Star Wars STAR WARS: The Road to the Final Episode

OOC: More fun in a combo with Sinrebirth

IC Xundel, Vergere, Ravijari/Tho Vor
Let's go on a galactic tour

The gray, swirling eyes crinkled in a grin as Xundel heard Vergere’s exhortation about the speed of the Celestial craft. He was listening, while at the same time trying to work out a route for them to take, that would cause no end of headaches for any sent to follow them or track them.

His fingers were flying over the holographic display of his pad, studying systems, highlighting some and discarding others from his consideration. It took a short bit, even as they raced through hyper to come up with a route he thought could possibly do all that he hoped it would to get them to their destination safely.

Turning to face the other two, a small smile crossed his face. ”This one and you two need the distraction of the First Order chasing ghosts.”

Bringing up the route he’d worked out, ”Here is what I’ve seen as a potential. First to Bothawui, possibly creating a sensor ghost that makes it seem we are headed for Corellia, then off to Druckenwell, doing the same trick with the sensor ghost as though headed to Tatooine. From there to Allanteen and then to Fondor, where we use another trick to make it seem we are headed to Byss. The last bit requires some good tracking by you, Ravijari, Kalist IV then deep space, from there to Kokash, back to deep space, on to Absit, back to deep space, and finally sneaking to Jakku.”

Vergere stroked her whiskers. "That is going to take time. Days, even." Her eyes slit.

"Do you think the galaxy can afford to wait?"

Ravijari, a spirit only, projected off the components of the ship that were shared with the Celestials, could only glower. "The more intricate the path, the less likely that the Coordinate will be able to force me to reveal it."

The Fosh regarded Xundel. "Fine, but we need to check in with the news, as passively as possible, with each leg of the jump. We can't go dark, and assume we'll have a perfect trip. Agreed?"

"Bothawui, then?"

Shaking his head, his eyes shifting colors once again Xundel smiled wryly, ”Thank you Ravijari, yes that was my thinking, or hope actually.”

He glanced at Vergere, ”Of course, a data dump from the holonet, passively receiving it, when we enter a system should allow us to keep track.”

Turning his gaze to the nav console, he studied the course again, one long ear twitching. ”We may be out of the loop for a time and things may change radically but if we cannot begin to wrench the Celestial tech from Snoke’s hands it won’t matter what the resistance or any others could do.” he said absently.

Vergere nodded in agreement, seriously.

The ship tunneled into hyperspace towards Corellia, but really to Bothawui. They arrived, and were greeted by a set of Bothan Assault Cruisers, six of them, running a patrol circuit with A-10 Vigilance fighters between them. It was a very aggressive position to take.

"This is Admiral For'o. Identify yourself."

Ravijari frowned. The sensor bafflers were clearly not working.

Xundel’s brow furrowed as he realized the Tho Yor hadn’t stayed as hidden as it should have. What he knew of the Bothans was that they were a usually independent species, part of why they had been spies and agents for the rebels years ago.

He glanced over at Ravijari, ”First, can they see you when on comms, your form I mean? If so then you try to keep them talking, if not it’s on Vergere.”

He settled back in the bridge seat eyes closing, ”I’m going to try something, something that will hopefully assist us in this escape, and further confuse our tracks.” he muttered.

Falling silent, he reached out his senses to the fighters and cruisers, to touch every being in the craft, focusing on the one who had called them. As he did he tried to bond them all to his will, a touch of battle meditation. As the bond worked to form, he focused tighter on the Admiral to convince his mind that they were no threat and to allow them passage, supposedly to Corellia.

They can see your ship.

The Admiral was silent for a long moment, longer than one would have expected.

The channel clicked shut, and Vergere spoke up. "Very interesting. You influenced him?"

Your ship can act as a kind of meditation sphere now, Ravijari explained.

Sighing as he felt the drain on his own energy lessen as the ship amplified what he was doing, reducing the strain on him, Xundel opened his eyes.

Looking over at Vergere, ”It appears so, yes.” he said quietly.

Nodding to Ravijari, ”Can the ship continue to act in that way if it is more absorbed into the Tho Yor, so the sensor baffles work better?” he asked, continuing his focus on the battle meditation.

”I need to keep this up until we’re on the verge of jumping, I have a feeling. The Bothans feel…uneasy…to be in this bond.” he muttered, ”So the sooner we can, the better. And have you gotten your data dump, Vergere?”

Vergere waved a hand holding a datapad. "All safe to carry on, Xundel. The Empire has taken Kashyyyk, Atrisia, and Naboo, but are still stuck at Mon Calamari. So, we're good."

Ravijari replied too. If I absorb too much of your ship, we will be at the mercy of the Coordinate.

Xundel nodded again, maintaining the minimum of his battle meditation that he needed to ensure their passage through the system went undisturbed. ”Then I must do this whenever needed.” he said softly.

”Now, let us depart, so I can rest some before I need do so again.”

Glancing at Vergere, ”Anything in the news you got that will affect our mission?”

Vergere shook her head, and then smiled, human-style. "Where are we heading again?"

Xundel chuckled, then reached over, tapping the nav display. He pulled up the course he’d come up with, glad that he’d saved it or he’d not remember either. ”Next stop is Druckenwell, a major corporate world, on the Corellian Run, which adds to the deception we’re headed to Corellia next.”

Indeed.

The ship burrowed into hyperspace at Ravijari's command, and they reached the world, not much more Coreward, but the Run was a hyperlane; it allowed them access to many points.

Vergere called up the HoloNet. "Looks like the old Confederate worlds are divided between joining the Empire. Commenor is pushing hard for it. The self-appointed President of Commenor, someone Rodan." A shrug, liquid, human-like again, then a feline twitch of her whiskers. "But we should be fine to jump."

The Fosh paused. "Should we just go straight for Jakku? The south is clear, save for Naboo, and we're basically shooting directly between there and Atrisia."

Xundel rose slowly from the command chair he’d been sitting in. He’d released the Force energy he’d been holding, as he turned to face Vergere. Sighing, ”In a hurry, Traya?” he asked, with a slight tease to his tone.

One three clawed hand rose, scratching one long ear, his gaze turning to Ravijari, ”Yes, jumo, continue the plan. We may arrive later than our friend here desires but to deviate courts our foes following too easily.”

Vergere twitched her nose. "Less speed, more haste, no? It is not rushing if we're prepared."

Ravijari nodded, and the ship emerged. Druckenwell, indeed a major economic world, long recovered from its bruising at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong decades before. It was nimbused by trade craft, but there was a definite edge to them; tension in the Force.

"There," Vergere said, pointing. And there it was; a Maxima-class cruiser, and a small horde of TIE fighters funnelling freighter traffic. As they watched, a set were escorted to a jump.

"Anaxes system," Ravijari supplied.

Rubbing the tip of one ear for a moment, Xundel watched the ‘ballet’ of transport and the escorts. ”Hmmm, one more jump along the path that was originally designated I believe. From there it can be decided whether or not to jump to Jakku from there.”

He eyed the TIEs, ”It does seem that no matter which system we enter there is a presence waiting, whether opposed to Snoke’s regime or his itself. Which reminds me of the old axiom that three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”*

Ravijari nodded, and Vergere slit her eyes. "Anaxes may bear investigation later..."

A purr to her voice.

And then the ship burrowed into hyperspace, irrelevant to the grand canvassing of the freighters of the Corellian Run. They were on their way to their last target, as Vergere demurred on the data. "Still only reports of isolated territory beyond the Corellian Run. Atrisia and Naboo. We can avoid those, yes?" She snapped the pad shut. "Where are we, again?"

She was being coy, for some reason.

Xundel’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Vergere. One of his eyebrows arched. ”We weren’t headed to either of those. But, as long as we’re still following the course planned this should be the Allanteen system.”

His fingers rubbed the same ear they had been earlier. His eyes didn’t leave Vergere, as he thought. ”What is the rush, my friend? Are we attempting to arrive while some of Snoke’s people are at Jakku?”

Vergere flicked her eyelashes. "I have no doubt that Snoke has secured all the Contingencies and warehouses and tricks that Palpatine left. He will know his secrets, after all this time, surely?" She shrugged; a flowing shoulder that was all avian. "Jakku is where the war before this one ended, no?"

Ravijari hesitated. "Gravity well."

They shuddered out of hyperspace. There was an Imperial Interdictor-class Star Destroyer in-front of them. TIE Daggers were launched, but corralling more freighters and civilian craft. The shipyards in the distant were being dominated by a Maxima-class heavy cruiser. "This is Minister Arek Graul."

"Open channel," Vergere confirmed, their dispute forgotten.

"The Empire has signed treaties with the Confederation of Independent Systems, and brought the Galactic Warlords to heel. The former worlds of the New Republic seek peace, and turn away from the Resistance - even Rey Skywalker has joined our Emperor and Supreme Leader in forging a lasting peace. Please, power down, allow your cargos to be inspected, and we shall leave you to head on your task. If your cargos are war materiel, it will be confiscated and you compensated financially. We have no intention to detain you any more than necessary."

Ravijari projected an image. "Edge of gravity well is here, Xundel." He pointed. "The Interdictor firing line cuts across it."

"It's blocked by civilian ships mostly, though," Vergere indicated the channel of dozens of freighters.

"Emphasis on civilian."

Vergere perked up. "Xundel, do you have escape pods, or any, say, explosives?"

Ravijari looked to him, confused.

Xundel glanced at Vergere, thinking. ”No idea, we just grabbed the first ship we could, to leave. I think we have escape pods, at least.”

He shook his head, his eyes shifting to that swirling grey once more, ”There are no more innocents, the galaxy is riven in the Force, polarized.” he intoned in a deep, flat voice. His head turned toward Ravijari, ”What is more important, these poor few, civilians or ensuring the power the three of us are entrusted with makes it to where we can free you?”

“I’ve a trick,” Vergere said, drily, towards the ships rear. She flounced off, and Ravijari pouted.

My fate means nothing; the Tho Yor matter. If you have a choice between saving me or freeing them, you best.

A swirling essence rose in the Force, not Light or Dark but both, intertwined, around Xundel. The swirling eyes focused on the spirit of the Tho Yor, ”You are tied to the Tho Yor and currently we are tied to and with you and it. I mourn the loss of any beings, mourn their return to me but I have mourned more souls than you would ever know. Even this one who serves me will one day return to me as will you and Vergere. We cannot allow the war to divert us from our course.” the dry, flat voice spoke from Xundel’s mouth.

There was an escape ejection, heading towards the Interdictor cruiser. It hurtled with pace, and Ravijari regarded it for a moment before looking back at Xundel.

Promise me that if you have to destroy me to free the Tho Yor, you will do it.

What was now talking through, animating Xundel looked at the spirit, it’s deep almost fathomless eyes staring into Ravijari’s. He heard and noticed the escape pod fire off, but this moment, this between him and the ancient spirit was more pressing, at the moment. Xundel’s long ears dipped as he nodded.

”I will draw you into me, you will ‘live’ in the Force, should that be necessary. Freedom, whether death or living freedom, all beings need.” the deep voice said.

Ravijari nodded. It has been a long time, Balance.

The comms opened. It was Vergere.

“Get ready, Xundel, Ravijari.”

Xundel’s head nodded in a ‘bow’ of recognition, ”Too long, Ravijari.” he intoned.

At Vergere’s call, Xundel’s head shook again and his eyes returned to their normal coloration. He smiled wryly, ”When she says something like that it’s always ‘trouble’.” a touch of humor in his voice. ”We should see what she means and be ready to react, though, as she is always a devious one.” he continued as he looked outside the ship to see whatever was about to happen.

The Interdictor noticed, of course, and began firing - the escape pod jinked, once, twice, and then TIEs turned.

Indeed, two turned to face them, as the source of the pod!

We need to dodge.

Laser fire screamed their way -

Xundel’s head tilted to the side as he regarded Ravijari. ”Then dodge, my friend. After all, my ship is mostly absorbed into ‘you’ and you are flying the Tho Yor, as it were.”

His eyes stayed focused on the TIE’s as he spoke, his power rising again, attempting the battle meditation communion that he’d used in another system, even if all it did here was buy them a few extra moments to deal with the situation.

Ravijari did as said, jolting them harder than anti-gravs could handle.

Xundel would be pushed by it, but the laser bolts missed.

Hyperspace coordinates ready for when gravity well is knocked down.

And then -

"Goodbye, Xundel."

Vergere's silky voice.

The escape pod hit, and EXPLODED.

Xundel’s head cocked to the side as he heard Vergere’s message. A snort escaped him at it, ”Typical Traya…” he muttered.

As the pod hit and exploded he saw, on the display, that the gravity well had collapsed. His head flicked to Ravijari, ”Jump, now!”

With the familiar blur of hyper surrounding them, he sighed, shaking his head again. ”That was a bit…expected but now…” Wiping his hand down his face, ”We’ll alter our course when we reach the next system, just in case.”

He released his hold on the Battle Meditation, slumping slightly, and closing his eyes, rest was absolute until they reemerged.

TAG: @Sinrebirth

*Quote attributed to Benjamin Franklin

 

OOC: And now back to regular updates now COVID is recovered from…

 

THE MATRIX

IC: The Architect and the Analyst
The One

The Architect glowered.

“It’s easy enough to find him…”

The Analyst finished his sentence.

“… but less so to stop him.”

With a stroke of Deja Vu, the scene inverted and there stood a man. Framed he was by an alleyway. The long trenchcoat, the sunglasses, the stride, as he walked by the mouth formed by two buildings.

He stopped, regarded Manticore.

“I’ve never seen code like yours…”

But similarly, Manticore, who had peripherally been in the presence of One’s, like Typhojem, Abeloth, Revan, Skywalker…

In the Force he would recognise a similar power…

Neo, undoubtedly.

TAG: @greyjedi125 (combo)

 

PARADIS AND JAKKU

IC: Ike and Eren
The Coordinate

Eren regarded them as they crossed the threshold.

His genocide was more important today.

The Portal gave way to a room of metal, bulkheads, the heavy sense of gravity that bespoke and underground location; sand lining the corners giving rise to a desert locale.

As they stepped through the portal closed, revealing a gate of metal, chevrons to its edges, a fading glow.

But before them?

Distinctiveness.

Two human males, a female male, a short no human woman, a Zabrak in tattoos - the latter two unconscious. The Force resonated with unnatural occurrences.

Ike beetled his brow as he regarded the forms. He didn’t know Vydra, but he knew Pascale, and of course Manticore. The woman with grey eyes and blonde hair, struggling to awaken, nope - and not the nonhuman.

“Hang on, is that Maz Kanata?” He spoke aloud, but the Force tinged with something he recognised, something that Cocytus would perhaps too, but not Alecto, returned to their Kaminoan forms.

The Force breathed as it normally did; they were returned to their own world? Or own reality, at very least? When, where, who?

As Maz stirred, groggily, sitting up, Ike put his finger on it, eyes widening.

“I can sense Abeloth.”

Indeed, the sense of her stuck to that human female - the one that Qwi was now completely rooted too, much as the three Pascale’s were now unified.

Exhaustion bubbled into the Force; their violence had been more draining than that in the world of Titans -

But now -

Ike blanched, cupped lightning -

What would Kardis make of this?

TAG: @greyjedi125, @AgentViper007, @Darth Cocytus (combo)

 

ERIADU

IC: Zel
Banquet

The General eyed the elder Tarkin, and turned the aide’s datapad over to him. “Emperor Snoke had requested we affirm our allegiance to his cause within twenty four hours or we are to be branded enemies of the Empire.”

He indicated names.

“Apparently he’s given rise to a collection of Grand Moffs and Grand Admirals. Aryan Graul, Haydnat Treen, Natasi Daala, Thrawn, Jagged Fel… quite a list of names.”

He regarded Jori. “The former Senator of Kuat, this Treen, now a Grand Moff. It speaks volumes, no?” His tone was cutting. “Have I just backed the wrong horse in this race?”

He scowled. “Can you truly weave a Confederacy to oppose the Empire in what little time you have? Unify Eriadu, bring the Jensaarai to heel, command whatever satellite shipyards the Kuati have not yet handed over to their Emperor?”

He scoffed at them.

“Well?”

TAG: @TheAdmiral, @darthbernael

 

HYPERSPACE

IC: Ravijari
Tormented

Vergere was not to be found aboard.

A manual check could be done of course, but in sensors and the Force; nothing. But as suspicious as Ravijari was of the self-styled Lord of Betrayal, he focused upon Xundel.

I would speak with Balance.

They were heading to Jakku on a hunch, though Ravijari knew it was the best place to go. Less convincing was that he was unable to verbalise that; some lingering command prevented him. Ravijari had been contained within his Tho Yor for so long as to become component… it was only by merging parts of Xundel’s craft with that process was he able to be here, after all…

But he’d spoken to Balance.

25,000 years ago.

On Tython.

TAG: @darthbernael (combo and flashback)

 

FREEROCK

IC: Eleodie
The Rims Edge Cantina

Once a monastery, next a refuge for ex-Imperials after the Battle of Jakku, then the impromptu capital of the Sovereign Platitudes.

Now?

A quiet place to die.

The first Eleodie, what had happened to zher had happened many years ago. But zher successor - child, blood, adopted, neither and both - zhe identified much as zher origin, though this Elodie had transitioned, not born, but reborn.

But that didn’t mean zhe didn’t know who to reach out to.

A family uncle, of sorts, perhaps once involved with zher parent, or a monstrosity pretending to be zher; the details were obscured.

But with the Empire back, and not just the roleplayers called the First Order, but with an Emperor and all, perhaps it was time for him to step out of the shadows.

Sabel.

Zhe wondered what he could bring to the fight after all these years. Did he have his four Onager’s still? Or had he followed the call of Palpatine? Died at Exegol?

Elodie - long junior, but no longer - wondered.

TAG: @darthbernael (combo)

 

THE END OF TIME; REDUX

IC: The Maker
Enraged

Words were beyond the former White Coat.

No longer was she a mere shadow within a robe, but a winged, scythed, monstrosity.

Did they not understand that she was the Maker? It was her who had created the First Darkness, albeit inadvertently? Her whose Celestials birthed the Old Ones? Her who set them upon a path in-which mortals could redeem themselves in the face of eternal conflict?

For without conflict, where would there be definition?

How would one measure sentience?

Grade success?

Winnow progress?

She roared, and their ears bled.

We’ve got this.

The Master materialised besides them. “We corralled the Darknesses so the First would reveal himself; now we threaten the Maker’s Design, she intervenes, first with trickery and division, and now she reveals her ossification; that we must bow to her because she is divine, and for no other reason than that.”

“We break the Force, so it may never force us again.”

“I stand as Dwartii, and you stand as my Sages.”

His tone wavered; three would have to do. Between them they held more than half of the First Darkness… it would have to be enough.

There was a ripping noise from the back of the Maker, and emerging came levitating pods of petals, circling Faya -

Ready to fire poison thorns -

Her scythe swing, ripping energy at Braata -

It carved through the very ground -

Her free hand flexed, and a blackness opened beneath Sistros, a puddle, but a precursor for a tide of thorns -

Binding vines intending to pierce -

The Master darted forward, and he was repulsed by an immense skull that floated through the Maker and sent him tumbling, the murderous creation opening it’s mouth as if to consume -

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto, @HanSolo29, @Lady Belligerent (combo)

 

IC Tarkin and Marana
Eriadu, banquet

Tarkin snorted as he read the data on the pad, even as Zel spoke. Tapping an icon on the pad he downloaded its data to his own pad so that he could peruse it again more thoroughly later before he handed the pad back to the aide.

At the question, the tip of his cane made a metallic sound as it sharply connected with the floor. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he looked at the man who had been an old friend. A dark chuckle escaped his lips, ”Has Eriadu fallen so far that that would even be a question? We are a proud warrior race.”

Glancing over at Marana, a toothy smile appeared on the old man’s face, ”I am sure that, knowing the old ways have returned, we can succeed.” His expression turned mischievous, ”I’d suggest announcing me as the new governor of Eriadu, emphasizing the old ways and I’m sure the Emperor’s people will be pleased to have a ‘frail, old warhorse’ in charge, even if Jori does most of the politicking.”

At that, Marana had her own snort. She’d been holding back while Tarkin spoke but now she turned to face the other old Eriaduan in the room. ”Any who believe that of Tarkin are fools, but perhaps they will prove so.”

She stepped closer to Zel, her power rising around her, ”And never question whether I can rally the Jensaarai to me and our cause.” she said in a voice of frigid helium. ”Those that would oppose the Saarai-Kaar are not worthy to be called Jensaarai.”

She all but loomed over Zel as she spoke. Shaking her head, almost in disgust at his previous rebuke, she backed away, returning to stand by Tarkin’s side. ”You will have your Force warriors. And,” she glanced at Tarkin and then Jori, ”I am sure between these two, the Confederacy will form swiftly under the noses of the Imperials.”

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @TheAdmiral

 

IC Lord Sabel Combo with our illustrious GM
Admiral’s Cabin, Megarea, Unknown Regions

Silence filled the office, only the sounds of fingers typing or scrolling through files on the holo display at the desk. The figure behind it was cast in shadows, the occasional shift revealing dark blue hair or the glint of red where its eyes would be. The stars outside the viewports were shifting only slightly as the ship orbited the planet below.

The last twenty plus years had been busy ones. After the discussion and agreement with Lord Insipid he’d taken the Nu-class shuttle back to the nearest detachment of his fleet. In that time, he’d kept to the agreement, only allowing ‘neutral’ members of his polity to pass into Known Space. Upon his return, the first order of business had been to consolidate and absorb his portion of what had been Empire of the Hand space. That had been some interesting times as he had had to renew ties with the Chiss Ascendency, working out borders and treaties.

He’d kept an eye on Known Space, kept track of the shifting tides of polities and the various Fore user groups in that area, only smart for one to do when they were right by one’s border. At the same time, his people had worked like the breakers to absorb the fleet elements, the Imperial half, of the Hand forces that had been left.

Many of those ships were in various stages of damage, given the last battles that he and Eleodie had inflicted upon them. To be honest, though, the ships needing repairs had actually benefited them. His exploratory forces had brought back many items that had allowed them to not only repair but upgrade the Imperial-class and Victory-class SDs, an Immobilizer, as well as some Strike-class medium cruisers and Carrack-class light cruisers. A pair of Lucrehulks as well as the associate various classes of TIE fighters and bombers rounded out what had been added to the fleet he already had.

His territory now stretched from just north of Rakata Prime in the north down to near Freeport in the east, then south and west to the fringes of the galaxy, in some spots bordering Grysk space. Not only had the fleet been repaired, including the ships of his own that had been damaged, but the crews trained and trained to a razor’s edge. As well, he’d rebuilt the ranks of the Red Guard, Zestus still their commander under him, including Eentus through Dertientus, even though most were off on various assignments he had given them, only four usually standing guard for their Lord.

Things were currently as quiet as they could possibly be, especially given the recent upheaval in Known Space. So, when the comm buzzed, showing an incoming call, the being sitting at the desk paused what he was doing. The code was for someone who he’d not had as much contact with in recent years so zher calling meant something important was happening with zher people.

Sitting back as he pressed the stud to accept the call, Lord Sabel, Admiral and Sith Lord, pondered what this portended. He double checked that the signal was encrypted, as should be any that reached his office as the holo sprang into view. The figure that filled it was very familiar ”Eleod…” he began before his red eyes flared slightly and narrowed. It was Eleodie and it wasn’t. Zhe looked just like the Eleodie he knew but zher skin tone was a greenish tint, not Eleodie’s yellow tint. ”I take that back, you look almost like the Eleodie I know but not. Zher and…’ the green coloration and what seemed to be the apparent age of this Eleodie made him suspicious, ”Zher’s daughter, I presume?”

Eleodie smiled. He had it in one. "You're right, uncle."

The Sovereign Latitudes, more commonly known as pirate space was one of the few independent nations left, and had suffered for it. What had happened to the Super Star Destroyer that had been the flagship, or even her Pirate Queen, it could not be easily said, or recollected. But it wasn't here, not right now.

"We were told to contact you when we needed it."

Sabel sat back in his chair, fingers steepled before his face. The corner of his mouth turned up in a fractional smile when the younger being called him uncle even as his red eyes studied her. He had a suspicion but he wasn’t going to air it over a long distance comm call, even if it was encrypted.

He nodded at her remark, ”Zhe told you to contact me in that case, I take it.” Shifting slightly, he touched a stud, bringing up a compressed holomap. ”I doubt this is something you wish to discuss over a comm call. So…” his eyes shifted back to the holomap, ”Zonama Sekot or O’reen?” he suggested.

"Sekot has been letting the Vong colonise worlds around the Mobus system... I'd rather not deal with scarheads, Uncle." Zhe grimaced. "O'reen? How long will you be?"

"I'm on Freerock, obviously."

Nodding, Sabel let his fingers swirl and move the holomap. ”Vong, they can be troublesome creatures, especially given their hatred for technology.”

He tapped a couple studs on his desk, computing a least time course from his location to O’reen. As he did he considered who or what he’d bring with, not to intimidate zher but so she saw that his power was still secure. ”O”reen is not far from me, currently, 12 hours at the most, skirting the Vong space around Sekot.”

"Well alright then, Uncle." Zhe smiled. "See you there."

And at that, zhe cut the line.

The successor to Eleodie was very much like zher, it so turned out.

What did Sabel have to prepare before he departed?

Sabel’s lips twitched as Eleodie Jr cut the comm, zhe was truly just as her namesake. He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled before his face as he thought. Glancing again at the holo of the near regions of space, he waved a hand and it vanished. Tapping the comm with one long finger, pulling up two codes, he waited as two faces came into focus.

”Zestus, Sten, an…interesting…development requires my attention.”

He focused on Zestus, ”Prepare the Red Guard, Eentus through Vijftus will remain with Sten, she has proven a solid diplomat and leader in the last years so while we are gone she will keep the peace. You, Sevetus, Octus, Negetus, and Decimus will remain on the Megarea. It will lead Task Force One, with one upgraded Onager and three of the recovered from the Hand SD’s, two Victory’s and an Imperial I, again of those we upgraded.”

His red eyes narrowed, ”I’m not expecting heavy trouble with this development but better to project a presence rather than not, with the current situation in Known Space. Eleodie’s child, now grown, has requested to meet.” A wry smile crossed his face as he glanced at Zestus, ”Which is another reason to project that strength, as you remember the last time we encountered ‘Eleodie’.”

Snorting, ”Make it happen, as the Meg prepares to depart.” With that he cut the comm and sat back again, considering every angle of this new development that he could.

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

OOC: Double post approved, combo with Sinrebirth

IC Xundel
En Route and…elsewhere

Two separate deep uses of Battle Meditation, even with a short rest between, even for a creature that had lived for centuries, was wearing on a body. That Ravijari had turned Xundel’s ship into a Meditation Sphere, of sorts, reduced the load on the energy that the little imp had to use but still he needed the rest.

Xundel had fallen asleep soon after they departed Druckenwell, the explosion Vergere had caused, allowing them to continue on their course. Yet…the drifting thought that the ancient spirit inhabiting the Tho Yor reached his mind, and his ‘guest’.

The command chair had been reclined, allowing for better rest, but when the thought reached Xundel, his sleeping head turned toward the spirit. It was obvious that the body still slept as a thought was returned, ”Xundel, long lived mortal though he may be, needs rest. But I am here, Ravijari, as I was when you called, so long ago.”

[]Tython, millennia past, after the First Force War[/i]

Ravijari stormed out of the Council chambers.

The Je'daii weren't listening to him.

His Forcesaber sung in his hands, desperate to be ignited, for him to pour his darkness into and through the weapon. But he would not. He was not Bogan.

When he found an outcropping, he released his rage as a blast, ripping apart the small collection of stone and calmed himself. Aloud, he found himself asking. "What will become of the Balance, if the Je'daii only nurture the Light?"

The stones, dust, and shards spun, then began to shift, swirling, as a cloud rose up, the swirls rotating in the vertical plane. ”How many understand the question you ask, Je’daii?” a voice spoke from the cloud.

”The Prime Je’daii understood what was needed. But his time is long past and beings are what they are, fallible.” the voice continued in a calm, deep tone.

"The Prime speaks as if the Force has so much darkness in it, we have to be it's Light." He squeezed his fists. "Can they not see that we all carry a darkness inside ourselves? That we all have the potential to fall? To become Bogan?"

He tried to calm himself. "We are fallible. We won't defeat the dark side as Jedi..." The man looked at the Balance with meaning in his eyes. "We'll simply give birth to the dark side within the walls of our Order. Schism after civil war after recusal after purge."

The swirling cloud shifted as Ravijari spoke, ”Mortal beings are fallible. And, once they find the ‘box’ that fits their internal views often they cannot see outside it and realize the box only constricts them.”

A sighing wind echoed from it’s depths, ”The schism had already begun when rigidity in thinking was introduced. After all, the original Prime said ‘I am the Light in the Dark and the Dark in the Light.’ But,” the voice shifted in the cloud as though it were moving around Ravijari, ”as with any organization that has come before and that will come in the future, the original vision has been overtaken by fear and doubt.”

"And so what? The Jedi are only the Light in the Light, casting shadows..."

Ravijari's expression narrowed, and then cleared.

"I see. I must become the Dark in the Dark. The Bogan - me and my followers, we need to wage a second Force War... and save the Jedi from themselves." He was already turning away -

”And all you will do is prove those inflexible, rigidly defined Je’daii correct in their belief.” the swirling cloud said in a calm, even tone.

The swirling intensified before there was a flash of power and a shape appeared as the swirls drifted apart, of medium height, cloaked and hooded in a robe of greys that shifted as the cloud had. One arm of the cloak rose, an unseen hand seeming to rest on Ravijari's shoulder so he did not leave, ”You, Ravijari, are perhaps one of the most stable that could have had this conversation. If you fall into the despair the others who feel this way have the Force Wars that will follow will make the first seem only a minor skirmish.”

The figure sighed, ”You must use that despair to fuel your attempt to leaven the rigidity that exists. Otherwise…” the cloak’s hood shook as the figure within seemed to shake it’s head in a negative expression, ”you and others, not to mention all life, will face that bleak existence.”

Ravijari smothered a snort. "It is not despair, it is necessity. Once I have won the Force War with the Bogan as my tool, I will relinquish it, return it to its proper place - purge my allies if need be, including myself, if we are too far contaminated by the dark."

He had his Forcesaber in hand now, potent, powered by his negative emotions. It ignited, not in balance, purple in blade, but red.

Crimson.

Blood.

"In the fire of this blade, the Jedi will fall and the Je'daii will be born anew."

---

The memory faded, and Ravijari spoke on. "You didn't stop me. Is it not your role to stop such extremes?"

A sigh emerged from the resting Xundel’s lips. ”No. Extremes will always happen. My role is to ensure that the Galaxy as a whole remains balanced, it is what I am, the Balance. You and those that followed Bogan, while many have and continue to see your actions as evil, were the minority. You were the Darkness and Chaos that needed to balance the Light and Order the Je’daii were trying to impose on the galaxy.”

Xundel’s body stirred slightly in the command chair as his lips continued to move, ”If it had been possible to salvage Ashla and Bogan as one in that order I would have tried to stop your choice but…” another sigh escaped the body, ”I knew the ramifications if I had tried to force that decision then too, and the galaxy would be in a much worse state today if I had.”

The ship burrowed into hyperspace, and Ravijari was silent for the longest time.

"I can't see it. That decision was made 25,000 years ago. I lost the Force War, my Bogan allies were exiled, and scooped up by that Tho Yor. The Jedi became more extreme, and spawned Lesser and Greater Schisms, and eventually rejuvenated the Sith species as a Sith Order. The war raged without end. How is that Balance? That's just Chaos."

"That is what you foster, fake God of Balance."

Xundel’s sleeping body bowed as Power erupted from it, surrounding him, the spirit, and the spirits of others that had been and remained, simply listening at the moment. ”I Am No God!” the voice thundered in the air. ”I Am…” the Power shivered with potential, ”I am what I always have been, a guide, simply that, to try to ensure the Balance is maintained. I whisper through my agents or vessels, trying to guide or to direct but there are trillions upon trillions of beings and they are the ones who decide the path taken. But…”

The words were calmer, a sense of pity, compassion flowed from the Power, ”All that has occurred has led here, yet another tipping point, and if you or others falter here then Chaos and Darkness truly will succeed.” Images, felt and seen, of a million million choices that had been made over the eons passed between the Balance and Ravijari. ”Every Schism, every battle, every war has had this tipping point. I, and my agents through me, have had to bring the Light back or bring the Dark back time and again.”

The Power shivered once more and withdrew back into Xundel’s body, the tension draining from it, ”This war, however, is worse, as the First Darkness has returned, has taken the reins and if they are not stopped, the Darkness split once more, then all will fall to the deepest darkness.”

Ravijari took a deep breath. The ship shuddered; it was about to reach Jakku.

"So you made a million wrong choices, then."

He vanished back into the ship, and would not reply thereafter.

They were, after all, arriving.

Xundel opened his eyes, blinking, as the sensation of hyper travel ceasing reached him. He blinked again as he realized that Ravijari had disappeared from view and he couldn’t really feel the spirit at the moment.

What made him sit up suddenly, and suddenly wide awake was that the planet that filled the viewscreen, well…filled it beyond the debris of a massive battle that blocked the view of much of its surface was not that of a highly industrialized world with extensive shipyards in orbit around it. It was a desert world, the world they had planned to reach when their convoluted course had reached its end.

”RAVIJARI!!! This is not Fondor! We shouldn’t be here yet!.....Ravijari?!?”

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

OOC: The following is a combo with Lady_Belligerent, Mitth_Fisto, and Sinrebirth – thank you so much!!


IC: Dunkeel [Faya], Bellorum [Braata], Joren Graal [Sistros], The Maker, and The Master
The End of Time... or not?

This was it. Dunkeel felt it from the tips of his teeth to the points of his claws. He saw the change, felt the rage, heard the Master that had come to join them.

Then the petals and attacks were coming. His eyes rested at half-lidded as a memory. A mantra. A thought flowed through his mind as his breathing stilled.

The moment between breaths
Is the balance of the Force.
Between life and death.
Rest and action.
Serenity and passion.
Hope and despair.

Reaching up the hood of his White-Coat drew taunt, and he released Fang to dance about himself as he focused on the Force and his bonds that were bound by those echoing words. The blast from the scythe he reached for, pulling it down and into the ground more towards Dunkeel as well. He pulled on the Master as well and pulled at Sistros to drag him clear of the opening well of darkness.

The Maker’s attack battered Bellorum. The brutal scythe attack tore at her flesh and pushed her stumbling back. Scrambling for footing, she realized they must protect the Master.

Raising her arms, she willed the energy from the Maker’s attack on her to coalesce. Much like spinning wool, she gathered it and spun it into strands of energy, urging the bundle of power to grow and meld into something bigger and stronger.

Once she had the throbbing mass impelled to do her bidding, she forcefully shoved it into the skull that seemed to devour the Master.

Dunkeel’s mantra flowed through her mind and crossed her lips as a whisper.

The moment between breaths
Is the balance of the Force.
Between life and death.
Rest and action.
Serenity and passion.
Hope and despair.

A balance? Bellorum didn’t believe in balance. She was all in or not, there was nothing in between, that was her balance. And to save her companions, and the Master… she was all in.

The petals wielding thorns were descending on Dunkeel, Bellorum sacrificed her own defenses to shield him.

Lightning burst from her palms, its brilliant flash cast an eerie glow on the combatants for a second before the electrifying bolts sizzled a shattered path into the thorns.

The Maker emitted a deafening roar in response to their defiance, which left Joren’s ears ringing, though he did not allow that to hinder his resolve. He focused on the others—Bellorum, Dunkeel… and yes, even the Master—and how they immediately rallied together to defeat this latest foe. Their bond shone brightly in the Force as they surged forth as one.

Dunkeel deflected the burst of energy aimed at Bell while simultaneously pushing Joren away from the widening chasm beneath his feet. The former professor staggered back from the writhing vines, clenching his teeth at the close call. Nevertheless, he found a moment to nod toward his companion to express his gratitude.

Meanwhile, Bellorum returned the favor by aiding Dunkeel against the levitating petals. She repelled the attack with an energy blast of her own before pivoting on her heel to protect the Master. Her efforts appeared flawless; a true master at her craft.

The Protectors were united in mind and spirit, working together as one.

Joren relished this moment and inhaled deeply to center his awareness, reaching out to touch each of them in turn. He pulled on the intimate link that formed their fellowship and actively poured his strength into their bond to reinforce it.

Stepping back a few paces, he then removed the Scepter of Sistros from his back and brandished it across his chest. The Force resonated within the palms of his hands as he tightened his grip, channeling the energy from their bond into the staff itself. It caused the air to crackle as if electrically charged, generating an ethereal glow that danced over his features.

With a fierce cry, Joren angled the Scepter and unleashed its power to attack the Maker.

The Maker's scythe was angled down, but she drew it back up as the blast from Sistros and lightning from Braata was hurled. The two attacks redirected into the scythe's blade, and a flex of her free hand sent a horizontal Force smash slamming into the four of them from their left -

The Master tumbled too, but the furthest, as if he'd accelerated himself, rolling to his feet and cushioning them with a Force exertion -

The Maker touched the Force to her feet and was suddenly lunging, scythe raised to swing with rapier swiftness at his throat -

He couldn't move without letting them crash to the ground -

All he could do was trust them to continue to act as one against their latest foe -

Dunkeel felt the blow, he had succeeded but had also lost. Mentally still gripping Fang, it was a scene of horrific absurdity as the Master sped ahead to try and save them. Slowing their sideways fall as the Maker now raced to kill the Master. To do so by wrenching backward to prepare a swing.

That triggered a thought in the dark processes of his reptilian brain. Quickly he shared the notion through their bond as he redirected Fang to stab in at the Maker, aiming for the shoulders to split her in two. He could only hope the others would do whatever might work best.

Joren pinwheeled away as the full brunt of the Maker’s attack smashed into them with relentless force. The resulting pain extended to every facet of his being as if an invisible hand had pulled his body taut and proceeded to stretch his muscles beyond their limits. He issued an audible growl to compensate for the discomfort, though he would not allow that to slow him down—especially when the Maker targeted the Master and sent the cloaked man tumbling away with her scythe.

The Master’s predicament only strengthened his resolve. They must succeed; they must protect him.

Together.

In that instant, Joren sensed Dunkeel's sentiments through the Force, and he took comfort in the fact that they were the same as his own. He nodded his acceptance and stepped away to allow the Chistori to engage with the divine creature. He would not hesitate to defend him in this battle, but if they were to make any progress, they would have to eliminate the scythe. It was the source of the Maker’s power, and as long as she wielded it, their efforts would be futile.

Pivoting on his heel, the former professor canted his head toward Bellorum and silently conveyed those thoughts to her through their bond. He wanted her to launch an attack against the scythe while he offered her protection through the Scepter. If they worked in tandem with Dunkeel’s strike, they should be able to overtake her.

Joren did not wait for an acknowledgment. There was no time, not when the slightest hesitation could give the Maker an advantage. Sweeping forward, he brought the Scepter around and called upon the Force to commune with the staff, generating an energy shield that would protect his companions from harm.

"Now!" he shouted through clenched teeth.

The three Protectors worked more in tune together with each challenge. They learned from each other, sharing freely of their talent and knowledge. The Maker had to be the most powerful obstacle they’d yet faced.

On Joren’s mark, Bellorum lunged for the Maker’s scythe. She grabbed at the weapon with both hands and held firm, calling for her partners to augment her speed and stamina. Bell would be drained otherwise since it was an ability she seldom used, it was best saved for a moment such as this one, a time when everything hung in the balance.

Eyes closed, she scanned the weapon’s very essence, seeking out any flaw left behind by the otherworldly being who forged it. A seam, a loose weld, any cleft she could send the Force into. Bell could feel the invisible touch of Dunkeel and Joren, it felt like a warm embrace supporting her, filling her with encouragement. They fueled her determination, the three were indeed one.

Bell concentrated solely on the scythe, she located a tiny deficit, braced herself, and poured everything she had into it. She wouldn’t give in to desperation, they had each other and together they had to succeed.

The Master lifted his hands, to reinforce the shield, a moment before the Maker stopped, flexed a wing, and it sliced apart Fang and Bellorum's lightsabers, sending them clattering in components to the floor, their Kyber crystals clinking loudly upon the floor, a moment before her Scythe smashed into the shield -

The blade was poking through the protective barrier, and the Master called out to Dunkeel and Bellorum -

"Help!"

The Maker was flagging, and flickers of his cloak seemed to be turning into dust and fluttering away -

"She is the Light, everyone. You can't beat her... with... Balance..."

The barrier put Bellorum behind the protection, even as she sought with her mind to exploit the imperfection she had located - which was at the very tip, which was itself in their side of the barrier, having cut through…

Her effort failed.

She lowered herself to stand between Dunkeel and Joren but was unable to support herself, there had been a shift.

"No!" Bellorum wailed and collapsed to the ground, her fingers were splayed in the rocky soil. She was in shock, her skin had noticeably paled to a whitish gray. Her hands were bloody from clawing at the gravel while she screamed incoherently.

"I hate you!" Her eyes were fixed on the Maker as she spat her hatred.

Bell got to her knees and wiped her face on her sleeves. "Kriffing bitch!" She cried out and clutched her head in her hands.

There was only pain for Bellorum, her heart was dead, and all was lost. In a single heartbeat, she’d been broken, it was as if a shatterpoint had decimated her own soul. Everything was gone… except rage.

Now completely unaware of Dunkeel and Joren, they might as well have been lost too. Bell only felt overwhelming rage and it was aimed at the Maker.

"You’ll suffer for what you’ve taken from me," flames dripped from Bellorum’s hands, something had broken deep within the Dark Lady.

Bell suddenly grasped the piece she had broken from the Maker's scythe, it crumbled into her flaming palms. She rubbed her hands vigorously together and then slammed the flaming bits of the scythe at the Maker.

Shouting epithets, Bell stalked towards her, and finally, because she had nothing else to lose, Bell threw her hands up and summoned a raging inferno to rain down over herself and the Maker.

Joren had known what he had to do as soon as he heard the Master’s words echo within his mind. It hadn’t been an easy decision; the repercussions would be far-reaching. It would bring untold suffering to both himself and Bellorum, but he had seen no other option… not if they wanted to succeed.

In order to defeat the Maker, the physical embodiment of the Light, they had to counter with the Dark. Bell was the true Sith among them, a master of the dark arts. She was the only one who could carry this burden and not lose herself in the process. Joren had already failed once under his guise as Aryan Graul, and he wasn’t sure if Dunkeel could withstand the alluring draw of temptation once he tasted that power.

And so, he had to provoke Bellorum and encourage her to embrace her abilities. It was the only way that she could reach her full potential—but it required her to experience true emotional pain and anguish.

To achieve that goal, he had projected the illusion of her husband and children being brutally and maliciously slaughtered by the Maker’s wrath. He hated himself for doing so, but it was necessary to gain the desired effect. It had only prompted him to push harder by filling their bond with his presence—the very soul and essence of Aryan Graul—to sell the authenticity of the vision.

He now staggered back and watched the outcome of his actions with disbelief. Bellorum had become a raging inferno, both physically and spiritually within the Force. Her pain became so intense that he had to actively retreat from their bond to prevent himself from passing out under the onslaught. He had created a monster, and now he had to allow her to unleash her fury on their enemy.

But even at this critical stage, Joren was not through. Despite Bell’s misery crushing into his psyche, he still had a job to keep her and the rest of their companions safe from harm… including the Master.

Joren adjusted his grip on the Scepter and expanded his awareness, hoping to increase the energy shield to encompass both Bellorum—he would not allow her to incinerate herself—and the Master in its protective embrace.

However, the exertion was apparent on his face; he could not hold out for much longer.

I love you, Bell. Please forgive me.

Dunkeel heard the words and witnessed their staggering ineffectiveness in the face of such a being. He felt Joren press his bonds with Bell and Bell unleashing a holy horror of fire. Dunkeel walked forward, pulling up the white robe’s hood over his head.

"Fang," he simply whispered in a rasp, "look away." With that, he stepped forward as his hand raised to reach out and grab the tip of the Scythe.

Memories flashed behind his eyes, from his hatching - the struggle for life to emerge and the fight that none would aid him. Seeing his clutch sister eaten. Being tested and having to lie before he had even learned to speak to avoid being eaten in turn. Escaping to the alien sectors to secure his freedom by giving up his people and his kind. Of eating garbage and discarded food, and learning to live with the pain of eating things he could not properly digest. Memories of finding the abusive shopkeep, slaving for him like a guard mutt to earn scraps of meat little better than what the butcher left in the trash bin. On and on he let the memories build, and easily he marked this, the Maker, as the cause of all. Even of the Master’s parting and every other hardship he or his spiritual heirs whose memories he inherited had suffered.

A Spear of Hate, a Javelin of darkness did he forge in the hand that held the scythe and so within the broken tip. Aimed true and down he let that darkness rage to shatter that offending instrument even as he protected the Master as he blocked with his own body if this failed. The hate he loosed as much as he could into that blow that would aim to trace through the weapon, through the arms, to the head, back down to the heart, and down through every rubbery part.

For the secret of his white blade was not in as many saw a saintly figure of their lost world, nor the friendly patient monster, for that did not tip the scales past even of the true beast that lived within his heart. The Darkness that could fill a sea.

Joren and Bell became a conduit of pain and misery and rage that fuelled an endless loop of just one thing.

Fire.

Incinerating, monstrous, flame.

But from that incandescence was birthed a spear of black and anger and fury.

Fang pined for Dunkeel, terrified for his master and maker - in all the ways that mattered -

In their hearts, all three of them, the very Darknesses they had locked away stirred, eagerly adding to matters -

The Maker cried out, and the Scythe exploded -

The White-Coat became blackened with burning spittle, as the shield reached out to envelope Dunkeel and Bellorum, both briefly coated with that horrible inferno -

The Maker toppled -

The Spear of Midnight Black was embedded in her chest, a defined, solid, emanation of power from Dunkeel -

But in their three hearts the pain was as great as any they had ever felt; as the great energies unleashed from them rose up and sought to all but burn them from the inside out -

The Master, gasping, looked to them.

Oh no.

The Maker, for her part, was weakly pawing at that what had impaled her, the fragments of her Scythe shuddering as she clearly tried - and failed - to reform them, her White-Coat beginning to flutter away as nothing more than ash and dust -

The Master began to crawl towards the Maker.

Not yet. I need you, to save them -

Bellorum lay on her side clutching her knees to her chest. Her vision was dim, she couldn’t make out anything beyond large blurred shapes and shadows.

Her lips were charred and dry, she desperately wanted to call out to Joren and Dunkeel, but she had no voice. Well, it wasn’t just that. Bell started to writhe once she realized that she couldn’t swallow. Her throat felt obstructed.

She wondered if this was dying.

Unable to see or breathe, Bell had to stop her panic and embrace the pain. Her only chance was if she could find some way to breathe, she let go of her legs and clumsily felt the ground around her. Hands raw and bloody, she felt the ground for the shards of her lightsaber. One piece of long sharp metal felt the right size.

With her last bit of energy, Bell gripped the metal and thrust it into the base of her neck. She jammed it deep until she felt air moving into her charred lungs, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her from passing out…

Joren… Aryan?

The words sounded distant and faint, though they still managed to reach Joren on some existential plane. Aside from their alleged victory against the Maker, it was the only thing that made sense—especially amidst his suffering. The intense pain had become a constant companion that quelled all of his other functions. It threatened to consume him from the inside out, encompassing his heart until it felt as if his very soul had succumbed to the flames. The excruciating experience had rendered him inert as he now lay upon the ground in extreme agony.

But the voice.

Her voice.

It provided comfort and stability; a reason to hope and live. Alongside Dunkeel and the Master, she was his entire universe. He could not let it go; could not surrender to the torment crushing his soul.

With what little strength he had left, Joren reached out with the Force to touch their bond. He relished the warmth that represented her essence and held it close.

Bell… Tera… I’m here, he conveyed to her across the void, forcing his eyes to open one last time so that he could see her face. Please forgive me… there was no other option. You had to embrace your full potential, and the only way to achieve that was through pain… through someone you love.

He pressed his cracked lips into a thin smile, the effort producing a stinging sensation that usually preceded the loss of feeling and numbness. But he’s fine… Aryan’s fine… I’m fine. I–I won’t ever leave your side.

A guttural moan erupted from his throat as he physically extended his arm and took her hand in his. With the other, he sought Dunkeel’s clawed appendage and held it tight. He then squeezed them both to reaffirm their friendship.

Together.

Dunkeel closed his eyes as the fires came. The shield protected him, but his flesh ached, a keening pain of baking suffused his scales, scorched his nostrils. He could feel his healed lips, his moistened nostrils, his whole gums ache, dry - cracking under that assault.

It was nothing.

Nothing compared to the pain. The fire. The flame, of his darkness welling up within him. Of rattled cages that spread from heart, to cell, to cell. To every portion of his body, and burned through every portion of his very soul. He staggered forward, dropping as the Maker dropped. Dropped as Bellorum dropped. Dropped as Joren fell.

His knees resounded on stones, unfeeling. Unknowing. Blank eyes looked without seeing. Somewhere there was hoarse breathing, the breath of a dying creature. His hunter's mind barely noted, barely turned slightly within itself, within that pain - it finally set in as he saw a weak light. It was him. He was the poor dying creature that deserved a mercy kill, by every sound. A creature beyond the fight that was only suffering.

He could feel his blade, he could feel Fang. Even as he noted something holding he called that crystal to him. Barely felt it pass his tongue, pass into him as he swallowed the stone in his state beyond reason as a man dying of thirst would drink water. A faint thought echoed in the haze of pain, in the darkness that narrowed his vision. 'Together' and he pushed to echo back. 'Together' to cling to it, to hold it. Them.

TAG: @Lady_Belligerent; @Mitth_Fisto; @Sinrebirth

 

At the End of Time; Redux

They lay.

For how long, who could say.

Seconds, centuries, moments...

... but for time.

Though, here, there was no such thing.

At the cusp of the end, at the foundation of new beginning, the crux of apoptosis, the font of twilight...

The Maker didn't move.

Or, rather, their various pieces did not.

A little Kyber crystal rolled itself across the floor - Fang - seeking it's master.

The four of them were down, lying in various states of pain, in togetherness, trying to pull themselves from the abyss that they were settling upon the penumbra of...

Dunkeel, Joren, Bellorum, each seemed to be disintegrating, flaking away as if bid on the wind. It was slow, but not painful. Indeed, there was none at it all. No feeling, for all intents and purposes. Their collected Force power was keeping them here, taking tip-toe steps back to safety.

To life.

They were joined by the fourth of their group, whose strength buoyed them, a gut-punch of power, but he, too, lay on the floor, coming apart, but who knew if it was merely his cloak or his very skin too...

"We did it," the Master said, breathing deeply in and out. "It's over. The First Darkness will be destroyed by the Chosen Ones... and now the Maker is gone -"

A voice, sarcastic, amused.

"As if."

"No -"

There was a sudden surge of black energy, which did not strike them but emerge.

A blazing and incredibly painful moment, whereby they were ripped from.

The power came together in a person, as a throne, and he sat.



Zas'tel.

Or, known to them most, Arb.

The slow disintegration came to an end, but that was because their mortal shells were no longer prisons.

He'd taken from four Darkness.

"And that's six."

The Master lapsed into unconsciousness; a fifth person joined them, lapsing into consciousness after an absence that felt like no time at all, and yet, of course, forever; Han Solo, the temporary vessel of one of the Darknesses... and then a sixth, a corpse; Tobias Kya, a vessel of another. Han's Darkness had been freed, but it had simply gone to him.

The Dark Man regarded his comrades, a cracked grin.

"You thought you'd ditched me at the first End of Time, didn't you? Tsk, tsk."

A wagged finger.

"Get it out of your systems, would ya? I don't want a simple fight."

They were, however, exhausted - drained, the battle with the Maker had damaged them deeply, even if their wounds were knitting as he lauded his victory.

"I'm the First Darkness now. Not Typhojem, not Palpatine, not Caedus, not Krayt. I've won. The Gods are gone, truly gone, and I'll run things from now; no more Changes, just endless Epitaphs for you all."

They had power left, yes, but enough for Six Darknesses?

TAG: @HanSolo29 (twice), @Mitth_Fisto, @Lady_Belligerent

 

JAKKU

The planets surface had not changed in five decades.

Marked with the wreckage of hundreds of Imperial-era Star Destroyers and even some First Order battlecruisers, the impact zone of a Super Star Destroyer slamming into the surface remained visible even now.

Ravijari didn't answer.

What did answer Xundel was the chaos below, an energy that he had not tasted for many, many years - well, his Balancing self, hadn't. Something from the very Cosmic Wars themselves - the War of the Temporal Planes, when Typhojem and the other Old Ones had buried into the divide between realities to reach the origin of the Celestials themselves - to hunt down the Maker.

That self-same sense was occurring.

It had drawn them here, perhaps quicker than intended.

The Force screamed at the wound being inflicted upon it.

There was a complete Apoptosis Gate down there.

Somehow.

---
The former grounds of the Contingency

Kardis watched as the Gate in-question consumed Darth Cocytus and his apprentice Alecto, Ike, and took also Vydra, Pascale and Qwi-Callista.

Gone they were in a flash.

But, oddly, Maz Kanata was still here, thought the flash seized her...

... and so was the body of the Zabrak, Manticore.

Maz paused. "Well, that wasn't expected." Her eyes looked uncertain. "Does it only take those who are not supposed to be here?"

"But how does it know? How we feel in the Force, or?"

There remained a jagged, terrible, scar in the corridor, hovering in the air as if something had glitched reality.

"I was going to head down, into the depths, to discover the final secret of Jakku..."

A resonance drew her eyes up - Kardis too, would sense the arrival.

"Who now?"

TAG: @darthbernael, @greyjedi125 (Matrix combo finale, soon, also)

Mention of @Darth Cocytus

 

WHO KNOWS

Ike was getting annoyed with these hops.

Hop, hop, hop.

They hadn't found any of those Darknesses, or Titans, or Behemoths, or whatever they were.

His eyes squeezed shut, and opened slowly.



He sat up, and his eyes widened.

They were somewhere in the very heart of space-time itself.

The voices.



He knew some, not all, but he knew they were displaced, from all places.

Other voices he recognised; Sith colleagues from times gone by.

Some he would lose.

Some he had lost.

Tears tinged his eyes, but the Portal admitted others, and he knew he needed to see who had made it here too.

Cocytus, Alecto, Vydra, the Protector, Pascale Rouser, the archaeologist with the strange connection to the Force, and then Qwi-Callista, an Omwati possessing a body that had belonged to Abeloth.

But no Maz Kanata, and Manticore's body hadn't made it to them... nor had that chap who had been reality hopping with them too.

With a grimace, he knew that Cocytus being here was bad.

Alecto immediately realised what was happening, and where they were, and her lightsaber sung out, catching Pascale in the hip and before she turned around, she drove her blade into Qwi-Callista -

She'd missed Pascale, but he fell off the edge of the platform -

Qwi-Callista folded over the blade, grabbed at Alecto's wrists and yanked -

Ike lifted a hand to slam Cocytus with a powerful Force push -

TAG: @Darth Cocytus (combo)

Mentions for @greyjedi125

 

ERIADU

The Eriaduan General snorted at Marana. "I am sure. You must appreciate that I can't take your word for it."

Zel consumed more food, absently, and commented. "So, while you were freshening up, I reached out to the Jensaarai, to the Sluissi, to the Sullustans."

He sniffed, waved a fork at Tarkin and Jori. "So, if you can convince them, you'll have your legion of Force users, the Sluissi and their shipyards and Centax-class frigates, the Sullustans and their economic power and Bulwark-class battlecruisers, and whatever Eriaduan Dreadnaught-class cruisers and cruiser-carriers we can proffer. I've convinced them to attend in person, and when we have everything in-place, I expect you to lead a campaign of liberation using my army - the finest mechanised core the galaxy has ever produced."

A toothy grin. "And we're going to start with Kuat."

An aide pressed a finger to his ear and headed off.

"That means they're here - the Den Mother of Sullust, the Khedive of Sluis Van, and the current Saarai-Kaar."

The doors parted, and a blade ignited.



It caused a commotion among the officers and gathered lesser dignitaries, but the area was very open that the tables surrounded, and there was plenty of space for a bout.

The woman spoke up. "Who comes for my crown?"

Zel raised a glass towards Marana. "That one."

From the doors behind them, came the Sluissi and Sullustan politicians, not nearly as surprised as they would have been expected to be. Around their necks were leathery nodules; Taozin flesh, which also explained why the Force had not warned them...

Apparently Zel had been preparing for some time. Noticing their expression, he clarified. "I didn't want to be caught out by the Knights of Ren, did I?"

"But, this goes without saying, if you fail, then, well," a smile that took in the three of them, Marana, Tarkin and Jori, "I'll have no choice but to kill you all."

TAG: @TheAdmiral, @darthbernael (combo)

 

O'REEN

When Eleodie had accepted the offer to go to O'reen, zhe didn't know a single thing about it.

Zhe simply knew it was not a Yuuzhan Vong world.

Of course, zhe hadn't expected a fortress world.

By all accounts it was comparable to some of the most heavily defended planets in the Core Systems - of the First Galactic Empire.

Even the civilian capital looked like it could take on a Star Destroyer!



Zher ship, a small and relatively harmless Agave-class picket ship, held in orbit, and zhe wondered what in the Nine Corellian Hells her uncle was doing suggesting he meet here!

Her comms beeped.

"Unidentified ship, you are intruding upon Orennian space. Identify yourself, or be destroyed."

As second beep, and zhe became aware of the minefield encircling the planet.

Three mines activated orange-rockets, becoming warheads and heading zher way.

"Oh shavit."

TAG: @darthbernael (combo)

 

Bellorum
The End of Time… again.

Her will to continue was gone, there was no future, only pain and loss.

Delirium was cruel, one minute the words she couldn’t cope with echoed in her mind. Now Aryan’s voice was clear, ’Please forgive me…’

Bell couldn’t allow herself to hope, the pain of losing Aryan was worse than any physical pain. I understand, she thought… hoped he could hear her.

She cried out when someone touched her hand, the burning just didn’t stop. Once the wave of pain subsided, Bell knew who had touched her, and he was still holding her hand… Aryan. He was there, or were they both dead?

An echo of Dunkeel’s voice drifted through her mind, did he die too?

Aryan? Bell felt so tired, and struggled to focus. Are we dead? She asked before slipping into darkness, with no concept of time passing it was difficult for her to know if he had answered, or if she was hallucinating that she spoke to him.

A familiar voice was in the background now, a mocking voice that she knew she’d heard, but she couldn’t place.

Did he just say there are more of them?

How were they supposed to continue fighting? The trio had fought on, and on, through enough wannabe gods.

I don’t know if I can do this any longer… I’m sorry I’ve let you down. Her words were meant for Joren and Dunkeel, if they could hear her.

Bell had no tears left, everything felt burned, even her very soul was singed.

She needed a break.

Tag: @HanSolo29 @Mitth_Fisto @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Tarkin, Marana, and Jori, combo with TheAdmiral and Sinrebirth
Eriadu

Tarkin chuckled, leaning on his cane. ”Zel, once she wins, Marana is going to teach you a lesson, I am sure.” He glanced over at her, as she smiled coldly.

Opening her cloak revealed armor the same gold tone as the woman who had entered. ”Oh I will do more than teach a lesson, old man.” she said as coldly as her smile had been. Reaching to her hip, she pulled out her helmet, settling it in place, before igniting her golden bladed lightsaber. ”You may be the current Saarai-Kaar but I am the Saarai-Kaar.” Stepping forward, she brought up her saber in a guard.

Tarkin sighed and moved out of the way, incidentally bringing him closer to Zel, his hands clasped firmly on the hilt of his cane. ”Don’t kill her, she may be you or useful, or both.” he warned Marana as he observed.

Great, just great, another Force user. Not even a full hour has passed before one of those appears. Jori stifled a groan and tried not to roll her eyes. She was about to enjoy a nice political game before that woman decided to barge in on them and ruin the party. Jori would gladly stay on the sidelines until that nonsense gets resolved.

She took a mental note that if they manage to topple whatever regime was holding the power in the Galaxy she will make sure that any Force user be subservient to the government and will have to make sure to prevent them running around and stirring up trouble.

General Zel turned away from the entertainment. "Miss Atreus, might I introduce you to the Sullustan and Sluissi representatives that you will need to woo to liberate Kuat?" He held up a finger to Tarkin to stay quiet.

The current Saarai-Kaar held her blade in a pose which saw her lean forward, the blade angled down, one hand at the front of the lightsaber, the other at the very end of the hilt.

"It is Kuat of Kuat actually." Jori gave her a small smirk "Nevertheless, I would be delighted to have a meeting with them." the smirk turned into a smile. She wondered what the woman's game will be, one way to find out...

As Marana smiled, her blade held in a similar low guard, rattling sounds began to be heard around the room. She’d heard Jori’s response and her respect for the younger woman grew but her focus was on the warrior before her. The rattling sound ceased and, the moment it did, many small, sharp objects that her power had been touching, rose and then accelerated to an enormous velocity, aimed at all parts of this Saarai-Kaar’s body. It was an old Jensaarai trick, one her foe should recognize was something Nikkos Tyris had taught them.

Tarkin smiled thinly at Jori, she was handling this very well. He’d seen Zel’s finger, and Jori responding made him lead slightly closer to Zel, as he held his tongue. He met Zel’s eyes, humor as well as the threat of what the trio could do if Zel pushed it too far in his gaze. The message passed, he nodded then turned back to observe Marana’s fight, just as the first attack went in.

The Saarai-Kaar leapt forward, a Force shield lifted but merely to reduce the speed of the small storm of make-shift weapons, and the rest were caught on her armour, which slammed into her but didn't harm her. The woman's hand pivoted as she went, and she nursed the blade to lash out low at Marana's ankle -

Zel met Tarkin's gaze with bemusement, and sipped a drink without remorse.

The two politicians seems impressed that Jori had claimed the title of Kuat of Kuat, and glanced to each other, the chittering Sullustan and languid Sluissi. The former gabbled in his native tongue. [With our resources and ships, we can form a true Confederacy and keep the Empire from bullying us around.]

The Sluissi huffed. [Do you have aspirations over more than just your homeworld?] His tongue forked out, as if tasting her intentions.

Marana’s lightsaber dipped, the tip screeching across the floor as she shifted her leg back. The tip described an arc on the floor as she spun, whipping around to slice at the other Saarai-Kaar’s back. At the same moment, she gestured with her hand, pushing sharply at the closer kneecap of the other woman.

Tarkin snorted at the look Zel shot him. He leaned closely, ”Did I forget to mention that Marana has led her Jensaarai in war for the last several decades? She’s definitely going to be a bit miffed that you decided to test her so.” He picked up a drink from a passing servitor, giving Zel a thin lipped smile before turning his head toward the two politicians, ”If you desire alliance, perhaps speaking in languages all parties know would alleviate confusion.” he stated dryly.

Jori tried to remain impassive during the display of Force abilities and martial prowess. She focused instead on the Sullustan and the Sluissi, then nodded in agreement to her grandfather and offered a broad smile "I apologize but I am not fluent with your respective languages and I would like to be able to grasp the full meaning of what you are saying. To avoid any... misunderstanding." her smile never wavered "A protocol droid would serve the purpose perfectly." she glanced at their host.

Zel sniffed, and snapped a finger. A silver-shelled protocol droid tottered over. "I am TA-LK3, fluent in one million, one hundred and third eight thousand languages. How may I be of assistance?"

The two repeated themselves, as Zel looked back to Tarkin. "The sooner she kills the Saarai-Kaar, the sooner that whole Sith rule kicks in. Hop to it, Tarkin. Give her enthusiasm."

The slash had been all feint, and with her hand high up the pommel she was able to push down invert the attack up - because Masana had moved, the blow merely nicked where her ear had moved, before the Saarai-Kaar spun with the push, not rooting herself, merely flowing -

Her armour was light, clearly -

She used the Force herself to boost her, swung her armoured let around, targeting the same spot her lightsaber had caught -

Tarkin shook his head as he watched the duel progress, as he saw the other Saarai-Kaar execute a beautiful maneuver. But…he knew that Marana had spent the better part of the last decade, at least, engaged in battle, or honing her skills to a razor’s edge. A snort escaped him as Marana growled, blood trickling from her ear where her opponent had slashed her.

He glanced at Zel, ”I don’t need to see to know Marana just won this duel.”

As he spoke Marana boosted her own movements in the Force, a deep, feral grin crossing her face inside the helmet as her hand came up lightning quick, grabbing the other woman’s leg. With a Force assisted heave she lifted and then slammed the other Saarai-Kaar down onto her back onto the floor of the room.

Hand still holding the other woman’s calf, she spun bringing her leg over the other woman’s then bending it backward until it almost touched her collarbone, the golden tip of her saber touching the join of that one’s neck where her helmet met the armor.

”I’d hate to kill such a fine warrior, especially one devoted to my own cause. Yield. Yield or I will have to end you.” she said in a growl, the blazing color of her eyes almost visible through the slits of her helmet.

Jori tried to ignore the ongoing duel, she was going to filter it out as if it was just tonight's live entertainment, nothing else. Those Force users always trying to prove themselves to each other. She gave a mental shake of the head followed by a mental sigh, all the while she maintained a friendly smile towards the ambassadors "That can be a good start, but we will need time and resources. We cannot build a Confederacy overnight, as I am sure you are well aware of. We need to do better than the last one if we are to succeed."

There were murmurs of approval from the Sluissi and Sullustans; the Protocol Droid conveyed their approval of pacing themselves. They had a list of other independently minded systems to reach out to; the Arkanian cloners of Vohai, for example, or the Mugaari pirates near Bespin. The Givin had been their allies in the Clone Wars, and they had a supply of Wavecrest-class frigates they were keeping close to home at Yag'Dhul.

They had clearly moved from wondering about her to including her.

This timed well with the Jensaarai leader holding out her gauntleted hand to proffer peace, seemingly, before a blade popped from the armour and she plunged it into her throat. She accepted death over defeat. From the crowd of watchers stood up a whole dozen men and women, and they bowed in one to Marana.

Zel scoffed. "They infiltrated my meeting and I didn't even know. Ha!" He nodded slightly, and Tarkin was released.

"You have your Confederacy, you have your Force Users, and you have my Army." He moved from his chair, his age briefly evident in the energy he put into that, and held up his drink. "To the Confederation of Independent Systems!"

Marana pulled off her own helmet, attaching it to her belt as she let herself calm from the adrenaline rush of combat before she acknowledged the Jensaarai that had been hiding in the crowd. Attaching her lightsaber back to her belt, her right fist made a dull sound as it hit just over her left breast, a small nod at the dozen warriors. ”We have much to discuss, my warriors…after this meeting. For now…” she gestured at Tarkin and Jori, ”...one each to bodyguard Tarkin and Jori, the rest gather on me.” She glanced around the room, eyes alighting on several others, with a fractional grin. It seemed a decent portion of the warriors of the Order, at least how many there had been when she’d first joined Bernael, were present, some still hidden.

She turned to face Zel, her expression turning dark. As she began to advance on the man, her intent obvious, Tarkin held up one long fingered hand. ”Marana, we have time for that. For now, let’s not cause our new allies to become nauseated by you running an old, devious man through with your saber.” She paused, nodding to the old politician before she stopped by his side.

He turned back to Zel, smiling softly, picking up and sipping a drink, ”To the Confederation, Jori as its Chancellor and Marana as its Commander.” The subtle additions were said in a tone that would tell their new allies that those were the only choices or they would walk away and the political and military clout they had just demonstrated would walk with them.

Jori raised her glass as well glad that the duel nonsense was over. She also liked the idea of being a Chancellor, but they are getting too far ahead of themselves. The formation of an organization like that would take years. They can make some alliances, but they will have to be vetted and see who will buckle and betray them and so on.

Hopefully the people here were aware of that, or their Confederacy will have a much shorter lifespan than the last one. Anyway, it was a start of sorts and she was going to be in her element forging this alliance.

"To the Confederation." she said softly and smiled.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @TheAdmiral

 

IC: Joren Graal [Sistros]
The End of Time; Redux



He knew what it was like to die; he had been there before... long ago on Nouane.

And as a result, he knew what it entailed.

For a fleeting moment, Joren thought he was about to cross that temporal barrier into the afterlife once more. A gentle breeze ushered in a sense of perfect tranquility. Despite his many wounds, he could no longer perceive any pain. His body felt lighter, almost as if he wasn’t truly touching the ground.

Was he floating?

He could’ve sworn he saw his flesh beginning to erode and flake away…

There was also a weight on his hand, another presence; a hand grasping his own in a firm embrace. It was a familiar presence, and it prompted him to lift his chin and open his eyes. His gaze fell upon her face, and he smiled.

"Tera," he whispered through chapped lips, his words enhanced by their shared bond. She lifted his spirits and provided him the comfort he needed to face what lay ahead. They would pass together into the next life, and he was content with that. It was always meant to be this way.

But then there was a shudder, a shift in the Force that shattered this perfect moment. It was as if a thousand voices had suddenly cried out in agony, inundating his senses and causing Joren to cry out in anguish.

That’s when he appeared.

Arb.

That conniving fool; Ananke's brutish henchman.

Joren felt a rise in his chest, and he clenched his fists. A bitter mixture of anger and regret filled his heart. He could’ve ended Arb long ago. The man had been in his clutches, and all he had needed to do was adjust his aim. Instead of capping him in his knee, he should’ve buried a blaster bolt in his brain.

He thought about amending his mistake right here… but he knew he didn’t have the strength for another physical engagement. After their fight with the Maker, he had nothing left. His body was beginning to shut down... depleted. In that sense, Arb had won. When Joren realized that terrible truth, he closed his eyes and yelled out to vent his frustration.

The only consolation in the face of such adversity was Dunkeel, his voice carrying a hint of levity as it reached his ears.

"I could use a meal. Maybe a cot, but floor works. Anyone else?"

A harsh laugh escaped Joren’s throat as he rolled to the side and glanced at his old friend. When he spoke, his voice was nothing more than a strained whisper. "If… if we ever get out of here, it’ll be my treat. Full-course meal, lavish accommodations, and maybe a little something extra…"

As if on instinct, he squeezed Tera’s hand. "B—But you need to promise me one thing. We… stick together… no—no matter what happens."

TAG: @Lady_Belligerent; @Mitth_Fisto; @Sinrebirth