The Old Sith Trials

Unknown moon.
XXYS I.C.

Dawn.

The fire had burned down to a gray bank of ash and small whisps of smoke wafted from the last embers.

Xxys must have drifted off in the night (something he had never done in the past) and now heard the sounds of a martial chant.

It was primal.

It spoke to him on a level deep in his bones. The urge to feed a hunger. To slay those that stood in his way and take what he wanted.

The warriors were clad in furs, and fierce looking paint adorned their grim faces. They carried spears and light shields painted with tribal markings he did not understand.

They looked to Xxys and beat their spears against their shields to match the chanting cadence.

They intoned his name like a God.

With a howl to the heavens they swarmed forward and focused their flight towards the outpost below. Xxys lets them rush past and is nearly caught up in the blood rush. His heart pounding in his chest and sweat ran down his face.

Something was wrong.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was...off.

The warriors surged across the ground between them and the outpost.

Xxys' mind had been invaded before...

He tried to shake his head to make sense of himself...


taciteoccultus, darthkain7, @reiis Invadator,

Pulling out her glaive, and drawing her cloak of rage, despair, and icy determination to not die this day around herself, the Zabrak spoke in a quiet voice as they approached the open doorway. "Let's get a key."

Volacius said nothing, but nodded in acknowledgement of Trin's words. The Mirialan allowed some of his bottled-up rage to spill outward, renewing his strength and his resolve to finish this Force-forsaken mission and get back to his training. He brandished both of his lightsabers, one in each hand, ready to activate both the instant their attack started.

Malos took a small breath before drawing his lightsaber, unhooking it from his belt. Its curved frame felt natural in his hand, and the darkness within practically demanded that he unleash its fiery fury on everything that stood in their way. He gave in to its demands, thumbing the ignition switch and watching as the orange blade extended from the hilt in less than a second. Confidence now booming from the Sith Master, he placed his left, unnatural hand on the door, allowing the Force to flow through it and subsequently into the wooden boards. They splintered into dust, shattering the door and sending chips of wood exploding into the room.
Stepping through the broken door, Malos charged. His eyes hastily absorbed the details around him, and what they did see was not pretty. Rusted chains and hooks. Years-old blood stains in the stone walls and floors. Iron Maidens, stocks, torture racks, and more despicable devices littered the room, each in various stages of disrepair.
Their target, this jailer, was standing at the opposite end of the room. It had been focused on something lying on the stone counter, alongside plenty of torturous tools such as pliers and bonesaws. This undead beast was massive. It was no Terentatek, of course, but if this was a man once upon a time, he had to have been part-giant. It wielded a gigantic blade, and resting on its head was some ancient device, in the shape of a Sith pyramid.
Malos struck vertically, hoping to slice through that ridiculous helmet and cleave this monster in two. But it was for naught, as the moment the blade made contact, the lightsaber shorted out, deactivating. The Nagai could only mutter a curse before the Jailer gave him a sickening backhand, sending Malos careening into a nearby torture rack.

Watching the door explode into the room, Trin moved in quickly behind Darth Malos, glaive held in a ready position. The room was... decrepit and disturbing. Trin spared a small glance for the table, but quickly focused on the giant as they moved in closer.
"Son of a kriffing nerfherder!" she cursed inelegantly as their fearless leader was unceremoniously tossed to the side.
"VOLACIUS, FLANK!" The Zabrak shouted, all thoughts of a surprise attack completely ruined. Feeling pitifully small, she gave a twirl that would look out of place but would give her glaive more momentum in a strike across the terror's uncovered left side. Trin hoped she might score on the zombie and then be able to quickly dance back, keeping it focused on her but also hoping the longer reach of her glaive would keep it far enough away that she could continue dodging any hits it threw her way.

The Mirialan charged into the room, watching as Malos made the first move and was subsequently punished for it. Volacius had advocated recklessness, sure, but even for the Acolyte's sensibilities, Malos might have overdone it. Kento had not been exaggerating about the Jailer's size, and Volacius had to take a moment as he charged to stuff his fears of the undead deep down, mixing them in with the fuel that was the rest of his emotions.
Trinaya's callout rang in Volacius' ears, and without thinking of how or where, he simply picked a direction separate from the Zabrak's chosen attack vector. The Mirialan was absolutely certain that any plan he developed would be detected and counteracted, and instead chose to rely on split-second decisions. Dashing around to the rear, Volacius ran, slashing both his blades at the creature's legs in hopes of dividing its attention. It only had one giant sword, after all.

The Jailer, in all his size and power, was surprisingly fast. He had seen the Nagai first, swatting it aside as a pair of beings immediately followed. The smaller one, a Zabrak, had made an elegant twirl with her weapon, using its momentum to strike at his left side; his free hand. The undead beast sidestepped ever so slightly, grabbing the polearm by the very end of its handle.
As he swung the blade in his right hand for the side of Trinaya Dur, he yanked the glaive backward, sending its sharpened blade in the direction of the Mirialan who had circled behind him.
This presented a choice for the two attackers. If Trinaya tried to retrieve her glaive from the monster's grasp, it would leave her exposed to the slash of the Jailer's massive greatsword. As for Volacius, his swing towards the undead's legs brought him within centimeters of the incoming glaive. In order to make a successful hit, he would have to risk being impaled by his comrade's own blade. What would they do?

Seeing the huge blade coming for her side while at the same time feeling her weapon being pulled away from her and towards Volacius, Trin made a split-second decision and dropped down flat to the floor as forcefully as she could. Keeping as tight of a grip of her glaive as she could, the Zabrak began to roll away to her right as quickly as she could, seeing the huge blade passing above her head as she faced upwards for a moment in her spin.
With any luck, the jerk and spin would pull the glaive away from the hands of the brute. At the very least it might pull the blade a little bit away from her companion before it was ripped away from her own hands.

Meanwhile, Volacius took notice of Trinaya's weapon and its sudden change in trajectory. He had wanted to immobilize or at least impede the abomination's mobility, but he was unwilling to risk a friendly-fire incident. The Jailer presented enough of a challenge on its own. Instead of continuing, Volacius jumped up, allowing him to take his swipes at the creature's back. The Mirialan doubted it would do as much damage, but it might at least provide a distraction so that his comrade could recover.

The last-minute dive to the floor had saved Trinaya's life, but her roll did not have nearly as much of an effect as she would have liked. The Jailer was powerful, physically stronger than her and Volacius combined. Her grip on the glaive held fast, and the roll stopped the polearm from reaching her ally, but the undead monster's hold on the handle remained tight.
Regardless, Volacius had decided to play it safe, rather than nearing the incoming glaive to slice at the Jailer's legs, he instead leaped high, slicing into the beast's back. Or, so he thought. The blades made contact, surely. But the Jailer did not even react; not a yelp of pain, not a stumble. Just the same silent rage of a monster that was prepared to eviscerate its prey.
The moment Volacius landed, the Jailer turned his attention to the Mirialan, thrusting his head and the massive pyramid surrounding it towards Volacius', wanting to land a concussion-inducing headbutt. However, the effort and focus on Volacius had certainly loosened the Jailer's grip on the glaive.

Watching the giant turn towards Volacius, Trin could see that the sabers of her fellow acolyte had made no effect on its broad back. Frowning, Trin stood up as quickly as she could while still holding her glaive as still as she could. She had a plan that depended on not being noticed until the last possible moment. Sabers might not work, but perhaps a regular blade would?
Once she was up on her feet and braced as well as she could be while leaning over her weapon, Trin yanked the glaive handle as hard as she could to free it. If it was freed she could draw on the force to jump up as high as she could before bringing the glaive down like a spear towards the Jailer's back. It was more than a little reckless, but hopefully, it was worth it.

Volacius cursed himself for not continuing with his attempted strike at the creature's legs. He'd figured that the Jailer, being an undead monstrosity would not feel pain from any of his attacks, and that knowledge should have made him realize that slicing at its back would more than likely be a futile endeavour. Now, he was exposed, and the Jailer was attempting to slam its head into his body. The Mirialan knew he needed to retreat, but he didn't want the undead abomination to turn its attention back to Trinaya.
With this in mind, Volacius let out a Force push, allowing some of the energy to launch himself backward while directing the rest of it to slowing the movement of the Jailer's head. At the same time, Volacius opened fire with his wristblaster, hoping that if nothing else the shots would keep the Jailer focused on him.

Trinaya had done it! The forceful pull from the Jailer's grip had freed her glaive from his grasp. With it free, she immediately leaped into the air right above the Jailer's lowered head, hoping to plunge her blade into his back.
Volacius had not scouted her maneuver, however, for in his quickness he had sacrificed his awareness. To keep the Jailer from headbutting him, he had sent a Force Push in the direction of the monster's giant helmet. While it did not push Volacius backward, as they were in quite a large space, it did indeed prevent the Jailer's attack, snapping the undead creature's head backward; right into the flying Trinaya.
As she was flipping over the Jailer, leaving her upside down at the apex of her jump, the massive pyramid slammed into her head and upper torso, sending her into the counter littered with tools like a ragdoll.
Volacius' blasts from his wrist blaster in the short time after his Force Push did indeed keep the monster focused on him, however, they did little more than upset the much larger brute. The Jailer, enraged, thrust his gigantic blade towards the Mirialan, aiming to impale the young man through the chest.

Trin flew through the air, dazed. This seemed oddly familiar... why did she keep getting thrown out of duels? That wasn't fair, was it? Her wandering thoughts made her realize that she must have been hit in the head. That made sense... that's why everything was so fuzzy. Fuzzy was such an interesting word. It really encompassed what it was. Words were wonderful when they fully explained what they were.
The Zabrak's musings on words were cut short by an abrupt slam into the hard surface of the counter. The jolt was enough to jolt her brain back into actual functioning capacity. The tools around here were... gross. There was no time to focus on the case of tetanus she was most likely risking just by being where she was. Volacius was in imminent danger of potential death. Once again, the acolyte took a leap of faith, literally, and jumped onto the arm of the giant. In a rush of addled adrenaline, Trin shouted out to him as she leaped.
"Hit underneath!"
It wasn't the most clear thing she had ever shouted in her life... the odds of him understanding she meant for him to try to stab up underneath the pyramid head covering were low, but she hoped. The small feeling of him inside of her head was... dismayed but not done. She sent her intentions to him through the Force as well, hoping that she hadn't been imagining the connection they had. Otherwise, this leap could end up very bad for both of them.

Volacius' eyes widened at the sight of the Jailer's blade, its edge aimed squarely for his torso. The Mirialan hastily dove to the left, and was about to commence his next attack when he was hit with an odd sensation. He felt a prompt from Trinaya, directing him to strike below the creature's headdress. Telepathic communication between Force-users wasn't uncommon, but something felt different about this particular instance. Nevertheless, Volacius altered his attempt.
Dashing forward, Volacius jumped up, aiming to plunge both Lightsabers directly beneath the Jailer's jaw.

The undead monster no longer paid any mind to the Mirialan, instead focusing his fury on the incessant Zabrak that had clutched onto his swinging arm. In order to free his right arm, the Jailer spun, attempting to slam his arm, and the girl attached to it, into the nearby stone wall.
This distraction proved to be all Volacius needed to dodge the Jailer's strike and move in close, lightsabers ready to dive into the flesh of the beast's neck, and possibly, the jaw underneath the massive pyramid.
However, Volacius would find a most peculiar result of his attack. The blades of plasma did not sink into the Jailer's flesh as he'd hoped. They… bounced off.

With a sigh of dismay, Trin felt herself flying through the air again. This time hung over the arm of the giant. Knowing that the wall was rushing towards her back, the acolyte did the only thing she could think of and attempted to limply slide off the arm to the ground. Better to have the wind knocked out of her than have broken ribs again.
She was dismayed to see that Volacius' hit had done... nothing. Would anything take this beast down?

Volacius was completely taken aback at the ineffectiveness of his blades. So few materials in the galaxy could actually repel strikes from a lightsaber, and though the Mirialan knew some did exist, he hadn't expected the Jailer's flesh to be among them. Leaping backward to put distance between himself and the Jailer, Volacius considered his next move. His lightsabers had proven incapable of doing serious damage to the undead creature, and his wristblaster, while useful in keeping its attention, was not good for much else. He could try to blast it with Force Lightning, but if his lightsabers weren't able to punch through, he doubted lightning would do any better. It took him an extra moment of thought to remember that his usual assortment of equipment wasn't the extent of his arsenal.
Volacius remembered the strange dagger he had appropriated, its odd glow and unknown capabilities. The Jailer was clearly immune, or at least close to it, when it came to conventional attacks, but the dagger was certainly far from conventional.
Volacius charged forward, favouring an erratic serpentine pattern so as to prevent the Jailer from homing in on him. As he ran, Volacius unleashed yet another Force Push, this time aimed directly at the creature's legs, intent on knocking the Jailer to the ground or at least robbing it of its balance.

The Jailer, however, had been entirely focused on the Mirialan the moment the pair of lightsabers struck true. In fact, he seemed utterly enraged, not even noticing or caring that he had slammed his arm into the wall, and not Trinaya, whom had slid off to the floor before any damage could be taken.
Volacius had decided to press forward, moving back and forth and sending a Force Push towards the Jailer's legs. The undead beast was smarter than he seemed, however, sidestepping the push and letting it harmlessly rattle the nearby counter, as well as nearly hit the Zabrak.
The Jailer was moving forward now, telegraphing an arching swing from high to low, appearing to want to cleave Volacius in two. But he had other plans in mind, instead sharply spinning to the side, swinging the blade horizontally, at the last possible moment, towards Volacius' abdomen.

Still laying on the ground, Trin felt the wave of the push pass by her as she watched the giant advance towards Volacius. Reaching out with the ice that had so recently begun to protect her, the Zabrak concentrated on the ground in front of the Jailer's moving feet. Trin concentrated and put a thin layer of black ice precisely where the large feet should step next. Hopefully, it was enough ice...
As his large feet began to stomp down, Trin concentrated within the Force on his feet instead of the small ice patch. Staring intently, the acolyte waited, fist pulled back ready to punch forward as a gesture of the force she was holding in reserve to push towards his feet to assist in potentially sliding on the ice if all went to plan.

Volacius was shocked at the Jailer's sudden speed, the lumbering creature now suddenly able to keep up with his evasive manoeuvres. The Mirialan observed the undead abomination as it lifted its blade and began to swing it down toward his head, and Volacius began the process of safely sidestepping the attack. The swift change in direction through a hydrospanner into the mix, however. Volacius was already committed to his sidestep, however that would not save him from being cleaved apart at the hips. Thinking quickly, the acolyte used the rest of his momentum to jump into the air, tucking his legs in so as to maximize his chances of clearing the horizontal strike.

To a normal man, one often describes the moment before death as a flash, their entire life playing like a highlight reel within the blink of an eye. For a man attuned to the Force, that flash becomes an endless epoch; time is slowed to such a fraction of itself that the experience is reminiscent of the time it took to actually trudge through the tragedy that was the life of Volacius. His life story would be played before him like a feature length film, and it was only halfway through that he realized what this meant.
Death had arrived for the young acolyte.
And Trinaya had slammed the door in its face.
Were it not for her interference, Volacius would have failed to dodge the Jailer's swing in time. Yet she had interfered, her patch of ice on the floor causing the undead beast to stumble, and her push with the Force turned that stumble into a great fall, stopping the Jailer's swing before it could reach the Mirialan and sending the monster straight to the floor, flat on his back. If they had a chance at beating this freak of nature, this was their opportunity.

Trin watched as the Jailer's swing stopped just before reaching Volacius. Body aching, mind frantic, and disbelief almost freezing her to the ground.
The frantic instinct to live spurred her to action, though. Scrambling up onto her hands and knees, the acolyte scuttled almost crab-like towards the giant and threw herself, bodily, onto his weapon arm- throwing all of her weight and more than a little bit of the Force to push herself down with more inertia onto the arm to keep it down.
They needed to end this quickly while they had a minor advantage. They also needed to check on Darth Malos…

Images bombarded Volacius' mind, taking him back to the Jedi Academy on Ossus; At first, to its peaceful state, then to the fire and destruction rained down upon it by Darth Krayt and his One Sith armies. He saw the interior of the shuttle that had carried him away to safety, and the faces of the other younglings that had been evacuated with him. The Mirialan saw the streets of Atzerri, a tall Sephi Jedi by his side, and bounty hunters attacking the two of them intent on turning them in to the Empire.
He saw the secret Jedi Temple buried deep within Taivas' rock formations. The One Sith had attacked there too, and he watched from a viewport as the disparate starships that constituted the Temple structures departed, his vessel among them.
For a the briefest of moments, Volacius considered why exactly he was seeing his life story played out before him, and the implications were undoubtedly dire. He did not have long to think about that before the theatrics resumed, however.
The desolate spires and mountains of Vjun were next, and Camion watched once again as his friends and comrades died, their faces replaced by those of the Sith who killed them.
The acid rain slowly blurred his view, turning it into a mess of various underworld slums, all intertwined to the point that they were indistinguishable from one another. Camion bore witness, from his own eyes, as he caught each and every one of his marks, and as he fought the Jedi who defended some of them.
The Sith Academy on Korriban came after, the recent memories of its spartan halls, insufferable students and varied professors all vividly replaying themselves. He walked into a room where the one called Lord Malos waited, along with a Zabrak student. Their mission played out, until finally he had caught up to the present.
The Jailer's enormous blade was bearing down on him, and he could see that he would not be able to clear it in time as he had intended. Had his life really come to an end so abruptly? Would he never have the chance to exact his vengeance on those who had failed him?
The blade's angle suddenly shifted, taking it away from Volacius' torso and leaving the Mirialan completely unharmed. Landing on his feet, Volacius was stunned to see that the abomination had toppled over, and Trinaya was now holding down its arm with all of her strength.
Extinguishing his Shoto and replacing it with unusual dagger, Volacius knew what he had to do. The acolyte launched himself forward, aiming the dagger so as to plunge beneath the Jailer's exposed jaw.

The dagger, glowing with the light of a blue star, dove deep into the flesh of the undead horror. The Jailer had been far too focused on freeing his arm, nearly tossing the Zabrak across the room once again. However, he had been stopped before he could even begin to move. The dagger, enchanted to counteract the serum that offered nigh-invulnerability to the Jailer, had work its charm. As the blade burrowed into the now-soft flesh of the beast, the Jailer suddenly grew still, and then limp. He was no more.
Before either could react to their victory, each would hear the jinkling of a metal key as it flew towards the pale hand of Darth Malos, who stood off to the side, an impressed grin on his face.
"Well then, I figured you two had it under control. Ready to go meet up with the dynamic duo of fossil and the fetus?"

TAGS: cliojayne, volacius

IC: Jekyll/Hyde 
Location: Tomb of Cognus

As the beast jumped at Jekyll, Hyde was begging him. Let me out, you can't do this. I am a warrior, I can save us both.

Jekyll ignored her. Instead he positioned himself so that he could block the blow, and then attempt to kick the beast in it's side while it tried to regain balance.

TAG: darthkain7,Volshe,
TAGSET: Tomb of Cognus 

IC Trin and Volacius

Location- Sinister Sith Temple, Korriban



Breathing hard, Trin lay for a moment on the outstretched now still arm of the Jailer. The jingle of the keys almost startled her but then she heard Malos’ sardonic tone and rolled her eyes slightly before pulling her aching body up off the floor slowly. She would be very happy to get back to the Academy. There at least the people trying to kill her just wanted to stab her in the back and not throw her into more walls. Giving one last look around the room, the Zabrak’s gaze lingered on the weapon of the Jailer. It was a powerhouse of a weapon, and was tempting but… transporting the weapon alone much less developing the long term muscle mass to use it was incredibly impractical. Walking over to Volacius, Trin offered a hand to help her fellow acolyte up.

For a moment, Volacius did not move, remaining prone atop the Jailer’s body arm still outstretched and holding the handle of his dagger with a deathly grip. It was only after he noticed Trinaya’s hand that he realized the tide had not only turned, but that the fight was simply over. Pulling the anomalous weapon out of the dead abomination’s skin, Volacius accepted the help of his fellow acolyte, standing up and returning the dagger to its former place on his belt. The Mirialan took a long hard stare at the corpse of the Jailer, not entirely sure he believed they had actually succeeded. Nevertheless, it all looked and felt real, and he felt an odd certainty that it was in fact real, a feeling he had not had when they’d entered the bustling theatre earlier.

Malos seemed ok, although this was his second concussion in the last 48 hours. Shrugging and hoping his concussions were the worst thing they had to worry about before they got home, Trin gave a stretch before retrieving her glaive and making sure all of her other equipment was secure, including the two books tucked into her shirt.

“Hopefully they had a less exciting time than we did.” she responded to Darth Malos, finally as they made their way towards the door of the room.

“Hopefully all our effort is rewarded when we get back,” Volacius muttered.

Tag: darthkain7 , volacius 

Tagset: Sinister Sith

IC: Darth Hesper 
Within the Golden Globe 

Something powerful buffeted Hesper. It swept through the golden expanse like a blast of wind, and with it came the distinct sensation of motion-- of direction. She jumped to her feet, still reeling with a slight dizziness, and immediately set off in the direction she felt the blast of raw energy originate from. It made the air taste faintly of rage, she noted. 

Her feet moved swiftly, but cautiously, beneath her; she made sure her steps were true, and that she did not swerve or stray from her straight line. She kept her steel eyes focused on the radiant "floor". What she had felt surely would mean she was not entirely alone in this endless wasteland... 

IC Trin and Volacius

Location- Sinister Sith Temple, Korriban



Trin’s head spun. Malos’ argument made sense, but Kento seemed so real… What should they do? Perhaps there was some middle ground… they had a mission they had to complete, after all. Considering their resources at hand Trin reached into her voluminous pants and pulled out a length of rope. “Perhaps if we tied him up, Darth Malos? It wouldn’t be much security against anything truly malevolent, but we have a mission to complete.” Her voice was resigned and ready for the next fight. Deep in her soul she knew that the temple wouldn’t release them without at least one more test. Whether that test was in the form of Kento or perhaps someone or something else, she wasn’t sure, but the former debutante was dirty, beaten, and tired of being scared of the temple. She just didn’t have the emotional energy to continue being afraid, they just had to keep moving and get back to the Emperor.

Volacius was taken aback. He had not expected Malos to respond so harshly, though it did seem as though he’d misinterpreted the Mirialan’s statement. Normally, Volacius would have attempted to clarify, but attempting to do so with an unstable Nagai Sith Lord would probably just make things worse. Instead, Volacius kept silent, following along back to Kento’s cell. The absence of Trill was something of a relief, if not outright alarming. Memories of her earlier threats were still fresh in Volacius’ mind, but they were overshadowed by the concerning implications of her disappearance. He listened to the back and forth between the boy and Malos intently, trying to determine what their best option was. Malos was right, Damian’s insistence on leaving Trill behind was suspicious, but not entirely unexpected either, given his current state. The student was also correct, they likely would not survive if they stayed longer than they had to.

“Suspicious as he may be,” Volacius began, “he is right. The longer we stay here, having killed the Jailer and freed this ancient Sith’s next body, the more likely we will die. As interesting a discovery as Trill has been, she was never our objective, and we should not endanger our mission further for her sake. As you said, my Lord, the Emperor himself bestowed this task upon us.”



Tag- darthkain7, volacius

Tagset- Sinister Sith Tagset

The Emperor did not turn.

From the vantage point of Théa Cifra, he may as well have been a statue hewn of ice, stained with the black blood of a thousand elder things lost in nameless sacrifice, dark rippling cloak a cascading waterfall of frozen water trickling from the caliginous clefts of Ziost's mountain halls. For a long, pregnant moment, stretched in the corpulence of a bloated corpse, his answer was naught but the silence of death, ringing in one's mind beyond the upper limits of mortal hearing, stilling the heart and blanketing the senses in arctic frost. And then, at last, when the last rays of sunlight had vanished beyond the horizon, and the stars came out and Cifra's knees were frozen agony, came the catharsis of reply, strained like a death-rattle through the half-corporeal ghost of vanished vocal chords, hollow and void, gusting forth to ripple the visible edge of the Emperor's cowl like a howl of wind.

"Rise, my apprentice."

Cold was that whispering voice, and cruel, echoing with the accusatory emanations of Nilrebmah's calumny, and the cries of the unjustly slain dead. It had the patience of the stars about it, and the unnatural ambience of spectral eternity, seizing Théa's mind like serrated teeth, Khar Delba's icicles prodding from beneath, Malachor's stalactites closing from above. Could words describe what she felt, then, as the Emperor's voice breezed through her bones, peeling the very consciousness from her neurons and inviting her to the gaping abyss of the opening void?

"You have persevered in darkness," he continued, "and now darkness shall persevere in you." Flashes of imagery punctuated each word, thunder and lightning crashing against the aether of Cifra's mind, dark orbs rolling without luster or name, writhing tentacles straining in the void, the orgiastic imagery of raw creation beyond sense or comprehension. Was this what it was like, to be on the lip of a wound in the Force?

"Now and forever more, you shall be one with the Order of the Sith Lords, and shall answer my bidding as you answer the call of the dark side. Théa Cifra is no more..." The Emperor, finally, turned. If kneeling before him as he spoke was torture enough, to face him and the gangrenous glare of that empty hood was agony beyond imagining; her hair rippled in the wind as if being ripped from her scalp, as if subject to a flash of electric current of impossible intensity, as at last she was exposed to the fullness of the Emperor's presence. A nuclear core of toxic dark side energy, radiating waves of sheer putrefying energy, screaming with the howl of the primordial cosmos. "Henceforth," that empty hood, streaming invisible energy, turned to look beyond unseen veils into secret realms above, as the Emperor's whisper thundered in her skull, "you shall be known as... Darth... V--"

To interrupt this undying presence would be blasphemy beyond compare.

But would Théa Cifra accept whichever name he summoned forth from the void?

IC Trin and Volacius

Location- Sinister Sith Temple, Korriban



Regretfully, Trin returned the rope to her voluminous pockets. Malos was right, of course, she had known it wouldn’t do any good to tie him up. Eyeing Damien out of the corner of her eye, she wondered about his desire to have the temple destroyed. It could be because he was real and the temple was bad… but… it could also be because he wanted all evidence of his nefarious plans destroyed before anyone could see them. She didn't like the sound of this “Quetzu” at all. The air felt so much lighter than it had, almost as light as it had upstairs, but slightly more urgent.

In spite of his vote, Volacius made sure to keep Kento within the sight of his wary gaze. The Mirialan’s hand rested on his lightsaber, waiting to spring into action the moment the young man made a move that suggested he was attempting to deceive them. But as much as he feared the possibility that they’d made a mistake in releasing the boy, Volacius feared the wrath of this ‘Quetzu’ far more. His anxiety deepened as they retraced their steps; in spite of all they had done, they encountered no resistance. No undead hordes or beasts, no illusions, not a voice, nor even a threatening sound. It was far too vacant, and Volacius didn’t believe for a moment that they had cleared the temple of its defenses.

The almost fresh air from outside was intoxicating to feel upon the face, and Trin was pushing eagerly towards it before she heard Darth Malos say something. As she turned, she felt her blood run cold. He didn’t look very well, and his head slamming made her feel that there was a very good chance that he didn’t feel very well either. A chance phrase caught her ear “We can’t…” Was he speaking of them as a group or could this be a resurgence of the locket…

He was clearly fighting some kind of compellment, but it could be to get them to stay or to leave. Both seemed equally plausible.

As the Nagai began slamming his head into the wall, a chill ran down Volacius’ spine. Unlike Trinaya, he immediately assumed that this was the start of Quetzu’s retaliation, and he had targeted the most powerful among them.

With a side eyed glance over to Kento, Trin took a firm hold of her glaive in both hands, easing into a fighting stance.

“Darth Malos?” The Zabrak started cautiously, “Wanna share with the class what’s going on?”

Deciding that it would be best if Malos did not suffer continue his slamming, Volacius aimed his gauntlet at the Sith Lord’s legs. He fired his grappling hook, intent on ensnaring the Sith Lord’s legs and yanking him away from the wall if he tried to strike his skull against it once more.


Tag- darthkain7, volacius

Tagset- Sinister Sith

Malos heard not the words of Trinaya, nor did he feel the grappling hook pull him off of his feet. He landed with a solid thud, staring at the ceiling as his blood began to pour from the wound on his forehead. The crimson mask made the eerie smile etched in his face all the more disturbing.
"We can't leave," he muttered, his eyes protesting the words his lips spewed. "Not until he sees reason."
Sitting up, Malos turned towards Trinaya, his smile turning into a snarl. "Tell me, girl, does my voice still linger in your mind?" The Sith Master untied the hook from his legs, quickly rising to his feet. However, the light from the outside world would draw the attention of the acolytes, as it reflected off of something hanging from the Sith Master's neck…

The Locket.


"The night you fools cleared out the barracks, I creeped into the Nagai's mind. Even though he did not wear this vessel, he could sense that I would return to you. The idiot thought putting the locket on would keep you two safe," Malos rolled his eyes, chuckling. "It took far longer to influence his thoughts than it did with you, Trinaya. Pathetic child."
A simple wave of the hand launched the lightsaber of Darth Malos into his own hand. As he ignited its orange blade, he simultaneously took hold of the metal doors with the Force, slamming them shut and leaving the acolytes trapped in the darkness of this temple.
Suddenly, Malos would deactivate the saber, slowly moving to hook it towards his belt, as if an invisible hand was pushing against him.
"Get out of my head!" he cried. The Nagai took the locket in his hand, ripping it free from his neck and tossing it to the floor. It lay still for the moment, allowing Malos to press himself against the wall, staring at it in abject fear.
"That thing is evil," he murmured. "Stay away from it."

Damian heeded the Sith Master's words, terrified by the scene before him. "What is it?" he asked.

That was when it moved.


Slithering like a snake of gold, the Locket quickly rushed towards the nearest vessel: Kento.

TAGS: cliojayne, volacius

UNKNOWN MOON
I.C. XYXX

The blaster bolts impacted on the trees just around Xxys and this brought him out of his confusion. These seemed real enough. He unclipped his saber and ignited the blade. Slapping aside a few poorly aimed bolts before he took off at a dead run to follow the warriors.
His blood was boiling with the thirst to spill someone else's. The marital chant beating like drum in his mind.

As he cleared the slight crest before him he could see the station, and the troopers defending it from...his army?

It would be a slaughter. Spears and shield, against blasters always produced the same results; Annihilation.

Again he had to try and get a grip on his own mind. Why would he be leading an army agaisnt his own people? Where had this army come from?

He continued to advance using his saber to try and keep the blasters bolts at bay.

What the hell was going on?


@kai Erlae
darthkain7
dragonsith13