The Old Sith Trials

IC: Darth Illium
Location: Brigadier, en route to the Quelii sector, hyperspace.



“Put away your weapon," the Emperor whispered dismissively.

Illium lowers her elegant Sith blade, allowing her sudden overwhelming urge to kill to pass . For a moment she was frightened by that formidable calling….she’d wanted the gizka dead, merely for the crime of annoying the Emperor. Shipsbane had provided her with years of companionship. Freely, and loyally. All others had to pay to spend a night with her. Curious urges indeed….but not the first time she’d been compelled to kill one she’d been attached to, or was dependent on. She’d almost killed her own adopted Mother, but at the age of 8 couldn’t have possibly survived the vengeance of the Singing Mountain Witches if she tried. Perhaps in time she could correct that error.

Shipsbane, despite his lowly species was a loyal companion. There might be further use for him. She sheathed her hard gambled blade, and reaches out, plucks him from his telekinetic stasis and holds the tiny amphibian to her breast. The Dread King must have relinquished his hold otherwise she doubted she could have freed him.

The sentient hissing of the Emperor continued. “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?" He shook his empty hood. “Sheer folly!”

At this statement a wave of confusion crossed her scarred features.This wasn’t what the decayed Sith faction had taught her, nor what she’d learned upon Korriban. She was taught that attachment was weakness, in time all attachments would be pitting their blades against her. Contradictory, yes, because passion was the first line of the Sith code, but she’d suffered many a harsh reprimand for befriending those around her. For attachments. She typically kept her bond with the gizka hidden from her peers, after finding an ancient quiz that proclaimed a gizka was the least suitable pet for a Sith.

She listened raptly as the Emperor continues “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!"


Pleasure!

She didn’t need to deny its thrall any longer? Was this true? She didn’t know much in the way of joy, or of happiness but she’d certainly found pleasure in spice, drink and beds of Nar Shadda .She found it in sorcery, in weaving her illusions, in hunting down game with her bow.

The Emperor’s rusted gauntlet creaked as it clinched into a 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 fathomless blank the hood focused its eyeless gaze directly at Illium’s equally empty gaze, "....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."

She is visibly shocked by his use of the word fuck, rather than mate. It was a term she’d heard often and used liberally in the Red Sector, but was meet aghastly by the rest of the galaxy. She was reprimanded into using childish words like “kriff” or “space off”. She had to smile, it’s was a keystone that made the Emperor less a mysterious presence and a bit more anchored to the world she perceived. She would indeed remember this lesson.

It would be very pleasant indeed, to slither into beds across the galaxy for a mere grasp at power. Depending on the species at least.

"If..." the Dread King spoke onward and she thirsted desperately for his wisdom, "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 cowl dipped toward her, the pull of the Void held sway once more. Despite her lack of eyes she felt his stare, felt threads of ice traveling through her veins and curling at the base of spine.

"What... do... you... want?”

“Want….?” she questioned numbly.

It took Aurelia a day and half of hard journeying before she found what she’d envisioned in her mind, what the runes she’d cast pointed her to. By the time she arrived her young rancor was hardly able to place one leg in front another, and collapsed heaving at the foothills. Above her lay the ruins of what was whispered furtively as the Infinity Gates among the witches. What exactly they did was closely guarded secret , even the adopted daughter of the clans Mother was not privy to those secrets. Aurelia only knew they were once a highly coveted location of power; guarded by mighty Whuffa worms and center of a terrible conflict that ended up shattering many of the stone gates and ancient pyramid structures that formerly stood. Since that time they were supposedly defunct. Merely ancient ruins, with no fleeting whisper as to their purpose or how they had come to be here.

But this was is where her blind visions and runes lead her, and Aurelia followed the song of the Magick endlessly. Despite her lack of eyes she possessed no trouble in scaling the sheer plateau and clamoring up into the scattered ruins. If these gates were truly closed that Aurelia should have been near totally blind, seen just hazy grey shape of stone archways and chunks of pyramid….but the ruins were alive with all manner of glowing energies. Perhaps in the their prime they might have blinded her. Whatever lay here was diminished but not closed off the the Magicks. Aurelia didn’t even feel the need to heighten her senses, she could see quite vividly here.

At least she thought she could….the sisters termed her sense of sight as impaired, but she didn’t understand what they meant. She responded to visual stimulus just the same as her Sisters, she didn’t even need to shield her face as the Sisters oddly did during the eclipse.

She clasped a primitive iron and wood spear and began to tap, push aside rubble and follow the vibrations singing to her. And something was indeed calling to her, something forged of the same darkness of the solar eclipse. Something she desperate wanted.

And finally after half and hour of feeling, sensing, singing spells and prodding she found it at the foot of a towering stone gateway with half an arch still intact.

The Miraluka was utterly mesmerized, she had never seen anything so vivid before. It was a stark white bone mask, that would have covered half the face. Across two empty eye sockets was an angry bloody slash.It was not a relic known to her, and resembled nothing she’d encountered within her clan or any of the others. Even the wicked Nightsister’s didn’t wear bone masks like this. She could only assume it was an artifact catapulted across worlds….perhaps across eons.

The child knelt eagerly down beside it and touched the rough, porous surface. And screamed. Not out of horror. At least not at first.

She shrieked because everything changed…her spectrum of vision flipped to the more common form of sight. She saw the mists clinging to the crumbling ruin, the odd glow of their venerated sun Domri cast the whole sky in a soft crimson glow, saw each crack in the stone , each blade of glass, the golden color of her own hair. It suddenly fit as to why her adopted Mother had named her what translated to “the golden one”. She even saw the dirt and mud caking her bare feet and fingernails, the scales of her miniature leather armor and the rusted tip of her five foot spear.

She tried to clamp her hands over her empty eyes, to shut out all this vivid detail….but it was no avail. She was able to see in a complete 360 degree view, and that was no exception with this horrific, garish new vision.

Behind her she saw a figure manifesting from nothingness. A figure as abysmally black as the hungry moon devouring the sun, clad in armor and flowing decaying robes, and a bone white mask. Not quite the same one now seemingly melded into her paralyzed hand, but undeniably similar. The only major deference was a bit of steel across the brow and nose. Perhaps jewels might have rested here but the being long since abandoned any desire of decoration. A moment ago it had been a ethereal spirit...but how she could hear and feel the footsteps as it stood and began to walk toward her.

Her body screamed to run, to hide, flee….or lunge at him with her spear. It at least appeared male in stature.

But also she wanted to trick him into the bonds of a rope and carry him back to the clan as her slave. Many of the Witches were abandoning the old customs of enslaving the males for breeding, yet she saw no harm in rekindling a custom and claiming a male early. Keeping him until she was fertile to bear a daughter. Maybe it would be romantic….if the masked man stayed with her as she blossomed into a woman. Perhaps passionate when they could lay in a bed together.

Well….she desired to try and capture this mysterious specimen, only she shouldn’t move. No even to grasp her spear, not even to resist when a strange force knocked her to the ground. She cried out in pain, the unseen wave was so intense she felt a rib crack.

A male sorcerer! A Nightbrother perhaps? But….she knew what the Nightbrothers wore and none of them dressed like this.

“Who….who are you?” she hissed in pain, already needing to abandon the idea he might make a fine slave. He was to powerful to keep tame…

“Nu tuti ri jina'tis ir dia wisa natura drarina!” the Void figure uttered, his voice a rattling conglomeration of shrieking souls, of death knells, or torment all combined into one obscene, horrific echo of voices. It pierced like venom filled arrows into her skull, every word scratching into her memory and embedding themselves there. And that insidious venom coaxed awake a previously unknown knowledge, despite never hearing the language she knew what he was saying. “I am the darkness in which all life dies!”



Horror gripped her heart as the figure stepped closer. She could smell the stench of decay clinging to this robes, like a rancor carcass left to rot in the sun...the apparently crimson sun.
.
“Umm, hello Darkness. I am Aurelia. Can….can you let me go? Please….i am so scared…” she pleaded, voice saccharine with childish innocence.

The Darkness had no features that would have held sway to a reaction. It kept stepping closer, and Aurelia began to feel weak….as if she’d gone without food or rest for days….than even weaker, as if she was diseased and burning with fever...and finally she realized this man was somehow draining the magicks from her.

She howled wildly, it was agony beyond words….the empty masked face was leaned down over her, filling her newly acquired sight. All the Miraluka child could do was sob in her tearless manner. The figure didn’t touch her. They didn’t need to but still inflicted an invading torment. She could feel his clammy dead hands upon her skin, felt him clawing into places where only male slaves were permitted with consent and there was nothing the girl could do to stop it.

“dari nindz j'us norit sis, ardira?” the Void Monster cackled in its cacophony of voices. "Didn’t you want this, child?”

All she could do was wait until the Monster was satisfied. She didn’t recall exactly how long that took, only that mercifully her sight returned back to normal darkness emblazoned with auras. The Void Monster faded back into the shadows, and she regained control of her body. Progress was agonizingly slow, the slightest movement of her fingers exhausted her into unconsciousness. Two moons rose in the sky when she finally found the strength to sit up. Bruises welled across her throat, trickles of blood ran down from her nose and mouth, and down her thighs. She didn’t fully understand it’s implication but knew she’d been robbed of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

And something was clawing in her chest. A raw, gnawing hunger. A cancerous dead spot that could not be denied for long. Again she cried out , not sure what this void was and what it wanted. Without really thinking she stashed the mask into her bag, and leaned on her spear to pull herself to stand up. A serpent wound its way through the rubble , paying her no mind. Without consciousness thought Aurelia flung her hand out and a thread of orange energy streamed….but not from her palm. It came from the creature whose life essence was being sucked away, the serpent twisted and writhed for a few seconds before falling still, a mummified husk.

The essence she had stolen was flowing in her veins.It was a result of whatever that monster has done to her….he’d wounded her with whatever consuming affliction that rendered him more darkness than flesh.

Aurelia failed to see the disadvantage in this, she could steal the life from others and use it to fuel her own.

Perhaps it was what Aurelia has been searching for, it called to her with the same hypnotic Void of the Eclipse. It would bring the darkness in the midday back. Forever she could hold that darkness in her heart. She wanted it there.



“What do I want?” She begins, pulling her consciousness back to the present, “I….I want….Dathomir. Dathomir returned to the Nightsisters. I want my home back, resorted to its primal glory as it was under Mother Talzin. Perhaps keep the Nightbrothers a bit closer to the tribes. Or the Hapan males. I don’t need eyes to what species I want to fuck.” she began, her speech impassioned.

“I want….to rule. To crush those who would dare threaten me with illusions and then my arrows. I want to bring about the new future of Dathomir...if I must fight for it, than I shall. I shall fight for the future, and the future is now!” She proclaims boldly, replacing the visor she’d clawed off her brow and drawing herself up onto a more regal posture. “And the wisdom you have shared...I desire to hear more of it.” 

Tags: Chunran corinthia dwomutsiqsa darthvoxyn @darth dreadwar

IC: Dwomutsiqsa

Location: The Brigadier

"She a saber thief or something?" Before Dwomutsiqsa could answer his question, Vitani replied with an attempt at a witty riposte. It didn't impress Dwomutsiqsa, and the ending remark more or less annoyed him. "Have any funny secrets I can see in your past?" Another chuckle.
Dwomutsiqsa held his left hand up with the sword still held in his now loose grip. The Sleeper's Song was now held up with its tip pointing at the sky, no slower than he lifted the blade did he let the sword fall and allow the crossguard to seize itself upon the bulwark of his hand. He twisted the Bastard sword and placed it back into its prison, an ancient Resinwood scabbard that was more of an oiled pocket than a formal scabbard. The oil within gave the blade a soft and somewhat slippery feel to complement the luminescent silver. The crossguard was made of Phrik, for the weight of the metal was enough to balance out the lightweight of the alchemized Songsteel blade and tang; and the Nihil Stone that made the pommel offered an excellent hammer in times of great need.

Dwomutsiqsa, with a visible hint of irritation, unclipped the belt that held the sword and tossed it to Vitani, her Nexu clearly disapproved, "I've nothing to hide Hapan, but perhaps the former owner did. She was an iconoclast in her time. A former Nightsister turned Sith, much like our own Illium. I hope that's not where the similarity ends, for she believed in freedom for all, including the Nightbrothers."
The acolyte inquired, "And what if that's not true of Illium?" Dwomutsiqsa then stated, with a fierce determination in his eyes visible without his helmet, "Faith is the most overrated of virtues, and yet I have some in her. But if she even seeks to restore the Nightsisters to what they were, to even play with the idea of bringing back the absolute matriarchy or even fighting to keep it, then I will stomp on her skull and fill her empty eye sockets with the youngest of the Dathomirian Gaping spiders. The Spiderclan would have no problem with it. I hope it doesn't come to that, I look forward to working with her."


Dwomutsiqsa pulled his sword back to himself through the Force,
"I'm glad we had some time to train, I'd rather not land on Dathomir animated only to have the others just stand there with their dicks in their hands."

"Walk with me you two, I seek not to lead or to follow." He glances over at the Sith from Serenno, "Unlike my good friend Chûnrân as you can see."

Dwomutsiqsa rammed his elbow into the Nightbrother's skull with enough force to cave it in; he twisted, with his sword in reverse-grip on his right hand, and decapitated the mindless brute. Tendons, muscles, veins, arteries, and even its own esophagus and spine connected to the severed head, and sentience, as well as an entire body, was achieved once again.

From another space on the arena, Chûnrân had completely melted two Nightbrothers. The goop of their bodies connected and formed a giant; it used the force of their clashing liquid to prime himself for a devastating kick. He ducked below and cut the Achilles tendon as he did so, a perfect example of a well-placed Makashi shiim cut.
The giant took his morningstar and twisted for a powerful strike, only to have it dodged. Chûnrân completely severed the brother's kneecap from his right leg. He ended with a furious blast of flame melting the body once again only to have the liquids separate into three smaller units.

Vitani herself had replaced another's spine with a spear of darkness, the mechs liquid texture formed around the spear and used it as a weapon against the Hapan. The Sith Assassin expanded the spear itself via telekinesis, once again impaling the Brother who was bold enough to turn her weapon against its caster.


Ilium, the blind girl….an interesting claim for a Nightsister, Dwom had never before heard of a Miraluka Dathomirian... chose to attack the Nightbrothers with their own primitive weapons. She impaled another and another with swift strikes of her arrows. She moved with the relentless swiftness the Nightsisters were known well for, and didn’t hesitate to use one of her Beskar arrows as a makeshift knife and whip around her enemy to sever the hamstring. As he collapsed she dropped her bow to the level of her her waist and seized the brothers spear, twirled it in her hand and jabbed it with the spearhead pointing behind her. It impaled the Brother who thought he could sneak up behind her.

“These simulations are good, Dathomir often boasts largely primitive weapons but don’t underestimate their deadliness. A hail of arrows from the trees is often far more deadly than a Lightsaber.” the Nightsister advised those who trained alongside her.

Dwomutsiqsa, not wishing to completely break the focus of the acolytes on such a cramped schedule, informed the others indirectly by speaking at a higher volume to Illium, “Indeed Illium, they are primitive weapons. The Chained-Sickle is a very primitive weapon, but fear itself is a potent weapon and that is precisely the purpose of such a barbarous weapon. Even the Nightsister Energy Lance is obsolete compared to a power lance, yet the mouth-like lancehead screams agony.”
A song of doom played over the melee, the arcane language only deepened the blast of the music,
"Aaaaake vvashtiiiik eeey boooonstuuuuum gestiiii treaed duuuum.... the melancholic siren of a childless woman rang perpetually over the operatic chanting. Her wailing bred within the heart, a form of deep sadness and longing for tranquility. The sound of rain, and the rising pitch of the orchestra, planted a seed of a rising hope that quickly grew. The name of the song is "The Song of the Spurned Warrior," it was written by a Nightbrother who had escaped Dathomir with one of the Sisters. The Nightsisters retaliated by brutally slaughtering their children. It strengthened the blow of every strike Dwomutsiqsa made, and granted him the ability to never lose sight of the bigger picture, even in his greatest of sorrows. It fueled his resolve, he would free the rest that remained.

The mechs' holo-projections faded as the song ended. They were training with new proxy droids, a gift of the Emperor's most brilliant scientists.The acolytes were granted half an hour of rest before resuming. Some ate, some read, some socialized, and and a few reflected.
“What about the Captain, doesn't he need to prepare like the rest of us?” Dwomutsiqsa encouraged inquiry, much to the discomfiture of his superiors as well as his own contemporaries. “Don't you think he already knows? He's Captain for a reason. And he won't be assuming as much command once we touch down, Illium will and I will be her advisor as well as your guide. At least, that’s the plan now, but as Kreia said, ‘Plans are fragile things, and life often dashes expectations to the ground.’ Time is up everyone! Get back on the floor!”

The acolytes lined up once again, this time, they were faced with Nightsisters. Vitani turns over to the acolyte from earlier, “I hope you have your shitting pants on.”

The obvious leader lunged forth with her energy lance, aimed at impaling Dwomutsiqsa on its trident-like tip. He dodged to the side, and with his right hand, he grabbed onto the shaft, turned, and with his right hand still firm on the shaft, fired a Lanvarok disc at low velocity directly at the Sister's nose.

Illium fought with her sword this time. After swatting aside the flying arrows of another, she rushes the archer and slashes relentlessly. The archer's ceremonial kukri snapped under Illium's execution of Falling Avalanche -- a Djem-So technique that Dwomutsiqsa had taught her during the break-- leaving her to be hacked to death by the incensed Miraluka.

Vitani and Chûnrân combined their efforts to deal with the rest. Both very skilled in the application of Makashi, it's as if their onslaught of lightning fast shiim cuts and shiak thrusts was a storm of shattered glass.
Chûnrân ran through a Sister who was audacious enough to nearly disarm him. The very force and accuracy of the strike caused the holography to flicker; he plunged his fist into her synthetic ribcage, much like the old Kaleesh cyborg Grievous, fire burst from her eyes and machinery began to explode.

No enemy was down for more than a second, this was much a test of their endurance as it was training. Despite the unending chaos, the same question echoed in every acolyte's mind, "Why are we going to Dathomir?"

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

The Lorekeeper
Private Laboratory in Library, Korriban 

“How did Exar Kun trap these hundreds of Massassi children in this globe, Lorekeeper?” Abaddon asked, crossing her arms.  Lorekeeper looked at her blankly for a moment, "don't keep her waiting you fool", the white haired arcanist blinked twice, "I don't know."  He stated bluntly.  "There is no record of how he trapped the children."  The last part was true, the Lorekeeper had scoured all the resources available to him trying to find the answer to that very question.  

No description of how the globe worked existed, but the Lorekeeper had discovered the answer nonetheless. 

"Come now, let us try to access the globe's power."  He reached his hands outward, toward the globe, but did not yet touch it.  "We must place our hands upon it, then channel the Force into the globe."  His palms touched the cold surface of the globe and looked at the others to follow his example. 

Tag: darthkain7,claiomhsolais,darthbernael,

Character Summary

Name/Title: Nuz'wogan

Skills: Niman, Jar’Kai, Dun Möch, Force shield, Lightning, telekinesis, singing, manipulation, and NOT dancing.

Age: 20

Sex: Female

Species: Lethan Twi'lek

Homeworld: Ryloth

Occupation: Singer, blades woman

Height: 5’ 6”

Appearance: Blood red skin, jade eyes, and black tattoos, especially on her lekkus.

Weapons: Two single blade Lightsabers, red.

Equipment: Armored racing speeder bike, Buzzard (starfighter).

Description of Abilities: Niman, Jar’Kai, Dun Möch, Force shield, Lightning, telekinesis (standard Sith abilities).

Personality: I really hate it when people ask me to dance. They see I’m a Twi'lek and the first thought that comes to them is slaves or dancers. Not Darth Talon, of course. It angers me, to no end. My race is weak. They are to accepting, to happy to please, to focused on the needs of others to the entrapment of themselves. Literally and figuratively.

By the judgment of the galaxy I am beautiful. But sometimes I hate the skin I’m in. In the image of Darth Talon I’ve covered myself in Sith tattoos. I’ve mastered the Lightsabers I carry. And yet I am unsatisfied.

But in-spite of it all. In-spite of throwing my culture away, in-spite of disowning my own people. There is a deep Secret I hold in my heart, one that I will always deny.

I do love to dance, so very much.

Biography: I grew up in a family of musicians, and dancers. Needless to say they were a little shocked when I was born. We come in all kinds of colors, blue, purple, like flowers. But red, red is rare, and a mutation. However, It didn’t stop them from teaching me of-course. But I clearly remember their comments, “Oh no! Look, we have a little Darth talon!” In fact, it was how I first heard of her. It also spurred me to learn as much I could about her. But, in regards to my own life, from my earliest memories I was not like the others. I asked why to much, I disagreed to much. I didn’t smile enough. I was told to many times I should be thankful to serve. How happy my beauty could make others.

In addition to teaching me to sing, they also... taught dance. I would pick up a stick or two sticks and turn it into saber practice. Mostly people were not amused, but a Jedi who lived in my village, on a mission of peace, took an interest in me. She taught me swordplay, and about their beliefs. And about why I was always so angry and not at peace. I took her saber lessons gratefully, but her other teachings I rejected. They were at odds to my heart. I always had a strong internal compass.

As I got older things began to change. The others grew frustrated at me for not always going along with things. About my anger at their benevolence. They began saying I was born to the wrong family, that my beauty was being waisted on me.

Even my Jedi teacher, Master Tai. She began refusing my questions and cutting short our practice sessions. She said I was strong in the Dark Side of the Force, and would no longer teach me unless I learned to control it.

Then the raiders came. And that’s when it all changed. They were looking to restock the shelves of a slaver and I can still hear the screams of the men, women and children as everyone ran. I begged Master Tai to do something, to fight, but she refused. She said she would find a peaceful solution. To this day, with the screams of my people around us, it shocks me that she was even able to say the word peace.

Without hesitation I attacked her. Not to kill her, although the thought did cross my mind. But to get her two sabers. It was a vicious fight, and I knew by the look on her face our friendship, however stressed, was over. I saw the darkness she recognized in me, reflected in her eyes.

Since I was a child I had developed telekinesis and I used that power against her. She fended the objects away with her her two sabers, under a rain of blaster bolts by the raiders. It was one of these bolts I sent towards her that she failed to deflect. Before her body hit the ground I moved and grabbed her sabers.

To make a long story, less long, you still may hear recaps on news vids to this day. The images of crying Twi'leks holding each other, amid what looks like a sea of raider body parts, the stubs still smoking.

I was 16.

I made my way to Sith space. Getting entertainment jobs using my voice, or killing jobs using my sabers. Once in Sith space I managed to get my hands on a holocron and learned how to corrupt the Kybers in, what are now, my sabers. Although, it did come rather naturally to me. Since coming to Sith space I have done fairly good. Singing entertainment is fairly rare here so I have never gone unemployed, and my two sabers that I corrupted myself have always gotten me respect. But now, I want more.

I am loyal to the Dark Side, I am Sith. But I own my destiny. I will never forget the pain my culture caused me, or how easily they are enslaved by themselves, or by others. I will not let lies or manipulation control me no matter where it comes from. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.

Force push/pull – 1

Force choke – 1

Force jump – 1

Force Avalanche - 1

Force Lightning – 1

Force Defense – 1

Mind Trick – 1


Form I –

Form II –

Form III –

Form IV –

Form V –

Form VI – 1

(Warrior tree only) Form VII –

(Marauder only) Force Rage –

(Knight only) Inspire –

(Sorcerer tree only) Force Drain –

(Inquisitor only) Probe Mind –

(Arcanist only) Dark Side Healing –

(Assassin tree only) Force Cloak –

(Stalker only) Force Stealth –

(Watcher only) Conceal Essence -

Crashed shuttle ~ Unknown moon~

"No sir, No sign of him yet." Was the response from one of the Troopers, Kai, as a preliminary perimeter check had been completed. That was both a relief, yet quite nerve racking.

“Well, that's just fantastic,” The Omwatti woman was not enthused it seemed about their situation. Gewig noticed the slight wince of pain and irritation from her wounds, as she offered her acknowledgement of them being even, which caused a slight smirk from the Major, though he tried to focus and show the face of concentration and control befitting an officer. With that the Major disconnected the tethering cord from his datpad to the shuttle as what information about the planet that was available from the ships database had been downloaded to the pad.

The Major nodded in agreement to the Acolytes words as his assessment about securing the shuttle and surroundings was sound, though the Major wondered if they should bother lingering here, it was true that their crash, if someone was out there would draw attention. Didn’t they want to be found? They had no way of getting off this planet at present. The Acolyte seemed to be reaching out with his abilities, ones the Major was keenly aware of regarding working within the construct of the Sith Order as a military officer. Still that did not make it any less confusing to understand how they did it.

The abilities of the Acolyte were well directed but, he found no trace of Lord Pares, either he was dead somewhere other than here, or he was directly masking his own presence to cover his tracks at the moment. Unfortunate at the moment, but perhaps given more time he would be able to find some trace of the Sith warrior.

The notion that this moon, held some surprises for them was not lost on Gewig as the Omwati woman’s comments about acid rain or rather potential surprises were mutual. This along with the continued idea that the Troopers continue to scout while the rest of them begin to make a camp.

The stims were beginning to work as the Major took a few steps, now with less pain. Holstering the blaster he had retrieved from the ships side compartment. “Trooper Kai,” The Major spoke calling the attention of the trooper. “Gather weapons and ammo and give me another perimeter check.”

“We are going to move a half click to the east, the ground looks higher there and we can begin to set up a camp.” The Major was looking about assessing the crash sight more as he stowed the datapad.

“That should give us a good distance for now to rest and figure out what we can do to get off this moon.”

Later that evening…

A small fire offered some warmth and light from the chilly night of the moon. The Major sat on a fallen tree as he was looking at the datapad he had downloaded all the information to. There were the typical night sounds, wind rushing through the tall pine trees high above, the occasional screech and call from an animal off in the distance. A clear sky seen through the trees above and a starlit sky against a canvas of black. “The data about this moon, is limited, though there was one hit regarding settlement. A known smuggling operation and an outpost.”

The irony of it all was that they had crashed less than eighty kilometers from it, the odds of doing so on even a small moon had to be massive. Yet they were a few days hike away. They had spent some time securing the crash area, gathering anything that might be of use, while suppressing some of the fires to a point where they would just burn out on their own before they had set out to their present location.

“While the outpost, according to the Empire’s data has been abandoned for nearly three hundred years, it is out best bet at finding some working equipment.” The Major’s thoughts shifted to Pares, the lingering feeling that he was out there as he rubbed his throat, still sore from his handy work on the shuttle.

“I suggest we all get some food and rest and be ready to go early in the morning.”


darthkain7 , Darth Xxys, Reiis Invadator

IC: Claiomh Solais
Private Laboratory, Korriban

Claiomh watched as the Sith, Abaddon, pushed past the others and placed her hand upon the orb. Nothing yet happened to the Lorekeeper or Abaddon. But Claiomh kept a healthy distance from them all. The bizarre orb was one factor, but the other Sith and the Lorekeeper where factors as well. She didn’t know any of them, but all of them were unusual - and that was a statement regarding the Sith.

One thing was for sure, she was not going to turn her back on any of them. But, being the last to arrive she needed to establish her place. She didn’t want to appear nervous or weak. Assessing the situation, her choice was to stand in between the Lorekeeper and Abaddon or the Anzati, or between Anaddon and the Anzati. She reached her senses into the Force to sense them, to get a better sense of them. Abbaddon was strong, the Anzati was dark and hidden, but the Lorekeeper repelled Claiomh almost instantly. She absolutely didn’t want to stand next to him. That left between Abbaddon and the Anzati, Bernael, that was his name.

Her hair bristled down the back of her neck slightly. She placed a hand on the hilt of one of her sabers. It was not a casual, resting perch upon the pommel. It was a ready placement upon the hilt. As she felt her boots step forward she began to assess contingency plans. Should the Anzati try to feed upon her she would at least have one saber to the ready. She also reached out in the Force to assess the sabers her “friends”. Her sabers were ignited with her mind, and likewise she could do the same to the sabers of others, or extinguish them. Moving into such close quarters with people she didn’t know, made her paranoia flare. She wanted to be ready for anything.

She stepped between her chosen people, and placed her free hand upon the orb while keeping her other hand upon the hilt of her saber, as nonchalantly she could manage. Now standing between Abbaddon and Bernael, her hand upon the cool, smooth orb she gazed into its black swirling depths.

TAGS: Darth Cruor, claiomhsolais, darthkain7

IC: Trill

Location: Sinister Sith Temple; Korriban



Trill would not take kindly to the words spewed at her by Malos and then the response she received from the two younger ones wouldn’t help her in any type of way. Sighing as she didn’t know what to do in the moment and the language barrier really making it hard for anyone to actually help her in the way needed, Trill would quietly contemplate to herself about how she could try to figure out a way to decipher how much time has passed but nothing was happening with her. She at first thought about trying to show them the date it said on the Rakatan device but knew that that would be pointless knowing they most likely didn’t understand the Imperial calendar if that system of date and time was still being used. Look upon all the books, she now figured out a way that could possibly and finally close the language gap enough to the point that they would actually be able to relay information to each other.


Rushing over to Trin knowing the girl was doing a good job at helping her since they found and released her from her pod, the woman wouldn’t waste any time trying to get out what she was saying. “Kastory!! I need find Kastory book here! Help me find please kilajin.” Her broken basic starting to get better as she was hearing them talk more and more and growing a small understanding for what was being said in the group.


Waiting a moment before catching on that the girl wouldn’t understand Kastory and its meaning; Trill would simply grab the slave by her arm before pulling her along trying to remember the basic words for what she was saying. Once they finally reached a row of books she began to relay the words that she remembered off the top of her head. “War, Time, Past, that Kastroy. Where I find it at in here?” She would ask hoping that by now Trin would fully understand what she was saying and also not being mad at practically being yanked. However, she didn’t expect the slave to make a fuss of it knowing that the girl probably gets pulled like that on a regular occasion by whoever her master or mistress is.


Tag: darthkain7, volacius, cliojayne

Shipwrecked unknown moon
Xxys IC

Xxys stood just inside the ring of light cast by the hastily set fire. The smoke was light and smells heavily of pine. The group has gathered around the blaze and was discussing their predicament.
Apon hearing the Major mention an outpost Xxys approached the man where he sat on fallen tree trunk.
"How far to this outpost Major?"
Then turning to the Omwati woman
"And I would not suggest we split up. Better we move as a group than risk getting seperated. Food we can live without for a few days if necessary...water is the main concern. We should scour the shuttle for any any useful stores and then make for this outpost before supplies become an issue. The becon is sure to attract...someone. Let's just hope it's not marauders."
Xxys tossed a ration pack to the woman from his pouch at his waist.
"This should take the edge off."

Xxys turned and made his way back into the shuttle to secure any further rations and more importantly, any water.

Tag @kai Erlae
darthkain7
dragonsith13

IC: Darth Viscretus
Subterranean Laboratory, Sith Temple, Korriban

Darth Viscretus was hardly paying attention, her mind elsewhere in the dank, frigid room. Her weight shifted, toe to toe, in a display imperceptible beyond the gentlest shudder of her skirts against shadowed stone.

She did not reply for a time, contemplating instead the miasmic brew of danger that her own desires had produced, her eyes not daring to yet regard the empty cowl but instead to the only other one who shared palpable unease. Or so she thought.

As Catalyst spoke, analyzing the situation in detail and promoting his talents for the mission to Yavin, her eyes moved from the shaded pallor of Erastus and to Apollyon - who’s eyes seemed to contain something wrapped in the darkness, as if the blackened sockets were tender silk and a single question would unravel the thread to mysteries beneath. She cast a curious glance to her friend.

By now, Xirr had offered his own assistance on Yavin. A perfect suggestion from them both, Viscretus turned her gaze again, absently twining her hands as she spoke. Their analysis left her a chance to pursue her own means.

She at last spoke, her voice a soft velvet rippling through the laboratory. “I am familiar with Dantooine. I resided there for a time. I am aware of artifact repositories, libraries, and of the utmost importance, planetary procedure.”

She realized to the others, her phrase sounded rather dilettant, offering no real substance and certainly too general to shape a plan from. Yet the admission was true as it could be, the aforementioned planetary procedure indeed mostly instated and revealed to her on a first hand basis - the artefact repositories created by her within the palatial grounds her New Galactic Empire had once claimed as their own. Her mind chose to cling to the memories of opulent halls and sumptuous gowns, instead of useless frivolities of the sector, aged by near two centuries.

Her hands, winding about themselves as though she were invoking the arcane, halted abruptly. Instead, she turned to Apollyon - the inquisitive stare purposely excluding Erastus. “You would accompany me, I trust?”

TAG: Darth Catalyst, dice, Darth Dreadwar,
TAGSET: Dantooine / Korriban

Combo with Darth Dreadwar

IC: Darth Viscretus, Darth Apollyon, and Erastus
Sith Temple, Korriban

Lips pursed, Viscretus silently fumed. Her coquettish plotting worked against her, now, knowing the Emperor would pluck some other Sith from the Temple to accompany their mission.

She wouldn’t have such.

Even less tolerable was his overruling. She wanted - no - required her friend’s counsel and knowledge. And his disregard for her request of pure necessity insulted her, his implications forming into yet another plot within her mind.

Her lithe figure followed just behind Apollyon, gilded skirts catching firelight as she hurried forward. “My friend,” she called, softly enough it would not echo sharply, “I would ask you to follow me, briefly, to my study. I have a few artifacts that may aid your mission.”

Apollyon frowned. "Very well," she said, pausing in her pursuit of the Emperor's retreating cloak. "But make it quick. I want to disembark at once." She veered off after her friend, turning back only to signal that Catalyst, Xirr and Erastus go on. "Hangar 4," she mouthed, reminding them.

“I would ask he-“ she pointed to Erastus, briefly alerting him through the Force, not wishing to invoke his name, “come along, for there are quite a few to go through.”

She could sense Apollyon’s unease, perhaps edging on displeasure, and followed with brief reassurance. A smile, as genuine as she could fashion, crossed her violet-painted lips. “It will not delay your departure, I assure you.”

Apollyon nodded. She had already gathered Viscretus had absolutely no intention of showing her artifacts - that was the most transparent excuse she had ever heard - but given the fact the fair Sith Lady had picked up on her displeasure, she suspected Viscretus sought privacy to discuss the matter that troubled Apollyon - the rush to premature war.

Erastus would never report such misgivings to her master, so his presence was harmless. "Come along, Erastus," Apollyon merely gestured over her shoulder, her fingers snapping for his attention and then curling in a come hither, like commanding a kath hound. Erastus duly scuttled to her side, a binder of documents under his arm.

“Thank you,” Viscretus replied shortly, leading the way - the opposite direction - towards her quarters and conveniently, near enough the hangars. She folded her hands as she walked. “I would ask your advice, if you do not require mine first for your voyage.”

Apollyon arched a brow. "Advice? On what?"

Viscretus increased her pace, her voice lowering, her lips pressed into a frown. “I will be honest, my connections are more than tenuous. My knowledge is intimate and far reaching, and I have concerns that continue to multiply.”

Apollyon shrugged at her veiled words. Fine, be mysterious, she thought. She hurried after Viscretus, grateful for the increased pace; they had little time.

Viscretus glanced at Erastus, then Apollyon, then ahead - a flight of steps rapidly approaching. She sighed, a barest puff of air leaving her lips. “Was I incorrect in assuming your own disquiet?”

"Disquiet, milady?" Erastus repeated in query, following the Sith Lady up the stairs, taking extra care not to tread on the hem of her skirts. Fortunately, Viscretus had hitched them up, holding the folds of fabric with her hands elegantly poised beside her hips so the luxurious garment did not trail across the dusty stone.

His response took her aback slightly, not realizing her glance of mere curiosity would have been construed as questioning him.

“I referred to Apollyon,” Viscretus replied, though without malice. “She seems to have an unease more palpable than your own.”

"Ah, my apologies," Erastus inclined his head.

Apollyon glanced up. "I am concerned about my master's plan for Dantooine," she said, huffing out a breath as she ascended the last few steps. "An open assault will end this ceasefire. I dare not even think to criticise the Emperor, but I can only think that he must have some hidden wisdom I do not see, for to my eyes we are not ready to fight the Federation. It would be the death of us."

Viscretus kept silent for a moment, only their footsteps permeating the deathly silence of the hall. She turned, unlocking the door with swift motion of her fingers upon the keypad.

There was risk in war to her as well, and so she would play on such fears. Apollyon would not know any difference, and truly, it would benefit her far more to evade the Federation in her own methods. War brought destruction. Destruction was something she could not afford. It was merely a pleasant bonus her friend - and, well, Erastus - would be necessary to accompany her.

“I would agree,” she responded, stepping inside the opened door, shutting it behind them. Her arm swept toward a small nook of shelves, littered with tomes and objects of varying age. As they proceeded forth, she locked the door, staying a distance away as she contemplated the revelation she had just minutes to prepare. “I understand the Federation more than you likely expect.”

She could not continue her cryptic messages, for Apollyon tired of them quickly and would not pry for answers. Her mind instead visualized a gown of particular glittering elegance. Her gowns shifted in response, her face shimmering as her brands and violet makeup faded into illusion. She would not bid them turn yet, but she expected with their inquisitive minds they very well might.

Viscretus exhaled. Her breath stirred the stale, distantly floral air, as she took cautious steps forward, purchasing herself upon a single tile of stone. She would have to take some leap of faith to get what she desired and thought right. It was no longer about feeding that spark of flame the Emperor had provoked, of getting her petty revenges. It was ever larger.

“Turn, here,” she instructed, capturing their attention. “It should be clear now, why I speak as I do. With such secrecy. But I require both your aid on Dantooine - and I can not afford such brazen tactics as the Emperor has planned.”

A mirror caught her eye. Her radiant beauty was sullied rather by her cold expression, the glittering gold of the illusory bodice out of place in the crypt-like room. She did not give them chance to respond, yet. Her eyes met Erastus’ for what was likely a moment too long, but they were filled with a malefic reassurance. A look a vornskr might relay its weakest pup, of fondness yet concern. She felt an odd sympathy for him, stumbling over himself in fear just minutes prior - now in her rooms, wrapped into her precipitous plots.

“His plans could mean certain destruction of what I consider my legacy.” The words were hurried, unsculpted as she usually spoke. She was thinking on her feet, spinning webs as gauzy and fragile as her mythical dress. She still assessed before she spoke, not wishing to reveal any hint of extensive manipulations, all born from simple insult and desire. All of which Apollyon was yet unaware of. “I must also consider that which is more impersonal, the fate of what protects me currently. This Empire.”

She clasped her hands, wringing them languidly. “I propose a more surgical manoeuvre, on Dantooine. I have my shuttle, and we can garner support from lesser Sith - acolytes - on the approach. We would gain the items and information necessary in my vault beneath the palace grounds, unseen and unheard by the Federation.”

For a second, Apollyon merely stared. Without the scars, the tattoos, the makeup, Viscretus' countenance was remarkably altered, and they provoked a rush of familiarity in Apollyon. Where had she seen that face, that outfit...

Erastus completed her thoughts for her. "Empress Volshe," he breathed. He had served in the New Galactic Empire. There was no denying that face.

A thrill ran down Apollyon's spine. Shock contorted her features.

Volshe.

Volshe. Empress of the New Galactic Empire. The one who had caused the Federation Senate to elect her Chancellor, and then reached higher to proclaim herself Head of State and Empress, sundering the tripartite alliance of the Federation Triumvirate, fracturing it once again into Empire and Alliance. Contested ruler of the galaxy for three years... Until the Federation Civil War had ended in the Alliance's favour, and saw Volshe fall at the Battle of Naboo - vanished or dead.

Apollyon's first instinct was to reach for the comm-link on her belt, and contact her master. But no sooner had her hand moved towards her hip, and she realised what a foolish instinct that was. Viscretus was a powerful Force-user - evidently more powerful than she realised, to cloak her nature as a Forceful being from the Jedi, and indeed an entire galaxy - but there was no way she had succeeded in infiltrating the ascendant Sith Empire.

No, no, Apollyon could already picture it in her mind's eye, the beleaguered Empress fleeing the Mandalorian blockade to Korriban, and there prostrating herself before Emperor Dreadwar, bargaining for her life. Or perhaps she had been a Sith agent all along? If so, it wouldn't have been the first time; Apollyon recalled her master vaguely intimating that Morrigan Corde, known to the galaxy as the New Galactic Empire's manipulative Moff Nyna Calixte and known to the most knowledgeable of circles as the secret mother of Cade Skywalker, had been one of his infiltrators.

"The Emperor knows your secret," Apollyon stated flatly. It was not posed as a question.

For his part, Erastus merely continued to stare, open-mouthed. The temptation to kneel was opposed by his knowledge that to prostrate oneself before another sovereign - or former sovereign - could be seen as treason. Nonetheless, he could not help but think that it was a great privilege to meet the Empress of the New... Oh gods. Meet. No. He had... He had... Gods.

I kriffed royalty.

Apollyon processed the revelation quickly, and she didn't like the direction the conversation was heading. "I will do exactly as the Emperor commands," she scowled. If Viscretus had kept such a secret from her, who knew what designs she was concealing now?

The hackles on Viscretus’ neck rose. She ignored Erastus’ gawking and the tumbling deluge of thoughts, ones she would usually find most flattering. Her friend’s harsh opposition proved unexpected to her. Her eyes narrowed, her feet taking her back a step. “You will not.”

The command was barked, unintentionally so. She lowered her voice, softening it. “Apologies.” Her mind focussed now merely on easing the tensions she had so carelessly inflamed, a gentle persuasion to Apollyon’s guarded thought. “The Emperor knows of this. He is simply not considering what I know as well. I fear he would not understand. There are...tensions.” She regarded Erastus briefly. “And he would not indulge me with opportunity for what he views as mere personal desires.”

She cautiously guided the conversation from such double edged words, pushing the gentle assuaging into powerful suggestion, amplified by her talisman. She stepped forward, reaching a hand to Apollyon’s shoulder. “I implore you to come with me, aboard my shuttle. I will alert the Emperor to our...my plan once we reach hyperspace. I am aware you trust me little, now. But you must understand why the Emperor alone could know. You must understand that he may not trust me, but that he certainly views me as far from a threat.”

She paused, her lips parted. “And certainly you know I would not purposely endanger myself.”

It was a lie, certainly. She endangered herself frequently. An addict to the thrill of the gamble, she merely had the wit and wisdom to evade the less favourable outcomes. Usually. And this was no different, her demands both born of the petty and the grave. Her eyes flicked again to Erastus, imploring him the same.

A strange fog settled on Apollyon's mind. She shook her head, clearing the wave of dizziness, and stared back at the golden eyes that bored into her own black.

They gleamed like twin suns, dazzling her with radiant light in pulses and patterns. Apollyon blinked, but the after-image remained burned into her retinas. She opened her eyes slowly, sleepily, and her head nodded forward.

"Yes," Apollyon said. "I will come with you, aboard your shuttle." It made sense, really. Obviously there was some kind of complicated triangle between her assistant, her master and this harlot she called a friend. Did she really want to involve herself in that? No, no. That was messy. That was complicated. Better to just...

Trussst, the whisper purred in her head, [/i]in me...[/i]

Yes. Yes.

She did trust her. Viscretus had never let her down. Between Sith, they were the rarest thing - allies. And Apollyon would not endanger that friendship over something so minor as... As... As what? She didn't remember. It wasn't important.

Apollyon snapped her head up, straightening her back. She'd been slouching. The Emperor always criticises me for my posture, she thought to herself, shaking her head. He's always telling me to stand up straight.

"Well then," Apollyon said, brightness returning to her tone. "Lead the way, Lady Viscretus," she smiled widely. "In what hangar is your shuttle?"

Viscretus exhaled, her mind vaguely weary from anticipation, whirling plots, and the mind trick against her rather powerful associate. It would be momentary, lasting minutes at most, but it was noticeable.

“Hangar 2,” she replied with relief, her energy already beginning to return. “On the way are the classrooms. We ought to pluck an acolyte or two, as I mentioned prior.” It would likely be unnecessary, but she wished to ensure her bases were covered.

She surveyed the room, grasping a leatheris bag and brushing past the two to grab a few artefacts - along with a comm and small extra bag filled with various technological devices. “This should be what we need. We should hurry, before the others grow too suspicious of our disappearance.”

Her hand motioned to the door, fingers curved elegantly, posed divinely. Her sculpted poise fractured as the illusion quickly faded, returning her to a violet painted witch. She placed the larger bag around her shoulder, tucking the smaller one within. Her thoughts briefly focused on armour, or attire, but she had necessities aboard the shuttle. She adjusted her corseted bodice as her friend moved past, taking yet another vain glance in the gilded mirror.

She followed behind Apollyon this time, speaking with sharp, acidic whisper as her friend moved to the door, caring not that Erastus was entirely within earshot. “And I am no harlot.”

Apollyon frowned, confused, before suddenly realising what Viscretus was referring to with a start. She can read my mind so easily? she thought to herself, surprised - nay, shocked. Her mental shields were impenetrable!

She shook her head, opening the door and exiting the chamber. She had no time to trade barbs with Viscretus, jocular or not. She remained silent as she walked briskly in the direction of the Temple dungeons, knowing the most promising crop of students this year were those who practiced in the twin classrooms of interrogation and alchemy under Lord... Ah, I forget the name, the brutish one... and the intractably salacious Master Marcus.

Erastus brought up the rear, intentionally staying directly behind Viscretus. He had not missed the Sith Lady's adjustment of her bodice, and his eyes remained affixed on her swaying hips.

Viscretus did not slow, but of course noticed the eyes at her back, paired with the ripple of thought from the psyche behind her. Her eyebrow quirked. A sharp cheekbone appeared above her shoulder, a single gilded eye regarding him as a hawk.

She spun entirely, hand beneath Erastus’ chin in a mere second, tugging it upwards. “Enjoying the view, hmm?” The noise emerging from her lips was malevolently melodical, a feline chirp as a beast regarded a pretty plumed bird atop a bush. Yet her pointed nails did not break skin, nor grasp with such intention. This was no hunt, but merely her batting about the feathered creature, stunning it, subduing it. Her eyes glinted.

Erastus swallowed, his expression slipping into the cool mask of easy evasion that any man had well practiced when caught in admiring stare. "It's a well-spun dress, milady," he said, feigning misunderstanding of her question in order to signal innocent intent. "Shimmercloth of Ryloth, if I'm not mistaken? I've not the keenest eye for fashion."

Narrowed eyes met his, now, her thumb tracing a languid circle beneath his chin. Her plum-glazed nail scraped against his skin, faintly. “Shimmercloth, indeed. Though of Karlinus…” Her thumb paused, her grip still mildly threatening. “I find Ryloth’s much too coarse.”

"Of, of course," he said. "Coarse is... crass."

Apollyon turned around, wondering why the sound of footfalls had stopped. "Ahem," she coughed. "Erastus. Follow." Classic deflection, of course; Viscretus was the evident cause of the delay, but Apollyon could order Erastus, not order Viscretus. The effect would be the same.

Viscretus did not instantly release him, instead dropping her hand to his tunic, and smoothing it. She turned, trailing the hand, and shifting away to follow Apollyon. A debate in her mind to challenge her companion rose, but she quashed it as she quickened her pace to the hall of classrooms. There would be more than enough time for her mischievous antagonisms ahead. For now they would prove detrimental to her plans.

Erastus followed, his cheeks burning crimson from her touch. He glanced down, briefly, just to check if there had plausibly been any wrinkles; on the contrary, his ensign's uniform was as smooth as ever.

Within minutes, they arrived outside the alchemy classroom - but they were not the first Sith Masters to arrive. In the doorway was a Sith Master Apollyon did not recognise; not Marcus, she perceived, and the Stormtroopers indicated he wasn't a substitute instructor, either. "Ah," she realised, speaking aloud, "My master must have sent out the order to round up the acolytes for the mission to Yavin."

“Then we are here just in time,” Viscretus surveyed the gaggle of acolytes, stepping past the Sith Master in the doorway with little regard - and stepping over the corpses with nonchalant lifting of her skirts. She quite quickly recognized Shaire, continuing her scanning of the heads to pick those with seemingly strong constitution. “You, and you,” she pointed at random to a Chiss and Trandoshan, motioning quickly with her head towards the corridor. She stepped forward, “and you.”

Her finger landed on the Cathar, ringlets of smoke swirling about the violet talon, silver ring glistening. “You will accompany us to Dantooine. Now. Tell me your names.”

TAG: Darth Voidwalker , Padawan4687 , @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar , kurtishenschel ,
TAGSET: Dantooine / Korriban

((OOC: The Cathar is Nannley ))

IC: Darth Viscretus
Classrooms, Sith Temple, Korriban

“It would be an honor to join you. My name is Nannley.”

Viscretus stopped. Her finger, floating in the mist of acrid smoke, fell - but no other muscle moved. She regarded the Cathar. She regarded the Cathar’s thoughts. Her sycophantic reply could not hide the shrill echo of her recognition.

Empress Volshe.

She had recognized her as easily as Erastus had, moments before. Yet now she wore no illusions, no guarding from the malevolent tempest of energy that was her aura.

Her fingers twitched instinctively, the sinews burning, urging her to snap the neck of the unfortunate acolyte. But she withheld, instead questioning why - and how - the acolyte knew of her. A secret loyalist, perhaps?

The possibility was small, but it existed. As well as a shavit load of other more threatening possibilities. She would find out soon enough. The Cathar would find herself interrogated by the Head of Sith Intelligence shortly.

She would have to deal with the acolyte quickly. Her mind pressed against Nannley’s, invoking a powerful mind trick.

You will come with us, acolyte, and you will not again remember the name of Empress Volshe. I am Darth Viscretus and no other.

The Lady Viscretus would not risk the thoughts of a simple peon being read by even the Sith Master who had stood in the doorway. She turned, the two other peons scuttling behind her.

“Let us proceed to the hangar, at once.”

Her eyes smouldered as she re-entered the hall, the embers meeting with the soot black of Apollyon’s sockets. Her voice was a growl.

“If the Cathar steps a mere clawtip out of line, kill her.”

TAG: @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar , Padawan4687 , kurtishenschel , Darth Voidwalker
TAGSET: Dantooine / Korriban

COMBO WITH DARTH DREADWAR...AGAIN

IC:Darth Viscretus, Darth Apollyon, and Erastus

The Dark Lady did not follow closely, choosing to ignore the query for the time. Until she could express the situation with more detail and depth, there was little point in attempting to explain.

She did however increase her speed, so as to make the likely-drowsy Cathar acolyte and the other pair follow them at much faster pace.

Sunlight and the dusty morning air did little to soothe her newfound agitations, and she did not so much as slow to regard the ancient architectures surrounding them. She made her way atop the stairs, pale skin painted with the vague redness of exertion, glanced down the stairway to survey the acolyte’s progress, and nodded to Apollyon in signal to go ahead.

Erastus’ chattering away did little to impress her, beyond her surprise he could fit so much verbiage into the mere minutes it took to progress further towards the hangar. And yet, despite his reiterating of knowledge she already held, she did slow her pace to note each word he spoke - a delay that prompted Apollyon to summon him from the entrance to the hangar. Perhaps she merely wished to hear such stories, she thought.

Viscretus herself paused, vaguely enticed by both her comrades growing impatience and the last statement Erastus had made. Her eyes scanned the stone monuments, knowing full well their origins. She passed by Erastus, stepping into the hangar entrance beside Apollyon. “One would assume the explanation is simple. That scientific analysis holds true, and the failure is in the theories. The statues are indeed aged by millennia, that their origins are as you detailed - but the history behind them is complex and….deadly.” She smirked at the last word, stepping into the hangar bay and pinpointing her shuttle - a modified T4a Lambda Class, as well aged as the Valley but still just as elegant and functional. She began towards it.

"Indeed," Apollyon replied, as much to Erastus as to Viscretus. "Let us just say both my master, the Emperor, and myself are older than we appear."

Apollyon gestured towards the waiting craft, noticing that it was not baseline. "What modifications did you make beyond the basic Lambda design, Lady Viscretus?"

Despite her quirked eyebrow - provoked by Apollyon’s sauciness, something so blatantly countering her own caution to reveal more sensitive information in such public locale - Viscretus motioned ahead to the ship and began to walk. “Entirely renovated interior, quarters for crew or passengers as well as my own private quarters, refresher, galley, further storage for weaponry and equipment...” She motioned to a waiting enlisted who stumbled up to the ship and deployed the ramp. “As well as a couple modernizations to ship systems and engines, as required. I dare say it’s top of the line, even for today.”

TAG: @lordjania , Darth Dreadwar , anyone else who might potentially follow (?)
TAGSET: Dantooine / Korriban
—

LINK TO SHUTTLE INFORMATION:

newgalacticempire.boards.net/post/2234