Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133 
Likes: 112
|
Post by Padawan4687 on Mar 7, 2017 16:33:26 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Sith Temple catacombsRobyn leaned heavily against the wall opposite her classroom with her head in her hands. She kept glancing back to Chakran’s body, and felt a heaviness in her chest and stomach every time she did. It was hardly the first time she had seen a life get abruptly snuffed out, especially not since arriving at this Academy, but it was the first time it happened to her personally. Barely a minute ago, he was talking to me. Barely one, kriffing, minute ago! She lifted smoldering red eyes to the door again, and could feel another idea emerging. Hurting Professor Slimeball deliberately seemed far more appealing now, and she was definitely strong enough to manage it… whether the door could withstand the abuse was another question entirely though. "You don't want to do that," a quiet voice interrupted Robyn’s thoughts, before they could even begin to translate into action. Her eyes went wide and she immediately whipped around to see a man approaching. He was...closer than she first thought. And apparently had the ability to predict her actions before she decided on them herself. "You aren't going to prove anything by getting yourself killed like your boyfriend here. Besides," he motioned towards the door with a smirk, "you'll only be doing him a favor if you let him disfigure you too." ...did he just say ‘boyfriend’? Robyn could feel her face heating up, and she couldn’t tell whether it was regular embarrassment or sheer irritation. "You were told to wait until a Master came along to deal with you were you not?" The man carried on as though Robyn hadn’t opened her mouth to reply, "Consider today your lucky day. You just earned the chance to redeem yourself. I have some.. investigating," he grimaced at the thought, "to do in the Valley of the Dark Lords. You're coming with." He gestured towards the corpse, ignoring the exaggerated head-tilt Robyn was giving him now. "Might as well bring him too. He might prove useful. If you need to prepare for this excursion," he glanced at the datapad on his wrist, "you have thirty minutes. You'll need a breathing apparatus. And probably a weapon. I hope you've been studying your ancient Sith. You might even be able to impress someone today." “Okay, HOLD ON!” Robyn shouted the moment she could get a word in, even placing two fingers in a cross in front of her, “Time out!” First off, who the hell are you, and where did you just so happen to come from?! Second, I just now got thrown out of class and you’re seriously just dumping this thing into my lap without any idea if I’m actually qualified in ancient Sith? That seems just as likely to get me killed! And THIRD of all,” Robyn paused, stealing another glance behind her before taking another step forward. Probably a bad idea, but Professor Slimeball was still on her mind, “This boy, is not my boyfriend!”
TAG: Darth Catalyst ,
|
|
Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
|
Post by Padawan4687 on Mar 8, 2017 3:17:48 GMT -5
~Alisha Tano~
Name/Title: Alisha Tano
Age: 22
Sex: Female
Species: Togruta
Homeworld: Shili
Occupation: Imperial Knight, and Empress’ Sword-in-Exile
Height: 5’6” (6’2” with her montrals)
Weight: 155lbs
Appearance: Alisha is tall with curved and imposing horns that can give a threatening air to her silhouette. With her striking orange skin and white marks across her face and body, she can be easy to spot in a crowd. The markings along her neck and body go down in thick and jagged stripes like a tiger, though few have ever seen those. She has dark blue eyes, a wide button nose and a strong jaw that are emphasized in white. Her blue and white striped lekku have grown past her shoulders and now rest against her chest and the center of her back. In terms of clothing, Alisha tends to wear earthy tones when not in armor or in her navy blue Imperial outfit. She finds the monochromatic schemes far too stifling, and often wears little accessories just to include a splash of color.
Weapons: A pair of lightsabers that she built as a Jedi are her primary weapons. Both hilts are slim and wrapped with brown and orange leather with small handguards. One emits a bright blue blade, and the other is silver.
Equipment: Alisha is frequently carrying a datapad for recording missions and various information, and a small medical kit hangs against her belt. She wears a small set of Rathalayan firestone jewelry, one set in an amulet around her neck, and one in a bangle and ring.
Description of Abilities: Being trained by many different Masters in several different factions has given Alisha a wealth of different skills in combat. She takes much pride in her reputation as a weaponsmaster, and while her skill with lightsabers is nothing to scoff at she still can't quite keep up with her Mentor yet. Her abilities with the Force are formidable, and that power was recognized even in childhood.
Personality: Many years of danger and instability have done a number on the happy and bubbly personality that Alisha once held as a child and teenager. She is now neutral and businesslike in her speech, almost to the point of detached coldness with those working under her. Her wits and pride as a warrior are still as strong as always, with the remnants of a reckless streak.
Biography: Alisha spent her childhood years on Shili with a single mother and a whole village to assist in her care. She lived there happily until age ten when she was forced to flee from a rogue Sith raid on a ship, leaving her mother behind. After several long days of space travel, Alisha was taken in by a small group of Jedi and quickly accepted for training. However, this faction was trapped in a downward spiral and was ultimately abandoned before the year ended.
She, alongside the remaining younglings and Padawans of the faction were adopted into a much larger Jedi sect that was the Guardians of Light. Alisha flourished there in her training, and made many strides in strength until the day she was to be made a Padawan. Her “Master” was an extremely unstable position, and she was shuffled through at least two Knights and even the Grandmaster before at last finding a Jedi that remained with her.
He was a Togruta like her, and he used their common homeworld and language to bridge the gap of discouragement that developed in young Alisha. Her training alongside this Knight endured for years, until it was ended not with a promotion, but with bloodshed. The Guardians of Light sect was destroyed and its inhabitants massacred, with Alisha barely escaping with her life. Without any way of knowing her Master’s fate, she was left adrift again until she came into Empress Volshe’s service.
The broken teenager was given a new purpose, and yet another Mentor, Shira A'dola. Despite her severe doubts at ever achieving the label of “Knight”, keeping a teacher or even surviving in this new Empire, she slowly progressed. She remained with the NGE even after the leadership crumbled suddenly, and dutifully followed her Mentor into exile. |
|
Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248 
Likes: 276
|
Post by Darth Catalyst on Mar 11, 2017 17:38:30 GMT -5
Darth Hypnos
 Hypnos' ThemeTitle: Lord Hypnos, Refraction of Madness, Eye of Insanty, Age: Millenia Sex: Something akin to male Species: Shard Height: 30 CM Weight: 20 KG Occupation: Lorekeeper, Treasurer and Advisor to Darth Venomis Physical description: crimson crystal with a glowing yellow core. Clothing: various droid chassis Weapons: Lightsaber built from own child. Anything else built into current chassis. Description of abilities: High knowledge Sith Sorcery and magic, Mechu Deru combined with natural Shard affinity for electronics makes him a mastery of droids and machinery, Telepathy, Illusions, Mind tricks, telekinesis, phisiology has allowed for effective immortality, Personality: Thirsty for knowledge, speaks in hushed whispers and riddles with a particular love of wordplay and puns, has spent enough time in the galaxy to develop a belligerent attitude towards shorter lived beings. Does not believe in making lasting emotional connection. Sees displays of power as futile. Finds intelligent conversation the most appealing thing organics can offer. Biography: There was nothing special about the crystal taken out of the cave on Orax as a souvenir for a wealthy lord. There was nothing strange about the protocol droid insisting on moving it daily. There was nothing odd about the ship veering off course en route to Coruscant and emerging at Tython. When Belia Darzu and her technobeasts slaughtered the inhabitants, she didn't see what was special about this crystal, except that it emanated Force. That's because it was no ordinary crystal, but a curious Shard, thirsty for knowledge and a way to impact the universe around it. She kept it. And it learned. She thought it empowered her and her creations. In reality she was empowering it. Because it was watching. Hearing. Sensing. The technobeasts were a new experience for it. Not quite machine, not quite living. Fascinating. So it learned about them. And the virus that made them. It could control them. It could perhaps make them. But it needed a voice. And a body. It waited. After the assassination of Darzu, the fortress became quiet. The technobeasts were far more compliant with their master dead. Her holocron was still there though. The beasts congregated around it. They brought the crystal to it. The knowledge was almost instinctive. Turning organics into more droids to control. Intriguing. The crystal had a few centuries of uninterrupted contemplating and practice before Darth Bane interrupted to steal the holocron. When Zannah came for him with Jedi in tow, the crystal witnessed the duels that took place and Bane's victory. Then they left. With the knowledge. It needed more. Thankfully there was carnage left in the wake of the battles. Lots of pieces of technobeast. Using a combination of Mechu Deru and Telekinesis, it constructed a host body. Mobility. Freedom. But still no voice. This body was rudimentary. It needed a better one. The jedi's ship was still there. It still worked. The crystal took it. Prakith. Bane mentioned Prakith. The ships computer said that was close. The crystal went to Prakith. There it found the holocron of Darth Andeddu. The secrets it contained were of less use. When one would never lose their body, essence transfer was pointless. Telekinesis and illusions however were far more useful. The crystal absorbed the knowledge. It was hungry for more. It needed to learn. It had to find more holocrons. Korriban. Andeddu's holocron stated Korriban as the breeding grounds for knowledge. The crystal needed to go there. So it did. Korriban was a nexus of knowledge. The crystal was taught. Magic, power, philosophy, control. It was given a title. Darth Hypnos. It was driven mad. Korriban was dead. It... He... Needed living beings to test this new power. Somewhere he wouldn't be persecuted. The farthest edges of the galaxy had world's teeming with untouched life. And Hypnos had the Technobeast virus stored in his makeshift form. He needed a new body. There weren't many droids that came to Korriban. No he needed to make his ideal form. The junk world of Raxus Prime would be where he found the pieces and perfected his unique strain of the technobeast virus, testing it on pirates and bandits that came to the world in search of rumored riches hidden beneath the heaps of garbage. This version of the virus learned and adapted. It could restructure the host's anatomy far more quickly and situationally, even to the point of appearing that the host had not been infected at all. Hypnos built himself a series of bodies from the waste around him, humanoid droids that could pass for a protocol droid, wheeled droids that fit into starship sockets. Hovering exploration droids. The potential was limitless. Eventually he just started making droids for the sake of making droids. Over hundreds of years, Hypnos created a veritable army of junk droids and technobeasts, often combining the two when it looked interesting. This too would bore the crystal. So he left. He took a few of his favorite creations and left for the Unknown regions, leaving behind the rest of his grotesque army to fend for themselves. On the edge of the galaxy, Hypnos found many species he could convert. And a few he could not. The creatures spat the virus right back out. And when the infection did begin to take hold, the creatures merely shed the mechanical pieces like a shell. This was the first experience Hypnos had with Mnggal-Mnggal. Oddly enough, when he made contact, the creature tried the very same thing Hypnos was doing. It tried to control him. And failed. Hypnos was fascinated. They kept trying new methods of ensnaring the other in their own web of parasitic mind control. The technobeasts boasted a limited immunity to Mnggal-Mnggal as well. The techno-organic constructs could not be assimilated due to their mechanical nature. Hypnos devoted centuries to watching the creature and, every so often, accomplishing things it couldn't. It was a symbiosis. So they began working together more frequently. Hypnos kept learning and perfecting his technobeasts and also upgrading Mnggal-Mnggal's thralls while being given more subjects to convert and conquer. There was nothing they could not enslave. The galaxy loomed temptingly....
|
|
avaris
Citizen
Posts: 7
Likes: 9
|
Post by avaris on Mar 12, 2017 2:37:05 GMT -5
Darth Avaris Name/Title: Ayis Vellarix Age: 32 Sex: Female Species: Twi’lek Homeworld: Roon Occupation: Sith Assassin Height: 5’4” Appearance: She has white skin with black tattoos covering her body. Her frame is athletic with an hourglass figure. Her outfit: oi63.tinypic.com/e0ncdh.jpgWeapons: A lightwhip and a single red bladed lightsaber that is black hilted. The emitter is spiked on one side. She also has a variety of daggers, thermal detonators, and vibroblades when needed. Equipment:Anything an assassin would need like poisons, chemicals, components, extra armor. Description of Abilities:She is a skilled and agile warrior who has been trained in swordsmanship since a young age. Most of her skills are in acrobatics and brute force. She has been trained in techniques that aid in her missions as well. She is a chameleon who can play any part she needs to. Personality: She is very independent and aloof. Her skill at changing her personality can decently hide it. She has respect for authority but not respect for those who cross her in any way. She does not want to be in command but does not want anyone she sees as unworthy to be above her, and always gets the upper hand in the end. As a Sith she is known for her competitive nature and charm. Biography: She has spent her entire life in a Sith sect of Twi’lek in the Outer Rim that worships Darth Bane, trained by her mother and another master. The prophets of the sect saw an end to their freedom in a prophecy, but also saw that it would lead them to greatness through conquering the galaxy. She became a part of the Sith Empire when her planet was taken over by the Emperor and they, believing it was their destiny, swore to follow him. She accepts the rule of his Empire for now, but she believes eventually he will fall and the Sith bloodline she hails from will reign.
|
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 12, 2017 4:16:58 GMT -5
IC: Darth ApollyonSith Hangar, Sith Temple, KorribanApollyon tutted to herself as Viscretus entered the cavernous hangar. She had been waiting for a few minutes, but she wasn't sure to the degree to which this was caused by a slightly fast chrono or by Viscretus - and the others - actually being tardy. She did not seem well, on closer inspection. Indeed, she looked as deathly ill as Sith overwhelmed by the sanity-straining aura of the Valley's darkest tombs. But that stench about her, of ash and decay... It was not the stale sense of Korriban, but the imprint of Nilrebmah. Dreadwar.Apollyon's eyebrow quirked. Just what was the Director of Sith Intelligence doing in a private audience with the Emperor? Usually, any instructions from the reclusive Dread-King were funnelled though his Hand - through Apollyon - or his lesser Triumvirs, when they weren't fighting a silly ritual wargame in order to determine who sat on which side of the Emperor's throne. (The Sith, having originated from a left-handed species, considered the left side to be sacred and superior). But Viscretus would not be forthcoming. Her quip about the thermal generators indicated an attempt at feigning high spirits, which to Apollyon meant she had no intention of giving voice to her ailment - nor its source. Intriguing indeed. "Yes, I did," Apollyon replied with a smirk. "They're in the crates you're sitting on."She crossed the distance between them, boots clicking against the dusty deck. Apollyon had changed into a more practical outfit, discarding the trailing cloak and dress in favour of black leather trousers and light armour of cortosis-weave. Viscretus, on the other hand, seemed as elegantly-dressed as ever. It reminded her of that near-disastrous mission to destroy the Federation supply depot, in which, after Apollyon embarrassingly left the explosives in the stealth shuttle, Viscretus was forced to fight multiple Jedi guards while they waited for reinforcements. She had backflipped and somersaulted in all the manners an accomplished Ataru fighter would, while still wearing robes of resplendent finery. Honestly, it was like magic, and Apollyon was quite envious of her ability to absolutely disregard changing into functional but less fashionable garb.  Apollyon waved a hand, and a wooden chest screeched and scraped across the floor, popping open with a flick of her mind. Within were all manner of weaponry, from lanvaroks to hunting knives to the Battle-axe of Adas, as well as, in the lower compartment, several artifacts. Minor charms, mostly, such as a necklace allowing one to control one's body temperature, and a gauntlet with cryoban adhesives on the fingertips. "But we'll need more than thermal detonators, I suspect. Do you have all the equipment you plan on bringing? And..." Her tone turned somewhat saccharine. "And... do you have tact enough to reveal what you were doing meeting my Master?"TAG: Volshe
|
|
Volshe
Administrator 
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
|
Post by Volshe on Mar 12, 2017 13:31:15 GMT -5
IC: Darth Viscretus Sith Hangar, Korriban “Yes, I did. They're in the crates you're sitting on. But we'll need more than thermal detonators, I suspect. Do you have all the equipment you plan on bringing?”Viscretus returned her knowing smile, and rose wearily from the stacked boxes, peering down to the newly revealed options with a feigned contemplation. Her eyes fastened themselves to every object before her, but instead saw right through them, boring into the dark wood of the chest. It throbbed in time with her pulse, a lethargic darkness that tempted her to sleep in the very spot she stood. It was only with laboured thought that she managed to take a proper inventory. The hunting knife captivated her, but only for its elaborate metalwork, not its meagre potential in a Tomb fraught with the protection only a Dark Lord could afford. She would be best suited with the charms or amulets - but which of them? Her bag already contained a couple of her own favourites, and she had no further hints as to what the tomb may contain. She turned away suddenly as the axe of Adas began to melt into the daggers beside it, serpents of dulled silver slithering around their blades. Her hand had just raised above the lid of the thermal detonators, intending to break the seal, just as cloying sweetness spilled over into her friend's words. “And…
And... do you have tact enough to reveal what you were doing meeting my Master?"Her hand fell back to her side and she awarded Apollyon a glance, eyebrow piqued in a mixture of annoyance and shock. Viscretus studied her eyes, feeling her subtle discomfort bubble into rings of fire. Yet of course, the woman would know. Of course she would notice the haze of dark illness that plagued her. It was Apollyon, who preyed upon every detail relating to the Emperor’s life with a devoted fire that no force could extinguish. Ardently zealous and eternally protective. She previously had no qualms with this nature, for she previously had no need to dance with Apollyon’s fanaticisms and strange conventions. She laughed softly at the request of tact, when clearly she was lacking it herself. “I was acquiring a translation from the parchment I retrieved,” she replied simply, slowly, cautiously. Her aching mind flared at the caramel-skinned Lady with a warning irritation. It wouldn't satisfy her, but to satisfy her burning curiosity, glowing in those fiery eyes, would endanger her own ends. “Some secrets escape even you and I.” She clicked the crate open with purposeful hand and grasped two detonators, placing them in her bag. “I believe I will take the knife, and an amulet as well. Whichever you see fit, my friend.” TAG: Darth Dreadwar TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
|
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 12, 2017 21:46:28 GMT -5
IC: Darth ApollyonSith Hangar, Sith Temple, Korriban“I was acquiring a translation from the parchment I retrieved,” Viscretus replied simply, slowly, suspiciously cautiously, as she rose from her perch and opened the crate, electing to pocket two thermal detonators. “Some secrets escape even you and I.” What haughtiness!“I believe I will take the knife, and an amulet as well. Whichever you see fit, my friend.”Apollyon shrugged, burrowing her caramel hand into the chest of treasure, turning up the temperature-controlling amulet of homeostasis and leaving the climbing gauntlets in the lower drawer. It might help Excretus warm her heart of ice, she thought privately with some venom, her eyes blazing brighter. "Very well," Apollyon replied, faux warmth giving way to hot anger at Viscretus' unhelpful and distinctly edged response, but she passed the necklace to the Sith woman all the same. "And the knife, was it?"It was a fine knife. Serrated. Still stained with Tuk'ata blood. Excellent for throwing, and going by the design of its hilt and the balance of the blade, no doubt intended for such. Apollyon threw the knife at Viscretus' smug face. TAG: Volshe
|
|
Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
|
Post by Volshe on Mar 12, 2017 23:13:28 GMT -5
IC: Darth ViscretusSith Hangar, Korriban "And the knife, was it?"Viscretus was clasping the amulet around her neck as Apollyon’s words turned molten. She glanced up, curious of her friend’s sudden shift in tone, just as the dagger flew towards her face. For a moment her reflexes froze and her muscles remained paralyzed, as if stuck in the viscous tar pits of Atoan. Her hand at last flew up to block it, almost too late, the tip flipping and slicing across her palm with remarkably painful speed. She jumped back and hissed in shock, the amulet and knife both clattering to the floor between them. It did not burn at first, not until the first warm drops of blood flowed from the gash. She sighed roughly as it began to sear, then laughed as crimson speckled the floor before her. The peal hung in the thickening air, an ever darkening cloud growing above them, brewing a storm of fury that doused the hangar in malaise.
“So easily provoked, as always.” Viscretus scoffed, nursing the wound on her hand with feline posture. It took a moment for the room to stop its heavings, but adrenaline now chased away the most vicious of shadows. “I apologise for my sinful misconducts.” She paced to the side, head downturned with false regret, hiding a knowing smirk. The choice of words would make Apollyon writhe with irritation, regardless of the truth behind them. She leaned suddenly on the nearby chest of detonators and charges, bloodstained fingers wrapping around a shock grenade. She flung herself into a theatrical heap of feigned remorse, sending the grenade skittering towards her friend. “Please, forgive me!” TAG: Darth Dreadwar TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
|
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 13, 2017 1:40:24 GMT -5
IC: Lord SallacineCoruscant, Senate Chambers of the Federation Triumvirate Galactica On the sparkling jewel that was Coruscant, one gem gleamed more starkly than any other. The now gorgeously chromium-plated Senate Building of the Galactic Federation, where the bicameral legislature of the Upper Houses - Moffs, Governors, Imperial nobility and appointed peers, from notable businessmen to Jedi Councillors - and Lower Houses - elected Senators and representatives - convened in Congress, all under the auspices of the Triumvirate. No, not the triarchy of the Sith Empire, the Federation's uneasy concordant and arch enemy, but the three leaders who had unified the Galactic Alliance, New Galactic Empire and Jedi Order into a cohesive government sixteen years ago. The ceremonial Head of State, Empress Fel, restored to her rightful throne after the end of the Senate Aflame Crisis and the deposition of Empress Volshe four years ago, and the two consuls who served as twin Heads of Government, Jedi Grand Master and Chancellor K'Kruhk, and former Admiral and Chancellor Gar Stazi.Lord Sallacine, aristocrat of the former Empire, was late to today's Session of Congress. He was always late - fashionably so, most thought. The presscam droids always seemed to hover around him as he descended in style, robes of white and red flowing arrogantly around him, when he was late. But it was not only the holodroids who appreciated him, he mused, as he settled into the pod he shared - for convenience's sake - with a loose cabal of Imperials of the Upper House. "You've arrived late, as ever," Count Cadriaan smiled at him, his aide passing on the relevant information on a datapad. "We appear to have the swing vote between the five of us, as we tend to when the Chancellors' stooges are not here to rule to roost." Cadriaan was fond of him, Sallacine knew. Sallacine may have been a Lord by virtue of unhappy circumstance, but he knew he had the respect of his fellow 'Insiders,' and the attention of the Coruscanti press, at least. Why? Well, Sallacine posessed several instrinsic qualitities - he was no Palpatine, spinning webs of scheming deception that could not be deciphered until the trap was sprung, nor was he as smart as Professor Steinein. However, he did have a good grasp of politics, and a healthy amount of intelligence, shrewdness and determination born of pride. He was also very perceptive; whenever Sallacine was around, the Insiders seemed to have just that slightly higher chance of succeeding in whatever goals they had at the time. Sallacine was an advantage. Cadriaan, Lady Vandron, Moff Panaka and even Deputy Governor Eriodan knew this. They liked this. Time to get down to business. "Fashionably late, Count," Sallacine said, his lip quirking in an arrogant smile as he took his seat. I wish I could have thought of a better cliche response than that, Sallacine's internal monologue chided as always. "So my friends... what's on the agenda?" Sallacine asked, fairly pointlessly as he glanced over the information presented to him. "Ah, the three motions CoruscaNN was reporting on yesterday." Sallacine rolled his eyes. "The Hapes Consortium want to interdict traffic through the Transitory Mists, citing a rise in... Nebula Front attacks?" The Nebula Front was largely a joke as far as a terrorist organisation went, having been crippled long ago on Eriadu, but its remnants still lingered and reformed under vague anti-establishment, anti-corporation sentiment, and was oft exaggerated as a threat for anti-Rimmer political purposes. They were a convenient excuse. His words blurred into humming and mumbling, as he traced a finger across the lines of text. At last, he looked up. "Appropriate funding destined for the Dac Restoration Project into Operation Valkyrie," Sallacine referred to the very public but mostly theatrical effort to locate and capture former Empress Volshe, "and... of course, the big item. Negotiating Onderon's position, In or Out." The Accord had been signed three years ago, when the Sith had stormed forth from the Unknown Regions and used the simple but crudely effective method of bullying the Rim worlds into becoming tributary vassals with the threat of planetary destruction. The Wrath of Vader, the Sith's superlaser-sporting flagship, had its counter in the Super Star Destroyers of the Federation, but there had been no stopping the hunger of their eldritch Emperor. Verily, the legendary Darth Vader had spoken truly. Technological terror really was insignificant next to the power of the Force, a lesson the Federation had learned after the third world was laid to waste. Since then, however, there had been numerous disputes between the fledgling Sith regime and the Federation over the status of various neutral systems. Onderon, currently locked in a civil war along partisan lines of Sith backers and Federation sympathisers, was in one such system. Cadriaan peered off into whimsy, and considered. "Perhaps the salient question is what agenda shall we introduce to the floor, this day? It can't be too outrageous, as otherwise the House will oppose it, or the Triumvirs will undo it the moment they get back. But perhaps we could introduce a motion of our own, aside from voting on the three issues on our lap." "I have to confess little caring for these debates," Lady Vandron murmured, slipping a drink from an aide. Panaka was motionless, peering into the gallery with his back to the others, and Sallacine shrugged, viewing his work of the morning already one-half done by summarising the current motions up for discussion. Cadriaan smiled, again. "And so we have an impasse in the Senate, and an impasse here." The Tapani Lord gave the others a look of bemusement. "Neither one of them willing to dedicate themselves and much happier for someone else to make the decision." "Like you, one would suppose," Sallacine interjected, winking at Colu Eriodan. They often accepted Eriodan's counsel because it kept them out of the limelight individually and secured this little power base they had carved in the Upper House. They had very little concern with anything that did not affect directly their power base, and between them did not have the political shrewdness - or, in Vandron's case, the desire to care about her politics - to weave together shimmersilk webs. Colu pointing them gave the youngest and lowest-ranking among them a modicum of power, but they all knew that Colu's power base was reliant upon Governor Chandrila Tajis, who in turn owed the favours associated with vast campaign contributions to them. He took the credit and the fall for their political maneuverings. "Tell me, Colu, do you have insights to share?" TAG: Volshe
|
|
Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
|
Post by Padawan4687 on Mar 13, 2017 16:40:07 GMT -5
IC: Alisha Tano
Location: The Bridge of The TriumphantThere were few stars to be seen in the glass of this castle of a ship, but Alisha caught herself searching for even one glimmer of light. Just one little light was all she asked, one scrap of hope to keep her from wanting to break down in this room full of officers! She gently pinched between her eyes, trying to will her exhausted mind to keep going. Force, it had been a long month...and resignation was trying its very best to settle into her thoughts. How many people have died in the past two weeks…? And how many more will die before this entire ship is rendered inert? She shut her eyes and extended her senses to the hurrying crewmen around and below. Small electrical fires were sparking up and fizzling out among the many consoles, and the repairs that would have been easy were made practically impossible to even start! What concerned her just as much, if not more than the damages to the ship itself were the many reports among both crew and citizens on board of terrifying visions, fitful sleep plagued with nightmares and seemingly random breaks of violence. It reminded her of mental assaults through the Force, but she had yet to detect anything from these strange pyramid-ship attackers. Even if by some miracle they managed to escape and repair the worn-down vessel that saw them through the past four years, the worn-out minds and spirits of the men and women around her would still need rest for sure! Her Mentor stood right beside her with crossed arms, the picture of calm neutrality. The only thing that betrayed Shira’s stress was the grey color of her eyes… Alisha spent more than enough time around her to recognize the changes. "Lady A'dola, Lady Tano!" Admiral Tharsus’s voice shouted over the background racket of the bridge they stood on, "If the pattern from this week persists, we have about six minutes before we have to make another jump. The navigator is already drafting a course for the nearest blue star." Right...pulling as much power as possible in the few minutes they could stay in regular space before those pyramid...things, caught up to them. "Shields are at 18%,” the Admiral continued, “There's more electrical fires, this time. We lost our thorium impulse cannon, we failed to re-modulate the zero-point storage batteries and the ventral nanotech prism chamber is offline. The temporal particle isotope rerouter is critical, which is causing a chain reaction in the sonic particle array which could cause a 9.1 gigajoule explosion in the starboard crew quarters in approximately four hours if we can't repair it in time." So many problems! Though that isotope rerouter certainly had Alisha’s attention...if there was another explosion that would put potentially hundreds of more lives in jeopardy. "Any new orders?" Tharsus asked, for what could have been the thousandth time this month. Alisha rested a hand against her chin and lowered her eyes for a few seconds. She quickly realized her mentor was staring off into space, and lightly nudged her through the Force. Was she even listening…? Judging from the immediate orders now coming from her, that was a definite positive! She had to wonder what had Shira’s attention so completely though. “That Crews quarters will have to be evacuated as soon as possible,” Alisha added her piece once Shira was through, “I don’t want to put any more lives at risk than absolutely necessary if four hours isn’t enough to repair that rerouter.” Tharsus nodded to them both, but it was clear to her that the decision to place weapons on the backburner troubled him. “Admiral…” Alisha spoke up again with a subdued tone, “I know you’re concerned about the canon, but if we can’t ensure this ship’s stability there won’t be anything or anybody left to defend with it!”She stopped talking in time to feel a nudge of her own, coming from Shira. -Do you sense anything?-“Hm?” Alisha responded aloud before she could catch herself, and craned her neck to look where her Mentor telekinetically pointed. A star…? A yellow one, the same one she’d pointed out among her orders. -Sense anything about what, the star?- she sent back, -No? Not particularly…- She earnestly didn’t feel anything special about it, until she turned fully to give that glowing speck in the distance her full attention. Just one little light, she remembered wishing for just minutes ago, One scrap of hope.While she sorely doubted that hope was what her Mentor was referring to, and she sent as much across their shared Bond. Moments later she did feel something, a thousand alarm bells going off at once in her mind. We have to jump. Right now! TAG: Shira , Darth Dreadwar ,
|
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 13, 2017 20:14:25 GMT -5
"The Dark is generous and It is patient and It always wins." - Matthew Stover, Revenge of the Sith novel (2005)
Presenting the Final Boss of Sith Trials...
Darth Nemesis Character Summary:
Names/Titles: Darth Nemesis the Left-Handed God, Typhojem, Father of Shadows, Pomojema, Lord of Destruction, Bogan, the Eater of Worlds, the Dark
Age: at least 100,000Sex: Any (masculine identity)Species: Immortal God of the SithHomeworld: KorribanOccupation: Daritha of the Rakata and Sith'ari (Overlord) of the Dark PantheonFaction: True SithHeight: IncomprehensibleAppearance: DarknessWeapons: DeathEquipment: DestructionDescription of Abilities: OmnipotentPersonality: Evil incarnateBiography: First revered as the Sith'ari Typhojem, the Left-Handed God, and later known to the Rakata, and to history, as the Darth Nemesis, the Overlord of the Dark Pantheon predated the establishment of civilisation on Korriban. It is believed that Typhojem was of an altogether greater order of being than the likes of Bilious Torment, Sakkra-kla or even Abeloth. While theologians of Attahox had identified Typhojem as a fallen Celestial, presumed more ancient than even the Sith species, this interpretation is likely a result of a misunderstanding of the term Celestial. Instead, fragmentary transcriptions of the Taurannik Codex suggest Typhojem arose from the dark side of the Force itself as an incarnation of pure destruction and entropy. Perhaps much like Sel-Makor, born of the bloodshed between Voss and Gormak millennia later, this ruinous power coalesced into being out of the miasma of dark side energy unwittingly fashioned through countless centuries of barbaric warfare between disparate Sith tribes. As Ood Bnar gleaned from the 100,000-year-old Dark Holocron, the Sith simultaneously empowered and drew strength from this evil will, which divested much of His native power to nourish the Sith's recondite knowledge. The result was Korriban wilting away to a dark husk of reddish sands, honeycombed with temples dedicated to the first aggrandised mortals that ascended into the darkness they worshipped and founded the cacodaemoniacal collective of the Pantheon, and the tombs of those sorcerers who failed in their efforts to realise such divine might.
Spreading from their homeworld as a scourge, the Sith subjugated many worlds and races, reaching their first apex with an Empire that dominated the galaxy by 100,000 BBY - the first instance of the Infinite Empire. Relying on sleeper ships and their own brand of hypergate technology, devices born of the prodigious, seemingly omniscient intellect of Typhojem, the Infinite Empire grew slowly to eclipse all lesser spacefaring civilisations. At this time occurred the first instance of significant phenotypic change due to natural genetic drift, alchemical modification and interbreeding with other species, with increasingly lighter, crimson tones prevailing among Sith who remained on Korriban, and native tridactylism giving way to four or five digits in select populations (such as the Sek and Rath clans). Accompanying this evolution was the broadening in definition of 'Sith' to apply to those who adhered to the race's ideology and bizarrely selfless devotion to evil rather than the species alone. Among these were Zhell and Taung; the former had adopted Sith culture upon the Infinite Empire ensnaring Coruscant, and triumphed against their ancient Taung enemies only through the osmosis of dark teachings through the Battalions. Yet Typhojem had repurposed the Taung as vassals also, dominating two peoples through the manipulation of a single war's outcome, bringing the newfound Warriors of Shadow to the Sith conquest of Roon. Yet most powerful and steadfast of the Sith's servitor races were the Columi and Sharu, whose corruption magnified their pride and gave rise to the shared tradition of pyramid building.The first reign of the Infinite Empire was relatively brief. Its efforts to dominate non-Sith life were merely symptomatic of Typhojem's own efforts to satiate His eternal hunger, and no doubt the galaxy would have been rendered lifeless if it were not for the Celestials' intervention. The Celestials were originally a starfish-shaped species adhering to a philosophy of order and balance between the light and dark sides, and over the course of their development they passed through a stage of entechment into vast machine bodies before many of their number abandoned the physical realm, and their echinodermic forms, to ascend into the Force itself. By 100,000 BBY, the Celestials were vast, numerous and inscrutable deities contending with the Sith for sway over the lesser developed races of the galaxy. After three of their number raised the Centerpoint and Sinkhole Stations and the Maw to imprison lesser Sith deity Abeloth on Vitae, the Celestials turned their attention to Typhojem.Millennia of divine warfare, unparalleled in scale, ravaged the galaxy. The Celestial Empire rallied its vassals, the Kwa Holdings, the Gree Enclave, and the servile Killik race of builders, driving the Sith from Coruscant, where malign legacy lingered in the Ice Crypts and a Sith shrine, and seeing the north split between the Kwa and Gree. The True Sith rallied, dispatching forces from Columni to Duro and from Tund to Aargau, but their vassals were repulsed and the Celestials promptly began churning out superweapons and gathering worlds to them, essentially seizing control of humanity, and much of the galaxy, from the True Sith.
The Infinite Sith Empire was shattered into nearly two dozen islands, a briar-patch of anomalies stitching across the galaxy as Throneworlds on Rhand, Valtaullu, Gunninga, Muspilli, Prakith, Millinar, Korriban, Tascollan and Roon were ring-fenced by incredible gravitational disturbances such as the Nihil Retreat, Valtaullu Rift, Gunninga Gap, Transitory Mists and Stygian Caldera. The Celestials directed a single minded effort to locking many of the Infinite Sith's greatest Shadow Lords in a Monolith and then surrounding said monolith in an impossible hyperspace distortion known as the Chiloon Rift.The Celestial War dwindled, Typhojem largely ceding control of the galaxy to the Celestials. The True Sith withdrew far into the recesses of the galaxy, primitivism swallowing their vassals to keep their kin safe; the Columi sequestered themselves on their homeworld, and the Sharu forcibly emptied their intellects. The Dark Pantheon itself, bereft of worship and the untold billions of sapients they fed upon for sustenance, withdrew from influencing the physical realm, with the destruction of Muurshantre by an Infinity Wave annihilating the Taurannik Codex that was necessary for the immortal gods' Kissai priests, the Knell sect (namesake of the New Sith world Darkknell) of nearby Muspilli, from awakening and summoning them.
The Sith continued to intermittently wage war against the Celestials over the following tens of millennia, but lacking a Sith Order to draw upon, new Sith ascending to the Dark Pantheon were rare, and with their armies and servitor races vanquished, the only war possible was a shadowy conflict fought through the subtle ebb and flow of the Force. Opportunity presented itself when the Kwa, meddling with the forbidden secrets of the Celestial-derived technology of the Infinite Gates, tore open a wound in the Force and spacetime that allowed for Abeloth to break free from imprisonment in the Maw. Abeloth fanned the flames of conflict across the galaxy, inciting war between the Gree and Kwa, corrupting the Gree to Typhojem worship, their sacrificing of captured Kwa on Vitae nourishing the dormant Sith deity and allowing His influence to seep into the galaxy once more. While successive escapes by Abeloth yielded little progress, perhaps due to Abeloth's goals increasingly drifting from the Dark Pantheon's as she became embedded in the Celestials' cosmic cycle, the seeds were already planted for the division and subsequent toppling of the Celestial dominion.
The Celestials launched several monolith spaceships, dubbed the Tho Yor, across the galaxy, with a view to summoning them when needed to assemble a counterweight to the Sith in the eventual likelihood that they bring down the Celestial domain permanently. Even with this foreknowledge, this did not stop the Kwa, driven to desperation due to Sith-orchestrated Gree advances, from committing the mistake Typhojem required to end Celestial reign: elevating the Rakata.The Rakata were a bipedal species of Force users with an innate aggressiveness harnessed by the True Sith. Made apart of the Celestial design, the Rakata were corrupted by the True Sith, worshipping the awakened Typhojem as their first Daritha - immortal god-emperor - or Darth: Nemesis. And although the Rakata did not manage to seize the Infinity Gates as the Sith devised, they did create Force based hyperdrives (due to imparted Sith or stolen Celestial knowledge is unclear), and start war against the Celestials' increasingly divided vassals. With the Rakata as the Builders, the Sith's answer to the Celestials' Killiks, the Infinite Empire was reforged, greater than even its first incarnation, reclaiming control over humanity's destiny with the subjugation of Core Worlds such as Coruscant, and most significantly, the heart of Celestial power, Corellia. The Celestial War begun anew, lasting this time a staggering five thousand years.
Darth Nemesis, after bringing his apocalyptic powers of Hunger to bear upon the original Drall and Selonian homeworlds, purging them of life, turned His maleficent will to Arbra, and bade the native Arbrans give form to a zygote deity that might replenish the ranks of His diminished Pantheon, creating a being known only as The Darker. Bringing the wrath of the Celestials upon them for their blasphemy, the Arbrans were forced to follow the example of the Sharu, devolving into the Hoojibs to escape notice. Similarly, the anger of the Celestials was visited upon the Kwa, for their folly that had allowed Abeloth and Nemesis to return, and for their elevation of the Rakata that had then allowed the newly revived Sith gods to assume lordship over the galaxy once more.By 30,000 BBY, the Infinite Empire numbered over five hundred worlds, the free peoples of the galaxy enslaved, only the Celestials, bereft of servitor races bar the Killiks, remaining to match the ravenous Nemesis' plans for universal destruction, resistance of lesser races having fallen before the might of the Rakatan Star Forges. But ultimate victory eluded the Sith. While the Infinite Empire would dominate the galaxy for a further two thousand years, the maelstrom of divine conflict that was the Celestial War would end in the ruin of both sides. The Celestials successfully rallied to separate Nemesis' Shadow Hand, Darth Venomis, from the Killik Nests they had appropriated, emptying Alderaan and Alsakan of Killiks and driving Venomis to Sarafur (who fled thence to Mugg Fallow), the Killiks into the Unknown Regions, knowledge of the Force torn from the hivemind and the Fizz created to the purpose of preventing the Killiks from ever again being ensared by a dark sider.In a final millennium of frenzied destruction, the Celestials and their dark counterparts destroyed one another, with only The Ones of Mortis and the Kathol remaining of the former. Yet the Ones were the mightiest of the Celestials, and before isolating themselves as anchorites, they brought the war to its end by dealing the finishing blow to Darth Nemesis, vanquishing the seeming of His spirit and consigning Him to an imprisonment even more total than that Beyond Shadows unto which they delivered Abeloth, a realm beyond space and time that they had created to be His eternal cage: Chaos.Darth Nemesis was defeated.As to His servants, these last of the Celestials bisected the galaxy, hoping to stem the flow of Rakata from Lehon and the infectious intentions of Darth Venomis. They furthermore riddled the Unknown Regions with hyperspatial anomalies, twisting spacetime upon itself to create Otherspace, where they imprisoned such threats as Lotek'k, Waru and the Rozzum. Escaping the calamitous defeat of Nemesis, countless Sith spirits buried themselves in the depths of fortress worlds such as Onderon, Bardotta and Krayiss II, while Venomis wove the Knell priests, their Kanzer taskmasters and the Taung Warriors of Shadow, who had been amassing near Roon as part of a pincer attack before the Celestials' pyrrhic victory, into the Pantheon's mortal representatives, coming to be known as the Sorcerers of Rhand. Elsewhere, lesser spirits persisted as apparitions in the darkness of space, passing into legend as the Space Wraiths and Starweird.Without the guiding will of their Sith'ari, Rakata and Sith turned on one another, no doubt helped along by the corrupting influence of the Star Forges. The Infinite Empire splintered, and collapsed. While their remnants fled into the Unknown Regions, the Sith left on the ancestral homeworld of Korriban devolved into primitivism.And for tens of thousands of years, the galaxy was at peace. Celestial and True Sith alike were gone from the galactic stage, and a Galactic Republic would rise from Coruscant, protected by a new order of Force-sensitives who adhered to the Celestials' philosophy of balance; they called themselves the Jedi.History became legend. Legend became myth. And Darth Nemesis was forgotten.Or at least, by all but one. Although much of his power was sealed in Chaos with his Master, Venomis' influence remained like a black stain on the ancient history of the galaxy. Nemesis' Cage was sealed with many Seals, but Venomis knew that with time and patience, he could find them, figure out their nature, and break them. And so, for tens of thousands of years, he did. In 14,000 BBY, the First Seal was broken: the Kathol Launchgate was destroyed by Venomis and Jedi he had infected, opening up the vast Kathol Rift and flipping the Charr Ontee into Otherspace. Evil, eldritch energy began to percolate into the galaxy once more, and True Sith activity began to gently incline, with a library-temple being founded on Krayiss II and Dromund Kaas being colonised. In dreams and nightmares and whispers, the True Sith perceived the will of their Overlord once more. In 7,000 BBY, Ku'ar Danar was corrupted into Darth Dreadwar, and instigated the Schism that would ultimately result in the formation of another Sith Empire out of a merger between Dark Jedi and the Sith primitives left on Korriban. More Seals were broken, with the destruction of Ambria, Nilrebmah, Nathema, Malachor V, Ziost, and the Cosmic Turbine.And then, in 41 BBY, Darth Plagueis and Darth Sidious, in an unprecedented feat of mastery, fought for control of the Force itself in an etheric battle that resulted in them tipping the balance of the Force itself to darkness. This empyrean act would have many ramifications unforeseen by the two Lords of the Banite line, including the alleged immaculate conception of Anakin Skywalker, the tremendous weakening of the Jedi's connection to the Force, and the release of a wave of dark side energy that grievously wounded the spirit of the Celestial Father on Mortis, beginning a process of aging that would culminate in his death. And as the Father dwindled, the Father of Shadows' ability to influence the physical realm increased.Darth Sidious, now Galactic Emperor Palpatine, heard whispers of a malice growing in the Unknown Regions and dispatched Grand Admiral Thrawn to investigate. Yet the creation of the Empire of the Hand could only act as a buffer against the mortal True Sith, and little could defend against the resurrection of the Shadow Council, the undead Sith Lords who served Nemesis, with the rising of Adas on Nicht Ka and Karness Muur on an unknown desert moon in 19 BBY, Darth Rivan on Almas in 17 BBY, XoXaan and Dathka Graush on Korriban in 1 BBY, Valik Kodank on the asteroids of Tascollan in 3 ABY, Darth Dreadwar on Nilrebmah in 5 ABY, Exar Kun on Yavin IV in 11 ABY, Marka Ragnos on Korriban in 14 ABY and lastly Darth Andeddu on Prakith in 137 ABY.The True Sith's plans escalated following the Battle of Endor, seeking to seize the opportunity provided by the weakened and fractured galaxy. Their armies freed from carbonite by the Nightsister Silri and bolstered by the Shadow stormtroopers of Cronal and Super Star Destroyers stolen from Byss, a substantial military was rapidly forming under the command of Darth Dreadwar. The Infinite Sith Empire was taking shape again as a cohesive regime deep in the Unknown Regions, Dreadwar and Venomis gathering all evil and uniting the bulk of the Rhandite remnant with the Rakatan Archipelago through the efforts of Raspir, the court magician of Adas who had been recently freed by the Rakatan Elder Ruthic on Tulpaa. It would take over a century for the True Sith to carve out a vast Empire sprawling through the Unknown Regions and the satellite galaxies, and by 154 ABY, Dreadwar having departed the Unknown Regions to unify the 'false Sith' under a separate Empire which some interpreted to be a move to subjugate rival Sith while others suspected a plot to betray Nemesis and create a buffer against the True Sith much as Revan had millennia prior, the pieces had begun moving in earnest to bring about the Star War to end all Star Wars. It was time to storm forth and invade the galaxy once more. It was time to break the last of the Seals.It was time to release Typhojem.
The Eye of Typhojem
The Shadow of Typhojem |
|
Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
Likes: 114
|
Post by Shira on Mar 13, 2017 22:31:35 GMT -5
COMBO POST WITH DARTH DREADWAR
IC: Kevala and Scionica
Hyperspace
“I accept.”
Kevala’s faux-green eyes narrowed suspiciously. Taab was the type to do anything to save his own skin, yes, but he also had an disproportionate amount of pride and ego. A subconscious warning teased at the edge of her mind.
The teasing heightened, suddenly, to a scream. “Move!”, she shouted, and Scionica followed her lead. Jumping backwards over the tables blocking the route behind them, she cursed the way they had allowed themselves to become barricaded in a corner. Kevala noted in the strange silence before the chaos that the voice modulator built into her cowl created a strange distortion to her voice that made her sound vaguely male. Then a deafening blast exploded through the twins’ ears and a blinding, white light stole their vision.
Scionica lay dazed for an immeasurable amount of time before her senses began to return. Rolling to her side, a sharp gasp and low moan escaped her lips as pain flared in her side and legs. She dulled the pain impatiently with her mind, fingers searching for her sister as her eyes tried to blink away the temporary blindness.
Giving up physically searching, she cast out her awareness, mind linking instantly with Kevala’s and assessing the damage in an instant. Her heart rate was too high and the blast had heavily disoriented her. There were various contusions and burns, but she could feel Kevala working on calming her own ailments and beginning to sit up.
“You should have let me kill him as soon as we had the data cube,” Scionica said hoarsely.
Kevala ignored her pointedly, eyes attempting to make distinctions in the confusion of hazy shapes and colours. “We need to get out of here. We’ve risked too much already with this job.”
As time whetted the clouded vision of the twins into returned clarity, the grimness of the scene sharpened into stark reality.
The blast had blown open a crater in the centre of the cantina, upending tables and the pitchers of beverages thereon, creating a very slippery slope indeed.
The upbeat jizz music pervading the establishment had given way to the dull whine of ringing ears, over which chorused the screams of patrons rushing for the exit. Blaster bolts may have been commonplace in such a hive of scum and revelry, but when the kriff-bombs of foul-mouthed mercenaries gave way to real bombs, that's when the denizens of Slippery Slopes knew to bounce.
Speaking of bouncing... a small handheld comm rolled and ricocheted off the still-collapsing mound of table legs and chairs, coming to a standstill near Kevala's feet.
It was a Mandalorian design, but it did not belong to the late Mandalore. No, it had fallen from Chek Mosth's person in the explosion, and Chek had fled the scene, back to the ship whence she had sent a message to Volshe using the very same comm, too swiftly to realise she had left it behind.
It was blinking softly. An unread message. "A reward most great for his demise. I await news. Jate’kara." - Queen V. The comm, as was typical of Mandalorian technology used by a people so prone to trades of bounty hunting and assassination, triangulated the source of the transmission automatically.
Korriban.
Kevala’s eyes widened with shock. She swiftly pocketed the comm and grabbed her sister, roughly pulling her upright as she bit back a groan; muscles and wounds protested at the rough and harried movements after such recent, rough treatment and the pace of her heart surged to new heights, stealing her newly-found breath. She took a moment, soothing the pain and protest with her mind, sending threads of cool blue to sooth angry reds and oranges flaring throughout her body and easing the pounding of her heart. The pains and aches eased some and the twins used each others’ balance to steady each other as they pushed through the mob of panic and confusion.
The early hours of the morning left only the drunks, homeless and drug-riddled addicts huddling in the street corners, even in a criminal underworld like Nar Shaddaa. The twins reached their ship without any further event and collapsed inside the airlock after retracting the boarding ramp and locking the ship. The environment was wordless for several long minutes, silence broken only by long, deep breaths and the occasional grunt of pain. Scionica sat up after a long moment and shoved her cowl off, removing the lenses from her eyes and gritting her teeth against the flaring pain of a long burn extending from her right, outer calf to her thigh.
“Come on, Kevala. We need to get you cleaned up.” She extended a hand to her sister and the two winced and gritted their teeth down the length of the ship to their private med-bay, a room that had once held glamorous decorum for wealthy vacationers of Naboo. Scionica held two fingers to Kevala’s carotid artery in an attempt to read her heart rate, but Kevala smacked her hand away in irritation.
“I’m fine, Sci. I can deal with a little bit of tachycardia, it’s not going to kill me. I don’t need you to mother me.”
Scionica glared at her sister but held up her hands and turned away, pulling her tunic off over her head and removing her thigh-strapped bag. Kevala turned her head at the sound of a stifled cry and found Scionica bent over the counter with her trousers half off, trembling faintly.
“Sci...?” She stood up, closing her eyes and swaying a moment as temporary dizziness overtook her senses before walking to her sister.
“I’m fine,” came the strangled reply. “Karking hutt-spawn. That kriffing bomb was a low blow.”
Kevala wrapped one of her twin’s arms around her shoulders and laid her down on the bed, inspecting the damage with a careful eye. “The fabric of your trouser leg seems to have melted to your burned flesh,” she murmered idly. “Did you not notice until you tried to take them off?”
“Thank you for that observation, sister.” The initial mental control Scionica had retained over her condition had dissipated and pain sharpened her voice to a blades’ edge. Kevala merely shot her a glare and went back to the counter for supplies.
“I’m going to have to cut the rest of the fabric away, and then I’m going to have to remove the melted bits before I can treat the burn. It’s only a second-degree, you got lucky. It’ll heal easily enough.”
“Hook yourself up before you do that. You might as well treat yourself while you’re treating me.”
“Before I start,” Kevala sat down on the bed next to the other woman and withdrew the comm from her pack. “I found this before we left. That other Mando that was there, the female - it seems she was communicating with our target. She left this behind; do you think you could return the message? You’re better at falsifying messages than I am.”
Ebony eyes widened in disbelief at the message on the screen. “By the gods.” Her voice was hushed at their good fortune, slim fingers skimming and tapping away at previous messages as she absorbed the nuances and speech patterns of the comm’s previous owner.
As Scionica’s eyes narrowed in concentration, Kevala pulled out a couple bags of fluids and a med-line, connecting the equipment before removing the synth-flesh covering her chest and connecting the line to the device embedded beneath the skin. She sighed quietly in relief as the cool liquid began to course through her veins and her body’s functions slowly began to calm.
The flame-haired twin hardly noticed when Kevala began cutting away at her trousers, so intent was she on her work. Narrowed, sable eyes moved through messages as she absorbed, processed, learned, applied. A simple message began to form on the comm as she began to carefully type out a message to their target, informing them of the Mandalorian’s glorious demise. The message was read over several times and compared to previous messages to the late Empress. This had to be perfect, there was no room for a mistake. After a few more minutes of perusal and comparison, Scionica nodded, satisfied with her message, and sent it off as Kevala drew an opaque liquid into a syringe. Scionica eyed it with distaste and Kevala raised an eyebrow.
“Would you rather stay awake for this? I assure you, this won’t be a pleasant experience.”
Rather than reply, Scionica merely glared at the opposite wall, jutting her arm out to her sister. Kevala smiled faintly and tied off the reluctantly proffered appendage, carefully sliding the needle into one of the brilliantly visible veins in the forearm, and pressing down on the plunger.
As the sedative H4b took hold, Scionica slipped into unconciousness and Kevala set to work. It took her less than an hour to remove all of the small bits of melted material from her sister’s wound and apply bacta-soaked gauze, wrapping the bandage securely. She quickly tended to the other bruises, abrasions and burns, applying bacta where needed. She injected an antibiotic through a hypo placed on Scionica’s neck, then tended to herself, methodically cleaning and ministering to her own wounds. Her sister had taken the brunt of the blast and tending to herself took considerably less time. She passed a hand over her eyes wearily and hooked herself up to a fresh bag of fluids once her first ran out.
Walking was painful, but she slipped the comm from Scionica’s hands and moved to the pilot’s station, keying the ship to life and taking off, wincing quietly. Their ship ran smoothly, but even the faintest jarring set her damaged nerves on fire. As they broke through the atmosphere and into the silence of space, Kevala keyed in the co-ordinates of the planet Korriban and brought them into hyperspace. The blue and white of melding stars reflected in her silvery eyes as she watched quietly. The colours of the stars racing past had always brought her a measure of peace. Was it merely the sight? The gratification of racing to or from place to place? She couldn’t be sure, but she sat in the viewport awhile and watched as the ship sailed past countless celestial bodies. Finally, as a sigh of reluctance escaped pale lips, Kevala descended back to the med-bay. Adding a mixture of electrolytics to her fluids, she made sure the line in her chest was secure, then laid down on the bed next to Scionica and fell swiftly to sleep.
****************************************
Days blended together, as the journey to Korriban passed. The twins spent most of their time resting, tending to their wounds as their minds encouraged damaged tissue to heal. Lesser burns began to fade to tender, pink-tinged skin. Bruises began to fade and the severity of Scionica’s burn began to lessen. They stopped once at a local outpost to top up on their ship’s fuel, re-stock food and medical supplies and their supply of poisons and toxins.
Their journey was smooth and unhindered, yet the closer the twins came to their destination, the more on-edge the twins became. Their very nerves seemed to hum with unease and they took to pacing the ship restlessly, as if it would calm the anxiety growing in the back of their minds. They couldn’t put a name to this feeling, only that it both screamed at them and enticed them. Even as it warned them to turn back, it whispered to them, urging them onwards to whatever was coming. Kevala couldn’t pinpoint which feeling made her more uneasy, and so she slept. It was the only thing that veiled the disquiet in her mind.
****************************************
But her slumber was anything but restful. The veil of dreams parted, tearing the fabric of reality and leaving Kevala's mind raw and exposed to the scraping of dead stone. She found herself tumbling wetly, landing head-first on a rocky outcropping, purifying it with the blood weeping freely from her gashed cranium.
The setting sun was barely visible through the dust, but what little light remained threw into stark contrast the sillhouettes of four colossi, hundreds of feet tall, yet with bowing heads belying the statues' grandeur and demand for attentive reverence. She was on the slopes of a valley on an arid planet, an aura of warning numbing her to the bone. She was not welcome here.
Not even in her dreams. No, no, the whispers came. Trespasser. Traitor. Weakling. No, no, go back, the way is shut...
Her mind spilled upon the ground, her blood soaking into the cool sands. Without any ability to resist, she was falling, falling through sand and bone and sandstone, until after what seemed like days her consciousness was dripping, dripping through cracks in the rock, seeping into subterranean catacombs of perfect blackness.
The laughter of a woman rang in her ears, as the whispers grew fervent. A distant moan, a cry of ancient death echoing through the stale air.
The way is shut. The way is shut.
The whispers had coalesced into a single hiss, a serpentine rasp from right over her shoulder-
She spun, but the confines of the dream made the stale air seem like a stagnant swamp, and her turn was made laborious and painfully slow - she couldn't turn in time -
Footsteps. Footsteps in the dark.
The way is shut.
With a racing heart she completed her turn, but it was too late. The Shadow was there. Rotten teeth sunk into her neck.
She died-
She awakened.
****************************************
She screamed.
Fingers closed convulsively around the side of her neck as her body flailed in compensatory panic. Her heart raced painfully, sprinting against the fingers at her throat, all the way down her chest into her stomach. Her skin was chilled, dripping with a cold sweat as she trembled, wrapping long arms around knees pulled tightly to her chest, raven hair spilling into pale eyes that darted neurotically across the room, searching for the dark presence that couldn’t possibly be there.
It took several minutes for Kevala to stop shaking enough to grasp at her pack, sorting through vials until she selected the one she searched for, inserting it into the hypo and plunging it into the side of her neck. The effect was instantaneous; her heart slowed, her shivering ceased. The river of adrenaline slowed to a stream and she felt her body begin to calm. Yet, the looming feeling of dread left by her dream hung over her like a cloud. No matter what she tried, the darkness refused to dissipate.
Shoving her pack aside, she dressed herself and hurried to to the pilot’s station above, trying to calm her disheveled appearance. It would serve no purpose to worry her sister, who was staring out of the glass viewport.
“I’d get yourself some extra treatment before we land, sister.” Scionica’s voice was subdued, tight with stress and the weight of unexplained fear.
As Kevala looked out and saw a looming planet, a globe of haunting blood-red and insidious shadows, her face tightened in fear.
Korriban.
TAG: Volshe (for the faked message), Darth Dreadwar , chunkeymodest (if you want to notice your com-link is missing) |
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 14, 2017 0:44:29 GMT -5
THE PYRAMIDS ATTACK
IC: Admiral TharsusBridge of the Triumphant, Unknown RegionsShira A'dola turned abruptly to the Admiral, and gave her latest orders. “Head directly for the nearest blue star and begin refuelling immediately.” How predictable. No new orders, then... He was about ready to spin on the heel of his crisp boot, but Shira had not finished. ”As soon as we have the resources we need, I want you to head to that star.” She pointed to a yellow star in the viewport, easily distinguishable from the others if only because of its rare fire in the stark coldness of the Unknown Regions' clusters of dying crimson. Tharsus quirked a brow. Perhaps it was the mysterious 'Force' that supposedly if unpredictably guided the Hand of his leader, but this was certainly a deviation from the established pattern of the past exhausting month, and an unwise one, he thought. They had to milk every minute possible out of a blue star; only then would they be guaranteed to replenish their reserves enough to afford more than one jump after. If they only stuck around the blue star long enough to recharge their reactor for one jump, it seemed to Tharsus exceptionally risky; they would have to make up the difference at the yellow star, and if the pyramids followed them as they had every jump thus far, they would be left to face their shield-chewing weaponry for too long. This order could be the death of them. But then again, Tharsus was no fool. To question a superior's orders, no matter how sleep-deprived said superior may have been, was against his grain, and furthermore, he believed he caught the gamble Shira was willing to make... If we jump before the pyramids even show up, even if it risks us not being able to make a second jump, perhaps the pyramids won't be able to track us...?“In the meantime,“ Shira continued, “focus efforts on patching up the temporal particle isotope rerouter and the putting out the electrical fires. Don’t worry about the impulse cannon until we can ensure the Triumphant will last. We have enough weaponry that one impulse canon won’t make a difference.” Shira gave him a pointed look, then, no doubt sensing the whirling doubt with her Jedi sorcery. He answered her glance with only a nod. Something had to give. Keeping to the sound strategy they had adhered to for the past weeks would inevitably get them killed anyway, and if he was to die, he would do so in loyal service of the now almost-legendary Empress - May She ever watch over us - and her Hand. “That Crews quarters will have to be evacuated as soon as possible,” the Sword the Hand bore added her instructions. “I don’t want to put any more lives at risk than absolutely necessary if four hours isn’t enough to repair that rerouter.” He nodded again. “Admiral…” Alisha spoke up again with a subdued tone, “I know you’re concerned about the canon, but if we can’t ensure this ship’s stability there won’t be anything or anybody left to defend with it!” Kriff that Jedi sorcery! The polite fiction of military doctrine and loyalty was dependent on the outward actions of nodding, saluting, and not objecting. It all broke down when they could sense your thoughts were entirely decoupled from your obedient actions! “Hm?” Alisha made some random noise, and Tharsus waited for her continue whatever she was about to say to him, but apparently no elaboration was forthcoming... They often do act odd. Is it just a Jedi thing?... but Tharsus was waiting until duly dismissed and- Shira turned back sharply, her controlled voice holding an edge. “Admiral, we need to jump immediately.” Knowing when the enemy was about to appear was definitely a Jedi thing. He would not disparage their sorcery overly even in his mind, for that particular Jedi thing had saved his men more times than he could count. "Yes, My Hand, My Sword!" Admiral Tharsus saluted briskly, and turned, shouting the Imperial Knights' orders at the navigator, and to the rest of the crew pit as the navigator traded streams of indecipherable numbers with a Bith savant across the bridge. And then the trumpeting alarm of Contact on Com-Scan blared forth, drowning out the other emergency claxons, and Tharus spun towards the viewport, eyes wide. And there they were. Not so much as the slightest distortion of ships exiting hyperspace. They were just there, in an instant, in their neat little rows and columns of hundreds, suspended like Sith holocrons in the empty void of space. Close. Too close.  "Fire the emergency booster engines!" Tharsus called, hoping to add thrust to the Triumphant's sublights, as the mammoth Super Star Destroyer began to ponderously turn towards the blue star that was their destination.
The pyramid ships glowed eerily with the baleful power of their alien weaponry, and then oscillating waves resembling the discharge of oversized Geonosian sonic blasters issued forth. Tharsus held his hand on the nearest console, bracing himself.
This is not going to be pretty!
The pulse of strange energy smashed into the bow of the Triumphant like the fist of god. Tharsus found himself on his back, his attempts at preserving his balance utterly ineffective as the bridge rocked violently. Cries and moans were already sounding in his ringing ears as he scrambled to his feet, and idly he noticed the navigator was sprawled across the console, unconscious, bleeding from a gash in his forehead. Little matter. Theirs was a blind jump anyway.
Fighting stars, he focused his vision on the viewport again, only for his retinas to shine in green reflection once again. The closest pyramid had opened fire again almost immediately, and if the shouts of quadrant 4-B7 going dead were any indication, considerable damage had already been visited upon the Triumphant with only the first blast.
This time, Tharsus managed to remain standing, but that only afforded him the spectacular view of the Triumphant's axial superlaser and thorium impulse cannion being sheared from the very tip of the hull's prong, accompanied by an explosion - vast but brief, as the oxygen escaped into vacuum - that likely represented the deaths of several hundred crewmen in a fiery second.
"Ready for lightspeed!" Tharsus heard over the screams, claxons and chaos of the bridge, and he didn't even know who he was addressing when he shouted in reply--"LIGHTSPEED!"--not bothering for a countdown to mark for obvious reasons and--
And the closest pyramid JUMPED, it was suddenly bigger in the viewport, it had teleported instantly to the left of the Triumphant's superstructure, and so close to them Tharsus could suddenly see the swarm of strange egg-shaped vessels buzzing around the vast ship's base and--
The stars stretched to lines, and the interstellar blackness blazed into rapturous swirling light of cerulean.
They had made it into hyperspace. Barely. TAG: Shira , Padawan4687
Twenty minutes prior...
THE PYRAMID FLEET IC: Darth VenomisBridge of the Mjfk-akk-snerok-Ra , Unknown RegionsSpinning listlessly in space between the boundary of the Rakatan Archipelago and the territory claimed by the pirates of the Vagaari, was a fogged sphere of dead grey. It drifted in a black abyss spattered with clusters of glaring white stars, its perfectly round edge reflecting the stark light of its star. The planet was called Makatak and there was absolutely nothing special about it... save for two facts. Darth Vassago, eminent former Dark Lord of the New Sith Order, had once chosen this world for the new home of his self-exile. And he had been chased from the planet by the entity that now used it as a staging base. Hundreds of kilometers above a scoured surface from which had once sprouted a forest of oak and pine and earthen huts that housed a thousand villagers, the fleet hung in ominous suspension. Their tight formation was of pristine columns and rows, forming a latticed grid of pyramid ships that seemed almost stacked on top of one another. On the dark decks of the largest pyramid, moribund corpses, frothing at their mouths with grey fluid as if perpetually vomiting spoiled milk, crawled to their tasks, making their way to egg-shaped dropships through a mist of pestilent viral essence which thickened the poorly recycled air with infectious blackness. Near the central-most particle vortex cannon that jutted out like a black spear from the capstone of the pyramid ship was the expansive bridge of the Mjfk-akk-snerok-Ra.  Officers with vacant eyes and tortured, pale faces hurried to their duties, studiously avoiding the figure that brooded as an opaque shadow against the light of Makatak's star. But they could not avoid His gaze. The Dark One turned, and although thirty meters away speaking to the tormented crew pit, the Massassi captain Jidai'a'fuliay saw the figure bulge grotesquely into nearness, as if spacetime itself warped to place him but two feet away from the Elder God's feet. His mind blurred, and as if losing memory of the past few seconds, he found himself abruptly on his hands and knees, kissing the scabrous white skin of his Lord's feet. He could taste the sweetness of the rot, and he felt he could kiss those wet, disintegrating feet for eternity, oh to Love his Lord so, but he could not resist wrenching his gaze from the skin sloughing off exposed toe bones to look up in adoration at the pregnant corpulence of the Most Beautiful Thing In The Universe. Yes, yes, those beautiful Eyes! Those nothing-voids! Ea ea! A face like a squashed orange, oozing congealed blood! The paste of brain matter, squeezing out of an empty socket to foul the Dark One's pus-seeping skin! Praise! Robes of black and gold and crimson, stretching impossibly around a body weeping tar! Praise his Holy Name! Rot for the Rot God! "PH'NGLUI MGLW'NAFH KU'AR NILREBMAH WGAH'NAGL FHTAGN!" Aah, that orgasmic buzzing voice! The bubbling of black fluid, vomiting forth from the gaping looseness of the Dark One's jaw! Jidai'a'fuliay could not understand the ancient tongue his beautiful God spoke, of course. No one could. But that did not mean the will of his Lord was lost on him. No, the Love of His Life, Praise be His Holy Name, merely seared his commands into the boiling moistness of the Captain's neurons themselves. "Your will be done, Lord Venomis!" The Captain wept in grateful rapture, nodding with fervor. He brought a fist up to his chest, beating it against his heart in a staccato rhythm, as the Dark One's jaw hung unnaturally open again and roared out the incomprehensible static of more divine speech. "IA HASTUR CF'AYAK'VULGTMM, VUGTLAGLN A'DOLA MURDAK! ALISHA SERAK ABELOTH! SOG-YOTHOTH MNGGAL-MNGGAL!"The Captain had not ceased nodding, closing his eyes now and humming to himself in delight. "At once, my Lo--" And then he was back observing at the crew pit, no, he had never left the crew pit, except he wasn't standing he was kneeling now, rocking back and forth- Sobbing-And suddenly he was speaking, entirely composed save for the lone tear trailing down his cheek, informing the shambling crew in the calm, measured tones of a seasoned officer that the Imperial fleet was about to drop out of hyperspace in the Geralian system, and it was imperative that the dropships be ready for launch by then. After a minute of quick back-and-forth with the Commodore, a strange clanking noise drew the Captain's attention to his left. "Ah, Lord Hypnos, your timing is fortuitous," the Captain addressed what seemed like nothing more than a droid. He pointed behind him in the direction of the Dark One, not daring to even glance. If I look, I will lose myself again. "His Divine Majesty, the Lord Darth Venomis, Praise be His Name, God of Rot and Ash and Shadow and Darkness," he recited with a slight quiver the drone of tedious habit did not entirely quell, "demanded to speak to you." TAG: Darth Catalyst |
|
Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
|
Post by Darth Catalyst on Mar 14, 2017 0:45:25 GMT -5
COMBO POST WITH ROBYN SHAIREIC: Lord Catalyst
Sith Temple Catacombs: Korriban “Okay, HOLD ON!” Robyn shouted, “Time out! First off, who the hell are you, and where did you just so happen to come from?! Second, I just now got thrown out of class and you’re seriously just dumping this thing into my lap without any idea if I’m actually qualified in ancient Sith? That seems just as likely to get me killed! And THIRD of all, this boy, is not my boyfriend!”Catalyst chuckled at Robyn's outburst of emotion. He seemed to have struck a nerve. Oh this will be fun. "He's not?" The remark came with barely a change in tone. "Good. That should make feeding him to the hounds easier.” No, it doesn’t… Robyn mentally disagreed, and her shoulders practically deflated. He is still-...was, my classmate.“As for who I am and why I'm here," the smirk was gone, replaced by a stern glare in response to the initiate's ignorance, "I am Darth Catalyst, High Inquisitor to His Dreadfulness.” “High-?!” Robyn’s voice caught in her throat, and she took a step back. She should have guessed this stranger had some high ranking, that’s always the case when wandering around the Temple. Looking for victims to dump in some other death-trap, no doubt! “Please, forgive me…Lord Catalyst,” she fumbled, sinking into a low bow. “I had no idea.”Catalyst rolled his eyes and continued in a serious tone. “I am here for an initiate to take to the Valley. And I heard enough of what master Marcus said. It seems The Force brought us together for a reason." Another smirk broke across his face. "Or you are just extremely unlucky.” Unlucky, definitely unlucky, Robyn thought wryly. “Your 'qualifications' are of little concern to me," Catalyst droned on. "I just provided you with an opportunity to make yourself even more useful." She looked up again, and allowed her arms to cross. “And if it turns out I don’t know enough ancient Sith to please you, or can’t get my hands on a strong enough breathing apparatus within the half-hour time span you gave me, I guess that spells out my use, huh?”Catalyst crossed his arms as well. "Then I suppose it is in your best interest to use the next thirty minutes wisely. The longer you can survive, the more useful you'll prove yourself to me." He leaned in menacingly and spoke with a quiet malice, "I'd rather not disappoint Lady Viscretus by bringing her two worthless bodies." Robyn silenced her own voice, because she so badly wanted to scream her frustration to the heavens. “...mind telling me where I’m supposed to go to find this mythical breathing apparatus?” she finally asked through gritted teeth, “Or am I supposed to run around the Temple dragging my classmate along, praying that I find a gas mask lying around on the ground?”Catalyst flashed a wide smile in Robyn's face and responded casually, "Why in the hanger of course." He straightened his posture "it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. After all that's where one would go to prepare for the breathtaking environment of space." Ah yes, of course! That explains everything, Robyn thought, complete with a resigned shrug, Only...when was the Valley moved to space?He chuckled to himself before glancing back down at the Nautolan. "You probably don't want to drag him though. I would suggest a hovercart lest you over exert yourself." Catalyst turned around and started walking towards the stairs. "Do you require anything from your quarters?" he quipped lazily. "Because if you do, you'll find the company of an Inquisitor makes for an excellent hall pass." “...” Robyn glared at her empty belt for a few seconds, mentally cursing. She thought this was going to be a regular day of classes...but then again, this was the Sith Academy. What possessed her to leave her room almost completely empty-handed?! “Yes,” she finally admitted, glancing behind her and shifting a hand to coax her classmate’s body a little higher. “I need my weapons...and a few other things. They’re all in my Quarters.”"Not even a weapon in class?" Catalyst laughed aloud, and Robyn tightened her crossed arms. "First lesson from a competent teacher young one: always be prepared to defend yourself. Wouldn't it be so gratifying the next time you get pushed around to ignite a saber in the belly of your aggressor?" Robyn betrayed her surprise with a blink. What was he suggesting?! And didn’t he conveniently stop her from doing just that before? Catalyst thought for a second about his words, realizing he was blatantly encouraging the girl to attack Master Marcus. He shrugged. That wasn't his problem. Emir may have been an accomplished Sith but Catalyst looked down on teachers as a whole. Those who can't do, teach. Of course, that could be another valuable lesson for this initiate. How to attack someone clearly better and succeed. That brought an even bigger grin to his face. Oh the delightful things he could teach this girl if she survived the Valley! "I suppose since you're my responsibility for the time being, I should probably take the time to learn what you're capable of." He looked back out of the corner of his eye. "Tell me about yourself. We certainly have time while we gather your supplies." Robyn let out a soft sigh before following Catalyst up the stairs. It seemed like she would be out of class for the rest of the day! “... I suppose I could start with my name, it’s Robyn. Robyn Shaire,” she offered, almost hesitantly, “I was brought here recently by Lord Dreadwar."Chosen by the Emperor himself? Catalyst was impressed, though he dare not show it. "Go on," he said encouragingly as they climbed the stairs towards the initiate's quarters, "this is your chance to show me why I should put an effort into making sure you come back from this journey with all of your limbs intact." He was only half joking.
“With what, my life’s story?” Robyn asked, pausing to request a passing servant to bring a hovercart to her Quarters. “Well...before this Academy, I had to survive on my own on a barren world.” She was already hesitant to talk very much about herself, and she was practically convinced that this Lord Catalyst would only use whatever she said against her once an opportunity showed itself. “I think I can keep my limbs attached decently well...not that I had much choice at the time, losing a limb or even blood loss would have only translated to death...” her tone shifted, and Robyn grew thoughtful. “I tamed a few animals there...though I suspect I was seen as some kind of, weird cub to them.”She caught the sound of a faint bump, and almost paled at the realization that her classmate’s head just collided with a step. Sorry, sorry sorry! I don’t want to be what damages you even in death! A shift of her hand was all it took to fix the body’s position, and she didn’t stop walking. ...your head and neck are messed up enough. “I suppose power is something you’re primarily concerned about,” Robyn almost sighed. “The Sith in charge of teaching combat seem to be stuck somewhere between impressed and infuriated with me... They try their best to hide the former, but I can catch it,” her tone changed again, with the slightest hint of pride. “I haven’t been beaten yet."
Catalyst arched a brow at this. "So let me get this straight," he replied quizzically, "a girl raised by animals that can't be beaten in combat?" “What the-?! No!” came Robyn’s immediate response, and she almost laughed. “I was not raised by animals, I was raised by two civilized parents! That last part I won’t dispute.” He fondled the lightsaber hanging from his belt. Definitely could prove a fun game... "I take it you've only faced other initiates." A boastful grin broke across his face. "Not a true Master." Can't kill her. But perhaps a more... painful lesson... is in order. "But you have piqued my curiosity. Tell me, what form do you prefer?" He realized this question probably sounded archaic in this day and age bit nevertheless, those well versed in lightsaber combat would undoubtedly know what he referred to. Perhaps she could be more than just hound bait after all....and now I would like very much to dispute that last part. Robyn almost groaned, of course she hadn’t faced a Master! Though it wasn’t as though the other Initiates were weaklings. “Form?” Though slightly out of context, she only needed a second to guess, “I prefer Soresu, if you’re referring to lightsaber forms. I’ve used that one most often.” "Ah, form three. A favorite myself," Catalyst mused. "Perhaps when we're done playing in the tombs I can teach you some things you may not learn from the combat instructors here." Catalyst had never entertained the idea of an apprentice, but he could perhaps be a mentor. Robyn seemed to be something of a star pupil, though a talk with Master Marcus would probably tell otherwise. Catalyst would need to see for himself firsthand. Either in the tombs... Or by his own blade. If she proved to be an adequate learner, perhaps she could turn into a very powerful sith. Catalyst's mind was racing with possibilities. Robyn fell silent for a few minutes as she continued climbing the stairs, and her thoughts drifted to that old dueling ring for a second. She hardly wanted to think about fighting while Chakran’s body was still behind her! “Playing?” The irony of bringing a...still warm corpse to the same place where Sith spirits with unfinished business were guaranteed to reside was hardly lost on her. She continued walking up until she spotted a familiar floor number in Aurebesh, and hurried inside. “The Initiate level, we’ve arrived,” Robyn remembered to call over her shoulder, and didn’t slow down until she reached the door to her personal Quarters. A hover-cart stood a meter away as requested, and she carefully lifted her classmate onto it. “Sick…” she muttered, quickly turning away from his mangled neck. With haste, she entered digits into the security keypad beside her door and walked inside. Of course, there it is! Robyn thought in some frustration at the sight of her belt, hanging from the same hook she left it in last night. Her lightsaber, blaster pistol, a few other necessities for surviving in this maddening Academy… She clicked the belt into place against her black tunic, and tossed a simple grey cloak over her shoulders before leaving. Catalyst waited patiently for her to grab her things and quietly chuckled as she gently placed her classmate on the hovercart. He's already dead. There's no point in trying to ensure his comfort. As she returned he glanced at her gear inquisitively. "I hope that's everything. The tombs won't forgive a lack of preparedness." He turned on his heel and headed back towards the stairs. "Come. To my ship. I'm sure we're going to be reprimanded for our tardiness." He wasn't actually concerned if they were late. He was beginning to get stir crazy. The thirst for adventure had truly set. He continued fiddling with the saber on his belt. Hopefully he'd have a chance to use it again after so long. “Well, you did call yourself a hall pass,” Robyn replied with dry humor in her voice. She wheeled the cart just ahead of her on the way to the hangar. Her footsteps began to slow as she became aware of two auras already there. She didn’t recognize either, but they were bright...and powerful. And they seemed to be subtly clashing. She lowered her head slightly with shut eyes, trying to get a closer “look”. This “fight” wasn’t the fierce, obviously enraged type she had grown almost accustomed to spotting around the Temple, these auras were projecting a much... icier anger...jealousy?
“What in the world is going on up ahead…?” Robyn murmured half to herself as she opened her eyes, “Some sort of lovers’ quarrel?”Catalyst felt it as well. He knew who the auras belonged to though. His lightsaber was unclipped from his belt and one of the blades was ignited in an instant. "Stay back Shaire. There are two very powerful, very jealous women in there. I don't want to get caught between them." There was no trace of humor in his voice this time. The low hum of his blade gave them away as they carefully stepped into the hangar bay. TAG: Padawan4687 , Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , |
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 15, 2017 1:47:56 GMT -5
IC: Darth ApollyonHangar, Sith Temple, KorribanIn an Order of subversive sycophants and sinister seditionists, it was rare to find a sister. A friend. Dear friend, even. And if there was one friendship that defied the conventions of rivalry and treachery in the Sith Temple, it was the friendship that had formed between Darth Viscretus and Darth Apollyon.But their friendship survived because of their passion, not in spite of it. There was an implicit understanding between them that the most ludicrous of what you could call loth-cat fights were not off the table; they worked through their differences swiftly and violently and cathartically, and billed Temple Refurbishment, Renovation and Repair Services - one of the largest and most well-funded departments within the Korriban Academy - after the fact. “So easily provoked, as always.” Viscretus scoffed, nursing the wound Apollyon had inflicted upon her hand with feline rapacity. “I apologise for my sinful misconducts.” She paced to the side, head downturned. Impudent mockery! Viscretus may have held the edge in terms of command of the Force and skill with the lightsaber, but Apollyon, as the Hand of the Emperor himself, was still of nominally higher rank, something she loved to remind Viscretus in moments like these. Viscretus, whose words bubbled with suggestiveness clearly designed to poke at Apollyon's connection with her Master. Viscretus, who leaned suddenly on the nearby chest of detonators, wrapping bloodstained fingers around a shock grenade she promptly skidded towards Apollyon while collapsing into a theatrical heap. “Please, forgive me!”The snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber was barely audible over the increasingly rapid beeping emanating from the explosive. Apollyon caught the tail end of the owner's words "...powerful, very jealous women in there. I don't want to get caught between them."Catalyst spoke true, to a point. But if Apollyon was jealous, it was entirely aromantic; it was a childish, protective thing, something attached to her esteem. She was the Emperor's Hand. Out of all the Sith, she and the Triumvirs alone held private audiences with the reclusive Dark Lord. Viscretus' maneuverings threatened the preciousness of that position, and imperiled her own station within the Order as a result. And it was with that same sense of childishness that had inspired her to throw the knife at Viscretus' face in the first place that Apollyon flicked her hand, sending the grenade flying through the air with little regard for consequences, fortunately away from the Sith Lord with Initiate in tow who was just entering the hangar, but unfortunately straight towards the TIE Phantom he prized as his personal ship. Boom.A very long silence followed. The spat between the two Sith Ladies seemed entirely forgotten, as the seconds ticked on by. "I... I think it only took out the engines," Apollyon spoke at last, baring teeth in a grin that seemed distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps even nervous. Boys loved their toys, and Lords loved their TIEs. "Well," she laughed shrilly, "I suppose we'll progress to the Valley on... foot?" She frowned as she noticed something. Just what was that Initiate doing with that hover cart? Had Inquisitor Catalyst found her a trolley servant? "Or... perhaps we can sled down the Valley walls on that hover cart? Just what did you find me, Inquisitor Catalyst... a food cart girl from the kitchens?" TAG: Volshe , Darth Catalyst , Padawan4687
|
|
Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
|
Post by Darth Catalyst on Mar 15, 2017 13:12:20 GMT -5
IC Lord Catalyst Temple Hangar: Korriban Catalyst wasn't the type of person one would call "attached" to physical objects. He knew the rigors of war thanks to his time in the Clone Wars and the Galactic Civil War. He knew that credits were meaningless when compared to the power of the force. Even his jedi training taught him to eschew attachment which ironically helped him become a weapon of the Empire to slaughter jedi. But he still held an appreciation for aesthetic and a sense of ownership. And he was livid. "I... I think it only took out the engines," Apollyon's stuttering response fell on deaf ears, as did her misguided attempt to make light of the situation with her sarcasm. The weight of his silence as he walked the length of the hanger was only cut by the deep score his blade left in the floor. The cracking of sparks and plumes of smoke coming from the ship were a good sign; it could be repaired. He deactivated his saber and climbed into the cockpit.
Diagnostic readings were up in an instant. The engines, shield generator and hyperdrive were shot. Thankfully the damage hadn't reached the Stygium particle accelerator. He doubted even the Emperor himself had access to the rare crystals after the destruction of Aeten II. He donned the armor he kept in a storage compartment and clicked a message into his datapad, sending for a team of technicians before exiting the ship.
"You complete buffoon." His words aimed at Apollyon like needles. "What kind of idiot do you think you are? Tossing around thermal detonators in an enclosed room with sensitive mechanical devices!" He advanced on her purposefully. "That ship is almost priceless in value. Do you know how difficult it is to find Stygium crystals? That may very well be the last supply in the galaxy! Almost destroyed by your childlike insecurity!" His voice had reached a fever pitch. "Are you so threatened by Viscretus that you would level the temple to defend the shreds of obsession you call honor?" He glanced back at Robyn and quieted his voice to a near whisper. "At least I can perform my tasks without becoming distracted by petty rivalry." He turned to Viscretus and scoffed before regaining his composure. "So," he said icily, donning his helmet, "When do we depart?" TAG: Padawan4687, Darth Dreadwar, Volshe,
|
|
dice
Citizen
Posts: 84
Likes: 65
|
Post by dice on Mar 15, 2017 14:56:38 GMT -5
Darth Xirr  ThemeName/Title: Darth Xirr Biological Name: Sacious Starruner Age: 27 Sex: male Species: Human Homeworld: Coruscant Occupation: Battle Strategist Height: 6’ 5 Appearance: Tall and broad shouldered, with a muscular build. His features are never really seen, as they are always hidden behind his mask. Weapons: A single bladed lightsaber with a Red Synth Crystal. The emitter end of the hilt has two large blades that extend forwards to be used as handguards (Or extra weapons in times of need). Equipment: Hooded armor crafted in the style of the ancient sith that is lined with red fabric, and has large spikes protruding from the shoulders and back. Description of Abilities: Sacious uses a lightsaber primarily and has mastered the fourth form. He also knows the basics of sith alchemy ( As seen here), and knows basic force abilites. Personality: Generally Dark and mischievous, Sacious likes to be sarcastic and cynical when he can. He is always searching for ways to gain more power, and he will take more and more until he is consumed by it. Sacious will only train a select few types of sith that share the same view about the gaining of power as he does, and does not take others challenging his power lightly. Biography: Sacious was born in the slums of Coruscant and was exposed to crime and poverty from the day he stepped foot onto the streets. Sacious was never really accepted by his peers, and thus was forced to be a loner, only opening up to the very few people that would become close to him, Specifically one Idiian Airer, who grew to become His best friend for all of Sacious's schooling years. In his spare time, he and Idiian would spar with each other in his backyard, or on the streets using sticks fashioned to look like lightsabers, for they both aspired to eventually own a lightsaber. When he was thought to have come of age, his father Saren, brought him into a secret room in their family home, revealing his father's past of being Sith. The very object that Sacious craved sat there in front of him, a lightsaber. Knowing of Sacious's desires, his father approached the sacred blade retrieved it, turning and presenting it to Sacious on one knee. This was Sacious's Indoctrination into the ways of the sith, and the empire. His father cut his ties with Sacious's lifetime best friend Idiian to fester his hate. Sacious immediately showed strong affinity to the force and dedication to the dark side. For years Sacious trained with his father and with any other force users he came across until he built the courage to join up officially with the empire. In order to gain the attention of a Lord looking for an apprentice, Sacious was to demonstrate his force powers in public, and so he did. Picking a fight with, and electrocuting a random passerby that happened to bump into him gained him attention from masters quickly, and he found a master in one, Darth Kryn. The next years under his rule were uneventful and mostly consisted of errand running and the occasional mission with Kryn. One day Sacious approached Kryn while he was in his quarters, and the two squared off, knowing that the day when apprentice became master was upon them. Sacious handily defeated the slower and older Darth Kryn and consequently rose to the rank of Lord of the Sith. Within the year, Sacious gathered together the parts to build a new lightsaber...One that would be truly his He spent days in the searing heat of the meditation chamber, laying layer after layer of pure red, saber crystal. Finally the day came where he would assemble the blade which he would use until his death, all went smoothly, and he emerged from the chamber with his new weapon at his hip and returned to his normal duties. Many moons later, As customary with sith, Sacious was not appeased by the power that he had gained up to this point, he had tasted the ultimate, the end all of power, and he wanted it, over the next months, Sacious became less of a figure among the other sith, confining himself to his quarters, and only eating when absolutely necessary. Sacious was researching ways to gain the ultimate power that he sought. He eventually found what he was looking for, the trail of breadcrumbs that would lead him to ultimate power. Sacious informing only Very few of his most trusted allies, took two of his most trusted students, and left in search of the power he sought not returning for many months. Sacious had discovered the location of a nexus of dark power on one of the many planets in the galaxy, in the month leading up to his journey, he had spent all of his time learning a ritual that would allow him to draw from the nexus. Upon arrival to the planet near the nexus, the great power that the convergence of all dark side energies in the system could be felt above all other things, Sacious knew that his time was now. The acolytes that Sacious had brought with him emerged from the transport that had brought them to the surface, they brought with them a small ritual bowl and a Sacrificial blade. The three ventured toward the location of the nexus. They arrived and the bowl was placed near the Nexus and filled with water, as one of the acolytes cut Sacious with the blade letting his blood run into the water, turning it black as a connection was made with the Nexus. The three sith took place and began the ritual as Sacious uttered the incantation in an ethereal wispy voice that seemed to boom across the plains. "Nu lyteti tave jen\' sveni pro nun, nu tegu tave delsie dalyva. Nu valia grizti tave jena\'tes netolise nun ir darytis wo su tave qy! Nu valia accept tave gift iv ultimate midwan zenotisas anas nu valia elgtis zhol duob, ir bestow tave gift iv tave jen\' kia ny! " He was then lifted from the ground as the darkness around consumed him. This was exactly what he had planned, what he had craved for so long. Stats:
Level:6 (Sith Master) Class:Warrior (Knight) Force push/pull –2
Force choke –3
Force jump –0
Force Avalanche –0
Force Lightning –3
Force Defense –3
Mind Trick –1
Form I –3
Form II –3
Form III –0
Form IV –3
Form V – 0
Form VI – 0
(Warrior tree only) Form VII –2
(Knight only) Inspire –3
Hunger –0
Pain –0
Tutaminis –0
Darth Dreadwar ,
|
|
Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
|
Post by Padawan4687 on Mar 15, 2017 15:23:18 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Sith Temple HangarRobyn obediently stood back, and observed just how quick Lord Catalyst was to take out his weapon. Just as he said, the two Sith ladies were inside completely bristling at each other. She didn’t know what in the world they could be so irritated over, and frankly, she wasn’t very interested in finding out what! “This quarrel has nothing to do with either of us,” she quietly spoke up from behind him, though Catalyst’s eyes and mind seemed to be elsewhere, “Revealing lightsabers now just might escalate--” her own voice cut off when she recognized the little sphere arcing through the air. BOOM. A small ship took a direct hit from what she could only guess was a thermal detonator...a type of TIE Fighter, she recognized that much immediately. The silence that followed was utterly deafening, and it stretched on for what felt like hours. Lord Catalyst’s aura was kicked into a muted fury, and Robyn could only assume the newly-damaged ship was his. "I... I think it only took out the engines," one of the quarreling ladies --she recognized as the Emperor’s Hand-- finally spoke with a grin that showed off all of her teeth. Robyn could have stared at her. Why was she so nonchalant about mangling someone else’s ship?! Or… she curiously shut her eyes, and quickly spotted it in her aura: nervousness. "Well," the same woman laughed, "I suppose we'll progress to the Valley on... foot?" Lady Apollyon frowned suddenly, and Robyn realized that she was looking in her direction. "Or... perhaps we can sled down the Valley walls on that hover-cart? Just what did you find me, Inquisitor Catalyst... a food cart girl from the kitchens?"She caught herself holding onto the hover-cart's handle just a bit tighter as he advanced with his lightsaber scorching a line into the ground. Evidently he was in no mood to answer, so Robyn was left to quietly bristle alone. A food cart girl, did Lady Apollyon seriously not see the body of her classmate lying on it?! ...or did she actually eat sentient beings whole as well as indulging in that nasty bloodsoup? “I am not a food cart girl, my lady...” Robyn shut her eyes as irritation blended with her own nerves, “...and the only way I can imagine you would consider what’s in here food, is if you were a cannibal.” To emphasize her point, she pushed the hover-cart closer to show that there was in fact a BODY resting on it instead of the small cakes and sandwich platters that the Lady was probably expecting. TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe ,
|
|
Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
|
Post by Volshe on Mar 15, 2017 15:43:51 GMT -5
IC: Darth Viscretus
Sith Hangar, KorribanThe charge landed with a beep of activation, and Viscretus backpedalled. Through the adrenaline-enhanced haze she lost her usually-agile footing, colliding with the protruding wing-tip of a out-of-commission Rendilii Interceptor. The jolt brought her eyes snapping to the far entrance - where Catalyst had entered, lightsaber ablaze, walking with a Zeltron and a...hover-cart of corpse? Corpses? She puzzled at the carts' contents a moment as they proceeded still, before stepping away from the ship and looking back to where Apollyon had been. She only had a split-second to search, finding her still stanced in defence a metre away, before the crackling explosion of a shock charge echoed...on the other side of the hangar. At the centre of the shockwave, Lord Catalyst's personal ship. Her violet-painted lips parting with concern as the last forks of electricity snaked into the ground. She turned to Apollyon as smoke oozed from the TIE's cockpit. "I... I think it only took out the engines." Only the engines? Viscretus snorted, amazed at her friend's attempt at a defence. "Well," Apollyon broke the quiet again with a sharp, gauche laugh, "I suppose we'll progress to the Valley on... foot? Or... perhaps we can sled down the Valley walls on that hover cart? Just what did you find me, Inquisitor Catalyst... a food cart girl from the kitchens?" Catalyst stalked towards his ship with threatening silence, not even bothering to stop his 'saber from scoring the hangar floor. The metal screamed in protest as it flared red hot - not unlike the waves of ire coming from Catalyst himself. She raised an eyebrow to Apollyon as he made it to his ship, the only deviance from glacial discontent. Her petty jealousy had fantastically blown up in their faces, quite literally, yet again. She refused to even dignify her with further comment. Instead, she steadied herself against the crates once again, fading catecholamines and a sudden rush of sickly dread leaving her feeling quite faint. She clutched her hands together tightly, willing the bleeding to slow. Much to her surprise, the silence did not last. “I am not a food cart girl, my lady...and the only way I can imagine you would consider what’s in here food, is if you were a cannibal.” The initiate spoke with a thinly-veiled irritation, her fist clenched about the cart's handle. She smirked. A good sign, one with fight. Viscretus glared at Apollyon in what could only be described as utter annoyance, the devious smirk still tugging at the corner of her mouth. The Nautolan's eyes glinted in the light as his altar floated forward, dried streams of blood spattered on the leathery flesh. "If you would eat even that, it is no wonder your corset's stitched so tightly lately." Her voice oozed with poison, jumping on the acolyte's remark. She paused, peering down her nose to assess the young, rose-skinned woman slowly. "Who are you?" TAG: Padawan4687, Darth Dreadwar, TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
|
|
Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
|
Post by Darth Catalyst on Mar 15, 2017 20:33:19 GMT -5
IC LORD HYPNOSBridge of the Mjfk-akk-snerok-Ra: Unknown Regions Darth Venomis had little need for droids. Truly, his maddening intelligence combined with his omnipresence made the robotic constructs pointless for him to entertain the thought of using. But there was one boon that even he could not claim. Nobody notices a droid. This however was not the case for Lord Hypnos. Everybody aboard the pyramid ships that Venomis commanded knew who he was. Not because of anything remarkable. On the outside was merely an ancient GE3 protocol droid that had seen better days. But the power that was contained within was something else entirely. It didn't talk like a droid. It didn't act like a droid. Hypnos was perhaps only second in power to Venomis on this ship. Though the gap was still unfathomably large. For now. Hypnos was always observing. Always learning. Which is exactly what he was doing on the bridge as he watched the captain jump in and out of a trance. It was masterful to witness really. One could barely notice if they were unfamiliar with the techniques of Mnggal-Mnggal. Hypnos had seen this countless times though, through centuries of working with the godlike being and became accustomed to it. It did not phase him as it did most sentients. Hypnos only longed for that ability himself. In reality they weren't all that different, creating mindless thralls and inserting themselves into the bodies and minds of these beings. Venomis had been doing it far longer, since before Hypnos was even a geode. It fascinated him that such power existed. He would have it yet. "Ah, Lord Hypnos, your timing is fortuitous," the Captain spoke directly to him as if he wasn't there before the instantaneous shift in his psyche. "His Divine Majesty, the Lord Darth Venomis, Praise be His Name, God of Rot and Ash and Shadow and Darkness, demanded to speak to you."
Exquisite to the letter. Perfectly fitting for my better. The warbled baritone of his vocabulator rumbled to life in an almost joyful meter, "Most wonderful Captain, you have my thanks. I will speak to our glorious leader post haste." With that he turned for the throne. He stepped towards the shambling mass that had taken on a humanoid form. He perhaps should have moved with more caution, but a hunger for knowledge and power pushed aside what fear he had of the only being he truly considered superior. He respectfully bowed his frame as he approached. He acknowledged the power that sat before him. "Thee with a thousand eyes wished to see he with none," the vocabulator boomed. "He with no ears would listen to thee who speaks with no voice." TAG: Darth Dreadwar,
|
|
Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
|
Post by Padawan4687 on Mar 15, 2017 22:33:09 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Sith Temple HangarTensions were high in the still-smoking Hangar, but the argument between the Sith ladies was no longer a point of interest. Robyn was just beginning to hope she wouldn't deeply regret what just came out of her mouth when the second woman joined in with an icy addition, "If you would eat even that, it is no wonder your corset's stitched so tightly lately." A weight joke? Here? Now? This time, Robyn actually did stare at the speaker for a few seconds. Darth...Viscretus? If that isn't the pettiest thing I've heard today...next to Professor Slimeball, that is. Wait a minute, weren't they friendly with one another?! At least...as friendly as two Sith ladies could be? Though I'm probably thinking of a vastly different kind of friendly. Robyn lowered her eyes then, suddenly a bit self-conscious. For all I know, this destructive craziness is normal! She thought, taking another regretful glance at her "cargo". Just like wanton killing..."Who are you?" Lady Viscretus was looking her up and down, with tinges of curiosity coloring her aura. "Me?" Robyn realized that looking her up and down was really just down and further down, and quietly cursed her own height as she began to answer. "My name is Robyn, my lady. Robyn Shaire, a S- ...an Initiate. I was picked up by Lord Catalyst just now, I...was in class earlier, for alchemy."
Her hands tightened around the hover-cart again, and she quickly finished, "This Nautolan is my-...was my classmate, Chakran... The lecturer-" Robyn had to resist the urge to spit at that word, but didn't hide her disgust, "-demanded that I...handle his body. 'Homework', he called it."TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe
|
|
Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
|
Post by Volshe on Mar 15, 2017 23:28:45 GMT -5
IC: Darth Viscretus
Sith Hangar, Korriban"Me? My name is Robyn, my lady. Robyn Shaire, a S- ...an Initiate. I was picked up by Lord Catalyst just now, I...was in class earlier, for alchemy. This Nautolan is my-...was my classmate, Chakran... The lecturer-" Her voice twinged with revulsion. "-demanded that I...handle his body. 'Homework', he called it."In alchemy class. It could only be Marcus. She sneered at the thought of him, disgust tingling at her palms. The man was slime, a brainless accumulation of cells that would be better suited splattered upon a tomb wall. And oh, how she would like to put him there. Not a wonder why the young woman carried distaste with her. The fact she felt no rage from the petite woman was the only surprise. She was his subordinate, shapely, one could argue exotic - and yet she only allowed herself mild repulsion. Likely one of the very reasons she found herself here now. Something that would have to be remedied. She lowered her countenance, warming it just enough to melt away some of the tension. Shaire was already intimidated by the pair - that much was obvious - and now there was a chance for an alliance in hatred. Convivality - as much as her imperious self-image would allow. "How kind of Ermir to send a corpse along," Viscretus remarked with biting frost, staring at the stiffening body, "I am certain the smell of death will help keep the Valley's carnivores at bay." TAG: Padawan4687 , Darth Dreadwar ,TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
|
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 16, 2017 22:18:09 GMT -5
IC: Darth TalonInner Sanctum, Sith Temple, Korriban
They stood outside two great doors of opaque obsidian, inlaid with fine threads of gleaming onyx that formed intricate patterns around grotesque statuary that seemed to eternally snarl and claw from the confines of their ebony prison, as if desperate to break free of the door in which they were sculpted. No doubt by deliberate design; those that stood in front of these great doors would be forced to gaze not only upon the darkened distortion of their own visage in the reflective sheen of onyx embroidery, but upon the monster that was to visit judgment upon them - the dark hooded figure who seemed to tower over all of the door's lesser gargoyles, who seemed to watch them with invisible eyes. For these were the doors to the throne room, and it was the first time Darth Xirr and Darth Avaris had ever seen them, in spite of their rank and all their years in the Sith Temple of Korriban. To be summoned for a private audience rarely portended well; the Emperor, after all, was a figure of reclusive mystery, and his will percolated throughout his Empire by way of interlocutors and servants. One of those servants stood outside those great doors now, hands clasped behind her back, smiling with shining white teeth that glinted every bit as much as the braziers and sconces dotted around the receiving hall. Darth Talon.  Despite approaching middle age, a lifetime of exercise and the vagaries of the Force meant her body remained almost as sculpted as the imagery behind her, and save for faint lines around her eyes, one could easily mistake her for a Twi'lek dancer of Nal Hutta in lithesome prime. Darth Talon had escaped the calamity that befell the One Sith when Cade Skywalker had killed Darth Krayt on Coruscant, fleeing into the Outer Rim Territories with the remnants of their Order, coalescing under the leadership of Darth Nihl. But Nihl had been no Krayt, and had been unable to prevent the scattered One Sith from falling to the folly of infighting, which saw their already decimated ranks nearly entirely eliminated thanks to the treachery of Darth Wredd at the Battle of the Floating World. Darth Dreadwar had been their salvation. Unifying the Acolytes of Darkness and the Dominion of Darkness, Sith splinter sects that had fled persecution at the hands of Emperor Krayt into the Unknown Regions, with the surviving One Sith, as well as his own archaic army resurrected from carbonite, Dreadwar had reforged not just a Sith Order, but indeed a Sith Empire. Talon, Nihl, Maladi, Havok... They all had found a new purpose under the command of a new master. Four years on, Darth Talon stood as the Empire's Arch Inquisitor, and her primary duty, aside from strategic assassination, was to root out heresy and what her god-king termed blasphemous worship. Worship of what or who, of course, Talon never dared ask; apparently it was not necessary for her duties. It is only important to recognise the symptoms of the disease rotting the most vital organs of our Empire, she recalled his hissing words. And this I will teach thee...She had reason to believe Xirr and Avaris represented such sedition, however slight, and after describing their recent activities to the Sith Emperor, he had summoned them at once. "Lord Xirr, Lady Avaris," she purred. "Beyond those doors lies the throne room... and your divine Emperor." She tilted her head, succubic lips twisting in a pouting smile. "I do not know why he has summoned you, but given that this is your first meeting, I will give you some advice..." She stalked towards Xirr, tongue flicking across pointed fangs as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, harsh and loud enough for Avaris to hear anyway. "Everyone feels the fear. The cloying madness. The hungering darkness nipping at your mind and sanity... Even I do." She smirked cruelly. "Do not be embarrassed if you lose control of your bladder, but if you spoil the dais with your terror, do not be surprised if you lose control of your entire body... as he puppeteers you to open yourself," her finger traced along the hilt of Xirr's lightsaber, before trailing up his powerful body, " groin... to sternum." Talon referred, of course, to Darth Dreadwar's favoured method of execution. Homicide by Mind Trick-induced suicide. Usually of the gratuitously grisly variety. She backed away, quirking a mocking eyebrow at the two. "Do either of you have any questions?" TAG: dice , avaris
|
|
dice
Citizen
Posts: 84
Likes: 65
|
Post by dice on Mar 16, 2017 23:28:27 GMT -5
IC: Darth XirrInner Sanctum, Sith Temple, Korri ban Darth Xirr stood confidently in front of the gargantuan black doors that undoubtedly had spelled doom for many a sith before him, his large hands clasped behind his back . He was unmoved as he was suddenly approached by Darth Talon, she whispered in his ear (However quite loud enough to be audible to his counterpart Darth Avaris, Darth Xirr noted to himself) Promises of the uncertain, yet likely gruesome fate he was soon to be subjected to once he passed the threshold held shut by the glistening doors of obsidian with faint onyx embroidering. Darth Xirr, however was quite unsure why he had been summoned by the all-powerful Emperor. Making a mental note to be sure and avoid soiling himself before his almighty ruler Xirr spoke, his voice seemed almost defeated, yet it was obvious he was holding back many a witty quip likely to avoid premature splitting of his upper torso. "No questions, that you could answer at any rate, Lady Talon." Darth Xirr letting out an audible sigh, as he looked from the cold stone floor beneath his feet, eyeing every bit of the doors in front of him up to the looming ceiling above. "Shall we... proceed?" He looked to Darth Avaris across from him questioningly TAG: Darth Dreadwar
|
|
|
|
Post by Darth Dreadwar on Mar 17, 2017 0:51:14 GMT -5
IC: Darth ApollyonSith Hangar, Sith Temple, KorribanInquisitor Catalyst's utter lack of verbal response was, if anything, more frightening than the rant she had expected. She could not resist a wince as his lightsaber gouged a trailing path past her across the beige stone of the hangar floor, but otherwise kept her chin up in defiant superiority, like the Emperor's Hand ought to. As he disappeared into his smoke-obscured ship, Darth Apollyon afforded herself a saccharine smile, looking at the girl who spoke. "I am not a food cart girl, my lady..." The Zeltron shut her eyes, radiating annoyance through the Force, "...and the only way I can imagine you would consider what’s in here food, is if you were a cannibal." The Initiate pushed the hover-cart closer to reveal the body. In Apollyon's mind, the girl was far too lippy for an Initiate, and she reminded herself to initiate the teen in the delicate arts of scaphism if she spoke so disrespectfully again. But then again, the Zeltron was no doubt encouraged by the disrespectful example of the Sith Master whose glare she felt on her caramel skin. "If you would eat even that," Viscretus' voice oozed with poison, "it is no wonder your corset's stitched so tightly lately." By the time the insult registered, Viscretus had already moved on to querying the Zeltron, and interrupting would just seem clumsy and ungainly in comparison to the smoothness of Viscretus' jousts. So Apollyon waited, and waited, as the Initiate - Robyn Shaire, apparently - mumbled demurely on and on about her homework. What a stark contrast with the spirit she had displayed earlier! Now she seemed to stumble over her words, no doubt in pain over the nature of her assignment. Apollyon could empathise. She was not one for needless cruelty, but for reasons very different than her Master. Whereas the Lord Emperor Dreadwar was utterly cold and amoral, and only acted in calculating callousness if such a thing aligned with his goals, Apollyon had an outright aversion to cruelty, a trait that put her at odds with many of her fellow Sith, who seemed to delight in purposeless sadism. Strangely enough, it had seemed this quality had endeared her to Dreadwar; she could be trusted to enact his deadly plans swiftly and without excessive fluff, for while Apollyon was not senselessly cruel, she could be every bit as terrible, in the name of religious zealotry. Dreadwar's wish was her will. As far as she was concerned, the ancient wraith was more than a man. He was a god. His morality was absolute. If he said slaughtering a thousand children was for the greater good, it was, for he defined good, and Apollyon would execute his orders without reservation or hesitation.
Ermir Marcus, however - Robyn could not have been referring to any other - was a mere man, an ugly excuse for a mortal. He did not define good. He was not good. He was a pathetic fleshly creature of worldly desires. She felt for Chakran, who had fallen to his wrath for no fault of his own. "How kind of Ermir to send a corpse along," Viscretus remarked, clearly deducing the alchemy teacher's identity as well. "I am certain the smell of death will help keep the Valley's carnivores at bay." Apollyon was tempted to tell the girl to leave the body. This Chakran deserved a more noble fate than burial in the Valley; he could serve well as meat for the Tuk'ata, or as raw material for Apollyon's alchemy. His death should not be in vain. Let his spirit and flesh complete the circle of life, feeding into the great cycle of all of Dreadwar's Creation. Besides, burial in the Valley of the Dark Lords was sacrilegious; only Marcus could have made such an elementary error, in consigning the Nautolan to a necropolis reserved for Kings, rather than the Valley of Carrion. But... Apollyon was not foolish, even if she was not cruel. She knew most Sith did not see the galaxy as she did. She knew most interpreted mercy as weakness, and she did not need to appear weak before Catalyst. And more importantly, Robyn had been rude to her. She could pay the price of her rudeness by digging the grave of her boyfriend with her own soft pink hands. "I think, Lady Viscretus," Apollyon replied, ice and fire still warring within her voice, "that such a sacrifice may in fact appease the spirits that all-too-often animate said carnivores." Her contradiction was pure rationalisation, she knew - Dreadwar had obsessively ingrained in her the ability to recognise when her brain was committing the cardinal sin of rationalising - but Apollyon would not be surprised if she was right, either. Any response from Viscretus was cut off by Catalyst reemerging from the damaged Phantom. "You complete buffoon." His words aimed at Apollyon like needles. "What kind of idiot do you think you are? Tossing around thermal detonators in an enclosed room with sensitive mechanical devices!" Oh, there comes the rant I expected."That ship is almost priceless in value. Do you know how difficult it is to find Stygium crystals? That may very well be the last supply in the galaxy! Almost destroyed by your childlike insecurity!" His voice had reached a fever pitch. "Are you so threatened by Viscretus that you would level the temple to defend the shreds of obsession you call honor?" Catalyst glanced back at Robyn and quieted his voice to a near whisper. "At least I can perform my tasks without becoming distracted by petty rivalry." He turned to Viscretus and scoffed before regaining his composure. "So," he said icily, donning his helmet, "When do we depart?" His question went unanswered initially. Another long silence spread across the Hangar, only the distant cry of hawk-bats filling the void left by Catalyst's rant. Apollyon's mind was ablaze. HOW DARE HE! HOW FIERFEKKING DARE HE! Even in the privacy of her thoughts, Apollyon rarely swore. HOW DARE HE LECTURE ME LIKE A CHILD! I AM EMPEROR'S HAND! I AM ZELASHIEL THE BLASPHEMER! APOLLYON, ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION!How could he not see her beauty, and not kneel in despair? He should have been thanking her - thanking her, that the grenade that had crippled his ship had been flung at it by Apollyon's hand - the Emperor's Hand! It is as if, through her, his ship had been touched by the finger of god! But then, Catalyst no doubt did not even recognise their Emperor's divinity. Such heathen held no respect. Not even respect for the facts. "I did not toss around a thermal detonator, Lord Catalyst," Apollyon responded at last. "It was a shock grenade... and she threw it first!" She pointed childishly at her sneering friend. Apollyon bit her lower lip, cutting short the fury she wanted to let loose. No, no, they had a mission, and Catalyst was too powerful a Lord to antagonise, particularly with Viscretus sure to side with him. She would lose face. No, she would tell the Emperor all about his disrespect later. "But enough infantile bickering," she said, completely blind to the irony of her statement. "We will depart momentarily. But first," she waved a hand, popping opening the crates, chests and trunks around them. "Lord Catalyst, you might find some of this equipment useful," she said, seemingly as a peace offering. Hovering before them courtesy of her telekinetic powers, a coiled rope of carbon nanotubes, a glow-stick, a simple flame torch, and the Ax of Adas and adhesive-tipped climbing gauntlets she had offered to Viscretus earlier. "And Initiate Shaire, you might want to change." Robyn Shaire had already donned a grey cloak over her black tunic, so she certainly looked the part of a Sith, but the garments Apollyon rose into the air were of a more specialised nature. One was an outfit of light armour in desert camouflage: a sleeveless beige and brown vest of beskar plates, shorts, and nightvision goggles. One was a thick, light grey overcoat of bantha wool, with a deep hood trimmed with white wampa fur, over simple but thick armour of brown leather layers. The last was a skintight bodysuit of shining black leather. "Or you might not... up to you." TAG: Darth Catalyst , Padawan4687 , Volshe
Thousands and thousands of kilometres away, space turned in on itself, and spat out a repurposed H-type Nubian yacht. But only space was aware of this; as part of said repurposement, its owners had attached a cloaking device of not inconsiderable expense to the craft, and so no one except Kevala and Scionica knew of their arrival in the Horuset system. Or, at least, that was the twins' working theory. Outside of the viewport, Korriban hung in terrible suspense, Horuset's gravity maintaining its tenuous grip on the dead world's corpulent sphericity. But Korriban would not be the only object that ensnared their attention. A dagger-shaped behemoth was painted in stark silhouette against the beige backdrop of the Sith tombworld.  The thing was matte black, and would have no doubt been difficult to see if it had been cruising alone in the darkness of space. Sixty-six kilometres in length, this gargantuan Devastator-class Sith Warship, the only dreadnaught of its class, was the flagship of the Sith Empire, a star-destroying, planet-eclipsing vessel of battle created by the stellar fire of a Rakatan Star Forge in accordance with never-acted-upon blueprints stolen from Byss. The Wrath of Vader. Kevala and Scionica would recognise its profile well, from a thousand horrified reports on the HoloNet to countless smugglers' tales of dread and woe. Dreadwar's crown jewel was the instrument of his Empire's conquest. It had been the Wrath of Vader, with its axial superlaser and particle disintegrator warheads, that had been used as a crudely effective tool of bullying in the initial Sith invasion. Quite simply, Dreadwar had used the ship - and his own powers of hunger - to hold entire worlds hostage, forcing the beleaguered Galactic Federation, too busy fighting its own internal wars between Empress Fel's and Empress Volshe's contest for succession and the three-way partisan split between the Alliance to Preserve the Republic, the Neutrals and the New Imperials, to submit to whatever demands the self-proclaimed Sith Emperor had made. Not only had the superstructure of the Wrath of Vader been built around its planet-killing weaponry, the entire Sith Empire had; these hostage worlds along the Outer Rim had not only been used to negotiate The Accord with the Federation, which had bought the galaxy three years of peace, but had been forced to become tribute-paying vassals, forming the territorial kernel of the new dark regime. It was said the ship had its own stealth technology, but if it did, it was clearly not employing such at present. It hung between the twins' ship and their destination like a spear of midnight black, perhaps tempting those foolish enough to try and infiltrate the Horuset system to go around, but then... On the other side of Korriban, glittered the little gnats that signified the rest of the Sith's home fleet. What to do... TAG: Shira
|
|
