Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133 
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Jul 3, 2018 0:44:42 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Darth 's Tomb, Catacombs, Valley of the Dark Lords, KorribanIt was a relief to see the sky again... Robyn even tugged her hood down to feel the wind again. For a good long while, she thought she'd never get out. And one of them actually didn't... Robyn lightly bit her lip, suddenly dizzy. She took one of the necklaces into her palm, the one with a reg jewel in it's center... and the other relics around her arms, Robyn was practically swimming in the Dark Side. Focusing was a little difficult... with them all. Some small part of her cried out a warning, to cast them off. Yank the necklaces from her neck, unclasp the lanvaroks and throw them... bury them all and get them away. This desperate voice was almost smothered, but the conflicting thoughts kept Robyn mostly quiet. She shook her head, and managed to catch a few more of her party's "jokes", but only let her tongue hang in disgust. The intimidating sight of the Temple she called "home" loomed overhead, almost dizzyingly high from this distance. No less awe inspiring than her own first day. Robyn glanced back down at the backs of her hands, and a smile slowly stretched across her face. Let any of those little Sith brats try to bully her now... a nice little disk of durasteel aimed for the head ought to shut them up! She'd nearly forgotten about the apparently pressing need for her blood. Virgin blood to be more precise, which only irritated her further. "Full of blood, yes. And I'd very much like to keep enough blood inside so I can function!" Robyn spoke up then, still glaring. A skull and organs, alongside blood? The more she heard, the more it sounded like some eldrich ritual she'd rather stay far away from. But, there she was, still stuck for the moment. TAG: Darth Catalyst , dice , Volshe , @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar , Shira , gorzan
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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 Jul 3, 2018 22:47:44 GMT -5
IC: D -3PO HyperspaceD-3PO nodded in Reaper's direction at the Darksider's suggestion. "Of course Mister Reaper. I'm sure Mighty Kubjo will be more than delighted to hear that we are safely en route." The droid excused himself with a small bow. "I'm sure you all have business to attend to, I shall notify you once we near Corbos. Mister Reaper, I'm afraid I have little information on the mines at present, though there is a fairly comprehensive history available in the ship's database. Your presence shall remain confidential as well, Mister Feros." D-3PO waddled towards the cockpit to make his correspondence. Feros' holoprojector lit up with a chime. A small message in Aurebesh shone from the screen. Find somewhere secluded. We need to speak. Privately. Maladi's words denoted a sense of urgency. Corvar's visit to the Miraluka was less than peaceful. As soon as he entered the med bay he would notice the Miraluka's attention shift to him. She wasn't looking at him, her empty eye sockets couldn't look at much of anything, but he could definitely feel the presence of her in the Force, and she could feel him as well. Corvar would also be able to see the machinery keeping track of her vitals flare with activity as he entered. A single word forced itself into his mind. Why? Over and over again, she repeated herself in his head, varying from a whisper in his ear, to a scream from all around, to a childlike inquiry. After endless moments of questioning, silence. As if she was waiting for a response. TAG: darthkain7, trentongordon, darthferos
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Post by trentongordon on Jul 3, 2018 23:29:02 GMT -5
IC: Reaper Location: Freighter en route to Corbos Reaper without information on the planet or mine just went down to see the twi'lek. His future concubine to be. He would first break her mind then he'd see what she was made of. He'd break her mind and spirit then reforge her into his own tool. One of not only pleasure and seduction but also danger and assassinations. "Hmmm what to do first? Perhaps we see what you look like without the clothing. Perhaps a tattoo to begin with or a brand. However shall I decide." He smiled while speaking. He was going to have fun with this. He'd tortured people before for simple information now he was doing it for fun. Tag: darthkain7, Darth Catalyst, darthferos |
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Post by darthkain7 on Jul 4, 2018 2:59:56 GMT -5
IC: Darth KainLocation: Freighter Medbay (Hyperspace) Not only could Corvar hear her words, he could feel her emotions. Agony, sadness, mania; all bombarded his mind. He nearly shed a tear. What this poor girl had gone through, what she was going through, was horrible. Corvar knew what it was like to lose everything, and he knew that this Miraluka was now experiencing that same loss. No words were uttered via Corvar’s lips, instead they were relayed to her through the same way she connected with him. “ I tried to save them,” he replied, honesty pouring into his thoughts. “ But they fought to the end, surrender a greater insult to them than death ever could have been. I have a feeling that was something you admired about them.” He heard no immediate reply, still the eerie silence after she had flooded his mind with her single question only moments before.  He continued, “ I was able to save one of your friends from the wreckage. A Twi'lek woman. She's aboard the ship.” He neglected any mention that Reaper had taken her for whatever dastardly things he had in mind, and he made a point of thinking solely on his memory of emerging from the crashed Tranquility with the Twi'lek in his arms, to prevent the Miraluka from reading his thoughts. He needed her stable, and more importantly, compliant, if he was going to save her from Feros and Reaper, who no doubt only spared her because Corvar told them to. Perhaps it was a mystery as to why Corvar even wanted this girl alive. She was obviously a few cards short of Pure Pazaak, and prone to fits of emotion more common among children than full-grown women. But Corvar saw potential. She had enough raw power in the Force to nearly break his ribs, and to mentally insert her thoughts into his mind, with obviously very little training. Raw power like that was more useful honed than extinguished. She needed a teacher, and while Corvar was leagues away from being a master, he had more knowledge on the dark side of the Force than she likely had. Even if he couldn't train her exactly, he could at least guide her along as they learned together. But that was not the only reason he wanted her to live. Of course, that was the logical reason, but people often operate on logic and emotion both. Corvar was not immune to the whims of his feelings, which told him that he and this girl had quite a lot in common. Her past was a mystery, as was his. His mother and father were likely dead somewhere in the underbelly of Kashyyyk, but he had no way to be sure. All he knew of his time as a toddler was that he was raised by a clan of Wookiees that found him in a wrecked ship, the obvious source of his knowledge of their language. She had more power than she could handle, and for a time, so did Corvar. He couldn't count the number of times that something had caught on fire when he grew angry, leaving a frightened Hassan to extinguish the flames. But it was Hassan’s helping hand, his understanding of what Corvar was going through, that guided Corvar to becoming the man he was today. With Hassan dead, buried in a shallow grave on Tatooine, the least he could do to honor his adopted father’s memory was to do the same for this girl. TAGS: Darth Catalyst , trentongordon , darthferos TAGSET: Corbos
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Post by darthferos on Jul 4, 2018 11:21:16 GMT -5
IC: Darth Feros Hyperspace en route to Corbos Feros looked around the cargo bay for a second. He moved up to the 3rd level and went into one of the passenger cabins and locked the door. He removed his cloak and laid it on the bed, and sat for a second. Collecting himself for the coming talk. Maladi didn't really frighten him. But the Embrace did. And she could be a bit much when she was angry. The message had sounded urgent. He felt something in the Force. Fear and pain. Reaper must have been with the Twi'lek girl. He never understood torture without a point. Or the use in slavery, but he wasn't going to say anything. It wasn't his problem. Feros dropped the holoprojector onto the floor and activated it. He let his eyes slip back into the natural yellow-red nova they had been for years. He'd been hiding them since he met the crew on Nar Shaddaa but he saw no point now. The projector chimed as it made contact on the right frequency and started projecting. "You said to contact you as soon as possible somewhere private my Lady." As a final precaution, he waved his hand towards the door to trigger the inside lock. Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jul 5, 2018 0:35:08 GMT -5
IC: Darth HavokSinkhole, Yavin IVDarth Havok brought a hand to his brow, wiping away the sweat that had gathered in the wrinkles of his bald skull. The sun beat down on him, the thick heavy air choked him with moisture, and thorns, vines and welt-inducing leaves had left their mark upon his tattooed skin, as he followed Volcryn's descent in like manner. But nothing could darken his day; they were both in the sinkhole, now, where he could feel the potent power of the ancients in the very soil beneath his feet. Havok was some twenty meters behind Volcryn. The Iktotchi brute lacked the lethal grace of an assassin like Volcryn, and thus he had been considerably slower and clumsier, but at least Havok had succeeded in descending the perilous cliff. Theron hadn't moved at all! "Get down here!" Havok shouted up behind him, his voice echoing throughout the depression and faintly reaching the Sith apprentice who stood at the cliff's edge. "It's not that far a fall!" Havok could only assume Theron was afraid of heights, although admittedly that might have been projection; it had taken many years for Havok to overcome his own fears in this regard, which had not been helped by a Sith instructor attempting "exposure therapy" through throwing him off the walls of the Valley of the Dark Lords. Repeatedly. But there were greater things to fear than heights, here in this place of ancient power. Shaking his horned head, Havok trudged onwards, towards an empty patch of sand that Volcryn was standing upon - or rather, standing in. Volcryn's entreaty of the Force, scouring the leylines of history, had perhaps distracted him from the present. He had delved deep into the past, and his efforts were rewarded with imagery of distant times, of a great black pyramid, inverted, seemingly impossibly balanced on its obsidian tip. He saw twisted cacodaemons with blood-hued skin punctured by bony spurs, their hulking frames supporting ropes and chains that pulled great behemoths of stone into place. And in the process, Volcryn had delved deep into the quicksand. "Shavit!" Havok cursed, his momentum arrested as he neared Volcryn, realising too late what the harmless-looking patch of sand actually was. The quicksand was easily ten meters across, with no branches or vines to grab onto; the two sinking Sith would surely need help, either from Theron or from the Force. "Theron!" Havok shouted again, pulling vainly against the quicksand's pull, his knee-high leather boots already submerged. "Get down here and pull us out! There's kriffing quicksand down here!" Miles away from their sandy predicament, Gis'pefu was facing her own: looking for tracks in the sand and mud outside the Jedi Praxeum. It had rained the day before, and while the sky was clear now and the sun baking, the ground was still moist enough for a plethora of prints to be made out. Most were clearly humanoid, and scattered; the result of the Terentatek attack. There were no humanoid tracks leading away into the jungle, or at least, not any readily apparent in the area. But there was one set of prints distinct from all the rest, coming from the jungle and terminating where the Terentatek's corpse still lay. The massive, three-toed prints of the slain Sithspawn itself. Could the Terentatek have been a distraction for a heist? TAG: Volcryn, patrickx31, theron
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jul 6, 2018 6:01:27 GMT -5
IC: Darth AnathemaThe Sith Citadel, Ziost"Shit." Anathema could only echo Insipid's oath, as she watched with bulging eyes his descent into madness - his descent into the night of ice and fire. Insipid was the deathly herald of Ziost's darkness, the raw power of the tremendous and tenebrous nexus seeming to transcend the fleshly confines of its living conduit as Insipid unleashed the unrestrained majesty of the dark side. Snow, rock and permafrost exploded forwards like a frozen tsunami, and as it broke so did the front line of Haretisch's army. Dozens of men were buried by the avalanche or felled by flying stray chunks, a dozen more still were laid onto their backs by the slash of telekinetic power, yet a dozen more were turned into blackened skeletons by the explosion of electricity, and three of the heretics lost their heads to Insipid's lightsaber. He was a force of nature, crimson fire and cerulean energy brightening the night with explosions of colour. If they were fireworks, the crescendo of sound could only be provided by the enemy's screams. Anathema wrenched her eyes from the spectacle, leading her men from the parapets down spiraling stairs into the lower levels of the Citadel, heeding Insipid's mental command without, quite literally, a second thought. As much as her mind had been plied by the raw power of his suggestion, Anathema did grasp Insipid's plan; his spectacular feat in pulling the cannon bolts telekinetically had resulted in gaping holes being blown open in the walls, holes which allowed Insipid's soldiers to take cover in dark rooms newly exposed to the night air and snipe the enemy at will. But Anathema knew a few potshots here and there would be quite insufficient, nor could she hope to provide backup from such a distance; she was no spellcaster. Comming for reinforcements from the other side of the Citadel, Anathema jumped from the lowest hole to the snow below, easily absorbing the impact of a twelve-foot fall. She did not advance further. "INSIPIIIIID!" she shouted, lightsaber igniting. "GET BACK HERE, AGAINST THE WALL!" She could only hope he understood her reasoning; as suicidal as taking on an army was, the surety of death that the numerics implied was somewhat offset by the simple physics of the fact that only a limited number of such a vast array of foes could actually engage with one combatant at a time. If Insipid continued his mad dash into the ranks, he would be encircled on all sides, and once his reservoirs of Force energy were depleted, there would be nothing he could do to avoid being cut down by the eight or more lightsabers surrounding him at a time; no matter how long he held out, no matter how many lesser combatants he slew, that circle would remain constant, lightsaber-wielding warriors advancing to replace the fallen. But if they stood their ground with their backs to the wall, the number of enemies able to engage them at a time would be halved if not quartered; only one in front, two to the sides, perhaps, would be able to fight them at a time. Of course, that would have left one vulnerable to being vaporised by a laser cannon, before, but Insipid's power had taken care of them, too, opening up fractures in the earth beneath them, causing them to tumble and fall, or upending them entirely with telekinesis. As it was, Insipid was already four ranks deep, a somersault having brought Helinith to his rear, and the men of the front line to the sides of Insipid's attack were racing to fill the gap his wake had left, swiftly encircling both Sith. The predominant makeup of the first few ranks visible were Sith Troopers, elite Force-sensitive cyborgs conditioned by the late Emperor Krayt and reprogrammed with fanatical obedience to Darth Haretisch. 
Clambering over the corpses of their compatriots, the Troopers charged Insipid and Helinith from all sides. The front lines only beginning to seal them in, and so Helinith had only three Troopers to contend with attacking from Insipid's behind, although ten other Troopers followed on their heels from the sides; if Helinith killed the three quickly enough, it would be possible to break out and race back to the wall before being surrounded. The Trooper to her left swung at her neck with a powerful slash of his red lightsaber, his mask modulating his war cry, while the Trooper in the centre lunged at her in a brutal stab aimed for her breast, the third Trooper kicking out to try and sweep Helinith's legs out from under her while slashing at the right side of her abdomen. Insipid, meanwhile, had six Troopers to deal with from the front, with the promise of an unlimited horde to replace them. On his left, one shoved out a hand and unleashed a wave of telekinetic power, seeking to topple Insipid and Helinith both, while another stabbed towards his left thigh. Ahead, one Trooper brought his blade down towards Insipid's skull with a powerful overhead slash, while another attempted to knock Insipid's lightsaber from his hand with a brutal swipe at the base of the beam. On the right, one Trooper let loose a burst of Force lightning, discharging it at Insipid's chest, while a Trooper wielding dual lightsabers slashed at Insipid's right ankle with his right weapon and attempted to stab over Insipid's shoulder and into the top of Helinith's back with his left. Lying on its side two columns to the side, discarded in the snow by its now-buried carriers, the Holocron of Dread Rur glowed green. TAG: @sinre, @daughterofvader --- IC: Ermir Marcus The Sept of the Sith, beneath the Dread Temple, Korriban"How did I get out of there?" Ermir repeated blankly, small eyes regarding Arcane with a stupefying stare. He shook his head, shaking slop and slime off his formerly white coat. "What a witless wonder you are, Arcane," Ermir said, following after the Cathar a few paces behind him as he approached the dark entrance. "I climbed out, you dung-brained dullard. How else would I have gotten out? The Emperor floated me out on a puff of a ghostly fart?" Ermir's appreciation for his pupil's efforts seemed to quickly expire, his peculiarly verbose barbs poking through the skin of his unpleasant personality to prickle at Arcane's dignity. Nonetheless, privately Ermir could only be thankful for Arcane's accomplishment; as he had hoped, the death of the wyrm had deactivated the invisible energy fence, and as the two Sith crossed the threshold between the obelisks, no burst of lightning lashed out at them. Instead, they were greeted with only cold, stale air as they stepped into the mausoleum's entryway, their footsteps echoing in the darkness. Ermir lit his lightsaber to illuminate their surroundings. The passageway was narrow, and long, but Ermir could make out an unmarked wall around sixty feet down. A dead-end? TAG: Arcane
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Arcane
Citizen
Posts: 45
Likes: 30
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Post by Arcane on Jul 6, 2018 17:23:23 GMT -5
IC: Arcane The Sept of the Sith, beneath the Dread Temple, Korriban Arcane snorted at Ermir's reply. "I didn't think you could climb so....quickly." He paused. "With your huge ego weighing you down." He smirked as he turned to continue their trek into the tomb. He knew Ermir had climbed out of the murky depths, but to do it so quickly was where his curiosity evolved from. As they stepped through with out so much as a tingle of static electricity, Arcane breathed a sigh of relief. "There are probably so many traps in here." Arcane spoke as Ermir ignighted his sabre. "That wall could come careening at us at any moment." He brushed his paws across the stone. "A small trip wire or fake stone could end both of us without so much as a whisper." He continued on, still keeping his paw on the right wall of the corridor. "If you were a trap, where would you be? What would you be?" He continued on into the growing darkness. TAG: Darth Dreadwar |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jul 7, 2018 19:45:23 GMT -5
IC: Captain Gederp Bridge of the Triumphant, exiting hyperspace
"Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one..."Captain Gederp heard the ensign only distantly, his attention on the forwards viewport of the Triumphant's primary bridge. Control had been restored to the primary bridge following Vassago's defeat of the Rhandite cultists, and the body of the late Admiral Tharsus had been removed from where it had been left lying by a macabre monster. Now, Captain Gederp - whose promotion to Tharsus' position had been halted by Shira A'dola - was in command, standing amidst the bridge's bustle with cerulean hands held behind his back, his legs splayed as if standing at ease in a Naval squadron on parade. The picture of the perfect officer. Calm. Controlled. It was an example to set for the junior officers, nothing more. The frozen mask of a Chiss, as brittle as the frost of Csilla, hiding the uncertainty and anxiety roiling in his gut like an ocean in a storm. There were the Unknown Regions, and then there were the Unknown Regions. The former was a label for galactic astrographers, covering everything beyond the frontier of the galactic west, the very fringes of the galaxy beyond the Outer Rim Territories, the most distant tips of the galaxy's spiral arms, and all of the galaxy's seven dwarf satellite galaxies save for the infamous Rishi Maze. To the Chiss Ascendancy, this label spoke to nothing more than the ignorance of the Galactic Republic, and the Empires that had succeeded it. To them, what cartographers called the Unknown Regions was simply home. This... This was not home. This was a region truly unknown, to the most versed of Chiss cartographers and to the most pioneering of explorers alike. The Triumphant had spent four years fleeing the phantom of Federation forces, burying deeper into mysterious realms of darkness and danger where hyperspace lanes simply did not exist, where stars grew thinner and thinner and horrors beyond the description of galactic encyclopedias grew more and more common. Their zig-zag course, the result of a thousand small jumps around the celestial phenomena that made the Unknown Regions so notoriously difficult to navigate, had taken them far past the territory of the Chiss Ascendancy, closer and closer to the edge of the galactic disc itself and the great yawning void without. Where the pilgrim's coordinates led, not even a Chiss such as Gederp knew; to his knowledge, no one in the history of galactic civilisation had ever been so far. Until us, he thought, an intake of breath the only outward sign of trepidation as the swirling wash of hyperspace resolved into the pinpricks of stars - few and far between - and the cobalt of chaos gave way to an eerie, still scarlet. The proximity alarms fell into silence.  They had arrived at their destination. Gederp's blood-hued eyes scanned the viewport rapidly, taking in the cosmic vista that greeted them. Officers processed data from sensors, ensigns rushed to and fro, bridge scientists shouted at each other, and a lieutenant reported to Gederp what information they had gathered in their first minute out of hyperspace. "Sir," the young human said, "the pilgrim's coordinates appear to have taken us... outside the galaxy itself. It appears we are approaching a rogue stellar cluster orbiting the galaxy," he pointed out the viewport, to the wispy mass of red, "concealed by an ancient nebula of dying stars. We don't know anything more yet, sir. This is well and truly outside of all astrographical knowledge. For context, Sir, based on the redshift, we estimate we are nearly 100,000 lightyears beyond the galaxy's outermost edge and over... over 150,000 lightyears away from Coruscant, Sir."Gederp nodded, processing absently in suppressed shock. It was nothing he couldn't guess using his own two eyes; although the bridge tower did not sport fully wraparound viewports, a viewscreen with a live feed from aft viewports in the ship's rear still allowed him to see behind the Triumphant, and he could see something he had never seen before in his life. Something no one had seen. The entire galaxy. Home, even for denizens of its unknown regions like the Chiss. They had done the unthinkable, done the unprecedented, and put the entire thing - its politics, its Federation, its Empire, its Jedi, its Sith, its Hutts, its thousand thousand races, its hundreds of billions of planets, its Core and Inner Rim and Outer Rim and Unknown Regions all - in their backwards viewport. "Comm Lady A'dola to the bridge at once," Gederp whispered. "Tell her we have--"A new alarm blared. "SIR!" someone shouted. "Contacts on long-range sensors!"
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jul 8, 2018 2:50:19 GMT -5
IC: Tarpy and Raspir Control room, Ninûshodojinyaut, dead space
Kint's examination of the computer, and Hypnos' own scan using mechu deru, revealed the same thing: the tractor beam and gravity well generators were all powering down. Not due to any intervention by either; the command, the readout displayed, had just come from the bridge. Raspir had been raising his webbed hand to wrest the cannon from Lemmy's hand with a spell of summoning, when he paused. Something was wrong. It wasn't as obvious as a noise or a movement - the dark undead remained strangely still and silent in reaction to their arrival - but rather an intuitive sensation of disquiet that settled into his stomach and emanated out through his chest, as if millions of tiny cilia had extended from within him, shivering with unease. It wasn't the Force screaming a warning of urgent doom. It was something more abstract, a suddenly remembered nightmare whose full contents he couldn't quite summon up. Millennia in a Rakatan Mind Trap had dulled his memory, but no technologically-induced amnesia could wipe the instinctual response conditioned by some forgotten past exposure. The undead were familiar to him, on some deep, unconscious level. And what was coming next... That, somehow, was familiar too, as if he had known all along what fate would befall them the instant he had acquiesced to the Infinite Emperor's orders. He drew a shaky breath, not quite comprehending such a mutiny of his nervous system. "Ari Hypnos..." He said in inexplicable warning. And then the deck lurched beneath their feet. Raspir's hand, already extended in the midst of an aborted spell, provided him the balance to stay upright. He cursed. In the decades since he had been awakened, he had grown quite accustomed to the eldritch ways of technomancy, enough to recognise the jarring motion of a spaceship entering hyperspace. It was none too different to the feeling of standing upon a chariot, staff in one hand and reins in the other, as the Tuk'ata that pulled it kicked into motion. Rather than enduring the assaults of the Great Reap, the Ninûshodojinyaut had simply left the battle before reinforcements could arrive from Zakuul, and now, it had the Reap's commanders on-board, with the imprisoned Persevus, and his attempted rescuers and their Mirror. All in one spot. Trapped. The tarp squealed. Death was hovering over them now like a scavenger, close and claustrophobic - it could see it reflected in Raspir's stalked eyes. The darkness thickened around them, taking on additional depth and dimension. And out of it stepped the twisted man, the other undead turning in eerie synchronicity to follow its steps forward from the gloomy passageway into the equally dark control room. "Fools," it crowed. "We have you now."As one, the approaching undead opened their mouths of teeth. Their unhinged jaws bubbled with black blood, as they laughed a gurgling laugh. |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jul 8, 2018 5:03:25 GMT -5
IC: Darth Apollyon Sith Temple, Korriban Contrary to what one might expect of the Emperor's Hand, Apollyon's chambers were neither opulent nor spacious. As a noble Lady of the Sith, she was entitled to her own quarters, rather than having to share a dormitory or barracks with her fellow Sith as the acolytes did. But Apollyon had opted for a modestly-sized room, carved out of the same brown rock as the rest of the Temple, with an uneven, low-hanging stone ceiling, spartan decorations and no window. A single standing brazier and several candles flooded the room with a warm but dim glow. Near the far wall was an ordinary mattress atop a wooden bed frame. Just to the left of the entryway, there was a small wooden table, for eating and working, with two wicker chairs. The left wall bore a cleft resembling a large, low stone shelf, in which was dug a hole that could only be a primitive latrine. A privy that was hardly private, betraying Apollyon's usual lack of company. Between it and the table was a simple but large tub of dull bronze, the grated drain in the stone beside it indicating it was used for bathing.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Apollyon said, attempting a smirk to cover her shyness as she led Catalyst into her quarters. "And yes, a bath would be lovely. Emperor knows I need to get all of this dust off." She reached to her right, pulling a short bronze baton from its resting place and striking it against a standing disc of the same metal, producing a loud gong. A scampering of feet down the hallway heralded the approach of a Temple servant, a different one from the one who had scuttled off to fulfill Catalyst's orders. "Yes, Dominance?" she asked, entering the room with head bowed and arms raised straight out, palms downturned, in ritualistic reverence. "Fill the bath," Apollyon said. "And change me out of this armour once you return." The servant withdrew backwards, still in the same position, uttering another "Yes, Dominance." Apollyon turned to Catalyst, before glancing away, unsure exactly of what to say while they waited for both servants to return. In another set of Temple quarters, Neoplix was up to as little good as his new master, only in a different fashion. The generous patronage of Grindark's master, one Darth Havok, had provided the Devaronian apprentice with his own chambers, setting him apart from - and above - the rank and file of the acolytes. The sconces were unlit and the candles snuffed out, leaving the room in darkness. The rise and fall of the sheets betrayed Grindark's breathing, as he slept peacefully in his bed, not stirring at Neoplix's stealthy approach. Clearly, some Sith might have joked, Grindark had not heard of the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. In the courtyard outside the Temple, meanwhile, Darth Talon dearly wished she could so easily murder Darth Xirr. Her lekku swished in irritation, like a cat's tail. But the usual purring quality of her voice had vanished. "You're telling me," she hissed, "you forgot the very reason I sent you to the Valley of the Dark Lords? You just returned from a tomb, yes? You're telling me you couldn't find a single 'suitable specimen,' a single skull, in the crypt whence you came?"Talon shook her head. "You're going to have to go back out there. And take the virgin with you. She's no good to me without the skull." She shot a withering glare to match Robyn's own, ignoring the girl's cringing about her welfare. The ritual likely only required a drop of blood, but she wasn't about to tell the initiate that; let the girl sweat a little. Inside the cantina the three stood outside, Bellorum could only roll her blood-hued eyes as the brute and the freak faced off. Men, she thought. Even alien grotesques, men all the same. She had no desire to participate in their testosterone-induced little dominance contest, and no desire to stop it, either; she could have thrown the weight of her master's authority around in intercession, but the thing about being a secret apprentice was that one couldn't simply invoke the name "Insipid" whenever one wanted. And so instead, she turned to Zul'tar, nudging him with her shoulder and tossing her head towards the bar. "Come, savage," she smiled slightly, with all the subtle arrogance of her Chiss heritage, "let me buy you a drink. You can pour it on your open wounds, if you want. I hear Corellian fire whiskey has quite the burn."A kilometer away, and closing, Voidwalker, Karina, Nannley and Jacen continued to speed across the desert. It had taken ten minutes, but their speeder bikes had fortunately crossed the desert without interruption, and it took only two minutes more for them to ascend the slope of the mountain and approach the entrance of the Temple's sprawling campus. A great stone wall encircled the entire campus, and bore a durasteel portcullis guarded by two Sith Shadow Guards, and a squadron of Sith Shock Troopers. As the foremost speeder bike slowed to a stop and Jacen dismounted, one guardsman held up his hand, his vonduun crab armour bristling in the cold dry air. "Halt," he said, his grim organic mask modulating his voice. "Who goes there?"TAG: Lord Vassago , @sinre , darthkain7 , trentongordon , Volshe , Shira , Padawan4687 , Darth Catalyst , gorzan , dice , @lordjania , kurtishenschel , Darth Voidwalker |
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gorzan
Citizen
Posts: 93
Likes: 60
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Post by gorzan on Jul 8, 2018 12:41:28 GMT -5
Ic: neoplix Location: korriban temple of the sith, breaking into Grindark’s room Neoplix crept into the room, silent as an assassin. He may not have possessed the rags any longer, but his natural training would be plenty to keep him undetected. He heard grindark’s peaceful heartbeat and breathing, keeping track to make sure he wouldn’t wake up. He crept, silently, stealthily, carefully, all the way to the bed. He would not Hesitate, not again. He wouldn’t show fear, or nervousness. That time was past, and today, the past would die. He would kill it if he had to. His eyes nearly glowed with rage beneath his helmet. He stepped to the edge of the bed, and stopped. Calming himself, focusing his emotions into a razor sharp fury. Then, he moved. He hopped up onto the bed, attempting to land with his knees strategically placed on grindark’s throat and abdomen. He heard grindark’s heartbeat and breathing intensify, and knew he was awake. With one hand, he drew the flaming sword from his back, positioning it between grindark’s legs. The other hand reached up and disengaged his helmet, exposing his face, fangs fully extended. “Well hi there grindark! Remember me?” His face split in a malicious grin, and he fed on the fear emanating from the prone figure in front of him. There would be no escape, no reprieve, no evading what came next. This, was Neoplix’s vengeance. Tags: Darth Dreadwar |
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Post by trentongordon on Jul 9, 2018 0:03:10 GMT -5
IC: So'Kard
Location: Korriban
No matter where Viscretus went he would follow. He had no weapons unless his new Mistress handed him one and wore little to no armor. He didn't need it especially not now that he was undead. The feeling of numbness. He couldn't feel anything but everything functioned the same. He kept moving his arms around curious of how it worked and would play with his fingers wiggling them. He enjoyed it slightly.
He looked ahead but tried to be menacing as he stayed right on Viscretus' heels. He had no reason to live except for his masters will. His previous master the Emperor had commanded him to be Viscretus' new guardian and as such he would follow her orders whether they were suicidal or not.
Tag: Tomb Tags
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Post by Darth Voidwalker on Jul 10, 2018 6:37:46 GMT -5
IC: Nox Talus The Triumphant, hyperspace Just as Nox and his Imperial Guard escort were about to enter the Medbay that house Alisha Tano, a dark a brooding voice from behind had stopped him in his tracks. “You!” As Nox turned around where he stood he Instantly recognized where the words had come from. It was the Master of the young girl that Nox has influenced just moments ago. This man was a brute mountain of a monstrous man. Before Nox even had the chance to reply to the man, the Imperial Guard spat venom as soon as she had seen the man. “Yes, me. What the kriff are you looking at?” This must be a side effect due to the influence. Looking towards the Imperial Knight, Nox once again attempted to push his will upon her. “This isn’t the time or the place. Don’t forget I still need medical attention. You must accompany me inside, now!” Turning towards the dark man, Nox would make sure to remember as many details of the man as possible. His beard, his bald head, his feeling within the Force itself. He would speak to this man, the man obviously had an issue with Nox. “What is it that you want with me Dark one? I have done you no harm, I have no quarrel or qualm with you. Why have you sought me out?” A blood hurdling scream could be heard coming from just inside the medbay. That’s Alisha, I knew she wasn’t dead! Turning to rush into the room, Nox would see the grotesque being that was becoming of Alisha Tano. Blood covered wires protruding from her arms and body. There was a young man there with Tano, a man that Nox did not recognize, however they way he attempted to soothe Alisha, they must have been important to one another. Perhaps lovers. Nox heard the man tell her “We’re not giving up on you, please don’t give up!” You bastard! Is this what you wanted me to see? You wanted me to watch her die? If you’re all knowing Sulat, then you must know how to save her, tell me how to do so! As Nox searched his own thoughts for an answer and before he could mutter a single word, the momentum of the ship could be felt, changing, slowing, rocking slightly, it was clear that the Triumphant was coming out of hyperspace. It would seem that they had reached their destination, and would seem that this journey for Nox would soon come to an end. Then it happened, alarms sounding off, wailing in distress. Something was not right, but right now Alisha Tano needed immediate help. TAG: Darth Dreadwar Lord Vassago Padawan4687 Shira |
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Post by darthkain7 on Jul 10, 2018 11:10:50 GMT -5
IC: Zul’tarLocation: Sith Cantina, Korriban As Zul’tar heard the witch speak, he heard the band on the stage begin to play a new song. The music to him sounded alien, but strangely invigorating. The beating drums may have triggered his memories, making him feel like a young man about to go on a hunt. He knew now that if he didn't have a drink or two, the constant insults being thrown his way would lead to somebody’s death. As much as he wanted to kill Bellorum, to rip his axe off of the warlord’s back and plant it in her skull; hearing her skull crack as the enchanted metal forced its way through, watching as her blood erupts from either side of the axe and travels down her sapphire skin… it would be glorious. Regardless of this desire, Zul'tar had wisdom to match his years. Bellorum would no doubt be good in a fight, and she would be quite useful in the wilds of this world should this hunt not go according to plan. Not to mention that taking his axe from Zhav'vorsa without permission was a good way to get murdered shortly after the warlord was about to murder this stranger. Zul’tar grunted, “ A wise man never turns down free drinks.” With that, he followed Bellorum to the bar. As he watched her walk, he noticed that she had a nice figure, even with his vision of her poisoned with hatred. He thought nothing of it beyond simple appraisal. No doubt those that were actually attracted to her would fall for her moments before she stuck a dagger in their throat. TAGS: Darth Dreadwar , Lord Vassago , Shira TAGSET: Beast Hunt
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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2018 14:58:26 GMT -5
IC: Darth VuaSneeringThe man introduced himself; spat something at him in his native tongue that Vua cared not for. The woman sneered something; the other one, the nameless coward, slinked off. The Warlord radiated power; confidence; strength. Good. Tactics had already roared through his mind and out again; this was no demeaning strategic aside; no thoughtful approach. This was zealotry; dominance; acknowledgement of ones place in the pack. Good. ‘You stand before an adherent of the True Way!’ Vua kicked his foot out, throwing the table at the Warlord and launching forward into a punch with his right arm the moment his foot returned to the floor, whip quick; all power; all strength; all the intention to not just wound him, but gregariously so - to pound flesh, to crush bone, to draw bruises from the skin that would split and seep blood - his fist was cocked and thrown with sufficient strength to crash through the table if thrown back at him. There was no overt use of the Force; just uncoiled Yuuzhan Vong muscle. Lord Vassago, darthkain7, Darth Dreadwar—- IC: Darth InsipidIn Too DeepThe witch vampire bitch and her words did not crest the horizon of the black hole in the dark side of the Force that had been Darth Insipid. He was only peripherally aware of Helinith and her presence behind him; he acknowledged not her plight, but it was truly the most dangerous predicament she would have ever found herself in. All he could see was the Sith Troopers before him. Lightsabers drawn, thrusting and launching themselves at him. So much crimson before him that it was barely eclipsed by the flash of blue nimbus that was lightning. All he could hear was his sneer as he scoffed at them; mass produced monstrosities that were Sith In Name Only; Krayt’s folly; Nihl’s undoing; Wredd’s opportunity. All he could smell was the blood on his lips, as it dribbled out of his mouth as his body was warped by the power within him; twisting organs; bending bones to their limits; stretching ligaments and muscle to the point of tearing. All he could taste was death and destruction and despair, a wave of injuries and shock and horror upon the battlefield; a massive recoil from what had been, mere moments before, an army confident of its success, psyched up to victory by incarnation, by meditation, by a simple drumbeat upon their skin and hearts and minds. All he could feel was emptiness. Nothingness. A vast void within his soul. The Holocron; abandoned, dropped, vulnerable. Darth Insipid thus abandoned his body. To the telekinetic thrust a shield was thrown forward with sufficient strength to atomise the offending attacker; to the stab towards his thigh he moved himself forward, completely ignoring the bite of the blade as it skipped across his leg and drew a chunk clear from it, but his feet tucked up beneath him to avoid the slash at his right ankle; to the one who slashed downward he drew his blade up to block, flicking the weapon off and on to allow the slash at the base of the weapon to presumably pass harmlessly through, but he did not block with the blade, instead re-activating it and flicking a finger forward with the intend of sending the blade bursting into the offending Sith’s face; the hand he brought up went palm up, intending to catch and turn the offending blow downwards towards the Sith slashing at his right ankle, potentially entangling or even injuring them both, what with the slash already travelling forward toward Helinith that the Trooper slashing downwards was about to intercept; to the lightning burst at his chest Insipid’s left hand came forward, redirecting the bolt into the chest of the Sith that had dared strike his leg, before following up with a burst of his own electricity at the Trooper which had attacked him with lightning at all, as his blaster and backup hilt travelled down his sleeve to fly forward into the next wave of foes; mentally tagging his main lightsaber to arc back around and through the back of the Sith Trooper who had thrust downwards in the first place - He exerted his last effort thus; to yank. His body was yanked backwards by Darth Insipid as if a god had plucked his form out of the fray; his lightsaber was dragged back to his waiting hand; the blasters pack was bid to explode; the grenade within the lightsaber was simply triggered - The Holocron was tethered to Insipid by a string of the Force and so when he was removed from the fighting it followed, as if hooked by an Agamar fisherman - Insipid intended to return to his body the moment it slammed into the wall of the Citadel, if it made it; to the crashing wave of pain and agony and twisted organs and fractured bones and blue bruises raising over his skin beneath burst veins before he took aboard the bloodied mess of a hand and the lightsaber bite and whatever burns now adorned his flesh from blasterfire or lightning or - Assuming he made it that far. Assuming he lived that long. Assuming the Holocron would deftly drop into his left hand. Assuming the white bladed lightsaber of Lomi Plo would drop in his mass of a right appendage. And assuming he retained any consciousness thereafter, he would dig deep, drawing hard upon the minds of those he had around him, anchoring himself to their Force sensitivity or life force - for even a mute existed within the Force - and thrust out for the corners to this wall of the Citadel; to break the wall free and to use the force of his impact to shake it free and the act of him smashing into the base of the tower to tip it forward. Because the Sith horde would smell blood, would charge at Insipid and Helinith - wherever she was - would see victory and Haretisch should have ordered them to converge and advance the moment that Insipid committed suicide-by-army - To drop the wall on them. Then Insipid would collapse, falling to the ground and thus, in theory, under the gap of the wall falling forward and he’d let everyone else deal with the rest. TAG: @daughterofvader, Darth Dreadwar
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Post by Lord Vassago on Jul 11, 2018 3:07:11 GMT -5
IC: Darth Vassago & SabbaAboard The Triumphant “ What the kriff are you looking at?” The voice of the Knight was obnoxious, like the bleating of livestock. Her bravado was artificial, likely the work of the captive she was escorting. The same captive that molested Sabba’s mind with an amateurish mind trick. Darth Vassago tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at the pair before him in the medical bay. He had called out to the prisoner, Nox, and had every intent to kill the man for his invasion of Sabba’s mind. He’d considered sparing the Knight, incapacitating her at the very least for her impudence. The act itself would take less than a minute; with Vassago’s skill and command of the Force, the Knight would be knocked unconscious in an instant, and Nox would be left as a pile of ash before anyone knew what was going on. Yes. That’ll do nicely, he thought to himself. A modest smirk pulled at the right corner of his mouth, the thought amusing him more than it should. The price of playing in his Apprentice’s mind was severe; it was of the utmost importance that she was left untouched by the influence of others, or rather, their command of the Force…the work could not be lost, and until said work was complete, there was always a possibility of it being erased. Certainly, Shira and the others on board would not approve, but there was a price for tampering with the young woman’s mind, a price that must be paid. The prisoner, Nox, spoke. He approached boldly, playing innocent and asking simply what it was that Vassago wanted, but his time had run out. His charade was thin, and the aged Lord saw through the veil. Nox would pay the toll for his clumsy actions. Before he could act, an alarm blared, pulling his attention from the prisoner and the Knight. By the sound of it, it was a proximity alarm. The ship was dropping out of hyperspace in a matter of moments, the journey nearing its end. When his attention refocused on Nox and the Knight, he noticed that another acted in the situation revolving around the Knight and her prisoner; someone tending to Alisha, who was doing much worse in the commotion, made the decision to notify the vessels personnel of the unusual behavior. No doubt, this situation would handle itself. His intervention would not be necessary, even for his actions against Sabba; Vassago’s work was not undone, Nox being thrown in a cell for the remainder of his stay on the ship seemed fitting. Though, he did make a note, a simple one, of Nox and his intrusion upon Sabba; should they meet again, it would certainly be the last time Nox drew breath. The alarm had silenced, which meant only one thing… They had arrived. “ Sabba,” Vassago said simply. “ Follow.” The young woman nodded, turning from the Knight, Nox, and the medical bay. A part of her still wanted to ensure that Alisha would be safe, but she knew those feelings would likely earn her another lesson from her Master, something she was not exactly fond of. Rather, she would follow, hoping silently that the doctors would do their best work to save the young woman. It pained her to think it, but she couldn’t linger on her life or death. She still had much on her own shoulders to be concerned with. Darth Vassago waited for his Apprentice to turn, leaving the medical bay, before making his own way out. He used his walking staff to aid his steps, the end of it thumping against the durasteel floor plates along with his footsteps. He could sense conflict within Sabba, no doubt stemming from the events within the medical bay, and the dying girl there, Alisha. “ Focus on the present,” he began “ the fate of that woman changes nothing. Your journey continues regardless of her life.” His tone was even, sure, but not uncaring. He was conscious of the events that had transpired, of the toll it had all taken on the young woman, and on her own mental state. He couldn’t expect her to possess an iron will or nerves of still. He could also tell that Alisha’s condition was worsening by the moment. Before long, her body would not be her own, rather she would take the form of the unrecognizable spawn that inhabited her. The outcome he had predicted was sure to pass. “ Yes, Master.” He was right, she thought. Of course, he was. She suppressed the urge to say anything more, remembering her place. The time would come when she could reveal to him the vision she had in Shira’s quarters, but at that moment it seemed they were off someplace else on the ship. Someplace new. The entire thing was a labyrinth, full of twisting corridors, rooms that led to who knows where, airlocks, seals, and the like. She regretted that she didn’t have more time to explore, to see the variety of new areas that the massive vessel held. Maybe another time, she thought with a small sigh. She could feel the ship change, heard creaking and cracking, the entire ship shifted. She looked to her Master, craning her neck up to his hooded visage. “ We’ve dropped out of hyperspace. Our time aboard this vessel may be coming to a close. I’ll know for certain when we arrive at the bridge. Do not wander from my side.” He couldn’t risk the young woman getting into trouble without him nearby, or even lost in the many winding corridors in the vast belly of the vessel. If what Dreadwar had told him was to be trusted, they would be near Nilrebmah. If he was not to be trusted, they could very well be lost in the most foreign space imaginable. Time would tell. Perhaps the bridge would know more. Perhaps not... TAG Darth Dreadwar , Shira , Padawan4687 , Darth Voidwalker
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jul 11, 2018 16:49:34 GMT -5
IC Darth Nostrem Citadel Catacombs, Kaas City
The increasing rage behind Deleritas's words pleased Nostrem greatly it seemed. The entire time the apprentice was berating the spirit, a toothy grin split across the former Master's ghostly features. He had found the way to torment the young Sith further and that was something that he was going to exploit. A small chuckle even passed from his lips as Deleritas's rant turned to insults. It was inconsequential to Nostrem in any case; he was, after all, deceased.
He was about to launch a series of retorts and insults into the apprentice when Solus stepped in. “Please lord Nostrem. Excuse my apprentice, he has not yet learned the truth of your downfall. He has only been told the story through the archives, before our dismissal. But allow me to correct him.” Nostrem cocked his head at the Master.
"Lord Nostrem did not fail his empire. As a matter of fact, much like us, his empire failed him. Nostrem did everything right, and when the time came for his empire to repay him for his great creation… They turned on him and trapped him in his own masterpiece.”
Solus turned back to look at Nostrem. The apparition kept his silence, curious to hear where Solus was going with this little lesson.
“We came here to find direction. To learn from a failing of a past empire, so that it may guide us through the failing of the current empire. My apprentice joined me out of loyalty and we left when the ruling party deemed me worthless." Solus paused momentarily, seemingly deep in thought. "It is a shame that we cannot access the computers here. Having your guiding word would be excellent in addition to reviewing the archives. Maybe then we could find direction.”
Nostrem pondered for a moment. Perhaps the current Empire is failing because of its structure as an Empire. It needs revolutionary minds, such as that of Lord Solus here, to rise and overthrow those who squander their power. Yes, perhaps he can bring an end to the Sith Empire and then the Sith shall truly flourish. He turned to face Solus, his face resolute. "What you seek lies within the memory banks, not located here, but in the central control room, high within the Citadel's main tower. Removing the banks should prove simple, and as long as you have a T3 unit you should be able to read the data within." Nostrem looked up to the ceiling. "Though, stuck here, they are of no use to you." He turned back towards the pump. "You possess the power of cryokinesis Solus, correct? Perhaps with the fleeting influence I have upon this plane combined with your manipulation of cold, we can coax the pump into movement long enough for your escape." He looked down, a hint of melancholy creeping into the exhoes of his voice. "Alas, my soul is entrapped within these catacombs, doomed to wander for an eternity. I shall not be able to assist you further if this is the route you choose."
TAG: Darth Solus , Deleritas |
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Post by Darth Voidwalker on Jul 12, 2018 7:29:03 GMT -5
IC: Srethros Dread Fortress, Oricon Srethros stood before the group of Jedi disguised Sith waiting to see who it was that would make the first move. His time as a warrior and gladiator prepared him for just such events, yet that move never came. Srethros did notice one of them raise a barrier of Force energy and seemed a little on edge, however the only move that came was from the Shistavanen, who only asked the basic of questions. “And you are?” Before Srethros had a chance to respond, Arancia spoke up to welcome the warrior. “Arancia did not expect to have to chaperone Lord Srethos as well as these initiates, as long as you are here, perhaps you will share the duty of mentorship with Arancia? These young minds need a role model but Arancia is sure you will suffice for now." As the Gand spoke, Srethros seemed to be distracted by something as he kept looking over the group before speaking himself. “I am no role model, however I’m here and there’s a mission at stake. So for now I will look over these pathetic excuses of initiates. A monster, a beast, and one of the many human like species that inhabits the galaxy. I can’t say they’re impressive but they’ll serve their purpose no doubt.” As the Gamd turned to walk across the bridge over the lava pool, Srethros waited as the initiates just seemed to watch on. Growing annoyed he looked at them all and pointed in the direction of the bridge and the Dread Fortress. As they started to cross, Srethros covered the back of the group from any attack from the native life, if any at all. The magma pit boiled and bubbles as if the fiery liquid splashed and jump about under their feet on the bridge, the heat was incredible and the air was thin. Crossing the bridge, Srethros followed the rest of the group inside the old creaky door of the Dread Fortress, that had been opened by the Gand. Once inside the Haplan initiate would speak whilst putting on his night vision goggles, a crutch of technology to aid his species short coming of poor night vision. He asked “My Lord, how big is this device my lord? knowing the size could narrow down the places it could be" Srethros snorted in regards to the question. “Well I doubt the Dreadmaster’s are just going to leave the device right here in the entry way Initiate.” Srethros spat out, although he didn’t know what the device looked like or even how to actually use it, but he did know weapons. “They’ll keep something like that in what they consider to be the most secure location. We should start there.” Was all that Srethros said as he walked past the group slowly down the darkened hall. Surly if there was some unseen issue the Haplan with the night vision goggles would see it. TAG: Darth Catalyst taciteoccultus darthvoxyn DarthVizuul |
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Post by darthferos on Jul 12, 2018 19:10:56 GMT -5
Name: Taron Ka'Kol
Species: Hapan
Gender: Male
Home Planet: Hapes
Faction Affiliation: Jedi Padawan
Position: Seeker for council of first knowledge
Appearance (eyes, hair, etc): Grey eyes, shoulder length dreaded red-brown hair
Height/Build: 6'4”. Muscular, athletic build.
Extras -
Clothing: black electrotex flight suit under standard brown and tan jedi robes
Weapon(s): Emerald Green lightsaber and a Merr-Sonn Power 5 heavy Blaster Pistol
Ships/Transportation: well maintained “stealth x” x-wing fighter.
Skills – fast thinking. Quick on his feet. Knows how to negotiate. Flirtatious (yes, it’s a skill!) And very knowledgeable about all aspects of the Force.
Languages: Basic, Old Hapan, Twi'lek, some Huttese, and Ancient Sith due to his position.
Non-Force Strengths: good conversationalist. Decent at cards. Very physically and mentally strong.
Non-Force Weaknesses: cannot hold drink. Has a weakness for attractive women. Buts heads with authority.
Personality: tough and headstrong. Smart. Quick on his feet. Good fighter. Good negotiator. Strong in the force. Despises the dark side and the sith.
Bio (and pic, optional): born to a noble mother and Corellian military father on Hapes, taron’s attunement to the force didn't manifest as young as his brother's. That was the reason for the jedi taking his brother so young. Barely around 5. They came for him later. Through his training he had never seen his brother Toran in the temple, and the jedi had no record of him. After being knighted, taron asked to be assigned to the newly rededicated council of first knowledge, part to stop sith artifacts from falling into the wrong hands. Part to try to find his missing brother.
Level: 1
Class: Guardian
Force Affiliation: light side
Force Faction (if applicable): jedi
Lightsaber: emerald green, dual phase, bifuricating.
Lightsaber Style: soresu/Makashi blend
Skill Set
Force powers:
Force push – 1
Force jump – 1
Heal – 1
Mind trick – 1
Battle meld – 1
Force defense – 1
Makashi – 1
Soresu - 1
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Post by darthferos on Jul 12, 2018 19:28:28 GMT -5
Name/Title:Darth Feros
Nicknames/Aliases: None
Age: Appears around 25
Sex: Male
Species: Human
Race: Hapan by Blood
Homeworld: Hapes
Occupation: Sith Lord
Faction Affiliation: Sith
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 205 Lbs
Physical Description: Tall, Lean, And almost purely muscle. Shoulder length red hair, usually pulled back in a tight tail. Durasteel Grey eyes, a deep scar running along his right cheek from the edge of his eye to the corner of his mouth.
Clothing: Feros wears functional clothing. Loose fitting pants tucked into almost knee high boots. A tight shirt under an Over Tunic with a utilitarian leather belt. All black. A long black cloak occasionally covers him to hide his identity and stave off the cold.
Weapons: A single curved hilted Lightsaber dangles from a D Ring at his belt, the metal smoothed over from heavy use. The Blade is a deep Blood Crimson, and the handle is adorned with a sleeve hollowed from a Rancor Tooth.
Equipment: Standard equipment worn in a utility belt.
Vehicles: an Ancient Bes'Uliik star fighter, Skorn
Languages:Galactic Basic, Old Hapan, Sith (All Variants), Mando'a, and Old Galactic Standard.
Combat Abilities: Physically imposing, and adept in the use of Dun Möch, Feros is a master of all forms of lightsaber combat, but prefers a blend of Makashi and Shien/Djem So, to outclass and overpower his opponents. His force lightning is formidable, as well as his basic force Telekinesis.
Other Strengths: Has learned the Art of Shatter point, and, when in the mood, has a way with words and is very intellectual.
Flaws: Like most Hapans, he is proud to a fault, and relies heavily on his personal honor.
Personality: Usually stern, cynical, and sarcastic. Has a dark sense of humor. He's also quite sadistic, enjoying the pain he causes others. He is cold and calculating when in combat. But despite all this, he can be quite charming if the occasion calls for it.
Interests: All forms of combat and the history of the Ancient Sith, particularly the Valley of the Dark Lords
Biography: Feros was born on Hapes, to a family that was once royalty, but had since fallen from Grace. He was given up at a young age to a man who visited and told his parents he was a Jedi, and that their son was very attuned to the Force. The man lied, as he was actually a Sith, and taught Feros the ways of the Dark Side. When Feros had learned all he could from his master, he killed him, deciding he was no longer of any use. Since then, his quest for knowledge and power have led him to sweep the Galaxy in search of knowledge. He found Maladi instead.
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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 Jul 13, 2018 10:44:46 GMT -5
IC Darth Maladi Hyperspace, En Route to Corbos
The Miraluka's empty sockets blinked slowly. Saved K'win. Her name is K'win. Corvar could feel her thoughts intertwining seamlessly with his own projected images. Just as quickly though, her presence diminished from his consciousness. She's here. Her attention seemed to wane completely.
Reaper would barely be able to sense the Miraluka's silent intrusion on his activities. Likely, his focus on the unconscious Twi'lek would overshadow his ability It seemed though that despite his efforts, he would not elicit a reaction from her. If it weren't for her breathing and her signature in the Force betraying her life, he could have assumed her dead. There was something else surrounding her, a presence not quite her own. It seemed to be enveloping her mind in a protective barrier, shutting out her pain and keeping her from waking.
Feros's communique faced significantly less intrusion. With a low chime, his holoprojector flared to life, the translucent image of Maladi standing in front of him in seconds. "Nice to see you again, Feros," Maladi began sternly, an air of malicious superiority surrounding her. "I'd ask for a field report but the Nal Hutta News beat you to it." The hologram shifted to a recording of Feros, Reaper and Corvar in the middle of their assault on the Tranquility crew. "Six presumed dead in Sith attack? While I appreciate your eagerness for bloodshed, Lord Feros, this was to be a covert mission. I see you found Kubjo's most recent playthings though." The recording paused and zoomed, isolating Reaper's masked face and Corvar's. "They are fine specimens. They shall make fine Sith as well." The image wavered and shifted back to Maladi, and she addressed Feros directly again. "We're taking them from the slug, along with whatever he's inevitably sent them to fetch." The image warbled again and refocused on the Miraluka, frozen as a shockwave of Force power radiated outward from her. "Now Feros," Maladi spoke quietly, "tell me about her."
TAG: darthkain7,trentongordon,darthferos,
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Post by darthferos on Jul 13, 2018 11:09:58 GMT -5
IC: Darth Feros Hyperspace En Route to Corbos Feros looked at the fuzzy blue visage of the red skinned Devaronian. Her tongue was dripping with condescension. And his anger was rising. "Yes, well, they didn't give us much choice. And they have bad holoimages at best. You can't make anything out of that. And consider the source, Lady Maladi. Who is going to believe the Hutts or anyone working for them?" He raised an eyebrow and waited a second to frame his words. He knew she was using him. And she knew he hated her. Neither of them had misconceptions about it. "Now. The Miraluka was a passenger on the freighter. The captain seemed to think she was nothing but trouble. He almost begged us to take her. She's strong. A natural affinity for the Force. But it's unrefined. Raw. It needs to be molded. Corvar and Reaper will see our way of thinking soon enough. And then she'll be ours." He paused again. He wanted to know what it was the woman was planning. She had been a One Sith before their fall. He had learned all about the history since finding her. About Darth Krayt. He seemed like a man worth following. And Maladi held to the idea that he wasn't dead. Even though he'd been tossed into a kriffing sun. Feros thought maybe the Dark Side had started to degrade her brain. Never the less, she was useful. For now. "And yes. They will make fine Sith. They're both strong in the Force, and fine fighters. Is there anything else, my Lady?" He already knew the answer. Of course there was. There always was. This was Maladi. Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon |
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theron
Citizen
Posts: 4
Likes: 1
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Post by theron on Jul 13, 2018 12:44:50 GMT -5
Yavin IV Sith Camp hidden deep in the jungle:
Lord Theron shrugged. " My apprentice did ehstvhe was made to do. I see no reason to bring him back so I can personally end his life for being weak. I assume ovet time and the great study of these artifacts, I can make better use of the knowledge."
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theron
Citizen
Posts: 4
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Post by theron on Jul 13, 2018 12:51:59 GMT -5
Sinkhole, Yavin IV:
Theron was stunned by what he read earlier and paid little attention to Darth Havok's warning. Snapping out of his case he focused at the problem at hand. Leaping down from the height, which claimed not to high, Theron felt a small twinch of pain as he landed to the ground. Focusing his efforts to the sound he approached Darth Havok and found him in quick sand. Th I king quickly he surveyed the land scape and drew one if his sabers and ignited it. No point bring unprepared these days. " He raised his hand to Havok and began to pull him slowly from the sand.
TAG: Havok
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