The Old Sith Trials

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Room of the Spike Pit, below the false Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

During this spike trap's descend, Robyn practically pressed herself against the wall and tried hard not to think about the pain that would result from falling... and that the grate was the only thing to stand on. These tomb builders were nothing if not thorough with their means of killing off any and all who dared to enter! She was tempted to ask why those mysterious builders didn't just seal off every route with layers upon layers of durasteel as they left. It'd take years upon decades to dig through, and with all the traps, the digging itself would probably take a millennia!

Her sight wasn't active, and all of her senses were attuned to the spikes... a new groaning sound was what alerted her to something that might be among said spikes. Robyn's eyes went wide and she pressed her lips tightly together to muffle a squeak. With her better judgement screaming otherwise, she slowly dragged her eyes down and took in an absolute mess of gore and flesh below. Bile began to rise in her throat, and she quickly looked up again. On any other day she would have quickly moved on, recognizing the skewered thing below as just a corpse... but the sounds suggested something else.

"That, shouldn't, be, alive," she whispered to herself, daring to glance back down again. Nothing "should" be alive after being impaled directly through what... appeared to be a humanoid chest... but here it was, somehow still breathing and moving. All right... it shouldn't be alive, but it is... Robyn shut her eyes just to stop herself from staring at the bloody ruin below, and kept her thoughts fast. So, either he's of a species that is hardy to an insane degree, or he's a product of alchemy... a Sithspawn. Or perhaps he's yet another illusion, like that "Darth Praetor"?

Even if he's real, how are we supposed to get him out? she began to wonder, halting that train of thought by wondering just how likely any of the Sith in her company, excluding the unconscious Jania, would be to even consider helping. And even if they'd wanted to, how? Deliberately opening the grate to get them out, would only add more bodies to the pile... maybe if Catalyst still had his rope they could rig up something through the bars instead... Robyn continued to let her thoughts go, a welcome distraction.

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

IC: Darth Talon
Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple

"What say I?" Talon repeated Coatlec's question back to him in a strangely sultry whisper, leaning forwards to veritably drape herself over her son, smiling gently as she raised a single taloned finger to trail down his cheek in a playful if indecent gesture. Sulphuric eyes met his own, and Coatlec would feel her breath on his lips; not warm as one might expect, but as cold as the chill wind of Ziost, bringing with it the charnel scent of death and decay.

Her profane posturing and lubricious proximity was enough to make the distantly spectating nurse deeply uncomfortable, given the known blood relation, but Talon thankfully withdrew after a second's longer lingering stare, that faint smile still gracing her succulent scarlet lips. "I would say, Lord Coatlec," her whisper harshened to a serpentine hiss, her tongue flicking over her lethally sharp teeth as she continued, "that you would do well to put aside foolish notions of vengeance and treason, before I gut your mother like a dog."

Darth Talon stood.

Winked.

A cruel, cold smile, darker than the void between galaxies. As black as the emptiness of the Dread-King's cowl.

"What say you to your Emperor?"

TAG: Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror

Autohitting with GM approval


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

Shira ducked the knife lunge, choking back an irrational urge to laugh at the wild, ridiculous cries her opponent was shrieking as he dived past her side-step. There was a sense of desperation filling the Force around them. It was a feral, radical sense of futile frenzy that filled her with nerves as she eluded another haphazard charge.

A clatter made her ears prick in attention as a fervent voice filled the narrow track. “Lord of Destruction, hear my prayer.” Urgency flooded Shira’s thoughts, remembering the recent destruction in the hangar bay. She stabbed at her cultist, the smell of burning cloth filling her nose as he narrowly missed her strike. “Ari Nemesis, vexok savaka. Jiaas nuyak Kin--” Shira retreated a few steps and hurled her lightsaber towards the supplicating cultist, his prayer interrupted with a choking gasp as silver light speared through him, her lightsaber extinguishing as it skittered across the flatbed tracks. Weaponless, she dodged another attack from the remaining cultist, diving towards the knife that the recently deceased had so carelessly discarded. Her opponent rushed for her, shrieking more cries, and she hurled the knife towards him. The sharpened blade lodged itself in his chest as she called her primary weapon back to her hand, igniting the lightsaber through his heart.

The cultist crumpled to the ground and she glanced swiftly towards her temporary ward, who seemed to be holding her own with surprising proficiency. “Sabba! We need to go now!” she shouted, taking off in the direction of her groggy, but enraged, apprentice and trusting that Sabba would follow behind her. She seemed, for the most part, unharmed and now in the full protection of the Empress, but the urgency to get to her had not dimmed. She raced through corridors and hallways, taking every shortcut she new until she skittered into the chaotic scene unfolding. She glared furiously at Nox, sable eyes threatening murder, before she bowed her head in respect towards the effigy of Volshe, the image of her Empress and best friend shimmering faintly in The Triumphant’s artificial lighting. “My lady,” she murmured quietly. “It’s an honour and a great joy to be in your presence once again. How may I serve you?”




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

IC: Darth Neoplix
Location: Location: Room of the Spike Pit, below the false Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

Neoplix groaned, and shifted on the spikes. He saw the figures above, and wondered if he was hallucinating. "Hello? Who... who is there?"

He lifted his arm in front of himself, watching the tendrils of ropy muscle reknit themself before his eyes, along with the armor that covered his arm. He groaned again, attempting to lift himself futilely from the spikes that punctured his chest and limbs.

However, there was very little blood and no gore. Gen-dai had no internal organs, and if punctured, their arteries and veins closed themselves on reflex, preventing the blood from escaping. Nothing but thick ropy muscles knotted in tendrils, seemingly wrapped around the spikes. The armor that covered his body was pierced in several places, but that didn't matter. He knew it would regenerate along with his body once he got off the spikes. "Well," he corrected himself, "if I get off the spikes."

His frustration grew, angry at the masters that had sentenced him to this seemingly infinite hellhole, but he calmed himself. Now was not the time to show anger or frustration. He needed these people to want him out, and so he decided fear would be the best way to get their help. A combination of fear and knowledge.

"Please, can you help me? Somebody? I have been trapped down here for days, and spent weeks wandering the catacombs! Please! Are- are you real?"

He put a little quiver in his voice, confident in his acting skills, and waited patiently for the reply. He would rise from the pit, and then he would take his revenge.

Tags: Darth Catalyst, Padawan4687, dice, Shira, @volshe, Volshe, Darth Dreadwar,

IC: Sabba
Aboard The Triumphant, Railjet flatbed.

Sabba’s years of training with her Master served her well in that moment. The knife she dodged impaled the creeping cultists behind her, and her crimson blade found its way through the neck of the cultist below her. For a moment she felt a swell of pride within her chest, realizing that she was a bit more capable than even she had let herself believe. She reminded herself that these cultists were largely untrained in the combat techniques that she was, and told herself not to get too cocky.

The momentary distraction of her success was enough for the last remaining cultist to get a one-up on her, throwing a wave of the Force toward her and knocking her from her perch on the flatbed. She turned just in time to feel the full force of the attack against her, a wave of pressure against her chest, shoulders, and face. The sudden impact sent her backward, falling to the unforgiving ground. She landed hard with a thud, her shoulder blades taking the brunt of the impact. Her fingers slipped from around the hilt of her blade. It was deactivated when it clattered to the ground, and rolled away from her, under the railjet.

She squeezed her eyes closed in pain, trying to push through the feeling of having the wind knocked out of her. When her eyes opened, she looked over toward her lightsaber hilt, extending her hand out toward it; there was no way she could reach it, but she hoped to summon it to her fingertips through the Force. She focused, letting her guard down…again.

With her mind focused on getting her weapon back into her grip, she hadn’t sensed the final cult member rushing up to her. The lone cult member that had knocked her from the platform ran up to her fallen form and jumped on top of her, immediately placing his cracked, dry hands around her throat. Sabba’s head snapped back to see the crazed cultist bearing his blackened teeth, gritting them as he squeezed, attempting to choke the life from her body. She grabbed at his wrists, trying to tear his grip free, but he was physically stronger. She felt the air slipping from her lungs with his weight pressing down against her much smaller frame. She gasped, loudly at first, then much quieter as she began to feel dizzy. Her hands fell away from his wrists and slowly her eyes rolled backward into her head, her eyelids falling behind them.

The sickly wheezing laughter of the cultist filled the air as he frantically choked and pressed against Sabba, intoxicated at the sight of her life slipping away at his hands. His breathing grew heavier and he began to lean forward, pressing all his weight against her throat, trying to force one last gasp of air from her lips.

The fingers on her left hand began to twitch. Her forearm grew tense, almost locking up, and her bicep flexed. The cultist’s eyes never flinched from Sabba’s pale face, nearly lifeless, as he took extreme pleasure from choking the life out of her. He never noticed the twitch in her arm, the tension, or the hilt of the lightsaber across from him beginning to turn and move. His grip loosened slightly, and his body jumped with surprise when Sabba’s eyes bolted open, a hellish glare shooting up toward him. He had no time to react to the snap-hiss of the lightsaber under the railjet car. Before he could act, the hilt was flying through the air, the blazing crimson blade screaming toward his forehead.

Within a second, the hilt was between his eyes, the blade had pierced his skull, and Sabba was free of his grip. She reached up and took the hilt into her hands, deactivating the weapon, and shoved his lifeless body off her. The cultist fell to the ground with a lifeless thud and Sabba got to her knees, breathing deeply the oxygen she was denied moments prior. She pushed herself up to her feet and dusted herself off in time to see Shira running off, calling back for her to follow. Without thinking, she began to break into a run after Shira, but something stopped her. She could sense her Master’s presence nearby, but something else…something else was on the ship.

Sabba’s mind turned to how the woman she was following behind was no one to her, she hadn’t known her for more than an hour. The woman, Shira, had helped her in the turbolift shaft, and against these cultists, but truly she had no idea what her intentions were. For all she knew, she could be following her into a sort of trap. The only person she could trust on the ship was her Master…

Still, her Master, Lord Vassago, told her to remain with the woman, Shira. She tilted her head slightly, sighing to herself, knowing if she disobeyed the given instructions, she would be punished. Against her better judgement, she began to run after Shira again, following her path out of the tunnels, through the corridors, into the passageway near the hangar. When she arrived, slightly out of breath, she saw Shira with a number of people she didn't recognize in the least. She felt...uncomfortable.





IC: Darth Vassago
Aboard The Triumphant, Cellblock BO

Only a single syllable of a prayer slipped from the lips of Blessed Toxmalb before his neck was snapped with brutal efficiency. The body of the feared cult leader crumbled to the ground, his eyes glazed over. His head hit the ground and split open like a party favor, yet rather than sweets pouring from it, poisonous darkflies swarmed en masse toward the Dark Lord.

Darth Vassago shook his head quietly, almost appearing exhausted at the seemingly endless tricks Toxmalb had up his sleeve, even in death. He stiffly raised his right arm, his palm turned upward, his fingers rigid in their position, and stopped the flies completely. He began to walk forward, stepping slowly toward the swarm. He made a subtle swirling motion at his side with his left hand, using his command of the Force to pull the flies together, grouping them tightly in a small vortex of Force energy. With his left hand still extended he lined the vortex with lightning, crafting what amounted to a miniaturized Force Storm in the corridor. He controlled it with the precision of a Master of the Force, grouping the terrible insects into a cluster and obliterating them.

The Dark Lord cleared his hands, returning them to his side, and the small vortex dissipated. The residual static energy clung to the panels in the hallway, electrifying them a bit with small cords of lightning slipping between the panels. The remnants of the darkfly swarm was simply ashes, peppered across the floor panels. Keeping his slow, deliberate pace, the Dark Lord began walking toward the secondary bridge. Beyond the walls he could sense multiple lifeforms numbering in the multiple dozens, each of them pulsed with urgency and fear within the Force.

Each one was considered hostile.

Darth Vassago’s heels clicked against the floor panels, each step he took echoing, each step bringing him closer to the doors of the bridge. He began to prepare himself, focusing his energies in the Force, gathering the energy lingering in the hallway from his miniaturized Storm. The cords of electricity on the wall panels began pour into him, his body like a conduit for the Force energies. He held both his hands ready, palms facing upward, lightning arcing between each of his fingers.

The doors of the secondary bridge opened with a quiet hiss. The time it took the doors to part open seemed to slow down. The looting cultists all seemed to stop what they were doing, turning their attention in unison, to the bridge doors opening. The doors revealed a darkened hallway, filled with residual smoke lingering from the dead darkflies, and standing before the bridge was the imposing hooded figure of an almost eldritch being. The Dark Lord of the Sith.

Immediately upon laying eyes on the Dark Lord, as well as the dead body of Blessed Toxmalb, two groups of looters, totaling twelve individuals, dropped what they were doing and dashed toward the door. The air was filled with their shouting, chanting, their arms raised and ready to attack the man for his intrusion, and the death of the leader.

Vassago’s eyes shot forward from beneath his cowl, glowing white, and he extended his hands before him. Without a moment of hesitation, he unleashed his power, launching a volley of crackling white-hot lightning at the foolish cultists that charged him. The sound of the lightning lashing out filled the air, crackling loudly while the bolts poured from his bent fingertips. The dozen cultists that ran up to meet the dreaded Dark Lord were erased, their bodies turning to ash before they could properly hit the ground.

The air was swirled with the pungent stench of ozone and burnt flesh. The death of a dozen men instantly at the hands of a single being should have been enough of a display of power to convince the other cultists to surrender, but they were indoctrinated and bound by their thoughts and teachings to act. Another group dropped what they were looting and charged in to Vassago’s right, five men this time. He looked to his left to see another six men charging him.

He calmly stepped forward, allowing the doors to close behind him, and a simple sigh slipped from his lips. The charging men brought knives from their belts, some had crude, blunt objects from their looting. One even had a blaster, likely taken from a dead Officer, though he appeared to be unable to disable the “safety” feature.

When the men on his left approached, Vassago slammed the walking staff he carried in to the ground, channeling the Force through it, sending out a massive shockwave and sending them careening backward; the cultists flew backward, smashing into the equipment and walls of the bridge, knocking a few of them unconscious. Simultaneously to this movement, Vassago called the hilt of his lightsaber to his right hand, igniting the pale violet blade of energy. The curved hilt conformed perfectly to the shape of his hand, and he deftly swung to take off the head of the first cultist with a clean, straight strike. He followed the movement with a diagonal slice that would come across the chest of the cultist beside him. He spun on his heel, his cloak swirling around him, and brought his blade back and up in a flourish to meet another cultist, the blade of energy slicing up the man’s chest, to his jaw. Another body hit the floor with a clean ‘stabbing’ motion, impaling the cultist that rushed in next. The final rushing cultist thought better of his attempt and turned, attempting to flee. A small smirk pushed at the corner of Vassago’s mouth, and pulled the fleeing cultist back with his command of the Force, ripping the coward through the air and onto the outstretched lightsaber blade.

One cultist remained, and he’d finally figured how to get the blaster to fire. He outstretched his arm and squeezed the trigger, taking three shots at the Dark Lord. With ease, and complete confidence, Vassago deflected each of the bolts with his free hand, sending two off in different directions. He spun the blade in his right hand and sent the third bolt back to the triggerman, the bolt leaving only a small dark hole in the cultists forehead before he tipped over.

The final body hit the ground and Vassago spun the hilt of his lightsaber in his hand, flourishing it skillfully in front of him, before bringing it to his face, holding the blade vertically, before flashing it out to his side. It had been sometime since the Dark Lord had used his lightsaber, and the rush that came with it was something that he had almost missed. Almost.


The bridge still had cultists littered throughout it, though their numbers were thinned considerably. Those that remained would be dealt with, and it was only a matter of time before the ship was back under rightful control…


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

IC: Reaper
Location: Nar Shaddaa

Reaper held his throat in anger. He had felt how strong Kubjo was far too late. He decided now was not the time to fight and would choose his battles more wisely. "Depends what I get out of it." He said coughing a bit and holding his throat. "And what you have planned for me." He looked at the droid and then at Corvar and back at Kubjo. He had calmed down now but still held his thoughts of vengeance. He'd learn and bide his time. In the end he'd make sure Kubjo got his due. Maybe he'd take the protocol droid too. Or he'd make some deals and take the hutts empire. Nah he thought to himself, the assets is all he'll need then he'll move on after that. Yeah but first he needs to deal with Kubjo. Last time he deals with a hutt that's for sure

Tag: Darth Catalyst, darthkain7

IC: Jania's friend
Beyond Shadows

I AM PLAGUE, it told them, as if to refute the possibility of Ramage's biological attack having any effect on a vessel already claimed by such venomous virus. Yet it was not immune to the frothing plasma of energy blades nor the rending of alchemically treated metal, and as the eldritch abomination let go of Jania's thigh to evade her wild swings, it backed up straight into range of Ramage's wand - and the misshapen thing squealed like a puffer piglet as Ramage's blade bit deep into the carapace of its neck. HAHEHAHEHEHE, it told them, I LOVE IT, as black tar spewed from the wound. Yet if the nicking of the tenebrous jugular was meant to convince the monster to die, it did not appear to comprehend, for its inky blood, instead of leaking copiously in any convincing way, seemed to be spraying in a very deliberate and strangely intelligent manner - a gout of oil towards Ramage's face, seeking his eyes, nostrils and ears, a splash of black fluid that surely no lightsaber blade could deflect.

As its very blood assaulted Ramage, its mouth of teeth opened and closed and twisted neck undulated, as if the monster was struggling to swallow, repeating over and over a horrible wet gagging noise from deep in its throat that could best be described as mngggagACK mmmnggllagal mnggal mmmmngggll mnggal mnggal.

The strange sound would lodge itself in Jania's mind as surely as it was lodged in the gargoyle's throat, repeating itself again and again in her head as she suddenly felt herself falling back back back - the monster was receding, like a bad dream - GASP.

---

"She's coming around," Darth Apollyon murmured. When Jania opened her eyes, she would see the caramel-skinned Sith Lady standing over her, peering down with an expression that mingled pity and disgust. Jania Kio was lying atop a metal grate, digging uncomfortably into her back, there was a stone ceiling above her, a voice emanating from beneath her inexplicably begging for help and asking if she - they? - was real, and the... room was shaking?

The cold, stale air and deathly scent was unmistakable. She was back in the tomb.

Upon Xirr's correct answer, the sinking room had resumed its movement, shuddering and groaning as the entire chamber descended through a vast stone shaft like an oversized turbolift until they were surely hundreds of feet below the Valley floor, and thousands of feet below the canyon wall into which the tomb was cut. It was at that moment that Jania Kio, deposited on the floor of the new chamber by Darth Viscretus, who was yet stationary as she focused on her feat of distant mind-control, had awoken, her bones repaired by the Sith sorceress' healing powers while she was unconscious. Mostly.

The shaking stopped. The room had finished its descent. The section of the wall Viscretus was facing withdrew into the ceiling, revealing a new passageway beyond at the top of the short stairs to Jania's right; in the light of Apollyon's torch, it appeared smaller and narrower than any they had previously traversed, accommodating only single-file passage, and roughly-cut, with low-hanging rocks protruding from what could be generously termed a ceiling, that would force one to duck frequently just to proceed onward.

Darth Apollyon sneered, looking from the passageway back at Jania. "Get her up, Scionica," she spat, testing how well the stubborn and possibly deranged assassin responded to brusque orders. "Get her off the grate, and all of us," she looked around at the team, "stand on the stairs. Let us combine our telekinetic power to rip the grate off, and then pull the monster off the spikes." Like Catalyst, whose waist she had regretfully relinquished holding, Apollyon recognised the being trapped in the pit below the grate Jania lay on as a Gen'Dai, and understood his remarkable feat of surviving the trap. He was dressed in the garb of a Sith acolyte, and thus could make a useful accomplice in their quest going forwards, given how he had penetrated the tomb so far already, and single-handedly at that.

"Then," Apollyon continued, "we'll proceed into the passageway single-file. Perhaps the Gen'Dai first, IF IT'S UP TO HELPING US SITH MASTERS," she shouted the last part so Neoplix could hear. If there are further traps, it is best to let regenerating hunk of flesh take them. "Clearly this voice that spoke to our minds - some kind of magical recording imprinted in the aether of the Force, I'd estimate - only recognised us as trained Sith, given it did not ask the assassins or young Shaire, and only required we answer its questions for the door to open."

She smiled grimly at the members of her team, one after the other. "Given that this... gatekeeper required all of us trained Sith to pass its tests, I think what lies beyond is probably important. This could be the passageway that leads to the sarcophagus." Her smile warmed. "If so, maybe we can finally find the missing fragment of Naga Sadow's prophecy, and try to get out of this blasted tomb!"


TAG: darthramage , Volshe , Shira , Padawan4687 , Darth Catalyst , dice , @lordjania , gorzan

---

IC: Imperial Knight
The Triumphant, en route to Nihil Retreat

The situation in the passageway was calming. Although his resistance had been valiant, Nox Talus succumbed to sheer numbers, which was fortunate for the Imperials as Knight Qazoi had done absolutely nothing to protect the Sword as ordered, who appeared thoroughly dazed still. Then again, it was understandable; the Empress' surprise reappearance was enough to freeze anybody in place. The Imperial Knights accosting the her backed off, their suspicions that this was merely some illusory trickery with malevolent intent assuaged by Shira A'dola, who appeared to instantly sense the familiar presence of her friend and sovereign as she entered the passageway with Sabba in tow.

The Knights began extinguishing their lightsabers, stepping aside to look between A'dola and the apparent Empress uncertainly, awaiting orders. The two who had Force Pushed Nox took the initiative to roll over his unconscious body and place electrocuffs on him, one firmly placing his knee in the small of Nox's back should the broken Jedi regain consciousness, the other remaining standing and holding his lightsaber at the nape of Nox's neck.

The secondary bridge saw a similar scene of control being reestablished. Like an inescapable angel of death, Darth Vassago tore his way through the cultists, ruthlessly dispatching twenty-one Rhandites in a matter of seconds. Only five cultists remained on the entire ship, now, huddling beneath the control consoles of the secondary bridge to escape Vassago's gaze, two in the crew pit to his left, three in the right. Thanks to Tano, control of the ship had been rerouted to these consoles, but the cultists had not been able to make use of this victory, Vassago arriving before they had even had a chance to figure out the ship's systems.

But they would not go down without a fight.

One cultist jumped out of cover on Vassago's left, staring up at the Dark Lord standing above them on the bridge's walkway. His quivering finger was hovering above a green button on the nearest control panel. "Stand down," he shouted shakily. "Or I'll detonate the hyperdrive." It was a bluff - the cultist had no clue what the button even did - but the acolytes had learned how to shield their thoughts during their training on Rhand, so the lie might not be immediately apparent to Vassago. At the least, it was a distraction, as the second cultist in the pit pulled a thermal detonator from the belt of a dead munitions officer, and began fiddling with it, attempting to figure out how to detonate it before Vassago could stop him. The three cultists hiding in the right crew pit, meanwhile, closed their eyes and began ever-so-quietly whispering the dreadful prayer that would invoke the power of the Left-Handed God.  “Ari Nemesis, vexok savaka. Jiaas nuyak Kintik--”

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

---

IC: Ermir Marcus
Murder scene, bowels of the Sith Temple, Korriban

The tunnel was a dead-end, jagged rocks grinning at Arcane as he entered the scene. The end of the tunnel bore the marks of pick-axes from where the workers had been hacking at the brown rock, crumbled stone littering the ground alongside their corpses and belongings. In the upper-right corner of the rock face was a rough hole, only a few inches in diameter, from which emanated a faint red light. The conclusion was obvious; the tunnel these workers had been opening had intersected with something else.

Something that had been left undisturbed beneath this Temple for untold centuries.

The air was stale, and thick with the Dark Side. It was growing stronger, too, stronger as one approached the hole, perhaps, but there was something else in the air, as well, a surge of awful dread. You are not alone, the Force seemed to whisper, you are seen.

Before Arcane could rummage around the workers' bodies, a hand descended suddenly on his right shoulder. Ermir Marcus was standing behind him, his stark white coat contrasting against the darkness of the tunnel, the outbreath from his nostrils tickling Arcane's ear. He was smiling nastily. "Now what are you doing down here, pussy cat?"

TAG: Arcane

---

IC: Garn Tarcrulus
Hold of the Artificer, Federation checkpoint

"Shit," Garn hissed, looking at Karina. It had taken some time for her to return to full consciousness, catalysed by the Holocron notwithstanding, and in the meantime the Captain had responded to the Federation hail, moving to dock the Artificer with the Federation corvette New Hope according to their hologrammed instructions. Jacen Thilly had returned to the hold, now, just in time for Karina to awaken, loud clanking noises reverberating throughout the freighter as a docking bridge was extended from the adjacent New Hope to the Artificer's airlock.

"Listen, girl," he spoke rapidly and lowly, "Federation agents are about to come through that airlock," he pointed to the sealed portal next to the boarding ramp, "so we're pretending we're havin' a bit of a sex party so those box of wands down there, which we stowed the Holocron in, doesn't raise their susp--" There was a banging on the airlock's metal door. Garn stopped mid-sentence, leaning back to feign a casual position, giving Karina a thumbs-up to silently indicate she play along before nodding towards Jacen.

The Captain stood, walking over to the airlock and entering a code in the keypad, before turning a large metal wheel affixed to the door. With a clank, it swung open, allowing two Federation security agents to enter the hold. They were middle-aged male humans, dressed in navy blue uniforms, with sleek chrome blaster pistols holstered at their hips. The one on the left raised his eyebrow as he took in the scene, turning towards the nearest passenger: Darth Voidwalker. "Well, well, well, what have we here then?"

TAG: Darth Voidwalker , kurtishenschel

---

IC: Tarpy
Control room, Ninushodojinyaut, dead space

As begrudging as its unnatural feelings were, the magical tarp could only be impressed at Kint's ingenuity and combat prowess. His lightsaber whirled like a buzz-saw, evaporating droplets of fluid flying from the encroaching pool, before he let loose explosive napalm rounds that melted the durasteel of the ceiling, causing molten metal and napalm to rain down on the eldritch tar. The fluid made a strange squealing noise as it evaporated, like the screech of a kettle coming to boil.

With Lemmy spraying cannon fire, what few remnants escaped Kint's clever attack were swiftly dispersed as well. After a brief cheer to celebrate the fact they were now slightly less imminently close to horrible death, the tarp shot forwards, unfurling behind Kint to peer down over his shoulder as he worked the alien console.

"I don't know, Lemmy," the tarp said as it watched. "It looked like a tidal wave of black fluid back there. I wouldn't be surprised if the passageway outside was full to the ceiling by now..." The tarp trailed off, curiosity piqued as it saw the results of Kint's input. The display had changed; in the bottom left corner was a green arrow, pointing leftwards, suggesting a back button to return to the previous screen. In the centre of the screen there were crudely drawn digital depictions of four cages and their occupants: the top left cage appeared to contain something that looked like a rancor with a row of spikes down its back and wicked tusks, the top right cage appeared to contain a pack of grey-black canines that resembled horned kath hounds, the bottom left cage appeared to contain upright human skeletons, and the bottom right cage appeared to contain a humanoid silhouette within a halo of flame.

Beneath each picture was a touchscreen button with the following symbol:

IC: Jania Kio
Location: Beyond Shadows

As Jania was let loose from the monster’s grip she was grateful but her injury was still gaping and throbbing in intense pain. Figuring her Master could handle it from there she notice the abomination turns its attention onto him which would have allowed her to strike some sort of counter attack if what happened next hadn’t caught her off guard.

Like a sinkhole or a large cavern in the deepest abyss, Jania would feel the ground give way from under her suddenly as if disappearing by some unknown magic act. Falling down into the darkness of her mind once more she reached her hands out towards Ramage wanting to stay with her new Master longer. She could sense through the force that something was troubling him besides the monster but wouldn’t know what until the images of what he wanted to tell her popped through her mind. A fence of lightning between four pillars, the Sept’s inner sanctum, five dead creatures in a tank, and lastly a image of herself over everyone she loathed, Viscretus and the Zeltron Robyn being the main ones. After the images popped into her head they were gone and she could no longer feel Ramage. Where was she now and what new adventures laid ahead for her?

Location: Room of the Spike Pit, below the False Tomb of Naga Sadow

As she came too her eyes opened with a crack as she was afraid any light would temporarily blind her. Sadly though since they were still not only in the Tomb, but even lower now, this turned out to be something Jania wouldn’t have to worry about. Seeing the Sith Lady known as Apollyon hovering over her with a face of disgust and pity, Jania knew her welcome would be anything but warm. In fact, she was sure most of them was wondering if it would be better if the acolyte would just die down there so they could leave the body. ‘Not today’ she thought... ‘but one day I’ll kill you all and show I am worthy of becoming Sith. I’ll whip that look clean off your face.’

Hearing the girl she previously flirted with; Scionica being told to help her up, Jania gracefully allowed herself to be helped before flashing her regular smile as she noticed her body still hurt but someone must have healed her injuries to an extent. Trying to stretch some of the pain away she redirected herself back to the assassin before finally addressing her. “Thanks for that. It’s nice to see such a cute and actually friendly face again. What’s the situation here?”

Being helped to the stairs before hearing Apollyon’s plans of tearing the grate off and helping the alien who had been down below her on the spike pit, Jania saw her training blade on the grate. And in a feat that should’ve shocked anyone in the group, the young hybrid girl used the force to pull her blade her hand before fixing the sheath and blade back onto its strap on her clothing. Looking at the new passageway over to her right, she walked over to examine it slightly before hearing the plan to put this alien at the front of the group. Simply nodding her head in reply she walked back over to Scionica and made sure to keep mostly quiet as she didn’t want an incident like before. There would be plenty of time for flirting once they were out this death trap. Flirting and Revenge...

Tag: Darth Dreadwar, darthramage, Volshe, Shira, Padawan4687, Darth Catalyst, dice, gorzan