Star Wars OPEN New Sith Trials: Dark Reach: Episode I: An Order Remade

IC: Lady Styx
Moraband, the ship descending

The Kaminoan woman paused, glaring at her master. Darth Cocytus was a hard taskmaster. Styx spoke the words that the Holocron of Darth Andeddu had told her.

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me."

"I know, my master," she ground out, when finished. "I do not know the meaning of the same - words are lies, after all, and it is..." a distaste rippled across her features, "emotions which allow us to access the Force, no?" She gestured lazily, almost annoyed.

As they spoke, the ship came through the atmosphere and settled in the dust. The world was already tugging upon Cocytus and Styx, a specific voice drawing on them.

Come to my tomb, and speak to me.

Me, who founded all you speak of.

TAG: @Darth Cocytus
---
IC: Luke Skywalker
Watching his mistake

His blade ignited lazily and swatted aside the attack of Serapis, and then Luke scowled as he watched the debris float away.

Killing them had been a terrible necessity; they had refused to surrender, and refused to stop. They had killed dozens of individuals, and wanted Luke to just walk away.

Yes, the Hapans could reach out to the Acolytes anyway and could decide to join whatever nefarious scheme they had, and Luke would stop them if so. But he had rooted out the two Acolytes here, after all. The others were on Kesh, the world the Kaminoan had mentioned that didn't exist in any star chart... which meant... what?

He would have to pick at that loose end.

Releasing the Force bubble that kept him in atmosphere, Luke left the broken throne room to speak to the Hapan Queen Mother and called Artoo to bring his X-wing back around. Star Home had taken a great deal of damage, and Ta'a would have a lot to handle. The sooner he left, the sooner she could spin the tale in her favour.

Had he watched, Luke would have seen the Hapan Battle Dragon turn, veering across the battle as the other Hapan Battle Dragons present fired on its rear shields. Medea huffed across the comms. "Do you know how hard it is to snag a human and a Neti with a capital ship tractor beam?" An amused sigh. "I found them, there's a mouse droid bringing them to you now."

Bo's escape pod, when launched, would cross the path of the Hapan Battle Dragon that Helinith had stolen, so the crew would be reunited.

The tractor beam snagged Renn and Serapis, and much of the debris with it from the throne room. The yank was damaging, bones would crack, bodies would warp, but nothing necessarily permanent. The two of them and a mass of durasteel and bodies clattered to the hangar bay, and their Peacemaker was outbound.

A reunion was at hand.

A successful mission indeed.

TAG: @DarthIshyZ, @darthbernael, @darthhelinith, @Snokers (combo?)
---
IC: Darth Insipid
Kesh violence, Kesh madness, Kesh treachery

The battle was modulating.

Only Revan and the Nightsister remained, the others turning upon each other, the Sorceror of Tund and the Sith; the Sorceror killed the latter, and then sagged, wounded thoroughly. Shimmer exhaled, happy that she didn't need to try and fight off Bernael, or the 'sister, or intervene.

The Master looked from Vyatoris, who seemed to have issues getting his words out. He had no intention of interfering with his anger, his revenge, for the Master was not truly here; he was merely corporeal because of the moment, one he had foreseen, so many years ago, and prepared for.

But he did have an addition to make; glancing to Insipid and then Soliloquy, addressing the latter.

"Yeah, sorry about hitching a ride, y'know, but I'm not supposed to be even playing on this chess board." A liquid shrug. "You'd think founding that Rule of Seven you're so obsessed with would be enough, eh?"

An exaggerated sigh. "It's a shame that my students take things so literally, no?"

Shimmer hesitatingly lifted her hands to strike, and Insipid lifted an arm, standing shakily, and he looked at the Miraluka. He wanted the man who had betrayed and nearly killed him to say what he had to say.

Manticore, of course, would have his hands full. Revan merely glowered at the Zabrak, before turning the side of his helmet to regard the Anzati, and behind him, the cloaked man, and behind him, the Nightsister, Insipid, Solilquy, Shimmer, and Vyatoris.

Revan spoke, rumbling.

"You ruined our chances for true peace."

Who he spoke to, that was not entirely clear. Then his purple bladed hand shot up, shoving at Bernael, but more a fist intending to smash through his rib-cage, then Revan turned back, fully expecting Manticore to take advantage of the moment so Revan brought the red blade up to block at chest height, and slashed with the purple as he turned back at hip height, before bracing his feet to take the battle into the air with a leap where having the higher vantage point would mean death for the other.

Sian and Merel's ship broke orbit, with Leda in tow.

TAG: @Silvertough, @Mitth_Fisto, @QueenSabe7, @darthbernael, @greyjedi125 (latter two we can combo)

 

OOC: An extremely enjoyable combo with @Sinrebirth and @greyjedi125

IC Bernael, Manticore, Revan
Why do humans always aim for a heart I don’t have?

Hunger strode away from the tableau by the ships, knowing that he’d been overheard, but that was a beast for another day. His steps took him toward the battle between Revan and Manticore.

Revan spoke, rumbling.

"You ruined our chances for true peace."

Who he spoke to, that was not entirely clear. Then his purple bladed hand shot up, shoving at Bernael, but more a fist intending to smash through his rib-cage, then Revan turned back, fully expecting Manticore to take advantage of the moment so Revan brought the red blade up to block at chest height, and slashed with the purple as he turned back at hip height, before bracing his feet to take the battle into the air with a leap where having the higher vantage point would mean death for the other.

Hunger felt the attack coming and intrigued with how things had changed for him allowed it to impact. ‘Even this one, one I’d figure would know, why go for the heart?’

It hit with great force, but he’d loosened his stance, letting the impact drive him back a few steps. A small smile crossed his face, behind the mask, as he stepped forward again. “Shade, you are and are not what you were. And now you face not one but two of us.”

He secured his kukri back in their sheathes and then let one black bladed saber drop into his hand, lighting it as it did so. He saw the tensing in the man’s legs, then called out, “Hate, he wishes to act as Obi Wan did, find the high ground.”

The instant that Hate’s red gaze caught sight of Hunger as he approached, a flash of darkside inspiration granted him the insight he’d been seeking.

Manticore advanced on Revan, even as the Sith Lord attacked Hunger and preemptively blocked where the charred Zabrak should have attacked. But even Sith Lords were not all knowing. It was good to have Hunger join the conflict, as he declared that he too would face Revan’s phantasm.

In a blink of an eye, Manticore let go of his weapon and caught Revan’s blocking arm in both hands, even as the phantasm struck Bernael. In what looked almost like a choreographed dance, Manticore hopped over Revan’s horizontal slash as he held-on to him and simply fell into the Sith Lord, who was bracing himself to leap. Now he had Manticore and his full weight wrapping his body around the phantasm in order to place him under a powerful arm bar- effectively locking one of his arms.

But that was not all.

Manticore brought down his Will and knowledge of the darkside, simultaneously using Consume Essence to bolster his connection to the darkside and Darkside Healing to grant him succor; and Revan's simulacrum would be the source for both.

Hate was Hungry and this Phantasm would feed Hate, which intended to consume it. That was one way to certainly burn out the combative apparition. Although Manticore had initiated a dangerous circuit of power which required a great deal of focus and will power, he knew he would be vulnerable to Revan, who was far from defenseless, despite the arm-bar. Conversely, Revan was vulnerable to Hunger and anyone else who cared to have a piece of him.

“No high ground for you…” Hate rasped with spite and distaste, referencing Hunger’s words. “We shall grant you this ‘true peace’ you so desire.”

Manticore was literally struggling and hanging on for ‘dear life’, a contest he was all too familiar with.

Revan was surprised by Manticore; he had planned his move without taking into account what the Zabrak would do, and indeed the Anzati. But the mental fist that crushed Bernael's sternum merely turned into a claw, looking to wrench his innards free, even as Revan felt the Zabrak draw upon him.

The Sith Lord felt his grip on reality shift, and weaken. He phased slightly, and the Sith Lord asserted himself to remain solid.

"It is when I stood above the Son that I realized the Truth. That we had been played, and our struggles were for naught. That I had been placed to drive the Son to self-destruction... and I succeeded, in my desire for revenge, much as the cloaked man used my name to lend credence to the Rule of Two... as a spite that I can only understand with the hindsight of my death."

He gripped Manticore's binding arm, and pumped a bolt of lightning into it, intending to char the limb and burn it free.

"I give to you what you wish, Sith, but you will need to become more than Sith to defeat me."

Revan grimaced, his pain echoing into the Force, his body becoming translucent in part as he fed Manticore and undoubtedly Bernael, both of whose bodies began to experience the pain of Force abuse from the long battle.

"Can you do it?"

Had it not been for Manticore’s Darkside Healing, his arm would have indeed turned to ash. Whatever measure of regeneration the Zabrak was getting form the Sith Lord, it was nearly obliterated by Revan’s lightning attack. Only blackened bones and strands of burnt sinew remained to bee seen on his left forearm. The damage and pain had been exceedingly fearsome, enough to caused him to moan, despite his near-legendary endurance to pain, even as he let go of the dreaded dark lord.

Manticore rolled to one side and got up, using every mental technique he knew to keep himself present, conscious and in the moment, yet, he remained crouched very low. He called his weapon to his good hand and listened to Revan speak. They always liked to hear themselves talk. Fine.Then he would listen and allow his ruined body to draw much needed energy.

Unsurprisingly, the Zabrak began to see things he chose to ignore in his peripheral vision, confirming what he already knew; his body would completely give its last at the end of this fight. Ahh, Skywalker, Sian and now Revan. Had the Zabrak any lips, he would smile. These had been worthy foes indeed, and personally satisfying -even invigorating encounters. He had absolutely no regrets.

No, that was not exactly true. But none of that mattered now.

In that moment, Manticore realized he was no longer sensing so many phantasms about them, as a matter of fact, only two seemed to remain.

“I am already more than Sith.” Manticore said, nearly spitting the words at the Sith Lord.

“The Force has freed me, especially after Mortis. In the aftermath of that debacle, I learned that the dead cannot judge the living….phantasm, no matter how desperately they desired it.” A truism, clearly weaved within the fabric of the Force.

“Your time is almost at hand my Lord.” Manticore declared in what was now a guttural sounding voice, raising slowly, balancing on his good leg, his charred form almost unrecognizable. He gave a knowing look to Bernael. Manticore did noticed how Revan had winked out for a second, almost as if losing cohesion.

“Mine as well.” He admitted easily. All his wounds combined were simply too grievous. There was a price to be paid for remaining conscious and able for this long.

Sawtooth flared to life once again in his good hand.

“Peace is a lie.” He hissed out will all the vehemence he could muster.

“We struggle because we are alive, we will stop once we are dead.”

The Zabrak offered a curt nod of his head as a form of respectful salute. Phantasm or not, this apparition was a stand-in for Lord Revan’s power and wisdom. In truth, one of the greatest Sith that ever lived….and died.

“Time, Dark Lord, will defeat you. It will defeat us all.”

Hunger smiled grimly, Hate was just as fast on the uptake as he had seen before. But the Shade Lord was equally fast. He felt the attack upon him change and a small part of his power diverted to block the attack. He still felt his belly sear with the power of the attack and knew that he’d been injured but without looking, and in the heat of combat, it mattered little.

He snorted at the shade’s comments, knowing his own past and how it tied to what the shade was speaking of. “You have missed a fundamental truth of recent events if you believe I am a Sith alone, but that’s nothing you need concern yourself with. As to the Rule of Two, your name may have been used, your knowledge, but you are not the only one at fault that that meager philosophy came to pass. No one would have found your holocron if I had not put it in the exact spot needed for it to be found, by Bane. One of the few things I regret. But I have evolved since then.”

Even as the Force itself sought to punish his physical form for using his power for so long, his mind, his Father, reminded him of the fact that he saw, felt the Force only as a tool created by younger races. He reached within, seeking the limit of the power and ability that had flooded him when the bargain was struck and was unable to find that limit, yet.

He nodded to the shade as Hate had done, “Your power wanes, shade, even as ours is refreshed by your essence.” He directed some of the outflow of energy to Hate as was part of his charge as Hunger. His saber came up, as he took a step forward, then blurred, speeding forward, slashing low at the shade’s ankles and then recovering as he sped past, spinning and skidding to a halt facing Revan once more but closer to Hate.

Revan paused, and wilted slightly, but he remained a formidable foe.

The blow at his ankles was deflected in an eyeblink, and Bernael would spin out to a chunk from his shoulder removed by a lightsaber tip, but the apparition was faltering. He had little time, and so he lunged, a double-bladed slash at Bernael's side, intending to terminate at his spine but even if not he had already taken that energy and spun out, lashing out backhanded with one blade for the back of Manticore's neck, and releasing the other - his purple blade - to soar towards the tableau between Soliloquy, Insipid, Shimmer, Vyatoris and the unnamed Master and Nightsister - none of which were paying attention -

As he did so, Revan faltered, his existence threatened, and after the slash at Manticore he dropped to one knee, barely keeping his hand level to push his purple blade towards -

Manticore’s lipless sneer remained as the encounter moved on to its penultimate act. The Zabrak drew inspiration from Bernael’s renewed vitality, even as he sensed Lord Revan’s own potency waning- but even so, the Sith Lord was still a dangerous opponent.

Manticore felt no affront as Revan’s phantasm focused more on Hunger, for he could feel his own energy ebbing as well. Focusing on the Anzati was the correct combat strategy, for it was he who posed the greater threat now.

Hate surmised that Hunger would be able to successfully defend against the dreaded Dark Lord’s attacks, seeing how his power diminished by the moment. As for Manticore himself, the Zabrak flowed with Revan’s attempt at the back of his neck, smoothly ducking down as he spun his weapon behind his back, effectively deflecting the would-be-lethal strike. For an instant, red blade clashed against red blade, brightly flashing the fierce encounter. The fact that he was not dead yet, was clear evidence that Revan was slowing, visibly so.

However, despite his waning, the phantasm was still every bit a Sith. Revan threw his purple saber in the midst of their exchange- it now hurtled towards the Sith Emperor and the other five Sith near his position, all unsuspecting of the attack.

Revan’s trick, for all its worth, was quite successful.

Without even thinking, Manticore exploded with a burst of force speed as he chased after the whirling weapon, his intention simply to deflect it away from his fellow Sith, no matter how much energy and power the effort would cost him. Nothing would threaten the official formation of the Sith Order, not on his watch. Even as he sped forth, he issued an unspoken warning to Darth Insipid, who had created a connection with his newly inducted Council much earlier.

'BEWARE!!’

This left Bernael, Hunger, alone to face-off against the faltering phantasm.

As he spun away, Hunger felt a sting to his shoulder. Looking down at it, he saw a chunk had been taken out as he’d spun away from Revan. He snorted, even as he felt a weakening of that arm. He stepped back, blocking the double bladed strike, feeling the tips penetrating near where the Force claw had attempted to gut him before the blades were pulled back. The battle flowed onward, and he watched as Revan attacked, Hate defended, and then the purple blade departed the shade’s hand, aimed at the tableau of Sith by the shuttle. ‘Again, again someone goes for the others.’

He took another step back as the shade dropped to one knee, his focus seemingly solely on the blade he had thrown, attempting to ensure it reached it’s target. Hate broke off from the battle and chased the saber. Hunger felt the mental warning the other sent toward Insipid, an echo through the bond the Emperor had created but knew he had to terminate the source even as Hate blocked the attack.

Dousing and sheathing his saber, his hands moved before him, even as bodily fluids streamed down one arm. Focusing he drew on the immense reservoir of power that had been granted him by his Father. Clouds began racing across the sky, drawing a veil over the plaza, lightning crackling in their depths. Energy focused in his hands he reached out, mentally toward the kneeling shade.

Hunger felt the wound in his shoulder open more, that arm weakening as he reached out, felt the wounds in his side and the hole in his belly likewise widen and deepen, felt his body wasting in the excessive use of Power but such was the price one paid for using such in an eyeblink. He was Hunger and this shade could not be fed upon as a normal being could. His proboscises remained seated in their pouches as his mind touched the shade, latching on to it and Draining it’s essence away as rapidly as possible. As much energy as he could spare he allowed flow into his wounds, stitching them together even as they continued to rupture.

All that truly mattered in this moment was ending this shade, he could, would, heal once the battle was done.

Revan became insubstantial, but kept his hand pushing the lightsaber - Manticore's plea was caught in Revan's mental grasp and smothered, so the blade could only be stopped by the Zabrak physically.

The masked man turned to face the Anzati drawing upon him. They had come at him with a measured strategy, acknowledging that he wasn't really here. Revan was a Sith who was more self-aware than most, knew he did not belong...

... but he knew he had to kill that man.

And so he focused on his blade, and regarded the Anzati one more time. "Bernael," his words were softly spoken, "and Manticore, the twin hands of Darth Insipid, working with Leda to defeat the Twins of Light and Darkness... I foresaw this when I touched the hermetica on Malachor... and it took me to Nouane. I was close to discovering the truth of the Epitaph Games, until..."

He became insubstantial.

"Until today..."

Bernael's wound opened and the limb actually severed, dropping to the floor -

Revan vanished -

The lightsaber was all that remained, all of Darth Revan's will focused within it.

As he sped forth, Manticore felt it; Revan’s obstruction of his mental warning to the other Sith, Revan’s own final dissipation into oblivion, and Revan’s indomitable will still exerting his influence upon the very real whirling blade.

Despite his initial speed, Manticore knew his power reserves were nearly spent, but this did not stop him; in fact it galvanized his resolve. Time seemed to slow all around as the battle scorched and ruined Zabrak -in one last gambit- exerted his own fierce will as he threw his own weapon at Revan’s spinning missile.

Indeed, he wished to intercept it, but he also realized that to thwart Revan’s Will, he would need to finesse his ‘attack’ using a subtle tactic. And thus, to that end, Manticore focused on his own weapon and dismantled it, even as it flew straight at Revan’s whirling saber; no Sith upon the Emperor’s tableau was the wiser of the doom which approached them. Manticore knew he had only one chance- one and only one- to change the outcome.

In a blink of an eye, flexing his Will and Force abilities, he reformed Sawtooth on the emitting end of Revan’s blade, thereby creating a cupping ’sheathe’ to extinguish the lethal emission of energy that created the lightsaber blade itself.

Only a blunt weapon would remain as a result- dangerous, yet non-lethal.

Manticore felt himself fall as his focus was now on the makeshift Sawtooth Sheath instead of running. He didn't even bother to brace himself. Nothing else mattered as he remained fixed on making sure that his ’sheathe’ remained on Revan’s weapon. He’d even positioned the crystal within Sawtooth's handle to diffuse the incoming energy beam.

And so, he forced himself to remain conscious and ’nullify’ the lethality of Revan’s attack. All he could do at this point was stay focused and watch as the weapon sailed to its intended target- and hope that his tactic was successful.

After a moment of resistance, the lightsaber faded out of existence, and Revan's spectral gloom descended upon them both...

And then vanished.

They had triumphed, and the Force released them from the moment.

Hunger released the power that he’d been using and the clouds began to vanish from overhead. Looking down at his fallen arm he grunted, closed his eyes, and let his body close the wounds Revan had created in him. A slight weariness came over him as he began striding toward the remaining Sith, even as his Father’s power sought to keep the healing sleep from overcoming him as his body began to rejuvenate. The stump of his shoulder began to itch and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he had both arms again.

The moment Revan's saber vanished from the corporeal world, Manticore felt his own consciousness yield to a dreamless state as reality fled from his perceptions. Even as his unconscious body tumbled and came to a stop in a blackened and unrecognizable heap, so did Sawtooth clatter upon the ground and rolled on the floor until it finally came to a stop.

Hate was uncharacteristically still and quiet, even in the Force -and quite vulnerable at that. He could no longer help the Emperor, help Leda, Bernael, or even himself for that matter. The Zabrak met Revan's challenge with everything he had- and passed, but not without paying a price.

Perhaps now, Emperor Insipid could finally establish his Sith Order, but certainly, there was one more detail to attend to:

The traitor.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @Silvertough, @Mitth_Fisto, @QueenSabe7, @greyjedi125

 

OOC: Yes, double post but no one else has since Bernael and time for the fun combo with @DarthIshyZ, @darthhelinith, and @Sinrebirth to go up

IC Renn, Serapis, Helinith
Reunions

Serapis thumped down to the floor of the Battle Dragon's hangar bay. As the atmosphere and temperature equalized, he got up in a fury. "FRACK FRACK FRACK FRACK FRACK!!" He picked up a spanner lying near a partially disassembled ship and started hitting it over and over, destroying the offending panel. "If I ever meet that man again, he will be atomized! No! First, he will be tortured until he goes as nutty as a Gungan and then I'll kill him!" Then he threw the spanner across the bay, missing the Neti by millimeters. "Oh! Kriff. Sorry."

Renn felt the pull of the tractor beam and groaned. “This is going to really hurt.” he bitched to no one in particular. As he flew he could feel rents appearing in his bark, the lack of nutrients was an error he couldn’t do much more about. And then they were in the hangar. He fell to the floor, groaning even more as he let his ‘blood’ flow back into the ruptured sections, slowly feeling them heal.

“Ugghhhh, well that was,” he groaned again as he started to push himself up off the deck “painful.”

He started to stand, even as Serapis began his diatribe about the Jedi. His own thought though was that at least the very interested Ta’a was receding into the distance for the moment.

He stood then leaned swiftly to the side as a spanner flew past his head. “Whoah!!!” he called out. “Glad you weren’t mad at me, my friend.”

Making his way to a nearby comm panel, “Craziness, we all seem to be here, thanks for the pickup.”

There was a cool message over the tannoy, broadcast across the ship, as a response to Renn’s comm.

"Hello and welcome aboard The Fist of Chaos, formerly known as Peacemaker. I, Darth Helinith, will be your pilot today. Please excuse our appearance, we understaffed and undergoing renovations- the dead bodies will be cleared up shortly. We are cruising at a speed of roughly 243 parsecs an hour and the murderbot hostess will shortly be around to offer you complimentary drinks and medical care.” There was a pause, followed by a hastily added- “Please do not kill her.”

Meanwhile, Helinith had made her way up from the auxiliary, to the bridge proper. She shoved a couple of bodies off the consoles they were slumped over, and set to work, switching all power to the deflector shields and pulling the ship as quickly as she could away from the Star Home and the rest of the Hapan fleet.

“Where to now? Kresh... what were the coordinates for that again?”

She jabbed on her datapad searching for the numbers, as the ship’s hyperdrive began to warm up in preparation. Down in the hangar, the others would be able to hear it begin to cycle.

Serapis startled. "Helinith?!? When...? Where...? How... How'd she survive? And you knew?!? We've got to go see her. Next thing you'll tell me that Bo survived!" He went over to Renn and brushed some dust off his back.

While there, he approached a transparisteel window and looked at himself. He was still quite impressed by the guards physique. That would require some work to keep up, but it was a good start. His white uniform was quite untidy, so that would need to be changed. He also was in need of some weaponry. There must be an armory on this boat. So much to do.

"Well, let's find her soon. I want to know where our next mission is headed." He paused. "Hmmm. And this body seems to be in need of some food. I wonder what Hapan guards eat?"

Renn laughed, “My friend, your apprentice is one that has one heck of a survival instinct. And, well, I’m somewhat attuned to the chaotic energy that she puts off. So yes, I felt her before she broadcast. Plus, who else could have brought such chaos at such an opportune time.”

He felt his body beginning to knit together, but what he really needed was some water and a time under a solar lap or a sun and he’d be back to form soon enough. “At least we did accomplish our mission and got an agreement with the Hapans, if they decide to honor it after what that crazed Jedi pulled off.”

He looked around, saw the nearest lift and headed toward it, hoping it was one that could get him to the bridge. “But yes, food, medical care, and reuniting with her are the priorities, as we head back to the others. Besides I’ve got this bag of mush that used to be that Hapan Captain, and some of her candy around here somewhere and doubt she’d be happy if I held out with either.”

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @DarthIshyZ, @darthhelinith, @Snokers

 

IC: Aryan Graul
Aboard the Dark Dreamer, Taris

In a show of defiance, Aryan roughly yanked his arm away and glared at the younger man, even as Jerod released his hold on his bicep and allowed him to pass. The former Grand Admiral had crossed a line with his lecture, placing blame and making assumptions about something that he had no hope of understanding. While he recognized that the man had a certain responsibility to those aboard this ship, that didn’t give him a free pass to stick his nose into every private matter that occurred. The fact that Jerod could be so insensitive about such things played directly into his already turbulent emotions.

“Then go ahead and kick me out,” Aryan answered gruffly, the words slipping from his mouth faster than he could process them. “I, uh...I didn’t do anything wrong. I only wanted to, umm...speak with Valieri alone before the mission. I never said a word to provoke Syren, and uh...I’m not going to stand here and allow you to harass me for an act I didn’t co--commit. I’m not at fault in this instance.”

Inhaling deeply, Aryan then stepped forward to leer over the man, his jaw clenched tightly with indignation. “And how dare you suggest that I should’ve just walked away and left Valieri to suffer--”

“Freeze!”

The unfamiliar voice brought a swift end to Aryan’s tirade, but it did very little to mitigate his disdain. His gaze lingered on Jerod a moment longer before he reluctantly turned to glance over his shoulder, noting the uniformed officer and the contingent of armed inspectors on his heels. They rushed forward at a rapid clip, seemingly all business. That’s when Aryan realized that this encounter would not end well.

“Hands behind your backs, you’re both under arrest!” the officer shouted as his men approached with binders. “Possession of contraband, kidnapping, resisting arrest, and attempted murder of a police officer.”

A wry smirk spread over Aryan’s features when he heard the man rattle off the charges. Had they lost their minds? The absurdity of it all might have made him laugh out loud if they weren’t so serious about carrying out their duties. This was a retaliatory response, pure and simple. Surely, this wouldn’t hold up in a proper court of law.

Except…

Aryan doubted that a proper court of law even existed out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, his blue-gray eyes shifting to scrutinize the lead officer. “T--Those umm--those are empty accusations, and uh, you know it--EHH!” Aryan grit his teeth and lurched forward a few paces as the guards bent his arms back and secured the cuffs to his wrists. “You don’t have any evidence to incriminate anyone else here. This is bantha****! I can’t believe--”

“ARYAN!”

With a sharp intake of breath, Aryan faltered and angled his chin toward the source of the cry. It wasn’t a plea for help, but rather a scornful expression; perhaps even haunted in both tone and spirit. He recognized the voice instantly as belonging to Syren, though it wasn’t until he saw her battered form sprawled out on the deckplates that he reacted.

His muscles tensed and he felt himself become rooted to the floor as his breathing turned shallow. The sight of her injured body brought a sharp pang of nausea to his stomach. In truth, he had never expected things to spiral this far out of control. She had needed discipline – a mere lesson to help her control her violent impulses and deter her from her destructive tendencies, such as alcohol and spice.

But this was too far; they had broken her.

Did she deserve this after what she did Valieri? Maybe to some extent. And yet, all he could hear was one simple voice – Syren’s voice, as she uttered one simple truth about his current arrangement with the caregiver. It was something that he could not ignore:

She’s nothing to you but a placeholder.

It was an infuriating notion that required careful attention. But unfortunately, he would not have the opportunity to contemplate it fully. A hard, forceful blow connected with his lower back, causing Aryan to grunt and stumble forward. He was already unstable on his feet, and it took all of his strength not to fall to his knees and openly display his vulnerability.

“Walk!” the officer instructed harshly.

Aryan closed his eyes and winced against the pain. It would have been easy to protest further, though he decided to merely comply. He no longer had the vitality to put up a fight. Much like Syren, he felt as if something had shattered inside of him. It was something primal and raw – an integral part of himself that brought a tightness to his chest and increased his heart rate to uncomfortable levels. In a sense, it felt like physical pain.

That feeling only intensified when they entered the police vessel and he found himself in close quarters with Syren. As he settled down on the bench lining the perimeter of the cabin, he leaned his head back against the bulkhead and stared intently at what he could see of the bloodied face of his former lover. He was almost desperate to make eye contact, to let her know--

Let her know what?

Aryan grimaced at that thought and closed his eyes, secretly hoping for oblivion to whisk him away from this nightmare.

TAG: @QueenSabe7; @Jerjerrod-Lennox; @Darth_wanderguard; @Snokers; @Lady Belligerent

 

IC: Darth Insipid
Aftermath of the Violent End

They were, technically speaking, stranded. They'd had two ships. One, Esmerelda had stolen, and the other had been destroyed by Sian. Now he and Merel had taken Leda, and that was that. Kesh was an isolated world - they would never escape.

It didn't matter to any of the Sith present at that second.

The final moment belonged to Vyatoris, who went at the black-robed man. Insipid sensed the lightsaber, but was more interested in it's course than the threat. A memory of Revan, given form, turning aside from his battle with Manticore and Bernael to attack...

The black-robed man? The lightsaber faded from existence before it could reach it's target, though Insipid caught the whisper of the Epitaph Games mentioned, and resolved to speak to the Zabrak and Anzati separately.

But that was not his focus, it was the man and the Miraluka. Insipid watched Vyatoris attack, and then pivot upon his strike to turn it into something different and new, his thoughts a drumming against his mind, probably that of Soliloquy, Shimmer and the Nightsister. His despair. The twitch between Forms was a thing of beauty, and Insipid respected it, even in a traitor. Especially within a traitor, perhaps.

The cloaked form seemed to start to respond to the attack by Vyatoris, lifting his gloved hands up to ward off the first blow, and then was promptly riddled with holes, a gasping emerging from him. The hood fell aside, but it revealed nothing; Soliloquy knew not the mans identity, so the image that was created knew not either.

The man flailed, and fell back, headless, holed, and crashed to the floor.

As his form lolled, the words rippled out.

The Master falls to the student... inevitably so. But the seven students... which one inherits my mantle?

With that, it faded out, and Insipid looked at Vyatoris and without another word hit him with a lightning bolt which was all power, and no subtlety.

Vyatoris would be consumed by unconsciousness.

---
Days later

The Keshiri arrived shortly thereafter, praising the Protectors who had driven the Destructors off-world once again, notwithstanding that they knew Bernael as a former Destructor. They were too happy to see the Protectors had saved them all from the much bigger threat. In that time, the Sith were taken into the homes of the uvak riding caste, the Neshtovar. All revered and given the opportunity to rest, the Keshiri were sure to provide the necessary care, food and rest for them.

Manticore, Bernael and Shimmer were all housed separately with noble Keshiri families. The Keshiri slaves gathered the pieces of Soliloquy's Holocron and guided him to the glassmakers at Insipid's order so he could reforge his Holocron if he so wish, Insipid warily placed the Nightsister with Vyatoris as his... servant? Vyatoris was imprisoned in a glass cell, but was unconscious for most of the time period at Insipid's mental suggestion - he would dream of his true fate - of his death at the hands of a Sith he didn't even know.

Insipid rested, plotted, planned, and tried to reach the other team.

Of course, they were in transit, albeit slowly in a damaged Hapan Battle Dragon.

Renn, Helinith, Bo and Serapis had days thus to clear out the ship, rest, drain the capital ships supply of food and drink. A few days in, the Keshiri Takaris Yur emerged from hiding, having been of the assumption that the Hapans had been chasing him for all that time. Sheepishly he joined the others, though only slightly.

They had survived Luke Skywalker, a degree of revelry was to be expected.

---
Today

Insipid sensed the arrival of Helinith first, his eyes snapping open. Bernael would likely sense her and Renn. Manticore, Soliloquy and Shimmer would undoubtedly catch on soon enough.

He'd decided to allow Manticore and Bernael today as the day they awake Vyatoris and decide his fate; Insipid had merely relayed the feats of the Miraluka to them and would allow them to make their own decisions.

Insipid similarly looked forward to the result of Soliloquy's isolation, imposed at Insipid's request. Shimmer had attended him, as her master, and Insipid had, too, allowed that.

He had no rudder without a ship.

Now he had a Hapan Battle Dragon.

His mental summons of Helinith, Renn, Bo, Serapis and Takaris Yur was firm.

You're late.

TAG: @Silvertough, @Mitth_Fisto, @Snokers, @darthhelinith, @DarthIshyZ, @darthbernael (x2)
---
IC: Darth Bane
Moraband, Valley of the Dark Lords

Styx was consumed by the words of her master. The Sith Code was the key to unlock so many levels within the dark side. Once she had mastered all six lines, she would destroy Cocytus. That she resolved, softly, firmly, with all her being. "Peace is a lie. There is only Passion." Styx knew this would be a difficult concept to overcome; she was Kaminoan - she had been encouraged to suppress all emotion since birth, perhaps even genetically predisposed to such things.

But that spark of passion had encouraged her to try and murder Cocytus.

She would fan that flame, and move forward.

Her master was grandstanding, and Styx arrayed her Kaminoan face into the appropriate expression of awe. But, it was impressive. Moraband was so different to Kamino; it was arid, dusty and hot. It also teamed with life in a way which thousands of clones could not. Small, large, monstrous, spiritual... Styx was intrigued by the world, curious and tempted to draw deep on the dark side.

The sands buffeted them, but Styx made use of the Force to ward it off, testing her control of her powers. Her mother was dead, but she had only supplied so much technique, garnered from the so-called True Kronos. Along the way, Styx had compiled what little she knew about the mutated clone army, and the black-ichor creature that had enabled Koa Ne to control all the clones. It wasn't much, but it was more than nothing.

But for Cocytus, the sands concealed threats; and as they neared the tomb of Darth Bane, those threats convalesced into an approaching threat. Something large; something feral. It had a hound-like mentality, and the Sidious AI supplied it's name.

Tukata; pressed by Bane's spirit to kill you and prove your worth. There is a tomb near here, where Jedi were ritually sacrificed, that Bane built his final resting place into... as with many tombs here, they had prior owners, and are taken by the later dead... a strata of dead upon dead...

A necropolis.

TAG: @Darth Cocytus

 

IC Bernael
Rest, Recovery, Rebirth

Hunger stayed steady on his feet as the battle drew to a close. He had recovered the saber from the plaza floor that had fallen as his arm had fallen to the pavers. And he had witnessed the final moments of the battle between Vyatoris and the shade of the Master. Calmly, he observed as Insipid had rendered the traitor unconscious in the aftermath of that small end to the chaos that the twins had caused.

As the Keshiri, finally gaining the courage to reveal themselves, approached, he allowed his body to begin calming further, slowly purging the adrenaline from his system. Weariness began creeping over him as he was guided to the home of one of the noble Keshiri families. When he arrived, he nodded, black eyes still dripping darkness, to the patriarch and matriarch of the family before disappearing into the spaces they provided and laying himself on the bed in the space.

He dreamt as the healing sleep came for him, as his wounds closed and his arm grew once more. It began simply enough, the essence that had given it’s power, it’s will, it’s knowledge to him speaking. “Son, you have come into your power now, and you will find you have access to all I am. You will fulfill what mission you see fit in this galaxy, that very few will stand against you, or can. Bring darkness to the galaxy. If you must, bring back your sibling, your cousins, to accomplish my will.”

With this somewhat vague message came flashes of places, beings, artifacts, whatever his Father believed could assist or be part of what Hunger would accomplish in the future.

From this the dreams changed into less immediately personal ones. They were, however, personal in the meaning that they were from his own past, before he’d accepted the mantle of his father. From his first steps into the galaxy to his first feeding on a Force user and how he realized that such meals fed him more fully than a normal being. The vision, the memory, that had been added to his mind, of an event in the time he’d first taken the title of Darth, repeated, a vague message of the future, and a time he must face something yet to come, of a being that must be stopped.

There were the years of vague memories, times he’d begun his mission for the balance, punctuated by various events, meeting the Father, Son, and Daughter, discovering the hiding place of the Holocron of Darth Revan, studying it, learning it’s secrets, and then ensuring it was safely replaced in it’s hiding spot and stayed hidden on Lehon until it could be found by he who must find it. The memory, annoying as it was, of the use that one put the holocron and it’s knowledge to play out as well. The only positive he saw in what had occurred with that was that the Sith Order that existed today could probably have only come to exist as it is because of that event.

Over the next millennia he had attempted to aid the pair of Sith that existed, or more, depending on how faithful the Sith had been to Bane's teachings, covertly to ensure darkness remained. He had agents or the young Society who would often be these contacts with the darksiders. At the same time, he would attempt to keep the Jedi vibrant but, over the centuries, he’d begun to see their decline into simply a militaristic, hidebound, order that did not understand their own role in the galaxy. In the last century prior to the rise of the Galactic Empire he remembered how he’d grown disgusted with both sides and how neither fully understood their place in the galaxy. He’d therefore decided to turn to the Unknown Regions and what may be dwelling there as the opportunity to bring balance to the galaxy itself. His agents and the Society continued to follow his goals and try their best without their Patron present.

The next memory that came to the surface was of an event, seemingly minor, that flared into a major event with the beings involved. It so happened that one of his agents was involved and with all that happened he’d been drawn in, if only to ensure that certain items were not recovered by parties that would ill use them. While there he felt something he’d not in a long period, Darkness truly rising. In the aftermath he’d, once more, attempted to cause the Jedi to see and understand what must be done, but their inaction caused him to decide to leave them to their own devices once more.

He knew of what transpired in the galaxy while he’d returned to the UR but had only left vague instructions to the Society so that they remained as safe as possible during the chaos that ensued. And then the flare of both Light and Darkness drew him back to the galaxy. The memory of his return, before he could even investigate, returned. An incident that still caused him concern as to who or what could have orchestrated it. He’d faced a version of himself that was nearly on par with his half-brother. He was only now beginning to see the outcome of that incident, and knew his own current darkness was, in a large part, due to the battle that had occurred then, but he had chosen this course, accepted it.

And then floods of newer memories, the many times he and a young Insipid, or as this Insipid called him, Insipid the Lesser, and their many meetings. From the beginning they’d recognized the power in the other and had, at various times, nurtured that in the other. He recalled events during the war between the GA and most other polities, when he’d aided Insipid a great deal but only peripherally to his own mission. Over the decades that followed they’d run into each other from time to time. He’d felt the Sith as he’d gone about his missions, felt as the man’s power grew and he worked toward his own goals.

Almost 100 years had passed before they had been active, working toward similar goals, albeit in different ways. After that time Bernael had moved closer into the same sphere as Insipid, knowing that the Light had been ascendant for many decades. Eventually they crossed paths again and Bernael had talked the, now, Dark Lord into taking him as his apprentice. Their association continued, more closely, in this time, Bernael having become a part of Insipid’s Order. And then the end came and he, as well as others, were thrown back through time, to another timeline, and the Insipid that called himself Insipid the Greater.

These memories all flowed, each showing as a link in the chain that brought him to the point he was today, the emissary of his Father, not Sith, not Jedi, not Dark or Light, but a being that existed to fulfill his and his Father’s will, to bring such will to fruition. All these dreaming memories and more flowed through Hunger as his flesh settled more into accepting the power of his Father, strengthening, restoring, regrowing, until the Anzati that was was transformed into a vessel that was meant to be when his Father had created his kind, a being that could and would exert his Father’s will, accepting his Father’s power and using such to do what needed to be done.

Days later, Hunger awoke, refreshed, healed. He lifted his new arm, examining it, ensuring it was as it should be. Satisfied that all was healed, he checked his senses, but to his surprise he was not needing the be fed to replace the energy he had lost. A grim smile touched his face behind the mask, he felt more of what he’d once been, he was the extension of his Father, in this time and place.

As he settled, post recovery, he felt the incoming ship, felt through the bond with Renn, that the team from Hapes had returned. From the feeling he got from Renn and the touch he’d pressed against her mental barriers he knew that the group, Helinith and the Keshiri Sith apprentice included, had celebrated their departure from Hapan space, and were glad to be back in the fold, as well as why they’d taken longer to get away from the area. He also felt the call that Lord Insipid put out that that group had taken their time to return to the Order, the smile broadening slightly at the rebuke in it. But he also felt, from the Emperor, that the time had come for he and Manticore to decide the fate of the traitor. He settled his cloak about his shoulders, checking the join in his armor where it had been fixed, to rejoin the arm to the shoulder portion of the torso. It looked like the work had been done well, but he’d have to infuse it with his energy later to ensure the best protection. His kukri were settled in their sheathes at his back and his sabers at his hips. His other weapons were still in their compartments and sheathes in his armor and he was prepared.

Opening the door, he exited his space and with a nod to the patriarch as he departed, he left the message that should things continue as they were he would return and use those spaces again, but now it was time to find Hate and settle the traitor's fate.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, For Combo: @greyjedi125, @Silvertough (Mentioned @darthhelinith)

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

IC Renn
Returning to Kesh

The reunion with Helinith had gone as well as could be expected. She’d robbed him of all the sweets he’d had on him at the moment, to which he could just stand there and laugh. The former Hapan Captain he knew not what she’d done with him but at least that bag was taken care of too. They’d enjoyed emptying the ship of all the food and drink it had. He didn’t really need it but the complex sugars and carbohydrates did help with restoring his energy. The last he’d seen her or Serapis they’d been in one of the officers messes, Helinith close to an alcoholic stupor.

He’d had enough of drinking so he’d begun wandering the ship, sure a people with such a fascination with gardens would have some sort of hydroponics deck. Eventually he’d found it and had cleared out a large space under some solar lamps. Flooding that area with fresh water, he’d stepped into the tiny pond and turned the lamps on. For many, long hours he stood there, his legs drinking in the water and his body luxuriating under the lamps, renewing himself.

As he drifted, his thoughts turned back to the mission and all that had occurred. He’d used up a great deal of energy, drunk in more energy than he’d ever done before, and had to show skills and abilities that he’d hoped to keep under wraps as long as he could. And that’s not to mention the attention the new Matriarch had paid him. He was still pleased they’d managed to get away from the Jedi and, almost more importantly Ta’a. However his thoughts kept coming back to a certain, small, absolutely and happily crazy Sith.

He’d come to this time with her and Bernael. The vampire he trusted and had spent many a long year assisting, but Helinith, well she was a bird of another feather, and he was quite glad she hadn’t been hurt or disappeared. He'd have hunted the galaxy to ensure she was ok if that had happened. And now they were headed back to the others.

Even as his mind wandered, he updated the vampire, through their bond, as to what had happened and why they’d been delayed. From the feel, Bernael was in his healing coma and would probably not receive his message until he woke, but there was more, he felt different, changed, and Renn would have to get close and sense him to know what it was that had changed.

Shortly, Renn felt the amused/not amused message from Lord Insipid and knew they’d arrived. He was preparing to step out of the hydroponics area when he felt a spike in amusement from Helinith and knew she had something up her sleeve. Quickly looking around he caught a pair of boxes high up in the room just as they disgorged their contents of confetti. Thanking his lucky stars that he’d emptied the little pond he’d been standing in, he moved as fast as possible to escape the room. Even still, he got doused pretty well by Helinith’s prank.

As he exited the room and the worst of the confetti shower a smile came to his face. He concentrated, exuding a thin layer of sticky sap along the surface of his bark. The confetti upon him stuck to it and he walked toward the mess he remembered having seen his little Craziness last. It was just a pair minutes before he arrived and he walked up to her, “Cute trick, my little friend, now come here so I can give you a big hug.” he called as he moved forward quickly, intending to cut off any escape route.

He could feel the ship settling into orbit and knew they would go down in just a few minutes but if she had time to prank before they reported in so did he.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @DarthIshyZ, @darthhelinith, @Snokers

 

OOC: A very fun combo with @greyjedi125, @Silvertough and @Mitth_Fisto, oh and the conclusion was approved by @Sinrebirth

IC Bernael, Manticore, Vyatoris, the Nightsister
And how should we deal with a Traitor

Hunger smiled as he stepped out into the light of the Keshiri day, he and Hate had been tasked with determining the fate of the traitor, Vyatoris. Letting his senses flow, he scanned the area, sensing where the other Council member was as well as where the prison space was that currently held Vyatoris.

His space black eyes turned and he oriented himself, beginning to head toward that domicile. He felt that the Nightsister that he and Soliloquy had chosen to give new life to was in the same dwelling. Walking quietly and calmly to the dwelling, he randomly acknowledged the appreciation of the Keshiri, giving no favoritism toward any particular rank, but more toward those who he sensed were stronger beings, ones that had the potential to survive in the galaxy that the Order was poised to affect.

In only a few minutes time he arrived at the dwelling, scanning it for any residual energies that could hamper what Hate and he would accomplish before opening the door and stepping inside. Once inside he moved toward the chamber that held Vyatoris. As he approached he encountered the Nightsister, “Hate will be joining us shortly, I am sure, and we shall decide the fate of Vyatoris. You may join us to observe or not, but otherwise I would know if there is any change in his physical or mental state and whether he is conscious or not. I would check myself but Lord Insipid set you as his caretaker for the nonce so decorum would have me ask rather than use power.”

He continued walking, the Nightsister could stay in step, could reply, or could ignore him at her choice. What mattered now was that he was present and that soon he and Hate would settle one of the remaining pieces of business before the Order could move forward with whatever plans Insipid had.

Manticore had his hood up, as he always did, even as he walked with no particular hurry through the halls of Noble Keshiri. He let his senses flow outward and ignored all else, finding the now more powerful signature of Bernael, the Lord Hunger in short order. Under his hood, he nodded slightly as he sent wordless knowledge of his approach.

Hate would always despise traitors and treachery, for they had no Master and served only themselves at the cost and expense of everything else- no matter what. They had no real allegiance and by necessity were exceedingly deceitful. Darth Haretisch had underscored this at Mortis. Still, the zabrak did recognize that treachery was a tool of the Sith; he’d be a fool not to understand and accept this truth. But this, the exceeding betrayal enacted by Vyatoris, it may have cost them both Soliloquy and Leda- and that was unforgivable, at least in his eyes. It appeared the Emperor was of the same mind, for despite Insipid's apparent praise of the principle, he would not brook any attempted sabotage of his plans.

The old adage about scorpions came to Manticore's mind.

And so, it came to pass that the stoic form of Hate reached the holding chambers where the traitor was being held. There, with a barely perceptible nod, he greeted the black eyed Anzati; Hunger. A knowing look passed between the two.

Hate then leveled his fiery gaze upon the Nightsister, gauging her in the Darkside of the Force. Manticore understood that certain Sith had a taste for ‘games’ and ‘intrigue’, but he was currently in no mood for such. For now, it seemed that the Nightsister would comply with whatever was asked of her, but such was true of Vyatoris as well at one point.

“Wake him.” He commanded in his raspy voice, still sounding a bit graver than normal.

Every moment wasted exacted a terrible price.

Falling in step with the black eye, she noted his request and the one from the Nightbrother. It was sad to see one range so without proper guidance nor chance to have territory. "He sleeps. I rinsed out the cage an hour ago." She quickly replied as she lifted an old key to unlock and open the door. She had taken the position of jailer seriously, and given no extra comfort except to hose out the prisoners cell twice a day. Which had the extra kindness of watering the prisoner as well.

This she did as a kindness, after all if he had not betrayed Soliloquy she would not be reborn. Opening the door she sighed at the request from the Nightbrother, some things never changed "Brother I did not put him under the spell of sleep. Either ask the one that did or break it yourself." With that stated she hip checked the old door to open and reveal the glass container with the prisoner inside.

------

Imprisoned

The figure was too slow, it had barely moved in time to counter his opening feint, before finding itself riddled with holes from his blade. A manic grin bled across Vyatoris' face, a sinister smile filled with retribution.

But yet..

The figure crumpled to the ground with a gasping breath, the contents of the robe empty, a testament to its true nature. It was a nothing but a memory briefly given form. That was not the being which had taken everything from him. No, he was back to where he had started.

Vyatoris extinguished his blade, looming over the crumpled remains of the black robed figure. What brief measure of catharsis he had felt was gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness which threatened to consume him. Questions had only been replaced by more questions.. Questions which seemed to never hold a satisfying answer..

Vyatoris herd the crackle of lightning before he sensed it. A powerful blast of power arcing from the fingers of Insipid towards him. Even if he wanted to, there would be little time to redirect it, better to just take the hit, and see what happened next. Besides.. That familiar feeling of utter exhaustion was creeping in again..

A bout of unconsciousness might do him some good..

The lightning hit, and Vyatoris was unceremoniously flung across the ground, his body offering nothing but dead weight as it tumbled across the ground, unconscious upon impact.

---

Days would pass without interference from Vyatoris, being trapped within the confines of unconsciousness, not to mention the cell he was vaguely aware of being within. The recollection of the passage of time was.. difficult, to say the least. Vyatoris had become somewhat aware during his imprisonment, a sort of lucid dream, if for no better explanation. A lucid dream in which he didn't seem to have any control over..

How ironic.. To finally regain my mind.. only to have it all stripped away.. Insipid, you devil.. Aimless thoughts drifted though his mind with no real purpose. With no one to interact with, he was stuck with himself.. What a terrible situation to be stuck in..

---

The day of the trial

Vyatoris awoke with a start, surprised at the sudden concept of consciousness. He slowly flexed his fingers, enjoying the familiar sensation of muscles tensing and releasing. It certainly felt as if he were conscious. Wearily, he rose to his feet and took note of his surroundings.

He was inside a glass cell, not much bigger than the storage room he had occupied on his journey to Kamino. Oh how long ago that feels..

Somewhere near the cell, or perhaps even within it as well, was someone else, a being which felt.. familiar, in some way. He couldn't tell exactly, most likely due to interference being run by Insipid. Vyatoris shook his head, taking a minute to rub at his temples. It was strange not having a complete perspective on the world around him, but he would have to adapt.

Through the force, he felt the rapid approach of two others, those of which he did recognize. Bernael, and Manticore. Vyatoris nodded to himself, before sinking down into a cross-legged position in the direct center of the cell. They were to pass judgement on him, that much he was sure of. He certainly deserved some form of punishment..

He slowed his breathing, centering himself as his thought slowed to a crawl. A content sigh escaped his lips. Peace.. Now that's something I haven't felt in.. In.. Hm..

-----

"What is your name?"

Manticore inquired directly of the Nightsister, duly noting her strength of spirit. It was something he found refreshing, even if she was still a stranger.

As he waited for her response, his fiery eyes came to rest upon the meditating form of Vyatoris, who remained still and unmoving in their presence.

Looking at the prisoner who apparently had awoken since she last washed out his cell she held up a back of a hand to the Nightbrother. "You have not earned my name yet, and you have more important matters. You are here for him, not me." she curtly replied as she stepped out of their way. A wry eyebrow raised, boys would be boys it seemed. Hopefully a gentle correction such as this would not dissuade him later, Nightbrothers were not so smart last she had known them and she found herself hoping this one was not wholly an exception to the rule just because a few eons had passed.

Hunger tilted his head as he turned it toward Hate and the Nightsister. Watching the byplay he also let his senses flow over the form in the cell. A twist developed in the corner of one lip as he did so. His eyes scanned both outside the cell.

In a low monotone, “Our pet traitor here is going to believe his trial is much less what it truly is if he continues to enjoy the flirting between you two. He is not meditating, of course, but merely observing us all to try to discern his best way out of the circumstances.”

His head swiveled back toward the cell, eyes alighting on the figure inside, once more. “Vyatoris, the need to pretend you are meditating has passed. My companion here would agree that treachery is part and parcel of being a Sith. However there are limits, even to what a Sith may do, especially when they do not succeed in their treachery. Reasoning aside, your scheme was flawed from the start. And now you find yourself here, facing the doom that Insipid has given his remaining council to carry out, made more potent as your actions caused a member of the council to be abducted. The question now is, do we discuss how we plan to cleanse your treachery or allow you to attempt to explain yourself.”

Vyatoris remained seated, idly watching Manticore and the Nightsister converse. The details mattered little to him, it was clear that at least Manticore was waiting for Bernael to arrive. There would be no point in starting early after all.

Speaking of which.. Vyatoris cocked his head to the side as Bernael entered the room. It would appear as if his trial had begun, or the preamble, so to speak.


"The question over my meditation being true or false is irrelevant.. That will be up for you to decide.. It is hardly important for what is to come, I'm sure." The Miraluka shook his head, appearing almost disappointed. "What ultimately matters now.. is that I am once again, finally whole. Free of the shackles I unknowingly placed upon myself upon our escape from Bedlam. I will not apologize for the raving outbursts of a broken man which brought me here.. No.."

Vyatoris looked up from where he was sitting at Bernael and Manticore, his vestigial eyes offering nothing in the way of inner thoughts.

"A more experienced debater might argue that through unexpected struggle, the Sith as a whole are improved, the ones unable to adapt being left by the wayside.." He shrugged halfheartedly. "In time, perhaps that will become the view of my actions. An attempt to better the Sith.. Maybe. I was broken, the wielder of an unstable mind. Now, I am whole." His voice trailed off, before once again adopting a meditative stance.

Hate merely growled at the Nightsister’s audacity and left it at that. She was an anachronistic being, though not by choice. But weren’t they all? A thought for another time. There was no room for distractions, not here, not now.

Quite like Hunger, Manticore let his Force senses flow, feeling and sensing nuances in the force. Bernael had spoken true; failed schemes had no redeeming merit. Yet, Vyatoris made a poor offering on his own defense. Broken or whole, actions begat consequences, consequences that had rippling effects. Even a blind miraluka could see that.

What's more, the clever miraluka seemed to fashion himself as an agent of struggle, one to be eventually lauded as a diviner of strength and weakness. What delusional conceit. Manticore growled once again, taking a step closer to the traitor, his increasing displeasure prominently bristling in the force.

“You claim to be whole once again…” Hate intoned calmly, despite being anything but.

“So, in a way, you have adapted,no?.”

A slow nod.

“A test then.”

Another step.

“Think carefully before you answer.”

The zabrak’s slow smirk was anything but reassuring. The baleful glow in his fiery eyes spoke volumes of his intent.

“Where. is. she?”

A simple question. One that elicited an answer from the traitor. An answer that would seal his fate.

Vyatoris simply raised an eyebrow at the Zabrak's question. Not out of arrogance or pride, but genuine curiosity. The barely contained anger radiating outwards from the Zabrak was something to behold, especially in such proximity to his own form.

"By She, I assume you are referring to.. Oh what her name.. Leda? I think?" Vyatoris brought a hand to his chin, scratching at it in thought. "I was preoccupied at the time.. but I do believe I saw Sian snatch her before he fled the battle.."

Vyatoris let out an almost bored sounding sigh. "I'm afraid you vastly overestimate my relationship with Sian and his kin. Through reflecting upon it now, rather impressive manipulation on his part, he was able to convince my weaker self into following a single order from him. I was never involved in any greater machinations on their part. I was simply told to create a large enough distraction at the critical moment inside the battle, which I did.." He trailed off, tilting his head upwards to give off the impression he was looking into the eyes of Manticore.

"Believe me when I say that is the extent of my knowledge of their plan. Clearly Sian and the others underestimated all of you, even with the distraction caused by my hands. My prior weakness demands punishment, that much I accept. If I am to die, then so be it. I'll admit, I've always been curious about what the afterlife holds for me.. If it even exists in the first place.." A half-smile grew on Vyatoris' face, seemingly born from genuine excitement.

"But, if I am to live, I will serve anew. My weakness has been cleansed, my mind restored. That much I am sure of. Seeing Sian's true strength, or, more accurately, the lack of it, has been truly illuminating. Speaking of which.." The smile faded, replaced by a puzzled frown. "Looks like Soliloquy had quite a number of secrets exposed, eh? Wonder what else it's hiding.."

A dry, dark chuckle sounded from Hunger’s lips. “Your defense boils down to wasn’t me, I am not who I was, I don’t truly know what the plan of my associates was, and maybe others have more to hide than I, intriguing.”

He moved to another vantage point to study the Miraluka before him. “I am not the being I was, I have evolved as well. Does that mean I am not responsible for what I did before? Hmmm.”

“You got involved in the scheme of Sian and his sister, but weren’t adept enough to do what any Sith in such a situation would do, which is learn every single thing one could to have leverage in case of others treachery? That is more the actions of an acolyte than a Sith who has survived what many, including yourself here have.”

Hunger chuckled again, “As to others having their own things to hide, specifically the one whose containment you yourself ruptured, are you truly surprised? Many Force users, especially Sith, have secrets they either have to fulfill later goals or just because of what they are. Yet they didn’t decide to take advantage of a situation where they didn’t know all the rules or players, and thought that a pair of quick grown children could best a group that fought a God.”

He stepped closer to the glass containment cell, letting his purest essence wash over the being before him, hunger, unadulterated hunger. “As to seeing what comes next, if the decision is for you to die you will do so never knowing what comes next because no matter which of us would carry it out, in you final moment I will eat your essence, your soul, and you will spend eternity, or as long as it takes for me to decide to use your soul for sustenance, locked in my mind, forever separated from the Force.”

Hunger’s head turned, like a raptor, toward Hate, “His answer seems insufficient to satisfy your anger, Lord Hate, and nothing he has stated has changed my own opinion of his failed treachery. The question, in my opinion, then becomes, what do we do with this apparently bumblingly inept traitor? He doesn’t deny what he did, but his defense is about as flimsy as I’ve ever heard.”

Vyatoris nodded to himself. "My answers are what they are. Unsatisfactory as they may be. Truth be told, as unflattering as it is to admit, your use of the word "acolyte" to describe me is rather accurate. I have received very little of what anyone could consider formal training under Insipid's Sith. The Master's I'm paired with each tend to find.. distractions.."

Vyatoris tilted his head back and forth, shifting his face between each of his Judges. "But, if I am to die, what information I have been gathering since my.. well, awakening, I suppose one could call it, dies with me. A dead man switch. It would certainly be unfortunate if I had been actively purging such memories since Kamino.. just in case."

He let out a final sigh, before slowly rising to his feet. Taking a moment to brush off any dirt that had collected on his robes, Vyatoris allowed a small grin to spread across his emotionless features. "Gotta admit though, for such a newcomer, I certainly made quite the splash, no? Almost managed to kill the Emperor himself.. I'm sure he would have been interested to know about my knowledge of the.."

His brow twitched for a moment, a faint shudder rippling along his form as something rose from within. A moment later, and it was gone, the twitch lasting no more than a few seconds. "Ah, yes. Ask Insipid about the Holocron of Soa. I'm sure a certain ritual housed within might peak his interest. Of course, perhaps I'm once again revealing my naivete, maybe it's relation to prior heads of the Triumvirate are already known.. Hm." Vyatoris shrugged. "That's about all I can offer I suppose, if what I can offer isn't satisfactory, let's just get this little charade over with, sure you all have better things to do here."

“What a pity. What a waste.” Hate rasped, unmoved.

One again, Hunger spoke true words which mirrored Hate’s own thinking.

“For all your supposed cunning, this is what you could manage.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your life is already forfeit, Miraluka. You will certainly die, but not in any manner of your imagining. Hunger will have your soul in the end, that much is certain, but before that happens…..”

The wave of Hate that flowed from Manticore, had it been manifested in the material world, would have vaporized Vyatoris right where he stood.

“You will experience several interrogation techniques employed by the Rakata. Trust me when I tell you, ALL of your precious ‘secrets’ will simply spill out of you. Ignorance is bliss, but you will know unspeakable things. There will be no new ‘awoken self’ left after that. Whatever is left of you, will likely make poor sport during the ‘Blood Hunt’ I shall decree upon you. You would be surprised at how creative one can become when fighting for one's own survival. Something you’ll come to truly appreciate later.

And that’s only the beginning. You flatter yourself traitor, you wish to be special. Then you shall receive very special treatment.

If you wish for a clean death, if I were you, I’d search deep within the recess of those newly ‘awoken’ memories for any useful information that can lead us to Leda.

I do not threaten you Vyatoris. You have a clinical mind, you can do the math. A price has to be paid, but how HIGH a price is the real question. You have one hour to greatly improve your bargaining skills.”

In the Force, Vyatoris would feel an immeasurable, all consuming darkness, unlike any he’d felt before; heat that would boil his skin and melt his flesh in a blink of an eye.The Sith Emperor knew how truly relentless, how dark the former Executor could become. This was no whimsical promise- it was a Night Terror about to consume the traitor’s entire reality.

“One. Hour.”

Vyatoris could take the opportunity to continue with his vain posturing, maybe order himself a glorious last meal, or dig within himself to achieve something he had never achieved before.

Vyatoris grimaced as what little mental barriers he could muster were stripped away in an instant, while his vision simultaneously ripped away, blinded by the maelstrom that was Manticore's hatred.

But yet, curiously, the Miraluka remained at peace. Evan as the hairs covering his skin singed away, not an ounce of protective rage filled his soul. A curious occurrence indeed. How very un-sithlike.

Bracing himself against the rolling waves of raw hatred radiating out from Manticore, Vyatoris began delicately tearing a single strap of cloth from the sleeve of his robe. The action was careful, as he made sure not to disrupt the flowing symbols which dotted along his sleeves. Satisfied with his work, he raised up his ribbon and began tying it around his head, once again covering the vestigial eye sockets that were native to his race.

"My lords, what you offer me are lessons, ones that I would be hard pressed to find anywhere else.." He said, tying off the ribbon is a tight knot behind his head. "You will teach me the true reality of the Sith, and if I survive.." He glanced towards Bernael.

Vyatoris once again sat cross-legged in the center of his cage, adopting a meditation stance. "But, If I manage to survive your combined instruction, my mind will undoubtedly shatter once again, and the incessant whisperings of Sian, or worse, will control my dreams.."

Vyatrois ran a hand slowly through his shoulder-length hair, a slight frown growing upon his lips. "Just an hour.. I-It'll have to do then.." He said, words barely louder than a whisper, directed at no one in particular.

Hunger smiled, a predatory, eager even, smile, behind his mask. To Vyatoris ‘sight’ the sense of hunger would only compound with that smile. Hate would see the glitter in the depths of Hunger’s eyes. “An hour, yes.”

He turned away from the captive, ignoring the Miraluka that knew his fate to be. His senses kept watch should the traitor attempt anything, including harming himself to deny what was due. Looking to Hate, in a low tone, “His mind may shatter once confined in mine own but Sian or Merel, should they attempt to infiltrate to steal whatever secrets he takes to eternity will find something they have never experienced. His imprisonment will be total. I look forward to observing and possibly assisting one such as you in your ministrations as you wring him dry.”

Pondering for a moment, Hunger turned next to the Nightsister, “And you, held in the cold embrace of Soliloquy for so long, what do you make of this modern era?” He had held his power back from her senses, only allowing what seemed to be a normal level of power for a Council member to be expressed, at least to her senses, and for one who had seen the decline of the Sith over the centuries, only now ones such as the ancients were taking the stage once more and her different perspective due to her displacement in time could be of use winnowing out the weak of the galaxy.

By his own words, Vyatoris conveyed that his peace was conditional, another lie. Even if he himself did not realize it.

Being Whole held greater value to the Miraluka. Maybe now he would appreciate how that fundamental principle applied to their Order, how his own actions led him to this place. As it was, he seemed to have a crude understanding of the real challenge before him. Perhaps that was enough, perhaps not.

Manticore kept his focus on the traitor, observing him with clinical precision, especially in the force. He paid attention to the symbols upon the traitors robes and their meaning, as well as to which he avoided and which he carefully tore- and what they may mean, alone and together. Of course, he trusted nothing that spewed forth from the Miraluka. However, to begin uncovering what lay underneath so many layers of deception, one had to understand the deeper nature of the craft.

To Hunger, he gave a solemn nod, noting to himself that Bernael was incredibly intuitive, something that was no surprise coming from the Emperor’s current apprentice. Indeed, a potential trap for Sian and Merel; they who had captured Leda. The Anzati was probably one of the very few sith who could glean in part, the workings of the former Executor’s vaulted mind. An impressive feat to be sure.

Hunger and Hate had a lot more in common than what was readily apparent, that, despite their obvious differences. Unity of purpose always yielded the best results, division the worst. This was not a mystery.

Curiosity kept Manticore in place, as he absently listened to Hunger engage the Nightsister in conversation. With treachery at an all time high, the zabrak was not about to give her a pass as a potential pawn of the traitor. He would stay and listen to her answer, before making his exit.

There were specific tools he needed before preparing the interrogation chamber. Lord Anguish had taught him truly terrible things, granted him skills he had practiced and perfected on hapless subjects long ago. But to find her, he would not hesitate to use such measures again.

No matter. In one hour’s time, the Miraluka would decide which path his fate would take.

Looking back at the prisoner she waved them out of the room and closed the door behind her. Some things were not for even condemned ears. Especially condemned ears that seemed to be preparing. "If I were you I would wait but a minute. Do what you do, an hour he seems unsteady, but far too comfortable with."

Sighing she twisted her hands, looking at them in a moment of self reflection seeing how similar and foreign they were to her. "Hang him by his own entrails and dissolve his body in acid as you eat his mind. Do whatever it is that you do. Waiting, there is too much waiting without purpose in this modern era. You seem to wait without purpose, settle without goals just because you can wait. I never should have to stand guard on such a simple case so long. A night a day and be done with it, yet your leader let it languish, lets me languish here. A dark prison with confusing conversation for a bright cell alone." she spat on the floor at that. "This modern era so far lacks decisiveness." she sneered at the last. These might be the best these Sith had to offer and honestly she did not care. They asked for truth and just because they were males she would shield their fragile egos from the truth, they had licked their own wounds and ignored a traitor too long.

"One. Hour."

The spirited Nightsister was allowed her words. Nothing less, nothing more. Having nothing else to add himself, Hate offered a curt nod, turned and departed.

For whom the bell tolls, He mused silently as he went.

...

The moment his captors departed from the room, Vyatoris took action. Immediately, he pumped whatever force he could muster into shrouding his aura, specifically the actions he would take in the upcoming seconds, from view. If done correctly, whatever levels of precognition his captors may or may not have would be fooled, and would allow him a precious few seconds alone.

It would be enough.

He dropped all pretenses. If he were to die at the hands of his fellow Sith, he would make it as inconvenient as possible. If he had the time, perhaps even deadly. But there was no time. Immediately, Vyatoris brought the cloth sash covering his eyes down across his cheeks, leaving it just taught enough to work as an effective gag. Tying it tight behind his head, he then pressed his forefingers against his temples, indenting the skin as much as he could.

Think you could have my mind that easily, huh? No! I go on my own terms, Schuttas! He thought spitefully as he chomped hard into the makeshift gag.

Lightning erupted from his fingers, arcing directly into both temples, growing exponentially more powerful as his force shroud was transferred into his lightning.

A mere three seconds later, Vyatoris crumpled into a twitchy, convulsing heap on the ground, blood slowly oozing from both nose and ears.

A wheezing cackle would be all that was left of the Miraluka Sith, save for a buried kernel of his soul deep within..

Hunger nodded at the Nightsister’s words. “Taking action in a timely fashion is the best course of action, usually, yes. But sometimes allowing someone to believe they have the time to do something others wouldn’t consider is also a good thing. TIme and place for everything, little hunter.”

He smiled, eyes glittering, behind the mask, “Your duty here, however, is done, shortly. The question remains though, what you will do next, in this time. But that can be answered at a later time.”

As he finished speaking, weavings of energy could be felt emanating from the next room, from the cell. Hunger laughed, a sound like tombstones clanging together. “And that time is now, so I bid you both adieu for the nonce.” Even as Hunger seemed to fade from sight there was a wink to the Nightsister and a nod to Hate.

Inside the room with the cell Power, unlike anything a Sith would know or feel, swelled for a moment without seeming to affect anything Vyatoris himself was doing. The scene played out as Vyatoris had decided it would.

Lightning erupted from his fingers, arcing directly into both temples, growing exponentially more powerful as his force shroud was transferred into his lightning.

A mere three seconds later, Vyatoris crumpled into a twitchy, convulsing heap on the ground, blood slowly oozing from both nose and ears.

A wheezing cackle would be all that was left of the Miraluka Sith, save for a buried kernel of his soul deep within..

As the energy of Vyatoris’s working dissipated, a shadow detached from the shadows of the room, coming into focus. Hunger came into view, staring down at the crumpled body. There was a kernel of soul, no doubt, before him but he knew and felt exactly where inside the Sith it was.

“Acolyte I called you, acolyte you proved to be. Even with all you’d been through you couldn’t sense, couldn’t feel when the power of something more ancient than even the power of the Sith was standing before you.” he said as he ripped the remaining kernel from the body that lay in the cell.

Concentrating for a moment he entered his own mental plane, entered a cell in his mind that he, and perhaps his Father or others of such level could enter. The figure that lay in a ball on the floor, at his feet, mirrored the one in the glass cell. ‘Vyatoris, you failed, even in your attempt to end yourself, there is power beyond what you know, not just in the Galaxy at large, but here, on Kesh. Let me show you the truth of what it means to be my Father’s son, in part.’

The cell faded and the room their physical forms inhabited reappeared. Vyatoris was moments from blasting his mind with his enhanced lightning. What he couldn’t see or feel was the presence of Hunger, hidden in the shadows. The Hunger that had followed Hate and the Nightsister had been a shade, an illusion created solely for Vyatoris’s benefit, so he believed he was alone in the room.

As Vyatoris’s fingers began to crackle with lightning, the Power flowed from Hunger and the difference between what happened and what was believed to have happened was revealed. The Power reached into Vyatoris, separating his soul, his essence, and his mind from his body in a millisecond, leaving only the tiny kernel he thought he’d left.

To that kernel the Power crafted a vision, both physical and mental, that mimicked, exactly, what he’d attempted to do. What the Power ripped from him allowed a tiny thread of link to exist between what it and the kernel as it was ensconced in Hunger’s mind, in it’s cell. By doing so the entire being of Vyatoris experienced, albeit minimally for what was now a true, eternal prisoner, what he had planned to do.

‘Your suicide was even a failure. But a failure I caused, so that what you wish to hide or destroy is, instead, safely locked away.’ His mental shade gestured, lazily, and the sense, the feeling, of what had happened was, mostly, removed from the soul of Vyatoris.

‘Rise, shade, you are now my prisoner, in a place where none may enter and none have any possibility of escape. You may note that your very connection to the Force is gone. No more attempts to use it to end your life will happen. You are free to attempt to find other ways to end your existence but my mind, my rules, and every attempt will only feed me small tidbits of your soul, while I will let you believe you died, only to ‘resurrect’ you time and again. Here your very secrets will slip from your grasp, when and as needed.’

The mask faded from Hunger’s face. Jet black eyes stared down at the soul. Should it have looked up at him it would have seen how Bernael had appeared prior to his ‘evolution’, to a degree. However, his eyes were black, dripping pure darkness, his skin was darker in color, a reddish tint having entered it, and upon his cheeks, by where his proboscises were stored were symbols, representations of his Father.



‘Here you will spend eternity, at least as much of it as you are useful to me. In the end, every small part of you will be consumed, but at the time of my choosing. For now, ponder your ultimate failure and decide how soon you will begin being of use.’

Hunger faded from the cell, ensuring all the protections it needed were in place, both from those external threats and from its occupant. He opened his eyes, looking down at the body at his feet, in the cell, now only so much meat. “Failure is only rewarded with punishment, and you will be punished for eons.”

He turned, exiting the room and entering the one with Hate and the Nightsister. As he entered, he nodded, formally, to Hate. “Apologies for the deception brother Hate but I knew our prisoner had not the constitution to wait the hour or face your torments. He failed for the last time though and, in his failure, all he knew and all he kept secret are forever safely held.” At the last, one taloned finger reached up and tapped the side of his head.

He looked at the Nightsister, the twisted smile behind the mask evident in the movement of his eyes. “Action was necessary, yes. And deception is one of the best tools, especially when someone believes themselves special. Oh, and little hunter,” Power wrapped around her, ancient and foreboding, “think once more that Hate and Hunger are mere men to be manipulated and my pact with Soliloquy to keep you alive will be broken and I will remove you from the game board.”

The Power faded and Hunger turned to Hate, “Feel free to take out your anger at his failure, and his traitor's path, on the mound of flesh in the other room. Otherwise, when the time is needed, I will allow you to safely enter his cell in my mind and we can rip his secrets from him.”

Inside his shadowed cowl, Manticore did smirk. He turned and respectfully nodded at Bernael for his craft.

'Well played brother Hunger, well played. Indeed, the Emperor will be pleased.' The zabrak sent to the Anzati through the force.

The former Executor had indirectly learned a few tricks regarding patient manipulation from Darth Insipid and other Triumvir, albeit, through a series of challenging experiences, but learn he did. Now, they had exactly what was needed to proceed to the next phase.

'Good'....

All was proceeding as planned.

As for the Nightsister, it was clear she had new things to learn.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @Silvertough, @Mitth_Fisto, @QueenSabe7, @greyjedi125

 

IC: Darth Insipid
Kesh, Grand Chamber (spare one)

There had been changes and ripples in the Force; his Sith were becoming.

What, though, he wondered.

Helinith, Serapis, Renn... awake. Bo?

Bernael, Manticore and the Nightsister... but Vytorias was dead. Oh well.

Soliloquy became something new again, he could sense as much. Shimmer was awestruck, but Insipid less so; Soliloquy had been born again and anew and it was all illusion and magicks given corporeal form.

Of course, those were dangerous too. As evidenced by Soliloquy losing control and Revan and a historical plethora of threats emerge... including the cloaked-Master... who seemed to be involved with a lot more than he liked.

Insipid had reviewed the information from the Hapan Battle Dragon Fist of Chaos, and nodded. He had a great deal of options now. In short order, he sent orders out. Serapis, you are to take one of the Miy'til starfighter's from the Fist of Chaos and head to Mustafar. I sent a team including Hades, Zalen and others, and they did not return. The fighter has a hyperdrive.



He then directed the Sith to gather in the secondary Great Hall for a feast. It was actually the same hall they had met before... but the new glass one hadn't survived Sian's destructive rampage. So, a new spread would be set out, and food and so forth. The Sith would have a moment to regroup and recoup...

Before Insipid gave them their next missions.

Sian and Merel would need tracking down.

The food was ready; the Keshiri were ready to serve; his Sith deserved a chance to interact and be treacherous in the ways Sith needed to be. Insipid quirked a smile. I mean, he had betrayed them all more than once.

TAG: @DarthIshyZ (combo, TAG, optional), @Snokers, @darthbernael, @darthhelinith, @greyjedi125, @Mitth_Fisto - people within the Grand Hall may post as often as they like during this time off. A free-form TAG, for the extra time any of you have. No combos, if I may.
---
IC: Darth Insipid's Memory
Someone else's mindscape

Ah.

It had taken some work, but the remaining thoughts and muscle memory of Darth Insipid managed to come together as a sentient mind within the spiritual vacuum that was filled with spirits... within Bernael. There were many, many others here, and a line between them and Bernael. Insipid could sense that Bernael had the ability to dip into his store of spirits and rejuvenate himself as and when.

There was space here, where other spirits had presumably been. Bernael had drawn deep on his reservoirs to face Luke Skywalker and Sian, and then Revan thereafter. That space had given Insipid the ability to congeal his fragmented broken parts into one... but it had helped that Insipid had experience being separated from his body, and vice-versa, what with his repeated use of essence transfer over the decades.

So.

He'd managed to find a spot.

Then make it partially his own.

Most of his efforts had been in hiding this little patch of real estate from Bernael. It was not especially easy to reconstitute a mind from body parts... a Gravemind, perhaps. But it had been done before, to great effect - exactly once before. This is why Insipid was a loremaster more than a brute, more than a lightsaber expert, more than a Force prodigy. History taught him, and Insipid used it. Vitiate had done it, once, and Insipid hoped he could too.

There was one snag.

He wasn't alone.

Insipid narrowed his eyes - his real, turquoise eyes, set in his original pasty-faced skin, his black Sith robes and hood down. He had a black throne, surrounded by six others, each at varying heights; Insipid's was highest, of course.

"Why hello, Vytorias. So you're dead, too?"

TAG: @Silvertough
---
IC: Styx
Moraband, stepping back

"Find shelter, Lady Styx." Cocytus warned as he ignited his crimson blade as he got into a stance. It was a command, not a suggestion. "This is yet another Trial of the Ancients. A trial for me and me alone."


Sith hound, Tuk'ata

It was a big and monstrous creature that burst forth from the sand. Styx blinked in surprise, and actually slipped on the sand, landing on her rear. She felt fear, and the hound looked at her with a side-eye, and then Styx froze.

Did the hound just laugh.

It focused on Cocytus, fully and utterly, and sniffed at the Sith Lord to make the first move.

TAG: @Darth Cocytus (combo)
---
IC: Merel
Shuttle, en route to Base

They had a prisoner, but first, Merel wove from the spare metal in the shuttles bays, weaving metal legs for her twin. Sian was wounded, but with the amount of Force power they had behind them? Death was an inconvenient possibility, not a likely one. They were going to destroy the Sith, and become the fabled Destructors of Keshiri lore, Sian had decided.

Merel liked the sound of that.

While her little brother recovered, Merel stalked their prisoner, who would awaken, burn medallions across her skin, in their medbay.

Leda.

"Greetings, Sith witch."

Merel bid her be conscious.

TAG: @QueenSabe7

 

IC Bernael and Renn
Another Feast

Hunger entered the hall, nodding to the Sith that had gathered there. In the time since the trial of Vyatoris he’d been settling in to the newfound power his Father had provided. And the vitality that Vyatoris and, before him, the old form of Lord Insipid had provided meant that much of the energy he’d used fighting the beings he’d been faced with was replenished. He knew that he’d want to feed again soon just to restore his reservoir but this feast had been called and so he came.

From time to time he felt a small sense of something off, but his internal warning signs didn’t give a full sense of what the issue was so, for now, he allowed his senses to continue scanning and attempting to determine what it was that caused such. He had his suspicions but for now he’d bide his time to understand fully.

He passed Lord Insipid, nodding respectfully, the Lord was settling in to his new form well but with his, even if the may be corrupted, memories inside Hunger understood what his Master had done, even if he had his own opinions of how such could have been accomplished. It was not his place to comment but it meant he watched everyone to try to ferret out what secret plans they may have that could disrupt whatever it was that would happen going forward.

He nodded once more when he saw Hate, the two of them had worked well together quite often recently and between them he knew they would do what was necessary to ensure this Order thrived where other Sith factions, in the past, had failed. Passing a Keshiri serving those in the hall he stated his request for drink.

Finding a quiet corner where he could observe the hall, close to his Master, he slid into the shadow there and waited. The Keshiri returned and he took the chalice of bloodsoup, holding it in one taloned hand, sipping occasionally as he waited for the others to gather. Soon enough his old friend and compatriot, Renn, wandered into the hall, ducking as he entered the hall, to avoid the lintel of the door.

Renn took up a flagon of water from a nearby table and wandered over to the shadow where he saw the old vampire. “You’ve changed, old man, I can feel it.”

A small smile touched the lip of Hunger, behind the mask. “I have taken both the mantle Lord Insipid bestowed, as the Lord of Hunger, and the mantle of my Father. I have changed, yes but I sense you too have grown in the intervening time.”

Renn glanced about, seeing if his little friend, Helinith had arrived yet. “Yes, I faced the sister of the one that did all this here, as I told you. It was an interesting adventure. Seemed not only Insipid but those two had their own plans with what we were meant to do. I also faced Luke, who seemed less surefooted Jedi Master and more an emotional, almost grey Jedi. He sure didn’t want to negotiate at all, just fight.”

Hunger snorted, “He was the same on Kuat, took my ear, beheaded Insipid, seriously injured Manticore as well. We’ll have to keep an eye out for him and make sure he does not interfere as much as he would like to do.”

Renn looked over at Lord Insipid whole and hale, “He got better, I see. I also ran into the newest Matriarch and, well…… I’m kinda glad Helinith showed up when she did or I suspect Ta’a would have wanted me to stick around a lot longer.”

“She wanted the tree, did she?” Hunger asked.

“She certainly seemed intent on working very closely and personally with me.” Renn replied, recalling the conversation.

Hunger scanned the hall once more, “We shall see what the Emperor decides the follow-on missions will be for us all, but given his sense of humor, I can see you being appointed the envoy to the Hapans.” As he spoke about the Emperor that niggling sense of something off vibrated in his mind.

Renn chuckled, “I don’t know him as well as you do, but I’ll keep that in mind. Enjoy your shadow old vampire, I’m going to circulate and see if I can snag up all the candy before Craziness gets here.”

He nodded to Bernael and then deeper to Insipid as he wandered off, a quiet word to a Keshiri servitor as he did.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @Snokers, @darthhelinith, @greyjedi125, @Mitth_Fisto