The Old Sith Trials

IC: Darth Venomis
Bridge of the Mjfk-akk-snerok-Ra, Unknown Regions

Darth Hypnos approached the vessel of the Ruinous Power with the reckless swiftness of madness. Such a disregard for the conventions of fear had no doubt won him his privileged position at Darth Venomis' side; perhaps the entity of loathsome virulence perceived a similarity between the droid-bound Shard and the Sith pureblood he had once been. Both were driven by hunger. Hunger for knowledge, hunger for power, hunger for control. Both had plagued the galaxy with their baneful existence for centuries. Both had begun in very different forms than the shells of pus-weeping skin and oiled durasteel they currently wore.

But only one bowed. Only one was a god. "Thee with a thousand eyes wished to see he with none," Hypnos buzzed, respectfully addressing the apocalyptic deity From Beyond the Gap. "He with no ears would listen to thee who speaks with no voice."

To say that the enthroned Lord of Affliction rose from his basalt chair would be inaccurate. Instead, imagine that there had never been a throne to begin with; it was there and always was, but it was also not, and not even the unyielding strands of the Shard's crystalline neurons would preserve the memory it ever was. Venomis stood before him and he had been standing for all time; it is as if Hypnos had not walked there, but he had always been there, always cursed to stand before the bliss of his Lord's countenance. Rot, plague and spoiled milk. Squamous bubonic skin and blazing green effulgence.

Darth Avaris
Throne Room

"I thank you, Lord Emperor Dreadwar, for permitting me to live another day in your service.” Talon said, as she lie herself before him like Friegus in veneration.

Avaris watched the Emperor but could barely focus in the cold. His aura was black. It seemed to drain all the color from the room.

"An honor, Emperor" Xirr said.

He did not bring himself to the ground but only bowed. Avaris did not wait until the Emperor looked to her, she dropped to the floor in a kneel. She had no arguments with showing him her submission. He was the Emperor. Her only problem came when anyone below wanted her servitude.

“Many gratitudes for your summoning. I am honored to finally look upon your greatness, my Lord,” she said.

She was trying to mimic the Dark Lady before them. Talon and the other Sith had been here before and there was no doubt a reason to their actions. She lie down prostrate as soon as she finished speaking and hoped she had done adequately.

Beyond the Emperor there was no one she would serve.

Tag: Darth Dreadwar, dice,

IC: Darth Viscretus
Sith Hangar, Korriban

"I think, Lady Viscretus," Apollyon replied, "that such a sacrifice may in fact appease the spirits that all-too-often animate said carnivores."

She snorted. It may appease the spirits, or it may not. Viscretus certainly was not willing to take some zealotic chance in the Valley, no matter how many tuk’ata she personally believed they could defeat. She had prepared a measured yet scathing reply when Lord Catalyst finally rejoined them, his voice preceding him.

"You complete buffoon." His words were pointed at Apollyon. "What kind of idiot do you think you are? Tossing around thermal detonators in an enclosed room with sensitive mechanical devices!"

"That ship is almost priceless in value. Do you know how difficult it is to find Stygium crystals? That may very well be the last supply in the galaxy! Almost destroyed by your childlike insecurity! Are you so threatened by Viscretus that you would level the temple to defend the shreds of obsession you call honor?"

His voice quieted, an eerie calm that seemed almost unnatural. "At least I can perform my tasks without becoming distracted by petty rivalry." He scoffed at Viscretus. A mistake, but he was far too concerned with Apollyon at the moment for her to respond - and she was enjoying his verbal lashing a nearly criminal amount.

"So. When do we depart?"

There was a silence. Viscretus smirked as the seconds ticked by, knowing full well the flaring fire in her friend’s eyes was a disproportionate symptom of the screaming rage - ah, and there it was. The molten anger pouring into the air around them. As satisfying to her still aching senses as it was amusing.

"I did not toss around a thermal detonator, Lord Catalyst," Apollyon responded, just as soon as her eyes began to cool. "It was a shock grenade... and she threw it first!" She pointed childishly to Viscretus.

And you, threw a knife at my face, Zelashiel, she spat through their mental bond, pulling the hunting blade to her hand with a curt wave, simply because you cannot control your foolish jealousy for more than a moment. I don't suppose you will be reporting our behaviour to the-

"But enough infantile bickering," Apollyon interrupted her stream of irritated commentary. "We will depart momentarily. But first," she waved open the various storage containers. Oddly more than she had ever offered to her. “Lord Catalyst, you might find some of this equipment useful.”

Viscretus turned to look at the offerings she had telekinetically plucked from the crates - a carbon rope, a glow-stick (seemingly cerulean), a flame torch, and both the Ax of Adas and the climbing gauntlets she had offered earlier.

"And Initiate Shaire, you might want to change.” She offered a variety of outfits to the acolyte off to the side, some of which were very much inappropriate for the Valley’s clime. Viscretus raised an eyebrow. “Or you might not... up to you."

Catalyst silently took his pick of the items, no doubt still fuming at them both - his irritation would likely last far longer than the dying haze that spiralled up from the engines of his TIE.

“Excellent choices,” she remarked to Catalyst with dramaturgic sincerity. It surprised her somewhat that he had not chosen the Ax - but merely the gauntlets and rope. Perhaps she had misjudged his character? Or perhaps he had his own clever reasoning.

“Are you hiding anything else, friend?” Viscretus smiled sweetly to Apollyon, plucking the glow stick from the air and tucking it away in her bag. “You know how I love secrets...but not nearly as much as I love my options.” 

TAG: Darth Catalyst, Darth Dreadwar, Padawan4687
TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow

Approved!

Character Sheet



Name/Title: Darth Persevus

Age: Indeterminable, knows much that denotes an ancient lifespan yet certain mannerisms denote a surprisingly 'younger' possibility. Over 100 at least.

Sex: Male

Species: Unknown, but clearly Humanoid

Homeworld: None

Occupation: Sith Chronicler of History and Collector of Archaeological Interests

Height: 6'

Appearance: It is hard to say as he is completely covered in stereotypical black. From the mask covering his face and the cloak over his body, the hood always up, and gloves and boots to match. Appears fairly 'sturdy' from what can be made out from his clothing

Weapons: Both halves of Asajj Ventress' light staff, as well as the lightsabers of Darth Tyranus and Darth Malak that he has modified to become a light staff as well if needed.

Equipment: TONS of various Sith artifacts and legendary relics. Everything he wears once belonged to someone or another as he would have it no other way. Each piece will be revealed one by one. Prepare for quite the checklist.

Description of Abilities: Besides the plethora of immense Force power that many others have boasted over the ages, he has two particularly unique abilities. One is his natural Force resiliency, shown by his resistance to the immense corruptive energies of so many artifacts on him at once. The other is his ability to find things. An enhanced psychometry that requires but a touch to connect to a person that has heavily influenced an item and then time allotted to deep meditation to connect to that person and rifle through their memories. The more time meditating on that person, the more he learns. Through this he has become unparalleled in locating and acquiring Sith artifacts through logical inference of everything he finds like some kind of enormous history puzzle that he is putting together.

Personality: Aloof and a loner for the most part. Yet keeps up to date on the happenings of the galaxy and will play games of mental chess simply to keep his wits up. Highly intelligent and seemingly random to some, he simply plays at various levels all at once. Deeply concerned with Sith preservation.

Biography: Darth Persevus. A man born to archaeologists, which should come to no surprise. Always moving to the next site, the next dig, the next discovery. This was how his love of history and relics was cultivated. The ideal of preservation, that nothing should ever be lost. And the particular culture he became most fascinated with?

The Sith Lords.

And when a group of marauding pirates came upon his family's camp one evening, he lost them both. Yet he survived due to aid from his first relic. The Holocron of Ajunta Pall. Drawing strength from it in his grief and rage, he fell to the dark side suddenly. His retribution swift and brutal. From then on, even without formal training from a living Sith, he considered himself one.

Realizing all other artifacts were useless to him at this point, he decided to purely specialize in Sith relics and hunt them down for both preservation and enhance his power further while training with the aid of holocrons that came into his possession.

Not one for the spotlight however, he eschewed the traditional Sith ideals of manipulating the system or conquering worlds or overpowering other Lords for power and prestige. No. He simply wished to learn the history. All of it. And keep a close eye on those Sith currently alive, to make sure they never vanished from the galaxy.

Hate them or not, they were essential in his opinion but due to their nature, they came close to utter annihilation too often. There needed to be a safeguard. A reserve.

Perseverance and Preservation. Enter Darth Persevus.

Should the Sith ever fail. Should they ever be wiped out from infighting, Jedi, or other means…he would be there to pick up the pieces. But only if necessary, for he'd much prefer just to keep learning history and watching promising future lords and ladies.

His path is the darkness' own shadow, never knowing he even exists.

Level: 9

Darth Dreadwar ,Volshe ,Shira ,chunkeymodest ,Darth Catalyst ,Lord Vassago ,Padawan4687

Name/title: Kint Dranlor, "Gorzan"

Age: 37

Sex: yes please jk lololol male

Species: genetically modified Zabrak

Homeworld: Cerea

Occupation: soldier for hire, elite warrior, bounty hunter

Height: 6'2"

Appearance: almost always wearing sleek armor, extremely muscular and well defined, but not bulky, more slim and flexible. Scar across his left eye, faded. Tan skin, occasionally covered with temporary tattoos.



Weapons:Elite Zabrack Armor, equipped with thermal, infrared, and and electronic scanners; hydraulic strength enhancers; stealth monofilament, enabling active camouflage;
1 Mulit-Purpose Plasma Rifle, 2 DC-46 Heavy Blaster Pistols, 1 FWG-7 Fletchette Pistol, 1 Double-Bladed Lightsaber, 1 Single-Bladed Lightsaber, 4 MBR-12 Fragmentation Grenades, 2 SSF (Stun, Smoke, Flash) Grenades, 2 EMP Grenades
Prosthetic Right Arm: Increased Strength, electric conductor for force lightning, Hidden Lightsaber Dispenser, Electrified Knuckles, Hidden Blaster, Hidden Rocket Launcher, Grapple Launcher, Retractable Cortosis Blades, Dataport





Equipment: liquid cable launcher, datapad, 3 stimpacks, 1 medkit, condensed food and energy packets, elite custom comms gear, jet pack

Ships: 1 V2P7 Falcon Cargo Freighter, Equipped With Maximized Cargo Space, 2 FR-9 Gatling Guns, 4 Auto-Turrets, 2 Ion Cannons, 2 Heavy Blasters, 4 Hydra Missile Pods (36 Anti-Fighter Missiles Each), 2 Prometheus Missile Pods (4 Heavy Missiles Each),1 B227 Railgun, 1 Torchete Mine Layer, Heavy Shields, Modified Maneuvering Thrusters.
1 BT7 Stealth Fighter, Equipped With 1 B255 Railgun, 2 Light Blaster Cannons, 1 Ion Cannon, 1 Hydra Missile Pod, 1 Prometheus Missile Pod, Heavy Shields, Modified Maneuvering Thrusters.
1 Kardoon Swoop Bike, Equipped With 2 Light Blasters, 1 Sparrow Missile Pod (20 Light Missiles), Light Shields

Description of abilities: force lightning, augmentation, and cloak are his most common abilities, followed by tutaminis telekinesis and heal. He also uses force sense and repulse/scream on occasion. As far as mundane skills go, he is an expert warrior and assassin, with legendary marksmanship abilities as well as hand to hand combat skills and sabers. He also is an exceedingly good pilot and explosives expert.

Personality: clever, humorous, but when fighting his sense of humor is put on hold, innovative and outside the box, his greatest weapon is his mind.

Biography:Kint Dranlor was born into a noble Zabrack family, who owned a moderate sized weapons and armor manufacturing business. They dealt in expensive, rare, exotic, and modified armor and weaponry, making a fortune very quickly. Kint was put in school at a young age, being trained and brought up in the way of all Zabrack nobles: the school was rough and competitive, and very combat oriented. Everyone there was expected to become an elite soldier and officer, able to lead the troops of his or her family. What the school was most famous for, however, was its no-holds-barred rating system. Students got ahead in any way they could. Cheating, whether in battle or in education, was something that was admired, if you could get away with it. But if you were caught, the consequences could be terrible. Labor, beatings, even expulsion if it was bad enough. Kint quickly rose to the top of his school class. He showed his intelligence, cunning, and wit throughout every class he took. He also was won the schools dueling competition, earning the war name "Gorzan," a name which would come into common use once he was of age. The dueling competition was an event in which any student could challenge him, with any weapons of their choice. He proved to be an excellent fighter with dulled blades, fists, stun blasters, and even Bo-staffs. Then at age 11, a Jedi emissary landed on the planet, looking for recruits in the war against the Sith. He witnessed Kint duel, and immediately had suspicions. When he tested Kint's blood for Midi-Chlorians, his suspicions were confirmed. He approached Kint's family, and asked them if he could train Kint in the Jedi ways. After a long conversation, Kint's parents agreed, but only if Kint's personal instructor, Doruus, could accompany him, and continue his traditional Zabrack education and combat training. Once on Coruscant, Kint quickly showed himself to be one of the strongest force users in the temple. He spent almost all of his time either studying or dueling, paying little attention to the social aspects of the temple. He had a great aptitude for using multiple lightsabers, and overpowering his opponents with fast efficient movements. However, he did find a friend in his fellow apprentice Kar-Den. Kar-Den was a Nautolan, and a very skilled duelist. Kar-Den was also one of the more popular of the trainees in the temple. He slowly managed to get Kint involved with the other students, until Kint gave in, and began to interact with the others. He found he enjoyed this social life more than that on his own planet, because of the trust that you could have. There was no backstabbing and cheating, and he could trust Kar-Den with his life. However, throughout this whole even, His studies with Doruus increased in intensity tenfold. He began integrating his force abilities into his Zabrack-style dueling, and he used the temple to research old combat arts that were not in use. He learned how to cloak, and more importantly, he learned of the Sith art of force lightning. Using the ancient texts, he quickly began teaching himself everything he could about it, slowly growing in power. Then, when he was 15, he learned that his parents had been killed by another Zabrack noble. In the court, they claimed that the Dranlor fortune was theirs, since Kint had left and become a Jedi. So, contrary to the Jedi Counsel's wishes, Kint returned to his home, and claimed his inheritance and family business. Then he challenged his parents killer to a duel. Kint killed him, proving his superiority, and by rights of the duel, he claimed their fortune and titles as well. But when he tried to go back to the Jedi, Kar-Den warned him that if he returned they would charge him with murder and insubordination, and that they were sending a team of Jedi to bring him back in. Kint ran, traveling in a specially outfitted cargo freighter, carrying only him and Doruus. the rest of the ship was filled with supplies, weaponry, armor, equipment, and money. He hired himself out as a bounty hunter, but he missed the learning and training that he had received in the Jedi Order, so he began searching for an alternative. He heard of the Masarian Mercenaries, lead by a legendary fighter by the name of Ire, and so flew to the planet the rumors were last heard on. Once he was there, he began his search. He was approached by a man claiming to work for Ire, and offering an apprenticeship to him. Kint accepted, and with that, he joined the Masarian Mercenaries.he quickly rose to the top, becoming aone of ire's top lieutenants, along with his fellow student Blaise. Much treachery occurred, with Blaise making multiple attempts on kint's life. Eventually, however, Blaise attempted to kill ire, planting a bomb on his ship. Ire survived, and returned to the planet. He ordered Blaise and Kint to duel, telling them that the winner would inherit the organization in all of its power. After a brief duel, Kint cut off her hand, and then her head. Ire died shortly thereafter, leaving Kint as the head of the organization. However, Kint quickly purged the group, sending most of them to the core worlds with instructions to just wait until they were needed, and to blend in and take jobs. Meanwhile, Kint continued to train up the elites of his organization to become expert warriors and assassins, and they quickly became an expert paramilitary group. Their first step was to begin secretly recruiting some of the young brilliant minds of the era, teaching them and training them to increase their knowledge. Their entire society was focused on developing military knowledge, technology, and skills. Then they began occupying uninhabitable planets, terraforming two of them into metal planets fully equipped for defense. On the other planets, they built underground colonies and cities, preparing much more space than necessary. They also began building small mining bases inside asteroid belts, and producing large amounts of material, gear, and weaponry in a very short time. Their goal was expansion, and if that required bloodshed, so be it. They continued to multiply in number, staying in the unknown regions, with Kint Dranlor as their head, and now, they are prepared to reveal themselves to the galaxy.

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Sith Temple Hangar

Robyn was just reaching forward to inspect the light armor that made up the camouflaged vest, when Lady Apollyon answered in a voice full of sarcasm. "I don't know, Initiate. How much of a difference in climate do you think is possible in the fifteen minute walk between this Academy and the Valley?" Robyn could see a tilted head in her peripheral vision. "Don't tell me you've never been outside."

Who knows! Robyn mentally shouted, overflowing with irritation again. Everything else on this godforsaken planet is the opposite of what I expected, so maybe the weather would follow suit! Besides, I haven't exactly been here long enough to watch the seasons change, if this sand-covered wasteland has any.

"Oh no, I have!" she almost snapped, keeping her eyes on the vest. The shorts she left where they were, since the last thing she needed was to have the skin of her legs exposed while moving on coarse sand. With her luck she'd end up with dozens of bothersome scrapes. "I just want to make sure I'm not walking into yet another cruel prank with the weather, because the Force knows Sith love giving Initiates the shortest stick."

Her last few words faded as she reached for the outfit of bantha wool and reached for the long pants. She convinced herself to take the goggles as well, just to protect her eyes from that same annoying sand-

"And we're walking!" Lady Apollyon's overly cheery voice positively grated on Robyn's eardrums, and she hissed a curse under her breath. She was already walking off, through a side-exit of the hangar and into the unknown! And she was supposed to change clothes and catch up with them? As if it could have been a little more obvious that her presence was tolerated here just as well as it was in Professor Slimeball's classroom!

"If she wanted to leave me behind so badly she could have just said so." Robyn muttered to herself, holding the chosen threads tight against her chest. She looked around for a nearby restroom to change in, still muttering under her breath while Apollyon was a good distance out of earshot, "...being such a smart-ass and offering a winter outfit in the middle of a desert...and of course I'm the idiot for asking...Emperor's Hand my-"


TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Darth Catalyst

IC LORD CATALYST

TEMPLE HANGAR : KORRIBAN

 

Catalyst was quick to note the selection Viscretus took of the items: a simple glow rod. Of course her comment belied what her true intentions were. No doubt the jest was cleverly disguised to hide an annoyance that he had picked one of the few magical trinkets. He had left her the axe. Plus there was no way she wasn't hiding an amulet or enchanted ring somewhere on her. Catalyst knew better. Viscretus wasn't stupid or greedy. In fact Catalyst had a mild respect for her. Which was more than could be said for his feelings of Apollyon at the moment. As Robyn deliberated over the three suits that Apollyon offered forth, Catalyst let out a chuckle. Women and their clothes. Of course each suit offered a measured practicality. And Robyn's questions, though poorly constructed, did hold some merit. The Initiate was right to gather all the information she could about this mission. Even as Apollyon berated her for asking, Catalyst silently approved of her line of questioning.

"And we're walking!"  Apollyon's voice grated against Catalyst's ears like cutlery on porcelain. That woman strove to be a nuisance, he just knew it. Unfortunately there wasn't much he could do about it. She was the Emperor's hand after all. But she was wrong in one respect: nobody else was walking. She stepped through the door, leaving Robyn to struggle with the outfit she chose. Winter pants and a desert camouflage top? Intriguing... Catalyst caught wind of the Initiate's mutterings as Apollyon pranced off.

"If she wanted to leave me behind so badly she could have just said so." Robyn's annoyance matched his own it seemed, "..being such a smart-ass and offering a winter outfit in the middle of a desert...and of course I'm the idiot for asking...Emperor's Hand my-"

Catalyst had to stifle a loud snort. Truly Robyn shared his line of thought. He turned his back to her to give her a bit of privacy so she could change and heard Apollyon's almost sing-song question. "For all my time on this world, I have not yet stepped foot upon the sacred sands of the Valley... Have you ever, Lord Catalyst, Lady Viscretus?"

The opportunity for another jab was not one to be missed. She let her guard down again. "I can't say that I have, Lady Apollyon," Catalyst called from behind her. The polite reply was definitely suspicious, he knew, but the follow up would be far more worthwhile, "I much preferred a view from the sky." He grinned behind his helm again. No wonder she enjoyed being so petty. It really embellished a feeling of  false superiority. He turned to Viscretus before Apollyon could retort, "What about you Lady Viscretus? Surely your breadth of experience trumps ours."

TAG: Darth Dreadwar ,Volshe ,Padawan4687 ,

Darth Avaris
Throne Room

Avaris looked at Lord Xirr carefully as he responded to the Emperor. He was pretending that he was immune to the fear all around them but she would not.

It was normal to her. Her ancestors survived because they admitted their weaknesses and embraced their fears no matter what.

She wondered if it would be a mistake for him to be so bold, after the Emperor had hissed about boldness itself being a symptom of heresy. She looked at the hood and felt cold and afraid as if she were alone at night in the alleys of her home planet.

“My lord, the clan I am hailed from say the final Sith will rule as two from our own blood above all others. But we are also taught that only the galaxy will decide.”

She was not lying when she said this but it did not match her true feelings.

It did not mean she would ever try to destroy the Emperor or his order but she would not hold her breath that his would be the last. If anything she would seek to be his second in command in case her own belief were false.

“I do not challenge you for you are of far greater power than I could ever imagine.”

Tag: Darth Dreadwar , dice

IC: Dy'nonik'iss
Dungeon, Cathedral of the Holy Jedi Spirits, Odessen

The cell was dark, dismal and gloomy. Exactly the opposite of what the Jedi Ordu Aspectu - that most Holy Order of the Jedi Knights - aspired to. But then, the Jedi preached that evil could only be fittingly punished with darkness, for they said that to be left in the void so long that the kind light of the mother Force became a terrible glare was the worst fate that a sapient created in Her image could endure.

Dy'nonik'iss, a young therapod dinosaur known as a Tiss'shar, found the manacles that encircled his slender raptorian wrists much more uncomfortable. But then again, night vision was part of his species' package. He wasn't so sure about the humanoid chained next to him, to the same iron ring set into the wall behind their bent backs, nor the dark figure chained on the opposite side of the cell, to a separate ring near the tiny durasteel slat that let in the meager light of Odessen's predawn and the avian cries of the misty forest beyond their captivity.

But then, he wasn't so sure what either of their species was. The one to his right was clad in some sort of power armour that made it very difficult to ascertain his true bulk, and the one opposite them was shrouded in black robes, and both wore masks. If he had to guess based on apparel alone, he would say one was a Masarian mercenary, and the other was a Lord of Sith.

Dy'nonik'iss was more sure as to why they were here.

Odessen was a world located deep in the Unknown Regions, impossible to find unless one already knew where to look, and sufficiently nestled away in the impossible hyperspatial knots that dominated the dark periphery of the galaxy that it took an exceedingly long time to reach, even by interstellar standards. Legend - not legends known in the wider galaxy, of course, but legends local to the exotic polities and alien races of the Unknown Regions - held that it was close to the fabled world of Zakuul, but thanks to the Perann Nebula, such stories could not be verified without breaching the scarlet cloud of that forbidden rift. And of course, outside of the Odessen system, one risked attack by what the Shapers of Kro Var had called the Destructors.

Some said it was the metaphysical nature of Odessen itself, a world both strong and uniquely balanced in the Force, that kept those marauding fleets of stygian pyramids at bay. Some said it was unique technology left by Atha Prime. Some said it was the Shado Varmiri.

Dy'nonik'iss knew better.

It was the power of the Ordu Aspectu.

Over ten thousand years ago, long before the Sith Order even existed, the Holy Order of Jedi Knights had bifurcated. Not a schism between light and dark, no, but a schism between balance and purity. Between gentle light, and a terrible glare. Between Jedi influenced by the hermits of the Dai Bendu, who betrayed the Galactic Republic and overthrew Chancellor Contispex XIX, and the Ordu Aspectu, who had remained loyal to the Republic and its Pius Dea faith. The traitors had won, but somehow, the faithful Jedi had endured. And after the death of Palpatine, the zealous Jedi of the Ordu Aspectu had returned, one of several splinter sects of Jedi that coalesced in the Unknown Regions, from the Templars of Twilight to the Guardians of Light to the New Jedi Trials.

On a vast island in the middle of Odessen's greatest ocean sprouted their Cadedral of Holy Jedi Spirits. Dy'nonik'iss had traversed miles to come here, infiltrating it in the dark of night with one purpose in mind. His attempt at theft had failed, his alchemy no match for the searing power of the light side.

"You came for the holocron too, didn't you," Dy'nonik'iss spoke up, breaking the silence, addressing Kint Dranlor and Darth Persevus.

Dy'nonik'iss referred, of course, to the holocron that adorned the altar in the Cathedral's Inner Sanctum. He had gotten so close as to see it. It had neither been a cube, as a holocron of the Jedi, even of the Ordu Aspectu Jedi, nor a pyramid, as of the Sith. It had been an octahedron, conjuring memories of the Mortis myth and the Tho Yor, and that had given some credence to the rumour that the Ordu Aspectu had acquired the only known Celestial holocron in existence. An artifact of those long-gone but nigh omnipotent precursors who had ruled all the galaxy millennia before the Republic. A priceless treasure that would make any artifact-seeker brave any danger.

"I tried to pull it from the altar without disturbing the alarms, with my electromagnets here," he growled, dipping his head towards the equipment on his Wookiee-skin bandolier, the only kind of clothing the raptor wore. "But they karking didn't work. Nothing works here." It was if the Force was so intense in the Cathedral that technology itself malfunctioned, which explained why the Jedi Monks had not confiscated Kint's suit of power armour.

Of course, the Force didn't work either, which explained why they had not taken the rather arcane-looking artifacts from Persevus. But that was not a quality of the Cathedral, but rather a property of the four Ysalamiri caged outside the bars that comprised the left wall and door of the cell. The Jedi had insisted it was for the protection of those who were unaccustomed to the true light of the Force, and Dy'nonik'iss could believe it; the Force here, unlike the twisted darkness that prevailed in pyramid-patrolled space, was so bright as to be blinding.

It didn't make him want to eat the annoying little lizards, lazily chewing on mouthfuls of leaves like the pathetic herbivores they were, any less.

"So... How'd you guys get captured?" Dy'nonik'iss was idly curious as to whether his mysterious cellmates had truly been overpowered at all, or whether one or both had simply let themselves get captured so the Ordu Aspectu would take them to the only jail this side of the planet. Which, of course, so happened to be the Cathedral where the holocron resided.

He didn't put anything past a determined artifact-hunter.

"And..." He looked around furtively as his voice quieted, his stiff tail, uncomfortably pressed against the wall behind him, flicking in nervousness. "...Any ideas to get the hell out of here?"

TAG: elu , gorzan

---

COMBO WITH DARKHERMIT:

IC: Blessed Toxmalb and Lord Hypnos
Outside Hypnos' chambers, the Mjfk-akk-snerok-Ra

He stood as still as the gargoyles of Rhand, between Hypnos and the entry to his own chambers, as the droid the Shard wore shuffled towards him.

Briefly, he contemplated how he could channel The Dark in a shear that would see the chassis rust, servomotors break and wires corrode, as the cumulative weight of centuries of entropy brought affliction. But it was a passing fancy only, and he knew Hypnos' pair of two Technobeast guards would gut him first. But Blessed Toxmalb could scarcely stop imagining the many ways in which destruction could be wrought; such imagining was meditation.

For Blessed Toxmalb was the Lorekeeper of Rhand. Thirty thousand years ago, as the Sith - the True Sith - had fractured in the wake of their Lord's vanquishment, their elite Kissai priesthood, the Knell cult on Muspilli, had found themselves isolated in the Unknown Regions as the triumphant Celestials worked spacetime into impossible knots and impassable barriers to contain them. Over the centuries, they had amalgamated faithful vassals in the Kanzer Exiles and the Warriors of Shadow, Ssi-ruuvi and Taung heresiarchs, respectively, unified in their adoration of the Sith Pantheon. And behind the veil of the Perann Nebula, on ruined Rhand, they had founded a New Korriban in their exile, and thus the Sorcerers of Rhand were born.

Their brethren in known space had fallen to primitivism, to be conquered by Dark Jedi and remade into an Order devoted to self-aggrandisement and blasphemous narcissism. Blessed Toxmalb knew them to be false Sith; useful tools to harry the servants of light and balance, but not true embodiments of The Dark and Chaos. Indeed, out of all their ranks he knew of only one who had remained a True Sith - the ancient Lord Nihilus, who had come to Malachor from Rhand, taking his name in honour of the Nihil Retreat that the Rhandites ruled.

Power was a lie. For the only real power was the power to destroy. Empires were futile efforts at creation. Destruction was eternal. The Dark did not demand a galaxy brought to heel. The Dark did not demand the extinguishment of the Jedi. The Dark demanded nothing less but total annihilation. Of all life, of all the galaxy, of false Sith and Jedi alike. The Dark demanded the return of the Dark Pantheon, those apocalyptic deities beyond the Gunninga Gap that the Knell had long been mocked for claiming ability to summon.

And Blessed Toxmalb was truly blessed, to serve them as no other Sorcerer had in thirty thousand years. The cages the Celestials had constructed were splintering. The Lords of the True Sith were breaking free. The mighty Venomis was but the first. The Father of all Shadows would come in time.

In this servitude, Hypnos, although he had no understanding of the Way of the Dark, was a compatriot. For the will of Venomis was the will of The Dark.

"Lord Hypnos, may you serve The Dark well," he rasped in greeting, a high, scratchy voice that reminded one of a man dying of thirst in the black deserts of Rhand. His skin was ashen, flaking, so beholden to decay and rot that darkflies had made nests in his cranium. Unlike many a Sith Lord, Toxmalb had no intention of cheating the corruption. Entropy was the way of the universe. Death was inescapable. He merely desired to kill as many as possible before he, too, fell to The Dark. Ironically, Lord Venomis had seen fit to keep him alive long past the end of his natural lifespan, just a little longer, always one more task, like a rotworm in a dying beast.

The Way of the Dark was mysterious.

"Lord Venomis has instructed me to accompany you on this strike. He believes my talent with darksight will help adjust the probability of our quarry's demise." He referred, of course, to the recondite art of the True Sith sorcerers, a loathsome counterpart to battle meditation in which one's precognition could nudge the very future itself, so long as it maximized the probability of destruction.

Hypnos looked upon the twisted and decaying frame of Toxmalb not with disgust, as most beings would, but with a morbid curiosity. What kind of frame would his virus build around this wretch? The thought amused Hypnos. Were they not allied under the banner of Lord Venomis, they probably would have tried to kill each other multiple times over. A novel thought. "Your skills are appreciated, that much is true," he could not convey distaste with his voice he was certain the Sorcerer could still sense it. "You are aware then, of what we're to do?" Hypnos wasn't looking for a confirmation. Instead he wondered if Toxmalb's unique point of view offered an insight that he had not yet thought of.

"Indeed," Toxmalb wheezed, bringing a gnarled hand to thin black lips as he coughed. The violent gesture disturbed the darkflies, resulting in an angry buzzing cloud swirling around his emaciated skull.

"We are to sow chaos and destruction among the servants of order." He stepped away from the doors of Hypnos' chambers, allowing him passage. Darksight lent him keen precognition where entropy was concerned, and so he sensed that Hypnos had come to change chassis. The mere fact that he sensed this portended well; it meant that the chassis he would change into would surely cause much death.

"I will await you, My Lord," his shoulders stooped even further in a shallow bow. "While I peer into The Dark."

Another ability Hypnos had yet to master: the almost pervasive Darksight. It should have been easy for him; he regularly relied on the Force to translate the world around him into a form he could comprehend. It was interesting to never know real sight as an organic would. The thought never fazed him. It was natural. Hypnos stepped into his chambers and ensured the door closed behind him. After guiding his chassis to its rightful spot in his collection, he willed it to power down and open its chest compartment, revealing the large reddish crystal nestled inside. The crystalline form was the true Lord Hypnos, not the metal bodies that everyone else saw. Few had the honor of seeing Hypnos in this state. Vulnerable. Fragile. It was his natural state, yet anymore it felt so unnatural. The bodies he used for so long to aid in his interactions with the galaxy had let him grow comfortable. That would need to change.

But not today.

He carefully willed himself from the cradle of the protocol droid's chest. He needed to be ready to fight. But with what body? An astromech would be amusing, but this wasn't a subterfuge mission. The protocol droid wouldn't be suitable either, too rigid. This would require something unique. Hypnos floated over to his pet project. Standing just under two meters on tripedal legs, not unlike that of a droideka, supporting a modified and reinforced astromech canister, under which hung the true secret of this frame. What appeared to be a simple blaster cannon actually housed three separate ammunitions.

The first was in fact just that: a mundane blaster. The second was slugs containing Hypnos' personal technobeast strain. The third, and perhaps most powerful, was globs of Venomis himself, harvested from decaying crew members that could no longer provide any other use. Hypnos knew the dangers of carrying pieces of the Rot God with him, but the benefits outweighed the risks.

He lifted himself into the protected depths of the cylindrical core and sealed himself in. The droid hummed to life. The servos whined with each step as the legs propelled him forward. A quick diagnostic confirmed everything in working order. A cold, mechanical laugh rumbled in a deep bass like thunder from the vocabulator. Lord Hypnos was now more than prepared to bring about the apocalypse on all who stood in his way. 

"I see a sword and a hand, Lord Hypnos," he croaked. "The hand releases the sword, letting it stand alone... The hand twitches... The hand will sssleeep, yesss, sssleeep. Vulnerable. Dreaming. I see another... Xal'den. He lusts for the sword as surely as Arthurias lusted for the Blade of Darth Excalibus," he referenced a Sith legend of yore. "He is a shatterpoint for The Dark... His death will spiderweb, cause a thousand more deaths, shatter the sword before the hand can draw it..." 

"The time has come. A battle will be fought. Our foes will soon bow to the God of Rot." Hypnos's cadence was accompanied by the metallic groaning of his technobeasts. "Blessed Toxmalb, be you prepared? I have an excitement, hopefully shared." He stepped into one of the ships, folded his legs in and waited. Our finest hour, this will certainly be. With Toxmalb aboard, I sense flawless victory.

"Prepared in a way our quarry will not be, Lord Hypnos." A rancid smile. Tar-soaked zombies crammed the interior, and like a flock of birds, the dropships lifted from the hangar, just as the pyramid fleet teleported and the wedge-shaped profiles of the Imperial ships snapped into existence. The dropships cleared the hulk of the pyramid, and then activated their own teleporters, appearing in midair in the middle of the Triumphant's tertiary hangar.

"Rot for the Rot God!" Blessed Toxmalb crowed, laughing rapaciously as he looked at Hypnos beside him, glee shining in his non-eyes as their patience was at last rewarded with the breaking of combat. "Blood for the blood throne!" He raised his hands, and with an arcane gesture, a spear of midnight black formed in his grasp. Still grinning with the madness of the damned, he hurled the spear at the nearest Stormtrooper.

IC LORD HYPNOS
Triumphant Hangar Bay



As the egg shaped craft hung lazily in the hangar, Hypnos let his mind wander. The teleportation devices these ships contained were certainly impressive. Hypnos wondered if he had the understanding to build one for himself. And perhaps integrate it into one of his many chassis. A project for another time. Hypnos let his consciousness expand past his physical form. Using the Force to magnify his natural Shard senses, he could map out almost the entirety of the ship just by its electromagnetic signature alone. It wasn’t pretty. The devastation left in the wake of the cannon barrage was incredible. Entire systems were shut down, including their communication. He followed a collective of signatures to their most concentrated point: the bridge. Here was the nerve cluster of the ship, the brain that kept everything else functioning. The brain that they would lobotomize. Hypnos made sure to mentally chart the quickest route to the bridge. Not an easy trek, but that mattered little. He centered himself back to the inner sanctum of the pod and let the feeds from the photoreceptors and auditory sensors flood back into his mind. He could already sense Blessed Toxmalb’s excitement radiating off of him like flies congregating around a pile of dung.

The eggs finally cracked. As his cyborgs unfolded themselves from the zombies they were crammed together with, Hypnos immediately issued a mental command. Find their hearts. Spread my seeds. A thousand more, my army needs. He watched as Toxmalb gleefully stepped from the ship and bellowed his makeshift warcry, “Rot for the Rot God! Blood for the Blood Throne!” Hypnos was surprised, he didn’t take Toxmalb for a barbarian. He watched with amusement as the emaciated sorcerer conjured a spear from shadow and proceeded to impale the nearest moving Stormtrooper with it.

Hypnos, however, was concentrating on their leader: an Imperial Knight. It was evident that the Knight noticed Hypnos as well, for he ignited his saber and flew into the air in a position to strike. No time to aim the blaster, Hypnos conjured a blast of crimson Force lightning from the antenna on top of his chassis, directing it at the exposed Knight when he was at the apex of his leap. “Maggots of metal, rust and rot,” he chanted menacingly as the power coursed from him. “Sith life draws breath, old life does not.”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar (for now)

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Sith Temple Hangar

In the middle of arranging the gear and clothes in a more comfortable way in her arms, Robyn stopped muttering and looked up. There was plenty of space between her and the remaining Sith in the Hangar, but she couldn't shake the suspicion that someone was right on top of her. She felt her back beginning to prickle, and she immediately shut her eyes.

Typically she didn't pay much attention to her own aura, but this time she was quick to zero in on herself. Just like with the dagbat, she could see a heavy shade of red hanging over her...someone else's influence. Lady Viscretus's influence. Aha...so that's it. She thought, very briefly allowing a glare to cross her closed lids. Now, what the hell do you want?! She could see a cloud of red twisting around uncomfortably close, and Robyn was quick to put up her guard. She'd seen some unlucky Initiates rendered into blind puppets at the telekinetic hands of some Sith looking for bloody entertainment. She would not become the next-!

“Initiate Shaire,” Viscretus spoke and interrupted Robyn's racing suspicions. She reached out with the Force and yanked the door to a ship down, nodding to it as she continued, “I believe that will be suitable for you. Make it quick or we will be forced to leave you to the tuk’ata. Such a shame that would be.”

"Of...of course," Robyn swallowed hard as Lady Viscretus began to take her leave. It was about my clothes...not an attack. She felt the bundle of cloth and gear grow slightly tighter against her chest, and she refused to consider her thoughts wrong entirely. The moment she "relaxed" completely among folk like this would be the same moment she would be the next body to be "delivered"... She gave Lady Viscretus a nod and turned towards the ramp before suddenly pausing again.

“And do not bother wasting your time with the dead-weight." Lady Viscretus was now standing beside the resting hovercart and had her nose turned up. "Ignore the Chaos-cat and her ridiculous orders for now.” Robyn hurried into the ship without a reply. Ignore Marcus's orders? Even if Lady Viscretus outranked him by FAR, there would be little to nothing done to stop him from acting even worse towards Robyn than before if he found out... I'd almost prefer him just kill me quickly than be subjected to his long ranting again! she thought, finding a small empty room inside the ship.

She quickly changed from the outer uniform into the vest and long pants, all the while keeping an eye on both the locked door and the air around her. Without the long tunic, her gray undershirt and detached sleeves were now visible even with the armored vest over it. As long as my skin is protected... I'll be okay. Robyn lightly bit her lip as she replaced her belt, now layered over with the flame torch with her other weapons. She left the ship with the uniform in her arms, and took an extra minute to find a free servant and request the outfit to be sent back to her Quarters.

With her arms empty she approached the hovercart, almost surprised to see her classmate's body was undisturbed while she was on board changing. It didn't take long for her to consider Lady Viscretus's suggestion. I'm not leaving you behind, Chakran. she thought, taking hold of the handle again. It's not worth the risk... Master Marcus finds out I didn't do his sick "homework" and I'm dead too. She still couldn't stand to stare at the state of him, but she slowly started pushing him again to join with the others.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Darth Catalyst