Star Wars New Sith Trials II: Rise of the Hand

IC: Darth Alva

The cyborg made quick work of the troopers, well the correct term should have been pawns. Troopers were expendable and easily replaced. Yet the idea of explaining to his master why a small number of his fleet were missing didn't sound too exciting. He watched as the creature's cybernetic arms detached into four, quad-wielding four lightsabers! "What in the kriff is this thing?" he thought.

He came forward, cutting down troopers who got too close. Though one had surprisingly landed a shot to his face. A flurry of multi-colored sabers came whirling at Alva. With that many slashes, Alva had no choice but to activate the second feature of his lightsaber. The tail end of the hilt emitted the second blade. He had to keep both blades circulating to defend against the cyborg's assault. This would be Alva's first true lightsaber duel against another suspected force-senestive being. Though it was strange how he hadn't taken advantage of force abilities himself, everything that he had employed was mechanical. Perhaps he couldn't or just plain out refused. The assault continued, Alva had been a form II user and dealing with a quad-wielder might as well have been the same as facing several opponents, something Makashi lacked in. Even with the dual sided feature style he implemented, Alva defenses barely kept up with the multi-attack. Sabers hissed with each bind, parry, strike, slash, lock, and counter-bind but it wasn't looking good. A lightsaber fight would not end in Alva's favor if he continued, there were just too many blades at work.

Alva would have to dig deep into the dark side of the force to defeat this opponent. He thought about the disgusting idea of weakness, especially the idea of possible losing to this thing, and it infuriated him. It feed his rage to which he backed off from the assault to channel into another force based attack, "I will not be beaten by scum like he YOU!" He shouted in rage, then after shot out a wave of energy.

All the remaining troopers flew backwards, the dutasteel of the surrounding halls made creaking noises. Alva reached out with the force with both hands and attempted to seize hold of the cyborg and ram him repeatedly against the dursteel flooring.

Tags Kaleesh-Cyborg

 

Though his head is still ringing with pain from the blaster bolt to his face, Grievance continues his barrage of lightsaber strikes on Alva, undaunted by the dual-ended feature of his lightsaber. He has the assassin completely on the defensive now; this fight is definitely in his favor. The remaining troopers aren't daring to interfere now, valuing their lives over the chance to possibly be heroes. The cyborg could keep this up all day were it not for the injury to his eye. Fighting through such distracting pain is causing him to tire more quickly than he normally would. Curse that trooper! He would bring him to life and kill him again if he could.

As if the pain isn't enough to distract him, that despised sense of his feels the Force intensifying around him. Alva is up to something again and Grievance moves to try to brace himself for whatever is to come, forced to relinquish his assault as the tide turns and he is suddenly placed on the defensive. The floor buckles and tips slightly under him as the Force wave rolls out from the Sith assassin and Grievance sheathes his weapons, returning them to his hip armor as he will need all of his limbs to keep him from losing ground under this counter attack.

He hits the floor like a six-legged beast, supporting himself on all four arms and activating his magnetics to anchor himself. Once the wave passes, he rises to his feet, interlocking his arms once again as he glares at Alva, his hands curling into fists clenched at his sides as he tries to resist the urge to kill his opponent, angered by his fall-back on the Force.

"Are you quite finished now, Darth Alva--aaaahh!"

All too swiftly, Grievance finds himself in some invisible grasp, slammed and held against the floor in a grip that he cannot break free from. For the first time since he has boarded this ship, he is feeling genuine fear. He tries everything within his physical power to fight the grip he cannot see, striking out with his talons in every direction possible, but connecting with nothing. He has fought plenty of Force-wielders before, but he has never experienced an attack like this and he is truly at a loss for what to do. The only thing that rests in his favor at this point is, if Alva intends to beat him against the floor, he will spend a lot of his own strength doing so because of Grievance's metal-based weight alone. With any luck, he will exhaust himself before the Kaleesh cyborg expires.

Tag: Isley_27 dragonsith13 Darth_wanderguard

 

Jagall Neidav IC:
~Scion Citadel, Zakuul/New Moraband~

Steadily they proceeded up the staircase to where the High Scion was. As they moved up, taking in the time to get a breather and refortify themselves mentally, Jagall noticed Moff Esmeralda rushing back toward them to help.

Odd. At this point, negotiations aren't going to be a solution. Why is she coming over here?

Cheeks flushed. Annoyed expressions during the Briefing. Closeness with Kronos. Ah, it all made sense then. She wanted to be of use, her pride dictated anything other than remaining out of the thick of things. And then there was her lover.

Noted.

As the Moff caught up to them and they progressed toward their objective, a large thud rang hollowly throughout the broken tower. The man glanced upwards with a frown.

What was that? I don't sense a threat.

Putting it out of his mind for the immediate moment, he waited for what was to come. The inklings of battle teased at the corners of his vision, a tugging through the Force. But it wasn't guaranteed yet.

Just highly likely.

The walls around the staircase and a room up ahead evidently now showed a mixture of ugly colors from an old battle. Debris everywhere. A foreboding sign.

As the front of the group finally entered into Heskal's room, they all paused though the Jedi couldn't see why at first. That it was enemies was clear though. The sounds of an odd charge presented itself and they all tensed.

That was when the soldiers, enemy and ally alike, all jumped down to the ground and battled it out there. And then his Force Sense blared. The image of an odd Zakuul Knight incoming manifested right before they did.

As they landed behind him, he already had their measure in the Force. The Knight of ferocious intent and void of empathy was on the pure offensive, as such he could evade even on this narrow staircase.

…There was no need for that either.

The moment the Knight landed, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at his abrupt opponent. That was all the time he had as they then slashed downward with a darksaber, yet were moving their oddly weaponized arm to firing position.

A distraction. Remaining outwardly calm and devoid of anxiety, he used the Force manipulated through his left hand to freeze the weapon inches from his body. No need to move.

The Knight was open.

A shot to the head.

Jagall reversed his lightsaber in his right hand, which he had begun to do the moment the Knight attacked, and pivoted to deflect the shot right back into their face at near point blank range back to their own. However, should he miss somehow, there was to be no room for error.

Upon deflection, the blade went immediately arcing straight out in a blur of green and was intentioned to slash through the enemy as if they were nothing more than cheese to a knife. If that.

Even a Jedi knew when to use lethal force. The Zakuul Knight had forgotten that fact.

There was a small smile on the man's face, briefly seen and quickly hidden.

Tag: Darth Kronos Sinrebirth PCCViking Darth Master Titus A Blind Prophet HanSolo29

 

Radian T'Lenity
Prison Ship

The Jedi stood reluctantly, only to hiss in pain at the twisted ankle he had suffered in the crash. "This day just keeps getting better and better..." he whispered annoyed at recent events.

Carefully he hobbled out, looking about for his new allies. He avoided putting to much pressure on the limb, but tugged at it slightly with the force so he could walk a bit faster than he would otherwise. He heard someone ask "Is everyone alright?" and without turning to face him Radian answered. "Could be worse. I'm mobile at least." he saw light beaming into the ship via large openings in the hull, and began to move in that direction. "We need to get out of here. To some place safe. I'd rather avoid any more 'surprises' today."

Tags: theometric, dragonsith13, Sinrebirth

 

Combo with Wanderguard

IC: Darth Syren
Taris

A splash of frigid water to the face sent scarlet rivulets running down Syren’s cheeks to cascade into the sink below. She glanced down at the blood as it mixed with the running water, swirling together to disappear down the grimy drain as one. Her hands clasped either side of the fixture and she leaned forward to peer into the rusted mirror for a moment, the only light flickering above barely making the tiny ‘fresher a smidge above complete darkness. She looked positively horrible but she’d been worse. With a sigh she knew she truly didn’t give a damn about her appearance right now and her mind began to recycle what had just transpired.

She must have overdosed him. Too much serum was the only reasonable explanation as to why the Rodian would have blown his own brains out after she asked him her question. Unless he was too scared to reveal anything, Syren realized, which opened up a whole new line of worry. Just who were these blasted Acolytes of the Beyond? Were they far more frightening and powerful than she had initially guessed? Perhaps she had dismissed the fanatical group too easily…

Taking a deep breath, the High Lord grasped a dirty towel and dampened it under the running faucet. As she continued scrubbing away Dakko’s remains from her face and hair, Syren planned out her next move. Having fled The Rak-Ghoul’s Claw in a hurry, she had retrieved her stashed belongings and made her way through the late-night crowds to this dingy, and thankfully empty cantina just a few blocks over. Syren was aware that her target may not have been a fine upstanding Tarisian but a public death would cause a stir no matter who you were. Cleaning up any obvious signs of the act had been her first priority before moving onto her next; the mysterious piece of tech that she had acquired.

Satisfied she had cleaned up as best she could, Syren wrapped her thick cloak about her with all weapons replaced to their proper positions on her person. Datachip held safely within her grasp, she left the ‘fresher and went straight to a public terminal that was in a corner of the bar. Looking over her shoulder at the barkeep who was snoozing comfortably on a stool, he had no clue in the world that she was even there.

Pulling her focus back to the task at hand, Syren quickly connected the chip to its corresponding port and waited to see what it would reveal.

A ghostly blue flicker was how it began. After, an unintelligible scroll of characters, a deluge of numerals and letters from a thousand planets and alphabets which might have seemed as though the datachip was corrupted if it hadn't appeared so intentional.

Then it gave way, and as the proverbial mists were parted, a path ahead was clear. A note of sorts. Or perhaps a shipping manifest of some kind. Not that smugglers would have much use for manifests - quite the opposite. But it was a lead, whatever it was.

deliver relic to:
37800 block, 35th level
building A
suite 109
$$$
retirement! big payday at last
remember to bring a blaster though, this guy's crazy

Syren read the deciphered note several times before leaning back in thought. A relic? Haretisch had mentioned the trade of the alleged lightsaber of Vader himself… if Dakko was truly involved with the Acolytes of the Beyond, would it be possible he had one last dealing with a known Sith artifact? She couldn’t fathom what, of course. Sleeping through thousands of years meant she’d missed some things.

Committing the specified location to memory, the High Lord retrieved the datacard from its port and placed it in her bag. The remnants of the Rodian’s blood and brain matter had started to dry in the areas Syren had yet to clean thoroughly; it formed a stiff coating over her skin that pulled and cracked in a disgusting manner as she began to make her way towards the exit. She suddenly longed for a hot, intensely disinfecting shower and a change of clothes.

Eyeing the still snoozing bartender as she approached the door, Syren drew her hood down further over her face and wrapped her cloak close to her body before heading back outside. Walking a short ways down the avenue, she spotted an unoccupied speeder taxi parked nearby and immediately jumped in, barking directions at the driver.

“Take me to block 37800 of level 35 and don’t try and give me the run around. Use the fastest route possible.”

Looking up, she saw the older human male had turned in his seat with his gaze lingering on what little of her face that he could see beneath her cowl. Syren did not appreciate his level of curiosity. “Listen… lady. I’m off duty, you’ll have to find –“

“Go. NOW,” she added with the right amount of venom. The driver took her tone as intended and snapped to, accelerating into traffic and possibly to her next lead.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he started, once nestled in the flow of traffic. "And I'm not saying you can't handle yourself," he tried to deflect any offense before it could be taken, as he'd gathered this particular client wasn't quite harmless, "but nobody goes down there anymore with good intentions. And I'm only taking you so far. That block is abandoned, there's not even power. And who knows what goes on in those old buildings. I'd rather keep all my organs."

The speeder dipped through an opening that turned into a skylane, and then curved around once it had gotten back level. Taris was an odd patchwork of actual streets, and three dimensional airways, interspersed haphazardly, and for an inexperienced navigator it would have been all too easy to get lost.

There was no mistaking it, though - as the speeder approached the vicinity of Syren's destination, a void could be seen up ahead in the bright burn of neon city lights. Even the traffic tapered off until the speeder was alone, diving into the maw. But it came to a stop just past the cusp.

"This is as far as I go," the driver threw his hands up and shook his head. "Consider this a freebie. I think the building you want should be on the left, a little ways in. Just... watch yourself," he finished, sounding exasperated. He was almost certain this woman was going to her death.

Having not said a word to the driver during the short ride, Syren continued the trend as she vacated the speeder without so much as a parting glance towards the front seat. She took a few steps away before the frightened man whipped the small craft around and took off with haste, returning to the warmth and safety of the lights. Normally she might have thought to find enjoyment in his obvious fear but as she peered around this proverbial black hole within the city, her senses told her that the driver’s panic could be founded in truth.

The block was certainly dark and not just in the literal sense, but as a feeling; there was an odd prickling of danger that went beyond any obvious threat.

Remaining vigilante, the assassin cast out with the Force as she began moving along the street. Passing a few buildings that looked like they hadn’t seen repairs for some time, Syren noted the emptiness of the area. Not a single soul could be detected with the naked eye nor with the Force but adding to her already heightened wariness of the situation, there was something instinctual that told her she was being watched. She loathed the sensation.

As Syren approached one particularly dilapidated structure, she could roughly make out a rusted sign with a large “A” placed above the door-less entry. How convenient, she thought wryly. Still not completely sure she could place the cause of her trepidation, she quickly looked to her sides and spun around once slowly. As she peered into the dark, she shouldered her small bag and freed her vibroblade with one hand.

Now facing away from Building A with weapon clutched tightly in her grasp, she took careful steps backwards until she was enveloped in the near-blackness of its interior. Syren paused and took a single, steadying breath. With the curl of her lip she closed her eyes and pushed even farther out with the Force in an attempt to pinpoint exactly where she was seemingly being lead.

Her grey eyes suddenly shot open. There.

She tilted her head back to stare up at the ceiling, her gaze narrowing in concentration. It was time to ascend. Syren located a stairwell and began to climb, her mind and body preparing for the unexpected.

Snap-hiss.

Atop the stairs, a pillar of red, blazing light erupted to bathe its surroundings in scarlet, and the face of a man was then visible in its radiance. His features were weathered but not aged. He was young, not more than mid-thirties, and in his right hand he clutched the lightsaber which had illuminated the stairwell. He was undetectable in the flow of the force - not as though he were a void or wound within it, but instead as if he simply existed entirely outside of the fabric which formed and encompassed all life.

"You shouldn't have come here," he said.

At the intimately familiar sound, Syren halted mid-step upon a landing as a single crimson blade shot to life a short distance away. She immediately turned to square herself towards its owner who stood only one flight of stairs above. Her senses honed in on the man there, one she did not recognize but so clearly seemed to have been prepared for her, or something like her.

Syren’s brow briefly furrowed in confusion; she couldn’t feel him in the Force. His absent presence was disquieting.

Not removing her eyes from him or the weapon he held, she used her free hand to remove her hood, her right still clutching the vibroblade beneath the folds of her cloak. Her face now fully in view, Syren in turn scrutinized his. Her head tilted to the side in thought, studying what she could of him in the menacing glow of the lightsaber. An Acolyte, perhaps?

“I am right where I should be,” she began in response to his declaration – or threat, rather which seemed so… hollow to her. Regardless, every inch of her began to hum with anticipation as she stared him down.

“Who are you?”

He furrowed his brow, lightsaber still humming in front of his face. His features were framed by an unruly dark brown coif, and he was marked above one eye with a scar. From head to toe he wore only black.

Finally he spoke.

“Darth Vader.”

Really…, Syren thought without humor, not even trying to hide the disdain she was sure was written across her face. So she was not only dealing with fanatics… but those of the insane variety. No, more like delusional.

Slowly shaking her head, she shoved aside her cloak and removed the left saber hilt from her belt with her free hand. Fully in view, she did not ignite the blade, not yet.

“Darth Vader is dead,” Syren began, adding a heavier emphasis to the last word.

“Try again.”

“I am NOT dead!” he half-shrieked, his voice twisting upward at least a couple of octaves. “I’m just… biding my time,” he lowered his voice but still seethed with anger. “Why have you come? Did they send you? Did the Acolytes send you after me?”

He heightened his guard slightly, stepping back with one foot to poise himself for the fight. His expression grew stronger, more resolved. The lines on his face deepened. “They can’t stop me. No one can.”

Syren’s grip tightened over her weapons as she noted the man’s change in stance and reacted by subtly mimicking his movement. Still not able to get a read on him through the Force, his rage was at least obvious. However, it was also apparent she wasn’t going to get any straight answers from this fool and honestly she wasn’t sure what it is she should be asking. Unless…

“Alright, Lord Vader,” she said through clenched teeth. Giving a slight bow of the head, the assassin fought to control her frustrations. This may be a ridiculous notion but she had to think it just may work. “I am not here to… stop you. I am here to help.”

Syren began to coil the dark side about her in preparation should he lash out with violence. He had the high ground after all. “Why would the Acolytes be after you? Tell me so that I may assist you…” she paused, forcing herself to continue. “… my Lord.”

‘Vader’ looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re not one of them,” he said, as if he could have only figured out the fact through clairvoyance. “And I’m not stupid,” he spat. “You don’t believe me. No one does. No one understands. I fought in the Clone Wars. I purged the Jedi Temple. I killed Obi-Wan Kenobi on Mustafar. It was me! The Acolytes want me to be quiet and stop drawing attention… they say they’re planning something big and can’t have it compromised by a… a crazy person.”

He huffed. “If the Acolytes didn’t send you, why are you here? And why do you want to help me?”

Syren took a deep breath to keep focused as this loon prattled on. The urge to roll her eyes and laugh was incredibly strong but his delusions were not her mission, whatever information she could retrieve from his disturbed mind was.

“What are they planning?” Syren asked eagerly once he had finished. “That is… I’m here to figure out what the Acolytes are attempting to do.” She chose to dodge his last question, only requiring a concrete answer before giving “Lord Vader” a second death.

Perhaps appropriately, the man's eyes flared with distrust. This woman was the first person who had in any way entertained his claims of identity - and ironically it set his teeth on edge. He knew better. But she was listening - and he could make her believe.

"You walk into my home," he began, taking methodical steps down the stairway to close the distance, "question my very existence," he leveled the scarlet blade threateningly as he drew nearer, the tension growing in his voice, "and now you mock me."

He was dangerously close now, and his eyes gravitated to the weapon she held. "Give me that lightsaber," he commanded. "And then I will show you my Empire."

His eyes gleamed with malevolent pride.

Syren’s eyes narrowed as he began his approach. She remained still and watched his crimson blade creep closer as he spoke, almost considering it a personal affront that this lunatic was even in possession of such a great weapon. Did he even know how to handle it? Possibly, but her skills would be greater, of that much she was confident.

Upon hearing “Vader’s” request that she relinquish her lightsaber to him, she couldn’t help a small chuckle that burst forth from her lips. That was it, she was done playing games. “There is no other Empire than that of the Sith and Emperor Insipid, you fool,” she growled, her finger tracing circles over her own weapon’s activation switch.

She paused for the briefest of moments, knowing he had not revealed to her what the Acolytes had up their sleeves. The most basic desire to rip his heart out through his chest was past the point of irresistible, but Syren knew better. He had information she needed and she refused to return to the Night Herald empty handed. Dakko was an unfortunate misfire… with this second chance it wasn’t even an option.

Inflicting some humbling pain was, however.

“Give me your lightsaber, which I am sure isn’t truly yours to wield, and I won’t kill you right where you stand.”

Before finishing the last word, her focus suddenly found purchase at the man’s hand that gripped his blade. With a burst of dark side exertion, she pinpointed her energy on the wrist joint, utilizing Force Wound to crush the bones there. At the same time, she dropped her vibroblade and reached out with a now empty palm, using the Force to pull the impostor's weapon into her grasp.

To be continued...


TAG: Darth_wanderguard

 

IC: Alekto
Castle Ctal'thua

Alekto took only a few steps following after Serapis as he trekked out into the swamp, his booted feet making the most skin-crawling sucking noises with every step. The swamp... something about it was just radiating an awful, awful feeling. Alekto had already retreated back to stand beside the ship's ramp as Serapis trekked back, and retrieved a load of things from the shuttle, including a raft and a test kit. Prepping both the raft and the test kit, Alekto furrowed her tattooed brow and jutted out her lower lip as Serapis muttered about acidity after sticking a little strip of something into the water.

And then, as Serapis punched a series of controls to close the ramp, Alekto jumped as a horrible groan emanating from the ramp caught her by surprise. The ramp screeched and shook as it tried its damnedest to pull free of the moss that hadn't been there a few seconds earlier.

That was when Alekto spotted a mysterious woman running towards them as Serapis shouted from the ramp, "Alekto! The ship can't stay here!"

Immediately snapping into action, Alekto leapt onto the ramp alongside Serapis, and caught sight of a mysterious woman with jet black hair, slashing at the moss on their shuttle's landing struts. "This day just gets karking weirder and weirder," Alekto muttered to herself as Serapis had lifted off as soon as he was able.

TAG: DarthIshyZ, Moonspun Dragon, Lady Belligerent

Just a wee update to get up to speed.

 

IC: Darth Alva

Alva's collected demeanor was gone, he had a malicious look about him now as he focused. The cyborg must have weighed over a ton, as he began to float into the air.

"Now the force will end this," he said before gesturing his hands in sudden motion with all his might. Grievance would go hurling into framed structured walls, then to the opposite side. Alva exhorted himself to compensate for the massive weight he had to support. He threw Grievance over and over, as much as he could in order to bash out whatever animated life the cyborg had in him. Troopers came in squads now to assess the situation, they brought more lethal weapons in response to the threat level.

The fight, however, was seemingly ending. Alva's arms were starting give way, his clenched fists gradually shook. With one last ounce of effort he violently slammed Grievance, face first, to the floor. The metallic thud must have echoed throughout the entire section. The invisible grip around Grievance vanished, Alva's arms went limp for a few moments. The surrounding corridors told the tale of a large figure being battered against the walls.

Alva wanted to finish him by running his saber through the thing's chest, but his tired arms wouldn't allow for a powerful ending strike right now. So he just turned away, pushing through the crowd of troopers that were beginning to surround Grievance. Their heavy blaster rifles and phaser pistols ready if the being would get up again from his wounded state.Whether they shot him, threw him in the trash compactor, or would just jettison him out into space Alva wouldn't care. He just wanted to sleep now before his master would summon him again.

He was more exhausted now than when he was after completing the previous mission a few hours ago.

Arriving back to his room he waited for the door to active, "Kriff it all!" He swore out loud "I jammed the damn door on my way out," Alva wasn't in the mood to deal with minor annoyances such as this. He began kicking hard at the door until a small opening allowed for him pry it open. Doing this however caused the door to only close about a fourth of the way, but again Alva didn't care.

Thirst crawled it's way into the back of Alva's throat. He threw the trooper armor off went for the faucet sink in the refresher. Cupping his hands he nearly drunk half his body weight in water. Swallowing the last portion a bit too fast Alva gagged and went into a small coughing fit. After catching his breath he went straight for the bed, the cold sheets felt pleasant as he lay on his stomach. He had his weapons close by this time, in cause anyone else tried to sneak up on him again. Everything was quiet again, no other signs of a threatening essence could be detected from what he could tell. His eyes grew heavy.

Why did that cyborg come after me? Who sent him? Those were the last thoughts to cross his mind before falling asleep.

@Darth_wander Kaleesh-Cyborg dragonsith13

 

IC: Soliloquy
Inside the Shuttle, inside Lesser Insipid

'Enough.' A quiet voice cut across the hanger bay and into the shuttles pickups. 'My command is not to be squandered on Sith bravado, Commandant.'

Above them all was the hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Though just his upper chest and head, the enlarged visual was nonetheless striking. Soliloquy fully approved. The gunners paused, and one being stood to attention. 'Grand Admiral -' Well, there was the Commandant, a priority target if it came to it. Something both Soliloquy and his droid host seemed to come to the conclusion of at the same moment as the man's body lit up in brackets within its vision.

Thrawn's eyes bored into Commandant. 'Return to your position, Commandant. I shall deal with this ersatz High Lord.'

Drat, and a thousand hexes upon that man's brood! Had it failed to convince Ike? Or was it Thrawn that had truly seen through it's disguise?

'Admiral.' was all the Commandant said.

He indicated his troops were to go, and Thrawn turned his gaze on the shuttle. 'Lord Soliloquy, if you would stand down -'

The hologram vanished and appeared, at an ordinary height, and full body, in the cockpit behind the pilots chair. 'I would speak with you.'

The droid body was slow to turn, but it took no facial expressions nor erratic flickering of it's internal purple and red glow to convey that simple fact, that it had been caught red handed. No pun intended as it had been thinking about red hands as a part of the color scheme changes it had planned.

Thrawn was there, a hologram, yes, but it conveyed his presence. Much as Soliloquy had conveyed it's presence as a thinking mind with many forms for thousands of years. With a gesture, the cockpit door sealed, and sound countermeasures were activated. Indicating a level of control that Thrawn yet had here. 'Your God-Emperor has connected with the Imperial mainframe; it was a matter of ease to electronic infiltrate the ship he used.' So it was not it's own doing, it was the Emperor's, and it refused to add the prior title. It already had before with the Emperor that was alive at it's dawn and it had seen him die. Such titles were earned over much longer periods than mortal forms of any present had truly shown.

'But we will not be overheard here. Your God-Emperor is not proficient with technology, Holocron.' That was evident in the hack being back traced and present situation.

The Chiss smiled. 'Yes, I know of you. Lord Manticore is not one to barter; that was your only error in your chosen identity. Otherwise you have successfully driven the Grand Moff from his ex-lovers ship. Even now he has bypassed many of the safeties involved, accessing a concealed level of code that prevents me from acting against his latest orders.'

Grand Admiral Thrawn's eyes glittered through the simulacrum. The droids eye's shuttered once, a blinking of it's own optics. Somewhere deep in it's original core it held a flicker of recognition of rank and position superior to it, but it listened and stayed itself.

'He has triggered the self-destruct.' This, possibly could change things.

As he spoke, the hangar doors went to seal themselves, and Thrawn leaned forward. 'I do not wish your God-Emperor harm. I have need of his services, but find myself requiring yours more.' Interesting. Most interesting.

'Your interface allows you to access the system on a level I cannot... I expect the God-Emperor intends to use you for this purpose as well, to access an artifact that his fellow Dark Lords have hidden on Zakuul. Something from your timeline, not mine. And so I leave it to you to diffuse this self-destruct.'

'Or you can kill your God-Emperor and move droid host...' Thrawn leaned forward.

'If you can in-fact leave your Holocron heart behind...'

"It is not a question of if we could, time would be a factor. The deeper problem is what we would leave behind, whether we would be trusted still by the next iteration, and whether we would still have access to what we want." The droid leaned forward as it motioned toward the socket, "Artifacts are of value only to what they are worth. I have seen many, live and die. What do you propose? I believe I can survive either way, do nothing, everything, or something. So what it is it that you want?" the voice it affected took on those tones of a world weary old man, and in many ways the droids posture and shaky gesturing now reflected it. An illusion of voice and of action without substance nor form. But that was where the natural mind of others oft filled in the gaps to something acceptable.

Thrawn smiled again, unblinking. 'Interesting. You show age, and wisdom. A Holocron with a body is a curious piece of art to decipher. The body was not chosen by you, but for you. That much is clear; you would have chosen something all the more subtle than an Infiltrator droid; you have a predilection towards deception, after all.'

The Chiss had probably said nothing that did not surprise the droid. 'I desire your counsel, clearly. I do not wish to lose the Sith to civil war, and they have many issues to resolve before that is averted. I dislike waste, and an internal struggle is wasteful, as much as the Empire's conflict with the First Order is.' A shrug.

Thrawn had turned the conversation slightly, and absently wondered with it would be noticed. 'So what do you want, I would ask?'

The blue man with the red eyes spoke soothingly and languidly as tho there was no rush, no ticking time bomb waiting to end them. It was a trap. A simple cage that worked all to well on even the experienced, it well knew and so let the droid go about what it's programming saw as imminent danger, deactivating the self destruct.

Although it restrained it from doing so via direct means through the shuttle uplink, slowing the process but not showing how it worked directly. "Clearly." it simply stated as the droid leaned back, a hand grasping with a slight elbow wobble onto the chairs armrest as though it had need of the support. "You state your desires in the veils of cushioned guidance. Things are rarely so simple." A brief hissing noise issued from the droids speakers, "What do we want?" a simple admission, "When a holocron grows old and well used, the soul grows from a shard toward a whole and oft seeks to find a vessel of flesh that it might do what it has taught and advised others in the Force to do." at this the droids head split open revealing a host of red eyes and the old mans voice changed to that of an old woman, Old Daka to be exact, "But I am not one, and we do not wish to be separated. We wish an array of droid bodies and the ability to mime if not perform that which I teach and store. The Emperor so far seems the most likely to be able to imbue such to my core, although crasser methods have been in-numerated upon within my times before and after."

Thrawn nodded as an adjunct caught his attention off-screen, undoubtedly notifying him that the self-destruct had been deactivated. He had the manners not to smile knowingly, and focused upon what the Holocron spoke of.

The visual display of a splitting face and a woman's voice made an eyebrow raise, but otherwise the Grand Admiral betrayed no surprise. He did however speak further. 'What if I could offer you both? Flesh and blood and a droid ensemble? Would that sufficient for us to proceed?'

Thrawn paused. 'It will take an acquisition of resources that will require time, but I can offer you flesh and blood and a droid interface - a Human Replica Droid.' With a gesture off-screen, a pair of humans were apparent.

One was of a striking blond woman in the company of a Falleen garbed in the robes of a Vizor of Black Sun, and the other was Princess Leia Organa, recently a mother of Ben Solo.

'Both are in-fact exquisitely expensive droids. The creator went into hiding and joined the Rebellion after Prince Xizor of Black Sun decided he wanted his droid, Guri, to be the only one of its kind. Subsequently the man created a second droid for Project Decoy, designed to draw Imperial kidnappers away from Princess Leia. Both were destroyed, and the designer is believed to have died in the recapture of Yavin by Kadann.'

Thrawn had these images, this enticement, to hand, as if anticipating Soliloquy. Which of course he had. 'I have information which suggests the technology has not been entirely lost...' Thrawn mused. 'How about a cadre of HRD's, so all the better for you to mime?'

'Perhaps you will regain the Force?' Thrawn added that as if an afterthought, eyes casting up, losing focus. He returned his visage to Soliloquy. 'A tantalizing idea, no?'

The droids face snapped shut at the end of the speech by Thrawn and a neutral soothing tone that was without gender issued forth as the droids motions smoothed out to what is droid normal or a man at ease. "I remember these." it simply stated as though reminiscing.

"Yes, it rather is a tantalizing idea. Acceptable one as well, so long as I get physical access to the creator afterward." the droid tilted it's head at this, indicating it's so far consent. "Of course what warrants such repayment has not been fully drawn from the icy fog, after all, your resources are finite at this time."

Thrawn waved a hand as if unconcerned. 'I shall be returning to Known Space and have access to all manner of assets imminently. It will require an exertion of effort, but I would be happy to do so on your behalf.'

'All I would need, for now, is an open feed to you; to be able to monitor Darth Insipid at any time I so require. His location is of paramount importance to me.'

The droids voice, for once came out as it's own, "That can be arranged." It simply intoned as it reached out to plug into the shuttle. "Look, listen, talk with us if you will. Do anything more, and just remember. . .I know your art." it simply stated as the holocron within it's chest flared a little brighter for just a moment to highlight that last word.

Thrawn's eyes flared. 'I am sure you do.'

He sketched a mock salute. 'Until next time, Holocron.'

"It has been a rare pleasure. Thank you, and until then." the droid tilted it's head in parting. Life was rarely so surprisingly gracious, what interesting times they all now lived in.

TAG: Sinrebirth

 

Just a small update-- I'm almost back on track for the NST II!

IC: Lady Hesper
Obelisk

With her saber pointed at Captain Csapla's neck, Hesper's eye burned a fiery glare into the man's fearful red eyes. She stood, awaiting his full surrender-- but as he completed raising his hands, the floor beneath them rocked and shook, accompanied by a dull, roaring explosion and the blare of klaxons and sirens.

They were blowing up the ship.

Furious and having passed her breaking point for patience, Hesper quickly drew back her saber with a snarl and a coarse yell, reversed her grip, and pitched her lightsaber at poor Captain Csapla like a javelin. It caught the unsuspecting Chiss in the neck, and he fell to the ground with a surprised gurgle. Hesper wrenched her saber from the man's neck as her commlink pinged, and once again Zalen's voice came through:

"They're blowing up this section of the hangar entry," Zalen shouted. "Lady Hesper, they're using a powerful explosive substance. We've got to stop them because they're using it recklessly, and it's capable of taking this ship down."

Hesper was beyond words. She clicked her comm in acknowledgment, but offered no instructions. The idiot mutineers would pay for their lunacy with their lives-- she would make sure of it. There was no more room for leniency, and when Hesper inquired of the Force briefly, her cloudy foresight vision allowed her the most fleeting glimpse of a blossoming explosion against an inky black sky. She swore aloud. Quickly, she pulled out the datapad Leda had prepared for her, and with a series of taps and clicks, had all the blast doors aboard the Obelisk opened. But just as she hit the final command, a turbulent explosion shook the floor again. Hesper hit the command, but stumbled in the process, nearly dropping the datapad. And she feared, too, that the doors had not opened in time.

Another commlink notification, and Zalen once again: "I'm sure you're already aware, they've placed explosives in other parts of the ship, Milady. I'm familiar with this explosive and it could breach the hull if they aren't careful... and so far they appear anything but careful."

Once again, Hesper clicked to acknowledge, but offered no reply and simply stored her commlink in her billowing sleeve. The image of the yellow and orange explosion the Force had shown her pressed itself into the back of her left eyelid. She knew already that this mission was a bust. They would do what they could, push the mission as far as possible, but they would have to abandon ship. Hesper raised a silent apology to Lady Bellorum for the loss of such a beautiful, but poorly staffed, ship.

Her comm chimed, and Cocytus' spoke: "Master, I have met up with Darth Osnil. Any further orders?"

Hesper held her comm to her lips, and her voice was clearly perturbed. "Acknowledged, Cocytus. The plan has changed. Make your way towards Zalen and Ravenous' position."

More explosions roiled underfoot, and with a gesture of her hand, Hesper crushed the windpipes of the remaining crew members on the bridge. She quickly scanned the room, deciding whether she wanted to stay here and try to save Bellorum's beloved ship, or opt to go to where all the action was.

She would go, she decided.

Breaking into a sprint, Hesper bolted to the turbolift, impatiently took it down to the main levels, and flew on fleet feet directly towards where the explosions resounded from. She passed by crew mutineers running the opposite direction, and with a sweep of her ignited lightsaber, sent limbs and heads flying in her wake.

Her comm pinged. "Darth Ravenous reporting in, the shuttle bay doors have been opened by the enemy. Darth Zalen was injured in the ambush and I am attempting to push the mutineers back, but they have numbers."

Hesper skid to a stop. "I hear you, Ravenous," she spoke into the comm. "I'm on my way to you, as are Cocytus and Osnil." She paused for a beat, and the image of the explosion grew crisper in her mind's eye. "I've seen that we will have to abandon ship. The explosions will be too much. Hold your position for now, protect Zalen and Leda; but be prepared to move when I arrive." Hesper clicked off her comm.

With a furious and uncharacteristically loud roar, Hesper picked up her pace again, racing to meet with her team.

TAG: Lady Belligerent, WookieeRage, QueenSabe7, Darth Cocytus, Darth Osnil

 

IC: Darth Cocytus & Darth Osnil
The Obelisk

Just as Osnil finished cutting through the blast door, Lady Hesper's voice could be heard yet again over the com. Specific instructions were given to report his location. "Mesa at da Crew Quarters and making mesa way out. Mesa got seven with mesa," he said into his comm, "Theysa on wesa side."

Darth Cocytus's face twisted with a sneer a little upon hearing that he'd be paired with the Gungan. As much as he was amused by Osnil's idea or pretending to inspire loyalty, he real loathed his un-Sithly sense of honor he seemed to have. Nonetheless, the Kaminoan nodded with a bow to his master, Darth Hesper, and looked at his commlink upon hearing Darth Osnil's location. "Will be there soon enough," he hissed coldly before departing from his fellow Sith lords, muttering in annoyance, "Kriffing Gungan with his kriffing broken Basic..."

Cocytus made his way through the halls of the ship, mowing and hacking down any Imperial unfortunate enough to get in his way, regardless of loyalty. Leaving of a trail of corpses in his wake, both butchered with the blade or burned or twisted with the Force, Darth Cocytus eventually met up with Darth Osnil.

"Need a hand, Osnil?" He asked, strangling a pathetic looking Imperial female with his grip of the dark side of the Force, while at the same time blocking any blaster bolts with one of his curved lightsabers.

Cocytus was obviously irritated that he was paired with him. Osnil wasn't the biggest fan either. He hadn't encountered much resistance, unlike Cocytus, but that was because he'd just gotten out of the Crew Quarters.

"Wesa got it now, but wesa could have used yousa's help a little while ago." He motioned towards the blast door with a large circular hole in the center. "What's da mission now?"

As they spoke, a series of raucous explosions shook the floor beneath the Gungan and the Kaminoan, and they looked to each other with mild shock. Though both were as quick to dismiss their shock as soon as it dawned upon them.

Darth Cocytus's eyes turned to slits as he gazed upon the Gungan, infuriated that he came here considerably for nothing. Still strangling the Imperial in his force grip, the Kaminoan drag her down towards his lightsaber, stabbing her in the chest before tossing the unfortunate Chiss as if she were garbage. Cocytus glanced at the Imperial and made a small smile, seeing that she was still alive, yet dying an extremely painful death from the burnt hole in her abdomen. The Sith apprentice took his comm to communicate with Hesper. "Master," he spoke, "I have met up with Darth Osnil. Any further orders?"

Hesper's reply came through, intensely annoyed and edgy. "Acknowledged, Cocytus. The plan has changed. Make your way to Zalen and Ravenous' position." Another explosion resounded.

Osnil looked in the eyes of Cocytus. Despite how irritated he was at Cocytus' merciless manner, he put his feelings aside. Otherwise, both of them would meet Zalen's cruelty. "Wesa need to get goin'. Wesa nosa want to make dem wait. Especially Zalen."

Darth Cocytus looked up at Darth Osnil after receiving Hesper's commands and stared into his eyes. He gave him a small mocking smirk as he just for a moment as he could feel the Gungan's irritation. Nonetheless Cocytus nodded at his suggestion and clutched his lightsaber before turning his back on Osnil. The Kaminoan began walking before stopping suddenly as he felt tremors that could only be explosions from down below. "I got a bad feeling about this." he muttered before resuming his walk while increasing his pace.

Osnil nodded. He felt the explosions as well. He waved for the seven that were with him to follow. He grasped his lightsaber as well. Though he wanted to get Dupy back, he knew that there were more important things to do. He hoped that Dupy wasn't being mistreated, or worse. He blinked before his thoughts got any worse and hurried after Cocytus.

Tag: corinthia, Lady Belligerent and Darth Osnil

 

Combo post featuring Draconis and Grievance Vexx
Location: Relevator; Undisclosed Cargo Hold

Grievance's fear rapidly escalates to terror as Alva commences an assault like none he has ever experienced at the hands of a Force-wielder. The air is buzzing with an intensity that might have driven the cyborg into madness had he not been restrained in an invisible vice-like grip. Indeed, he has not felt this helpless since the Sith who had transformed him had executed a Force-drain on him to gain prolonged submission and zero resistance from his project.

The first hit is perhaps the worst as it is full of vengeful strength. The only thing in Grievance's favor is none of the following hits will be quite as fierce as Alva spends his strength, but that one hit is all it takes to do a substantial amount of damage, weakening his resistance against the following hits. No sound is made by the cyborg throughout this violent retaliation; his head is spinning between the bashing and the intensity of the Force surrounding him.

By the time Alva slams him against the steel floor and releases him, Grievance is in sad and sorry shape. Multiple blows to the head have left him concussed and the vision in his injured eye obscured by blood that trails down like red tears from his mask, a clear indicator that he is no droid if there had been any doubts before. One would think he would no longer possess the strength to put up any more of a fight, but inside that metal armor beats the heart of a Kaleesh. Surrender just doesn't come easy.

"Master, your vitals are reading an all-time low," an electronic-sounding voice comes through his comlink, "Where are you? What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"

Grievance ignores the worried voice of his medical droid, growling as the squadrons of troopers encircle him, weapons drawn. They certainly aren't going to take any chances at being merciful--not after he's slaughtered a good portion of their comrades.

"Trash him. Worthless pile of scrap," one of the troopers barks.

"No, mate," another one cautioned, "He's made of durasteel. Do you know how expensive that is? He's no ordinary tinny though. Look. He's bleeding."

Bleeding profusely is more accurate at this point. Raising himself up on his arms, Grievance nearly collapses immediately as a coughing fit causes his body to seize up and still more blood begins to leak through the mouth grate on his mask. If he didn't look like a monster before, he certainly does now. He glares at the troopers with the intensity of a deadly predator and lurches up to barely get to his feet, where he immediately attempts a second attack on the troopers with his talons. Loss of blood and pressure to his respiratory system from damage to his armor minimize him as a threat however as he collapses, coughing and gasping.

"Orders or no orders," he growls, his voice distorted by blood and electrical damage, "You will die for this, Darth Alva."

Rather than waste his energy on the troopers, the cyborg activates the flamethrower on his arm and blasts it toward the squadron, igniting anything even remotely flammable and effectively putting up a wall so they cannot apprehend him. Half-dead, but mad with rage, he drags himself down the corridor through which Alva had disappeared, trailing blood all the way. That assassin will pay for this. If he must die, than Alva will die too.

The trail of blood was the least easy of the means to track the warrior, the scrapping of metal, clawing and dragging across the corridors echoed softly down the halls every few moments at the impulse of another urge of the being to pull oneself forward across the floor. A slow but determined path, that the beings seemed intent on following even to its detriment. The signature of the being however, was what echoed silently down the hallways, reverberating over the true current of awareness.

The mechanical wheezing hiss and occasionally cough that could be heard even out of sight from the warrior was growing louder, owing to the being refusal to relent.

And there it was, a mass of white durasteel armor and couplings, one hand or rather claw after the other willing itself around corridor after corridor in pursuit down the Star Destroyer’s halls. Draconis side stepped a fallen storm trooper, its white clade armor shattered down one side. The being having dispatched the trooper even in its fragile and compromised state, it continuing to spat curses and warnings of its pursuit towards Darth Alva.

He had watched it all, Darth Alva and his silent stalker playing their game throughout the corridors. The ensuing engagement of back and forth, both combatants having their moments. A furious exchange… Culminating in a display of the darker currents of anger in the force, modest in its own right, but true and powerful. Overpowering to the uninitiated or those unwilling to embrace…​

Draconis paced alongside the being for more time that it was aware, curiously observing and making note. Until he moved into its line of sight more, revealing his physical presence as he stood calmly… head cocked slightly as he looked down with an inquisitive half grin and a slightly narrowed gaze.

The being halted, its previous steady clawing advancement down the corridors paused as it suddenly became aware of the presence observing him from a close proximity. The armored head turning and looking upward at Draconis. The yellow and black eyes of the two of them meeting. Draconis’ hand waved slightly at his side.

The white clad warrior saw only a blur and felt the force of a sudden impact along with wave of energy.

And then blackness…

Though not ideal, this would have to do, several cargo containers of varying sizes lined the large room normally used as a shipping and receiving area for supplies, loading, unloading, and prepping containers.

Though normally well-lit with massive flood and cargo lights, only the faint glow of LED displays of various panels around the sides of the room, door archways, and the occasional pedestal lit the room. Making visibility only a few meters or so. It was cold, sterile. Cleared out and vacant currently.

For no other reason than privacy, no doubt the current inhabitant in the center of the room was not fazed by such a setting. Secured to a large table brought in, it was in a vertical position, holding the occupant upright and firmly in place. Anchored to the floor with electrical bindings wrapping and twisting all over the being’s frame, which added a small bit of illumination to the room as well. The being was more than secure and not in any fear of going anywhere at present.

“I sense it in you…”the voice seeming to come out of the blackness surrounding him.

“I know you feel it too…”A pause ensued, as the words hung in the air.

“Your hatred… disdain for it…”

“A mark of shame you wish you could… rip out… tear from your own flesh.”

“Well… what’s left of it anyways…”The crude jest at his physical makeup perhaps attempting to incite some response.

“You know, not many are able to infiltrate a Sith warship and pursue one of its own…” The words offering a bit of acknowledgement and impressiveness at the notion of what the being had initially accomplished.

A blue hologram illuminated from a hand held circular projector. An almost mirror image of the retrained and bound being moving within it. A reel of the being engaging in a furious battle with a foe. The white clad warrior dispatching and cutting down the foe, while moving onto the next.

Draconis stepped forward more into the faint light of the center of the room holding the hologram.

“But of course this is not you… you fooled our initial image identification software, and I had to dig deeper…”
The holographic footage was from an old Imperial archive and obviously not of the being in front of Draconis. Even though the being had done its best to model its appearance and even fighting styles after the known being in the holo-vid. They were different, one could feel it.

“You are different you know.”

The hologram ceased as the projector went silent in Draconis’ hand as he tucked it away. Draconis stepped forward, more visible to the retrained being.

“Yet you hate what you are, what you have…”

Draconis’ gazed wandered up and down the being, still musing on as to why it refused embrace it.

“Bested by a novice…”

Draconis’ gaze rose staring into the dark yellow eyes of the warrior, letting his latest insult hang.

Grievance hardly knew what had happened that had interrupted his pursuit of Alva. The stranger who had appeared could have very well been a hallucination brought on by his injuries; his descent into unconsciousness could have been attributed to the blood he had lost all over the corridors of the ship. He doesn't make the connection until he opens his eyes and realizes he is restrained against a steel table, upright, but helpless nonetheless.

Of course, his first instinct is to fight. He's been in this position so many times before, but apparently not enough to cause him to forgo a struggle. He growls angrily and tries to jerk his arms free, but there is no give in these restraints and he quickly finds that struggling is exhausting in his current condition. His head is still throbbing and his lungs feel like they are being painfully compressed, limiting their capacity, which, as a result, limits his strength as the exertion takes more out of him than it normally would.

Making one more savage attempt to free himself, he uses the remaining strength in his upper body to suddenly lurch forward, jerking against the arm and chest restraints once again, but he only manages to rock the table forward slightly before he falls back against the steel, trying to growl in anger, but what comes out is more along the lines of an exhausted coughing gasp. Only one eye is functional at the moment; the other has become sealed shut, crusted over by congealed blood drying like concrete against his face. Exhausted as his blood pressure takes a drop, he lets his good eye fall shut, trying to stop and collect himself; think through this situation.

Then he hears the voice of a stranger. That blasted sense of his lets him know that the speaker has Force powers and he tries to growl again as the voice continues speaking. His slitted yellow eye scans the dimly-lit room, not with fear, but complete indignation. Someone had blitzed him and that someone is speaking to him now. He can sense the condescending tone as the speaker clearly refers to his gift of Force-sensitivity. He curses in Kaleesh under his breath before addressing the speaker.

"Who are you?" his distorted voice sounds surprisingly calm, given the circumstances. Clearly, this is not his first rodeo in being captured. Even the demeaning wisecrack directed at his mutilated body is taken in stride. "And what business do you have disrespecting my privacy?"

He is referring to Draconis' observation of his loathing for the Force as he says this, his eye still trying to locate some physical form to identify as the speaker. Captured and interrogated before, this situation is not foreign to him and his strategic mind, though tired and fogged with pain from his recent showdown with Alva, is trying to find a way to gain some level of control over the circumstances. He closes his eye against the dim lighting that is still enough to make him uncomfortable in the midst of the head trauma he has suffered. In the recesses of his haunted memories, he can hear the voice of his mother, teaching him one of only a handful of lessons she had taught him before her death.

"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles," she had told him, "If you know yourself, but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."

His eye opens once again, this time to behold his captor who has chosen to show himself. In his limited vision, the creature standing before him appears as a blurred and shadowy apparition. Grievance glares at the hologram he plays before him, not exactly sure what he is supposed to be piecing together here, but his keen sense of detail is enough to know the replay he is looking at is a recording of his father in battle. Though the imagery alone pulls aggressively at his interest, he must remain indifferent and it all passes before him only partially retained as his mind is focusing on what his mother had told him. For all intents and purposes, he is in the presence of an enemy right now and he must gain intelligence on him if he is to triumph; he must listen and observe and study this character. He already knows himself, but to know himself is not enough. What is this shade before him hoping to accomplish?

"You think you have me pegged pretty well, don't you, specter?" he replies, though his words may not be perfectly clear as the distortion remains. He pauses as his respirator hisses, decompressing strenuously. "What do you want with me?"

The final comment causes him to bristle with indignation once more, but he swallows it. He recognizes this mental tactic utilized to provoke impulsive actions through anger. Make no mistake; Grievance is seething right now at the comment. He feels like a caged Roggwart being prodded by an electrostaff in the hands of one of those fool Geonosians. But a mind that has already been through the trials of a prisoner of war is not so easily broken. "Resist and bite," his father had taught him and while he can no longer bite in the physical sense, he can meet this perceived enemy with as much stubborn resistance.……..

"Who are you?" The distorted voice of the warrior calmly spoke, despite the being restrained and in a precarious situation currently. "And what business do you have disrespecting my privacy?"

It was no surprise that this one did not appreciate Draconis' prodding into his senses, who would...

The slight verbal and non-verbal jabs and cuts inflicted upon him through Draconis' subtle inquiries, and gestures. All seemingly minor, however there was an undercurrent of emotion that the warrior masked, despite his best efforts as he tried to remain indifferent to the comments as well as the hologram shown to him.

Draconis remained silent, waiting to answer the initial inquiries from the warrior. Slowly moving around his side and disappearing from his sight again around the back of the table, as the warrior continued to inquire as to the purpose of all of this. Draconis could tell he was strong willed, able to handle himself. Not necessarily untrained, more woefully unwilling to participate.

Draconis could feel the hatred he had for the force, despite it flowing through him and his ability to manipulate it.

"If you do not want me looking, you had better learn to keep me out!" Draconis offered while he was positioned behind the table bound warrior, continuing in his slow paced walk around him.

The soft thud of boot against the durasteel floor echoing through the air with each calculated step. Draconis continued to muse on the being's motives, while responding to the warrior's latest question.

"On the contrary, I am still trying to piece you together..."Draconis spoke eluding to the warrior's potential summarization from that of Draconis' perspective, perhaps misguided by the initial observations and remarks directed towards the white clad warrior. While the subject had been out DNA samples had been taken, and an IV inserted, that the now more aware being may have noticed now. But all of that was less important than the current discussion in identifying who the warrior was.

"What do you want for yourself?" Draconis knew the painfully dull and introspective rhetorical question turned back on the white clad warrior would boil his blood.

As Draconis avoided the question from the warrior and sought to continue to prod.

"You fight with one hand, or in your case sometimes more, tied behind your back in a sense." Another jest at his makeup, though eluding again to the self induced repression of his gifts.

"My name is Draconis." Draconis responded finally offered up the tidbit of information for no other reason than just doing so, indulging the warriors request to know who was keeping him.

"Your will and resolve is strong..." Draconis was close to returning into the warrior's sight once again, having come nearly around from behind, but slowed his pace even more keeping him slightly out of view still.

"Your skills in many respects admirable." Draconis offered a small appreciation for the warrior’s skill, but held back full acknowledgement that it was anything formidable. Draconis knew that his continued placating acknowledgements and taunts directed at him would be continuing to prove frustrating. This spectre as he was referred to, continuing to offer only more questions to the situation and with no real answers of any kind. Save his name.

"You could be so much more."Draconis' voice took on a more sinister and enticing tone.

A subtle rippling sound wash over room with a crisp crescendo before silence again. The dimly lit dark room surrounding them seemed pale against to the new mood and environment draw down upon the white clad warrior.

"Is that your home world?"The question out of nowhere was direct, going precisely to the thoughts that the warrior had invoked, and thought were private. "Your mother's words... wise. That young Kaleesh warrior, You? Before all of this? You miss her...don't you?" Drawing out a memory and materializing it against his will.

Draconis' eyes closed, though it was not visible as his face was half covered in a dim shadow, the lower portion of his face exuded a smug grin of sadistic satisfaction as he tore at the being’s personal thoughts, feeling and probing deeper.

At present not really caring about the being’s deepest thoughts and desires, merely drawing and evoking them to reach the desired response.

Draconis' shoulders moved slightly, sinking and rising in a subtle rhythmic motion as if position and adjusting to the flow of something. His head moving and swaying slightly as well, before stopping again. Images and memories from the Kaleesh warrior rushed by as Draconis moved deeper unopposed into his mind.

"Vexx."Draconis softly spoke, having extracted his name from him. Something very easily obtained through other more cordial means, but the mere fact of it forcefully having been done would begin to set in.

Very rarely has Grievance ever been in a position where he is made to feel like vulnerable prey. Draconis has effectively turned the tide on the Kaleesh warrior and his behavior plays just as massive a role in gaining access to his memories as his words do. His shadowy form circling to his blind side and then out of sight entirely, yet his voice remaining so close takes Grievance back almost three decades ago, to his capture by the Huk as a child. He fights the bitter remembrance, his mind, in a desperate search for the opposite of this memory, reverts to the memories of his mother; a very short-lived source of comfort and security in his life.

But this is all wrong! He cannot go there. He is on his own and has been for a very long time. The terrified Kaleesh youngling taken into slavery had matured long before his time and learned to outwit and escape his captors. He is mostly machine now, but the same heart of a warrior that beat behind flesh and bone as a child still beats today. He is of the same mind--the mind of a survivor--and he has not come this far to be enslaved even further. He has to focus and take into account everything that is happening in the present. Not an easy task either, considering he has a limited scope of vision and Draconis is taking full advantage of it.

That demon! he thinks, the pupil of his good eye shrinking to a hairline slit in spite of the dimness that requires dilation. He is exploiting every weakness I have gained since that whelp took me down! A feral growl rumbles deep in his chest, stifled only when coughing seizes him again. Focus, Vexx. This is nothing new. You have made other captors regret ever taking you as a prisoner; this...shall be no exception.

He does not know the technicalities involved with the Force enabling one to see into another's mind and memories, but he is smart enough to realize that he must stop his own mind from visiting things he does not want exposed. Adopting a steely resolve, he knows this battle is far different from any he has ever faced before. This is a battle of wills; silent on the surface, but intense and more exhausting than physical war. For whatever reason, this shadow of a man is trying to break him. What Grievance cannot understand is why, but that question is only able to be answered by his captor, who seems more favorable to the side of riddles and since the question is likely to gain no answer, it is only a distraction to him.

Closing his eye and inhaling as deeply as he can under the strained hissing of his respirator, he tells himself to observe and observe only, then he opens his eye again and lets his limited gaze travel over his surroundings. The dim lights burn his eye to nearly tearing. He has never been a fan of LEDs. He hates them almost as much as he hates the Force. His gaze travels to what he can see of himself and the restraints encircling portions of his body. He can barely glimpse a line of plastic tubing trailing over what serves as the collar of his armor.

An IV, he thinks, his eye shifting in the direction of Draconis' voice. So you have medical know-how. Just like the first Sith who captured me. Yes, I know you are Sith, dark one. You are not the only observant creature here.

As Draconis eludes to the fact that he is trying to piece together his origins, the cyborg's strained heart accelerates in concern. No doubt, DNA was easy enough to obtain from all the blood that had been spilled from him. He knows he's been had in this respect and he curses himself inwardly for letting that insolent assassin injure him so badly. No matter. It may be lost knowledge that he is Kaleesh. The race is obscure in so many ways and so primitive, not many care to know they still exist. His attention is drawn away from this as Draconis asks him a question.

"What do you want for yourself?"

What do you care? He scoffs inwardly, remaining silent. I already know you will not give me what I want, so you are playing a game. I do not play games, dark one.

The next comment is another crack at his physicality, this time targeting the fact that he has multiple limbs at his disposal. Surprisingly, this one doesn't really bother him. In a physical sense, he could hold his own in a duel with three out of four arms disabled; he's done it before, much to his medic's chagrin. He almost chuckles at the remark, but his mind quickly changes gears when Draconis finally identifies himself.

Draconis. Latin origin; means head of the dragon. His analytical mind goes straight to work focusing here. He has something he can go on to keep his thoughts away from anything he does not want exposed. Names are of great significance to his culture for they are believed to play a substantial role in shaping one's character. The constellation Draco whose head is outlined by four stars: Rastaban, Grumium, Eltanin, and Kuma. His name speaks of power, but also control. The head controls the body. He is trying to control me.

The thought causes him to bristle. All he has ever wanted is freedom; to have no man, alive or dead, controlling what he does or where he goes. Knowing Draconis has some personal agenda to fulfill in gaining control over him makes him furious, but again, he stifles it. To give in to the emotions the shadowy figure is purposely prodding is to let him win and Grievance does not play to lose.

Then comes the turning point that is destined to change everything. He feels the Force grow to suffocating intensity and all at once, it feels like his skull is being crushed by inescapable pressure. Images flash before his eyes though they are clenched tightly shut. The deserts and jungles of Kalee; the ancient structures commemorating warriors who had given their lives up boldly. He can almost feel the warmth of the sun, the memory is so vivid. Images of himself, his body whole, sparring with other young warriors, able to lead even at a young age as he guided his comrades in proper form. Born to rule; the pride of his tribe. The images flash forward to his capture, torture, and the cybernetic alterations, but then they move backwards, not playing in reverse, but forward in a reversed order. As the Force becomes unbearable to his mind, a memory long repressed comes roaring to the surface; a torment he had worked so hard to lock away, triggered by one question.

"You miss her...don't you?"

This taunting inquiry shatters his resistance like a hammer against glass because of the memory Draconis manages to summon from the darkest recesses of his mind. The Jenuwaa Sea stretched before him. The sun was hot. Sounds of intense fighting rang out all around him. The Huk had stormed the beaches of Kalee without warning on a day when the Sheelal clan had thought would be one of peace. He had been on the high rocks with his mother when the first mortar erupted the ground. It was that mortar that had caused Ronderu and Karolus to become separated from Qymaen.

"Karolus, run! Run and do not look back, I command you! Go!"

It was the first time he could remember his mother being harsh with him to a point that left no room for argument. Though frightened and reluctant to leave her alone, he obeyed--to a degree. Her command to not look back was not heeded. He heard the clash of weapons shortly after he fled and he turned to look at a scene he simply hadn't the sense to look away from. How he wished he had. The Huk had surrounded Ronderu and she was severely outnumbered. Yes, young Karolus Rexx Sheelal had witnessed the brutal death of his mother; watched as the Huk had cast her remains into the sea. The hand of one of the izvoshra warriors over his mouth to stifle his cries as he was taken away from the scene to safety. His ears had heard the guttural roar of grief and rage as it tore from the throat of his father, Qymaen Jai Sheelal. The sights and sounds all come rushing back, assaulting all of Grievance's senses now, so much that a grief-stricken roar fit to rival that of his father erupts from the bloodied cyborg. Desperate to escape this tragic haunting, he thrashes against the restraints, heedless to the fact that his actions are causing his wounds to bleed again.

And suddenly any fight remaining in him is gone. As the pressure of the Force diminishes, it leaves him drained, exhausted, and perhaps bearing far deeper wounds than the ones Alva had inflicted on his physical form. Slumping against his bindings, he doesn't even possess the strength to hold his head up. Only his good eye shifts in response to Draconis speaking his name.

"Enough." The word comes out in a hoarse and raspy gasp, his breathing is truly strained now as he tries to lift his head. "I have had enough. I cannot fight you. Your tactics are foreign to me. I submit. I will cooperate with your orders. Just...do not make me suffer that again. Were I not in this position, I would kill you for that...or die trying."

Too tired to say anymore, he lets his head drop again. Numbness settles over his soul as he vaguely realizes that he may be facing yet another form of slavery in showing submission to Draconis. He does not anticipate being released after all of this. His savage temperament has been almost on full display tonight. If he had known how to push Draconis out of his mind, he certainly would have done it even if it meant resorting to the Force, but he has no idea how that works. Obviously, controlling his own thoughts had proven futile. All of these things are running through his shattered mind as he remains still and without resistance, awaiting whatever fate will unfurl from the hand of his captor. He finds his ravaged mind returning to that place it had been while he was in transit to begin this mission and why shouldn't it? It bears so many similarities with his capture that had turned him into a metal monstrosity.

Will I find a way? Will I find a place?
Will you let me go in peace? Leave behind those dark days?
Now I ask again, will you hear my cries?
Then you'll realize why, oh why, I must find a way to the other side...

"You lasted longer than I had intially expected"

Draconis responded while taking a step forward to Vexx demanding it end, offering his submission, unable to continue to resist. Draconis' head cocked slightly to the side as he peered into the Kaleesh warriors eyes, his shoulders dipping even slightly to drawn Vexx's gaze properly back up to where Draconis wanted it to be.

"Still you doubt yourself..."

Draconis spoke in a soft yet chiding manner.

"Claim yourself... broken."

Draconis was closer now offering a disappointed grin to the Kaleesh.

"We have only just begun!"

Instantly a wave of pain hit the Kaleeh warriors whole body surging throughout, as a roll of what seemed to be thunderous energy cracked across the small cargo hold.

The Kaleesh warriors body was hammered back against the slab holding him upright as mental images flashed through his mind. Draconis was no longer trying to extract anything from the being, he was putting them there. The burning visage of his homeworld, screaming, suffering... The overflow of sensory and mental input that would reel through his mind one after the other in a relentless mental assault, coupled with a intense physical pain through his remaining physical self.

The whole room was filled with the sound of rushing wind that grew louder, as the energy in the room grew. This coupled with steadily growing louder grunts and groans from the Kaleesh upon being hit with the latest wave of darkness on him added to the deafening atmosphere. The table was shaking as one of the restraints buckles a fastening pin breaking loose and rocketing off like a projectile, Draconis could see the Kaleesh struggling on the verge of full collapsing fulling into the dark abyss.

Draconis was leaning forward his face dangerously close now to the Kaleesh. Dark energy emanated from him, making the earlier mental assault seem like child’s play. A dark scowl on his face as his black eyes narrowed, low growl from him beget the words that began to follow.

Draconis' tone harsh, commanding, and loud, nearly yelling but retaining a hardened composure to his words. Some Sith preferred lightning, some a saber, Draconis preferred this. One's mind was the ultimate strength and weakness.

"YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES!"The rush of energy remained steady, inflicting both mental and physical pain upon Vexx.

"FIND A WAY TO STOP ME!" Another bracer on the table buckled and cracked, as the assault continued to press.

"THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU NEED TO LEARN FROM SOME MASTER!" The scolding remark directed at Vexx, seeking to stir it from within.

"NOT SOMETHING YOU LEARN TRAINING!" Draconis' voice was rising along with the surging energy.

"IT IS IN YOU, SON OF SHEELAL!"

Draconis' hands clenched forcing the assault even more, Vexx's mind would be close to being permanently shattered.

"YOU NEED TO FIND IT!" Draconis' voice was driving and loud, nearly screaming... having to compete with the surging rush of air and energy, seeking to draw it out of Vexx.

"NOW!!!"

The intensity was nearly at a crescendo with the final word and suddenly it was all gone. The room went deathly silent. The pain stopped, the images ceased.

Draconis leaned in slightly, barely offering an audible whisper as the words softly rolled off his tongue.
"Or you will die..."

A tug at the corner of his mouth as his grin grew boldly sinister. Draconis let the words hang as he leaned back out away from the Kaleesh warrior.

With that as quickly as the painful mental assault stopped moments earlier, it again instantly resumed with the same intensity as before.Draconis' eyes watched with a burning intensity waiting... he did not need a mindless broken slave.

Despite the words implying he has exceeded expectations in his ability to resist the prying into his mind, Grievance feels no less broken; violated beyond what he had ever imagined possible having been made to relive such a deep and painful repressed memory. Along with all of this comes a feeling of disgrace and shame over being trapped in a position that had left him with no choice but surrender--or so he thinks. Little does he know that this game is far from over.

As Draconis comes within his line of sight now, close enough that his visage is not so obscured by darkness, Grievance regards him with a tired gaze; staring, unblinking, hollow, almost looking through his captor instead of at him. His breathing is slow; labored. He is the picture of exhaustion. If released at this point, it is highly likely that he would not even be able to stand. Yet, to the eye looking for it, the flame of a warrior still flickers; smoldering, the potential to become an unstoppable inferno, unwilling to go out just yet. Obviously, the eyes of Draconis have noted this.

"I do not doubt," he replies, the slightest trace of defiance still evident in his tone, though his rumbling voice is weak, "I just know my limits."

Yes, Grievance is perfectly aware that he himself has set those limits by stubbornly shunning the Force and refusing to tap into its power. Obviously, he still intends to be stubborn, implying that perhaps he is not truly broken. He has successfully persuaded other captors into trusting that he had no fight left in him and managed to regain his freedom through these acts of deceptive compliance. He very well could be trying to pull the same card on Draconis. Unfortunately, Grievance has met his match of an insightful and intelligent perceived foe.

"We have only just begun!"

The cyborg has no time to react or even brace himself for the agony that strikes every sense he still possesses. With that declaration, Draconis has unleashed a brutal, unforgiving hell on the Kaleesh warrior--one through which his survival is uncertain. His entire existence has become paralysis coupled with excruciating pain from which there is no escape. At first, he can't even find the capacity to cry out. It is as though his body has shut down, but remains very much alive. His mind screams to know what he has done to justify this torment, but he cannot vocalize the question.

Every tragic sight he has ever seen assaults his mind in a relentless flow with no mercy in the details. Kaleesh blood spilled, piled bodies of those lost to the famine, mass graves and the ravaged survivors forced to dig them. Truly he had survived a holocaust and he had blocked every bit of it from his mind so that he could survive. Draconis has unlocked and torn the lid off of that haunted chest and every ghost inside of it screams its keening cries through the canyons of his soul. Grievance, courageous at heart, has never been afraid of death. He has flirted with it many times, but now he fears that death will not come for him. This hell will last forever.

Slowly, he finds the strength to fight the sheer terror strangling him into muteness. The sound is like that of a wounded animal, though the mechanical distortion makes it even more disturbing. He can feel the table buckle slightly under his own weight being crushed back so forcefully. Though one of the restraints snaps loose under the barrage, he is helpless to take advantage of such an occurrence.

Mere inches from him, Draconis' voice cuts through the noise, commanding the cyborg to find a way to stop him. His mind scrambles through every warfare tactic he knows, searching for some way to break this bondage of agony, but nothing he consciously knows is of any use in this situation. Panic starts to set in as he can see no way of escape. All he can see are the images long forgotten, but burned into the recesses of his memory nonetheless.

"Fader vår som är i himmelen," he chokes out in Kaleesh, "Helgat varde ditt namn, tillkomme ditt rike ske din vilja..."

The tone in which it is spoken does not sound like cursing. Contrarily, it might sound like this bloody metal beast is uttering some sort of prayer in his native tongue. As his voice is swallowed by another wave of agony, his strained requiem turns into the animalistic cry again, but it dies in his throat as Draconis' voice cuts through the deafening Force once again.

"IT IS IN YOU, SON OF SHEELAL!"

Suddenly, Grievance becomes deaf to anything else spoken by his captor. This single declaration plunges the Kaleesh warrior into a flashback; the very last time he had seen his father before he was forever lost from Kalee.

"Karolus, you are izvoshra at a young age," Qymaen, who by now had taken the name Grievous, laid a firm hand on his son's shoulder, then knelt to his level and looked him in the eyes. "You led our people to victory in my dreams last night. You will travel a long and hard course; a thousand times, you will be struck down. But a thousand times, you shall rise. To the skies, you shall rise. It is in you, son of Sheelal. Son of dreams."

As Draconis temporarily ceases his assault, his senses return, but he keeps his good eye closed, falling forward against what remains of his restraints as though barely alive. He does not move. The only indicator that life is still contained in that massive metal shell is the strained sound of his respirator. He is grateful for the reprieve--so very grateful--but deep down he knows this is not the end, which is why he has, by appearances, shut down.

When all hell breaks loose again for a second wave of torment, Grievance hasn't the physical strength to brace himself. Physically, it appears that Draconis may have effectively shattered the very spirit of this war machine; destroyed him from the inside out. Inside, Grievance is feeling everything as fully as before, but he is about to draw the line and it may be a bit more than what Draconis bargained for.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" The roar is explosive, monstrous, delivering an ultimatum in the tone itself. "MY MIND IS MINE TO CONTROL! MY WILL BE DONE!"

Draconis felt it, subtle at first... emanating from deep within the Kaleesh. It had power behind it. Draconis was force back with an intense sudden burst of energy from the Kaleesh. Draconis slid back having been pushed, as he felt the mental assault he had rained down on Vexx buckle and resisted. It was only a glimpse and a brief span of seconds culminating with him being pushed out of Vexx's mind and physically back, but it was more than enough proof Vexx had found it.

The surge of power from Vexx had force Draconis to recover in a slight crouch, using a hand in front of him to brace himself. The burst from the Kaleesh dissipated as Draconis looked up, a grin on his face.
"Good..." Draconis' voice was again now calm, relaxed as it has been when this whole encounter began, with a hint of satisfaction from the results.

Draconis hand waved down at his side, the restraints on the table released all at once with a pang as they uncoupled. Draconis turned to exit disappearing into the darkness of the rest of the cargo hold, the light from outside the room poured in illuminating and surrounding the silhouette of Draconis cast next to it, as the rooms entrance blast door slide open.

"You will find this vessel has adequate facility to allow yourself to compose yourself and be ready to be called upon." Draconis took his leave knowing Vexx would realize he had done something he previously had not thought himself capable of. To one uninitiated and trained, the feeling would be in stark contrast to anything he had felt or done before. Despite all of the pain he had just physically and mentally endured, it would have clearly set the tone.

Grievance has very little understanding of what has taken place here. Somehow, he had managed to come up for air in spite of Draconis' attempt to drown him in a sea of past tragedies. The assault to his mind has ceased; the air around him is quiet. The silence, heavy as it falls, is most welcome in contrast to the symphony of destruction he had been engulfed in only moments before.

As Draconis offers a single word of approval, the Kaleesh cyborg wants to demand an explanation, but he can't seem to find the words to say. He had felt something. It was otherworldly and beyond strange; a loss of control that was, at the same time, controlled. Is such a phenomenon even possible?

Suddenly, the intact restraints holding him in place release without warning and Grievance, caught off guard and too weak to catch himself anyway, collapses to the steel floor in one big metallic crash. Instinctively not wanting to be in a vulnerable position, he tries to pick himself up. He is free now; he must find a way out of here. But his efforts are in vain. His strength entirely spent, he lowers himself to the floor, his mind trying to piece together what had just transpired.

What is happening to me? he questions silently, Did I dare touch that blasted power I cannot stand? What exactly is it? Why do I have it? How did I touch on it?

The thoughts spin out of control to a point where the cyborg clutches his head in anguish. He hates the Force! Yet whatever it was he had tapped into, Force or not, it had been terrifying...yet strangely addicting. The idea that it did in fact feel addicting is what sends his mind into a frenzy. He doesn't like the Force and, furthermore, he doesn't want to like it either.

He cannot deny that he will never be the same after this devastating encounter. He can almost feel the course of his life changing. Whether it is for better or worse, he does not know, but he is expecting the worst. Exhausted beyond measure and wanting to escape the frustration of trying to riddle all of this out, he drags his battered body behind a stack of cargo for the sake of protecting himself and collapses, succumbing to his weariness in a matter of moments.​

Tag: Darth_wanderguard dragonsith13​

 

V-3PO
Temple of Izax, New Moraband

"Threepio!!" The vile sound of his own name in the iconic iteration sent electrical pulses up his fiber spinal tunnel, as he seethed and cringed at its utterance.
Turning to blankly glare at Mistress Bellorum.

"oh, there you are." Of course, I am here!!! I haven't moved, VPO processed unto himself.

"Yes... Mistress Bellorum."VPO chirped in his most pleasant tone, despite internally wanting to jab the Mistress with a stick as she retrieved a datapad from one of the satchels he was carrying.

VPO had clearly noticed the now sizable hole on the pathway next to them. He had seen the young gleeful Sith lady prancing and playfully enjoying herself and.... oooooh..... VPO suddenly processed. Looking down at the gaping hole.

Leaning forward in a teapot like motion to peer down into the newly uncovered pit. What a delightful trap. Though VPO was inherently disappointed when his photo-receptors picked up the young female Sith at the bottom of the pit. Alive.

Unfortunate...

VPO nonchalantly kicked a small rock, capable of caving in ones skull. VPO looked on tracking it, watching as it tumbled downward. Hoping it would crush the Sith's head.
"VPO!, Get over there and clear away the ivy."

V-3PO shot up, straightening, startled by the screaming of his voice! The Mistress... again. V-3PO decidedly disappointed that he had not gotten to see if the rock had implanted in the woman's head.

"VPO, Where are you?"

"I'm still here Mistress..."V-3PO wondered if his data recorder was malfunctioning and it had been looping the same stupid inquiries over and over.

Running diagnostic process 45712. Status... OK.

Nope, it was just the same stupid inquiry over and over again.

V3PO had not moved the entire time, he stared back at the Mistress wondering if she needed diagnostics run?

V-3PO noticed the Zabrak Hades chiding the female Sith for her lack of focus, signaling that perhaps the rock had not done its job.

V-3PO shuffled over to one of the walls and began to clear the vines as commanded. A hidden vibro blade sliding out and working through the vines with ease. Several of them fell on top of him, slinking and draping over his casings.

"Mistress Bellorum, I'm not sure these vines are entirely stable."


V-3PO continued to struggle with them, despite making some progress...

@E. L.Knight Lady Belligerent Nehru_Amidala

 

IC: Soliloquy
Aboard the Lesser Insipid, hangar


When Soliloquy saw the Grand Admiral's image begin to flicker and fade at the same instant a boot struck the door it did nothing to move itself. It stayed as it was. For a swift motion was nothing more than a tell, and move of any sort an admission of action when none were needed. So instead it was still. Silent. Motionless. The door opened, leaving only a momentary delay in the end, something that would of revealed something from his motions whereas now it revealed the nothing of inaction nor reaction.


Insipid stepped into the room, absently noting the Stormtrooper body still unconscious on the floor where Lenora had left it before her death. There the God-Emperor frowned, looking to Soliloquy. Narrowing his eyes, Insipid passed the datapad over. “Coordinates on the surface; an abandoned Eternal temple. My fellow Triumvirs hid away what I seek in my absence. Something I need your particular assistance with.”

The Force rippled with a sense of change; of a sense of the Force itself awakening, whatever it was that was not spoken had power, Soliloquy could feel that. Though it did not know what to make of it.


The God-Emperor took the co-pilot seat, and nodded out of the cockpit window. “Ike fled, I see. My compliments, my friend.” As he strapped in, he casually spoke. “Anything I should be aware of?”

The droid chassis turned and began the pre-flight preparations. "He believes himself to have fled from Manticore sire, and tried to have the Star Destroyer self destruct after his fleeing. Luckily the back door you provided gave warning and access to prevent it from succeeding. Not that either of us truly would perish from such a thing, but the delays are always such a bore." it idly noted, almost as if reliving that boredom now. With a few taps the hanger bay doors that were already closed began to ponderously open once more. "How brazenly would you like to approach Emperor?" it idly asked as it shot the shuttle out of the hanger at maximum thrust as though escaping a coming doom, one which would never come. Not now.


TAG: Sinrebirth

 

IC: Jole Kenkorro
What's left of a ship

“Is everyone alright?” It was noise, a whimper in the rush and roar that filled his head. Jole could not make out the sound, not distinctly, it was muffled as his head rang. He had crashed hard into the ceiling, harder back to the floor. Something warm ran down past his ear, a thin stream down his neck onto his shoulder. He brushed it away, it was wet and red on his fingertips. He was laying on the ground, prostrate on his stomach, a dull ache throughout his body, but something heavier pained his shoulder.

His focus wavered, the view in front of him flickered like pictures projected one after another. His mind raced back and forth. He struggled with reality.

He was stuck on a dungeon ship, a prisoner with no hope. He lay on the ground, the thick, tall trees of Antar 4 rose above him. The smoke was thick, a dull gray canopy blocking the sun. No, he was on the dungeon ship. He was a prisoner. He was a knight of the Republic.

He had broken free. Taken back his freedom, fought for it, gripped it with ferocity and dexterity. He was a general, a leader of men. He achieved victory, but it was pyrrhic.

He looked forward, bodies ahead of him in no better shape than he was. Bodies littered the ground, smoke rose from burning holes in their chests. Lights flickered on and off, something warm baked his back. Sunlight streamed in above. Sunlight fought through the canopy, but it could not pierce the veil. At least he wasn’t in space anymore. At least the battle was over.

The blade sat a few feet away from him now, prostrate on the ground, no worse for wear than before. He had gripped it so hard as they descended it imprinted in his hand, a red impression in skin. The blade was tight in his grip, he could not let go. The decapitated course lay next to him, the body mangled, the legs sprawled at angles not natural to man. It gave the body a look of dumbfounded stupidity. The body of his Padawan lay just feet away, the eyes open, pupils wide, stained with a look of fear and pain. His jaw had been dislocated, it hung loosely, his mouth open as if he had been stumped with a difficult question in his final moments. He would dream about that face for years, night after night. It was a terrible look. An ugly and undignified way to be remembered. Jole felt disgust every time he saw it.

He took a deep breath, refocused on where he was. He mind struggled against the idea, but he was there, on a ship. Or what was left of it.

He tried to push up off the ground, and flopped back down with a grunt. His left shoulder pressed to his side as a weird angle, now immobile, buckling under the slightest of weight. He rolled over onto his back, wincing at the pain as he placed pressure on the back of his shoulder. Sunlight shone directly into his face and he squinted from the intense, fiery glare. It had been a while since he last seen open air.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was full of blood, the side of his cheek torn from gnashing teeth and gritted grunts in the course of collision. He turned his head and spit to the side, blood and drool pooling out of his mouth and splashing the floor.

“Is everyone alright?” The sound replayed in his head, a loop that became clearer with each playback. “Saying ‘I’ve had worse’ doesn’t feel good enough anymore”.

Jole just couldn’t catch a break.

There was still ringing in his ear, but he slowly sat up. Blood rushed to his head, his vision grew white and hot, but he inhaled deeply and grabbed the table to keep himself steady and balanced. Hot liquid rose in throat, but his breaths remained steady and deep as he calmed himself. He used his good arm to lift up and reached out for the blade. It came to him, but Jole felt a sense of unease wielding it still.

Since waking up, his ultimate goal had been to exit the ship. But he could not climb up out through the ceiling. His shoulder could not support his weight. He risked crashing back down and starting from square one all over. Curling into a ball and dying slowly was out of the question as well. At least for now.

The blood had matted the side of his head, though the flow had stopped. It was wet and still streaked his neck and soaked his shirt on the shoulder and down the back. Maybe he had had worse, but it had been awhile. He was old and he ached. At his age, it wasn’t all that bad to go ahead and moan and ache and whine and complain that people his age didn’t need to be doing this **** anymore.

He didn’t need to be a prisoner, he didn’t need to spearhead a charge out of his cell because he was too old and out of the loop to know better. He surely didn’t need to be escaping a crashed dungeon ship and entering who-knows-what abyss. He was a successful liaison for criminals, mercernaries, smugglers, and other lowlifes. Maybe that was what got him in trouble.

Then again, he could have found passion as a cook in the backwaters and probably met the same circumstances. Such was life.

“Could be worse. I’m mobile at least.” Lucky you. “We need to get out of here. To some place safe. I’d rather avoid any more ‘surprises’ today”.


He agreed. “I don’t think I can get out through the roof. Unless you want to carry me”.

TAG: Sinrebirth ConservativeJedi321 dragonsith13

 

IC: Darth Anark
Downed Dungeon Ship



The haze began to focus and sharpen and he observed that the floor was now the ceiling, just as the ceiling was now the new floor.

Darth Anark had managed to wrap himself in a cocoon of kinetic energy courtesy of the Living Force just a moment before impact despite the searing pain in his shoulder and his murky vision from being tossed into a bulkhead. He floated there in mid air for a moment, assessing the damage to both the dungeon ship and himself.

A voice echoed from somewhere above…

“Is everyone alright?”

Anark didn’t know for sure that it was the voice of Antares Draco but he was not about to be swallowed by the inevitable explosion that was bound to occur in the next short while within the wreckage.

“We’re down here!” he hollered up through a long corridor dimly lit by unreliable emergency lighting.

How in the blazes did the engines explode?! He thought to himself.

Draco’s voice came again, followed swiftly by his eyes peering down at the Anark, a sickly wave of light Jedi energy attached to the beast.

“We? Who else is down there with you?” The Jedi’s voice was doused in suspicion and trepidation.

The Sith let go of his grip on the Force, dropped less than gracefully down onto his feet, tugged at the gash in his shoulder with a finger and winced.

“We’re ALL down here, you wretch!”

“Shut up!”

“We’re quite capable of looking after one another, can we have some order here plea-“

“Silence!”

“My shoulder is in dyer need of medical attention.”

Draco looked on as Anark had a full blown conversation with himself, his voice fluctuating between anger and calm and his face mimicking one emotion after another.

The Sith finished his conversation with his psyche, placed a gloved hand on each hip and addressed Draco with a wicked smile…

“Now then, I seem to be missing a lightsaber…”

TAG: ConservativeJedi321 Sinrebirth​

 

Darth Hades
Temple of Izax, New Moraband

Hades had had quite enough of Hekate and her nonsense. As they waited for V-3PO to clear the ivy away, which was amusing to watch, Hekate stumbled into their midst rambling incoherently and flailing about stupidly. Her memory could not be that bad, as she had just got done witnessing Hades himself fight off the toxin these plants produced and she, in her attempt to be free of the pit, just went right through them, infected herself.

She was growing to more of an annoyance than Foedus had been, and she had shown such promise to begin with. It seems, to him, that she had now reached her peak as well.

"Lord Hades, it appears that Hekate is hallucinating...again."
"Yes, it does, Dawn Herald." ​

​

"Have one of your men give her an antidote, or sedate her if one cannot be found." Lady Bellorum lifted her into the air. "I will not tolerate any more outlandish tales, so get yourself together - now."​

​

Hades rarely chose to disobey those above him, if he could help it, but he had found Hekate to be slowing their progress, and that could just not go unpunished. "Get her sorted quickly."

The Dawn Herald then addressed Hades.. "We enter once she's stopped raving and has calmed down."

"Sergeant Finis, please stun her."

"Yes, Sir!" The Stormtrooper wasted no time lifting his rifle and firing multiple stun bolts. He was quick and quite capable. He was beginning to think his having found the Sergeant was a gift.

"She has slowed our progress enough. She can remain here for the time being until we have addressed the issues of the safety of entering the Temple. If we choose to allow her to go in with us she is liable to get us killed." Many would call it harsh, but it was as honest an assessment as Hades could see. She had been nothing but reckless since their arrival here and was doing everything but working with those who were here. Hades did not survive death twice to has an apprentice accidentally kill him with some ancient trap.

As Hades was pulled from his own musings, he saw the delight the Dawn Herald was taking in torturing the droid. It was quite amusing, and he had not showed a genuine smile since...since her. No! Now was not the time to get caught up in old memories The here and now was what needed his full attention, not someone dead and gone.​

​

He walked up to the entrance and could feel the darkside pulsing deep from within. It was like a cold drink of water after being in the constant heat of the jungle. It was refreshing, and the power...lord the power there. He could feel it coiling about him and seemingly going straight to his very coul. He closed his eyes and drank it in and knew, just knew, something waited for him. This was part of his journey, his destiny, and his legacy.

"Lady Bellorum, I believe we should send the surveillance droids in to scan the temple, and provide us with an interior mapping of what they can. That will make our search more organized." Sergeant Finis stepped forward and held up a hologram projection on the exterior of the temple. "This is the scan and model of the Temple as it stands this very moment. If we take interior scans as far back as we can get, we can coordinate a search grid. The surveillance droids will also be able to help in determining any ancient traps that might still be active."​

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TAG: Nehru_Amidala Lady Belligerent dragonsith13

 

Darth Osnil

As Osnil hurried along the hallway, he heard a noise. He stopped running. That sounds like Dupy! But something was wrong. It sounded like he was in trouble. His heart was torn between performing the mission and getting his kaadu. Though, since there were six others alongside Cocytus, he could catch up later. . .

He waved on the other six and hollered, "Mesa be right back! Mesa needen to get somethen! Mesa will catch up later!" He hurried towards the noise. There, inside a lift, was Dupy. Dupy was surrounded by three crew members, one of whom was beating it with an electric prod.

Without even thinking, Osnil ignited his lightsaber in rage. It was as if his mind were not in control of his body. He heard the screaming of his enemies as he severed hands, arms, and limbs. When his rage subisded, he saw that the bodies of the men were so severely mutilated that one could not identify their species. Either way, he was returned to Dupy.

He put his arms around Dupy. "Did theysa hurt you?" A high-pitched whine and a shake of it's head said no. It loyally lowered it's head so Osnil could ride it. Osnil swung into the saddle and grabbed the reins. "Yousa ready Dupy? Wesa goen to da hanger to stop da mutineers from blowen up da ships." The kaadu grunted and stomped it's left leg.

Tag: Lady Belligerent corinthia WookieeRage and anyone else on the Obelisk

 

Combo with @Darth_wanderguard and @Anakin.Skywalker

IC: Kwea Acantha


It wasn't long before Kwea's comm beeped to signify a new message.

Find Professor Besh'sosho'lirua at the Sev'eere'nuruodo Research Center, Csaplar city, Csilla. Inquire as to the whereabouts of Dr. Tif Rathire.
Maintain a very low profile - Csaplar is highly secure and any violence will be met with swift and heavy response. Do not return without Rathire. Offer the doctor whatever is necessary to persuade him.
A ship is being prepared for you in hangar 12. The hangar clerk will show you to it.

Reiis looked at her Master, anxious to know what information they had about the mission. She felt worn and injured, yes, but she was more eager to get on better grounds with the Night Herald. She made an effort to refresh herself with the Force, and it helped a little bit.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"There's a ship being prepared for us as we speak. The goal is to maintain a low profile and return with the doctor. Anything may be offered to persuade him to come. The low profile bit is mandatory as Csaplar is very secure," Kwea told her apprentice.

They were in a durasteel walled room with two bunks that were pressed against the walls. They were fitted with sheets and mattresses in grey. The room was very bland but as Kwea sat on the soft mattress, she didn't care. She pulled off her black, mud-stained, boots which she had had not chance to clean after Boneyard and stretched out into a laying position.

Kwea let go a rather loud yawn and stared at the ceiling.

"So we need to try and blend in. No attention can be drawn to us and we need to get to the research center as quickly and quietly as possible. We'll need to be on guard about Professor Besh'sosho'lirua as well. Anything you want to add? Any bribes?" she asked Reiis.

Reiis folded her arms and leaned again a wall, crossing one of her legs other the other. Low profile, eh? Reiis wondered how she was going to pull that off.

"Master, don't you think something that looks like me is going to be pretty obvious? I mean, it's a research facility, not a Tatooine Cantina. What should I do?" she paused, thinking about Kwea's other questions, "A blaster, to stun him. Perhaps the facility will have transport containers we can haul him in, assuming he refuses," she shifted her legs, "And yes, we need money for bribes. Lots of it."

Kwea had to grin at Reiis' question.

"I suppose we can disguise you as a snowbank," she teased.

It was true though, Reiis would stand out drastically.

"Perhaps wear lighter robes and we can fashion a snow mask?" Kwea suggested as she sat up on the bed.

She grabbed a black towel that was hanging on the foot- board of the bed and a pile of light colored clothing from a bag found in the same area.

Turning back to Invadator she said, "I have two blasters and I suppose we offer him anything he wants and let Lord Haretisch handle the payment when we return with Rathire. I’m thinking most of this mission will involve improvisation. Make sure you have anything you might want or need packed and we'll head to the hangar soon."

Reiis paused. Truth be told, she didn't think she had anything lighter to wear. Even worse, she couldn't exactly change what she was wearing. If she could find a lighter over cloak perhaps...

But what clothing she did own wasn't even on the ship, and she seriously doubted she even owned anything lighter than pitch black. Reiis had never cared for lighter colors.

"I don't think lighter clothing will work, Master,” she didn't mean to argue with her Master or be difficult, but she really couldn't see a way to make this work, "I can't change, really, and I don't have a cloak."

Kwea chewed her lip as she considered what Reiis had just said. Just then, there was a knocking on the durasteel door and the older of the two yelled, "Come in!" after sensing it was a mechanical being.

A tall, black SE4 servant droid could be seen when the doors opened and it was carrying another pile of cream colored clothing. "Master Kwea, these are for your mission," it said as it whirred its way over to the bed, set them down, and left with the doors closing in its wake.

Looking at Reiis as she shuffled through the clothing, Kwea said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Reiis watched as the droid walked in, delivering more clothing for her Master. At first, she had only given it a glance but its black coverings caught her eye and she did a double-take. She watched the droid walk away, mouth partially agape in amused surprise at how easily a solution had made itself known.

"Yes, Master... I do believe I am."

Kwea smiled and said, "While I'm in the refresher, how about you think up a droid name for yourself and practice acting like one. I'll just be a minute."

Grabbing a white parka with black fur on the hood, white thermal pants, and a white thermal top, she slipped into the little 'fresher cubicle.

Hmm...droid practice? This would be interesting. Her master disappeared into the 'fresher, leaving Reiis to contemplate their new plan. Reiis bent her arms at the elbows, stood up straight, and took a rigid step forward.

Reiis didn't think she had ever felt more stupid in her life.

She shuffled about the room, walking like droids do -- that putzing-around-like-you're-about-to-fall walk. That described it well. Reiis's foot caught some of the carpeting, and before one could even say "Droids" she crashed to the floor. Luckily, it was carpet, so she wasn't hurt. Still, it carpet over metal. Not pleasant. Reiis scrambled to get up before her Master came back, doing her best to pretend nothing had happened, and continued the stupid droid walk.

Kwea heard the crash but didn't react. Reiis could take care of herself. After she rinsed off the soap, she yanked on her clothing and then padded out, barefoot, in time to see her apprentice perfecting her droid walk.

There was a wave of embarrassment flowing off of Invadator so Kwea didn't say anything. Secretly she was impressed at how well she'd already mastered it. The Master sat on the bed and pulled on some heavy socks and then some flat, white boots with buckles around the calf. She slipped into the parka but didn't zip it up. Next she shoved some leather and thermal lined white gloves into the jacket pockets as well as some ear muffs with fur that matched the hood fur. Kwea slung a scarf that could be used as a muffler around her neck and then grabbed the snow goggles from the bed.

"Ready? Oh and did you think of a droid name?" she asked her apprentice.

Reiis used her Master's question as an excuse to stop the walk. She paused, "K30B. Let's do this."

Satisfied with her reply, Kwea thumbed the button on the wall that opened the door and headed past the threshold. A mid-back length braid hung down her back and swayed with her steps. The pounding of her boots on the metal floor reminded her of a legion of troopers marching off to battle. She was a bit nervous and all she could hope for was a successful mission.

Reiis followed her Master, sensing her nervousness. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't nervous, too. With this mission, Reiis hoped to finally appease Haretisch and maybe get him off their back for a little while. Maybe with this, he would trust them.

"It won't change what he did," she thought bitterly. Nothing would. She cast the thoughts aside, and centered her mind on the mission.
The hangar was bustling when the pair arrived, and the dockmaster couldn't suppress a sigh as he addressed them, neglecting even to look up from his terminal.

"Name and reservation number?" he requested, his voice flat. It was only by chance that he glanced up and recognized Kwea Acantha. The color drained from his face.

"I-I... I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you at first, Lady Kwea. Your ship is ready. We didn't expect you so soon," he nervously made his excuses, and stepped back from the terminal. "This way, please," he gestured, and strode off in the direction of a row of ships, consulting his datapad to confirm he was assigning them the correct vessel.

"Here it is," he said, as he arrived at a Theta-class T-2c transport shuttle. It was junky. Old. Any trace of insignia or hull markings, Imperial or otherwise, had been scrubbed clean. "The Night Herald was very clear that whatever you flew had to be nondescript and couldn't be an obviously Imperial ship, so this is pretty much all we had. It's a shame, too..." he trailed off, glancing to a row of no less than a dozen Lambda-class shuttles, all mint and sparkling. "Anyway, we've provided a protocol droid as well, because he said you would need some translation assistance. I'm uh... I'm sorry," he scratched the back of his head as a rusted out junker of a protocol droid came lumbering down the open cargo ramp.

"Oh, my word," the droid intoned. "I feel as though I were locked in that horrible ship for years!" It continued to whine as it made its way to the bottom, until finally it was interrupted by the dockmaster.

"Hey!" he snapped. "Don't get too excited. You're going right back in that ship to accompany Lady Kwea and her... uh," he hesitated, "apprentice." He hoped he had assumed correctly that the robed, armored being standing next to her was Reiss. There were conflicting stories of what exactly had happened - whether she had survived and in what capacity.

"Greetings, Master Kwea, and Master Apprentice," the droid turned to the Sith, "I am K-7BX, human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over six million languages."

"It's all yours," the dockmaster suppressed a chuckle and took his leave.

"What an odd fellow," K-7 mused. "Well, we probably should be getting ready for departure, masters," he continued, turning to the ramp and wadding ineptly up and into the ship.

Kwea followed the prissy droid into the battered ship. It wasn't horrible and she understood why they'd want an unmarked, plain, and old looking ship. It was a shame that they couldn't use the gorgeous Lambda ships, she thought with a sigh.

Walking along the metal grate flooring towards the cockpit, Kwea looked around the ship. It was a rather drab beige color and the back was filled with bucket seats, bench seating, and a refresher. Beyond that was a weapons locker. In the cockpit, there were a few seats, one for copilot, one for pilot, and one for a gunner. There appeared to be some seats missing and Kwea had no explanation for that. She knew there should be a few cargo holds in the belly of the ship. On the walls bordering the grates leading to the cockpit, there were some closets holding med supplies and other miscellaneous items.

Kwea slid into the pilot's seat and ran her hands over the controls. There was a layer of dust covering everything and the panel looked as if a rabid cat had been let loose on it. Thank the heavens the cockpit window wasn't badly marred. The ship was already running, obviously there had been someone doing their job, and she made a final check of the systems.

Reiis ignored the dockmaster's hesitation and followed her Master into the ship. It really was a piece of junk, but it would work for their purposes. The interior was old and looked as if it hadn't been used in years. Reiis spotted the weapons locker and walked over, curious if it had anything inside. It was locked, and it didn't even appear to be functional. Reiis took a step back and swung her right arm at the locking mechanism. With a loud, metal clang, she bent it inward, leaving enough space for her hand to fit and pry the door open.

And she wasn't disappointed. Several blasters and rifles lay inside, and even some thermal detonators, the stability of which Reiis doubted, but she was unable to sense any danger at the moment. Selecting one of the blasters, she examined it carefully -- it was clean, charged, and the safety lock was off. "Damn fools" she muttered. Flipping it on, she tucked the blaster in her belt underneath her outer cloak.

The droid puttered past her, too close to not warrant attention. Reiis turned. "It's Invadator," she snapped. "Reiis Invadator."

Not bothering to listen to a response, Reiis strode into the cockpit.

"Weapons look good?" Kwea asked Reiis after her apprentice entered the cockpit.

She patted her own two blasters that were holstered on each hip and attached to a thick grey utility belt along with ammunition and her saber. The ship was rumbling with the power of the engines and Kwea noted it was a bit much for a normal shuttle. Probably just its age she figured when she didn't sense anything with the Force.

The droid was pacing back and forth, muttering some nonsense about how he didn't like the fact that he was back in the ship again.

"Power down or shut the hell up before I turn you into junk metal," Kwea hollered at him without turning around from the controls.

Searching for the switch that shut the entry ramp, she flicked it and the rather loose, black switch did its job. There were no alarms going off and the systems check was clear.

Upon finding a comm headset hanging on a hook beneath the panel, she slipped it on, motioned for Reiis to have the copilot's seat, and pressed the button that opened a channel to the hangar control tower.

"This is Darth Kwea Acantha requesting permission to exit Hangar 12."

“Yes, Master," Reiis responded as she sat in the copilot's seat, "There's some thermal detonators in there -- old as stars -- but I don't think it'll be a problem."
Reiis fiddled for a moment with the headset, but ultimately threw it to the side, unable to figure a way to put it on. She clipped on the ancient seatbelt, genuinely surprised it didn't snap off the wall, and settled in.

The comm crackled to life, "Lady Kwea this is hangar control. You are clear for departure. Good hunting."

"Oh, my!" K-7 exclaimed, "I am getting quite too old for all these adventures. Master Kwea, Master Apprentice, where are we going?"

Kwea checked the comm message from Haretisch and punched in the coordinates to Csilla into the navicomputer.

"We're headed to Csilla. You do know how to stay low-profile right?" she answered.

Kwea supposed it would be helpful to have his translating skills but with his stuck up and know-it-all manner, he could get them found out sooner than later.

"Well, I never," K-7 replied, apparently taken aback by the notion that he could be anything but low profile, "With all due respect, Master Kwea, I am a droid. You are a Sith." The droid's programming was, to say the least, unique. Whether this partnership was happenstance or punishment would remain to be seen.

In the meantime, the ship lurched into hyperspace and they were on their way. It would be a long trip by hyperspace standards - nearly half a day if all went well.

The Master didn't waste energy on a snarky reply for the annoying droid but sat back and spun her pilot's seat around to face the others.

"K-7, I need you to remember that from this point on, my apprentice will be known as K-3 or K-30B. Along with that, my name will be Linnea Willik. Although you are a droid and are capable of receiving a memory wipe, I'm choosing to only disclose to you what I need to and when I need to. Reiis, I'll inform you of any developments or such in private. Any more questions as of now?" she said.

Reiis listened carefully. Linnea Willik. She'd had to remember that. "Okay, so I'll refer to you as Master Linnea," Reiis paused, trying to commit the name to memory, "No, no questions Master."

She glanced back at the droid and jabbed a thumb at him over her shoulder, "Slow learner, that one. We'll have to be sure he's got the new names."


Tags: Darth_wanderguard Anakin.Skywalker

 

T'Tkura
Prison Ship Wreck

The flash of alarm lights and their piercing sound permeated the atmosphere of the cell block. The buzzing of the ships intercom signaled the collective scramble to abandon ship. They were all fatigued, T’Tkura could see it in their eyes, but there was a glimmer of hope as moments earlier they had all been in cells. They would not give up on each other even as things spiraled further into chaos… A spiraling, tumbling, crashing chaos!

The force and pull of the ship began to become more severe as it began to descend, pulled down by the gravity of the nearby planet. Something slowed their decent slightly if it could be called slowing... the ship was on the verge of fully ripping itself apart in lieu of the ship loosing quite a bit of its mass and compartments already.

The shuddering and vibrations becoming more and more severe and pronounced as the ship violently descended through the atmosphere. Flames apparent flowing across some of the viewports as the hull produced intense heat.

There was little to do now but brace for impact…

The constant ring and muffled sounds drowned out the surrounding senses. Even the grinding sound of twisted metal seemed like it happened lightyears ago. The smell of smoke, heat of isolated fires, and faint light toyed with the Jedi’s senses for moments as it all began to come into focus.

T’Tkura moved slightly feeling a pressing weight on his back and suddenly realizing that it was much more than just a slight pressing weight. 'Is everyone alright?' T’Tkura heard the Imperial Knight Draco’s voice over the confused state, the voice sounded distorted and fuzzy in his head. T’Tkura maneuvered trying to free up his arm, managing to find enough room to reach out and begin to slide the broken and fallen fitting that had been laying on him off him. T’Tkura rose to his knees, pausing and looking about. The flash of sparks from damaged and exposed wires along with the flickering of corridor LEDs gave a quick view of the twisted wreck they had somehow survived the crash in. T’Tkura sent out a mental ping to Draco letting him know he was present and conscious…

T’Tkura noticed Radian hobbling through wreckage "We need to get out of here. To some place safe. I'd rather avoid any more 'surprises' today."

The Whiphid Jedi, lumbered to his feet, a grimace of throbbing pain evident across his wide tusked grin. Shaking it off as he blinked and focused, hearing Master Jole agreeing with Master Radian’s statement of them needing to have some urgency in getting out of here. “I don’t think I can get out through the roof. Unless you want to carry me”.

T’tkura grunted as he took a step towards Jole. “Let me help you.” T’Tkura reached down, bringing his arm under and around Jole. Even with his remaining arm he had more natural overall strength than any of them. T’TKura braced to help him rise and support him help him with climbing if necessary. T’Tkura quickly noticed his shoulder sagging, clearly dislocated.

“We are going to have to put that back in!”T’Tkura spoke refering to his dislocated shoulder, trying to put it delicately, but his gruff commanding voice did not naturally convey a sense of calming reassurance that one might regularly hope for.

ConservativeJedi321 Sinrebirth theometric

 

IC: Darth Alva & Mysterious Figure
(Combo by Darth_wanderguard & Isley_27)


Sleep had come to Alva, and was well-earned. He had distinguished himself as both a cunning fighter and a capable leader during the Battle of Boneyard. And no less, the ease with which he had dispatched a physically and martially superior opponent in Grievance Vexx had shown the apprentice to be a more than formidable wielder of the force.

Sleep had indeed come. And was indeed well-earned. There was no doubt of this.

But it was not a restful sleep.

Something crept in. And in the watery depths of the man's unconscious mind, in the ever-shifting ocean of inner-space, something began to take form. He would awaken.

Not physically. No, he was still very much asleep. He would awaken instead as one does when one has just begun to exist.

Then what had begun as only a vague sense that something *was*, started to become something more. It became an amalgam of places, people, things, feelings. Still not defined as each their own, but something at least more substantial. Shapes, not physical ones, rather abstract divisions in existence. And then the aspects and forces began to split and become only that of themselves and not that of all and everything.

Alva would find himself standing in uniform. A lowly private of the Imperial Navy. And before him stood a familiar dark haired man, with angular facial features, wearing neatly pressed officer's garb. There was only the two of them, and they stood on what he would understand to be the bridge of a Star Destroyer. There was nothing else.

"Private Alva," the man spoke, his voice even and measured. His face was utterly expressionless - and would grow moreso the harder Alva attempted to focus, even to the point that it appeared nearly as a blank canvas when he would look at it straight on. The only constants were his eyes - stormy gray, betraying a sense of restrained chaos like a storm cloud contained in an opaque bottle. "What do you fear?" he asked.

A dream? A vision? Perhaps an hallucination brought on by fatigue? Alva didn't know, yet it was all starting to feel real, maybe it was. There he was standing in the bridge of a Star Destroyer in uniform with an officer before him. The officer seemed familiar, like he had seen him before but when it came to a name he drew a blank.

It was a strange question for an official of a Destroyer to ask but at the same time, it seemed oddly appropriate. What did Alva fear? It wasn't something a child would fear such as the dark or some ghoulish figure, no it was something far more sinister. Something that claimed many individuals, it had to be fought off constantly.

"I fear the snare of weakness. It's a disgusting thing that plagues the galaxy." There was a stern tone in his voice, "How can anyone accomplish anything with that clawing into their backs. One can lose everything by being too weak."

"Weakness," the officer replied, and his fist clenched. His face was recognizable now as he took a step forward.

A spell of paralysis would fall upon every muscle in Alva's body, though he would remain standing as his master loomed over him with a menacing glare. An angry red lightsaber sputtered to life in his left hand, the blade unstable and almost formless - a column of roiling scarlet energy.

The scene around them had changed as well. They now stood in a smoking wasteland of ash and glowing embers, the air sulfurous and the ground searingly hot so that Alva's boots would feel as though they were melting.

"You do not contrive such an answer simply to seem austere," the master's gaze held no reprieve from the searing heat, as his eyes burned into the apprentice. "You have lost something... someone, due to your own weakness."

Suddenly, the fiery blade was held to Alva's throat, the tip threatening to pierce his windpipe. "Confess it." The words came, and behind the form of his master Alva would see an audience, a gallery of faces featuring everyone he knew and everyone he had known. "Confess it," the words repeated, louder now, and from every mouth in unison as a choir. The words were like mallets slamming against Alva's sanity. "Confess it!"

Alva was speechless at first while sweating profusely as the red tip of the blade came dangerously close to his throat. Faces appeared behind what Alva assumed to be his master. All of them Alva knew or recognized from his past, all of them staring with the same intensity as the Dark Lord.

"Master?!" he took one step back. Before the next thought even got the chance to cross his mind, Alva couldn't move. He tried to reach back out with the force but there was nothing, as if he been stripped away from the force. He was helpless, the presumed master stood before him like an unstoppable entity with his burning lightsaber in hand. Suddenly the air grew hot, flames consumed the bridge and formed it into a barren land deprived of every single form of life.

The heat was intense, it felt like he was on fire but there were no flames consuming his body. The man saw through the reason for Alva's answer.

Alva struggled, though it was pointless. Was this hell? Some form of personal torture? It must have been as another figure came forward, it was a woman. Alva knew exactly who it was. She glared back with an innocent look painted on her face, having one distinct mark on her neck as if it had been slit. Alva struggled once more to reach out to her, his arms barely moved. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." Tears rolled down the side of his face, "I should have been there! I had power, and yet I wasn't there...I failed you Za'than...I'm so sorry." The woman said nothing, she only kept the same innocent look.

"No more master, I beg you!"

The world went dark, and all became quiet, save for a monstrous crow of laughter which reverberated to every corner of the abyss and back.

"I am not your master."

And then he woke up.

Alva awoke in a half crazed like state, it took a moment for him to catch his breathe and calm himself. He went over to the sink and slapped cold water in his face in a vain attempt to make sense of what he had just seen. He stared at his reflection in the mirror then shook his head in disbelief, yet hadn't dismissed the figure that invaded his mind.

"How did he know?" thought Alva.

The need for caution was higher than ever. First a cybernetic monstrosity comes after him and now some obscured fiend strikes within he's subconscious. Was someone plotting against him? Or was this a test? One had to assume all possibilities when affiliated with the Sith Order.

"But he wasn't my master." Alva went for his clothes and armor that had still been waiting for him in laundry transport chute. The whole thing kept replaying in his head like some hologram sequence as he dressed. He then went for his commlink to check for any messages

When the time was right he would inform The Night Herald of this strange encounter, but not now.


Tags Darth_wanderguard

 

Combo with Kaleesh-Cyborg


Grievance Vexx and Draconis
Revelator-Medical Bay

The fog of oblivion is slowly receding from Grievance's mind and pain is the first thing he becomes aware of. Dull, yet sharp; burning, aching, throbbing. It is not the most welcome indicator that he is still alive, but it is an indicator nonetheless. He blinks his good eye slowly, watching random shadows dance along the wall, likely from troopers or droids traversing the halls just outside the cargo room he has been in since Draconis had captured him.

"Draconis..." The word comes out in a hoarse gasp of realization, followed by a bout of coughing that leaves him breathless and forces him to lie back down. Trying to recollect what had happened, he remembers only bits and pieces at first. As more of it comes together, he recalls how the shadowy Sith lord had terrorized him with his own mind. Hadn't Draconis said something implying that he would return for him?

That thought alone motivates him to fight his exhaustion and the weakness that weighs him down. He must get out of here; get off this voyage of terror and return to his lair where no one will find or bother him. Pushing himself up on his arms, he drags himself out from behind the cargo and moves toward the soft light coming from the corridor. A ship this size must have an infirmary of some sort. He has to try to patch his wounds so he can be on his way and survive transit on whatever mode of transportation he can get his claws on.

An eternity of an agonizingly slow and painful course down hallway after hallway finally leads him to a medical bay, where he begins rummaging through cabinets and drawers in search of anything he can find to staunch the bleeding of his organic parts. With as much as he has bled out, it's a wonder he still has enough left to keep him alive.

"I cannot die here," he wheezes, digging out a cabinet containing several bacta gel packs, heedless of the racket he's making in his state of delirium, pulling drawers out of their tracks and letting surgical tools slam and crash on the floor, "I will not die in captivity..."

He can feel the blackness creeping up on him again and he knows it is from the loss of blood, but he fights it in spite of the temptation to just let it swallow him up and relieve him of the pain wracking what is left of his organic body. Knowing he is fighting a losing battle, he seeks to conceal himself before he does pass out again. He has come this far and he plans for his next stop to be the closest hangar where he can highjack a vehicle. He can't afford to be found and captured again. But he only manages to drag himself halfway under a medical table before the mercy of unconsciousness engulfs him again, leaving him helpless in the middle of a mess of medical clutter.
*******

"Is he stabilized?"

"Getting there. Blood pressure is ascending slowly. Breathing is less of a struggle. I am certain he was well on his way to cardiac arrest when we found him."

The electronic voices of droids filter through his dulled senses. The pain wracking his body without mercy seems to have been eased somehow. He can hear the rhythmic beeping and decompressing of various machines all around him, but he hasn't the desire to get an eye on his surroundings. All he knows is that help has somehow found him and on that thought, he surrenders to the fog again...

"Is the eye still there?"

"I think so. There is a lot of dried blood...yes! The eye is there and appears functional."

A low groan comes from Grievance as his damaged eye is cleaned and forced open, where an unwelcome beam of light burns his retina as a droid assesses the functionality of his pupil. He tries to raise a hand to slap the droid and its stupid light away, but finds that he is restrained--again. Tubes run in and out of him, criss-crossing in all directions.

"Let me go," he commands, becoming irritated very quickly, "What business do you stupid droids have binding me like this?"

"Relax, sir. There is no need to get upset," one of the droids replies in a chipper tone, "It is only temporary. We have to open you up and repair the damage to your gut sack. We stopped the bleeding on the outside, but there is some internal hemorrhaging going on. You will be back on your feet in no time. Just cooperate and you will be fine." The droid turned to one of its coworkers. "Put him under."

*******

Hours later, Grievance awakens and he is alone. The room is quiet but for a few monitors beeping in a cadence that could easily lull him back to sleep, but his mind is already going. He lifts one of his arms to find he is no longer restrained. Perfect. Now he can get out of here. He gets to his feet slowly, giving himself time to recalibrate his equilibrium. All at once, his Force sensitivity acts up, alerting him that someone within fairly close proximity is using the power for one reason or another. He shakes his head carefully, still despising the sense itself, but then he recalls that strange addictive feeling that had overtaken him when he had pushed Draconis out of his mind. A small part of him feels the slightest craving for that feeling of power and control for just a brief second.

"No!" he growls, spitting a Kaleesh curse word in disgust with himself, "I want no part of that rubbish. All I want is to get away from here. Focus, Vexx. The mission is to get out and that is the only mission."

Straightening and squaring up his broad steel shoulders, he makes for the door to the medical bay that stands between himself and his path that will hopefully lead him to a way off of the Revelator.

The hiss and sliding of the opening med bay doors was a sound as common as any, something perhaps taken for granted. As it was an automatic mind numbing action that few regarded or even payed attention to. And as such it happened fast, the layered blast door retracted in several pieces neatly into the recessed door framing, opening fully into the corridor outside one of the Revelator's med bays. Vexx was an instant away from passing through the now open door, when he would see Draconis standing on the other side of it, as if having been their waiting for him having known exactly when Vexx was to awaken and attempt to make his move to escape.

Draconis' head was lowered slightly and half covered by the cowl of his dark hood. A tug and pull at the corner of his mouth as a sardonic smile formed, with a bit of anticipation of the events about to unfold as a pretentious concern for Vexx came out in his words.

"Going somewhere?"

The last thing Grievance had expected was to see that apparition of a man waiting for him on the other side of that door. He should have known; that Force sense of his had alerted him that Force-wielder was nearby. Perhaps he shouldn't have conditioned himself so thoroughly to ignore it after all.

His initial response is an understandable startle, but then his eyes darken with pure defiance. Draconis has had his fun and he will be cursed to hell if he lets him have any more today. He reflexively reaches for his lightsabers...only to find they are not in their usual places on his hip armor. None of them! All four are missing. Those who had belonged to his father and the two he had earned by personally slaughtering a pair of Jedi.

"I am going my own way and I suggest you get out of it," he growls, unafraid of the Sith lord despite what he had managed to do to him,"I should rend your head from your shoulders for that stunt you pulled. Now get out of my way."

He has no idea where his weapons have gone, but he subconsciously brings a hand to his collar area where his shield pendant usually hangs...to find it is missing as well. Someone had confiscated his personal belongings and he is none too happy about it, but he will have to figure that out on his way out of here. In the here and now, he dares to roughly push past Draconis, butting him aside with his shoulder.

Draconis smirked as the Kaleesh Warrior pushes past him, allowing himself to be moved to the side as a brief haughty laugh leaves him, amused by the boldness of it all.

"But of course do not let me stop you..."Draconis even offers an inviting palm forward to the side as if urging the warrior to continue on his way.

Draconis watched as the audible clank from the warrior’s talon like feet impacted with each step down the hallway and out of view.

Grievance narrows his yellow eyes at Draconis suspiciously. This is too easy; the Sith lord isn't making any move to stop him or even correct his behavior--which he is very much aware that it is less than polite or respectful. His analytical mind is already telling him to tread cautiously; something evil this way comes.

Nevertheless, he marches on, back past the cargo hold where Draconis had held him captive for a time. He makes a quick sweep of the area, looking for his belongings, but his search turns up nothing and so he moves on, backtracking now. Tracing his own steps back to where this had all started; back to where the shuttle deployed by the Night Herald had dropped him off. Another blast door opens and the cyborg double-takes as he sees Draconis, yet again, standing on the other side, wearing that same bemused expression and seemingly unconcerned that a savage cyborg bent on getting off this ship is carrying out his plan unabated.

He mutters an insult in Kaleesh as he cautiously passes the shadowy Sith yet again, glaring daggers at him as though daring him to try anything funny. Weapons or not, he is confident enough that he could take the man's head off with his talons alone and if not, he could at least do a substantial amount of damage.

As he passes by, that nagging feeling of curiosity causes him to pause. What had transpired in that cargo hold demands an explanation. In thinking on this, he inadvertently finds himself recalling that brief feeling of near-invincible power when he had fought back on that higher plain set apart from the traditional combat he favors. He has many questions and an annoying small desire to experience that power again, but he fights it. There is no time for such nonsense. He must remain vigilant. Draconis' second appearance could very well be a prelude to something foreboding.

The Kaleesh warrior passes by once again, intent on continuing his stomp around the Star Destroyer and finding a way to exit the nightmare. Draconis can feel the Kaleesh warrior's frustration and impatience with these games growing as he curses and storms by him a second time. However, Draconis feels a subtle piqued curiosity that is beginning to creep in, along with the Kaleesh's deep seated desire to turn Draconis inside out. It was calling to him, and Draconis knew it... the calling of the power that saturated his mind and body from before, a feeling unlike that which he had experienced ever before.

He was not going anywhere... but Draconis wanted him to realize it first.

Draconis remained silent, just watching as the Kaleesh began to scan the hanger cautiously, perhaps weighing his options though clearly initially leery of leaving Draconis to his devices. As Draconis casually watched the Kaleesh, he wondered how much longer he would resist and ignore the rancor in the room.

"You should take that one..."Draconis broke the silence indiscriminately eluding to a random shuttle in the hanger, as if ushering off an unwanted failure, that could not handle the path before him. These unspoken thoughts from Draconis would be flowing at the Kaleesh in waves as he mused over his next move. Silently taunting him.

Draconis' voice causes the cyborg to startle slightly and that presses his aggravation with the presence of the Sith. His voice alone feels like it is trying to yank him back to that room; to the terror, the shouting, the mind games. He is not afraid of Draconis, but he does not want history to repeat itself--literally--and his intense lack of trust to begin with is what makes him inherently jumpy.

As Draconis offers his unwanted opinion on what shuttle he should take, it prods Grievance's mistrust even more. Cruelty is all he has witnessed from the man thus far; cruelty and the treachery of wicked games. So, when he suggests which shuttle he should take, that shuttle automatically bypasses the bottom of Grievance's list of possibilities and gets kicked clear off of it.

"Do not toy with me, dark one," he growls dangerously, "Take your games elsewhere. I am through here."

“Clearly do not let me hold you up any further…” Draconis words are just outright taunting now, as he takes the Kaleesh’s wanderings about the hanger in stride, waiting patiently for the moment he know is about to come. The moment the Kaleesh cannot resist for much longer…

Grievance resumes going about his business, inspecting the vehicles currently at his disposal while keeping an eye out for anyone else who may try to apprehend him or question his intentions. Yet Draconis' presence continues to loom, becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

I would love to jettison him into space right about now, he thinks to himself, pacing around a shuttle, trying to look it over, but remaining horribly distracted as his eyes lock on the shadowy figure watching him in continued amusement, Blasted condescending spook.

And speaking of spook, this is precisely what Grievance does when his mind allows him to visualize the Sith being Force-choked...by him. Never before has he imagined annihilating anyone by any other means besides his blade. Never. The idea of harming or killing by way of an unseen method is appalling to him. Cheating in combat. Of course, when faced with someone like Draconis, who can inflict so much mental and physical pain without laying a hand on his victim, the idea of "cheating" does have an appeal, though he will never admit it.

As he continues to try to focus on his own intentions to leave, he finds himself getting more and more distracted by his own unspoken questions. Finally, he approaches the Sith lord with no hesitation in his gait. His strides are long and determined and he comes close enough to Draconis that either of them could reach out and physically strike the other.

"I do not fully understand your reasons for following me," he begins, trying to keep his temper in check as he really wants to throttle the life out of this one, clasping his hands behind his back as though to further curb any impulse to act on his temptation, "But so long as you are here, I wonder if you might answer a question or two. No games. No riddles. I am requesting facts, clear and concise. Am I asking too much, dark one?"

The Kaleesh is busy with the show… attempting to go about his business of identifying a craft to take him away from this place, take him away from the Sith. Trying to focus, trying to shake the feelings clawing at him. Draconis continues to look on, having not moved from where Vexx had left him before continuing his careful browsing of potential craft.

The unnerving feeling of Draconis just watching him, would be slowly eroding his focus and planned exodus.

And there it was…. The continued musings over craft comes to a close as the Kaleesh is seething with vitriol for Draconis unable to ignore it further. Then the pronounced clank of his claws against the steel hanger floor in its striding manner brought the Kaleesh right up in front of Draconis, neither of them flinching or drawing back as they were dangerously close to one another.

Draconis can feel the anger in him brooding and festering, as the Kaleesh is finally forced to indulge his curiosity no longer contained. "No games. No Riddles... Am I asking too much dark one?"

"You may ask."Draconis simply states. "I will answer."

Grievance looks Draconis straight in the eyes, seeking sincerity above all things, but the Sith lord's expression difficult to decipher for certain. He maintains eye contact though, well aware that the windows to his own soul are wide open as he searches out those of the man he currently detests.

"I have faced many Force-wielders before," he begins indifferently, taking great care to keep his temper in check, "But none have ever done what you managed to do to me. First, I want to know why. Why did you choose to torture me that way?"

He is not dodging his most nagging question; not really. Just delaying it in favor of another that troubles him almost as much. He truly doesn't understand why Draconis had captured him and nearly destroyed him mentally. Had it been punishment for his attack on Alva? If so, he needs to take it up with the Night Herald because the cyborg had only been following orders.

The Kaleesh Cyborg was curious, yearning for answers... asking why? The acknowledgement of what had happened to him by the hands of Draconis, infuriating him. Did he want some profound answer or revelation from Draconis the cold shadow blade of the Sith. Some deep seated reason as to why... did it matter?

Vexx's thoughts dwelt on punishment, it was not a matter of punishment, yes Vexx had orders. Orders which The Kaleesh had followed until he had been stopped. That was over now.

Draconis breathed a sigh, shaking his head ever so slightly showing a slight disappointment in his body language. The Kaleesh was asking all of the wrong questions, Draconis was not equally trying to avoid questions, merely weed out the unnecessary ones.

"It is not a matter of why... Vexx."Draconis spoke with a sublte scolding tone, directed to change his line of thinking. "...but the matter of that I could."Draconis turned and took a step, while continuing.

"Your father was strong..."Draconis knew the mere mention of the word "father" would grab Vexx's attention, anyone who had studied history would know of him and his deeds, and thus the revelation of the connection inherent with Vexx was a strong play.

"Your father's..."Draconis paused. "strength was his eventual his undoing from what I understand..." again Draconis emphasized, bringing up 'his father'. "Playing in a world, he was not fully equipped nor prepared for."

Draconis continued to pace, seeking to hold the Kaleesh's attention. "Alva would have killed you... What would that have accomplished?" Draconis paused before continuing not waiting for a response from Vexx. The idea that Vexx had reached his ceiling and pinnacle in his current state, this had to be the idea seeping into his mind, staring at him to embrace, and realize.
"No doubt you have bested many force-users as you mention." An impressive notion, Vexx was no doubt accomplished, Draconis did not doubt that. Clearly able to hold his own in a fight and more, but that was it... there needed to be more. Draconis turned slightly towards Vexx as he paced, letting his next words pierce like daggers.

"So did your dead father..."Draconis did not wait to see a reaction nor did he prepare for a strike, Vexx would be boiling over at this point, but if the Kaleesh had learned anything he would realize this wasn't meant to be a fight. As such any aggression would not end well for him to begin with, he needed to make a choice.Albeit the deck was stacked heavily in one direction given the experiences of the last 48 hours, still it was his to make.

Vexx would not have noticed their stroll, not noticed that they were no longer in the hanger. That they had paced and walked down and around several corridors.

The place they now stood in the middle of what be clearly recognized. The cargo hold, where Vexx had been tortured. The upright table still bearing the scars of it all... scorched and twisted, the trail of dried blood from where Vexx had summoned the strength to crawl to the med-bay still evident.Draconis produced a small black cloth wrapped around something, delicately uncovering and unfurling it revealing one of Vexx's own acquired lightsabers. Draconis knew this place would be unsettling for him, the pain and anguish... but also the power and focus.

"You are free to go Vexx, whenever you wish."Draconis offered the black cloth draped lightsaber forward for him to take. It was not a trick, not a false gesture. "Any of your affects will be delivered to a shuttle of your choice." Before he fully allowed Vexx the opportunity to retrieve his lightsaber he spoke."This is your past, part of a failure only intent on repeating itself."Draconis turned after allowing the lightsaber to be taken. The sound of the blast doors opening the light creeping and casting and illuminating Vexx's shadow against the torture table in the middle of the room.

Draconis stopped in the doorway. "I only ask on thing... Vexx, son of Sheelal..."as he paused, allowing the emptiness of the room and the darkness to descend upon Vexx. "Is this a place of pain for you? Or power?"

Draconis disappeared out the door, leaving the words for Vexx to digest. If he sought him, Vexx would find Draconis.

So intent on answers, Grievance isn't entirely mindful of it when Draconis subtly moves along. He follows, yellow eyes fixed on the ambiguous Sith as though nothing else exists at the moment. He is only taken aback by Draconis' body language. Is this even the same person who had nearly ripped his sanity to shreds? Expecting an air of condescension, the cyborg instead feels like he is in the presence of a schoolmaster whom he has somehow disappointed. Ordinarily, he wouldn't care, but the balance of who he has become is shifting.

A being of high intellect when presented with facts and logic, it does not take Grievance long to figure out the equation in what Draconis is telling him. There had been no reason for the torture other than to put his own weak spot right in front of him so that it could not be denied. He grasps this quickly, though not readily. To admit to this goes against everything he has conditioned himself to believe; he has no need of the Force. And coming from a culture where convictions are ironclad coupled with his own stubborn nature, this is not an easy pill for him to swallow.

Of course, the mention of his father grabs his attention like the strongest of magnets adhering to metal. Any information he can gain on the original cyborg his first captor had modeled him after is eagerly received and, strangely, he is no longer compelled to mask this with disinterest. It is questionable whether or not he is even aware that his guard is slowly coming down.

"His masters wanted him unprepared," he growls, having researched enough to figure out that Sidious and Dooku had set his father up as a pawn, fallible and expendable, to be used for their own gain, "They had to keep him that way to maintain control."

He continues to follow Draconis down one winding hall after another, his talons clicking in a rhythm that does not change; a steady pace, determined as everything else that makes up his character. He cannot deny that the odds had been severely stacked against him in his fight with Alva, so he doesn't say anything in response to this, letting his silence affirm his awareness. At the time, he didn't care. Death does not frighten him, but he has vowed that, should he be destined to die at the hands of another, he will do his best to take them down with him. As Draconis purposely rubs it in that General Grievous is dead, he may be expecting a flare of that Kaleesh temper, but there is only respectful silence. After all, he has only stated a fact. His father had bested many Jedi in his time and he is dead now. Hence, there is no offense to be taken. He had acknowledged the accomplishments of the cyborg general and that counts for respect.

As the Sith lord comes to a standstill, only then does Grievance take note of his surroundings. He immediately is on his guard again, his organic body giving way to tension and anxiety just seeing this room where so much agony had hammered his very soul. His instincts tell him to leave; the fight or flight response of a trapped beast. Why has Draconis brought him back here? But the Kaleesh warrior is never one to act on impulse. His logical mind comes back into play; there has to be a reason for this. Draconis has already revealed that the torture had been for a purpose and that alone has given him the impression that the mysterious Sith is not one to do things on a whim. He is as calculating as Grievance is in combat.

His thoughts running circles stall out though as Draconis reveals one of his lightsabers in his possession. The cyborg bristles at this revelation, knowing the Sith lord had taken it in the first place, and a feral growl rumbles deep in his chest, but that is the extent of his aggression. With logic dictating much of what he does, Grievance possesses a remarkable amount of self discipline and control. He knows he is not the alpha in this situation and recent experience has taught him not to challenge Draconis; not at this time. It certainly would not be prudent. Instead of lashing out, he graciously accepts the return of this single weapon, however, he nearly drops it at what Draconis says next.

He is free? This has not been attempted enslavement meant to harness his beastly strength and ruthless determination? He has a hard time digesting this concept. Up until a very short time ago, he had placed Draconis on the same level as the Sith who had transformed him into mostly machine. Perhaps he has misjudged this character whom he had initially perceived as an enemy. After all the hell he has put the cyborg through, he is letting him go? Yet Grievance hesitates, offhandedly wondering if he is falling prey to some form of Stockholm syndrome. Why is escape suddenly of such little importance? The question Draconis leaves him with echoes in his mind. All his life, he has found ways to adapt to his pain and use it as a tool either to learn or to teach. Why should now be any exception? As he reflects on the pain this room has seen--his pain--he also finds himself reflecting on that brief burst of power once again. And the true questions he has been holding back are at war in his mind over which is to be asked first. He finds himself moving in the direction in which Draconis has disappeared...

@Noone Darth_wanderguard