Star Wars New Sith Trials II: Rise of the Hand

IC: Darth Syren
The Revelator

A belt buckled. A holster tightened. Boots tied and one arm after another slid into the sleeves of a sleek and snug utility jacket. Paired with fitted trousers and a basic tank - all black of course - her thick red hair burned bright against the dark. The long tresses remained down and loose, gathered to one side and brought over a shoulder to fall across her front.

And last, always saved for last, her weapons were secured in their respective places; a lightsaber on each hip, vibroblade at her thigh, short sword across her back.

Syren took her time making a few more adjustments in the mirror. She had calmed significantly since her initial panic in the aftermath of her… vision. Being in constant motion was an effective distraction but even better was a decent amount of alcohol consumed in a very short amount of time. She lazily eyed a silver flask upon a shelf by the bed, ridiculously thankful she had thought to bring it along on the journey to Taris. The idea of training Effay had probably been why, though it didn’t take much to get her to drink on a normal day. Whatever the reason, she had it and was putting it to good use.

Turning back to her reflection, Syren pinched some color into her cheeks. Her skin was normally pale but now about half an hour past being released from that psychological hell, she appeared completely void of any color at all, even with the liquor coursing through her blood. The ashen tone of her face made her grey eyes seem almost black in contrast and she didn’t like how the look made her feel.

Empty, like a chunk of her had been scooped out and removed.

A hand automatically went to her stomach, caressing a particular spot at its center. Something still felt off, the needle-like sensation continuing to plague her from within. As did the face of that mysterious blonde she had been linked so intimately with. She knew the young woman in reality, but still could not conjure a name…

Gnashing her teeth and growling in frustration, Syren swiped the flask from its perch and eagerly tilted it back over her mouth. After only a few drops trickled out then stopped altogether she threw it aside, shaking her head against the slight imaginary tilt to the floor. Admittedly she had probably drunk a bit more than she should have and this particular stock was of the more potent variety, as she preferred. Her head was fuzzy and her knees a little wobbly but on the whole she welcomed the numbness it brought to her thoughts.

It had managed to stop the Left-Handed Lord's whispers; screw it if she had to be intoxicated to accomplish that feat.

Taking a deep breath, Syren carefully called the empty flask back to her hand with the Force and stuffed it into her bag. As she grabbed her third and temporary lightsaber, adding the weapon to her other belongings, her comm went off. It was the long-awaited summons from the Night Herald.

Meeting Room H7. Two hours. Have your wits about you.

“Two hours? Oh thank kriff,” she said aloud, breathing a sigh of relief.

Before doing all she could to escape her demons Syren never considered the issue it would cause if she showed up for this meeting not entirely sober. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might not have time to even out and now that she knew she would… she set to it, albeit unwillingly. Shouldering her bag and casting one last look of disgust at the pile of ruined clothes from her previous mission, she turned and left the room.

The next couple of hours were spent walking throughout the massive ship, maybe a little clumsily at first. The heaviness of her drink began to lift as Syren progressed and she had made a point to find something hearty to eat to help speed up the process. By the time she reached room H7 as instructed the self-inflicted numbness had waned. The voice began to nag at the back of her mind so she hoped whatever was left in her system would keep it at bay a little longer.

Coming to a halt just outside the door, she smoothed down her hair and straightened her gear.

She was ready.

Hitting the wall panel, the door hissed open and Syren strode over the threshold. Once inside, she paused as she eyed Haretisch first and returned his nod with a bow of her head. He had gestured for her to sit and though she would have preferred to remain standing, she did as she was bid. Walking slowly to the opposite end of the long table, her keen eyes took note of the room’s other occupants as she moved.

The first two she did not recognize; a young man sitting at the Night Herald’s side and more noticeably, a large mechanical creature that had taken a seat farther down. The third being, face hidden within the shadows of a cowl, she also regarded as unknown at first though there was something familiar about his presence that caused her brow to furrow in confusion. They had met before; she couldn’t discern when or where without learning more but there was an unmistakable connection, one she would certainly figure out in due time.

As Syren came to the last chair on the right side of the table, she lowered herself into the seat as her gaze fell on Aryan Graul at last. A source of curiosity for her, she didn’t linger on him any more than the others in order to keep that fact to herself. Able to take in his overall demeanor and appearance in a quick but thorough glance, she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other before refocusing her attentions on the Dark Lord that had brought them all together.


TAGS: Darth_wanderguard HanSolo29 dragonsith13 Kaleesh-Cyborg Isley_27

 

IC: Darth Cocytus

Darth Cocytus's lamp-like eyes glared coldly as he got to his feet, looking around the Shuttle still making it's way back to New Moraband. He found that many were also getting up as if they were unconscious for a moment as well, meaning that they must have had a similar experience that he had. His eyes narrowed into slits and spoke in his usual icy cold voice. "Have everyone seen and experienced what I have?" he hissed, "Or have it been different for each of you?"

Darth Cocytus turned and looked at Osnil at his description of his vision. His hallow, lamp-like eyes borrowing into him. He remained silent as he looked around in deep, deep thought before returning to his fellow Sith. "I recall visions similar but not identical when we were on Mortis." he spoke softly, finding it quite obvious that each of sith on the shuttle had a different vision and that it's quite likely that they were not the only ones, "I can't be sure, but I think there may or may not be a connection."

The kaminoan looked to Lady Hesper, his eyes cold and hateful as ever. "What do you think Master?" he asked, "Do you recall visions at any time we were on Mortis? Nonetheless, I believe that quite obviously they all have some sort of meaning to us. We should meditate and reflect on them."

TAG: Darth Osnil, corinthia, Lady Belligerent, WookieeRage and QueenSabe7

 

Jagall Neidav IC:
~Scion Tower, Zakuul~

Within seconds of taking a defensive position with the others, Jagall suddenly found himself elsewhere. He couldn't tell where exactly, or when for that matter, it was so sudden and the surroundings so fuzzy. Hard to make out or decipher.

What was important was what was happening right before him. Yes, he was fighting. Against the zabrak he was just standing next to…Titus wasn't it?

Why? Why were they fighting? It didn't matter, the zabrak Sith had struck out and per his expert saber skills, expertly parried in response.

At least…they were only expert against most. Not all. This Titus managed a circular motion too quick for him to follow, catching him off guard and confusing him. His blade left his hands to go flying far away from him. He could catch it in the Force and recall it quickly, perhaps, but his foe was moving too fast. Clearly Jagall Neidav had finally done the unthinkable. He had underestimated his enemy. Titus was powerful.

Then came the sudden blaster bolt, knocking the Sith down. Saving him. Jagall wanted to give a sigh of relief, to begin an immediate counter…

Until he felt the blaster's bite on his shoulder as well. He went down, down, down…

And woke up.

With a groan, he placed his hands on the floor. His eyes fluttered open and the scenery of the Scion's Tower came into view. Moff Esmeralda was there and demanding what happened. What happened? They we…

No. They hadn't been shot. They had just fought Heskal and been ambushed by the First Order! Right. Another groan as he felt the dusty floor underneath and pushed himself up with a small protest from his tired muscles.

"A vision," he croaked before his voice found its original strength and his eye turned curiously at the zabrak next to him, "We both had it evidently."

Why had they been fighting? Was it a guarantee? Or just a possibility? Was it merely symbolic?

Questions he'd have to puzzle out another time. Not that he would enjoy it…he was more for figuring out corporeal mysteries or practicing with his martial arts or saber skills. Sighing he turned to see an incoming shuttle. Through the Force he felt danger, but not open hostility. More Sith obviously.

Allies. Which was still an ironic concept.

Soon enough, he eyed one man in particular as he descended the ramp. He remembered him from the banquet as a holo-projection at the time. Their leader. Darth Insipid.

Jagall let his eyes cast about to see how things looked around them before he got close. From what he knew of Sith Lords, utter chaos for their forces did not bode well for the underlings under their charge.

It was utter chaos. Granted, he was in a special liaison position, but would that matter fully to one such as him? Jagall didn't know. Unconsciously, his muscles tensed slightly. The image of Vader flitted through his mind with the quickest of moments. There and gone again. Yes, this Insipid's aura was just as dangerous as that one's had been.

No. Worse.

And where the hell was that one Sith that had suddenly joined them in mid-fight? Their absence, making their current state look even worse, suddenly appeared in his mind. Dead most likely.

Another glance at Kronos. And there was him.

This would not bode well for those under Insipid's charge he suspected. Quickly shifting his weapon back onto his belt, he let the man complete his foreboding approach.

"Moff Esmeralda, a report if you would."

"Heskal escaped with the aid of First Order infiltrators. However the fort itself has been seized, though it will require some work to rectify much of the damage we did to it during the battle."

The Sith Lord merely nodded, which instantly relaxed him. Contrary to displeasure, he seemed to take this exactly as it was. A more pragmatic man perhaps? He had heard about the god delusion, but one always had reasons for their pride. Maybe he would see why Insipid thought himself as such soon enough.

"I would assign you and Kronos to assassinate Ike. He has vanished, and attempted to kill me. It has to be done."

….Thrawn would want to hear of this. And what of that one man…Aryan he now remembered his name…hadn't he implied he had killed the Grand Moff already?

Then Insipid's gaze fell on them, Jagall met his, with the man's eyes curious and struggling to contain his apprehension. Yet a strange…thrill…seemed to also reverberate throughout his body like an excited whisper. Cold, yet warm.

He would most certainly have to be careful around this man if he was capable of eliciting such a strong reaction from him from his mere presence.

"I am assembling a task force to pursue Heskal. You have strictly speaking failed me."

Those words were not meant for him, he could tell. But it showed his initial worry might not have been far off after all. Would this Titus live long enough to even give birth to the possibility of a future duel?

"But I believe I should place that blame elsewhere," he noted Insipid's gaze without surprise by then, "Titus, you have undoubtedly wounded yourself in the fight. There is a medpack aboard; equally, there is a battle droid - it is only Soliloquoy, you need not concern yourself, but I do not believe you have met the Holocron before, and definitely not since I gifted him a body."

A Holocron? With a droid's body? Well, these Sith were full of surprises weren't they. Whose holocron was it though? Now that was something he wished to know.

"Jedi Jagall, I would speak to you privately."

And there it was. Alone with one of the Triumvirate.

Inclining his head, he acquiesced politely. "Of course, Lord Insipid."

As soon as they were indeed alone, he bowed once more, his eyes averted downwards. "This is the first time I have spoken with a member of the Triumvirate. I know this may seem….odd, coming from one such as I. But I am honored."

A pause as he straightened to look back at the one before him: all power, darkness, and authority.

"What is it you wished to speak with me about? Though I may offer that I heard one Aryan Graul had already managed to assassinate the Grand Moff…or at least, he implied it when he arrived earlier. I figured that was something you should know."

Tag: Sinrebirth Darth Master Titus Darth Kronos

 

GM UPDATE

IC: Darth Haretisch -- Meeting Room H7, the Revelator, Orbit above New Moraband

They were all here, now. Alva still burned with silent rage at the cyborg, who had seemed to swallow defeat more easily than my apprentice even handled victory. Draconis might have coalesced from the shadows themselves, how quiet and sudden was his entrance. Syren stunk faintly of liquor as she took her seat, which was of no particular surprise. I wondered silently if this habit was present before her exile on Hoth, or a more recent development owed at least in part to the trauma I had inflicted on her myself.

Skelm had arrived shortly before, dressed more for battle than I think I would have expected. Still very much a novice in the force, his emotions were laid bare by his inability to shrink his presence within it. His face betrayed nothing - the practiced countenance of a masterful politician. But while this would hide his feelings safely away from lesser force users than myself, to me, his disgust with Grievance Vexx, and the trepidation with which he looked upon the cloaked Rattataki who sat across from him might as well have been announced over a loudspeaker. He would learn control, in time. I would ensure it.

The final arrival had been Kralkus, who was still pretending to be too decrepit to do naught but hobble as he found his own way to the table and climbed into a chair with enough difficulty that he seemed to be courting sympathy for his old age.

At last I stood.

"It is not for nothing that I have called you here today," I began. "As most of you have seen firsthand, the Sith as we exist now live in spite of the galaxy of our origin burning in hellfire even as we speak. I cannot deny my own part in bringing such destruction to bear. But from that hellfire, we have emerged into a new world. A better world. One in which the fabled Galactic Empire still lives, albeit in hiding and as a shadow of its former self. One in which stability and peace are still within reach."

I paused, choosing my next words carefully. "And yet the security that this would afford is threatened at every turn. Not all would strive for the same," I ignored the irony of my statements. They wouldn't understand.

"And so," I continued, clenching a gloved fist, "I have taken action."

With the force I triggered a small holoprojector which pointed downward from the ceiling centermost in the room. From it, in ghostly blue, issued a circular crest. In its center, a three-pointed shield which converged smoothly to one at its lower edge. Within the shield lay the outline of a Krayt Dragon. Across the top arced the letters I.S.I.B.

"With the support of Grand Admiral Thrawn, I have established the Internal Sith Intelligence Bureau, and you are its inaugural agents."

A click sounded within the table, and two panels folded back to reveal a hidden compartment, slowly rising to sit flush with the surface. Seven personal wrist-mount computers sat neatly arranged upon it, each able to fit easily within the palm and outfitted with a semi-rigid strap.

"The devices before you will provide a constant, direct, and secure line of communication to me and with one another. Each collects various forms of data from your surroundings, which is then fed to a network and used to automatically update mission statuses in real time."

With an open upturned hand, I captured each wrist computer and floated them to their respective owners, including my own which I grasped gingerly and set to strapping down just beneath the edge of my right glove.

TAG: QueenSabe7, Isley_27, Kaleesh-Cyborg, dragonsith13, HanSolo29

 

IC: Darth Alva
Revelator - Meeting Room H7

Finally breaking his attention from Grievance, Alva began to noticed others taking their seats around the table. The first seemed to appear out of nowhere, his connection to the dark side of the force was strong. The next individual was a bit more recognizable, 'Chancellor Aryan Graul!' Alva had seen a few holonet feeds of some speeches, the few he paid attention to back on Bespin , now here he was sitting alongside the Sith. It could have only meant that he chose to embrace the dark side and aligned himself with the Sith. A woman took her seat to the far end of the table. She was quite good-looking like most dark-sider women were, her powers in the force seemed strong as well. Finally a small being hobbled to the closet chair he could find, one of the Sith masters no doubt. Kralkus, was it? Alva wasn't exactly sure.

The Night Herald rose from his seat, indicating that everyone who was suppose to be here was present. He began with the cold hard reminder - a reminder that brought everything back into prospective - We were in a different reality, while the old one was left to burn! Alva had heard the tales of what had happened and the consequences that followed. Perhaps it was a good thing Alva wasn't there to experience it himself.

After a small speech on a secure galaxy, his master announced the formation of a new agency backed by Thrawn himself apparently.

The Internal Sith Intelligence Bureau.

The symbol of the agency projected forward. A split second later a small section of the table opened up, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside appeared seven wrist computers, they floated on the fringes of the force to their respective owners.

Alva opened his palm as the computer gently fell in his hand. He became to inspect it,

"The devices before you will provide a constant, direct, and secure line of communication to me and with one another. Each collects various forms of data from your surroundings, which is then fed to a network and used to automatically update mission statuses in real time."

Alva secured the wrist mounted computer to his right gauntlet. He pressed his finger tip to the mini-screen, it flashed to life and began to display routine start-up information. Hopefully the device was battle tested and durable, it seemed well built as Alva gave it several solid knocks with his left fist. "Good, the last thing I want is a piece of flimsy tech strapped to my arm" he thought.

Tags Darth_wanderguard HanSolo29 Kaleesh-Cyborg dragonsith13 QueenSabe7

 

Grievance Vexx
Revelator Meeting Room

Grievance never saw the man enter; never heard a thing; never even sensed the man's presence until he was suddenly claiming a seat beside him. The cyborg nearly falls off his own seat, startled by Draconis' sudden appearance. Fully distracted from Darth Haretisch now, Grievance's yellow eyes could bore holes into the stealthy Sith lord for sneaking up on him like that. He starts to tell Draconis exactly how he feels about his entrance when the man softly commands him to maintain his focus.

Focus? Really? Grievance has to clear his throat to mask the irritated growl he can feel crawling up from his chest as he begrudgingly returns his attention to the Night Herald. What a time for Draconis to show himself as the Kaleesh warrior remains tormented by questions and an ever-growing hunger for what he had barely tasted. His patience and self-control are surely being put to the test in this moment and it's not about to get any easier.

As yet another person enters the meeting room, Grievance can't help but notice him. He has that arrogance and two-faced air that comes with only one type of figure in the galaxy. A politician. Grievance isn't even bothered by this at first. He would just as soon ignore a politician as he would kill one; it makes no difference to him. But this one is purposely studying him. He can feel it. The animosity is almost a physical presence as it merges with that radiating from Alva.

Keep staring, whelp, he thinks bitterly, his eyes following Aryan Graul as he takes his seat, I have done nothing to harm or offend you as of yet, but I would prefer that you recognize me if I find good reason to eliminate your existence and choose to hunt you down as prey. I quite enjoy crushing politicians.

He almost chuckles audibly, but he masks it with a cough and once again brings his focus back to Darth Haretisch. How many people is he waiting for? Meetings certainly are not Grievance's forte and there are far too many distractions aggravating him in this room, the biggest one being the Sith sitting right beside him.

Then comes another--perhaps the final guest the Night Herald is waiting on. A female. He watches her warily from the corner of his eye as she crosses the room to take a seat. Sensing no hostility from her as her eyes briefly sweep over him in the same manner they do almost everyone else, he decides to afford her the same courtesy and keeps his eyes focused on the one who has called them here. At least Darth Haretisch had addressed his defeat before the rest of these strange people showed up. For that, the cyborg is grateful. The humiliation had been uncomfortable enough in front of the one who had defeated him.

Then he barely catches sight of still another attendee to this meeting--a very short, very ugly little creature. He can't help but watch with some curiosity as the obviously aged creature hobbles across the room and hoists himself up into a chair. Whatever species he is, Grievance has never seen one before. Fortunately, the Night Herald's voice draws his attention before he is caught staring.

Much of what Darth Haretisch is saying regarding the Sith is strange to him. He is not aware of their standing in the galaxy, nor the apparent danger they are in at present, but he listens intently, absorbing the information as it comes, silent, but maintaining steady eye contact. He only knows bits and pieces of Sith history--mostly in whatever way it tied to his father. Why has he, with as little knowledge as he has of the Sith and their ways, been chosen to serve in what sounds like a very serious role? Even after such humiliating defeat, he is somehow viewed as worthy of this task? This Sith business just keeps getting stranger and stranger.

As the communication devices are presented to each of them, Grievance narrows his eyes at the small piece of technology, already concerned with its design and its compatibility with his...different...anatomy. The wrist strap is a problem; a problem that could be detrimental to him personally. He could easily modify the device, but he knows things like this are often costly and so finds it necessary to speak to the Night Herald.

"M'lord?" he asks, pausing to cough, "A question, if I may. Is it permissible to modify this device to better accommodate my, uh...abilities? A wrist strap will present a problem when I find it necessary to do...this." He dislocates his shoulders and splits his two arms into four. "I have the capabilities to have this embedded into my cybernetics; however I know the cost to make these devices is substantially high, which is why I am requesting permission to make the modifications. Functionality will not be affected, I assure you."

He then interlocks his four arms back into two, wanting to ask why the Night Herald has seen fit to recruit him to this branch of service, but it is not a question he wants to ask publicly. First, he does not want to appear as though he is questioning authority; second, he does not want to suffer further humiliation should Darth Haretisch react with anger or condescension to his curiosity. It's difficult to determine how some of these Sith will react. They seem to be about as temperamental and unpredictable as he is.

Tag: Darth_wanderguard Isley_27 QueenSabe7 HanSolo29 dragonsith13

 

IC: Darth Anark
Zakuul



Darth Anark’s red blade illuminated the surrounding ferns poisonous, multi-colored flowers, bathing everything in a scarlet brilliance that shone in the bleak darkness of Zakuul’s night and bled outward from the Sith Lord’s form to also highlight his new Jedi friends who stood around him as the pack of two dozen mighty Sith hounds paced in anticipation of an easy and surely meaty meal.

Anark made several futile attempts to get some sort of assistance from his own Hound but the ship still lay half-submerged in the waters fifty meters away, a plume of black smoke rising slowly from its hull. Tiq’s condition was unknown, the Jawa had been piloting the ship when it went down so he had no doubt either perished on impact or was drowning at this very moment in the cockpit. Anark couldn’t feel his presence in the Force but with a small army of carnivorous beasts the size of land speeders eyeing him up to devour, it was a tad difficult to concentrate.

Anark tried to stay as still as he possibly could, his drenched robes helped to keep him firmly in place. He craned his neck to shoot a look at Draco who met his eye but gave no indication of fear nor a suggestion as to how they could possibly get themselves out of their predicament. A face of absolute stone he so hated of Jedi.

He could hear the Lorekeeper’s voice among the many others in his head, that stinking, nightmarish old wretch who kept an eon’s worth of history in the skull under his dishevelled, greasy locks of hair.

‘Tuk’ata’ the voice whispered.

Anark decided that making a move was better than being a sitting duck in this forsaken swamp. His lightsaber hummed for a few more seconds then hissed as he disarmed it and slotted the hilt onto his utility belt. When the Sith looked down at his robes it was the first time he really noticed that he had lost a considerable amount of his once striking mass in the last few months. His sleeves hung low on him, revealing the outline of a still muscular yet newly shaped forearm.

Anark gazed around at the hounds who were slowly but surely closing in on them. Some sniffed, some panted loudly, he could smell their breath lingering in the humid night air. He took an unsteady step forward and fixed his gaze on the beast closest to him. It’s eyes glowed a deep crimson, outlined by flashes of yellow. He continued to walk forward slowly, whispering under his breath, “Tuk’ata… Tuk’ata… Tuk’ata…”

The beast he was approaching stood its ground, cocking its head slightly to one side without ever taking its eyes off his. He could feel the four sets of Jedi eyes piercing through the back of him but focused on keeping his mind quiet, stealing forward and continuing his chant of the ancient creature’s true name.

He’d heard tales of these hounds once being tamed and serving the Sith, guarding the tombs of the dead, feeding on the Living Force itself and remaining ever loyal to the fallen, even developing their own form of communication with one another – an intelligent beast that could as likely serve as a guardian as a bringer of death if it caught you in its jaws.

As he got within touching distance of the brute, its size was all the more impressive up close – a spine of raised quills added to its height, razor sharp claws dug into the ground it stood on and a deadly set of teeth were apparent as it bared them at the Sith, letting out a low growl as he stopped in front of it. The others around it looked inquisitively at Anark, some on the inner circle dropped down onto their haunches as if they were about to lunge.

Anark raised his arm slowly as he repeated the word louder and with less and less breaths in between.

“Tuk’ata. Tuk’ata…”

His hand made contact with the hound’s head. It felt rougher than he’d imagined, almost scaly to the touch. The beast sniffed at the bend of his arm and examined him from foot to head. The tension was palpable. He wanted to see the looks on Draco’s friends faces but he dared not take his gaze off the eyes of this great treasure he thought to be a myth before this day.

The Tuk’ata pulled back its head abruptly and its shoulders went back with it, setting themselves in a defensive stance that brought it up an extra foot or two. Before Anark could react, he was knocked to the ground with the hound’s teeth sinking into his forehead. He heard something crack and felt a new wetness at the back of his skull that was now layered between his hair and the moist terrain. The Sith Lord cried out in pain and shock, attempting to wrestle himself free but finding that its grip on him was so strong that he was only helping to tear the skin when he struggled.

This was it. There would be a frenzy and he would be the prey. He was dead.

He felt a rage building up. A rage at the fact that this was not at all how he planned to go. He still had things to do – to accomplish. He yearned for a place in the history books and now instead of his bones in a tomb decaled by a beautiful shrine they would be being picked out of the teeth of these beasts’ tomorrow morning.

The attack went on, he could feel his senses dull again as they had earlier that day from his previous injuries. He saw out of the corner of his eye two of the larger of the pack diving forward and just wished for it to end quickly.

There was an almighty shriek and he felt the pressure on his temples disappear.

The two larger hounds had grabbed a side each of the attacker’s midsection and began to claw at it, growling and spitting as they savaged one of their own. Anark raised himself up onto his elbows to watch the fresh fight but remained on the ground. The thing that had him a moment ago was on its side on the grassy verge struggling as the two others opened its abdomen and tore out big fleshy chunks as it yelped and whined helplessly thrashed around wide eyed as it took its last gasps and bled out.

A long moment passed and there was silence, save for the odd growl of a hound and Anarks own heartbeat and rapid breaths in his ears. He stood, feeling at his head with his fingers. It had been torn anew. He seemed to be experiencing a lot of these sorts of injuries of late. He wiped the gash with the sleeve of his robe and then inspected it to find the fabric glittering with fresh blood.

The wound continued to ooze but Anark just stood there staring at the two alpha-hounds who had left the carcass of their kill and were approaching him now, colossal paws thudding along the earth, licking their reddened lips with long tongues.

The Sith’s fear had muted. They were headed straight in his direction but their demeanour was not threatening, it was passive, almost placid as they casually glanced around at the rest of the pack while striding forward. Anark had immense faith in himself in that instant – something uncharacteristic of the mad Sith Lord who usually felt paranoia gnawing at him, sending him into chaotic fits of self-destruction… even self-harm at times. He walked forward with all the confidence in the universe and met the largest of the two alphas in the centre of the clearing. He reached a hand out once more… the hound sniffed at it and Anark’s heart sank when it took only one sniff then roared in his face, sending his hair flying and creating a new layer of moist film over the skin on his face. His new found confidence was short lived and dropped off him like lead.

This time though, instead of it lunging to sink its teeth into the rest of his head, it was another hound from the pack that still huddled behind the alphas who ran at him and flew through the air to maul him. But the bulking alpha caught it in mid-air, roared and swiped it clean down the middle of its snout. The attacker yelped and laid down on the grass on its side in a submissive fashion.

The alpha turned its head back to the hapless Sith man and sat. Then it’s equal sat. Then the gathered pack all turned round in unison and retreated back towards the Jedi who had remained in their spots.

It seemed to be over.

Anark’s eyes would have normally grown wild in a fever of delight and he would perhaps have leaped up and down a bit as the voices all screamed in amusement, but he simply didn’t have the energy to react to what was happening. His skin had gone pale and he wore a vacant expression.

He turned his back on his two saviours and began to stalk forward, limping and letting his arms swing loose at his sides. Streaks of blood trickled down from his temples and rolled off his cheeks. He knew there were other members of the Sith Empire on Zakuul and walked in the direction he felt their presence in.

As the clearing gave way to the beginnings of a heavily wooded area he realized that the hounds were flanking him on either side, following him to wherever it was that he was going.

He didn't know if they had perhaps sensed his unique signature in the Dark Side, whether they'd liked him, even pitied him, or whether he was just lucky. It was strange.

"Tuk’ata" whispered Darth Anark and a smile touched his lips.

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TAG: ConservativeJedi321 theometric​

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IC: Soliloquy

His blade ignited, Insipid took a step towards Soliloquy. Malevolence practically dripped from the air with the smug authority of a Sith that felt himself above the predilections of a holocron. Soliloquy had always been careful to either maintain a sense of camaraderie that it might be cherished with the of immortality as it shared it's holocron body to more and more soul shards, or had arranged 'accidents' for those students it felt would turn on it someday.

Still, the holocron felt no fear, there were contingencies for just such an occasion, it was not only a holocron but a bastion bathed in blood and spells in layer upon layer that it gave even Abeloth pause. It could only hope the Emperor was as aware to slow and stop. Disgust began to roil with that sneer and it knew the Emperor likely was beginning to see it merely as a droid, a foolish droid.

It took stock of itself in these starting moments, like a Bor Gullet sitting in the middle of a conversation room it's tentacles spread to end not around others heads but into the vision of others legs. Each a piece of itself that conformed to those shards it was near, whose own visages reflected back their old selves, still trapped in those trappings that Nightsisters, Sorcerer's of Tund, and yes even a Revanite was still standing about it as well as a couple Sith that some might even call benevolent in their brand of zealotry. At the door to this sitting room as it's mind sped for the coming clash of spells and saber it noted something clawing at the door. The Droid was not one for such things, it merely left its data and left. Only now after the scraping did a banging begin to resound. A tentacle writhed and a form of a Revanite that echoed the one lost so dear upon Korriban moved to the door, opening the porthole to pear out the door writhe and contort!

Quickly the forms of the shards lent their aid to hold the door as it should be, a window and not a true access to the droid it inhabited. Being that the Revanite was truly it it saw the world the droid portrayed, a black ink that smothered the dim lights of working methods, and as it shouted into that darkening void to be ejected, to be a defenseless holocron against the assailing Emperor all that came back to it was hand. A white existential thing that grasped and clawed through the door to grasp the Revanite by the neck, to squeeze and shake as it tried to consume it. But one did not face Abeloth, Mnngl-Mnngl and greater still and live to tell the tale if it so wished to be done in by such a simple thing. The lolling head snapped down impaling the hand with it's mask to stare back darkly in turn to the darkness. The outside yet continued and through it's own back window out of the droid it listened.

However, the infection overtook the vocoder of the droid and spoke.

‘Resistance. Rebellion. You will burn these ideas away.”

Whether they were direct words to Soliloquy or merely a statement, a manifesto was unknown. What it did know was the voice. Emperor Palpatine. At this an advantages effect took place; Darth Insipid, God-Emperor of the Sith Order, and usurper of the role of Son froze.

The voice was unmistakable to him as well it would seem.

Darth Insipid stood back, as the voice continued, the form reanimating Soliloquy's droid body and rapidly trapping the entity with it. It could not end that grasping darkness that even yet tried to worm it's way inside, it merely held it at the door, a stalemate as it thought upon what it was currently a party to and the vision that had preceded.

“Will I?” Insipid replied pleasantly. “What are you?”

“I serve the Contingency. The Empire did not deserve to exist, if it did not save its Emperor.” The voice curled in disgust. “And so it fell. The Rebels were to be scattered in the moment of destruction; but they survived, and so the Empire shall be reborn, anew.”

Soliloquy turned this like a wheel about it's selves and found that answers most interesting. Perhaps an accord could be reached, the intellect was a valuable one after all. Although would it be one that was content to be part of the whole? It did not fathom and so remained cautious and stayed the door without pushing back nor attacking.

The Sith Lord frowned. The faults in the Emperor continued to shine out and it pitied him even in the throws of what most would consider a strangling embrace it pitied that man. It was only one throat after all as the hand tightened it's grip, it had plenty more. Although the sensation was disconcerting it did not give ground nor self, it took the abuse as a show of strength.

“An AI with the voice of Palpatine - a last will, perhaps?” As Insipid debated..

“I am as close as possible to the great intellect of the Emperor, so as to better serve his will.” The body straightened, and as it did, all the various weapons opened up, the AI seemingly adapting to its environ incredibly swiftly.

Insipid flicked his lightsaber out, not at the droid, but at the Celestial Holocron.

In a flash of white, the two of them would suddenly be upon the shuttle, but the shuttle would suddenly flash into existence by the wreckage of Heskal’s domain, sensors pinging to tell them that a launch had just broken for orbit and vanished into some kind of stealth mode. Soliloquy took it all in stride as it felt the hand recede and the passage way cleared. It had full access once more to the droid, to control and guide it, but the way was still darkness. It was still there. It had seen the severance of the channel that had given the droid it's mental form and fortitude vanish even as the link to the Celestial Holocron had been severed. It has recalled the vision and knew it now, a crimson armoured droid approximating the dark intellect of the Emperor, a cross between droid and Imperial Royal Guard of old, now new. From the bridge it had seen such droids and officers and stormtroopers beside it as her, a woman in a brilliant white Grand Admiral uniform from the flash of memory; he had made a connection with a hitherto unknown Imperial remnant in the Unknown Regions -was this the First Order?

Insipid ignored the droid as the AI fled into the recesses of the droids mind, stepping to the source of the ping; the dead Stormtrooper that had not left the shuttle floor since Lenora had brought it aboard. Darth Insipid knelt down, and on instinct tugged at the man’s lower arm armour - it showed an Imperial style tattoo; the symbol of the First Order. Amused, Insipid looked to the helmet; it had been recording all the discussions around it, and the ‘ping’ had been the remote download being completed.

Any conversation aboard the shuttle since the trooper had dropped to the floor would have been recorded; a massive security breach. Insipid had spoken of his Rule of Seven within earshot, and his apprentices had subverted Thrawn. Of course, unbeknownst to him, Soliloquy had spoken to Thrawn also, and so all that data was now taken to the First Order.

Darth Insipid nodded to himself, turning the helmet over in his hands.

“Soliloquy; have you reasserted control, or do I have a droid Emperor Palpatine I must deal with?” His tone was half-joking. He tossed the helmet over. “I need a trace on this. A shuttle just fled with Heskal aboard. Whenever it decants, it will hook back into whatever network the First Order are using. We need to find them. If Heskal gives them a foothold on New Moraband we shall have an issue.” The God-Emperor stood up, brushed his robes. “We can discuss what happened in due course.”

"Of Course. Emperor Insipid." The droid spoke in the gender neutral tones still, but now with a rasp to it's vocoded voice. It had caught the helmet with ease, turning it over and removing cover delicately began to set to work. Only Soliloquy had given such detailed instructions. It seemed the black was a true indication. Now only the question was, did the black know the future? Or was it merely a copy of a program that would become a part of seen future if not altered? It was an interesting thought. 'You and I shall have to find an accord. We are a holocron from the days of Emperor Vitiate from a galaxy parallel to this that no longer exists, we existed from then unto that galaxies end with this Emperor that followed a thousand years after Palpatine. . .we fled to this one back in time. Ruminate and let us know, shall we be allies? Each pursuing their Emperor's will?'

“Moff Esmerelda, a report if you would.”

The woman stood straight. “Heskal escaped with the aid of First Order infiltrators. However the fort itself has been seized, though it will require some work to rectify much of the damage we did to it during the battle.”

Insipid nodded. Nothing he did not know. “I would assign you and Kronos to assassinate Ike. He has vanished, and attempted to kill me. It has to be done.”

An eye turned on Jagall and Titus. “I am assembling a task force to pursue Heskal. You have strictly speaking failed me.” He addressed his comments to Titus, not to Jagall, who was at best a liaison. “But I believe I should place that blame elsewhere.” His eye turned briefly to Kronos, before sliding onwards. A brief smile came to his lips. “Titus, you have undoubtedly wounded yourself in the fight. There is a medpack aboard; equally, there is a battle droid - it is only Soliloquy, you need not concern yourself, but I do not believe you have met the Holocron before, and definitely not since I gifted him a body.”

A remote link was being establish yet the droid body looked up at this point and made a sniffing noise. "We have need to talk later to him of our status." it said to itself, or perhaps if any were listening to them? It did not know, only that the parlor was safe and sterile of any foreign presence, that the work continued, and that it was eavesdropping from inside the open shuttle.

“Jedi Jagall, I would speak to you privately.”

TAG: Darth Master Titus, Sinrebirth

 

IC: Darth Syren
The Revelator

Syren settled even further back into her chair, adopting a casual look as she nonchalantly folded her hands and rested them across her stomach. Not having done so before entering the briefing, as she should have, the assassin brought the Force around her like a cocoon to shield her emotions from others. No one needed to know nor should know how she was feeling at this moment, especially not in present company.

Her vantage point at the back of the room allowed Syren to easily see all who were taking part in this meeting. As they sat in silence, her grey eyes continued to roam and take in all they could. Individually they were intriguing to varying degrees, some more than others but together they offered another much sought after diversion from what her mind really wanted to dwell on.

I would absolutely kill for another drink, the High Lord thought with a sigh. Perhaps after this she would find the liquor stores aboard the ship and indulge until she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The idea seemed positively euphoric.

The pleasant notion didn’t last long, however, what with all the anger and hostility mingling in the air between the lot of them. It was quite obvious several beings were on edge though she didn’t care to hone in on who exactly felt what way and to whom. Beginning to feel slightly drowsy as she waited, Syren’s relaxed state was just enough that whatever effects from the contents of her flask still lingered shot to the top of her head. She became a tad loopy right as she spotted little Kralkus hobbling his way into the room. Seeing the elder Sith struck her as oddly humorous and she brought up a hand to her mouth, barely stifling a laugh.

Redirecting her gaze, she took a deep breath in order to calm herself and that was when the Night Herald stood at last. Syren perked up and straightened, attentive to whatever Haretisch would have to say. As he did speak, his opening words brought back the pain and betrayal of Mortis… and how they had all survived the unthinkable.

Where was he going with this?

Watching with growing interest, an image materialized at the center of the table. A holoprojector in the ceiling had descended to reveal some sort of crest, a symbol.

"With the support of Grand Admiral Thrawn, I have established the Internal Sith Intelligence Bureau, and you are its inaugural agents."

“Hm,” she intoned under her breath, the Dark Lord’s plans now laid out for all to see. She was sure there was still much more to learn but the basic idea she was comfortable with. Intelligence agents deal in espionage and the like, something Syren could handle with ease. Being a spy had been a major part of her profession in her previous life, after all and it would seem this “ISIB” may bring her back to her roots. The possibility was appealing.

Leaning forward to grasp the new piece of tech that had been ushered her way via the Force, Syren turned the hardware over in her hands. Sensing no issue, she rolled up her left jacket sleeve and set about fastening the device to her wrist. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but that was no matter. Aiming to inspect it further, the assassin was pulled away when a hacking cough sounded out over the quiet.

She raised her eyes and saw it had been the cyborg, the creature now rambling on about how the gadget was impractical for him to wear. Astonished that he, or anyone, would complain to a member of the triumvirate about whether a wristband would mesh well with their exterior, she nodded in understanding once he displayed what his limbs were capable of. She smirked and glanced at Aryan Graul; he appeared somewhat uncomfortable with their robotic companion.

“Impressive, no?” she asked the politician on a whim, poking at what she gathered to be a sore spot. Syren did not bother to wait for a response before going back to examining the ISIB sigil that hung in midair, awaiting further information on this new assignment.


TAGS: Darth_wanderguard Isley_27 HanSolo29 Kaleesh-Cyborg dragonsith13

 

IC: Darth Ravenous
Obelisk/Mental Vision...

Ravenous blacked out after he saw the droid he had vomited on explode into sparks as it continued down the hall, hitting a pile of dead, distorted Mutineers. He did not know how long he was unconscious before the vision took hold. The Sith-Spawn, before he was turned was sensitive to visions and dreamscapes he would create as he slept.

As he slept...

*Drip... Drip... Drip... Drip...*

He responded to the sound and awoke in a haze... Somewhere far away. A smell not so distant in his memory as he drew in the surroundings through his nostrils. Looking down to the puddle, he immediately grew tense. Red as the ritual flower of Clan Wyrrockkyok from his warrior days on Kashyyyk, the sight of the blood stained his eyes. A sight he had not seen since the said days.

His eyes traced the trail of blood to a drain on the floor, then upwards towards another stream which flowed from a separate being raised in the air. The shadow had was restrained by force, the wounds showed true but the face was obscured by a darkness which made Ravenous assess his own situation. He immediately realized he was void of primary arms which made him panic. He screamed out in the howl of a wounded animal, not of anger; Of a true Sith. No, he was truly scared, and rightly so as he dropped down as the trap was released. His legs cracked as he landed, crippling the already dismembered Sith-Spawn. There was nothing to consume which would have healed him except the being that had simultaneously dropped down. That being was more fortunate however as it landed nimbly on it's feet. He could feel it peering creepily at him through the limited darkness.

"Who are you?!"

The Sith-Spawn spat as he sat up in agony. The being remained unmoved and unheard.

"WHAT ARE YOU?!"

He screamed louder as the being continued its stalemate. Ravenous tried to scramble for footing but his injured legs cracked and buckled under the weight.

"Ahhhh! Kriff!!"

He looked down his broken body out towards the shadowy being as the lights shifted and revealed the identity of the being. It was one who he did not recognize. A humanoid alien he had never seen before, bearing a large scar on their head. The man looked broken but stood proud. He began to advance towards Ravenous aggressively before Ravenous slipped back into a blacked out state. He awoke this time inside of a shuttle with the team he remember, and still very much intact. The vomiting however didn't stop. He puked on the floor of the shuttle which started to burn a hole in the durasteel floor. It burned slow enough to not be a threat though. The Sith-Spawn remained laying face down as a large explosion erupted behind the shuttle. The force of the blast shook the shuttle violently but he remained face down upon the floor of the shuttle ready to accept his fate.

Tag: QueenSabe7, Lady Belligerent, Obelisk crew aboard the shuttle.

 

Draconis
Revelator - Meeting Room H7

Allow to cool. Thirty degrees Celsius. Pinch Yeast mixture and Vent. Airtight. Ferment. Allow time. Strain. Fully distill. Cool. Dilute. Age properly. Draconis’ head slowly cocked to the side a bit staring across the table, while also wondering what dagger would look best in embedded in the chests of each of the inhabitants of the room. With many a thought and sense active Draconis was here and there, present and wandering. Despite his multi-faceted mind, Draconis was more than attentive to what the Night Herald put forth as he stood addressing the fathered from the head of the table.

A shield with the outline that of the fable krayt dragon. The beginnings of a special task group, organized by the Night Herald, with the support of Grand Admiral Thrawn. The Grand Admiral had supplied the fleet the Sith now utilized, and now with his supposed blessing had given support to this latest “Sith” endeavor. To what end? Nothing was given freely and nothing without a respected return. Draconis did not trust any of it, including the handing out of a communicator link. A useful tool, but also a shackle. Not something a lord of the shadows would ascribe to.

A galaxy of stability and peace, a lofty admiration. Admiration was often volatile. Thus, now they were now aspiring for a better world. One born out of the hellfire of the last world, that was supposed to now be a fleeting memory. With this new split in time in which they now existed, having shown them all anew.
This aspiration, this speaking of peace… Peace is a lie.

There were many moving parts to this new arranging. Combined with the moving pieces of a new galaxy that they were still trying to gather information and an understanding of. Many Enemies, known and unknown. Of course, wasn’t that how it always worked? Everyone was and enemy, tenuous allies until their usefulness expired. Still the announcement of the Bureau enacted by the Night Herald might have its uses. Draconis strapped the communicator onto his wrist underneath his robes.

The contempt between Vexx and Alva was still visible. They aided each other in doing so more than they knew. It would keep them both sharp, keep them alert. Alva’s testing of his device, through knocking it several times showed a desire to prepare. Vexx’s adaptation query, bold but understandable. The female assassin, High Lord Syren it was? Contain herself aside from the faint scent of alcohol on the air around her, while she casually went about attempting to invoke a jeering response from the dapper looking man in a military style jumpsuit. Then there was Kralkus, at the side of his master.


The inaugural agents? Draconis smirked under his hood slightly. Musing on it all. Draconis took it all in, silently observing. If his opinion was desired it would be asked of him publicly or privately.

Kaleesh-Cyborg, HanSolo29, Isley_27, QueenSabe7, Darth_wanderguard

 

IC: Darth Haretisch -- The Revelator

"M'lord?" Grievance spoke up, breaking the momentary silence which had fallen upon the room as its occupants busied themselves with studying the devices. The cyborg proceeded with a complaint of sorts regarding the device's incompatibility with his 'anatomy', demonstrating at one point by splitting his two arms into four.

"Erm..." Haretisch looked up from his own wrist computer, from which he was preparing to send a mission brief and experiencing a few hiccups in navigating the device's user interface. "Visit the tooling shop here on board. Perhaps they can... weld it to you, or something."

It was the distraction afforded by both Grievance's interjection and the Night Herald's mounting exasperation with the device, which allowed Syren and Skelm's exchange to escape his attention. It had not escaped Kralkus, however.

"Hrmp!" he grunted. "Discerning... Discern you, Kralkus does. Crave power, do you? Yesss. Crave knowledge, hm? Matter, it does not, for listen, you do not! For five hundred years, have I trained both Jedi, and Sith. Sith, always do they hunger for more. More power, more knowledge. But closed, their minds are. Inevitable, failure is, when one is too haughty to learn!" he growled, low in the back of his throat.

"Thank the force," Haretisch muttered under his breath as the mission briefing was successfully transmitted. "This," he spoke up, "Is the ISIB's first field assignment. Syren, Kralkus, and Draconis will share command duties."

From each device sprung a three-dimensional image of the same ship. At the start it would appear scarcely different than a standard Imperial II-Class Star Destroyer. In reality, it was vastly different.

"The Luxury Elite," Haretisch began. "A heavily modified capital ship belonging to Master Cesar Ignancio, whom we've just learned is a member of The Family - the most influential and well-funded criminal organization in the unknown regions. The ship is a pleasure palace, filled to its bursting point with fodder for every vice in existence. Food, gambling, liquor," his eyes flicked to Syren for an instant, "and every pleasure of the flesh from sex to violence and everything in between."

The Night Herald reached to his own device, and with a click the Luxury Elite vanished. Instead, a series of personnel profiles appeared in its place. "Six high-ranking Imperial officials are currently on the ship - with a variety of fairly mundane excuses. With the recent revelation of the ship's true associations, however, suspicions have risen as to each of these officials' intentions and alignment. We believe now that certain rebellious factions within the Empire of the Hand may be traced back to possible associations between these six officials, and The Family."

1 of 6
Name: Moff Tyrral Noscondra
Species: Human
Age: 56
Jurisdiction: Treboh Sector
Description: Tall human male. Thin build, gray hair, fair skin. Clean shaven.

2 of 6
Name: Lieutenant Governor Grandol Sinan
Species: Human
Age: 31
Jurisdiction: Rakshesh System
Description: Human male of modest height and average build. Dark hair, full beard.

3 of 6
Name: Governor Tarin Soro
Species: Human
Age: 40
Jurisdiction: Rakshesh System
Description: Blond-haired Human female. Fair skin, average height and build.

4 of 6
Name: Director Zark Lavar
Species: Human
Age: 43
Jurisdiction: Naval construction in Treboh sector
Description: Human male of average height. Rotund build. Balding. Well-trimmed goatee. Auburn hair. Fair skin.

5 of 6
Name: Captain Strata Keler
Species: Human
Age: 36
Jurisdiction: Commanding officer of light cruiser Gray Raven
Description: Tall human female. Short dark hair, average build, olive skin.

6 of 6
Name: Moff Wyla Kase
Species: Human
Age: 67
Jurisdiction: Ortil Sector
Description: Short human female. Very petite. Gray hair, fair skin.

"As of now our intel is limited, but I will be feeding additional information into the system as it becomes available. In the meantime, you six are to establish a foothold on the Luxury Elite under assumed identities, maintain a low profile, and begin to monitor the subjects' activities. Patience and discretion are of utmost importance. New identities have been created for each of you, complete with birth records and personal histories."

With another click, the screens shifted once more.

Darth Skelm
Name: Klyn Drectal
Age: 43
Occupation: Governor of New Moraband
Background: A promising young politician recently appointed to a governorship, originally from the core worlds.

Darth Syren
Name: Satana Qualto
Age: 28
Occupation: Bodyguard to Klyn Drectal
Background: Professional bodyguard native to New Moraband.

Grievance Vexx
Name: Yavessk Kwyntehst
Age: ??
Occupation: Bounty hunter
Background: Bounty hunter of little regard or fame.

Darth Alva
Name: Derin Keto
Age: 25
Occupation: Mercenary, ex-Stormtrooper
Background: Native to the core worlds. Came to the unknown regions after the Galactic civil war looking for fresh start.

Darth Kralkus
Name: Tinto
Age: 645
Occupation: Merchant
Background: Traveling junk/salvage dealer.

Darth Draconis
Name: Kael Nord
Age: ??
Occupation: Assassin
Background: Mentor and patron to Yavessk Kwyntehst.

"Each of you will be individually receiving a more detailed readout of your new identities and personal histories," Haretisch noted. "I would recommend outfitting and equipping yourselves in keeping with the illusion. Transportation is reserved in Hangar B3 - rendezvous in six hours. In addition, 10,000 credits have been transmitted to the data chip inside each of your devices."

He paused. "As a last order of business, there is of course the matter of training my apprentices." The Night Herald reached behind his belt and produced a trio of pyramidal ornaments, floating one each to Skelm, Alva, and Grievance. "These objects are holocrons. The ones I've given to Skelm and Alva are fairly unremarkable - each contains a training regimen for all seven lightsaber forms as well as force instruction, which I will supplement with training sessions via holo-communicator. The true prize, however, is possessed by one Grievance Vexx. The Kaleesh holds my holocron, and in turn my secrets, and a portion of what I was taught by Typhojem's holocron. Grievance will find himself unable to open it, however. Only my apprentice can do that. It will belong to whichever one of you takes it from him."

"And Skelm," he added finally, "be sure to visit the quartermaster."

TAG: HanSolo29, dragonsith13, QueenSabe7, Kaleesh-Cyborg, Isley_27

 

IC: Serapis
Castle Ctal'thua grounds

It was the castle grounds. It had to be, although it was clearly a shack of some sort. Last he remembered he was going to the castle, but... then what?

What could have overcome us? Whatever it was, it didn't feel malevolent. Except for the shackles, Serapis was not harmed. But, then, here he was, lying on the ground. Shackled. He tried to use the Force to open them. It didn't work for some reason. No bother. He had other concerns right now.

He hadn't opened his eyes, yet, but he heard some scuffling. He considered saying something but didn't know who was nearby.

That vision. His hand still felt a bit numb. He opened his eyes briefly. He could, technically, still see, but, like his hand, his eyes were compromised. That vision, that moment, was interesting, disturbing even. Just another day in the life of the Sith, for certain.

The urge to panic was strong. The anger was there, too. Anger at his captors, whoever they are. Time to put this training he had been getting to use. He meditated. He let that anger fill him up. Healing himself with Dark Side Healing. His hand started to feel better. He opened his eyes and could see better, too. A few more meditation sessions and he should be back to full strength. No time for that, though. Alekto and Arach were likely feeling some after effects, too, so he sent them some healing energy.

As he was doing so someone entered the room. He turned to see a child. His captor? Was a child? "Well, well...it appears I have guests," So, their captor wasn't this boy, but, then who? "Oh, yes. It must have been the fog. He's always good to bring me... playmates" The fog. There was some fog, wasn't there? The boy continued talking about guests and games. Not bloody likely with shackles on, dimwit.

Serapis examined him. He would not be able to survive alone for very long. He must have parents or... yes, the Force. He does control the Force, quite handily. This is the source we had sensed here. He dragged that large bag over without so much as a grunt. "Rancor Nuggets" it was labeled. Well, that explains things somewhat. Is it possible that his ship was attacked by a Rancor that was being... playful? Arach will be quite disappointed if these beasts are already someone's pet.

Serapis immediately implemented Conceal Essence. No need to reveal his own Force sensitivity if he doesn't need to.

"Would you care for some food? Oh, forgive me..." The shackles fell off Serapis' hands and feet. He sat up carefully, rubbing his wrists. "I always get ahead of myself." To the boy's chuckles, Serapis gave a weak smile. It was unclear if he understood sarcasm, but Serapis' gesture was dripping with it.

While he was getting up, he checked where he generally kept his weapons. Lightsaber and knives were both gone. His nightmarish vision becoming reality?

He needed to find out more about this boy. This was the "know your enemy and know yourself" type of question. His casual mention of the cook "leaving" concerned him. Could it be this boy was really not in control of his power? Could he be making these people disappear? One bad meal by the cook and the kid has a tantrum. That could be the end of the chef!

Serapis was being instructed to pick up the buckets and follow the boy. Well, now is the time to investigate more into him and his abilities. And carrying a couple buckets shouldn't be too big a deal.

Before he left, though, he had one more thing he could help Arach and Alekto with. He had learned to use Inspire in his training to help team mates achieve more. They could obviously use some more help. Trying to hide it as much as he could, he sent a wave of Inspire to the two women sitting nearby. He hoped they could get some headway in here while he found out more about his enemy.

Tag: Lady Belligerent, corinthia, Moonspun Dragon

 

The Guardian
Castle Ctal'thua grounds

The mist had become denser throughout the day, after having spread through the grounds and surrounding area. Both natural and unnatural… a restlessness and inability to SIT STILL and BEHAVE… and of course there was the obvious fact of “trying to hide things” someone was? There was much to do, there was always much to do! Over a thousand years tending, and now these games! This place was a well and powerful in of itself. The castle held many secrets, many treasures, and many an unknown thing. The skeletons and corpses of those who through to exploit it littered the grounds, not ever really having had a chance of getting to the heart of the temple to begin with. The feeling persisted, more than that which was acceptable behavior…

The reverberation of what was going on ran up his legs and into his main body.

A wide turn as his massive body twisted, coming about slightly with his head tracking back towards the Castle. Glaring back in the direction of the temple with a stern and stalwart face, a brooding restlessness and anger growing.

A striding step followed by the presiding impact with the ground. A dull reverberating thud, shaking the nearby foliage. Leaning forward, determined to stop this mischief!
A grunt and furrowed brow as his strides became increasingly ardent, drawing closer. Feeling the undercurrent of deception within the main temple grounds. Knowing exactly where and from whom they were emanating from.

The impact of his strides getting stronger and reverberating across the landscape. A growl in an unknown archaic and dead language slowly bellowing out in an agglomerated tone. The strides of the being were now a faster pace, not running but covering measurable distance with each lumbering step, the being cursing with each step in an ancient unnatural tongue. Beyond ANGRY at the prospect of what was unfolding.


Close and barring down…

corinthia, Moonspun Dragon, Lady Belligerent, DarthIshyZ

 

Combo with conservativejedi321

Draco, Jole, Radian, and T'Tkura
Zakuul - Wilde Swamps


The underbrush and branches were thick, they all moved at speed throughout the dense jungle away from the crash site. Hoping to put as much distance as they could quickly. The smoke from one of the ships compartmentalized prison wings growing fainter in the distance as they made progress in moving away from it. The jungle was vibrant, teeming with life. From the plants to the animals, to the environment itself. Few worlds held such captivating energy.

T’Tkura stopped. Feeling that they all needed such a pause. His muscles burned, even for his frame which was built for such evasion and physical fatigue. They were Jedi, but they had their limit. Especially since having been at marginal health and strength already imprisoned upon the Sith Prison Vessel. Even still T’Tkura felt the presence of a dark warrior that had been pursuing them from the beginning. They had to press on, whether they sought shelter in the wilds or came upon more civilized environments.

Still knee deep in swamp and jungle.“We have to keep moving soon, rest only briefly! Get to higher ground assess what we can.”T’Tkura breathed in deeply, sucking wind. Trying to maximize the oxygen intake into his lungs and recoup as quickly as possible.

It hit T’Tkura suddenly…. A blinding light at first, giving way to a scene from what seemed out of a story. Mechanical almost, a vision of sorts… telling a tale of past, present, and perhaps future… did the others see it?
------
As the other Jedi slowed to a stop Radian took a moment to rest as well, sitting on a nearby log, he rubbed his sore ankle delicately. "We need to trust in the force..."he mumbled slightly."We need... we need..."
He was distracted by a curious vision. What was happening?

He stood hesitantly, in a defensive posture as images flashed before him, as words formed in his ears. He was never one for philosophy, so all of this left with more questions than answers."This makes no sense."

He spoke plainly looking at the other Jedi present, hoping they knew what was happening.

It was clear that they all had seen the vision, though its meaning would need meditation, patience, and time. Time however was something they did not have currently. Beaten tired, on the run… yet the call to be clam and reach out still came over T;Tkura as he came to his knees. Kneeling the Jedi Master took a long breath centering himself, beyond the brush a pack of ravenous Tukata prowled along with a even more rabid Sith. There were only four of them, four Jedi, though the mental state of one of them was in question. They had to band together and find a way out of this swamp, find a way to gain supplies and heal their wounds. But first there was the pack. The restlessness of the beast beyond view was evident through the force, but this paled in comparison to the obvious shrieks and howls of pain and fighting which were audible. Something was transpiring as the pack was stirring, flashes of tails, body parts, but never a full view of one of them rushing through the brush. Then silence and the feeling of approaching danger. T'Tkura had wanted to spur them all to keep moving, but the circumstances had changed.

T’Tkura was settled and entering a battle-state, reaching out. His physiology might be the closest thing to the creatures closing in on their group. While one could consider the Whiphid “civilized, cultured, or even modernized” the distinct primal nature of his race, allow a certain connection with nature. While kept in check by his teachings and mastering of the force, T’Tkura was born and evolved from a more primal nature. One that he carefully tapped into now. The others, Jole, Radian, and Draco would feel his focus through battle meditation giving them strength and focus where they might not have any. They did not have any weapons per say, they had all they needed which was the force to aid them.

It was in nature that T’Tkura was at home, and he now tapped into the teaming eco-system surrounding them. A living breathing force. For the remaining closing Tukata, T’Tukura was pressing his thoughts, a primal digging at their instinct.

Beast to beast! Dominant to dominant.

T’Tkura was intently focused in his trance, leaving himself vulnerable as his battle meditation and melding with the surrounding eco-system left him defenseless. Relying on the others to defend him if things did not go as planned. T’Tkura pressed to instill that they were not threats, but more importantly not something to be approached as a dominant bestial aura emanated from him outward to the approaching Tukata.

Radian meanwhile crouched quietly in the nearby brush. Reaching out with his awareness, keeping his mind actively searching for threat's, and dangerous. His combative abilities would be hampered with his ankle injury. But if nothing else he might be able to catch the hostiles by surprise, as he hid out on the side of the area. They could be so focused on T’Tkura, they might overlook the Mirialan. Doing so would give him an advantage as he ambushed any potential hostiles that could go after the Whippid. He sank into the force, hiding himself in it, preparing for a fight he wasn't even certain would come.


T'Tkura could not concern himself with the others direct positioning, he had to remain focused even with himself being exposed. Flowing deeper into a primal battle meditation state he remained concentrated on tapping into the environment and the Tukata’s and their environment. Continuing to rely on the others to defend him, overall there was no way in their condition they could outrun this pack. Fight yes, but they risked even further serious injury to their already exhausted selves. They had to find a way to sneak away, silently, slowly and unnoticed, and they would only be able to do so after bringing the whole Tukata filled rabid environment down. He was relying on Jole, Radian, and Draco to maintain their perimeter, while he distracted and tapped into the Tukata’s instincts to lure and force them away.

ConservativeJedi321, Sinrebirth, Snokers, theometric

 

IC: Alva, Aryan Graul
Meeting Room H7 - Quartermaster Chambers
(Combo with HanSolo29)

Much to Aryan’s dismay, it was not the elusive red-head that took his bait, but rather, the diminutive creature that had been silently observing the proceedings from afar. With a snort, he turned to scrutinize the politician with a clear look of disdain.

"Discerning... Discern you, Kralkus does.”

Leveling his own gaze, Aryan noted the strange speech pattern as he regarded the creature with a passive expression. Kralkus. So, now he had a name. He tucked that information away and crossed his arms over his chest as he prepared for the inevitable; his first admonishment among his new masters. No doubt, it would be the first of many.

“Crave power, do you? Yesss,” he continued with some indulgence. “Crave knowledge, hm? Matter, it does not, for listen, you do not! For five hundred years, have I trained both Jedi, and Sith. Sith, always do they hunger for more. More power, more knowledge. But closed, their minds are. Inevitable, failure is, when one is too haughty to learn!"

“It’s all a matter of perception,” he intoned quietly under his breath, daring to challenge the ancient master. It was tempting to say more, but he felt it wise to keep his mouth shut; he did not want to incriminate himself further. Even then, he may have already said too much. He had no excuse except to say that it had raised his ire to hear the master speak of such certainties, a rather narrow-minded point of view for someone who has endured this existence for five hundred years. Surely, someone of his acumen and understanding would realize that they did not all succumb to the same pitfalls of life. He would prove that to Kralkus over time.

Clenching his jaw, Aryan turned away from the others and busied himself by studying the small wrist device provided to him by the Night Herald. As he turned it over to examine the buttons bordering the screen, it flashed to life as the briefing formally began.

Alva's device bleeped as it emitted the image of the vessel, The Luxury Elite. A pleasure ship that drew the company of all sorts it seemed, from how the Night Herald described it. All of it with this Master Cesar Ignancio as the head of the Destroyer, but that wasn't all. Alva held his chin, listening as his master elaborated that this figure had ties to a powerful crime organization known as The Family.

The Family - Alva hadn't heard of this particular group before. He had known of The Hutt's influence throughout the galaxy, but not this one.

With another bleep the projected image faded, only to be replaced with several scrolling names along with personal descriptions of each person.

"Six high-ranking Imperial officials are currently on the ship - with a variety of fairly mundane excuses. With the recent revelation of the ship's true associations, however, suspicions have risen as to each of these officials' intentions and alignment. We believe now that certain rebellious factions within the Empire of the Hand may be traced back to possible associations between these six officials, and The Family."

Possible traitors to the cause, all looking for someone to back them up. The galaxy was full of them and The Empire was no exception to this fate. Alva read the names and details carefully. With each passing piece of information, he began to form a idea of the mission.

"You six are to establish a foothold on The Luxury Elite under assumed identities, maintain a low profile, and begin to monitor the subjects' activites..."

A name popped on his device, the alias Alva would be using for the mission,

Name: Derin Keto
Age: 25
Occupation: Mercenary, ex-Stormtrooper
Background: Native to the core worlds. Came to the unknown regions after the Galactic Civil War looking for fresh start.

He stared at the profile, studying it carefully in a attempt to match a persona with this identity. He saw the 10,000 credits applied to the device as the Sith Lord gave off the concluding details for the mission. Plan and simple, we were going undercover to extract in some way, vital information that would be used against The Empire and ultimately perhaps the Sith.

"As a last order of business, there is of course the matter of training my apprentices..." The statement broke Alva from his focus on the new identity. His master reached from peculiar items he had on his person, they made Alva's eyes widen. 'Sith holocrons!' He had desired from such a item for the longest time, and now here they were! "Yet three holocrons? Apprentices?"

Two holocrons floated to Alva, then to the Chancellor. The Night Herald had taken on a second apprentice, Aryan Graul. Of course he would, a rivalry between apprentices would make a better Sith. Yet who was going to get the last one, it seemed different from the other two. It floated across the table, into Vexxs' grasp. The master explained the features of the holocrons, Alva and Skelm were holding ones containing traditional knowledge of lightsaber combat and force training. Useful, but when compared to the third - "The Kaleesh holds my holocron, and in turn my secrets, and a portion of what I was taught by Typhojem's holocron. Greviance will find himself unable to open it, however. Only my apprentices can do that. It will belong to whichever one of you takes it from him."

It was a bitter-sweet statement. The Night Herald's holocron, in the hands of that...thing. Thankfully he couldn't open it. The knowledge of not only the Night Herald, but of Typhojem as well! Alva had to have it, he wanted to blast Grievance with a wave of kinetic energy that would break the table they were sitting at into pieces. But then there was Skelm, as another apprentice to Haretisch, he would likely crave the holocron just as much as Alva. His grip tighten on the holocron he had be given, his eyes slightly shifted to the politician. Maybe there was another way...

With the meeting adjourned, Alva got up from his seat. He paced towards where Skelm was sitting, "I want to speak with you..privately. I'll meet you near the quartermaster chambers." he said in a low voice so as not to be heard by the others. With that he took his leave from the meeting room. He gave one more hidden glance at the true prize Grievance was holding.

The holocron burned hot within his grip as it settled down into his palm, seeming to radiate with energy. It might only be a training tool, but Aryan could still feel its power, the raw potential. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment, relishing in it. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to secure the real prize – Haretisch's holocron, equipped with all the knowledge and power he desired. Too bad it had fallen into the hands – did he even have hands? – of that…thing. It was an complete insult to everything they stood for. No doubt the Night Herald had planted it on purpose to generate strife among them.

Aryan sneered into a smile. Clever. Very clever.

Unfortunately, he lacked the skill and aptitude required to procure the prize…at least, for the time being. If he faced Alva or the cyborg now, he would undoubtedly fail. A bitter reality to face, but one he would have to accept and learn from. As luck would have it, a plan was already in motion. Guarding his features, Aryan glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge the young man who had requested to meet with him, offering a slight nod in return. He already had in inkling of what he had in mind…

A moment passed to allow Alva to exit and clear the area before Aryan casually stood to follow. Discretion was key, and he could not allow the others to catch on, particularly the cyborg. After giving a final glance to Kralkus, the woman, and the Night Herald, he slipped out into the corridor.

As he strode toward the quartermaster, he passed the time by reviewing the mission guidelines once again. The whole undercover thing was new and unexpected, but it also came with a tantalizing twist. Exhilaration coursed through his veins as he recalled the profile of his alias onto the screen:

Name: Klyn Drectal
Age: 43
Occupation: Governor of New Moraband
Background: A promising young politician recently appointed to a governorship, originally from the core worlds.

A contented smile came to his lips as he scoffed with incredulity. It was perfect. In fact, it was everything he could have hoped for in a new beginning when they crossed into this new timeline. While the Sith have their benefits, his first love will always be as a public servant. It was unfortunate that such an assignment was only temporary – a fabrication designed to last for as long as it took to fulfill the requirements of the mission. In a sense, it was a lie.

Aryan scowled as that realization set in. Again, he had to wonder if this opportunity was purposely being dangled in front of his nose to torture him with a future that could have been. He instinctively reached down to touch the fabric of the Chancery Band secured to his waist, his fingers sliding across the hem before clenching it tight. The temptation was too great, and he could already feel his resentment growing…

There was a flash as a pair of overhead lights flickered and shorted out with his approach. It might have been a faulty fixture, but Aryan knew it to be something else. Something far more deadly.

That thought induced a brief surge of satisfaction as he arrived in the area designated for the meeting. Narrowing his eyes, he carefully searched the shadows for Alva as he finally strapped the mini-computer to his left wrist.

"I must admit," Alva revealed himself from the far corner. "I didn't expect to see a politician joining the ranks, Chancellor...or should I call you Darth Skelm. Alva came closer, approaching with a slight caution. Although they were follow apprentices, they would inevitably be rivals in the quest for power. But now was not the time to spark a conflict, now was the time to strategize. He was in different clothing now in preparation for the mission. Attire matching that of his identity and the look of a mercenary.


A chill ran down the length of Aryan's spine at the sound of the other man's voice, causing him to involuntarily shiver. The dark side was strong; he could feel it coalescing with the young man's presence as he revealed himself, but that was not the source of his duress. The name – Skelm – it continued to speak to him, to draw him in. He knew deep down that it was his true calling, but he was also a stubborn sort. He would have to earn it. But for the moment, he wasn't about to go out of his way to dissuade Alva from addressing him as such.

"You can call me whatever you wish," Aryan surmised as he turned on his heel to meet the man. "After all, a title is such a fleeting thing. Here one minute, gone the next…" There was a hint of bitterness to his voice as he once again recalled his own unfortunate circumstances. "Sometimes I wonder if we should be judged more on our merits, rather than our accolades."

"I can remember watching you deliver one of your grand speeches over the Holonet, you certainly can sway a crowd in your favor. But I'll get to the point.." Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out his holocron. It rested in Alva's palm until it slowly began to float just above his hand. "Now being a Sith, you know what our master has given us, don't you." The inscribed insignia's gave off a red glow, while the jagged edges separated until they floated and swirled around the main triangular piece.

Aryan remained impassive as Alva produced the holocron from his pocket and began to demonstrate its abilities. While he never saw the true power of such an ancient artifact before, he did not want to come across as weak by exposing his inexperience with the Force. For now, Alva did not need to know how powerful he truly was. He would keep the man guessing.

"I'm aware, yes," he replied curtly, taking offense to the way Alva posed the question. "I may be a new recruit, but I'm by no means ignorant. I have a storied history with the Sith." He smiled darkly. "Do you think I reached my latest position in congress on ambition alone?"

"No," Alva chuckled, snatching the holocron out of the air, causing it to reassemble again. "You're potential didn't go unnoticed by the Night Herald. There is more to you than just a silver tongue. You want power as well as knowledge, just like me, just like all who follow the dark side."

Alva brought the item closer to his own face, "Our holocrons are the beginning...yet they will only take us but so far." He paused, placing his holocron back into his pocket. "I know you felt the same as I did when our master gave that 'creature' his holocron. You would agree that he is unworthy to even hold such a relic. I fought him, although he has a connection to the force, he rejects it like some unwanted disease. That very thought to me is sickening. So our prize must be removed from his possession in the most ruthless way possible!"

Aryan reached idly into his pocket, his fingers probing until they found the smooth contours of his own holocron. He pressed it into his palm and grasped it tight to channel the anger he felt for the cyborg. He had not been aware of the creature's disdain for the Force; it was a disgrace to learn that he was wasting a natural-born gift in favor of a more material life. If only he knew what it was like to go through life without feeling its touch…to be completely powerless. Alva was right – he did not deserve to possess such an artifact.

But while they were in agreement on that issue, something still did not feel right…

Clenching his jaw, Aryan inhaled deeply and studied the younger man for intent. Surely, Alva was confident enough in his own abilities to thwart the cyborg himself. Why was he confiding in him?

He narrowed his eyes dangerously as realization dawned. Perhaps the holocron was not his only end game…

Alva had to make sure he used the right words, after all, why should Skelm agree to aid him in taking the holocron, when in realty he wanted it for himself. "I say we work together...take it with our combined talents. Then celebrate our victory in learning all of its secrets. Can you imagine it? What we could gain?"

"Work together…" he reiterated, not sounding convinced by the offer. "Is that what you truly desire?" He scoffed and stepped closer to Alva, his gaze baring down on him. Despite the likelihood of betrayal, Aryan knew that he did not have much of a choice. If he wanted a chance at securing the holocron, he needed help.

"What I truly desire is to destroy my enemies, no more no less."

"And what can you offer me in the form of reassurance?" he asked firmly.

Alva laughed, "You know how to ask the right questions, I'll give that.”

A knowing smile lifted one corner of Aryan’s mouth. It was a rare show of emotion, but a calculated one; he wanted Alva to know who he was dealing with.

“Once we have secured Haretisch's holocron, then I will offer my holocron to you as well. You will have access to all three, as long as I retain a portion of the third. Ultimately you will gain the most knowledge when its all said and done. As well as the reassurance that I will help you take down Grievance."

Aryan remained quiet for a long moment as he processed the terms of their accord. It was conspicuously one-sided, all in his favor, of course. When all was said and done, he did not truly believe Alva to willingly surrender both holocrons. Someone of his talent would not be so quick to pass up such a promising opportunity. It had all the hallmarks of a trap.

But Aryan was no stranger to this kind of deception. The key was to play the game to its fullest and strike at the last possible minute. Utilizing Alva’s services would simply be a means to an end.

“It’s certainly an attractive proposition,” he noted coolly. Again, he allowed a smile to spread over his features as he adopted a more affable attitude. It was almost chilling. “Almost too good to be true…” There was a hint of malice in his eye, but it passed quickly.

He held out his hand to the man, in an attempt of a handshake, "So, do we have a deal?"

“Of course.” With a nod, Aryan accepted the young man’s proffered hand. “I look forward to working with you. It should prove to be…quite the experience.”

With a firm shake their established...alliance, had started. "I couldn't agree more my friend, we'll carry on with our mission as normal. When its over we will send a beacon from his device to return to the Revelator. From there we will strike and claim what is rightfully ours!"

Ruse against ruse, that's all it was. No Sith would ever willingly agree to share power. The question was, Who would be successful in maneuvering events in their favor? "We'll part ways from here, needless to say this meeting never happened." Alva turned to the security panel, removing the electronic key he had taken from Commander Sol. Once removed, data was restored to the security feeds in the immediate area.

“Understood,” he stated as he watched Alva manipulate the security panel. Aryan lifted his brow with fascination, but said nothing to draw further attention to it. How had he gained access to such a delicate system? And on a vessel belonging to a member of the Triumvirate, no less? That was a mystery he had every intention of solving. Perhaps the younger man was more proficient at his craft than he originally thought.

Good. That was something else he could twist to his advantage…

"Good luck" he said with a sadistic grin on his face. Going on his way to make last minute preparations for the mission.

“You too,” Aryan called with a hint of sarcasm as he backpedaled slowly. “I’ll be in touch…”

He bit the inside of his cheek and uttered a quiet curse as Alva departed from the corridor. When he was certain he was alone, Aryan ran a hand through his hair and turned to continue his stroll to the quartermaster’s chamber.

Idle thoughts of betrayal could wait for now; there was a mission to prepare for.

Tags HanSolo29 Darth_wanderguard

 

IC: Darth Kronos - Leaving, After the Vision

Darth Kronos was reeling.

And it wasn't a result of his injuries.

Sure, it was certainly a minor part of it, but none of it even compared to what he experienced in his vision; what they absolutely loved to target the most.

His emotional side.

His compassionate side.

It was ironic. Kronos had grown a heavy tolerance to physical pain, to the point he could mostly ignore it if need be; or use it if the situation called for it - and, more often than not, it did - but what actually got to him were these taunts or threats made against people he loved, or, rather, one person.

But what affected him even more was his past. It haunted him like a dark spirit, following him wherever he went, never to leave, always sticking in the back of his mind, reminding him of the decisions he regretted. Immensely.

It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried, the memories always came back, usually at the worst possible time.

And, in this case, the vision contained both.

It brought back the memory of someone he had grown a seething hatred toward, even more than he did Kralkus or Haretisch.

A man who made him what he was today.

Mostly.

It was his compassionate side that was a newer development.

A disappointing, and angering, fact to the man in his vision.

He glowered and moved his head to face the floor, lost in thought.

He really wanted to prove his vision incorrect...

He heaved a sigh, and pushed those thoughts aside.

He had thought about all of it... all of it while one of his soldiers briefed him on the aftermath of the shootout. And the failure was even worse than he originally thought.

Aryan had run off, abandoning the team and the entire objective; Heskal was captured by the First Order and taken by vessel to God-knows-where; and all of the soldiers with the exception of his personal squadron were either dead or gone.

To be perfectly honest, he could not care less anymore. In fact, he was extremely sick of the entire mission. It grew tedious, and he was glad Heskal's fate was no longer in his hands.

It was someone else's problem....

Without a word, Kronos stood up, using the nearby wall as leverage, and began to walk - more like limp - his way out of the ruined facility, with his woman in tow. His soldiers followed him, blasters still raised, as if they were paranoid over another sudden attack.

Once he reached the ravaged surface of the planet, he saw a face he did not expect, nor want, to see.

Darth Insipid. The Emperor himself. Or God-Emperor. Whatever the psychopath was calling himself at that point.

He stood in front of his own vessel, numerous other shuttles having just finished landing at either side of him, presumably acting as transports back to their new Temple.

He couldn't tell that well from afar, but something certainly looked different about him. His face was much paler and there appeared to be a large scar running down his face. Recent injuries, perhaps?

But that didn't explain his new facial features.

He decided not to think too much of it.

Insipid then confronted them, and Esmerelda spoke first. Hell, Kronos never actually did speak, afraid that he would face harsh punishment if he debriefed the Emperor, or tried to explain himself.

Which was all but confirmed when Insipid shot Kronos an accusing glare, corresponding with his "Perhaps I should place that blame elsewhere" quote. And, in response, the young Sith moved his gaze down to the ground, wanting to avoid any eye contact, in hopes it would pacify him, as he was fearful glaring into his eyes would set him off.

Never stare directly into the eyes of the beast.

But, then again, maybe his own failure was angering enough. Perhaps Insipid already planned out his punishment and it involved demoting him, or maiming, or just straight up murdering him.

Or even worse....

Taking his beloved from him.

At that thought, Kronos felt her firmly grasp his arm. He looked into her eyes for a brief moment before quickly averting his gaze toward a ship the couple could use.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his soldiers - including his pilot (Kara, who was up and moving after her crash) and his medic (Zeth) - waltz into a shuttle of their own, appearing very friendly toward each other. Fine. He didn't particularly care.

He then made a quick glance toward Esmerelda, before escorting her into a shuttle just for the two of them (excluding the robotic pilot) so he could take her to his private chambers.

During the trip, Kronos thought back to the new mission Insipid had assigned to both him and Esme; assassinate Ike. It was an... interesting assignment to say the least. Just two weeks ago, the two were their own romantic couple, almost inseparable - just like his own relationship with Esme - if word of mouth was to be believed. Now, their Emperor wanted him dead. And he was clearly feeling no guilt or remorse in the slightest.

Hm...

He slightly grinned to himself.

It was certainly fun to ponder these things.

It gave him the necessary distraction from his recent vision, that was for sure.

But, this mission could surely wait.

He had other plans at the moment.

Throughout the short trip to the new Temple, however, Kronos had not said a single word - not even to his woman. His sudden mental distance would be palpable.

He suddenly felt the ship land. The ramp lowered, hissing as it did so. Standing up, Kronos slowly walked over to Esme and offered his arm for her, so he could bring her to a more private area and... ask her something.

A surprise.

Hopefully to her liking.

TAG: Sinrebirth (Darth_Elu; Darth Master Titus; PCCViking; HanSolo29 - Only closure tags. It appears my status as a Sub-GM has come to an end. It's been fun... mostly. )

 

Grievance Vexx
Revelator Meeting Room

Humans, the cyborg thinks disdainfully, They seldom appreciate intelligence that comes from another species. Always hearing without listening. What I would not give to go back to Kalee where I would not have to have the aggravation of associating with them ever again.

Grievance certainly doesn't plan to utilize much on this ship as he trusts it about as much as he would trust one of the Night Herald's animosity-ridden apprentices. He will sooner establish contact with his personal medical droid and request a walk-through on how to embed the device himself. He had, after all, eluded to the fact that he has the means to do it himself. Irritated as he is though, he will not divulge his intentions. Instead, he simply nods in response to Darth Haretisch.

Oddly enough, Grievance's full attention is captured when the smallest of them addresses the politician and his haughtiness that stretches a mile wide. Good. A creature with apparent authority to speak what he himself could get killed for saying at this stage. He finds a sense of satisfaction hearing the young chancellor-type being put in his place, but he is also hearing the message that targets what he himself has observed in this Sith culture, predominately in the younger generations.

Forgoing attaching the device to his person, he diverts his attention to starting up the device. He certainly doesn't want a malfunctioning piece of technology embedded in his cybernetics. As it boots up and displays the image of the Luxury Elite, he studies it carefully, his slitted yellow eyes taking in every detail of the hologram while he listens to the Night Herald drone on about "pleasures of the flesh". He scoffs softly at the term. He could very well be the most focused and reliable candidate in the room as nothing within that category holds any appeal for him. Not even violence. While he enjoys a good brawl every now and again, he prefers it to be with just cause.

He studies each personnel file in turn as it appears on the screen, committing the details to memory with ease. Each one is human; not much of a challenge there. So far, he has found most to be shallow, impulsive, cruel, and hateful of creatures they do not understand. Why didn't they just stay on one planet like so many species do?

Hmph. At least the name sounds Kaleesh, he thinks as he reads over the minuscule details of his new identity, No assumed age? Heh. Nice. One benefit to being entirely encased in metal; I will age gracefully.

The bounty hunter status is one he remains neutral on. He doesn't like it, but he doesn't really hate it either. He just would rather be classified as a warrior. At least the new status gives him a license to kill if he feels like it. Can't complain about that.

As Darth Haretisch moves on to bestow holocrons on Alva, Skelm, and the cyborg himself, Grievance becomes suspicious and the feeling grows in intensity with every word the Night Herald says thereafter. As he reveals his species, Grievance clenches his fists in barely contained fury. How does that Sith know what he really is? His piercing gaze shifts accusingly to Draconis, who had figured out his origins by way of a sneaky DNA test. He doesn't have much time to brood on this though before Haretisch reveals his final intentions with the holocrons.

What...the hell? he thinks angrily, his gaze flicking from Haretisch, to Alva, to Skelm, and back again. There is no way the Night Herald is ignorant of the animosity emanating from his two apprentices. Grievance can't help but think this is a setup. Either he, of all the beings here, is the most worthless and expendable or...Haretisch has faith that he will make for a strong challenge for his apprentices. Either way, Grievance doesn't appreciate being deliberately made a target for these two to harass.

You are setting your apprentices up for death, Night Herald, he thinks with a low growl, And if not death, severe maiming and dismemberment. I already do not like them and if they willfully bother me, I will not play nice. They will get this holocron when they pry it from my cold, dead corpse.

He doesn't really care about the holocron or whatever secrets it may contain as he closes his clawed hand around it. If this is his lot in this whole thing, then he will be a beast to deal with for no other reason than to frustrate and aggravate the two young humans radiating with hatred for him. His mind is already at work on how to go about doing this in such a way as to really rock their world. Alva knows of his hatred for the Force and Skelm knows absolutely nothing about him at all. He must collaborate with Draconis and gain some level of control over his power; then when Alva comes to call, there will be some surprises in store. Closing his clawed hand tightly around the holocron entrusted to him, he turns his focus to the hooded Sith lord beside him.

"I need to meet privately with you at your earliest convenience, dark one," he murmurs in a low rumble, choosing his words carefully so his true intent is not read into by unwanted listeners. Trusting Draconis will discern his unspoken request, he adds, "I believe you still have a few of my belongings in your possession."

Tag: Darth_wanderguard dragonsith13

 

IC: Mallace - On Edge

Darkness.

It was all she saw. As if she was in a black, empty nothing. Seemingly trapped between dimensions.

She felt cold. But could not shiver.

And she felt fully conscious, and still had every single memory beforehand.

Typhojem being the worst of it.

No matter how hard she tried to shake the memory, she simply could not. The thought and feeling of Him simply flicking his fingers and turning her original body into mush and goo haunted her. Much more than everyone else she had met back then. It had put her on edge. Made her uneven and hard to work with. Made her have trust issues. And more violent.

Which meant she was dangerous.

Despite never having met the Triumvirate in person - or anyone of a high rank in the Sith Empire, for that matter - she was still determined to be too erratic to deal with, and was taken against her will, injected with a mysterious needle that slipped her into unconsciousness beforehand.

The last thing she remembered, just as soon as she was beginning to come to, was feeling ice cold, before losing any sense of spatial awareness.

Conveniently removed from the equation.

Every day, she hoped she would be removed from this cold hell, and come back to reality. But, every time, her hopes were squashed.

It appeared she was never going to leave....

And then, suddenly, without warning, it happened.

Release.

It caught her extremely off guard, causing her body to almost violently snap as feeling began to return to her body, all the while her heart sending a shocking jolt of blood through her.

And another violent rock sent her collapsing face-first into the hard, metal floor below.

She did not see who exactly had released her, but, at that point, she had other problems.

Just as soon as she hit the floor, she noticed her belongings that were strewn about. Her lightsaber, various items, and... clothes?

More realization set in.

She was fully nude.

Instantly, she tried to cover herself up, but, just as soon as she remotely stood up, she saw who had released her from stasis.

A Zeltron woman who looked particularly stressed.

And also had her lightsaber ignited, poised to cut her down right then and there.

In a knee-jerk reaction, Mallace used every bit of her slowly returning energy to hop up, grab her weapon, and use it. Once ignited, she made a swift slice to the Unnamed Zeltron's midsection, attempting to attack faster than the alien woman rather than go on the defensive. If blade met flesh, the woman would end up cut in half.

And it did. Thankfully.

Both halves collapsed to the ground.

She was noticeably breathing heavily, sweating, and with an overall 'on-edge' appearance.

Clenching her blade's handle tightly, she glared intently at her work before moving on to put on her clothes, covering her nude body in the process.

Completely unaware of any potential spectators.

TAG: Sinrebirth Dagobahsystem