The Old Sith Trials

IC: Darth Vassago
-Somewhere in the Universe-



~The Cosmos. The never-ending expanses of the Universe. A vast infinity of darkness. Beyond.

    “You’re invisible.”

A soft, feminine voice spoke through the darkness.

    “Tell me what you see.”

The spectral figure of a woman, outlined in an eerie blue, was levitating, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her thighs. Her fingers were bent into intricate shapes while she channeled her will through the Force. Her colorless hair flowed slowly around her, dancing weightlessly around the soft features of her face, around her shoulders, and across the form of her bare chest. The sockets of her eyes were empty, glowing brightly with an azure hue, though that was merely a side effect of her astral form.

    “All the voices, trapped underneath the ground,” a man’s voice responded. Across from her, in the vast expanse of the Cosmos, sat a man in a similar state to her, though he was clothed in flowing leggings from the waist down. His colorless skin held an outline the same as hers, a faint, ghostly azure glow. The tattoos spanning across the man’s chest and arms seemed to pulse each time he changed the position of his fingers, channeling different energies through himself. “The voices…” he began, but stopped himself before he could form a complete thought. His eyes winced, closing tighter.

    “Find the power, Apprentice. Find the power lost beneath the ground,” the woman spoke again in an effort to guide the man, her apprentice, that sat across from her. “Let them scream at you.” Her voice was calm, soothing, without any sign of distress.

    “I can’t,” he replied.

    “You won’t,” The woman responded quickly.

    “I will. I just—I feel…"

    “Then do it. Find the power, or release and return. You’re wasting our time,” her voice seemed less patient, and more that of an instructor. The brilliant light of her eyes began to fade when her eyelids dropped, and she inhaled slowly. “You sense her?” There is no immediate response from the man, only silence. “The girl, your—," she was cut-off.

    “I do,” he replied simply. His eyes opened slowly, brilliant light coming from the sockets in his head, and he stopped levitating, finding his footing in the nothingness of the expanse around them. Without a word, he could sense the displeasure of his Master.

    “She was not meant to be a distraction, Vassago,” the woman stated. Her eyes opened to see him nodding slowly; even with only the ghostly outline, she could read his emotions as if they were painted on his face. “If you cannot hold the truth within your hands…” before she could finish, his hand came up, as if to tell her to stop.

    “Master Erietta, she is not a distraction. She’s still young, full of foolishness and compassion. She will be ready,” he replied, attempting to reassure the woman across from him. He turned his eyes to the planet below them, the planet Terminus, and pulled through the strings of the Force all around them. The lines were invisible on any other plane, but here, with Erietta, the strings of the Force appear as thin lines, like strands of a spider’s web with droplets of morning dew along them, shimmering softly. With each string he pulled, the planet seamlessly got closer to them, until he was looking down at an open-air market. Three Devaronian gang members lay dead in the sand, and a young woman stood over the carnage.

A shallow sigh slipped from his lips. The woman was no longer levitating behind him, instead she stood beside him, her attention fixed on Sabba in the marketplace. She turned and looked up to Vassago’s stoic features.

    “Knowing not your own is unwise,” she said plainly, a hint of hubris in her voice. The words were not lost on Vassago, nor was the tone, but he did not respond; Erietta was not someone he trifled with. Rather than bite back, he recognized that she was not wrong, and Sabba would have to be brought in line. “Today, it’s insignificant insects in a marketplace. What will it be tomorrow?”

    “She handled herself well.”

    “Don’t be foolish,” Erietta scoffed. She knew as well as Vassago that wasn’t the point. “She did not follow your instructions. She either doubts your Mind’s Eye, or simply doesn’t care.”

    “She cares,” he replied softly with his head turned. He shifted to Erietta to face her completely. “That’s why she acted. She cares about the child. Her compassion remains. But…listen…” Vassago turned his head to the side, as if to listen closely, and twisted his fingers so the vision of Sabba was bigger than either of them. Erietta focused her mind and listened; Sabba’s voice, her thoughts, poured over their ears. Within the symphony of emotions that washed forth, the fear of what her Master will think was evident; her mind kept quaking with fear of the thought of how he may punish her. “There, you see…” Vassago tilted his eyes down toward Erietta’s form, ensuring she was listening intently. “She did not act without fear.”

    “She needs to understand no action is worth your wrath, else she will never be ready." Erietta advised. “She must be taught when there is doubt, look to the obvious.” Erietta turned from the vision and threw her hand back, wiping it away. “We are finished. Return,” she commanded simply. Vassago turned and looked upon her form, then bowed low. “Remedy the situation she finds herself in, and return to me when you have brought her closer to understanding,” she said. Erietta crossed her legs and began levitating once more. Vassago fell to a knee out of respect, and his astral form began to fade. “I’ll decide what you will pay…” her voice swirled like a whisper in his head, and his eyes turned upward to see the astral outline of her bare form vanish, and the Cosmos around him snap into his modest dwelling on Terminus.



    His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim-light of the dwelling. The walls of wood and bone, draped with talismans, feathers, and other trinkets surrounded him, a few dimly burning torches on the walls. At the back of the room was a spiraling staircase with a hand railing of bone, leading upstairs into Vassago’s personal dwelling. He reached his hand down toward the Nerf pelt spread across the floor and pushed himself off the ground, getting to one knee. Once again playing at the invisible strings of the Force, he pulled the large staff that was resting in the corner to his waiting hand. He used the staff to aide him in getting off the floor, pulling himself back to a vertical base. He stood with his head uncovered, his chest bare, just as he was in the astral realm of the Force. Beside him in a wooden chair lay his trappings, his heavy belt slung over the backing of the chair, and his large, feathered robes and cloak across the arms. He reached down and took the belt, securing it around his waist, the multiple talismans and trinkets clanking together near the pouches along the belt. He pulled and strapped the chest guard of his tunic over his chest, and threw the dark, feathered cloak over his shoulders. On a small table, beside the wooden chair, there were a pair of open-fingered gauntlets that he pulled over his hands and secured.

    Vassago stood tall in the middle of the dwelling, the room itself silent, and still, with only the chirping of the birds and rustling of trees pushing through the air. He inhaled sharply, and tilted his head upward closing his eyes and focusing his Mind’s Eye on his apprentice; the young woman was not as subtle as she’d hoped, and it was now Vassago’s task to intervene on her behalf…and on the behalf of his greater interests.

    He looked back over his shoulder, toward the back of the room to a dark corner with a small trail of smoke coming up from it, pushing up into the ceiling. A silhouette, barely visible in the absence of any real light, could be seen with two shimmering eyes.

    “Keep watch, Renfelt. I’ll return shortly with Sabba,” he said dryly. Vassago stepped forward, tossing his hood over his bald head, and motioned his hand to open the door before him. He stepped through and turned only his eyes up to the sky; the light of the sun streaking through the canopy created by the trees. His eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the whites visible, and began speaking quietly to himself, so quietly it appeared he was only mouthing words. He slammed his staff down into the ground and thunderous crack filled the air, followed by a swirl of feathers and Vassago took the form of a dark obsidian raven. In the blink of an eye, the raven was gone, with the sound of the wind whistling through his feathers echoing in the forests.


---------------------


*THUD*

    Sabba flinched when the body of the robed figure impacted her speeder. She had no idea who this was, or what they wanted. She immediately imagined it had to do with her killing those gang members in the middle of the market, but who? There’s no law enforcement on Terminus.

    Sabba’s eyes widened when she saw the crimson blade of a lightdagger, and rolled her wrist to bring the speeder to a stop. She could hardly make out what the woman said, other than “Stop”. She wasn’t stopping because she was told, but more because if this person wanted to fight…with a lightdagger? She would happily oblige. She wasn’t overconfident, but she was certain she could handle herself with her lightsaber better than this one could handle a dagger. Still, she had that feeling, that burning in her brain, that her Master was going to be upset for making a scene in the marketplace. She couldn’t shake the feeling, that growing darkness, and she was pretty certain this wasn’t going to help things.

    Still, it might not hurt.

    With the speeder coming to a stop, Sabba quickly leapt back, kicking off the seat of the speeder, and backflipped onto the ground. She stuck a solid landing, grunting lightly at the impact, and turned her eyes toward the speeder, which had come to a stop. The robed woman was there still, her crimson dagger at her side, and her eyes locked on Sabba.

    “Come on, then!” Sabba shouted at the unknown woman, grabbing the hilt of her lightsaber and drawing the blade instantly. She gripped the hilt tightly, holding it out to her side in a defensive stance, and motioned with her free hand for the woman to come at her. Out of the corner of her eye, Sabba saw something in the air; a large, black bird circling overhead. She tilted her head slightly, never realizing until this moment that there hadn’t been many birds flying out in the open plains. She shook her head and ignored it, focusing instead on the opponent before her.

    Vassago circled overhead.

    He’d given thought to letting her handle the situation herself, the idea that it was just one agent seemed like it was something she could handle. Up until he heard the two words that changed the situation.

    Dread. King.

    The agent jumped away from the speeder and began approaching Sabba, dashing toward her. This wasn’t something he felt his Apprentice was ready to deal with. While he was certain she could likely kill the agent, he was more thinking the fast-moving informant could offer some much needed information. Information that would be wasted, lost, on Sabba.

    The air swept over his feathers as he dove to the ground, nosediving as fast he possibly could. Just before the robed agent was about to reach Sabba, a pillar of blackness spilled from the heavens, feathers spouting from it. A loud crash deafened both of the women, and when the dust cleared, Vassago stood tall, his back to his apprentice, and his free hand stretching out toward the agent, holding her in place, perfectly still.

“Master!” Sabba exclaimed, immediately deactivating her lightsaber and falling to her knees. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, biting softly at her bottom lip. Vassago didn’t turn or look back at Sabba, but remained focused on the woman in his grip. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, and looked deep behind her eyes, piercing into her mind.

“Dread…King?” Vassago’s voice was dry, void of emotion. The slight upward inflection at the end was the only indication of a question, though it was not a question of “who” the Dread King is, so much as a request to repeat it, so that he knew for certain that he did not mishear the woman…~



Tag: Dreadwar

IC LORD CATALYST
Sadow's Tomb, Catacombs

Catalyst pulled the amulet to him as it snapped from around the slayer’s neck. He still couldn't identify it but he knew there were others that could. He tucked into his robes for later. Already the rest of the group was engaging the mystery woman with some unexpected zeal. Coatlec had broadcasted a fairly well laid out battle plan but from what Catalyst could see, nobody was following along. Robyn and Jania had charged forward to engage, along with the twin assassins. Viscretus chose to engage but in conversation rather than combat.

It seemed only Xirr had followed Coatlec’s direction in flinging the child. He had missed quite gloriously. Apollyon was also fumbling with her saber against the woman. At least she was trying though. Out of the corner of his eye, Catalyst saw Coatlec ducking away from the rest of the party. The bastard! Snarling at Coatlec briefly, he turned and reached out with his hand to grasp at the mystery woman’s grounded ankle with a Force Pull while her other foot was still raised in a kick. “Strike now!” he called to the group as he pulled back to trip her before deactivating his saberstaff and drawing the shadows of the tomb around him to conceal himself from sight. Coatlec was up to something and Catalyst was determined to find out what. He drew upon the full power of his Stealth and trailed behind Coatlec invisibly and silently. If this whelp thinks he can get away with sacrificing the rest of us for his own gain, he'll have more than just me to answer to.

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

IC: Unknown
Beyond Shadows

Had it been minutes? Hours? Days? Years since the treacherous Twi'lek of a slippery Sith had seized the opportune moment, and sealed Darth Ramage away unto a fate worse than death? That would be unknown to the Siniteen Dark Lord, as he tumbled like a lump of clay onto the perniciously sharp blades of frosted grass, and awoke to the sting of bitter cold, cloying mists of milk, smelling of sweet rot, threatening to peel his consciousness from his vascular cranium with each hollow gust. Despite the wind, the eldritch realm he abruptly found himself in was as silent as the sheeted dead, nothing around him save for grass of glassy grey and impermeable fog of the same, as far as the eye could see, in every direction.

Wait. No. That wasn't right.

There.

One patch of wafting mist was darker than the rest. It would be hard to see. It would be hard to think, as if Ramage were, at any moment, in danger of losing his very being to the call of oblivion. It would take the most strenuous exercise of willpower to even remain awake, to remain together, in this blighted stretch of timeless limbo. And as the dark patch grew closer, unnaturally warping space around it in rippling patterns of mind-ripping terror, it would become obvious that it was equally difficult to remain sane. But closer and closer it came, each ripple buffeting Ramage - not physically, but psychically, exuding pulses of darkness that threatened to push the Sith Lord's spirit right out of his body, or unravel its strands entirely. Each ripple shedding more and more shadow in curling wisps of daemoniacal power, until the dark patch gradually began to resolve into the dreadful likeness of a man, an opaque if blurry silhouette of unnatural proportions, smeared against the milk-fog.

IC: Unknown
Beyond Shadows

The technique of Force Drain worked, mechanistically, as a bond. In a classic case of the Sith perverting a wholesome art of the light, it entailed forming an astral connection through the aether of the Force, as a master might instinctively develop with their pupil. Yet the Sith had learned to open up such connections with the unwilling, and feed on them like one might gnaw on a vein engorged with blood. It was one of the deadliest arts of the dark side... and confusion would be a natural result, when it entirely failed.

It was not so much that the Shepherd was an overpowering supernova of Force energy, with defenses enough to shrug off Ramage's attack. Instead, it was impossible to even form a connection with the thing in the first place. As his telepathic probe would swiftly discover, the Shepherd was a void where the Force had once been - and was no longer. A black hole which repelled Ramage's drain with a violent psychic backlash of flaring agony.

"Just another horror, sealed beyond time," the Shepherd whispered, in a tone of casual coolness that was thoroughly discordant with its words. If the shadow was at all bothered by the hand that had been wrapped around its willowy neck, it did not show it. "Now you are sealed with me... but not by my hand. But by whose, I know not, being a prisoner here as you. I only know that there are those who come here through dangerous experimentations in meditation, detaching their minds from their bodies until they lose time... and if they are not careful, lose themselves."

TAG: darthramage

IC: Darth Ramage
Beyond Shadows


"The Shepard"


Ramage released his grip in confusion at the utter failure of his mindprobe and dashed backward in a defensive posture.
His Siniteen mind quickly recalculating his course of action with this obviously powerful being, he says...

"Only a truly powerful force wielder could have entered the chamber and severed my connection to both the Cephalons and my Kyber proxies. I had defenses prepared.. not even my apprentice could have defeated them all without alerting me, I was prepared for anything! I am no fool, If not you then who could have done this!"

Ramage turns for an instant and releases a torrent of dark side energy in the form of purple and blue lightning arcing high into the endless void before returning to face the ethereal shape once again.
he continues...

"I will be free of this hell, I swear it. First, I must know where I am, what you are, and how this happened to me.

Ramage begins to glare at the the unflinching ghost, walking in a slow circle to the right, the shade lazily follows the Sith with its dark mask of a face.

Previously my meditation never allowed me interaction with the ghosts of past Sith.. perhaps occasional glimpses into the past, sometimes the future... but nothing like what was mentioned in the Holocrons of my predicessors, some who claimed to have unrestrained sight throughout the ages, and certainly nothing like this.

Ramage stops turning again to face the unknown entity, gesturing with his hands in an open way, the Sith Lord finally declares.

 "If you are indeed my shepard in this realm then answer my questions.  Show me the secrets of this prison. 
Perhaps two beings of power could do what one could not. Through power, our chains will be broken. Shade"



Darth Dreadwar ,

IC: Lord Raspir
Location: Eternal Throne, Star Forge, Gunninga Gap


There was not much to be said after the sorcerer's inquiry. The Infinite Emperor simply rebuked saying, "My servant Raspir, I brought the Shard here to command my fleet." That was all that was said regarding the Emperor's feelings to Raspir's somewhat foolish remark. He could only respond back in saying, "Yes, my Emperor. I trust your greater judgment. Your ways are higher than my ways and your thoughts are higher than my thoughts. All hallow the Ari." The Shard was free of any crime that Raspir had accused of him and it seemed as though the two would travel together. They had no business on Zakuul since everyone's intentions were now known. Oh Force. Well, it seems I will have to work with this...thing. It is the will of Infinity. All glory to Edworion, the Sith, and Zakuul!


And this is exactly what would come to pass. The Emperor turned towards the expanse of the Infinity Gate. He began to pet the great white Dragon of Zakuul. "The Great Reap shall take you to Odessen, and you shall start your search there. The hyperspace lane continues to Terminus, so if you find no sign, continue thence." Raspir wisely heeded the words of his Lord and stated. "We shall leave right away, my Emperor. Lord Hypnos, Marchioness...let us leave." Raspir quickly turned, staff in hand, and began to walk down the pathway leading to the turbolift where the Great Reap was docked. Here we go again...



This shall indeed be interesting, but myself and this Shard must work together for the glory of the Infinite Emperor. He knows what is best for his Empire. We shall find what he seeks and return it to him. Such is the way of things. He is far greater than even the great Lord Adas. I shall ever seek to gain his favor. 


TAG: Darth Dreadwar,Darth Catalyst,

IC LORD CATALYST
Sadow's Tomb, path of Vacuus

The silence that had shrouded the tomb was almost oppressive as Catalyst trailed behind Coatlec. The bastard son was silent as he made his way down his chosen passage in the catacombs. Catalyst wondered exactly what he expected to find, seeing as so far they had found nothing but death traps and ancient guardians. He shook his head. I’m here to find an ancient scripture pertaining to the prophecy of Ragnarokr. Coatlec doesn’t even have an assignment here. The thought gave him some small comfort but he still wasn’t convinced that he should be following Coatlec and abandoning the rest of the party. Ahead of him, he saw Coatlec stop to read an inscription in the stone. Catalyst peered around to get a glimps at the letters. As Vacuus was a master, so was he yet a servant to He-Who-Caused-Him-To-Tremble-In-Fear. Only the fearful may pass.



Only the fearful may pass? Does that call for a healthy respect or a fight or flight instinct? Catalyst was wary of the message. It made little sense. The fearful would certainly not be so bold as to venture deep into the tomb of an ancient Sith Lord. He certainly knew what it meant to feel fear; he had felt it before, in the swamps of Drommund Kaas as a boy. It pushed him to embrace the darkness in his heart. It consumed the Jedi within him and spit him back out as a warrior of the shadows. He felt it in the court of Darth Dreadwar, and was nearly crushed in its all-consuming presence. He knew it was logical for him to feel it here but he did not, for there was one feeling that burned brightly even in the presence of fear.

Anger.

There was anger directed at Coatlec for his blatant disregard of the hierarchy established in their party. Even Xirr had fallen into place after a brief encounter. Coatlec, even after being defeated and humiliated by Viscretus, was as disrespectful as ever. He would go so far as to leave the rest of them to die. The irony of Catalyst’s own wandering from them was not lost to him. He felt a duty to bring Coatlec back to them though, whether that be alive to explain his actions or as a corpse.

-WHUMP-

A corpse it is then. Catalyst barely had time to sidestep as the body of Coatlec fell to the ground next to him. His mind was soon assaulted with a telepathic cry for help.

This may be my final message, my fellow Sith. I have perhaps minutes left. Lady Viscretus, I need your help. I have been considerably rash in my decision making ever since our Lord Dreadwar let me out of that cage earlier today. I made plenty of idiotic mistakes. I defied you and you took my youth. Idiotic on my part. I left the company to pursue knowledge and power. Idiotic. I fell right into an ancient trap that has nearly severed my head. I'm going to bleed out. Arteries, veins, my windpipe are all severed. This shall be my final idiotic decision. Lady Viscretus, if you help me I shall be forever indebted to you. I will give you my healing nanotech and let you use my Sith artifacts. Also, I shall forever respect and serve you as a slave in your court if you so desire. I humbly implore you, my Lady, to use your Dark Side healing abilities to heal this wound. I offer you all I have. My tech, my artifacts, my service, my life. I will forever honor you. Perhaps, there was one of the company who followed me on this foolish quest that could apply pressure to my wound to temporarily stop blood flow. Lord Catalyst, I feel you are close. I shall give of my nanotech to you as well. I, Coatlec, surrender myself to the will of your judgments, my company.

Catalyst let himself fade back into vision and stooped over Coatlec. He was still breathing, or at least attempting to. There was blood flowing into his lungs in copious amounts. Catalyst smirked. He knew he had to work fast before Coatlec was lost permanently. “In a little over your head I see?” he quipped while pulling his saberstaff back out. “I don’t envy the amount of pain this is going to cause you,” he said as he ignited the deep orange blade once again, “Just remember this one day when you feel the scars on your neck.” He carefully lined up the skin of Coatlec’s neck in its original structure. The cut was incredibly clean. No doubt the blade that had severed his head was alchemically sharpened. Ancient Sith loved their alchemy. Once he felt good about where Coatlec’s head was set, he slowly drew the searing plasma blade of his saber across the separated skin, cauterizing Coatlec’s head firmly to his shoulders. “Rest is up to you,” he muttered as he deactivated his saber. After clipping it back on his belt, he stood up and looked down at the dying Lord. He had to be careful not to jostle him too much on the way back to the rest of the group. He reached down and lifted Coatlec on a cloud of telekinetic power. This would suffice for now. The image of Robyn carrying her deceased boyfriend in a similar manner through the academy jumped into his mind and he had to chuckle. There were no stairs here for him to bang Coatlec’s head on. “I expect nothing but respect from here on out from you, Coatlec,” Catalyst said more to himself than Coatlec’s floating body. “After all, you have yet to earn your place in this tomb.” He stepped out into the spider-shaped room and began trekking back towards the rest of the Sith he came down with, towing Coatlec gently behind him. "Huh," he stated aloud. "To fear is to cower." He smiled, knowing he had figured out the riddle of the Vacuus passageway. Maybe when they ventured that way he would lead them to its treasures. Until then, they could take turns chastising Coatlec once he regained consciousness. 

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

Combo with Shira


IC: Shira A’dola and Alisha Tano
The Triumphant, orbiting Odesson

“My lady, are you sure about this?”

"I guess it's too late to say that I would rather not anywhere go anywhere near the likes of Zakuul? Or was my contributing wholly unnecessary? This venture pushed our luck enough, this next time might actually kill us both.”

"My Hand, it would be... anomalous to promote a general of the Imperial Army to equivalent rank within the Imperial Navy. I fear Strayus would be wholly inadequate and unprepared for the role, and even less qualified to choose a commodore, much less anyone he sees fit, for the Rear Admiralty."

The objections came swiftly, as Shira had anticipated, but they grated on raw nerves. She closed her eyes, feeling her temper flare dangerously. The Force undulated around her subtly in response to the wash of negative emotion before she calmed sufficiently to quiet it.

“Yes, Qazoi, I’m sure. We have two options; the first is that we resume our previous tactics, jumping aimlessly until they blow us apart. The only way that ends is death for us all, it would just be a matter of how long we could evade them. The second is that we take the one tip we have been given, which gives us at least some hope of survival for our people. Even if it ends as badly as our last attempt at salvation did, we have the option of fighting back. If we lose, well, it can’t possibly end worse than the first option. I will take the one chance we have at life for those who follow us. They deserve that much, at the very least.”

Turning to Gederp, irritated, slate-coloured eyes regarded this Chiss critically. “The position is temporary. We must get moving. Immediately. He will take the helm until I have adequate time to review more suitable candidates. Ideally the position would have gone to Grand Admiral Tatsu, but he now has command of two ships and I doubt he could have taken any more responsibility without significant overexertion. If you have any recommendations, feel free to send them to my datapad and I will review them when I have more time.”

Slate lightened to silvery-blue as Shira turned to Alisha. Her face was composed with neutrality, but she allowed the contrition she felt to flow through their mental link. “Alisha, please follow me. We need to address the leaders of the individual sects and get the refugees settled.” She felt her pupil’s mental sigh, but Alisha followed her nonetheless.

They walked silently down the hallway for a moment before Shira spoke quietly, keeping her eyes fixed in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

Alisha walked along in silence with crossed arms, keeping her eyes ahead and not yet acknowledging her Mentor. After a long pause, she reached along to brush one of her head-tails past her shoulder and finally began to speak. “I was managing, you know... at least, I thought I was,” she began, letting her arms go loose. “I thought I was acting at least a little bit like a competent leader, but perhaps not. Should I keep quiet during this next address too?” she asked, keeping her voice low but no less cold.

Shira sighed, running an agitated hand through her loose curls. “It’s not about that, kestra.” The old Silmarin endearment was one Shira had not used for a long time, the sentiment spoken subconsciously in her desire for peace. “I was wrong to not consult you, I admit that freely. Truly, though, I didn’t think you would object. It makes no amount of sense to me to not follow this path, but I am only one mind.”

Alisha pressed a hand against her forehead with a heavy sigh. “We already pounced for what we thought was our ‘last chance of survival’ and came away with an entire platoon of Imperial Knights dead, as well as our Grand Admiral, and this-” she responded, gesturing to her back with a faint wince. “I am fully aware of how shaky our situation is now, but for all we know, Zakuul will be even worse for “unclean” beings like myself.” She gave a dismissive shrug as she finished, “But as you’ve already decided, we’re headed there now.”

Shira stopped suddenly, turning to face the other woman. Her eyes were pale, as if the stress and worry of the situation, both personal and otherwise, had leeched any colour from her irises. “Surely you realize how precarious our situation is. They will be here any moment. We could all die, minutes from now. Nothing is certain; we are all in the greatest danger of our lives. Surely you understand my haste and the mistakes that come from that, however wrong it is.”

Alisha would have marched on ahead if not for Shira physically standing in her way, and she sighed again before looking her Mentor in the eyes. Alisha let a brief flash of her own uncertainty pass across their Bond, and her own temper sank. “I get it, Mentor,” Alisha conceded, letting her glare drop, “A Sword needs a Hand in order to function, not the other way around. But I’d still like to know that my counsel matters any.”

The Vraeling winced inwardly. She valued Alisha’s opinion and, in a better situation, would have been more than willing to talk the situation through; but in their current circumstances, she could not afford to do so. If Alisha had serious qualms about attempting to seek refuge in Zakuul, it would make no difference. Shira knew this had to be done. It truly was the only chance they had, but being so at odds with Alisha pained her. She brushed a hesitant hand against Alisha’s shoulder, sending regret and reluctance through their bond. This brought her no joy, to assert command over one she considered family, particularly when Alisha did have valid doubts. In fact, she considered it the greatest drawback of her esteemed position.

“One day soon you will no longer need my tutelage,” she said gently. “That day is approaching, more swiftly than I would like, but the longer this draws out the more I realize how you have grown, how mature you’ve become. You will make a great leader, Alisha, moreso than you already are. You do yourself a disservice and I dislike clashing heads like this. I am sorry, for what it’s worth. Sorry that we don’t have the time to discuss this as we should. It’s not the fact that your counsel does not matter, merely that we just don’t have the time to debate. They are coming.” She touched a long finger lightly to Alisha’s burned cheek, sending a gentle pulse of Force healing. A swift wave of old fear passed through Shira again, anxiety at the knowledge of how close she had come to losing someone she considered a sister.

Alisha suddenly bit her lip, tightening her hands around herself. “Time, time, there’s never any time for anything,” she muttered half to herself, glaring at the ground. With a little more “time” with the Guardians of Light she could have been made a formal Jedi Knight and not have this uncertainty constantly hovering over her head only exacerbated by this encounter with the Ordus Aspectu. If she and Shira had a little more “time” with their late Empress, their positions of leadership would surely be feeling a lot more stable!

And now, there wasn’t even enough “time” to properly consult. Alisha was quick to pull her Mentor’s hand away from her face, but held on tightly for a second. “I’ll be fine…” she insisted, finally releasing Shira’s hand, “Save your strength for dealing with this new council.”

Hurt rocked through Shira before she relaxed again, realizing Alisha wasn’t callously knocking her hand away. She returned the squeeze with a small smile. “Someday we’ll find the time. Someday we’ll find a paradise and rebuild anew. There will be plenty of time with discussions then.” Her hand squeezed her student’s once more before continuing to walk through the halls. “Would you like to come with me? As far as I’m aware, there’s both Febrayasi and Jedi - true Jedi - aboard the ship now, along with non-Force Sensitives and a few other sects. I would understand if you’d rather not come, however. Considering the...Ordeal, I’m sure there’s a certain pair of arms you’d rather seek comfort from right now.” Lips twitched faintly in a smile as she gently teased her companion.

Alisha mutely shook her head, thoroughly doubting any “true Jedi” stood in that room. At least there is no easy way to incinerate a being on the Triumphant… outside the heaters that is, but those were some distance away. Her train of thought only brought back the feeling of searing heat across her whole body, and the “interruption” was both appreciated… and not appreciated.

Appreciated because it took Alisha’s mind away from fire. Not appreciated, because it made Alisha’s face actually heat up. “Of- of course I’m coming with you!” she loudly cleared her throat, hoping against hope that her embarrassment wasn’t too obvious. “These “Jedi” need to know that their intimidation tactics are not going to work here, e-especially not with me.” And besides, she just finished talking about her counsel being unnecessary. Her not physically appearing would make her entire stance of questioning lose all weight! "I'll take my turn to rest after this!"

Shira bit back a snicker with some difficulty, but continued walking with a barely controlled grin on her face. She pulled her hair around, plaiting it into a formal braid. The name-sign tattooed at the base of her neck showed visibly every few moments as the curls swept side-to-side with the motion of her hands. “Fair enough. Let’s go see what they have to say for themselves, shall we?”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Shira , Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror ,

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: False Tomb of Naga Sadow

While ducking low to avoid the Sith pureblood's kick, Robyn realized that the party was once again splitting up. Coatlec decided to disappear to do his own thing and completely ignore the potentially deadly battle that would require a ton of effort to get past, and Catalyst followed just behind. ... I know I said the adults here were completely apathetic, but come on now! Abandoning us, in the middle of a fight?! Where the hell are you going? Lady Apollyon spotted them and yelled out exactly what she was thinking, but neither man heard nor heeded.

Robyn watched them go, sincerely wishing she could set both their heads ablaze with her glare. ...maybe enough to melt through their stupid helmets and burn some sense into their heads. She rolled her eyes and tried hard to focus her malice against the child murderer in front of her instead of the two wandering "Masters". Whatever trap those two were to fall in due to their own stupidity was not going to lie on her conscience! Meanwhile the woman and Jania seemed to be in the middle of a standoff, and the seconds that dragged only increased her uncertainty in the other Acolyte's self-preservation instincts.

Annoyance at her, and embarrassment at the obvious and very ill-timed flirting blended together, about to overwhelm the anger that would carry her through this battle. Robyn mutely shook her head and pressed a hand against Jania's shoulder. Those glowing yellow eyes on her were getting creepy the longer she looked, so Robyn quickly averted hers. "Don't call me 'cute face' 'cutie', or any variant of the word cute for as long as we're trapped in this godforsaken tomb, and I'll do more than fight beside you."

Much like what she'd done for Lady Viscretus, Robyn let her strength extend and wash over her, companion, through the contact. "Just relax," she spoke quickly, "If you feel a sudden rush, that would be me lending you my strength... Keep your head on straight and stay back." The mad assassins dropped off the battle too, so the remaining Initiates just might need to run rather than fight... Whatever prevents this tomb from becoming my tomb... and Jania's, I should add.


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

IC: Shira A’dola
The Triumphant, orbiting Odesson

Qazoi sounded behind them and anger erupted through her bond with Alisha. Shira stopped suddenly, the motion abrupt. How dare he? The nerve this man must have to stalk the Empress’ Hand, the leader of an Empire. The gall he must possess to eavesdrop upon a private conversation with her second-in-command. Fury rippled in the Force around her; though hidden from the Je’daii, the raw emotions were easily read by Alisha. A hard smile crept upon her face, irises darkened to coal. Shira was not above being petty, not when she was so pressed for time and sleep. It was a flaw, to be sure, but she simply could not bring herself to care in this situation. Qazoi had stepped over the line and, as such, had drawn her ire. Iron will forced her features to relax, her smile to soften, her eyes to lighten. She turned around, smiling gently at the Zabrak, who was none the wiser to her anger.

“I can appreciate how hard it must be, to know so few of your own people. It’s something I can empathise with. There are not many Vraeling outside of my home-world. There are far fewer outside the reaches of the known Galaxy. Perhaps I am the only one; it’s a safe bet. I will be sure to inform you if there are any other Je’daii who have boarded with the refugees. You will be put in immediate charge of making sure they are settled and equipped - should there be any on board. However, we are stretched thin. I need you to investigate the repairs done on the ships. We cannot know how safely those repairs were done, knowing what we now do about those in charge. It’s of the utmost importance that we know if any restorations are faulty and, if so, that they are addressed immediately. I am putting you in charge of this task. We need this to be taken care of as soon as possible. You may send any reports to my data-pad.”

 

Shira nodded gratefully at him before turning around, proceeding further down the hallway with Alisha. At a distance, safe from the eyes of Qazoi, her features twisted back into a smirk. She reached out with the Force, making sure to keep a third eye out for any further stalking.


TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror, Padawan4687

IC: Shira A’dola
The Triumphant, en route to the Nihil Retreat

"This is Shilo Dia’thas of the Febrayasis."

Shira grinned at the mention of more Febrayasi, but then the two caught each other’s eyes and Shira’s tired irises exploded into the rich emerald of ecstatic excitement. Shilo’s own silver-green eyes lit up in joyous response. Vraelings were rare; Shira had resigned herself to be a world apart from anyone else, but for those rare trips to her homeworld of Vrael. The chances of meeting another member of her race were astronomical and yet, here he was! A member, not only of Febrayasis, but of her own race. A quick, animated step towards Shilo was abruptly halted by the grating, contemptuous utterance of another refugee.

"The Febrayasis are fools!"

Eyes closed to stave off an audible sigh, regret and irritation mingling as she sent a small smile towards Shilo, a silent promise that they would speak soon. She regained her composure swiftly and turned towards the being, head tipped slightly to the side in critical assessment.

“Istrezad Chrixir is all we've been able to get out of him,” Lieutenant Sanura explained. “That, and that he's a sorcerer from a planet called Rhand. He's been, well, chanting all sorts of strange stuff, so we've put him in handcuffs as a precaution. We are hardly experts on your sorcerous ways, after all.”

Shira hid an amused smile. ‘Sorcerous ways’ indeed. She knew the Lieutenant meant no harm; the reference of the Force regarded as some form of secretive magic was something she had never experienced until Sistros’ tutelage. Within the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Shira had assumed every being in the Galaxy was taught of the Force, whether they could grasp its power or not. The reminders never ceased to surprise her, but she regarded her officers’ superstitious awe with affectionate amusement.

"I am no Sorcerer of Rhand! I am merely an Acolyte of the Beyond, still in training. But I have learned enough from Rhand to know the Febrayasis are fools. The Force? Bah! I piss on your folly, ponce, as I pissed on the Ordu Aspectu. The Force is nothing! There is only The Dark. The Force is finite. But destruction is eternal... and we Rhandites are the Left Hand of the only true God. Death."

A caution from the Force tugged at her gently, causing her to frown. A faint memory she couldn’t quite grasp, something Sistros had educated her on, perhaps. She would have to meditate on it later, but she had little time for that now. Body language became curt at Chrixir’s hostile dismissal, as well as confusion to why he was even here if he viewed everyone else with such disgust.

Perhaps he merely does not wish to die, she thought, and the obvious logic made her wince. She needed sleep, far more than she had been allotted. She certainly wasn’t alert enough for childish spats regarding differing belief systems.

“If you wish to remain, you will need to put aside your difference in beliefs. All may practice as they wish within the Empire - so long as it does not infringe of the rights of others. The leader of the Empire is a Febrayasi, so I advise you to tread lightly. If you are an Acolyte, where are your Masters? Forgive any ignorance, I’ve never come across your sect before. However, I will need to speak with them eventually.”

Shira stepped back a few paces, looking over the eclectic group they had acquired. “The Ordu Aspectu has been destroyed. The planet will soon perish in their absence. You are what remains of Odessen and I’m sure you all know what we flee. Any information we can use, any safe havens or information on these Pyramids is more than welcome. In the meantime, I must speak to each of your leaders in turn and we will do what we can to settle you into our midst. Be sure any concerns you have may be spoken freely. We will hear you. You are more than welcome among our numbers so long as you can work together with all.” Her crystalline blue gaze lingered warningly on Chrixir before moving on to sweep over the hall.


TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Padawan4687