The Old Sith Trials

trentongordon, trentongordon,IC: Darth Feros
Surface of Corbos


Feros could feel it. A tugging sensation. Almost like someone pulling at his very soul with an icy black hand. Almost like voices crying out. There was pain here. Shame and defeat and anger and malice. All welling up under the surface like some boiling geyser ready to explode. It reminded him of Korriban. The red sand and unassuming rock. The oppressive heat and scouring wind of the place even here in the canyon.

He heard the Miraluka and Corvar speaking. He agreed with Corvar. The dead here didn't matter. But some of the things Reaper said just didn't add up.

"No my friend I don't think that's how it works at all. The Jedi would have more than likely left the Sword here as a beacon to hold back any Dark Side influence that would have been left here. I doubt it's been corrupted. If it even had any Force Alignment at all in the first place. Take a lightsaber for instance. It's the same in the hand of a Jedi or a Sith. Either way, it's only a tool. The user deems how the tool is used."

Feros turned to Corvar and the eyeless girl. If she could "see" them, she'd be of more use than any of them ever thought. And she could take point. They'd all be probing with the Force for traps, but it never hurt to have a back-up plan.

"Corvar, she can see them, or so she says. Why don't we put her out front. She can take us to where they're welling up at. Surely the sword won't be far from there. And she can sense things we can't I'm sure. Could be useful to have her as our guide."

Feros knew the girl could lead them into whatever danger she wished that way, but he doubted she'd do anything to risk hurting Corvar. She seemed to have attached herself to him somehow. Maybe it was because he was the only one that had wanted to protect her. If he was being honest, Feros had wanted to kill her outright and be done with it himself. Probably best now that he hadn't, seeing as she was potentially useful. And it was true what Maladi and his old master had taught him. Killing without purpose was wasteful. Even from the grave Feros had sent him to, Mirdoris still found a way to mock Feros. He could hear the man laughing at him in his own head. As soon as the memory came though, it was gone. Mirdoris had no reason to laugh. He'd been murdered by Feros when Feros was still just an apprentice.

And then along came Maladi. Like some sort of blazing red savior. Feros had known he was still no master. And he never would have been if not for her. He had been truly grateful. Right up until she took him under the red sands of Korriban and locked him in what she called "The Embrace." She had said it was necessary to "deprogram" the foolish things Feros had been taught. Feros thought she probably just enjoyed torture.

But none of that mattered. This was a new rusty red sand. And every step he took here was one step closer to his destiny. His purpose. To Order. Order for the Galaxy. For every living being in existence. Under the banner of the Sith Empire. Under the Emperor.

But there was one thing Feros couldn't shake. There was one presence standing out in the Force. It felt older somehow. Ancient even. And powerful, like some writhing knot of raw anger and hunger. It was stronger than anything else Feros could feel on this barren rock. And whatever it was, he didn't want to run into it.

Darth Catalyst, darthkain7, trentongordon,

IC: Darth Xirr
Sith Temple Corridors & Appolyon's chambers, Korriban

---

    Xirr had underestimated the strength of the thieving acolyte's heat shield, he realized, as the chrome hilt that he had moments earlier snatched out of the air quickly blackened and sputtered out harmlessly upon the floor. The bright purple glow that had bathed the room quickly dying, returning the lighting to the more customary oranges and reds of the torches burning upon the sandstone walls. 

    In her attempt to avoid dismemberment, Iuliana had knocked forcefully into the doorframe that led out of Xirr's quarters and into the hallways of the Sith Temple Proper, her oil soaked hands causing the acolyte to lose her grip on the armor that she had pilfered from Xirr. As the armor clattered to the floor in a crimson heap, Iuliana bent down, desperately trying to pick the armor back up and keep moving. In this time, Xirr had already begun to act. The muscular man leaped from his sitting position on the bed, a bare arm shot out to his side, and the sword of ice flew from its resting place in the small alcove from which Iuliana had pulled the armor. The blade twisted through the air towards Xirr, a frosty mist left in its wake, flipping tip over pommel two times before the leather-bound hilt impacted Xirr's palm with a weighty thud. 

    Iuliana was no fool, however, as she decided it would be more lucrative to take but one, small, piece of the armor and possibly leave with her life than it would be to attempt to gather once more the whole set and be cut down where she stood by the enraged Xirr. Picking up but one bracer, the thieving acolyte turned and bolted down the hallway. 

    Xirr was already giving chase. 

    In nothing but his silken undergarments, Xirr took off after the fleeing assassin, hopping over the oily heap of armor obstructing his doorway and skidding barefoot into the middle of the hallway just in time to see the last bit of Iuliana's skirt disappear behind the corner to the adjoining hallway ahead. Xirr made haste after her, descending down the stone steps not but a few yards behind the girl. The hallway below, identical to the one above made for an easy chase. Iuliana was faster than Xirr would have given her credit for, but Xirr, he hoped, was faster. Xirr noticed Iuliana checking beneath each door to determine which of them was, hopefully, unoccupied. The first door lacking a stream of faint light escaping its cracks was her chosen candidate, the girl abruptly turned, slamming the door forcefully against the wall behind it, and barged into the room, Xirr not far behind her. Xirr came into the doorway but moments after Iuliana, the Icy Blade in his grasp freezing the air around it into a ghostly mist that fell like eldritch tentacles to the stone floor beneath. The towering man walked slowly into the room after the girl, but as his eyes adjusted to the different lighting in the room, he noticed something. The room was far from unoccupied. In fact, his two companions from the tomb lay in the bed. Appolyon and Catalyst. 

Xirr was aghast, momentarily, before he regained focus upon the task at hand, not wishing to interrupt Catalyst and Appolyon for longer than was absolutely necessary. Xirr twirled the blade deftly in his hand, approaching Iuliana at a brisk pace. "I asked you a question, acolyte." The muscled man said with feigned airy cheer, "It is indeed very... disrespectful, to ignore someone." Xirr's unoccupied hand shot quickly out in Iuliana's direction, aimed to catch her throat and hoist the girl into the air. "My apologies, my friends," Xirr said to Catalyst and Appolyon with the same airy cheer in his voice "It seems this acolyte was never taught to knock before barging into someone's quarters. I'll have to teach her this lesson." 

TAG: Darth Dreadwar ,Darth Catalyst ,

IC Darth Catalyst
Apollyon’s Quarters

Catalyst idly traced his fingers down Apollyon’s back as she cuddled closer to him. Many different thoughts flitted through his mind, thinking of the consequences of this night, possible ways to enhance the next, more honeyed words to further ensnare Apollyon’s desire. He wondered offhand how the rest of the adventuring party from the tomb was faring at the moment.

Suddenly the door burst open and his last thoughts were quickly answered. A young woman, practically bursting from the servant clothes she wore, tumbled into the room. Close behind her in all the glory his undergarments could muster, Lord Xirr entered. "I asked you a question, acolyte." The muscled man said with a notably forced cheer, "It is indeed very... disrespectful, to ignore someone." Xirr's unoccupied hand shot quickly out in the servant girl’s direction, aimed to catch her throat and hoist the girl into the air. "My apologies, my friends," Xirr said to Catalyst and Appolyon with the same airy cheer in his voice "It seems this acolyte was never taught to knock before barging into someone's quarters. I'll have to teach her this lesson."

Catalyst, not one to be upstaged, stood from Apollyon’s bed, letting the blankets fall away from him and exposing himself entirely to the intruders. He stepped towards Xirr with open arms. “Lord Xirr,” he exclaimed jovially, “You should have told me you wanted me to show you how to woo a woman!” He clapped his arm around the larger man’s shoulders. “Now I know you'll never find one as fine as our Emperor’s Hand here, but this servant girl is quite the catch, even for you.” He completely ignored the fact that she was obviously holding a piece of Xirr’s armor in her arms, and there was entirely nothing romantic about the entire situation. This was Catalyst's punishment for a good time, he was certain. He was going to make it his moment of glory. He could see Xirr attempting to hold her throat with the Force and decided to offer a helping hand. “Now, if your woman likes to be choked, you have to be sure follow up with attention to other areas.” He called his lightsaber hilt to his hand and used it as a professor would use a baton, pointing out the servant girl’s ample backside. “Spanking, squeezing, scratching, all of these are acceptable but very basic in nature.” He ignited one of the deep orange blades. “Some women gain pleasure from more intense sensations.” He deactivated blade and jabbed the still hot emitter towards the center of the girl’s back, intent on searing her flesh with a perfect ring to remind her for the rest of her days that she had barged in on the wrong Sith Lord.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , dice

IC:Reaper

Reaper had heard Feros and wondered. Perhaps that was the case. It wasn't too far fetched and is a good idea. Although if it was a beacon it seems to have failed its job as he couldn't feel any of the light here. Perhaps it was but he couldn't feel it. He loved this planet. The feeling. It invigorated him like when he was fighting. But he had something at hand for now. First the sword must be reclaimed. Then what to do with it will be decided upon after that. He'd either decide to give it to the slug, or GIVE it to him.

"Well. Why don't we get exploring then. Feros if you're right then the Miralukan should lead. They'd leave it where most of the dead are. If we don't find it there then we must search for the mines. One way or another I fear you must face your fears, Corvar."

Tag: darthkain7, darthferos, Darth Catalyst

 I.C. Xxys 

  Xxys watched as the Blood Knights received their orders and made haste to their positions.
  The Dark Lord Heleniths plan was simple; hold their position long enough for the Yevetha to join with the reinforcements and hit the enemy from behind. He removed his cloak and secured his hood. All around him he could feel the others tensing for the coming onslaught.

Xxys closed his eyes and inhaled the frigid air.

  This was not the first time he had faced what seemed like insurmountable odds. Over the decades Xxys had stood in the crucible of battle again, and agin. Facing oblivion over and over, until he had become...intimate, with death. As the decades passed into centuries Xxys allowed the Dark Side greater and greater sway until he no longer was just a Sith with a Saber; but an extension of the will of the Dark Side. Each time he remembered the words of his Master;
“Listen to he Dark Side. Follow where it leads.” 
  Xxys would open his essence to the Dark Side and it would lead him in that deadly dance of fire, and blood. Those ancient women again singing in his mind, robed hands intertwining his fingers and guiding his hands to war.

  Xxys opened his eyes and inhaled again.
  The cold that filled him this time had little to do with the chill air. The Dark Side was taking him in an embrace deeper than any frozen wind could hope to match. He was a cold instrument of its will.

  If his right hand had been flesh he would have felt the warmth as he ignited his saber.
 
  As the front of the collapsed wall exploded Xxys could see the crushed remains of the Gorog. Before the dust and debris finished clattering to the floor the opening was flooded with cyborg troopers roaring into the citadel like a mechanical wave of doom.
Positioned at the top of the staircase the Dark Lords and Xxys would hold the small advantage of the high ground, and the staircase formed a bottleneck; however the numbers would be...problematic, if the reinforcements didn’t get there before...

The hoard reached the base of the stairs.

The first wave hit like a battering ram; overwhelming the Blood Knights a few dozen steps below their position. As the cyborgs were forced into the relative narrow path of the stairs Xxys positioned himself to guard the their right flank.

  Xxys faced four opponents swarming up his section of the stairs.

  The Blood Knight two steps down was a novice, and quickly dispatched, the upper half of his cleaved body hurled by a kick at Xxys legs. His killer then fires a wrist mounted blaster. Already in motion to avoid the flailing torso, Xxys nostrils are filled with the familiar sweet smell of ionized blood from the saber wound on the bisected knight.
  He opens his mind, body and essence to the Dark Side.
  Thought is too slow. Only by letting the Dark side guide his movements is he able stay ahead of the cyborgs superior physical advantage by bounding to his right and putting the advancing three cyborgs between himself and the one firing. Relentlessly the three rush forward, two attack with their sabers, the third directing a kick at Xxys head from the right. As the kick comes towards his head Xxys rolls under the leg and en passant, backhand slashes the supporting leg in an attempt to sever it just above the knee. As Xxys rolls to his feet and exerts a force push to the cyborgs back in an effort to send it hurtling towards the cyborg firing the wrist blaster. Turning on the ball of his right foot Xxys crouches low and directs Force lightning at the two advancing cyborgs. His right hand holding his saber in a defensive posture ready to block any incoming fire.

Darth Dreadwar, @daughterofvader,Vesper,@sinre,darthkain

IC: Darth Viscretus / Empress Volshe
Bridge of the Triumphant / The Emperor’s Sanctum, Korriban



The Empress preceded Gederp and Vlloth - the body she inhabited stiffening ever so slightly at her sudden additional command of it. Her mind still swirled with unfathomable depth, with the frosted touch of reminiscence - her mouth still bitter with the coppery tang of darkness and the bridge’s dry air.

She strode far beyond them, orienting herself and directing her purposeful steps towards the command hangar. The journey was short - relatively - and she did not pause a moment until she had reached the hastily descending ramp.

The sudden decorum of the hangar’s officers did not escape her. She gave an elegant nod, as she had once been accustomed to, before gliding up the ramp.

She settled in the small personal chambers aboard it, seated in a velveret chair with high back. Certainly not standard issue, and even more certainly not her style. Yet, it sufficed. She exhaled, steadying herself and centring herself in the room, a hand reaching to brush dust from the sole greenery she had seen in ages. Her borrowed fingertips traced along the millaflower’s dainty crimson petals. Some familiarity gave her pause as well as aided in her attempts to centre her energy. But as she felt her power replenish and the darkness bathe her in its seductive warmth, the petals curled away, twisting upon themselves. She frowned.

A cascade of ethereal skirts followed her rising form. She strode towards the small communications dock, flicking through static and chatter aimlessly.

She would not be required for the preparations, and preferred to await them while allowing her mind to rest. The tenuous hold she still maintained across light-years was more taxing than even she expected, the boost of the tomb’s magick seemingly faltering and fading as the end of a candle might. Before she allowed herself to truly focus inwardly and return what energy she could spare to the Sith Temple, she remembered one more task at hand.

Her hand paused mid-flick, a crackle of voices breaking through the rhythmic pulses she had created. Instead, she pressed three buttons in fluid motion, connecting the comm to the medbay.

"I would request an update on Lady Tano, and call for her presence in the command hangar at once.”

To her surprise, no nurse or physician answered the call. It merely broadcast her request. Her hand fell to her side. Usually, such would inspire some mild ire at the lack of response. For now, she welcomed the delay. She pocketed the comm and turned back towards the chair, where the flower’s petals had just begun to unfurl, and settled back into it. She let her eyes close, bringing her to the Emperor’s tower - very near the final steps and threshold beyond.



She ascended. Time paused for a moment around her, the darkness that had warmed her seized her now instead. A glance down saw her hem bathed in churning mist. It would have reminded her again of the welcoming fog of Serenno, if it had not gripped her as the glacial deserts of Rhen Var instead.

The little energy she had regained flooded from her fingertips as the Emperor turned. A breath froze in her throat, and with his hissing question she became the crimson flower, quivering ever slightly, yearning to preserve herself.

"What are you doing here, little dove?"

With such an urge came the rush, growing, nipping at her palms and heels. An exhilarating high only malevolence could bring. Her breath released, a puff of air escaping her - the only humanity in the room. Her head averted to the floor, hiding the quirk of a smile before the first sinew pulled in her paled, gaunt cheeks. She lowered her frame slightly, daring the smallest step forward as she did - knowing that she could test another limit as the game progressed.

“Certainly you know, my liege,” she replied with subtle sweetness, raising her gaze cautiously, a glimmer in her eyes.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar
TAGSET: Triumphant/UR and TAGSET: The Emperor's Tower

IC: Voidwalker
The Sith Temple, Korriban

As Voidwalker tried to shake the cold feeling of being watched, it seemed that he would have to wait longer for his answer from Lord Coatlec. A new trio had arrived and were going on about some mission, mostly directed to Coatlec it seemed. From what Voidwalker gathered these were not friends of Coatlec’s since the presumable leader referred to Coatlec as a “little warrior”. The three men didn’t even look like Sith, they looked more like savages and brutes rather than wielders of the Force. Still there was something about them, if they were not dark siders then why would they be on Korriban, let alone have a mission from the Emperor. Listening to the words from the group, Voidwalker stepped up to stand directly next to Lord Coatlec, just to his left.

Learning to loose, I feel that’s a lesson I just learned very well. Still I do not have time to deal with these savages. I have to get to Emir so I can get out to the Tomb and claim my artifact. Not to mention I need to get to the Emperor. These fools need to hurry up.

Without warning the savage to the left of center called out “Well, maggot?” As he stepped forward and shot his hand out, aiming for Coatlec, presumably his throat. As soon as Voidwalker seen the motion, he cast his right arm out to the side over the chest of Lord Coatlec, to intercept the grasp of the unknown man. If he would grab anything, it would be nothing more than Voidwalker’s own arm.

“Tell me about this great beast that’s to be hunted.” Voidwalker said in a stern tone, one that wouldn’t show any sort of intimidation from the group of new comers. His crimson eyes showing no signs of fear or even if he would second guess his decision. “The Cathar there is a natural hunter, given her species. The girl is a talented smuggler and pirate, so you know she can handle herself. As for myself, well I’ve been called a senseless murder.” The echo of Garn’s shouting ringing through his head the same way they had when he had murdered one of Garn’s ‘employees’. “I’m sure between the three of us, along with your group and Lord Coatlec, there’s nothing we cannot kill.”

A shrieking pierced the ear canals of Voidwalker, as a new voice had seemingly emerged from no where. “Jen'jidai!” The beast cried out. It laid a hand upon Coatlec’s shoulder as if it knew him. "You will bring me to those! It is required! The Lord and Darkness demand it! You must!”

What is this creature? How does it know Lord Coatlec? What the hell is going on here? Is this the creature that was the cause of my cold unease? Is this what was watching us? I need answers and fast.



TAG: Darth Dreadwar kurtishenschel @lordjania Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror Zhav'vorsa darthkain7 @sinre Volshe (Your tag is here Empress)

IC: Zul’tar
Sith Temple, Korriban

As the drinks flowed all across the cantina, mostly into the gullet of the victorious warlord, Zul’tar could not help but feel Zhav'vorsa's eyes on him at nearly every given moment. Perhaps Zhav'vorsa found Zul’tar’s loyalty questionable, thinking that Zul’tar had lost his sense of honor in the wilds of Dathomir, and perhaps paranoid that Zul'tar was just being subservient so that the old warrior could attack the Warlord unexpectedly. He had lost a lot in those woods: his wife, his home, the axe that now sat on the Warlord’s back. But never his honor. He was not like these sycophant Sith, willing to smile in your face then drive a dagger into your back. If Zul'tar ever had the urge to kill Zhav'vorsa, it would not be done without the Warlord knowing of his intentions first. That, of course, was if Zul'tar wanted the Warlord dead in the first place. He did not.
Even if Zhav'vorsa was throwing his weight as Warlord around, using that power to subjugate Zul’tar to various insults, up to and including keeping his axe; Zul'tar had no ill will towards him. The Warlord had done too much good for his clan for Zul'tar to even consider it.

Before long, the trio of brutish warriors were pushing their way through the drunken rabble of the cantina and making their way back outside, where it was growing steadily darker and colder; the sky had turned a dark red hue as the sun set on the horizon, differing from the typical rust color of the atmosphere. Zul’tar doubted that night would be the best time to hunt this beast, whatever it was, but he was not willing to protest to either Zhav'vorsa or Vua, the latter of whom he'd grown to respect after seeing his display against the Warlord.
The trio maintained stoic silence as they approached the exit to the temple grounds, ready to begin their hunt. But there was a group of Sith ahead, loitering it seemed. Zul'tar did not care. He believed they would be moved aside like the rest of the fools here.
That is, until Zhav'vorsa threw up a hand, signalling Zul'tar and Vua to halt. Zul'tar did so, not sure why Zhav'vorsa wanted to stop. But then his eyes found the aged, crimson-skinned Twi'lek from before, the one who had collapsed beside him hours before. It seemed he was fine now, though Zul'tar couldn't shake away the amused grin caused by the memory of such embarrassment.
“Little warrior,” Zhav'vorsa said to the Twi'lek, an equally amused smirk on his face. The term was an insult among the clan, typically describing one who believed themselves more powerful than they actually were. Zul'tar had once been called that by a rival during his days as a young hunter back on Dathomir. One duel to the death later, and that rival’s head had been removed with a single cleaving of Zul'tar’s axe.
“Did you bring these others to learn to lose?” the Warlord asked, still speaking to the Twi'lek. Zul'tar was not sure what Zhav'vorsa was referring to, though it was obvious that he was referencing something that had happened between the two of them before Zul'tar had been freed from the witch’s torture. As for learning to lose, that was a lesson Zul'tar learned long ago. It's why he made no motion to retrieve his axe despite how slighted he had been. Verbal insults were leagues beyond being beaten to the brink of death.
The Twi'lek stopped dead in his tracks as Zhav'vorsa spoke, beads of sweat forming on his wrinkled brow. The look in his eyes showed fear, something that the Warlord knew how to exploit.
“Or have you been out here waiting for the Warlord this whole time?” Zhav'vorsa raised an eyebrow, studying the gathering of Sith around the coward. “Are you ready to hunt Dreadwar’s terrible beast?”

The Twi'lek stood stiff, frozen in his fear. Zul'tar could hear an audible gulp escape from the old being’s throat as he tried to process the Warlord’s questions, or perhaps his mind was still trying to decipher just how bad his luck was that he had run into Zhav'vorsa once again.
Vua moved forward without warning, growling, “Well, maggot?” His arm shot for the Twi'lek’s throat like a cannon, ready to encase the red, wrinkled flesh in his monumental grip. But another one of the Sith had reacted just as quickly, blocking the attempted choke with his forearm. The Sith had better be careful; Zul'tar had no doubt that Vua could snap his arm in half if he wished to.
The Sith who had decided to protect the frail Twi’lek decided to speak up. “Tell me about this great beast that’s to be hunted,” he said. Pointing to his feline companion, the Sith spoke, "The Cathar there is a natural hunter, given her species. The girl is a talented smuggler and pirate, so you know she can handle herself.” Through the Force, Zul'tar could then feel a flare of the Sith’s ego as he continued with, “As for myself, well I’ve been called a senseless murderer.” Nothing to be proud of, but who was Zul'tar to judge? “I’m sure between the three of us, along with your group and Lord Coatlec, there’s nothing we cannot kill.” The Sith finally finished speaking, and Zul'tar was more confused than anything.
A senseless murderer? Why protect someone too weak to protect themselves then? There had to be some connection between the Sith and this Coatlec for the stranger to stick his neck, or more accurately, arm out for the decrepit Twi'lek. It was a funny feeling Zul'tar had, but he knew that this man was a liar, and perhaps skilled enough at it to trick most of his comrades. But the old warrior was not so easy to fool. He kept his mouth shut, not daring to interrupt Zhav'vorsa, but he would keep a close eye on this Sith, whether the Warlord took him on the hunt or not.

Whatever thoughts he had were quickly erased, however, by a screech that seemed to echo for miles. Its voice was filled with terror and malice in equal parts; whatever being this voice belonged to had to be horrid in appearance.

“Jen'jidai! You will bring me to those! It is required! The Lord and Darkness demand it! You must!”

Zul'tar turned towards Zhav'vorsa, his brow raised. "The beast to kill?"


TAGS: Zhav'vorsa , Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror , @sinre , Darth Voidwalker , @lordjania , kurtishenschel , Volshe

IC: Nannley
Location: Sith Temple, Korriban

Nannley had remained on her knees with her head down as she awaited her answer from the woman. One minute passes and she hadn’t heard anything yet but hope wasn’t gone. Two minutes and she now peeked up and saw that Talon had already left her and left the Cathar bowing only to the wind itself. Staying in the position for a tiny longer she realized she had learned her first lesson from a Sith... that she is nothing and she will remain nothing until she proves herself worthy of acknowledgement. But being someone who has earned acknowledgment before, the Cathar Hunter was more than ready to prove herself.

Standing up and clutching her lightsaber hilt as she felt a start tinge of anger, the girl closed her eyes before taking a deep breath as she let her hostility go just as soon as it came. Walking backwards two steps before effortlessly and gracefully turning around so that she can face the group, she made her way over to Karina as she saw the girl still acting cautious towards everyone here even the new arrivals. Striding until she was standing beside her, Nannley would attach the lightsaber back to her belt clip before leaning over slightly with a smile. “I guess we will be together much longer than I expected. Though I hardly expect this to be the climax of our day. Keep an eye out.” She shot the friendly warning before standing up straight and finally hearing the one known as Voidwalker scold her for her sudden move.

Listening to the claimed Sith somewhat shun her and seemingly mocking her about how her recent decision in trying to get a Master, Nannley would roll her eyes before deciding if the man was even worth giving an answer. Sighing not less than a moment later, the feline would open her mouth to address what he said about her. “Do not mock me for trying to find my path to power. If you had the opportunity to get a strong teacher and skip the bottom rung of the ladder would you not take it either? I thought so...” she finished with a tiny show of her fangs though it was actually unintentional.

Growing quiet from that point on, Nannley would listen to them converse a little as she folded her arms and did her best to keep the dust off her fur and clothing. The hunter couldn’t stand how the wind seemed to be blowing up often and the sand and dust seemed almost determined to annoy her by getting places that caused itching and irritation. Though, she had her goals for being here on Korriban, Nannley was already ready for the times where she wouldn’t have to be here because she’s high up enough in the Sith that she can just be reached by holocom instead of actually needed to show up in person.

Watching the two mysterious men and a species that Nannley couldn’t even begin to guess join the group, the Cathar kept her hands down to her side as she didn’t like how she felt them through the force but wouldn’t say anything or act on it. Keeping close to the cyborg, Nannley would use the girl if it came to the point that these strangers begin to display hostility to them all. Staying cautious as she heard them belittle and mock the twi’lek that their guide, the Hunter would shake her head as she did her best to keep a eye on the strange looking man that had arrived. At first glance he appeared to be human but upon furthering looks it wasn’t hard to tell the slopped forehead, muscular build, lack of hair, and almost missing nose that made it clear he wasn’t human. However, there was something else about him that worried her. She couldn’t feel the force in or around him... the feeling she received was cold and felt akin to being tossed into a void and forgotten about... or it was like she could feel life and essence being consumed into nothingness. The man certainly had her rattled and on her toes but she couldn’t show it, she couldn’t show that he was getting to her otherwise it would do little to help her cause of wanting to be here on Korriban.

Silently watching them berate the twi’lek more, Nannley was patiently waiting for this obvious ego high by the newcomers to finish so they could actually be on their way when she saw something she didn’t expect. Voidwalker had inserted himself into the conversation. But instead of going the route she thought most eager young Sith would go, the man seemed to be acting with a genuine heart and a kind mind. Could he be?? No no, she dismissed the thought before she even allowed it to take root as she would only cloud her own mind and her guard would drop. Hearing her presence be called upon by Voidwalker as he called her a natural Hunter she smiled for a good moment as she enjoyed when people addressed her species with compliments instead of the insults she usually heard elsewhere. Now knowing that these guys were hunting a beast, Nannley figured she could earn some points here with other people if she helped with this... the girl wasn’t known as the Moonlit Demon for nothing. Stepping up closer to the group she would smile as it was time to turn on her Hunter mode. “Whatever this beast is of yours I’m sure we can hunt it down and I can be a great help. Back on my home planet we hunted large great beast as initiations and rituals... doing it on another planet could be a nice change.” She would finish as she figured that would cement her place in this group for now. However, before she could continue they were met by another distraction.

Hearing what she couldn’t even describe, Nannley would feel her body go cold and her fur practically standing up as this terror filled and harsh voice screeched at them all from seemingly nowhere. Looking around as her hand shot down to her saber she would grab it but not activate it yet as she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. Hearing it’s message, she couldn’t even begin to figure out it was but she could extremely feel the dark side of the force in almost every single syllable. It was dripping hot like the temptation of young in her species and she could feel its pull getting to her. Was that simply how the woman’s voice and presence felt with amplified by the voice or was this how Korriban was in general. No wonder people can no longer resist the dark side and becomes its slaves and followers when they stay for too long... was this what it meant to become Sith? As the voice finished it’s message and disappeared, the girl would reattach her hilt to her belt as she looked at the newcomers and Coatlec. “What in the galaxy was that and what was it talking about? I couldn’t even understand what it was saying in the beginning.” She finished before looking upon them hoping they had the answers.

Tag: Darth Voidwalker, kurtishenschel, Zhav'vorsa, @sinre, Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror, Volshe, @darthakin7

Combo with Darth Dreadwar

IC: Darth Viscretus
The Emperor's Sanctum, Korriban



“I am beyond you.”

The words swirled about her as the void of darkness did, a strangest miasma both ecstatic and horrific, merged together into one bitter tang. Her lips pursed. Would it have been any other being, they might have twisted into the frown that tugged at her cheeks. Her expression may have betrayed some irritation. But she would not display her dissatisfaction to him any more than her mind already had. Most obviously he was not in the mood for any flirtation. A pity.

But though her appearance had only one true purpose, she could no doubt shift the thick, frigid air to something in tune with the Emperor's preference.

She maintained silence for a moment, both refusing to indulge his response and refusing to let herself overstep. Her hand quickly dipped into her satchel - still strapped across her lithe torso - pulling the holocron from it. As her head rose, she allowed a reply.

“You flatter me, my Lord,” she began, her hand dropping and the holocron suspending in the air. She knew what would come next. She anticipated it, her voice glazed in sultry sweetness. “Allowing me to witness such a display of Greatness…”

A shimmer dripped down the edge of the holocron as it began to rotate metres above the ground. Her eyes averted from it, even the slight rotation dizzying in her strained state. Briefly though, before she continued, she realised the effect of the Tomb still lingered. She was not subject to the searing darkness as she was before, despite her preoccupation. It should have reassured her. It did not.

Standing in the shadow of death, where her very mind twisted and ebbed with the weight of the Emperor's presence, she should have feared. She felt no reassurance as she felt no horror, the agony instead something delectable - a high that enraptured her every thought and resided in every cell. A sensation that quickened her breaths and the throb of her heart. She still sought self preservation, her survival. This was not stupidity, nor lack of caution. It was more complex, beyond any explanation. Her next words came with a lesser caution as the poisonous, sweet darkness extended its claws into her psyche, slithering in where the Emperor had left those slightest wounds.

“I have many facets, ki Sith’ari, more desires than merely the carnal. Knowledge, as one. Perhaps you can aid me in my desires.” She did not smirk at the overt double meaning in her request, though it was rather tempting. Instead, she clarified further, her eyes glanced up, smoldering, focused into the magnetic blackness of the Emperor's cowl. “I wish to know the origins of this."

The Emperor was silent for nearly a minute, a too-long moment that stretched in corrupt and corpulent pregnancy, heavy with dreadful anticipation. It was as if he were testing Viscretus' commitment to the question as much as he was studying the devilish device, trying how long she would brave his deathly presence and hold the holocron aloft. In truth, however, her words were simply playing over his mind; her double entendre had not been lost on him, and how to respond while retaining the dignity deserving his station poised a question more difficult than her stated.

His cowl rippled with each intake of spectral breath, as if it were the entrance to a tomb, its dark and gaping cavity pulling on the air from the surface with whooshes of eerie wind. Each ghostly inhalation seemed to steal some of the warmth from the air, and the holocron of smooth onyx formed a fine glaze of frost in midair, crystals of ice prickling Viscretus' skin like those awful daggers of anxiety accompanying the raising of hair during rushes of adrenaline.

At last, Dreadwar spoke. His serpentine susurrus had softened, but the air remained thick with malice, calcified into callous hardness that weighed oppressively against Viscretus' aura. "That is the holocron of Darth Venomis, child," he whispered, opting to ignore her arch undertones. "You will find no reference of that name in any script. There are some things in the galaxy, nameless and loathsome, that predate even writing as we know it. But you might be familiar with another name."

Dreadwar turned away, placing his gauntleted hands behind his cloak, pacing slowly around a stone altar bearing several deformed skulls. "Tell me, child, in all your centuries," if his choice of wording was contradictory, he did not seem to know it, "have you ever heard of rumours from far galactic west, of eldritch and ancient forces in the Unknown Regions, of planets lost to abysmal apocalypse, of armies of the dead reanimated in foul mockery of the living?"

He turned back to her, hood slowly affixing an invisible stare. "Perhaps, when you yet served in the Galactic Empire of yore, you heard of Imperial bioweapons Project I71A?"

She extended a similar courtesy of chilled silence as she returned the holocron to her hand. It was not frigid as she expected, but warm, though that of a feverish sweat rather than any comforting heat. Her palm held the base, fingers resting upon it's sides. She broke from his stare and directed her gaze to the frosted chalcedony, the icy webs melting into her hand, her ivory skin nipped with the same frost where rivulets of poisoned dew escaped.

"Heard of Blackwing? We were lucky to not witness it." She paused, briefly, quickly amending her statement. "At the time."

A sole drop suspended itself upon her nail, and she transferred the holocron to her opposing hand. Her finger rose, catching the light in the dangling orb swirling with black mist and crystalline solid. In any setting not so malevolent, it would have appeared beautiful - fingers tipped with obsidian, adorned with coruscating jewels of dew.

In careful, almost studious motion, she rose it to her lips, allowing the liquid to settle upon her tongue. She did not speak for a moment. Her eyes shut, not in savouring of the flavour, but in thought as she assessed its familiarity. It tasted as the Emperor felt, as the bitterness his aura demanded.

But it was complex beyond that, notes of death and disease, floral yet poisonous, honeyed...yet of unending suffering. Familiar as the river paths of Keren and yet foreign, cloying, as though the calm cobbled stones twisted into spires of the very same onyx her hand clutched, their tips daggers directed towards not her heart but her mortal soul, the lights from the towers not light but some unseeing realm reaching for her, clawing at her, teeth tearing at her, slithering hands of tar smothering her, tens of them gripping at her throat so she would join them in their eternal suffering and blackened demise. And suddenly, eyes of piercing darkness. She could not see them, merely feel them, pupils hissing at her as though they were invisible gaping maw.

A clatter roused her. Her eyes opened, a gasp escaping her lips, hand falling from her now-reddened lips. The holocron lie upon the stone, her hand crimson and creased from where she had been clutching it.

A breath brought her back to the Sanctum, the cold for once welcome as it aided her in recollecting her shaken composure. A second brought her words back to her. A third allowed her throat to clear, though a pressure still weighed upon it.

"Though perhaps you forget what I have done, what I have myself subjected this Galaxy to. I have tasted the black death, as I have tasted that rivulet upon my tongue. I have witnessed the plagues that each Empire sought to harness. I have allowed it to seize the living for our gain..."

She stopped herself, realising that she had no need to reply further. It took a moment before she realised that her fear and alarm lingered still from the frost, not from the Sanctum nor even the Emperor. That she need not bristle...for the prowling vornskr was not in the room. She released her breath.

"What of it?"

It was obvious, to Dreadwar, that Viscretus' boasts of intimacy with the eldritch entity known as Mnggal-Mnggal were rather exaggerated. She had not tasted the black death, certainly not literally; if she had, Dreadwar knew that ingesting even a droplet of its foul essence was enough to allow reproduction of the virus, resulting in complete possession - although over a longer timeframe than when bitten by an undead host.

That lack of familiarity was clearly responsible for her foolishness just now. He had not expected her to use her tongue to probe the veiled mysteries of the holocron. An utterly unnecessary gesture, clearly designed to titillate the senses with the barest hint of provocation, and one Viscretus could pay for; the droplet of water she had brought to her lips, condensed from the frozen glaze Dreadwar's icy aura had left on the holocron's inky surface, had surely mingled with the residue of its primordial creator.

"You acted in sheer foolishness, just now," he hissed. "The holocron bleeds the viral essence of its creator." And what you have just done is tantamount to lickingit, you bloody idiot, seemed like too inelegant a thought to verbalise. It fell outside of the role he was playing, of the mannerisms of calm, controlled, sinister sophistication endemic to the Dread Emperor - the mask, the persona, the immortal known as Ku'ar Danar had donned.

He had planned on informing her of such, of course, the instant she had revealed her possession of the holocron he had stored away safely in his tomb; he hadn't expected her to lick it in the seconds before he could continue his explanation. Perhaps that was the point - perhaps Viscretus played the fool, to force his hand to hurry his explanations, to cease the riddles and pull back the veil of mystery? Or perhaps, even, to place herself in danger and coax out the answer as to whether the Emperor valued her life? No, no, he did not think so; he would have sensed such mischief.

Nonetheless, there was value in the Vahlan, more value than Viscretus herself knew - more than Dreadwar could ever reveal. While it was questionable so little and so ancient a residue would be enough to hollow her out in hoary transformation into dark undead, Dreadwar could not stake his plans on that chance. "Come here," he hissed, and with a flick of his mind, a candle floated from the altar to his gauntleted hand. The flame flickered in his grasp, but the icy aura did not extinguish it.

"Do not question me," he said, holding the candle up towards her. "Press your tongue to the flame."

His dissatisfaction roiled in the mists, churning even within her as the candle floated to his hand.

She may have acted in a foolish manner, but she was not so foolish that she would disobey such a sudden shift in his faceless countenance. Though her heart still pounded with the nightmarish vision, she did not sense even the vaguest of danger from the Emperor's request. It seemed more to result from her actions a moment ago. But it was a bizarre punishment, to be certain, and an even more bizarre trick - were it to be one. Or perhaps it would be a lesson, a question as to why she would taste something so potentially harmful with such utter nonchalance...

Her steps brought her within inches of him, and her lily-white face tilted rather carefully towards the candle.

Her fingers brushed aside her curls, bringing them to a side away from the reach of flame. The hand then searched forward for the altar's stone, glancing so slightly upon his gauntlet as it did that her fingers seized. She nearly recoiled entirely, its chill seared through her nerves, clawing into her spine. She froze, before letting it flutter to the altar and rest itself upon the frigid surface. She steadied herself upon it as she bent forward further, golden rings upon her tingling fingers, glittering in the light.

Her tongue slipped from between her lips towards the dancing flame, the moisture upon it fizzling with the ebb and flow of fire and ice. Not a sinew within her moved for a moment, save her still beating heart. Her eyes flicked up to where his might be as she leant in further, though they were not as dazzling nor seductive as one would have expected. Curiosity was what shimmered in the ember glow, the others as undertones, merely simmering as the very blood that coursed through her tongue as it submerged in the flame. It burned, though not intensely so, like the biting finish of some Corellian brandy - only missing the intoxicating sweetness. Her eyes shut for one, two seconds. An attempt to avoid pushing the wrath with some further wile as she let the fire dance and burn upon her tongue. She did not pull away but glanced to him again, awaiting some signal before she withdrew.

It was only then that the briefest whisper of thought came to her, as she remained sufficiently unscathed, her tongue not so much as scalded by the flame. A whisper that turned abrupt, stirring her enough that her tongue briefly escaped the droplet of fire. Was it an act of some protection? Her eyes shifted from expectant query for a heart beat, her pupils dilating as the undertones of prior attempted to surface.

Her back arched nearly imperceptibly. She stifled the rush of adrenaline that accompanied it all, returning her composure, chastising herself for letting such thought gain such solid purchase in her mind, so much that she had lost her bearing. It would be noticeable to him, if her thoughts were not loud enough already. And should it be that the mischievous whisper were incorrect, she did not wish to be at his mercy - at least, not in any way so utterly deadly.

Dreadwar pulled the candle away abruptly, the flame receding but the pain lingering. The Emperor's aura hardened. He had caught that errant thought, and it displeased him.

It displeased him because it was true.

He could attempt to convince himself he would have helped any other Sith, as unleashing an infestation of Mnggal-Mnggal upon the Temple would have been disastrous. But Darth Dreadwar had spent seven thousand years honing the art of sapient rationality, and the first premise was this: That which can be destroyed by the truth, should be. Rationalisation was not rationality. Rationalisation was its antonym. Rationalisation was the symptom of erroneous thinking, of mundane thinking, of bending the truth to convenience and bending one's mind around comforting lies. It was not a vice the Emperor would ever indulge again, not after so many years of exhaustively purging himself of as many cognitive biases as the most comprehensive compendiums of philosophy and psychology contained.

He would not rationalise this. He had done it to protect her. Her specifically, as an instrumental value, not a value as relating to another goal. Not the Temple. Not even, he realised, catching his prior thoughts in a lie, his future plans.

Dreadwar turned away, breaking her scorching gaze, placing the candle back on the altar. He did not turn back. "Begone, woman," he hissed. "Away with you and your folly."

She did not budge. For one, her query remained unanswered. For another, his sudden withdrawal and the swell of malevolence pointed to only one thing.

Her final thought had been the correct one, in all its unbelievable, seemingly fantastical existence.

The air hitched in her chest, silently, but that also put pause to the rhythmic hush of her breaths. As blood flushed in her chest, her wounded tongue burning with it, so did her curiosity flare further. Her feet entirely refused even the slightest motion to fulfill his order, as her neurons latched onto the newly minted puzzle. A puzzle far more intriguing than the holocron which remain lying upon the floor.

The questioned echoed in her mind, behind sultry golden eyes. Why?

The air rippled around the Emperor, and a powerful pulse of invisible energy radiated from him. Its passage warped the shadows roiling across the floor, extinguished several candles and shoved Viscretus towards the spiral stair.

"I said," he hissed, "begone."


There was a pattering of feet behind her. The sound of heavy breathing, of hurried steps ascended two at a time, preceded the arrival of Apollyon's aide Erastus. He was wearing the same caped black attire Viscretus had seen him wear in the library earlier in the day, in the meeting that had prompted the quest to Sadow's - no, Dreadwar's - tomb, although his hair had flattened some, suggesting he had not styled it since that morning.

"My Lord Emperor," he said breathlessly, eyes flicking over to Viscretus briefly before looking back to the Emperor. He promptly cast himself down on the floor, splaying himself on the stone in protocol-dictated reverence. After a second of prostration, he gathered himself up from the floor, straightening his golden collar as he did so. "My Lord Emperor," he repeated, "pardon the intrusion upon your sanctum, but I heard screams coming from the quarters of your Hand! I dared not enter, my Lord, but I made haste to your tower straightaway!"

Dreadwar did not grace him with a view of the empty hood. His back remained turned to Erastus and Viscretus both, his cloak rippling subtly around him. Erastus' alarm was entirely unwarranted; through the eyes of the Force, Dreadwar had seen what was transpiring in Apollyon's chambers, and he knew what the young assistant had heard were not outcries of pain, but pleasure.

"Your report is meaningless," the Emperor said. "Do not waste my time with trivialities. Escort Lady Viscretus back to her chambers."

Viscretus' eyes narrowed. Her hand brushed non-existent dust from her bodice and skirts, quite unnecessarily, her other hand wielded the Force to pluck the holocron from the floor. Evidently she would be solving the mysteries within through her own methods. She tucked it away, proceeding hastily and quite hotly, sauntering ahead of the quite-reddened Erastus. She offered no look to the Emperor as she began her descent, only a subtle wave of her hand enough to extinguish one sole, short candle upon the altar.

"Come, Erastus," she called behind her, silently fuming, the torrent of chemicals still flooding and crashing upon the tempered walls of her mind. She contemplated flinging him from the steps, or merely leaving him in a huff to gawk at their fickle Emperor, but settled finally on following his instruction. Perhaps she could yet sate her malevolent desires with him in tow...for certainly dear Apollyon was not faring so poorly...yet. Perhaps a visit was in order...or perhaps something else would snuff her ire. A witness was surely beneficial to her twisted schemes.

She looked back, nearly at the bottom of the first flight. Her voice rose, her mind still simulating various scenarios to soothe the flaring irritation, attempting to decide upon any action at all.

"You'd best follow me."

"Of course, my lady," Erastus said eagerly, padding down the stairs behind her. His tone was the sort of innocent excitement that well-fitted a man naive enough to entirely misunderstand the happenings within Apollyon's chambers, as if he were giddy to be invited to so much as trail in the wake of a Sith Lady other than the Emperor's Hand to which he had become accustomed.

He was attractive, in a boyish kind of way. While he was two centuries younger than Viscretus, around 20, her manipulation of her aging made them appear of roughly comparable age.

"I... I guess I'm following you back to your chambers?" he asked hesitantly. Embedded in the question was a slight degree of apprehensive prodding, as if reminding her the Emperor had given him a specific task; he clearly didn't want to be caught between a rock and a hard place.

Viscretus did not instantly answer him, both as she was still caught up in her own thoughts and now, as she pondered yet again whether she preferred solitude over his questioning.

"That would be appreciated, Erastus," she replied simply, glancing back at him. Certainly her intention wasn't of that so-...

Her eyes narrowed yet again, as she studied the rather-charming face of the bumbling assistant who followed behind. Perhaps it was merely a result of the still churning chemistry within her, or that she had merely not a care left to stop herself. Or did she wish to douse her wounds with some pitiful substitute? She bit her tongue, cut off the train of thought. At least, until they were further from the Emperor's watching eye.

She hurried ahead yet with cautious pace, waiting on the threshold of the Tower for Erastus to close the distance.

He followed her out onto the moonlit sands. A veil of stars stretched across the inky heavens, and Erastus looked up. It was cold, and he shivered despite the layered clothing, but he did not hasten to cross the courtyard. Instead, he stopped. "If you'll excuse me a second, milady," he said, and sat down on his haunches, untying and pulling a boot from his foot, working it awkwardly around the ankle and heel, before likewise taking off the next. He pulled his socks off next - pink socks that were clearly not regulation - and then stood, sighing contentedly.

"Apologies, milady," he looked over at her. He trailed off momentarily, distracted by her beauty, before averting his gaze. "I always walk barefoot on the sands at night. They are so cool and relaxing." He nodded solemnly, picked up his shoes by their laces, and began to walk across the courtyard towards the main Temple building.

The eye of Dreadwar gazed from above. From the top of his tower, he watched Viscretus and Erastus leave, contemplating their encounter.

She had come to seduce him, that was obvious. He had demonstrated he was above such things. This was not true, of course; Dreadwar had not desired immortality so he could be an ascetic for eternity. He had made immortality his single-minded goal precisely because he had so enjoyed life, and because he had never wanted to stop; he had wanted to read every book, and write better ones; he had wanted to travel across the galaxy, and see every world; he had wanted to live a thousand lifetimes, and experience everything there was to experience, from the life of a simple moisture farmer to a hero wrought from fantastical myth to the villainy of a Hutt spice lord.

It was virtual reality, without virtuality. It was being the character of every story, playing every role, and encompassing all of their lessons within himself, learning everything on the path towards transcendence.

This all he had done, utilising the art of essence transference to artificially replicate reincarnation across seven thousand years of amusing himself, and over that barely imaginable stretch of time there had been many a carnal encounter. But hedonistic indulgences notwithstanding, he did not desire to reward Viscretus' clumsy efforts at flirtation with satisfaction of her goals; she was courting his power for the sake of his power, and he did not wish to start a precedent of letting the divine Emperor - his first, his last and his most enjoyable role - to be seen to be just as malleable as any other man.

He was no man. He had lived a thousand lifetimes.

He was a god.

She would not be able to manipulate him.

A strange cold washed over Viscretus, her hackles rising on her neck. She felt the Emperor's gaze. She turned and looked up, leaving Erastus slowly trodding off through the sand barefoot.

She could not see the Emperor, but she knew he was there, watching, judging her every movement. How nice of him, she thought, with a light scoff, to be so ornery, he refuses my attention, yet cannot keep his eyes from me.

Her brow furrowed, and the seed of desire she had, fertilized with the heavy dampness of pettiness, burst into violent bloom. Her lips parted with the overwhelming heat of a furious longing, but in the same moment she could surely spit venom from her aching tongue.



"Erastus," she called, sweetly but urgently, waiting for his attention to turn back to her before she glanced to her satchel in feigned search, "I do not wish to delay our return, but I seem to have forgotten something within the Tower. It must be on the stairs. Could you help me find it?"

Erastus immediately turned around at the sound of her voice, jogging back towards her. "Of course, milady," he said. "What are we looking for?"

The Emperor watched, confused. Why was Viscretus returning to the forbidden confines of his Tower?

"A potion, like this one," Viscretus said, plucking one of the small crystal vessels from her bag and holding it to the dying light. "I must have dropped it while putting the holocron inside. Here."

She pressed it into his palm, crossing back inside and scaling the first set of steps once again.

She peered into the rooms nearby, surveying quickly both their contents and the floor, before crossing over the open hallway and scaling the second flight. It was here that there was a small furnished alcove. It was not more than barely furnished - some sort of rug upon the cold floor, stone desk, and small chaise, all bathed in warm light by a dying fire crackling in the corner. The shadows were broken by candles, scattered throughout. Yet another curtain hung from an opposing wall, leading to yet another room. She smirked, the heat prickling now at the tips of her fingers as she set her satchel aside. She called to Erastus again, dipping her head from the doorway, clutching to the stone of the wall.

"I've found it, but I'm afraid I can't quite reach it," she called again, hoping he would not see the gaping flaw in her feverish excuse.

Erastus frowned, following her into the room. He looked around briefly, taking in the surroundings, and didn't immediately see anywhere high up she could have dro--wait. "You dropped it... upwards?" he couldn't help but asking, realising all too late the question could be construed as disrespectful; perhaps Force-users could drop things upwards? They certainly did make things float, a lot.

"No no, Erastus, down there, beside the chaise," she pointed to the shadow just next to the chair, her hand flicking imperceptibly to tug the curtain closed behind him.

What is a chaise, he thought, and turned his head to look at her, so he could follow her finger towards what she was pointing at. Ah, the sofa thing. He walked towards the plush chair and bent down where directed, the silken cape pooling around him. "I don't see anything, milady," he said after a pause.

In the instant he had turned, his attention directed toward the red herring, she had taken advantage of the speed and dexterity the Force granted her. She had closed the distance in a moment, her robes tumbling from her shoulders, the bodice of her dress loosened through telekinetic aid.

"I must admit, dear Erastus," she purred, sauntering the final step and using the Force yet again to pull his frame upwards and against hers. A obsidian talon traced along his jawline, her eyes burning more deeply than the fire that bathed them in its glow. "I deceived you."

Erastus, for his part, fell entirely silent. He wisely held still as her claw passed over his skin, swallowing, his eyes wide. His gaze shied from her yellow eyes, trying not to look at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking. The image of her exposed flesh was seared into his mind like a burning brand.

He couldn't help but look back, eyes raking across milky skin, before finding again the golden pools of her eyes. They reflected his face - shocked, nervous - and her desires. "My lady," he managed finally, eyes flicking unconsciously to her lips - so close - "why..."

"Shh." She moved the trailing finger to his lips, lingering there as her other hand reached for his, tugging the frozen muscles free and placing it - despite whatever protest he may have had - upon the small of her back.

"Do not worry, not a fret..." She paused, letting her eyes search his rather-charming visage, letting her skin indulge in the proximity, even holding herself back - a struggle now that she could feel the rippling emotion from him just as well as she could feel her own lascivious desire in every inch of her being. And though it was stifled by the lack of her chosen partner in the one before her, the frustration at such only seemed to intensify the sensation.

She exhaled, roughly, shakily, her lips drifting closer to his. Her voice had fallen to a whisper. "We both desire this, no? I feel your longing." Her eyes darted to his, locked in a fiery gaze. "Take what you desire."

TAG: Darth Dreadwar
TAGSET: The Emperor's Tower

IC: Insipid & Helinith - Insipinith? Helipid?
Reenacting 300 with less nudity

Here they came.

Insipid saw the head shudder into the room, conscious that it was impeding the enemy flow so that merely dozens were coming. He could not immediately see from his vantage point whether it was propping up part of the roof, but he also knew that they had mere moments before the front troop smashed into theirs and the battle became a melee.

Filling the Force bond between Helinith and Vesper with his alarm, but also his satisfaction and confidence, Insipid took himself free of Helinith, projecting himself forward of their location before the Trooper line met theirs, at the end of the concourse. Not into any of the Troopers, but into the gray matter of the Gorog skull. While it would have been relatively amusing to reanimate the massive, decapitated, head and gnaw his way through the enemy rear guard, that was too slow and inefficient and the Troopers would just hack it to pieces in short order.

Insipid burst energy outwards from the skull, and allowed himself to be pulled back to his anchor as the skull exploded. Brain would flood across the enemy rear line, adding a morbid slush to the corridor ground, slicking the floor with blood, ensnaring Troopers in entrails and generally peppering them with bone; but Insipid ensured that he burst outward back towards his troops - filling the rears of several Troopers with hurled bone.

Insipid would slam back into Helinith’s body with a groggy ‘sorry,’ but allow her to partake of his power as the six Sith Troopers made it to them; he actively bolstered her from the Force slam, but he was too taxed mentally to assist with the various lightsaber blows; but hopefully he had slowed the enemy tide, giving Helinith, Xxys and Anathema time to respond.

Perhaps the roof would weaken - only time would tell. Darkness claimed Insipid’s mind; he’d done too much. In the mental space where they had sat on the beach, storm clouds gathered and Darth Insipid’s head lolled in his sun lounger.

"Ewww gross."
But she didn't have time for that, even as the sea frothed and writhed, she had other, more pressing issues.
They ran at her: an arm out stretched to push her out of the range of the five lightsabers, so she let it, allowing the force of the push to carry her back towards the statue. She reached up an arm and caught her fingers within one of the folds of its carved modesty drape, using the force of the blow to swing herself up the stone figure. She was now using her own force powers to propel herself up the form, igniting her blade to sever the upper torso as she turned to land on its shoulder. Standing atop of the thing and looking down, she raised out a hand and pulled the part of the statue that she was standing on towards her attackers, toward the floor.
I'll call it statue surfing she nodded in satisfaction to herself, as she widened her stance and flung out her arms for balance.
"Wahhooooooooooooo!"

Statue... surfing.

Insipid let out a pained chuckle. He drew upon Helinith’s strength to invigorate him, slowly, softly, conscious that the battle was about to get messy, in the literal sense.

He was a destructive fighter, and Helinith had inherited that.

The Dark Lord of the Sith allowed himself to see the humour side as they crashed into the Sith Troopers.

Tags: Darth Dreadwar,@sinre,Vesper,Darth Xxys

IC: Neoplix
location: sith academy on korriban

Neoplix sat for a second, musing. What an interesting idea. While they had left the tombs behind, Neoplix had seen a map, detailing the paths of the tomb, along with the traps and the treasures that lay within. Going back with the map would certainly be far easier, with info on what traps were where, how far to go, and what spoils were in which places.

He smirked as she spoke, internally laughing at her honesty. She wasn’t afraid to admit that she was here to ride coattails, and that was good. Neoplix had no time for help that lied to him, and while perhaps it was frowned upon, riding coattails was by far the easiest and most rapid path to take when you wish to gain power.

“Perhaps... the tomb certainly is a location of power, and the artifacts within are powerful weapons and tools. And, there are other tombs in the area that can be searched for weapons.”

He began to stride towards the door, checking his gear to make sure he had everything he needed. His fingers lingered on the hilts of his daggers, fingers sliding delicately over them. Then he slid his helmet in place, his HUD lighting up, and illuminating the dark room to him, and the hallway outside. “We would need to form a team. How many other sith apprentices do you know who can get behind this? The fewer Sith Lords and Masters who know, the less likely it will be that one of them will attempt to steal credit, artifacts, and followers.”

He checked his HUD, noting the time and his speeder, located just inside the temple gates. “If we hurry, we can make it out within the hour. If you thought of this, there may well be others as well, so speed is essential.” He quickly sent a holorecording to catalyst, explaining the situation, walking swiftly as he spoke. “My most illustrious master. I must ask, do I have your blessing to take a team of apprentices back to the tomb. The plan is to use the map we acquired to search it for more information and artifacts. We plan to be headed out within the hour.”

He stepped out the gates to the apprentices barracks, and quickly started jogging towards the gates, where he could see his speeder sitting amongst dozens of others. Outside, there seemed to be a group of sith coming in. He frowned, and hoped they wouldn’t give him too much trouble. (coatlec and co.)

Tags: Darth Catalyst Darth Dreadwar @coatlec