Shira
Administrator 
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135 
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Jun 11, 2018 21:46:30 GMT -5
IC: The Twins
Valley of the Dark Lords, Korriban
So lost in thought were both Twins that Apollyon’s beckoning, however soft, made them jump. The surprised motion was nearly imperceptible, but out of character for the assassins, typically so perceptive to their surroundings. The events that had come to pass since the meeting with Jusik on Nar Shadaa had shaken and confused them both, so the query as to their plans took a moment to formulate a response. The voice reverberating in Kevala’s ears left her wary, remembering her conversation with Dreadwar before the Tomb, and she was unsure if her shields had worked for her sister. It didn’t seem to have bothered her. If anything, it had likely seemed as a mental echo to Apollyon’s curiosity. “We were just going to leave,” Scionica stated softly, giving a non-committal half-shrug. “We were sent here for a job, but there’s nothing for us. So we’ll repair our ship and fly back for work.”Kevala walked behind the two silently, deep in thought. The caramel-skinned woman had seemed to develop an attachment to her twin - even a fondness. For the life of her, she couldn't fathom why. Scionica was striking to look at, there was no doubt, but that obviously wasn't the reason. Sci was abrasive, disrespectful, confrontational; she was not a people person unless you count a violent one-night stand as socialization. More than that, there was nothing she could offer to Apollyon; they weren't Sith. They didn't possess the witchcraft they rest of them did. She couldn't make sense of it and that made her anxious and agitated. TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Padawan4687, @xirr, gorzan, dice, Darth Catalyst
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Jun 11, 2018 22:08:50 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Darth 's Tomb, Catacombs, Valley of the Dark Lords, KorribanRobyn was still clearing her face from grains of sand that just would not let go, when her lustful companion started snarking again. Her hands instinctively froze, and she could only blink at Jania's back. You snapped at Viscretus and she very nearly killed you. Was that not enough?! Shut up! Her shoulders sank, and Robyn shut her eyes. She already watched one classmate and friend die at the hands of a cruel and thin-skinned Sith. She would NOT watch it happen again! At least, that was her intention until her Sight activated... Robyn saw without seeing as Jania's glowing aura was ripped from her body, swallowed whole as though her very Life Force was a meal. Nor could she escape the sounds of flesh just, falling apart and crumbling, and by the time her eyes flew open again, Jania's body was gone. Quite literally gone, with only a pile of dust and... bone, where she'd been standing a moment ago. Dust. Grit... exactly what Robyn had been forced to lie in a moment ago. And the entirety of Korriban was of cold sand! Sand, or ashes? She coughed, willing her eyes to remain dry as Lord Dreadwar turned away from his latest victim. "... I was..." her voice was dying in her throat as she paused before what remained of her fellow Acolyte. Jania is-...was, beyond lustful...intimidatingly so. Another person to be abruptly referred to in past tense. But once the danger was over, free of this tomb that did indeed become someone else's... I think I'd have liked that dinner. With a slow breath, Robyn let the shock pass through... probably the only time she really could. She then walked through, well aware that her calm couldn't stay. It was too bright... too Jedi-like, too nice. And she knew well that these Sith don't do "nice". But sinking back into the darkness, that was almost shamelessly being encouraged by these blasted talismans... Why did she grab so many? Once the fading sunlight was back on her, she could have sighed in relief. She made it through... and into yet another squabble. Robyn tugged her hood down, almost glad of the distraction. "I'd like my blood to stay where it belongs! But I know full well that my opinion hardly matters here." She made sure to give Catalyst the most judgemental of a look she could manage, considering his sexually charged antics were even less subtle than Jania's... TAG: Darth Catalyst , dice , Volshe , @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar , Shira , gorzan
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Post by Lord Vassago on Jun 12, 2018 1:00:10 GMT -5
IC: Darth Vassago & SabbaAboard The Triumphant , hyperspace, en route to the Nihil Retreat“ Sorry girl.” An Imperial Knight said in a surly tone, nearly knocking into Sabba. She paid little mind, simply shuffling out of the way of the personnel, attempting to keep to herself. The young woman with porcelain white skin and hair like fire suddenly remembered nothing. Her emerald eyes flickered, darting about for a moment while trying to regain some semblance of her surroundings, but in that moment, her mind went completely blank. Just down the hall, a short walk from Sabba and the medical bay, the Dark Lord Vassago waited for his Apprentice to return to his side. He’d felt the young woman’s aura, her presence within the Force, and knew she was walking to him…but suddenly, she stopped. An invisible string had been pulled within her mind, like a loose strand of twine pulled taught. He felt it like it was his own mind; given the bond between Master and Apprentice, it is within reason any pair that were connected in the Force would feel such a thing. But, Vassago’s bond with his Apprentice was amplified due to his power, as well as his own creation; he’d forged the bond with Sabba long before she’d ever met the man, a mark of his making. When the young woman felt or sensed something, the Dark Lord sensed it, as well. Applying any type of influence, for good or ill, would be felt by the girl’s Master. Any feeling of fear, happiness, ecstasy, or sadness, the Dark Lord felt, as well. It was his will. His eyelids fell slowly, covering his senescent eyes. A sigh slipped from his tired, aged lips. ‘Fool,’ he thought to himself. He opened his eyes and his brow furrowed, his eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. He turned, his cloak flourishing with his movement, and made his way down the corridor, directly to the medical bay. He rounded one corner, then another, the durasteel of the vessel rushing by him as he walked. It only took a moment to get back to the medical bay, as he hadn’t wandered far. When he arrived, he saw his Apprentice, Sabba. The lovely young girl stood with a blank stare upon her face, her mind clearly tampered with. The Dark Lord had felt the string, the pull, the mind trick as it was known; a Jedi parlor trick, nothing more. A low-end use of such power, to influence another’s mind in such a paltry way was a waste. The Dark Lord’s irritated eyes scanned the room from the darkness of his cowl. He’d not needed more than a second to recognize there was a newcomer to the medical bay, an Imperial Knight and another with her, a man that had been there when Vassago and Sabba arrived on board. He’d never cared to get the man’s name, but it would seem the man took care to influence his Apprentice’s mind. It was clear, as anyone could tell, an Imperial Knight would not resort to such a trick to get by. So that left only the unnamed man. Vassago looked to his Apprentice for but a moment, placing a hand on either side of her face to get a better look at her. The ‘trick’ was clumsily applied, causing the young woman to fall into a mindless state for a time. It was temporary, but rather than wait, he would simply lift her from the state. He held her face still with one hand and ran his thumb over her forehead, the motion leaving behind a glowing trail of his thumbprint. The glow shifted from a bright white to a deep violet before seemingly being absorbed into her flesh. ‘Qam,’ he whispered in an ancient tongue, a dialect taught to him by Erietta. Return, he told her in the dead language, and within an instant her eyes focused on his countenance. “ Master,” she said softly. Her eyes found his quickly and she smiled softly. “ I was just looking for you.” “ I know, little one. I know…” he regarded her warmly. He could feel the realization and understanding she had come to regarding his lesson and Alisha. Though he did not show it outwardly, he was satisfied with her lesson and her acceptance of it. Though there was no doubt that she had more to learn, her mind and spirit were progressing just as he had hoped. Darth Vassago turned from his Apprentice, letting his hands fall from her face, and stood up straight. He took his walking staff from her hand and began to step into the medical bay. His aged eyes quickly locked on to the newcomer, the nameless one with the Imperial Knight. He peered out eerily from the darkness of his cowl, a scowl upon hi bearded face. “ You,” he said, simply. He did not raise his hand, nor point a finger. He did not need to. His voice, his words, though spoken out loud, penetrated much deeper. His words carried like a howling wind, insistently pushing through the smallest crack of a window. The sinister sound of his voice haunted, swirling as spirits through a tomb, whispering into the minds of all within the room, though it would resonate the deepest with the unnamed man. Slowly, he made his way closer and close to the Imperial Knight and her captive… TAG: Shira , Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Darth Voidwalker Padawan4687 ,
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Post by Zhav'vorsa on Jun 12, 2018 1:02:57 GMT -5
OOC: Control of Bellorum taken with GM approval. IC: Warlord Zhav'vorsa Imperial Medbay/Sith Temple, KorribanZhav’vorsa stood tall, looking down his nose at Zul’tar while he listened. He did nothing more than arch a brow at the exile’s words, hiding his surprise that the old bastard hadn’t abandoned their native tongue. Zul’tar told the stoic Warlord of his own purpose, explaining he had his own reasons for being on Korriban, reasons he would share later, should Zhav be interested. He exhaled through his nostrils, shaking his head at Zul’tar’s presumptuous words; he hadn’t an ounce of concern for why the exiled warrior was on Korriban, nor did he have any interest in sharing his own reasons. Out of the corner of his narrowed eye he saw Coatlec slump down, falling to the floor. The woman, Bellorum, made some useless comments about the beaten old half-breed needing more rest, but the Warlord paid no mind. “ Leave him.” Zhav’vorsa commanded. “ His injuries are too dire. No man would be capable of a hunt after sustaining such a beating, not even through sorcery,” he stated, brushing his knuckles off with a grin. “ Let the lekku-headed whores deal with him.” The Warlord led the others, Bellorum and Zul’tar, out of the medical bay and through the immense stone temple. He hadn’t been on Korriban long enough to appreciate the colossal size of not only the main temple, with its massive arching stone ceilings, pillars, and sculptures, but the entire premises. It wasn’t just a temple, but vast acreage housing multiple facets of life within the Sith Order. “ Vikeesi,” Zhav’vorsa called out as he walked, turning his eyes to Bellorum. She didn’t answer. The woman had no idea what the word meant, refusing to learn the savage tongue, but she could feel the Warlord’s eyes upon her all the same. She peered out the corner of her eye before turning fully to look up to him. He was calling out to her, referring to her in a derogatory manner as an annoying woman. “ Me?” She asked. “ Fetch the cricket’s weapon, bring it to my hand.” He commanded, stepping into the cool air of the evening. He didn’t mind the temperature of the red planet. Being a desert planet, one would assume it would be quite warm, though it was not. Quite the contrary. It was rather frigid. Not like Dathomir’s more arid areas, the deserts there were rich with humidity and sweltering heat. His mind seemed to wander, thinking of the desert, but he snapped back quickly at the sound of Bellorum’s voice. “ His axe?” She stopped mid-step. “ Why would I do that? Just find him a stick when we get out there.” She scoffed, her tone rich with an irritating snark. The Warlord stopped a few paces ahead of the Sith, his fists balled at his side. He stepped back, turning in one motion, and moved into Bellorum’s personal space. He peered down at her, the woman’s head barely to his chest. He placed a hand, a single hand, on her shoulder and squeezed very lightly. “ You will do as I command, witch. Dreadwar left me to lead.” He tightened his grip, squeezing just a bit tighter. His eyes narrowed, the setting sun catching the amber rings at such an angle they appeared to be glowing. “ Fetch me…the axe.” Bellorum’s eyebrows narrowed in concern at the touch of the Warlord, but she did not make another remark. In her mind, she resigned he had a point, Dreadwar did leave him in charge, but that wasn’t really the extent of it; she hardly cared exactly what Dreadwar said or did, it was more to the fact she knew she’d need to be much more careful with a brute like the Warlord. He’d likely cleave her in two without a second thought, and the idea wasn’t appealing. Instead, to dispatch him, she’d have to be much more clever. “ One axe, coming up.” She said with a grimace, ducking under the Warlord’s arm to head back into the temple. Zhav’vorsa released his grip and turned his head, watching Bellorum walk hurriedly into the temple. He peered beyond her, back to the corridor that led to the medical bay and called out. “ Chiftik!” He shouted while straightening himself to stand upright. His voice echoed throughout the temple, drawing the eyes of many that were busy with their own tasks, or simply shuffling through. He waited a moment. “ Sillat!” He shouted again, commanding Zul’tar to follow him, while refusing to call him by his given name, referring to him instead ‘cricket’. Without waiting, he turned and began walking into the temple courtyard. He stepped deliberately down the stone walkway. The cold wind brushed against his painted flesh, his tail of hair rustling in the gust. The shrouds wrapped around his leather boots, those of his fallen enemies, flapped about in the sandy burst of air. The stone path his heavy leather boots followed led the way to the cantina on the grounds. It’d been sometime since he had a beverage within the confines of the temple cantina, and he figured he was due a refreshing drink; something to celebrate his ‘lesson’ to Coatlec, as well as the start of a new hunt… TAG: Darth Dreadwar , darthkain7
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gorzan
Citizen
Posts: 93 
Likes: 60
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Post by gorzan on Jun 13, 2018 14:03:05 GMT -5
Ic: Neoplix
Location: outside the tombs in korriban
Neoplix chuckled. Of course, he hadn’t expected complete success. Rather, he was integrating himself. Pushing himself subtly into situations, establishing himself as a member of the group. He couldn’t remain as an outsider forever, or he would be quickly abandoned in the event of an emergency or threat. It was better to be remembered for something mundane than not remembered at all.
The guttural laugh escaped his mouth, chuckling, in acquiescence to his new master. He too, knew there was no way they would ride upon him. It would require trust, for one, which they lacked, and for another it would require them to admit they needed him. Neither of these things were likely, and thus, he transformed.
But rather than returning to his gen-dai form, he became a large, predatory pterosaur, with clawed feet and wings. He looked up to the sky, blue scales sparkling dimly in the suns and sand, before roaring and taking off. Flight was awkward at first, as he worked out the kinks. But soon, he figured he had the hang of things. He banked back left and down, staying about 200 feet from the ground, and behind the powerful emperor.
He watched as they advanced, scanning the horizon and the skies. If anything were to attack or appear, he and his master would be some of the first to notice.
Tags: tomb tags
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Post by darthferos on Jun 13, 2018 19:10:32 GMT -5
IC: Darth Feros Space above Nar Shaddah Feros was glad his idea had worked before Corvar had poured laser fire into the warhead. It had about a 50/50 chance of killing Reaper in the melee. But he'd never tell anyone those odds. "Im used to my fighter and my flying 3PO. And my droid." He spoke into the comm link. His eyes were fixed on the wounded fighter now limping towards the freighter. Lovely. The shields were holding, but they wouldn't forever. He turned the quad turret towards it and started firing. Just missing ahead each time. He saw something the fighter didn't. He saw Corvar closing the distance. He smiled grimly. "Corvar. Just so you know, you've got two rotary laser cannon, concussion missles, a sensor disruptor, and ion hunter seeker torpedoes in Skorn. And a lot of armor." He figured he should tell the man what he had at least. And the torpedoes were slower than missiles, but they took out a shield like nothing else. Feros kept pouring fire at the small fighter and grinned again. He imagined the pilot feeling less and less hope each time he'd lost a comrade. Imagined his will being sapped away. His motivation gone. Feros could almost feel his panic oozing into the Force. Such sweet despair. He even saw an image of the pilot letting go and just surrendering to his fate. "3PO, keep us straight on this course. We're just about done here." 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 Jun 14, 2018 11:06:53 GMT -5
IC D-3PO High orbit above Nar Shaddaa
To call Reaper’s maneuver bold would have been an understatement. D-3PO would have described it as reckless, crazy and perhaps even misguided. A convoluted series of rolls and thrusts somehow placed Reaper squarely behind the Kimogila, taxing his little ship’s hull greatly. The sheer G-force of the maneuver would have rendered most pilots sickened at the very least. The Force guided Reaper’s actions though, and all he loosed his barrage into the unshielded rear of the heavy fighter. The lasers pounded into the hull, leaving an ample hole for the torpedoes to rock the fighter. Corvar’s concussion missile dealt the finishing blow. Reaper’s assault had severely damaged the Kimogila and rendered its shields powerless. The fighter exploded in a grandiose fireball.
Feros and Corvar’s combined laserfire was having a harder time hitting its mark. The limping Vaksai dodged frantically as bright bolts of plasma whizzed past. “Straight,” D-3PO repeated Feros’s latest command, “That’s one thing this freighter does exceptionally well.” All three of the men in their respective ships would feel the fear rising exponentially in the pilot of the wounded ship. The Vaksai was outnumbered now and the pilot knew it. The Vaksai pulled away as the transport careened onward away from the planet. The pilot was fleeing now, still evading the fire coming his way.
TAG: darthkain7 ,trentongordon ,darthferos
IC Darth Arancia Outside the Dread Fortress, Oricon
Though he was incapable of smiling, Arancia did appreciate Primus’s prompt response to his inquiry as the acolyte made his fashionably late appearance. His response was almost encyclopedic in comparison to that of Tacite, who at least knew they were of Sith origin. Arancia nodded along as Voxyn confirmed that he knew only as much as Primus. This was acceptable. Arancia did not expect any of them to have more than a passing knowledge of this ancient history. He looked between the three of them slowly. “None of you are wrong,” he stated bluntly, looking at Tacite in particular. “The Dread Masters were indeed ancient beings that spawned from the Sith Empire millennia ago. They were tasked by their Emperor to find and master the use of the Phobis devices, artifacts that amplified fear and turned it into a weapon. They fled here, intending to betray the empire they served and rule the galaxy through fear.” Arancia paused momentarily, collecting the knowledge in his mind. “They very well could have succeeded if not for the combined efforts of the Old Republic and the Sith Empire. Their defeat marked the end of the Dread War. The Phobis devices scattered; one was rumored to have travelled back to Drommund Kaas, sealed away within the Dark Temple by the Emperor. We are here to verify if that claim is true.”
The Gand looked to the Dread Fortress. “This is merely a reconnaissance mission, intended to gather knowledge and bring our findings back to the Temple.” Arancia’s words were left intentionally vague, continuing to foster the impression to Tacite that they were, in fact, Jedi. “That is why the three of you were deemed competent enough to assist Arancia in the retrieval.” His gaze again lingered on Tacite yet again. “It is a fine opportunity to learn of the Ancient Sith, and if there are any lingering threats it is a wonderful training opportunity. Now come,” Arancia began walking towards the Dread Fortress, motioning for his company to fall into step behind him. “unless you wish to stay with the ship. This is your only opportunity to turn down this excursion. Be warned though, the planet is still very much alive. Sithspawn and Dark Side Nexuses are prevalent. Though I highly doubt a pilot droid will keep you safe from such things if they venture to the ship.” Arancia’s tone was humorless. The warning was one that was meant to be heeded with all possible caution.
Stowed away in the cargo hold, Srethos could also hear the entirety of Arancia’s warning. Even in his crawlspace, there was a likely chance that something would sniff him out and leave him a corpse for the rest of them to find. Of course, Srethos also had other helpful tricks and tools at his disposal. Arancia had been less than careful in his initial research of the Dread Fortress and in his poring of information he had discovered an ancient map of the abandoned fortress. It didn’t take much searching for Srethos to gain access to the same map, which he had conveniently stored on a holoprojector. Arancia was unfit for the task of searching out the Phobis Devices. His interests were more scholarly in nature. Arancia wouldn’t know what to do with one of the Devices if he found it. Not that Srethos would know much more; the ability to harness the combined power of the Phobis Devices had died with the last of the Dread Masters. But Srethos knew that the Devices were weapons before anything else. Weapons fit for a true Lord of the Sith.
TAG: taciteoccultus ,darthvoxyn,DarthVizuul ,Darth Voidwalker,
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Post by trentongordon on Jun 14, 2018 11:54:21 GMT -5
IC: Reaper Location: Above Nar Shaddaa As Reaper finished shooting and saw the Kilo go up in an explosion he felt the fear from the remaining Vaksai. He laughed as the Vaksai pilot fled and watched the freighter continue forward. Reaper turned to go give chase to the remaining survivor but soon turned back around to return to the freighter. He had repairs he needed to make and the story of Reaper's great and insane move would be shared. "I'm on my way back. Nice work Corvar, D-3P0 I might need some repairs done. That maneuver is something I'm now going to call The Reaping. Thank Catalyst I managed that. Feros looks like one of us will have to fly alongside the freighter due to it having very little space for even my own TIE." He looked around at his ship and chuckled. He patted the hull of it lovingly and began talking to it. "Thanks girl for staying in one piece. We'll get you all fixed up so you're better. Might need to somehow make you a lot better and all for crazy things like that." Tag: darthkain7, Darth Catalyst, darthferos |
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Post by DarthVizuul on Jun 14, 2018 14:58:17 GMT -5
IC Darth PrimusOutside the Dread Fortress, OriconLooking at the other acolytes in attendence, and then from Tacite to the Gand, Primus began to piece together the happenings of a "facade" he must portray so as to keep up the appearance of being a Jedi rather than a Sith. "My Lord, I would be honored to continue with this expodition. Any information that can be gathered and learn from can potentially bring forth greater knowledge in defeating our foes" Primus chimed with a bow hoping everyone but Tacite would catch the cunning underlined meaning his words while still hoping to outwardly portay that of a Jedi. "I am sure, with your leadership and guidance, those of us who continue will be willing to face whatever this planet has to offer us." Low amongst the light wind that blew across the opening Primus caught a scent of something he had not previously picked up on leading back to the ship. As a Shistavanen, he learned to trust his primal instincts in such situations, but given what the Gand spoke of when it came to the planet still being alive and crawling with Sithspawn and other creatures, he thought nothing of it because if there had been something...ANYTHING that had reason to trigger his sense of smell that was not welcomed, the others would have sensed it through the Force as well to confirm his lingering suspicion that something did not seen right. Gathering his thoughts and returning back to the current mission, he pressed on awaiting for the signal for all to continue. TAGS Darth Catalyst , taciteoccultus , darthvoxyn
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Post by darthkain7 on Jun 15, 2018 2:28:00 GMT -5
IC: Darth KainLocation: Space, Nar Shaddaa SystemCorvar was happy to hear that the heavy fighter was destroyed, but he grew frustrated at the smaller fighter’s erratic dodging of both his and Feros’s turretfire. He could feel the pilot's fear oozing out of every pore. The poor fool knew he was outnumbered and outgunned, that there was no way to both survive this and report a job well done to his superiors. The pilot probably thought of his family, his wife and children waiting back home. He probably imagined his wife's horrified screams and his children's cries when one of his fellow officers would inform them of his death. This is apparently a reality that the pilot couldn't bare to even entertain the idea of. The pilot pulled out of his chase with the freighter, fleeing towards the surface of Nar Shaddaa. And despite Corvar’s frustration, he did not give chase. There was no point in wasting the time it'd take to chase the rogue pilot down and blast him into oblivion. It's not like he could report anything important to his superiors, anyways. “ Good work out there, guys,” Corvar spoke into his comms. “ Docking to the airlock, then we can jump to hyperspace. As long as the hyperdrive didn't get damaged in the scuffle, right Threepio?” As he listened to the protocol droid’s answer, Corvar did as he said he'd do. Skorn pulled alongside the freighter, nearing the airlock as R7 deployed the fighter’s docking clamps. With a satisfying hiss, the ships locked together, and Corvar was able to enter the YV-666 via the airlock he'd attached to. TAGS: Darth Catalyst trentongordon darthferos TAGSET: Corbos * * * IC: Zul’tarLocation: Temple Cantina, Sith Temple, Korriban A cantina? Zul’tar was ready for a fight, not for a drink. Then again, one would likely find both in equal parts in a cantina. Especially one ran by these Sith. Once again, the Warlord had called him, “Chiftik.” The insult bit down to Zul’tar’s bones, making him realize that Zhav'vorsa had so little, or even no, respect for the old warrior to the point that Zul’tar hadn't even earned the right to a name. To Zhav'vorsa, he was nothing more than a cricket, an insect. It likely wouldn't be possible to earn that respect. Zul'tar didn't deserve it. Regardless, what honor he had couldn't help but be wounded. At least Zul’tar got a smile out of watching the warlord boss the witch around. The inside of the cantina was nothing too unusual from what Zul’tar had heard of cantinas before, although the color scheme here was far more uniform. The walls and floor were a boring, cold grey metal. The bar sat in the middle of the room, with a stage on either side that featured Twi'lek dancers, barely dressed, poledancing in front of crowds of horny Sith apprentices. At the edges of the cantina were the booths, and in the back there was undoubtedly a few private booths, both for lap dances and for the higher ranked clients of the establishment. None of the sights drew Zul'tar’s eyes for long. He was far too old to be clamoring over half-naked Twi'leks like a virgin, though that was not the only reason why he wouldn't stare. After Delylah, no other woman in the galaxy would satisfy Zul’tar. With her death, the happiness he had once experienced had turned to ashes in his mouth, and no matter how many times he'd try to rinse his grief away, the bitter taste would always remain. TAGS: Darth Dreadwar Lord Vassago TAGSET: Beast Hunt
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 15, 2018 3:31:55 GMT -5
IC: Darth Apollyon Approaching the Sith Temple, Korriban
The End of the Tomb Quest ~* RIP Jania *~
The wind rose in a ghostly wail around the enshrouded Sith, spreading the blackness of their cloaks behind them like the wings of blood ravens. Apollyon wrapped the leatheris of her upturned collar around her slender neck and cheeks, soothing their smooth caramel from the pinprick stings of sand grains and the numbing ice of the charnel wind. The sound brought with it a kind of alien desolation that seemed to seep from the mountain before her, animating the coming night with portents of evil. She stepped past the corpses of the slain Tuk'ata to begin the perilous climb up the mountain's narrow, winding pass, the skin on her back tightening with a shiver. As ever, the Sith Temple looming above inspired a sense of deserved dread worthy of its deity, its ever-growing shadow casting a black pall on the returning team. As she climbed, following the trailing black cloak of her master and the flapping robes of the floating Darth Coatlec - still unconscious - Apollyon became ever-increasingly aware of a growing silence, the wind shearing abruptly away to leave them in a pocket of deathly quiet. The wind attempted to arc around the mountain, but its tug was gentler now, less insistent yet eerier still, and Apollyon could hear every crunch of sand beneath her boots as she trudged up the pass, feel every beat of her heart in her chest.  She had braved the Valley of the Dark Lords to now walk in the Shadow of Death, following her Emperor through the crimson-bathed evening to the tenebrous abode whence they had all come. It had been only hours since the team had departed the Dread Temple, but it felt like they had spent months in that dusty crypt. It was if Apollyon had already forgotten what an imposing terror her home truly was. The Temple was a ruined thing hewn from the same brown rock as the rest of Korriban, its crumbling outer walls barely supported by the upraised hands of ancient kneeling statues, their stone backs breaking and their bowed heads bending under the pressure of a thousand tons of caliginous infrastructure. Between them was a great, closed gate guarded by cloaked sentinels and a platoon of Sith Shock Troopers, beyond which, Apollyon knew, was an open campus of blood-stained stand from which sprouted the unhallowed buildings of the Temple's great houses - and the Emperor's personal retreat. Dreadwar's tower, rising out of the descending darkness, taller than the Temple walls, was wreathed in a gloom unnatural even for the dwindling dusk. Red lights swarmed and shimmered inside its higher levels, their erratic patterns flooding the drifting clouds of dust in a deep arterial glow. It was like watching a digitised readout of a brain going insane and slowly dying. The Temple had been built by the ancient Sith warrior XoXaan, Apollyon knew, but the revelation of her master's antiquity, his claim to be the forgotten first Dark Lord of the Sith, made her think that the Temple bore the appellation 'Dread' because it had been built at his behest. Apollyon had read the holy histories of the New Sith Order, and knew the ancient Temple had been found by Darth Vassago during his wanderings over a hundred years ago, the call of its dark power too strong to ignore. When the greater part of the Order had fallen to Darth Krayt, the Sith Order Vassago's death had split reuniting under draconian strength, the Temple had remained its home, even when Darth Krayt himself had moved to Coruscant. If legend spoke true, the dark spirit of Lacerus, the ghast that had corrupted Vassago to the Sith, still haunted its subterranean vaults. Who knew what else dwelt in the Temple's depths? Korriban, Apollyon was discovering, hid more mysteries than she had first supposed. And neither Kevala nor Scionica wanted any part of it. How? If simple greed motivated them, how could they turn back on the fortunes of a lifetime? Or... by Vassago's beard, was that what they planned to do with the talismans they had already looted? Sell them to make up for their botched assassination? It didn't make any sense. From the moment they had entered the tomb, Apollyon had sensed the dark side unfurling within them like the wings of a dragon. It was clear either Talon, or Dreadwar himself, had awoken their awareness to the Force, teaching them the most rudimentary methods of sensing the energy that bound all life together. They could not escape destiny. It was the one chain that even a Sith could not break. Still, Apollyon had no interest in convincing the assassin sisters to stay. The Force worked in mysterious ways, and if the dark side had a purpose for them, Apollyon knew in her heart they would come to know it. If their efforts to leave were to be confounded, it would not be by the words of a Sith Lady clutching at their twin destinies like straws. And so Apollyon matched Scionica's shrug with her own, turning aside to chuckle at Catalyst as she heard her name uttered. "I appreciate the generosity of your offer, my apprentice," he was saying to Neoplix, "but I fear what the other Lords would say if I was caught riding my apprentice. I certainly wouldn't hear the end of it. Perhaps if you offered your services to one of the ladies of our party, Apollyon or Viscretus, maybe Shaire, or even perhaps one of the assassins provided you trust they won't stab you, you'll go a long way towards earning their respect and even possible admiration."Apollyon was getting the hang of the banter, and although she could not control the blush that warmed her cheeks in the cold dry air, she went ahead and offered her own prurient joke. "I'm afraid if Shaire took Neoplix's offer of a ride, I don't think her blood would be of much use to Xirr anymore!" I can't believe I just said that, Apollyon thought, shaking her head in wonderment of the corrupting influence Catalyst was having on her. But Apollyon was far from the only one facing corruption. The amulet of reanimation hung like a noose around Robyn's neck, the temptation of its power a growing weight pulling her down into the depths of darkness. The dark side clung to her like the strands of the tomb's spiderwebs, silky, smooth, cloying. Whispering in the dying breeze. It was if the artifacts she had collected were begging her to use them, and the thrumming power that Robyn had felt in the tomb's nexus had not abated; if before she had been awash in an inky ocean of chaotic power, now the poisonous power had collected in her baubles as if they were etheric chalices, dyeing her soul black with necrotic blood. With each passing second, they suffused her mind and body further, like drops of black paint spreading through a pink canvas. It was a high like no other - in hellish depths lower than any underworld. And in the minds of both twins, a soft susurrus continued to whisper. Oh, there is plenty for you here, it said, contradicting Scionica's words. You were born on this world. A lie? Surely so. But if it was, it was a lie that would ensnare their attention - as would its next words. You killed your father to escape your old lives. Now it is time to bury the past like the dead lords of Korriban. Let Tallia and Elara die in the tomb, and escape your old lives truly - to be reborn in the waters of knowledge and power.The gentle whisper was lost in the sudden rasping thunder that emanated ahead from Dreadwar's cowl, tearing through the dust-laden air like a gale of wind. "Shada val geezi kol drorag tyshe wan," Dreadwar's hollow voice echoed powerfully, "toratsh shyswan meez rukupp lyfe us." I did not loosen leash from throat so that it might be used to advise owner, he said, addressing the undead Dashade in its own tongue. And then the gates of the Temple swung open with a groan, the guards bowing at the Emperor's approach, and the Emperor's Hand permitted herself a smile. At last, their mission was over.
Above them, Neoplix, now transformed into a pterosaur, soared high into Korriban's blood-soaked sky. He would be able to land on the parapets of the Temple's wall, if he wished, for a truly dramatic display - or settle into the sandy courtyard beyond it, next to the entrance to the main Temple building, one of several encircled by the wall now visible from such a vantage point. But there was something else visible from such a height; far to the east, on the opposite side of the desert they had briefly traversed, a plume of smoke was rising into the heavens. |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 15, 2018 5:13:57 GMT -5
IC: Darth Bellorum Cantina, Sith Temple, Korriban
The cantina was more dimly lit than even the gloomy stone halls of the rest of the Temple, its cold grey durasteel warmed by sinister flashes of bloodlight singeing the thick sweat-smelling air with holographic crimson. Bellorum shoved past two drunken apprentices, following Zhav'vorsa and Zul'tar into the crowd towards the bar. The gleaming blade of Zul'tar's axe, held aloft in her cerulean hand, was instrumental in parting the crowd before her, although the jostling to get out of her way did provoke a brief clash of lightsabers as two patrons collided. Music beat down around her in time with the flashes; not the gentle upswing thrumming of light jizz, but the violent pounding of a genre she believed had been termed Darth metal, roaring voices screaming over the feverishly rapid rhythm of drums. The band playing on-stage tonight was dressed up in the black armour of Sith Shock Troopers, and for all Bellorum knew, they might have been; they were hitting the notes with all the precision only Imperial soldiers possessed. The nude Twi'lek dancers, all crimson-skinned, tattooed Rutians, were not so much swaying in time with the music so much as they were hurling their lekku back and forth, heads pounding, bodies heaving and faces spasmodically twitching. It gave the unsettling effect of demons possessed by the mad spirits of Korriban, and with each flash of red Bellorum could see more and more cred chits piling up at the crimson feet of the dancing incubi. It was profane. Pulling her red eyes forward, Bellorum traced the retreating backs of the two Dathomirians, the music reaching a feverish pitch nearer the bar. "WHAT CAN I GETCHA?" the burlish Aqualish bartender shouted at Zhav'vorsa, straining to be heard over the music. Bodies were pressing in on all sides, salacious Sith apprentices eager for more alcohol with which to ply the sultry seductresses swimming through their ranks. Fortunately, the crowd was thinner on the other side of the bar, and beneath a lounge for Sith Lords, encased in a cone of transparisteel hanging from the ceiling, was a quieter corner for apprentices and warriors. There was only one booth that had room left for three, and that was because it currently held only one occupant. Darth Vua.
Bellorum tapped Zhav'vorsa on the shoulder. "HERE'S THE AXE!!" she shouted, before gazing at Vua in the far corner. "GET YOUR DRINKS, AND LET'S GO OVER THERE, WHERE IT'S QUIET! THERE'S SEATS FREE!"
It made sense no other Sith had seated themselves there, yet; even in the darkness, even from here, it was obvious the sole occupant was a Yuuzhan Vong Slayer. Not exactly a species one expected to find in the New Sith Order, particularly not after the Sith's role in sabotaging the Yuuzhan Vong restoration project, thus starting the Sith-Imperial War over two decades ago, had been revealed by Marasiah Fel upon reclaiming the throne of the Galactic Empire - now, under the auspices of the Jedi Order and a new Senate, a democratic Federation, the dominant galactic government with which the Sith now held an uneasy armistice.
And weren't Yuuzhan Vong dead to the Force? Or was this individual, like the previous Sith Emperor Darth Krayt, merely a human manipulated by Yuuzhan Vong Shaping?
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 15, 2018 6:17:40 GMT -5
IC: Ermir Marcus Cavern of the Sept, beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban Drip. Drip. Drip.Arcane would feel it on his fur. Slap. Slap. Slap.Arcane would feel it on his face. "Get up, apprentice!" Ermir slapped the Cathar one last time, mucky water dripping from his sodden hair onto his student below, as he knelt over Arcane. The Cathar was coming to. Only a minute had passed since the Sith apprentice had felled the wyrm with a stroke of luck - and a prodigious stroke of the lightsaber - but Ermir knew enough about medicine, being an alchemist, to know that unconsciousness could stretch the perception of a minute to hours. "You've been out for a minute," Ermir said, helpfully, answering Arcane's most likely question ahead of time. "The wyrm is dead." He thumbed over his shoulder, to the colossal hulk of squamous flesh half-submerged in the moat in which it had fallen. Not even Marcus, thoroughly unpleasant as he was, could quite resist the impressed smile. "Well done. Can you get up? We can get you to the medbay - claim you were attacked by one of the stampeding beasts upstairs - or..." Ermir paused, and enunciated his following words, as if not-so-subtly indicating the strength of his preference, "...we can press on into the sept now that the shield is down, and become the most powerful Sith in the Temple!"TAG: Arcane
IC: Jacen ThillyDesert of Lost Souls, Korriban"Nice... to meet you... too..." Jacen Thilly said awkwardly, grimacing slightly as he looked between Nannley, Karina and Voidwalker. He hadn't had the chance to get a word in edgewise; now this sleemo stowaway was sweet-talking her way into a ride on one of his speeders, and Voidwalker had seemingly welcomed her! Worse still, the crew - even Karina - was following his lead. Captain Thilly was not one to get uppity about turf, and he sure wasn't going to change that habit now that a kriffing Dark Lord of the Sith was the one encroaching on his, but he couldn't help but feel frustrated. The Sith Lord's sheer power, his gravitas, his confidence, and his godlike feat in saving the entire ship from destruction, had seemingly won over the support of the crew. Now, Voidwalker was pushing his limits, making the rules and stepping into Garn's shoes, introducing Jacen like just another lackey. When had the power slipped from Jacen's grasp? The moment he'd welcomed the dark man on-board? Or later? At the Federation checkpoint, or fleeing the Wrath of Vader? All he knew now was that Voidwalker was indisputably in command - for now. Jacen had to go along with it, but at the end of the day, going along suited him just fine; let Voidwalker accept questionable stowaways without second question. Once Voidwalker and this Cathar were out of Jacen's hair, the Artificer would be his again, everything would be good, and he'd have a good few thousand credits burning holes in his pockets. Jacen didn't say anything else, as he swung his leg over the hovering speeder bike, and began flipping switches. The appearance of this Nannley had distracted Voidwalker from answering Jacen's concerns, but no matter; the Dark Lord sure acted like he knew what he was doing, and Jacen could only assume, by how he talked to Nannley, that the Dark Lord had access to the Temple. But then, the thought came, why was that Star Monitor shooting on us?
With a roar of noise, Jacen's speeder bike spat cerulean fire out its exhaust and shot off into Korriban's dusk. "SO," Jacen shouted over the howling cold wind and the noise of the engines, "UH, YOU'RE A SITH LORD AND YOU CAN JUST WALK INTO THE TEMPLE, BY THE SOUNDS OF IT, VOIDWALKER? LIKE, YOU CAN SAY WE'RE YOUR SLAVES OR SOMETHING?"
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Arcane
Citizen
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Post by Arcane on Jun 15, 2018 14:52:20 GMT -5
IC: Arcane Cavern of the Sept, beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban Arcane could feel wet drips running through his fur. //Blood?// The thought ran through his head. He was concentrating on the liquid running down his face until a hard slap forced him to open his left eye, then his right. His vision a bit blurry at first, but he would recognize that blurry figure anywhere. "Ermir." He said as his eyes adjusted to his figure. "What? Oh. The tomb.... The tomb!" His own voice echoing in the cavern as a sharp pain ran through his head. "Ow." He mumbled. Listening to Ermir talk about how long he was out, he sat up slowly. "Med Bay?" He paused. "No way. We have a tomb to explore." He slowly stood and checked for his sabre. Making sure it was still there, he relaxed. "Are you sure that Wyrm is dead?" He asked as he peered over the edge of the bridge. His head making him a bit dizzy, he backed away from it and turned toward Ermir. "The shield is down and I'm not dead. Let's get in there." Arcane said with enthusiasm. "How...how did you get out of there?" He asked as he was headed towards the tomb entrance. His robes were torn and ragged. The Wyrm was just the first of most likely many creatures in the tomb. He was ready to press on. Ermir was here as a partner and seemed as though he wasn't going to let him die. He smirked. A possible friendship? Maybe, but right now the tomb and what was inside was the first and only thing on his mind. TAG: Darth Dreadwar |
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Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2018 14:58:15 GMT -5
IC: Darth VuaCantinaThe music was sensational. With his black, shoulder length hair, not quite a full head but long enough to head-bang with the best of them. After traipsing through the tropical Rodian jungles for weeks, micromanaging Yuuzhan Vong domains and ensuring the tweaking of the secret True Way religion that he had been spreading among the priesthood was going well, he was happy to return to the dry heat of Korriban. Even if using blood as protection from the sun on Rodia had been particularly pleasing. Vua had just retired to his booth to cool down, sweat running down his face, as the others joined the area and seemed to be making their way to join the Slayee. He eyed his drink, which was mostly empty. If he went to get another; he’d lose the booth entirely. Vua had been out among the galaxy and as such he did not immediately know two of them, but he did recognise Bellorum, as he would. He expected that they would recognise Vua for what he was, but whether the connection to Insipid was known he’d have to see. Vua allowed his eyes to glow with anticipation. ‘Where’s the manners? A drink to join the booth of Darth Vua, surely?’ He licked at the sweat running down his face. Lord Vassago, darthkain7, Darth Dreadwar
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Post by darthferos on Jun 15, 2018 15:00:25 GMT -5
IC: Darth Feros Space above Nar Shaddaa Feros was pleased the whole battle plan had come off so well. They'd tangled with numerous fighters, mostly Mando makes, and won. With two light fighters and a freight tub. Not bad. "Reaper, why don't you let Corvar dock and we'll switch out. Then I'll fly alongside so you can fux Grim after that wild gyroscopic twirl you just pulled. Can't imagine what that did to the airframe." Feros climbed down from the gun turret and walked down to the cargo bay. He was annoyed that the last pilot had gotten away. He'd have to press harder into his next opponent's fear. Battle meditation was something he'd always wanted to try. It would simply take practice to master. "3PO, throw up the docking field and lower the ramp if you would. Ill meet Corvar in the cargo hold. Also, good flying. All of you. We're all in one piece. And especially you Corvar. Bes'uliks can be hard to get the hang of." Now they could discuss exactly what it was Maladi had wanted them to meet up for. Stang! Maladi. Feros pulled out the holocom again and sent the signal. He didn't really care much if she was annoyed. He'd done his job. And they were away now. No one would believe random babblings about rogue Sith anyway. No one wanted to. That was part of the beauty of the Sith. Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon |
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darthramage
Citizen
*currently entombed*
Posts: 33
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Post by darthramage on Jun 16, 2018 1:15:09 GMT -5
Age: 63 Sex: Male Species: Iktotchi Homeworld: Coruscant Occupation: Inquisitor Height: 5'11'' Appearance: Red/Black Sith Tattoos across his aged, yet muscular body. One of his horns was broken, and the stump has been ground flat and marked with runes. He wears a loose, hooded tunic similar in style to Darth Maul. Weapons: A single ornate semi-circular lightsaber, the same from his time as an Imperial Knight. Its hilt is covered in Mandalorain iron and houses three crystals. It emits a powerful red blade. Equipment: The Sith has the standard equipment found in a utility belt, a small bacta patch that can be applied to localized injuries, as well as a comms device for planetary communication. Description of Abilities: As a former Imperial Knight, Master Eshkar Niin was more proficient in both skill with the lightsaber as well as telekinetic abilities than the average Jedi could ever hope to be. As a Sith, those powers were amplified yet again. Serving under Krayt's Sith order as Inquisitor Havok mastered lightning, illusion, as well as mental incursions, adding to his already potent precognitive abilities as a force sensitive Iktotchi. Personality/Bio: Darth Krayt was an old man, a veteran of galactic turmoil for most of his life. For the last several years he had been hiding, searching for secret knowledge that might allow him to prolong his own life. A student of the ancient Dark Jedi, Havok's interest was piqued when he stumbled on a reference to a "Black son of the Red God" in an ancient Masassi text. Unwilling to share the nature of his discovery with his companions, Darth Volcryn and Darth Theron, They set out together for Yavin 4. They smuggled themselves onto the moon hiding in one of the few civilian cargo freighters and set up a small encampment a dozen miles from the Jedi Praxeum. LVL: 6 Sith Master. Inquisitor Skills: (Ikototchi precognition allows the Sith to bathe in the dark side and fight as if he was a second faster than his opponent(s) limiting his ability to use other force abilities, but enhancing skill with the saber.) Battle Precognition: 3 Force Push/Pull: 2 Force Jump: 2 Force Avalanche: 2 Force Choke: 2 Force Lightning: 2 Force Illusion: 2 Force Defense: 2 Mind Probe: 1 Djem So: 2 Ataru: 2 Soresu: 2 Niman: 2 |
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darthramage
Citizen
*currently entombed*
Posts: 33
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Post by darthramage on Jun 16, 2018 3:50:18 GMT -5
Yavin tagset GM post.
IC: Shado Vao Yavin IV Praxeum Library. Master Vao turned to reply to the newly arrived Padawan and watched her open a mangled text, all of the pages seemingly hollowed by a blade. "By the FORCE!" Vao exclaimed, rushing forward to take the damaged Sith artifact from Gis'pefu's hands. "How could this have happened?" He said, this time slower, now in control of his outburst. "Lady Benelith, please come to the restricted section immediately. something has happened in your library that you will want to know about." He said into a small comms device.
Turning now to Jarich who had set down his book and seemed invigorated by the new turn of events, Master commanded student to find Rhanerys and to report back to him. Without protest, Skywalker rushed through the hallways in search of his fellow apprentice. "Gis, while Jarich is gone we need to be proactive, I'm going to get started scouring the holovid records looking for any suspicious activity related to this vandalization, you start looking around the praxeum, if someone is cutting out pages from books perhaps they are still in the area. I will send Jarich and Rhaneris after you shortly."
Lady Benelith, the Library's head caretaker, entered the room quietly. "How can I be of assistance, Master Vao?" She asked with reverence. Shado Vao took no time replying, "Who has had access to the restricted section in the time since your last audit? This Sith text has been damaged, hollowed out more specifically. Someone wanted the information in this book and didn't want us to know what they were looking for." The librarian was incredulous. "Hollowed... Impossible Master Vao, my library is under strict superv.." She stopped in mid-sentence as the Twi'Lek Jedi opened the tome, the bodyless pages drooped pathetically inside the massive book.
"I must inform the council of this, I suggest you begin your search Master Vao, feel free to access the log for the restricted section on your own. The council will not take the theft of forbidden material lightly, to think that one of our own could be capable of such a thing!" She said, hurrying down a marbled hallway towards a tall staircase. "Gis, there is an open courtyard connected to the main hall, a likely place to start looking for clues," Vao said. "If anyone had come in or out of the library they would likely have come through the courtyard."
Native and foreign flora were abundant in the outdoor oasis. Rich black soil which clung to the boots of anyone who might stray from the marked paths and the air seemed to defy the otherwise sweltering humidity of the jungle moon. To the west, a pair of pre-teen Padawan learners practiced form I with wooden sticks near a small reflecting pool. To the east, all the way in the corner of the courtyard hovered a single hooded Jedi Master, meditating peacefully in the traditional seated position. There were tall limestone walls surrounding the area, and there was only one exit to the north, heading towards the assembly yard where the Terentatek battle occurred. Starting near the library entrance and along the southernmost wall, tall construction scaffolding enclosed an unfinished bust of some long dead Jedi.
- The Praxeum Grounds
Yavin IV Sith Camp hidden deep in the jungle
The Iktotchi Sith Lord had been waiting for how long? six hours? no, six years more like. Darth Havok was on a quest to obtain the secrets of eternal life. Not just essence transfer, but essence binding. To become a darkside lich was only legend to most, but Havok had stumbled onto the truth during his time under Darth Krayt. He had spent time recruiting the right allies, capable, but unable to overthrow him. Darth Volcryn and Darth Theron had both been tasked with breaking into the Jedi Praxeum in search of a book held by the Jedi on Yavin IV. Lord Havok summoned an ancient demon from the swamps as a distraction for the dozens Jedi as his team closed in on the Temple. The Terentatek was sure to kill enough Jedi to give them ample time for burglary.
The former Eshkar Niin thought of how Yavin IV's jungles were some of the most beautiful, yet inhospitable locations in the galaxy as two hooded shadows tore through lush green underbrush toward him. "I can sense your exhilaration, the task was a success." Havok spoke with certainty as two towering sith approached him. "Give me the pages, now!" Snatching the text from Darth Volcryn he began to sift through the loose pages. Age had not done them well, and the swift journey through a humid jungle had shocked the already fragile parchment.
Sumok Ten's "The Missing Tombs" was not as old as many of the books in the Jedi's unworthy hands, nor as dangerous, but it did hold the final piece to a puzzle Darth Havok had been chasing the solution to for decades. "Here it is!" Havok grasped a browned piece of paper, on it, there was a diagram of an inverted pyramid, six tiers, each level more narrow than the previous. "You both have done well." Havok spoke as he began to read.
"Long have I studied the ancient Dark Lords of old and few boasted feats as impressive as those I attribute to be the true Sith'Ari. No, not Adas, Marka Ragnos, Naga Sadow, Freedon Nadd, Exar Kun, Bane, or Sidious. The true Black One, He has been referenced in several obscure texts, the Dathomiri Witches speak of the Death Shepard which rides on the back of a giant black horse, who can drink the sun and yet has no face. The Masassi slaves which settled the jungle moon of Yavin worshipped not one, but two gods. The Red Father, the gas giant of Yavin and the Black Son, a still unidentified celestial body which seems to have disappeared sometime before the first wave of Temples were built on Yavin IV eons ago.."
Darth Havok looked up from the writing and couldn't help but smile. " Lord Theron, when we find the temple of the Black Son I can promise you access to Sith alchemy powerful enough to bring back your appretice, if that is what you wish." He looked to the other Sith, a towering dispassionate assassin. "Volcryn, perhaps you do not have any motivations beyond advancing your own power, but that I can promise you as well. We are near what I believe to be the temple dedicated to one of the greatest Sith Lords in the history of the Galaxy." Lord Havok resumed reading.
"..who many scholars believe to be a symbolic representation of 'the son' from the celestial trinity mythos, I pose a different theory. Geological records confirm massive tectonic activity preceding the initial temple building period in spite of the moon's inactive core. What if these stories are linked? What if there was an ancient worldbuilding Sith, his legacy claimed by the rabble which filled the void after his fall? Why would such a figure be stricken from the history books by both the ancient Sith and Jedi? If my most recent evidence is to be believed there is a sunken temple aligned with the moon's south pole dedicated to the one I believe to be the true ancient Sith of prophecy."
"I've found it. Ready the speeders, we are heading to this moon's Southern Pole." Havok placed the remaining papers in a plasteel container as the Sith all climbed on their modest transports and took off, the journey a silent three-hour convoy bouncing along the planetoid's treetops. Localized GPS alerted the trio that they were nearing the final destination. "I suppose it would have been too much to ask for a cooler climate at the South Pole." Lord Havok said, annoyed, as he swatted a vampiric insect from his brow. He could see beyond them was a massive clearing, nearly a kilometer on each side and nearly as deep. "This is the temple, the ages have buried it, but I can feel it. Both of you, go look for any kind of entrance, an out of place stone, anything that isn't a tree." Havok gestured down into the massive sinkhole.
Looking across, one could see individual pillars at each corner of the depression. The eastern face of the cliff was eroded, and what appeared to be a flat white limestone wall-face was apparent on one side, almost a beacon against the orange soil that covered the rest of the sloping cliffs. Further down there was what appeared to be a flat sandy patch of ground where no vegetation grew which was mostly unremarkable from where the Sith currently stood.
- The sunken pyramid.
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Volcryn
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Post by Volcryn on Jun 16, 2018 17:59:58 GMT -5
IC: Darth VolcrynLeaving the Sith Camp, Yavin IVYavin IV, the official designation for the fourth moon orbiting the gas giant Yavin. It was a small place with a remarkably long history. The final resting place of the Dark Lord Naga Sadow, where his spirit had trained the fallen Jedi Freedon Nadd. It was where both their spirits had been destroyed by their apprentices, Nadd casting down Sadow and Nadd himself being obliterated by Exar Kun. It had been Kun’s seat during the Great Sith War and where he had finally been defeated by the Jedi. It had been the location of the galaxy-defining Battle of Yavin and the original location of Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Praxeum. It was one of the centerpoints of galactic history. All of the preparatory information Volcryn had gone into went through his head as he left the Sith camp. He cared little for the historical grandeur of the place, he was going to see it for himself, his mission here was the only thing for him to focus on. The small speeder stopped neatly on the cliff and the assassin swung himself off and started walking. An observer would likely found it astounding that such a tall being could move without any sound. That is, if they had been able to see him at all. The wraith was cloaked in the shadows of the trees. They flickered just barely around the dark, cloaked figure before it started picking up speed. The shape was running through the shadowy forest. Volcryn was quite displeased that he had come during the day. The night was his domain, as both a Sith and an assassin. It provided much better cover than the harsh light of day and the cold embrace of the forest shadows surrounding him kept him concealed and paradoxically, warm as well. That was where he was meant to be and it was something he did for it’s own sake just as much as the mission itself. And now he could feel the traces left by the ones who had walked on the moon before him. The traces were old and distant, and more than anything; unclear. The best he could see were some blurry images of cloaked individuals, their number, species, faces and affiliation impossible to discern. Throughout the entire trip, from receiving the mission to arriving on the top of this cliff, he hadn’t said a single word and this continued, despite the light, heat and insects, as he knelt down on the edge and examined the sinkhole. The only elements that looked out of place were the limestone wall on one side and the patch at the bottom. These were the obvious places to look, if one were trying to hide an inverted pyramid like the one in the text from the Jedi Temple, those were the places to do it. He still hesitated though. The fact that they were so obvious made them the most likely placements for traps. But whoever made this temple needed a way to find it, so it would likely be a good idea to check them out first, before trying to sweep the entire place. Postcognition gave him no clues, so he decided to get closer. "Lord Havok, I’ll get down to the bottom to investigate." Without waiting for an answer, he jumped off the edge. The hunter’s long body came down the steep slope at deadly speed. Any normal person would be killed immediately. The assassin was not. It flexed its fingers, releasing the wires held within their gauntlets. Thin to the point of invisibility, flexible as whips and sharper than vibroblades, they cut through the trunks of every tree in the way in singular slashes. Using Force Pushes to maintain it’s course, using the stumps as both brakes and springboards and running across falling trunks, the Sith almost flew down the cliff, cloak wrapping tightly around it’s lightly armored limbs and torso, face protected by mask and helmet. It took less than half a minute before it reached the bottom. Flipping in the air and pushing forward with the Force, Volcryn slid to a relatively soft halt in the sand, turned and expected his handiwork. He had left a significantly bigger mess of the cliffside than he’d hoped, but it wasn’t going to be too conspicuous unless someone was actively looking for it. He didn’t look for Lords Havok or Theron or whether they had followed him down. They had most likely not, it would be more efficient for them to split up and cover more ground. Volcryn walked over to the sandy patch, wanting to go further. As he approached it, he focused deeper on the Force, pushing through the enormously long lines of the past to find out who had been here, if this could be the entrance they were looking for and what had transpired there. He didn’t want to waste time and so he delved deeper than he ever had. TAG: darthramage
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Post by patrickx31 on Jun 16, 2018 23:37:33 GMT -5
IC: Gis'pefuYavin IV; Praxeum Library/CourtyardThe first expression Gis'pefu would muster was confusion. At first she thought that the pages were merely hollowed out via age. But the jedi master's expression when he took a look at the book confirmed that it wasn't due to age. It was an intentional hollow. But who was able to do such a thing? Wasn't this room guarded like a hawk? Hell her "attempts" made her believe that anyway. Or maybe she needed to get better at the stealth approach. But right now the young twi'lik had other things to worry about as the jedi master instructed her to scan the surrounding area. Maybe catch the person responsible before they got away. "Of course Master Vao." She said as she was about to leave before the head librarian arrived on the scene. Prompting Gis to stay a little bit longer. Maybe she could point her in a proper direction, or perhaps a name or face even. Alas the woman did the woman not give them any useful intel, but she was honestly downright useless. You would think that she'd immediately tell them of the people who recently entered the restricted section. But luckily for her, the jedi master gave Gis'pefu a more direct place to begin her search. The courtyard. She knew what he was refering to so with a bow, the padawan ran towards the courtyard. Time was of the essence and the librarian wasted such a precious resource. And as she arrived at the peaceful area, catching her breath, Gis'pefu looked around and spotted features. From the path that led to the battle where she helped fight a sithspawn for the first time to the her younger fellows learning their shii-cho. "Alright then, lets check around the area and then talk to the guys and the master mediating. I'll...save him for last though. They usually don't like being disturbed whil they do that." She said to herself while walking over towards the soil. Her idea was that thanks to the ground's softness, if the perp escape into the jungle, then it would've left behind tracks. darthramage |
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Post by darthvoxyn on Jun 17, 2018 20:16:49 GMT -5
IC: Darth Voxyn Lacation Oricon Primus seemed to catch on pretty quickly that they were intentionally keeping Tacite in the dark on the fact they are a group of sith, Voxyn mentally noted. His figuring it out meant that the wolf man had more than just book knowledge in that head of his, he could piece things together fairly quickly and that could prove useful on this mission. He was also glad Primus caught on cause while he didn't know Arancias reasons for keeping Tacite in the dark Voxyn found it amusing and wanted to see how long i would take for the Anzat to put the pieces together. Voxyn began following Arancia, while walking he pulled out the only treat he had left for Artemis and tossed it in the air causing the Vornskr to jump up to catch it. "I'm right behind you sir." Voxyn said to Arancia choosing to not address him as my lord as continued use of the title could tip the Anzat off that they aren't jedi. "I just have one question. Should we find anything in there like say ancient weapons, alchemy enhanced swords and the likes, or things of the not world dominating variety so of no real interest to our superiors are we allowed to keep them?" Voxyn asked with genuine curiosity while following Arancia. He liked to collect things weather they be useful or useless he just liked collecting things. Tag: Darth Catalyst , DarthVizuul , taciteoccultus |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 18, 2018 1:02:22 GMT -5
IC: Darth Anathema The Sith Citadel, Ziost
An abrupt blast of arctic air slashed across Anathema's cold blue-grey face and forearms as she turned, lips peeled back over needle-like icicles of transparent teeth in openmouthed startlement, tasting the iron-flecked coldness of Ziost mingling with the ozone of a lightsaber's near-miss in the back of her gracile throat. Her pirouette had allowed her to evade death by a hair, while the wicked slash of the tattooed Zeltron she was facing had caused him to overextend himself. Anathema's recovery took the swift and lethal form of a riposte so powerful the Zeltron's own lightsaber was batted back into his abdomen, and Anathema's momentary expression of surprise swiftly calcified into malicious satisfaction as she tore her blade free of his gut, spilling sanguine gore to the frosted stone of the Citadel's ramparts. It was her sixth kill. The soon-to-be-seventh was racing at her from the left, and Anathema continued her turn to meet him head-on before the Zeltron's corpse had even hit the stone. The attacker was a human who looked no older than eighteen, a young apostate seduced by Haretisch's heretical deceptions and promises of everlasting glory. Silly boy. With inveterate antipathy, Anathema raised her lightsaber in a cursory parry, easily deflecting his wide slash towards her slender neck, and his follow-up, backhanded twist towards her breast. It was a failed attempt at Falling Water, and Anathema executed a perfect Parting the Rainbow in response, plasma hissing and sparking as the two crimson blades met in a staccato rhythm of twirling fire. The teenager countered with Slowing the Sundance, but his overhanded strike was twenty degrees off and the oblique angle cost him strength in grip due to the awkward positioning of his wrist; Anathema's two-handed parry knocked his lightsaber wide, allowing for a swift balestra that brought Anathema inside his guard and her lightsaber inside his chest. Anathema reversed the trajectory of her lunge, pulling her blade free from his deflating lung, and kicked the flailing acolyte away from her before his death throes could do any damage. The action cleared her view, if only briefly, and Anathema had a chance to survey her surroundings for a second. The landscape beyond the battlements presented little more than a broad snow-seething steppe lit eerily beneath a nighttime aurora of baleful green. The wind brought a thin film of tears to her eyes, and Anathema wiped them clear, her eyes raking the distant jagged peaks barely visible in the night, cutting upwards like an onyx spinal column, as she turned to her right. It was difficult to see who was friend or foe, doubly so in the darkness, but the numbers of both forces upon the wall had rapidly diminished. Helinith had dealt with the last of her own assailants, Anathema saw, slicing a fellow human Sith's arm off at the elbow after felling two others. Impressive."Lord Anathema," Helinith called out, jumping away, "I believe midnight chimes and we only have so long before the landspeeder turns into a pumpkin." Anathema frowned, wondering what a pumpkin was and whether Haretisch had brought some kind of eldritch transforming landspeeder to the battle, before concluding it was another of Helinith's strange references. Grasping the gist of what the short-haired Sith Lady was saying, Anathema nodded. "We need to go!" Anathema shouted over a screaming warning in the Force, before ducking the lightsaber swinging at her from behind. Anathema picked up the Rattataki attacker with the crushing grip of the dark side, hurling him into the armless Sith Helinith had left on the bastion and thus condemning both to plunging off the parapet into the abyss below. "Fall back!" Anathema shouted as she turned, lightsaber flashing in frantic deflection as she backpedalled towards the stairs they had ascended from. And that's the tenth, Anathema thought, ripping her lightsaber free from a Zabrak's red skull with a tense smile as she turned and began to run down the stairs, allied sorcerers fleeing down the stairs to join her in retreat. Just in time. With a roar of pain and a colossal noise of explosive fire and falling rock, baradium explosives brought down a section of the Citadel's roof on the Gorog's head. The walls to the staircase shook, and Anathema could hear friends and enemies behind her on the roof screaming as they fell to their deaths, the wall Helinith and Anathema had so courageously defended crumbling away into the night. Death flooded the Force, and Anathema soaked it up like a greedy Anzati lapping up cerebral fluid, feeding off the anguish and terror and cementing her depleted reservoirs of dark power. The boon to her senses hit her like a glitterstim high, and Anathema's nostrils and cheek slits unconsciously flared, her pupils widening, as she raced back into the increasingly unstable depths of the Citadel on the wings of the raw, ravaging Force. The savage power was as cold and clammy as Ziost's tombs, yet her only warmth. It was almost as comforting as the knowledge that Insipid's plan had been pulled off without a hitch. And he even gave us time to retreat, Anathema thought, wondering if the wily Insipid had tempered his usual ruthlessness for her sake - that was to say, the sake of triumviral politics - or lingering fondness for his apprentice. In no time, Anathema was back in the central hall, officers eagerly reporting the death of the Gorog and several dozen Inquisitors and Sith Troopers that had stormed the breach the beast had made. Yet Anathema knew Haretisch's forces had only just begun scaling the cliff, and there would surely be more seeking alternative entrances, perhaps through telekinetically removing the rubble. Worse still, the officers reported a second army, approaching from the opposite side, and Anathema instantly realised the cunning of Haretisch's plan. Exerting a mental tug on Helinith, bidding her follow with due haste, Anathema raced out of the hall, ascending a labyrinthine network of stairs to reach the other wall of the Citadel, upon which Darth Insipid the Malevolent stood in all his lonesome, abysmal glory - staring down an entire army trudging through the snow towards them with tenebrous inevitability. There was no cliff on this side of the Citadel. Haretisch had outmaneuvered them. Anathema tried to swallow and felt no moisture in her throat. The freezing dry air had sucked it away, eliminating it entirely. Here, facing the direction of the wind, the glacial gale was surgical, a precision instrument with needles for teeth, and it found even the tiniest exposed places on her skin, attacking them with rapacious rapidity. In seconds her alien face was a numb mask, her cheeks as heavy as the Citadel's dead stone and as lifeless as Dreadwar's empty hood. "We lost many sorcerers on the other wall, Lord Insipid," Anathema gritted her teeth. "But your plan worked. Their vanguard is buried with the Gorog under a hundred tons of stone, and your former apprentice alone took out a dozen of their Inquisitors." It was a lie, of course, one designed to flatter Insipid by implying he had raised such an impressive specimen of Sith, but it was a lie designed for Helinith to notice, and appreciate, as well; Anathema hoped it would place Helinith in her debt, some, later on. Exaggeration was always useful like that. "It'll be difficult for them to get in from that side, now," Anathema continued, "but they're still climbing the cliff, and their Walkers might be able to blow through the rubble with shots from below given enough time. And now we have this second army approaching from the--"
Anathema didn't have a chance to complete her sentence. A gigantic packet of crimson energy blurred out of the darkness, forcing her to duck, before smashing into the wall behind them and scattering rubble everywhere. Anathema had no time to react before a hundred more bolts were blazing out of the night. The enemy was firing upon them, with long-range heavy cannons, it looked like! Packets of plasma too large to deflect with a lightsaber, flying towards them like a tsunami of blood fire, surely produced by the eight Walkers Anathema's nocturnal vision saw stalking out of the gloom. But Anathema's keen eye detected a weapon even deadlier. The distant enemy soldiers were chanting around a meter-tall stepped pyramid of eerie emerald shedding ghostly energy into the night, easily six or seven men holding the large holocron aloft. Their caliginous chorus was audible even from here. "Behold the power of dread Rur!"TAG: @sinre , @daughterofvader |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 18, 2018 2:35:52 GMT -5
Unknown Regions GM UpdateIC: Krar SeturaThe Triumphant , en route to the Nihil Retreat
The non-sound of the silent whisper crawled across Shira's skull like a bulbous death-spider stepping gingerly on each of her neurons, taking care to not crush her beneath power too great for her mind to contain. They would be sound in body and mind, the susurrus slithered. Returned to themselves, and only themselves. No foreign influence upon them, no mark upon their soul, no foulness in their being. Exactly as they were, before the curse of mechu deru touched them.
There was a strange smell of burning flooding the passageway. Was Shira succumbing to a stroke, the weight of the lightest whisper too great for her mortal mind to bear? Or was it a portent of something more wicked still? In another passageway, outside the medbay, Imperial Knight Krar Setura faced off against Darth Vassago. Her silver lightsaber blazed to life within her hand, Nox's heavy-handed mental influence giving her a courage more commonly associated with Corellian whiskey. "Yes, me," she scowled, failing to grasp that Vassago had been addressing her former captive. "What the kriff are you looking at?" The Knight spoke loudly and pugnaciously enough for Xal'den to hear. TAG: Shira , Volshe , Padawan4687 , Lord Vassago , Darth Voidwalker
IC: The TarpControl room, Ninûshodojinyaut , dead spaceThe twisted man giggled. It was draped in a human's skin, and it wore some approximate simulacrum of a human face, but the eyes were beads of smeared glass behind which pupils darted back and forth in the red emergency lighting, like tiny black insects trapped inside a dirty bottle. It cranked its head to the left, and the yellow grin that wrinkled its laughing lips back was unlike anything the tarp had seen in all its time aboard the Durendal. Watching the abomination, the tarp felt itself wilting like paper held over an open flame, a breathless terror invading it, stripping away its magically-bestowed vitality, reducing it to a shuddering patch of fabric wrapped around Kint's neck like clingfilm.
The intuitive voice of the Force was shouting at Kint, now, Wrong, wrong, wrong. Lemmy was deaf to its warning, but even he could feel the sense of reality curdling around him, the foul smell of spoiled milk filling the air as the rabid corpses frothed at their mouths with dark fluid as if vomiting necrotic blood. "Help me? Child whelp dog kill tear fucking kill!" the twisted man crowed, grinning madly. "I am the face of blood and fire!"
The twisted man lurched forward, but its crooked ankles led it astray, and instead of falling upon Kint and Lemmy in savage fury it smashed into the bulkhead, seeming to buckle against it in a manner that made the horrified tarp think of a glitch in the hologames it used to watch Kint play from the cargo hold, a character walking into a wall over and over without actually being rebuffed. It was a deeply unsettling and bizarre thing to witness, as if the laws of physics and reason were warping around the monstrosity, as it walked and walked and walked against the bulkhead, walking in-place as if on an invisible treadmill, and then it began thrashing its head against the durasteel wall over and over, blood and black oil spraying from its crumbling cranium with each blow. At last, the twisted man appeared to right itself, orienting itself more properly in the direction of Lemmy and Kint. The blood-smeared horror looked straight at the pair with its one good eye, a savage, inhuman smirk swimming over what remained of its face. Besides knocking an eye out, the repeated contact with the bulkhead had done something to its spine and shoulders, wrenched them around sideways, jamming the clavicles outward, shoving the bone of his arm up through the parched, leathery skin. It looked like a suit of flesh-coloured clothes that had been recklessly draped on its hanger. With a greedy, slobbering grunt, the twisted man lurched towards Lemmy and Kint, its one functional eye shivering like a raw egg in a cup. "I want to tear your fucking innards from your body," it warbled. "Follow me and I will help you. I hate your flesh. I want to wear you like clothing. I want peace. Follow me to the bridge and help me win and I will disable the gravity wells and you will go free. Scum pathetic whelp hideous child."The tarp flinched backwards, but the twisted man stopped short of Lemmy and Kint, and the living dead in the control room did not approach. It was at that moment that, with an unsettling warping of the air and a brief flash of light, two intruders spontaneously appeared next to the main computer. One had the appearance of a gaunt human, lightly bearded with shoulder-length hair and yellow eyes. Holding his hand was a bizarre red-skinned amphibian, with a tall, sloping forehead and eyes wriggling on stalks protruding laterally from its alien cranium. Both exerted a powerful pull upon the Force. Hypnos and Raspir. |
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Shira
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Post by Shira on Jun 18, 2018 8:15:29 GMT -5
IC: The TwinsValley of the Dark Lords, KorribanOh, there is plenty for you here. You were born on this world.
So startled was the raven-haired assassin that her mental shields protecting her sister fell. If Scionica had felt slighted by Apollyon’s dismissiveness, it was swiftly replaced by alarm. Born on this world? Impossible. They had been born in the slums of Adascopolis on Arkania. You killed your father to escape your old lives. Now it is time to bury the past like the dead lords of Korriban.
More witchcraft, surely. Or perhaps the speaker had just done their research. They had not kept quiet about their father’s murder. They had, in fact, used that knowledge to inspire fear throughout the galaxy. The Twin assassins; so cold-blooded and emotionally removed that they had brutally murdered their own father at the young age of seven. It had been good for business. Let Tallia and Elara die in the tomb, and escape your old lives truly - to be reborn in the waters of knowledge and power.
The two women flinched, the reaction subtle. Had they not already buried their past in the blood spilled of their victims like a pagan baptism? But no; Kevala knew that her sister still had nightmares, on occasion, of their drunken father’s rages and their addict mother’s passiveness to the cruelty wrought on her own children. They both trusted no one but each other. While good for business, it also led to a certain loneliness that had plagued them for decades. It was a tempting offer, to be sure. Their Arkanian and Teevan bloodlines allowed them to perform many of the physical feats the Sith could. The knowledge on this planet must be wealthy and the physical combat skills they had the potential to learn ... Perhaps. TAG: Padawan4687, gorzan, Darth Catalyst, Darth Dreadwar, dice, Volshe
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Post by Deleted on Jun 18, 2018 13:17:54 GMT -5
IC: Darth InsipidKaggath of ZiostThere it was. The second army; his senses ablaze with danger, his moment was here, and now, the dark side burning through him to act, one impossible man against a host - And there was Anathema and others, with his former apprentice following. A redundant explanation, and then an even more redundant act of praise - Insipid need not know how brilliant Helinith was - and so irritable he was that his moment of brilliance was ruined - that the enemy might not be so afraid of a small force as they were terrified of a madman standing up to them alone - that he considered remaking his decision anew to kill Anathema when he saw the enemy come into view - Fire flashed out, and a ripple of panic cut through those by him, but Insipid paid it no heed; he saw only the Holocron. The Holocron of Dread Rur. It did not cross his mind the sheer incredible impossibility of the Holocron being here, at the head of a army of the Ordu Aspectu, the Order of the Terrible Glare, the Dread Rur; the remnants of an Order which once ruled the galaxy for a millennium. It did not cross his mind that beneath him was a sheer drop, dozens of metres of black durasteel. It did not cross his mind of the complete madness that he could take on an army alone in reality, and not die. Insipid simply spoke, loudly. ‘Shit.’ With his eyes affixed upon the Holocron, so far away, but completely focused entirely upon it, he reached out his hand and took a step forward, towards the edge. This was not about desire, about something as basic as a want. This was need, plain and simple. A terrible absence opened up within Insipid, which yawed in the Force and seemed to expand to encompass his retinue. Swiftly, and firmly, Darth Insipid allowed his anger at the Holocron being here, being allied with Haretisch, and not being in his hand right now, to fuel him, to result in his swift deactivation of the lightsabers of all of those in his group, to clap their jaws shut, and to not catch the shots heading his way, but to tweak them down. Each shot would instead hammer into the wall below, shaking the fortress hard, and Insipid spoke, swiftly, urgently, forcing his commands into the minds of the lesser members of the followers beside him; Sith with decent mental defences would feel his orders as a sharp stab; a surprised Sith, even one as strong as Anathema or Helinith, might respond to his blunt force demands automatically without thinking. His eyes remained on the Holocron. ‘Down, down the levels, Anathema, with my men; you’ll see.’ There was no space for politics and manners or plans or plots. ’Helinith; with me.’ His tripartite mind; his split power; his divided attention, it compresses into one and exploded outwards, the Force rumbling with darkness flooding into it. Unleashed. Darth Insipid the Malevolent leapt off the edge, his hand tweaking the next few shots from the guns, which began to track. It was a sheer drop; a death fall. Insipid hurled himself down face-first, the length of his cloak billowing behind him, giving him the appearance of a spectral ghost launching down. A tip of his cloak and his free hand was bound by it, wrapping it deeply. His eyes remained on the Holocron. Insipid met the first of the holes in the wall and grabbed at a piece of metal; the impromptu glove took the friction, and the cut, and he slowed marginally, before leaping down again; for the next; the enemy fire would be able to track his weaving lightsaber - the only one active, the only target visible. Other shots would have slammed and peeled open the walls, if not fully, but enough for him to catch and swing and launch onwards, arresting and controlling his motion, until he reached the lower edge of the same, tucked his legs beneath him, ignoring his wrecked hand, ignoring the blood, the pain, the agony - He launched forward, a Force shield to his front as he slammed into the ground before the front ranks of the army. The Force would roar forward, hurling the ground up and into the enemy, and from the catastrophic impact Darth Insipid would hurl himself, intending to smash through the confused frontline with a two handed slash which would follow a mental exertion, extending the lead edge of the blade so that a narrow wave would burst from the place where he carved the air - designed not to just decapitate anyone in way of the blade but the next dozen foes backwards - as a wave of electricity burst outward from him, almost omnidirectional for he was no longer planted on the floor but rocketing forward - a force of nature. His eyes blazed yellow to the point of bulging from his eyes; his clothes burned away from near misses and the sheer energy bursting free; his bare skin would ripple as if it was fabric in the wind; and his entire body would appear amorphous, as if Darth Insipid had crossed the threshold from physical to become barely coalesced matter itself - Were there still threats to his progress? If so, Insipid paid them no heed; he relied upon Helinith to cover his rear, to fend off anyone else upon him - but a curl of his sentient mind touched Anathema, for it was all what had been Insipid could do, hoping that she saw what he had occurred - That he had drew them downwards to the various openings in the citadel walls as positions from which to attack from, a grid of holes which could be used as vantage points, as defensible positions, as avenues of ambush up and down the staircases and rooms on that side of the Citadel - His sentient mind he sent coursing into the ground, intending to drive it into a fault line, or exert himself to the point of no return by creating one if he could not find one, to shake the very foundations that the artillery weapons sat upon, to disrupt their aim, to even upend them if he was lucky - This exertion could kill Darth Insipid. It would, in a few mere moments. He did not care. That sense of need. It encompassed all. It would end them all. Darth Dreadwar, @daughterofvader
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