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Star Wars New Sith Trials II: Rise of the Hand

Discussion in 'Role Playing Forum' started by Sinrebirth, Dec 31, 2016.

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  1. Snokers

    Snokers Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 8, 2015
    IC: Darth Anark
    Swamp Thing...


    Anark drew a long breath of the pungent air of the bogs.

    An open wound festered where the nerves were bundled in his shoulder and a sinister voice barked various expletives at him inside his head over a steady drone of Nal Huttan circus music that had embedded itself in his mind.

    "Draco," he addressed the man whilst listening simultaniously to Insipid's transmission, "nobody will win this. My ship is still flyable. I will grant you safe passage off this forsaken... slimy rock and we can slaughter one another once more pressing business has been taken care of."

    Antares Draco leveled a narrow-eyed glare at the Sith but said nothing.

    Anark's wild eyes darted to Radian. "Emperor Insipid is anticipating a similar force to the darling, late lady Abeloth coming to the fore. You have a vital role to play." He massaged his wounded shoulder, the corners of his lips beginning to turn upward in a grin. "And you can't very well play that role if you're dead, can you?"

    Anark clipped his lightsaber hilt onto his belt and looked to Draco again, aware and very wary of the hounds still littering the battleground. "What say you?"



     
  2. HanSolo29

    HanSolo29 Manager Emeritus + Official Star Wars Artist star 7 VIP - Former Mod/RSA

    Registered:
    Apr 13, 2001
    The following is a combo with Darth_wanderguard

    IC: Aryan Graul and Darth Haretisch
    Guest Room, The Luxury Elite

    The quaint guest room provided a temporary refuge from the tumultuous atmosphere that comprised a typical day within the halls of the unscrupulous pleasure yacht. Aryan had originally planned to ‘ride out the storm’ by secluding himself on board the freighter so that he could reinvigorate himself and clear his mind of a certain redhead, but that turned into a fruitless endeavor. One of the nearby casinos must have cashed out, and the jubilant party soon spilled out into the expanse of the hangar bay to continue their celebration after they had become too much for the staff to handle.

    As if their raucous behavior wasn’t enough of a distraction, an unsavory sort – someone who Aryan could only describe as a hustler – got separated from the main group of party-goers and wandered into the hold of the freighter in a drunken stupor. She obviously had something to sell and quickly attempted to escort him away on a night of sinful indulgence. While he initially found himself tempted to oblige – it was the perfect facet to relieve the tension brought on by his turbulent emotions – he had ultimately resisted her advances. He was better than that and did not need to associate with her kind of scum.

    Noting her inebriated state, he had managed to finally get rid of her by offering Syren’s flask and the contents it contained as a gift. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the wisest choice – his relationship with Syren was chaotic enough – but at least it had the desired result.

    After the close call, Aryan had decided to brave the hallways to seek out the assigned guest room and continue what he had started in peace. But yet again, he almost failed. Syren continued to ravage his thoughts and contribute to his already foul mood. It wasn’t until he called upon the Force and communed with his master that he was able to find focus and relax into a more meditative state.

    Having discarded his cape, outer tunic, and other decorative adornments, he was simply clad in only his trousers and a white tank as he settled in for his first lesson. His lightsaber was deactivated and hung lazily in his right hand as the Night Herald materialized before him.

    "I'll not lie to you, Aryan Graul," Haretisch spoke, his holographic form measuring all of a foot or so as he stood atop the desk. "I probably can't make you a proper duelist. You're learning to dance much later in life than most, and there's a certain... finer understanding which you may find hard to come by."

    The Night Herald gripped a wooden sword in one hand - more a glorified stick than anything else. But it was his preferred practice implement - the smell and feel of the wood was familiar, and less obtrusive than the hum of a lightsaber. "What I can make you into, with any luck, is a fighter," he continued. "There is a difference. Fighters win fights, duelists win duels. Now, which are you more likely to find yourself in unwillingly?"

    Aryan pursed his lips and suppressed a smile. “Unwillingly?” he repeated wryly as he began to turn the lightsaber hilt around in his grip. “You forget I’m a politician. You could say that I thrive off of confrontation.”

    Haretisch smiled crookedly at his apprentice. "Not this kind of confrontation. In a fight, basics are your lifeblood. Advanced techniques are overrated and limited in application. If a mediocre swordsman has mediocre slashes, blocks, thrusts, and parries, what then does a great one have?"

    With a sigh, Haretisch shook his free arm as if to loosen up. "Here," he said briskly, and settled into a balanced stance, both hands on his hilt and blade out in front. "One of five opening stances of Niman. This will be your form. It focuses on the basics of the first five forms, and relies on intuition. Creativity. Both of which you have in spades. With me," he continued, and stepped with a turn into a lower stance, upper legs parallel to the floor, knees bent ninety degrees, blade cocked above his head and held in a single hand with the other extended.

    Rotating his wrist, Aryan activated the crimson blade and carefully positioned himself to mirror his master’s poise into the first set. Of course, it was a lot harder than it looked, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that he was way over his head. He felt awkward and self-aware, those sentiments showing in the way that he carried himself and fidgeted as he clumsily shifted to the second set. For all his bravado, he found that he could not look directly into the Night Herald’s gaze. He’d rather maintain some level of composure, rather than acknowledge his dismal performance.

    "Three," the Night Herald counted and transitioned again, pivoting at the hip so that his rear leg was straight, and brought his sword vertical in front, held in both hands, elbows tight against his sides.

    This one came easier and he heard himself scoff as he actually pulled it off.

    "Four. Shift your weight to your back foot," the master leaned back, and brought his front foot back to lightly touch the ground with only the toe of his boot, blade pointed downward now in a defensive ward.

    Again, the apprentice managed to carry through with minimal errors.

    "Five," with a hop, Haretisch left the floor with one leg then the other, and came down gently, blade held overhead again. He was almost sitting on the floor now, front leg straight and back leg curled under to support his weight, both feet flat. "This one is hard on old bones. Return to one," he finished, and pushed smoothly up and into the first stance.

    That last one was a killer. For a long moment, Aryan could only gawk and shake his head in disbelief as he watched the Night Herald deftly hop to one foot and subsequently crouch down into an impossible position. He could feel his muscles protesting already. This wasn’t going to end well, and yet, he could not admit defeat so easily. This was his first challenge, and he was determined to succeed.

    He rushed right into it to prove his worth, but immediately regretted it.

    As he mimicked his master’s leap, he lost his balance on the landing and lowered himself to the floor too quickly to compensate for the mistake. His legs slid out from beneath him, and he felt something give way as pain blossomed from his groin and traveled down his thigh and up into his lower back. His body was not accustomed to this kind of strenuous activity; he simply did not bend that way! It took all of his strength not to cry out in response to his physical suffering.

    Instead, he bared his teeth and lowered his head as his features twisted into a cringe. His lightsaber fell from his grip and deactivated as it clattered helplessly to the floor. Recognizing that he was defeated, he rolled to the side and allowed his body to collapse. Only then did he relax his aching muscles.

    "Stances are everything," Haretisch noted, paying little mind to Aryan's failure. "Stances make body mechanics. Body mechanics make leverage, balance, and power. Practice these transitions endlessly until they are second nature. A master doesn't recite memorized sequences - he moves like there is an animal inside of him incited to wrath. No thought, only action. Transcendence. What I've just shown you is meditation in motion. You are not learning how to swing a crude weapon. You are learning to surrender to instinct. Your lightsaber's power is not in a vulgar energy beam, apprentice. It is as a conduit of the force. Do you understand?"

    Aryan glowered at the small projection, his breathing coming in long, heavy puffs as he tried to regain his bearings by picking himself up from the floor. It was a slow and painful process. “I understand…that it’s painful,” he grumbled under his breath. It was said louder than intended, a sign that he was growing impatient with this lesson. His mind was still clouded.

    He gingerly tested his leg again by lifting his knee, the action producing another wince. “That’s not something I would associate with meditative practices…”

    "You will in time," Haretisch replied. "Pain is the body's way of letting us know our limits - limits we have to push by walking the fine line between pain and injury. To channel the dark side of the force is much the same. It will bring you pain. It will... take things from you." He paused for a moment as if lost in his own memory. "It will make you into something so ugly that you will not recognize yourself. And ultimately, if you are unwise, it will injure you. You will lose everything for which you sacrificed, and you will end with nothing. Dreadwar the fool sacrificed his very humanity to become something he thought was godlike, and now he is less than dust."

    Aryan’s expression sobered and he bit the inside of his cheek as he processed the Night Herald’s words. There was obviously a great deal of personal regret evident in his tirade, but that is not what he found so disturbing. Disfigurement, pain, suffering…they had obviously failed to mention those ‘benefits’ when they swiftly recruited him to their cause. He wanted power, sure…but not that badly. That would defeat the purpose of what he intended to gain from this experience. Was it worth it in light of this revelation?

    Doubt began to seep into his mind as he slowly dropped his arms back to his sides and lowered his head. For the moment, he left the lightsaber lay where it had come to rest against the leg of the table.

    Haretisch huffed. "Enough of my ramblings. How goes your mission? Has Syren known a moment of sobriety since the two of you left?"

    And just as quickly as he had been subdued, a jolt of electricity shot through Aryan’s being upon hearing Syren’s name. She truly was the bane of his existence to get him so riled up like that – and how dare his master participate in this goading by bringing up the subject in the first place! He was trying to forget! Did he know more than he let on? Was this a test?

    He forced a smile onto his face and lifted his chin to gaze at the small hologram, a dangerous glint in his eye. “She’s currently out,” he divulged freely, seeming to enjoy the opportunity to expose her. “She didn’t provide a reason other than insist that we go our separate ways.”

    There was a pause as he shrugged, his way of claiming his innocence. “I’ll allow you to draw your own conclusions.”

    Haretisch sighed softly. "I fear the woman's love of debauchery will be the death of her. There isn't a pious bone in her body. Try not to let her too far from your sight in the future - otherwise we may never see her again. As for now, rest and treat yourself. There will be plenty enough to do in the coming days and weeks."

    With a curt nod from the Night Herald, the transmission cut.

    Aryan scowled at the empty spot left by the hologram after it faded. If only Haretisch understood the full extent of their journey so far; it was too complicated for his liking. Syren had managed to secure her influence over him, and it did not bode well for the continued success of their mission. She was just as toxic as the vile mixture she insisted on carrying around in that flask of hers. Why would he want to keep her in his sight if it meant finally liberating himself from her virulent touch?

    Never see her again? That was the idea!

    At least it would end his suffering…

    Issuing a curse, Aryan stalked from the main living area and returned to the bedroom. As he lowered himself to the bed, he unlatched the comm unit from his wrist and discarded it on the bedside table. At this point, he couldn’t even bring himself to consider the details of the mission. The less he had to remind himself of that, the better. Unfortunately, that also included his lightsaber, which remained on the floor in the other room. Out of sight, out of mind.

    Not much of a Sith, are you?

    He scoffed and ran both hands over his face as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He had far too much to think about.

    TAG: Darth_wanderguard; QueenSabe7
     
  3. QueenSabe7

    QueenSabe7 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Mar 23, 2001
    IC: Syren
    Gentleman’s Level, The Luxury Elite

    This club was typical.

    Dark yet vibrant, music loud enough that each bass beat seemed to originate in your chest, beautiful dancers writhing to the pleasure of the crowd, a busy flow of beings but in the right spots... intimate; there was so much about this place that felt familiar to Syren. She’d never been in this exact spot before but they were all the same in the end.

    She always found what she came for.

    Seated alone at a small corner booth at the far end of the bar, her red hair was down and shouldered to one side, the rest of her remaining confidently no-frills; she had quickly discarded her pullover back in her room and was now only wearing a low-cut black tank top paired with the same fitted slacks and boots she had worn during the trip. The majority of her weapons had been boldly – recklessly? - removed, save for her treasured vibroblade still holstered to her thigh.

    The assassin knew she wouldn’t need them. There would be nothing here that she couldn’t handle with her own two hands, in one manner or another.

    Syren casually leaned against the cushioned wall at her back and raised a half full glass of a pungent brown liquid to her mouth, taking a long pull of the drink while her grey eyes peered into the crowds. As would be expected, the club’s clientele was transfixed on the nearly nude entertainers of varying species that were perched on pedestals and stages around the open space, leaving her largely ignored where she was.

    This was how she wanted it. She didn’t need the attentions of many, she only required one.

    Replacing the clear tumbler back upon the table in front of her, she glanced at the two empty ones close by. Her cravings had moved well beyond anything alcohol could satisfy though she gladly welcomed the muddled effects of whatever she had been consuming; warmth with a tinge of numbness, dulling some of the more seamy emotions that swam within the walls of this place – heightening others. The High Lord struggled to keep hers in check, trying to push aside the many distractions of the flesh that surrounded her, honing in on a single being in particular.

    See, it hadn’t taken long after Syren had arrived. Her sights had found their prey just as he had found her, the intense desire practically flowing off of him in visible waves. He stood about halfway down the bar; a human man, tall and well-dressed, dark hair framing a face she couldn’t make out with distinction in the shadows. Though it didn’t matter what he looked like, it only mattered what he could provide.

    Several flirtatious glances and shy smiles later and the man was hers, procuring a pair of full glasses and making his way over. It was important that he make the first move, such was her routine. Not everything should be rushed at her pace, at least at first, when her patience wasn’t worn thin. And so as he slid into the space alongside her without pause, placing the fresh beverage next to the one she already had, she waited for him to speak first.

    “How much?” were his initial words and she raised a brow in question.

    “How much?” she repeated slowly, turning her body to face him, knowing full well what he meant and not bothering to correct him.

    “It’s ok,” he whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. “I won’t tell.” He added a wink after he finished and she clenched her jaw. He smelled of smoke, alcohol, and there was the faint sticky-sweet odor of spice hanging about. She had dabbled in the substance here and there though never allowing it to become a habit, but the scent was familiar and distinct. Looking up into his moderately handsome face, she noted that sure enough his pupils were as wide as saucers. He was high, among other things.

    Syren giggled demurely – an act -, tilting in the rest of the way to softly place her lips upon his. He remained still as she lingered there for a moment, agreeing to the false arrangement.

    “You’re perfect, she purred after pulling back, running a finger over his mouth. She then downed the entirety of the drink he had bought her and proceeded to scoot out the opposite side of the booth.

    “Ready?”

    He looked almost taken aback that she had leapt past any small talk and was presumably getting straight to business. With a hand she brushed back her hair from her neck, her dark gaze roving over the stranger once. He ate it up, an arrogant confidence settling over his features as she indicated with a single nod that he follow, which of course he did.

    Too easy.

    Traversing the main floor, lights flashing and music pulsing, she glanced seductively over her shoulder several times as she weaved through the crowd. Anticipation flooded her senses with each look; a feeling in her gut that she hadn’t had since… well, long ago. She had experienced her share of fun since waking on Hoth, but not like this; playing her own game on her own terms to get the results she wanted.

    Thinking on that, Aryan Graul’s face flashed through her mind unbidden. Syren didn’t immediately banish him from her thoughts, mostly because he seemed to have been there permanently in one way or another since their initial meeting. Instead, reaching a back exit door and turning to face the man on her heels, she could picture the chancellor here in this stranger’s place.

    In fact, did she wish it really was him? Here and now?

    It was an idea that immediately took root and couldn’t be untangled even if she made the attempt. She was actively trying to avoid the infuriating politician and yet, he somehow persisted. She knew Graul would take great satisfaction in the fact that he remained a distraction from her… other distractions and that realization only worked to disorient her further.

    “Come here,” she called to her mark, a vexing undertone to her voice as she mentally buried the chancellor beneath the demands of the present.

    She gazed darkly at the man before her, her pulse quickening.

    With an impatient but unnoticeable flick of her hand she activated the wall panel beside her and stepped backwards out into a dimly lit corridor that was lined on both sides with wardrobe carts full of feathers, sequins, and other flashy materials. Her eyes never left the nameless man’s face as he moved after her, the door resealing with a hiss once he was over the threshold. Wasting no time now that they were alone, she grabbed for the lapels of his jacket and yanked him forward, slamming them together and sending her crashing into the wall at her back. Her mouth found his once more and she kissed him with voracity; all her pent-up passion and compressed desires rushing to be released.

    Hands moved fast, running through his hair, grasping at his arms, clawing at his chest…

    “Hey…” he whispered just as she nipped vigorously at his lip. He clutched at her shoulders a bit roughly, stilling her with a shake. “No need to rush, sweetheart. Slow down. I want to enjoy this…” And he bent to kiss her again, painfully slow.

    Not enough.

    Ignoring his plea, Syren reached her hands up to clasp onto his neck, pulling him down to her with a moan. Her need for overwhelming intensity spurred her on and she found herself pushing his jacket from his shoulders, untucking his shirt from the waistband of his pants. He growled as her fingers moved to the bare skin of his stomach underneath. With a snap of rising hostility, she caught his lip in between her teeth again and bit down much harder than before.

    The man broke away then, his expression changing as he licked a bead of blood from his mouth; a darkness sliding over his drug-addled eyes. She could see it. He was either questioning if he had picked the right conquest for the evening’s festivities or he had found exactly what he was looking for.

    It was immediately apparent he was thinking the latter.

    “WAIT,” he shouted at her in a suddenly stern tone, clear enough over the loud thrumming of the music behind the door they had come through. He sneered, intricately tattooed hands clenching into white-knuckled fists.

    Syren smirked.

    He didn’t like that.

    Stepping back in and reaching down to grasp her wrists tightly, he yanking them away from his waist and forced her arms over her head. The fragile bones crushed awkwardly to the wall and he squeezed, using his body to pin the rest of her in place.

    She sighed.

    Spice often made its long-term users aggressive beyond their means, she knew. His reaction wasn’t anything new, and wouldn’t be an issue as she had dealt with bigger, stronger men than he. So, she simply waited to see what he would do next. You know, for fun.

    “If you don’t like to listen then I don’t plan on paying you once we’re done,” he spat into her ear in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. “And I don’t think you’ll appreciate what I have in mind.”

    She nearly rolled her eyes but still did not struggle, the man’s grip tightening further to the point that her hands throbbed against the blood that couldn’t access her fingers.

    Just like last time…

    “Unless there’s something else?”

    She clucked her tongue in frustration as Graul’s voice seeped into her mind, the words he had spoken just before they had parted ways earlier. Their tone colored this scene in a way she was not too thrilled to admit she found appealing and just like that, the attraction of the man that held her in his hands vanished. Now, she was just bored.

    Damn you, Skelm.

    “Let me go,” she said a bit lazily, but a threat nonetheless.

    He only reacted by laughing hysterically against the side of her face, finding it hilarious that someone of her size could demand anything from him. Pompous ass.

    “We’re not finished yet,” he replied and slowly brought her hands down to her sides, only leaning in on her more with his chest as he did so. He clamped her arms in place securely, breathing heavily upon her neck. Syren’s expression remained neutral while she forced herself to turn into him, her cheek now pressed against his. She was aware it was angering him that he wasn’t receiving a reaction more in line with a damsel in distress; pleading, tears, fear.

    She knew real fear. This… this was a joke.

    “Suit yourself,” she whispered into his ear, and proceeded to jut her face forward and sink her teeth into the lobe. She latched on, hard, tearing the sensitive appendage as he shot away from her with a shout of surprise.

    The man had stumbled back just enough so that she could land a single knee to his groin – aided slightly by the Force, to which he roared again and doubled over. Syren snarled, spitting blood and tissue from her mouth while she watched him collapse against the opposite wall. The hand he used to cover the wound she had created was already coated in crimson and she felt her heart race once more. This time because she eagerly fed off his suffering, his ire, reaching for her vibroblade holstered to her leg.

    She wanted nothing more than to cut him wide open, several needs satisfied at once. Things she could not go long without.

    I wonder if anyone will miss you, she mused to herself, taking a step closer.

    But as her fingers grazed the hilt of her dagger, she paused.

    This would cause a scene, and it was required they be discreet.

    “You’ll pay for this the man wheezed, finally finding his voice. He made a bold grab for her leg, to which she swiftly freed herself from, kicking him square in the throat. He made an odd gurgling noise and was motionless for a moment, to which she crouched beside him, nearly shaking from her barely controlled restraint.

    “Payment isn’t necessary,” Syren breathed, momentarily mesmerized by rivulets of blood dripping down his cheek. The urge to pull on the dark side was immense, almost too much so but she somehow kept temptation wound tightly within. She was not supposed to be Sith right now, according to “the mission”.

    She was only a bodyguard here. No Force, no trouble, no death.

    Gnashing her teeth, she wondered if the rules really did matter to her. She’d always done what she wanted when she wanted and how she wanted, Typhojem notwithstanding. Glaring at the scum at her feet, she had the moment to choose to do just that.

    So why the kriff was she hesitating?

    “Damn it!” she exclaimed, shooting back upright and pacing briefly. Her former mark rolled to his side and looked up at her with open hatred, the drugs in his system losing steam. Good.

    But that had to be it. It had to. He wasn't worth any further effort.

    With one last look, she tore herself away and marched off down the narrow passage. He called after her, a string of obscenities she was sure would offend most women. Syren ignored them and made a beeline for her quarters.

    Her focus was already moving onto what she should have been after from the start.


    TAGS: No one immediately, HanSolo29 soon. ;) (Darth_wanderguard)
     
  4. Isley_27

    Isley_27 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Dec 22, 2016
    IC: Alva & Kralkus (Combo with Wanderguard)
    Luxury Elite Hanger 34C - Suite 4017

    A worn and beaten freighter decanted from hyperspace with the Luxury Elite prominent in its viewport. In its cockpit Darth Kralkus sat atop a booster seat fastened to the pilot's chair, with one Darth Alva at his side as copilot.

    "To the sub-light engines, increase power," he ordered, a moment before the comm clicked to life.

    "This is the Luxury Elite," a poshly-accented male voice came over the line. "Reservation number, please," he asked politely but firmly. Hangar space on the resort ship was valuable, and thus treated very similarly to hotel space even for quests who weren't planning to stay the night. It was difficult to even land on the ship without reserving space ahead of time.

    As Kralkus began reciting the information given him by the Night Herald, he glanced to Alva in the co-pilot chair, and tilted his head toward the luggage sitting directly behind them.

    "Proceed to hangar 34C. Your room information is being transmitted. Thank you, and welcome to the finest resort ship in the unknown regions." With that, the line closed and Kralkus began to bring the ship into the hangar. The old rusty thing would seem to groan as it set down in the hangar.

    "Hrm!" Kralkus grunted as he hopped from the pilot's chair and made for the descending cargo ramp. "Come!" he nipped, swinging his walking stick to strike Alva in the knee as he passed. "And bring our things."

    At the ramp's terminus was a bustling hangar full to the brim with every sort of hustler and loser and crook and politician imaginable.

    Alva raised an eyebrow as the old Sith hobbled to the exit ramp. "Oh, so now I'm the bell boy." He thought to himself, letting out a small sigh of agitation. Placing on his jacket and securing his saber and holocron into the secret pockets, went to for the baggage in the cargo hold. At first his instincts told him to just use the force to carry several of the bags in one shot. Yet the idea was quickly dismissed, he wasn't the Sith assasin, he wasn't even a force user. He was just Derin Keto, a mercenary looking to escape the memories of civil war.

    Derin straightened himself while refreshing his memory concerning the objective of the mission. Glancing at all the names of the targets suspected of being aboard from his device. Once satisfied, he grabbed each bag of belongings and made for the ramp. The hanger teamed with life, seemed like every being from A to Z came to indulge themselves in the debauchery of The Luxury Elite. Noticing Kralkus, Derin came down the ramp and over to his side.

    He let out a whistle of astonishment, "Blaast," there was a heavy twanged accent in his voice. "This place is more living than I was told! I hear they got every kind of girl you could ever want...maybe even someone for you too old man," A laugh followed the jest at the old Sith.

    "Thinking with your head, you are not!" Kralkus snapped, and hobbled forward. "Not the right one, at least... Hrmph."

    Methodically the pair made their way through gilded corridors from the hangar to one of many hotels - this one on the tackier side - where at last they came to a tall door labeled Economy Lux - Suite 4017.

    Stretching to the very precipice of his height, Kralkus punched a code into the keypad, and with a beep and click the door slid open to reveal a suite. "Our accommodations, these are," he pointed out the obvious as he crossed the threshold. "And... a bit to be desired, they leave. Settle your things. On my bed, place my luggage. Report to the Night Herald, we must."

    Derin stepped into the room, both arms full of luggage. At the command by Kralkus, he placed all of his belongings onto his bed. Finally glancing at the room, Derin crossed his arms "Yeah the room is a bit crude isn't it." Acknowledging Kraklus's remark concerning the accommodations.

    Dropping the accent he played for his role, Alva examined the his device. Kralkus had suggested reporting to Lord Haretisch, "Of course, no doubt my master wants to know if we're all onboard."

    As if by magic, the wristbands which had been issued to Kralkus and Alva each chimed with an incoming transmission.

    But it wasn't magic - only technology. Tracking technology, to be specific. In ghostly blue, a figurine-sized likeness of the Night Herald sprung from each communicator. "I trust you're finding the accommodations suitable," he started.

    "Very much, my lord," Kralkus nodded reverently.

    "The reviews I've read were terrible, but each to their own I suppose," Haretisch replied. "In any case, your mission has changed."

    Alva slightly tilted his head, "Changed, Master?" His tone had a hint of confusion behind it. "Have the targets been informed of our presence here?"

    "Forget your initial targets - the others can handle them more than well enough. We've identified a possible vulnerability in the Luxury Elite's data protection, thanks to information gathered and sent to us by your devices. With some skill and luck, you may be able to access sensitive information which could be useful to us."

    "I'm sending your devices a map readout with the location of a hidden access terminal," the Night Herald's form disappeared, replaced by a three dimensional map of the ship, terminal marked in blinking red. "From what we can tell, it seems that this terminal is wired indirectly to the ship's main data storage. Unfortunately the terminal doesn't recognize that there's a pathway. Presumably this was an error and quick coverup by the ship's engineers. It's likely that no one knows about this but us."

    Alva study the projected map as it was presented for his device. His eyes then fixed onto the red marked spot of their point of interest. Being a secert mission, this would mean that Alva would have to tread lightly if by chance he happened run into any of the other members of the team, besides Kralkus. Alva would still have to make it look he was still looking for the officers, while enjoying himself on the Elite.

    "Our own engineers have devised a program which should tie the terminal into the ship's data vaults and allow you to download and transmit the data directly to The Revelator. All you need to do is plug your device into the terminal and allow it to do its work. Your main obstacle? The terminal is located in a suite, in a closet, behind a wall. And the suite is currently occupied by Boba Fett. Don't cause a commotion, and don't get caught. I leave the rest to you."

    With that, the transmission cut out and Kralkus groaned. "Getting too old for this, I am."

    Tag Darth_wanderguard
     
  5. Darth Kronos

    Darth Kronos Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Jan 2, 2016
    IC: Mallace - A Crashing Capital Ship

    Mallace wandered aimlessly around the massive vessel, clearly without any direction, like a feather trapped in the light wind. She gawked at everything in front of her; TIE Fighters, the crewmen and women dressed far too formally, the Sith themselves.... This life was blatantly new to her. Her world, back in her universe, did not feature the inner politics of the Sith, let alone the combination of the iron fist of the Galactic Empire. She was a loner. First and foremost. She preferred the simple life. Away from the drama, confusion, and the complexities within the politics of an Empire.

    And here she was.

    In the middle of it all.

    Mallace stopped wandering at that thought, near a secluded area of the massive and overly polished hangar. She used it to have a safer area to assess her temporary peers, all of whom outranked her.

    Hesper; the woman Typhojem specifically mentioned to her and the small group of people with her. She only served to remind Mallace of that fateful and traumatizing encounter and, through that, sent a cold shudder through her spine.

    Once again, she tried to forget that encounter. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. Mallace was beginning to realize that she would likely never completely forget that day. Always somewhere in the back of her mind, even if it isn't at the forefront of her thoughts during a situation, festering until the end of her currently miserable existence.

    Her eyes quickly glanced over Shadow Two and onto Shadow Three, a large, hulking man she did not recognise. Nameless and mysterious. Akin to everyone else.

    Shadows Four, Six, and Seven she mentally breezed past. A Gungan, of all the things, a Kaminoan, and... whatever he/she/it was.

    Mallace did not dare glance in Probably-Insipid's direction, in fear too powerful memories of Typhojem would make themselves seen. It was taking all of her willpower to force her mind to focus upon other things, giving off the impression of an extremely short attention span, head turning from one thing to the next.

    She looked away from her associates for a brief moment to assess the vessels. When her gaze returned to its previous position, Seven had snuck up on her, evidently wanting to strike up a conversation with her. Curious to her well being. A courtesy no one had given her yet.

    She was about to reply to his/her/its question, but she was too perplexed by Seven's appearance to do so. She couldn't even inquire the true name of the thing, which, surprisingly, spoke with a robotic, gender neutral voice, indicating Seven was a droid of some sort. Before she could do any of that, the droid had moved on, likely assuming she was in no mood to speak to anyone.

    Which was technically true.

    But Mallace also knew she needed an ally in this new world. Or, at the very least, a close associate. Seven could fit that bill. It likely had ties higher up than anything she could reach to at her current rank.

    She stepped once after it, but midstep, the ship violently shaped and it caused her to collapse to the floor.

    And it only got worse from there.

    The ship upended, causing multiple pieces of machinery to be tossed at the main Sith group. A coolant drum rolled towards her and she had to move out of the way to avoid being maimed. Green laser bolts from what appeared to be a Super Star Destroyer bombarded their vessel as they smacked the hull until the shield eventually gave out.

    Which was a major problem.

    Because it caused a gaping hole in their ship, which effectively created a vacuum that sought to suck anyone close to it out and into the cold, desolate nothing that is space.

    A single TIE Fighter had its chains broken as it collapsed through the area were huddled during the mission debrief. Its destination being the hole sucking any inanimate objects and people too stupid to move into space. Mallace, once again, had to narrowly avoid the obstacle, using a powerful jump to leap toward a sturdy enough bar to prevent her death. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Seven standing with zero concern, supporting her theory that it was a droid.

    Mallace did not attempt to help anyone else. She probably couldn't even if she wanted to.

    Instead, she held on for dear life.

    TAG: Sinrebirth Mitth_Fisto corinthia Darth Cocytus Darth Osnil Mostlymad Darth Master Titus
     
  6. Darth Master Titus

    Darth Master Titus Jedi Knight star 4

    Registered:
    Dec 10, 2014
    Darth Titus
    Lesser Insipid Hangar Bay

    Everything was ready. All teams were in position to be deployed. It would not be long before the mission was fully underway.

    Nearing the end of their hyperspace travel, Titus began to prepare himself and the rest of the group he was designated to lead. Outside the hangar windows, the beauty of blue and white specs of stars raced ahead.

    Looking around the hangar, Titus took note of who was in the hangar. Hespar and her apprentice had probably went to their ship. Soliloquy and Mallace were in conversation among each other.

    General Barrett was prowling around keeping his eyes on all of the Sith. Almost like predator stalking its prey, although this was more curiosity than anything. He was being wary of the Sith, and even though he did not like it, Titus knew doing so would be a wise choice. The Sith are a notoriously sneaky bunch. But he would keep his eye on the General in return. If he had the choice, Barrett would use them as canon fodder, which was precisely what this was.

    Beginning to commence the mission, Barrett raised the comlink to his mouth when suddenly the Insipid shudder violently. The group gathered in the hangar became on edge.

    The Chiss' red eyes bulged as he saw a frightening sight.

    "Super Star Destroyer!"

    Green laser fire emerged into the hangar. The source of the fire was coming from beneath them, from the planet below.

    "SHIELDS UP!"

    By then it was too late. A shot rocked the hangar, throwing everyone to the ground. TIE fighters were falling down from the ceiling racks, coolant drums barreled down upon Mallace and Soliloquy as the gangway collapsed, free falling down towards Osnil.

    "ABANDON SHIP!"

    At this point, their only escape would be finding an escape pod. Just about every one of the fighters in the hangar were incapacitated. Barrett rushed to find himself a pod.

    Then the ship gave way.

    The air in the ship was ripped out as the shields were destroyed. Dark space began consuming everything inside the ship to sate its undying appetite. Like a vacuum, space sucked everything out of the hangar, or at least tried to.

    A TIE fighter snapped free of its constraints and careened, hulking its way out to open space. In it's path: just a bunch of Sith.

    Nearby, Titus could see Mallace jumping to safety, if hanging on for deal life can be considered safety. Titus himself looked for the nearest escape route. He had been hanging onto a metal bar that had pierced into the floor. But it was still in the path of the incoming TIE fighter.

    Just before the ship crushed him, he rolled and leaped as far as he could, hoping there was something he could latch onto before the vacuum called space consumed him.

    Tags: @Sinrebirth, @Darth Kronos, @corinthia, @Mitth_Fisto, @Darth Osnil, @Darth Cocytus
     
  7. dragonsith13

    dragonsith13 Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 3, 2005
    Kael & Yavessk
    Luxury Elite ~ Jazz Bar

    The bitterness and resistance is felt by Kael, emanating from Yavenssk. His mind and will at odds with the pull towards his Master. Reluctant at the prospect of being bound to him. Hearing him approach, though a finely tuned machine, was an announcement in of itself as there was no hiding to hulk of a being that he was. Yavenssk sat down next to Kael, whom would recognize his signature but clearly not his face now. Though Kael had not turned to reveal it.

    "This is stupid," Kael hears him growl, "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."

    ‘Have a drink Yavenssk.’ Kael, already has a drink ready for him as hi slowly pushes it in front of him. Ironically knowing that he cannot “drink” it. Nor likely would he have anyways if he could. More than anything it was a symbolic gesture for the eager one to relax, and be patience.

    ‘Patience.’

    Kael softly spoke as he took a pull rom his own drink. There was a lot at work, pieces moving and here they were at the focal point perhaps. This pleasure cruise was a casket waiting to be buried. Anything that need be numbed momentarily could be had, but Kael knew better than to think this would all end well. A “routine” mission…
    ‘They are not going anywhere. Relax.’

    "I do not care if they are not going anywhere," the cyborg replies to Kael's attempts to persuade him to settle down, "While they are not going anywhere, neither am I. I have better things to do with my time then to sit here and bide it pretending to be content with these arrangements."

    Kael took another pull from his glass. Kael eyed the bartender down the bar, serving drinks flirting and doing her job within this establishment. A purple and pink tones Zeltron with raven black hair done up in a bun and pin curl style, her hair was sleek and beautiful in such a style.

    He could tell she truly enjoyed the interaction, one could see how naturally she could conversate and draw her patrons in. However, for her own benefit. She served them drinks, entertained, and listened. Much in the same way many whom worked throughout the ship did. She was obviously god at what she did to be working in one of the better clubs. This place was well behaved, upscale as rules were observed. If a patron got out of line, or too intoxicated. Which was normally the latter. They were calmly escorted and guided by Luxury Elite staff back to their state suites.

    ‘Take the opportunity to learn something.’ Kael finished the glass, motioning for the bartended a slender Zeltron bartender. Her features stunning, in the pinup style dress she wore. Her hair pinned up with two long liver hair pins. Kael observing, they were more than just “hair pins” running through her hair. More like daggers when necessary as she carried herself with confidence. When Kael had initially come in, he had spotted her and taken a seat at her end of the bar, as there were three bartenders serving the large luxurious main bar, with waitresses and waiters mingling throughout the crowd and VIP tables.

    Kael, stopped the Zeltron, as she placed another glass of red liquid in front of him. Subtly motioning for her attention for something additionally needed.
    ‘My friend is having a tough time.’ Kael reveled in the idea of pushing his buttons. As he began telling the Zeltron female of his friend’s mood.

    Your friend does seem tense.’ The woman looked over at Yavessk, leaning in a bit towards him. ‘You haven’t touched your drink darling.’She spoke sweetly to Yavessk. ‘You doing ok? Something else I can get for you? Don’t worry, anything you want sir.

    Yavenssk almost gives Kael a further and even less polite piece of his mind when the dark one draws the bartender's attention and directs that attention right at him. Not good. Even worse, Kael is exposing the fact that his apprentice is massively ill at ease in this setting. Yavenssk only likes being at the forefront of war zones, not social scenes. Darling? Hardly. He immediately tries to deter the bartender from getting any closer by growling at her. Not exactly the wisest or most civil thing he could do, but it is certainly better than what he wants to do. However, his honor code remains and he is not so inclined to be ugly toward females, so his furious growl dies in his throat, becoming something more of a frustrated groan. He knows well enough that this woman is only being kind because she has to be; it's part of her job. Part of the phoniness other beings succumb to in the name of what, he cannot understand. Still, out of respect to his own ironclad honor code, he tries to be polite.

    "I am...not not much of a drinker," he offers gruffly. No kidding. He really can't drink or ingest anything except maybe intravenously or by way of the feeding tube hidden somewhere in the jumble of wires, cables, and tubing that keep him alive. And he's not about to get into that realm of humiliation in this public setting. He would sooner starve, dehydrate, and remain painfully sober. "I have need of nothing at this time, madam. There is no reason to trouble yourself."

    Please, this is Yavessk, and my name is Kael. Kael motioned over and then brought his hand back in front of him.

    The bartender smiled back. ‘Saleel, your friendly bartender for this evening.’ Indicating her name.

    ‘And our drinks are exceptionally well.Kael spoke with a nod as he raised his glass.

    ‘If you would do something for us Saleel, please?’

    ‘Of course.’

    ‘Do you see that man over there?’ Kael referenced the man form earlier that Yavessk had brushed into, whom consequently had offered to buy him a drink. A rather cheeky fellow full of cheer and willing to spread it around. ‘My friend has been wanting to buy their group a round after he so graciously offered earlier. Thus, he wants to return the favor, but does not know how.’Kael was a bit somber in his delivery, as he began to hang Yavessk out to dry. ‘I know, he is shy. A great man. War veteran, but in need of a bit of courage.’

    Kael pushed forward a large sum of credits, across the bar to her. ‘Drinks are on my friend.’ His head motioning slightly towards Yavessk. ‘Let the gentleman know that.’Kael knew Yavessk, would be fuming at the prospect of having to interact with the party crowd. The Zeltron bartender smiled, I’ll take care of it. As she went back to prepare the drinks and summon a waitress to take them, to the group. Kael knew Yavessk would be clawing at where this was going… wanting to upend this bar.
    Yavenssk had kept his gaze downward, avoiding eye contact. That is until Kael takes it upon himself to extend a friendly gesture toward the slave master in the name of Yavenssk himself! Not only that, but Kael paints him up to be completely naïve in how to conduct himself. While the Kaleesh warrior is by no means a party-goer, he is not entirely stupid on the subject. Now throw into the mix the remark that he is shy? Lacking courage?! Hell, no! He is not shy and by no means is he lacking in courage; he is just brutally honest in both word and deed on how he feels about certain individuals. If anything, he lacks the ability to be remorselessly phony. His eyes and head snap in Kael's direction with a look of pure hatred. Oh, how he could absolutely kill this man right now! In fact, before this night is through, he can see himself killing Kael and then using his dead body to beat the slave master to death! Fuming is an understatement. Yavenssk is absolutely incinerating at this point! The anger boiling in his guts could make Mustafar look like a Hoth ski resort. He almost blurts out to the Zeltron that Kael is full of it in an attempt to stop her from initiating a gesture of goodwill he is unwilling to extend.

    As soon as the bartender moves away, the cyborg spews a stream of obscenities in Kaleesh, all of them directed at his master, but below earshot of anyone else other than the two of them, Yavenssk being unwilling to make a scene even under the duress of fierce anger. It's not about the credits; he couldn't care less about those. It's the fact that Kael has directly besmirched what he takes the most pride in.

    "You have practically just urinated all over my honor!" he hisses, absolutely enraged as he slams his durasteel fist on the bar, causing the glass in front of him to jump and leaving a dent in the surface of the countertop, "I would not ever extend such a gesture to a slave-driving piece of cosmic dung! Who do you think you are?"


    The Saleel returned. Smiling of course, though as good as she was… her act was easy to see through, despite her being exceptional at her job. Most people did not want to see through it, they came to this ship to not see beyond the drinks and debauchery. She was clearly more astute than most in this room, aware of every patron and their movements. The bartender gig while potentially fulfilling on some level, and compensating… No doubt there were often genuine exchanges that she sought out and participated in. Everything else was work. To think that many of these bartenders, dancers, waiters, and other staff were “just” that, would be a fatal mistake for many. This place as much as it was an advertised pleasure den, also being a siphon for information. Kael could sense the enraged aura of Yavessk, it was satisfying to know he held such anger in him. Right now though, a certain touch was required.

    Kael watched as a Twi’lek male walked up to the Zeltron female leaning in and speaking softly. The man clearly not a bartender, a handler or agent. The man was finely dress in a suit, and his holdout blaster clearly visible as much as he tried to conceal it. The woman gave a bit of a glaring response, clearly dissatisfied with what she was being told. While their bartender was occupied, Kael turned taking another sip of his drink. Kael knew Yavessk was wondering what he was playing at, why at his expense.

    ‘There are a lot of loose tongues on this ship… a lot of credits being tossed around and many a people who want you to know who they are, who they know, and what they do…’

    By this time, the cyborg is on his feet again, towering over the unconcerned Kael and seething with pure vengeance. It angers him further that Kael remains unconcerned; remorselessly savoring his liquor. By some miracle, Yavenssk is still listening despite his escalated blood pressure pounding in his ears and he refrains from flattening Kael like an aluminum cylinder, but Kael's next bit of instruction leaves him utterly flabbergasted.

    ‘Go talk to your new friends… tell some war stories, catch their attention. Get to know some people… Find out what you can.’

    Kael’s drink was near empty, as he swirled the remaining dark red liquid.

    He growls again as Kael suggests that this would be the ideal way to gain intelligence. It makes some semblance of sense at least, but not enough to persuade him to compromise to the level required to gain such intelligence. Tell war stories to the likes of them? Ha! He would sooner give them a firsthand experience of war and carnage. Entertain them with his personal life and background? He would rather rot. It would only provoke him anyway, considering he would be inclined to let the slimeball know that he is Kaleesh and could break him in half with his smallest finger or crush his trachea with a mere thought and a gesture, all for the sake of making it clear that his people are not to be trifled with.

    ‘And Yavessk… figure out a way to drink that drink… use an emergency induction port or something.’

    "I'll stick it in your emergency induction port," Yavenssk grumbles under his breath, spitefully upending the drink over a potted plant and slamming the empty glass back on the counter before storming away...only to storm back and discreetly leave his weapons with his master, then storm away again. Might as well do his best to avoid the temptation, though depriving himself of his weapons will by no means fully prevent him from killing.

    He knows he can't openly defy Kael. The memory of the incident in the cargo hold will not let him forget what the man is capable of. At the same time, he cannot compromise his honor. He knows doing so will provoke him beyond what he can bear. Instead, he will make a different sort of compromise. He will give the appearance of complying with Kael's instructions, but he will not be friendly and he will not socialize. Rather, he will lie in wait and let the true phony characters in the room draw out the vital information. He will simply remain on the sidelines to collect it.

    With that strategy in mind, he moves to the perimeter, where there is less lighting and less jabbering patrons. His deadly gaze is fixed on the group Kael has purposefully directed his attention to, his mission mind engaged, though not without resentment. He is not a spy; he does not like sneaking around and being two-faced. He would rather confront the slave master and his band of merry men and intimidate information out of them and then leave them to live in fear of the day he will be free to return and finish them with no repercussions.

    Kael stays focused on his drink, smirking as Yavessk moves away infuriated. A pull from the glass again, listening and sensing the beings around and throughout the whole bar. Saleel returned to check on him, Kael could tell she was uncomfortable, though she put on her entertaining face.

    ‘Everything has a price, right?’

    Saleel looked at him with a stunned look, how could he understand?

    ‘I’m sorry.’

    Kael spoke the words to the bartender before she could get out a word to ask how he was doing with his drink. She stopped a bit stunned, the poignant remark going right to the heart of the conversation she had endured with ‘Boa’ef’ the Twi’lek and head handler of this bar. The man was responsible for handling all of the staff, and organizing everything down to the last detail. He was also a crooked and slimy bastard. Saleel’s fist clenched at the thought of him, which Kael picked up on. ‘We could kill him?’


    Saleel’s open mouth closed as she stepped back a bit, taken aback a bit that Kael picked up on the conversation between Boa’ef and her. Equally that he even seemed to care for that matter. The thought of placing a blaster to the bastard’s temple was an appealing dream she very much wished to indulge in. Maybe she was a bit comforted that for once one of her customers understood, maybe even sympathized with her. Deep inside her she wanted nothing more than what Kael said!

    Nothing really was said as they just silently stared at each other. Though Kael soon broke the silence, by taking the last pull of his drink. Raising the glass up in between the two of them.

    ‘Please?’Kael spoke insinuating he was in need of another.

    Saleel blinked her snapping out of her gaze. ‘You sure? That is your seventh one.’She smiled with a bit of a smirk, she was unsure about this man at her bar. ‘This Blood Whiskey is some of strongest stuff we have.’


    ‘Please.’ Kael simply stated. Placing the glass down in front of her. ‘Alright.’Saleel said with a smile, different form before, a bit more personal this time. As she moved away to pour another drink, she placed two cubes in it, and began pouring.

    ‘You know I’ve heard of the famous abilities of Zelton’s.’ Kael said in jest down the across the bar where Saleel was pouring the drink. Her head turned back over her shoulder to look at him. ‘Oh yeah? And what is that?’ She finished the question with a half-amused smile as she finished pouring the drink. ‘That Zeltron’s can drink almost anyone under the table.’

    ‘And where did you hear that?’

    ‘From a Hutt, who drank a Zeltron under the table.’Kael said with a smirk and amused grin. Saleel laughed as she handed Kael the drink.

    ‘Maybe if you slow down! I’ll let you try someday.’She said with a smile.

    ‘You get off in?’ Kael questioned halfheartedly joking.

    ‘Two hours, handsome.’Saleel replied equally joking, replying in turn to Kael’s lighthearted inquiry. Though there was some genuine interest between the two, evident in the brief look the gave each other. Not something she would normally even consider. The moment was shattered by Boa’ef, the Twi’lek handler coming about and up to Saleel. ‘Now Saleel. They are waiting!’ He spoke with a control but angry tone. She turned irritated at being pulled away from the conversation she had been enjoying, thrust back into the reality of servitude. ‘This is the third time! Fracking perverts! I don’t care if he is some Devaronian Boss.’ Saleel retorted back. ‘You do not get paid to count.’ Boa’ef grabbed her arm and pulled her in. ‘Don’t make me tell you again!’ Saleel stood tall, not giving ground even in the face of the abusive handler. Boa’ef began to raise his hand, but stopped his face anger and full of rage at her defiance. Ready to bring his hand across her face but stopped. Saleel broadened her chin and stepped up, ready for his worst. ‘Frak you Boa’ef.’ She said under breath.

    ‘You first Saleel.’ Saleel lurched and pulled her arm from his. During the whole exchange Kael had remained silent, observing. Taking a sip of his drink. His eyes looking up over his glass, eyes going back and forth between the two of them. Underneath relishing in the exchange and conflict, feeding off it. Saleel turned back looking at Kael as she moved away in the direction of the VIP section, as she moved away glancing back at Kael with a sorrowful gaze as if hoping he would not judge her for what she was enslaved to.

    As Saleel disappeared behind a curtain into a VIP section, Kael took a long pull from his drink. Looking down at it allowing some time to pass, savoring the finely aged Blood Whiskey.

    Another pull, close to the bottom. Did Yavessk have his drink yet? Kael wondered…

    The bar was still swinging, the rhythm of the band echoing about, patrons going about socializing and having the grandest of times. A final pull and the bottom of the glass. Kael, looked over in the direction of where Saleel had disappeared into staring at the empty glass. Setting it down on the bard, as he pushed back in his stool to stand up, straightening up his dress robes. Bending his neck side to side cracking his neck, his posture straitening up leaning forward focused on the VIP booth.

    The curtain of the VIP booth was a rich crimson furled down to the floor, marking the beginning of the area. There were multiple similar boots and areas in this bar. Passing through it Kael stumbled, embellishing his steps, trying to remain upright as he fell into a bodyguard… half not expecting someone to have so stupidly breached such an area. Two Duros guards were set at the entrance to an interior curtain to the actually VIP lounge. One of the Duros guards, part of a pair that stood at the entrance, pushed Kael back and against the opposite wall almost into the second body guard standing watch. Beyond the body guard was another barrier, open but nonetheless the entrance to the actual VIP lounge booth. The body guard reaching for his blaster but hesitating as Kael fell down acting the drunken fool. Kael pointing up at him wagging a finger as if in a drunken stupor. Another guard emerged, making it three guards present, from the secluded booth. ’What is going on?’ - ‘Some drunk stumbling into the booth.’ – ‘Take care of it!’

    ‘Boss Mecho said no disturbances!’

    The exchange between two of the bodyguards was brief and to the points, as the one guard went back into the booth. Perhaps something they had dealt with previously. The near bodyguard grabbed Kael by the figurative scruff, raising him up, grabbing him and trying to stand him up and gain a grasp on him. Kael’s head was bobbing, his body slack as the guard tried to bring him to his feet.

    The guard raising Kael up finally, Kael finally allowing himself to be stood and straighten up. One of his hands waving in front of the bodyguard who intently felt a jolt and wave of energy which paralyzed him. Blacking him out almost instantly. The other guard reach for his blaster but Kael was already upon him a hand to his throat, a pulse of darkness flowing into him. The man’s large red eyes rolling back into his head. Not dead, but also blacking out almost instantly.

    Kael glanced into the lounge, noting the surroundings. Reaching out and mapping out the details with the force to the last detail. Then stumbling he went through the final veil and into the lounge. Inside Kael could hear the familiar voice of the Saleel, the Zeltron bartender. Her words and struggling tone not that of a willing person.

    Kael hit a leather lounge sofa and buckled, completing his staggering pace, drawing the attention of many in the lounge. Two more Duros guards, one of which had been the one who had popped his head out previously into the VIP entrance area, were on Kael almost instantly. Kael having interrupted the festivities as it were. Kael staggered a bit continuing to play. Two Twi’lek dancers stood on platforms, trying to concentrate on their movements and dancing, willfully turning a blind eye to anything happening in the lounge itself. Seemingly trying to remain in check and do their jobs of entertaining, part fear and trying to act obvious as to not incur anything upon themselves as well.

    In a more secluded part of the lounge, a Devaronian male, Boss Mecho previously described, was struggling with Saleel, who’s dress was torn. Her raven black hair was a mess, as she was being tossed in the struggle. The man was clearly not fully clothed, exposing himself and forcing himself upon Saleel who was pinned against a table that he loomed over along with her. His attention was wretched away from Saleel, as Kael continued to stumble drawing his attention, supposedly interrupting what he intended to take without consent. The Devaronian man, clearly the VIP of the lounge. The other two remaining body guards finally had a grip on him drawing Kael back. ‘Get rid of him!’ The Devaronian yelled as he smacked away the struggling Saleel, grabbing one of the Zeltron’s arms and twisting it. A second strike from him smacking Saleen across the face with his fist. Her arms going limp as she fell back stunned.

    The two Duros guards pulled Kael back but lost their grip unexpectedly as if some force pushed them off. Kael stumbled forward, almost into the half-naked Devaronian whom was applauded by the intrusion and interference with his “entertainment”. Saleen rolled to the side, half aware her fight or flight instinct kicking in as she pressed up against a nearby wall gasping for breath and attempting to gain her bearings. She soon found it as she pushed past the two Duros guards who were preoccupied with the drunk Kael laying over-top of the half-naked Devaronian, cursing and flailing. Managing to gain his feet the Devaronian landed a kick to Kael’s ribs as Kael began to crawl away toward the entrance. The man was unable to land another kick as he was too preoccupied cursing and trying to pull up and buckle his pants now. The pair of Duros body guards, seemed to comically struggle to gain a hold of Kael whom was on his feet and stumbling back through the entrance of the lounge.

    Kael was gone, stumbling out into the crowd. Blending in as the two guards rushed past the other two perimeter guards that were now rubbing their heads and coming to from having blacked out.

    Devaronian, this supposed VIP Boss Mecho continued to curse, finally buckling his pants. Looking down seeing a keycard. That had seemingly been dropped in the scuffle.

    “628B” A grin of proposed vengeance upon his face. ‘Bi… Sahl! Get in here!’ The man shouted summoning two of the guards. Both of the Duros bodyguards coming back sulking ashamed of having allowed such a breach, fearing the anger of their Boss. ‘Go pay our friend a visit!’ The Devaronian Mecho spoke as he handed them the keycard dropped by Kael.

    Yavessk went his way

    Kael his…




    Kaleesh-Cyborg

    Passing time :)
     
  8. dragonsith13

    dragonsith13 Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 3, 2005
    Kael
    Luxery Elite ~ A stroll in the Shadows


    Saleel had diverted down a passage behind the bar after emerging from the VIP lounge. Stumbling into a wall, thankful she was out of that place and out of the hands of that rapist. The passage was more a supply corridor, secluded and only used for ferrying goods and replenishing the bar. Not normally used, well away from people in the bar. Safe. She began to sob, clearly traumatized from the recent event.

    A figure approaching her. At the last moment, she noticed him, her handler Boa’ef.

    ‘Boa’ef. That bastard tried to…’her lips quivered unable to even mutter the words of the act the Devaronian Boss had tried to do to her. She moved towards him, almost attempting to seek comfort, as she was at least away from the lounge. Boa’ef allowed her to fall into his arms. His arms coming up around her in a comforting manner. ‘It is ok Saleen.’

    Saleen was sobbing more into his shoulder now. She loathed the man but it was better than being subjected to more acts of violation. Just then she looked up, peering over Boa’ef’s shoulder her eyes focusing in the dimly lit corridor. Over his shoulder she could see the eyes of someone that with one step into the light became clearer the Devaronian Boss. His face a wicked grin as he stared upon her with predatory like gaze. Saleen lurched back. ‘Get him Boa’ef’ She exclaimed enraged. ‘That kriffing sloof-wat raped me.’ Pointing she stumbled back expecting Boa’ef as much as a sloof-wat himself to come to her rescue. But it didn’t happen, as Boa’ef lurched forward grabbing a hold of her and slammed her into the bulkhead. Her vision was hazy at best, as the Boss and Boa’ef stood over her. She sold hear sounds of them talking, but her head was ringing as she struggled to orient herself. Finally focusing to see both the Twi’lek and Devaronian grabbing her and pulling her up, as she felt herself pressed against the bulkhead. She was strong but unable to break free of the both of them. Loosing one if her hair pins she stabbed downward but was smacked, throwing her off.

    ‘No one runs gets from me!’ The Boss exclaimed as he fumbled about, grabbing at Saleen and her already torn dress.

    ‘Get this over with!’ Boa’ef exclaimed directed at the Boss, showing that he was clearly complicit in the act as he held her against the bulkhead.

    ‘I seem to always catch you with your pants down.’ Kael’s voice emanated from the shadows.

    Mecho spun brandishing his blaster raising it and searching to fire. The Boss suddenly feeling his muscles seize, unable to move his arm.


    ‘Sadly nothing substantial to look at either, I’m afraid.’ Kael said mockingly with amusement at the diminutive stature of the man in many ways.


    Boa’ef had now pulled his blaster from inside his jacket and was beginning to draw it but his motion was frozen as well. Both men seemingly in a state of stasis. Their eyes wandering, lips attempting to move, but not allowing anything more than a breathing sound. Saleel was still trying to gather herself as she was still gripped in fear and not understanding what the two men, Mecho and Boa’ef were waiting for.

    ‘All I can say is you both are lucky I am going to make this quick.’ Neither of them could speak and the only words that echoed on the corridor from the shadows were that of Kael’s.

    Each of the men, Mecho and Boa’ef continued to struggle, their eyes wandering, bodies trying to move managing only a shutter and shaking hand as despite their best efforts to move neither was able to. Twi’lek Boa’ef felt his legs moving as he took an initial corpse like wide step, almost dragging his leg. A series of steps brought him facing the pants dropped Devaronian Boss Mecho. As they both faced each other Boa’ef’s blaster still held against his chest, while Mecho’s was still pointed into the air but held by some invisible force.

    Within the shadows Kael grinned as a ripple emanated down the corridor. Mecho’s arm began to move and track, simultaneously Boa’ef’s arm with his blaster in his hand finally moved from his chest, but not voluntarily as it tracked coming out in front of him and lined up only a few inched from the head of Boss Mecho’s. Mecho’s arm was already outstretched blaster in hand, the tip of the barrel almost pressed against the temple of Boa’ef’s.

    ‘Saleel?’Kael asked from the shadows, implying he was waiting for her word. She was standing behind Boa’ef staring mesmerized at the site of the two men completely helpless pointing their own blasters at each other. Recognizing the voice of Kael from before even in her alarmed and own adrenaline-fueled state.

    Saleel’s hate filled eyes said it all.

    Moche and Boa’ef both felt their fingers begin to contract as their eyes stared at each other’s, in their peripherals seeing only a shadow embraced figure and Saleel staring at them. Unable to stop themselves in their fatal last moments.

    The pang of simultaneous blaster bolts. The smell of smoldering flesh.

    Saleel was breathing with a gasp, as splatter of blood landed on her face. Droplets on her lips and cheeks, as she tried to regulate her breathes.

    Moche and Boa’ef with burning cindering holes in their heads. Both their lifeless bodies fell to the floor. Having shot each other, in what appeared to be a back-corridor dispute about a girl. Men unable to control themselves properly…

    Tragic…

    Saleel was on the edge of the shadows where Kael stood concealed. Staring at him. Still stunned form what had just happened.

    ‘You’re a….’Saleel began to exclaim, but before she could finish the statement which they both knew needed in dark Jedi, Sith, Dark Cultist… pick your description… Kael’s pointer finger was pressed against her lips in a hushing manner.

    ‘Shhhhhhhh’


    ‘How about that drink?’

    @Noone
     
  9. ConservativeJedi321

    ConservativeJedi321 Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Mar 19, 2016
    IC: Radian T'lenity
    Swamp

    For the briefest second the swamp began to calm as the hounds stood silently.
    Radian loosened his grip on the tree, trying to catch his breath.

    Draco was speaking. 'Sith, it's time to parley. You've lost.'
    The man seemed far more certain than Radian, though the Mirialan did not offer any outward signs of it.
    He was tired, injured, and still felt somewhat weak. Even through the meld with T'tkura.

    But for some reason the Dark One hesitated. He did not immediately attack them. Instead he... asked them to surrender? Unexpected.

    "Emperor Insipid is anticipating a similar force to the darling, late lady Abeloth coming to the fore. You have a vital role to play and you can't very well play that role if you're dead, can you?"

    That was a mistake on his part. It forced Radian to think back over what had happened to him since his foolhardy alliance with the Sith, he had believed then only a union between then Jedi and their sworn enemies would bring down the abomination. But from what he had seen in the battles they fought, the Sith had never needed him. He was a tool, nothing more.

    With all the resolve he could muster, he let go of the tree, and moved to stand next to his fellow Jedi.
    "It's a trick." He muttered to them. Though it was equally to remind himself to stand strong.

    "I will never cave to you villains again! If Abeloth may come, we will deal with her then. Until that time, I would sooner die than be a plaything of the Dark Side again!"

    Tag: dragonsith13, Snokers, Sinrebirth
     
  10. Mostlymad

    Mostlymad Jedi Knight star 3

    Registered:
    May 12, 2017
    The following is a combo with corinthia
    IC: Lady Hesper & Darth Valdimar
    ---Aboard the Lesser Insipid

    Before the Emperor arrived, Darth Titus and a strange droid-like figure appeared; Hesper remained standing with hands clasped behind her back and facing General Barrett. Out of the corner of her vision, Hesper recognized Titus. He had been there at the Battle of Coruscant, she remembered, and there when she had faced off against the Mnggal-Mnggal with Aryan and Lenora the Keshiri. She acknowledged him with a prim nod of her head.

    As Insipid arrived, he brought a wave of grim regality with him in the Force. He looked different than Hesper remembered, but with his ever-changing appearance, Hesper had come to ignore the corporeal form and recognize the God-Emperor by merely his presence in the Force. He spared Hesper a smirk, and nodded at Hesper's apprentice and the Gungan. In the next moment, however, she received a brief and certain glimpse at the future through the Force that there would be an apprentice arriving for her, and that Cocytus was to be released from his apprenticeship. She turned her gaze to the Kaminoan, regarded him with a level of commendation. Very well, she thought. He was ready enough.

    "General," Insipid's voice rang out.

    "My Lord," Barrett replied.

    Insipid strode to Barrett's side and turned, flicking his long cloak into Barrett's face as he did so. Hesper could see Insipid crack a restrained smile, and she hid her own by dipping her chin to her chest. When she lifted her chin again, her face was cool and composed.

    "My friends," Insipid began. "We have been struck at by the First Order, a new factor in the Unknown Regions." Hesper's brow furrowed. She had not heard of this new group, yet. "They intervened in the recent mission that Lord Titus took part in, absconding with the Heirophant Heskal, who had ruled a pocket Kingdom in the swamps, for reasons unknown. We have the location of the rendezvous the enemy is using, and General Barrett here has been charged by myself and the Grand Admiral to lead a seven-Sith team to pursue them. My flagship will be joining the mission, and so you won't want for assets.

    "While you are en route I expect you to clean up, kit yourselves out with the on-board quartermaster, and defer to General Barrett and High Lord Hesper. The General will have military command of the mission, and will take over this briefing." As Insipid wrapped up his talk, Hesper followed his gaze as it patiently appraised two vessels coming into the hangar: a shuttle, and a freighter. Insipid folded his arms. Once those aboard the shuttle and the freighter disembarked-- a young woman, a Clawdite, and two (to Hesper's apparent surprise, as she raised her eyebrows and shifted her weight from one hip to the other) Tusken Raiders-- Insipid lifted his chin and pointed. She immediately understood which brother was to be hers.

    As the Tusken brothers departed their freighter they couldn't help but gape at the immensity of the capital ship they found themselves in. Masks concealed their facial expressions but both Rook and Roark’s necks were whipping their heads about as they inspected their environment. As they took it all in the brothers looked over at the pair emerging from the shuttle they felt they saved. Curiosity overcame the Tuskens as the Clawdite and woman appeared to be headed to the same gathering of soldiers and Sith ahead. “Different when inside the belly of the beast as opposed to seeing one from a distance, eh brother?” Rook’s comment was a vain attempt to tear their gaze away from the odd pair. Roark grunted his agreement but kept any other comments to himself as they approached the motley gathering in front of them. The younger Tusken brother measured each of the Sith silently from behind his mask while secretly wondering which would be the one that would continue his training where KkH'Oar'Rrhr so abruptly had left off.

    “Sith Lords and Ladies.” Excited as he was, the General allowed no time for such things as he began his briefing. Rook moved up amongst his betters and listened intently while Roark leaned up against a nearby supply crate, crossed his arms, and tried to look uninterested. Hesper kept a watchful eye on the Tusken that moved forward, and tried to stop herself from rolling her one good eye at Barrett’s self-importance. Barrett produced a small droid that projected a map of the galaxy. “Nirauan, the capital of the Empire of the Hand, Csilla, homeworld of the Chiss, and Zakuul, rechristened New Moraband.” The three planets lit up in the map. “Between these three points lies the majority of what is relatively charted space. To the south of Zakuul are the abandoned Rakatan worlds, and further beyond that is Ssi-Ruuvi space. To the north of Nirauan is largely uncharted space, though on the fringes of the Known and Unknown lies the worlds of the Kaleesh and Huk.”

    Hesper’s gaze traced over the triad of planets, and she made note of distances and proximities as a fourth planet is indicated. Meanwhile the Tusken braced himself for a torrent of information that could drown him faster than watery quicksand. “This is the location that the enemy jumped to following their raid on Zakuul. Both the enemy spy ship and corvette did so. We cannot discount that this is a trap-- which is why we shall be launching a wing-pair to investigate. Following their positive report, the flagship will jump in, and deploy a landing craft to secure the enemy until the Lesser is placed to end the orbital engagement. If a ground-based installation is detected, there will be a second phase to the battle; our Squad will penetrate their defences and seize Heskal, before pulling back.

    “Mission designations of Shadow Squadron are as follows. Your number will indicate you and your assigned commando, so when Command refers to you by number it is naming you both.” Barrett jabbed a thumb at himself and said, “Lead.” He then pointed at each member of Shadow Squad in turn. “One and Two. Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven.” Hesper and the Tusken were One and Two, respectively. The rest were Titus, Cocytus, Mallace, Osnil, and Soliloquy.

    Hesper looked intently at her new apprentice and Rook became keenly aware of that gaze as his hairs stood on end. With significant effort he managed to give her a sidelong glance without moving his head as Barrett continued. “Shadows One and Two will take two of the three TIE Defenders aboard to scout. These have a hyperdrive, so they are able to jump into the target system. Shadow One will have command.” Sighing, Hesper ignored the rest of Barrett’s briefing, having learned all she needed to know for the moment. Barrett was detailing the resources available to them when Hesper felt the Force whisper to her. Danger, it suggested, but details eluded her. For her apprentice the Force tried to say danger but it came across more like caution to his untuned senses.

    She shrugged her shoulders, as if to shake off something on her back. This wasn’t a feeling she liked, at all. It was cold, and unpleasant.

    Still looking, but not looking, in Shadow One’s direction Rook caught the uncomfortable shoulder shrug and silently wondered if it had to do with Force. He made a mental note to ask about it later should the opportunity arise.

    Barrett then concluded his briefing, announcing that they would arrive at the target system in three hours. That was more than enough time, Hesper felt, and she unclasped her hands from behind her back, folding them tightly across her chest, still feeling chilly from the Force’s warning. She cast the briefest of glances at her now former apprentice, Cocytus, and made a mental note to speak with him at some point in the future. Turning her attention to the man who would be her new apprentice, she approached he and his brother with light steps. As the lady approached Rook’s chest tightened with a sudden anxiety. He wasn't sure if she was aware but with her bandaged eye and fresh battle scars she cut quite the imposing figure. With two short, quick breaths he steeled himself and turned to face his mission lead.

    “Hello,” Hesper said, her tone conversational once she was near enough to the Tusken.

    “გამარჯობა,” Rook replied in his native tongue while offering her a slight bow.

    “I’ve been informed you’re to be my new apprentice.” She put out a small hand for the man to shake.

    Call it nerves, anxiety, excitement, whatever you will, but Rook panicked. First he reached for Hesper’s hand but upon registering her words he dropped to a knee before her, fists on the ground, nearly putting his mask through her outstretched hand. Hesper quickly withdrew her hand in surprise as he dropped down before her.

    Huffing impatiently, Hesper tucked her arms back into being folded across her chest. “No need for that,” she said quietly. “Stand up, let’s talk. Tell me your name. And you can introduce me to this brother of yours.”

    “ბოდიშის სამაგისტრო...” he began before stuttering, “I-I-I mean apologies, Master.” At the mention of his brother he composed himself knowing he’d get ქაოსი for this later. He could already tell by his posture that he was chortling. Krayt’s balls. “I am called Rororr'rkrur and that is my brother Ruurur'oaur’rkrur. We normally just go by Rook and Roark so as not to hear your tongue butcher our...” he paused realizing he’d slipped into an informal mercenary speak. Sighing he finished, “...given names.”

    The sound of the Tusken tongue was foreign, but not entirely foreign, to Hesper’s ears. She inclined her head. “Rook. It’s a pleasure. I am High Lord Hesper.”

    At least she isn't murdering us. “The pleasure is mine High Lord Esper. Esper is your surname?” Tusken names generally ran together but you could pick out the family designation if you listened. It wasn't until they had left Tatooine did Rook realize that many species separated their names into given and surnames.

    Hesper smiled to herself. “No, it’s simply Hesper. I chose that name when I joined the Sith. Tell me, Rook, do you have a name you would prefer? Or shall I give you one?”

    Taking a moment to reflect the Tusken asked, “What name would you bestow upon me?”

    Hesper thought for a moment. She had chosen her own name-- and Cocytus, her former apprentice, had chosen his own as well. “I think,” she says slowly, “it would be most fitting if you chose your own. Think on it.” Hesper nodded sagely.

    Rook stood in silent contemplation when he uttered a word, “Valdimar. In my travels a story about an obscure god of the sea has stuck with me and it always seems to creep back to the front of my mind. Darth Valdimar seems to just fit.”

    “Valdimar,” Hesper said, trying the name on her own tongue. “It seems to fit you.” She then cleared her throat. “Well then, I suppose we have some time before we arrive to pay a visit to the armory, no?” The Tusken merely nodded and followed his new master to the armory.

    As they went, taking their time and walking quite slowly, they probed each other at the surface level for tidbits about their respective lives-- she asked about his brother, about life on Tatooine, he asked about her scar, the nature of the mission where she received it, as well as some questions he had regarding her philosophy regarding the nature of the Force. Hesper listened patiently as Valdimar spoke about his own life, interjecting anecdotes about her own as they went. In her soft voice, Hesper explained the Sith’s recent trip to Mortis, where she received her scar, and where they fought both the dreaded Mnggal-mnggal and Typhojem, the Left-Handed God. Valdimar listened with wide eyes from behind his mask and only interrupted to make certain details more clear.

    They arrived at the armory shortly, where Hesper picked up a blaster rifle seemingly at random, checking it over before slinging it casually across her back by its sling. She looked at Valdimar. “Have you any weapons?”

    The Tusken merely shrugged, “What’s a mercenary without weapons?” Pulling from within the confines of his black dyed desert garb he quickly displayed a thermal detonator, a modified gaderffii stick, a bowcaster, and finally flashed his DX-2 Disruptor pistol strapped to his thigh. “But now that you mention it, Roark has been interested in one of those,” he moved over to the heavy weapons before straining to lift up the Mark II medium repeating blaster.

    Hesper cracked a smirk. “I’m sure the Emperor wouldn’t mind if Roark wanted to keep one of those for himself.” The younger Tusken grunted as he lifted up the blaster onto his shoulders, “Great. Shall we go deliver it to him then? You’d then have a chance to check out our ship.”

    “Lead the way,” Hesper said, planting her small hands on her hips. As master and apprentice made their way toward the Kterskt for Hesper’s inspection, Darth Valdimar couldn't help but wonder just how much he should show his new master. Obviously he wanted her to be impressed with their ship but perhaps some of its more... intricate secrets... he would keep to himself. With a quick call ahead Roark had the ship ready for inspection by the time they had arrived and the pair found the ship’s aft ramp lowered. With a subtle gesture from Valdimar a hidden cargo elevator dropped from the underbelly of the port side of the ship lower to the ground a beautiful, sleek black swoop bike. With an inviting gesture Valdimar silently urged his new master onto the powerful machine. Hesper accepted the invitation, admiring the swoop with gentle sculptor’s hands. “We won this beaut in a swoop race on one of the Outer Rim planet’s whose name escapes me...”

    Roark interjected, “Florrum. Stupid thing we did.” He had come down the ramp and leaned against the side of it as they checked out the swoop bike.

    Valdimar turned towards his brother making a phlegm-like noise in disgust before gesturing at the bike, “Worth it though.” Taking the Mark II off his shoulders he walked over and pushed it into his larger brother’s barrel chest. With what could only be explained as excitement, Roark flipped through a series of inspections of the heavy weapon as though it were a blaster pistol in his hands. Grunting his thanks, the elder Tusken retreated halfway up the ramp and sat down to further inspect his new weapon.

    Hesper chuckled. “Obviously.” She slid off the bike and leaned against it, looking pensive and folding her arms. While she leaned against the bike, she sized up both Valdimar and his brother, Roark-- Roark was tall, she noted, astonishingly so. Though considering Hesper’s own petite form, nearly everyone towered over her as it was. “Florrum… been a while since I’ve been there. All dust and gas.”

    Cocking his head in puzzlement at his master’s posture change he flippantly remarked, “Bah, it really isn’t much different than Tatooine. I doubt much has changed since you were there. Names maybe, nothing else does on those kinds of worlds.” With another gesture the elevator began to rise, Hesper along with it. As they entered the cargo area of the ship Valdimar gestured towards the cockpit, “Let me show you the rest of the ship.” The young priest began to explain a bit of the ship’s capabilities and stats while outlining what he and his brother had plans in regards to upgrades.

    With his brother’s occasional input they finally finished with Hesper’s inspection of the Kterskt. The pair exited and their assigned commandos fell in step behind them. The end of hour three was near and so they marched towards their assigned TIE Defenders.

    They were halfway there when suddenly the ship shuddered throwing Valdimar to the deck ungracefully. Hesper stumbled awkwardly, her foot slamming down on the deck as her gait was thrown off. She threw a steely glance at her new apprentice, lowering herself to one knee to keep her balance. Catching her look from the floor he immediately snatched his comlink from his belt and snarled into it at Roark, “დაიწყე ძრავა!” Behind them the sublight engines of the Kterskt flared to life even before the realization of what was happening hit them.

    The Lesser Insipid pitched forward and buckled. Above, a loud popping along with the ear piercing shriek of tearing metal drew the young Tusken’s gaze. His eyes went wide behind his mask as the unmanned TIE fighter broke from its mooring and crashed down towards them. At the same instance the magcon field flickered, failed, and the vastness of space called insistently. Everything that wasn't tied down quickly rushed to answer its call. He was prepared to dive when red laser fire erupted from the Kterskt obliterating the falling TIE. Sucked out to space the leftover debris peppered the Tusken’s ship while she positioned herself between the Sith and oblivion.

    “Tell your brother to lower the Kterskt’s ramp,” Hesper barked at Valdimar, fingers digging into the sheet metal of the hangar’s deck with help from the Force as the vacuum of empty space pulled on her mercilessly. Valdimar relayed his master’s orders and pushed off the deck and used the insistent pull of space to steer him onto his ship’s belly. Snagging the edge of the opening ramp with his hands he pulled himself inside. Hesper followed Valdimar’s lead, launching herself gracefully towards the open ramp, catching the piston on the left-hand side and slingshotting herself into the ship, coming to a tumbling stop, head over heels, once inside. Taking a moment, crumpled on the floor, she pressed the heel of her hand briefly to her eye. It was still giving her pains.

    Once inside the younger Tusken raced towards the cockpit and took over while his brother went to man the gun. Hesper found her way to the cockpit as well, standing behind the pilot’s seat and gripping its back with white knuckles. Noticing others struggling against the call of oblivion Valdimar, hands shaking from adrenaline, piloted the Kterskt to pick up as many as he could. The ramp closed as the last survivor boarded and Valdimar shut down everything nonessential on his ship and the Tusken ship succumbed to the embrace of the void.

    Out of control they spun and finally they caught sight of what had hit them. The Super Star Destroyer loomed intimidatingly between them and a frozen planet. Valdimar’s heart skipped a beat as he held his breath. In all his time as a mercenary he never felt certain death hanging over him as he did right then. He prayed. His only hope being that they’d pass off as just another derelict ship jettisoned out of the hanger bay.

    TAG:
    @Sinrebirth Mitth_Fisto corinthia Darth Cocytus Darth Osnil Darth Master Titus Darth Kronos
     
  11. Isley_27

    Isley_27 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Dec 22, 2016
    IC: Alva & Kralkus, (Combo with Wanderguard, and my wife as a special guest, playing the parts of Varim and Za'thana)
    The Elite - Economy Suite

    As the transmission ended, Alva turned to look at Kralkus. "I've heard of Boba Fett. They say he's got a pretty good reputation when it comes to completing his job. Some say he favors disintegration methods at times, wonder if he's on a bounty hunt now."

    "Always on a hunt, he is," Kralkus nodded, "And careful we must be. Make much trouble for us, he can."

    "Kralkus, I'm gonna be honest here. The outcome of this mission, whether it succeeds or fails, doesn't truly concern me. I am only biding my time until the real goal for me presents itself." His eyes gave off a malice glare as if the prized Dark Lord's holocron was right there in front of him. "Like you mentioned before we left The Revelator. Let the larger beasts handle their matters."

    "Indeed." A soft growl rumbled deep in the old master's throat.

    Alva made for the bed near the far corner,"I got some many things to consider, I think my head's gonna explode." He held the temples of his head. "You showed me a major flaw in my studies of lightsaber combat, now I'm going to have to think hard on how to fully overcome this hindrance I've put on the dark side within me." He leaned back onto the semi-firm mattress,"I'm gonna rest up. Maybe some sleep will help me think more clearly for the mission." He turned on his side, then after minutes of silence the grip of slumber began to fall over Alva.

    ~~~

    Xalic sat at the old table in the small apartment he and his mother called home on the lower levels of Cloud City. The roaring of the fans from the air duct vents interwoven throughout the huddled communities were enough to drive anyone mad. Though the young man Xalic had pretty much gotten use to the blaring noice of it all. The only thing he couldn't get use to was the inexcusable actions of Varim, his mother. Like always, she would leave for the evening and wouldn't return until an hour that no one would call timely. She wasn't trying to earn an honest living, she was content to prostitute herself to every gentlemen caller who caught her eye. Most of the time she would return drunk, with a new nightly guest for her to "entertain."

    Xalic hadn't moved since she had left for the night. "You gonna skip out of town this time?" It had been way passed the normal point when she finally came back home. Though as if on queue, there was a rattling at the door like someone was struggling open it. After several moments the fumbled rattling turned into pounding of frustration.

    "BOY! IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS BLASTED DOOR -"

    The all to familiar slurred speech of Varim brought a scowl to Xalic's face. And for a minute, pretended that he hadn't heard anyone at all, he just sat there. Another series of harder but slower slams continued to echo throughout the living quarters.

    "Open...this...KRIFFING DOOR! OR I'll BREAK IT OPEN, ALONG WITH YOUR NECK!!" The loud pounding continued.

    Xalic let out a long sigh and got up, despite ever nerve demanding to just leave her outside. He didn't hurry to door, he purposefully took ever step as painfully slow as he could until unavoidably reaching the door. With a turn of the knob the door squeaked to the side. The image before him made Xalic's stomach churn, the woman's clothes were ripped and torn, to the point that they barely clang to cover her body. In her left hand was a bottle of cheap corrillean ale, nearly empty.

    "That's more like it - ya just gonna leave your mother outside like that?!" She snapped at him, while waving her alcoholic crutch around.

    Varim was many things, but the honourable term of motherhood was not one she could rightly carry. Taking the last swig of the remaining ale, she stumble inside. Haphazardly bumping into Xalic, then seemingly into every piece of furinture. She swore out loud every time she struck something, complaining about why whatever she ran into was in the way. Even though everything was still in its proper place. It was a miracle she was able to reach the table without falling over. Varim slumped against it's side, her arm propped out to keep herself balanced.

    Looking at the empty bottle in her hand, she turned her head to the side in the direction Xalic was standing. "Do your mama a favor and get her another drink..."

    Xalic stood motionless, staring at Varim with such contempt.

    "DID YOU HEAR ME BOY!" She quickly turned to face Xalic in one swift move that made it appear like the drink hadn't effected her equilibrium. Returning his gaze with a savage and wild glare. "You make me sick...I work long nights to help support us both and I still owe more than what I did at the beginning of the blasted month. And you can't even get me a drink?!"

    Xalic gritted his teeth at the ridiculous accusation, "If you can call that work..."saying under his breath. Although it had come out louder than what he had expected.

    "What?!.....What did you say?" Said Varim in a threatening whisper, while stumping angerly over to her son. Her blood shot eyes stared right into Xalic's.

    "I said!," Raising his voice in defiance, You're out like some slut and you call that working hard! I've had to pay for the food and the rent since we got here! You blame all our problems on me, when you're the one sucking up all our credits. Maybe if you sobered up and got your act together, we could get off this stinking world and make a living."

    "YOU SMART MOUTH, MUD-KRUTCH, PIECE OF BANTHA POODOO!!" Varim exploded in a storm of rage. "LOOKS LIKE I'VE BEEN GONE FOR TOO LONG! YOU NEED SOMEONE TO BEAT THE SENSE BACK INTO YOU! Varim raised her arm and slapped Xalic with the back of her hand with every ounce of her being.

    Xalic's head violently jerked to side from the impact, making him stagger a step backwards. Beatings were a common thing between Varim and Xalic. Sometimes she would snap for no apparent reason, other times she would go off at him because of something smiple like spilling his water. In it all, Xalic had gotten use to the pain and bruises. But this time something was different, instead of the stinging sensation that should have followed, all Xalic felt was a cold wind that seem to sweep inside every part of him, like a dark void threatening to consume his spirit. His limbs went numb and all sensation that embodied inside of him began to disappear. Fear, he hadn't know fear like this ever in his life. He feared the void, he was afraid of what it would do to him or where it would take him.

    And in that moment Xalic felt the embrace of nothingness, like it would last an eternity...

    However, at the heart of the void was some kind of sinister energy that he couldn't explain in words. It called out to him to come closer. His anger, hate, contempt, and every part of him that despised his mother began to rise up like a fire to burn away the cold void. It gave him the strength to turn his head back towards his mother's hateful gaze. Only this time, the eyes that stared at her were a of golden shade of corruption. "You must me too drunk to remember, I killed you-"

    Varim fell to her knees, her entire body tightened up as if a giant hand had seized hold of her. She tried to yell out in protest but the invisble assault prevented anything but a gag to come out. She clutched at her throat with one hand while tugging at Xalic's arm. Silently pleading for him to stop as she felt her life begin to fade second by second.

    Xalic stood still as a stone, watching as Varim wrenched on the floor. He bathed in her suffering, while trying to extend her agony for as long as possible. As the moments passed, the ragged gasps began to quiet down. Xalic's fear died right there at his feet. It had been transformed into something useful, he would need to hold on to it....

    ~~~

    The sky air from the top level of Cloud City blew gently as the sun was setting. Giving the city a deep orange and red hue to it. Xalic stood out from the edge of city limits. It had been closed off to citizen's, city officials didn't want anyone accidenlty falling to their certain death on the surface of Bespin. It hadn't stopped Xalic though, he wasn't careless and the view was breath taking.

    Something was bothering Xalic, but he couldn't understand what it was. He felt like something terrible was going to happen that he had no control over.

    "Hey there!" A soft voice called out to Xalic. A young Zeltron woman who look to be in her early twenties crossed over the gated boundary from the city's edge. As she came to Xalic's side she took his hand and it held. There fingers interlocked, "This view always gets to me. I don't think any artist in the galaxy can capture a moment like these." She chuckled and looked at Xalic, only to see worry riddled on his face. [COLOR="#4B0082""]"Xal, what's wrong?"[/COLOR]

    Xalic shook his head,"It's nothing Za'thana." Though he knew she wouldn't let the matter drop so easily.

    Za'thana gave a playful scowl, Really - You know my race can read feelings Xal. I can just reach out and sense what's in your heart. But I don't wanna do that to my love, not against his will. Just tell me what's on your mind." She placed a hand on his cheek.

    Catching the scent of her perfume made is heart beat a tab bit faster. "I just get the feeling that this is the last time I'll see you. Like everything is going to change, and I won't be the same person." He looked into her violet eyes "I know it sounds crazy-"

    Za'thana moved a finger over his lips, cutting his sentence short. "You know I'm going to be murdered tonight silly. That's way I'm here, I wanted to see you one more time."

    "But I can save you!"He grabbed both of her hands and clasped them in his chest."You know I have powers, I can protect you!"

    "No my love, it's inevitable. You can't stop it as much as I can. But you know my death will make you stronger. I know you have powers, and I know they are triggered by your emotions. Use them, take your revenge for our lost love." The sun had completely set over the horizon, making the clear evening sky gave way to nightfall. Za'thana drew close, pressing her body against Xalic's.

    "I have to go now," She whispered in Xalic's ear, then kissed his neck and gave one last lovers embrace."Goodbye... my dearest Alva."

    The name made Xalic's eyes widen."Please don't leave me!" He tried to hold her but she broke away from his grasp with relative ease. And just like the passing of the night breeze, she was gone. Only to be replaced with an indescribable pain that went beyond any physical alignment. This emontional pain drove deep inside, cutting through his heart like a hot knife. The only person that he had ever cared for was gone. Clenching his fists from the wave of sadness, anger, and revenge, Xalic's thoughts ran back to the name Za'thana had mentioned.

    "That's right, Xalic is dead....my name, is-"

    Alva.


    ~~~

    The young Sith awoke, rubbing his eyes and looking around to remind himself that he was on The Elite. "Another dream, like before." He thought to himself, sitting upright on the side of the bed. "This one was more vivid than the last." He tried to remember it, yet recalling the exact details of dreams was a difficult task at times.

    Checking the time on his device, Alva realized he had been asleep for nearly three hours. He saw the old Sith master minding his own affairs to other side of the room. As he stretched from his sleep, a realization began to set in. These dreams were Alva's subconscious trying to come to grips with the life he had chosen for himself. The dark side of the force wasn't to be treated like some dormant power to called upon whenever it was convenient. It was a way of life for a Sith, constantly channeled in all actions. The first encounter with Grievance proved that, he struggled when they clashed sabers because he didn't apply himself to the force.

    Only after when his anger swelled, when he open himself up to the dark side did he defeat his opponent. Would the conflict have gone more in his favor had he done this in the beginning? And what about Skelm? Their agreement would fizzle out as soon as the slightest opportunity presented itself. Despite his lack of training in the ways of the force, he was still a silver-tounged politician. No doubt he would use the subtle tools of the Sith like cunning, deception, and secrecy to get the holocron. Niether Vexx or Skelm were to be underestimated, if Alva was to make an attempt at being the victor.

    Tag Darth_wanderguard
     
  12. Kaleesh-Cyborg

    Kaleesh-Cyborg Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jan 4, 2017
    Combo with dragonsith13
    Luxury Elite


    As he nears where the party group is engaged in jovial banter, Yavenssk becomes something of a wallflower--albeit a very tall and massive, hard-to-overlook wallflower--and settles in the shadows to listen and observe, ready to activate the recorder on the wrist communicator as soon as relevant information begins to come forth. Unfortunately, the loner who would prefer to go unnoticed and be left to himself becomes a bit of an attraction in his reserved state in the corner. A female Togruta takes notice of him and casually comes to join him along the wall.

    "You're a bit too big to hide in a corner," she says softly, "You're like a pillar standing over here by yourself. You part of undercover security?"

    Yavenssk barely regards her with a sidelong glance and a soft grunt, not really caring to make conversation and idle chatter. He is all business. Does she really think he would tell her if he was part of undercover security? Unfortunately for him, his attitude does nothing to deter the unwanted company. The Togruta remains, even daring to sidle a bit closer to where he stands.

    "Ah, the strong silent type, yes?" she chuckles lightly, "Let me guess. Military background? You should join me for a drink. It might loosen that tongue of yours to at least humor me in conversation."


    "Loose tongues should be cut out," Yavenssk replies bluntly, his deep rumbling voice along with his rather beastly comment obviously startling the female a little, "Idle chatter accomplishes nothing from where I stand. You are wasting your time, madam."

    "What a peculiar accent," the female comments, recovering from her startle and taking note of the thick Kaleesh accent. She tilts her montralled head curiously. "Where do you come from?"

    "That is a personal detail that I do not wish to divulge at this time," the cyborg grumbles, trying not to growl in annoyance, "Let us just say I am not from around here."

    "Clearly," the Togruta laughs, "You're rude as hell. But for what it's worth, I think you're all right. I am T'zima Ki. If you ever decide to be more social, you are more than welcome to join me out on the floor."

    Yavenssk inclines his head politely to her, but rolls his eyes in pure annoyance as soon as she turns her back and walks away. He might allow himself to admit that she was nice enough and seemed genuine, but to become distracted by any such thing is foolishness. He just wants to complete this mission and get out of here and now that he is alone again, he can better focus on his targeted group. Offhandedly he wonders if his master could possibly have had any unseen influence over the Togruta who had approached him...

    Then it dawns on him. Kael is no longer seated at the bar. Where has that shadow of a man gotten to now? Yavenssk is hesitant to let his master out of his sight for several reasons: one, he doesn't trust him as far as he could throw him; two, they are on a potentially dangerous mission and as much as the cyborg despises his master, he knows he needs him in order to do what must be done here effectively. He can't afford to lose him. If Kael is to die, Yavenssk would prefer to be the one to kill him, not lose him to a mission gone wrong. Third reason, Yavenssk is completely out of his element in this place and without the guidance and restrictions of his master, he is that much more likely to handle this the Kaleesh way and thereby shorten his lifespan substantially.

    Slipping back along the wall, he silently removes himself from the party crowd to try and track down his master. He makes his way back to the bar where he had last seen Kael, thinking perhaps one too many drinks might have knocked him off his barstool. He half expects to find that smug apparition upended on the floor under the bar--almost hoping he finds him that way, actually. He might be able to get away with punching him a time or two if he's too drunk to care. Unfortunately, Kael is nowhere to be found at the bar; just his empty glass under which rests a rectangular piece of plastic. Curiosity causes Yavenssk to further investigate to find it is an access card. He quirks a brow behind his mask. Would Kael really be so foolish as to leave the key to his room laying around?


    "No," the cyborg grumbles, turning the card in his hand, "Darn near everything that blasted spook does is intentional. He did this on purpose."

    "Good guess, apprentice. You are learning well."

    Yavenssk nearly jumps out of his armor at the disembodied voice that sounds strangely like his master. He almost panics, feeling as though he is either going insane or Kael--Draconis--really is the spook the cyborg references him to be. Then the tinnitus starts in; that infernal, torturous ringing in his head. Kael is contacting him through the Force! Yavenssk quickly becomes even more agitated than he was before, the ringing in his head pushing him to the brink of madness.

    "Calm yourself, Yavenssk. I have a mission for you, but you need to clear your head. Use the access card I left for you and go to the room number printed on it. Wait there and take a break from the social scene; collect yourself. You will have your mission before you shortly."

    As suddenly as it had come on, the tinnitus fades away and Yavenssk can once again hear the sounds of the jazz bar. He somehow feels inexplicably drained after picking up on communication coming to him through the Force, but he tries to shake it off and focus. After a glance at the access card, he skulks down several hallways and corridors, dodging suspicious attention, and nearly driving himself crazy trying to avoid the vast population of the Luxury Elite. Finally, he finds his way to the vacant room Kael had instructed him to find, where he gratefully retreats to collect himself before proceeding. He really isn't liking this crowded environment and he is still angry at a lot of things he has experienced in the last seventy-two hours or so. He is in desperate need of some solitude before he blows a gasket. Unfortunately, such a luxury to him will be frustratingly elusive at the moment and it becomes known when he hears voices outside the room.

    Passing by a pair of staff workers, as well as a pair of passengers, two beings falling over each other in a laughing drunken stupor. The four Duros guards of Boss Mecho peered about, checking for people noticing their arrival at a specific doorway.

    ‘This is the room.’

    The coast was clear, as the Duro bodyguard who had scolded them all before nodded for them to proceed.
    Doesn’t mean we cannot have some fun with him… one of the bodyguards softly blurted out. The others breaking into a slight laugh.

    The one closets to the door and holding a keycard, waved it across a reader. The door hissed and opened almost instantly, recognizing, and authenticating the entrance.

    ‘Boss said make it quiet!’

    ‘Quiet!’
    As he toggles door it opening to reveal a dark room, the silhouettes of furniture being made out.
    The four of them moving in, two of them drawing blasters one a vibro-blade and the other stun batons that were near full power which did little for its name stun baton. Looking about the room barely lit… where was that drunk fool that had stumbled into the VIP lounge?!?!?!

    Little did they know what was waiting for them…

    The door hissed closed.

    Knowing he doesn't necessarily belong here and wanting to avoid people in general, the cyborg scales the wall and clings to the ceiling, silent as a passing shadow as the intruders enter the room. His yellow eyes glow softly in the dark as he glowers down at a handful of bozos who seem to be intent on some sort of foul play. Yavenssk is still seething inside over things that had occurred at the jazz bar and that rage boils to a head again as the group of Duros intrude upon his desperately-sought solitude. He could project a different anger on all four of them right now. Kael, the slave master, Alva, the Togruta woman. In fact, what is to stop him from truly projecting his anger on these unsuspecting victims of opportunity? The temptation is intense, but so too is the self-control of the Kaleesh warrior on the ceiling. Yet somehow, he feels he may explode under the internal conflict.

    So he drops, right as the group comes to a standstill just below him. He drops and makes a swift turn of his body in midair to land on his feet, no doubt scaring the daylights out of the poor fools as he lands right in the middle of them. He does not have his lightsabers; he had left them with Kael, but he is a killing machine. These pitiful goons simply do not stand a chance. Let them try and effectively use one of their pathetic weapons on him.

    The first thing the cyborg does is grab one of them who failed to get away from him fast enough with his talons and fling him into a wall, the others scattering in his wake, haphazardly swinging their weapons and firing their blasters, none of which faze Yavenssk in the least. A strike from behind with the fully-powered stun baton has little more effect on him than a shotgun does on a grizzly bear as he quickly whirls around to grab the offending weapon and swing it with such force that its original wielder goes flying off the other end of it, crashing on top of a table several feet away. Yavenssk then uses the baton to smack the other two around, ignoring the blaster bolts bombarding him as he singles out the one with the vibro-blade, dueling him into a corner where he finally disarms him and then effortlessly grabs him by his face and flings him against the ceiling, ignoring the sickening splat-crunch of flesh and bone meeting ceramiplast at rapid speed.

    Only one intruder left to play with now and this one in particular has perhaps annoyed him the most with his constant barrage of blaster bolts and frantic barking of orders at his cohorts; barking of orders not unlike the orders barked by that slave master from the jazz bar. Yavenssk's cold reptilian eyes settle on him with deadly focus and the creature knows without second guessing that there will be less mercy for him than his peers, though he could never know the reason.

    Yavenssk doesn't move or blink and it's questionable if he even breathes for several heartbeats. He only stares down his prey with the lethal intent of a hungry predator. He does not see the random thug; he sees the slave master. Slowly, Yavenssk--Grievance Vexx--raises one clawed hand and, just as slowly, he closes his fist, never actually laying a hand on the thug, but having a fatal impact on him all the same as the pitiful creature finds himself raised off the floor and he drops his weapon as he suddenly feels intense pressure around his neck and throat. A brief struggle and some choked gasping and cursing and the deed is done.

    But this is only a beginning for the Kaleesh cyborg as the surge of power ebbs away, leaving him drained and terrified. What has he done? He has killed in a way he never saw himself killing. He has cheated in combat! That infernal power had possessed him in his rage and overrode his logical mind and he had used that power to take a life.

    Gasping in complete shock, regret, and disgust with himself, Yavenssk backs away from the remains of his Force-driven handiwork. He feels a number of things crashing down on him at once: failure, shame, terror, disgust, and betrayal. The last of these things burns him the most. He has betrayed himself; betrayed his culture. How can he possibly live with himself after this?

    Shrinking back into the shadows, the cyborg's mind is racing. He feels trapped as he backs into a wall, startles, and suddenly blacks out. The feeling of exhaustion forbids him to fight as the blackness swallows him up and his dark deed becomes little more than a murky memory.


    Tag: dragonsith13
     
  13. dragonsith13

    dragonsith13 Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 3, 2005
    T'Tkura
    Zakuulian Swamps

    Draco and the Sith were engaged in business, the hounds at T’Tkura sides had now resorted to a less aggressive state. Two of them laid down next to one another but still kept their heads pointed in the direction of Draco and the Sith. T’Tkura can up to one of the other hounds the lead of the group and put his arm over his head, giving the hound a slight rub and scratch down its neck as he looked on. He could feel Radian’s posture become less defensive as he was now engaged after having clung to the tree.

    Talk of a truce, safe passage, and even more foreboding things to come. That they were in a sense “needed” as they had been before. T’Tkura remembered the bridge of the cruiser en-route to Mortis. He was poised to lead the combined force of the Jedi task force at the battle master on hand, while the rest of the Jedi strike force pushed into Mortis itself. But the memory of the searing pain of his arm being severed. The idea that the Sith and Emperor were anticipating something, was all the more reason not to ally with them a second time. There choices at present were worse and worse still. T’tkura could sense the thoughts of Radian were similar as well, both of them more than wary of engaging in any plans and preparations put forth by the Emperor. T’Tkura knew Radian’s frustration and mistrust. Rightly so, none of this made sense, they were prisoners but not days earlier.

    They had just lost a brother, and fellow Jedi. While to his own carelessness. The loss was still tragic.

    After listening to Radian’s passionate pronouncement of them not being pawns again. ‘Radian, I understand. We all understand my brother.’

    T’Tkura stepped forward after acknowledging the loss they all felt, finishing his petting of one of his hounds. The hound following him in step at his side as he came near Draco and the Sith.

    ‘Some conditions Sith, if your Emperor wants our assistance.’

    ‘Upon arrival a ship of our own, supplies, and access to communications.’

    ‘Come.’T’Tkura looked at Radian and Draco. T’Tkura knew Draco walked a different path but believed he would still honor some of the old ways.

    ‘We must bury and honor our brother before we leave.’

    What choice did they have? They could continue to wander and make their way through the swamp, but they had already lost one and were on the verge of exhaustion. Quite possible they could survive, however they could not risk losing more of them and despite their apprehension. T’Tkura could feel the force pulling them towards the way proposed by the Sith. They had to trust in the force. At every turn even if the Emperor complied with the requests, there would be no relent in them having to be on guard and seek a way to ferret out what was truly conspiring against all of them. IF nothing else help them buy time, if they could at all. They were caught in a nightmare of evil forces… moving in on all sides. They had no intelligence, perspective, nor communications with any friendly forces. They needed such. Otherwise they would be just pawns to this game playing out. Hiding in a swamp was not an option.

    T’Tkura kneeled down beside Jole, his throat was till oozing plasma as dried coagulated blood pooled beside him. T’Tkura ran his fingers over his eyes, closing them, as he placed his hand over his forehead. It was too damp for a pyre. Wrapping him and stones would have to do.


    T’Tkura move to accomplish such before the Sith got too impatient and they needed to be off.

    ConservativeJedi321, Snokers, Sinrebirth
     
    Isley_27, Sinrebirth, Snokers and 5 others like this.
  14. dragonsith13

    dragonsith13 Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 3, 2005
    V-3PO
    Temple of Izax

    This place was a dreadful and dreary as they came, his sensors were a mess with the stone and ore structures. A nightmare for trying to navigate, he might as well let he Dark Lady lead them with her mystical senses… then again that always leaded to tragedy.


    The stun grenade he had toggled would be a sudden surprise and poison darts finish the group off. VPO had moved up further in the group, and closer to the side of one of the corridor directly behind the Jedi within the group.

    The stun launcher popped out of his arm, it was a smaller caliber than a full grade stun launcher a product of being concealed. Nonetheless it would provide him enough opportunity to begin launching the darts throughout the group. The stun grenade exited silently with a high velocity, but there was no flash. It simple impacted the Jedi in the back of the head, a subtle thud.

    Curses!!! The moisture of this damn swamp must have dampened the igniting fuse.

    The Jedi Sky, stumbled a few steps and fell with a dull thud, knocked unconscious from the impact to the back of the head. VPO stopped behind him, leaning forward slightly. Nobody had noticed him fir the stun grenade and he moved to play it off. His planned to stun the whole group and begin launching poison darts had taken a clearly unexpected turn.

    But to the others, the Jedi had just fallen… yes exactly. Succumb to the rigors of this place exhausted clearly.

    The Jedi was knocked out cold.

    At least the stun grenade had worked in a way.

    ‘Mistress, the Master Jedi is clearly fatigued and not up for the rigors of this undertaking.’

    VPO did not know if the Mistress Bellorum even noticed or heard him, as they were navigating these dark corridors in a trepidations manner keeping aware of many things. Perhaps not so much a rogue droid, that has a malfunctioning stun grenade launcher who just knocked a Jedi unconscious…

    VPO stood there for a moment allowing for an opportunity when the other might not notice. Better now than never as he leaned down grabbing the unconscious Jedi’s body, beginning to drag it down a side corridor. He was disappearing quite a bit, the Mistress would be getting suspicious! VPO leaned the body up against a wall, the Jedi’s limp body sulked to the side. Rubbing against a lever, the VPO had not noticed. A stone grinding sound that VPO ignored, as secret door… VPO toggled his wrist display checking the diagnostics on his dart loader. The display returned a systems ok message after running a quick operational diagnostic.

    ‘Finally!’He muttered to himself. Something was working. VPO turned to launch a dart into the Jedi’s head, the poison would act fast once injected.
    Where was the Jedi, there was an open trap door, the Jedi must have slid down the trap.

    ‘Curses!’


    Well at least he was out of the picture, back to the group! VPO waddled off back towards the main group.

    E. L.Knight, Lady Belligerent, greyjedi125
     
  15. Snokers

    Snokers Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 8, 2015
    IC: Darth Anark

    Swamps...


    Anark wasn't feeling very pleasant at all. His clothing stuck tight to his skin like a giant leach, he was exhausted and dehydrated, and he was in the presence of three Jedi -- The dead one on the ground was the only thing that offered a tiny scrap of joy.

    Pushing his knuckles hard against the bridge of his nose, he grunted and gestured a hand at T'Tkura, acknowledging and accepting his terms.

    He looked down upon the corpse of Jole in the murky swamp shallows as the other Jedi went to close his eyes.

    'There's a dead traitor in the water
    He met his end, he met his slaughter
    The ones that remain are not worth the drain
    Home is where they must be slain,' he muttered dreamily to himself, grinding his knuckles hard enough to bruise the skin between his eyes.

    ***​
    Inside the shuttle, Tiq was rallying the other Jawa's to keep momentum on the repair work. He ruffled the creatures hood with a gloved hand and sank into a chair in the cockpit, waiting for the Jedi to finish their deeds with the dead.​
    His thoughts clawed and grabbed at the possible reasons Insipid could have in mind for keeping these treacherous light-siders alive...​
     
  16. Darth Kronos

    Darth Kronos Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Jan 2, 2016
    IC: Darth Kronos and Esmerelda - Lah'mu

    It was the morning after their previous night, and the sun should have been bright and bold, shining across the planet with its hot, beating rays, causing eye strain to anyone who stares at it.

    But it was not.

    Instead, storm cloud covered the sky and the win blew harder than it had before. Rain had not fallen yet, but it was evident that it would soon. And hard.

    But lightning and loud, booming thunder could be heard.

    In fact, that was how Esmerelda was woken. A loud thunder clap.

    Kronos, on the other hand, was sound asleep, undisturbed by any of the sounds from outside - the loud thunder and the harsh wind.

    A bright flash of lightning shot across the sky, as if illuminating the entire planet in its white-blue color. And another loud thunder clap soon followed.

    The thunder woke Esme, and she blinked suddenly. She was naked, and there was a warmth beside her. Snoring softly, peacefully. Kronos.

    No, she looked amused, rueful.

    Cassian.

    Another crack. Esme decided she wanted to see. One of her few friends at university had been a meteorologist, which roughly translated that she was a weathergirl in training, but she had stressed, heavily, that the one thing everyone missed was how different a storm was. All the people that travelled the cosmos were obsessed about the sunset, and sunset, to see the different colours and hues that permeated the sky during twilight - regardless of the side of twilight you picked out. But a worlds storm were as individualistic as any dawn or dusk.

    Esme judged that she could hardly take the sheets with her without waking Cassian, and she saw no need to hunt down her clothes, wherever they were, in the dim light of the storm.

    Taking steps towards the vision, she instead stepped out of the hovel to the front, enjoying the moment her feet crested the wet grass, and simply allowing the rain to fall on her. Their home from home obscured most of the downpour, and so she was simply treated to a light shower. Closing her eyes, Esmerelda lifted her head to the rain and basked in it; in her nudity, in herself, in the moment...

    ... She found that she was crying, but it was a release, a torrent of emotion that was pent up, a happiness that consumed her very cells and all the particles that made up Esmerelda.

    She held her arms out to her sides, lifted them slightly, and held the pose; held her exultation like a breath.

    Esmerelda was happy.

    More happy than she had ever been.

    Kronos had awakened to the sights and sounds of a thunderstorm. The bright flash of the lightning, the loud boom of the thunder that followed soon after, the downpour of rain, this time a sprinkle, and the harsh, blowing winds. All of the sounds, except the thunder, were muffled due to the windows and the lightning did little to light the darkened bedroom.

    The thunderstorm was soothing. Too many times, he had to wake up extremely early, or skip sleep, for a mission, or perilous training when he joined the dark side. As such, he never felt well rested and, multiple times, he felt exhausted during intense situations, especially after engaging in action. For four years, this was the case. Ever since he legally became an adult.

    But now he had his first truly quiet moment. When he wasn't being chased or shot at or punched, kicked; when he and his woman weren't in contestant peril from insanely dangerous Dread Lords or Sith Lords or random troopers that were way too fond of explosives. Here, on Lah'mu, he was free of all of that.

    And so, he finally had a full night's rest. Refreshingly so.

    He adjusted himself to move closer to Esmerelda, the woman he had just slept with not too long ago.

    He soon made another realization.

    Esmerelda was not in bed with him. Yet, when he sat up to look around, all of her clothes were strewn about in a nearby corner, his along with hers.

    He stood up, moved over to the corner where his clothing lay, and put on the bear minimum of clothing that is socially required for a man to wear.

    Not soon after, he found his woman standing outside in the rain, in the nude, mind you, arms and head tilted upward in a very dramatic pose. And he could have sworn he saw a tear fall down her face, but he realized that it could have just been a rain drop.

    He stepped into the outdoors with her, stepped to her left, and gently placed his hand onto her bare back to lightly caress it.

    "Hey, honey. What're you doing out here? Taking a shower?" He grinned.

    Esmerelda would have jumped in ordinary circumstances.

    But these were anything but ordinary circumstances.

    He was not an ordinary man.

    He was Darth Kronos; Cassian to her and her alone.

    She simply turned and stepped into him. 'Just enjoying the weather. Just... relaxing. Letting it all out. The past is over... now...'

    She leaned up to kiss him.

    'Now I have a future.'

    Kronos wrapped his arms around her lower back as he hoisted her up to a more comfortable kissing distance. Something he was getting much more used to doing, as her short stature only brought her up to his chest.

    He closed his eyes and relished in the moment; the, what was it, fifteenth kiss they shared in the time span of a day; the soothing clouds that hung overhead, obscuring the bright sun and flashing with white-blue lightning every so often; the soft sensation of his bare feet against the wet grass; and the rain, splashing against their skin and hair, slowly sliding downward as it gave him goosebumps.

    He just wanted the moment to last longer...

    Just a little while longer...

    But he knew that reality eventually had to step in. If the two were gone for too long, the others, specifically Insipid, would begin to suspect. And he did not want to find out what they would do if they found out what they did.

    He broke off the kiss.

    "So..." he exhaled and smiled. "You think we should go back inside? Put some clothes on, perhaps?"

    Esmerelda felt the moment which caused the exhale, through their kiss. When you had a better idea of how someone's body worked, you could read every tension within it, and Cassian had tensed before breaking the kiss.

    Esmerelda took his hand. 'If we go inside, does this moment end?' She was vague enough to suggest the rain, of course, but could easily have, and was in-fact, referring to their entire escape.

    Kronos had noticed her vagueness and instantly saw what she meant. Her question could have easily referred to the downpour of the rain, but it was obvious, with her grabbing his hand, that the moment she was referring to was not just the rain, but their escape/date as a whole.

    When you spend time enough time with a person and, in their case, survive through multiple perilous situations and see each other in extremely intimate moments, you start to notice the smaller details and mannerisms your partner displays. Especially if you're Force sensitive. And that fact rang very true for Kronos.

    And, if he was not mistaken, he could have sworn he saw a disappointed look on her face.

    He spoke, louder than he needed to, as the rain only fell harder with every passing second they were outside. "Not immediately. But, yeah, it will have to eventually end. Insipid and company are likely wondering where we are, considering we've been gone for a day. And I'd rather not face his wrath. It's unfortunate, but it's reality."

    He paused. "We could always return when we have the chance..."

    Esmerelda followed Kronos back into the and strode into the main room. She began looking for her clothes. 'Yes, I suppose we could.'

    'To what end?' Esmerelda tugged back her undergarments. She paused, releasing a breath. 'Okay. I'm trying not to get mad with you, because you're right. We are hardly going to have a normal life. But I reserve the right to be disappointed. Livid even. Literally, the only way we could have a normal life without being afraid of looking over our shoulder would be to kill every single Sith in the Empire.'

    Esmerelda blew out her cheeks in frustration, folding her arms over her bare chest. 'Which is not tenable - we'd likely have to kill Thrawn too, and so on. Hundreds of people, probably. It won't happen. I just -' Her voice caught. 'I just hoped that we could be free.'

    She put her hands to her face, sat on the bed, exhaling through her fingers. Most of this was emotional recoil from how happy she'd been a moment ago.

    Thunder rumbled as she tried not to allow the emotional dip to make her cry. Emotions were a pendulum, and she could have the high without the low.

    He stepped back, an obvious dumbfounded look etched onto his face. Everything had gone so well up to that point and now he had just said the wrong thing that angered her.

    Which was not his intention at all.

    His once comfortable tone, that easy feeling he had with her, practically disappeared for that moment. "I- I- I never said you couldn't be disappointed or livid. A- all I said that this can't last forever. Not now. Not with the inner politics of it all. When each side is practically preparing to betray the other..."

    He collected his thoughts. "You have no idea how much I truly want to run away with you. Lead a normal life, away from all of this dramatic nonsense. If I could, I would do so without any hesitation.

    "I just can't. I physically can't. If I run, they'll use their resources to find me. Find us. Probably kill you and keep me alive just to torture me. You don't know these heathens like I do."

    Another pause. "I just can't be free. No matter how much I want it."

    He turned, staying silent, and strode to the corner where his clothes were laying and quickly put them on. His tattered, black undershirt first, which he rarely removed, because it covered several scars and burn marks he'd rather forget. Ones that would not heal with the bacta technology. Ones he was insecure over. When he had stripped for their spur of the moment lovemaking last night, Esme had not made much mention of it and had instead chosen to ignore them. Which Kronos was thankful for.

    Soon after, he was clothed and ready to move. She was not. Esme was still trying not to cry after her emotional low, and Kronos somehow felt guilty. He still loved her. He genuinely did. And no argument between the two would make that untrue. But he didn't know if she felt the same. Maybe she'd decide this relationship is not worth pursuing after all and just leave him.

    He mentally sighed and walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down next to her. "Hey. I'm sorry, okay? For whatever I did."

    Esmerelda finished taking her breath, and took his hands in hers to see he was dressed. 'Look, Cassian. I don't blame you for any of it. I am not blaming you. Nor should you feel bad for being the voice of reason, or feel bad that you were the one to remind me of realities.'

    Esme smiled, and made the best effort she could to make sure it reached her eyes. 'I know you'll blame yourself every time, because you're the Sith Lord and I'm not. 'I love you; and you love me.'

    She drew him into a hug. 'Do you understand what I am saying?'

    "Yeah. I do."

    He broke off the partial make-up hug and immediately fell face up onto the bed.

    He went glum for a moment.

    With the end of their date came the start of their assassination mission. And he still had no idea where to begin.

    Esmerelda came to sit beside him. She slightly rolled her eyes in mock dramatic. 'I don't see why we should worry about this now. I mean, we're already in trouble. So what's a few more hours on top of our crime?'

    She stroked the back of his neck with a mischievous smile. 'I mean, it was you who broke up our date with reality. I feel as if I should be duly compensated with more attention.'

    An unguarded thought caught her; the longer they tarried - the higher the chance that their hideaway would be discovered. But it was the first time they had gone awol; they could afford to relax a bit more.

    And so Esme resolved to restore the perfection of the moment, even if it exhausted her.

    There was an odd silence that occurred after Esmerelda short spiel; as Kronos allowed her to gently and romantically stroke the back of his neck; as he sat there, frowning, contemplating her words. A silence that went unbroken for several seconds.

    She wasn't wrong. It was highly unlikely that Insipid hadn't noticed their sudden disappearance already, and he would definitely have several questions for the couple. Questions he wasn't sure he could properly answer. As she said, they were already in trouble. Probably.

    What would a couple of hours hurt?

    Who knows.

    All he knew was that he did not want this moment to end.

    Even despite realities.

    And so he made a decision that went against all logic and contradicted his previous mini-rant. She certainly had her ways....

    He exhaled through his nose. "Alright then. We'll stay for a little while longer."

    He adjusted his body to be closer to hers, at a distance that would be extremely uncomfortable if they weren't lovers. "So what do you want to do?"

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  17. Lady Belligerent

    Lady Belligerent • WNU Adoptions Coordinator• star 7 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Jan 29, 2008
    IC: Bellorum
    Temple of Izax

    The twisted corridor had sloped downward, and the group had been seeing a few odd vines growing along the stone walls. The leaves curled towards each person as they passed, but there was no indication they would attack. In some places the leaves covered the glyphs and illegible text.

    Bellorum had been oddly silent since her last outburst of anger, and not from lack of anything to say. No, she was going over in her mind what they were missing. This place was nothing special...so, why was it teeming with dark energy? She had the feeling that the source was obvious, but they had missed it while dealing with reckless apprentices and other distractions.

    Ancient Sith were notorious for enchanting objects, or beings, and placing them as traps or as guardians. She was certain this was the case here, and she’d been imagining what treasure had been housed in this crumbly temple when VPO spoke up.

    ’Mistress, the Master Jedi is clearly fatigued and not up for the rigors of this undertaking.’

    “Master Jedi?” Bellorum asked VPO incredulously. “What makes you think the shipwrecked Force user is a Jedi?”

    The Dark Lady heard stones grinding near the cheeky droid, but she didn’t see the Jedi. “Where is he? The fool was here just moments ago!”

    Glaring at VPO, Bellorum was about to launch into a tirade of obscenities over how they kept losing team members and as a result they were getting no where. This was to have been a quick trip in to pick up the items hidden in an old building, and then back to count her credits. BUT, no! Instead it was a total clusterkriff of errors.

    Before any words passed her lips, she’d felt a ripple of danger. Her eyes widened as they were drawn to a crack in the stone over VPO’s right shoulder. It was a hairline crack that ran some distance diagonally, but it wasn’t the length that concerned Bellorum. Instead she was alarmed by tiny wisps of black seeping into the corridor.
    It appeared to be minimal, but as she studied it, the crack kept ever so slightly widening.

    The darkness was building. It was growing.

    Bellorum pushed past the droid and placed her hand on the cool stone wall, watching as the black vapors drifted around her fingers. She removed her hand and the tendrils of black mist followed, and coalesced into a small churning cloud of energy.

    “Get out!” The Dawn Herald suddenly realized what was happening and she hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

    Turning her attention to Hades, who was standing with his trusted lieutenants, Bellorum spoke in a clipped tone that left no room for discussion. “You must get out immediately. I need you to remotely get your shuttle moved closer and jump aboard -do NOT land it.”

    She paused long enough to glance back at the crack, and noted that two more had formed and were seeping blackness. “Forget my shuttle, and only wait a few minutes for me once you’re onboard,” her tone was grim now and not as angry. “You’ll know when to get the hell away, but I plan on being out of here in time.”

    Bellorum dismissed the group and turned to VPO. “You, stay with me, but be ready to run.”

    She took off in the opposite direction from Hades and his retreating troops. There wasn’t time to explain her discovery, but Hades was clever and he would be putting the pieces together. This place was a nexus of energy and it was going to blow...soon. Clearly someone, either the bloody Lorekeeper or the Jedi, had unknowingly set off a trap that protected the facility. There was no way of knowing how much time they had left, so Bellorum let the Force guide her. She ran hard before finally stopping at a small alcove in the passage. There was a small stone table lined with flickering candles. Her fingers traced the edges of the tables surface as she quickly studied the candles. There were flames, and radiated warmth, but there was no melted wax. The flames flickered as she waved her hands over them, but they didn’t burn the candlesticks. This had to be the place...

    Quickly, Bellorum ran her hands over the wall behind the table. She felt for any hint of an opening, or pressure point to open a secret wall, but came up with nothing. Looking back to the flames on the candles, she saw black vapors blowing past. Bellorum followed the trail of mist to a large gap in the wall to the left of the alcove.

    “I know this has to be it,” she muttered, “but what do they want...” Then, as if in answer, her hand went to her pocket. ’The journal?’

    She pulled the journal out and flipped through the pages, “I wish I’d had time to study this,” she muttered. Laying the journal on the table, Bellorum picked up one of the candles and held it so the flames caught the edges of the pages. Flames spread across the book and the flames leapt as if she’d doused the book with an accelerant. It engulfed the tabletop which sank towards the floor to reveal an open space in the stone wall. Inside sat two dust covered jeweled boxes that Bellorum snatched up and dropped into her pockets.

    The Dawn Herald was already running towards the exit when she shouted at VPO, “comm Hades that we’re on our way, and hurry up!”

    Tag: dragonsith13 E. L.Knight
     
  18. Lady Belligerent

    Lady Belligerent • WNU Adoptions Coordinator• star 7 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Jan 29, 2008
    Boy
    boy’s laboratory

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

    The boy turned to face the alien who had just spoken, and rolled his eyes skyward.

    “Sir, you had a shuttle.”

    Waving the Ithorian over to a large display, the boy keyed in commands and flipped past various images of the exterior and nearby outdoors. “Ah, here we are,” the boy's grubby finger made a greasy print on the screen where he directed Serapis to note.

    Carpets of a vibrant green had devoured the once expensive shuttle. The landing struts were no longer visible, having sunk down into the plant life.

    “I guess I left out a few details regarding the pains my Guardian went to when I was placed here?” The boy flipped off the display and climbed on a stool.

    “You see,” the boy began with a sigh, “my sibling doesn’t want me to escape, so he went to great lengths to keep me a prisoner here.” He motioned upward and continued, “you saw my overgrown babysitter up there? Try dealing with that for a few hundred years!” The boy visibly squirmed and calmed himself before he continued, “the perimeter of the castle grounds and swamp are enchanted, hexed, cursed - you name it. There are traps and sub traps, even more traps beyond that because he won’t let me out.”

    “The plant life will devour any nonorganic object outside the castle. So, any speeder or ship is swiftly broken down and digested. Your shuttle was dinner for the plants out there.”

    The boy hopped off the stool and paced between a couple of the labels filled with his experiments. “I’m allowed metals indoors, because he had to give me something to occupy my time. Time, hmmm. Once I kept a record of how long I’d been here, but I think it burned up in the first big fire.”

    He looked over at Serapis, “Fangor wasn’t flammable that time. But, I haven’t given up on that yet...”

    The boy crossed to the velvet draped object and began to untie the wrapping that protected it, while keeping his eyes on the still silent Alekto. The velvet drapes and satin ribbons were of place in the dirty, smog filled laboratory, and now they puddled around the base of a statue. It was clearly ancient, and in actuality made of materials that no longer could be mined in this galaxy. The boy circled his prized possession and watched Alekto with growing hunger in his expression.

    The statue was a cherubic faced child with an arm draped over a feline companion. The child’s body appeared weary and wearing tattered robes that fell to bare feet. It’s face was contorted in pain and grief. The boy traced a dirty finger along the statue's face as if he was tracing a teardrop.

    “Alekto,” The boy’s voice was soft and full of malevolence, “come here, my dear.”

    Alekto’s eyes blinked like she’d just been awakened from a deep sleep. She rubbed her wrist across her eyes to clear mental cobwebs as she nodded and crossed the chamber to stand near the boy. When she was close enough to smell him, she cringed slightly and sidestepped a bit. This action cause the boy to smile. He didn’t care what these beings thought of him. Why should he care? He was perfect.

    “Place your hand on the statue's head,” The boy told her, and Alekto didn’t argue. She felt her arm rise - it was impossible to resist. She was merely a puppet.

    The moment Alekto’s palm was resting on the statue's forehead, the boy began shouting. “Nyke udrāzma se statue naejot gūrogon issa naejot se jēda hen issa choosing.”

    Suddenly the statue illuminated and Alekto was no longer standing in the laboratory with Serapis and the boy. “I wonder where she went?” The boy circled the statue studying it. “You see, the statue is how my sibling visits. It’s the key to leaving.”

    The boy picked up the velvet drapes and began to cover the statue again. He retied the silken ribbons and inspected it until he was satisfied with the results.

    He felt tired after all that and went back to the winged back chair. His datapad was retrieved from beside the seat cushion and he browsed the latest edition of the Csilla Informer. It was one of the few publications he’d managed to find access to.

    Tag: DarthIshyZ dragonsith13
     
  19. QueenSabe7

    QueenSabe7 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Mar 23, 2001
    Combo with WookieeRage & Snokers!

    IC: Astra, Bo Etraa, Leda
    Casino, The Luxury Elite

    The girl sat in her chamber with a patron who was more attentive to the spice on the vanity of the eloquent room than her. Watching as the Quarian inhaled more spice she checked her datapad; new orders from the upper echelons of the brutal order Darth Ravenous forced her into. It was better than where she was heading though, she thought as the Quarian buckled back after taking a hit of spice. She was to meet Leda, an asset to this spec ops mission. She had never worked this deep with another female, who knows what direction it would go but she was prepared for anything.

    The stumbling Quarian flopped backwards upon her lap in a euphoric move.

    "Hoooo hooo hoo, that's some good kriffing spice, darling. What do you say we ruffle the sheets??"

    "Oh, forgive me.."

    Astra lamely grasped the Quarian's head and pulled her girder to his throat, choking him until his frail neck snapped in her lap. She pulled a com up and contacted Leda,

    "I'm free here, mi'lady, ready when you are..."

    The com cut out as Astra pulled her dress off and switched into her infiltrator tights and pulled her red hair back, securing it with the steel picks.

    Leda was smiling, thoroughly enjoying the foot traffic down this particular thoroughfare of the Luxury Elite, slowly weaving her way through a large casino area in full Togruta. She barely noticed her prosthetics and attire anymore as the sights and sounds surrounding her assaulted her senses in the most welcome way. The only annoyance she was currently experiencing was the return of that odd tingling at the center of her stomach, the continuous discomfort last felt directly after the vision.

    A vision she was refusing to acknowledge.

    With a sigh she pressed a hand upon her bare midsection, willing the sensation to dissipate but she swore it only kriffing grew in response. She frowned.

    Startling her from her deepening anxiety, her comm buzzed against her wrist and she quickly stepped off to the side to receive the incoming message. It was from the new girl, Astra, and it appeared her soon-to-be partner was ready to move.

    About damn time.

    “Oh, I’ve been ready,”she replied slyly, knowing what the pair of them would soon be setting out to do. “Meet me at the aft casino…” She trailed off, yellow-green eyes scanning about for an appropriate spot. An array of card tables were spread out before her and she spied an opening at the closest one.

    “Sabacc table nine,” she finished before cutting the line and sauntering over to take the empty chair. She had more than enough credits for this mission, what harm would it do to use a few as she waited for Astra to show?

    Astra dragged the corpse across the room with ease, her mind still whirring from her dabbling into the spice. In the middle of this action, something caught her eye; a fashionable cloak embroidered with expensive stones. Something for the corpses 'date', perhaps? It mattered not as she already had her hands on it by the time the dead man's head hit the floor.

    She exited the room into the hall adorned in the fancy cloak. It was more than that though. It covered her custom hold out blasters and helped her blend in. She would have mobility and firepower.

    The Assassin passed many different species that wandered the halls and she had no sense of time. Seeing these creatures in various states of euphoria only helped her read their minds, their desires... It all helped in her purpose within the Empire.. Simply to end life for another.

    Before she knew it, she was in the casino grand hall overlooking the gaming floor from a balcony. Leda...

    She murmered as the spice hit her full force. She stumbled into the railing clumsily and a security guard came to her side to assist her. He grabbed around her waist to hold her up and Astra grasped for him in an act. As she did she slipped a Card Key from his pocket.

    "Ohh, excuse me... I must be lacking of sleep. Thank you officer.."

    She batted her eyes at him and he smiled back. She waited for him to move on and she made her way to Leda. Her mind started thumping to the music that played from a Bith band on stage. She crept up through the crowd fluidly before addressing the Sith before her, being careful not to draw too much attention to them being together.

    "Leda..."

    Demurely playing the hand she was dealt, Leda’s eyes repeatedly flitted up to scan the area.

    Security was tight aboard this ship. She spotted several surveillance cams just in her immediate vicinity, in addition to a decent number of burly guards that were milling about in the crowds. It was clear to see how heavily armed they all were, even the one or two dealers she could see from this angle. Peeking up from her cards a final time, she halted on one such guard who was standing a short distance away, reptilian gaze holding steady upon hers. A snake-like tongue flitted out of the side of its mouth in a suggestive manner and she suppressed a gag, masking it quickly with a wink before happily looking elsewhere.

    Gross.

    “Waiting on you, doll,” a gruff voice said at her side. Leda turned to see a sweaty, overweight human male leering at her from the seat directly to her right.

    Again, gross.

    He reached out suddenly to place a grubby hand on her upper thigh, to which she reacted perhaps a bit too swiftly. Tabling her cards, her own hand flew underneath the lip of the gaming surface and snatched his porky fingers up at an angle that would potentially snap bone. If she just pulled back a fraction further…

    He yelped, she smirked. Apparently togruta females were in demand around here.

    “Now, now sir. Where are your manners?” she purred. “Besides, you are very much not my type. I can assure you.”

    She laughed knowingly as she took pleasure in the idiot she had a hold of grunting in barely-controlled pain. It was a fleeting enjoyment; a familiar presence was pressing in on her from someplace behind and she stiffened, glancing over her shoulder.

    Astra was approaching in a somewhat unsteady state, adorned in flashy cloak.

    Leda rolled her eyes and stood, releasing the man as her red-headed companion arrived and addressed her. “I fold,” she directed to the dealer before turning to face Astra, motioning with a nod of her head that they walk together. Once they were moving amongst the other foot traffic, the warrior eyed the other woman suspiciously. Something seemed off about her.

    “Been having some fun, have you?”

    Astra noticed an inquisitive look from the one-eyed pit boss piercing her across the table. Her euphoria from the spice began to double once more. She nodded to Leda and closed the distance between the two Sith. In one solid action Astra brushed her hand up the front of Leda sensually before whispering into her ear and sliding the keycard into Leda's belt.

    "We're being watched Mi'Lady.. One-eyed pit boss over there. I'm yours to command..."

    Leda frowned as she continued to scrutinize her companion. Astra hadn’t paid her question any mind, instead halting the pair only a few steps into their walk. Next thing she knew, the red-head had stepped in as close as two beings could get without, well… yea. Anyways, then a hand was touching her rather boldly and something slid into the waistband of her skirt.

    She snatched at the woman’s wrist to still her, listening to her speak. Casually glancing over her shoulder in the direction she had indicated, Leda made in impatient sound in her throat and rolled her eyes.

    “Paranoid, much?”she whispered before fully turning herself around, slowly, while draping an arm around Astra’s middle and pulling her against her side. “He just likes what he sees, is all,”she continued softly, wiggling her fingers at their ‘observer’ before planting a quick kiss on her fellow Sith’s cheek. For show, of course.

    With a smirk, she released her hold and checked her comm. “Even out. That’s what I, um… command.”

    The pit boss's single eye wasn't the only one on Astra, Bo Etraa sat on a tall chair at the bar, sliding a glass of black liquid from palm to palm, stealing glances at the woman.

    These must be my new peers he thought.

    He had been offered a small bag of some 'alleged' spice by a skinny, under-dressed man with sunken eyes and an accent he couldn't quite place. Bo was not a partaker of spice, a few goblets of liquor was as far as he was willing to warp his mind. He did enjoy a good game of sabaac though.

    He necked the rest of the crystal goblet and started towards the table, groping the blaster tucked under his arm and painting a winning smile across his face as he approached.

    Astra grasped the spice without paying the man as he held it out. When the man demanded money, Astra hissed directly into the spice-dealers face aggressively before changing her demeanor to an innocent giggle. Cutting off Bo's approach she stood before him. Her eyes stone-cold staring into his soul as she grasped her leg-fixed hold out blaster. Oh how she wished for her Marksman Blaster.

    Leda’s mouth actually hung agape as she witnessed Astra randomly accept a little bag of spice from a stranger, right in front of her. What in the kriff was this girl playing at? It better not be her time, because the warrior would cut this newbie loose faster than she could spell her own name.

    Before she could retort or snatch the illicit substance from the other’s hands, a new face of the much more intriguing sort intruded on her thoughts. A young man, brooding and handsome - if she appreciated that sort of thing - strode up to Astra, seemingly transfixed by the red-head.

    Leda did not know his presence, as he certainly had one, and had never seen him before yet she knew exactly who he was. She had been expecting him, after all.

    “Bo…” she whispered, stepping back into her female companion’s side, eyeing their new team member with open suspicion. “Bo Etraa?”

    All she knew was this one better be sober.

    He smiled politely at Astra, he knew she was part of the group but thought her too deep in spiceland to engage in coherent conversation so he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and bypassed her, feeling her eyes bore into the back of his head as he walked towards Leda and pulled up a chair.

    "It's awfully nice to meet you." He said with a wry smile, tapping a middle finger half covered by an enormous crystal-encrusted golden ring on the table.

    To be continued...


    TAGS: WookieeRage Snokers Lady Belligerent
     
  20. Lady Belligerent

    Lady Belligerent • WNU Adoptions Coordinator• star 7 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Jan 29, 2008
    Combo featuring Wanderguard as The Night Herald.

    IC: Dr. Cal Jepsun and Lady Hel
    the Revelator

    Cal cringed from a viewing suite as he watched his patient flip up and over her opponent below in the gym. Hel’s recovery has been nothing short of miraculous, and Cal knew it was mostly due to the Force rather than his skill in medicine. Hel landed effortlessly. Her opponent, who was a non-Force user that was twice her size, raised his staff and a spun it viciously towards her throat. Cal closed his eyes and fought off the urge to stop the match and drag her from the gym on the spot. Opening his eyes again, he saw Hel reaching down to give her opponent a hand up from the mat. Clearly she’d avoided the staff to her throat and managed to lay the poor fellow out in the second Cal hadn’t watched.

    Cal treated Hel like a much younger sibling and was more than a little over protective, which only caused her to be more reckless. She’d sensed her physician watching, and Hel had begun to push herself harder. It was a game she played to raise her saviors stress level. The two were now more comfortable, and now shared a small bit of awkward banter when alone together.

    Hel was laughing at something the defeated man was saying as they shook hands. Her next challenger was already standing behind her when Cal realized it was the Dark Lord himself, bereft of his Imperial vestments and clad instead in a loose black tunic and cloak, baggy pants, a silk sash and calves wrapped with cording. He was dressed to train.

    She’d felt it when he’d approached behind her. Swallowing back a cringe, she turned to face the Night Herald. “My Lo...er, father, “she greeted him softly and inclined her head. “I’m still not sure how I should address you...sir.”

    "Address me... however you will," he answered with reservedness unbecoming of a Dark Lord. But, he wouldn't presume to dictate such a thing, at least not in private. The two were almost perfect strangers, and apart from her wiry build, she was very little like him. He would grant that there was a definite resemblance, most of all in her prominent nose which might as well have been his own. But she didn't walk like him. She didn't brood or glower like he did. She didn't share his trilling Coruscanti accent. Instead she was, in both appearance and mannerism, a carbon copy of her mother. A mother she had never met, and who she could only ever know through the man who had killed her. Silently he hoped that the sparring session to come might begin to bridge that gap.

    With little more than a flick of his gaze, he levitated a smooth wooden staff into Hel's grip. "Careful now," he warned as her fingers found the weapon. "I'm old. Not as fast as I used to be, and a bit brittle."

    Hel had been feeling the balance of the staff from the moment it had landed in her grasp. He’d selected the perfect length and weight for her, but that did little to soothe her nerves. She’d heard plenty of gossip at the Temple, and since she’d been awake on his ship, about what a dangerous opponent he was.

    “I’m sure that you need to be going easy on me,” Hel spoke in a calm and soft tone, “you claim to be aged, but I’m the one who is fresh from knocking at death’s gate.”

    One corner of his mouth curved upward. A crooked smile, but there was no malice in his gaze. Rather, something akin to pride. "We are all knocking at death's gate all of the time, my dear," he answered. "It is only the strong-willed of us who are able to delay the act of stepping through."

    He stood tall and straight, hands clasped behind his back, and nodded to signal his readiness.

    In an almost nonchalant manner she feigned to step away, but instead sprang at the Dark Lord hoping to catch him off guard. Bringing up her front knee, she’d pulled the staff back and then launched herself forward while thrusting the end of it towards the middle of his torso. He avoided the attack with a simple twist of his shoulders, slipping it by scarcely an inch.

    Undeterred, Hel pressed her forward momentum to tumble over his head and land lightly behind holding her staff, poised to press the attack. He simply followed, watching her acrobatics with admiration and pivoting with a single lazy step so that he would face her when she landed. He countered before another strike could fall, or even fully consider doing so, and with a sudden stutter-step inward he reached out. The back of his right hand met the staff - softly at first, slipping in and around to push it downward. Then his left fist shot forward from center, halting just before it met the middle of her chest. In that instant his eyes locked with her own, and then he followed through, pushing her just firmly enough with an open palm to send her stumbling back.

    "You have a long staff. I have only hands. Distance is your friend," he offered, and straightened to the relaxed posture he had held before. He was enjoying this, though he wondered how well he was hiding it. Not well, he wagered.

    Up in the spectator suite, Cal had moved a chair over so he could sit down to watch. He couldn’t imagine Haretisch harming Hel, but he couldn’t help but think what a bad idea this seemed to be.

    Hel gathered her footing and nodded that she understood - this would be more difficult than the fodder she had been given before. She rushed forward, letting her grip on the staff slide. When she came into range she was holding it near to one end, and brought it over her head in a tight arc, slashing downward then across to aim for the side of his knee.

    Sidestepping, Haretisch allowed the first attack to sail by, but took the second - the staff sounded sharply as it snapped against his left knee. The blow would certainly leave a mark, but he had known worse pain and he didn't flinch. The attack likely would have felled most in a single go.

    "Very good," he nodded, his expression impassive. "Attack the vulnerable places - knees, groin, throat, eyes, ears. There is no honor in a fight - only who lives, and who dies." His eyes grew weary. "Someday, I'll tell you the story of how honor was your grandfather's undoing. And how it killed his wife and orphaned his son."

    “I would be very interested to hear that story, sir,” Hel answered quietly as she wiped her brow and relaxed her stance. “I’ve grown weary, and it’s past time for my appointment with Dr. Jepsun,” she’d continued on in a soft and tired tone. Rather than waiting to see if the Night Herald had fell for her feint, she leapt towards him, viciously spearing towards his chest.

    He hadn't. The staff jerked to a halt before it could meet its target - caught in the vice-like grip of his right hand. He met her gaze intensely, but a hint of mischief played at one corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid I'm far too old and clever to trick, dear girl." His grip relaxed, releasing the staff. "You are regaining your strength, surely. But have patience. Rest now," he instructed, and turned to leave. "And tell Jepsun that I've given you free reign of the ship. A cage is no friend to the healing process. Your quarters are next to mine - behave yourself."

    Hel nodded both in respect and acknowledgment, but she was clearly taken aback. She’d really never had her own quarters. Instead she’d been hidden in a cell-like chamber off the labs or in a med bay.

    ’perhaps tales about him were grossly exaggerated,’ Hel thought as he’d walked away. She glanced up to the observers box and waved to Dr. Cal and pointed towards the exit to let him know she was going to his lab. Once she was done with her check up she has some exploring to do! Where to go first...

    Tag: No one
     
  21. DarthIshyZ

    DarthIshyZ Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Jan 8, 2005
    IC: Serapis
    boy’s laboratory

    "Lovely! Shuttle's gone. I had some of my favorite explosives on there!" The Ithorian shook his heavy head.

    He listened carefully as he described this area. The boy was trapped here. Likely Serapis and Alekto, too. And Arach, where ever she was. This really was an ill-fated trip.

    But he did know now that the other being was named "Fangor," and was the keeper or babysitter. If he was Force sensitive, too (and likely was to keep this boy trapped) then he probably knew most everything happening here in this laboratory. That unsettled Serapis a bit more.

    The boy brought him out of his reverie by calling Alekto over to him and some strange statue statue. Serapis listened as the boy said some words, strange words, yet somehow familiar. Suddenly Alekto was gone.

    Serapis was now all alone with this "boy." Well, alone for now. "Nice magic trick." he said "Look, if we can get away from here, I have a group that can utilize your skills, as well as those of your siblings, if they're still alive."

    He wasn't done trying something unorthodox, though. Serapis walked over to the statue and put his hand on it, curious if he could get it to do the same thing as the boy had. It was worth trying, anyway. "Is this how you do it? Nyke udrāzma se statue naejot gūrogon issa naejot se jēda hen issa choosing."

    Tags: corinthia, Lady Belligerent, dragonsith13
     
  22. Isley_27

    Isley_27 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Dec 22, 2016
    IC: Alva/Derin Kato, Kralkus, Boba Fett (Combo with Wanderguard]
    The Luxury Elite's Casino and Fine Dining

    The casino floor never seemed to tire. Flashing lights, bells and whistles and buzzers sounded at every corner. The smell of booze and smoke and bad decisions hung thick like a low cloud.

    Kralkus sat in a relatively safe corner, at a table in a restaurant tucked into an alcove to one side - from over a nearby half-wall the largest portion of the casino floor was visible. Darth Alva sat opposite him.

    And across the way, tucked back in a similar spot in another, smaller restaurant, was one Boba Fett, clad in familiar weathered green and sat at a table with a woman on each knee.

    "Hrmph," Kralkus growled low in his throat - a signal that he was thinking. "Get into his room, we must. Discretely. Suggestions, do you have?"

    Alva reached for the drink to the left side of him on the table. It had a two-fold purpose, one to conceal his mouth whenever he spoke. Two, well, to put it simply he was a bit thirsty. Raising the ale to his lips he answered Kralkus, "He'll need to be distracted somehow." He said, then took a sip.

    While swirling the drink, he tried to think of a way to keep the bounty hunter's attention so they could get to work. Glancing at the sloshing liquor for a few more moments soon brought an idea forward. "I've got a plan," A smirk came to his lips. "One of us needs to stay down here with him. Buy him a round of drinks, strike up a conversation, maybe even gamble with him. Whatever keeps him here and not at his suite is the goal, right?." After downing the rest of his drink in one gulp and setting the glass back on the table, he got up from his seat. "I'll keep him busy somehow for a few hours if you want to do the honors of extracting the data we need."

    Kralkus huffed. "Make conversation you will. With Boba Fett. Excellent plan." The old master climbed to his feet, still atop his chair, before hopping down and meeting the floor with a grunt. Lips pursed, Kralkus reached up and drew a hood over his head, as though it might help him more easily blend in. With a nod, he dashed off, vaulted over the half-wall, and disappeared into the crowd.

    Across the way, Boba Fett had stood from his seat and was leisurely approaching a discrete side door - with a handsome Twi'lek woman in tow.

    The master seemed to vanish into the crowd, though no doubt it was probably easier for him to go unnoticed. The chatter and noise of merry making filled the restaurant, and Alva was determined to do a bit of blending into it himself. He took a deep breath, twisted his neck so that it popped, and moved forward. Once again, he was Derin.

    As he took each step closer towards Fett's table, Derin's stride became uneven and unsteady. He slumped his shoulders forward, as if he no longer cared about his posture. In it all, he was giving off a look of someone who had had too much to drink. His face displayed a look of pure ignorant bliss, like nothing no else mattered but his own enjoyment in life. Boba Fett was only a few meters away, if Derin was going to do anything then now was the perfect time.

    Derin took his next step, and accidentally tripped over his own feet. He staggered forward, reaching out with both arms to grab hold of anything he could find. He veered to his side and grabbed the ends of a table to stop him from falling to the floor. Thankfully the table was bolted so it only jerked a bit, but still managed to rock the drinks and orderves from their places.

    Derin, now steadied by the table, raised his arm up in a gesture of apology in front the hunter. "Sorry bout that-," The southern accent he had dawned when they first arrived carried back over in his tone. "Guess I had one too many to handle...But I ain't drunk!" He said, pointing at the bounty hunter. Though his arm wobbled slightly and he let out an inward hiccup, making it appear to counter his last statement. "I can still fly a fighter clear across the galaxy an' back in nine parsecs." He swung his arm out to drive home the point he so stupidly tried to make. His hand had knocked over one of the drinks on the table, spilling it and shattering the glass to pieces on Fett's boot.

    "Whoops" he cackled, like it had been the most hilarious thing had seen in years. He most have been laughing for over a minute until finally composing himself. He looked at the hunter, then sqinted his eyes like he had difficulty making out his figure. "Hold the holonet, ain't you-" He began laughing again, " Well I'll be a bantha's uncle! Your the famous Bobo..ahh-" He was snapping his fingers trying to recall the name. "Boba Fett!"

    He rose to his feet, and awkwardly approached. "The name's Derin, Derin Kato! Sorry bout the mess..hey lemme make it up to ya! Can I buy you a drink? Maybe even get you the company of another hot piece of work like ya got right here?," He winked at the Twi'lek woman, but she returned his flirting act with a sour frown.

    "You soiled my boot," Fett rasped, looking down from his T-shaped visor. "And you're bothering my entertainment." His voice was emotionless but for a sight tinge of agitation - though it was less the kind of agitation one would reserve for a genuine threat, and more what one would spare an insect. "Neither of those things puts me in a good mood."

    "I know! I know! And I can't tell ya how blasted sorry I am about that." Derin placed a hand onto Fett's shoulder, a calculated risk. Expecting to see the barrel of an EE-3 carbine blaster rifle pointing at him at any moment. "I swear I'll buy ya a brand new pair if ya like...now how bout that drink."

    As he said this a long blonde haired female human waitress wearing a skin tight black dress and stockings came walking by. Derin reached out and tugged at her arm before she could pass on through. "Excuse me darlin', hate to pull you in like this so sudden but I'm treating my new friend here. Would you mind takin' his order? He reached clumsily into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a 100 credit chip. Then pulled her close to slide the chip down her laced stocking. "And here's a little something for ya troubles sweetheart." The waitress smiled at the large tip she had just received, "Right away!" Then turned to the green armored man.

    "Can I get you anything sir?" She asked, her voice soft and smooth.

    Boba responded wordlessly, dismissing her with the wave of a gloved hand. A nudge and subtle gesture similarly told the woman on his arm that she was no longer needed, and she and the server both excused themselves.

    As for Alva, or Derin Kato rather, he would find himself staring at the blank countenance of Fett's visor for a long moment, before the bounty hunter snorted a laugh. "You're just the kind of fool I need. Come on," he instructed, and turned to leave, clearly having something specific in mind.

    Tag Darth_wanderguard
     
  23. Lady Belligerent

    Lady Belligerent • WNU Adoptions Coordinator• star 7 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Jan 29, 2008
    IC: Dark Lady Bellorum
    the crumbling temple of Izax

    The corridor walls were crumbling around them. Stone walls groaned, slowly breaking down around Bellorum as she retraced her steps. She had to Force push larger pieces that seemed to be targeting her as they fell. “VPO! Faster!”

    The Dawn Herald hadn’t wasted a moment to glance back and check to see if VPO was actually following. There was no need because she clearly heard his complaints echoing behind her as she ran. Bellorum realized the snarky droid was actually starting to grow on her. The Lorekeeper would have to find a new droid because he wasn’t getting this one back.

    Ahead of them she saw the narrow entrance. Light streamed through dangling vines that rippled in the wind. Bellorum felt something bump into her from behind as she had slowed. Endless expletives and complaints were streaming from the protocol droid as she grabbed his arm and dashed through the opening.

    Hades had dutifully followed her instructions and had his shuttle hovering just above the ground and as close to the entrance as he’d deemed safe. Bellorum ran towards it practically dragging VPO. She lithely jumped into the open hatch of the shuttle, but she'd slightly underestimated the droid’s weight. His legs banged against the edge of the shuttle before Bellorum pulled him the rest of the way inside.

    Without a word she turned to one of Hades armored troopers and nodded to seal the hatch and launch. The falling Temple was crumbling at an ever-faster pace and clouds of dust had engulfed the shuttle as Bellorum had dragged VPO aboard.

    She left the droid laying face down on the floor and went in search of the refresher and privacy.

    Hades private cabin was the first, and best, option. She’d washed away the dust from her hands and tried to shake as much off her clothing as possible. Bellorum felt like she’d been cut off from her business dealings for months, when it had actually been a matter of days. Her datapad connected and was instantly filled with urgent messages demanding her attention. Many she flagged to forward to Hades to manage, but one in particular caught her attention.

    After reading through the message twice, she had smoothed back her mussed hair and sighed. She’d have to speak with someone she’d been avoiding.

    Tag: Darth_wanderguard E. L.Knight dragonsith13
     
  24. Darth_wanderguard

    Darth_wanderguard Game Host star 6 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Apr 26, 2005
    GM UPDATE

    ~Location: The Revelator~
    ~One month since Mortis~

    (combo post with Lady Belligerent)

    The Night Herald's groan of relief was under his breath, but audible nonetheless as he eased into the only chair in his private quarters. It wasn't a soft chair - a slightly unforgiving one in actuality, crafted of solid hardwood and devoid of any cushioning. But it allowed him a measure of relaxation. He would have hoped with his body having been reconstituted when he returned from Chaos, that he might have come back a bit younger. His left arm and right leg were of course given back to him in organic form after having once been cybernetically replaced - it stood to reason the next step might as well have been taken. But no such luck, as he felt every one of his forty nine years. Maybe he was given back his limbs for the sake of more aching joints. A weak recompense for past deeds, he wagered.

    Sinking further into the chair, or at least as much as one could do with one so adamantine as that in question, for a moment he may have dozed. Until his comm sounded, of course. With a particular tone no less, and one he wasn't expecting to hear. The Dawn Herald.

    With any sense of ease now thoroughly ruined, he reached to the end table and answered the call, prepared for a verbal beating just in case. The familiar image of Darth Bellorum appeared, looking slightly worse for wear.

    "You're speaking to me again?" he asked, his voice tinged with fatigue and mock bemusement.

    Bellorum’s eyes narrowed and blinked. It would have been so easy to reply with something clever. If she wasn’t careful they would fall into a comfortable exchange about their day. ’I wrecked an ancient temple and killed some unworthy apprentices. How was your day?’ No! That would lead to a few laughs, a bottle of wine, and then end up tangled in his cool satin sheets. Damn him!

    “No,” she replied, “do I appear to be speaking?”

    Damn him to all seven hells because she had decided not to be cheeky.

    Bellorum was painfully aware that she must look a mess, her shuttle was likely buried under rubble and she’d had to commandeer Hades private quarters the moment they’d rushed aboard his shuttle. Leave it to Haretisch to make her self conscious over the dust that covered her hair and garments.

    "I'm afraid you're somewhat a disappointment, then," he responded. "You've given me the silent treatment for weeks in more ways than one - I am beginning to turn... a bit blue. But nevermind that. I should assume your speaking to me in spite of not speaking to me would mean this is of some import."

    “Well then, the flesh will blacken and rot. You might want to get that checked out before amputation becomes necessary,” Bellorum responded with a straight face. “Also, stop trying to make me like you.”

    She brushed back a stray lock of hair before continuing, “yes, we need to discuss an opportunity that just came to my attention.”

    Her first act after boarding and falling into a seat, had been to quickly scan her datapad. A long list of issues required her attention, but she’d need Haretisch to make this work.

    "Opportunism is one of your virtues," he noted. "What is it this time? A chance to get rid of Insipid, I hope. Don't disappoint me twice in one day."

    “Very funny that you speak of disappointment,” Bellorum grumbled before jumping straight to her point. “Reports have reached me that you’ve amassed a...uh, ‘unique’ military unit. Is there truth in this?”

    "That would depend on one's definition of 'unique', 'military', and 'amassed'," he responded.

    “Okay, so you have. Good.” She leaned closer and continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Luxury Elite, it’s a very popular venue for gaming, sports, and many other activities. An associate is looking to replace two prize fighters who are no longer able to fulfill their match.”

    "You mean the two top-ranked prizefighters in the unknown regions? The ones who were both 'mysteriously' murdered right before the 'fight of the century'?" Haretisch was deadpan. "Certainly you had nothing to do with it. What I'm less certain of is why you need my help finding the combatants. I seem to recall one High Lord Ravenous is now a known part of your power base - or would that be too good a show? And what of Hades? Serapis, even - I would pay my own money and not just someone else's to see that one's head smashed into an even more unsightly shape than it already is."

    “You do realize this fight will be broadcast across the galaxy? If Ravenous ate his opponent, the Holonet would impose extremely heavy fines. I won’t have that eating up our profits.” Haretisch seemed fairly informed on the match, and Bellorum knew he would understand just how much the Empire stood to gain. “I cannot spare Hades, and I happen to know you have some very impressive fighters.”

    "Yes, I am well aware of the scope we are dealing with here," he replied sharply. "But my own retinue is no less valuable than your own. Who am I to offer up for potential slaughter? Lord Draconis? Lady Syren? Kralkus? Nonsense. You would ask me to risk Hel if you thought I would do it and that you could gain something. And who is to say they would even agree? What would they have to gain if..." he paused.

    The Night Herald had almost forgotten the holocron. His holocron, and the two apprentices who sought to take it from Grievance Vexx... who would no doubt be eager to redeem himself against Darth Alva.

    TAG: no one, yet
     
  25. Snokers

    Snokers Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 8, 2015
    IC: Darth Anark

    Aboard his downed shuttle, Zakuulian Swamps...


    The Sith toyed with his lightsaber hilt, turning it around in his hands and then allowing the Force to take hold of it. He reached out with his thoughts as the hilt levitated and slowly spun above his open palm.

    Something was amiss. He wasn't thinking of Insipid's unsettling request that the Jedi be kept alive and delivered safely, no, it was an itch at the back of his mind that had plagued him since the beginning of his trek through the swamps with the giant hounds. A familiar presence, one that was trying to make contact, the weakest of signals attempting to traverse the tendrils of the Force, searching, seeking him out. This presence was a familiar one, but one long lost. He couldn't place it. The various 'personalities' that resided within Anark insisted that it was nothing, a blip on the radar of his fractured psyche. Stay focused on the task at hand. For yourself. For all of us. Still he attempted to decipher it.

    The lightsaber hilt began to gain more momentum and spin more rapidly above his hand as a myriad of images flashed before him like some strangely intense holo presentation - a dark forest, a hard strike to the back of the head, followed by the unpleasant, damp coolness of blood trickling down his scalp in the cold night air. Then a ship, a large one, star destroyer by design but much less military as his mind's eye gazed further inside. He smelled smoke and spice, patrons from a thousand worlds going lazily about their business under drab scarlet lights. The sound of the lightsaber hilt whooshing in the air penetrated his visions. Those familiar voices inside began to argue amongst themselves about nothing in particular. The fuzzy silhouette of a man striding into a pit of space faring scum and spice smugglers before merging with the smokey haze that lingered around the large room and disappearing into nothing. This was the man he sought, or rather, the man who was seeking him, using the Living Force to attempt to make contact.

    A sharp pain pricked his temple as the lightsaber shot up, bounced off the cockpit's ceiling with a clang and rebounded, returning to his hand.

    "Hazamuze!!" Tiq's high pitched tones came echoing all the way from the back of the downed ship. The lights in the cockpit came to life, consoles flashing and beeping all around. The steady vibration of the shuttle powering up reverberated beneath the Sith's boots. He clipped his weapon back onto it's place on his belt, slapped his temples lightly to quiet the voices and shake off the ominous visions he'd just experienced and opened a hatch in the top of the cockpit. Anark climbed the ladder and popped his head out to look at the Jedi preparing to bury their dead comrade. Zakuul's swamps were darker now, nightfall would be upon them very soon.

    "Boys," Anark shouted with a kind of mocking sincerity. He grinned and waved an arm theatrically back and forth above his head, "Don't make me leave without you!"


     
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