls were not the only sound reverberating in the catacomb. The sound of a helmet colliding with stone rang out, to be followed swiftly by Xirr's profanity. Apollyon didn't even catch what Catalyst said in response.

For the Eye flashed in her mind.

Not only hers. Within seconds of Xirr's curse, they would all see it, shining in their minds, for the most shaven fraction of a second. A great eye, lidless, staring into their very souls from a halo of baleful lightning.

At that barest glimpse, Apollyon stumbled as if stricken, breathing raggedly as she rested against the passageway wall. What was that...? It had been so brief, yet so powerful. "D...Don't say that... word again," Apollyon stuttered at Xirr as she righted herself, the details of the Eye they had all momentarily beheld already slipping from their memories, leaving only the imprint of a nameless fear, as if their mortal minds could not handle even storing the memory of such a dreadful glimpse.

Shaking her head in confusion, Apollyon continued forwards, that vague feeling she had forgotten something important crawling up the base of her spine. But she was swiftly distracted by the puzzling feeling, by the golden blur ahead she could see.

She could see! Her vision was not wholly restored, and if she had kept a mirror on her person she would have been able to tell her eyes had reformed as dark orbs, with sclera and irises as black as pupils, but as she walked closer to Viscretus' glow-rod, the blur began to crystallise into sharpness.

Ah well. Who gave a kark about near-sightedness? She could kriffing see!

She could see the circular room of many corridors as she entered, marvelling at the glyphs upon the walls, and marvelling further at Coatlec's potent nanotechnology.

"I see we have a puzzle to solve," Apollyon chuckled as she surveyed the room, announcing the partial restoration of her sight to the group. They would all need to come together to pass forward; that, she knew deep in her bones. And she knew it would be difficult.

The tomb was having an effect on them. That much was obvious, now. Viscretus' venom at the twins, whose own murderous fires were well-stoked. Coatlec's disrespect and Kio's defiance. Xirr's voices overwhelming him. Even Catalyst's strange behaviour to her, and Apollyon's own conduct, drinking Coatlec's blood without even asking him for permission, as if daring a confrontation. And surprise, surprise, Robyn Shaire was behaving the least irregularly. The powerful energy of the tomb's nexus, Apollyon suspected, was drawing out the darkness in all of them, magnifying it. The tomb's deadliest trap, they had walked right into, if her theory was right: its power over the mind, its power to turn brother against brother, sister against sister, Jedi into Sith and Sith against Sith.

"Come, team," some of Apollyon's characteristic cheeriness was returning to her tone, as her vision continued to improve incrementally. "The dark side of the Force is very strong here. We must embrace its power, but embrace each other, as well; do not let the madness of the tomb ensnare you. Don't you realise what it's doing to us? It's trying to make us turn on each other. Jania, I don't think my friend's healing is plagueing you. I think the tomb is. It's making us paranoid, angry, fearful... Murderous! We all need to fight it! Fight it, not each other... And let us come together as one. Yes, even the assassins, who I assume were sent here by the Temple." Otherwise, Coatlec wouldn't have known their names... Apollyon looked behind her, at the ever-more distinct blurs that entered the spider room in her wake. She squinted, making out the figure of Coatlec, and inclined her head towards his in a nod of respect. Turning again, she spoke. "Now, we're not all scholars, but we all need to try and figure out these markings. I haven't been in many Sith crypts before, and never the Valley, but I've read enough... I suspect we have to determine the right doorway to find the passage that leads to the sarcophagus... Or avoid punitively lethal traps. Or both. Or perhaps the markings are just more of those protective runes, channeling Sith magic...? Hmmm..."

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

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


Before Coatlec got up and began to walk alongside his apprentice, Scionica walked up to him. She banged on his helmet with her finger and said, "It looks like I won't get such opportunities for...fun. It's not entertaining if the recipient can't take a little punishment. What a disappointment." Before the now old Coatlec could gather his thoughts for a response she got up and lightly kicked the helmet, rattling him a bit. But nonetheless, he moved on. When we get out of this damn tomb, and I'm young again, Tallia will be for me. Though that's not my priority now.


Coatlec's apprentice Jania came over to him before he rose on his own and started to help him up. She called out to Shaire, "Hey cute face can you help me over here?" But Shaire didn't help them yet. They began walking with the group, though they were clearly at the back. The most likely to be left behind. Coatlec started to enter her mind, but she spoke out loud, "Can you manage to walk any faster Master? We won't survive on our own if we fall behind...hey Shaire...I think that was your name. Please help me with my Master?" Her simply told her, "Jania. I'll be ok. I can move faster. I'm just investigating every inch of these catacombs. Perhaps there is something here for me to regain my strength." As he was still in her mind he heard her voices, voices he had jumped out away from before. Yet this time, he stayed. "Leave him...no kill him...strike your blade through him...kill them all...they won't be able to see you coming..." Coatlec saw her stop and speak, "No...stop...leave me alone..." He called back to her, "Jania, don't let the tomb corrupt you. Its Darkness is great, and can empower you. But let it consume you, and it will forever dominate your will. You will become a slave to it. That's not a life I want for you."


Xirr and Initiate Shaire looked on during the duel between Coatlec and Viscretus, yet said nothing. But then as they were walking down one of the tunnels, Xirr blurted out, "TYPHOJEM'S SAKE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!" And he banged his head against the wall of the cavern. Coatlec was behind Xirr at this point and he spoke up in compassion, "Xirr, what's going on? What's in your head? This tomb has done a number on us all." By the Gods, what has happened to us all? But as soon as the thought flashed through his mind something else did as well. A great Eye. Someone was watching them all.


Coatlec and Jania caught up with the front of the group: Catalyst, Viscretus, and Apollyon. Viscretus held up her glow rod to reveal the ancient glyphs and scripts adorning the tops of each doorway. There was text in Kittât as well as High Galactic. The text read in the ancient Sith tongue: Dwomut chirikyât châts nuyak jen qo. Coatlec was well versed in the tongue of the ancient Sith, and he knew this translation. Summon He who causes them to tremble and throb to gain my path. What could that mean? We have to summon something or someone that we fear. Catalyst spoke up and said, "Can you read this Lady Viscretus? I'd hate to have to try and sound it out for Apollyon so she can translate." Apollyon made a long monolgue about the team coming together as they should and figuring out the puzzle. Catalyst chided her, "You could just read them to us. We aren't all scholars, you're right. So maybe those of us that are can actually make something of these writings." Coatlec simply replied in saying, "Lord Catalyst. I am well versed in the tongue of the ancient Sith. It says, 'Summon He who causes them to tremble and throb to gain my path.' What do you think that could mean?"


We're close to solving this puzzle, I know. Perhaps close to me regaining strength, and maybe even youth. That would be nice. My translation should be spot on though it has been a little while since I've studied the language. Even longer since I've used it. Yet still, it is correct. I came here to learn, and I've already learned much coming out of my defeat. I was too full of myself. I have to be better. Things have changed in me and will continue to change. I'm going to search every one of these rooms for artifacts to potentially help bring back some of my strength. It may be the only way. But there's something more. I feel as though I may be in greater pain soon. Perhaps from Him. Perhaps from the Void. But something else is coming. I must stay grounded in my new philosophy. While allowing this tomb to empower me, I cannot allow it to corrupt me. I am in control of my destiny, not the Dark Side. I am the revealing fire of the Light. I am the mystery of Darkness. Chaos, yet balance. Immortal in the Force. This is how it must stay. I don't know if I will be able to control Jania for much longer. She seems to be coming...unhinged. I can only hope it doesn't consume her. That would be devastating as she is my first apprentice. That may be the great pain, but yet I feel something else...


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

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

One level higher.

Garn flinched, memories of the Dread War returning to him. Memories of its very beginning, when that frightful message had broadcasted on every medium in the galaxy. Every holovision, every HoloNet stream, every commlink, every handheld holoprojector. One level higher, the ghastly apparition had said, and then Karideph, Minos Cluster ecumenopolis, granary of the entire Outer Rim and home to 96 billion, had turned to ash at the raising of his gloved hand. Garn's girls had called it the wrath of an evil god, and many had lost their jobs that terrible night, for crying while with their clients. Garn knew better, for Garn had studied the annals of Sith history, and he knew better than anyone in Iziz of the recondite rite of Hunger.

One level higher.

Those three words had been seared into the mind of every sapient in the galaxy, seared by the flashing lights of destruction on the holoscreens and the turbolasers of the Dread-King's fleet, as the self-proclaimed Emperor of the Sith proceeded to lay waste to the Outer Rim Territories in a brutal yet mercifully brief one-year war. Occupied with its own dwindling Federation Civil War, its Senate aflame with infighting and strife, the Galactic Federation Triumvirate had been presented with a simple choice. Let the Sith have the Rim, or Darth Dreadwar would show Coruscant how true Vader's infamous adage was: technological terrors - like the Federation's grandest fleets - were insignificant next to the power of the Force. And so Dreadwar had won - or more technically, won a ceasefire - leading a mere thousand Sith against a galactic government.

Embarrassing was an understatement. Terrifying was more accurate.

Garn felt both keenly, as he stared at Voidwalker. This Draven's interest in the Sith Emperor personally was curious, if suicidal. But he would not probe, not yet, anyway. Voidwalker had well and truly outmaneuvered him; if the authorities were brought in, they would see a Sith threatening a defenseless victim. It was not altogether implausible; although the Onderon Civil War had not come to Iziz, yet, everyone knew the Secessionists' revolt against the crown was backed by the Sith, and it would not be surprising to find a Sith undercover in an establishment so frequently visited by Federation politicians, businessmen and even Onderonian royalty. And if they weren't smashing the doors down within minutes, well, that didn't change the fact his reputation and business would be beyond ruined.

"Well," Garn sighed finally, as the seconds passed, "it seems you have me. I s'pose I have no other choice." The Dark Jedi walked past Voidwalker with his blade held pointed downwards unthreateningly, ignoring the fearful girl as he walked around the other side of the reception desk. One stab in the head later, and her quivering signature in the Force winked out. He moved quickly, pulling the body around the desk and into the room they had come from, where he quickly pulled minor Sith trinkets from his wall safe to place on her person. The tome had been left on the bed, and Garn flicked through its yellow pages to a particularly nasty chapter about curses and madness, before placing his own lightsaber in her fingers and curling them around it. Extinguishing the blade, he moved her hand to her temple.

Jedi would arrive on the scene once the police - or even Federation investigators - fed the murder up the food chain, no doubt, and they would be left to deduce that the tome had driven the 'Sith Lady' suicidally insane.

After emptying the more valuable contents of his safe into a duffel bag, including an ancient sword from Adas' armory, Garn returned to the brothel's foyer, nodding at Voidwalker. "I'll get you transport to Korriban. But we're both going. There's no way I'm remaining here once Jedi come to Onderon, and tear the whole planet up looking for darksiders. I need to get out of Federation space, and so do y..." The whine of approaching sirens interrupted Garn, and he hissed in alarm. Police speeders were on their way, and even if an individual officer faced slaughter at Voidwalker's hands, sheer numbers alone would easily overwhelm the self-proclaimed Sith. "Kriff! Follow me, out the back window!" Garn began running towards the back of the brothel, retracing the hurried steps of the prostitutes that had fled earlier.

TAG: Darth Voidwalker

---

IC: Ermir Marcus
Sith Alchemy Classroom, in the Temple's dungeons, Korriban

Ermir sighed, rubbing an injured hand across his forehead, before wincing in pain as he stretched the burn in his palm painfully. Caused by another useless Initiate, at that. "That is not an acceptable answer, Hogliport," he snapped once he collected himself. "For such utter stupidity, I am giving you a choice. Transfer to remedial alchemy with Master Murderis," he flashed the Bothan a twisted smile, "or have a Derriphan attached to your head during the final exam, slowly removing your memories of this past year while you furiously write."

"I... I'll take the Derriphan, Master Marcus," Hogliport muttered, staring down at his desk and the shameful answer of '13' to the question 'How many Dark Jedi founded the Sith Order?' Even the bloody janitor knows there were twelve. How ridiculous. Then again, Ermir had to admit even to himself, this was not a history classroom. The question had only been in the test due to the fact that the Dark Jedi had defected from the Order due to their alchemical pursuits, and the Hundred-Year Darkness always perked the students up more than the finer details of bioengineering.

Perhaps he was being unfair?

Nonsense. Fairness was a lie to appease the masses. Ermir had power, and that meant he had the natural right to exercise it. Let the Initiates squirm; encouraging their hatred for him was a good thing, and so what if Ermir coaxed some pleasure from such an otherwise unrewarding role?

"Now, open up your tomes," Marcus sneered as he returned to his chair of varnished japor wood and rancor ivory, steepling his fingers above his desk, "and turn to page sixty-six. We're moving from life-warping to my favourite topic this semester, 'Potions & Poisons.' Now, who--" A knock on the door interrupted Marcus, who waved his hand testily at the door, flicking it open. "Come in."

"Ah, Master Marcus," Darth Murderis smiled genially as he entered, briefly casting his eyes around the room, his smile widening as the students hid their heads or pretended to duck below their desks to pull tomes from their bags. "I have a new student for you. Just arrived a few days ago, and scored quite highly on the alchemy section of the entrance exam - too highly for use in my necromancy course, unfortunately. He did particularly well in, ah, the poisons questions I think it was... Probably training to be an assassin, this one," Murderis nodded towards the Cathar standing in the shadows of the hallway outside. "Come on in, Arcane."

Marcus narrowed his eyes at the newest ingrate dumped on his lap, weighing the alien up. His crimson robes were quite striking, but of greater interest to Ermir was his thick mane. Lovely. Marcus flicked a finger, and a chair scraped out from beneath an empty desk at the back of the classroom, inviting the student to sit. "Thank you, Murderis," Ermir chuckled, reclining. "Take a seat, Arcane, was it? Bad luck for you, you already missed Bending Life to Your Will, and you'll have to catch up in your own time if you have any hope of passing the exam. But welcome... to your first alchemy class."

TAG: Arcane

---

IC: Tarpy
Durendal, within the hangar bay of the Ninushodojinyaut, dead space

Lemmy's thought about splash damage was more literal than not, as the packet of roiling energy collided with the Massassi warrior's legs, spraying a geyser of blood over Kint Dranlor as he impaled another warrior with his darksaber. Two down, one dead, one literally down, his ability to hurl lanvarok discs rather impeded by the fact what was left of his body was rapidly entering shock.

The guard's captain, however, had deftly hurled more discs to intercept Kint's throwing knives in midair, resulting in only one finding its target, embedding itself in another pureblood's neck and causing yet more crimson to spurt forth. Three down.

And then came Lemmy from the artifact hold he had ducked into, a golden mirror attached to his arm courtesy of the disconcertingly giggling tarp wrapped around both, the reflective side pointing forwards. It was just as well Kint had bent light around him in his usage of Force Cloak, or Lemmy's lack of communicating his mad and rather uneducated plan to the Masarian would have had dire consequences. While Dranlor's weapon was exposed to the Mirror's reflection, it had already been ensnared by the Mirror, leaving the inverse darksaber in its place, and so it was similarly spared.

The Massassi and their pet were not so fortunate. The Massassi were the warrior caste of the True Sith, and there was no pacifist caste. No such thing. As such, they simply disappeared in a puff of illogic, the inviolable algorithms of the Mirror's magic leaving nothing to replace the warriors it trapped. The Derriphan, however, became a scintillating orb of white light, akin to a disco ball at a Nal Huttan nightclub, and suddenly Kint and Lemmy both would find themselves flooded with memories as the devourer of memories' utility function was reversed. Memories of cousins they never had, memories of past lovers that never existed, memories of four parents, five parents... Memories of middle names that would not be found on their birth certificate, even memories that they had once been dormmates at the Shey Tapani University on Procopia - a planet they had never been to, but now would remember as one of their favourite worlds in the galaxy.

Screeching and warbling, the mockery of the Derriphan whizzed around the corner of the passageway like a deflating balloon, fleeing the Durendal back to the Dauntless and then back out to the hangar bay of the pyramid ship that had captured them. But the battle, at least, was over, only a pair of Massassi legs left on the floor as a testament to it ever having happened - the legs, rather than head and torso, of the Massassi that had been incinerated by Lemmy's cannon.

"Well," Tarpy chirped from Lemmy's arm as it unfurled to cover up the Mirror once more, letting Kint uncloak if he wanted, "what do we do now?"

TAG: Darth Catalyst gorzan

---

IC: Emperor Edworion
The Eternal Throne, Star Forge, Gunninga Gap

"Rise," Edworion smiled coldly, his brilliantly yellow eyes affixing a pernicious state upon the guests Anigma had brought. One was quite familiar to him. When Darth Dreadwar had won free of the timestream upon the disturbance of Palpatine's death, he had straightaway taken to the task of conquering the Rakatan Archipelago, returning the amphibious and humbled inhabitants of the scattered stellar clusters to their rightful role as the Builders of the True Sith. Their Elder Ruthic had taken to using a Rakatan Mind Trap, the very same that would end up being stolen by Darth Insipid to hide in a forged replica of Gorog's holocron, to ensnare the enemies the conquest had created, and in so doing had released the mind of Raspir into the body of one of the prisoners.

The court magician of Adas predated Dreadwar by millennia, and had thus been instrumental in locating the last known Rakatan Star Forges, of which one, it turned out, had been hidden by the gravitational signature of the Gunninga Gap. In reward for his most useful service, Edworion had granted him a prestigious position within his innermost circle of councillors. Yet the Mind Trap had taken its toll; despite so many years of service to his Emperor, Raspir had forgotten to lie prostrate as was the tradition to defer to the Immortal God-King, instead electing to kneel. It was fortunate the sorcerer was not encountering Edworion's less benevolent alter-ego, or he would have felt his knees shattering. As it was, the Sith wizard merely felt the scorching gaze of Edworion as the Emperor's eyes flashed in his mind. When next you are in my presence, you will observe the appropriate etiquette.

The other visitor was less familiar, but familiar nonetheless. "Lord Hypnos, I perceive," his smile warmed. "I am pleased to see you could make it." Any doubt of the identity of the figure in Hypnos' vision, of his saviour aboard the Triumphant, would wash from the Shard's mind at Edworion's words, as the Infinite Emperor stood, and descended from his seat on the wings of the Force. "Although I see no mirror, and as such, no need to reward you with my magnanimous beneficence." An elegant hand, gloved in white satin, was briefly silhouetted against the vibrant light of the cosmos, as Edworion gestured at the twisted spaceships dotting the periphery of the roaring Infinity Gate behind him.

TAG: Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror Darth Catalyst