The Old Sith Trials

IC: Darth Kain
Abandoned Mine, Corbos

“Brooke.” Her name was Brooke. Finally, Corvar had something to call her other than the “Miraluka girl.” He imagined it was rather degrading to simply be called your species for hours on end. It was then that he imagined a group of Miraluka simply calling him the “Human”. The thought made him shake his head with a smirk, though no one else would get the, quite literally, inside joke.
He watched her walk forward with bare feet, her footprints leaving tender markings upon the dirt. Corvae wondered if the rocky floor of a cave would prove painful to walk on for her, but he knew that pain brought strength when taken in small doses, so he did not offer her shoes. With how strange she was, she would probably reject the offer anyways.

“Flowing water,” she said with a small smile as they approached the cave before them. The more Corvar neared the darkness, the more he felt the contrasting feelings of being afraid and being welcome. His past experiences made him fearful of being underground, yet it felt as if the darkness wanted to embrace him, to pull him close and never let go.
Moments after Corvar spoke, the group had finally made their way inside the cave. The darkening sky was replaced with the total darkness of the mine, the ambient sound of a whisper on the wind replaced with an echoing purr. He had no idea who was speaking to him, what they wanted, or what they were saying, but their voice, as warm and inviting as it was, made him uneasy.
The stone floor began to slope downwards, and it grew more and more slippery as the waters that made this cave were obviously nearby. The total blackness quickly became an irritant as Corvar tried his best not to slip or step on anyone's toes. Quickly reaching inside his pocket, Corvar retrieved a small cylinder made of plasteel. With a crack, the glow rod came to life, illuminating everything within a five-meter distance with a bright red glow.

It did not take long for the group to find themselves at a fork in the path, with two different halls of cavernous rock to traverse. Neither path exhibited a stronger presence in the Force than the other; Corvar could not even sense any light from the supposed Jedi sword. With nothing else to go off of, Corvar joked, “I hope no one here suggests we split up. I've seen too many horror vids for that to work.”
After a moment of thought, he realized that if the Force was not going to give them any insight, their eyes would have to do. Casually, Corvar tossed his glow rod down the left path, then followed the motion by tossing a fireball down the right path.

TAGS: Darth Catalyst , darthferos , trentongordon

IC: Reaper
Location: Underground, Corbos

When Corvar had that cocky grin on his face Reaper chuckled but didn't quite catch that last tidbit. He had mumbled it but Reaper let it slide. He followed the Miralukan girl. When they came to the two paths he had lost the feeling he had felt when arriving.

"Well you read my mind. I was about to suggest we split up and I wasn't taking the Miralukan. No offense." He chuckled. When Corvar had tossed the light and illuminated both corridors he nodded. He still felt they'd need to split up so it'd be faster. He also felt either way it'd be dangerous. "So. Which way do we go team?"

Tag: darthkain7, Darth Catalyst, darthferos

IC: Darth Voxyn

Location: Dread Fortress, Oricon


Before Arancia could answer Voxyn’s question, yelling pulled both of their attentions to Srethros and Tacite down the hallway. Apparently Tacite had gotten on the Rattataki’s nerves.

“YOU USELESS KARKING MONSTER, CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT? NO WONDER THESE INITIATES CAPTURED YOU SO EASILY! YOU TRULY ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A GOOD FOR NOTHING MONSTER, I SHOULD KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND FOR THIS INTOLERANCE!”

“Well it seems he has a bit of a temper on him.” Voxyn said to where only Arancia could hear him. Suddenly both Tacite and Srethros turned to face them. Tacite threw what looked like a candlestick but before Voxyn could follow its path to see where it was going, before he could react at all he felt something, something he knew. He felt hatred rapidly emanating from Srethros and changing into a ravenous hunger in the force, a hunger unique in nature, the all consuming hunger of fire. As quickly he felt it this in the force the corridor was suddenly flooded with light, overloading the night vision goggles and blinding Voxyn.

Seeing the candlestick flying at her and sensing danger from the tall bald one Artemis jumped to the side, out of the way, successfully dodging the candlestick but still getting caught by the fire. The pain from catching fire causing her to lose her footing and roll sideways putting out the fire. Getting back to her feet she quickly bolted behind Voxyn, instinct to go to safety in response to being light on fire taking precedence over training to protect.

“OH YOU BALD SON OF A BITCH!” Voxyn yelled as he recoiled from the blinding light and ripped the night vision goggles off, throwing them to the side. “Go Voxyn! Primus, you as well if you must! Srethros has made a grave mistake this day.” He heard Arancia say then heard Arancia's lightsaber activate. Taking a step back he activated his own lightsaber, the purple blade screeching to life with a sharp, cold, whisper followed by the howl of frozen wind and the beating of a heart. Running wasn’t an option at the moment since his vision was nothing but white from the sudden blinding light, shapes were starting to form so his vision was returning but in this state running would do no good. Sensing Artemis in pain he quickly put together that the fire had been thrown at her. Feeling anger build up in him he quickly got a hold of his emotions, refusing to let them control him, and channeled them for his use.

“You hurt Artemis, you’re going to pay for that.” Voxyn said then reached out to the fire coming from Srethros through the force and began attempting to force it to backfire in random directions at its source. Srethros may be a sith lord and may be better at using Pyrokinesis than Voxyn but he figures he doesn't need to be better at using it. Fire, even fire created by the force, is volatile and hard to control, he just needs to be successful in making it so Srethros can’t control it. If it works then Srethros gets burned, if it doesn’t work then he’ll at least have distracted Srethros long enough for Arancia to do something.




Tag: Darth Catalyst Darth Voidwalker taciteoccultus  DarthVizuul

IC Darth Catalyst
Apollyon’s Quarters, Korriban

The whole situation amused Catalyst greatly. The fact that himself and Apollyon were unabashedly nude while Xirr’s loins were only covered in silken cloth brought a grin to his face. He wondered what exactly Xirr had done to lose a piece of his armor to this girl. “Get up." Xirr spat at her, "tell Lords Apollyon and Catalyst what you did to get yourself in this situation." Xirr pointed the sword he'd had the sense to grab at her in a threatening manner. "Enlighten them as to why we've interrupted this most... intimate, moment."

Catalyst sauntered behind Apollyon in a less than subtle attempt to cover his nudity as she had. He wrapped an arm around the outside of the blanket she had grabbed, pulling her to him while sneaking his other hand beneath the hem of the blanket. “Indeed,” he crooned, “I'm curious as to why you came here of all places with a piece of Lord Xirr’s armor. I've seen him pay less for sexual favors, and I wouldn't so much as offer the dung of a monkey-lizard for your service, so obviously the armor is stolen.” His voice dropped from its usual light tone. “So give us one reason not to kill you where you lie.”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , dice

IC: Damian Kento
Korriban



Life as a young acolyte on Korriban was equally brutal as it was exciting. Day in and day out, the younger students of the Sith Academy were rigorously tested in every aspect of the Sith way of life.
In the mornings, lightsaber training and sparring would occur, and the slightest mistakes were rewarded with painful burns and cuts that would make grown adults collapse, let alone younglings.
During mid-day, studies would turn more academical. History, mathematics, strategy, Force knowledge, and more would be meticulously ingrained into the minds of each student. Failure to recall facts, ideas, or methods to solving a problem would result in punishments varying between each teacher. Some were rather kind, limiting their disciplining to verbal assaults or exercises. Others were not so kind.
After studies, the students who had done well for the day would be afforded a meal. Not the finest cuisine in the galaxy, or even on Korriban, but enough to keep gnawing hunger off of their minds as they progressed through the rest of the day. However, this time was not without its pitfalls. Lunchtime was one of the few times that young acolytes were allowed to gather indiscriminately, and nearly everyone had formed their own cliques in order to survive. Those left alone, the outcasts, were often beaten and brutalized until they succumbed and joined a clique themselves. Few in this academy were able to stand alone, and those that did were treated as lepers. Strong in the Force, and to be avoided at all costs.
Damian Kento was one such child. Impressive for a twelve year-old human, his gifts ranged from powerful telekinesis to intense mind control. No one took him as a threat once upon a time, what with his quiet demeanor and small frame. The largest group of cretins in the school, who'd taken to calling themselves the Kath Hounds, made the near-fatal mistake of attacking him during his first week at the academy. One of them, a young Dathomirian Zabrak, was left with two of the short horns forming atop his scalp driven directly into his eye sockets.
After that day, no one dared to look at Damian or even speak to him, save for the teachers who had naught to worry from even an abnormally powerful youngling. He was a rather excellent student, understanding concepts well enough and memorizing facts with peak efficiency. But his performance with a blade was sub-par, and his instructors made sure he knew it. He was criticized each morning with word and force, and if he ever spoke out, if he ever claimed that his power in the Force made a lightsaber irrelevant to his training, he would be beaten far worse than the Kath Hounds ever could have accomplished.

Today was just like any other day for Damian. While he'd received a few bites from a training saber earlier today, he provided the most satisfactory answers in a series of questions during his studies.
His instructor for the day, a relatively young Lethan Twi'lek by the name of Oronicus, first asked, “You and a companion are captured by the Federation, and separated. If you both remain silent, each of you will receive a year in prison. However, if you call your friend a traitor, they will be sentenced to five years while you serve none. Your friend is offered the same deal, but if you both accuse each other, you both will receive two years. What do you do?”
Some refused to sell out their friend, and received whacks to the back of the head with a textbook as a result. However, Damian was the first to provide the correct answer. “You tell the Federation that your friend is a traitor,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
“Why?” Oronicus inquired.
“If you remain silent, you're either serving one year in prison or five. If you sell out this friend, you either serve two years or none. It's basic math.”
The red-skinned Twi'lek smiled, and since Damian did not receive a smack to the rear of his skull, he knew he was right.
“Next question,” Oronicus continued. “Imagine you're at war, and you've deciphered an enemy code. Their defenses will be at their weakest in ten days, but they intend to sack your city within the next five. What do you do?”
Nearly all of the class was split in the middle between two answers. Half said that the city should be evacuated, the other half said that you should attack within the next five days to protect the city. Only Damian produced the correct response.
“You should attack the enemy in ten days and do nothing for the city,” he spoke. Some of the class seemed horrified. Most scoffed at the idea of leaving the city totally undefended. But Oronicus grinned.
“Why?” the instructor asked.
Damian shrugged. “If you make any obvious movements within five days, like evacuating the city, they'll know their codes have been lost. If you prepare to strike them at their weakest instead, you have a chance of winning the whole war.”
“Alright, Kento,” Oronicus replied, approaching the young man with looming intimidation following each step. “I have a follow-up question just for you.”
The boy nodded.
The Twi'lek Sith went on, “Say you win that war, and for a decade, you have no enemies to your empire. Stagnation sets in and your people begin to question you, and talk of usurpation even rises in the masses. You once again learn of an impending attack on your city as before, with a weakness that will follow after. Do you save the city to be revered as a hero to your people?”
It was Damian’s turn to smile. “No.”
Oronicus’s brow raised in surprise. “Go on.”
Kento did as he was instructed, uttering, “With the city destroyed and a war on people's minds, their bad thoughts turn towards an outside enemy instead of me. They'll rally against that foe, and war will allow us to one day expand even further.”
Oronicus raised his hand, and part of Damian expected a smack to the mouth for his arrogance. But the Twi'lek simply laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and gave a tight squeeze. “Someone has been studying their Revan texts like they're supposed to,” the Sith Master said with a wink. “I'll make sure you get a nice steak for lunch today, Kento.” He then turned to the class and spat, “As for the rest of you, I want each of you to complete an essay on why all of you are failures. Anything with less than three-thousand words is getting nailed to your forehead, and I'm not being figurative when I say that.”

Kento sliced through another chunk of his steak, cooked rare, with his knife. He did not know what beast it had been carved from, nor did he really care; he had not had food this decadent in ages. The meat melted in his mouth, and the blood gave it enough saltiness that he would not dare complain about the spices being bland. The steak was not large, but it filled his belly nonetheless, and it left him with plenty of time to lounge around the grounds before Force Training class started in the evening. It was another class he was quite proficient in, though it was not his favorite. Unlike general studies, he felt quite a hefty amount of competition in Force Training. In this day and age, Sith of all ages seemed to be steadily growing more and more powerful, and with Emperor Dreadwar setting the example of the potential of old Sith sorceries, many of Damian’s rivals had taken to learning advanced, unorthodox powers that Damian had only read about. He would have to catch up to his fellows in that regard, but he still packed enough raw power into his displays that his instructors had not begun noticing him slipping in learning new techniques.
But he did not wish to worry on that now. After finishing his food and leaving the tray for one of the slaves to clean, Damian snuck outside of the Sith Temple, not taking the direct route and risking the ire of the group of Sith blocking the front gate or the brutish warriors that were entering the cantina, a place off-limits to younglings on most occasions. Instead, he took a secret passage he'd found a year before, crawling through a hole in the outer walls that he would soon be too big to fit through.
Once outside, he decided to take a walk down the valley, keeping a wary eye to the shadows in case a rogue Tuk’ata was roaming about. Even without a lightsaber, he was sure he'd be able to kill one, but only if he was not surprised by it.
The sun was high in the sky, indicating that Damian had a little under an hour before he would have to sneak back inside the Temple grounds. If he was caught out here, or if he was late, he'd receive a beating for sure.

His walk was rather uneventful, though the sizzling heat was beating down on the boy's pale skin, slightly making him regret taking this walk. But a trek alone was more desirable than walking among his peers, receiving cross glances that would make Damian want to go on a killing spree. Out here, it was quiet.
That is, until a voice cut through the silence like a vibroblade.
“Outcast!” a boyish voice called from behind.

Damian spun on his heel, his eyes locking onto the eyes of the one who'd shouted at him. But instead of finding eyes, Kento only saw a black bandage, wrapped around the eyes of a Dathomirian Zabrak with dark orange skin and black tattoos. Two horns were missing from the boy's head, and Damian immediately recognized who it was.
“Thrash?” Damian questioned, unable to believe his eyes. He heard that his rival had been taken to another planet after the incident for rehabilitation. It had only been six months; no way Thrash could be back so soon.
Entailing Thrash on either side were two members of the Kath Hounds, three human and one rodian, all grinning with smug faces. They wielded clubs and daggers stolen from one of the training rooms in the temple, except for Thrash, who wielded no weapon at all.
The Zabrak growled, “I've waited so long for this, outcast. You may have taken my eyes, but today, we're taking your life. You were a fool to come out here alone.”
Damian, although he was in fact worried for his life, scoffed and spoke with utter confidence. “If you want a round two, let's go. Just you and me.”
Thrash laughed, “I may be stronger than I was before, but I know you are, too. If I'm doing a job, I'm making sure I do it right.”
The Zabrak unleashed his hatred, the boiling fuel for his power, in the form of a Force Push that knocked his enemy backward nearly half a dozen feet. Damian’s defenses absorbed most of the blow, allowing him to stay on his feet. Thinking quickly, Damian realized that Thrash had just made a fatal mistake, for he had given Damian more distance to unleash his abilities while Thrash’s allies would have to cross that greater distance for them to even touch the superior acolyte.
The group charged in unison, save for Thrash who held his ground. Damian dug deep into his pent-up rage, taking every insult that had been tossed his way by peer and instructor alike and molding it into a stream of violet lightning that struck one of the Kath Hounds with such intensity that the electricity leaped across each of his foes, tossing them all backwards and leaving their dark robes smoldering.
Thrash grunted, “You're all worthless!” before dashing forward, using the Force to speed himself forward with enough momentum that him slamming into Damian’s sternum stole all of the air in the boy’s body. Kento collapsed to the dirt floor, gasping for air.
But Thrash gave Damian no chance to regain his breath, mounting onto Kento’s chest and pinning his arms beneath his knees before repeatedly slamming his fists into Damian's skull. A right hook smashed into the boy's left ear, causing it to ring just as a hammerfist crashed into his nose, breaking it and causing blood to fill his sinuses. The punches never relented, coming and coming as Damian still struggled to breathe.
It took fifteen strikes from the Zabrak before Kento found the air necessary to unleash a desperate Force Scream, the amplified soundwaves sending Thrash flying off of him.
Damian was able to get to his knees, just barely, before he began to feel his face start to swell. His flesh had been tenderized by Thrash’s hate-filled blows, and his body had begun the process of inflammation to prevent any further damage. His vision returned to clarity, as did his hearing, when he heard a loud scream erupt from one of the Kath Hounds.



Damian saw the source of the screams, and his immediate reaction was to let out one of his own. A corpse, walking as if it were still alive, was standing above one of the scorched younglings with a rusted blade held high. The sword swung down, ripping across the human child’s throat and causing a crimson geyser to erupt from it. The other children screamed and tried to run, but more walking corpses seem to appear from nowhere, wielding weapons as ancient as they were.

The Rodian went down fighting, stabbing his dagger into the chest of an undead in a vain attempt to kill it. Seemingly angered, the corpse grabbed the youngling by his neck and snapped it with a twitch of its hand. The other two children were no more fortunate, swiftly being cut down like animals in a slaughtering pen.
Thrash wildly glanced around, his Force Sight not seeming to find the undead creatures. He could only hear the screams of his friends just seconds before they died.
“What's going on? What's ha-- gak!” Thrash cried as one of the undead, much larger than the others and wearing a black hood, lifted him into the air by his throat. Thrash struggled as the undead brute wrapped both hands around his windpipe, slowly choking him to death. It quickly became impossible for air to escape or enter the Zabrak's lungs, causing the carbon dioxide trapped inside to begin burning away at his respiratory system. The eyeless boy tried to scream for Damian to help, but even if he was able to, Damian would not have come to his aid. Halfly because he did not want Thrash to survive, and halfly because he was frozen with fear.
His eyes were wide as he watched his rival die, as he watched Thrash’s flailing legs cease to move. His muscles locked as the undead brute dropped the corpse of Thrash and turned its hollowed eyes toward him. His breaths slowed to utter stillness as the rotting mountain of flesh stepped towards him. And his voice rang silent as the brute hefted Damian over its shoulder, carrying the boy deeper into the valley with a small horde of the undead following close behind.

TAGS: @everyonewhocares

IC: Srethros
Dread Fortress, Oricon

“Fire!”

The singular response that spilled from Srethros’ lips as Voxyn, Primus, and the Gand ignited their lightsabers. Srethros’ barrage of flames showered the hallway with flames, then a counter force dared to push against his own powers of fire. This was a force driven by hatred and controlled emotions, however it would not be enough. Stepping aside and letting his flames die out, the counterweight shoved more flames further down the hallway.

“You would dare attack me? For what reason, because the Gand instructed you to do so? Think clearly, why does he instructs you to attack me while he stands back? It matters not.”

Srethros placed his hands over one another, about six inches apart and let the flow of lightning arch and come to life in his hands. Instead of blasting the lightning outward towards his would be attackers, he allowed for the energy to build in his hand and using the Force to push and mull form into a swirling ball of electrical energy before hurling the electric blast out aimed for the eyes of Voxyn.

“Here, let’s fix that night blindness forever!”

Once the blast had been released from his hands, Srethros fell back into the shadows to be harder to see. Soon the only light would be from the glow of lightsabers. That’s all Srethros would need.

TAG: Darth Catalyst taciteoccultus darthvoxyn DarthVizuul

Location: Korriban

“I don't like this place,” Isaria’s padawan murmured, the young Twi’lek lad’s violet eyes scanning everything in sight out of paranoia.
Isaria placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, calling on the Force to ease the worries of her padawan. It was difficult, for it seemed a heavy cloud lingered above, restricting any light from entering the planet. Nonetheless, the Jedi Master’s efforts were not in vain, for she could feel the boy’s heart-rate settle.
“Trust in the Force, Baylor,” she spoke calmly. “It will not lead us astray.”
In truth, Isaria was terrified. She had heard many tales about this world. Some called it Moraband, others Korriban. But she knew it was the homeworld of the Sith, the beings behind the dastardly Confederacy of Independent Systems, also known as the Separatists. The war had been waging for a couple of years now, and it wasn't seeming to get any better. Even with Generals like Yoda, Windu, Kenobi, and Skywalker on the field, the seemingly endless legion of droids had no end. Thankfully, by some stroke of luck, the Republic had their own endless horde to throw to the wolves.
Isaria was not sure how she felt about the clones. A majority seemed like honorable men, and they were a boon no matter what kind of fight there was. But something seemed… off, about them. They would follow orders without a hint of disobedience any time Isaria commanded them, even if the order would likely get their brothers killed to complete the goal. If they followed orders so well, Isaria hoped they never ended up being used by the enemy.

Master Norrom was here on Korriban with her teenage padawan in secret, evading the Commerce Guild which currently had control over the planet. A Republic spy, a Muun by the name of Shego Thass, was sent here to Korriban in an effort to infiltrate the Commerce Guild and plot weakpoints for the Republic to strike in the coming months.
But her distress beacon had been activated, alerting the Republic that her cover had been blown. So soon into her mission, the generals felt that attempting an attack after Eeth Koth’s failure two years before would only lead to failure and Thass’s death all at once. So the Council decided to send Isaria and her padawan, Baylor, to extract Thass.
Isaria had believed that the Commerce Guild took the Muun hostage or possibly killed her, but the beacon was far from any territory with Guild presence. Something was not right here, just like her padawan said.

The duo had traveled down an ever-expanding valley via speederbike for the last hour, but Baylor had begun to complain about his empty stomach, so Isaria parked the bike behind a gargantuan boulder on the western side of the valley, also using the boulder as cover while the pair of Jedi munched down on nutrient bars that they had brought along for the journey. The bars tasted rather awful, making Isaria long for a plate of fried zuchii from Dex’s diner. But she knew such wants were unfitting for a Jedi Master, so she focused on other things as she consumed the tasteless stick of vitamins and minerals.
Her eyes wandered to her padawan, who was enjoying the food even less than she was. His skin was a pale blue, and his lekku hung down to his shoulder blades. He wore white and brown robes, which had been stained deeply by the dirt and grime of Korriban. He was sixteen years old now, and Isaria was proud of how far he'd come.
Baylor was a moody teenager once, and she supposed he still was, but back when she took him on as her padawan, he was arrogant and rash. It took many years for him to accept the wisdom of a Jedi Master, but once he had, he'd become far more mature. His decisions were made with thought, and he had grown quite humble despite his proficiency above many others his age.
It was this proficiency that had saved both his and his master’s lives many times during the war; Isaria was sure he would become a powerful Jedi Knight before long.
“How much further do we have to go?” Baylor inquired moments after finishing the nutrient bar.
Checking her small datapad, Isaria replied, “We're only a couple dozen kilometers away from the beacon. We could make camp here for the night and be there a few hours before noon.” The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and darkness would rise in its place before long.
“The longer we take, the more chance there is of the spy dying,” Baylor spoke, shaking his head. “I'm not afraid of the dark.”
Isaria could sense the last bit was a lie, but he spoke the truth otherwise. Wasted time could mean a wasted life.
“Very well,” the Jedi Master said with a grin, “let's get going, then.”



It was only moments before night arrived that an object became visible on the horizon. At the bottom of the valley, in the distance, was a temple. Crystalline carnelian stretched towards the sky like gnawed fingers clinging to life as the body withered to dust, creating the dusty floor of the valley. No life signs were visible from afar, nor were the Jedi able to sense any through the Force. But the dark side only grew stronger as the sun fell, darkening the vision of the Jedi in more ways than one.
“The beacon is in there,” Isaria told her padawan, letting her words fly past him like the wind as they approached on the speederbike. “Looks like the Commerce Guild is using the old Sith temples for their dirty business.”
“I have a funny feeling the guild isn't involved, master,” Baylor replied.
“We'll have to see.” Isaria was worried. Her padawan was finely attuned to the Force, and if he felt that something was wrong, that meant it probably was. Regardless, the front gates were not going to be an option. Either the guild or whoever else lived here would have security in place, and triggering security was not a good way to stealthily retrieve a spy.
Parking the speederbike only half a kilometer away, the duo moved towards the temple in a crouch, keeping low and quiet as to not draw any unwanted attention. Darkness had totally consumed the sky, covering the Jedi and keeping them safe from detection.
They came to a spot along the outer walls that the pair could vault if they used the Force to aid in their ascent. Hopefully they wouldn't land directly on top of a group of super battle droids.
“Over that wall in three,” Isaria whispered.
Baylor nodded, bending his knees in anticipation.
“One.” The Jedi Master followed suit, gathering the Force beneath her feet.
“Two.” Isaria could hear a thud coming from her right, where her apprentice was standing. But she thought nothing of it before uttering, “Three.” The kinetic energy beneath her feet propelled her upward, and would have sent her flying over the wall had something not stopped her.
A hand wrapped around her throat as she took flight, catching her mid-jump. Her heart practically leaped out of her chest as she took one quick glance at her assailant: a towering brute wearing a dark hood. Before she had a chance to free herself from the monster’s grasp, the brute slammed her into the ground with enough force to shatter stone. The impact knocked her unconscious, leaving her unmoving beside her similarly comatose padawan, who had been knocked out with a clean hit to the side of the head.

“Rise.” A booming voice sounded within Isaria’s mind, awakening her from her forced slumber. Not taking the time to examine her surroundings, the Jedi Master leaped to her feet, the pain in her head and torso hitting her instantly. It made her want to collapse back to the floor, but instinct kept her on her feet.
The Jedi’s brown eyes began to refocus, and the first thing she noticed were the braziers surrounding her, each ablaze and lighting what appeared to be a ring, with wooden boards keeping her closed in. What she saw just on the outskirts of the ring made Isaria’s heart race.
Undead beings of various species and at different stages of decay, wearing rusted armor and carrying equally rusted weaponry, fenced her in. They remained utterly still, surrounding the ring with untold malice in their hollowed eyes.
Just past them were two sets of stands on either side, both empty save for the one ahead of Isaria, which possessed a throne at the very top.
In that throne was a shadow, a figure she could not make out the details of no matter how hard she concentrated. Lying beside the shadow on the bench was her padawan, still unconscious and bound to a seat, making him appear like a spectator who had fallen asleep.
“Jedi,” the shadow spoke, its voice masculine and utterly powerful. “The Muun is dead, her corpse a lure for this trap. When I had heard of the Jedi possessing a ‘chosen one’, I had hoped he would be the one to arrive. It is a shame, but your padawan is not a bad prize. Perhaps he can be used instead.”
“Used for what?” Isaria shouted. Her hand grazed the hilt of her lightsaber, which had been left attached to her belt.
Her lightsaber leaped into her grasp, the jade-green blade erupting from the hilt in stunning fashion. “My padawan and I are leaving,” she demanded.
The shadow paused for a moment, then sighed, “No, I'm afraid neither of you are.”
In an instant, three of the undead that surrounded the ring vaulted the boards, moving with blinding speed. Strange, considering how decrepit they were. Two of them wielded rusted shortswords, while one had a dagger gripped in either hand. Isaria squared her feet to her shoulders and kept her blade parallel to the ground, the signature stance of Shii-Cho. As the undead neared, she took a wide swipe at the two wielding swords, slicing through the belly of one while the other deflected the blow with its sword. The first zombie fell to the ground in two halves, but for the other to have parried her strike… that surprised Isaria; she immediately began to wonder what kind of swords these zombies possessed.
The undead dagger-wielder came at her rear, hoping to plant both blades into her ribcage. But she knew to sidestep the creature, and then proceed to slice off its head in a graceful slash before using the momentum to cut through the legs of last undead. She then twirled the saber and brought it down, stabbing through the creature’s skull. The exchange only lasted a few seconds, and in that time, the undead made no sounds. No moans, no screams of pain; only the sound of bones crumbling and metal creaking. What were these things?
“Impressive,” the shadow commended. “Perhaps I will raise you after you fall.”
“The only one falling today is you, monster,” Isaria shouted, building pressure around her palm with the Force and thrusting the energy towards the throne. The shadow shrugged the Force Push off like it had not affected it in the slightest, but it would not allow such a slight to go unpunished.
“I was going to let you die with your dignity,” the figure snarled. “Much more entertaining that way.” Immediately, Isaria’s blade extinguished, the lightsaber falling from her grasp. As her weapon fell to the ground, so did she, collapsing to the ground and being held in place with an invisible hand. She struggled to move, to gain control of her limbs and fight this darkness. But it was all-powerful, and she was nothing before it.

Baylor awoke to the sound of his master screaming. His eyes began to focus quickly, the sharp intake of stimuli overwhelming his mind with information. Down below the stands he was sitting in, he saw Jedi Master Isaria Norrom, the only Jedi he'd ever listened to, pinned to the ground, her arms and legs spread wide as a small army of undead neared her.
A voice spoke to him from his right; it sent chills down his spine.
“Good timing. Horror tends to make the process easier.”
Baylor watched, helplessly, as dozens of blades sank into his master’s body. Her screams, once potent and loud, grew faint and quiet until they disappeared completely. Her last breaths were wasted on those screams. Her last feeling was the painful ripping and tearing of jagged metal piercing through flesh and muscle. Her last sight was watching the wide-eyed terror of her padawan, who was watching the only mother he'd ever had die before his very eyes.
The Twi'lek turned towards the voice, tears streaming down his face. Before his grief could turn to pure, unadulterated rage, the shadow placed a dark hand on his shoulder, just like his master did hours ago. But instead of passing on feelings of hope and peace, this evil master of the dark side instead passed on his very soul.

TAGS: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe

IC Brooke
Mineshaft, Corbos

Brooke cocked her head to the right as the group talked behind her. She paid the insults of Reaper and Feros little heed. It was as if she was listening into the caves themselves for insight. The light Corvar sent down each branch of the cavern offered just as much help to her as it did the others: it served to illuminate nothing more than blank walls. There was no evidence down either path of a great battle, or even so much as a sign of life once inhabiting the mines.


Brooke's head tilted the other way. “Left is bad,” she stated bluntly. “Left is the way of evil, the way of wrong. Left is not right, right is right. Right can be wrong but left can never be right.” She turned to face Corvar again, the one person she seemed to trust among the group, with an expression of almost childlike fear. “Left is the way of darkness. The way of…” she trailed off into silence. Her body became almost unnaturally still and her face was once again devoid of emotion. It was evident that her attention was again elsewhere, possibly not even in the cave anymore. The only insight she offered on the way ahead was lost in the cryptic jumble of her thoughts.

TAG: darthkain7, trentongordon, darthferos,

IC: Tacite Occultus
Location: Empty Room in Dread Fortress, Oricon


Tacite sifted through the debris looking for anything usable as a weapon. He had become distraught unable to find anything thus far until he tripped over a large blaster pistol. Fortune had finally shined on him for once. Now the question was did it work? To test it here so close to the others would be suicide. No, he had to make his way back outside to test it. Then he remembered the ship was still there. Quickly dismissing the idea of escape, as the Gand didn't seem that stupid to leave the ship flyable when he wasn't there. But maybe he could sneak on board and steal a spare set of the Hapan's clothes to confuse the mutt's sense of smell.

I need to test the weapon outside first before I go any further though. The crystal hums. In agreement but says nothing.

TAG: Darth Catalyst,DarthVizuul,darthvoxyn,Darth Voidwalker,

IC: Darth Feros
Darkness
Mines of Corbos


Feros listened to what Corvar said. Something in his face. Something was intriguing him. Looked at Brooke, and then to Corvar.

"That would be logical. The Light Path would be too obvious. If it's that clear, why would a Jedi need to leave his sword there? No, the left is where we need to go. The Dark Path. We've all followed the Darkness this far." Feros quipped.

The girl still seemed distant. It made sense enough though. She had no darkness in her. And she was a living conduit for the Force from what Feros could tell. He had heard of such before. She'd feel everything in the Force more strongly than any of them.

"Brooke, if you don't want to walk point alone, why not let one of us walk beside you? The tunnel is wide enough. And we have no reason to let undo harm to come to you. Quite the opposite. We need you to guide us here. You see things we don't in the Force. If anything, we need to protect you here."

And then Feros heard the faintest whisper. He couldn't tell what it was, or where it came from. But it touched a deep part of his mind, beckoning him to find it. He shook his head softly, dispelling the idea. These old mines moved and creaked. Probably all it was.

"But we also need to go left. Into the Darkness."


Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon