Star Wars New Sith Trials II: Rise of the Hand

IC: Kwea Acantha
Csilla

Chaos ensued as the young, brunette Sith Lord exposed the troopers.

The nobles rushed from their places in shock and fear.

Kwea's saber was out in a flash, standing at the ready, gripped with a solid hold in her right hand. Tuning out the noise and hasty motions, Kwea focused on the fear, anger, and surprise coming from all of the beings in the room.

A sense of exhilaration was coming from Reiss and Kwea's special connection to her sent a nudge of encouragement as her apprentice battled the noble's enemies.

Remaining calm herself, the Master gathered strength from what she felt around her and sent a strong Force push in the direction of the shrapnel gun, hoping to knock it free from it's operator. She kept the Force flowing through her left arm and hand, making a type of shield to catch the shrapnel itself.

Within the seconds she could spare, she batted and sliced at miscellaneous pieces of metal and junk that passed her shield with her glowing, purple blade.

TAGS: Sinrebirth Anakin.Skywalker

 

IC: Leda
Shuttle, en route to The Luxury Elite

Leda often stared openly in a way that most beings would consider rude. She could be intensely curious and somehow, no matter how many times it was directly pointed out, she remained largely oblivious to the fact that gawking at others was viewed as impolite. That and she didn’t care, as long as the object of her attentions wasn’t a Dark Lord or the like. She wasn’t daft.

Currently aboard a shuttle en route to their destination, she was seated at a small table in the hold, waiting to receive details of the impending mission. Until the briefing began, her focus was upon the newcomer that had joined herself and Zalen; Astra. While she was fairly certain they had never met, there was a nagging familiarity to her presence, one she couldn’t quite place. So here she was, scrutinizing every inch of the woman whether she noticed Leda or not, her gaze lingering over the stranger’s fiery hair.

She smiled, finally peeling her eyes away and switching to Lady Zalen, resplendent in all her faux-twi’lek glory. Her fellow Sith had that same shade of hair, hidden away under the incredibly convincing guise she had assembled.

Leda chuckled under her breath, leaning back in her chair. If it was her lot in life to be surrounded by attractive women with tresses of her preferred shade, so be it. She wouldn’t complain.

Of course, there was also that other red-head… Syren.

Briefly lost in the depths of her mind, she wondered what the assassin was doing right then. She had felt connected to her on some level since their encounter after the temple siege on the original Moraband… but something more substantial had formed during her recent vision that constantly drew her thoughts to the High Lord. It was both distracting and pleasing; a troublesome combination for one as ambitious as she.

With a sigh she pushed away from memories that were best kept locked away and reached up to absently adjust the red and white striped montrals that now sat atop her head. The instant her fingers touched the headdress it startled her, having briefly forgotten the disguise she was in. For all she had plastered to her body and coating her skin in order to make her look convincingly Togruta, she was surprisingly comfortable. Fake lekku flowed seamlessly into her drastically paled white skin, symmetrical facial markings adorned her cheeks and she was clothed in a customary ensemble of a rich mahogany hue. Her eyes had remained unchanged, their unique coloring matching that of the species she was pretending to be.

Glancing down at herself, Leda had to admit she looked rather appealing. Maybe the quartermaster wouldn’t notice if the attire she was currently wearing went missing…

Just then a woman of an entirely different sort materialized before her; the holographic form of the Dawn Herald shooting up from a tiny projector at the center of the table. She straightened as a focused calm washed over her physically and mentally, her concerns only of the assignment that was surely about to be revealed.

The Luxury Elite. Gems and jewels. Some guy name Bo Etraa. Heavy security.

Together, all of the fresh intel gave off a fascinating air of mystery. She was already excited for this one, practically giddy for more as she continued to stare hungrily at Bellorum’s image. Instead, the chiss’ closing words brought forth an uncomfortable knotted feeling deep in her chest.

Guilt.

"I wish to commend Leda on her excellent work of slicing into the Revelator and Lesser Insipid. Thanks to intelligence obtained, I've learned that Haretisch has sent a detail aboard. Find out what they are doing, and report all findings directly to me."

Her cheeks grew hot at the Dark Lady’s praise and she was suddenly grateful for the layers of makeup she was sporting. A swell of pride rose to the surface to mingle with her shame, however unwarranted her sense of achievement was. She was still delighted in the fact that her work had caught the attentions of one so high up.

But she also knew attention could cause trouble.

Yes, she had dutifully obeyed Lady Hesper’s commands back on the Obelisk and unbeknownst to the Dawn Herald, had sliced into her own ship as well as her fellow triumvirs’. With the destroyer’s demise, she truly hoped that meant that her subterfuge would remain strictly between herself and Hesper. Besides, she couldn’t see why Bellorum would have the need to look deeper into her accomplishments if she was getting what she wanted. The woman surely had many more important things to focus on than Leda, though it wounded her ego to think so.

Don’t worry unless you’re given a reason to, she chided herself, slightly relieved when the Dawn Herald’s image finally disappeared.

Zalen passed over a small pack and the “togruta” set to removing each item the satchel contained, placing them in a line on the table. Her eyes examined the curious set of supplies with a mischievous glint.

"Ready?"

Zalen’s question was as simple as a question could be and Leda met her gaze with confidence and an eager anticipation she didn’t bother to hide.

“Let’s do this,” she replied with a quick nod, repackaging her new gear while her mind began running through all the possibilities this mission could bring.


TAGS: Lady Belligerent WookieeRage ( Snokers )

 

T’Tkura
Zakuul Swamps

Hunt, Maim, Kill, Eat.

T’Tkura was racing through the foliage as he came on all fours, his arms touching the ground out in front of him, while his back lags sprang and pushed off propelling him further in a single combines movement. Ducking underbrush one moment and springing over a fallen tree the next. Flanked by others doing the same, T’Tkura can to a halt standing up, taking the short spear off from his back. His arm was present and a much younger, post adolescent T’Tkura was flank by other Whiphids all of their attention on a massive beast rumbling through the forest near them. The hunt and feel of it. A memory long ago, which flashed in his mind as he was brought back to the present.

The low feral snarls of the remaining T’Tkura at his side, as they paced closely with their heads forward indicating their readiness to pounce, could be heard.
Their own individualistic mannerisms, growls, postures, and spirits lending to giving them their own distinct personalities. Scar-face. Two Fang. Short-Tail. Sharp-Claw.
T’Tkura was walking a very fine line, as it was a slippery slope he was backed up against. Strong impulses and memories fed and coursed through his veins. Instincts of survival and necessity for a pack, not inherently dark for such an embodiment. After all, where the Tukata evil or dark? No, they were animals. They followed their instincts and did what was necessary to survive. Whipid society taught and reinforced nearly the same thing regarding survival, as the tribes and packs of Toola thrives and succeeded from such on their harsh but welcomed homeworld.

This whole swamp was bathe in darkness, and it was growing.

The fight between Draco and the hidden Sith came into view with the Sith taking the brunt of the encounter, Still Draco was thrown as he came to rest rolling and settling in front of the pack, invisibly leashed by T’Tkura.

Radian had move to resist, rightly so as the dark aura was poised to swallow them all whole. T’Tkura could feel him having backed away to the perimeter of the clearing.
"We need to get away if we can." Direct the dogs to attack the Sith, and run.He could hear the words of Radian ringing in his mind. The hounds would eviscerate the Sith nearly at their feet. Radian urging them to make a break for it.

T’Tkura felt another presence, not through the force, but through his senses. Smelling on the air someone nearby watching.

The pack was poised. T’Tkura could unleash them upon the Sith at a moment’s notice. But that was not the Jedi way. Neither was running away and fleeing.

T’Tkura could feel Draco in pain, they were all exhausted, beaten, damaged and bloodied if this continued none of them would make it out of here.

T’Tkura could feel the Tukata yearning for flesh, but his aura changed to calm as he reached out to them. Imposing upon them to heel, to his will now. T’Tkura’s voice was low, calm, but stern.

“Radian. Help Draco.” T’Tkura took a step forward with those words as if leaving a final command to as he move towards the Sith. The pack matching his step and pace forward.

“I will give you a head start Sith.”His pace was still measured but clearly determined as he came closer towards the nameless Sith which had once been hunting them. The question was if T’Tkura was fully succumbing to the darkness permeating the swamp, one thing was for sure if this was a ruse of sort, those around would not know otherwise.

The Tukata growled louder, anticipating their alpha unleashing them as their senses were being directed by T’Tkura towards the Sith now. They held with remarkable discipline at his side, but were poised to break forward into a hunt.


“Let us see how far you can get.”

ConservativeJedi321, Snokers, Sinrebirth

 

IC: 'Darth Vader' - Interrogation Room, The Revelator, in orbit above New Moraband

The door slammed shut with a deep, reverberating pang, and the light which had flooded into the room for a short moment with its opening was gone now, and with it the silhouette which had darkened the doorway. Too little light to see, but too much not to.

Centermost in the interrogation room, 'Darth Vader' lay strapped to a table perpendicular to the door, tilted back so that his head dipped more closely to the floor than did his legs. To his side, a specter clad in white stepped wordlessly nearer. With an outstretched hand it called a nearby chair and placed it beside the table to sit and loom over the prisoner. It was then that he saw it was, in some respect at least, a man.

"How unfortunate," the Night Herald spoke at last.

"Unfortunate?" 'Vader' responded, taken aback by the voice which had now broken the silence. It was not the voice of a monster, but simply that of a man, and seemed however briefly to belie the indifference and cruelty of his gaze.

"Unfortunate that you have seen fit to maintain this... facade," Darth Haretisch answered, leaning in more closely so that the coolness of his breath could be felt upon the liar's face. Tiny hairs stood up like pins at the sensation. The Dark Lord's eyes, too, were perceptible more to touch than sight, as he examined every crease and line of the impostor's countenance with a mixture of curiosity and disgust one might normally reserve for a festering wound.

"It is not a facade," the prisoner answered, his voice cracking.

"No, of course it isn't," Haretisch stood and exhaled, pacing leisurely around to the back side of the table. "Days of beatings, burnings, drug-fueled hallucinations and all other manner of forceful persuasion, and still you've refused to recant. And it has indeed only been days, in case you were wondering. Perhaps it's felt like weeks to you."

"Because it's the truth," 'Vader' choked out, half statement and half sob.

A sigh escaped the Night Herald's mouth, amusement playing at its edges. "Yes, yes. Let us grant then that you are who you claim to be. To do so after all doesn't particularly thwart my purposes-" he was interrupted then by a disbelieving whimper from the prisoner. "What I more wish to learn is what you intended to do with your misadventures on Taris," he commenced without acknowledgement of the prisoner's vocal misery. "Of your opposition to the Acolytes of Beyond, and of the woman - the one you whored out to so much gutter filth - and of the children you collected from the street as though you were a savior and not a perfidious madcap, I can only ask; why?"

"She served my empire with distinction and grace in the beds of-OOF!" the prisoner's answer was cut off as a sharp strike to the stomach knocked the breath from his lungs and set his already blood-rushed head reeling. This was not simply a fist - it was as if the echo of it traveled to every corner of his body and back again, over and over rattling the marrow within his bones with every pass.

"I have shown you hospitality, patience, and have even humored your delusions of grandeur," Haretisch snarled, eyes flashing yellow and all civility gone from his voice, "and still you derail my endeavors at truth with your nonsense fantasies. I implore you, for your own sake, Lord Vader, tell me your quarrel with the Acolytes of Beyond, or the misery you have known thus far will seem quaint in comparison to what I will show you."

"They want to summon it," the prisoner coughed out.

Haretisch paused, his rage subsided. He waved the chair aside and crouched low to meet the man at eye level. "It?"

"H..." he hesitated, trembling. "Him."

"Tell me... everything," the Night Herald whispered.

TAG: no one

 

IC: Alva & Kralkus
-Soaring through Hyperspace-

There was a slight rumble from the engines as the ship plowed through hyperspace. Yet there was another sound, the indistinguishable sound of lightsaber blades whirling throughout the vessel. Alva had begun his training with the holocron once more, performing a series of slashes, swings, blocks, and parries. Flurries and orbits often followed as his as double bladed saber danced in the air. "The lightsaber has been used by the Sith for centuries now," said the projection from Alva's holocron. It was holding a lightsaber as well, performing moves to teach the apprentice. The goal for this session would be one of a seminar, along with hands on training in lightsaber combat.

"However," the projection continued, "It is more than just a weapon of choice. The lightsaber is a representation of its wielder. It is an extension of yourself, your thoughts, and actions. When you strike down an opponent with it you are striking them with the manifestation of true feelings within your heart." The figure halted it's flurries and performed the saber salute. At which Alva stopped and turned to the holocron, although really wanting to continue his practice. "Every lightsaber takes on the carriers nature, which in turn illuminates it's color from the crystal into the blade. Your red blades are a testament to that fact. The crystal within your hilt burns and bleeds from the anger and hate that you have poured into it. Remember this, for by means of the force it assists in guiding your hand in combat." With the split of a second the projection faded, making the holocron silent once more.

Immediately Alva went back into the ready position stance. The left and right blades still for just a moment, until they were twirling again. He tried hard to memorize every move the projection made, although something about it all felt off somehow. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint what the problem was.

"Feel the force, all around and within," Kralkus whispered hoarsely. His words would permeate the air all around Alva, felt more than heard. "Part of you, the force is not. Part of the force, you are. Feel the force, in the movement of the air. In the strength of your grip. In the hum... of your lightsaber. In the crash... of a river. All is the force, and the force... is all. No!" He barked, observing Alva's form in practicing a lightsaber drill. "Too stiff! Loose, until the moment of contact!" he instructed, in reference to a high block and quick riposte.

Alva had stopped, mid-swing, from his attack at sound of Kralkus's bark. He straightened up and attempted to perform the styles again. Within a minute Kralkus's voice, one of disapproval, was heard again as Alva begun to transition into the next move. This continued over and over, to the point where it became difficult to progress to the following sequence.

Finally at the edge of his nerves, Alva retracted the blades and threw the hilt against the side wall of the cargo hold. "Your wrong! He angrily shouted back, "I'm doing the sequences perfectly! What's the kriffing problem with my technique!?" His voice slightly echoing in the empty halls of the freighter. Rage emitted from his face as he stared back at the small figure that had been eyeing his every move.

A low groan emitted from deep in Darth Kralkus' throat as he hopped down from his perch atop a stack of plasteel bins.

"Reciting sequences from memory, you are," Kralkus observed, levitating Alva's hilt back toward his grasp. "Move as a student memorizing a form, do not. Move instead as a beast acting on its nature and instinct. Think, do not. Feel the force. Let go!"

With a final word, Kralkus sprung forth. A snap-hiss rang out through the room, and with blinding speed the old master was upon the apprentice, lashing out with three attacks in sequence. A perfect match to the one Alva had been practicing.

By no shorter than a hair's margin, Alva rolled to his right side, narrowly escaping. It was incredible! The exact same sequence that Alva had been practicing, and Kralkus took it to it's maximum potential. It had the fluency and precision of a Sith master using the force. If Alva were any fraction of a second slower, it could have meant his head. But was it by his efforts alone that he was able to dodge out the way? Had the force guided him away from such a deadly attack? There was no time think about moving out of the way, only to react.

Alva scrambled to his feet and ignited the left and right blades. He spun the hilt from his palm and got into a low stance to help with the height difference. Soon his mind raced into the next sequence...-there was the problem! Just like Kralkus had mention, Alva was falling into the trap of becoming a 'slave to form'. Unlike a moment ago, when he was able to move by means of the force without even realize it, now his was thinking too much on what he could do. This would hindered his flow of the force, he could sense it now. He still felt its presence, but there was something in the way like a boulder blocking the path of a roadway. This was a chain, it had to be broken.

Though still a bit unsure, his grip tightened on the hilt. After exhaling he leapt in, performing the exact same sequence. The right blade came veering towards Kralkus, with left sided blade following the same path.

The tiny master whirled and parried, then blocked and parried again, and finally locked his saberstaff to that of the apprentice - holding the bladelock with astonishing force-enhanced strength his size considered.

"Gooooood," he intoned, his features painted by a menacing toothy grin. "Speed. Power. But still, hrm, rehearsed. Unnatural. No thought. Only action!"

Once again Kralkus sprung, this time darting back out of range and flipping in midair. He landed on his feet, dark brown robes flowing after him, and attacked thrice more. The sequence was a perfect opposite to the one on which he had been coaching the apprentice - and this time it was delivered with full power. Alva would either let go and feel the force, or be destroyed.

The Master came forward, delivering another superb style of attacks. In a way this had gone beyond a training session, now it seemed like a matter of life and death. Yet such a situation was needed in order to break free of such a restrictive way of thinking. Training for Sith was much more life threatening than one with a Jedi. It was either you progressed in your strength, or died in your own shortcomings.

Once again there was no time to strategize, this had been the master's goal. Constant pressure, as if they were in the heat of battle here and now! There were two options, fight like a Sith, in control of the force - die like a fool, to weak to overcome himself. The very idea sent a spark deep down into his heart, burning white hot anger poured into every corner of his mind. Then suddenly, his arms began to move. The mental blockade that had tightly funneled a part of the force was now gone. There was focus, while his anger fueled the darkside within him. His double blades made tight circular movements, as Kralkus's blades came into contact. The engagement was quick and fierce as both combatants sabers struck left, then right in complex motions and patterns that would confuse an average onlooker. At first it was like an out of body experience, Alva's entire body moved with just the right amount of agility to duck and dodge, all the while blocking and redirecting into flurries against the Sith master's precise strikes. It went beyond the feeling of muscle memory, it was pure movement by the guiding aspects of the force. It would be a small taste of what true power and oneness with the force would feel like.

Soon another feeling began to sip in, ambition. The surge of the force that was flowing inside him created a deeper craving for conflict. It called to him, and he followed without a hinge of doubt. His footwork changed, immediately switching from defensive to offensive. With the quick turn of his hilt the back-ended blade retracted, giving Alva the mobility of the single bladed saber. Switching to the style of Makashi, the form he favored, he began delivering quick thrusts and lunges. Flourishing the blade to the center whenever it was necessary for an immediate block or parry. Of course, it was nothing the old master couldn't counter or defend against. Alva wasn't stupid, he knew that despite the force guiding his actions, in his current state he still wouldn't be able to beat Kralkus. Yet that was not the idea here, the main goal was for Alva to best himself. So that when the time came for the inevitable confrontation with Vexx and Skelm, nothing would hinder him. The force would freely direct every move he made.

As expected, Kralkus pivoted into a block, and held it to lock his blade into that of the apprentice, halting the assault with little effort. His eyes flashed upward at the apprentice with manic glee. "Good, very good," he cackled. "Flow through you, the anger does. Grow within you, it does, like a spark into a flame. Like a flame into a raging inferno. Feed it."

Kralkus stepped back to disengage, extinguishing his lightsaber and regarding Alva with a nod. "Enough, this is. Enough training. Hrm. Very soon will we arrive," he rambled, now hunched over and using his lightsaber as a walking stick as he hobbled from the cargo hold.

Tag Darth_wanderguard

 

Fangor
Zakuul ~ Castle Grounds

"did you know that I can cut down a tree just by looking at it?" Fangor stared down at the boy, his broad legs straight, leaning forward slightly towering over him. "it's true! I saw it with my own eyes!"

The boy’s mocking tones led to him making a scene as he fell over on to the ground and rolled around giggling. Fangor grunted, as his eyes narrows with a not amused furrowed brow.

Raising his hands dismissively as he had had enough, even while the boy continued to dismiss him away. Fangor having little patience to continue listening to the final words from “the boy” as this was again a scene that had been played out many a time before. “Mmmmaaaaaarrfffff Ddddiiiiiruuuuumm”,Fangor muttered as he turned away, his parting shot a clear show of frustration directing the derogatory comment at the boy.

The broad rumbling impacted steps of Fangor grew fainter as he moved towards the far end of the courtyard, keeping the boy and his new friends in his sights. Taking up a familiar guarding position blending in easily with some overgrowth.

Fangor was content to let the boy play with his toys as he always did. For they never really lasted long before he “broke” them.

His feet pressed into the soil, pushing aside some courtyard stones and rocks as tendrils of roots fed down into the earth. The undercurrent of “the father” was soaked up like nutrients and water were.


In his long drawn out low voice, Fangor was attempting to commune with the darker being inherent in this place. The one who had charged him with his seemingly eternal task. “The boy is growing bolder.”

DarthIshyZ, corinthia, Lady Belligerent, greyjedi125

 

IC: Darth Cocytus

Darth Cocytus bowed his head curtly as Emperor Insipid arrived and walked pass him. Now things were getting even more serious and interesting with Insipid here. His glowing eyes stared in attentiveness as the Emperor gave his briefing, narrowing slightly. A new threat against The New Sith Empire. The kaminoan wondered if this 'First Order' was behind the disaster on the Obelisk. Ether way, Cocytus vowed to do whatever it took to see to it that this new enemy is destroyed, like all enemies of the Sith and Cocytus hated everyone.

Darth Cocytus's eyes followed Insipid as he left before returnin his attention to General Barrett who was obviously going to further explain the mission. It didn't take long after their initial meeting that he detected a vast intelligence within the chiss. Cocytus, who was always fond of intellect, began having respect and interest for the general. Of course, that didn't mean the Sith Apprentice liked the chiss as there's a difference between liking and respecting.

A droid suddenly vame into the room and gave the instructions. The oders were clear. They were going to be capturing a world before making a break for it. Cocytus, numberd 'four' in this mission shall be joining along with three other sith, including Osnil, aboard shuttle with another sith, Titus, taking command.

Cocytus's lamp-like eyes narrowed. Deep down inside, the force issued caution for this mission. However, after the Obelisk incident, he took any warning as signal of danger. Believing that things could go very wrong on this mission, [b/Cocytus's[/b] hands began clenching and unclenching slightly. If the First Order was not in fact behind the earlier treachery, the Kaminoan had a feeling similar treacheries were bound to happen. Cocytus took this warning of caution at heart and within his mind took it upon himself to go a number of preparations for any possible dangers. All while, the Sith Apprentice silently awaited further instructions from ether the droid or General Barrett.

Tag: Sinrebirth, Darth Osnil, Darth Master Titus and everyone else.

 

IC: Serapis (with permission of corinthia)
Castle C'tal'thua

Running was never a favorable option to Serapis, but he had no weapons, but the Force, and was faced with, not one, but two Force users of unknown abilities. He needed to get himself and Alekto away from them as fast as possible.

As he entered the castle, the most surprising thing was how well decorated it was. From all external appearances, this castle was abandoned centuries back. Now he was faced with a lavish entryway with two grand staircases. One leading up to, presumably, the living quarters, the other leading down underground. A basement, possibly a storage area, maybe one that contained some weapons. Maybe even his lightsaber. There was no decision, really. They were going to be going down.

He would need some kind of weapon before that, though. Looking around, he found, first, a club of some sort, perhaps a bat for some sport those two beings played. But, then he found a vibroblade. He put the vibroblade into his belt and grabbed the bat.

He then grabbed Alekto's hand and tugged her down the stairs. He stopped. He took a moment to examine Alekto. He felt her cheek, warm. He felt her pulse as best he could, it seemed strong. Why wasn't she responding? "Alekto, you're worring me. I wonder what will reach you?" He tried to send her some more Force healing for good measure.

The walls and floors were decorated in shades of black and red. Obviously thoughtful about the interior, it gave more question to why the outside was so unkempt.

Serapis and Alekto made their way downstairs. It wasn't until it was too late that he saw the boy, again. Sitting, this time, on an opulent chair in the middle of the room. Serapis was sick of this cat and mouse game. He dropped the bat and grabbed the vibroblade. Raising it to Alekto's throat, Serapis spoke, bringing his full Force energy behind his voice, "I'm done playing games! I don't know who you are or what you want, but you're not going to have your toys any more. One way or another. Either we leave, or I kill her and then me. You have five seconds to decide! Five!... Four!..."

Tags: corinthia, Lady Belligerent, greyjedi125, dragonsith13

 

GM UPDATE

IC: Cesar Ignancio and Adom Delgas - Luxury Elite Resort

(Combo post with E. L.Knight)

Cesar Ignancio was not accustomed to not getting what he wanted.

Just recently there was a security glitch claiming someone had breached the system and added new information. Unfortunately, no one could pin point who had breached their security. Cesar had been on alert ever since, watching the cameras constantly for something to go wrong. He turned to the young man who had just entered and he was not smiling.

He already knew what he was going to say, but since he had been hired specifically to handle the event on behalf of the Luxury Elite, he was going to let him stammer through the "why" his main event fighters were dead.

"Speak."

"Sir," Adom started, "Owen Broxin and Ardeth Mahr are dead." Better to blurt it out, he figured. "Word is that Broxin was found in his apartment on Nirauan by a close friend. Mahr was only alone for a few hours before they found him in his personal gym on Lwhekk. Both were shot in the back of the head, and both events are being treated as suicide. The... the news, obviously, hasn't broken yet."

He paused. "We... may be able to replace them with something just as good, sir." He knew that on its face, it would seem a ridiculous assertion. Broxin and Mahr were universally acknowledged as the best in the business - each an undefeated champion, each at the tail end of his prime. A match between the two had proven an elusive prospect for the better part of a decade before the contract had finally been signed, and the Luxury Elite had in essence won the lottery in booking the event.

Cesar pressed a button on his desk. A door opened and in stepped his head of Security, Bruce, a Karkarodon who was twice the size of any of his species. He moved with the grace of a natural predator.

"We will lose millions because of this. There is nothing that could help us recoup what we've spent, what we will be losing and the prestige that came with it. So, tell me, what could you possibly suggest worth that amount of credits?"

Adom's heart beat faster, and his tongue desperately wanted to freeze in place and not speak another word. But he knew the only way he wouldn't end up as Rancor food was to be confident in this.

"A Sith and a Jedi, sir," he replied firmly. Bruce stopped in his tracks and the room fell silent. "I have a contact on the inside of Thrawn's Sith faction. You know, the one that's been on the front page of the Csilla Informer three times in as many weeks? Well, not many people realize they've got a couple of Jedi running around with them, too. And I know for a fact that this associate of mine has enough stroke to make this happen if there were something in it for her. Don't forget these guys have been causing trouble all over the place - people are terrified. Why else do you think the Informer's enjoyed its highest readership to date?"

Adom paused, mulling over just how bold he wanted to be. These mob types usually only responded to power. Bravado. "Come on, you're a smart man," he went for it. "I don't have to tell you what kind of interest a Jedi and a Sith in a no-holds-barred fight to the death would attract. So have your man smash me to pieces if you think it will make you feel better, but know what you're giving up if you do."

Cesar laughed.

"Oh, Bruce won't smash you. He lived in a pit for several years. He grew accustomed to eating his fellow prisoners. Now, he has a real taste for it."

He stood and walked to the bar and poured himself a very old Alderaanian Scotch. It was worth thousands.

"If you think bringing Jedi and Sith here is a good idea, perhaps you are not as smart as your resume espoused. How reliable is this contact? How did you meet them?"

Adom turned his nose up. "One hundred percent reliable. If I didn't have a network of reliable contacts, I wouldn't have this job, sir. So, should I assume you're not interested? Because with all due respect, there are plenty of other venues who are. Especially if it's a matter of jumping on all the dissatisfied customers of the Luxury Elite who will be itching to see a fight. This is happening, here or somewhere else. With or without either of us. Someone will take advantage. Which is better for you?"

Cesar didn't like this Bantha nozzle or his attitude. One way or another, Cesar was going to ventilate that smug face of his for threatening him.

"I want a meeting with this contact of yours. I need assurances that the Jedi and the Sith aren't going to come and just take what they want."

Cesar pretty much knew that he would have little ability to stop the Sith or Jedi should they decide what was his here was supposed to be theirs, but an event like this would pay for everything he'd lost and then some. If Adom could deliver, then it would be advantageous.

"Done," Adom replied briskly.

Cesar was still gonna kill him, though.

TAG: E. L.Knight, Lady Belligerent

 

Yavenssk
Luxury Elite - Public Areas

Continuing to willfully ponder things he would much rather forget causes the Kaleesh cyborg to become uneasy. Propped casually against the wall of the alcove, he remains, yellow eyes shifting sporadically as they track the comings and goings of random patrons. Like a flash of lightning, those piercing eyes flick to the left as an out-of-the-ordinary, yet strangely familiar sound reaches his sensitive hearing and draws his attention through the clamor of laughter and chatter; the voice of a master displeased with his slave.

Yavennsk is hard-pressed for restraint as he watches the wealthy owner curse and verbally humiliate his slave, who had apparently tripped and fallen, spilling the master's expensive drink in the process. Closer observance reveals the slave to be little more than a youngling and the cyborg would almost swear the child is Kaleesh, but then, that could be a flashback triggered in his furious mind as he watches the master deliver a well-placed kick to the fallen slave's ribs.

"I should gut you where you stand, you worthless collection of flesh!" Yavennsk snarls under his breath, that menacing growl just low enough to be masked by the higher-pitched sounds in the expansive room. His hand clenches around his lightsaber, the pressure intense enough to crack the hilt in his grasp. He has to force himself to release it before he acts upon his anger.

Continuing to watch the scene unfold, his indignation burns in silence, smoldering with the potential to become a blazing inferno. He sincerely wants to bring the slave's master face to face with terror--not necessarily to kill, but to inflict pain upon, frighten, and humiliate him in the same fashion in which he is hurting, humiliating, and frightening his slave. The desire becomes so intense as the spectacle continues that slowly but surely, it starts to become murderous.

Suddenly, memories descend upon him as violently as they had when he was strapped to the table in the cargo hold. His captors shouting and cursing at him in a language he could not understand; the wind being knocked from him as he was thrown to the ground and kicked, then told in Basic to dig his own grave with his bare hands, for he was worthless as Kaleesh people were and always would be. He could almost feel the lash of the whip against his exposed shoulders; taste his own blood filling his mouth as he bit down on his tongue and willed himself not to cry out; smell the foul odor of blood and death. How he hated those slave masters; how he hates the one abusing a youngling before him now.

Yavennsk can see it in his mind's eye, using that power and choking the life out of the offender before him; watching him wither and die without ever laying a claw on him; snuffing out his very existence with little more than a thought and a gesture...

The cyborg startles and shakes his head, suddenly looking downright spooked as he backs out of the alcove and turns quickly away from the scene. He had felt it again; a surge of power that deep down he knows could be deadly. He has to get out of there before it slips beyond what little control he can safely say he has and that slave master actually ends up dead with a room full of witnesses. He has a set of rules he must follow here and killing that cruel creature--however gratifying it may be--would end badly for him.

He coughs slightly as his breath comes in short gasps. He can still feel that power, aching to rage to the surface of the still waters of his control; clawing inside his chest like a ravenous beast ready to devour anything and everything that tries to contain it. He has to catch himself along the wall as he feels something of a cross between an anxiety attack and a stroke threatening to put him flat on the plush carpet under his talons as he quietly moves away and conceals himself in a lesser-travelled corridor, trying to collect himself and keep his anger and the power fed by it at bay.

His thoughts turn toward Draconis and those thoughts are not friendly ones either. It's the dark one's fault that his struggle with the Force has escalated to this point. He awakened it in that cargo hold and now it will not return to dormancy. In the same token, as he thinks of his master with resentment and borderline hatred, it crosses his mind again that Draconis is the only one he has to look to for guidance through this struggle.

"I will survive this mind game you have started, dark one," he seethes under his breath, his mechanical body trembling feverishly, "And furthermore, I will not lose."

Tag: dragonsith13

 

IC: Kwea Acantha
Csilla

Death. Chaos.

A slight move of the wrist and a shrapnel piece was stopped.

Shouting. Fear.

Kwea could feel and hear it all and it was lighting a fire within her.

Her Force Push had worked and now she was focused on the five troopers coming at her.

"Do something!" the Chiss officer who had apprehended her back at the landing dock, hissed.

Her eyes lit up as she ran through the options.

Clipping her saber to her belt in one swift motion, her hands came up and she urged a strong Force Shock towards the troopers.

Next, her mind focused on Force Wound and Kwea could feel the power running through her hands and towards the foes.

Her danger sense was tingling strongly as her body was left vulnerable, without her saber to protect it. However, the glint in her golden eyes let on that with the Force, she might be just as dangerous.


TAGS: Anakin.Skywalker Sinrebirth

 

IC: Reiis Invadator
Csilla

The enemy was being beaten down, but they weren't stupid.

After a mere few seconds of communication, they regrouped. The leader, it would seem, swung a creepy-looking-dagger-type-thing at Reiis, blocking the trajectory of her Darksaber. It served mainly to infuriate Reiis more than anything else. She returned with a quick shove forward on their lock, swinging up an unyielding metal foot to kick him where it would hurt most. A large clang redirected her attention to just behind her, where K-7 lay crumpled on the floor. No time to help him. If you asked her directly, though, or just casually mentioned the possibility, Reiis wouldn't have admitted to wanting anything to do with helping that snarky piece of scrap metal. She ended her glance, feeling slight pangs of semi-unconscious guilt. He had, after all, saved her Darksaber and now possibly their lives. Moot point -- she couldn't help him anyway.

Reiis sprung away from her foe, leaping towards the troops that had advanced towards Master Kwea, her Darksaber poised for a strike. But a Force Shock from Kwea beat her to it, and Reiis stopped before striking as the Force Shock passed harmlessly around her, merely swirling her cloak as it passed. Reiis could feel its power as it passed, subconsciously tucking her arms in to avoid getting a limb accidentally blasted off. Kwea was more than capable of vanquishing them alone. Reiis turned on her heel to face her knife-wielding foe, Darksaber still activated in her right hand. With her left, she made a crushing motion with her fist, directing it through the Force to his head.

Victory would be soon in coming...unless there was another surprise waiting for them.

TAG: Halle Dray Sinrebirth

 

IC: Saadi
Hyperspace

Upon meeting Darth Insipid's gaze, every misstep, every mistake, every miscalculation, every betrayal, every shortcoming, every fear, every dark deception, indeed, every mindless thought up to that point in his useless life began to wash over the Clawdites' battered brain in a wave of relentless fire and inconsolable desperation such that Saadi's head slung violently and involuntarily downward as a wretched sob murmered from deep within his poisoned innards.

Eyes burned revenge. Coruscant. Jedi. Not here. Not now. Leave it. Someday...

What was that voice reaching out, calling out, surrounding all?

Sureness is a luxury.

Saadi's being bristled at these all too true words, as he now gazed only inches away from the pristine floor of this wicked ship; wishing he could somehow become but a single floor molecule therein, and thus join in the ancient tradition of being a minuscule part of a greater stepping stone, as it were. Alas, that wish was all too easy for this pathetic creature; Saadi seemed unworthy of the detritus growing within the intestines of a Dianoga.
Some sort of semblance, perhaps.

And yet throughout this surreptitious silence, the insipid, virulent voice resumed again.

Certainty, an illusion.

Cavernous echoing reverberated in a cacophony of cryptic cries throughout the embittered and seemingly ostracized apprentice as he willfully slammed his skull viciously against the floor of the ship, purposefully feeding the rage that ought to be his undoing.

A charlatan ocean
of blue and green
darkest of blacks
encased all of those
blessed doomed
to be erased
as watery words
flooded the mind
no chance to change
no chance to digest
left behind to die
or to reflect the light
at an even darker time.

Darth Saadi's eyes sprung open and rolled over to blackness as a gold iris radiant green pupil felt the Master's delicate grip. Drawing upon the Force, as right might, the changeling braced, vaguely aware of a faux monotone menagerie floating about; as if enveloped in some nightmare fetish performance staged on Coruscant.

Creeping ever closer constantly was the surreal sensation of total darkness as the basic life functions ceased to operate under this implacable pressure.

Throat closing in on itself, Saadi, in one final, desperate act of futile self preservation, reached for one special item on his belt when he heard Darth Insipid speak yet again...

Quintessentially it comes down to one very, very simple fact.

Darth Saadi stared into the floor, one molecule at a time, deactivated the thermal detonator in his right hand, while reaching out towards his Master with his severely burned left arm.

'Push.. the.. bound...*choking* ...aries... Ma..stuh... I..can... *coughs, chokes* hel..p...y...ou....'

Sinrebirth

 

Kael
Luxury Elite ~ Jazz Bar

The doors to the rather upscale bar slide open, the security guard at the door was dressed in a finely tailored suit, the holdout blaster in his vest visible slightly from the crease it made against the second button of his suit. Even before he had left his room, scenically making his way down the hallways, and into this bar he had felt the restlessness of his apprentice Yavenssk.

Kael crossed in, the room was dimly lit, a trio of live musicians backing up a female Pa'lowick singer dressed in a fine dress, were playing on an offset stage. Their light but up beat tempo, perfectly complimented the lead’s sultry and riveting voice as it rang clearly across the whole bar.

As Kael mingled his way to the bar, silently making his way. The patrons of the bar all around were busy sitting, standing conversing. Socializing and engaging in the frivolity of this place, the anonymity, freedom, and unbridled opportunities that were present. Lite dancing capped off the mood as a light green skinned Twi’lek was twirled and dropped into a dip by a rather dapper bald man with a sturdy jaw line. While the music played.

Kael was seated towards the end of the large curved bar, offering a good vantage of the entire room. A glass of red liquid now in front of him, as he kept his focus on the bar. The room was already mapped down to the very finest of threads in each patron’s dress, and the notes from the performers. The voices and bodies that moved imprinted and updating constantly.

Yavenssk would feel something an aura… guiding him to Kael.

Kael sat patiently, calmly. Taking in the ship, the smooth rhythms of this room, contrasting some of the more vibrant exuberant sections. All of them having one purpose, release. Ecstasy. Pleasure in some form. Pain… A sip of the dark red liquid… waiting just waiting.

Kaleesh-Cyborg

 

IC: Soliloquy
Lesser Insipid Hanger Bay

There was little response before the Lesser Insipid was fully positioned and prepared, before the sense of doom began to blossom. It's own pursuits of fostering a new connection with the loosely placed and precariously loyal Mallace had not born any true fruit when it came to pass. Barrett was still an insufferable Chiss who had a superiority complex about as wide as the man was tall, it had known such men a long time, only chiss were such that only shows of capability and reliability would truly sway them. Unfortunately most sith were a mix bag of capability with a tendency toward a low quotient of reliability. Even the vaunted Emperor to which it served presently was an epitome of that characteristic of fallibility and testiment to an unsteady nature.

It was then, when the droids internal chronometer was stating four minutes to go. A compulsory notification aided by the General doing something with a comlink and his own chrono not too far away, still it was a welcome one to most of the many minds within the holocron as nearly all counted their existences in the hundreds of years if not thousands. Lending them to see their own fallacies and short comings of their first orders and strengths that others offered, in an unabashed smooth glaze that rested upon the still clung to belief that a darker path was still the stronger of the offered norm, and that a grey tempering such a path was the surest method to a lasting method. The fact that it had had a world that conformed to it's many views destroyed by a turn coat student by the Emperor Palpatine's blessing was a sore spot that made the present pairing with an AI of the same all the more poignant.

Time to get on.

Then the ship shuddered; the thoughts were diverted softly as the droid body housing it rocked slightly. It hadn't tested the gyro's fully yet so it was not an unwelcome situation, still the question rose of why? There would be no good answer immediately, but it at least was looking for the answer to it now as the surroundings changed and lended their own chaos that also should echo an answer.

Eaves dropping gave it a clearer understanding as the droid picked out the vocal intonations stating that it was an Interdictor. Looking over to the giant window that was the magcon field of the hanger bay. Green laser fire almost immediately emerged from the great vessel, stretching for miles beneath them, the snow planet in the fair background - a Super Star Destroyer. Those old things? Behemoths without a cause that cost more than they often delivered unless used to pacify a planet on their own or to win a pitched space battle by leaning on the odds of any battle.

'Shields up!' was called out by the General then, and. . .well what happened next was more shaking, bucking, and watching puny organics falling down. It was moments like these that reaffirmed the holocrons notion of not giving up it's crystalline existence. It did want to be part of their world, Soliloquy could not deny that, but it did not want to have to adhere to the limitations of that world. Life expectancies and diseases, not to mention the inability to compensate for what should be an observable occurrences predetermining factors leading up to destabilization of the deck plates.

The ship buckled, and threw Barrett and the others to the floor. Soliloquy had the urge to raise a hand and simply state, 'Called it.', but it kept such notions to itself even as it's legs and arms extended out to prepare for a situation that might call for the droid bodies full mobility to be prepared. This all came with the intermingling of explosions bursting forth from lights as they were overcharged by the shields inductions of assaulting energies; metal screamed from the incoming barrage and stressors upon the ship; the entire flight-deck was upended, with fighters tipping. The General for all his disdain had not made sure they were secure as well as ready, a shame it would fail to ever sink into a mind such as that of a simple failing. A TIE fighter came crashing down from the ceiling racks towards Hespar and her apprentice; the ship seemed to tip - gravity was damaged - and drums of coolant began rolling towards Soliloquy and Mallace, even as the gangway above them came crashing towards Osnil - so many opportunities it hardly had a chance to discuss them before action was needed. It felt strange to think that way, action. It needed to do action. It was a foreign concept, as foreign by now as the idea of breathing, but it was there, somewhere within it's many minds.

Still as it decided an action it noted as Barrett looked to the hangar opening again, having lost his comlink in the chaos and hoping to see shields being raised, the storm of green striking the ship held off if only for a moment - and was rewarded by seeing a blaze of green strike in front of the bay. The wall crumpled, not yet giving way but through the magcon field - the energy holding atmosphere in the hangar - flickered. Through the opening Barrett could see all many detritus vomited from the nose of the ship; girders, bulkheads, crew, creating a veritable assault course in front of the hangar even if the nineteen kilometre behemoth before them didn't kill them all first.

'Abandon ship!' was the general call as it reached out and grabbed the Sith named Mallace by the scruff of her robes by her neck and leapt away. Heading toward the TIE Defender it was supposed to be piloting. It did not sink in until that first leap to clear the drums of coolant that the ship was a TIE and had no life support most likely of it's own. Which of course meant it had jumped but would need to change directions toward a shuttle, or at least throw her to one. That was always an option and if one was open between it and a TIE Defender that looked in good shape it would do just that. A quick survey showed it's first option was not a good one and so headed toward a shuttle itself as well. The path was clear the motions started

Then the shield gave out.

Air began to suck at them, intending to consign them all to the abyss -

A TIE fighter, unpiloted, had snapped free of its moorings as the shield shutdown, and was tugged, falling, into space, poised to crash through the position where the Sith had been huddled just moments before on its way out - little concern as it made it's way to a shuttle where it planned to toss the girl inside and see whom else it could save. Standing in a sucking void would matter little to it.

TAG: @Darth Kronos, @Sinrebirth, @Darth Master Titus, @corinthia, @Mostlymad, @DarthOsnil, @DarthCocytus

 

Yavenssk
Luxury Elite - Public Areas

The cyborg can feel it all right; that invisible presence that pulls at him and refuses to be ignored. It starts with that annoying ringing in his head. He snarls like a provoked beast and clamps his clawed hands over his "ears". His body still shaking under his thick robes, he growls in complete agitation, already recognizing the signature of his master.

His master.

How he despises the very thought; the very realization that he has submitted to calling anyone that word. It plays in his mind like a game of connect-the-dots. His thoughts automatically go from Kael, to his years of slavery, to the slave child whose abuse he had witnessed, which brings him back around to start the vicious cycle all over again. It all serves to stir his rage. How can he possibly be expected to maintain civility under these conditions? At this point, he is so angered, he could kill half the population in this room singlehandedly.

"I will not go," he mutters, his back turned to where he already knows Kael is; his claws gripping the wall as though to anchor himself there and further resist, "I will not politely usher myself through a crowd who does not deserve my respect. Furthermore, I will not come like some kind of hound to lick the boots of his master."

He spits the word as though it were poison in his throat, defying the silent call, pulling at him like a nagging heavy chain denying him his freedom that he so craves. He can see himself losing control halfway across the room and cutting down every patron in his path if he goes. Two things hold him where he is: his undeniable bitterness against Draconis, which breeds his defiance, and his fear of his own power-infused rage.

Yet the need remains.

He needs Kael's guidance if he is to survive when Alva and Skelm come for the holocron. At one time, he might not have cared. Let death come so long as he does a whole lot of damage with his last dying breath. It is not so anymore. He is no longer free and to die in captivity is a disgrace. The thought alone nauseates him. He must live to see his freedom--to see his home once again. It will not happen if he continues to resist.

So Yavenssk comes. Begrudgingly and with much reluctance, but he comes, making his way through a crowd that wisely gives him some space because of his conspicuous height alone. He tries to act natural. Force, he tries to act natural! It's terribly awkward though; painfully obvious how uncomfortable he is in this massive social setting with wealthy beings who make slaves out of his kind. He wouldn't be this way if he could truly act natural and be real here. Heaven knows everyone would be dead if that were the case though.

As if this setting has not tested his self-control enough, he winds up directly crossing paths with the man he had wanted to kill only moments earlier. That man actually bumps into him, laughs heartily, and slaps him on the back. Yavenssk must do everything within his power not to run one of his blades through this creature's gutless abdomen.

"Many pardons," he mutters, turning to hastily put some distance between himself and the slave master, but the man foolishly catches him by the shoulder, taking responsibility for their collision and offering to buy him a drink. The cyborg subtly shrugs the man's hand off his shoulder and looks him in the eye.

"The offer is appreciated, but not necessary, sir," he replies cordially, giving a slight nod and making his exit with a brief coughing fit before anymore can be said. He hastily makes his way toward Kael and glares daggers at the man. "You did that on purpose. You are lucky I was able to control my desire to pull that man's entrails out through his nostrils and do not think I couldn't have figured out how to use the stinking Force to do it either."

He sits down heavily, placing his clenched fists on the bar in front of him. This is the self-allotted extent of his temper tantrum, but it's no secret that he's angry. His back turned to the activity in the room, he glowers over his shoulder, staring at the lavish pleasure-seekers with utmost disgust and silently fuming for a few moments before he speaks.

"This is stupid," he growls, "What are we waiting for? We should just hunt down the targets and dispose of them, not play this blend-in changling nonsense. It is a waste of time and energy."

Tag: dragonsith13

 

IC: Serapis
Lower level of Castle Ctal'thua

The word "WHAT?!?" pertained to this boy quite a lot. Several times while he whittled away the time. Again when Serapis was disarmed. But none more so than that last statement. "We have much to do if you are going to help me escape."

What had this being done that had indicated anything about leaving? He'd imprisoned them, then tried to make Serapis his slave. Kriff, he'd even prompted one of his companions to escape and the other to become catatonic!

He'd stopped thinking of him as a "boy," really. He may be short in stature and young in features, but he was powerful in the dark side of the Force and developed in other ways. But leave?!? There'd been nothing in his actions that said anything of leaving.

If he was thinking of leaving, though, he would prove a valued addition to the Sith. Serapis decided to help him rather than hinder him now. Lady Bellorum would know how to get him under control, that's for certain. And, if not, he would be an interesting plaything for the Lorekeeper.

"Fine. I have a shuttle, but I'm sure you know that already. How can I help?"

Tags: corinthia, Lady Belligerent, dragonsith13

 

V-3PO
Temple of the Ultimate Devourer

VPO was waddling down the stone corridors near the rear of the group. His neck servos echoing down the halls. Not the most inconspicuous discrete traveling noise.
‘I’m not sure this Temple is entirely stable?’

As always, his painfully astute observation, were nothing short f the miraculously obvious. VPO paused, his sensors detecting large seismic readings and energy readings. Wondering of the others had noticed them as well.

‘I am detecting a large energy reading ..’ Before VPO could get out his statement as he caught up to the group the shrill angry voice of Lady Bellorum caught his audio sensors. Adjusting the volume as quickly as he could, to lessen her screaming… it did not seem to work.

"Gather my things and you will travel in front of me and remain in my field of vision...unless you'd rather be scrapped."

VPO stopped in his tracks as he was berated by the mistress. Stunned at such rather harsh potential outcome. There was a ather large energy signature, ominous and spiking right in the direction they were heading... BUT noooooooo, that wasn't important. Maybe they would all just keep walking and he could be rid of them... just pretend to be low on battery? Kriff, that never worked. The ion battery in him could go for months. Curses! New plan...

‘Well.’VPO said, stunned. Looking at the others in the group as if they were expected to chime in agree with him. His servos again back and forth with his movements from side to side. ‘The idea.’VPO chided at the thought of him needing to be scrapped for any reason at all. ‘How one would ever?’VPO began waddling along with the group. ‘Such an idea is completely unnecessary.’ HE stated answering his own question with some self-righteous reassurance as if everyone was listening to him.


VPO’s short range sensors began mapping the current hallway they were in the two younger members of the group had strayed far ahead. Hades still led, Bellorum and VPO almost side by side as he strode in front of her a few paces. VPO’s sensors focusing on the two younger members, as their heat signatures were noted and biometrics being tracked. His joints burned with a desire to turn the Mistress into her own pile of scrap. VPO toggled a stun grenade into his concealed launcher, and began to activate some of the poison darts in the tubes in his left arm. The neurotoxin would activate quiet quickly... at first partial paralysis, vomiting, and their blood boiling... though the two younger members might not even need prodded as they seemed intent on wandering off and impaling themselves or falling into a pit like Lorekeeper had. Ohhhh.... how he hoped that man was suffering somewhere, legs broken and bleeding a slow death. Hades was just there.. but none the less he would need to be eliminated.

They all would.

VPO continued to walk along in step, the faithful, loyal, and cheerful protocol droid... well maybe not cheerful.

Lady Belligerent, E. L.Knight, greyjedi125