The Old Sith Trials

IC Lord Catalyst
Canyon outside Dreshdae
Dreamsequence Music


The explosion off in the distance had not stirred the unconscious Inquisitor, nor did the bloodlust of Robyn Shaire or the whine of dying Tuk'ata. His mind was in another place entirely. On a forested world. In a palace. In a pool by the fountain. Next to him, a lithe and athletic woman whose face he did not recognize. Her alabaster skin and long dark hair that framed stunning silver eyes were new and beautiful to him. A woman's scream tore through his mind. The tower of the palace crumbled. He watched as blackened waves tore the forest away, leaving ash and dust in their wake. The sun eclipsed by an amorphous moon, no, an eye. An hourglass shaped pupil constantly distorting and dividing, looking in all directions at once while still staying fixated on him. The woman beside him melted away into a blackened tar that laughed at him as it burbled away. A rumbling voice shouted gibberish at him, backwards words and noises that could not possibly exist. He felt the meaning seared into his mind. THE ARM OF TYPHOJEM SHALL OPEN THE DOOR. The eye blinked. Everything was dark again. The voice was still deafening. In the background, another voice spoke clearly, "It was just an anagram. We were fools." The screaming turned to laughter. The eye was opened again, now only a single pupil, surrounded by bright flames. In the center stood a figure, unrecognizeable again. Then blackness.

Silence.

Warmth crept back into his body slowly. He hadn't realized the crushing cold that had accompanied the cacophony of voices. Then came pain. His veins were boiling. This was the Dark Side cleansing the toxin from him. He felt his skin and muscle knitting back together. He opened his eyes. Viscretus was kneeling over him. The Tuk'ata were all dead. The danger was gone. He allowed a smirk to creep back onto his face. "So which one of you kissed me?" His senses began flooding back to him, accompanied by a powerful pressure. It seemed to come from Robyn. She was positively glowing with dark side energy. Next to her lay a dead hound, the knife Viscretus had brandished earlier firmly embedded in its skull. Impressive. Definitely impressive. He let his eyes wander over towards Apollyon who was scowling at him. Her hand is looking much better. Maybe she'll finally be as helpful as the Initiate. Then he finally saw the plume of smoke on the horizon. He extended his hand to pull his saber back towards him.

There was a wet sound accompanied by the sizzling of flesh.

His hand was then deep within the stinking entrails of a dead Tuk'ata. He deactivated his saber and pulled it out. The temptation to make a hand puppet was incredibly strong, especially since this hound was the one that poisoned him but the sharp voice of Apollyon snapped him to attention. "Catalyst, get up. We have company. Probably just Acolytes returning from the Valley... But the Force darkens with danger."

Catalyst was on his feet in nearly an instant. He readjusted his helmet and cracked his neck. The ground was not a comfortable place to lay down. "Acolytes don't go into the Valley alone," he said quietly, "And when they do they don't return." He eyed the silhouettes on the other side of Dreshdae. "Plus it looks like they're coming from what I can only assume is a downed ship or a bonfire. We had best be on our highest alert." Even as he spoke he was making his way to a rocky crevasse and crouching low. He called the Force around him to dampen sound and bend light, rendering him all but impossible to detect through conventional means.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Shira , Padawan4687

IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Approaching Dead City, Dreshdae

The knife met its mark, but Robyn wasn't able to savor this kill nearly as much as the first. By the time the beast collapsed to the ground, she dropped to her knees in front of it and wrapped both arms around her stomach. What's happening now?! That tuk'ata wasn't even able to touch me! She coughed heavily, and could even feel bile rising in her throat.

This is definitely not tuk'ata poison...I'd be unconscious by now just like Lord Catalyst. Robyn bit her lip, and began fighting to clear her head from this haze of sickness. That "power high", whatever it was... could this be "withdrawal"? "Unbelievable..." she joked humorlessly with another cough, "I've never used spice or drank before in my whole life, but I've got a blasted... hangover." What can I do to get rid of this? What did I do to trigger that in the first place?!

"Are we all right?" Lady Apollyon's much-too-cheerful voice grated on Robyn's eardrums once again, and she immediately remembered just what caused that "high". Watching her get mauled, and hearing that stupid cheer in her voice be reduced to agonized screams due to her own-- Robyn loudly coughed again to halt her own thoughts. Well! At least I know she's all healed up now!

"If feeling ten seconds away from vomiting fits under the umbrella of 'all right'... then sure!" she replied in imitation of that cheer, and moved to sit upright in the dirt. Robyn caught sight of her fallen tuk'ata again with a hilt poking out of its skull, and lifted a hand to her chin. An animal with lightsaber-resistant skin... maybe I could make use of that skin before these new strangers get here. She just knew she didn't want to hide like Catalyst...but at the same time, she didn't want to be seen sitting down looking pale and sickly in front of her own kill. She had to do something to prove otherwise.

Robyn took a deep breath and used the Force to seize the knife hilt one more time. It took some effort to free it from brain and bone, but she busied her thoughts by scrutinizing the beast's skin. Ha, how would Professor Slimeball look if she strode into class wearing a belt of tuk'ata leather? Or maybe gauntlets or gloves... the thought of halting a lightsaber blade with her hands, even if it could only work for a few seconds, would be glorious...

That blank smile was slowly returning to Robyn's features, just enough to break past the "hangover" feeling. Or was "withdrawal" the term? She'd better get started before it returned... If she held her lightsaber blade behind the regular knife, that should probably stem the blood. While Lord Catalyst used the Force to disappear and used his kill as some kind of imitation handpuppet, Robyn knelt beside hers and started carefully skinning.

TAG: Darth Catalyst, Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Shira

IC: Darth Talon
Reception Hall, Sith Temple, Korriban

There is a road before any man. And there is a fork in the road that is particularly well-known to the married man. A woman is angry. Your perceptions have misguaged her rage, your words have stoked the ember of her temper, your deeds have planted seeds of fury. And you have the choice, to keep poking the wampa or accept that wounding it once was enough and run away as fast as Luke Skywalker across the snow plains of Hoth.

Lord Xirr was not married, and perhaps that was why he chose to poke the wampa.

Talon's nostrils flared and sulphur flooded her brazen eyes. He was toying with her! But most importantly, he was toying with the fate of the galaxy! She did not need telepathy to know that he did not take it nearly as seriously enough, and indeed the thought occurred that Xirr did not even find her warning dire enough to persuade him that his hand turning the Key would be terrible for everyone including him. Unacceptable!

"Wretch!" she screeched, and slapped him. Talon was an impatient and fiery Twi'lek, and her assault was more instinctive than anything else; her hand only hit the unforgiving metal of his mask, and she shook it in pain, angry at herself for being so foolish. "Listen here, Xirr!" The pain dulled her voice, lowered its volume. "You don't seem to be taking this altogether as seriously as you should be, and you are very lucky I don't walk right back into that throne room," she pointed at the towering ebon doors behind her, "and recommend the Emperor cleanse you with lightning and your own blood!"

She huffed, pausing as she turned as if ready to do exactly that, before turning to face Xirr again, eyes narrowed and lekku twitching in annoyance. "But at least you're playing along," she sighed. "And while I don't have any ideas, I know who probably will." Without warning, she began striding for the passageway on the far end of the reception hall, a narrow hall that would take her to the classrooms, beckoning Xirr to follow. "Ermir Marcus. Teaches alchemy. He knows all of the gossip, and if we can find it in ourselves to resit beheading him for inappropriate advances - he does not discriminate, I'm afraid - then we might have the information we seek."

Talon's lekku swished behind her as she walked, but Xirr would not be able to shake the sense that her hips were swaying more than strictly necessary, as if his antics had awakened passion beyond mere rage.

TAG: dice

---

IC: Imperial Officer
Tubotrain Station outside Officer Barracks, the Triumphant

One-third of Hypnos' plan paved out. The blaster cannon was powerful, but the Echani shield afforded the highest degree of protection money could buy, and the energy bolt merely impacted upon the invisible bubble and dissipated. Of course, successive shots would drain the shield, but the officer was determined to not grant Hypnos the opportunity to fire again.

The sludge, meanwhile, splattered harmlessly against the Mandalorian melee shield.

But the virus... Melee shields let air in, and the nanogene spore the air carried was no exception. The officer squeezed out another shot, but it was not long before he had breathed in the technovirus by which Hypnos spread his blight. The officer seemed to know something was wrong, and ripped a thermal detonator from his belt and hurled it at Hypnos and the horde. Such a blast would undoubtedly kill him and the few Stormtroopers that had not already been slain, but self-preservation had already fallen from the officer's list of priorities.

TAG: Darth Catalyst

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COMBO WITH SHIRA

IC: Shira A'dola and Balloon-Head Comma Man
Shira's and Alisha's Quarters, Command Barracks, the Triumphant

The thing shrieked, causing Shira to drop her 'saber and clap her hands over her ears. Her teeth grit in pain, the sharp siren of its wail assaulting her ears like a sharp blade. Then, miraculously, it released its grip on her legs; the tendrils used to hold her down retreated into itself as the molten durasteel she had hurled in desperation struck the mark and burned into the material of this emptiness.

A great burning caused her to scream and she looked down to see splatters of black blood burning into her ankles and calves. She hurriedly ripped the sheet off her bed and did her best to wipe away the substance, a feverish panic breaking her into a cold sweat at the thought of what horrors would come into being if the life-blood of such a monster as this worked its way into her bloodstream.

More tar spurted her way and she curriedly crawled backwards, calling her lightsaber to her hand once more. The silvery glow of the plasma blade lit her in an almost celestial light, instilling courage and purpose within her being. The burning in her legs was unbearable and she had to call on great amounts of the Force to soothe the pain enough to function. Calling more molten metal to her command, she threw it towards the creature again, her blade following in several successive strokes in another desperate attempt to end this abomination that seemed to hold such perverted attachment towards her.

The molten metal only splashed against the frame of Shira's bed as the blinded monster stood, its supernatural strength raising the bed above it into a make-shift shield, which it promptly shoved towards its quarry. The same claws that had dug into her ankles dug into the gash Shira's lightsaber had left in the wall, and with a shriek of parting metal, the abomination tore the wall open, rapidly retreating into the neighbouring, scarcely less luxurious quarters with a whimper.

The quarters of Alisha Tano, Empress' Sword.

The monster could not see. But it could scream, a bloodcurdling, inhuman noise wrenching from the ruin of a throat, redolent of a terrified woman's piercing cry echoing through the night as she fell prey to the predation of a murderer. A scream that ruptured its lungs to soar into frequencies beyond human capability, the sonic wave bouncing back from the quarters' contents and providing an approximate map of the room like the echolocation of a mynock. A scream that would be enough to temporarily deafen Shira, who it perceived to be behind it, in her chambers, the upended bed in her way.

And ahead of it was a shape it perceived to be a young man. It did not know his name was Xal'den. It only knew it would gut him and strangle the Hand it longed to hold with his entrails.

I CAN HEAR YOU.

The monster's leg extended and, as if reality were merely a child's drawing, that extension was literal, becoming a warped noodle that pulled it five feet forward with a step. Or perhaps the dimensions of the room itself bent, as if the universe was written by a sadistic author who wanted Xal'den to die.

Not thirty meters away was Alisha Tano, running, just now entering the sterile grey passageway of the Command Barracks. There were several doors, each one correlating to an officer's bedchamber, and the two denoting Shira's and Alisha's were at the end of the hall. Or at least, they were; Shira's door seemed to have impossibly vanished. Neither the claxons that began blaring around Tano nor the soundproofing of her own chambers was enough to disguise the unearthly scream that echoed from within.

TAG: Shira Padawan4687

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COMBO WITH SHIRA

IC: Scionica, Kevala and Apollyon
Korriban, just outside Dreshdae

The twins stood, peering through the smoke, curiosity overtaking them at this utterly strange and alien sight. A male next to a massive creature, dangerous, crafted of pure muscle and utterly dead. A female crouched against another of the deceased creatures, seemingly attempting to skin the thing. Two more females, standing tall and glaring at them; one, a dark- and olive-toned woman and the other pale and icy, both glowing in the triumph of recent and victorious battle.

Scionica nudged Kevala's mind, mentally drawing her attention to the one made of ice. Is it just me, or is that our quarry?

Kevala glanced towards the woman then went back to perusing the other three, nodding faintly. It would not do to isolate this woman as an obvious target. These people were undoubtedly Sith. It would not do to attack one without drawing the ire and allegiance of the others against their favour.

What are we going to do?

A quiet chuckle answered her question. [/i]I'm not actually sure. Just play along and see how it goes, I suppose. If this ends in a fight, we'll fight back. Even against the Sith we should not be so easily bested.[/i]

Of course, if there was anything that would swiftly dispell the twins' confidence, it would be the fact that in a blink, the male was gone, Catalyst having cloaked himself with the Force. Apollyon could appreciate such a tactic; Catalyst was a Stalker at heart, his title Inquisitor representing his past within the Galactic Empire and position within Talon's apparatus rather than the prestige and doctrinal allegiance of a freshly minted Sith Master.

And his appraisal was sound. The approaching pair were no Acolytes. "What do you think, Viscretus?" Apollyon queried. "To land or crash there rather than at the Temple suggests unauthorised entry... And unauthorised entry suggests stealth technology, to make it past the fleet unseen. And stealth technology suggests..."

A frown creased her features.

"Bounty hunters... Federation agents... Assassins."

Viscretus did not reply. Apollyon turned to regard her. Her ivory-skinned compatriot had not moved a muscle, and suddenly the thought dawned. Viscretus had been ailing ever since her encounter with Apollyon's Master, her attacks lethargic, her ability to draw upon the Force intermittent. And yet she had just healed Catalyst and Apollyon simultaneously, reknitting flesh and sinew and purging toxins, a masterful feat for even the greatest Sith alchemist in their prime. But straining to the utmost the reserves of a Sith Lady fresh from an inevitably draining encounter with Darth Dreadwar.

"Oh for the Emperor's sake," she swore. It was as if Viscretus had fallen into a catatonic trance, her signature muted within the Force with the aura of depleted exhaustion. Apollyon shoved Viscretus' shoulder, hard. "Snap out if it!" She hissed, before turning to Robyn, whose signature, by contrast, was pulsing with renewed power. The dark side had flooded her with toxic energy again, Robyn's dark thoughts regarding Apollyon, and the gruesome task of skinning she was undertaking, summoning the ambience of Korriban's power to her again. "You've skinned enough, get up," Apollyon hissed, as if suddenly taking charge of the mission team. "Get in front of Viscretus, and channel your excess power to her. Catalyst, sneak behind them, and incapacitate them if you can."

Apollyon took several step forwards to interpose herself between her friend and the approaching twins, the hand Viscretus had healed dropping to her belt to pull loose the mottled hilt of a lighsaber. With a snap-hiss, crimson fire sprouted from her fist. It spat with frothing unpredictability, denoting a crack in the crystal - a shard of Graush's Heart - that powered her lightsaber. Scionica and Kevala were closer, now, and the detail of their garb became more obvious. Not bounty hunters. She called to them. "Who goes there? What is your business on Korriban?"

TAG: Shira Darth Catalyst Padawan4687 Volshe

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COMBO WITH ELU

IC: Darth Persevus & Darth Dreadwar via Dy'nonik'iss
Free Falling, Cathedral of the Holy Jedi Spirits, Odessen

His power was uninterrupted and unstoppable on the pillar, the formation of earth brought asunder at his command. The tiss'shar's straightening was peculiar, but he paid it no mind initially.

"Oh, but we always play, do we not, Lord Persevus. Is it so hard to recognize me with scales and a tail?"

Once again Dy'nonik'iss had captured Persevus' attention unexpectedly. His eyes narrowed behind Revan's mask.

The pillar crumbled.

"I should have known," he allowed himself to say with a small chuckle.

The pillar and Holocron fell.

It was all up to how Dreadwar responded. A telekinetic pull on the object and it alone. Nothing else.

Nothing else? He used his own, grasping the tail and forcing him into the earth. True rivals played rough after all.

So the body was real and his response to his tactic with the pillar was peculiar. Hm. Nonetheless, as the Emperor proxy and his old rival dealt with the blow he dealt him, Persevus had already leapt off the cliff. Nothing else was left to fear. Nothing except his opponent of course.

The wind whistled around him and through his robes, flapping them as he went. Ironically, they had done something similar once when their old master plunged to his death in a reactor core…he had no such designs here however.

Turning his head slightly he saw the raptor form of Dreadwar catching up as he had jumped after him. Persevus allowed himself a secretive grin. It was never dull between the two and many would be surprised at the history between them. So rare was it for either of them to find a true challenging opponent, that when they had run across each other…well. Their rivalry in their mutual interest in lore and relics was guaranteed.

"Catch up then, Dreadwar!" he yelled over the wind as he increased his speed using the Force, moving deftly between the sudden electric judgment onslaught raining down upon them. An expected outcome.

His quiet application of his Force Barrier was already up. These Jedi would be nothing to him. Ordu Aspectu or not. At the last moment he softened his fall just enough to land roughly, but still on his feet. From there, he used his senses to stretch out to where he could sense the holocron, moving quickly all the while.

Persevus did not reach for it physically or otherwise yet even now, though he ran for its location. Another test of his opponent, to test his theory.

Said opponent landed a few short meters behind him, his broken tail doing little to right his balance, resulting in a much less sprightly landing than he had hoped, only offset by the ungainly outstretch of a tridactyl hand. They were at the bottom of the chasm, now, darkened by the shade cast by the sheer cliff walls of the narrow ravine. Yells rained down from above, but no electricity; they were beyond the monks' reach.

Still, they had to move fast; the monks would surely be able to navigate their own Cathedral in a timely fashion, even if less timely than the rather dangerous move of leaping off the cliffside - which thankfully, the Priors did not seem keen to attempt to replicate.
The holocron glittered in the lively and trickling water they now stood ankle-deep in, but it was not the only thing that glittered. The chasm terminated in a cave whence the stream flowed some twenty meters ahead of them, and nestled within that cavern, standing on a fanciful base, was a brazen mirror.

The mirror was inclined so as to catch where the tip of the pillar had been before Persevus had felled it within its reflection, and Dy'nonik'iss noticed that where the holocron now lay would also be in its reflection. But, he saw no raptor or Sith Lord in its golden-hued depths; they were just outside of its reflection.

It occurred to Dy'nonik'iss that this, somehow, by dint of some sorcery, may represent the trap that had previously seemed unapparent. Perhaps even the Aethric Mirror sought by the Sorceress of Golg herself. And so he remained stationary, letting Persevus alone move forward - waiting to see what would happen, if Persevus continued and fell within its line of reflection.

TAG: elu

---

COMBO WITH GORZAN

IC: Kint Dranlor and Darth Ardeur
Rakatan Mind Trap

Gorzan looked at her. "You expect me to give up my body and life? Why would I do that? What is so special about you?" He turned, frustrated, swiped his hands through the empty air. He was furious with himself for letting his guard down, but also knew that if he had a chance to get out, he must take it. "Is there any other way to get you out? Once I am free, I could convince another to touch it."

That faint smile graced Ardeur's countenance again. Gorzan had indeed touched upon the second layer to her negotiation; she would entice him with the promise of freeing him afterwards, by forcing some gullible minion to touch the Trap and thus become the new vessel for the newcomer's consciousness. Indeed, with some clever swapping using the Trap, Gorzan could even be restored to his old body, Ardeur taking up residence in a new form... A clone of the body that had been atomised on the bridge of the Dark Renewal, perhaps.

But first, she would have to explain why she must precede him.

"I am not so special, my friend," she responded easily. "But I was trapped here, for five long years, with one who was. That terrible foe I spoke of. Darth Dreadwar." Her voice lowered to a hiss, her nostrils flaring in distant rage. "Dreadwar the Deceiver wrapped many truths in lies, but my own knowledge of ancient history, of Sith mythology, was enough to pierce the veil and ferret out what was true."

Her voice lowered still, to the most gentle whisper, as if frightened that, beyond all logic and possibility, she could be overheard. "Long, long ago, before the Republic was a twinkle in lawmakers' eyes, before the Jedi even existed much less split to birth the Sith as we know them... The Infinite Empire ruled the galaxy. The Rakata were their Builders, but who were they building for? Who defeated the Celestials, inscrutable powers that they are? I'll tell you. The Sith. Not the Sith as we know them, but the True Sith. The red-skinned species of Korriban, thought extinct but only hiding... Hiding until the day their gods return. And that day is soon."

She glanced around furtively, continued. "Dreadwar​ led their armies in war, conquering the Unknown Regions while the galaxy remained blissfully unaware. He claimed to be doing it as a trick, so that he could destroy the True Sith from within. But I do not believe him. For thousands of years, the True Sith have been finding and locating the Seals to Chaos itself. Yes, Chaos is real, and it is a prison - like this," Ardeur gestured around them, "writ large. And when they break the last of the Seals, the Sith'ari will be free. And He will destroy what you and I know as Sith, what He knows as false Sith, and destroy Jedi and Matukai and Baran-Do and Masarian and Shado Varmiri alike. He will destroy every living thing in this galaxy, and in time, the universe itself."

A ripple pulsed through the whiteness, like a wind that was not a wind. Ardeur leaned back. "This is too important a matter for me to trust you, my friend. I'm sorry. I must be released, to warn the galaxy. And I will need every being I can get, to warn others in case I am slain. I need you to warn the Masarians, and prepare them for the apocalypse that comes." Now that Ardeur had realised the newcomer was not a mere hallucination, it was obvious to which faction he belonged. The discipline of Masarian mercenaries, a sect active in the Xarian system, buried deep in the Unknown Regions - but not deep enough to taste the void of the Dark Worlds. "I will free you, as soon as I can. But I must be freed first."

A frown creased Ardeur's features. She was not hopeful the newcomer would agree... And a new thought suddenly presented itself. There was another way to determine who went free, beyond the art of negotiation...

Gorzan frowned. He bayed his life, and the galaxy in general. But, he had his doubt. "How long would it take you to reach the clone, to perform the swap a second time? And what prevents you from simply leaving without bothering to help me. Hell, who knows if anything you said was true?" But deep in gorzan' mind, he knew she spoke the truth. He had long heard legends of the sith-ari, and of the sith gods. If they were to return, well, he shuddered to think of what they might do to the galaxy.

"Good questions, all," Ardeur responded archly. "I suppose we are at a dilemma, then. You unable to trust me, and me unable to trust such a vital thing to you. But there is an alternative. Permission is powerful in this place, my friend, for this is a Mind Trap - and your mind determines your reality. And legends tell of an ancient Rakata who was trapped in a snare like this, who bargained with Revan for release. It is said they played a game of riddles, agreeing that whoever won the game would go free. How about we take a page out of the history books, and play likewise? We pose each other riddles until one of us is unable to answer, and loses... And we let the game decide who walks free first, with a commitment to free the other later."

TAG: gorzan

IC LORD HYPNOS
Triumphant Officer Quarters

Hypnos’s plan had worked. Not perfectly, like he had calculated but the errors had not detracted from the final result. As the plasma bolt splashed harmlessly against the shield and the tar-like projectile was deflected similarly, the toxin was permeating the space around the officer. He fired again, clipping another section of Hypnos's frame but it was too late. Hypnos saw his eyes widen in shock as he breathed in the deadly spore. Good. Another for his army. And in such fashionable garb. Hypnos’s confidence soon turned into annoyance though, as the officer pulled his thermal detonator from his belt and hurled it towards Hypnos. Pathetic. Hypnos reached out with the Force and caught the grenade mid-arc and with another invisible tendril held down the dead man switch that Merr-Sonn was so kind to include on all of their ballistic explosives. He waited for the officer to realize his plan was not going to work while slowly moving the deadly sphere to levitate right in front of his no longer smug face. He let the dead man switch slowly depress.

-click-

There was a massive explosion that upended nearly everything in the turbotrain station. Even Hypnos rocked in his sturdy frame. The tripedal gait had its advantage here though, and Hypnos was able to brace himself as the wall of concussive energy turned the room into a chaotic mess. There is no doubt, his shields are strong. But against this grenade they will last how long? Hypnos continued scanning the room, searching for any signs of movement among the rubble and detritus. Any Stormtroopers he saw were silenced with a blaster bolt. If the officer survived though, Hypnos had plans for his shell.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar ,

IC: Darth Dreadwar via Dy'nonik'iss
Chasm of the Celestial, Odessen

The golden mirror swung upwards courtesy of Persevus' power, revealing only the dull grey rear of a mercifully one-sided mirror. Briefly, the monks of the Ordu Aspectu were caught in the line of reflection, and Dy'nonik'iss glanced up while the Holocron flew to Persevus' hand, a background thought regarding how a Holocron interfaced with Persevus' psychometry playing across his thoughts.

If it had been Dy'nonik'iss' mind behind the reptillian eyes and not the mind of a world devourer, his blood would have froze. As it was, he merely watched with detached dispassion as the monks above glinted gold, and twisted into a horrific mockery of their true selves. It was like looking at one's reflection in a dream, nightmarish distortions with blurred outlines, eyes streaked across a grotesque shifting countenance that repulsivively emphasised gaping maws for mouths and other wrongly-proportioned features depending on the subtlety of what angle one viewed them from. Their auras in the Force were wrong, all wrong, their minds dancing with insane thoughts that seemed to represent the low resolution facsimile of consciousness a magical mirror could create. Their love became hate, and they were already impaling each other on brilliant white lightsabers, and their hate became love, which Dreadwar supposed made sense of the humans' sudden attempt to telekinetically flay the skin from their compatriots' skulls to create a stringy display of ersatz lekku. And the primary object of their attention, the thieves below in the chasm, were suddenly the last thing on their minds.

Well then.

Dy'nonik'iss' tail twitched uncomfortably. Persevus would sense a sort of readiness gathering around the raptor, as if Dreadwar was loosening his hold on the thrall's mind, preparing to abandon the body at a moment's notice if needed. The Mirror's effect was truly powerful, and Dreadwar was paranoid enough to fear what would happen to his greater, immortal spirit if even this one thrall was caught in its reflection.

"I believe," he spoke over the gruesome sounds echoing from far above, "that to be the Aethric Mirror of Sith legend. Even I do not know its providence, but I know that it was in the possession of a great and powerful sorceress when I was but a young man..." Persevus was a loremaster of uncanny historical knowledge, but Dreadwar did not know whether Persevus knew of his true identity as the ancient Sith Lord Ku'ar Danar, which placed his days as a young man some seven thousand years in the past. He sometimes suspected Persevus was eager to keep up their rivalrous competition for artifact-hunting if only so as to learn about new artifacts and forgotten lore from a relic older than any found in the Galactic Museum's Sith exhibition: Dreadwar himself.

"It is said that the Mirror contains a world unto itself, though this alternate realm may only be as large in size as what can be seen within the Mirror; it is known that people and other objects can be stored therein, that anything caught in its reflection falls under its power - and can be transposed into it, swapped in space and time with a twisted facsimile of abominable nature. It is said that the Mirror is as indestructible as the Dagger of Mortis, forged from the fiery gold of stellar energy. It is said that the Mirror can be... programmed, as it were, with a single rule to inverse its reflection, to reverse the magic it has wrought. But this final property upon which most tales agree, is that the Mirror's instructions cannot be shaped to react to individual people. So it is not possible for the monks to have commanded this Mirror, 'only ensnare Persevus.' There is in the Mirror a blindness such as the Sages of Dwartii have attributed to ideal justice; it must treat all who come before it by the same rule, whatever rule may be in force."

Dy'nonik'iss shrugged. "In any event, you have the Holocron." No sooner had he spoken, had the Holocron in Persevus' newfound grasp activated. The holoimage of the Gatekeeper did not sprout from above, but rather dripped disconcertingly from below, as if Persevus was holding it upside down. It was the distorted image of an old man in grey robes with a long beard, holding a staff- no, a serpent, the staff had warped into a serpent or perhaps it had never been the vision of a staff at all, and with fangs Dreadwar knew in his heart to be corporeal it struck out at Persevus' abdomen, hissing, while the upside-down projection fell into the water with a splash, giggling while it stared up at the Sith Lords with hollow black eyes.

The Holocron had been in the Mirror's reflection the entire time it sat atop the pillar.

TAG: elu

IC: Darth Viscretus
Approach to Dreshdae

The edges of her vision had first faded into black, her mind growing quiet as it withdrew from the Force instinctively - a side effect she had not often experienced. The last time through a Talisman of Concentration upon Naboo, she thought briefly, the thought echoing in its solitude. Another one stalked behind it. A word that stoked the last embers of energy in her mind. 

Danger.

The mere thought of the lush planet brought her mind to its surface, the warm sands shifting into rippling waters of the mountain rivers. The mysterious pair sloshed through rock-addled stream in their approach,  A warm voice, calling her name. It called again - but it was not a voice this time, no, it was a scream. One she had forgotten. Her eyes narrowed upon their faces, obscured by hood, mask, and distance. She blinked, trying to refocus. The sky returned embroiled in storm - an unnatural tempest spawned by darkness and the churning uncertainty that swelled amongst the group. Apollyon stepped in front, swirling waters lapping at her feet under blackened skies. The buildings at water's edge crumbled, dust taking their place. 

Her unsteady hand reached for one of her vials. 

Chek's voice echoed through the roaring of rapids and deep growls of thunder. She quickly recognised it. The final message she had received. But the words did not match, they were unnatural. Disjointed.  Far from anything her friend would have spoken. 

Suddenly, it made sense, the realisation fighting its way through the thick frill syrup of vision. An unspoken warning she should have heeded prior. One she would heed now. There was danger, indeed. And it did not await...it approached. 

She downed the vial's pale pink contents, her own voice breaking her free from the trance as soon as the bitter liquid had slipped down her throat.

"Apollyon!"

Its shrill urgency could not prevent her friend from calling to them, shattering any chance of her own quiet escape. She exhaled. An edge of fury rose in her breath, the first buzz of the concoction finally taking hold. Her hands rose, lighting crackling in each palm. She would pay in mere moments for this, if she could not feed upon the power that rippled from the Initiate. But they would pay first, if they dared anything more than falling to the sand at her feet. 

They already dared approach, a fatal error in itself.

TAG: Padawan4687, Darth Catalyst, Darth Dreadwar, 
TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow

IC: Ermir Marcus
A classroom Robyn Shaire is very lucky she was kicked out of

"...and this is how the Ritual of Engorgement recorded in the scrolls of Darth Salacius," Ermir Marcus was saying, dropping his glowing palm from the breast of the excessively well-wrapped Nautolan female beside him, "may be used to enlarge the breasts for purposes of undercover seduction of an enemy." He nodded at her, prompting her to return to her seat at the front - or rather the fifth row back from Ermir and the holographic board, which was the closest the students dared sit. "Remember, my young apprentices, this is Alchemy. This is no mere illusion; much like the power of Mask utilised by Palpatine, this imposes an astral abstraction upon the flesh itself, reconstituting tissue on a molecular level. It can be dispelled with a painful and vigorous infusion of Force lightning, but is a passive, constant sorcery that does not drain one's Force reserves, and cannot be dropped or raised as the need requires. Unlike the Phantom ability preferred by our divine Emperor, it will fool all senses, for it is truly a modification wrought upon the body itself."

He flashed pearlescent white teeth at the Nautolan shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Of course," he leered, lust glinting in silver eyes that raked the area where her robes seemed painfully tight, "I find I can find ways to engorge my own body parts without any need for alchemy." The Sith Master chuckled, his eyes still affixed as his smile curled into a sneer.

Shaking his head as if attempting to break a temporary trance, Ermir placed his hands behind his back and began pacing to and fro again. "Now, Gorsia, unless you want to file a requisition form for new undergarments, we're going to have to return those beelpops to their usual size, aren't we?" Cackling at the expression on her face, Ermir raised a hand and let loose a storm of blue electricity in her direction.

And that was the scene that Lady Talon and Lord Xirr walked in on, as Talon, shaking her head at Xirr's optimism regarding their imminent encounter, opened the wooden door to Master Marcus' alchemy classroom. Ermir Marcus, wearing garb unconventional for a Sith including an ankle-length leather coat dyed a gaudy white, pumping Force lightning into one of the dozen young adults sitting in his classroom, snickering at her screams and - was that her chest somehow deflating...?

Ermir stopped as soon he saw the senior Sith enter, and Gorsia breathed a sigh of relief as she fell head-first onto her desk as the lightning abated. Marcus stooped to a bow, as if pretending they had seen nothing strange. "High Inquisitor Talon," he breathed. "Looking as ravishing as ever, I see. You make even gorgeous Gorsia here green with envy. Well, I suppose she is always green..."

Talon's eyes narrowed at his presumptuousness, accompanying the sort of expression that indicated that while normally she would be blazing fury, after years of punishing Marcus it simply seemed impossible to redeem the rascal, and thus she had resigned herself to his craven lasciviousness. Or... not quite. She had strongly considered reporting his conduct to the Emperor, but knew that if she did so she would lose a bet on the Death Pool, the Death Pool being that list of Sith the Temple's inhabitants believed most likely to be executed by the Emperor next. Ermir Marcus was inching his way towards the top 10, but right now the list was topped by Gorsia herself, who apparently had been picking on one Robyn Shaire lately. For whatever reason she could not quite fathom, skeletons only identified by their teeth of those who excessively antagonised the Initiate tended to end up being found around the Temple's stone halls.

"And who is this most powerful hunk beside you?" Ermir approached Lord Xirr timidly, tilting his head in a quirk of curiosity rather than respect. "If I may say so, my Lord, your aura in the Force is so... strong. And your mask has such a delightfully brutish aspect. So masculine. Truly your presence makes me weak at the knees."

TAG: dice

Darth Persevus IC:
~Chasm of the Celestial, Odessen~

Madness had descended upon the Ordu Aspectu as the peculiar mirror briefly flipped upwards to reveal it was thankfully one sided. Its reflection caught the enemy monks and now it was pandemonium as they turned on each other. Their very feelings and aura turned completely opposite, a full 180 degrees in an instant. Despite the strength of their zealous fervor.

A chilling realization to be sure, even for Persevus.

As the disconcerting sounds continued from above, as the Celestial Holocron at last flew into his hands as intended, he noted that Dreadwar had begun to speak. A sort of readiness, a wary anticipation hovering around him, showing his fear of the mirror he had just knocked away.

It did not surprise either of them that the Sith Lord who claimed himself unparalleled with Sith Relic hunting kept still to listen. Whether Dreadwar realized it or not, and Persevus suspected he did, if there was anything Persevus had a weakness for…it was history. Granted, he was also pragmatic and he would tune out even that enticement if he was in immediate danger.

But for the moment, he listened. And took note. There was no reason that the Emperor was telling the truth, however nor did Persevus sense he was telling a falsehood right then either. And it all ended with:

"In any event, you have the Holocron."

That was his response. A history lesson and a submission. In other words, Persevus' instincts went into alarm mode immediately.

And then the fabled Holocron activated and the truth of it all became apparent. His eyes sharpened behind Revan's Mask. Truth be told, the very idea that the mirror had been tilted toward the holocron itself had not crossed his mind. Even if it had, he wondered for that brief moment if a holocron would even be affected the same way organics would.

Within a second of that mental inquiry, he had an answer. And not the one he wanted.

Dropping into the water, which was strange of a Gatekeeper as it was, he also had to contend with the snake-stave. He had enough history with such things to know not to be foolish with assuming it was a mere illusion.

Lightly tossing it further away, but immediately using the Force to freeze it and the snake in place in a tight strangle hold he did his best to keep it there.

A mirror deals in reflections and inversions. I actually do not know much of this Aethric Mirror, so I will have to watch Dreadwar while conducting field tests.

His left hand flung out to the side.

I will have to do both simultaneously, he will not make this easy.

Nor should he - would have been an added thought had he the time. Instead, his focus was keeping the holocron exactly where it was while using the Force to grasp the mirror a second time. It was already pointed up from the way it had been knocked askew, hence the monks' dilemma.

He yanked it toward them, with Persevus bending backwards as much as he could while having the mirror go speeding above him, its normal backside facing him but the mirror's surface passing once more by the holocron. As soon as it went by however, he was tilting it toward Dreadwar and pivoting to keep directly behind it.

He couldn't trust the tiss'shar disguised Sith Emperor to not continue his own pursuit of such an item and he was already showing signs of great wariness of the mirror. A new defensive weapon….and secondary relic…that Persevus now designed to claim. Furthermore, if things were distorted by reflections, would they revert back if taken out of the mirror's sight but then re-entered?

That was what he sought to test all in one fell swoop.

Normally too, a holocron or any item would feed into his psychometry the first time he touched it with just a small crumb. Nothing much, just a quick image or impression of past events surrounding its physical being. Not necessarily knowledge it held, just the past of the physical holocron itself. Where it had been, who else might have had it (or a hint of whom). Nothing concrete usually, it was rare for him to get anything substantial from the first touch, but it would begin the path of knowledge nevertheless.

But with the Aethric Mirror's inversion of the holocron…he wondered if that would actually happen or not. The holocron's past would also be distorted and as such, potentially indecipherable and useless. Until restored that was.

He hated having another obstacle in his way.

Persevus also loved the challenge despite it.

Tag: Darth Dreadwar,

IC: Darth Xirr
The classroom of Ermir Marcus


    Xirr was utterly shocked by the scene that he found himself pulled into into. Awed by the aura of perversion that the instructor exuded. 'The Ritual of Engorgement' he called it, nothing but a ploy to push himself onto one of his students...disgusting. Xirr, however was silent, shaking his head in disdain. 

     After a long and uncomfortable encounter with the Nautolan student whom Marcus had 'Enlarged', and the hasty and painful deflation of the ludicrously enlarged breasts of the girl, Marcus finally noticed the two Sith standing to the side, observing his 'lesson'. "High Inquisitor Talon," he breathed, his voice sending shudders down the spine or Lord Xirr. "Looking as ravishing as ever, I see. You make even gorgeous Gorsia here green with envy. Well, I suppose she is always green..." 

    Xirr grimaced behind his mask, recoiling at the brash actions of the instructor. "And who is this most powerful hunk beside you?" Marcus cooed, angling his head at Lord Xirr, taking in his muscled form. "If I may say so, my Lord, your aura in the Force is so... strong. And your mask has such a delightfully brutish aspect. So masculine. Truly your presence makes me weak at the knees."


    Xirr waved away the comments from Marcus without a thought, his head continuing to shake. "Spare us the....pleasantries, Instructor. We need some information that falls under your.... area of expertise. We require the blood of a virgin. However, we found it, less than effortless, to think of anyone on the planet, not already taken by the pleasures of the flesh. Would you happen to be inclined to inform us? Not that you have a choice, of course."

TAG: Darth Dreadwar,

IC Lord Catalyst
Outside Dreshdae

The lack of reply from the so-called assassins annoyed Catalyst. Yet he was also impressed. Even beaten and faced with death, they were refusing to divulge their mission. That took a measure of courage. Or they were simply brain dead. But if that was the case then what was the significance of his vision? No, there was more to the twin assassins than their apparent incompetence let on.

Catalyst tried very hard to refrain from rolling his eyes while Apollyon was thinking out loud. She was incredibly proficient at stating the obvious. His thumb twitched over the button on his lightsaber. More and more he continued questioning her ability to lead and her unopposed rank as Hand. His thoughts were soon quieted as he heard the whine of speeder bikes coming from the Temple. Now what? These interruptions were starting to become tedious. His annoyance soon turned to sly mirth when he saw the distinctive red and black lekku of his superior on the speeder bike that circled them. Darth Talon apparently had business in the valley as well. And she had brought with her.. Someone. Catalyst didn’t recognize the heavily armored and masked figure before him but he was reminded of his former Jedi Master.

He hated that man.

While Talon and Apollyon exchanged pleasantries, Catalyst’s eyes were glued to the masked man. Sizing him up. Obviously the man was a Sith, judging by the outfit choice. Catalyst glimpsed the saber at his belt too, reminiscent of Bane’s bladed hilt. A fighter as well. The man’s attention was very focused on Robyn. What is he- Talon’s acknowledgement grounded his thoughts. "I can take them from here, Lord Catalyst," she said with a nod while cuffing the woman he had ensnared.

“Of course, Lady Talon,” he nodded back, uncoiling the rope from around Kevala. “You’re getting much better at precognition I see.” He smirked under his helmet. “How did you know Polly couldn’t handle the Emperor’s favorite, a surprisingly spunky initiate and my charming self on her own?” He nodded behind her at the statuesque figure of Xirr that seemed to be eyeing Shaire with a look that rivaled Marcus’s lecherous leering. “And who’s the monolith you’re dragging around?”

TAG:dice, Padawan4687, Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Shira