The Old Sith Trials

IC: Trill

Location: Barracks of the Sinister Sith Temple

    Trill’s angered seethed at her seams as she felt herself being disregarded by the two lower slaves. She had nothing to say to them anymore, only the desire to drive her forcesaber through their skulls and make trophies out of them… especially the Zabrak. She had no idea why her Master’s gave them horns when they first created the species, but man they were valuable from what she remembered of the black markets in the Tython System. She heard plucking them out from a Zabrak would cause the host extreme pain… the humanoid would revel in it if given the chance.

    Managing to stand on her two feet though her legs was shaky, Trill felt the overwhelming need to sit back down and rest her joints and bones. They felt exhausted and strained and she knew that combat was out of the question for now… hell, she didn’t even know how walking was going to work out for her until she actually tried. Making eye contact with Malos once again, Trill had so much she wanted to say. She wanted to curse him to the Predors and the Daritha, but she knew none of the words needed in Basic.

    Figuring once he broken eye contact with her, that their interaction was over for now, Trill began to immediately ignore the man before feeling the harsh brush of his shoulder into hers. A chilling pain sent through her joints and the simple force of the interaction was enough to force her back down to one knee. She felt so useless now that she prayed to her Daritha Vahl that they not come across anything else before finding Venomis. Surely, he would have a way to undo her curse of attrition.

    The slaves may close their ears to the words of the faith, but the force was strong on the planet hours ago… she knew there was a Daritha here… no one else could equal such power even in these times. In fact she felt the presence of two on the planet that held powers of the divine or very close to it. One was cold and very spine chilling to Trill, it reminded her of the feeling she experienced back on Lehon… around the temples of Typhojem and Venomis though right now she couldn’t distinguish which ones it was currently. Trill felt the slight tinge of embarrassment. As a young force pup, she was able to tell the presence of each God or Goddess just from closing her eyes in the presence of their statues and temples… oh how far she has fallen.

    However, the other Daritha like presence she felt was one she would never forget in all her years. It felt warm to her, the caring nature of a mother of the force… one that was strict but loving to her subjects. It was her Daritha, the one she focused on studying and serving to death does her part; Vahl herself. A Herald of Vahl since the day she reached of age promptly on her 16th birthday, Trill knew for sure whenever she could feel the presence of her Mistress. She knows that Vahl is on Korriban with her, or at least was… the presence disappeared hours ago. Had she missed the chance to see the Goddess herself?

    Her mind wonders why she could feel the Daritha like presence of so many on this planet at this time. Last she checked, the Purebloods of her time didn’t hold shrines to the old Gods and even when the Rakatan Missionaries tried to guide them, Trill remembered hearing stories of the bloodshed those barbarians caused. It was that fact that she wondered why her Predor sent her to Korriban in the first place to seek their help. Had something changed during her time with the Je’daii? She had only met one other Pureblood in the Je’daii order and even he was an aggressive one. Rath had always managed to entertain her. Had Trill managed to awaken during a rapture of some sort? Were the prophecies of the end happening and the Gods were returning to evaluate the galaxy? There was no way to know for sure and right now Trill truly needed to focus on getting her power back and completing her mission.

    Clearing her mind of the faith, she managed to get back up to her feet before catching the sight of her book in the dark. Taking the few steps over to grab it as the others pressed ahead to the barracks, she figured she would have taken longer than them to get to the room. Her legs practically aching, she managed to keep them in sight though in the dark it was barely visible. If she had to guess, she was lagging behind maybe twenty to forty feet behind Malos who seemed rejuvenated… it disgusted her.


    His grand display before opening the door, the stench of decay reached her before she even had the chance to reach the group. It wasn’t hard to figure out there was dead bodies rotting in there, but the smell bothered her none. It wasn’t the first dead body she had smelled and it wasn’t the last… Trill was able to hold her stomach in place despite seeing the need to vomit on the face of crazed man. However, something that she wasn’t used to was what came into her peripheral next. With the dim light of the saber, she saw the corpses moving.

    Trill had heard of the undead before… Xesh used to mumble about such things when telling her about his time ‘In The Abyss’, but she had always assumed it was just another bedtime story. However, seeing the undead in the here and now was something that absolutely horrified her. And without her powers, she had no way to stop them which she was sure she could’ve easily done with any of her powers. Turning on her feet, Trill tried to find the strength and power in her body to run but it wasn’t nearly as great as she had hoped. In the end, she was able to keep a brisk limping jog but it would have to do.

    Knowing in all likelihood that the others would follow suit with her, she pulled her forcesaber into her dominant hand and prepared for if any of those undead actually managed to catch her. However, in times like these she knew one thing and one thing only when it came to what her Predor taught her. When working with other hounds against something that may be insurmountable, she didn’t need to outrun the danger… just outrun the other hound.

    “Ti vak kriff le rok to la shrinia?!” (What the fuck is wrong with this temple?) She asked in an annoyed and slightly fearful tone. Was Daritha Venomis mad at them for some reason? Because whoever is the God of this temple seemed pissed… and they were his/her playthings for now. Trill began to wonder if any of them would survive let alone her. Part of her wished she was still asleep right now.



Tag: darthkain7, cliojayne, volacius

IC: Lord Xindro Carath (Darth Arktys) and Elgin Cvetkovic
Administrative Sector, Garang, Dantooine

The paths were bustling. Citizens were carrying out their daily tasks, even as the sun had begun to dip lower into the sky. It was not sunset, yet, but it was late afternoon.

“Administrator, a visitor.” Elgin looked up from his desk, resinwood inlaid with durasteel and faint golden glow. Something he had acquired in his time serving the sector, years ago. He had been lucky enough it was still in the small vacation home near Khoonda he had bought.

He sighed, set down the flimsiplast, and folded his gloved hands. A seeming quirk, the damp and cold of his office often triggering pain that only gloves could prevent. “Who?”

“Lord Carath, sir,” his assistant replied, a smile on her pink face. “Shall I send him in?”

“Please, Maira.”

She nodded, datapad in hand, before bustling straight into the man she had just announced. The click of his cane had obviously not alerted her.

He was bulkier than her, and quite a bit taller than her 157 centimetres. She let out a squeak of pain and backtracked. Her smile grew wider, hiding obvious discomfort, and as Elgin knew - anger. She had quite the temper. She smoothed her outfit and shook her head. “I’m sorry for the delay, sir, I was just coming to get you.”

His hand rose, his expression unchanged. “Quite alright,” he replied, though his lack of even a glance to her made it seem rather insincere. She frowned, turning and leaving through the doors only after shooting an irate glance to Elgin.

“How can I help you?” Elgin responded, pretending to be engrossed in his flimsi-work. He did not particularly like the man, nor trust him. Many did. That was not his business. There was something off about him. “Defence force funding? Customs regulation committee meeting space relocation?”

“None of the above,” he replied, picking up one of the many decorative flimsi-weights Elgin kept littered around the desk. “SC2-M Repulsor Tank?”

Elgin raised an eyebrow, looking up briefly. “You asked that three weeks ago. It still is.”

The flimsi shuffled beneath Elgin’s hands. Carath set it down, precisely where it had been a moment earlier. It faced even the same angle, towards the beam of his lamp.

“I find myself needing more effective access to the Palace and its records.” His blue lips for once moved, a twitch into a more pleasant expression. Elgin began to shake his head. He had no greater clearance than Carath, and certainly could not bargain with the Federation-installed government.

“I know what you are thinking,” Carath said. His answer was quick, defensive. Something Elgin did not like about him - he was too clever, too quiet, and far too quick to offer a self-benefitting solution. The corner’s of Elgin’s lips turned down. He was not a parent to be bargained with. The rules were not his own. But he continued listening, head down to the flimsi he was no longer reading.

Carath continued.

“My workers are having trouble finding all the schematics of mining locations. Along with the locations of ore deposits. All the previous prospecting data is limited. It is affecting both the farming and mining communities alike.”

Elgin tapped his fingers and looked up. “Did you request access, already?”

“The application has been pending for weeks,” Carath replied, simply. “I do not have that sort of time. Fourteen projects have been delayed. They are relying on far more than my own advice. They are using Dantooinian funds to pay their workers, they are threatening to pull from operations here.”

“Why do you ask me?” Elgin asked. He was not in charge of anything significant, merely acting as a liaison for diplomatic needs, whilst administrating militias and defense. Corporations, the government, family estates… His position was important, and he had sway, but it was not so important he was granted code access beyond his current level.

“There is a threat of uprising. If I cannot give my workers the information they need, if we cannot dispense it to the corporations as paid for and requested, then they will revolt.” Carath shook his head. “It is inevitable.”

Elgin pulled a drawer from the desk, grabbing a datapad and dropping it to the desk. It clattered, sending a pen rolling to the opposite side. Carath gripped it, holding it to him. He took it with a briefest “thank you”, jamming it into the power button of the datapad. The screen flickered to life.

He looked it over. “I have time tomorrow, in the morning, to visit the Palace and inform them of the risk. If you’re convinced it’s a risk.”

Carath nodded. “If I was not entirely concerned, I would not waste your time.”

“Then submit your documents to Maira. I’ll have her prepare them for tomorrow.” He clicked the datapad off with a single reached finger, the leatheris of his gloves creaking softly. “Is that everything?”

“I believe so,” Carath responded, tugging his sleeves as he prepared to take his leave. “I will send correspondence this evening, and on the ‘morrow, of course. Once the meeting has concluded. I do hope they will see reason.”

“Have a good evening.” Elgin nodded and offered a brief, purely courteous smile. Though perhaps it was slightly genuine. The Chiss was leaving, after all.

TAG: Dantooine people, who wanna know what's up

---
Mother****ing GM UPDATE
IC: Mehr
Landing Pads, Garang, Dantooine

“Alright, all of ya.” Mehr took a step forward, putting his hands akimbo. “Half of you’ll be going straight to the estate. Lord Carath’s estate, before you ask, and no, he ain’t nice.”

He took another step forward. “Second thing, is that the other half of you are going to be staying here. Going inside to the spaceport, reporting to the head mechanic. And one of you is coming with me, and the Duros over there.”

He tipped his head to motion to the Duros that stood just up the way, then scanned up and down the line, at last pointing directly at Mirurem. “It’s your lucky day. You seem like the kind Carath’ll like.”

Mehr’s hand motioned to the commodore, requesting him come closer. “Get the bracers off him.”

The commodore did not oblige, but another one of the men did, quickly unclamping them.

“Name’s Mehr, and we’re headed to the palace grounds. We’ve got a date with some malfunctioning droids.” He started walking, turning back a few paces away. “Come on, then.”

TAG: mirurem
TAGSET: Dantooine

Rishi.

A sweltering, sweaty planet full of tropical jungles and hidden wonders. The final waypoint before the ascent into a satellite galaxy called the Rishi Maze. For generations, it had been known as a den-world for pirates and privateers, a lodging place for their secret hideouts and grand, treasure-filled estates. But over the past one hundred and something-odd years, Rishi's popularity has declined. The planet became sleepier; less a hub for trade of all levels of legality and dubiousness, and more of a remote vacation world, where a few nostalgic pirates still kept private lodges where they could take a break from the rest of the galaxy and enjoy a breath of fresh, humid, lush air.

Some, however, did not share the same sentiment about Rishi. Sweat was already dripping down the back of Dr. Ekali Jano's neck, and she hated every last drop of it. It seeped into the back of her ribbed knit sleeveless top, and though she was absurdly uncomfortable, she made no move to remedy the situation. She had already gone so far as to shrug one shoulder out of her jacket earlier in the descent down to planetside from her medical frigate, the Argent Fang, which hung in the Rishi atmosphere several kilometers above. Her black brows were pushed down into a V, and her crimson eyes coolly regarded the others in the sweltry dropship. It was well hidden, but the fact remained: Dr. Jano did not like hot planets.

Humid air buffeted the passengers aboard the dropship as it descended towards a sheltered cove on the surface of Rishi— with a critical gaze, Dr. Jano inspected each of the other Sith in her company. All men. Two strapping humans, one sickly-looking one, and a hulking Maelibus who she wished would sit still long enough for her to study the teeth in his giant head. All of them were seated on the small benches along the front and back of the open-air dropship, the two strapping men seated beside Dr. Jano and the blind one and the Maelibus sitting opposite; their names were Raze, Sicar, Saurus, and Dorrian Drako'ra Shadowsun, respectively. This crew would do, she supposed. Motley though they were.

Their purpose here on Rishi was simple enough, in theory; it was rumored that the great Dagger of Mortis had been spotted hanging on the wall of a smuggler's den deep within the thick, misty jungles… word of that had at last reached the ears of the Sith Empire, and the job of the five sentients seated in the dropship shuttle was to retrieve it. There was only one catch, however.

No one got into Cash Moheji's den unless they were a member of their gang.

So it was an infiltration job.

Dr. Jano begrudgingly pulled her jacket back onto her shoulder, taking a moment to fuss with the lapels. It was not the white medical coat she usually favored— but she recognized that in order to do this job well, she would have to blend in. And so she was dressed like a smuggler in tight pants and a cropped jacket and dirty tank top. Her old standard-issue charric sidearm from her days among the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force was strapped to her thigh, too— a thing she hadn’t used for years, but which lent itself nicely to the appearance of a gun-toting smuggler. As well, all the medical tools she typically kept on her belt were instead stowed in a satchel that was slung across her body, along with her lightsabers, field medic kit, and a datapad containing the specifics about their missive. She fished the pad out of the bag as the dropship's pilot commed in its designations to a local port, and gave the datapad's contents a cursory review.

As the dropship touched down, Dr. Jano stood from the bench seat after stowing the data pad and grabbed hold of one of the loops hanging from the ceiling of the craft. Wind from the landing blew her hair and jacket in all directions, thoroughly tousling her meticulously kept appearance. After the landing, she brushed black hair out of her face before crossing her arms across her chest and turning to face her team.

“Kit up, boys,” she said, her pedantic, measured Chiss accent still somehow clipped. “You all were briefed on the mission before we departed from Korriban; we will be infiltrating the Moheji Gang in order to retrieve the Dagger of Mortis from its place on the wall of Cash Moheji's hidden estate. Once we are in Raider's Cove we will proceed to a popular local cantina where the Moheji Gang is known to commiserate, and from there we will attempt to secure a means into the gang. Understood?” Dr. Jano lifted her chin, staring down the bridge of her nose at her crew. “Let’s go.”

Turning and unfolding her arms to hoist her crossbody bag of equipment higher onto her shoulder, Dr. Jano exited the dropship, moving to confer briefly with the dropship’s pilot who was checking in with an attendant droid. She expected them to follow as she began to make her way towards the cove across a bridge of lashed planks, shallow water lapping noisily under the half-rotted boardwalks and rope bridges that connected the port town’s buildings to one another. Beyond the port and even beyond the ramshackle Raider's Cove, the jungles of Rishi teemed and babbled with life and movement— exotic birds screeched, waterfalls rushed, and tree-dwelling creatures murmured. And hidden amongst the buzzing trees, somewhere in plain sight yet elusive as ever, was the Dagger of Mortis. A relic of alien importance. A powerful, ancient artifact whose unknown purpose loomed and gnawed at the fringes of the crew’s ponderings, a portent of some darker meaning…

The four men would gather themselves together to follow their Chiss leader into Raider's Cove, perhaps wondering what this mission had in store for them.

The cosmos were a beautiful thing. Stars twinkling in the distance, forming constellations that only the most imaginative could discern. Emission nebulae created colorful clouds among those stars, recreating what Elijah remembered as the night sky back home, only far more lovely. At least here, in the solitude of space, he was able to observe the horizon in all of its beauty, unaffected by the light pollution of populous worlds like Corellia or Coruscant. Despite being enveloped in darkness, the Jedi Knight found solace here, instead focusing on the beauty that lies within the dark matter of space.
Sitting in the cockpit of his fighter, a modified X-65 X-Wing, optimized to meet modern standards in speed, damage output, and fuel usage, the Jedi Knight admired the stars. He had named his fighter the Grindylow, after a sea creature living in the oceans of a distant world he once visited when he was younger. The planet, a rainy world known as Britaunnia to its inhabitants. Fun times were had there, but there were far too many restrictions to his liking. Nevertheless, his encounter with one of these Grindylows was one he would never forget, and to ensure such, he decided to name his then-brand new starfighter after them.

Hands gingerly resting on the controls, Elijah decided to take in a few more seconds of the view before deciding to focus on the task at hand. His fighter had just come out of hyperspace, lurching out of the tunnel of blinding light and into the star system his ship now loitered in.
He had been following the signal sent by the Chiss, though the scrambled readings were leaping between half a dozen different worlds in the Outer Rim. Polis Massa, Korriban, Kessel, Tatooine, Dantooine, and everything in between could have been the correct destination.
Frustrating, but Elijah was nothing if not patient. A goose chase like this was the perfect excuse to see even more of the galaxy, and clear his head along the way.


Turning the Grindylow towards its destination, Elijah received a clear view of his first planet to check off the list. A muddled ball of white clouds and golden dirt, a mess of gas and rock that looked like a blot upon the otherwise beautiful scene.
Speaking to the astromech droid lodged within the hull, the Jedi asked, "So, that's Kessel, huh?"
The droid, affectionately named Daisy for her designation as D4-Z3, replied with an affirmative chirp. It was painted silver and violet, blending well with the similarly-painted X-Wing.
"Well then, let's settle in and start asking questions," Elijah sighed. Thankfully there wasn't any Imperial presence on the planet any longer, or else he'd have to risk flying through the Kessel Run. Dangerous, but unnecessary now that the hyperspace lanes were open to the public now. "Then maybe you can get a nice oil bath; you're filthy," he added as he spoke to Daisy, chuckling a bit.
A disapproving whistle sounded from the droid, followed by a rather insulting remark about the Jedi's own appearance.
Elijah argued, "This haircut was ranked in the top ten human hairstyles on the holonet, thank you very much."
D4-Z3 beeped once again, and one even not fluent in droidspeak could tell that its response was… skeptical, to say the least.
"Whatever," he scoffed, deciding that debating a droid on attractiveness was a new low he wouldn't sink to. Besides, as the Grindylow began its descent into the thick atmosphere of Kessel, he remembered he had more important items to focus on.
Cutting through the clouds like a speeding dart, the X-Wing only began to slow once the ground became visible. Almost simultaneously, a voice came over the comms within the fighter; no doubt an air control worker under the service of one of the companies that settled here, mining the glitterstim beneath the ground. "Greetings, Jedi. We weren't prepared for your arrival," the masculine voice spoke.
How did they know Elijah was a Jedi?
Wary, he replied, "Here to continue an investigation. I won't be staying long."
"Very well. I've marked the nearest landing pad for you. A representative will be sent to assist you."
"A representative of whom?" the Jedi inquired, wondering exactly which company he was dealing with.
Excitedly, the air controller replied, "The Queen of Kessel, of course!"
Crowe raised an eyebrow. There was no queen here. It was Kessel. Of all places, this was not the place for royalty.
Keeping his voice even, as to not betray his curiosity, Elijah answered, "Alright. Thank you for your assistance."

The representative of this queen was a rather well-kept Twi'lek woman, her sapphire skin complimenting perfect with the navy blue of her pantsuit. Her lekku had been wrapped around her neck like an organic necklace of blue flesh, and her makeup had been done well enough to attract attention to her particularly-luminescent green eyes. She smiled with a certain warmth that settled Elijah's heart, however his mind still raced with worry.
He had never heard of a Queen of Kessel. This place was damn-near lawless, with rumors of slavery still abound even after the Calrissian family took hold of most of the glitterstim mines on the planet nearly a hundred years before. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why hadn't anyone in the Federation heard about it? The whole situation seemed… odd.

Departing from his ship, D4-Z3 following close behind, the Jedi Knight gave a slight bow to the Twi'lek woman, and received one in turn.
"Greetings, Master Jedi," the Twi'lek spoke. "My name is Nassana Nadín, and I am a representative of the glorious Queen of Kessel. What has brought such an esteemed individual, such as yourself, to our humble world?"
Not opting to ask about the queen just yet, Elijah gave a smile and answered, "I am investigating a rogue signal sent to the Jedi Order. It's been scrambled almost completely; the message accompanying it is all but indiscernible, and the location of the signal is fuzzy. All we can narrow it down to is a few systems in the Outer Rim, and this is my first stop."
Curious, the woman cocked her head a bit and inquired, "Strange. We have not been monitoring for such signals. Do you know anything else?"
"Yes, it was sent by a Chiss. His name indicated that enough, but I honestly can't say it from memory. Are there any Chiss here on Kessel?" asked the Jedi.
"Not that we are aware of," she replied, shaking her head a bit. "But I will bring this to my superiors. Perhaps they can do a proper search for this Chiss."
"I appreciate it," Elijah said with a nod, perhaps dissatisfied with the answers he'd received so far. He hoped that he had not come to this world, wasting fuel, for nothing. But then again, he could at least bring word of this queen back to the Council.
"You must be exhausted; I'm sure starfighters are not the most luxurious accommodations for hyperspace travel," Ms. Nadín spoke.
"You can say that again," Crowe chuckled, rolling his shoulders and feeling every inch of discomfort in his back and arms.
"We do have rooms available here, if you wish to stay and rest while we try our best to aid you in your search. Free of charge for a Jedi Master, of course."
"I'm not a master, though I do appreciate your hospitality," Elijah replied. "Would I also be able to get an oil bath for Daisy here?"
D4-Z3 whistled in excitement, inciting a small giggle from Nassana. "Of course," she spoke. "Come, I will show you the way."
"Perhaps a little lesson of Kessel's recent history, too?" Elijah inquired, hoping to learn the origins of this queen without asking specifically.
Ms. Nadín saw through this however, giving a smile and saying, "You're wondering about the Queen."
"Caught me red-handed," the Jedi jested.
Nodding her head and turning on her heel, she motioned the Jedi Knight to follow.

As they walked and talked, Elijah learned a great deal about this queen. Few knew her true name, and Nassana was not one of those few. However, Ms. Nadín was quite aware that the Queen of Kessel had only appeared within the last three years.
Stories spoke of the queen emerging from the ground below, ripping through stone and dirt to appear on the back of a great energy spider. She drove out the smugglers and corrupt corporations that had been draining this planet dry for millennia, settling into a throne of her own design within what used to be the largest glitterstim mine on Kessel. Now, it was her castle, its walls and roofs forged from the planet itself.
Poetic, perhaps, but eerily strange. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale, not reality. He had to meet this queen to get the whole story, however it did not sound as if she was accepting visitors. Even if said visitors were Jedi.

“Kit up, boys.”

The words of their commanding officer rang out in the small confines of the drop ship. Sicar drank in every word, measuring them against the mission briefing he had read prior to the trip. No new variable had seemed to make itself present, which was just as well; last-minute additions tended to cause complications. Sicar had been turning the mission parameters over in his head throughout the course of their flight, comparing it with the analyses of his companions. All seemed capable enough, but you never knew until the moment arrived. The Maelibus in particular could be useful. He looked the part of a brute, which would make infiltrating the local gang simpler. Intimidation was a favored tool of most gangs, and the Maelibus had that in spades. The sickly-looking one would buy them nothing in the eyes of the Moheji, but he wouldn’t be on this particular mission if he were useless. The final companion seemed to hold himself well. Either he or Sicar would likely do the talking. Unless, of course, Dr. Jano decided to take the lead.

Sicar stood to his full height which, by galactic standards, was not exactly impressive. He was not a tall man, but he didn’t need to be; one need not be taller than the tree to chop it down, after all. He had strapped a briar pistol to his thigh for appearances; it wouldn’t do to carry around a lightsaber, after all. That was hidden on his person. Blasters were never a favored weapon of his; he tended to prefer precise and quiet methods. Still, they had their uses. His clothing consisted of body armor splotched with a camouflage design. Beneath that was a light jumpsuit, grey in color. The left sleeve had been torn off to show his mechanical arm. It wasn’t vanity that caused him to do this. Rather, it was a tactical decision. Witnesses tended to remember features that stand out and forgot the rest. They would focus on his arm rather than his face. He had gotten the idea from an old file he read about Han Solo having difficulty with a one-armed man.

The humid air clung to him like a paste. Even though the cloth of his outfit was designed to breathe, the heat was uncomfortable. Sweat slowly trickled down his chest, but he gave no sign that it bothered him. Showing weakness in front of Sith was bad enough, but showing it to the Moheji would place their mission in jeopardy. When he entered the Raven’s Cove cantina, the temperature dropped only a few degrees. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior, then ventured further in. He sidled up to the bar, gesturing for a cool beverage. His gaze slowly and subtly drifted over the denizens of the establishment, taking in every detail. His training provided the guidelines; find the exits, find the cover, find the most likely source of trouble. There were two exits, one being where he had just come from. The other was on the opposite side of the building. Likely, the employee entrance. The only real source of cover was the bar itself. The tables and booths were flimsy and wouldn’t hold up to more than one or two blaster bolts. It was not an upscale cantina; paint peeled off of the walls in certain areas, many of the seat cushions were torn, and there was what he suspected to be mold on one of the support beams. What did surprise him was the appearance of a Rishi warrior. According to the research, they mainly kept to the mountains and left the valleys to other species.

His drink arrived. As he turned to take it, he kept his companions in his peripheral. He was interested in their reactions to this place - a person’s reaction could speak volumes. He had not conversed much with them on the flight. He planned to do so on the flight home, however. At least, with the survivors.

Tag: @commander Raze corinthia Saurus dorriandrakorra

Tagset: Rishi

IC: Darth Hesper
A vision of gold…

There was naught but golden nothingness on all sides.

Hesper gripped the handle of her lightsaber with white knuckles, suspicion making her heart race and palms tingle. Her silver eyes scanned the unending gold around her, searching, searching, searching for a way out. The others that were in the laboratory were nowhere to be seen or heard. And even as her eyes scoured the vision of gold surrounding her, up began to feel like down, and suddenly Hesper felt her world shift. Dizzy, she abruptly sat again.

It was evident to her that it would be sickeningly difficult to try to walk to find a way out of this aurous hellscape. Folding her legs beneath herself and replacing her lightsaber on her belt, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands into their sockets. There had to be another way out. There had to. So she turned inward. She would map what she could feel around herself in the Force, if she could; and if she could not do that, she would meditate for an answer.

She simply could not imagine being trapped forever.

IC: Jekyll/Hyde
Location: Tomb of Cognus

The spider leaped to the ceiling, and then back to the ground, as it shot it's spider web at Jekyll, he gave full control to Hyde. She slashed down at the web to cut through it before they got entangled, and charged for its legs with a warrior's roar. "Suffer, feel the pain and DIE!!!" They slashed at the rear leg on it's left side, if it connected the rear end that shot the web was the next target to be cut.

Tag: corinthia,darthkain7,

TAGSET: Tomb of Cognus

The smells of charred flesh, freshly spilled blood, and burning timbers filled the air. The aroma of battle combined with the cries and moans of those lingering to life so beautifully that it caused Darth Cruor to pause for a short moment and appreciate the horror of his surroundings, it was in these moments that the Gen’Dai was truly alive. Draconis had left the brunt of the cleanse to Lord Cruor, the few trained guards were no match and had fallen in the early moments, leaving the scattering screaming cultists to flee like rats down hallways and into chambers thinking they would somehow escape their fate. Some of them were not even force adepts, their lust for power and the cult’s twisted view of the force enough to employ and harbor them in their midst.

It was true that it was the place of any Sith to rule, dominate, and subjugate those weaker, but this was not the case in this place. This failed endeavor was a place of were cast out and failed students with a twisted and incomplete view of the force and the darkside attempted to reign as lords over an already near pathetic following, save one. The one they sought.

The promises of power and a grander design, put forth by these fallen Sith was a sad attempt to keep this rabble together and following them, especially when they had neither power or strength to give. Most of the nearby villagers, fighting for scraps from the cult’s stores of food and supplies. The young women used as slaves, while the men were forced into labor to build this sad excuse for a temple, on what was actually and ironically a darkside source of power. Their inability to fully understand and harness it had created a twisted and perverted labor, which held no power or strength. The little conjuring of skill amounted to just enough to subjugate the nearby village and create a cult following over generations that merely served their own misguided interests and cravings for a power that they would never fully understand nor attain.

Thus a cleansing was in order, a cleansing in the line of many that had preceded it throughout the system and other nearby worlds.

Darth Cruor’s gaze swept over the group of false Sith as he walked toward them, the fear on the cultists faces plain to see. “Kneel.” The Sith Lord commanded, his deep voice filling the courtyard. Of the nearly dozen cultists left, only three fell to their knees, the rest continued to retreat into the courtyard.

Those who obeyed his command were not spared his wrath, one managed to let a yelp escape his lips before his head burst open violently sending gore flying. The two remaining were left to live just long enough for them to know their fate, just as their terror filled eyes met their heads they too suffered the same fate. Darth Cruor stepped over their lifeless bodies as he took command of the center of the courtyard, the remaining cultists kept their distance but were slowly encircling him.

He gave them time, let them feel confident, let them come to him.

Finally after they had found enough courage one of them yelled, at his call they rushed forward simultaneously. Darth Cruor did nothing until they had cleared half the distance, the first that did flew into the air and was ripped in two at the waste. It’s upper half landing on the ground at the Gen’Dai’s feet, the pitiful creature would live long enough to bear witness to the fate of his fellows.

The rest flew into the air as well, each suffering similar yet completely unique horrors. A fat warrior was folded in two at the waste, the crunch of his spine cut short his screaming. The short one with a stun baton was crushed into the ground as if by a large foot, the floor instantly covered in his gore. A tall Zabrak rushing him from behind burst into a fine mist of blood that covered those who were behind him, their deaths following quickly after. One was twisted into a spiral from head to toe, another watched his entrails burst from his midsection.

One remained, this one a coward, he never found the courage to charge with the others. He stood now shivering from fear, blood and parts clinging to his skin and clothing. As much as he wanted to flee, his feet would not allow it. Darth Cruor inspected his work for a few moments, seemingly ignoring the terrified man. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to the cultist, Cruor turned to him, only a second passed before his larynx was ripped from his throat.

Darth Cruor stood in the center of it all, surrounded by beautiful gore and violent death.

While the Gen’Dai was busy with his play toys, Draconis moved throughout the shambles of a temple, ferreting out the few beings that they had come here for. A cult member before Draconis, was attempting to crawl away from the scene of destruction. One of his legs was severed at the knee, while other wounds contributed to the trail of blood against the stone courtyard he had left in his wake. Draconis stepped over the suffering and dying being, with a contempt for the false Sith. Allowing the cur of a being to continue suffering in his final death throes with Draconis moving into one of the attached stone corridors leading deeper into the complex.

Like a bird of prey Tarle, apprentice to Lord Draconis, watched over the unfolding scene below.

The whole scene was pathetic, how these beings were even able scratch out an existence was beyond her, she mused as she watched from a perched position high on nearby and adjacent cliff face. It had been centuries since any known modern settlements held sway over this moon, and it was of no coincidence that this pathetic rabble was stuck here to lawd over itself in their own meager existence. She brushed the thought off and maintained her focus, Tarle’s eyes scanning the courtyard looking beyond the gleeful destruction wrought at Lord Cruor’s hand. Her bow in hand tracked a cultist moving against Cruor from behind, her reflexes kicking in and prepared to act, it was instinctual, though she really had no need to worry about Cruor handling himself. Red was of a particularly rare form this day as she watched a cultist merely turned to a spray of blood as he tried to attack him from behind. Her gaze returning to scan the whole of the complex and the paths approaching it. She caught her Master disappearing into a corridor at the far end of the courtyard before returning to continue to scan things from her vantage point high above.

Winding around corridors following the signature of the beings he sought, the darkness of the dimly lit corridors affording them no protections or masking from his senses. The cursing whispers and bickering could be heard throughout as they betrayed their location to begin with with their own projected fear. He found them trying to hide among a few cultists that they were using to shield themselves within a hive of ceremonial chambers and personal quarters. The idea that drawing back to this area would grant them a viable place to avoid or mount resistance to their already cast fate was amusing to Draconis.

The main chamber, with a few adjacent rooms were adorned with jewels and polished stones, it was a stark contrast to the whole of the temple which was a shell and lacking any such splendid adornments. However in actuality their accumulation were meager at best, another parallel to the failed state of this enclave which vied to be more than it really was. Despite such it was a clear indication that the highest and most pompous among them hoarded all that was of significant value. Hiding it away from the whole of the cult, attempting to live in a higher luxury while all others suffered.

A single guard, two priests, and the head priest remaining, surrounded by a half a dozen cultists. "We cannot allow these false Sith to destroy our great order!” One of the priest exclaimed, in a fanatical manner, referring to Draconis and his confidant out in the courtyard. His voice condemning and pompous as if owning the cultists and their lives, their existence merely to feed their pursuits and sacrifices. “Kill the false ones!”

The priest’s voice more shrill and clearly fearful as he moved back into the chambers further as he pushed his between him and Draconis. The high priest in the background of it all was the only composed one, Draconis could feel that he alone was the singular signature of any worth in the whole of the enclave.

“KILL THEM!”

With the shril words of the priest, suddenly one of the cultists was flung forward partly pushed physically and propelled slightly in the force towards Draconis. The soul was unfortunately caught and wretched into Draconis outstretched arm to his side, the man struggling and clawing at Draconis grip to no avail as he was held up as Draconis walked forward, the life within him fading as his body began to dry up before the eyes of the other cultists. Dropping the man, now a dead husk, Draconis continued pacing forward. Three of the cultist slaves, scrambled and ran for their lives passing Draconis whom paid little attention to them fleeing and being no threat. Though they ran back to a far worse fate of Cruor still in the courtyard.

The one guard pressing forward with a pike, looking to skewer Draconis, was horribly outmatched and spurred by crippling fear. Draconis avoided the attack altogether swatting the pike tip away with his gauntlet covered forearm, while disarming the guard in a deft quick move as the guards grip on the pike was broken. The back end of the pike swung around and smacked the guard in the back of the head cracking the back of his skull, cracking it wide open and sending him forward to the floor dying, as it was fully held and wielded by Draconis.

One of the priests moved forward seeking to take advantage of what he thought was a distracted opponent. The priest brandishing a vibro-blade from his robes and raising it to stab Draconis. The pike in Draconis’ hands whipped around with a flash and caught the priest on its end, the point driving through his chest and through the other side. Blood spraying from his back as the pike protruded out of it, stopping him in his tracks.

The priest’s arm began to falter as his whole body went limp, dead. The dagger in priest’s hand falling from his grip and almost ceremoniously into Draconis’ hand as he passed as if planned, nonchalantly gripping the falling weapon before raising it and throwing it forward with velocity. The dagger catching one of the cult members in the head as she was pulled in front of the remaining priest, desperately trying to move past Draconis and escape. The woman fell dead, blood trickling from the dagger imbedded in her forehead, the priest expose with no further shields to call upon. Tripped falling to his back as he stumbled, barely making it to his feet again as Draconis’ hand was placed upon his head. The priest screamed in horror as his eyes busts into flames, and a searing heat began to consume him, his body itself catching fire as he stumbled forward a few steps trying to run, but only managed to fall after a few steps fulling aflame and burning alive.

Draconis’ menacing pace had never broken stride as he continued to advance. The remaining few cultist slaves had managed to flee, for no other reason than them not being targeted. Which now left the High Priest alone, a former priest of Korriban and the only being here with any worth and the one with knowledge that they sought, standing in his glorious chamber or power, surrounded by dead subjects, Draconis pacing towards him with malicious vile intent.

The High Priest raised his chin, wearing haughtiness like the ostentatious robe that flowed from his shoulders. He eschewed asceticism; so far as he was concerned, if his followers were good enough to donate to him, it was his duty to repay their generosity by dazzling them with the finest silks and the most precious baubles. He would not let this unholy cur take it all away. "I am Bzuaszax," he said, as if his name alone were a worthy boast.

He did not wilt before Draconis' approach. His followers knew little of the dark side, but Bzuaszax was born in it, molded by it. Draconis would not find him so easy a foe. "Halt, Draconis," he said, raising his hand to forestall assault. "Yes, I know your name. I was born to the New Sith Order, although long after you. You were taught to me as a ghost story, a Sith who had been exiled to the wilds below, who would return one day to purge the impure." Bzuaszax tilted his hand, showcasing the glittering gemstone that adorned the back of his satin glove. The amulet radiated dark side power; it was a warning, as much as it was a claim to authenticity - to purity.

"I fled Korriban out of fear of Darth Krayt," Bzuaszax continued, referring, of course, to the Sith Lord who had assumed control of one third of the New Sith Order after Draconis' exile, after Vassago's fall from power. "While the Acolytes and Dominion of Darkness scattered to the stars, I alone recognised the folly of Darth Nemisis, of Darth Marvelous, and of those who taught them! I led my followers here, to this moon where ancient Jedi once attempted to purify Korriban's dark energy, and ever since we have meditated on the truth. That the Sith should not be led by a single leader, who imagines he holds the Force in his grasp, but by the dark side itself. We bend the knee to no one. We kneel only in prayer, in subservience to the will of the Force."

Bzuaszax smiled. It looked more sinister than beatific. "Come join us, Draconis," he said. "Break the chains of Sith dogma and join us on the dark side of the moon. Put aside the Sith Code, and accept the wisdom of your High Priest, who will lead the Sith to salvation."

Meanwhile, in a corridor near the central courtyard, three panicked cultists raced to their doom. The first one, gasping for breath yet still racing at a breakneck speed, entered the courtyard and made it no more than a few feet before slipping on a bloodied stone. He landed flat on his back but immediately tried to scramble to his feet again, the terror of what he had seen earlier still fresh in his mind. Try as he might, he could not find his footing, the ground was greasy with blood and flesh.

The second slave rushed in only a few seconds behind the first, she had a clear view of her companion falling and deftly avoided the same fate by leaping over him, her feet never landed felt ground again. A short gasp was all that escaped before she was caught in Darth Cruor’s powerful grasp, he held her aloft with ease as kicked and struggled against him, her face quickly turning darker shades of red and her eyes widening in realization of impending death..

Vyld was shorter, and fatter, than his companions. They never passed on a moment to tease him about it, he hated them for it. Even more so now, he knew he was the slowest of the three. Death would catch him first. That knowledge did nothing to ease the sharp pain in the side of his chest, nor did it force his stout legs to move him faster. He would have cursed audibly if he could, but he wasn’t about to waste a good breathe on them now. As he rounded the corner of the hallway into the the sight he saw in the courtyard made him stop in his tracks, fear freezing him in place. Darth Cruor roared as he threw a now lifeless woman at the fat, little, man. She struck him with such force that it caused them to both slam against the nearby wall, cracking a few bricks in the process, the fat man was no more.

The massive Sith looked down at the last of the wretched creatures, now covered in blood and having completely abandoned hope of escape. It’s pitiful sobs and pleas for mercy were not unheard, no, Cruor not only heard them but he savored them. Only for a moment however before Cruor’s massive foot came down upon the being’s head, it’s head crushed against the ground, brain matter and bone became nothing more than one large smear.

Part II 

Dragging the near limp body of the High Priest Bzuaszax out into the courtyard, Draconis’ gaze was upon Cruor bathed in blood and bits of flesh. He had been equally busy and as expected the whole of the order was no more, save for the dear high priest that was dragged by one of his figurative bootstraps out into the open of the stone courtyard. The center idol, that of a statuesque pillar similar to one that might be found in the sacred burial temples or valleys of the planet in the sky, sat atop a small base of steps surrounding the whole of it. Poorly scribed runes and words, that attempted to follow the hallow languages of the ancients, were merely bastardized chatterings of incoherence.

The words of the high priest still fresh in his memory, with his proposition and call for the greater power that he had supposedly found. His self-realized lesson in history and new found salvation.

“Join us… join us..” Draconis mockingly spoke as he stopped dragging the priest body, laying at the foot of the false idol. Dropping the hold on his leg.

“Won’t-you-join-us-dear-priest!” Draconis chimed in an almost sing-song evil incarnation. It was clear the high priest was a bit delirious, rightly so the loss of blood was significant. Though not enough to put him in any mortal danger thus far. Coming to and more aware of what was happening and where he now was.

And within moments of the high priest becoming fully aware, Draconis whipped around to stare at him, crouched and eerily close to his level. The priest’s eyes snapping open, having heard the mocking words from Draconis moments before, as well as having felt the pain of being dragged out of the temple to the base of the sacred idol. Thinking it perhaps a delusion or dream, but suddenly realizing that such was not so.

Shockingly finding that his fine vestments were covered in the blood and guts of his disciples and slaves that he had been dragged through in the courtyard. Scrambling back slightly onto one of the idols steps, his back pressed against the foot of the several meters tall idol which shadowed over him.

“Hello again.” Draconis stared at him, a blank and hallow look on his face as if he was surprised too, over emphasizing the pronunciation of the greeting. The entirety of the situation being all the more a sadistic ruse than anything else.

The high priest stuttered and managed to begin to get out a phrase. “You desecrate this temp…”

The high priest was cut off quickly his vocal capacity severed as his throat closed. Draconis remaining still, and staring at the being invisibly zipping the man's mouth shut through the force, while making his throat incredibly uncomfortable. "Not your turn." Draconis spoke with a mocking stern and almost scolding tone, alluding to the high priest seemingly having spoken out of turn in this whole dynamic. Releasing the priest once he had felt he had cut off the instance of out of turn speak.

Behind Draconis, Cruor was moving about back and forth throughout the courtyard gathering and pulling at the structure as Draconis continued to speak. Draconis seemingly content and paying no real bother with whatever it was the Gen’Dai was currently doing.

“Tell me about this folly, dear priest.” Draconis tone coming to a more serious one, and not of the previous playful intonations that he had danced around. Draconis speaking to the High Priest Bzuaszax words of wisdom and realization upon his exit from the late great orders of the Sith. Eager to learn more about what he knew.

“Tell me about the others, those who share your view.” There had been no mention of others by the high priest, but Cruor, Tarle, and Draconis would not be here if they did not know otherwise. Draconis’ head cocked slightly.

Draconis shuffled a bit on the balls of his feet as he remained crouched staring at the high priest, whose eyes had wandered a bit beyond Draconis at Lord Cruor’s brooding throughout the courtyard.

“See, you are not even paying attention now.” Draconis’ eyes caught the priest’s attention wandering for the briefest of moments, a searing jolt of pain coursed through the priest body initiated by the rag covered Sith holding the invisible leash.

“You see the others said the same thing…” Draconis spoke alluding to others, while the priest adamantly held to his view that he alone had brought salvation to all the corpses and or at least pieces of corpses surrounding him at present.

“That they alone… How did you put it? Break away from the Sith dogma… Was that it?”

Draconis leaned in a bit more, wondering when High Priest Bzuaszax was going to let go of his charade. There were more of them, many more priests like himself. The same ones who had interred Cruor and tried to destroy his body. It were these same priests which scattered hoping to not only erase the history of orders of the past, but also the history of the Sith and claim themselves as the new bearers of salvation. Draconis knew this because High Priest Bzuaszax, was not the first they had encountered and would not be the last.

“You see when my friend gets back here,” Draconis glanced over his shoulder slightly alluding to Lord Cruor currently brooding, “I will not be able to stop him… from doing… well whatever it is he is planning on doing to you let's say.”

Bzuaszax withered, wincing as pure, hot agony continued to steam from the cauterised stump of his hand. The loss of the limb was insignificant; a luminous being was he, not crude matter. However, the amulet had been separated from in the process, and with it the dark side fled from him; the power of the ancients would not aid him.

He glared up at Darth Draconis with hatred, the futile hatred that only came with powerlessness and impotence in the face of cruelty, hatred that made his throat tight and burned his smoldering yellow eyes with salt. "You know nothing, assassin of Vassago," Bzuaszax hissed. "Do you even know who Darth Cruor is, what he is? The one unto whom you render such blind obedience?" He shook his head, a pained half-laugh rupturing from his throat. "Do you know who he serves? You think you know him... You know nothing."

TAG: dragonsith13, Darth Cruor  

CLOSED STORY: Moons of Korriban 

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IC: Samael
Location: Raider Class Corvette, en route to Yavin IV

Samael had stayed quiet during the discussions. It wasn't his place to speak up during the planning. Upon dismissal he returned to the original room he picked out and began to meditate again. A circle of fire appeared around him, the  heat from the flames comforting him. He began to have visions again.
The first was the burning of his first master. Then of his exile from the Jedi order. Upon seeing that part he began to seethe with anger. All he wanted was to introduce his friend. He never intended to hurt anyone. Why couldn't they see that?
The next vision showed the burning of his second master. Their last words echoed in his ears as he felt pride. "You will go far."
Then a new vision. Something he had never seen. He saw himself rushing into the temple a smile on his face as he blasts one of his former bullies in the face with a ball of fire.
Suddenly his visions ended and he began to inhale and exhale deeply. Whatever happened on this mission, Samael just hoped he would get the satisfaction of making that last vision come true.

TAG:Darth Catalyst ,gorzan ,dice ,Padawan4687 ,Darth Dreadwar ,

TAGSET: Yavin IV

As the shambling corpses neared, their putrid stench continuing to fill the nostrils of the Sith, Malos noticed how the divide between Trill and the others still affected the group, even while in danger. Where Trill had - perhaps cowardly, perhaps intelligently - retreated to the open courtyard, Trinaya and Volacius stood firmly in place, weapons drawn. The pair of acolytes had come to a consensus: destroy the zombies, incinerate them. A sound strategy, but hard to pull off in their current state; their injuries would likely affect their ability to draw on the Force as well, and it was not as if they were masters of the Force even at full health. They would need Malos' help here, and thankfully, no gigantic beast had knocked him unconscious yet.

Taking a quick head count, Darth Malos came to the conclusion that there were nearly twenty undead in these barracks. A lot for such small quarters; thank whatever gods there are that these things moved so slowly.
"We can't stay here," Malos warned. "They'll surround us and turn us into Sith Tartare." Taking a step backward, the Sith Master continued, "Both of you get to either side of me just outside the door. The doorway will funnel them into small groups that we can hack away at. Just don't lose your heads, I'm sure Trill back there already called dibs on them."

Meanwhile, Trill would begin to feel a certain magnetism in the air, a south pole reacting to her north. It was coming from the main temple, she would sense. Like the smell of dinner calling a child home for supper. Would she accept the call and abandon these cruel Sith to their fate?

TAGS: @lordjania, cliojayne, volacius



The spider had nary the time nor the ability to see if its web had landed on the prey behind it. Instead, its eight beady eyes focused on the bearded warrior before it, swiping its front-right leg at the little human. But Zul'tar was fast despite his age, raising his axe to meet the spider's limb. Dathomirian steel met the arachnid's thick exoskeleton, causing the axe head to burrow into the leg. It screeched as Zul'tar withdrew the axe, and quickly chopped to the left, finally slicing through the foreleg and causing the severed limb to collapse to the stone floor.
The screeching didn't stop as the spider's other prey had been busy as well, cutting through the left rear leg and then striking the beast's rear end. In pain and dying, the spider began to try and scurry away, leaping onto the side of the wall and hoping to retreat to the dead end of the hallway. But with the spider now missing two of its most valuable appendages, it failed to even stick to the wall, collapsing onto its back and nearly crushing Zul'tar in the process. Thankfully, the old Dathomirian had moved, and was now shouting to his companion.

"END IT!"


Callistra had chosen to ignore both the screams of the opposing hall and the elegant swords lying in the display case. A safe approach, to be sure, one the spirit of Darth Zannah could appreciate. All this effort to summon a worthy Sith student to this temple would end pretty anticlimactically if they got blown up only a few minutes in.
As Callistra followed the spirit, Zannah went on, "Ahead you will come to another split path. The right is locked, and the key to the door will be to the left. Be wary, Ms. Vakar. I can help you no longer. My attention must lie… elsewhere." With that, the visage of Darth Zannah disappeared like a vapor, dissipating into the air.
As Callistra would continue forward, she would come across two thick piles of dust. Peculiar.

The shrill voice of Dynami would echo through the hall it had found itself in, just barely reaching the ears of Callistra in the adjacent hallway. Both would see, at different angles, a small room with three stone statues standing evenly along the walls. Each of these stone soldiers held large greatswords, posed menacingly, as if they were frozen in stone mid-strike. Coming from adjacent halls, the two would reach the room of stone sentinels, both noticing one another in an instant.

TAGS: corinthia, taciteoccultus, Volshe