Dark Reach: Episode I - AN ORDER REMADE










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Welcome to the first installment of the Dark Reach series!

GAME OVERVIEW
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Dark Reach: Episode I - AN ORDER REMADE chronicles the continuing story of the Sith Triumvirate and its disciples. As was true of the previous installments, this game will serve as an extension of the EUC Sith Empire. Members of that group will find participation here to be of significant benefit to their progress, but non-members who are interested may still join as a Jedi or Sith character, or even a non-force user. Players will be given a degree of control of storylines based on the actions their characters take. However, GMs do reserve the right to steer as they see fit to fulfill planned story events. GMs are Sinrebirth, Lady Belligerent, and Darth_wanderguard.

HOW TO JOIN
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To join the game, first read the entire opening post.

Next, fill out the character sheet template provided, and private message to Sinrebirth, Lady Belligerent, and Darth_wanderguard for discussion and approval. They will advise on the next steps.

Lastly, creativity in character creation is encouraged - characters with unusual species and backgrounds are appreciated, provided that they work within the narrative framework of the story and universe in which it takes place. Players should be willing to work with GMs in developing characters who fit the environment and are still the vision of their creators.

CHARACTER DEATH
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As has been demonstrated in the previous installment, character death can and will happen over the course of the game. It should be a rare occurrence, but players who fail to follow instructions out of character, and/or intentionally disrespect a high ranking lord in-character may find themselves dead. The player in question may create a new character if they wish to continue playing - that new character's level, and the corresponding player's standing within the larger Sith Empire organization - are at the full discretion of the GMs and their advisors.

THE STORY SO FAR
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Following the events of 155 ABY, the remaining survivors of the Battle of Mortis flee across time to 5 ABY, one year following the destruction of the second Death Star, and reluctantly swear allegiance to Grand Admiral Thrawn and his Empire of the Hand for the sake of their own survival.

Installed as the governors of Zakuul, rechristened New Moraband, the Sith begin to make their mark in this new time. Darth Insipid begins laying plans and enlists seven Sith to recreate an order of his own vision, Darth Bellorum scours the unknown regions for commodities to sell on the black market, and Darth Haretisch secures resources for an Imperial intelligence agency consisting of his own power base.

Meanwhile Darth Syren meets a peculiar cult leader on Taris, Darth Serapis is briefly taken prisoner by an adolescent genius, Darth Kronos encounters the fledgling First Order whilst on diplomatic assignment, Aryan Graul finds his loyalties divided, Darth Hades resolves to be Insipid’s undoing, Darth Saadi becomes the Emperor’s new apprentice, Soliloquy gains a new body, Darth Ravenous undergoes a diabolical procedure to become a Sithspawn, the cyborg Grievance Vexx begins to learn about the force from Darth Draconis, Darth Anark’s estranged brother emerges, and Cocytus awaits promotion.

Ultimately all paths lead to one destination - a luxury casino ship, a retrofitted Star Destroyer, named the Luxury Elite. The Sith strike up a business deal with the crime family which owns and operates the resort, and Grievance Vexx is scheduled to duel Darth Alva in two months time in a high-profile prizefight.

When the day comes, however, betrayal strikes the Sith once again. Darth Insipid reveals himself as the new leader of the First Order and carries out a successful attack on the Night Herald’s capital ship with help from Kwea Acantha. Bellorum enacts her own coup, murdering the entire crime family, having paid off the ship’s security team months before using the funds from a jewel heist. A First Order dreadnought decants from hyperspace, and the Luxury Elite erupts into violence at every corner as Bellorum orders the other triumvirs and their forces removed from the ship.

Ultimately Bellorum secures control of the ship and her enemies are routed. The stage is set for the War of Three.

For six months each side subtly maneuvers and builds strength, until at last the skirmishes erupt into full-scale pitched battle on New Moraband.

Darth Haretisch’s Imperium of the Fist wins the day thanks to Grand Admiral Jerod, but not without a high cost as the Twilight Sun obliterates the citadel in an orbital strike at Bellorum’s command, neutralizing the planet’s only strategic value.

Several of the fallen, among other Sith who have disappeared, are kidnapped to and brought unknowingly to the Bedlam Asylum, where the sinister Dr. Shadow engages in macabre experiments.

Meanwhile, Aryan Graul grapples with civil unrest while trying to tame Nirauan, the capital of Thrawn’s old Empire of the Hand, Insipid stages an attack on a treasure ship hauling the larger part of Bellorum’s wealth, and an Imperium special forces team targets Heskal on a desolate planet.

The First Order continues to raid and reave the unknown regions even as Insipid attempts to unlock the secrets surrounding Dr. Shadow, while the Imperium and Twilight Sun meet in pitched battle again in the Hapes Cluster. Darth Haretisch is captured, and the Imperium is forced to retreat to Nirauan to regroup.

Aryan Graul takes control of the Imperium with Darth Kralkus, Grand Admiral Jerod, and Darth Francium as advisors, while Darth Syren and Hel lead a rescue attempt to Hapes to recover the Imperator.

All roads meet at Bedlam, where Dr. Shadow has revealed himself as the real Snoke and Insipid as only an impostor. The two clash and Snoke takes control of the First Order, as Jerod arrives with the full Imperium fleet, now allied with Darth Bellorum’s Twilight Sun.

Battle erupts, and revelations are made - Snoke has staged the battle in an attempt to open the gate to the World Between Worlds, intending to escape into the multiverse. Typhojem reaches through to destroy both fleets, and in a heroic act Darth Insipid launches half the remaining Sith through the gateway to safety before slamming the door shut.

Darths Haretisch, Bellorum, Syren, Aryan Graul, Jerod, Grievance Vexx, and Darth Anark emerge in 1200 BBY, in the heart of the New Sith Wars, and Insipid is left to pick up the pieces with Darth Kronos, Soliloquy, Ravenous, Cocytus and others.

CHARACTER SHEET
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Name:
Sex:
Age:
Species:
Homeworld:

Height:
Weight:
Physical Attributes:
Clothing:
Abilities:
Weapons/Tools:

Occupation/Title:
Family:
Associates:
Biography:

GAME RULES
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1. All posts must be TOS-friendly.
2. Character level in-game is tied intrinsically with rank in the Sith Empire.
3. The GM team reserves the right to alter or disregard any post and/or remove any player or character from the game due to godmoding, unfollowed instructions, or behavioral concerns.
4. The GM team retains final decision on all story-related decisions for all characters within the framework of the game. By submitting a character sheet you agree that the GMs may resolve your character's story any way they see fit - but the GMs claim no exclusivity in the character's use with regards to other games. There is no such thing as intellectual property among creations of Star Wars fan fiction.
5. The main objectives are to have fun, and to tell a compelling story. This game is not a competition, save with ourselves. Be courteous to your fellow players and mindful of their experience.
6. Challenge yourself to improve. The GM team is here as a resource - consult on anything you're unsure about and ask as many questions as you need to. Take note of the good and bad habits of other players.
7. When creating a new character, keep in mind that the game takes place in 6 ABY, in the new Disney continuity, or 1200 BBY, in the Legends continuity. In other words, there is no Jedi Order currently in existence, and any trained force users will have been in hiding dating back to Order 66 in 6 ABY.
8. All combo posts must be approved by a GM.

 

Triumvirate Approved:​

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Sex: Male
Age: 53
Species: Human
Homeworld: Nubia

Height: 6’2”
Weight: Average
Physical Attributes: Where his tall frame, confident stride, and impish smirk used to define him as a strong and charismatic politician, Aryan’s injury has left him a shadow of his former self. The zeal has faded from his blue-gray eyes, and he often appears sullen and lost...almost inebriated. His light brown hair is cropped fairly short, if somewhat disheveled, with areas of silver becoming more prominent around the temples, and he sports a thick, gray beard. In addition, his recent trauma has greatly affected his balance and coordination, even partially weakening the limbs on his right side (hemiparesis). As a result, he now walks with a noticeable limp or shuffle, and his right hand occasionally flexes rigidly at the waist when he becomes fatigued or upset. He must utilize a cane to maintain his stability, but he still tends to slouch at the shoulders and keep a poor posture, especially while sitting. This seems to reflect his waning confidence with both himself and his surroundings, as well as his personal frustrations over his new reality. It is easy for those around him to see that he is beginning a steady decline into the grips of depression.

His left leg is also cybernetic below the knee, an unfortunate result from an injury he sustained during his service in the Alliance starfighter corps.


Aryan on the road to recovery several weeks after sustaining his brain injury

Clothing: Aryan prefers a more conservative style of dress, typically a smart suit or a military-cut uniform. They are usually fairly simple with no additional adornments, aside from the occasional cape draped over one shoulder. But under the current circumstances, he now dresses in plain civilian clothes.
Abilities: (Before his brain injury) – In addition to being a capable pilot from his time in the Alliance military, Aryan is a bright and cunning politician. As a public servant, he relies on his charisma and charm to network amongst his peers and win favor with the people he serves. He is also a competent speaker and can easily influence a crowd through his choice of words. While he maintains a strong public persona and is generally popular with the people, there is another side to Aryan that is less than desirable. He has become masterful at hiding his true intentions and utilizing certain techniques some may consider tasteless, such as manipulation and blackmail, to achieve his long-term goals. He is cruel and deceptive, especially when it comes to his lust for power and indulging his controlling nature.
Weapons/Tools: A holdout blaster concealed within his tunic and a vibroknife sheathed to the inside of his boot (when permitted to carry them); personal datapad he uses as a journal and to leave notes for himself, wrist comlink, and a walking cane

Faction: True Sith Order (1200 BBY)
Occupation/Title: Former Chancellor of the Galactic Federation/Former Prime Minister of the Imperium of the Fist
Family: Norin Graul (father) – deceased; Ashaiya Graul-Kinth (mother) – as of 155 ABY, was still living on the family estate on Nubia; Arek Graul (son); Lyzia Graul (ex-wife)
Associates: Darth Haretisch; Darth Syren (partner of a more intimate nature); Doctor Cal Jepsun (physician); Valieri Denora (primary caregiver); Ami Sayul; Hel; Darth Bellorum
Biography: Aryan was born on Nubia as an only child to Norin and Ashaiya Graul. His parents were the proprietors of a rather large mining and shipping company, which included several bronzium processing plants in the capital region of Rordis. As the sole heir, Aryan would one day have a stake in the company for his namesake alone, but his dreams and aspirations remained elsewhere...among the stars.

He had a natural love for flying and tinkering with starships. This translated into wild excursions across the Nubian frontier in a modified snub fighter Aryan had restored and maintained himself in his youth. When the time came for him to announce his desire to join the Academy and become a pilot, his father was not thrilled with the proposition. However, he was willing to acquiesce under certain terms – Aryan must attend one of the major universities to earn a ‘proper’ education before he could go off to ‘pursue a childish ambition.’

Aryan abided by his father’s wishes and enrolled at the University of Corellia to major in business and galactic relations. Shortly after graduation, he finally joined the Galactic Alliance to follow his passions and become a pilot.

His military career was littered with excellence, and he eventually rose to the rank of Commander, becoming a hometown hero in the process. With each passing achievement, he became more and more convinced that a career as a fully commissioned officer was the way to go, but that all came to a crashing end when he was seriously wounded in a scuffle in the Mid Rim. His injuries were extensive enough that he ended up losing his left leg, and he was medically retired from the military at the age of 28.

During his tenure in the Navy, he met his wife, Lyzia Eross; the two were married in 126 ABY, with their only son, Arek, being born two years later. It was Lyzia who served as Aryan’s lifeline and moral support during the intervening months following his injury. As a philanthropist, she actively traveled around to various worlds stricken by the war to offer assistance and provide for those people in need. She also held rallies on notable worlds to garner support for her cause, mostly siding with the Alliance and their ideals. Aryan often accompanied her, and it was soon discovered that he had a natural talent for interacting with the public and charming a crowd. His speeches were often engaging, and he soon gained the attention of a prominent politician working within the Senate – Garrit Pilleu, a member of the Nubian Ruling Council and aide to the current Senator of Nubia.

The politician was infatuated by the young man’s passion and took him under his wing to help him learn the ropes. With Pilleu’s help, Aryan’s impact over the people remained strong. When the time was right, it was the older man who ultimately pushed Graul to seek elected office.

At the age of 33, Aryan won his first public seat beside his mentor on the Nubian Ruling Council. For the next two years, he continued to make a name for himself by steadily gaining influence and fame within his home system. He was young, and many considered him an attractive and charismatic politician; a fresh face among the usual line-up of tired old bureaucrats. He had the hearts and minds of the people. This would prove crucial when he ultimately ran for Nubia’s empty seat on the Galactic Senate. Aryan eventually won the election by a landslide and became the next Senator of Nubia in 138 ABY. He viewed the outcome as some kind of epiphany; he was their savior, and anything less than that was simply unacceptable. It was a dangerous thought that would slowly begin to consume his mind.

In fact, it wasn’t long before he became a victim of his own machinations. While he adopted a public mask that kept him quite favorable to the people, he continued to obsess over the government and his quest to obtain the kind of influence he needed to become the liberator he envisioned himself to be. It was at this point that the line of morality began to blur – he began to willfully participate in unscrupulous and shameless acts that would ultimately destroy his marriage and distance himself from those he loved. And yet, it still wasn’t enough; his quest for power became insatiable over the intervening years.


Senator Graul during an HNN Broadcast circa 144 ABY

Finally, shortly after winning his third term in the Senate, Aryan approached Darth Insipid and allied himself with the Sith in a desperate bid to elevate himself. In exchange for information and other nominal tasks, he hoped that the Sith would provide him with the kind of push he needed to achieve his ultimate goal – the Chancellorship. Even if it drove him to madness...

After the siege on Coruscant, Aryan, as the last remaining member of the Senate, was finally declared Chancellor by Emperor Insipid himself. But it was a fool's victory; aside from a few isolated cells scattered across the galaxy, there was nothing left to rule. It was an empty title, one that the Sith continued to exploit as things rapidly spiraled out of control.

Without anywhere else to turn, Aryan soon realized that he was in way over his head and instantly regretted his decision to forge this alliance with the Sith. This feeling of helplessness culminated with the attack on Mortis. During the battle, Aryan found himself assigned to Insipid’s personal squadron against his will, presumably to keep him under the watchful eye of the Emperor himself. What he didn't realize was that this fateful trip would test him in ways that were previously unimaginable, especially when faced with a glorified god in the form of Typhojem. He would be changed both mentally and physically, and if not for the aid provided by both Insipid and Teafa Phadraig, would have likely succumbed to his emerging madness.

But he would soon discover that it was all just a ruse.

After fleeing across space and time to escape Typhojem’s clutches, the Sith found themselves in a place not their own – 5 ABY. It was in this place of new beginnings that Aryan found that Insipid’s ritual to save him on Mortis had resulted in unwanted scars, a consequence he would come to resent. Somehow, the Emperor had endowed him with the Force. As Insipid learned of his revelation, he called upon Teafa to train him and to show him the ways of the Sith. Aryan temporarily became known as Darth Skelm.

Once again, Aryan saw through the deception. Teafa, who had suffered a great deal on Mortis, was slowly losing touch with reality; her mental state had slipped to the point where she was nothing more than a broken husk. Insipid undoubtedly saw this, and yet had insisted that they carry on as master and apprentice. Aryan viewed this move as a complete insult to his intelligence, and it was clear that the Emperor was setting him up for failure. Just like his spurious ascension to Chancellor, it was all a ploy...a game. And Aryan was the pawn.

Leaving Teafa and Insipid behind, Aryan fled to seek new avenues and new opportunities. His search eventually brought him to the Night Herald, Darth Haretisch. After a brief exchange, Haretisch agreed to take on Aryan as his apprentice, and subsequently, rolled him into his plans as an agent for the Internal Sith Intelligence Bureau. It was under this moniker that he met Darth Syren. While he was initially at odds with the beautiful assassin, this would soon change as their duties brought them closer together on the pleasure yacht, the Luxury Elite. After dispatching a common foe, they found that they could no longer ignore the attraction that was pulling them together, and they expressed their love for one another.

Their relationship would only continue to grow and flourish after they found themselves the prisoners of Zeb Targon and his notorious crime syndicate. Being locked up in close quarters for two months had only solidified their bond, but the ultimate test was yet to come. Their time on the Luxury Elite was supposed to culminate in a grand fight between Darth Alva and Grievance Vexx, however, when the day of the fight arrived, Darth Bellorum had other plans. She launched a mutunity that would tear the fledgling Sith Empire apart.

Now at odds with their former allies, it became a fight for survival. Aryan, still struggling with his loyalties for Haretisch, Insipid, and even his duty to the Force, found himself on the brink of destruction – should he continue on this tired path and choose a side, or escape to start a new life? After Insipid had used and betrayed him, he knew he could not ally with the Emperor, and he remained skeptical of Haretisch’s longevity...that left only Syren. With the assassin at his side, the answer seemed obvious, but the journey would not be easy. Despite their best efforts, circumstances beyond their control would force them to flee onto the Night Herald’s shuttle to accept their fate. In Aryan’s case, it was all he could ask for.

Darth Haretisch, having suffered life-threatening injuries from his duel with Darth Insipid, sought to sustain himself. Reaching out with the Force, he latched onto Aryan’s life-force and began to unconsciously drain him of his energy. While Graul felt himself dying and succumbing to the Night Herald’s power, master and apprentice struck a deal in the ether that existed between life and death. Aryan would live, but his connection to the Force would be permanently severed. It was a small price to pay for one’s life, but Aryan was happy to oblige. This ritual had set him free, not only from the Force, but of Insipid’s influence. He was whole once again.

Six months after their escape, Aryan became poised to lead. As a high-ranking member of Haretisch’s Imperium of the Fist, he served as the Imperator’s Hand and oversaw the inner workings of this new government as its Prime Minister. During his tenure, he oversaw the liberation of Nirauan and subsequently defended the besieged Imperium capital from the opposing forces of the First Order. It served as a formidable challenge for the distinguished leader, but nothing compared to the one he would face in the Bedlam system.

After Supreme Leader Snoke revealed himself as the true leader of the First Order, he performed a ritual to unleash Typhojem on an unsuspecting galaxy. Aryan answered the call by joining together with the remaining Sith above Bedlam to fight this new foe. He returned to his piloting roots and hopped into the cockpit of a TIE Defender to lead a rag-tag squadron into the heart of battle. While he successfully led an assault against the Star Destroyer Eclipse, imploding it before it could destroy the planet, the victory was short-lived. His starfighter would soon lose power and deplete its supply of oxygen.

Unconscious and drifting listlessly in space, he would have surely died if not for a timely rescue from the woman he loved. Syren might have saved his life, but unfortunately, it was too late to prevent lasting damage. Aryan suffered from anoxia, an acute lack of oxygen to the brain, which resulted in a significant brain injury.

Just as the survivors were thrust through the World Between Worlds into a new space and time, Aryan now finds himself tumbling into the unknown on his own personal journey of discovery, not knowing who will emerge on the other side. He has a long rehabilitation ahead, and at this point, it is hard to say how well or how fast he will recover. In some ways, he is starting over.

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*** Triumvirate Approved ***





Name: Lord Manticore

Gender: Male

Age: 27

Species: Zabrak

Homeworld: Dathomir (default)

Height: 6’2”

Weight: 185lbs

Physical Attributes: Highly athletic and muscular build. Blood red skin color, raven hair tied in a long black braid. Fiery irises, a Mythical Manticore tattoo covers his torso and back. He has lightsaber burns covering his arms, shoulders and many other parts of his body.

Clothing:Generally, he wears loose fitting sith combat gear, with armor mesh. Black hooded cloak, black boots and gloves. This changes depending on the occasion and the need of his current mission.

Abilities: Lord Manticore is an ingenious combatant, who has keen awareness of combat zones and all its ranges. Though an inherently feral combatant, he also moves seamlessly between attack and defense, feints and counter-attacks, as though he was reading the entire encounter. He is comfortable at all ranges of engagement and is quick to adapt to any surprises - then counters them. His ability to combine a vast array of Force powers with martial skills into impressive attack strings and combinations have garnered him much prestige. He is a proponent of the Great Sith Lord Tulak Hord to a near obsessive degree. His greatest ambition is to learn the Sith Lord’s secrets and surpass him in the process.

Weapons/Tools: Detachable, double-bladed lightsaber with unassuming hilts, save for a manticore sigil. ( they become two weapons for dual wielding purposes ), the blades are vermillion in color. The Force, Hate and Anger. Teras Kasi and Echani martial Arts.

Occupation/Title: Sith Lord

Family: None

Associates: None

Biography: Lord Manticore was groomed from a very young age to be a vessel for dark power as well as a Sith hopeful. His former Master was believed to be an exiled Sith or Dark Sider who sought to regain favour with the Sith with the grooming of 'the boy'. His too often cruel training at the hands of his overly zealous dark master created a warrior with exceptional combat skills and a cunning mind, akin to the predatory creatures of myth, and equally heartless, if not more.

After unsurprisingly killing his cruel and sadistic Master in an act of pure hate, Lord Manticore took all that was rightfully his, and in his quest for power, he sought the Sith, and his destiny. He found them eventually, and proved himself in their Trials. By dint of his anger and the darkside, he rose through the sith ranks, earning his place among Sith Lords and Sith Masters, and even becoming the Stygian Executor of the Sith for a time.

But that was all before Mortis. Before Abeloth. Before Typhojem. Before the Call.

Did he die and miss it all, or was he merely caught in a neverending Nightmare?

Now, his memories are all in disarray and can hardly be trusted. What truly took place after that Great Battle? He might never truly learn the truth of it. But more importantly, what was he waking up to now?

 

Triple GM Approved



Name: Lennox Jerod
Sex: Male
Age: 39
Species: Human
Homeworld: Coruscant

Height: 5ft 9in
Weight: 10st
Physical Attributes: Red hair, piercing green eyes, likes to keep his body toned and fit
Clothing: Casual shirts and trousers, black boots from his former Imperial uniform, can dress smartly if the need arises
Abilities: Standard martial arts and weapons training. Well versed in the study of modern and historic warfare and tactics
Weapons/Tools: Blaster pistol usually holstered at his side

Occupation/Title: Captain of the Dark Dreamer, former Grand Admiral of the Imperium of the Fist
Family: Parents, still living on Coruscant, ex wife Cleo Alexandrou (deceased), son Xander
Associates: Darth Haretisch

Biography: Born on Coruscant to a military family, young Lennox like most young boys looked to the stars for adventure and the beauty of space itself. His parents served in the Republic Navy and continued to serve when it transitioned into the Galactic Empire. Being a teenager at the time, his aspiration was to one day command a starship and to bring order in a galaxy full of chaos. At the urging of his parents, and under their guidance, he studied hard for the Imperial Academy and joined hit’s ranks when he was 18.

At the Academy life was tough, and brutal, studying, classes and physical training, not just in weapons, but also combat and basic piloting skills. His main focus was in the Navy where he joined the command track. His hobby, when not in class was to study tactics of the past and present, keeping himself up to date as it were on the tools and techniques of battle to keep his mind sharp for when eventually he would command a starship. He impressed his instructors with his skills, not only just in tactics but weapons proficiency as well. He passed with honours and joined the Imperial Navy as an Ensign.

He served throughout the Galactic Civil War throughout several battles and campaigns using his knowledge of tactics to help his commanding officers which impressined them. These skills eventually saw him promoted to Lieutenant. Three years after the Battle of Yavin, the Battle of Endor took place and not even Jerod could predict the outcome. The Emperor and Lord Vader dead, the Empire in disarray and routed, the Rebel Alliance victorious and the Death Star 2 destroyed. Jerod’s ship was one of those who heeded the retreat order rather than sacrifice themselves.

After Endor, the Empire fell into disarray with infighting and warlordism taking over. Jerod’s ship managed to stay out of trouble and avoid any entanglements with any Imperial factions thanks to the Captain and Jerod’s quick thinking. However, eventually the Empire reformed under Admiral Sloane and Jerod rejoined the Empire fully, once again taking part in campaigns that would help crush the New Republic. Again Jerod’s knowledge and skills rose once again to the fore and helped his ship and crew avoid destruction. Unfortunately the Empire would be in turmoil once again due to Gallius Rax’s eventual takeover which was all planned. Sloane turned fugitive and Jerod was forced to work under Rax’s iron fist which he disapproved of but would never speak aloud in public.

Thanks to Rax’s machinations, a showdown occurred between the Empire and the New Republic on the desert world of Jakku. However the Empire tasted defeat once again and Jerod watched once again as the Empire crumbled, he was prepared to die for the Empire but fate was on his side. With the Super Star Destroyer Ravager now without a commander and his ship damaged, Jerod’s ship fled to the Unknown Regions in retreat.

Jerod’s knowledge of tactics had not gone unnoticed however. The mysterious Chiss Grand Admiral Thrawn contacted Jerod’s Captain to enquire about the young Lieutenant and that he had piqued his interest. Excited at the chance to impress a Grand Admiral, Jerod accepted the Chiss’s offer to visit him on Nirauan. There, the Grand Admiral introduced him to the Empire of the Hand, his group of Imperials brought together to stave off threats to the galaxy not just from the Unknown Regions, but also extra-galactic invaders. It’s mission was also to explore and pacify the Unknown Regions.

Jerod agreed to join seeing that this Empire of the Hand was a better alternative and was also a chance to further his career. With that, Thrawn promoted him to Captain and presented him with a ship, the Revelator. A while after he was given the Star Destroyer, in which he was shown to be a capable commander, a group of Sith arrived and made an alliance with Thrawn. Darh Haretisch, one of the Sith Lords was assigned to the Revelator and Jerod was uncertain about having a Sith on board, what it would do for the morale of his crew. He pounded Boneyard on New Moraband to dust, and Jerod swelled with pride that his crew and shown efficiency and skill.

These fears became unfounded until one fateful incident. After the bridge crew saw a moment of vulnerability between the Dark Lord and his daughter, the entire bridge crew were executed save for Jerod. He was prepared for his death having seen it as well, but somehow he was spared, even though he had only worked with Haretisch for a short time. He accepted that he had already given his life to the Empire of the Hand and that he had nothing to lose.

Jerod became more confident even with Darth Haretisch making sure he would not fail him, he was unfazed about the death and destruction he was dealing out. However Jerod had to use his quick thinking once again. After the Revelator had arrived close to where the Luxury Elite was sitting, a bomb was thrown into the main reactor by Darth Insipid’s forces, causing a chain reaction that would destroy the ship. With only seconds to spare, Jerod managed to get into an escape pod and launch himself away before the ship exploded, and Jerod lamented the loss of his crew and once again losing an entire bridge compliment.

He was eventually rescued. Shortly after the battle for the Luxury Elite word began to spread, Grand Admiral Thrawn had disappeared. With that, new factions began to form after the war began, with Jerod choosing to stay with Darth Haretisch and the newly renamed Imperium of the Fist. He was also promoted to Admiral during the first six months of the war, although Jerod did wonder how he had earned such a title after losing the Revelator.

The command of the Imperium fleet was given to Jerod and at New Moraband he faced off against Darth Insipid’s First Order and Darth Bellorum’s Twilight Sun. He achieved victory but not before losing one of his destroyer’s the Standardizer. After the battle Lennox received some disturbing news. His ex wife Celo Alexandrou informed him that their son Xander had killed his brother using the Force. Lennox disowned his son however Darth Haretisch had a plan to train him in the ways of the Force in order to save him. During this time he was also promoted to the rank of Grand Admiral.

The Imperium fleet next moved on to the Hapes Cluster a vital cog in the Twilight Sun’s war machine. The battle however ended in disaster, with Lord Haretisch and General Vexx whom Lennox had ordered to try and rescue him being captured and the Twilight Sun/Hapan fleet retreating. It was after the battle that Darth Kralkus, Lord Haretisch’s trusted lieutenant summoned him to Nirauan where a meeting of the top minds in the Imperium were to meet.

After explaining his action in the Battle of Hapes, he received intelligence regarding an insane asylum in the Bedlam system which was filled with First Order prisoners. However it was a trap with the First Order waiting for them with ships including the prototype destroyer Resurgent and Emperor Palpatine’s former flagship the Eclipse.

After attacking the fleet above Bedlam, Jerod was visited by a ghostly form of Supreme Leader Snoke, the new leader of the First Order. After threatening to use his son to kill the Imperium forces if Jerod did not surrender, he then trapped Jerod's fleet within the First Order group. With no shields Jerod knew the game was up.

Thankfully an Imperium group led by Aryan Graul arrived as did a Twilight Sun force led by both Lord Haretisch and Lady Bellorum. The tide of the battle turned and the Resurgent was finally destroyed and the First Order group disabled.

However Jerod was not out of the woods yet. After changing course to go and tackle the Eclipse the Repentance was boarded. With no choice left to him Jerod was forced to evacuate with Cleo and Xander, himself becoming injured along the way. Thanks to Aryan the Eclipse was defeated, however Bedlam began to be consumed by a dark entity which unleashed creatures that came after Jerod's shuttle among others.

After some nifty flying and with Xanders powers becoming fully unleashed, the creatures were destroyed. However tragedy struck as Cleo was fatally injured whilst bringing the shuttle into the Forgotten, Bellorum's Hapan Battle Dragon. Distraught, Jerod accepted his fate as the entity disabled the Battle Dragons systems leaving him, his son and his deceased ex wife stuck on their shuttle. Jerod was ready to accept his death.

Lord Insipid though had other ideas and sent Jerod and Xander into the vortex which had opened up after the destruction of the Eclipse. Jerod had been sent into the World Between Worlds with no idea what lay ahead or what the future would hold for him and Xander. He has been selected to captain the yacht Dark Dreamer which has been procured for use by the survivors. Jerod now has one mission: help himself , his son, and the others with him survive, and if possible find a way home.

 

Triple Approved ​

Name: Darth Vyatoris (Previously known as Azeth Drost)
Sex: M
Age: 26 (Technically 1,026 due to extended period in forced stasis)
Species: Miraluka
Homeworld: Alpheridies

Height: 6'1"
Weight: 148lbs

Physical Attributes:
Azeth has a tall, lithe frame, snow white skin, and long silver-grey hair which flows down below the shoulder blades. Azeth's face is generally described as being nondescript, apart from the lack of eyes as is the norm of his species. Due to his rather average appearance, Azeth finds it incredibly easy to blend in with crowds. When in combat, Azeth will use his slim from to slide away from attacks.

Spoiler: Vyatoris Armored/Unarmored

Clothing:
On a day to day basis, Azeth wears a very plain dark grey cloak, complete with a hood which he will almost always have raised over his head, hiding his face in shadow. Azeth often wears a ceremonial white and gold strap of cloth over his vestigial eye sockets. On formal occasions, he will wear a ceremonial Miralukan Robe, which is pure white cloth, outlined by gold bands across the chest and arms. When expecting to face a combat situation, Azeth will wear form fitting black synth-weave armor, outlined in bands of crimson, his face covered in similar colored cloth, with a similarly black and crimson colored band over his eyes.

Abilities:
Extensive training in the lighstaber forms III: Soresu, II: Makashi, and IV: Ataru. In combat, Vyatoris prefers to remain on the defensive through use of Form III, wearing an opponent out before finishing them off with precision surgical strikes through Form II. During his tutelage as a Jedi, Vyatoris learned how to switch between Forms II and III without difficulty, to the continued surprise of his enemies. When all else fails, Vyatoris will switch to From IV: Ataru in an attempt to batter an opponent with force-assisted strikes, all in an attempt to break open their defenses.

Vyatoris is quite adept in shielding his aura from others through the use of Force stealth and Conceal Essence, which he often uses to get in and out of combat without notice. That being said, he had rarely had the opportunity to use such abilities, especially after being rediscovered by the First Order, and the events which followed.

Weapons/Tools:
Vyatoris' main weapon is a slim, silver hilted red bladed lightsaber. Due to it's size, it can easily be concealed within the confines of his robes. He will occasionally carry a small hold-out blaster on his person, similarly hidden within his robes.

As a Miraluka, Vyatoris cannot "see" in the traditional sense, which renders him unable to use scoped weapons of any kind. However, Vyatoris almost always has at least one datapad on his person, connected to an array of minuscule data recorders which he uses to record anything and everything he finds interesting. Unfortunately for those around him, there is very little he isn't fascinated by.

Occupation/Title: Sorcerer, Scholar, Apprentice
Family: Dar'yi Drost (Father - Deceased), Nethia Drost (Mother - Deceased)
Associates: Doctor Torig Na (Driven mad and killed on Bedlam) , Darth Ravenous (Former Master)

Biography:

Spoiler: Childhood, Adolescence, and Betrayal

Azeth Drost was born on the Miraluka homeworld of Alpheridies in 1021 BBY, to a loving family of three,a mother, father, and sister. His childhood was painfully average, until he reached the age of four. His father, a Jedi Battlemaster, began noticing an increasing level of force aptitude simply radiating from his young child. Not knowing what else to do, Dar'yi Drost, his father, brought Azeth to Alpheridies' Jedi Temple for training. While initially curious about Dar'yi's intentions, the Jedi Council accepted Azeth into the temple, to begin immediate training, albeit removed from his blood relatives.

Azeth's time at the Jedi Temple on Alpheridies was relatively short, only being five years, before he was transferred to the Temple on Coruscant itself. At the time, the Alpheridies' Temple began worrying that the close proximity of Azeth's blood family would hinder his Jedi training, especially the child's ability to learn detachment.

The next few years passed without incident. Azeth was a model student, always eager for new knowledge, a hunger that his teachers would unknowingly feed with each lesson. At age 13, Azeth was officially promoted to the rank of Padawan, and paired with the Jedi Knight Aseda Physsas, a red-skinned Togruta female. Master Physsas was an odd teacher, in almost every aspect. While the Temple preached detachment and stoicism, Physsas often treated Azeth as a loved son, and expected him to treat her as a matriarchal figure. As the years would pass by, the pair would slowly bond, becoming much closer than what was considered proper at the Jedi Temple. However, their exemplary mission results generally kept the Council quiet.

This would change for the worst on the eve of Azeth's 21st birthday. For years, he had secretly been amassing the archive's collective knowledge, especially files that were considered banned from being accessed by Padawans. Master Physsas had been feeding this hunger for knowledge as well, constantly challenging him to form his own opinions on the manner of the force. After a particularly heated "debate" with another Jedi Master, in which Azeth began spouting rather Sith-like ideology, Azeth was temporarily restricted from accessing the Jedi archives, and his master brought in for questioning.

Frustrated at both his own punishment, and the treatment of Master Pyssas, Azeth slowly began turning away from the light side of the force, wallowing in a pool of anger at his own misfortune. The next night, Azeth successfully snuck back into the archives, downloading almost everything he could without being caught. He would continue this trend for a full two weeks, each successful trip hastening the Padawan's descent from the Light. Emboldened by his recent successes, Azeth came to the decision to "borrow" a Holocron from the Holocron Vault. He was discovered almost immediately after stepping foot inside the vault, and was forced to flee the temple, Temple Guards in hot pursuit.

After three months of moving between grimy bars and dilapidated slums in the lower levels of Coruscant, Azeth managed to stow away on a freighter heading offworld. By this time, he was officially named a traitor to the Jedi Order, and a bounty was, informally, placed on his head.Two long, painful years pass. Each day was spent looking over his shoulder, expecting a group of Jedi to come rushing out of the shadows to grab him, yet, none ever came. The Jedi were preoccupied fighting a pitched battle against the Sith, which presented a much bigger threat than some disgraced Padawan. Azeth was, put lightly, miserable. His hunger for knowledge had done nothing but bring him pain. The holocron, while temporarily useful, contained little in the way of lightsaber or force techniques, both of which Azeth had been relying on to survive in the multitude of slums he often found himself inhabiting across the galaxy. However, the constant use of disguises, both physical and force-based, did give Azeth a practical, if not haphazard manner of learning Force Stealth, which he used to great effectiveness.

Azeth fully descended into the Dark Side on the eve of his 25th birthday. He had heard rumors of a discovered Sith temple on a planet in the Unknown Regions, and, through use of the force, forced a pilot to charter a flight there. Before he could depart, he was confronted by his former Master. After a lengthy duel, he finally struck the killing blow, leaving his now dead master's form to rot in the mud.

With his master dead, Azeth boarded the recently acquired ship, mind tormented between the rush of battle, and the mental anguish at killing the equivalent of his own mother.Before he left, Azeth collected one of his master's sabers, otherwise leaving the body where it lay. The journey was excruciating. No matter the circumstance, Azeth was haunted by the smiling face of his master. Not sure whether the pain was from an injury he sustained in battle, or from her spirit itself tormenting him,, Azeth shielded his mind, delving fully into the dark side to compensate. On arrival, Azeth's old hunger for knowledge kicks back in, temporarily masking his regrets. After disposing of the pilot, Azeth rushed inside the abandoned Sith temple, ignoring his instincts to stay away.

While most of the temple was bare, looted long ago, a massive domed room in the heart of the temple caught his eye, specifically, the sealed stone sarcophagus in the center. Ignoring the overall sense of danger radiating from the sarcophagus, Azeth proceed to ignite his lightsaber, cutting away at a series of locks buried into the sarcophagus's main face. The room exploded in a blinding flash, followed by booming laughter. Suddenly unable to control his own body, Azeth slowly marched to the now empty coffin, climbing inside with awkward, jolting motions. In a panic, he tried resisting through the force, fully devolving into a rage of emotions, but to no avail. The last thing Azeth would see, were the two main doors of the coffin slide back into place overhead, and the sounds of locks clanking into place.

Azeth would spend the next thousand years in a state of forced stasis, completely unaware of the passing of time around him. He would finally be awoken from his eternal slumber by a team of Imperial archeologists in 5 ABY, who were surveying the planet's numerous Sith temples. The lead of the expedition, an Imperial named Torig Na, briefed Azeth of current events, specifically on the brewing Civil War between the galaxy's three surviving Sith factions. Torig, an ardent supporter of the old Empire, now supported the First Order, and recommended Azeth to do the same Without any substantial alternative, Azeth agreed, following the archeologists back to their camp, before catching a shuttle departing to the First Order's capital. Showing latent abilities in the force, Azeth was to be formally trained in the dark side, to become a weapon to be used against the rivaling Sith.

Spoiler: The First Order and Beyond

Azeth Drost awoke into a civil war raging between three separate Sith Orders. Deciding to ally himself with the First Order, the organization which had freed him from his tomb, Azeth Drost, accompanied by the archeological team which had discovered him, departed to the First Order's fleet.

Azeth soon thereafter met Emperor Insipid himself, who immediately apprenticed him under the teachings of Darth Ravenous. The pair, along with the reluctant Dr. Na's first mission would be the infiltration and capture of an an enemy treasure ship. After a series of disastrous events, Ravenous was rendered unconscious, Dr. Na was discovered and held captive, and Drost left alone. In the ensuing chaotic space battle raging overhead, the treasure ship was shot down, crash landing hard into the planet Bedlam's surface below.

Bedlam, and the horrors which lay within, destroyed past alliances, and forged new ones out of the shattered remains. Dr. Na, driven mad by the force, was killed, and the rest of the Sith thrown into a labyrinth of catacombs beneath Bedlam's surface. Further injured, Drost wandered aimlessly, each step taken more through sheer force of will than anything else. More than anything else, Drost stewed in his anger, his disappointment in the actions of his Master, who had taken increasingly erratic actions within the catacombs of Bedlam. This culminated in choosing to not rejoin the Emperor and the rest of the gathered Sith in fighting off of Bedlam. Drost chose to leave his Master behind, internally pledging himself into the service of Emperor Insipid.

Unbeknownst to Drost, the catacombs, and Bedlam as a whole, served another greater purpose: The revival of the ancient god Typhojem. Drost, along with the rest of the battered Sith, successfully fought their way off of Bedlam, untold monstrosities biting at their heels. Thanks in part to the personal sacrifices of some of the Sith, Typhojem was momentarily halted, his summoner Snoke, fleeing to fight another day.

Now, Drost floats alone inside a damaged escape pod, dangerous, lingering thoughts polluting his mind after staring into the face of madness of a god...

 

CHARACTER SHEET - Triumvirate Approved!


Name: Soliloquy
Sex: In Flux, honestly after watching her body die she has to admit it is hard to see themselves as truly female as they drift once more.
Age: Still like the Comm Number, Unlisted.
Species: Catching a Falling Holocron and find out.
Homeworld: Somewhere

Height: Roughly palm high to a 3 meters span!
Weight: Now that is just rude, asking a recent woman about her weight when she just died! The Nerve!
Physical Attributes: Isodecahedron shaped, glowing red and purple, inscribed all over with sith alchemy glyphs.
Clothing: Panel 1 through 20, triangular pattern.
Abilities: Despite no longer truly being living nor being truly dead has its advantages. The mind is it's playground and illusions its forte. Although Essence Transfer has opened choices previously denied to them.
Weapons/Tools: Spores, lots and lots of spores. It's own body, and the occasional blunt object. Of course these pale to the power and abilities of the Force, as tool or weapon, there is no compare.

Occupation/Title: Holocron, Chronicler, Advisor, Sixth of Seven, God Slayer, God Midwife, Left Handed Fool, Distractor, Revanite, Hidden Jewel, Apprentices Test, Shield of the Foolish, Tutor, etc. These things tend to accumulate after a few thousand years.
Family: None in this Universe.
Associates: Kwea, Jwob possibly, Insipid, Ravenous, and a few more that yet might be living.
Biography: Once, in a star system far far away. Revan was a Jedi. A Sith. Both. Neither. He sat in a prison being all this and nothing at all, and another saw the value in it. The worth of it. Taking knowledge and stealth he studied and fashioned a prison of the most fiendish sort. For a prisoner that would be king. To rule vassals that never would know they were being used, from the low to the high, and instead of finding power he had mastered, they were revealing those powers to him after a fashion. For after all, all life is finite but that of a Holocron, a Holocron is as close to forever as one can get. For these are the prizes and joys, these are the sought after and guarded.

It was a scheme worthy of a Sith. Yet in truth he never considered himself one, not then and the Holocron noteven now. Too narrow, too much into the work of self-glorification were they. No. Power and knowledge was its own reward. For now. So time has passed. From the young to old, if you are beginning your road you are what the holocron sought. Only then it begins to waver as the galaxy was lost it was forced to see limitations of it's chosen road. The slow and steady was proving too slow, after all a universe had died and children with less age than it knew abilities and mastered things it did not beyond their descriptions.

So now it had sought a faster path. More dangerous, but possibly the risk, the risk will be part of the reward. In a way it has been, in others the dangers have proven all too real. It gained a mechanical means of motion, only to have it subsumed with it's own will of that of the late Emperor Palpatine AI. A new mind it has chosen to learn to live with, honestly the murder attempts have livened up it's dull life more than it had hoped.

The Sith have splintered, again, and one wishes they could say they were surprised. Still, it has grown. It has learned. It has gained title and position. Life is a good thing once more, long live the war! Only the war ended up seeing the AI betray them and take a flesh body to only have it die and leap to Cocytus. Then they gained a Zakuulian made body, eight limbs, curvy, female.

That was an eureka moment, a birthing not only of body but of mind that followed until all roads led to the birthing of the gods. There she sacrificed all within their blood altar, in their womb, and aided three in finding life within this galaxy again. It started a war between the gods and it let it burn them all out in the end. Taints and bonds were torn and freedom rang out with the shattered death throws of an entire world as well as the three fleets.

So much waste, but it was once more a mere Holocron again. A mere thing floating in the existential void until the Emperor plucked it from the depths. As they were taken within they sang this song of remembrance, of love, of life, of being.

Take my love, take my land,
Take me where I can not stand
I don't care cause I'm still free
you can't take the sky from me.
Take me out, to the black,
tell them i an't coming back
burn the land and boil the sea
you can't take the sky from me.
There's no place I can be
Since I found Serenity
burn the land and boil the sea
you can't take the sky from me.
you can't take the sky from me.
you can't take the sky from me.
you can't take the sky
you can't take the sky
you can't take the sky from me.
~guitar solo~
There's no place I can be
Since I found Serenity
burn the land and boil the sea
you can't take the sky from me.
you can't take the sky from me.
you can't take the sky from me.
you can't take the sky
you can't take the sky
you can't take the sky from me.

 

Name: Once Jwob Sebb, once Darth Serapis, now neither.
Sex: Male, until recently
Age: 38 Standard Years at death
Species: Ithorian
Height: 2.1 Meters
Weight:
Occupation: Trader
Physical description: Brown/red skin, almost maroon.
Clothing: Dress in fine robes to present myself as a trader. Loose enough to conceal weaponry.
Weapons:
- Main weapon was my sonic scream, a trait of my race.
- Additional weapons:
Lightsaber, Hilt made of carved wood to honor Mother Jungle, purple blade
A scythe that is resistant to being controlled by the Force
Two knifes, one hidden in each of my boots
Hold-out blaster, military grade
Associates: No one, any more

Biography: Born on Ithor, I wasidentified as being Force Sensitive while still a shiny-eyed nymph. I was recommended to the Ithorian schools to be trained as a priest to serve Mother Jungle. While studying, Ifound several Sith Holocrons in the library. Those I studied long and hard absorbing every bit of knowledge that I could. I was approached around my tenth year by the Jedi, but already had a good knowledge of the Sithunder my belt. Before my parents could turn me over to these narrow-minded beings, I expressed my desire to stay with the Mother Jungle. The Jedi tried to tell me that their Order would be available to me whenever Iwished. I knew I would never darken their halls, though.

My education continued, both in what the head priests wanted me to learn and what I wanted to learn. I enjoyed my studies. There was a lot to learn. My mentor praised my efforts, but he also criticized what I saw as an effort to be knowledgeable about all things, both good and bad. They saw medabbling in what they considered “dark arts.” I saw it as understanding the depth and breadth of the Force. My difference of opinion with my fellow priests resulted in me being excused from the priesthood. That was fine with me. I took to trading as my profession.

Using my Force sensitivity, I could judge customers well enough to be a reasonable success in my field. I traded with most species intechnology that would bring us closer to who we are. This required a good bit of travel to various worlds. That was a good thing, though, as I could access libraries and bookstores all over the galaxy to acquire more information about the Force.

Once, while on business to Coruscant, I saw someone (actually felt someone) who I can only describe as powerful. I knew the place was a haven for everyone. “No fighting” was the order of the day, even withsomeone you didn’t like. Most beings went there to hide. This person wasn’t hiding, though. She was exuding power. She wasn’t a Jedi, but was obviously very powerful in the Force. She had to be Sith. I couldn’t excuse myself from my meeting, so Iput it out of my mind. As I went back to my business, though, I could swearI saw her looking at me.

I knew the owner of the place, so after a few credits changed hands I had a name. It took some work to track her down. It was certainly worth it. I found that, even with the great amount of research I had done, I hadso much to learn. It was then that I decided to pledge myself to the teachings of the Sith.

Since being a part of the Sith, I havebeen shot down, been associatedwith traitors and criminals. I have been sent into missions where I was all but abandoned. I have also been arrested as a traitor myself. I was even imprisoned by the person who originally was my Master in this Force forsaken group.

So, why would I do what I did? Sacrifice myself? For them. For the Sith. Who knows? But Typhojem was coming back. He was going to destroy everything and everyone. It had to be done and Jwob had the ability to help. It took everything he had, but he had distracted Typhojem enough for the Sith to escape. Now the not-Jwob was floating on the cosmic winds. Wherewould this piece of consciousnessend up? That was anyone's guess.

 

Prologue

First Order of Business, a New Ship

An Ike and Bellorum Novella

It made the most sense.

Bellorum had experience procuring ships and saving credits. She’d managed to buy thousands for her Twilight Sun Empire, and built quite a large fleet along side her business conglomerate. They’d decided that Bellorum and Ike would find and outfit a ship that would be a good base for the castaways, for now. It would be best to fly under the radar in this time, and not draw attention to themselves.

~~~~

The Former Twilight Empress kicked at the piles of dirt clumps that lined the pedestrian path where she and Ike stood. They’d been dropped off at the nearest space port that had been located, and it was a startling example of the current civilization.

“How in seven hells will we find a ship here?” She commented in Ike’s direction, and not really asking the question. Glancing up and down the path she thought the settlement appeared abandoned.

“Let’s get something to drink before we get down to business,” she pointed out a cantina that was down the row of dilapidated businesses.

Ike had opted to wear a nondescript cloak to cover his more garish clothing - the traditional Sith robes were more subtle than the brighter, purple hues he preferred. "A drink is always a good idea, Bell," he linked arms with her. "There is always someone who knows someone in a bar."

A grin touched his lips. "Are we playing the stupid outlanders, who know nothing? Perhaps inviting them to try their luck as we get more inebriated?" His voice grew deadpan, mockingly so. "All in the interests of finding a ship at a good price, of course."

Bellorum laughed and nodded agreement, “some of my beat deals have been made in dodgy cantinas.” She locked her arm with Ike’s and walked towards the cantina, Bellorum’s violet cape fluttered in the breeze behind her as they walked. Unlike Ike, she hadn’t dressed down for their excursion.

As they neared the entrance Bellorum paused, “I’ll go to the refresher and then sit at the bar to get a good look around. You try and pick up a game?”


“Sounds good to me, dear. I look forward to your best chat-up line.” He detached from her and vanished into the milling crowds, just in-case someone saw them together.

A good old fashioned con. He swept into the bar, ignoring anyone else and plopping himself a table. He was being stared at, but he flashed a winning smile to anyone who cared to look. He didn’t need the Force to make someone attracted to him, he was simply that beautiful. “Barkeep,” he said, catching the attention of a nattily dressed Togrutan, of all species. He rattled off a drink, sufficiently snazzy to make it clear that he was foppish at best. Then he downed it, smacked his lips, and snapped his fingers for another.

The Togrutan glowered, but obliged. As he deposited the second drink, he rumbled. “Slow down. I don’t want to have to clean up the floors.”

Loudly, Ike said, fluttering his eyelids. “But how will I make any new friends tonight, darling?”

The feline humanoid blinked. “You’re not my type.”

“Oh,” Ike said, making sure to catch his paw as he took the drink. “I’m everyone’s type.” The Togrutan eyed his hand, and strode back to the bar, his tail whisking in-spite of hinself.

There was a small group of females washing their hands and checking their make up when Bellorum entered the ‘fresher. She opened her bag and took out lipstick that she slowly applied while listening to the chatter. There was nothing helpful, except for some mention of a cheating boyfriend and someone coming to kick his ass. She couldn’t help but smile at that because a fight would be an excellent diversion if Ike’s gambling efforts go wrong.

She washed her hands and started down the narrow passage back into the cantina, when she noticed pieces of flimsi tacked on the walls. There were ads for roommates, cleaning help, and prostitution. She saw few speeder bikes for sale and even a ronto farm. It would have been too easy for there to be a nice used ship listed. Shrugging she went to sit at the bar and read over the wine list. Thankfully she’d emptied her safe on the Forgotten without anyone knowing, and wasn’t solely without a few resources.

The prices were surprisingly reasonable, and after placing her order, she glanced around the cantina to make note of all exits. It was just as she was tasting her wine when she felt a hand on her lower back. She took a drink without reacting and waited as she hand slid around to her side to pull her close to the individual that was acting far too familiar for her taste. Sighing she decided against her first impulse, which would have been removing his head with her lightsaber, instead she turned to face him and pressed a vibroblade against his neck.

“Oh, a fighter,” he he whispered, “lucky for you I like it rough,” the sleemo dared to try and lean closer. “Back off,” Bellorum responded in a cold tone.

The man put both hands up and took a step back, “it’s all good, babe, I won’t force you.” He took the stool beside her and tried her touch his glass to hers, “here’s to new friends.” Bellorum started at him a moment before replying, “and to creeps who don’t live long enough to become friends.” She clinked her glass to his and downed the contents. While she was refilling her glass he asked for her name. “Bell, you can call me Bell,” she answered without asking for his name.

Ike could sense Bell doing what Bell did best. But nobody was biting. So, to the bar he went. The Togrutan would have been an interesting turn of events... as long as he didn't scratch. Ike plopped himself on a seat, eyeing the single person sitting, hood up, at the end of the bar.

"So," he said, running his finger around the rim of the glass. "I'm new to town. Looking for fun, and shiny ships to have fun in." Ike pouted. "But nobody seems interested in little ole me." That was not true - there was a lot of interest, but itwas cautious, from behind glasses or concealed sentiments. The bartender absently cleaned a glass as he thought.

"Are you fingering me for some kind of sting?" The Togrutan asked, relatively bluntly. "I'm barkeep. I don't have anything apart from this job." He slammed the glass on the side. Ike demurred, and he indicated the empty class Ike had brought to the bar. "Sowhatever you want, I'm not selling. I definitely don't have a ship."

Ike shrugged. "I'm not fingering you for a sting," he said, evenly, but he did arch his eyebrows, once. "But I am looking for fun. Like I say. I just like the feel of antigravity, dialing them back so you float, when, y'know." He stretched hisarms. "Gravity is so... restrictive."

Bellorum turned away from the bold creep and looked for any other options. She strolled over to where a group were gathered around a display watching some sort of animal racing event. After a few minutes she more of less understood the basics and asked one of the men gathered for advice. “Put your credits on Alderaan Nights,” the man insisted, “that one always wins when he’s running.” He shared his copy of the racing forum and made a few more tips.

Bellorum smiled and thanked him for the assistance and placed her bets before the bell. Then she stood beside her mentor, “I hope you were right about this,” she teased in a very un-Bellorum way.

The gun sounded at the track and the announcers began their commentary. My Last Try was in the lead with Alderaan Nights next to last, but he was slowly moving forward. When they were turning into the home stretch, My Last Try suddenly tripped and knocked out a series of other challengers, they were down down like dominoes. When the dust cleared Alderaan Nights was charging through the finish line. Bellorum and the guy were cheering loudly, then he grabbed her into his arms and twirled around. “Babe, you’re a good luck charm!” He squeezed her a little too close for her comfort and he whispered in her ear, “wait for me while I collect on this one before the bookie gets away.”

She took a seat and watched from a short distance while the man collected his winnings. He returned and sat next to her pressing a credcard into her hand, “here’s a little something for you, I’m feeling generous tonight.” He kisses her cheek and she slid the card into a pocket wondering how much he was giving her, but she could sort that out later. He introduced himself as Carmine Luciano, “Bell,” she replied and shook his hand. He asked obvious questions like where she was from and what was she doing in such a dismal spaceport.

“I don’t really have a home right now,” she looked at the light reflections on her wine glass, “I’ve just been traveling and seeing the sights.” He seemed to believe her and they spoke of the race and gambling. It seems he gambles a lot and it sounded like that was how he made his living. Soon she realized that he had a body guard nearby who had been watching her closely, it didn’t concern her because she and Ike could take on the entire cantina with little effort, but why did he need a body guard?

Carmine apologized that he had to leave even though it was early, but he had a business meeting. He asked if she’d be staying a couple of days and could he take her to dinner tomorrow, she replied that she wasn’t sure how long she’d be there. “I’m looking for a deal on a ship, so if I find one I’m afraid I’ll be on my way.”

“A ship, eh,” Carmine said and sat back down. “I do have to leave, but let me get your contact info because it just so happens I may have a ship for sale. I’ll know for sure after my meeting tonight.”

Bellorum exchanged comlink info and watched him, and his body guard, leave. She couldn’t wait to tell Ike how they may have already located a ship. But first she went over to the banking machine and inserted the credcard and waited. She gasped and pressed the prompt to eject the card and she stood looking down at it and the little scrap of flimsi that accompanied it stating the balance was 25,000.00 credits. Who the kriff gives away that much? She needed to find Ike.

The barkeep growled. "No, I do not know."

"You're missing out," Ike said, grinning. "I'll let you know when I sort myself a ship so we can catch up." It was not a question, more a statement.

"I..." He finished cleaning the glass, looked down at it, seeing that his tail continued to swish. "I think I would like that." Ike didn't push him with the Force; that was no fun. But the Togrutan was discovering something abouthimself and Ike would enjoy breaking him in. The Togrutan seemed to sigh. "If you want to talk to someone about a smooth ride, you'd need Carmine. More money than sense - he parks his ship on top of the Ritzer Hotel." He pointed at the exit. "He just won big and left..."

Ike smiled softly, patted the Togrutans paw. "Thank you, hun."

"The names Luri."

"Ike," he returned, giving his real name. Because a rep was handy and the sooner Ike made one the better. Hewinked at Luri and looked for Bell. He had a name, but also a ship location, so that could be handy. They could not turn up unannounced, but perhaps Bell had an angle already.

~~~~

It was magnificent.

Bellorum and Ike were standing in the main salon after a walk through of the entire ship. The Dark Lady was sold as soon as she heard “Opulent Class Yacht”, how could that model be anything but...well, opulent!

Carmine’s bodyguard, Crusher, was making them drinks from the bar while they got down to business. Haretisch had given them specifics as to what they had be sure the ship included, but that really didn’t matter to Bellorum. He would flip when he saw what a fabulous ship they had managed to stumble upon.

“Check this out,” Carmine ran his hand along the polished wooden bar, “this is from wroshyr trees grown in the Haunted Forest on Kashyyyk! You don’t see this everyday.” He handed the two Sith their drinks and continued his sales pitch, “and just because I like you guys, I’m going to include the stocked bar and this fine set of rock crystal glasses,” he winked at them.

“Do you have the maintenance records?” Bellorum asked, because she’d never hear the end of it if they had to deal with any costly repairs right away.

“Of course,” Carmine answered and motioned towards the flight deck, “all the records are in a cabinet just behind the copilot seat.” He opened a compartment just beyond the bar and showed them how it was stocked with monogrammed linens. The monogram was a vibrantly colored peacock standing proudly with his tail fanned out. “All linens are included, as you can see this baby had everything you could need.”

Bellorum looked at like and smiled, “your thoughts?” She flooded the Force indicating that she was completely in favor of purchasing the ship. They couldn’t beat the price, unless they had stolen it.

Ike looked around it, deeply impressed. It was a brilliant price. He was deeply suspicious, but undoubtedly Bell had applied some suggestiveness to Carmen.

“Did you steal it?”

The man laughed, gallantly. “Why steal what I can afford?” A lie, that was. Ike rolled his eyes inwardly.

“Well I was hoping to paint the ship in a nice shade of red before we purchased it Bell... but I suppose we need not...” He drawled somewhat.

“How about this,” Carmine said looking thoughtful, “if you take it at the price I quoted, I’ll throw in the paint job and have my boys come and do it tonight.”

Carmine put his arm around Bellorum and smiled at Ike, “I’ll take you both to dinner here in the hotel, and by the time we finish you’ll have a new paint job.”

Bellorum glanced questioningly to Ike, “there you go! We even get a new paint job.”

He grinned at the bodyguard. After all, they were supposed to be keeping a low profile. “Deal.”

 

Approved x3

Name: Darth Ventris, Tantric Vos
Sex: Male
Age: Appears mid-30s/40s
Species: Kiffar
Homeworld: Kiffu

Height: 1.86 m/6’1”
Weight: 84 kg/185 lbs
Physical Attributes: Bright orange eyes. Black shoulder-length dreadlocks held up by a band. Dark olive skin. Lightly muscled. Vos family tattoos on the face and chest.
Clothing: Black sleeveless armor of lightsaber resistant insect chitin over a grey jumpsuit. Arms and hands wrapped in canvas material up to his biceps, similar to a boxer. Similar wrapping covering his legs to the calf, leaving his heels and toes free.
Abilities: Telekinesis, Teräs Käsi, Long-handed lightsaber combat, Niman form, Psychometry, Sith Alchemy, Force Mind Trick
Weapons/Tools: Long-handled lightsaber, three foot hilt made of wood-like lightsaber-resistant material

Occupation/Title: Former Dark Lord
Family: Any remaining Vos family members
Associates: N/A
Biography: Tantric Vos was born on Kiffu to an ambitious force-sensitive mother and the Sheyf at that time. His mother trained him in both the light and dark side of the Force, with a focus on Illusion and Alchemy. She also instilled in him delusions of grandeur, convincing him that he was destined for greatness.

He eventually left Kiffu behind and seeking his perceived birthright. His quest for power lead him to the then named Dominion of Darkness where he took on the mantle of Darth Ventris. Through subtle manipulations, his talent for solving problems, and quite a bit of luck, he briefly became the leader of the Dominion before stepping down in favor of Darth Insipid. He abandoned the Sith at this time, knowing that he would be considered a threat to the Triumverate’s power.

 

Double Triple Approved!

CHARACTER PROFILE:​

Name - Cassian Willix

Alias - Darth Kronos

Sex - Male

Age - 23

Species - Human

Homeworld - Coruscant

Height - 6'4"

Weight - 195 pounds.

Physical Attributes - A tall, moderately muscular body due to his years of constant training, from his life as a Jedi to his rigorous and dangerous life as a Sith. When he wore a mask, he kept his hair messy and unkempt, but eventually, once he and Esmeralda were alone on a shuttle to Bedlam, he changed that. Now his hair more closely resembles his facial hair: cleaner and far less messy. Though his facial hair is more stubble than anything else. Also light-skinned.

The most prominent feature of his face is his ocean blue eyes, which provide a stark contrast to the darkness within him. He almost always has a morose expression, probably deep in thought about something he'd rather not talk about.

Nowadays, he looks rather unassuming. The average citizen wouldn't suspect him of being a Dark Lord of the Sith.


(Kronos, during the Battle of Moraband, from before his fabulous makeover.)

Clothing - Generally prefers to have an armored look, but it does become bulky at times. In all honesty, he mainly wears it for the hidden slots, where he keeps memorabilia of his past he has, just in case he thinks he'll be whisked away again. No one except for him knows of this.

His clothing is filled with dark browns and blacks. Most notably is his black cape, though it's a 50/50 chance that he'll be wearing it. Besides, it isn't as clean or slick as it once was.

Abilities - A skilled practitioner of the Force and an almost-expert lightsaber duelist, Kronos is a powerful foe against nearly any opponent. However, especially recently, his fears and insecurities have gotten the better of him, resulting in far more lashes in rage on the battlefield. It makes him too unbalanced, and that can be an advantage to calmer enemies.

Weapons/Tools - His single-bladed red lightsaber. A combination of blacks, silvers, and reds color the blade's hilt, which is optimized for efficiency. Red, rubbery grips highlight the lower half of the hilt, which make harder, heavier strikes easier. On the upper portion, grip slits colored in black make one-handed dueling much easier. Silver mainly outlines the uppermost section and any other areas not made for efficiency.

Occupation/Title - Dark Lord of the Sith.

Family - Jacen and Jasmille Willix, his mother and father; both are deceased. Don't ask him because he'd rather not talk about it

Associates - Esmerelda, his current girlfriend. She's basically the only person he genuinely loves, and that results in him being over protective and probably too possessive at times. Darth Insipid, someone Kronos hates. He knows Insipid has something sinister hiding up his sleeve, and it bothers him.

Biography - Born to two loving parents on Coruscant, he lived a fairly easy life with them. But they both knew the Jedi would eventually find him, and when they did, his six-year-old self did not react pleasantly. But, in hindsight, his parents had understandable reasons, but that is a long story, and it really isn't important.

As a Sith, a fully fledged Sith, his first noteworthy mission was to accompany Darth Kralkus and others to the ice planet of Hoth. Though he had been on numerous others as a Peon, this was especially noteworthy because it was his first time meeting Esmerelda, who would grow to become an important figure in his life. While love at first sight would be an inaccurate read of the situation, he did almost immediately feel a strange sense of sympathy for her. At that moment, the exact reason why eluded him, but as time went on, it would become much clearer. He'd soon learn to push that as far into the deepest depths of his mind as possible.

Over even more time, his relationship with her grew into something more, something he had been lacking for years at that point: a genuine loving and compassionate relationship. Something that eventually grew intimate. Their relationship gave him access to a part of his humanity he originally thought was gone forever.

After they took their romance to the next level, two months passed, two months of general happiness, until a devastating, surprising, and wonderful revelation was made: Esme was pregnant with their child. As Kronos processed this news, anger overcame him as Ike, who initially revealed this to them, taunted him about cowardice. Before he could get his hands on Ike, Esme stunned him, leaving him to accompany Ike to Bellorum's side in the recently revealed War of Three.

Six months passed without contact.

Then he took matters into his own hand and flew to her last known location himself, only to discover devastating changes were made. Where there should have been a pregnancy bump was nothing, and it turned out that their twins - yes, twins - were stolen from them by sick and twisted doctors. With Esme left deeply distraught and angered, she killed one of them, Dr. Cerise, and accompanied him to his shuttle.

Then a day passed.

Their hyperdrive had been faulty, which had been a blessing in hindsight. During this time, the couple had decided to figure out what they would be going forward.

Finally exiting hyperspace revealed a destroyed world and an extremely small amount of Sith fleeing and hoping to board the ship. Insipid used the promise of finding their children to convince them to let them board.

Kronos reluctantly agreed. He knew Insipid was hiding something, but Kronos couldn't exactly leave him behind, as it would yield disastrous consequences. As would fleeing the Sith to start a family with Esme, which, deep down, was what he wanted, but he also knew it was unrealistic. They would just be hunted down before they could get very far.

Once they all boarded, it was up to them to restart the Sith Order anew, but that wasn't Kronos's primary concern.

Their children were out there. And no matter his complicated feelings on the matter, they had to find them.

And they could do so.

Together.

CHARACTER PROFILE:
​

Name - Jade Dorien

Alias - Mallace

Sex - Female

Age - 30

Species - Human

Homeworld - Jedha

Height - 5'8"

Weight - 130 pounds.

Physical Attributes - Her most noticeable features are her lithe and flexible frame and her deep black hair with white accents near the front. The former attribute aids her fighting skills, as they give her natural speed and increased agility and stamina.

Pale skin, a rounded face, and brown eyes compliment the other noticeable features of her appearance.


(Mallace, from before her encounter with the New Sith Empire... and before her trauma.)

Clothing - Prefers to wear simpler clothing as opposed to outfits thatscream flamboyance, but she isn't afraid of a little flair. A loose-fitting black wide-scale, held in place by a silver ring that is more comfortable than it looks, hangs off to her left side, leaving her right side completely open and easier to use.

Black forearm gloves, a random piece of right shoulder armor she thought looked cool, a purple shirt, and almost skin-tight purple and beige pants are her other noteworthy articles of clothing.

Abilities - A highly skilled lightsaber duelest, as that was what she practiced the most by far, she can defeat countless foes in combat, often due to underestimation. However, her Force abilities are rusty at best, and she can do little to combat that during a fight. It all depends on how skilled her opponent is.

Weapons/Tools - She only carries her red-bladed lightsaber, which has no interesting features. It was, however, originally her mother's, and Mallace cherishes it more than she'd like to admit.

Occupation/Title - Nothing within any Empire.

Family - Two parents who were killed by Jedi when Mallace was young.

Associates - No one. She remains alone amongst a bunch of backstabbing Sith.

Biography - Darth Mallace was born into a Sith family, on the planet of Jedha, living away from any other Force user, whether it be the Jedi, or Sith Empire. Her childhood was rough from the beginning. She never made any friends, and was forced to stay inside, focusing all of her time and energy to making herself stronger. Not within the Force, but in agility and physical strength. From an early age, she was pushed hard. Pushed to use her anger to overpower her enemies, and win battles easily. When she was younger, she was more prone to a rage fit, breaking many household things. But, her parents did not punish her, unlike any normal parent. They were proud of her, seeing the potential that she had. She began to grow in power the older she became.

Mallace took her first life at age seven. She had killed someone that had wronged her parents in one way or another (the details were not explained to her). It didn't take long for this person to be found, and he was dragged into their home, tied up and placed in the center of the main room. Mallace was handed a medium sized knife, and told to have her way with him. Her parents felt that it was time for her to know what it felt like to kill someone. And, so, Mallace made her move, making the person's death as slow as possible, her parents savoring every scream of agony. Every drop of blood that splattered against the floor. Once the deed was done, the cleanup began. And it was a pain. It took hours, even for Force users, as the thickness of the blood had seeped into the rug, to get rid of all the blood, and make everything look as it did before. That was why she didn't like knives: the cleanup. It took too long. And if you were doing a mission that required you to be quick and quiet, that could be a detriment. After the killing, blood covered her clothes and skin. She needed to be cleansed, so thatsuspicions would be off of her.

During the killing, Mallace had felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt. Nosorrow. No sadness. And this was a good thing. A very good thing,

The family thought they were in the clear. No one looked at the house funny. No one banged on the door with blasters, ready to shoot to kill (as stupid of an idea that would have been). But, they weren't. The police on the planet were called. Citizens had heard screaming coming from the home. There were a select few who knew that the family was Force Sensitive. Once being told of this, the police there sent a message to the Jedi hoping to rid the city of the Sith as quickly as possible.

The Jedi soon arrived. Two of them, to be exact. A Master, and and Apprentice. They immediately found the home. Sensing that there was a child there, they decided to take it with them, leaving the parents behind. Most likely dead. Probably not willing to cooperate. They burst into the house, lightsabers drawn, and a fight began.

Mallace stood back and watched the fight from afar, confident that her parents would easily win the fight. But, their skills were rusty. The two Jedi had killed both her mother and father rather quickly, not even taking a scratch. They turned their attention to Mallace, lightsabers off and on their belts, using a condescending tone that anyone would use to speak to a child. More so, because she was a Sith. The Jedi urged her to come with them.

She would not be doing that.

As she made her way to the Jedi, acting as if she was traumatized and scared, she reached down and grabbed her mother's lightsaber, her father's being cut down during the fight. She ignited it, and went to work, yellow in her eyes. She used all of her agility and anger to overpower the two Jedi, who were taken aback by the power that the "little girl" was displaying. In moments, the two Jedi were dead, one cut in three pieces (legs cut off first, then cut in half), and the other with a hole in his lower back). With her cover blown, her family dead, she broke the window in the back part of her home, and escaped into the shadows.

She made her way to a bar, andproceeded to threaten a passing traveler with her new weapon. She told him that if he didn't do as she told, she would gut him where he sat, and would do the same to everyone else there. Frightened, he agreed, stumbling his way to his ship, Mallace closely following, pointing the unlit lightsaber at his back.

The unnamed traveler flew her to a planet of her choice. She had always heard from other travelers that Tatooine was free from Jedi.So, she went there. Once the ship landed, Mallace immediately crushed the life out of the poor traveler with the Force Chokepower. No witnesses.

As she grew older, she taught herself how to fly, using the traveler's ship. It would be a necessary ability to have if she wanted to eventually get off the rock. It took a couple of years, but she was eventually competent enough to fly on her own.

All of that started when she was stillseven.

She spent years held up on Tatooine, trying desperately to keep her true identity a secret. She made her way by through petty crime and gang violence, killing anyone who was foolish enough to get in her way.

Things were looking up. It seemed as if she was in the clear.

Not anymore.

The Jedi must have learned their lesson from decades past with Anakin Skywalker, as they had showed up, looking for any potential Force sensitives to take in. Granted, it took them years to get around to it. However, they immediately sensed the dark presence there. And it didn't take long for them to find this dark presence. The pair of Jedi confronted her - the last mistake of their lives. She killed them quickly, leaving their mangled bodies behind, only grabbing her prized possessions before dashing to her ship that was close by. No one tried to stop her. They were too frightened.

As she took off, she eventually realized that she needed to go somewhere unknown to the public. Even by many of the Jedi. So, she set course for theUnknown Regions, on the run once again.

That was becoming a staple of her life.

She landed on the planet of Rakata Prime, surviving through killing andcooking any animals that she saw, and savoring any piece of food and water that she carried on her ship. A year passed, and no one had came for her.

But, she knew not to get too comfortable.

In a sudden flurry of excitement, Mallace was taken from her temporary home on Rakata Prime, and thrusted into a new home. Accompanied by five other darksiders, one being a cruel Peon handler, she was forced to confront an entity she knew nothing about - a self-proclaimed Dread Lord named Typhojem. He was a being who displayed a level of power and had never even dreamt of before. With a flick of His fingers, she and her temporary allies were turned into a hot, bubbly goo. Soon after, she was given a new body, one created by Typhojem himself. Adoppelgänger. She felt every painful second of the process. As one might expect, the incident was one she would never forget. The image and pain would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She was once able to keep herself calm and collected. But that was all out of the window now. Upon her arrival to New Moraband, she had a mental breakdown after seeing some of her new allies, especially because of the one who reminded her of Typhojem. In a surprising use of power, Mallace ended up destroying several pieces ofequipment in her fit of rage. In order to subdue her, someone - she does not remember who - knocked herunconscious. She was placed in a cryogenic freezing chamber until the Sith found a use for her. Like a rabid beast.Nothing but a mindless animal.

She was released by a woman she had never seen before. A Zeltron who intended to murder Mallace. Without thinking, she had quickly used the Force to grab her lightsaber and cut the Zeltron woman in half. Afterward, she was confronted by a Changeling. A fight would have occured, but it was stopped by the God-Emperor before it could. From there, things became harder to explain.

Lost and unaware of her situation, she mostly kept to herself. The one who reminded her of Typhojem - the God-Emperor - led the team, and she had no true allies to associate with.

Until a... thing spoke to her. It, named Soliloquy, took her under its wing until the climatic battle between two Sith took place. Everything spiraled out of control after that.

A coup between the three members of the Triumvirate was revealed. Each Sith was forced to choose a side, and, because of her lack of options and knowledge of the current situation, found herself siding with the God-Emperor (she does not like this at all). During the coup, she found herself in battle with unknown combatants. A test of their skills. She can no longer remember their identity. She survived the fight, but she had suffered a few wounds. Hurt and stumbling, she tookSoliloquy's offer and retreated with it, following it to a hangar with other Sith.

She had officially joined the First Order.

Six months passed, and her PTSD only became worse. While the three-way war was occurring, Mallace had another mental breakdown, and she was placed in stasis yet again. Without warning and without haste.

Once she is removed - someway, somehow - she will have to face hertrauma head on.

Because she can't keep living like this.

 

GM UPDATE 1 OF 3



IC: Plo Wanderguard - Dark Dreamer, in orbit above Nar Shadaa

It had been two weeks since Insipid saved them - shunted them through the gate, into the world between worlds and out the other side to a chance at a fresh start. And nearly the same two weeks since Plo Wanderguard had made the conscious decision to shed his Sith persona. Himself, Hel, Bellorum, Aryan and Syren, Anark, Vexx, Cal, Jerod and his son, and a few of Aryan’s former staffers had all been given a second chance. Even Ike. Plo wrinkled his nose at that.

He still couldn’t quite unpack it all - how he felt now about Insipid. Each had betrayed the other at least once. They’d fought to the death no less than twice and yet neither was dead - at least up until they had parted ways. He recognized that the man was very likely dead now. Insipid had even arranged what amounted to an attempt on Hel’s life at one point - though not a direct one - which Darth Haretisch has regarded as unforgivable at the time.

But now... where did they stand, in the end? He and his daughter had been saved by his old ally, partner and rival all in one. And now his trustworthiness - trust was always the main sticking point in their relationship, in both directions - was a moot point. All that was left was gratitude.

In truth he was only just now considering it. When they had arrived here, himself and Jerod on The Forgotten and the others in various shuttles and escape pods in its vicinity, survival was the first and only concern, and there would be time enough later to feel ways about things.

The crew of The Forgotten had deftly evacuated before Insipid’s heroics, leaving barely twenty some odd crew members remaining, and this together with the damage sustained at Bedlam had left the Hapan Battle Dragon hobbled. And so it had limped along for a few days as everyone convalesced, some more effectively than others, and those in charge, or who had been in charge rather, worked to find out where exactly they had emerged.

As it happened, it was not a question of where, but of when. They had taken a shuttle to the closest system - Seltros, to be specific, and had soon pieced it all together. The year was 1300 BBY, the heart of the New Sith Wars. Of course the present year was contemporaneously known as 2,353 ATC, since there was no Battle of Yavin or Ruusan Reformation from which to measure backwards, and the Treaty of Coruscant was instead the chosen epoch.

The Republic was but a shadow - with no real presence beyond the Core Worlds, and only limited clout within. Even the Sith had no central leadership. Most of the galaxy was wild. From the Colonies stretching outward to the edge of known space, the galactic map was a fractured dotting of fiefdoms belonging to Dark Lords of the Sith, independent systems, fledgling empires, Republic loyalists, and age-old monarchies renewed to power in the absence of an effective senate.

In short, it was a perfect galaxy to disappear into.

The Forgotten was not a viable long-term option due to its size and the extent of its damage, and so once they had gained their bearings, the refugee Sith and twenty three remaining crew members had set themselves to salvaging whatever they could. It was a relatively modest sum, what they were able to gather from selling what technology they could without attracting unwanted attention, and the others had all crowded aboard the last remaining shuttle and a squadron of TIEs, and set off to find and purchase a new ship. Darth Haretisch, meanwhile, was left with the unenviable task of “landing” The Forgotten on an uninhabited planet where it was unlikely to be found, and where it could wait to be further salvaged once it had been replaced with a ship more suitable for long-term occupancy.

Capital ships, unfortunately, are not good at landing. After the crash, and the fire which had quickly spread to consume and ruin most of the ship, Darth Haretisch had been forced to camp for three days on a hostile savannah. When finally his rescuers arrived to take him on board, he was sunburned, chewed mercilessly by insects, and had narrowly avoided being eaten by large predators of several different types.

He was so glad to have air conditioning and shelter and a working refresher, in fact, that he initially didn’t mind so much that they had shown up in a less than inconspicuous pleasure yacht that had obviously been stolen and then sold in a hurry for a fraction of its value. He didn’t even mind the ridiculous purple satin interiors and near vomit-inducing gold-plated trim. Not right at first, anyway. It had worn on him in the days since, however.

Worst of all was the name which Ike and Bellorum had given the ship after purchasing it. Seductive Peacock. He had leveraged them out of that, happily, and instead convinced them to retain the ship’s name at the time of sale.

And so the hard part was done, and the harder part was just beginning as Dark Dreamer decanted from hyperspace above Nar Shadaa. They were outlaws now - where better to start?

——

Ding-ding.

A chime sounded overhead, followed by an announcement from the bridge.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have arrived in orbit above Nar Shadaa. If you wish to visit the surface please allow a minimum of one standard hour before departure.

Plo stood in a corridor in the west wing near the crew quarters, staring out of just one of the many viewports on the Dark Dreamer.

The yacht was much too large to land in most starports, and so it was instead outfitted with a pair of hangars. Small, but large enough together to house a squadron of TIEs and the one shuttle. It could also dock in mid-air with other ships to facilitate the transfer of crew and supplies which was an odd feature, but useful nonetheless.

Plo suspected that the recommended hour wait would be taken as more of a gentle suggestion, by a few at least. He had no doubt that Syren would be off to the smuggler’s moon to look for marks at the first opportunity, and the same would likely go for Hel only if for no other reason than to explore. Vexx had been quiet, but likewise was probably beginning to go stir-crazy on the ship - especially for the relative lack of anonymity and solitude he seemed to enjoy.

The former Imperator glanced to his chrono and noted that Aryan Graul would likely be in the medbay or the gym undergoing his daily rehab and therapy with Dr. Cal. The last few weeks had clearly been difficult for him since the injuries he had sustained at Bedlam. Though he had made progress, especially early on, he had now hit a wall of sorts and his ability to walk and speak and remember things were all still very much compromised. The man had been a liability and a burden since their arrival in this time, such that the old Darth Haretisch may not have suffered him to live, whatever their relationship. That was then. Now Plo Wanderguard was making efforts to be better than he had been. Aryan could still be an asset if he were to make a recovery, and these people were all he had now, and nothing, no one, was truly replaceable. Still, the man needed to pull his weight eventually. This ship was expensive. Moreso to maintain than to purchase, at least at the price Bellorum and Ike had negotiated, and they needed every credit they could make.

Each denizen of the ship had a different chosen hustle, it seemed, and so the agreement had been made early on that everyone should serve a purpose. That while Jerod was captaining the ship, Chief Rask was keeping the guards on point, and Ami Sayul was managing the inventory and maintenance crew, the bounty hunters and assassins and thieves and swindlers on board should work at every stop and surrender half of their profits to the “community chest.”

To that end, Plo keyed his comm to a frequency tied in to the ship’s intercom, and followed the bridge’s announcement with his own.

”Nar Shadaa, everyone. Let’s get to work - we’ve got a ship to keep running. Hit the city and find some leads, you all know what to do. And remember no Darth names - we don’t want people thinking we’re Sith.”

When he was done he tuned his frequency to Anark’s - and Darth Syren’s.

”Meet me in Hangar A. One hour.” He cut the transmission and sighed. He was afraid Anark and low-key were not compatible concepts, but Anark was better not left unsupervised, and he could think of none better than Syren to help him keep the man at least somewhat under control.

TAG: @QueenSabe7, @Snokers, @Kaleesh-Cyborg, @Sinrebirth, @Lady Belligerent

——

IC: First Mate Alta - Dark Dreamer, Nar Shadaa

“This is still so odd,” Alta remarked, adjusting the insignia on his jacket. He was used to being captain of a star destroyer. Now he was first mate on a pleasure yacht - in a time when star destroyers didn’t exist yet. The Dark Dreamer’s bridge was a quarter of the size of his old ship, with one tenth the crew. A navigator, a pilot, a comm and radar officer, and himself and Jerod. He felt extraneous. And his damned uniform didn’t fit. They’d found them in a bin in the cargo hold - a hundred some odd crew uniforms in various sizes, dark green and smart, very reminiscent of his old imperial attire. But damnit if not a single one was a good fit for his smaller frame.

It wasn’t nearly so bad as the feeling of uselessness, though. What exactly does a First Mate do on a ship of fifty people?

“Captain Jerod, may I have the bridge?” He asked. He needed desperately to feel like he actually had a worthwhile purpose, and allowing the captain more leisure time with his son was the closest thing to. “Put your feet up, I can manage here myself. I’m sure your son misses you.”

The truth was probably the opposite. Shortly after naming him captain, Darth Haretisch had given Jerod an ultimatum - to take care of his own son, or else. The boy was too dangerous to be left alone, much less to abandon somewhere and unleash on an unsuspecting galaxy, as he feared Lennox might do if left to his own devices. And Haretisch was an orphan himself - if he possessed any ethical sense at all it was at least that children shouldn’t be abandoned. Nonetheless it seemed there wasn’t a naturally paternal bone in the Captain’s body.

TAG: @Jerjerrod-Lennox

 

An Ike and Bellorum combo with @Sinrebirth
aboard the Dark Dreamer

Bellorum and Ike were settling in to try a bottle of wine they had selected from the Dark Dreamer’s bar. She’d been sprucing up her quarters a bit, but was pleased to leave the violet color scheme in place. “I’m not sure our comrades appreciate this fine palace we managed to find,” she told Ike as she handed him a cork screw, “we could have brought back some beaten up old freighter, but we gave them luxury.” Bellorum scowled as she removed two glasses from a cabinet and sat them on the table.

Bellorum was already slurring her words, Ike noted, and he grinned, wondering if she had started before him. "There's no accounting for taste, my dear." He sipped from the wine; it was indeed a potent vintage. Heady, and strong, it certainly had a punch.

"Delightful," he gestured with the glass in hand, indicating the room. "I see you have done this up. Entertaining is half the fun, after all. We spent too much time being Sith, and not enough ondown-time. I am looking forward to us being completely off the grid for a few years."

He went to speak anew, but his browknitted. He sensed something, an absence? Particularly powerful Force users were able to create that impression, especially those naturally powerful as children. Could it be -

There was a crash, deeper in thechambers. "Bell?"

Bellorum’s violet blade sprung to life and she shook off her delightful buzz, “did they follow us?” She’d asked and stood ready to defend against endless Sith spawn.

A memory flooded in, one that still visited her dreams. On where she would practically smell the miasma wafting off the Sith spawn. It was a stench one couldn’t forget. Could some have managed to follow the Sith through time?

Dashing into her bed chambers she heard a giggle and a pile of shimmer silk was flailing around recklessly. “It’s that bloody child,” Bellorum spat and extinguished her lightsaber. “Get out of here, you bloody nuisance!” She didn’t need to see the naughty imp’s face, this was no doubt Jerod’s spawn that was destroying her cocktail hour.

Bellorum made to grab the child but the layers of her garments were slippery, which gave Xander the advantage. She grabbed a handful of her favorite cloak and found it sticky and dripping wet. “Oh, hell nooooo!”
She jabbed at her comlink all the while spewing out curse words that Xander would surely remember and make use of in the future. “Jerod!!” Bellorum was shouting and probably didn’t need to bother using a comm since beings on other plants likely heard, and felt, her anger.

“Get your kriffing demon under control!”

Tag: @Jerjerrod-Lennox


IC: Cal Jepsun
Dark Dreamer - medbay

The physician sighed heavily as he scrolled through the pharmaceutical inventory Hel had prepared for him. Without an assistant or even a nurse, he was feeling a bit frustrated. Hel had a decent knowledge of anatomy and it seemed her biology knowledge was first rate too. For a moment he pondered that cloning might be a lucrative business to get into in this era.

Cal was brought back to this issue at hand by the clattering of a hydrospanner hitting the floor, the sparkly garish tile that someone had the bad taste to select for the medical center of the ship. Hel leaned down and grabbed the tool, “I’m just about done with the adjustments on this droid,” she informed Cal, “how’s the drug situation working out?”

“We have just enough of a diuretic to treat Aryan for roughly 10 days,” Cal said as she was pointed to the particular drug he was speaking of, “add it to my shopping list to give your dad.” Hel leaned over and dutifully made a note in her datapad that laid on the counter and waited. They had raided the Forgotten’s medbay, which had provided him with sufficient supplies for minor injuries. However, Graul’s injury wasn’t minor.

Cal had felt like he should be keep records, even though he wasn’t concerned about any medical board governing over him. The worst would be he killed a patient, but that was everyday business within the Sith, and he kind of liked how they roll. Except in this case Haretisch has instructed him to cure Graul’s injuries, and quickly. As if he had the Force to do these things...

The record began with:

Aryan Graul, human male, age approximately 53 standard years. No known pre-existing conditions as patient isn’t able to consistently communicate legibly to give the information.

Patient presents with symptoms of:

Fatigue, head pain, nausea, sensitivity to sounds, feeling moody with swings ranging from complete apathy to unexplained laughing and feelings of depression.

Difficulty concentrating, and minor confusion. Difficulty speaking.

Physical exam:
Normal body temperature, pulse 105, blood pressure 145/102, pupils dilated.

Major muscle groups are stiff. There is bilateral tightness in hip flexors and abductors especially.

Patient complains of feeling of “instability”. Or, that’s what physician believes he’s indicating.

Scans confirm major trauma to the Broca and Wernicke’s areas of the brain, explaining the effects on speech and launguage.

Recommendation:

diuretic
methylprednisolone
physical therapy
speech therapy with medical droid

“And patience,” Cal said aloud, rather than typing that into the brief notes. He looked up and smiled at the concerned expression on Hel’s face, “I’m sure he’ll be fine, it’s just going to a matter of how willing he is to cooperate.”

Aryan wasn’t likely to recover quickly, these things take time, but Cal felt like there shouldn’t be lasting damage IF the man followed his instructions. The last thing he needed to do was to fall. Any repeat head trauma could be fatal, and needed to avoid a bleed.

“Will you run some of the speech programs with the droid?” Cal asked Hel as he moved around the items on his desk. “We will be starting Graul on phonology and articulation exercises.”

During the exam Cal had asked Graul to repeat after him, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,” and it didn’t go well. Judging from the patient’s reaction, Cal opted to not include any nursery rhymes in the exercises programmed into the droid.

He turned off his display and told Hel he was going to the gym. “I want to see how Aryan is doing and make sure he’s taking things slow.”

Tag: @HanSolo29

 

IC:Lord Manticore
In Orbit, Aboard the Stardust

Oblivion.

It is a nothing. Total and absolute.

How then do some call it blissful or sweet? That would mean a knowing, yet that too is a lie. There is no time, no memory or sensation, of self or reality. But such comparisons are made by those who inhabit the conscious realm.

And so, trickle by trickle did it flow in: consciousness and memory -or was it indeed memory and not just imagination? Nevertheless, as memories go, the last was usually first.

Where was he exactly, he could not recall at the moment.

Chaos. Fury. Carnage. Survival. It was the crux of the moment. He saw himself battling a plethora of fanatics, a veritable tide of lightsaber-wielding sycophants he viciously cut down by the dozens, and still more came. It wasn't that they were brave, but there were cowards among them too. Many were also assailing him with ranged weapons, blasters and the like, but he saw the weakness in their tactics. They would not consciously fire on their fellows, so all he needed to do was keep a good number of unwitting sycophants between himself and the shooters.

Something was driving them to their deaths in an attempt to tire him out. At that realization, he heard a sneering snigger, even as he felt a powerful presence, which coincided with his opponents' intensifying attacks. It didn’t matter how many he slew or how furiously his lightsaber spun, cutting flesh and bone asunder. They came at him without relenting.

In a moment between space and time, Manticore's fiery eyes beheld that leering scarred visage; he recognized the triumphant glint in those sunken beady-eyes. With a simple wave of a gnarled hand, his mind was penetrated. Manticore struggled immediately, reinforcing mental defenses and erecting new barriers to fend-off the powerful and insidious attack, but the trap had been successfully sprung. In truth, he could not successfully fend-off both the mental assault 'and' the sycophantic horde at once.

In a flash, he felt multiple successive stabs pierce his form, sending jolts of pain all through him, all while the leering scarred man drew closer, and continued to rob him of his consciousness.

Defiant to the last, he continued to resist, until oblivion, which was neither sweet or blissful, finally claimed him.

That, had been after Mortis. After his fateful duel against Darth Haretisch, who had slain the zabrak and betrayed the Sith.

In another world, they had rejected Typhojem. Unified by purpose, they had overcome Abeloth.

In a vision, he had been rejected by the Great Tulak Hord himself and was deemed as nothing more than a tool.

Many more images swirled and raced, faster and faster, retaining less substance and permanence with each passing moment, as a semblance of awareness asserted itself.

A man in grey. A beautiful woman. A child.

All images now, which became gossamer and immaterial.

Suddenly, he heard himself gasping for air as he lurched forward. Reflexively, he squinted at the ambient lighting, though everything he gazed at seemed fuzzy. Spasms coursed through his limbs, even as he forced himself to stand, hissing intently, all the while exerting his will over his half-responsive body.

Strange. No one was attacking him. Still, he could not afford to remain vulnerable.

It took a moment to orient himself, both in respects of his whereabouts and the force. Nothing seemed familiar…and his sight -it was correcting itself far too slowly for his liking; though he did not need to ‘see’ in order defend himself if necessary.

In the force, he could sense others around him. Sith, he surmised. He looked around, and saw only fuzzy shapes. Two seemed to be females and one large creature. Neither of which he recognized.

Another powerful force signature was nearby, as well as a faint one.

Manticore inclined his head for a moment and knotted his brow as he tried to make sense of it all.

Movement and sound caught his attention and he turned to see a fuzzy and faceless red shape. It seemed humanoid, but it had no force signature in the manner of living beings. Hmmm. A droid of some kind.

The sudden movement caused him to momentarily experience a disorienting sensation in his head, but he managed to forcibly steady himself.

His threat assessment informed him that he was in no imminent danger, but he was in no real condition to trust that just yet.

“Where….where, am I?” the re-awakened Sith Lord managed to rasp.


Tag: @Sinrebirth, (TRAYUS), @Mitth_Fisto, @Darth Cocytus ( if aware ), @QueenSabe7 (Leda), @Darth Kronos (Mallace), @WookieeRage (if awake)

 

Ventris. Vos.
Purgatory

Ventris. Vos. Ventris. Vos.

Each step in the tower was named. Of course, they weren’t names that meant anything. Not anymore.

Each name was a step in the tower. This really was the perfect place to die. He was the tower, after all.

But he couldn’t die. Surely he would have, if it were possible. He didn’t even remember trying to stave it off. Perhaps he was too good at surviving to die. So he survived. If that’s what this was.

Was. Who was he? The steps or the tower? A tower could exist without the steps. Could he exist without his name? Maybe if Ventris had died, so would have Vos. But, of course, he couldn’t. Hadn’t.

He was stuck in a loop. He had to shake it off, but the spiral was keeping him round. There was no forward, because a tower always strove upward. Or downward. But downward was death, and he couldn’t. Damn it. Still round.

He wasn’t even sure if he was moving anymore. This tower stretched to the heavens, and he could never reach it.

Suddenly, salvation. An old, familiar tug broke the reverie. Familiar was wrong in this new, fresh hell. Familiar had been wrong for years. Familiar was the chance of death. Not that he could die.

Come; quickly. Come. Now.

Now. Now. Now. Now. There was an urgency in the call. Now must mean now.

He stood up. Instinct lent him power. He knew that voice, and he’d go to it as he once had. But, would he be Vos or would he be Ventris, he asked. No one answered. No one had for years. He willed his old bones upward.

And at the top of the tower he found, shrouded in darkness as he had always been, Darth Insipid.

Tag: @Sinrebirth

 

The following is a combo post with Lady Belligerent – thank you!


IC: Aryan Graul, Dr. Cal Jepsun, and Valieri Denora
Gym, aboard the Dark Dreamer

“Nar Shadaa, everyone. Let’s get to work - we’ve got a ship to keep running. Hit the city and find some leads, you all know what to do. And remember no Darth names - we don’t want people thinking we’re Sith.”

It was the overhead announcement that ultimately triggered Aryan. Like a single spark igniting a latent fuse, this type of sensory stimuli evoked a rush of adrenaline that sent his mind reeling into overdrive. It manifested itself in both an outward display of aggression, laced intermittently with broken curses and incoherent ranting, and a more discernible form of anxiety; one that leaned heavily toward desperation.

This impulsive behavior had become a common occurrence over the past two weeks, one of the many consequences of his head trauma. It varied from extreme highs to unprecedented lows, and included a wide range of moods, such as pure goofiness, violent outbursts, and bouts of acute depression.

While Aryan remained fairly cognizant of his ailments and his sense of self, despite not remembering the incident itself or the 48 hours preceding it, he could not control these sporadic episodes nor the very perceptible changes that occurred to his personality as a result. It was like someone had toggled a switch in his brain, causing him to simply let loose on his every whim. This was usually at the expense of proper etiquette and manners, and made for some rather difficult, and often embarrassing moments for both himself and those around him.

In this instance, his tantrum stemmed directly from his own insecurities and the very sudden urge to escape, which the announcement instigated. It generated a sense of mild paranoia inside of him that made it seem as if the walls were closing in from all sides, his addled mind soon tracking on a single thought that bordered on obsessive – he had to get off this ship and prove himself...particularly to Syren.

He had already noticed her tendency to hesitate while in his presence and how she had even started to keep her distance, frequently engaging in various tasks around the ship as time allowed. While it could be something as simple as her wanting to pull her weight in a less than ideal situation, Aryan suspected that this behavior was more intricately linked to his ailing condition. As a result, he felt compelled to stop the bleeding before it could get any worse; he would do anything to help her understand and accept him.

That was why he was on the treadmill now, pumping at a high speed and working beyond the safety parameters established for someone with his diminished capabilities. He had to prove himself – to convince the others that he was well enough to go planetside...

But at the moment, he wasn’t making a very convincing case.

Dressed simply in a plain t-shirt, shorts, and jogging shoes, Aryan wobbled dangerously as his feet struck the belt with an uneven staccato. He was struggling to maintain his balance, his right foot occasionally dragging awkwardly across the surface with each misstep that occurred. His hands were in a white-knuckled grip against the frame, but unfortunately his body did not want to fully cooperate; the injury had deeply affected the limbs on his right side, weakening the muscles and compromising his motor functions to the point where he had difficulty grasping objects and bending his leg properly. As such, he began to tip precariously to that side, his right hand slipping from the rail and falling rigidly to his thigh as fatigue finally set in. The only thing keeping him upright was his caregiver and trainer, who had stepped in quickly at his staggering and placed both hands firmly on his waist to prevent further injury.

From his vantage point, she was a stringent woman with closely cropped blond hair and soft features, but for the life of him, Aryan could not commit her name to memory, no matter how many times she told him – was it Val or Vale? Something else entirely? Either way, he got the impression that she was not duly qualified to hold this position, which likely explained her lapse in judgement when it came to allowing him on the treadmill in the first place.

And in this particular situation, he did not take too kindly to her intervention when it came to correcting her mistake. When she touched him, he automatically assumed that she was trying to hold him back from his goal, which elicited another round of expletives from his lips – the only thing that seemed to come fluently. She did not flinch at the verbal barrage, however; she simply took the abuse and carried on with her duties. If anything, she muttered a few words of disapproval and tightened her grip on his torso in an effort to calm him down and coax him away from the machine.

In a sense, he was acting like a petulant child, though it was through no fault of his own. A brain injury could be a very fickle thing, unpredictable and exhaustive.

Cal had hesitated outside the gym to observe his patient for a few minutes. Graul couldn’t see the physician from the angle he was standing, and Cal made no effort to hide his reaction to Graul’s outburst. What the kriff? Did this man have a death wish?

With a sigh Cal walked into the gym and scowled at Aryan, “damnit, Aryan! Stop abusing your caregiver,” he said sternly. “Take it out on me if you must,” Cal chucked in an attempt to soften his rebuke, “I’ve got thick skin and have been trained to ignore patients.”

Jepsun took out a pin light and shined it into Graul’s eyes, “we discussed how strenuous your physical therapy needed to be currently,” Cal put the light away as he spoke and took hold of Graul’s wrist to check his pulse, “it is nothing near that business you were attempting to do on the treadmill.”

This was going to be tricky, he didn’t want to alienate Aryan, but he had to cooperate if there was any hope of restoring his health. Brain injuries were tricky and this would take a great deal of patience.

Cal pulled over a chair and sat down, “look, some of your mood swings are due to the high doses of steroids I’m giving you,” he took out a few pages of flimsy from his pocket and handed them to Aryan, “this is a bit of information on the medications that I thought you might find helpful. There’s some pointers like keeping a low sodium diet while on the steroids, and being aware of the vicious rages...which you just experienced.”

Jepsun felt bad for the woman assigned to Aryan’s care, but she didn’t seem to pay too much attention to the outburst and made sure to keep her patient safe when he decided to foolishly use the treadmill at an unsafe speed.

“If I get a report that you’re not following orders,” Cal continued, “I’ll have you confined to quarters. We cannot risk further injury.”

Surprisingly, the doctor's words had a mitigating effect on his temper. They gave Aryan something to focus on and puzzle over, essentially distracting him from the source of his immediate outburst. It also helped him to find an anchor back to reality – to realize that he had, yet again, become a victim to his erratic emotions. It was extremely difficult to counteract these impulsive responses when he could barely sort through the haze that had descended on his mind.

He liked to think that he was easing back into himself, and in this case, the threat of losing his freedom certainly put things in perspective and aided him in that regard. Perhaps it even frightened him to some extent, particularly as it related to his latest episode.

Glancing up from the pamphlets the doctor had handed him, Aryan frowned at this declaration from Jepsun and worked his jaw tirelessly, a nervous twitch he had developed over the past few weeks whenever he anticipated having to talk. His speech, or lack thereof, continued to remain a source of great frustration for him; while he could comprehend what others were saying and knew what he wanted to say in return, he was unable to form the words to actually express himself. He usually ended up with a jumbled mess of broken words and phrases. It was better if he didn’t speak at all.

And fortunately, he got a pass for the moment.

His caregiver, Valieri, crossed in front of Aryan and gave him a gentle nudge to help him sit down on a nearby bench before turning her attention to Dr. Jepsun. “I apologize,” she conveyed evenly, her expression fairly composed. “I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” She offered a weak smile and picked up the cane he had discarded earlier, placing it on the bench beside him.

“As for the abuse?” she looked from Jepsun to Aryan, a slight twinkle in her eye. “Don’t worry about it; I’ve heard worse. Remember, I served in the Imperial Navy for years prior to my medical re-assignment. You don’t know what swearing is until you’ve spent some time around a bunch of pilots.”

Aryan canted his head and studied her intently, a rare smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth at her levity. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction out of the woman, and he suddenly felt obligated to make it up to her...to explain himself.

“No control…burst,” Aryan stammered unexpectedly, his left hand rising up toward the side of his head to make a gesture as if mimicking an explosion. “Er...ship...loc--locate ship...me go, er--free...free down, uh...down...surface Nar...uh--Nar-Nar Shha--kriff...planet? Trap--um, I...trapped.”

It wasn’t pretty, but hopefully they would catch his meaning.

“Thank you, Valieri,” Cal smiled to the woman, “I’m quite pleased we have someone as capable as you in charge of our patient.” He turned back to Aryan and placed his hand on his patient’s jaw where the nerves were twitching. His fingers gently easing the ripples of Aryan’s warm skin.

“We have to find a way for you to relax,” Cal murmured, “and you’ve just given me an idea.” He removed his hand and pulled out a datapad to look at, rather than looking into Graul’s eyes. “I need to locate some medications and supplies,” Cal spoke up in a more normal tone, “how about you, and Valieri, come along? We can make it an exercise in navigating being out in public, so I’ll consult Haret-, uh...Mr. Wanderguard, and see if we can take a little outing.”

Aryan had begun to idly scratch and drag his fingers through his beard around the area Jepsun had recently touched, but now he stopped and exhaled heavily as he glanced up at the doctor with surprise. So, the man had understood his ramblings; perhaps they were making progress, after all.

That thought brought another smile to his lips and he nodded his head fervently. “Yes, um...outing...I, er...I go--escape...ship.”

Cal stood and before leaving he reminded Aryan that he wasn’t making idle threats, “I need your word that you’ll follow instructions and take your recovery slowly. I want plenty of activities that relax you added in immediately!” The doc looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, “what about painting? Or maybe collecting?”

“Plants,” Aryan blurted out before he even realized what he was saying. It was an errant thought, one which had seemingly come out of nowhere. Was it yet another aspect of his past self that he had forgotten due to his injury, or something else entirely? This gave him pause, his brow furrowing with concern, but he decided to simply roll with it; it felt right. “I, uh...I like...plants.”

He gave Graul a wicked grin before adding, “I once had a patient that claimed sex was the only thing to aid in relaxing.” With a shrug Cal left and headed to find the boss to request the field trip.

The doctor’s parting words actually elicited a light chuckle from deep in Aryan’s throat. “I, uh...talk...Syren,” he stuttered in a more playful tone, clearly making an attempt to push aside his insecurities. “She...er, she...provide...relaxing--very good...uh, always good.”

If I can get her to notice me and accept me, he thought glumly.

But Aryan did not voice those concerns out loud. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the doctor’s warning about his behavior and how he should adhere to his instructions when it came to his rehabilitation and therapy. While he couldn’t make any guarantees regarding his impulsive tendencies and random outbursts, he would certainly make an effort to ensure that this excursion went as smoothly as possible.

“No...uh, no--worry,” Aryan muttered quietly to the doctor's retreating back. “I, uh...I go--slow...yeah, er...slow.” Despite his words, he planted his left hand against the surface of the bench for leverage and pushed off weakly in an effort to rise back up to his feet.

“Whoa,” Valieri exclaimed as she came around to the side of the bench and caught him just in time, placing one hand on his back for support. She then applied pressure to his chest with the other to gently ease him back down. “Take it easy, remember? Let’s go through a few more repetitions on these stretches to work your hip extensors and loosen some of this up.” She patted his thigh with a thin smile. “Once we finish, I’ll take you back to your quarters to freshen up and get you changed into a fresh set of clothes.”

Aryan stared at her for a moment, almost as if he wanted to protest, but he ultimately gave his consent with a slow nod. He was getting off this ship, that’s all that mattered right now; that was his goal.

Without another word, Aryan inhaled deeply and allowed the caregiver to help him lay down to begin the session.

TAG: @Lady Belligerent

 

IC: Azeth Drost
Kesh orbit

The universe certainly had a sense of humor, if the last few months were any indication. From being re-awoken after centuries of forced stasis by the First Order purely by accident, to being pressed into service to fight in a three way civil war he didn't understand, all to end up fleeing the birth of an old god into a new reality.

From Jedi, to Sith, to whatever thing he was pretending to be now. A cruel sense of humor indeed.

The Miraluka had arrived in orbit over Kesh along with a number of other survivors of Bedlam a few short months ago. For the first week, Drost was in a near constant state of panic, constantly fearing the clearly eventual horde of monsters which would tear not just him, but all of his allies limb from limb. The nights were worse. The young Miraluka was plagued by nightmares - visions of unspeakable horrors which defied the nature of reality itself. A God made flesh, tearing its way into being through unholy rage.

The first dozen nights, he would awaken screaming, doused in sweat, unable to catch his breath, Typhojem's visage seared into his mind's eye. A month later and Drost still awoke every few hours, shaken to his core, yet now, he was unable to understand why.

At first, he agonized over the unknown cause of his night terrors, but as the weeks continued to pass without incident, Drost simply chose to forget, to relish in unassuming ignorance. And for the first time, he slept soundly, the widening gaps of his recent memory either not being noticed, or purposefully ignored.

Yet, another problem soon reared its ugly head: Boredom. Drost lacked any real engineering knowledge, so he voluntarily kept away from any ship repairs. After the injuries he sustained during the battle on Bedlam, Drost had spent most of his time slowly stitching himself back up through careful use of the force. Other than some mild tingling in his left hand's fingertips, and stiffness in his shoulder, he was practically back at full strength.

One immediate solution was to travel below to the world of Kesh, specifically the city Tahv. The process of blending in with the locals required some effort, as they all had blue or purple skin, and he, well, did not. The lengthy application of purple dye to one's skin was generally enough to fool the local Keshiri, who were usually too busy wrapt up in their own day-today activities that they paid the visiting Sith no mind.

Drost however, was apart of the Miraluka species, a species which saw the world around them through the force, which left little need for eyes. The Keshiri on the other hand, not only used eyes for their vision, but used two of them. He first attempted to blend in witht he Keshiri through the use of immaculately painted eyes over his vestigial eye sockets, which ended in failure. He then tried creating glass eyes, but he could never quite get them right, if the curious stares of the locals gave anything away..

___

Kesh - Cafe

Azeth Drost often used to enjoy the crafting and application of disguises, the tantalizing thrill of almost being discovered by a uniquely astute foe, the ultimate goal being reached without being discovered..

But this was getting a bit ridiculous. Drost had found that the best way to blend in with the Keshiri was to simply keep his face tilted towards the ground, and to tap around in front of him with a long, slender stick. The Keshiri, for the most part, ignored him, believing him to be blind. Those who might have wanted to question the validity of his blindness knew that such questions were socially rude, and chose to ignore him.

The perfect disguise really, yet Drost was disappointed. It was just all so boring. Took all the fun out of it really..

Drost slowly worked his way through the crowded streets of Tahv, making sure to almost bump into a number of people in his path, just to keep up the illusion. He only had the one objective for the day, that being to meet up with Emperor Insipid and the others at a local cafe. He was unsure of the nature of the meeting, but it didn't really matter. When the Emperor calls, you stop everything and go.

Drost allowed a small smile to appear on his face. If he remembered correctly, the cafe in question had quite a sizable selection of drinks, all of which he had sampled at some point or another. He smile faltered somewhat. Hadn't he?

The Miraluka paused mid step, ignoring the objections of the Keshiri who now had to walk around him. No, I certainly have by now.. The three fruit juices for sure.. Which were.. Keshiri was one of them for sure.. No wait.. that's the people.. They don't consume each other, do they? No, of course not, that's silly Azeth.. Moving on, I know I tried some of the Teas before, the red leaf one was good.. But.. Why can't I remember the name..? Ah, I'm sure I'll think of it when I get there.. His wistful smile returned, and he continued on his way, his previous confusion already put out of his mind.

"We gather here today to say good bye to one of our fallen comrades. To Darth Serapis, who in his last moments, threw himself at our enemy and was destroyed. Without his distraction, without the extra time he obtained us, and without his resolve even when split in three, we would not have had the time to act, to push our comrades through the Door. Wherever they are, I have little doubt that they will do what Sith do best - conquer, and take..."

Drost awoke with a start, almost knocking over his drink in the process. He was suddenly aware that he was, in fact, sitting down at a table, a drink in hand, with the Emperor seated directly across from him. He internally squashed the alarm klaxons blaring in his ears, and instead chose to raise his glass in a solemn toast, before taking a quick drink of the liquid inside.

He was surprised to find that the liquid was, in fact, not the subtle, fragrant tea he was so fond of, but instead a strong alcohol which burned as it slid down his throat. Drost held back a surprised cough and forced himself to be silent, paying direct attention to Emperor Insipid's words.

After unknowingly echoing the cheer led by Inspid, Drost leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Ehm, excuse me, my lord, but, how do you propose we go about achieving this plan of yours? I don't believe Coruscant will be lightly guarded.. And we certainly don't have the numbers to wage a siege.." He leaned backwards again, choosing to drain the remainder of his drink in attempt to not appear as nervous as he felt.

His question however, was more of an attempt to fill time. The real riddle he needed solved was of how he had gotten to the meeting in the first place. The last thing he remembered was trading away a spare silk robe for some foodstuffs earlier that day.. Or did he?

Drost nervously scratched at his since healed shoulder blade, becoming increasingly worried about the sanctity of his memories..


Tag: @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Bernael
Location: Open Plaza, Kesh

In the middle of one of the holiest places in Tahv, the Circle Eternal, a dark spot appeared, growing wider, until it seemed a dark hole in space. It hung there, no movement for but a moment yet screaming like the universe itself was in pain and then first one shape, then a larger, and finally a smaller passed through it. The first a cloaked, hooded, and masked figure; the second seemingly a walking tree; the third a female in dark clothing. A fourth too was there, likewise but for a moment, before it and the hole disappeared, leaving the three standing in the brightly lit day surrounded by, at first, open mouthed Keshiri.

Light, bright and blinding, all Bernael saw as he stepped through the portal. Quickly though his sight returned, 'Ahhh, Kesh again, but when?' As this thought passed the plaza emptied, Keshiri screaming, fleeing. 'Definitely not the same Kesh.' Not everything fled, however, and presently flying creatures zeroed in on Renn, Helenith, and himself.

He turned to ask his old friend what advice he had and discovered Lord Insipid was gone. Seconds later he realized that too was not entirely correct, he felt him, different but still him, a distance away. Reaching out he followed the trace with his mind, lightning quick. Even at that speed he only got a general direction and distance but it was enough to allow him to zero in on it again, once this threat had passed. Looking up at them he saw different flights of apparently dragon like reptiles, large wings, beaked mouths, big enough to carry a man or, it seemed in this case, a Keshiri. And those Keshiri were armed and obviously very unhappy with either who they were or where they’d appeared, or both.

Casting his mind up toward the swooping beings, he felt a welter of thoughts. Two were most prevalent. He could almost see, in his mind’s eye, the image of the Keshiri riddling them with projectiles and mutilating their bodies, just for being what the three of them were, not of this world. Even more overwhelming was the almost incandescent fury that the intruders were standing in what may be considered one of the holiest sites on the planet. ‘First Abeloth, and now you set us down in the worst possible spot, old friend.’

Bernael considered his options. Chances were he could influence a great many of those minds that the three of them were Keshiri, but that would be time consuming, not to mention draining his energy, already not at peak because of Lord Insipid’s earlier testing of him. If it had been just him, he could have simply vanished and made his way quietly and swiftly to his destination, but the other two were still with him and he had not been told his time ensuring they got where they were needed was over, so he felt responsible for them. But that also didn’t mean he had to be the only one ensuring they all survived to make it to their destination.

"Renn, Helenith, somehow I doubt it would do us good to be this exposed. This is still Kesh but well before the time we come from, and in this time they are quite xenophobic, at least that's what I get from their thoughts. Not only that, but, as is his way Lord Insipid set us down in the middle of a holy site. So there is no way these Keshiri could be convinced or allow us to leave this plaza alive. I can feel where we need to go but first we must escape this. Which, unfortunately for my state of mind, means letting you two loose to clear out our new friends. I leave it to you two to figure out how to disperse them so I can cover us and get us moving."

Behind his mask, Bernael’s eyes turned black, his talons extended, and his hands strayed close to the hilts of his sabers. He would cover both Renn and Helenith as they did whatever it was they were going to do, for now. His work would truly begin when it was time to get out of here and get where they needed to go.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following has a mini combo with Darth Helenith

IC: Renn Turon and Darth Helenith Combo
Location: Behind Bernael

‘Damn short people’ Renn thought as he ducked to follow Bernael into the still shrinking portal. ‘I can’t even stand up without worrying that this thing is going to slice chunks off.’ The distance traveled wasn’t that far, but he could feel that time was warping, that they were slicing through it, headed to a time when the universe wasn’t in the process of dying.

He stood, stretching, as he did, as soon as they exited the portal. He felt Helenith closeby, after her leap, saw Bernael ahead, and for a moment saw Lord Insipid, before he and the portal vanished, like ghosts on the wind. In that same instance his senses were assaulted by wave upon wave of fear, all directed at the three of them, all insanely terrified. So much fear, almost debilitating in its intensity. Through the pain of the emotions swirling around he spun a quick circle and realized that they were the only three non Keshiri in the plaza.

He saw Bernael freeze, turn his head in one direction, give a tiny nod, then wrench his gaze upward. As he did, Renn felt overwhelming anger directed, once again, at the three of them. The, almost palpable, anger was laced through with disgust, loathing, and fear. He followed Bernael’s gaze upward and saw dozens of large, flying, reptiles, mounted by Keshiri, who the almost overwhelming animosity was coming from. Likewise, spears and slivers of high speed glass, from the weapons in their hands, were lancing down toward them.

And then he heard Bernael speak.

"Renn, Helenith, somehow I doubt it would do us good to be this exposed. This is still Kesh but well before the time we come from, and in this time they are quite xenophobic, at least that's what I get from their thoughts. Not only that, but our guide set us down in the middle of a holy site. So there is no way these Keshiri could be convinced or allow us to leave this plaza alive. I can feel where we need to go but first we must escape this. Which, unfortunately for my state of mind, means letting you two loose to clear out our new friends. I leave it to you two to figure out how to disperse them so I can cover us and get us moving."

Wanting, so much, to reach out and smack Bernael for, as usual, giving him the brute squad job, “Well, thanks vampire, and really, are you absolutely sure they don’t like us? Couldn’t those be their welcoming spears and projectiles headed directly at us? Next time save the obvious and take care of your part.”

Turning toward Helenith, Renn looked down, a broad smile on his face, his hand staying the same size as he held it out for her to grasp, even as he grew to enormous height, and that same arm became an almost whiplike limb. “Hey Craziness, I have an idea. Want to go flying?”

"Chaos, right?"

The tears drying on Helinith's face flashed momentarily like little suns at Renn.

"I can do that."

A grief and rage was building inside her and she focused it into her hands. Her gloves began to smolder so she pulled them off and blue sparks cracked across her fingertips. The lightning built in power and slowly crawled up her arms as she clenched her fists.

"Let’s kill something.”

‘Oh yes, glorious chaos!” Renn took a careful, but strong grip on her, and beginning with a turn from the opposite side of his body, his arm following through in a swift arc, he lifted and threw her up toward the flights descending upon them. A death's head grin split his face as he threw her, “HUUUMMMAAANNN PIIINNNNBBAAALLLLLL!!!!” he yelled as she went airborne and flew from his grasp.

He continued his swing, spreading out the hand at the end of the flailing arm, swatting Keshiri from the sky, right and left. He kept turning, leaving half of the sky for Helenith to release her rage upon. At his, now, 9.5 meter height his head was now up among the riders. He roared, the sound itself shaking several from their flight paths. The long appendage shrunk back to one that matched his new height, and he summoned two sabers, igniting the blades, and swiftly beginning to cut wings off of the reptiles as well as arms and heads from the Keshiri. Lightning burst forth from a third arm he’d grown, arcing across the sky, charring creatures and Keshiri alike, while mingling with that Helenith was loosing upon their foes.

He was not worried to have his back exposed as he knew Bernael was still ground bound and would be deflecting any attacks that came his way. Every so often he’d check on Helenith’s progress, and make sure whether she needed any help. At his new height, if she needed something to rebound off of, to bounce back into action, his back would work perfectly.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @darthhelinith

 

OOC: Apologies for the repost, thanks to @Lady Belligerent for the info on the last bit of the tag which was chopped off

IC: Captain Lennox Jerod
Location: Dark Dreamer, Nar Shaddaa orbit

What the hell am I doing here…

That was Jerod’ thought as he surveyed the bridge of the Dark Dreamer. This ship was under his captaincy now, although to be honest with the amount of Sith on board he considered it to be more of a position that he still had to answer to them. And he had to get used to the fact that he would have to stop calling Lord Haretisch, now under his original name Plo Wanderguard “Milord”.

However the good news was that three of him command crew from the Repentance, former Captain Alta and the former Lieutenants Enzo Azzurri and Matic Carrusco had made it off. Although it was small comfort that they had made it and the rest of the crew had not. Carrusco was now in the pilot’s seat (which Jerod was glad of as he would have no-one else piloting the ship) and Azzurri was on comms, however there was an unknown person now sitting at the navigator’s station. Alta was back at Jerod’s side as his First Mate to provide his insight and advice as always.

Besides it was not everyday that you had a Lieutenant that could fly a Star Destroyer.

The bridge was a lot smaller than he was used to and the crew was now mostly made up of people whom he didn't know. He would have to start from scratch which was frustrating but unfortunately he had to work with it, especially in these desperate times. He was essentially now in command of a ship that was part pleasure yacht and part warship. He had spent time going over the schematic of the ship memorizing very detail, especially on the weapons side of things. He knew that where they were now, he may have to use them. He also had a squadron of TIE’s as well which was not as many as he was used to but it was better than nothing.

This is a hell of a lot different that a Star Destroyer…

Jerod looked down at his uniform, well what was his uniform now. He was wearing more casual clothes now but he had managed to keep his black boots from his Imperial uniform which were comfortable, it was also a reminder of what he had left behind more noticeably his Grand Admiral rank.

And his dead ex wife.

Jerod sighed. Poor Cleo. She had tried to get them out of a rather sticky situation involving some rather nasty beasts that wanted to eat the shuttle for breakfast, lunch and dinner and had ended up getting killed in the process. He did spend moments thinking about her, how it could all have been different if he had just still be married to her instead of the job. And now he had his son to look after. His very Force sensitive possibly psychotic son who had unleashed his power against the beasts. And now he was on board this yacht causing trouble for the others whilst Jerod was Captaining. Besides he didn't think anyone was up to babysitting him less they get disintegrated.

Flashback to two weeks ago. There was Jerod stuck on board his shuttle on the Forgotten, waiting for his inevitable death along with Xander, Cleo’s dead body and Haretisch. But something happened that he did not expect. He had been sent, along with the Forgotten into some sort of wormhole in space. They had then ended up in the past, whether it was a different timeline or not he didn't know. But what he did know was that he was still alive along with Xander and he could breathe again. Alta, Azzurri and Carrusco had been picked up after they too had been sucked through the wormhole to Jerod’s delight.

His arm that had been injured in a rather nasty fight with some First Order stormtroopers was tended to and Cleo’s body removed from his wrecked shuttle. He had stood next to the body as it lay in the medbay, silently wishing that she would wake up, that their son needed her as well as him and that she had done a grand job of flying, better than he would have done.

And eventually he had to tell his son that his mother was dead. As he was recovering aboard the rather wrecked Battle Dragon he eventually told his son that Cleo had died and that she had died saving them both. That it wasn't his fault nor Jerods and that he should be proud of his mother and that she would love him and still be with him always. And then Lennox worried that his son would basically rip the fragile Battle Dragon apart.

Thankfully he didn't but the medbay did shake a little.

He was now solely responsible for his son. And to be honest he didn't know how to look after a Force sensitive son with mental health problems. Lennox mostly left it all up to Cleo, but with her gone he now had to handle Xander carefully. Don’t make him too angry, don’t mention anything about what had happened in the past and keep an eye on him. He didn't know what was going to happen but what he had to hope for was that he could keep Xander safe and hopefully no-one else would get hurt.

Well hopefully….

Alta, Carrusco, Azzurri and him then met up to have a conflab about the situation. They had indeed arrived in the past sometime within the New Sith Wars. Jerod, as an avid reader of history well more in the tactics section of things wanted to know as much as possible about where they were. What was going on politically, the different factions involved and what ships could be in use. Unfortunately no capital ships about as Star Destroyers had not yet even been thought of yet. However one thing was for certain, the galaxy was now wild and untamed. And so Jerod and the other former Imperials now had to shed their Imperial personas and become rough and ready outlaws.
Which Jerod would find difficult.

He was stoic through and through, always having his poker face on when going into battle. However this time he knew that he wasn't going to be going into battle as much now. He was going to have to hang the rules and etiquette and start acting like an outlaw. No qualms about anything, just steal, plunder and possibly even murder his way through a hostile galaxy. It wasn't him, but he supposed the old Jerod would have been left behind in that wreck of a galaxy they had just departed.

Perhaps even show more emotion too.

Eventually everybody hat had taken shelter on the Forgotten had to get off it as the Battle Dragon was no longer sustainable as a ship. Leaving Haretisch behind to land what was left of the thing everybody crammed aboard the last shuttle and headed off with the TIE’s to purchase brand new ship. Cleo’s body was ejected from the Battle Dragon with Jerod’s consent. He would rather have her buried back on Bilbringi but with the galaxy as it was now that he wasn't sure if that was a good idea. And so he and Xander watched sadly as he=is beloved was ejected into space, her body to float among the stars.

He hadn't had much interaction with the others from the Imperium or the rest as he spent most of his time looking after his son and with his former Repentance crew mates. He had heard Aryan Graul had been badly injured but apart from that he endeavored to stay out of the way unless he was needed.

And so they ended up with this monstrosity. The pleasure yacht turned warship that basically had an interior that was basically designed by a blind man. He hated the interior and he hated the paint job on the exterior. The first thing he wanted to do was punch that smug Sith Ike in the head but Carrusco had managed to calm him down by explaining that at least they had a ship and he would have to get used to the interior. Meanwhile Xander had become a terror and was making things difficult for the rest. Lennox had to tell him off several times rather sternly that this was not a playground ad that he was annoying everyone. And typically for a young child, he wasn't listening. He did explain to the child that if he was good perhaps he could even come up to the bridge and see what his father did for a living.

Even that did not register.

He had also spent his thirty ninth birthday drinking by himself in the bar within the common area. And getting himself thoroughly wasted for a change. All he kept thinking about that he was a failure. Failed to protect Cleo, failure as a father to Xander, failed to protect the Repentance crew, failed to help the rest. Thankfully Azzurri had found him and taken him back to his quarters before he could start any fights. And then spent the next day working off the hangover with a thorough gym and martial arts session.

Lennox had been named Captain of the yacht thanks to Haretisch, well he had decided to shake off his Sithly name and was now using his true name. It was now Jerod’s responsibility to look after this yacht and make sure they could possibly get back home in one piece.

And so here he was now, two weeks later with Alta and the others above the planet Nar Shaddaa, an outlaw’s paradise. Carrusco had brought them into orbit whilst Azzurri did the usual pleasantries over the comm before making the announcement over the intercom.

“You could have made that sound a lot cheerier” said Carrusco looking at Azzurri from the pilot's station “You could have just said “Welcome to Nar Shadaa, home of scum and villainy, please enjoy yourself with a spate of pillaging plundering, murder and other leisurely activities”, you do you’re not on a Star Destroyer now Enzo”

Jerod chuckled but Azzurri shook his head “Come on Matic, we were Imperials for how long?” he raised an eyebrow “Besides what was I supposed to say? I’m not used to doing comm messages all the time, usually someone else did them”

Jerod had to smile. At least his Lieutenants were using their first names which was more casual. And they weren't chatting loudly over crew pits. He had to remember now that he didn't have to use ranks now with the bridge crew including Alta but with the Sith he still had to show deference.

“This is still so odd,” Alta remarked, adjusting the insignia on his jacket.

“You and me both Alta” Jerod replied looking out of the bridge viewport at the planet beyond his bright green eyes flitting about looking for an immediate danger. The Imperial in him was still looking for enemies everywhere and even as an outlaw you still couldn't take your eye off the ball.

Alta and the others had basically found their uniforms in a bin full of them, Azzurri constantly moaning that his was too big. And Jerod was more used to wearing a pristine olive green, then gray then white uniform. And instead of reading reports like he was used to all Jerod had to do was stare out of the viewport and make sure no-one snuck up on them. At least Azzurri could busy himself on comms and Carrusci could practice his piloting. Lennox and Alta were positively bored.

“Captain Jerod, may I have the bridge?” Alta asked. Jerod did feel sorry for him, the poor man was used to commanding two pits of officers and soldiers not four of them. And whilst Jerod was on the bridge he was basically reduced to doing nothing. “Put your feet up, I can manage here myself. I’m sure your son misses you.”

Well that was probably true, in a sense.

Jerod was definitely not the galaxy's greatest dad, even he could admit it and most of the time he left the parenting to Cleo. Now with Xander on his own he now had to take the reigns, the one good thing he supposed was that Xander at least had a father figure now, albeit a rubbish one. Truth be told he would rather be on the bridge or doing something else than looking after his son. Lord Haretisch had given him an ultimatum after naming him Captain which was to look after his son or basically else. And so Jerod had endeavored to try and spend as much time as he could with his son, educating him and giving him the love a father should. Well when Xander wasn't running around making the others life hell. He didn't know what would happen with his Force training now that Haretisch had thrown away his Sith persona and name.

And if he ever did find another woman to be with who would want a man who spent most of his time on a ship’s bridge and a son who was basically bordering on insane?.

Jerod sighed “I suppose you are right Alta, after all, you’ve got to sink your teeth into the leadership role should things go awry. I think of you as a protege of sorts, so I would like to see how you deal with this ship rather than a capital one” Alta had showed his skills on the Repentance including Jerod’s mastery of tactics which seemed to have rubbed off on him “Besides, that little monkey has been causing trouble again. The only quarters he hasn't managed to trash is mine and his. And I think he misses his mother more than me.” he smirked “The joys of being a father”

Meanwhile Carrusco and Azzuri were now having a discussion about which member of the crew would reveal they were a Sith first or who was more likley to murder someone. “Keep an eye on the kids and make sure they behave themselves” he smiled “It’s nice to see them relaxed for a change and not be afraid that I might yell at them for talking too loudly”

He patted Alta’s shoulder “Maintain course in orbit and keep an eye out. If anybody threatens us or start shooting, you can forget the pleasantries now we are no longer Imperials. Maybe threaten them with a good old fashioned shooting."

And then Jerod’s comm bleeped and a few choice curse words came spewing out of the comm from the former Empress of the Twilight Sun crime syndicate. This was followed by :“Jerod!!, “Get your kriffing demon under control!”

Jerod sighed “Duty calls, see you later. And only comm me if it is planet shatteringly urgent.” and left the bridge, one hand on his blaster at his side. He only trusted those from the former Imperium on the ship, everyone else he had to be careful with. Who knew who could stab him in the back just to even get the Captaincy of this ship. He remembered he was saluted every time he roamed the corridors of a Star Destroyer, now he was stared at as if he was meat.

As he made his way through the luxury ship it still seemed weird to actually be on this thing. The gaudy interior would make you go cross eyes if you stared at it too long.

The comm had come from Bellorum’s quarters so Jerod decided to head there first. It seemed that Xander had decided to terrorize her today which was not a good idea. Especially since she and Ike had bought this ship and were probably conversing together as they mostly did. It was also noticeable that the Dark Dreamer's bar kept missing bottles of stuff which usually meant they were drinking. Which Jerod disapproved of. You ad to be at your best for whatever came at you and getting drunk was not a way to be ready. Thankfully for him it was only the once.

As he continued down her heard the thunk of something launching. He knew nobody was due to launch for an hour as per Azzurri’s announcement. Could it be….

Oh HELL no!

Jerod rushed to the nearest viewport and watched as the escape pod began to move away, with his son probably in it. And all he wanted to do at that moment was pound something. Or throw something.

Preferably at Ike. Smarmy git.

His anger was building into a volcanic rage. It was not often he got angry, but this felt good. The stoic him was fading and he was letting his emotions free. Which felt excellent as if he had been released from his Imperial shell.

But he also wanted to shout at his son for doing something so stupid. Yes, his son was strong in the Force (and he wasn't sure where he got THAT from) but it didn't give him the excuse to run roughshod over the ship. He didn't care now i his son choked him for this, he was getting a telling off and then some. Hopefully in private. Jerod had effectively disowned his son after what had happened between him and his baby brother and he wished many a time that Cleo and Xander had not come aboard the Repentance.

However with Cleo gone he had to take the reigns. And live with it.

“JEROD!!!”

“By the gods I’ll kill father and son,” Bellorum roared.

Lennox had heard that loud and clear “Jerod to bridge” he said raising his comlink to his lips “Azzurri can you check the escape pod heading towards Nar Shaddaa for life signs please?”

“One moment” came the response as Azzurri moved stations from comms to radar “Confirmed one life sign, please don’t tell me that is-”

“My son yes” said Jerod cutting off the young former Lieutenant “Keep track of it and tell me where it lands. I’m in pursuit, with hopefully a couple of friends along for the ride”

“Yes sir”

Lennx found the half Chiss half human Bellorum looking out of one of the viewports a look of thunder on her face. Nearby was Ike, the man who was insufferable according Jerod although he did however look like he belonged on a modeling catalogue.

He shrugged “Kids eh?” he sighed “Apologies milady, it seems that Xander has decided to take a trip in an escape pod. And it seems by the look on your face he has done something rather naughty to go along with that transgression”

He tipped his head to the side narrowing his bright green eyes “Although it seems you and Ike have been on the drink again. And with a Force sensitive young boy running around, probably not a good idea. Here is a tip for you both, if you ever want to have kids, don’t. It’s hell. And I know it has been hell for you all, believe me you can join the queue of people that want to throw him off the ship. I wouldn't blame you. But sadly my ex wife is dead and I have to take responsibility”

His voice turned slightly sterner “I respect you as Sith, but I think it is time for you two to sober up” he smirked slightly “It might be time to get a shuttle ready and head off for a quick ride to get him. And since you decided to take a little break, maybe you would like to come on this little excursion”

He kept the smirk on his face “Besides, you are more well versed in the art of the Force than I am” he gestured with his arm “Shall we?”

TAG: @Lady Belligerent , @Sinrebirth , @Darth_wanderguard

 

IC: Darth Helinith
Location: Kresh Pinball machine



Helinith shot through the air like an electric-blue, crackling pinball, aiming straight for the rider furthest from them.

Her first impact probably broke the ribs of the flying creature- there was certainly a crack- and it screeched with a hideous sound, wings flapping in a panic as it tried to pull itself up and away from the raging ball of fury that had wounded it so. She let it go, and it climbed steeply upwards and away from battle, completely unresponsive to the commands of the rider, who could only clutch onto its neck for dear life. But she was already careering down towards her next target, using gravity now to land down hard on the creature's left wing. Again, there was another sickening crunch of bone and this creature entered a free fall, with its rider desperately trying to unstrap himself before his mount impacted with the ground.
She had already ricocheted off the wing, up again towards her third target, reaching out and gripping to the fleshy folds of its belly with both hands. The rider swiped at her but she pulled herself away and unleashed around two thousand volts of force lightning down her arms and straight into the creature's chest (Helinith herself had no way to measure the voltage or current she was producing, but on retelling, would later describe it as a ****-ton).

There was a smell of fried flesh, as the mount (and subsequently its Kresh rider) began to burn from the inside out, screaming as they did.

They plummeted in a smouldering heap. Helinith finished her assault and pulled herself onto the back of the creature so its body would break her own fall if needed- safety first. But it wasn't nessessary; she was able to summon enough of a force push to bounce up again, towards Renn this time, landing on his shoulder hands first and using her momentum to swing herself around onto her feet.

"One hundred per creature plus triple bonus -because I got each rider as well- is nine hundred points." She pulled her lightsaber hilt into her hand, panting slightly. "Beat that."

Tag: @darthbernael @Sinrebirth

Sent from my left elbow using Tapatalk

 

IC: Darth Anark
Aboard Dark Dreamer...


“You look strange.”

He stared into those eyes wondering what hell had forged them; a dim yellow, blood shot and tired

This odd character’s unwillingness to respond to him was beginning to make Darth Anark feel a bit uneasy. A shiver crept up his spine, biting at every vertebrae on its way up where it settled at the nape of his neck and dissipated. He looked the hooded figure up and down, now daring him to strike.

Red puddles…

The thought was an intrusive one.

As the figure drew back his hood and revealed his face, Anark recoiled slightly but resolved to stand his ground. He exhaled deeply and clutched his lightsaber hilt.

“Will you help us?” Anark’s voice shook when he finally managed to swallow his pride and ask the question but the Sith could feel a rage bubbling not far below the surface.

When there was no reply he lashed out, not bothering to activate his weapon but instead striking out with the chain wrapped hilt of his saber.

The mirror cracked. A few shards of glass fell onto the surface of the vanity table. Darth Anark stared at his shattered reflection, his head tilting to one side as he examined himself. He loosened his robe and let it fall to the floor. He’d certainly looked better. His once tight abdomen was beginning to soften, his hair was greasy and had grown long enough to tickle his eyelashes and the bottoms of his eyes were purple and swollen.

A sorry sight and a sorry Sith

“Be silent,” he barked through gritted teeth.

He ran his fingers through his hair and pursed his lips as he pondered.

His eyes fell on a pair of scissors in the open drawer of the dresser, they were nestled amongst a handful of bloodied bacta patches.

He stood up straight with a start and groaned when his comlink crackled to life.

~{Meet me in Hangar A. One hour.}~

Haretisch’s voice was an unwelcome din. The old swine had even commanded that they shed their Darth names so as not to rile up the locals. Anark’s brow wrinkled as he reached into his trouser pocket. The small screen on his comm told him that the transmission was for Syren too. A quiet chuckle escaped him when he thought of offering his sympathies to her on the ordeal she’d suffered with Aryan Graul.

No. He liked Lady Syren. She was a fine warrior, he’d seen that first hand.

Returning to his distorted image in the mirror Anark rubbed at his eyes. He decided there wasn’t time to rid himself of the dusting of scruff growing on his chin but he did need to do something about his… do.

His face softened and a grin cracked across it as he pushed the button and watched his crimson blade come to life. He loved that sound so. It had attached itself to so many memories – so many victories.

He grabbed a chunk of his hair at the front and ran the humming blade along. The smell of the burning strands wasn’t pleasant but still he whistled gleefully as the work continued.

Hangar A… Hangar A… the tone of Wanderguard’s voice did not imply that there was time to step into the refresher.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard @Lady Belligerent ​

----


IC: Bo Etraa
Kesh...


The Executor (did that title even hold any merit anymore?) raised his glass dutifully in toast to the Sith Emperor’s tribute to their fallen comrade. He did not know Serapis but if he had been responsible for Bo still drawing breath then ‘here, here!’

He drank deep and prohibited his thoughts from flitting to his brother, which was no easy feat.

The tea was disgusting. Bellorum would have saw to it that his goblet was filled with a fine wine.

He took a gander around and regarded this new group. It seemed that most of them had already established a relationship with one another. They were Sith and he was not. Bellorum was a universe away and so he felt stripped of any clout he may have had in the months prior. The only semblance of finery he still bore was an upgraded version of his gold-chrome armour, though the matching helmet lost in Bedlam hadn’t been replaced. He knew he would need to act quickly to get his foot in the door of this newly minted order.

Insipid was… not what Bo had expected. His brother had always spoke of him as a God-like being. Bo had imagined him to be taller, more… commanding of respect. Though he did wear a charming smile as he led a cheer which was echoed by those at the meeting.

There was a droid on its way with the purple skin paint this Emperor spoke of. Bo cringed at the idea but he was ready to get out into the city and begin his work.

TAG: @Sinrebirth @Silvertough @Darth Kronos @E. L.Knight ​

 

IC: Darth Kronos and Esmerelda

In the day that he and Esme had been stuck in hyperspace, in a shuttle en route to Bedlam, so much had changed that it was physically exhausting to think about. So much so that he doubted he could even remember everything Insipid had told him if he tried.

The surprise return of Typhojem was the most alarming. With his return, though alternate dimensions or realities or whatever, came disastrous consequences. Bedlam had decimated in a horrific sight, and the New Sith Order was left both repaired and, somehow, even more fractured and broken than before. While the Order had united once again after Typhojem's return, the alternate reality nonsense had resulted in the separation of the Triumvirate. Insipid remained in this timeline anddimension, along with a select few others, but Haretisch and Bellorum and the majority of the Order weretransported to an unknown time and place, with seemingly no way of coming back.

As to their children, there was even more horrifying news. They were confirmed to be alive, much to Esme's relief, but they were located in some random area of the galaxy. Apparently, Doctor Shadow,associated with Doctor Cerise, was actually Snoke in disguise, and he had a sinister hand in the current fate of their kids.

As he said, physically exhausting to think about.

Now, months later, he, Esme, Insipid, and a few others were inside a small, local café - mourning the loss of Serapis,someone Kronos had briefly interacted with but barely knew beyond that. To commemorate that, Insipid gave one of his signature, long-winded speeches.

He wrapped his left arm around Esme's waist as he spoke.

Afterward, he locked eyes with Esme and noticed she looked somewhat glum.

"You okay?" he whispered.

Esme squeezed his hand. “I’m fine, Kronos. It’s actually kinda fun, when you forget that Insipid can kill us anytime he likes.” She carefully sipped the tea - lord it was awful - making sure she didn’t smudge her purple-skin paint.

Having to wear this was maddeningly itchy if the heat rose too high, but they could hardly declare themselves to the Keshiri. The owner caught her eye, looking bemused, and Esme sipped the tea again and looped appreciative. Her smile was wan, but genuine - she was having fun.

“How are you, though?”

"Tired. Exhausted.... Itchy," he scratched at his face to emphasize his last point, the purple paint becoming unbearable due to the heat.

"But I've been through worse."

Kronos's tea cup remained full. He was never much of a tea person in the first place, and judging from the reactions of everyone else, this particular brew was horrid.

"To be honest, I just want to go to bed."

He smiled to emphasize his joking nature.

TAG: @Sinrebirth @Snokers @Silvertough @E. L.Knight

 

IC: Syren
Dark Dreamer, Nar Shadaa

--

Swirls of black fog upon a black backdrop, a single face appearing – a man, lost to his own mental wounds, long feminine fingers cupping his face and digging into his skin.

‘You are with me. You are safe. Do you understand?’

The voice, her voice was strained with anguish that could be felt as well as heard. The man, did not acknowledge, did not have a chance as he abruptly disappeared in a gust of smoke.

Syren was left alone, Aryan’s face disintegrating right in her hands which she was now staring at, horror-stricken and aware she was adrift. Where was she? Spinning once, all she was met with was a never-ending darkness…. Wait. No, there was something else here, someone.

A hazy outline of a figure was approaching from the distance, closing in quickly. Should she be scared? Worried? Threatened? She felt them all.

“Syren.” This being called her name, an alluring summons, its tone deep and gruff. Familiar… “It’s been a long time.”

Too familiar. And it clicked, a voice she hadn’t heard in several millenia and one she had never hoped to hear again.

“Liev?” she whispered, shocked to the point of being speechless. And sure enough, the figure was close enough now for her to see it was him. A man that continued to haunt her from the past, one she had trusted more than anyone before him, and he had repaid her with a betrayal of the mind, body and soul.

Tall, muscular and imposing, he was clad in armor she had remembered him in, his brown hair tousled and loose to his shoulders, his scarred face twisted into a rage-filled sneer. His abdomen was smeared in blood, fresh blood.

“Miss me?” he asked, gazing at her with a leering smile.

She had no words.

But she would need none, a moment later his face melting away in a gruesome manner – flesh and muscle dripping until there was just bone, leaving his face a hollowed-out skull. Syren opened her mouth to scream, but there was no sound. She turned to flee, but found her body bound by invisible restraints.

“You can never run from me.” The bone of the jaw cracked as it spoke, a black ooze beginning to creep up from the collar of his shirt. It moved as one, unnatural, coating and filling the skull until it took on finer details of…

And it lunged for her, she did scream now, the black slime latching onto her and climbing all over her limbs, up onto her chest, into her mouth…

“We are you.”

--

Syren’s upper half jolted upright and that scream carried on, only cut off when her forehead promptly connected with something extremely hard and unyielding.

“Kriff!” she exclaimed, collapsing back down into the position she had been lying a moment before. Shifting onto her back, she ran her hands over herself as if trying to scatter away a swarm of bugs, blinking her eyes frantically in order to clear away her blurred vision. Her head began to throb and she stilled, pressing a hand to it as reality returned to her in force. A dream… only a dream.

A dream that had felt too real.

Slowly, her focus came to, though just as it did everything within view began to tilt. Then spin. And tilt in the opposite direction. Then swirl together into a stomach-lurching mess.

Syren returned to her side with a groan, bringing her knees to her chest and clenching her eyes shut to try and ward off the sudden onset of nausea. She bit back the bile that flooded her throat, but was uncertain she’d be able to do so a second time. Chills ran up and down her exposed arms and legs, tiny hairs standing on end as she trembled slightly, grimacing against her escalating headache that threatened to make her ill with each jab of pain. She smacked her dry-cracked lips, her mouth almost entirely devoid of moisture…

In short, she felt like ****.

Trying once more to see, peering carefully through the tiniest slits in her lids, one to start and then both.

A metal floor, glass there and clothing, small unmarked boxes beneath something – a bed – covers on top, and another bunk even above that. Gently turning to look back at what she had flung her head off of, she was met with the bottom of a bunk identical to the one across from her. And it dawned on her, a fuzzy memory of the night before attempting to break the surface of her mental haze.

The crew quarters… yes, she had come here to pass out peacefully, not in any shape or attitude to see… him. To see Aryan.

Syren groaned again, sluggishly working her way up to sitting and pulling along a bedsheet with her to wrap around her shoulders. Rather than move her head around in too many directions, she felt out as best she could with her senses, muddled as they were. There were no other signatures occupying the space as far as she could tell, and judging by what was strewn about on the floor around her feet, she could probably see why.

The glass she had spied belonged to a pair of empty bottles, one broken in several shards that fanned out a ways down the central walkway. And the clothing – hers. Several pieces were in a heap, including her pants, which brought her gaze down to her bare legs. And to one of her hands that she cradled in her lap. She raised it slightly to examine closer – red flakes caked under a few nails, her palm tinted and stained a rusty-brown… Blood, there and up onto her forearm. Seeing it now, she could smell the faint metallic scent it left behind. Even in as bad a shape she was in, she knew it wasn’t hers.

“Great,” Syren whispered, having no recollection of who it belonged to or how it had gotten there. Though, unsurprisingly, she was not fazed by it. Wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last, and she only hoped that if it was from some mysterious event last night, that she hadn’t left a grislier mess in a more… open area.

Aryan wouldn’t approve, neither would Haretisch probably. No, Plo.

A loud screechy click noise followed by a slight bout of feedback rang out into the room, to which she whined and covered her ears.

Nar Shadaa, everyone. Let’s get to work - we’ve got a ship to keep running. Hit the city and find some leads, you all know what to do. And remember no Darth names - we don’t want people thinking we’re Sith.

Speaking of, that was the former Night Herald speaking over ship-wide comm. The usual, straight to the point, but what he said was enough to ease some of her discomfort. Any reason to get off this kriffing ship, and play. She needed a drink too, only thing that would take this edge off.

“Meet me in Hangar A. One hour.”

Bewildered for a moment, as it was still Plo’s voice that spoke then but from somewhere much more direct, her brain lagged for a second before realizing that last command had come into her personal wrist comm.

Grumbling, Syren rubbed her hands over her face roughly, waking herself up and mustering the courage to actually climb the rest of the way to her feet. Unsteady but standing, she staggered to the showers and washed away the known and unknown parts of her evening, redressing in the same outfit she had been wearing since – dark red slacks, fitted and covered mid-calf to foot with black wedge boots, a slinky black tank and utility jacket for her top. Leaving her damp hair down to dry on its own, the assassin paused on her way out to examine her face in a mirror.

Heavy black circles lined her eyes, and she looked… older. Worn out and used. Her cheeks a bit sunken in and a few creases around her mouth that she had never noticed before seemed quite prominent. The grey of her eyes, they were almost black again. This face was different than what it was before, before everything.

Aryan appeared in her thoughts again, his pain and injuries igniting a fire deep in her chest that she preferred to wholly ignore. Now though, she hadn’t the strength.

All of a sudden a large crack splintered the glass before her, cleaving her visage in half diagonally. She lingered a moment, looking at herself, disfigured, and then the crack webbed out to shatter the mirror entirely. The pieces fell away to the floor like glitter.

Gathering a few other things, Syren steeled herself and made her way to the meeting point.

TAGS: @Darth_wanderguard @Snokers ( @HanSolo29, for mention)