The Old Sith Trials

COMBO POST WITH Deleritas

IC: Darth Solus
Dromund Kaas, Outside Kaas City

“Do you feel that my apprentice? The dark side is strong here.”

Solus begins thinking about their mission. These prophets must be of great importance, but what could they offer the emperor? He turns and looks at his young apprentice. I was younger than him when I underwent my “trials”. The moment of nostalgia is cut short by the feeling around him. Homing in on the feeling of something watching them, he begins to speak.

“Scan the trees, we are not alone… My plan is simple. We’ll move through the city first, sweep the streets from the Emperor’s Gate, to the Dead Citadel. “

As he’s speaking Solus is drawing out a rudimentary map of the city and surrounding areas. Point to the locations as he’s speaking.

“If they are not there we will check the surrounding area. The cave systems and underground of the city would offer relatively decent hiding places from the beasts and the elements.”

As he’s talking Solus continues to focus on the force trying to pinpoint it. I know you’re there. Solus stands and looks at his apprentice, watching the wheels turn as he reviews the plan.

“Fair enough. Do you know what exactly it might be that you feel here? I heard something over in the tree line, but who knows if we are witnessing the same thing.”

Solus turns and looks over his shoulder. The vision on his mask flips to the heat spectrum and he scans the wood line.

“It could be any number of beasts here. Yozusk if we landed in their territory. Jurgoran if they happened to be in the area. Possibly even a Tarentatek, but to my knowledge they remained more in the cave systems. It is important that we are not caught off guard.”

As he finishes scanning the woods he turns back and looks at his apprentice. He returns to standing with his hands behind his back. His long robe getting pushed back and revealing the clawed hilts of his sabers.

“Tarentatek? That name sounds rather familiar, could you fill me in on some of the details of that creature?”

Solus considers the question for a moment. I’m not surprised he’s heard the name. His inner hunter would enjoy the challenge. He remembers what might be most relevant in this instance.

“Jedi killers… creatures that feed on the blood of force sensitives. They are very strongly linked to the dark side since Sith scientists did some research on them. Their research led to mutations which caused them to develop a hunger for the flesh and blood of force sensitives.”

Solus felt the twang of excitement emanate from his apprentice. His hunter instincts kicking in. I know where his passions lie. Solus takes one last look at his hand drawn map then kicks the dirt to cover his plan. He continues to allow the dark energy around him fuel him.

“Let’s move toward the Emperor’s Gate.”

Solus begins walking swiftly toward the gate keeping his senses on high alert. The Hunt is on…

Darth Catalyst, Deleritas

IC LORD HYPNOS
The Great Reep, Odessen

Hypnos was surprised when The Great Reap itself responded to their queries about where to begin their search. “ASSUMING ASCENDANT MANEUVERS,” it boomed at them. “CATHEDRAL IS LIKELY INACTIVE SHIP IN GEOSYNCHRONOUS ORBIT.” Hypnos looked to Anigma blankly as she made her assessment of the Great Reep’s decision. He was curious to know how the Abominer had made its logical leap. Likely it was Edworion casting his eldritch influence upon the dark droid. He turned back to Raspir as they ascended higher into the atmosphere. “Your magic, my Force, they exist as one. As they always did when the galaxy was spun. Our bodies aside, we work the same tricks. But your perception of it I shan’t try to fix.” He put his hands behind his back and adopted what organics would call a casual gait, striding closer to the immense viewports of the Great Reap. He looked down to the planet below.



It amused him to think that not long ago he was in this exact position aboard the Triumphant with a completely different mission. The fact that both Edworion and Venomis had agendas here was not lost to him. It meant this mirror was truly an artifact of importance. If Hypnos could get his mechanical hands on it, he could change the very galaxy around him. He would be an unstoppable power in his own right, unafraid of the likes of Edworion or Venomis or even Typhojem himself. This was his galaxy to rule. A god of machine and metal he would become. He had already lost the grace of Venomis in his lust for power though; he would have to tread carefully while still within the favor of Edworion. He would work alongside Raspir for as long as the ancient Sorcerer was convenient. Once the Mirror was within his grasp though, there was nothing more to tie him to these beings of flesh. Until then, he would wait. He was not unaccustomed to waiting. As a whole, Shards were a patient species. He would know the right time to act when it came.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror

IC: Darth Coatlec
Location: Medbay, Sith Academy, Korriban


The Illustrious bastard had been through so much in the last hour...two hours? So much to speak of. His draining at the hands of Viscretus, his near decapitation by an alchemised steel blade in the passage of Vacuus, his subsequent healing by Viscretus alongside visions and a gift of power from the void, but now there was even more. It was almost hard to believe the next turn of events. I just had to go and drain Xirr, didn’t I? More hasty dumb decisions. Now look at me. Now there was Xirr’s draining by Coatlec, the subsequent bout with Apollyon and Catalyst, Coatlec’s draining and choking at the hand of Apollyon, and another draining by Viscretus, if he had felt all that correctly. Everything happened so fast. Too much.


Next, he had felt his crinkly, withered shell of a body hit the stone cold floor of an even narrower passageway. Thud. All he could sense around him was a pack of shyracks coming at him from all angles. There was no defense. Would he die here? But then he blinked out of consciousness. What the kriffing hell happened to me? Where am I? But as he woke up, there were no shyracks. There was no tomb. And there certainly were no Viscretus and Apollyon. Oh dear. Relief. Time for me. But my power is all but gone. How will I ever regain my strength?


But now, as he laid there on the bed in the medbay, he could see a dark figure and a voice came forth from it. She said, “Welcome back to the land of the living, finally. I don't know why they sent me down to the medbay to check on you of all people... son.” Coatlec was surely surprised to hear that voice. The only person he had heard call him son in the last twenty years was his father, Darth Nihl. But never this karking schutta. It was Darth Talon of all people sent to check on him. No kriffing way. This cannot be real. She hasn’t given me a second glance the past twenty years. I must be dead, and this is some kind of fantasy. But he didn’t say that out loud, surely. What he did say, however, was much different. “Mother,” he asked. “Is that you? Why after all my life have you come to see me now? I do believe this is the first time we’ve ever spoken. Is this even real? I’m sorry if I am so jumpy, but I am thrilled to finally be able to connect with you, even in these horrifying circumstances of my failure. But I am pleased to meet you. Father always spoke highly of you. Wait. How did I get here? Did you save me?”


Can this really be happening? Is this actually real, and my mother? I am overjoyed. But those Sith in the tomb! If I ever regain my strength will I have something for them to meet! I was overconfident, and it was my downfall yet again. But last time I lost strength, I regained it through what seemed to be a gift from the void? Could that happen again? I surely do hope so. And now more than ever do I need something that can reverse aging. A new body, perhaps.


TAG: Darth Dreadwar  

---

IC: Lord Raspir
Location: The Great Reap, Odessen


The first, and hopefully the only point of investigation would be the Pius Dea capital ship that had been seen by an Abominor probe roughly fourteen years ago. ASSUMING ASCENDANT MANEUVERS. CATHEDRAL IS LIKELY INACTIVE SHIP IN GEOSYNCHRONOUS ORBIT, boomed the Great Reap. Then Anigma said, “When in range, initiate docking procedures. We can investigate this... cathedral ship...? Restore power, look for clues in its databanks, perhaps.” The Rakatan bodied captain added, “Sounds excellent, Marchioness. We shall do so. How long until we are in range? We must find this Mirror as quickly as possible and report back to our Lord, The Emperor. We will find this.” 


As the Reap climbed further and further through the atmosphere of Odessen, Raspir received a reply from the Shard sorcerer. Hypnos said, “Your magic, my Force, they exist as one. As they always did when the galaxy was spun. Our bodies aside, we work the same tricks. But your perception of it I shan’t try to fix.” Raspir was deep in thought as Hypnos said these words. I must find this to bring glory to my Emperor! He is the Sith’ari, surely greater than Adas ever was or ever could have been. But as the words of the Shard snapped him back to reality he said, “I see. In truth, it really doesn’t matter what we call it. For it is a great gift to the both of us, granting us great power. Power as an extension of the Empire of Edworion, for we are his arms. I am truly honored to have one such as you with me on this quest, my friend.”


TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Darth Catalyst,

---

IC LEMMY
Control Room, the Ninushodojinyaut, dead space

Lemmy frowned as the tarp screamed at Kint. "And given you sealed the door, we don't really have anywhere to run!" The tarp was right of course, but there was more pressing matters to attend to.

The beast in front of them perked up at Tarpy’s yelp. Lemmy rolled his eyes. So much fer stealth. “If yer not gonna help fight then get to findin’ a computer to smash!” Lemmy shouted at the tarp as a wave of greasy black tar-like goop rushed towards him. He dove out of the way and watched the creature rush Kint with claws extended. He pulled out one of the grenades he grabbed earlier and flung it towards the darkened corridor, hoping to get rid of the sounds of the mechanical clacking and trusting Kint would be able to handle just one monster on his own.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar, gorzan

Name: (Vezhven) Zhav'vorsa

Title: Warlord

Age: 32

Sex: Male

Species: Dathomiri/Human hybrid

Homeworld: Dathomir

Occupation: Warlord of the Howling Blade Clan

Height: 6’7”

Appearance: Warlord Zhav'vorsa was physically imposing: tall, muscular, and lean. His face bore the scars of many battles, most notably a sizeable gash that ran from his brow, down his left eye, and into his cheek. He had a long braided black beard, and wore his long black hair pulled back in a tail, reaching just beyond the middle of his back. Rather than wearing restrictive armor across his torso, Zhav would paint his shoulders and chest with streaks of red war paint, resembling claw marks. His chest was bare, aside from a single strap and buckle, which rested diagonally across him, that was the sheathe to his massive sword. He wore heavy leather gauntlets, made from the hide of fallen Rancor, that extended up his forearm. The gauntlets were lined with small rings, and, for added impact from direct physical attacks, the bones of the Rancor were inlaid across the knuckles. He wore a dark leather guard around his waist, adorned with several straps and buckles, that covered his abdomen; concealed on the belt were two Shikkar daggers that he would often use on unsuspecting opponents. His lower-body was covered with dark, loose-fitting, layered breeches, and a pair of heavy leather boots, wrapped with the shrouds of his fallen allies.

Weapons: Howl of the Damned, Shikkar daggers tucked into his belt.

Due to the ritualistic nature used in the construction of the weapon, the sword had many properties that a normal blade would not. The blade had all the characteristics of a traditional Sith weapon, including the ability to block a lightsaber blade, the traditional weapons of the Jedi and Sith, as well the ability to deflect blaster bolts, and was able to cut through nearly any material. Along with this, the blade was imbued with the ability to absorb the bolts, and other energy attacks, such as Force Lightning; the absorbed attacks would be stored within the Force-sensitive crystal in the pommel, infusing the weapon with a power to be unleashed at the wielder’s discretion. The blade was also invariably infused with a necrotic poison element, meaning the magical blade would infect any wound inflicted with it.

Equipment: Various rations and survival items secured to his person.

Description of Abilities: Honed battle senses and nerves. Formidable in physical combat. Skilled hand-to-hand and melee combatant. Alchemically reinforced through rituals performed by the Nightsisters to have tougher skin and muscle, granting him (mildly) supernatural strength and resolve. Force sensitive, but with only training from his mother and the Nightsisters of Dathomir.

Personality: Fearless. Among the Clan he created, he was revered as a strong leader, feared and competent. In battle, Zhav’vorsa was known for his savagery, brutality, and lack of relent or remorse to his opponents. Zhav was known to admire the prowess of a skilled opponent, and often wanted to test himself against those he saw as worthy, rather than small warriors he could easily defeat. He was devoted to his Clan and the traditions of the darkness that he was born into.

Biography: Vezhven Zhav'vorsa was born into the Whispering Woods Clan on Dathomir. The bastard son of a Nightsister and a human slave, Zhav was brought up on the principles of the Book of Shadow, and taught to hate the teaching of Allya and the Book of Law. His mother raised him to be proficient in the ways of the Force, though he did not utilize the magick as she did; he found at a young age he preferred to use the Force enhance his physical attributes and assist him in physical combat.

Throughout his youth, his mother taught him the traditions and the ways of the Dathomiri Nightsisters and Brothers. She taught him reverence for the mighty beasts, the apex predators of the world, the Rancor. The clan believed that the souls of these great beasts were sacred and treated with reverence. When a Rancor would die, a ritualistic ceremony was held to honor the passing, and every part of the beast was used for the betterment of the Clan. The skin was turned to leather, and used for clothing, the bones for weapons, tools, even jewelry. No part of the Rancor would go unused, as it was seen as disrespect. Along with revering the beasts, the Clan would also domesticate and ride the giants as a means for transportation. The ability to train, to domesticate the beasts was something Zhav’vorsa took to quickly, using his connection with the Force to aide him in a faster breaking, and stronger bond with the animal.

When he was a teen, his mother saw his potential, but did not wish to wait for him to utilize it. She chose for him to perform a ritual among the other Sisters. While he was uncertain of the implications, she assured her son the ritual would only serve to make him physically stronger, more imposing, and more dangerous to those who would oppose their Clan. So, it was in an ancient ceremony heavily rooted in the dark side that his mother, and a full coven of spellcasters, bound together, channeling spirit ichor and the rawest hatred to make Zhav’vorsa even larger, even stronger. Subjected to the dark magicks of The Left-Handed God and the Mother of the Fanged God, he was granted greater height and size and fearsome physical power: he gained even more brutality, an unmatched ferocity, fearlessness, and a heightened physical potential.

Following the ritual, Zhav’vorsa had a bloodlust that was insatiable. He carved through the immediate lands decimating any who would oppose him; his path of destruction was not contained just to enemies, but spacers, traders, and travelers, too. Following the ritual, he had lost himself. The bloody path he carved left a very sore spot among the other Clans and Tribes on Dathomir, even within his own. The Clan Mother put forth a vote to remove Zhav from the clan, banishing him to the reaches of the planet. The vote was unanimous among the Council of Twelve Elders, which included his own mother. The judgement was swift, and he was ostracized from the Whispering Woods Clan. He had never felt so betrayed, cast out for something that they had made him, even by his own blood. His heart seethed with anger, with hatred, but he could not act. He would not…

He spent months wandering the planet with only his broadsword and his Rancor. During the exile from his native Clan, his bloodlust subsided. He was able to channel it in battle, to harness it, but was not drawn to mindlessly kill. In his travels across the vast planet, he turned his focus from a thirst for blood to a thirst for knowledge. There was more to the Force, to the magick, even, that his mother hadn’t taught him; rituals, traditions, etc. He’d heard whisperings of a merchant that had a scroll of dark and untold power, this was something that interested him greatly. He sought out the black market merchant, and traded for the scroll. On the scroll were writings, runes, instructions on how to craft a Sith sword based on the ancient Sith principles. Many of the inscribed words were foreign to him, but he knew someone that could translate it…his mother.

Zhav'vorsa traveled for weeks to get back to his home Clan, to his mother, but he knew he would not be welcomed. He snuck in to the village and found his mother, pleading with her to help him understand the languages, the runes. She reluctantly agreed to translate the scroll, with the condition that he must leave and not return, as they would kill him if they found him. He agreed, and she translated the words for him, outlining each of the steps that were needed to craft this ancient, powerful sword. She explained that his own broadsword would be used as the basis for the transformation, and there were multiple rituals that had to be performed. The first of these rituals included dipping the blade into the blood of a dozen hated enemies. The other steps came clearly to him, his mother’s words resonating in his mind. He noted each of her instructions in their native tongue as she explained, keeping his own record, so as not to misconstrue the instructions for the rituals.

Once the scroll was translated, and the ritual made clear, Zhav thanked his mother, unsheathed his blade, and struck her down. After collecting her blood, her left her chamber and searched the Temple of Whispers. Within, he would find and kill each of the remaining Council of Twelve Elders, collecting their blood for his ritual. He carved through the Temple, through the Village, killing any who opposed him, but offering safety to those who would pledge themselves to him. Those that joined him were those that were also cast-down, some were even bastards, like him. He pledged to those that followed him they would never be cast out, or ostracized, but treated fairly in a new brotherhood, a new clan.

After leaving the Whispering Woods Clan in shambles, taking those warriors that pledged to him, he set out to craft his blade. With the blood of a dozen of his hated enemies, he doused the blade and retreated to meditate on the death, the killings, for days. During this intense meditative state, the blade was infused with his anger. He scoured caves, tombs of forgotten Clan Temples and gathered Force-sensitive crystals, gems, and other crucial elements. Using the crystals, he sharpened the blade, and within the pommel he placed a Force-sensitive gem. The hilt was wrapped in the shroud of a long-dead Nightsister that had soaked up the malignant energies of the deceased.

Zhav'vorsa found himself getting impatient at times, even lost in the instructions he scribbled in his native tongue. The process was not quick. It did not happen in a span of days, or weeks. Instead, it took months and months. The time spent was taxing. While he was crafting this weapon, his bastard clan was out recruiting more for his cause, building a brotherhood. To him, crafting this weapon was essential to leading his new clan, to showing his power.

The process was personal, ritualistic, and difficult. At times, he struggled to learn the alchemy within the scroll, to “cast a shape” of the metal and transmute it with the Dark Side, the magick, as necessary. Sith Alchemy is different, he learned, from the conventional Dark Side usage and Dathomirian magicks. But finally, after nearly five months of hard work and meditation, he had crafted a mighty sword worthy of the Ancient Sith. The sword was one of a kind, the edges were sharpened to the width of an atom, and the blade was capable of cutting almost anything. With an eerie glow of Dark Side energy and Dathomiri magick, the blade was adorned with an ancient skull, fanged mouth agape, with a sickly glow in the eyes. A chain and hook hung from the spiked pommel, and the deadly, poisonous blade was carved with notches. When swung, the notches caused the sword to “howl”, singing its own battle cry, just as the Warlord did. The sound would keen over the battlefield, some described it as a slight Force Scream, uncomfortable and slightly debilitating to those that have heard it, magically strengthened and imbued with otherworldly power. Thus, the blade earned its name, Howl of the Damned. The blade had all the characteristics of a traditional Sith weapon, including the ability to block a lightsaber blade, the traditional weapons of the Jedi and Sith, as well the ability to deflect blaster bolts. Along with this, the blade was imbued with the ability to absorb the bolts, and other energy attacks, such as Force Lightning; the absorbed attacks would be stored within the Force-sensitive crystal in the pommel, infusing the weapon with a power to be unleashed at Zhav’s choosing.

On the battlefield, the blade became infamous, as did Zhav'vorsa’s brutality. Armed with his fearsome weapon, he and his brotherhood tore through the rival clans, sparring those who offered them shelter, women, food, and other spoils. He proclaimed his brotherhood The Howling Blade Clan, a fearsome collection of bastards and warriors alike that would not be opposed. They would go forth together, ravaging those that would stand against them on their planet, and dream of the day they would leave to conquer more. While still on Dathomir, they sought to expand their ranks, ruling the Clans with an iron fist. The Howling Blade Clan would take only the strongest warrior, ride only the fiercest Rancor, and slay all that stood in their path.

Skills: 

IC: Darth Kain
Above Nal Hutta

Corvar's eyes could hardly register the almost beautiful red blur headed his way, but his danger sense, coupled with his common sense, screamed one word.
Move!
He rolled to the side in an effort to evade the incoming strike, and then rose to his feet with his left hand encased with roaring flames. His need for survival was made real, and the symbolic flames spewed forth like a flamethrower, not daring to die down.

TAGS: trentongordon Darth Catalyst

IC: Blessed Toxmalb
Cell BO near the secondary bridge, Triumphant, hyperspace en route to the Nihil Retreat

Eyes darker than the void between stars flicked open, an awful smile splitting Toxmalb's ashen cheeks at the sight of the door to the cell sliding open with a pneumatic hiss. Immediately, the two Imperial Knights posted on either side swung towards the opening door with silver lightsabers ignited and raised at neck-level, taking the heads of the nearest two cultists as the knife-wielding band rushed into the cell, the blood of the four outside guards wet on their blades. The two that succeeded their foolish comrades, however, attacked with a much deadlier shear; the power of Chaos, concentrated in invisible bursts from their outstretched palms to visit the cumulative damage of decades and entropy upon the unfortunate Knights. Their lightsabers sputtering out within seconds, the crimson-garbed warriors were defenseless, allowing the two cultists to fell them with frenzied stabbing of the knives they held in their off-hands.

Five seconds and a flicking of a wall panel switch later, the blistering cobalt energy of Toxmalb's cage was flickering out. "I greet you with my left hand," Toxmalb's dry voice rasped out a ritual greeting from behind the bars of the dying energy cage, as the Lorekeeper of Rhand extended his left palm and unleashed his own burst of Darkshear, eroding the rapidly-rusting metal bars to the point that a flick of his finger resulted in the brittle metal falling apart into flakes and shards that promptly fell upon the durasteel floor. The two cultists fanned out as a second pair entered behind them. "Blessed Toxmalb," they intoned reverently, steepling their hands as they bowed deeply towards the Lorekeeper.

"Are there no others?" Toxmalb croaked, gingerly stepping out from his cage and approaching his disciples. "Eight others, Lorekeeper," one returned, "but we could wait for their railjet no more. I believe the Imperials have shut down the system, which will impair them as much as it will us." The cultist spoke truthfully; the flatbed hovertrain bearing Darth Vassago, Sabba and Shira merely lurched forwards before once again arresting its momentum, coming to a standstill halfway into the railjet tunnel as officers on the Triumphant's primary bridge relayed the command of Alisha Tano they had received through their datapads to cut power to the turbolifts and hovertrains. Alisha's order, however, had caused the hovertrain carrying the eight Rhandites Vassago was pursuing to halt likewise, 150 meters ahead, around a bend in the tunnel.

Alisha had made quick work of the Technobeasts assaulting her and her companions, meanwhile, and the remainder would prove equally easily dispatched by the prowess of the Empress' Sword with the lightsaber, and the powers of Nox, Azarius, Hjörþrimul and Særli. Around the corner the Technobeasts had advanced, at the end of the passageway, there was a turbolift leading up to the same level as Vassago and Shira, however, being on the route from the tertiary hangar to the detention block near the secondary bridge, it had been deactivated per Alisha's own instruction. Lieutenant Ogalisd transmitted a reply to her message from the primary bridge, reading: WE KNOW. ALL SECTORS ARE ON ALERT. WE ARE SENDING A COHORT OF KNIGHTS TO PRISONER'S CELL, BUT THEY ARE HELD UP: SECONDARY BRIDGE IS BEING ATTACKED BY DOZENS OF CYBORGS OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN, PRIMARY BRIDGE IS BEING LOCKED DOWN AS PRECAUTION.

TAG: Shira , Padawan4687 , Volshe , Lord Vassago , Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror , Darth Voidwalker

IC:Reaper
Location:In the Arena of Nar Shaddaa (I think)

After watching Corvar dodge and Reaper landed he saw the fire coming his way and sent a powerful blast of force push into it so as to create a funnel of safety for him. He then felt a scratch down his back. He turned around to see a giant beast. He sighed and took to instinct. He regained his composure. His hatred being fueled he instead took to using Vaapad. He sent a force push at Corvar and sent a bolt of lightning at the giant beast. He then ran at him with a bloodcurdling scream and swung at him using his strength and anger. He swung down at the creatures left arm and then would swing sideways at the knee with his lightsaber.

Tag: Darth Catalyst darthkain7

IC Nobody
Kaas City, Dromund Kaas





The Emperor’s Gates loomed silently overhead as Darth Solus and Darth Deleritas stepped through and into the dead city. It was easy to imagine Kaas City as a booming metropolis from millennia ago, streets crowded with people and speeder traffic and the sky overhead clouded with approaching starships. Now, though, the empty street seemed like it would stretch on forever in front of them. Abandoned buildings towered above them and the silence was almost invasive. Solus would feel the presence of their stalker dwindling behind them as they made their way closer to the citadel. It was as if the great beast was afraid to enter the dead city. Solus would sense its primal emotion and hunger as they moved further from it until eventually it was beyond his perception, diluted by the rest of the dark energy surrounding the planet.



A peal of lightning struck and thunder boomed overhead as Solus and Deleritas approached the massive doors to the abandoned Citadel. There was a sense of gravitas as they stood where thousands of other Sith Lords had placed their boots. This was where the height of the Sith Empire was at its greatest. Emperors had given speeches and great Kaggaths had taken place on this hallowed ground. Now, two Sith Lords from the New Sith Empire stood in front of the great arched doors, ready to make their mark on history. The stone portal had worn greatly in the many centuries it had stood unused but still faintly perceptible was an inscription in ancient Sith.

Hyol Jidaikut midwan; tik châts Jen’arikut midwan.

The Jedi crave power; only Sith Lords hold power

Dzwol taralmidwan stai. Kyâsik vesti qo.

He who protects power exists here. The Force guides the way.

Beyond the doors, the Citadel was dark; the generators that provided the energy to light the immense building had long since fallen into disrepair. It stood to reason that any clues pertaining to the mission the Lords had been sent on would likely be in the databanks of the Imperial Intelligence wing. Getting to them would be the difficult part, as the Citadel had been rebuilt under Darth Nostrem. He had designed the building in such a way that those who were not familiar with the layout would wander its labyrinthine depths for the rest of their days. Ironically this would be his own demise as the Emperor at the time, Vitiate, had him locked in the vaults where he would never escape. The same fate would befall Solus and Deleritas if they were not careful.

TAG: Deleritas,Darth Solus,

IC: Darth Dreadwar
Interrogation chamber, dungeons of the Sith Temple, Korriban

"F-fine, fine!" The prisoner sobbed, breaking - and breaking words - at last, his knees trembling on the stone floor in the blistering cold of the Emperor's presence, chillblains forming on his face as he dared glanced up at the empty hood. Arcane's appeal to the Emperor's presence of supernatural terror had worked, raising the question of whether the Emperor had needed any interrogator at all, or whether he had simply used the opportunity to teach - and test - the new batch of students.

The Twi'lek averted his eyes once more, unwilling to look upon that dreadful non-countenance, instead gazing at Arcane's feet as he reluctantly recounted his tale. "I didn't mean to kill them, I didn't, I swear by the Emp...I swear," he said. "W-w-we.... We was workin' on the tunnels as usual, cuttin' through the rock, and we... we breached something! I don't know what, but there was a tunnel already there, or somethin'. And..." He swallowed, glancing up at Arcane out of social habit before remembering that placed Dreadwar's deathless visage in his periphal vision, and he promptly resumed looking down.

"There was this cold rush of wind through the hole," he continued, "couldn't have been more than six inches, knocked out with my pick-axe you see... And the wind... It was this dry, stale air, real old, and... and... I don't know. I blacked out. And when I woke up, Gob and Roggart and Jenlin and... They were all dead. All of them." The workman sobbed again, burying his face in his hands as he rocked back and forth within the cage. "I was sitting in a pool of their blood, and... and my pick-axe was in Gob's 'ead. I swear to the Force, I didn't do nothing. I must have been framed or something! Please, milord, have mercy!"

TAG: Arcane