The Old Sith Trials

IC: Darth Coatlec
Location: Hangar Bay, Sith Temple and Academy, Korriban

Coming up to the assigned hangar, Coatlec continued pondering what he had read in the Book. Immortality. Life that never ends should always be the ultimate goal of any Sith. Outwit. Outplay. Outlast. That would be the endgame for Darth Coatlec.

As the broken bastard walked up to the shuttle where his Lord had commanded, he received a rare but certainly welcome compliment from the Emperor himself. To the Emperor, it was probably nothing, but to Coatlec, after what he had been through these past few days, he would take anything he could get. "My Hand appears not to have followed your example of haste," the Emperor hissed, addressing Lord Coatlec as he returned. "No matter, they can take the next shuttle. We depart for my flagship at once." "Why thank you, my Emperor. Hopefully Lady Apollyon will be joining us soon," he stated thus in reply.

With that, he followed the Emperor into the shuttle, trailing a bit back. He took his place seats back behind the Emperor and his guards' places, ready to embark on their journey. Journey into knowledge alongside the Emperor. What could possibly be a better lesson especially for me?

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , and others

IC: Etami Wren

Location: Viscretus’ Shuttle





    Wondering about the initial reaction she’d receive from the acolyte when she suggested the payment plans, Etami was pleasantly surprised to be met with a smile from the young man. However, something about that smile was different than a normal one to her. Etami figured that the gesture was fake and only enacted to put her at a false sense of safety, but she didn’t intend to let that work on her for now. But, she also wasn’t going to not act like it worked to make the man at ease himself. Knowing her force sensitivity probably wasn’t picked up on just yet, Etami decided that she would use that to her advantage and play the man like the rookie he was.


    Probing his mind just gentle enough to most likely avoid detection, Etami barely focused in to hear him suggest that she pick the payment package herself. ‘Excellent! This will be an easy payday!’ She thought to herself before trying to remember the diverse set of payments that her squad offered to their customers. Deciding on the second most expensive one to use as the basis for the most likely already poor acolytes, Etami saw him leave before she could even say anything to the man. Sighing as she wondered if the acolyte even truly cared about hiring the mercenaries, the Mandalorian waited another moment before finally uncrossing her arms and leaving out the kitchen herself. Exchanging a small glance with the classy boy who was still there, Etami shook her head in disappointment before leaving out. ‘This is what the Sith call a man? Amazing…’ She thought sarcastically as she took her final step out the door.


    Making her way down towards where she remembered seeing the bunks at when she first entered, Etami thought back to her previous job which was under similar circumstance. The Underworld of Coruscant… Etami had never seen a more wretched hive of scum and villainy ever since she started in the business. Hired by a distressed father on a space station hovering over Anaxes to save his daughter who disappeared during a routine trip to Coruscant, Etami and her 3rd in command; Abarai travelled into the heart of level 1313 where she was last spotted on the local security cameras. Almost a month of searching and not a clue found, it wasn’t until one of the squad members was searching a slave database for maid purchases that they found her picture.


    That trip to Nar Shaddaa to purchase the girl bankrupted the man of his entire bank account. However, with him allowing Etami to make the payment plan instead of choosing it himself, the girl and her squad took whatever was left of his life savings. Inside, Etami felt a tiny bit of guilt for cheating him on a job that she didn’t use much of her resources on. But on the outside, just like it would most likely be with this job, she would do it for her own survival. She cared little if the acolytes would be broke after her services were completed and payment made.

Finally snapping back to reality as she heard a door in the nearby bunks close, she walked through the open entrance before noticing the male sit back on his bed with his lightsaber in front of him. When he appeared relaxed and without as much clothing as before, the man wasn’t a bad sight to look at. Part of her considered making a cheaper offer for her services, but the businesswoman in her stopped any such action.

Wanting nothing more than pull his lightsaber to her to see his get worked up for a singular moment, Etami realized doing so would give away her hidden trump card for now and that was the last thing she desired. Plus with him in meditation seemingly, she knew it could be easier for him to sense the force in her if she even used it slightly.


    “So is your force giving you clarity Sith?” She asked in a condescending tone as she waited for him to open his eyes and see her leaning against the nearby wall with her arms crossed once more. Not even deciding to wait for his answer to her rhetorical question, Etami started on her payment plan that she was offering to the group. “So here’s what I came up with… you acolytes don’t seem to be too stacked with credits so I will cut you guys a break since I’m feeling nice. 10,000 credits base pay with extra rate of 2,500 per week that our services are provided. Including hazard pay of 7,500 with an additional 1,500 for every man of my squad that may be killed in the process we are looking at a minimal price off 20,000 credits. Shouldn’t be hard to scournge up if you call your mama for an allowance right?” She asked with a smirk wondering if she could strike a nerve with him… He seemed like the type to not have a mother anymore.


    Figuring his response would come soon, she prepped for whatever smart comment he was going to make as suddenly felt something heart wrenching through the force. Whatever it was made Etami feel as if it was going to devour her alive. This wasn’t hard to figure out as she uncrossed her arms and held her right hand over her heart with a look of pure terror on her face. What was this presence? What in the galaxy was going on in the force?



Tag: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Darth Voidwalker, darthvoxyn



IC: Trill

Location: Sinister Sith Temple





    ‘This beast was surely possible to tame. It would be like any other Rankora in the past’ The woman originally thought as she took another step forward in what was her attempt to seduce the monster into following her very whim. If everything was to go right then she only need to probe it until she reached the deep depths of its psyche and force her dominance in the dark arts on it. However, as she took yet another step, Trill suddenly opened her eyes when her hand felt the cold touch of a wall though she was sure she hadn’t walked into one. Having her sight back on her side, she confirmed what she thought as she knew the wall she felt was through the dark side itself. This beast had a Master… and they were far stronger than her.


    Keeping her hand reached out as something in her compelled her to remain in contact with that wall. Trill would have probably stayed in direct contact with it for another minute or so if she hadn’t felt the mind wracking headache that felt as if it was shot directly into her brain. Pulling her hand back instinctively, she brought said hand to her forehead as she almost couldn’t stand the pain and needed even the smallest relief. Deactivating her saber in the moment as she felt she needed both hands to grasp and massage her temples, Trill began to raise her right hand before feeling another full force hit come upon her, but this time physically.


    Feeling the full force of the hit from the beast slam against her small body, Trill flew back into a nearby wall as the second slam was enough to make her head snap forward, eyes widen in shock, and blood to come flying from her mouth. Crumpling to the ground, she hovered on the brink of unconscious as she swore she heard the deafening roar of the abomination. Looking down into her lap as it seemed her vision was going black; she was able to reach her saber which was only a foot away from her. Feeling the hilt in her hand again she thought back to a predicament that was oddly familiar and she swore she heard a voice echoing throughout the force.


    “Is this it child? Is this the height of your abilities? Surely this beast could just kill you then, I have no use for a weak hound.” A voice rang throughout her skull. Was it a real one? Was it a person nearby or had she hit her head too hard?


    The answer would come to her a moment later as the thick Rakatan accent would be heard clearer the second time around. Trill knew exactly who this was… it her former Predor Skal’nas. Was he talking to her through the force? Was he nearby and she just didn’t see the man yet? No… no it couldn’t be the latter, for Trill was sure that she had him killed back on Tython. There was no way possible for the man to have survived the Je’daii ambush. However, something about his words did bother her. Where had she heard this exact phrase before? This time surely wasn’t the first…




    That’s it! It was back during her final days of training before she was deployed to find Xesh. She was dealing with her Master’s Rancor and the test was for her to temporarily tame it with her will so it would allow her to care for it. She vaguely remembered the struggle she faced initially and that was when the man had his first ever thought about writing the already infamous force hound off. That moment had changed Trill… it made her realize she was barely worth even being a slave. That statement enraged her, it struck a nerve that she didn’t know she had. And now it was doing it again.


    Taking a moment to get up, Trill stood up with a new resolve though her balance was still shaky and it wasn’t hard to tell that it was taking a lot for her to even stay on her feet at first. That only lasted for a second though as something seemed changed in the woman. As her eyes full opened, her vision saw the beast starting to make its way towards her temporary companions and that alone felt like an insult. She wasn’t going to let that hit go because it did more than hurt her physically, it manage to piss her off.


    Slowly reaching for the shoto that she had acquired earlier, Trill began to focus on getting the beast attention and making it want to divert it’s destruction towards her. She was going to be the one to handle this and show that everyone was wrong… they had always been wrong. She wasn’t worthless, she wasn’t a burden, she wasn’t someone to pity or worry about… she was strong and what better stage to prove that with than this very moment.


    Wondering if using her force pressure would get the beast attention, the hound began to raise the amount of pressure she was giving off in hopes that it would make her seem way stronger than she actually was. The immense amounts of energy radiating off of her would begin to make the surrounding area feel strange to force users and beings. Heck, with how strong she was trying to make herself appear she wondered if any of the purebloods across the surface of Korriban was picking up on her presence. The girl would seem like she was steaming as she kept her head down with her eyes once again closed.


    “So you damn beast you want to hit me once and move like I’m nothing? Am I that weak to you?” Trill started slowly in Rakatan as she knew she most likely had its attention now. Lifting up her head before her eyes opened full of confidence and resolve that she hasn’t felt in nearly 25,000 years, the woman felt truly ready to fight. Activating both sabers away from her athletic form, she would drop into an odd stance with her left foot forward holding the shoto in her left hand out in front of her. Her right foot was farther back to help maintain her balance with her force saber activated and held angled away from her.


    “I think it’s time to show you why you will be calling me Master after this. Now let’s go!” She kept her stance firm and waited for it to make the first move as she released the immense amount of force pressure she was causing… she had made her point.



Tag: darthkain7, cliojayne, volacius

IC: Darth Viscretus
Viscretus’ Shuttle, Space Orbiting Korriban

“I did not know dewbacks produced milk,” Viscretus said. Her expression was bemused. Weren’t they...lizards? Desert lizards?

She at first paid no mind to where Apollyon’s gaze was directed, instead reaching for the cup of caf her friend had abandoned. Her curiosity had been piqued, and now she needed to taste it.

And so she did, despite the fact she much preferred herbal beverages, and despite the fact Apollyon had already taken a few sips from it. It tasted bitter as caf always did, harsh, and vaguely sour. There was obviously sugar or something in there, but it did not do anything to rid the beverage of its unappetizing flavour. The only thing she had ever found that did was mallow and whipped milk, but most thought that an assault on the integrity of what was essentially hot bean water. She snorted, internally, at the pretentious caf-puritan crowd.

“Go to hyperspace,” Apollyon instructed, obviously perturbed by something also within orbit. Her gaze had not moved, radiation-filtered sunlight dazzling in her eyes.

Viscretus replied in no way. Just mused to herself, thinking about the taxonomy of Tatooine fauna, staring ahead at Apollyon’s assistant who was yet standing. Merely because in her reclining position, it was him, the back of Apollyon’s headrest, or some obnoxiously flashing orange light. Obviously.

He would topple over in about 30 seconds if their crewman complied with the order to enter hyperspace. The thought gave her a brief smirk - visible, but just barely - over the cup.

Viscretus took another sip, trying to isolate some difference in the flavour profile. There was nothing to distinguish, to her. It just tasted horrendous. She rest the cup in her lap, supported by two hands upon her skirts. Perhaps she could make tisane later and try it then.

Her attention then went to the viewport, at last sitting up, her neck craning to see what Apollyon did before the sight was gone.

And she did. Almost instantly.

A ship she had seen prior, its aura foreboding to her arguably more than most. She did not fear it, but she did not particularly like it, either. It was unsettling. An empty pit in her stomach, as if the Emperor himself approached. Cold. Chilling. Imposing. And perhaps he did. All the more reason for them to leave the space of Korriban immediately.

She took a gulp of the caf, making a face this time. But if anything, the bitter liquid soothed her more than disgusted her, for once - at least it was able to warm her and stave off that sensation of forming ice.

She averted her gaze again, now studying both uniformed men absolutely unabashedly, silhouetted by stars. The shuttle was not built for pleasant views, and now what little she could see was filled with an arrow of dread, piercing their psyches. So, she improvised. And took another sip. Surprisingly, it was getting sweeter. Though not much more bearable.

Her back was already starting to tingle from the stiff leatheris seat. She sighed and readjusted, still staring over her commandeered cup. At least once the familiar rumble of hyperspace surrounded them, they could all find arguably better place to be. Certainly she needed to do some research, and summon old connections. Not monumental tasks, but they had to be prepared.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , @lordjania , Darth Voidwalker , darthvoxyn ,
TAGSET: Dantooine

IC: Warlord Zhav'vorsa
Sith Temple grounds, Korriban

Even the whores had lost their allure, mused Zhav’vorsa. Absently he reached his hand out to the naked servant and let his fingers trace over her crimson flesh, slick with beads of perspiration. The Twi’lek inhaled swiftly and a moan crooned from her damp lips at his touch. Another servant, a human, pressed her bare skin against the Warlord’s back, her fingers kneading at his shoulders. Long, damp locks of her blonde hair cascaded down his chest while she lightly pressed her lips along his neck. Zhav’vorsa sat in the large oval shaped room surrounded by heavenly creatures, yet he was unmoved. His ember-like eyes were fixed on the wall ahead of him, his mind was someplace else.

The steam bath was balmy and relaxing. Yet the beads of sweat that rolled from his brow, down his freshly bathed skin, transported him back to a far different time. In the steam bath he was clean, free of the cracked, crimson war paint he’d adorned since arriving on Korriban, but his mind was in the arid wastes of Dathomir.

~Years earlier~


They came when the Council called them, those who had willingly – perhaps eagerly – sold their souls to the darkness of the Sisters. The Whispering Woods Clan once had been deeply spiritual, studying the natural world and their place within it; they had learned from the beasts of forest and field alike, the birds of the air, and the fish of the rivers. They had been part of the cycle. But the Council grew anxious, unsatisfied with their rank in the natural cycle. They craved more. To that end, they harnessed their powers over nature and the Force, the living and the dead alike, and had the briefest taste of power and, like the barest drop of honey on the tongue, found it sweet. Their lust grew and with it, their ambition to create something much greater. They eagerly sought out the secrets of the dark Magicks that granted more power, and still more. With their knowledge and lust for power, they gave life to a creation that was so strong, so terrible, they lacked the means to fully understand or control it…

The Lord of Terror on Dathomir. The Stacker of Corpses. The future Warlord, Zhav’vorsa.

The fruit of their horrifying labors. They learned they could not control what they created. The Warlord had slain all there was to slay in their valleys and regions. He’d conquered rival clans, sister-clans, spacers, and wild life. His blade knew no bounds. With the passage of time he was becoming lost with no outlet for his bloodlust, on occasion even turning on his fellow clan members in a desperate attempt to assuage the brutal longings that flamed within his heart. The Council of Twelve knew they had to put a stop to their creation. They’d underestimated the power of their alchemically enhanced juggernaut and with no focus for Zhav’s white-hot need to slaughter, they feared for their own safety. Knowing they lacked the conventional manpower, the Council sought the help of outsiders, striking a deal with a slithering, shady gang of callous Trandoshans, on loan from the Cartel. Their terms were simple: bring to heel their creation, and in turn the Council would allow access to the powers infused within Zhav’vorsa, powers to bolster their own ranks, giving the gang advantages in their own power struggles. Whether they intended to keep their end of the bargain was yet to be seen, though the gang foolishly agreed.

The day the Council summoned Zhav’vorsa to their encampment was warm and the thick air was still. When he arrived, he had with him two of his loyalists, men that had been shunned by the Council, meant only to be slaves; two of a small group that he’d taken away from the Council to ride with him. Immediately upon arriving within the village-like encampment, Zhav’vorsa laid eyes upon the hired help, the outsiders. More than a dozen of the tall, lean Trandoshan hunters were gathered around outside the Council’s chamber, with others at various posts throughout the village. The Council of Twelve stood front and center flanked by gangsters with rifles at the ready. Before a single word was spoken by either party, the men accompanying Zhav were shot dead with a single blaster bolt to their skull. The blaster fire rang out, causing the birds to flee from the trees, filling the air with a cacophony of frantic wings flapping. The sound drowned out the thud of the bodies hitting the dirt.

“It’s over,” the head of the Council of Twelve spoke, Zhav’vorsa’s own mother. “The Council has deemed you far too dangerous to be left alive.” Her words dripped with arrogance. She was confident, perhaps too confident, that even the might of her creation would crumble under the hand of these outsiders. “Surrender with honor and we will grant you a swift, private death. Refuse us, and you will be made to suffer for all to see.” Her thin, dry lips curled into a sneer of contempt while addressing her own son.

“Hah,” Zhav’vorsa loosed a defiant laugh from his belly. “You know nothing of honor, of glory on the battlefield. You, who would parlay with these outsiders to kill your own creation.” He shook his head, his fiery eyes leering at his mother. He hawked back, sucking mucus into his mouth, and spit into the dirt. “You are weak,” he growled furiously at her.

“No,” she retorted. “Our clan is strong, and we stand united. You’ve acted brazenly, without our blessing. Your terror ends here.” She paused a moment and extended her hand toward the Trandoshans. “With the additional strength of our associates, we will end your mindless butchery. We do not recognize your deeds upon the land,” she paused once more and turned to the Council for support. “You have our terms, Zhav’vorsa. End this.”

He stepped over the bodies of the dead before him. His unkempt hair rustled over his shoulders as he shook his head. He clenched his fists at his sides, his body whole and strong with painted flesh stretched tight across rippling muscles. His only weapon was the mighty battle axe across his back, well worn and permanently stained with old blood. As he began to walk, a single Trandoshan hunter, wielding a double-bladed vibrostaff, stepped forward to block his progress coming toward the Council. In a single motion, Zhav pulled the axe from his back and cleaved the Trandoshan in two, from his collarbone to his waist. A shower of blood coated Zhav, but he showed no remorse, simply pushing by the collapsing body, much to the horror of the crowd gathered. A gasp was shared by the Council and the gangsters began to stir.

“Trap him!” One of them yelled in their slithering native tongue. The Council echoed the words, “Yes! Trap the beast!” At their direction, a volley of massive, heavy nets flew down, thrown on top of Zhav. The weight of the nets caused him to stumble, but not fall. The nets did little to impede his progress, serving only to anger him further. He roared in frustration, tearing at the traps. Before he could attempt to break free, one of the Trandoshan hunters activated a mechanism electrifying the netting. In an instant, unknowable volts of electricity flowed through the netting, sizzling and shocking every inch of Zhav’vorsa’s body. He bellowed in pain, losing hold of his axe, and dropped to his knees. In the commotion, a dozen of the hired hunters surrounded him, jabbing and prodding him with vibrostaves through the openings in the net. He put up a fight, still, and grabbed hold of one staff, ripping it from the Trandoshan, causing the tall hunter that held it to stumble forward into the net. The net sizzled and sparked contacting another body, and Zhav reached through, holding the fallen Trandoshan against the horrendous voltage. The hissing and squealing of the alien writhing in agony echoed, but Zhav would not relinquish his hold. Another of the hunters reared back and slammed the stock of his rifle across Zhav’s face, breaking his hold on the charred hunter. The dead hunter was ripped away, pulled back away from the commotion. Zhav bled from his mouth and lips, the impact of the rifle stock would’ve been enough to knock a normal man unconscious, but Zhav’vorsa’s eyes only burned brighter with hellfire.

“String him up!” A Council elder shouted. “Drag him out and string him up in the Wastes! Leave him to wither on the Tree of the Forgotten!” Those gathered roared with approval at the proposition, leaving the man to die a slow, miserable death in the Wastes.

“NO!” Zhav howled through the pain of the shock and prodding. “Fight me!” He demanded, blood spewing from his lips. “We die bloody and thrashing on the field of battle, like true warriors!!”

Only after the might of over a dozen Trandoshan hunters, multiple electrified nets, and relentless beatings was Zhav’vorsa turned on to his belly, but still he thrashed and fought. Through the crowd of outsiders surrounding him, jabbing and beating him, he looked up and could see his mother observing the events from a safe distance. She began making her way toward him and from a pouch on her belt she pulled a small vial, glowing purple. The contents of the vial appeared liquid, but once poured into her palm, cracked and decrepit, the substance swirled and floated like a mist.

“You fight in vain,” she said as she knelt within spitting distance of her son. Her dry lips stretched into a twisted smile, revealing her blackened teeth. “You’ll rot like the mongrel bastard that you are.” Her words did not impinge her son in the least. She pressed her cracked, flaking lips together and blew the substance from her palm to the face of the still struggling juggernaut. The mysterious mist swirled Zhav’s face for a moment before sliding into his nostrils. Within moments, the thrashing had ended, and his rage began to fade. The substance, whatever it had been, began to subdue the man.

“Mother,” he rasped. His face fell into the dirt, his eyes rolling about their sockets. The old woman peered around a moment, weighing her next action in her mind. Cautiously, she leaned down to her disarmed son. “You…” he struggled for a moment; his was voice weakened. The old woman leaned a bit closer, her bony finger pushing the oily strings of grey hair behind her ear. “You…are a beast…with no teeth.”
With his words the man collapsed, and his face hit the dirt with a thud. His mother stood back up and waved her hand, directing the hunters to gather him up from the ground and transport him to the Wastes, where he would be left to die.


The Wastes were a barren swath of land on Dathomir that had dried completely. The ground, once wet and productive, was cracked and dusty, parched of all fertility. An arid and desolate stretch of land that few dared to venture into, not for fear of the wildlife, but rather for fear of succumbing to the elements. Mainly one element: heat. This is where Zhav’vorsa, Stacker of Corpses, the Lord of Terror on Dathomir, the mighty juggernaut born of the Sisters, was strung up and left to die. It was not enough simply leaving him unconscious in the heat to dry out and die in the Wastes, that was too good for the fowl deeds he’d committed. The Sisters intended for him to suffer, to starve, to dehydrate and die a slow, painful death. To this end, they bound his arms and legs and stretched him out, crucifying him on the Tree of the Forgotten.

On a daily basis, the Council would travel to the Wastes, surrounded by their hired protection, to chastise, mock, and deride Zhav’vorsa in an effort to goad him into submission. On the Matron’s word, he would be left to suffer, lest he recanted. If he did, however, they would not cut him free…they would simply end his suffering by slitting his throat on the spot. Yet, he never spoke. The Council and members of the clan would come to him daily, waiting to hear him recant, watching him slowly wither as the days went on. Yet he would not speak. Hanging, crucified on the tree, he wore nothing but his skin, stripped naked under the beating sun. His dry and disheveled hair, hanging low, was all the protection his face was given. His beard, unkempt and frayed, was a nest for insects. Droppings from the birds and flying creatures streaked his stretched shoulders and arms. His skin cracked and bled in the unrelenting heat of the sun. He was given no water, no food, not even a pot to piss in.


Days turned to weeks, weeks to more weeks, and onward. Any normal man, or beast, would be nothing but a hanging skeleton. The ritual that turned him in to warrior greater than any other man also ensured his suffering would last much longer than any other man. With each passing day, his flesh withered, like chaff before the wind. And with his fleeting strength, less and less of a crowd cared to travel to him. Those that mocked and spit, waiting to see his throat slit, had stopped coming or caring. The Trandoshan gangsters that brought him to the Tree and strung him up had also gone. Previously, the entire Council of Twelve came to scorn him with many from the clan. Though as the days wore on, the Twelve turned to eight, turned to six, turned to three…turned to one.

There was no crowd. There was no guard. Only a single member of the Council of Twelve ventured out, S’anris. An old crone of the Council, she knew Zhav’vorsa would crack at any time, and she wanted to be the one to hold the knife to his neck. She sauntered slowly through the dirt, kicking up dust purposely. She came to a stop a few yards from the man and stood holding a head cover, giving herself shade from the beating sun. In her free hand she held a ripe red Muja fruit, and sticking out of a cloth sack at her side was a clear cylinder of clean water.

Slurp

S’anris noisily bit into the Muja fruit, slurping at its juices as they sloppily dribbled down her wrinkled chin. She chomped and chawed boorishly, sucking the juices between her crooked teeth.

“Look at you,” she began “the days have not been kind.” Small chunks of the sweet fruit fell carelessly from her mouth while she spoke from a distance. The wind whipped softly, hot like the breath of the devil himself. S’anris could hear Zhav’vorsa laboring for breath, his chest heaving slowly. “Say the word and I will kill you quickly.” Her lips sopped with the juices of the Muja fruit; her slimy tongue poked out to lick her lips before continuing. “I admire your spirit. But...” she stepped a foot closer to him “I will be the one to break it.” The hag continued to suckle on the fruit in front of the suffering man, moaning to herself and slapping her lips with her glutinous tongue. She held a finger up, her eyebrows raised as if a lightbulb had gone off in her mind. “I nearly forgot…” she said through muffled lips, holding the Muja fruit between her teeth as she spoke.


THUD. CLOMP


She’d reached into the cloth sack at her side and pulled from it three heads, severed, and tied together by the knots of hair on their heads. Their tongues hung out of their gaping jaws; blood crusted around their eyes that had gone completely white.

“Your warriors.” She said, taking another mouth full of the juicy fruit. “They begged for death.” The beldam cackled and spit fruit from her mouth, landing mere feet from Zhav’vorsa. Still, he was unmoved. He hung, his head low, covered by his arenaceous hair, staring at the ground…but said nothing. The severed heads of his followers, the chomping of the old bitch with her fruit, nothing moved him. “Your body is broken, you have nothing left!” S’anris threw the fruit on the ground and stomped on it in frustration. “Say the word, and I end your suffering.”

The wind whipped again, kicking at the elder’s robes, and blew at Zhav’s hair, revealing his malnourished face. The woman smirked and licked her cracked lips as he began to stir, rasping a bit. “Hm…?” She breathed anxiously, knowing for certain she heard him make more of a sound than he had in weeks. She stepped closer and brought her skeletal finger up to her ear. “Yess?” She was certain Zhav’vorsa had given up, was ready to die. His body, after all, had grown so weak, had become so thin. “Say it,” she inched closer, stepping up a few rocks that were piled near the tree. She balanced herself on the rocks and leaned forward, her ear toward his gaping, dehydrated mouth. “Go on. Say the word…and it’s over.” Her tone was lustful, as if she could barely contain her sadistic need to see the man bleed.

“Th-“ he grunted, gathering what little strength he had. “This--beast…” his dry eyes rolled down to look upon the elder, and at the base of S’anris’ neck, leaned in and eager to hear the words “still has TEETH!!!” He lunged forward at the old crone and ripped out her neck, biting through her jugular. A piercing shriek rang out and the elder fell to the ground, clutching her neck. A warm spray of blood showered his face and he fed on the flesh of the woman, savoring the heat and power within the blood. The blood of S’anris fueled him, invigorated his body and senses, and a rush of power coursed through him. The bloodlust had been fed and he felt power once more. His arms and chest swelled, and he snapped the bindings from the Tree of the Forgotten, freeing himself. His bare feet hit the ground with a thud, and he lumbered toward the old crone, laying on the ground clutching her neck and choking on her own blood. He sneered and dropped his knee on her skull, crushing S’anris’ skull in a single movement. The blood poured from her caved in skull, and he cupped his hands and drank, and drank, and still more. He lapped up the warm claret colored liquid pooled in his palms until he’d had his fill.

Zhav’vorsa smeared the blood of the elder on his face and his chest, marking himself as a warrior once more. Though he still had strength to recover, his bloodlust had reinvigorated him, and already his body was recovering. He knelt beside S’anris and tore the cloth from her body, tying it into a makeshift cloth to cover his lower extremities. He peered into the pool of pulpy dough that was formerly S'anris and reached down, tearing her tongue from the crushed skull before standing. He hawked back, gathering a mixture of phlegm and blood, and spit upon the corpse.  His eyes fell to the tongue, which he’d ripped the length of from her skull, and took a bite from it. Chewing a sizable chunk of the bloody muscle, he began the long walk out of the Wastes, back toward what was left of his warband. He knew it would take time to recover the strength he’d need to confront the Council.


Back in the steam baths Zhav’vorsa sat in the same position, hardly blinking. The crimson Twi’lek that had been lying beside him had moved, kneeling before him, reaching up to braid the length of his untied beard. She freely caressed his body with her own, making more of the task than perhaps needed. However, the Warlord did not move to stop her. A somewhat cynical smile crossed his lips briefly. The bare human servant continued to pamper him at his back, reaching over the stone backrest, braiding his extraordinarily long hair. She leaned over from time to time, laying her lips upon his ear, cooing ever so lightly in his ear.

“Enough.” The Warlord’s voice echoed in the steam bath and he stood, bringing the Twi’lek with him by the nape of her neck. He divested himself of the towel around his waist and put an arm around the each servant's hips, leading them to a more private room adjacent to the steam bath. A room he’d made his own, where he’d entertain the servants of the temple before rejoining the population of the Sith…

[TAG]: None. 

Mini-GM update

Abandon Moon ~ Waterfall 

The thunder continued as the electrical discharges of lightning were obliterating trees and starting fires. There was an almost groaning from the black clouds which moved overhead, a flash of lightning outlining something within them, indicating that there was something more up in the sky than just dark foreboding clouds.

The Major catching a flash of it as he looked up with the rain pelting his face. Hearing the Omwati woman shouting through the chaos, indicating that there was something behind the nearby waterfall.

“Troopers, EVERYONE follow Lylia!” The Major shouted waving his arm as he tried to keep his feet and legs firmly planted to prevent being blown over. It was a struggle to walk as he had to lean into the blowing driving force of the wind and rain. Debris and branches not littered the air, making it far more a dangerous and even deadly situation.

Step after step he had made it down the path the Omwati woman had pointed out, as he waited and began accounted everyone to ensure they had all made it inside safely. The rush of the waterfall and roar of it was still not enough to mask the sound of the storm which was driving them to desperate shelter.

The Major had begun looking about, when he spotted something unnatural.

A pair of power cables that terminated into a distribution box and makeshift receptacle flowed out of the cave. They were worn, covered in grime and running along the entrance of the cave and back into it. The Major took his datapad and moved it close to the cable, the screen fluctuated slightly a sign that there was EMI present. The lines had some residual charge or energy flowing through them.

“There is interference coming from the lines, they are clearly still hooked up to something.”


Darth Xxys, Reiis Invadator , darthkain7

IC: Voidwalker
Location: Viscretus’ Shuttle, Space Orbiting Korriban

Death and victory.

As Voidwalker sat on the bed lost in his meditation, he opened his minds eye to the Force to center himself. Voidwalker mainly meditated to reflect upon the events of himself and how to address weaknesses and possible victories. However, this mission was a different type of battle. Truly Voidwalker didn’t know what to expect once they reach their destination. The fact that he was even here was a bizarre series of events to be sure. It didn’t matter, Voidwalker knew that he himself was the best weapon in his arsenal.

As Voidwalker focused inward and recalled the duel he had with the Trandoshan acolyte, he could feel the pain of his wound. It was as if the slash was occurring over and over again. Voidwalker could almost feel the blade making contact with his skin repeatedly as he focused on the memory. Each time the memory replayed the pain grew worse. As the pain grew, so did his anger. The memory replayed one last time, this time longer, Voidwalker screaming out in the pain as he had done at present time. His anger igniting the fire of hate that burned within him, then suddenly it happened....

Death. Victory. Defeat. Loss. Life.
A thousand snippets of images flooded his conscious. None of the images were coherent or repeated. Yet the feelings lasted nonetheless. The Force had briefly granted him a vision of possible outcomes. Whether any of these were true or not, the Force was ever flowing. The sensation of the images quickly flashing in his head brought a cold sweat to Voidwalker’s physical body. His concentration suddenly broken by the voice of the Mercenary.

“So is your force giving you clarity Sith?”

His mind pulling him back to the present of here and now. Voidwalker could feel the cold sweat upon his chest and hands. Keeping his eyes closed as to take the moment to regain his bearings. He didn’t know exactly how long he had been out of it. It could have been minutes, hours, or days. The properties of Time weren’t the same when it apparently came to meditation and force visions. Even if they were brief. The Mercenary clearly wasn’t interested in an answer as she seemingly continued on to business.

“So here’s what I came up with… you acolytes don’t seem to be too stacked with credits so I will cut you guys a break since I’m feeling nice. 10,000 credits base pay with extra rate of 2,500 per week that our services are provided. Including hazard pay of 7,500 with an additional 1,500 for every man of my squad that may be killed in the process we are looking at a minimal price off 20,000 credits. Shouldn’t be hard to scournge up if you call your mama for an allowance right?”

After the Mercenary had finished offering her price Proposal, Voidwalker simply smirked at the young woman’s first remark to him. Whether she wanted an answer or not, she was going to receive one.

“Well, well, someone has an understanding of the Force and certain practices. So you have either severed next to enough Jedi to understand their customs or you know more than you let on.”

Finally opening his eyes, Voidwalker seen the woman standing with her arms crossed leaned up against the wall. She had a look of cool confidence like nothing in the universe could bother her. Placing his lightsaber from his lap on to the bed next to him, where the rest of his clothes laid. Voidwalker moved to the edge of the bed and finally stoop up to his full height. He took a few steps closer to the woman so they could speak in a more private manner, as to not wake up the sleeping Nannley. The last thing Voidwalker wanted was for anyone to know of his schemes to not pay the mercenaries and make a profit at the same time.

“That is quite a price that you’re asking. However I would prefer to discuss this manner more privately and not wake up the sleeping acolyte. This is a manner we shoul....”

Voidwalker stopped mid sentence, through the Force he felt the cold void of death and despair. Instantly recognizing the signature, his mind erupting into thoughts, as his body once again broke out in a cold sweat.

How is this possible? There’s no way that any crew could have repaired an ion cannon that soon! Is this why the force showed me visions of death? Because I didn’t die before when I should have? No! There’s no way, I got away from that screaming death ship before and I damn sure won’t let it harm the Lady Viscretus! I control my destiny!

Voidwalker quickly extended his hand behind him, calling upon the Force to call his lightsaber back to him as he ran out of the bunk room, heading back towards the kitchen to get to the cockpit. Making his way through the kitchen and just entering the cockpit, Voidwalker over heard the caramel skin Sith tell the pilot “Go to hyperspace.” Before Voidwalker could say a single word, the vast darkness of space outside the main viewport seemed to stretch thing as the fabric of time began to pull around them. Black fading to blue, bright shinning stars reduced to nothing more than streaks of white light.

The pull of hyperspace was great. Voidwalker has no time to prepare himself for the thrust of hyperspace on the shuttle. Not having fun to react, he instinctively dropped to a knee as to keep him from toppling over. Ironically enough, or perhaps through the Force’s guidance, he had kneeled down once again behind the seat of Lady Viscretus. After what seemed to be a long moment of silence, the pilot finally spoke up and broke the silence.

“So can I ask why we are going to Dantooine?”

"We are going there to investigate a prophecy.” It was the other Lady of Sith that answered and not Lady Viscretus. It was interesting in itself. Clearly it seemed that Viscretus was the Lady of higher superiority between the two.

Voidwalker finally raised from his knees and stood at the back of the cockpit half dressed, with a genuine look of concern. Despite his personal flaws as seen by majority of the galaxy, Voidwalker was surly a spectacle to be seen. Years of intense training and survival had crafted the young man a physique truly of a warrior.

“Lady Viscretus, forgive me for interrupting, but that ship. What is it called? This is the second time within three days that I’ve encountered that vessel. And the cold void of death that comes with it and it’s flesh rotten exterior of undead. It tried to stop me from reaching Korriban upon my arrival, and I had destroyed one of its ion cannons and I would do the same again in order to protect you Lady Viscretus. How could it be repaired so quickly, that I do not understand.”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar Volshe @lordjania darthvoxyn

Approved by Volshe

IC: Voidwalker
Location: Viscretus’ Shuttle, Hyperspace, En Route to Dantooine

As the Lady of Darkness approached, Voidwalker felt a sense of unease. Not the sense of danger but the sense of anxiety. Similar to how one would feel upon a first date. Her hips swayed with the humming rhythm of the hyperdrive, both seductive and deadly. A lady of elegance to be sure, but with a dangerous side to her. Even though Voidwalker could clearly see these things with his own eyes, he was still drawn to Lady Viscretus.

“Well, acolyte, that is the Wrath of Vader,” replied Viscretus as she placed a hand upon the right shoulder of Voidwalker. Her touch feeling both foreign and familiar to Voidwalker. There was clearly something about Viscretus that Voidwalker could not figure out. She stepped around behind him, languidly, continuing to speak, “I greatly appreciate your offer. But I must regretfully inform you…”

“That I do not require your protection.” Her lips almost at his neck. Voidwalker could feel his body tremble as the feeling of Viscretus’ breath upon his skin made him feel as if he was full of adrenaline pumping through his veins. “And that my interests lie elsewhere.”

As Viscretus walked around Voidwalker, and continued to be closer and speak in his ear, her lips pushed out. He swallowed hard. The trembling in his body finally stopping, as he felt a cold sweat forming on his bare skin. Not making a move. Then suddenly, in a blink of an eye, a dagger was at his throat. “I suggest you give me reason to not end you here, for your display of insolence.”

Voidwalker was speechless! How did he allow himself to get in this situation? He cursed himself in his head, he knew this woman was deadly. Yet he fell right into her trap. This woman didn’t care about him, he was just another acolyte to her. Voidwalker knee this! He knew he had to think of something quick or he would surly die. Or would he? He had killed one of the other Acolytes and taken his place. If Viscretus killed him now, she would clearly be down a person? Was that enough for her to spare him? Voidwalker didn’t know but he didn’t want to gamble on one possibility.

As he felt the blade push against his skin, his body tensed up, and there it was. A small bit of hope that he grasped on to. Voidwalker starred Viscretus in the face, his burning hate filled crimson eyes locked solely on her molten irises. Not even blinking Voidwalker stared deep into the eyes of Viscretus. The same way a child stares into the night sky.

“Obviously if you end me now, you’ll be down an acolyte. Of course that doesn’t seem important but then who would pay for my share to the mercenaries? The others wouldn’t be able to pay for the hired guns without another person to split the payments with. Also, I’m young and obviously foolish, you could take this as you teaching me a lesson. Or none of this even matters and you are going to kill me either way. Honestly if that’s the case, I’d rather die like a man.”

As soon as Voidwalker said his last words, he leaned his head forward, kissing Viscretus. The blade of the knife pushing harder against his jugular. Blood starting to run out from the surface wound. Voidwalker also had the jolt of his lightsaber pressed against the torso against Viscretus, with his hand on the activation switch. If she was going to kill him, he had planned on not going alone.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar Volshe @lordjania darthvoxyn

IC: Etami Wren

Location: Viscretus’ Shuttle



    The Mandalorian was someone who didn’t let others rattle her and that remained the same as she saw the acolyte approach with a smirk on his face. Had he figured something out that he could hold over her? Had he figured out some plan to cheat her out of her money or was it possible that Etami was cheating herself out of a good payday? She tried to figure out the answer by reading it in the young man’s face but alas he was giving her basically nothing.


    When Voidwalker approached her, Etami felt the slightest hint of spark in her emotions but even that alone bothered her. She couldn’t tell what the emotion was that she was feeling. Was it fear that the man was starting to catch onto her game and now held the cards in his hand? Or was it a feeling of lust at the fact that the good looking, half naked man was approaching her with a smirk on his face that could melt the hearts of millions. Uncrossing her arms as she looked away to hide the blush that was coming to her face, Etami listened as Voidwalker began to explain something about the plan before feeling what she had felt only a moment prior herself.


    Seeing the acolyte’s face flushed with fear, Etami felt as if time stopped for a second as she watched and wondered what Voidwalker was going to do. Staying absolutely still as the feeling of dread washed over her, the Mandalorian didn’t even want to guess what was making them feel this way. However, when she glanced over to the see if the reaction of the acolyte changed, her eyes widened at seeing him in a cold sweat before watching as he grabbed his saber and dashed from the room.


    Not moving on her own for almost a minute later, Etami finally felt as if her limbs had some mobility to them. Deciding that she would see where Voidwalker ran off to, Etami quickly grabbed and placed her helmet back on her head before now dashing out the door on her own. Knowing that the likely destination of the acolyte was the cockpit, she began her short journey there as well wondering if there was any answers and the full guarantee of her payment.


    When she finally reached the cockpit about a half a minute later, Etami heard the cold voice of the blonde Sith addressing the acolyte. She felt the pull of the ship tearing the fabric of time and space, but that effected the mercenary none. She had been through this feeling too many times to count and it was nothing out of the ordinary. Crossing her arms, she was shocked to hear that the ship was named the ‘Wrath of Vader’. She heard rumors of a ship that gave off a presence of absolute fear and dread… it was said that if you traveled close enough to it, you would be clawing at your skin and figuring out how to commit suicide before being unluckily pulled in by its tractor beam. But now that they were in hyperspace, Etami knew that they had most likely dodged a sticky situation.


    However, her initial shock at the name of the ship would stick around as she watched the woman turn a dagger on the acolyte before threatening his very life. Was this something that Sith always did? Did they train their acolytes by making them fear death at every waking moment? How did that make someone stronger? In Etami’s point of view, fear didn’t motivate strength or untapped potential… it only gave the student a reason to truly fear the Master.


    Saying nothing as Voidwalker stated his reason for life towards the woman, the Mandalorian wasn’t expecting that he meant what he did when he said he wanted to go out as a man. Seeing the acolyte’s soft and tender looking lips meet the woman’s smooth porcelain skin, Etami subtly balled up her fist as she couldn’t help but admit to herself that she was slightly jealous. Voidwalker was definitely something to look at and now he was risking his life in the pursuit of a woman he knew he probably couldn’t get. But that’s when she saw it…


    The hilt of the boy’s saber was against the woman’s torso and Etami could already see the amount of carnage possible through the force. Knowing she should probably stop this if she wanted to save her profits, she contemplated using the force to separate them but ultimately decided that words would do the best and preserve the amount of integrity she wanted to keep around herself. Taking a step forward she placed a hand on Voidwalker’s shoulder before gently tugging it back hoping that the man caught the hint.


    “Hey Sith… I think you should ease off the lady. That was kind of rude what you just did.” She stated plainly hoping that Voidwalker would want to keep himself alive.



Tag: Darth Dreadwar, Volshe, Darth Voidwalker, darthvoxyn

IC: Voidwalker
Location: Viscretus’ Shuttle, Hyperspace, En Route to Dantooine

Nightmares, living nightmares!

When Viscretus turned and kissed Voidwalker back and dropped the dagger, that was when his mental world changed in less than an instant. Bugs. Tentacles. Ripped away flesh. Nightmares, living nightmares. These are what flooded his mind. The price he paid for his allowance to live. The price he paid for worshipping the Dark Lady Viscretus.

“You will live eternally tormented. You will not die a man. You will die alone.”

The words of Viscretus radiating in his ears as Voidwalker regained his bearings. His hands and entire body trembling, he had never experienced an invasion of his mind like that. Looking down at his hands, he could physically see them shaking, so much that he could not hold onto his lightsaber and it fell to the floor. Every bit of Voidwalker wanted to collapse to the floor next to the saber and just remain. He knew that compared to this woman, he was nothing. As scared as he was, he didn’t even bother to continue to look ahead, he simply allowed his head to fall and stare at the floor for the moment.

For everything that he had been through and overcome, Voidwalker was easily defeated with what seemed like little effort. He had spent his life being strong, now to be used and essential tosses aside as if he was nothing, this was completely new and devastating. Now that he was allowed to live, he felt that it was best that he took his leave. He couldn’t. His was frozen in place by the fear that fell upon his mind! No matter how much he willed himself to move, his body wouldn’t budge.

Was this the reason of the Force vision that he had been granted earlier? Where these the snippets of death he’d seen then? Tears started forming in the eyes of Voidwalker, and even through his frozen fear, he felt something more. Hatred. He didn’t hate Viscretus for what she had done. She allowed him to live and taught him a lesson. No, he hated himself for being weak and a fool. The more Voidwalker focused on his self hatred, the tears faded and he was able to move his body once more. His heart still racing and his sweats starting to ease off. With his heart racing from a mixture of fear and hatred, Voidwalker was incredibly thirsty. He looked up one last time at the group in the cockpit, his crimson eyes looking as they burned with the intensity of a super nova.

“I understand, I will die alone.”

He had never been called for, so he seen no reason to need to be excused. He was alive and that was dismissal enough. Without another word, Voidwalker stepped past the Mercenary female, that he didn’t even realize had followed him. Voidwalker stepped out of the cockpit and into the kitchen to get a drink. He was still within calling distance Incase someone finally did call for him.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar Volshe @lordjania darthvoxyn

IC Volacius
Location- path of raging Tarentatek

The Tarentatek’s roar was the most harrowing sound Volacius had ever heard. He’d learned about the beasts in his study of history at the academy, and rumours from Sith he’d encountered before that, but to actually see one himself was both bewildering and terrifying. Regardless, Volacius knew that his life was in extreme danger, and he needed to act fast. The ancient woman had elected to do nothing as far as Volacius could tell, even failing to recognize the creature’s species; and while irritating, the Mirialan couldn’t say he particularly cared if she lived or died. She was making a grave mistake, and if it got her killed it would simply be further evidence that the weak die while the strong live, and if anyone was strong, it was Volacius. He’d survived being hunted as a fugitive of the One Sith, he’d eluded the Jedi as a mercenary running from the law, and he’d finally begun to thrive as a student at Korriban’s academy. There wasn’t a chance in existence he’d let a mindless monster prematurely end his journey now. The Mirialan acolyte watched as the beast completely ignored Trill’s attempts to do… whatever she was doing, and proceeded to swipe at her with its enormous claws, sending her flying to the side. He didn’t wait to see if she would get up. Instead, hoping to stall the beast so that his companions could regroup, Volacius quickly channeled as much Force energy to his hands as he could. Frustratingly, it took slightly longer than he expected, something the Mirialan found particularly alarming. It was almost as though the Dark side had tried to resist being bent to his will, a perplexing and potentially fatal concept. Volacius pushed aside his doubts as he finished collecting the necessary energy. As the Tarentatek loomed, the Mirialan acolyte unleashed a tempest of Force Lightning, individual bolts of electricity aiming to sear the creature’s flesh anywhere they could.

darthkain7, @lordjania, cliojayne

IC: Crewman Erik Corr

Location: Hyperspace

Erik no longer had any idea what was happening on this ship. Moments after they entered hyperspace another sith, this one not a beautiful woman, entered the cockpit half nude and prostrating himself before Lady Viscretus and declaring he would protect her. This was followed by Lady Viscretus saying she didn’t need his protection and telling him to give her reasons why she shouldn’t kill him. Given what Erik knew of sith this response was not very surprising. The almost nude sith began listing off reasons why he should live. “Ok, he’s grovelling, he's giving some ok reasons to live.. Ok so he wants to die like a man, on his feet rather than his knees” Erik thought to himself as the scene progressed then out of nowhere the man kissed Viscretus.

“Oh.. ummm… well he’s going to die.” Erik said to himself as the scene unfolded. Viscretus dropped the dagger she had at the mans throat and kissed the man back and that’s when something changed. He didn’t know what she was doing to the man but what he could see of the man from where he was sitting the man had begun sweating and trembling.

“You will live eternally tormented. You will not die a man. You will die alone.” Vicretus said when he broke the kiss. The man confined he understood then ran out of the cockpit. The dark haired Sith Lady broke out into a laughing fit and Erik went back to checking the controls. “I guess you stamped out his ambitions.” Erik said and chuckled at his pun.

TAG: Darth Dreadwar Volshe @lordjania Darth Voidwalker