The Old Sith Trials

Name/Title:Darth Feros
Nicknames/Aliases: None
Age: Appears around 30
Sex: Male
Species: Human
Race: Hapan by Blood
Homeworld: Hapes
Occupation: Sith Lord
Faction Affiliation: Sith
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 205 Lbs
Physical Description: Tall, Lean, And almost purely muscle. Shoulder length red hair, usually pulled back in a tight tail. Durasteel Grey eyes, a deep scar running along his right cheek from the edge of his eye to the corner of his mouth.

Clothing: Feros wears functional clothing. Loose fitting pants tucked into almost knee high boots. A tight shirt under an Over Tunic with a utilitarian leather belt. All black. A long black cloak occasionally covers him to hide his identity and stave off the cold.

Weapons: A single curved hilted Lightsaber dangles from a D Ring at his belt, the metal smoothed over from heavy use. The Blade is a deep Blood Crimson, and the handle is adorned with a sleeve hollowed from a Rancor Tooth.

Equipment: Standard equipment worn in a utility belt.
Vehicles: an Ancient Bes'Uliik star fighter, Skorn

Languages:Galactic Basic, Old Hapan, Sith (All Variants), Mando'a, and Old Galactic Standard.

Combat Abilities: Physically imposing, and adept in the use of Dun Möch, Feros is a master of all forms of lightsaber combat, but prefers a blend of Makashi and Shien/Djem So, to outclass and overpower his opponents. His force lightning is formidable, as well as his basic force Telekinesis.

Other Strengths: Has learned the Art of Shatter point, and, when in the mood, has a way with words and is very intellectual.

Flaws: Like most Hapans, he is proud to a fault, and relies heavily on his personal honor.

Personality: Usually stern, cynical, and sarcastic. Has a dark sense of humor. He's also quite sadistic, enjoying the pain he causes others. He is cold and calculating when in combat. But despite all this, he can be quite charming if the occasion calls for it.

Interests: All forms of combat and the history of the Ancient Sith, particularly the Valley of the Dark Lords

Biography: Feros was born on Hapes, to a family that was once royalty, but had since fallen from Grace. He was given up at a young age to a man who visited and told his parents he was a Jedi, and that their son was very attuned to the Force. The man lied, as he was actually a Sith, and taught Feros the ways of the Dark Side. When Feros had learned all he could from his master, he killed him, deciding he was no longer of any use. Since then, his quest for knowledge and power have led him to sweep the Galaxy in search of knowledge, until, finally, he stands here upon the red sands of Korriban.

Rank/Level: Sith Apprentice/ Level 1

Class: Warrior

Skills



Force push/pull –1

Force choke –

Force jump –1

Force Avalanche –

Force Lightning –1

Force Defense –1

Mind Trick –1

Shatterpoint - 1 (sub. Gm approved)

Form I –

Form II –1

Form III –

Form IV –

Form V – 1

Form VI –

(Warrior tree only) Form VII –

(Marauder only) Force Rage –

(Knight only) Inspire –

(Sorcerer tree only) Force Drain –

(Inquisitor only) Probe Mind –

(Arcanist only) Dark Side Healing –

(Assassin tree only) Force Cloak –

(Stalker only) Force Stealth –

(Watcher only) Conceal Essence –

Force Storm -

Essence Transfer –

Hunger –

Pain –

Tutaminis –

IC: Darth Vassago & Sabba
Aboard The Triumphant, hyperspace, en route to the Nihil Retreat

The Chiss Captain eyed Vassago up and down; his distrust was not immediately made obvious by his body language, but the Dark Lord could sense it. Still, the Imperial Captain motioned for his troops to lower their weapons, while he did the same, though he kept it in plain sight. “Very well, Lord Vassago. Follow me. I shall take you to our commander, The Lady Shira A’dola.”

Shira.

His eyebrow arched beneath his cowl at the sound of the name. He’d heard it once before, from his Apprentice, when he met with her before boarding the railjet. Shira was the ‘kind’ woman, as Sabba naively explained, and the woman that spoke directly to his mind, requesting assistance with the infestation of cult members running amuck on board. No doubt, the Lady Shira would be most pleased to hear that the cultists, along with their leader Toxmalb, were dead.

Captain Gederp walked ahead, flanked by his Stormtroopers, leading the way through the winding corridors and passages. He made haste, no doubt anxious to get back to his trusted allies; he was uneasy, but he knew there was safety in numbers, should the Sith Lord behind him decide to become a threat.

The thought to kill the Captain hadn’t even crossed Vassago’s mind, really. While he had no love for the Empire, whichever one was ruling, he did not seek to create more enemies. He had more than enough. Even with his self-imposed exile, those that sought after him hadn’t stopped, that much was clear after the events that unfolded on Makatak. His enemies remained, cunning and unwavering as ever, seeking his demise. Deep down, he knew his exile would not put an end to his troubles, rather he’d hoped those that pursued him would simply believe him dead. To that point, it was not the case.

The walk back was quick with the Captain’s brisk pace. The passageway housing the reunion, as it were, was just ahead, and Gederp hurried off to join at the sight of the familiar faces, taking a knee when he reached the image of the one he called Empress.

Darth Vassago slowed his pace, falling behind Gederp and his men, and turned his gaze the situation ahead of him, his eyes studying those in the passage. He’d not seen these men and women since his initial arrival on board, and even then, he paid them little mind. There seemed to be a few fresh faces in the bunch, now. He did not follow the Chiss’ lead, bending a knee, but instead slowed to a stop six paces outside of the main grouping. His Apprentice, Sabba, noticed her Master’s arrival instantly, and her eyes lit up, a smile overtook her face as she saw the aged Lord come to rest with his staff beside him. Her smile quickly softened, she was relieved to see him well, unharmed. She knew he was capable, perhaps the most capable of all of those aboard in her estimation, but still…she grew fearful of his fate when they were separated. 


“Master,” she spoke in a hushed down, breaking away from Shira and the others, kneeling when she was just before Vassago. He motioned with his free hand for her to rise, she obeyed, and stood by his side. He looked on while Gederp exchanged words with the woman from the railjet, Shira, and regarded her as a Captain would. He then immediately took note of her eyes turning to him, almost inquisitively, before offering him a nod. 

The Dark Lord seized the moment, stepping forward to join the rest of the group, and spoke directly. “Your Majesty,” he regarded the Empress with a shallow bow and turned his eyes to Shira from beneath his cowl. “Mistress,” he offered simply while returning her nod in kind. He truly didn’t care for politics, nor this chain of command, as seen by any Empire, but he would show respect where it was due, as was his way. Though, he only offered it to the two women, no others. He reached up to the edges of his hood and brought it down around his shoulders revealing his bearded face, aged and scarred, his right ear cut at the end, and his hairless head, marked only with a tattooed symbol just above the wrinkles in his forehead. “You’ll find your issues with the cultists, along with their leader, have been resolved,” he stated, bringing them up to speed on Toxmalb’s passing, “as you requested.” He finished strongly, his eyes falling to Shira as the words left his lips.

He considered speaking to Shira of his destination, his journey to Dreadwar, perhaps. Perhaps not. Though, he thought it best to bring her up to speed on the request she made, first. Likely, with that out of the way, she would be more willing to help. At least, that was his hope. Dreadwar had specifically named this vessel, and its destination, as the most efficient way to get to him. It was Vassago’s hope that he was not misled, and that Shira would, in fact, be taking the The Triumphant to Nilrebmah…

TAG: Volshe Shira Darth Dreadwar Triumphant Tag Set. 

IC: Alisha Tano
Location: the Triumphant, hyperspace en route to the Nihil Retreat

Things were starting to get blurry again... Alisha leaned back against a wall and let herself get fussed over. She moved to wipe her forehead with a sleeve, only to realize that said sleeve was already torn and bloodstained. Kriff... I'm more beat-up than I thought. The blood was cleaned from her face with a cloth instead.

She kept her expression and aura as neutral as possible so she wouldn't project again, but her eyes remained fixed on her Empress and Shira. How in the world she just... appeared, she'd never know nor did she feel like guessing at. But seeing her in all her splendor seemed to take a weight off Alisha's shoulders. It was as though everything would be all right now with her back at the helm... a childish thought to be sure, but it persisted.

Alisha shook her head in an attempt to clear it, she couldn't "step back" even with the Empress's return. Even though respect only seems to belong to Her and her Hand at the moment... she thought with a touch of bitterness. Alisha stepped forward, hastily casting the feeling away and adopting the formal posture she was known for at Shira's side.

So, the same new arrival that indirectly helped Rhandites escape, destroyed them all...Yet another set of people that managed to just materialize on my ship... I wonder who else will decide to pay us a destructive visit before the day is over? she thought with biting sarcasm, despite bending her head for a respectful nod to the man. "You have our thanks," she told him, "This ship will live to fly another day..."  How he got on board, and moreso his plans and intentions now that he was on board with the current danger "over" would still need to be seen.

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

IC: Darth Kain
Location: Nar Shaddaa

"I have no more questions, personally," Corvar said, giving a slight nod to the droid. "But I would do well to bid Kubjo good luck while I'm gone," he then turned to Reaper and added, "Excuse me," before going to the Hutt.

Corvar was excited to leave this place, after all there was no denying that it was a hive of scum and villainy. But he had a stake in it now, so he supposed he could get used to it. He approached the mighty Kubjo and gave a bow. "Farewell, Kubjo. I can assure you that at least I will be back with the sword safely. I wish you good fortune in the meantime. Hopefully your associates will be competent enough that they won't have to sully your diet."
Corvar bowed again before returning to the ship, brushing past Reaper and D-3P0 on his way to his quarters.

Affixed in the center of the room was indeed a meditation sphere, perfect for scouring through the contents of the holocron given to Corvar not so long ago. Along the western wall was his bunk, which looked comfortable enough. Beyond that, the protocol droid had been correct in that Kubjo had decorated the room to make it fit Corvar's style. But that made Corvar more satisfied than anything. He'd been playing this game with his cards close to the vest, and this was proof that Kubjo hadn't gotten a peek of his cards just yet.

Corvar returned to D-3P0 and Reaper shortly after, a grin on his face that caused the scar on his nose to crinkle slightly.

TAGS: Darth Catalyst trentongordon

IC: Ermir Marcus
Murder scene, Sith Temple, Korriban

The sheer cheek of the cockalorum who dared think himself worthy of even the appellation 'peon' took Ermir Marcus aback. For a second, he merely stood there, pallid lips hanging as loosely open as his white alchemist's coat as Arcane began to strut in the direction of his room "to think." And then, before Arcane could depart with all intended haste, Ermir kicked into action, recognising the only witness to this great discovery, save for the jailed workman who surely faced death in the arena, was about to walk away and tell Force knows who. His hand raised, his spindly fingers tapping on the strands of invisible Force energy that surrounded all life, his crooked claws pulling the Cathar back towards him.

"Just where do you think you're going, you cortical homunculus?" Ermir spat, his voice dripping with venom. "What sort of smelfungus are you, to find fault in the opportunity of a lifetime? The Sith Order has no time for snivelling mumpsimuses who think themselves the next Lord Simus! You're nothing but an awkward, gawky hobbledehoy with arsegrease fur, crooked paws, worm-ridden offal, a blistering tongue and a blathering mouth, who foolishly thinks he should be a royal lickspittle, not comprehending the divine Emperor shits and pisses on those who do not strive for greatness!"

Ermir flicked his hand contemptuously, sending Arcane careening into the rough wall of the freshly hewn passageway. The Sith Master's boots clicked as he approached the young acolyte, his white knuckles betraying his anger as he stopped to regard the fallen Cathar. Finally, Ermir sighed, unclenching his fists and kneeling to look at Arcane at eye-level. Ermir ran a hand through his tousled hair, shaking his head as he did so before returning to stare at Arcane, a mixture of bewilderment and frustration evident in his beady eyes. "Yes," Ermir sighed again, peering down his raptorial nose, "of course I was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't need you. I just didn't need you going, tattling about this discovery to the other masters. I could have killed you, but unauthorised murders of pupils are... frowned upon. So I felt it was best to offer you a share of the loot, so to speak."

The Sith teacher held his spider-like hand out, offering Arcane assistance to his feet - and a deal.

TAG: Arcane

---

IC: Darth Dreadwar
Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, Korriban

Darth Dreadwar returned to his feet with a singularly unnatural motion that indicated the Force was surely involved; the Dread-King appeared to rise as if his fall had simply been reversed, in slow-motion. It was an eerie effect, but one that fitted the caliginous Shadow well. His empty hood regarded his apparent conqueror for only a moment; so silly, a base beast indeed, holding his toy sword and taunting in barbaric tongue in foolish hope Dreadwar would rise to his challenge. And then the hood turned to focus its abyssal gaze on Coatlec. It was impressive, indeed unlikely, the Bastard Lord had deduced the intended lesson so quickly, but Coatlec's presumption that he believed he understood now was amusing indeed - and ran contrary to the very principle Coatlec now proclaimed he would embrace moving forward.

It was ironic, really. He can stand to see others lose, but not himself.

"Correct, child," the Emperor hissed, amusement saturating that snakish sibilance, "three Prestige points." It was a double-edged accolade, for while it appeared to be a verbal commendation for Coatlec's surprisingly immediate grasp of the lesson, it was as empty as Dreadwar's cowl; Prestige points only held meaning to apprentices, determining their progress through the Sith Trials, and thus the comment served as compliment and insult both, implying Coatlec was but a young acolyte who had much to learn. The Emperor placed his hands behind his back before continuing.

"Oft do we forget the most basic things, since it has been too long since we learned them. And I realised Emperor Krayt had curated the curriculum of the New Sith Order with this flaw at the fore, a pernicious seed of weakness that has born poisonous fruit in your prideful heart, Lord Coatlec: do not teach students to throw until you have taught them to fall. And I, who inherit Krayt's Order much as he inherited it from the great Lord Vassago, must not continue to teach you to fight if you do not first understand how to lose, for it is the nature of life that you shall lose far more often than you shall win. And indeed, you cannot exploit the lessons of failure to achieve victory in the future, without first mastering defeat."

Dreadwar brought one hand forward, clenched in a gauntleted fist, keeping the other behind his back in imperious posture. "I learned how to lose in a monastery on Palawa," he said, "over seven thousand years ago. I was a man, then, of flesh and blood, thirty years old by standard reckoning, bearing the name my mother gave me: Ku'ar Danar." Dreadwar paused for a second, letting the significance sink in; he knew it would serve as a confirmation of Coatlec's suspicions, if he had not outright deduced already, the youngling having come from the tomb of Darth Sadow.

"The Followers of Palawa were one of many traditions of the Forceful I had courted in my expeditions beyond known space, and the Master of that dojo taught a martial art with a reputation for adapting well to usage of the Force - and countering the techniques of the Jedi. If I told you its reputation survives to this day, by the name Teräs Käsi, I am sure you would appreciate why I left my exploration of the Naos Asteroid Belt to study there." Leaving in my place, my apprentice and vassal King, Dathka Graush, to continue my experiments. "During one of my first fights, I was beaten in a particularly humiliating fashion. I had endured much in life, and risen high since, and such an ignominy was not one I was intent to accept. In my anger, I lost control, and attacked my sparring partner, thankfully with my fists alone, not my sorcery."

Both of Dreadwar's hands calmly returned to behind his back, belaying the pride and rage of the tale he told. "The Master, surprisingly, did not expel me on the spot. But he did tell me that there was a flaw in my temperament. He explained it to me, and I knew in the instant, looking back on my life lived theretofore, that he was right. And then he said that I would learn how to lose."

The empty hood was expressionless.

"Upon his strict orders, all of the students of the dojo lined up. One by one, they approached me. I was not to defend myself. I was only to beg for mercy. One by one, they punched me, or kicked me, and pushed me to the ground. Some of them spat on me, others urinated. And before each one, I had to abase myself, say, 'I lose!' and similar such things. 'I beg you to stop,' I would cry - and I mean cry - and proclaim their superiority. 'I admit you're better than me! I'll do anything for you! I'm sorry! I'm worthless!' As their blows rained down, I abased myself yet further, kissing their very feet."

Dreadwar knew, of course, Coatlec would have difficulty imagining it. It seemed impossible, such things happening to the dignified Emperor, the being unto whom Coatlec rendered utmost respect and adoration.

"I was a master of the Dark Side even then," Dreadwar continued. "With my spellwork alone I could have killed everyone in that dojo." The Emperor turned, then, looking briefly at Zhav'vorsa, the message clear. Put away your weapon, you fool; I could kill you on the spot. "I did not do so. I deliberately endured it so that I might purify myself of weakness. I learned to lose. To this day, even across the centuries, across a thousand lifetimes, I remember it as one of the most unpleasant hours of my existence. Yet when I left that dojo eight months later, my training by necessity lasting shorter than I would have liked, I thanked the Matukai Master personally. For once, no lie passed my lips, when I told him that it was one of the most valuable lessons I had ever learned."

The Emperor crossed his arms. "You are perhaps wondering whether the academy survived as long as I did, and whether you can study there still. You cannot. For, several seasons after my departure, another would-be student came to that hidden place, to that remote mountain. A Dark Lord of the Sith." The Emperor paused for a second, surveying Coatlec and Zhav'vorsa both, his powerful cloak rippling behind him. "The Sith Lord came openly, without disguise, clad in gleaming armour of onyx and gold, with demonic red eyes glowing with a feverish flame. You can imagine, the row of students arrayed before him," the Emperor waved his hand across, as if helping them picture the scene, "terrified at this apparition of darkness, yet disciplined. They attempted to bar his passage, only to find themselves forced to their knees by an invisible hand, forming the mockery of an honour guard as the Sith Lord passed their struggling, trembling columns. And when the Master came forth, the Sith demanded - not asked, but demanded - to be taught."

The Emperor's posture became stiffer, his aura hardening. The room was becoming colder. "Perhaps the Master had read too many books," the Emperor whispered quietly, "telling the lie that a true martial artist could defeat even devils, that a hero should face any evil unflinching. For whatever noble reason, the Master refused. He told the dark one he had no patience, and that was when the Sith ripped his tongue out. You can guess what happened next. Released from their forced prostration so that the Sith could relish the slaughter, the students rushed the Dark Lord."

The room was very cold now. "There are techniques within the Force," the Emperor's whisper was even quieter, "against which there is no defense. There is an unforgiveable art horded in the proscribed lore of Malachor, through which a Sith may learn to devour the very essence of his enemies. One by one, this Dark Lord of Trayus tore the spirits of the students from their bodies, torturing their souls for a frozen eternity before devouring them entirely, while the Master was forced to watch. When all but one of his students had died in this most terrible way, the Master followed - and the lone survivor was left alive to spread the dread tale."

The Emperor paused for a long while. He contemplated going further - of telling them of how that lone survivor had alerted the Jedi to the teachings of Palawa, of how the Jedi had come to the world in paranoid fear of the martial art being used against them by the followers of other academies, and thus fallen into a trap in which the Dark Lord had cleansed planet and Jedi army both with a cataclysmic ritual. Of how the surviving Palawans, from other, lesser dojos, had been relocated to Bunduki, and were nomads to this day, blaming the Jedi Order for their homeworld's destruction.

But this was not a lesson in history. This was a lesson in losing. And so he left other things unsaid as well, for learning how to turn losing into winning was a premature lesson for one such as Coatlec; it would magnify his bloated pride.

When he spoke again, his horrid, hollow rasp of a voice had calcified into pure malice, echoing powerfully throughout the room. "Sith Lords cannot keep their tempers," he continued. "It is a nearly universal flaw of the species, and the Jedi have made a wise habit of relying on it, to our undoing each time. Understand that the Dark Lord did not win that day. His goal was to learn martial arts, and yet he left without a single lesson." Dreadwar shook his head. "The Dark Lord was foolish to wish that story retold. It did not show his strength, but rather an exploitable weakness. And that is why, for all the strength the mantra of Sorzus Syn's creed gives us," Dreadwar referred to the ancient author of the common Sith Code, "it is foolish to embrace it literally, without critical thought. Peace is a lie, yes. But so is passion. Hatred is powerful, yes."

The Emperor's tone took on one of recitation, as he repeated his own infamous riddle. "But what is deadlier than hate, and flows without limit?" he asked the darkness. "Indifference," the Darkness answered, and the two Sith standing in the Darkness' presence would come to know the source of his power. The Dread Lord was not fire, as most Sith.

He was ice.

And that arctic aura would chill Coatlec to the bone, as the Emperor's gaze returned to him with all the focus of the void. "Lord Coatlec," hissed the Dread Lord of Darkness, "what precisely did you do wrong in the tomb?"

TAG: Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror Lord Vassago

IC: D-3PO
Kubjo's Space Station, Nar Shaddaa

The silver droid balked a little at Reaper’s brash response. “Don’t crash? Mister Reaper, I can assure you I have never crashed a starship.” As the two men walked away from him he let out a quiet utterance that either of them would have difficulty catching. “I’ve never flown a starship before either but I’m entirely confident I can do it better than either of you… meatbags.” He remained in the cockpit as Reaper made his way to the hold and Corvar strolled down the ramp to bid his farewell to Kubjo. Already, the Hutt had a shiny new BD-3000 protocol droid at his side. This one seemed far more sleek and less neurotic than the 3PO unit that was to accompany them, even going so far as to have robotic lekku attached to more easily articulate the language of the Twi’lek. The droid began translating Kubjo’s harsh Huttese farewell with a sultry feminine voice, “Mighty Kubjo wishes you safe travels. He bequeaths the Force into your grasp.” The Hutt waved one last time as Corvar bowed and slithered back to the lift.

Back in the cockpit, D-3PO could not help but pick up on Corvar’s glee. “It seems you are prepared, if not elated, to begin our travels! Mister Reaper has informed me that he will be spending the majority of our trip in the hold with the Form II. Does that name hold any significance to you? I am aware of the designated second form of lightsaber combat known as Makashi, emphasizing grace and precision above all else. Between you and me, Mister Corvar, Mister Reaper seems neither graceful nor precise. Now then, if you’ll pardon my overhearing, we are first going to the mines of Corbos, correct? I have to make one quick pit stop on the moon before we officially depart. Picking up some supplies for our travels. It should take us only a few minutes. Our destination is Docking Bay 416.”

TAG: trentongordon ,darthkain7 ,

---

IC: Darth Maladi
Undercity, Nar Shaddaa

Nar Shaddaa was not the least promising place for the Sith. A wretched hive of scum and villainy usually meant that the Dark Side was alive and well. Feros would feel it all around him. The task he was given here was still rather vague. He had simply been told that an asset to the Empire would reveal itself to him on Nar Shaddaa. That could have meant anything from as simple as a caged ysalamir, which he would be able to see sold by the dozen at various vendors, to a hidden superweapon.

His comm chimed. The smooth voice of Darth Maladi purred through the speaker. “Kubjo the Hutt, an old ally of the Empire, is sending the assets to your location. It is your job to deem whether or not they are worthy of Dreadwar’s attention. Your rendezvous point is Docking Bay 416; be on the lookout for a YV-666 transport. While you’re at it, see if you can find out what Kubjo is up to. I wouldn’t put it past the fat slug to try and withhold secrets from the Emperor, and his information thread has been rather quiet after the discovery his team made in Sadow's Tomb on the moon of Yavin. You have been given the authority to enact the Emperor’s wishes. Do not disappoint Him.” The comm channel went silent again and Darth Feros was left surrounded by aliens in the dense undercity.

TAG: darthferos ,

IC: Darth Kain
Location: Nar Shaddaa

"Well, it's a good thing that his new ship is the graceful one, then," Corvar chuckled. Indeed, Corvar was wondering himself why Reaper picked such a name for a ship. But he quickly realized he wouldn't come up with a much better one himself if he had a ship to call his own.

Prepared to leave this world, Corvar didn't mind having to make a stop before heading to their objective, though he felt uneasy about it regardless. "I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered beneath his breath before returning to his quarters, awaiting D-3P0 to take off as he became better acquainted with his new holocron.

TAGS: Darth Catalyst trentongordon

The Triumphant, en route to the Nihil Retreat

"It is good to see you as well, Lady A'dola," Gederp nodded stiffly back at his commanding officer, "and I can confirm the words of this newcomer, who revealed himself to be a Sith Lord; Blessed Toxmalb, and all the remaining cultists aboard this vessel, are dead. Unfortunately, so is the pilgrim who was guiding us; with the coordinates she gave us, however, we remain on-course to where she claimed this Zakuul could be found. Several hours of hopefully peaceful hyperspace travel remain ahead of us."

He still had misgivings about Shira's lack of military knowledge, to be expressed at a later briefing, but Gederp had spoken truly; it was good to see her again; the Empire would not have survived her passing. Or would it? "May I enquire as to the Empress' return?" The Sovereign had acknowledged his presence with only the raising of a hand, and her intense focus on this Nox the Hand spoke of indicated, to Gederp, the action of possible sorcery. He would not interrupt her.

---

Beyond Shadows

"Very well." These were the only words Ramage heard before he passed under the centre archway. The black stone veritably swallowed him up as he stepped forward, the murkiness of the strange substance swimming before his eyes and growing fluid, rivulets of imagery beginning to run before his retinas. Within only moments, an alien scene had swam into focus, and if Ramage would look behind him, he would see no hint of the tunnel system he had come from.

Eldritch indeed.

But not so eldritch as the unspeakable vision before him. He stood in the midst of a cyclopean city of unnatural and impossible geometry, composed of a horrible emerald stone with bulbous tiles that seemed to shift and pulse like corpulent pustules beneath his boots, as if the bloated green stone was possessed of the awful facsimile of life. Crawling into the sickly sky like the crooked fingers of a god, old, crumbling steeples that could barely contain the dark presence that saturated the aether around Ramage, in which dwelt nameless elder things with rugose tentacles adorning their demonic scarlet countenances, moaning and groaning in unhallowed unison, shifting back and forth in terrible dance, empty and soulless eyes affixed on Ramage below. And across the vast infinities beyond the spires of the dead city, past the inky oceans of Mugg Fallow and the petrified forest of the black islands, the crawling chaos Mnggal-Mnggal strode brooding into the onyx castle atop unknown Zakarat in the cold waste, and taunted insolently the mild gods of the galaxy whom he had snatched abruptly from their scented revels in the marvelous monolith of Mortis.

How Ramage knew the names of these strange things even he would not be able to account for. It was as if the proscribed nomenclature was inscribed in the unwritten laws of reality, snippets of intimation and intuition flashing by in the wordless and profane gasps of the dying Force.

And then the vision was stolen away from him, receding before the image of the entire galaxy, lying prostrate before him. Beyond its rim, a spattering of stars that seemed dimmer than the rest, from which veins of caliginous shadow undulated outwards, forming a sinister cobweb of subtle manipulation that appeared to tug at every planet in the galaxy. A battle here - repulsive reptilians with scythe claws and long tails - a war there - strange aliens with the faces of skulls, at the gate of the outermost reaches! - and... Seeds of darkness, being planted, growing fruit. A hoary man sitting in the ruins of Korriban, beard long and grey, scalp bald and pallid. A squamous, squirming bundle of nerves wretched from the bowels of its tombs, assembling into the abominable mockery of a humanoid. A thin figure with swarthy robes and blazing spectacles, a dark spirit with an empty hood, a woman whose golden hair burned like the fire of Horuset... All mere puppets, their strings pulled by a great hand that stretched beneath the galaxy, and Ramage's gaze would be drawn downwards... past that arm that was blacker than the intergalactic void, to the face - there was no face - a green eye, lidless, wreathed in flame...

The Eye of Typhojem the Terrible was impossible to behold, the merest glimpse broke the mind -

- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Was it Ramage screaming? Was it the unknown voice? Or was it the woman, sobbing over the man who lay broken at Typhojem's feet?

There was no time to ponder the question, before the blasphemous sounds and images abruptly fell away, and Ramage was falling backwards -

Backwards -

Thud.

He was on his back, in the tunnel, beneath the archway he had chosen. A woman was standing over him, peering down. Her hair was blonde, her skin was ivory, and her crown and armour were dark beyond shadow.

COMBO WITH SINREBIRTH

IC: Sintak Kya and Sallacine
History lecture, Coruscant campus of the University of Kamparas, Senate District

The lecture hall of Sintak Kya, Professor of History, was vast and imposing, as if to give the three hundred students within a sense of the grandeur of the Sith architecture Kya, believed to be a staunch imperiophile and fond of secret societies and taboo history in general, often lectured on. The stone facade was the result of Sallacine's own generous donation, a favour that had been repaid with the admission of Sallacine's less than scholarly son, and the sheer audacity of transforming a dull durasteel classroom into a mock-up of a Sith Massassi Temple - a Yavin Temple, of course, because it could just as easily be interpreted as a tribute to the Jedi and their old Praxeum - brought a faint smile to Sallacine's face as he entered the hall, leading Colu by the arm as he searched for Sallacine the Younger among the assembled students.

They had entered mid-lecture. Sintak Kya stood at the end of the hall below a holographic display, standing upon a stone dais at a needlessly grandiose lectern that evoked imagery of a fabled leader of ancient days giving a rousing speech to his troops. As Sallacine looked down and across the rows of students, he kept half an ear open, wondering if Kya's lecture would be more significant than one might expect; the message had led them here, after all, and surely there had to be a reason beyond merely the routine presence of Sallacine's son.

Sintak gestured a hand to the still air, and above the amphitheater appeared the Sith symbol, or, more accurately, that one which the Sith made use of during the ancient Empire. The professor made sure that none of his students made use of the word ‘original’, as such linear thinking did not challenge the status quo. It was a positively Jedi concept, that of an original story, which routinely drew a chuckle. But this was one of his least favourite lectures, if one was allowed to have such a thing.

‘The original Exiles of Dark Jedi we’re driven from Corbos not just by the Jedi but by a combination of Vindicators, disgruntled Xim adherents from the Tion, and disenfranchised Alsakani Lords, who sought to retake their position as the pre-eminent opposition to the Republic and Coruscant.’

‘But harken on what we now know following the translation of the Kaas Manuscript. This claims that the foundation of the Sith Order was not by said Exiles, but by an older group of Dark Jedi who arrived at Kaas and claimed it to be the third Sith homeworld - a portent of the import of Kaas in the future, perhaps. When, you ask? Fourteen millennia ago, before the Pius Dea were elevated to control of the Republic by the Jedi Council, but at the same time as the Sith in the Caldera were spurred to settle Krayiss II and erect an edifice that ten millennia later was a Temple and library. Other references to the Sith predate the arrival of the Exiles on other worlds in the Outer Rim, but post-date the death of Adas at the hands of the Infernal Council.’

Another gesture, and the Manuscript itself was evident, as a hologram. ‘The tome itself was recovered from a capsule in the swamps of Drommund Kaas itself, and carbon dating confirms its validity in terms of when it was written - in Basic, no less, when the Sith species would not have contact with humanity until the cast-offs from the Tapani Sector found themselves in the Caldera.’

Another gesture, showing a jungle moon. ‘Here is Yavin 4, another world which the most preeminent archaeologists of the Zildrog War noted even in their era, to quote - that the dates are all wrong.’

A laugh, mostly to himself. ‘But history is where we find our facts, is it not. Where we use the most basic of carbon dating techniques and simply paint a picture of where things are in the timeline. So why, with the Kaas Manuscript, with the temples of Yavin 4, with the Soulsaber, do we end up simply going - this doesn’t fit the story?’

A hand, hesitantly raised. ‘Yes?’

‘Because the story isn’t right.’

‘Brilliant deduction,’ he said sharply. ‘Considering the lecture series is called ‘Challenging the Mythos of the Force War.’’

‘But sir,’ the student, a green skinned Twi’lek continued. ‘The Force War, or rather, the Force Wars plural against the Rakata and Bogan, they predate these supposed inconsistencies by millennia, and even then, surely a single tome doesn’t undo the conclusions of eminent historians that all references feed back to the disjointed nature of Rakata hyperdrive in the hands of Adas and his successors?’

The Professor regarded the girl. ‘Someone has read around the topic.’

A flush to her skin darkened it. ‘Yes, professor.’

He plopped an arm on the pew as he leaned on it. ‘Come on then.’

‘Sir?’

‘Up you come.’ Reluctantly she did so, and the room rustled with anticipation.

Sintak hopped down the steps and took the closest seat on the gallery, folded his arms, and gestured for her to take his place. She steeled her expression and took it.

‘Explain to me the origin point of the Leviathans of Corbos.’

‘Syn created them.’

Sintak raised an eyebrow.

‘Sir.’

‘And what of her records, drawn from the Telos Holocron, that she dreamed of the shapes before they emerged.’ Sintak raised a finger. ‘Or the hitherto linear origin point of Terentatek’s to Exar Kun, yet independently they were already present on Drommund Kaas, for the Imperial military to face down? I have a great deal of records that the death of the creator of the Imperial Fleet was killed by a creature which didn’t exist for another thousand years, give or take a few dozen years.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Sintak leapt from his seat, excitement filling his bones. ‘Because you’re not thinking outside the book! That’s an event within the last five millennia - what is generally considered the period of history which is quite heavily detailed, due to the replete amounts of Jedi and Sith Holocrons that exist from this point onwards. So how can we not know something in that timeframe.’

‘Um.’

‘Exactly.’ Sintak shooed her form his pew, and she fled back to her seat. ‘We shouldn’t not know - but we don’t. That’s an extremely tiny inconsistency. Such thins are considerably more replete the further you look back.’

He smiled, a wicked thing. ‘Especially when you reach into the Old Times.’

"S-sir," a young human male spoke up, swallowing as he repressed the usual anxiety that accompanied speaking amongst so many people, "are y-you suggesting the Terentateks are the creators of the Sith, not the other way around?" His stammer seemed to settle as he continued his question, as if reassured by the recitation that his deduction was genius, a confidence brewing in him as he returned to his seat that Professor Kya would instantly applaud his prize student's solution of the puzzle Sintak presented. But the young man was no prize student; instead, he had come to believe so due to constant flattery from those seeking to ingratiate themselves to the heir of an Imperial noble.

Sallacine was instantly drawn to the hesitant speaker, recognising the voice of his son. "Come, Colu," he whispered to his friend.

Sintak wheeled on the speaker. ‘And if I was, what would that mean for the narrative that the histories to date?’

A poked finger. ‘Sallacine junior, wasn’t it?’ The class snickered.

As the elder Sallacine shuffled past seated students with many a hurried "excuse me," Sallacine the Younger rose to his feet again, this time even more hesitantly. "Um... um... That the narrative is wrong? That the... Terentateks colonised Krayiss II, and Dromund Kaas, and... Instigated the Pius Dea Crusades and... And the Hundred-Year Darkness and.... Predated Adas?"

The class snickered again.

Sintak noticed the disturbance in his class at this point but felt it worthwhile to continue the humiliation. ‘Yes Junior, just that. You’re top of the class.’

The younger Sallacine beamed at the praise, a broad smile creasing his ivory features in spite of the titillating laughter surrounding him. That smile turned upside down as his father reached him, and the two were swiftly lost in hushed conversation, letting the controversial Professor continue his equally controversial lecture.

TAG: Volshe

IC: Jania Kio
Location: Tomb of Naga Sadow

The girl was as lost as ever or at least she had to act that way for now. She was sure with the little she learned from her true Master that she could decipher some of the text on the wall they came to but she wouldn’t. For now she still has to play the role of the harmless acolyte. Now with some room to move around in the slightest she made way for the more experienced lords of the Sith to get to the front as she leaned against the wall not covered in important text.

“So who are these people on the wall? They look pretty important so I’m sure you guys know who they are right?” Jania would ask as she stared hard at the masked figure who seemed to be a Sith Lord himself. Something about him seemed overwhelming.. almost as if she could feel a pressure upon her own chest. Shaking her head in hopes of getting the feeling off of her, Jania scanned over the rest of it and couldn’t make out any of the figures but knew that the group was going to handle it. “If someone wants to explain it for me I would greatly appreciate it. An acolyte like me could learn a lot from this.” She would smirk as she finished her statement and crossed her arms. Surely one of the Sith would be so kind to explain it to her.. maybe her killer love interest that wasn’t too far from her at the moment.

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

IC: Reaper
Location: Nar Shaddaa 

 After Reaper had been alerted that they were going to be here and had made the stop he got up and stretched. 'Guess time to go buy some windows.' He took his mask off and set it down. He took his armor and cloak off to reveal normal clothes underneath. He then took his lightsaber off and wrapped it inside his armor and cloak. He laid them down and set his mask down on top of it. He exited the room walking off the ship removing the silk wrappings covering his face. He then wrapped one of his arms but hid it with the long sleeve shirt he was wearing.

 His face had grown a slight goatee and beard. He'd have to shave later but that wasn't the most notable feature the thing that takes credit for that is a scar down his right eye. Another more notable feature is his midnight like hair. For a Sith he seemed to be well just that, unsith-like. He had green eyes instead of orange or red and his face showed almost no signs of using the darkside.

 He began walking around looking for a trader who sold what he wanted. He finally found one and approached. "Hello. I am looking for some tinted ballistic glass and if you have any paint I'll take it. I'd like orange and black if you have any.

Tag: darthkain7,Darth Catalyst,darthferos,