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Post by kurtishenschel on Dec 16, 2017 23:43:19 GMT -5
IC: Karina The Artificer, hyperspace, en route to the Stygian Caldera Karina tried getting back up as the image of the sith Lord spoke but fell down again after a short struggle. She wanted to get to her feet and punch the man in the face but instead was finding herself losing consciousness. Before she fully lost consciousness she did her best to remember what the holocron's guardian told voidwalker. Managing to keep her eyes open for that her head hit the ground as it stopped talking. She twitched a little as she passed out still feeling the effects of the force lightning at the moment. Tags: Darth Dreadwar Darth Voidwalker |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Dec 17, 2017 17:18:04 GMT -5
IC: Darth Dreadwar Interrogation chamber, dungeons of the Sith Temple, Korriban The fathomless hood turned in empty regard of the Cathar villein, a foreboding pause stretching in the corpulence of pregnancy. Whoosh. Save for the discordant rippling of his hood in spectral exhalations of black breath, the Emperor remained silent, the aether of his mind considering the dullard that stood before him even as he continued an elusive second conversation... elsewhere.
Oh, how little did they think, truly think. Was the Emperor's purpose not plain, was what he wanted of this novitiate not obvious to even any neophyte of deduction? The mental prowess of Darth Dreadwar was unpareil; surely the peon would know that the Emperor could tear any such knowledge as that which Arcane seemed so proud of straight from the Twi'lek workman's skull. The fact the Emperor had asked Arcane to perform the interrogation, then, the fact he had outsourced methodological inquiry to the class, was surely an obvious indicator the Emperor was using his interruption of the class to teach and test them in recompense for disrupting their extracurriculum. Of course Darth Dreadwar wished more of Arcane. Getting the prisoner to speak - which was a matter as potentially simple as the Emperor plying his feeble mind while telekinetically rubbing his vocal chords - was of no import; this initiate displaying initiative, and sharing insight and analysis over the prisoner's confession, was what was. Was this Arcane a whisperkit or a lion, a pliant poodle or a tactful Tuk'ata? "And what," Dreadwar's dry, rasping whisper broke the silence at last, "do you think I might wish of you, grimalkin?" "My Lord," Gafarl swallowed, speaking up as he rose to one knee from his splayed position on the floor, "if I may, I believe the workman's story indicates he was po-" Crack. The jailor fell back onto his face, the leg that propped him up to address the Emperor abruptly snapping without so much as a twitch of Dreadwar's finger, soliciting a strangled cry of pain and a dull thump as he was forcibly returned to his prostration. "You may not," the Sith Emperor hissed coldly. "I am addresssing this passsive possstulant." |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Dec 17, 2017 17:56:32 GMT -5
IC: Darth Talon Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, Korriban "Hush, my child, not so many questions," Talon purred, raising a single crimson finger to hush Coatlec. "You are not dead, if that is what you're worried about," she chuckled, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed and peering sideways at him. "Although you look it, poor thing," she pouted, adjusting his blankets around his withered neck as if naturally stepping into the maternal role. "I came because the Emperor lifted his restriction on seeing you, my child," she continued, stroking his cheek gently. "I begged him to let me see you just once, for I thought you were at death's door as soon as I heard the news, and I could not bear the thought of letting you pass into the Force without seeing you. But by the Emperor's grace, you were placed in a bacta tank to convalesce." The submersion in the powerful healing agent had done its job; while the unnatural aging of the dark side could not be reversed by any rite known to the modern era, the injuries caused by the attack of the shyracks left only traces of shriveled scar tissue upon Coatlec's ghastly form. She shook her head, her lekku twitching in complex signals of mixed happiness and despondence. "What happened in the tomb, my child? Oh, Coatlec, what happened to you?" It may have been a trick of the dim light, but even Coatlec's cataract-coated eyes would perceive wetness in Talon's own. "How did you come to be so... deformed?" Ten beds over, meanwhile, another patient was rousing. Too far to catch the words of either Coatlec or Talon, but enough to hear the indistinct muttering of their chatter, even over the fussing of his medical droid. "Sir, I'm telling you, you are not ready to get out of bed," TGH-200 buzzed at the savage warlord Zhav'vorsa, his scarlet photoreceptors flashing with alarm in the gloom of the vast subterranean medbay. "The bacta patch has not had enough time to heal your chest wound!" |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Dec 17, 2017 18:46:12 GMT -5
IC: Tarpy
Control room, the Ninûshodojinyaut, dead space
The three grenades detonated one after the other, lighting up the back of the control room and revealing the denizens of the darkness. Fortunately, the brief illumination the blinding explosions provided would allow the three adventurers to see the back of the room; it was not endless, for the back wall was only twenty meters away. But between the wall and the banks of computers were a dozen abominations, all in varying degrees of decay and disfigurement, one with a lower jaw hanging loosely like a saw hatchet full of teeth, another with a head like a rotting orange splitting down the middle, revealing segments of tar-weeping brain. The successive explosions in conjunction with Kint's incendiary rounds took out three of them, but the rapidity of the detonations had not been sufficient to ignite all the tar, which was instead splattered across the wall - and then, invisibly, as darkness set in once more, began trickling forwards between computer consoles, seeking the thermal signature of Lemmy. Kint, in electing to lob grenades, had ignored the monster accosting him, and so the clawed hand made contact with his leg. It was to his luck that he was wearing an all-encompassing suit of armour, and the claws of the horror merely scratched the metal, allowing him to continue to the consoles uninjured. The monster, however, turned to clamber after him, and recognising the futility of its opening attack vomited tar towards Kint's back. There was no breach in Kint's backplate, so the attack seemed equally ineffectual to Tarpy, or perhaps just misaimed. Ignoring Lemmy's foolish instruction to smash the console, the tarp instead focused on scanning the computer screen over Kint's shoulder. It looked like no console screen it had ever seen, but then again it had only seen one: the cockpit console of the Durendal. There were several pictograms on the azure screen, all contained within a simple triangle; one was of strange red ribbons - intestines? - entwined with each other, one was of knotted silver strands of thread that reminded Tarpy of a spider's web, one was a black spear, and one looked like a grey egg. "I can't read it!" the tarp replied, its voice shrill as the monsters approached. "What the kriff do we do?!" |
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248 
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Dec 17, 2017 18:52:43 GMT -5
IC Kubjo the Hutt Kubjo's Arena, Nar ShaddaaWhile Reaper had difficulty pulling Corvar’s weapon from his hand, Corvar would find himself having similar trouble trying to move Reaper. Even in his dazed state, Reaper would only find himself tugged a few feet before falling to the ground. Kenzi charged towards the two men and attempted to bring both of his fists down onto Reaper’s head. Neither of the Force users would see, or likely even sense, Kubjo barely twitching his hand. Both of Kenzi’s fists fell wide of Reaper, kicking up clouds of dirt and sand. The crowd, along with Kenzi, roared in surprise. Kubjo was not against playing the odds when it afforded him profit. His protocol droid was quick to point out which bets were being played the most. Apparently after the Monkey-lizard’s performance, this round was all about betting on the little guy. Kubjo would definitely not let his combatants be predictable. He rested his hand back on the control console of his throne. Kenzi let out a bellow of rage as his blows missed. He pounded at the ground again and turned his attention towards Corvar, leaping over Reaper and shooting his clawed hand towards Corvar’s chest. TAG: darthkain7, trentongordon |
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Arcane
Citizen
Posts: 45 
Likes: 30
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Post by Arcane on Dec 17, 2017 19:25:07 GMT -5
IC: Arcane Interrogation chamber, dungeons of the Sith Temple, Korriban Arcane felt, uneasy. He had not dispatched the prisoner after his interrogation. How could he be so ignorant? He had gotten the information he needed and yet he failed to rid them of the pathetic prisoner; who if not taken care of, may create more problems for The Empire. "My Lord." He began. "May I execute the prisoner?" His question was simple, yet loaded with complexity. "Forgive me, Emperor. I have not finished my task." Arcane remained silent. He knew he had irritated the one who he wished to so impress. He did not think. He did not THINK, and now he may pay the ultimate price. He glanced at the other students. Some whispering to one another. Most likely about him. The teacher who was once so much more mighty than he, fallen and in silent but obvious pain. The prisoner shaking and curled in a ball at the back of his cage. He took a deep breath in. The cold filled his nostrils. He could feel the empty hood staring into him. Was that all he missed? The thoughts flooding his mind. Had he missed something else? He could only hope that the execution of this prisoner grants him a stay with The Emperor. Grants him...life. TAG: Darth Dreadwar |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Dec 17, 2017 19:32:50 GMT -5
IC: Marchioness Anigma Docking with the Pius Dea Cathedral Ship, in orbit above Odessen
"A few minutes, my good Lord Raspir," Anigma nodded respectfully towards the Rakatan-embodied Captain of the Great Reap. She repressed a frown; Raspir's small politic, in constantly assuring Lord Hypnos what an honour it was to serve alongside him, seemed simpering, ill-repeated, and, she suspected, pointless. As much as she wanted to find a kindred spirit in Hypnos, both bearing the forms of sophisticated holodroids, Hypnos' mind was simply built on wholly alien principles to her own, which remained in nature as human as the organic she was born as. Not even Zakuulan lessons on meta-ethics could breach that gap in comprehension; Hypnos was unlikely to be affected by Raspir's flattery. But she kept her thoughts to herself, for it was not in Anigma's nature to help even allies with the subtle social arts. Politics was a zero-sum game to her. The higher others rose, the more distance imposed between her own rung of the ladder and that occupied by the Emperor. No, a competitive climber did not aid others in their climb. The Great Reap continued to rise through the atmosphere, until the blue sky thinned to black, the scintillating pinpricks of stars becoming visible once more as they approached the awesome spires of the cathedral that floated in the heavens above Odessen. Anigma did not need to instruct the Great Reap; the useful thing about a droid ship was that one needed neither crew nor to give directions, instead delegating the tedious tasks of finding a place to land, altitude adjustment, momentum calculations and so forth to the Abominor's vast droid brain. The Great Reap selected an open and vast courtyard protruding from the cathedral's hull as its optimal landing site, extending its huge claws as it slowed, dipping them through the magcon shield that preserved the courtyard's atmosphere until they gently made contact with the grassy bed of the courtyard. They were free to disembark, now, through descending the turbolifts contained within the Great Reap's claws, and upon disembarking they would be met with an eerily beautiful sight: an empty, still dining area, tables and tables overflowing with bountiful food laid out in rows, lit only by the starlight of space that served as the courtyard's sky, and by the faint crimson hues of the magcon shield above. There were no bodies, the Imperials having removed them for burial hours before the Reap's arrival, but the highly-attuned sensing equipment of Anigma's and Hypnos' droid bodies would detect lingering traces of cyanogen gas, not nearly enough to be deadly or harmful, but enough parts per million to be discerned. At the far end of the courtyard, next to a strange stone basin bearing circular grooves, was an open doorway, seemingly leading into the halls of the cathedral. |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Dec 17, 2017 20:29:52 GMT -5
IC: Darth Dreadwar Interrogation chamber, dungeons of the Sith Temple, Korriban "And the task is... to kill him?" Dreadwar rasped dryly, a claw of his stygian gauntlet making a lazy, arcing wave in the direction of the prisoner, the Twi'lek's neck promptly snapping in the same direction. "Of course killing him, something I could achieve with a twitch of a finger, was what I wished of you," Dreadwar continued, the empty hood devoid of pity as he regarded the workman's body slumping to the floor. The tone of sarcasm did not carry in the sepulchral hiss, but Dreadwar's scorn was obvious. "Now that he is dead, how do you propose to question him regarding his claim that he was framed? Regarding his discovery in the bowels of this Temple?" The mocking question seethed with an underlying contempt that was not reserved for Arcane alone, but indeed for the Sith Order Dreadwar had inherited; so far as Dreadwar was concerned, the Sith he ruled were imbeciles all, having lost their way over the millennia. Bereft of the traditions that had underpinned a great and ancient civilisation now lost, the Sith had devolved into merely a spurious shadow of the Jedi; even their Code, the brainchild of Dreadwar's one-time and long-dead pupil Sorzus Syn, spoke to nothing more than a dull parody of Jedi orthodoxy wrought from a place of resentment, rage and the idiocy of a quest no grander than revenge. Peace is a lie, there is only passion? Bah. Passion was useless unless channeled down the paths of rationality. Passion was the antonym of reason, without restraint, and Arcane, initiated into the false ways of the New Sith Order, already embodied such blind bloodlust, preferring, when roused from his passivity, to pointlessly execute a prisoner rather than let scientific senses take hold, and consider the remarkable tale the workman had told. Analyse, child, or you may find your cooling corpse the subject of my analysis... |
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Post by darthkain7 on Dec 17, 2017 23:25:46 GMT -5
IC: Darth Kain Location: Above Nal Hutta Corvar narrowly avoided having Kenzi's oversized claws burrowed into his chest, leaping backwards and reactivating his lightsaber. He posed a feint to the left, hoping to catch Kenzi off guard as he let loose a flash of white-hot flame from his right hand. TAGS: Darth Catalyst trentongordon TAGSET: Corbos |
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Post by trentongordon on Dec 17, 2017 23:50:06 GMT -5
IC: Reaper Location: Nar Shaddaa After having fallen down and seeing the blows miss he'd put his hands to the ground and push up sending a force push downwards to launch him back up in the air and on his feet. Reaper looked to see the beast go after Corvar and he decided to toss his lightsaber (deactivated) at the beast's back. The part where the saber came out would be going towards the creature's skin. Reaper would wait before it got there (if it does hit him) before he'd activate it (telekinesis or force push. Put pressure activates). He'd then turn it off and pull it to him holding it again. He'd send a force lightning at Corvar again keeping him on his toes and keeping him away. Tag: Darth Catalyst, darthkain7 |
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gorzan
Citizen
Posts: 93
Likes: 60
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Post by gorzan on Dec 18, 2017 0:09:32 GMT -5
IC: Kint Dranlor Location: Control room of the Ninûshodojinyaut, floating in dead space Kint felt the beast impact, and stumbled back. He had hoped the grenades would stop the beast, their flames rapidly expanding. In a swift motion, he took a step back, igniting his lightsaber and slashing downwards, hoping to decapitate the creature. If it worked, he would use the force to send both parts into the opposite wall. Then he turned his head, activating his infrared visor to see in the darkness. Then he saw the black slime on his lower back. “Fraaaaaaak,” he growled, and activated the flamethrower on his mechanical hand. “Tarpy, you may want to stand back for this.” He waited a second for tarpy to move, and then began fanning the flame over his lower and upper back, making sure he burned all of it away. “Well, If it’s a party they want… Lemmy, lets give It to them!” His hand flicked out, and the saber flew from his grasp, arcing around the room. He controlled it telekinetically, systematically moving to slice through each and every neck and set of limbs as it spun like a runaway saw blade. Finally, it buried itself in the slime on the central control panel, in an effort to ignite it. If this worked, he would call the saber back to himself, deactivating it and slipping it onto his belt telekinetically, as the flames spread throughout the room. He would stride through the flames to the opposite wall, looking back and forth for another possible exit. Tags: Darth Catalyst , Darth Dreadwar |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2017 0:50:06 GMT -5
IC: Darth Solus
Dromund Kaas, Kaas CitySolus’ senses still stand on high alert. Although their stalker was gone the threats around him were still ever so present. He walks through the empty streets and could only imagine the stories they could tell. He could picture civilians running around under Sith control. Perhaps, they were the only ones that were truly safe. The Sith had always battled each other and it was their treachery that caused their destruction in the end. Forever the Sith were known to stab each other in the back. Their bleeding desire for power was a plague on the survivability of the Sith. His considerations leave a sour taste in his mouth. Hopefully this Sith empire has learned some way to quell the treacherous lust of weak minded Sith. Although sometimes necessary killing those that work beside him was not Solus’ favorite task. He wished to prove himself better and “higher” than the other Sith that surrounded him. He would kill them if he had to, but destroying his “Allies” did little to further his cause, but it did help the Jedi. Jedaii. A scowl crosses his face, although hidden by the mask. Their ability to trust each other is their greatest strength. For all their strengths, Solus saw a lot of weakness in the Sith he has grown to know in his days. Although powerful their selfish nature hurt their ability to rise and seize true power. Although passionate they never rise to a “higher level”. One level higher. The emperor was smart if he saw the same flaws. However, Solus had also heard the selfish nature of the emperor, the… narcissistic tendencies of their leader. He may still have a lot to learn. Solus snaps back from his thoughts. His boots hit the hard ground. Their heels click with each step, but at any given time his steps could be nearly silent.
The Citadel loomed in front of the master and his apprentice. The dark energy rushed at the duo like a wave. Solus’ excitement grew as they got closer. So many have stood where we now walk. So much power is held in these stones. Solus stares at the great doors in front of him. He makes sure his heart rate is slow. His emotions will not control him. He reads the words inscribed upon the stone.
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.)
Out of habit Solus lets his hands fall to his sabers. Their lifelike aura is comforting to the young master. He looks over his shoulder to his apprentice, who in truth is not much younger than Solus. He senses the excitement his apprentice gives off.
“Calm my apprentice. We have to remain focused if we are to survive inside, you are the master of your emotions.”
Solus turns back and looks at the doors. Lightning cracks the shy above him. His shoulders arch back with the boom of the thunder they crack as well. It’s only fitting that lightning marks my entrance. He begins walking forward and through the large chapel like doors of the Citadel.
Solus flips his mask’s vision to infrared using it to look for any other heat signatures around them.
“Do you see anything?”
“I don’t think our vision will tell us what we want to know. We will have to rely on the force to guide us. Our destination is the Intelligence Wing. Their Databanks may hold the information we need.”
Solus’ mask flips to night vision so he can see more clearly in the dark, but he allows the force to guide him through the ghostlike emptiness of the ruined Citadel.
Darth Catalyst, Deleritas
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Post by Deleritas on Dec 18, 2017 1:06:34 GMT -5
A bolt of lightning streaked across a black sky and a crash of thunder quickly followed and shook the ground. I walked with Solus towards the Citadel. Silently gliding through the streets of the city, I moved quickly with Solus. It appeared that he knew the city like the back of his hand. Like he had once lived there and learned to navigate the city seamlessly. On our left and right stood the haggard remains of buildings; shops, schools, homes, etc. It was quite a disheartening thing to see. Every empire has it’s breaking point, no matter the power; no matter the wealth. Upon arriving at the Citadel, my breath caught in my throat and I stood in awe of the complex. It was the only thing in the city that didn’t seem to have taken nearly as much damage over time as any other given location. A magnificent structure from the height of the Sith Empire that while centuries old, stood tall and proud; boasting of the power and wealth that the Sith had once held. Remarkable. I thought to myself. I can feel the power surging through my veins, opening my heart and mind to a whole new aspect of the Force. So many great Sith lords have walked where I am walking now. I will do them proud. I could feel Solus’ excitement as well, he appeared to be just as eager to move inside as I was. The doors to the Citadel stood high and were the only barriers to a sea of darkness that awaited us within. Suddenly, Solus spoke and served as an anchor to tether me to the gravity of the situation. He made it clear that he had sensed my excitement. “Calm, my apprentice. We have to remain focused if we are to survive inside. You are the master of your emotions.
He was right, after all. I understood that the Prophets were to be found but, we didn’t know what sort of dangers lie in wait for us. I took a deep breath and followed Solus inside the Citadel. The silence inside was deafening. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears and the darkness tried to choke the life from any living thing that walked inside. I casually flipped my mask to night vision and looked around the foyer. The technology that was available to me utilized image enhancement and collected all light photons within my line of sight to compile a real-time image of what was in front of me. “Do you see anything?”
“I don’t think our vision will tell us what we want to know. We will have to rely on the Force to guide us. Our destination is the Intelligence Wing. Their databanks may hold the information we need.”
If I am being completely honest, I am not sure how I feel about my new master. He is certainly wise beyond his years and an excellent teacher. Well-versed in Sith history and unbelievably adept in all forms of combat. I cannot take away any of his achievements nor his positive qualities, however, there is something that continues to irk me about him. It may be my distrust of individuals I haven't known for a long time or it may be the fact that we are nearly the same age. The only difference between he and I was that he had been studying the ways of the Sith for a longer period of time. Isn't there an old saying...? Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer? While I hadn't decided if Solus was friend or foe, he certainly was my superior and would be respected as such. I shuddered at the thought of maybe making an enemy of such a powerful individual. The eerie thing is...he isn't even the most powerful Sith in the galaxy. I controlled my breathing and awaited Solus' next command. Darth Catalyst, Darth Solus, |
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Post by Darth Voidwalker on Dec 18, 2017 21:57:48 GMT -5
IC: Voidwalker The Artificer, hyperspace en route to the Stygian Caldera Voidwalker stood before the Gatekeeper both Triumphantly and defiantly. His head still slightly spinning from the hit to his head that came from Karina’s prosthetic moments earlier. His presence still reeling, as if he was a swirling storm of energy in the Force. He heard Garn and refused to respond to his words, instead he focused on what the Gatekeeper had to say before replying. “Grid coordinates 027,090, several miles north of the Dreshdae necropolis. Got it. Well Garn, it seems that this is your lucky day and you’ll get to view the tomb of Darth Ramage for yourself...and to me? The spoils of my victory.” Turning away from from the Holocron to exit the room, Voidwalker notices the flashing alarm on the wall. “Ah it seems that we’re close. It truly is about time. Wait...the checkpoint! Garn we have to move quickly!” As he turned to make eye contact with Garn. Do I end her life here and now, or do I keep her around? She still has much to learn and she did seem to catch on quickly. I will spare her for now. “Garn we have to do something with Karina. Fix that lounger and we’ll put her in it. That way she can sleep off the pain, and there’s no suspicions from the Captain about what happened. If he asks, the use of the Force was to much strain on her body.” Voidwalker reach out with the Force and gently lifted Karina’s body to move her from the floor to the comfort of the lounger. “I don’t know what it is Garn, but there’s something about this girl that I admire or perhaps it is nothing, just boredom from being on the ship. Now what are we going to do about the Holocron? You really think we can hide it amongst the uh ‘wands’?” TAG: Darth Dreadwar kurtishenschel |
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gorzan
Citizen
Posts: 93
Likes: 60
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Post by gorzan on Dec 19, 2017 0:36:00 GMT -5
IC: D’non Velkor Location: Coruscant Underground, Roof of the Train D’non scooped himself out of the hatch, rolling to his feet. His cloak flapped frantically in the wind generated by their rapid movement. He crouched in an effort to minimalize the air resistance, and made his way forward. He saw the blood splatter, the fur, and the paper. Quickly, he positioned himself to block the wind as much as possible to buy him time. He slipped several sealed glass canisters out of his pouch, placing the fur and the paper in two canisters, and pulling the blood sample into a third. He looked around, his helmet scanning for heat or life. However, due to the speed the train was moving, he doubted he would see the escaping farghul. “Kriff! Goddamit!” He spun in a circle. “He could still be on the train, if he switched cars,” He mused. He strode infuriated back to the hatch. As he did, his skin color changed, morphing to green, and his facial structure changed, taking on a broader, more heavy browed look, while his height decreased, down to around 5’5”. Taking the inner latch in his hand, he hopped through, falling to the ground beneath and closing the hatch at the same time. He began making his way back to Gez’segi, moving around the crowd, and using his short height to his advantage. He moved slowly, keeping the attention away from himself, and moving around to the side of Gez’segi. He made eye contact, and nodded, shifting his cloak to display the tranquilizer guns he had used before, and the armor he had been wearing. He hoped she would recognize him, but if not, he would need to speak with her. Tags: Volshe, patrickx31 |
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Post by Lord Vassago on Dec 19, 2017 1:07:45 GMT -5
IC: Sabba, Shira, & VassagoAboard The Triumphant , Railjet flatbed.The chase came to an abrupt end. “We’ve stopped?” Sabba’s innocent inquiry echoed in the vastness of the tunnel. Her words followed the pronounced locking sound of the railjet as it came to a stop on the tracks. Someone, somewhere, had cut the power. She stepped carefully to the edge of the flatbed, peering off the edge and down to the track system. She turned her eyes up and looked into the tunnel, but there was a bend that the tracks followed, which made it impossible to see around the corner. “Indeed,” Vassago sneered back, his eyes narrowing at the not-so-astute observation of his Apprentice. The Dark Lord turned his attention from his Apprentice and to the newcomer, Shira, sweeping his cloak behind him with the motion. He knew very little of the woman, only that she was the one who’d entered his mind, spoken to him, requested his aid in finding the Cult leader; something he had no interest in doing upon his arrival. He had little use for the trivial squabbles of those on board, but she did make a point to say the cultists could destroy the ship. He needed the ship. For all intents and purposes, she appeared to be in command of those on board, potentially even the entire ship. For that reason, she’d be of use to him. Reaching Dreadwar was of the utmost importance, and this woman was the key to getting there in a timely manner. Once Vassago helped her, she would be expected to return the favor with a clear course to the planet. He eyed her carefully from within his dark cowl, taking a step toward her. “Is this part of your plan to catch the Cult leader,” he asked in a dry tone, his hand stretching outward, palm up as if presenting their current situation. “I certainly hope you know where their leader is,” he remarked, taking a step back and gesturing ahead of their railjet “because the men we are pursuing are stuck up there, same as us.” He paused for a moment, turning back to face her fully, standing with his shoulders square, his staff held high beside him. “Their usefulness has run out, I’m afraid.”Shira watched him carefully. She knew nothing of this man, other than the fact that he was willing to aid her and that he was more powerful than any being she had known since her time with Sistros. Alisha’s mental voice sounded through their Bond and she gave a nonverbal acknowledgement before casting her mind about the ship, searching. “Cell BO. Near the second bridge. Ignore those fools, my apprentice will deal with them. We must hurry; they’ve found him!”The urgency in her voice could not be understated. It was clear she had felt or seen something when her mind outstretched into the vessel. The cell block and number were all he would need to find the cult leader; Shira had already used her abilities to show him the layout of the ship earlier, when he was pursuing the cultists alone. With the railjet stopped, Vassago knew there was no simple way for Shira or Sabba to follow him if he was to leave, and they’d likely be stuck on the flatbed until the power was restored. He was not reliant on the railjet for transport nor was he confined to conventional means of travel, and he would be able to get ahead of the other flatbed, reaching the cell block before the other cultists. He’d considered making a stop at the flatbed ahead of them, in the tunnel, and clearing out the cultists there. It would be a relatively simple task for him to carry out, but he was reminded of the urgency in Shira’s voice; it was apparent that time was running out. “Very well, then. I’ll go ahead,” he stated firmly, turning to his Apprentice, who seemed slightly surprised by the decision after only just regrouping. “Sabba, you will remain with this woman,” The Dark Lord instructed, pointing to Shira as he spoke to the girl, “you two will stay together, and come to me when this hiccup is resolved. Am I clear?” The question sounded much more like a command, his voice lacking any upward inflection. Sabba turned her eyes upward to her Master and nodded her understanding, then looked toward Shira and smiled softly. The Dark Lord was hesitant, even if only slightly, to leave his Apprentice with Shira, this woman he knew nothing of. Sabba had explained to him that Shira was “nice”, that she assisted in the elevator shaft…but Vassago gave his trust to no one, save for Renfelt. He even kept Sabba at arm’s reach, as any wise Master did of their pupil. Still, he was not keen on leaving Sabba alone, though the situation seemed to require it. “She is in your hands, Mistress,” he stated plainly, pushing by Shira while he walked to the edge of the platform. Without hesitation, he set his arms out to his sides and stepped off the edge. His cloak billowed up around him with the rippling sound of rushing air pushing through. Sabba’s eyes widened and she quickly took a step toward the edge of the platform, but when she stepped forward she was met with a rush of air, and the form of a dark raven flew by her face. The young woman stumbled backward, catching herself on a container that was stored on the flatbed, and turned her gaze upward to the soaring raven, her Master. Her green orbs followed the form, watching as he quickly flew through the tunnel, toward the cell block, in pursuit of the cultist leader. TAG: Shira, Darth Dreadwar, Volshe,
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Post by Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror on Dec 19, 2017 1:22:51 GMT -5
COMBO WITH DARTH VOIDWALKER
IC: Nox Talus and Azarius Qazoi
Location: The Triumphant, en route to Zakuul
“I don’t know how much peace can be kept with these beasts running amok, but I will not fall back Lady Tano. These people have caused much pain and they will pay for what they’ve done! However it seems that we first need to finish off these abominations!”
Nox starts to walk towards the advancing group of beasts, lightsaber drawn, the look of determination and nobility in his eye as he addresses the Zabrak that had spoken to him a few moments ago. “We need to get to that Turbolift and get up to the upper levels where that surge of power is coming from. I’ll take care of these monsters, just find us a way up!”
Nox dashed down the hall towards the herd of technobeasts, a streak of green energy trailing behind him as he swings his weapon with wide arcs connecting with metal come every swing. The robot creatures crying out in pain as lightsaber strikes and the sound of lightning is heard cracking over the sound of battle. Azarius was looking on as the broken Knight of the Jedi was cutting down the technobeasts, with such a grace like that of an eagle majestically flying over mountains and across plains, before responding to his statement, though it even seemed like a command, and Nox was most certainly outside the chain of command. He said, "Even if I get to the turbolift, it's power has been shut down per the orders of Lady Tano. Perhaps she could amend that command for this instance." Not only do I lack confidence in her leadership, but also in her skills versus a Sorcerer of Rhand. They would anticipate her every move. They have mastered the precognitive ability called Darksight. It's quite useful. On the other hand, if she does perish here, a new leader must rise. Although I fear the entire ship would fall into disarray, especially if the Rhandites were not dispatched.
As the Je'daii said this, he turned to the Togruta who was in command of this detachment of Knights and refugees and asked, "My Sword, perhaps that command can be amended just for this. We have to get to the upper levels to find the Rhandites and help Shira." Azarius knew that Shira alone could not take on the incarcerated Rhandite Lorekeeper on her own, especially if he had help from his Sorcerers and Acolytes. The other man, the one that had morphed into a raven, was most definitely not an ally he was willing to trust. There's something off about that one. He does indeed have a very dark aura. I believe he may weigh the combatants and pick his best option to get to his destination. I fear none of us could take him in a fight.
TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Shira , Lord Vassago , Padawan4687 , Darth Voidwalker
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Dec 19, 2017 2:31:23 GMT -5
IC Darth NostremKaas City Citadel, Dromund Kaas Silence Darkness That’s all it had been. For thousands of years, Darth Nostrem had wandered the depths of the Citadel, staunchly refusing the fate that the Sith Emperor Vitiate had cursed him with. He had built this masterful tower from the ground up, been the mastermind behind its tricks and traps. He knew the entire layout of this accursed building. Even with all of his knowledge, he could not stave off the starvation that would destroy his physical body. But rage burned in his soul. He would not stay quiet. His spirit lingered well beyond his expiration. He watched the Empire collapse. Vitiate picked up his forces and moved them elsewhere, and with his absence, Dromund Kaas fell into obscurity. Nostrem had no visitors in his time alone, though he sensed a great many presences on the planet. His Citadel fell into ruin along with the rest of his planet. The Sith rose and fell and rose again multiple times. In his solitude Nostrem had gone insane. The silence that faced his continued existence was maddening. He had resolved to take his revenge on the scheming, backstabbing, power hungry Sith that continued to plague the galaxy. But from his tomb, there was little he could do while it remained abandoned. Until today. Nostrem had felt the intruders’ presence as they were descending through the atmosphere. After thousands of years trapped here, any shift in the delicate balance of Dark Side power that enshrouded the planet. Darth Solus and Darth Deleritas were not of his Empire, nor were they even of his era. They stank of Sith though. Sith from another, equally powerful Empire. He would make their existence pain, like his last days were. Here they were intruding on his sacred ground, without any respect for his suffering. This was his Citadel. They would be the next to die. As the two Lords entered the abandoned Citadel, only darkness and silence would greet them. Deleritas’ night vision offered little more than a better view of the layers of dust and decay that surrounded them. Solus would detect a great anger coming from below them, deep within the catacombs of the Citadel. It began rising, quickly coming towards them. Through the floor emerged the restless spirit of Darth Nostrem.
 “Greetings explorers,” the ancient Sith crooned at them, “and welcome to my masterpiece. I am Darth Nostrem, architect to the very Citadel you now stand in.” A mad smile broke across the Zabrak apparition’s face. “A Citadel clearly not good enough for the Emperor! He abandoned it! Abandoned the Sith that stood behind him!” he quickly composed himself again. “Regardless,” he continued all too politely, “what brings the likes of you to these hallowed halls?”TAG: Deleritas,Darth Solus,
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Dec 19, 2017 16:32:37 GMT -5
IC Kubjo the Hutt Kubjo's Arena, Nar Shaddaa
Kenzi screamed in pain as Corvar unleashed his attack. The intense fire burst from Corvar’s hand and enveloped Kenzi in a raging inferno, charring flesh and hair. Kenzi threw a flaming fist at Corvar but before he could complete his blow, Corvar would see him shrinking back down to a small humanoid. He collapsed to the ground, Reaper’s lightsaber protruding from his back. The crowd went into an uproar and began cheering, jeering, and chanting for both Reaper and Corvar. “Wowie!” the announcer exclaimed above the roar of the crowd. “Deysa took dim down! Kenzi issa beaten! Now wassa Kubjo the Great gonna say about that?”
Kubjo stalked to the edge of his box again. He looked over the crowd, whose cheers only grew louder. Ever the showman, he raised both of his arms in a mock show of humility. The clamor died down and he addressed the arena personally. “Uma ji muna,” he proclaimed to the croud. His gaze wandered to the unconscious and dying Kenzi and he shook his head. “Peetch goola, creespa Kenzi.” He put out his hand again as he had done with the previous fight. The crowd went silent. What would his verdict be? He clenched his fist and raised his thumb high above him. “Bargon u noa-a-uyat!” The crowd cheered wildly and a hovering courier droid emerged from the arena wall to take Kenzi away. Kubjo held up his hand to quiet the crowd. “Corvar, Reepuna,” he addressed the two combatants, “Keel-ee calleya ku kah.” He shook his head. “Tah-koh tuk’ata e’nachu. Chas kee nyowkee koo chooskoo. Mi chuga.” He slithered back to his throne and pressed a button on his datapad. The arena floor shuddered and a final blast door opened. From within Corvar and Reaper would see a series of green photoreceptors light up.
A massive, spiderlike droid squeezed through the hole and into the light, easily four times taller than a man and brimming with spikes on all appendages. It looked between the force users, analyzing which it percieved was the bigger threat. After calculating it could be either of them, the droid launched a barrage of heat seeking missiles at the pair.
TAG:darthkain7,trentongordon,
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Dec 19, 2017 17:47:16 GMT -5
GM UPDATE COMBO WITH SHIRA AND VOLSHE
IC: Darth Apollyon, Viscretus, Kevala & ScionicaPomojema's Room, beneath the Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban
Legacy of the Jen'jidai“Assassins, above you!”
Ebony and ivory flicked up as their faces blanched, the blood draining from the twins' faces barely noticeable in their already pale, silvery hued skin. The statue had moved again, swiftly and utterly silent, until its fist rested mere feet from the tops of their heads. But how? Something so massive, created of a material so dense must surely make sound upon motion.
“Sorcery!” Scionica hissed, startled threads of fear woven subtly into her voice, creating hazes of shadowed grey within her end of their bond. Yet, unexpectedly, the grey shifted to the light green of astonishment. “Oh! The hole in the wall!”
Kevala’s brows raised in realization, her mind thinking quickly. “Sci, keep your eyes on it, I need to look around.” She felt, rather than saw, her sister’s nod of acquiescence and cautiously took her eyes off of the effigy to look towards the breach that Catalyst had previously explored. Ideas raced through her mind and she called to Viscretus. “What can your blades cut through? How much effort would it take to divest this...monstrosity of it’s arm? I don’t think it will move if someone is gazing upon it.” Viscretus turned her head to address Kevala, maintaining her stance of poised readiness. The door had slid shut - leaving no exit and only one evident option to escape. “I’m certain that my ‘sabers will make quick work of the stone. My concern is only with moving it into the hole.” She was truthfully uncertain her ‘saber could cut through the statue entirely...if at all. It was a tomb, after all, and - her eyes flicked up to the towering statue - it was filled with enchanted stone... "You didn't miss much," Apollyon was saying, meanwhile, addressing Catalyst, who seemed to be blinking away visions from his eyes. "Save for the fact this statue appears to move when you aren't looking at it. Devilry unknown to me, but I believe it adds a complication to the puzzle." The Emperor's Hand pointed towards the statue's raised fist, and the crooked elbow that such a poise created. "The arm of... Pomojema... shall open the door... Yes, yes, but how do we put the arm in the hole, when it's bent like that?" Her hand fell to her side, a frown crossing her caramel features. "And I am not so sure your 'sabers will make quick work of the stone, Lady Viscretus, given that I cannot even sense Coatlec through the enchantment of the stone door," she continued, unaware Viscretus had already courted thoughts of the same. "But then again, this rock is different from all the rest. Given the subtleties of this tomb, I believe that is a clue it can be cut through..." Apollyon trailed off, considering. Between the flirtatious inclinations of Jania and the fighting predilections of Coatlec, the mission had been greatly slowed. The awful sense of unease that pervaded the room was explained, now, by the sorcery of the statue, yet it did nothing to curb Zelashiel's sense that they needed to hurry up. There was no time for lengthy contemplation and discussion. Even as she voiced the problems she perceived in solving the puzzle, answers were already springing from the abyss of her mind. She had been too passive; now was the time to act. "Excuse me, Sci," she said, and directed a measure of her telekinetic power towards the assassin, not just pulling her from harm's way, but turning her to face the wall. The gesture was gentle yet inviolably firm. "Close your eyes, Viscretus," she said, and as her blonde companion duly did so, intuitively grasping Zelashiel's intent, Apollyon cut her own cape from her shoulders with a slash of her flashing lightsaber, extinguishing it just as quickly as she had ignited it while levitating the black cloth between the rest of the team and the statue. And then Apollyon blinked. The instant her onyx eyes opened again, a crash sounded out, the stone floor cracking. The statue's fist had struck the floor, proving the hypothesis that it only moved when no one could see it, whichever enchantment that gave it unlife seeming to cower before the gaze of the living. But more importantly, the arm was now straightened from shoulder to hand. As Apollyon released her grip upon Scionica and let her cape fall to the floor, she directed Viscretus with urgency. "Quickly! You cut it, I'll help levitate it!" A faint smile upon her seraphic features, Viscretus glided towards the arm buried in the floor, ozone flooding the air as she drew forth her own weapon, bringing into being a sizzling beam of pure darkness that seemed to leech light from the aether, even as it crackled with the faint glow of violet lightning. With the lazy flick of a wrist, her black-bladed lightsaber sliced though the stone arm at the shoulder, not meeting any more resistance than was typical of a lightsaber's gyroscopic effects, much to Apollyon's relief. As Viscretus' lightsaber returned to her belt, the arms of the two Sith Ladies outstretched, sharing and focusing the power of the dark side as they bade the severed arm rise into the air. It turned out such cooperation was quite unnecessary; the mineral the statue was wrought from was very light indeed, as unnatural as its strength, and there was no difficulty in moving the arm towards the hole, and lining it up precisely. But to avoid looking like a fool, Apollyon kept her hands raised, as if helping Viscretus in a difficult task as the latter slowly moved the arm into the hole. Unlike Catalyst's, the arm was a snug fit, and once it was buried to the bicep, there was the unmistakable thud of its fist meeting the end of the shaft. And then a clink... and then the same mechanical clicking noise that had echoed throughout the chamber when the prior passageway had closed. But this time, a door was opening. Right next to Scionica, despite there having been no crack to demark a doorway - the product of enchantment no doubt - a section of the curved wall was withdrawing into the ceiling. Once the ticking stopped, another room was revealed.
There were six stone steps, retreating into the darkness. Retrieving her torch from where she had left it on the floor, Apollyon hesitantly began to walk towards the doorway, letting the flickering light of the flame illuminate the rest of the room. It was a box-shaped room of smooth, unmarked grey stone, between 10 and 15 meters along all dimensions in Apollyon's estimation. At the end of the short stair, there was a rusted metal grate, serving as the floor; thanks to her angle near the top of the stair, Apollyon's torch shed light on that which was below the grate. A spiked pit. Wonderful. And then, on the other side of the room, another stair, this one of seven steps, yet it seemed to lead up to nothing more than the far wall. Or, Apollyon thought, another hidden door.Viscretus took in the revealed room, swiftly analysing the new puzzle it presented them. She was beginning to tire of the tedium of undoing traps, yet there was nothing quite like a spiked pit to sharpen her intellect, and the success her string of solutions had produced so far affirmed the superiority of her intelligence. She wished she could say the same for the others. “Use caution. We do not yet know what lies ahead,” she said aloud, “And keep your eyes on the statue. It may move yet.” "Leave Jania on the floor," Apollyon added, "until we are able to assess the safety of this room. Then, once we are all past the door, I'll levitate her in." Apollyon's interjection was deliberate; if it were left to Viscretus, she was fairly sure the prone acolyte would have been used for said assessment of safety. Yet Viscretus, knowing the power in displaying a unified front, did not contravene her orders. Without another word, the Sith Lady was gathering the illusory skirts of her elegant dress and stepping past the threshold, carefully observing the stair as she descended into the chamber, knowing that one step of the six might activate the grate. Viscretus' intuitions were half-right. The third step sunk beneath her, yet not jarringly enough to topple her to the grate, which mercifully remained closed regardless. Instead, as soon as the step had sunk one inch, the now-familiar ticking noise began again. Activated by the pressure plate, the door behind her began to close. "GET IN!" Apollyon yelled, diving under the descending slab of rock. It was a gamble on her part; while this door was closing, the doorway out of Pomojema's chamber, leading to the zig-zagging passage through which they had all entered, remained open, so there was no risk of being sealed away in the statue room forever. The new room, however, had no obvious exit; it was possible that it was a dead-end, and that this tomb would become the tomb of whoever entered. It would be a gamble the rest of the team would have to instinctively weigh and instantly decide upon, for under the ever-watchful eyes of the eldritch statue that moved with lethal speed so long as no one was gazing upon it, Robyn, Catalyst, Xirr and the twins had only three seconds before the door to the new room shut entirely. The decision was made for Jania, who was briskly pulled through courtesy of Viscretus' powers, laid to rest upon the first stair while Viscretus proceeded to sprint down the remaining three steps, across the grated floor and up the opposite stairs. Like with the previous stairs, the third step began to sink under her feet, yet the wall in front of her did not reveal a hidden door, nor provoke a resumption of the ticking noise. But Viscretus would hear something.The faintest whisper at the periphery of her senses, intruding into the sanctity of her mind, and her mind alone. A spirit? Some sort of enchantment, an ancient recording through the medium of Sith magic? Impossible to tell. Yet the unnerving reality of the telepathic susurrus would be undeniable. Ssstep back onto the grate, child... and ponder on the Heresiarchs, to avoid lethal fall and passss thiss wall. Who was fairessst of them all?
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Dec 19, 2017 19:23:02 GMT -5
IC Lord Catalyst Sadow's tomb, catacombs
Catalyst smirked as Apollyon gave him the rundown of their predicament. Moving statues huh? What’s next? He couldn’t shake the notion of ridiculousness that this was until he saw it with his own eyes. Or rather, didn’t see. The statue had indeed moved to threaten the twins. Apollyon and Viscretus worked out a plan together that culminated in Apollyon’s cape obscuring the vision of the rest of the team so the statue could move. The great fist smashed into the ground and Viscretus lopped it off effortlessy. The two of them then proceeded to telekinetically lift the arm into the hole. Catalyst resisted the urge to playfully distract Apollyon at the task. Unlike Coatlec’s apprentice, he had full control over his loins. He glanced down at the mangled girl while Viscretus and Apollyon worked with the arm. Poor lass. Given a Master who cannot handle even himself, let alone such a fiery apprentice. He silently wondered what fate would befall her once they returned to the Temple. He heard the click of mechanisms within the hole and looked back up. A well-hidden door opened next to one of the assassins. Viscretus gave a warning to the rest of the group before gracefully stepping through the portal. Catalyst heard another audible click.
"GET IN!"
Apollyon’s shout jarred him from his contemplation. The door was closing quickly. The statue loomed threateningly to the side. A flick of his wrist sent a wave of telekinetic destruction aimed at the statue. He hoped he could topple it and potentially shatter it, lessening the danger to the rest of the group if they couldn’t make it through the door in time. He then dashed through behind Apollyon and Viscretus and onto the grated floor. “A spike pit,” he assessed aloud. “The ancient Lords certainly had a flair for drama didn’t they?” He once again pulled the climbing gauntlets from his robe and slipped them on. He had a feeling that they might come in handy if the floor suddenly dropped from under him. He scooted closer to one of the walls and pressed his fingertips against it, making a show of probing for another secret door but in reality ensuring his gauntlets would serve him well should the moment arise.
TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Shira , Volshe , Padawan4687, dice
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Post by Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror on Dec 20, 2017 1:38:57 GMT -5
OOC: Autohit on Drax approved by Volshe. Broken chain approved, previously, by Darth Dreadwar.
IC: Xar
Location: In a dark room, presumably on Dxun
As the Anzat Lord of the Sith awoke from a strange state of sleep, he woke to a dark room, barely lit, but he could see at least some of his surroundings. It seemed as though everyone in the room was bound up somehow. Whether it be by chains for the larger beings of the new company, or by a spike for the Duros, or a crate for the... something. He began to look around the room, first noticing his equipment sitting on the floor, a few feet away from him as he was laying there. As he looked further, there was his companion Sith Lord that he was on a mission on Oricon with. Ever still, there were other infernal creatures in there: the Duros, the life form in the crate, and the Devaronian. He then heard the cursing mutter and scream from the Devaronian. "What the kriff, What the kriff!" Xar shook his head and yelled back, "Shut up. We're chained. Now, do as I say and I'll let you out." Devaronian rat.
It was then that he heard the cold remarks of Lord Iramus, next to him. He said, "Silence, cur. Whatever that is doesn't sound as though it needs further encouragement to be in a foul mood, and frankly nor do I." Xar coldly spat back, "I think we're all in a foul mood, so don't kriff it up, please." Idiots. All of them. Some beast is out there and they'll just rot in here. Not my problem. I'm getting out of here. Kark these losers. As he looked around again he heard the rustle of the equipment pile and saw the hilt of Iramus' lightsaber fly to him, but nothing happened. "Well that's nice, Iramus. What's wrong with your saber? Guess I'll just do the heavy lifting." With a smirk of disgust at all his inferior "companions," he turned his gaze back to the barely illuminated pile of equipment. He then reached out, putting his full focus on his telekinesis in order to pull his ensnarement talisman to his hand. Once in hand, he moved his other arm up and out of the way of the impending blast. He concentrated on the talisman, aimed at the durasteel chain, and a burst of purple Force energy shot forth from the talisman, snapping the chain and releasing Xar to go retrieve his other items. Ah, excellent.
He then arose from the stone floor and walked over to the pile of equipment. Fortunately, he had fashioned his robes to have folds and pockets to keep everything in, for he certainly had a lot. He picked up everything, stuffing many relics of Sith days gone by into his robe's folds. He hung his talisman around his neck and hung his many lightsabers on his belt. Coming to the last piece of his equipment, the holocron of the Lord of Pain, Darth Sion, he whispered, inaudible to any that were not right next to him, "My most prized possession," before placing it inside his robe as well.
Xar turned yet again, this time to the Duros with a spike crudely embedded into his hand. Spike in his hand? Eh, he doesn't need it. Sion most certainly knew the pain of losing body parts. As he walked towards the Duros, he pulled a single lightsaber from his belt, and with a crackle a blade of orange plasma came forth, further illuminating the room. With a precise swing of the lightsaber, he attempted to sever the hand from the body of the weak Duros. There was only one thing left to do. Feed. For all Anzati survive on the "brain soup" of other beings. It gives them elongated life that spans millennia. Tentacles came forth from the face of the hungry Anzat as he crouched down to the height of the Duros. With a wave of the hand, Xar attempted to impress mental images upon him as Xar fed. Images of bliss for a Sith. The turning and death of Jedi, all the power in the galaxy, and most of all, all the knowledge in the galaxy. But the meal was now over. Xar reluctantly did not kill the Duros, for he still could be of use, but he was most definitely within an inch of death.
TAG: Volshe, Darth Iramus, darthramage |
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Post by darthkain7 on Dec 20, 2017 7:00:16 GMT -5
IC: Darth Kain Location: Above Nal Hutta "Wow, that worked?" Corvar thought as he watched Kenzi shrink back into his normal form. "Well, that only leaves--" Before he could complete the thought, Kubjo began to speak. Corvar didn't understand a word of it, save for hearing his and Reaper's names. He'd heard Huttese plenty of times, but he'd never gotten the opportunity to learn much of the language of his slave masters. He cursed to himself when he saw the spider droid rise out of the pit, its mettalic appendages covered in deadly spikes. Any opportunity to think of a plan on how to destroy this thing was taken by the launch of two missiles, which seemed to follow Corvar and Reaper's movements. Corvar unleashed a Force push to knock the missile off of its trajectory, but upon seeing this fail beyond disrupting its course a bit, he followed his instincts and instead tossed a fireball at the missile. TAGS: trentongordon Darth Catalyst TAGSET: Corbos |
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Post by trentongordon on Dec 20, 2017 11:07:05 GMT -5
IC: Reaper Location: Nar Shaddaa Reaper took chuckled at the fallen Kenzi before the Hurt began to speak. He looked at the hutt then at the ground opening up before him. He saw the spider like beast and instantly thought. 'Why can't things be simple?!' He then watched the spider beast robot shoot rockets. He closed his eyes and held out his hand. The force guiding his hand and in turn the rocket. The rocket turned slightly but not enough. He force leaped towards the spider twirling his lightsaber which he activated then and shot lightning out of his finger tips at the robot beast creature as a distraction. He knew the rocket was still after him but he hoped the robot would have a heat signature. If not he could leap and force push it into the robot. Tag: Darth Catalyst darthkain7 |
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Dec 20, 2017 12:16:56 GMT -5
IC Lord Hypnos Pius Dea Cathedral Ship, Odessen
Hypnos looked to the sky as they ascended past the atmosphere. Raspir’s reassurance that they were working for his Emperor’s glory were wasted on Hypnos’s audio receptors. He had greater thoughts brewing in his mind. Raspir might think he was being ignored when the Shard didn’t respond, but in reality, Hypnos was scanning the Cathedral ahead of them, using his finely tuned Shard sense to look for any electromagnetic signature. That would likely be the only clue they would have to find a generator or computer system.
As the Great Reap breached the shield and docked with the station, Hypnos shifted his perceptions back into his droid frame. He looked to Anigma and Raspir before stepping down into the grassy courtyard. His olfactory sensors detected the faintest hint of Cyanogen gas. Likely that was the reason the cathedral was conspicuously empty. “Breathe deep Lord Raspir, the air’s fresh and clean,” the Shard called back to the Rakata Sorcerer in a bold faced lie. He was curious to see if the Sorcerer reacted to such a minute amount of the toxin. “We’re all alone here, at least so it would seem.” He continued scanning through the Cathedral, searching for signs of life and, more importantly, trying to dig out the location of a computer before Anigma or Reap could. If he could access this station’s information first, it would at least ingratiate him further to the Sorcerer and his Emperor if not allowing him to selectively share his findings. He had to play this out very carefully, so as not to telegraph his true intentions to the others. He did not fear Anigma, she would be easy enough to subject to his control. Reap could not harm him without great effort and repercussion and he doubted the immense droid was stupid enough to try. Raspir though, was the difficult one to predict. Hypnos still knew very little of Raspir’s powers and capabilities. He had seen no evidence of the Sorcerer possessing much power, save from his seat as Aide to Edworion. He had to tread lightly. Raspir could not find out his intent. He was lucky the Sorcerer had already placed such trust in him. It made the effort of concealing his motive less problematic. Though betraying that trust would likely become that much satisfying as a result. Hypnos would bide his time regardless. The first goal was still the mirror. He would likely need Raspir’s assistance to locate it if it wasn’t still here. There was no turning back on him now.
TAG: Darth Dreadwar,Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror,
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- IC Lemmy Control room, the Ninûshodojinyaut, dead space
Lemmy cackled a mad pirate’s laugh as Kint opened up his arsenal on the beasts of black slime. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Kint had just ignored the creature attacking him like it was nothing and that in turn bolstered Lemmy’s confidence. He hoisted his plasma cannon to his shoulder and began unleashing chaotic blasts of destruction upon the monstrosities at the end of the room. “Let’s make ‘em wish they never crawled outta the karkin’ Hutt that couldn’t hold his lunch!” He took some care not to aim for anything that looked electronic in nature, simply concentrating on fighting and surviving.
TAG: Darth Dreadwar,gorzan,
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