The Old Sith Trials

IC Kint Dranlor
Location: H̭̦̘͞o̞̲̮̱͇͖̮l͠d͈̠̠̣̀i̫͇ṇ̀g̴̩̲̣̟ c̢̣͖̺͍e̵̤̦͚l̨͔̗̼͓̘̺l̝͡,̺̖̗̮ ̞̭̻͟ͅN̝̘̲i̷͓̙͖͇͉̦̤n̨̞͓u̸s̥͇̲h͈̰o̗̺̩̣̣d̷͍͈͙̦o̼͈̣͕͓j͚͍̠i҉̣n̨̼y̧͓a͇̲u̗̣̦̙t̥̗͓͙̝͎̥


Kint felt confident as he sped towards Persevus’s possessed body, feet braces for impact. After all, two force users and a massive bounty hunter seemed like more than enough to handle one possessed maniac. But as he reached out into the darkness, he sensed the true power of the rot god, and for the first time realized that, just maybe, he might be in trouble. Quick as a whip, the concussive wave of force reversed directions and smashed into him. He unlocked his legs before impact, allowing the shockwave to carry him towards the wall, firing his rocket pack to slow his progress.

His back slammed against the wall, and he slumped painfully to the floor. He rose, grunting in pain, and ran in as Lemmy fired his massive laser canon at the beast. He saw Persevus, focused on Hypnos, and hypnos’s outline shimmered, showing robotic parts and a clearly robotic body. Kint was shocked; he had formerly believed that only living tissue could conduct the force, and yet here was a technological wonder, exuding force capabilities. Did this mean the force could be used to influence or control technology? If so, it was something Kint needed to know. It would allow massive leaps and bounds In his capabilities!

But for now, he ran, past the black walls, covered in slime, towards the massive nest of tentacles that was once persevus. He still wanted to get him alive; but it wasn’t a necessity any longer. This monstrosity would fall, hard, and he would make sure it was his hand that felled it. Drawing his darksaber, he made his move. The beast had bigger fish to fry at the moment, with Hypnos at its throat and Lemmy’s starship destroying canon trained at his face. Kint calculated his run to be at the time when he was most distracted, waiting for the perfect moment, and calming his mind completely, leaving no hint of his intentions. Calm... complete calm...

And then he was in mid-air, propelling himself in a massive leap, his darksaber extending, aiming to slice through the mass of writhing tentacles that protruded from the beast’s face as he flew over the Dark mass, while with his left hand, he hurled downwards an incendiary grenade, clicking the detonator as he passed overhead, on a collision course with the far wall.

Darth Catalyst
@darth dreadwar

IC Trinaya (and locket), and Volacius

Location- The Sinister Sith Temple



Trill’s apparent lack of caution wasn’t exactly surprising to Volacius, but he was far to focused on keeping an eye on the seemingly undead creatures surrounding them. They were caged for now, but who knew how long they would stay there? Her chatter caught his ear, however, providing him with just enough of an incentive to turn his attention to the panel. He’d felt an odd curiosity about it upon seeing it, a feeling he found somewhat disconcerting. He made a note of it in his head, and tried to suppress it, but still found himself moving to stand beside the likely ancient woman.

Trill excitedly explained to him in her slowly improving but still broken basic that the unfamiliar text on the panel somehow proved her infernal gods were real. How pathetic. “You think just because your recognize some of this nonsense it proves you right? Ancient writing can still be foolish if the ones who wrote it were foolish as well!” Volacius made sure his tone was condescending, but quickly changed his tune as he realized he was uncomfortably close to the panel. He hadn’t intended to be so close, and the desire to examine it further despite his wariness made him all the more concerned. “But forget that,” he said, struggling to get the words out, “I think… we should leave this place… while we still can.”



While a small part of Trin still worried about Trill and Volacius, the majority of her was still one with the locket.


Glancing suspiciously at Malos they spoke. “The temple is where we must go.” The hiss was still there and an odd… echo. Not a true auditory echo, more of a mental one. Trin felt trapped. For safety it would be smart to remain with Malos, but they *needed* to go to the temple. There was a tugging at their mind, a memory of the layout of the compound. The largest rectangular building was their goal, but who knew what traps and surprises would be in the way. Perhaps Malos would know his place as the Goddess’ vassal better than Volacius...

“You will lead us that way.” They spoke this command imperiously, but kept their hand wrapped around the locket, for safety. Their hand pointed to where the temple had once been. They must get there. Only then could they triumph over there greatest foe and be safe.


darthkain7 @lordjania , volacius

Tagset: Sinister Sith

IC Trinaya (sans locket), and Volacius
Location- The Sinister Sith Temple

At the lockets words- too quickly cut off- Trin let out a piteous wail. Her attempt to scramble one hand up to hold the locket more safely and put the other hand holding her lightfoil up in defense failed entirely due to the stasis. Her friend, her companion, the only being that truly knew her path was gone.
She sagged limply against the force bonds holding her up as the locket ripped away from her neck. Horrified eyes watched helplessly as the small golden locket was pulled away from her. All will to live taken with the loss of her one true purpose in life. An errant thought floated through the freezing panic in her mind ‘It will rip my face off… I didn’t keep it safe.’ She could hear Malos speaking, but could not make herself care about what he was saying. One tiny drop of blood fell slowly down towards the neckline of her shirt, released by the ripping off of the locket.
Then she took a breath in and… it was all ok. She was completely herself again. Released from the stasis Trin dropped almost bonelessly to the ground, knees hitting the ground first before she sat back on her heels. Weakened, Trin only kept herself from face planting by getting her shaking hands to the ground first. She could feel the miasma of ‘wrongness’ leaving her mind and breathed a sigh of relief, and then she remembered how she had been acting. Lowering her head down to her hands Trin bit one darkly blue lip, blushing deeply before saying, “I am deeply sorry for my words and action Darth Malos.” The quaver in her voice was so slight it almost wasn’t there, “I… thank you” the words were forced and awkward like the Zabrak girl didn’t speak them very often, “for releasing me from the influence of the locket.” Kneeling there, trembling slightly from the relief of release and from the sheer embarrassment of her actions, Trin waited in silence for the Sith’s response.

It didn’t seem as though Trill had heard Volacius’ strained suggestion, or if she had she’d chosen to ignore it. Volacius found this both infuriating and alarming. How could she have failed to notice the compulsion exuding from the console, beckoning for anyone clueless enough to approach and fall victim to what was very clearly a trap. Even now, in spite of the surreal snarling of the undead Tuk’ata and the sickening stench of their putrid flesh, and even after reasoning to himself that coming to this room was a mistake, he could still feel part of himself being enraptured with the thought of going back over to the console, taking in every single detail… testing its controls…
No! He thought, yet another of the Rancor’s spine-chilling roars snapping him back to his senses. The Mirialan physically shook his head as if that would somehow help stave off the conflicting thoughts in his mind. He could not allow himself to become compromised like this, but he didn’t necessarily want to leave the ancient woman behind either. Even if it was not dishonorable, Malos had expressed an interest in returning this woman to the Academy, and Volacius knew he would suffer if he left her to her fate. Further, she still might hold ancient secrets about the Force and the Jedi, and as much of a nuisance as her and her blasted ‘gods’ had been on their mission, he was not so foolish as to let such an opportunity slide.
“TRILL!” Volacius tried again, shouting this time. “We… must… leave! Now!”

darthkain7, @lordjania, cliojayne

Crashed shuttle  ~ Unknown moon~

The heat from the secondary fires was considerable, a few of them trailing down the path of dirt, plowed over branches, and snapped trees left in the shuttles wake. Trooper Qun, had exited the shuttle first after enabling one of the emergency release hatches. Jumping down into the dirt, recovering and silently observing about the outside of the shuttle and the forest before proceeding to walk around and explore further. Broken and sheared off durasteel and debris combined with broken branched and upturned rocks littered the ground around the shuttle. Smoke rose from some smoldering branches and debris. Keeping his blaster at the ready, he paced carefully about. Following a trail of boot prints in the dirt, however the trail quickly went cold as soon as he got further away from the ship and near the intact tree line. He had initially noticed the absence of the Sith commander. The path he followed potentially having been his, had to be, everyone else was still in the shuttle. Why the Sith commander had abandoned them, was beyond him. Though he had witnessed the selfish cruel nature of some Sith, so it did not surprise him.

Everyone was beginning to make their way out of the crippled shuttle. Trooper Kai, the hopeful Xxys, the Omwati woman Lylia, and the pilot, whom he recognized as Major Gewig. Qun had noted the co-pilot had not been moving when he had surveyed the shuttle interior earlier. That along with the tree branch piercing the bulkhead behind the co-pilot’s seat covered in blood had told him they had lost him.

Major Gewig had emerged with Lylia, an expression of pain on his face as he winced a bit as he climbed down the emergency ladder. The woman’s words about his fellow pilot had been a realization as he had been initially in shock, hearing it from her snapping him out of a daze. She was all too right, they needed to get off of this rock. They could not rely on the distress beacon though to comfort them. They had not fully even triangulated their own position before the crash, they could be light years away from the nearest relay satellite or buoy. Which meant days, weeks, or even more.

Gewig, hobbled, limping slightly, over to the side of the ship still smoldering. Turning to speak as he began to access a side panel on the crippled shuttle.

“We need to salvage and gather what we can here.” He spoke as he opened the panel fully, having to manually open it with a release handle. He grabbed a small blaster, and a datapad which was hooked via cable to the shuttle. The datapad booted and began cycling through several commands as it began a data-dump and download of information from the shuttles core system.

“Everything is fried, including communications.” The pilot spoke, as he held the datapad which also went through system check revealing the shuttles status.

It was no surprise, but he had hoped something would still be functioning. At least the core batteries had enough to allow for the download. 

He noted Lylia, now in better light, was bleeding on her forearms and from her head slightly, indicative of them all as they were all banged up and injured slightly. The other Trooper, Kai, it was was outside the shuttle as well with a tote of gear, he noted the belt around the troopers horn, that of his co-pilot. There was a moment of anger, but it ceased as the realization that they were in survival mode override his initial anger. Technically he outranked everyone here, the Sith hopefully, the woman, and of course the troopers. Though he had no intentions of barking orders. His head still rang and his leg was throbbing in pain, a muscle tear from being thrashed around. It would be manageable but would certainly hinder him the more he used it. “Troopers” he spoke out to Trooper Qun whom was walking back from the tree line and Trooper Kai, initially assessing the surroundings. “Any sign of Pares?” It was not much of a surprise to any of them that mysteriously he was missing. Gewig turned back to the datapad which read 42% downloaded. Gewig noted the lightsaber hanging at the hopeful Xxys side, he had not seen it initially. Perhaps it had been awarded by Pares? Maybe he could track the Sith? Though Gewig wondered if they should be in fact even bothering to follow and or track him down.

“Here,” Gewig spoke to the Omwati woman as he tossed a med-pack with bacta and bandages to her. “you should clean those up.”  Obviously referring to her arms and head. 

Who knew how much daylight or time relative to this moon they had. At least they could breath and were alive, well most of them. Gewig turned back to the datapad which was continuing to download, as he grabbed a stim-pack from the the external access hatch. Plunging it into his leg, he winced but recovered to toss it to the ground after it had injected a concoction of stims and antibiotics.


Darth Xxys ,darthkain7 ,Reiis Invadator ,

IC: Trill
Location: The Sinister Sith Temple

The girl would still be focused on the console and the inscriptions on it as she wondered what its use was for. The fact that one of the characters was similar to a part of her brand makes her not only want to investigate it more but it flooded her mind with thoughts of the day she received her brand. Paying no mind to what was happening around her now; Trill began to zone out as she thought back to the day she was branded and what started her days as slave.

*The barracks had been alive as ever and a young Trill sat there wondering when she would finally be claimed by a Predor and shown that she has some use. The girl was a young 11 years of age and just finished her initial conditioning to be a slave in nice fashion. With her force sensitivity it was obvious that she was going to become a force hound but there was also the chance that there were a lot of them in her stock and that with such vast numbers it was entirely possible to be passed over and instead consumed at such an early age. While being told her entire time being conditioned that being consumed was an honor in Rakatan culture, Trill at this time had still shown fear of such things happening to her. It was what plagued a lot of her early nightmares and made its way into almost every aspect of her training. It was the reason she was the number two in her stock behind cocky and overconfident Xesh.

It was only a day later that she was claimed by her first master and her life as a true force hound began. She was awoken early that morning for her branding and though she obeyed as much as possible she began to show resistance where the hot iron brand was brought in front of her sizzling and smoking. Being forced onto all fours as she was held down by Rakatan grunts, she would squirm and scream as she felt the iron touch the soft flesh on her back and she felt herself grow dizzy. The Iron would touch her skin almost eight more times before it was over and by then the girl couldn’t even hear herself screaming anymore. She would eventually pass out from the pain alone and in the blackness of her mind she heard her name being yelled at her. It was distant and distant until she finally felt it screaming in her ear and her mind was brought back to the then and now*

Trill would feel the sudden grasp on her wrist and she would zone back in to seeing the yellow greenish man tugging at her and saying something she really couldn’t understand. Looking at him she would raise an eyebrow but take notice of his demeanor and want to leave. Looking back to the console she would sigh one last time and slightly skim her free hand over her brand before figuring that Volacius probably wanted to leave from here. Turning on her heel and walking away she would head back towards the exit of the room hoping that’s what the slave wanted her to do in the first place.

Tag: cliojayne , volacius , darthkain7

Shipwrecked
Surface of unknown moon
Xxys I.C.

“Everything is fried, including communications"

The pilot, Maj. Gewig, flipped the control panel and pressed a few buttons on the face. The data pad in his hand chirped and beeped to confirm that the ship was indeed completely disabled...including the coms.
The rest of the passengers had left the confines of the shuttle and Xxys emerged just in time to see the Major taping into the ships diagnostic system.
Everyone was cut and bruised but for the most part they were relatively unharmed. The co-pilot had saved their lives, with his own.
Looking around the crash site Xxys could see it was littered with burning debris; some of those fires were substantial. The Major then asked the trooper with the cracked horn if the errant Lord Pares had been located. He tossed a med pac to the Omwati woman advising she should dress the wounds.
Xxys approaches the Major
"Major, I see that Lord Pares is missing and I will assume the troopers would have sounded off if his body had been found. We need to control these fires and secure this shuttle in case we are stuck here. I heard the distress beacon deployment but that might draw attention from marauders so we need to be prepared for any unexpected visitors. I will see if I can get a sense of Pares' whereabouts".
Xxys settles his mind and reaches out with the Force, feeling for the missing Dark Lord.
"There was no guarantee that I will be able to sense the man. If he is shielding his presence in the Force, or has been captured and removed sufficiently far away then I will be unable to locate him.
Focusing my mind on the surrounding area I attempt to sense his presence in the Force.

@kai Erlae
darthkain7
dragonsith13

IC: Dwomutsiqsa
Location:"The Brigadier"

Dwomutsiqsa had been summoned for a mission to Dathomir. They tasked him with security as well as guiding others once they touched down on that "swampy shithole." He hated the Nightsisters. He hated them for their treatment of males, their ideological audacity, and perhaps most of all, their willingness to remain primitive. He stared out into the endless, gluttonous expanse of hyperspace, a distorted humming began to set Dwomutsiqsa for reflection. He clenched, with seething strength, a rough, blood-red cloth; it was the last thing he had left of that life, life as a slave. The teachings of the Nightsisters was cause for great malcontent for Dwomutsiqsa, it was not uncommon for him to mock the spirits in his soliloquys.

"How did it feel, spirits, when Tyranus' tool, slammed his durasteel fist into your stomach? You supposedly gave the Nightsisters a portion of your immense power to fight back. My former Shaman told me what happened. The power you gave Old Daka bore no fruit but exasperation."

The skies were rarely visible, smothered by the flora. Sometimes he would climb the twisted, eighty-meter trees to steal a view at the celestial dome of Dathomir, stained vermillion by its star, it always gave off a sense of primeval doom. The air itself seemed to sparkle with Force energy, and perhaps that's why Dwom seemed to always have a migraine. His only reprieve came from the cocoon-like fruit, for every now and then, some poor fool would be crushed under their size and weight. They fell more frequently whenever Dwom was around, maybe they were scared of him. He returned to the lair for, unknowingly, his last time. He walked through that cave enough times to erode the ground yet something felt different.

"The Sleeper awakes...."

Pulled out of his trance by the barking of his superior, he sped off, closely following Chûnrân. He was ordered to restrain a stow-away that was well within the effects of her silver tongue. He pulled his sword from it's scabbard with a twist, keeping it's impossibly sharp point primed for a shiak upon direct orders.


Tag:Darth Dreadwar ,Chunran ,darthvoxyn ,aureliaillium , corinthia

IC: Jephego Rose
Somewhere, 36 years before the Battle of Yavin

Jephego had always heard the stories from other pirates; the stories that when you're frozen in carbonite, you never truly sleep. That for as long as you're encased in that forsaken metal, you're wide awake and facing an unending, indefinite, ambiguous nothingness. But she'd also heard stories of the opposite— that it's just like sleeping, or being dead, or as near to both as one can get. Now facing her own carbonite fate, Jephego was desperately hoping for the latter.

Nervous, Jephego clawed at her neck with fingernails mottled with chipped dark polish, the stuncuffs clamped around her skinny wrists digging painfully. Admittedly, sleeping for a while didn't sound so bad. It'd be a nice break from the chaotic hellscape of her life.

She had, once again, flubbed a deal. The Hutt Clan and Black Sun wanted her to intercept a high-value shipment of precious metals and a handful of priceless artifacts in exchange for a not inconsiderable amount of credits, and Jephego had gone and double-booked herself with an old friend in the Delmaasi who needed her help with a raid and to whom she still owed more favors than she could count on one hand. This wasn't an unusual thing for Jephego to do, but this time, as it turned out, the consequences were a little more dire than she was used to. After spending a few months on the run, Jephego was at last captured and trussed up by a very old friend and former piracy mentor—and was now awaiting her doom.

So as she was roughly prodded into position in the center of a carbon freezing chamber, all Jephego could hope for as she squirmed against her captors and searched for a way out of this karking mess was that the stories about how being frozen in carbonite was like sleeping were true. Because it was beginning to look more and more like this wasn't a situation she would be able to talk or shoot her way out of, despite still having her trusty DL-18 and vibroblade on each hip (which seemed a bit strange, considering the situation—not that she was complaining or anything, though). All around her, the menacing faces of members of Black Sun and Gardulla the Hutt's personal guard leered at her—Pykes and Gamorreans and Trandoshans and Weequay and a handful of tough-looking humans, all armed to the teeth and grinning diabolically… except for one very upset-looking Zeltron wearing a glossy black jumpsuit and blood-colored cropped jacket emblazoned with the Black Sun's logo, her curled magenta hair effortlessly flipped to one side. By the way she carried herself and the emblem on her lapel, it was clear that she was a leader among the Black Sun. Jephego nimbly sloughed off a scaly hand laid on her shoulder meant to stop her from bolting and bared her teeth in a snarl at the Trandoshan it belonged to, her one gold tooth flashing in the sinister lighting of the carbon freezing facility. “Don't touch me, scum,” Jephego hissed. Briefly, she locked eyes with the Zeltron woman.

Yana Medine.

Yana's eyes flashed as they lit upon Jephego, and her pink skin flushed three shades darker with rage.

To her left, a wheezing Pyke standing at a console coughed out some words to Yana, who spared him a glance before nodding. Jephego's amber eyes flicked back and forth between Yana, the Pyke, Gardulla's guard captain, and the console which she knew would be the means to her inescapable imprisonment. She ground her teeth, jaw flexing, and fixed her maddened eyes on her former friend and ally, Yana. Yana Medine, who had taught Jephego all she knew about piracy—from shooting a blaster to how to pilot like a true pirate—before Jephego had dumped Yana and stole her ship to make her own fame and fortune in the galaxy. Years of camaraderie-turned-rivalry crackled between their gazes as they stared each other down.

"I hope you're happy, Jephego Rose," Yana said flatly, turning her eyes to examine a glitzy ring on her pretty pink hand. "You know, it wasn't easy chasing you all over the Force-forsaken galaxy for all these years. But I suppose it just turned out all I needed to do was to wait and let you get yourself into a predicament you just can't talk your way out of. I knew once you struck a deal with both Gardulla and Black Sun, all I needed to do was bide my time."

Jephego squinted at her, then spat on the ground towards Yana's feet. Frag that woman and all the years Jephego had spent running from her and her cronies. Now Jephego was angry. "Happy?" she snapped. "Kark that. Send Gardulla and Prince Xi-what's-his-name my regards. Tell them I’ll get them someday—tell them I’m going to put blaster bolts right between their ugly eyes.” Jephego lifted a hand, the aurodium bangles on her wrists jangling against the stuncuffs as she menacingly tapped the bridge of her nose between her fiery eyes. "Especially that Black Sun Prince asshole." Jephego continued to glare as Yana looked to the thugs beside her and gestured orders. Shrugging testily, Jephego allowed a pair of Weequay to wrest the stuncuffs off her wrists. Truthfully, Jephego was scared out of her mind—what if the carbonite killed her? How long would she be encased? Her brain was bursting with fear and questions. But she wasn't going to let Yana Medine get the last word. Not that woman. "Honestly, Yana, you should thank me for at least making the last six years of your life interesting. Remember Nimban? Remember how I did that cool little trick in my ship, the Damask Rose—the spinny thing— and sent that piece of junk you were flying rocketing off towards the nearest asteroid? If I recall, didn't you end up crashing?" Jephego barked a laugh as she rubbed some feeling back into her wrists where the stuncuffs had dug into them. "Those were some good kriffing times."

Unable to listen to Jephego's insufferable chatter any longer and having turned a vibrant shade of red, Yana leaned to the side and spoke to the Pyke at the console: "Freeze her."

As the Pyke tapped at some keys and turned a few dials and the sound of liquid carbonite sprayers crescendoed, Jephego swiftly lifted both hands in an insanely rude gesture that made Yana twist her face in disgust. Jephego's heart was thundering in her chest as she spoke. "You'll regret this, Yana. I know it. I'll see you on the other side, you bi—"

The liquid carbonite struck her body quite suddenly, startling Jephego. It was cold, and it seized her body far quicker than she expected. Her whole body tensed, and she sucked in a gasping, fearful breath and clenched her hands into fists, lifting her arms as if to protect her face. Her thoughts blazed with the hope that she would just go to sleep as soon as it was all over.

And just like that, Jephego Rose was frozen in carbonite.

- - -

After Jephego was frozen, her block was sold by Black Sun to the Tenloss Syndicate for quite the pretty penny. With all the bounties on her head that she had accumulated for skipping out on commitments and deals over the years, it was no surprise that she'd sold for such a high amount. She was to be loaded onto a freighter on Ord Mantell in Black Sun territory with a destination in the Bajic sector, on the complete opposite side of the galaxy, for delivery to a direct descendant of Bandar Tenloss. Packed away with something resembling care, Jephego's "tomb" was stowed away with a variety of other artifacts headed to the same destination, and with a skeleton crew manning the freighter, began its long journey to the Bajic sector.

But somewhere between Jabiim and Eadu in the Triellus Trade Route hyperlane, something happened. Something struck the freighter while in hyperspace—and no one knew what, though it could have been debris or a small asteroid—tearing a decent piece of the ship clean off and sucking the crew out into hyperspace, where they surely must have died before even having to suffer getting spaced in the warmthless void of open space. With Jephego still sealed inside and no crew to guide the freighter, it drifted further and further away from the Outer Rim, until it lost momentum and came to hang motionless in the vacuity of Wild Space.

There it stayed, lost, abandoned by search parties and deemed irretrievable. The wheel of time spun ceaselessly on without Jephego Rose, and for one hundred and ninety years, she was alone.

Forgotten.

- - -

Aboard a YT-1760, 154 years after the Battle of Yavin


The first glimpse of light was blinding.

As was the second.

And the third.

In fact, everything was blinding—so much so that Jephego Rose thought that she might have actually gone blind. Gasping as her body suddenly crumpled forward to a cold floor that felt strange and unfamiliar under her hyper-sensitive fingers, Jephego's head buzzed and her gut heaved with nausea. Feeling violently ill, she retched right where she lay, though her stomach was empty and nothing came of the effort. Reeling and fevered and dizzy as all hell, Jephego rolled to her side as she usually did after drinking too much. But her vision was still just splotches of white intermingled with fathomless black, and she could tell this wasn't mere drunkenness.

Where was she?

The hum under her body—her body that was now shaking with alternating chills and hot flashes—gave her the distinct impression of being on a ship. She tried to continue the thought, but she was suddenly beset again with the urge to vomit. Rolling onto her back after the feeling passed, Jephego squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her surroundings swim and gyrate around her.

"—ady, are you o—"

She heard the words faintly and distantly, but she felt the clammy touch of someone else much more immediately, though she did not have the strength or steadiness to pull away from having her hand touched.

"Hey, lady?" The voice was nearer now, gravelly and masculine. Perhaps a little sincere-sounding? Jephego could only groan as her head was lifted from the floor. "You okay?" Her hand was lifted and dropped to the floor, and she could feel her cheek being patted. Her head was raised now, but she couldn't tell what was under it. "Ah, kriff it, I weren't expectin' to find any ladies on today's run."

Then, suddenly, her head was lowered again, and the voice grew distant again as it spoke about some water and a blanket. With her vision gone and her head spinning, Jephego kept her eyes shut tight as she rolled onto her side again. After a few moments she could feel pounding vibrations through the floor as the voice's owner jogged back to Jephego and quickly draped a threadbare and scratchy blanket over her limp form. She could feel herself being rolled back over onto her back, and she could feel the rim of a cantina being pressed to her lips, but before she could drink—she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Jephego awoke again sometime later, though she couldn't tell how much later. The dizziness had only subsided by a little, but now she was awkwardly laid on what she assumed was a bunk on some kind of ship, as her vision was still blank. I think I'm dying, Jephego thought, then groaned. Draping a limp and heavy arm over her sightless eyes, Jephego faded out of consciousness again.

It felt like this pattern of nauseating wakefulness followed by unrestful sleep lasted for days—all the while, Jephego was tended to, albeit a bit clumsily, by someone with a gruff and accented voice. She received water, and maybe a few crumbs of food she barely had the energy to ingest, and at some point had a second blanket put on top of the first. Like this, Jephego wavered near death until she was strong enough and could see enough to sit on the edge of the bunk with her head between her knees and fight the urge to vomit what food and water she'd been able to swallow.

A few hours later, Jephego could stand. And when she could stand, she wobbled her way to the cockpit of the unfamiliar ship, wondering where her purple greatcoat had gone and brushing sweat-dampened clumps of black hair off her forehead.

In the cockpit, a plump human man sat with his feet kicked up on the console and one hand tucked behind his head. Music was playing from a local subspace network station, and the man whistled along as he swiped through something on a datapad. Outside the viewport, stars slipped slowly past as the ship drifted towards what looked like an orbital docking station on autopilot.

Jephego had questions—lots of them. Taking a deep breath, she spoke.

"Hey."

Startling, the man jumped and fumbled with his data pad before turning to look at Jephego, bewildered. "You're up!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, I am—whatever," Jephego gestured dismissively before furrowing her brow and planting her hands on her hips. "Who are you, and where the kriff am I?"

Grunting, the man dropped his datapad into his lap. "I'm Gaeriel Corr, this is my ship we're on," he said as if it should have been clear as day. He used the edge of his sleeve to mop up some of the sweat beaded on his forehead. "Pleasure to finally meet ya."

Jephego fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. She already didn't like the guy. "Yeah, that's not helpful. Where are we going? That orbital station?" Jephego pointed out the front of the cockpit.

Gaeriel glanced out the viewport before turning back to Jephego, looking to be even sweatier than before. "Yeah, we're headed to the orbital station. I got business there. What about it?"

"What planet does it orbit?"

"Korriban."

Jephego couldn't resist it any longer. She threw her hands up in the air in frustration before pinching the bridge of her nose and groaning. Korriban. Homeworld of the Sith. "Why?" she demanded.

"Look, lady, it's not every day a junker like me finds a lady floatin' in the middle of wild space in a block of carbonite. I've got goings-ons on Korriban's orbital station, and I figure I can drop ya off there, too. I ain't got any business keeping around someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Jephego scoffs. Clearly he didn't know who Jephego Rose, pirate and bounty hunter extraordinaire, was, whose reputation usually preceded her. He seemed like the Outer Rim type, too—and they were usually the ones to look to Jephego with some level of admiration. "Don't you know who I am?"

Gaeriel Corr shook his head.

Then it clicked in Jephego's head—he'd said carbonite. She'd been frozen in carbonite.

Everything came rushing back to her.

Being captured by Yana Medine, facing down Black Sun and Gardulla's guard, the sound of carbonite sprayers, and the deep sleep that had instantaneously gripped her when the cold liquid metal touched her.

Overwhelmed, Jephego sank to the floor in the cockpit's doorway. "Son of a Kath hound," she moaned, burying her face in her hands, mumbling more to herself than to Gaeriel. "How long was I frozen for?" She left her face buried for a moment longer before looking up at Gaeriel. "Hey, Gaeriel, Finis Valorum had just been re-elected as Chancellor for his second term last I remember. How long ago was that?"

Gaeriel looked to think for a moment, sticking his tongue into a stubbly cheek and staring at the ceiling. "Dunno. 180, 190 years ago?" He shrugged.

Stunned, Jephego sprang to her feet, tugging at her twin braids in distress and disbelief. "What the pfassk?! I was left in that karking block of carbonite by that frakking woman Yana Medine for one hundred and ninety years?!"

- - -

Korriban's Orbital Station


Gaeriel hadn't exactly been kind as he booted the still shocked Jephego off his ship and onto the docks at the orbital station above Korriban. Citing other things to tend to, Gaeriel all but shoved Jephego's coat, blaster, and vibroblade into her arms before pushing her down the loading ramp and into a throng of particularly rough-looking young men, women, and others milling about. As Jephego whirled around to give Gaeriel what-for for pushing her, he was already retracting the loading ramp and taking off. Honestly quite frightened and dazed by the realization that she'd been practically asleep for almost two centuries, Jephego hurried to put on her coat and strap her weapons belts back around her hips. She dove for the comfort of shadows at the edge of the docking bay she was in as soon as she could, curling up into the fetal position when she was out of the way and out of sight.

Korriban! What a hell of a place to be left high and dry.

Jephego believed exactly none of what she had been taught by her ultra-religious mother growing up on Jedha. But still she remembered her homeschooling, as much as Jephego would have preferred to forget. Korriban was the Sith's tomb-world, the place where they kept all their extravagant burial sites and hallowed crypts. The Sith! Worshippers of the Dark Side and world-class jerks. Crusaders, destroyers, despoilers, murderers—evil enemies of the beatified Jedi and all the rest of the galaxy. And Jephego had just been dumped on their front doorstep after taking one of the galaxy's longest naps.

The worst of it, though, was that Jephego had no idea what the Sith had accomplished in the 190 years she'd spent sleeping in carbonite. In her timeline, the Sith had been little more than rumor and legend, something whispered about as a phantom threat, but never anything greater. Certainly she never would have seen crowds of them milling about in a packed orbital station back then. If their numbers were so great here, what about the rest of the galaxy? What sort of victories had the Sith enjoyed in those 190 years?

"Alright, Jephego," she whispered to herself, simultaneously psyching herself up and calming herself down, rubbing circles into her temples with her fingertips as she crouched behind a pallet of shipping crates. "We're gonna get on the first ship headed away from the Sith-ridden hell planet, and then we'll figure out what to do next." Quickly, she gave each piercing on her face and hands a touch, half making sure they were still all there before standing up, popping the collar on her aubergine greatcoat, and speed-walking into the nearest crowd of people.

Listening intently to announcements being made over the P.A. system, Jephego carefully and casually made her way to a hangar where it was announced that a Pellaeon-class Star Destroyer named the Brigadier would be soon departing for the Quelii sector. That meant it was probably headed to Cathar or Dathomir, then, Jephego concluded as she approached the mammoth ship among a cluster of what looked to be mechanics. Those were good planets for a pirate to find something to do. There were still crew members loading last-minute supplies onto the star destroyer as she squatted behind an inactive loading droid, watching and waiting for an opportunity to steal aboard. Soon, she saw one: a hatch to a cargo hold was left open and unattended. Without hesitating for a single moment, Jephego bolted for the hatch and clambered inside, tucking herself out of sight behind crates and boxes marked as consumables.

Then, she waited.

This wasn't Jephego's first time as a stowaway: she'd done it plenty of times over her 10-year career as a pirate. So as she waited for time to pass and the ship to jump to hyperspace, she made mental notes about where vents leading into the duct system were and where any doors or hatches were—and, if star destroyers were still anything like what they were two centuries prior, where the 'freshers might be.

What felt like two days passed as Jephego waited patiently in the depths of the cargo hold. She left the cozy little nest she'd made of her greatcoat and a tarp only to crawl through the ventilation system to the nearest refresher for water and to relieve herself. So far, she hadn't been discovered, and she was feeling pretty good about it—one hundred and ninety years, and she still hadn't lost her touch!

Kicking her caf-colored boots up on top of a small box of dried foodstuffs she'd been eating out of and linking her fingers behind the nape of her neck, Jephego let out a long sigh. It was late evening on the second day since she'd stowed away aboard the Brigadier, and she was starting to hope that they would soon arrive in the Quelii sector. Loneliness was beginning to fester in her heart, and she wanted to find her people again—her people being the pirates, swindlers, crooks, slavers, and spice traders of the galaxy. With all she'd ever known now lost to the oblivion of time, she was going to need the community more than ever before. She was consumed, too, with grief she didn't know what to do with. Her mother had died, presumably on Jedha, without knowing the fate of her only daughter. And that bitch of a woman, Yana Medine—she too was long dead, and now Jephego would never have the chance to get back at her for throwing her into a block of carbonite for centuries. Curse her!

Jephego took her hands from behind her head and buried her face in the crook of an elbow. As she resisted the urge to scream and punch a shipping crate, she heard something in the cargo hold she hadn't heard before: giggling. Lustful, lascivious giggling. Jephego froze. An affair? In her cargo hold?

Quietly, Jephego removed her boots from the box of food and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her greatcoat, getting ready to fight or flee. Her fingers itched as they momentarily hovered above her blaster. The voices grew nearer to her, as did the sound of clothes being pushed aside or perhaps even pulled off. Pantomiming a gag, Jephego crouched behind her shelter of crates. Then—the two bodies bumped to her precious barrier, knocking down a small pallet of food packets from the topmost crate. And much to Jephego's chagrin, it struck her on the crown of her head, and before she could think better of it she cried out in pain, clamping her ring-decorated hands over the forming bump.

Then the giggling stopped.

- - -

And that was how Jephego was discovered and apprehended by two wanton presumed-Sith. Now cuffed and presented to what Jephego assumed was a man inside a suit of crisp grey military attire topped with a glossy black mask, Jephego was nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot, hoping beyond all hope that punishment would be little more than some time in the brig and a slap on the wrist. But with the reputation she knew the Sith had, it seemed unlikely to Jephego.

“I won't ask again, where did you find her?” the man in the military suit sporting the rank medallions designating him as the ship's captain said to the male half of the lusty duo. An acolyte, Jephego had discovered.
Jephego held her tongue with a degree of amusement, waiting for the idiot to stammer out a reply.

"I-I-I," the acolyte began as the captain's masked stare bored into him. "I-I don't know, sir," he managed at last. It was all Jephego could do to not laugh.

"Can't remember where you found her?" The captain's tone was mocking. "Next time you engage in congress with Captain Morgana, try telling a lie that actually makes sense." Turning from the disgraced acolyte, the captain regarded Jephego and the host of guards she'd seemingly acquired. A quick glance told her there was a human male, a Dathomirian Zabrak male, and a human woman apparently keeping her as their charge. "What is your name, stowaway?" the captain addressed Jephego. "What are you doing aboard His Dread Majesty's ship? And how did you get here?"

The decorated captain puffed himself up, allowing the light of the hangar they stood in to catch on the metal of his badges in an attempt to look more important. Unimpressed, Jephego rolled her eyes. She never did have the patience for the self-important military types.

"Ah, go crink yourself, Captain Helmet," Jephego spat, flipping one of her long braids over her shoulder with some effort and making a disgusted face at the man. "You military types generally aren't very creative, and sometimes you're not very astute, either. I snuck into the cargo hold when your loading crew wasn't looking, idiot." She sniffled, and looked him up and down with a critical eye. "Let's see if my reputation lasted at all—maybe my name with ring a bell."

Casually, she shrugged one shoulder, rolled her neck, and fixed the ship's captain with a heated stare. "The name's Jephego Rose."

IC: Darth Feros
Deep, and getting deeper
Mines of Corbos


"Clang!" Feros's boots struck the ground and the noise seemed to reverberate off the stone walls. He swore it was going to deafen him.

He waited and let the echoes fade and observed his surroundings. He was on a lift platform. He was also facing down a tunnel. It looked like his plunge had paid off. And then he saw it. It was only an instant. He almost missed it. A glimmer. Something reflecting the scarlett glow of his saber. Or something equally as bright red and glowing.

He focused, pulled the force into himself. He reached out to see what he could feel. And then he felt it at the same time he heard the sound. A skittering almost. Something moving across the cave floor.

Feros felt a presence in the Force. He couldn't tell what it was. Or what it's intent was. But one thing was more blatantly aware to Feros. He was no longer alone.

Darth Catalyst darthkain7 trentongordon

 
Songsteel and icy determination met the Emperor's callous query. And so beautiful is the song of steel, the Emperor thought, eyeing the gleaming blade that Illium had unsheathed with a deft movement from the scabbard upon her back. “If you ask it of me, my liege," Illium said, her blade hovering above the gizka's neck, "than I will kill it. My blade, my arrows and my powers are yours to command. My loyalty is to you, to the Sith. Not toward this vermin.” 

A single word would rob this insect of her beloved pet.
  
The Emperor intended many more than one.
 
"Put away your weapon," the Emperor whispered. "It is wise and good that you are prepared to part with this creature's life. Sentiment for a pet should never come before survival, or obedience to your Emperor. But killing that which you are attached to because you are attached to it?"
 
The Emperor shook his head. "Sheer folly. Mark my words, child, and mark them well. There are those who would call themselves Sith who would preach, and say unto you, that to be Sith you must perform some form of self-flagellating sacrifice to prove your zeal and commitment to the cause. Heed their teachings not! They are naught but corrupted Jidai, who carry with them the ascetic pretensions of that insipid monkhood of self-denial. To deny oneself the pleasure of attachments? Idiocy!"
 
The Emperor clenched a gauntleted fist. "To be Sith is to break one's chains, to free oneself from commitments and foolish moralisms and any belief systems and superstitions that hold you back - rituals of sacrifice included. To be Sith," the hood gazed directly at Illium, "is to do what you want. Whatever you want - and that is all I will ever demand of you. If it is to enjoy the company of this vermin, it is thus to enjoy the company of this vermin. If it is to rut and fuck your way across the galaxy like a common beasst, it is thus." The Emperor expected Illium would be taken aback by such crude speech, using the most vulgar of Basic terms over even more palatable Huttese equivalents such as kriff, and indeed he was quite aware how disturbing such an expression was when emanating forth as a shuddering whisper from a cowl of void and death, defying the dignity of the Imperium and sullying his spectral presence with grotesque carnality. 

Lessons were oft best taught, when not at the point of a sword, with pointed words. They stayed in the memory.
 
"If," Dreadwar continued, "it is to seek political domination of the galaxy, it is thus. If it is to destroy the Jidai for perceived past slights, bland as that desire is, it is thus. Do you see now, my child? Whatever you want is within your grasp, and what you desire let no fool put asunder. Now tell me, child..." The Emperor's cowl dipped, the invisible stare growing penetrating; Illium would feel his gaze, in icy prickles racing up her arms and a chill settling in the base of her spine. "What... do... you... want?"
 
In the hangar, meanwhile, Imperial soldiers - a mixture of Stormtroopers who had remained loyal to the Sith following the death of Emperor Krayt, and the cybernetic Sith troopers bred by the late Dread Lord in their secret millions - were forming up at the barked command of Chûnrân. The squadron leader of Fifty-Two, a Sith warrior in regulation Stormtrooper's armour with a cortosis shield, ignited and raised his silver lightsaber in a sharp salute. "Hail the Emperor, Commander!" he called. "Understood, sir, we are with you. The men are eager, but we are confused, sir. Where are we going? What is the mission objective?"
  
 
He looked over back at Jephego, catching her roll of the eyes. His eyes narrowed. "Ah, go crink yourself, Captain Helmet," she said. "You military types generally aren't very creative, and sometimes you're not very astute, either. I snuck into the cargo hold when your loading crew wasn't looking, idiot." She sniffled, and looked him up and down with a critical eye. "Let's see if my reputation lasted at all—maybe my name with ring a bell."
 
Casually, she shrugged one shoulder, rolled her neck, and fixed Caracalla with a heated stare. "The name's Jephego Rose."
 
The Captain's mask remained expressionless. The only telltale sign of the Captain's fuming rage was a slight stiffening of the shoulders, a twitch of a gloved hand. The mask turned to look at Dwomutsiqsa, and the unsheathed sword, as if contemplating ordering the acolyte to run Jephego through. But it would not do to spill so much blood upon the hangar deck.
 
His hand clenched into a fist, and with it he pulled on the aetheric twines of the Force, pulling them taut - and causing a crushing pressure to emerge around Jephego's throat, aimed at restricting her breathing enough to punish, but not kill. "If the cleaning crews hadn't just finished mopping this gleaming durasteel deck, I'd have Dwomutsiqsa here gut you alive," Caracalla said, tone deceptively mild. "As it is, I find your impudence amusing. I have not heard of you, but thank you for answering my question nonetheless. Now, why is it that you want to go to Dathomir, then?" His hand unfurled, and the pressure abated.
 
Vitani, for her part, was finding answers an alternative way, delving into the recent past of the acolyte's lightsaber through her unique gift of psychometry. She saw the acolyte sneaking away with the pirate Captain Morgana, entering one of the Brigadier's large cargo holds, Morgana giggling all the while. She saw them kissing, disrobing, undressing... pushing each other back against a large stack of crates. More giggling. And then their lustful overtures grew too forceful, and a pallet of food packets fell from the topmost crate, striking something behind them - something that yelped.
 
Jephego.
 
The acolyte lurched away, pulling the lightsaber back, wrenching Vitani from her vision. "What the kriff you doing?" he snapped. He looked over at Dwomutsiqsa. "Can you believe this? She a 'saber thief or something?"