Shira
Administrator 
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135 
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Mar 22, 2018 20:28:16 GMT -5
IC: The Twins
Passageway, False Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban
In the azure light granted by an explosion of lightning, Kevala saw a blade aimed for her stomach. She twisted in mid-air, a grotesque movement only made possible by her Teevan heritage, but the blade still parted the flesh in her side with a glancing blow. Scionica had brought her weapon up to protect her neck, resulting in the skeleton clamping its teeth onto the staff between her hands. Together they fell into a tangled heap on the floor as Kevala recovered her balance and rushed to the aid of her sister, who was pinned down by her assailant. As she swung her twin blades in a parallel sweep towards the monstrosity’s neck, she heard her sister snap “Why is everything in these tunnels so gods-damned bitey!”
TAG: Volshe , Darth Dreadwar , Darth Catalyst , dice , Padawan4687, gorzan , @lordjania
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Arcane
Citizen
Posts: 45
Likes: 30
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Post by Arcane on Mar 23, 2018 18:24:10 GMT -5
IC: Arcane Main Hall of the Sith Temple, Korriban Arcane listened to the words Ermir spoke closely. He looked at the large hall and oak tables with Sith littered throughout. "I understand." Are the only words he spoke. The plan was in motion and there was no turning back. As they walked through the hall, Sith turning and looking at the pair; Arcane remembered Ermir's words. /Fill your mind with other thoughts.../ And that he did... //Please don't leave me!?!// Those words bounced around in his mind. His thoughts pushed through and he found himself staring at his war torn home planet. Fire, death, and Mandalorians scattered across the horizon. Cries of Cathar filling his ears. His clan being pulled apart in front of his eyes. His father running toward the oncoming slaughter determined to protect his family. Small, frightened Arcane watched as his litter mates were thrown into wire cages and the adults were slaughtered like cattle. He screamed for his father again, but his cries fell against the frightened screams and shouts of both Cathar and Mandalorians. He watched as a Mandalorian soldier sliced his mother's arms off as she held one of his littermates in terror. Her head was next. His eyes met with hers as they rolled back in her head and her cranium split against the wooden floor. He began to run. He ran as hard as he could through the screams and terror of his home world. He pulled himself out of his thoughts as the pair entered the room at the end of the hall. "We... we're here." He studdered a bit. He shook his mane to try and eliminate more of those creeping thoughts. "Where is the equipment we need?" He asked as he wiped his mind again. TAG: Darth Dreadwar |
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gorzan
Citizen
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Post by gorzan on Mar 23, 2018 21:00:42 GMT -5
IC: Darth Neoplix
Location: Tombs beneath Korriban
Neoplix’s jaw split in a vicious smile as the Sith Undead charged, thrusting his sword at Neoplix’s thigh. The blade sunk deep within his thigh, and before the beast had time to remove it, Neoplix struck, lashing out with his hand and the force simultaneously to push the beast’s arm away from the sword and tear the blade from it’s grasp.
He reached down, extracting the sword from his thigh, and then looked around. “Well, it seems as though this seems to be under control….” He spun the sword a few times, getting a feel for it’s weight and balance, and gauging the room.
These tombs… They seem to be trying to kill us. Not like passive defenses, but almost like the tomb is… alive! But that couldn’t be possible… [i/]
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Post by Darth Voidwalker on Mar 23, 2018 21:47:18 GMT -5
Autohit Approved By GM IC: Voidwalker Hold of the Artificer, Federation checkpoint, Space Voidwalker has continued with the torture of the Jedi just as he had said he would do. The Jedi screamed out over and over, until he agreed to let them pass by. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a com link. Voidwalker stood at the ready to strike if the Jedi tried to pull any quick tricks that might set them back further. However all that came from the Jedi was the command. “Commander B-Beeblebrox, this is-this is... This is Agent O-Double-Seven. The cargo ship is clear, I repeat, the cargo ship is clear. R-release from inspection, and let... let proceed." Less than a minute had passed when the door of the hold opened with a whooshing hiss. Captain Thilly yelled from the outside, his voice sounding further away than just the hall, presumably from the cockpit. “Are we good to go, Draven?" What are we gonna do about the Jedi?" That damn fool! We don’t know if the channel was still opened or not on that comm, anyone could have been listening! There was a reason that I was so....no matter, it’s too late now to worry about it.Raising his right hand, Voidwalker let out a single tinge of Force Lightning directed for the Jedi’s com link. The small communication device was engulfed by the electrical entanglement, causing it to short out and spit sparks before completely failing, never to be used again. Draven took one final look at the body of Garn Tarcrulus before turning his attention back to the defeated Jedi that laid at his feet. A wicked half-cocked grin plastered across Voidwalker’s face. “Well my friend, since Garn is dead because of you, I see it only fitting that our end reflects the first encounter I had with Garn. A bit of an ode to his memory if you would. I’m sure somehow it is poetic, but as Garn once said to me, it’s but a means to an end.” Reaching out with the unseen hand of the Force, Voidwalker wrapped an impenetrable grip around the neck of the Jedi, and with but a quick motion of his hand he snapped the Jedi’s neck. The sound of his bones snapping under the will of Voidwalker as his windpipe collapsed from the breaking bones. The Jedi was dead as he let out his final bit of breath in a sigh meant to be a scream that would never come. Before leaving the room Voidwalker used the Force to call his lightsaber back to him that had been knocked away in the Jedi’s defense, and then he retrieved Garn’s lightsaber as well and hooked it to his side. Garn you might still be of some use in the future. I’ll hold onto this for now. Turning to walk out of the hold he addressed Karina before exiting. “Karina, claim your prize. The jacket is yours just as you requested. Besides it’ll look better on you than it did a Jedi any day.” Exiting the hold of the Artifcer, Draven’s deduction was correct, the Captain was back in his rightful place at the ships controls. “We’re all good her Captain, let’s be on our way. A quick side note, next time we’re faced with a Jedi or Federation troops, let’s try to not address one another by direct names. There’s always a possibility of a bigger problem. As for the Jedi, once we’re further away, any way we can jettison the bodies of the dead before we reach our destination? Unless you or Karina have a better idea.” TAG: Darth Dreadwar kurtishenschel |
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Post by Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror on Mar 24, 2018 3:18:29 GMT -5
IC: Darth Coatlec
Location: Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, Korriban
After lifting his eyes to the savage that was known as Warlord Zhav'vorsa, Coatlec watched as the man's eyebrow arched. Oh, that can't be good. I don't like that look. In an instant, there was a heel across Coatlec's face and he took a hard fall to the ground. Kriffing karks that hurt. Probably broke my damn jaw. But Coatlec wouldn't be on the ground for long, as the savage just kept coming at him. He picked up the bastard's withered body by his hair and spit in his face. More spit. Great. Amazing, really.
No, this sucks. But it's a lesson that must be learned. Everything all happened so fast. The Warlord's next blow was a swift strike of the forearm and elbow, that crushed into Coatlec's temple. "No, stop please!" Coatlec cried out. But as if the man wasn't even listening, he continued on. The elbow strike caused Coatlec to go flying across the medbay and crashing into the wall. Ow, it's gonna take a hell of a lot of Sith healing arts to fix the broken bones and other consequences of this beatdown. I can hardly take anymore. Oh no, here he comes again...
The ape of a man came charging at Coatlec, casting aside any obstacle that stood in his way. As he reached the withered body, he reared his massive leg back. Kark. Ah, one. Kick. Two. Kick. Three. Kick. Four. Kick. Five. Kick. Six. Kick. After the onslaught of kicks had ended, surely Coatlec had busted many ribs, and he began to cough up blood. But there was no stopping this beast. His massive boot then came down on Coatlec's throat, and he started coughing more. Blood was starting to spill all over his face, but he was able to muster a few words with the coughing intermittent. "Ple-- cough--ase sto--p, I--I su-- cough--bmit. You're -- cough-- my cle-- cough--ar su-- cough--per-- cough--ior." And that was all the pain-riddled shell of a man could muster. I cannot take anymore. Not even sure how I'm staying conscious at this point.
TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Lord Vassago
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Post by Lord Vassago on Mar 24, 2018 20:29:36 GMT -5
IC: Darth Vassago & SabbaAboard The Triumphant, hyperspace, en route to the Nihil RetreatHe was lying. Of course, he was. The Ithorian was a dealer in rare goods, but his knowledge was not so deep he could foretell the positions of vessels in Hyperspace. The bound book he had Sabba retrieve was of no consequence to the route or location, or any other precise calculation for that matter, but rather was of value only to a select few, Vassago being among them. Sabba supported the tale, none the wiser that she was lying directly to her friend, Shira, perhaps making the lie seem a bit more genuine. Even still, the young woman played into her Master’s hand without even realizing it; she lacked intimate knowledge of her Master’s dealings with the likes of Erietta and Dreadwar, leading her to believe the sudden jump through time and space was prompted by whatever it was she’d gotten in the marketplace. Still, Shira made no attempt to hide her skepticism when she spoke to the Dark Lord. The truth of it all was that it didn’t matter one bit if she believed him; Shira was unthreatening to Vassago, even with her waves of Officers and Stormtroopers, her Apprentice, or anyone else. The purpose of lying to someone such as her was simple enough: to gauge her audacity. She was not brash or impulsive, nor was she confrontational, even if she knew better than what she was being told. At least, not when faced with someone such as himself. Which uncovered another thing about Shira’s personality: she had some degree of self-preservation. Not only for herself, but for those on board. It was clear she felt some guardianship for the others, something he noticed when he first met her, back near the tracks when pursuing the cultists, when he saw that she helped Sabba without a second thought. She didn’t intend to make accusations and risk upsetting him, nor did she intend to make a fuss of any kind when it came to someone that appeared on her ship in the midst of Hyperspace. Vassago was satisfied. Any additional information would come from Sabba during her stay with the Lady Shira, and nothing further would be needed from him. A small smile curled at the corners of his lips and a soft laugh, mostly inaudible to those around him, escaped his mouth. His focus returned to Shira, breaking away from his short spell of staring at the desk. “ Oh no, nothing more than a private quarter for myself, and a watchful eye for Sabba,” he replied, pushing himself up from the arms of the chair, returning to his feet. “ You have more pressing matters to get to, I think,” he gestured toward the door that would lead back to the common areas of the vessel, implying she had a crew and other matters that required her attention. “ We appreciate your hospitality, Lady Shira,” he said, his tone a bit warmer than previously, “ but, if you could direct me to my chamber, I’d like to rest a bit.” Sabba looked up to her Master and inclined her head respectfully. The staff she held in her hand was called through the Force back to her Master’s grip. She stood beside him, outwardly appearing patient, but anxious as ever for a chance to get to tour the vessel with her new friend, Shira. TAG: Shira, Darth Dreadwar
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Post by kurtishenschel on Mar 24, 2018 21:13:13 GMT -5
IC: Karina Hold of the Artificer, Federation checkpoint, Space Karina had her shirt back on by the time voidwalker came back out. She walked in and took the jacket off the corpse and put it on before walking over to voidwalker. "Well the jacket fits, sorry about your friend by the way. He seemed alright even if he had a collection of ancient sex toys which is pretty weird. So I guess we put the Jedi's corpse out the airlock once we get moving, so speaking of which we still getting all this crap to korriban then or have plans changed?" She leaned against the wall as she spoke crossing her arms as she began to wonder where they'd go from there. So far the day wasn't going so well considering everything that happened since they left. If anything this day would manage to get some of the more older members to retire considering how this job was one of the worst they've been on in a long time. Karina wasn't sure how the captain managed to keep it all together, probably with some help from alcohol to ease some of the stress but even then this mission seemed doomed. Shaking the thought she looked back to voidwalker "and what do we do about your friends corpse? If you plan on burying him on korriban or just put it out to space? I'm not exactly up to date on you force users so I'm not sure if you guys even bury the dead or not." Tags: Darth Dreadwar Darth Voidwalker |
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
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Post by Shira on Mar 24, 2018 22:24:46 GMT -5
IC: Shira A’dolaThe Triumphant, hyperspace, en route to the Nihil RetreatSilver-blue eyes noted the faint rising in the corner of Vassago’s lips. A nearly inaudible breath escaped him in what may have been a laugh or may have been a mere exhale and Shira relaxed. Tension she hadn’t registered melted in the muscles of her back and shoulders and she took a final sip of her drink, the concluding stream of sweet liquor running across her tongue and down her throat before she set the empty glass down. It seemed her disbelief was not offensive to him, something she was silently grateful for. The security of her Empire was still of the utmost importance, but it seemed that they were required for Vassago’s passage. He wouldn’t allow anything to destroy the only vessel to his destination. A memory of the pyramid ships came unbidden to her mind and a thread of doubt attempted to wind its way through her confidence, but she pushed it back impatiently. The pyramids would surely stop at their last destination first, to feast upon the riches of Odesson before pursuing the shoddy remains of the Galactic Empire. “We appreciate your hospitality, Lady Shira.” Vassago’s warm tones broke through her thoughts. “But, if you could direct me to my chamber, I’d like to rest a bit.” To rest, she thought wistfully. She hid her longing with a smile and waved the glasses away to a counter to be attended to later, and led the way back into the corridor. Shira’s office was not too far from her own quarters and, just within the next hallway, she palmed open the door to an untenanted, single room, showing Vassago and Sabba the key-code into the small dwelling. “You’re welcome individually anywhere on the ship barring the weapons and ships depots and the bridge. Individual requests will be considered, of course, as well as permission given when accompanied by me or my apprentice, Alisha Tano. There are sparring rings two levels up and the cafeteria is two levels down. Should you need directions to anywhere else, please feel free to ask.” She nodded respectfully to Vassago and turned to smile at her new roommate. “Come, Sabba. I’ll show you to our room.”
The walk was short and within a minute, the room to Shira’s quarters had opened with a gentle hiss. She was pleased to see there was minimal damage to her quarters; the hole opening into Alisha’s room had been repaired and her things straightened. The bioluminescence of her Vrael-native flora lit the room gently in soft pastels before she waved the lights on to show the area in more detail. “There’s only one bed for now, I’m afraid. I’ll have someone bring in a second one for you as soon as I can. You’re welcome to rest for now, or come with me. I’m afraid I won’t be doing anything interesting, but I wish to see my Empress before she disappears again.” She excused herself to the ‘fresher and took the moment in privacy to drop her façade. She bent to her knees, feeling light-headed and faint with exhaustion. Slim fingers rubbed against her face, pressed against her eyes and she watched the explosion of resultant colour for a moment before rising laboriously to her feet again. She examined herself in the mirror with reluctance. Her eyes were the colour of ash and she was developing dark circles under her eyes. Her pale cheeks looked gaunt and she found that her hands were developing a fine tremour. Fingers twined about her hair, re-braiding the strands so that they laid in a finer plait. Face paint was applied under her eyes to hide the bruise-like circles and a small amount of subtle colour was brushed to her cheeks, disguising the gauntness of her cheekbones. Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a small hypo and regarded it grimly. Last one, she told herself sternly. The clear colour of the stim caught the light softly. If it hadn’t been for the Empress’ arrival, she would have succumbed to sleep immediately. Her heart ached; she missed Volshe desperately. Her closest friend, the nearest she had to a sibling and, as much as she treasured the mental acknowledgements, these rare shows of appearance, she longed to share a flute of blossomwine and an evening of gossip with her again. And so, she pulled back the long sleeve of her tunic, tied off her arm and inserted the slim needle into a vein in her forearm, depressing the liquid stimulant into her veins. It took a few seconds for the drug to take effect, but the awareness washed over her, the lifting exhaustion precipitated by a dangerous moment of vertigo, a warning that she was using too much. Last one, she thought, the mental dialogue almost a plea as she waited for the dizziness to abate and her vision to settle. As soon as she had gathered herself and replaced the mask of calm self-assurance, she walked back into her room and smiled at Sabba. “If you’d like to rest, you may use my bed for now. Otherwise, I hope to catch the Empress before she leaves.” She walked out, slowly enough for her charge to follow if she wished and retraced her steps to where the Empress still stood, leaning quietly against a wall as she watched, waiting patiently for Volshe’s awareness to return. TAG: Lord Vassago, Volshe, Darth Dreadwar
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Post by Lord Vassago on Mar 24, 2018 23:07:31 GMT -5
IC: Warlord Zhav'vorsa Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, KorribanThe Warlord’s skin prickled with delight, the hairs on his arms, shoulders, chest, and back standing on end. Hearing another being sputter, desperately gasping, straining to fill their lungs with the simple molecules of life giving oxygen was so satisfying. It was like a drug sold on the streets of Nar Shaddaa, one that he’d been eager to get his fix of. Since coming to Korriban, he’d hardly had the chance to wet his blade, or his hands, with the blood of another. Though this was not exactly honorable, it was not the first time Zhav’vorsa had beaten and bloodied a near helpless opponent. The rush was nearly the same.
Nearly. The crumpled man bled, but not all blood was as tantalizing. The blood of a true warrior, a mighty opponent, was the most satisfying to streak upon one’s face, or chest, to taste upon the tip of the tongue, followed only by the blood of a virgin; something about it was sweeter, and it held a thicker consistency. This man was not a true, mighty warrior, nor was he a virgin. At least, the Warlord didn’t expect as much from a man of Coatlec’s apparent age; he looked to be in his later years of life, sixty standard years, or more, surely long enough to have indulged in the carnal activities of the flesh. Coatlec wheezed, proclaiming Zhav’vorsa his superior between gasps, but the proclamation meant little to Zhav – he already knew he was superior to this tiny Sith Lord – and he intended to further humiliate the man. The Warlord let his boot off of Coatlec’s throat and stepped back, giving the elder Lord a bit of room to roll off his back and onto his knees. Coatlec gasped for air, dipping his head between his arms, resting on his elbows before his superior. For a moment, he looked back over his shoulder to see if Darth Dreadwar still oversaw the activities. He did. And he appeared unmoved by what was transpiring before him. “ Akko varas!” Zhav roared, his voice thundering through the empty medbay. “ Yatholat,” he yelled again, commanding Coatlec like an animal to stand up, to rise. The Warlord’s scarred face turned from amused to enraged when he saw Coatlec struggling to his feet. The broken Lord pushed up off his knee, only to be met full force with the rigid knuckles of the Warlord across his jaw. CRACKThe impact sent Coatlec back to the ground, but Zhav roared again, commanding him up. “ AKKO,” he shouted, laying another fist into Coatlec’s face “ VARAS!!” and again, until Coatlec was laid out on his back once more. The withered man coughed, blood pouring from his mouth, his face already beginning to swell from the assault. A barbaric shadow fell across Zhav’vorsa’s face when he looked upon the husk of a man before him, hardly able to breath, unable to stand. The Warlord leaned down, squatting beside Coatlec’s face. He spoke softly, much softer than before. “ Lajaki,” he began, calling Coatlec a little warrior, an insult in his native language. “ Yeri qoy is…gizikhven. Hm…” He stopped himself, realizing that the beaten Sith likely did not understand his language. He began again, speaking in Basic “ Your blood is sweet. I have tasted the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands. Your blood is like that of one who is pure.” He paused for a moment, looking up to Dreadwar with a smirk, his scarred eyebrow arched, before turning back to Coatlec. “ How can that be?” He paused, still keeping his tone hushed, as if he was exchanging a secret with the man. “ Isn’t it true that you’ve laid with your mother,” a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, nearly concealed by his long mustache and beard. “ That you’ve desired her, like lovers?” He tilted his head and began pantomiming, looking as if he was holding something round in his hand, then stuck his tongue from between his lips, wiggling the tip a bit. “ Yeri indelat ha yeri mai's odaya?” He snorted a laugh from his nostrils, bringing his hands to rest on his knees. “ You drank from your mother’s breast, not as babes do, but like lovers.” His amber eyes began to ignite, fire behind them as he prodded further. “ How can you be of pure blood if you lay with your mother regularly? Don’t you take her lekku in your mouth, and suckle them until she moans with delight?” He asked, followed immediately by uproarious laughter that filled the medbay. He pushed up off his knees, returning to his feet and turned from Coatlec. The Walord reached down behind him, and took up his sword, The Howl of the Damned; the blade scraped unpleasantly across the floor panel with his grip. He hefted the sword over his shoulder with one hand and turned back, stepping over Coatlec, his boot clad feet on either side of the man’s chest. He inclined his head, gazing down at the broken man, his hair falling over his unobstructed shoulder, dangling beside his long tied-off beard. “ Jinak vov, yeri se--” out of habit, he began to speak in his native tongue again, but stopped himself. In this instance, he wanted Coatlec to understand, so he corrected and spoke in Basic once more. “ This weapon, you see, little warrior. This sword has spilled the blood of greater men and women than you. This sword has feasted on blood richer than yours, souls more powerful. The notches,” he pulled the sword down from his shoulder and held it over Coatlec’s swollen face, his eyes likely barely able to see, and showed him the notches. “ When I strike, it screams with the souls of the dead, of those my blade has consumed. The wails of the dead can cause lesser men to go insane. If you refuse to admit what I said is true, that you lost your purity to your mother, and lay with her, even to this day, the howls of those that have died by this sword will drive you to madness.” The Warlord’s tone was heavy, grave. His eyes were still glowing, full of hatred, of bloodlust, even, looking for a reason to strike. Searching for a reason to feed his blade once again. TAG: Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror , Darth Dreadwar
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Mar 25, 2018 2:20:00 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Beneath Sadow's Tomb, Catacombs, Valley of the Dark Lords, Korriban
She'd been just fast enough to decapitate one of the corpses, but right after the head rolled to the ground, Robyn's lightsaber flickered out and wouldn't respond again. Kriff! The girl debated on smacking her lightsaber with a hand, when something on the ground stole her attention. Despite the overwhelming urge to lash out with a kick against the pair of bony jaws attempting to bite down on her foot, she'd risk losing her foot by moving. Lord Xirr was in the motion of swinging a weapon down in that same spot, so she instead took several steps back. "I hope the power comes back after these stupid things are dead!" she called out, still backing up until her hand met the wall. TAG: Darth Catalyst , dice , Volshe , @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar , Shira , gorzan IC: Alisha Tano
The Triumphant Medbay, hyperspace en route to the Nihil RetreatAlisha drew her arms close together, almost crossing them. She was hoping a mild concussion and a few new scratches were the worst she'd have to worry about, and just focus on healing from the rest of this tumultuous day! She matched the droid's irritation, lightly nudging it aside with her shoulder instead of outright pushing it away. Impatience gnawed at her, what if she was missing something important right now? Alisha couldn't decide what she hated more, the fact that nothing had even slightly slowed down since the recovery of those refugees, or what her own mental projection might do if let loose. "Right... I'd like to return as soon as possible, or if need be, as soon as I'm medically cleared," she agreed, tugging on one sleeve. "I'll take your tests... for my own peace of mind."TAG: Darth Dreadwar
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Post by Deleted on Mar 25, 2018 8:19:32 GMT -5
IC: Jania Kio Location: Passageway, False Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban Jania wanted to celebrate her take down of the two that were near her but the girl knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Adjusting her stance once more as she began to see the creatures take new targets she could feel the blade of the one running past her and knew that it would probably try to attack her on its way to the others. When that attempted slice did come, Jania was able to block it off with her training blade before turning to see Xirr attempt to dismantle the abomination. Using the force lightning of others to help her see, Jania saw that Scionica had been taken down to the ground. Figuring she could do some good and score some points with the girl, she rushed off while calling out to her after she made comments of her own. “I don’t know why they want to bite us so badly but don’t worry we will get that thing off of you!” She reassures the girl as she looked over to Kevala swinging her blade towards the creatures neck. Jania would follow suit and do the same thing with her blade in hopes that at least one of their attacks would land its mark. Tag: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Shira, Darth Catalyst, dice, Padawan4687, gorzan |
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Post by darthferos on Mar 26, 2018 13:16:27 GMT -5
IC: Darth Feros Docking Bay 418 Nar Shaddaa Feros hadn't expected that. Kriffing Deadman switch. Thankfully he had a Force Shield up. No severe damage. Maybe a mild concussion. Not that it mattered. The captain was dead. The four armed beast was dead. And the Miraluka girl was going to come with them. Lady Maladi would be pleased. A little death and destruction never hurt anything. "Corvar, where is your ship?" Feros asked, turning to the other Sith and deactivating his lightsaber. "We should probably be going now. Quickly. I don't care to get into a fight with the Nar Shaddaa port authority. "And Reaper, for the love if Force man, drop that thing. If we take that and he has any sort of augmentation, they'll be able to track us." Feros admired the man's style. And he was gifted in the Dark Side. Feros could respect that. But it was no reason to defy good logic. But he felt he might enjoy working with them. Lady Maladi always had good taste. She read him so well. This trip was going to be quite enjoyable. Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon |
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Mar 27, 2018 12:53:59 GMT -5
IC D-3PO and the Tranquility Crew Docking Bay 418, Nar Shaddaa
The Miraluka girl did not respond to Reaper’s questioning, nor did she balk at the fact that her former friend’s head was hidden behind the Darksider’s back. Thankfully, it seemed she had been knocked unconscious by the blast of the thermal detonator. D-3PO piped up in response to Feros’s inquiry of Reaper. “Mister Feros, if I may be so bold, our ship is docked two bays down, in bay 416. I can guide you there once Mister Corvar has exited the ship before us.” He gestured to the ship as it steadily climbed above the walls of the hangar bay before turning to Reaper. “Mister Reaper, I believe the supplies that you had me order will be waiting for you upon our return!”
Corvar had barely made it into the ship before the ramp sealed itself behind him. As he navigated the bowels of the ship, the damage was not as bad as it seemed from the initial glance. From what he could see, a lot of the internal chaos was not the result of Feros, but rather years of mismatched parts and a sickening amount of faith in the ship. He could swear that he passed a hammock among the moving parts of the engine. The ship continued its ascent into the air as he ran. Once he reached the cockpit, he was greeted by the sight of a blaster pistol being held by a shaking Twi’lek. “D-don’t,” she stammered at him. Behind her, the Zeltron was frantically working at a console with a yoke. At the viewport was the most peculiar sight. Corvar would recognize Reaper’s lightsaber shaking against the transparisteel and trying to return to its owner. “Stay back!” the Twi’lek tried her hardest to feign firmness. “Don’t make me hurt you!” It was obvious to Corvar that she was not proficient with the weapon in her hand, and that her threat was mostly empty, but he would have to take care not to disrupt the pilot if he took action. One wrong move could send the ship crashing to the ground, and even at this height a crash could prove fatal.
TAG: darthferos ,trentongordon ,darthkain7
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Mar 28, 2018 11:40:46 GMT -5
IC Darth NostremCitadel Catacombs, Kaas CityThe stone floor shifted precariously upon Solus’s descent. Thankfully, his Force assisted landing combined with Deleritas’s compensation for his weight ensured the slab stayed level. The heat was steadily growing more and more unbearable; it seemed that Nostrem’s lauding of his own handiwork was more than just a plausibility. Solus was wrong in his assumption that they would be trapped, however. The next problem that faced the two Sith Lords was getting to the supposed generators without falling victim to the river Nostrem had described. The phantom was again quiet. He was more than likely surveying Solus and Deleritas from some unknown vantage point, biding his time and waiting to torment them when it would set them back most. Below the stone slab, Nostrem was indeed watching, though for now he was observing the delicate balancing act that the platform was doing upon the stone column it rested on. He observed the divot that the column had carved over millennia of shifting and sliding on its precarious balancing point. He looked down at the lava, flowing 10 meters below him. He was certain that the two Sith pretenders above him would not discover the passage hidden below them. He looked down at the tunnel entrance, and the molten rock lapping at its threshold. It was his own folly that the Citadel’s depths required maintenance tunnels, and his mistake that any workers sent down to perform repairs and upkeep never left. It was their rage that fueled his spirit and allowed him to maintain his form even now after his body had been reduced to nothing but dust. His spectral frame slowly descended to the tunnel and he seated himself there, keeping an eye on the platform above. Darth Solus, Deleritas
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Post by trentongordon on Mar 29, 2018 10:57:55 GMT -5
IC: Reaper Location: Nar Shaddaa Reaper dropped the head and picked up the Miralukan girl. He tossed her over his shoulder and nodded to the droid. He then looked at the ship and tried to pull his saber to him. "Yo Corvar if you can hear me grab my saber and kill them. Meet you at the ship." He turned away and started walking towards the ship. He leaped over the crowd holding the girl and began heading to the ship. He couldn't wait to get to work on his ship, Form II. Tag: Darth Catalyst, darthkain7, darthferos |
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Post by Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror on Mar 31, 2018 4:24:18 GMT -5
IC: Darth CoatlecLocation: Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, KorribanCoatlec still laid there, gasping for air, blood at this point still coming forth from his mouth. So this is still continuing. Will it ever end? I don't know how I haven't passed out yet. Could there be a force keeping me conscious? I just wish this beast would stop hitting me. Is that too much to ask? I guess it is. As that line of thought completed within Coatlec's mind's eye, he heard the barbaric commands of the Warlord, beckoning him to stand up. He struggled, but he stood, and was again knocked down by a forceful blow to the face. He was forced to stand yet again, and took two more blows to the face. Beaten, bloodied. The man laid on his back, guzzling blood, and he began to think again. I can't take any more beating. It'll kill me if I do. And this beast is still talking in some language that I don't understand. He'd get better results if he spoke Basic. "Your blood is sweet. I have tasted the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands. Your blood is like that of one who is pure," bellowed the ape of a man. He does speak basic. I'll understand him now. "How can that be? Isn’t it true that you’ve laid with your mother, that you’ve desired her, like lovers?" He speaks Basic and this is what he says. You've got to be shitting me. My mother? The only one that deserves her is my father. She is rightfully Lord Nihl's. "You drank from your mother’s breast, not as babes do, but like lovers. How can you be of pure blood if you lay with your mother regularly? Don’t you take her lekku in your mouth, and suckle them until she moans with delight?" No, no. Why?! Kark. This would happen to me. I have to go with it. Aaahhhhhh! Damn. My mother? Really? Learn to lose. That's my prerogative here. This is really hard to agree with, but I must.
The Warlord turned away from Coatlec, retrieved his sword, and returned. He then stepped over Coatlec and began to speak again, his blade over his shoulder. "This weapon, you see, little warrior. This sword has spilled the blood of greater men and women than you. This sword has feasted on blood richer than yours, souls more powerful. The notches, when I strike, it screams with the souls of the dead, of those my blade has consumed. The wails of the dead can cause lesser men to go insane. If you refuse to admit what I said is true, that you lost your purity to your mother, and lay with her, even to this day, the howls of those that have died by this sword will drive you to madness." Well. I'm kriffed. He peered back at Dreadwar for a split second, and then turned back to the Warlord. "--cough--It's true. All --cough-- of it. She took my inn--cough--ocence, and I --cough-- still lay with --cough-- her. Eve--cough--ry chance I --cough-- get. Warlord, I am --cough-- a mo--cough--therlo--cough--ver."
((OOC: God damn, every post in this lesson is tougher to write than the last. Great job, Lord Vassago!))
TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Lord Vassago
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Apr 4, 2018 23:30:24 GMT -5
IC: Darth Dreadwar Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, Korriban
The Lord of the True Sith
The hoary profligate choking on his own wretched mongrel blood was as imprudent as he was impudent. But no matter the quality of the clay Dreadwar was provided, seven thousand years of experience carefully molding the course of the galactic history had imbued the eldritch entity with the singular skill to coax greatness from garbage, to sculpt doddering dung into a Darth worthy of the Dread Temple. And so it was with the cretin lying at the Warlord's feet, peering at the Emperor through blood-matted eyes. Was it mercy he expected? Foolish. There was no mercy to be found in the fathomless hood. Darth Dreadwar's arms were folded, his cloak cascading around them, framing the powerful figure with darkness twice as black as the medbay's ambient gloom. It was a deliberately pitiless posture, of course, adopted from old tales of Darth Nihilus, the ghastly wraith Dreadwar sought to emulate with the theatrical form of his phantom, who had allegedly stared down at the powerless Darth Traya with arms crossed likewise as the undead brute Sion beat her, raped her and stripped her of all human dignity. The visions of the past should rightly be resurrected by a spectre of the past, and so Dreadwar found it only fitting to watch with like dispassion as the cretin forced out the humbling words the Warlord bade him utter. "-- cough--It's true," Coatlec rasped. "All -- cough-- of it. She took my inn-- cough--ocence, and I -- cough-- still lay with -- cough-- her. Eve-- cough--ry chance I -- cough-- get. Warlord, I am -- cough-- a mo-- cough--therlo-- cough--ver." Dispassion or no, even Dreadwar found it difficult to repress a snort of laughter at that desperate attempt to avoid using cruder terminology such as 'motherkriffer.' Dignified to the last. Charming. But one did not become the greatest actor in the galaxy through letting one's mask slip even for a second, and so Dreadwar's hood was as still as ever and silent as death, not one hint of his inner amusement breaking the cold exterior of his presence as he loomed closer to the two Sith. "Step back, beast," he hissed at last, waving his hand lazily towards Zhav'vorsa. The cruel tips of his cortosis boots, black fabric and eerie energy swirling around them, came to rest mere inches from the eyes of the fallen Coatlec. For a second the wicked tip seemed poised to gouge his eyes out, as Dreadwar swung his foot back, but then Dreadwar merely knelt on that leg, revealing his benevolent purpose as he extended his gauntleted hand. "Get up, child." Dreadwar pulled the battered bastard to his feet, and stood. For several seconds there was only the ragged breath of Coatlec and the spectral whooshing of Dreadwar's, as the Emperor, still towering over Nihl's spawn even when both were standing, stared down at him. And then the Dark Lord spoke. "You lost." The normally harsh whisper was gentle for the first time. It sounded strange coming from the Sith Emperor, like his voice shouldn't even be able to do such. But he spoke truly. Coatlec had lost. There had been moments, Dreadwar perceived, when the pride, even the pride in attempting to master a difficult lesson, had faded entirely, replaced by genuine fear, and during those moments Coatlec had begged the Warlord and meant it. "And are you yet alive?" Dreadwar asked, still with that strange gentleness. "Are your injuries, superficially ugly as they are, anything that won't heal within days? Have you truly lost anything vital, anything you hold dear, anything real? Have you even lost your pride, when you may take a wiser and healthier pride in the fact you have successfully mastered the greatest and most difficult of my lessons? "Not all losing is like this. There are compromises and negotiated surrenders. There are other ways to placate those who would harm you. There is a whole art form to manipulating others by letting them be dominant over you. But first, losing must be thinkable. Will you remember how you lost? When the stakes are real, will you be able to lose again? And you, Warlord, will you be able to treat this man with respect, understanding the importance of the lesson taught today, however alien it is to your people?" |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Apr 5, 2018 12:39:19 GMT -5
IC: Doctor Lak Medbay, the Triumphant, en route to the Nihil Retreat
The balding doctor nodded. "Thank you, Lady Tano." He nodded at the belligerent medical droid, who promptly if rudely snatched the sleeve Alisha was already tugging so as to pull the fabric up further, exposing her orange arm entirely. What the droid lacked in manners it made up with efficiency, quickly tying a turquoise tourniquet around the Togrutan's arm. Its infrared photoreceptor served as an effective vascular scanner, and the droid swiftly located a suitable vein, spraying a fine mist of aerosol disinfectant on the site and inserting its needle in a single smooth motion. Mere seconds later, the droid withdrew its needle, a sample of Alisha's blood procured on an electronic datachip slide, and a third arm was applying gauze to the site. "Maintain pressure for one minute," it buzzed blandly, "or until bleeding stops." Lak held his hand out, and the droid placed the slide in his outstretched palm. "Thank you, MD-PHD," he said, "please send a copy to the lab." "Doing so, Doctor," it said tonelessly, floating off while Lak pulled a sophisticated portable computer from his belt, into which he then inserted the slide. Within seconds, an Aurebesh read-out of its blood scan was typing itself out on the small liquid crystal display. Alisha could only see the motion of Lak's finger as he scrolled down, his eyes flicking back and forth, punctuated by the occasional frown. After a minute and a tut, Lak withdrew the slide and placed it to the side, pocketing the medical scanner. "Well, Lady Tano," his frown upturned, "your white blood cell count is elevated, but this scan would catch any infection and I can say confidently there's nothing viral or bacterial going on here. I am a little concerned about the potential for concussion, but given the urgency of your duties and your military training to spot its symptoms, I would recommend we let you out of here so long as you monitor yourself and come back to us if you feel worse." Lak nodded with a smile, politely signalling Alisha was free to leave. "Oh," he said, remembering, "take this for the cut." He grabbed a small adhesive bandage from the side-table, and held it out to her. And it was in that moment that Alisha would feel the sudden crippling spasm of abdominal pain, accompanied by an overpowering wave of noxious nausea. |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Apr 6, 2018 1:26:23 GMT -5
COMBO WITH VOLSHE
IC: Darth Apollyon and Darth ViscretusBefore the Wall of Prophecy, False Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban - and the mind of Nox Talus, far, far away
The Empress smiled, a soft quirk of her lips matched with vacant eyes. "If you were nearly as capable as you claimed, you would note you have the least of my attention. Amusement to pass the time, nothing more. Your attempts to faze me carry the same value." Her voice paused, the unnatural silence immediately swallowing the echoes. Her eyebrow rose slightly at his claims. "Perhaps you tell yourself these untruths to preserve what little sanity you have left. I mean to extinguish you in entirety. Every mention, memory, every purchase your existence lingers in like the pestilence it seems to be." She vanished from the scene, relinquishing control as the most familiar aura of Shira settled near her - a vague, yet intense, urgency fluttering within her. With a wave of a hand, she summoned two knights forth. "Sedate and restrain this one," her head nodded briefly towards Nox, "Careful. He may prove dangerous." The illusion of her gown shimmered as she stepped towards the corridors, motioning to Shira. "Come," she requested of her Hand, still sensing unease throughout the ship and a gruesome chaos within the Force... Chaos that rippled into the other half of her mind, entombed in the Valley, surrounded by crumbling stone and lasting feats of alchemy. It was to fortune that the seraphic Sith Lady could attribute the retention of her position, hanging back near the wall that so stymied Apollyon's team, for both her and her caramel-skinned friend were left unharried by the unhallowed revenants who, sufficiently thinned in number, could only now attack the Sith deeper into the passageway. But fortune - or perhaps the Force - smiled upon them also, for despite the ferociousness of the skeletons' assault, the team persevered. Apollyon smiled savagely as she saw Xirr crush one's skull beneath his armoured boot, even while maintaining the electrical torrent that illuminated the narrow fighting quarters. While the tomb was stifling in every sense, it was also brimming with the energies of the dark side, and the soft, sepulchral whisper of its power breathed into Xirr's living receptacle, replenishing his strength and negating any lapse in concentration. The lightning did not so much as flicker. And under that same eerie cobalt light, Catalyst rushed to Robyn's defense, beheading the skeleton diving for her feet even as she hastily backpedaled. Jania leapt to Scionica's defense likewise, betraying the close bonds that the team had developed over the course of their trials in spite of the predispositions expected of Sith, and between her blade and Scionica's, the last skeleton fell to the floor, bereft of its unnatural half-life - and its head. And then there were none.Apollyon breathed a sigh of relief. Permitting herself a few seconds of well-deserved reprieve, she closed her eyes briefly and whispered thanks to the Emperor for keeping her safe. But she knew defeating the ghouls was only the beginning. Robyn's plaintive hope that the power would be restored was clearly the optimism of foolish youth. Apollyon thumbed the activation switch on her lightsaber, but no snap-hiss of igniting plasma joined the electrical buzz of Xirr's continual lightning. No, the drain on their electrical equipment was caused by their proximity to the dark side nexus at the heart of the tomb, she was sure of it. But that didn't mean they had to rely on Xirr for illumination, until he exhausted his reserves. "Don't hope, do," Apollyon chided Robyn. "Give poor Xirr a break. You have the torch I gave you still, no? Light it with a spark of Xirr's lightning. And in the light of its flame we can turn our attention to this wall." Apollyon turned, glancing to make sure Viscretus was unharmed as she did so, and outstretched her hands across the wall. "We might not be being attacked by the dead anymore, but we'll end up just like them in this cursed place, if we don't find the twelve circles on this damned wall. Although I'm sure we can eat a lot of Neoplix before we starve." She chuckled, before her expression grew pensive once again. "I can only assume if we solve this puzzle, the wall will... I don't know... pull away, or something. There's no way a dead end would be this well-guarded. So come on, team, get over here and look... Scour the wall. They could be small, hidden in the hieroglyphics, or... or subtle, somehow, so subtle you can't see them right in front of you. I don't know. "I'd ordinarily suspect some strange riddle or metaphor, but perhaps that's what we're meant to think. Because twelve circles... Twelve. That's awfully specific. Press all twelve and the secrets of a thirteenth shall be upon to you. That, to me, means we have to find and press twelve literal stone circles. And we only have the rest of our lives here to look..."
 On this wall of prophecy, find the circles, one for each exile. Press all twelve and the secrets of a thirteenth shall be upon to you.(close-ups of each section here, here, here, here and here)TAG: Volshe, Shira, Darth Catalyst, dice, Padawan4687, gorzan, @lordjania, Darth Voidwalker
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darthramage
Citizen
*currently entombed*
Posts: 33
Likes: 39
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Post by darthramage on Apr 7, 2018 22:05:44 GMT -5
IC: Darth RamageBeyond Shadows
"Very well" spoke the voice of the newest spirit to haunt him. Walking forward under this archway of rock, Ramage noticed his surroundings began to distort. Suddenly a flood of imagery and information surrounded him and coalesced, more than a mere illusion, more than his glimpses into the past. This was real. The brain of a Siniteen was capable of processing exponentially more data than the average humanoid, but this was overwhelming even to the Dark Lord. Ramage found himself watching a kaleidoscope of faces unknown to him drift in and out of his perception. Finally a hodded visage emerged, faceless and without form, this one he recognized. Ramage reached out, attempting to communicate with the lost Shepard through the veil. But Ramage felt only silence, not silence similar to what a force sensitive felt in the hollow of hyperspace, this was different. Ramage probed deeper though his efforts were in vain, each time finding himself weakened by the attempt. Finally, lashing out in frustration, the Dark Lord ignited his lightsaber. "I am finished with these illusions!" He declared, grasping the hood of the faceless shadow and tearing it away. This time the vision did not disappear as had all the rest. He found himself holding not a hood, but a black string. Following this with his gaze, he found a hand blacker than the emptiest void. Its face was wreathed in green flame. An emerald eye gazed down upon "Lord" Ramage, who now truly understood Fear. Unable to move, much less break the entity's gaze, the Sith lost track of both time and his surroundings. As he began to feel his consciousness leave him under the intensity of the green flame there came a sound. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Ramage couldn't tell for sure whether it came from the flame, himself, or some outside source. He watched as the eldritch fire burned out, it's smoke momentarily revealing a hidden entity watching from the shadow before dissipating completely. Ramage fell backward into a sleep of blackness.  - The Watcher
Waking in a deep stupor, the Sith Lord looked up into the eyes of a terrible beauty. Cold and powerful, Ramage now knew this one's name. "You are Abeloth, The Shepard warned me of you." Taking a short moment to collect his wits, he sat up and continued. "What did you show me? Its presence felt like an incarnation of Bogan itself. I have never felt such terrible power." Standing, he shuddered at the recollection, and looking at the Queen of Defilement once more he waited. Darth Dreadwar ,
IC: Jarich Skywalker - Rhaneris
Yavin IV (Praxeum grounds)
As Jarich watched his plan unfold he couldn't have asked for a more favorable outcome. The tensile strength of durasteel cable was more than enough to withstand the sudden acceleration of a speeder. As the slack in the braid vanished, the noose which had wrapped around the small of the charging Terentatek's neck closed tightly. The beast's windpipe was slashed and his neck was pulled into the ground with enough force to split the creatures spined carapace from its skull. Rushing over, Jarich saw that the creature had been defeated. He could feel through the force that its spinal column had been severed to the point that there was no way it would ever move again. He had single-handedly defeated a renowned Jedi killer. The padawan's pride swelled, his mind replaying the events that had just transpired before him.
Skywalker remembered how Rhaneris had thrown a boulder into the creature's side, inadvertently foiling his first attempt to blind the creature. He was surprised to feel a tinge of annoyance for his fellow apprentice but was distracted as a gust of cold air swept through the trees. "Kill Her" he heard a voice say from the direction of the temple as he adjusted his soiled tunic. Igniting his lightsaber, Jarich drove the hilt of the blade deep into the base of the creatures now exposed skull plate. Dark, thick, blood oozed out onto his hands as the creature began to violently shake before finally stopping completely. As he felt the last of the creature's lifeforce leave, the chill air again stirred around the victor and his prize. Had he not known better he would have sworn the swamp felt the passing of the beast.
"THAT WAS AMAZING!" Rhaneris screamed as she ran towards Jarich. All concern for etiquette forgotten, she wrapped him a giant leaping hug before spinning around him to examine the felled abomination. Taking out her archaic notepad, the art-obsessed padawan began sketching the creatures dimensions, its teeth, its ridges. "You know, a holovid works fine too." Jarich stated frankly. "That's like comparing pod racing to pazaak. This is more personal, a holovid will be fine for the academy, but I want something to remember this by personally." Rhaneris replied, peeved that such an obvious thing would need to even be explained. "You said 'personally' twice, but you know, that's actually a good idea for once." He replied playfully. Again taking out his saber, he used it to extract one of the creature's teeth equivalent to a canine. It was large to the point that had it been hollow Jarich could have fit his arm through the trophy. An impressive keepsake for any Jedi.
Sensing his Shado's presence, Jarich rose to his feet doing his best to suppress the pride that had been swelling in him. "Not even master Vao can find fault with me this time." the padawan thought to himself as Rhaneris sensed his change in demeanor and also turned to greet their mutual Jedi Master.
Darth Dreadwar , @patrick
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Post by Lord Vassago on Apr 8, 2018 21:17:12 GMT -5
IC: Warlord Zhav'vorsa Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, KorribanCoatlec, the battered and broken Sith, did as he was commanded. He spoke the words, admitting through a heaving chest and a mouthful of blood to his desires, taboo even to the Warlord. A feeling of disappointment washed over his body. His shoulders dropped, and his biceps and forearms loosened. He’d half expected the Sith to be too proud to admit such a vile thing, even during a trial, harsh as it was, that was meant to teach one how to lose properly. He’d hoped, even just slightly, that Coatlec would scoff at the idea, refusing to speak the words, and that he’d be allowed to feed his blade. “ Step back, beast,” Dreadwar spoke while waving his gauntleted hand. The scarred brow of Zhav’vorsa arched slowly over his left eye, his top lip curling with disdain; he was not accustomed to taking orders, but in this circumstance, he would yield. As it was agreed upon previously. He hefted the sword up, over his shoulder, and sheathed it on his back once more, then stepped away from the beaten man. He did not show his back to Dreadwar, nor did he intend to make any sort of moves against the eldritch being. The lesson was not over, yet. The robed being knelt beside Coatlec, speaking to him softly – soft like the eye of a storm, like the freshly dug soil of a grave. His tone was haunting, eerie. The Warlord did not listen to each word spoken, but his attention returned to the wraith-like figure when he addressed him directly. “ And you, Warlord, will you be able to treat this man with respect, understanding the importance of the lesson taught today, however alien it is to your people?” The idea was alien. Treating a beaten, battered opponent with respect was not normal, nor was it desirable. Not in his society. It was a difficult idea to grasp, but the Warlord was not foolish; stubborn, but not so foolish as to interfere with a lesson with such importance. Whether he liked it or not, he would tolerate it. “ Your customs are different than those of my Clan. But it will be as you said. This man will move freely with my respect.” He said with a sure tone. He was not within his Clan any longer, but he would grow beyond the traditions of his people back on Dathomir; his goal coming to Korriban was to learn, to become stronger, more powerful, and return to the Clan stronger than before. A better leader, one that would not falter, nor be overcome. TAG Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror,Darth Dreadwar
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Apr 8, 2018 23:05:03 GMT -5
IC: Ermir Marcus Supply Depot, Sith Temple, Korriban The supply depot was a large warehouse built into a cavern of the same bloodied sandstone as the rest of the Temple. Industrial shelving of durasteel and ciridium lined the roughly-hewn walls, supporting laminanum starfighter hull plates and tarp-covered ion cannon turrets, with smaller lutetium shelves forming aisles overflowing with stacked equipment nearer the centre of the depot. There was only a handful of personnel milling about, most in the leatheris overalls denoting their stations as menial workmen, a few operating turbo-forklifts, a few escorting a black-robed Falleen Sith to a replacement terror droid servomotor he was angrily demanding he needed for the upcoming mission to Ryloth. Ermir Marcus didn't even need to show identification as he entered. The floor chief instantly recognised the Sith Temple's Quartermaster. Fortunately, the balding Zabrak did not come over; he merely offered a nod of acknowledgement to Ermir, one the Sith Master stiffly returned as he led Arcane towards an aisle fortunately far from the nearest staff. "Here," Ermir replied to Arcane's question at last, pointing towards a curious piece of technology some ten meters down the aisle, on the left shelf. It had the appearance of a primitive survey rover, a small treadmill vehicle no taller than a man, with a single metal chair situated behind a turret. "A laser-borer will blow that rock open nice and easy," Ermir said. "But getting it down without being seen is going to be a schutta. So I'm thinking one of us is going to need to drive this thing down to the passageway, while the other goes to the bestiary, which is just down the corridor on the opposite side of the dining hall, and releases the beasts as a distraction. But we'll have to get the timing just right, or the one driving might get attacked before they can reach the stairs..." Ermir sighed, raising a hand to his forehead briefly before looking back at Arcane. "What do you think?"
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Post by darthferos on Apr 10, 2018 4:28:04 GMT -5
IC: Darth Feros Docking Bay 416 Nar Shaddah Feros looked around again to survey the damage. A large chunk of the bay was gone, and a good number of people we're dead. Luckily, none of the Sith were among them. Though that one was still on the old freighter. But Feros was sure he'd be fine. Then the Droid spoke to him. And he realized the kriffing thing was right. They should leave. He could explain everything else on the way. "A ship sounds like an excellent plan, Droid. Reaper, I think it's time we be going. The port authority will be here rather soon, and I don't want to think of what Maladi will do to us if we're discovered." He said to the man. "Corvar," Feros sent out through the Force. "Whatever you're doing you need to hurry. We have to get off this planet quickly." Feros could hear the sirens in the distance. He knew they were close. Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon |
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Apr 10, 2018 12:41:55 GMT -5
COMBO WITH DARTH KAIN
IC: Darth Kain, D-3PO and the Tranquility Crew Docking Bay 418, Nar Shaddaa
“Yes very good!” D-3PO emphatically gestured towards the entryway at Feros's agreement. “Oddly enough, we happened to arrive in a ship of similar make and model to this one,” the chatty protocol droid prattled on as he led Feros out of the bay. “Of course ours is better, if not just because of the modified payload, but also Mister Reaper’s ship lies stored in the back. He has a decommissioned TIE Hunter he calls Form II. A strange name isn’t it? It suggests fluidity and grace, which as I’m sure you’ve seen, Mister Reaper does not readily command.”
Above the bay, things were tense aboard the Tranquility. "Trust me, I have no intentions of making you do such a thing," Corvar spoke softly to the Twi'lek. "I can tell that you don't want to, either. And that means you have a heart. You're a good person." Corvar took a small step forward, nonthreateningly and all the while subtly. "All of your crew seemed like good people. I don't know why it had to come to this, but I want it to end. Don't you?" he asked.
The Twi'lek tightened her grip on the blaster as Corvar stepped forward. "Stop!" she shouted at him. "Why are you people doing this?" There were tears in her eyes as she questioned him. "We didn't want to hurt nobody. And now Cate and Zo an the Cap'n are gone." She began sobbing and dropped to her knees in front of Corvar.
The Zeltron spoke up behind her, still fiddling with the controls, "Now is definitely not the time K." A wave of emotion radiated out from him. More pheromones. This time, the emotion wasn't friendly though; it was anger.
These pheromones not only affected the girl, but Corvar as well, urging him to hurry on with what he'd been planning the moment he saw a scared Twi'lek girl holding him at blasterpoint. And yet, even with his emotions churning within, fueling his power, he sounded ever-calm.
"I understand your question, and I have an answer," he said as his rage began to grow rapidly, like black oil was filling up his insides, ready to ignite. "Your friends were good people."
His lightsaber ignited in all its crimson glory. With a grin, he concluded,
"My friends are not."
His lightsaber swiped downward, his training in Shii-Cho instinctively making the Twi'lek's blaster his first target. The lightsaber sliced through the blaster with ease, causing the girl to let out a shriek of fear. She was defenseless now and she knew it. She looked up at him, eyes streaming tears and mouth hanging open. There was no sound coming out though.
The pilot turned his head back long enough to see the light of Corvar’s blade streak in front of the Twi’lek. He took a deep breath and focused his pheromones on creating more positive emotions. At the very least, he wouldn't let his friend die afraid.
Corvar had an even better idea, however. Why kill her so quickly when she could so easily be used, instead?
With his free hand, Corvar called upon the dark side to fuel his subconscious sadism, clutching his hand and attempting to raise the Twi'lek girl high into the air, his grip firmly aimed at her throat.
The Twi'lek grasped at her throat, gasping for breath as Corvar hoisted her with the Force. She tried crying out, but her voice was reduced to a rasping wheeze. The pilot, now somewhat more desperate, yanked back on the yoke. The ship angled its nose to the sky and gravity took its natural effect, pushing the Zeltron back into his seat and potentially sending Corvar out the door if he didn't brace himself against the pull of the moon.
Corvar was prepared for such an action, though preparation was only half the battle. It took precise timing for him to slash at the door panel a moment before he flew out of said door, causing him to slam his back into the door as it was closing. But he was still in the cockpit, and the Twi'lek was still in his grasp.
"Land this ship back on Nar Shaddaa immediately, or your friend dies," Corvar growled. "Do as I say and you'll both be survivors of this unfortunate attack."
The Zeltron strapped himself into his chair. He didn't believe for a moment that Corvar would spare him no matter what action he took. He did know that he had an opportunity to kill three Sith in one swift stroke though. He slowly righted the ship. "Put her down," he spoke without turning to face Corvar. "The ship touches down when she does."
"As you wish," Corvar said, lowering the Twi'lek down to where he feet were able to touch the floor below. He kept a tight grip on her throat however, not willing to relinquish his hold on her completely. "The longer you take, the longer she suffers."
The Zeltron took a deep breath and gripped the yoke tightly. “I am a leaf on the wind,” he whispered quietly. “Watch how I soar.” With that he violently turned the yoke and locked it in place, turning the ship on its head and pointing the repulsors that were holding it aloft away from the ground below. The ship, having lost its ability to defy gravity, heeded the call of the moon below and began plummeting. They weren’t high, only twenty meters in the air, but that only meant Corvar had seconds to react before the durasteel hull crashed into the pit below.
In the adjacent bay, Reaper, who had gone on ahead of D-3PO and Feros, would be greeted by a strange sight. Standing in front of their freighter was a group of dark robed individuals, and behind them was a large cart hovering a meter from the ground, its contents covered in a tarp. One of the group, a Kyuzo by the looks of it, stepped forward and pointed at Reaper, speaking in an unintelligible alien dialect through its breathing apparatus.
TAG: trentongordon ,darthkain7 ,darthferos ,
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Apr 10, 2018 14:29:04 GMT -5
IC Lord Catalyst Beneath Sadow's Tomb, Korriban
Catalyst’s swing cleaved neatly through the spine of the undead before him. The abomination fell to the floor with a series of thuds. He twirled the sword in his hand a bit; it would definitely do in lieu of his lightsaber for now. Might even make a suitable trophy seeing as Xirr forgot my Tuk’ata corpse back on the surface. He slipped the blade under the obi of his robes and turned his attention back to the wall. Twelve circles huh? He saw no obvious circles. An idea did form in his head though, one that presented little risk to anyone here if it did not pan out favorably.
“Why are we attempting to search this wall when we have a far more elegant solution with us?” He gestured to Neoplix. “This Gen’Dai has a highly mutable form. Perhaps, hear me out, if we were to spread him along the wall, we would be in essence pressing every circle that the inscription makes note of. We don’t know if there is a negative side effect to touching pieces other than the circles and this would also serve to give us an answer to that, seeing as young Neoplix here can simply shrug off any lasting damage the wall would inflict. It saves us the trouble of racking our brains to answer a silly riddle and also lets this Initiate prove himself to his Masters.” He smirked to the group. “Really, what could go wrong?”
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