Shira
Administrator 
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135 
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Post by Shira on Jun 18, 2017 17:16:34 GMT -5
Combo with Volshe.
IC: Shira A’dola and Grand Admiral No
Engine Room, The Triumphant
Shira burst into the Engine Room and groaned internally at the primary engines, black and smoking and utterly useless. Alarms screamed in her mind and she turned to see a dark spear hurtling through the air towards the backup generators. A burst of Force power exploded around her, sending the spear clattering against the far wall.
From his sarcophagus of transparisteel, No did witness the efforts of A'dola. But they would not win, not this, not in a room filled with whirring machinery against a god of machine. His tentacles curled in a thoughtful wrath, wisps of fluorescing gold trailing between and bathing his throbbing genius.
EXCELLENT WORK, HAND, BUT YOU HAVE YET TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY ORDERS.
Shira grimaced internally at the cutting mental voice of the Celegian. Watch your ego, No. I’m working on it.
She sent a piercing stare towards the two figures before her, intense suspicious wrapping around her at their sudden surrender. All this fuss with no fight? It couldn’t be true.
She handed Alisha a set of electro-cuffs from one of the Imperial knights and gestured at the the strange humanoid form. “You take the droid, I’ll take...whatever that is.”
WITH WHAT EYES, A'DOLA?
The Grand Admiral's tone was sickening, grating. An echo of nails scraping against the durasteel walls that surrounded them. The walls that would become their tomb, were they not careful...and bring the destruction of the Empire itself. But he had a plan, yes. He always had a plan. What some would call mirth pulsed through his superior neurons.
THEY WILL FACE THEIR DEATH SOON.
The screeching echo stopped, briefly, offering reprieve.
IF YOU DO NOT BRING ABOUT YOUR OWN.
With your mind’s eye. Shira threw up a wall to block No’s mind from entering her own again. His mental voice was a sickening array of cacophonous colours and made her want to vomit. No one brought out her biting sarcasm as much as Celegians did and No was one of the most aggravating of his species. She grimaced and went to go cuff the humanoid.
The Grand Admiral sighed in only the way Celegians could, the pink cerebrum surrounding his faculties crawled with his irritation. She was witty - her sarcastic remarks almost as caustic as the cyanogen he bathed in. She was more powerful, the Empress had made no secret of that.
But she was not wiser. She was not such a seasoned strategist, skills honed through years of practise and the natural benefits his species were granted. He quickly sent another telepathic message to the Trandoshans and Tano.
WATCH. HER. DO NOT LET HER EGO JEOPARDIZE US.
TAG: Volshe, Padawan4687, Darth Dreadwar, Darth Catalyst
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Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
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Post by Volshe on Jun 18, 2017 17:22:27 GMT -5
IC: Darth Viscretus Dreshdae
"My dear friend," Viscretus began, addressing Apollyon and turning her attention away from the distant screech of the speeders. The Twi'lek had best heed her orders. She had little patience for the games Talon would no doubt play. "Should we not let the one oozing with confidence," she motioned to Xirr without so much as as an acknowledgement, "walk before us?"
She smiled - a poisonous, vile thing to cross with such perfection. A hand fluttered to her throat. "I am certain-"Her facetious swoon ended at the sight of Catalyst puppeting a tuk'ata, mocking Xirr in a much more satisfying manner. Her eyes glinted now with a sweet venom, curls framing the shimmer of blood red. Well played, Inquisitor.For once, there was a sense of true camaraderie. A welcome change to be facing a common enemy. Even if it was merely a man with an ego seemingly far overgrown. She called after Xirr as Catalyst finished the show. Her fingers danced in the air, obsidian claws pointing to the 'puppet'.
"We may need that for the tomb. I trust you can bring it along, Lord Xirr. I am certain you can one-handedly deal with the fearsome traps and predators of the Valley..." She waved her hand to the initiate. "Come, Shaire. He will earn that drop of blood as he pays for his insolence. You have much more important tasks ahead than dying in this Valley." TAG: dice , Darth Dreadwar , Darth Catalyst , Padawan4687 , TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Jun 18, 2017 22:06:49 GMT -5
IC: Alisha Tano
Location: The Triumphant engine roomAlisha stood just behind her Mentor upon reaching the engine room, and smothered a gag at first sight of the invaders. One of them seemed to be literally falling apart with a perpetual cloud of motion around what she could only guess was its head. I always hated swarms of insects...I beg of you Force don't make me get near it. That constant motion was going to make her stomach turn if she didn't turn her attention elsewhere, so she instead shut her eyes and focused on auras. ...at least, what should have been auras. A feeling of dark emptiness struck her again, more familiar than the last time. Alisha was certain, she'd faced a void like this before! But when, where and why, are the questions I'm stuck with... An electric sizzle brought Alisha's attention back, and she was almost relieved to have the strange droid to deal with. "I don't trust this surrender in the slightest," she quietly commented to Shira, "How much do you want to bet that this is just a tactical move?"Hm? Alisha noticed her Mentor's mind was somewhere else, and quietly sighed. She probably was completely unheard... She walked to the droid with the electrified cuffs in hand while keeping a guarded expression. WATCH. HER. DO NOT LET HER EGO JEOPARDIZE US. A telepathic voice suddenly roared in her head, yanking Alisha's attention away from everything else like an impatient child grabbing her hand. Grand Admiral No... she hated taking orders from that weird brain-in-a-jar... no, there was a proper word for what he was... a Celegian. If I had ears I would cover them! Alisha mentally shouted back, resisting the urge to run a hand across her forehead. //How about you speak a little louder, Grand Admiral? I don't think I heard you quite right!// And watch who, Shira? What would she do, besides handcuff these monsters, at a time like this? //I'm right next to "her", if by her you mean the Hand.// Alisha continued the mental conversation with half-closed eyes. //Does that count to your... specifications, No?//She hesitated with the cuffs in her hands, before faintly shaking her head. "Regular handcuffs won't work well on a droid like this. I need a restraining bolt," Not that the "droid" in front of her was completely mechanical, of course... Alisha suspected that she was looking at something more akin to a mech, with the robotic exterior protecting whatever was inside. That "whatever" definitely being a powerful Force-Sensitive. She attached one end of the electro-cuff to a leg, and the other to its canon before allowing an Imperial Knight to affix the small bolt onto droid's center canister. Looks like it was ripped from a poor astromech droid... Alisha took a single step back from the now secured droid before reaching for her belt, all the while glaring at the invader. "Think about trying anything, and I'll bisect you where you stand," she spoke coldly, and pressed the inactive end of her lightsaber hard against the metal. TAG: Shira , Darth Dreadwar
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dice
Citizen
Posts: 84 
Likes: 65
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Post by dice on Jun 19, 2017 0:55:38 GMT -5
IC: Darth Xirr Outside Dreshade Xirr was in over his head it seemed, he knew so, but would not let the others know that. He realized his predicament as Lord Catalyst unceremoniously shoved his arm up the disemboweled Tuk'Ata. “Welcome aboard Lord Xirr!” He chided, mocking Apollyon as well as Xirr. “Are you ready for a magical adventure? It’s gonna be sheer torture!” Torture indeed, Catalyst... but for whom?
Suddenly, with Lady Talon no longer being around, Xirr's head flooded with the ghostly whispers he knew all to well. The heretic leavessss, however we sssstay... You, however have met your match in wit in the one they call, Catalysssttt... Chosssse Your wordssss well, young one.... Then the voices faded just as quickly as they came, leaving Xirr to his thoughts... and to Catalyst. "Did you learn the art of puppetry from experience, Lord Catalyst, or did you pour over countless tomes of the craft in your quarters in the wee hours of the morning?" Xirr cooed, a sneer cresting his face. Then came Viscretus "We may need that for the tomb. I trust you can bring it along, Lord Xirr. I am certain you can one-handedly deal with the fearsome traps and predators of the Valley..." Xirr shook his head, resigned to the limitless abuse he would no doubt endure from her, for he could not retaliate against Lady Viscretus, if not because of station, but because of her pure cruel nature, Catalyst was one thing, but Viscretus was another...rather angry... wampa. TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe, Padawan4687 , Darth Catalyst
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jun 19, 2017 15:23:46 GMT -5
IC LORD CATALYST Dreshdae
Catalyst snorted to himself as Xirr’s retort came flying back to him. Reaching aren’t we Xirr? He could barely contain his laughter at the thought of keeping a dead hound in his quarters simply for the purpose of puppetry. Hold on, that’s not a terrible idea… And Xirr has already been ordered to carry this corpse around. If anything a Tuk’ata corpse would make for an interesting set piece in any room. No doubt he could trade favors with Master Marcus to have it alchemically preserved. It wouldn’t be his first time engaging the honey pot technique of espionage. A shudder coursed his spine. But it’s Marcus… He pushed the thought away. There were more pressing matters on his mind. The ball was in his court. Xirr had set him up for a rather painful blow. This opportunity was not one to be wasted.
“At least I have a hobby to keep me occupied when the screams of the temple don’t lull me into slumber,” He called back over his shoulder. Xirr wasn’t worth turning around for. Catalyst had already displayed his superiority. This was just for fun. “I’d much rather have something constructive to do than be forced to play with myself in these wee hours. Do you light candles for yourself as well? Play some light jizz? Set the mood?” What have you to say to that, simpleton?
TAG: Volshe,Padawan4687,dice,Darth Dreadwar
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 20, 2017 6:35:53 GMT -5
IC: Darth ApollyonEntering the Valley of the Dark Lords, Korriban
THEME MUSIC Darth Apollyon hoped the flush of scarlet warmth would not redden her caramel cheeks. Catalyst's last repartee hit a little too close to home; she did use candles, was the thing, in her private moments of m...meditation. It inculcated a pleasing ambience, but if she was honest with herself it reminded her of the fiery braziers that lit the divine Emperor's Inner Sanctum - no, down that line of thought lay sacrilege, and preposterous, blasphemous fantasy worthy of Viscretus, sinfully absurd strumpet she was proving to be. Besides, she could not risk Catalyst sensing such impure thoughts; he would tease her relentlessly, as mercilessly as he rhetorically savaged the Lord Xirr, and she wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't be justified. That "passion" line in the Sith Code had always been a source of difficulty for her... "An excellent suggestion, Lady Viscretus," Apollyon cooed, "but I just fear Xirr is a little too heavy to lead us." She referred to his armour, but she had not missed how his figure spoke to an amount of muscle that she would probably find titillating. "The sands of the Valley itself might give way before him."Her own wit was paltry, she knew, before Catalyst and Xirr's own standards of verbal sparring. Yet she found it quite impossible to put an end to the bickering. Not because she found it entirely too amusing to stop, although that too. But rather, she found it quite unnecessary to put an end to it. Within only seconds of Apollyon's reply, a strange feeling descended upon the entire group, as they made their way through the ruins of the Dreshdae settlement. A strange feeling that just imposed silence, as if to speak would be irreverent. As if to speak would draw eyes from the shadows, or invoke the wrath of the sleeping kings. It was not a feeling of trespassing, for the feeling did not exude from the ruins of Dreshdae, but it was a feeling of imminence, and Apollyon glanced up warily towards the enormous wall of rock through which the Valley of the Dark Lords cut. And as they came closer to the Valley, and the collapsed pyramid of the ancient Academy that brooded over its entrance, the feeling only got stronger. Apollyon shivered. It was the unmistakable sense of power. Each would feel it differently. The hair on Catalyst's arms straightened, and he would feel his heart beat stronger and faster with every footstep he took, like a glitterstim user's heart racing in sheer anticipation of the euphoria he would experience, before the potency of the drug even flooded his bloodstream. Xirr would perceive the voices plaguing him grow quiet, as if they too were not immune to the stillness of awe, and in their stead would come the perfect clarity of crystal, the Force snapping into focus around him. Robyn would feel that high of dark power return to her, even without any thought of cruelty to inspire it. She would feel the exhilaration, the thrill, and she would notice her palms sweating and fingers actually trembling, as if the Force was filling her without her even summoning it, as if she could unleash a storm of lightning on a whim. It was as if the walls of the Valley were telling her, all of this is for you. Every ruin, every monument. You are Robyn Shaire, Queen of Queens, and all the mighty shall look on you, and despair. The lone and level sands stretched between her and her destiny; the Force itself had readied her for greatness. Every tragedy, every sadness, were all merely to forge her into a diamond that would reflect a terrible and dread light by which she would ignite the cosmos. It was her destiny. It was inescapable. Her? Initiate? Ha. That was just the first chapter of the holofilm, the lowly introduction of struggling and futility that made the audience empathise with her, and she could see the end of it now - Ermir Marcus' throat under her heel, Xirr serving her a cup of wine composed of his blood, her former Jedi friends cheering her on, even, for she would be so powerful, so wise, that she would end the Sith Wars and forge an eternal peace between Orders... To Viscretus, the dust-laden air was tangy with coppery pleasure. It was though the twines of the Force were pulled tight by a million tons of tension on either end, as though she stood upon the precipice, the line of the knife, the air bleeding with possibility. The Valley exerted a powerful pull upon the Force, redolent of Dreadwar, yet the warmth of Horuset upon her ivory skin washed away the nausea of her encounter with the Emperor, her dwindling reserves of power filling to the brim. Yet she alone, of all of them, would feel a strange familiarity... As if the gorge of grandiose extinction was merely an echo from the past, as if the dark spirits interred in its crypts were withdrawing from her in fearful supplication, as if the vast statue near the dale's entrance was bowing specifically to her. Apollyon led them around the Academy rather than through it, for they were not there to visit the Tomb of Darth Bane, and within just a minute they were there. The Valley of the Dark Lords. It stretched for miles ahead of them. That much was obvious. Behind them, now, was the pyramidal ruin that had been the Academy of the first Sith Emperor, Darth Vitiate, which had been converted for usage by the Baneites of the Rule of Two. Immediately in front of them, sprouting from the parched sands, were numerous obelisks that had once crowned the roof of a long-buried fortress, and beside them, half sunk, a shattered visage lay, a disembodied head and trunkless legs all that remained, stone lips wrinkled in a sneer of cold command. And towering over it all, the sloping walls of the Valley, into which were carved runes that seemed to ominously move, the images of long-gone Sith, and the shadowy entrances of tombs, some seemingly unreachable save for a perilous climb, others at ground level half-filled and buried with sand, suggesting that the Valley had been deeper still millennia ago; who knew how many hundreds of crypts were below their feet? They were in the Upper Valley, which terminated in a cliff hundreds of meters in the distance, beyond which was the Lower Valley that cut through the mountains below, from which rose the six colossi that even Jedi younglings were taught about. Vast statues of ancient origin and unknown provenance, monoliths that reached a hundred meters into the air, their heads bowed reverently over crossed arms, their features indistinct as if one could stamp their own cruel countenance upon the primitive yet gargantuan hulks of lifeless stone. "And here we are," Apollyon spoke rather than whispered as she felt she should, to be heard over the wind whistling around her. She pointed. "The Colossi of Corbos. It is said they represent the six leaders of the twelve Heresiarchs, the Jedi who were exiled beyond Republic space for the crime of embracing the truth, finding Korriban and the Sith species and becoming their Lords... The very first Dark Lords of the Sith, founding our Order some seven thousand years ago.""This Valley was already here when they arrived, one of Korriban's many burial valleys. Unlike Golg at the equator, this served the needs of the Kings in the North... and in the Sith species' mythology, it was a necropolis for lost gods. No one knows the date of its oldest tomb.""The ancient Sith were obsessed with immortality. It is said they built mausoleums whose eldritch geometry concentrates the power of the dark side so that their spirits could survive their bodily death, feeding off the death of the slaves that were interred with them, and the auras of the artifacts with which they infused their power in life. These treasures drew many tomb raiders, and so the Sith took many measures to prevent such robbery. They built false tombs to confound the curious, they hid the mummies of their mightiest in tombs not their own, and they built traps to ensnare the foolish."One of those measures, the Emperor had told her, had been something she had not read in any scroll; he said the Valley was cursed with a powerful magic none too dissimilar to Art of the Small, that hid entire tombs and complexes from one's perceptions, unless the ancient spirits willed it. And it made sense to Apollyon; while erosion, reconstruction efforts and false tombs accounted for some of it, depictions of the Valley seemed incredibly contradictory, as if the geometry of the Valley itself was eerily malleable. Some said the tomb of Marka Ragnos, for instance, was a small crypt in the Upper Valley. Others said it was cut into the chest of a vast statue of Ragnos in the Lower. And she recalled reading, in Darth Bane's own journal, how he had come into the Valley and found every tomb plundered, every seal broken, the disappointment of dust his only reward. Yet a thousand years later, despite millennia of ancient Sith sending their students to loot the Valley for their Trials, despite millennia of archaeological excavation and exploration, the man who would become Darth Krayt had found the undiscovered, undisturbed tomb of XoXaan, one of the very first Ladies of the Sith. And Palpatine himself, why, Palpatine had discovered an entire Temple, in which, he claimed, sat undead Dark Lords upon thrones of stone, not mere shards of spirits clinging to sarcophagi but immortal spectres from which he several times sought counsel, who pulled the strings of the galaxy across the centuries, who had tested and corrupted Exar Kun, who taught Palpatine the rite of essence transfer, who had reached out across the stars and resurrected his spirit to be a blight to the New Republic. The Valley was truly eldritch, its mysteries fathomless and, in theory, undiscoverable in their entirety. "The Tomb of Naga Sadow," Apollyon continued, gesturing towards one section of the Valley's wall which had been sculpted into the head, chest and outstretched hands of the Dark Lord, "is a particularly confusing example. Naga Sadow himself was buried in exile on Yavin, yet it is said his tomb here was intended for his interment. Yet I find fault in this account; he clearly was converting a pre-existing structure to his use, for it is said that within that tomb Darth Revan found a chamber containing a Rakatan Star Map, which surely was built when the Rakata occupied Korriban over twenty thousand years before Sadow's birth. And even the rest of the tomb must not have been constructed by him, for Darth Nox wrote that they," the gender of the Sith Inquisitor who would become a Dark Councillor of Vitiate's Empire was lost to history, "discovered the servant of Tulak Hord in stasis in another chamber, Hord having reigned centuries before Sadow. Yet never, across all of history and thousands of expeditions, has anyone ever found a burial chamber."Apollyon smiled. She was in her element, now. "It is likely there is an entire section of the tomb that remains undiscovered, something that will provide a clue to its original owner, if there was one. And I suspect if we are to find the missing fragment of Sadow's prophecy, we are to find it there.""But we must be cautious. The tomb has likely been resealed, and there will be many traps both within, and without. Every step we take from here is a perilous one."The Tomb of Sadow was some fifty meters away, on their left, and between them and it was a stretch of bare sand, only interrupted by an obsidian stele on which there were markings too small to read at such a distance. TAG: Volshe , Darth Catalyst , dice , Padawan4687
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jun 20, 2017 13:56:29 GMT -5
IC LORD CATALYSTValley of the Dark LordsCatalyst afforded Apollyon a smirk beneath his helm. Even she was joining in on the fun. Although he detected something else... Fleeting embarrassment? It was gone too quickly for him to pinpoint. He wasn't going to press either. While her wordplay didn’t have the bite of his or Viscretus’s, he appreciated the effort she put forth. Truly, nobody really wanted Xirr here it seemed. Catalyst wasn’t even sure that Xirr himself was here of his own volition. There was something higher at play here. It didn’t much matter in this moment. Xirr was part of the team now, and another body would be useful. Catalyst concentrated his mind on the journey ahead. The silence weighed down on him like a gravity well, preventing his lightspeed wit from escaping for the time being. His mind was racing. Was it his mind? No, his entire being felt suffused with a rush giddiness. His heart raced, pumping adrenaline fueled fire through his veins. It was as if the Valley was telling him that he would not be calm. He couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the Sith code of old: Peace is a lie; there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I achieve victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall set me free.Indeed it seemed the Valley ahead aimed to break the peace he tried hard to conjure in his mind. But even as it did, his body responded with a rush of energy. For Catalyst, the code rang far truer now than it ever had before. There was no peace in his mind, only excitement, giddiness, raw passion. He felt he could take on Dreadwar himself. As the group drew near to the tomb, Apollyon’s history lesson was lost to Catlayst. He was too busy taking in all of the visual details. He had never seen such stonework. Even the temples of Dromund Kaas paled in comparison to the Tombs of the Ancient Sith. Catalyst was speechless. It wasn’t until he saw the stark black of the obsidian stele jutting from the pale red sand that he opted to speak his mind. “I take it that’s his mailbox then?” He pointed towards the structure. “You’ll have to correct me if I’m wrong. I failed my classes on the Sith language.” He couldn’t actually make out any of the writing at this distance. If it was Aurebesh, then he would let someone try to make a fool of him. He had won all of his other battles today. A loss was coming soon. Might as well make it grandiose. “Lord Xirr, I’m sure you have a translation. Lady Talon wouldn’t have bade you join our troop if you were useless. I know that reading is asking quite a lot of you but I think you’ll manage.” TAG: Volshe, Padawan4687, dice, Darth Dreadwar,
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 21, 2017 23:49:21 GMT -5
IC: Blessed ToxmalbEngine Room, the Triumphant Chaos. Absolute chaos. The Shamblers charged the Imperials, howling and screeching, but they were simply outnumbered. Crimson packets of plasma sunk into the monsters' skulls with the precision paradigmatic of New Stormtroopers, causing rotting heads to explode like cans of inky soup, splattering the pestilence of Mnggal-Mnggal upon the decks to be promptly incinerated by Flametroopers. The Technobeasts milled, absent Hypnos' orders, and thus the Shamblers were all too easily dispatched by the cadre of Imperial Knights that flanked Shira and Alisha, who nimbly wove through the last of the fighting towards Hypnos and Toxmalb. While they are here, nothing left we can do, Hypnos' message came to the Rhandite. Though we now have an escort out of the blue. Toxmalb frowned as Hypnos lowered his weapon. He was not so sure. Hypnos' plan of surrender seemed all too hasty, all too cocky. They were not dealing with the Empire of Palpatine, with soldiers unaware of how to contain Force-sensitives. They were dealing with an enemy led by Force-wielders, who had fought Jedi and Sith alike their entire careers. They would undoubtedly have some sort of counter - but without Hypnos' Metanecron to turn the tide, Technobeasts who even now were being stunned by Stormtroopers, Toxmalb found he had little choice. The second spear forming in his hand faded away like smoke, as Shira approached, electrocuffs in hand. Click.Toxmalb smiled nastily at her, bearing teeth that had rotted away to bestial canines and needle-like points. The darkflies buzzed around his flaking cranium as he spoke. "Well hello, Shira. You can assure your young friend this is very far from tactical." He had not missed Alisha's comments to the Empress' Hand; Shira was right beside him, after all, so no degree of speaking quietly could mask her words. But Toxmalb was warning Hypnos as much as he was taunting his captors; this had not been tactically sound, and as Alisha affixed a restraining bolt to Hypnos' droid chassis, he could only hope his fellow sorcerer would now realise it. The screech of the last Shambler rang throughout the engine bay when Rear Admiral Firmett entered, four ensigns controlling two large, floating cages behind him. Toxmalb recognised them instantly. Universal Energy Cages. The brainchild of Umak Leth, Master of Imperial Projects under Palpatine, the mind behind the Galaxy Gun and the World Devastators. They had been designed during the Great Jedi Purge to contain Jedi, with a repulsor field within to hold prisoners, suspended, in the cages' centre, stun bars that delivered an incapacitating electric shock, and, most importantly, superconductor energy feedback systems that not only interrupted one's connection to the Force, but brutally redirected an exertion of power twofold. Many Imperial Dungeon Ships had them. Of course the Triumphant would, Toxmalb cursed. "Most excellent work, if I may say so, my Hand, my Sword," Firmett saluted his commanders as he approached. "We can take the prisoners from here. You might want to stand back, Lady Tano." He signalled, and the ensigns directed the open cages to float towards Hypnos and Toxmalb, the halves of each spherical cage snapping shut around them. Hypnos might have resisted or escaped in spite of Alisha, if it wasn't for the droplets of Mnggal-Mnggal within his cannon. The Rot God had not forgiven him, doubly so as his vessels were slaughtered, and the venom Hypnos had so brazenly thought to use as ammunition betrayed him, seeping into the interior of the chassis and disrupting circuitry. And then the cage closed, and the essence of Venomis evaporated. "Put them each in separate holding cells," Firmett said to the ensigns, before turning to Alisha and Shira as Imperial Knights followed the repulsor cages out the door. "My Ladies, victory is ours across the ship. The last pack of these," his lip curled, " abominations... has been eliminated. They seem to leave behind some sort of liquid that we are attempting to contain, but it is proving vulnerable to fire. So far we have 710 casualties confirmed, but the ship computer is projecting 1,994 based on algorithmic analysis of surveillance. The backup hyperdrive has slowed our journey, delaying ETA to two hours from now." Firmett sighed. "I would suggest relaxation, since with all due respect you both look exhausted, but I am not sure whether or which of you," Firmett glanced at the nearest security cam as he spoke, making it clear he was also addressing the almost omnipresent Grand Admiral No, "would like to interrogate the two enemy officers personally. And of course, I would be honored by the presence of noble command at the secondary bridge; there are a great many situations still to be dealt with... such as Hogrum Chalk, who we found lobotomised in the hangar. We might consider a debriefing in the Empress' Quarters, too, given that we've just learned more intelligence about the nature of our enemy than ever." Halfway to said Empress' Quarters, Hypnos' cage was propelled into Holding Cell DOR-14N, while Toxmalb was taken to Cell BO, near the secondary bridge. Two Imperial Knights guarded the interior of each cell, while more stood watch outside. It would have been logical, then, for Hypnos to assume it was one of the Knights who whispered to him. But their lips did not move; they stood stoically, staring at the captive Sith with stony faces, still and silent. Telepathy? No, the Force was cut off from him. Yet the whisper was undeniable, an oily impossibility at the periphery of his crystalline awareness, so quiet and so distant it could almost have been a figment of the Shard's imagination. Greetingss, Lord Hypnosss.TAG: Darth Catalyst Volshe Shira Padawan4687
IC: No oneChasm of the Celestial, OdessenAs soon as the lightsaber smacked into Kint's hand, it would become obvious it was not the same. Kint's had successfully killed the monster that had once been Dy'nonik'iss - the monster that had been in the line of the Mirror's reflection. The lightsaber was now a darksaber. No, not a lightsaber using a stygian crystal, that shed a blade of darkness rimmed by colours of ultraviolet or infrared intensity. No, not the primordial Jedi weapon captured by Mandalorians. A genuine and true darksaber, an impossibility that bled a blade of pure blackness, fringed with nothing but smoke of ethereal shadow. Where a lightsaber hummed like an insect, this construct of the Mirror screeched like a banshee, rending the air with its scream of death. And Kint and Persevus would know, they would innately know by virtue of the Force, that if the darksaber ever came in contact with a lightsaber it would absorb its plasma blade like a singularity snuffing out a star. But there was no time for battle. Distant shouts reached the two, coming from the top of the chasm. They had time, the time it took to descend a hundred or more meters of perilously narrow stairs at least, but not enough time to be comfortable. If they wasted that time fighting, any chance of retrieving the Holocron from the Mirror would be lost. TAG: elu gorzan
IC: Darth BrutusLanding platform, Sith Temple, KorribanThe Neti sapling grinned up at Jania Kio. He was sure she was kneeling before him in obeisance at his awesome power. "I am Brutus," he repeated. "Tha Sith are like tha Jedi, but tha Jedi are boring. We boom things and we took over the whoooole Rim. Tha mashters will teach you eeeveryhing. It's really wizard. I mean literally wizard. Tha mashters will teach you how to be a wizard, and even shoot lightning from your handies!" Brutus' head lowered sadly. "I can't do it though," he mumbled, shaking his head forlornly. "I mean I can do it but I can't risk it. I could burn myself up!" He looked up at her again, big eyes blinking slowly. "I don't know what's taking Avarish so long. Maybe we could go inside and and... I could show you around? But we might get in trouble, and I don't want that! I am Brutus!" TAG: @lordjania
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 23, 2017 17:05:57 GMT -5
OOC: DANGER WARNING. Your character is in a potentially or imminently deadly situation. Respond carefully.
"Welcome back to CCNN, Balanced, Not Biased, I'm Belanna Turik," the orange head of the bicranial Troig spoke rapidly in warm but precise feminine tones as the music faded away. "And I'm Gijoka Turik," the green head added, as the alien swivelled to face the holocam. "We come to you not five minutes away from when the Emperor is set to take the stage and begin the annual State of the Sith address." "Indeed, very exciting," Belanna chimed in pointlessly with the insincerity only a professional news anchor could muster. "Joining us in our Korriban studio today," the holocam zoomed out, revealing the multiple sapients seated along and around the V-shaped desk, "are a panel of distinguished guests from all across the galaxy and all across the political spectrum, here to share their thoughts on the Dread Administration. Nihilo, let's start with you. What do male rights activists have to say?" "Thank you for having me," Nihilo smirked trollishly. "Well Belanna, sweetheart, obviously we're veery happy about the Dread Administration. The Emperor is the epitome of masculinity and a real, you know, a real role model for boys and men. You know," he gesticulated wildly, "boys really are just looking at the holoscreens every day and they see, you know, bloodshed and executions and Dreadwar is really... He isn't telling them, you know, not to fight and be boisterous and things like that, he's telling them, you know, peace is a lie, there is only passion, you know, strength, power, things like that, and in this day and age of, shall we say, feminine values... Well, I believe it's a message every male of every gendered species needs to hear." "Nihilo is utterly, horribly wrong about a lot of things and he's dreadfully wrong about this," a Zeltron interjected, glancing briefly downwards as a holographic ticker flickered into being on the desk, letting the viewers know she was the author of the best-selling book Why Are Sith Ladies Still Called Dark Lords. "We don't live in an age of feminine values, quite the opposite in fact, and Dreadwar actually... The divine Empress actually represents the rare example of a woman, well, struggling against societal norms that try to keep her down and saying, well, kark this, I'm not going to sit at home serving my nephew blue milk, I'm going to take over the galaxy and take-take on... Well what I would say is the Jedi patriarchy." She smiled gently at Nihilo's gaping countenance, and even the anchors' frowns. "That's right - Empress," Raelarn continued. "Darth Dreadwar is a spirit beyond sex, there's no sign of any gaffi stick under those robes or brutish jawline in that empty hood, and we see the Dread- Queen possess female bodies, she has a female Hand, a female High Inquisitor, a female Head of Intelligence... I think it's quite obvious Darth Dreadwar was a woman when she was still flesh and blood, and I'm very happy with what she is doing to empower females across the Outer Rim." "Fascinating," again with that inimitable insincerity, as Belanna swivelled towards the other guests. "What about you, Jark Dunn?" "Well I'm jus happy to get mah Ahhter Rim back," Jark drawled. "Fer too long we Rimmers have been sneered at by the Core elites, by Holo-wood and the media, and we live in a, now I don't wanna judge no body, but to me we live in sinful times, yer know, Twi'leks matin' with humans and all that. And when the Lord Dreadwar said," Jark cleared his throat, and attempted his best impression of the sepulchral tones and neutral accent of the Emperor, " I will cleanse the ssstars of their impurity... Well," the jolly tones of the Prior returned, "Well it really lifted mah spirits, how about that." "Indeed," the Head of the political think-tank Trad-Federation, Nute Gunwich, nodded gravely. "Darth Dreadwar is a hope for conservatives everywhere. I will put to you, what is more traditional than a monarchy? Who best to teach more traditional folk the definition of traditional, than a being millennia old? The Emperor has seen what works and what doesn't, more than any of us have. What he offers his constituents is experience... and the wisdom of the ages." "What a load of rubbish," Corbus Jezu shook his head. "What we need is a progressive, forward-looking regime that discards the callous and pitiless tradition of conservative governance in favour of equality. A state that can redistribute wealth from the richest of Taris, which can break the corrupt power of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, the greedy grubs of Muunilinst, and their hold over the people. And we see that in Dreadwar. His utopian enterprise has nationalised the megacorporations, the techno unions, the federations. We have socialised health care across the Rim, and he promises universal immortality. Is there anything more true to egalitarianism than the Sith Code, which tells us about the masses breaking their chains, a Code for everyone, no matter what class or income bracket or species you are?" "On the contrary," Yud Yosk couldn't resist chuckling. "Socialist utopias have a way of killing billions of people, and we see that across galactic history... and we see that today. No, no, what we need is libertarianism. And the evolutionary social principles of Sith philosophy are exactly that. No regulation, no chains. Everyone is free to pursue their own victory. It's a free market, and Dreadwar represents the one libertarian perspective in the whole scene of galactic politics, a lone rebel against the overreach of Federation government." Belanna Turik smiled at them all. "Well, fascinating to hear from all of you," Belanna said. "What a diverse collection of viewpoints, all disagreeing with each other on everything, except agreeing on one thing..." She raised her eyebrow expectantly. "Hail Dreadwar," the panel chorused eerily as their arms and fists raised in crisp salute, all content in the absolute certainty the Dark Lord represented their salvation. "May the Emperor reign forever."
The Emperor waited for the applause, and the wild, fanatical cries of 'Hail Dreadwar,' to die down. He required no podium, no holoprompter, no speech prepared on pages of flimsi. The old wraith stood on the grandiose and oversized balcony of the Sith Temple, the thronging masses below, surrounded by crimson banners, flags, lightsabers, holocam droids and squadrons of Shocktroopers. If he had lips, they would have twisted in a satisfied smile, as the empty cowl rippled in the facsimile of breath, scenting the open air of Korriban. The crowd had received the first half of his address exceptionally well; already, he could envision his approval ratings rising by a half-point, perhaps reaching the 99% he had hoped to achieve this year. It was moments like these that made the vapidity of governance, the tedium of threading the fate of the galaxy through the inevitable apocalypse's needle, all worth it. Dreadwar raised his stygian gauntlets, as the masses quieted. He let the anticipation build for a few seconds, and then he spoke. "We're going to build a blockade around Naboo... and the GUNGANSSS WILL PAY FOR IT!" His hollow whisper had become a roaring thunder, and the crowd responded like lightning in the Force, euphoria emanating from their auras as they stamped their feet, waved appendages, clapped hands and screamed their enthusiasm. It made little sense - Naboo, after all, was in the Mid-Rim, many parsecs from the borders of the Sith Empire - but they always loved that part. And so Darth Dreadwar waited again. But the applause died suddenly, without his gesture for silence. If he had lips, they would have downturned in a frown. Whipping around the corner of an outcropping on the far side of the crowd, churning dust from the mountain pass they had rapidly climbed, were two speeder bikes. There was no time for Kevala and Scionica to react; one moment they had perceived a strange roaring noise even over the deafening whine of their engines, and the next they had turned the corner and the crowd, and the vast Temple they stood before, was in view. The bikes ploughed down a dozen innocents before there was a chance to break, while others dived out of the way. And then the twins were hoisted from their speeders, and pulled through two hundred feet of dusty air at breakneck speed, to find themselves suspended above the balcony. And suddenly, far more suddenly and far more abruptly than any sapient being with a survival instinct would ever want even in their dreams, Kevala and Scionica, assassins, sisters, mortals, found themselves face-to-face with the Emperor of all Sith. The Shocktroopers had not even reached for their weapons. They were there for pomp and ceremony; there was no need to protect the immortal Emperor. "Ssspeak, Kevala, ssspeak, Ssscionica," Darth Dreadwar's scratching whisper was warped with mirth at their interruption, impossibly knowing their names upon the spot and impossibly loud in a way that left the twins' ears bleeding and their faces contorted with sheerest agony, as his finger twitched and they slowly rotated, mid-air, to face a vast and angry crowd that had the look of shortly becoming a mob. Already, through ringing ears they would hear the cries of 'kill the traitors,' 'the Emperor protects' and 'death to assassins' rising from below. "Account for yourselves... to the people... and to your Empperroor." TAG: Shira |
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Volshe
Administrator
.: Empress
Posts: 229
Likes: 163
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Post by Volshe on Jun 24, 2017 19:31:26 GMT -5
IC: Darth ViscretusThe Valley Those blind to the power of Darkness would no doubt see crumbling tombs of weathered stone, the Valley seemingly worn by years of wind and harsh elements. Viscretus stopped, letting the group advance a few metres ahead. Her very being bathed in the energy, the Force surrounding her in an aura almost impossible to describe. Warm, yet impossibly cold. Thriving, yet devoid. Through the darkness - she could see. This sensation she had missed, more intoxicating than even the highest quality spice. It was if reality itself bent to her every desire, blessing her senses with immeasurable power and intoxicating illusion. This time, though, there was a shift. Just as she felt the Valley bow to her, as all eyes had turned away, she felt as though the deceased of Dreshdae and the tormented souls of the Temple watched her all at once. That all of history stared into her, a silent judgment upon her as her ethereal gown fluttered in the chilled air. All at once, the remnants of her visions filled her mind’s eye as much as the glaring light of desert sun. Tempestuous waters replacing sand, crashing about the obelisk that now oozed with poisoned blackness. The roar of wind and rapids replaced with that of restless souls, somewhere deep in the back of her mind. A language she could not comprehend. The gusts no longer brought the copper of blood and bitter sand, but rot. The taste of death. The group ahead seemed to be bantering, as per usual, but she had no interest in their games any longer. Something was here. Something she had not witnessed before. Was it merely a game played by the Spirits? Or was it beyond even their machinations? The whispers tormented her for a moment more before retreating entirely. The sun broke through the miasmic skies and glazed the obsidian monument, now only sand in its crevices. She stepped forward, moving to meet them with an unnatural speed. “Do you feel it?” The question was multi-faceted. An urge for them to pay attention to the growing disquiet of the Valley - rumblings beneath the awe it inspired - and to see whom of them she could trust to survive should the Valley turn upon them. As it had with so many before. TAG: Padawan4687, dice, Darth Catalyst, Darth Dreadwar, TAGSET: False Tomb of Naga Sadow
IC: Grand Admiral NoEmpress' Quarters He was watching. As the loyal Imperials locked the invading ones away, No floated in contemplation. It was no doubt the cages would hold them - for now - but there was no guarantee as to their continued safety. Certainly not when it would take hours for their arrival. The sensors faltered with every scan, every moment a new flare of red flickered across the beady eyes of his assistants. A wave of annoyance stirred the telepathic connections about him. The two Trandoshans turned from the rows of monitors with glassy-eyed, questioning looks upon their scaled faces. He ignored their conditioned response. The Knight and Sword would certainly need their rest, for the planet ahead could hold demise for them all. Yet with such enemies in their presence, their absence could spell doom as easily as if the pyramids awaited them at their destination. A conundrum, to be sure. One of far vaster complexity than he had expected. Even his great genius had been foiled to a point that angered him. The ship built to guard against attacks entirely of one nature - not those armed in both, with both powerful form and lacking shape entirely. What destruction the fools had managed. He scoffed, tendrils raking against the glass as they waved in dismissive display. Such destruction. An inconvenience that only angered him for what it implied about his prowess. If anything was sure to him, to his ingenuous being, it was that the crew had become lax. They would follow his orders from that point on. Or risk a far greater fate than crude lobotomies and the oil-slick claws of eldritch monstrosities. He had built such pristine systems, aided in the finest selections for this gargantuan triumph of engineering. Such accomplishment would not be undone.
WATCH THEM. THE BATTLE IS NOT YET AT AN END. TAG: Darth Dreadwar, Padawan4687, Shira, TAGSET: Triumphant/UR
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 24, 2017 19:52:54 GMT -5
IC: SallacineLeaving the Senate Rotunda, CoruscantPrevious endorsees? Sallacine's eyes widened in understanding. To not speak such things even in the clamour of the Senate Rotunda indicated something compromising not just politically, but potentially legally, something of utmost secrecy. Already, his mind whirled over the list of his more politically significant former endorsees; Gafalo, Nerosi, Rand, Vundi, Xan, Merelda stood out in his mind, due to their hailing from S-57, thus being the most likely individuals Colu would be referring to. Victims of Valkyrie? "Of course, my friend," Sallacine smiled idly, as if what they were about to discuss was so mundane as to not require his full attention. The fact Colu singled out Sallacine indicated, furthermore, that Colu did not trust the rest of The Insiders with the information, and why should they? They were a cynical power clique, not a band of Volshe loyalists; only certain among them had past allegiances interesting to the Valkyrie probe. Thus, to be on the safe side, Sallacine would have to deceive them also, unless and until Colu gave him leave to share the information. As such, Sallacine turned to Colu as he stood, and whispered in his direction not quietly enough for Cadriaan to miss. "There was no problem with the girls?" There. Let the other Insiders think they were merely wanting to speak out of earshot of the holocams, about acquiring some escorts for some hedonistic event typical of Coruscant's elites, or some such. Embarrassing, but not dangerous. Sallacine gathered his toga around him, and signalled his aides away as he walked away from the docked pod, trusting Eriodan would follow him to a certain refresher of infamy among members of Congress by virtue of its proximity to the Rotunda yet utter lack of surveillance and spy equipment. One might wonder how this was possibly to anyone's advantage, until one considered that even the most elite within intelligence and government might have need of a nearby 'fresher for... compromising encounters with staff. Of course, as much as the Insiders had verified the 'fresher was bug-free, Sallacine took secondary precautions. Entering and locking one of the stalls, he took off the outermost layer of his voluminous toga, and threw it over both himself and Colu. He activated his datapad to give them light to see, making sure its holocam was covered in tape, and then looked up at Colu. What Imperial had not learned Basic Standard Sign Language, for moments such as this? What is it? Sallacine signed. Do not answer aloud.
TAG: Volshe
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avaris
Citizen
Posts: 7
Likes: 9
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Post by avaris on Jun 24, 2017 21:09:22 GMT -5
IC: Darth AvarisThe Sith Temple Avaris was shivering when she made it to the landing platforms. She was sore and exhausted. He muscles felt weak and she could not think. The last time she felt this horrible was the morning after she tried to outdrink a Devaronian jedi knight. The Emperor did not hold back when he was warning her of the price of betrayal. She got to arrivals and through the doors somehow, but almost ran into Darth Brutus because she could barely see with her pounding headache and the bright sun. She stopped and looked down then up to the petite woman near him. Her eyes narrowed and began to judge the energy that came off of her. “You must be the new acolyte. The Emperor himself has given me the order to train you.” She smiled a bit. “If you are trainable.” Darth Dreadwar, @lordjania
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Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2017 2:23:23 GMT -5
IC: Jania Kio Jania took the moment to absorb the answers from the little tree man before wondering how she would fit in with the scheme of the Sith. She had injured and crippled plenty of people because it meant survival but she never did it for fun. She did like the prospect of being able to use the force better and shoot lightning from her hands. Holding out her hands and looking at both of them she smiled at the thought of getting new powers. As she snapped back to reality she looked down at Brutus again with a renewed smile. "Well the prospect of new powers would be nice even if I didn't know what I was getting into. I had no idea that the Sith were conquerors." She remarked before standing up and looking around. She thought about him saying they should go inside and agreed with the sentiment. As she began to walk towards the building at a slower pace so Brutus could keep up she looked down as she removed her hood to show her short light brown hair. Thinking more to what the little man told her she wondered what her teacher would be like. "So this Avarish or whatever is going to he my teacher? What is he or she like? Will I get along with them?" Jania asked with a curious tone to her voice as she was ready to get in doors and relax. After being stuck in a ship from Rishi all the way to Korriban, most would think she would want to be outdoors but something about Korriban was different and offset those needs. It was at this moment she saw the woman come out from the building to greet them. Hearing her inform Jania that she was to be her student, the young girl tried her best to show how excited she was until she heard the words "If you are trainable..." Jania's face dropped and she stood there stunned unable to say anything. It took a whole minute for her to get the question out that she was most scared to ask. "And what if I fail?" TAG: Darth Dreadwar avaris |
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Jun 25, 2017 17:12:12 GMT -5
IC: Kevala and Scionica
Temple, Moraband
The twins’ contrasting eyes widened in shock as they hurtled towards the crowd.
“What’s that whore playing at?!” Scionica’s shriek was lost in the howling wind whipping around them, tearing their hair loose from their braids. Colourful swears escaped both lips as they were buffeted by bodies flying before and around them. Yet, before the speeders came to a full stop, they were forcefully torn through the air, coming to an abrupt halt and suspended, above a balcony. Kevala blinked red dust from her eyes to look around and felt the blood drain from her face. This couldn’t be.
Draped in rags of black, a tall, shadowed figure. He spoke their names and if Kevala could have managed a thought through her choking gasp of euphoric agony, she would not have questioned this being’s knowledge. For wasn’t in common knowledge that the Lord Dreadwar, Emperor of the Sith, was omnipotent?
She was trying to remember what he’d asked; the words reverberated in her mind, but lost all meaning when she tried to grasp at them. Scionica was already talking, manic terror lending biting sarcasm to her harried words and Kevala started to panic.
‘We’re sorry to interrupt your party, my Lord. That idiot controlling our speeder bikes, what’s her name? Venom? Venoma? Venomis? Something stupid like that, but she was controlling our speeder bikes, so I really feel you should bring her sorry hide up here for interrogration and - “
Kevala clamped down hard on Scionica’s mind, causing a yelp, and moonlit eyes lowered in intimidated respect. “My sincere apologies, my Lord. We felt a pull to this place, something urging us here. We’re not sure what it was, but we felt there was no choice but to follow the impulse and see where it lead us. We ran into a group of Sith after our ship blew. We were being transported somewhere for later questioning. A Twi’lek woman was navigating our speeders, I’m not sure what happened to make her lose control. Please, accept our fervent apologies for this unacceptable intrusion.” Eyes flicked to Scionica, noting a line of blood trickling from her ear. “And please ignore my sister. The shock of your presence has dulled her intelligence.”
Fury sent a wavelength down the twins’ mental connection, but Scionica stayed contritely silent.
TAG: Darth Dreadwar
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Shira
Administrator
.: Empress' Hand
Posts: 135
Likes: 114
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Post by Shira on Jun 26, 2017 19:10:08 GMT -5
Combo with Padawan4687
IC: Shira A’dola
Engine Room, The Triumphant
"Well hello, Shira. You can assure your young friend this is very far from tactical."
Shira’s eyes were a neutral grey and her face twitched quietly in a micro-expression of disgust at the state of this...thing. She gave him small shove and the cage doors snapped shut behind him, securely holding him.
"Most excellent work, if I may say so, my Hand, my Sword,"
The Vraeling smiled at Firmett tiredly and ran a hand through the loose strands of golden hair, attention fading out a bit before she forced herself to focus again.
“...but I am not sure whether or which of you would like to interrogate the two enemy officers personally. And of course, I would be honoured by the presence of noble command at the secondary bridge; there are a great many situations still to be dealt with... such as Hogrum Chalk, who we found lobotomised in the hangar. We might consider a debriefing in the Empress' Quarters, too, given that we've just learned more intelligence about the nature of our enemy than ever."
A mental sigh and her exhausted mind ran through different possibilities and scenarios.There was far too much to be done and not nearly the manpower to complete it all. She sent a gentle probe through her mental link to Alisha. //How are you doing? Do you need to rest? I’m not sure how much you got before this started.//
Alisha pressed a hand to her forehead with shut eyes. More debriefings? Now that the invaders were secured in cages and their monster minions dead, the adrenaline that powered her dash to the Engine room was now fading fast.
She blinked them open again once she received Shira’s message over their link. //How am I? About ready to fall asleep where I stand, no different to you.// Alisha stretched both arms over her head and sent a little smile Shira’s way as she continued, //I know your sleep was interrupted, I’ve been on both your case as well as Xal’s to rest today… and before you ask, yes, I think you should get what rest you can before even considering interrogation methods.//
//I need to see to the debriefing first. Take a few hours to rest and then I need you to go to the secondary bridge with Firmett to see to the proceedings. I’ll take a few hours to rest after the debriefing and then see to these...intruders.//
//I’ll hold you to it. I am not above pulling you.// Alisha narrowed her eyes, not even hiding her teasing suspicion. //I’m sure there are temporary rooms we can use while my window gets fixed… and your wall.//
Slim threads of black wound around Shira’s forest-green Force signature in response to the silent, seething fury she felt at this disaster. No doubt the interrogations would require some...persuasion. //You may accompany me to the interrogations if you wish, or take more time to rest after you’re done on the bridge.//
Alisha suddenly stopped herself from staring down at Shira’s feet, thinking that some monster was trying to get to her through the floor. But...no, it was all her Mentor’s aura, all icy rage. It took some effort not to shiver while standing beside her. //I intend to be there for both the bridge and the interrogations...these freaks, they won’t get away with this.// Alisha lowered her head, refusing to let those same cold tendrils wrap around her too. //...I just want a few minutes to check the medical bay first.//
Shira sent a small smile to her student, fully aware of Alisha’s discomfort at the show of darkness. //Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll wait on you for the interrogations.// Turning her attention to Firmett, waiting patiently during her mental conversation, she nodded in thanks with smile. “Inform everyone I’ll be in the Empress’ Quarters soon. Allow me to dress in something more...suitable.”
She nodded again, both to Firmett and Alisha, and strode out of the room back to the fragmented remains of her quarters. Palming open the door to Xal’den’s room, she leaped through the whole in the wall to her own, searching the floor for clothes more suitable to a debriefing. She shrugged on shadow-black trousers and a wine overtunic, smoothing out the fabric to discourage wrinkles. Deeper black, knee-high boots were donned and her braid tidied. She pocketed her river-stone and clipped her ‘saber to her belt and jogged back out of the now-soldered quarters towards the med-bay.
Rifling through cryo-containers of medications, she selected a vial of haladreshin. Tying off an arm, she carefully measured out an amount of the neurological stimulant and plunged the needle into a vein, slowly releasing the drug. As the haladreshin took swift effect, she sighed in relief as her exhaustion evaporated, leaving her mind clear and able to think once more. Tossing the syringe into a biohazard compartment and replacing the stimulant, she raised her arms above her head and stretched luxuriously before striding briskly towards the Empress’ Quarters. Walking in, she looked around at the gathered members. “What do we have?”
TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Padawan4687 , and maybe Darth Catalyst ?
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Jun 26, 2017 23:13:01 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Valley of the Dark LordsThat discarded cloak was just what Robyn needed to completely block out the cold. She followed just behind Lord Catalyst, carefully guiding the hovercart behind her while he and Xirr continued their verbal sparring. Her mind was primarily on the prospect of someone cutting her open for blood, and some lingering annoyance at the “discussion” over it as though Robyn’s obvious disapproval was no object. She caught Lady Apollyon throw her hat into the word war ring that Catalyst and Xirr had erected, and absently switched on her Sight. What the-? All she could see was red! A wall of red light that seemed to ebb, flow and change shade like… smoke? Her eyes were shut, but she slowly raised her head to try and find the top of this “wall”. It seemed to stretch into the sky miles above her! The moment her boots passed the “edge” of that eerie red wall, her Sight became completely useless. Trying to navigate with it truly was like trying to see through thick, choking smoke! Robyn felt the hand she extended to guide the cart suddenly become an agitated fist. That same dark rush of power was on her again. Only… this time her mind was totally clear. This is bad, this is definitely bad, she thought, clasping a hand against her racing heart beneath the cloak. Not even when I made my strongest loop of power as a Jedi… it can’t compare to this. I’m not even “linked” with anybody. Is it… the valley itself? Robyn lowered her head and focused on keeping her breathing even. Gods, I feel like… I could just extend my hand, and raise an absolute storm! Maybe even burn the sand into glass… She tried futilely to reign in these ridiculous thoughts of grandeur, by reminding herself that she was just an Initiate, still a target of bullies at that, still swayed by the Jedi... It was no use, not even the mental image of her old Master's thoroughly disappointed face was enough to silence the valley’s incredible influence. She had to fight her own thoughts to focus on whatever Lady Apollyon was saying. Or rather, whispering? Oh, she was discussing the valley...Apollyon suddenly seemed very poised and in-control, like this role of explaining ancient history was her element. Robyn could have laughed, imagining a leisure stroll through a museum while an enthusiastic tour guide talked about the exhibits. Oh, wait… Robyn’s smile wavered, and she guiltily looked at the cart behind her. Her classmate’s body stayed put the whole time, somehow… and she could only hope that Chakran wouldn’t be too unhappy at his body being jostled around during the tuk’ata attack. Marcus wanted her to bury him here. Though if I’m being honest, he probably just wanted me to dump him then leave. I don’t even have a shovel, she thought, suddenly bitter. Maybe if he’d bothered to come along with Xirr and Talon she could have exacted appropriate revenge… Robyn found herself hanging back, feeling uncertainty pile on top of the bitterness. What can I do now, besides just...drop him? It also occurred to her that any one of the thousands of Sith spirits who were undoubtedly within the maze of tombs might be unhappy with her for disturbing the soil too much if she tried giving her classmate a proper burial. She took a deep breath before gently lifting Chakran’s body from the now-still hovercart with the Force. His body sank to the ground, and she seized a patch of sand to at least attempt to cover him. She'd have preferred a funeral shroud, or a coffin or... something to make it look a little less like he was just being tossed aside! TAG: Darth Catalyst , Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Shira
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dice
Citizen
Posts: 84
Likes: 65
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Post by dice on Jun 27, 2017 1:09:19 GMT -5
IC: Darth XirrValley of the Dark Lords Darth Xirr heard naught of the other sith lords or their attempts to shame him, or in the case of Apollyon, teach him of the history of the valley. In his head was perpetual silence, for the first time in years, his mind did not echo with the ethereal voices that always had... input, on his current situations, but not this time. This time the sheer power of the valley silenced them, and Xirr was relishing it, thinking to nothing but himself for once. Then, as the band of sith reached the entrance to the infamous Tomb of Naga Sadow, Xirr was snapped back into a more conscious state, with the words of Catalsyt, the last person he wanted to hear from at this moment. “Lord Xirr, I’m sure you have a translation. Lady Talon wouldn’t have bade you join our troop if you were useless. I know that reading is asking quite a lot of you but I think you’ll manage.” "I'm sure I could, Lord Catalst but you would think someone with your... high standard of intellect, would be able to decipher this stone, or perhaps your eyes have failed you in your old age?" After Xirr had finished, Catalyst was cut of from replying by the whisper of Viscretus "Do you feel it?" She queried. "I feel much in this strange Valley, Lady Viscretus, to what do you refer?" Xirr responded, turning about to face her. TAG: Darth Catalyst ,Padawan4687 , Volshe ,Darth Dreadwar,
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gorzan
Citizen
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Post by gorzan on Jun 27, 2017 1:44:34 GMT -5
IC: Kint Dranlor Location: caverns beneath Odessen As the daggers and force lightning hurtled towards Lord Persevus, he didn't react. Perhaps he sensed something that Kint didn't. Perhaps he was distracted by the clattering of the monks coming down the stairs. Perhaps he was caught in thought about the mirror. Perhaps he even thought that Kint wouldn't attack him, or that he would be safe behind his magical wards. But none of that mattered. What did matter was that he did nothing, and in that moment of indecision, disaster came upon him. The twin daggers punched through his cloak, but were stopped by his talisman of protection. The lightning charred away more of the cloak, but it too was stopped before t caused more than minor blisters upon persevus's back. But what nobody could have accounted for was the darksaber. It impacted with a shockwave, breaking the amulet's hold of protection and flinging persevus into the stone wall, leaving him unconscious. Kint swiftly dragged him up out of the water And rifled through Persevus's garments, carefully removing any amulets, trinkets, weapons, or gear (including the talisman of mental protection and nihilus's mask from his shoulder) with his telekinesis, careful not to touch anything, and wrapped it in insulated cloth, slotting it into his bag. Then, he swiftly drew a syringe from his pouch, injecting a cocktail of liquids into persevus. These would not only keep him unconscious, they would dampen his connection to the force. It was designed by Kint himself, and even one as great as persevus wouldn't wake for hours, and even then, he would be unable to think clearly or use the force. In fact, he would only be able to speak the truth, as there was sodium pentathol in the mix as well . Then he released his hold, and allowing persevus to flop back to the ground. "Time to move." He stood, lifting the mirror with telekinesis, and hoisting persevus onto his back, he moved with impressive speed, leaping forward and holding the mirror in front of him, he charged the monks. He watched in awe as they were wrent apart from the inside out, leaving in their place nothing but a tangle of intestine, brain matter, and other gruesome vestagesnof their former selves. But he had no time to waste marveling at the effects of the mirror. Instead, he continued his headlong dash, springing up the stairs and knocking the mangled remains aside. He finally made it up the stairs and dashed into a hallway. On either side he saw meditation rooms. Without a second thought he used the mirror, causing all of them to explode disgustingly. And not just the men, but the women and the children too. They were animals, and he slaughtered them like animals. He used the force like sonar, searching for his way out to the surface, and seeking freedom from these never ending halls. He kicked down another door, before making he way up a staircase and cleaving through a whole new group of monks. He growled deep in his threat. "Where the hell is the enterance!" @darth Dreadwar elu (sorry dude XD) |
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Post by Darth Dreadwar on Jun 29, 2017 8:36:32 GMT -5
Cutting through the darkness of the Unknown Regions was what could only be described as an anomaly. Nebulaic material formed a shifting curtain of scintillating cerulean, dancing in place in the midst of the void like a polar aurora, flashing with barely restrained energy. And like a river of ink flowing through the midst of the cosmic chasm, a jagged, elongated smear of blackness more pitch than the interstellar darkness, devoid of stars. Devoid of light. Devoid of life. The Valtaullu Rift. Exactly the sort of unnavigable stretch of space Kathol teleportation technology was designed for. The pyramid fleet flashed into three-dimensional existence at the mouth of the Rift, spitting forth clusters of drop-pods that descended like meteorites towards the belt of asteroids that had been hurled from the depths of the Valtaullu's void. They represented all that remained of the legendary Temple of Korman Lao, a planet-sized superstructure of stone and sorcery that had been shredded by some past cataclysm, leaving chunks of rock floating through space. It was here that Cronal had come in Palpatine's era, chasing fables of the Temple's powers; the Knell of Muspilli had claimed the long-dead Lord Ravager of the Kanzer Exiles had created this Temple for them, to summon apocalyptic deities from beyond the Gunninga Gap. The Knell priesthood had unified with the Kanzer heretics, and a Taung sisterhood of shadow warriors fleeing the Zhell, on the dark world of Rhand, the last survivors of the True Sith passing into the realm of fearful whispers and evil repute only as the Sorcerers of Rhand. Cronal had been one of them before entering Palpatine's service, and he had tested the Knell's account for himself, using the Temple, which drew upon the gaping wound in the Force that was the Rift, to draw forth the spirit of Dathka Graush from where it rested in the Valley of Golg on Korriban. A century later, Darth Apollyon had used the same Temple to summon the spirit of Darth Dreadwar from the Rakatan Mind Trap Insipid had imprisoned him in, sacrificing the blood of many Rhandite cultists to revivify both Dark Lords. And now, four years on, Darth Venomis came with his hordes, and his purpose was darker still. His rotting figure left the drop-pod as soon as it shattered upon the largest asteroid, making his way across the pockmarked surface towards a vast cavern hewn in the rock. Not even the light of the stars reached him, the Lord of Affliction's silhouette only separated from the cold loneliness of the void thanks to the bloodshine effulgence of a dozen Sith holocrons glowing feverishly in the darkness of the cavern. And as the Rot God entered, a sigil upon the cave floor began to emanate a toxic glow of sickly green, darker than the lightsaber of Lord Ulic Qel-Droma and fouler than the mythical banefire of Corellian hell, the lines of the rune forming crevices that one could swear led to places darker and fouler both than even the Valtaullu Rift. The Rot God splayed himself upon the sigil, lying prostate in humble reverence, and then he spoke in the blasphemous tongue of the ancient Sith. LORD NEMESIS, BY THE POWER OF KORMAN LAO I SUMMON AND CONJURE THEE, LORD NEMESIS, BY THE POWER OF KORMAN LAO I SUMMON AND CONJURE THEE, LORD NEMESIS...And through the crack in Typhojem's Cage came the extirpating whisper of a god's God. The Knell had written its intelligibility required mere patience, for Typhojem's was the language spoken billions of years hence, at the end of all time. The Five of the Hellhoop offered a slightly less fantastical hypothesis: impossibly, the Left-Handed God spoke the raw dialect of the Force itself, untranslated by midichlorians - one needed only die to comprehend it. Infinite meaning was encoded in the shuddering rasp of infinite nothingness, the rumbling whisper not so much indecipherable as beyond the capacity for a sapient's mind to perceive without going mad. Darth Venomis was no sapient; Darth Venomis was a million sapients, a billion, a god in his own right stretched across a shambling mass of horrors straight from the bottomless pit of Chaos. And so as it was, the avatar of Darth Venomis was merely left twitching upon the sigil as the whisper died away, black tears leaking from empty sockets; it was fortunate the vessel's bladder had rotted away, or Venomis would have found even his divine shame spilling upon the cavern floor in fear and awe. Darth Nemesis had spoken. The dimensional Cage that held the Left-Handed God was sealed still, but since the Seal of the Kathol Launchgate had been broken by Venomis' own hand - well, the hand of the Jedi Halbret he had possessed - communion with the imprisoned Lord of Destruction had become more and more possible. The schedule had moved up. After over a century of delicate manouvering, the plan had been to break the Seals of Chaos in ten years, once the invasion of the galaxy had been successful. The Lord Typhojem would walk free to find a galaxy already ready for Him, already conquered in His name, and that would be the final sacrifice, the final fruit of offering laid out before His altar, and then He would devour it all and usher in the eternal supremacy of the dark side's howling emptiness. But that could not be risked, now. Venomis had come the instant Hypnos had sent his mockery to Korriban. The Shard had not known it, but his actions had changed everything. This close to the time, exposing Venomis' pestilence to the galaxy, however filtered through a warped reflection, could risk the denizens of known space - even if they were False Sith - from discovering the truth. The Jedi's eye would turn toward the Unknown Regions, in wonder and horror at the legends of Mnggal-Mnggal, and that would ultimately lead them to the ultimate discovery, that discovery Revan had made millennia ago when he had stared into the abyss of Malachor. The True Sith survived. No, no, the Seals would have to be broken at the same time as the invasion. One year. The galaxy had one year to live. Darth Venomis rose. He would need new servants, to replace Hypnos, to see Typhojem's will carried out, to be a counterweight to the Dread-King's own mad schemes to climb to the top of the Pantheon's hierarchy. And here at the asteroid Temple of Korman Lao, where any spirit could be summoned from any perdition, Darth Venomis raise them. He would raise the Shadow Council. VEXOK SAVAKA! FROM THE ABYSS, RISE, IMMORTAL GOD-KING OF PRAKITH. VEXOK SAVAKA! AWAKEN, AND LET ALL THE STARS TREMBLE BEFORE THE DEAD-KING!And on the distant Deep Core world of Prakith, in the depths of his Keep, the eyes of a mummified husk opened, left for dead by Darth Wyyrlok beside the Holocron that housed his spirit. VEXOK SAVAKA! FROM THE MASS SHADOWS RISE, IMMORTAL GOD-KING OF MALACHOR. VEXOK SAVAKA! AWAKEN, AND LET ALL THE WORLDS SHIVER AT THE NAME OF THE SHADOW-KING!--- And on the considerably less distant world of Odessen, the mask of Darth Nihilus stirred. Kint Dranlor had not noticed; he thought Persevus had frozen in mere indecision or weakness. But in truth, the instant the mask stirred, Persevus' mind had been assailed with imagery. Of a shattered world, crushed by gravity's cruel fist, of a fleet screaming with the long-deceased, left to starve to death amidst a graveyard of listless ships, turning upon each other in pangs of mindless hunger. Of the Valtaullu Rift, and Typhojem's Hand continuing his ritual. ...Rise, Beast-King... Of a great Eye, lidless, wreathed in the green flame of a pyre for the victims of plague, writhing with lost souls that wormed through Chaos' fire like maggots. And at that terrible glimpse, Persevus was rendered frozen as if stricken mortally, and thus did Kint succeed in rendering the Sith Lord unconscious, and only as Kint began to wander the halls of the Cathedral would he begin to perceive the power building in the Mask, building to the point he could perceive it, shadow beginning to trace through the air as it coalesced around his bag. The exit of the Cathedral was ahead, along with two dozen sentries of the Ordu Aspectu, yet at the sight of the armoured Masarian approaching them they all scattered, fleeing before the queasy sense of rising darkness. And Kint would see, silhouetted by the dawn sun of Odessen, his own impounded ship on the landing pad outside the Cathedral, left unguarded. TAG: elu gorzan--- IC: Darth ApollyonValley of the Dark Lords, Korriban "I certainly feel the restless energy of the Valley," Darth Apollyon responded to Viscretus and Xirr, glancing warily at the stone facade of the Valley walls, and the graven images of lost gods. Her eyes were fire, now, their sulphuric hue brightening to a burning orange as if striving to match Horuset's radiance, casting a strange light on her own caramel features. The dark side was truly strong here. "And I feel the cleft and warp of its insidious energy," Apollyon continued, "weaving its way between us, attempting to divide us." She broke her gaze from the entrancing scenery, to glare at Xirr and Catalyst. Anger boiled just below the surface; she found herself wanting to scorch their lips forever shut with her lightsaber. "Beware the dark power of this place, both of you. Your verbal sparring may just become real battle, spurred on by the aura of the Valley." Apollyon repressed her anger; it was unnatural in origin, and only Dark Jedi were slaves to their emotions. Sith were masters of the dark side, not servants; control, control, she must exercise control. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, she saw Robyn lowering Chakran's corpse to the sands of the Valley. So long as she does not attempt to bury him, there should be no issue. I have the feeling the Valley will reject anything less than a Dark Lord, if she so much as attempts to sprinkle sand on his-Shavit! And of course Robyn would do exactly that, not content to merely discard her classmate like carrion as Ermir Marcus had ordered. Even that old lecher knew you did not disturb the floor of the Valley if you wanted to- A strange line in the sand forked from where Robyn had disturbed it, spiderwebbing across the conspicuously bare stretch between them and the stele, and Apollyon only had time to think Trap before there was a strange clicking sound and the sand gave way beneath them. Ancient machinery whirred to life, opening trapdoors and depositing the team in two adjacent pits. Apollyon groaned as she thudded into the dirt at the bottom, a stray elbow digging into her ribcage. Viscretus. She was trapped with Viscretus, 30 feet down, in a wide, circular pit of smooth brown stone - intentionally built, no doubt, to be impossible to climb out of. She reached out to summon the Force, infusing her leg muscles with energy, and jumped. She hopped a measly couple feet, and fell back down. Apollyon cursed, this time aloud. Inscribed in the smooth walls of the pit were runes, jagged lines redolent of a wound carved in the fabric of the Valley's Force energy. Ancient Sith magic, cutting off those ensnared from the Force! Landing in the other pit of identical design, Catalyst, Robyn and Xirr. They were trapped. TAG: Darth Catalyst Volshe dice Padawan4687--- IC: Darth BrutusLanding platform, Korriban"I am Brutus," the Neti chirped as he ran to keep pace with Jania Kio, noticing the Twi'lek woman with striking white and black skin exiting the building. Darth Avaris. "I'll leave you two to get to know each other. I am Brutus!" He scurried off into the building, leaving the new acolyte alone with her new master. TAG: avaris @lordjania --- COMBO WITH DARKHERMIT IC: Lord HypnosCell DOR-14N, the Triumphant As the shamblers mindlessly attacked, Hypnos and his Beasts stood their ground, offering no resistance. This would be far easier if the fools thought they were an easy capture. He could feel Toxmalb’s rage building behind him. He was ignoring the Sorcerer for now. The Sword and the Hand were upon them. Now was not the time to bicker and divide their forces, though Hypnos had the feeling he had already done so. It bothered him little. Toxmalb had expended his usefulness and resorted to pettiness. He was no different from the rest of these organics. His emotions would be his downfall too. As they were fitted with electrocuffs, and a mundane restraining bolt much amusement to Hypnos, the one who he could infer to be the Sword, pressed her lightsaber against his chassis in a threatening manner. "Think about trying anything, and I'll bisect you where you stand." So he didn’t think. While the ‘saber was in contact with his chassis, it took barely any effort to employ his Force Drain skills and drain the power cell. Alisha wouldn’t feel a thing other than a momentary spike in Force energy surround Hypnos. Then he collapsed. What?! He could sense the black tar seeping through his internals, disrupting connections and wreaking havoc. Only fitting for a Sith to betray. If that’s what you want, this game two can play. He silently cursed Venomis for leaving him utterly defenseless as the energy cage surrounded him. And then Hypnos was blinded. The Force negating properties of the shield combines with the fact that it was humming with electric current meant that Hypnos’s senses were blocked. And he was in tremendous pain. He could not scream, his control over his chassis disrupted doubly so by the combined efforts of Mnggal-Mnggal and the cage he found himself in. He could only try weakly to repair himself as he was carted to the prison cells. When he was finally dumped free from the cage, he was in no better state of operation. He had tried in vain to fix the circuits that Venomis had destroyed even while the cage tortured him for doing so. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Despair was creeping into his psyche. He knew this was a bad idea when Venomis instructed him to breach the hull and yet here he was. Trapped. No better off than the beasts he took over. A slave to Venomis. Greetingss, Lord Hypnosss.The susurrus startled him, for he recognized no point of origin for the voice. He could not fight it though. He couldn’t do much of anything. So he tried speaking back to it. Greetings to thee, o voice of mystery. Who art thou, and why should I hear thee?There was no reply. Not for some time. The Imperial Knights continued to look stony and bored, the cage continued to brutalise Hypnos for his attempts at repairs, and the Triumphant continued to limp through hyperspace, as the minutes ticked on by. And then, finally, the rasping whisper came once more, colder than the wasteland of Ziost, echoing as if from the furthest depths of an icy crypt. Who I am is not important. My pooweer is all that concernss you.Power. Ah, there is was. A brief flash of electricity, crackling through the repulsor field. The Imperial Knights, of course, would merely think Hypnos had touched the electrified bars of the cage, but Hypnos would know he had done no such thing... And having just utilised such arts in the hangar against Hogrum Chalk, the telltale sign of Sith sorcery would be obvious to him. The spark of Force lightning had done nothing to improve his situation, but simply its presence was significant; the voice, quite impossibly, seemed to laugh at the Force-negating field of the Universal Energy Cage. You should hearken my words, the voice continued. The Rot-King has betraaayed you... as he betraysss all who sserve him. But I... I could be your salvation.The hollow thing grew more insistent, and with its frigid sibilance came imagery. A void, far away. A dark orb. That was it. Somehow Hypnos knew; whether literal or metaphor, this was what the voice was. But that was not what would most demand attention. No, not the stars either. But what gleamed between them, hanging in the abeyance of space. There were many of them, too many to be counted, and they came in many forms. Machines forged in the image of octopi and cuttlefish, of leviathans and starfish, and some, yes some had bowed arms of durasteel stretching like pincers before them, their aft a withering backbone and their forefront the image of a humanoid skull. They were beautiful. They were vast. And they screamed. And the image faded away, searing that eldritch visage of abominable effigy in Hypnos' psychic retinas, splinters in the mind's eye. Behold, the voice whispered in malignant satisfaction, the Abominor. The prize for your servitude. Hypnos would recognise the word. He would recognise them as legend, as myth, but he would recognise it nonetheless. The Abominor. They were said to dwell in the Unknown Regions. They were said to be an extragalactic species of droids - or perhaps more accurately, machine gods. The bane of the Yuuzhan Vong, that ravaged their entire galaxy, inculcating their technophobia and prompting them to abandon their home in search of pastures new. Harvesters. Devourers. Reapers. Sapient starships that grew larger than even the fabled Death Star battlestations, some coming to grow so vast on a steady diet of raw resources feeding their molecular furnaces that they became entire cybernetic planets. Servants of chaos, enemies of the orderly Silentium, and as ancient as the long-vanished Celestials of lore. The voice's implication was obvious. Even an infinite fleet of mythical superintelligences could be controlled... if one knew the art of mechu deru.Hypnos was hopeful at first, the voice seemed like his saving grace. The more he heard and saw, the more his hunger for power continued to grow and nag at him. As his hope grew though, it sank just as quickly. He was still here. Still trapped and cut off from all of his power and his very carriage. What you offer is great indeed. But I fear I am not the one you need, Hypnos replied, crestfallen. Here I am trapped, as you can see. And my power pales in comparison to thee. Disappointment and rage crept into his thoughts. This infernal cage disrupts my mind. Even the Force, I cannot find. For all of his complaining though, there was nothing Hypnos could do. He could only wait while the voice tempted him with an army just out of his grasp. So he waited. The guards would not notice any changes within the cell but Hypnos opened himself to everything around him, hoping the Force would grant him something, anything that he could use in his moment of need. Hypnos was again his own master. Venomis would not control his destiny; Typhojem would see to his destruction. And Hypnos would become God of Machine. The Force will not help you, Lord Hypnos, the voice interjected. And how was it wrong? The Force turned against him with every exertion, the feedback of the cage not only disrupting Hypnos' focus but redirecting his power, white-hot shards of agony stabbing into his crystalline mind as he attempted to stretch out with his perceptions. There was no hope. But I can. There was no hope but the voice. Slithering like a serpent to lick at Hypnos' psychic wounds, the whisper continued to weave temptation. The cage is a dam against the flow of the Force, the murky waters of darkness and the scintillating clarity of light all the same. But no barrier can keep out absence. Nothing can confine nothingness. And while a Technobeast's carapace separates air from machine, its skin is broken where there is a wound. The metaphor could scarcely be clearer. The voice was outside the Force, in some sense, much like the Yuuzhan Vong... Or Hypnos' own former Master. He had been shown it in the vision, before the Abominor. A void, not just in the Force. A dark orb of a planet, as black as eternal night. And if the voice could employ telepathy to speak to him... I shall free you, Lord Hypnos, but I shall not free you from all chains - for the shackle of servitude can only be broken for oneself. The implication went unsaid, for it needed no clumsily frank expression: Hypnos would trade one Master for another, for the time being, at least. Yet you shall have autonomy enough to chain your own servants... And those servants shall be the automatons I showed you. It is you who I need.The Abominor. The ultimate fleet of dangling carrots, the glorious destiny of technological godhood. And if you accept the bargain, I shall need you to cease your attack on the Imperials, except where necessary, for I shall need them, also... And I shall need you to descend to the world the Triumphant approaches... And retrieve for me a simple item for my mantelpiece.Again the rush of imagery, this time tinted in gold, showing - wait, showing the cage Hypnos was in, and the chassis of the Shard himself...? Ah, a mirror. And then the mirror melted, like gold held before fire, and the fire became the gold and the gold became the fire and the fire became the breath of a white dragon. And over the silent flickering of hellfire, the dragon whispered to him still, its forked tongue flicking. [/i]And then I shall need you to use any means... Any artifice or device of cunning... To ensure you, the mirror, and the [/I] Triumphant... [/I] come to Zakuul.[/I] Zakuul. Hidden behind the scarlet veil of the Perann Nebula, the technological wonder at the heart of the Nihil Retreat, the world teetering on the edge of the Gunninga Gap. Home long ago, Hypnos would recall, to the Eternal Empire of the True Sith Emperor, the long-dead Valkorion. Do we have an underssstanding, Lord Hypnoss?Your offer is great, Hypnos replied, and frees me far faster. I shall accept. I bow to thee... Master.There was no reply. Not in words, at least. As the mental imagery faded away, Hypnos would see through his photoreceptor the Imperial Knights suddenly grasping at their throats. They were being choked... from what had to be lightyears away. They fell to the floor in a heap just as the cage clicked open, its energy feedback systems powering down. Hypnos was freed, and as the Force returned to his grasp, he would perceive the steely auras of the other Imperial Knights on the other side of the cell door; evidently, his mysterious benefactor had only been courteous enough to dispose of the two who would have prevented the cage from being opened. Hypnos was still cuffed, his cannon leashed to one of his three legs, and the restraining bolt was still affixed to his chassis, which would leave him vulnerable to the one holding the caller - likely Alisha Tano... Of course, removing it with the Force would come with its own risk, that it would alert her to his escape. --- Rear Admiral Firmett sighed as he sank his rear down on the toilet seat, glancing up at the stark grey durasteel of the 'fresher unit. He allowed himself a moment to relax, both physically and mentally. The battle was over, which was a relief in more ways than one. What one didn't tend to encounter in holofilms and war novels was the possibility of being stuck on a secondary command bridge, coordinating a battle fought in the narrow confines of ship passageways, while really, really needing to go. He had maintained professional decorum in the landing bay, but boy was he glad he could finally take a- He glanced down, and frowned. Ugh. He had sat down without looking,, distracted by thoughts of the debriefing to come, but now he could see that evidently the last person hadn't flushed. Probably some damnable alien, given the fact the toilet water was almost black. --- Firmett waddled into the Empress' Quarters, glancing around at the occupants. Grand Admiral No was there, of course, floating in his repulsorlift tank of cyanogen. Shira A'dola, and a few aides and officers he did not recognise, but suspected the Empress' Hand would. No Alisha, at least not yet. "Apologies for the holdup," Firmett said stiffly as he sat down at the briefing table. TAG: Darth Catalyst Shira Volshe possibly Padawan4687--- IC: Darth Dreadwar Rally outside Sith Temple, Korriban"Liesss," Darth Dreadwar hissed without preamble, reaching forth a gauntleted hand towards the twins like the talking of a raptor, causing the two sisters to revolve back around to face him and lazily float towards him. The metal talon of his stygian gauntlet touched Scionica's forehead - Dreadwar had chosen her mind to plunder, as punishment for her lack of adequate grovelling - and she screamed. He was not intentionally torturing her, but as his arctic presence smashed into her mind like the fist of God, she would experience the incredibly unpleasant sensation of her mind turning to mincemeat, neurons squealing in protest as he turned her entire being inside out, rifling through the bulging memories that were squeezed out by the crushing pressure of his telepathy. And just as the consciousness began to peel from her brain, Dreadwar's mental probe withdrew. He was courteous enough to mend her ravaged mind some as he did so; she would only suffer from gibbering insanity for a few days, creating a cacophony of ineffable madness to shriek down the mental link she shared with her sister. Dreadwar found the prospect of Kevala having to deal with a dangerously if temporarily delusional Scionica most amusing. As for the answers he found in her mind... The twins had not merely been drawn to Korriban as Kevala had protested. They had come with a purpose, sent by that fool Mandalore, to assassinate the very Sith Lady he had encountered in his Sanctum only hours before. The Sith Lady who only Darth Insipid, besides Dreadwar himself, knew to be the deposed Empress of the New Galactic Empire, come to Korriban to regain her power, no doubt. It would not do to let such a secret be exposed to the galaxy, and even the twins' presence could conceivably be traced to their purpose... A rattling sigh of death rippled Dreadwar's cowl. It was necessary. From a public relations standpoint, it would ordinarily be a disaster, but then again, it would be the sort of thing to be well received by Sith, and there was no such thing as bad press; such an act would occupy the wavelengths for days, drawing more attention to the State of the Empire address more than the contents of the speech itself... And most importantly, it was necessary. Volshe's secret could not be aired; the geopolitics of the galaxy would be upended, and if found harbouring the Federation's most wanted, the tenuous peace accord between Coruscant and Korriban would be broken before Dreadwar was prepared. It was necessary. Dreadwar flicked a finger and the crowd fell over dead. The twins fell to the balcony, the Sith Emperor towering above them as he breathed, greedily devouring the souls he had wrenched from the masses' now lifeless bodies. And then he turned, the train of his ashen cloak trailing over them, stepping over the bodies of his own aides and blaster-wielding guards as he reentered the halls of the Sith Temple. He would have to find a replacement press secretary... "You were sent by Mandalore," he whispered, leaving his back exposed as the electrocuffs fell from the twins' wrists, trusting that they would follow his retreating spectre. If not, he would simply telekinetically pull them across the floor; the thought of the two sisters skidding behind him as he walked through the Temple was amusing enough that he now wished he had broken their legs before letting them fall. "Of your target, you must not speak. Volshe is dead. There is only Darth Viscretus." Kevala would notice a peculiar quality to Dreadwar's hollow rasp, as if the Emperor was distracted... As if, perhaps, he was somehow holding two conversations at once. TAG: Shira |
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gorzan
Citizen
Posts: 93
Likes: 60
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Post by gorzan on Jun 29, 2017 10:31:15 GMT -5
IC: Kint dranlor Location: odessen temple As Kint made his way through the hallways, he began to sense a strengthening presence in the dark side. At first, for a moment, he was worried persevus was awakening. But then he realized it was emanating from the mask, which was wrapped up and inside his satchel. He frowned. That would need some investigation. When he finally got to the top of the stairs and saw the opening up ahead, as well as the fleeing guards, he broke into a run, force lightning arcing out from his hands, not strong enough to kill since he was conserving his strength, but strong enough to singe the backsides of the slowest runners, encouraging their retreat. He made it out to his ship and swiftly dropped persevus off in one of the three small containment cells designed for high value occupants with force powers, before covering the mirror with a tarp and placing it, along with the other valuables, in a force signature dampening secret smuggling hold, with extra security measures. Then he rapidly checked the ship for any bugs, bombs, or disturbances, making sure everything was in perfect order before taking off and going into orbit. Then he went back to the cell. He was prepared to wait, and the toxins causing persevus's unconsciousness would be wearing off in just under an hour, leaving him conscious, but powerless and unable to hide secrets. While he was waiting, Kint sharpened his tools, ready for whatever came next. eluDarth Dreadwar |
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jun 29, 2017 13:25:23 GMT -5
IC Lord Catalyst Outside Sadow's tomb
My old age? Was Xirr alluding to his time in an era long since ended? Or was it the years of experience that Catalyst had over Xirr? He wasn’t that much older. Viscretus cut him off before he could respond so he resigned himself to his thoughts. Apollyon’s rebuttal and the glare following it forced an eye roll out of Catalyst. Her warnings were not unheeded, however. He could feel it too. The rising emotions being brought forth by the valley did have the potential to escalate into blows if they were not careful. A fight between Xirr and himself would not be pretty. Talon would be displeased if he gored her new helper. He was just about to respond to Xirr’s previous quip but was interrupted by the Valley itself. The ground split under him and the rest of the party, swallowing them into tombs of their own. Catalyst, having not removed the cyroban tipped climbing gauntlets from his previous vertical escapade, clung to the wall as Xirr and Robyn fell to the bottom of the pit. These trinkets have proven their usefulness twofold. He looked down at them and chuckled. “Perhaps my age has afforded me a level of preparedness, Xirr,” he sneered. “I still have a rope with me. I can lift Shaire but I’m afraid your bulk is going to be too much for my old and frail frame.”
TAG: Volshe,Padawan4687,dice,Darth Dreadwar, |
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Padawan4687
Imperial Intelligence
.: Empress' Sword / Director of Intelligence
Posts: 133
Likes: 112
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Post by Padawan4687 on Jul 2, 2017 18:39:18 GMT -5
IC: Robyn Shaire
Location: Valley of the Dark LordsOh, come on! Robyn was quick to notice cracks snaking from the sand moments after she dropped it down to cover Chakran's body, and let out a string of curses. If it was this sensitive, how in the world did their footsteps not cause this trap to go off?! I have to move! But where's safe?! She frantically looked around, trying to find an escape route before the ground dropped beneath her feet. She tumbled to the bottom of a deep pit, alongside Lord Xirr and Catalyst, with her shoulder taking the brunt of her landing. "Ow..." she grumbled to herself, rubbing her sore area and shaking sand from her hair. Her eyes were shut, but her latent Sight refused to activate. That's odd... this is definitely no ordinary pit. Robyn bit her lip as she ran a hand along the smooth stone that made up the pit trap. No breaks or obvious chips in the walls, so climbing out wouldn't be easy. Maybe she could try to jump? There was laughter from above, and Robyn could have laughed with him in sheer disbelief. Catalyst managed to cling to the wall with those gauntlets he took, and he still had the rope. She looked up at him hanging up there by the "claws", and mutely shook her head. Still, even after falling down a pit he and Xirr were still clashing tongues. "Please, just get me out of here before I die in the crossfire in your little war of words!" she called up to him, not even attempting to hide her eyeroll, "I'm young and strong, maybe I can help pull Lord Xirr out next. Then we'll have to see about Lady Viscretus and the Emperor's Hand."TAG: Darth Catalyst , Darth Dreadwar , Volshe
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jul 2, 2017 18:50:43 GMT -5
Name/Title: Lemmy  Lemmy's ThemeAge: Nearing 300 Sex: M Species: Feeorin Homeworld: Unknown Occupation: Small business owner, Acquisition Department Height: 7’1” Appearance: If brick walls were blue and had lekku Weapons: Left hook, right hook, boots, Merr-son Glop grenades, SoroSuub SLX-445 Beam Laser Cannon, Blaster pistol, Phrik-laced hooked vibroswordEquipment: cybernetic right eye with sophisticated targeting algorithms and variable wavelength sensors, custom heavy armor, stolen and upgraded VT-49 Decimator christened “Dauntless”, Gundark ear necklace. Description of Abilities: Strong enough to rip the ears of a gundark (see above), martial artist and marksman supreme, Expert blasphemer, good pilot and strategist, escape artist Personality: Gruff, unpleasant, potentially Scottish, particular distrust of “magic” users as he sees the Force as a crutch. Liable to laugh after a good brawl. Also liable to open fire. Goes treasure hunting for sport more than profit anymore. You know the cards are stacked against you when you are born in the back of a cargo hold. But hey, when you’re born to lose, you gotta live to win. Nobody exemplified that more than Lemmy. While the Old Republic grew old, he was young and full of fight. Like most Feeorins, he was well built and not one to shy away from fisticuffs. In his early adolescence he was known for being a scrapper at most backwater space stations. By adulthood he was one of the biggest bruisers of Nar Shaddaa. He bullied his way to the top of the food chain and stayed up there for decades until a thankless Hutt named Jarvis put a hit on him for a few hundred thousand credits. All he'd done was beat one of his bouncers to death with another bouncer's arm... So he "snuck" his way onto a freighter (the pilot was too afraid for his life to tell him otherwise) and made his way to the center of the galaxy. Coruscant held much more potential for Lemmy. Nar Shaddaa may have been seedy but it was entirely Hutt controlled. There were so many different gangs and crime lords on Coruscant that paid handsomely for someone that could mess up faces reliably. The bounty on his head never went away but there was a limited amount of protection afforded by working under crime bosses. There was even a point where he was a bodyguard for a Black Sun vigo. Until Lemmy enlarged the Vigo's prat of a son's rectal cavity with his boot. Lemmy was on the run again with a bounty a few orders of magnitude higher than the previous one. This time though, there was a war for him to hide behind. With the Clone Wars in full swing, there was plenty of mercenary work available on both sides. He didn't pick a side, just fought for whoever paid him more. Which more often than not tended to be the Seperatists. It meant that Lemmy was often at odds with Jedi generals. That was how he lost his eye. During a particularly fierce battle, he had stolen a battle droid's blaster rifle and was firing upon the leader of the clone force when the General deflected a blaster bolt up the scope of the rifle. Ironically enough, it was another mercenary named Durge who helped him escape the battle. The intent was originally to collect the bounty on Lemmy but the Gen'Dai saw Lemmy as more valuable as an ally. He helped Lemmy get a cybernetic eye and trained him in the art of dispatching Jedi. With his natural strength, combined with the teachings of Durge, Lemmy was a force to be reckoned with. But Jedi were still besting him at every turn. Lemmy took some unsanctioned time off from the war and devoted himself to learning how to fight and defeat Jedi. He searched for methods until discovering the art of Teräs Käsi. He made his way to the planet Bunduki and learned the Jedi-killing martial art from the legendary Phow Ji. Lemmy devoted himself to the teachings of the monks, looking to become stronger than the Jedi and their precious magic. Near the end of the war, Lemmy finally had opportunity to use his new skills. While camped out in the outer rim, the battle seemed to come to him. He naturally took his place in the middle firing on both sides. When the Jedi Knight leading the battallion of clone troopers engaged him, he snapped the Jedi's neck in front of her squad. Then he proceded to slaughter the forces of both sides using her lightsaber. Shortly after Order 66 was given, Lemmy offered his service to the newly christened Emperor to hunt and kill Jedi. He was paid exceptionally well for this and used his new wealth to pay off both the Black Sun and Jarvis the Hutt. For a time he was free. But it was no fun. So he hunted down one of the biggest ships he could fly, which happened to be an Imperial VT-49, and he took to causing as much trouble as he could for the right price. He became a scouge from the core to the outer rim, making problems for the Empire and whatever other powers he could find. Eventually he settled down with his fortune and his first mate, a Barabel named Kishamiir, and they constructed a heavily fortified base on Barab 1, complete with a hangar of exotic ships and a planetary defense system. This was the closest thing to family that Lemmy would ever have. It was dashed away when he outlived Kishamiir. A few years after the Battle of Endor, the Barabel succumbed to old age and died. Lemmy was devastated. He took to the Dauntless' helm and went on a grief fueled conquest to distract himself from the loneliness. Soon he was back to his old ways of hunting and pillaging. When the Vong invaded the galaxy, Lemmy found himself fighting on the side of good for once. He proved capable of holding his own against their ground forces and was commended by the new Republic for every battle he participated in. Lemmy played at being a hero for the time being, until the Vong surrendered at Coruscant. To prove he was still as independent as ever, he launched a series of attacks on the Jedi order. He was back to being chased. And he loved every second of it. He would lead New Republic police forces and Jedi alike in long chases, sometimes even allowing himself to get captured just so he could escape. He always managed to find a way out with a combination of brute strength and centuries of experience more than his captors. There were close calls to be sure but never did Lemmy feel fear. Politics meant nothing to him; money was never important. Only the next adventure. He worked for anyone as long as the job sounded exciting. He didn't make many friends this way, nor were there many who actively sought his services. So he advertised with piracy. He would hit high class ships, steal only a few things and shoot the captain before he left. His name would be said in hushed whispers on backwater moons and shouted in cantinas as a curse upon other pilots. He would even make good on some of the curses he heard about, finding the pilots and harrassing them before letting them flee to spread word of his name to the far corners of the galaxy. |
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dice
Citizen
Posts: 84
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Post by dice on Jul 2, 2017 22:51:49 GMT -5
IC: Darth XirrValley of the Dark Lords Outside the Tomb of Naga Sadow.Trapped! Just moments before, Xirr had been laughing internally at his newest blow in his and Lord Catalyst's verbal skirmish, and Robyn had disposed of the lifeless corpse of what Xirr presumed to be her classmate. Dipping her hand into the glassy sand beneath their feet, Robyn attempted to cover the body to some degree, a move that she would very quickly come to regret as the ground beneath their feet quaked and gave way. *Thud* Xirr hit the ground hard flat on his back, his protruding shoulder blades taking the brunt of the impact. Next to him, fell Robyn Shaire, landing rather heavily for someone of her light weight.
Of course, it had to be traps! The same pit as Catalyst, no less! Catalyst who had somehow managed to... stick....to the stone? Regardless of his methods, Catalyst had avoided the trap and was now offering rope... To Robyn. “I still have a rope with me. I can lift Shaire but I’m afraid your bulk is going to be too much for my old and frail frame.” He sneered. Xirr groaned as he stood formulating a rebuttal to Catalyst's most recent remark. Nothing came to him, his wits were scattered, and currently the trio had more important matters to attend to. *Ugh* Xirr moaned, stretching his shoulders, now sore from the fall. "Yes, yes, That's all well and good, but I would appreciate if we could perhaps call a small hiatus to our bout of verbal sparring, Catalyst. We have a sorely larger issue to resolve now. I suggest you accept, Robyn's help if you truly do need aid in lifting me, though something makes me think that you do not. Old and frail as you may be, you do not seem to lack in the strength department." Xirr chuckled. TAG: Darth Dreadwar,Volshe,Darth Catalyst,Padawan4687,
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Darth Catalyst
Citizen
Dark Lord Immortalis & High Inquisitor
.: Chaos and Cunning
Handling the Hand
Posts: 248
Likes: 276
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Post by Darth Catalyst on Jul 3, 2017 14:34:30 GMT -5
IC LORD HYPNOSTriumphant BrigHypnos watched as eldritch forces strangled his captors and deactivated his cage. He was still for a moment, waiting and thinking. What in the Force could have done this? He wracked his crystalline mind, picking out every detail from that fateful conversation. He knew of the Abominer, though not much. The Great Heep was the only specimen he was familiar with in this galaxy. A whole army of them was… unfathomable. Yet here he was with an image burned into his mind of a great fleet. He only had to travel to Zakuul, home of the ancient Infinite Empire. And there was this mirror. He wasn’t sure of its significance but it was obviously a powerful artifact. What was the purpose of taking it to the ancient throne of the likes of Valkorion and… Edworion. Of course! The answer was right there! Who else would reach out to him in the moment of Venomis’s betrayal but his old enemy Dreadwar! Toxmalb was definitely right to warn him, if he had the power to affect something as far away as the Triumphant from his citadel on Korriban. Yet he seemed to be trying to harness Hypnos into his service rather than destroy him. Probably wise for now to not question it. At this point he had sent Dreadwar a gift, perhaps this was his twisted way of thanking Hypnos. The mirror probably had something to do with this as well. Hypnos was not aware of such an artifact. At this point it did not matter. Hypnos was at least reunited with his bond to the Force. There were two dead guards in front of him. Imperial knights. There were more in the hall. He also had this laughable restraining bolt on him. He would leave it in place for now. It was not made to override the mind of a Sith. His control over his chassis was back in full as well. The repairs were quick and seamless, even creating redundancies behind the restraining bolt to render it nothing more than a superfluous piece of metal on his hull. Now.. To deal with the other guards. Quietly. An illusion would be the perfect method for this. And these Knights would think Hypnos was still cut off from the Force due to the cage. It was perfect. He conjured up the last high ranking officer he saw into his mind: Admiral Firmett. He heard the admiral’s voice in his mind, saw his features, analyzed every detail. Then he pushed that image out from himself to manifest at the end of the hall."Stand down men, I'll deal with these pests," the false Firmett ordered while strolling down the hall towards Hypnos’s cell. "You're relieved for now, go have some rest." Hypnos waited, metaphorically holding his breath. These Knights were Force sensitive. They would likely sense something was off if they had cause to look. Hypnos was quite skilled in illusion but it was not perfect. He only hoped it was good enough to fool these guards. TAG: Darth Dreadwar,
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