The Old Sith Trials

IC: Darth Kain
Location: Aboard the Soon-to-be-Exploding Tranquility

It was when Corvar looked back at the sound of the alarms that he saw the uncosncious body of the Twi'lek girl, crumpled to the floor just inside the cockpit.

"Leave her," a voice inside Corvar said. "Or we'll never make it."

His reasoning was right. The ship was about to go up in flames, and while he and the chaos that was fire were close friends, that wouldn't stop him from being consumed by them.

"She's just a scared girl. She doesn't deserve to die like this," Corvar's compassion countered.

Corvar shouted an expletive that would make a pirate blush before going against logic and sprinting for the cockpit. As fires began to creep around the Tranquility, Corvar hoisted the girl onto his shoulders, her light Twi'lek frame a bit heavier due to her deadweight. Using the Force to push himself forward, he sprinted for the hole he created just moments ago, hoping to evade certain death as it followed on his heels.


TAGS: Darth Catalyst trentongordon darthferos

IC: Raspir
The bridge of the Great Reap, dead space

The crimson gargoyle stood as still as a statue from garden-girdled Zakuul, twin eye-stalks protruding at unnatural angles from its saturnine skull, blinking dumbly at the resplendent orgy of chaos that was hyperspace. His name was Raspir, and his lugubrious stare reflected nothing but the void - even as Raspir himself reflected on a long, long life lived in the service of blighted and unholy masters.

He had been a magician, once, in the court of Adas. In his youth he had known the beauty and hidden ecstasy of warfare, a game perpetually played out by the scattered tribes of Korriban. But the arrival of demonic invaders from the stars had turned his gaze in darker directions. The Rakata, they had called themselves, and they looked like he did now. Amphibious, ambitious abominations that had claimed they once faithfully served the Sith God Typhojem, and that they were redeeming Korriban from primitive degeneration.

Lies, Adas had snapped at their emissary. All the tribes have kept records for a thousand years, and we know ye not! Raspir could remember still, watching from the sidelines, juggling the skulls of the weak, his magic routine interrupted by the greatest spectacle of the era.

The emissary had said the Sith had forgotten their ancient past - that their millennia-old myths were more true than they knew, that their legends about ruling the heavens were all true, and that the Rakata were angels sent to pluck them from their decay. They had presented a pyramidal crystal as proof, comparing the devices they called 'holocrons' with an ancient idol that the Kissai worshipped under the assumption it was a hundred thousand years old. They had taught Adas to craft such a device, as well - and their impossible claims were proved true, when, disembarking from their otherworldly boats, lo and behold, were Sith from beyond the stars, counselling their great King Soa.

The Infernal Council, to the Infernal One.

Raspir stood motionlessly. His hands did not curl into fists, no matter how much the memory pained still.

The treachery. Yshaar Kael. The attack. Soa's tales of history, seemingly as tall as he was, had been true. His plans for the future had been lies, as Adas had discerned. Yes, the Sith had once ruled all the galaxy as gods and kings, their Empire infinite, the Rakata their faithful Builders. Yes, when the insurgent Celestials cast down the Immortal Gods of the Sith in the most terrible act of blasphemy, the Sith had been scattered to the winds - most driven into the Unknown Regions, where the Celestials contained them through bisecting the entire galaxy with a hyperspatial barrier, some returning to their ancestral homeworld of Korriban, where they had devolved into primitives just as the Gree, the Sharu and the Kwa had.

But what Soa had not mentioned was that, without Typhojem's left hand to guide its destiny, the Infinite Empire had fractured into infighting, just as the increasingly primitive Sith had turned on one another in countless centuries of bloodshed on Korriban. And Soa, and his Infernal Empire of Sith and Rakata, was out to conquer. He had reasoned adding Korriban to his kingdom of a thousand worlds would give him the advantage to defeat his Rakatan rivals, and their remaining five hundred.

The war Soa's claim to Korriban provoked, Raspir had not seen the end of. He knew, now, looking back on the unhallowed grimoires of the Nemesinomicon, that Adas had overthrown Soa from his assumed throne, pushing his forces off the world, at the expense of his physical life. He knew Adas' spirit had endured, bound to an ancient spellbook on Onderon. He knew Soa had survived, but the loss of his armies at the hands of Adas' Sith had made him easy pickings for his rivals - who promptly imprisoned him for eternity on Belsavis.

Raspir himself had fallen prey to a similar ensnarement, his mind wrenched from his body and entrapped in a device none-too-dissimilar to the holocrons the alien deceivers had presented as gifts. Nearly thirty thousand years had passed, when Raspir had been reawoken, his mind seizing the body of the one who had unwisely opened his trap. He wore the form of the Rakata, now, but nothing could quell the fierce mind of the Sith he had once been.

He knew the truth, now. Where once he was naive, now he was wise. Where once had been ignorant, now he had knowledge. He thrilled at the imputations of evil in the world around, engrossing himself in the phantasmagoria of macabre magic more potent than all the feeble spellwork of his youth. He could see the glittering eyes of evil leering with concealed rottenness from every shadowed alleyway, the terrors hinted by the most common shapes and things - the spheres of the Silentium, the omnipresent sculptures of Onrai, even the lyrics of popular music such as the ode to the capricious god Kopa Khan that was Starship Jefferson's "Light the Sky on Fire."

He oft regarded it fortunate that most Zakuulans of high intellect jeered and sneered at the conspiratorial mysteries of the occult, for, he believed, if gifted minds were ever placed in fullest contact with the secrets preserved by ancient and atramentous cults, the resultant aberrations would not only swiftly gore the galaxy, but threaten the very perpetuity of the universe.

How blind they all were, the bliss-enraptured rabble of Zakuul! How blind they were, that they could not see the true and Dreaded nature of the Ari they adored! How blind they were, that they did not recognise the shapes of the scarlet-skinned demons all around them! How blind they were, to have forgotten their own history and not dared look back, to not see the origins of their Empire in the blighted god Vitiate, the origins of their people in the Sith of the Brotherhood that had sought refuge in deep space when Exar Kun had fallen.

They were sheep pacified by a gentle god. The Infinite Emperor was too kind to them - but that was a thought Raspir dared not complete, for to even contemplate that a deity might be wrong was so thoroughly alien and abhorrent to his nature that it was scarcely conceivable. We are as toys in the hands of the Old Ones.

The abrupt lurching of the Great Reap pulled Raspir from his trance, his brooding thoughts crystallising into awareness, as the cosmic wash of cerulean streaked into stars. Too soon.

The Great Reap had left Odessen after a successful exploration of the grim Cathedral trapped in its orbit, the trajectory of two small spaceships, caught by the omniscient sensors of the ancient Pius Dea mothership, having been calculated by the Reap's superhuman mind as representing a jump towards distant Terminus. They had expected to find the Mirror there. To exit hyperspace now, two days too early, meant only one thing.

Interdiction.


Alarms blared throughout the Abominor, as proximity sensors immediately detected those responsible for the gravity well. The fleet of jagged pyramids, slicing through the virginal void, spilling an aura of necrotic foulness that Raspir could smell like old black blood in the Force. Darth Venomis.

Raspir turned to Hypnos. "Etak sin ryak," he snapped, eye-stalks wiggling in anxiety.  "Merak snuvi oo. Seral Mnngal-mnggal gravak honi-mok!"

"The Great Lord Raspir points out that we have been ripped out of hyperspace," Marchioness Anigma kindly translated, "by the fleet of your former master. If we have succumbed to this fate, it is likely those bearing off the Mirror have also - and, I should like to add, were likely captured by tractor beam, given their ships are rather smaller than the Reap."

CONTACTS POWERING UP WEAPONS, the Reap's voice boomed throughout the bridge, projected from vast inner vocoders. ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL OF SHIELD FUNCTION, SHIELDS RAISED TO MAXIMUM. LET US TEST THE POWER OF THESE VENOMOUS PYRAMIDS AGAINST THE ETERNAL MIGHT OF THE ABOMINOR.

"Given your familiarity with their black captain," Anigma said, "perhaps you could lend advice, Lord Hypnos?"

"Jengi meeshak rebed vexok."

"Or," Anigma nodded at Raspir, "take command of the Reap?"

TAG: Darth Catalyst

---

IC: The Tarp
Sewers, Ninushodojinyaut, dead space

Aboard the Ninushodojinyaut, chaos was unfolding. Kint and Lemmy successfully made it across the abyss, albeit completely abandoning their plan to hide under the tarp's concealing folds, and the duranium pipe provided admittedly precarious footing for the two humanoids and their cloth companion. The tarp took note of Lemmy's grunted complaints - humanoids kept their means of production in spherical factories in their crotch, he knew - but was rather more concerned with the flaming demon behind him.

Between Lemmy and Kint both opening fire, the explosive ambush and the exertion of telekinesis, the ogre was unseated from its perch above the sewer's chasm, falling into the pit with an apocalyptic roar of anger. As it fell, all too slowly, its fires lit up the cavern around it, the oily substance coating every wall shying from its light. It whipped out with its scythe, the curved blade seeking Lemmy's ankle - but it missed. Perhaps if it had been a whip, came the unbidden thought, as the tarp watched the demonic entity fall to its demise, shrinking to a distant spot of feverish yellow light - and then fading with a splash of black oil.

But the hiss of the black fluid as it boiled away was altogether drowned out by a different roar: alarms, reverberating throughout the chasm from the honeycomb of passageways that intersected the sewers. The tarp had heard that tone before, a thousand times from its stationary days as a bored, blessedly unthinking tarp in the Durendal's cargo hold. It was a battle tone, signalling personnel to their stations. Apparently even this eldritch pyramid used the same frequency.

"I... think this ship is about to start a battle," the tarp said fretfully. They had to get out of these sewers fast. The pipe was within jumping range of a durasteel platform jutting out from the stone wall, upon which were metal stairs leading up another tunnel, flashing with emergency red lights like the rest. If they could find the gravity well generators, they could get Persevus and get out of here. But without finding and deactivating those, they weren't going....

Wait.

"Why don't we go back to the console room? If we're going to find the gravity well generators, figuring out that computer is better than exploring the ship blind!"

TAG: Darth Catalyst , gorzan

IC: Unknown entity
Beyond Shadows

"Ah, now that is where you're wrong, sweet child," the woman smiled. It was a twisted thing, crooked with ancient age, dripping with malicious intimation. "You can affect your own freedom from this plane... and I can show you how."

Her ivory finger rose briefly, black-lacquered nail hanging from its tip like a claw, pointing at the fragmented walls of the tunnel. "You see how the power of the Desolate One breaks even this cage, with naught but a name?" Her amber eyes settled on Ramage's bulbous cranium, and he could feel her fiery gaze raking his mind as if his wet neurons were exposed to the barbed tips of burning wires. "I felt you reach out, just now. I saw what you saw. Much as Dearest Mother," she smiled again, "reached out and touched the minds of the Jidai on Coruscant, breaking them unto madness, so can you affect the physical, albeit minimally - and only with my help.

"I can channel His power again, and shatter the shadows of this tunnel for you to reach out... and speak to those who would be your salvation, guide them to the paths that lead you to freedom. But in return, there is something you must do for me."

She approached, slowly, gracefully. Her finger extended again, towards Ramage's cleft chin, bidding his eyes meet hers. The roiling power within them could not be abated. "There is a woman who is most special to me. She is the key to my release, the vessel of my future, the apple of mine eye. A woman by name of Darth Viscretus."

Her smoldering eyes turned cold. A strange, tense whine filled the air, like a song of ice and fire, two forces pulled at by the impossible presence of destruction that stood before him. "You will protect her with your life, sweet child, or you will not be granted yours."

TAG: darthramage

---

IC: Captain Jacen Thilly
The Artificer, in the shadow of the Wrath of Vader

IC: Darth Ramage
Beyond Shadows


"You will protect her with your life, sweet child, or you will not be granted yours."

Ramage was no fool, in fact, his Siniteen biology granted him analytical abilities few humanoids could ever hope to rival. He knew that if he accepted the terms of any contract with this demon that failure to comply would result in a fate worse than death. But if he refused, she may also destroy him.  "I accept. I will see to the suitability of your vessel. But you will remember my service when you are reborn. I will not be tossed aside like some pawn upon your return." The words came from him before he could catch himself. Normally such brashness went unchecked for the Sith Lord, it was a different age the last time that Ramage had encountered a superior being prior to entering this shadow realm. "If you agree to this and help me escape this plane, I will find Viscretus and make her yours."

Darth Dreadwar,

---

IC: Darth Apollyon
The treasure room, False Tomb of Naga Sadow, Korriban

Events were unfolding too fast for Apollyon to react. Her attention was split, between the Dashade accosting her friend, and the development of Catalyst's and Neoplix's argument into what seemed like an outright spat, the two both fading from sight. The game of cat and mouse seemed to end with the mouse being unexpectedly murderous, as the Dashade suddenly fell with a dread cry, stung with the bitterness of what could only be an invisible Neoplix striking with some deadly weapon he had pilfered.

But the demise of the Dashade brought a brief peace to the treasure chamber, and Apollyon was quick to take advantage of it, speaking aloud with the air of authority. "Enough!"

Her eyes scanned the room, seeking a sign of the two Sith veiled from her sight. "If Catalyst wants the mummy wrappings, hand it over, Gen'Dai," she said. Respect for the hierarchy did not underpin her words. Simple bias did. Catalyst had drawn more than just her respect, and Neoplix... Well, kissing a Gen'Dai sounds more disgusting than anything else.

Nonetheless, she was also keen to quell any excessive disagreement over the artifacts. The loot had to be distributed fairly - which was to say, unfairly from the perspective of most traditions outside the Sith, according to strength and naked desire - and, more importantly, quickly. "And do get over yourselves," she continued. "You're all acting more like Hutts than Sith. There is a treasure more important than any trinket, here, and we have to find it. The fragment of the prophecy we came to find! It will solve the mystery of Naga Sadow - and his dire portent of doom."

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

---

IC: Doctor Lak
Medbay, the Triumphant, hyperspace

Alisha did not respond to Lak's question. But that was more than understandable. Despite his firm grip on her wrist, she abruptly sagged in his grasp and slumped to the floor. It was only Lak's quick reflexes that prevented her from hitting her head on the floor.

Nonetheless, despite the lack of head injury, it took over fifteen minutes for her to reawaken. When she did so, she would find herself lying on a rather uncomfortable bed, the soft beeping of the heart rate monitor emanating from over her left shoulder. She had an IV in her arm, connected to a steadily dripping bolus of saline, administered more so Doctor Lak could feel like he was doing something than anything else.

Lak was hovering nearby, quietly muttering with several other individuals in white coats or blue scrubs, representing the multiple doctors and nurses attending to Alisha's care. When he saw her rouse, he quickly broke off conversation, walking over to the ailing Togruta. The nausea had intensified since Alisha had fallen unconscious, and she was now racked by a terrible, prickling pain all over her skin, her abdomen heaving in constant, agonising cramps. Her vitals were somewhere between not good and holy crap.

"My lady," Lak said urgently, "it is very important you tell me exactly what has happened since you woke up today. Everything, no matter whether it seems insignificant. A full chronology of the day's events, missing nothing - what you touched, what touched you, any and all injuries... Everything, okay?"

TAG: Padawan4687

---

IC: Sulat Xon
The mind of Nox Talus

Elsewhere on the Triumphant, meanwhile, the Broken Knight Nox Talus was being dragged away by Stormtroopers and Imperial Knights, safely sedated while they took him to a waiting cell, according to the miraculously returned Empress' precise instructions. But the unconsciousness the sedatives induce did not chase away the blighted visions the Empress' touch had instilled in Nox's mind.

And they certainly hadn't chased away the sneering form of Sulat Xon.

"You might be wondering who I am," Sulat laughed, cruelty in his eyes as he surveyed the pathetic man before him. "My name is Sulat Xon. I am a Dark Jedi of old, from a time when the Sith were yet young, and the grip of Jedi orthodoxy had not been broken. But I broke it, Nox - I and my fellows. And I have broken you."

His lips curved in a smile.

"You will be unconscious for a long time. And for every minute that passes, you will be mine to do with as I wish. I can scarcely think of a fate worse... although you are very fortunate to have not been clawed by one of the shambling abominations of rust and rot that attacked you." Sulat snickered. "The orange woman was not so fortunate."

TAG: Darth Voidwalker

---

IC: Shado Vao
Yavin IV Praxeum grounds

"Indeed, Rhaneris," Shado nodded gravely, lekku twitching with distress, "I thought the taint of the dark side purged from this moon with the final passing of Exar Kun." Shado Vao hoped his Padawans would recognise the reference from their history lessons; the spirit of the ancient Sith Lord who had resurfaced when legendary Luke Skywalker had first begun training Jedi here, to the nigh undoing of all that the first Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order had accomplished.

"But all of the pyramids and ziggurats on this beautiful moon," he gestured around him, at the Praxeum behind him and the mountainous junglescape around them, "conceal an ugly truth. They are creations of the Sith, you know, relics of a lost age... Like that Terentatek. It is possible Exar Kun was not the only Sith buried on this moon. It is said Naga Sadow came here long ago, exiled by a rival Dark Lord of the Sith. It is possible the beast came from his tomb."

Shado frowned. "You are both young. I would have thought you both too young to brave the dangers of the dark side, for there are dangers more than physical. There are shadows that you can't kill, no matter how ingenious you are," he looked pointedly at Jarich, hoping the young apprentice would not grow too prideful over his feat with the speeder bike, "shadows that lurk within your heart, that no lasso can touch." His eyes narrowed briefly, before he looked up, peering into the treeline.

"But this is a matter I would say is urgent enough to warrant some bravery. We must seek out the source of this disturbance. And we must seek it out..." he prepared for their groans, "...in the Temple Archives."

TAG: darthramage

IC: Jarich Skywalker / Rhaneris
Yavin IV Praxeum grounds

Somehow, Jarich knew it was coming. "...in the Temple Archives" Master Vao finished. "I suppose its too much to ask for you to just use your mastery of the force and just sniff out the nest of those horned Rancors," Jarich said, not bothering to hide his dislike for the Jedi habit of pouring over tomes and holotexts before taking action. "Why couldn't I have a Master more like Kyle Katarn?" Skywalker thought to himself. "No way this has anything to do with Exar Kun, Master," Rhaneris said confidently cutting of Jarich's snide comment. Ever the bookworm, the orphan spent countless hours reading the old legends of Master Baas, Nomi Sunrider, Cay, Ulic, Exar Kun and even the Sith Lord Freedon Nadd.
"His spirit was finally banished by the Jedi long ago. If I remember correctly Jarich's great great great great uncle Jacen Solo was involved in that, right Master Vao?" She finished, knowing the answer. At that, Jarich's ears pricked. "Darth Caedus.." He muttered. One of the "stains" on the Skywalker legacy, just like Vader, and just like Cade his father who had both killed for hire, and embraced the Dark Side for a time. That blemish followed both of them still, and Jarich had the growing suspicion that Master Vao had been holding him back on orders of the Council. Still ever wary of "dark" Skywalkers.

The trees continued their dance around the three Jedi. "If there are still hidden Sith tombs on Yavin I wouldn't be surprised, but how are we going to find them in the archives, Master?" Jarich said, starting to walk towards the greater temple complex. "I assume you have a plan?"



Darth Dreadwar ,

---

IC: Kint Dranlor
Location: Deep space

Kint hung from the pipe, lifting his rifle and firing off the grapple one more time. It impacted on the wall above the door they had com in from, digging in and latching on. He slid down the wire, releasing it at the last second and rolling to a stop, before running towards the control room.


How many goddam hiccups were there going to be? First, his gear had been disabled by the planet’s aura. Then, the holocron had been inside a mystic mirror. Then, he had been attacked by a bounty hunter working for the same lizard who was currently inside out at the bottom of an abyss on Odessen. Then, Persevus had been kidnapped by a starweird, and they had been pulled out of hyperspace. Then there was a ship full of black, sentient, zombie-oil. And now, this? Somebody attacking the ship? Kint was furious. Whether they were there for kint, the artifacts, the ship, or countless other reasons, they were causing problems.

Kint knew they needed to find Persevus, disable the gravity well, and get back to their ships before these newcomers boarded or destroyed the ship. “I agree with Tarpy,” Kint said, turning the corner back into the control room. He glanced over the buttons that were still visible. “We need to find and shut down the tractor beams and the gravity wells, and find Persevus. But first priority is the gravity wells.”

He looked down at the console, and saw the spider-web button. “looks something like a map,” he muttered, and pushed the button, waiting for the response.


Tags: Darth Catalyst, Darth Dreadwar,

IC: Darth Viscretus
Treasure Room, The False Tomb of Naga Sadow

As soon as she had been lifted, as soon as her hands had begun to crackle and pulse with electricity...the sight of a sword near-bursting through his chest interrupted her.

Fool!

A string of curses flew through her mind. Her rage sought a target, but there was none to be seen. None of them rolled to a resting stance, none of them stepped back from their work, none of them so much as twitched from their posture a brief moment ago.

And suddenly, the hand of the Dashade was slackening, giving her a reprieve she did not desire.

She dropped to the ground, pulling the sword of flame from his ribs as she rose. Her eyes narrowed, the Dashade’s energy waning by the moment. Energy even she could not restore. Her free hand rose, clawed threateningly, directed at those she could see - noting that the Gen’Dai still was not visible.

A coward, hiding from battle. Unfortunate she could not have used him as bait for the Dashade. Perhaps if they had learned their places, what she had craved would not be lost.

Apollyon interrupted her bitter musing.

"Enough! If Catalyst wants the mummy wrappings, hand it over, Gen'Dai.” Viscretus snorted. He had already cloaked himself. It wasn’t as if he’d so much as consider handing them to Catalyst. "And do get over yourselves. You're all acting more like Hutts than Sith. There is a treasure more important than any trinket, here, and we have to find it. The fragment of the prophecy we came to find! It will solve the mystery of Naga Sadow - and his dire portent of doom."

“First, I sacrificed my armor, and the tomb graciously provided a replacement. But you were so kind as to keep me from the armor so clearly destined for me. Then, Jaina Kio freed the Dashade, bringing destruction down upon everyone here. But I, by using these cloths, was able to kill the feared Dashade, ending the threat. But somehow this is still not enough for you? You still stand in the way of fate, and seek to keep from me what is my right. I seek to be free of these tombs, and to travel into the depths, as do you. Let us leave it at that, and go. There is no need for this conflict.”

Did he understand nothing? Was he left without a single brain cell from his rotting within the bowels of the tomb?

Her eyes looked about with a fervour, searching the room. There was no sign of him - yet there were plenty of them looking to find him. Not for her reasons, she expected, but nonetheless. Even the lowliest amongst them understood now to obey such a request.

Unlike the one who was currently hiding, abusing some tool they had allowed him to survive to gain.

Killed the threat? His right? He had kept her from her right - he had none.

Motion caught her eye, the briefest flicker that for a moment brought her attention back to the Triumphant - where nothing had changed.

Instead she noted Catalyst, standing beside Apollyon - or rather, an illusion of him.

Wise, as ever.

“You speak of destiny, Neoplix. Yet when we found you, you were barely cheating death in a gods-forsaken hole in the ground. Your armor was the price of your rescue and the price of your stupidity. Now, the treasures you hold, you would claim are destined to be yours? You were destined to die in this tomb, and we were kind enough to show you mercy. You should be ever grateful that we did not leave you to waste away on those spikes. Yet you seem to think yourself equal to those who saved you. Perhaps you’re no better than this denizen, who sought to choke the life out of us one by one. Perhaps there’s still time to leave you to rot in a tomb that you don’t deserve. Or, you could at least make an attempt to fall into place and be reaccepted into the Temple proper.”

We indeed should have left him, she thought.

“You don’t want to make an enemy of your superiors, Gen’Dai. I’m offering you a solution for peace between us. It would be most unwise of you to turn it down.”

Viscretus remained silent for the moment, pondering. There was no desire for diplomacy in her mind, but for one so insolent and contrarian - who acted with little understanding of hierarchy - taming would be necessary.

It was far more difficult to slaughter a wild beast than one feeding from your hand.

"Well done, Gen'Dai," She stepped forward, crouching as she reached the pile of artefacts she had left behind, picking the chalice up and holding it daintily in hand. She cloaked her mind with a trick of warmth, acceptance, welcoming - hiding the fury still bubbling in her gut. "Your talents are beyond what even I expected. But Lord Catalyst is right in many regards. We have given you the chance to survive, a chance you should seize graciously. A chance to become immense in power and knowledge. You are not there yet. You are not where you suppose. But, Gen'Dai - you shall one day. Perhaps even as an apprentice..."

She waited, poised with chalice raised and sword pointed to the ground, urging him with a malevolent warmth to return to the ground...to face his true destiny.

TAG: trentongordon , Darth Catalyst , Darth Dreadwar , gorzan , Shira , Padawan4687 . dice , @lordjania
TAGSET: Korriban

IC: Voidwalker
The Artificer, in the shadow of the Wrath of Vader

Draven remained sitting with his eyes closed while keeping himself opened up to the Force. The cold dark feeling now engulfing him. The feeling was so cold that Voidwalker himself could feel the cold on his own skin. He could sense the other members of the crew hurrying off to power down all that they could, a direct order from the Captain no doubt. For those who were still in the cockpit he could sense their fears building up. Through his minds eye he could tell that they were passing under the destroyer with little to no problems so far, that was a plus considering all the fears that were spread around. Once they were about halfway past the ship, the coldness grew even stronger, so strong in fact that Voidwalker even let out a slight shutter from the chill that he felt.

He waited for the feeling to pass, that moment never came. I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life. What could cause such a negative impact such as this? “Well we got past the ship so now all we have to do is get to the planet surface.” Draven’s eyes shot open in a look of both surprise and terror, while being so distracted by his own thoughts, he didn’t even know Karina had sat down across from him until he heard her voice. How did I not even sense her Force signature? Still her presence is nice to have around, it is refreshing.

“Well that’s some good news. That was a good plan you had.” Voidwalker stated. Draven struggled to get his next set of words out, as if he couldn’t manage to choose the right words. Hesitantly he said “Karina, I...I know this is just a job to you, but I was wondering if you would....” His mind was racing out of control as the dark cold feelings he had experienced cane flooding back over him, this time the Dark feeling grew into dread and terror. The thought occurred to him, and he cursed himself for not catching it sooner. If I was able to sense that cold feeling as well as the others here on the Artificer, then anyone else touched by the Force could sense me, even with the power down! How could I have been so careless?! “Hurry up come with me, we need to get to the Captain and go now!”

Jumping up from his seat, Voidwalker ran to the cockpit assumingely with Karina in tow. As he entered the cockpit he shouted out “We need to get moving now, we have to get as far from that destroyer as quickly as possible! Captain you need to trust me. There’s an even bigger chance we could be in danger still. We have to get down to that surface right away. Route every bit of power to the engines and power them up!” If they truly trust in me, they won’t hesitate to follow my instructions. Either way, never will they know of my foolish mistake.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar kurtishenschel

IC: Shado Vao
Yavin IV Praxeum Grounds

Shado frowned, his lekku twitching with irritation at Jarich's disrespect. The young Padawan had little patience for research, or indeed almost anything that didn't involve practicing with his lightsaber. To be expected of an adolescent, Shado supposed, but still, his frustration over assignments in the Archives did not give him a free pass on disrespecting his elders.

"Be mindful of your emotions, Jarich," Shado said, leading the two apprentices into the shadows of the Temple entrance, past vine-coated walls of calm grey stone. "I sense much frustration in you." Shado folded his arms into the opposing sleeves of his robes, barely noticing the Jedi who paused in their steps while walking past him to incline their heads in respect. "The dark side is slippery," Shado continued. "We did not sense this beast until it right on top of us. To truly search the dark side, one must be part of it - and that is a step we cannot take. We must therefore search in other ways, although I do not expect there to be a nest. Terentateks typically hibernate alone or in pairs."

The clicks of their boots' heels echoed in the passages as Shado led them deeper into the Praxeum, past cavernous hangars, training rooms, war rooms, gymnasiums and beautiful, natural caves filled with scintillating crystals. "And do not be so sure, Rhaneris," Shado said. "Exar Kun may be gone, but when I was a Padawan like you, I remember learning in History class that Exar Kun was the one responsible for breeding Terentateks. It is possible this monster came from his tomb... or from the tomb of the alchemist whose books he learned from, Naga Sadow."

They rounded the corner to the Archives, a vast hall of stone filled with statues, computer consoles and great wooden shelves brimming to bursting with books and datapads. "We will find them by researching the history of the Sith, of course," Shado grinned at Jarich, gesturing at the shelves around them. "Jarich, I want you... No. Rhaneris, I want you to find every single book and datapad on Exar Kun and Naga Sadow. Easy to find, the library is alphabeticised. They're mostly textbooks by Jedi Masters and historians."

Shado's grin faded, his gaze turning measuring. "Jarich," he said, his tone suddenly serious, "I want you to come with me to the Restricted section." Shado referred to a forbidden antechamber of the Archives that was off-limits for all except Jedi Masters. "There are some original Sith documents, there. Dynasties, historical chronicles, alchemical texts." Shado had chosen Jarich for one reason; the titillating prospect of seeing, handling and reading through actual Sith texts would inspire the adventurous youth to research properly.

In truth, the texts were not dangerous; any dark side taint had faded over centuries, or been expunged by Jedi. They were placed in the Restricted section simply because of blanket Jedi High Council policy to deter curiosity in the Sith. It was a policy Shado disagreed with; there was nothing quite that drew adolescents' interest like the taboo. And that fact was what Shado intended to exploit, to coax his apprentice to enthusiastically pour through some of the most boring tomes in the entire Temple. Yes, boring.

Entering the Restricted section, through thumbprint reader and retinal scan to verify identity to a sentinel AI, was exciting. The decor, consisting of a single altar on which were placed several dusty scrolls and a single stack of books, lit by eerie crimson crystals on pedestals surrounding a single bowing statue, was exciting. But the contents were not.

"Start with any one," Shado said, pointing to the altar. "But take care. They are dripping with the dark side." They were not. But a Padawan who had never sensed the dark side would no doubt feel they were, if simply from a placebo effect, rather like giving teenagers non-alcoholic beverages they believed contained alcohol. It was a little white lie to make Jarich more excited, one easy to sell, given the decor of the room. And any Jedi who says deception is of the dark side has never had to put up with teenaged apprentices.

The scrolls' titles were:
The Genealogies of the Massassi of Yavin, by Darth Arcturus
The Religion of the Massassi, from the Worship of Yavin to the Adoration of Kun, by Uthar Wynn
Strange Inconsistencies in Sith History, by Jorak Uln
Ye Genus of Terentatek That Plagueth the Pits of Darke Worlds, by Serak Taligi Seyron Ma
The Dynasties of Corbos, by Valik Kodank

The books' titles were:
Of Monsters and Men, by Darth Maladi
The Fate of Naga Sadow, by Sumok Ten
The Missing Tombs, by Sumok Ten
Recipes of the Ancients Recovered from 11 Digsites on Korriban, Dromund Kaas and Yavin IV, by Geralin Snord
The Significance of the Number Thirteen, by Gorgonops Potlius
Forgotten Gods, Myths and Stories of the extinct Sith Species, by Darth Vectivus
Fragmented Collections of Ancient Poetry written by an Unknown Sith Lord, by Darth Urmage

Which would Jarich choose?

TAG: darthramage

IC: Nox Talus
The Mind of Nox Talus

“The Orange woman? You must speak of Alisha Tano, The Empresses Sword, what has happened to her? And just what do you plan to try and do to me Xon? Are you going to tell me more lies? I don’t know where you have come from but I will believe your lies no more! The Jedi are pure and we help those in need.”

Nox put his best effort in appearing confident as to try and show that he believed his own words. He knew that he was but a shell of his former self and didn’t believe in his own spouts of Jedi purity. He could only hope that after the appearance of the lost Empress that perhaps this Sulat would believe that Nox was being serious. If he doesn’t then Nox would be in bigger trouble than he believed. With a smug look on Nox’s face he shouted back at his would be mental captor.

“You really expect me to believe a word you say? You’re nothing, you’re made up. A dark thought from the recesses of my mind that I have conjured up.”

Nox put his hand down and took hold of his lightsaber and ignited the emerald blade. With a snap-hiss the weapon awoken and sprang to life. “ l created you, and I’ll destroy you!”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar